cry, sort o' like the way cats holler at each other at night. 'Oh-oo-oo,
oh-oo-oo!' like that, an' it come nearer an' nearer. Then all of a
suddent somepin' popped up on the graveyard wall about a hundred yards
away--somepin' all blue-gray against the hook o' the moon--an' began
walkin' up an' down an' hollerin'. I knew it was sayin' words, but I was
so far to the bad I didn't know nothin' an' couldn't make it out. I
never thought a feller's heart could bang so hard against his ribs
without bustin' out, an' me hair riz so high me campaign hat was three
inches off'n me head. I hope ter the Lord I'll never be so frightened
again in all my livin' days. I set there in a transom from fear an' friz
ter the spot. I don't know nothin' o' what Buck was doin', as my lamps
was glued ter the spook. It jumped down from the wall, callin' an'
whistlin' an' begin runnin' round the little stone heaps. I seen it was
comin' our way, but I couldn't move or make a sound; I jus' set. All of
a suddent Buck he jumps up an' makes a dash an' a leap at the spook, an'
there's a terrible yellin' an' they both comes down crash at the foot of
a rock pile, rollin' on the little pebbles; but Buck is on top an' the
spook underneath an' lettin' off the most awful screeches. Gosh, they
jus' ripped the air, them spooks' yells did, an' they turned my spell
loose an' I howled fer all I was worth. Then Buck, he commenced
a-yawpin' too, but me an' the spook we was both raisin' so much noise I
didn't savvy what he said fer some time. Then I found he was cussin' me
out.
"'Come here, you forsaken ---- ----,' he howls. 'Quit yellin'! I say _quit
yellin'_! Don't yer see who this is? Come here an' help me.'
"'You think I'm goin' ter tech that Ming spook?' I shrieks.
"'You miser'ble loony,' he yells back, 'can't yer see it ain't no Ming?
It's Ranch!'
"Well, so it was. It was Ranch skeered stiff an' hollerin' fer dear life
at bein' jumped on an' waked up in the middle of a graveyard that-a-way.
Pore ol' feller had had Daggett on his mind, an' went sleepwalkin' an'
huntin' wrapped in his blanket.
"'An',' says Buck ter me, 'if youse hadn't been in such a dope dream
with skeer, you'd 'a' sensed what he was a-yellin'. He was callin'
"Oh-oo-oo, oh-oo-oo, here Daggett! Here, boy!" an' then he'd whistle an'
call again: "Here, Daggett! Here, Daggett!" That's how I knew it was
Ranch; an', besides, he told me onct that he sleepwalked when he got
worried. But you, you white livered--' an' then he cussed me out some
more.
"'Smarty,' I says, 'if yer knew so blame well it was Ranch, why did yer
give him the flyin' tackle like yer done an' git him all woiked up like
this?'
"'Well,' says Buck sort o' sheepy, 'I was some woiked up meself, an'
time he come along I give him the spook's tackle without thinkin'; I was
too skeered ter think. Hush, Ranch. Hush, old boy. It's jus' me'n Bill.
Nobody shan't hoit yer.'
"We comforted pore ol' Ranch an' fixed him up, an' then when he felt
better told him about things--all but how Daggett was et--an' I wrapped
his blanket around him an' took him back ter quarters while Buck went
a-lookin' fer John an' his gang.
"He found 'em about half a mile off, in front of a Mott Street joss
house, all prayin' an' burnin' punk an' huddled together, skeered green
from the yellin's they'd heard. Buck, he give 'em a long chin-chin about
layin' the ghost, an' how Judge Ming wouldn't never come back no more;
an' then he dragged 'em all back (they pullin' at the halter shanks with
years laid back an' eyes rollin'), ter him bury his United States button
on Ming's rock pile. He dropped it in solemn, an' said what the Chinks
took ter be a prayer; but it was really the oath he said. Buck havin'
onct been a recruitin' sergeant, knew it by heart all the way from 'I do
solemnly swear' ter 'so help me, Gawd.' Buck says I oughter seen them
grateful Chinos then: they'd 'a' give him the whole Chino Umpire if they
could. They got down an' squirmed an' kissed his hands an' his feet an'
his sleeve. They wanted ter escort him back ter camp, but he bucked at
that, an' said no, as he was out without pass an' not itchin' fer his
arrival ter be noticed none.
