St. George: Part Five
Jake and Mom waiting for the ghost tour to begin
Probably the neatest thing we did during our beach trip was attend the Spring Ghost Tour at the Chestnut Street Cemetery in Apalachicola. The Chestnut Street Cemetery has graves that date back to the 1830s. It’s the most gothic and romantic place I’ve ever seen, with lots of moss-draped live oaks and crooked tombstones and wrought-iron fences and gates.
The tour began at sunset on Saturday night. The old cemetery was lit with lanterns and candles in paper bags full of sand. And at about a dozen of the graves stood the “ghost” of the person buried there; each ghost told the story of his life. The ghosts were dressed in 19th-century clothing, and some wore pale pancake makeup. They looked so magical dressed in their top hats and string ties, their hoop skirts and aprons, in that very old place, among the graves, in the fading light. I wanted to take pictures, but I was too embarrassed.
Many of the people who played the ghosts were actual descendants of the dead people they portrayed. And all the actors were members of the Apalachicola Historical Society.
My favorite ghost was the spirit of an old Apalachicola milliner who used to fight with her husband most every night, back in the 1880s. One night after a particularly big fight, she slit her husband’s throat, then jumped out the window and killed herself.
“It wasn’t my fault,” the ghost drawled, still brandishing the knife. “Petty drank a lot. I just drank a little bit. . . .” She was wearing a big hat with feathers and lace, and she stood beside her tombstone, a fancy carved obelisk. “I made the prettiest hats in Apalachicola,” she said, “and I’m still in business, you know, so if you’d like a hat I can make you one.” She glanced forlornly around the cemetery. “I can make one out of anything—moss, leaves. . . .”
Another of my favorite ghosts was William T. Marler, DDS. He wore a powdered wig and knee breeches and stood near his grave and a hand-lettered sign that read, “Extractions $5, Levitations $10.” In the early 1800s, he was the town’s dentist as well as its resident spiritualist.
Jake was being very good on the tour. He listened carefully, wrapped up in his dear blanket, B. I thought he was really enjoying himself, but apparently he was a little disappointed. At the end as we were headed back to the car, he cried, “Hey, that was a rip-off! They said it was a ghost tour, but it was really a history tour! That’s false advertising!”
Matt and Sophie
