Ghost at Sea--Tragical Event--Ghosts in
Edinburgh--Fear of Ghosts in
Glasgow--Fortune-telling--Choice of Lovers, how
decided--A handsome Dowry--Old Irish Story--How a
Ghost settled a Land Question--A Highland Prophecy
respecting the Argyll Family--Gipsies and
Superstition--Yetholm Gipsies--Episode in a Police
Court--Curses--Superstition among
Fishermen--Superstition among Seamen--Providing for
the Dead--A Warning--Blood Stains--Various
Superstitions--Hallow-e'en at Balmoral--Faith in
Dreams, Signs, Omens, Predictions, and
Warnings--Self-accusing Catalogue--Reflections on the
Memories of our Ancestors.
A strange story is told in connection with the report of the murder at
sea on board the barque "Pontiac," of Liverpool, by Jean Moyatos, a
Greek sailor, in custody in Edinburgh a few years ago. We do not know
whether the particulars we are about to relate came out in the
investigation, but undoubtedly they had a strong bearing on the case,
and made it probable, that but for the hallucination of one of the
crew--not the Greek sailor--the murder would not have taken place.
Five days after the "Pontiac" left Callao, Jean Moyatos murdered one
of his fellow-seamen, and stabbed another in such a dangerous manner
that his life was despaired of. Two nights before the fatal occurrence
the mate of the "Pontiac" was standing near the man at the helm, no
other person being on the quarter-deck at the time, when the latter
in great terror called out, "What is that near the cabin door?" The
mate replied that he saw nothing, and looked about to see if any one
was near, but failed to discover any person. The steersman then, much
terrified, said the figure he saw was that of a strange-looking man,
of ghostly appearance, and almost immediately afterwards exclaimed,
"There he is again, standing at the cabin window!" The mate, though in
view of the place referred to, saw no figure near it, nor at any other
part of the quarter-deck, though he looked round and round. Next day
the report went from one to the other that a ghost was on board, which
filled some of the sailors with alarm, while others made a jest of it.
Next night a boy (a stowaway) was so dreadfully alarmed in his bunk by
something he saw or felt (we do not know which), that he cried out so
loudly as to waken all the seamen in bed. The boy was sure it was the
ghost seen the previous night that had frightened him; and others of
more mature years were inclined to think so too. Perhaps more than
one-half of those on board believed that something supernatural was in
the ship, and that some calamity would soon happen. But there were two
at least on board who did not believe the ghost stories, and these
were the man subsequently murdered, and his companion who was stabbed.
The former joked with the boy about the ghost, and said he would have
his knife well sharpened and ready for the ghost if it appeared the
next night. He would give it a stab and "chuck" it overboard. The
latter joined in the joke, saying he also would help "to do for the
ghost;" and others said they would have letters ready for the ghost to
carry to their friends in the other world. Jean Moyatos overheard what
was said as to stabbing and throwing overboard; and in consequence of
his imperfect knowledge of the English language, and having previously
supposed there was a combination against him, thought the threats were
made against him, and therefore resolved to protect himself. A few
hours after the jesting we have briefly explained took place, he
stabbed the two men who principally carried on the jest, with the
fatal result known. The murder, as might be expected, filled every one
on board with horror; and the terror of the sailors who believed there
was a ghost on board became overwhelming. At night, whether in bed or
on watch on deck, they had great dread, it being heightened by reports
that strange noises were heard below. Not even at the end of the
voyage had the fear been overcome; for, after the ship lay moored in
the docks of Leith, two of the crew who had agreed to sleep on board
became so frightened, after their companions were paid off, that they
refused to remain in the vessel at night.
Jean Moyatos, on being brought to trial before the High Court of
Justiciary, was found to be insane; and therefore the Court ordered
him to be confined in a lunatic asylum during Her Majesty's pleasure.
A circumstance, freely spoken of within the past few years, has given
rise to a rumour that ghosts frequent the neighbourhood of the Dean
Cemetery, Edinburgh. The story is, that about three o'clock one
morning a private watchman named Clark (employed to look after a block
of buildings at Bell's Mills, Water of Leith) and his friend the
constable on the beat, were surprised, in the midst of a friendly
talk, by a tall figure--which, at least to their startled eyes, seemed
to be in white--clearing a wall and alighting on the ground close
beside them. It darted along the road towards the Dean Cemetery. As it
ran, the two men heard, or thought they heard, a clinking sound like
that made by a horse with a loose shoe. Too much frightened to watch
the movements of their visitor, Clark and his companion took to their
heels, nor thought of halting until they were a considerable distance
from the locality. Clark refused to return to his post, and some
difficulty was even experienced in getting the constable to look upon
the matter from a business point of view.
