OTHER GHOSTS
"What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade,
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?"
Let us now stray across the Cambrian border, and pursue some of the
"pale ghosts" that one suspects are probably just as numerous in
England, Scotland, and Ireland, as in "superstitious" Wales. And looking
through my notes, the first story I come across seems quite worthy of
repetition, though the incident described was not rounded off by
anything sensational in the way of sequel or discovery.
A few summers ago, a certain Mrs. Hunt, who is a relation of some
friends of mine, took a house at Blanksea on the south coast for the
summer holidays. The house turned out all that was comfortable and
convenient, and nothing particular happened while the Hunt family were
there. But after they all returned home, Mrs. Hunt noticed that her two
boys were continually talking between themselves of somebody called
"Bobo." At last one day she asked the children who they meant by "Bobo."
They replied, "Oh, she was the little girl who was always about the
house at Blanksea, and used to play with us. She didn't seem to have any
name, so we called her 'Bobo.'"
Mrs. Hunt was extremely puzzled by this piece of information, as she had
never seen any strange child in the house, and at length she concluded
that it was only some nonsense imagined by the two boys. However, she
still could not help thinking a little about the mysterious "Bobo," and
eventually determined to make some inquiries about the house; as to who
had lived there, &c. &c.; and great was her astonishment to learn
through these inquiries that the house was always supposed to be haunted
"by the ghost of a little girl."
This story reminded me of a very old house near Arundel, in Sussex, said
to be haunted by the ghost of a nun; and it is alleged that the
apparition has been seen by children living there. Inexplicable noises
are also frequently heard, and a window visible from outside is said to
belong to "the nun's room," though the room it really lights is walled
up and cannot be entered.
The apparition of a child figures in another very curious tale. I was
once told of a certain rectory in one of the English counties, where,
during a summer not very long ago, a Mr. Shadwell, by profession an
artist, went to stay as a paying guest. He was given a sitting-room of
his own, and did not join the family of an evening unless he felt
inclined. One evening after dinner he was sitting reading in this room
by himself, when the door was quietly opened, and in walked a little
girl. The clergyman had several children, with whom Shadwell had already
made friends, but this child he had not seen before, so concluded she
must have been away from home and had probably only just returned. So he
remarked, "Good evening, my dear, I don't think I have seen you before."
However, the child made no reply, and did not even look at him, but
walking slowly along the side of the room, she paused, laid her hand on
a certain part of the wall, and then turned, and as slowly and
deliberately walked out again. Trifling as the action was, there was
something so curiously impassive about the demeanour of the little girl,
and her absolute indifference to his presence, that it struck Shadwell
as extremely odd, and the more he thought of it the more uncomfortable
he felt, though for the life of him he could not imagine why. Next
morning, when he saw the Rector, he said to him: "I did not know you had
another daughter, the little girl who came into my room last evening.
Why haven't I heard about her before?" He spoke lightly enough, for a
night's sleep had convinced him that life in the country had made him
fanciful, and that the impression made upon him by the silent child was
due to morbid imagination. So what was his astonishment to see the
clergyman appear greatly agitated by his question, and apparently
unable to reply at once. Presently he said to Shadwell: "That was no
living child that entered your room, but an apparition which has been
seen before; and I beg of you not to mention the matter to my wife, for
she always reproaches herself with being partly to blame for the death
of that little girl, who was our eldest-born." He then told the artist
that a few years previously they had had workmen in the house, doing
some plastering and papering. One day, while the work was going on, the
Rector's wife had wished to pay somebody some money, and remembering
that she had just left half a crown on her dressing-table, she told her
eldest girl to run upstairs and bring down this coin. But after rather a
long interval, the child returned saying the money was not there.
Whereupon the mother became annoyed, knowing she had really left the
half-crown on the table, and told the child she must have either stolen
the coin or else be playing a trick for mischief. The little girl
obstinately denied all knowledge of the money, so she was sent to bed in
disgrace, where she presently fell into such a terrible fit of sobbing
and crying that an attack of convulsions came on, and finally she became
unconscious and died. To the parents' grief was added remorse, caused by
the torturing doubt that the poor child might have been after all
unjustly blamed for a fault committed perhaps by one of the strange
workmen, for the missing half-crown was never found.
Shadwell listened thoughtfully to this sad story, and later, after
thinking over the incident of the evening before, in connection with the
tragic circumstances of the child's death, an idea struck him. He at
once sought the Rector, and asked him whether he had ever thought of
having the wall examined at the spot to which the apparition had
pointed. On hearing that this had not been done, he asked permission to
investigate, and, with the clergyman's help, he opened the wall. And
there, embedded an inch or two in the plaster, exactly where the child's
hand had been placed the night before, was a half-crown!
