Saumer, in the year 1598. One night, having retired to rest, very much
fatigued, while he was enjoying a sound sleep, he felt a very
extraordinary weight upon his feet, which, having made him turn
suddenly, fell down and awakened him. At first he imagined that it had
been only a dream: but, hearing soon after some noise in the chamber, he
drew aside the curtains, and saw, by the help of the moon (which at that
time shone very bright), a large white figure walking up and down; and,
at the same time, observed upon a chair some rags, which he thought
belonged to thieves who had come to rob him. The figure then approaching
his bed, he had the courage to ask it what it was. "I am," said it, "the
_Queen of Heaven_." Had such a figure appeared to any credulous ignorant
man in the dead of night, and made such a speech, would he not have
trembled with fear, and have frightened the whole neighbourhood with a
marvellous description of it? But De Thou had too much understanding to
be so imposed upon. Upon hearing the words which dropped from the
figure, he immediately concluded that it was some mad woman, got up,
called his servants, and ordered them to turn her out of doors; after
which he returned to bed, and fell asleep. Next morning he found that he
had not been deceived in his conjecture; and that, having forgot to shut
his door, this female figure had escaped from her keepers, and entered
his apartment. The brave Schomberg, to whom De Thou related this
adventure, some days after, confessed, that in such a case he should
not have shewn so much courage. The King also, who was informed of it by
Schomberg, made the same acknowledgment.
SUPPOSED
SUPERNATURAL APPEARANCE.
Some few years since, before ghosts and spectres were commonly
introduced among us by means of the pantomimes and novels of the day, a
gentleman of a philosophical turn of mind, who was hardy enough to deny
the existence of any thing supernatural, happened to pay a visit at an
old house in Gloucestershire, whose unfortunate owner had just become a
bankrupt, with a view to offer such assistance and consolation as he
could bestow: when, in one rainy dull evening in the month of March, the
family being seated by the kitchen fire-side, the conversation turned on
supernatural appearances. The philosopher was endeavouring to convince
his auditors of the folly and absurdity of such opinions, with rather an
unbecoming levity, when the wife left the party and went up stairs; but
had hardly quitted the kitchen three minutes, before a dreadful noise
was heard, mingled with horrid screams. The poor maid changed
countenance, and her red hair stood erect, in every direction; the
husband trembled in his chair; and the philosopher began to look
serious. At last, the husband rose from his seat, and ascended the
stairs in search of his wife, when a second dreadful scream was heard:
the maid mustered resolution to follow her master, and a third scream
ensued. The philosopher, who was not quite at ease, now thought it high
time for him to set out in search of a _cause_: when, arriving at the
landing-place, he found the maid in a fit; the master lying flat, with
his face upon the floor, which was stained with blood; and, on advancing
a little farther, the mistress in nearly the same condition. To the
latter the philosopher paid immediate attention; and, finding she had
only swooned away, brought her in his arms down stairs, and placed her
on the floor of the kitchen. The pump was at hand, and he had the
presence of mind to run to it to get some water in a glass; but what was
his astonishment, when he found that he pumped only copious streams of
blood! which extraordinary appearance, joined to the other
circumstances, made the unbeliever tremble in every limb: a sudden
perspiration overspread the surface of his skin; and the supernatural
possessed his imagination in all its true colours of dread and horror.
Again and again he repeated his efforts; and, again and again, threw
away the loathsome contents of the glass.
Had the story stopped here, what would not superstition have made of it?
But the philosopher, who was still pumping, now found the water grew
paler; and, at last, pure water filled the vessel. Overjoyed at this
observation, he threw the limpid stream in the face of the mistress,
whose recovery was assisted by the appearance of her husband and Betty.
The mystery, when explained, turned out to be simply this--The good
housewife, when she knew that a docket had been struck against her
husband, had taken care to conceal some of her choice cherry brandy,
from the rapacious gripe of the messenger to the Commissioners of
Bankrupts, on some shelves in a closet up stairs, which also contained,
agreeably to the ancient architecture of the building, the trunk of the
pump below; and, in trying to move the jars, to get at a drop for the
party at the kitchen fire, the shelf gave way with a tremendous crash;
the jars were broken into an hundred pieces; the rich juice descended in
torrents down the trunk of the pump, and filled, with its ruby current,
the sucker beneath; and this was the self-same fluid which the
philosopher, in his fright, had so madly thrown away. The wife had
swooned at the accident; the husband, in his haste, had fallen on his
nose, which ran with blood; and the maid's legs, in her hurry, coming in
contact with her fallen master's ribs, she, like "vaulting ambition,"
overleaped herself, and fell on the other side.
