the Capitol, when the watchman pursues his lonely beat through the great
corridors whose immense spaces impress him with a sense of solitariness,
while the shadows thrown by his lantern gather into strange and menacing
forms.
One of the most curious and alarming of the audible phenomena observable
in the Capitol, so all the watchmen say, is a ghostly footstep that
seems to follow anybody who crosses Statuary Hall at night. It was in
this hall, then the chamber of the House of Representatives, that John
Quincy Adams died--at a spot indicated now by a brass tablet set in a
stone slab, where stood his desk. Whether or not it is his ghost that
pursues is a question open to dispute, though it is to be hoped that the
venerable ex-President rests more quietly in his grave. At all events,
the performance is unpleasant, and even gruesome for him who walks
across that historic floor, while the white marble statues of dead
statesmen placed around the walls seem to point at him with outstretched
arms derisively. Like the man in Coleridge's famous lines he
"--walks in fear and dread,
Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread."
At all events he is uncertain lest such may be the case. And, of course,
the duties of the watchman oblige him, when so assigned, to patrol the
basement of the building, where all sorts of hobgoblins lie in wait.
One of the Capitol policemen was almost frightened out of his wits one
night when a pair of flaming eyes looked out at him from the vaults
under the chamber of the House of Representatives where the wood is
stored for the fires. It was subsequently ascertained that the eyes in
question were those of a fox, which, being chevied through the town, had
sought refuge in the cellar of the edifice occupied by the national
Legislature. The animal was killed for the reason which obliges a white
man to slay any innocent beast that comes under his power.
But, speaking of the steps which follow a person at night across the
floor of Statuary Hall, a bold watchman attempted not long ago to
investigate them on scientific principles. He suspected a trick, and so
bought a pair of rubber shoes, with the aid of which he proceeded to
examine into the question. In the stillness of the night he made a
business of patrolling that portion of the principal Government edifice,
and, sure enough, the footsteps followed along behind him. He cornered
them; it was surely some trickster! There was no possibility for the
joker to get away. But, a moment later, the steps were heard in another
part of the hall; they had evaded him successfully. Similar experiments
were tried on other nights, but they all ended in the same way.
Four years ago there died in Washington an old gentleman who had been
employed for thirty-five years in the Library of Congress. The quarters
of that great book collection, while housed in the Capitol, were
distressingly restricted, and much of the cataloguing was done by the
veteran mentioned in a sort of vault in the sub-cellar. This vault was
crammed with musty tomes from floor to ceiling, and practically no air
was admitted. It was a wonder that he lived so long, but, when he came
to die, he did it rather suddenly. Anyhow, he became paralyzed and
unable to speak, though up to the time of his actual demise he was able
to indicate his wants by gestures. Among other things, he showed plainly
by signs that he wished to be conveyed to the old library.
This wish of his was not obeyed, for reasons which seemed sufficient to
his family, and, finally, he relinquished it by giving up the ghost. It
was afterward learned that he had hidden, almost undoubtedly, $6000
worth of registered United States bonds among the books in his
sub-cellar den--presumably, concealed between the leaves of some of the
moth-eaten volumes of which he was the appointed guardian. Certainly,
there could be no better or less-suspected hiding-place, but this was
just where the trouble came in for the heirs, in whose interest the
books were vainly searched and shaken, when the transfer of the library
from the old to its new quarters was accomplished. The heirs cannot
secure a renewal of the bonds by the Government without furnishing proof
of the loss of the originals, which is lacking, and, meanwhile, it is
said that the ghost of the old gentleman haunts the vault in the
sub-basement which he used to inhabit, looking vainly for the missing
securities.
The old gentleman referred to had some curious traits, though he was by
no means a miser--such as the keeping of every burnt match that he came
across. He would put them away in the drawer of his private desk,
together with expired street-car transfers--the latter done up in neat
bundles, with India-rubber bands.