"After that we took toins watchin' Ranch at night, an' got him another
mutt ter love, an' he didn't wander any more, so Judge Ming seemed
satisfied with his United States button, an' kep' quiet. But them Chinks
was the gratefullest gang yer ever seen. They brought us presents;
things ter eat--fruit, poultry, eggs, an' all sorts of chow, some of it
mighty funny lookin', but it tasted all right; we lived high, we three.
The other fellers was wild ter know how we woiked it. An' I tell yer I
ain't never been skeered o' ghosts sence--that is, not ter speak
of--_much_!"
Bill, paused, drew a long breath, and looked at the clock. "Gee!" said
he, "most nine o'clock. I got ter go over ter K troop ter see Sergeant
Keefe a minute--I promised him. Adios, fellers. Thanks fer the smokin'."
"Keep the change, hombre. Thanks for yo' tale," shouted Whitney after
him as he disappeared down the hall.
"Well!!" said Stone, and looked at Hansen.
"Well!!" responded Hansen. The big Swede shook with laughter. "Iss he
not the finest liar! Yess? I wass in the Fourteenth myselluf. That wass
my company--Chay. He wass not even the army in then--in nineteen
hund'erd."
"Yes," said Stone, "I knew, but I wasn't goin' to spoil his bloomin'
yarn. I happened to see his enlistment card only this mornin', and the
only thing he was ever in before was the Twenty-third Infantry after
they came back from the Islands. He's never even been out of the
States."
"But where did he get it from?" asked Whitney. "His imagination is equal
to most anything but gettin' so many facts straight. Of co'se I noticed
things yere an' there--but the most of it was O. K."
"I tell you," said Hansen, grinning, "he got it from an old Fourteenth
man--Dan Powerss--at practice camp last Chuly. He an' I wass often
talking of China. He wuss in my old company an' wass then telling me how
he an' the other fellerss all that extra chow got. I tank Bill he hass a
goot memory."
"But the nerve of him!" cried Whitehall, "tryin' ter pass that off on us
with Hansen sittin' right there."
"It iss one thing he may have forgot," smiled Hansen.
"Well, who cares anyway?" said Stone. "It was a blame good story. An'
now clear out, all of you. I want to hit the bunk. Reveille does seem to
come so early these cold mornin's. Gee! I wish I knew of some kind of
button that would keep _me_ lyin' down when Shorty wants me to get up
an' call the roll."
THE SPECTER BRIDEGROOM
BY WASHINGTON IRVING
The Specter Bridegroom
A TRAVELER'S TALE[2]
BY WASHINGTON IRVING
He that supper for is dight,
He lyes full cold, I trow, this night!
Yestreen to chamber I him led,
This night Gray-Steel has made his bed.
SIR EGER, SIR GRAHAME, AND SIR GRAY-STEEL.
On the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild and romantic
tract of Upper Germany, that lies not far from the confluence of the
Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since, the Castle of
the Baron Von Landshort. It is now quite fallen to decay, and almost
buried among beech trees and dark firs; above which, however, its old
watch tower may still be seen, struggling, like the former possessor I
have mentioned, to carry a high head, and look down upon the neighboring
country.
The baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenellenbogen,[3]
and inherited the relics of the property, and all the pride of his
ancestors. Though the warlike disposition of his predecessors had much
impaired the family possessions, yet the baron still endeavored to keep
up some show of former state. The times were peaceable, and the German
nobles, in general, had abandoned their inconvenient old castles,
perched like eagles' nests among the mountains, and had built more
convenient residences in the valleys; still the baron remained proudly
drawn up in his little fortress, cherishing with hereditary inveteracy,
all the old family feuds; so that he was on ill terms with some of his
nearest neighbors, on account of disputes that had happened between
their great-great-grandfathers.