Often has this story been told, by one who knew the philosopher, with
great effect, till the last act, or _denouement_; when disappointment
was mostly visible in the looks of his auditors, at finding there was
actually nothing supernatural in the affair, and no ghost.
THE
APPARITION INVESTIGATED.
In a village in one of the midland counties of Scotland, lived a widow,
distinguished among her neighbours for decency of manners, integrity,
and respect for religion. She affirmed that, for several nights
together, she had heard a supernatural voice exclaiming aloud, _Murder!
Murder!_ This was immediately reported through the neighbourhood: all
were alarmed, and looked around them with solicitude for the detection
of the murder which they supposed to have been committed; and it was
not long till a discovery seemed actually to be made. It was reported,
that a gentleman, who had relations at no great distance, and had been
residing in the West Indies, had lately arrived with a considerable
fortune; that he had lodged at an inn about three miles off; and that he
had afterwards been seen entering a house in the village where the widow
lived, from which he had never returned. It was next affirmed, that a
tradesman, passing the church-yard about twelve at midnight, had seen
four men carry a dead corpse into that cemetery.
These three facts being joined together, seemed perfectly to agree, and
to confirm one another; and all believed some horrible murder had been
committed. The relations of the gentleman thought they were called upon
to make inquiry into the truth of these allegations: they accordingly
came first to the church-yard, where, in company with the sexton, they
examined all the graves with great care, in order to discover whether
any of them had lately been dug, or had the appearance of containing
more than one coffin. But this search was to no purpose, for no
alteration had been made upon the graves. It was next reported, that the
murdered man had been buried in a plantation about a mile distant from
the village. As the alarm was now very general, a number of the
inhabitants proposed, of their own accord, to explore it. They
accordingly spread themselves over the wood, and searched it with care;
but no grave, or new-dug earth, was found.
The matter did not rest here. The person who was said to have seen four
men carry a dead corpse into the church-yard at midnight, was summoned
to appear before a meeting of the justices of the peace. Upon
examination, he denied any knowledge of the affair; but referred the
court to another person, from whom he had received his information. This
person was examined, and the result was the same as the former. In
short, one person had heard it from another, who had received it from a
third, who had heard it from a fourth; but it had received a little
embellishment from every person who repeated it: it turned out to be the
same with Smollett's story of the three black crows, which somebody was
said to have vomited.
Upon inquiry at the inn, where it was said the West-India gentleman had
lodged, no such gentleman had been seen there; and it was found
afterwards, he had never left the West Indies.
Still, however, the veracity of the widow was not disputed; and some
dark and secret transaction was suspected. But the whole affair was at
length explained, by discovering that she was somewhat deranged by
melancholy; and the cries which she at first imagined she had heard,
were afterwards imitated by some roguish person, who was highly amused
with spreading terror among the credulous.
THE
BENIGHTED TRAVELLER,
AND
_HAUNTED ROOM_.
A gentleman was benighted, while travelling alone, in a remote part of
the highlands of Scotland, and was compelled to ask shelter for the
evening at a small lonely hut. When he was conducted to his bed-room,
the landlady observed, with mysterious reluctance, that he would find
the window very insecure. On examination, part of the wall appeared to
have been broken down, to enlarge the opening.
After some inquiry, he was told, that a pedlar, who had lodged in the
room a short time before, had committed suicide, and was found hanging
behind the door in the morning. According to the superstition of the
country, it was deemed improper to remove the body through the door of
the house; and to convey it through the window was impossible, without
removing part of the wall. Some hints were dropped, that the room had
been subsequently haunted by the poor man's spirit.
The gentleman laid his arms, properly prepared against intrusion of any
kind, by the bed-side, and retired to rest, not without some degree of
apprehension. He was visited, in a dream, by a frightful apparition;
and, awaking in agony, found himself sitting up in bed, with a pistol
grasped in his right hand. On casting a fearful glance round the room,
he discovered, by the moonlight, a corpse, dressed in a shroud, reared
erect against the wall, close by the window. With much difficulty, he
summoned up resolution to approach the dismal object, the features of
which, and the minutest parts of its funereal apparel, he perceived
distinctly: he passed one hand over it, felt nothing, and staggered back
to the bed. After a long interval, and much reasoning with himself, he
renewed his investigation, and at length discovered that the object of
his terror was produced by the moonbeams forming a long bright image
through the broken window, on which his fancy, impressed by his dream,
had pictured, with mischievous accuracy, the lineaments of a body
prepared for interment. Powerful associations of terror, in this
instance, had excited the recollected images with uncommon force and
effect.
