diff options
Diffstat (limited to '4387-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 4387-h/4387-h.htm | 2534 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4387-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 39891 bytes |
2 files changed, 2534 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/4387-h/4387-h.htm b/4387-h/4387-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b1f0db --- /dev/null +++ b/4387-h/4387-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2534 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Present at a Hanging, by Ambose Bierce</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Present at a Hanging, by Ambose Bierce + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Present at a Hanging + and Other Ghost Stories + + +Author: Ambose Bierce + + + +Release Date: August 5, 2019 [eBook #4387] +[This file was first posted on January 20, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRESENT AT A HANGING*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1918 Boni and Liveright’s +“Can Such Things Be?” edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Public domain cover" +title= +"Public domain cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>PRESENT AT A HANGING AND OTHER GHOST STORIES</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">By</span><br +/> +Ambrose Bierce</p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE WAYS OF GHOSTS</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Present at a Hanging</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page327">327</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Cold Greeting</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Wireless Message</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Arrest</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p>SOLDIER-FOLK</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Man with Two Lives</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Three and One are One</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Baffled Ambuscade</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Two Military Executions</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SOME HAUNTED HOUSES</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Isle of Pines</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page369">369</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Fruitless Assignment</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page377">377</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Vine on a House</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page383">383</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">At Old Man Eckert’s</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page389">389</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Spook House</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Other Lodgers</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Thing at Nolan</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page405">405</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Difficulty of Crossing a +Field</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Unfinished Race</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page419">419</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Charles Ashmore’s +Trail</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page421">421</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>THE +WAYS OF GHOSTS</h2> +<p><a name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 325</span><i>My +peculiar relation to the writer of the following narratives is +such that I must ask the reader to overlook the absence of +explanation as to how they came into my possession</i>. +<i>Withal</i>, <i>my knowledge of him is so meager that I should +rather not undertake to say if he were himself persuaded of the +truth of what he relates</i>; <i>certainly such inquiries as I +have thought it worth while to set about have not in every +instance tended to confirmation of the statements made</i>. +<i>Yet his style</i>, <i>for the most part devoid alike of +artifice and art</i>, <i>almost baldly simple and direct</i>, +<i>seems hardly compatible with the disingenuousness of a merely +literary intention</i>; <i>one would call it the manner of one +more concerned for the fruits of research than for the flowers of +expression</i>. <i>In transcribing his notes and fortifying +their claim to attention by giving them something of an orderly +arrangement</i>, <i>I have conscientiously refrained from +embellishing them with such small ornaments of diction as I may +have felt myself able to bestow</i>, <i>which would not only have +been impertinent</i>, <i>even if pleasing</i>, <i>but would have +given me a somewhat closer relation to the work than I should +care to have and to avow</i>.—<i>A. B.</i></p> +<h3><a name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +327</span>PRESENT AT A HANGING</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">An</span> old man named Daniel Baker, +living near Lebanon, Iowa, was suspected by his neighbors of +having murdered a peddler who had obtained permission to pass the +night at his house. This was in 1853, when peddling was +more common in the Western country than it is now, and was +attended with considerable danger. The peddler with his +pack traversed the country by all manner of lonely roads, and was +compelled to rely upon the country people for hospitality. +This brought him into relation with queer characters, some of +whom were not altogether scrupulous in their methods of making a +living, murder being an acceptable means to that end. It +occasionally occurred that a peddler with diminished pack and +swollen purse would be traced to the lonely dwelling of some +rough character and never could be traced beyond. This was +so in the case of “old man Baker,” as he was always +called. (Such names are given in the western +“settlements” only to elderly persons who are not +esteemed; to the general disrepute of social unworth is affixed +the special reproach of age.) A peddler came to his house +and none went away—that is all that anybody knew.</p> +<p>Seven years later the Rev. Mr. Cummings, a Baptist minister +well known in that part of the country, was driving by +Baker’s farm one night. It was not very dark: there +was a bit of moon somewhere above the light veil of mist that lay +along the earth. Mr. Cummings, who was at all times a +cheerful person, was whistling a tune, which he would +occasionally interrupt to speak a word of friendly encouragement +to his horse. As he came to a little bridge across a dry +ravine he saw the figure of a man standing upon it, clearly +outlined against the gray background of a misty forest. The +man had something strapped on his back and carried a heavy +stick—obviously an itinerant peddler. His attitude +had in it a suggestion of abstraction, like that of a +sleepwalker. Mr. Cummings reined in his horse when he +arrived in front of him, gave him a pleasant salutation and +invited him to a seat in the vehicle—“if you are +going my way,” he added. The man raised his head, +looked him full in the face, but neither answered nor made any +further movement. The minister, with good-natured +persistence, repeated his invitation. At this the man threw +his right hand forward from his side and pointed downward as he +stood on the extreme edge of the bridge. Mr. Cummings +looked past him, over into the ravine, saw nothing unusual and +withdrew his eyes to address the man again. He had +disappeared. The horse, which all this time had been +uncommonly restless, gave at the same moment a snort of terror +and started to run away. Before he had regained control of +the animal the minister was at the crest of the hill a hundred +yards along. He looked back and saw the figure again, at +the same place and in the same attitude as when he had first +observed it. Then for the first time he was conscious of a +sense of the supernatural and drove home as rapidly as his +willing horse would go.</p> +<p>On arriving at home he related his adventure to his family, +and early the next morning, accompanied by two neighbors, John +White Corwell and Abner Raiser, returned to the spot. They +found the body of old man Baker hanging by the neck from one of +the beams of the bridge, immediately beneath the spot where the +apparition had stood. A thick coating of dust, slightly +dampened by the mist, covered the floor of the bridge, but the +only footprints were those of Mr. Cummings’ horse.</p> +<p>In taking down the body the men disturbed the loose, friable +earth of the slope below it, disclosing human bones already +nearly uncovered by the action of water and frost. They +were identified as those of the lost peddler. At the double +inquest the coroner’s jury found that Daniel Baker died by +his own hand while suffering from temporary insanity, and that +Samuel Morritz was murdered by some person or persons to the jury +unknown.</p> +<h3><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 331</span>A +COLD GREETING</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is a story told by the late +Benson Foley of San Francisco:</p> +<p>“In the summer of 1881 I met a man named James H. +Conway, a resident of Franklin, Tennessee. He was visiting +San Francisco for his health, deluded man, and brought me a note +of introduction from Mr. Lawrence Barting. I had known +Barting as a captain in the Federal army during the civil +war. At its close he had settled in Franklin, and in time +became, I had reason to think, somewhat prominent as a +lawyer. Barting had always seemed to me an honorable and +truthful man, and the warm friendship which he expressed in his +note for Mr. Conway was to me sufficient evidence that the latter +was in every way worthy of my confidence and esteem. At +dinner one day Conway told me that it had been solemnly agreed +between him and Barting that the one who died first should, if +possible, communicate with the other from beyond the grave, in +some unmistakable way—just how, they had left (wisely, it +seemed to me) to be decided by the deceased, according to the +opportunities that his altered circumstances might present.</p> +<p>“A few weeks after the conversation in which Mr. Conway +spoke of this agreement, I met him one day, walking slowly down +Montgomery street, apparently, from his abstracted air, in deep +thought. He greeted me coldly with merely a movement of the +head and passed on, leaving me standing on the walk, with +half-proffered hand, surprised and naturally somewhat +piqued. The next day I met him again in the office of the +Palace Hotel, and seeing him about to repeat the disagreeable +performance of the day before, intercepted him in a doorway, with +a friendly salutation, and bluntly requested an explanation of +his altered manner. He hesitated a moment; then, looking me +frankly in the eyes, said:</p> +<p>“‘I do not think, Mr. Foley, that I have any +longer a claim to your friendship, since Mr. Barting appears to +have withdrawn his own from me—for what reason, I protest I +do not know. If he has not already informed you he probably +will do so.’</p> +<p>“‘But,’ I replied, ‘I have not heard +from Mr. Barting.’</p> +<p>“‘Heard from him!’ he repeated, with +apparent surprise. ‘Why, he is here. I met him +yesterday ten minutes before meeting you. I gave you +exactly the same greeting that he gave me. I met him again +not a quarter of an hour ago, and his manner was precisely the +same: he merely bowed and passed on. I shall not soon +forget your civility to me. Good morning, or—as it +may please you—farewell.’</p> +<p>“All this seemed to me singularly considerate and +delicate behavior on the part of Mr. Conway.</p> +<p>“As dramatic situations and literary effects are foreign +to my purpose I will explain at once that Mr. Barting was +dead. He had died in Nashville four days before this +conversation. Calling on Mr. Conway, I apprised him of our +friend’s death, showing him the letters announcing +it. He was visibly affected in a way that forbade me to +entertain a doubt of his sincerity.</p> +<p>“‘It seems incredible,’ he said, after a +period of reflection. ‘I suppose I must have mistaken +another man for Barting, and that man’s cold greeting was +merely a stranger’s civil acknowledgment of my own. I +remember, indeed, that he lacked Barting’s +mustache.’</p> +<p>“‘Doubtless it was another man,’ I assented; +and the subject was never afterward mentioned between us. +But I had in my pocket a photograph of Barting, which had been +inclosed in the letter from his widow. It had been taken a +week before his death, and was without a mustache.”</p> +<h3><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>A +WIRELESS MESSAGE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the summer of 1896 Mr. William +Holt, a wealthy manufacturer of Chicago, was living temporarily +in a little town of central New York, the name of which the +writer’s memory has not retained. Mr. Holt had had +“trouble with his wife,” from whom he had parted a +year before. Whether the trouble was anything more serious +than “incompatibility of temper,” he is probably the +only living person that knows: he is not addicted to the vice of +confidences. Yet he has related the incident herein set +down to at least one person without exacting a pledge of +secrecy. He is now living in Europe.