WELSH GHOSTS
"A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge and tiled and tall."
In one of the most remote parts of South Wales there stands on a low
cliff that is washed by the waters of a certain bay in St. George's
Channel a very curious old house which we will call Plasgwyn. Inside one
finds walls many feet in thickness, dark panelled rooms with enormous
cupboards, and a beautiful oak staircase, its shallow, uneven steps
polished by the feet of many generations. Of course there is a ghost
story too, and one possessing an element of picturesqueness, its origin
dating far back to the days when smuggling was considered by quite
respectable people as a useful means of increasing their income in a
gentlemanly manner.
When one reflects on the lonely situation of Plasgwyn, and
listens--especially in winter--to the boom of wind and wave advertising
with loud persistence the nearness of the sea, it is not difficult for
the imagination to conjure up those far-away times; to picture the
landing of many an interesting cargo in the little cove hard by when the
nights were dark and stormy and the Revenue men off their guard; and to
conjecture that perhaps many crimes were committed at that period by
villains using the smuggler's cloak to cover misdoing, and that possibly
some such dark deed may have happened in the old house, thus giving a
real foundation to our story.
It begins with an incident that was told me as having occurred a few
years ago at Plasgwyn. One day two maid-servants went to do some work in
the largest bedroom, used always as a visitors' room. When they quickly
came downstairs again, with white faces and trembling knees, they had a
strange tale to tell. They declared that in the room, floating in the
air near the bed, they had seen what appeared to be a human hand and
wrist, bleeding as if just severed from an arm, the fingers of the hand
covered with splendid rings. Horribly frightened, the two maids did not
look long at the apparition but fled downstairs as fast as they could.
However, so convinced were they both of the reality of the thing they
saw that neither could ever be induced to enter the room alone as long
as they remained in the house, and one at least was in the service of
the family for some years.
Now the legend of Plasgwyn is as follows. Long ago a strange lady of
great wealth once stayed there, and, for reasons now unknown, her hosts
went away leaving her alone one night. Feeling solitary and remembering
with alarm tales she had heard of the lawless doings of smugglers known
to frequent the coast, she went early to her room and tried to sleep.
Well-grounded indeed were her fears, for in the middle of the night she
was aroused by loud knocking at her door and rough voices demanding
admittance. Terrified, the lady tried to hold the door, but in vain. It
soon gave way beneath violent blows, and her arm, thrust forward in
feeble resistance, was seized and held. Unfortunately, she had forgotten
to remove her rings, of which she wore many of great size and
brilliance, and the sight of the jewels so excited the greedy robbers
that they immediately tried to pull them off. They fitted the fingers so
tightly, however, that they would not move; accordingly, the ruffians,
determined to have possession of them, ruthlessly chopped off the poor
woman's hand and wrist, immediately afterwards decamping with their
dreadful booty. Ever since that night, runs the tale, those who have the
"gift" may sometimes see the jewel-covered hand hovering over the bed in
the room once occupied by the ill-fated lady.
Nor is the spectral hand the only uncanny thing to be seen at Plasgwyn,
if local rumour be correct; which declares that the spirit of "Old
Brown," a former owner of the property, and from all accounts a person
of much character (whether good or bad matters not), has been seen in a
ball of fire rolling down the staircase into the hall at midnight!
I have never met anybody who has witnessed this somewhat alarming
phenomenon, but the legend is merely related for what it is worth, and
as it was told me by a very old inhabitant of the neighbourhood. And
whether the "ball of fire" is only an absurdity, originating in some
one's too lively imagination, or really one of those "fire elementals"
of which advanced occultists tell us, must be left to the reader's
judgment to determine. But there are few people of imagination who could
visit this quaint old house without feeling that scarcely any tale of
the marvellous relating to it would sound incredible in such a setting.
Of quite a different type is another incident connected with the same
place, which, though it certainly lacks sensation, is curious as one of
that class of apparently pointless events so realistic as to seem
commonplace, and which yet leave one in a perfect "cul-de-sac" of
mystification as to why they should have happened at all.