Quite an intimate friend he had, named Twine, who lost his grip on the
perch, so to speak, about six years back. Mr. Twine dwelt during the
working hours of the day in a sort of cage of iron, like that of
Dreyfus, in the basement of the Capitol. As a matter of fact, Dreyfus
does not occupy a cage at all; the notion that he does so arises from a
misunderstanding of the French word "case," which signifies a hut.
However, Twine's cage was a real one of iron wire, and inside of it he
made a business of stamping the books of the library with a mixture made
of alcohol and lampblack. If the observation of casual employees about
the Capitol is to be trusted, Mr. Twine's ghost is still engaged at
intervals in the business of stamping books at the old stand, though his
industry must be very unprofitable since the Government's literary
collection has been moved out of the Capitol.
Ghosts are supposed to appertain most appropriately to the lower
regions, inasmuch as the ancients who described them first consigned
the blessed as well as the damned to a nether world. Consequently, it is
not surprising to find that phantoms of the Capitol are mostly relegated
to the basement.
Exceptions are made in the case of Vice-President Wilson, who, as will
be remembered, died in his room at the Senate end of the building, and
also with respect to John Quincy Adams, whose nocturnal perambulations
are so annoying to the watchmen. Mr. Wilson is only an occasional
visitor on the premises, it is understood, finding his way thither,
probably, when nothing else of importance is "up," so to speak, in the
spiritual realm which now claims him for its own. It is related that on
one occasion he nearly frightened to death a watchman who was guarding
the coffin of a Tennessee Senator who was lying in state in the Senate
Chamber. The startle was doubtless uncontemplated, inasmuch as the
Senator was too well bred a man to take anybody unpleasantly by
surprise.
There was a watchman, employed quite a while ago as a member of the
Capitol police, who was discharged finally for drunkenness. No faith,
therefore, is to be placed in his sworn statement, which was actually
made, to the effect that on a certain occasion he passed through the old
Hall of Representatives--now Statuary Hall--and saw in session the
Congress of 1848, with John Quincy Adams and many other men whose names
have long ago passed into history. It was, if the word of the witness is
to be believed, a phantom legislative crew, resembling in kind if not in
character the goblins which Rip Van Winkle encountered on his trip to
the summits of the storied Catskills.
But--to come down to things that are well authenticated and sure,
comparatively speaking--the basement of the Capitol, as has been said,
is the part of the building chiefly haunted. Beneath the hall of the
House of Representatives strolls by night a melancholy specter, with
erect figure, a great mustache, and his hands clasped behind him. Who he
is nobody has ever surmised; he might be, judging from his aspect, a
foreigner in the diplomatic service, but that is merely guess. Watchmen
at night have approached him in the belief that he was an intruder, but
he has faded from sight instantly, like a picture on a magic-lantern
slide.
At precisely 12.30 of the clock every night, so it is said, the door of
the room occupied by the Committee on Military and Militia of the Senate
opens silently, and there steps forth the figure of General Logan,
recognizable by his long black hair, military carriage, and the hat he
was accustomed to wear in life.
Logan was the chairman of this committee, and, if report be credited, he
is still supervising its duties.
A GENUINE GHOST
(Philadelphia _Press_, March 25, 1884)
DAYTON, O., March 25.--A thousand people surround the grave yard in
Miamisburg, a town near here, every night to witness the antics of what
appears to be a genuine ghost. There is no doubt about the existence of
the apparition, as Mayor Marshall, the revenue collector and hundreds of
prominent citizens all testify to having seen it. Last night several
hundred people, armed with clubs and guns, assaulted the specter, which
appeared to be a woman in white. Clubs, bullets and shot tore the air in
which the mystic figure floated without disconcerting it in the least. A
portion of the town turned out en masse to-day and began exhuming all
the bodies in the cemetery.
The remains of the Buss family, composed of three people, have already
been exhumed. The town is visited daily by hundreds of strangers and
none are disappointed, as the apparition is always on duty promptly at 9
o'clock. The strange figure was at once recognized by the inhabitants of
the town as a young lady supposed to have been murdered several years
ago. Her attitude while drifting among the graves is one of deep
thought, with the head inclined forward and hands clasped behind.