</p> +<p>One evening he had left the house of a brother whom he was +visiting, for a stroll in the country. It may be +assumed—whatever the value of the assumption in connection +with what is said to have occurred—that his mind was +occupied with reflections on his domestic infelicities and the +distressing changes that they had wrought in his life.</p> +<p>Whatever may have been his thoughts, they so possessed him +that he observed neither the lapse of time nor whither his feet +were carrying him; he knew only that he had passed far beyond the +town limits and was traversing a lonely region by a road that +bore no resemblance to the one by which he had left the +village. In brief, he was “lost.”</p> +<p>Realizing his mischance, he smiled; central New York is not a +region of perils, nor does one long remain lost in it. He +turned about and went back the way that he had come. Before +he had gone far he observed that the landscape was growing more +distinct—was brightening. Everything was suffused +with a soft, red glow in which he saw his shadow projected in the +road before him. “The moon is rising,” he said +to himself. Then he remembered that it was about the time +of the new moon, and if that tricksy orb was in one of its stages +of visibility it had set long before. He stopped and faced +about, seeking the source of the rapidly broadening light. +As he did so, his shadow turned and lay along the road in front +of him as before. The light still came from behind +him. That was surprising; he could not understand. +Again he turned, and again, facing successively to every point of +the horizon. Always the shadow was before—always the +light behind, “a still and awful red.”</p> +<p>Holt was astonished—“dumfounded” is the word +that he used in telling it—yet seems to have retained a +certain intelligent curiosity. To test the intensity of the +light whose nature and cause he could not determine, he took out +his watch to see if he could make out the figures on the +dial. They were plainly visible, and the hands indicated +the hour of eleven o’clock and twenty-five minutes. +At that moment the mysterious illumination suddenly flared to an +intense, an almost blinding splendor, flushing the entire sky, +extinguishing the stars and throwing the monstrous shadow of +himself athwart the landscape. In that unearthly +illumination he saw near him, but apparently in the air at a +considerable elevation, the figure of his wife, clad in her +night-clothing and holding to her breast the figure of his +child. Her eyes were fixed upon his with an expression +which he afterward professed himself unable to name or describe, +further than that it was “not of this life.”</p> +<p>The flare was momentary, followed by black darkness, in which, +however, the apparition still showed white and motionless; then +by insensible degrees it faded and vanished, like a bright image +on the retina after the closing of the eyes. A peculiarity +of the apparition, hardly noted at the time, but afterward +recalled, was that it showed only the upper half of the +woman’s figure: nothing was seen below the waist.</p> +<p>The sudden darkness was comparative, not absolute, for +gradually all objects of his environment became again +visible.</p> +<p>In the dawn of the morning Holt found himself entering the +village at a point opposite to that at which he had left +it. He soon arrived at the house of his brother, who hardly +knew him. He was wild-eyed, haggard, and gray as a +rat. Almost incoherently, he related his night’s +experience.</p> +<p>“Go to bed, my poor fellow,” said his brother, +“and—wait. We shall hear more of +this.”</p> +<p>An hour later came the predestined telegram. +Holt’s dwelling in one of the suburbs of Chicago had been +destroyed by fire. Her escape cut off by the flames, his +wife had appeared at an upper window, her child in her +arms. There she had stood, motionless, apparently +dazed. Just as the firemen had arrived with a ladder, the +floor had given way, and she was seen no more.</p> +<p>The moment of this culminating horror was eleven o’clock +and twenty-five minutes, standard time.</p> +<h3><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 340</span>AN +ARREST</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Having</span> murdered his brother-in-law, +Orrin Brower of Kentucky was a fugitive from justice. From +the county jail where he had been confined to await his trial he +had escaped by knocking down his jailer with an iron bar, robbing +him of his keys and, opening the outer door, walking out into the +night. The jailer being unarmed, Brower got no weapon with +which to defend his recovered liberty. As soon as he was +out of the town he had the folly to enter a forest; this was many +years ago, when that region was wilder than it is now.</p> +<p>The night was pretty dark, with neither moon nor stars +visible, and as Brower had never dwelt thereabout, and knew +nothing of the lay of the land, he was, naturally, not long in +losing himself. He could not have said if he were getting +farther away from the town or going back to it—a most +important matter to Orrin Brower. He knew that in either +case a posse of citizens with a pack of bloodhounds would soon be +on his track and his chance of escape was very slender; but he +did not wish to assist in his own pursuit. Even an added +hour of freedom was worth having.</p> +<p>Suddenly he emerged from the forest into an old road, and +there before him saw, indistinctly, the figure of a man, +motionless in the gloom. It was too late to retreat: the +fugitive felt that at the first movement back toward the wood he +would be, as he afterward explained, “filled with +buckshot.” So the two stood there like trees, Brower +nearly suffocated by the activity of his own heart; the +other—the emotions of the other are not recorded.</p> +<p>A moment later—it may have been an hour—the moon +sailed into a patch of unclouded sky and the hunted man saw that +visible embodiment of Law lift an arm and point significantly +toward and beyond him. He understood. Turning his +back to his captor, he walked submissively away in the direction +indicated, looking to neither the right nor the left; hardly +daring to breathe, his head and back actually aching with a +prophecy of buckshot.</p> +<p>Brower was as courageous a criminal as ever lived to be +hanged; that was shown by the conditions of awful personal peril +in which he had coolly killed his brother-in-law. It is +needless to relate them here; they came out at his trial, and the +revelation of his calmness in confronting them came near to +saving his neck. But what would you have?—when a +brave man is beaten, he submits.</p> +<p>So they pursued their journey jailward along the old road +through the woods. Only once did Brower venture a turn of +the head: just once, when he was in deep shadow and he knew that +the other was in moonlight, he looked backward. His captor +was Burton Duff, the jailer, as white as death and bearing upon +his brow the livid mark of the iron bar. Orrin Brower had +no further curiosity.</p> +<p>Eventually they entered the town, which was all alight, but +deserted; only the women and children remained, and they were off +the streets. Straight toward the jail the criminal held his +way. Straight up to the main entrance he walked, laid his +hand upon the knob of the heavy iron door, pushed it open without +command, entered and found himself in the presence of a +half-dozen armed men. Then he turned. Nobody else +entered.</p> +<p>On a table in the corridor lay the dead body of Burton +Duff.</p> +<h2><a name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +343</span>SOLDIER-FOLK</h2> +<h3><a name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>A +MAN WITH TWO LIVES</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Here</span> is the queer story of David +William Duck, related by himself. Duck is an old man living +in Aurora, Illinois, where he is universally respected. He +is commonly known, however, as “Dead Duck.”</p> +<p>“In the autumn of 1866 I was a private soldier of the +Eighteenth Infantry. My company was one of those stationed +at Fort Phil Kearney, commanded by Colonel Carrington. The +country is more or less familiar with the history of that +garrison, particularly with the slaughter by the Sioux of a +detachment of eighty-one men and officers—not one +escaping—through disobedience of orders by its commander, +the brave but reckless Captain Fetterman. When that +occurred, I was trying to make my way with important dispatches +to Fort C. F. Smith, on the Big Horn. As the country +swarmed with hostile Indians, I traveled by night and concealed +myself as best I could before daybreak. The better to do +so, I went afoot, armed with a Henry rifle and carrying three +days’ rations in my haversack.</p> +<p>“For my second place of concealment I chose what seemed +in the darkness a narrow cañon leading through a range of +rocky hills. It contained many large bowlders, detached +from the slopes of the hills. Behind one of these, in a +clump of sage-brush, I made my bed for the day, and soon fell +asleep. It seemed as if I had hardly closed my eyes, though +in fact it was near midday, when I was awakened by the report of +a rifle, the bullet striking the bowlder just above my +body. A band of Indians had trailed me and had me nearly +surrounded; the shot had been fired with an execrable aim by a +fellow who had caught sight of me from the hillside above. +The smoke of his rifle betrayed him, and I was no sooner on my +feet than he was off his and rolling down the declivity. +Then I ran in a stooping posture, dodging among the clumps of +sage-brush in a storm of bullets from invisible enemies. +The rascals did not rise and pursue, which I thought rather +queer, for they must have known by my trail that they had to deal +with only one man. The reason for their inaction was soon +made clear. I had not gone a hundred yards before I reached +the limit of my run—the head of the gulch which I had +mistaken for a cañon. It terminated in a concave +breast of rock, nearly vertical and destitute of +vegetation. In that cul-de-sac I was caught like a bear in +a pen. Pursuit was needless; they had only to wait.</p> +<p>“They waited. For two days and nights, crouching +behind a rock topped with a growth of mesquite, and with the +cliff at my back, suffering agonies of thirst and absolutely +hopeless of deliverance, I fought the fellows at long range, +firing occasionally at the smoke of their rifles, as they did at +that of mine. Of course, I did not dare to close my eyes at +night, and lack of sleep was a keen torture.</p> +<p>“I remember the morning of the third day, which I knew +was to be my last. I remember, rather indistinctly, that in +my desperation and delirium I sprang out into the open and began +firing my repeating rifle without seeing anybody to fire +at. And I remember no more of that fight.</p> +<p>“The next thing that I recollect was my pulling myself +out of a river just at nightfall. I had not a rag of +clothing and knew nothing of my whereabouts, but all that night I +traveled, cold and footsore, toward the north. At daybreak +I found myself at Fort C. F. Smith, my destination, but without +my dispatches. The first man that I met was a sergeant +named William Briscoe, whom I knew very well. You can fancy +his astonishment at seeing me in that condition, and my own at +his asking who the devil I was.</p> +<p>“‘Dave Duck,’ I answered; ‘who should +I be?’</p> +<p>“He stared like an owl.</p> +<p>“‘You do look it,’ he said, and I observed +that he drew a little away from me. ‘What’s +up?’ he added.</p> +<p>“I told him what had happened to me the day +before. He heard me through, still staring; then he +said:</p> +<p>“‘My dear fellow, if you are Dave Duck I ought to +inform you that I buried you two months ago. I was out with +a small scouting party and found your body, full of bullet-holes +and newly scalped—somewhat mutilated otherwise, too, I am +sorry to say—right where you say you made your fight. +Come to my tent and I’ll show you your clothing and some +letters that I took from your person; the commandant has your +dispatches.’</p> +<p>“He performed that promise. He showed me the +clothing, which I resolutely put on; the letters, which I put +into my pocket. He made no objection, then took me to the +commandant, who heard my story and coldly ordered Briscoe to take +me to the guardhouse. On the way I said:</p> +<p>“‘Bill Briscoe, did you really and truly bury the +dead body that you found in these togs?’</p> +<p>“‘Sure,’ he answered—‘just as I +told you. It was Dave Duck, all right; most of us knew +him. And now, you damned impostor, you’d better tell +me who you are.’</p> +<p>“‘I’d give something to know,’ I +said.</p> +<p>“A week later, I escaped from the guardhouse and got out +of the country as fast as I could. Twice I have been back, +seeking for that fateful spot in the hills, but unable to find +it.”