Murder of Captain O’Flaherty by Mr. Lanegan, his sons’ tutor, and Mrs.
O’Flaherty—The latter, after betraying her accomplice, escapes—Trial
of Lanegan—He is hanged and quartered at Dublin—Terrific appearance of
his supposed ghost to his pupil, David Lauder, and the author, at the
Temple, in London—Lauder nearly dies of fright—Lanegan’s extraordinary
escape; not even suspected in Ireland—He gets off to France, and
enters the Monastery of La Trappe—All-Hallow Eve—A church-yard
anecdote—My own superstition nearly fatal to me.
Captain O’Flaherty, a most respectable gentleman, resided in
Clare-street, Dublin, opposite my father’s house. He had employed a
person of the name of Lanegan, as tutor to the late John Burke
O’Flaherty, and his other sons. But after some little time Lanegan
became more attentive to Mrs. O’Flaherty, the mother, than to her boys.
This woman had certainly no charms either of appearance or address,
which might be thought calculated to captivate any one; and there was a
something indescribably repulsive in her general manners, in consequence
whereof all acquaintance between her and our family soon terminated. She
was not satisfied with the occasional society of Mr. Lanegan, whilst he
continued in the house as tutor, but actually proceeded to form a
criminal intercourse with him; and, in order to free herself from all
restraint, meditated the very blackest of human crimes, which she
determined to perpetrate by giving the unfortunate captain a
rice-pudding for his dinner, by virtue whereof she might at any rate be
saved the trouble of ever making another for him.
Mr. Lanegan was with this view sent by her to several apothecaries’
shops; at each of which, to avoid suspicion, he asked for a _very
little_ stuff _to kill the rats_; and thus, by small portions, they
ultimately procured a sufficient quantity to kill not only the rats, but
the husband into the bargain.
The murderous scheme was carried into execution by Mrs. O’Flaherty
herself, and the captain was found dead in his bed! Some misgivings,
however, were generated from the appearance of the body, which swelled
and exhibited black spots: and these, with other unequivocal signs,
conspired to prove that the rats (for they were actually dealt with) had
not been the only sufferers. The Coroner’s Inquest, indeed, soon decided
the matter, by a verdict of “_Poisoned by Arsenic_.”
Mrs. O’Flaherty and Mr. Lanegan began now to suspect that they were in
rather a ticklish situation, and determined to take a private journey
into the country until they should discover how things were likely to
go. The adulterous wife, full of crime and terror, conceived a suspicion
that Lanegan, who had only purchased the poison by her directions, and
had not administered it (except to the rats), might turn king’s
evidence, get the reward, and save himself by convicting her. Such a
catastrophe she therefore determined, if possible, to prevent.
On their journey she told him that, upon full consideration, she
conceived there could be no possibility of bringing conclusive evidence
against them, inasmuch as it would appear most probable that the captain
had, by accident, taken the poison himself—and that she was determined
to surrender and take her trial as soon as possible, recommending Mr.
Lanegan to do the same. In pursuance of this decision, as they passed
near the town of Gowran, County Kilkenny, she said, “There is the gate
of a magistrate: do you go up first, put on a bold face, assure him of
your entire innocence, and say that, as infamous and false reports have
been spread, both of yourself and me, you came expressly to surrender
and take your trial;—for that you could not live in society under such
vile imputations! Say, also, that you hear Mrs. O’Flaherty intends
likewise to surrender herself in the evening, and request that he will
be at home to receive her.”
Lanegan, suspecting no fraud, followed these instructions literally;—he
was secured, though without roughness, and preparations were made for
his being taken to Dublin next day in custody. The magistrate waited for
Mrs. O’Flaherty, but she did not appear: he sent down to his gate-house
to know if any lady had passed by: the porter informed him that a lady
and gentleman had been near the gate in a carriage, in the morning, and
that the gentleman got out and went up the avenue to the house, after
which the lady had driven away.
It now appearing that they had been actually together, and that Lanegan
had been telling falsehoods respecting his companion, strong suspicions
arose in the mind of the magistrate. His prisoner was confined more
closely, sent under a strong guard to Dublin, indicted for murder, and
tried at the ensuing commission.
Positive evidence was given of Lanegan’s criminal connexion with Mrs.
O’Flaherty, coupled with the strongest circumstantial proof against him.
He had not the courage boldly to deny the fact, and being found guilty,
was sentenced to be hanged and quartered; the former part of which
sentence having been carried into execution, his body, after a cut on
each limb, was delivered to his mother for burial.—Mrs. O’Flaherty
escaped beyond sea, and has, I believe, never since been heard of in the
country.