THE BAGGAGEMAN'S GHOST
"The corpses of the passengers killed in the disaster up at Spuyten
Duyvil was fetched down here and laid out in[1] The room was darkened
and I could just make out the out that storage room," said a Grand
Central depot baggageman. "That's what give it the name of morgue. Some
of the boys got scared of going in after that, 'specially in the dark;
and a lot of stories was started about spooks. We had a helper (a
drunken chap that didn't know whether he saw a thing or dreamed it), and
he swore to the toughest of the yarns. He says he went in to get a
trunk. It was a whopper, and he braced himself for a big strain; but,
when he gripped it, it come up just as if there wasn't nothing in it
more'n air or gas. That unexpected kind of a lift is like kicking at
nothing--it's hurtful, don't you know?"
"I should think so."
"Well, Joe felt as light-headed as the trunk, he says, but he brought it
out. When he was putting it down he was stunned to see a ghost sitting
straddle of it."
"What did the ghost look like?"
"Joe was so scared that he can't tell, except that it had grave-clothes
on. And it went out of sight as soon as he got out into the
daylight--floated off, and at the same instant the trunk became as heavy
as such a trunk generally is. Some of us believe Joe's story, and some
don't, and he's one of them that does. He throwed up his job rather than
go into the morgue again."
DRUMMERS SEE A SPECTER
(St Louis _Globe-Democrat_, Oct. 6, 1887)
[The last man in the world to be accused of a belief in the supernatural
would be your go-ahead, hard-headed American "drummer" or traveling-man.
Yet here is a plain tale of how not one but two of the western
fraternity saw a genuine ghost in broad daylight a few years ago.--ED.]
JACKSON, MO., October 6. At a place on the Turnpike road, between Cape
Girardeau and Jackson, is what is familiarly known as Spooks' Hollow.
The place is situated fours miles from the Cape and is awfully dismal
looking where the road curves gracefully around a high bluff.
Two drummers, representing a single leading wholesale house of St.
Louis, were recently making the drive from Jackson to the Cape, when
their attention was suddenly attracted at the Spooks' Hollow by a white
and airy object which arose in its peculiar form so as to be plainly
visible and then maneuvered in every imaginable manner, finally taking a
zigzag wayward journey through the low dismal-looking surroundings,
disappearing suddenly into the mysterious region from whence it came.
More than one incident of dreadful experience has been related of this
gloomy abode, and the place is looked upon by the midnight tourist and
the lonesome citizen on his nocturnal travels as an unpleasant spot,
isolated from the beautiful country which surrounds it.
DR. FUNK SEES THE SPIRIT OF BEECHER
(New York _Herald_, April 4, 1903)
While he will not admit that he is a believer in spiritualism, the Rev.
Dr. Isaac Funk, head of the publishing house of Funk & Wagnalls, is so
impressed with manifestations he has received from the spirit of Henry
Ward Beecher that he has laid the entire matter before the Boston
Society for Psychical Research, and is anxiously awaiting a solution or
explanation of what appears to him, after twenty-five years' study of
the subject, the most remarkable test of the merit of the claims of
spiritualists that has ever come within his observation.
Although he has resorted to every means within his power to discover any
fraud that may have been practiced upon him, he has been unable to
explain away not only messages to him from the great minister, but the
actual appearance to him of Mr. Beecher in the flesh.
Dr. Funk and Mr. Beecher were intimate friends, and it would be
difficult to practice deception as to Mr. Beecher's appearance. When the
apparition appeared to Dr. Funk at a séance a short time ago Dr. Funk
was less than three feet distant from it, and had plenty of opportunity
to detect a fraud if it was being perpetrated, he believes.
"Every feature stood out distinctly," Dr. Funk said yesterday, in
describing his experience, "even to the hair and eyes, the color of the
skin and the expression of the mouth.[1] lines of the body, but it was
still light enough to make the face plainly visible. I had a short
conversation with the embodied spirit, and then it appeared to sink to
the floor and fade away."
