Oft as the peasant wight impelled
To these untrodden paths had been,
As oft he, horror struck, beheld
Things of unearthly shape and mien.
GLENGONAR'S WASSAIL.
The day was drawing near to a close, and the Proprietary thoughtfully
paced the hall. The wainscoted walls around him were hung with costly
paintings, mingled, not untastefully, with Indian war clubs, shields,
bows and arrows, and other trophies won from the savage. There were
also the ponderous antlers of the elk and the horns of the buck
sustaining draperies of the skins of beasts of prey. Musquets,
cutlasses and partisans were bestowed on brackets ready for use in case
of sudden invasion from that race of wild men whose stealthy incursions
in times past had taught this policy of preparation. The level rays of
the setting sun, striking through the broad open door, flung a mellow
radiance over the hall, giving a rich picture-like tone to its sylvan
furniture.
Lord Baltimore, at the period when I have introduced him, might have
been verging upon fifty. He was of a delicate and slender stature, with
a grave and dignified countenance. His manners were sedate and
graceful, and distinguished by that gentleness which is characteristic
of an educated mind when chastened by affliction. He had been schooled
to this gentleness both by domestic and public griefs. The loss of a
favourite son, about two years before, had thrown a shadow upon his
spirit, and a succession of unruly political irritations in the
province served to prevent the return of that buoyancy of heart which
is indifferently slow to come back at middle age, even when solicited
by health, fortune, friends, and all the other incitements which, in
younger men, are wont to lift up a wounded spirit out of the depths of
a casual sorrow.
Charles Calvert had come to the province in 1662, and from that date,
until the death of his father, thirteen years afterwards, administered
the government in the capacity of Lieutenant-General. Upon his
accession to the proprietary rights, he found himself compelled by the
intrigues of a faction to visit London, where he was detained nearly
four years,--having left Lady Baltimore, with a young family of
children, behind him, under the care of his uncle Philip Calvert, the
chancellor of the province. He had now, within little more than a
twelvemonth, returned to his domestic roof, to mingle his sorrows with
those of his wife for the death of his eldest son, Cecilius, who had
sunk into the tomb during his absence.
The public cares of his government left him scant leisure to dwell upon
his personal afflictions. The province was surrounded by powerful
tribes of Indians who watched the white settlers with an eager
hostility, and seized every occasion to molest them by secret inroad,
and often by open assault. A perpetual war of petty reprisals,
prevailed upon the frontier, and even sometimes invaded the heart of
the province.
A still more vexatious annoyance existed in the party divisions of the
inhabitants--divisions unluckily resting on religious distinctions--the
most fierce of all dissensions. Ever since the Restoration, the
jealousy of the Protestant subjects of the crown against the adherents
of the church of Rome had been growing into a sentiment that finally
broke forth into the most flagrant persecution. In the province, the
Protestants during the last twenty years had greatly increased in
number, and at the date of this narrative constituted already the
larger mass of the population. They murmured against the dominion of
the Proprietary as one adverse to the welfare of the English church;
and intrigues were set on foot to obtain the establishment of that
church in the province through the interest of the ministry in England.
Letters were written by some of the more ambitious clergy of Maryland
to the Archbishop of Canterbury to invoke his aid in the enterprise.
The government of Lord Baltimore was traduced in these representations,
and every disorder attributed to the ascendancy of the Papists. It was
even affirmed that the Proprietary and his uncle the Chancellor, had
instigated the Indians to ravage the plantations of the Protestant
settlers, and to murder their families. Chiefly, to counteract these
intrigues, Lord Baltimore had visited the court at London. Cecilius
Calvert, the founder of the province, with a liberality as wise as it
was unprecedented, had erected his government upon a basis of perfect
religious freedom. He did this at a time when he might have
incorporated his own faith with the political character of the colony,
and maintained it, by a course of legislation, which would, perhaps,
even up to the present day, have rendered Maryland the chosen abode of
those who now acknowledge the founder's creed. His views, however, were
more expansive. It was his design to furnish in Maryland a refuge not
only to the weary and persecuted votaries of his own sect, but an
asylum to all who might wish for shelter in a land where opinion should
be free and conscience undisturbed. Whilst this plant of toleration was
yet young, it grew with a healthful luxuriance; but the popular
leaders, who are not always as truly and consistently attached to
enlightened freedom as we might be led to believe from their boasting,
and who incessantly aim to obtain power and make it felt, had no sooner
acquired strength to battle with the Proprietary than they rooted up
the beautiful exotic and gave it to the winds.
