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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Best Ghost Stories</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Release Date: March 1, 2006 [eBook #17893]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST GHOST STORIES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net/)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h3>THE MODERN LIBRARY</h3> + +<h4><br /><br />OF THE WORLD'S BEST BOOKS</h4> + + +<h3><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />BEST GHOST STORIES<br /><br /><br /></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> +<h1>THE BEST GHOST<br />STORIES</h1> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Introduction by</span> ARTHUR B. REEVE</h3> + +<h4><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />THE MODERN LIBRARY<br /><br /></h4> + +<h4>PUBLISHERS :: :: NEW YORK</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1919, <span class="smcap">By</span><br /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> + +BONI & LIVERIGHT, Inc.<br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY H. WOLFF</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + + + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Introduction—"The Fascination of the Ghost Story"</span></td><td align='right'><i>Arthur B. Reeve</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Apparition of Mrs. Veal</span></td><td align='right'><i>Daniel De Foe</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book</span></td><td align='right'><i>Montague Rhodes James</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Haunted and the Haunters</span></td><td align='right'><i>Edward Bulwer-Lytton</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_31'>31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Silent Woman</span></td><td align='right'><i>Leopold Kompert</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_60'>60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Banshees</span></td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_79'>79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man Who Went Too Far</span></td><td align='right'><i>E.F. Benson</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_85'>85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Woman's Ghost Story</span></td><td align='right'><i>Algernon Blackwood</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_108'>108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Phantom Rickshaw</span></td><td align='right'><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_118'>118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Rival Ghosts</span></td><td align='right'><i>Brander Matthews</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Damned Thing</span></td><td align='right'><i>Ambrose Bierce</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Interval</span></td><td align='right'><i>Vincent O'Sullivan</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_170'>170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dey Ain't No Ghosts</span></td><td align='right'><i>Ellis Parker Butler</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Some Real American Ghosts</span></td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_188'>188</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<h2>THE FASCINATION OF THE GHOST<br />STORY</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Arthur B. Reeve</span></h3> + + +<p>What is the fascination we feel for the mystery of the ghost story?</p> + +<p>Is it of the same nature as the fascination which we feel for the +mystery of the detective story?</p> + +<p>Of the latter fascination, the late Paul Armstrong used to say that it +was because we are all as full of crime as Sing Sing—only we don't +dare.</p> + +<p>Thus, may I ask, are we not fascinated by the ghost story because, no +matter what may be the scientific or skeptical bent of our minds, in our +inmost souls, secretly perhaps, we are as full of superstition as an +obeah man—only we don't let it loose?</p> + +<p>Who shall say that he is able to fling off lightly the inheritance of +countless ages of superstition? Is there not a streak of superstition in +us all? We laugh at the voodoo worshiper—then create our own hoodooes, +our pet obsessions.</p> + +<p>It has been said that man is incurably religious, that if all religions +were blotted out, man would create a new religion.</p> + +<p>Man is incurably fascinated by the mysterious. If all the ghost stories +of the ages were blotted out, man would invent new ones.</p> + +<p>For, do we not all stand in awe of that which we cannot explain, of that +which, if it be not in our own experience, is certainly recorded in the +experience of others, of that of which we know and can know nothing?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> + +<p>Skeptical though one may be of the occult, he must needs be interested +in things that others believe to be objective—that certainly are +subjectively very real to them.</p> + +<p>The ghost story is not born of science, nor even of super-science, +whatever that may be. It is not of science at all. It is of another +sphere, despite all that the psychic researchers have tried to +demonstrate.</p> + +<p>There are in life two sorts of people who, for want of a better +classification, I may call the psychic and the non-psychic. If I ask the +psychic to close his eyes and I say to him, "Horse," he immediately +visualizes a horse. The other, non-psychic, does not. I rather incline +to believe that it is the former class who see ghosts, or rather some of +them. The latter do not—though they share interest in them.</p> + +<p>The artists are of the visualizing class and, in our more modern times, +it is the psychic who think in motion pictures, or at least in a +succession of still pictures.</p> + +<p>However we explain the ghostly and supernatural, whether we give it +objective or merely subjective reality, neither explanation prevents the +non-psychic from being intensely interested in the visions of the +psychic.</p> + +<p>Thus I am convinced that if we were all quite honest with ourselves, +whether we believe in or do not believe in ghosts, at least we are all +deeply interested in them. There is in this interest something that +makes all the world akin.</p> + +<p>Who does not feel a suppressed start at the creaking of furniture in the +dark of night? Who has not felt a shiver of goose flesh, controlled only +by an effort of will? Who, in the dark, has not had the feeling of some +<i>thing</i> behind him—and, in spite of his conscious reasoning, turned to +look?</p> + +<p>If there be any who has not, it may be that to him ghost stories have no +fascination. Let him at least, however, be honest.</p> + +<p>To every human being mystery appeals, be it that of the crime cases on +which a large part of yellow journalism is founded, or be it in the +cases of Dupin, of Le Coq, of Sherlock Holmes, of Arsene Lupin, of Craig +Kennedy, or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>a host of others of our fiction mystery characters. The +appeal is in the mystery.</p> + +<p>The detective's case is solved at the end, however. But even at the end +of a ghost story, the underlying mystery remains. In the ghost story, we +have the very quintessence of mystery.</p> + +<p>Authors, publishers, editors, dramatists, writers of motion pictures +tell us that never before has there been such an intense and wide +interest in mystery stories as there is to-day. That in itself explains +the interest in the super-mystery story of the ghost and ghostly doings.</p> + +<p>Another element of mystery lies in such stories. Deeper and further +back, is the supreme mystery of life—after death—what?</p> + +<p>"Impossible," scorns the non-psychic as he listens to some ghost story.</p> + +<p>To which, doggedly replies the mind of the opposite type, "Not so. I +believe <i>because</i> it is impossible."</p> + +<p>The uncanny, the unhealthy—as in the master of such writing, +Poe—fascinates. Whether we will or no, the imp of the perverse lures us +on.</p> + +<p>That is why we read with enthralled interest these excursions into the +eerie unknown, perhaps reading on till the mystic hour of midnight +increases the creepy pleasure.</p> + +<p>One might write a volume of analysis and appreciation of this aptly +balanced anthology of ghost stories assembled here after years of +reading and study by Mr. J.L. French.</p> + +<p>Foremost among the impressions that a casual reader will derive is the +interesting fact, just as in detective mystery stories, so in ghost +stories, styles change. Each age, each period has the ghost story +peculiar to itself. To-day, there is a new style of ghost story +gradually evolving.</p> + +<p>Once stories were of fairies, fays, trolls, the "little people," of +poltergiest and loup garou. Through various ages we have progressed to +the ghost story of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries until to-day, +in the twentieth, we are seeing a modern style, which the new science is +modifying materially.</p> + +<p>High among the stories in this volume, one must recog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>nize the masterful +art of Algernon Blackwood's "The Woman's Ghost Story."</p> + +<p>"I was interested in psychic things," says the woman as she starts to +tell her story simply, with a sweep toward the climax that has the ring +of the truth of fiction. Here perhaps we have the modern style of ghost +story at its best.</p> + +<p>Times change as well as styles. "The Man Who Went Too Far" is of intense +interest as an attempt to bring into our own times an interpretation of +the symbolism underlying Greek mythology, applied to England of some +years ago.</p> + +<p>To see Pan meant death. Hence in this story there is a philosophy of +Pan-theism—no "me," no "you," no "it." It is a mystical story, with a +storm scene in which is painted a picture that reminds one strongly of +"The Fall of the House of Ushur,"—with the frankly added words, "On him +were marks of hoofs of a monstrous goat that had leaped on +him,"—uncompromising mysticism.</p> + +<p>Happy is the Kipling selection, "The Phantom 'Rickshaw," if only for +that obiter dictum of ghost-presence as Kipling explains about the rift +in the brain: "—and a little bit of the Dark World came through and +pressed him to death!"</p> + +<p>Then there are the racial styles in ghost stories. The volume takes us +from the "Banshees and Other Death Warnings" of Ireland to a strange +example of Jewish mysticism in "The Silent Woman." Mr. French has been +very wide in his choice, giving us these as well as many examples from +the literature of England and France. Finally, he has compiled from the +newspapers, as typically American, many ghost stories of New York and +other parts of the country.</p> + +<p>Strange that one should find humor in a subject so weird. Yet we find +it. Take, for instance, De Foe's old narrative, "The Apparition of Mrs. +Veal." It is a hoax, nothing more. Of our own times is Ellis Parker +Butler's "Dey Ain't No Ghosts," showing an example of the modern Negro's +racial heritage.</p> + +<p>In our literature and on the stage, the very idea of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> Darky and a +graveyard is mirth-provoking. Mr. Butler extracts some pithy philosophy +from his Darky boy: "I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, c'ase dey ain't +no ghosts, but I jes' feel kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't!"</p> + +<p>Humor is succeeded by pathos. In "The Interval" we find a sympathetic +twist to the ghost story—an actual desire to meet the dead.</p> + +<p>It is not, however, to be compared for interest to the story of sheer +terror, as in Bulwer-Lytton's "The Haunted and the Haunters," with the +flight of the servant in terror, the cowering of the dog against the +wall, the death of the dog, its neck actually broken by the terror, and +all that go to make an experience in a haunted house what it should be.</p> + +<p>Thus, at last, we come to two of the stories that attempt to give a +scientific explanation, another phase of the modern style of ghost +story.</p> + +<p>One of these, perhaps hardly modern as far as mere years are concerned, +is this same story of Bulwer, "The Haunted and the Haunters." Besides +being a rattling good old-fashioned tale of horror, it attempts a +new-fashioned scientific explanation. It is enough to read and re-read +it.</p> + +<p>It is, however, the lamented Ambrose Bierce who has gone furthest in the +science and the philosophy of the matter, and in a very short story, +too, splendidly titled "The Damned Thing."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Incredible!" exclaims the coroner at the inquest.</p> + +<p>"That is nothing to you, sir," replies the +newspaper man who relates the experience, and in +these words expresses the true feeling about +ghostly fiction, "that is nothing to you, if I +also swear that it is true!" </p></div> + +<p>But furthest of all in his scientific explanation—not scientifically +explaining away, but in explaining the way—goes Bierce as he outlines a +theory. From the diary of the murdered man he picks out the following +which we may treasure as a gem:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I am not mad. There are colors that we cannot +see. And—God help me!—the Damned Thing is of +such a color!" </p></div> + +<p>This fascination of the ghost story—have I made it clear?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> + +<p>As I write, nearing midnight, the bookcase behind me cracks. I start and +turn. Nothing. There is a creak of a board in the hallway.</p> + +<p>I know it is the cool night wind—the uneven contraction of materials +expanded in the heat of the day.</p> + +<p>Yet—do I go into the darkness outside otherwise than alert?</p> + +<p>It is this evolution of our sense of ghost terror—ages of it—that +fascinates us.</p> + +<p>Can we, with a few generations of modernism behind us, throw it off with +all our science? And, if we did, should we not then succeed only in +abolishing the old-fashioned ghost story and creating a new, scientific +ghost story?</p> + +<p>Scientific? Yes. But more,—something that has existed since the +beginnings of intelligence in the human race.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, you critic, you say that the true ghost story originated in the +age of shadowy candle light and pine knot with their grotesqueries on +the walls and in the unpenetrated darkness, that the electric bulb and +the radiator have dispelled that very thing on which, for ages, the +ghost story has been built.</p> + +<p>What? No ghost stories? Would you take away our supernatural fiction by +your paltry scientific explanation?</p> + +<p>Still will we gather about the story teller—then lie awake o' nights, +seeing mocking figures, arms akimbo, defying all your science to crush +the ghost story.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BEST_GHOST_STORIES" id="BEST_GHOST_STORIES"></a>BEST GHOST STORIES</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Daniel De Foe</span></h3> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br />THE PREFACE</div> + +<p>This relation is matter of fact, and attended with such circumstances, +as may induce any reasonable man to believe it. It was sent by a +gentleman, a justice of peace, at Maidstone, in Kent, and a very +intelligent person, to his friend in London, as it is here worded; which +discourse is attested by a very sober and understanding gentlewoman, a +kinswoman of the said gentleman's, who lives in Canterbury, within a few +doors of the house in which the within-named Mrs. Bargrave lives; who +believes his kinswoman to be of so discerning a spirit, as not to be put +upon by any fallacy; and who positively assured him that the whole +matter, as it is related and laid down, is really true; and what she +herself had in the same words, as near as may be, from Mrs. Bargrave's +own mouth, who, she knows, had no reason to invent and publish such a +story, or any design to forge and tell a lie, being a woman of much +honesty and virtue, and her whole life a course, as it were, of piety. +The use which we ought to make of it, is to consider, that there is a +life to come after this, and a just God, who will retribute to every one +according to the deeds done in the body; and therefore to reflect upon +our past course of life we have led in the world; that our time is short +and uncertain; and that if we would escape the punishment of the +ungodly, and receive the reward of the righteous, which is the laying +hold of eternal life, we ought, for the time to come, to return to God +by a speedy repentance, ceasing to do evil, and learning to do well: to +seek after God early, if happily He may be found of us, and lead such +lives for the future, as may be well pleasing in His sight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br />A RELATION OF THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL<br /></div> + +<p>This thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and on so good +authority, that my reading and conversation has not given me anything +like it: it is fit to gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer. +Mrs. Bargrave is the person to whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her death; +she is my intimate friend, and I can avouch for her reputation, for +these last fifteen or sixteen years, on my own knowledge; and I can +confirm the good character she had from her youth, to the time of my +acquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by some +people, that are friends to the brother of this Mrs. Veal, who appeared; +who think the relation of this appearance to be a reflection, and +endeavor what they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave's reputation, and to laugh +the story out of countenance. But by the circumstances thereof, and the +cheerful disposition of Mrs. Bargrave, notwithstanding the ill-usage of +a very wicked husband, there is not yet the least sign of dejection in +her face; nor did I ever hear her let fall a desponding or murmuring +expression; nay, not when actually under her husband's barbarity; which +I have been witness to, and several other persons of undoubted +reputation.</p> + +<p>Now you must know, Mrs. Veal was a maiden gentlewoman of about thirty +years of age, and for some years last past had been troubled with fits; +which were perceived coming on her, by her going off from her discourse +very abruptly to some impertinence. She was maintained by an only +brother, and kept his house in Dover. She was a very pious woman, and +her brother a very sober man to all appearance; but now he does all he +can to null or quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately acquainted with +Mrs. Bargrave from her childhood. Mrs. Veal's circumstances were then +mean; her father did not take care of his children as he ought, so that +they were exposed to hardships; and Mrs. Bargrave, in those days, had as +unkind a father, though she wanted neither for food nor clothing, whilst +Mrs. Veal wanted for both; insomuch that she would often say, Mrs. +Bargrave, you are not only the best, but the only friend I have in the +world, and no circumstances of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>life shall ever dissolve my friendship. +They would often condole each other's adverse fortunes, and read +together Drelincourt upon Death, and other good books; and so, like two +Christian friends, they comforted each other under their sorrow.</p> + +<p>Some time after, Mr. Veal's friends got him a place in the custom-house +at Dover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and little, to fall off +from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there was never any such +thing as a quarrel; but an indifferency came on by degrees, till at last +Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and a half; though above a +twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath been absent from Dover, and +this last half year has been in Canterbury about two months of the time, +dwelling in a house of her own.</p> + +<p>In this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, she was sitting alone in +the forenoon, thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing herself +into a due resignation to providence, though her condition seemed hard. +And, said she, I have been provided for hitherto, and doubt not but I +shall be still; and am well satisfied that my afflictions shall end when +it is most fit for me: and then took up her sewing-work, which she had +no sooner done, but she hears a knocking at the door. She went to see +who was there, and this proved to be Mrs. Veal, her old friend, who was +in a riding-habit. At that moment of time the clock struck twelve at +noon.</p> + +<p>Madam, says Mrs. Bargrave, I am surprised to see you, you have been so +long a stranger; but told her, she was glad to see her, and offered to +salute her; which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips almost +touched; and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and said, +I am not very well; and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave, she was +going a journey, and had a great mind to see her first. But, says Mrs. +Bargrave, how came you to take a journey alone? I am amazed at it, +because I know you have a fond brother. Oh! says Mrs. Veal, I gave my +brother the slip, and came away because I had so great a desire to see +you before I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave went in with her, into +another room within the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>first, and Mrs. Veal sat her down in an +elbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard Mrs. Veal +knock. Then says Mrs. Veal, My dear friend, I am come to renew our old +friendship again, and beg your pardon for my breach of it; and if you +can forgive me, you are the best of women. O, says Mrs. Bargrave, do not +mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy thought about it; I can +easily forgive it. What did you think of me? said Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. +Bargrave, I thought you were like the rest of the world, and that +prosperity had made you forget yourself and me. Then Mrs. Veal reminded +Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her in former days, +and much of the conversation they had with each other in the times of +their adversity; what books they read, and what comfort, in particular, +they received from Drelincourt's Book of Death, which was the best, she +said, on that subject ever written. She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, the +two Dutch books which were translated, written upon death, and several +others. But Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death, +and of the future state, of any who had handled that subject. Then she +asked Mrs. Bargrave, whether she had Drelincourt. She said, Yes. Says +Mrs. Veal, Fetch it. And so Mrs. Bargrave goes up stairs and brings it +down. Says Mrs. Veal, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith were +as open as the eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels about +us for our guard. The notions we have of heaven now, are nothing like +what it is, as Drelincourt says; therefore be comforted under your +afflictions, and believe that the Almighty has a particular regard to +you; and that your afflictions are marks of God's favor; and when they +have done the business they are sent for, they shall be removed from +you. And believe me, my dear friend, believe what I say to you, one +minute of future happiness will infinitely reward you for all your +sufferings. For, I can never believe (and claps her hand upon her knee +with great earnestness, which indeed ran through most of her discourse), +that ever God will suffer you to spend all your days in this afflicted +state; but be assured, that your afflictions shall leave you, or you +them, in a short time. She spake in that pathetical <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>and heavenly +manner, that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times, she was so deeply +affected with it.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Kenrick's Ascetick, at the end of which he +gives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians. Their pattern +she recommended to our imitation, and said, their conversation was not +like this of our age: For now, says she, there is nothing but frothy, +vain discourse, which is far different from theirs. Theirs was to +edification, and to build one another up in faith; so that they were not +as we are, nor are we as they were: but, says she, we ought to do as +they did. There was an hearty friendship among them; but where is it now +to be found? Says Mrs. Bargrave, It is hard indeed to find a true friend +in these days. Says Mrs. Veal, Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, +called Friendship in Perfection, which I wonderfully admire. Have you +seen the book? says Mrs. Veal. No, says Mrs. Bargrave, but I have the +verses of my own writing out. Have you? says Mrs. Veal, then fetch them. +Which she did from above stairs, and offered them to Mrs. Veal to read, +who refused, and waived the thing, saying, holding down her head would +make it ache; and then desired Mrs. Bargrave to read them to her, which +she did. As they were admiring friendship, Mrs. Veal said, Dear Mrs. +Bargrave, I shall love you for ever. In these verses there is twice used +the word Elysian. Ah! says Mrs. Veal, these poets have such names for +heaven. She would often draw her hands across her own eyes, and say, +Mrs. Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits? No, +says Mrs. Bargrave, I think you look as well as ever I knew you. After +all this discourse, which the apparition put in much finer words than +Mrs. Bargrave said she could pretend to, and as much more than she can +remember, (for it cannot be thought, that an hour and three quarters' +conversation could all be retained, though the main of it she thinks she +does,) she said to Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a letter to +her brother, and tell him, she would have him give rings to such and +such; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that she +would have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought that a fit was coming upon +her, and so placed herself in a chair just before her knees, to keep her +from falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it: for the +elbow-chair, she thought, would keep her from falling on either side. +And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her gown-sleeve +several times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it was a scowered +silk, and newly made up. But for all this, Mrs. Veal persisted in her +request, and told Mrs. Bargrave, she must not deny her: and she would +have her tell her brother all their conversation, when she had +opportunity. Dear Mrs. Veal, says Mrs. Bargrave, this seems so +impertinent, that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and what a +mortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman? Why, +says Mrs. Bargrave, it is much better, methinks, to do it yourself. No, +says Mrs. Veal, though it seems impertinent to you now, you will see +more reason for it hereafter. Mrs. Bargrave then, to satisfy her +importunity, was going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs. Veal said, Let +it alone now, but do it when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it: +which was one of the last things she enjoined her at parting; and so she +promised her.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; she said, she was not +at home: But if you have a mind to see her, says Mrs. Bargrave, I'll +send for her. Do, says Mrs. Veal. On which she left her, and went to a +neighbor's to seek for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning, +Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street, in the face of the +beast-market, on a Saturday, which is market-day, and stood ready to +part, as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her, why she was +in such haste. She said she must be going, though perhaps she might not +go her journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, she hoped she should +see her again at her cousin Watson's, before she went whither she was +going. Then she said, she would take her leave of her, and walked from +Mrs. Bargrave in her view, till a turning interrupted the sight of her, +which was three quarters after one in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, at twelve o'clock <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>at noon of her +fits, and had not above four hours' senses before her death, in which +time she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal's +appearing, being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with a +cold, and a sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but on +Monday morning she sent a person to Captain Watson's, to know if Mrs. +Veal was there. They wondered at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry; and sent her +word, that she was not there, nor was expected. At this answer Mrs. +Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name, or made some +blunder. And though she was ill, she put on her hood, and went herself +to Captain Watson's though she knew none of the family, to see if Mrs. +Veal was there or not. They said, they wondered at her asking, for that +she had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she would have +been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I am sure she was with me on Saturday +almost two hours. They said, it was impossible; for they must have seen +her if she had. In comes Captain Watson, while they were in dispute, and +said, that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and her escutcheons were +making. This strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she sent to the +person immediately who had the care of them, and found it true. Then she +related the whole story to Captain Watson's family, and what gown she +had on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal told her, it was scowered. +Then Mrs. Watson cried out, You have seen her indeed, for none knew, but +Mrs. Veal and myself, that the gown was scowered. And Mrs. Watson owned, +that she described the gown exactly: For, said she, I helped her to make +it up. This Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town, and avouched the +demonstration of the truth of Mrs. Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal's +apparition. And Captain Watson carried two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. +Bargrave's house, to hear the relation of her own mouth. And when it +spread so fast, that gentlemen and persons of quality, the judicious and +skeptical part of the world, flocked in upon her, it at last became such +a task, that she was forced to go out of the way. For they were, in +general, extremely satisfied of the truth of the thing, and plainly saw +that Mrs. Bargrave was no hypochondraic; for she always ap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>pears with +such a cheerful air, and pleasing mien, that she has gained the favor +and esteem of all the gentry; and it is thought a great favor, if they +can but get the relation from her own mouth. I should have told you +before, that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave, that her sister and +brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. Says Mrs. +Bargrave, How came you to order matters so strangely? It could not be +helped, says Mrs. Veal. And her brother and sister did come to see her, +and entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring. Mrs. +Bargrave, asked her, whether she would drink some tea. Says Mrs. Veal, I +do not care if I do; but I'll warrant you, this mad fellow (meaning Mrs. +Bargrave's husband) has broke all your trinkets. But, says Mrs. +Bargrave, I'll get something to drink in for all that; but Mrs. Veal +waived it, and said, It is no matter, let it alone; and so it passed.</p> + +<p>All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was some hours, she +recollected fresh sayings of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing more she +told Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Breton allowed Mrs. Veal ten pounds a +year; which was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave, till Mrs. Veal +told it her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story; which puzzles those who doubt +of the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant in the +neighbor's yard, adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave's house, heard her talking +to somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. Bargrave +went out to her next neighbor's the very moment she parted with Mrs. +Veal, and told her what ravishing conversation she had with an old +friend, and told the whole of it. Drelincourt's Book of Death is, since +this happened, bought up strangely. And it is to be observed, that +notwithstanding all the trouble and fatigue Mrs. Bargrave has undergone +upon this account, she never took the value of a farthing, nor suffered +her daughter to take anything of anybody, and therefore can have no +interest in telling the story.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the matter, and said, he would +see Mrs. Bargrave; but yet it is certain matter of fact that he has been +at Captain Watson's since the death of his sister, and yet never went +near Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> Bargrave; and some of his friends report her to be a liar, +and that she knew of Mr. Breton's ten pounds a year. But the person who +pretends to say so, has the reputation of a notorious liar, among +persons whom I know to be of undoubted credit. Now Mr. Veal is more of a +gentleman than to say she lies; but says, a bad husband has crazed her. +But she needs only present herself, and it will effectually confute that +pretense. Mr. Veal says, he asked his sister on her death-bed, whether +she had a mind to dispose of anything? And she said, No. Now, the things +which Mrs. Veal's apparition would have disposed of, were so trifling, +and nothing of justice aimed at in their disposal, that the design of it +appears to me to be only in order to make Mrs. Bargrave so to +demonstrate the truth of her appearance, as to satisfy the world of the +reality thereof, as to what she had seen and heard; and to secure her +reputation among the reasonable and understanding part of mankind. And +then again, Mr. Veal owns, that there was a purse of gold; but it was +not found in her cabinet, but in a comb-box. This looks improbable; for +that Mrs. Watson owned, that Mrs. Veal was so very careful of the key of +the cabinet, that she would trust nobody with it. And if so, no doubt +she would not trust her gold out of it. And Mrs. Veal's often drawing +her hand over her eyes, and asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits had +not impaired her, looks to me as if she did it on purpose to remind Mrs. +Bargrave of her fits, to prepare her not to think it strange that she +should put her upon writing to her brother to dispose of rings and gold, +which looked so much like a dying person's request; and it took +accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave, as the effects of her fits coming upon +her; and was one of the many instances of her wonderful love to her, and +care of her, that she should not be affrighted; which indeed appears in +her whole management, particularly in her coming to her in the day-time, +waiving the salutation, and when she was alone; and then the manner of +her parting, to prevent a second attempt to salute her.</p> + +<p>Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation a reflection, as it is +plain he does, by his endeavoring to stifle it, I cannot imagine; +because the generality believe her to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>a good spirit, her discourse +was so heavenly. Her two great errands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave in +her affliction, and to ask her forgiveness for the breach of friendship, +and with a pious discourse to encourage her. So that, after all, to +suppose that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such an invention as this from +Friday noon till Saturday noon, supposing that she knew of Mrs. Veal's +death the very first moment, without jumbling circumstances, and without +any interest too; she must be more witty, fortunate, and wicked too, +than any indifferent person, I dare say, will allow. I asked Mrs. +Bargrave several times, if she was sure she felt the gown? She answered +modestly, If my senses be to be relied on, I am sure of it. I asked her, +if she heard a sound when she clapped her hand upon her knee? She said, +she did not remember she did; but said she appeared to be as much a +substance as I did, who talked with her. And I may, said she, be as soon +persuaded, that your apparition is talking to me now, as that I did not +really see her: for I was under no manner of fear, and received her as a +friend, and parted with her as such. I would not, says she, give one +farthing to make any one believe it: I have no interest in it; nothing +but trouble is entailed upon me for a long time, for aught I know; and +had it not come to light by accident, it would never have been made +public. But now, she says, she will make her own private use of it, and +keep herself out of the way as much as she can; and so she has done +since. She says, She had a gentleman who came thirty miles to her to +hear the relation; and that she had told it to a room full of people at +a time. Several particular gentlemen have had the story from Mrs. +Bargrave's own mouth.</p> + +<p>This thing has very much affected me, and I am as well satisfied, as I +am of the best-grounded matter of fact. And why we should dispute matter +of fact, because we cannot solve things of which we can have no certain +or demonstrative notions, seems strange to me. Mrs. Bargrave's authority +and sincerity alone, would have been undoubted in any other case.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br />TO THE READER<br /></div> + +<p>The origin of the foregoing curious story seems to have been as follows:—</p> + +<p>An adventurous bookseller had ventured to print a considerable edition +of a work by the Reverend Charles Drelincourt, minister of the Calvinist +church in Paris, and translated by M. D'Assigny, under the title of "The +Christian's Defense against the Fear of Death, with several directions +how to prepare ourselves to die well." But however certain the prospect +of death, it is not so agreeable (unfortunately) as to invite the eager +contemplation of the public; and Drelincourt's book, being neglected, +lay a dead stock on the hands of the publisher. In this emergency, he +applied to De Foe to assist him (by dint of such means as were then, as +well as now, pretty well understood in the literary world) in rescuing +the unfortunate book from the literary death to which general neglect +seemed about to consign it.</p> + +<p>De Foe's genius and audacity devised a plan which, for assurance and +ingenuity, defied even the powers of Mr. Puff in the <i>Critic:</i> for who +but himself would have thought of summoning up a ghost from the grave to +bear witness in favor of a halting body of divinity? There is a +matter-of-fact, business-like style in the whole account of the +transaction, which bespeaks ineffable powers of self-possession. The +narrative is drawn up "by a gentleman, a <i>Justice of Peace</i> at +Maidstone, in Kent, a very intelligent person." And, moreover, "the +discourse is attested by a very sober gentlewoman, who lives in +Canterbury, within a few doors of the house in which Mrs. Bargrave +lives." The Justice believes his kinswoman to be of so discerning a +spirit, as not to be put upon by any fallacy—and the kinswoman +positively assures the Justice, "that the whole matter, as it is related +and laid down, is really true, and what she herself heard, as near as +may be, from Mrs. Bargrave's own mouth, who, she knows, had no reason to +invent or publish such a story, or any design to forge and tell a lie, +being a woman of so much honesty and virtue, and her whole life a +course, as it were, of piety." Skepticism itself could not resist this +triple court of evidence so artfully combined, the Justice <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>attesting +for the discerning spirit of the sober and understanding gentlewoman his +kinswoman, and his kinswoman becoming bail for the veracity of Mrs. +Bargrave. And here, gentle reader, admire the simplicity of those days. +Had Mrs. Veal's visit to her friend happened in our time, the conductors +of the daily press would have given the word, and seven gentlemen unto +the said press belonging, would, with an obedient start, have made off +for Kingston, for Canterbury, for Dover,—for Kamchatka if +necessary,—to pose the Justice, cross-examine Mrs. Bargrave, confront +the sober and understanding kinswoman, and dig Mrs. Veal up from her +grave, rather than not get to the bottom of the story. But in our time +we doubt and scrutinize; our ancestors wondered and believed.</p> + +<p>Before the story is commenced, the understanding gentlewoman (not the +Justice of Peace), who is the reporter, takes some pains to repel the +objections made against the story by some of the friends of Mrs. Veal's +brother, who consider the marvel as an aspersion on their family, and do +what they can to laugh it out of countenance. Indeed, it is allowed, +with admirable impartiality, that Mr. Veal is too much of a gentleman to +suppose Mrs. Bargrave invented the story—scandal itself could scarce +have supposed that—although one notorious liar, who is chastised +towards the conclusion of the story, ventures to throw out such an +insinuation. No reasonable or respectable person, however, could be +found to countenance the suspicion, and Mr. Veal himself opined that +Mrs. Bargrave had been driven crazy by a cruel husband, and dreamed the +whole story of the apparition. Now all this is sufficiently artful. To +have vouched the fact as universally known, and believed by every one, +<i>nem. con.</i>, would not have been half so satisfactory to a skeptic as to +allow fairly that the narrative had been impugned, and hint at the +character of one of those skeptics, and the motives of another, as +sufficient to account for their want of belief. Now to the fact itself.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bargrave and Mrs. Veal had been friends in youth, and had protested +their attachment should last as long as they lived; but when Mrs. Veal's +brother obtained an office in the customs at Dover, some cessation of +their inti<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>macy ensued, "though without any positive quarrel." Mrs. +Bargrave had removed to Canterbury, and was residing in a house of her +own, when she was suddenly interrupted by a visit from Mrs. Veal, as she +was sitting in deep contemplation of certain distresses of her own. The +visitor was in a riding-habit, and announced herself as prepared for a +distant journey (which seems to intimate that spirits have a +considerable distance to go before they arrive at their appointed +station, and that the females at least put on a <i>habit</i> for the +occasion). The spirit, for such was the seeming Mrs. Veal, continued to +waive the ceremony of salutation, both in going and coming, which will +remind the reader of a ghostly lover's reply to his mistress in the fine +old Scottish ballad:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Why should I not"> +<tr><td align='left'>Why should I come within thy bower?</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am no earthly man;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>And should I kiss thy rosy lips,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy days would not be lang.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>They then began to talk in the homely style of middle-aged ladies, and +Mrs. Veal proses concerning the conversations they had formerly held, +and the books they had read together. Her very recent experience +probably led Mrs. Veal to talk of death, and the books written on the +subject, and she pronounced <i>ex cathedrá</i>, as a dead person was best +entitled to do, that "Drelincourt's book on Death was the best book on +the subject ever written." She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, two Dutch +books which had been translated, and several others; but Drelincourt, +she said, had the clearest notions of death and the future state of any +who had handled that subject. She then asked for the work [we marvel the +edition and impress had not been mentioned] and lectured on it with +great eloquence and affection. Dr. Kenrick's <i>Ascetick</i> was also +mentioned with approbation by this critical specter [the Doctor's work +was no doubt a tenant of the shelf in some favorite publisher's shop]; +and Mr. Norris's <i>Poem on Friendship</i>, a work, which I doubt, though +honored with a ghost's approbation, we may now seek for as vainly as +Correlli tormented his memory to recover the sonata which the devil +played to him in a dream. Presently after, from former habits we may +suppose, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>guest desires a cup of tea; but, bethinking herself of her +new character, escapes from her own proposal by recollecting that Mr. +Bargrave was in the habit of breaking his wife's china. It would have +been indeed strangely out of character if the spirit had lunched, or +breakfasted upon tea and toast. Such a consummation would have sounded +as ridiculous as if the statue of the commander in <i>Don Juan</i> had not +only accepted of the invitation of the libertine to supper, but had also +committed a beefsteak to his flinty jaws and stomach of adamant. A +little more conversation ensued of a less serious nature, and tending to +show that even the passage from life to death leaves the female anxiety +about person and dress somewhat alive. The ghost asked Mrs. Bargrave +whether she did not think her very much altered, and Mrs. Bargrave of +course complimented her on her good looks. Mrs. Bargrave also admired +the gown which Mrs. Veal wore, and as a mark of her perfectly restored +confidence, the spirit led her into the important secret, that it was a +<i>scoured silk</i>, and lately made up. She informed her also of another +secret, namely, that one Mr. Breton had allowed her ten pounds a year; +and, lastly, she requested that Mrs. Bargrave would write to her +brother, and tell him how to distribute her mourning rings, and +mentioned there was a purse of gold in her cabinet. She expressed some +wish to see Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; but when that good lady went to +the next door to seek her, she found on her return the guest leaving the +house. She had got without the door, in the street, in the face of the +beast market, on a Saturday, which is market day, and stood ready to +part. She said she must be going, as she had to call upon her cousin +Watson (this appears to be a <i>gratis dictum</i> on the part of the ghost) +and, maintaining the character of mortality to the last, she quietly +turned the corner, and walked out of sight.</p> + +<p>Then came the news of Mrs. Veal's having died the day before at noon. +Says Mrs. Bargrave, "I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost two +hours." And in comes Captain Watson, and says Mrs. Veal was certainly +dead. And then come all the pieces of evidence, and especially the +striped silk gown. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, "You have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>seen her +indeed, for none knew but Mrs. Veal and I that that gown was scoured"; +and she cried that the gown was described exactly, for, said she, "I +helped her to make it up." And next we have the silly attempts made to +discredit the history. Even Mr. Veal, her brother, was obliged to allow +that the gold was found, but with a difference, and pretended it was not +found in a cabinet, but elsewhere; and, in short, we have all the gossip +of <i>says I</i>, and <i>thinks I</i>, and <i>says she</i>, and <i>thinks she</i>, which +disputed matters usually excite in a country town.</p> + +<p>When we have thus turned the tale, the seam without, it may be thought +too ridiculous to have attracted notice. But whoever will read it as +told by De Foe himself, will agree that, could the thing have happened +in reality, so it would have been told. The sobering the whole +supernatural visit into the language of the middle or low life, gives it +an air of probability even in its absurdity. The ghost of an exciseman's +housekeeper, and a seamstress, were not to converse like Brutus with his +Evil Genius. And the circumstances of scoured silks, broken tea-china, +and such like, while they are the natural topics of such persons' +conversation, would, one might have thought, be the last which an +inventor would have introduced into a pretended narrative betwixt the +dead and living. In short, the whole is so distinctly circumstantial, +that, were it not for the impossibility, or extreme improbability at +least, of such an occurrence, the evidence could not but support the +story.</p> + +<p>The effect was most wonderful. <i>Drelincourt upon Death</i>, attested by one +who could speak from experience, took an unequaled run. The copies had +hung on the bookseller's hands as heavy as a pile of lead bullets. They +now traversed the town in every direction, like the same balls +discharged from a field-piece. In short, the object of Mrs. Veal's +apparition was perfectly attained.—[See The Miscellaneous Prose Works +of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., vol. iv. p. 305, ed. 1827.]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Montague Rhodes James</span></h3> + + +<p>St. Bertrand de Comminges is a decayed town on the spurs of the +Pyrenees, not very far from Toulouse, and still nearer to +Bagnères-de-Luchon. It was the site of a bishopric until the Revolution, +and has a cathedral which is visited by a certain number of tourists. In +the spring of 1883 an Englishman arrived at this old-world place—I can +hardly dignify it with the name of city, for there are not a thousand +inhabitants. He was a Cambridge man, who had come specially from +Toulouse to see St. Bertrand's Church, and had left two friends, who +were less keen archæologists than himself, in their hotel at Toulouse, +under promise to join him on the following morning. Half an hour at the +church would satisfy <i>them</i>, and all three could then pursue their +journey in the direction of Auch. But our Englishman had come early on +the day in question, and proposed to himself to fill a note-book and to +use several dozens of plates in the process of describing and +photographing every corner of the wonderful church that dominates the +little hill of Comminges. In order to carry out this design +satisfactorily, it was necessary to monopolize the verger of the church +for the day. The verger or sacristan (I prefer the latter appellation, +inaccurate as it may be) was accordingly sent for by the somewhat +brusque lady who keeps the inn of the Chapeau Rouge; and when he came, +the Englishman found him an unexpectedly interesting object of study. It +was not in the personal appearance of the little, dry, wizened old man +that the interest lay, for he was precisely like dozens of other +church-guardians in France, but in a curious furtive, or rather hunted +and oppressed, air which he had. He was perpetually half glancing behind +him; the muscles of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>back and shoulders seemed to be hunched in a +continual nervous contraction, as if he were expecting every moment to +find himself in the clutch of an enemy. The Englishman hardly knew +whether to put him down as a man haunted by a fixed delusion, or as one +oppressed by a guilty conscience, or as an unbearably henpecked husband. +The probabilities, when reckoned up, certainly pointed to the last idea; +but, still, the impression conveyed was that of a more formidable +persecutor even than a termagant wife.</p> + +<p>However, the Englishman (let us call him Dennistoun) was soon too deep +in his note-book and too busy with his camera to give more than an +occasional glance to the sacristan. Whenever he did look at him, he +found him at no great distance, either huddling himself back against the +wall or crouching in one of the gorgeous stalls. Dennistoun became +rather fidgety after a time. Mingled suspicions that he was keeping the +old man from his <i>déjeuner</i>, that he was regarded as likely to make away +with St. Bertrand's ivory crozier, or with the dusty stuffed crocodile +that hangs over the font, began to torment him.</p> + +<p>"Won't you go home?" he said at last; "I'm quite well able to finish my +notes alone; you can lock me in if you like. I shall want at least two +hours more here, and it must be cold for you, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" said the little man, whom the suggestion seemed to throw +into a state of unaccountable terror, "such a thing cannot be thought of +for a moment. Leave monsieur alone in the church? No, no; two hours, +three hours, all will be the same to me. I have breakfasted, I am not at +all cold, with many thanks to monsieur."</p> + +<p>"Very well, my little man," quoth Dennistoun to himself: "you have been +warned, and you must take the consequences."</p> + +<p>Before the expiration of the two hours, the stalls, the enormous +dilapidated organ, the choir-screen of Bishop John de Mauléon, the +remnants of glass and tapestry, and the objects in the treasure-chamber, +had been well and truly examined; the sacristan still keeping at +Dennistoun's heels, and every now and then whipping round as if he had +been stung, when one or other of the strange noises that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>trouble a +large empty building fell on his ear. Curious noises they were +sometimes.</p> + +<p>"Once," Dennistoun said to me, "I could have sworn I heard a thin +metallic voice laughing high up in the tower. I darted an inquiring +glance at my sacristan. He was white to the lips. 'It is he—that is—it +is no one; the door is locked,' was all he said, and we looked at each +other for a full minute."</p> + +<p>Another little incident puzzled Dennistoun a good deal. He was examining +a large dark picture that hangs behind the altar, one of a series +illustrating the miracles of St. Bertrand. The composition of the +picture is well-nigh indecipherable, but there is a Latin legend below, +which runs thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Qualiter S. Bertrandus liberavit hominem quem +diabolus diu volebat strangulare." (How St. +Bertrand delivered a man whom the Devil long +sought to strangle.) </p></div> + +<p>Dennistoun was turning to the sacristan with a smile and a jocular +remark of some sort on his lips, but he was confounded to see the old +man on his knees, gazing at the picture with the eye of a suppliant in +agony, his hands tightly clasped, and a rain of tears on his cheeks. +Dennistoun naturally pretended to have noticed nothing, but the question +would not away from him, "Why should a daub of this kind affect any one +so strongly?" He seemed to himself to be getting some sort of clue to +the reason of the strange look that had been puzzling him all the day: +the man must be monomaniac; but what was his monomania?</p> + +<p>It was nearly five o'clock; the short day was drawing in, and the church +began to fill with shadows, while the curious noises—the muffled +footfalls and distant talking voices that had been perceptible all +day—seemed, no doubt because of the fading light and the consequently +quickened sense of hearing, to become more frequent and insistent.</p> + +<p>The sacristan began for the first time to show signs of hurry and +impatience. He heaved a sigh of relief when camera and note-book were +finally packed up and stowed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>away, and hurriedly beckoned Dennistoun to +the western door of the church, under the tower. It was time to ring the +Angelus. A few pulls at the reluctant rope, and the great bell +Bertrande, high in the tower, began to speak, and swung her voice up +among the pines and down to the valleys, loud with mountain-streams, +calling the dwellers on those lonely hills to remember and repeat the +salutation of the angel to her whom he called Blessed among women. With +that a profound quiet seemed to fall for the first time that day upon +the little town, and Dennistoun and the sacristan went out of the +church.</p> + +<p>On the doorstep they fell into conversation.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur seemed to interest himself in the old choir-books in the +sacristy."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. I was going to ask you if there were a library in the +town."</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur; perhaps there used to be one belonging to the Chapter, +but it is now such a small place——" Here came a strange pause of +irresolution, as it seemed; then, with a sort of plunge, he went on: +"But if monsieur is <i>amateur des vieux livres</i>, I have at home something +that might interest him. It is not a hundred yards."</p> + +<p>At once all Dennistoun's cherished dreams of finding priceless +manuscripts in untrodden corners of France flashed up, to die down again +the next moment. It was probably a stupid missal of Plantin's printing, +about 1580. Where was the likelihood that a place so near Toulouse would +not have been ransacked long ago by collectors? However, it would be +foolish not to go; he would reproach himself for ever after if he +refused. So they set off. On the way the curious irresolution and sudden +determination of the sacristan recurred to Dennistoun, and he wondered +in a shamefaced way whether he was being decoyed into some purlieu to be +made away with as a supposed rich Englishman. He contrived, therefore, +to begin talking with his guide, and to drag in, in a rather clumsy +fashion, the fact that he expected two friends to join him early the +next morning. To his surprise, the announcement seemed to relieve the +sacristan at once of some of the anxiety that oppressed him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is well," he said quite brightly—"that is very well. Monsieur +will travel in company with his friends; they will be always near him. +It is a good thing to travel thus in company—sometimes."</p> + +<p>The last word appeared to be added as an afterthought, and to bring with +it a relapse into gloom for the poor little man.</p> + +<p>They were soon at the house, which was one rather larger than its +neighbors, stone-built, with a shield carved over the door, the shield +of Alberic de Mauléon, a collateral descendant, Dennistoun tells me, of +Bishop John de Mauléon. This Alberic was a Canon of Comminges from 1680 +to 1701. The upper windows of the mansion were boarded up, and the whole +place bore, as does the rest of Comminges, the aspect of decaying age.</p> + +<p>Arrived on his doorstep, the sacristan paused a moment.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he said, "perhaps, after all, monsieur has not the time?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all—lots of time—nothing to do till to-morrow. Let us see what +it is you have got."</p> + +<p>The door was opened at this point, and a face looked out, a face far +younger than the sacristan's, but bearing something of the same +distressing look: only here it seemed to be the mark, not so much of +fear for personal safety as of acute anxiety on behalf of another. +Plainly, the owner of the face was the sacristan's daughter; and, but +for the expression I have described, she was a handsome girl enough. She +brightened up considerably on seeing her father accompanied by an +able-bodied stranger. A few remarks passed between father and daughter, +of which Dennistoun only caught these words, said by the sacristan, "He +was laughing in the church," words which were answered only by a look of +terror from the girl.