to whom Colonel Demarion was known by name only, and forthwith he
reappeared to overwhelm the representative of his State with apologies
for the uncourteous reception which had been given him, and to express
his now very sincere regrets that the house offered no suitable
accommodation for the gentleman. Satisfied as to the safety of his
chattels, the Colonel generously dismissed the idea of having anything
either to resent or to forgive; and assured the worthy host that he
would accept of no exclusive indulgences.
In spite of which the landlord bustled about to bring in a separate
table, on which he spread a clean coarse cloth, and a savory supper of
broiled ham, hot corncakes, and coffee; every few minutes stopping to
renew his apologies, and even appearing to grow confidentially
communicative regarding his domestic economies; until the hungry
traveller cut him short with "Don't say another word about it, my
friend; you have not a spare sleeping-room, and that is enough. Find me
a corner--a clean corner"--looking round upon the most unclean corners
of that room--"perhaps up-stairs somewhere, and----"
"Ah! _upsta'rs_, Gen'ral. Now, that's jest what I had in my mind to ax
you. Fact is ther' _is_ a spar' room upsta'rs, as comfortable a room as
the best of folks can wish; but----"
"But it's crammed with sleeping folks, so there's an end of it," cried
the senator, thoroughly bored.
"No, sir, ain't no person in it; and ther' ain't no person likely to be
in it 'cept 'tis _yerself_, Colonel Demarion. Leastways----"
After a good deal of hesitation and embarrassment, the host, in
mysterious whispers, imparted the startling fact that this most
desirable sleeping room was _haunted_; that the injury he had sustained
in consequence had compelled him to fasten it up altogether; that he had
come to be very suspicious of admitting strangers, and had limited his
custom of late to what the bar could supply, keeping the matter hushed
up in the hope that it might be the sooner forgotten by the neighbors;
but that in the case of Colonel Demarion he had now made bold to mention
it; "as I can't but think, sir," he urged, "you'd find it prefer'ble to
sleepin' on the floor or sittin' up all night along ov these loafers.
Fer if 'tis any deceivin' trick got up in the house, maybe they won't
try it on, sir, to a gentleman of your reputation."
Colonel Demarion became interested in the landlord's confidences, but
could only gather in further explanation that for some time past all
travellers who had occupied that room had "made off in the middle of the
night, never showin' their faces at the inn again;" that on endeavoring
to arrest one or more in their nocturnal flight, they--all more or less
terrified--had insisted on escaping without a moment's delay, assigning
no other reason than that they had seen a ghost. "Not that folks seem to
get much harm by it, Colonel--not by the way they makes off without
paying a cent of money!"
Great indeed was the satisfaction evinced by the victim of unpaid bills
on the Colonel's declaring that the haunted chamber was the very room
for him. "If to be turned out of my bed at midnight is all I have to
fear, we will see who comes off master in my case. So, Mr. Landlord, let
the chamber be got ready directly, and have a good fire built there at
once."
The exultant host hurried away to confide the great news to Jo, and with
him to make the necessary preparations. "Come what will, Jo, Colonel
Demarion ain't the man to make off without paying down good money for
his accommodations."
In reasonable time, Colonel Demarion was beckoned out of the public
room, and conducted up-stairs by the landlord, who, after receiving a
cheerful "good-night," paused on the landing to hear his guest bolt and
bar the door within, and then push a piece of furniture against it.
"Ah," murmured the host, as a sort of misgiving came over him, "if a
apparishum has a mind to come thar, 'tain't all the bolts and bars in
South Carolina as 'll kip'en away."
But the Colonel's precaution of securing his door, as also that of
placing his revolvers in readiness, had not the slightest reference to
the reputed ghost. Spiritual disturbances of such kind he feared not.
Spirits _tangible_ were already producing ominous demonstrations in the
rooms below, nor was it possible to conjecture what troubles these might
evolve. Glad enough to escape from the noisy company, he took a survey
of his evil-reputed chamber. The only light was that of the roaring,
crackling, blazing wood-fire, and no other was needed. And what
storm-benighted traveller, when fierce winds and rains are lashing
around his lodging, can withstand the cheering influences of a glorious
log-fire? especially if, as in that wooden tenement, that fire be of
abundant pine-knots. It rivals the glare of gas and the glow of a
furnace; it charms away the mustiness and fustiness of years, and causes
all that is dull and dead around to laugh and dance in its bright light.