Many years ago--perhaps thirty or forty--a meet of the hounds took place
at Plasgwyn. Most of the houses round sent representatives, but the meet
was not a large one. Among those who drove over were a Mrs. A. and her
friend Miss B. When riders and hounds had trotted off to draw the
coverts near the house, the hostess, Mrs. C., suggested that she and
her daughter, with Mrs. A. and her friend, should walk out and watch
the find. The two elder ladies kept on the main road, just outside the
drive gate, while Miss C. and Miss B., more energetic, went through some
fields and climbed a little hill which commanded a good view of the
covert where the hounds were. Just beneath them was the field where all
the riders were grouped, and beyond that was the road, a short stretch
of which was plainly visible from the hill, though at each end of this
open piece it was hidden by the trees.
After they had been waiting some little time on the hill-side, the two
ladies heard the sound of a horse trotting quietly along the road
beneath the trees, and very soon a rider mounted on a white horse, and
wearing a red coat, emerged in the open part of the road, presently
disappearing again beneath the further trees.
Miss B. remarked: "That must be Mr. X." (the only gentleman in the
district who usually hunted on a white horse), "how late he is." And she
and Miss C. concluded that Mr. X. was making his way down the road to
where a gate beyond the trees would take him into the field where the
rest of the hunters were gathered. But the minutes passed, and he never
came to join the other riders, though Miss B. and her friend must have
seen him if he had done so. However, they supposed that he was perhaps
waiting in the road after all, hidden by the trees, and so thought no
more of the matter.
Later on when the ladies were lunching at Plasgwyn, and were joined by
some of the returned hunters, Miss B. mentioned having seen Mr. X. go
along the road towards the covert. "You must be mistaken," said one of
the party, "he was not out to-day." The two ladies then described the
rider they had seen, and were still more puzzled when told that _no one_
had appeared with the hounds wearing a red coat and riding a white
horse! Yet Miss B. and her friend knew they had both seen such a
horseman, and that he was as absolutely real to them as the rest of the
"field" close by. The odd thing was, that a good many people were
gathered in the road beneath the trees behind the open stretch referred
to, among them being Mrs. A. and Mrs. C. Now none of these people had
seen any such rider pass them, though he was coming from their direction
when he became visible to Miss B. on the hill, and yet he must have been
a noticeable figure in his red coat on the white horse. He certainly did
not come from the opposite direction and then turn in his tracks before
reaching the foot-people, because in that case he must have been seen
arriving by Miss B. and Miss C. who had been waiting some time on the
hill-side overlooking the road. The mystery was never solved, for when
Miss B. next saw Miss C. the latter said she had made inquiries amongst
other people who were out hunting that day, and no one had seen the man
on the white horse. Neither had he been seen by the country people,
though as is usual in Wales on a hunting day, there were a good many
labourers, &c., round the coverts and in the fields, snatching an hour's
holiday for a taste of sport. When relating the experience to me after
the lapse of many years, Miss B. said she had no theory to offer on the
subject, having always regarded it as a mystery defying ordinary
explanation.
[Illustration]
There does not seem to be any tradition connected with Plasgwyn which
would throw light on the appearance of this phantom horseman, but a
short time ago, I thought I had really come across his track, in
conversation with a certain friend. This Mr. R. declared that once when
he and others were hunting on the hills, they suddenly saw an "unknown
horseman" riding with the hounds, who, as they approached him,
disappeared, no one knew whither, nobody at the time or since having
been able to "place" him, either as a stranger or inhabitant of the
country. But that the apparition _was_ an apparition, and no horse or
man of flesh and blood, Mr. R. seemed firmly persuaded. Roughly
speaking, the district where this mysterious rider was seen would be
about a dozen miles from Plasgwyn.
But there are two phantom hunt legends belonging to Cardiganshire. Of
one I have only gleaned the very vaguest particulars, to the effect that
on a certain farm in the sea-board parish of Penbryn, a ghostly pack of
hounds and hunters have occasionally been seen, all circumstantial
details, or any origin for the tale being wanting.
