WELSH GHOSTS (_continued_)
"Rest, rest, perturbed spirit."
Many stories of haunted houses are told where the disturbing power has
seemed to have a distinct object in view, and this object attained, all
further manifestations have ceased. Such was the case of a very old
farm-house in one of the South Welsh counties. It had long been known
that mysterious tappings were constantly heard there, proceeding always
from a certain spot in the wall of one particular room. At last this
house fell into such bad repair that it had to be partly rebuilt. When
the masons were pulling down the wall from whence the tappings came,
they found, carefully built into this very wall, an old register-book.
It was in a fair state of preservation, and the later entries in it
dated from the time of the Commonwealth. They showed that a mason, who
could neither read nor write, was then appointed vicar of the parish,
and the former incumbent turned out. However, he seems to have remained
among his parishioners, performing the offices of the Church in secret,
and we may suppose that, taking refuge in the farm-house (which very
likely was a place of more importance in those days), the clergyman had
the register-book hidden in the wall, to preserve it from falling into
the hands of the illiterate mason. The old book has been restored, and
is much treasured by its possessor. Since its discovery, the house has
been rebuilt, and is now entirely free from the mysterious tappings.
A striking instance of what determination on the part of a ghost can do,
comes from Glamorganshire. Mr. Roberts, the owner of a very ancient
house in that county, decided for various reasons to let it for a time,
and was fortunate in finding a tenant who took it for a term of years,
seeming to be delighted with the place. But after he had lived there for
a few months, this gentleman wrote to Mr. Roberts saying he could no
longer stay in the house. When pressed for reasons, he evaded reply for
a while, but at length said "he could not stand the ghost." It appeared
that one day, soon after his arrival, he had been sitting quietly
reading in one of the rooms, when on raising his eyes from his book, he
had been astonished to see "a little old lady" with a "horrible frowning
expression" standing close by him. As he gazed at her, she vanished as
suddenly and noiselessly as she had come, but this appearance was
followed by many others; in fact, the old lady, always with her
sinister, frowning look, haunted him. Whenever he least expected her, he
was sure to look round and find her at his elbow. And at last the
apparition had become too much for his nerves, and he felt he must leave
the place. He added that he was sure the old lady was an ancestress of
Mr. Roberts, who, annoyed at the family home being occupied by a
stranger, evidently resolved to make herself unpleasant until she drove
him away, in which amiable resolution she succeeded.
As a rule, new bricks and mortar create an environment particularly
uncongenial to a self-respecting ghost. Ivied walls, gabled roots, dim
and musty passages leading to gloomy, oak-panelled rooms, supply the
kind of setting that the spook of convention demands, and nobody passing
a certain little house close to the road, just outside the seaside
village of Aber----n would ever think of its being haunted. Built some
fifteen years ago by a retired seaman named Captain Morgan, this very
ordinary dwelling (of the five-windows-and-door-in-the-middle style of
architecture, absolutely unrelieved by gable, porch or balcony) is
certainly far from suggesting any thoughts of the uncanny. Yet I
remember hearing, soon after it was built and occupied, that it was
supposed to harbour a ghost, though inquiry could elicit little beyond
the fact that Captain Morgan had remarked to a friend: "I don't know
what it is about my house, but we do hear the queerest noises that we
can't account for. We begin to think it is haunted." Then people who
heard about these "noises" remembered rather a curious thing. Soon
after the house was begun, while the workmen were engaged on the
foundations they came across the skeleton of a man, buried in the earth,
and examination revealed that the skull had a hole through the forehead.
Instead of keeping these remains together, and having them interred in
consecrated ground, the finders carelessly left the bones lying about
until they crumbled away and were hopelessly scattered. Whether this
discovery had anything to do with the disturbances of which Captain
Morgan and his family complained one can but conjecture; time has long
since closed the page on which is written the fate which overtook some
unknown individual on that spot perhaps a century or more ago, and there
is no local tradition to help one to frame a reason for any such deed of
violence. However, the inexplicable sounds are no longer heard; and it
is said that their cessation dates from the day of a terrible
thunder-storm when the house was struck by lightning (though not much
damaged), an electric disturbance which seems to have effectually laid,
or at least frightened away, the ghost.