THE
HAUNTED BEACH,
OR
_Power of Conscience on a Murderer_.
BY MRS. ROBINSON.
Upon a lonely desert beach,
Where the white foam was scatter'd,
A little shed uprear'd its head,
Though lofty barks were shatter'd.
The sea-weeds gath'ring near the door,
A sombre path display'd;
And, all around, the deaf'ning roar
Re-echo'd on the chalky shore,
By the green billows made.
Above, a jutting cliff was seen,
Where sea-birds hover'd craving;
And, all around, the craggs were bound
With weeds--for ever waving.
And, here and there, a cavern wide
Its shad'wy jaws display'd;
And near the sands, at ebb of tide,
A shiver'd mast was seen to ride,
Where the green billows stray'd.
And often, while the moaning wind
Stole o'er the summer ocean,
The moonlight scene was all serene,
The waters scarce in motion;
Then, while the smoothly slanting sand
The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade,
The Fisherman beheld a band
Of spectres, gliding hand in hand,
Where the green billows play'd.
And pale their faces were as snow,
And sullenly they wandered;
And to the skies, with hollow eyes,
They look'd, as though they ponder'd.
And sometimes, from their hammock shroud,
They dismal howlings made,
And while the blast blew strong and loud
The clear moon marked the ghastly crowd,
Where the green billows play'd!
And then, above the haunted hut,
The curlews screaming hover'd;
And the low door, with furious roar,
The frothy breakers cover'd.
For in the Fisherman's lone shed,
_A murder'd man_ was laid,
With ten wide gashes in his head;
And deep was made his sandy bed,
Where the green billows play'd.
A shipwreck'd mariner was he,
Doom'd from his home to sever,
Who swore to be, thro' wind and sea,
Firm and undaunted ever;
And when the waves resistless roll'd,
About his arm he made
A packet rich of Spanish gold,
And, like a British sailor bold,
Plung'd where the billows play'd!
The spectre band, his messmates brave,
Sunk in the yawning ocean,
While to the mast he lash'd him fast,
And brav'd the storm's commotion:
The winter moon upon the sand
A silv'ry carpet made,
And mark'd the sailor reach the land,
And mark'd his murd'rer wash his hand,
Where the green billows play'd.
And, since that hour, the Fisherman
Has toil'd and toil'd in vain;
For all the night the moony light
Gleams on the spectred main!
And when the skies are veil'd in gloom,
The murd'rer's liquid way
Bounds o'er the deeply yawning tomb,
And flashing fires the sands illume,
Where the green billows play!
Full thirty years his task has been,
Day after day, more weary;
For Heav'n design'd his guilty mind
Should dwell on prospects dreary.
Bound by a strong and mystic chain,
He has not pow'r to stray;
But, destin'd mis'ry to sustain,
He wastes, in solitude and pain,
A loathsome life away.
THE
SUBTERRANEAN TRAVELLER;
OR
_GHOST AND NO GHOST_.
The following record is copied verbatim from an old newspaper--_The
Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer._
"_Bedlam, January 18, 1719._
"It is not long since one of the female inhabitants of these frantic
territories gave the following occasion for a very pleasing
entertainment. Some bricklayers happened to be at work here, to repair
and clean the passage leading to the common sewer; who going to dinner,
and leaving the ladder which descended to it, standing, the said
unfortunate inhabitant had a sort of an odd notion, that the workmen had
been prying into the secrets of the lower world, and therefore (nobody
seeing her) she went down the ladder which led into the common sewer;
and, in that subterraneous cavern, finding none to control or stop her
passage, she travelled, with great pleasure and curiosity, till she came
to _Tokenhouse Yard_, which is near half a mile. There it happened that
a couple of young females, coming to the vault, heard a noise below,
crying, '_Who the plague are ye? What d'ye make that noise for? What, is
the devil in ye?_' Upon which, away flew the women, not staying to look
behind them; and coming half-frightened into the house, said, the devil
was in the vault. Accordingly, more company going, they still heard the
same noise. Upon which they called out, and asked, '_Who's there? What
are ye?_' '_The Devil_,' replied the traveller below. '_How came you
there?_' said they. '_Nay, how the devil know I?_' answered the
mad-woman. '_Why don't you bring me a candle, that I may find my way?_'
Finding it certain to be a human voice, they feared somebody might
accidentally have fallen in, and therefore they immediately went to
work, to deliver the poor wretch from her suffocating thraldom, and
found her a lamentable spectacle; so that they began to question her how
she came there, and where she lived. She answered _that she was going to
Hell, but had lost her way; that there were several in her company, who
had got thither, and the gate was shut upon them; that she had lost her
way, but should overtake them by and by_. These wild expressions made
some of them fancy she was a mad-woman; and, after some consideration,
they resolved to bring her hither; when she was presently owned, and
the people that brought her let us into the story: but her head still
runs on her journey, and she talks of little else."
