The Ghost of Edward's Ferry

The Ghost of Edward's Ferry

By Cleve Taylor

April 12,1865, three days after General Robert E. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia to General Ulysses Grant at Appomattox Courthouse, the three Confederate Infantrymen assigned to the 43rd Battalion of the Virginia Cavalry to stand Sentry on the western side of Edward's Ferry outside Leesburg, Virginia, had not heard the news of the surrender. The three, each taking eight hours of duty to provide round-the-clock guard, were well aware of the importance of standing watch there, because it was Edward's Ferry where Union armies crossed the Potomac into Virginia to fight in the Gettysburg Campaign.

Unbeknownst to them, Union Army advance troops had already advised Confederates at Pickett's Public House in Leesburg that the war was over, and that General Lee had ordered his troops to lay down their arms. Now a half dozen Union Cavalrymen going to Edward's Ferry from Leesburg surprised the Confederate Sentries, and themselves. Before any message could be delivered, the Confederates opened fire and the Union troops returned fire, killing one Confederate who fell with his Enfield rifle into the water and was whisked away in the rain swollen Potomac River, and wounding the other two Confederates who then surrendered only to discover that their brother in arms had died needlessly.

April 12, 2022, Melissa Madison and Robert Thornton stood at the long ago abandoned Edward's Ferry landing area outside Leesburg. They had been hiking the Appalachian Trail through the Blue Ridge and had cut east to Leesburg to end their hike at Washington DC. They would camp one night at Edward's Ferry before catching a bus into the city for a few days' rest before flying home to Atlanta and their worried parents.

Robert wanted to celebrate the end of the hike in grand fashion and bought a litre bottle of champagne and a backup bottle of chardonnay for the celebration. Looking over the lazy Potomac, they sat next to each other sipping champagne in glasses bought at a charity shop on Market Street and nibbling on gouda cheese and crackers. Robert, squeezing Melissa's hand stared up at the starry sky put there for their wonderment, watched a jet on its way to Dulles pass overhead, smiled and said, "It doesn't get any better than this." Melissa returned his smile, kissed him on the cheek, and responded, "No it doesn't."

They finished the champagne and half of the chardonnay before Robert slipped into a half sleep, half passed out, condition. Melissa just smiled at him, he could never hold his liquor, and continued sipping wine and staring at the sky and the river until she fell into a semi-sleep dream condition of her own.

She became aware of someone walking back and forth on the bank of the river. He would walk ten or twelve steps, pause for a while, then turn around and walk back to where he had been. For some reason, the appearance of the man did not scare her. Glass in hand she went down to the river bank to see who he was. As she neared him she laughed to herself. The man was in a Confederate uniform and carrying a rifle. He was obviously part of some Civil War reenactment event.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Melissa. My boyfriend and I are camping up the slope, and I saw you marching around and came down to see what's up. Who are you?" she smiled.

Snapping his heels together, he said "Private Terrance O'Halloran, at your service ma'am."

"And what are you doing, Terrance, or is it Terry?"

"Terry, to friends, Ma'am."

"Then Terry it is. Are you alone Terry? Or are you going to fight the whole Union army by yourself?"

"I am with two others Ma'am. But I haven't seen them for a while. They must have gone to Pickett's on some errand."

"Well, I am glad to have met you, Terry, but I'd better get back up the hill. If Robert wakes up and I'm not there, he'll have a heart attack."

"Yes Ma'am. Glad to have met you, too. If you should need me for anything, I will be right here. Just give me a call."

"Thank you Terry, I'll do that," she said as she started back to her campsite.

As she approached the campsite she saw Robert take a drink from the wine bottle. "That's not like him," she thought to herself. Getting closer she realized that the man drinking their wine was not Robert. Instead of Robert, she saw a balding grissly stranger, wearing too long pants, the legs cuffed over work boots and a too small dirty shirt incapable of covering his girth, his bare belly pushing apart and past half the shirt's buttons.

She stopped in her tracks. "ROBERT," she shouted. Standing and wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve, the interloper said, He's otherwise occupied," and started toward Melissa.

Jerkily looking around for Robert, Melissa saw him off to the side face down and obviously unconscious.

"Come on, let's you and me have a party," the gravelly voice said as it's abominable source reached for her.

Melissa bolted back down the hill screaming "TERRY, HELP!"

Melissa heard a shot, and heard her pursuer collapse behind her before she fainted.

An early dog walker found her, Robert, and their dead attacker the next morning and called 911.

Melissa woke up in a hospital bed. She had some lacerations from her fall but her biggest problem was a dastardly hangover from the champagne and the wine. Robert, in the next bed over, had a non-critical concussion from being hit in the head with a large object. The police guessed that it was a rock.

The attacker was at the morgue and had been identified as a drifter who had been detained earlier for harassing some Tuscarora High School students.

The police interviewed Robert who had not seen his assailant because he had been passed out.

They interviewed Melissa who gave them a detailed account of the soldier and the attacker up to the point of hearing a shot.

The Leesburg police wrote it all down for their report, but didn't believe a word she said. Too much wine on an empty stomach they concluded.

The coroner called his assistant over. "Look at this," he said. "The only place I have ever seen one of these is in the Gettysburg Museum. You are looking at a .577 minie ball probably shot from an Enfield muzzle-loaded rifle like they used in the Civil War."

Somewhere, Terry heard him, and smiled. His sentry duty was over