By the illumination of just such a fire, Colonel Demarion observed that
the apartment offered nothing worthier of remark than that the furniture
was superior to anything that might be expected in a small wayside
tavern. In truth, the landlord had expended a considerable sum in
fitting up this, his finest chamber, and had therefore sufficient reason
to bemoan its unprofitableness.
Having satisfied himself as to his apparent security, the senator
thought no more of spirits palpable or impalpable; but to the far graver
issues of the convention his thoughts reverted. It was yet early; he
lighted a cigar, and in full appreciation of his retirement, took out
his note-book and plunged into the affairs of state. Now and then he was
recalled to the circumstances of his situation by the swaggering tread
of unsteady feet about the house, or when the boisterous shouts below
raged above the outside storm; but even then he only glanced up from his
papers to congratulate himself upon his agreeable seclusion.
Thus he sat for above an hour, then he heaped fresh logs upon the
hearth, looked again to his revolvers, and retired to rest.
The house-clock was striking twelve as the Colonel awoke. He awoke
suddenly from a sound sleep, flashing, as it were, into full
consciousness, his mind and memory clear, all his faculties invigorated,
his ideas undisturbed, but with a perfect conviction that he was not
alone.
He lifted his head. A man was standing a few feet from the bed, and
between it and the fire, which was still burning, and burning brightly
enough to display every object in the room, and to define the outline of
the intruder clearly. His dress also and his features were plainly
distinguishable: the dress was a travelling-costume, in fashion somewhat
out of date; the features wore a mournful and distressed expression--the
eyes were fixed upon the Colonel. The right arm hung down, and the hand,
partially concealed, might, for aught the Colonel knew, be grasping one
of his own revolvers; the left arm was folded against the waist. The man
seemed about to advance still closer to the bed, and returned the
occupant's gaze with a fixed stare.
"Stand, or I'll fire!" cried the Colonel, taking in all this at a
glance, and starting up in his bed, revolver in hand.
The man remained still.
"What is your business here?" demanded the statesman, thinking he was
addressing one of the roughs from below.
The man was silent.
"Leave this room, if you value your life," shouted the indignant
soldier, pointing his revolver.
The man was motionless.
"RETIRE! or by heaven I'll send a bullet through you!"
But the man moved not an inch.
The Colonel fired. The bullet lodged in the breast of the stranger, but
he started not. The soldier leaped to the floor and fired again. The
shot entered the heart, pierced the body, and lodged in the wall beyond;
and the Colonel beheld the hole where the bullet had entered, and the
firelight glimmering through it. And yet the intruder stirred not.
Astounded, the Colonel dropped his revolver, and stood face to face
before the unmoved man.
"Colonel Demarion," spake the deep solemn voice of the perforated
stranger, "in vain you shoot me--I am dead already."
The soldier, with all his bravery, gasped, spellbound. The firelight
gleamed through the hole in the body, and the eyes of the shooter were
riveted there.
"Fear nothing," spake the mournful presence; "I seek but to divulge my
wrongs. Until my death shall be avenged my unquiet spirit lingers here.
Listen."
Speechless, motionless was the statesman; and the mournful apparition
thus slowly and distinctly continued:
"Four years ago I travelled with one I trusted. We lodged here. That
night my comrade murdered me. He plunged a dagger into my heart while I
slept. He covered the wound with a plaster. He feigned to mourn my
death. He told the people here I had died of heart complaint; that I had
long been ailing. I had gold and treasures. With my treasure secreted
beneath his garments he paraded mock grief at my grave. Then he
departed. In distant parts he sought to forget his crime; but his stolen
gold brought him only the curse of an evil conscience. Rest and peace
are not for him. He now prepares to leave his native land forever. Under
an assumed name that man is this night in Charleston. In a few hours he
will sail for Europe. Colonel Demarion, you must prevent it. Justice and
humanity demand that a murderer roam not at large, nor squander more of
the wealth that is by right my children's."