</p> +<h3><a name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +350</span>THREE AND ONE ARE ONE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the year 1861 Barr Lassiter, a +young man of twenty-two, lived with his parents and an elder +sister near Carthage, Tennessee. The family were in +somewhat humble circumstances, subsisting by cultivation of a +small and not very fertile plantation. Owning no slaves, +they were not rated among “the best people” of their +neighborhood; but they were honest persons of good education, +fairly well mannered and as respectable as any family could be if +uncredentialed by personal dominion over the sons and daughters +of Ham. The elder Lassiter had that severity of manner that +so frequently affirms an uncompromising devotion to duty, and +conceals a warm and affectionate disposition. He was of the +iron of which martyrs are made, but in the heart of the matrix +had lurked a nobler metal, fusible at a milder heat, yet never +coloring nor softening the hard exterior. By both heredity +and environment something of the man’s inflexible character +had touched the other members of the family; the Lassiter home, +though not devoid of domestic affection, was a veritable citadel +of duty, and duty—ah, duty is as cruel as death!</p> +<p>When the war came on it found in the family, as in so many +others in that State, a divided sentiment; the young man was +loyal to the Union, the others savagely hostile. This +unhappy division begot an insupportable domestic bitterness, and +when the offending son and brother left home with the avowed +purpose of joining the Federal army not a hand was laid in his, +not a word of farewell was spoken, not a good wish followed him +out into the world whither he went to meet with such spirit as he +might whatever fate awaited him.</p> +<p>Making his way to Nashville, already occupied by the Army of +General Buell, he enlisted in the first organization that he +found, a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and in due time passed +through all the stages of military evolution from raw recruit to +experienced trooper. A right good trooper he was, too, +although in his oral narrative from which this tale is made there +was no mention of that; the fact was learned from his surviving +comrades. For Barr Lassiter has answered “Here” +to the sergeant whose name is Death.</p> +<p>Two years after he had joined it his regiment passed through +the region whence he had come. The country thereabout had +suffered severely from the ravages of war, having been occupied +alternately (and simultaneously) by the belligerent forces, and a +sanguinary struggle had occurred in the immediate vicinity of the +Lassiter homestead. But of this the young trooper was not +aware.</p> +<p>Finding himself in camp near his home, he felt a natural +longing to see his parents and sister, hoping that in them, as in +him, the unnatural animosities of the period had been softened by +time and separation. Obtaining a leave of absence, he set +foot in the late summer afternoon, and soon after the rising of +the full moon was walking up the gravel path leading to the +dwelling in which he had been born.</p> +<p>Soldiers in war age rapidly, and in youth two years are a long +time. Barr Lassiter felt himself an old man, and had almost +expected to find the place a ruin and a desolation. +Nothing, apparently, was changed. At the sight of each dear +and familiar object he was profoundly affected. His heart +beat audibly, his emotion nearly suffocated him; an ache was in +his throat. Unconsciously he quickened his pace until he +almost ran, his long shadow making grotesque efforts to keep its +place beside him.</p> +<p>The house was unlighted, the door open. As he approached +and paused to recover control of himself his father came out and +stood bare-headed in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Father!” cried the young man, springing forward +with outstretched hand—“Father!”</p> +<p>The elder man looked him sternly in the face, stood a moment +motionless and without a word withdrew into the house. +Bitterly disappointed, humiliated, inexpressibly hurt and +altogether unnerved, the soldier dropped upon a rustic seat in +deep dejection, supporting his head upon his trembling +hand. But he would not have it so: he was too good a +soldier to accept repulse as defeat. He rose and entered +the house, passing directly to the +“sitting-room.”</p> +<p>It was dimly lighted by an uncurtained east window. On a +low stool by the hearthside, the only article of furniture in the +place, sat his mother, staring into a fireplace strewn with +blackened embers and cold ashes. He spoke to +her—tenderly, interrogatively, and with hesitation, but she +neither answered, nor moved, nor seemed in any way +surprised. True, there had been time for her husband to +apprise her of their guilty son’s return. He moved +nearer and was about to lay his hand upon her arm, when his +sister entered from an adjoining room, looked him full in the +face, passed him without a sign of recognition and left the room +by a door that was partly behind him. He had turned his +head to watch her, but when she was gone his eyes again sought +his mother. She too had left the place.</p> +<p>Barr Lassiter strode to the door by which he had +entered. The moonlight on the lawn was tremulous, as if the +sward were a rippling sea. The trees and their black +shadows shook as in a breeze. Blended with its borders, the +gravel walk seemed unsteady and insecure to step on. This +young soldier knew the optical illusions produced by tears. +He felt them on his cheek, and saw them sparkle on the breast of +his trooper’s jacket. He left the house and made his +way back to camp.</p> +<p>The next day, with no very definite intention, with no +dominant feeling that he could rightly have named, he again +sought the spot. Within a half-mile of it he met Bushrod +Albro, a former playfellow and schoolmate, who greeted him +warmly.</p> +<p>“I am going to visit my home,” said the +soldier.</p> +<p>The other looked at him rather sharply, but said nothing.</p> +<p>“I know,” continued Lassiter, “that my folks +have not changed, but—”</p> +<p>“There have been changes,” Albro +interrupted—“everything changes. I’ll go +with you if you don’t mind. We can talk as we +go.”</p> +<p>But Albro did not talk.</p> +<p>Instead of a house they found only fire-blackened foundations +of stone, enclosing an area of compact ashes pitted by rains.</p> +<p>Lassiter’s astonishment was extreme.</p> +<p>“I could not find the right way to tell you,” said +Albro. “In the fight a year ago your house was burned +by a Federal shell.”</p> +<p>“And my family—where are they?”</p> +<p>“In Heaven, I hope. All were killed by the +shell.”</p> +<h3><a name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 356</span>A +BAFFLED AMBUSCADE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Connecting</span> Readyville and Woodbury +was a good, hard turnpike nine or ten miles long. +Readyville was an outpost of the Federal army at Murfreesboro; +Woodbury had the same relation to the Confederate army at +Tullahoma. For months after the big battle at Stone River +these outposts were in constant quarrel, most of the trouble +occurring, naturally, on the turnpike mentioned, between +detachments of cavalry. Sometimes the infantry and +artillery took a hand in the game by way of showing their +good-will.</p> +<p>One night a squadron of Federal horse commanded by Major +Seidel, a gallant and skillful officer, moved out from Readyville +on an uncommonly hazardous enterprise requiring secrecy, caution +and silence.</p> +<p>Passing the infantry pickets, the detachment soon afterward +approached two cavalry videttes staring hard into the darkness +ahead. There should have been three.</p> +<p>“Where is your other man?” said the major. +“I ordered Dunning to be here to-night.”</p> +<p>“He rode forward, sir,” the man replied. +“There was a little firing afterward, but it was a long way +to the front.”</p> +<p>“It was against orders and against sense for Dunning to +do that,” said the officer, obviously vexed. +“Why did he ride forward?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know, sir; he seemed mighty restless. +Guess he was skeered.”</p> +<p>When this remarkable reasoner and his companion had been +absorbed into the expeditionary force, it resumed its +advance. Conversation was forbidden; arms and accouterments +were denied the right to rattle. The horses’ tramping +was all that could be heard and the movement was slow in order to +have as little as possible of that. It was after midnight +and pretty dark, although there was a bit of moon somewhere +behind the masses of cloud.</p> +<p>Two or three miles along, the head of the column approached a +dense forest of cedars bordering the road on both sides. +The major commanded a halt by merely halting, and, evidently +himself a bit “skeered,” rode on alone to +reconnoiter. He was followed, however, by his adjutant and +three troopers, who remained a little distance behind and, unseen +by him, saw all that occurred.</p> +<p>After riding about a hundred yards toward the forest, the +major suddenly and sharply reined in his horse and sat motionless +in the saddle. Near the side of the road, in a little open +space and hardly ten paces away, stood the figure of a man, dimly +visible and as motionless as he. The major’s first +feeling was that of satisfaction in having left his cavalcade +behind; if this were an enemy and should escape he would have +little to report. The expedition was as yet undetected.</p> +<p>Some dark object was dimly discernible at the man’s +feet; the officer could not make it out. With the instinct +of the true cavalryman and a particular indisposition to the +discharge of firearms, he drew his saber. The man on foot +made no movement in answer to the challenge. The situation +was tense and a bit dramatic. Suddenly the moon burst +through a rift in the clouds and, himself in the shadow of a +group of great oaks, the horseman saw the footman clearly, in a +patch of white light. It was Trooper Dunning, unarmed and +bareheaded. The object at his feet resolved itself into a +dead horse, and at a right angle across the animal’s neck +lay a dead man, face upward in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Dunning has had the fight of his life,” thought +the major, and was about to ride forward. Dunning raised +his hand, motioning him back with a gesture of warning; then, +lowering the arm, he pointed to the place where the road lost +itself in the blackness of the cedar forest.</p> +<p>The major understood, and turning his horse rode back to the +little group that had followed him and was already moving to the +rear in fear of his displeasure, and so returned to the head of +his command.</p> +<p>“Dunning is just ahead there,” he said to the +captain of his leading company. “He has killed his +man and will have something to report.”</p> +<p>Right patiently they waited, sabers drawn, but Dunning did not +come. In an hour the day broke and the whole force moved +cautiously forward, its commander not altogether satisfied with +his faith in Private Dunning. The expedition had failed, +but something remained to be done.</p> +<p>In the little open space off the road they found the fallen +horse. At a right angle across the animal’s neck face +upward, a bullet in the brain, lay the body of Trooper Dunning, +stiff as a statue, hours dead.</p> +<p>Examination disclosed abundant evidence that within a +half-hour the cedar forest had been occupied by a strong force of +Confederate infantry—an ambuscade.</p> +<h3><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>TWO +MILITARY EXECUTIONS</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the spring of the year 1862 +General Buell’s big army lay in camp, licking itself into +shape for the campaign which resulted in the victory at +Shiloh. It was a raw, untrained army, although some of its +fractions had seen hard enough service, with a good deal of +fighting, in the mountains of Western Virginia, and in +Kentucky. The war was young and soldiering a new industry, +imperfectly understood by the young American of the period, who +found some features of it not altogether to his liking. +Chief among these was that essential part of discipline, +subordination. To one imbued from infancy with the +fascinating fallacy that all men are born equal, unquestioning +submission to authority is not easily mastered, and the American +volunteer soldier in his “green and salad days” is +among the worst known. That is how it happened that one of +Buell’s men, Private Bennett Story Greene, committed the +indiscretion of striking his officer. Later in the war he +would not have done that; like Sir Andrew Aguecheek, he would +have “seen him damned” first. But time for +reformation of his military manners was denied him: he was +promptly arrested on complaint of the officer, tried by +court-martial and sentenced to be shot.</p> +<p>“You might have thrashed me and let it go at +that,” said the condemned man to the complaining witness; +“that is what you used to do at school, when you were plain +Will Dudley and I was as good as you. Nobody saw me strike +you; discipline would not have suffered much.”