Carmarthenshire abounds in tales of ghosts and ghostly happenings. I
know one house of great antiquity and historic interest in that county
which possesses a spectre of most approved pattern in the person of a
headless lady, who, report says, may be met walking along a certain path
in the garden by an old yew-tree, at the uncomfortable hour of one in
the morning. She is also supposed to account for mysterious footsteps
sometimes heard in an upstairs passage. Two people of my acquaintance
have heard these footfalls, and declare they are produced by no human
agency. A family tradition says that dancing must never take place in
the drawing-room; if it does, the ghost will surely appear among the
company.
But far more interesting than the vague rumours concerning the "headless
lady" (after all, a most conventional type of ghost) is the story
connected with a maple-tree growing by the roadside, about a mile and a
half from the house just described. "Once upon a time" there was a poor
tramp, who, walking along this road (which is the highway to
Carmarthen), sat down to rest at the very place where the tree now
stands. He carried a staff made of maple-wood, which he plunged into the
ground beside him, and soon, being very tired, he went to sleep. He
never woke again, for while he slept he was foully murdered. His body,
of course, was found and removed, but nobody noticed the maple staff,
stuck in the ground beside him; and left there, it took root, flourished
and became the tree one sees there now. And local belief declares the
spot is haunted. Nothing, say the country people, is ever _seen_; but
after nightfall, no animal, and especially horses, will willingly pass
the tree, which still marks the scene of an otherwise long-forgotten
tragedy.
If we continued our way along the road for a few miles beyond the
maple-tree, we should come to a house said to possess a ghost story, for
which, in repeating here, I feel I must apologise, owing to its very
apocryphal character. But I cannot resist the temptation to relate it;
as the tale--even if it is untrue, and perhaps it is not--is such an
excellent example of the kind that sends one to bed with the "creepy
feeling" that all really enjoyable ghost "yarns" should produce. Well,
many years ago, a young widow who was related to her hosts, went to pay
a visit at this house, and was given a room containing a large,
four-post bedstead. The dressing-table was against the wall opposite the
bed. One night, as the widow sat before the glass, combing her plentiful
locks, and murmuring sadly (we may presume in affectionate remembrance
of the departed), "Poor John, poor John," she suddenly saw, reflected in
her mirror, a horrid sight. There was the quaint old "four-poster," and,
hanging from the top rail, was the body of an old man. History is silent
as to the feelings of "poor John's relict" on beholding this terrible
reflection, but as she lived in Early Victorian times, it is safe to
conclude that she immediately "swooned" and probably had hysterics
afterwards. But she subsequently learned that an old miser had once
inhabited that room, and had been strangled in that very bed one night
for the sake of his money.
It is usually supposed that bodily ills are left behind on our exit from
this mortal world, but the tale of a well-known ghost that used to haunt
another Carmarthenshire house (now rebuilt) rather contradicts this
theory. Owing to the official position of its tenant, a great many
people used formerly to be entertained there, and one day a certain
guest asked his host which of the servants it was who had such a bad
cough. He said that since he arrived, he had constantly heard some one
coughing terribly in the passages and on the staircase, but could never
see the person, although sometimes the sound seemed quite near him.
The host listened gravely, and then remarked that he was sorry his
friend had been disturbed by the cough, which was no earthly sound, but
was caused by the "ghost," and had been heard by other people at
different times.
The "coughing" ghost had another idiosyncrasy. At this same house a
certain bedroom and dressing-room, communicating by a door, were once
occupied by a friend of mine and her husband during a couple of days'
visit. Now this door between the rooms was carefully shut and latched
the last thing at night. In the morning, greatly to my friend's
surprise, the door was thrown wide open, although she felt absolutely
certain, and so did her husband, that it was firmly shut the night
before. It was only a slight incident, but the strangeness of it rather
dwelt in Mrs. L----'s mind, until one day after her return home, when
she happened to mention it to a neighbour, who remarked: "You must have
had the haunted room. It has always been known that the dressing-room
door can never be kept shut; no matter how tightly closed the night
before, it is always found open in the morning."