The spirit paused. To the extraordinary revelation the Colonel had
listened in rapt astonishment. He gazed at the presence, at the
firelight glimmering through it--through the very place where a human
heart would be--and he felt that he was indeed in the presence of a
supernatural being. He thought of the landlord's story; but while
earnestly desiring to sift the truth of the mystery, words refused to
come to his aid.
"Do you hesitate?" said the mournful spirit. "Will _you_ also flee, when
my orphan children cry for retribution?" Seeming to anticipate the will
of the Colonel, "I await your promise, senator," he said. "There is no
time to lose."
With a mighty effort, the South Carolinian said, "I promise. What would
you have me do?"
In the same terse, solemn manner, the ghostly visitor gave the real and
assumed names of the murderer, described his person and dress at the
present time, described a certain curious ring he was then wearing,
together with other distinguishing characteristics: all being carefully
noted down by Colonel Demarion, who, by degrees, recovered his
self-possession, and pledged himself to use every endeavor to bring the
murderer to justice.
Then, with a portentous wave of the hand, "It is well," said the
apparition. "Not until the spirit of my murderer shall be separated from
the mortal clay can _my_ spirit rest in peace." And vanished.
Half-past six in the morning was the appointed time for the steamer to
leave Charleston; and the Colonel lost not a moment in preparing to
depart. As he hurried down the stairs he encountered the landlord,
who--his eyes rolling in terror--made an attempt to speak. Unheeding,
except to demand his carriage, the Colonel pushed past him, and effected
a quick escape toward the back premises, shouting lustily for "Jo" and
"Plato," and for his carriage to be got ready immediately. A few minutes
more, and the bewildered host was recalled to the terrible truth by the
noise of the carriage dashing through the yard and away down the road;
and it was some miles nearer Charleston before the unfortunate man
ceased to peer after it in the darkness--as if by so doing he could
recover damages--and bemoan to Jo the utter ruin of his house and
hopes.
Thirty miles of hard driving had to be accomplished in little more than
five hours. No great achievement under favorable circumstances; but the
horses were only half refreshed from their yesterday's journey, and
though the storm was over, the roads were in a worse condition than
ever.
Colonel Demarion resolved to be true to his promise; and fired by a
curiosity to investigate the extraordinary communication which had been
revealed to him, urged on his horses, and reached the wharf at
Charleston just as the steamer was being loosed from her moorings.
He hailed her. "Stop her! Business with the captain! STOP HER!"
Her machinery was already in motion; her iron lungs were puffing forth
dense clouds of smoke and steam; and as the Colonel shouted--the crowd
around, from sheer delight in shouting, echoing his "Stop her! stop
her!"--the voices on land were confounded with the voices of the
sailors, the rattling of chains, and the haulings of ropes.
Among the passengers standing to wave farewells to their friends on the
wharf were some who recognised Colonel Demarion, and drew the captain's
attention toward him; and as he continued vehemently to gesticulate,
that officer, from his post of observation, demanded the nature of the
business which should require the ship's detention. Already the steamer
was clear of the wharf. In another minute she might be beyond reach of
the voice; therefore, failing by gestures and entreaties to convince the
captain of the importance of his errand, Colonel Demarion, in
desperation, cried at the top of his voice, "A murderer on board! For
God's sake, STOP!" He wished to have made this startling declaration in
private, but not a moment was to be lost; and the excitement around him
was intense.
In the midst of the confusion another cry of "Man overboard!" might have
been heard in a distant part of the ship, had not the attention of the
crowd been fastened on the Colonel. Such a cry was, however, uttered,
offering a still more urgent motive for stopping; and the steamer being
again made fast, Colonel Demarion was received on board.
"Let not a soul leave the vessel!" was his first and prompt suggestion;
and the order being issued he drew the captain aside, and concisely
explained his grave commission. The captain thereupon conducted him to
his private room, and summoned the steward, before whom the details were
given, and the description of the murderer was read over. The steward,
after considering attentively, seemed inclined to associate the
description with that of a passenger whose remarkably dejected
appearance had already attracted his observation. In such a grave
business it was, however, necessary to proceed with the utmost caution,
and the "passenger-book" was produced. Upon reference to its pages, the
three gentlemen were totally dismayed by the discovery that the name of
this same dejected individual was that under which, according to the
apparition, the murderer had engaged his passage.
