stood, all the ghosts became quiet, and ceased moving. Then Teig
understood that it was trying to keep him from going in, that they were.
He walked a couple of yards forwards, and immediately the whole crowd
rushed together towards the spot to which he was moving, and they stood
so thickly together that it seemed to him that he never could break
through them, even though he had a mind to try. But he had no mind to
try it. He went back broken and dispirited, and when he had gone a
couple of hundred yards from the burying-ground, he stood again, for he
did not know what way he was to go. He heard the voice of the corpse in
his ear, saying, "Teampoll-Ronan," and the skinny hand was stretched out
again, pointing him out the road.
As tired as he was, he had to walk, and the road was neither short nor
even. The night was darker than ever, and it was difficult to make his
way. Many was the toss he got, and many a bruise they left on his body.
At last he saw Teampoll-Ronan from him in the distance, standing in the
middle of the burying-ground. He moved over towards it, and thought he
was all right and safe, when he saw no ghosts nor anything else on the
wall, and he thought he would never be hindered now from leaving his
load off him at last. He moved over to the gate, but as he was passing
in, he tripped on the threshold. Before he could recover himself,
something that he could not see seized him by the neck, by the hands,
and by the feet, and bruised him, and shook him, and choked him, until
he was nearly dead; and at last he was lifted up, and carried more than
a hundred yards from that place, and then thrown down in an old dyke,
with the corpse still clinging to him.
He rose up, bruised and sore, but feared to go near the place again, for
he had seen nothing the time he was thrown down and carried away.
"You corpse, up on my back?" said he, "shall I go over again to the
churchyard?"--but the corpse never answered him. "That's a sign you
don't wish me to try it again," said Teig.
He was now in great doubt as to what he ought to do, when the corpse
spoke in his ear, and said, "Imlogue-Fada."
"Oh, murder!" said Teig, "must I bring you there? If you keep me long
walking like this, I tell you I'll fall under you."
He went on, however, in the direction the corpse pointed out to him. He
could not have told, himself, how long he had been going, when the dead
man behind suddenly squeezed him, and said, "There!"
Teig looked from him, and he saw a little low wall, that was so broken
down in places that it was no wall at all. It was in a great wide field,
in from the road; and only for three or four great stones at the
corners, that were more like rocks than stones, there was nothing to
show that there was either graveyard or burying-ground there.
"Is this Imlogue-Fada? Shall I bury you here?" said Teig.
"Yes," said the voice.
"But I see no grave or gravestone, only this pile of stones," said Teig.
The corpse did not answer, but stretched out its long fleshless hand to
show Teig the direction in which he was to go. Teig went on accordingly,
but he was greatly terrified, for he remembered what had happened to him
at the last place. He went on, "with his heart in his mouth," as he said
himself afterwards; but when he came to within fifteen or twenty yards
of the little low square wall, there broke out a flash of lightning,
bright yellow and red, with blue streaks in it, and went round about the
wall in one course, and it swept by as fast as the swallow in the
clouds, and the longer Teig remained looking at it the faster it went,
till at last it became like a bright ring of flame round the old
graveyard, which no one could pass without being burnt by it. Teig never
saw, from the time he was born, and never saw afterwards, so wonderful
or so splendid a sight as that was. Round went the flame, white and
yellow and blue sparks leaping out from it as it went, and although at
first it had been no more than a thin, narrow line, it increased slowly
until it was at last a great broad band, and it was continually getting
broader and higher, and throwing out more brilliant sparks, till there
was never a colour on the ridge of the earth that was not to be seen in
that fire; and lightning never shone and flame never flamed that was so
shining and so bright as that.
Teig was amazed; he was half dead with fatigue, and he had no courage
left to approach the wall. There fell a mist over his eyes, and there
came a _soorawn_ in his head, and he was obliged to sit down upon a
great stone to recover himself. He could see nothing but the light, and
he could hear nothing but the whirr of it as it shot round the paddock
faster than a flash of lightning.
As he sat there on the stone, the voice whispered once more in his ear,
"Kill-Breedya"; and the dead man squeezed him so tightly that he cried
out. He rose again, sick, tired, and trembling, and went forward as he
was directed. The wind was cold, and the road was bad, and the load upon
his back was heavy, and the night was dark, and he himself was nearly
worn out, and if he had had very much farther to go he must have fallen
dead under his burden.
At last the corpse stretched out its hand, and said to him, "Bury me
there."