For many years local legend has used Brynsawdde, the home of a very
ancient Carmarthenshire family, as a setting for various weird
happenings. Of these, perhaps the most interesting, and certainly the
most inexplicable, is a story that I well remember was current at the
time of the late owner's death, who was a well-known character in the
country.
It was said that on the day he died a small black dog appeared--from
whence no one knew--leapt on the bed, and lay across the dead man's
face. Chased away, it disappeared, but was again found sitting on the
coffin after the lid had been screwed down. And after the funeral, a
whisper went round that "the dog" had jumped into the hearse as the
coffin was put in; and that later it had appeared slinking, like some
evil thing, through the knot of mourners at the graveside and was never
seen again.[4]
[Footnote 4: See remarks in Chapter VI. referring to "Corpse Dogs."]
Another story tells how, not many years ago, some people were returning
from a dinner-party in the neighbourhood, and as they passed Brynsawdde,
which they knew to be entirely uninhabited, they were astonished to see
every window of the house brilliantly illuminated, as if for some great
festivity. Nor, on making inquiries, was the slightest explanation of
the lights ever forthcoming.
Near the Carmarthenshire border lies the little town of St. Govan's,
which, a very few years ago, was much agitated by the pranks of a most
inconsequent and noisy ghost. Selecting the abode of one of the quietest
and most respected families in the place for the scene of its exploits,
it proceeded with demonstrations that not only aroused excitement in the
neighbourhood, but for a few days attracted considerable attention from
the daily press. But in spite of close investigation no real solution of
the mystery was ever arrived at, though the sceptical (and larger)
section of the community at length dismissed the matter as a case of
trickery in some shape or other, an explanation which, in the light of
many reliable witnesses' evidence, was quite inadmissible to thoughtful
minds, compelled eventually to relegate the strange happenings to that
domain which M. Camille Flammarion has so happily called "L'Inconnu."
The first brief report of the occurrences in a local paper ran (slightly
altered) as follows: "Great excitement has been caused at St. Govan's
during the past week, owing to the alleged appearance in the principal
street of a ghost. It has taken up its abode (so the story goes) in the
house of Mr. Moore ... from which in the early hours of Sunday morning
loud metallic clanks were to be heard. Mr. A. B. Rose and others at once
proceeded to investigate, and it was found that a bed in one of the
rooms was rocking violently, and in doing so, came in contact with the
wall, causing the sounds which had been heard. Further investigation
failed to reveal the cause of the rocking. The bed was in contact with
nothing but the floor, and nothing could be found to indicate in any way
that the rocking was caused by anything natural. It is curious that the
phenomenon always takes place at about seven in the morning and at the
same hour in the evening.... This is not the first occasion on which
mysterious occurrences have taken place, and many are inclined to
attribute them to the supernatural....
"Since Sunday several attempts have been made to solve the mystery, but
up to now nothing has been deduced from the observations made.... The
street opposite the house has been thronged all day, and the aid of the
police has had to be called to remove the crowd of sightseers."
The "metallic clanking" referred to above was so loud that it could be
heard many yards away from the house, down the street. But though noises
and disturbance continued each morning for several days afterwards they
were never again as loud and insistent as on that Sunday. Various
persons, bent on investigation of a more or less "scientific" order,
soon discovered that by establishing a code of rappings they could
communicate with the disturbing agent, and accordingly each morning,
visitors arriving at the unconventional hour of 6.30 proceeded to the
room containing the mysterious bedstead, and by means of taps held long
conversations with the "ghost." These taps always came from the same
place on one of the walls. Some curious statements were thus obtained,
and in one case when a lady (whom I know personally) was the
interviewer, some assertions made to her were quite extraordinary in
correctness, containing as they did information known to no one else in
the town or district. On the other hand, it does not seem as if anything
new or interesting was imparted to anybody; the answers to questions in
most cases seemed evidently framed to suit preconceived ideas in the
listeners' minds, and however impressive at the moment, the statements
when repeated certainly sounded most vague and unconvincing, _except_ in
the one instance referred to. But that the knocks and rappings were in
themselves absolutely genuine, and produced by some supernormal means,
cannot be doubted. Any one who has ever had any experience of
"table-turning" will realise that this genuineness of manifestation is
quite compatible with the extreme futility of the "information" usually
conveyed in such ways, and will recognise that the noises and rappings
in the house at St. Govan's evidently belonged to the same class of
phenomena. Manifestations of such a vehement and insistent order must
surely have had their origin in some unknown psychic disturbance, some
mysterious jarring sufficient to set quivering the veil between things
seen and unseen. And in this and similar cases it has always seemed to
me that trying, however vainly, to find a reason for these disturbances
is very much more interesting than heeding or dwelling long on the
"messages" which reward the efforts of the investigator. For if indeed
"spirits" are responsible for the replies to our questions they seem
only too often to belong to that "lying" class, with whom it is
certainly best to avoid dealings.
