It was shortly after the outbreak of the French Revolution that the
humble heroine of this story made her appearance in my native
village. Dutch Anna (for so she was called by the country people)
was, as the name implies, a native of Holland; and at that time she
might be about twenty-five years of age. She was of the middle size,
stoutly and firmly built, with a round, good-humoured face, dark
hair, clear, honest-looking hazel eyes, and a mouth which, though
wide, was expressive of decision and firmness. Her dress, which never
varied in style, consisted of a coloured petticoat of a thick woollen
material, a short bed-gown of striped cotton, confined round the
waist by the strings of a snow-white apron, a close-fitting, modest
cap, underneath the plaited border of which appeared her glossy hair,
neatly braided over her low, broad forehead; add to this a pair of
well-knit stockings, which the shortness of her petticoats afforded
ample opportunity of admiring, with heavy wooden shoes, and you have
a complete picture of Dutch Anna's costume. At the time I speak of,
the prejudice entertained by the mass of the people against
foreigners was much greater than in the present day, when the means
of communication between different countries are so much improved,
and the general diffusion of knowledge has shown the unreasonableness
of regarding with distrust and contempt those of our fellow-creatures
who have been born in a different climate, and trained in different
customs to our own. It may therefore be readily imagined that Anna
was for a time regarded with suspicion and jealousy, for the very
reason which ought to have commanded the sympathy and good-will of
her neighbours--'that she was a stranger in the land.' Her mode of
life perhaps increased the prejudice against her. Respecting the
reason of her voluntary exile, she preserved a studied silence;
though I afterwards learned that the persecution she endured from her
own family on the subject of religion was the principal cause. Our
village adjoined a populous manufacturing district, and Anna, having
been accustomed to such occupation, soon obtained employment. Being a
person of a peculiarly reserved and serious turn of mind, she could
not endure the thought of living in lodgings; and as she was not able
to furnish or pay the rent of a cottage, she hired for a trifling sum
an old lonely barn belonging to my father, who was a small farmer,
and, with the labour of her own hands, managed to put it into a
habitable condition. The furniture of this rude dwelling was simple
enough, consisting of a bed of clean straw, a round deal table, and
two three-legged stools. The whitewashed walls were ornamented with
coloured prints on Scripture subjects, framed and glazed; and a small
looking-glass, placed in a position to secure the best light afforded
by the little window, completed the decorations. Various were the
conjectures formed by the villagers respecting this inoffensive
though singular woman; and many were the stories circulated, all
tending to keep alive the prejudice her eccentricities were
calculated to excite.
A casual circumstance, which led to my becoming obliged to Anna, at
length enabled me to overcome the suspicion and dislike with which
our neighbour was regarded. Our acquaintance speedily ripened into
friendship; for with the reaction natural to the generous, I felt as
though I could never sufficiently compensate for my former injustice
towards her. Often in an evening I would put on my bonnet, and,
taking my work with me, go to spend a leisure hour with Dutch Anna;
and on these occasions she generally entertained me with descriptions
of her own country, and of the customs and manners of its
inhabitants; or with striking anecdotes and incidents which had come
under her own personal observation; never failing to draw some useful
moral or illustrate some important truth from what she related. She
could read well, and write a little--rare accomplishments in those
days for one in her situation in life. Her powers of observation were
extremely acute, and her memory retentive; but what struck me as her
most remarkable characteristics, were her sincere and unaffected
piety, her undeviating truthfulness, and her extraordinary decision
and fearlessness. When I have said, on bidding her good-night, 'Anna,
are you not afraid to be left alone here during the night, with no
one within call?' she has replied, 'Afraid, Miss Mary! no; how can I
feel afraid, knowing myself under the protection of One as great and
powerful as He is wise and good? I am never alone, for God is ever
present with me.' After Anna had resided some years in this country,
during which time she had, by her constant good-conduct, gained the
esteem of all who knew her, and, by her good-nature and willingness
to oblige, won the kindly feeling of even the most prejudiced, she
became anxious to pay a visit to her native land; and as the
accommodations for travelling at that period, besides being few, were
costly, she obtained letters of recommendation from her employers and
other gentlemen in the place to friends residing in different towns
on her route, and set out, intending to perform the greater part of
her land-journey on foot. At the end of several months she returned,
and quietly resumed her former mode of life. Not till fully a year
after this period did she relate to me an adventure which had
occurred to her on her journey homewards, and which I shall now
transcribe.
