FAMOUS GHOST STORIES

J.WALKER McSPADDEN
  

 

 

ALBERT B. ALKEK LIBRARY

TEXAS STATE UNIVERSITY-SAN MARCOS |

SAN MARCOS, TEXAS 78666-4604

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  FAMOUS GHOST STORIES

For thousands of years people have been interested
in ghost stories, tales about sounds they weren’t sure
they heard and sights they weren’t sure they saw.
Mystery is the most important feature in any story, and
in a ghost story, the whole thing is mystery. Authors
like to write mystery stories because they can give
their imagination free rein. They don’t have to keep the
events of the story true to life. You will notice, though,
that they often try to make their ghost stories seem
true by including actual dates and names of places and
persons. The more nearly true the story seems, the
greater is the surprise.

It seems that there are styles in ghost stories just as
there are in everything else. Tales of the supernatural
may be divided into four classes; some readers prefer
one kind, others prefer another. First of all, there are
stories of honest-to-goodness ghosts, the kind that rattle
chains and wave bloody hands; then there are stories
of witches and demons; third, there are mystery stories;
and fourth, there are stories about the “tame, modern,
over-civilized brand of ghost, those that are called
forth by ouija boards, hypnotic trances, and cabinet
tricks.”’ This book contains a collection of the first class
of ghost stories, those that deal with dyed-in-the-wool
ghosts.

This collection includes stories by authors who are
famous for other kinds of writing Sir Walter Scott,
Daniel Defoe, Charles Dickens, and Rudyard Kipling.
Others, such as Edgar Allen Poe and Washington
Irving, have rather specialized in tales of the super-
natural. As you read the stories, decide in your own
mind which authors write the most convincing ghost
stories.

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FAMOUS
GHOST STORIES

EDITED BY
J. WALKER McSPADDEN

This special edition is published by arrangement
with the publisher of the regular edition,
Thomas Y. Crowell Company

CADMUS BOOKS

E. M. HALE AND COMPANY
Chicago

 

 

 

 

 
  

ALBERT B. ALKEK LIBRARY

TEXAS STATE UNIVERS
° IVERSITY-SAN M
SAN MARCOS, TEXAS 7ess6-4ep4 O°

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CopykiGcuT, 1918,
By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America
 CONTENTS

A TruE RELATION OF THE APPARITION
OF ONE Mrs. VEAL THE NEXT
Day AFTER HER DEATH TO ONE

Mrs. BARGRAVE AT CANTERBURY PAGE

THE 8TH OF SEPTEMBER, 1705..... Daniel Defoe ........- 1
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER; OR, THE

LADY IN THE SACQUE.......ee-- Sir Walter Scott ...... 15
THE Otp NursE’S STORY.......-00: Mrs. Gaskell] .......... 39

THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS;
or, THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN..Edward Bulwer-Lytton. 73

THE WERE-WOLF ........eeceeeeces HI. B. Marryat ........ 109
WHAT WAS IT? ..... cc eee ween Fitz-James O’Brien ... 135
THE Gray CHAMPION............-- Nathaniel Hawthorne.. 157
THE STORM-SHIP .......ceeeeceeees Washington Irving .... 169

Tue Lapy WitH THE VELVET CoL-
LAR; OR, THE ADVENTURE OF THE

GERMAN STUDENT ....-..eseeees Washington Irving .... 179
LIGEIA wc. cece ccc ce ccc cee cece ee eeees Edgar Allan Poe ...... 189
MS. Founp 1n A Bortle ..... le eeeeee Edgar Allan Poe...... 213
THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW......... Rudyard Kipling ...... 229
To BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT.Charles Dickens ...... 263

THE BAGMAN’S STORY ....ccceceeees Charles Dickens ...... 281
  INTRODUCTION

A FEw years ago, the New York Times Book Re-
view contained a symposium on the subjert of
ghost stories, which ran for a month or more and
attracted widespread attention. It started in an
innocent query on the part of a Southern librarian,
as to where to find certain grisly tales which had
thrilled him in his youth. He wasn’t looking for
the tame, modern, over-civilized brand of ghost,
such as would be approved and recommended by
the psychical research fellows he wanted an hon-
est-to-goodness spook, rattling chains or waving
bloody hands. And the response was immediate.
People from all over the United States raised their
hands (not bloody ones, of course) and said: ‘‘We
know where you can find a corker!’’ and the more
fearsome it was, the more gleeful they seemed to
be about it.

Such widespread interest in grim tales of the
supernatural is by no means unusual. It seems al-
ways to have existed, and to have grown with hu-
man speech. Around the campfires of untold cen-
turies ago the tellers of tales held their audiences
in thrall with blood-curdling sagas, legends, and
folk lore dealing frequently with the spirit world.
An especially interesting phase of such tales is that
they reveal an early and a deeply inbred belief in

V
 vl INTRODUCTION

the immortality of the soul. If there is a great here-
after as even the most primitive people seem to
have argued what more natural than to imagine
some mystical, half-way place inhabited by good and
evil spirits, or disembodied souls. The church doc-
trine of purgatory is merely a reflection of that an-
cient faith. The myriads of tales about fairies,
witches, goblins and elves are but an extension of
the mystic realm of the hereafter into the now.
Although the individual or the race may be edu-
cated out of such literal belief, the stories them-
selves never lose their charm. And so we find
story-tellers in every age and people turning to
them with avidity. Inthe Bible the Witch of Endor
is a very real personage. In Holinshed’s early Eng-
lish “Chronicles” we find the story of the witches
that appeared to Macbeth, which was put to such
good use by Shakespeare. During the last century
many writers of fiction have essayed the ghost story
with marked success, and of recent years there has
been a decided increase in this field. From its very
nature it has appealed to their best efforts. No bar-
riers are interposed to the flight of imagination
when once it transcends the realm of the natural.
From Defoe down to Conan Doyle in England, and
from Irving and Poe down to James, in America,
the list of writers of ghost stories has been note-
worthy. There has been no dearth of material, as
our Southern librarian friend discovered. On the
contrary, a series of several volumes of “Famous
Ghost Stories,” instead of merely one book such as
 INTRODUCTION Vil

the present, might easily be made, and it would
prove a mine of good reading for the broad day-
light hours. As to whether it could be commended
for the wee sma’ hours of night that would depend
on the state of one’s nerves.

In making the present selection, we have preferred
to include a number of shorter tales rather than
limit the list to a few lengthy ones. For this reason,
masterly stories such as Henry James’s ‘““The Turn
of the Screw,” Mrs. Oliphant’s ““The Open Door,”
and George Macdonald’s ‘“The Portent,”’ have been
regretfully omitted. To lovers of such literature
they can be commended. ‘There is also a wealth of
good thrilling reading in Irving. His “Rip Van
Winkle” is really a ghost story; he weaves many
legends around both our own New York and the far-
away Alhambra; while his “Tales of a Traveller”
are warranted to make even the boldest “sit up.”
Wilkie Collins is another spinner of good ghostly
yarns; and the files of Harper’s Magazine, espe-
cially of thirty or forty years ago, will yield many
a thriller from other pens.

Among foreign writers, we have notable German
examples in the ‘““Tales of Hoffmann,” and various
short stories in French by De Maupassant and
Gautier. The Russian writer, Tcherkoff, author of
“The Black Monk,” has produced other striking
examples of this type. But to attempt to single out
a few among the many seems invidious. A lengthy
bibliography might be prepared on the subject.

Tales of the supernatural may, for convenience,
 Vill INTRODUCTION

be divided into four classes first, stories of ghosts,
in which the spectres actually manifest themselves;
second, stories of witches and demons; third, mys-
tery stories, and fourth, psychic manifestations. By
following such a classification, we are enabled to
limit a selection of ‘“‘ghost stories’’ to the first class,
instead of using the term loosely to cover every
variety of unusual incident. Hoffmann’s ‘Weird
Tales,” for example, would fall under the third
class, as also would ‘The Mysterious Sketch,” by
Erckmann-Chatrian, and “The Withered Arm,” by
Thomas Hardy, which we have recently seen listed
as ghost stories, but which contain no spooks at
all.

In the present volume a ban has been laid upon
mystery stories and demon tales. Only dyed-in-the-
wool ghosts have been welcome, with one possible
exception a spirit so fearsome that we could not
forbid its entrance. With psychic manifestations
likewise this book is not concerned. MNHere are no
hypnotic trances, no cabinet tricks, no ouija boards,
and no comments from learned societies thereon.
From such a company most self-respecting ghosts
would flee utterly. But if you, gentle reader, are
not too modern and “scientific” in your tastes, we
can introduce to you as noteworthy an array of gen-
uine, old-fashioned ghosts as ever haunted a house,
clanked a chain, or scared the wits out of a wakeful
person at midnight. ' Each story is given in full,
with the exception of Bulwer-Lytton’s ‘“The Haunted
and the Haunters.’”’ On account of its length, a few
 INTRODUCTION 1X

minor paragraphs and the sequel or second part of
the story were omitted. This is one of the finest
examples of the haunted house type, and can be
read with profit at any Hallowe’en gathering.
Other stories included are: Defoe’s ‘Apparition
of Mrs. Veal,’’ which is described with the detail
characteristic of the Robinson Crusoe adventures;
Scott’s classic, ‘““The Tapestried Chamber;” Mrs.
Gaskell’s “The Old Nurse’s Story; Marryat’s
blood-curdling account of ‘‘The Were-Wolf;’? an
unusual tale by Fitz-James O’Brien, an American
author of many ingenious yarns, but none more
startling than his “What Was It?”’; “The Gray
Champion,” by Hawthorne; “The Phantom ’Rick-
shaw, by Kipling, and two stories each by Irving,
Poe, and Dickens. The two examples from Irving
are of widely different character. ‘“The Storm
Ship” is interesting in linking up the Hudson River
with the popular superstition of a phantom ship,
which is so often met with notably in “The Fly-
ing Dutchman,” and again in Poe’s “MS. Found in
a Bottle.” The latter is included from Poe together
with his powerful phantasy, “Ligeia,” for the rea-
son that they show two sides of his peculiar genius.
Two characteristic tales from Dickens conclude the
feast. The first may be said to season the whole
collection, which is ‘“To Be Taken with a Grain of
Salt.” The second, “The Bagman’s Story,’ may
not pass muster with the metaphysicians at all. ‘They
would at once argue that the Bagman had drunk too
many glasses of punch to be a credible witness. But
 xX INTRODUCTION

this story (from ‘Pickwick Papers’) is so rich in
humor that it may provide an agreeable antidote
for the horrors that have gone before. It is the
lump of sugar in the demi-tasse which crowns the
feast.

J. W. McsS.
 A TRUE RELATION OF THE APPARITION

OF ONE MRS. VEAL THE NEXT DAY
AFTER HER DEATH TO ONE MRS.

BARGRAVE AT CANTERBURY THE 8TH
OF SEPTEMBER, 1705

By DANIEL DEFOE

THIs thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and
on so good authority, that my reading and conver-
sation 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 1s calumniated by some people
that are friends to the brother of Mrs. Veal who
appeared, who think the relation of this appear-
ance to be a reflection, and endeavor what they
can to blast Mrs. Bargrave’s reputation and to
laugh the story out of countenance. But the cir-
cumstances thereof, and the cheerful disposition of
Mrs. Bargrave, notwithstanding the unheard-of ill

usage of a very wicked husband, there is not the
1
 2 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

least sign of dejection in her face; nor did I ever
hear her let fall a desponding or murmuring ex-
pression; nay, not when actually under her hus-
band’s barbarity, which I have been witness to, and
several other persons of undoubted reputation.
Now you must know that 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 im-
pertinence. 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 and
quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately ac-
quainted 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 for neither food nor clothing;
whilst Mrs. Veal wanted for both. So that it was
in the power of Mrs. Bargrave to be very much her
friend in several instances, which mightily endeared
Mrs. Veal, 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 circum-
stances of life shall ever dissolve my friendship.”
They would often condole each other’s adverse for-
tune, and read together “Drelincourt upon Death,”
and other good books; and so, like two Christian
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 3

friends, they comforted each other under their
sorrow.

Some time after, Mr. Veal’s friends got him a
place in the custom-house at Dover, which occa-
sioned 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 had been
absent from Dover, and this last half-year has been
in Canterbury about two months of the time, dwell-
ing in a house of her own.

In this house, on the eighth of September last,
viz., 1705, she was sitting alone in the forenoon,
thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing her-
self 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 afflic-
tions 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 it 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.

“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
 4. FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 on a journey, and had a great mind
to see her first. “But,” says Mrs. Bargrave, ‘Show
came you to take a journey alone? I am amazed
at it, because I know you have so fond a brother.”
“Oh,” says Mrs. Veal, “I gave my brother the slip,
and came away, because I had so great a mind to
see you before I took my journey.” So Mrs. Bar-
grave went in with her into another room within the
first, and Mrs. Veal sat herself 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 friend-
ship again, and to beg your pardon for my breach
of it; and if you can forgive me, you are one of the
best of women.” “Oh,” says Mrs. Bargrave, ‘‘don’t
mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy
thought about it. I can easily forgive it.” ‘What
did you think of me?” says 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 time of their adversity;
what books they read, and what comfort in particu-
lar they received from Drelincourt’s “Book of
Death,” which was the best, she said, on that subject
was ever wrote. She also mentioned Doctor Sher-
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 5

lock, and two Dutch books, which were translated,
wrote upon death, and several others. But Drelin-
court, she said, had the clearest notions of death and
of the future state of any who have handled that sub-
ject. Then she asked Mrs. Bargrave whether she
had Drelincourt. She said, ‘‘Yes.”’ Says Mrs. Veal,
‘Fetch it.’ And so Mrs. Bargrave goes upstairs
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 Drelin-
court says; therefore be comforted under your af-
flictions, and believe that the Almighty has a particu-
lar regard to you, and that your afflictions are marks
of God’s favor; and when they have done the busi-
ness they were 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 a great deal of earnestness, which, indeed,
ran through all 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 and heavenly manner that Mrs.
Bargrave wept several times, she was so deeply af-
fected with it.

Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Doctor Horneck’s
“Ascetic,” at the end of which he gives an account of
 6 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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
the faith, so that they were not as we are, nor are
we as they are. But,” said she, “we might do as
they did; there was a hearty friendship among them;
but where is it now to be found?” Says Mrs. Bar-
grave, “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. Bar-
grave, “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 waivec
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 ad-
miring Friendship, Mrs. Veal said, ‘Dear Mrs.
Bargrave, I shall love you forever.” In the verses
there is twice used the word ‘‘Elysium.” “Ah!”
says Mrs. Veal, “these poets have such names for
Heaven.” She would often draw her hand cross
her own eyes, and say, “Mrs. Bargrave, don’t you
think I am mightily impaired by my fits?” “No,”
says Mrs. Bargrave; “I think you look as well as
ever I knew you.”
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 7

After all this discourse, which the apparition put
in words much finer than Mrs. Bargrave said she
could pretend to, and was 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.

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 fall-
ing 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, she took hold of her gown-sleeve sev-
eral times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her
it was a scoured 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 conversa-
tion when she had an opportunity. “Dear Mrs.
Veal,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “this seems so imperti-
nent that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and
what a mortifying story will our conversation be
to a young gentleman.” “Well,” says Mrs. Veal,
‘“T must not be denied.” “Why,” says Mrs. Bar-
grave, “it is much better, methinks, to do it your-
self.”” “No,” says Mrs. Veal; “though it seems im-
 8 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

pertinent 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 and 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 part-
ing, and so she promised her.

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 send
for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was return-
ing, Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the
street, in the face of the beast-market, on a Satur-
day (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 jour-
ney till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave she hoped
she should see her again at her cousin Watson’s be-
fore she went whither she was agoing. ‘Then she
said she would not take her leave of her, and walked
from Mrs. Bargrave, in her view, till a turning in-
terrupted the sight of her, which was three-quarters
after one in the afternoon.

Mrs. Veal died the seventh of September, at
twelve o’clock 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. Bar-
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 9

grave was mightily indisposed with a cold and a
sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but
on Monday morning she sends a person to Captain
Watson’s to know if Mrs. Veal were there. They
wondered at Mrs. Bargrave’s inquiry, and sent her
word she was not there, nor was expected. At this
answer, Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had cer-
tainly 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, who went 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 scoured. Then
Mrs. Watson cried out, ‘‘You have seen her indeed,
for none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the
gown was scoured.” 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 demon-
 10 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

stration of 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 from her own mouth.
And then it spread so fast that gentlemen and per-
sons of quality, the judicious and sceptical part of
the world, flocked in upon her, which 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 hypochondriac, for she always ap-
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. Bar-
grave 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,” said 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 not drink some tea. Says Mrs.
Veal, “I do not care if I do; but I'll warrant 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.

All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 11

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.

Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story, which
puzzles those who doubt of the truth, or are un-
willing to believe it. A servant in a 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 what ravishing conversation she had
with an old friend, and told the whole of it. Drelin-
court’s ‘Book of Death” is, since this happened,
bought up strangely. And it is to be observed that,
notwithstanding all this 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.

But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the mat-
ter, 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. Bargrave; and some of his friends
report her to be a great 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 no-
torious liar among persons which [ know to be of
undoubted repute. Now, Mr. Veal is more a gen-
 12 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

tleman 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 pretence. 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 what the things which Mrs.
Veal’s apparition would have disposed of were so
trifling, and nothing of justice aimed at in their dis-
posal, 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 rea-
sonable 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 her cabinet that she would trust no-
body with it; and if so, no doubt she would not trust
her gold out of it. And Mrs. Veal’s often drawing
her hands 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 bequest; and it took accord-
ingly with Mrs. Bargrave as the effect of her fits
coming upon her, and was one of the many instances
of her wonderful love to her and care of her, that
 THE APPARITION OF ONE MRS. VEAL 13

she should not be affrighted, which, indeed, appears
in her whole management, particularly in her com-
ing to her in the daytime, waiving the salutation,
and when she was alone; and then the manner of
her parting, to prevent a second attempt to salute
her.

Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation a
reflection as it 1s plain he does, by his endeavor-
ing to stifle it I cannot imagine; because the gen-
erality believe her to be a good spirit, her discourse
was so heavenly. Her two great errands were, to
comfort Mrs. Hargrave in her affliction, and to ask
her forgiveness for her 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 to Satur-
day noon supposing that she knew of Mrs. Veal’s
death the very first moment without jumbling cir-
cumstances, 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, and she said she appeared to be as much a sub-
stance as I did who talked with her. ‘And I may,”
said she, ‘be as soon persuaded that your appari-
tion is talking to me now as that I did not really
see her; for I was under no manner of fear, I re-
 14 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ceived 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 that 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-
ful of people at a time. Several particular gentle-
men have had the story from Mrs. Bargrave’s own
mouth.

This thing has very much affected me, and I am
as well satisfied as I am of the best-grounded mat-
ter 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 sin-
cerity alone would have been undoubted in any other
case.
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER;
OR, THE LADY IN THE SACQUE

By Str WALTER SCOTT

TuE following narrative 1s given from the pen, so
far as memory permits, in the same character in
which it was presented to the Author’s ear; nor has
he claim to further praise, or to be more deeply
censured, than in proportion to the good or bad
judgment which he has employed in selecting his
materials, as he has studiously avoided any attempt
at ornament which might interfere with the sim-
plicity of the tale.

At the same time it must be admitted, that the
particular class of stories which turns on the mar-
vellous possesses a stronger influence when told than
when committed to print. The volume taken up at
noonday, though rehearsing the same incidents, con-
veys a much more feeble impression than is achieved
by the voice of the speaker on a circle of fireside
auditors, who hang upon the narrative as the nar-
rator details the minute incidents which serve to
give it authenticity, and lowers his voice with an af-
fectation of mystery while he approaches the fearful
and wonderful part. It was with such advantages
that the present writer heard the following events
related, more than twenty years since, by the cele-

15.
 16 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

brated Miss Seward of Litchfield, who to her numer-
ous accomplishments added, in a remarkable degree,
the power of narrative in private conversation. In
its present form the tale must necessarily lose all the
interest which was attached to it by the flexible voice
and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet
still, read aloud, to an undoubting audience by the
doubtful light of the closing evening, or, in silence,
by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a
half-lighted apartment, it may redeem its character
as a good ghost-story. Miss Seward always af-
firmed that she had derived her information from
an authentic source, although she suppressed the
names of the two persons chiefly concerned. I will
not avail myself of any particulars I may have since
received concerning the localities of the detail, but
suffer them to rest under the same general descrip-
tion in which they were first related to me; and, for
the same reason, [ will not add to, or diminish, the
narrative by any circumstance, whether more or less
material, but simply rehearse, as I heard it, a story
of supernatural terror.

About the end of the American war, when the
oficers of Lord Cornwallis’s army, which surren-
dered at Yorktown, and others, who had been made
prisoners during the impolitic and ill-fated contro-
versy, were returning to their own country, to re-
late their adventures and repose themselves after
their fatigues, there was amongst them a general
officer, to wham Miss S. gave the name of Browne,
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 17

but merely, as I understood, to save the inconven-
ience of introducing a nameless agent in the narra-
tive. He was an officer of merit, as well as a gentle-
man of high consideration for family and attain-
ments.

Some business had carried General Browne upon
a tour through the western counties, when, in the
conclusion of a morning stage, he found himself in
the vicinity of a small country town, which presented
a scene of uncommon beauty, and of a character pe-
culiarly English.

The little town, with its stately old church, whose
tower bore testimony to the devotion of ages long
past, lay amidst pastures and cornfields of smail
extent, but bounded and divided with hedgerow tim-
ber of great age and size. There were few marks of
modern improvement. The environs of the place
intimated neither the solitude of decay nor the bustle
of novelty; the houses were old, but in good repair;
and the beautiful little river murmured freely on its
way to the left of the town, neither restrained by a
dam nor bordered by a towing-path.

Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the south-
ward of the town, were seen, amongst many vener-
able oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets of a castle,
as old as the wars of York and Lancaster, but which
seemed to have received important alterations dur-
ing the age of Elizabeth and her successor. It had
not been a place of great size; but whatever accom-
modation it formerly afforded was, it must be sup-
posed, still to be obtained within its walls; at least,
 18 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

such was the inference which General Browne drew
from observing the smoke arise merrily from several
of the ancient wreathed and carved chimney-stalks.
The wall of the park ran alongside of the highway
for two or three hundred yards; and through the
different points by which the eye found glimpses into
the woodland scenery it seemed to be well stocked.
Other points of view opened in succession now a
full one of the front of the old castle, and now a
side glimpse at its particular towers, the former rich
in all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while
the simple and solid strength of other parts of the
building seemed to show that they had been raised
more for defence than ostentation.

Delighted with the partial glimpses which he ob-
tained of the castle through the woods and glades by
which this ancient feudal fortress was surrounded,
our military traveller was determined to inquire
whether it might not deserve a nearer view, and
whether it contained family pictures or other ob-
jects of curiosity worthy of a stranger’s visit, when,
leaving the vicinity of the park, he rolled through a
clean and well-paved street, and stopped at the door
of a well-frequented inn.

Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey,
General Browne made inquiries concerning the pro-
prietor of the chateau which had so attracted his
admiration; and was equally surprised and pleased
at hearing in reply a nobleman named whom we shall
call Lord Woodville. How fortunate! Much of

Browne’s early recollections, both at school and at
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 19

college, had been connected with young Woodville,
whom, by a few questions, he now ascertained to be
the same with the owner of this fair domain. He
had been raised to the peerage by the decease of his
father a few months before, and, as the General
learned from the landlord, the term of mourning
being ended, was now taking possession of his pa-
ternal estate, in the jovial season of merry autumn,
accompanied by a select party of friends, to enjoy
the sports of a country famous for game.

This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank
Woodville had been Richard Browne’s fag at Eton,
and his chosen intimate at Christ Church; their pleas-
ures and their tasks had been the same; and the
honest soldier’s heart warmed to find his early friend
in possession of so delightful a residence, and of an
estate, as the landlord assured him with a nod and
a wink, fully adequate to maintain and add to his
dignity. Nothing was more natural than that the
traveller should suspend a journey which there was
nothing to render hurried to pay a visit to an old
friend under such agreeable circumstances.

The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief
task of conveying the General’s travelling-carriage
to Woodville Castle. A porter admitted them at a
modern Gothic lodge, built in that style to correspond
with the castle itself, and at the same time rang a
bell to give warning of the approach of visitors.
Apparently the sound of the bell had suspended the
separation of the company, bent on the various
amusements of the morning; for, on entering the
 ‘20 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

court of the chateau, several young men were loung-
ing about in their sporting-dresses, looking at and
criticising the dogs, which the keepers held in readi-
ness to attend their pastime. As General Browne
alighted, the young lord came to the gate of the
hall, and for an instant gazed, as at a stranger, upon
the countenance of his friend, on which war, with its
fatigues and its wounds, had made a great alteration.
But the uncertainty lasted no longer than till the
visitor had spoken, and the hearty greeting which
followed was such as can only be exchanged betwixt
those who have passed together the merry days of
careless boyhood or early youth.

“Tf I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne,”
said Lord Woodville, “it would have been to have
you here, of all men, upon this occasion, which my
friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holi-
day. Do not think you have been unwatched during
the years you have been absent from us. I have
traced you through your dangers, your triumphs,
your misfortunes, and was delighted to see that,
whether in victory or defeat, the name of my old
friend was always distinguished with applause.”

The General made a suitable reply, and congratu-
lated his friend on his new dignities, and the posses-
sion of a place and domain so beautiful.

‘Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet,” said
Lord Woodville, “‘and I trust you do not mean to
leave us till you are better acquainted with it. It is
true, I confess, that my present party is pretty large,
and the old house, like other places of the kind, does
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 21

not possess so much accommodation as the extent
of the outward walls appears to promise. But we
can give you a comfortable old-fashioned room, and
I venture to suppose that your campaigns have
taught you to be glad of worse quarters.”’

The General shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“T presume,” he said, “the worst apartment in your
chateau is considerably superior to the old tobacco-
cask in which I was fain to take up my night’s
lodging when I was in the bush, as the Virginians
call it, with the light corps. There I lay, like
Diogenes himself, so delighted with my covering
from the elements, that I made a vain attempt to
have it rolled on to my next quarters; but my com-
mander for the time would give way to no such lux-
urious provision, and I took farewell of my beloved
cask with tears in my eyes.”

“Well, then, since you do not fear your quar-
ters,’ said Lord Woodville, “you will stay with me
a week at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods, flies,
and means of sport by sea and land, we have enough
and to spare; you cannot pitch on an amusement
but we will find the means of pursuing it. But if
you prefer the gun and pointers, I will go with you
myself, and see whether you have mended your
shooting since you have been amongst the Indians
of the back settlements.”

The General gladly accepted his friendly host’s
proposal in all its points. After a morning of
manly exercise, the company met at dinner, where
it was the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to
 22 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the display of the high properties of his recovered
friend, so as to recommend him to his guests, most
of whom were persons of distinction. He led
General Browne to speak of the scenes he had
witnessed; and as every word marked alike the
brave officer and the sensible man, who retained
possession of his cool judgment under the most im-
minent dangers, the company looked upon the sol-
dier with general respect, as on one who had proved
himself possessed of an uncommon portion of per-
sonal courage that attribute, of all others, of
which everybody desires to be thought possessed.

The day at Woodville Castle ended as usual in
such mansions. The hospitality stopped within the
limits of good order; music, in which the young
lord was a proficient, succeeded to the circulation
of the bottle; cards and billiards, for those who
preferred such amusements, were in readiness; but
the exercise of the morning required early hours,
and not long after eleven o’clock the guests began
to retire to their several apartments.

The young lord himself conducted his friend,
General Browne, to the chamber destined for him,
which answered the description he had given of it,
being comfortable, but old-fashioned. The bed
was of the massive form used in the end of the
17th century, and the curtains of faded silk, heavily
trimmed with tarnished gold. But then the sheets,
pillows, and blankets looked delightful to the cam-
paigner, when he thought of his “mansion, the
cask.” There was an air of gloom in the tapestry
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 23

hangings which, with their worn-out graces, cur-
tained the walls of the little chamber, and
gently undulated as the autumnal breeze found its
way through the ancient lattice-window, which pat-
tered and whistled as the air gained entrance. The
toilet, too, with its mirror, turbaned, after the man-
ner of the beginning of the century, with a coiffure
of murrey-colored silk, and its hundred strange-
shaped boxes, providing for arrangements which
had been obsolete for more than fifty years, had
an antique, and in so far a melancholy, aspect.
But nothing could blaze more brightly and cheer-
fully than the two large wax candles; or if aught
could rival them, it was the flaming, bickering fag-
ots in the chimney, that sent at once their gleam and
their warmth through the snug apartment, which,
notwithstanding the general antiquity of its ap-
pearance, was not wanting in the least convenience
that modern habits rendered either necessary or
desirable.

“This is an old-fashioned sleeping-apartment,
General,” said the young lord; “but I hope you
find nothing that makes you envy your old tobacco-
cask.”

“T am not particular respecting my lodgings,”’
replied the General; “‘yet were I to make any
choice, I would prefer this chamber by many de-
grees to the gayer and more modern rooms of your
family mansion. Believe me, that when I unite its
modern air of comfort with its venerable antiquity,
and recollect that it is your lordship’s property, I
 24 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

shall feel in better quarters here than if I were in
the best hotel London could afford.”

“TI trust I have no doubt that you will find
yourself as comfortable as I wish you, my dear
General,” said the young nobleman; and once more
bidding his guest good-night, he shook him by the
hand and withdrew.

The General once more looked round him, and
internally congratulating himself on his return to
peaceful life, the comforts of which were endeared
by the recollection of the hardships and dangers
he had lately sustained, undressed himself, and pre-
pared for a luxurious night’s rest.

Here, contrary to the custom of this species of
tale, we leave the General in possession of his
apartment until the next morning.

The company assembled for breakfast at an
early hour, but without the appearance of General
Browne, who seemed the guest that Lord Wood-
ville was desirous of honoring above all whom his
hospitality had assembled around him. He more
than once expressed surprise at the General’s ab-
sence, and at length sent a servant to make inquiry
after him. The man brought back information that
General Browne had been walking abroad since
an early hour of the morning, in defiance of the
weather, which was misty and ungenial.

‘The custom of a soldier,” said the young noble-
man to his friends; ‘many of them acquire habitual
vigilance, and cannot sleep after the early hour at
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 25

which their duty usually commands them to be
alert.”

Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus
offered to the company seemed hardly satisfactory
to his own mind, and it was in a fit of silence and
abstraction that he awaited the return of the Gen-
eral. It took place near an hour after the break-
fast-bell had rung. He looked fatigued and fever-
ish. His hair, the powdering and arrangement of
which was at this time one of the most important
occupations of a man’s whole day, and marked his
fashion as much as, in the present time, the tying
of a cravat, or the want of one, was dishevelled,
uncurled, void of powder, and dank with dew. His
clothes were huddled on with a careless negligence
remarkable in a military man, whose real or sup-
posed duties are usually held to include some at-
tention to the toilet; and his looks were haggard
and ghastly in a peculiar degree.

‘So you have stolen a march upon us this morn-
ing, my dear General,” said Lord Woodville; ‘or
you have not found your bed so much to your mind
as I had hoped and you seemed to expect. How
did you rest last night?”

“Oh, excellently well remarkably well never
better in my life!’ said General Browne rapidly,
and yet with an air of embarrassment which was
obvious to his friend. He then hastily swallowed
a cup of tea, and, neglecting or refusing whatever
else was offered, seemed to fall into a fit of ab-
straction.
 26 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

“You will take the gun to-day, General?” said
his friend and host, but had to repeat the question
twice ere he received the abrupt answer, “No, my
lord; I am sorry I cannot have the honor of spend-
ing another day with your lordship: my post-horses
are ordered, and will be here directly.”

All who were present showed surprise, and Lord
Woodville immediately replied, ‘‘Post-horses, my
good friend! what can you possibly want with them,
when you promised to stay with me quietly for at
least a week?”

“‘T believe,” said the General, obviously much em-
barrassed, “‘that I might, in the pleasure of my
first meeting with your lordship, have said some-
thing about stopping here a few days; but I have
since found it altogether impossible.”

‘““That is very extraordinary,’ answered the

young nobleman. ‘You seemed quite disengaged
yesterday, and you cannot have had a summons
to-day; for our post has not come up from the
town, and therefore you cannot have received any
letters.”
_ General Browne, without giving any further ex-
planation, muttered something of indispensable busi-
ness, and insisted on the absolute necessity of his
departure in a manner which silenced all oppo-
sition on the part of his host, who saw that his
resolution was taken, and forbore all further im-
portunity.

“At least, however,” he said, ‘permit me, my
dear Browne, since go you will or must, to show
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 27

you the view from the terrace, which the mist, that
is now rising, will soon display.”

He threw open a sash-window and stepped down
upon the terrace as he spoke. The General fol-
lowed him mechanically, but seemed little to attend
to what his host was saying, as, looking across an
extended and rich prospect, he pointed out the
different objects worthy of observation. Thus they
moved on till Lord Woodville had attained his
purpose of drawing his guest entirely apart from
the rest of the company, when, turning round upon
him with an air of great solemnity, he addressed
him thus:

‘Richard Browne, my old and very dear friend,
we are now alone. Let me conjure you to answer
me upon the word of a friend and the honor of a
soldier. How did you in reality rest during last
night ?”

‘Most wretchedly indeed, my lord,’ answered
the General, in the same tone of solemnity; ‘‘so
miserably, that I would not run the risk of such a
second night, not only for all the lands belonging
to this castle, but for all the country which I see
from this elevated point of view.”

‘This is most extraordinary,” said the young
lord, as if speaking to himself; ‘‘then there must
be something in the reports concerning that apart-
ment.’ Again turning to the General, he said:
‘For God’s sake, my dear friend, be candid with
me, and let me know the disagreeable particulars
which have befallen you under a roof where, with
 28 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

consent of the owner, you should have met nothing
save comfort.”

The General seemed distressed by this appeal,
and paused a moment before he replied. “My dear
lord,” he at length said, “what happened to me last
night is of a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant,
that I could hardly bring myself to detail it even
to your lordship, were it not that, independent of
my wish to gratify any request of yours, I think that
sincerity on my part may lead to some explanation
about a circumstance equally painful and mysteri-
ous. ‘To others, the communication I am about to
make might place me in the light of a weak-minded,
superstitious fool, who suffered his own imagination
to delude and bewilder him; but you have known
me in childhood and youth, and will not suspect me
of having adopted in manhood the feelings and
frailties from which my early years were free.”
Here he paused, and his friend replied.

“Do not doubt my perfect confidence in the truth
of your communication, however strange it may be,”
replied Lord Woodville; ‘I know your firmness of
disposition too well to suspect you could be made
the object of imposition, and am aware that your
honor and your friendship will equally deter you
from exaggerating whatever you may have wit-
nessed.”’

“Well, then,” said the General, “I will proceed
with my story as well as I can, relying upon your
candor, and yet distinctly feeling that I would
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 29

rather face a battery than recall to my mind the
odious recollections of last night.”

He paused a second time, and then perceiving
that Lord Woodville remained silent and in an atti-
tude of attention, he commenced, though not with-
out obvious reluctance, the history of his night ad-
ventures in the Tapestried Chamber.

“T undressed and went to bed, so soon as your
lordship left me yesterday evening; but the wood
in the chimney, which nearly fronted my bed, blazed
brightly and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred
exciting recollections of my childhood and youth,
which had been recalled by the unexpected pleasure
of meeting your lordship, prevented me from fall-
ing immediately asleep. I ought, however, to say,
that these reflections were all of a pleasant and
agreeable kind, grounded on a sense of having for
a time exchanged the labor, fatigues, and dangers
of my profession for the enjoyments of a peaceful
life, and the reunion of those friendly and affection-
ate ties which I had torn asunder at the rude sum-
mons of war.

“While such pleasing reflections were stealing
over my mind, and gradually lulling me to slumber,
I was suddenly aroused by a sound like that of the
rustling of a silken gown, and the tapping of a pair
of high-heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking
in the apartment. Ere I could draw the curtain to
see what the matter was, the figure of a little woman
passed between the bed and the fire. The back of
this form.was turned to me, and [ could observe,
 30 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

from the shoulders and neck, it was that of an old
woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown,
which, I think, ladies call a sacque that 1s, a sort
of robe completely loose in the body, but gathered
into broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders, which
fall down to the ground, and terminate in a species
of train.