Such is the history which forms the prelude to an occurrence some time
afterward in which I was a party, and which may be regarded as a curious
illustration of stories of supposed ghosts.
A templar and a friend of mine, Mr. David Lauder, a soft, fat,
good-humoured, superstitious young fellow, was sitting in his lodgings,
(Devereux-court, London,) one evening at twilight. I was with him, and
we were agreeably employed in eating strawberries and drinking Madeira.
While chatting away in cheerful mood, and laughing loudly at some remark
made by one of us, my back being toward the door, I perceived my
friend’s colour suddenly change—his eyes seemed fixed and ready to start
out of his head—his lips quivered convulsively—his teeth chattered—large
drops of perspiration flowed down his forehead, and his hair stood
nearly erect.
As I saw nothing calculated to excite these emotions, I naturally
conceived my friend was seized with a fit, and rose to assist him. He
did not regard my movements in the least, but seizing a knife which lay
on the table, with the gait of a palsied man retreated backward—his eyes
still fixed—to a distant part of the room, where he stood shivering, and
attempting to pray; but not at the moment _recollecting_ any prayer, he
began to repeat his _catechism_, thinking it the _next best_ thing he
could do: as—“What is your name? David Lauder! Who gave you that name?
My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism!” &c. &c.
I instantly concluded the man was mad; and turning about to go for some
assistance, was myself not a little startled at sight of a tall,
rough-looking personage, many days unshaved, in a very shabby black
dress, and altogether of the most uncouth appearance. The stranger and I
stood for a moment opposite each other, staring and motionless: at
length he broke silence, and addressing my friend, said, in a low
croaking voice, “_Don’t be frightened_, Mr. Lauder; sure ’tis _me_
that’s here.”
When Davy heard the voice, he fell on his knees, and subsequently flat
upon his face, in which position he lay motionless.
The spectre (as I now began to imagine it was) stalked toward the door,
and I was in hopes he intended to make his _exit_ thereby; instead of
which, however, having deliberately shut and _bolted it_, he sat himself
down in the chair I had previously occupied, with a countenance nearly
as full of _horror_ as that of Davy Lauder himself.
I was now totally bewildered; and scarce knowing what to do, was about
to throw a jug of water over my friend, to revive him if possible, when
the stranger, in his croaking voice, cried—
“For the love of God, give me some of that,—for I am perishing!”—I
hesitated, but at length did so: he took the jug and drank immoderately.
My friend Davy now ventured to look up a little, and perceiving that I
was becoming so familiar with the goblin, his courage somewhat revived,
although his speech was still confused:—he stammered, rose upon his
knees, held up his hands as if in supplication, and gazed at the figure
for some time, but at length made up his mind that it was tangible and
mortal. The effect of this decision on the face of Davy was as ludicrous
as the fright had been. He seemed quite ashamed of his former terror,
and affected to be stout as a lion! though it was visible that he was
not at his ease. He now roared out in the broad, cursing Kerry dialect:
“Why then, blood and thunder! is that you, Lanegan?”
“Ah, Sir, speak low!” said the wretched being.
“How the devil,” resumed Davy, “did you get your four quarters stitched
together again, after the hangman cut them off of you at Stephen’s
Green!”
“Ah, Gentlemen!” exclaimed the poor culprit, “speak low: have mercy on
me, Master Davy; you know it was I taught you your Latin.—I’m starving
to death!”
“You shall not die in _that_ way, you villanous schoolmaster!” said
Davy, pushing toward him a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine that stood
on the table,—but standing aloof himself, as though not yet quite
decided as to the _nature_ of the intruder.
The miserable creature having eaten the bread with avidity, and drunk
two or three glasses of wine, the lamp of life once more seemed to
brighten up. After a pause, he communicated every circumstance relating
to his sudden appearance before us. He confessed having bought the
arsenic at the desire of Mrs. O’Flaherty, and that he was aware of the
application of it, but solemnly protested that it was _she_ who had
seduced _him_; he then proceeded to inform us that after having been
duly hanged, the sheriff had delivered his body to his mother, but not
until the executioner had given a slight cut on each limb, just to _save
the law_; which cuts bled profusely, and were probably the means of
preserving his life. His mother, conceiving that the vital spark was not
extinct, had put him into bed, dressed his wounded limbs, and rubbed his
neck with hot vinegar. Having steadily pursued this process, and
accompanied it by pouring warm brandy and water down his throat, in the
course of an hour he was quite sensible, but experienced horrid pains
for several weeks before his final recovery. His mother filled the
coffin he was brought home in with bricks, and got some men to bury it
the same night in Kilmainham burial-ground, as if ashamed to inter him
in open day. For a long time he was unable to depart, being every moment
in dread of discovery:—at length, however, he got off by night in a
smuggling boat, which landed him on the Isle of Man, and from thence he
contrived to reach London, bearing a letter from a priest at Kerry to
another priest who had lived in the Borough, the purport of which was to
get him admitted into a monastery in France. But finding the Southwark
priest was dead, he then went to Scotland, using various disguises; and
returning to town, was afraid, though possessing some little money sent
him by his mother, even to buy food, for fear of detection! but
recollecting that Mr. Lauder, his old scholar, lived somewhere in the
Temple, he had got directed by a porter to the lodging the night before.