Amongst the agitators in this cause was a man of some note in the
former history of the province--the famous Josias Fendall, the governor
in the time of the Protectorate--now in a green old age, whose
turbulent temper, and wily propensity to mischief had lost none of
their edge with the approach of grey hairs. This individual had
stimulated some of the hot spirits of the province into open rebellion
against the life of the Proprietary and his uncle. His chief associate
was John Coode, a coarse but shrewd leader of a faction, who, with the
worst inclinations against the Proprietary had the wit to avoid the
penalties of the law, and to maintain himself in a popular position as
a member of the house of Burgesses. Fendall, a few months before this
era, had been arrested with several followers, upon strong proofs of
conspiracy, and was now a close prisoner in the gaol.
Such is a brief but necessary view of the state of affairs on the date,
at which I have presented the Lord Proprietary to my reader. The matter
now in hand with the captain of the fort had reference to troubles of
inferior note to those which I have just recounted.
When Lord Baltimore descried Captain Dauntrees and the ranger
approaching the mansion from the direction of the fort, he advanced
beyond the threshold to meet them. In a moment they stood unbonneted
before him.
"God save you, good friends!" was his salutation--"Captain Dauntrees
and worthy Arnold, welcome!--Cover,"--he added in a tone of familiar
kindness,--"put on your hats; these evening airs sometimes distill an
ague upon a bare head."
A rugged smile played upon the features of the old forester as he
resumed his shaggy cap, and said, "Lord Charles is good; but he does
not remember that the head of an old ranger gets his blossoms like the
dog-wood,--in the wind and the rain:--the dew sprinkles upon it the
same as upon a stone."
"Old friend," replied the Proprietary,--"that grizzly head has taken
many a sprinkling in the service of my father and myself: it is worthy
of a better bonnet, and thou shalt have one, Arnold--the best thou
canst find in the town. Choose for yourself, and Master Verheyden shall
look to the cost of it."
The Fleming modestly bowed, as he replied with that peculiar foreign
gesture and accent, neither of which may be described,--"Lord Charles
is good.--He is the son of his father, Lord Cecil,--Heaven bless his
memory!"
"Master Verheyden, bade me attend your lordship," said Dauntrees; "and
to bring Arnold de la Grange with me."
"I have matter for your vigilance, Captain," replied the Proprietary.
"Walk with me in the garden--we will talk over our business in the open
air."
When they had strolled some distance, Lord Baltimore proceeded--"There
are strange tales afloat touching certain mysterious doings in a house
at St. Jerome's: the old wives will have it that it is inhabited by
goblins and mischievous spirits--and, in truth, wiser people than old
women are foolish enough to hold it in dread. Father Pierre tells me he
can scarcely check this terror."
"Your Lordship means the fisherman's house on the beach at St.
Jerome's," said the Captain. "The country is full of stories concerning
it, and it has long had an ill fame. I know the house: the gossips call
it The Wizard's Chapel. It stands hard by the hut of The Cripple. By my
faith,--he who wanders there at nightfall had need of a clear shrift."
"You give credence to these idle tales?"
"No idle tales, an please your Lordship. Some of these marvels have I
witnessed with my own eyes. There is a curse of blood upon that roof."
"I pray you speak on," said the Proprietary, earnestly; "there is more
in this than I dreamed of."