“T thought the intrusion singular enough, but
never harbored for a moment the idea that what I
saw was anything more than the mortal form of
some old woman about the establishment, who had
a fancy to dress like her grandmother, and who,
having perhaps, as your lordship mentioned that
you were rather straitened for room, been dislodged
from her chamber for my accommodation, had
forgotten the circumstance, and returned by twelve
to her old haunt. Under this persuasion I] moved
myself in bed and coughed a little, to make the
intruder sensible of my being in possession of the
premises. She turned slowly round, but, gracious
Heaven! my lord, what a countenance did she dis-
play to me! There was no longer any question
what she was, or any thought of her being a living
being. Upon a face which wore the fixed features
of a corpse were imprinted the traces of the vilest
and most hideous passions which had animated her
while she lived. The body of some atrocious
criminal seemed to have been given up from the
grave, and the soul restored from the penal fre,
in order to form, for a space, a union with the
ancient accomplice of its guilt. I started up in bed,
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 31

and sat upright, supporting myself on my palms,
as I gazed on this horrible spectre. The hag made,
as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the bed,
where I lay, and squatted herself down upon it, in
precisely the same attitude which I had assumed in
the extremity of horror, advancing her diabolical
countenance within half a yard of mine, with a grin
which seemed to intimate the malice and the deri-
sion of an incarnate fiend.”

Here General Browne stopped, and wiped from
his brow the cold perspiration with which the recol-
lection of his horrible vision had covered it.

“My lord,” he said, “I am no coward. I have
been in all the mortal dangers incidental to my
profession, and I may truly boast that no man ever
knew Richard Browne dishonor the sword he
wears; but in these horrible circumstances, under
the eyes, and, as it seemed, almost in the grasp, of
the incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness forsook
me, all manhood melted from me like wax in the
furnace, and I felt my hair individually bristle.
The current of my life-blood ceased to flow, and I
sank back in a swoon, as very a victim to panic
terror as ever was a village girl or a child of ten
years old. How long I lay in this condition I can-
not pretend to guess.

“But I was roused by the castle clock striking
one, so loud that it seemed as if it were in the very
room. It was some time before I dared open my
eyes, lest they should again encounter the horrible
spectacle. When, however, I summoned courage
 32 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

to look up, she was no longer visible. My first
idea was to pull my bell, wake the servants, and re-
move to a garret or a hay-loft, to be insured
against a second visitation. Nay, I will confess
the truth, that my resolution was altered, not by the
shame of exposing myself, but by the fear that, as
the bell-cord hung by the chimney, I might, in
making my way to it, be again crossed by the fiend-
ish hag, who, I figured to myself, might be still
lurking about some corner of the apartment.

“T will not pretend to describe what hot and cold
fever-fits tormented me for the rest of the night,
through broken sleep, weary vigils, and that dubious
state which forms the neutral ground between them.
A hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me;
but there was the great difference betwixt the vision
which I have described and those which followed,
that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own
fancy and over-excited nerves.

“Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed
ill in health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed
of myself as a man and a soldier, and still more so
at feeling my own extreme desire to escape from
the haunted apartment, which, however, conquered
all other considerations; so that, huddling on my
clothes with the most careless haste, I made my
escape from your lordship’s mansion, to seek in the
open air some relief to my nervous system, shaken
as it was by this horrible rencounter with a visitant,
for such I must believe her, from the other world.
Your lordship has now heard the cause of my dis-
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 33

composure, and of my sudden desire to leave your
hospitable castle. In other places I trust we may
often meet; but God protect me from ever spend-
ing a second night under that roof!”

Strange as the General’s tale was, he spoke with
such a deep air of conviction, that it cut short all
the usual commentaries which are made on such
stories. Lord Woodville never once asked him if
he was sure he did not dream of the apparition,
or suggested any of the possibilities by which it is
fashionable to explain supernatural appearances, as
wild vagaries of the fancy or deceptions of the optic
nerves. On the contrary, he seemed deeply im-
pressed with the truth and reality of what he had
heard; and, after a considerable pause, regretted,
with much appearance of sincerity, that his early
friend should in his house have suffered so severely.

“Tf am the more sorry for your pain, my dear
Browne,” he continued, “that it is the unhappy,
though most unexpected, result of an experiment of
my own. You must know that, for my father and
grandfather’s time, at least, the apartment which
was assigned to you last night had been shut on ac-
count of reports that it was disturbed by super-
natural sights and noises. When I came, a few
weeks since, into possession of the estate, I thought
the accommodation which the castle afforded for
my friends was not extensive enough to permit the
inhabitants of the invisible world to retain posses-
sion of a comfortable sleeping-apartment. I there-
fore caused the Tapestried Chamber, as we call it,
 34 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

to be opened; and, without destroying its air of
antiquity, I had such new articles of furniture
placed in it as became the modern times. Yet, as
the opinion that the room was haunted very strongly
prevailed among the domestics, and was also known
in the neighborhood and to many of my friends,
I feared some prejudice might be entertained by
the first occupant of the T'apestried Chamber, which
might tend to revive the evil report which it had
labored under, and so disappoint my purpose of
rendering it a useful part of the house. I must
confess, my dear Browne, that your arrival yester-
day, agreeable to me for a thousand reasons be-
sides, seemed the most favorable opportunity of
removing the unpleasant rumors which attached to
the room, since your courage was indubitable, and
your mind free of any preoccupation on the subject,
I could not, therefore, have chosen a more fitting
subject for my experiment.”

“Upon my life,’ said General Browne, somewhat
hastily, “I am infinitely obliged to your lordship 
very particularly indebted, indeed. I am likely to
remember for some time the consequences of the
experiment, as your lordship is pleased to call it.”

‘‘Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend,” said
Lord Woodville. ‘You have only to reflect for a
single moment, in order to be convinced that I
could not augur the possibility of the pain to which
you have been so unhappily exposed. I was yes-
terday morning a complete sceptic on the subject of
supernatural appearances. Nay, I am sure that,
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 35

had I told you what was said about that room,
those very reports would have induced you, by your
own choice, to select it for your accommodation.
It was my misfortune, perhaps my error, but really
cannot be termed my fault, that you have been
afflicted so strangely.”

‘Strangely indeed!” said the General, resuming
his good temper; ‘“‘and I acknowledge that I have
no right to be offended with your lordship for
treating me like what I used to think myself, a man
of some firmness and courage. But I see my post-
horses are arrived, and I must not detain your lord-
ship from your amusement.”

‘‘Nay, my old friend,” said Lord Woodville,
‘since you cannot stay with us another day, which,
indeed, I can no longer urge, give me at least half
an hour more. You used to love pictures, and I
have a gallery of portraits, some of them by Van-
dyke, representing ancestry to whom this property
and castle formerly belonged. I think that several
of them will strike you as possessing merit.”

General Browne accepted the invitation, though
somewhat unwillingly. It was evident he was not
to breathe freely or at ease till he left Woodville
Castle far behind him. He could not refuse his
friend’s invitation, however; and the less so, that he
was a little ashamed of the peevishness which he
had displayed toward his well-meaning entertainer.

The General, therefore, followed Lord Wood-
ville through several rooms, into a long gallery
hung with pictures, which the latter pointed out to
 36 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

his guest, telling the names, and giving some ac-
count, of the personages whose portraits presented
themselves in progression. General Browne was
but little interested in the details which these ac-
counts conveyed to him. They were, indeed, of the
kind which are usually found in an old family gal-
lery. Here was a cavalier who had ruined the es-
tate in the royal cause; there a fine lady who had
reinstated it by contracting a match with a wealthy
Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been
in danger for corresponding with the exiled court
at St.-Germain’s; here one who had taken arms for
William at the Revolution; and there a third that
had thrown his weight alternately into the scale of
Whig and Tory.

While Lord Woodville was cramming these
words into his guest’s ear, “‘against the stomach of
his sense,” they gained the middle of the gallery,
when he beheld General Browne suddenly start,
and assume an attitude of the utmost surprise, not
unmixed with fear, as his eyes were caught and
suddenly riveted by a portrait of an old lady in a
sacque, the fashionable dress of the end of the
17th century.

“There she is!” he exclaimed, ‘there she is, in
form and features, though inferior in demoniac
expression to the accursed hag who visited me last
night.”’

“If that be the case,” said the young nobleman,
“there can remain no longer any doubt of the hor-
rible reality of your apparition. That is the pic-
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 37

ture of a wretched ancestress of mine, of whose
crimes a black and fearful catalogue is recorded
in a family history in my charter-chest. The re-
cital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to
say, that in yon fatal apartment incest and unnat-
ural murder were committed. I will restore it to
the solitude to which the better judgment of those
who preceded me had consigned it; and never shall
anyone, so long as I can prevent it, be exposed to
a repetition of the supernatural horrors, which
could shake such courage as yours.”

Thus the friends, who had met with such glee,
parted in a very different mood Lord Woodville
to command the Tapestried Chamber to be un-
mantled and the door built up; and General Browne
to seek in some less beautiful country, and with
some less dignified friend, forgetfulness of the
painful night which he had passed in Woodville
Castle.
  THE OLD NURSE’S STORY
By Mrs. GASKELL

You know, my dears, that your mother was an or-
phan, and an only child; and I dare say you have
heard that your grandfather was a clergyman up in
Westmoreland, where I come from. I was just a
girl in the village school, when one day your grand-
mother came in to ask the mistress if there was any
scholar there who would do for a nurse-maid; and
mighty proud I was, I can tell ye, when the mistress
called me up, and spoke to my being a good girl at
my needle, and a steady, honest girl, and one whose
parents were very respectable, though they might
be poor. I thought I should like nothing better
than to serve the pretty young lady, who was blush-
ing as deep as I was, as she spoke of the coming
baby, and what I should have to do with it. How-
ever, I see you don’t care so much for this part of
my story, as for what you think is to come, so I'll
tell you at once. I was engaged and settled at the
parsonage before Miss Rosamond (that was the
baby, who is now your mother) was born. To be
sure, I had little enough to do with her when she
came, for she was never out of her mother’s arms,
and slept by her all night long; and proud enough
39
 40 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

was I sometimes when missis trusted her to me.
There never was such a baby before or since, though
you've all of you been fine enough in your turns;
but for sweet, winning ways, you’ve none of you
come up to your mother. She took after her mother,
who was a real lady born; a Miss Furnivall, a grand-
daughter of Lord Furnivall’s, in Northumberland.
I believe she had neither brother nor sister, and had
been brought up in my lord’s family till she had
married your grandfather, who was just a curate,
son to a shopkeeper in Carlisle but a clever, fine
gentleman as ever was and one who was a right-
down hard worker in his parish, which was very
wide, and scattered all abroad over the Westmore-
land Fells. When your mother, little Miss Rosa-
mond, was about four or five years old, both her
parents died in a fortnight one after the other.
Ah! that was a sad time. My pretty young mistress
and me was looking for another baby, when my
master came home from one of his long rides, wet
and tired, and took the fever he died of; and then
she never held up her head again, but just lived to
see her dead baby, and have it laid on her breast,
before she sighed away her life. My mistress had
asked me, on her death-bed, never to leave Miss
Rosamond; but if she had never spoken a word, I
would have gone with the little child to the end of
the world.

The next thing, and before we had well stilled
our sobs, the executors and guardians came to set-
tle the affairs. They were my poor young mistress’s
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 41

own cousin, Lord Furnivall, and Mr. Esthwaite, my
master’s brother, a shopkeeper in Manchester; not
so well-to-do then as he was afterward, and with
a large family rising about him. Well! I don’t
know if it were their settling, or because of a letter
my mistress wrote on her death-bed to her cousin,
my lord; but somehow it was settled that Miss Rosa-
mond and me were to go to Furnivall Manor House,
in Northumberland, and my lord spoke as if it had
been her mother’s wish that she should live with his
family, and as if he had no objections, for that one
or two more or less could make no difference in so
grand a household. So, though that was not the
way in which I should have wished the coming of
my bright and pretty pet to have been looked at 
who was like a sunbeam in any family, be it never
so grand I was well pleased that all the folks in
the Dale should stare and admire, when they heard
I was going to be young lady’s maid at my Lord
Furnivall’s at Furnivall Manor.

But I made a mistake in thinking we were to go
and live where my lord did. It turned out that the
family had left Furnivall Manor House fifty years
or more. I could not hear that my poor young mis-
tress had ever been there, though she had been
brought up in the family; and I was sorry for that,
for I should have liked Miss Rosamond’s youth to
have passed where her mother’s had been.

My lord’s gentleman, from whom I asked as
many questions as I durst, said that the Manor
House was at the foot of the Cumberland Fells, and
 42 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

a very grand place; that an old Miss Furnivall, a
great-aunt of my lord’s, lived there, with only a few
servants; but that it was a very healthy place, and
my lord had thought that it would suit Miss Rosa-
mond very well for a few years, and that her being
there might perhaps amuse his old aunt.

I was bidden by my lord to have Miss Rosamond’s
things ready by a certain day. He was a stern,
proud man, as they say all the Lords Furnivall
were; and he never spoke a word more than was
necessary. Folk did say he had loved my young
mistress; but that, because she knew that his father
would object, she would never listen to him, and
married Mr. Esthwaite; but I don’t know. He
never married, at any rate. But he never took much
notice of Miss Rosamond; which I thought he might
have done if he had cared for her dead mother. He
sent his gentleman with us to the Manor House,
telling him to join him at Newcastle that same eve-
ning; so there was no great length of time for him
to make us known to all the strangers before he,
too, shook us off; and we were left, two lonely young
things (I was not eighteen) in the great old Manor
House. It seems like yesterday that we drove there.
We had left our own dear parsonage very early,
and we had both cried as if our hearts would break,
though we were travelling in my lord’s carriage,
which I thought so much of once. And now it was
long past noon on a September day, and we stopped
to change horses for the last time at a little smoky
town, all full of colliers and miners. Miss Rosa-
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 43

mond had fallen asleep, but Mr. Henry told me to
waken her, that she might see the park and the
Manor House as we drove up. I thought it rather
a pity; but I did what he bade me, for fear he should
complain of me to my lord. We had left all signs
of a town, or even a village, and were then inside
the gates of a large wild park not like the parks
here in the south, but with rocks, and the noise of
running water, and gnarled thorn-trees, and old
oaks, all white and peeled with age.

The road went up about two miles, and then we
saw a great and stately house, with many trees close
around it, so close that in some places their branches
dragged against the walls when the wind blew; and
some hung broken down; for no one seemed to take
much charge of the place; to lop the wood, or to
keep the moss-covered carriage-way in order. Only
in front of the house all was clear. The great oval
drive was without a weed; and neither tree nor
creeper was allowed to grow over the long, many-
windowed front; at both sides of which a wing pror
jected, which were each the ends of other side fronts;
for the house, although it was so desolate, was even
grander than I expected. Behind it rose the Fells,
which seemed unenclosed and bare enough; and on
the left hand of the house, as you stood facing it,
was a little, old-fashioned flower-garden, as I found
out afterward. A door opened out upon it from
the west front; it had been scooped out of the thick,
dark wood for some old Lady Furnivall; but the
branches of the great forest-trees had grown and
 44 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

overshadowed it again, and there were very few
flowers that would live there at that time.

When we drove up to the great front entrance,
and went into the hall, I thought we should be lost
 it was so large, and vast, and grand. There was
a chandelier all of bronze, hung down from the mid-
dle of the ceiling; and I had never seen one before,
and looked at it all in amaze. Then, at one end of
the hall, was a great fireplace, as large as the sides
of the houses in my country, with massy andirons
and dogs to hold the wood; and by it were heavy,
old-fashioned sofas. At the opposite end of the
hall, to the left as you went in on the western side
 was an organ built into the wall, and so large that
it filled up the best part of that end. Beyond it, on
the same side, was a door; and opposite, on each
side of the fireplace, were also doors leading to the
east front; but those I never went through as long
as I stayed in the house, so I can’t tell you what lay
beyond.

The afternoon was closing in, and the hall, which
had no fire lighted in it, looked dark and gloomy,
but we did not stay there a moment. The old serv-
ant, who had opened the door for us, bowed to Mr.
Henry, and took us in through the door at the fur-
ther side of the great organ, and led us through
several smaller halls and passages into the west
drawing-room, where he said that Miss Furnivall
was sitting. Poor little Miss Rosamond held very
tight to me, as if she were scared and lost in that
great place; and as for myself, I was not much bet-
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 45

ter. The west drawing-room was very cheerful-
looking, with a warm fire in it, and plenty of good,
comfortable furniture about. Miss Furnivall was
an old lady not far from eighty, I should think, but
I do not know. She was thin and tall, and had a
face as full of fine wrinkles as if they had been
drawn all over it with a needle’s point. Her eyes
were very watchful, to make up, I suppose, for her
being so deaf as to be obliged to use a trumpet. Sit-
ting with her, working at the same great piece of
tapestry, was Mrs. Stark, her maid and companion,
and almost as old as she was. She had lived with
Miss Furnivall ever since they both were young,
and now she seemed more like a friend than a serv-
ant; she looked so cold, and gray, and stony, as if
she had never loved or cared for any one; and I
don’t suppose she did care for any one, except her
mistress; and, owing to the great deafness of the
latter, Mrs. Stark treated her very much as if she
were a child. Mr. Henry gave some message from
my lord, and then he bowed good-bye to us all, 
taking no notice of my sweet little Miss Rosamond’s
outstretched hand and left us standing there, be-
ing looked at by the two old ladies through their
spectacles.

I was right glad when they rung for the old foot-
man who had shown us in at first, and told him to
take us to our rooms. So we went out of that great
drawing-room, and into another sitting-room, and
out of that, and then up a great flight of stairs, and
along a broad gallery which was something like a
 46 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

library, having books all down one side, and win-
dows and writing-tables all down the other till we
came to our rooms, which I was not sorry to hear
were just over the kitchens; for I began to think I
should be lost in that wilderness of a house. ‘There
was an old nursery, that had been used for all the
little lords and ladies long ago, with a pleasant fire
burning in the grate, and the kettle boiling on the
hob, and tea-things spread out on the table; and out
of that room was the night-nursery, with a little crib
for Miss Rosamond close to my bed. And old
James called up Dorothy, his wife, to bid us wel-
come; and both he and she were so hospitable and
kind, that by-and-by Miss Rosamond and me felt
quite at home; and by the time tea was over, she
was sitting on Dorothy’s knee, and chattering away
as fast as her little tongue could go. I soon found
out that Dorothy was from Westmoreland, and that
bound her and me together, as it were; and I would
never wish to meet with kinder people than were old
James and his wife. James had lived pretty nearly
all his life in my lord’s family, and thought there
was no one so grand as they. He even looked down
a little on his wife; because, till he had married her,
she had never lived in any but a farmer’s household.
But he was very fond of her, as well he might be.
They had one servant under them, to do all the
rough work. Agnes they called her; and she and
me, and James and Dorothy, with Miss Furnivall
and Mrs. Stark, made up the family; always remem-
bering my sweet little Miss Rosamond! I used to
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 47

wonder what they had done before she came, they
thought so much of her now. Kitchen and drawing-
room, it was all the same. The hard, sad Miss
Furnivall, and the cold Mrs. Stark, looked pleased
when she came fluttering in like a bird, playing and
pranking hither and thither, with a continual mur-
mur, and pretty prattle of gladness. I am sure,
they were sorry many a time when she flitted away
into the kitchen, though they were too proud to ask
her to stay with them, and were a little surprised
at her taste; though to be sure, as Mrs. Stark said,
it was not to be wondered at, remembering what
stock her father had come of. The great, old ram-
bling house was a famous place for little Miss Rosa-
mond. She made expeditions all over it, with me
at her heels; all, except the east wing, which was
never opened, and whither we never thought of go-
ing. But in the western and northern part was many
a pleasant room; full of things that were curiosities
to us, though they might not have been to people
who had seen more. The windows were darkened
by the sweeping boughs of the trees, and the ivy
which had overgrown them; but, in the green gloom,
we could manage to see old china jars and carved
ivory boxes, and great heavy books, and, above all,
the old pictures!

Once, I remember, my darling would have Doro-
thy go with us to tell us who they all were; for they
were all portraits of some of my lord’s family,
though Dorothy could not tell us the names of every
one. We had gone through most of the rooms,
 48 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

when we came to the old state drawing-room over
the hall, and there was a picture of Miss Furnivall;
or, as she was called in those days, Miss Grace, for
she was the younger sister. Such a beauty she must
have been! but with such a set, proud look, and such
scorn looking out of her handsome eyes, with her
eyebrows just a little raised, as if she wondered how
any one could have the impertinence to look at her,
and her lip curled at us, as we stood there gazing.
She had a dress on, the like of which I had never
seen before, but it was all the fashion when she was
young: a hat of some soft white stuff like beaver,
pulled a little over her brows, and a beautiful plume
of feathers sweeping round it on one side; and her
gown of blue satin was open in front to a quilted
white stomacher.

‘Well, to be sure!” said I, when I had gazed my
fill. ‘‘Flesh is grass, they do say; but who would
have thought that Miss Furnivall had been such an
out-an-out beauty, to see her now?”

‘Yes,’ said Dorothy. ‘Folks change sadly. But
if what my master’s father used to say was true,
Miss Furnivall, the elder sister, was handsomer than
Miss Grace. Her picture is here somewhere; but,
if I show it you, you must never let on, even to
James, that you have seen it. Can the little lady
hold her tongue, think you?” asked she.

I was not so sure, for she was such a little sweet,
bold, open-spoken child, so I set her to hide herself;
and then I helped Dorothy to turn a great picture,
that leaned with its face toward the wall, and was
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 49

not hung up as the others were. To be sure, it beat
Miss Grace for beauty; and, I think, for scornful
pride, too, though in that matter it might be hard
to choose. I could have looked at it an hour, but
Dorothy seemed half frightened at having shown
it to me, and hurried it back again, and bade me run
and find Miss Rosamond, for that there were some
ugly places about the house, where she should like
ill for the child to go. I was a brave, high-spirited
girl, and thought little of what the old woman said,
for I liked hide-and-seek as well as any child in the
parish; so off I ran to find my little one.

As winter drew on, and the days grew shorter, I
was sometimes almost certain that I heard a noise
as if some one was playing on the great organ in the
hall. I did not hear it every evening; but, certainly,
I did very often, usually when I was sitting with
Miss Rosamond, after I had put her to bed, and
keeping quite still and silent in the bedroom. Then
I used to hear it booming and swelling away in the
distance. The first night, when I went down to my
supper, I asked Dorothy who had been playing mu-
sic. and James said very shortly that I was a gowk
to take the wind soughing among the trees for music;
but I saw Dorothy look at him very fearfully, and
Bessy, the kitchen-maid, said something beneath her
breath, and went quite white. I saw they did not
like my question, so I held my peace till I was with
Dorothy alone, when I knew I could get a good
deal out of her. So, the next day, I watched my
time, and I coaxed and asked her who it was that
 50 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

played the organ; for I knew that it was the organ
and not the wind well enough, for all I had kept
silence before James. But Dorothy had had her
lesson, I’ll warrant, and never a word could I get
from her. So then I tried Bessy, though I had al-
ways held my head rather above her, as I was evened
to James and Dorothy, and she was little better
than their servant. So she said I must never, never
tell; and if ever I told, I was never to say she had
told me; but it was a very strange noise, and she
had heard it many a time, but most of all on winter
nights, and before storms; and folks did say it was
the old lord playing on the great organ in the hall,
just as he used to do when he was alive; but who
the old lord was, or why he played, and why he
played on stormy winter evenings in particular, she
either could not or would not tell me. Well! I told
you I had a brave heart; and I thought it was rather
pleasant to have that grand music rolling about the
house, let who would be the player; for now it rose
above the great gusts of wind, and wailed and tri-
umphed just like a living creature, and then it fell
to a softness most complete, only it was always
music, and tunes, so it was nonsense to call it the
wind. I thought at first that it might be Miss Fur-
nivall who played, unknown to Bessy; but one day,
when I was in the hall by myself, I opened the organ
and peeped all about it and around it, as I had done
to the organ in Crosthwaite Church once before,
and I saw it was all broken and destroyed inside,
though it looked so brave and fine; and then, though
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 51

it was noon-day, my flesh began to creep a little, and
I shut it up, and run away pretty quickly to my own
bright nursery; and I did not like hearing the music
for some time after that, any more than James and
Dorothy did. All this time Miss Rosamond was
making herself more and more beloved. The old
ladies liked her to dine with them at their early din-
ner. James stood behind Miss Furnivall’s chair,
and I behind Miss Rosamond’s all in state: and after
dinner she would play about in a corner of the great
drawing-room as still as any mouse, while Miss
Furnivall slept, and I had my dinner in the kitchen.
But she was glad enough to come to me in the
nursery afterward; for, as she said, Miss Furnivall
was so sad, and Mrs. Stark so dull; but she and I
were merry enough; and by-and-by, I got not to
care for that weird rolling music, which did one no
harm, if we did not know where it came from.
That winter was very cold. In the middle of
October the frosts began, and lasted many, many
weeks. [ remember one day, at dinner, Miss Furni-
vall lifted up her sad, heavy eyes, and said to Mrs.
Stark, “I am afraid we shall have a terrible winter,”
in a strange kind of meaning way. But Mrs. Stark
pretended not to hear, and talked very loud of
something else. My little lady and I did not care
for the frost; not we! As long as it was dry, we
climbed up the steep brows behind the house, and
went up on the Fells, which were bleak and bare
enough, and there we ran races in the fresh, sharp
air; and once we came down by a new path, that took
 52 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

us past the two old gnarled holly-trees, which grew
about half-way down by the east side of the house.
But the days grew shorter and shorter, and the old
lord, if it was he, played away, more and more
stormily and sadly, on the great organ. One Sun-
day afternoon it must have been toward the end
of November I asked Dorothy to take charge of
little missy when she came out of the drawing-room,
after Miss Furnivall had had her nap; for it was
too cold to take her with me to church, and yet I
wanted to go. And Dorothy was glad enough to
promise, and was so fond of the child, that all
seemed well; and Bessy and I set off very briskly,
though the sky hung heavy and black over the white
earth, as if the night had never fully gone away, and
the air, though still, was very biting and keen.
‘“‘We shall have a fall of snow,” said Bessy to me.
And sure enough, even while we were in church, it
came down thick, in great large flakes so thick, it
almost darkened the windows. It had stopped
snowing before we came out, but it lay soft, thick,
and deep beneath our feet, as we tramped home.
Before we got to the hall, the moon rose, and I
think it was lighter then what with the moon, and
what with the white dazzling snow than it had
been when we went to church, between two and
three o’clock. I have not told you that Miss Furni-
vall and Mrs. Stark never went to church; they used
to read the prayers together, in their quiet, gloomy
way; they seemed to feel the Sunday very long with-
out their tapestry-work to be busy at. So when I
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 53

went to Dorothy in the kitchen, to fetch Miss Rosa-
mond and take her upstairs with me, I did not much
wonder when the old woman told me that the ladies
had kept the child with them, and that she had never
come to the kitchen, as I had bidden her, when she
was tired of behaving pretty in the drawing-room.
So I took off my things and went to find her, and
bring her to her supper in the nursery. But when
I went into the best drawing-room, there sat the two
old ladies, very still and quiet, dropping out a word
now and then, but looking as if nothing so bright
and merry as Miss Rosamond had ever been near
them. Still I thought she might be hiding from me;
it was one of her pretty ways, and that she had
persuaded them to look as if they knew nothing
about her; so I went softly peeping under this sofa,
and behind that chair, making believe I was sadly
frightened at not finding her.

‘““What’s the matter, Hester?” said Mrs. Stark
sharply. I don’t know if Miss Furnivall had seen
me, for, as I told you, she was very deaf, and she
sat quite still, idly staring into the fire, with her
hopeless face. “I’m only looking for my little Rosy
Posy,” replied J, still thinking that the child was
there, and near me, though I could not see her.

‘‘Miss Rosamond is not here,’”’ said Mrs. Stark.
“She went away, more than an hour ago, to find
Dorothy.” And she, too, turned and went on look-
ing into the fire.

My heart sank at this, and I began to wish I had
never left my darling. I went back to Dorothy and
 54 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

told her. James was gone out for the day, but she,
and me, and Bessy took lights, and went up into the
nursery first; and then we roamed over the great,
large house, calling and entreating Miss Rosamond
to come out of her hiding-place, and not frighten us
to death in that way. But there was no answer; no
sound.

“Oh!” said I, at last, ‘can she have got into the
east wing and hidden there ?”’

But Dorothy said it was not possible, for that she
herself had never been tn there; that the doors were
always locked, and my lord’s steward had the keys,
she believed; at any rate, neither she nor James had
ever seen them; so I said I would go back, and see
if, after all, she was not hidden in the drawing-room,
unknown to the old ladies; and if I found her there,
I said, I would whip her well for the fright she had
given me; but I never meant to do it. Well, I went
back to the west drawing-room, and I told Mrs.
Stark we could not find her anywhere, and asked for
leave to look all about the furniture there, for I
thought now that she might have fallen asleep in
some warm, hidden corner; but no! we looked 
Miss Furnivall got up and looked, trembling all over
 and she was nowhere there; then we set off again,
every one in the house, and looked in all the places
we had searched before, but we could not find her.
Miss Furnivall shivered and shook so much, that
Mrs. Stark took her back into the warm drawing-
room; but not before they had made me promise to
bring her to them when she was found. Well-a-day!
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 55

I began to think she never would be found, when I
bethought me to look into the great front court, all
covered with snow. I was upstairs when I looked
out; but, it was such clear moonlight, I could see,
quite plain, two little footprints, which might be
traced from the hall-door and round the corner of
the east wing. I don’t know how I got down, but
I tugged open the great stiff hall-door, and, throw-
ing the skirt of my gown over my head for a cloak,
I ran out. I turned the east corner, and there a
black shadow fell on the snow; but when I came
again into the moonlight, there were the little foot-
marks going up up to the Fells. It was bitter
cold; so cold, that the air almost took the skin off
my face as I ran; but I ran on, crying to think how
my poor little darling must be perished and fright-
ened. I was within sight of the holly-trees, when I
saw a shepherd coming down the hill, bearing some-
thing in his arms wrapped in his maud. He shouted
to me, and asked me if I had lost a bairn; and, when
I could not speak for crying, he bore toward me, and
I saw my wee bairnie, lying still, and white, and stiff
in his arms, as if she had been dead. He told me
he had been up the Fells to gather in his sheep, be-
fore the deep cold of night came on, and that under
the holly-trees (black marks on the hillside, where
no other bush was for miles around) he had found
my little lady my lamb my queen my darling 
stiff and cold in the terrible sleep which is frost-be-
gotten. Oh! the joy and the tears of having her in
my arms once again! for I would not let him carry
 56 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

her; but took her, maud and all, into my own arms,
and held her near my own warm neck and heart,
and felt the life stealing slowly back again into her
little gentle limbs. But she was still insensible when
we reached the hall, and I had no breath for speech.
We went in by the kitchen-door.

“Bring the warming-pan,” said I; and I carried
her upstairs, and began undressing her by the nur-
sery fire, which Bessy had kept up. I called my little
lammie all the sweet and playful names I could think
of, even while my eyes were blinded by my tears;
and at last, oh! at length she opened her large blue
eyes. Then I put her into her warm bed, and sent
Dorothy down to tell Miss Furnivall that all was
well; and I made up my mind to sit by my darling’s
bedside the live-long night. She fell away into a
soft sleep as soon as her pretty head had touched
the pillow, and I watched by her till morning light;
when she wakened up bright and clear or so I
thought at first and, my dears, so I think now.

She said, that she had fancied that she should like
to go to Dorothy, for that both the old ladies were
asleep, and it was very dull in the drawing-room;
and that, as she was going through the west lobby,
she saw the snow through the high window falling 
falling soft and steady; but she wanted to see it
lying pretty and white on the ground; so she made
her way into the great hall, and then, going to the
window, she saw it bright and soft upon the drive;
but while she stood there, she saw a little girl, not
so old as she was, ‘‘but so pretty,’ said my darling,
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 57

“and this little girl beckoned to me to come out;
and oh, she was so pretty and so sweet, I could not
choose but go.’’ And then this other little girl had
taken her by the hand, and side by side the two had
gone round the east corner.

‘‘Now you are a naughty little girl, and telling
stories,’ said I. “What would your good mamma,
that is in heaven, and never told a story in her life,
say to her little Rosamond, if she heard her and I
dare say she does telling stories !”’

‘Indeed, Hester,’”’ sobbed out my child, “I’m tell
ing you true. Indeed I am.”

‘Don’t tell me!”’ said I, very stern. “I tracked
you by your footmarks through the snow; there
were only yours to be seen: and if you had had a
little girl to go hand-in-hand with you up the hill,
don’t you think the footprints would have gone
along with yours ?”

“T can’t help it, dear, dear Hester,’’ said she, cry-
ing, “if they did not; I never looked at her feet, but
she held my hand fast and tight in her little one,
and it was very, very cold. She took me up the Fell-
path, up to the holly-trees; and there I saw a lady
weeping and crying; but when she saw me, she
hushed her weeping, and smiled very proud and
grand, and took me on her knee, and began to lull
me to sleep; and that’s all, Hester but that is true;
and my dear mamma knows it 1s,’’ said she, crying.
So I thought the child was in a fever, and pretended
to believe her, as she went over her story over and
over again, and always the same. At last Dorothy
 58 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

knocked at the door with Miss Rosamond’s break-
fast; and she told me the old ladies were down in
the eating parlor, and that they wanted to speak to
me. They had both been into the night-nursery the
evening before, but it was after Miss Rosamond was
asleep; so they had only looked at her not asked
me any questions.

“T shall catch it,” thought I to myself, as I went
along the north gallery. “And yet,” I thought,
taking courage, “it was in their charge I left her;
and it’s they that’s to blame for letting her steal
away unknown and unwatched.” So I went in
boldly, and told my story. I told it all to Miss
Furnivall, shouting it close to her ear; but when |
came to the mention of the other little girl out in
the snow, coaxing and tempting her out, and wiling
her up to the grand and beautiful lady by the holly-
tree, she threw her arms up her old and withered
arms - and cried aloud, “Oh! Heaven forgive!
Have mercy!”

Mrs. Stark took hold of her; roughly enough, I
thought; but she was past Mrs. Stark’s management,
and spoke to me, in a kind of wild warning and
authority.

‘‘Hester; keep her from that child! It will lure
her to her death! That evil child! Tell her it is
a wicked, naughty child.” Then, Mrs. Stark hur-
ried me out of the room; where, indeed, I was glad
enough to go; but Miss Furnivall kept shrieking out,
“Oh, have mercy! Wilt Thou never forgive! It
is many a long year ago’’ 
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 59

I was very uneasy in my mind after that. I durst
never leave Miss Rosamond, night or day, for fear
lest she might slip off again, after some fancy or
other; and all the more, because I thought I could
make out that Miss Furnivall was crazy, from their
odd ways about her; and I was afraid lest something
of the same kind (which might be in the family,
you know) hung over my darling. And the great
frost never ceased all this time; and, whenever it
was a more stormy night than usual, between the
gusts, and through the wind, we heard the old lord
playing on the great organ. But, old lord, or not,
wherever Miss Rosamond went, there I followed;
for my love for her, pretty, helpless orphan, was
stronger than my fear for the grand and terrible
sound. Besides, it rested with me to keep her cheer-
ful and merry, as beseemed her age. So we played
together, and wandered together, here and there,
and everywhere; for I never dared to lose sight of
her again in that large and rambling house. And
so it happened, that one afternoon, not long before
Christmas day, we were playing together on the
billiard-table in the great hall (not that we knew
the right way of playing, but she liked to roll the
smooth ivory balls with her pretty hands, and I
liked to do whatever she did) ; and, by-and-by, with-
out our noticing it, it grew dusk indoors, though it
was light in the open air, and I was thinking of tak-
ing her back into the nursery, when all of a sudden,
she cried out

 
 60 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

‘“‘Look, Hester! look! there is my poor little girl
out in the snow!”

I turned toward the long narrow windows, and
there, sure enough, [ saw a little girl, less than my
Miss Rosamond dressed all unfit to be out-of-
doors such a bitter night  crying, and beating
against the window-panes, as if she wanted to be let
in. She seemed to sob and wail, till Miss Rosa-
mond could bear it no longer, and was flying to the
door to open it, when, all of a sudden, and close
upon us, the great organ pealed out so loud and
thundering, it fairly made me tremble; and all the
more, when [ remembered that, even in the stillness
of that dead-cold weather, I had heard no sound
of little battering hands upon the window-glass, al-
though the phantom child had seemed to put forth
all its force; and, although I had seen it wail and
cry, no faintest touch of sound had fallen upon my
ears. Whether I remembered all this at the very
moment, I do not know; the great organ sound had
so stunned me into terror; but this I know, I caught
up Miss Rosamond before she got the hall-door
opened, and clutched her, and carried her away,
kicking and screaming, into the large bright kitchen,
where Dorothy and Agnes were busy with their
mince-pies.

‘“‘What is the matter with my sweet one?”’ cried
Dorothy, as I bore in Miss Rosamond, who was
sobbing as if her heart would break.