The other tradition of a spectral chase is really picturesque, and
located in the neighbourhood of the little town of Lland----l, is
related by Mr. Alfred Rees, in his charming book "Ianto the Fisherman."
Condensed, the story runs that long ago there lived, a few miles from
Lland----l, an old gentleman-farmer, who was well known and liked as a
true sportsman throughout the county. He kept a pack of harriers, and
had hunting rights over a considerable tract of country. His end was
tragic, for one November evening, when returning late with the hounds,
he was shot in the woods above the house by a supposed poacher; though
in spite of the great hue and cry raised by such a foul deed, the
murderer managed to evade justice. But, "the villagers still declare,
that whenever November nights are moonlit and windy, the huntsman's horn
is heard above the wood, and the pack winds down the glade in full
music, till suddenly a shot echoes in the valley, after which there is
silence. They declare that Will the Saddler, a sober deacon, coming home
one night, when he had taken some mended harness to a farmer at the top
of the wood, witnessed plainly a full repetition of the tragedy. The
opening scene appeared so real, that unmindful of religious prejudices,
he actually joined in the chase, till with the flash of the gun he
remembered the story, and presently saw shadowy forms, attended by
hounds and horse, pass by him down the glade with muttered whisperings,
bearing the burden of their dead."
Another phantom horseman figures in the tradition attached to an old and
well-known Welsh house; which says, that always before a death occurs in
the family, a noise of galloping hoofs is heard coming up the drive
towards the house at dead of night. Nearer and nearer it draws, passing
at length under the windows, then ceases suddenly at the front door, as
if a horse were violently reined in there. A pause succeeds, then loud
hoof-beats again, hurry-scurry past the windows, and so down the drive,
growing ever fainter, till they are lost in distance. If sleepers are
awakened and rush to look out, nothing can be seen. But in the morning,
fresh hoof-marks will be found upon the gravel.[2]
[Footnote 2: The noise of a ghostly equipage being driven to the door is
to be heard at O--l T--e, a house in Ireland. A friend who lived there
for some months told me she heard it not once but several times, and not
only she, but other people in the house heard it also. The sound was
described as unmistakably that of heavy carriage wheels; yet nothing was
to be _seen_, nor could such a characteristic noise be accounted for in
any other way.]
Mention of these ghostly horses and riders reminds one that
Pembrokeshire--in common with several other districts in Great Britain
and Ireland--possesses a good phantom coach legend, localised in the
southern part of the county, at a place where four roads meet, called
Sampson Cross. In old days, the belated farmer, driving home in his gig
from market, was apt to cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as his
pony slowly climbed the last steep pitch leading up to the Cross. For he
remembered the story connected with that dark bit of road, that told how
every night a certain Lady Z. (who lived in the seventeenth century, and
whose monument is in the church close by) drives over from Tenby, ten
miles distant, in a coach drawn by headless horses, guided by a headless
coachman. She also has no head; and arriving by midnight at Sampson
Cross, the whole equipage is said to disappear in a flame of fire, with
a loud noise of explosion. A clergyman living in the immediate
neighbourhood, who told me the story, said that some people believed the
ghostly traveller had been safely "laid" many years ago, in the waters
of a lake not far distant. He added, however that might be, it was an
odd fact that his sedate and elderly cob, when driven past the Cross
after nightfall, would invariably start as if frightened there, a thing
which never happened by daylight.