"I am here to charge that man with murder," said Colonel Demarion. "He
must be arrested."
Horrified as the captain was at this astounding declaration, yet, on
account of the singular and unusual mode by which the Colonel had become
possessed of the facts, and the impossibility of proving the charge, he
hesitated in consenting to the arrest of a passenger. The steward
proposed that they should repair to the saloons and deck, and while
conversing with one or another of the passengers, mention--as it were
casually--in the hearing of the suspected party his own proper name, and
observe the effect produced on him. To this they agreed, and without
loss of time joined the passengers, assigning some feasible cause for a
short delay of the ship.
The saloon was nearly empty, and while the steward went below, the other
two repaired to the deck, where they observed a crowd gathered seaward,
apparently watching something over the ship's side.
During the few minutes which had detained the captain in this
necessarily hurried business, a boat had been lowered, and some sailors
had put off in her to rescue the person who was supposed to have fallen
overboard; and it was only now, on joining the crowd, that the captain
learned the particulars of the accident. "Who was it?" "What was he
like?" they exclaimed simultaneously. That a man had fallen overboard
was all that could be ascertained. Some one had seen him run across the
deck, looking wildly about him. A splash in the water had soon afterward
attracted attention to the spot, and a body had since been seen
struggling on the surface. The waves were rough after the storm, and
thick with seaweed, and the sailors had as yet missed the body. The two
gentlemen took their post among the watchers, and kept their eyes
intently upon the waves, and upon the sailors battling against them. Ere
long they see the body rise again to the surface. Floated on a powerful
wave, they can for the few moments breathlessly scrutinize it. The color
of the dress is observed. A face of agony upturned displays a peculiar
contour of forehead; the hair, the beard; and now he struggles--an arm
is thrown up, and a remarkable ring catches the Colonel's eye. "Great
heavens! The whole description tallies!" The sailors pull hard for the
spot, the next stroke and they will rescue----
A monster shark is quicker than they. The sea is tinged with blood. The
man is no more!
Shocked and silent, Colonel Demarion and the captain quitted the deck
and resummoned the steward, who had, but without success, visited the
berths and various parts of the ship for the individual in question.
Every hole and corner was now, by the captain's order carefully
searched, but in vain; and as no further information concerning the
missing party could be obtained, and the steward persisted in his
statement regarding his general appearance, they proceeded to examine
his effects. In these he was identified beyond a doubt. Papers and
relics proved not only his guilt but his remorse; remorse which, as the
apparition had said, permitted him no peace in his wanderings.
Those startling words, "A murderer on board!" had doubtless struck fresh
terror to his heart and, unable to face the accusation, he had thus
terminated his wretched existence.
Colonel Demarion revisited the little tavern, and on several occasions
occupied the haunted chamber; but never again had he the honor of
receiving a midnight commission from a ghostly visitor, and never again
had the landlord to bemoan the flight of a non-paying customer.
PICHON & SONS, OF THE CROIX ROUSSE.
Giraudier, _pharmacien, premiere classe_, is the legend, recorded in
huge, ill-proportioned letters, which directs the attention of the
stranger to the most prosperous-looking shop in the grand _place_ of La
Croix Rousse, a well-known suburb of the beautiful city of Lyons, which
has its share of the shabby gentility and poor pretence common to the
suburban commerce of great towns.