‘She won’t let me open the door for my little girl
to come in; and she’ll die if she is out on the Fells
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 61

all night. Cruel, naughty Hester,” she said, slap-
ping me; but she might have struck harder, for I
had seen a look of ghastly terror on Dorothy’s
face, which made my very blood run cold.

“Shut the back-kitchen door fast, and bolt it
well,’ said she to Agnes. She said no more; she
gave me raisins and almonds to quiet Miss Rosa-
mond; but she sobbed about the little girl in the
snow, and would not touch any of the good things.
I was thankful when she cried herself to sleep in
bed. Then I stole down to the kitchen, and told
Dorothy I had made up my mind. I would carry
my darling back to my father’s house in Apple-
thwaite; where, 1f we lived humbly, we lived at
peace. I said I had been frightened enough with
the old lord’s organ-playing; but now that I had
seen for myself this little moaning child, all decked
out as no child in the neighborhood could be, beat-
ing and battering to get in, yet always without any
sound or noise with the dark wound on its right
shoulder; and that Miss Rosamond had known it
again for the phantom that had nearly lured her to
her death (which Dorothy knew was true) ; I could
stand it no longer.

I saw Dorothy change color once or twice. When
I had done, she told me she did not think I could
take Miss Rosamond with me, for that she was my
lord’s ward, and I had no right over her; and she
asked me would [ leave the child that I was so fond
of just for sounds and sights that could do me no
harm; and that they had all had to get used to in
 62 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

their turns? I was all in a hot, trembling passion;
and I said it was very well for her to talk, that
knew what these sights and noises betokened, and
that had, perhaps, had something to do with the
spectre child while it was alive. And I taunted her
so, that she told me all she knew at last; and then I
wished I had never been told, for it only made me
more afraid than ever.

She said she had heard the tale from old neigh-
bors that were alive when she was first married;
when folks used to come to the hall sometimes, be-
fore it had got such a bad name on the countryside;
it might not be true, or it might, what she had been
told.

The old lord was Miss Furnivall’s father Miss
Grace, as Dorothy called her, for Miss Maude was
the elder, and Miss Furnivall by rights. The old
lord was eaten up with pride. Such a proud man
was never seen or heard of; and his daughters were
like him. No one was good enough to wed them,
although they had choice enough; for they were the
great beauties of their day, as I had seen by their
portraits, where they hung in the state drawing-
room. But, as the old saying is, ‘“‘Pride will have a
fall’; and these two haughty beauties fell in love
with the same man, and he no better than a foreign
musician, whom their father had down from Lon-
don to play music with him at the Manor House.
For above all things, next to his pride, the old lord
loved music. He could play on nearly every instru-
ment that ever was heard of; and it was a strange
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 63

thing it did not soften him; but he was a fierce dou,
old man, and had broken his wife’s heart with his
cruelty, they said. He was mad after music, and
would pay any money for it. So he got this for-
eigner to come; who made such beautiful music, that
they said the very birds on the trees stopped their
singing to listen. And, by degrees, this foreign gen-
tleman got such a hold over the old lord, that noth-
ing would serve him but that he must come every
year; and it was he that had the great organ brought
from Holland, and built up in the hall, where it
stood now. He taught the old lord to play on it;
but many and many a time, when Lord Furnivall
was thinking of nothing but his fine organ, and his
finer music, the dark foreigner was walking abroad
in the woods with one of the young ladies; now Miss
Maude, and then Miss Grace.

Miss Maude won the day and carried off the
prize, such as it was; and he and she were married,
all unknown to any one; and, before he made his
next yearly visit, she had been confined of a little
girl at a farm-house on the Moors, while her father
and Miss Grace thought she was away at Doncaster
Races. But though she was a wife and a mother,
she was not a bit softened, but as haughty and as
passionate as ever; and perhaps more so, for she
was jealous of Miss Grace, to whom her foreign
husband paid a deal of court by way of blinding
her as he told his wife. But Miss Grace triumphed
over Miss Maude, and Miss Maude grew fiercer
and fiercer, both with her husband and with her
 64 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

sister; and the former who could easily shake off
what was disagreeable, and hide himself in foreign
countries went away a month before his usual time
that summer, and half threatened that he would
never come back again. Meanwhile, the little girl
was left at the farm-house, and her mother used to
have her horse saddled and gallop wildly over the
hills to see her once every week, at the very least;
for where she loved she loved, and where she hated
she hated. And the old lord went on playing 
playing on his organ; and the servants thought the
sweet music he made had soothed down his awful
temper, of which (Dorothy said) some terrible tales
could be told. He grew infirm too, and had to walk
with a crutch; and his son that was the present
Lord Furnivall’s father   was with the army in
America, and the other son at sea: so Miss Maude
had it pretty much her own way, and she and Miss
Grace grew colder and bitterer to each other every
day; till at last they hardly ever spoke, except when
the old lord was by. The foreign musician came
again the next summer, but it was for the last time;
for they led him such a life with their jealousy and
their passions, that he grew weary, and went away,
and never was heard of again. And Miss Maude,
who had always meant to have her marriage ac-
knowledged when her father should be dead, was
left now a deserted wife, whom nobody knew to
have been married, with a child that she dared not
own, although she loved it to distraction; living with
a father whom she feared, and a sister whom she
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 65

hated. When the next summer passed over, and
the dark foreigner never came, both Miss Maude
and Miss Grace grew gloomy and sad; they had a
haggard look about them, though they looked hand-
some as ever. But, by-and-by, Miss Maude bright-
ened; for her father grew more and more infirm,
and more than ever carried away by his music; and
she and Miss Grace lived almost entirely apart,
having separate rooms, the one on the west side,
Miss Maude on the east those very rooms which
were now shut up. So she thought she might have
her little girl with her, and no one need ever know
except those who dared not speak about it, and were
bound to believe that it was, as she said, a cottager’s
child she had taken a fancy to. All this, Dorothy
said, was pretty well known; but what came after-
ward no one knew, except Miss Grace and Mrs.
Stark, who was even then her maid, and much more
of a friend to her than ever her sister had been.
But the servants supposed, from words that were
dropped, that Miss Maude had triumphed over
Miss Grace, and told her that all the time the dark
foreigner had been mocking her with pretended love
 he was her own husband. The color left Miss
Grace’s cheek and lips that very day forever, and
she was heard to say many a time that sooner or
later she would have her revenge; and Mrs. Stark
was forever spying about the east rooms.

One fearful night, just after the New Year had
come in, when the snow was lying thick and deep,
and the flakes were still falling fast enough to
 66 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

blind any one who might be out and abroad there
was a great and violent noise heard, and the old
lord’s voice above all, cursing and swearing awfully,
and the cries of a little child, and the proud defiance
of a fierce woman, and the sound of a blow, and a
dead stillness, and moans and wailings, dying away
on the hillside! ‘Then the old lord summoned all
his servants, and told them, with terrible oaths, and
words more terrible, that his daughter had disgraced
herself, and that he had turned her out of doors 
her, and her child and that if ever they gave her
help, or food, or shelter, he prayed that they might
never enter heaven. And, all the while, Miss Grace
stood by him, white and still as any stone; and, when
he had ended, she heaved a great sigh, as much as
to say her work was done, and her end was accom-
plished. But the old lord never touched his organ
again, and died within the year; and no wonder! for,
on the morrow of that wild and fearful night, the
shepherds, coming down the Fell side, found Miss
Maude sitting, all crazy and smiling, under the holly-
trees, nursing a dead child, with a terrible mark on
its right shoulder. ‘But that was not what killed
it,’ said Dorothy: “it was the frost and the cold.
Every wild creature was in its hole, and every beast
in its fold, while the child and its mother were turned
out to wander on the Fells! And now you know
all! and I wonder if you are less frightened now!”

I was more frightened than ever; but Ff said I was
not. I wished Miss Rosamond and myself well out
of that dreadful house forever; but I would not
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 67

leave her, and I dared not take her away. But oh,
how I watched her, and guarded her! We bolted
the doors, and shut the window-shutters fast, an
hour or more before dark, rather than leave them
open five minutes too late. But my little lady still
heard the weird child crying and moaning; and not
all we could do or say could keep her from wanting
to go to her, and let her in from the cruel wind and
the snow. All this time I kept away from Miss
Furnivall and Mrs. Stark, as much as ever I could;
for I feared them I knew no good could be about
them, with their gray, hard faces, and their dreamy
eyes, looking back into the ghastly years that were
gone. But, even in my fear, I had a kind of pity
for Miss Furnivall, at least. Those gone down to
the pit can hardly have a more hopeless look than
that which was ever on her face. At last I even got
so sorry for her who never said a word but what
was quite forced from her that I prayed for her;
and I taught Miss Rosamond to pray for one who
had done a deadly sin; but often when she came to
those words, she would listen, and start up from her
knees, and say, “I hear my little girl plaining and
crying, very sad, oh, let her in, or she will die!”
One night, Jjust after New Year’s Day had come
at last, and the long winter had taken a turn, as I
hoped I heard the west drawing-room bell ring
three times, which was the signal for me. I would not
leave Miss Rosamond alone, for all she was asleep 
for the old lord had been playing wilder than ever
 and I feared lest my darling should waken to hear
 68 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the spectre child; see her I knew she could not. I
had fastened the windows too well for that. So I
took her out of her bed, and wrapped her up in
such outer clothes as were most handy, and carried
her down to the drawing-room, where the old ladies
sat at their tapestry-work as usual. They looked
up when [ came in, and Mrs. Stark asked, quite
astounded, ‘‘Why did I bring Miss Rosamond there,
out of her warm bed?” I had begun to whisper,
‘Because I was afraid of her being tempted out
while I was away, by the wild child in the snow,”
when she stopped me short (with a glance at Miss
Furnivall), and said Miss Furnivall wanted me to
undo some work she had done wrong, and which
neither of them could see to unpick. So I laid my
pretty dear on the sofa, and sat down on a stool by
them, and hardened my heart against them, as I
heard the wind rising and howling.

Miss Rosamond slept on sound, for all the wind
blew so; and Miss Furnivall said never a word, nor
looked round when the gusts shook the windows.
All at once she started up to her full height, and put
up one hand, as if to bid us listen.

“T hear voices!” said she. “I hear terrible
screams lI hear my father’s voice !”’

Just at that moment my darling wakened with a
sudden start: ‘‘My little girl is crying, oh, how she
is crying!’ and she tried to get up and go to her,
but she got her feet entangled in the blanket, and I
caught her up; for my flesh had begun to creep at
these noises, which they heard while we could catch
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 69

no sound. In a minute or two the noises came, and
gathered fast, and filled our ears; we, too, heard
voices and screams, and no longer heard the win-
ter’s wind that raged abroad. Mrs. Stark looked
at me, and I at her, but we dared not speak. Sud-
denly Miss Furnivall went toward the door, out into
the ante-room, through the west lobby, and opened
the door into the great hall. Mrs. Stark followed,
and I durst not be left, though my heart almost
stopped beating for fear. I wrapped my darling
tight in my arms, and went out with them. In the
hall the screams were louder than ever; they seemed
to come from the east wing nearer and nearer 
close on the other side of the locked-up doors close
behind them. Then I noticed that the great bronze
chandelier seemed all alight, though the hall was
dim, and that a fire was blazing in the vast hearth-
place, though it gave no heat; and I shuddered up
with terror, and folded my darling closer to me.
But as I did so the east door shook, and she, sud-
denly struggling to get free from me, cried, “Hes-
ter! I must go. My little girl is there! I hear her;
she is coming! Hester, I must go!”

I held her tight with all my strength; with a set
will, I held her. If I had died, my hands would
have grasped her still, I was so resolved in my mind.
Miss Furnivall stood listening, and paid no regard
to my darling, who had got down to the ground, and
whom I, upon my knees now, was holding with both
my arms clasped round her neck; she still striving
and crying to get free.
 70 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

All at once, the east door gave way with a thun-
dering crash, as if torn open in a violent passion,
and there came into that broad and mysterious light
the figure of a tall old man, with gray hair and
gleaming eyes. He drove before him, with many a
relentless gesture of abhorrence, a stern and beau-
tiful woman, with a little child clinging to her dress.

“O Hester! Hester!” cried Miss Rosamond;
“it’s the lady! the lady below the holly-trees; and
my little girl is with her. Hester! Hester! let me
go to her; they are drawing me to them. I feel them
 I feel them. I must go!”

Again she was almost convulsed by her efforts to
get away; but I held her tighter and tighter, till I
feared I should do her a hurt; but rather that than
let her go toward those terrible phantoms. They
passed along toward the great hall-door, where the
winds howled and ravened for their prey; but be-
fore they reached that, the lady turned; and I could
see that she defied the old man with a fierce and
proud defiance; but then she quailed and then she
threw up her arms wildly and piteously to save her
child her little child from a blow from his up-
lifted crutch.

And Miss Rosamond was torn as by a power
stronger than mine, and writhed in my arms, and
sobbed (for by this time the poor darling was grow-
ing faint).

‘“They want me to go with them on to the Fells 
they are drawing me to them. Oh, my little girl!
I would come, but cruel, wicked Hester holds me
 THE OLD NURSE’S STORY 71

very tight.’”’ But when she saw the uplifted crutch,
she swooned away, and I thanked God for it. Just
at this moment when the tall old man, his hair
streaming as in the blast of a furnace, was going to
strike the little shrinking child Miss Furnivall, the
old woman by my side, cried out, ‘‘O father! father!
spare the little innocent child!” But just then I
saw we all saw another phantom shape itself,
and grow clear out of the blue and misty light that
filled the hall; we had not seen her till now, for it
was another lady who stood by the old man, with
a look of -relentless hate and triumphant scorn.
That figure was very beautiful to look upon, with
a soft, white hat drawn down over the proud brows,
and a red and curling lip. It was dressed in an open
robe of blue satin. I had seen that figure before.
It was the likeness of Miss Furnivall in her youth;
and the terrible phantoms moved on, regardless of
old Miss Furnivall’s wild entreaty, and the up-
lifted crutch fell on the right shoulder of the little
child, and the younger sister looked on, stony, and
deadly serene. But at that moment, the dim lights,
and the fire that gave no heat, went out of them-
selves, and Miss Furnivall lay at our feet stricken
down by the palsy death-stricken.

Yes! she was carried to her bed that night, never
to rise again. She lay with her face to the wall,
muttering low, but muttering always: ‘‘Alas! alas!
what is done in youth can never be undone in age!
What is done in youth can never be undone in age!”
  THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS;
OR, THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN

By Epwarp BuLWER-LyTTON

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.”

‘Really haunted ? and by what ? ghosts ?”’

‘“‘Well, I can’t answer these questions; all I know
is this six weeks ago I and my wife 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.”

‘What did you see?”

“‘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

73
 714 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 though she be
 and allowed, after the third night, that it was im-
possible to stay a fourth in that house. Accord-
ingly, 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.’

“ “They who ?’” I asked, affecting a smile.

** ‘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 serv-
ant; but I know they will be the death of me some
day. I don’t care I’m old, and must die soon any-
how; and then [ shall be with them, and in this house
still.’ Ihe woman spoke with so dreary a calmness,
that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my
conversing with her farther. I paid for my week,
and too happy were I and my wife to get off so
cheaply.”’

“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.”’
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 75

My friend gave me the address; and when we
parted, I walked straight toward the house thus in-
dicated.

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?”

“Yes, I heard it was to let.”

‘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.”

“Would not! and why ?”

“The house is haunted; and the old woman who
kept it was found dead in her bed, with her eyes
wide open. They say the devil strangled her.”

‘‘Pooh!| you speak of Mr. J Is he the
owner of the house?”

“Ves,”

‘‘Where does he live ?”’

“In G Street, No.  .”

‘What is he ? in any business ?”

“No, sir nothing particular; a single gentle-
man.’

I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his lib-
eral information, and proceeded to Mr. J , in

 

 

 

 
 76 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 in-
telligent countenance and prepossessing manners.

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 IJ 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
} could ever induce to remain in the house. Indeed,
since her death, which was sudden, and the coro-

 

 

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 77

ner’s inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neigh-
borhood, I have so despaired of finding any person
to take charge of it, much more a tenant, that I
would willingly let it rent-free for a year to anyone
who would pay its rates and taxes.”

“How long is it since the house acquired this
sinister character ?”’

“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 Com-
pany. I returned to England last year, on inherit-
ing the fortune of an uncle, amongst whose posses-
sions was the house in question. I found it shut up
and uninhabited. 1 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 repainting and roofing it added to its old-fash-
ioned 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 serv-
ants: they all left the house the next day, and al-
though they deponed that they had all seen some-
thing different, that something was equally terrible
to all. I really could not in conscience sue, or 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
 78 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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.”’

‘‘Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass
a night in that house?”

“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 and your
nerves unusually strong, I honestly add, that I ad-
vise you not to pass a night in that house.”

““My interest is 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.”

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.

Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached
home, I summoned my confidential servant a young
umn of gay spirits, fearless temper, and as free

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 79

from superstitious prejudice as any one I could think

of.

Ge

 

,” 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 head-
less 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?”

‘Oh, sir! pray trust me,” answered / , grin-
ning with delight. |

‘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 English-
men.”

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 din-
ing, read, as is my habit. The volume I selected
was one of Macaulay’s Essays. I thought to myself.
 80 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

that I would take the book with me; there was so
much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life
in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote
against the influences of superstitious fancy.

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book
into my pocket, and strolled leisurely toward 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.

It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky some-
what 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.

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant
opened with a cheerful smile.

“All right, sir, and very comfortable.”

“Oh!” said I, rather disappointedly; “have you
not seen nor heard anything remarkable ?”

“Well, sir, I must own I have heard something
queer.”

‘What ? what P”

‘“The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once
or twice small noises like whispers close at my ear 
nothing more.”

“You are not at all frightened ?”

“T! 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.
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 81

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 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 winebibbers.
For the rest we discovered nothing of interest.
There was a gloomy little back-yard, 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.
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 foot-
print the foot of a child; the impression was too

 
 82 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 return-
ing. 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.

‘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.

EF , coming back, had not observed the move-
ment 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. ‘Put back that chair opposite to me,”’ said I
to F -;; “put it back to the wall.”

F obeyed. “Was that you, sir?” said he,
turning abruptly.

‘‘I what!”’

 

 

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 83

“Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on
the shoulder yjust here.”

“No, said I. “But we have jugglers present,
and though we may not discover their tricks, we
shall catch them before they frighten us.”

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 up-stairs. 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 inconsider-
able space, was opposite to the fire, which burned
clear and bright; a door in the wall to the left, be-
tween 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 fire-place was a
cupboard, without locks, flush with the wall, and
covered with the same dull-brown paper. We exam-
ined these cupboards only hooks to suspend female
dresses nothing else; we sounded the walls evi-
dently solid the outer walls of the building. Hav-
ing 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 reconnoitre. In the landing-place there was an-

 
 84 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

other 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 it is a ”

Before he had finished his sentence, the door,
which neither of us then was touching, opened qui-
etly of itself. We looked at each other a single in-
stant. The same thought seized both some human
agency might be detected here. I rushed in first,
my servant followed. A small blank dreary room
without furniture a few empty boxes and hampers
in a corner a small window the shutters closed
 not even a fireplace no other door but 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 hid-
den. As we stood gazing round, the door by which
we had entered closed as quietly as it had before
opened: we were imprisoned.

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 that trumpery
door with a kick of my foot.”

“Try first if it will open to your hand,”’ said I,
shaking off the vague apprehension that had seized
me, “while I open the shutters and see what 1s
without.”

I unbarred the shutters the window looked on
the little back-yard I have before described; there
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 85

was no ledge without nothing but sheer descent.
No man getting out of that window would have
found any footing till he had fallen on the stones
below.

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 evinc-
ing any superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure,
and even gaiety amidst circumstances so extraordi-
nary compelled my admiration, and made me con-
gratulate 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 stick. 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 ven-
omous influence hostile to human life. The door
now very slowly 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

 
 86 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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, ex-
ceedingly brilliant and vivid; rested a moment on a
bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished. We ap-
proached the bed and examined it a _ half-tester,
such as is commonly found in attics devoted to sery-
ants. On the drawers that stood near it we per-
ceived 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 suf-
ficient 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
 yjust before us. We went through the other attics
(in all four), the footfall still preceding us. Noth-
ing 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.

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
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 87

himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was im-
patient 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.

The letters were short they were dated; the
dates exactly thirty-five years ago. They were evi-
dently 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
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 under-
lined 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 ”

 
 88 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

I put down the letters, and began to muse over
their contents.

Fearing, however, that the train of thought into
which I fell might unsteady my nerves, I fully deter-
mined to keep my mind in a fit state to cope with
whatever of marvellous 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 hearth-rug, 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 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 the 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 HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 89

the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were
now heard at the bed-head; my servant called out,
“Ts that you, sir?”

“No; be on your guard.”

The dog now roused himself and sat on his
haunches, his ears moving quickly backward and for-
ward. He kept his eyes fixed on me with a look
so strange that he concentrated 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 [ saw horror in the human face, it was then.
I should not have recognized him had we met in the
streets, 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 to 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.

It was but for a moment that I remained unde-
cided 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.
 90 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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
THING, whatever it was, which had so scared him,
obtained ingress except through my own chamber?

I returned to my room, shut and locked the door
that 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 away 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 cer-
tainly 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 if in the
madness of hydrophobia, I left him alone, placed
my weapons on the table beside the fire, seated my-
self, and recommenced my Macaulay.

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.

It was a Darkness shaping itself out of the air in
very undefined outline. I cannot say it was of a
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 91

human form, and yet it had more resemblance to a
human form, or rather shadow, than anything else.
As it stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air
and the light around it, its dimensions seemed gigan-
tic, 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 seemed to distinguish
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.

I strove to speak my voice utterly failed me; I
could only think to myself, “Is this fear? it is not
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 my volition that sense of utter inade-
quacy to cope with a force beyond men’s, which one
may feel physically in a storm at sea, in a conflagra-
tion, or when confronting some terrible wild beast,
or rather, perhaps, the shark of the ocean, I felt
morally. 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 men.
 92 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 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 toward the weapon on the
table: as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I re-
ceived 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. 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. JI 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 LIGHT. 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
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 93

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.

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. There then came the same three loud
measured knocks I had heard at the bed-head before
this extraordinary drama had commenced.

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 its 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
 94 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 toward me, but to the door; it seemed listen-
ing, 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.

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, impal-
pable simulacra phantasms; and there was some-
thing 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 corpselike aspect and
ghostlike stillness of the flitting wearer. Just as the
male 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 if 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 gone. And
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 95

again the bubbles of light shot, and sailed, and un-
dulated, growing thicker and thicker and more
wildly confused in their movements.

The closet door to the right of the fireplace now
opened, and from the aperture there came the form
of a woman, aged. In her hand she held letters 
the very letters over which I had seen the 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 shoul-
der 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.

Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on
that my eyes were intently fixed, till again eyes grew
out of the Shadow wmalignant, serpent-eyes. And
the bubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their
disordered, 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:
larve so bloodless and so hideous that I can in no
way describe them except to remind the reader of
 96 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the swarming life which the solar microscope brings
before his eyes in a drop of water things transpar-
ent, 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, swarm-
ing 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 concentred 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 around me, I was aware that
there was a WILL, and a will of intense, creative
working evil, which might crush down my own.

The pale atmosphere in the room began now to
redden as if in the air of some near conflagration.
The larve 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.

As the gloom receded, the Shadow was wholly
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 97

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.

The two doors were still closed, the door commu-
nicating 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 actu-
ally twisted out of the vertebrae. Had this been
done in the dark ? must it not have been by a hand
human as mine ?P 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.

Another surprising circumstance my watch was
restored to the table from which it had been so mys-
teriously 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 way for a few
hours, and then comes to a dead stop it is worth-
less.
 98 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night.
Nor, indeed, had I long to wait before the dawn
broke. Nor till it 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 a strong im-
pression 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 en-
tered 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:

“HonorepD Sir, 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 It is be-
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 99

hind 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.”

The letter ended with additional apologies, some-
what incoherent, and explanatory details as to ef-
fects that had been under the writer’s charge.

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 nothing in refutation of
that conjecture; rather, I suggest it as one that
would seem to many persons the most probable so-
lution of improbable occurrences. My own theory
remained unshaken. I returned in the evening to
the house, to bring away in a hack cab the things I
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 grati-
fied, 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.

I determined at least to tell him of the two letters
I had read, as well as of the extraordinary manner
in which they had disappeared, and I then inquired
if he thought they had been addressed to the woman
who had died in the house, and if there were any-

 
 100 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

thing in her early history which could possibly con-
firm the dark suspicions to which the letters gave
rise. Mr. J seemed startled, and, after musing
a few moments, answered, ‘I know but little of the
woman’s earlier history, except, as I before told you,
that her family were known to mine. But you re-
vive 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?”

“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.”

“What! you believe it is all an imposture? for
what object ?”’
" “Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the
word. If 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 hu-

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 101

man being who had acquired power over me by pre-
vious rapport.

‘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; it 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.”

“Tt 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.”

‘The instincts of the brute creation detect influ-
ences 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?”

“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 ?”

“T will tell you what I would do. I am convinced
from my own internal feelings that the small unfur-
nished room at right angles to the door of the bed-
room 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 pulled
 102 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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.”

‘And you think, if I did that ”

‘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.”’

‘‘Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the
rest, allow me to write to you.”’

About ten days afterward 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 relatives, an American of very suspicious char-
acter; 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 ca-
pacity of a nursery governess before her marriage.
She had a brother, a widower, who was considered
wealthy, and who had one child 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

 

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 103

his throat, but they were not deemed sufficient to
warrant the inquest in any other verdict than that
of “found drowned.”

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 event of the child’s death, the sister inherited.
The child died about six months afterward 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 nourish-
ment, 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
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 exceed-
ing stubbornness and perversity of the child, who
was declared to be half-witted. Be that as 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 re-
turned to it. He obtained a cruising vessel, which
was lost in the Atlantic two years afterward. The
widow was left in affluence; but reverses of various
kinds had befallen her; a bank broke an invest-
ment failed she went into a small business and be-
came insolvent then she entered into service, sink-
 104 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ing lower and lower, from housekeeper down to
maid-of-all-work never long retaining a place,
though nothing peculiar against her character was
ever alleged. She was considered sober, honest,
and peculiarly quiet in her ways; still nothing pros-
pered 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.

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.

The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the
haunted house we 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 retained some mouldering furniture 
three chairs, an oak settle, a table all of the fash-

 

 
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 105

ion 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.

In this safe were three shelves and two small
drawers. Ranged on the shelves were several small
bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped. They con-
tained colorless volatile essences, of what nature I
shall say no more than 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 lode-
stone of great power.

We had found no difficulty in opening the first
drawer within the iron safe; we found great diffi-
culty in opening the second; it was not locked, but
it resisted all efforts, till we inserted in the chinks
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
 106 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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. A very
peculiar, but not strong nor displeasing odor, came
from this drawer, which was lined with a wood that
we afterward 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 work-
men 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 re-
moved the saucer. As I did so the needle of the
compass went round and round with exceeding swift-
ness, and [| felt a shock that ran through my whole
frame, so that I dropped the saucer on the floor.
The liquid was spilled 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.

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 hap-
pened, they were easily induced to return.

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
 THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 107

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.”

We found no more. Mr. J burned 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.

 
  THE WERE-WOLF
H. B. MARRYAT

My father was not born, or originally a resident,
in the Hartz Mountains; he was the serf of a
Hungarian nobleman, of great possessions, in Tran-
sylvania; but, although a serf, he was not by any
means a poor or illiterate man. In fact, he was
rich, and his intelligence and respectability were
such, that he had been raised by his lord to the
stewardship; but, whoever may happen to be born
a serf, a serf must he remain, even though he be-
come a wealthy man; such was the condition of my
father. My father had been married for about five
years; and, by his marriage, had three children my
eldest brother, Caesar, myself (Hermann), and a
sister named Marcella. Latin is still the language
spoken in that country; and that will account for our
high-sounding names. My mother was a very beau-
tiful woman, unfortunately more beautiful than vir-
tuous: she was seen and admired by the lord of the
soil; my father was sent away upon some mission;
and, during his absence, my mother, flattered by the
attentions, and won by the assiduities, of this noble-
man, yielded to his wishes. It so happened that my
father returned very unexpectedly, and discovered
the intrigue. The evidence of my mother’s shame
109
 110 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

was positive; he surprised her in the company of her
seducer! Carried away by the impetuosity of his
feelings, he watched the opportunity of a meeting
taking place between them, and murdered both his
wife and her seducer. Conscious that, as a serf, not
even the provocation which he had received would
be allowed as a justification of his conduct, he hastily
collected together what money ,he could lay his
hands on, and, as we were then in the depth of
winter, he put his horses to the sleigh, and taking
his children with him, he set off in the middle of
the night, and was far away before the tragical cir-
cumstance had become known. Aware that he would
be pursued, and that he had no chance of escape if
he remained in any portion of his native country (in
which the authorities could lay hold of him), he con-
tinued his flight without intermission until he had
buried himself in the intricacies and seclusion of the
Hartz Mountains. Of course, all that I have now
told you I learned afterward. My oldest recollec-
tions are knit to a rude, yet comfortable cottage, in
which I lived with my father, brother and sister.
It was on the confines of one of those vast forests
which cover the northern part of Germany; around
it were a few acres of ground, which, during the
summer months, my father cultivated, and which,
though they yielded a doubtful harvest, were sufh-
cient for our support. In the winter we remained
much indoors, for, as my father followed the chase,
we were left alone, and the wolves, during that sea-
son, incessantly prowled about. My father had
 THE WERE-WOLF 111

purchased the cottage, and land about it, of one of
the rude foresters, who gain their livelihood partly
by hunting, and partly by burning charcoal, for the
purpose of smelting the ore from the neighboring
mines; it was distant about two miles from any other
habitation. I can call to mind the whole landscape
now: the tall pines which rose up on the mountain
above us, and the wide expanse of forest beneath,
on the topmost boughs and heads of whose trees
we looked down from our cottage, as the mountain
‘below us rapidly descended into the distant valley.
In summertime the prospect was beautiful; but dur-
ing the severe winter, a more desolate scene could
not well be imagined.

I said that, in the winter, my father occupied
himself with the chase; every day he left us, and
often would he lock the door, that we might not
leave the cottage. He had no one to assist him, or
to take care of us indeed, it was not easy to find a
female servant who would live in such a solitude;
but, could he have found one, my father would not
have received her, for he had imbibed a horror of
the sex, as a difference of his conduct toward us,
his two boys, and my poor little sister, Marcella,
evidently proved. You may suppose we were sadly
neglected; indeed, we suffered much, for my father,
fearful that we might come to some harm, would
not allow us fuel, when he left the cottage; and we
were obliged, therefore, to creep under the heaps
of bear-skins, and there to keep ourselves as warm
as we could until he returned in the evening, when
 112 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

a blazing fire was our delight. ‘That my father
chose this restless sort of life may appear strange,
but the fact was that he could not remain quiet;
whether from remorse for having committed mur-
der, or from the misery consequent on his change of
situation, or from both combined, he was never
happy unless he was in a state of activity. Children,
however, when left much to themselves, acquire a
thoughtfulness not common to their age. So it was
with us; and during the short cold days of winter
we would sit silent, longing for the happy hours
when the snow would melt, and the leaves burst out,
and the birds begin their songs, and when we should
again be set at liberty.

Such was our peculiar and savage sort of life un-
til my brother Cesar was nine, myself seven, and
my sister five, years old, when the circumstances oc-
curred on which is based the extraordinary narra-
tive which I am about to relate.

One evening my father returned home rather
later than usual; he had been unsuccessful, and, as
the weather was very severe, and many feet of snow
were upon the ground, he was not only very cold,
but in a very bad humor. He had brought in wood,
and we were all three of us gladly assisting each
other in blowing on the embers to create the blaze,
when he caught poor little Marcella by the arm and
threw her aside; the child fell, struck her mouth,
and bled very much. My brother ran to raise her
up. Accustomed to ill usage, and afraid of my
father, she did not dare to cry, but looked up in his
 THE WERE-WOLF 113

face very piteously. My father drew his stool
nearer to the hearth, muttered something in abuse
of women, and busied himself with the fire, which
both my brother and I had deserted when our sister
was so unkindly treated. A cheerful blaze was soon
the result of his exertions; but we did not, as usual,
crowd round it. Marcella, still bleeding, retired to
a corner, and my brother and I took our seats be-
side her, while my father hung over the fire gloom-
ily and alone. Such had been our position for about
half-an-hour, when the howl of a wolf, close under
the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My
father started up, and seized his gun; the howl was
repeated, he examined the priming, and then hastily
left the cottage, shutting the door after him. We
all waited (anxiously listening), for we thought
that if he succeeded in shooting the wolf, he would
return in a better humor; and although he was harsh
to all of us, and particularly so to our little sister,
still we loved our father, and loved to see him cheer-
ful and happy, for what else had we to look up to?
And I may here observe, that perhaps there never
were three children who were fonder of each other;
we did not, like other children, fight and dispute to-
gether; and if, by chance, any disagreement did arise
between my elder brother and me, little Marcella
would run to us, and kissing us both, seal, through
her entreaties, the peace between us. Marcella was
a lovely, amiable child; I can recall her beautiful
features even now Alas! poor little Marcella.
We waited for some time, but the report of the
 114 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

gun did not reach us, and my elder brother ther
said, “Our father has followed the wolf, and will
not be back for some time. Marcella, let us wash
the blood from your mouth, and then we will leave
this corner, and go to the fire and warm ourselves.”

We did so, and remained there until near mid-
night, every minute wondering, as it grew later, why
our father did not return. We had no idea that he
was in any danger, but we thought that he must have
chased the wolf for a very long time. “TI will look
out and see if father is coming,” said my brother
Cesar, going to the door. ‘Take care,” said Mar-
cella, ‘‘the wolves must be about now, and we can-
not kill them, brother.”” My brother opened the
door very cautiously, and but a few inches; he
peeped out. “I see nothing,” said he, after a time,
and once more he joined us at the fire. ‘“‘We have
had no supper,” said I, for my father usually cooked
the meat as soon as he came home; and during his
absence we had nothing but the fragments of the
preceding day.

‘And if our father comes home after his hunt,
Cesar,” said Marcella, ‘“‘he will be pleased to have
some supper; let us cook it for him and for our-
selves.” Cesar climbed upon the stool, and reached
down some meat I forget now whether it was
venison or bear’s meat; but we cut off the usual quan-
tity, and proceeded to dress it, as we used to do
under our father’s superintendence. We were all
busied putting it into the platters before the fire, to
await his coming, when we heard the sound of a
 |
|

THE WERE-WOLF 115

horn. We listened -there was a noise outside, and
a minute afterward my father entered, ushering in
a young female, and a large dark man in a hunter’s
dress.

Perhaps I had better now relate, what was only
known to me many years afterward. When my
father had left the cottage, he perceived a large
white wolf about thirty yards from him; as soon as
the animal saw my father, it retreated slowly, growl-
ing and snarling. My father followed; the animal
did not run, but always kept at some distance; and
my father did not like to fire until he was pretty cer-
tain that his ball would take effect: thus they went
on for some time, the wolf now leaving my father
far behind, and then stopping and snarling defiance
at him, and then again, on his approach, setting off
at speed.

Anxious to shoot the animal (for the white wolf
is very rare), my father continued the pursuit for
several hours, during which he continually ascended
the mountain.

You must know that there are peculiar spots on
those mountains which are supposed, and, as my
story will prove, truly supposed, to be inhabited by
the evil influences; they are well known to the hunts-
men, who invariably avoid them. Now, one of these
spots, an open space in the pine forests above us,
had been pointed out to my father as dangerous on
that account. But, whether he disbelieved these
wild stories, or whether, in his eager pursuit of the
chase, he disregarded them, I know not; certain,
 116 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

however, it is that he was decoyed by the white wolf
to this open space, when the animal appeared to
slacken her speed. My father approached, came
close up to her, raised his gun to his shoulder, and
was about to fire, when the wolf suddenly disap-
peared. He thought that the snow on the ground
must have dazzled his sight, and he let down his
gun to look for the beast but she was gone; how
she could have escaped over the clearance, without
his seeing her, was beyond his comprehension. Mor-
tified at the ill success of his chase, he was about to
retrace his steps, when he heard the distant sound of
a horn. Astonishment at such a sound at such an
hour in such a wilderness, made him forget for
the moment his disappointment, and he remained
riveted to the spot. In a minute the horn was blown
a second time, and at no great distance; my father
stood still, and listened: a third time it was blown.
I forget the term used to express it, but it was the
signal which, my father well knew, implied that the
party was lost in the woods. Ina few minutes more
my father beheld a man on horseback, with a female
seated on the crupper, enter the cleared space, and
ride up to him. At first, my father called to mind
the strange stories which he had heard of the super-
natural beings who were said to frequent these
mountains; but the nearer approach of the parties
satisfied him that they were mortals like himself.
As soon as they came up to him, the man who guided
the horse accosted him. “Friend Hunter, you are
out late, the better fortune for us: we have ridden
 THE WERE-WOLF ri?

far, and are in fear of our lives, which are eagerly
sought after. [hese mountains have-enabled us to
elude our pursuers; but if we find not shelter and
refreshment, that will avail us little, as we must
perish from hunger and the inclemency of the night.
My daughter, who rides behind me, is now more
dead than alive say, can you assist us in our difh-
culty ?”