MYSTERY OF THE COINS
Dr. Funk was especially anxious to have an opportunity to see and talk
with Mr. Beecher, in the hope that light would be thrown on the mystery
which surrounds a previous manifestation. Through the spirit of one
"Jack" Rakestraw, who says he used to lead the choir in one of Mr.
Beecher's churches, but frankly admits that he cannot remember exactly
where the church was located--even spirits have a way of forgetting
things, spiritualists declare--Dr. Funk was informed that Mr. Beecher
was troubled because the publisher had failed to return a coin, known as
the "widow's mite," which he had borrowed some years ago, from the late
Professor Charles E. West, a well known numismatist, to make a cut to
illustrate a dictionary. Dr. Funk supposed the coin had been returned a
long time ago, but upon looking the matter up found it in a drawer of a
safe, among some old papers, exactly as Mr. Rakestraw maintained.
When Mr. Beecher appeared to him in person, so far as he could
determine, Dr. Funk asked him several direct questions, to which the
replies, he admits, were somewhat sublime. Although Dr. Funk has found
the long-lost coin--which, by the way, is said to be worth $2,500--he is
not certain to whom it should be returned, now that Professor West is
dead and his collection of coins sold. Should the "widow's mite" go to
Professor West's heirs or to the purchaser of the collection? is a
question which has as yet remained unanswered.
"That is a matter I am leaving to be determined by the Society for
Psychical Research and Mrs. Piper, who ought to be able to learn from
the spirit world what disposition Professor West wishes to have made of
the coin," said Dr. Funk. It is at any rate a matter that does not
appear to concern the spirit of Mr. Beecher.
MR. BEECHER APPEASED
"When what seemed to be Mr. Beecher's embodied spirit appeared to me,"
Dr. Funk said, "I asked that very question. He smiled and replied that
it was not a matter that concerned him especially, and that the whole
thing was in the nature of a test, to prove to me that there actually
are spirits, and that it is possible to have communication with them
when all the conditions are favorable. He remarked that he was glad the
old coin had been found, but seemed to consider the disposition of it a
matter of minor importance. He told me he was glad I was taking interest
in the subject, as he believed it would result in good for the world,
and then, excusing himself on the ground that he had an engagement which
it was necessary for him to keep, the apparition disappeared."
Dr. Funk borrowed the coin from Professor West's collection, as a
lighter colored one he already had was of doubtful authenticity. Both
coins were sent to the government expert in Philadelphia and the lighter
one was declared to be the genuine one. By the spirits it is now
declared, however, that a mistake was made and that the darker one
belonging to Professor West has the greater value.
"I found both the light and the dark one in the drawer," said Dr. Funk,
"and remembered distinctly that it was the darker of the two which I had
borrowed from Professor West. I went to the next séance, and when
Rakestraw's spirit arrived I asked him to find out which one was to be
returned. After a brief interval his voice came to me.
"'Return the dark one, of course,' he said. 'That is the genuine coin
and is the one you borrowed from Dr. Beecher's friend.'
"While I do not wish to be classed as a believer in Spiritualism, I
certainly am open to conviction after what has come under my personal
observation," Dr. Funk concluded. "I am confident that no fraud was
practiced on me at the séance at which I was told about the old coin.
The medium is an elderly woman living in Brooklyn, who never appears in
public, and the only persons present were members of her family and
known to me. But none of them knew any more about the coin being in my
safe than I did."
MARYLAND GHOSTS
(_Baltimore American_, May, 1886)
For forty years the Rev. Dr. B. has been the rector of a prominent
parish on the Eastern Shore. He had, when the scenes recorded below
happened twenty-two years ago, a mission charge sixteen miles distant
from the town in which he resided, and he was therefore constantly
traveling between these two places. About six miles distant was the
country residence of Judge S., a well-known and venerable parishioner of
the worthy doctor. The sod had been turned above this gentleman's grave
only about six weeks, when Dr. B. chanced to be returning from his
mission charge in company with a friend. It was broad daylight, just
about sunset, and not far from Judge S.'s gate, when a carriage, drawn
by a white horse, passed them rapidly from behind and was soon out of
sight.