It is not every one who is acquainted with the precise meaning of the
expression "laying a ghost," which Brand in his "Antiquities" advises as
the best remedy for cases of troublesome hauntings. "Sometimes," he
says, "Ghosts appear and disturb a house without deigning to give a
reason for so doing; with these the shortest way is to lay them. For
this purpose there must be two or three clergymen and the ceremony must
be performed in Latin.... A Ghost may be laid for any time less than a
hundred years and in any place or body, as a solid oak, the point of a
sword, or a barrel of beer, or a pipe of wine.... But of all places the
most common and what a ghost least likes is the Red Sea." From another
authority we learn that seven parsons are necessary to this weird
performance. They must all sit in a row, each holding a lighted candle,
and should all seven candles continue to burn steadily, it shows that
not one of the reverend gentlemen is capable of wrestling with the
uneasy spirit. But if one of the lights suddenly goes out, it is a sign
that its holder may read the prayers of exorcism, though in so doing he
must be careful that the ghost (who will mockingly repeat the words)
does not get a line ahead of him. If this happens his labour is lost,
and the ghost will defy his efforts and remain a wanderer. In some parts
of the country it was believed that only a Roman Catholic priest could
lay a ghost successfully.
But to return to Pembrokeshire. About a mile or so from Sampson Cross,
there is a certain rectory said to be haunted by a mysterious "grey
figure" which sometimes showed itself in the "best bedroom." Two
visitors, on different occasions (having previously known nothing of any
supposed ghost in the house), declared that they had seen a "grey lady"
standing by their bedside. A daughter of the house, who told me about
this apparition, added that though she herself had never _seen_
anything, yet one night when she chanced to sleep in this room, she had
been awakened by the most horrible and mysterious noises. She described
the sounds as resembling "the groans and cries of a tortured animal,"
and they came, not from beneath the window (which looked on a strip of
garden), but apparently from high up in the air above it, and could not
be accounted for in any ordinary way. Nor does there seem to be any
story connected with the house in past times which might afford a clue
to the meaning of these hauntings; or if any event of tragic or dramatic
significance ever took place there, it has been forgotten by the present
generation. Yet it is quite reasonable to suppose that some such event
may have happened at that lonely rectory. There must be few houses,
constantly inhabited for, let us say, fifty years, of which the walls
have not witnessed many varying circumstances of life--circumstances of
joy and woe, and all the shades between. And besides actual events,
think of the developments of human character, the play of different
temperaments, and the range of passions and emotions that any such house
has sheltered! And if, as some psychologists aver, human passions,
thoughts, and emotions have at their greatest height actual dynamic
force, capable of leaving impressions on their environment which may
endure for ages, and even be perceptible to certain people--then does
not this assertion supply us with a reason for many of the unexplained
"ghosts" and hauntings of which one so constantly hears?
For we can easily believe that these impressions would be most apt to
linger round those earthly scenes best known in life, and where perhaps
only the most ordinary chain of familiar events sufficed to lead up to
the crisis which evoked the elemental passions and emotional force of
some strong personality.
Certainly the lady who furnished the few particulars about the rectory
ghost must possess the sixth sense necessary for the perception of these
impressions, for she added that she had once seen an apparition in
another Pembrokeshire house, where she happened to be staying. One day
during her visit, as she was coming out of her room in search of a book
she wanted from the bookcase on the landing, she suddenly saw a woman's
figure appear in front of her. "A little thin person," she described,
"dressed in light blue, with sandy hair, much dragged up on top of her
head," presenting altogether such a curious old-fashioned appearance
that Miss L----d looked very hard at her, and wondered who she could be,
and where she had appeared from. But the next moment the figure vanished
from view through the door of another bedroom. Although her curiosity
was rather roused by the odd looks of the woman she had seen, Miss
L----d thought little of the incident, imagining she must have seen one
of the servants in rather strange attire. And it was only when she had
been several days longer in the house that she discovered it possessed
no inmate in the slightest degree resembling the queer apparition of the
landing, which she was forced to conclude was no human being, but most
probably the family ghost! Personally I know this house well, and had
always heard there was supposed to be a ghost there; but though I have
often stayed there, and even slept in the "haunted" room, I never saw
the sandy-haired lady, nor anything else of an uncanny nature.
