A HAUNTED CASTLE IN IRELAND
In the year 1898 I was spending a few days in Castle Rush, which has
been described by Mr W. T. Stead as the most haunted castle in Ireland.
It is one of the few old Irish castles still inhabited, and is naturally
haunted by the ghosts of the past in every meaning of the word.
At the time of my stay I was recovering from a severe illness, and, in
fact, was sent off to bed immediately upon arrival by my kind hostess,
who, with true hospitality, thought more of her guest's comfort than the
conventionalities of life, and would not hear of my lingering, even to
make acquaintance with my host, on the dark autumnal evening of my
arrival.
This had taken place after driving many miles and waiting for a dreary
long time in the little inn of a small Irish township. My doctor would
not hear of any railway travelling just then, so the whole forty miles
from my last stopping-place had to be negotiated between the carriages
of my past and present hospitable hosts.
As a matter of fact, I believe I slept in one of the haunted rooms, but
it looked cheerful enough when I entered from the gloom and darkness
outside; and a dainty little dinner sent up by my kind friends below,
and eaten when snugly tucked in between the sheets and resting on soft
downy pillows, was enough to drive all thoughts of ghostly visitors from
my head.
I am thankful to say that I neither heard nor saw anything during my
short visit, and should not even have known that my room had had any
evil reputation but for the visit of an eccentric and clever old lady,
who had been specially asked to the castle to meet me.
After luncheon we adjourned to my bedroom, at her suggestion, and she
said casually:
"Ah, you have this room, I see. It was terribly haunted once, but I held
a sort of little service here some time ago, and cleared them all out."
I must explain that this good lady took a very optimistic view of her
own capacities and powers in general, and spoke--from the psychic point
of view--with the honest pride that a flesh and blood charwoman might
display on going over premises that she had thoroughly scrubbed and
"cleaned out"!
One morning after breakfast, my hostess, Mrs Kent, called to me to come
quickly and see a curious sight. It was a pouring wet day--one of those
days when the heavens open and the rain descends in buckets! I could see
nothing more remarkable than the damp, autumnal leaves, the bare trees
swaying in the wind-washed spaces, and the pouring, ceaseless rain.
"Don't you see that girl over there?"
I looked again, and did see a girl just emerging from a clump of
beeches, and carrying a small trunk upon her head.
"What an extraordinary day to choose for travelling," I said drily.
"Ah, that is Irish superstition!" rejoined my hostess. "That is my last
kitchen-maid you see--she is walking seven miles, with that trunk on
her head, sooner than wait a few hours, when I could have sent her to
the station."
"Is she mad?" was my natural comment.
"Oh no! only desperately frightened. She has not been here a week yet,
and she is much too terrified to be coherent. All I can make out is that
nothing on earth would induce her to spend another night at Rush. I
could have sent her over to Marley easily to-morrow morning at eight
o'clock, but she would not hear of it. And whether she has really seen
anything, or only been frightened by the stories of the other servants,
I don't know. Anyway, she has certainly the courage of her opinions, and
is prepared to suffer for them! I would rather meet half-a-dozen ghosts
than carry that trunk on my head seven miles in this pouring rain." Then
turning round carelessly, she remarked: "I suppose _you_ have not seen
or heard anything, Miss Bates, since you came? I hope not, for I am sure
you are not strong enough for mundane visitors yet, let alone the other
kind."
We were passing through the handsome circular hall at the time, and I
said eagerly: "Oh no! Thank goodness, I've seen and heard nothing. I
don't think I should be allowed to see anything whilst I am so weak and
poorly."
Almost at the moment of saying these words something impelled me to
place my hand upon a particular spot in the great stone wall by my side.
"But there is something _here_ I don't like," I said, tapping
it--"something uncanny--but I don't know what it is."
Mrs Kent made no remark; and I thought no more of the circumstance until
the following year, when I was told by Mr Stead that Mrs Kent was over
in England, and had been lunching with him and asking for me.
"She was giving me a most graphic account of the way you 'spotted' those
skeletons at Rush Castle," he said.
I was completely puzzled by this remark. I had never spotted a single
skeleton to my knowledge, either at Rush or elsewhere, and I told him
so; but he persisted in saying that Mrs Kent had told him a very
different story, and that most certainly she had mentioned me as the
percipient.