In regard to the haunted house of St. Govan's its history and
associations may have had something to do with the manifestations, for,
as remarked in the previous chapter, there must be few old houses which
have not known strange happenings within their walls.
This particular habitation, of most unobtrusive and unghostlike aspect,
is of some antiquity as houses go in St. Govan's. For many years it was
used as a bank, and long before that, it was an inn. And surely a
"ghost" was ever a necessary appurtenance to every respectable inn of
the olden days! But no authentic tale or legend remains to connect those
times with the present, or to furnish a romantic background for the
strange and inexplicable behaviour of the "St. Govan's Ghost."
And as its noisy demonstrations daily became less, and at length ceased
entirely, so public interest gradually waned; and no definite result
having been obtained by any investigator, the subject--after forming for
several weeks a sort of conversational bone of contention between
sceptics and believers--shared at last the fate of all such abnormal
topics, and died a natural death.
High up in one of the wildest and loveliest valleys that pierce the
Ellineth mountains, is a house which we will call Nantyrefel. One would
like to linger in description of a place possessing a unique charm,
which must appeal to all who appreciate the enchantment of beautiful
scenery surrounding a house rich in literary and romantic associations.
Such a place without a ghost would be incomplete, and accordingly it has
the reputation of being most respectably haunted, and by more than one
"spook." For reasons of discretion, we cannot here relate the most
interesting of the occult incidents connected with Nantyrefel; but to
pass its gates without mention of any one of its "revenants" would be
impossible, and so the following short tale shall be told.
Rather more than two years ago, a certain lady went to stay at this
mountain abode, taking her maid "Brown" with her, a person, one is
assured, of average intelligence, and not over-burdened with
imagination.
One evening, during the visit, about nine o'clock, Brown had occasion to
go up the front staircase, in order to fetch something required by her
mistress. Half-way up the stairs she paused, for, descending towards
her, came an elderly man, with a long grey beard. Standing respectfully
on one side, Brown allowed him to pass, wondering meanwhile who he could
be, as she did not remember having seen such a noticeable figure about
the house before. Continuing his way down, the old gentleman reached the
foot of the staircase, and disappeared round a corner into the hall. He
walked very slowly, and the maid, looking round after he passed her,
saw, to her great surprise, that his clothes were of the most
extraordinary and antiquated cut. Her errand despatched, Brown found her
way back to the housekeeper's room, where she remarked to the butler
that she had just seen such an odd-looking old gentleman coming
downstairs; adding that she supposed he must have arrived by some late
train, and was going down to get some dinner. The butler promptly
replied that no new visitors at all had arrived at Nantyrefel that day;
and when Brown described the long beard and quaint garments of the man
she had seen, she was assured that there was no one in the least
resembling her description in the house. Yet the maid knew she had not
been dreaming, and that she actually had seen the old gentleman, and
that moreover he had brushed past her as she waited at the angle of the
stairs while he went slowly by.
So it would appear that what Brown really saw was an apparition, one of
those household ghosts with which many an old mansion is peopled, could
we but see them; ghosts harmless and timid, with no mission to terrify,
or grievances to air, but just indulging a little earthly hankering for
an occasional visit to the scenes they loved in life.
Do many people, I wonder, know the strange, uncanny feeling it gives
one, to return to a sitting-room at night, after the lights have been
out, and the house quiet for an hour or so? One descends to fetch a
forgotten book, and pushing open the door, one wishes the candle gave a
better light that would reach those far dark corners. For surely the
room, so short a time deserted, is nevertheless peopled--and by what? At
least, that is the impression I have had, and very odd it is, and one
cannot help wondering whether, at the
"very witching time of night,"
the "gentle ghosts" that Shelley writes of, really do creep out of the
Invisible, and return for a little space to that human atmosphere, which
perhaps some of them may have left many a year ago with regret and
sorrow.