</p> + +<p>But in another minute they were in the sitting-room of the house, a +small, high chamber with a stone floor, full of moving shadows cast by a +wood-fire that flickered on a great hearth. Something of the character +of an oratory was imparted to it by a tall crucifix, which reached +almost to the ceiling on one side; the figure was painted of the natural +colors, the cross was black. Under this stood a chest of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>some age and +solidity, and when a lamp had been brought, and chairs set, the +sacristan went to this chest, and produced therefrom, with growing +excitement and nervousness, as Dennistoun thought, a large book wrapped +in a white cloth, on which cloth a cross was rudely embroidered in red +thread. Even before the wrapping had been removed, Dennistoun began to +be interested by the size and shape of the volume. "Too large for a +missal," he thought, "and not the shape of an antiphoner; perhaps it may +be something good, after all." The next moment the book was open, and +Dennistoun felt that he had at last lit upon something better than good. +Before him lay a large folio, bound, perhaps, late in the seventeenth +century, with the arms of Canon Alberic de Mauléon stamped in gold on +the sides. There may have been a hundred and fifty leaves of paper in +the book, and on almost every one of them was fastened a leaf from an +illuminated manuscript. Such a collection Dennistoun had hardly dreamed +of in his wildest moments. Here were ten leaves from a copy of Genesis, +illustrated with pictures, which could not be later than 700 +<span class="smcap">a.d.</span> Further on was a complete set of pictures from a psalter, +of English execution, of the very finest kind that the thirteenth +century could produce; and, perhaps best of all, there were twenty +leaves of uncial writing in Latin, which, as a few words seen here and +there told him at once, must belong to some very early unknown patristic +treatise. Could it possibly be a fragment of the copy of Papias "On the +Words of Our Lord," which was known to have existed as late as the +twelfth century at Nîmes?<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> In any case, his mind was made up; that +book must return to Cambridge with him, even if he had to draw the whole +of his balance from the bank and stay at St. Bertrand till the money +came. He glanced up at the sacristan to see if his face yielded any hint +that the book was for sale. The sacristan was pale, and his lips were +working.</p> + +<p>"If monsieur will turn on to the end," he said.</p> + +<p>So monsieur turned on, meeting new treasures at every rise of a leaf; +and at the end of the book he came upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>two sheets of paper, of much +more recent date than anything he had yet seen, which puzzled him +considerably. They must be contemporary, he decided, with the +unprincipled Canon Alberic, who had doubtless plundered the Chapter +library of St. Bertrand to form this priceless scrapbook. On the first +of the paper sheets was a plan, carefully drawn and instantly +recognizable by a person who knew the ground, of the south aisle and +cloisters of St. Bertrand's. There were curious signs looking like +planetary symbols, and a few Hebrew words in the corners; and in the +northwest angle of the cloister was a cross drawn in gold paint. Below +the plan were some lines of writing in Latin, which ran thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Responsa 12<sup>mi</sup> Dec. 1694. Interrogatum est: +Inveniamne? Responsum est: Invenies. Fiamne dives? +Fies. Vivamne invidendus? Vives. Moriarne in lecto +meo? Ita." (Answers of the 12th of December, 1694. +It was asked: Shall I find it? Answer: Thou shalt. +Shall I become rich? Thou wilt. Shall I live an +object of envy? Thou wilt. Shall I die in my bed? +Thou wilt.) </p></div> + +<p>"A good specimen of the treasure-hunter's record—quite reminds one of +Mr. Minor-Canon Quatremain in 'Old St. Paul's,'" was Dennistoun's +comment, and he turned the leaf.</p> + +<p>What he then saw impressed him, as he has often told me, more than he +could have conceived any drawing or picture capable of impressing him. +And, though the drawing he saw is no longer in existence, there is a +photograph of it (which I possess) which fully bears out that statement. +The picture in question was a sepia drawing at the end of the +seventeenth century, representing, one would say at first sight, a +Biblical scene; for the architecture (the picture represented an +interior) and the figures had that semi-classical flavor about them +which the artists of two hundred years ago thought appropriate to +illustrations of the Bible. On the right was a king on his throne, the +throne elevated on twelve steps, a canopy overhead, soldiers on either +side—evidently King Solomon. He was bending forward with outstretched +scepter, in attitude of command; his face expressed horror and disgust, +yet there was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>in it also the mark of imperious command and confident +power. The left half of the picture was the strangest, however. The +interest plainly centered there. On the pavement before the throne were +grouped four soldiers, surrounding a crouching figure which must be +described in a moment. A fifth soldier lay dead on the pavement, his +neck distorted, and his eyeballs starting from his head. The four +surrounding guards were looking at the King. In their faces the +sentiment of horror was intensified; they seemed, in fact, only +restrained from flight by their implicit trust in their master. All this +terror was plainly excited by the being that crouched in their midst. I +entirely despair of conveying by any words the impression which this +figure makes upon any one who looks at it. I recollect once showing the +photograph of the drawing to a lecturer on morphology—a person of, I +was going to say, abnormally sane and unimaginative habits of mind. He +absolutely refused to be alone for the rest of that evening, and he told +me afterwards that for many nights he had not dared to put out his light +before going to sleep. However, the main traits of the figure I can at +least indicate. At first you saw only a mass of coarse, matted black +hair; presently it was seen that this covered a body of fearful +thinness, almost a skeleton, but with the muscles standing out like +wires. The hands were of a dusky pallor, covered, like the body, with +long, coarse hairs, and hideously taloned. The eyes, touched in with a +burning yellow, had intensely black pupils, and were fixed upon the +throned king with a look of beast-like hate. Imagine one of the awful +bird-catching spiders of South America translated into human form, and +endowed with intelligence just less than human, and you will have some +faint conception of the terror inspired by the appalling effigy. One +remark is universally made by those to whom I have shown the picture: +"It was drawn from the life."</p> + +<p>As soon as the first shock of his irresistible fright had subsided, +Dennistoun stole a look at his hosts. The sacristan's hands were pressed +upon his eyes; his daughter, looking up at the cross on the wall, was +telling her beads feverishly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last the question was asked, "Is this book for sale?"</p> + +<p>There was the same hesitation, the same plunge of determination, that he +had noticed before, and then came the welcome answer, "If monsieur +pleases."</p> + +<p>"How much do you ask for it?"</p> + +<p>"I will take two hundred and fifty francs."</p> + +<p>This was confounding. Even a collector's conscience is sometimes +stirred, and Dennistoun's conscience was tenderer than a collector's.</p> + +<p>"My good man!" he said again and again, "your book is worth far more +than two hundred and fifty francs, I assure you—far more."</p> + +<p>But the answer did not vary: "I will take two hundred and fifty francs, +not more."</p> + +<p>There was really no possibility of refusing such a chance. The money was +paid, the receipt signed, a glass of wine drunk over the transaction, +and then the sacristan seemed to become a new man. He stood upright, he +ceased to throw those suspicious glances behind him, he actually laughed +or tried to laugh. Dennistoun rose to go.</p> + +<p>"I shall have the honor of accompanying monsieur to his hotel?" said the +sacristan.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, thanks! it isn't a hundred yards. I know the way perfectly, and +there is a moon."</p> + +<p>The offer was pressed three or four times, and refused as often.</p> + +<p>"Then, monsieur will summon me if—if he finds occasion; he will keep +the middle of the road, the sides are so rough."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly," said Dennistoun, who was impatient to examine +his prize by himself; and he stepped out into the passage with his book +under his arm.</p> + +<p>Here he was met by the daughter; she, it appeared, was anxious to do a +little business on her own account; perhaps, like Gehazi, to "take +somewhat" from the foreigner whom her father had spared.</p> + +<p>"A silver crucifix and chain for the neck; monsieur would perhaps be +good enough to accept it?"</p> + +<p>Well, really, Dennistoun hadn't much use for these things. What did +mademoiselle want for it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing in the world. Monsieur is more than welcome to it."</p> + +<p>The tone in which this and much more was said was unmistakably genuine, +so that Dennistoun was reduced to profuse thanks, and submitted to have +the chain put round his neck. It really seemed as if he had rendered the +father and daughter some service which they hardly knew how to repay. As +he set off with his book they stood at the door looking after him, and +they were still looking when he waved them a last good-night from the +steps of the Chapeau Rouge.</p> + +<p>Dinner was over, and Dennistoun was in his bedroom, shut up alone with +his acquisition. The landlady had manifested a particular interest in +him since he had told her that he had paid a visit to the sacristan and +bought an old book from him. He thought, too, that he had heard a +hurried dialogue between her and the said sacristan in the passage +outside the <i>salle à manger;</i> some words to the effect that "Pierre and +Bertrand would be sleeping in the house" had closed the conversation.</p> + +<p>At this time a growing feeling of discomfort had been creeping over +him—nervous reaction, perhaps, after the delight of his discovery. +Whatever it was, it resulted in a conviction that there was some one +behind him, and that he was far more comfortable with his back to the +wall. All this, of course, weighed light in the balance as against the +obvious value of the collection he had acquired. And now, as I said, he +was alone in his bedroom, taking stock of Canon Alberic's treasures, in +which every moment revealed something more charming.</p> + +<p>"Bless Canon Alberic!" said Dennistoun, who had an inveterate habit of +talking to himself. "I wonder where he is now? Dear me! I wish that +landlady would learn to laugh in a more cheering manner; it makes one +feel as if there was some one dead in the house. Half a pipe more, did +you say? I think perhaps you are right. I wonder what that crucifix is +that the young woman insisted on giving me? Last century, I suppose. +Yes, probably. It is rather a nuisance of a thing to have round one's +neck—just too heavy. Most likely her father had been wearing it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>for +years. I think I might give it a clean up before I put it away."</p> + +<p>He had taken the crucifix off, and laid it on the table, when his +attention was caught by an object lying on the red cloth just by his +left elbow. Two or three ideas of what it might be flitted through his +brain with their own incalculable quickness.</p> + +<p>"A penwiper? No, no such thing in the house. A rat? No, too black. A +large spider? I trust to goodness not—no. Good God! a hand like the +hand in that picture!"</p> + +<p>In another infinitesimal flash he had taken it in. Pale, dusky skin, +covering nothing but bones and tendons of appalling strength; coarse +black hairs, longer than ever grew on a human hand; nails rising from +the ends of the fingers and curving sharply down and forward, gray, +horny and wrinkled.</p> + +<p>He flew out of his chair with deadly, inconceivable terror clutching at +his heart. The shape, whose left hand rested on the table, was rising to +a standing posture behind his seat, its right hand crooked above his +scalp. There was black and tattered drapery about it; the coarse hair +covered it as in the drawing. The lower jaw was thin—what can I call +it?—shallow, like a beast's; teeth showed behind the black lips; there +was no nose; the eyes, of a fiery yellow, against which the pupils +showed black and intense, and the exulting hate and thirst to destroy +life which shone there, were the most horrifying feature in the whole +vision. There was intelligence of a kind in them—intelligence beyond +that of a beast, below that of a man.</p> + +<p>The feelings which this horror stirred in Dennistoun were the intensest +physical fear and the most profound mental loathing. What did he do? +What could he do? He has never been quite certain what words he said, +but he knows that he spoke, that he grasped blindly at the silver +crucifix, that he was conscious of a movement towards him on the part of +the demon, and that he screamed with the voice of an animal in hideous +pain.</p> + +<p>Pierre and Bertrand, the two sturdy little serving-men, who rushed in, +saw nothing, but felt themselves thrust aside by something that passed +out between them, and found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> Dennistoun in a swoon. They sat up with him +that night, and his two friends were at St. Bertrand by nine o'clock +next morning. He himself, though still shaken and nervous, was almost +himself by that time, and his story found credence with them, though not +until they had seen the drawing and talked with the sacristan.</p> + +<p>Almost at dawn the little man had come to the inn on some pretense, and +had listened with the deepest interest to the story retailed by the +landlady. He showed no surprise.</p> + +<p>"It is he—it is he! I have seen him myself," was his only comment; and +to all questionings but one reply was vouchsafed: "Deux fois je l'ai vu; +mille fois je l'ai senti." He would tell them nothing of the provenance +of the book, nor any details of his experiences. "I shall soon sleep, +and my rest will be sweet. Why should you trouble me?" he said.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>We shall never know what he or Canon Alberic de Mauléon suffered. At the +back of that fateful drawing were some lines of writing which may be +supposed to throw light on the situation:</p> + +<div class='center'><br /> +"Contradictio Salomonis cum demonio nocturno.<br /> +Albericus de Mauleone delineavit.<br /> +V. Deus in adiutorium. Ps. Qui habitat.<br /> +Sancte Bertrande, demoniorum effugator, intercede pro me miserrimo.<br /> +Primum uidi nocte 12<sup>mi</sup> Dec. 1694: uidebo mox ultimum.<br /></div> +<div class='blockquot'><br />Peccaui et passus sum, plura adhuc passurus. Dec. 29, 1701."<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /> +<br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>I have never quite understood what was Dennistoun's view of the events +I have narrated. He quoted to me once a test from Ecclesiasticus: "Some +spirits there be that are created for vengeance, and in their fury lay +on sore strokes." On another occasion he said: "Isaiah was a very +sensible man; doesn't he say something about night monsters living in +the ruins of Babylon? These things are rather beyond us at present."</p> + +<p>Another confidence of his impressed me rather, and I sympathized with +it. We had been, last year, to Comminges, to see Canon Alberic's tomb. +It is a great marble erection with an effigy of the Canon in a large wig +and soutane, and an elaborate eulogy of his learning below. I saw +Dennistoun talking for some time with the Vicar of St. Bertrand's, and +as we drove away he said to me: "I hope it isn't wrong: you know I am a +Presbyterian—but I—I believe there will be 'saying of Mass and singing +of dirges' for Alberic de Mauléon's rest." Then he added, with a touch +of the Northern British in his tone, "I had no notion they came so +dear."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The book is in the Wentworth Collection at Cambridge. The drawing was +photographed and then burnt by Dennistoun on the day when he left +Comminges on the occasion of his first visit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS</h2> + +<h4>OR,</h4> + +<h3>THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN</h3> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Edward Bulwer-Lytton</span></h3> + + +<p>A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to me +one day, as if between jest and earnest,—"Fancy! since we last met, I +have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."</p> + +<p>"Really haunted?—and by what? ghosts?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't answer that question: all I know is this—six weeks ago +my wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a quiet +street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill, 'Apartments +Furnished.' The situation suited us; we entered the house—liked the +rooms—engaged them by the week—and left them the third day. No power +on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay longer; and I don't +wonder at it."</p> + +<p>"What did you see?"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me—I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious +dreamer—nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my +affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence of +your own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so much what we saw or +heard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were the dupes of our +own excited fancy, or the victims of imposture in others) that drove us +away, as it was an undefinable terror which seized both of us whenever +we passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room, in which we neither +saw nor heard anything. And the strangest marvel of all was, that for +once in my life I agreed with my wife, silly woman <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>though she be—and +allowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a fourth +in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning I summoned the woman +who kept the house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms did +not quite suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said, dryly, +'I know why: you have stayed longer than any other lodger. Few ever +stayed a second night; none before you a third. But I take it they have +been very kind to you.'</p> + +<p>"'They—who?' I asked, affecting to smile.</p> + +<p>"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them; I +remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not as a +servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I don't +care—I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall be with them, +and in this house still.' The woman spoke with so dreary a calmness, +that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my conversing with her +further. I paid for my week, and too happy were my wife and I to get off +so cheaply."</p> + +<p>"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better than to +sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which you +left so ignominiously."</p> + +<p>My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straight +towards the house thus indicated.</p> + +<p>It is situated on the North side of Oxford Street (in a dull but +respectable thoroughfare). I found the house shut up—no bill at the +window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy, +collecting pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to me, "Do you +want any one at that house, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I heard it was to be let."</p> + +<p>"Let!—why, the woman who kept it is dead—has been dead these three +weeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr. J—— offered +ever so much. He offered mother, who chars for him, £1 a week just to +open and shut the windows, and she would not."</p> + +<p>"Would not!—and why?"</p> + +<p>"The house is haunted: and the old woman who kept it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>was found dead in +her bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled her."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!—you speak of Mr. J——. Is he the owner of the house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where does he live?"</p> + +<p>"In G—— Street, No. —."</p> + +<p>"What is he?—in any business?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir—nothing particular; a single gentleman."</p> + +<p>I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal information, and +proceeded to Mr. J——, in G—— Street, which was close by the street +that boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to find Mr. J—— at +home—an elderly man, with intelligent countenance and prepossessing +manners.</p> + +<p>I communicated my name and my business frankly. I said I heard the house +was considered to be haunted—that I had a strong desire to examine a +house with so equivocal a reputation—that I should be greatly obliged +if he would allow me to hire it, though only for a night. I was willing +to pay for that privilege whatever he might be inclined to ask. "Sir," +said Mr. J——, with great courtesy, "the house is at your service, for +as short or as long a time as you please. Rent is out of the +question—the obligation will be on my side should you be able to +discover the cause of the strange phenomena which at present deprive it +of all value. I cannot let it, for I cannot even get a servant to keep +it in order or answer the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I may +use that expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night the +disturbances are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more alarming +character. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks ago was a +pauper whom I took out of a workhouse, for in her childhood she had been +known to some of my family, and had once been in such good circumstances +that she had rented that house of my uncle. She was a woman of superior +education and strong mind, and was the only person I could ever induce +to remain in the house. Indeed, since her death, which was sudden, and +the coroner's inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighborhood, I +have so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>despaired of finding any person to take charge of the house, +much more a tenant, that I would willingly let it rent-free for a year +to any one who would pay its rates and taxes."</p> + +<p>"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister character?"</p> + +<p>"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old woman +I spoke of said it was haunted when she rented it between thirty and +forty years ago. The fact is, that my life has been spent in the East +Indies, and in the civil service of the Company. I returned to England +last year, on inheriting the fortune of an uncle, among whose +possessions was the house in question. I found it shut up and +uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that no one would inhabit +it. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a story. I spent some money in +repairing it—added to its old-fashioned furniture a few modern +articles—advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. He was a +colonel retired on half-pay. He came in with his family, a son and a +daughter, and four or five servants: they all left the house the next +day; and, although each of them declared that he had seen something +different from that which had scared the others, a something still was +equally terrible to all. I really could not in conscience sue, nor even +blame, the colonel for breach of agreement. Then I put in the old woman +I have spoken of, and she was empowered to let the house in apartments. +I never had one lodger who stayed more than three days. I do not tell +you their stories—to no two lodgers have there been exactly the same +phenomena repeated. It is better that you should judge for yourself, +than enter the house with an imagination influenced by previous +narratives; only be prepared to see and to hear something or other, and +take whatever precautions you yourself please."</p> + +<p>"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone in +that house. My curiosity is not satisfied but it is quenched. I have no +desire to renew the experiment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, that +I am not sufficiently candid; and unless your interest be exceedingly +eager <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly add, that I advise +you not to pass a night in that house."</p> + +<p>"My interest <i>is</i> exceedingly keen," said I, "and though only a coward +will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to him, yet my +nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have the +right to rely on them—even in a haunted house."</p> + +<p>Mr. J—— said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of +his bureau, gave them to me—and, thanking him cordially for his +frankness, and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off my prize.</p> + +<p>Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned my +confidential servant—a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper, and +as free from superstitious prejudices as any one I could think of.</p> + +<p>"F——," said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were at +not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted by +a headless apparition? Well, I have heard of a house in London which, I +have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep there +to-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that something will allow +itself to be seen or to be heard—something, perhaps, excessively +horrible. Do you think if I take you with me, I may rely on your +presence of mind, whatever may happen?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir! pray trust me," answered F——, grinning with delight.</p> + +<p>"Very well; then here are the keys of the house—this is the address. Go +now—select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not +been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire—air the bed well—see, of +course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take with you my +revolver and my dagger—so much for my weapons—arm yourself equally +well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a +sorry couple of Englishmen."</p> + +<p>I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had +not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had +plighted my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, +as is my habit. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's Essays. I +thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there was so much +of the healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the subjects, +that it would serve as an antidote against the influence of +superstitious fancy.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and +strolled leisurely towards the haunted house. I took with me a favorite +dog—an exceedingly sharp, bold and vigilant bull-terrier—a dog fond of +prowling about strange ghostly corners and passages at night in search +of rats—a dog of dogs for a ghost.</p> + +<p>It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast. +Still there was a moon—faint and sickly, but still a moon—and if the +clouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter.</p> + +<p>I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful +smile.</p> + +<p>"All right, sir, and very comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard anything +remarkable?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer."</p> + +<p>"What?—what?"</p> + +<p>"The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or twice small noises +like whispers close at my ear—nothing more."</p> + +<p>"You are not at all frightened?"</p> + +<p>"I! not a bit of it, sir," and the man's bold look reassured me on one +point—viz., that happen what might, he would not desert me.</p> + +<p>We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my attention was now +drawn to my dog. He had at first run in eagerly enough, but had sneaked +back to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out. After +patting him on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog seemed to +reconcile himself to the situation, and followed me and F—— through +the house, but keeping close at my heels instead of hurrying +inquisitively in advance, which was his usual and normal habit in all +strange places. We first visited the subterranean apartments, the +kitchen and other offices, and especially the cellars, in which last +there were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>two or three bottles of wine still left in a bin, covered +with cobwebs, and evidently, by their appearance, undisturbed for many +years. It was clear that the ghosts were not wine-bibbers. For the rest +we discovered nothing of interest. There was a gloomy little backyard +with very high walls. The stones of this yard were very damp; and what +with the damp, and what with the dust and smoke-grime on the pavement, +our feet left a slight impression where we passed.</p> + +<p>And now appeared the first strange phenomenon witnessed by myself in +this strange abode. I saw, just before me, the print of a foot suddenly +form itself, as it were. I stopped, caught hold of my servant, and +pointed to it. In advance of that footprint as suddenly dropped another. +We both saw it. I advanced quickly to the place; the footprint kept +advancing before me, a small footprint—the foot of a child; the +impression was too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but it +seemed to us both that it was the print of a naked foot. This phenomenon +ceased when we arrived at the opposite wall, nor did it repeat itself on +returning. We remounted the stairs, and entered the rooms on the ground +floor, a dining-parlor, a small back parlor, and a still smaller third +room that had been probably appropriated to a footman—all still as +death. We then visited the drawing-rooms, which seemed fresh and new. In +the front room I seated myself in an armchair. F—— placed on the table +the candlestick with which he had lighted us. I told him to shut the +door. As he turned to do so, a chair opposite to me moved from the wall +quickly and noiselessly, and dropped itself about a yard from my own +chair, immediately fronting it.</p> + +<p>"Why, this is better than the turning tables," said I, with a +half-laugh; and as I laughed, my dog put back his head and howled.</p> + +<p>F——, coming back, had not observed the movement of the chair. He +employed himself now in stilling the dog. I continued to gaze on the +chair, and fancied I saw on it a pale blue misty outline of a human +figure, but an outline so indistinct that I could only distrust my own +vision. The dog now was quiet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Put back that chair opposite me," said I to F——; "put it back to the +wall."</p> + +<p>F—— obeyed. "Was that you, sir?" said he, turning abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I!—what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the shoulder—just +here."</p> + +<p>"No," said I. "But we have jugglers present, and though we may not +discover their tricks, we shall catch <i>them</i> before they frighten <i>us</i>."</p> + +<p>We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms—in fact, they felt so damp +and so chilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We locked the +doors of the drawing-rooms—a precaution which, I should observe, we had +taken with all the rooms we had searched below. The bedroom my servant +had selected for me was the best on the floor—a large one, with two +windows fronting the street. The four-posted bed, which took up no +inconsiderable space, was opposite to the fire, which burnt clear and +bright; a door in the wall to the left, between the bed and the window, +communicated with the room which my servant appropriated to himself. +This last was a small room with a sofa-bed, and had no communication +with the landing-place—no other door but that which conducted to the +bedroom I was to occupy. On either side of my fireplace was a cupboard, +without locks, flush with the wall and covered with the same dull-brown +paper. We examined these cupboards—only hooks to suspend female +dresses—nothing else; we sounded the walls—evidently solid—the outer +walls of the building. Having finished the survey of these apartments, +warmed myself a few moments, and lighted my cigar, I then, still +accompanied by F——, went forth to complete my reconnoiter. In the +landing-place there was another door; it was closed firmly. "Sir," said +my servant, in surprise, "I unlocked this door with all the others when +I first came; it cannot have got locked from the inside, for——"</p> + +<p>Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which neither of us then +was touching, opened quietly of itself. We looked at each other a single +instant. The same thought seized both—some human agency might be +detected here. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>rushed in first, my servant followed. A small blank +dreary room without furniture—few empty boxes and hampers in a +corner—a small window—the shutters closed—not even a fireplace—no +other door than that by which we had entered—no carpet on the floor, +and the floor seemed very old, uneven, worm-eaten, mended here and +there, as was shown by the whiter patches on the wood; but no living +being, and no visible place in which a living being could have hidden. +As we stood gazing round, the door by which we had entered closed as +quietly as it had before opened: we were imprisoned.</p> + +<p>For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror. Not so my +servant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, sir; I could break the +trumpery door with a kick of my foot."</p> + +<p>"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking off the vague +apprehension that had seized me, "while I unclose the shutters and see +what is without."</p> + +<p>I unbarred the shutters—the window looked on the little back yard I +have before described; there was no ledge without—nothing to break the +sheer descent of the wall. No man getting out of that window would have +found any footing till he had fallen on the stones below.</p> + +<p>F——, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door. He now turned +round to me and asked my permission to use force. And I should here +state, in justice to the servant, that, far from evincing any +superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gayety amidst +circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration, and made me +congratulate myself on having secured a companion in every way fitted to +the occasion. I willingly gave him the permission he required. But +though he was a remarkably strong man, his force was as idle as his +milder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest kick. +Breathless and panting, he desisted. I then tried the door myself, +equally in vain. As I ceased from the effort, again that creep of horror +came over me; but this time it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as if +some strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the chinks of +that rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere with a venomous influence +hostile to human life. The door now very slowly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>and quietly opened as +of its own accord. We precipitated ourselves into the landing-place. We +both saw a large pale light—as large as the human figure but shapeless +and unsubstantial—move before us, and ascend the stairs that led from +the landing into the attics. I followed the light, and my servant +followed me. It entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, of +which the door stood open. I entered in the same instant. The light then +collapsed into a small globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid; rested +a moment on a bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished.</p> + +<p>We approached the bed and examined it—a half-tester, such as is +commonly found in attics devoted to servants. On the drawers that stood +near it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle still +left in a rent half repaired. The kerchief was covered with dust; +probably it had belonged to the old woman who had last died in that +house, and this might have been her sleeping room. I had sufficient +curiosity to open the drawers: there were a few odds and ends of female +dress, and two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. +I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters. We found nothing +else in the room worth noticing—nor did the light reappear; but we +distinctly heard, as we turned to go, a pattering footfall on the +floor—just before us. We went through the other attics (in all four), +the footfall still preceding us. Nothing to be seen—nothing but the +footfall heard. I had the letters in my hand: just as I was descending +the stairs I distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint soft effort +made to draw the letters from my clasp. I only held them the more +tightly, and the effort ceased.</p> + +<p>We regained the bedchamber appropriated to myself, and I then remarked +that my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He was thrusting +himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was impatient to examine the +letters; and while I read them, my servant opened a little box in which +he had deposited the weapons I had ordered him to bring; took them out, +placed them on a table close at my bed-head, and then occupied himself +in soothing the dog, who, however, seemed to heed him very little.</p> + +<p>The letters were short—they were dated; the dates ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>actly thirty-five +years ago. They were evidently from a lover to his mistress, or a +husband to some young wife. Not only the terms of expression, but a +distinct reference to a former voyage, indicated the writer to have been +a seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were those of a man imperfectly +educated, but still the language itself was forcible. In the expressions +of endearment there was a kind of rough wild love; but here and there +were dark and unintelligible hints at some secret not of love—some +secret that seemed of crime. "We ought to love each other," was one of +the sentences I remember, "for how every one else would execrate us if +all was known." Again: "Don't let any one be in the same room with you +at night—you talk in your sleep." And again: "What's done can't be +undone; and I tell you there's nothing against us unless the dead could +come to life." Here there was underlined in a better handwriting (a +female's), "They do!" At the end of the letter latest in date the same +female hand had written these words: "Lost at sea the 4th of June, the +same day as ——."</p> + +<p>I put down the letters, and began to muse over their contents.</p> + +<p>Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell might +unsteady my nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit state to +cope with whatever of marvelous the advancing night might bring forth. I +roused myself—laid the letters on the table—stirred up the fire, which +was still bright and cheering—and opened my volume of Macaulay. I read +quietly enough till about half-past eleven. I then threw myself dressed +upon the bed, and told my servant he might retire to his own room, but +must keep himself awake. I bade him leave open the door between the two +rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the table by my +bed-head. I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly resumed my +Macaulay. Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearthrug, +seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes I felt an +exceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, like a sudden draught. I fancied +the door to my right, communicating with the landing-place, must have +got open; but no—it was closed. I then turned my glance to my left, and +saw the flame of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>candles violently swayed as by a wind. At the same +moment the watch beside the revolver softly slid from the table—softly, +softly—no visible hand—it was gone. I sprang up, seizing the revolver +with the one hand, the dagger with other: I was not willing that my +weapons should share the fate of the watch. Thus armed, I looked round +the floor—no sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were +now heard at the bed-head; my servant called out, "Is that you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No; be on your guard."</p> + +<p>The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears moving +quickly backwards and forwards. He kept his eyes fixed on me with a look +so strange that he concentered all my attention on himself. Slowly he +rose up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly rigid, and with the +same wild stare. I had no time, however, to examine the dog. Presently +my servant emerged from his room; and if ever I saw horror in the human +face, it was then. I should not have recognized him had we met in the +street, so altered was every lineament. He passed by me quickly, saying +in a whisper that seemed scarcely to come from his lips, "Run—run! it +is after me!" He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and +rushed forth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him +to stop; but, without heeding me, he bounded down the stairs, clinging +to the balusters, and taking several steps at a time. I heard, where I +stood, the street-door open—heard it again clap to. I was left alone in +the haunted house.</p> + +<p>It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not to +follow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly a +flight. I re-entered my room, closing the door after me, and proceeded +cautiously into the interior chamber. I encountered nothing to justify +my servant's terror. I again carefully examined the walls, to see if +there were any concealed door. I could find no trace of one—not even a +seam in the dull-brown paper with which the room was hung. How, then, +had the <span class="smcap">Thing</span>, whatever it was, which had so scared him, +obtained ingress except through my own chamber?</p> + +<p>I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>opened upon the +interior one, and stood on the hearth, expectant and prepared. I now +perceived that the dog had slunk into an angle of the wall, and was +pressing himself close against it, as if literally striving to force his +way into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; the poor brute was +evidently beside itself with terror. It showed all its teeth, the slaver +dropping from its jaws, and would certainly have bitten me if I had +touched it. It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at the +Zoological Gardens a rabbit fascinated by a serpent, cowering in a +corner, may form some idea of the anguish which the dog exhibited. +Finding all efforts to soothe the animal in vain, and fearing that his +bite might be as venomous in that state as in the madness of +hydrophobia, I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside the +fire, seated myself, and recommenced my Macaulay.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rather +a coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I may be +pardoned if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical remarks.</p> + +<p>As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be precisely +proportioned to familiarity with the circumstances that lead to it, so I +should say that I had been long sufficiently familiar with all +experiments that appertain to the Marvelous. I had witnessed many very +extraordinary phenomena in various parts of the world—phenomena that +would be either totally disbelieved if I stated them, or ascribed to +supernatural agencies. Now, my theory is that the Supernatural is the +Impossible, and that what is called supernatural is only a something in +the laws of nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore, +if a ghost rise before me, I have not the right to say, "So, then, the +supernatural is possible," but rather, "So, then, the apparition of a +ghost is, contrary to received opinion, within the laws of +nature—<i>i.e.</i>, not supernatural."</p> + +<p>Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed in all the wonders +which the amateurs of mystery in our age record as facts, a material +living agency is always required. On the continent you will find still +magicians who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for the moment +that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>they assert truly, still the living material form of the magician +is present; and he is the material agency by which, from some +constitutional peculiarities, certain strange phenomena are represented +to your natural senses.</p> + +<p>Accept, again, as truthful, the tales of spirit Manifestation in +America—musical or other sounds—writings on paper, produced by no +discernible hand—articles of furniture moved without apparent human +agency—or the actual sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seem +to belong—still there must be found the <span class="smcap">Medium</span> or living +being, with constitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining these +signs. In fine, in all such marvels, supposing even that there is no +imposture, there must be a human being like ourselves by whom, or +through whom, the effects presented to human beings are produced. It is +so with the now familiar phenomena of mesmerism or electro-biology; the +mind of the person operated on is affected through a material living +agent. Nor, supposing it true that a mesmerized patient can respond to +the will or passes of a mesmerizer a hundred miles distant, is the +response less occasioned by a material fluid—call it Electric, call it +Odic, call it what you will—which has the power of traversing space and +passing obstacles, that the material effect is communicated from one to +the other. Hence all that I had hitherto witnessed, or expected to +witness, in this strange house, I believed to be occasioned through some +agency or medium as mortal as myself: and this idea necessarily +prevented the awe with which those who regard as supernatural, things +that are not within the ordinary operations of nature, might have been +impressed by the adventures of that memorable night.</p> + +<p>As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was presented, or would be +presented to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted by +constitution with the power so to present them, and having some motive +so to do, I felt an interest in my theory which, in its way, was rather +philosophical than superstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was in +as tranquil a temper for observation as any practical experimentalist +could be in awaiting the effect of some rare, though perhaps perilous, +chemical combination. Of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>course, the more I kept my mind detached from +fancy, the more the temper fitted for observation would be obtained; and +I therefore riveted eye and thought on the strong daylight sense in the +page of my Macaulay.</p> + +<p>I now became aware that something interposed between the page and the +light—the page was over-shadowed: I looked up, and I saw what I shall +find it very difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe.</p> + +<p>It was a Darkness shaping itself forth from the air in very undefined +outline. I cannot say it was of a human form, and yet it had more +resemblance to a human form, or rather shadow, than to anything else. As +it stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light around +it, its dimensions seemed gigantic, the summit nearly touching the +ceiling. While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An iceberg +before me could not more have chilled me; nor could the cold of an +iceberg have been more purely physical. I feel convinced that it was not +the cold caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought—but this I +cannot say with precision—that I distinguished two eyes looking down on +me from the height. One moment I fancied that I distinguished them +clearly, the next they seemed gone; but still two rays of a pale-blue +light frequently shot through the darkness, as from the height on which +I half believed, half doubted, that I had encountered the eyes.</p> + +<p>I strove to speak—my voice utterly failed me; I could only think to +myself, "is this fear? it is <i>not</i> fear!" I strove to rise—in vain; I +felt as if weighed down by an irresistible force. Indeed, my impression +was that of an immense and overwhelming Power opposed to any +volition;—that sense of utter inadequacy to cope with a force beyond +man's, which one may feel <i>physically</i> in a storm at sea, in a +conflagration, or when confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather, +perhaps, the shark of the ocean, I felt <i>morally</i>. Opposed to my will +was another will, as far superior to its strength as storm, fire, and +shark are superior in material force to the force of man.</p> + +<p>And now, as this impression grew on me—now came, at last, +horror—horror to a degree that no words can convey. Still I retained +pride, if not courage; and in my own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>mind I said, "This is horror, but +it is not fear; unless I fear I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects this +thing, it is an illusion—I do not fear." With a violent effort I +succeeded at last in stretching out my hand towards the weapon on the +table: as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I received a strange shock, +and my arm fell to my side powerless. And now, to add to my horror, the +light began slowly to wane from the candles, they were not, as it were, +extinguished, but their flame seemed very gradually withdrawn: it was +the same with the fire—the light was extracted from the fuel; in a few +minutes the room was in utter darkness.</p> + +<p>The dread that came over me, to be thus in the dark with that dark +Thing, whose power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve. +In fact, terror had reached that climax, that either my senses must have +deserted me, or I must have burst through the spell. I did burst through +it. I found voice, though the voice was a shriek. I remember that I +broke forth with words like these—"I do not fear, my soul does not +fear"; and at the same time I found the strength to rise. Still in that +profound gloom I rushed to one of the windows—tore aside the +curtain—flung open the shutters; my first thought +was—<span class="smcap">light.</span>—And when I saw the moon high, clear, and calm, I +felt a joy that almost compensated for the previous terror. There was +the moon, there was also the light from the gas-lamps in the deserted +slumberous street. I turned to look back into the room; the moon +penetrated its shadow very palely and partially—but still there was +light. The dark Thing, whatever it might be, was gone—except that I +could yet see a dim shadow, which seemed the shadow of that shade, +against the opposite wall.</p> + +<p>My eye now rested on the table, and from under the table (which was +without cloth or cover—an old mahogany round table) there rose a hand, +visible as far as the wrist. It was a hand, seemingly, as much of flesh +and blood as my own, but the hand of an aged person—lean, wrinkled, +small, too—a woman's hand. That hand very softly closed on the two +letters that lay on the table: hand and letters both vanished.</p> + +<p>There then came the same three loud measured <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>knocks I heard at the +bed-head before this extraordinary drama had commenced.</p> + +<p>As those sounds slowly ceased, I felt the whole room vibrate sensibly; +and at the far end there rose, as from the floor, sparks or globules +like bubbles of light, many-colored—green, yellow, fire-red, azure. Up +and down, to and fro, hither, thither, as tiny Will-o'-the-Wisps the +sparks moved, slow or swift, each at his own caprice. A chair (as in the +drawing-room below) was now advanced from the wall without apparent +agency, and placed at the opposite side of the table. Suddenly as forth +from the chair, there grew a shape—a woman's shape. It was distinct as +a shape of life—ghastly as a shape of death. The face was that of +youth, with a strange mournful beauty: the throat and shoulders were +bare, the rest of the form in a loose robe of cloudy white. It began +sleeking its long yellow hair, which fell over its shoulders; its eyes +were not turned towards me, but to the door; it seemed listening, +watching, waiting. The shadow of the shade in the background grew +darker; and again I thought I beheld the eyes gleaming out from the +summit of the shadow—eyes fixed upon that shape.</p> + +<p>As if from the door, though it did not open, there grew out another +shape, equally distinct, equally ghastly—a man's shape—a young man's. +It was in the dress of the last century, or rather in a likeness of such +dress (for both the male shape and the female, though defined, were +evidently unsubstantial, impalpable—simulacra—phantasms); and there +was something incongruous, grotesque, yet fearful, in the contrast +between the elaborate finery, the courtly precision of that +old-fashioned garb, with its ruffles and lace and buckles, and the +corpse-like aspect and ghost-like stillness of the flitting wearer. Just +as the male shape approached the female, the dark shadow started from +the wall, all three for a moment wrapped in darkness. When the pale +light returned, the two phantoms were as in the grasp of the shadow that +towered between them; and there was a blood-stain on the breast of the +female; and the phantom male was leaning on its phantom sword, and blood +seemed trickling fast from the ruffles, from the lace; and the darkness +of the intermediate Shadow swallowed them up—they were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>gone. And again +the bubbles of light shot, and sailed, and undulated, growing thicker +and thicker and more wildly confused in their movements.</p> + +<p>The closet door to the right of the fireplace now opened, and from the +aperture there came the form of an aged woman. In her hand she held +letters,—the very letters over which I had seen <i>the</i> Hand close; and +behind her I heard a footstep. She turned round as if to listen, and +then she opened the letters and seemed to read; and over her shoulder I +saw a livid face, the face as of a man long drowned—bloated, bleached, +seaweed tangled in its dripping hair; and at her feet lay a form as of a +corpse, and beside the corpse there cowered a child, a miserable squalid +child, with famine in its cheeks and fear in its eyes. And as I looked +in the old woman's face, the wrinkles and lines vanished and it became a +face of youth—hard-eyed, stony, but still youth; and the Shadow darted +forth, and darkened over these phantoms as it had darkened over the +last.</p> + +<p>Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on that my eyes were intently +fixed, till again eyes grew out of the Shadow—malignant, serpent eyes. +And the bubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their disorder, +irregular, turbulent maze, mingled with the wan moonlight. And now from +these globules themselves, as from the shell of an egg, monstrous things +burst out; the air grew filled with them; larvæ so bloodless and so +hideous that I can in no way describe them except to remind the reader +of the swarming life which the solar microscope brings before his eyes +in a drop of water—things transparent, supple, agile, chasing each +other, devouring each other—forms like nought ever beheld by the naked +eye. As the shapes were without symmetry, so their movements were +without order. In their very vagrancies there was no sport; they came +round me and round, thicker and faster and swifter, swarming over my +head, crawling over my right arm, which was outstretched in involuntary +command against all evil beings. Sometimes I felt myself touched, but +not by them; invisible hands touched me. Once I felt the clutch as of +cold soft fingers at my throat. I was still equally conscious that if I +gave way to fear I should be in bodily peril; and I con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>centrated all my +faculties in the single focus of resisting, stubborn will. And I turned +my sight from the Shadow—above all, from those strange serpent +eyes—eyes that had now become distinctly visible. For there, though in +nought else round me, I was aware that there was a WILL, and a will of +intense, creative, working evil, which might crush down my own.</p> + +<p>The pale atmosphere in the room began now to redden as if in the air of +some near conflagration. The larvæ grew lurid as things that live in +fire. Again the room vibrated; again were heard the three measured +knocks; and again all things were swallowed up in the darkness of the +dark Shadow, as if out of that darkness all had come, into that darkness +all returned.</p> + +<p>As the gloom receded, the Shadow was wholly gone. Slowly as it had been +withdrawn, the flame grew again into the candles on the table, again +into the fuel in the grate. The whole room came once more calmly, +healthfully into sight.</p> + +<p>The two doors were still closed, the door communicating with the +servant's room still locked. In the corner of the wall into which he had +so convulsively niched himself, lay the dog. I called to him—no +movement; I approached—the animal was dead; his eyes protruded; his +tongue out of his mouth; the froth gathered round his jaws. I took him +in my arms; I brought him to the fire, I felt acute grief for the loss +of my poor favorite—acute self-reproach; I accused myself of his death; +I imagined he had died of fright. But what was my surprise on finding +that his neck was actually broken. Had this been done in the dark?—must +it not have been by a hand human as mine?—must there not have been a +human agency all the while in that room? Good cause to suspect it. I +cannot tell. I cannot do more than state the fact fairly; the reader may +draw his own inference.</p> + +<p>Another surprising circumstance—my watch was restored to the table from +which it had been so mysteriously withdrawn; but it had stopped at the +very moment it was so withdrawn; nor, despite all the skill of the +watchmaker, has it ever gone since—that is, it will go in a strange +erratic <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>way for a few hours, and then come to a dead stop—it <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">is</ins> +worthless.</p> + +<p>Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I long +to wait before the dawn broke. Nor till <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">it</ins> was broad daylight did I quit +the haunted house. Before I did so, I revisited the little blind room in +which my servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">a</ins> +strong impression—for which I could not account—that from that room +had originated the mechanism of the phenomena—if I may use the +term—which had been experienced in my chamber. And though I entered it +now in the clear day, with the sun peering through the filmy window I +still felt, as I stood on its floor, the creep of the horror which I had +first there experienced the night before, and which had been so +aggravated by what had passed in my own chamber. I could not, indeed, +bear to stay more than half a minute within those walls. I descended the +stairs, and again I heard the footfall before me; and when I opened the +street door, I thought I could distinguish a very low laugh. I gained my +own home, expecting to find my runaway servant there. But he had not +presented himself; nor did I hear more of him for three days, when I +received a letter from him, dated from Liverpool to this effect:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">"Honored Sir</span>,—I humbly entreat your +pardon, though I can scarcely hope that you will +think I deserve it, unless—which Heaven +forbid—you saw what I did. I feel that it will be +years before I can recover myself: and as to being +fit for service, it is out of the question. I am +therefore going to my brother-in-law at Melbourne. +The ship sails to-morrow. Perhaps the long voyage +may set me up. I do nothing now but start and +tremble, and fancy <span class="smcap">it</span> is behind me. I +humbly beg you, honored sir, to order my clothes, +and whatever wages are due to me, to be sent to my +mother's, at Walworth.