It was at the close of an autumn day that Anna, who had been walking
since early morning with scarcely an interval of rest, found herself,
in spite of her great capability of enduring fatigue, somewhat
foot-sore and weary on arriving at the town of ----. As she passed
along the streets, she observed an unusual degree of bustle and
excitement; and, on inquiring the cause, found that a large
detachment of soldiers, on their way to the continent, had arrived in
the town that afternoon, and that some difficulty was experienced in
finding them accommodation. This was not very agreeable news for
Anna, tired as she was; however, she pursued her way to the house of
the clergyman, where she had, in passing that way before, been
hospitably entertained, hoping that there she might be able to
procure a lodging, however humble. But in this she was disappointed;
for though the good clergyman and his wife received her kindly, they
could not offer her shelter for the night, as they had already more
guests than they could conveniently accommodate. Anna would have been
contented and thankful for a bed of straw by the kitchen fire; but
even this they could not give, as the lower apartments were wanted by
those who had been obliged to give up their beds.
At length, after some hesitation, the clergyman said, 'I know but of
one place where you could at this time find a lodging. You appear to
be a woman of good courage, and if you dare venture, you may occupy a
room in that house you see from this window. It is uninhabited, and
has been so for some years, as it has the reputation of being
haunted. Anna looked in the direction indicated, and saw through the
deepening twilight a large two-storied house, built of a dull red
brick, with stone copings, standing at some distance from the
high-road. The house itself occupied a considerable extent of ground,
being beautifully situated, with fronts to the south and west. The
principal entrance was by folding-doors, half of which were glass;
and the house was sheltered on the north and east by a grove of
trees, whose branches, now but thinly covered with leaves, waved
mournfully to and fro in the night wind. 'The last proprietor of that
place,' continued the clergyman, 'was a vicious and depraved man,
whose very existence was a curse to the neighbourhood in which he
dwelt. At an early age he came into possession of a large property,
which he spent in the gratification of every base and lawless
passion. His life, as far as I can learn, was one unmixed course of
cruelty, lust, and impiety, unredeemed by one noble aspiration, one
generous, unselfish action. He died suddenly, in the prime of life,
in the midst of one of his riotous midnight orgies, and the house has
ever since been deserted. It is said, and believed by our good
towns-folks, that there he still holds his revels, with fiends for
his companions; and many affirm that they have heard the sound of
their unearthly merriment, mingled with shrieks and wailings, borne
upon the night-breeze; whilst the few who have ventured within its
walls, tell of shapes seen, and sounds heard, which would cause the
stoutest heart to quail. For myself, I am no great believer in the
supernatural, and have no doubt that imagination, united to the
loneliness of the spot, and the strange freaks the wind plays through
a large uninhabited house, have originated reports which we are sure
would lose nothing in the recital; so if you are inclined to make the
trial, I will see that what is necessary is provided, and I think I
may venture to promise you an undisturbed night's rest.'
Anna, as I have before said, was remarkable for her fearlessness; so
she thanked the gentleman for his proposal, saying 'that she had not
the least fear of spirits, good or bad; that the former, if indeed
they were ever visible to mortal eyes, could be but messengers of
mercy; and for the latter, she could not conceive that a Being
infinite in goodness would ever permit them to revisit this earth for
the sole purpose of terrifying and tormenting innocent individuals
like herself; that she far more dreaded evil men than evil spirits;
and that as, from the estimation in which the place was held, she
should feel herself secure from them, she would thankfully accept his
offer.' As soon, therefore, as the necessary preparations were made,
and Anna had partaken of the good substantial fare set before her,
she begged to be allowed to retire to rest, as she was fatigued with
her day's journey, and wished to set out again early the next
morning. Her request was immediately complied with; the good
clergyman himself insisting upon seeing her safely to her
destination; when, having ascertained that proper provision had been
made for her comfort, and told her that refreshment should be
provided for her early next morning at his house, he bade her
good-night, and left her to repose. As soon as he was gone, Anna
proceeded to take a more particular survey of her apartment. It was
a large, but not very lofty room, panelled with oak, and having two
windows looking across a wide lawn to the main road. The bright fire
in the ample fireplace illuminated the richly-carved cornice, with
its grotesque heads and fanciful scrollwork. It had evidently been a
dining-room, for some of the heavy furniture, in the fashion of the
period in which it had been last inhabited, still remained. There
were the massive table and the old-fashioned high-backed chairs, with
covers of what had once been bright embroidery, doubtless the work of
many a fair hand; but what attracted her attention most, was a
picture over the chimney-piece. It was painted on the wooden panel;
perhaps the reason it had never been removed, though evidently the
work of no mean artist. It represented a scene of wild revelry. At
the head of a table, covered with a profusion of fruits, with glasses
and decanters of various elegant forms, stood a young man; high above
his head he held a goblet filled to the brim with wine; excitement
flashed from his bright blue eyes, and flushed the rounded cheek;
light-brown hair, untouched by powder, curled round the low narrow
forehead; whilst the small sensual mouth expressed all the worst
passions of our nature. Around the table sat his admiring parasites;
young beauty and hoary age, the strength of manhood and the earliest
youth, were there, alike debased by the evidences of lawless passion.