Whether the same ghost or not we cannot tell, but not long ago many in
Edinburgh became startled at rumours of a ghost being seen in various
parts of Edinburgh. On a Saturday night the movements of a ghost
caused great excitement in the Fountainbridge district, particularly
at Murdoch Terrace, Bainfield, where a large crowd collected. On the
ghost being observed, five men, armed with bludgeons, pursued it till
it reached the Dalry Cemetery, where it jumped over the wall, and was
not seen again. Bodies of men formed themselves into a detective
force, to lie in wait at different places for the apparition. It was
gravely alleged that the ghost made its appearance in varied
attire--sometimes in black, sometimes in white, and occasionally with
the addition of horns. One dark night a cabman, driving through the
Grange, and looking about him with great fear, and trembling for the
appearance of this irrepressible "Spring-heel Jack," suddenly heard a
loud noise over his head, and the next instant something descended
with such force on his shoulders as to send his pipe flying over the
splashboard, and himself nearly after it.
The alarm excited in the weak-minded and ignorant can scarcely be
credited. We know of one case where a cab-driver, who was ordered to
go at an early hour in the morning to a house in the suburbs to convey
a lady and gentleman from an evening party, positively refused to go,
through sheer terror of encountering "Jack," as the ghost was named,
preferring rather to risk losing his situation. It is said that the
girls employed in factories in the vicinity of the Canal would not
venture to their work till it was fairly daylight, and even then they
went in a body. Several policemen asserted that they had seen the
ghost. The stories about the ghost created such an impression on the
minds of many young people residing within a wide radius of the
haunted district, that they would not venture out after dark.
Glasgow, as recently as 1878, had its ghost also, or supposed it had.
The residents in the Northern District of that city were thrown into a
state of excitement, hardly to be credited in enlightened times. One
night it was whispered that the school at the corner of Stirling
Street and Milton Street had become the abode of a horde of warlocks,
whose cantrips were equalled only by the antics cut by their
demoniacal ancestors in "Alloway's Auld Haunted Kirk." It was
seriously averred by dozens of persons that they had actually
witnessed the hobgoblins in the enjoyment of their fiendish fun. In a
brief space of time the whole neighbourhood turned out to see the
terrible visitants that had come among them. Frequently as many as
from four to six thousand people--the large majority of whom were
children in groups of threes and fours, clinging to each other's
hands, and evidently in mortal terror of being suddenly spirited away
no one knew where--assembled to catch a glimpse of the mysterious
cause of the commotion. To such a height did the excitement grow, that
one night the authorities stationed no fewer than nine policemen round
the school, for the purpose of restoring order. On the following night
"the ghost," as it was now called, still uncaught, and gliding as
noiselessly and swiftly through the deserted rooms as on the first
night of its appearance, frightening the souls and raising the hair of
all who believed in it, and the authorities, being suspicious of
mischief on the part of some one concealed on the premises, sent two
detectives into the attics of the building, for the purpose of
arresting the apparition should it stalk in their direction and prove
to be made of flesh and blood. After waiting several hours the
officers relinquished their watching, and left the school to its
ghostly occupant. All sorts of theories were propounded to account for
the unearthly sights that were witnessed through the windows of the
building, but it turned out that a very innocent combination of
circumstances had caused all the excitement. It was believed that the
reflection from a set of mirrors in the house opposite, falling upon a
series of thickly-glazed maps hanging upon the school wall, had
produced the appearances which served to create so great a sensation.
We have seen there was neither ghost nor goblin in the city of St.
Mungo, but we have also seen from the above incident that time has not
enabled us to cast off altogether the fetters of superstition.
Cunning, duplicity, and falsehood are associated with fortune-telling.
An instance in exemplification is within our recollection. Not far
from the junction of the Gadie and Urie with the Don, in
Aberdeenshire, dwelt a rich farmer. His only daughter possessed rare
natural charms, gifts, and graces. She could spin, sew, manage the
dairy, sing with a voice equal to that of the mavis or blackbird,
while her heart was as tender as that of any other sighing maiden. Two
lovers sought her hand--one rich, the other poor. The poor man she
declared to be her choice, but the purse-proud father declared his
firlot of silver money, his twelve cows, and as many calves, his sheep
and oxen, intended as his daughter's dower, would never enrich a
pennyless man without houses and lands. So he said; yet he changed his
mind through the influence of a fortune-teller, hired to tell what
pleased her employers best. In presence of father and mother the sibyl
professed to see, first, in her cup a splendid mansion, with wealth in
great store, cattle, and fields of waving corn, then gradual decline
of riches, until the young lady, her husband, and six or eight
children, were seen living in a little hut in great poverty.
