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THE BANSHEE
by
ELLIOT O'DONNELL
Author of "Haunted Places in England," "The Irish Abroad,"
"Twenty Years Experiences As a Ghost Hunter," Etc., Etc.
London and Edinburgh
Sands & Company
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE DEFINITION AND ORIGIN OF BANSHEES 9
II. SOME HISTORICAL BANSHEES 20
III. THE MALEVOLENT BANSHEE 35
IV. THE BANSHEE ABROAD 51
V. CASES OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY 62
VI. DUAL AND TRIPLE BANSHEE HAUNTINGS 80
VII. A SIMILAR CASE FROM SPAIN 98
VIII. THE BANSHEE ON THE BATTLE-FIELD 124
IX. THE BANSHEE AT SEA 136
X. ALLEGED COUNTERPARTS OF THE BANSHEE 149
XI. THE BANSHEE IN POETRY AND PROSE 176
XII. THE BANSHEE IN SCOTLAND 196
XIII. MY OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THE BANSHEE 232
ADDENDA 247
THE BANSHEE
CHAPTER I
THE DEFINITION AND ORIGIN OF BANSHEES
In a country, such as Ireland, that is characterised by an arrestive and
wildly beautiful scenery, it is not at all surprising to find something in
the nature of a ghost harmonising with the general atmosphere and
surroundings, and that something, apparently so natural to Ireland, is the
Banshee.
The name Banshee seems to be a contraction of the Irish Bean Sidhe, which
is interpreted by some writers on the subject "A Woman of the Faire Race,"
whilst by various other writers it is said to signify "The Lady of Death,"
"The Woman of Sorrow," "The Spirit of the Air," and "The Woman of the
Barrow."
It is strictly a family ghost, and most authorities agree that it only
haunts families of very ancient Irish lineage. Mr McAnnaly, for instance,
remarks (in the chapter on Banshees in his "Irish Wonders"): "The Banshee
attends only the old families, and though their descendants, through
misfortune, may be brought down from high estate to ranks of peasant
farmers, she never leaves nor forgets them till the last member has been
gathered to his fathers in the churchyard."
A writer in the _Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society_
(Vol. V., No. 44, pp. 227-229) quotes an extract from a work entitled
"Kerry Records," in which the following passage, relating to an elegiac
poem written by Pierse Ferriter on Maurice Fitzgerald, occurs: "Aina, the
Banshee who never wailed for any families who were not of Milesian blood,
except the Geraldines, who became 'more Irish than the Irish themselves';
and in a footnote (see p. 229) it is only 'blood' that can have a Banshee.
Business men nowadays have something as good as 'blood'--they have 'brains
and brass,' by which they can compete with and enter into the oldest
families in England and Ireland. Nothing, however, in an Irishman's
estimation, can replace 'blue blood.'"
Sir Walter Scott, too, emphasises this point, and is even more specific
and arbitrary. He confines the Banshee to families of pure Milesian stock,
and declares it is never to be found attached to the descendants of the
multitudinous English and Scotch settlers who have, from time to time,
migrated to Ireland; nor even to the descendants of the Norman adventurers
who accompanied Strongbow to the Green Isle in the twelfth century.
Lady Wilde[1] goes to the other extreme and allows considerable latitude.
She affirms that the Banshee attaches itself not only to certain families
of historic lineage, but also to persons gifted with song and music. For
my own part I am inclined to adopt a middle course; I do not believe that
the Banshee would be deterred from haunting a family of historical fame
and Milesian descent--such as the O'Neills or O'Donnells--simply because
in that family was an occasional strain of Saxon or Norman blood, but, on
the other hand, I do not think the Banshee would ever haunt a family that
was not originally at least Celtic Irish--such, for instance, as the
Fitz-Williams or Fitz-Warrens--although in that family there might happen
to be periodic infusions of Milesian blood.
