North Carolina Ghosts & Legends

The Unearthly Music of Roan Mountain

The Unearthly Music of Roan Mountain Go to the top if you would hear its awesome sound Once upon a time there was a man who had all ofthe things most men spend themselves for. First ofall he could number among his list ofacquaintances many ofthe most famous men ofhis day. Why, at any moment, even here in the fashionable seclusion of his mountain home, the phone might ring. And the voice of a publisher, politician, or other prominent friend would come warmly over the wires seeking him out. Awriter such as he had much to contribute, especially now that his position in the literary world was secure. His most prosaic utterances were received as conversational gems. Even his physical presence was a contribution in the eyes of many. For certainly such a distinguished guest enhanced his host's prestige. And unsure of personal worth, how much better to huddle close to those who have arrived. Lamotte Duval, and we will call him that to save possible embarrassment, hadbeen everywhere. Just a casual reference to the countries he had visited was bound to impress. Ithad all been most exciting until he began to notice 40 Western North Carolina that hungry children were the same whether they begged on the streets of India or sat apathetically on the steps of a sharecropper's house and that the stench of poverty was as strong in the New York slums as in those of Morocco. The time he had sought the most avaricious face which he could find to describe, the man he had found was not among the gamblers at Monte Carlo-but among his own circle in the exclusive apartment house where he spent most of his winters. A vague dissatisfaction, the cause of which he could scarcely come to grips with, had become Duval's most frequent companion of late. He sat now in a comfortable chair facing a huge expanse ofplate glass which overlooked one of the most gorgeous views in the North Carolina mountains. In some towns standing might depend on a grandfather , an address at the top ofthe hill, or a certain street name. Buthere one ofthe most importantsymbols ofstatus was "the view." And, ofcourse, Lamotte Duval had it. In fact, what did he not have? On his magazine table were expensive and exquisitely done publications-a tribute to his taste. His bookshelves were lined with rare incunabula and first editions . And now he was faced with deciding how and where he was to spend his summer. Should it be here in the mountains or would he really prefer listening to Wagner in Bayreuth, with an apartmentfor the summeratthe Kronberg Castle near Frankfurt and perhaps a jaunt to the Olympic games? Ten years ago he might have savored all this to the utmost. But ever so gradually a serpent had insinuated itself into this paradise and all but ruined his capacity to enjoy it. And just what was this viper? He didn't know himself. Ah, if The Unearthly Music ofRoan Mountain 41 it had been a man of more talent, superior intellect, whose work rivaled his own, he could have adjusted to that. For he had come to accept, nay even to thoroughly appreciate, the genius of other men. Long years ago he had renounced that illusory and prideful struggle for recognition by the world as the "best" writer. Duval had been content to work diligently developing his own unique talent while tasting the not inconsiderable fruits of his labors. But now an honest and incisive mind had finally turned itself inward. And the picture which Duval was beginning to see of himself and his life was not altogether pleasing. Although he had regarded religion with amused tolerance for the greatest part of his life, it how began to appear to him that this "myth of the masses" which he had failed to pursue had somehow begun to pursue him. Ifhe casually fingered a book it would turn out to be byFenelonor perhapsThomas aKempis. And oftenit seemed that even the most impersonally begun conversation would turn toward religion. But the phenomena in the book of mountain stories he was now reading were clearly of scientific origin. As long as he was here so close to the locale he owed it to himself to investigate. "The ghostly choir of Roan Mountain" some of the natives called it. Roan Mountain was not a long drive, and...