</p> +<p>“Ben Greene, I guess you are right about that,” +said the lieutenant. “Will you forgive me? That +is what I came to see you about.”</p> +<p>There was no reply, and an officer putting his head in at the +door of the guard-tent where the conversation had occurred, +explained that the time allowed for the interview had +expired. The next morning, when in the presence of the +whole brigade Private Greene was shot to death by a squad of his +comrades, Lieutenant Dudley turned his back upon the sorry +performance and muttered a prayer for mercy, in which himself was +included.</p> +<p>A few weeks afterward, as Buell’s leading division was +being ferried over the Tennessee River to assist in succoring +Grant’s beaten army, night was coming on, black and +stormy. Through the wreck of battle the division moved, +inch by inch, in the direction of the enemy, who had withdrawn a +little to reform his lines. But for the lightning the +darkness was absolute. Never for a moment did it cease, and +ever when the thunder did not crack and roar were heard the moans +of the wounded among whom the men felt their way with their feet, +and upon whom they stumbled in the gloom. The dead were +there, too—there were dead a-plenty.</p> +<p>In the first faint gray of the morning, when the swarming +advance had paused to resume something of definition as a line of +battle, and skirmishers had been thrown forward, word was passed +along to call the roll. The first sergeant of Lieutenant +Dudley’s company stepped to the front and began to name the +men in alphabetical order. He had no written roll, but a +good memory. The men answered to their names as he ran down +the alphabet to G.</p> +<p>“Gorham.”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<p>“Grayrock.”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<p>The sergeant’s good memory was affected by habit:</p> +<p>“Greene.”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<p>The response was clear, distinct, unmistakable!</p> +<p>A sudden movement, an agitation of the entire company front, +as from an electric shock, attested the startling character of +the incident. The sergeant paled and paused. The +captain strode quickly to his side and said sharply:</p> +<p>“Call that name again.”</p> +<p>Apparently the Society for Psychical Research is not first in +the field of curiosity concerning the Unknown.</p> +<p>“Bennett Greene.”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<p>All faces turned in the direction of the familiar voice; the +two men between whom in the order of stature Greene had commonly +stood in line turned and squarely confronted each other.</p> +<p>“Once more,” commanded the inexorable +investigator, and once more came—a trifle +tremulously—the name of the dead man:</p> +<p>“Bennett Story Greene.”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<p>At that instant a single rifle-shot was heard, away to the +front, beyond the skirmish-line, followed, almost attended, by +the savage hiss of an approaching bullet which passing through +the line, struck audibly, punctuating as with a full stop the +captain’s exclamation, “What the devil does it +mean?”</p> +<p>Lieutenant Dudley pushed through the ranks from his place in +the rear.</p> +<p>“It means this,” he said, throwing open his coat +and displaying a visibly broadening stain of crimson on his +breast. His knees gave way; he fell awkwardly and lay +dead.</p> +<p>A little later the regiment was ordered out of line to relieve +the congested front, and through some misplay in the game of +battle was not again under fire. Nor did Bennett Greene, +expert in military executions, ever again signify his presence at +one.</p> +<h2><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>SOME +HAUNTED HOUSES</h2> +<h3><a name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 369</span>THE +ISLE OF PINES</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> many years there lived near the +town of Gallipolis, Ohio, an old man named Herman Deluse. +Very little was known of his history, for he would neither speak +of it himself nor suffer others. It was a common belief +among his neighbors that he had been a pirate—if upon any +better evidence than his collection of boarding pikes, cutlasses, +and ancient flintlock pistols, no one knew. He lived +entirely alone in a small house of four rooms, falling rapidly +into decay and never repaired further than was required by the +weather. It stood on a slight elevation in the midst of a +large, stony field overgrown with brambles, and cultivated in +patches and only in the most primitive way. It was his only +visible property, but could hardly have yielded him a living, +simple and few as were his wants. He seemed always to have +ready money, and paid cash for all his purchases at the village +stores roundabout, seldom buying more than two or three times at +the same place until after the lapse of a considerable +time. He got no commendation, however, for this equitable +distribution of his patronage; people were disposed to regard it +as an ineffectual attempt to conceal his possession of so much +money. That he had great hoards of ill-gotten gold buried +somewhere about his tumble-down dwelling was not reasonably to be +doubted by any honest soul conversant with the facts of local +tradition and gifted with a sense of the fitness of things.</p> +<p>On the 9th of November, 1867, the old man died; at least his +dead body was discovered on the 10th, and physicians testified +that death had occurred about twenty-four hours +previously—precisely how, they were unable to say; for the +<i>post-mortem</i> examination showed every organ to be +absolutely healthy, with no indication of disorder or +violence. According to them, death must have taken place +about noonday, yet the body was found in bed. The verdict +of the coroner’s jury was that he “came to his death +by a visitation of God.” The body was buried and the +public administrator took charge of the estate.</p> +<p>A rigorous search disclosed nothing more than was already +known about the dead man, and much patient excavation here and +there about the premises by thoughtful and thrifty neighbors went +unrewarded. The administrator locked up the house against +the time when the property, real and personal, should be sold by +law with a view to defraying, partly, the expenses of the +sale.</p> +<p>The night of November 20 was boisterous. A furious gale +stormed across the country, scourging it with desolating drifts +of sleet. Great trees were torn from the earth and hurled +across the roads. So wild a night had never been known in +all that region, but toward morning the storm had blown itself +out of breath and day dawned bright and clear. At about +eight o’clock that morning the Rev. Henry Galbraith, a +well-known and highly esteemed Lutheran minister, arrived on foot +at his house, a mile and a half from the Deluse place. Mr. +Galbraith had been for a month in Cincinnati. He had come +up the river in a steamboat, and landing at Gallipolis the +previous evening had immediately obtained a horse and buggy and +set out for home. The violence of the storm had delayed him +over night, and in the morning the fallen trees had compelled him +to abandon his conveyance and continue his journey afoot.</p> +<p>“But where did you pass the night?” inquired his +wife, after he had briefly related his adventure.</p> +<p>“With old Deluse at the ‘Isle of +Pines,’” <a name="citation372"></a><a +href="#footnote372" class="citation">[372]</a> was the laughing +reply; “and a glum enough time I had of it. He made +no objection to my remaining, but not a word could I get out of +him.”</p> +<p>Fortunately for the interests of truth there was present at +this conversation Mr. Robert Mosely Maren, a lawyer and +<i>littérateur</i> of Columbus, the same who wrote the +delightful “Mellowcraft Papers.” Noting, but +apparently not sharing, the astonishment caused by Mr. +Galbraith’s answer this ready-witted person checked by a +gesture the exclamations that would naturally have followed, and +tranquilly inquired: “How came you to go in +there?”</p> +<p>This is Mr. Maren’s version of Mr. Galbraith’s +reply:</p> +<p>“I saw a light moving about the house, and being nearly +blinded by the sleet, and half frozen besides, drove in at the +gate and put up my horse in the old rail stable, where it is +now. I then rapped at the door, and getting no invitation +went in without one. The room was dark, but having matches +I found a candle and lit it. I tried to enter the adjoining +room, but the door was fast, and although I heard the old +man’s heavy footsteps in there he made no response to my +calls. There was no fire on the hearth, so I made one and +laying [<i>sic</i>] down before it with my overcoat under my +head, prepared myself for sleep. Pretty soon the door that +I had tried silently opened and the old man came in, carrying a +candle. I spoke to him pleasantly, apologizing for my +intrusion, but he took no notice of me. He seemed to be +searching for something, though his eyes were unmoved in their +sockets. I wonder if he ever walks in his sleep. He +took a circuit a part of the way round the room, and went out the +same way he had come in. Twice more before I slept he came +back into the room, acting precisely the same way, and departing +as at first. In the intervals I heard him tramping all over +the house, his footsteps distinctly audible in the pauses of the +storm. When I woke in the morning he had already gone +out.”</p> +<p>Mr. Maren attempted some further questioning, but was unable +longer to restrain the family’s tongues; the story of +Deluse’s death and burial came out, greatly to the good +minister’s astonishment.</p> +<p>“The explanation of your adventure is very +simple,” said Mr. Maren. “I don’t believe +old Deluse walks in his sleep—not in his present one; but +you evidently dream in yours.”</p> +<p>And to this view of the matter Mr. Galbraith was compelled +reluctantly to assent.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, a late hour of the next night found these two +gentlemen, accompanied by a son of the minister, in the road in +front of the old Deluse house. There was a light inside; it +appeared now at one window and now at another. The three +men advanced to the door. Just as they reached it there +came from the interior a confusion of the most appalling +sounds—the clash of weapons, steel against steel, sharp +explosions as of firearms, shrieks of women, groans and the +curses of men in combat! The investigators stood a moment, +irresolute, frightened. Then Mr. Galbraith tried the +door. It was fast. But the minister was a man of +courage, a man, moreover, of Herculean strength. He retired +a pace or two and rushed against the door, striking it with his +right shoulder and bursting it from the frame with a loud +crash. In a moment the three were inside. Darkness +and silence! The only sound was the beating of their +hearts.</p> +<p>Mr. Maren had provided himself with matches and a +candle. With some difficulty, begotten of his excitement, +he made a light, and they proceeded to explore the place, passing +from room to room. Everything was in orderly arrangement, +as it had been left by the sheriff; nothing had been +disturbed. A light coating of dust was everywhere. A +back door was partly open, as if by neglect, and their first +thought was that the authors of the awful revelry might have +escaped. The door was opened, and the light of the candle +shone through upon the ground. The expiring effort of the +previous night’s storm had been a light fall of snow; there +were no footprints; the white surface was unbroken. They +closed the door and entered the last room of the four that the +house contained—that farthest from the road, in an angle of +the building. Here the candle in Mr. Maren’s hand was +suddenly extinguished as by a draught of air. Almost +immediately followed the sound of a heavy fall. When the +candle had been hastily relighted young Mr. Galbraith was seen +prostrate on the floor at a little distance from the +others. He was dead. In one hand the body grasped a +heavy sack of coins, which later examination showed to be all of +old Spanish mintage. Directly over the body as it lay, a +board had been torn from its fastenings in the wall, and from the +cavity so disclosed it was evident that the bag had been +taken.</p> +<p>Another inquest was held: another <i>post-mortem</i> +examination failed to reveal a probable cause of death. +Another verdict of “the visitation of God” left all +at liberty to form their own conclusions. Mr. Maren +contended that the young man died of excitement.