On hearing such an evil prophecy, the interpreter desired to cast the
cup again, to ascertain whether the Fates were resolved to adhere to
their former announced decree. Father and mother leaned back in their
chairs, giving utterance to disquieting thoughts. Through various
incantations the gods were propitiated. A second cup disclosed a small
beginning for the daughter and her husband, but a grand ending. To
prove which prediction was the correct one, the fortune-teller had
recourse to the egg and lead tests--pouring the white of an egg and
boiling lead into water, and watching the fantastic figures produced.
Every fresh trial terminated in favour of the poor wooer. Father and
mother changed their minds; the daughter almost leaped for joy; two
fond hearts were united, and the promised dower was not kept back. For
many years the young couple throve, and at last died, in peace and
possession of plenty, leaving an honourable name, likely to descend to
future generations.
The immediately preceding anecdote reminds us of an old Irish story
bearing on the land question, and showing how agrarian difficulties
were settled in ancient times, without recourse to assassination.
One night in 1662, one Francis Taverner, while riding home near
Drumbridge, observed two horsemen pass him silently. Not even the
treading of the horses' feet could be heard, and presently a third
horseman appeared in the likeness of James Haddock, formerly a farmer
at Malone, where he died five years previously. Mr. Taverner asked the
spectre rider number three (for in reality the three riders were
apparitions) why he appeared to him. To this the ghost replied, that
if he would ride his (the ghost's) way he would inform him. Mr.
Taverner refused to go any other way than that which led to his own
home. Man and ghost parted company; but no sooner had they done so
than a dreadful storm arose, in the midst of which hideous screeches
rose above the gale. Mr. Taverner and his horse were sensible of some
evil influence being near them; and they continued in a state of
semi-stupor until cock-crowing. Chanticleer's clarion notes seemed to
work a charm; for as they wakened the morn, all became calm--placid as
an inland lake unrippled by the wind.
Next night an apparition in the likeness of James Haddock appeared
again to Mr. Taverner, and bade him go to Eleanor Welsh, wife of one
Davis, but formerly the spouse of James Haddock, by whom she had an
only son, to whom Haddock had by will given a lease of a farm, but of
which the son was deprived by Davis. "Tell her," said the ghost, "that
it is the will of your former husband that our son should be righted
in the lease." Through some infatuation, the man disregarded the
instructions of the apparition, and for his neglect he was haunted and
threatened by the apparition in several forms.
So uneasy did Mr. Taverner feel, that he left his mountain home and
went to Belfast. Thither the ghost followed him, and again threatened
to tear him in pieces unless he delivered the message. He therefore
went to Lord Chichester, owner of the farm, and with tears in his eyes
related the whole story. Dr. Lewis Downs, a minister in Belfast,
hearing the relation, at first questioned the lawfulness of obeying a
spirit, but, on mature consideration, and having respect to the
injured son's interest, not only thought the message should be
delivered, but agreed to accompany Taverner to Davis's house to hear
it communicated.
Dr. Taylor, bishop of Down, Connor, and Dromore, after strictly
examining Taverner anent the whole matter, expressed his belief in the
realness of the apparition. No doubt the medium of communication
suffered much mental torture, and great excitement prevailed in the
north of Ireland; but, however, to use a hackneyed phrase, "All's well
that ends well." The apparition's mission to earth was fulfilled; for
the young man's wrongs were redressed, and he remained for many years
in secure possession of his father's lands.
An old Highland prophecy respecting the Argyll family has been brought
to mind by the marriage of the Marquis of Lorn, heir apparent to the
dukedom, with a princess of England. It was foretold that all the
glories of the Campbell family would be renewed in the first chief who
in the colour of his locks approached nearest to that of the great Jan
Roy Cean (Red John the Great), Duke of Argyll. Nature has performed
her part in the person of the noble Marquis, and fate is not likely to
allow the prophecy to remain unfulfilled.
Gipsies have always been associated with superstition. In their tents,
and elsewhere, the women belonging to that class are professed
fortune-tellers. We have heard them in all parts of Scotland and
England telling fortunes, and seen people trembling at their curses,
and witnessed others highly elated at their blessings and favourable
predictions. In far-back times the leaders of the gipsies were chosen
as their chiefs in consequence of this acknowledged power of
divination and enchantment; they were therefore regarded not as kings
or princes, but as prophets or magicians.