"Paul Kelpy the fisherman," continued Dauntrees,--"it was before my
coming into the province--but the story goes----"
"It was in the Lord Cecil's time--I knowed the fisherman," interrupted
Arnold.
"He was a man," said the Captain, "who, as your Lordship may have
heard, had a name which caused him to be shunned in his time,--and they
are alive now who can tell enough of his wickedness to make one's hair
rise on end. He dwelt in this house at St. Jerome's in Clayborne's day,
and took part with that freebooter;--went with him, as I have heard, to
the Island, and was outlawed."
"Ay, and met the death he deserved--I remember the story," said the
Proprietary. "He was foiled in his attempt to get out of the province,
and barred himself up in his own house."
"And there he fought like a tiger,--or more like a devil as he was,"
added the ranger. "They were more than two days, before they could get
into his house."
"When his door was forced at last," continued the Captain; "they found
him, his wife and child lying in their own blood upon the hearth stone.
They were all murdered, people say, by his own hand."
"And that was true!" added Arnold; "I remember how he was buried at the
cross road, below the Mattapany Fort, with a stake drove through his
body."
"Ever since that time," continued Dauntrees, "they say the house has
been without lodgers--of flesh and blood, I mean, my Lord,--for it has
become a devil's den, and a busy one."
"What hast thou seen, Captain? You speak as a witness."
"It is not yet six months gone by, my Lord, when I was returning with
Clayton, the master of the collector's pinnace, from the Isle of Kent;
we stood in, after night, towards the headland of St. Jerome's bay;--it
was very dark--and the four windows of the Wizard's Chapel, that looked
across the beach, were lighted up with such a light as I have never
seen from candle or fagot. And there were antic figures passing the
blaze that seemed deep in some hellish carouse. We kept our course,
until we got almost close aboard,--when suddenly all grew dark. There
came, at that moment, a gust of wind such as the master said he never
knew to sweep in daylight across the Chesapeake. It struck us in our
teeth, and we were glad to get out again upon the broad water. It would
seem to infer that the Evil One had service rendered there, which it
would be sinful to look upon. In my poor judgment it is matter for the
church, rather than for the hand of the law."
"You are not a man, Captain Dauntrees, to be lightly moved by
fantasies," said the Proprietary, gravely; "you have good repute for
sense and courage. I would have you weigh well what you report."
"Surely, my Lord, Clayton is as stout a man in heart as any in the
province: and yet he could scarcely hold his helm for fear."
"Why was I not told of this?"
"Your Lordship's favour," replied Dauntrees, shaking his head; "neither
the master, the seamen nor myself would hazard ill will by moving in
the matter. There is malice in these spirits, my Lord, which will not
brook meddling in their doings: we waited until we might be questioned
by those who had right to our answer. The blessed martyrs shield me! I
am pledged to fight your Lordship's bodily foes:--the good priests of
our holy patron St. Ignatius were better soldiers for this warfare."
The Proprietary remained for some moments silent: at last, turning to
the ranger, he inquired--"What dost thou know of this house, Arnold?"
"Well, Lord Charles," replied the veteran, "I was not born to be much
afeard of goblins or witches.--In my rangings I have more than once
come in the way of these wicked spirits; and then I have found that a
clean breast and a stout heart, with the help of an Ave Mary and a
Paternoster was more than a match for all their howlings. But the
fisherman's house--oh, my good Lord Charles," he added with a
portentous shrug, "has dwellers in it that it is best not to trouble.
When Sergeant Travers and myself were ranging across by St. Jerome's,
at that time when Tiquassino's men were thought to be a thieving,--last
Hallowmass, if I remember,--we shot a doe towards night, and set down
in the woods, waiting to dress our meat for a supper, which kept us
late, before we mounted our horses again. But we had some aqua vitae,
and didn't much care for hours. So it was midnight, with no light but
the stars to show us our way. It happened that we rode not far from the
Wizard's Chapel, which put us to telling stories to each other about
Paul Kelpy and the ghosts that people said haunted his house."