In fact, the county of Pembroke is a happy hunting-ground for the
ghost-tracker. Nor is this to be wondered at, considering the
innumerable associations, legendary, historical and romantic connected
with a tract of country which is certainly one of the most interesting
in Great Britain. So that the student of ghost-lore and superstition
will there discover a fine field for research, the only pity being that
in Pembrokeshire as in other parts of Wales, although almost every other
old country house has its ghost, yet the stories and legends connected
with these apparitions and hauntings are very often forgotten, and only
vague details as to "noises," or doubtful reports of spectral
appearances are forthcoming. However, in the case of one house (which we
will call Hill-view), some kind of explanation is given of hauntings
which seem to have continued for a long time, and have been remarked by
various people who have rented the place. I first heard of the Hill-view
ghost many years ago, when it was said to have caused a frightful noise
one night in a room upstairs, which was apparently reserved for
visitors, and at the time that the sound was heard was unoccupied. The
noise was described as exactly like the thud and crash that a large
piece of furniture, such as a wardrobe, would make in falling heavily on
the floor; there seemed no mistaking the sound for anything else. Yet
when with fear and trembling the door was opened, those who looked in
were astonished to find nothing unusual in the empty room, or in the
dressing-room which opened off it. All was in order, darkness, and
silence, and search as they would, nothing that could possibly account
for such a noise could be found, nor was the problem ever solved. That
happened a long while ago, but quite lately, the present occupants of
the house were one day sitting in the room immediately beneath the
bedroom before referred to, when they distinctly saw the door open,
apparently of itself, and heard a sound as of some one entering the
room. On another occasion also, members of the family have heard
mysterious footsteps; but none of them seem to have heeded the ghost
very much until a certain friend came to stay with them. This friend
they put to sleep in the haunted bedroom, and one night spent there
seems to have been quite enough for her. Next morning she complained
that she could get no sleep, owing to the incessant noises--knockings,
rappings, and scrapings--which went on all night.
That something of a sinister nature may still linger about that room is
not strange, if local report be true; which says that a very long time
ago a little boy--a son of the family who owned the property--was
dreadfully ill-treated by a nurse or governess, and shut up in a
cupboard in the room now haunted, where the poor child was eventually
discovered, dead.
Not a thousand miles from Hill-view is a house (we will temporarily
christen it Shipton Rise) which possesses a rather interesting little
story connected with a picture that hangs in the dining-room
representing a ship, called the _Shipton Rise_. The original of this
picture was a vessel commanded once upon a time by one Captain Joseph
Turner, of the East India Company's service. During a long voyage on
this ship, he was one night awakened by a voice, which said, "Joseph
Turner, get up and sound the well." He thought he was dreaming, and
promptly went to sleep again. A second time the same call woke him, and
again he paid no attention, and slept. But once more came the voice,
more insistent than before, "Joseph Turner, Joseph Turner, sound the
well!" This time he was really roused, and felt so impressed that he
determined to do as he was bid. So he went, and sounded the ship's well,
and found a great leak sprung. The pumps were manned, and thanks to the
timely warning, the ship was saved.
It is extraordinary how very many stories of occult occurrences belong
to what we may call the "warning type"; yet among them we find few
resembling the foregoing instance, in which the message conveyed by
ghostly voice or visitant has been of use in averting misfortune. In
fact these supernormal intimations seem to be generally heralds of the
inevitable, rather than friendly envoys of any special Providence. The
traditional "White Swans of Closeburn"; the mysterious "Drummer-boy" of
the Airlies; the Lytteltons' "White Lady" (all figuring in tales too
well known for repetition), belong to this very large class of
supernatural incident which it seems only impending calamity can evoke.
In this connection there is a rather curious sequel added to the "family
ghost" story of Mayfield, a very old house in West Wales, dating back to
the year 1600. Among the family portraits there, one is shown the
picture of a young lady in the dress of the eighteenth century. This was
a Mrs. Jones (Jones shall replace the real name of the family) and an
ancestress of the present owner of the house. Tradition says that a
wicked butler murdered this poor lady in a large cupboard--almost a
little room--which opens out of the dining-room. He then fled with the
family plate, but finding it too heavy, he dropped part of his plunder
in a ditch near the house, where it was subsequently found, though
history is silent as regards the fate of the butler. Ever since then,
the ghost of the murdered lady walks out of the cupboard every Christmas
evening (the anniversary of the tragedy), never appearing till the
ladies have left the dinner-table. At least, so runs the tale; and now
for the sequel.
