Angels and ministers of grace defend us!--
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape!
Shakespeare.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Situate about a quarter of a mile from the village near which my father
resided, was the parish church, a venerable structure clad with ivy.
Near by a large yew-tree spread its branches over the centre of the
churchyard. About one hundred yards from the church stood the cottage
of Nicholas Hartley (more generally known by the name of "Old Nick"),
the sexton and bell-ringer. He also carried on the business of a
cobbler. "Old Nick" was by no means so sober a man as he ought to have
been, considering the serious nature of his calling. He was quite as
often to be found at the Green Man as at his own cottage. There were
several youths in the village, including myself, who were prone to
practical joking, and one unfortunate night we concocted a scheme to set
the whole of the people in the village in wonder and fright.
It was a dark and stormy night in December, more than twenty years ago,
when our plans were matured and successfully accomplished. Eight of us
met, by a preconcerted arrangement, in the old churchyard, a little
before midnight. One of the actors in the drama was the son of the
blacksmith, who had found a key to open the door of the belfry. With
this we gained admission. Thence unbolting a door, we were enabled to
reach the roof of the chancel; this was composed of lead, and was quite
flat, with a high stone coping all round it. Having gone so far we
descended to the churchyard, and tied fast together the legs of the
chimney-sweeper's donkey, that pastured among the grave-stones.
Sheltered under the yew-tree, and binding him so as to prevent his
struggling, we attached a stout waggon-rope, procured from my father's
barn, to Neddy's body. Leaving one to guide his ascent with a guy rope,
the rest of us hauled him up to the roof of the chancel. We then untied
the rope that bound his legs, and enveloped him in a snow-white sheet,
tying his long ears down to his neck with a piece of twine, and so
adapting the sheet to his body as to prevent its getting disarranged by
the very high wind.
Thus was his "mokeship" left standing in the middle of the roof,
apparently as contented as where we found him under the yew-tree. After
this we fastened one end of the rope to the "pull" of the only bell in
use, and passing the other through the grated hole in the wall of the
belfry, carried it over the roof of the chancel and dropped it to the
ground. The two doors were now made secure as we had found them, and
one of us mounting with the rope to the very top branch of the yew-tree,
we there made it fast; after this final step it was considered the best
policy to move away as fast as we possibly could.
Being placed on rather high ground, the wind swayed the old yew-tree to
and fro without hindrance, the consequence being that the solitary bell
tolled forth its notes with strange, supernatural, and most irregular
tones, all the more astonishing from their occurring at that time of
night. The inhabitants were soon aroused, as we could distinctly see
from our hiding-place, by the number of lights in the windows, and the
lanthorns flitting about the main street--no gas or oil-lamps existing
in our village. At length, a strong muster of farm-labourers, with "Old
Nick" and the parish constable at their head, repaired to the church,
the principal instigators of the mischief bringing up the rear.
Knowing, as I did, that there was nothing to be alarmed at, I
volunteered to accompany the sexton and policeman into the belfry. This
was a job neither of them relished when they found the door securely
locked, for they had at first an idea that some drunken men had broken
the lock and were amusing themselves at the expense of the whole
village. Just at the moment we reached the door of the belfry, a
piercing shriek was heard from a female in the midst of the crowd
below--an arm was stretched out, with the finger pointed in the
direction of the donkey, enshrouded in the snow-white habiliments as we
had left him. Sir Moke played his part excellently well; one of his
ears had escaped from under the twine, and moved to and fro in such a
manner as quickly to be designated "one _arm_" of the "ghost" waving to
the crowd to retire--and retire the more timid portion of them did,
helter-skelter; but those with stouter nerves did not leave the
churchyard. The wind moaned through the old yew-tree, and the ivy that
covered the walls of the church-tower rustled and flapped in the strong
midnight breeze; and the strange, irregular tolling of the bell
continued, to the horror and surprise of the crowd.
There stood the "ghost!" He had moved from the middle to the corner of
the roof--his "arm" moving backwards and forwards, and the white sheet
flapping in the wind like a pair of huge wings. Old Howard, whom people
called an atheist, had died in the village about ten days previously.
The minister had refused to bury him in the churchyard, so he was
interred outside the wall by the roadside. His exit from the world was
said to have been "awful" in the extreme; he left the bed upon which he
had lain for weeks in great agony, was brought down stairs, and died on
the kitchen sofa. He had been one of Tom Paine's disciples, but he
died, people said, fearfully convinced of his error.
This circumstance had quite prepared the minds of the simple people for
his re-appearance; "he could not rest in his grave," and the excitement
was intense. I was frightened myself--not at the "ghost," but at the
turn things were taking. My companions were all on the spot, and quite
as uneasy as myself, with the exception of one Dick Smith, who said that
"if he could be certain that the `ghost' was old Howard's, he would
fetch his gun and shoot at it. It could not be murder to shoot a fellow
that was already dead." The proposition was negatived by every one
present old enough to have a voice in the matter. The minister lectured
Dick, and he slunk back into the crowd. Hours passed away, nobody was
bold enough to enter the belfry, and the "ghost" stuck to its post on
the roof of the chancel; however, the wind dropped about four o'clock,
and consequently the tolling of the bell ceased, soon after which the
"ghost," being tired of standing, lay down, and its _body_ being
entirely hidden by the high stone coping was effectually concealed. It
was said to have "vanished;" and the people retired to their homes, but
many neither to bed nor to sleep.
Just as daylight dawned next morning, John Durden, a carrier, on his way
through the village to D--from an adjacent town, had to pass by the
church with his donkey and cart. The "ghost," recognising the footfall
of an ass and a brother, rose from his hard bed to salute him with a
very long-winded _bray_.
Seeing the apparition on the church at such a time, Durden took to his
heels; his donkey, profiting by the absence of the carrier's cudgel,
stood still, pricked up his ears, and returned the salute after his own
familiar fashion. The villagers again crowded to the spot; all was
discovered; daylight revealed the rope that connected the yew-tree with
the bell-pull. The "ghost" had got his other ear at liberty, and his
tail was wriggling, two hundred movements to the minute, with evident
pleasure at beholding one of his race in the roadway below. With
considerable labour he was lowered from his elevated position.
And now commenced the more serious part of the business for myself and
my fellow-conspirators. The sheet was marked at one corner in red silk,
with the names of "J. and E. Smith." Now as there was only one family
of that name in the village, and as they only had one son--the aforesaid
Dick--the constable forthwith took him into custody on _more than_
suspicion of being concerned in the business of the preceding night. It
was well known that he never could have raised the donkey to the roof of
the church without assistance; therefore Master Dick was induced to give
up the names of his wicked accomplices. Five of the number, including
Dick, were apprehended. Myself and two others only escaped by flight.