THE MILKMAN
AND
_CHURCH-YARD GHOST_.
A man much addicted to the heinous sin of drunkenness, in coming home
late one winter's night, had to cross Stepney church-yard; where, close
to the foot path, a deep grave had been opened the day before. He, being
very drunk, staggered into the grave; it was a great mercy he did not
break his neck, or any of his limbs; but, as it rained hard all night,
and the grave was so deep that he could not got out, he had but an
uncomfortable bed. For some hours nobody passed by; till, shortly after
the clock had struck four, a milkman, who had been to the cow-house for
his milk, came by, and said to himself, "I wonder what o'clock it is."
The man in the grave hallooed out, "Just gone four." The milkman seeing
nobody, immediately conceived a ghost from one of the graves had
answered him, and took to his heels with such rapidity, that when he
reached an ale-house he was ready to faint; and, what added to his
trouble, in running, he so jumbled his pails as to spill great part of
his milk. The people who heard his relation, believed it must have been
a ghost that had answered him. The tale went round, and would have been
credited, perhaps, till now, had not the drunkard, sitting one day in
the very alehouse the milkman had stopped at, on hearing the story
repeated, with a hearty laugh acknowledged himself to be the ghost, and
that he had much enjoyed the jumbling of the man's pails, as he ran
away, and the loss which it occasioned him.
THE
FAKENHAM GHOST.
The lawns were dry in Euston Park;
(Here truth inspires my tale)
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.
Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,
And hail its willow shade.
Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But follow'd faster still;
And echo'd to the darksome copse
That whisper'd on the hill.
Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hush'd,
Bespoke a peopled shade;
And many a wing the foliage brush'd,
And hov'ring circuits made.
The dappled herd of grazing deer,
That sought the shades by day,
Now started from her path with fear,
And gave the stranger way.
Darker it grew; and darker fears
Came o'er her troubled mind;
When, now, a short quick step she hears
Come patting close behind.
She turn'd; it stopt!--nought could she see
Upon the gloomy plain!
But, as she strove the sprite to flee,
She heard the same again.
Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame:
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same!
She mutter'd many a pray'r.
Yet once again, amidst her fright
She tried what sight could do;
When through the cheating glooms of night,
A monster stood in view.
Regardless of whate'er she felt,
It follow'd down the plain!
She own'd her sins, and down she knelt,
And said her pray'rs again.
Then on she sped; and hope grew strong,
The white park-gate in view,
Which, pushing hard, so long it swung,
That ghost and all past through.
Loud fell the gate against the post,
Her heart-strings like to crack,
For much she fear'd the grisly ghost
Would leap upon her back.
Still on, pat, pat, the goblin went,
As it had done before;
Her strength and resolution spent,
She fainted at the door.
Out came her husband, much surpris'd,
Out came her daughter dear;
Good-natur'd souls, all unadvis'd
Of what they had to fear.
The candle's gleam pierc'd through the night,
Some short space o'er the green;
And there the little trotting sprite
Distinctly might be seen.
An _ass's foal_ had lost its dam
Within the spacious park,
And, simple as the playful lamb,
Had follow'd in the dark.
No goblin he, nor imp of sin,
No crimes he'd ever known.
They took the shaggy stranger in,
And rear'd him as their own.
His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the cottage floor;
The matron learn'd to love the sound,
That frighten'd her before.
A favourite the ghost became,
And 'twas his fate to thrive;
And long he liv'd, and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.