With what a master-hand had the painter seized upon the individual
expression of each! There the glutton, and here the sot; now the eye
fell on the mean pander or the roystering boon-companion; now on the
wit, looking with a roguish leer upon his fair neighbour, or the
miserable wretch maudlin in his cups; and again on the knave
profiting by the recklessness of those around him. The bright blaze
of the fire lit up the different countenances with a vivid and
lifelike expression; and as Anna gazed, fascinated and spell-bound,
her thoughts naturally reverted to what she had heard of the life and
character of the last owner of the place. Was that youthful figure,
so evidently the master of the revel, a portrait of the unhappy man
himself who had thus unconsciously left behind him not only a
memorial, but a warning. How often had the now silent halls echoed to
the brawl of the drunkard, the song of the wanton, the jest of the
profane, the laugh of the scorner! It was here, perhaps in this very
room, that the dread hand of death had struck him; here he had been
suddenly called to account for property misused, a life misspent.
Saddened by these reflections, she turned from the picture, and
taking her Bible from her bundle, she drew aside the tarnished
curtains, and seated herself at one of the windows. The moon had by
this time risen, and was shedding her soft light on the peaceful
landscape without. The beauty of the scene soothed her excited
feelings; and as she read, her mind resumed its accustomed serenity.
Closing her book, she prepared to retire to rest, first examining
the doors, of which there were two: the one by which she had entered,
opening into the front hall, she found to be without a lock, or
indeed any fastening at all; the other, leading in an opposite
direction, she was unable to open. As, however, she was quite free
from apprehension, she felt no uneasiness from this circumstance;
and, commending herself to the care of her heavenly Father, she
composed herself to rest, and soon fell soundly asleep.
How long she had slept she could not tell, when she was awoke by what
seemed to her the confused sounds of song and merriment. So deep had
been her sleep, that it was some time before she could rouse herself
to a recollection of her situation. When, however, she had done so,
she raised herself in bed, and listened; all was silent, save that
the night, having become rather gusty, the wind at intervals swept
moaningly round the deserted mansion. The fire was almost out, but
the candle in the lantern which stood by her bedside shed a feeble
light upon the oaken floor; and the moon, though occasionally
overcast, was still high in the heavens. Readily concluding the
disturbance to have been wholly imaginary, the result of the
impression made by her waking thoughts upon her sleeping fancies,
Anna composed herself again to sleep; but scarcely had she lain down,
when the same sounds, low at first, but gradually becoming louder and
more distinct, broke in upon the silence. The noise appeared to her
to proceed from a distant part of the house, and came with a kind of
muffled sound, as though doors of some thickness intervened. Peals of
laughter, bursts of applause, snatches of song, crashing of glass,
mingled in wild confusion. Higher and higher grew the mirth, louder
and louder swelled the tumult, until, when the uproar appeared to
have reached its height, there was a pause--a silence as profound as
it was sudden and appalling. Then there rang through the wide
deserted halls and chambers a shrill despairing shriek, whilst far
and near, above, below, around, rose mocking and insulting laughter.
Dauntless as Anna was, and firm as was her reliance on the protection
of Heaven, it would perhaps be too much to say that she felt no
quickening of the pulse, no flutterings and throbbings of the heart
as she listened. But surprise, and a strong desire to penetrate the
mystery, greatly preponderated over any feelings of alarm, and her
first impulse was immediately to endeavour to find her way to the
scene of the disturbance. But a moment's consideration showed her how
foolish and imprudent this would be, totally unacquainted as she was
with the house, and with no better light than the feeble glimmer of
her lantern. If it was the work of designing persons, such a step
would be but to expose herself to danger, whilst, if the effect of
supernatural agency, she could neither learn what they wished to
conceal, nor shun what they chose to reveal. She therefore decided
upon passively awaiting the result of her adventure. As these
thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, the noise subsided, the
laughter became fainter and fainter; until at length it died away,
seemingly lost in the distance, and silence once more reigned around.
