Chief Calls The Big Water

I have been a long term believer in what people refer to today as paranormal events and phenomena. While much phenomena has been proved to be illusions or charlatanism, there remains supernatural activity stubbornly unexplained by rational or scientific means to hold our interest.  Science has gone to great ends to dispel myth and when it has failed to do so, such phenomena touches our lives with wonder and a deep appreciation. It is an unspoken message: we are not the end all in our universe. There is more to be revealed. The last song has yet to be sung.

 

I have experienced both the explained and unexplained in my 50 plus years of life. I have seen great things and heard great tales but one personal experience began my journey down the great road of the unknown.

 

I was eight or nine years old when my grandfather took me to see him. Even as a boy, the slight framed old man seemed unimpressive. His face had more wrinkles than a war map, and his long stringy hair was close to gunmetal gray in color. He rasped when he talked which was rarely. But when he talked everyone listened. He had a way of speaking the truth which over the years had gained the trust of all the townspeople. People came from miles around to sit and listen to him or ask his advice. In turn, he was showered with gifts of Virginia Burley tobacco which he hand rolled into unfiltered cigarettes. Occasionally, those that visited him brought “firewater” – Jim Beam or Jack Daniels, by name or less sophisticated Corn Squeezin’s and White Lightning.

 

Chief was what the townspeople called him. He was of Cherokee heritage and had a ‘knowing’ about the weather, about when to plant and harvest crops, and a good many other things. The day I visited with my grandfather, Chief told me a story. “Twenty years ago” he began “I went to see a white eyes doctor. He told me I had me a cancer and had less than six months to live. I told him I didn’t think so. He asked me why after reassuring me he had great knowledge of such things. I told him that I would live as long as Great Spirit wills. You know Great Spirit?”

 

I shook my head. “No sir, I don’t reckon I do.”

 

“Great Spirit is in all things and all people. Great Spirit is in our mountains and is the Creator of all life. You understand, boy?”

 

“I think so Chief.”

 

He released a great belly laugh and patted me on the shoulder. “Good, good boy.” He turned to my grandfather. “Hobby, your grandson will have the sight. He will learn much of the unspoken ways.” My grandfather smiled. “Pay close attention, Sammy” he said to me. All the townspeople called me Sammy and to this day, I like it not at all. “Spirit has given me a vision. There are troubled times ahead.”

 

Later, he stepped outside his little square house and met with others. We remained for my grandfather longed to hear of the vision. When the time was right, a large group of people met around an outside fire and Chief spoke of his vision.

 

“A Great Water will come” he said. “Greater than we have ever seen in our lives or the lives of our ancestors. Prepare your hearts. Prepare your families. The Great Water will come and many will die.”

 

The prophesy was met with surprise by some, outrage and fear by others. Some laughed and accused Chief of drinking too much firewater. What else would explain such a vision? For the townspeople, many of whom grew up in the smoky little towns in the Virginia foothills of Appalachia, thought Chief was crazy. After all, the Great Water, the Atlantic Ocean was hundreds of miles away.

 

My grandfather and I left Chief that evening late. On the way home, I asked him what he thought of Chief’s vision. He smiled at me, perhaps a little sadly. “If Chief says it will happen, it is so.” My grandfather died the next year without ever seeing the Great Water come. But two years later, the Great Water came.

 

On the night of August 19, 1969, Hurricane Camille struck the mountains of Virginia with all her fury. Floodwaters devastated Nelson County, Virginia destroying property and taking the lives of 125 local residents. After the storm, a layer of sand four feet deep covered three of the four lots belonging to my grandparents. A large boulder, some eight feet in diameter rolled within 20 feet of our family house and left it untouched.

 

I never saw Chief again. He was not in the number of lost souls. Rumor had it that he left the area just months before arrival of Camille. People, years after, talked about the vision of an old Indian man and the storm that marred the peaceful Nelson County forever. The story itself has become a bit of local legend.