"This is the last burying-place," said Teig in his own mind; "and the
little grey man said I'd be allowed to bury him in some of them, so it
must be this; it can't be but they'll let him in here."
The first, faint streak of the _ring of day_ was appearing in the east,
and the clouds were beginning to catch fire, but it was darker than
ever, for the moon was set, and there were no stars.
"Make haste, make haste!" said the corpse; and Teig hurried forward as
well as he could to the graveyard, which was a little place on a bare
hill, with only a few graves in it. He walked boldly in through the open
gate, and nothing touched him, nor did he either hear or see anything.
He came to the middle of the ground, and then stood up and looked round
him for a spade or shovel to make a grave. As he was turning round and
searching, he suddenly perceived what startled him greatly--a newly-dug
grave right before him. He moved over to it, and looked down, and there
at the bottom he saw a black coffin. He clambered down into the hole and
lifted the lid, and found that (as he thought it would be) the coffin
was empty. He had hardly mounted up out of the hole, and was standing on
the brink, when the corpse, which had clung to him for more than eight
hours, suddenly relaxed its hold of his neck, and loosened its shins
from round his hips, and sank down with a _plop_ into the open coffin.
Teig fell down on his two knees at the brink of the grave, and gave
thanks to God. He made no delay then, but pressed down the coffin lid in
its place, and threw in the clay over it with his two hands, and when
the grave was filled up, he stamped and leaped on it with his feet,
until it was firm and hard, and then he left the place.
The sun was fast rising as he finished his work, and the first thing he
did was to return to the road, and look out for a house to rest himself
in. He found an inn at last; and lay down upon a bed there, and slept
till night. Then he rose up and ate a little, and fell asleep again till
morning. When he awoke in the morning he hired a horse and rode home. He
was more than twenty-six miles from home where he was, and he had come
all that way with the dead body on his back in one night.
All the people at his own home thought that he must have left the
country, and they rejoiced greatly when they saw him come back. Everyone
began asking him where he had been, but he would not tell anyone except
his father.
He was a changed man from that day. He never drank too much; he never
lost his money over cards; and especially he would not take the world
and be out late by himself of a dark night.
He was not a fortnight at home until he married Mary, the girl he had
been in love with, and it's at their wedding the sport was, and it's he
was the happy man from that day forward, and it's all I wish that we may
be as happy as he was.
* * * * *
GLOSSARY.--_Rann_, a stanza; _kailee_ (_céilidhe_), a visit in
the evening; _wirra_ (_a mhuire_), "Oh, Mary!" an exclamation like the
French _dame_; _rib_, a single hair (in Irish, _ribe_); _a lock_
(_glac_), a bundle or wisp, or a little share of anything; _kippeen_
(_cipín_), a rod or twig; _boreen_ (_bóithrín_), a lane; _bodach_, a
clown; _soorawn_ (_suarán_), vertigo. _Avic_ (_a Mhic_)=my son, or
rather, Oh, son. Mic is the vocative of Mac.
VI
THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS: OR THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN
By SIR EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to me
one day, as if between jest and earnest--"Fancy! since we last met, I
have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."
"Really haunted?--and by what?--ghosts?"
"Well, I can't answer these questions--all I know is this--six weeks ago
I and my wife were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a quiet
street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill, 'Apartments
Furnished.' The situation suited us: we entered the house--liked the
rooms--engaged them by the week--and left them the third day. No power
on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay longer, and I don't
wonder at it."
"What did you see?"
"Excuse me--I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious
dreamer--nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my
affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence of
your own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so much what we saw or
heard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were the dupes of our
own excited fancy, or the victims of imposture in others) that drove us
away, as it was an undefinable terror which seized both of us whenever
we passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room, in which we
neither saw nor heard anything. And the strangest marvel of all was,
that for once in my life I agreed with my wife--silly woman though she
be--and allowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a
fourth in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning, I summoned the
woman who kept the house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms
did not quite suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said,
dryly: 'I know why; you have stayed longer than any other lodger; few
ever stayed a second night; none before you, a third. But I take it they
have been very kind to you.'
"'They--who?' I asked, affecting a smile.
"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them; I
remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not as a
servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I don't
care--I'm old, and must die soon, anyhow; and then I shall be with them,
and in this house still.' The woman spoke with so dreary a calmness,
that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my conversing with her
farther. I paid for my week, and too happy were I and my wife to get off
so cheaply."
"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better than to
sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which you
left so ignominiously."
My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straight
towards the house thus indicated.