</p> +<h3><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 377</span>A +FRUITLESS ASSIGNMENT</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Henry Saylor</span>, who was killed in +Covington, in a quarrel with Antonio Finch, was a reporter on the +Cincinnati <i>Commercial</i>. In the year 1859 a vacant +dwelling in Vine street, in Cincinnati, became the center of a +local excitement because of the strange sights and sounds said to +be observed in it nightly. According to the testimony of +many reputable residents of the vicinity these were inconsistent +with any other hypothesis than that the house was haunted. +Figures with something singularly unfamiliar about them were seen +by crowds on the sidewalk to pass in and out. No one could +say just where they appeared upon the open lawn on their way to +the front door by which they entered, nor at exactly what point +they vanished as they came out; or, rather, while each spectator +was positive enough about these matters, no two agreed. +They were all similarly at variance in their descriptions of the +figures themselves. Some of the bolder of the curious +throng ventured on several evenings to stand upon the doorsteps +to intercept them, or failing in this, get a nearer look at +them. These courageous men, it was said, were unable to +force the door by their united strength, and always were hurled +from the steps by some invisible agency and severely injured; the +door immediately afterward opening, apparently of its own +volition, to admit or free some ghostly guest. The dwelling +was known as the Roscoe house, a family of that name having lived +there for some years, and then, one by one, disappeared, the last +to leave being an old woman. Stories of foul play and +successive murders had always been rife, but never were +authenticated.</p> +<p>One day during the prevalence of the excitement Saylor +presented himself at the office of the <i>Commercial</i> for +orders. He received a note from the city editor which read +as follows: “Go and pass the night alone in the haunted +house in Vine street and if anything occurs worth while make two +columns.” Saylor obeyed his superior; he could not +afford to lose his position on the paper.</p> +<p>Apprising the police of his intention, he effected an entrance +through a rear window before dark, walked through the deserted +rooms, bare of furniture, dusty and desolate, and seating himself +at last in the parlor on an old sofa which he had dragged in from +another room watched the deepening of the gloom as night came +on. Before it was altogether dark the curious crowd had +collected in the street, silent, as a rule, and expectant, with +here and there a scoffer uttering his incredulity and courage +with scornful remarks or ribald cries. None knew of the +anxious watcher inside. He feared to make a light; the +uncurtained windows would have betrayed his presence, subjecting +him to insult, possibly to injury. Moreover, he was too +conscientious to do anything to enfeeble his impressions and +unwilling to alter any of the customary conditions under which +the manifestations were said to occur.</p> +<p>It was now dark outside, but light from the street faintly +illuminated the part of the room that he was in. He had set +open every door in the whole interior, above and below, but all +the outer ones were locked and bolted. Sudden exclamations +from the crowd caused him to spring to the window and look +out. He saw the figure of a man moving rapidly across the +lawn toward the building—saw it ascend the steps; then a +projection of the wall concealed it. There was a noise as +of the opening and closing of the hall door; he heard quick, +heavy footsteps along the passage—heard them ascend the +stairs—heard them on the uncarpeted floor of the chamber +immediately overhead.</p> +<p>Saylor promptly drew his pistol, and groping his way up the +stairs entered the chamber, dimly lighted from the street. +No one was there. He heard footsteps in an adjoining room +and entered that. It was dark and silent. He struck +his foot against some object on the floor, knelt by it, passed +his hand over it. It was a human head—that of a +woman. Lifting it by the hair this iron-nerved man returned +to the half-lighted room below, carried it near the window and +attentively examined it. While so engaged he was half +conscious of the rapid opening and closing of the outer door, of +footfalls sounding all about him. He raised his eyes from +the ghastly object of his attention and saw himself the center of +a crowd of men and women dimly seen; the room was thronged with +them. He thought the people had broken in.</p> +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, coolly, +“you see me under suspicious circumstances, +but”—his voice was drowned in peals of +laughter—such laughter as is heard in asylums for the +insane. The persons about him pointed at the object in his +hand and their merriment increased as he dropped it and it went +rolling among their feet. They danced about it with +gestures grotesque and attitudes obscene and indescribable. +They struck it with their feet, urging it about the room from +wall to wall; pushed and overthrew one another in their struggles +to kick it; cursed and screamed and sang snatches of ribald songs +as the battered head bounded about the room as if in terror and +trying to escape. At last it shot out of the door into the +hall, followed by all, with tumultuous haste. That moment +the door closed with a sharp concussion. Saylor was alone, +in dead silence.</p> +<p>Carefully putting away his pistol, which all the time he had +held in his hand, he went to a window and looked out. The +street was deserted and silent; the lamps were extinguished; the +roofs and chimneys of the houses were sharply outlined against +the dawn-light in the east. He left the house, the door +yielding easily to his hand, and walked to the <i>Commercial</i> +office. The city editor was still in his +office—asleep. Saylor waked him and said: “I +have been at the haunted house.”</p> +<p>The editor stared blankly as if not wholly awake. +“Good God!” he cried, “are you +Saylor?”</p> +<p>“Yes—why not?” The editor made no +answer, but continued staring.</p> +<p>“I passed the night there—it seems,” said +Saylor.</p> +<p>“They say that things were uncommonly quiet out +there,” the editor said, trifling with a paper-weight upon +which he had dropped his eyes, “did anything +occur?”</p> +<p>“Nothing whatever.”</p> +<h3><a name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 383</span>A +VINE ON A HOUSE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">About</span> three miles from the little +town of Norton, in Missouri, on the road leading to Maysville, +stands an old house that was last occupied by a family named +Harding. Since 1886 no one has lived in it, nor is anyone +likely to live in it again. Time and the disfavor of +persons dwelling thereabout are converting it into a rather +picturesque ruin. An observer unacquainted with its history +would hardly put it into the category of “haunted +houses,” yet in all the region round such is its evil +reputation. Its windows are without glass, its doorways +without doors; there are wide breaches in the shingle roof, and +for lack of paint the weatherboarding is a dun gray. But +these unfailing signs of the supernatural are partly concealed +and greatly softened by the abundant foliage of a large vine +overrunning the entire structure. This vine—of a +species which no botanist has ever been able to name—has an +important part in the story of the house.</p> +<p>The Harding family consisted of Robert Harding, his wife +Matilda, Miss Julia Went, who was her sister, and two young +children. Robert Harding was a silent, cold-mannered man +who made no friends in the neighborhood and apparently cared to +make none. He was about forty years old, frugal and +industrious, and made a living from the little farm which is now +overgrown with brush and brambles. He and his sister-in-law +were rather tabooed by their neighbors, who seemed to think that +they were seen too frequently together—not entirely their +fault, for at these times they evidently did not challenge +observation. The moral code of rural Missouri is stern and +exacting.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harding was a gentle, sad-eyed woman, lacking a left +foot.</p> +<p>At some time in 1884 it became known that she had gone to +visit her mother in Iowa. That was what her husband said in +reply to inquiries, and his manner of saying it did not encourage +further questioning. She never came back, and two years +later, without selling his farm or anything that was his, or +appointing an agent to look after his interests, or removing his +household goods, Harding, with the rest of the family, left the +country. Nobody knew whither he went; nobody at that time +cared. Naturally, whatever was movable about the place soon +disappeared and the deserted house became “haunted” +in the manner of its kind.</p> +<p>One summer evening, four or five years later, the Rev. J. +Gruber, of Norton, and a Maysville attorney named Hyatt met on +horseback in front of the Harding place. Having business +matters to discuss, they hitched their animals and going to the +house sat on the porch to talk. Some humorous reference to +the somber reputation of the place was made and forgotten as soon +as uttered, and they talked of their business affairs until it +grew almost dark. The evening was oppressively warm, the +air stagnant.</p> +<p>Presently both men started from their seats in surprise: a +long vine that covered half the front of the house and dangled +its branches from the edge of the porch above them was visibly +and audibly agitated, shaking violently in every stem and +leaf.</p> +<p>“We shall have a storm,” Hyatt exclaimed.</p> +<p>Gruber said nothing, but silently directed the other’s +attention to the foliage of adjacent trees, which showed no +movement; even the delicate tips of the boughs silhouetted +against the clear sky were motionless. They hastily passed +down the steps to what had been a lawn and looked upward at the +vine, whose entire length was now visible. It continued in +violent agitation, yet they could discern no disturbing +cause.</p> +<p>“Let us leave,” said the minister.</p> +<p>And leave they did. Forgetting that they had been +traveling in opposite directions, they rode away together. +They went to Norton, where they related their strange experience +to several discreet friends. The next evening, at about the +same hour, accompanied by two others whose names are not +recalled, they were again on the porch of the Harding house, and +again the mysterious phenomenon occurred: the vine was violently +agitated while under the closest scrutiny from root to tip, nor +did their combined strength applied to the trunk serve to still +it. After an hour’s observation they retreated, no +less wise, it is thought, than when they had come.</p> +<p>No great time was required for these singular facts to rouse +the curiosity of the entire neighborhood. By day and by +night crowds of persons assembled at the Harding house +“seeking a sign.” It does not appear that any +found it, yet so credible were the witnesses mentioned that none +doubted the reality of the “manifestations” to which +they testified.</p> +<p>By either a happy inspiration or some destructive design, it +was one day proposed—nobody appeared to know from whom the +suggestion came—to dig up the vine, and after a good deal +of debate this was done. Nothing was found but the root, +yet nothing could have been more strange!</p> +<p>For five or six feet from the trunk, which had at the surface +of the ground a diameter of several inches, it ran downward, +single and straight, into a loose, friable earth; then it divided +and subdivided into rootlets, fibers and filaments, most +curiously interwoven. When carefully freed from soil they +showed a singular formation. In their ramifications and +doublings back upon themselves they made a compact network, +having in size and shape an amazing resemblance to the human +figure. Head, trunk and limbs were there; even the fingers +and toes were distinctly defined; and many professed to see in +the distribution and arrangement of the fibers in the globular +mass representing the head a grotesque suggestion of a +face. The figure was horizontal; the smaller roots had +begun to unite at the breast.</p> +<p>In point of resemblance to the human form this image was +imperfect. At about ten inches from one of the knees, the +<i>cilia</i> forming that leg had abruptly doubled backward and +inward upon their course of growth. The figure lacked the +left foot.</p> +<p>There was but one inference—the obvious one; but in the +ensuing excitement as many courses of action were proposed as +there were incapable counselors. The matter was settled by +the sheriff of the county, who as the lawful custodian of the +abandoned estate ordered the root replaced and the excavation +filled with the earth that had been removed.</p> +<p>Later inquiry brought out only one fact of relevancy and +significance: Mrs. Harding had never visited her relatives in +Iowa, nor did they know that she was supposed to have done +so.</p> +<p>Of Robert Harding and the rest of his family nothing is +known. The house retains its evil reputation, but the +replanted vine is as orderly and well-behaved a vegetable as a +nervous person could wish to sit under of a pleasant night, when +the katydids grate out their immemorial revelation and the +distant whippoorwill signifies his notion of what ought to be +done about it.