My friend Davy, though he did not half like it, suffered this poor devil
to sit in the chamber till the following evening. He then procured him a
place in the night coach to Rye, from whence he got to St. Vallery, and
was received, as I afterward learnt from a very grateful letter which he
sent to Lauder, into the monastery of La Trappe, near Abbeville, where
he lived in strict seclusion, and died, as I heard, some years since.
This incident is not related as a mere isolated anecdote, unconnected
with any serious general considerations; but rather with a view to show
how many deceptions a man’s imagination may hastily subject him to; and
to impress the consideration that nothing should be regarded as
supernatural, which can by _possibility_ be the result of human
interference.
In the present case, if Lanegan had withdrawn before Lauder had arisen
and spoken to him, no reasoning upon earth could ever have convinced the
Templar of the materiality of the vision. As Lanegan’s restoration to
life after execution had not at that time been spoken of, nor even
suspected, Lauder would have willingly deposed, upon the Holy
Evangelists, that he had seen the _actual ghost_ of the schoolmaster who
had been hanged and quartered in Dublin a considerable time before; his
identification of the man’s person being rendered unequivocal from the
circumstance of his having been formerly Lanegan’s pupil. And I must
confess that I should myself have seen no reason to doubt Lauder’s
assertions, had the man withdrawn from the chamber before he spoke to
me—to do which, under the circumstances, it was by no means improbable
fear might have induced him.
Thus one of the “best authenticated ghost stories ever related” has been
lost to the history of supernatural occurrences. The circumstance,
however, did not cure Davy Lauder in the least of his dread of
apparitions, which was excessive.
Nor have I much right to reproach my friend’s weakness in this
particular. I have, on the other hand, throughout my observations
admitted—nay, I fear, occasionally boasted—that I was myself
_superstitious_. The species of reading I adopted and ardently pursued
from my infancy upward may, I admit, have impressed my mind indelibly;
and the consciousness of this fact should have served to render me
rather _sceptical_ than _credulous_ upon any subject that bore a
mysterious character.
My relations, whilst I was a boy, took it into their heads that I was a
decided coward in this way, which though I in round terms denied, I
freely admitted at the same time my coyness with regard to trying any
unnecessary experiments or making any superstitious invocations,
particularly on _Allhallow-eve_,[28] or other mysterious days, whereupon
a sort of bastard witchcraft is always practised in Ireland.
-----
Footnote 28:
The pranks formerly played in Ireland on _Allhallow-eve_, were
innumerable. The _devil_ was supposed to be at large on that night,
and permitted to make what prey he could among the human species, by
bringing them together. His principal occupation was therefore thought
to be match-making, and it was whispered that he got more subjects,
and set more Christians by the ears, through the sacrament of
matrimony, than all his other schemes put together. Matches were then
frequently made by burning nuts, turning shifts, &c.
-----
Hence I was universally ridiculed on those anniversaries for my
timidity; and, one Allhallow-eve, my father proposed to have a
prayer-book, with a £5 bank-note in it, left on a certain tomb-stone in
an old catholic burial-ground quite apart from any road, and covered
with trees. It was two or three fields’ distance from the
dwelling-house; and the proposal was, that if I would go there at twelve
o’clock at night, and bring back the book and a dead man’s bone, (many
of which latter were scattered about the cemetery,) the note should be
mine; and, as an additional encouragement, I was never after to be
charged with cowardice. My pride took fire, and I determined, even
though I might burst a blood-vessel through agitation, or break my neck
in running home again, I would perform the feat, and put an end to the
imputation.
The matter therefore was fully arranged. The night proved very dark; the
path was intricate, but I was accustomed to it. There were two or three
stiles to be crossed; and the Irish always conceive that if a ghost is
any where in the neighbourhood, he invariably chooses a stile at which
to waylay the passengers.