‘My cottage is some few miles distant,” replied
my father, “‘but I have little to offer you besides a
shelter from the weather; to the little I have you
are welcome. May I ask whence you come?”

“Yes, friend, it is no secret now; we have escaped
from Transylvania, where my daughter’s honor and
my life were equally in jeopardy!”

This information was quite enough to raise an
interest in my father’s heart. He remembered his
Own escape: he remembered the loss of his wife’s
honor, and the tragedy by which it was wound up.
He immediately, and warmly, offered all the assist-
ance which he could afford them.

‘There is no time to be lost, then, good sir,’ ob-
served the horseman; “my daughter is chilled with
the frost, and cannot hold out much longer against
the severity of the weather.” |

“Follow me,” replied my father, leading the way
toward home.

“TI was lured away in pursuit of a large white
wolf,” observed my father; “it came to the very
window of my hut, or I should not have been out
at this time of night.”
 118 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

“The creature passed by us just as we came out
of the wood,” said the female in a silvery tone.

“JT was nearly discharging my piece at it,” ob-
served the hunter; “but since it did us such good
service, | am glad that I allowed it to escape.”

In about an hour and a half, during which my
father walked at a rapid pace, the party arrived at
the cottage, and, as I said before, came in.

‘We are in good time, apparently,” observed the
dark hunter, catching the smell of the roasted meat,
as he walked to the fire and surveyed my brother
and sister, and myself. “You have young cooks
here, Mynheer.”’ “I am glad that we shall not have
to wait,” replied my father. ‘Come, mistress, seat
yourself by the fire; you require warmth after your
cold ride.” “And where can IJ put up my horse,
Mynheer?” observed the huntsman. “I will take
care of him,” replied my father, going out of the
cottage door.

The female must, however, be particularly de-
scribed. She was young, and apparently twenty
years of age. She was dressed in a travelling dress,
deeply bordered with white fur, and wore a cap of
white ermine on her head. Her features were very
beautiful, at least I thought so, and so my father
has since declared. Her hair was flaxen, glossy and
shining, and bright as a mirror; and her mouth, al-
though somewhat large when it was open, showed
the most brilliant teeth I have ever beheld. But
there was something about her eyes, bright as they
were, which made us children afraid; they were so
 THE WERE-WOLF 119

restless, so furtive; I could not at that time tell why,
but I felt as if there was cruelty in her eye; and
when she beckoned us to come to her, we approached
her with fear and trembling. Still she was beauti-
ful, very beautiful. She spoke kindly to my brother
and myself, patted our heads, and caressed us; but
Marcella would not come near her; on the contrary,
she slunk away, and hid herself in the bed,. and
would not wait for the supper, which half an hour
before she had been so anxious for.

My father, having put the horse into a close shed,
soon returned, and supper was placed upon the table.
When it was over, my father requested that the
young lady would take possession of his bed, and he
would remain at the fire, and sit up with her father.
After some hesitation on her part, this arrangement
was agreed to, and I and my brother crept into the
other bed with Marcella, for we had as yet always
slept together.

But we could not sleep; there was something so
unusual, not only in seeing strange people, but in
having those people sleep at the cottage, that we
were bewildered. As for poor little Marcella, she
was quiet, but I perceived that she trembled during
the whole night, and sometimes I thought that she
was checking a sob. My father had brought out
some spirits, which he rarely used, and he and the
strange hunter remained drinking and talking be-
fore the fire. Our ears were ready to catch the
slightest whisper so much was our curiosity ex-
cited.
 120 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

‘You said you came from Transylvania?” ob-
served my father.

‘Even so, Mynheer,” replied the hunter. “I was
a serf to the noble house of ; my master would
insist upon my surrendering up my fair girl to his
wishes; it ended in my giving him a few inches of
my hunting-knife.”’

““We are countrymen, and brothers in misfor-
tune,’ replied my father, taking the huntsman’s
hand, and pressing it warmly.

“Indeed! Are you, then, from that country?”

“Yes; and I too have fled for my life. But mine
is a melancholy tale.”

“Your name?” inquired the hunter.

“Krantz.”

‘What! Krantz of I have heard your tale;
you need not renew your grief by repeating it now.
Welcome, most welcome, Mynheer, and, I may say,
my worthy kinsman. I am your second cousin, Wil-
fred of Barnsdorf,” cried the hunter, rising up and
embracing my father.

They filled their horn mugs to the brim, and
drank to one another, after the German fashion.
The conversation was then carried on in a low
tone; all that we could collect from it was, that our
new relative and his daughter were to take up their
abode in our cottage, at least for the present. In
about an hour they both fell back in their chairs,
and appeared to sleep.

‘Marcella, dear, did you hear?” said my brother
in a low tone.

 
 THE WERE-WOLF 121

“Yes,” replied Marcella, in a whisper; “I heard
all. Oh! brother, I cannot bear to look upon that
woman l feel so frightened.”

My brother made no reply, and shortly after-
ward we were all three fast asleep.

When we awoke the next morning, we found that
the hunter’s daughter had risen before us. I thought
she looked more beautiful than ever. She came up
to Marcella and caressed her; the child burst into
tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

But, not to detain you with too long a story, the
huntsman and his daughter were accommodated in
the cottage. My father and he went out hunting daily,
leaving Christina with us. She performed all the
household duties; was very kind to us children; and,
gradually, the dislike even of little Marcella wore
away. But a great change took place in my father;
he appeared to have conquered his aversion to the
sex, and was most attentive to Christina. Often,
after her father and we were in bed, would he sit
up with her, conversing in a low tone by the fire. I
ought to have mentioned, that my father and the
huntsman Wilfred, slept. in another portion of the
cottage, and that the bed which he formerly occu-
pied, and which was in the same room as ours, had
been given up to the use of Christina. ‘These visi-
tors had been about three weeks at the cottage,
when, one night, after we children had been sent to
bed, a consultation was held. My father had asked
Christina in marriage, and had obtained both her
own consent and that of Wilfred; after this a con-
 122 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

versation took place, which was, as nearly as I can
recollect, as follows:

“You may take my child, Mynheer Krantz, and
my blessing with her, and I shall then leave you and
seek some other habitation it matters little where.”

“Why not remain here, Wilfred ?”

“‘No, no, I am called elsewhere; let that suffice,
and ask no more questions. You have my child.”

“T thank you for her, and will duly value her;
but there is one difficulty.”

“I know what you would say; there is no priest
here in this wild country: true, neither is there any
law to bind; still must some ceremony pass between
you, to satisfy a father. Will you consent to marry
her after my fashion? if so, I will marry you di-
rectly.”

“T will,” replied my father.

“Then take her by the hand. Now, Mynheer,
swear.”

“T swear,” repeated my father.

“By all the spirits of the Hartz Mountains ”

‘Nay, why not by Heaven?” interrupted my
father.

‘Because it is not my humor,”’ rejoined Wilfred;
‘if I prefer that oath, less binding perhaps, than
another, surely you will not thwart me.”’

“Well, be it so then; have your humor. Will
you make me swear by that in which I do not be-
lieve ?”

‘Yet many do so, who in outward appearance are
Christians,” rejoined Wilfred; “‘say, will you be

’

 
 THE WERE-WOLF 123

married, or shall I take my daughter away with
me ?”’

“Proceed,” replied my father, impatiently.

“T swear by all the spirits of the Hartz Moun-
tains, by all their power for good or for evil, that
I take Christina for my wedded wife; that I will
ever protect her, cherish her, and love her; that my
hand shall never be raised against her to harm her.”

My father repeated the words after Wilfred.

“And if I fail in this, my vow, may all the ven-
geance of the spirits fall upon me and upon my chil-
dren; may they perish by the vulture, by the wolf,
or other beasts of the forest; may their flesh be torn
from their limbs, and their bones blanch in the wil-
derness; all this I swear.”’

My father hesitated, as he repeated the last
words; little Marcella could not restrain herself,
and as my father repeated the last sentence, she
burst into tears. This sudden interruption appeared
to discompose the party, particularly my father; he
spoke harshly to the child, who controlled her sobs,
burying her face under the bed-clothes.

Such was the second marriage of my father. The
next morning the hunter Wilfred mounted his horse
and rode away.

My father resumed his bed, which was in the
Same room as ours; and things went on much as be-
fore the marriage, except that our new mother-in-
law did not show any kindness toward us; indeed,
‘during my father’s absence, she would often beat
us, particularly little Marcella, and her eyes would
 124 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

flash fire, as she looked eagerly upon the fair and
lovely child.

One night, my sister awoke me and my brother.

‘“‘What is the matter?” said Cesar.

“She has gone out,” whispered Marcella.

“Gone out!”

“Yes, gone out at the door, in her night-clothes,”
replied the child; ‘‘I saw her get out of bed, look at
my father to see if he slept, and then she went out
at the door.”

What could induce her to leave her bed, and all
undressed to go out, in such bitter wintry weather,
with the snow deep on the ground, was to us incom-
prehensible; we lay awake, and in about an hour we
heard the growl of a wolf, close under the window.

“There is a wolf,” said Cesar, “she will be torn
to pieces.”

“Oh, no!” cried Marcella.

In a few minutes afterward our mother-in-law
appeared; she was in her night-dress, as Marcella
had stated. She let down the latch of the door, so
as to make no noise, went to a pail of water, and
washed her face and hands, and then slipped into
the bed where my father lay.

We all three trembled, we hardly knew why, but
we resolved to watch the next night: we did so 
and not only on the ensuing night, but on many
others, and always at about the same hour, would
our mother-in-law rise from her bed, and leave the
cottage and after she was gone, we invariably
heard the growl of a wolf under our window, and
 THE WERE-WOLF 125

always saw her, on her return, wash herself before
she retired to bed. We observed, also, that she
seldom sat down to meals, and that when she did,
she appeared to eat with dislike; but when the meat
was taken down, to be prepared for dinner, she
would often furtively put a raw piece into her mouth.

My brother Cesar was a courageous boy; he did
not like to speak to my father until he knew more.
He resolved that he would follow her out, and ascer-
tain what she did. Marcella and I endeavored to
dissuade him from this project; but he would not
be controlled, and, the very next night he lay down
in his clothes, and as soon as our mother-in-law had
left the cottage, he jumped up, took down my
father’s gun, and followed her.

You may imagine in what a state of suspense Mar-
cella and I remained during his absence. After a
few minutes, we heard the report of a gun. It did
not awaken my father, and we lay trembling with
anxiety. Ina minute afterward we saw our mother-
in-law enter the cottage her dress was bloody. I
put my hand to Marcella’s mouth to prevent her
crying out, although I was myself in great alarm.
Our mother-in-law approached my father’s bed,
looked to see if he was asleep, and then went to the
chimney, and blew up the embers into a blaze.

‘Who is there?” said my father, waking up.

“Lie still, dearest,” replied my mother-in-law, “‘it
is only me; I have lighted the fire to warm some
water; I am not quite well.”

My father turned round and was soon asleep;
 126 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

but we watched our mother-in-law. She changed
her linen, and threw the garments she had worn
into the fire; and we then perceived that her right
leg was bleeding profusely, as if from a gun-shot
wound. She bandaged it up, and then dressing her-
self, remained before the fire until the break of day.

Poor little Marcella, her heart beat quick as she
pressed me to her side so indeed did mine. Where
was our brother, Cesar? How did my mother-in-
law receive the wound unless from his gun? At
last my father rose, and then, for the first time
I spoke, saying, “Father, where is my brother,
Cesar ?”

“Your brother!” exclaimed he, ‘‘why, where can
he be?”

‘Merciful Heaven! I thought as I lay very rest-
less last night,’’ observed our mother-in-law, ‘‘that
I heard somebody open the latch of the door; and,
dear me, husband, what has become of your gun?”

My father cast his eyes up above the chimney,
and perceived that his gun was missing. For a mo-
ment he looked perplexed, then seizing a broad axe,
he went out of the cottage without saying another
word.

He did not remain away from us long: in a few
minutes he returned, bearing in his arms the man-
gled body of my poor brother; he laid it down, and
covered up his face.

My mother-in-law rose up, and looked at the
body, while Marcella and I threw ourselves by its
side wailing and sobbing bitterly.
 THE WERE-WOLF 127

“Go to bed again, children,’’ said she sharply.
“Husband,” continued she, “your boy must have
taken the gun down to shoot a wolf, and the animal
has been too powerful for him. Poor boy! He has
paid dearly for his rashness.”’

My father made no reply; I wished to speak 
to tell all but Marcella, who perceived my inten-
tion, held me by the arm, and looked at me so im-
ploringly, that I desisted.

My father, therefore, was left in his error; but
Marcella and I, although we could not comprehend
it, were conscious that our mother-in-law was in
some way connected with my brother’s death.

That day my father went out and dug a grave,
and when he laid the body in the earth, he piled up
stones over it, so that the wolves should not be able
to dig it up. The shock of this catastrophe was to
my poor father very severe; for several days he
never went to the chase, although at times he would
utter bitter anathemas and vengeance against the
wolves.

But during this time of mourning on his part, my
mother-in-law’s nocturnal wanderings continued with
the same regularity as before.

At last, my father took down his gun, to repair
to the forest; but he soon returned, and appeared
much annoyed.

‘‘Would you believe it, Christina, that the wolves
 perdition to the whole race have actually con-
trived to dig up the body of my poor boy, and now
there is nothing left of him but his bones ?”

7
 128 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

‘Indeed !”’ replied my mother-in-law. Marcella
looked at me, and I saw in her intelligent eye all
she would have uttered.

“A wolf growls under our window every night,
father,” said I.

‘‘Aye, indeed ? why did you not tell me, boy ? 
wake me the next time you hear it.”

I saw my mother-in-law turn away; her eyes
flashed fire, and she gnashed her teeth.

My father went out again, and covered up with
a larger pile of stone the little remnants of my poor
brother which the wolves had spared. Such was
the first act of the tragedy.

The spring now came on: the snow disappeared,
and we were permitted to leave the cottage; but
never would I quit, for one moment, my dear little
sister, to whom, since the death of my brother, I
was more ardently attached than ever; indeed I was
afraid to leave her alone with my mother-in-law,
who appeared to have a particular pleasure in ill-
treating the child. My father was now employed
upon his little farm, and I was able to render him
some assistance.

Marcella used to sit by us while we were at work,
leaving my mother-in-law alone in the cottage. I
ought to observe that, as the spring advanced, so
did my mother decrease her nocturnal rambles, and
that we never heard the growl of the wolf under
the window after I had spoken of it to my father.

One day, when my father and I were in the field,
Marcella being with us, my mother-in-law came out,
 THE WERE-WOLF 129

saying that she was going into the forest, to collect
some herbs my father wanted, and that Marcella
must go to the cottage and watch the dinner. Mar-
cella went, and my mother-in-law soon disappeared
in the forest, taking a direction quite contrary to
that in which the cottage stood, and leaving my
father and I, as it were, between her and Marcella.

About an hour afterward we were startled by
shrieks from the cottage, evidently the shrieks of
little Marcella. ‘Marcella has burned herself,
father,” said I, throwing down my spade. My
father threw down his, and we both hastened to the
cottage. Before we could gain the door, out darted
a large white wolf, which fled with the utmost ce-
lerity. My father had no weapon; he rushed into
the cottage, and there saw poor little Marcella ex-
piring; her body was dreadfully mangled, and the
blood pouring from it had formed a large pool on
the cottage floor. My father’s first intention had
been to seize his gun and pursue, but he was checked
by this horrid spectacle; he knelt down by his dy-
ing child, and burst into tears: Marcella could just
look kindly on us for a few seconds, and then her
eyes were closed in death.

My father and I were still hanging over my poor
sister’s body, when my mother-in-law came in. At
the dreadful sight she expressed much concern, but
she did not appear to recoil from the sight of blood,
as most women do.

“Poor child!’ said she, “it must have been that
 130 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

great white wolf which passed me just now, and
frightened me so she’s quite dead, Krantz.”

‘‘T know it I know it!” cried my father in agony.
I thought my father would never recover from the
effects of this second tragedy: he mourned bitterly
over the body of his sweet child, and for several days
would not consign it to its grave, although fre-
quently requested by my mother-in-law to do so. At
last he yielded, and dug a grave for her close by
that of my poor brother, and took every precaution
that the wolves should not violate her remains.

I was now really miserable, as I lay alone in the
bed which I had formerly shared with my brother
and sister. [ could not help thinking that my mother-
in-law was implicated in both their deaths, although
I could not account for the manner; but I no longer
felt afraid of her: my little heart was full of hatred
and revenge.

The night after my sister had been buried, as I
lay awake, I perceived my mother-in-law get up and
go out of the cottage. I waited for some time, then
dressed myself, and looked out through the door,
which I half opened. ‘The moon shone bright, and
I could see the spot where my brother and my sister
had been buried; and what was my horror, when I
perceived my mother-in-law busily removing the
stones from Marcella’s grave.

She was in her white night-dress, and the moon
shone full upon her. She was digging with her
hands, and throwing away the stones behind her
with all the ferocity of a wild beast. It was some
 THE WERE-WOLF 131

time before I could collect my senses and decide
what to do. At last, | perceived that she had ar-
rived at the body, and raised it up to the side of the
grave. I could bear it no longer; I ran to my
father and awoke him.

“Father! father!’ cried I, “dress yourself, and
get your gun.”

‘‘What!” cried my father, ‘“‘the wolves are there,
are they?”

He jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes, and
in his anxiety did not appear to perceive the absence
of his wife. As soon as he was ready, I opened the
door, he went out, and I followed him.

Imagine his horror, when (unprepared as he was
for such a sight) he beheld, as he advanced toward
the grave, not a wolf, but his wife, in her night-
dress, on her hands and knees, crouching by the
body of my sister, and tearing off large pieces of the
flesh, and devouring them with all the avidity of a
wolf. She was too busy to be aware of our ap-
proach. My father dropped his gun, his hair stood
on end; so did mine; he breathed heavily, and then
his breath for a time stopped. I picked up the gun
and put it into his hand. Suddenly he appeared as
if concentrated rage had restored him to double
vigor; he levelled his piece, fired, and with a loud
shriek, down fell the wretch whom he had fostered
in his bosom.

“God of Heaven!” cried my father, sinking down
upon the earth in a swoon, as soon as he had dis-
charged his gun.
 132 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

I remained some time by his side before he re-
covered. ‘‘Where am [?” said he, “what has hap-
pened ?> Oh | yes, yes! I recollect now. Heaven
forgive me!”

He rose and we walked up to the grave; what
again was our astonishment and horror to find that
instead of the dead body of my mother-in-law, as
we expected, there was lying over the remains of my
poor sister, a large, white she-wolf.

‘The white wolf!’ exclaimed my father, “the
white wolf which decoyed me into the forest I see
it all now lI have dealt with the spirits of the Hartz
Mountains.”

For some time my father remained in silence and
deep thought. He then carefully lifted up the body
of my sister, replaced it in the grave, and covered
it over as before, having struck the head of the dead
animal with the heel of his boot, and raving like a
madman. He walked back to the cottage, shut the
door, and threw himself on the bed; I did the same,
for I was in a stupor of amazement.

Early in the morning we were both roused by a
loud knocking at the door, and in rushed the hunter
Wilfred.

“My daughter ! man my daughter | where is
my daughter!” cried he in a rage.

“Where the wretch, the fiend, should be, I trust,”
replied my father, starting up and displaying equal
choler; ‘‘where she should be in hell ! Leave this
cottage or you may fare worse.”’

““Ha-ha!” replied the hunter, “would you harm
 THE WERE-WOLF - 133

a potent spirit of the Hartz Mountains? Poor
mortal, who must needs wed a were-wolf.”’

“Out, demon! I defy thee and thy power.”

“Yet shall you feel it; remember your oath 
your solemn oath never to raise your hand against
her to harm her.”

“I made no compact with evil spirits.”

“You did; and if you failed in your vow, you
were to meet the vengeance of the spirits. Your
children were to perish by the vulture, the wolf- ”

“Out, out, demon!”

‘‘And their bones blanch in the wilderness. Ha!
 Ha !”’

My father, frantic with rage, seized his axe, and
raised it over Wilfred’s head to strike.

“All this I swear,’ continued the huntsman, mock-
ingly.

The axe descended; but it passed through the
form of the hunter, and my father lost his balance,
and fell heavily on the floor.

“Mortal!” said the hunter, striding over my
father’s body, ‘‘we have power over those only who
have committed murder. You have been guilty of
double murder you shall pay the penalty attached
to your marriage vow. Two of your children are
gone; the third is yet to follow and follow them
he will, for your oath is registered. (Go it were
kindness to kill you your punishment is that you
live |”?
  WHAT WAS IT?
By Firz-JAMes O’Brien

Ir is, I confess, with considerable diffidence that I
approach the strange narrative which I am about
to relate. The events which I purpose detailing
are of so extraordinary a character that I am quite
prepared to meet with an unusual amount of in-
credulity and scorn. I accept all such beforehand.
I have, I trust, the literary courage to face unbe-
lief. I have, after mature consideration, resolved
to narrate, in as simple and straightforward a man-
ner as I can compass, some facts that passed under
my observation, in the month of July last, and which,
in the annals of the mysteries of physical science,
are wholly unparalleled.

I live at No.   Twenty-sixth Street, in New
York. The house is in some respects a curious one.
It has enjoyed for the last two years the reputa-
tion of being haunted. It is a large and stately resi-
dence, surrounded by what was once a garden, but
which js now only a green enclosure used for bleach-
ing clothes. The dry basin of what has been a foun-
tain, and a few fruit trees ragged and unpruned,
indicate that this spot in past years was a pleasant,
shady retreat, filled with fruits and flowers and the
sweet murmur of waters.

135
 136 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

The house is very spacious. A hall of noble size
leads to a large spiral staircase winding through its
centre, while the various apartments are of impos-
ing dimensions. It was built some fifteen or twenty
years since by Mr. A , the well-known New
York merchant, who five years ago threw the com-
mercial world into convulsions by a stupendous bank
fraud. Mr. A , as every one knows, escaped
to Europe, and died not long after, of a broken
heart. Almost immediately after the news of his
decease reached this country and was verified, the
report spread in Twenty-sixth Street that No.  
was haunted. Legal measures had dispossessed the
widow of its former owner, and it was inhabited
merely by a caretaker and his wife, placed there by
the house agent into whose hands it had passed for
the purposes of renting or sale. These people de-
clared that they were troubled with unnatural noises.
Doors were opened without any visible agency. The
remnants of furniture scattered through the vari-
ous rooms were, during the night, piled one upon
the other by unknown hands. Invisible feet passed
up and down the stairs in broad daylight, accom-
panied by the rustle of unseen silk dresses, and the
gliding of viewless hands along the massive balus-
ters. The caretaker and his wife declared they
would live there no longer. The house agent
laughed, dismissed them, and put others in their
place. The noises and supernatural manifestations
continued. The neighborhood caught up the story,
and the house remained untenanted for three years.

 

 
 WHAT WAS IT? 137

Several persons negotiated for it; but, somehow,
always before the bargain was closed they heard
the unpleasant rumors and declined to treat any
further.

It was in this state of things that my landlady,
who at that time kept a boarding-house in Bleecker
Street, and who wished to move farther uptown,
conceived the bold idea of renting No.   Twenty-
sixth Street. Happening to have in her house
rather a plucky and philosophical set of boarders,
she laid her scheme before us, stating candidly
everything she had heard respecting the ghostly
qualities of the establishment to which she wished
to remove us. With the exception of two timid
persons, a sea-captain and a returned Californian,
who immediately gave notice that they would leave,
 all of Mrs. Moffat’s guests declared that they
would accompany her in her chivalric incursion into
the abode of spirits.

Our removal was effected in the month of May,
and we were charmed with our new residence. The
portion of Twenty-sixth Street where our house is
situated, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, is
one of the pleasantest localities in New York. ‘The
gardens back of the houses, running down nearly
to the Hudson, form, in the summertime, a perfect
avenue of verdure. The air is pure and invigorat-
ing, sweeping, as it does, straight across the river
from the Weehawken heights, and even the ragged
garden which surrounded the house, although dis-
playing on washing days rather too much clothes-
 138 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

line, still gave us a piece of greensward to look at,
and a cool retreat in the summer evenings, where
we smoked our cigars in the dusk, and watched the
fireflies flashing their dark-lanterns in the long grass.

Of course we had no sooner established ourselves
at No.   than we began to expect ghosts. We ab-
solutely awaited their advent with eagerness. Our
dinner conversation was supernatural. One of the
boarders, who had purchased Mrs. Crowe’s “Night
Side of Nature’ for his own private delectation,
was regarded as a public enemy by the entire house-
hold for not having bought twenty copies. ‘The
man led a life of supreme wretchedness while he
was reading this volume. A system of espionage
was established, of which he was the victim. If he
incautiously laid the book down for an instant and
left the room, it was immediately seized and read
aloud in secret places to a select few. I found my-
self a person of immense importance, it having
leaked out that I was tolerably well versed in the
history of supernaturalism, and had once written a
story the foundation of which was a ghost. Ifa
table or a wainscoat panel happened to warp when
we were assembled in the large drawing-room, there
was an instant silence, and every one was prepared
for an immediate clanking of chains and a spectral
form.

After a month of psychological excitement, it was
with the utmost dissatisfaction that we were forced
to acknowledge that nothing in the remotest degree
approaching the supernatural had manifested itself.
 WHAT WAS IT? 139

Once the black butler asseverated that his candle
had been blown out by some invisible agency while
he was undressing himself for the night; but as |
had more than once discovered this colored gentle-
man in a condition when one candle must have ap-
peared to him like two, I thought it possible that,
by going a step further in his potations, he might
have reversed this phenomenon, and seen no candle
at all where he ought to have beheld one.

Things were in this state when an accident took
place so awful and inexplicable in its character that
my reason fairly reels at the bare memory of the
occurrence. It was the tenth of July. After din-
ner was over | repaired, with my friend Dr. Ham-
mond, to the garden to smoke my evening pipe.
Independent of certain mental sympathies which ex-
isted between the Doctor and myself, we were linked
together by a vice.. We both smoked opium. We
knew each other’s secret, and respected it. We en-
joyed together that wonderful expansion of thought,
that marvellous intensifying of the perceptive facul-
ties, that boundless feeling of existence when we
seem to have points of contact with the whole uni-
verse, in short, that unimaginable spiritual bliss,
which I would not surrender for a throne, and which
I hope you, reader, will never never taste.

Those hours of opium happiness which the Doc-
tor and I spent together in secret were regulated
with a scientific accuracy. We did not blindly smoke
the drug of paradise, and leave our dreams to
chance. While smoking, we carefully steered our
 140 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

conversation through the brightest and calmest chan-
nels of thought. We talked of the East, and en-
deavored to recall the magical panorama of its
glowing scenery. We criticized the most sensuous
poets, those who painted life ruddy with health,
brimming with passion, happy in the possession of
youth and strength and beauty. If we talked of
Shakespeare’s ‘“Tempest,” we lingered over Ariel,
and avoided Caliban. Like the Guebers, we turned
our faces to the East, and saw only the sunny side
of the world.

This skilful coloring of our train of thought pro-
duced in our subsequent visions a corresponding
tone. The splendors of Arabian fairyland dyed
our dreams. We paced the narrow strip of grass
with the tread and port of kings. The song of the
rana arborea, while he clung to the bark of the
ragged plum-tree, sounded like the strains of divine
musicians. Houses, walls, and streets melted like
rain clouds, and vistas of unimaginable glory
stretched away before us. It was a rapturous com-
panionship. We enjoyed the vast delight more per-
fectly because, even in our most ecstatic moments,
we were conscious of each other’s presence. Our
pleasures, while individual, were still twin, vibrat-
ing and moving in musical accord.

On the evening in question, the tenth of July, the
Doctor and myself drifted into an unusually meta-
physical mood. We lit our large meerschaums,
filled with tine Turkish tobacco, in the core of which
burned a little black nut of opium, that, like the nut
 WHAT WAS IT? 141

in the fairy tale, held within its narrow limits won-
ders beyond the reach of kings; we paced to and
fro, conversing. A strange perversity dominated
the currents of our thought. They wauld not flow
through the sun-lit channels into which we strove to
divert them. For some unaccountable reason, they
constantly diverged into dark and lonesome beds,
where a contiual gloom brooded. It was in vain
that, after our old fashion, we flung ourselves on
the shores of the East, and talked of its gay ba-
zaars, of the splendors of the time of Haroun, of
harems and golden palaces. Black afreets continu-
ally arose from the depths of our talk, and ex-
panded, like the one the fisherman released from
the copper vessel, until they blotted everything
bright from our vision. Insensibly, we yielded to
the occult force that swayed us, and indulged in
gloomy speculation. We had talked some time upon
the proneness of the human mind to mysticism, and
the almost universal love of the terrible, when Ham-
mond suddenly said to me, ‘‘What do you consider
to be the greatest element of terror?”

The question puzzled me. ‘That many things
were terrible, ] knew. Stumbling over a corpse in
the dark; beholding, as I once did, a woman float-
ing down a deep and rapid river, with wildly lifted
arms, and awful, upturned face, uttering, as she
drifted, shrieks that rent one’s heart while we, spec-
tators, stood frozen at a window which overhung
the river at a height of sixty feet, unable to make
the slightest effort to save her, but dumbly watch-
 142 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ing her last supreme agony and her disappearance.
A shattered wreck, with no life visible, encountered
floating listlessly on the ocean, 1s a terrible object,
for it suggests a huge terror, the proportions of
which are veiled. But it now struck me, for the
first time, that there must be one great and ruling
embodiment of fear, a King of Terrors, to which
all others must succumb. What might it be? To
what train of circumstances would it owe its ex-
istence ?

“T confess, Hammond,” I replied to my friend,
“I never considered the subject before. That there
must be one Something more terrible than any other
thing, I feel. I cannot attempt, however, even the
most vague definition.”

“IT am somewhat like you, Harry,’ he answered.
“T feel my capacity to experience a terror greater
than anything vet conceived by the human mind; 
something combining in fearful and unnatural amal-
gamation hitherto supposed incompatible elements.
The calling of the voices in Brockden Brown’s novel
of ‘Wieland’ is awful; so is the picture of the
Dweller of the Threshold, in Bulwer’s ‘Zanoni’;
but,” he added, shaking his head gioomily, “there
is something more horrible still than tnose.”

“Look here, Hammond,” I rejoinea, “‘let us drop
this kind of talk, for Heaven’s sake! We shall
suffer for it, depend on it.”

“T don’t know what’s the matter with me to-
night,” he replied, “but my brain is running upon
all sorts of weird and awful thoughts. I feel as if
 WHAT WAS IT? 143

I could write a story like Hoffmann, to-night, if I
were only master of a literary style.”

“Well, if we are going to be Hoffmannesque in
our talk, I’m off to bed. Opium and nightmares
should never be brought together. How sultry it
is! Good-night, Hammond.”

‘““Good-night, Harry. Pleasant dreams to you.”

‘To you, gloomy wretch, afreets, ghouls, and
enchanters.”

We parted, and each sought his respective cham-
ber. I undressed quickly and got into bed, taking
with me, according to my usual custom, a book, over
which I generally read myself to sleep. I opened
the volume as soon as [ had laid my head upon the
pillow, and instantly flung it to the other side of the
room. It was Goudon’s “History of Monsters,” 
a curious French work, which I had lately imported
from Paris, but which, in the state of mind I had
then reached, was anything but an agreeable com-
panion. I resolved to go to sleep at once; so, turn-
ing down my gas until nothing but a little blue point
of light glimmered on the top of the tube, I com-
posed myself to rest.

The room was in total darkness. The atom of
gas that still remained alight did not illuminate a
distance of three inches round the burner. I des-
perately drew my arm across my eyes, as if to shut
out even the darkness, and tried to think of noth-
ing. It was in vain. ‘The confounded themes
touched on by Hammond in the garden kept obtrua-
ing themselves on my brain. I battled against them.
 144 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

I erected ramparts of would-be blankness of intellect
to keep them out. They still crowded upon me.
While I was lying still as a corpse, hoping that by a
perfect physical inaction I should hasten mental re-
pose, an awful incident occurred. A Something
dropped, as it seemed, from the ceiling, plum upon
my chest, and the next instant I felt two bony hands
encircling my throat, endeavoring to choke me.

I am no coward, and am possessed of considerable
physical strength. The suddenness of the attack,
instead of stunning me, strung every nerve to its
highest tension. My body acted from instinct, be-
fore my brain had time to realize the terrors of my
position. In an instant | wound two muscular arms
around the creature, and squeezed it, with all the
strength of despair, against my chest. In a few
seconds the bony hands that had fastened on my
throat loosened their hold, and I was free to breathe
once more. Then commenced a struggle of awful
intensity. Immersed in the most profound darkness,
totally ignorant of the nature of the Thing by which
I was so suddenly attacked, finding my grasp slipping
every moment, by reason, it seemed to me, of the
entire nakedness of my assailant, bitten with sharp
teeth in the shoulder, neck, and chest, having every
moment to protect my throat against a pair of
sinewy, agile hands, which my utmost efforts could
not confine, these were a combination of circum-
stances to combat which required all the strength,
skill, and courage that I possessed.

At last, after a silent, deadly, exhausting strug-
 WHAT WAS IT? 145

gle, I got my assailant under by a series of incredi-
ble efforts of strength. Once pinned, with my knee
on what I made out to be its chest, I knew that I was
victor. I rested for a moment to breathe. I heard
the creature beneath me panting in the darkness,
and felt the violent throbbing of a heart. It was
apparently as exhausted as I was; that was one com-
fort. At this moment I remembered that I usually
placed under my pillow, before going to bed, a large
yellow silk pocket handkerchief. I felt for it in-
stantly; it was there. In a few seconds more I had,
after a fashion, pinioned the creature’s arms.

I now felt tolerably secure. There was nothing
more to be done but to turn on the gas, and, having
first seen what my midnight assailant was like, arouse
the household. I will confess to being actuated by
a certain pride in not giving the alarm before; I
wished to make the capture alone and unaided.

Never losing my hold for an instant, I slipped
from the bed to the floor, dragging my captive with
me. I had but a few steps to make to reach the gas-
burner; these I made with the greatest caution, hold-
ing the creature in a grip like a vise. At last I got
within arm’s length of the tiny speck of blue light
which told me where the gas-burner lay. Quick as
lightning I released my grasp with one hand and let
on the full flood of light. Then I turned to look at
my captive.

I cannot even attempt to give any definition of
my sensations the instant after I turned on the gas.
I suppose I must have shrieked with terror, for in
 146 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

iess than 2 minute afterward my room was crowdec
with the inmates of the house. I shudder now as I
think of that awful moment. J saw nothing! Yes;
I had one arm firmly clasped round a breathing,
panting, corporeal shape, my other hand gripped
with all its strength a throat as warm, as apparently
fleshy, as my own; and yet, with this living substance
in my grasp, with its body pressed against my own,
and all in the bright glare of a large jet of gas, I
absolutely beheld nothing! Not even an outline, 
a vapor!

I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation
in which I found myself. I cannot recall the astound-
ing incident thoroughly. Imagination in vain tries
to compass the awful paradox.

It breathed. I felt its warm breath upon my
cheek. It struggled fiercely. It had hands. They
clutched me. Its skin was smooth, like my own.
There it lay, pressed close up against me, solid as
stone, and yet utterly invisible!

I wonder that I did not faint or go mad on the
instant. Some wonderful instinct must have sus-
tained me; for, absolutely, in place of loosening my
hold on the terrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an
additional strength in my moment of horror, and
tightened my grasp with such wonderful force that
I felt the creature shivering with agony.

Just then Hammond entered my room at the
head of the household. As soon as he beheld my
tace which, I suppose, must have been an awful
 WHAT WAS IT? 147

sight to look at he hastened forward, crying,
“Great heaven, Harry! what has happened ?”

‘Hammond! Hammond!” I cried, ‘‘come here.
Oh, this is awful! I have been attacked in bed by
something or other, which I have hold of; but I
can’t see it, I can’t see it!”

Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned
horror expressed in my countenance, made one or
two steps forward with an anxious yet puzzled ex-
pression. A very audible titter burst from the re-
mainder of my visitors. This suppressed laughter
made me furious. To laugh at a human being in
my position! It was the worst species of cruelty.
Now, I can understand why the appearance of a
man struggling violently, as it would seem, with an
airy nothing, and calling for assistance against a
vision, should have appeared ludicrous. Then, so
great was my rage against the mocking crowd that
had I the power I would have stricken them dead
where they stood.

‘“F¥Yammond! Hammond!’’ I cried again, despair-
ingly, “‘for God’s sake, come to me. I can hold the
 the thing but a short while longer. It 1s over-
powering me. Help me! Help me!”

“Harry,” whispered Hammond, approaching me,
“you have been smoking too much opium.”

“T swear to you, Hammond, that this is no
vision,’ I answered, in the same low tone. “Don’t
you see how it shakes my whole frame with its strug-
gles? If you don’t believe me, convince yourself.
Feel it, touch it.”
 148 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

Hammond advanced and laid his hand in the spot
I indicated. A wild cry of horror burst from him.
He had felt it!

In a moment he had discovered somewhere in my
room a long piece of cord, and was the next instant
winding it and knotting it about the body of the un-
seen being that I clasped in my arms.

“Harry,” he said, in a hoarse, agitated voice,
for, though he preserved his presence of mind, he
was deeply moved, “Harry, it’s all safe now. You
may let go, old fellow, if you’re tired. The Thing
can’t move.”

I was utterly exhausted, and I gladly loosed my
hold.

Hammond stood holding the ends of the cord
that bound the Invisible, twisted round his hand,
while before him, self-supporting as it were, he be-
held a rope laced and interlaced, and stretching
tightly around a vacant space. I never saw a man
look so thoroughly stricken with awe. Neverthe-
less his face expressed all the courage and determi-
nation which I knew him to possess. His lips, al-
though white, were set firmly, and one could per-
ceive at a glance that, although stricken with fear,
he was not daunted. |

The confusion that ensued among the guests of
the house who were witnesses of this extraordinary
scene between Hammond and myself, who beheld
the pantomime of binding this struggling Something,
 who beheld me almost sinking from physical ex-
haustion when my task of jailer was over, the con-
 WHAT WAS IT? 149

fusion and terror that took possession of the by-
standers, when they saw all this, was beyond de-
scription. The weaker ones fled from the apart-
ment. The few who remained clustered near the
door and could not be induced to approach Ham-
mond and his Charge. Still incredulity broke out
through their terror. They had not the courage to
satisfy themselves, and yet they doubted. It was in
vain that I begged of some of the men to come near
and convince themselves by touch of the existence
in that room of a living being which was invisible.
They were incredulous, but did not dare to unde-
ceive themselves. How could a solid, living, breath-
ing body be invisible, they asked. My reply was
this. I gave a sign to Hammond, and both of us 
conquering our fearful repugnance to touch the in-
visible creature lifted it from the ground, mana-
cled as it was, and took it to my bed. Its weight
was about that of a boy of fourteen.

‘“‘Now, my friends,” I said, as Hammond and
myself held the creature suspended over the bed,
“T can give you self-evident proof that here is a
solid, ponderable body, which, nevertheless, you can-
not see. Be good enough to watch the surface of
the bed attentively.”

I was astonished at my own courage in treating
this strange event.so calmly; but I had recovered
from my first terror, and felt a sort of scientific
pride in the affair, which dominated every other
feeling.

The eyes of the bystanders were immediately
 150 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

fixed on my bed. At a given signal Hammond and
I let the creature fall. There was a dull sound of
a heavy body alighting on a soft mass. ‘The tim-
bers of the bed creaked. A deep impression marked
itself distinctly on the pillow, and on the bed itself.
The crowd who witnessed this gave a low cry, and
rushed from the room. Hammond and I were left
alone with cur Mystery.

We remained silent for some time, listening to
the low, irregular breathing of the creature on the
bed, and watching the rustle of the bedclothes as it
impotently struggled to free itself from confine-
ment. Then Hammond spoke.

“Harry, this is awful.”

“Ay, awful.”

“But not unaccountable.”

“Not unaccountable! What do you mean? Such
a thing has never occurred since the birth of the
world. I know not what to think, Hammond. God
grant that I am not mad, and that this is not an in-
sane fantasy!”

‘Let us reason a little, Harry. Here is a solid
body which we touch, but which we cannot see. The
fact is so unusual that it strikes us with terror. Is
there no parallel, though, for such a phenomenon?
Take a piece of pure glass. It is tangible and trans-
parent. A certain chemical coarseness is all that
prevents its being so entirely transparent as to be
totally invisible. It is not theoretically impossible,
mind you, to make a glass which shall not reflect a
single ray of light, a glass so pure and homogene-
 WHAT WAS IT? 151

ous in its atoms that the rays from the sun will pass
through it as they do through the air, refracted but
not reflected. We do not see the air, and yet we
feel it.”

‘“‘That’s all very well, Hammond, but these are
inanimate substances. Glass does not breathe, air
does not breathe. This thing has a heart that palpi-
tates, a will that moves it, lungs that play, and
inspire and respire.”

‘You forget the phenomena of which we have so
often heard of late,” answered the Doctor, gravely.
“At the meetings called ‘spirit circles,’ invisible hands
have been thrust into the hands of those persons
round the table, warm, fleshly hands that seemed
to pulsate with mortal life.”

“What? Do you think, then, that this thing
is ’’

‘I don’t know what it is,’’ was the solemn reply;
‘but please the gods I will, with your assistance,
thoroughly investigate it.’’

We watched together, smoking many pipes, all
night long, by the bedside of the unearthly being
that tossed and panted until it was apparently
wearied out. ‘Then we learned by the low, regular
breathing that it slept.

The next morning the house was all astir. The
boarders congregated on the landing outside my
room, and Hammond and myself were lions. We
had to answer a thousand questions as to the state
of our extraordinary prisoner, for as yet not one
 152 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

person in the house except ourselves could be in-
duced to set foot in the apartment.

The creature was awake. ‘This was evidenced by
the convulsive manner in which the bedclothes were
moved in its efforts to escape. There was something
truly terrible in beholding, as it were, those second-
hand indications of the terrible writhings and agon-
ized struggles for liberty which themselves were
invisible.

Hammond and myself had racked our brains dur-
ing the long night to discover some means by which
we might realize the shape and general appearance
of the Enigma. As well as we could make out by
passing our hands over the creature’s form, its out-
lines and lineaments were human. ‘There was a
mouth; a round, smooth head without hair; a nose,
which, however, was little elevated above the cheeks;
and its hands and feet felt like those of a boy. At
first we thought of placing the being on a smooth
surface and tracing its outlines with chalk, as shoe-
makers trace the outline of the foot. This plan
was given up as being of no value. Such an outline
would give not the slightest idea of its conformation.

A happy thought struck me. We would take a
cast of it in plaster of Paris. This would give us
the solid figure, and satisfy all our wishes. But how
to do it? The movements of the creature would
disturb the setting of the plastic covering, and dis-
tort tue mould. Another thought. Why not give
it chloroform? It had respiratory organs, that
was evident by its breathing. Once reduced to a
 WHAT WAS IT? 153

state of insensibility, we could do with it what we
would. Doctor X was sent for; and after the
worthy physician had recovered from the first shock
of amazement, he proceeded to administer the chlor-
oform. In three minutes afterward we were en-
abled to remove the fetters from the creature’s body,
and a modeller was busily engaged in covering the
invisible form with the moist clay. In five minutes
more we had a mould, and before evening a rough
facsimile of the Mystery. It was shaped like a man,
 distorted, uncouth, and horrible, but still a man.
It was small, not over four feet and some inches in
height, and its limbs revealed a muscular develop-
ment that was unparalleled. Its face surpassed in
hideousness anything I had ever seen. Gustav Doré,
or Callot, or Tony Johannot, never conceived any-
thing so horrible. ‘There is a face in one of the
latter’s illustrations to Un voyage ou il vous plaira,
which somewhat approaches the countenance of this
creature, but does not equal it. It was the physiog-
nomy of what I should fancy a ghoul might be. It
looked as if it was capable of feeding on human
flesh.

Having satisfied our curiosity, and bound every
one in the house to secrecy, it became a question
what was to be done with our Enigma? It was
impossible that we should keep such a horror in our
house; it was equally impossible that such an awful
being should be let loose upon the world. I confess
that I would have gladly voted for the creature’s
destruction. But who would shoulder the respon-

 
 154 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

sibility? Who would undertake the execution of
this horrible semblance of a human being? Day
after day this question was deliberated gravely. The
boarders all left the house. Mrs. Moffat was in
despair, and threatened Hammond and myself with
all sorts of legal penalties if we did not remove the
Horror. Our answer was, ‘‘We will go if you like,
but we decline taking this creature with us. Remove
it yourself, if you please. It appeared in your
house. On you the responsibility rests.” To this
there was, of course, no answer. Mrs. Moffat could
not obtain for love or money a person who would
even approach the Mystery.

The most singular part of the affair was that we
were entirely ignorant of what the creature habit-
ually fed on. Everything in the way of nutriment
that we could think of was placed before it, but was
never touched. It was awful to stand by, day after
day, and see the clothes toss, and hear the hard
breathing, and know that it was starving.

Ten, twelve days, a fortnight passed, and it still
lived. The pulsations of the heart, however, were
daily growing fainter, and had now nearly ceased.
It was evident that the creature was dying for want
of sustenance. While this terrible life-struggle was
going on, I felt miserable. I could not sleep. Hor-
rible as the creature was, it was pitiful to think of
the pangs it was suffering.

At last it died. Hammond and I found it cold
and stiff one morning in the bed. The heart had
ceased to beat, the lungs to inspire. We hastened
 WHAT WAS IT? 155

to bury it in the garden. It was a strange funeral,
the dropping of that viewless corpse into the damp
hole. The cast of its form I gave to Doctor X ,
who keeps it in his museum in Tenth Street.

As I am on the eve of a long journey from which
I may not return, I have drawn up this narrative
of an event the most singular that has ever come to
my knowledge.

 
  THE GRAY CHAMPION
By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

THERE was once a time when New England
groaned under the actual pressure of heavier wrongs
than those threatened ones which brought on the
Revolution. James II., the bigoted successor of
Charles the Voluptuous, had annulled the charters
of all the colonies, and sent a harsh and unprincipled
soldier to take away our liberties and endanger our
religion. The administration of Sir Edmund An-
dros lacked scarcely a single characteristic of tyr-
anny: a Governor and Council, holding office from
the King, and wholly independent of the country;
laws made and taxes levied without concurrence of
the people immediate or by the representatives; the
rights of private citizens violated, and the titles of
all landed property declared void; the voice of com-
plaint stifled by restrictions on the press; and, finally,
disaffection overawed by the first band of mercenary
troops that ever marched on our free soil. For two
years our ancestors were kept in sullen submission
by that filial love which had invariably secured their
allegiance to the mother country, whether its head
chanced to be a Parliament, Protector, or Popish
Monarch. ‘Till these evil times, however, such alle-

157
 158 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

giance had been merely nominal, and the colonists
had ruled themselves, enjoying far more freedom
than is even yet the privilege of the native subjects
of Great Britain.

At length a rumor reached our shores that the
Prince of Orange had ventured on an enterprise, the
success of which would be the triumph of civil and
religious rights and the salvation of New England.
It was but a doubtful whisper; it might be false, or
the attempt might fail; and, in either case, the man
that stirred against King James would lose his head.
Still the intelligence produced a marked effect. The
people smiled mysteriously in the streets, and threw
bold glances at their oppressors; while far and wide
there was a subdued and silent agitation, as if the
slightest signal would rouse the whole land from its
sluggish despondency. Aware of their danger, the
rulers resolved to avert it by an imposing display
of strength, and perhaps to confirm their despotism
by yet harsher measures. One afternoon in April,
1689, Sir Edmund Andros and his favorite coun-
cillors, being warm with wine, assembled the red-
coats of the Governor’s Guard, and made their ap-
pearance in the streets of Boston. The sun was
near setting when the march commenced.

The roll of the drum at that unquiet crisis seemed
to go through the streets, less as the martial music
ot the soldiers, than as a muster-call to the inhabi-
tants themselves. A multitude, by various avenues,
assembled in King Street, which was destined to be
the scene, nearly a century afterward, of another
 THE GRAY CHAMPION 159

encounter between the troops of Britain, and a peo-
ple struggling against her tyranny. “Though more
than sixty years had elapsed since the pilgrims came,
this crowd of their descendants still showed the
strong and sombre features of their character per-
haps more strikingly in such a stern emergency than
on happier occasions. ‘There were the sober garb,
the general severity of mien, the gloomy but undis-
mayed expression, the scriptural forms of speech,
and the confidence in Heaven’s blessing on a right-
eous cause, which would have marked a band of the
original Puritans, when threatened by some peril of
the wilderness. Indeed, it was not yet time for the old
spirit to be extinct; since there were men in the street
that day who had worshipped there beneath the trees,
before a house was reared to the God for whom they
had become exiles. Old soldiers of the Parliament
were here, too, smiling grimly at the thought that
their aged arms might strike another blow against
the house of Stuart. Here, also, were the veterans
of King Philip’s war, who had burned villages and
slaughtered young and old, with pious fierceness,
while the godly souls throughout the land were help-
ing them with prayer. Several ministers were scat-
tered among the crowd, which, unlike all other-mobs,
regarded them with such reverence, as if there were
sanctity in their very garments. These holy men
exerted their influence to quiet the people, but not
to disperse them. Meantime, the purpose of the
Governor, in disturbing the peace of the town at a
period when the slightest commotion might throw
 160 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the country into a ferment, was almost the universal
subject of inquiry, and variously explained. |

‘Satan will strike his master-stroke presently,”
cried some, “because he knoweth that his time is
short. All our godly pastors are to be dragged to
prison! We shall see them at a Smithfield fire in
King Street!”

Hereupon the people of each parish gathered
closer round their minister, who looked calmly up-
ward and assumed a more apostolic dignity, as well
befitted a candidate for the highest honor of his
profession, the crown of martyrdom. It was actu-
ally fancied, at that period, that New England
might have a John Rogers of her own to take the
place of that worthy in the Primer.

‘The Pope of Rome has given orders for a new
St. Bartholomew!’ cried others. ‘We are to be
massacred, man and male child!”

Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, al-
though the wiser class believed the Governor’s
object somewhat less atrocious. His predecessor
under the old charter, Bradstreet, a venerable com-
panion of the first settlers, was known to be in town.
There were grounds for conjecturing that Sir Ed-
mund Andros intended at once to strike terror by a
parade of military force, and to confound the oppo-
site faction by possessing himself of their chief.

“Stand firm for the old charter, Governor
shouted the crowd, seizing upon the idea. ‘The
good old Governor Bradstreet !”’

While this cry was at the loudest, the people were

)
 THE GRAY CHAMPION 161

surprised by the well-known figure of Governor
Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly ninety,
who appeared on the elevated steps of a door, and,
with characteristic mildness, besought them to sub-
mit to the constituted authorities.

‘My children,” concluded this venerable person,
“do nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but pray for the
welfare of New England, and expect patiently what
the Lord will do in this matter!”

The event was soon to be decided. Ill this time,
the roll of the drum had been approaching through
Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with reverberations
from house to house, and the regular tramp of mar-
tial footsteps, it burst into the street. A double
rank of soldiers made their appearance, occupying
the whole breadth of the passage, with shouldered
matchlocks, and matches burning, so as to present a
row of fires in the dusk. ‘Their steady march was
like the progress of a machine, that would roll
irresistibly over everything in its way. Next, mov-
ing slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the
pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the
central figure being Sir Edmund Andros, elderly,
but erect and soldier-like. Those around him were
his favorite councillors, and the bitterest foes of
New England. At his right hand rode Edward
Randolph, our arch-enemy, that “blasted wretch,”
as Cotton Mather calls him, who achieved the down-
fall of our ancient government, and was followed
with a sensible curse, through life and to his grave.
On the other side was Bullivant, scattering jests and
 162 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

mockery as he rode along. Dudley came behind,
with a downcast look, dreading, as well he might,
to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who be-
held him, their only countryman by birth, among
the oppressors of his native land. ‘The captain of
a frigate in the harbor, and two or three civil off-
cers under the Crown, were also there. But the
figure which most attracted the public eye, and
stirred up the deepest feeling, was the Episcopal
clergyman of King’s Chapel, riding haughtily among
the magistrates in his priestly vestments, the fitting
representative of prelacy and persecution, the union
of church and state, and all those abominations
which had driven the Puritans to the wilderness.
Another guard of soldiers, in double rank, brought
up the rear.

The whole scene was a picture of the condition
of New England, and its moral, the deformity of
any government that does not grow out of the na-
ture of things and the character of the people. On
one side the religious multitude, with their sad vis-
ages and dark attire, and on the other the group
of despotic rulers, with the high churchman in the
midst, and here and there a crucifix at their bosoms,
all magnificently clad, flushed with wine, proud of
unjust authority, and scoffing at the universal groan.
And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word
to deluge the street with blood, showed the only
means by which obedience could be secured.

“O Lord of Hosts,” cried a voice among the
crowd, “provide a Champion for thy people!”
 THE GRAY CHAMPION 163

This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served
as a herald’s cry, to introduce a remarkable person-
age. The crowd had rolled back, and were now
huddled together nearly at the extremity of the
street, while the soldiers had advanced no more
than a third of its length. ‘The intervening space
was empty a paved solitude, between lofty edifices,
which threw almost a twilight shadow over it. Sud-
denly, there was seen the figure of an ancient man,
who seemed to have emerged from among the peo-
ple, and was walking by himself along the centre of
the street, to confront the armed band. He wore
the old Puritan dress, a dark cloak and a steeple-
crowned hat, in the fashion of at least fifty years
before, with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a
staff in his hand to assist the tremulous gait of age.

When at some distance from the multitude, the
old man turned slowly round, displaying a face of
antique majesty, rendered doubly venerable by the
hoary beard that descended on his breast. He made
a gesture at once of encouragement and warning,
then turned again, and resumed his way.

‘Who is this gray patriarch?” asked the young
men of their sires.

‘Who is this venerable brother?” asked the old
men among themselves.

But none could make reply. The fathers of the
people, those of fourscore years and upward, were
disturbed, deeming it strange that they should for-
get one of such evident authority, whom they must
have known in their early days, the associate of
 164 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

Winthrop, and all the old councillors, giving laws,
and making prayers, and leading them against the
savage. The elderly men ought to have remem-
bered him, too, with locks as gray in their youth,
as their own were now. And the young! How
could he have passed so utterly from their memories
 that hoary sire, the relic of long-departed times,
whose awful benediction had surely been bestowed
on their uncovered heads, in childhood?

“Whence did he come? What is his purpose?
Who can this old man be?” whispered the wonder-
ing crowd.

Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand,
was pursuing his solitary walk along the centre of
the street. As he drew near the advancing soldiers,
and as the roll of their drum came full upon his ear,
the old man raised himself to a loftier mien, while
the decrepitude of age seemed to fall from his
shoulders, leaving him in gray but unbroken dignity.
Now he marched onward with a warrior’s step,
keeping time to the military music. Thus the aged
form advanced on one side, and the whole parade
of soldiers and magistrates on the other, till, when
scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man
grasped his staff by the middle, and held it before
him like a leader’s truncheon.

“Stand!” cried he.

The eye, the face, and attitude of command; the
solemn yet warlike peal of that voice, fit either to
rule a host in the battle-field or be raised to God
in prayer, were irresistible. At the old man’s word
 THE GRAY CHAMPION 165

and outstretched arm, the roll of the drum was
hushed at once, and the advancing line stood still.
A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the multitude.
That stately form, combining the leader and the
saint, so gray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient garb,
could only belong to some old champion of the right-
eous cause, whom the oppressor’s drum had sum-
moned from his grave. ‘They raised a shout of awe
and exultation, and looked for the deliverance of
New England.

The Governor, and the’ gentlemen of his party,
perceiving themselves brought to an unexpected
stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would have
pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right
against the hoary apparition. He, however, blenched
not a step, but glancing his severe eye round the
group, which half encompassed him, at last bent it
sternly on Sir Edmund Andros. One would have
thought that the dark old man was chief ruler there,
and that the Governor and Council, with soldiers
at their back, representing the whole power and au-
thority of the Crown, had no alternative but obe-
dience.

‘What does this old fellow here?” cried Edward
Randolph, fiercely. “On, Sir Edmund! Bid the
soldiers forward, and give the dotard the same
choice that you give all his countrymen to stand
aside or be trampled on!”’

‘‘Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good grand-
sire,” said Bullivant, laughing. ‘See you not, he 1s
some old round-headed dignitary, who hath lain
 166 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

asleep these thirty years, and knows nothing of the
change of times? Doubtless, he thinks to put us
down with a proclamation in Old Noll’s name!”

‘Are you mad, old man?”’ demanded Sir Edmund
Andros, in loud and harsh tones. ‘How dare you
stay the march of King James’s Governor ?”

‘TI have stayed the march of a King himself, ere
now,’ replied the gray figure, with stern composure.
“T am here, Sir Governor, because the cry of an
oppressed people hath disturbed me in my secret
place; and beseeching this favor earnestly of the
Lord, it was vouchsafed me to appear once again
on earth, in the good old cause of his saints. And
what speak ye of James? There is no longer a
Popish tyrant on the throne of England, and by
to-morrow noon, his name shall be a byword in this
very street, where ye would make it a word of ter-
ror. Back, thou that wast a Governor, back! With
this night thy power is ended to-morrow, the
prison | back, lest I foretell the scaffold!”

The people had been drawing nearer and nearer,
and drinking in the words of their champion, who
spoke in accents long disused, like one unaccustomed
to converse, except with the dead of many years ago.
But his voice stirred their souls. They confronted
the soldiers, not wholly without arms, and ready to
convert the very stones of the street into deadly
weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked at the old
man; then he cast his hard and cruel-eye over the
multitude, and beheld them burning with that lurid
wrath, so difficult to kindle or to quench; and again
 d
THE GRAY CHAMPION 167

he fixed his gaze on the aged form, which stood
obscurely in an open space, where neither friend nor
foe had thrust himself. What were his thoughts,
he uttered no word which might discover. But
whether the oppressor were overawed by the Gray
Champion’s look, or perceived his peril in the threat-
ening attitude of the people, it is certain that he
gave back, and ordered his soldiers to commence
a slow and guarded retreat. Before another sunset,
the Governor, and all that rode so proudly with him,
were prisoners, and long ere it was known that
James had abdicated, King William was proclaimed
throughout New England.

But where was the Gray Champion? Some re-
ported that, when the troops had gone from King
Street, and the people were thronging tumultuously
in their rear, Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was
seen to embrace a form more aged than his own.
Others soberly affirmed, that while they marvelled at
the venerable grandeur of his aspect, the old man
had faded from their eyes, melting slowly into the
hues of twilight, till, where he stood, there was an
empty space. But all agreed that the hoary shape
was gone. The men of that generation watched for
his reappearance, in sunshine and in twilight, but
never saw him more, nor knew when his funeral
passed, nor where his gravestone was.

And who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps his
name might be found in the records of that stern
Court of Justice, which passed a sentence, too mighty
for the age, but glorious in all after-times, for its
 168 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

humbling lesson to the monarch and its high exam-
ple to the subject. I have heard, that whenever the
descendants of the Puritans are to show the spirit
of their sires, the old man appears again. When
eighty years had passed, he walked once more in
King Street. Five years later, in the twilight of an
April morning, he stood on the green, beside the
meeting-house, at Lexington, where now the obelisk
of granite, with a slab of slate inlaid, commemorates
the first fallen of the Revolution. And when our.
fathers were toiling at the breastwork on Bunker’s
Hill, all through that night the old warrior walked
his rounds. Long, long may it be, ere he comes
again! His hour is one of darkness, and adversity,
and peril. But should domestic tyranny oppress us,
or the invader’s step pollute our soil, still may the
Gray Champion come, for he is the type of New
England’s hereditary spirit; and his shadowy march,
on the eve of danger, must ever be the pledge, that
New England’s sons will vindicate their ancestry.
 THE STORM - SHIP
By WASHINGTON IRVING

In the golden age of the province of the New Neth-
erlands, when under the sway of Wouter Van Twil-
ler, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the
Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just
about the time of the summer solstice, by a tremen-
dous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain fell
in such torrents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke
along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder
rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses;
the lightning was seen to play about the church of
St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to
strike its weather-cock. Garret Van Horne’s new
chimney was split almost from top to bottom; and
Doftue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his
bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into town.
In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms
which only happen once within the memory of that
venerable personage known in all towns by the ap-
pellation of “‘the oldest inhabitant.”

Great was the terror of the good old women of
the Manhattoes. They gathered their children
together, and took refuge in the cellars; after having
hung a shoe on the iron point of every bedpost, lest

169
 170 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

it should attract the lightning. At length the storm
abated; the thunder sank into a growl, and the set-
ting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders
of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to
gleam like a sea of molten gold.

The word was given from the fort that a ship was
standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to
mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little
capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those
early times of the settlement, was an event of vast
importance to the inhabitants. It brought them
news from the old world, from the land of their
birth, from which they were so completely severed;
to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply
of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of
necessaries. ‘he good vrouw could not have her
new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship;
the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgo-
master for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the
schoolboy for his top and marbles, and the lordly
landholder for the bricks with which he was to build
his new mansion. Thus every one, rich and poor,
great and small, looked out for the arrival of the
ship. It was the great yearly event of the town
of New Amsterdam; and from one end of the year
to the other, the ship the ship the ship was the
continual topic of conversation.

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all
the populace down to the Battery, to behold the
wished-for sight. It was not exactly the time when
she had been expected to arrive, and the circum-
 THE STORM-SHIP 171

‘stance was a matter of some speculation. Many
were the groups collected about the Battery. Here
and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and
pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great con-
fidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. At
another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fel-
lows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their
times, and were great authorities on such occasions;
these gave different opinions, and caused great dis-
putes among their several adherents; but the man
most looked up to, and followed and watched by the
crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea-captain
retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place.
He reconnoitered the ship through an ancient tele-
scope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch
tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however,
from Hans Van Pelt had always more weight with
the public than a speech from another man.

In the meantime the ship became more distinct
to the naked eye; she was a stout, round, Dutch-
built vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing
Dutch colors. ‘The evening sun gilded her bellying
canvas, as she came riding over the long waving bil-
lows. The sentinel, who had given notice of her
approach, declared that he first got sight of her
when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she
broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come
out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The
bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he
would say to this report; Hans Van Pelt screwed
his mouth closer together, and said nothing; upon
 172 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

which some shook their heads, and others shrugged
their shoulders.

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made
no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the
Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and with
some difficulty, loaded and ‘fired by Hans Van Pelt,
the garrison not being expert in artillery. ‘The shot
seemed absolutely to pass through the ship and to
skip along the water on the other side, but no notice
was taken of it! What was strange, she had all
her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide,
which were both down the river. Upon this Hans
Van Pelt, who was likewise harbor-master, ordered
his boat, and set off to board her; but after rowing
two or three hours, he returned without success.
Sometimes he would get within one or two hun-
dred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she
would be half a mile off. Some said it was because
his oarsmen, who were rather pursy and short-
winded, stopped every now and then to take breath,
and spit on their hands; but this it is probable was
a mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to
see the crew, who were all dressed in the Dutch
style, the officers in doublets and high hats and
feathers; not a word was spoken by any one on
board; they stood as motionless as so many statues,
and the ship seemed as if left to her own govern-
ment. ‘Thus she kept on, away up the river, lessen-
ing and lessening in the evening sunshine, until she
taded from sight, like a little white cloud melting
away in the summer sky.
 THE STORM-SHIP 173

The appearance of this ship threw the governor
into one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him
in the whole course of his administration. Fears
were entertained for the security of the infant set-
tlements on the river, lest this might be an enemy’s
ship in disguise, sent to take possession. The gov-
ernor called together his council repeatedly to assist
him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of
state, built of timber from the sacred forest of the
Hague, smoking his long jasmin pipe, and listening
to all that his counsellors had to say on a subject
about which they knew nothing; but in spite of all
the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the
governor still continued to doubt.

Messengers were dispatched to different places
on the river; but they returned without any tidings
 the ship had made no port. Day after day, and
week after week, elapsed, but she never returned
down the Hudson. As, however, the council seemed
solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance.
The captains of the sloops seldom arrived without
bringing some report of having seen the strange
ship at different parts of the river; sometimes near
the Palisades, sometimes off Croton Point, and
sometimes in the highlands. The crews of the
sloops, it is true, generally differed among them-
selves in their accounts of these apparitions; but
that may have arisen from the uncertain situations
in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the
flashes of the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy
night, and giving glimpses of her careering across
 174 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

Tappaan Zee, or the wide waste of Haverstraw Bay.
At one moment she would appear close upon them,
as if likely to run them down, and would throw
them into great bustle and alarm; but the next flash
would show her far off, always sailing against the
wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight nights, she
would be seen under some high bluff of the high-
lands, all in deep shadow, excepting her topsails
glittering in the moonbeams; by the time, however,
that the voyagers reached the place, no ship was to
be seen; and when they had passed on for some
distance, and looked back, behold! there she was
again, with her topsails in the moonshine! Her ap-
pearance was always just after, or just before, or
just in the midst of unruly weather; and she was
known among the skippers and voyagers of the
Hudson by the name of “the storm-ship.”

These reports perplexed the governor and his
council more than ever; and it would be endless to
repeat the conjectures and opinions uttered on the
subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seen
off the coast of New England, navigated by witches
and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been
more than once to the Dutch colony at the Cape of
Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying
Dutchman, which had so long haunted Table Bay;
but being unable to make port, had now sought an-
other harbor. Others suggested, that, if it really
was a supernatural apparition, as there was every
natural reason to believe, it might be Hendrick
Hudson, and his crew of the Haif Moon; who, it
 THE STORM-SHIP 175

was well known, had once run aground in the upper
part of the river in seeking a northwest passage to
China. ‘This opinion had very little weight with
the governor, but it passed current out of doors;
for indeed it had already been reported that Hen-
drick Hudson and his crew haunted the Kaatskill
Mountains; and it appeared very reasonable to sup-
pose, that his ship might infest the river where the
enterprise was baflled, or that it might bear the
shadowy crew to their periodical revels in the
mountain.

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts
and doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, and
the storm-ship ceased to be a subject of delibera-
tion at the board. It continued, however, a matter
of popular belief and marvellous anecdote through
the whole time of the Dutch government, and par-
ticularly just before the capture of New Amster-
dam, and the subjugation of the province by the
English squadron. About that time the storm-ship
was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and about
Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken; and
her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the
approaching squall in public affairs, and the down-
fall of Dutch domination.

Since that time we have no authentic accounts of
her; though it is said she still haunts the highlands,
and cruises about Point-no-Point. People who live
along the river insist that they sometimes see her
in summer moonlight; and that in a deep still mid-
night they have heard the chant of her crew, as if
 176 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

heaving the lead; but sights and sounds are so de-
ceptive along the mountainous shores, and about the
wide bays and long reaches of this great river, that
I confess I have very strong doubts upon the subject.

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things
have been seen in these highlands in storms, which
are considered as connected with the old story of
the ship. The captains of the river craft talk of a
little Dutch goblin, in trunk-hose and sugar-loafed
hat, with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, which they
say keeps about the Dunderberg. ‘They declare that
they have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst
of the turmoil, giving orders in Low Dutch for the
piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off
of another thunder-clap. That sometimes he has
been seen surrounded by a crew of little imps in
broad breeches and short doublets; tumbling head-
over-heels in the rack and mist, and playing a thou-
sand gambols in the air; or buzzing like a swarm
of flies about Antony’s Nose; and that, at such times,
the hurry-scurry of the storm was always greatest.
One time a sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg,
was overtaken by a thunder-gust, that came scour-
ing round the mountain, and seemed to burst just
over the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted,
she labored dreadfully, and the water came over the
gunwale. All the crew were amazed when it was
discovered that there was a little white sugar-loaf
hat on the mast-head, known at once to be the hat
of the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, how-
ever, dared to climb to the mast-head, and get rid
 THE STORM-SHIP 177

of this terrible hat. The sloop continued laboring
and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast
overboard, and seemed in continual danger either
of upsetting or of running on shore. In this way
she drove quite through the highlands, until she had
passed Pollopol’s Island, where, it is said, the juris-
diction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No
sooner had she passed this bourn, than the little hat
spun up into the air like a top, whirled up all the
clouds into a vortex, and hurried them back to the
summit of the Dunderberg; while the sloop righted
herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond.
Nothing saved her from utter wreck but the fortu-
nate circumstance of having a horse-shoe nailed
against the mast, a wise precaution against evil
spirits, since adopted by all the Dutch captains that
navigate this haunted river.
  THE LADY WITH THE VELVET COLLAR;

OR, THE ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT
By WASHINGTON IRVING

ON a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the
French revolution, a young German was returning
to his lodgings, at a late hour, across the old part
of Paris. The lightning gleamed, and the loud
claps of thunder rattled through the lofty narrow
streets but I should first tell you something about
this young German.

Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good
family. He had studied for some time at Gottingen,
but being of a visionary and enthusiastic character,
he had wandered into those wild and speculative
doctrines which have so often bewildered German
students. His secluded life, his intense application,
and the singular nature of his studies, had an effect
on both mind and body. His health was impaired;
his imagination diseased. He had been indulging
in fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until,
‘like Swedenborg, he had an ideal world of his own
around him. He took up a notion, I do not know
from what cause, that there was an evil influence
hanging over him; an evil genius or spirit seeking
to ensnare him and insure his perdition. Such an

179
 180 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

idea working on his melancholy temperament pro-
duced the most gloomy effects. He became haggard
and desponding. His friends discovered the men-
tal malady preying upon him, and determined that
the best cure was a change of scene; he was sent,
therefore, to finish his studies amidst the splendors
and gayeties of Paris.

Wolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out
pf the Revolution. The popular delirium at first
caught his enthusiastic mind, and he was captivated
by the political and philosophical theories of the
day, but the scenes of blood which followed shocked
his sensitive nature; disgusted him with society and
the world, and made him more than ever a recluse.
He shut himself up in a solitary apartment in the
Pays Latin, the quarter of students. There, in a
gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the
Sorbonne, he pursued his favorite speculations.
Sometimes he spent hours together in the great li-
braries of Paris, those catacombs of departed au-
thors, rummaging among their hoards of dusty and
obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy
appetite. He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul,
feeding in the charnel-house of decayed literature.

Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of
an ardent temperament, but for a time it operated
merely upon his imagination. He was too shy and
ignorant of the world to make any advances to the
fair, but he was a passionate admirer of female
beauty, and in his lonely chamber would often lose
himself in reveries on forms and faces which he had
 THE LADY WITH THE VELVET COLLAR 181

seen, and his fancy would deck out images of love-
liness far surpassing the reality.

While his mind was in this excited and sublimated
state, a dream produced an extraordinary effect
upon him. It was of a female face of transcendent
beauty. So strong was the impression made, that
he dreamed of it again and again. It haunted his
thoughts by day, his slumbers by night; in fine, he
became passionately enamored of this shadow of a
dream. ‘This lasted so long that it became one of
those fixed ideas which haunt the minds of melan-
choly men, and are at times mistaken for mad-
ness.

Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situ-
ation at the time I mentioned. He was returning
home late one stormy night, through some of the
old and gloomy streets of the Marais, the ancient
part of Paris. ‘The loud claps of thunder rattled
among the high houses of the narrow streets. He
came to the Place de la Gréve, the square where
public executions are performed. ‘The lightning
quivered about the pinnacles of the ancient Hotel
de Ville, and shed flickering gleams over the open
space in front. As Wolfgang was crossing the
square, he shrank back with horror at finding him-
self close by the guillotine. It was the height of the
Reign of Terror, when this dreadful instrument of
death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was con-
tinually running with the blood of the virtuous and
the brave. It had that very day been actively em-
ployed in the work of carnage, and there it stood in
 182 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

grim array, amidst a silent and sleeping city, wait-
ing for fresh victims.

Wolfgang’s heart sickened within him, and he
was turning shuddering from the horrible engine,
when he beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it
were at the foot of the steps which led up to the
scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of lightning
revealed it more distinctly. It was a female figure,
dressed in black. She was seated on one of the
lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her
face hid in her lap; and her long dishevelled tresses
hanging to the ground, streaming with the rain
which fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. There
was something awful in this solitary monument of
woe. The female had the appearance of being
above the common order. He knew the times to
be full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head,
which had once been pillowed on down, now wan-
dered houseless. Perhaps this was some poor
mourner whom the dreadful axe had rendered deso-
late, and who sat here heartbroken on the strand of
existence, from which all that was dear to her had
been launched into eternity.

He approached, and addressed her in the accents
of sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly
at him. What was his astonishment at beholding,
by the bright glare of the lightning, the very face
which had haunted him in his dreams. It was pale
and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful.