</p> +<h3><a name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 389</span>AT +OLD MAN ECKERT’S</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Philip Eckert</span> lived for many years +in an old, weather-stained wooden house about three miles from +the little town of Marion, in Vermont. There must be quite +a number of persons living who remember him, not unkindly, I +trust, and know something of the story that I am about to +tell.</p> +<p>“Old Man Eckert,” as he was always called, was not +of a sociable disposition and lived alone. As he was never +known to speak of his own affairs nobody thereabout knew anything +of his past, nor of his relatives if he had any. Without +being particularly ungracious or repellent in manner or speech, +he managed somehow to be immune to impertinent curiosity, yet +exempt from the evil repute with which it commonly revenges +itself when baffled; so far as I know, Mr. Eckert’s renown +as a reformed assassin or a retired pirate of the Spanish Main +had not reached any ear in Marion. He got his living +cultivating a small and not very fertile farm.</p> +<p>One day he disappeared and a prolonged search by his neighbors +failed to turn him up or throw any light upon his whereabouts or +whyabouts. Nothing indicated preparation to leave: all was +as he might have left it to go to the spring for a bucket of +water. For a few weeks little else was talked of in that +region; then “old man Eckert” became a village tale +for the ear of the stranger. I do not know what was done +regarding his property—the correct legal thing, +doubtless. The house was standing, still vacant and +conspicuously unfit, when I last heard of it, some twenty years +afterward.</p> +<p>Of course it came to be considered “haunted,” and +the customary tales were told of moving lights, dolorous sounds +and startling apparitions. At one time, about five years +after the disappearance, these stories of the supernatural became +so rife, or through some attesting circumstances seemed so +important, that some of Marion’s most serious citizens +deemed it well to investigate, and to that end arranged for a +night session on the premises. The parties to this +undertaking were John Holcomb, an apothecary; Wilson Merle, a +lawyer, and Andrus C. Palmer, the teacher of the public school, +all men of consequence and repute. They were to meet at +Holcomb’s house at eight o’clock in the evening of +the appointed day and go together to the scene of their vigil, +where certain arrangements for their comfort, a provision of fuel +and the like, for the season was winter, had been already +made.</p> +<p>Palmer did not keep the engagement, and after waiting a +half-hour for him the others went to the Eckert house without +him. They established themselves in the principal room, +before a glowing fire, and without other light than it gave, +awaited events. It had been agreed to speak as little as +possible: they did not even renew the exchange of views regarding +the defection of Palmer, which had occupied their minds on the +way.</p> +<p>Probably an hour had passed without incident when they heard +(not without emotion, doubtless) the sound of an opening door in +the rear of the house, followed by footfalls in the room +adjoining that in which they sat. The watchers rose to +their feet, but stood firm, prepared for whatever might +ensue. A long silence followed—how long neither would +afterward undertake to say. Then the door between the two +rooms opened and a man entered.</p> +<p>It was Palmer. He was pale, as if from +excitement—as pale as the others felt themselves to +be. His manner, too, was singularly distrait: he neither +responded to their salutations nor so much as looked at them, but +walked slowly across the room in the light of the failing fire +and opening the front door passed out into the darkness.</p> +<p>It seems to have been the first thought of both men that +Palmer was suffering from fright—that something seen, heard +or imagined in the back room had deprived him of his +senses. Acting on the same friendly impulse both ran after +him through the open door. But neither they nor anyone ever +again saw or heard of Andrus Palmer!</p> +<p>This much was ascertained the next morning. During the +session of Messrs. Holcomb and Merle at the “haunted +house” a new snow had fallen to a depth of several inches +upon the old. In this snow Palmer’s trail from his +lodging in the village to the back door of the Eckert house was +conspicuous. But there it ended: from the front door +nothing led away but the tracks of the two men who swore that he +preceded them. Palmer’s disappearance was as complete +as that of “old man Eckert” himself—whom, +indeed, the editor of the local paper somewhat graphically +accused of having “reached out and pulled him +in.”</p> +<h3><a name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 393</span>THE +SPOOK HOUSE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the road leading north from +Manchester, in eastern Kentucky, to Booneville, twenty miles +away, stood, in 1862, a wooden plantation house of a somewhat +better quality than most of the dwellings in that region. +The house was destroyed by fire in the year +following—probably by some stragglers from the retreating +column of General George W. Morgan, when he was driven from +Cumberland Gap to the Ohio river by General Kirby Smith. At +the time of its destruction, it had for four or five years been +vacant. The fields about it were overgrown with brambles, +the fences gone, even the few negro quarters, and out-houses +generally, fallen partly into ruin by neglect and pillage; for +the negroes and poor whites of the vicinity found in the building +and fences an abundant supply of fuel, of which they availed +themselves without hesitation, openly and by daylight. By +daylight alone; after nightfall no human being except passing +strangers ever went near the place.</p> +<p>It was known as the “Spook House.” That it +was tenanted by evil spirits, visible, audible and active, no one +in all that region doubted any more than he doubted what he was +told of Sundays by the traveling preacher. Its +owner’s opinion of the matter was unknown; he and his +family had disappeared one night and no trace of them had ever +been found. They left everything—household goods, +clothing, provisions, the horses in the stable, the cows in the +field, the negroes in the quarters—all as it stood; nothing +was missing—except a man, a woman, three girls, a boy and a +babe! It was not altogether surprising that a plantation +where seven human beings could be simultaneously effaced and +nobody the wiser should be under some suspicion.</p> +<p>One night in June, 1859, two citizens of Frankfort, Col. J. C. +McArdle, a lawyer, and Judge Myron Veigh, of the State Militia, +were driving from Booneville to Manchester. Their business +was so important that they decided to push on, despite the +darkness and the mutterings of an approaching storm, which +eventually broke upon them just as they arrived opposite the +“Spook House.” The lightning was so incessant +that they easily found their way through the gateway and into a +shed, where they hitched and unharnessed their team. They +then went to the house, through the rain, and knocked at all the +doors without getting any response. Attributing this to the +continuous uproar of the thunder they pushed at one of the doors, +which yielded. They entered without further ceremony and +closed the door. That instant they were in darkness and +silence. Not a gleam of the lightning’s unceasing +blaze penetrated the windows or crevices; not a whisper of the +awful tumult without reached them there. It was as if they +had suddenly been stricken blind and deaf, and McArdle afterward +said that for a moment he believed himself to have been killed by +a stroke of lightning as he crossed the threshold. The rest +of this adventure can as well be related in his own words, from +the Frankfort <i>Advocate</i> of August 6, 1876:</p> +<p>“When I had somewhat recovered from the dazing effect of +the transition from uproar to silence, my first impulse was to +reopen the door which I had closed, and from the knob of which I +was not conscious of having removed my hand; I felt it +distinctly, still in the clasp of my fingers. My notion was +to ascertain by stepping again into the storm whether I had been +deprived of sight and hearing. I turned the doorknob and +pulled open the door. It led into another room!</p> +<p>“This apartment was suffused with a faint greenish +light, the source of which I could not determine, making +everything distinctly visible, though nothing was sharply +defined. Everything, I say, but in truth the only objects +within the blank stone walls of that room were human +corpses. In number they were perhaps eight or ten—it +may well be understood that I did not truly count them. +They were of different ages, or rather sizes, from infancy up, +and of both sexes. All were prostrate on the floor, +excepting one, apparently a young woman, who sat up, her back +supported by an angle of the wall. A babe was clasped in +the arms of another and older woman. A half-grown lad lay +face downward across the legs of a full-bearded man. One or +two were nearly naked, and the hand of a young girl held the +fragment of a gown which she had torn open at the breast. +The bodies were in various stages of decay, all greatly shrunken +in face and figure. Some were but little more than +skeletons.</p> +<p>“While I stood stupefied with horror by this ghastly +spectacle and still holding open the door, by some unaccountable +perversity my attention was diverted from the shocking scene and +concerned itself with trifles and details. Perhaps my mind, +with an instinct of self-preservation, sought relief in matters +which would relax its dangerous tension. Among other +things, I observed that the door that I was holding open was of +heavy iron plates, riveted. Equidistant from one another +and from the top and bottom, three strong bolts protruded from +the beveled edge. I turned the knob and they were retracted +flush with the edge; released it, and they shot out. It was +a spring lock. On the inside there was no knob, nor any +kind of projection—a smooth surface of iron.</p> +<p>“While noting these things with an interest and +attention which it now astonishes me to recall I felt myself +thrust aside, and Judge Veigh, whom in the intensity and +vicissitudes of my feelings I had altogether forgotten, pushed by +me into the room. ‘For God’s sake,’ I +cried, ‘do not go in there! Let us get out of this +dreadful place!’</p> +<p>“He gave no heed to my entreaties, but (as fearless a +gentleman as lived in all the South) walked quickly to the center +of the room, knelt beside one of the bodies for a closer +examination and tenderly raised its blackened and shriveled head +in his hands. A strong disagreeable odor came through the +doorway, completely overpowering me. My senses reeled; I +felt myself falling, and in clutching at the edge of the door for +support pushed it shut with a sharp click!</p> +<p>“I remember no more: six weeks later I recovered my +reason in a hotel at Manchester, whither I had been taken by +strangers the next day. For all these weeks I had suffered +from a nervous fever, attended with constant delirium. I +had been found lying in the road several miles away from the +house; but how I had escaped from it to get there I never +knew. On recovery, or as soon as my physicians permitted me +to talk, I inquired the fate of Judge Veigh, whom (to quiet me, +as I now know) they represented as well and at home.</p> +<p>“No one believed a word of my story, and who can +wonder? And who can imagine my grief when, arriving at my +home in Frankfort two months later, I learned that Judge Veigh +had never been heard of since that night? I then regretted +bitterly the pride which since the first few days after the +recovery of my reason had forbidden me to repeat my discredited +story and insist upon its truth.</p> +<p>“With all that afterward occurred—the examination +of the house; the failure to find any room corresponding to that +which I have described; the attempt to have me adjudged insane, +and my triumph over my accusers—the readers of the +<i>Advocate</i> are familiar. After all these years I am +still confident that excavations which I have neither the legal +right to undertake nor the wealth to make would disclose the +secret of the disappearance of my unhappy friend, and possibly of +the former occupants and owners of the deserted and now destroyed +house. I do not despair of yet bringing about such a +search, and it is a source of deep grief to me that it has been +delayed by the undeserved hostility and unwise incredulity of the +family and friends of the late Judge Veigh.”</p> +<p>Colonel McArdle died in Frankfort on the thirteenth day of +December, in the year 1879.