Early in the last century, Mayfield and the property were owned by a
certain Jones, who had a brother living in India. Whether Mr. Jones was
a bachelor or widower at the time of the following occurrence, one does
not know, but at all events he lived at Mayfield by himself. He used the
dining-room as a sitting-room of an evening, and after his dinner would
turn his chair round to the fire, and sit there reading till it was
bed-time. One night he had sat up later than usual, and as he shut up
his book and bethought him of bed, the clock struck midnight. In the
corner of the room, behind his chair, was the cupboard already referred
to. Now as the last stroke of twelve died away, Mr. Jones heard the
click of the door opening. He turned his head and there, walking out of
the cupboard towards him, he saw the figure of a woman dressed in an
old-fashioned costume. She advanced a few paces, stopped, and said in
loud, clear tones, "Your brother is dead." Then she turned and walked
back into the cupboard, the door of which shut with a loud clang. As
soon as he recovered from his astonishment, Mr. Jones made a thorough
search of the cupboard and room, but could find no trace of any inmate.
Convinced at length that a message from the other world had been brought
to him, he made a careful note of the date and hour of the incident. In
those days letters took a long while to travel from India to this
country, and he had therefore many weeks to wait before the mail brought
him news that his brother had died, the time of death _coinciding
exactly_ with the night and hour in which he was warned by the
apparition at Mayfield.
Another incident which seems to have fore-shadowed death (though the
warning in this case was not definitely given) recurs to my mind, and
though trivial in a way, it yet possesses a certain impressiveness,
perhaps from its very simplicity and lack of any dramatic element. Or
perhaps it is only because the locality described is so familiar to me
that the following little story seems more weird and realistic than it
really is. The reader must imagine one of the most peaceful and
beautiful spots in Wales, where there stands a large, square house
called Wernafon, backed by hanging oak woods, beneath which flows a
clear river. Higher up the vale the stream loiters through pleasant
meadows, affording the angler many a tempting pool; but as it reaches
Wernafon, it begins to sing and clatter over stone and shingle as if it
already heard the calling of the not far-distant sea, while in
flood-time, heavy water rushes down, deeply covering stepping-stones,
and swamping shallow fords. So, for the convenience of the Wernafon
workmen and labourers, and others who live on the hither side of the
river, it is spanned near the house by a narrow, wooden foot-bridge,
which saves people a considerable walk round.
Many years ago, there lived on the Wernafon estate, two labourers, whom
we will call Ben and Tom; and these men were great friends. They had
worked together from boyhood, and when at last--both being old--Ben
died, Tom felt sadly lonely and forlorn. One day, soon after his
friend's funeral, he had occasion to cross the river by the little
foot-bridge, and as he trudged heavily along its narrow planks, his head
bent down in melancholy thought, he suddenly came to a full stop, for
there was a man standing in the middle of the bridge. Moreover, as he
looked hard at the man, he somehow became aware that it was Ben who
stood there, and who smiled at Tom as if glad to see him. Entirely
forgetting for the moment that he had seen Ben buried but a few days
before, Tom accosted him, and a short conversation ensued between the
two about ordinary, every-day matters. But suddenly Ben asked his friend
"if he would like to see the inside of Wernafon, for," said he, "I go
there every night, and a strange sight it is to see the people all
asleep while I pass through." He then offered to take Tom through the
house that very night, if he would meet him again on the bridge at
midnight; and without waiting for an answer, he glided along the bridge,
and disappeared. Immediately and with a feeling of horror, it dawned on
Tom that the man he had just talked to had actually been dead for
several days, and he began to think he had seen a vision or had had some
