spiritualism, or its practices, has been introduced into my
narrative. It formed no portion of my original intention; but I
found it impossible to refrain from giving publicity to documents
that had been found of sufficient importance to attract the
attention of the authorities. The spiritualist is able to take care
of himself and his belief. Such communications might be used to a
fearful and fatal purpose. The criminals engaged in the perpetration
of a crime could, if such testimony was of any judicial weight,
arrange a circle, produce the manifestations, or the similitude of
manifestations, and direct attention to certain innocent parties,
when suspicion would give time for the real culprits to escape. Every
one knows how easy it is to work through the agency of a religious
sentiment, and a very large class of people, habituated to the
belief in spiritual revelations as inculcated by the spiritualists,
receiving impressions in that way, would be hard to believe otherwise
than as the spurious spirits asserted. Crime would thus become more
dramatic, and the consequences of such interference on the part of
a religious organization might lead to the overthrow of all the
purposes and powers of civil authority. Happily, I am confident no
such construction can be placed upon the operations and revelations
of the authorized spiritualistic media. I do not know exactly what
view they take of the knowledge presumed to be possessed by the
murdered regarding the murderer. To reveal simply the name of the
person, taking for granted that the power exists according to the
doctrine of spiritualism, would be of no use, unless a train of
circumstantial evidence could be intimated, by which the law could
develop a legal connection between the accused and the crime. There
have been several instances, in this country, in which testimonious
ghosts have enacted important parts. Some of these are upon the
public record; others in private circulation. There was a case some
fifty years ago in Virginia, when, if I recollect correctly, the
ghost of a Mr. Clapham met a man upon the path in the mountain,
nearly opposite to the famous Point of Rocks, on the Potomac, and
told him where his will could be found,—the absence of which had
involved his widow in vexatious and tedious litigation. The will
was found and the question of right established in her favor; and
I myself have partaken of the hospitality of that generous lady in
the years gone by, when peace and plenty abounded in those beautiful
valleys. As a matter of curiosity, I will give in brief, a singular
case that happened in Scotland, and which goes to establish my theory
of the injustice that may be perpetrated by the assertions of persons
using the simulated spiritualistic agency for the detection of crime.
The Scotch rebellion of 1745 compelled a larger amount of vigilance
in preventing its recurrence than it possibly had taken to subdue it
in the first instance. Troops were scattered among the highlands,
for the purpose of arresting all persons using arms, and enforcing
the orders of the British authorities against the wearing of the
clan tartans. Among these troops was Sergeant Arthur Davies, who is
described as a bold and reckless man, careless in exposing himself
openly in those wild and hostile glens, and among a people conquered
but not won. Davies was in command of a squad of four men, and was
stationed at Dubrach, near Braeman, then a desolate and dangerous
district.
On the 28th of September, 1749, Davies left his barracks, with his
command, to meet the troops posted at Glenshee. The sergeant never
returned from that expedition; for, wandering off alone to hunt in
his usual careless and defiant mood, he was murdered.
Two men Duncan Terig, alias Clerk, and Alexander Bain MacDonald were
suspected, but, for five years, owing to the disaffected temper of
the people toward the foreign troops, no steps were taken to arrest
these suspected men; but at length on the 3d of June, 1754, nearly
five years afterwards, Clerk and MacDonald were tried at Edinboro’
for the murder of the sergeant. This singular evidence was adduced
upon the trial.
Some time after the murder, Donald Farquharson, living in Glenshee,
had been informed by his neighbor Alexander MacPherson, that he
(MacPherson) had been visited frequently by an apparition. It was the
ghost of Sergeant Davies, who insisted upon having a burial of his
remains. This MacPherson had declined to have anything to do with. On
this the spectre had bidden him apply to Donald Farquharson. Together
they visited the spot where MacPherson said the remains were lying;
Donald giving as a reason for going his fear of being troubled by the
grave-seeking ghost of the slaughtered Saxon.
The witness described the finding of what was left of the skeleton of
the unhappy warrior. They were satisfactorily recognized by certain
incontestable signs.
MacPherson’s description of the ghost as it appeared to him was
this: A figure clad in blue. He appeared at night; he was in bed; he
rose and followed it to the door. “I am Sergeant Davies,” said the
spectre; and then he related the facts of the murder, and pointed out
the place where his body or his relics could be found. The witness
had asked the names of the murderers. The ghost declined, upon the
ground that he could not reply to a question, but would have told
if he had not been asked. The ghost had visited him again, but this
time totally denuded of clothing,—but always desiring to have his
body buried. The body was subsequently properly interred. Again the
ghost had come to him and had announced his murderers,—“Duncan Clerk
and Alexander MacDonald,”—the prisoners then at the bar. The witness
was asked by Mr. Macintosh, counsel for the prisoners, what language
the ghost spoke. “As good Gaelic as ever he heard in Lochaber,”
said MacPherson. “Pretty well,” commented McIntosh, “for the ghost
of an English sergeant.” The facts turned out to be that MacPherson
had been in the employment of Clerk, and a disagreement had arisen
between the two men. MacPherson had often charged Clerk with the
murder, and on this Clerk had promised to do everything for him if
he would only keep his suspicions secret. But stronger evidence was
produced against the prisoners. A man named Cameron had seen the
murder perpetrated. He saw Clerk and another man fire simultaneously
at the soldier, and he saw him fall; but he was deterred from
making these facts known to the authorities for fear of incurring
the animosity of the Highlanders, who thought it no great harm, but
perhaps a merit, to shoot down one of the hated invaders.