Now was this merely a wonderful coincidence? Or may we believe that the
little girl, having hidden the coin in the tempting surface of the wet
plaster--whether for mischief or her own gain one cannot tell--was
afraid to confess her fault? And Death overtaking her, could not give
the spirit rest, till its efforts to reveal the truth had been
recognised and understood.
But it is certain that since the discovery of the coin in the wall the
apparition of the child has never again been seen.
Another rectory that possessed the reputation of being haunted is that
of Clifton, in Kent. This is a very old house, dating from the
fourteenth century, and, according to my informant, who knew the house
well (a relation of his having held the living from 1869 to 1880),
mysterious noises had often been heard there by different individuals.
One lady who was paying a visit reported having a "dreadful night,"
"with people walking up and down the passage, and muffled voices," but
no one had left their rooms all night. And a youth of sixteen or
seventeen, employed as an outside servant, declared that once when an
errand brought him into the house, he saw "an old gentleman in a grey
dressing-gown walk down the stairs before him, and suddenly disappear."
Whatever it was he saw, the boy was so thoroughly frightened that he
would never enter the house again. My friend's letter continued: "Mrs.
Lowther (whose husband, the late Dr. Lowther, succeeded my relative as
Rector) when 'moving in' elected to stay the night in the rectory by
herself, instead of returning to ... London. The workpeople left, and a
village woman, having prepared Mrs. Lowther's evening meal and made up
fires for her in sitting-room and bedroom, went home. _Something_ is
said to have occurred during the night, and Mrs. Lowther acknowledged
(so the writer has been told) as much, but would never say what it was
that had alarmed her; but it is believed that she _did_ say that nothing
would induce her again to be alone in the house at night."
I once went to tea with the wife of Canon C----, in the cathedral city
of E----. In the course of conversation the subject of "ghosts" came
up, apropos of which Mrs. C---- remarked: "As you know, these houses are
exceedingly old, being actually part of the ancient Norman monastery
adapted to modern use. Very odd and unaccountable noises were for a long
while heard in the house next door to ours, which of course is all part
of the same old building; and these noises were vaguely ascribed to 'the
ghost,' though nothing was ever seen. But, at last, some structural
alteration of the house became necessary, and in the course of this work
the discovery was made of a human skeleton, which had evidently lain
hidden for centuries, and presumably was that of a Benedictine monk. The
bones were carefully buried, and from that time no more noises have been
heard."
This story rather resembles the tale of a much more interesting ghost
which inhabited an old manor-house in Somersetshire, and which succeeded
for many years in keeping human beings out of the place. Time after time
the house would be let, people always making light of its haunted
reputation, or else determining to brave its terrors. But they never
stayed more than a few weeks, when they invariably went away, declaring
that one or more members of the household had seen an apparition on the
main staircase. The description--and rather horrible it was--was always
the same. The figure of a woman would come gliding downstairs, carrying
her head under her arm, and on arriving at the foot of the stairs she
invariably vanished.
At last there came a tenant bolder than his predecessors, and gifted
with an inquiring turn of mind. He said he liked the place and meant to
stay there, and if possible evict the ghost. And he at once began to
investigate. Beginning at the attics he tapped and sounded every wall
and suspicious-looking board in the house, with no result in the way of
discovery till he reached the principal staircase. This, being the
ghost's favourite haunt, received special attention, and working his way
patiently down step by step, he found at length under the old flooring
at the foot of the stairs, a hollow place of considerable size. And in
this hole reposed, _headless_, a human skeleton (which subsequent
examination proved to be that of a woman) with _the severed skull lying
by its side_. Then the enterprising tenant hied him to the Vicar of the
parish and told him of the grisly find, and after due consultation it
was decided to collect the poor remains and bury them decently in the
churchyard, a ceremony which seems to have effectually "laid" the ghost,
as report says it has never since been seen.
But to return for a while to the city of E----. The best ghost story I
heard there concerns the Bishop's Palace, a beautiful Tudor house, said
to be built on the site of the great monastery for which E---- was
famous in Saxon times, and the predecessor of the Norman building, of
which parts still survive in the modern canons' residences.