"That fellow must be in a hurry to reach C.," remarked the doctor.
"Did you notice anything peculiar about that vehicle?" inquired his
companion.
"Only that it moves very quietly. I heard no sound as it went by."
"Nor did I," said his friend. "Neither rattling of wheels nor noise of
hoofs. It is certainly strange."
* * * * *
The matter, however, was soon forgotten in other conversation, and they
had traveled perhaps a mile, when suddenly, the same horse and carriage
passed them as before. Nothing was discernible of the driver except his
feet, the carriage curtains hiding his body. There was no cross road by
which a vehicle in front could possibly have got behind without making a
circuit of many miles and consuming several hours. Yet there was not the
shadow of a doubt as to the identity of the vehicle, and the two
gentlemen gazed at each other in blank amazement, and with a certain
defined sense of awe which precluded any discussion of the matter,
particularly as the horse was to all appearances the well-known white
habitually driven by the deceased Judge. A half mile brought them in
sight of Judge S.'s gate, when for the third time the ghostly team
dashed by in the same dreadful mysterious silence. This time it turned
in full view into the gate. Without a word of comment the doctor
quickened his horse's speed, and reached the gate only a few yards
behind the silent driver. Both gentlemen peered eagerly up the long,
open lane leading to the house; but neither carriage nor wheel-track was
visible, though it was still clear daylight, and there was no outlet
from the lane, nor could any vehicle in the time occupied accomplish
half the distance. The peculiar features of this strange incident are
that it was equally and simultaneously evident to two witnesses, both
entirely unprepared for any such manifestation, and differing widely in
temperament, habits of life, mental capacity and educational
attainments, and by mere accident making this journey together, and that
to this day both of them--witnesses, be it noted, of unimpeachable
credibility--attest it, and fully corroborate each other, but without
being able to suggest the slightest explanation.
THE GHOST OF PEG ALLEY'S POINT
Peg Alley's Point is a long and narrow strip of wooded land, situated
between the main stream of Miles river and one of the navigable creeks
which flow into it. This little peninsula is about two miles long, from
fifty to three hundred yards in width and is bounded by deep water and
is overgrown with pine and thick underbrush. There is extant a tradition
to the effect that many years ago a party of Baltimore oystermen
encamped on the point, among whom was a man named Alley, who had
abandoned his wife. The deserted woman followed up her husband, and
found him at the camp. After some conversation had passed between them,
the man induced her, upon some unknown pretext, to accompany him into a
thicket. The poor wife never came out alive. Her husband cruelly
murdered her with a club. The point of land has ever since been known by
Peg Alley's name, and her perturbed spirit has been supposed to haunt
the scene of her untimely taking off. About twelve years ago a gang of
rail-splitters were at work on the point, and one day the foreman flatly
refused to go back, declaring that queer things happened down there, and
that he had seen a ghost. Mr. Kennedy, his employer, laughed at him and
dismissed the matter from his mind. Some time after this Mr. Kennedy had
occasion to ride through the woods to look after some sheep, there being
but one road and the water on either side. As he approached the point
his horse started violently and refused to go on, regardless of whip or
spur. Glancing about for the cause of this unnatural fright, he saw a
woman rise up from a log, a few yards in advance, and stand by the
roadside, looking at him. She was very poorly clad in a faded calico
dress, and wore a limp sun-bonnet, from beneath which her thin,
jet-black hair straggled down on her shoulders; her face was thin and
sallow and her eyes black and piercing. Knowing that she had no business
there, and occupied in controlling his horse, he called to her somewhat
angrily to get out of the way, as his animal was afraid of her. Slowly
she turned and walked into the thicket, uttering not a syllable and
looking reproachfully at him as she went. With much difficulty he forced
his horse to the spot, hoping to find out who the strange intruder might
be, but the most careful search failed to reveal the trace of any one,
although there was no place of concealment and no possible way of
escape, for which, indeed, there was not sufficient time.
AN APPARITION AND DEATH