After the lapse of a short interval, this was again broken by a noise
resembling the rattling and clanking of a chain dragged heavily
along, which seemed to approach by slow degrees towards her
apartment, and as gradually receded; then again approached, and again
receded; and so on several times, but each time coming nearer than
before; until at length it paused beside that door of her room which
Anna had been unable to open. Cautiously raising her head from the
pillow, Anna endeavoured, with fixed and strained look, to pierce the
darkness in which that part of the room was enveloped; but though she
could not distinguish anything, and though no sound was made, she
became, with a thrill more nearly approaching terror than she had
before experienced, instinctively conscious that she was no longer
alone. Resolutely determined, however, not to yield to feelings of
alarm, Anna said, in a firm, unfaltering voice: 'Whoever or whatever
you are that thus disturb my repose and intrude upon my privacy, show
yourself, and name your errand, if you want anything from me; if not,
begone, for your attempts to terrify me are vain. I fear you not.'
The only answer returned was a low laugh; and where the moonlight
streamed in through the partly-drawn window-curtain, there stood a
frightfully-grotesque figure. Its body, as well as Anna could
distinguish, resembled that of a beast, but the head, face, and
shoulders were those of a human being; the former being decorated
with a horn over each shaggy eyebrow. It stood upon all fours, but
the front legs were longer than those behind, and terminated in claws
like a bird. Round its neck an iron chain was hung, which, as it now
slowly advanced, sometimes in the light, and sometimes in the shade,
it rattled menacingly. The sight of this creature, far from
increasing Anna's alarm, considerably diminished it, and she lay
perfectly quiet, steadily watching its movements, until it came
within arm's-length of her, when, suddenly springing forward, she
seized hold of it with a firm grasp, exclaiming: 'This is no spirit,
for here is flesh and bone like myself.'
Apparently, the ghost being composed of too solid materials to melt
in air, had no other resource than to oppose strength to strength,
for it struggled vigorously, and with some difficulty succeeded in
freeing itself from Anna's hold. No sooner was it at liberty, than it
made for the door with as much speed as its various encumbrances
would allow; and Anna, now completely roused, and forgetting all
prudential considerations in the excitement of the moment, hastily
put on a few articles of clothing, and, throwing her cloak around
her, seized her lantern and followed. The ghost had, however, gained
so much in advance of her, that it was with some difficulty she could
decide which way to turn, but, guided by the clanking of the chain,
she went boldly along a wide stone passage, and through several
rooms, opening one out of another, until, just as she was again
within sight, and almost within reach of the object of her pursuit,
it suddenly disappeared; and Anna, in her eagerness, springing
quickly forward, was herself the next moment precipitated through an
opening in the floor, in her fall breaking her lantern. Fortunately
she alighted on a heap of straw, or the consequences might have been
fatal. As it was, though bruised and stunned by her sudden descent,
she did not entirely lose consciousness, but was sensible of a
confused murmur of voices near her; and as her perceptions became
clearer, she was aware that the tones, though low, were earnest and
angry, and that she herself was the subject of conversation.
'I tell you it is the only thing to be done; so what's the use of
talking about it, you fool,' were the first words she distinguished.
'But,' interrupted another voice, evidently a woman's, 'would it not
be better to wait and see?'
'Death and fury, wait and see what?' fiercely exclaimed the first
speaker. 'If she's dead, it'll do her no harm; and if she isn't, the
sooner a stopper's put in her mouth the better.'
Completely roused from her stupor by the danger with which she was
threatened, Anna opened her eyes, and perceived that she was in a
large vaulted cellar, at one end of which was a small heated furnace.
Scattered about the floor, and on rudely-constructed work-benches, as
though the persons using them had hastily abandoned their employment,
were many curious-looking tools and machines, together with heaps of
metal of different sizes, and in different stages of manufacture,
from the merely moulded shape to the finished shilling or guinea.
Some half-dozen or eight men and women were grouped together, amongst
whom she recognised the _ghost_, not quite divested of his masquerade
dress. In a single glance Anna perceived all this, and it needed no
conjuror to tell her that she had fallen into the hands of a gang of
coiners.