At Yetholm the gipsies have an idea that it is unlucky to have
unbaptized children in their houses. Women of that village sell
dreaming powders, by sleeping on which for a certain number of nights
the sleepers are privileged to see their future partners in life.
As an instance in the belief of unholy prayers, we give an episode in
the Leith police court in 1878. A woman named Allan was charged with
assaulting a man because he had ill-used one of her boys. She was a
person of wild passions, and upbraided the man with divers acts of
cruelty to her children. Bursting out into loud cursing, she reminded
the man that, eight years previously, she had, in consequence of him
kicking her orphan child, prayed that neither he nor his wife should
have children; "and you know," she exclaimed, "my prayers have been
answered!" The woman professed to believe her unholy prayers had
hindered the subjects of her wrath from having offspring. The man
quailed under the termagant's piercing eye, and trembled at the
renewed curses.
At the same court, a few years ago, it transpired that two women in
the fishing village of Newhaven had a quarrel, during which one of
them cursed the other and "salted her," _i.e._ threw salt at her. To
cast salt with an evil intent after one, is as unlucky, in the
estimation of fishermen and their wives, as it is to tell a
fisherwoman that a hare's foot is in her creel, or to mention
"Brounger" or the name of a four-footed beast at sea.
A few sceptical friends, not believing all they had heard regarding
the superstitious notions of fishermen, were advised to put a young
pig among some fishermen's lines on board of a boat at Newhaven pier.
The trick being performed, and discovered before the boat put to sea,
both pig and lines were tossed overboard, to the spoiling of a whole
day's fishing.
A boat's crew recently left Newhaven pier for the oyster dredging in
the Firth of Forth. One of the crew, a young lad, who had been at a
circus in Edinburgh the previous evening, happened, while giving an
account of what he had seen, to say "horse." No sooner had the hated
word been uttered, than his companions assailed him in a most
unmerciful manner. His disregard of the tradition of his fathers put
an end to the fishing, it not being considered prudent by the men to
prosecute their calling any more that day. In these superstitions,
fishermen are following the examples of the ancients. It will be
remembered the names of the Furies, Kings, etc. were not to be named,
and that there were birds and beasts of ill omen.
Fishermen have an aversion to go to sea in a boat from which a man
has been drowned, and they are opposed to the breaking up of an old
boat. This last-mentioned superstition continues to prevail, and it
accounts for so many useless crafts being seen at fishing towns
unnecessarily occupying much valuable ground, as in olden times, and
as mentioned by us under "Signs, Omens, and Warnings," at page 399. At
the Tweed, fishermen still (1879) have a belief in the power of
fairies to affect the fisheries. It is the custom not only to
impregnate nets with salt, but also to throw part of that commodity
into the water, to blind the mischievous elves, who are said to
prevent fish being caught. The salting process was carried on at
Coldstream very recently, with a result highly satisfactory to the
operators, if not to others.
A ship captain has informed us that, when a young man, he incurred the
displeasure of an old seaman, with whom he sailed in one of the old
trading smacks between Leith and London. On refreshments being served
out, according to custom, one day, he (our informant) handed a jug of
beer to the old sailor through the steps of a ladder. For this act the
aged salt swore at him, and called him an unlucky lubber, while at the
same time he dealt him a severe blow on the face.
Another captain of a vessel trading between Leith and London has told
us of a singular passage he had thirty years ago. To oblige a friend,
he agreed to convey a hare to another friend in the English
metropolis. A fair wind carried the vessel past the Bass Rock, but
then a storm sprang up, which kept the ship tossing about for days
without reaching the English coast. An old sailor declared their
retarded progress was due to the hare being on board. By consent of
all the crew, the hare found a place overboard, and then the wind
became so favourable that the ship made a quick run to the Thames.
A gentleman in Edinburgh told us recently he had frequently seen
burning candles beside a corpse at mid-day, while at the same time a
small plate or saucer with salt rested on the corpse's breast, and
every one who looked on the body had to put his hand on the inanimate
brow. He further told us he had seen a priest of the Roman Catholic
Church put a half-crown into the mouth of a corpse at Portobello, to
represent, we presume, the obolus exacted by Charon for ferrying the
shades of the buried dead across the under-world rivers.
In Ireland, at a period not remote, an opinion prevailed that the
spirit of a dead person went about deceased's former home for a month.