I disagree, _in toto_, with Lady Wilde's theory that, occasionally, the
Banshee haunts a person who is extremely poetical and musical, simply
because he happens to be thus talented. In my opinion, to be haunted by
the Banshee one must belong to an Irish family that is, at least, a
thousand years old; were it not so, we should assuredly find the Banshee
haunting certain of the musical and poetical geniuses of every race all
over the world--black and yellow, perhaps, no less than white--which
certainly is not the case.
The Banshee, however, as Mr McAnnaly says, does, sometimes, travel; it
travels when, and only when, it accompanies abroad one of the most ancient
of the Irish families; otherwise it stays in Ireland, where, owing to the
fact that there are few of the really old Irish families left, its
demonstrations are becoming more and more rare.
It may, perhaps, be said that in Dublin, Cork, and other of the Irish
towns one may still come across a very fair percentage of O's and Macs.
That, undoubtedly, is true, but, at the same time, it must be borne in
mind that these prefixes do not invariably denote the true Irishman, since
many families yclept Thompson, Walker, and Smith, merely on the strength
of having lived in Ireland for two or three generations, have adopted an
Irish--and in some cases, even, a Celtic Irish name, relying upon their
knowledge of a few Celtic words picked up from books, or from attending
some of the numerous classes now being held in nearly all the big towns,
and which are presided over by teachers who are also, for the most part,
merely pseudo-Irish--to give colour to their claim. Such a pretence,
however, does not deceive those who are really Irish, neither does it
deceive the Banshee, and the latter, I am quite sure, would never be
persuaded to follow the fortunes of any Anglo-Saxon, or Scotch, Dick, Tom,
or Harry, no matter how clever and convincing their camouflage might be.
Once again, then, the Banshee confines itself solely to families of
_bona-fide_ ancient Irish descent. As to its origin, in spite of arbitrary
assertions made by certain people, none of whom, by the way, are of Irish
extraction--that no one knows. As a matter of fact the Banshee has a
number of origins, for there is not one Banshee only--as so many people
seem to think--but many; each clan possessing a Banshee of its own. The
O'Donnell Banshee, for example, that is to say the Banshee attached to our
branch of the clan, and to which I can testify from personal experience,
is, I believe, very different in appearance, and in its manner of making
itself known, from the Banshee of the O'Reardons, as described by Mr
McAnnaly; whilst the Banshee of a certain branch of the O'Flahertys,
according to this same authority, differs essentially from that of a
branch of the O'Neills. Mr McAnnaly says the Banshee "is really a
disembodied soul, that of one who, in life, was strongly attached to the
family, or who had good reason to hate all its members." This definition,
of course, may apply in some cases, but it certainly does not apply in
all, and it is absurd to be dogmatic on a subject, concerning which it is
quite impossible to obtain a very great deal of information. At the most,
Mr McAnnaly can only speak with certainty of the comparatively few cases
of Banshees that have come under his observation; there are, I think,
scores of which he has never even heard. I myself know of several Banshee
hauntings in which the phantom certainly cannot be that of any member of
the human race; its features and proportions absolutely negative such a
possibility, and I should have no hesitation in affirming that, in these
cases, the phantom is what is commonly known as an elemental, or what I
have termed in previous of my works, a neutrarian, that is a spirit that
has never inhabited any material body, and which belongs to a species
entirely distinct from man. On the other hand, several cases of Banshee
hauntings I have come across undoubtedly admit the possibility of the
phantom being that of a woman belonging to the human race, albeit to a
very ancient and long since obsolete section of it; whilst a few, only,
allow of the probability of the phantom being that of a woman, also
human, but belonging to a very much later date.
Certainly, as Mr McAnnaly stated, Banshees may be divided into two main
classes, the Friendly Banshees and the Hateful Banshees; the former
exhibiting sorrow on their advent, and the latter, exultation. But these
classes are capable of almost endless sub-division; the only feature they
possess in common being a vague something that strongly suggests the
feminine sex. In most cases the cause of the hauntings can only be a
matter of conjecture. Affection or crime may account for some, but, for
the origin of others, I believe one must look in a totally different
direction. For instance, one might, perhaps, see some solution in sorcery
and witchcraft, since there must be many families, who, in bygone days,
dabbled in those pursuits, that are now Banshee ridden.