The baron had but one child, a daughter; but nature, when she grants but
one child, always compensates by making it a prodigy; and so it was with
the daughter of the baron. All the nurses, gossips, and country cousins
assured her father that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany;
and who should know better than they? She had, moreover, been brought up
with great care under the superintendence of two maiden aunts, who had
spent some years of their early life at one of the little German
courts, and were skilled in all branches of knowledge necessary to the
education of a fine lady. Under their instructions she became a miracle
of accomplishments. By the time she was eighteen, she could embroider to
admiration, and had worked whole histories of the saints in tapestry,
with such strength of expression in their countenances, that they looked
like so many souls in purgatory. She could read without great
difficulty, and had spelled her way through several church legends, and
almost all the chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She had even made
considerable proficiency in writing; could sign her own name without
missing a letter, and so legibly, that her aunts could read it without
spectacles. She excelled in making little elegant good-for-nothing
lady-like nicknacks of all kinds; was versed in the most abstruse
dancing of the day; played a number of airs on the harp and guitar; and
knew all the tender ballads of the Minnelieders by heart.
Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and coquettes in their younger
days, were admirably calculated to be vigilant guardians and strict
censors of the conduct of their niece; for there is no duenna so rigidly
prudent, and inexorably decorous, as a superannuated coquette. She was
rarely suffered out of their sight; never went beyond the domains of the
castle, unless well attended, or rather well watched; had continual
lectures read to her about strict decorum and implicit obedience; and,
as to the men--pah!--she was taught to hold them at such a distance, and
in such absolute distrust, that, unless properly authorized, she would
not have cast a glance upon the handsomest cavalier in the world--no,
not if he were even dying at her feet.
The good effects of this system were wonderfully apparent. The young
lady was a pattern of docility and correctness. While others were
wasting their sweetness in the glare of the world, and liable to be
plucked and thrown aside by every hand, she was coyly blooming into
fresh and lovely womanhood under the protection of those immaculate
spinsters, like a rosebud blushing forth among guardian thorns. Her
aunts looked upon her with pride and exultation, and vaunted that though
all the other young ladies in the world might go astray, yet, thank
Heaven, nothing of the kind could happen to the heiress of
Katzenellenbogen.
But, however scantily the Baron Von Landshort might be provided with
children, his household was by no means a small one; for Providence had
enriched him with abundance of poor relations. They, one and all,
possessed the affectionate disposition common to humble relatives; were
wonderfully attached to the baron, and took every possible occasion to
come in swarms and enliven the castle. All family festivals were
commemorated by these good people at the baron's expense; and when they
were filled with good cheer, they would declare that there was nothing
on earth so delightful as these family meetings, these jubilees of the
heart.
The baron, though a small man, had a large soul, and it swelled with
satisfaction at the consciousness of being the greatest man in the
little world about him. He loved to tell long stories about the dark old
warriors whose portraits looked grimly down from the walls around, and
he found no listeners equal to those that fed at his expense. He was
much given to the marvelous, and a firm believer in all those
supernatural tales with which every mountain and valley in Germany
abounds. The faith of his guests exceeded even his own: they listened to
every tale of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and never failed to be
astonished, even though repeated for the hundredth time. Thus lived the
Baron Von Landshort, the oracle of his table, the absolute monarch of
his little territory, and happy, above all things, in the persuasion
that he was the wisest man of the age.
At the time of which my story treats, there was a great family gathering
at the castle, on an affair of the utmost importance: it was to receive
the destined bridegroom of the baron's daughter. A negotiation had been
carried on between the father and an old nobleman of Bavaria, to unite
the dignity of their houses by the marriage of their children. The
preliminaries had been conducted with proper punctilio. The young people
were betrothed without seeing each other, and the time was appointed for
the marriage ceremony. The young Count Von Altenburg had been recalled
from the army for the purpose, and was actually on his way to the
baron's to receive his bride. Missives had even been received from him
from Wurtzburg, where he was accidentally detained, mentioning the day
and hour when he might be expected to arrive.