However, at the appointed hour I set out. I dare say most ladies and
gentlemen who may read this know what _palpitation of the heart_ means;
if so, let them be so good as to fancy an excess of that feeling, and
they may then form some idea of the sensations with which I first
touched the cold grave-stones of the dead, who, if they had possessed
any spirit, would have arisen, _en masse_, to defend their bones from
being made the subject of ridiculous experiment.
Having groped for some time in the dark, I found the book, but my hand
refused to lift it, and I sat down panting and starting at every rustle
of the foliage: through the gloom wherewith the trunks and branches of
the trees were invested, my excited imagination conjured up figures and
shapes which I expected, at every glance, would open into skeletons or
shrouded spectres! I would, at that moment, have given the world to be
at home again!—but I really could not stir: my breath had got too short,
and my eyesight too confused, for motion.
By degrees these sensations subsided. I obtained a little confidence;
the moving of a branch no longer startled me, and I should have got on
well enough had not an unlucky goat, which came roaming near the place,
though with a different object, thrown me into a complete relapse. At
the conclusion of about half an hour, however, which appeared to me at
least five-and-twenty years, I secured the book snugly in my pocket,
together with a dead man’s thigh-bone, which I tied up in a cloth
brought with me for the purpose; and, fastening this round my waist,
lest it should drop during my flight, I made a very rapid exit from this
scene of perilous achievement.
Having reached the house in triumph, and taken a large tumbler of wine,
I proceeded to exhibit my book, put the bank-note in my pocket, and with
an affectation of unconcern untied my cloth and flung my huge thigh-bone
upon the supper-table. I had my full revenge! The girls, who had been
amusing themselves by telling each other’s fortunes, tossing coffee,
burning nuts, turning shifts, writing _abracadabras_, &c. &c. &c., were
cruelly shocked—they all set up a loud shriek, and whilst some were half
swooning, others ran headlong out of the room, or rolled over the
chairs. My courage now grew rampant: I laughed at their terrors, saying,
if they pleased, they might leave the bone on the top of my bed till
morning, and that would sufficiently show, who was most in dread of dead
people!—
Confidence was at length restored on all sides. I was half cured of my
superstitious fears, and the family universally admitted that I
certainly should make a brave general if I went into the army. We made
merry till a late hour, when I retired joyously to bed, and sleep very
soon began to make still further amends for my terrors.
While dreaming away most agreeably, I was suddenly aroused by a rustling
noise for which I could not account. I sat up, and, upon listening,
found it to proceed from the top of my bed, whereon something was in
rapid motion. The dead man’s thigh-bone immediately started into my
recollection, and horrible ideas flashed across my mind. A profuse
perspiration burst out at once on my forehead, my hair rose, the cramp
seized both my legs, and just gathering power to call out “Murder,
Murder!—help, help!” I buried my head under the clothes. In this
situation, I could neither hear nor see, and was besides almost
suffocated: after awhile, I began to think I might have been dreaming,
and with that idea thrusting my head fearfully out, the bone (for that
it certainly was) sprang with a tremendous crash from the bed down
beside me upon the floor, where it exhibited as many signs of life
(probably more) than when its original owner was in legal possession of
it. Upon viewing this, my spirits sank again, I shook like a man in an
ague, gave some inarticulate screams, and at length dropped back, nearly
senseless, upon the pillow with my eyes covered.
How long I lay thus, I know not; I only remember that the bone still
continued its movements, and now and then striking a chair or table,
warned me of my probable fate from its justly enraged proprietor, who, I
was apprehensive, would soon appear to demand his undoubted property.
Had the scene continued long, I actually believe I should scarce have
survived it: but at last, paradise seemed all on the sudden to be
regained, though in no very orthodox way. A loud laugh at the door
clearly announced that I had been well played off upon by the ladies,
for my abrupt display of a dead man’s bone on a supper-table. The whole
of the young folks entered my room in a body, with candles; and after
having been reassured, and nourished by a tumbler of buttered white
wine, I obtained, by degrees, knowledge of the trick which had
occasioned a laugh so loud, so long, and so mortifying to my
self-conceit.
The device was simple enough: a couple of cords had been tied to the
bone, and drawn under the door, which was at the bed’s foot; and by
pulling these alternately, the conspirators kept the bone in motion,
until their good-humoured joke had well nigh resulted in the loss of
their kinsman’s reason.
My character for bravery as to supernaturals was thus finally
demolished;—and my general courage was also considered as a doubtful
matter, in consequence of a most plausible piece of argument used by old
Christopher Julian, a retired exciseman, who occasionally came down from
his little cottage to take some shrub-punch at my father’s house. He was
very humourous, and we all liked him.
“Sure, Master Jonah,” said the old gauger, “cowardice is occasioned only
by the fear of death?”