Curious to relate, the prisoners were acquitted. The evidence against
MacDonald was not clear; but no doubt existed as to the guilt of
Clerk. MacPherson was prompted to the accusation against Clerk by
motives of personal malice, and, having become possessed of Clerk’s
secret, he was anxious to gratify his hatred. Fear of the popular
hatred, if he lodged a simple accusation against his victim, on
account of the abhorrence in which an informer was particularly
held at that time, and the more so if the information was directed
against a native in favor of the dominant race, he was obliged to
invent his ghost-story, and, thus appealing to popular belief in the
supernatural, effect his purpose. But the jury would not believe his
story, for it was known that he had discovered the sergeant’s remains
before he told of the ghostly visitations, which proved that the
marvel was an afterthought.
Sir Walter Scott edited an account of the murder for the Bannatyne
Club, and Mr. Hill Burton has included the story in his narratives
of Criminal Trials in Scotland. Sir Walter, relating another trial
where a ghost attempted by a second party to affix his murder upon
a certain person, gives the following remark of the presiding judge
upon the responsibility of the ghost testimony: “Stop!” the Judge
interrupted, gravely; “this will not do. The evidence of the ghost
is very much to the purpose, no doubt, but we can’t receive it
second-hand. None can speak with a clearer knowledge of what befell
him during life. But he must of course be sworn in the usual way.
Call the ghost in open court, therefore, and, if he appears, the
jury and I will give all weight to his evidence; but in case he does
not come forward, I cannot allow of his being heard, as now proposed
through the medium of a third party.” Up to this date it is not known
whether the bailiff has made a return of the summons or not. We
presume not.
But was it a ghost that confronted me?
That question, now that time is progressively dimming the vividness
of the impression that I received when first I saw that something on
the brow of the hill, rises to the tribunal of my own investigation.
I am as anxious to have the mystery solved as my reader possibly
could be; indeed I am more anxious than any other person could be.
Dim as it sometimes appears to my mind’s eye at times, there are
occasions when it assumes all the exactness of an incident that
transpired but a second since. I see it cross the wall, advance out
of the shadow into the light, stand still, then whirl or wheel, make
one human-looking step, and vanish. Will I ever see it again? That
is another question that disturbs me some. I cannot do but wait; but
with what feelings, wait? You, in your fair room with gas a-lit, or
reading in the broad-falling down of sunlight on this page, cannot
conceive. Put out your light and let the room grow dark, and pause
and think, and then perhaps, despite the adamantive philosophy of
your unbelief, you may recognize the sentiments I have; or on some
still and luminous night, moonless, drive out to that old wood and by
yourself, even now, with such great washings of rains and cleansing
of snows and storms of wind, go to the rock where the girl was found
and see how your nerves will quiver, or how your heart will throb;
or, passing down the road, draw rein at the cottage where I stopped,
and, saying naught to any one, place yourself where I stood and wait.
I myself would not willingly try that visit over again, not that
I dread anything of harm from such an act, but because I have
been there once before and have had enough. But if I never see
that strange visitor again, I will see the murderer. Of that I am
convinced. I have firm reliance in law when it is honestly employed
to detect crime or protect the wronged. I have faith in that subtle
sympathy, which connects us with the dead. I feel that without it,
love would be but a thread broken by the last breathing of our lungs,
and memory nothing but an intellectual frigidity, to be melted into
mist as we approach the haven of the hereafter. The dead appeal to us
by the mesmeric agency of their immortality; they throw out, through
every movement of the world’s circumstances and events, a suggestion
of their needs, their condition, and their destiny. They are like the
history of the past sublimated by the eloquence of immutable truth,
and are sanctified by a sleep that has eternal life within its closed
lids. They have, too, a sympathy in retort with us. As naught of the
material can suffer annihilation, so the soul, being indestructible,
permeates the air we breathe as do those revived plants of perfume
that last fall we might have fancied dead and beyond all chance of
life again. If that vision was a ghost, its purpose will be revealed;
for it is impossible to suppose that the Ruler of the Universe, who
says a sparrow shall not fall without his knowledge, would permit
so strange an occurrence to happen without having an intention. What
that intention was, I for one, if only one, shall wait patiently to
see.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
pg vii Changed VIII. The Murder Rock to: Murder-Rock
pg 10 Added word that after: instant search,—a search
pg 16 Removed comma after: changes and attacks. Man, exposed
pg 62 Changed My route at night to the Murder Rock to: Murder-Rock
pg 111 Changed She looks like a child begining to: beginning
pg 130 Changed trouble and irritation and susprise to: surprise
pg 141 Changed despite the adamantive philosphy to: philosophy