The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give him a suitable
welcome. The fair bride had been decked out with uncommon care. The two
aunts had superintended her toilet, and quarreled the whole morning
about every article of her dress. The young lady had taken advantage of
their contest to follow the bent of her own taste; and fortunately it
was a good one. She looked as lovely as youthful bridegroom could
desire; and the flutter of expectation heightened the luster of her
charms.
The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the gentle heaving of the
bosom, the eye now and then lost in reverie, all betrayed the soft
tumult that was going on in her little heart. The aunts were continually
hovering around her; for maiden aunts are apt to take great interest in
affairs of this nature. They were giving her a world of staid counsel
how to deport herself, what to say, and in what manner to receive the
expected lover.
The baron was no less busied in preparations. He had, in truth, nothing
exactly to do; but he was naturally a fuming bustling little man, and
could not remain passive when all the world was in a hurry. He worried
from top to bottom of the castle with an air of infinite anxiety; he
continually called the servants from their work to exhort them to be
diligent; and buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly restless and
importunate as a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's day.
In the meantime the fatted calf had been killed; the forests had rung
with the clamor of the huntsmen; the kitchen was crowded with good
cheer; the cellars had yielded up whole oceans of _Rheinwein_ and
_Fernewein_; and even the great Heidelberg tun had been laid under
contribution. Everything was ready to receive the distinguished guest
with _Saus und Braus_ in the true spirit of German hospitality--but the
guest delayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. The sun,
that had poured his downward rays upon the rich forest of the Odenwald,
now just gleamed along the summits of the mountains. The baron mounted
the highest tower, and strained his eyes in hope of catching a distant
sight of the count and his attendants. Once he thought he beheld them;
the sounds of horns came floating from the valley, prolonged by the
mountain echoes. A number of horsemen were seen far below, slowly
advancing along the road; but when they had nearly reached the foot of
the mountain, they suddenly struck off in a different direction. The
last ray of sunshine departed--the bats began to flit by in the
twilight--the road grew dimmer and dimmer to the view; and nothing
appeared stirring in it but now and then a peasant lagging homeward
from his labor.
While the old castle at Landshort was in this state of perplexity, a
very interesting scene was transacting in a different part of the
Odenwald.
The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pursuing his route in that
sober jog-trot way in which a man travels toward matrimony when his
friends have taken all the trouble and uncertainty of courtship off his
hands, and a bride is waiting for him, as certainly as a dinner at the
end of his journey. He had encountered at Wurtzburg a youthful companion
in arms with whom he had seen some service on the frontiers: Herman Von
Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands and worthiest hearts of German
chivalry, who was now returning from the army. His father's castle was
not far distant from the old fortress of Landshort, although an
hereditary feud rendered the families hostile, and strangers to each
other.
In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the young friends related all
their past adventures and fortunes, and the count gave the whole history
of his intended nuptials with a young lady whom he had never seen, but
of whose charms he had received the most enrapturing descriptions.
As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they agreed to
perform the rest of their journey together; and, that they might do it
the more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg at an early hour, the count
having given directions for his retinue to follow and overtake him.
They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of their military
scenes and adventures; but the count was apt to be a little tedious, now
and then, about the reputed charms of his bride and the felicity that
awaited him.
In this way they had entered among the mountains of the Odenwald, and
were traversing one of its most lonely and thickly wooded passes. It is
well known that the forests of Germany have always been as much infested
by robbers as its castles by specters; and at this time the former were
particularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wandering
about the country. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that the
cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers, in the midst of
the forest. They defended themselves with bravery, but were nearly
overpowered, when the count's retinue arrived to their assistance. At
sight of them the robbers fled, but not until the count had received a
mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed back to the city of
Wurtzburg, and a friar summoned from a neighboring convent who was
famous for his skill in administering to both soul and body; but half of
his skill was superfluous; the moments of the unfortunate count were
numbered.