—John knows her address." </p></div> + +<p>The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat incoherent, and +explanatory details as to effects that had been under the writer's +charge.</p> + +<p>This flight may perhaps warrant a suspicion that the man wished to go to +Australia, and had been somehow or other fraudulently mixed up with the +events of the night. I say <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>nothing in refutation of that conjecture; +rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many persons the most +probable solution of improbable occurrences. My belief <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">in</ins> my own theory +remained unshaken. I returned in the evening to the house, to bring away +in a hack cab the things <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">I</ins> had left there, with my poor dog's body. In +this task I was not disturbed, nor did any incident worth note befall +me, except that still, on ascending and descending the stairs, I heard +the same footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to Mr. J.'s. +He was at home. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity was +sufficiently gratified, and was about to relate quickly what had passed, +when he stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that he had +no longer any interest in a mystery which none had ever solved.</p> + +<p>I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had read, as well +as of the extraordinary manner in which <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">they</ins> had disappeared, and I then +inquired if he thought <ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word presumed">they</ins> had been addressed to the woman who had died +in the house, and if there were anything in her early history which +could possibly confirm the dark suspicions to which the letters gave +rise. Mr. J—— seemed startled, and, after musing a few moments, +answered, "I am but little acquainted with the woman's earlier history, +except, as I before told you, that her family were known to mine. But +you revive some vague reminiscences to her prejudice. I will make +inquiries, and inform you of their result. Still, even if we could admit +the popular superstition that a person who had been either the +perpetrator or the victim of dark crimes in life could revisit, as a +restless spirit, the scene in which those crimes had been committed, I +should observe that the house was infested by strange sights and sounds +before the old woman died—you smile—what would you say?"</p> + +<p>"I would say this, that I am convinced, if we could get to the bottom of +these mysteries, we should find a living human agency."</p> + +<p>"What! you believe it is all an imposture? for what object?"</p> + +<p>"Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the word. If <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>suddenly I were +to sink into a deep sleep, from which you could not awake me, but in +that sleep could answer questions with an accuracy which I could not +pretend to when awake—tell you what money you had in your pocket—nay, +describe your very thoughts—it is not necessarily an imposture, any +more than it is necessarily supernatural. I should be, unconsciously to +myself, under a mesmeric influence, conveyed to me from a distance by a +human being who had acquired power over me by previous <i>rapport</i>."</p> + +<p>"But if a mesmerizer could so affect another living being, can you +suppose that a mesmerizer could also affect inanimate objects: move +chairs—open and shut doors?"</p> + +<p>"Or impress our senses with the belief in such effects—we never having +been <i>en rapport</i> with the person acting on us? No. What is commonly +called mesmerism could not do this; but there may be a power akin to +mesmerism, and superior to it—the power that in the old days was called +Magic. That such a power may extend to all inanimate objects of matter I +do not say; but if so, it would not be against nature—it would be only +a rare power in nature which might be given to constitutions with +certain peculiarities, and cultivated by practice to an extraordinary +degree. That such a power might extend over the dead—that is, over +certain thoughts and memories that the dead may still retain—and +compel, not that which ought properly to be called the <span class="smcap">Soul</span>, +and which is far beyond human reach, but rather a phantom of what has +been most earth-stained on earth, to make itself apparent to our +senses—is a very ancient though obsolete theory, upon which I will +hazard no opinion. But I do not conceive the power would be +supernatural. Let me illustrate what I mean from an experiment which +Paracelsus describes as not difficult, and which the author of the +<i>Curiosities of Literature</i> cites as credible:—A flower perishes; you +burn it. Whatever were the elements of that flower while it lived are +gone, dispersed, you know not whither; you can never discover nor +recollect them. But you can, by chemistry, out of the burnt dust of that +flower, raise a spectrum of the flower, just as it seemed in life. It +may be the same with the human being. The soul has as much escaped you +as the essence or ele<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>ments of the flower. Still you may make a spectrum +of it.</p> + +<p>"And this phantom, though in the popular superstition it is held to be +the soul of the departed, must not be confounded with the true soul; it +is but eidolon of the dead form. Hence, like the best attested stories +of ghosts or spirits, the thing that most strikes us is the absence of +what we hold to be soul; that is, of superior emancipated intelligence. +These apparitions come for little or no object—they seldom speak when +they do come; if they speak, they utter no ideas above those of an +ordinary person on earth. American spirit-seers have published volumes +of communications in prose and verse, which they assert to be given in +the names of the most illustrious dead—Shakespeare, Bacon—heaven knows +whom. Those communications, taking the best, are certainly not a whit of +higher order than would be communications from living persons of fair +talent and education; they are wondrously inferior to what Bacon, +Shakespeare, and Plato said and wrote when on earth. Nor, what is more +noticeable, do they ever contain an idea that was not on the earth +before. Wonderful, therefore, as such phenomena may be (granting them to +be truthful), I see much that philosophy may question, nothing that it +is incumbent on philosophy to deny, viz., nothing supernatural. They are +but ideas conveyed somehow or other (we have not yet discovered the +means) from one mortal brain to another. Whether, in so doing, tables +walk of their own accord, or fiend-like shapes appear in a magic circle, +or bodyless hands rise and remove material objects, or a Thing of +Darkness, such as presented itself to me, freeze our blood—still am I +persuaded that these are but agencies conveyed, as if by electric wires, +to my own brain from the brain of another. In some constitutions there +is a natural chemistry, and these constitutions may produce chemic +wonders—in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and these may +produce electric wonders.</p> + +<p>"But the wonders differ from Normal Science in this—they are alike +objectless, purposeless, puerile, frivolous. They lead on to no grand +results; and therefore the world does not heed, and true sages have not +cultivated them. But sure I am, that of all I saw or heard, a man, +hu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>man as myself, was the remote originator; and I believe unconsciously +to himself as to the exact effects produced, for this reason: no two +persons, you say, have ever told you that they experienced exactly the +same thing. Well, observe, no two persons ever experience exactly the +same dream. If this were an ordinary imposture, the machinery would be +arranged for results that would but little vary; if it were a +supernatural agency permitted by the Almighty, it would surely be for +some definite end. These phenomena belong to neither class; my +persuasion is, that they originate in some brain now far distant; that +that brain had no distinct volition in anything that occurred; that what +does occur reflects but its devious, motley, ever-shifting, half-formed +thoughts; in short, that it has been but the dreams of such a brain put +into action and invested with a semi-substance. That this brain is of +immense power, that it can set matter into movement, that it is +malignant and destructive, I believe; some material force must have +killed my dog; the same force might, for aught I know, have sufficed to +kill myself, had I been as subjugated by terror as the dog—had my +intellect or my spirit given me no countervailing resistance in my +will."</p> + +<p>"It killed your dog! that is fearful! indeed it is strange that no +animal can be induced to stay in that house; not even a cat. Rats and +mice are never found in it."</p> + +<p>"The instincts of the brute creation detect influences deadly to their +existence. Man's reason has a sense less subtle, because it has a +resisting power more supreme. But enough; do you comprehend my theory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, though imperfectly—and I accept any crotchet (pardon the word), +however odd, rather than embrace at once the notion of ghosts and +hob-goblins we imbibed in our nurseries. Still, to my unfortunate house +the evil is the same. What on earth can I do with the house?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from my own internal +feelings that the small unfurnished room at right angles to the door of +the bedroom which I occupied, forms a starting-point or receptacle for +the influences which haunt the house; and I strongly advise you to have +the walls opened, the floor removed—nay, the whole room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>pulled down. I +observe that it is detached from the body of the house, built over the +small back-yard, and could be removed without injury to the rest of the +building."</p> + +<p>"And you think, if I did that——"</p> + +<p>"You would cut off the telegraph wires. Try it. I am so persuaded that I +am right, that I will pay half the expense if you will allow me to +direct the operations."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the rest, allow me to write +to you."</p> + +<p>About ten days afterwards I received a letter from Mr. J——, telling me +that he had visited the house since I had seen him; that he had found +the two letters I had described replaced in the drawer from which I had +taken them; that he had read them with misgivings like my own; that he +had instituted a cautious inquiry about the woman to whom I rightly +conjectured they had been written. It seemed that thirty-six years ago +(a year before the date of the letters) she had married, against the +wish of her relations, an American of very suspicious character, in +fact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She herself was +the daughter of very respectable tradespeople, and had served in the +capacity of nursery governess before her marriage. She had a brother, a +widower, who was considered wealthy, and who had one child of about six +years old. A month after the marriage, the body of this brother was +found in the Thames, near London Bridge; there seemed some marks of +violence about his throat, but they were not deemed sufficient to +warrant the inquest in any other verdict than that of "found drowned."</p> + +<p>The American and his wife took charge of the little boy, the deceased +brother having by his will left his sister the guardian of his only +child—and in the event of the child's death, the sister inherited. The +child died about six months afterwards—it was supposed to have been +neglected and ill-treated. The neighbors deposed to have heard it shriek +at night. The surgeon who had examined it after death said that it was +emaciated as if from want of nourishment, and the body was covered with +livid bruises. It seemed that one winter night the child had sought to +escape—crept out into the back-yard—tried to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>scale the wall—fallen +back exhausted, and been found at morning on the stones in a dying +state. But though there was some evidence of cruelty, there was none of +murder; and the aunt and her husband had sought to palliate cruelty by +alleging the exceeding stubbornness and perversity of the child, who was +declared to be half-witted. Be that is it may, at the orphan's death the +aunt inherited her brother's fortune. Before the first wedded year was +out the American quitted England abruptly, and never returned to it. He +obtained a cruising vessel, which was lost in the Atlantic two years +afterwards. The widow was left in affluence; but reverses of various +kinds had befallen her; a bank broke—an investment failed—she went +into a small business and became insolvent—then she entered into +service, sinking lower and lower, from housekeeper down to maid-of-all +work—never long retaining a place, though nothing decided against her +character was ever alleged. She was considered sober, honest, and +peculiarly quiet in her ways; still nothing prospered with her. And so +she had dropped into the workhouse, from which Mr. J—— had taken her, +to be placed in charge of the very house which she had rented as +mistress in the first year of her wedded life.</p> + +<p>Mr. J—— added that he had passed an hour alone in the unfurnished room +which I had urged him to destroy, and that his impressions of dread +while there were so great, though he had neither heard nor seen +anything, that he was eager to have the walls bared and the floors +removed as I had suggested. He had engaged persons for the work, and +would commence any day I would name.</p> + +<p>The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the haunted house—he went +into the blind dreary room, took up the skirting, and then the floors. +Under the rafters, covered with rubbish, was found a trap-door, quite +large enough to admit a man. It was closely nailed down, with clamps and +rivets of iron. On removing these we descended into a room below, the +existence of which had never been suspected. In this room there had been +a window and a flue, but they had been bricked over, evidently for many +years. By the help of candles we examined this place; it still re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>tained +some mouldering furniture—three chairs, an oak settle, a table—all of +the fashion of about eighty years ago. There was a chest of drawers +against the wall, in which we found, half-rotted away, old-fashioned +articles of a man's dress, such as might have been worn eighty or a +hundred years ago by a gentleman of some rank—costly steel buckles and +buttons, like those yet worn in court-dresses, a handsome court +sword—in a waistcoat which had once been rich with gold-lace, but which +was now blackened and foul with damp, we found five guineas, a few +silver coins, and an ivory ticket, probably for some place of +entertainment long since passed away. But our main discovery was in a +kind of iron safe fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us much +trouble to get picked.</p> + +<p>In this safe were three shelves, and two small drawers. Ranged on the +shelves were several small bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped. +They contained colorless volatile essences, of the nature of which I +shall only say that they were not poisons—phosphor and ammonia entered +into some of them. There were also some very curious glass tubes, and a +small pointed rod of iron, with a large lump of rock-crystal, and +another of amber—also a loadstone of great power.</p> + +<p>In one of the drawers we found a miniature portrait set in gold, and +retaining the freshness of its colors most remarkably, considering the +length of time it had probably been there. The portrait was that of a +man who might be somewhat advanced in middle life, perhaps forty-seven +or forty-eight.</p> + +<p>It was a remarkable face—a most impressive face. If you could fancy +some mighty serpent transformed into a man, preserving in the human +lineaments the old serpent type, you would have a better idea of that +countenance than long descriptions can convey: the width and flatness of +frontal—the tapering elegance of contour disguising the strength of the +deadly jaw—the long, large, terrible eye, glittering and green as the +emerald—and withal a certain ruthless calm, as if from the +consciousness of an immense power.</p> + +<p>Mechanically I turned round the miniature to examine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>the back of it, +and on the back was engraved a pentacle; in the middle of the pentacle a +ladder, and the third step of the ladder was formed by the date 1765. +Examining still more minutely, I detected a spring; this, on being +pressed, opened the back of the miniature as a lid. Withinside the lid +were engraved, "Marianna to thee—be faithful in life and in death +to——." Here follows a name that I will not mention, but it was not +unfamiliar to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in my childhood as +the name borne by a dazzling charlatan who had made a great sensation in +London for a year or so, and had fled the country on the charge of a +double murder within his own house—that of his mistress and his rival. +I said nothing of this to Mr. J——, to whom reluctantly I resigned the +miniature.</p> + +<p>We had found no difficulty in opening the first drawer within the iron +safe; we found great difficulty in opening the second: it was not +locked, but it resisted all efforts, till we inserted in the clinks the +edge of a chisel. When we had thus drawn it forth we found a very +singular apparatus in the nicest order. Upon a small thin book, or +rather tablet, was placed a saucer of crystal: this saucer was filled +with a clear liquid—on that liquid floated a kind of compass, with a +needle shifting rapidly round; but instead of the usual points of a +compass were seven strange characters, not very unlike those used by +astrologers to denote the planets.</p> + +<p>A peculiar, but not strong nor displeasing odor came from this drawer, +which was lined with a wood that we afterwards discovered to be hazel. +Whatever the cause of this odor, it produced a material effect on the +nerves. We all felt it, even the two workmen who were in the room—a +creeping tingling sensation from the tips of the fingers to the roots of +the hair. Impatient to examine the tablet, I removed the saucer. As I +did so the needle of the compass went round and round with exceeding +swiftness, and I felt a shock that ran through my whole frame, so that I +dropped the saucer on the floor. The liquid was spilt—the saucer was +broken—the compass rolled to the end of the room—and at that instant +the walls shook to and fro, as if a giant had swayed and rocked them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two workmen were so frightened that they ran up the ladder by which +we had descended from the trap-door; but seeing that nothing more +happened, they were easily induced to return.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile I had opened the tablet: it was bound in plain red leather, +with a silver clasp; it contained but one sheet of thick vellum, and on +that sheet were inscribed within a double pentacle, words in old monkish +Latin, which are literally to be translated thus: "On all that it can +reach within these walls—sentient or inanimate, living or dead—as +moves the needle, so work my will! Accursed be the house, and restless +be the dwellers therein."</p> + +<p>We found no more. Mr. J—— burnt the tablet and its anathema. He razed +to the foundations the part of the building containing the secret room +with the chamber over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the house +himself for a month, and a quieter, better-conditioned house could not +be found in all London. Subsequently he let it to advantage, and his +tenant has made no complaints.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE SILENT WOMAN<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a></h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Leopold Kompert</span></h3> + + +<p>The uproarious merriment of a wedding-feast burst forth into the night +from a brilliantly lighted house in the "gasse" (narrow street). It was +one of those nights touched with the warmth of spring, but dark and full +of soft mist. Most fitting it was for a celebration of the union of two +yearning hearts to share the same lot, a lot that may possibly dawn in +sunny brightness, but also become clouded and sullen—for a long, long +time! But how merry and joyous they were over there, those people of the +happy olden times! They, like us, had their troubles and trials, and +when misfortune visited them it came not to them with soft cushions and +tender pressures of the hand. Rough and hard, with clinched fist, it +laid hold upon them. But when they gave vent to their happy feelings and +sought to enjoy themselves, they were like swimmers in cooling waters. +They struck out into the stream with freshness and courage, suffered +themselves to be borne along by the current whithersoever it took its +course. This was the cause of such a jubilee, such a thoughtlessly noisy +outburst of all kinds of soul-possessing gayety from this house of +nuptials.</p> + +<p>"And if I had known," the bride's father, the rich Ruben Klattaner, had +just said, "that it would take the last gulden in my pocket, then out it +would have come."</p> + +<p>In fact, it did appear as if the last groschen had really taken flight, +and was fluttering about in the form of platters heaped up with geese +and pastry-tarts. Since two o'clock—that is, since the marriage +ceremony had been performed out in the open street—until nearly +midnight, the wedding-feast had been progressing, and even yet the +<i>sarvers</i>, or waiters, were hurrying from room to room. It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>was as if a +twofold blessing had descended upon all this abundance of food and +drink, for, in the first place, they did not seem to diminish; secondly, +they ever found a new place for disposal. To be sure, this appetite was +sharpened by the presence of a little dwarf-like, unimportant-looking +man. He was esteemed, however, none the less highly by every one. They +had specially written to engage the celebrated "Leb Narr," of Prague. +And when was ever a mood so out of sorts, a heart so imbittered as not +to thaw out and laugh if Leb Narr played one of his pranks. Ah, thou art +now dead, good fool! Thy lips, once always ready with a witty reply, are +closed. Thy mouth, then never still, now speaks no more! But when the +hearty peals of laughter once rang forth at thy command, intercessors, +as it were, in thy behalf before the very throne of God, thou hadst +nothing to fear. And the joy of that "other" world was thine, that joy +that has ever belonged to the most pious of country rabbis!</p> + +<p>In the mean time the young people had assembled in one of the rooms to +dance. It was strange how the sound of violins and trumpets accorded +with the drolleries of the wit from Prague. In one part the outbursts of +merriment were so boisterous that the very candles on the little table +seemed to flicker with terror; in another an ordinary conversation was +in progress, which now and then only ran over into a loud tittering, +when some old lady slipped into the circle and tried her skill at a +redowa, then altogether unknown to the young people. In the very midst +of the tangle of dancers was to be seen the bride in a heavy silk +wedding-gown. The point of her golden hood hung far down over her face. +She danced continuously. She danced with every one that asked her. Had +one, however, observed the actions of the young woman, they would +certainly have seemed to him hurried, agitated, almost wild. She looked +no one in the eye, not even her own bridegroom. He stood for the most +part in the door-way, and evidently took more pleasure in the witticisms +of the fool than in the dance or the lady dancers. But who ever thought +for a moment why the young woman's hand burned, why her breath was so +hot when one came near to her lips? Who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>should have noticed so strange +a thing? A low whispering already passed through the company, a stealthy +smile stole across many a lip. A bevy of ladies was seen to enter the +room suddenly. The music dashed off into one of its loudest pieces, and, +as if by enchantment, the newly made bride disappeared behind the +ladies. The bridegroom, with his stupid, smiling mien, was still left +standing on the threshold. But it was not long before he too vanished. +One could hardly say how it happened. But people understand such +skillful movements by experience, and will continue to understand them +as long as there are brides and grooms in the world.</p> + +<p>This disappearance of the chief personages, little as it seemed to be +noticed, gave, however, the signal for general leave-taking. The dancing +became drowsy; it stopped all at once, as if by appointment. That noisy +confusion now began which always attends so merry a <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'weding-party'">wedding-party</ins>. +Half-drunken voices could be heard still intermingled with a last, +hearty laugh over a joke of the fool from Prague echoing across the +table. Here and there some one, not quite sure of his balance, was +fumbling for the arm of his chair or the edge of the table. This +resulted in his overturning a dish that had been forgotten, or in +spilling a beer-glass. While this, in turn, set up a new hubbub, some +one else, in his eagerness to betake himself from the scene, fell flat +into the very débris. But all this tumult was really hushed the moment +they all pressed to the door, for at that very instant shrieks, cries of +pain, were heard issuing from the entrance below. In an instant the +entire outpouring crowd with all possible force pushed back into the +room, but it was a long time before the stream was pressed back again. +Meanwhile, painful cries were again heard from below, so painful, +indeed, that they restored even the most drunken to a state of +consciousness.</p> + +<p>"By the living God!" they cried to each other, "what is the matter down +there? Is the house on fire?"</p> + +<p>"She is gone! she is gone!" shrieked a woman's voice from the entry +below.</p> + +<p>"Who? who?" groaned the wedding-guests, seized, as it were, with an icy +horror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gone! gone!" cried the woman from the entry, and hurrying up the stairs +came Selde Klattaner, the mother of the bride, pale as death, her eyes +dilated with most awful fright, convulsively grasping a candle in her +hand. "For God's sake, what has happened?" was heard on every side of +her.</p> + +<p>The sight of so many people about her, and the confusion of voices, +seemed to release the poor woman from a kind of stupor. She glanced +shyly about her then, as if overcome with a sense of shame stronger than +her terror, and<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'sad'">said</ins>, in a suppressed tone:</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing, good people. In God's name, I ask, what was there to +happen?"</p> + +<p>Dissimulation, however, was too evident to suffice to deceive them.</p> + +<p>"Why, then, did you shriek so, Selde," called out one of the guests to +her, "if nothing happened?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she has gone," Selde now moaned in heart-rending tones, "and she +has certainly done herself some harm!"</p> + +<p>The cause of this strange scene was now first discovered. The bride has +disappeared from the wedding-feast. Soon after that she had vanished in +such a mysterious way, the bridegroom went below to the dimly-lighted +room to find her, but in vain. At first thought this seemed to him to be +a sort of bashful jest; but not finding her here, a mysterious +foreboding seized him. He called to the mother of the bride:</p> + +<p>"Woe to me! This woman has gone!"</p> + +<p>Presently this party, that had so admirably controlled itself, was again +thrown into commotion. "There was nothing to do," was said on all sides, +"but to ransack every nook and corner. Remarkable instances of such +disappearances of brides had been known. Evil spirits were wont to lurk +about such nights and to inflict mankind with all sorts of sorceries." +Strange as this explanation may seem, there were many who believed it at +this very moment, and, most of all, Selde Klattaner herself. But it was +only for a moment, for she at once exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"No, no, my good people, she is gone; I know she is gone!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now for the first time many of them, especially the mothers, felt +particularly uneasy, and anxiously called their daughters to them. Only +a few showed courage, and urged that they must search and search, even +if they had to turn aside the river Iser a hundred times. They urgently +pressed on, called for torches and lanterns, and started forth. The +cowardly ran after them up and down the stairs. Before any one perceived +it the room was entirely forsaken.</p> + +<p>Ruben Klattaner stood in the hall entry below, and let the people hurry +past him without exchanging a word with any. Bitter disappointment and +fear had almost crazed him. One of the last to stay in the room above +with Selde was, strange to say, Leb Narr, of Prague. After all had +departed, he approached the miserable mother, and, in a tone least +becoming his general manner, inquired:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, now, Mrs. Selde, did she not wish to have 'him'?"</p> + +<p>"Whom? whom?" cried Selde, with renewed alarm, when she found herself +alone with the fool.</p> + +<p>"I mean," said Leb, in a most sympathetic manner, approaching still +nearer to Selde, "that maybe you had to make your daughter marry him."</p> + +<p>"Make? And have we, then, made her?" moaned Selde, staring at the fool +with a look of uncertainty.</p> + +<p>"Then nobody needs to search for her," replied the fool, with a +sympathetic laugh, at the same time retreating. "It's better to leave +her where she is."</p> + +<p>Without saying thanks or good-night, he was gone.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the cause of all this disturbance had arrived at the end of +her flight.</p> + +<p>Close by the synagogue was situated the house of the rabbi. It was built +in an angle of a very narrow street, set in a framework of tall +shade-trees. Even by daylight it was dismal enough. At night it was +almost impossible for a timid person to approach it, for people declared +that the low supplications of the dead could be heard in the dingy house +of God when at night they took the rolls of the law from the ark to +summon their members by name.</p> + +<p>Through this retired street passed, or rather ran, at this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>hour a shy +form. Arriving at the dwelling of the rabbi, she glanced backward to see +whether any one was following her. But all was silent and gloomy enough +about her. A pale light issued from one of the windows of the synagogue; +it came from the "eternal lamp" hanging in front of the ark of the +covenant. But at this moment it seemed to her as if a supernatural eye +was gazing upon her. Thoroughly affrighted, she seized the little iron +knocker of the door and struck it gently. But the throb of her beating +heart was even louder, more violent, than this blow. After a pause, +footsteps were heard passing slowly along the hallway.</p> + +<p>The rabbi had not occupied this lonely house a long time. His +predecessor, almost a centenarian in years, had been laid to rest a few +months before. The new rabbi had been called, from a distant part of the +country. He was unmarried, and in the prime of life. No one had known +him before his coming. But his personal nobility and the profundity of +his scholarship made up for his deficiency in years. An aged mother had +accompanied him from their distant home, and she took the place of wife +and child.</p> + +<p>"Who is there?" asked the rabbi, who had been busy at his desk even at +this late hour and thus had not missed hearing the knocker.</p> + +<p>"It is I," the figure without responded, almost inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Speak louder, if you wish me to hear you," replied the rabbi.</p> + +<p>"It is I, Ruben Klattaner's daughter," she repeated.</p> + +<p>The name seemed to sound strange to the rabbi. He as yet knew too few of +his congregation to understand that this very day he performed the +marriage ceremony of the person who had just repeated her name. +Therefore he called out, after a moment's pause, "What do you wish so +late at night?"</p> + +<p>"Open the door, rabbi," she answered, pleadingly, "or I shall die at +once!"</p> + +<p>The bolt was pushed back. Something gleaming, rustling, glided past the +rabbi into the dusky hall. The light of the candle in his hand was not +sufficient to allow him to descry it. Before he had time to address her, +she had van<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>ished past him and had disappeared through the open door +into the room. Shaking his head, the rabbi again bolted the door.</p> + +<p>On reëntering the room he saw a woman's form sitting in the chair which +he usually occupied. She had her back turned to him. Her head was bent +low over her breast. Her golden wedding-hood, with its shading lace, was +pulled down over her forehead. Courageous and pious as the rabbi was, he +could not rid himself of a feeling of terror.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he demanded, in a loud tone, as if its sound alone would +banish the presence of this being that seemed to him at this moment to +be the production of all the enchantments of evil spirits.</p> + +<p>She raised herself, and cried in a voice that seemed to come from the +agony of a human being:</p> + +<p>"Do you not know me—me, whom you married a few hours since under the +<i>chuppe</i> (marriage-canopy) to a husband?"</p> + +<p>On hearing this familiar voice the rabbi stood speechless. He gazed at +the young woman. Now, indeed, he must regard her as one bereft of +reason, rather than as a specter.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you are she," he stammered out, after a pause, for it was with +difficulty that he found words to answer, "why are you here and not in +the place where you belong?"</p> + +<p>"I know no other place to which I belong more than here where I now am!" +she answered, severely.</p> + +<p>These words puzzled the rabbi still more. Is it really an insane woman +before him? He must have thought so, for he now addressed her in a +gentle tone of voice, as we do those suffering from this kind of +sickness, in order not to excite her, and said:</p> + +<p>"The place where you belong, my daughter, is in the house of your +parents, and, since you have to-day been made a wife, your place is in +your husband's house."</p> + +<p>The young woman muttered something which failed to reach the rabbi's +ear. Yet he only continued to think that he saw before him some poor +unfortunate whose mind was deranged. After a pause, he added, in a still +gentler tone: "What is your name, then, my child?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"God, god," she moaned, in the greatest anguish, "he does not even yet +know my name!"</p> + +<p>"How should I know you," he continued, apologetically, "for I am a +stranger in this place?"</p> + +<p>This tender remark seemed to have produced the desired effect upon her +excited mind.</p> + +<p>"My name is Veile," she said, quietly, after a pause.</p> + +<p>The rabbi quickly perceived that he had adopted the right tone towards +his mysterious guest.</p> + +<p>"Veile," he said, approaching nearer her, "what do you wish of me?"</p> + +<p>"Rabbi, I have a great sin resting heavily upon my heart," she replied +despondently. "I do not know what to do."</p> + +<p>"What can you have done," inquired the rabbi, with a tender look, "that +cannot be discussed at any other time than just now? Will you let me +advise you, Veile?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she cried again, violently, "I will not be advised. I see, I +know what oppresses me. Yes, I can grasp it by the hand, it lies so near +before me. Is that what you call to be advised?"</p> + +<p>"Very well," returned the rabbi, seeing that this was the very way to +get the young woman to talk—"very well, I say, you are not imagining +anything. I believe that you have greatly sinned. Have you come here +then to confess this sin? Do your parents or your husband know anything +about it?"</p> + +<p>"Who is my husband?" she interrupted him, impetuously.</p> + +<p>Thoughts welled up in the rabbi's heart like a tumultuous sea in which +opposing conjectures cross and recross each other's course. Should he +speak with her as with an ordinary sinner?</p> + +<p>"Were you, perhaps, forced to be married?" he inquired, as quietly as +possible, after a pause.</p> + +<p>A suppressed sob, a strong inward struggle, manifesting itself in the +whole trembling body, was the only answer to this question.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, my child," said the rabbi, encouragingly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>In such tones as the rabbi had never before heard, so strange, so +surpassing any human sounds, the young woman began:</p> + +<p>"Yes, rabbi, I will speak, even though I know that I shall never go from +this place alive, which would be the very best thing for me! No, rabbi, +I was not forced to be married. My parents have never once said to me +'you must,' but my own will, my own desire, rather, has always been +supreme. My husband is the son of a rich man in the community. To enter +his family was to be made the first lady in the <i>gasse</i>, to sit buried +in gold and silver. And that very thing, nothing else, was what +infatuated me with him. It was for that that I forced myself, my heart +and will, to be married to him, hard as it was for me. But in my +innermost heart I detested him. The more he loved me, the more I hated +him. But the gold and silver had an influence over me. More and more +they cried to me, 'You will be the first lady in the <i>gasse!</i>'"</p> + +<p>"Continue," said the rabbi, when she ceased, almost exhausted by these +words.</p> + +<p>"What more shall I tell you, rabbi?" she began again. "I was never a +liar, when a child, or older, and yet during my whole engagement it has +seemed to me as if a big, gigantic lie had followed me step by step. I +have seen it on every side of me. But to-day, when I stood under the +<i>chuppe</i>, rabbi, and he took the ring from his finger and put it on +mine, and when I had to dance at my own wedding with him, whom I now +recognized, now for the first time, as the lie, and—when they led me +away——"</p> + +<p>This sincere confession escaping from the lips of the young woman, she +sobbed aloud and bowed her head still deeper over her breast. The rabbi +gazed upon her in silence. No insane woman ever spoke like that! Only a +soul conscious of its own sin, but captivated by a mysterious power, +could suffer like this!</p> + +<p>It was not sympathy which he felt with her; it was much more a living +over the sufferings of the woman. In spite of the confused story, it was +all clear to the rabbi. The cause of the flight from the father's house +at this hour also required no explanation. "I know what you mean,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> he +longed to say, but he could only find words to say: "Speak further, +Veile!"</p> + +<p>The young woman turned towards him. He had not yet seen her face. The +golden hood with the shading lace hung deeply over it.</p> + +<p>"Have I not told you everything?" she said, with a flush of scorn.</p> + +<p>"Everything?" repeated the rabbi, inquiringly. He only said this, +moreover, through embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Do you tell me now," she cried, at once passionately and mildly, "what +am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Veile!" exclaimed the rabbi, entertaining now, for the first time, a +feeling of repugnance for this confidential interview.</p> + +<p>"Tell me now!" she pleaded; and before the rabbi could prevent it the +young woman threw herself down at his feet and clasped his knees in her +arms. This hasty act had loosened the golden wedding-hood from her head, +and thus exposed her face to view, a face of remarkable beauty.</p> + +<p>So overcome was the young rabbi by the sight of it that he had to shade +his eyes with his hands, as if before a sudden flash of lightning.</p> + +<p>"Tell me now, what shall I do?" she cried again. "Do you think that I +have come from my parents' home merely to return again without help? You +alone in the world must tell me. Look at me! I have kept all my hair +just as God gave it me. It has never been touched by the shears. Should +I, then, do anything to please my husband? I am no wife. I will not be a +wife! Tell me, tell me, what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Arise, arise," bade the rabbi; but his voice quivered, sounded almost +painful.</p> + +<p>"Tell me first," she gasped; "I will not rise till then!"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell you?" he moaned, almost inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Naphtali!" shrieked the kneeling woman.</p> + +<p>But the rabbi staggered backward. The room seemed ablaze before him, +like a bright fire. A sharp cry rang from his breast, as if one +suffering from some painful wound had been seized by a rough hand. In +his hurried attempt to free himself from the embrace of the young +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>woman, who still clung to his knees, it chanced that her head struck +heavily against the floor.</p> + +<p>"Naphtali!" she cried once again.</p> + +<p>"Silence, silence," groaned the rabbi, pressing both hands against his +head.</p> + +<p>And still again she called out this name, but not with that agonizing +cry. It sounded rather like a commingling of exultation and lamentation.</p> + +<p>And again he demanded, "Silence! silence!" but this time so imperiously, +so forcibly, that the young woman lay on the floor as if conjured, not +daring to utter a single word.</p> + +<p>The rabbi paced almost wildly up and down the room. There must have been +a hard, terrible struggle in his breast. It seemed to the one lying on +the floor that she heard him sigh from the depths of his soul. Then his +pacing became calmer; but it did not last long. The fierce conflict +again assailed him. His step grew hurried; it echoed loudly through the +awful stillness of the room. Suddenly he neared the young woman, who +seemed to lie there scarcely breathing. He stopped in front of her. Had +any one seen the face of the rabbi at this moment the expression on it +would have filled him with terror. There was a marvelous tranquillity +overlying it, the tranquillity of a struggle for life or death.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me now, Veile," he began, slowly. "I will talk with you."</p> + +<p>"I listen, rabbi," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"But do you hear me well?"</p> + +<p>"Only speak," she returned.</p> + +<p>"But will you do what I advise you? Will you not oppose it? For I am +going to say something that will terrify you."</p> + +<p>"I will do anything that you say. Only tell me," she moaned.</p> + +<p>"Will you swear?"</p> + +<p>"I will," she groaned.</p> + +<p>"No, do not swear yet, until you have heard me," he cried. "I will not +force you."</p> + +<p>This time came no answer.</p> + +<p>"Hear me, then, daughter of Ruben Klattaner," he be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>gan, after a pause. +"You have a twofold sin upon your soul, and each is so great, so +criminal, that it can only be forgiven by severe punishment. First you +permitted yourself to be infatuated by the gold and silver, and then you +forced your heart to lie. With the lie you sought to deceive the man, +even though he had intrusted you with his all when he made you his wife. +A lie is truly a great sin! Streams of water cannot drown them. They +make men false and hateful to themselves. The worst that has been +committed in the world was led in by a lie. That is the one sin."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," sobbed the young woman.</p> + +<p>"Now hear me further," began the rabbi again, with a wavering voice, +after a short pause. "You have committed a still greater sin than the +first. You have not only deceived your husband, but you have also +destroyed the happiness of another person. You could have spoken, and +you did not. For life you have robbed him of his happiness, his light, +his joy, but you did not speak. What can he now do, when he knows what +has been lost to him?"</p> + +<p>"Naphtali!" cried the young woman.</p> + +<p>"Silence! silence! do not let that name pass your lips again," he +demanded, violently. "The more you repeat it the greater becomes your +sin. Why did you not speak when you could have spoken? God can never +easily forgive you that. To be silent, to keep secret in one's breast +what would have made another man happier than the mightiest monarch! +Thereby you have made him more than unhappy. He will nevermore have the +desire to be happy. Veile, God in heaven cannot forgive you for that."</p> + +<p>"Silence! silence!" groaned the wretched woman.</p> + +<p>"No, Veile," he continued, with a stronger voice, "let me talk now. You +are certainly willing to hear me speak? Listen to me. You must do severe +penance for this sin, the twofold sin which rests upon your head. God is +long-suffering and merciful. He will perhaps look down upon your misery, +and will blot out your guilt from the great book of transgressions. But +you must become penitent. Hear, now, what it shall be."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>The rabbi paused. He was on the point of saying the severest thing that +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'hed'">had</ins> ever passed his lips.</p> + +<p>"You were silent, Veile," then he cried, "when you should have spoken. +Be silent now forever to all men and to yourself. From the moment you +leave this house, until I grant it, you must be dumb; you dare not let a +loud word pass from your mouth. Will you undergo this penance?"</p> + +<p>"I will do all you say," moaned the young woman.</p> + +<p>"Will you have strength to do it?" he asked, gently.</p> + +<p>"I shall be as silent as death," she replied.</p> + +<p>"And one thing more I have to say to you," he continued. "You are the +wife of your husband. Return home and be a Jewish wife."</p> + +<p>"I understand you," she sobbed in reply.</p> + +<p>"Go to your home now, and bring peace to your parents and husband. The +time will come when you may speak, when your sin will be forgiven you. +Till then bear what has been laid upon you."</p> + +<p>"May I say one thing more?" she cried, lifting up her head.</p> + +<p>"Speak," he said.</p> + +<p>"Naphtali!"</p> + +<p>The rabbi covered his eyes with one hand, with the other motioned her to +be silent. But she grasped his hand, drew it to her lips. Hot tears fell +upon it.</p> + +<p>"Go now," he sobbed, completely broken down.</p> + +<p>She let go the hand. The rabbi had seized the candle, but she had +already passed him, and glided through the dark hall. The door was left +open. The rabbi locked it again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Veile returned to her home, as she had escaped, unnoticed. The narrow +street was deserted, as desolate as death. The searchers were to be +found everywhere except there where they ought first to have sought for +the missing one. Her mother, Selde, still sat on the same chair on which +she had sunk down an hour ago. The fright had left her like one +paralyzed, and she was unable to rise. What a wonderful contrast this +wedding-room, with the mother <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>sitting alone in it, presented to the +hilarity reigning here shortly before! On Veile's entrance her mother +did not cry out. She had no strength to do so. She merely said: "So you +have come at last, my daughter?" as if Veile had only returned from a +walk somewhat too long. But the young woman did not answer to this and +similar questions. Finally she signified by gesticulations that she +could not speak. Fright seized the wretched mother a second time, and +the entire house was filled with her lamentations.</p> + +<p>Ruben Klattaner and Veile's husband having now returned from their +fruitless search, were horrified on perceiving the change which Veile +had undergone. Being men, they did not weep. With staring eyes they +gazed upon the silent young woman, and beheld in her an apparition which +had been dealt with by God's visitation in a mysterious manner.</p> + +<p>From this hour began the terrible penance of the young woman.</p> + +<p>The impression which Veile's <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'woful'">woeful</ins> condition made upon the people of +the <i>gasse</i> was wonderful. Those who had danced with her that evening on +the wedding now first recalled her excited state. Her wild actions were +now first remembered by many. It must have been an "evil eye," they +concluded—a jealous, evil eye, to which her beauty was hateful. This +alone could have possessed her with a demon of unrest. She was driven by +this evil power into the dark night, a sport of these malicious +potencies which pursue men step by step, especially on such occasions. +The living God alone knows what she must have seen that night. Nothing +good, else one would not become dumb. Old legends and tales were +revived, each more horrible than the other. Hundreds of instances were +given to prove that this was nothing new in the <i>gasse</i>. Despite this +explanation, it is remarkable that the people did not believe that the +young woman was dumb. The most thought that her power of speech had been +paralyzed by some awful fright, but that with time it would be restored. +Under this supposition they called her "Veile the Silent."</p> + +<p>There is a kind of human eloquence more telling, more forcible than the +loudest words, than the choicest diction—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>the silence of woman! +Ofttimes they cannot endure the slightest vexation, but some great, +heart-breaking sorrow, some pain from constant renunciation, +self-sacrifice, they suffer with sealed lips—as if, in very truth, they +were bound with bars of iron.</p> + +<p>It would be difficult to fully describe that long "silent" life of the +young woman. It is almost impossible to cite more than one incident. +Veile accompanied her husband to his home, that house resplendent with +that gold and silver which had infatuated her. She was, to be sure, the +"first" woman in the <i>gasse;</i> she had everything in abundance. Indeed, +the world supposed that she had but little cause for complaint. "Must +one have everything?" was sometimes queried in the <i>gasse</i>. "One has one +thing; another, another." And, according to all appearances, the people +were right. Veile continued to be the beautiful, blooming woman. Her +penance of silence did not deprive her of a single charm. She was so +very happy, indeed, that she did not seem to feel even the pain of her +punishment. Veile could laugh and rejoice, but never did she forget to +be silent. The seemingly happy days, however, were only qualified to +bring about the proper time of trials and temptations. The beginning was +easy enough for her, the middle and end were times of real pain. The +first years of their wedded life were childless. "It is well," the +people in the <i>gasse</i> said, "that she has no children, and God has +rightly ordained it to be so. A mother who cannot talk to her child, +that would be something awful!" Unexpectedly to all, she rejoiced one +day in the birth of a daughter. And when that affectionate young +creature, her own offspring, was laid upon her breast, and the first +sounds were uttered by its lips—that nameless, eloquent utterance of an +infant—she forgot herself not; she was silent!</p> + +<p>She was silent also when from day to day that child blossomed before her +eyes into fuller beauty. Nor had she any words for it when, in effusions +of tenderness, it stretched forth its tiny arms, when in burning fever +it sought for the mother's hand. For days—yes, weeks—together she +watched at its bedside. Sleep never visited her eyes. But she ever +remembered her penance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>Years fled by. In her arms she carried another child. It was a boy. The +father's joy was great. The child inherited its mother's beauty. Like +its sister, it grew in health and strength. The noblest, richest mother, +they said, might be proud of such children! And Veile was proud, no +doubt, but this never passed her lips. She remained silent about things +which mothers in their joy often cannot find words enough to express. +And although her face many times lighted up with beaming smiles, yet she +never renounced the habitual silence imposed upon her.</p> + +<p>The idea that the slightest dereliction of her penance would be +accompanied with a curse upon her children may have impressed itself +upon her mind. Mothers will understand better than other persons what +this mother suffered from her penalty of silence.</p> + +<p>Thus a part of those years sped away which we are wont to call the best. +She still flourished in her wonderful beauty. Her maiden daughter was +beside her, like the bud beside the full-blown rose. Suitors were +already present from far and near, who passed in review before the +beautiful girl. The most of them were excellent young men, and any +mother might have been proud in having her own daughter sought by such. +Even then Veile did not undo her penance. Those busy times of +intercourse which keep mothers engaged in presenting the superiorities +of their daughters in the best light were not allowed her. The choice of +one of the most favored suitors was made. Never before did any couple in +the <i>gasse</i> equal this in beauty and grace. A few weeks before the +appointed time for the wedding a malignant disease stole on, spreading +sorrow and anxiety over the greater part of the land. Young girls were +principally its victims. It seemed to pass scornfully over the aged and +infirm. Veile's daughter was also laid hold upon by it. Before three +days had passed there was a corpse in the house—the bride!</p> + +<p>Even then Veile did not forget her penance. When they bore away the +corpse to the "good place," she did utter a cry of anguish which long +after echoed in the ears of the people; she did wring her hands in +despair, but no one heard a word of complaint. Her lips seemed dumb +for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>ever. It was then, when she was seated on the low stool in the seven +days of mourning, that the rabbi came to her, to bring to her the usual +consolation for the dead. But he did not speak with her. He addressed +words only to her husband. She herself dared not look up. Only when he +turned to go did she lift her eyes. They, in turn, met the eyes of the +rabbi, but he departed without a farewell.</p> + +<p>After her daughter's death Veile was completely broken down. Even that +which at her time of life is still called beauty had faded away within a +few days. Her cheeks had become hollow, her hair gray. Visitors wondered +how she could endure such a shock, how body and spirit could hold +together. They did not know that that silence was an iron fetter firmly +imprisoning the slumbering spirits. She had a son, moreover, to whom, as +to something last and dearest, her whole being still clung.</p> + +<p>The boy was thirteen years old. His learning in the Holy Scriptures was +already celebrated for miles around. He was the pupil of the rabbi, who +had treated him with a love and tenderness becoming his own father. He +said that he was a remarkable child, endowed with rare talents. The boy +was to be sent to Hungary, to one of the most celebrated teachers of the +times, in order to lay the foundation for his sacred studies under this +instructor's guidance and wisdom. Years might perhaps pass before she +would see him again. But Veile let her boy go from her embrace. She did +not say a blessing over him when he went; only her lips twitched with +the pain of silence.</p> + +<p>Long years expired before the boy returned from the strange land, a +full-grown, noble youth. When Veile had her son with her again a smile +played about her mouth, and for a moment it seemed as if her former +beauty had enjoyed a second spring. The extraordinary ability of her son +already made him famous. Wheresoever he went people were delighted with +his beauty, and admired the modesty of his manner, despite such great +scholarship.</p> + +<p>The next Sabbath the young disciple of the Talmud, scarcely twenty years +of age, was to demonstrate the first marks of this great learning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>The people crowded shoulder to shoulder in this great synagogue. Curious +glances were cast through the lattice-work of the women's gallery above +upon the dense throng. Veile occupied one of the foremost seats. She +could see everything that took place below. Her face was extremely pale. +All eyes were turned towards her—the mother, who was permitted to see +such a day for her son! But Veile did not appear to notice what was +happening before her. A weariness, such as she had never felt before, +even in her greatest suffering, crept over her limbs. It was as if she +must sleep during her son's address. He had hardly mounted the stairs +before the ark of the laws—hardly uttered his first words—when a +remarkable change crossed her face. Her cheeks burned. She arose. All +her vital energy seemed aroused. Her son meanwhile was speaking down +below. She could not have told what he was saying. She did not hear +him—she only heard the murmur of approbation, sometimes low, sometimes +loud, which came to her ears from the quarters of the men. The people +were astonished at the noble bearing of the speaker, his melodious +speech, and his powerful energy. When he stopped at certain times to +rest it seemed as if one were in a wood swept by a storm. She could now +and then hear a few voices declaring that such a one had never before +been listened to. The women at her side wept; she alone could not. A +choking pain pressed from her breast to her lips. Forces were astir in +her heart which struggled for expression. The whole synagogue echoed +with buzzing voices, but to her it seemed as if she must speak louder +than these. At the very moment her son had ended she cried out +unconsciously, violently throwing herself against the lattice-work:</p> + +<p>"God! living God! shall I not now speak?" A dead silence followed this +outcry. Nearly all had recognized this voice as that of the "silent +woman." A miracle had taken place!</p> + +<p>"Speak! speak!" resounded the answer of the rabbi from the men's seats +below. "You may now speak!"</p> + +<p>But no reply came. Veile had fallen back into her seat, pressing both +hands against her breast. When the women sitting beside her looked at +her they were terrified to find <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>that the "silent woman" had fainted. +She was dead! The unsealing of her lips was her last moment.