Skipper and I were catfishing up on Noxubee River the other day, near the mouth of Running Water Creek. Looking east along the river bank, I thought at first my eyes were deceiving me. There protruding from the 20 foot tall bank about two or three feet above the water level was what appeared to be a stoneware jug.

    “Pull the boat over there,” I directed Skipper, “and let’s see if it really is a stone jug,” which it was, as shown by the photograph. It had the top facing outward but about half of the jug was still embedded in the bank, which had to be shaken and pulled out. That is very strange, I thought, how did it manage to be embedded in the bank, which appeared to be a natural bank, not a washed in fill.

    If it had been in the bottom of the river embedded in a sand bar, or mud bar since the Noxubee River has no sand, it would have made more sense. It, on the other hand was too deep in the bank to have been buried from the top. Mystery; Mystery?

    My inquisitive mind wanders in speculative reverie of the past.

    Mr. Frifth, the namesake of Frifth Lake, lived nearby and had slaves clearing the fields along the mighty Noxubee River in the Year of Our Lord 1848. He had a liking for peach brandy and later in the summer had taken his peach crop into the “brandy shed” where the fermented fruit was carefully distilled into his favorite drink. The results were stored in stoneware jugs for use on special occasions or sold to the river captains as they plied the Noxubee River.

    Jack, one of the young slaves, could not resist the temptation to steal a jug of this delectable concoction. Bringing it back to the cabin, his mother quickly scolded and also reminded him of the consequences of being caught with such a hoard. “Jack, yo got to get rid of th jug,” she admonished.

    The next day while clearing the river field he slipped silently into the river and quickly dug a hole in the far bank to dispose of this jug. His thinking was if he buried it into the bank with the cork end facing out the delectable liquid could be drained each day for an invigorating refreshing drink …

    The plan was a good one except for one thing. There came a torrential rain that very night with the river rising and flooding for the following week. When poor Jack returned the mighty river had washed mud over his jug and hidden it from view. He searched diligently and never found this refreshment. There the jug remained until a recent flood finally washed away the silt and once again revealed this ancient jug for my roving eyes to see and finally excavate. Naturally the old cork had rotted away and the jug itself was filled with the silt of many years in its burial site.

    I intend to display this antique in my office and often think about its history.