"She must have mixed me up with somebody else," was my final comment.
"No doubt many people have queer experiences there, and she might
naturally make such a mistake."
"Well, I gave her your address, and she is writing to ask you to have
tea with her at the club, so you and she can fight it out there," he
said; and the conversation drifted into other channels.
Next afternoon I met Mrs Kent at her club, and before leaving,
fortunately remembered the curious mistake about the skeletons I had
"spotted."
"But you _did_ 'spot' them," she said, laughing. "Don't you remember my
asking you if you had noticed anything curious, or heard or seen
anything, during your visit? At first you said 'Thank goodness, no!' But
immediately afterwards you put your hand on a particular part of the
circular hall, and said: 'There is something uncanny just
here--something I don't like.'"
"Yes; I remember all that. But what of it? You never told me anything
about skeletons."
"Of course not--you were not in a condition of health to discuss such
eerie questions just then. All the same, you had located the exact spot
where only a week before your visit, my husband's agent told him that
two skeletons had been found bricked up!"
She then explained that the agent had been on the estate for many years,
even before the death of the late owner of Rush--her father-in-law.
Having some business with her husband the week before my arrival, this
agent had casually mentioned that he and the former owner had found
these skeletons in the very spot indicated by me, about forty years
previously, and, strange to relate, had bricked them up again instead of
burying them. This last fact may account in part at least for the spooky
reputation of Castle Rush.
All good psychics know that nothing disturbs a spirit so much as any
informality about his funeral arrangements!
To return to my visit to Castle Rush.
Some years previously I had met, on an Orient steamer sailing from
Ceylon to Naples, a brother of the owner of Rush. He was a sailor, and
as hard-headed and practical a man as it has ever been my lot to meet.
It was in no way through meeting him that my visit to Rush came about,
but owing to my acquaintance with Mrs Kent and _her_ family.
I had been greatly taken by the genial common-sense of this Captain
Kent, and was much grieved to hear of his death when I stayed with his
sister-in-law. It had occurred shortly before my visit, and under sad
circumstances.
On the surface he was certainly more lacking in sentiment than anyone I
ever met, but must have been capable of very deep affection. When I met
him he had only been married for a few months. His wife died within two
years of their marriage, and going for a short holiday to Castle Rush
soon afterwards, he said to his sister-in-law:
"_I shall not live a year after her, I know!_" He was the last kind of
man to make such a speech, as both Mrs Kent and I observed when she
mentioned it to me.
"But he was quite right, all the same," she added. "_He died just three
days within the year from the time of his wife's death._" Yet he was an
exceptionally strong, sturdy, and wiry man at the time of his great
sorrow.
From Castle Rush I was going to the south of Ireland to visit relations
at Cork.
On the morning of my departure I was down in the drawing-room, rather
wondering _why_ I had been brought to this old Irish castle. No special
object seemed to have been achieved by my visit. I did not even know
then that I had discovered two skeletons! In those days I found so often
some train of circumstances--a borrowed book, a stranger coming across
my path, some unexpected visit paid, which were later found to have been
factors in a special experience--that I was rather surprised to realise
that I was leaving the "most haunted castle in Ireland" and that nothing
had happened.
But in the very moment of saying this to myself a curiously insistent
impression came to me quite suddenly, and "out of the blue."
The impression was that the brother of my host, Captain Kent, was
wishing very urgently to communicate something through me. I did not
feel equal to taking any message at the time--I have already explained
that I was only just recovering from a severe illness. Lunch and a long
drive to the station and a weary railway journey lay before me, so I
determined to do nothing until I was safely established with my cousins
near Cork.
After a long, cold, and wet journey I arrived in pouring rain, my train
being more than a hour late. The kind General who came to meet me was
still patiently standing on the platform, but one of the two "cars" he
had engaged for me and my baggage had taken itself off! As the rain was
descending in water-spouts, I need scarcely say it was the "covered car"
which had driven away!
This meant a thorough wetting for my cousin and me. How all the luggage
(including a large bicycle, and two people, in addition to the driver)
was ever piled up on that small "outside Irish car" I have never been
able to understand. Suffice it to say the miracle was performed, and we
drove up a hill at an angle of about forty-five degrees into the
bargain!
Clearly these were not ideal conditions for receiving automatic
messages!