It is situated on the north side of Oxford Street, in a dull but
respectable thoroughfare. I found the house shut up--no bill at the
window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy,
collecting pewter pots at the neighbouring areas, said to me, "Do you
want anyone in that house, sir?"
"Yes, I heard it was to let."
"Let!--why, the woman who kept it is dead--has been dead these three
weeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr J---- offered
ever so much. He offered mother, who chars for him, £1 a week just to
open and shut the windows, and she would not."
"Would not!--and why?"
"The house is haunted; and the old woman who kept it was found dead in
her bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled her."
"Pooh!--you speak of Mr J----. Is he the owner of the house?"
"Yes."
"Where does he live?"
"In G---- Street, No. ----."
"What is he?--in any business?"
"No, sir--nothing particular; a single gentleman."
I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal information, and
proceeded to Mr J----, in G----Street, which was close by the street
that boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to find Mr J---- at
home--an elderly man, with intelligent countenance and prepossessing
manners.
I communicated my name and my business frankly. I said I heard the house
was considered to be haunted--that I had a strong desire to examine a
house with so equivocal a reputation--that I should be greatly obliged
if he would allow me to hire it, though only for a night. I was willing
to pay for that privilege whatever he might be inclined to ask. "Sir,"
said Mr J----, with great courtesy, "the house is at your service, for
as short or as long a time as you please. Rent is out of the
question--the obligation will be on my side should you be able to
discover the cause of the strange phenomena which at present deprive it
of all value. I cannot let it, for I cannot even get a servant to keep
it in order or answer the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I may
use that expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night the
disturbances are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more alarming
character.
"The poor old woman who died in it three weeks ago was a pauper whom I
took out of a workhouse, for in her childhood she had been known to some
of my family, and had once been in such good circumstances that she had
rented that house of my uncle. She was a woman of superior education and
strong mind, and was the only person I could ever induce to remain in
the house. Indeed, since her death, which was sudden, and the coroner's
inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighbourhood, I have so
despaired of finding any person to take charge of it, much more a
tenant, that I would willingly let it rent free for a year to anyone who
would pay its rates and taxes."
"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister character?"
"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old woman
I spoke of said it was haunted when she rented it between thirty and
forty years ago. The fact is that my life has been spent in the East
Indies and in the civil service of the Company. I returned to England
last year on inheriting the fortune of an uncle, amongst whose
possessions was the house in question. I found it shut up and
uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that no one would inhabit
it. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a story. I spent some money in
repainting and roofing it--added to its old-fashioned furniture a few
modern articles--advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. He was
a colonel retired on half-pay. He came in with his family, a son and a
daughter, and four or five servants: they all left the house the next
day, and although they deponed that they had all seen something
different, that something was equally terrible to all. I really could
not in conscience sue, or even blame, the colonel for breach of
agreement.
"Then I put in the old woman I have spoken of, and she was empowered to
let the house in apartments. I never had one lodger who stayed more than
three days. I do not tell you their stories--to no two lodgers have
there been exactly the same phenomena repeated. It is better that you
should judge for yourself, than enter the house with an imagination
influenced by previous narratives; only be prepared to see and to hear
something or other, and take whatever precautions you yourself please."
"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that house?"
"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone in
that house. My curiosity is not satisfied, but it is quenched. I have no
desire to renew the experiment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, that
I am not sufficiently candid; and unless your interest be exceedingly
eager and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly add that I advise you
_not_ to pass a night in that house."
"My interest _is_ exceedingly keen," said I, "and though only a coward
will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to him, yet my
nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have the
right to rely on them--even in a haunted house."
Mr J---- said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of his
bureau, gave them to me,--and thanking him cordially for his frankness,
and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off my prize.
Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home I summoned my
confidential servant,--a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper, and
as free from superstitious prejudice as anyone I could think of.
"F----," said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were at
not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted by
a headless apparition? Well, I have heard of a house in London which, I
have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep there
to-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that something will allow
itself to be seen or to be heard--something, perhaps, excessively
horrible. Do you think, if I take you with me, I may rely on your
presence of mind, whatever may happen?"
"Oh, sir! pray trust me," answered F----, grinning with delight.
"Very well--then here are the keys of the house--this is the address. Go
now--select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not
been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire--air the bed well--see, of
course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take with you my
revolver and my dagger--so much for my weapons--arm yourself equally
well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a
sorry couple of Englishmen."