</p> +<h3><a name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 400</span>THE +OTHER LODGERS</h3> +<p>“<span class="smcap">In</span> order to take that +train,” said Colonel Levering, sitting in the +Waldorf-Astoria hotel, “you will have to remain nearly all +night in Atlanta. That is a fine city, but I advise you not +to put up at the Breathitt House, one of the principal +hotels. It is an old wooden building in urgent need of +repairs. There are breaches in the walls that you could +throw a cat through. The bedrooms have no locks on the +doors, no furniture but a single chair in each, and a bedstead +without bedding—just a mattress. Even these meager +accommodations you cannot be sure that you will have in monopoly; +you must take your chance of being stowed in with a lot of +others. Sir, it is a most abominable hotel.</p> +<p>“The night that I passed in it was an uncomfortable +night. I got in late and was shown to my room on the ground +floor by an apologetic night-clerk with a tallow candle, which he +considerately left with me. I was worn out by two days and +a night of hard railway travel and had not entirely recovered +from a gunshot wound in the head, received in an +altercation. Rather than look for better quarters I lay +down on the mattress without removing my clothing and fell +asleep.</p> +<p>“Along toward morning I awoke. The moon had risen +and was shining in at the uncurtained window, illuminating the +room with a soft, bluish light which seemed, somehow, a bit +spooky, though I dare say it had no uncommon quality; all +moonlight is that way if you will observe it. Imagine my +surprise and indignation when I saw the floor occupied by at +least a dozen other lodgers! I sat up, earnestly damning +the management of that unthinkable hotel, and was about to spring +from the bed to go and make trouble for the night-clerk—him +of the apologetic manner and the tallow candle—when +something in the situation affected me with a strange +indisposition to move. I suppose I was what a story-writer +might call ‘frozen with terror.’ For those men +were obviously all dead!</p> +<p>“They lay on their backs, disposed orderly along three +sides of the room, their feet to the walls—against the +other wall, farthest from the door, stood my bed and the +chair. All the faces were covered, but under their white +cloths the features of the two bodies that lay in the square +patch of moonlight near the window showed in sharp profile as to +nose and chin.</p> +<p>“I thought this a bad dream and tried to cry out, as one +does in a nightmare, but could make no sound. At last, with +a desperate effort I threw my feet to the floor and passing +between the two rows of clouted faces and the two bodies that lay +nearest the door, I escaped from the infernal place and ran to +the office. The night-clerk was there, behind the desk, +sitting in the dim light of another tallow candle—just +sitting and staring. He did not rise: my abrupt entrance +produced no effect upon him, though I must have looked a +veritable corpse myself. It occurred to me then that I had +not before really observed the fellow. He was a little +chap, with a colorless face and the whitest, blankest eyes I ever +saw. He had no more expression than the back of my +hand. His clothing was a dirty gray.</p> +<p>“‘Damn you!’ I said; ‘what do you +mean?’</p> +<p>“Just the same, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind +and did not recognize my own voice.</p> +<p>“The night-clerk rose, bowed (apologetically) +and—well, he was no longer there, and at that moment I felt +a hand laid upon my shoulder from behind. Just fancy that +if you can! Unspeakably frightened, I turned and saw a +portly, kind-faced gentleman, who asked:</p> +<p>“‘What is the matter, my friend?’</p> +<p>“I was not long in telling him, but before I made an end +of it he went pale himself. ‘See here,’ he +said, ‘are you telling the truth?’</p> +<p>“I had now got myself in hand and terror had given place +to indignation. ‘If you dare to doubt it,’ I +said, ‘I’ll hammer the life out of you!’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he replied, ‘don’t do +that; just sit down till I tell you. This is not a +hotel. It used to be; afterward it was a hospital. +Now it is unoccupied, awaiting a tenant. The room that you +mention was the dead-room—there were always plenty of +dead. The fellow that you call the night-clerk used to be +that, but later he booked the patients as they were brought +in. I don’t understand his being here. He has +been dead a few weeks.’</p> +<p>“‘And who are you?’ I blurted out.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, I look after the premises. I happened +to be passing just now, and seeing a light in here came in to +investigate. Let us have a look into that room,’ he +added, lifting the sputtering candle from the desk.</p> +<p>“‘I’ll see you at the devil first!’ +said I, bolting out of the door into the street.</p> +<p>“Sir, that Breathitt House, in Atlanta, is a beastly +place! Don’t you stop there.”</p> +<p>“God forbid! Your account of it certainly does not +suggest comfort. By the way, Colonel, when did all that +occur?”</p> +<p>“In September, 1864—shortly after the +siege.”</p> +<h3><a name="page405"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 405</span>THE +THING AT NOLAN</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> the south of where the road +between Leesville and Hardy, in the State of Missouri, crosses +the east fork of May Creek stands an abandoned house. +Nobody has lived in it since the summer of 1879, and it is fast +going to pieces. For some three years before the date +mentioned above, it was occupied by the family of Charles May, +from one of whose ancestors the creek near which it stands took +its name.</p> +<p>Mr. May’s family consisted of a wife, an adult son and +two young girls. The son’s name was John—the +names of the daughters are unknown to the writer of this +sketch.</p> +<p>John May was of a morose and surly disposition, not easily +moved to anger, but having an uncommon gift of sullen, implacable +hate. His father was quite otherwise; of a sunny, jovial +disposition, but with a quick temper like a sudden flame kindled +in a wisp of straw, which consumes it in a flash and is no +more. He cherished no resentments, and his anger gone, was +quick to make overtures for reconciliation. He had a +brother living near by who was unlike him in respect of all this, +and it was a current witticism in the neighborhood that John had +inherited his disposition from his uncle.</p> +<p>One day a misunderstanding arose between father and son, harsh +words ensued, and the father struck the son full in the face with +his fist. John quietly wiped away the blood that followed +the blow, fixed his eyes upon the already penitent offender and +said with cold composure, “You will die for +that.”</p> +<p>The words were overheard by two brothers named Jackson, who +were approaching the men at the moment; but seeing them engaged +in a quarrel they retired, apparently unobserved. Charles +May afterward related the unfortunate occurrence to his wife and +explained that he had apologized to the son for the hasty blow, +but without avail; the young man not only rejected his overtures, +but refused to withdraw his terrible threat. Nevertheless, +there was no open rupture of relations: John continued living +with the family, and things went on very much as before.</p> +<p>One Sunday morning in June, 1879, about two weeks after what +has been related, May senior left the house immediately after +breakfast, taking a spade. He said he was going to make an +excavation at a certain spring in a wood about a mile away, so +that the cattle could obtain water. John remained in the +house for some hours, variously occupied in shaving himself, +writing letters and reading a newspaper. His manner was +very nearly what it usually was; perhaps he was a trifle more +sullen and surly.</p> +<p>At two o’clock he left the house. At five, he +returned. For some reason not connected with any interest +in his movements, and which is not now recalled, the time of his +departure and that of his return were noted by his mother and +sisters, as was attested at his trial for murder. It was +observed that his clothing was wet in spots, as if (so the +prosecution afterward pointed out) he had been removing +blood-stains from it. His manner was strange, his look +wild. He complained of illness, and going to his room took +to his bed.</p> +<p>May senior did not return. Later that evening the +nearest neighbors were aroused, and during that night and the +following day a search was prosecuted through the wood where the +spring was. It resulted in little but the discovery of both +men’s footprints in the clay about the spring. John +May in the meantime had grown rapidly worse with what the local +physician called brain fever, and in his delirium raved of +murder, but did not say whom he conceived to have been murdered, +nor whom he imagined to have done the deed. But his threat +was recalled by the brothers Jackson and he was arrested on +suspicion and a deputy sheriff put in charge of him at his +home. Public opinion ran strongly against him and but for +his illness he would probably have been hanged by a mob. As +it was, a meeting of the neighbors was held on Tuesday and a +committee appointed to watch the case and take such action at any +time as circumstances might seem to warrant.</p> +<p>On Wednesday all was changed. From the town of Nolan, +eight miles away, came a story which put a quite different light +on the matter. Nolan consisted of a school house, a +blacksmith’s shop, a “store” and a half-dozen +dwellings. The store was kept by one Henry Odell, a cousin +of the elder May. On the afternoon of the Sunday of +May’s disappearance Mr. Odell and four of his neighbors, +men of credibility, were sitting in the store smoking and +talking. It was a warm day; and both the front and the back +door were open. At about three o’clock Charles May, +who was well known to three of them, entered at the front door +and passed out at the rear. He was without hat or +coat. He did not look at them, nor return their greeting, a +circumstance which did not surprise, for he was evidently +seriously hurt. Above the left eyebrow was a wound—a +deep gash from which the blood flowed, covering the whole left +side of the face and neck and saturating his light-gray +shirt. Oddly enough, the thought uppermost in the minds of +all was that he had been fighting and was going to the brook +directly at the back of the store, to wash himself.</p> +<p>Perhaps there was a feeling of delicacy—a backwoods +etiquette which restrained them from following him to offer +assistance; the court records, from which, mainly, this narrative +is drawn, are silent as to anything but the fact. They +waited for him to return, but he did not return.</p> +<p>Bordering the brook behind the store is a forest extending for +six miles back to the Medicine Lodge Hills. As soon as it +became known in the neighborhood of the missing man’s +dwelling that he had been seen in Nolan there was a marked +alteration in public sentiment and feeling. The vigilance +committee went out of existence without the formality of a +resolution. Search along the wooded bottom lands of May +Creek was stopped and nearly the entire male population of the +region took to beating the bush about Nolan and in the Medicine +Lodge Hills. But of the missing man no trace was found.</p> +<p>One of the strangest circumstances of this strange case is the +formal indictment and trial of a man for murder of one whose body +no human being professed to have seen—one not known to be +dead. We are all more or less familiar with the vagaries +and eccentricities of frontier law, but this instance, it is +thought, is unique. However that may be, it is of record +that on recovering from his illness John May was indicted for the +murder of his missing father. Counsel for the defense +appears not to have demurred and the case was tried on its +merits. The prosecution was spiritless and perfunctory; the +defense easily established—with regard to the +deceased—an <i>alibi</i>. If during the time in which +John May must have killed Charles May, if he killed him at all, +Charles May was miles away from where John May must have been, it +is plain that the deceased must have come to his death at the +hands of someone else.</p> +<p>John May was acquitted, immediately left the country, and has +never been heard of from that day. Shortly afterward his +mother and sisters removed to St. Louis. The farm having +passed into the possession of a man who owns the land adjoining, +and has a dwelling of his own, the May house has ever since been +vacant, and has the somber reputation of being haunted.</p> +<p>One day after the May family had left the country, some boys, +playing in the woods along May Creek, found concealed under a +mass of dead leaves, but partly exposed by the rooting of hogs, a +spade, nearly new and bright, except for a spot on one edge, +which was rusted and stained with blood. The implement had +the initials C. M. cut into the handle.</p> +<p>This discovery renewed, in some degree, the public excitement +of a few months before. The earth near the spot where the +spade was found was carefully examined, and the result was the +finding of the dead body of a man. It had been buried under +two or three feet of soil and the spot covered with a layer of +dead leaves and twigs. There was but little decomposition, +a fact attributed to some preservative property in the +mineral-bearing soil.