I was put to bed at once with hot bottles and hot soup, and soon forgot
my past troubles in a long refreshing sleep.
I was still in the invalid stage of "breakfast in bed," and when this
had been cleared away, the remembrance of Captain Kent flashed into my
mind, and I found pencil and papers at once, in order to redeem my
promise.
The message was rather a curious one, and its opening sentence evidently
referred to the eccentric old lady whom I have mentioned as being asked
to meet me at luncheon at Castle Rush.
So far as I can remember them, the words (very characteristic of Captain
Kent's genial but rather brusque style) ran as follows:--
After speaking of the alleged hauntings at Castle Rush as having only
too much foundation in fact, he went on: "It's all rubbish, that old
woman saying she had cleared them all away! Nothing of the kind. There
are plenty of malicious spirits about still, _and now that an heir is
coming to Rush they are keener than ever to try and work some mischief_.
No use saying anything to Tom (his brother). He will only laugh, and say
it is all skittles. But tell my little sister-in-law to
PRAY--PRAY--PRAY. That is all they need and all she needs either."
Now this was not exactly the message one cared to send to a rather
recent acquaintance. To begin with, the reference to Mrs Kent's valued
friend in the opening sentence was scarcely polite! Then again, the
prophecy of an heir to Rush was one that I regretted should have been
made, as it would probably only lead to disappointment. Mrs Kent's first
child had been a little son, from whose loss she had never recovered.
When I was staying at the castle, two nice little girls, old enough to
come down to early dinner, at our luncheon hour, comprised the family.
Another child was certainly expected to arrive about Christmas-time (my
visit was paid in September), but Mrs Kent herself was fully convinced
that this would be _another girl_, as she said rather sadly. It seemed a
pity to disturb her mind by raising false hopes.
But, as usual, I felt bound to send the message, with the customary
explanations and apologies.
Mrs Kent was greatly interested by it and by the "PRAY--PRAY--PRAY,"
which, as she explained to me, had a very special meaning for her. It
had only struck me as an exceedingly _unlikely_ message for the Captain
Kent I had known, to send to anyone.
I am glad to be able to record that the Christmas gift did arrive in the
shape of a baby boy, "_heir to Rush_," who is still alive and
flourishing, thank God! I hear that he calls himself "the master," with
a true Irish brogue, and lords it over his elder sisters in the regular
chieftain style!
To this year belongs another strong impression of psychic atmosphere,
left in a room which I occupied in the south of England.
It was a most comfortable room, with nothing in the least ghostly about
it. Merely I had an unpleasant feeling that controversies and
discussions had taken place in the room, and that a want of harmony hung
about it in consequence.
On mentioning this rather tentatively to the master of the house--a very
orthodox clergyman--I was told: "Oh dear, no! Nothing of the kind--you
are certainly mistaken!"
But when an opportunity arose I changed my room, and felt very much more
comfortable in consequence of doing so.
Several times I had noticed on the hall table, letters which had come by
post addressed to another clergyman, whose name I had not heard, and
who was certainly not staying in the house. Remarking upon this casually
to a nice young governess one day, she said at once that the gentleman
in question had spent several months with Mr and Mrs Dale in the
Vicarage, but that he had died a few weeks before my arrival. "He slept
in the room you had when you first came, by-the-by. I was so glad when
you changed your room."
"He was a clergyman, I see," was my next remark; and I looked at the
envelope which had led to this explanation.
"Yes; he was in orders, but he had become a complete agnostic for some
years. During the last few weeks of his life--when he had to keep his
bed--Mr Dale was always going up there, and having long arguments and
discussions with him; but I don't suppose it did much good: it only
worried him very much. He was too ill to listen to long arguments then,
and wanted just kind, soothing words, I should have thought."
As the girl retreated to the school-room I naturally pondered over this
fresh testimony to the truth of psychic atmosphere. No sensitive can
question the _fact_, but at present we know little or nothing of the
laws which condition the fact.
My friend Mr W. T. Stead kindly allows me to mention another incident
connected with personal experiences of mine in the year 1898.
In the opening month of that year he lost a much-valued friend, who had
worked for him loyally, both in his office and also with regard to some
of his philanthropic schemes.