And now, from the rather tame incident just repeated, we will turn to a
real "thriller" in the way of ghostly experience, namely, the story of
Glanwern, in South Wales. Several mysterious tales are told about this
house, but the most interesting one (and undoubtedly authentic as far as
her own experience goes) was related to me by a Miss Travers, who was
asked to stay there a few years ago.
Although there was nothing remarkable about the appearance of the room
that was given her, it struck her at once with an odd feeling of
nervousness, a feeling that increased so much when she was left alone
for the night, that having no night-light, she determined to keep both
her candles burning. The hours dragged by, Miss Travers finding sleep
out of the question. Suddenly, towards one o'clock, a sound broke the
heavy stillness of the night, exactly as if some one had violently
pushed open her door and rushed into the room. Imagine her alarm! And
the greater, as nothing was to be seen, although the first was followed
by a succession of noises resembling the shuffling of feet about the
floor, and struggles as of people fighting. After a time the sounds
ceased, but poor Miss Travers, too terrified to move, lay quaking, and
how she got through the night she never knew, for in an hour or so the
same thing occurred again: the door was burst open, and the shufflings
and strugglings went on as before. This invisible performance happened
_four times_ during the night, but on the fourth occasion the struggle
seemed to cease very abruptly, and the next sound Miss Travers heard was
distinctly that of a heavy body being dragged across the floor towards
the door. And as this occurred, she felt a horrible and indescribable
sensation of intense cold pass over her like a wave.
Resolved not to spend another night alone, and under the plea of feeling
nervous, she asked one of the daughters of the house to sleep in her
room for the rest of her stay, but fearing incredulity, said nothing of
her experience to her hosts, especially as after the first lonely night
there was no repetition of the sounds. But when at a neighbouring house
she mentioned where she was staying, her friend remarked, "I wonder if
the ghost ever 'walks' there now." Judicious inquiry from Miss Travers
elicited the story that "once upon a time" two brothers lived at
Glanwern. One night they quarrelled and fought, one killing the other,
and burying the body in a wood near the house. Ever since then the
murderer is said to haunt the room where the tragedy occurred.
The following tale, which was related as being absolutely true, I have
slightly altered in two or three minor details, to prevent any possible
localisation, as it is connected with a very well-known house and family
in West Wales. Oaklands will be a good name for the house, and in the
sixties and seventies of the last century a certain Colonel Vernon, a
widower, lived there as head of the family.
At the time of the story he had invited a young man, named Carter, the
son of an old friend, to stay at Oaklands, and besides Carter there was
another guest, a Captain Seaton, who was a frequent visitor there, and
a contemporary and valued friend of Colonel Vernon.
One night Mr. Carter stayed up reading long after his host and Captain
Seaton had gone to bed, and the lights in the house been put out.
Indeed, it was nearly one o'clock when he lit his bedroom candle, made
his way across the hall, and upstairs on the way to his room. Half-way
up the stair made a turn, and it was when he reached this turn and could
look back into the hall, which of course was quite dark, that Carter was
astonished to see a light coming towards him down a passage which ended
near the foot of the staircase. Wondering who could be about so late,
and thinking it might be one of the servants, he paused on the stairs,
and was somewhat surprised to see the tall figure of a woman emerge from
the passage, and begin swiftly mounting the stairs. She wore a kind of
loose, flowing garment, and as she passed Carter, who had involuntarily
drawn back against the wall, he saw that her face was extraordinarily
beautiful. He also noticed the candlestick she carried: it was of
brilliantly polished silver, and most curiously shaped in the form of a
swan. As the lady (for Carter instantly divined that she was no servant)
glided by without taking the slightest notice of him, his astonishment
became curiosity, and determining to see what became of her, he followed
her up the stairs. Never turning her head, or showing by the slightest
sign that she was aware of Carter's presence, she reached the landing,
where she stopped a moment, then turned down the corridor where the
principal bedrooms were situated. Carter, watching, saw her stop at the
third door and enter the room, the door closing softly behind her.