I was told that at some time during the sixties or seventies of the past
century, a certain friend of the reigning Bishop was invited to stay a
night at the Palace. He had never been at E---- before, and therefore
knew but little of its history or traditions. There was nothing at all
extraordinary in the appearance of the room assigned to him, and he
slept well enough for the first few hours after going to bed. But
towards morning he woke, and though he knew himself to be wide awake and
not dreaming, yet he had a terrible vision. He was first roused by
sounds which appeared like people scuffling and struggling, and almost
immediately he seemed to be aware in some way of a dreadful scene being
enacted in his room. Although all was dark, yet he saw, as if by some
extra sense, that a man dressed in what looked like very ancient armour
was lying on the floor, while another figure in a monk's habit, knelt
on, and was apparently trying to kill him. The vision--or whatever it
was--lasted but a few moments, then the whole picture faded, and all
became still again. The rest of the night passed undisturbed, though
further sleep was impossible for the visitor, so great was the sense of
horror and absolute reality left in his mind by the scene he had
witnessed, and the sinister sounds he had heard. In the morning he
sought the Bishop, to whom he described his experience, and who
listened gravely; answering that his friend's story was very remarkable
in the light of an old tradition connected with the house, and with the
Saxon monastery which it was believed anciently occupied the site of the
Palace. At the time of the Norman invasion, the community numbered only
forty monks; who, feeling themselves a small and undefended company, and
probably fearing local disturbances and possible pillage, when the
Conqueror's coming should be known, hastened to apply to William for
protection. In reply the grim Norman sent forty of his knights to be
billeted on the monastery, saying that each monk should have a knight to
defend him. Such a claim on their hospitality was probably rather more
than the holy men had bargained for, but the arrangement seems to have
worked well enough, until at last a sad tragedy occurred. One of the
monks having quarrelled (we are not told why) with his foreign guardian,
and quite oblivious of the danger he was thereby bringing on his
companions, rose up in the night and murdered the warrior, taken
unawares in the darkness. What followed history does not relate, but no
doubt William was careful to exact suitable vengeance for his slain
follower.
There is a curious mediaeval painting still to be seen in the Palace,
representing the forty Saxon monks and their knightly protectors.
Still one more story of a haunted rectory must be told, a story which
when I heard it made a considerable impression on my mind, from the fact
that it was related by a person who, I feel sure, would stoutly deny
that she "believed in ghosts." And so her incredulity regarding matters
pertaining to the world beyond our five senses made her recital all the
more convincing.
Several years ago this lady, Miss Robinson, chanced to spend a summer
with the rest of her family at a certain country rectory, which her
father had rented for a few months. It should be stated that the
neighbourhood was new to the Robinsons; none of them had ever been in
the county before, and when they first went to the rectory they did not
know any of the residents around.
It happened one evening when the days were very long, and there was
still plenty of light left, that Miss Robinson was going upstairs about
nine o'clock followed by her little dog, which half-way up passed her
and ran on to the stair-head. There it suddenly stopped short, looking
down a passage which led off the landing, and exhibiting every symptom
of fear, shivering and whining, and its hair bristling. Miss Robinson
thought this behaviour on the animal's part rather odd, but as she
gained the landing and looked down the passage, wondering what had
frightened her dog, she distinctly saw a man cross the end of it and
apparently disappear into the wall. As there was no door at the spot
where the figure vanished, Miss Robinson thought this still more
curious, but as she saw nothing further, and the dog also seemed
immediately reassured, she began to think they had both been victims of
a hallucination, and resolved to keep the matter entirely to herself.
A short time afterwards she went to tea with some neighbours who had
called on them; and after the usual conventional inquiries as to how
they liked the place, and so forth, Miss Robinson and her sister were
asked, "if anything had been seen by them of the rectory ghost?"
Instantly Miss Robinson's thoughts flew back to that evening on the
staircase, and her dog's terror. However, in reply, she only asked what
form the "ghost" was supposed to take. The answer was that a former
inhabitant of the house had murdered his wife, and that ever since, the
murderer's ghost was said to _haunt the end of the passage_ which led
off the landing. As she listened to these words, Miss Robinson could not
repress a little shudder at the remembrance of the mysterious figure
seen by herself and her dog at the very spot described. But no
repetition of her experience ever occurred, nor was the apparition seen
by any one else in the house during the time the family stayed there.[6]
[Footnote 6: Mr. Leadbeater would probably class this "ghost" as a
"thought-form." "Apparitions at the spot where some crime was committed
are usually thought-forms projected by the criminal, who, whether living
or dead, but most especially when dead, is perpetually thinking over and
over again the circumstances of his action. Since these thoughts are
naturally specially vivid in his mind on the anniversary of the original
crime, it is often only on that occasion that the artificial elementals
which he creates are strong enough to materialise themselves to ordinary
sight."--"The Astral Plane."]
There is a curious story told of a country house of some antiquity in
North Devon. This house was once let to a Mr. Barlow, who took up his
abode there, and presently asked a friend to stay with him. This
friend's name was Sharpe, and he was put into a room containing an old
and handsome four-post bed. Next morning, Barlow asked Sharpe what sort
of a night he had had. "Very bad," was the unexpected reply. "I could
not sleep for the talking and whispering going on--I suppose--in the
next room. I hope you will ask the servants not to make so much noise
to-night." Barlow accordingly spoke to the servants, who promptly denied
having been anywhere near the guest's bedroom, or having sat up late at
all. But the following day Sharpe had again the same complaint to make;
he could get no sleep on account of the tiresome "whispering" going on
round him all night. Much mystified Barlow suggested a change of
apartment to his visitor, who refused, saying he would rather wait
another night and try to find out the cause of the disturbance. Barlow
then said he would sit up with Sharpe; and accordingly the two retired
to the room at bed-time, and putting out the light, awaited
developments. Presently, sure enough, a whisper was heard, and very soon
the room seemed full of whispering people. After listening amazed for
some time, Barlow struck a match, when immediately the sounds ceased,
nor, although both men carefully examined walls, chimneys, windows, and
every nook and corner anywhere near the room, could they find a sign of
a human being, or any possible reason for the extraordinary
manifestation. But both noticed with astonishment that, whereas the
curtains had been pulled back off the bed, ready for occupation, they
were now pulled _forward_, and the ends neatly folded up on the pillows
as a bed is left in the day-time.