This lady in a fit of delirium, incident upon a severe attack of
illness, threw herself out of a window in her flat. A fortnight before
this sad occurrence, she had seen another resident in the same set of
flats throw herself out of the window, and Mr Stead has always feared
that this acted as a suggestion upon her mind in delirium, and led her
to do the same thing. Her own account of the cause of her action differs
somewhat from this impression, as will be seen later.
Mr Stead was naturally greatly affected by Mrs Morris' sudden death and
the circumstances attending it, and having some of her hair cut off
after her death, he sent portions of it to at least twelve well-known
clairvoyants, hoping to receive some satisfactory solution of the
mystery, and also, possibly, a sign decided upon between him and this
lady. They were both interested in psychic matters, and had agreed to
believe in no communications from the other side purporting to come from
one or other of them, unless this preliminary sign were given.
Mrs Besant--an intimate friend of Mr Stead--was one of the oracles
consulted, and was very confident of being able to find out all details,
including the mystic sign.
But both she and Mr Leadbeater were as absolutely unsuccessful as less
gifted mortals proved to be.
In spite of exceptional opportunities for coming in touch with the most
noted psychics, in spite of the valuable clue given by hair cut after
death, the test seemed quite hopeless, since twelve of the best
clairvoyants had been consulted, and all had failed in turn.
A few weeks after hearing about this from Mr Stead, I was invited by an
old friend in London to meet at her house, at luncheon, Miss Rowan
Vincent, a non-professional sensitive, well known to many of my readers.
I had never seen this lady before, and had little speech with her during
the meal.
She was talking very earnestly to a military man--the son-in-law of our
hostess--whilst the latter and I were having an interesting conversation
to ourselves.
General Maxwell, having a train to catch, did not accompany us to the
drawing-room.
On arrival there Miss Rowan Vincent said to me very kindly: "Can I do
anything for _you_ now, Miss Bates? Shall I try if I can see anything
for you?"
Something induced me, quite against my will, to say: "Do you ever get
messages by writing, Miss Vincent?"
"No; I have never done so, but I can try," she answered rather eagerly.
How I bewailed my stupidity in making such a suggestion! I had diverted
her mind from her own special gift, which was that of seeing a person's
psychic surroundings, and had switched her on to an entirely novel and
untried experiment. I had not even the excuse of being specially
interested in automatic writing, which was so easily obtained at home;
whereas I was greatly interested in seeing whether any of my "other
side" friends could make themselves perceptible through this sensitive.
However, the mischief was done past remedy. The suggestion had taken
firm root in Miss Rowan Vincent's mind, and she was not to be diverted
from it. So I resigned myself patiently to the results of my own
foolish remark, whilst she took pencil and paper and sat down
expectantly.
Soon she looked up, the writing having already begun.
"Do you know any William? There seems to be some message from a William,
as far as I can make out."
Having had a favourite cousin of that name, I told her it might be quite
correct, and I should be glad to receive any message that came.
A few moments passed, and then Miss Vincent said, in a puzzled tone:
"It is not _from_ William--the message is _to_ some William--I cannot
understand it at all." She pushed the paper rather impatiently towards
me. Written upon it clearly but faintly were these words:
DEAR WILLIAM,--I want to explain to you how I came to fall out of that
window--it was not my fault really--someone came up behind and pushed me
out. ETHEL.
The signature was rather indistinct, but quite unmistakable to _me_; but
then I knew the Christian name of Mr Stead's friend, and realised at
once that she was taking this opportunity of sending a message to him.
I asked Miss Vincent what name was written at the bottom of the paper.
"It looks like Ethel," she said, "but it is not very clear. I will ask
the spirit to write it again." A very bold and unmistakable signature
was at once given.
I concealed my excitement, and said quietly to Miss Vincent:
"I think I know from whom the message comes and for whom it is intended,
but to make quite sure it would be very satisfactory if the spirit could
give through you a sign agreed upon by the sender and the recipient and
unknown to everyone else."
"Well, I will try," said Miss Vincent at once. She had scarcely touched
the pencil when it began describing a circle. "There is no doubt about
my having to make a circle," she said, laughing. "Oh, now I am to put a
cross into it," she added.
Within a few seconds both these were given, and to _our_ great
delight--as well as to his--the sign was recognised by Mr Stead as being
the one agreed upon, and which had hopelessly puzzled all the other
mediums.