Rousing himself from his surprise, Carter proceeded to his own room, but
the extraordinary appearance of the lady he had seen, joined to her
apparent unconsciousness of his presence, the unusual hour, and the fact
that he knew of no woman inmate of the house, other than the servants,
produced such bewilderment of mind that he found it impossible to sleep.
Early next morning he was astir, and happening to meet Captain Seaton in
the garden, he could not forbear relating his nocturnal experience to
his fellow-guest.
When Captain Seaton heard the story he looked very grave and asked, "At
which door in the corridor did the lady stop?" Carter replying that it
was the third door, Captain Seaton would say no more, remarking that
they would discuss the subject again later on, only begging him to say
nothing of what he had seen to their host.
Soon after breakfast, Captain Seaton asked Carter to come with him to
the pantry, where they found the butler, who had been many years in the
Vernons' service. Chatting with the old servant, Captain Seaton
presently led the conversation round to the subject of the family plate,
remarking how fine it was, and finally asking the butler to show Mr.
Carter some of the most ancient and interesting pieces in the
collection. Much of the old silver was taken out of its wrappings and
displayed, and at length Seaton said, "But where are those queer
candlesticks? You know the ones I mean--made in the shape of a swan."
The butler answered rather reluctantly that the candlesticks mentioned
had been put away for many years, and he feared they must be very
tarnished. However, on being pressed, he fetched down from a high shelf
in the plate cupboard, a baize-covered parcel, and from it drew a silver
candlestick, very old and tarnished, but the shape of which, Carter was
startled to see, exactly resembled the one carried by the lady of his
adventure. Seaton said to the butler: "You are certain you have not had
these candlesticks out lately?" "Oh no, sir," answered the old man, but
noticing Seaton's serious expression, his tone changed to one of alarm,
and he exclaimed, "But what is the matter, sir? _Has anything been
seen?_"
Seaton then asked Carter to relate again what he had seen the night
before, and when he heard that the lady had entered the third room in
the corridor, the butler broke into a cry of, "Oh, my poor master! Some
grief is coming to him."
Captain Seaton then explained that the figure Carter had seen was no
human being, but an apparition, and that her appearance, carrying the
swan-shaped candlestick--always brightly polished--invariably betokened
trouble or misfortune for the Oaklands family.
"It was Colonel Vernon's door you saw her open," added Seaton; "let us
hope on this occasion her coming has not been for evil," a hope that was
unfulfilled, as before the day was over, Colonel Vernon received news
that his brother had died the night before.
Most people will agree that there is something particularly unpleasant
in the idea of a ghostly animal, though why it should be so is hard to
explain. But there is no doubt that the majority of us would prefer
encountering a human rather than a four-footed "revenant." The Welsh
have a superstition about "hell-hounds," or _c[^w]n ann[^w]n_, as they
are called in the Principality. These fearsome creatures are said to
hunt the souls of the departed, and generally only their mournful cry
can be heard--a sound to make one shudder and tremble. But occasionally
a stray hound is seen by some unlucky individual, to whom the sight is
sure to bring disaster or death--an old Celtic belief, and most
certainly superstition, but it recurs to one's mind in connection with
the following story.[5]
[Footnote 5: In his "Welsh Folk-lore" the Rev. Elias Owen says: "The
Fairy Dogs howled more at cross-roads and like public places than
elsewhere. And woe betide any one who stood in their way, for they bit
them and were likely to even drag a man away with them, and their bite
was often fatal. They collected together in huge numbers in the
churchyard when a person whose death they announced was to be buried,
and howling round the place that was to be his grave disappeared on that
very spot; sinking there with the earth and afterwards they were not to
be seen."]
A few years ago, a certain Mrs. Hudson went to live near the small town
of W----in South Wales. One day, not long after her arrival, she and a
friend went for a walk along the high road near the town. On their way
they had to pass a quarry, which was reached by a gate and path leading
off the road. Just after the two ladies had passed this gate Mrs. Hudson
heard a sound of loud panting behind her. She stopped, and looking back,
saw a large black dog come running out of the quarry down the path
towards the gate. Whereupon she said, "I wonder whose dog that is, and
why it was in the quarry." "What dog?" asked the friend, looking in the
same direction, "I don't see any dog." "But there is a dog," said Mrs.