After this Sharpe changed his room for the rest of his stay, but Barlow
made diligent inquiries until he found out all that he could about the
previous history of the house, and particularly of the room containing
the four-poster. He learnt eventually that the big bed had been for many
generations in the house, and had always been used when there was a
death in the family for the lying-in-state of the corpse.
Another Devonshire house, D----n Hall, the ancestral home of an old and
well-known family, is haunted by a lady who sometimes surprises visitors
unaccustomed to her little ways.
On one occasion a husband and wife, who happened to be staying at
D----n, were both dressing for dinner on the first evening of their
visit. Suddenly, without any warning, the door of the wife's room was
opened, and in walked a beautifully dressed woman, with grey or powdered
hair turned off her forehead and worn very high. Without appearing to
take the slightest notice of Mrs. Blank the intruder passed through the
room, opened the dressing-room door, went in and shut the door behind
her. Petrified with astonishment, Mrs. Blank stood for a moment staring
after the apparition, then dashing into the dressing-room she exclaimed,
"Where did that lady go?" (There was no other door except the one
communicating with the bedroom.) The husband, who was calmly dressing,
was naturally somewhat surprised at the question; explanations followed;
he had seen nothing and thought his wife must have been dreaming. But
over-flowing with wonder, Mrs. Blank went downstairs, and seeking her
hostess confided to her the singular incident, adding that she supposed
the "lady" was a fellow-guest who had in some way mistaken her room; but
where had she disappeared to when she entered the dressing-room? "Hush,"
was the reply. "It was no living person you saw, but the _ghost_; only
don't breathe a word to any one else here. There is no harm in her; and
she has often been seen before by people staying in the house." And with
this casual explanation Mrs. Blank was fain to be content.
A story very similar to the above is told by Mr. Henderson in
"Folk-lore of the Northern Counties" about a house in Perthshire, where
the figure of a very beautiful woman was one evening seen on the
staircase by a visitor staying in the house. In this case the hostess
informed her friend that the apparition had frequently been seen before,
but always by strangers, never by any member of the family.
The following incident is said to have happened quite lately in another
Scotch country house. Two sisters, one quite a young girl, went to stay
at this place, and were given rooms close to one another. One night the
younger sister suddenly woke up. The room was dimly lighted by a bright
moon, and there, close by the bed, the girl saw, apparently rising out
of the floor, a human hand. Thinking she had nightmare she closed her
eyes and vainly tried to sleep, but feeling impelled, in spite of fear,
to look again, there was the hand--nothing else--close by her bedside
still. This time she felt horribly frightened, and hurling herself out
of bed, she rushed to her sister's room, which she insisted on sharing
for the rest of the night. In the morning she told the elder girl what
she had seen, declaring she could not pass another night in that room.
Her sister scolded her a little for what she considered foolish
imagination, and begged her to say nothing of the "bad dream" to their
friends, as people did not like it to be thought that there was anything
ghostly about their houses.
Later in the day the son of the family was taking the elder sister over
the house, which was old and interesting. Presently he remarked, "We
have a ghost here, too, you know." The visitor pricked up her ears, and
asked what form the ghost was supposed to take. "It is a hand," was the
reply, "nothing else." "Then my sister saw it last night," exclaimed the
girl, whereupon she was much surprised to see her companion turn pale
and seem agitated. But in reply to her questions he would say nothing
further, leaving his listener wondering uncomfortably if the appearance
of the spectral hand was a bad omen; and if so, whether it boded ill to
the owners of the house or to the individual who had had the
disagreeable experience of seeing it.
Before leaving Scotland we must mention an Aberdeenshire house,
described to us by a friend as inhabited by the ghost of an old lady,
who regularly appears in a certain room once a year. Evidently her
unrest is caused by an uneasy conscience, if tradition be correct; which
says that she was a wicked old person who flourished in the early
seventeenth century. Having a deadly feud with a neighbouring family,
she decoyed them with false promises and an invitation to a feast into
the tower of the house. Then she had the doors locked, and setting fire
to the tower, she got rid of her enemies in one horrible holocaust.