"The aqua vitae made you talkative as well as valiant, Arnold,"
interrupted the Proprietary.
"I will not say that," replied the ranger; "but something put it into
our heads to go down the bank and ride round the chapel. At first all
was as quiet as if it had been our church here of St. Mary's--except
that our horses snorted and reared with fright at something we could
not see. The wind was blowing, and the waves were beating on the
shore,--and suddenly we began to grow cold; and then, all at once,
there came a rumbling noise inside of the house like the rolling of a
hogshead full of pebbles, and afterwards little flashes of light
through the windows, and the sergeant said he heard clanking chains and
groans:--it isn't worth while to hide it from your lordship, but the
sergeant ran away like a coward, and I followed him like another, Lord
Charles.--Since that night I have not been near the Black house.--We
have an old saying in my country--'een gebrande kat vreest het koude
water'--the scalded cat keeps clear of cold water--ha, I mind the
proverb."
"It is not long ago," said Dauntrees, "perhaps not above two
years,--when, they say, the old sun-dried timber of the building turned
suddenly black. It was the work of a single night--your Lordship shall
find it so now."
"I can witness the truth of it," said Arnold--"the house was never
black until that night, and now it looks as if it was scorched with
lightning from roof to ground sill. And yet, lightning could never
leave it so black without burning it to the ground."
"There is some trickery in this," said the Proprietary. "It may scarce
be accounted for on any pretence of witchcraft, or sorcery, although I
know there are malignant influences at work in the province which find
motive enough to do all the harm they can. Has Fendall, or any of his
confederates had commerce with this house, Captain Dauntrees? Can you
suspect such intercourse?"
"Assuredly not, my Lord," replied the Captain, "for Marshall, who is
the most insolent of that faction, hath, to my personal knowledge, the
greatest dread of the chapel of all other men I have seen. Besides,
these terrors have flourished in the winter-night tales of the
neighbourhood, ever since the death of Kelpy, and long before the
Fendalls grew so pestilent in the province."
"It is the blood of the fisherman, my good Lord, and of his wife and
children that stains the floor," said Arnold; "it is that blood which
brings the evil spirits together about the old hearth. Twice every day
the blood-spots upon the floor freshen and grow strong, as the tide
comes to flood;--at the ebb they may be hardly seen."
"You have witnessed this yourself, Arnold?"
"At the ebb, Lord Charles. I did not stay for the change of tide. When
I saw the spots it was as much as we could do to make them out.--But at
the flood every body says they are plain."
"It is a weighty matter, a very weighty matter, an it like your
Lordship's honour," muttered forth the slim voice of Garret Weasel, who
had insinuated himself, by slow approach, into the rear of the company,
near enough to hear a part of this conversation, and who now fancied
that his interest in the subject would ensure him an unrebuked access
to the Proprietary--"and your Lordship hath a worthy care for the fears
of the poor people touching the abominations of the Wizard's Chapel."
"What brought thee here, Garret Weasel?" inquired the Proprietary, as
he turned suddenly upon the publican and looked him steadfastly in the
face--"What wonder hast thou to tell to excuse thy lurking at our
heels?"
"Much and manifold, our most noble Lord, touching the rumours," replied
the confused innkeeper, with a thick utterance. "And it is the most
notable thing about it that Robert Swale--Rob o' the Trencher, as he is
commonly called--your Lordship apprehends I mean the Cripple--that Rob
lives so near the Wizard's Chapel. There's matter of consideration in
that--if your Lordship will weigh it."
"Fie, Master Garret Weasel! Fie on thee! Thou art in thy cups. I grieve
to see thee making a beast of thyself. You had a name for sobriety.
Look that you lose it not again. Captain Dauntrees if the publican has
been your guest this evening, you are scarce free of blame for this."