</p> + +<p>Long years afterwards the rabbi died. On his death-bed he told those +standing about him this wonderful penance of Veile.</p> + +<p>Every girl in the <i>gasse</i> knew the story of the "silent woman."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>BANSHEES<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></h2> + +<p>Of all Irish ghosts, fairies, or bogles, the Banshee (sometimes called +locally the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: The original has a solid macron over both e's in these words">"Bohee<span style="margin-left: -.8em"><sup>—</sup></span>ntha" or "Bankee<span style="margin-left: -.8em"><sup>—</sup></span>ntha"</ins>) is the best known to the +general public: indeed, cross-Channel visitors would class her with +pigs, potatoes, and other fauna and flora of Ireland, and would expect +her to make manifest her presence to them as being one of the sights of +the country. She is a spirit with a lengthy pedigree—how lengthy no man +can say, as its roots go back into the dim, mysterious past. The most +famous Banshee of ancient times was that attached to the kingly house of +O'Brien, Aibhill, who haunted the rock of Craglea above Killaloe, near +the old palace of Kincora. In <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 1014 was fought the battle +of Clontarf, from which the aged king, Brian Boru, knew that he would +never come away alive, for the previous night Aibhill had appeared to +him to tell him of his impending fate. The Banshee's method of +foretelling death in olden times differed from that adopted by her at +the present day: now she wails and wrings her hands, as a general rule, +but in the old Irish tales she is to be found washing human heads and +limbs, or blood-stained clothes, till the water is all dyed with human +blood—this would take place before a battle. So it would seem that in +the course of centuries her attributes and characteristics have changed +somewhat.</p> + +<p>Very different descriptions are given of her personal appearance. +Sometimes she is young and beautiful, sometimes old and of a fearsome +appearance. One writer describes her as "a tall, thin woman with +uncovered head, and long hair that floated round her shoulders, attired +in something which seemed either a loose white cloak, or a sheet thrown +hastily around her, uttering piercing cries." Another person, a +coachman, saw her one evening sitting on a stile in the yard; she seemed +to be a very small woman, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>with blue eyes, long light hair, and wearing +a red cloak. Other descriptions will be found in this chapter. By the +way, it does not seem to be true that the Banshee exclusively follows +families of Irish descent, for the last incident had reference to the +death of a member of a Co. Galway family English by name and origin.</p> + +<p>One of the oldest and best-known Banshee stories is that related in the +<i>Memoirs</i> of Lady Fanshaw.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> In 1642 her husband, Sir Richard, and she +chanced to visit a friend, the head of an Irish sept, who resided in his +ancient baronial castle, surrounded with a moat. At midnight she was +awakened by a ghastly and supernatural scream, and looking out of bed, +beheld in the moonlight a female face and part of the form hovering at +the window. The distance from the ground, as well as the circumstance of +the moat, excluded the possibility that what she beheld was of this +world. The face was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but pale, +and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and disheveled. The dress, +which Lady Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her remarking accurately, +was that of the ancient Irish. This apparition continued to exhibit +itself for some time, and then vanished with two shrieks similar to that +which had first excited Lady Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, with +infinite terror, she communicated to her host what she had witnessed, +and found him prepared not only to credit, but to account for the +superstition. "A near relation of my family," said he; "expired last +night in this castle. We disguised our certain expectation of the event +from you, lest it should throw a cloud over the cheerful reception which +was your due. Now, before such an event happens in this family or +castle, the female specter whom you have seen is always visible. She is +believed to be the spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom one of my +ancestors degraded himself by marrying, and whom afterwards, to expiate +the dishonor done to his family, he caused to be drowned in the moat." +In strictness this woman could hardly be termed a Banshee. The motive +for the haunting is akin to that in the tale of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>the Scotch "Drummer of +Cortachy," where the spirit of the murdered man haunts the family out of +revenge, and appears before a death.</p> + +<p>Mr. T.J. Westropp, M.A., has furnished the following story: "My maternal +grandmother heard the following tradition from her mother, one of the +Miss Ross-Lewins, who witnessed the occurrence. Their father, Mr. +Harrison Ross-Lewin, was away in Dublin on law business, and in his +absence the young people went off to spend the evening with a friend who +lived some miles away. The night was fine and lightsome as they were +returning, save at one point where the road ran between trees or high +hedges not far to the west of the old church of Kilchrist. The latter, +like many similar ruins, was a simple oblong building, with long +side-walls and high gables, and at that time it and its graveyard were +unenclosed, and lay in the open fields. As the party passed down the +long dark lane they suddenly heard in the distance loud keening and +clapping of hands, as the country-people were accustomed to do when +lamenting the dead. The Ross-Lewins hurried on, and came in sight of the +church, on the side wall of which a little gray-haired old woman, clad +in a dark cloak, was running to and fro, chanting and wailing, and +throwing up her arms. The girls were very frightened, but the young men +ran forward and surrounded the ruin, and two of them went into the +church, the apparition vanishing from the wall as they did so. They +searched every nook, and found no one, nor did any one pass out. All +were now well scared, and got home as fast as possible. On reaching +their home their mother opened the door, and at once told them that she +was in terror about their father, for, as she sat looking out the window +in the moonlight, a huge raven with fiery eyes lit on the sill, and +tapped three times on the glass. They told her their story, which only +added to their anxiety, and as they stood talking, taps came to the +nearest window, and they saw the bird again. A few days later news +reached them that Mr. Ross-Lewin had died suddenly in Dublin. This +occurred about 1776."</p> + +<p>Mr. Westropp also writes that the sister of a former Roman Catholic +Bishop told his sisters that when she was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>a little girl she went out +one evening with some other children for a walk. Going down the road, +they passed the gate of the principal demesne near the town. There was a +rock, or large stone, beside the road, on which they saw something. +Going nearer, they perceived it to be a little dark, old woman, who +began crying and clapping her hands. Some of them attempted to speak to +her, but got frightened, and all finally ran home as quickly as they +could. Next day the news came that the gentleman near whose gate the +Banshee had cried, was dead, and it was found on inquiry that he had +died at the very hour at which the children had seen the specter.</p> + +<p>A lady who is a relation of one of the compilers, and a member of a Co. +Cork family of English descent, sends the two following experiences of a +Banshee in her family. "My mother, when a young girl, was standing +looking out of the window in their house at Blackrock, near Cork. She +suddenly saw a white figure standing on a bridge which was easily +visible from the house. The figure waved her arms towards the house, and +my mother heard the bitter wailing of the Banshee. It lasted some +seconds, and then the figure disappeared. Next morning my grandfather +was walking as usual into the city of Cork. He accidentally fell, hit +his head against the curbstone, and never recovered consciousness.</p> + +<p>"In March, 1900, my mother was very ill, and one evening the nurse and I +were with her arranging her bed. We suddenly heard the most +extraordinary wailing, which seemed to come in waves round and under her +bed. We naturally looked everywhere to try and find the cause, but in +vain. The nurse and I looked at one another, but made no remark, as my +mother did not seem to hear it. My sister was downstairs sitting with my +father. She heard it, and thought some terrible thing had happened to +her little boy, who was in bed upstairs. She rushed up, and found him +sleeping quietly. My father did not hear it. In the house next door they +heard it, and ran downstairs, thinking something had happened to the +servant; but the latter at once said to them, 'Did you hear the Banshee? +Mrs. P—— must be dying.'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>A few years ago (<i>i.e.</i> before 1894) a curious incident occurred in a +public school in connection with the belief in the Banshee. One of the +boys, happening to become ill, was at once placed in a room by himself, +where he used to sit all day. On one occasion, as he was being visited +by the doctor, he suddenly started up from his seat, and affirmed that +he heard somebody crying. The doctor, of course, who could hear or see +nothing, came to the conclusion that the illness had slightly affected +his brain. However, the boy, who appeared quite sensible, still +persisted that he heard some one crying, and furthermore said, "It is +the Banshee, as I have heard it before." The following morning the +head-master received a telegram saying that the boy's brother had been +accidentally shot dead.<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a></p> + +<p>That the Banshee is not confined within the geographical limits of +Ireland, but that she can follow the fortunes of a family abroad, and +there foretell their death, is clearly shown by the following story. A +party of visitors were gathered together on the deck of a private yacht +on one of the Italian lakes, and during a lull in the conversation one +of them, a Colonel, said to the owner, "Count, who's that queer-looking +woman you have on board?" The Count replied that there was nobody except +the ladies present, and the stewardess, but the speaker protested that +he was correct, and suddenly, with a scream of horror, he placed his +hands before his eyes, and exclaimed, "Oh, my God, what a face!" For +some time he was overcome with terror, and at length reluctantly looked +up, and cried:</p> + +<p>"Thank Heavens, it's gone!"</p> + +<p>"What was it?" asked the Count.</p> + +<p>"Nothing human," replied the Colonel—"nothing belonging to this world. +It was a woman of no earthly type, with a queer-shaped, gleaming face, a +mass of red hair, and eyes that would have been beautiful but for their +expression, which was hellish. She had on a green hood, after the +fashion of an Irish peasant."</p> + +<p>An American lady present suggested that the description tallied with +that of the Banshee, upon which the Count said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am an O'Neill—at least I am descended from one. My family name is, +as you know, Neilsini, which, little more than a century ago, was +O'Neill. My great-grandfather served in the Irish Brigade, and on its +dissolution at the time of the French Revolution had the good fortune to +escape the general massacre of officers, and in company with an O'Brien +and a Maguire fled across the frontier and settled in Italy. On his +death his son, who had been born in Italy, and was far more Italian than +Irish, changed his name to Neilsini, by which name the family has been +known ever since. But for all that we are Irish."</p> + +<p>"The Banshee was yours, then!" ejaculated the Colonel. "What exactly +does it mean?"</p> + +<p>"It means," the Count replied solemnly, "the death of some one very +nearly associated with me. Pray Heaven it is not my wife or daughter."</p> + +<p>On that score, however, his anxiety was speedily removed, for within two +hours he was seized with a violent attack of angina pectoris, and died +before morning.<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a></p> + +<p>Mr. Elliott O'Donnell, to whose article on "Banshees" we are indebted +for the above, adds: "The Banshee never manifests itself to the person +whose death it is prognosticating. Other people may see or hear it, but +the fated one never, so that when every one present is aware of it but +one, the fate of that one may be regarded as pretty well certain." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE MAN WHO WENT TOO FAR</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By E.F. Benson</span></h3> + + +<p>The little village of St. Faith's nestles in a hollow of wooded hill up +on the north bank of the river Fawn in the county of Hampshire, huddling +close round its gray Norman church as if for spiritual protection +against the fays and fairies, the trolls and "little people," who might +be supposed still to linger in the vast empty spaces of the New Forest, +and to come after dusk and do their doubtful businesses. Once outside +the hamlet you may walk in any direction (so long as you avoid the high +road which leads to Brockenhurst) for the length of a summer afternoon +without seeing sign of human habitation, or possibly even catching sight +of another human being. Shaggy wild ponies may stop their feeding for a +moment as you pass, the white scuts of rabbits will vanish into their +burrows, a brown viper perhaps will glide from your path into a clump of +heather, and unseen birds will chuckle in the bushes, but it may easily +happen that for a long day you will see nothing human. But you will not +feel in the least lonely; in summer, at any rate, the sunlight will be +gay with butterflies, and the air thick with all those woodland sounds +which like instruments in an orchestra combine to play the great +symphony of the yearly festival of June. Winds whisper in the birches, +and sigh among the firs; bees are busy with their redolent labor among +the heather, a myriad birds chirp in the green temples of the forest +trees, and the voice of the river prattling over stony places, bubbling +into pools, chuckling and gulping round corners, gives you the sense +that many presences and companions are near at hand.</p> + +<p>Yet, oddly enough, though one would have thought that these benign and +cheerful influences of wholesome air and spaciousness of forest were +very healthful comrades for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>man, in so far as nature can really +influence this wonderful human genus which has in these centuries +learned to defy her most violent storms in its well-established houses, +to bridle her torrents and make them light its streets, to tunnel her +mountains and plow her seas, the inhabitants of St. Faith's will not +willingly venture into the forest after dark. For in spite of the +silence and loneliness of the hooded night it seems that a man is not +sure in what company he may suddenly find himself, and though it is +difficult to get from these villagers any very clear story of occult +appearances, the feeling is widespread. One story indeed I have heard +with some definiteness, the tale of a monstrous goat that has been seen +to skip with hellish glee about the woods and shady places, and this +perhaps is connected with the story which I have here attempted to piece +together. It too is well-known to them; for all remember the young +artist who died here not long ago, a young man, or so he struck the +beholder, of great personal beauty, with something about him that made +men's faces to smile and brighten when they looked on him. His ghost +they will tell you "walks" constantly by the stream and through the +woods which he loved so, and in especial it haunts a certain house, the +last of the village, where he lived, and its garden in which he was done +to death. For my part I am inclined to think that the terror of the +Forest dates chiefly from that day. So, such as the story is, I have set +it forth in connected form. It is based partly on the accounts of the +villagers, but mainly on that of Darcy, a friend of mine and a friend of +the man with whom these events were chiefly concerned.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The day had been one of untarnished midsummer splendor, and as the sun +drew near to its setting, the glory of the evening grew every moment +more crystalline, more miraculous. Westward from St. Faith's the +beechwood which stretched for some miles toward the heathery upland +beyond already cast its veil of clear shadow over the red roofs of the +village, but the spire of the gray church, over-topping all, still +pointed a flaming orange finger into the sky. The river Fawn, which runs +below, lay in sheets of sky-reflected blue, and wound its dreamy devious +course <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>round the edge of this wood, where a rough two-planked bridge +crossed from the bottom of the garden of the last house in the village, +and communicated by means of a little wicker gate with the wood itself. +Then once out of the shadow of the wood the stream lay in flaming pools +of the molten crimson of the sunset, and lost itself in the haze of +woodland distances.</p> + +<p>This house at the end of the village stood outside the shadow, and the +lawn which sloped down to the river was still flecked with sunlight. +Garden-beds of dazzling color lined its gravel walks, and down the +middle of it ran a brick pergola, half-hidden in clusters of +rambler-rose and purple with starry clematis. At the bottom end of it, +between two of its pillars, was slung a hammock containing a +shirt-sleeved figure.</p> + +<p>The house itself lay somewhat remote from the rest of the village, and a +footpath leading across two fields, now tall and fragrant with hay, was +its only communication with the high road. It was low-built, only two +stories in height, and like the garden, its walls were a mass of +flowering roses. A narrow stone terrace ran along the garden front, over +which was stretched an awning, and on the terrace a young silent-footed +man-servant was busied with the laying of the table for dinner. He was +neat-handed and quick with his job, and having finished it he went back +into the house, and reappeared again with a large rough bath-towel on +his arm. With this he went to the hammock in the pergola.</p> + +<p>"Nearly eight, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Has Mr. Darcy come yet?" asked a voice from the hammock.</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"If I'm not back when he comes, tell him that I'm just having a bathe +before dinner."</p> + +<p>The servant went back to the house, and after a moment or two Frank +Halton struggled to a sitting posture, and slipped out on to the grass. +He was of medium height and rather slender in build, but the supple ease +and grace of his movements gave the impression of great physical +strength: even his descent from the hammock was not an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>awkward +performance. His face and hands were of very dark complexion, either +from constant exposure to wind and sun, or, as his black hair and dark +eyes tended to show, from some strain of southern blood. His head was +small, his face of an exquisite beauty of modeling, while the smoothness +of its contour would have led you to believe that he was a beardless lad +still in his teens. But something, some look which living and experience +alone can give, seemed to contradict that, and finding yourself +completely puzzled as to his age, you would next moment probably cease +to think about that, and only look at this glorious specimen of young +manhood with wondering satisfaction.</p> + +<p>He was dressed as became the season and the heat, and wore only a shirt +open at the neck, and a pair of flannel trousers. His head, covered very +thickly with a somewhat rebellious crop of short curly hair, was bare as +he strolled across the lawn to the bathing-place that lay below. Then +for a moment there was silence, then the sound of splashed and divided +waters, and presently after, a great shout of ecstatic joy, as he swam +up-stream with the foamed water standing in a frill round his neck. Then +after some five minutes of limb-stretching struggle with the flood, he +turned over on his back, and with arms thrown wide, floated down-stream, +ripple-cradled and inert. His eyes were shut, and between half-parted +lips he talked gently to himself.</p> + +<p>"I am one with it," he said to himself, "the river and I, I and the +river. The coolness and splash of it is I, and the water-herbs that wave +in it are I also. And my strength and my limbs are not mine but the +river's. It is all one, all one, dear Fawn."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later he appeared again at the bottom of the lawn, +dressed as before, his wet hair already drying into its crisp short +curls again. There he paused a moment, looking back at the stream with +the smile with which men look on the face of a friend, then turned +towards the house. Simultaneously his servant came to the door leading +on to the terrace, followed by a man who appeared to be some half-way +through the fourth decade of his years. Frank and he saw each other +across the bushes and garden-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>beds, and each quickening his step, they +met suddenly face to face round an angle of the garden walk, in the +fragrance of syringa.</p> + +<p>"My dear Darcy," cried Frank, "I am charmed to see you."</p> + +<p>But the other stared at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Frank!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is my name," he said laughing, "what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>Darcy took his hand.</p> + +<p>"What have you done to yourself?" he asked. "You are a boy again."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I have a lot to tell you," said Frank. "Lots that you will hardly +believe, but I shall convince you——"</p> + +<p>He broke off suddenly, and held up his hand.</p> + +<p>"Hush, there is my nightingale," he said.</p> + +<p>The smile of recognition and welcome with which he had greeted his +friend faded from his face, and a look of rapt wonder took its place, as +of a lover listening to the voice of his beloved. His mouth parted +slightly, showing the white line of teeth, and his eyes looked out and +out till they seemed to Darcy to be focused on things beyond the vision +of man. Then something perhaps startled the bird, for the song ceased.</p> + +<p>"Yes, lots to tell you," he said. "Really I am delighted to see you. But +you look rather white and pulled down; no wonder after that fever. And +there is to be no nonsense about this visit. It is June now, you stop +here till you are fit to begin work again. Two months at least."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I can't trespass quite to that extent."</p> + +<p>Frank took his arm and walked him down the grass.</p> + +<p>"Trespass? Who talks of trespass? I shall tell you quite openly when I +am tired of you, but you know when we had the studio together, we used +not to bore each other. However, it is ill talking of going away on the +moment of your arrival. Just a stroll to the river, and then it will be +dinner-time."</p> + +<p>Darcy took out his cigarette case, and offered it to the other.</p> + +<p>Frank laughed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, not for me. Dear me, I suppose I used to smoke once. How very odd!"</p> + +<p>"Given it up?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I suppose I must have. Anyhow I don't do it now. I would +as soon think of eating meat."</p> + +<p>"Another victim on the smoking altar of vegetarianism?"</p> + +<p>"Victim?" asked Frank. "Do I strike you as such?"</p> + +<p>He paused on the margin of the stream and whistled softly. Next moment a +moor-hen made its splashing flight across the river, and ran up the +bank. Frank took it very gently in his hands and stroked its head, as +the creature lay against his shirt.</p> + +<p>"And is the house among the reeds still secure?" he half-crooned to it. +"And is the missus quite well, and are the neighbors flourishing? There, +dear, home with you," and he flung it into the air.</p> + +<p>"That bird's very tame," said Darcy, slightly bewildered.</p> + +<p>"It is rather," said Frank, following its flight.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>During dinner Frank chiefly occupied himself in bringing himself +up-to-date in the movements and achievements of this old friend whom he +had not seen for six years. Those six years, it now appeared, had been +full of incident and success for Darcy; he had made a name for himself +as a portrait painter which bade fair to outlast the vogue of a couple +of seasons, and his leisure time had been brief. Then some four months +previously he had been through a severe attack of typhoid, the result of +which as concerns this story was that he had come down to this +sequestered place to recruit.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you've got on," said Frank at the end. "I always knew you would. +A.R.A. with more in prospect. Money? You roll in it, I suppose, and, O +Darcy, how much happiness have you had all these years? That is the only +imperishable possession. And how much have you learned? Oh, I don't mean +in Art. Even I could have done well in that."</p> + +<p>Darcy laughed.</p> + +<p>"Done well? My dear fellow, all I have learned in these <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>six years you +knew, so to speak, in your cradle. Your old pictures fetch huge prices. +Do you never paint now?"</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm too busy," he said.</p> + +<p>"Doing what? Please tell me. That is what every one is for ever asking +me."</p> + +<p>"Doing? I suppose you would say I do nothing."</p> + +<p>Darcy glanced up at the brilliant young face opposite him.</p> + +<p>"It seems to suit you, that way of being busy," he said. "Now, it's your +turn. Do you read? Do you study? I remember you saying that it would do +us all—all us artists, I mean—a great deal of good if we would study +any one human face carefully for a year, without recording a line. Have +you been doing that?"</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head again.</p> + +<p>"I mean exactly what I say," he said, "I have been <i>doing</i> nothing. And +I have never been so occupied. Look at me; have I not done something to +myself to begin with?"</p> + +<p>"You are two years younger than I," said Darcy, "at least you used to +be. You therefore are thirty-five. But had I never seen you before I +should say you were just twenty. But was it worth while to spend six +years of greatly-occupied life in order to look twenty? Seems rather +like a woman of fashion."</p> + +<p>Frank laughed boisterously.</p> + +<p>"First time I've ever been compared to that particular bird of prey," he +said. "No, that has not been my occupation—in fact I am only very +rarely conscious that one effect of my occupation has been that. Of +course, it must have been if one comes to think of it. It is not very +important. Quite true my body has become young. But that is very little; +I have become young."</p> + +<p>Darcy pushed back his chair and sat sideways to the table looking at the +other.</p> + +<p>"Has that been your occupation then?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that anyhow is one aspect of it. Think what youth means! It is the +capacity for growth, mind, body, spirit, all grow, all get stronger, all +have a fuller, firmer life every day. That is something, considering +that every <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>day that passes after the ordinary man reaches the +full-blown flower of his strength, weakens his hold on life. A man +reaches his prime, and remains, we say, in his prime, for ten years, or +perhaps twenty. But after his primest prime is reached, he slowly, +insensibly weakens. These are the signs of age in you, in your body, in +your art probably, in your mind. You are less electric than you were. +But I, when I reach my prime—I am nearing it—ah, you shall see."</p> + +<p>The stars had begun to appear in the blue velvet of the sky, and to the +east the horizon seen above the black silhouette of the village was +growing dove-colored with the approach of moon-rise. White moths hovered +dimly over the garden-beds, and the footsteps of night tip-toed through +the bushes. Suddenly Frank rose.</p> + +<p>"Ah, it is the supreme moment," he said softly. "Now more than at any +other time the current of life, the eternal imperishable current runs so +close to me that I am almost enveloped in it. Be silent a minute."</p> + +<p>He advanced to the edge of the terrace and looked out standing stretched +with arms outspread. Darcy heard him draw a long breath into his lungs, +and after many seconds expel it again. Six or eight times he did this, +then turned back into the lamplight.</p> + +<p>"It will sound to you quite mad, I expect," he said, "but if you want to +hear the soberest truth I have ever spoken and shall ever speak, I will +tell you about myself. But come into the garden if it is not too damp +for you. I have never told any one yet, but I shall like to tell you. It +is long, in fact, since I have even tried to classify what I have +learned."</p> + +<p>They wandered into the fragrant dimness of the pergola, and sat down. +Then Frank began:</p> + +<p>"Years ago, do you remember," he said, "we used often to talk about the +decay of joy in the world. Many impulses, we settled, had contributed to +this decay, some of which were good in themselves, others that were +quite completely bad. Among the good things, I put what we may call +certain Christian virtues, renunciation, resignation, sympathy with +suffering, and the desire to relieve sufferers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> But out of those things +spring very bad ones, useless renunciations, asceticism for its own +sake, mortification of the flesh with nothing to follow, no +corresponding gain that is, and that awful and terrible disease which +devastated England some centuries ago, and from which by heredity of +spirit we suffer now, Puritanism. That was a dreadful plague, the brutes +held and taught that joy and laughter and merriment were evil: it was a +doctrine the most profane and wicked. Why, what is the commonest crime +one sees? A sullen face. That is the truth of the matter.</p> + +<p>"Now all my life I have believed that we are intended to be happy, that +joy is of all gifts the most divine. And when I left London, abandoned +my career, such as it was, I did so because I intended to devote my life +to the cultivation of joy, and, by continuous and unsparing effort, to +be happy. Among people, and in constant intercourse with others, I did +not find it possible; there were too many distractions in towns and +work-rooms, and also too much suffering. So I took one step backwards or +forwards, as you may choose to put it, and went straight to Nature, to +trees, birds, animals, to all those things which quite clearly pursue +one aim only, which blindly follow the great native instinct to be happy +without any care at all for morality, or human law or divine law. I +wanted, you understand, to get all joy first-hand and unadulterated, and +I think it scarcely exists among men; it is obsolete."</p> + +<p>Darcy turned in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but what makes birds and animals happy?" he asked. "Food, food and +mating."</p> + +<p>Frank laughed gently in the stillness.</p> + +<p>"Do not think I became a sensualist," he said. "I did not make that +mistake. For the sensualist carries his miseries pick-a-back, and round +his feet is wound the shroud that shall soon enwrap him. I may be mad, +it is true, but I am not so stupid anyhow as to have tried that. No, +what is it that makes puppies play with their own tails, that sends cats +on their prowling ecstatic errands at night?".</p> + +<p>He paused a moment.</p> + +<p>"So I went to Nature," he said. "I sat down here in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>this New Forest, +sat down fair and square, and looked. That was my first difficulty, to +sit here quiet without being bored, to wait without being impatient, to +be receptive and very alert, though for a long time nothing particular +happened. The change in fact was slow in those early stages."</p> + +<p>"Nothing happened?" asked Darcy rather impatiently, with the sturdy +revolt against any new idea which to the English mind is synonymous with +nonsense. "Why, what in the world <i>should</i> happen?"</p> + +<p>Now Frank as he had known him was the most generous but most +quick-tempered of mortal men; in other words his anger would flare to a +prodigious beacon, under almost no provocation, only to be quenched +again under a gust of no less impulsive kindliness. Thus the moment +Darcy had spoken, an apology for his hasty question was half-way up his +tongue. But there was no need for it to have traveled even so far, for +Frank laughed again with kindly, genuine mirth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how I should have resented that a few years ago," he said. "Thank +goodness that resentment is one of the things I have got rid of. I +certainly wish that you should believe my story—in fact, you are going +to—but that you at this moment should imply that you do not, does not +concern me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, your solitary sojournings have made you inhuman," said Darcy, still +very English.</p> + +<p>"No, human," said Frank. "Rather more human, at least rather less of an +ape."</p> + +<p>"Well, that was my first quest," he continued, after a moment, "the +deliberate and unswerving pursuit of joy, and my method, the eager +contemplation of Nature. As far as motive went, I daresay it was purely +selfish, but as far as effect goes, it seems to me about the best thing +one can do for one's fellow-creatures, for happiness is more infectious +than small-pox. So, as I said, I sat down and waited; I looked at happy +things, zealously avoided the sight of anything unhappy, and by degrees +a little trickle of the happiness of this blissful world began to filter +into me. The trickle grew more abundant, and now, my dear fellow, if I +could for a moment divert from me into you one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>half of the torrent of +joy that pours through me day and night, you would throw the world, art, +everything aside, and just live, exist. When a man's body dies, it +passes into trees and flowers. Well, that is what I have been trying to +do with my soul before death."</p> + +<p>The servant had brought into the pergola a table with syphons and +spirits, and had set a lamp upon it. As Frank spoke he leaned forward +towards the other, and Darcy for all his matter-of-fact commonsense +could have sworn that his companion's face shone, was luminous in +itself. His dark brown eyes glowed from within, the unconscious smile of +a child irradiated and transformed his face. Darcy felt suddenly +excited, exhilarated.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said. "Go on. I can feel you are somehow telling me sober +truth. I daresay you are mad; but I don't see that matters."</p> + +<p>Frank laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Mad?" he said. "Yes, certainly, if you wish. But I prefer to call it +sane. However, nothing matters less than what anybody chooses to call +things. God never labels his gifts; He just puts them into our hands; +just as he put animals in the garden of Eden, for Adam to name if he +felt disposed."</p> + +<p>"So by the continual observance and study of things that were happy," +continued he, "I got happiness, I got joy. But seeking it, as I did, +from Nature, I got much more which I did not seek, but stumbled upon +originally by accident. It is difficult to explain, but I will try.</p> + +<p>"About three years ago I was sitting one morning in a place I will show +you to-morrow. It is down by the river brink, very green, dappled with +shade and sun, and the river passes there through some little clumps of +reeds. Well, as I sat there, doing nothing, but just looking and +listening, I heard the sound quite distinctly of some flute-like +instrument playing a strange unending melody. I thought at first it was +some musical yokel on the highway and did not pay much attention. But +before long the strangeness and indescribable beauty of the tune struck +me. It never repeated itself, but it never came to an end, phrase after +phrase ran its sweet course, it worked gradually <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>and inevitably up to a +climax, and having attained it, it went on; another climax was reached +and another and another. Then with a sudden gasp of wonder I localized +where it came from. It came from the reeds and from the sky and from the +trees. It was everywhere, it was the sound of life. It was, my dear +Darcy, as the Greeks would have said, it was Pan playing on his pipes, +the voice of Nature. It was the life-melody, the world-melody."</p> + +<p>Darcy was far too interested to interrupt, though there was a question +he would have liked to ask, and Frank went on:</p> + +<p>"Well, for the moment I was terrified, terrified with the impotent +horror of nightmare, and I stopped my ears and just ran from the place +and got back to the house panting, trembling, literally in a panic. +Unknowingly, for at that time I only pursued joy, I had begun, since I +drew my joy from Nature, to get in touch with Nature. Nature, force, +God, call it what you will, had drawn across my face a little gossamer +web of essential life. I saw that when I emerged from my terror, and I +went very humbly back to where I had heard the Pan-pipes. But it was +nearly six months before I heard them again."</p> + +<p>"Why was that?" asked Darcy.</p> + +<p>"Surely because I had revolted, rebelled, and worst of all been +frightened. For I believe that just as there is nothing in the world +which so injures one's body as fear, so there is nothing that so much +shuts up the soul. I was afraid, you see, of the one thing in the world +which has real existence. No wonder its manifestation was withdrawn."</p> + +<p>"And after six months?"</p> + +<p>"After six months one blessed morning I heard the piping again. I wasn't +afraid that time. And since then it has grown louder, it has become more +constant. I now hear it often, and I can put myself into such an +attitude towards Nature that the pipes will almost certainly sound. And +never yet have they played the same tune, it is always something new, +something fuller, richer, more complete than before."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean by 'such an attitude towards Nature'?" asked Darcy.</p> + +<p>"I can't explain that; but by translating it into a bodily attitude it +is this."</p> + +<p>Frank sat up for a moment quite straight in his chair, then slowly sunk +back with arms outspread and head drooped.</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "an effortless attitude, but open, resting, receptive. +It is just that which you must do with your soul."</p> + +<p>Then he sat up again.</p> + +<p>"One word more," he said, "and I will bore you no further. Nor unless +you ask me questions shall I talk about it again. You will find me, in +fact, quite sane in my mode of life. Birds and beasts you will see +behaving somewhat intimately to me, like that moor-hen, but that is all. +I will walk with you, ride with you, play golf with you, and talk with +you on any subject you like. But I wanted you on the threshold to know +what has happened to me. And one thing more will happen."</p> + +<p>He paused again, and a slight look of fear crossed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"There will be a final revelation," he said, "a complete and blinding +stroke which will throw open to me, once and for all, the full +knowledge, the full realization and comprehension that I am one, just as +you are, with life. In reality there is no 'me,' no 'you,' no 'it.' +Everything is part of the one and only thing which is life. I know that +that is so, but the realization of it is not yet mine. But it will be, +and on that day, so I take it, I shall see Pan. It may mean death, the +death of my body, that is, but I don't care. It may mean immortal, +eternal life lived here and now and for ever. Then having gained that, +ah, my dear Darcy, I shall preach such a gospel of joy, showing myself +as the living proof of the truth, that Puritanism, the dismal religion +of sour faces, shall vanish like a breath of smoke, and be dispersed and +disappear in the sunlit air. But first the full knowledge must be mine."</p> + +<p>Darcy watched his face narrowly.</p> + +<p>"You are afraid of that moment," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Frank smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"Quite true; you are quick to have seen that. But when it comes I hope I +shall not be afraid."</p> + +<p>For some little time there was silence; then Darcy rose.</p> + +<p>"You have bewitched me, you extraordinary boy," he said. "You have been +telling me a fairy-story, and I find myself saying, 'Promise me it is +true.'"</p> + +<p>"I promise you that," said the other.</p> + +<p>"And I know I shan't sleep," added Darcy.</p> + +<p>Frank looked at him with a sort of mild wonder as if he scarcely +understood.</p> + +<p>"Well, what does that matter?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I assure you it does. I am wretched unless I sleep."</p> + +<p>"Of course I can make you sleep if I want," said Frank in a rather bored +voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, do."</p> + +<p>"Very good: go to bed. I'll come upstairs in ten minutes."</p> + +<p>Frank busied himself for a little after the other had gone, moving the +table back under the awning of the veranda and quenching the lamp. Then +he went with his quick silent tread upstairs and into Darcy's room. The +latter was already in bed, but very wide-eyed and wakeful, and Frank +with an amused smile of indulgence, as for a fretful child, sat down on +the edge of the bed.</p> + +<p>"Look at me," he said, and Darcy looked.</p> + +<p>"The birds are sleeping in the brake," said Frank softly, "and the winds +are asleep. The sea sleeps, and the tides are but the heaving of its +breast. The stars swing slow, rocked in the great cradle of the Heavens, +and——"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly, gently blew out Darcy's candle, and left him +sleeping.</p> + +<p>Morning brought to Darcy a flood of hard commonsense, as clear and crisp +as the sunshine that filled his room. Slowly as he woke he gathered +together the broken threads of the memories of the evening which had +ended, so he told himself, in a trick of common hypnotism. That +accounted for it all; the whole strange talk he had had was under a +spell of suggestion from the extraordinary vivid boy who had once been a +man; all his own excitement, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>acceptance of the incredible had been +merely the effect of a stronger, more potent will imposed on his own. +How strong that will was, he guessed from his own instantaneous +obedience to Frank's suggestion of sleep. And armed with impenetrable +commonsense he came down to breakfast. Frank had already begun, and was +consuming a large plateful of porridge and milk with the most prosaic +and healthy appetite.</p> + +<p>"Slept well?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. Where did you learn hypnotism?"</p> + +<p>"By the side of the river."</p> + +<p>"You talked an amazing quantity of nonsense last night," remarked Darcy, +in a voice prickly with reason.</p> + +<p>"Rather. I felt quite giddy. Look, I remembered to order a dreadful +daily paper for you. You can read about money markets or politics or +cricket matches."</p> + +<p>Darcy looked at him closely. In the morning light Frank looked even +fresher, younger, more vital than he had done the night before, and the +sight of him somehow dinted Darcy's armor of commonsense.</p> + +<p>"You are the most extraordinary fellow I ever saw," he said. "I want to +ask you some more questions."</p> + +<p>"Ask away," said Frank.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For the next day or two Darcy plied his friend with many questions, +objections and criticisms on the theory of life and gradually got out of +him a coherent and complete account of his experience. In brief then, +Frank believed that "by lying naked," as he put it, to the force which +controls the passage of the stars, the breaking of a wave, the budding +of a tree, the love of a youth and maiden, he had succeeded in a way +hitherto undreamed of in possessing himself of the essential principle +of life. Day by day, so he thought, he was getting nearer to, and in +closer union with the great power itself which caused all life to be, +the spirit of nature, of force, or the spirit of God. For himself, he +confessed to what others would call paganism; it was sufficient for him +that there existed a principle of life. He did not worship it, he did +not pray to it, he did not praise it. Some of it existed in all human +beings, just as it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>existed in trees and animals; to realize and make +living to himself the fact that it was all one, was his sole aim and +object.</p> + +<p>Here perhaps Darcy would put in a word of warning. "Take care," he said. +"To see Pan meant death, did it not?"</p> + +<p>Frank's eyebrows would rise at this.</p> + +<p>"What does that matter?" he said. "True, the Greeks were always right, +and they said so, but there is another possibility. For the nearer I get +to it, the more living, the more vital and young I become."</p> + +<p>"What then do you expect the final revelation will do for you?"</p> + +<p>"I have told you," said he. "It will make me immortal."</p> + +<p>But it was not so much from speech and argument that Darcy grew to grasp +his friend's conception, as from the ordinary conduct of his life. They +were passing, for instance, one morning down the village street, when an +old woman, very bent and decrepit, but with an extraordinary +cheerfulness of face, hobbled out from her cottage. Frank instantly +stopped when he saw her.</p> + +<p>"You old darling! How goes it all?" he said.</p> + +<p>But she did not answer, her dim old eyes were riveted on his face; she +seemed to drink in like a thirsty creature the beautiful radiance which +shone there. Suddenly she put her two withered old hands on his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You're just the sunshine itself," she said, and he kissed her and +passed on.</p> + +<p>But scarcely a hundred yards further a strange contradiction of such +tenderness occurred. A child running along the path towards them fell on +its face, and set up a dismal cry of fright and pain. A look of horror +came into Frank's eyes, and, putting his fingers in his ears, he fled at +full speed down the street, and did not pause till he was out of +hearing. Darcy, having ascertained that the child was not really hurt, +followed him in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Are you without pity then?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see?" he asked. "Can't you understand that that sort of +thing, pain, anger, anything unlovely throws me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>back, retards the +coming of the great hour! Perhaps when it comes I shall be able to piece +that side of life on to the other, on to the true religion of joy. At +present I can't."</p> + +<p>"But the old woman. Was she not ugly?"</p> + +<p>Frank's radiance gradually returned.</p> + +<p>"Ah, no. She was like me. She longed for joy, and knew it when she saw +it, the old darling."</p> + +<p>Another question suggested itself.</p> + +<p>"Then what about Christianity?" asked Darcy.</p> + +<p>"I can't accept it. I can't believe in any creed of which the central +doctrine is that God who is Joy should have had to suffer. Perhaps it +was so; in some inscrutable way I believe it may have been so, but I +don't understand how it was possible. So I leave it alone; my affair is +joy."</p> + +<p>They had come to the weir above the village, and the thunder of riotous +cool water was heavy in the air. Trees dipped into the translucent +stream with slender trailing branches, and the meadow where they stood +was starred with midsummer blossomings. Larks shot up caroling into the +crystal dome of blue, and a thousand voices of June sang round them. +Frank, bare-headed as was his wont, with his coat slung over his arm and +his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow, stood there like some +beautiful wild animal with eyes half-shut and mouth half-open, drinking +in the scented warmth of the air. Then suddenly he flung himself face +downwards on the grass at the edge of the stream, burying his face in +the daisies and cowslips, and lay stretched there in wide-armed ecstasy, +with his long fingers pressing and stroking the dewy herbs of the field. +Never before had Darcy seen him thus fully possessed by his idea; his +caressing fingers, his half-buried face pressed close to the grass, even +the clothed lines of his figure were instinct with a vitality that +somehow was different from that of other men. And some faint glow from +it reached Darcy, some thrill, some vibration from that charged +recumbent body passed to him, and for a moment he understood as he had +not understood before, despite his persistent questions and the candid +answers they received, how real, and how realized by Frank, his idea +was.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the muscles in Frank's neck became stiff <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>and alert, and +he half-raised his head, whispering, "The Pan-pipes, the Pan-pipes. +Close, oh, so close."</p> + +<p>Very slowly, as if a sudden movement might interrupt the melody, he +raised himself and leaned on the elbow of his bent arm. His eyes opened +wider, the lower lids drooped as if he focused his eyes on something +very far away, and the smile on his face broadened and quivered like +sunlight on still water, till the exultance of its happiness was +scarcely human. So he remained motionless and rapt for some minutes, +then the look of listening died from his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'frace'">face</ins>, and he bowed his head +satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that was good," he said. "How is it possible you did not hear? Oh, +you poor fellow! Did you really hear nothing?"</p> + +<p>A week of this outdoor and stimulating life did wonders in restoring to +Darcy the vigor and health which his weeks of fever had filched from +him, and as his normal activity and higher pressure of vitality +returned, he seemed to himself to fall even more under the spell which +the miracle of Frank's youth cast over him. Twenty times a day he found +himself saying to himself suddenly at the end of some ten minutes' +silent resistance to the absurdity of Frank's idea: "But it isn't +possible; it can't be possible," and from the fact of his having to +assure himself so frequently of this, he knew that he was struggling and +arguing with a conclusion which already had taken root in his mind. For +in any case a visible living miracle confronted him, since it was +equally impossible that this youth, this boy, trembling on the verge of +manhood, was thirty-five. Yet such was the fact.</p> + +<p>July was ushered in by a couple of days of blustering and fretful rain, +and Darcy, unwilling to risk a chill, kept to the house. But to Frank +this weeping change of weather seemed to have no bearing on the behavior +of man, and he spent his days exactly as he did under the suns of June, +lying in his hammock, stretched on the dripping grass, or making huge +rambling excursions into the forest, the birds hopping from tree to tree +after him, to return in the evening, drenched and soaked, but with the +same unquenchable flame of joy burning within him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Catch cold?" he would ask, "I've forgotten how to do it, I think. I +suppose it makes one's body more sensible always to sleep out-of-doors. +People who live indoors always remind me of something peeled and +skinless."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you slept out-of-doors last night in that deluge?" +asked Darcy. "And where, may I ask?"</p> + +<p>Frank thought a moment.</p> + +<p>"I slept in the hammock till nearly dawn," he said. "For I remember the +light blinked in the east when I awoke. Then I went—where did I +go?—oh, yes, to the meadow where the Pan-pipes sounded so close a week +ago. You were with me, do you remember? But I always have a rug if it is +wet."</p> + +<p>And he went whistling upstairs.</p> + +<p>Somehow that little touch, his obvious effort to recall where he had +slept, brought strangely home to Darcy the wonderful romance of which he +was the still half-incredulous beholder. Sleep till close on dawn in a +hammock, then the tramp—or probably scamper—underneath the windy and +weeping heavens to the remote and lonely meadow by the weir! The picture +of other such nights rose before him; Frank sleeping perhaps by the +bathing-place under the filtered twilight of the stars, or the white +blaze of moon-shine, a stir and awakening at some dead hour, perhaps a +space of silent wide-eyed thought, and then a wandering through the +hushed woods to some other dormitory, alone with his happiness, alone +with the joy and the life that suffused and enveloped him, without other +thought or desire or aim except the hourly and never-ceasing communion +with the joy of nature.</p> + +<p>They were in the middle of dinner that night, talking on indifferent +subjects, when Darcy suddenly broke off in the middle of a sentence.</p> + +<p>"I've got it," he said. "At last I've got it."</p> + +<p>"Congratulate you," said Frank. "But what?"</p> + +<p>"The radical unsoundness of your idea. It is this: All nature from +highest to lowest is full, crammed full of suffering; every living +organism in nature preys on another, yet in your aim to get close to, to +be one with nature, you leave suffering altogether out; you run away +from it, you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>refuse to recognize it. And you are waiting, you say, for +the final revelation."</p> + +<p>Frank's brow clouded slightly.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he asked, rather wearily.</p> + +<p>"Cannot you guess then when the final revelation will be? In joy you are +supreme, I grant you that; I did not know a man could be so master of +it. You have learned perhaps practically all that nature can teach. And +if, as you think, the final revelation is coming to you, it will be the +revelation of horror, suffering, death, pain in all its hideous forms. +Suffering does exist: you hate it and fear it."</p> + +<p>Frank held up his hand.</p> + +<p>"Stop; let me think," he said.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a long minute.</p> + +<p>"That never struck me," he said at length. "It is possible that what you +suggest is true. Does the sight of Pan mean that, do you think? Is it +that nature, take it altogether, suffers horribly, suffers to a hideous +inconceivable extent? Shall I be shown all the suffering?"</p> + +<p>He got up and came round to where Darcy sat.</p> + +<p>"If it is so, so be it," he said. "Because, my dear fellow, I am near, +so splendidly near to the final revelation. To-day the pipes have +sounded almost without pause. I have even heard the rustle in the +bushes, I believe, of Pan's coming. I have seen, yes, I saw to-day, the +bushes pushed aside as if by a hand, and piece of a face, not human, +peered through. But I was not frightened, at least I did not run away +this time."</p> + +<p>He took a turn up to the window and back again.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is suffering all through," he said, "and I have left it all +out of my search. Perhaps, as you say, the revelation will be that. And +in that case, it will be good-bye. I have gone on one line. I shall have +gone too far along one road, without having explored the other. But I +can't go back now. I wouldn't if I could; not a step would I retrace! In +any case, whatever the revelation is, it will be God. I'm sure of that."</p> + +<p>The rainy weather soon passed, and with the return of the sun Darcy +again joined Frank in long rambling days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> It grew extraordinarily +hotter, and with the fresh bursting of life, after the rain, Frank's +vitality seemed to blaze higher and higher. Then, as is the habit of the +English weather, one evening clouds began to bank themselves up in the +west, the sun went down in a glare of coppery thunder-rack, and the +whole earth broiling under an unspeakable oppression and sultriness +paused and panted for the storm. After sunset the remote fires of +lightning began to wink and flicker on the horizon, but when bed-time +came the storm seemed to have moved no nearer, though a very low +unceasing noise of thunder was audible. Weary and oppressed by the +stress of the day, Darcy fell at once into a heavy uncomforting sleep.</p> + +<p>He woke suddenly into full consciousness, with the din of some appalling +explosion of thunder in his ears, and sat up in bed with racing heart. +Then for a moment, as he recovered himself from the panic-land which +lies between sleeping and waking, there was silence, except for the +steady hissing of rain on the shrubs outside his window. But suddenly +that silence was shattered and shredded into fragments by a scream from +somewhere close at hand outside in the black garden, a scream of supreme +and despairing terror. Again, and once again it shrilled up, and then a +babble of awful words was interjected. A quivering sobbing voice that he +knew, said:</p> + +<p>"My God, oh, my God; oh, Christ!"</p> + +<p>And then followed a little mocking, bleating laugh. Then was silence +again; only the rain hissed on the shrubs.</p> + +<p>All this was but the affair of a moment, and without pause either to put +on clothes or light a candle, Darcy was already fumbling at his +door-handle. Even as he opened it he met a terror-stricken face outside, +that of the man-servant who carried a light.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The man's face was bleached to a dull shining whiteness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," he said. "It was the master's voice."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Together they hurried down the stairs, and through the dining-room where +an orderly table for breakfast had already been laid, and out on to the +terrace. The rain for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>the moment had been utterly stayed, as if the tap +of the heavens had been turned off, and under the lowering black sky, +not quite dark, since the moon rode somewhere serene behind the +conglomerated thunder-clouds, Darcy stumbled into the garden, followed +by the servant with the candle. The monstrous leaping shadow of himself +was cast before him on the lawn; lost and wandering odors of rose and +lily and damp earth were thick about him, but more pungent was some +sharp and acrid smell that suddenly reminded him of a certain châlet in +which he had once taken refuge in the Alps. In the blackness of the hazy +light from the sky, and the vague tossing of the candle behind him, he +saw that the hammock in which Frank so often lay was tenanted. A gleam +of white shirt was there, as if a man sitting up in it, but across that +there was an obscure dark shadow, and as he approached the acrid odor +grew more intense.