With his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair instantly to the
castle of Landshort, and explain the fatal cause of his not keeping his
appointment with his bride. Though not the most ardent of lovers, he
was one of the most punctilious of men, and appeared earnestly
solicitous that his mission should be speedily and courteously executed.
"Unless this is done," said he, "I shall not sleep quietly in my grave!"
He repeated these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request, at a
moment so impressive, admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust endeavored to
soothe him to calmness; promised faithfully to execute his wish, and
gave him his hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in
acknowledgment, but soon lapsed into delirium--raved about his
bride--his engagements--his plighted word; ordered his horse, that he
might ride to the castle of Landshort; and expired in the fancied act of
vaulting into the saddle.
Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier's tear on the untimely fate
of his comrade, and then pondered on the awkward mission he had
undertaken. His heart was heavy, and his head perplexed; for he was to
present himself an unbidden guest among hostile people, and to damp
their festivity with tidings fatal to their hopes. Still, there were
certain whisperings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famed
beauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world; for he
was a passionate admirer of the sex, and there was a dash of
eccentricity and enterprise in his character that made him fond of all
singular adventure.
Previous to his departure he made all due arrangements with the holy
fraternity of the convent for the funeral solemnities of his friend, who
was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg near some of his
illustrious relatives; and the mourning retinue of the count took charge
of his remains.
It is now high time that we should return to the ancient family of
Katzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their guest, and still more for
their dinner; and to the worthy little baron, whom we left airing
himself on the watch-tower.
Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The baron descended from
the tower in despair. The banquet, which had been delayed from hour to
hour, could no longer be postponed. The meats were already overdone; the
cook in an agony; and the whole household had the look of a garrison
that had been reduced by famine. The baron was obliged reluctantly to
give orders for the feast without the presence of the guest. All were
seated at table, and just on the point of commencing, when the sound of
a horn from without the gate gave notice of the approach of a stranger.
Another long blast filled the old courts of the castle with its echoes,
and was answered by the warder from the walls. The baron hastened to
receive his future son-in-law.
The drawbridge had been let down, and the stranger was before the gate.
He was a tall, gallant cavalier mounted on a black steed. His
countenance was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye, and an air of
stately melancholy.
The baron was a little mortified that he should have come in this
simple, solitary style. His dignity for a moment was ruffled, and he
felt disposed to consider it a want of proper respect for the important
occasion, and the important family with which he was to be connected. He
pacified himself, however, with the conclusion, that it must have been
youthful impatience which had induced him thus to spur on sooner than
his attendants.
"I am sorry," said the stranger, "to break in upon you thus
unseasonably----"
Here the baron interrupted with a world of compliments and greetings;
for, to tell the truth, he prided himself upon his courtesy and
eloquence.
The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stem the torrent of words, but
in vain, so he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on. By the time
the baron had come to a pause, they had reached the inner court of the
castle; and the stranger was again about to speak, when he was once more
interrupted by the appearance of the female part of the family leading
forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed on her for a moment as
one entranced; it seemed as if his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze,
and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maiden aunts whispered
something in her ear; she made an effort to speak; her moist blue eye
was timidly raised; gave a shy glance of inquiry on the stranger; and
was cast again to the ground. The words died away; but there was a
sweet smile playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek
that showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It was impossible
for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly predisposed for love and
matrimony, not to be pleased with so gallant a cavalier.
The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time for parley.
The baron was peremptory, and deferred all particular conversation until
the morning, and led the way to the untasted banquet.
It was served up in the great hall of the castle. Around the walls hung
the hard-favored portraits of the heroes of the house of
Katzenellenbogen, and the trophies which they had gained in the field
and in the chase. Hacked corselets, splintered jousting spears, and
tattered banners were mingled with the spoils of sylvan warfare; the
jaws of the wolf and the tusks of the boar grinned horribly among
cross-bows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branched
immediately over the head of the youthful bridegroom.