From Scotland to Northumberland is not a far cry, and on our way South
you must listen to an odd little story connected with a house called
Wickstead Priory in that county. The friend who told me was staying at
Wickstead when the incident happened. I will call her X.; and her room
happened to be on the opposite side of the corridor to a large bedroom
occupied by a married sister of the hostess. One evening, while X. was
dressing for dinner she heard some noise and commotion going on in this
other room, and later in the evening, she asked its occupant what had
been the matter. "Oh," was the reply, "I had such a fright! I am sure
you won't believe me, but as I sat doing my hair before the
looking-glass, a _horrid-looking little monk_ came and peered over my
shoulder. I saw him plainly in the glass, but when I turned round, no
one was there!"
I have before remarked on the disagreeable habit so common amongst
ghosts of appearing by one's bedside at dead of night. In fact, a large
percentage of the ghost stories one hears contain the words, "He (or
she) looked round, and there was a figure standing by the bed," &c. &c.
And a tale which I heard on excellent authority of a Staffordshire house
concerns a "bedside" spook of the most conventional pattern, which
succeeded in thoroughly astonishing, if not alarming, a Colonel and Mrs.
West, who were paying a visit to Morton Hall. The owner of the house was
a cousin of Colonel West's, whom he had not seen for a long time, and
of whom he knew little, having been soldiering abroad for many years. On
the first night of their visit, towards the small hours, Mrs. West woke
up quite suddenly, and although the room was dark, yet she could somehow
perceive distinctly a figure advancing towards the end of the bed,
seeming to emerge from the opposite wall. Very startled, Mrs. West woke
her husband, who also saw the figure--by this time stationary at the
foot of the bed--and called out to it, "Who are you, and what do you
want?" But at the sound of the voice the figure retreated, and seemed to
fade away. The rest of the night passed undisturbed.
Next morning Colonel West said to one of the children of the house, "A
nice trick you played us last night." For after much discussion, he and
his wife had come to the conclusion that the only reasonable explanation
of what they had seen was that they had been the victims of a clever
practical joke. The child addressed looked puzzled, and when questioned
said that nobody had played any tricks at all. Later on, their hostess
came to Mrs. West, and said she was extremely sorry to hear from her
little girl that they had been disturbed the night before, adding that
owing to the house being full the Wests had been given the _haunted
room_. For knowing they were complete strangers to Morton, and probably
knew little of its traditions, it was thought very unlikely they would
be troubled by anything uncanny. They were then asked what they had
seen, and Mrs. West described the mysterious "figure," saying that it
resembled a woman wrapped in flowing garments, and carrying a bundle
under her arm. "That was the ghost," replied the cousin's wife. "Years
ago a woman was murdered in that room, and ever since then she has
occasionally appeared to people, dressed as you describe and carrying
her head under her arm."
Wherein lies the decided element of creepiness contained in my next
story? Perhaps it may be that it deals with a haunting of a most unusual
and remote character, having its origin in some unknown disturbance of
the very elements themselves. It relates to a very well-known English
house called Ainsley Abbey, where not so very long ago there was a large
party staying for the local hunt ball; among the guests a certain Mrs.
Devereux. Knowing that she would be very late returning from the ball,
this lady told her maid not to wait up for her, but to go to bed at her
usual time. So what was Mrs. Devereux's surprise when she came back in
the early hours of next morning, to find that the maid had disobeyed her
injunctions, and was waiting in her room. When asked why she had not
gone to bed, she told her mistress that she had done so but had been so
disturbed by the "terrible storm"--thunder and great gale--that she
could not rest and grew too frightened to stay in her room. She sought
the house-servants, but to her surprise they had noticed no storm, and
laughed at her when she said there was a high wind raging round the
house. Finally she resolved to wait in her mistress's room, adding that
she was thankful the party had got back safely, as she had felt
concerned at Mrs. Devereux being out in such awful weather. As the night
had been perfectly calm and fine, Mrs. Devereux was much astonished at
this tale, but at last concluded (though she did not say so) that her
maid must really have been asleep and dreamed of the storm. But
happening to mention the matter as a joke to her host next day, she was
surprised to find it treated with the greatest interest, and to be told
it was no case of a dream. That occasionally people who came to stay at
Ainsley _could_ hear sounds that they always described as a
thunder-storm and hurricane of wind blowing round the house. In fact, it
was a species of haunting which had never been accounted for. Like an
echo of Dante's
"Infernal hurricane that never rests,
Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine;
Whirling them round."
Not long ago, I came across a lady who told me of some very interesting
happenings of a ghostly nature connected with a house in a suburb of one
of the great University towns. This house was taken by a Mrs. Drew, in
order that she might be near her son, who was an undergraduate of one of
the colleges. But he lived with his mother, who also took in three
other undergraduates as paying guests. After a time Mrs. Drew discovered
that there was something rather unusual about this house. She heard
noises she could not account for, and frequently had the consciousness
of an invisible presence in the room with her. But at last one day, she
not only _felt_ but _saw_ quite near her, an appearance, as of the head
and shoulders of a very pretty, amiable-looking girl, the head draped in
a kind of veil. After this, she would sometimes become aware that the
same apparition was sitting beside her; on other occasions she would see
it dimly flitting about the rooms; but in time she got so accustomed to
its appearance that she took little notice of it at all.