Trembling with violent and conflicting emotions,
Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke something
 THE LADY WITH THE VELVET COLLAR 183

of her being exposed at such an hour of the night,
and to the fury of such a storm, and offered to con-
duct her to her friends. She pointed to the guillo-
tine with a gesture of dreadful signification.

‘IT have no friend on earth!” said she.

“But you have a home,’ said Wolfgang.

‘““Yes in the grave!”

The heart of the student melted at the words.

“If a stranger dare make an offer,” said he,
“without danger of being misunderstood, I would
offer my humble dwelling as a shelter; myself as a
devoted friend. JI am friendless myself in Paris,
and a stranger in the land; but if my life could be
of service, it is at your disposal, and should be sac-
rificed before harm or indignity should come to
you.”

There was an honest earnestness in the young
man’s manner that had its effect. His foreign ac-
cent, too, was in his favor; it showed him not to be
a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, there is
an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be
doubted. The homeless stranger confided herself
implicitly to the protection of the student.

He supported her faltering steps across the Pont
Neuf, and by the place where the statue of Henry
the Fourth had been overthrown by the populace.
The storm had abated, and the thunder rumbled at
a‘distance. All Paris was quiet; that great volcano
of human passion slumbered for awhile, to gather
fresh strength for the next day’s eruption. The
student conducted his charge through the ancient
 184 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

streets of the Pays Latin, and by the dusky walls of
the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he in-
habited. The old portress who admitted them
stared with surprise at the unusual sight of the
melancholy Wolfgang with a female companion.

On entering his apartment, the student, for the
first time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference
of his dwelling. He had but one chamber an old-
fashioned salon heavily carved, and fantastically
furnished with the remains of former magnificence,
for it was of those hotels in the quarter of the Lux-
embourg Palace which had once belonged to nobil-
ity. It was lumbered with books and papers, and
all the usual apparatus of a student, and his bed
stood in a recess at one end.

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a
better opportunity of contemplating the stranger,
he was more than ever intoxicated by her beauty.
Her face was pale, but of a dazzling fairness, set
off by a profusion of raven hair that hung cluster-
ing about it. Her eyes were large and brilliant,
with a singular expression approaching almost to
wildness. As far as her black dress permitted her
shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her
whole appearance was highly striking, though she
was dressed in the simplest style. ‘The only thing
approaching to an ornament which she wore, was
a broad black band round her neck, clasped by
diamonds.

The perplexity now commenced with the student
how to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown
 THE LADY WITH THE VELVET COLLAR 185

upon his protection. He thought of abandoning his
chamber to her, and seeking shelter for himself else-
where. Still he was so fascinated by her charms,
there seemed to be such a spell upon his thoughts
and senses, that he could not tear himself from her
presence. Her manner, too, was singular and un-
accountable. She spoke no more of the guillotine.
Her grief had abated. The attentions of the stu-
dent had first won her confidence, and then, ap-
parently, her heart. She was evidently an enthusi-
ast like himself, and enthusiasts soon understand
each other.

In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang
avowed his passion for her. He told her the story
of his mysterious dream, and how she had possessed
his heart before he had even seen her. She was
strangely affected by his recital, and acknowledged
to have felt an impulse toward him equally unac-
countable. It was the time for wild theory and
wild actions. Old prejudices and superstitions were
done away; everything was under the sway of the
“Goddess of Reason.’’ Among other rubbish of
the old times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage
began to be considered superfluous bonds for hon-
orable minds. Social compacts were the vogue.
Wolfgang was too much of a theorist not to be
tainted by the liberal doctrines of the day.

‘“‘Why should we separate?” said he, “our hearts
are united; in the eye of reason and honor we are
as one. What need is there of sordid forms to bind
high souls together ?”’
 186 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

The stranger listened with emotion; she had evi-
dently received illumination at the same school.

‘You have no home nor family,” continued he;
“let me be everything to you, or rather let us be
everything to one another. If form is necessary,
form shall be observed there is my hand. I pledge
myself to you forever.”

‘Forever?’ said the stranger, solemnly.

“Forever!” repeated Wolfgang.

The stranger clasped the hand extended to her:
“Then I am yours,” murmured she, and sank upon
his bosom.

The next morning the student left his bride sleep-
ing, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more
spacious apartments, suitable to the change in his
situation. When he returned, he found the stranger
lying with her head hanging over the bed, and one
arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received
no reply. He advanced to awaken her from her
uneasy posture. On taking her hand, it was cold 
there was no pulsation her face was pallid and
ghastly In a word she was a corpse.

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A
scene of confusion ensued. The police was sum-
moned. As the officer of police entered the room,
he started back on beholding the corpse.

‘““Great heaven!” cried he, “how did this woman
come here ?”’

“Do you know anything about her?” said Wolf-

gang, eagerly.
 THE LADY WITH THE VELVET COLLAR 187

“Do I?” exclaimed the police officer, “she was
guillotined yesterday.”

He stepped forward, undid the black collar round
the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the
floor!

The student burst into a frenzy. ‘The fiend! the
fiend has gained possession of me!’’ shrieked he;
“T am lost forever.”

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was
possessed with the frightful belief that an evil
spirit had reanimated the dead body to ensnare him.
He went distracted, and died in a madhouse.
  LIGEIA
By EpGAR ALLAN POE

I CANNOT, for my soul, remember how, when, or
even precisely where, I first became acquainted with
the lady Ligeia. Long years since have elapsed,
and my memory is feeble through much suffering.
Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to
mind, because in truth the character of my beloved,
her rare learning, her singular yet placid cast of
beauty, and the thrilling and enthralling eloquence
of her low musical language, made their way into
my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily progres-
sive that they have been unnoticed and unknown.
Yet I believe that I met her first and most fre-
quently in some large, old, decaying city near the
Rhine. Of her family I have surely heard her
speak. That it is of a remotely ancient date cannot
be doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! Buried in studies of
a nature more than all else adapted to deaden im-
pressions of the outward world, it is by that sweet
word alone my Ligeia that I bring before mine
eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And
now, while I write, a recollection flashes upon me
that I have never known the paternal name of her
who was my friend and my betrothed, and who be-
came the partner of my studies, and finally the wife
189
 190 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

of my bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part
of my Ligeia? or was it a test of my strength of
affection, that I should institute no inquiries upon
this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own 
a wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most
passionate devotion? I but indistinctly recall the
fact itself what wonder that I have utterly for-
gotten the circumstances which originated or at-
tended it? And, indeed, if ever that spirit which is
entitled Romance if ever she, the wan and the
misty-winged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, pre-
sided, as they tell, over marriages ill-omened, then
most surely she presided over mine.

There is one dear topic, however, on which my
memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia.
In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in
her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain
attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of
her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness
and elasticity of her footfall. She came and de-
parted as a shadow. I was never made aware of
her entrance into my closed study, save by the dear
music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her
marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face
no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance
of an opium-dream an airy and spirit-lifting vision
more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered
about the slumbering souls of the daughters of
Delos. Yet her features were not of that regular
mould which we have been falsely taught to wor-
ship in the classical labors of the heathen. ‘There
 LIGEIA 191

is no exquisite beauty,’’ says Bacon, Lord Verulam,
speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty,
“without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet,
although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not
of a classic regularity although I perceived that
her loveliness was indeed ‘‘exquisite,” and felt that
there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet
I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and
to trace home my own perception of “‘the strange.”
I examined the contour of the lofty and pale fore-
head: it was faultless how cold indeed that word
when applied to a majesty so divine! the skin
rivalling the purest ivory, the commanding extent
and repose, the gentle prominence of the regions
above the temples; and then the raven-black, the
glossy, the luxuriant and naturally curling tresses,
setting forth the full force of the Homeric epithet,
“hyacinthine!’” I looked at the delicate outlines
of the nose and nowhere but in the graceful me-
dallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar per-
fection. There were the same luxurious smooth-
ness of surface, the same scarcely perceptible ten-
dency to the aquiline, the same harmoniously curved
nostrils speaking the free spirit. I regarded the
sweet mouth. Here was indeed the triumph of all
things heavenly the magnificent turn of the short
upper lip  the soft, voluptuous slumber of the
under the dimples which sported, and the color
which spoke the teeth glancing back, with a bril-
liancy almost startling, every ray of the holy light
which fell upon them in her serene and placid, yet
 192 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

most exultingly radiant of all smiles. I scrutinized
the formation of the chin: and here, too, I found
the gentleness of breadth, the softness and the
majesty, the fulness and the spirituality, of the
Greek the contour which the god Apollo revealed
but in a dream to Cleomenes, the son of the Athe-
nian. And then I peered into the large eyes of
Ligeia.

For eyes we have no models in the remotely an-
tique. It might have been, too, that in these eyes
of my beloved lay the secret to which Lord Verulam
alludes. ‘They were, I must believe, far larger than
the ordinary eyes of our own race. They were even
fuller than the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe
of the valley of Nourjahad. Yet it was only at in-
tervals  in moments of intense excitement   that
this peculiarity became more than slightly noticeable
in Ligeia. And at such moments was her beauty 
in my heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps the
beauty of beings either above or apart from the
earth, the beauty of the fabulous Houri of the Turk.
The hue of the orbs was the most brilliant of black,
and, far over them, hung jetty lashes of great length.
The brows, slightly irregular in outline, had the
same tint. The ‘strangeness,’ however, which I
found in the eyes, was of a nature distinct from the
formation, or the color, or the brilliancy of the fea-
tures, and must, after all, be referred to the expres-
sion. Ah, word of no meaning! behind whose vast
latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance
of so much of the spiritual. The expression of the
 LIGEIA 193

eyes of Ligeia! How for long hours have I pon-
dered upon it! How have I, through the whole of
a midsummer night, struggled to fa‘hom it! What
was it that something more profound than the
well of Democritus which lay far within the pupils
of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed
with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large,
those shining, those divine orbs! they became to me
twin stars of Leda, and I to them devoutest of
astrologers.

There is no point, among the many incompre-
hensible anomalies of the science of mind, more
thrillingly exciting than the fact never, I believe,
noticed in the schools that in our endeavors to re-
call to memory something long forgotten, we often
find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance,
without being able, in the end, to remember. And
thus how frequently, in my intense scrutiny of Li-
geia’s eyes, have I felt approaching the full knowl-
edge of their expression felt it approaching, yet
not quite be mine, and so at length entirely depart!
And (strange, oh strangest mystery of all!) I found,
in the commonest objects of the universe, a circle
of analogies to that expression. I mean to say that,
subsequently to the period when Ligeia’s beauty
passed into my spirit, there dwelling as in a shrine,
I derived, from many existences in the material
world, a sentiment such as I felt always around,
within me, by her large and luminous orbs. Yet
not the more could I define that sentiment, or ana-
lyze, or even steadily view it. I recognized it, let
 194 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

me repeat, sometimes in the survey of a rapidly-
growing vine in the contemplation of a moth, a
butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water. I
have felt it in the ocean; in the falling of a meteor.
I have felt it in the glances of unusually aged people.
And there are one or two stars in heaven (one
especially, a star of the sixth magnitude, double and
changeable, to be found near the large star in Lyra),
in a telescopic scrutiny of which I have been made
aware of the feeling. I have been filled with it by
certain sounds from stringed instruments, and not
unfrequently by passages from books. Among in-
numerable other instances, I well remember some-
thing in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (per-
haps merely from its quaintness who shall say?)
never failed to inspire me with the sentiment: ‘And
the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who know-
eth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For
God is but a great will pervading all things by
nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield him
to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only
through the weakness of his feeble will.”

Length of years and subsequent reflection have
enabled me to trace, indeed, some remote connec-
tion between this passage in the English moralist
and a portion of the character of Ligeia. An in-
tensity in thought, action, or speech, was possibly,
in her, a result, or at least an index, of that gigantic
volition which, during our long intercourse, failed
to give other and more immediate evidence of its
existence. Of all the women whom I have ever
 LIGEIA 195

known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Li-
geia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultu-
ous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion
I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous
expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted
and appalled me by the almost magical melody,
modulation, distinctness, and placidity of her very
low voice and by the fierce energy (rendered
doubly effective by contrast with her manner of ut-
terance) of the wild words which she habitually
uttered.

I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was
immense such as I have never known in woman.
In the classical tongues was she deeply proficient,
and as far as my own acquaintance extended in re-
gard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never
known her at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the
most admired, because simply the most abstruse of
tne boasted erudition of the academy, have I ever
found Ligeia at fault? How singularly, how thrill-
ingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has
forced itself, at this late period only, upon my at-
tention! I said her knowledge was such as I have
never known in woman but where breathes the
man who has traversed, and successfully, all the
wide areas of moral, physical, and mathematical
science? I saw not then what I now clearly per-
ceive, that the acquisitions of Ligeia were gigantic,
were astounding; yet I was sufficiently aware of her
infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a child-like
confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic
 (196 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

world of metaphysical investigation at which I was
most busily occupied during the earlier years of our
marriage. With how vast a triumph, with how
vivid a delight, with how much of all that is ethereal
in hope, did I feel, as she bent over me in studies
but little sought   but less known, that delicious
vista by slow degrees expanding before me, down
whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden path, I
might at length pass onward to the goal of a wis-
dom too divinely precious not to be forbidden!
How poignant, then, must have been the grief with
which, after some years, I beheld my well-grounded
expectations take wings to themselves and fly away!
Without Ligeia I was but as a child groping be-
nighted. Her presence, her readings alone, ren-
dered vividly luminous the many mysteries of the
transcendentalism in which we were immersed.
Wanting the radiant lustre of her eyes, letters,
lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian
lead. And now those eyes shone less and less fre-
quently upon the pages over which I pored. Ligeia
grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a too too
glorious effulgence; the pale fingers became of the
transparent waxen hue of the grave; and the blue
veins upon the lofty forehead swelled and sank im-
petuously with the tides of the most gentle emotion.
I saw that she must die and I struggled desperately
in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles
of the passionate wife were, to my astonishment,
even more energetic than my own. There had been
much in her stern nature to impress me with the
 LIGEIA 197

belief that, to her, death would have come without
its terrors; but not so. Words are impotent to con-
vey any just idea of the fierceness of resistance with
which she wrestled with the Shadow. I groaned in
anguish at the pitiable spectacle. I would have
soothed I would have reasoned; but, in the in-
tensity of her wild desire for life for life but
for life solace and reason were alike the utter-
most of folly. Yet not until the last instance, amid
the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit,
was shaken the external placidity of her demeanor.
Her voice grew more gentle grew more low yet
I would not wish to dwell upon the wild meaning of
the quietly uttered words. My brain reeled as I
hearkened, entranced, to a melody more than mor-
tal to assumptions and aspirations which mortal-
ity had never before known.

That she loved me I should not have doubted;
and I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom
such as hers, love would have reigned no ordinary
passion. But in death only was I fully impressed
with the strength of her affection. For long hours,
detaining my hand, would she pour out before me
the overflowing of a heart whose more than pas-
sionate devotion amounted to idolatry. How had
I deserved to be so blessed by such confessions?
how had I deserved to be so cursed with the re-
moval of my beloved in the hour of her making
them? But upon this subject I cannot bear to dilate.
Let me say only, that in Ligeia’s more than womanly
abandonment to a love, alas! all unmerited, all un-
 198 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

worthily bestowed, I at length recognized the prin-
ciple of her longing, with so wildly earnest a desire,
for the life which was now fleeing so rapidly away.
It is this wild longing, it is this eager vehemence of
desire for life but for life, that I have no power to
portray, no utterance capable of expressing.

At high noon of the night in which she departed,
beckoning me peremptorily to her side, she bade
me repeat certain verses composed by herself not
many days before. I obeyed her. They were
these:

Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years.
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly;
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their condor wings
Invisible Woe.

That motley drama oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
 LIGEIA 199

Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot;

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude:

A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!

It writhes it writhes! with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,

And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out out are the lights out all!
And over each quivering form
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, afirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

“OQ God!” half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her
feet and extending her arms aloft with a spasmodic
movement, as I made an end of these lines ‘‘O
God! O Divine Father! shall these things be un-
deviatingly so? shall this conqueror be not once
conquered? Are we not part and parcel in Thee?
Who who knoweth the mysteries of the will with
its vigor? ‘Man doth not yield him to the angels,
nor unto death utterly, save only through the weak-
ness of his feeble will.’ ”
 200 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suf-
fered her white arms to fall, and returned solemnly
to her bed of death. And as she breathed her last
sighs, there came mingled with them a low murmur
from her lips. I bent to them my ear, and distin-
guished, again, the concluding words of the passage
in Glanvill: “Man doth not yield him to the angels,
nor unto death utterly, save only through the weak-
ness of his feeble will.”

She died: and I, crushed into the very dust with
sorrow, could no longer endure the lonely desola-
tion of my dwelling in the dim and decaying city
by the Rhine. I had no lack of what the world
calls wealth. Ligeia had brought me far more, very
far more, than ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals.
After a few months, therefore, of weary and aim-
less wandering, I purchased, and put in some repair,
an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the wild-
est and least frequented portions of fair England.
The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building,
the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many
melancholy and time-honored memories connected
with both, had much in unison with the feelings of
utter abandonment which had driven me into that
remote and unsocial region of the country. Yet al-
though the external abbey, with its verdant decay
hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave
way with a child-like perversity, and perchance with
a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display
of more than regal magnificence within. For such
follies, even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste,
 LIGEIA 201

and now they came back to me as if in the dotage of
grief. Alas, I feel how much even of incipient mad-
ness might have been discovered in the gorgeous
and fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of
Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bed-
lam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had
become a bounden slave in the trammels of opium,
and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring
from my dreams. But these absurdities I must not
pause to detail. Let me speak only of that one
chamber ever accursed, whither, in 2 moment of
mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride
 as the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia the
fair-haired and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion,
of Tremaine.

There is no individual portion of the architecture
and decoration of that bridal chamber which is not
now visibly before me. Where were the souls of
the haughty family of the bride, when, through
thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold
of an apartment so bedecked, a maiden and a daugh-
ter so beloved? I have said that I minutely remem-
ber the details of the chamber yet I am sadly for-
getful on topics of deep moment; and here there
was no system, no keeping, in the fantastic display,
to take hold upon the memory. The room lay in
a high turret of the castellated abbey, was pentago-
nal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying the
whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole
window an immense sheet of unbroken glass from
Venice a single pane, and tinted of a leaden hue,
 202 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

so that the rays of either the sun or moon, passing
through it, fell with a ghastly lustre on the objects
within. Over the upper portion of this huge win-
dow extended the trellis-work of an aged vine, which
clambered up the massy walls of the turret. The
ceiling, of gloomy-looking oak, was excessively
lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with the wild-
est and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic,
semi-Druidical device. From out the most central
recess of this melancholy vaulting depended, by a
single chain of gold with long links, a huge censer
of the same metal, Saracenic in pattern, and with
many perforations so contrived that there writhed
in and out of them, as if endued with a serpent vi-
tality, a continual succession of party-colored fires.

Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of
Eastern figure, were in various stations about; and
there was the couch, too the bridal couch of an
Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid
ebony, with a pall-like canopy above. In each of
the angles of the chamber stood on end a gigantic
sarcophagus of black granite, from the tombs of
the kings over against Luxor, with their aged lids
full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping
of the apartment lay, alas! the chief fantasy of all.
The lofty walls, gigantic in height, even unpropor-
tionably so, were hung from summit to foot, in
vast folds, with a heavy and massive-looking tapes-
try tapestry of a material which was found alike
as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for the otto-
mans and the ebony bed, as a canopy for the bed,
 LIGEIA 203

and as the gorgeous volutes of the curtains which
partially shaded the window. ‘The material was the
richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at
irregular intervals, with arabesque figures, about a
foot in diameter, and wrought upon the cloth in
patterns of the most jetty black. But these figures
partook of the true character of the arabesque only
when regarded from a single point of view. By a
contrivance now common, and indeed traceable to
a very remote period of antiquity, they were made
changeable in aspect. To one entering the room,
they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities;
but upon a farther advance, this appearance grad-
ually departed; and, step by step, as the visitor
moved his station in the chamber, he saw himself
surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly
forms which belong to the superstition of the Nor-
man, or arise in the guilty slumbers of the monk.
The phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened by
the artificial introduction of a strong continual cur-
rent of wind behind the draperies, giving a hideous
and uneasy animation to the whole.

In halls such as these, in a bridal chamber such
as this, I passed, with the Lady of Tremaine, the
unhallowed hours of the first month of our mar-
riage passed them with but little disquietude. That
my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper
 that she shunned me, and loved me but little TI
could not help perceiving; but it gave me rather
pleasure than otherwise. J loathed her with a hatred
belonging more to demon than to man. My mem-
 204 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ory flew back (oh, with what intensity of regret!)
to Ligeia, the beloved, the august, the beautiful, the
entombed. I revelled in recollections of her purity,
of her wisdom, of her lofty, her ethereal nature, of
her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now, then, did
my spirit fully and freely burn with more than all
the fires of her own. In the excitement of my opium
dreams, (for I was habitually fettered in the shackles
of the drug,) I would call aloud upon her name,
during the silence of the night, or among the shel-
tered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the
wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming
ardor of my longing for the departed, I could re-
store her to the pathway she had abandoned ah,
could it be forever P upon the earth.

About the commencement of the second month
of the marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked
with sudden illness, from which her recovery was
slow. The fever which consumed her, rendered her
nights uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-
slumber, she spoke of sounds, and of motions, in
and about the chamber of the turret, which I con-
cluded had no origin save in the distemper of her
fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences
of the chamber itself. She became at length con-
valescent   finally, well. Yet but a brief period
elapsed, ere a second more violent disorder again
threw her upon a bed of suffering; and from this
attack her frame, at all times feeble, never alto-
gether recovered. Her illnesses were, after this
epoch, of alarming character, and of more alarm-
 LIGEIA 205

ing recurrence, defying alike the knowledge and the
great exertions of her physicians. With the in-
crease of the chronic disease, which had thus ap-
parently taken too sure hold upon her constitution
to be eradicated by human means, I could not fail
to observe a similar increase in the nervous irrita-
tion of her temperament, and in her excitability by
trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now
more frequently and pertinaciously, of the sounds 
of the slight sounds and of the unusual motions
among the tapestries, to which she had formerly
alluded.

One night, near the closing in of September, she
pressed this distressing subject with more than usual
emphasis upon my attention. She had just awak-
ened from an unquiet slumber, and I had been
watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague
terror, the workings of her emaciated countenance.
I sat by the side of her ebony bed, upon one of the
ottomans of India. She partly arose, and spoke, in
an earnest low whisper, of sounds which she then
heard, but which I could not hear  of motions
which she then saw, but which I could not perceive.
The wind was rushing hurriedly behind the tapes-
tries, and I wished to show her (what, let me con-
fess it, I could not all believe) that those almost
inarticulate breathings, and those very gentle varia-
tions of the figures upon the wall, were but the nat-
ural effects of that customary rushing of the wind.
But a deadly pallor, overspreading her face, had
proved to me that my exertions to reassure her
 206 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

would be fruitless. She appeared to be fainting,
and no attendants were within call. I remembered
where was deposited a decanter of light wine which
had been ordered by her physicians, and hastened
across the chamber to procure it. But, as I stepped
beneath the light of the censer, two circumstances
of a startling nature attracted my attention. I had
felt that some palpable although invisible object had
passed lightly by my person; and I saw that there
lay upon the golden carpet, in the very middle of
the rich lustre thrown from the censer, a shadow 
a faint, indefinite shadow of angelic aspect such
as might be fancied for the shadow of a shade. But
I was wild with the excitement of an immoderate
dose of opium, and heeded these things but little,
nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found the
wine, I recrossed the chamber, and poured out a
gobletful, which I held to the lips of the fainting
lady. She had now partially recovered, however,
and took the vessel herself, while I sank upon an
ottoman near me, with my eyes fastened upon her
person. It was then that I became distinctly aware
of a gentle footfall upon the carpet, and near the
couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was
in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or
may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the gob-
let, as if from some invisible spring in the atmos-
phere of the room, three or four large drops of a
brilliant and ruby-colored fluid. If this I saw not
so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly,
and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance
 LIGEIA 207

which must after all, I considered, have been but
the suggestion of a vivid imagination, rendered
morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the
opium, and by the hour.

Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception
that, immediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-
drops, a rapid change for the worst took place in
the disorder of my wife; so that, on the third sub-
sequent night, the hands of her menials prepared
her for the tomb, and on the fourth, I sat alone,
with her shrouded body, in that fantastic chamber
which had received her as my bride. Wild visions,
opium-engendered, flitted shadow-like before me., I
gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the
angles of the room, upon the varying figures of the
drapery, and upon the writhing of the party-colored
fires in the censer overhead. My eyes then fell, as
I called to mind the circumstances of a former night,
to the spot beneath the glare of the censer where I
had seen the faint traces of the shadow. It was
there, however, no longer; and breathing with
greater freedom, I turned my glances to the pallid
and rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon
me a thousand memories of Ligeia and then came
back upon my heart, with the turbulent violence of
a flood, the whole of that unutterable woe with
which I had regarded her thus enshrouded. The
night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter
thoughts of the one only and supremely beloved, I
remained gazing upon the body of Rowena.

It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier,
 208 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

or later, for I had taken no note of time, when a
sob, low, gentle, but very distinct, startled me from
my revery. I felt that it came from the bed of
ebony the bed of death. I listened in an agony
of superstitious terror but there was no repetition
of the sound. I strained my vision to detect any
motion in the corpse but there was not the slight-
est perceptible. Yet I could not have been deceived.
I had heard the noise, however faint, and my soul
was awakened within me. I resolutely and persever-
ingly kept my attention riveted upon the body.
Many minutes elapsed before any circumstance oc-
curred tending to throw light upon the mystery. At
length it became evident that a slight, a very feeble,
and barely noticeable tinge of color had flushed up
within the cheeks, and along the sunken small veins
of the eyelids. Through a species of unutterable
horror and awe, for which the language of mortal-
ity has no sufficiently energetic expression, I felt my
heart cease to beat, my limbs grow rigid where I
sat. Yet a sense of duty finally operated to restore
my self-possession. I could no longer doubt that
we had been precipitate in our preparations that
Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some im-
mediate exertion be made; yet the turret was alto-
gether apart from the portion of the abbey tenanted
by the servants there were none within call I had
no means of summoning them to my aid without
leaving the room for many minutes   and this I
could not venture to do. I therefore struggled alone
in my endeavors to call back the spirit still hover-
 LIGEIA 209

ing. In a short period it was certain, however, that
a relapse had taken place; the color disappeared
from both eyelid and cheek, leaving a wanness even
more than that of marble; the lips became doubly
shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly expression
of death; a repulsive clamminess and coldness over-
spread rapidly the surface of the body; and all the
usual rigorous stiffness immediately supervened. I
fell back with a shudder upon the couch from which
I had been so startlingly aroused, and again gave
myself up to passionate waking visions of Ligeia.
An hour thus elapsed, when (could it be possi-
ble?) I was a second time aware of some vague
sound issuing from the region of the bed. I listened
 in extremity of horror. The sound came again 
it was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw dis-
tinctly saw -a tremor upon the lips. In a minute
afterward they relaxed, disclosing a bright line of
the pearly teeth. Amazement now struggled in my
bosom with the profound awe which had hitherto
reigned there alone. I felt that my vision grew dim,
that my reason wandered; and it was only by a vio-
lent effort that I at length succeeded in nerving my-
self to the task which duty thus once more had
pointed out. There was now a partial glow upon
the forehead and upon the cheek and throat; a per-
ceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame; there
was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady
lived; and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to
the task of restoration. I chafed and bathed the
temples and the hands, and used every exertion
 210 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

which experience, and no little medical reading,
could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the color
fled, the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the ex-
pression of the dead, and, in an instant afterward,
the whole body took upon itself the icy chilliness,
the livid hue, the intense rigidity, the sunken outline,
and all the loathsome peculiarities of that which has
been, for many days, a tenant of the tomb.

And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia   and
again (what marvel that I shudder while I write?),
again there reached my ears a low sob from the
region of the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely
detail the unspeakable horrors of that night? Why
shall I pause to relate how, time after time, until
near the period of the gray dawn, this hideous
drama of revivification was repeated; how each ter-
rific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently
more irredeemable death; how each agony wore the
aspect of a struggle with some invisible foe; and
how each struggle was succeeded by I know not what
of wild change in the personal appearance of the
corpse? Let me hurry to a conclusion.

The greater part of the fearful night had worn
away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred
 and now more vigorously than hitherto, although
arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its
utter helplessness than any. I had long ceased to
struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly
upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of vio-
lent emotions, of which extreme awe was perhaps
the least terrible, the least consuming. ‘The corpse,
 LIGEIA 211

I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than be-
fore. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted
energy into the countenance the limbs relaxed 
and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily
together, and that the bandages and draperies of
the grave still imparted their charnel character to
the figure, I might have dreamed that Rowena had
indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of Death. But
if this idea was not, even then, altogether adopted,
I could at least doubt no longer, when, arising from
the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed
eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a
dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced
bodily and palpably into the middle of the apart-
menf.

I trembled not lI stirred not for a crowd of
unutterable fancies connected with the air, the
stature, the demeanor of the figure, rushing hur-
riedly through my brain, had paralyzed had chilled
me into stone. I stirred not but gazed upon the
apparition. ‘There was a mad disorder in my
thoughts   a tumult unappeasable. Could it, in-
deed, be the living Rowena who confronted me,
Could it indeed be Rowena at al/l the fair-haired,
the blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tre-
maine? Why, why should I doubt it? The ban-
dage lay heavily about the mouth but then might
it not be the mouth of the breathing Lady of Tre-
maine? And the cheeks there were the roses as in
her noon of life yes, these might indeed be the
fair cheeks of the living lady of Tremaine. And
 212 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it not
be hers? but had she then grown taller since her
malady? What inexpressible madness seized me
with that thought? One bound, and I had reached
her feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall
from her head the ghastly cerements which had con-
fined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing
atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long
and dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the wings
of the midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes
of the figure which stood before me. ‘Here then,
at least,’’ I shrieked aloud, ‘‘can I never  can I
never be mistaken these are the full, and the black,
and the wild eyes of my lost love of the Lady 
of the Lapy LIGEIA.”
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE
By Epcar ALLAN POE

OF my country and of my family I have little to
say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me
from the one, and estranged me from the other.
Hereditary wealth accorded me an education of no
common order, and a contemplative turn of mind
enabled me to methodize the stores which early
study diligently garnered up. Beyond all things,
the works of the German moralists gave me great
delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their
eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my
habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect their
falsities. I have often been reproached with the
aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagination has
been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism
of my opinions has at all times rendered me notori-
ous. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy
has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very common
error of this age I mean the habit of referring
occurrences, even the least susceptible of such refer-
ence, to the principles of that science. Upon the
whole, no person could be less liable than myself to
be led away from the severe precincts of truth by
the ignes fatui of superstition. I have thought
proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale
213
 214 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

I have to tell should be considered rather the raving
of a crude imagination than the positive experience
of a mind to which the reveries of fancy have been
a dead letter and a nullity.

After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed
in the year 18 , from the port of Batavia, in the
rich and populous island of Java, on a voyage to
the Archipelago of the Sunda Islands. I went as
passenger having no other inducement than a kind
of nervous restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.

Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four
hundred tons, copper-fastened, and built at Bombay
of Malabar teak. She was freighted with cotton-
wool and oil, from the Laccadive Islands. We had
also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and
a few cases of opium. The stowage was clumsily
done, and the vessel consequently crank.

We got under way with a mere breath of wind,
and for many days stood along the eastern coast of
Java, without any other incident to beguile the mo-
notony of our course than the occasional meeting
with some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to
which we were bound.  

One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed
a very singular isolated cloud to the N. W. It was
remarkable, as well for its color, as from its being
the first we had seen since our departure from Ba-
tavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when
it spread all at once to the eastward and westward,
girding in the horizon with a narrow strip of vapor,
and looking like a long line of low beach. My no-
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 215

tice was soon afterward attracted by the dusky-red
appearance of the moon and the peculiar character
of the sea. ‘The latter was undergoing a rapid
change, and the water seemed more than usually
transparent. Although I could distinctly see the
bottom, yet, heaving the lead, I found the ship in
fifteen fathoms. The air now became intolerably
hot, and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar
to those arising from heated iron. As night came
on, every breath of wind died away, and a more en-
tire calm it is impossible to conceive. The flame of
a candle burned upon the poop without the least per-
ceptible motion, and a long hair, held between the
finger and thumb, hung without the possibility
of detecting a vibration. However, as the captain
said he could perceive no indication of danger, and
as we were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered
the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No
watch was set, and the crew, consisting principally
of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon
deck. I went below not without a full presenti-
ment of evil. Indeed, every appearance warranted
me in apprehending a simoom. I told the captain
my fears; but he paid no attention to what I said,
and left me without deigning to give a reply. My
uneasiness, however, prevented me from sleeping,
and about midnight I went upon deck. As I placed
my foot upon the upper step of the companion-
ladder, I was startled by a loud humming noise, like
that occasioned by the rapid revolution of a mill-
wheel, and, before I could ascertain its meaning, I
 216 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next
instant, a wilderness of foam hurled us upon our
beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore and aft, swept
the entire decks from stem to stern.

The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great
measure, the salvation of the ship. Although com-
pletely water-logged, yet, as her masts had gone by
the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from the
sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense
pressure of the tempest, finally righted.

By what miracle I escaped destruction it is im-
possible to say. Stunned by the shock of the water,
I found myself, upon recovery, jammed in between
the stern-post and rudder. With great difficulty I
gained my feet, and, looking dizzily around, was at
first struck with the idea of our being among break-
ers; so terrific, beyond the wildest imagination, was
the whirlpool of mountainous and foaming ocean
within which we were engulfed. After a while, I
heard the voice of an old Swede, who had shipped
with us at the moment of leaving port. I hallooed
to him with all my strength, and presently he came
reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were the
sole survivors of the accident. All on deck, with
the exception of ourselves, had been swept over-
board; the captain and mates must have perished
as they slept, for the cabins were deluged with
water. Without assistance, we could expect to do
little for the security of the ship, and our exertions
were at first paralyzed by the momentary expecta-
tion of going down. Our cable had, of course,
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 217°

parted like pack-thread, at the first breath of the
hurricane, or we should have been instantaneously
overwhelmed. We scudded with frightful velocity
before the sea, and the water made clear breaches
over us. The framework of our stern was shat-
tered excessively, and, in almost every respect, we
had received considerable injury; but to our extreme
joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we had
made no great shifting of our ballast. The main
fury of the blast had already blown over, and we
apprehended little danger from the violence of the
wind; but we looked forward to its total cessation
with dismay; well believing that, in our shattered
condition, we should inevitably perish in the tre-
mendous swell which would ensue. But this very
just apprehension seemed by no means likely to be
soon verified. For five entire days and nights 
during which our only subsistence was a small quan-
tity of jaggeree, procured with great difficulty from
the forecastle the hulk flew at a rate defying com-
putation, before rapidly succeeding flaws of wind,
which, without equalling the first violence of the
simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest I
had before encountered. Our course for the first
four days was, with trifling variations, S. E. and by
S.; and we must have run down the coast of New
Holland. On the fifth day the cold became extreme,
although the wind had hauled round a point more
to the northward. The sun arose with a sickly yel-
low lustre, and clambered a very few degrees above
the horizon emitting no decisive light. There
 218 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the
increase, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury.
About noon, as nearly as we could guess, our atten-
tion was again arrested by the appearance of the
sun. It gave out no light, properly so called, but a
dull and sullen glow without reflection, as if all its
rays were polarized. Just before sinking within the
turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went out, as if
hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power.
It was a dim, silver-like rim, alone, as it rushed
down the unfathomable ocean.