</p> + +<p>He was now only some few yards away, when suddenly the black shadow +seemed to jump into the air, then came down with tappings of hard hoofs +on the brick path that ran down the pergola, and with frolicsome +skippings galloped off into the bushes. When that was gone Darcy could +see quite clearly that a shirted figure sat up in the hammock. For one +moment, from sheer terror of the unseen, he hung on his step, and the +servant joining him they walked together to the hammock.</p> + +<p>It was Frank. He was in shirt and trousers only, and he sat up with +braced arms. For one half-second he stared at them, his face a mask of +horrible contorted terror. His upper lip was drawn back so that the gums +of the teeth appeared, and his eyes were focused not on the two who +approached him but on something quite close to him; his nostrils were +widely expanded, as if he panted for breath, and terror incarnate and +repulsion and deathly anguish ruled dreadful lines on his smooth cheeks +and forehead. Then even as they looked the body sank backwards, and the +ropes of the hammock wheezed and strained.</p> + +<p>Darcy lifted him out and carried him indoors. Once he thought there was +a faint convulsive stir of the limbs that lay with so dead a weight in +his arms, but when they got inside, there was no trace of life. But the +look of supreme <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>terror and agony of fear had gone from his face, a boy +tired with play but still smiling in his sleep was the burden he laid on +the floor. His eyes had closed, and the beautiful mouth lay in smiling +curves, even as when a few mornings ago, in the meadow by the weir, it +had quivered to the music of the unheard melody of Pan's pipes. Then +they looked further.</p> + +<p>Frank had come back from his bath before dinner that night in his usual +costume of shirt and trousers only. He had not dressed, and during +dinner, so Darcy remembered, he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt +to above the elbow. Later, as they sat and talked after dinner on the +close sultriness of the evening, he had unbuttoned the front of his +shirt to let what little breath of wind there was play on his skin. The +sleeves were rolled up now, the front of the shirt was unbuttoned, and +on his arms and on the brown skin of his chest were strange +discolorations which grew momently more clear and defined, till they saw +that the marks were pointed prints, as if caused by the hoofs of some +monstrous goat that had leaped and stamped upon him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE WOMAN'S GHOST STORY<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a></h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Algernon Blackwood</span></h3> + +<p>"Yes," she said, from her seat in the dark corner, "I'll tell you an +experience if you care to listen. And, what's more, I'll tell it +briefly, without trimmings—I mean without unessentials. That's a thing +story-tellers never do, you know," she laughed. "They drag in all the +unessentials and leave their listeners to disentangle; but I'll give you +just the essentials, and you can make of it what you please. But on one +condition: that at the end you ask no questions, because I can't explain +it and have no wish to."</p> + +<p>We agreed. We were all serious. After listening to a dozen prolix +stories from people who merely wished to "talk" but had nothing to tell, +we wanted "essentials."</p> + +<p>"In those days," she began, feeling from the quality of our silence that +we were with her, "in those days I was interested in psychic things, and +had arranged to sit up alone in a haunted house in the middle of London. +It was a cheap and dingy lodging-house in a mean street, unfurnished. I +had already made a preliminary examination in daylight that afternoon, +and the keys from the caretaker, who lived next door, were in my pocket. +The story was a good one—satisfied me, at any rate, that it was worth +investigating; and I won't weary you with details as to the woman's +murder and all the tiresome elaboration as to <i>why</i> the place was +<i>alive</i>. Enough that it was.</p> + +<p>"I was a good deal bored, therefore, to see a man, whom I took to be the +talkative old caretaker, waiting for me on the steps when I went in at +11 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, for I had sufficiently explained that I wished to be +there alone for the night. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'I wished to show you <i>the</i> room,' he mumbled, and of course I couldn't +exactly refuse, having tipped him for the temporary loan of a chair and +table.</p> + +<p>"'Come in, then, and let's be quick,' I said.</p> + +<p>"We went in, he shuffling after me through the unlighted hall up to the +first floor where the murder had taken place, and I prepared myself to +hear his inevitable account before turning him out with the half-crown +his persistence had earned. After lighting the gas I sat down in the +arm-chair he had provided—a faded, brown plush arm-chair—and turned +for the first time to face him and get through with the performance as +quickly as possible. And it was in that instant I got my first shock. +The man was <i>not</i> the caretaker. It was not the old fool, Carey, I had +interviewed earlier in the day and made my plans with. My heart gave a +horrid jump.</p> + +<p>"'Now who are <i>you</i>, pray?' I said. 'You're not Carey, the man I +arranged with this afternoon. Who are you?'</p> + +<p>"I felt uncomfortable, as you may imagine. I was a 'psychical +researcher,' and a young woman of new tendencies, and proud of my +liberty, but I did not care to find myself in an empty house with a +stranger. Something of my confidence left me. Confidence with women, you +know, is all humbug after a certain point. Or perhaps you don't know, +for most of you are men. But anyhow my pluck ebbed in a quick rush, and +I felt afraid.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you?' I repeated quickly and nervously. The fellow was well +dressed, youngish and good-looking, but with a face of great sadness. I +myself was barely thirty. I am giving you essentials, or I would not +mention it. Out of quite ordinary things comes this story. I think +that's why it has value.</p> + +<p>"'No,' he said; 'I'm the man who was frightened to death.'</p> + +<p>"His voice and his words ran through me like a knife, and I felt ready +to drop. In my pocket was the book I had bought to make notes in. I felt +the pencil sticking in the socket. I felt, too, the extra warm things I +had put on to sit up in, as no bed or sofa was available—a hundred +things dashed through my mind, foolishly and without sequence or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>meaning, as the way is when one is really frightened. Unessentials +leaped up and puzzled me, and I thought of what the papers might say if +it came out, and what my 'smart' brother-in-law would think, and whether +it would be told that I had cigarettes in my pocket, and was a +free-thinker.</p> + +<p>"'The man who was frightened to death!' I repeated aghast.</p> + +<p>"'That's me,' he said stupidly.</p> + +<p>"I stared at him just as you would have done—any one of you men now +listening to me—and felt my life ebbing and flowing like a sort of hot +fluid. You needn't laugh! That's how I felt. Small things, you know, +touch the mind with great earnestness when terror is there—<i>real +terror</i>. But I might have been at a middle-class tea-party, for all the +ideas I had: they were so ordinary!</p> + +<p>"'But I thought you were the caretaker I tipped this afternoon to let me +sleep here!' I gasped. 'Did—did Carey send you to meet me?'</p> + +<p>"'No,' he replied in a voice that touched my boots somehow. 'I am the +man who was frightened to death. And what is more, I am frightened +<i>now!</i>'</p> + +<p>"'So am I!' I managed to utter, speaking instinctively. 'I'm simply +terrified.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' he replied in that same odd voice that seemed to sound within +me. 'But you are still in the flesh, and I—<i>am not!</i>'</p> + +<p>"I felt the need for vigorous self-assertion. I stood up in that empty, +unfurnished room, digging the nails into my palms and clenching my +teeth. I was determined to assert my individuality and my courage as a +new woman and a free soul.</p> + +<p>"'You mean to say you are not in the flesh!' I gasped. 'What in the +world are you talking about?'</p> + +<p>"The silence of the night swallowed up my voice. For the first time I +realized that darkness was over the city; that dust lay upon the stairs; +that the floor above was untenanted and the floor below empty. I was +alone in an unoccupied and haunted house, unprotected, and a woman. I +chilled. I heard the wind round the house, and knew the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>stars were +hidden. My thoughts rushed to policemen and omnibuses, and everything +that was useful and comforting. I suddenly realized what a fool I was to +come to such a house alone. I was icily afraid. I thought the end of my +life had come. I was an utter fool to go in for psychical research when +I had not the necessary nerve.</p> + +<p>"'Good God!' I gasped. 'If you're not Carey, the man I arranged with, +who are you?'</p> + +<p>"I was really stiff with terror. The man moved slowly towards me across +the empty room. I held out my arm to stop him, getting up out of my +chair at the same moment, and he came to halt just opposite to me, a +smile on his worn, sad face.</p> + +<p>"'I told you who I am,' he repeated quietly with a sigh, looking at me +with the saddest eyes I have ever seen, 'and I am frightened <i>still</i>.'</p> + +<p>"By this time I was convinced that I was entertaining either a rogue or +a madman, and I cursed my stupidity in bringing the man in without +having seen his face. My mind was quickly made up, and I knew what to +do. Ghosts and psychic phenomena flew to the winds. If I angered the +creature my life might pay the price. I must humor him till I got to the +door, and then race for the street. I stood bolt upright and faced him. +We were about of a height, and I was a strong, athletic woman who played +hockey in winter and climbed Alps in summer. My hand itched for a stick, +but I had none.</p> + +<p>"'Now, of course, I remember,' I said with a sort of stiff smile that +was very hard to force. 'Now I remember your case and the wonderful way +you behaved. . . .'</p> + +<p>"The man stared at me stupidly, turning his head to watch me as I backed +more and more quickly to the door. But when his face broke into a smile +I could control myself no longer. I reached the door in a run, and shot +out on to the landing. Like a fool, I turned the wrong way, and stumbled +over the stairs leading to the next story. But it was too late to +change. The man was after me, I was sure, though no sound of footsteps +came; and I dashed up the next flight, tearing my skirt and banging my +ribs in the darkness, and rushed headlong into the first room I came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>to. Luckily the door stood ajar, and, still more fortunate, there was a +key in the lock. In a second I had slammed the door, flung my whole +weight against it, and turned the key.</p> + +<p>"I was safe, but my heart was beating like a drum. A second later it +seemed to stop altogether, for I saw that there was some one else in the +room besides myself. A man's figure stood between me and the windows, +where the street lamps gave just enough light to outline his shape +against the glass. I'm a plucky woman, you know, for even then I didn't +give up hope, but I may tell you that I have never felt so vilely +frightened in all my born days. I had locked myself in with him!</p> + +<p>"The man leaned against the window, watching me where I lay in a +collapsed heap upon the floor. So there were two men in the house with +me, I reflected. Perhaps other rooms were occupied too! What could it +all mean? But, as I stared something changed in the room, or in me—hard +to say which—and I realized my mistake, so that my fear, which had so +far been physical, at once altered its character and became <i>psychical</i>. +I became afraid in my soul instead of in my heart, and I knew +immediately who this man was.</p> + +<p>"'How in the world did you get up here?' I stammered to him across the +empty room, amazement momentarily stemming my fear.</p> + +<p>"'Now, let me tell you,' he began, in that odd faraway voice of his that +went down my spine like a knife. 'I'm in different space, for one thing, +and you'd find me in any room you went into; for according to your way +of measuring, I'm <i>all over the house</i>. Space is a bodily condition, but +I am out of the body, and am not affected by space. It's my condition +that keeps me here. I want something to change my condition for me, for +then I could get away. What I want is sympathy. Or, really, more than +sympathy; I want affection—I want <i>love!</i>'</p> + +<p>"While he was speaking I gathered myself slowly upon my feet. I wanted +to scream and cry and laugh all at once, but I only succeeded in +sighing, for my emotion was exhausted and a numbness was coming over me. +I felt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>for the matches in my pocket and made a movement towards the gas +jet.</p> + +<p>"'I should be much happier if you didn't light the gas,' he said at +once, 'for the vibrations of your light hurt me a good deal. You need +not be afraid that I shall injure you. I can't touch your body to begin +with, for there's a great gulf fixed, you know; and really this +half-light suits me best. Now, let me continue what I was trying to say +before. You know, so many people have come to this house to see me, and +most of them have seen me, and one and all have been terrified. If only, +oh, if only some one would be <i>not</i> terrified, but kind and loving to +me! Then, you see, I might be able to change my condition and get away.'</p> + +<p>"His voice was so sad that I felt tears start somewhere at the back of +my eyes; but fear kept all else in check, and I stood shaking and cold +as I listened to him.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you then? Of course Carey didn't send you, I know now,' I +managed to utter. My thoughts scattered dreadfully and I could think of +nothing to say. I was afraid of a stroke.</p> + +<p>"'I know nothing about Carey, or who he is,' continued the man quietly, +'and the name my body had I have forgotten, thank God; but I am the man +who was frightened to death in this house ten years ago, and I have been +frightened ever since, and am frightened still; for the succession of +cruel and curious people who come to this house to see the ghost, and +thus keep alive its atmosphere of terror, only helps to render my +condition worse. If only some one would be kind to me—<i>laugh</i>, speak +gently and rationally with me, cry if they like, pity, comfort, soothe +me—anything but come here in curiosity and tremble as you are now doing +in that corner. Now, madam, won't you take pity on me?' His voice rose +to a dreadful cry. 'Won't you step out into the middle of the room and +try to love me a little?'</p> + +<p>"A horrible laughter came gurgling up in my throat as I heard him, but +the sense of pity was stronger than the laughter, and I found myself +actually leaving the support of the wall and approaching the center of +the floor.</p> + +<p>"'By God!' he cried, at once straightening up against the window, 'you +have done a kind act. That's the first <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>attempt at sympathy that has +been shown me since I died, and I feel better already. In life, you +know, I was a misanthrope. Everything went wrong with me, and I came to +hate my fellow men so much that I couldn't bear to see them even. Of +course, like begets like, and this hate was returned. Finally I suffered +from horrible delusions, and my room became haunted with demons that +laughed and grimaced, and one night I ran into a whole cluster of them +near the bed—and the fright stopped my heart and killed me. It's hate +and remorse, as much as terror, that clogs me so thickly and keeps me +here. If only some one could feel pity, and sympathy, and perhaps a +little love for me, I could get away and be happy. When you came this +afternoon to see over the house I watched you, and a little hope came to +me for the first time. I saw you had courage, originality, +resource—<i>love</i>. If only I could touch your heart, without frightening +you, I knew I could perhaps tap that love you have stored up in your +being there, and thus borrow the wings for my escape!'</p> + +<p>"Now I must confess my heart began to ache a little, as fear left me and +the man's words sank their sad meaning into me. Still, the whole affair +was so incredible, and so touched with unholy quality, and the story of +a woman's murder I had come to investigate had so obviously nothing to +do with this thing, that I felt myself in a kind of wild dream that +seemed likely to stop at any moment and leave me somewhere in bed after +a nightmare.</p> + +<p>"Moreover, his words possessed me to such an extent that I found it +impossible to reflect upon anything else at all, or to consider +adequately any ways or means of action or escape.</p> + +<p>"I moved a little nearer to him in the gloom, horribly frightened, of +course, but with the beginnings of a strange determination in my heart.</p> + +<p>"'You women,' he continued, his voice plainly thrilling at my approach, +'you wonderful women, to whom life often brings no opportunity of +spending your great love, oh, if you only could know how many of <i>us</i> +simply yearn for it! It would save our souls, if but you knew. Few might +find the chance that you now have, but if you only spent your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>love +freely, without definite object, just letting it flow openly for all who +need, you would reach hundreds and thousands of souls like me, and +<i>release us!</i> Oh, madam, I ask you again to feel with me, to be kind and +gentle—and if you can to love me a little!'</p> + +<p>"My heart did leap within me and this time the tears did come, for I +could not restrain them. I laughed too, for the way he called me 'madam' +sounded so odd, here in this empty room at midnight in a London street, +but my laughter stopped dead and merged in a flood of weeping when I saw +how my change of feeling affected him. He had left his place by the +window and was kneeling on the floor at my feet, his hands stretched out +towards me, and the first signs of a kind of glory about his head.</p> + +<p>"'Put your arms round me and kiss me, for the love of God!' he cried. +'Kiss me, oh, kiss me, and I shall be freed! You have done so much +already—now do this!'</p> + +<p>"I stuck there, hesitating, shaking, my determination on the verge of +action, yet not quite able to compass it. But the terror had almost +gone.</p> + +<p>"'Forget that I'm a man and you're a woman,' he continued in the most +beseeching voice I ever heard. 'Forget that I'm a ghost, and come out +boldly and press me to you with a great kiss, and let your love flow +into me. Forget yourself just for one minute and do a brave thing! Oh, +love me, <i>love me</i>, <span class="smcap">love me</span>! and I shall be free!'</p> + +<p>"The words, or the deep force they somehow released in the center of my +being, stirred me profoundly, and an emotion infinitely greater than +fear surged up over me and carried me with it across the edge of action. +Without hesitation I took two steps forward towards him where he knelt, +and held out my arms. Pity and love were in my heart at that moment, +genuine pity, I swear, and genuine love. I forgot myself and my little +tremblings in a great desire to help another soul.</p> + +<p>"'I love you! poor, aching, unhappy thing! I love you,' I cried through +hot tears; 'and I am not the least bit afraid in the world.'</p> + +<p>"The man uttered a curious sound, like laughter, yet not laughter, and +turned his face up to me. The light from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>street below fell on it, +but there was another light, too, shining all round it that seemed to +come from the eyes and skin. He rose to his feet and met me, and in that +second I folded him to my breast and kissed him full on the lips again +and again."</p> + +<p>All our pipes had gone out, and not even a skirt rustled in that dark +studio as the story-teller paused a moment to steady her voice, and put +a hand softly up to her eyes before going on again.</p> + +<p>"Now, what can I say, and how can I describe to you, all you skeptical +men sitting there with pipes in your mouths, the amazing sensation I +experienced of holding an intangible, impalpable thing so closely to my +heart that it touched my body with equal pressure all the way down, and +then melted away somewhere into my very being? For it was like seizing a +rush of cool wind and feeling a touch of burning fire the moment it had +struck its swift blow and passed on. A series of shocks ran all over and +all through me; a momentary ecstasy of flaming sweetness and wonder +thrilled down into me; my heart gave another great leap—and then I was +alone.</p> + +<p>"The room was empty. I turned on the gas and struck a match to prove it. +All fear had left me, and something was singing round me in the air and +in my heart like the joy of a spring morning in youth. Not all the +devils or shadows or hauntings in the world could then have caused me a +single tremor.</p> + +<p>"I unlocked the door and went all over the dark house, even into kitchen +and cellar and up among the ghostly attics. But the house was empty. +Something had left it. I lingered a short hour, analyzing, thinking, +wondering—you can guess what and how, perhaps, but I won't detail, for +I promised only essentials, remember—and then went out to sleep the +remainder of the night in my own flat, locking the door behind me upon a +house no longer haunted.</p> + +<p>"But my uncle, Sir Henry, the owner of the house, required an account of +my adventure, and of course I was in duty bound to give him some kind of +a true story. Before I could begin, however, he held up his hand to stop +me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'First,' he said, 'I wish to tell you a little deception I ventured to +practice on you. So many people have been to that house and seen the +ghost that I came to think the story acted on their imaginations, and I +wished to make a better test. So I invented for their benefit another +story, with the idea that if you did see anything I could be sure it was +not due merely to an excited imagination.'</p> + +<p>"'Then what you told me about a woman having been murdered, and all +that, was not the true story of the haunting?'</p> + +<p>"'It was not. The true story is that a cousin of mine went mad in that +house, and killed himself in a fit of morbid terror following upon years +of miserable hypochondriasis. It is his figure that investigators see.'</p> + +<p>"'That explains, then,' I gasped——</p> + +<p>"'Explains what?'</p> + +<p>"I thought of that poor struggling soul, longing all these years for +escape, and determined to keep my story for the present to myself.</p> + +<p>"'Explains, I mean, why I did not see the ghost of the murdered woman,' +I concluded.</p> + +<p>"'Precisely,' said Sir Henry, 'and why, if you had seen anything, it +would have had value, inasmuch as it could not have been caused by the +imagination working upon a story you already knew.'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Rudyard Kipling</span></h3> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="May no ill dreams"> +<tr><td align='left'>"May no ill dreams disturb my rest,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Nor Powers of Darkness me molest."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">—<i>Evening Hymn.</i></span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>One of the few advantages that India has over England is a certain great +Knowability. After five years' service a man is directly or indirectly +acquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians in his Province, all +the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteen +hundred other people of the non-official castes. In ten years his +knowledge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he knows, or knows +something about, almost every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel +anywhere and everywhere without paying hotel-bills.</p> + +<p>Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my +memory, blunted this open-heartedness, but, none the less, to-day if you +belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a bear nor a black sheep all +houses are open to you and our small world is very kind and helpful.</p> + +<p>Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon, some fifteen years +ago. He meant to stay two nights only, but was knocked down by rheumatic +fever, and for six weeks disorganized Polder's establishment, stopped +Polder's work, and nearly died in Polder's bed-room. Polder behaves as +though he had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, and +yearly sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the +same everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to conceal from you +their opinion that you are an incompetent ass, and the women who blacken +your character and misunderstand your wife's amusements, will work +themselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious +trouble.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, a +hospital on his private account—an arrangement of loose-boxes for +Incurables, his friends called it—but it was really a sort of +fitting-up shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. +The weather in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is a +fixed quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work +overtime and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as +mixed as the metaphors in this sentence.</p> + +<p>Heatherlegh is the nicest doctor that ever was, and his invariable +prescription to all his patients is "lie low, go slow, and keep cool." +He says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of this +world justifies. He maintains that overwork slew Pansay who died under +his hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speak +authoritatively, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack in +Pansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and +pressed him to death. "Pansay went off the handle," says Heatherlegh, +"after the stimulus of long leave at Home. He may or he may not have +behaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is that +the work of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he +took to brooding and making much of an ordinary P. & O. flirtation. He +certainly was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off the +engagement. Then he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense about +ghosts developed itself. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, +and killed him, poor devil. Write him off to the System—one man to do +the work of two-and-a-half men."</p> + +<p>I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes when +Heatherlegh was called out to visit patients and I happened to be within +claim. The man would make me most unhappy by describing in a low, even +voice the procession of men, women, children, and devils that was always +passing at the bottom of his bed. He had a sick man's command of +language. When he recovered I suggested that he should write out the +whole affair from beginning to end, knowing that ink might assist him to +ease his mind. When little boys have learned a new bad word they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>are +never happy till they have chalked it up on a door. And this also is +Literature.</p> + +<p>He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunder +Magazine style he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterwards he was +reported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently +needed to help an undermanned Commission stagger through a deficit, he +preferred to die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I secured +his manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the affair, +dated 1885:—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is not +improbable that I shall get both ere long—rest that neither the +red-coated orderly nor the mid-day gun can break, and change of air far +beyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can give me. In the +meantime I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance of my +doctor's orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shall +learn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady; and shall, too, +judge for yourselves whether any man born of woman on this weary earth +was ever so tormented as I.</p> + +<p>Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts are +drawn, my story, wild and hideously improbable as it may appear, demands +at least attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly +disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted as mad or drunk the man +who had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in +India. To-day, from Peshawar to the sea, there is no one more wretched. +My doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is that +my brain, digestion and eyesight are all slightly affected; giving rise +to my frequent and persistent "delusions." Delusions, indeed! I call him +a fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the same +bland professional manner, the same neatly-trimmed red whiskers, till I +begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered invalid. But you +shall judge for yourselves.</p> + +<p>Three years ago it was my fortune—my great misfortune—to sail from +Gravesend to Bombay, on return from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>long leave, with one Agnes +Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not in +the least concern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be content +with the knowledge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I were +desperately and unreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knows +that I can make the admission now without one particle of vanity. In +matters of this sort there is always one who gives and another who +accepts. From the first day of our ill-omened attachment, I was +conscious that Agnes's passion was a stronger, a more dominant, and—if +I may use the expression—a purer sentiment than mine. Whether she +recognized the fact then, I do not know. Afterwards it was bitterly +plain to both of us.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respective +ways, to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leave +and her love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together; +and there my fire of straw burnt itself out to a pitiful end with the +closing year. I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington +had given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From my +own lips, in August, 1882, she learnt that I was sick of her presence, +tired of her company, and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine +women out of a hundred would have wearied of me as I wearied of them; +seventy-five of that number would have promptly avenged themselves by +active and obtrusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was the +hundredth. On her neither my openly-expressed aversion, nor the cutting +brutalities with which I garnished our interviews had the least effect.</p> + +<p>"Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo-cry, "I'm sure it's all a +mistake—a hideous mistake; and we'll be good friends again some day. +<i>Please</i> forgive me, Jack, dear."</p> + +<p>I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowledge transformed my pity +into passive endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate—the same +instinct, I suppose, which prompts a man to savagely stamp on the spider +he has but half killed. And with this hate in my bosom the season of +1882 came to an end.</p> + +<p>Next year we met again at Simla—she with her monoto<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>nous face and timid +attempts at reconciliation, and I with loathing of her in every fiber of +my frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on each +occasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail +that it was all a "mistake"; and still the hope of eventually "making +friends." I might have seen, had I cared to look, that that hope only +was keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin month by month. You +will agree with me, at least, that such conduct would have driven any +one to despair. It was uncalled for, childish, unwomanly. I maintain +that she was much to blame. And again, sometimes, in the black, +fever-stricken night watches, I have begun to think that I might have +been a little kinder to her. But that really <i>is</i> a "delusion." I could +not have continued pretending to love her when I didn't; could I? It +would have been unfair to us both.</p> + +<p>Last year we met again—on the same terms as before. The same weary +appeals, and the same curt answers from my lips. At least I would make +her see how wholly wrong and hopeless were her attempts at resuming the +old relationship. As the season wore on, we fell apart—that is to say, +she found it difficult to meet me, for I had other and more absorbing +interests to attend to. When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, +the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade +were fantastically intermingled—my courtship of little Kitty Mannering; +my hopes, doubts and fears; our long rides together; my trembling avowal +of attachment; her reply; and now and again a vision of a white face +flitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries I once +watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved hand; +and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome monotony +of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering, honestly, heartily loved her, +and with my love for her grew my hatred for Agnes. In August Kitty and I +were engaged. The next day I met those accursed "magpie" <i>jhampanies</i> at +the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stopped +to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already.</p> + +<p>"So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear." Then, without a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>moment's pause: +"I'm sure it's all a mistake—a hideous mistake. We shall be as good +friends some day, Jack, as we ever were."</p> + +<p>My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying woman +before me like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me, Jack; I didn't +mean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true!"</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. I turned away and left her to +finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that +I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she +had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me.</p> + +<p>The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. The +rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden, +dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed a +gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of the +<i>jhampanies</i>, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's +down-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her +handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against the +'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie +Reservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call of +"Jack!" This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it. +Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight +of a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview.</p> + +<p>A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of her +existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy. +Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except that +at times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded me +unpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterred +what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongings +and had burnt it. At the beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was at +Simla—semi-deserted Simla—once more, and was deep in lover's talks and +walks with Kitty. It was decided that we should be married at the end of +June. You will understand, therefore, that, loving Kitty as I did, I am +not saying too much when I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>pronounce myself to have been, at the time, +the happiest man in India.</p> + +<p>Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. +Then, aroused to the sense of what was proper among mortals +circumstanced as we were, I pointed out to Kitty that an engagement-ring +was the outward and visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; and +that she must forthwith come to Hamilton's to be measured for one. Up to +that moment, I give you my word, we had completely forgotten so trivial +a matter. To Hamilton's we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. +Remember that—whatever my doctor may say to the contrary—I was then in +perfect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and an absolutely tranquil +spirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton's shop together, and there, +regardless of the order of affairs, I measured Kitty's finger for the +ring in the presence of the amused assistant. The ring was a sapphire +with two diamonds. We then rode out down the slope that leads to the +Combermere Bridge and Peliti's shop.</p> + +<p>While my Waler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale, and +Kitty was laughing and chattering at my side—while all Simla, that is +to say as much of it as had then come from the Plains, was grouped round +the Reading-room and Peliti's veranda—I was aware that some one, +apparently at a vast distance, was calling me by my Christian name. It +struck me that I had heard the voice before, but when and where I could +not at once determine. In the short space it took to cover the road +between the path from Hamilton's shop and the first plank of the +Combermere Bridge I had thought over half-a-dozen people who might have +committed such a solecism, and had eventually decided that it must have +been some singing in my ears. Immediately opposite Peliti's shop my eye +was arrested by the sight of four <i>jhampanies</i> in black and white +livery, pulling a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In a moment my +mind flew back to the previous season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense +of irritation and disgust. Was it not enough that the woman was dead and +done with, without her black and white servitors re-appearing to spoil +the day's happiness? Whoever employed them now I thought I would <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>call +upon, and ask as a personal favor to change her <i>jhampanies'</i> livery. I +would hire the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their coats from off +their backs. It is impossible to say here what a flood of undesirable +memories their presence evoked.</p> + +<p>"Kitty," I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wessington's <i>jhampanies</i> turned +up again! I wonder who has them now?"</p> + +<p>Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last season, and had always +been interested in the sickly woman.</p> + +<p>"What? Where?" she asked. "I can't see them anywhere."</p> + +<p>Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himself +directly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to +utter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and rider +passed <i>through</i> men and carriage as if they had been thin air.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" cried Kitty; "what made you call out so foolishly, +Jack? If I <i>am</i> engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. +There was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you +think I can't ride—There!"</p> + +<p>Whereupon willful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at a +hand-gallop in the direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting, as she +herself afterwards told me, that I should follow her. What was the +matter? Nothing, indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla +was haunted with devils. I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round. +The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near +the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.</p> + +<p>"Jack! Jack, darling." (There was no mistake about the words this time: +they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear.) "It's +some hideous mistake, I'm sure. <i>Please</i> forgive me, Jack, and let's be +friends again."</p> + +<p>The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and daily pray +for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief +in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by my +groom taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. I tumbled +off my horse and dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of +cherry-brandy. There two or three couples were gathered round the +coffee-tables discussing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were +more comforting to me just then than the consolations of religion could +have been. I plunged into the midst of the conversation at once; +chatted, laughed and jested with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it +in a mirror) as white and drawn as that of a corpse. Three or four men +noticed my condition; and, evidently setting it down to the results of +over many pegs, charitably endeavored to draw me apart from the rest of +the loungers. But I refused to be led away. I wanted the company of my +kind—as a child rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after a +fright in the dark. I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, +though it seemed an eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's dear voice +outside inquiring for me. In another minute she had entered the shop, +prepared to roundly upbraid me for failing so signally in my duties. +Something in my face stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jack," she cried, "what <i>have</i> you been doing? What <i>has</i> +happened? Are you ill?" Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that the +sun had been a little too much for me. It was close upon five o'clock of +a cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw my +mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth: attempted to recover +it; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty, in a regal rage, out of +doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I have +forgotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and cantered away to +my hotel, leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself.</p> + +<p>In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. Here +was I, Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian in the year +of grace 1885, presumably sane, certainly healthy, driven in terror from +my sweetheart's side by the apparition of a woman who had been dead and +buried eight months ago. These were facts that I could not blink. +Nothing was further from my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>thought than any memory of Mrs. Wessington +when Kitty and I left Hamilton's shop. Nothing was more utterly +commonplace than the stretch of wall opposite Peliti's. It was broad +daylight. The road was full of people; and yet here, look you, in +defiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage of Nature's +ordinance, there had appeared to me a face from the grave.</p> + +<p>Kitty's Arab had gone <i>through</i> the 'rickshaw: so that my first hope +that some woman marvelously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriage +and the coolies with their old livery was lost. Again and again I went +round this treadmill of thought; and again and again gave up baffled and +in despair. The voice was as inexplicable as the apparition. I had +originally some wild notion of confiding it all to Kitty; of begging her +to marry me at once; and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant of the +'rickshaw. "After all," I argued, "the presence of the 'rickshaw is in +itself enough to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. One may see +ghosts of men and women, but surely never of coolies and carriages. The +whole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hill-man!"</p> + +<p>Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty, imploring her to overlook +my strange conduct of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was still very +wroth, and a personal apology was necessary. I explained, with a fluency +born of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I had been attacked +with a sudden palpitation of the heart—the result of indigestion. This +eminently practical solution had its effect; and Kitty and I rode out +that afternoon with the shadow of my first lie dividing us.</p> + +<p>Nothing would please her save a canter round Jakko. With my nerves still +unstrung from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion, +suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road—anything +rather than the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little hurt, so I +yielded from fear of provoking further misunderstanding, and we set out +together towards Chota Simla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, +according to our custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Convent to +the stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>horses appeared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and quicker as we +neared the crest of the ascent. My mind had been full of Mrs. Wessington +all the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko road bore witness to our +old-time walks and talks. The boulders were full of it; the pines sang +it aloud overhead; the rain-fed torrents giggled and chuckled unseen +over the shameful story; and the wind in my ears chanted the iniquity +aloud.</p> + +<p>As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level men call the Ladies' +Mile, the Horror was awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight—only +the four black and white <i>jhampanies</i>, the yellow-paneled carriage, and +the golden head of the woman within—all apparently just as I had left +them eight months and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied that +Kitty must see what I saw—we were so marvelously sympathetic in all +things. Her next words undeceived me—"Not a soul in sight! Come along, +Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings!" Her wiry little +Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this +order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty +yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The +'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road: and once more the Arab +passed through it, my horse following. "Jack, Jack, dear! <i>Please</i> +forgive me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval: "It's +all a mistake, a hideous mistake!"</p> + +<p>I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at the +Reservoir works the black and white liveries were still +waiting—patiently waiting—under the gray hillside, and the wind +brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered +me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had +been talking up till then wildly and at random. To save my life I could +not speak afterwards naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely +held my tongue.</p> + +<p>I was to dine with the Mannerings that night and had barely time to +canter home to dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men +talking together in the dusk—"It's a curious thing," said one, "how +completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely +fond of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>the woman (never could see anything in her myself) and wanted +me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for +love or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it, but I've got to do what +the <i>Memsahib</i> tells me. Would you believe that the man she hired it +from tells me that all four of the men, they were brothers, died of +cholera, on the way to Hardwár, poor devils; and the 'rickshaw has been +broken up by the man himself. Told me he never used a dead <i>Memsahib's</i> +'rickshaw. Spoilt his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little +Mrs. Wessington spoiling any one's luck except her own!" I laughed aloud +at this point; and my laugh jarred on me as I uttered it. So there +<i>were</i> ghosts of 'rickshaws after all, and ghostly employments in the +other world! How much did Mrs. Wessington give her men? What were their +hours? Where did they go?</p> + +<p>And for visible answer to my last question I saw the infernal thing +blocking my path in the twilight. The dead travel fast and by short-cuts +unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and checked +my laughter suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to a certain +extent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my horse at +the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington "good +evening." Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened to the +end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should be delighted +if she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil stronger than I +must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim recollection of +talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to the thing in +front of me.</p> + +<p>"Mad as a hatter, poor devil—or drunk. Max, try and get him to come +home."</p> + +<p>Surely <i>that</i> was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheard +me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They +were very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered +that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away +to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten minutes +late. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked by +Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>The conversation had already become general; and, under cover of it, I +was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware +that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was +describing with much broidery his encounter with a mad unknown that +evening. A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident +of half an hour ago. In the middle of the story he looked round for +applause, as professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and +straightway collapsed. There was a moment's awkward silence, and the +red-whiskered man muttered something to the effect that he had +"forgotten the rest"; thereby sacrificing a reputation as a good +story-teller which he had built up for six seasons past. I blessed him +from the bottom of my heart and—went on with my fish.</p> + +<p>In the fullness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine +regret I tore myself away from Kitty—as certain as I was of my own +existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The +red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh of +Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay together. +I accepted his offer with gratitude.</p> + +<p>My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and, +in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. +The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showed +he had been thinking over it all dinner time.</p> + +<p>"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on +the Elysium road?" The suddenness of the question wrenched an answer +from me before I was aware.</p> + +<p>"That!" said I, pointing to It.</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> may be either <i>D.T.</i> or eyes for aught I know. Now you don't +liquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can't be <i>D.T.</i> There's nothing +whatever where you're pointing, though you're sweating and trembling +with fright like a scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's eyes. +And I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I'm +on the Blessington lower road."</p> + +<p>To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept about +twenty yards ahead—and this, too, whether we walked, trotted, or +cantered. In the course of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>that long night ride I had told my companion +almost as much as I have told you here.</p> + +<p>"Well, you've spoilt one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to," +said he, "but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. +Now come home and do what I tell you; and when I've cured you, young +man, let this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women and +indigestible food till the day of your death."</p> + +<p>The 'rickshaw kept steadily in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed +to derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts.</p> + +<p>"Eyes, Pansay—all eyes, brain and stomach; and the greatest of these +three is stomach. You've too much conceited brain, too little stomach, +and thoroughly unhealthy eyes. Get your stomach straight and the rest +follows. And all that's French for a liver pill. I'll take sole medical +charge of you from this hour; for you're too interesting a phenomenon to +be passed over."</p> + +<p>By this time we were deep in the shadow of the Blessington lower road +and the 'rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, overhanging +shale cliff. Instinctively I halted too, giving my reason. Heatherlegh +rapped out an oath.</p> + +<p>"Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold night on the hillside for +the sake of a stomach-<i>cum</i>-brain-<i>cum</i>-eye illusion. . . . Lord ha' mercy! +What's that?"</p> + +<p>There was a muffled report, a blinding smother of dust just in front of +us, a crack, the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards of the +cliffside—pines, undergrowth, and all—slid down into the road below, +completely blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed and tottered for a +moment like drunken giants in the gloom, and then fell prone among their +fellows with a thunderous crash. Our two horses stood motionless and +sweating with fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and stone had +subsided, my companion muttered: "Man, if we'd gone forward we should +have been ten feet deep in our graves by now! 'There are more things in +heaven and earth' . . . Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a drink +badly."</p> + +<p>We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr. +Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>His attempts towards my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a +week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did +I bless the good fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's +best and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more +equable. Day by day, too, I became more and more inclined to fall in +with Heatherlegh's "spectral illusion" theory, implicating eyes, brain, +and stomach. I wrote to Kitty, telling her that a slight sprain caused +by a fall from my horse kept me indoors for a few days; and that I +should be recovered before she had time to regret my absence.</p> + +<p>Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a degree. It consisted of +liver-pills, cold-water baths and strong exercise, taken in the dusk or +at early dawn—for, as he sagely observed: "A man with a sprained ankle +doesn't walk a dozen miles a day, and your young woman might be +wondering if she saw you."</p> + +<p>At the end of the week, after much examination of pupil and pulse and +strict injunctions as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed +me as brusquely as he had taken charge of me. Here is his parting +benediction: "Man, I certify to your mental cure, and that's as much as +to say I've cured most of your bodily ailments. Now, get your traps out +of this as soon as you can; and be off to make love to Miss Kitty."</p> + +<p>I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his kindness. He cut me +short:</p> + +<p>"Don't think I did this because I like you. I gather that you've behaved +like a blackguard all through. But, all the same you're a phenomenon, +and as queer a phenomenon as you are a blackguard. Now, go out and see +if you can find the eyes-brain-and-stomach business again. I'll give you +a lakh for each time you see it."</p> + +<p>Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings' drawing-room with +Kitty—drunk with the intoxication of present happiness and the +foreknowledge that I should never more be troubled with It's hideous +presence. Strong in the sense of my new-found security, I proposed a +ride at once; and, by preference, a canter round Jakko.</p> + +<p>Never have I felt so well, so overladen with vitality and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>mere animal +spirits as I did on the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was +delighted at the change in my appearance, and complimented me on it in +her delightfully frank and outspoken manner. We left the Mannerings' +house together, laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota Simla +road as of old.</p> + +<p>I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir and there make my +assurance doubly sure. The horses did their best, but seemed all too +slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness. +"Why, Jack!" she cried at last, "you are behaving like a child! What are +you doing?"</p> + +<p>We were just below the Convent, and from sheer wantonness I was making +my Waler plunge and curvet across the road as I tickled it with the loop +of my riding-whip.</p> + +<p>"Doing," I answered, "nothing, dear. That's just it. If you'd been doing +nothing for a week except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I.</p> + +<p> +'Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Joying to feel yourself alive;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Lord over nature, Lord of the visible Earth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lord of the senses five.'"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>My quotation was hardly out of my lips before we had rounded the corner +above the Convent; and a few yards further on could see across to +Sanjowlie. In the center of the level road stood the black and white +liveries, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Keith-Wessington. I +pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes, and, I believe, must have said +something. The next thing I knew was that I was lying face downward on +the road, with Kitty kneeling above me in tears.</p> + +<p>"Has it gone, child?" I gasped. Kitty only wept more bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Has what gone? Jack dear: what does it all mean? There must be a +mistake somewhere, Jack. A hideous mistake." Her last words brought me +to my feet—mad—raving for the time being.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there <i>is</i> a mistake somewhere." I repeated, "a hideous mistake. +Come and look at It!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along the +road up to where It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak to +it; to tell It that we were betrothed! that neither Death nor Hell could +break the tie between us; and Kitty only knows how much more to the same +effect. Now and again I appealed passionately to the Terror in the +'rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to release me from a +torture that was killing me. As I talked I suppose I must have told +Kitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wessington, for I saw her listen +intently with white face and blazing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Pansay," she said, "that's <i>quite</i> enough. Bring my +horse."