Once, when her son went up to the North to play in a cricket match, Mrs.
Drew felt rather worried about him, as he had not been well, and she was
afraid he was not really fit to play. Especially during the night after
the match, she could not help lying awake and thinking about him.
Suddenly she became conscious that the now familiar figure of the
apparition was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at her. And
then, for the first time, it spoke to Mrs. Drew, telling her to feel no
alarm for her son's welfare, "for," it said, "I have been with him all
day. He is quite well, and played very well in the match." Then it
disappeared.
On another occasion, young Drew and one of his friends were reading at
night in the study, when they were startled by the sound of a terrific
crash in the next room. They rushed in, expecting they knew not what,
but the room was empty, quiet and dark.
One summer Mrs. Drew tried to let the house for a while. A lady came to
see and appeared on the point of taking it; but while discussing the
subject with Mrs. Drew in the drawing-room, and making final
arrangements, she quite suddenly got up and went away, saying she would
write. When her letter came, it merely said the house did not suit her;
but later, when pressed for an explanation of such a sudden change of
mind, she admitted that while talking to Mrs. Drew in the drawing-room
she had observed a beautiful young girl come and seat herself on the
sofa close by them. No one else seemed to see the girl or to be in the
least conscious of her presence; yet somehow her appearance produced
such an uncanny feeling in the visitor's mind that she felt she could
not stay another moment in the room or in the house. And so she broke
off the negotiation.
At last, her son's time at the University being finished, Mrs. Drew gave
up the house, and was succeeded in it by some people who opened a shop.
And while making the alterations necessary for the purpose, the
workpeople discovered hidden under a floor the skeleton of a young
woman! But who she was, and why her bones were there, no one had been
able to find out at the time when I heard the story--about two years
ago--though imagination promptly offers us a choice of sinister theories
to account for the buried skeleton and its restless _umbra_. "Requiescat
in pace" for the future!
Why the foregoing tale should remind me of a ghost that was seen in a
Northamptonshire house, I do not know; but, in spite of the irrelevance,
here is the story. Some years ago, a large party was assembled there for
shooting, and one of the guests was given a rather out-of-the-way room,
which was usually allotted to a stray bachelor, when, as happened on
this occasion, the house was very full. However, it was a very
comfortable room, and the visitor slept there soundly enough on the
first night, until at what seemed to be a very early hour, a knock on
his door woke him up. Mechanically saying "Come in," he opened his eyes,
and saw a little elderly man, dressed in rather tight-fitting,
pepper-and-salt clothes, such as grooms wear, who walked into the room
with an assured step, pulled up the blind, and went out again. Mr. Blank
imagined that the man had come to call him, though wondering why he came
so early and had brought no hot water; especially as a footman called
him later at the usual hour. When asked next morning if he had slept
well, he mentioned the fact of his being awakened so early, saying he
supposed that the man must have made some mistake. "What was he like?"
asked the host, and when his friend described the man as elderly, and
looking like a groom, his friend replied, "What you say is rather odd,
because only a fortnight ago, a groom, who was an old family servant
here, died. Of late years he had done little work, but almost until the
end, one of his duties, which he would never relinquish, was _to call
any one who chanced to occupy that room_."
My next tale has always seemed to me one of the most interesting psychic
experiences that I have ever heard related.
Some few years ago, a young officer, whom we will call Lestrange, went
to stay at a country house in the Midlands. It may be said that he was a
good type of the average British subaltern, whose tastes, far from
inclining towards abstract study or metaphysical speculation, lay
chiefly in the direction of polo, hunting, and sport generally. In fact,
the last person in the world one would have said likely to "see a
ghost." One afternoon during his visit, Lestrange borrowed a dog-cart
from his friend, and set out to drive to the neighbouring town. About
half-way there he saw walking along the road in front of him a very poor
and ragged-looking man, who, as he passed him, looked so ill and
miserable that Lestrange, being a kind-hearted person, took pity on him
and, pulling up, called out, "Look here, if you are going to C----, get
up behind me and I will give you a lift." The man said nothing but
proceeded to climb up on the cart, and as he did so, Lestrange noticed
that he wore a rather peculiar handkerchief round his neck, of bright
red, spotted with green. He took his seat and Lestrange drove on and
reaching C---- stopped at the door of the principal hotel. When the
ostler came forward to take the horse, Lestrange, without looking round,
said to him: "Just give that man on the back seat a good hot meal and
I'll pay. He looks as if he wanted it, poor chap." The ostler looked
puzzled and said: "Yes, sir; but what man do you mean?"