We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth
day that day to me has not arrived to the Swede,
never did arrive. Thenceforward we were en-
shrouded in pitchy darkness, so that we could not
have seen an object at twenty paces from the ship.
Eternal night continued to envelop us, all unrelieved
by the phosphoric sea-brilliancy to which we had
been accustomed in the tropics. We observed, too,
that, although the tempest continued to rage with
unabated violence, there was no longer to be dis-
covered the usual appearance of surf, or foam,
which had hitherto attended us. All around were
horror and thick gloom, and a black sweltering
desert of ebony. Superstitious terror crept by de-
grees into the spirit of the old Swede, and my own
soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We neg-
lected all caré of the’ ship, as worse than useless,
and securing ourselves, as well as possible, to the
stump of the mizzen-mast, looked out bitterly into
the world of ocean. We had no means of calculat-
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 219

ing time, nor could we form any guess of our situ-
ation. We were, however, well aware of having
made farther to the southward than any previous
navigators, and felt great amazement at not meet-
ing with the usual impediments of ice. In the mean-
time every moment thrcatened to be our last every
mountainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The
swell surpassed anything I had imagined possible,
and that we were not instantly buried is a miracle.
My companion spoke of the lightness of our cargo,
and reminded me of the excellent qualities of our
ship; but [ could not help feeling the utter hopeless-
ness of hope itself, and prepared myself gloomily
for that death which I thought nothing could defer
beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship
made, the swelling of the black stupendous seas be-
came more dismally appalling. At times we gasped
for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross at
times became dizzy with the velocity of our descent
into some watery hell, where the air grew stagnant,
and no sound disturbed the slumbers of the kraken.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses,
when a quick scream from my companion broke
fearfully upon the night. ‘See! see!’ cried he,
shrieking in my ears, “Almighty God! see! see!”
As he spoke, I became aware of a dull, sullen glare
of red light which streamed down the sides of the
vast chasm where we lay, and threw a fitful bril-
liancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upward, I
beheld a spectacle which froze the current of my
blood. At a terrific height directly above us, and
 220 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

upon the very verge of the precipitous descent, hov-
ered a gigantic ship, of perhaps four thousand tons.
Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more
than a hundred times her own altitude, her apparent
size still exceeded that of any ship of the line or
East Indiaman in existence. Her huge hull was of
a deep dingy black, unrelieved by any of the cus-
tomary carvings of a ship. A single row of brass
cannon protruded from her open ports, and dashed
from their polished surfaces the fires of innumerable
battle-lanterns which swung to and fro about her
rigging. But what mainly inspired us with horror
and astonishment was that she bore up under a press
of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea,
and of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first
discovered her, her bows were alone to be seen, as
she rose slowly from the dim and horrible gulf be-
yond her. For a moment of intense terror she
paused upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contempla-
tion of her own sublimity, then trembled and tot-
tered, and came down.

At this instant, I know not what sudden self-
possession came over my spirit. Staggering as far
aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly the ruin that was
to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length ceas-
ing from her struggles, and sinking with her head
to the sea. The shock of the descending mass struck
her, consequently, in that portion of her frame which
was nearly under water, and the inevitable result
was to hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the
rigging of the stranger.
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 221

As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about;
and to the confusion ensuing I attributed my escape
from the notice of the crew. With little difficulty I
made my way, unperceived, to the main hatchway,
which was partially open, and soon found an oppor-
tunity of secreting myself in the hold. Why I did
so I can hardly tell. An indefinite sense of awe,
which at first sight of the navigators of the ship had
taken hold of my mind, was perhaps the principle
of my concealment. I was unwilling to trust myself
with a race of people who had offered, to the cursory
glance I had taken, so many points of vague novelty,
doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thought
proper to contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This
I did by removing a small portion of the shifting-
boards, in such a manner as to afford me a conven-
ient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.

I had scarcely completed my work, when a foot-
step in the hold forced me to make use of it. A
man passed by my place of concealment with a feeble
and unsteady gait. I could not see his face, but had
an opportunity of observing his general appear-
ance. here was about it an evidence of great age
and infirmity. His knees tottered beneath a load
of years, and his entire frame quivered under the
burden. He muttered to himself, in a low broken
tone, some words of a language which I could not
understand, and groped in a corner among a pile
of singular-looking instruments, and decayed charts
of navigation. His manner was a wild mixture of
the peevishness of second childhood and the solemn
 222 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

dignity of a god. He at length went on deck, and
I saw him no more.

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken
possession of my soul a sensation which will ad-
mit of no analysis, to which the lessons of by-gone
time are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity
itself will offer me no key. To a mind constituted
like my own, the latter consideration is an evil. I
shall never I know that I shall never be satis-
fied with regard to the nature of my conceptions.
Yet it is not wonderful that these conceptions are
indefinite, since they have their origin in sources so
utterly novel. A new sense a new entity is added
to my soul.

It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible
ship, and the rays of my destiny are, I think, gath-
ering to a focus. Incomprehensible men! Wrapped
up in meditations of a kind which I cannot divine,
they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter
folly on my part, for the people will not see. It was
but just now that I passed directly before the eyes
of the mate; it was no long while ago that I ven-
tured into the captain’s own private cabin, and took
thence the materials with which I write, and have
written. I shall from time to time continue this
journal. It is true that I may not find an oppor-
tunity of transmitting it to the world, but I will not
fail to make the endeavor. At the last moment I
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 223

will enclose the MS. in a bottle, and cast it within
the sea.

An incident has occurred which has given me
new room for meditation. Are such things the oper-
ation of ungoverned chance? I had ventured upon
deck and thrown myself down, without attracting
any notice, among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails,
in the bottom of the yawl. While musing upon the
singularity of my fate, I unwittingly daubed with a
tar-brush the edges of a neatly folded studding-sail
which lay near me on a barrel. The studding-sail
is now bent upon the ship, and the thoughtless
touches of the brush are spread out into the word
DISCOVERY.

I have made many observations lately upon the
structure of the vessel. Although well armed, she
is not, I think, a ship of war. Her rigging, build,
and general equipment all negative a supposition of
this kind. What she zs not, I can easily perceive;
what she is, I fear it is impossible to say. I know
not how it is, but in scrutinizing her strange model
and singular cast of spars, her huge size and over-
grown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and
antiquated stern, there will occasionally flash across
my mind a sensation of familiar things, and there
is always mixed up with such indistinct shadows of
recollection an unaccountable memory of old for-
eign chronicles and ages long ago.

I have been looking at the timbers of the ship.
 224 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

She is built of a material to which I am a stranger.
There is a peculiar character about the wood which
strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose to
which it has been applied. I mean its extreme por-
ousness, considered independently of the worm-eaten
condition which is a consequence of navigation in
these seas, and apart from the rottenness attendant
upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation
somewhat overcurious, but this wood would have
every characteristic of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak
were distended by any unnatural means.

In reading the above sentence, a curious apothegm
of an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes
full upon my recollection. “It is as sure,” he was
wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of his
veracity, ‘‘as sure as there is a sea where the ship
itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the
seaman.”

About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself
among a group of the crew. ‘They paid me no man-
ner of attention, and, although I stood in the very
midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of my
presence. Like the one I had at first seen in the
hold, they all bore about them the marks of a hoary
old age. ‘Their knees trembled with infirmity; their
shoulders were bent double with decrepitude; their
shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their voices were
low, tremulous, and broken; their eyes glistened
with the rheum of years; and their gray hairs
streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them, on
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 225

every part of the deck, lay scattered mathematical
instruments of the most quaint and obsolete cone
struction.

I mentioned, some time ago, the bending of a
studding-sail. From that period, the ship, being
thrown dead off the wind, has continued her terrific
course due south, with every rag of canvas packed
upon her, from her truck to her lower studding-sail
booms, and rolling every moment her top-gallant
yard-arms into the most appalling hell of water
which it can enter into the mind of man to imagine.
I have just left the deck, where I find it impossible
to maintain a footing, although the crew seem to
experience little inconvenience. It appears to me a
miracle of miracles that our enormous bulk is not
swallowed up at once and forever. We are surely
doomed to hover continually upon the brink of
eternity, without taking a final plunge into the abyss.
From billows a thousand times more stupendous
than any I have ever seen, we glide away with the
facility of the arrowy seagull; and the colossal
waters rear their heads above us like demons of the
deep, but like demons confined to simple threats,
and forbidden to destroy. I am led to attribute
these frequent escapes to the only natural cause
which can account for such effect. I must suppose
the ship to be within the influence of some strong
current, or impetuous undertow.
 226 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

I have seen the captain face to face, and in his
own cabin but, as I expected, he paid me no at-
tention. Although in his appearance there 1s, to a
casual observer, nothing which might bespeak him
more or less than man, still, a feeling of irrepressi-
ble reverence and awe mingled with the sensation of
wonder with which I regarded him. In stature, he
is nearly my own height; that is, about five feet
eight inches. He is of a well-knit and compact
frame of body, neither robust nor remarkable other-
wise. But it is the singularity of the expression
which reigns upon the face it is the intense, the
wonderful, the thrilling evidence of old age so utter,
so extreme, which excites within my spirit a sense 
a sentiment ineffable. His forehead, although little
wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp of a
myriad of years. His gray hairs are records of the
past, and his grayer eyes are Sibyls of the future.
The cabin floor was thickly strewn with strange,
iron-clasped folios,' and mouldering instruments of
science, and obsolete long-forgotten charts. His
head was bowed down upon his hands, and he pored,
with a fiery, unquiet eye, over a paper which I took
to be a commission, and which at all events bore the
signature of a monarch. He muttered to himself 
as did the first seaman whom I saw in the hold 
some low peevish syllables of a foreign tongue; and,
although the speaker was close at my elbow, his
voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of
a mile.
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 227

The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit
of Eld. The crew glide to and fro like the ghosts
of buried centuries; their eyes have an eager and
uneasy meaning; and when their figures fall athwart
my path, in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I
feel as I have never felt before, although I have
been all my life a dealer in antiquities, and have
imbibed the shadows of fallen columns at Baalbec,
and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul
has become a ruin.

When I look around me, I feel ashamed of my
former apprehensions. If I trembled at the blast
which has hitherto attended us, shall I not stand
aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey
any idea of which the words tornado and simoom
are trivial and ineffective? All in the immediate
vicinity of the ship is the blackness of eternal night,
and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a league
on either side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at
intervals, stupendous ramparts of ice, towering
away into the desolate sky, and locking like the walls
of the universe.

As I imagined, the ship proved to be in a current
  if that appellation can properly be given to a tide
which, howling and shrieking by the white ice, thun-
ders on to the southward with a velocity like the
headlong dashing of a cataract.
 228 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I pre-
sume, utterly impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate
the mysteries of these awful regions predominates
even over my despair, and will reconcile me to the
most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we
are hurrying onward to some exciting knowledge 
some never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment
is destruction. Perhaps this current leads us to the
southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a
supposition apparently so wild has every probability
in its favor.

The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremu-
lous step; but there is upon their countenances an
expression more of the eagerness of hope than of
the apathy of despair.

In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and,
as we carry a crowd of canvas, the ship is at times
lifted bodily from out the sea! Oh, horror upon
horror ! the ice opens suddenly to the right, and
to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense
concentric circles, round and round the borders of
a gigantic amphitheatre, the summit of whose walls
is lost in the darkness and the distance. But little
time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny!
The circles rapidly grow small we are plunging
madly within the grasp of the whirlpool and amid
a roaring, and bellowing, and thundering of ocean
and tempest, the ship is quivering oh, God! and 
going down!
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW
By RupyarpD KIPLING

One of the few advantages that India has over
England is a 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 peo-
ple of the non-official caste. In ten years his knowl-
edge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty
he knows, or knows something about, every English-
man in the Empire, and may travel anywhere and
everywhere without paying hotel bills.
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, very kind and helpful.
Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Ku-
maon some fifteen years ago. He meant to stay
two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic
fever, and for six weeks disorganized Polder’s es-
tablishment, stopped Polder’s work, and nearly died
in Polder’s bedroom. Polder behaves as though he
had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett,
229
 230 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 misun-
derstand your wife’s amusements, will work them-
selves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or
into serious trouble.

Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his
regular practice, a hospital on his private account 
an arrangement of loose boxes for Incurables, his
friend 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 always a fixed quan-
tity, 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.

Heatherlegh is the dearest 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 impor-
tance 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
pit of the Dark World came through and pressed
him to death. ‘‘Pansay went off the handle,” says
Heatherlegh, ‘“‘after the stimulus of long leave c+
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 231

Home. He may or he may not have behaved like
a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My no-
tion 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. Overwork started his illness,
kept it alight, and killed him, poor devil. Write
him off to the System one man to take the work
of two and a half men.”

I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pan-
say sometimes when Heatherlegh was called out to
patients, and I happened to be within claim. The
man would make me most unhappy by describing in
a low, even voice, the procession 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 as-
sist him to ease his mind. When little boys have
learned a new bad word they are never happy till
they have chalked it up on a door. And this also
is Literature.

He was in a high fever while he was writing, and
the blood-and-thunder Magazine diction he adopted
did not calm him. Two months afterward he was
reported fit for duty, but in spite of the fact that he
was urgently needed to help an undermanned Com-
mission stagger through a deficit, he preferred to
 232 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I
got his manuscript before he died, and this is his
version of the affair, dated 1885 :- 

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 messen-
ger nor the midday gun can break, and change of
air far beyond that which any homeward-bound
steamer can give me. In the meantime I am re-
solved 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 pre-
cise 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 lI.

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. “Iwo months ago I should have
scouted as mad or drunk the man who had dared
tell me the like. Iwo months ago I was the.happi-
est 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 ex-
planation 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
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 233

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 your-
selves. Three years ago it was my fortune my
great misfortune to sail from Gravesend to Bom-
bay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes
Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bom-
bay 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 con-
scious that Agnes’s passion was a stronger, a more
dominant, and  if I may use the expression  a
purer sentiment than mine. Whether she recog-
nized the fact then, I do not know. Afterward it
was bitterly plain to both of us.

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 burned
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 learned that I was sick of her
 234 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 ob-
trusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessing-
ton was the hundredth. On her neither my openly
expressed aversion nor the cutting brutalities with
which I garnished our interviews had the least
effect.

‘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. Please
forgive me, Jack, dear.”

I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowl-
edge 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. |

Next year we met again at Simla she with her
monotonous face and timid attempts at reconcilia-
tion, and I with loathing of her in every fibre of my
frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her
alone; and on each occasion her words were identi-
cally the same. Still the unreasoning wail that it
was all a “‘mistake’’; and still the hope of eventu-
ally ‘‘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
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 235

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 main-
tain that she was much to blame. And again, some-
times, 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 is 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.

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 |
think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season of
1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and
shade were fantastically intermingled   my court-
ship 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 ’rick-
shaw 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 ap-
peal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily
loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred
 236 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

for Agnes. In August Kitty and I were engaged.
The next day I met those accursed ‘‘magpie” jham-
panies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some
passing sentiment of pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wes-
sington everything. She knew it already.

“So I hear you’re engaged, Jack, dear.’ Then,
without a moment’s pause : ‘I’m sure it’s all a mis-
take a hideous mistake. We shall be as good
friends some day, Jack, as we ever were.”

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!”

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.

The scene and its surroundings were photo-
graphed 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 jhampanies,
the yellow-panelled ’rickshaw and Mrs. Wessing-
ton’s down-bowed golden head stood out clearly.
She was holding her handkerchief in her left hand
and was leaning back exhausted against the ’rick-
shaw cushions. I turned my horse up a by-path near
the Sanjowlie Reservoir and literally ran away.
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 237

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.

A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the in-
expressible 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 burned 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 pronounce
myself to have been, at that time, the happiest man
in India.

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 engage-
ment ring was the outward and visible sign of her
dignity as an engaged girl; and that she must forth-
with 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 Ham-
 238 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ilton’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 for the ring in the pres-
ence 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.

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 be-
fore, but when and where I could not at once deter-
mine. 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. Immedi-
ately opposite Peliti’s shop my eye was arrested by
the sight of four jhampanies in ‘‘magpie”’ livery,
pulling a yellow-panelled, cheap, bazaar ’rickshaw.
In a moment my mind flew back to the previous sea-
son and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of irritation
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 239

and disgust. Was it not enough that the woman
was dead and done with, without her black and
white servitors reappearing to spoil the day’s hap-
piness? Whoever employed them now I thought
I would call upon, and ask as a personal favor to
change her jhampanies’ 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.

“Kitty,” I cried, “there are poor Mrs. Wessing-
ton’s jhampanies turned up again! I wonder who
has them now?”

Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last
season, and had always been interested in the sickly
woman.

“What? Where?” she asked. “I can’t see them
anywhere.”

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 through men and carriage as
if they had been thin air.

‘What's the matter?” cried Kitty; “what made
you call out so foolishly, Jack? If I am 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!”

Whereupon wilful 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 after-

 
 240 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ward 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.

‘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. Please forgive me,
Jack, and let’s be friends again.”

The ’rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside,
as I hope and pray daily for the death I dread by
night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief in
hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.

How long I stared motionless I do not know.
Finally, I was aroused by my syce taking the Waler’s
bridle and asking whether I was ill. From the hor-
rible to the commonplace is but a step. 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 dis-
cussing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities
were more comforting to me just then than the con-
solations 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 re-
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 241

sults 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 clear
voice outside inquiring for me. In another minute
she had entered the shop, prepared to roundly up-
braid me for failing so signally in my duties. Some-
thing in my face stopped her.

‘Why, Jack,’ she cried, “what have you been
doing? What has 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 for-
gotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and
cantered away to my hotel, leaving Kitty to finish
the ride by herself.

In my room I sat down and tried calmly to rea-
son 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
 242 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

could not blink. Nothing was further from my
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 defi-
ance of every law of probability, in direct outrage
of Nature’s ordinance, there had appeared to me
a face from the grave.

Kitty’s Arab had gone through the ’rickshaw: so
that my first hope that some woman marvellously
like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriage and
the coolies with their old livery was lost. Again
and again I went round this tread-mill 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 exist-
ence 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 hillman!”’

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 ponder-
ing over a falsehood, that I had been attacked with
 THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW 243

a sudden palpitation of the heart the result of in-
digestion. ‘his eminently practical solution had its
effect; and Kitty and I rode out that afternoon with
the shadow of my first lie dividing us.

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 Boileau-
gunge 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 toward Chota Simla. We walked
a greater part of the way, and, according to our
custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Con-
vent to the stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie
Reservoir. ‘The wretched 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 bowlders 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.

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 jhampanies, the yellow-panelled
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
 244 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

that Kitty must see what I saw we were so mar-
vellously 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! Please forgive me,” rang with a wail
in my ears, and, after an interval: “It’s all a mis-
take, a hideous mistake!”’

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 afterward naturally, and
from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue.

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 talk-
ing together in the dusk ‘It’s a curious thing,”
said one, “how completely all trace of it disap-
peared. You know my wife was insanely fond of
the woman (never could see anything in her my-
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 245

self), 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 Memsahib 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 Hardwar, poor devils; and the ’rickshaw
has been broken up by the man himself. Told me
he never used a dead Memsahib’s ’rickshaw. Spoiled
his luck. Queer notion, wasn’t it? Fancy poor
little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any one’s luck ex-
cept her own!” [I laughed aloud at this point; and
my laugh jarred on me as I uttered it. So there
were ghosts of ’rickshaws after all, and ghostly em-
ployments in the other world! How much did Mrs.
Wessington give her men? What were their hours?
Where did they go?

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. Sore malignant devil stronger than I must
have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim
 246 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day
for five minutes to the Thing in front of me.

‘‘Mad as a hatter, poor devil or drunk. Max,
try and get him to come home.”

Surely that 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.

The conversation had already become general;
and under cover of it, I was addressing some ten-
der 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 re-
peating 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 awk-
ward 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.
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 247

In the fulness 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 exist-
ence that it would be waiting for me outside the
door. The red-whiskered man, who had been in-
troduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh of Simla, vol-
unteered to bear me company as far as our roads
lay together. I accepted his offer with gratitude.

My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readi-
ness in the Mall, and, in what seemed devilish mock-
ery 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.

“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.

‘That!’ said I, pointing to It.

“That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I
know. Now you don’t liquor. I saw as much at
dinner, so it can’t be D. T. There’s nothing what-
ever where you're pointing, though you’re sweat-
ing 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.”

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 that long night ride I had told my
 248 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

companion almost as much as I have told you here.

“Well, you’ve spoiled 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.”

The ’rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-
whiskered friend seemed to derive great pleasure
from my account of its exact whereabouts.

‘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 phe-
nomenon to be passed over.”

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.

‘Now, if you think I’m going to spend a cold
night on the hillside for the sake of a Stomach-cum-
Brain-cum-Eye illusion . . . Lord, ha’ mercy!
What's that ?”

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 cliff-side pines,
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 249

undergrowth, and all slid down into the road be-
low, 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 for-
ward 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 peg badly.”

We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and
I arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh’s house shortly after
midnight.

His attempts toward my cure commenced almost
immediately, and for a week I never left his side.
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, | 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.

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
 250 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

 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.”

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.”

I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his
kindness. He cut me short.

‘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.
No!’’ checking me a second time ‘‘not a rupee,
please. 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.”

Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings’
drawing-room with Kitty drunk with the intoxica-
tion of present happiness and the foreknowledge
that I should never more be troubled with Its hide-
ous presence. Strong in the sense of my new-found
security, I proposed a ride at once; and, by prefer-
ence, a canter round Jakko.

Never had I felt so well, so overladen with vital-
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 251

ity and mere animal spirits, as I did on the after-
noon 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 man-
ner. We left the Mannerings’ house together,
laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota
Simla road as of old.

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 bois-
terousness. ‘Why, Jack!’ she cried at last, “‘you
are behaving like a child. What are you doing?”

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.

“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.

‘Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth,
Joying to feel yourself alive;
Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth.
Lord of the senses five.’ ”

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 centre of the level road stood the black
and white liveries, the yellow-panelled ‘rickshaw,

and Mrs. Keith-Wessington. I pulled up, looked,
 252 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

rubbed my eyes, and, I believe, must have said some-
thing. The next thing I knew was that I was lying
face downward on the road, with Kitty kneeling
above me in tears.

“Has it gone, child?” I gasped. Kitty only wept
more bitterly.

““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.

“Yes, there is a mistake somewhere,” I repeated,
‘‘a hideous mistake. Come and look at It.”

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.

“Thank you, Mr. Pansay,’” she said, “that’s
quite enough. Syce ghora'‘lao.”

The syces, 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
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 253

face from mouth to eye, and a word or two of fare-
well 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 rid-
ing-whip had raised a livid blue wheal on it. I had
no self-respect. Just then, Heatherlegh, who must
have been following Kitty and me at a distance,
cantered up.

“Doctor,” I said, pointing to my face, “‘here’s
Miss Mannering’s signature to my order of dis-
missal and . . . I'll thank you for that lakh as
soon as convenient.”

Heatherlegh’s face, even in my abject misery,
moved me to laughter.

“Tl 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.”

As I spoke the ’rickslaw 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.

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 were not encourag-
ing; but I was too far spent to be much moved by
them.

‘“‘Here’s Miss Kitty has sent back your letters.
 254 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

You corresponded a good deal, you young people.
Here’s a packet that looks like a ring, and a cheer-
ful 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.”

“And Kitty?” I asked dully.

“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. Wes-
sington 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 D. T. when that row on the Jakko road turned
up. Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you
again.”

I groaned and turned over on the other side.

‘‘Now you’ve got your choice, my friend. This
engagement has to be broken off; and the Manner-
ings don’t want to be too hard on you. Was it
broken through D. T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I
can’t offer you a better exchange unless you’d pre-
fer 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 min-
utes to think over it.”

During those five minutes I believe that I ex-
plored 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 fal-
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 255

tering through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery,
and utter despair. I wondered, as Heatherlegh in
his chair might have wondered, which dreadful al-
ternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself
answering in a voice that I hardly recognized, 

‘“They’re confoundedly particular about morality
in these parts. Give ’em fits, Heatherlegh, and my
love. Now let me sleep a bit longer.”

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.

“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 her. Why can't
I be left alone left alone and happy?”

It was high noon when I first awoke; and the sun
was low in the sky before I slept slept as the tor-
tured criminal sleeps on his rack, too worn to feel
further pain.

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 travelled through the length and
breadth of Simla, where I was on all sides much
pitied.

‘‘And that’s rather more than you deserve,” he
 256 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

concluded pleasantly, “though the Lord knows
you've been going through a pretty severe mill.
Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phe-
nomenon.”

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.”

In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh
could do would lighten the burden that had been
laid upon me.

With that knowledge came also a sense of hope-
less, impotent rebellion against the unreasonable-
ness 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 ’rick-
shaw 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 |
knew were all ghosts; and the great, gray hills them-
selves but vain shadows devised to torture me.
From mood to mood I tossed backward and for-
ward for seven weary days; my body growing daily
stronger and stronger, until the bedroom looking-
glass told me that I had returned to every-day life
and was as other 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
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 257

permanent alteration visible evidence of the dis-
ease that was eating me away. I found nothing.
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 Heather-
legh, 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 in-
deed 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 meet-
ing Kitty. Close to the Band-stand the black and
white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. Wessing-
ton’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.
So Kitty and her companion, and [ 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 at Simla! Every-
 258 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

day, 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 workaday 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 hear-
ing Mrs. Wessington for a time.

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 as-
sure myself that that at least was real.

“Agnes,” I repeated, “for pity’s sake tell me
what it all means.” Mrs. Wessington leaned for-
ward, with that odd quick turn of the head I used
to know so well, and spoke.

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
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 259

Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of justi-
fication 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 con-
versation. 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 they were the
shadows impalpable fantastic shadows that di-
vided 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 marvellously 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?

I met Kitty on the homeward road a shadow
among shadows.

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
 260 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

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 Theatre I
found them amid the crowd of yelling jhampanies;
outside the Club veranda, after a long evening of
whist; at the Birthday Ball, waiting patiently for
my reappearance; and in broad daylight when |
went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the ’rick-
shaw 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 conver-
sation with Mrs. Wessington to the unspeakable
amazement of the passers-by.

Before I had been out and about a week I learned
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 al-
most impossible to describe my varying moods from
the 15th of May up to to-day.

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, more-
over, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a
 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW 261

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 out-
rageous flirtations with my successor  to speak
more accurately, my successors with amused inter-
est. She was as much out of my life as I was out
of hers. By day I wandered with Mrs. 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.

August 27. 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! Heather-
legh’s proposition moved me almost to hysterical
laughter. I told him that I should await the end
quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the end 1s 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.

Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English
gentleman should die; or, in one last walk on the
Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me to take its
 262 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

place forever 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
toward 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.

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.
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT
By CHARLES DICKENS

I HAVE always noticed a prevalent want of courage,
even among persons of superior intelligence and cul-
ture, as to imparting their own psychological experi-
ences when those have been of a strange sort. Almost
all men are afraid that what they could relate in such
wise would find no parallel or response in a listen-
er’s interna! life, and might be suspected or laughed
at. A truthful traveller who should have seen some
extraordinary creature in the likeness of a sea-
serpent, would have no fear of mentioning it; but
the same traveller having had some singular pre-
sentiment, impulse, vagary of thought, vision (so
called), dream, or other remarkable mental impres-
sion, would hesitate considerably before he would
own to it. To this reticence I attribute much of the
obscurity in which such subjects are involved. We
do not habitually communicate our experiences of
these subjective things as we do our experiences of
objective creation. The consequence 1s, that the
general stock of experience in this regard appears
exceptional, and really is so, in respect of being mis-
erably imperfect.

In what I am going to relate I have no intention
of setting up, opposing, or supporting, any theory

263
 264 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

whatever. I know the history of the Bookseller of
Berlin, I have studied the case of the wife of a late
Astronomer Royal as related by Sir David Brewster,
and I have followed the minutest details of a much
more remarkable case of Spectral [lusion occurring
within my private circle of friends. It may be neces-
sary to state as to this last that the sufferer (a lady)
was in no degree, however distant, related to me.
A mistaken assumption on that head, might suggest
an explanation of a part of my own case but only
a part which would be wholly without foundation.
It cannot be referred to my inheritance of any de-
veloped peculiarity, nor had I ever before any at all
similar experience, nor have I ever had any at all
similar experience since.

It does not signify how many years ago, or how
few, a certain Murder was committed in England,
which attracted great attention. We hear more than
enough of Murderers as they rise in succession to
their atrocious eminence, and I would bury the mem-
ory of this particular brute, if I could, as his body
was buried, in Newgate Jail. I purposely abstain
from giving any direct clue to the criminal’s indi-
viduality.

When the murder was first discovered, no sus-
picion fell or I ought rather to say, for I cannot
be too precise in my facts, it was nowhere publicly
hinted that any suspicion fell on the man who was
afterward brought to trial. As no reference was at
that time made to him in the newspapers, it is obvi-
ously impossible that any description of him can at
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 265

that time have been given in the newspapers. It is
essential that this fact be remembered. Unfolding
at breakfast my morning paper, containing the ac-
count of that first discovery, I found it to be deeply
interesting, and I read it with close attention. I
read it twice, if not three times. The discovery had
been made in a bedroom, and, when I laid down the
paper, I was aware of a flash rush flow -I do
not know what to call it no word I can find is sat-
isfactorily descriptive in which I seemed to see
that bedroom passing through my room, like a pic-
ture impossibly painted on a running river. Though
almost instantaneous in its passing, it was perfectly
clear; so clear that I distinctly, and with a sense of
relief, observed the absence of the dead body from
the bed.

It was in no romantic place that I had this curi-
ous sensation, but in chambers in Piccadilly, very
near to the corner of St. James’s Street. It was en-
tirely new to me. I was in my easy-chair at the
moment, and the sensation was accompanied with
a peculiar shiver which started the chair from its
position. (But it is to be noted that the chair ran
easily on casters.) I went to one of the windows
(there are two in the room, and the room is on the
second floor) to refresh my eyes wth the moving
objects down in Piccadilly. It was a bright autumn
morning, and the street was sparkling and cheerful.
The wind was high. As I looked out, it brought
down from the Park a quantity of fallen leaves,
which a gust took, and whirled into a spiral pillar.
 266 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

As the pillar fell and the leaves dispersed, I saw
two men on the opposite side of the way, going from
west to east. [hey were one behind the other.
The foremost man often looked back over his shoul-
der. The second man followed him, at a distance
of some thirty paces, with his right hand menacingly
raised. First, the singularity and steadiness of this
threatening gesture in so public a thoroughfare at-
tracted my attention; and next, the more remarka-
ble circumstance that nobody heeded it. Both men
threaded their way among the other passengers,
with a smoothness hardly consistent even with the ac-
tion of walking on a pavement, and no single crea-
ture, that I could see, gave them place, touched
them, or looked after them. In passing before my
windows, they both stared up at me. I saw their
two faces very distinctly, and I knew that I could
recognize them anywhere. Not that I had con-
sciously noticed anything very remarkable in either
face, except that the man who went first had an un-
usually lowering appearance, and that the face of
the man who followed him was of the color of im-
pure wax.

I am a bachelor, and my valet and his wife con-
stitute my whole establishment. My occupation is
in a certain Branch Bank, and I wish that my duties
as head of a Department were as light as they are
popularly supposed to be. They kept me in town
that autumn, when I stood in need of change. I
was not ill, but I was not well. My reader is to
make the most that can be reasonably made of my
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 267

feeling jaded, having a depressing sense upon me
of a monotonous life, and being “‘slightly dyspeptic.”
I am assured by my renowned doctor that my real
state of health at that time justifies no stronger de-
scription, and I quote his own from his written an-
swer to my request for it.

As the circumstances of the Murder, gradually
unravelling, took stronger and stronger possession
of the public mind, I kept them away from mine,
by knowing as little about them as was possible in
the midst of the universal excitement. But I knew
that a verdict of Wilful Murder had been found
against the suspected Murderer, and that he had
been committed to Newgate for trial. I also knew
that his trial had been postponed over one Sessions
of the Central Criminal Court, on the ground of
general prejudice and want of time for the prepara-
tion of the defence. { may further have known,
but I believe I did not, when, or about when, the
Sessions to which his trial stood postponed would
come on.

My sitting-room, bedroom, and dressing-room,
are all on one floor. With the last there is no com-
munication but through the bedroom. True, there
is a door in it, once communicating with the stair-
case; but a part of the fitting of my bath has been 
and had then been for some years fixed across it.
At the same period, and as a part of the same ar-
rangement, the door had been nailed up and can-
vased over.

I was standing in my bedroom late one night,
 268 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

giving some directions to my servant before he went
to bed. My face was toward the only available
door of communication with the dressing-room, and
it was closed. My servant’s back was toward that
door. While I was speaking to him I saw it open,
and a man look in, who very earnestly and mysteri-
ously beckoned to me. That man was the man who
had gone second of the two along Piccadilly, and
whose face was the color of impure wax.

The figure, having beckoned, drew back and
closed the door. With no longer pause than was
made by my crossing the bedroom, I opened the
dressing-room door, and looked in. I had a lighted
candle already in my hand. [I felt no inward ex-
pectation of seeing the figure in the dressing-room,
and I did not see it there.

Conscious that my servant stood amazed, I turned
round to him, and said: “‘Derrick, could you believe
that in my cool senses I fancied I saw a ” As
I there laid my hand upon his breast, with a sudden
start he trembled violently, and said, ‘‘O Lord, yes,
sir! A dead man beckoning!”

Now I do not believe that this John Derrick, my
trusty and attached servant for more than twenty
years, had any impression whatever of having seen
any such figure, until I touched him. The change
in him was so startling, when I touched him, that I
fully believed he derived his impression in some
occult manner from me at that instant.

I bade John Derrick bring some brandy, and I
gave him a dram, and was glad to take one myself.

 
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 269

Of what had preceded that night’s phenomenon, I
told him not a single word. Reflecting on it, I was
absolutely certain that I had never seen that face
before, except on the one occasion in Piccadilly.
Comparing its expression when beckoning at the
door, with its expression when it had stared up at
me as I stood at my window, I came to the con-
clusion that on the first occasion it had sought to
fasten itself upon my memory, and that on the sec-
ond occasion it had made sure of being immediately
remembered.

I was not very comfortable that night, though I
felt a certainty, difficult to explain, that the figure
would not return. At daylight, I fell into a heavy
sleep, from which I was awakened by John Der-
rick’s coming to my bedside with a paper in his hand.

This paper, it appeared, had been the subject of
an altercation at the door between its bearer and my
servant. It was a summons to me to serve upon a
Jury at the forthcoming Sessions of the Central
Criminal Court at the Old Bailey. I had never be-
fore been summoned on such a Jury, as John Der-
rick well knew. He believed I am not certain at
this hour whether with reason or otherwise that
that class of Jurors were customarily chosen on a
lower qualification than mine, and he had at first
refused to accept the summons. The man who
served it had taken the matter very coolly. He had
said that my attendance or non-attendance was noth-
ing to him; there the summons was; and I should
deal with it at my own peril, and not at his.
 270 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

For a day or two I was undecided whether to re-
spond to this call, or take no notice of it. I was not
conscious of the slightest mysterious bias, influence,
‘or attraction, one way or other. Of that I am as
strictly sure as of every other statement that I make
here. Ultimately I decided, as a break in the mo-
notony of my life, that I would go.

The appointed morning was a raw morning in the
month of November. There was a dense brown
fog in Piccadilly, and it became positively black and
in the last degree oppressive east of Temple Bar.
I found the passages and staircases of the Court
House flaringly lighted with gas, and the Court it:
‘self similarly illuminated. I think that until I was
conducted by officers into the Old Court and saw
its crowded state, I did not know that the Murderer
was to be tried that day. I think that until I was so
helped into the Old Court with considerable difh-
culty, I did not know into which of the two Courts
sitting, my summons would take me. But this must
not be received as a positive assertion, for I am not
completely satisfied in my mind on either point.

I took my seat in the place appropriated to Jurors
in waiting, and I looked about the Court as well as
I could through the cloud of fog and breath that
was heavy in it. I noticed the black vapor hanging
like a murky curtain outside the great windows, and
I noticed the stifled sound of wheels on the straw
or tan that was littered in the street; also, the hum of
the people gathered there, which a shrill whistle, or
a louder song or hail than the rest, occasionally
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 271

pierced. Soon afterward the Judges, two in num-
ber, entered and took their seats. The buzz in the
Court was awfully hushed. ‘The direction was given
to put the Murderer to the bar. He appeared there.
And in that same instant I recognized in him the
first of the two men who had gone down Piccadilly.

If my name had been called then, I doubt if I
could have answered to it audibly. But it was called
about sixth or eighth in the panel, and I was by that
time able to say “Here!’’ Now, observe. As I
stepped into the box, the prisoner, who had been
looking on attentively but with no sign of concern,
became violently agitated, and beckoned to his at-
torney. The prisoner’s wish to challenge me was
so manifest, that it occasioned a pause, during which
the attorney, with his hand upon the dock, whis-
pered with his client, and shook his head. [ after-
ward had it from that gentleman, that the prisoner’s
first affrighted words to him were, “At all hazards
challenge that man!” But, that as he would give
no reason for it, and admitted that he had not even
known my name until he heard it called and I ap-
peared, it was not done.

Both on the ground already explained, that I wish
to avoid reviving the unwholesome memory of that
Murderer, and also because a detailed account of
his long trial is by no means indispensable to my
narrative, I shall confine myself closely to such in-
cidents in the ten days and nights during which we,
the Jury, were kept together, as directly bear on
my own curious personal experience. It is in that,
 272 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

and not in the Murderer, that I seek to interest my
reader. It is to that, and not to a page of the New-
gate Calendar, that I beg attention.