</p> + +<p>The grooms, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with the +recaptured horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of +the bridle entreating her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was the +cut of her riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word or +two of farewell that even now I cannot write down. So I judged, and +judged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and I staggered back to the side of +the 'rickshaw. My face was cut and bleeding, and the blow of the +riding-whip had raised a livid blue weal on it. I had no self-respect. +Just then, Heatherlegh, who must have been following Kitty and me at a +distance, cantered up.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," I said, pointing to my face, "here's Miss Mannering's +signature to my order of dismissal and . . . I'll thank you for that lakh +as soon as convenient."</p> + +<p>Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery, moved me to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I'll stake my professional reputation"—he began. "Don't be a fool," I +whispered. "I've lost my life's happiness and you'd better take me +home."</p> + +<p>As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all knowledge of what was +passing. The crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like the crest of a +cloud and fall in upon me.</p> + +<p>Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is to say) I was aware that I +was lying in Heatherlegh's room as weak as a little child. Heatherlegh +was watching me intently from behind the papers on his writing table. +His first words <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>were not very encouraging; but I was too far spent to +be much moved by them.</p> + +<p>"Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your letters. You corresponded a good +deal, you young people. Here's a packet that looks like a ring, and a +cheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa, which I've taken the +liberty of reading and burning. The old gentleman's not pleased with +you."</p> + +<p>"And Kitty?" I asked dully.</p> + +<p>"Rather more drawn than her father from what she says. By the same token +you must have been letting out any number of queer reminiscences just +before I met you. Says that a man who would have behaved to a woman as +you did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out of sheer pity for +his kind. She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash. Will have it too +that you were suffering from <i>D.T.</i> when that row on the Jakko road +turned up. Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you again."</p> + +<p>I groaned and turned over on the other side.</p> + +<p>"Now you've got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be broken +off; and the Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. Was it broken +through <i>D.T.</i> or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a better +exchange unless you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word and I'll +tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies' +Mile. Come! I'll give you five minutes to think over it."</p> + +<p>During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the +lowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on +earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering +through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair. I +wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which +dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering +in a voice that I hardly recognized:</p> + +<p>"They're confoundedly particular about morality in these parts. Give 'em +fits, Heatherlegh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer."</p> + +<p>Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven +I) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past +month.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am in +Simla, and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman to +pretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did +her any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'd +never have come back on purpose to kill <i>her</i>. Why can't I be left +alone—left alone and happy?"</p> + +<p>It was high noon when I first awoke: and the sun was low in the sky +before I slept—slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too +worn to feel further pain.</p> + +<p>Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning +that he had received an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks to +his (Heatherlegh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had +traveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on all +sides much pitied.</p> + +<p>"And that's rather more than you deserve," he concluded pleasantly, +"though the Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severe mill. +Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phenomenon."</p> + +<p>I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been much too good to me already, +old man," said I; "but I don't think I need trouble you further."</p> + +<p>In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the +burden that had been laid upon me.</p> + +<p>With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellion +against the unreasonableness of it all. There were scores of men no +better than I whose punishments had at least been reserved for another +world and I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone +should have been singled out for so hideous a fate. This mood would in +time give place to another where it seemed that the 'rickshaw and I were +the only realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that +Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men and women I knew were all +ghosts and the great, gray hills themselves but vain shadows devised to +torture me. From mood to mood I tossed backwards and forwards for seven +weary days, my body growing daily stronger and stronger, until the +bed-room looking-glass told me that I had returned to everyday life, and +was as other <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>men once more. Curiously enough, my face showed no signs +of the struggle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, but as +expressionless and commonplace as ever. I had expected some permanent +alteration—visible evidence of the disease that was eating me away. I +found nothing.</p> + +<p>On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's house at eleven o'clock in the +morning; and the instinct of the bachelor drove me to the Club. There I +found that every man knew my story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in +clumsy fashion, abnormally kind and attentive. Nevertheless I recognized +that for the rest of my natural life I should be among, but not of, my +fellows; and I envied very bitterly indeed the laughing coolies on the +Mall below. I lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wandered +aimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meeting Kitty. Close to the +Band-stand the black and white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. +Wessington's old appeal at my side. I had been expecting this ever since +I came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom 'rickshaw +and I went side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close to +the bazaar, Kitty and a man on horseback overtook and passed us. For any +sign she gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even pay +me the compliment of quickening her pace; though the rainy afternoon had +served for an excuse.</p> + +<p>So Kitty and her companion, and I and my ghostly Light-o'-Love, crept +round Jakko in couples. The road was streaming with water; the pines +dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks below, and the air was full of +fine, driving rain. Two or three times I found myself saying to myself +almost aloud: "I'm Jack Pansay on leave at Simla—<i>at Simla!</i> Everyday, +ordinary Simla. I mustn't forget that—I mustn't forget that." Then I +would try to recollect some of the gossip I had heard at the Club; the +prices of So-and-So's horses—anything, in fact, that related to the +work-a-day Anglo-Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated the +multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to make quite sure that I was +not taking leave of my senses. It gave me much comfort; and must have +prevented my hearing Mrs. Wessington for a time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope and entered the level +road. Here Kitty and the man started off at a canter, and I was left +alone with Mrs. Wessington. "Agnes," said I, "will you put back your +hood and tell me what it all means?" The hood dropped noiselessly and I +was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearing the +dress in which I had last seen her alive: carried the same tiny +handkerchief in her right hand; and the same card-case in her left. (A +woman eight months dead with a card-case!) I had to pin myself down to +the multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet of +the road to assure myself that that at least was real.</p> + +<p>"Agnes," I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me what it all means." Mrs. +Wessington leant forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I used +to know so well, and spoke.</p> + +<p>If my story had not already so madly overleaped the bounds of all human +belief I should apologize to you now. As I know that no one—no, not +even Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of justification of my +conduct—will believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and I +walked with her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below the +Commander-in-Chief's house as I might walk by the side of any living +woman's 'rickshaw, deep in conversation. The second and most tormenting +of my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold upon me, and like the +prince in Tennyson's poem, "I seemed to move amid a world of ghosts." +There had been a garden-party at the Commander-in-Chief's, and we two +joined the crowd of homeward-bound folk. As I saw them then it seemed +that <i>they</i> were the shadows—impalpable fantastic shadows—that divided +for Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw to pass through. What we said during the +course of that weird interview I cannot—indeed, I dare not—tell. +Heatherlegh's comment would have been a short laugh and a remark that I +had been "mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera." It was a ghastly and +yet in some indefinable way a marvelously dear experience. Could it be +possible, I wondered, that I was in this life to woo a second time the +woman I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>I met Kitty on the homeward road—a shadow among shadows.</p> + +<p>If I were to describe all the incidents of the next fortnight in their +order, my story would never come to an end; and your patience would be +exhausted. Morning after morning and evening after evening the ghostly +'rickshaw and I used to wander through Simla together. Wherever I went, +there the four black and white liveries followed me and bore me company +to and from my hotel. At the theater I found them amid the crowd of +yelling <i>jhampanies;</i> outside the club veranda, after a long evening of +whist; at the birthday ball, waiting patiently for my reappearance; and +in broad daylight when I went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the +'rickshaw was in every respect as real to look upon as one of wood and +iron. More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warning +some hard-riding friend against cantering over it. More than once I have +walked down the Mall deep in conversation with Mrs. Wessington to the +unspeakable amazement of the passers-by.</p> + +<p>Before I had been out and about a week I learnt that the "fit" theory +had been discarded in favor of insanity. However, I made no change in my +mode of life. I called, rode, and dined out as freely as ever. I had a +passion for the society of my kind which I had never felt before; I +hungered to be among the realities of life; and at the same time I felt +vaguely unhappy when I had been separated too long from my ghostly +companion. It would be almost impossible to describe my varying moods +from the 15th of May up to to-day.</p> + +<p>The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind +fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave +Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, +that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. My only +anxiety was to get the penance over as quietly as might be. Alternately +I hungered for a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous flirtations +with my successor—to speak more accurately, my successors—with amused +interest. She was as much out of my life as I was out of hers. By day I +wandered with Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> Wessington almost content. By night I implored +Heaven to let me return to the world as I used to know it. Above all +these varying moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing wonder that the +seen and the unseen should mingle so strangely on this earth to hound +one poor soul to its grave.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><i>August 27th.</i>—Heatherlegh has been indefatigable in his attendance on +me; and only yesterday told me that I ought to send in an application +for sick-leave. An application to escape the company of a phantom! A +request that the Government would graciously permit me to get rid of +five ghosts and an airy 'rickshaw by going to England! Heatherlegh's +proposition moved me to almost hysterical laughter. I told him that I +should await the end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the end is not +far off. Believe me that I dread its advent more than any word can say; +and I torture myself nightly with a thousand speculations as to the +manner of my death.</p> + +<p>Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gentlemen should die; +or, in one last walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me to +take its place for ever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm? +Shall I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or shall I +meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side through all eternity? +Shall we two hover over the scene of our lives till the end of time? As +the day of my death draws nearer, the intense horror that all living +flesh feels towards escaped spirits from beyond the grave grows more and +more powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead with +scarcely one half of your life completed. It is a thousand times more +awful to wait as I do in your midst, for I know not what unimaginable +terror. Pity me, at least on the score of my "delusion," for I know you +will never believe what I have written here. Yet as surely as ever a man +was done to death by the Powers of Darkness I am that man.</p> + +<p>In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever woman was killed by +man, I killed Mrs. Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment is +even now upon me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RIVAL_GHOSTS" id="THE_RIVAL_GHOSTS"></a>THE RIVAL GHOSTS</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Brander Matthews</span></h3> + + +<p>The good ship sped on her way across the calm Atlantic. It was an +outward passage, according to the little charts which the company had +charily distributed, but most of the passengers were homeward bound, +after a summer of rest and recreation, and they were counting the days +before they might hope to see Fire Island Light. On the lee side of the +boat, comfortably sheltered from the wind, and just by the door of the +captain's room (which was theirs during the day), sat a little group of +returning Americans. The Duchess (she was down on the purser's list as +Mrs. Martin, but her friends and familiars called her the Duchess of +Washington Square) and Baby Van Rensselaer (she was quite old enough to +vote, had her sex been entitled to that duty, but as the younger of two +sisters she was still the baby of the family)—the Duchess and Baby Van +Rensselaer were discussing the pleasant English voice and the not +unpleasant English accent of a manly young lordling who was going to +America for sport. Uncle Larry and Dear Jones were enticing each other +into a bet on the ship's run of the morrow.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you two to one she don't make 420," said Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"I'll take it," answered Uncle Larry. "We made 427 the fifth day last +year." It was Uncle Larry's seventeenth visit to Europe, and this was +therefore his thirty-fourth voyage.</p> + +<p>"And when did you get in?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I don't care a +bit about the run, so long as we get in soon."</p> + +<p>"We crossed the bar Sunday night, just seven days after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>we left +Queenstown, and we dropped anchor off Quarantine at three o'clock on +Monday morning."</p> + +<p>"I hope we shan't do that this time. I can't seem to sleep any when the +boat stops."</p> + +<p>"I can; but I didn't," continued Uncle Larry; "because my state-room was +the most for'ard in the boat, and the donkey-engine that let down the +anchor was right over my head."</p> + +<p>"So you got up and saw the sunrise over the bay," said Dear Jones, "with +the electric lights of the city twinkling in the distance, and the first +faint flush of the dawn in the east just over Fort Lafayette, and the +rosy tinge which spread softly upward, and——"</p> + +<p>"Did you both come back together?" asked the Duchess.</p> + +<p>"Because he has crossed thirty-four times you must not suppose that he +has a monopoly in sunrises," retorted Dear Jones. "No, this was my own +sunrise; and a mighty pretty one it was, too."</p> + +<p>"I'm not matching sunrises with you," remarked Uncle Larry, calmly; "but +I'm willing to back a merry jest called forth by my sunrise against any +two merry jests called forth by yours."</p> + +<p>"I confess reluctantly that my sunrise evoked no merry jest at all." +Dear Jones was an honest man, and would scorn to invent a merry jest on +the spur of the moment.</p> + +<p>"That's where my sunrise has the call," said Uncle Larry, complacently.</p> + +<p>"What was the merry jest?" was Baby Van Rensselaer's inquiry, the +natural result of a feminine curiosity thus artistically excited.</p> + +<p>"Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a patriotic American and a +wandering Irishman, and the patriotic American rashly declared that you +couldn't see a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, and this gave the +Irishman his chance, and he said, 'Sure ye don't have 'em here till +we're through with 'em over there.'"</p> + +<p>"It is true," said Dear Jones, thoughtfully, "that they do have some +things over there better than we do; for instance, umbrellas."</p> + +<p>"And gowns," added the Duchess.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And antiquities,"—this was Uncle Larry's contribution.</p> + +<p>"And we do have some things so much better in America!" protested Baby +Van Rensselaer, as yet uncorrupted by any worship of the effete +monarchies of despotic Europe. "We make lots of things a great deal +nicer than you can get them in Europe—especially ice-cream."</p> + +<p>"And pretty girls," added Dear Jones; but he did not look at her.</p> + +<p>"And spooks," remarked Uncle Larry casually.</p> + +<p>"Spooks?" queried the Duchess.</p> + +<p>"Spooks. I maintain the word. Ghosts, if you like that better, or +specters. We turn out the best quality of spook——"</p> + +<p>"You forget the lovely ghost stories about the Rhine, and the Black +Forest," interrupted Miss Van Rensselaer, with feminine inconsistency.</p> + +<p>"I remember the Rhine and the Black Forest and all the other haunts of +elves and fairies and hobgoblins; but for good honest spooks there is no +place like home. And what differentiates our spook—<i>Spiritus +Americanus</i>—from the ordinary ghost of literature is that it responds +to the American sense of humor. Take Irving's stories for example. <i>The +Headless Horseman</i>, that's a comic ghost story. And Rip Van +Winkle—consider what humor, and what good-humor, there is in the +telling of his meeting with the goblin crew of Hendrik Hudson's men! A +still better example of this American way of dealing with legend and +mystery is the marvelous tale of the rival ghosts."</p> + +<p>"The rival ghosts?" queried the Duchess and Baby Van Rensselaer +together. "Who were they?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't I ever tell you about them?" answered Uncle Larry, a gleam of +approaching joy flashing from his eye.</p> + +<p>"Since he is bound to tell us sooner or later, we'd better be resigned +and hear it now," said Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"If you are not more eager, I won't tell it at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do, Uncle Larry; you know I just dote on ghost stories," pleaded +Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Once upon a time," began Uncle Larry—"in fact, a very few years +ago—there lived in the thriving town of New York a young American +called Duncan—Eliphalet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> Duncan. Like his name, he was half Yankee and +half Scotch, and naturally he was a lawyer, and had come to New York to +make his way. His father was a Scotchman, who had come over and settled +in Boston, and married a Salem girl. When Eliphalet Duncan was about +twenty he lost both of his parents. His father left him with enough +money to give him a start, and a strong feeling of pride in his Scotch +birth; you see there was a title in the family in Scotland, and although +Eliphalet's father was the younger son of a younger son, yet he always +remembered, and always bade his only son to remember, that his ancestry +was noble. His mother left him her full share of Yankee grit, and a +little house in Salem which has belonged to her family for more than two +hundred years. She was a Hitchcock, and the Hitchcocks had been settled +in Salem since the year 1. It was a great-great-grandfather of Mr. +Eliphalet Hitchcock who was foremost in the time of the Salem witchcraft +craze. And this little old house which she left to my friend Eliphalet +Duncan was haunted.</p> + +<p>"By the ghost of one of the witches, of course," interrupted Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"Now how could it be the ghost of a witch, since the witches were all +burned at the stake? You never heard of anybody who was burned having a +ghost, did you?"</p> + +<p>"That's an argument in favor of cremation, at any rate," replied Jones, +evading the direct question.</p> + +<p>"It is, if you don't like ghosts; I do," said Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"And so do I," added Uncle Larry. "I love a ghost as dearly as an +Englishman loves a lord."</p> + +<p>"Go on with your story," said the Duchess, majestically overruling all +extraneous discussion.</p> + +<p>"This little old house at Salem was haunted," resumed Uncle Larry. "And +by a very distinguished ghost—or at least by a ghost with very +remarkable attributes."</p> + +<p>"What was he like?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a premonitory shiver +of anticipatory delight.</p> + +<p>"It had a lot of peculiarities. In the first place, it never appeared to +the master of the house. Mostly it confined its visitations to unwelcome +guests. In the course of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>last hundred years it had frightened away +four successive mothers-in-law, while never intruding on the head of the +household."</p> + +<p>"I guess that ghost had been one of the boys when he was alive and in +the flesh." This was Dear Jones's contribution to the telling of the +tale.</p> + +<p>"In the second place," continued Uncle Larry, "it never frightened +anybody the first time it appeared. Only on the second visit were the +ghost-seers scared; but then they were scared enough for twice, and they +rarely mustered up courage enough to risk a third interview. One of the +most curious characteristics of this well-meaning spook was that it had +no face—or at least that nobody ever saw its face."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he kept his countenance veiled?" queried the Duchess, who was +beginning to remember that she never did like ghost stories.</p> + +<p>"That was what I was never able to find out. I have asked several people +who saw the ghost, and none of them could tell me anything about its +face, and yet while in its presence they never noticed its features, and +never remarked on their absence or concealment. It was only afterward +when they tried to recall calmly all the circumstances of meeting with +the mysterious stranger, that they became aware that they had not seen +its face. And they could not say whether the features were covered, or +whether they were wanting, or what the trouble was. They knew only that +the face was never seen. And no matter how often they might see it, they +never fathomed this mystery. To this day nobody knows whether the ghost +which used to haunt the little old house in Salem had a face, or what +manner of face it had."</p> + +<p>"How awfully weird!" said Baby Van Rensselaer. "And why did the ghost go +away?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't said it went away," answered Uncle Larry, with much dignity.</p> + +<p>"But you said it <i>used</i> to haunt the little old house at Salem, so I +supposed it had moved. Didn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You shall be told in due time. Eliphalet Duncan used to spend most of +his summer vacations at Salem, and the ghost never bothered him at all, +for he was the master of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>the house—much to his disgust, too, because +he wanted to see for himself the mysterious tenant at will of his +property. But he never saw it, never. He arranged with friends to call +him whenever it might appear, and he slept in the next room with the +door open; and yet when their frightened cries waked him the ghost was +gone, and his only reward was to hear reproachful sighs as soon as he +went back to bed. You see, the ghost thought it was not fair of +Eliphalet to seek an introduction which was plainly unwelcome."</p> + +<p>Dear Jones interrupted the story-teller by getting up and tucking a +heavy rug snugly around Baby Van Rensselaer's feet, for the sky was now +overcast and gray, and the air was damp and penetrating.</p> + +<p>"One fine spring morning," pursued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet Duncan +received great news. I told you that there was a title in the family in +Scotland, and that Eliphalet's father was the younger son of a younger +son. Well, it happened that all Eliphalet's father's brothers and uncles +had died off without male issue except the eldest son of the eldest, and +he, of course, bore the title, and was Baron Duncan of Duncan. Now the +great news that Eliphalet Duncan received in New York one fine spring +morning was that Baron Duncan and his only son had been yachting in the +Hebrides, and they had been caught in a black squall, and they were both +dead. So my friend Eliphalet Duncan inherited the title and the +estates."</p> + +<p>"How romantic!" said the Duchess. "So he was a baron!"</p> + +<p>"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "he was a baron if he chose. But he didn't +choose."</p> + +<p>"More fool he," said Dear Jones sententiously.</p> + +<p>"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "I'm not so sure of that. You see, +Eliphalet Duncan was half Scotch and half Yankee, and he had two eyes to +the main chance. He held his tongue about his windfall of luck until he +could find out whether the Scotch estates were enough to keep up the +Scotch title. He soon discovered that they were not, and that the late +Lord Duncan, having married money, kept up such state as he could out of +the revenues of the dowry <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>of Lady Duncan. And Eliphalet, he decided +that he would rather be a well-fed lawyer in New York, living +comfortably on his practice, than a starving lord in Scotland, living +scantily on his title."</p> + +<p>"But <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'be'">he</ins> kept his title?" asked the Duchess.</p> + +<p>"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "he kept it quiet. I knew it, and a friend +or two more. But Eliphalet was a sight too smart to put Baron Duncan of +Duncan, Attorney and Counselor at Law, on his shingle."</p> + +<p>"What has all this got to do with your ghost?" asked Dear Jones +pertinently.</p> + +<p>"Nothing with that ghost, but a good deal with another ghost. Eliphalet +was very learned in spirit lore—perhaps because he owned the haunted +house at Salem, perhaps because he was a Scotchman by descent. At all +events, he had made a special study of the wraiths and white ladies and +banshees and bogies of all kinds whose sayings and doings and warnings +are recorded in the annals of the Scottish nobility. In fact, he was +acquainted with the habits of every reputable spook in the Scotch +peerage. And he knew that there was a Duncan ghost attached to the +person of the holder of the title of Baron Duncan of Duncan."</p> + +<p>"So, besides being the owner of a haunted house in Salem, he was also a +haunted man in Scotland?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Just so. But the Scotch ghost was not unpleasant, like the Salem ghost, +although it had one peculiarity in common with its trans-Atlantic +fellow-spook. It never appeared to the holder of the title, just as the +other never was visible to the owner of the house. In fact, the Duncan +ghost was never seen at all. It was a guardian angel only. Its sole duty +was to be in personal attendance on Baron Duncan of Duncan, and to warn +him of impending evil. The traditions of the house told that the Barons +of Duncan had again and again felt a premonition of ill fortune. Some of +them had yielded and withdrawn from the venture they had undertaken, and +it had failed dismally. Some had been obstinate, and had hardened their +hearts, and had gone on reckless of defeat and to death. In no case had +a Lord Duncan been exposed to peril without fair warning."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then how came it that the father and son were lost in the yacht off the +Hebrides?" asked Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"Because they were too enlightened to yield to superstition. There is +extant now a letter of Lord Duncan, written to his wife a few minutes +before he and his son set sail, in which he tells her how hard he has +had to struggle with an almost overmastering desire to give up the trip. +Had he obeyed the friendly warning of the family ghost, the latter would +have been spared a journey across the Atlantic."</p> + +<p>"Did the ghost leave Scotland for America as soon as the old baron +died?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with much interest.</p> + +<p>"How did he come over," queried Dear Jones—"in the steerage, or as a +cabin passenger?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered Uncle Larry calmly, "and Eliphalet, he didn't +know. For as he was in no danger, and stood in no need of warning, he +couldn't tell whether the ghost was on duty or not. Of course he was on +the watch for it all the time. But he never got any proof of its +presence until he went down to the little old house of Salem, just +before the Fourth of July. He took a friend down with him—a young +fellow who had been in the regular army since the day Fort Sumter was +fired on, and who thought that after four years of the little +unpleasantness down South, including six months in Libby, and after ten +years of fighting the bad Indians on the plains, he wasn't likely to be +much frightened by a ghost. Well, Eliphalet and the officer sat out on +the porch all the evening smoking and talking over points in military +law. A little after twelve o'clock, just as they began to think it was +about time to turn in, they heard the most ghastly noise in the house. +It wasn't a shriek, or a howl, or a yell, or anything they could put a +name to. It was an undeterminate, inexplicable shiver and shudder of +sound, which went wailing out of the window. The officer had been at +Cold Harbor, but he felt himself getting colder this time. Eliphalet +knew it was the ghost who haunted the house. As this weird sound died +away, it was followed by another, sharp, short, blood-curdling in its +intensity. Something in this cry seemed familiar to Eliphalet, and he +felt sure that it pro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>ceeded from the family ghost, the warning wraith +of the Duncans."</p> + +<p>"Do I understand you to intimate that both ghosts were there together?" +inquired the Duchess anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Both of them were there," answered Uncle Larry. "You see, one of them +belonged to the house, and had to be there all the time, and the other +was attached to the person of Baron Duncan, and had to follow him there; +wherever he was there was the ghost also. But Eliphalet, he had scarcely +time to think this out when he heard both sounds again, not one after +another, but both together, and something told him—some sort of an +instinct he had—that those two ghosts didn't agree, didn't get on +together, didn't exactly hit it off; in fact, that they were +quarreling."</p> + +<p>"Quarreling ghosts! Well, I never!" was Baby Van Rensselaer's remark.</p> + +<p>"It is a blessed thing to see ghosts dwell together in unity," said Dear +Jones.</p> + +<p>And the Duchess added, "It would certainly be setting a better example."</p> + +<p>"You know," resumed Uncle Larry, "that two waves of light or of sound +may interfere and produce darkness or silence. So it was with these +rival spooks. They interfered, but they did not produce silence or +darkness. On the contrary, as soon as Eliphalet and the officer went +into the house, there began at once a series of spiritualistic +manifestations, a regular dark séance. A tambourine was played upon, a +bell was rung, and a flaming banjo went singing around the room."</p> + +<p>"Where did they get the banjo?" asked Dear Jones skeptically.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Materialized it, maybe, just as they did the tambourine. +You don't suppose a quiet New York lawyer kept a stock of musical +instruments large enough to fit out a strolling minstrel troupe just on +the chance of a pair of ghosts coming to give him a surprise party, do +you? Every spook has its own instrument of torture. Angels play on +harps, I'm informed, and spirits delight in banjos and tambourines. +These spooks of Eliphalet Duncan's were ghosts with all the modern +improvements, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> I guess they were capable of providing their own +musical weapons. At all events, they had them there in the little old +house at Salem the night Eliphalet and his friend came down. And they +played on them, and they rang the bell, and they rapped here, there, and +everywhere. And they kept it up all night."</p> + +<p>"All night?" asked the awe-stricken Duchess.</p> + +<p>"All night long," said Uncle Larry solemnly; "and the next night, too. +Eliphalet did not get a wink of sleep, neither did his friend. On the +second night the house ghost was seen by the officer; on the third night +it showed itself again; and the next morning the officer packed his +grip-sack and took the first train to Boston. He was a New Yorker, but +he said he'd sooner go to Boston than see that ghost again. Eliphalet, +he wasn't scared at all, partly because he never saw either the +domiciliary or the titular spook, and partly because he felt himself on +friendly terms with the spirit world, and didn't scare easily. But after +losing three nights' sleep and the society of his friend, he began to be +a little impatient, and to think that the thing had gone far enough. You +see, while in a way he was fond of ghosts, yet he liked them best one at +a time. Two ghosts were one too many. He wasn't bent on making a +collection of spooks. He and one ghost were company, but he and two +ghosts were a crowd."</p> + +<p>"What did he do?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Well, he couldn't do anything. He waited awhile, hoping they would get +tired; but he got tired out first. You see, it comes natural to a spook +to sleep in the daytime, but a man wants to sleep nights, and they +wouldn't let him sleep nights. They kept on wrangling and quarreling +incessantly; they manifested and they dark-séanced as regularly as the +old clock on the stairs struck twelve; they rapped and they rang bells +and they banged the tambourine and they threw the flaming banjo about +the house, and worse than all, they swore."</p> + +<p>"I did not know that spirits were addicted to bad language," said the +Duchess.</p> + +<p>"How did he know they were swearing? Could he hear them?" asked Dear +Jones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That was just it," responded Uncle Larry; "he could not hear them—at +least not distinctly. There were inarticulate murmurs and stifled +rumblings. But the impression produced on him was that they were +swearing. If they had only sworn right out, he would not have minded it +so much, because he would have known the worst. But the feeling that the +air was full of suppressed profanity was very wearing and after standing +it for a week, he gave up in disgust and went to the White Mountains."</p> + +<p>"Leaving them to fight it out, I suppose," interjected Baby Van +Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," explained Uncle Larry. "They could not quarrel unless he +was present. You see, he could not leave the titular ghost behind him, +and the domiciliary ghost could not leave the house. When he went away +he took the family ghost with him, leaving the house ghost behind. Now +spooks can't quarrel when they are a hundred miles apart any more than +men can."</p> + +<p>"And what happened afterward?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a pretty +impatience.</p> + +<p>"A most marvelous thing happened. Eliphalet Duncan went to the White +Mountains, and in the car of the railroad that runs to the top of Mount +Washington he met a classmate whom he had not seen for years, and this +classmate introduced Duncan to his sister, and this sister was a +remarkably pretty girl, and Duncan fell in love with her at first sight, +and by the time he got to the top of Mount Washington he was so deep in +love that he began to consider his own unworthiness, and to wonder +whether she might ever be induced to care for him a little—ever so +little."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that is so marvelous a thing," said Dear Jones glancing +at Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Who was she?" asked the Duchess, who had once lived in Philadelphia.</p> + +<p>"She was Miss Kitty Sutton, of San Francisco, and she was a daughter of +old Judge Sutton, of the firm of Pixley and Sutton."</p> + +<p>"A very respectable family," assented the Duchess.</p> + +<p>"I hope she wasn't a daughter of that loud and vulgar <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>old Mrs. Sutton +whom I met at Saratoga, one summer, four or five years ago?" said Dear +Jones.</p> + +<p>"Probably she was."</p> + +<p>"She was a horrid old woman. The boys used to call her Mother Gorgon."</p> + +<p>"The pretty Kitty Sutton with whom Eliphalet Duncan had fallen in love +was the daughter of Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, who was +in 'Frisco, or Los Angeles, or Santa Fe, or somewhere out West, and he +saw a great deal of the daughter, who was up in the White Mountains. She +was traveling with her brother and his wife, and as they journeyed from +hotel to hotel, Duncan went with them, and filled out the quartette. +Before the end of the summer he began to think about proposing. Of +course he had lots of chances, going on excursions as they were every +day. He made up his mind to seize the first opportunity, and that very +evening he took her out for a moonlight row on Lake Winnipiseogee. As he +handed her into the boat he resolved to do it, and he had a glimmer of a +suspicion that she knew he was going to do it, too."</p> + +<p>"Girls," said Dear Jones, "never go out in a rowboat at night with a +young man unless you mean to accept him."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes it's best to refuse him, and get it over once for all," said +Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"As Eliphalet took the oars he felt a sudden chill. He tried to shake it +off, but in vain. He began to have a growing consciousness of impending +evil. Before he had taken ten strokes—and he was a swift oarsman—he +was aware of a mysterious presence between him and Miss Sutton."</p> + +<p>"Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him off the match?" interrupted +Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"That's just what it was," said Uncle Larry. "And he yielded to it, and +kept his peace, and rowed Miss Sutton back to the hotel with his +proposal unspoken."</p> + +<p>"More fool he," said Dear Jones. "It will take more than one ghost to +keep me from proposing when my mind is made up." And he looked at Baby +Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"The next morning," continued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>overslept +himself, and when he went down to a late breakfast he found that the +Suttons had gone to New York by the morning train. He wanted to follow +them at once, and again he felt the mysterious presence overpowering his +will. He struggled two days, and at last he roused himself to do what he +wanted in spite of the spook. When he arrived in New York it was late in +the evening. He dressed himself hastily and went to the hotel where the +Suttons put up, in the hope of seeing at least her brother. The guardian +angel fought every inch of the walk with him, until he began to wonder +whether, if Miss Sutton were to take him, the spook would forbid the +banns. At the hotel he saw no one that night, and he went home +determined to call as early as he could the next afternoon, and make an +end of it. When he left his office about two o'clock the next day to +learn his fate, he had not walked five blocks before he discovered that +the wraith of the Duncans had withdrawn his opposition to the suit. +There was no feeling of impending evil, no resistance, no struggle, no +consciousness of an opposing presence. Eliphalet was greatly encouraged. +He walked briskly to the hotel; he found Miss Sutton alone. He asked her +the question, and got his answer."</p> + +<p>"She accepted him, of course," said Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Uncle Larry. "And while they were in the first flush +of joy, swapping confidences and confessions, her brother came into the +parlor with an expression of pain on his face and a telegram in his +hand. The former was caused by the latter, which was from 'Frisco, and +which announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their mother."</p> + +<p>"And that was why the ghost no longer opposed the match?" questioned +Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You see, the family ghost knew that Mother Gorgon was an awful +obstacle to Duncan's happiness, so it warned him. But the moment the +obstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once."</p> + +<p>The fog was lowering its thick damp curtain, and it was beginning to be +difficult to see from one end of the boat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>to the other. Dear Jones +tightened the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, and then withdrew +again into his own substantial coverings.</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to light another of the tiny +cigars he always smoked.</p> + +<p>"I infer that Lord Duncan"—the Duchess was scrupulous in the bestowal +of titles—"saw no more of the ghosts after he was married."</p> + +<p>"He never saw them at all, at any time, either before or since. But they +came very near breaking off the match, and thus breaking two young +hearts."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that they knew any just cause or impediment why +they should not forever after hold their peace?" asked Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>"How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a girl from marrying the +man she loved?" This was Baby Van Rensselaer's question.</p> + +<p>"It seems curious, doesn't it?" and Uncle Larry tried to warm himself by +two or three sharp pulls at his fiery little cigar. "And the +circumstances are quite as curious as the fact itself. You see, Miss +Sutton wouldn't be married for a year after her mother's death, so she +and Duncan had lots of time to tell each other all they knew. Eliphalet, +he got to know a good deal about the girls she went to school with, and +Kitty, she learned all about his family. He didn't tell her about the +title for a long time, as he wasn't one to brag. But he described to her +the little old house at Salem. And one evening toward the end of the +summer, the wedding-day having been appointed for early in September, +she told him that she didn't want to bridal tour at all; she just wanted +to go down to the little old house at Salem to spend her honeymoon in +peace and quiet, with nothing to do and nobody to bother them. Well, +Eliphalet jumped at the suggestion. It suited him down to the ground. +All of a sudden he remembered the spooks, and it knocked him all of a +heap. He had told her about the Duncan Banshee, and the idea of having +an ancestral ghost in personal attendance on her husband tickled her +immensely. But he had never said anything about the ghost which haunted +the little old house at Salem. He knew <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>she would be frightened out of +her wits if the house ghost revealed itself to her, and he saw at once +that it would be impossible to go to Salem on their wedding trip. So he +told her all about it, and how whenever he went to Salem the two ghosts +interfered, and gave dark séances and manifested and materialized and +made the place absolutely impossible. Kitty, she listened in silence, +and Eliphalet, he thought she had changed her mind. But she hadn't done +anything of the kind."</p> + +<p>"Just like a man—to think she was going to," remarked Baby Van +Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>"She just told him she could not bear ghosts herself, but she would not +marry a man who was afraid of them."</p> + +<p>"Just like a girl—to be so inconsistent," remarked Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. He lighted a new one, +and continued: "Eliphalet protested in vain. Kitty said her mind was +made up. She was determined to pass her honeymoon in the little old +house at Salem, and she was equally determined not to go there as long +as there were any ghosts there. Until he could assure her that the +spectral tenants had received notice to quit, and that there was no +danger of manifestations and materializing, she refused to be married at +all. She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted by two +wrangling ghosts, and the wedding could be postponed until he had made +ready the house for her."</p> + +<p>"She was an unreasonable young woman," said the Duchess.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's what Eliphalet thought, much as he was in love with her. +And he believed he could talk her out of her determination. But he +couldn't. She was set. And when a girl is set, there's nothing to do but +yield to the inevitable. And that's just what Eliphalet did. He saw he +would either have to give her up or to get the ghosts out; and as he +loved her and did not care for the ghosts, he resolved to tackle the +ghosts. He had clear grit, Eliphalet had—he was half Scotch and half +Yankee, and neither breed turns tail in a hurry. So he made his plans +and he went down to Salem. As he said good-by to Kitty he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>an +impression that she was sorry she had made him go, but she kept up +bravely, and put a bold face on it, and saw him off, and went home and +cried for an hour, and was perfectly miserable until he came back the +next day."</p> + +<p>"Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, +with great interest.</p> + +<p>"That's just what I'm coming to," said Uncle Larry, pausing at the +critical moment, in the manner of the trained story teller. "You see, +Eliphalet had got a rather tough job, and he would gladly have had an +extension of time on the contract, but he had to choose between the girl +and the ghosts, and he wanted the girl. He tried to invent or remember +some short and easy way with ghosts, but he couldn't. He wished that +somebody had invented a specific for spooks—something that would make +the ghosts come out of the house and die in the yard. He wondered if he +could not tempt the ghosts to run in debt, so that he might get the +sheriff to help him. He wondered also whether the ghosts could not be +overcome with strong drink—a dissipated spook, a spook with delirium +tremens, might be committed to the inebriate asylum. But none of these +things seemed feasible."</p> + +<p>"What did he do?" interrupted Dear Jones. "The learned counsel will +please speak to the point."</p> + +<p>"You will regret this unseemly haste," said Uncle Larry, gravely, "when +you know what really happened."</p> + +<p>"What was it, Uncle Larry?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I'm all +impatience."</p> + +<p>And Uncle Larry proceeded:</p> + +<p>"Eliphalet went down to the little old house at Salem, and as soon as +the clock struck twelve the rival ghosts began wrangling as before. Raps +here, there, and everywhere, ringing bells, banging tambourines, +strumming banjos sailing about the room, and all the other +manifestations and materializations followed one another just as they +had the summer before. The only difference Eliphalet could detect was a +stronger flavor in the spectral profanity; and this, of course, was only +a vague impression, for he did not actually hear a single word. He +waited awhile in patience, listening and watching. Of course he never +saw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>either of the ghosts, because neither of them could appear to him. +At last he got his dander up, and he thought it was about time to +interfere, so he rapped on the table, and asked for silence. As soon as +he felt that the spooks were listening to him he explained the situation +to them. He told them he was in love, and that he could not marry unless +they vacated the house. He appealed to them as old friends, and he laid +claim to their gratitude. The titular ghost had been sheltered by the +Duncan family for hundreds of years, and the domiciliary ghost had had +free lodging in the little old house at Salem for nearly two centuries. +He implored them to settle their differences, and to get him out of his +difficulty at once. He suggested they'd better fight it out then and +there, and see who was master. He had brought down with him all needful +weapons. And he pulled out his valise, and spread on the table a pair of +navy revolvers, a pair of shot-guns, a pair of dueling swords, and a +couple of bowie-knives. He offered to serve as second for both parties, +and to give the word when to begin. He also took out of his valise a +pack of cards and a bottle of poison, telling them that if they wished +to avoid carnage they might cut the cards to see which one should take +the poison. Then he waited anxiously for their reply. For a little space +there was silence. Then he became conscious of a tremulous shivering in +one corner of the room, and he remembered that he had heard from that +direction what sounded like a frightened sigh when he made the first +suggestion of the duel. Something told him that this was the domiciliary +ghost, and that it was badly scared. Then he was impressed by a certain +movement in the opposite corner of the room, as though the titular ghost +were drawing himself up with offended dignity. Eliphalet couldn't +exactly see these things, because he never saw the ghosts, but he felt +them. After a silence of nearly a minute a voice came from the corner +where the family ghost stood—a voice strong and full, but trembling +slightly with suppressed passion. And this voice told Eliphalet it was +plain enough that he had not long been the head of the Duncans, and that +he had never properly considered the characteristics of his race if now +he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>supposed that one of his blood could draw his sword against a woman. +Eliphalet said he had never suggested that the Duncan ghost should raise +his hand against a woman and all he wanted was that the Duncan ghost +should fight the other ghost. And then the voice told Eliphalet that the +other ghost was a woman."</p> + +<p>"What?" said Dear Jones, sitting up suddenly. "You don't mean to tell me +that the ghost which haunted the house was a woman?"</p> + +<p>"Those were the very words Eliphalet Duncan used," said Uncle Larry; +"but he did not need to wait for the answer. All at once he recalled the +traditions about the domiciliary ghost, and he knew that what the +titular ghost said was the fact. He had never thought of the sex of a +spook, but there was no doubt whatever that the house ghost was a woman. +No sooner was this firmly fixed in Eliphalet's mind than he saw his way +out of the difficulty. The ghosts must be married!—for then there would +be no more interference, no more quarreling, no more manifestations and +materializations, no more dark séances, with their raps and bells and +tambourines and banjos. At first the ghosts would not hear of it. The +voice in the corner declared that the Duncan wraith had never thought of +matrimony. But Eliphalet argued with them, and pleaded and persuaded and +coaxed, and dwelt on the advantages of matrimony. He had to confess, of +course, that he did not know how to get a clergyman to marry them; but +the voice from the corner gravely told him that there need be no +difficulty in regard to that, as there was no lack of spiritual +chaplains. Then, for the first time, the house ghost spoke, in a low, +clear, gentle voice, and with a quaint, old-fashioned New England +accent, which contrasted sharply with the broad Scotch speech of the +family ghost. She said that Eliphalet Duncan seemed to have forgotten +that she was married. But this did not upset Eliphalet at all; he +remembered the whole case clearly, and he told her she was not a married +ghost, but a widow, since her husband had been hung for murdering her. +Then the Duncan ghost drew attention to the great disparity of their +ages, saying that he was nearly four hundred and fifty years old, while +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>she was barely two hundred. But Eliphalet had not talked to juries for +nothing; he just buckled to, and coaxed those ghosts into matrimony. +Afterward he came to the conclusion that they were willing to be coaxed, +but at the time he thought he had pretty hard work to convince them of +the advantages of the plan."</p> + +<p>"Did he succeed?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a young lady's +interest in matrimony.</p> + +<p>"He did," said Uncle Larry. "He talked the wraith of the Duncans and the +specter of the little old house at Salem into a matrimonial engagement. +And from the time they were engaged he had no more trouble with them. +They were rival ghosts no longer. They were married by their spiritual +chaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan met Kitty Sutton in +front of the railing of Grace Church. The ghostly bride and bridegroom +went away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and Lady Duncan went +down to the little old house at Salem to pass their honeymoon."</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out again. The tale of the rival +ghosts was told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on the deck +of the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse roar of the +fog-horn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE DAMNED THING</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Ambrose Bierce</span></h3> + + +<h3><br />I</h3> + +<div class='center'>ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE<br /></div> + +<p>By the light of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of a +rough table a man was reading something written in a book. It was an old +account book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, very +legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of the +candle to get a stronger light on it. The shadow of the book would then +throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces and +figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven of +them sat against the rough log walls, silent, motionless, and the room +being small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one of +them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face +upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He was dead.</p> + +<p>The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all +seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was +without expectation. From the blank darkness outside came in, through +the aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of +night in the wilderness—the long nameless note of a distant coyote; the +stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of +night birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the drone of +great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds +that seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenly +ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was +noted in that company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle +interest in matters of no practical <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>importance; that was obvious in +every line of their rugged faces—obvious even in the dim light of the +single candle. They were evidently men of the vicinity—farmers and +woodsmen.</p> + +<p>The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him +that he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire +which attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his +environment. His coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco; +his foot-gear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on +the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one had +considered it as an article of mere personal adornment he would have +missed its meaning. In countenance the man was rather prepossessing, +with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or +cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he was a coroner. It +was by virtue of his office that he had possession of the book in which +he was reading; it had been found among the dead man's effects—in his +cabin, where the inquest was now taking place.</p> + +<p>When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast +pocket. At that moment the door was pushed open and a young man entered. +He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as +those who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as from +travel. He had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest.</p> + +<p>The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.</p> + +<p>"We have waited for you," said the coroner. "It is necessary to have +done with this business to-night."</p> + +<p>The young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went +away, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an account +of what I suppose I am called back to relate."</p> + +<p>The coroner smiled.</p> + +<p>"The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs, +probably, from that which you will give here under oath."</p> + +<p>"That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as +you please. I used manifold paper and have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>a copy of what I sent. It +was not written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go +as a part of my testimony under oath."</p> + +<p>"But you say it is incredible."