Lestrange turned his head and saw that the back seat was empty, which
rather astonished him and he exclaimed: "Well! I hope he didn't fall
off. But I never heard him get down. At all events, if he turns up here,
feed him. He is a ragged, miserable-looking fellow, and you will know
him by the handkerchief he had round his neck, bright red and green." As
these last words were uttered a waiter who had been standing in the
doorway and heard the conversation came forward and said to Lestrange,
"Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, sir?"
Lestrange followed him, noticing that he looked very grave, and the
waiter stopped at a closed door, behind the bar, saying: "I heard you
describe that tramp you met, sir, and I want you to see what is in
here." He then led the way into a small bedroom, and there, lying on the
bed, was the corpse of a man, ragged and poor, _wearing round his neck a
red handkerchief spotted with green_. Lestrange made a startled
exclamation. "Why, that is the very man I took up on the road just now.
How did he get here?"
He was then told that the body he saw had been found by the roadside at
four o'clock the preceding afternoon, and that it had been taken to the
hotel to await the inquest. Comparisons showed that Lestrange had picked
up his tramp at the spot where the body had been discovered on the
previous day; and the hour, four o'clock, was also found to tally
exactly.
Now was this, as the ancients would have told us, the _umbra_ of the
poor tramp, loth to quit entirely a world of which it knew at least the
worst ills, to "fly to others that it knew not of"? Or was it rather
what Mr. C. W. Leadbeater has described in his book, "The Other Side of
Death," as a _thought-form_, caused by the thoughts of the dead man
returning with honor to the scene of his lonely and miserable end, and
thereby producing psychic vibrations strong enough to construct an
actual representation of his physical body, visible to any "sensitive"
who happened that way? We must leave our readers to decide for
themselves what theory will best fit as an explanation of this strange
and true story.
And now for the curious experiences of a professor of a well-known
theological institution, which he related most unwillingly and under
great pressure to a small gathering of friends, amongst whom a friend
of mine was present, who afterwards, knowing my interest in ghostly
lore, told me the stories.
This professor, whom we will call Mr. Bliss, was a graduate of one of
the newer Universities. Some years after he had taken his degree, he had
occasion to return to his University, and resolved to put up at his
former lodgings, as he would have to make some little stay. So leaving
his luggage at the station, he walked to the house, but before going in,
he took a turn or two up and down the pavement to finish a cigarette he
was smoking. While he was doing this, he saw a man, whom he recognised
at once as the son of the landlady, run up the steps and enter the
house, shutting the door behind him. His cigarette finished, Bliss
followed the man, and knocking at the door was warmly welcomed by his
old landlady, who told him she would certainly take him in, adding, "You
can have my son's room." "But your son is at home," said Bliss. "Oh no,
he is abroad," was the reply, and as Mrs. X. spoke, Bliss saw a shadow
come over her expression. "But that is impossible. I have just seen your
son go into this house," and he told the mother how he had been smoking,
and had seen the man whom he recognised as her son enter the house a few
moments before himself. Nor could Mrs. X.'s continued assertions, that
her son, far from being in the house was not even in England, shake the
conviction of Bliss that he had seen the man in question only a few
minutes before. However, seeing that the subject was distressing to Mrs.
X. he said no more. When night came, the landlady told him that she had
decided to give him her own room, taking herself the one formerly used
by her son. Bliss went to bed, and at first slept well, but very early
next morning he was roused by a sound as of some one creeping softly
into the room. He struck a light, and to his intense surprise saw Mrs.
X.'s son walking stealthily across the room to a corner where there
stood an old closed bureau. The man apparently took not the smallest
notice of Bliss, who, watching him, saw him take a key from his pocket,
and unlocking the bureau, fumble in its recesses until he drew out what
appeared to be a bag of money. This was too much for Bliss, who,
convinced that he was witnessing an act of robbery, whether by young X.
or somebody cleverly impersonating him he had no time to consider,
jumped out of bed and rushed at the intruder, on whose shoulder he
brought his arm down with some violence. But imagine the horror of
Bliss, when instead of being checked by a human body, the blow
encountered--nothing! And even as he stood there, the apparition--for
such it surely was--vanished utterly.
Next day Bliss felt impelled to tell Mrs. X. of his astonishing
experience, and (passing over the painful excitement and emotion aroused
by his recital) he heard the following story, which seemed to afford a
possible if somewhat far-fetched explanation of an extraordinary
happening. It appeared that young X. was far from being an exemplary
character, and that he ended his various escapades by robbing his
mother. He had entered her room in the night and by means of a false key
opened her bureau, where he knew she kept money, and removed all that
was there. After which he had left the country, and was living abroad,
never, of course, having been home since.