I was chosen Foreman of the Jury. On the sec-
ond morning of the trial, after evidence had been
taken for two hours (1 heard the church clocks
strike), happening to cast my eyes over my brother-
jurymen, I found an inexplicable difficulty in count-
ing them. I counted them several times, yet always
with the same difficulty. In short, I made them one
too many.

I touched the brother-juryman whose place was
next to me, and I whispered to him, “Oblige me by
counting us.” He looked surprised by the request,
but turned his head and counted. ‘‘Why,”’ says he,
suddenly, “‘we are Thirt ; but no, it’s not possible.
No. We are twelve.

According to my counting that day, we were al-
ways right in detail, but in the gross we were always
one too many. There was no appearance no figure
 to account for it; but I had now an inward fore-
shadowing of the figure that was surely coming.

The Jury were housed at the London Tavern.
We all slept in one large room on separate tables,
and we were constantly in the charge and under the
eye of the officer sworn to hold us in safe-keeping.
I see no reason for suppressing the real name of
that officer. He was intelligent, highly polite, and
obliging, and (I was glad to hear) much respected
in the City. He had an agreeable presence, good
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 273

eyes, enviable black whiskers, and a fine sonorous
voice. His name was Mr. Harker.

When we turned into our twelve beds at night,
Mr. Harker’s bed was drawn across the door. On
the night of the second day, not being disposed to
lie down, and seeing Mr. Harker sitting on his bed,
I went and sat beside him, and offered him a pinch
of snuff. As Mr. Harker’s hand touched mine in
taking it from my box, a peculiar shiver crossed
him, and he said, ‘‘Who 1s this!”’

Following Mr. Harker’s eyes, and looking along
the room, I saw again the figure I expected the
second of the two men who had gone down Picca-
dilly. I rose, and advanced a few steps; then
stopped, and looked round at Mr. Harker. He was
quite unconcerned, laughed, and said in a pleasant
way, ‘I thought for a moment we had a thirteenth
juryman, without a bed. But I see it is the moon-
light.”

Making no revelation to Mr. Harker, but invit-
ing him to take a walk with me to the end of the
room, I watched what the figure did. It stood for
a few moments by the bedside of each of my eleven
brother-jurymen, close to the pillow. It always
went to the right-hand side of the bed, and always
passed out crossing the foot of the next bed. It
seemed from the action of the head, merely to look
down pensively at each recumbent figure. It took
no notice of me, or of my bed, which was that near-
est to Mr. Harker’s. It seemed to go out where
 214 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

the moonlight came in, through a high window, as
by an aérial flight of stairs.

Next morning: at breakfast, it appeared that
everybody present had dreamed of the murdered
man last night, except myself and Mr. Harker.

I now felt as convinced that the second man who
had gone down Piccadilly was the murdered man
(so to speak), as if it had been borne into my com-
prehension by his immediate testimony. But even
this took place, and in a manner for which I was not
at all prepared.

On the fifth day of the trial, when the case for
the prosecution was drawing to a close, a miniature
of the murdered man, missing from his bedroom
upon the discovery of the deed, and afterward
found in a hiding-place where the Murderer had
been seen digging, was put in evidence. Having
been identified by the witness under examination, it
was handed up to the Bench, and thence handed
down to be inspected by the Jury. As an officer in
a black gown was making his way with it across to
me, the figure of the second man who had gone
down Piccadilly impetuously started from the crowd,
caught the miniature from the officer, and gave it
to me with its own hands, at the same time saying
in a low and hollow tone before I saw the minia-
ture, which was in a locket “J was younger then,
and my face was not then drained of blood.” It
also came between me and the brother-juryman to
whom I would have given the miniature, and be-
tween him and the brother-juryman to whom he
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 275

would have given it, and so passed it on through the
whole of our number, and back into my possession.
Not one of them, however, detected this.

At table, and generally when we were shut up to-
gether in Mr. Harker’s custody, we had from the
first naturally discussed the day’s proceedings a good
deal. On that fifth day, the case for the prosecu-
tion being closed, and we having that side of the
question in a completed shape before us, our dis-
cussion was more animated and serious. Among
our number was a vestryman the densest idiot I
have ever seen at large who met the plainest evi-
dence with the most preposterous objections, and who
was sided with by two flabby parochial parasites;
all the three empanelled from a district so delivered
over to Fever that they ought to have been upon
their own trial, for five hundred Murders. When
these mischievous blockheads were at their loudest,
which was toward midnight while some of us were
already preparing for bed, I again saw the murdered
man. He stood grimly behind them, beckoning to
me. On my going toward them and striking into
the conversation, he immediately retired. This was
the beginning of a separate series of appearances,
confined to that long room in which we were con-
fined. Whenever a knot of my brother-jurymen
laid their heads together, I saw the head of the
murdered man among theirs. Whenever their com-
parison of notes was going against him, he would
solemnly and irresistibly beckon to me.

It will be borne in mind that down to the pro-
 276 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

duction of the miniature on the fifth day of the trial,
I had never seen the Appearance in Court. Three
changes occurred, now that we entered on the case
for the defence. Two of them I will mention to-
gether, first. The figure was now in Court con-
tinually, and it never there addressed itself to me,
but always to the person who was speaking at the
time. For instance: the throat of the murdered
man had been cut straight across. In the opening
speech for the defence, it was suggested that the
deceased might have cut his own throat. At that
very moment, the figure with its throat in the dread-
ful condition referred to (this it had concealed be-
fore) stood at the speaker’s elbow, motioning across
and across its windpipe, now with the right hand,
now with the left, vigorously suggesting to the
speaker himself, the impossibility of such a wound
having been self-inflicted by either hand. For an-
other instance. A witness to character, a woman,
deposed to the prisoner’s being the most amiable
of mankind. The figure at that instant stood on
the floor before her, looking her full in the face,
and pointing out the prisoner’s evil countenance
with an extended arm and an outstretched finger.
The third change now to be added, impressed me
strongly, as the most marked and striking of all. I
do not theorize upon it; I accurately state it, and
there leave it. Although the Appearance was not
itself perceived by those whom it addressed, its
coming close to such persons was invariably at-
tended by some trepidation or disturbance on their
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 277

part. It seemed to me as if it were prevented by
laws to which I was not amenable, from fully re-
vealing itself to others, and yet as if it could, in-
visibly, dumbly, and darkly, overshadow their minds.
When the leading counsel for the defence suggested
that hypothesis of suicide and the figure stood at
the learned gentleman’s elbow, frightfully sawing
at its severed throat, it is undeniable that the coun-
sel faltered in his speech, lost for a few seconds the
thread of his ingenious discourse, wiped his fore-
head with his handkerchief, and turned extremely
pale. When the witness to character was confronted
by the Appearance, her eyes most certainly did fol-
low the direction of its pointed finger, and rest in
great hesitation and trouble upon the prisoner’s
face. Two additional illustrations will sufice. On
the eighth day of the trial, after the pause which
was every day made early in the afternoon for a
few minutes’ rest and refreshment, I came back into
court with the rest of the Jury, some little time be-
fore the return of the Judges. Standing up in the
box and looking about me, I thought the figure was
not there, until, chancing to raise my eyes to the
gallery, I saw it bending forward and leaning over
a very decent woman, as if to assure itself whether
the Judges had resumed their seats or not. Imme-
diately afterward that woman screamed, fainted,
and was carried out. So with the venerable, sa-
gacious, and patient Judge who conducted the trial.
When the case was over, and he settled himself and
his papers to sum up, the murdered man entering
 278 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

by the Judges’ door, advanced to his Lordship’s
desk, and looked eagerly over his shoulder at the
pages of his notes which he was turning. A change
came over his Lordship’s face; his hand stopped;
the peculiar shiver that I knew so well, passed over
him; he faltered, ‘‘Excuse me, gentlemen, for a few
moments. I am somewhat oppressed by the vitiated
air’; and did not recover until he had drunk a glass
of water.

Through all the monotony of six of these inter-
minable ten days the same Judges and others on
the bench, the same Murderer in the dock, the same
lawyers at the table, the same tones of question and
answer rising to the roof of the Court, the same
scratching of the Judge’s pen, the same ushers go-
ing in and out, the same lights kindled at the same
hour when there had been any natural light of day,
the same foggy curtain outside the great windows
when it was foggy, the same rain pattering and drip-
ping when it was rainy, the same footmarks of turn-
keys and prisoner day after day on the same saw-
dust, the same keys locking and unlocking the same
heavy doors through all the wearisome monotony
which made me feel as if I had been Foreman of
the Jury for a vast period of time, and Piccadilly
had flourished coevally with Babylon, the murdered
man never lost one trace of his distinctness in my
eyes, nor was he at any moment less distinct than
anybody else. I must not omit, as a matter of fact,
that I never once saw the Appearance, which I call
by the name of the murdered man, look at the Mur-
 TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT 279

derer. Again and again I wondered, “Why does
he not?’ But he never did.

Nor did he look at me, after the production of
the miniature, until the last closing minutes of the
trial arrived. We retired to consider, at seven
minutes before ten at night. The idiotic vestry-
man and his two parochial parasites gave us so
much trouble, that we twice returned into Court,
to beg to have certain extracts from the Judge’s
notes reread. Nine of us had not the smallest
doubt about those passages, neither, I believe, had
any one in Court; the dunderheaded triumvirate,
however, having no idea but obstruction, disputed
them for that very reason. At length we prevailed,
and finally the Jury returned into Court at ten min-
utes past twelve.

The murdered man at that time stood directly
opposite the Jury-box, on the other side of the Court.
As I took my place, his eyes rested on me, with
great attention; he seemed satisfied, and slowly
shook a great gray veil, which he carried on his arm
for the first time, over his head and whole form.
As I gave in our verdict, “Guilty,” the veil collapsed,
all was gone, and his place was empty.

The Murderer being asked by the Judge, accord-
ing to usage, whether he had anything to say before
sentence of Death should be passed upon him, in-
distinctly muttered something which was described
in the leading newspapers of the following day as
‘a few rambling, incoherent, and half-audible words,
in which he was understood to complain that he had
 280 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

not had a fair trial, because the Foreman of the
Jury was prepossessed against him.”” The remarka-
ble declaration he really made was this: “My Lord,
I knew I was a doomed man when the Foreman of
my Jury came into the box. My Lord, I knew he
would never let me off, because, before I was taken,
he somehow got to my bedside in the night, woke
me, and put a rope round my neck.”
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY
By CHARLES DICKENS

ONE winter’s evening, about five o’clock, just as it
began to grow dusk, a man in a gig might have been
seen urging his tired horse along the road which
leads across Marlborough Downs, in the direction
of Bristol. I say he might have been seen, and I
have no doubt he would have been, if anybody but
a blind man happened to pass that way; but the
weather was so bad, and the night so cold and wet,
that nothing was out but the water, and so the
traveller jogged along in the middle of the road,
lonesome and dreary enough. If any bagman of
that day could have caught sight of the little neck-
or-nothing sort of gig, with a clay-colored body and
red wheels, and the vixenish, ill-tempered, fast-going
bay mare, that looked like a cross between a butcher’s
horse and a two-penny post-office pony, he would
have known at once, that this traveller could have
been no other than Tom Smart, of the great house
of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. How-
ever, as there was no bagman to look on, nobody
knew anything at all about the matter; and so Tom
Smart and his clay-colored gig with the red wheels,
and the vixenish mare with the fast pace, went on
281
 282 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

together, keeping the secret among them: and no-
body was a bit the wiser. |

There are many pleasanter places even in this
dreary world than Marlborough Downs when it
blows hard; and if you throw in besides, a gloomy
winter’s evening, a miry and sloppy road, and a
pelting fall of heavy rain, and try the effect, by way
of experiment, in your own proper person, you will
experience the full force of this observation.

The wind blew   not up the road or down it,
though that’s bad enough, but sheer across it, send-
ing the rain slanting down like the lines they used
to rule in the copybooks at school, to make the boys
slope well. For a moment it would die away, and
the traveller would begin to delude himself into the
belief that, exhausted with its previous fury, it had
quietly lain itself down to rest, when, whoo! he
would hear it growling and whistling in the dis-
tance, and on it would come rushing over the hill-
tops, and sweeping along the plain, gathering sound
and strength as it drew nearer, until it dashed with
a heavy gust against horse and man, driving the
sharp rain into their ears, and its cold damp breath
into their very bones; and past them it would scour,
far, far away, with a stunning roar, as if in ridicule
of their weakness, and triumphant in the conscious-
ness of its own strength and power.

The bay mare splashed away, through the mud
and water, with drooping ears; now and then toss-
ing her head as if to express her disgust at this
very ungentlemanly behavior of the elements, but
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 283

keeping a good pace notwithstanding, until a gust
of wind, more furious than any that had yet assailed
them, caused her to stop suddenly and plant her
four feet firmly against the ground, to prevent her
being blown over. It’s a special mercy that she did
this, for if she had been blown over, the vixenish
mare was so light, and the gig was so light, and
Tom Smart such a lightweight into the bargain, that
they must infallibly have all gone rolling over and
over together, until they reached the confines of
earth, or until the wind fell; and in either case the
the probability is, that neither the vixenish mare,
nor the clay-colored gig with the red wheels, nor
Tom Smart, would ever have been fit for service
again.

“Well, damn my straps and whiskers,” says Tom
Smart (Tom sometimes had an unpleasant knack
of swearing), “Damn my straps and whiskers,”
says Tom, “if this ain’t pleasant, blow me!”

You'll very likely ask me why, as Tom Smart had
been pretty well blown already, he expressed this
wish to be submitted to the same process again. I
can’t say all I know is, that Tom Smart said so 
or at least he always told my uncle he said so, and
it’s just the same thing.

“Blow me,’ says Tom Smart; and the mare
neighed as if she were precisely of the same opinion.

“Cheer up, old girl,” said Tom, patting the bay
mare on the neck with the end of his whip. “It
won’t do pushing on, such a night as this; the first
house we come to we'll put up at, so the faster you
 284 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

go the sooner it’s over. Soho, old girl gently 
gently.”

Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well
acquainted with the tones of Tom’s voice to com-
prehend his meaning, or whether she found it colder
standing still than moving on, of course I can’t say.
But I can-say that Tom had no sooner finished
speaking, than she pricked up her ears, and started
forward at a speed which made the clay-colored gig
rattle till you would have supposed every one of the
red spokes was going to fly out on the turf of Marl-
borough Downs; and even Tom, whip as he was,
couldn’t stop or check her pace, until she drew up,
of her own accord, before a roadside inn on the
right-hand side of the way, about half a quarter of
a mile from the end of the Downs.

Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the
house as he threw the reins to the hostler, and stuck
the whip in the box. It was a strange old place,
built of a kind of shingle, inlaid, as it were, with
cross-beams, with gabled-topped windows project-
ing completely over the pathway, and a low door
with a dark porch, and a couple of steep steps lead-
ing down into the house, instead of the modern
fashion of half a dozen shallow ones leading up to
it. It was a comfortable-looking place though, for
there was a strong cheerful light in the bar-window,
which shed a bright ray across the road, and even
lighted up the hedge on the other side; and there
was a red flickering light in the opposite window,
one moment but faintly discernible, and the next
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 285

gleaming strongly through the drawn curtains, which
intimated that a rousing fire was blazing within.
Marking these little evidences with the eye of an
experienced traveller, Tom dismounted with as
much agility as his half-frozen limbs would permit,
and entered the house.

In less than five minutes’ time, Tom was en-
sconced in the room opposite the bar  the very
room where he had imagined the fire blazing be-
fore a substantial matter-of-fact roaring fire, com-
posed of something short of a bushel of coals, and
wood enough to make half a dozen decent goose-
berry bushes, piled half way up the chimney, and
roaring and crackling with a sound that of itself
would have warmed the heart of any reasonable
man. ‘This was comfortable, but this was not all,
for a smartly dressed girl, with a bright eye and a
neat ankle, was laying a. very clean white cloth on
the table; and as Tom sat with his slippered feet
on the fender, and his back to the open door, he
saw a charming prospect of the bar reflected in the
glass over the chimney-piece, with delightful rows of
green bottles and gold labels, together with jars of
pickles and preserves, and cheeses and boiled hams,
and rounds of beef, arranged on shelves in the most
tempting and delicious array. Well, this was com-
fortable too; but even this was not all for in the
bar, seated at tea at the nicest possible little table,
drawn close up before the brightest possible little
fire, was a buxom widow of somewhere about eight-
and-forty or thereabouts, with a face as comforta-
 286 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ble as the bar, who was evidently the landlady of
the house, and the supreme ruler over all these
agreeable possessions. There was only one draw-
back to the beauty of the whole picture, and that
was a tall man a very tall man in a brown coat
and bright basket buttons, and black whiskers, and
wavy black hair, who was seated at tea with the
widow, and who it required no great penetration to
discover was in a fair way of persuading her to be
a widow no longer, but to confer upon him the priv-
ilege of sitting down in that bar, for and during the
whole remainder of the term of his natural life.
Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable or
envious disposition, but somehow or other the tall
man with the brown coat and the bright basket but-
tons did rouse what little gall he had in his compo-
sition, and did make him feel extremely indignant:
the more especially as he could now and then ob-
serve, from his seat before the glass, certain little
affectionate familiarities passing between the tall
man and the widow, which sufficiently denoted that
the tall man was as high in favor as he was in size.
Tom was fond of hot punch I may venture to say
he was very fond of hot punch and after he had
seen the vixenish mare well fed and well littered
down, and had eaten every bit of the nice little hot
dinner which the widow tossed up for him with her
own hands, he just ordered a tumbler of it, by way
of experiment. Now, if there was one thing in the
whole range of domestic art, which the widow could
manufacture better than another, it was this identi-
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 287

cal article; and the first tumbler was adapted to
Tom Smart’s taste with such peculiar nicety, that
he ordered a second with the least possible delay.
Hot punch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen an ex-
tremely pleasant thing under any circumstances 
but in that snug old parlor, before the roaring fire,
with the wind blowing outside till every timber in
the old house creaked again, Tom Smart found it
perfectly delightful. He ordered another tumbler,
and then another I am not quite certain whether
he didn’t order another after that but the more
he drank of the hot punch, the more he thought of
the tall man.

“Confound his impudence!” said Tom to him-
self, ‘what business has he in that snug bar? Such
an ugly villain, too!” said Tom. “If the widow
had any taste, she might surely pick up some better
fellow than that.” Here Tom’s eye wandered from
the glass on the chimney-piece, to the glass on the
table; and as he felt himself becoming gradually
sentimental, he emptied the fourth tumbler of punch
and ordered a fifth.

Tom Smart, gentlemen, had always been very
much attached to the public line. It had long been
his ambition to stand in a bar of his own, in a green
coat, knee-cords, and tops. He had a great notion
of taking the chair at convivial dinners, and he had
often thought how well he could preside in a room
of his own in the talking way, and what a capital
example he could set to his customers in the drink-
ing department. All these things passed rapidly
 288 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

through Tom’s mind as he sat drinking the hot
punch by the roaring fire, and he felt very justly and
properly indignant that the tall man should be in a
fair way of keeping such an excellent house, while
he, Tom Smart, was as far off from it as ever. So,
after deliberating over the two last tumblers,
whether he hadn’t a perfect right to pick a quarrel
with the tall man for having contrived to get into
the good graces of the buxom widow, Tom Smart
at last arrived at the satisfactory conclusion that he
was a very ill-used and persecuted individual, and
had better go to bed.

Up a wide and ancient staircase the smart girl
preceded Tom, shading the chamber candle with
her hand, to protect it from the currents of air which
in such a rambling old place might have found plenty
of room to disport themselves in, without blowing
the candle out, but which did blow it out neverthe-
less; thus affording ‘Tom’s enemies an opportunity
of asserting that it was he, and not the wind, who
extinguished the candle, and that while he pretended
to be blowing it alight again, he was in fact kissing
the girl. Be this as it may, another light was ob-
tained, and Tom was conducted through a maze of
rooms, and a labyrinth of passages, to the apart-
ment which had been prepared for his reception,
where the girl bade him good-night, and left him
alone.

It was a good large room with big closets, and a
bed which might have served for a whole boarding-
school, to say nothing of a couple of oaken presses
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 289

that would have held the baggage of a small army;
but what struck Tom’s fancy most was a strange,
grim-looking high-backed chair, carved in the most
fantastic manner, with a flowered damask cushion,
and the round knobs at the bottom of the legs care-
fully tied up in red cloth, as if it had got the gout in
its toes. Of any other queer chair, Tom would only
have thought it was a queer chair, and there would
have been an end of the matter; but there was some-
thing about this particular chair, and yet he couldn’t
tell what it was, so odd and so unlike any other piece
of furniture he had ever seen, that it seemed to
fascinate him. He sat down before the fire, and
stared at the old chair for half an hour; Deuce
take the chair, it was such a strange old thing, he
couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Well,” said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and
staring at the old chair all the while, which stood
with a mysterious aspect by the bedside, “I never
saw such a rum concern as that in my days. Very
odd,” said ‘Tom, who had got rather sage with the
hot punch. ‘Very odd.” Tom shook his head with
an air of profound wisdom, and looked at the chair
again. He couldn’t make anything of it though, so
he got into bed, covered himself up warm, and fell
asleep.

In about half an hour, Tom woke up, with a start,
from a confused dream of tall men and tumblers of
punch; and the first object that presented itself to
his waking imagination was the queer chair.

‘“T won’t look at it any more,” said Tom to him-
 290 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

self, and he squeezed his eyelids together, and tried
to persuade himself he was going to sleep again.
No use; nothing but queer chairs danced before his
eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each other’s
backs, and playing all kinds of antics.

‘I may as well see one real chair, as two or three
complete sets of false ones,” said Tom, bringing
out his head from under the bedclothes. There it
was, plainly discernible by the light of the fire, look-
ing as provoking as ever.

Tom gazed at the chair; and, suddenly as he
looked at it, a most extraordinary change seemed to
come over it. The carving of the back gradually
assumed the lineaments and expression of an old
shrivelled human face; the damask cushion became
an antique, flapped waistcoat; the round knobs grew
into a couple of feet, encased in red cloth slippers;
and the old chair looked like a very ugly old man,
of the previous century, with his arms akimbo.
Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes to dispel the
illusion. No. The chair was an ugly old gentle-
man; and what was more, he was winking at Tom
Smart.

Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of
dog, and he had had five tumblers of hot punch into
the bargain; so, although he was a little startled at
first, he began to grow rather indignant when he
saw the old gentleman winking and leering at him
with such an impudent air. At length he resolved
that he wouldn’t stand it; and as the old face still
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 291

kept winking away as fast as ever, Tom said, in a
very angry tone:

‘““What the devil are you winking at me for?”

‘“‘Because I like it, Tom Smart,” said the chair;
or the old gentleman, whichever you like to call him.
He stopped winking though, when Tom spoke, and
began grinning like a superannuated monkey.

“How do you know my name, old nut-cracker
face!” inquired Tom Smart, rather staggered ; 
though he pretended to carry it off so well.

‘Come, come, Tom,” said the old gentleman,
“that’s not the way to address solid Spanish Ma-
hogany. Dam’me, you couldn’t treat me with less
respect if I was veneered.”’ When the old gentle-
man said this, he looked so fierce that Tom began
to grow frightened.

“I didn’t mean to treat you with any disrespect,
sir,” said Tom; in a much humbler tone than he had
spoken in at first.

“Well, well,” said the old fellow, ‘perhaps not
 perhaps not. Tom ’”

“Sir ”’

“I know everything about you, Tom; everything.
You’re very poor, Tom.”

‘I certainly am,” said Tom Smart. “But how
came you to know that?”

‘Never mind that,’ said the old gentleman;
‘“‘you’re much too fond of punch, Tom.”

Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting
that he hadn’t tasted a drop since his last birthday,
but when his eye encountered that of the old gentle-
 292 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

man, he looked so knowing that Tom blushed, and
was silent.

“Tom,” said the old gentleman, “the widow’s a
fine woman remarkably fine woman eh, Tom?”
Here the old fellow screwed up his eyes, cocked up
one of his wasted little legs, and looked altogether
so unpleasantly amorous, that Tom was quite dis-
gusted with the levity of his behavior ; at his time
of life, too!

‘“T am her guardian, Tom,” said the old gentle-
man.

“Are you?” inquired Tom Smart.

“I knew her mother, Tom,” said the old fellow;
‘“‘and her grandmother. She was very fond of me
 made me this waistcoat, Tom.”

“Did she?” said Tom Smart.

‘“‘And these shoes,” said the old fellow, lifting up
one of the red-cloth mufflers; “‘but don’t mention it,
Tom. I shouldn’t like to have it known that she
was so much attached to me. It might occasion some
unpleasantness in the family.” When the old rascal
said this, he looked so extremely impertinent, that,
as Tom Smart afterward declared, he could have
sat upon him without remorse.

‘T have been a great favorite among the women
in my time, Tom,” said the profligate old debauchee;
“hundreds of fine women have sat in my lap for
hours together. What do you think of that, you
dog, eh!” The old gentleman was proceeding to
recount some other exploits of his youth, when he
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 293

was seized with such a violent fit of creaking that
he was unable to proceed.

‘Just serves you right, old boy,” thought Tom
Smart; but he didn’t say anything.

‘Ah! said the old fellow, “I am a good deal
troubled with this now. I am getting old, Tom,
and have lost nearly all my rails. I have had an
operation performed, too a small piece let into my
back and I found it a severe trial, Tom.”

“IT dare say you did, sir,” said Tom Smart.

“However,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not
the point. Tom! I want you to marry the widow.”

“Me, sir!’ said Tom.

“You,” said the old gentleman.

“Bless your reverend locks,” said Tom (he had
a few scattered horse-hairs left) ‘“bless your rev-
erend locks, she wouldn’t have me.” And Tom
sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.

‘““Wouldn’t she?” said the old gentleman, firmly.

"No, no,” said Tom; ‘“‘there’s somebody else in
the wind. A tall man a confoundedly tall man 
with black whiskers.”

“Tom,” said the old gentleman; “she will never
have him.”

“Won't she?” said Tom. “If you stood in the
bar, old gentleman, you'd tell another story.”’

‘Pooh, pooh,” said the old gentleman. “I know
all about that.”

‘About what?” said Tom.

‘The kissing behind the door, and all that sort
of thing, Tom,” said the old gentleman. And here
 294 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

he gave another impudent look, which made Tom
very wroth, because, as you all know, gentlemen, to
hear an old fellow, who ought to know better, talk-
ing about these things, is very unpleasant nothing
more so.

“T know all about that, Tom,” said the old gen-
tleman. “I have seen it done very often in my time,
Tom, between more people than I should like to
mention to you; but it never came to anything after
all.”

“You must have seen some queer things,” said
Tom, with an inquisitive look.

‘You may say that, Tom,” replied the old fellow,
with a very complicated wink. “I am the last of my
family, Tom,” said the old gentleman, with a melan-
choly sigh.

“Was it a large one?” inquired Tom Smart.

‘There were twelve of us, Tom,” said the old
gentleman; “‘fine, straight-backed, handsome fellows
as you’d wish to see. None of your modern abor-
tions all with arms, and with a degree of polish,
though I say it that should not, which would have
done your heart good to behold.”

“And what’s become of the others, sir?’? asked
Tom Smart.

The old gentleman applied his elbow to his eye
as he replied, ‘““Gone, Tom, gone. We had hard
service, Tom, and they hadn’t all my constitution.
They got rheumatic about the legs and arms, and
went into kitchens and other hospitals; and one of
"em, with long service and hard usage, positively
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 295

lost his senses : he got so crazy that he was obliged
to be burned. Shocking thing that, Tom.”

“Dreadful!” said Tom Smart.

The old fellow paused for a few minutes, ap-
parently struggling with his feelings of emotion, and
then said:

‘However, Tom, I am wandering from the point.
This tall man, Tom, is a rascally adventurer. The
moment he married the widow, he would sell off all
the furniture, and run away. What would be the
consequence? She would be deserted and reduced
to ruin, and I should catch my death of cold in some
broker’s shop.”

“Yes, but ”

“Don’t interrupt me,” said the old gentleman.
“Of you, Tom, I entertain a very different opinion;
for I well know that if you once settled yourself in
a public house, you would never leave it as long as
there was anything to drink within its walls.”

‘“T am very much obliged to you for your good
opinion, sir,” said Tom Smart.

‘““Therefore,” resumed the old gentleman, in a
dictatorial tone; ‘‘you shall have her, and he shall
not.”

‘‘What is to prevent it?” said Tom Smart, eagerly.

‘This disclosure,” replied the old gentleman; “he
is already married.”

‘“‘How can I prove it?” said Tom, starting half
out of bed.

The old gentleman untucked his arm from his

 
 296 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

side, and having pointed to one of the oaken presses,
immediately replaced it in its old position.

‘He little thinks,’”’ said the old gentleman, “that
in the right-hand pocket of a pair of trousers in that
press, he has left a letter, entreating him to return
to his disconsolate wife, with six mark me, Tom 
six babes, and all of them small ones.”

As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these
words, his features grew less and less distinct, and
his figure more shadowy. A film came over Tom
Smart’s eyes. The old man seemed gradually blend-
ing into the chair, the damask waistcoat to resolve
into a-cushion, the red slippers to shrink into little
red cloth bags. The light faded gently away, and
Tom Smart fell back on his pillow, and dropped
asleep.

Morning aroused Tom from the lethargic slum-
ber, into which he had fallen on the disappearance
of the old man. He sat up in bed, and for some
minutes vainly endeavored to recall the events of
the preceding night. Suddenly they rushed upon
him. He looked at the chair; it was a fantastic and
grim-looking piece of furniture, certainly, but it must
have been a remarkably ingenious and lively imagi-
nation, that could have discovered any resemblance
between it and an old man.

‘How are you, old boy?” said Tom. He was
bolder in the daylight most men are.

The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a
word.
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 297

‘“‘Miserable morning,” said Tom. No. The
chair would not be drawn into conversation.

‘‘Which press did you point to ? you can tell me
that,” said Tom. Devil a word, gentlemen, the
chair would say.

“Tt’s not much trouble to open it, anyhow,” said
Tom, getting out of bed very deliberately. He
walked up to one of the presses. The key was in
the lock; he turned it, and opened the door. There
was a pair of trousers there. He put his hand into
the pocket, and drew forth the identical letter the
old gentleman had described!

“Queer sort of thing, this,” said Tom Smart;
looking first at the chair and then at the press, and
then at the letter, and then at the chair again. ‘Very
queer,” said Tom. But, as there was nothing in
either to lessen the queerness, he thought he might
as well dress himself, and settle the tall man’s busi-
ness at once Just to put him out of his misery.

Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on
his way downstairs, with the scrutinizing eye of a
landlord; thinking it not impossible, that before
long, they and their contents would be his property.
The tall man was standing in the snug little bar,
with his hands behind him, quite at home. He
grinned vacantly at Tom. A casual observer might
have supposed he did it, only to show his white
teeth; but Tom Smart thought that a consciousness
of triumph was passing through the place where the
tall man’s mind would have been, if he had had any.
Tom laughed in his face; and summoned the land-

lady.

’
 298 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

‘““Good-morning, ma’am,” said Tom Smart, clos-
ing the door of the little parlor as the widow
entered.

““Good-morning, sir,” said the widow. ‘What
will you take for breakfast, sir ?”’

Tom was thinking how he should open the case,
so he made no answer.

“There’s a very nice ham,”’ said the widow, “‘and
a beautiful cold larded fowl. Shall I send ’em in,
sir?”

These words roused Tom from his reflections.
His admiration of the widow increased as she spoke.
Thoughtful creature! Comfortable provider!

‘“‘Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma’am?”’ in-
quired ‘Tom.

‘‘His name is Jinkins, sir,’’ said the widow, slight-
ly blushing.

‘“He’s a tall man,” said Tom.

‘He is a very fine man, sir,” replied the widow,
“‘and a very nice gentleman.”

“Ah!” said Tom.

“Is there anything more you want, sir?” inquired
the widow, rather puzzled by Tom’s manner.

“Why, yes,” said Tom. ‘‘My dear ma’an, will
you have the kindness to sit down for one moment?”

The widow looked much amazed, but she sat
down, and Tom sat down too, close beside her. I
don’t know how it happened, gentlemen   indeed
my uncle used to tell me that Tom Smart said he
didn’t know how it happened either but somehow
or other the palm of Tom’s hand fell upon the back
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 299

of the widow’s hand, and remained there while he
spoke.

‘My dear ma’am,” said Tom Smart he had al-
ways a great notion of committing the amiable 
“My dear ma’am, you deserve a very excellent hus-
band ; you do indeed.”

‘Lor, sir!’ said the widow as well she might:
Tom’s mode of commencing the conversation being
rather unusual, not to say startling; the fact of his
never having set eyes upon her before the previous
night, being taken into consideration. ‘‘Lor, sir!”

‘I scorn to flatter, my dear ma’am,” said Tom
Smart. “You deserve a very admirable husband,
and whoever he is, he’ll be a very lucky man.” As
Tom said this his eye involuntarily wandered from
the widow’s face, to the comforts around him.

The widow looked more puzzled than ever, and
made an effort to rise. Tom gently pressed her
hand, as if to detain her, and she kept her seat.
Widows, gentlemen, are not usually timorous, as my
uncle used to say.

‘TI am sure I am very much obliged to you, sir,
for your good opinion,” said the buxom landlady,
half laughing; “‘and if ever I marry again’ 

  “Tf” said Tom Smart, looking very shrewdly out
of the right-hand corner of his left eye. “Jf’? 

“Well,” said the widow, laughing outright this
time. “IVhen I do, I hope I shall have as good a
husband as you describe.”’

‘Jinkins to wit,” said Tom,

“Lor, sir!’? exclaimed the widow.
 300 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

“Oh, don’t tell me,” said Tom, “I know him.”

“Tam sure nobody who knows him, knows any-
thing bad of him,”’ said the widow, bridling up at
the mysterious air with which Tom had spoken.

“Hem!” said Tom Smart.

The widow began to think it was high time to
cry, so she took out her handkerchief, and inquired
whether Tom wished to insult her; whether he
thought it like a gentleman to take away the char-
acter of another gentleman behind his back: why,
if he had got anything to say, he didn’t say it to the
man, like a man, instead of terrifying a poor weak
woman in that way; and so forth.

“T'll say it to him fast enough,” said Tom, “only
I want you to hear it first.”

‘What is it?’ inquired the widow, looking in-
tently in T’om’s countenance.

“T’ll astonish you,” said Tom, putting his hand in
his pocket.

“Tf it is, that he wants money,” said the widow,
“TI know that already, and you needn’t trouble your-
self.”

‘Pooh, nonsense, that’s nothing,’ said Tom
Smart. “JZ want money. ‘Taint that.”

‘‘Oh, dear, what can it be?” exclaimed the poor
widow.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Tom Smart. He
slowly drew forth the letter, and unfolded it. ‘You
won't scream?” said Tom, doubtfully.

‘‘No, no,” replied the widow; ‘“‘let me see it.”

3
 THE BAGMAN’S STORY 301

‘You won’t go fainting away, or any of that non-
sense ?”’ said Tom.

‘‘No, no,” returned the widow, hastily.

“And don’t run out, and blow him up,” said Tom,
“because I’ll do all that for you; you had better not
exert yourself.”

“Well, well,” said the widow, “let me see it.”

“T will,” replied Tom Smart; and, with these
words, he placed the letter in the widow’s hand.

Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom
Smart said, the widow’s lamentations when she
heard the disclosure would have pierced a heart of
stone. Tom was certainly very tender-hearted, but
they pierced his to the very core. The widow rocked
herself to and fro, and wrung her hands.

“Oh, the deception and villainy of man!”’ said the
widow.

“Frightful, my dear ma’am; but compose your-
self,’ said Tom Smart.

‘‘Oh, I can’t compose myself,” shrieked the widow.
‘T shall never find any one else I can love so much!”

“Oh yes you will, my dear soul,” said Tom Smart,
letting fall a shower of the largest-sized tears, in
pity for the widow’s misfortunes. Tom Smart, in
the energy of his compassion, had put his arm round
the widow’s waist; and the widow, in a passion of
grief, had clasped Tom’s hand. She looked up in
Tom’s face, and smiled through her tears. Tom
looked down in hers, and smiled through his.

I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom
did or did not kiss the widow at that particular mo-
 302 FAMOUS GHOST-STORIES

ment. He used to tell my uncle he didn’t, but I have
my doubts about it. Between ourselves, gentlemen,
I rather think he did.

At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out
at the front door half an hour after, and married
the widow a month after. And he used to drive
about the country, with the clay-colored gig with red
wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace, till
he gave up business many years afterward, and went
to France with his wife; and then the old house was
pulled down.