extraordinary dream. Nevertheless, being a courageous old fellow, and at
the same time curious to see if any result would follow, he determined
to keep the strange appointment. So midnight found him waiting on the
little bridge. A bright moon illumined the river and banks, and by its
soft light, the old workman was presently aware of a dark shape
hastening to join him. Greeting the living man, the apparition took his
former comrade by the hand, and led him to the front door of Wernafon,
which, as might be expected, was closely locked and barred. But at a
touch from Tom's escort, the great door opened without a sound, and the
companions passed into the hall of the house. There, the silence of
sleep and complete darkness reigned. Yet without a stumble, Tom found
himself mounting the staircase with his ghostly guide. Arrived on the
landing, the pair stopped before a closed door, which immediately
opened, allowing them to enter. Softly they crept into the room, Tom
remarking that it seemed filled with a faint bluish light, unlike
anything he had ever seen before. They gazed at the occupant of the room
wrapped in deep slumber, and creeping out again, visited all the other
rooms in turn, Tom becoming more and more bewildered by the strangeness
of his experience. At last--how he hardly knew--he found himself
standing again in the moonlight outside the front door; and turning to
speak to his friend, discovered that he was alone. He rubbed his eyes in
astonishment, for an instant before, Ben had been standing by his side.
And now, except the fact of finding himself in such an unusual place at
so late an hour, nothing remained to show that his adventure had been
real and not a dream. He went home, wondering greatly at what had
happened, and it does not appear that he saw the apparition again before
his death, which occurred suddenly, only a few days after his mysterious
experience.
At a much later period than the date of the above story, but still some
years ago, a curious instance of the "warning" kind occurred at N----e,
which is a hamlet distant a few miles from Wernafon. Though in this case
there is nothing tragic or of an important character to record, yet it
is worth recounting on the ground of coincidence alone, if coincidence
it really was.
About eight o'clock one summer evening, several neighbours happened to
be at the blacksmith's house, having a quiet smoke and gossip together.
They were sitting in a room at the back of the smithy, which faced the
main road. Suddenly the talkers in this room were startled by the sound
of a tremendous crash. Exclaiming "Some one's cart must have upset on
the road," they all rushed out through the shop, fully expecting to see
some bad accident. To every one's surprise, all was still, the road
empty, and no sign of any vehicle could be seen in either direction.
Much perplexed, they went home, but the next evening, most of them were
again at the smith's, and of course began to discuss the strange
incident of the night before. But as the clock struck eight, again came
the same terrific noise. Once more they ran out, and this time they
found a heavily laden cart upset on the road just outside the forge.
Nobody seems to have been killed or even hurt by the accident, and one
wonders why, in the case of such an--apparently--unimportant event, such
an impressive and collective warning should have been given.
Among my notes, I find mention of a little house near this same village
of N----e, which was reputed to be haunted. The note says: "Mr. Z. (an
old gentleman well versed in the antiquities and folk-lore of his
district) told me about a haunted house called Tyhir.... About twenty
years ago, the man who lived there used to see _curious, little people_,
of the size that could run under a chair, walking about the house. This
man was so nervous of what he heard and saw that he would never, if he
could help it, stay alone in the house. Mr. Z. spoke once to another
man, who had often gone to keep the other company on Sundays, when he
was afraid to sit in the house by himself. This second man told Mr. Z.
that though he himself had seen nothing, yet he had heard noises which
were quite unaccountable. The 'little people' seen were said to exactly
resemble in feature the former dwellers in the house; a little old man
called 'Tom Tyhir,' and his wife."