"He has a shallow head, my Lord, and it is more easily sounded than I
guessed. Arnold," said Dauntrees apart--"persuade the innkeeper home."
The ranger took Garret's arm, and expostulating with him as he led him
away, dismissed him at the gate with an admonition to bear himself
discreetly in the presence of his wife,--a hint which seemed to have a
salutary effect, as the landlord was seen shaping his course with an
improved carriage towards the town.
"Have you reason to believe, Captain Dauntrees," said the Proprietary,
after Weasel had departed; "that the Cripple gives credit to these
tales. He lives near this troubled house?"
"Not above a gunshot off, my Lord. He cannot but be witness to these
marvels. But he is a man of harsh words, and lives to himself. There is
matter in his own life, I should guess, which leaves but little will to
censure these doings. To a certainty he has no fear of what may dwell
in the Black building.--I have seldom spoken with him."
"Your report and Arnold's," said the Proprietary, "confirm the common
rumour. I have heard to-day, that two nights past some such phantoms as
you speak of have been seen, and deemed it at first a mere gossip's
wonder;--but what you tell gives a graver complexion of truth to these
whisperings. Be there demons or jugglers amongst us--and I have reason
to suspect both--this matter must be sifted. I would have the inquiry
made by men who are not moved by the vulgar love of marvel. This duty
shall be yours, friends. Make suitable preparation, Captain, to
discharge it at your earliest leisure. I would have you and Arnold,
with such discreet friends as you may select, visit this spot at night
and observe the doings there. Look that you keep your own counsel:--we
have enemies of flesh and blood that may be more dreaded than these
phantoms. So, God speed you friends!"
"The man who purges the Black House of the fiend, so please you, my
Lord," said Dauntrees, "should possess more odour of sanctity than I
doubt will be found under our soldier's jerkins. I shall nevertheless
execute your Lordship's orders to the letter."
"Hark you, Captain," said the Proprietary, as his visiters were about
to take their leave--"if you have a scruple in this matter and are so
inclined, I would have you confer with Father Pierre. Whether this
adventure require prayer, or weapon of steel, you shall judge for
yourself."
"I shall take it, my Lord, as a point of soldiership," said Dauntrees,
"to be dealt with, in soldierly fashion--that is, with round blows if
occasion serves. I ask no aid from our good priest. He hath a trick--if
I may be so bold as to speak it before your Lordship--which doth not so
well sort with my age and bodily health,--a trick, my Lord, of putting
one to a fasting penance by way of purification. Our purpose of
visiting the Black House would be unseasonably delayed by such a
purgation."
"As thou wilt--as thou wilt!" said the Proprietary, laughing; "Father
Pierre would have but an idle sinecure, if he had no other calling but
to bring thee to thy penitentiary.--Good even, friends,--may the kind
saints be with you!"
The Captain and his comrade now turned their steps toward the fort, and
the Proprietary retired into the mansion. Here he found the secretary
and Benedict Leonard waiting his arrival. They had just returned from
the town, whither they had gone after doing their errand to the fort.
Albert Verheyden bore a packet secured with silken strings and sealed,
which he delivered to the Proprietary.
"Dick Pagan, the courier," he said, "has just come in from James Town
in Virginia, whence he set forth but four days ago--he has had a hard
ride of it--and brought this pacquet to the sheriff for my Lord. The
courier reports that a ship had just arrived from England, and that Sir
Henry Chichely the governor gave him this for your Lordship to be
delivered without delay."
The Proprietary took the pacquet: "Albert," he said, as he was about to
withdraw, "I have promised the old ranger, Arnold de la Grange, a new
cap. Look to it:--get him the best that you may find in the town--or,
perhaps, it would better content him to have one made express by Cony
the leather dresser. Let it be as it may best please the veteran
himself, good Albert." With this considerate remembrance of the ranger,
Lord Baltimore withdrew into his study.