Hudson impatiently; "can't you see it standing there looking at us?"
However, the friend could see nothing, so Mrs. Hudson somewhat
impatiently turned and walked on, feeling convinced the dog was there,
and marvelling that her friend neither saw it nor heard its panting
breaths.
Soon after this, happening to meet her brother-in-law, who was an old
resident in the neighbourhood, she asked him who was the owner of a
particularly large black dog, describing where she had seen it. The
brother-in-law, listening with a rather queer expression, answered, "So
you have seen that dog! Then, according to tradition, either you or your
friend will die before six months are past. That was a ghost-dog you
saw; it has appeared to several other people before now, and always
forebodes death."
Mrs. Hudson did not pay much attention to what she considered a very
superstitious explanation of a trivial occurrence, feeling perfectly
certain that what she had seen was a real animal. But it was an
explanation she recalled with a feeling of horror, when within six
months of the date of that walk, her friend most unexpectedly died. The
curious point in this experience is, of course, that the phantom dog was
visible to only one of the two friends, and that not the one for whom
the warning was intended.
As I have before remarked, there still lingers in some parts of Wales a
breath of that atmosphere of fairyland and romance which, to anybody
possessing imagination, gives a peculiar value to ideas and beliefs that
in less inspiring surroundings would be classed as unmixed superstition
by people of common sense. So that the explanation given to a certain
Mr. Blair--who was partly of Highland extraction, and therefore
possessed something of the Celtic temperament--of a singular little
adventure that befell him in Wales, did not seem to him at all
far-fetched at the time, but rather the one most appropriate, and quite
characteristic of the country. Business obliged Mr. Blair to live some
years in this particular Welsh valley, and often, after dinner in the
summer, he would cross the river, and walk up the opposite hill to a
house called Wernddhu where some friends lived, and spend the evening
with them. From Wernddhu a narrow, steep road led down to the bottom of
the hill, where it ended; and from this point, a grass lane led up in
the direction of a farm.
In the twilight of a certain beautiful evening Mr. Blair left Wernddhu,
and started to walk home. He had his dog, a spaniel, with him, and as he
descended the hill and reached the place from which the grass lane
diverged, he noticed his dog, who was running in front, suddenly lie
down and begin to whine. And then he saw that there was another dog, a
big Scotch collie, gambolling and playing round the spaniel, though
where it had come from he could not imagine, as he was sure that no
strange dog had followed him from Wernddhu. But as he walked up to the
two animals, his own still whining and shivering, the other suddenly
darted away and disappeared up the lane that led to the farm, much to
the apparent relief of the spaniel, who immediately seemed to forget his
fright, and became quite lively again. Blair continued his homeward way,
wondering to whom the collie belonged, as he did not remember having
seen it anywhere about before. But the incident, slight though it was,
somehow made a decided impression on his mind, so much so, that he could
not forbear mentioning it next day to his old landlady, remarking that
he supposed they must have got a new dog at Nantgwyn--the farm to which
the grass lane referred to eventually led. Mrs. Morgan asked him what
the dog was like, and when told, she exclaimed, "Why, indeed, Mr. Blair,
you must have seen the Nantgwyn Dog!" She said it was no creature of
flesh and blood, but an apparition which had appeared to other people at
different times. The story went that many years ago, a tramp had been
found lying dead on the very spot where Blair had seen the collie, and
it was always thought that the dog, when living, must have belonged to
him, and with the devotion characteristic of its kind, had continued
faithful, even after death.
Writing of these wraiths of dogs recalls a story told by a Welsh lady
whom I will name Miss Johnson, and who was staying during the winter of
1874 with some relations at a house in the West of England. One Sunday
evening about six o'clock, when Miss Johnson and the family were sitting
quietly in the drawing-room, a great noise was suddenly heard exactly
like hounds in full cry. It seemed as if the pack swept past the
drawing-room windows, turned the corner of the house, and entered the
yard behind. The kennels of the local hunt were only four miles away,
and on hunting days the hounds often met or ran in the direction of the
house. But to be disturbed by the cry of hounds on a Sunday evening was
such an unheard-of thing that Miss Johnson and her friends were, for the
moment, petrified with amazement. Almost immediately the butler came
running to the room, exclaiming, "The hounds must have got loose! I hear
them all in the back yard."