Or, again, granted there is some truth in the theory of Atlantis, the
theory that a whole continent was submerged owing to the wickedness of its
inhabitants, who were all more or less adepts in necromancy--the most
ancient of the Irish, the so-called Milesian clans who are known to have
practised sorcery, might well be identical with the survivors of that
great cataclysm, and have brought with them to the Green Island spirits
which have stuck to their descendants ever since.
I think one may dismiss Mr C. W. Leadbeater's[2] and other writers' (of
the same would-be authoritative order) assertion that family ghosts may be
either a thought-form or an unusually vivid impression in the astral
light, as absurd. Spiritualists and others, who blindly reverence
highfalutin phraseology, however empty it may be, might be satisfied with
such an explanation, but not so those who have had actual experience with
the ghost in question.
Whatever else the Banshee may, or may not be, it is most certainly a
denizen of a world quite distinct from ours; it is, besides, a being that
has prophetic powers (which would not be the case if it were a mere
thought-form or impression), and it is by no means a mere automaton.
Some Banshees represent very beautiful women--women with long, luxuriant
tresses, either of raven black, or burnished copper, or brilliant gold,
and whose star-like eyes, full of tender pity, are either dark and
tearful, or of the most exquisite blue or grey; some, again, are haggish,
wild, dishevelled-looking creatures, whose appearance suggests the utmost
squalor, foulness, and despair; whilst a few, fortunately, I think, only
a few, take the form of something that is wholly diabolical, and
frightful, and terrifying in the extreme.
As a rule, however, the Banshee is not seen, it is only heard, and it
announces its advent in a variety of ways; sometimes by groaning,
sometimes by wailing, and sometimes by uttering the most blood-curdling of
screams, which I can only liken to the screams a woman might make if she
were being done to death in a very cruel and violent manner. Occasionally
I have heard of Banshees clapping their hands, and tapping and scratching
at walls and window-panes, and, not infrequently, I have heard of them
signalling their arrival by terrific crashes and thumps. Also, I have met
with the Banshee that simply chuckles--a low, short, but terribly
expressive chuckle, that makes ten times more impression on the mind of
the hearer than any other ghostly sound he has heard, and which no lapse
of time is ever able to efface from his memory.
I, for one, have heard the sound, and as I sit here penning these lines, I
fancy I can hear it again--a Satanic chuckle, a chuckle full of mockery,
as if made by one who was in the full knowledge of coming events, of
events that would present an extremely unpleasant surprise. And, in my
case, the unpleasant surprise came. I have always been a believer in a
spirit world--in the unknown--but had I been ever so sceptical previously,
after hearing that chuckle, I am quite sure I should have been converted.
In concluding this chapter I must refer once again to Mr McAnnaly, who, in
his "Irish Wonders," records a very remarkable instance of a number of
Banshees manifesting themselves simultaneously. He says that the
demonstrations occurred before the death of a member of the Galway
O'Flahertys "some years ago."[3] The doomed one, he states, was a lady of
the most unusual piety, who, though ill at the time, was not thought to be
seriously ill. Indeed, she got so much better that several of her
acquaintances came to her room to enliven her convalescence, and it was
when they were there, all talking together merrily, that singing was
suddenly heard, apparently outside the window. They listened, and could
distinctly hear a choir of very sweet voices singing some extraordinarily
plaintive air, which made them turn pale and look at one another
apprehensively, for they all felt intuitively it was a chorus of Banshees.
Nor were their surmises incorrect, for the patient unexpectedly developed
pleurisy, and died within a few days, the same choir of spirit voices
being again heard at the moment of physical dissolution.
But as Mr McAnnaly states, the ill-fated lady was of singular purity,
which doubtless explains the reason why, in my researches, I have never
come across a parallel case.