Cases of apparitions that have acted as protectors in danger to the
percipient are occasionally heard of, and one of the most interesting
stories of this type was recorded in a well-known Welsh newspaper, about
two years ago, and will quite bear repetition in these pages. To quote
the original words: "A story which appears strange even in these days of
telepathic experiment has appeared recently concerning the Rev. John
Jones,[3] of Holywell, in Flintshire, one of the most prominent
preachers of his day. He was once travelling alone on horseback from
Bala to Machynlleth, where the country is wild and desolate. When
emerging from a wood he met a man carrying a sickle. The man had been
seen by the minister at an inn when passing. In answer to a question,
the minister gave information as to the time by his watch, and a short
time after, noticed the man had furtively moved into the field, and was
running alongside the hedge, removing the straw from his sickle as he
ran. Then he noticed the man trying to conceal himself behind the hedge
near the gate through which Mr. Jones would have to pass. Firmly
believing that the man intended to murder him, the minister bent his
head in prayer. As he did so the horse became impatient, and started off
so suddenly that the minister had to clutch the reins, which had fallen
on the neck of the steed. Turning round to see if there was any
available help, the minister was astonished to find close to his side a
horseman in a dark dress, mounted on a white horse. No previous sound
had been given of the stranger's presence. Mr. Jones told him of the
danger he feared, but no reply was vouchsafed, the stranger simply
looking in the direction of the gate. Then the minister saw the reaper
sheathing his sickle and hurrying away. The gate was reached, the
minister hastened to open it for his mysterious companion, and waited
for him. But the guard on the white horse had disappeared as silently
and unobserved as he arrived."
[Footnote 3: This is the real name. The story is included by the kind
permission of the Editor of the _Western Mail_.]
And now this chapter will conclude with an account of a very frivolous
spirit indeed, for the story of the Riverside ghost must be told. Rarely
does one hear of a "spook" with a sense of humour, but that quality, as
expressed by a taste for practical joking, was evidently possessed by
the intelligence that used to haunt the old house to which we have given
the fictitious name of Riverside. Situated in one of the deep and
beautiful valleys of South Wales, and belonging originally to the
ancient family of Rhys, the house dates back to the time of Henry the
Seventh. The last Rhys died about forty years ago, since when the place
has changed hands several times, though its present tenants have owned
it for a long while, and have apparently been left severely alone by the
ghost.
Our story goes back fifty years or more, to a time when a certain Mrs.
X. and her infant daughter went to stay at Riverside. One evening after
dinner, Mrs. X. went upstairs to see her child (whom she had left
sleeping in her own room), but what was her astonishment and subsequent
alarm to find the cradle empty. On inquiry and search being made, no
trace of the baby could anywhere be found, and the distracted mother
rushed off to find her host, and acquaint him with her anxiety. Mr. Rhys
received the news with the astonishing remark, "Do not be alarmed; wait
patiently, and the baby will come back." He then went on to say that all
in the house were often annoyed by the tricks of the family ghost.
Frequently books, garments, umbrellas, anything in fact, if left lying
about, would disappear in the most unaccountable way. But if no notice
were taken, the articles were always returned in a short time. Mr. Rhys
added he was convinced that the ghost had taken the infant, and that she
would certainly soon be returned. All this was cold comfort to the poor
mother, who found the ghost theory a hard one to believe, and prepared
to endure a night of suspense as best she could. Left alone at length by
her friend with many exhortations to try and sleep, she could only lie
miserably awake, longing for the next day, when search could be renewed.
But towards morning, a sudden impulse seized her to get up and look once
more at the cradle, when scarcely could she believe her eyes! For there,
sleeping peacefully, lay the missing child, who, it may be added, was
never afterwards any the worse for what sounds like a rather unpleasant
adventure.
Of the above story I think that "se non e vero, e ben trovato" might
well be said! But it is here recounted for what it is worth, as an old
tale which probably had more or less foundation in facts of an occult
nature.
Another tale of Riverside dealt with a lady in a green silk dress who
could be heard rustling about the house, and had also the usual
unpleasant ghostly habit of appearing by one's bedside at midnight. But
the details--what there were of them--were too vague in character to be
worth more than a passing allusion. A pity, as I have always thought
there might be interesting possibilities connected with the history of
this daintily robed ghost, whose presence in the old house was known by
that gentle, feminine sound, the soft rustling of silken attire.