I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had
not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had
plighted my honour. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining,
read, as is my habit. The volume I selected was one of Macaulay's
Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there
was so much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the
subjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the influences of
superstitious fancy.
Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and
strolled leisurely towards the haunted house. I took with me a favourite
dog--an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant bull-terrier--a dog fond
of prowling about strange ghostly corners and passages at night in
search of rats--a dog of dogs for a ghost.
It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast.
Still, there was a moon--faint and sickly, but still a moon--and if the
clouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter.
I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful
smile.
"All right, sir, and very comfortable."
"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard anything
remarkable?"
"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer."
"What?--what?"
"The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or twice small noises
like whispers close at my ear--nothing more."
"You are not at all frightened?"
"I! not a bit of it, sir"; and the man's bold look reassured me on one
point--viz. that, happen what might, he would not desert me.
We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my attention was now
drawn to my dog. He had at first ran in eagerly enough, but had sneaked
back to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out. After
patting him on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog seemed to
reconcile himself to the situation and followed me and F---- through the
house, but keeping close at my heels instead of hurrying inquisitively
in advance, which was his usual and normal habit in all strange places.
We first visited the subterranean apartments, the kitchen and other
offices, and especially the cellars, in which last there were two or
three bottles of wine still left in a bin, covered with cobwebs, and
evidently, by their appearance, undisturbed for many years. It was clear
that the ghosts were not wine-bibbers.
For the rest we discovered nothing of interest. There was a gloomy
little backyard, with very high walls. The stones of this yard were very
damp--and what with the damp, and what with the dust and smoke-grime on
the pavement, our feet left a slight impression where we passed. And now
appeared the first strange phenomenon witnessed by myself in this
strange abode. I saw, just before me, the print of a foot suddenly form
itself, as it were. I stopped, caught hold of my servant, and pointed to
it. In advance of that footprint as suddenly dropped another. We both
saw it. I advanced quickly to the place; the footprint kept advancing
before me, a small footprint--the foot of a child: the impression was
too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but it seemed to us both
that it was the print of a naked foot. This phenomenon ceased when we
arrived at the opposite wall, nor did it repeat itself on returning.
We remounted the stairs, and entered the rooms on the ground floor, a
dining parlour, a small back-parlour, and a still smaller third room
that had been probably appropriated to a footman--all still as death. We
then visited the drawing-rooms, which seemed fresh and new. In the front
room I seated myself in an armchair. F---- placed on the table the
candlestick with which he had lighted us. I told him to shut the door.
As he turned to do so, a chair opposite to me moved from the wall
quickly and noiselessly, and dropped itself about a yard from my own
chair, immediately fronting it.
"Why, this is better than the turning-tables," said I, with a
half-laugh--and as I laughed, my dog put back his head and howled.
F----, coming back, had not observed the movement of the chair. He
employed himself now in stilling the dog. I continued to gaze on the
chair, and fancied I saw on it a pale blue misty outline of a human
figure, but an outline so indistinct that I could only distrust my own
vision. The dog now was quiet. "Put back that chair opposite to me,"
said I to F----; "put it back to the wall."
F---- obeyed. "Was that you, sir?" said he, turning abruptly.
"I--what!"
"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the shoulder--just
here."
"No," said I. "But we have jugglers present, and though we may not
discover their tricks, we shall catch _them_ before they frighten _us_."
We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms--in fact, they felt so damp
and so chilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We locked the
doors of the drawing-rooms--a precaution which, I should observe, we had
taken with all the rooms we had searched below. The bedroom my servant
had selected for me was the best on the floor--a large one, with two
windows fronting the street. The four-posted bed, which took up no
inconsiderable space, was opposite to the fire, which burned clear and
bright; a door in the wall to the left, between the bed and the window,
communicated with the room which my servant appropriated to himself.
This last was a small room with a sofa-bed, and had no communication
with the landing-place--no other door but that which conducted to the
bedroom I was to occupy. On either side of my fireplace was a cupboard,
without locks, flushed with the wall, and covered with the same
dull-brown paper. We examined these cupboards--only hooks to suspend
female dresses--nothing else; we sounded the walls--evidently solid--the
outer walls of the building. Having finished the survey of these
apartments, warmed myself a few moments, and lighted my cigar, I then,
still accompanied by F----, went forth to complete my reconnoitre. In
the landing-place there was another door; it was closed firmly. "Sir,"
said my servant in surprise, "I unlocked this door with all the others
when I first came; it cannot have got locked from the inside, for it is
a--"