So much for one experience; the other is more dramatic, and happened on
the same occasion of Bliss's visit to his old University. One afternoon,
he went for a long walk into the country, and it was quite dark when he
returned homewards. As he proceeded along a deep lane, so overhung with
trees that the gloom on either hand seemed almost impenetrable, he
became aware of a dim light approaching him, and presently he saw that
it came from the head of a figure who was walking towards him and who,
as it drew nearer, seemed to be dressed like a Sister of Mercy, in a
blue dress and large white cap, while always the strange, pale light
seemed to radiate from her head. She walked straight and swiftly towards
him, and Bliss saw that unless he moved they would collide; so, thinking
that the person did not see him in spite of the light she carried about
her, he quickly stepped aside to let her pass. As he did so, he stumbled
over what seemed to be a large bundle on the road, and, stooping down to
see what it was, he discovered that the bundle was really a man, lying
huddled up and inanimate, but whether drunk or otherwise unconscious it
was impossible for the moment to tell, for utter darkness had again
fallen, the woman with the light having absolutely disappeared. But
Bliss could now hear the sound of wheels and a horse being driven very
fast; indeed, had he not loudly shouted, he and the unconscious man must
have been run over. And what about this man, if he had not happened to
find him lying there? And again, how _would_ he have found him if the
figure with the light had not come by, and caused Bliss to step aside.
Such thoughts came to his mind, as he helped the driver to lift the man
into the trap, and gave directions for him to be taken to the nearest
hospital; while further reflection during his walk home convinced him
that any ordinary explanation of such an incident was quite inadequate,
and that perhaps it was just one of those "things" that, as Hamlet
reminded his friend, are undreamed of "in our philosophy."
This chapter shall conclude with a tale told me lately by a friend who
had herself heard it on excellent authority. It concerns a Mrs. Borrow
who, two years ago, happened to be staying at Fontainebleau. One evening
she thought she would go for a walk, and accordingly setting out, soon
found herself free of the town, and in a deep country lane. Suddenly, at
some distance ahead of her, but still quite near enough to see plainly,
she saw the oddest figure of a man jump down from the hedge into the
road. He wore a curious kind of cap, red, with a tassel hanging down,
and his costume altogether appeared more like a fancy dress than the
garb of the present day. He stood in the middle of the road, and then
Mrs. Borrow noticed that a deer, which had wandered from the forest into
the lane, evidently saw the man too, for it stood quite still, gazing
fixedly at him. Mrs. Borrow hurried on, wishing to get a closer look at
such a strange person, but to her great bewilderment, as she drew near
he seemed to vanish away, causing her to wonder if she and the deer had
both been the victims of an optical delusion. At all events, she saw no
more of the mysterious figure that evening, though, as may be imagined,
her mind was full of the occurrence, and as soon as she returned to
Fontainebleau she sought out some friends who were residents there, and
described what she had seen. They instantly exclaimed: "Oh, you have
seen 'le Grand Veneur.' How unlucky for you. He always presages
misfortune to those who meet him in the forest." They then explained
that "le Grand Veneur" was really a ghost, and told Mrs. Borrow the
legend relating to him.
It must be added that so far, happily, the omen has not worked in Mrs.
Borrow's case, as no particular misfortune had befallen her when my
friend heard the story, only a few months ago. So perhaps the powers of
"le Grand Veneur" for "ill-wishing" those who see him have lapsed with
time.
Mr. Henderson mentions this apparition in "Folk-lore of the Northern
Counties": "Near Fontainebleau, Hugh Capet is believed to ride...." And
again: "I have said that the Wild Huntsman rides in the woods of
Fontainebleau. He is known to have blown his horn loudly and rushed over
the palace with all his hounds, before the assassination of Henry the
Fourth." Henderson, it will be noted, describes the huntsman as mounted,
while Mrs. Borrow's apparition was on foot; as, however, her description
seems to have been immediately recognised as "le Grand Veneur," a
well-known ghost, it is probable that Henderson refers to the same
tradition.
In a note to his version of the German ballad of "The Chase," Sir Walter
Scott relates the legend of the "Wild Jaeger," or Wild Huntsman of
Germany, adding: "The French had a similar tradition concerning an
aerial hunter who infested the forest of Fontainebleau." Also in
"Quentin Durward" he mentions "le Grand Veneur," to meet whom in the
forest was a bad omen; and again in "Woodstock" he writes of a similar
apparition, said to haunt the woods of Woodstock: "Anon it is a solitary
huntsman, who asks you if you can tell him which way the chase has gone.
He is always dressed in green, but the fashion of his clothes is some
five hundred years old."
In a former chapter I have mentioned the alleged appearances in quite
modern times of two phantom hunters in Wales. The fact seems to be that
the "Wild Huntsman" legend is one of great antiquity and wide
distribution, its details in different places being merely altered to
suit local circumstances.
But that is a fact that does not in the least detract from the interest
of Mrs. Borrow's strange little adventure in the lane near
Fontainebleau.