</p> + +<p>"That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true."</p> + +<p>The coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the floor. The men +about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrew +their gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted his +eyes and said: "We will resume the inquest."</p> + +<p>The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" the coroner asked.</p> + +<p>"William Harker."</p> + +<p>"Age?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-seven."</p> + +<p>"You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You were with him when he died?"</p> + +<p>"Near him."</p> + +<p>"How did that happen—your presence, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my +purpose, however, was to study him and his odd, solitary way of life. He +seemed a good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write +stories."</p> + +<p>"I sometimes read them."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Stories in general—not yours."</p> + +<p>Some of the jurors laughed. Against a somber background humor shows high +lights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in +the death chamber conquers by surprise.</p> + +<p>"Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You +may use any notes or memoranda that you please."</p> + +<p>The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he +held it near the candle and turning the leaves until he found the +passage that he wanted began to read.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><br />II</h3> + +<div class='center'>WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS<br /></div> + +<p>" . . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking +for quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said +that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and +we crossed it by a trail through the <i>chaparral</i>. On the other side was +comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we +emerged from the <i>chaparral</i> Morgan was but a few yards in advance. +Suddenly we heard, at a little distance to our right and partly in +front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which we +could see were violently agitated.</p> + +<p>"'We've started a deer,' I said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.'</p> + +<p>"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated +<i>chaparral</i>, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun and +was holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, +which surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, +even in moments of sudden and imminent peril.</p> + +<p>"'O, come,' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with +quail-shot, are you?'</p> + +<p>"Still he did not reply; but catching a sight of his face as he turned +it slightly toward me I was struck by the intensity of his look. Then I +understood that we had serious business in hand and my first conjecture +was that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking +my piece as I moved.</p> + +<p>"The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as +attentive to the place as before.</p> + +<p>"'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice +was husky and unnatural. He trembled visibly.</p> + +<p>"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the +place of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can +hardly describe it. It seemed as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>if stirred by a streak of wind, which +not only bent it, but pressed it down—crushed it so that it did not +rise; and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us.</p> + +<p>"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this +unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall any +sense of fear. I remember—and tell it here because, singularly enough, +I recollected it then—that once in looking carelessly out of an open +window I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a +group of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same size +as the others, but being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass and +detail seemed out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification of +the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We +so rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any +seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning +of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the +herbage and the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbances +were distinctly disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, +and I could hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his +gun to his shoulder and fire both barrels at the agitated grain! Before +the smoke of the discharge had cleared away I heard a loud savage cry—a +scream like that of a wild animal—and flinging his gun upon the ground +Morgan sprang away and ran swiftly from the spot. At the same instant I +was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of something unseen in +the smoke—some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown against me with +great force.</p> + +<p>"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to +have been struck from my hands, I heard Morgan crying out as if in +mortal agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse, savage +sounds as one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I +struggled to my feet and looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat; +and may Heaven in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At a +distance of less than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, +his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair in +disorder and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>whole body in violent movement from side to side, +backward and forward. His right arm was lifted and seemed to lack the +hand—at least, I could see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, +as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but a +part of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted out—I cannot +otherwise express it—then a shifting of his position would bring it all +into view again.</p> + +<p>"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time +Morgan assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by +superior weight and strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not always +distinctly. During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, +as if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I +had never heard from the throat of man or brute!</p> + +<p>"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing down my gun I ran +forward to my friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he was +suffering from a fit, or some form of convulsion. Before I could reach +his side he was down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but with a +feeling of such terror as even these awful events had not inspired I now +saw again the mysterious movement of the wild oats, prolonging itself +from the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the edge of a +wood. It was only when it had reached the wood that I was able to +withdraw my eyes and look at my companion. He was dead."</p> + + +<h3><br />III</h3> + +<div class='center'>A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS<br /></div> + +<p>The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting an +edge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, +altogether naked and showing in the candle-light a claylike yellow. It +had, however, broad maculations of bluish black, obviously caused by +extravasated blood from contusions. The chest and sides looked as if +they had been beaten with a bludgeon. There <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>were dreadful lacerations; +the skin was torn in strips and shreds.</p> + +<p>The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk +handkerchief which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the top +of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had +been the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view +repented their curiosity and turned away their faces. Witness Harker +went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. +Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck the coroner stepped +to an angle of the room and from a pile of clothing produced one garment +after another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. All +were torn, and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closer +inspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They had, in truth, seen +all this before; the only thing that was new to them being Harker's +testimony.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your +duty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to +ask you may go outside and consider your verdict."</p> + +<p>The foreman rose—a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.</p> + +<p>"I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum +did this yer last witness escape from?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harker," said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what +asylum did you last escape?"</p> + +<p>Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors +rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.</p> + +<p>"If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the +officer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty to +go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. +The habit of his profession was strong in him—stronger than his sense +of personal dignity. He turned about and said:</p> + +<p>"The book that you have there—I recognize it as Mor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>gan's diary. You +seemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying. +May I see it? The public would like——"</p> + +<p>"The book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, +slipping it into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made +before the writer's death."</p> + +<p>As Harker passed out of the house the jury reëntered and stood about the +table, on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp +definition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from +his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper and wrote rather +laboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of effort +all signed:</p> + +<p>"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands +of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits."</p> + + +<h3><br />IV</h3> + +<div class='center'>AN EXPLANATION FROM THE TOMB<br /></div> + +<p>In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entries +having, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest upon +his body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought +it not worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the +entries mentioned cannot be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is +torn away; the part of the entry remaining follows:</p> + +<p>" . . . would run in a half-circle, keeping his head turned always toward +the center, and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last +he ran away into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first +that he had gone mad, but on returning to the house found no other +alteration in his manner than what was obviously due to fear of +punishment.</p> + +<p>"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress some cerebral center with +images of the thing that emitted them? . . .<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sept. 2.—Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest +of the ridge east of the house, I observed them successively +disappear—from left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and +only a few at the same time, but along the entire length of the ridge +all that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted out. It +was as if something had passed along between me and them; but I could +not see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline. +Ugh! I don't like this." . . .</p> + +<p>Several weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from the +book.</p> + +<p>"Sept. 27.—It has been about here again—I find evidences of its +presence every day. I watched again all last night in the same cover, +gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh +footprints were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not +sleep—indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable! If +these amazing experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful +I am mad already.</p> + +<p>"Oct. 3.—I shall not go—it shall not drive me away. No, this is <i>my</i> +house, <i>my</i> land. God hates a coward. . . .</p> + +<p>"Oct. 5.—I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few +weeks with me—he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if he +thinks me mad.</p> + +<p>"Oct. 7.—I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me last +night—suddenly, as by revelation. How simple—how terribly simple!</p> + +<p>"There are sounds that we cannot hear. At either end of the scale are +notes that stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. +They are too high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds +occupying an entire tree-top—the tops of several trees—and all in full +song. Suddenly—in a moment—at absolutely the same instant—all spring +into the air and fly away. How? They could not all see one +another—whole tree-tops intervened. At no point could a leader have +been visible to all. There must have been a signal of warning or +command, high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. I have +observed, too, the same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among +not only blackbirds, but other birds—quail, for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>example, widely +separated by bushes—even on opposite sides of a hill.</p> + +<p>"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on +the surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth +between, will sometimes dive at the same instant—all gone out of sight +in a moment. The signal has been sounded—too grave for the ear of the +sailor at the masthead and his comrades on the deck—who nevertheless +feel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirred +by the bass of the organ.</p> + +<p>"As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of the solar spectrum the +chemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. +They represent colors—integral colors in the composition of +light—which we are unable to discern. The human eye is an imperfect +instrument; its range is but a few octaves of the real 'chromatic +scale.' I am not mad; there are colors that we cannot see.</p> + +<p>"And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a color!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE INTERVAL<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a></h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Vincent O'Sullivan</span></h3> + +<div class='center'>From <i>The Boston Evening Transcript</i></div> + + +<p>Mrs. Wilton passed through a little alley leading from one of the gates +which are around Regent's Park, and came out on the wide and quiet +street. She walked along slowly, peering anxiously from side to side so +as not to overlook the number. She pulled her furs closer round her; +after her years in India this London damp seemed very harsh. Still, it +was not a fog to-day. A dense haze, gray and tinged ruddy, lay between +the houses, sometimes blowing with a little wet kiss against the face. +Mrs. Wilton's hair and eyelashes and her furs were powdered with tiny +drops. But there was nothing in the weather to blur the sight; she could +see the faces of people some distance off and read the signs on the +shops.</p> + +<p>Before the door of a dealer in antiques and second-hand furniture she +paused and looked through the shabby uncleaned window at an unassorted +heap of things, many of them of great value. She read the Polish name +fastened on the pane in white letters.</p> + +<p>"Yes; this is the place."</p> + +<p>She opened the door, which met her entrance with an ill-tempered jangle. +From somewhere in the black depths of the shop the dealer came forward. +He had a clammy white face, with a sparse black beard, and wore a skull +cap and spectacles. Mrs. Wilton spoke to him in a low voice.</p> + +<p>A look of complicity, of cunning, perhaps of irony, passed through the +dealer's cynical and sad eyes. But he bowed gravely and respectfully. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, she is here, madam. Whether she will see you or not I do not know. +She is not always well; she has her moods. And then, we have to be so +careful. The police—Not that they would touch a lady like you. But the +poor alien has not much chance these days."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wilton followed him to the back of the shop, where there was a +winding staircase. She knocked over a few things in her passage and +stooped to pick them up, but the dealer kept muttering, "It does not +matter—surely it does not matter." He lit a candle.</p> + +<p>"You must go up these stairs. They are very dark; be careful. When you +come to a door, open it and go straight in."</p> + +<p>He stood at the foot of the stairs holding the light high above his head +and she ascended.</p> + +<p>The room was not very large, and it seemed very ordinary. There were +some flimsy, uncomfortable chairs in gilt and red. Two large palms were +in corners. Under a glass cover on the table was a view of Rome. The +room had not a business-like look, thought Mrs. Wilton; there was no +suggestion of the office or waiting-room where people came and went all +day; yet you would not say that it was a private room which was lived +in. There were no books or papers about; every chair was in the place it +had been placed when the room was last swept; there was no fire and it +was very cold.</p> + +<p>To the right of the window was a door covered with a plush curtain. Mrs. +Wilton sat down near the table and watched this door. She thought it +must be through it that the soothsayer would come forth. She laid her +hands listlessly one on top of the other on the table. This must be the +tenth seer she had consulted since Hugh had been killed. She thought +them over. No, this must be the eleventh. She had forgotten that +frightening man in Paris who said he had been a priest. Yet of them all +it was only he who had told her anything definite. But even he could do +no more than tell the past. He told of her marriage; he even had the +duration of it right—twenty-one months. He told too of their time in +India—at least, he knew that her husband had been a soldier, and said +he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>had been on service in the "colonies." On the whole, though, he had +been as unsatisfactory as the others. None of them had given her the +consolation she sought. She did not want to be told of the past. If Hugh +was gone forever, then with him had gone all her love of living, her +courage, all her better self. She wanted to be lifted out of the +despair, the dazed aimless drifting from day to day, longing at night +for the morning, and in the morning for the fall of night, which had +been her life since his death. If somebody could assure her that it was +not all over, that he was somewhere, not too far away, unchanged from +what he had been here, with his crisp hair and rather slow smile and +lean brown face, that he saw her sometimes, that he had not forgotten +her. . . .</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hugh, darling!"</p> + +<p>When she looked up again the woman was sitting there before her. Mrs. +Wilton had not heard her come in. With her experience, wide enough now, +of seers and fortune-tellers of all kinds, she saw at once that this +woman was different from the others. She was used to the quick +appraising look, the attempts, sometimes clumsy, but often cleverly +disguised, to collect some fragments of information whereupon to erect a +plausible vision. But this woman looked as if she took it out of +herself.</p> + +<p>Not that her appearance suggested intercourse with the spiritual world +more than the others had done; it suggested that, in fact, considerably +less. Some of the others were frail, yearning, evaporated creatures, and +the ex-priest in Paris had something terrible and condemned in his look. +He might well sup with the devil, that man, and probably did in some way +or other.</p> + +<p>But this was a little fat, weary-faced woman about fifty, who only did +not look like a cook because she looked more like a sempstress. Her +black dress was all covered with white threads. Mrs. Wilton looked at +her with some embarrassment. It seemed more reasonable to be asking a +woman like this about altering a gown than about intercourse with the +dead. That seemed even absurd in such a very commonplace presence. The +woman seemed timid and oppressed: she <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'breathd'">breathed</ins> heavily and kept rubbing +her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>dingy hands, which looked moist, one over the other; she was always +wetting her lips, and coughed with a little dry cough. But in her these +signs of nervous exhaustion suggested overwork in a close atmosphere, +bending too close over the sewing-machine. Her uninteresting hair, like +a rat's pelt, was eked out with a false addition of another color. Some +threads had got into her hair too.</p> + +<p>Her harried, uneasy look caused Mrs. Wilton to ask compassionately: "Are +you much worried by the police?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the police! Why don't they leave us alone? You never know who comes +to see you. Why don't they leave me alone? I'm a good woman. I only +think. What I do is no harm to any one." . . .</p> + +<p>She continued in an uneven querulous voice, always rubbing her hands +together nervously. She seemed to the visitor to be talking at random, +just gabbling, like children do sometimes before they fall asleep.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to explain——" hesitated Mrs. Wilton.</p> + +<p>But the woman, with her head pressed close against the back of the +chair, was staring beyond her at the wall. Her face had lost whatever +little expression it had; it was blank and stupid. When she spoke it was +very slowly and her voice was guttural.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see him? It seems strange to me that you can't see him. He is +so near you. He is passing his arm round your shoulders."</p> + +<p>This was a frequent gesture of Hugh's. And indeed at that moment she +felt that somebody was very near her, bending over her. She was +enveloped in tenderness. Only a very thin veil, she felt, prevented her +from seeing. But the woman saw. She was describing Hugh minutely, even +the little things like the burn on his right hand.</p> + +<p>"Is he happy? Oh, ask him does he love me?"</p> + +<p>The result was so far beyond anything she had hoped for that she was +stunned. She could only stammer the first thing that came into her head. +"Does he love me?"</p> + +<p>"He loves you. He won't answer, but he loves you. He wants me to make +you see him; he is disappointed, I think, because I can't. But I can't +unless you do it yourself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a while she said:</p> + +<p>"I think you will see him again. You think of nothing else. He is very +close to us now."</p> + +<p>Then she collapsed, and fell into a heavy sleep and lay there +motionless, hardly breathing. Mrs. Wilton put some notes on the table +and stole out on tip-toe.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She seemed to remember that downstairs in the dark shop the dealer with +the waxen face detained her to show some old silver and jewelry and such +like. But she did not come to herself, she had no precise recollection +of anything, till she found herself entering a church near Portland +Place. It was an unlikely act in her normal moments. Why did she go in +there? She acted like one walking in her sleep.</p> + +<p>The church was old and dim, with high black pews. There was nobody +there. Mrs. Wilton sat down in one of the pews and bent forward with her +face in her hands.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes she saw that a soldier had come in noiselessly and +placed himself about half-a-dozen rows ahead of her. He never turned +round; but presently she was struck by something familiar in the figure. +First she thought vaguely that the soldier looked like her Hugh. Then, +when he put up his hand, she saw who it was.</p> + +<p>She hurried out of the pew and ran towards him. "Oh, Hugh, Hugh, have +you come back?"</p> + +<p>He looked round with a smile. He had not been killed. It was all a +mistake. He was going to speak. . . .</p> + +<p>Footsteps sounded hollow in the empty church. She turned and glanced +down the dim aisle.</p> + +<p>It was an old sexton or verger who approached. "I thought I heard you +call," he said.</p> + +<p>"I was speaking to my husband." But Hugh was nowhere to be seen.</p> + +<p>"He was here a moment ago." She looked about in anguish. "He must have +gone to the door."</p> + +<p>"There's nobody here," said the old man gently. "Only you and me. Ladies +are often taken funny since the war. There was one in here yesterday +afternoon said she was married in this church and her husband had +promised to meet her here. Perhaps you were married here?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Wilton, desolately. "I was married in India."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It might have been two or three days after that, when she went into a +small Italian restaurant in the Bayswater district. She often went out +for her meals now: she had developed an exhausting cough, and she found +that it somehow became less troublesome when she was in a public place +looking at strange faces. In her flat there were all the things that +Hugh had used; the trunks and bags still had his name on them with the +labels of places where they had been together. They were like stabs. In +the restaurant, people came and went, many soldiers too among them, just +glancing at her in her corner.</p> + +<p>This day, as it chanced, she was rather late and there was nobody there. +She was very tired. She nibbled at the food they brought her. She could +almost have cried from tiredness and loneliness and the ache in her +heart.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he was before her, sitting there opposite at the table. It +was as it was in the days of their engagement, when they used sometimes +to lunch at restaurants. He was not in uniform. He smiled at her and +urged her to eat, just as he used in those days. . . .</p> + +<p>I met her that afternoon as she was crossing Kensington Gardens, and she +told me about it.</p> + +<p>"I have been with Hugh." She seemed most happy.</p> + +<p>"Did he say anything?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. Yes. I think he did, but I could not quite hear. My head was so +very tired. The next time——"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I did not see her for some time after that. She found, I think, that by +going to places where she had once seen him—the old church, the little +restaurant—she was more certain to see him again. She never saw him at +home. But in the street or the park he would often walk along beside +her. Once he saved her from being run over. She said she actually felt +his hand grabbing her arm, suddenly, when the car was nearly upon her.</p> + +<p>She had given me the address of the clairvoyant; and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>it is through that +strange woman that I know—or seem to know—what followed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wilton was not exactly ill last winter, not so ill, at least, as to +keep to her bedroom. But she was very thin, and her great handsome eyes +always seemed to be staring at some point beyond, searching. There was a +look in them that seamen's eyes sometimes have when they are drawing on +a coast of which they are not very certain. She lived almost in +solitude: she hardly ever saw anybody except when they sought her out. +To those who were anxious about her she laughed and said she was very +well.</p> + +<p>One sunny morning she was lying awake, waiting for the maid to bring her +tea. The shy London sunlight peeped through the blinds. The room had a +fresh and happy look.</p> + +<p>When she heard the door open she thought that the maid had come in. Then +she saw that Hugh was standing at the foot of the bed. He was in uniform +this time, and looked as he had looked the day he went away.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hugh, speak to me! Will you not say just one word?"</p> + +<p>He smiled and threw back his head, just as he used to in the old days at +her mother's house when he wanted to call her out of the room without +attracting the attention of the others. He moved towards the door, still +signing to her to follow him. He picked up her slippers on his way and +held them out to her as if he wanted her to put them on. She slipped out +of bed hastily. . . .</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It is strange that when they came to look through her things after her +death the slippers could never be found.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>"DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS"<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a></h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Ellis Parker Butler</span></h3> + + +<p>Once 'pon a time dey was a li'l' black boy whut he name was Mose. An' +whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git +powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dat am sure a mighty ghostly location +whut he lib' in, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a +buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an' +dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar excipt in de clearin' by de shanty +an' down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.</p> + +<p>An' whin de night come' erlong, dey ain't no sounds <i>at</i> all whut kin be +heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out, +"Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous <i>an'</i> scary, an' de owls, whut mourn +out, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de +wind, whut mourn out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous' trembulous an' +scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l' black boy +whut he name was Mose.</p> + +<p>'Ca'se dat li'l' black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in de +dark <i>at</i> all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go' outen de +house <i>at</i> night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody +can see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'. An' who know' +but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him? +An' dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l' black boy powerful' bad, 'ca'se +yever'body knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.</p> + +<p>So whin dat li'l' black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep' he +eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob +butter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin +he go' outen de <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny +plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful' hard to keep eyes whut am +de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.</p> + +<p>So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat lil' black Mose he jes mek' up he +mind he ain't gwine outen he shack <i>at</i> all. He cogitate' he gwine stay +right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek +notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mourn +out, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" +and de wind mourn out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" De eyes ob dat li'l' black +Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut set on de mantel by side de +clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'.</p> + +<p>So dat all right. Li'l' black Mose he scrooge' back in de corner by de +fireplace, an' he 'low' he gwine stay dere till he gwine <i>to</i> bed. But +byme-by Sally Ann, whut live' up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally +Ann, whut is her husban', he draps in, an' Zack Badget an' de +school-teacher whut board' at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a +powerful lot ob folks drap in. An' li'l' black Mose he seen dat gwine be +one s'prise-party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat.</p> + +<p>So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy," an' some ob dem say: +"Why, dere 's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l' Mose?" An' he so please' he jes +grin' an' grin', 'ca'se he aint reckon whut gwine happen. So byme-by +Sally Ann, whut live up de road, she say', "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en +lest we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' de school-teacher, whut board at +Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low', "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en <i>at</i> +all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l' black Mose he stop' +a-grinnin', an' he scrooge' so far back in de corner he 'mos' scrooge +frough de wall. But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say', "Mose, go on +down to de pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."</p> + +<p>"I ain't want to go," say' li'l' black Mose.</p> + +<p>"Go on erlong wid yo'," say' he ma, right commandin'.</p> + +<p>"I ain't want to go," say' Mose ag'in.</p> + +<p>"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask'.</p> + +<p>"'Case I 's afraid ob de ghosts," say' li'l' black Mose, an' dat de +particular truth an' no mistake.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts," say' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas +Diggs's house, right peart.</p> + +<p>"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say' Zack Badget, whut dat 'fear'd ob +ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l' black Mose's house ef de +school-teacher ain't ercompany him.</p> + +<p>"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say' li'l' black Mose's ma.</p> + +<p>"What' yo' pick up dat nomsense?" say' he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'low: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey +'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all sp'iled. So dat li'l' +black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de +pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step' outen de shanty an' he stan' +on de door-step twell he get' he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob +he ma's wash-tub, mostly, an' he say', "Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he +put' one foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step.</p> + +<p>An' de rain-dove say', "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p> + +<p>An' de owl mourn' out, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p> + +<p>An' de wind sob' out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder, an' he shut he +eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick' up he foots an' +run. Yas, sah, he run' right peart fast. An' he say': "Dey ain't no +ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he run' erlong de paff whut lead' by +de buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat +buryin'-ground <i>at</i> all.</p> + +<p>No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an' +mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' byme-by +somefin' jes <i>brush'</i> li'l' Mose on de arm, which mek' him run jes a bit +more faster. An' byme-by somefin' jes <i>brush'</i> li'l' Mose on de cheek, +which mek' him run erbout as fast as he can. An' byme-by somefin' +<i>grab'</i> li'l' Mose by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight' an' struggle' +an' cry' out: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't +nuffin' but de wild brier whut grab' him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de +leaf ob a tree whut brush' he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branch +ob a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>hazel-bush whut brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, +an' he ain't lose no time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves +dey signerfy whut ain't no good. So he scoot' past dat buryin'-ground +whut on de hill, an' dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' dat +grabeyard in de hollow, twell he come' to de pumpkin-patch, an' he +rotch' down an' tek' erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An' +he right smart scared. He jes de mostest scared li'l' black boy whut +yever was. He ain't gwine open he eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, +"You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls go, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de +rain-doves go, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"</p> + +<p>He jes speculate', "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish' he hair don't stand +on ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate', "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish' +he goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low', "Dey ain't no +ghosts," an' wish' he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way. +So he rotch' down, an' he rotch' down, twell he git' a good hold on dat +pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes +yank' dat stem wid all he might.</p> + +<p>"<i>Let loosen my head!</i>" say' a big voice all on a suddent.</p> + +<p>Dat li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose he jump' 'most outen he skin. +He open' he eyes, an' he 'gin' to shake like de aspen-tree, 'ca'se whut +dat a-standin' right dar behint him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, +dat de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head. +Ain't got no head <i>at</i> all! Li'l' black Mose he jes drap' on he knees +an' he beg' an' pray':</p> + +<p>"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg'. "Ah ain't mean no +harm <i>at</i> all."</p> + +<p>"Whut for you try to take my head?" ask' de ghost in dat fearsome voice +whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.</p> + +<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg' li'l' Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo' +head, an' I ain't know you was dar <i>at</i> all. 'Scuse me!"</p> + +<p>"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say' de ghost. "Ah got somefin' +powerful <i>im</i>portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah +ain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf, +an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk <i>at</i> all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got no +mouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin +li'l' black Mose he look', he see' dat ghost ain't got no head <i>at</i> all. +Nary head.</p> + +<p>So de ghost say':</p> + +<p>"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick' dat +<i>ix</i>act pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No, +sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see you +no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful <i>im</i>portant to say unto +yo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot in on de place whar my head +ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk +fo' so long Ah right hongry to say somefin'."</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bend' down, +an' li'l' black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right +off dat pumpkin head 'gin' to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an' +right off dat pumpkin head 'gin' to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like +a jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start' to speak. Yas, sah, +dass so.</p> + +<p>"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" <i>in</i>quire' li'l' black Mose.</p> + +<p>"Ah want to tell yo'," say' de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be +skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' whin he say dat, de ghost jes vanish' away like de smoke in July. He +ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes +dissipate' outen de air, an' he gone <i>in</i>tirely.</p> + +<p>So li'l' Mose he grab' up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot'. An' +whin he come' to be grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as +yever, on'y faster, whin he reckon' he 'll pick up a club <i>in</i> case he +gwine have trouble. An' he rotch' down an' rotch' down an' tek' hold of +a likely appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab' dat +hunk of wood——</p> + +<p>"<i>Let loosen my leg!</i>" say' a big voice all on a suddent.</p> + +<p>Dat li'l' black boy 'most jump' outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in de +paff is six 'mendjus big ghostes, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. +So li'l' black Mose jes natchully <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>handed dat hunk of wood to dat +bigges' ghost, an' he say':</p> + +<p>"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg."</p> + +<p>An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah, +dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say':</p> + +<p>"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l' black boy. Whut we gwine do fo' +to <i>re</i>ward him fo' politeness?"</p> + +<p>An' anudder say':</p> + +<p>"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghostes."</p> + +<p>So de bigges' ghost he say':</p> + +<p>"Ah gwine tell yo' somefin' <i>im</i>portant whut yever'body don't know: Dey +<i>ain't</i> no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' whin he say' dat, de ghostes jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l' +black Mose he proceed' up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank' at de +roots, an' whin de wind go', "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owl go', +"Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" he jes +tremble' an' shake'. An' byme-by he come' to de cemuntary whut betwixt +an' between, an' he shore is mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole +comp'ny of ghostes lined up along de road, an' he 'low' he ain't gwine +spind no more time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step' often de road fo' +to go round erbout, an' he step' on a pine-stump whut lay right dar.</p> + +<p>"<i>Git offen my chest!</i>" say' a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat +stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest, +'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l' +black Mose he hop' offen dat stump right peart. Yes, <i>sah;</i> right peart.</p> + +<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l' black Mose beg' an' plead, an' de +ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step' on +de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But byme-by they 'low they let him go +'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say', "Mose, you +Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a +misabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should <i>re</i>mimimber one +thing mos' particular'."</p> + +<p>"Ya-yas, sah," say' dat li'l' black boy; "Ah'll remimber. Whut is dat Ah +got to remimber?"</p> + +<p>De captain ghost he swell' up, an' he swell' up, twell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>he as big as a +house, an' he say' in a voice whut shake' de ground:</p> + +<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise' up an' mek' a +bow, an' he proceed' toward home right libely. He do, indeed.</p> + +<p>An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin' whin he come' to de aidge ob +de buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, +'ca'se de kentry round about am so populate' he ain't able to go frough. +Yas, sah, seem' like all de ghostes in de world habin' a conferince +right dar. Seem' like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a +convintion on dat spot. An' dat li'l' black Mose so skeered he jes fall' +down on a' old log whut dar an' screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddent +de log up and spoke to li'l' Mose:</p> + +<p>"<i>Get offen me! Get offen me!</i>" yell' dat log.</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no mistake.</p> + +<p>An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l' black Mose he +see' dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, +all de congregation crowd round li'l' black Mose, an' dey am about leben +millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en +convintion whut li'l' black Mose interrup'. Right dar am all de sperits +in de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de +world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world, +an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l' black Mose, dey +all gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's +lunch-time. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step' on +top ob li'l' Mose's head, an' he say':</p> + +<p>"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note +who is prisint. De firs' business whut come' before de convintion am: +whut we gwine do to a li'l' black boy whut stip' on de king an' maul' +all ober de king an' treat' de king dat disrespictful'."</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose jes moan' an' sob':</p> + +<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm <i>at</i> all."</p> + +<p>But nobody ain't pay no <i>at</i>tintion to him <i>at</i> all, 'ca'se <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>yevery one +lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up +an' spoke.</p> + +<p>"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min <i>an'</i> ladies," he say', "dis am +a right bad case ob <i>lazy majesty</i>, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin +yivery li'l' black boy whut choose' gwine wander round <i>at</i> night an' +stip on de king ob ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no +time for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no +time do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin' but +de truth."</p> + +<p>An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey confabulate out loud +erbout dat, an' de noise soun' like de rain-doves goin', +"Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls goin', "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de wind +goin', "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no +mistake.</p> + +<p>So de king ob de ghostes, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place' he +hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, +an' he say':</p> + +<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.</p> + +<p>An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on +de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a toadstool in de +cool ob de day, an' he say':</p> + +<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.</p> + +<p>An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place' he hand on de head ob +li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like de yunner side ob a lizard, an' +he say':</p> + +<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white +<i>as</i> snow.</p> + +<p>An' a perticklar bend-up hobgoblin he put' he hand on de head ob li'l' +black Mose, an' he mek' dat same <i>re</i>mark, an' dat whole convintion ob +ghostes an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yiver-thing, which am more 'n a +millium, pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow +outen de cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't no +ghosts." Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>souun' like de wind +whin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' +yivery hair whut on li'l' black Mose's head turn' white. Dat whut +happen' whin a li'l' black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat-away. +Dat's so he ain' gwine forgit to remimber dey ain't no ghostes. 'Ca'se +ef a li'l' black boy gwine imaginate dey <i>is</i> ghostes, he gwine be +skeered in de dark. An' dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.</p> + +<p>So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler +whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l' black Mose he ain' see no ca'se for +to remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch' down, an' he raise' up de +pumpkin, an' he perambulate' right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift' +up de latch, an' he open' de do', an' he yenter' in. An' he say':</p> + +<p>"Yere's de pumpkin."</p> + +<p>An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' Mistah +Sally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut +board at Unc'-Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whut +come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack, +'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves +gwine, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" and +de wind it gwine, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" an' yiver-body powerful skeered. +'Ca'se li'l' black Mose he come' a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes +whin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yiver'body gwine imaginate dat he a +ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l' black Mose +he turn' he white head, an' he look' roun' an' peer' roun', an' he say':</p> + +<p>"Whut you all skeered fo'?"</p> + +<p>'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want' to be skeered, too. Dat 's natural. +But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say':</p> + +<p>"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low':</p> + +<p>"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l' black Mose he gwine be so +uppetish an' contrydict folks whut know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an' +gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at +Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say':</p> + +<p>"Huh! whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner ways?"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kinder +suck' he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low':</p> + +<p>"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain' no ghosts whin +yiver'body know' dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at +Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she tek' note de hair ob li'l' black Mose's +head am plumb white, an' she tek' note li'l' black Mose's face am de +color ob wood-ash, so she jes retch' one arm round dat li'l' black boy, +an' she jes snuggle' him up, an' she say':</p> + +<p>"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How you +know dey ain't no ghosts?"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he kinder lean' up 'g'inst de school-teacher whut +board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low':</p> + +<p>"'Ca'se—'ca'se—'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ral +ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yiver was +in de whole worl', an' yivery ghost say' de same thing: 'Dey ain't no +ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost +an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, who +does?"</p> + +<p>"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say' de school-teacher. And she +say': "I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I +know. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey <i>ain'</i> no ghosts."</p> + +<p>So yiver'body 'low' dat so 'cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' de +ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No," +'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he +done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So he +say' to li'l' black Mose:</p> + +<p>"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live' down de +lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"</p> + +<p>"Yas," say' li'l' black Mose, "I done met up wid him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say Zack +Badget.</p> + +<p>"Yas," say' li'l' black Mose, "he done tell me perzackly dat."</p> + +<p>"Well, if <i>he</i> tol' you dey ain't no ghosts," say' Zack Badget, "I got +to 'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout it. +I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met +up wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout +it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say' dey ain't no ghosts, dey <i>ain't</i> no +ghosts."</p> + +<p>So yiver-body say':</p> + +<p>"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."</p> + +<p>An' dat mek' li'l' black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se he ain' lak +ghostes. He reckon' he gwine be a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sence +he know' dey ain' no ghosts, an' he reckon' he ain' gwine be skeered of +nuffin' never no more. He ain' gwine min' de dark, an' he ain' gwine +min' de rain-doves whut go', "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de +owls whut go', "Who-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind whut +go', "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" nor nuffin', nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, +sence he know' fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say':</p> + +<p>"Well, time fo' a li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de +ladder to de loft to bed."</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he 'low' he gwine wait a bit. He 'low' he gwine jes +wait a li'l' bit. How 'low' he gwine be no trouble <i>at</i> all ef he jes +been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. +So he ma she say':</p> + +<p>"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut yo' skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?"</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he scrooge', and he twist', an' he pucker' up he +mouf, an' he rub' he eyes, an' prisintly he say' right low:</p> + +<p>"I ain' skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain' no ghosts."</p> + +<p>"Den whut <i>am</i> yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.</p> + +<p>"Nuffin'," say' de li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feel +kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't."</p> + +<p>Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>SOME REAL AMERICAN GHOSTS</h2> + +<h3>THE GIANT GHOST</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Philadelphia <i>Press</i>, Sept. 13, 1896)</div> + + +<p>A case in point is the Benton, Indiana, ghost, which is attracting much +attention. It has been seen and investigated by many people with +reputations for intelligence and good sense, but so far no explanation +of the strange appearance has been found.</p> + +<p>A farmer named John W. French and his wife were the first to see this +apparition. They live in the country near Benton, and were driving home +one night from a neighbor's. The road passed an old church, moss-covered +and surrounded by a graveyard, overgrown with shrubbery and filled with +the bones of hundreds who once tilled the soil in the locality. Ten +years ago an aged man who lived alone not far from the old church and +visited the graveyard almost daily to pray over the resting place of +some relative was foully murdered for the store of gold he was supposed +to have hidden about his hermit abode. The robbers and murderers escaped +justice, and the luckless graybeard was buried in the graveyard where he +spent so much time. Just as French and his wife drew within sight of the +white headstones in the churchyard the horses reared back on their +haunches and snorted in terror. French was alarmed, and suspecting +highwaymen had been scented by the horses, he reached for a shotgun +which lay in the bottom of the wagon for just such an emergency. But +before his hand touched it he was startled by a scream from his wife. +Clutching his arm she pointed straight ahead and gasped: "Look, John, +look!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>Far down the road, just beside the glimmering monuments of the old +graveyard, he saw an apparition. It was that of a man with a long white +beard sweeping over his breast. The figure appeared to be eight feet in +height and in one hand it carried a club, such as the brains of the old +man had been beaten out with ten years before. Slowly raising one arm +the ghost with a majestic sweep beckoned French to come ahead. He was +too startled to do anything except try to restrain the prancing horses, +which were straining at the harness in attempts to break away and run. A +cold sweat started out all over the body of the farmer as he realized +that he was at last looking at a ghost, and then the sound of his wife's +voice came to him begging him to return the way they had come and escape +the doom which seemed impending. French was still too much scared and +excited to control the horses, and as he gazed steadfastly at the +fearful white object in the road it slowly began to move toward the +wagon. The club was now raised to its shoulder, as a soldier carries a +rifle, and it seemed to move forward without touching the ground, like a +winged thing.</p> + +<p>Then the farmer recovered his faculties and, whirling his team around, +he lashed the horses into a run and began the trip to the house of the +friend he had just left. When they arrived there both the man and his +wife were almost fainting from fright.</p> + +<p>The next man to see the ghost was Milton Moon. He had the reputation for +being not only a man of intelligence but one without fear. His +experience was much the same as that of the Frenches and it brought +about several investigations by parties of citizens. In each case they +saw and were convinced of the actual presence of the ghost without being +able to discover any satisfactory explanation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SOME FAMOUS GHOSTS OF THE NATIONAL CAPITOL</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Philadelphia <i>Press</i>, Oct. 2, 1898)<br /></div> + +<p>The Capitol at Washington is probably the most thoroughly haunted +building in the world.</p> + +<p>Not less than fifteen well-authenticated ghosts infest it, and some of +them are of a more than ordinarily alarming character.</p> + +<p>What particularly inspires this last remark is the fact that the Demon +Cat is said to have made its appearance again, after many years of +absence. This is a truly horrific apparition, and no viewless specter +such as the invisible grimalkin that even now trips people up on the +stairs of the old mansion which President Madison and his wife, Dolly, +occupied, at the corner of Eighteenth Street and New York Avenue, after +the White House was burned by the British. That, indeed, is altogether +another story; but the feline spook of the Capitol possesses attributes +much more remarkable, inasmuch as it has the appearance of an ordinary +pussy when first seen, and presently swells up to the size of an +elephant before the eyes of the terrified observer.</p> + +<p>The Demon Cat, in whose regard testimony of the utmost seeming +authenticity was put on record thirty-five years ago, has been missing +since 1862. One of the watchmen on duty in the building shot at it then, +and it disappeared. Since then, until now, nothing more has been heard +of it, though one or two of the older policemen of the Capitol force +still speak of the spectral animal in awed whispers.</p> + +<p>Their work, when performed in the night, requires more than ordinary +nerve, inasmuch as the interior of the great structure is literally +alive with echoes and other suggestions of the supernatural. In the +daytime, when the place is full of people and the noises of busy life, +the professional guides make a point of showing persons how a whisper +uttered when standing on a certain marble block is distinctly audible at +another point quite a distance away, though unheard in the space +between.