During that length of time a fire was always kept burning in the
house, and a jug of water stood in deceased's chamber, so that his
spirit might refresh itself. At the month's end a clergyman, by means
of prayer, put the spirit to rest.
Within the last decade (we think in 1872) a highly respectable family
in the county of Edinburgh was greatly alarmed by a pheasant flying
through their dining-room window, killing itself on the spot, and
breaking a large pane of plate glass. To the family the event came as
a warning of early calamity. Next day a messenger announced that a
worthy doctor of divinity, a dear family friend, had died the previous
night.
We hear occasionally of the impossibility of wiping out the traces of
flagrant crimes. The blood of Rizzio, shed on the floor of Holyrood
Palace, in presence of Queen Mary, has defied the rubbing of years to
wipe it away. There the blood stains remain a wonder to the thousands
who visit Scotland's royal palace. At a time almost forgotten, a good
man was hurled from a window of Torwood Castle, not far from the field
of Bannockburn. His blood stained the grass on which the body fell,
and since that time the herbage there is mixed with red blades of
grass and red clover.
A Saturday's flitting is followed by a short sitting. No one should
take possession of a new house before throwing coals and salt into
it. No important undertaking should be commenced on Friday or
Saturday, nor yet at the end of a year. "Berchta spoils flax found
unspun the last day of the year." A shooting star falling near a
house, foretells an early death in that dwelling.
Old flint arrow-heads are worn as charms, under the belief that they
were the points of elfin arrows. If a lady be wise, she will not have
two tea-spoons in her saucer at the same time. If a young lady desire
to know how many sweethearts she has, let her pull her fingers, and
the number will be equal to the cracks heard. In fact we have nearly
as many signs, omens, charms, and freits as our forefathers had. We
have legendary lore concerning the supernatural, we have mythological
fables, forecasts, fatalities, our spell-bound individuals, our fey
persons, and those who have had glamour cast into their eyes. None of
us are likely to forget the New Year, Christmas, St. Valentine's Day,
Beltane, Hallow-e'en, and many other high days, which come to us,
month after month, with their peculiar rites and ceremonies. Even
Queen Victoria, with a desire to please, takes pleasure in observing
Hallow-e'en at her Highland residence.
In 1876 Hallow-e'en was celebrated at Balmoral Castle with unusual
ceremony, in presence of Her Majesty, the Princess Beatrice, the
ladies and gentlemen of the royal household, and a large gathering of
the tenantry and servants on the estates of Balmoral and Invergeldie.
The leading features of the celebration were a torchlight procession,
the lighting of large bonfires, and the burning in effigy of witches
and warlocks. Upwards of 150 torchbearers assembled at the castle as
darkness set in, and separated into two parties, one band proceeding
to Invergeldie, and the other remaining at Balmoral. The order was
given to light the torches at a quarter before six o'clock, and
shortly after that hour the Queen and the Princess Beatrice drove to
Invergeldie, followed by the Balmoral party of torchbearers. The two
parties then united and returned in procession to the front of
Balmoral Castle, where all were grouped round a large bonfire, which
blazed and crackled merrily, the Queen's pipers playing the while.
Refreshments were then served to all, and dancing was engaged in to
the strains of the bagpipes. When the fun was at its height, there
suddenly appeared from the rear of the castle a grotesque figure,
representing a witch, with a train of followers dressed like sprites,
who appeared terrified at the monster fire blazing, and danced and
gesticulated in all fashions; then followed a warlock of demoniacal
shape, who was succeeded by another warlock drawing a car, on which
was seated a witch, surrounded by other figures in the guise of
demons. The unearthly visitors having marched several times round the
burning pile, the principal figure was taken from the car and tossed
into the flames amid weird shrieks and howls, the burning of blue
lights, and a display of crackers and other fireworks. The health of
her Majesty the Queen was then pledged and drunk with Highland honours
by the assembled hundreds; the health of the Princess Beatrice was
also received with enthusiasm. Dancing was then resumed, and was
carried on till a late hour at night. The scene was very picturesque,
Lochnagar and other mountains in the neighbourhood being covered with
snow. Although the wind blew piercingly cold from the north, her
Majesty and the Princess remained a considerable time, viewing the
sports with evident interest.
As to giving up faith in dreams, signs, omens, predictions, and
warnings, some people would nearly as soon give up their belief in the
Bible. Then add to these a belief in ghosts, and we have a catalogue
before us so self-accusing that we dare not cast serious reflections
on the memories of our ancestors.