"But how could they get in?" asked some one; "the gates cannot be open
at this hour on Sunday." The butler went off looking rather
disconcerted, and not a little scared; and Miss Johnson went into the
hall, where she found her collie-dog--usually a very quiet, gentle
animal--barking and rushing about in a state of frenzy. She opened the
front door, and the collie ran out, barking and growling savagely, made
a great jump in the air as if springing at somebody or something, then
suddenly sank down cowering to the ground, and crept back whimpering to
his mistress's side. An exhaustive search revealed not a sign of a hound
or stray dog about the place, and Miss Johnson and her relations went to
bed that night feeling much puzzled by the strange incident. Next day
came the news that a near relative of Miss Johnson had died suddenly the
evening before at six o'clock!
Twenty-five years later, Miss Johnson had a similar experience previous
to the death of another relation, on which occasion the hour of the
death, and the time at which she heard the hounds cry, again tallied
exactly. And while meditating on the strangeness of such a coincidence
occurring twice over, Miss Johnson remembered the tales that the country
people about her old home in Wales used to tell concerning the "C[^w]n
Teulu" (family hounds) said to haunt the woods round the house, to see
or hear one of which was a sure sign of death.
Some people have a vague superstition about the ill-luck of a bird
coming into a house, and consider it a sure sign of approaching death
should a bird chance to dash itself against a window-pane, as sometimes
happens in a gale of wind, or through the attraction of a bright light
within the room.
A curious instance regarding this feeling, which occurred quite
recently, shows what tremendous power such a superstition may have on
certain minds, and how the mind, reacting on the body, may indeed bring
fulfilment of what was regarded as a prophecy. The person concerned was
a Pembrokeshire farmer, well known to the friend who gave me the story,
and whose words I now quote:
"Mr. A. B. Jones, of S----, who was one of the churchwardens of the
parish for forty years or thereabouts, died unexpectedly and somewhat
suddenly, about three weeks ago. I went the day before yesterday to see
Mrs. Jones, who told me all about it, and mentioned the following
circumstances. On a cold Sunday evening last winter, just as Mr. R----,
the Rector, was going to the pulpit for the sermon, a starling perched
on Mr. Jones's head, and remained there: presently he put out his hand,
gently grasped the bird, and putting it into his coat pocket, took it
home. He turned it loose in the stable, for he felt sorry for it, and
wished to give it a chance of living. Mrs. Jones said she was, as I
know, not superstitious, but was it not odd?
"It seems that Mr. Jones had had for some months a presentiment that he
was not long for this world; his widow showed me an entry in his diary
to this effect, and told me that he had been giving his son, a lad of
eighteen, all sorts of instructions not long before his death. Whether
he was influenced by the starling incident or not, I cannot say."
(This account was written in September 1907, some months after Mr.
Jones's death occurred.)
In a very interesting old work, entitled "Cambrian Superstitions"
(published in 1831), the author, William Howells, refers to the Welsh
belief in death-warnings brought by birds; quoting an instance which he
mentions as being well known in his day.
"The following remarkable occurrence I cannot refrain from narrating, as
the family in which it occurred, who now reside at Carmarthen, were far
from being superstitious; their seeing this will recall it to memory. As
they were seated in the parlour with an invalid lying very ill on the
sofa, they were much surprised at the appearance of a bird, similar in
size and colour to a blackbird, which hopped into the room, went up to
the female who was unwell, and after pecking on the sofa, strutted out
immediately; what appears very strange, a day or two after this, the
sick person died."
Having previously been told that the invalid was "very ill," her demise
does not appear in the cold light of print as "strange" as it did to Mr.
Howells, in whose ears the story doubtless sounded more impressive than
it does when read eighty years afterwards. After relating another story
of the same kind, Mr. Howells goes on to say, "I have learnt of several
similar instances occurring in England, and many more are related in
Wales; but this bird has now, I believe, become a 'rara avis in
terris.'"