Fully sensible of the peril of her situation, her extraordinary
courage did not forsake her; for Anna, though somewhat peculiar in
her religious opinions, was perfectly sincere, and even at this awful
moment felt unshaken, confidence in the protecting care of
Providence. Though a foreigner, she possessed great command of the
English language, and her style, notwithstanding its singularity and
quaintness, was well calculated to overawe the rude and lawless band
into whose hands she had fallen. With a calm and steady gaze she met
the eye of the ruffian, who brandished his weapon before her, and
said, 'I pray you do not commit this great wickedness, nor shed the
blood of a helpless woman, who has never injured you.'
'Oh, come,' interrupted the man in a surly tone, 'let's have none of
that gammon, for it'll be of no use. If folk will meddle in others
folk's concerns, they must take the consequences; we're not such
fools as to put the rope round our own necks, I can tell you.'
'Nay, but hear what I have to say,' repeated Anna, eluding the man's
grasp as he endeavoured to seize hold of her; 'my coming here was no
fault of my own, and I promise not to betray you.'
'Oh ay, a likely tale,' said the man with a brutal laugh. 'We're all
for ourselves in this world, and no mistake; so we shall just put you
where you can tell no tales, old girl.'
'Stop; hear what she has to say: you shall; you must,' cried a young
woman who started up from a table at the further end of the cellar,
at which she had been seated, with her face buried in her hands,
during the foregoing colloquy. 'I tell you, Jack,' she continued,
advancing into the midst of the group, and laying her hand on the
man's arm, 'you shan't touch that woman: you won't; I know you won't.
Bad enough you are--we all are, God knows--but there's no blood upon
our hands yet; and,' added she, lowering her voice, 'blood will
speak, you know--_remember_.' The man's countenance fell as the girl
uttered the last words; he relaxed his hold of the knife; and Anna,
taking advantage of his indecision, and the relenting expression she
thought she read in the dark faces round her, related her simple
story, dwelling particularly upon the danger the corners would incur
were she missing, and their security in case she was allowed to
proceed on her journey, after seeing her friend the clergyman. Taking
courage from the attention of her hearers, she even ventured to
remonstrate with them upon their dangerous mode of life, and
entreated them to abandon it, and seek their subsistence honestly.
There was a pause of some minutes after Anna ceased speaking, during
which the coiners exchanged with each other looks of mingled
admiration and astonishment. At length one of them, who appeared to
take the lead, addressing his companions, said, 'The woman has spoken
well, and there is reason in what she says. It is true enough that
murder will out; and though she is a stranger, she was known to come
here. Her disappearance might excite suspicion, suspicion would lead
to inquiries, inquiries to search, and then all would be up with us;
besides, a few weeks will see us clear of this place, if we have
luck, and I think we may trust her so long.' Then turning to Anna, he
continued, 'You have a spirit of your own, and I like you the better,
and would trust you the sooner for it; none but fools rely on the
word of a coward, but one who dare speak the honest truth, without
fear or favour, when in peril of life, is not likely to break faith,
I think; so you shall go free, on condition that you take a solemn
oath not to reveal to any one the events of this night until six
months have passed; by that time we shall have quitted not only this
neighbourhood, but the country, and,' he added with a laugh, 'the
ghost that has kept all the men in ---- quaking after dark, like a
pack of frightened children, will be laid for ever. Have I said well,
my comrades?' There was a general murmur of assent, and the man
continued: 'Recollect, then, that if you break your oath, your life
will be the forfeit: we have means to ascertain and punish treachery;
and should you attempt foul-play, you can no more escape our
vengeance than here in this lonely place you can resist our power.
Will you swear, by all you hold most dear and sacred, to keep our
secret inviolable for the time agreed?' To this proposition Anna, as
will be readily believed, joyfully assented, and being conducted by
her strange acquaintances back to her sleeping apartment, she most
gladly, when morning dawned, bade adieu to the scene of her singular
and alarming adventure. On arriving at the clergyman's house, she was
not sorry to find but few of the family stirring, as she naturally
wished to avoid much questioning. In answer to the inquiries which
were made as to how she had passed the night, she said that she had
been much annoyed and disturbed; and though she avoided entering into
particulars, she strongly advised that no one should be permitted to
try a similar experiment, assuring them that she believed few could
pass through what she had done without sustaining severe, if not
permanent injury from it. Having thus, as far as lay in her power,
acquitted her conscience, she pursued her journey. In a few days she
arrived at home; but it was not until several months over the time
specified had elapsed, that she related the adventure to me, in order
to show how little dependence is to be placed on the stories told of
ghosts and haunted houses. As Dutch Anna said: 'Evil men have
generally more to do with such stories than evil spirits, and, after
all, it is possible to give a certain gentleman and his agents more
than their due.'