Giraudier is not only _pharmacien_ but _proprietaire_, though not by
inheritance; his possession of one of the prettiest and most prolific of
the small vineyards in the beautiful suburb, and a charming inconvenient
house, with low ceilings, liliputian bedrooms, and a profusion of
_persiennes_, _jalousies_, and _contrevents_, comes by purchase. This
enviable little _terre_ was sold by the Nation, when that terrible
abstraction transacted the public business of France; and it was bought
very cheaply by the strong-minded father of the Giraudier of the
present, who was not disturbed by the evil reputation which the place
had gained, at a time the peasants of France, having been bullied into a
renunciation of religion, eagerly cherished superstition. The Giraudier
of the present cherishes the particular superstition in question
affectionately; it reminds him of an uncommonly good bargain made in his
favor, which is always a pleasant association of ideas, especially to a
Frenchman, still more especially to a Lyonnais; and it attracts
strangers to his _pharmacie_, and leads to transactions in _Grand
Chartreuse_ and _Creme de Roses_, ensuing naturally on the narration of
the history of Pichon & Sons. Giraudier is not of aristocratic
principles and sympathies; on the contrary, he has decided republican
leanings, and considers _Le Progres_ a masterpiece of journalistic
literature; but, as he says simply and strongly, "it is not because a
man is a marquis that one is not to keep faith with him; a bad action is
not good because it harms a good-for-nothing of a noble; the more when
that good-for-nothing is no longer a noble, but _pour rire_." At the
easy price of acquiescence in these sentiments, the stranger hears one
of the most authentic, best-remembered, most popular of the many
traditions of the bad old times "before General Bonaparte," as
Giraudier, who has no sympathy with any later designation of _le grand
homme_, calls the Emperor, whose statue one can perceive--a speck in the
distance--from the threshold of the _pharmacie_.
The Marquis de Senanges, in the days of the triumph of the great
Revolution, was fortunate enough to be out of France, and wise enough to
remain away from that country, though he persisted, long after the old
_regime_ was as dead as the Ptolemies, in believing it merely suspended,
and the Revolution a lamentable accident of vulgar complexion, but
happily temporary duration. The Marquis de Senanges, who affected the
_style regence_, and was the politest of infidels and the most refined
of voluptuaries, got on indifferently in inappreciative foreign parts;
but the members of his family--his brother and sisters, two of whom were
guillotined, while the third escaped to Savoy and found refuge there in
a convent of her order--got on exceedingly ill in France. If the
_ci-devant_ Marquis had had plenty of money to expend in such feeble
imitations of his accustomed pleasures as were to be had out of Paris,
he would not have been much affected by the fate of his relatives. But
money became exceedingly scarce; the Marquis had actually beheld many of
his peers reduced to the necessity of earning the despicable but
indispensable article after many ludicrous fashions. And the duration of
this absurd upsetting of law, order, privilege, and property began to
assume unexpected and very unpleasant proportions.
The Chateau de Senanges, with its surrounding lands, was confiscated to
the Nation, during the third year of the "emigration" of the Marquis de
Senanges; and the greater part of the estate was purchased by a thrifty,
industrious, and rich _avocat_, named Prosper Alix, a widower with an
only daughter. Prosper Alix enjoyed the esteem of the entire
neighborhood. First, he was rich; secondly, he was of a taciturn
disposition, and of a neutral tint in politics. He had done well under
the old _regime_ and, he was doing well under the new--thank God, or the
Supreme Being, or the First Cause, or the goddess Reason herself, for
all;--he would have invoked Dagon, Moloch, or Kali, quite as readily as
the Saints and the Madonna, who has gone so utterly out of fashion of
late. Nobody was afraid to speak out before Prosper Alix; he was not a
spy; and though a cold-hearted man, except in the instance of his only
daughter, he never harmed anybody.
Very likely it was because he was the last person in the vicinity whom
anybody would have suspected of being applied to by the dispossessed
family, that the son of the Marquis' brother, a young man of promise, of
courage, of intellect, and of morals of decidedly a higher calibre than
those actually and traditionally imputed to the family, sought the aid
of the new possessor of the Chateau de Senanges, which had changed its
old title for that of the Maison Alix. The father of M. Paul de Senanges
had perished in the September massacres; his mother had been guillotined
at Lyons; and he--who had been saved by the interposition of a young
comrade, whose father had, in the wonderful rotations of the wheel of
Fate, acquired authority in the place where he had once esteemed the
notice of the nephew of the Marquis a crowning honor for his son--had
passed through the common vicissitudes of that dreadful time, which
would take a volume for their recital in each individual instance.