1846 was a relatively quiet year for the great commonwealth of Virginia. Antebellum was in full swing and the tobacco crop was especially burly. King Cotton called for his pipe and fiddlers, three.

As things drifted along just like the lazy Rivanna, the winds brought word of a renegade gypsy child born in the blue hills. Raised by a pack of wild pugs, with a shock of hair – red - like the fires of hell.

Little did the natives know that the Great Huddleston Prophecy had been fulfilled.

...