For many a laugh went through the vale,
And some conviction too;
Each thought some other goblin tale
Perhaps was just as true.
THE
UNFORTUNATE PRIEST,
AND
_DEAD BODY_.
In a province of Prussia, a man being dead, was carried, as is
customary, into the church, the evening previous to the day of his
interment. It is usual to place the corpse in an open coffin; and a
priest, attended only by a boy of the choir, remains all night praying
by the side of the dead body, and on the following day the friends of
the deceased come to close up the coffin, and inter the corpse. On this
occasion, after the evening service had been performed, every one
retired from the church: and the priest, with the young chorister,
withdrew to supper; but soon returned, and the former commenced the
usual prayers. What was his astonishment, when he beheld the dead body
rise from the coffin, and advance towards him. Terrified in the extreme,
the priest flew to the font; and, conjuring the corpse to return to its
proper station, showered holy water on him in abundance. But the
obstinate and evil-minded spirit, disregarding the power of holy water,
seized the unfortunate priest, threw him to the ground, and soon, by
repeated blows, left him extended, without life, on the pavement. Having
committed this act of barbarity, he appeared to return quietly to his
coffin. On the following morning, the persons who came to prepare for
the funeral, found the priest murdered, and the corpse, as before, in
the coffin. Nothing could throw any light on this extraordinary event
but the testimony of the boy, who had concealed himself on the first
movement of the dead body, and who persisted in declaring, that he saw
from his hiding-place the priest killed by the corpse. Conjecture, and
endeavours to discover the truth, were alike vain, tormenting, and
fruitless. Many resources were tried; for it was not every one that
submitted themselves to the belief of a dead body rising to kill a
priest, and then quietly resigning itself to the place of its
consignment. Many years afterwards, a malefactor, condemned to death for
various crimes, and brought to the torture, confessed, that having (for
some unknown reason) conceived an implacable hatred against the priest
in question, he had formed the design of thus avenging himself. Having
found means to remain in the church, he seized the moment of the
priest's retiring to supper, withdrew the dead body from the coffin, and
placed himself in its stead, in the shroud and other appurtenances.
After executing the murder of the priest, he returned the corpse to its
place, and got unperceived out of the church, when the friends of the
deceased came in the morning to attend the funeral.
THE
VIGIL OF SAINT MARK,
OR
_FATAL SUPERSTITION_.
Rebecca was the fairest maid
That on the Danube's borders play'd;
And many a handsome nobleman
For her in tilt and tourney ran:
While she, in secret, wished to see
What youth her husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the gossips say,
"Alone, from dusk till midnight, stay
Within the church-porch drear and dark,
Upon the Vigil of St. Mark;
And, lovely maiden, you shall see
What youth your husband is to be."
Rebecca, when the night grew dark,
Upon the Vigil of St. Mark,
Observ'd by Paul, a roguish scout,
Who guess'd the task she went about,
Stepp'd to St. Stephen's church to see
What youth her husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the screech-owl cry,
And saw the black-bat round her fly;
She sat till, wild with fear at last,
Her blood grew cold, her pulse beat fast;
And yet, rash maid, she stopp'd to see
What youth her husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the midnight chime
Ring out the yawning peal of time,
When shrouded Paul, unlucky knave!
Rose, like a spectre from the grave,
And cried--"_Fair maiden, come with me,
For I your bridegroom am to be._"
Rebecca turned her head aside,
Sent forth a horrid shriek--and died;
While Paul confess'd himself in vain
Rebecca never spoke again.
Ah! little, hapless girl, did she
Think _Death_ her bridegroom was to be.
Rebecca, may thy story long
Instruct the giddy and the young!
Fright not, fond youths, the timid fair:
And you, too, gentle maids, beware;
Nor seek, by dreadful arts, to see
What youths your husbands are to be.
THE
FLOATING WONDER,
OR
_FEMALE SPECTRE_.
The bridge over the river Usk, near Caerleon, in Wales, is formed of
wood, and very curiously constructed, the tide rising occasionally to
the almost incredible height of fifty or sixty feet. The boards which
compose the flooring of this bridge being designedly loose, in order to
float with the tide, when it exceeds a certain height, are prevented
from escaping only by little pegs at the end of them; which mode of
fastening does not afford a very safe footing for the traveller, and
some awkward accidents have been known to arise from this cause. The
following singular adventure occurred about twenty years since to a
female of the neighbourhood, as she was passing it at night.