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>A good many phenomena of this kind are observable in various parts of +the Capitol, and the extent to which they become augmented in +strangeness during the silence of the night may well be conceived. The +silence of any ordinary house is oppressive sometimes to the least +superstitious individual. There are unaccountable noises, and a weird +and eerie sort of feeling comes over him, distracting him perhaps from +the perusal of his book. He finds himself indulging in a vague sense of +alarm, though he cannot imagine any cause for it.</p> + +<p>Such suggestions of the supernatural are magnified a thousand fold in +the Capitol, when the watchman pursues his lonely beat through the great +corridors whose immense spaces impress him with a sense of solitariness, +while the shadows thrown by his lantern gather into strange and menacing +forms.</p> + +<p>One of the most curious and alarming of the audible phenomena observable +in the Capitol, so all the watchmen say, is a ghostly footstep that +seems to follow anybody who crosses Statuary Hall at night. It was in +this hall, then the chamber of the House of Representatives, that John +Quincy Adams died—at a spot indicated now by a brass tablet set in a +stone slab, where stood his desk. Whether or not it is his ghost that +pursues is a question open to dispute, though it is to be hoped that the +venerable ex-President rests more quietly in his grave. At all events, +the performance is unpleasant, and even gruesome for him who walks +across that historic floor, while the white marble statues of dead +statesmen placed around the walls seem to point at him with outstretched +arms derisively. Like the man in Coleridge's famous lines he</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="walks in dread"> +<tr><td align='left'>"—walks in fear and dread,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread."</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>At all events he is uncertain lest such may be the case. And, of course, +the duties of the watchman oblige him, when so assigned, to patrol the +basement of the building, where all sorts of hobgoblins lie in wait.</p> + +<p>One of the Capitol policemen was almost frightened out <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>of his wits one +night when a pair of flaming eyes looked out at him from the vaults +under the chamber of the House of Representatives where the wood is +stored for the fires. It was subsequently ascertained that the eyes in +question were those of a fox, which, being chevied through the town, had +sought refuge in the cellar of the edifice occupied by the national +Legislature. The animal was killed for the reason which obliges a white +man to slay any innocent beast that comes under his power.</p> + +<p>But, speaking of the steps which follow a person at night across the +floor of Statuary Hall, a bold watchman attempted not long ago to +investigate them on scientific principles. He suspected a trick, and so +bought a pair of rubber shoes, with the aid of which he proceeded to +examine into the question. In the stillness of the night he made a +business of patrolling that portion of the principal Government edifice, +and, sure enough, the footsteps followed along behind him. He cornered +them; it was surely some trickster! There was no possibility for the +joker to get away. But, a moment later, the steps were heard in another +part of the hall; they had evaded him successfully. Similar experiments +were tried on other nights, but they all ended in the same way.</p> + +<p>Four years ago there died in Washington an old gentleman who had been +employed for thirty-five years in the Library of Congress. The quarters +of that great book collection, while housed in the Capitol, were +distressingly restricted, and much of the cataloguing was done by the +veteran mentioned in a sort of vault in the sub-cellar. This vault was +crammed with musty tomes from floor to ceiling, and practically no air +was admitted. It was a wonder that he lived so long, but, when he came +to die, he did it rather suddenly. Anyhow, he became paralyzed and +unable to speak, though up to the time of his actual demise he was able +to indicate his wants by gestures. Among other things, he showed plainly +by signs that he wished to be conveyed to the old library.</p> + +<p>This wish of his was not obeyed, for reasons which seemed sufficient to +his family, and, finally, he relinquished it by giving up the ghost. It +was afterward learned that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>he had hidden, almost undoubtedly, $6000 +worth of registered United States bonds among the books in his +sub-cellar den—presumably, concealed between the leaves of some of the +moth-eaten volumes of which he was the appointed guardian. Certainly, +there could be no better or less-suspected hiding-place, but this was +just where the trouble came in for the heirs, in whose interest the +books were vainly searched and shaken, when the transfer of the library +from the old to its new quarters was accomplished. The heirs cannot +secure a renewal of the bonds by the Government without furnishing proof +of the loss of the originals, which is lacking, and, meanwhile, it is +said that the ghost of the old gentleman haunts the vault in the +sub-basement which he used to inhabit, looking vainly for the missing +securities.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman referred to had some curious traits, though he was by +no means a miser—such as the keeping of every burnt match that he came +across. He would put them away in the drawer of his private desk, +together with expired street-car transfers—the latter done up in neat +bundles, with India-rubber bands.</p> + +<p>Quite an intimate friend he had, named Twine, who lost his grip on the +perch, so to speak, about six years back. Mr. Twine dwelt during the +working hours of the day in a sort of cage of iron, like that of +Dreyfus, in the basement of the Capitol. As a matter of fact, Dreyfus +does not occupy a cage at all; the notion that he does so arises from a +misunderstanding of the French word "case," which signifies a hut.</p> + +<p>However, Twine's cage was a real one of iron wire, and inside of it he +made a business of stamping the books of the library with a mixture made +of alcohol and lampblack. If the observation of casual employees about +the Capitol is to be trusted, Mr. Twine's ghost is still engaged at +intervals in the business of stamping books at the old stand, though his +industry must be very unprofitable since the Government's literary +collection has been moved out of the Capitol.</p> + +<p>Ghosts are supposed to appertain most appropriately to the lower +regions, inasmuch as the ancients who described <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>them first consigned +the blessed as well as the damned to a nether world. Consequently, it is +not surprising to find that phantoms of the Capitol are mostly relegated +to the basement.</p> + +<p>Exceptions are made in the case of Vice-President Wilson, who, as will +be remembered, died in his room at the Senate end of the building, and +also with respect to John Quincy Adams, whose nocturnal perambulations +are so annoying to the watchmen. Mr. Wilson is only an occasional +visitor on the premises, it is understood, finding his way thither, +probably, when nothing else of importance is "up," so to speak, in the +spiritual realm which now claims him for its own. It is related that on +one occasion he nearly frightened to death a watchman who was guarding +the coffin of a Tennessee Senator who was lying in state in the Senate +Chamber. The startle was doubtless uncontemplated, inasmuch as the +Senator was too well bred a man to take anybody unpleasantly by +surprise.</p> + +<p>There was a watchman, employed quite a while ago as a member of the +Capitol police, who was discharged finally for drunkenness. No faith, +therefore, is to be placed in his sworn statement, which was actually +made, to the effect that on a certain occasion he passed through the old +Hall of Representatives—now Statuary Hall—and saw in session the +Congress of 1848, with John Quincy Adams and many other men whose names +have long ago passed into history. It was, if the word of the witness is +to be believed, a phantom legislative crew, resembling in kind if not in +character the goblins which Rip Van Winkle encountered on his trip to +the summits of the storied Catskills.</p> + +<p>But—to come down to things that are well authenticated and sure, +comparatively speaking—the basement of the Capitol, as has been said, +is the part of the building chiefly haunted. Beneath the hall of the +House of Representatives strolls by night a melancholy specter, with +erect figure, a great mustache, and his hands clasped behind him. Who he +is nobody has ever surmised; he might be, judging from his aspect, a +foreigner in the diplomatic service, but that is merely guess. Watchmen +at night have approached him in the belief that he was an intruder, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>he has faded from sight instantly, like a picture on a magic-lantern +slide.</p> + +<p>At precisely 12.30 of the clock every night, so it is said, the door of +the room occupied by the Committee on Military and Militia of the Senate +opens silently, and there steps forth the figure of General Logan, +recognizable by his long black hair, military carriage, and the hat he +was accustomed to wear in life.</p> + +<p>Logan was the chairman of this committee, and, if report be credited, he +is still supervising its duties.</p> + + +<h3><br />A GENUINE GHOST</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Philadelphia <i>Press</i>, March 25, 1884)<br /></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dayton, O.</span>, March 25.—A thousand people surround the grave +yard in Miamisburg, a town near here, every night to witness the antics +of what appears to be a genuine ghost. There is no doubt about the +existence of the apparition, as Mayor Marshall, the revenue collector +and hundreds of prominent citizens all testify to having seen it. Last +night several hundred people, armed with clubs and guns, assaulted the +specter, which appeared to be a woman in white. Clubs, bullets and shot +tore the air in which the mystic figure floated without disconcerting it +in the least. A portion of the town turned out en masse to-day and began +exhuming all the bodies in the cemetery.</p> + +<p>The remains of the Buss family, composed of three people, have already +been exhumed. The town is visited daily by hundreds of strangers and +none are disappointed, as the apparition is always on duty promptly at 9 +o'clock. The strange figure was at once recognized by the inhabitants of +the town as a young lady supposed to have been murdered several years +ago. Her attitude while drifting among the graves is one of deep +thought, with the head inclined forward and hands clasped behind.</p> + + +<h3><br />THE BAGGAGEMAN'S GHOST</h3> + +<p>"The corpses of the passengers killed in the disaster up at Spuyten +Duyvil was fetched down here and laid out in<a name="FNanchor_1_12" id="FNanchor_1_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_12" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> The room was darkened +and I could just make out the out that storage room," said a Grand +Central depot baggageman. "That's what give it the name of morgue. Some +of the boys got scared of going in after that, 'specially in the dark; +and a lot of stories was started about spooks. We had a helper (a +drunken chap that didn't know whether he saw a thing or dreamed it), and +he swore to the toughest of the yarns. He says he went in to get a +trunk. It was a whopper, and he braced himself for a big strain; but, +when he gripped it, it come up just as if there wasn't nothing in it +more'n air or gas. That unexpected kind of a lift is like kicking at +nothing—it's hurtful, don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so."</p> + +<p>"Well, Joe felt as light-headed as the trunk, he says, but he brought it +out. When he was putting it down he was stunned to see a ghost sitting +straddle of it."</p> + +<p>"What did the ghost look like?"</p> + +<p>"Joe was so scared that he can't tell, except that it had grave-clothes +on. And it went out of sight as soon as he got out into the +daylight—floated off, and at the same instant the trunk became as heavy +as such a trunk generally is. Some of us believe Joe's story, and some +don't, and he's one of them that does. He throwed up his job rather than +go into the morgue again."</p> + + +<h3><br />DRUMMERS SEE A SPECTER</h3> + +<div class='center'>(St Louis <i>Globe-Democrat</i>, Oct. 6, 1887)<br /></div> + +<p>[The last man in the world to be accused of a belief in the supernatural +would be your go-ahead, hard-headed American "drummer" or traveling-man. +Yet here is a plain tale of how not one but two of the western +fraternity saw a genuine ghost in broad daylight a few years +ago.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jackson, Mo.</span>, October 6. At a place on the Turnpike road, +between Cape Girardeau and Jackson, is what is familiarly known as +Spooks' Hollow. The place is situated fours miles from the Cape and is +awfully dismal looking where the road curves gracefully around a high +bluff.</p> + +<p>Two drummers, representing a single leading wholesale house of St. +Louis, were recently making the drive from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> Jackson to the Cape, when +their attention was suddenly attracted at the Spooks' Hollow by a white +and airy object which arose in its peculiar form so as to be plainly +visible and then maneuvered in every imaginable manner, finally taking a +zigzag wayward journey through the low dismal-looking surroundings, +disappearing suddenly into the mysterious region from whence it came.</p> + +<p>More than one incident of dreadful experience has been related of this +gloomy abode, and the place is looked upon by the midnight tourist and +the lonesome citizen on his nocturnal travels as an unpleasant spot, +isolated from the beautiful country which surrounds it.</p> + + +<h3><br />DR. FUNK SEES THE SPIRIT OF BEECHER</h3> + +<div class='center'>(New York <i>Herald</i>, April 4, 1903)<br /></div> + +<p>While he will not admit that he is a believer in spiritualism, the Rev. +Dr. Isaac Funk, head of the publishing house of Funk & Wagnalls, is so +impressed with manifestations he has received from the spirit of Henry +Ward Beecher that he has laid the entire matter before the Boston +Society for Psychical Research, and is anxiously awaiting a solution or +explanation of what appears to him, after twenty-five years' study of +the subject, the most remarkable test of the merit of the claims of +spiritualists that has ever come within his observation.</p> + +<p>Although he has resorted to every means within his power to discover any +fraud that may have been practiced upon him, he has been unable to +explain away not only messages to him from the great minister, but the +actual appearance to him of Mr. Beecher in the flesh.</p> + +<p>Dr. Funk and Mr. Beecher were intimate friends, and it would be +difficult to practice deception as to Mr. Beecher's appearance. When the +apparition appeared to Dr. Funk at a séance a short time ago Dr. Funk +was less than three feet distant from it, and had plenty of opportunity +to detect a fraud if it was being perpetrated, he believes.</p> + +<p>"Every feature stood out distinctly," Dr. Funk said yesterday, in +describing his experience, "even to the hair and eyes, the color of the +skin and the expression of the mouth.<a name="FNanchor_2_13" id="FNanchor_2_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_13" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> lines of the body, but it was +still light enough to make the face plainly visible. I had a short +conversation with the embodied spirit, and then it appeared to sink to +the floor and fade away."</p> + + +<h3><br />MYSTERY OF THE COINS</h3> + +<p>Dr. Funk was especially anxious to have an opportunity to see and talk +with Mr. Beecher, in the hope that light would be thrown on the mystery +which surrounds a previous manifestation. Through the spirit of one +"Jack" Rakestraw, who says he used to lead the choir in one of Mr. +Beecher's churches, but frankly admits that he cannot remember exactly +where the church was located—even spirits have a way of forgetting +things, spiritualists declare—Dr. Funk was informed that Mr. Beecher +was troubled because the publisher had failed to return a coin, known as +the "widow's mite," which he had borrowed some years ago, from the late +Professor Charles E. West, a well known numismatist, to make a cut to +illustrate a dictionary. Dr. Funk supposed the coin had been returned a +long time ago, but upon looking the matter up found it in a drawer of a +safe, among some old papers, exactly as Mr. Rakestraw maintained.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Beecher appeared to him in person, so far as he could +determine, Dr. Funk asked him several direct questions, to which the +replies, he admits, were somewhat sublime. Although Dr. Funk has found +the long-lost coin—which, by the way, is said to be worth $2,500—he is +not certain to whom it should be returned, now that Professor West is +dead and his collection of coins sold. Should the "widow's mite" go to +Professor West's heirs or to the purchaser of the collection? is a +question which has as yet remained unanswered.</p> + +<p>"That is a matter I am leaving to be determined by the Society for +Psychical Research and Mrs. Piper, who ought to be able to learn from +the spirit world what disposition Professor West wishes to have made of +the coin," said Dr. Funk. It is at any rate a matter that does not +appear to concern the spirit of Mr. Beecher.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><br />MR. BEECHER APPEASED</h3> + +<p>"When what seemed to be Mr. Beecher's embodied spirit appeared to me," +Dr. Funk said, "I asked that very question. He smiled and replied that +it was not a matter that concerned him especially, and that the whole +thing was in the nature of a test, to prove to me that there actually +are spirits, and that it is possible to have communication with them +when all the conditions are favorable. He remarked that he was glad the +old coin had been found, but seemed to consider the disposition of it a +matter of minor importance. He told me he was glad I was taking interest +in the subject, as he believed it would result in good for the world, +and then, excusing himself on the ground that he had an engagement which +it was necessary for him to keep, the apparition disappeared."</p> + +<p>Dr. Funk borrowed the coin from Professor West's collection, as a +lighter colored one he already had was of doubtful authenticity. Both +coins were sent to the government expert in Philadelphia and the lighter +one was declared to be the genuine one. By the spirits it is now +declared, however, that a mistake was made and that the darker one +belonging to Professor West has the greater value.</p> + +<p>"I found both the light and the dark one in the drawer," said Dr. Funk, +"and remembered distinctly that it was the darker of the two which I had +borrowed from Professor West. I went to the next séance, and when +Rakestraw's spirit arrived I asked him to find out which one was to be +returned. After a brief interval his voice came to me.</p> + +<p>"'Return the dark one, of course,' he said. 'That is the genuine coin +and is the one you borrowed from Dr. Beecher's friend.'</p> + +<p>"While I do not wish to be classed as a believer in Spiritualism, I +certainly am open to conviction after what has come under my personal +observation," Dr. Funk concluded. "I am confident that no fraud was +practiced on me at the séance at which I was told about the old coin. +The medium is an elderly woman living in Brooklyn, who never appears in +public, and the only persons present were members of her family and +known to me. But none of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>them knew any more about the coin being in my +safe than I did."</p> + + +<h3><br />MARYLAND GHOSTS</h3> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Baltimore American</i>, May, 1886)<br /></div> + +<p>For forty years the Rev. Dr. B. has been the rector of a prominent +parish on the Eastern Shore. He had, when the scenes recorded below +happened twenty-two years ago, a mission charge sixteen miles distant +from the town in which he resided, and he was therefore constantly +traveling between these two places. About six miles distant was the +country residence of Judge S., a well-known and venerable parishioner of +the worthy doctor. The sod had been turned above this gentleman's grave +only about six weeks, when Dr. B. chanced to be returning from his +mission charge in company with a friend. It was broad daylight, just +about sunset, and not far from Judge S.'s gate, when a carriage, drawn +by a white horse, passed them rapidly from behind and was soon out of +sight.</p> + +<p>"That fellow must be in a hurry to reach C.," remarked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Did you notice anything peculiar about that vehicle?" inquired his +companion.</p> + +<p>"Only that it moves very quietly. I heard no sound as it went by."</p> + +<p>"Nor did I," said his friend. "Neither rattling of wheels nor noise of +hoofs. It is certainly strange."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The matter, however, was soon forgotten in other conversation, and they +had traveled perhaps a mile, when suddenly, the same horse and carriage +passed them as before. Nothing was discernible of the driver except his +feet, the carriage curtains hiding his body. There was no cross road by +which a vehicle in front could possibly have got behind without making a +circuit of many miles and consuming several hours. Yet there was not the +shadow of a doubt as to the identity of the vehicle, and the two +gentlemen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>gazed at each other in blank amazement, and with a certain +defined sense of awe which precluded any discussion of the matter, +particularly as the horse was to all appearances the well-known white +habitually driven by the deceased Judge. A half mile brought them in +sight of Judge S.'s gate, when for the third time the ghostly team +dashed by in the same dreadful mysterious silence. This time it turned +in full view into the gate. Without a word of comment the doctor +quickened his horse's speed, and reached the gate only a few yards +behind the silent driver. Both gentlemen peered eagerly up the long, +open lane leading to the house; but neither carriage nor wheel-track was +visible, though it was still clear daylight, and there was no outlet +from the lane, nor could any vehicle in the time occupied accomplish +half the distance. The peculiar features of this strange incident are +that it was equally and simultaneously evident to two witnesses, both +entirely unprepared for any such manifestation, and differing widely in +temperament, habits of life, mental capacity and educational +attainments, and by mere accident making this journey together, and that +to this day both of them—witnesses, be it noted, of unimpeachable +credibility—attest it, and fully corroborate each other, but without +being able to suggest the slightest explanation.</p> + + +<h3><br />THE GHOST OF PEG ALLEY'S POINT</h3> + +<p>Peg Alley's Point is a long and narrow strip of wooded land, situated +between the main stream of Miles river and one of the navigable creeks +which flow into it. This little peninsula is about two miles long, from +fifty to three hundred yards in width and is bounded by deep water and +is overgrown with pine and thick underbrush. There is extant a tradition +to the effect that many years ago a party of Baltimore oystermen +encamped on the point, among whom was a man named Alley, who had +abandoned his wife. The deserted woman followed up her husband, and +found him at the camp. After some conversation had passed between them, +the man induced her, upon some unknown pretext, to accompany him into a +thicket. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>poor wife never came out alive. Her husband cruelly +murdered her with a club. The point of land has ever since been known by +Peg Alley's name, and her perturbed spirit has been supposed to haunt +the scene of her untimely taking off. About twelve years ago a gang of +rail-splitters were at work on the point, and one day the foreman flatly +refused to go back, declaring that queer things happened down there, and +that he had seen a ghost. Mr. Kennedy, his employer, laughed at him and +dismissed the matter from his mind. Some time after this Mr. Kennedy had +occasion to ride through the woods to look after some sheep, there being +but one road and the water on either side. As he approached the point +his horse started violently and refused to go on, regardless of whip or +spur. Glancing about for the cause of this unnatural fright, he saw a +woman rise up from a log, a few yards in advance, and stand by the +roadside, looking at him. She was very poorly clad in a faded calico +dress, and wore a limp sun-bonnet, from beneath which her thin, +jet-black hair straggled down on her shoulders; her face was thin and +sallow and her eyes black and piercing. Knowing that she had no business +there, and occupied in controlling his horse, he called to her somewhat +angrily to get out of the way, as his animal was afraid of her. Slowly +she turned and walked into the thicket, uttering not a syllable and +looking reproachfully at him as she went. With much difficulty he forced +his horse to the spot, hoping to find out who the strange intruder might +be, but the most careful search failed to reveal the trace of any one, +although there was no place of concealment and no possible way of +escape, for which, indeed, there was not sufficient time.</p> + + +<h3><br />AN APPARITION AND DEATH</h3> + +<p>The old family seat of the T.'s, one of the most prominent names in the +community, is not far from the scenes of the above-mentioned adventure. +In all this region of lovely situations and charming water views, its +site is one of the most beautiful. The brick mansion, with all the +strangely mixed comforts and discomforts of ancient archi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>tecture, rears +its roof up from an elevated lawn, while the silvery thread of a +land-locked stream winds nearly around the whole. Over the further bank +dance the sparkling waters of a broad estuary, flashing in the glance of +the sunshine or tossing its white-capped billows in angry mimicry of the +sea. The gleam of white sails is never lacking to add variety and +picturesqueness to the scene. In the dead, hushed calm of a summer +evening, when the lifted oar rests on the gunwale, unwilling to disturb +with its dip the glassy surface, one has a strange, dreamy sense of +being suspended in space, the sky, in all its changing beauties, being +accurately reflected in illimitable depth by the still water, until the +charm is broken by the splash and ripple of a school of nomadic alewives +or the gliding, sinuous fin of a piratical shark. In this lovely home it +was wont for the family to assemble on the occasion of certain domestic +celebrations, and it was at one of these that the following incident +occurred: All were present except one member, who was detained by +sickness at her residence, fifteen miles away. It was in early afternoon +that one of the ladies standing at an open window, suddenly exclaimed: +"Why, there's Aunt Milly crossing the flower garden!" The party +approached the window, and beheld, in great surprise, the lady, in her +ordinary costume, slowly strolling among the flowers. She paused and +looked earnestly at the group, her features plainly visible; then turned +and disappeared amidst the shrubbery. No trace of her presence being +discoverable, it was natural that a gloom fell upon the company. A few +hours later a messenger arrived with the intelligence of her death. The +time of her apparition and the time of her death coincided.</p> + + +<h3><br />AN IDIOT GHOST WITH BRASS BUTTONS</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Philadelphia <i>Press</i>, June 16, 1889)</div> + +<p>In a pretty but old-fashioned house in Stuyvesant square—ghosts like +squares, I think—is another ghost. This house stood empty for several +years, and about six years ago a gentleman, his wife and little daughter +moved in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>there, and while fitting up allowed the child to play about +the empty attic, which had apparently been arranged for a children's +playroom long ago. There was a fireplace and a large fireboard in front +of it.</p> + +<p>When the house was about finished down stairs the mother began to pay +more attention to the little girl and tried to keep her down there with +her, but the child always stole away and went back up stairs again and +again, until finally the mother asked why she liked to go up there so +much. She replied that she liked to play with the funny little boy. +Investigation showed that it was utterly impossible for any person, man +or child, to get in that place or be concealed there, but the little +girl insisted and told her parents that he "went in there," pointing to +the fireboard.</p> + +<p>The parents were seriously concerned, believing that their daughter was +telling them an untruth, and threatened to punish her for it, but she +insisted so strongly that she saw and played with a "funny little boy, +with lots of brass buttons on his jacket," that they finally gave up +threatening and resolved to investigate.</p> + +<p>The father, who is an old sea captain, found out that this house had +been occupied by an Englishman named Cowdery who had had three +children—two boys and a girl. One of the boys was an idiot. This idiot +was supposed to have fallen into the East River, as his cap was found +there, and he had always shown a liking for the river when his nurse +took him out. Soon after this Mr. Cowdery moved West.</p> + +<p>This was enough for my friend's friend, who had the fireboard taken +down, and short work in the wall by the side of the chimney brought the +body of the unfortunate idiot boy. The back of his skull was crushed in. +He still had the dark blue jacket on, with four rows of buttons on the +front. The poor little bones were buried and the affair kept quiet, but +the captain left the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><br />A MODEL GHOST STORY</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Boston <i>Courier</i>, Aug. 10)</div> + +<p>A very singular story which forms one of the sensational social topics +of the day is the best authenticated of the many stories of the +supernatural that have been lately told. Only a short time ago a young +and well-known artist, Mr. A., was invited to pay a visit to his +distinguished friend, Mr. Izzard. The house was filled with guests, but +a large and handsome room was placed at his disposal, apparently one of +the best in the house. For three days he had a delightful visit; +delightful in all particulars save one, he had each night a horrible +dream. He dreamed he was—or was really—suddenly awakened by some +person entering his room, and in looking around saw the room brilliantly +lighted, while at the window stood a lady elegantly attired, in the act +of throwing something out. This accomplished, she turned her face toward +the only spectator showing a countenance so distorted by evil passions +that he was thrilled with horror. Soon the light and the figure with the +dreadful face disappeared, leaving the artist suffering from a frightful +nightmare. On returning to his city home he was so haunted by the +fearful countenance which had for three consecutive nights troubled him, +that he made a sketch of it, and so real that the evil expression seemed +to horrify every one who saw it. Not a great while after, the artist +went to make an evening visit on Mr. Izzard; that gentleman invited him +to his picture gallery, as he wished to show him some remarkable, old +family portraits. What was Mr. A.'s surprise to recognize among them, in +the likeness of a stately, well-dressed lady, the one who had so +troubled his slumbers on his previous visit, lacking, however, the +revolting, wicked expression. Soon as he saw it he involuntarily +exclaimed, "Why, I have seen that lady!" "Indeed!" said Mr. I., smiling, +"that is hardly possible, as she died more than a hundred years ago. She +was the second wife of my great-grandfather, and reflected anything but +credit on the family. She was strongly suspected of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>having murdered her +husband's son by a former marriage, in order to make her own child heir +to the property. The unfortunate boy broke his neck in a fall from a +window, and there was every reason to believe that he was precipitated +from the window by his stepmother." The artist then told his host the +circumstances of his thrice-repeated experience, or dream, and sent for +his sketch, which, so far as the features were concerned, was identical +with the portrait in Mr. Izzard's gallery. The sketch has since been +photographed, but from its hideous expression is not very pleasant to +look upon.</p> + + +<h3><br />A GHOST THAT WILL NOT DOWN</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Cincinnati <i>Enquirer</i>, Sept. 30, 1884)</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Grantsville, W. Va.</span>, September 30.—The ghost of Betts' farm +will not lay. Something over a year ago the <i>Enquirer</i> contained an +account or an occult influence or manifestation at the farm house of Mr. +Collins Betts, about three miles below this town, in which story were +delineated a number of weird, strange instances of ghostly +manifestations, all of which were verified by the testimony of honest, +brave and reliable citizens, the names of many of whom were mentioned. +That story went the rounds of newspapers all over the country and +resulted in the proprietor of the place receiving hundreds of letters +from all over the country.</p> + +<p>Since then the old house has been torn down, the family of Mr. Betts +rebuilding a home place on a different portion of the farm. This act, it +was believed, would lay or forever quiet the ramblings and queer doings +of the inexplicable mystery. But such has not been the case. Since the +building has been razed the mysterious manifestation has made itself +visible at places sometimes quite a distance from the scene of its +former domicile.</p> + +<p>At a distance of several hundred yards from the old Betts place a +neighboring farmer had erected a house in which he intended to reside, +and in fact did reside a short time, but the "Cale Betts ghost," as the +manifestation is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>commonly called for a distance of many miles, was no +respecter of persons and oblivious of distance, and it so annoyed and +frightened the farmer and his family at untoward times that he has +removed his house to the opposite end of the farm, leaving his garden, +orchard and all the improvements usually made about a farm-house to take +care of themselves.</p> + +<p>This in itself was considered strange enough, but the ghostly visitant +did not stop there. The high road, running some distance away, has been +the theater of almost numberless scenes of frights and frightful +appearances. Among those who have lately seen the ghost is a young man +named Vandevener, whose father had once been frightened nearly to death, +as related in a former letter. Young Vandevener had frequently made +sport of the old man's fright, but he does so no more—in fact, the +young man is willing to make affidavit that the old man's story was +mildly drawn.</p> + +<p>The young man was driving along quietly one night about half a mile from +the Betts place, when he saw a strange being, which, in the pale light +of the moon, he took to be a man walking at the head of his horses. A +few minutes later the man, or whatever it was, glided, without making a +particle of noise, around the horses' heads and got into the wagon and +took a seat by his side.</p> + +<p>Young Vandevener says it rode along with him several hundred yards, and +spoke to him. It first told him not to be afraid, as it did not intend +to injure him in the least. What it said he will not tell, except that +it admonished him not to say anything about it until a certain time. +After it had spoken to him Vandevener says it got up and glided off into +the woods and disappeared. He says the shape was that of a headless man, +and that while it was with him he felt a cold chill run over him, +although it was a warm evening, and this chilly feeling did not leave +him until the disappearance of the shape.</p> + +<p>Since then Vandevener can not be induced to go over the ground after +night. He still persists in the same story, and as he is a truthful +young fellow, the people who know him are satisfied that he really saw +what he claims to have seen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Only one day last week another young man, Henry Stephens I believe, on +his way past the same place, saw a peculiar shape rise out of the brush +by the side of the road and glide along by the side of the wagon. +Stephens got out of his wagon and gathered together a handful of rocks, +which he threw at the object. Some of the stones appeared to go through +it, but did not seem to affect it in the least. It still continued to +float along at a short distance away until Stephens became frightened +and whipped up his horses until they flew at a two-minute gait down the +road, the object following at some distance until quite away from the +scene of its first appearance, when it disappeared like a cloud of +vapor. There are dozens of authentic stories of the ghostly +peculiarities of the Betts ghost which are new and peculiar.</p> + +<p>It appears, since the destruction of the Betts homestead, to have taken +up its quarters near the highway, and here it appears to people who have +generally scoffed and laughed at the former stories. That it is +bullet-proof does not need testimony, located, as it is, in a section of +country which has for years been noted for its fearless men—such as the +Duskys, Downs and others of national fame as sharp-shooters, scouts, +etc., during the late war. None of these men have succeeded in "laying" +or putting a quietus to it. There is a story that a couple of men had +been murdered or disappeared in this vicinity, and that the ghost is the +uneasy spirit of one of these men, but there is no real evidence that +anybody was ever killed there.</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that Calhoun County has a mystery which neither time, +bullets, courage nor philosophy can either drive away or explain. It has +come to stay. If you meet a Calhouner just mention it, and he will tell +you that the "Betts ghost" is a county possession which it will gladly +dispose of at any price.</p> + + +<h3><br />TOM CYPHER'S PHANTOM ENGINE</h3> + +<div class='center'>(Seattle <i>Press-Times</i>, Jan. 10, 1892)</div> + +<p>Locomotive engineers are as a class said to be superstitious, but J.M. +Pinckney, an engineer known to almost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>every Brotherhood man, is an +exception to the rule. He has never been able to believe the different +stories told of apparitions suddenly appearing on the track, but he had +an experience last Sunday night on the Northern Pacific east-bound +overland that made his hair stand on end.</p> + +<p>By the courtesy of the engineer, also a Brotherhood man, Mr. Pinckney +was riding on the engine. They were recounting experiences, and the +fireman, who was a green hand, was getting very nervous as he listened +to the tales of wrecks and disasters, the horrors of which were +graphically described by the veteran engineers.</p> + +<p>The night was clear and the rays from the headlight flashed along the +track, and, although they were interested in spinning yarns, a sharp +lookout was kept, for they were rapidly nearing Eagle gorge, in the +Cascades, the scene of so many disasters and the place which is said to +be the most dangerous on the 2,500 miles of road. The engineer was +relating a story and was just coming to the climax when he suddenly +grasped the throttle, and in a moment had "thrown her over," that is, +reversed the engine. The air brakes were applied and the train brought +to a standstill within a few feet of the place where Engineer Cypher met +his death two years ago. By this time the passengers had become curious +as to what was the matter, and all sorts of questions were asked the +trainmen. The engineer made an excuse that some of the machinery was +loose, and in a few moments the train was speeding on to her +destination.</p> + +<p>"What made you stop back there?" asked Pinckney. "I heard your excuse, +but I have run too long on the road not to know that your excuse is not +the truth."</p> + +<p>His question was answered by the engineer pointing ahead and saying +excitedly:</p> + +<p>"There! Look there! Don't you see it?"</p> + +<p>"Looking out of the cab window," said Mr. Pinckney, "I saw about 300 +yards ahead of us the headlight of a locomotive."</p> + +<p>"Stop the train, man," I cried, reaching for the lever.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's nothing. It's what I saw back at the gorge. It's Tom Cypher's +engine, No. 33. There's no danger of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>a collision. The man who is +running that ahead of us can run it faster backward than I can this one +forward. Have I seen it before? Yes, twenty times. Every engineer on the +road knows that engine, and he's always watching for it when he gets to +the gorge."</p> + +<p>"The engine ahead of us was running silently, but smoke was puffing from +the stack and the headlight threw out rays of red, green, and white +light. It kept a short distance ahead of us for several miles, and then +for a moment we saw a figure on the pilot. Then the engine rounded a +curve and we did not see it again. We ran by a little station, and at +the next, when the operator warned us to keep well back from a wild +engine that was ahead, the engineer said nothing. He was not afraid of a +collision. Just to satisfy my own mind on the matter I sent a telegram +to the engine wiper at Sprague, asking him if No. 33 was in. I received +a reply stating that No. 33 had just come in, and that her coal was +exhausted and boxes burned out. I suppose you'll be inclined to laugh at +the story, but just ask any of the boys, although many of them won't +talk about it. I would not myself if I were running on the road. It's +unlucky to do so."</p> + +<p>With this comment upon the tale Mr. Pinckney boarded a passing caboose +and was soon on his way to Tacoma. It is believed by Northern Pacific +engineers that Thomas Cypher's spirit still hovers near Eagle gorge.</p> + + +<h3><br />GHOSTS IN CONNECTICUT</h3> + +<div class='center'>(N.Y. <i>Sun</i>, Sept. 1, 1885)</div> + +<p>"There is as much superstition in New-England to-day as there was in +those old times when they slashed Quakers and built bonfires for +witches." It was a New York man who gave expression to this rather +startling statement. He has been summering in Connecticut, and he avers +that his talk about native superstition is founded on close observation. +Perhaps it is; anyhow he regaled the <i>Times's</i> correspondent with some +entertaining incidents which he claims establish the truth of his +somewhat astonishing theories.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Stratford, the whitewashed town between this place and Bridgeport, +made famous by mysterious "rappings" many years ago, and more recently +celebrated as the scene of poor Rose Clark Ambler's strange murder, is +much concerned over a house which the almost universal verdict +pronounces "haunted." The family of Elihu Osborn lives in this house, +and ghosts have been clambering through it lately in a wonderfully +promiscuous fashion. Two or three families were compelled to vacate the +premises before the Osborns, proud and skeptical, took possession of +them. Now the Osborns are hunting for a new home. Children of the family +have been awakened at midnight by visitors which persisted in shaking +them out of bed; Mrs. Osborn has been confronted with ghostly +spectacles, and through the halls and vacant rooms strange footsteps are +frequently heard when all the family are trying to sleep; sounds loud +enough to arouse every member of the household. Then the manifestations +sometimes change to moanings and groanings sufficiently vehement and +pitiful to distract all who hear them. Once upon a time, perhaps a dozen +years ago, Jonathan Riggs lived in this house, and as the local gossips +assert, Riggs caused the death of his wife by his brutal conduct and +then swallowed poison to end his own life. The anniversary of the +murderous month in the Riggs family has arrived and the manifestations +are so frequent and so lively that "the like has never been seen +before," as is affirmed by a veteran Stratford citizen. There is no +shadow of doubt in Stratford that the spirits of the Riggses are spryly +cavorting around their former abode.</p> + +<p>Over at the Thimble Islands, off Stony Creek, is an acre or two of soil +piled high on a lot of rocks. The natives call it Frisbie Island. Not +more than a hundred yards off shore it contains a big bleak looking +house which was built about twenty years ago to serve as a Summer hotel +when Connecticut capitalists were deep in schemes to tempt New Yorkers +to this part of the Sound shore to spend their Summers. New Yorkers +declined to be tempted, and the old house is rapidly approaching decay. +It has recently assumed a peculiar interest for the residents of Stony +Creek. Midnight lights have suddenly appeared in all its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>windows at +frequent intervals, fitfully flashing up and down like the blaze in the +Long Island lighthouses. Ghosts! This is the universal verdict. Nobody +disputes it. Once or twice a hardy crew of local sailors have +volunteered to go out and investigate the mystery, but when the time for +the test has arrived, there somehow have always been reasons for +postponing the excursion. Cynical people profess to believe that +practical jokers are at the root of the manifestations, but such a +profane view is not widely entertained among the good people who have +their homes at Stony Creek.</p> + +<p>Over near Middletown is a farmer named Edgar G. Stokes, a gentleman who +is said to have graduated with honor in a New England college more than +a quarter of a century ago. He enjoys, perhaps, the most notable bit of +superstition to be found anywhere in this country, in or out of +Connecticut. He owns the farm on which he lives, and it is valuable; not +quite so valuable though as it once was, for Mr. Stokes's eccentric +disposition has somewhat changed the usual tactics that farmers pursue +when they own fertile acres. The average man clears his soil of stones; +Mr. Stokes has been piling rocks all over his land. Little by little the +weakness—or philosophy—has grown upon him; and not only from every +part of Middlesex County, but from every part of this State he has been +accumulating wagonloads of pebbles and rocks. He seeks for no peculiar +stone either in shape, color, or quality. If they are stones that is +sufficient. And his theory is that stones have souls—souls, too, that +are not so sordid and earthly as the souls that animate humanity. They +are souls purified and exalted. In the rocks are the spirits of the +greatest men who have lived in past ages, developed by some divinity +until they have become worthy of their new abode. Napoleon Bonaparte's +soul inhabits a stone, so does Hannibal's, so does Cæsar's, but poor +plebeian John Smith and William Jenkins, they never attained such +immortality.</p> + +<p>Farmer Stokes has dumped his rocks with more or less reverence all along +his fields, and this by one name and that by another he knows and hails +them all. A choice galaxy of the distinguished lights of the old days +are in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>possession, and just between the burly bits of granite at +the very threshold of his home is a smooth-faced crystal from the Rocky +Mountains. This stone has no soul yet. The rough, jagged rock on its +left is George Washington. The granite spar on the right is glorified +with the spirit of good Queen Bess. The smooth-faced crystal one of +these days is to know the bliss of swallowing up the spirit of good +Farmer Edgar Garton Stokes. It was not until recently that mystified +neighbors obtained the secret of the vast accumulation of rough stones +on the Stokes farm. Mr. Stokes has a family. They all seem to be +intelligent, practical business people. There may be a will contested in +Middletown one of these days.</p> + + +<h3><br />THE SPOOK OF DIAMOND ISLAND</h3> + +<div class='center'>(St. Louis <i>Globe-Democrat</i>, Sept. 18, 1888)</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Harden</span>, Ill., Sept. 18.—For some time past rumors have been +circulated in Hardin to the effect that Diamond Island, in the river +about two miles from this place, was the home of a ghost. The stories +concerning the movements of the alleged spook were, of course, not given +any credence at first, but later, when several reputable citizens of +Hardin announced that they had positively seen an uncanny looking object +moving about on the island at night, the rumors were more seriously +considered. Now, after investigation, the mysterious something is no +longer considered a myth.</p> + +<p>Along toward midnight a peculiar light is seen at the foot of the +island. It has the appearance of a huge ball of fire, and is about the +size and shape of an ordinary barrel.</p> + +<p>A few nights ago a party of young men from this place determined to +visit the island and fathom the mystery if possible. Equipped with +revolvers, knives, shotguns, and clubs, the party secured a boat and +were soon cutting through the water at a good speed for a point on the +island near where the specter usually made its appearance. Arriving at +the landing place, the skiff was hauled up on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>the shore and the young +men took up a position in a clump of trees close at hand to watch and +wait.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the whole point of the island was illumined as a bright red +object rose apparently from the water and glided up into the air. +Ascending probably to a height of forty yards, the watchers saw the +lurid ball fade away. The investigating party had seen all they wanted. +They made a mad rush for the boat, but, just as they reached the place +where it had been left, they were horrified to see the little craft +moving out on the water from the island. At first its only occupant +seemed to be the red ball of fire, but the next moment the watchers saw +the crimson object gradually take the form of a man, and they saw him, +too, dip the oars at regular intervals and pull a long, steady stroke. +The man's features were fully concealed by a wide-rimmed slouch hat, +which was drawn over his face. A peculiar light illumined the boat and +the waters around it, making the craft and its mysterious occupant +perfectly discernible to the party on the shore, who stood paralyzed +with fear, unable to speak or move, their eyes riveted by some +mysterious influence they could not resist on the spectral object before +them.</p> + +<p>The boat was now about in midstream, and suddenly the group of watchers +saw the skiff's occupant change again into the crimson ball. Then it +slowly began to move upward, and when it was about parallel with the +tops of the trees on the island it disappeared. Next instant the +watchers looking across the river saw nothing but the flickering lights +in Hardin.</p> + +<p>The cries of the crowd on the island awakened a sleeping fisherman on +the opposite side of the river, and he kindly pulled across and rescued +the ghost-seeking youths. The fiery spook, it is said, still makes its +nightly trips to Diamond Island, but no more investigating parties have +ventured across to solve the mystery.</p> + +<p>It is said that some years ago a foul murder was committed on this +island, and by the superstitious the crimson object is believed to be +the restless spirit of the slain man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><br />THE GHOST'S FULL HOUSE</h3> + +<div class='center'>(N.Y. <i>Sun</i>, April 10, 1891)</div> + +<p>The Bleecker street ghost drew as large a "house" last night as Barnum's +Circus or any of the theaters. There was a bigger crowd about +"Cohnfeld's Folly" than there was three weeks ago when the flames gutted +the buildings from Mercer to Greene streets and did damage away up in +the millions. The wraith was not due till midnight, but the street was +packed with watchers as early as 9 o'clock. The crowd was so dense that +pedestrians with difficulty forced their way through it and twice a +squad of blue-coats descended on the mob and routed it. Five minutes +after the police had retired the street was as impassable as before.</p> + +<p>In the midst of the ruins of the big fire a single wall towers away +above the surrounding brick partitions. It looks feeble and almost +tottering and the shop-keepers in the vicinity say that when there is a +high wind it sways to and fro and threatens to come down in a heap. +After dark the outlines of the summit of this wall are very indistinct. +The detail of the wreck could not be made out even in last night's +bright starlight. There is a sheet of tin, however, on the top of the +wall, which was probably a cornice before the fire. Only one side of it +is attached to the brickwork, and when there is any wind it trembles in +the breeze and rattles with an uncertain sound. It may have been that +the sheen of the tin in the starlight or a windy night first suggested +the idea of a ghost to some weird imagination.</p> + +<p>There is an old Frenchman living in the vicinity, however, who avers +that three nights ago he saw with his own eyes a lady in white standing +out against the darkened sky on the very summit of the tottering wall. +Her long, flowing robes fluttered in the breeze, and even while he +watched there came a low, wailing sound, and the wraith dissolved into +air. He kept his eye fixed on the spot for a full minute, but the vision +did not reappear, and as he turned to walk away he thought he heard +groaning as of a lost spirit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> The sound, he says, made his blood run +cold and kept him shivering the whole night through.</p> + +<p>The alleged appearance of the ghost has set the whole neighborhood a +talking, and some of the "old residenters" have recalled a murder which +took place in the vicinity many years ago, when A.T. Stewart lived there +and the street was one of the fashionable places of residence of the +town. There was a wealthy old gentleman of foreign birth who lived in +the street and was quite a recluse. He would pass the time of day with +his neighbors when he met them in the street, but he was never known to +enter into conversation with any one. The blinds were always drawn in +his front windows, and at night there was not a ray of light to be seen +about the house. His only servants were a couple somewhat advanced in +years, who were as foreign and uncommunicative as himself. The master of +the house would be away for months at a time and the neighbors had all +sorts of theories as to his disappearances. Some thought he was engaged +in unlawful business, others suggested that his absence might be +attributed to the supernatural, but those who were less flighty +concluded that he simply went off on periodical visits to his native +land.</p> + +<p>On his return from one of these visits, however, the old gentleman +brought with him a beautiful young girl. She was little more than a +child in appearance, and had the soft eyes, olive complexion and lithe, +graceful figure of a Spaniard. She was never seen alive after she passed +the shadow of the old man's doorway. A few weeks later the old gentleman +disappeared as mysteriously as if he had been snatched up into the +clouds. The old couple who kept his home walked away one day and never +returned. There was an investigation, and in a hole dug in the cellar +was found the body of the beautiful young girl. There were no marks on +her body, and it was supposed she had been smothered. The exact date of +this tragedy is not fixed. Inspector Byrnes says that if it ever +occurred it was before his time.</p> + +<p>The ghost, if ghost there is, is undoubtedly the spirit of this +unfortunate and nameless young woman. A <i>World</i> reporter watched the +Bleecker street ruins with the crowd <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>last night and was there at the +midnight hour, but never a sign of a ghost did he see. There were those +in the crowd, nevertheless, who thought or pretended to think that they +did. Once there was a rattling sound in the ruins, which caused a +commotion among the lookers-on, but it was only because a small boy had +shied a brick at the old wall. The living spirits boomed the liquor +business in the saloons of the vicinity. A skull and cross-bones over +one of these bars was surmounted with the somewhat appropriate legend +freshly painted:</p> + +<p>"In the midst of life we are in debt."</p> + + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> We now know that these leaves did contain a considerable +fragment of that work, if not of that actual copy of it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> He died that summer; his daughter married, and settled at +St. Papoul. She never understood the circumstances of her father's +"obsession."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, The Dispute of Solomon with a demon of the night. +Drawn by Alberic de Mauléon. <i>Versicle.</i> O Lord, make haste to help me. +<i>Psalm.</i> Whoso dwelleth (xci.). + +Saint Bertrand, who puttest devils to flight, pray for me most unhappy. +I saw it first on the night of Dec. 12, 1694: soon I shall see it for +the last time. I have sinned and suffered, and have more to suffer yet. +Dec. 29, 1701. + +The "Gallia Christiana" gives the date of the Canon's death as December +31, 1701, "in bed, of a sudden seizure." Details of this kind are not +common in the great work of the Sammarthani.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> Copyright, 1890, by Harper Bros.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> From "True Irish Ghost Stories."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> Scott's <i>Lady of the Lake</i>, notes to Canto III (edition of +1811).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> A.G. Bradley, <i>Notes on some Irish Superstitions</i>, p. 9.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> <i>Occult Review</i> for September, 1913.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> Taken by permission from "The Listener and Other +Stories,"—E.P. Dutton & Co.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> Copyright, 1917, by The Boston Transcript Co. Copyright, +1918, by Vincent O'Sullivan.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> Copyright, 1913, by The Century Company.</p></div> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p>Obvious printing punctuation errors were repaired.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_1_12" id="Footnote_1_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_12"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>The original is missing text following +this mark. Both it and a reprint of the same were searched and were +printed in this way.</div> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_2_13" id="Footnote_2_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_13"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>See note [1].</div> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. +Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST GHOST STORIES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 17893-h.txt or 17893-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/8/9/17893">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/8/9/17893</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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