</p> +<p>Above the left eyebrow was a wound—a deep gash from +which blood had flowed, covering the whole left side of the face +and neck and saturating the light-gray shirt. The skull had +been cut through by the blow. The body was that of Charles +May.</p> +<p>But what was it that passed through Mr. Odell’s store at +Nolan?</p> +<h3><a name="page413"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +413</span>“MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES”</h3> +<h4><a name="page415"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 415</span>THE +DIFFICULTY OF CROSSING A FIELD</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> morning in July, 1854, a +planter named Williamson, living six miles from Selma, Alabama, +was sitting with his wife and a child on the veranda of his +dwelling. Immediately in front of the house was a lawn, +perhaps fifty yards in extent between the house and public road, +or, as it was called, the “pike.” Beyond this +road lay a close-cropped pasture of some ten acres, level and +without a tree, rock, or any natural or artificial object on its +surface. At the time there was not even a domestic animal +in the field. In another field, beyond the pasture, a dozen +slaves were at work under an overseer.</p> +<p>Throwing away the stump of a cigar, the planter rose, saying: +“I forgot to tell Andrew about those horses.” +Andrew was the overseer.</p> +<p>Williamson strolled leisurely down the gravel walk, plucking a +flower as he went, passed across the road and into the pasture, +pausing a moment as he closed the gate leading into it, to greet +a passing neighbor, Armour Wren, who lived on an adjoining +plantation. Mr. Wren was in an open carriage with his son +James, a lad of thirteen. When he had driven some two +hundred yards from the point of meeting, Mr. Wren said to his +son: “I forgot to tell Mr. Williamson about those +horses.”</p> +<p>Mr. Wren had sold to Mr. Williamson some horses, which were to +have been sent for that day, but for some reason not now +remembered it would be inconvenient to deliver them until the +morrow. The coachman was directed to drive back, and as the +vehicle turned Williamson was seen by all three, walking +leisurely across the pasture. At that moment one of the +coach horses stumbled and came near falling. It had no more +than fairly recovered itself when James Wren cried: “Why, +father, what has become of Mr. Williamson?”</p> +<p>It is not the purpose of this narrative to answer that +question.</p> +<p>Mr. Wren’s strange account of the matter, given under +oath in the course of legal proceedings relating to the +Williamson estate, here follows:</p> +<p>“My son’s exclamation caused me to look toward the +spot where I had seen the deceased [<i>sic</i>] an instant +before, but he was not there, nor was he anywhere visible. +I cannot say that at the moment I was greatly startled, or +realized the gravity of the occurrence, though I thought it +singular. My son, however, was greatly astonished and kept +repeating his question in different forms until we arrived at the +gate. My black boy Sam was similarly affected, even in a +greater degree, but I reckon more by my son’s manner than +by anything he had himself observed. [This sentence in the +testimony was stricken out.] As we got out of the carriage +at the gate of the field, and while Sam was hanging [<i>sic</i>] +the team to the fence, Mrs. Williamson, with her child in her +arms and followed by several servants, came running down the walk +in great excitement, crying: ‘He is gone, he is gone! +O God! what an awful thing!’ and many other such +exclamations, which I do not distinctly recollect. I got +from them the impression that they related to something +more—than the mere disappearance of her husband, even if +that had occurred before her eyes. Her manner was wild, but +not more so, I think, than was natural under the +circumstances. I have no reason to think she had at that +time lost her mind. I have never since seen nor heard of +Mr. Williamson.”</p> +<p>This testimony, as might have been expected, was corroborated +in almost every particular by the only other eye-witness (if that +is a proper term)—the lad James. Mrs. Williamson had +lost her reason and the servants were, of course, not competent +to testify. The boy James Wren had declared at first that +he <i>saw</i> the disappearance, but there is nothing of this in +his testimony given in court. None of the field hands +working in the field to which Williamson was going had seen him +at all, and the most rigorous search of the entire plantation and +adjoining country failed to supply a clew. The most +monstrous and grotesque fictions, originating with the blacks, +were current in that part of the State for many years, and +probably are to this day; but what has been here related is all +that is certainly known of the matter. The courts decided +that Williamson was dead, and his estate was distributed +according to law.</p> +<h4><a name="page419"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 419</span>AN +UNFINISHED RACE</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">James Burne Worson</span> was a shoemaker +who lived in Leamington, Warwickshire, England. He had a +little shop in one of the by-ways leading off the road to +Warwick. In his humble sphere he was esteemed an honest +man, although like many of his class in English towns he was +somewhat addicted to drink. When in liquor he would make +foolish wagers. On one of these too frequent occasions he +was boasting of his prowess as a pedestrian and athlete, and the +outcome was a match against nature. For a stake of one +sovereign he undertook to run all the way to Coventry and back, a +distance of something more than forty miles. This was on +the 3d day of September in 1873. He set out at once, the +man with whom he had made the bet—whose name is not +remembered—accompanied by Barham Wise, a linen draper, and +Hamerson Burns, a photographer, I think, following in a light +cart or wagon.</p> +<p>For several miles Worson went on very well, at an easy gait, +without apparent fatigue, for he had really great powers of +endurance and was not sufficiently intoxicated to enfeeble +them. The three men in the wagon kept a short distance in +the rear, giving him occasional friendly “chaff” or +encouragement, as the spirit moved them. Suddenly—in +the very middle of the roadway, not a dozen yards from them, and +with their eyes full upon him—the man seemed to stumble, +pitched headlong forward, uttered a terrible cry and +vanished! He did not fall to the earth—he vanished +before touching it. No trace of him was ever +discovered.</p> +<p>After remaining at and about the spot for some time, with +aimless irresolution, the three men returned to Leamington, told +their astonishing story and were afterward taken into +custody. But they were of good standing, had always been +considered truthful, were sober at the time of the occurrence, +and nothing ever transpired to discredit their sworn account of +their extraordinary adventure, concerning the truth of which, +nevertheless, public opinion was divided, throughout the United +Kingdom. If they had something to conceal, their choice of +means is certainly one of the most amazing ever made by sane +human beings.</p> +<h4><a name="page421"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +421</span>CHARLES ASHMORE’S TRAIL</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> family of Christian Ashmore +consisted of his wife, his mother, two grown daughters, and a son +of sixteen years. They lived in Troy, New York, were +well-to-do, respectable persons, and had many friends, some of +whom, reading these lines, will doubtless learn for the first +time the extraordinary fate of the young man. From Troy the +Ashmores moved in 1871 or 1872 to Richmond, Indiana, and a year +or two later to the vicinity of Quincy, Illinois, where Mr. +Ashmore bought a farm and lived on it. At some little +distance from the farmhouse was a spring with a constant flow of +clear, cold water, whence the family derived its supply for +domestic use at all seasons.</p> +<p>On the evening of the 9th of November in 1878, at about nine +o’clock, young Charles Ashmore left the family circle about +the hearth, took a tin bucket and started toward the +spring. As he did not return, the family became uneasy, and +going to the door by which he had left the house, his father +called without receiving an answer. He then lighted a +lantern and with the eldest daughter, Martha, who insisted on +accompanying him, went in search. A light snow had fallen, +obliterating the path, but making the young man’s trail +conspicuous; each footprint was plainly defined. After +going a little more than half-way—perhaps seventy-five +yards—the father, who was in advance, halted, and elevating +his lantern stood peering intently into the darkness ahead.</p> +<p>“What is the matter, father?” the girl asked.</p> +<p>This was the matter: the trail of the young man had abruptly +ended, and all beyond was smooth, unbroken snow. The last +footprints were as conspicuous as any in the line; the very +nail-marks were distinctly visible. Mr. Ashmore looked +upward, shading his eyes with his hat held between them and the +lantern. The stars were shining; there was not a cloud in +the sky; he was denied the explanation which had suggested +itself, doubtful as it would have been—a new snowfall with +a limit so plainly defined. Taking a wide circuit round the +ultimate tracks, so as to leave them undisturbed for further +examination, the man proceeded to the spring, the girl following, +weak and terrified. Neither had spoken a word of what both +had observed. The spring was covered with ice, hours +old.</p> +<p>Returning to the house they noted the appearance of the snow +on both sides of the trail its entire length. No tracks led +away from it.</p> +<p>The morning light showed nothing more. Smooth, spotless, +unbroken, the shallow snow lay everywhere.</p> +<p>Four days later the grief-stricken mother herself went to the +spring for water. She came back and related that in passing +the spot where the footprints had ended she had heard the voice +of her son and had been eagerly calling to him, wandering about +the place, as she had fancied the voice to be now in one +direction, now in another, until she was exhausted with fatigue +and emotion.</p> +<p>Questioned as to what the voice had said, she was unable to +tell, yet averred that the words were perfectly distinct. +In a moment the entire family was at the place, but nothing was +heard, and the voice was believed to be an hallucination caused +by the mother’s great anxiety and her disordered +nerves. But for months afterward, at irregular intervals of +a few days, the voice was heard by the several members of the +family, and by others. All declared it unmistakably the +voice of Charles Ashmore; all agreed that it seemed to come from +a great distance, faintly, yet with entire distinctness of +articulation; yet none could determine its direction, nor repeat +its words. The intervals of silence grew longer and longer, +the voice fainter and farther, and by midsummer it was heard no +more.</p> +<p>If anybody knows the fate of Charles Ashmore it is probably +his mother. She is dead.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h4>SCIENCE TO THE FRONT</h4> +<p>In connection with this subject of “mysterious +disappearance”—of which every memory is stored with +abundant example—it is pertinent to note the belief of Dr. +Hem, of Leipsic; not by way of explanation, unless the reader may +choose to take it so, but because of its intrinsic interest as a +singular speculation. This distinguished scientist has +expounded his views in a book entitled “Verschwinden und +Seine Theorie,” which has attracted some attention, +“particularly,” says one writer, “among the +followers of Hegel, and mathematicians who hold to the actual +existence of a so-called non-Euclidean space—that is to +say, of space which has more dimensions than length, breadth, and +thickness—space in which it would be possible to tie a knot +in an endless cord and to turn a rubber ball inside out without +‘a solution of its continuity,’ or in other words, +without breaking or cracking it.”</p> +<p>Dr. Hem believes that in the visible world there are void +places—<i>vacua</i>, and something more—holes, as it +were, through which animate and inanimate objects may fall into +the invisible world and be seen and heard no more. The +theory is something like this: Space is pervaded by luminiferous +ether, which is a material thing—as much a substance as air +or water, though almost infinitely more attenuated. All +force, all forms of energy must be propagated in this; every +process must take place in it which takes place at all. But +let us suppose that cavities exist in this otherwise universal +medium, as caverns exist in the earth, or cells in a Swiss +cheese. In such a cavity there would be absolutely +nothing. It would be such a vacuum as cannot be +artificially produced; for if we pump the air from a receiver +there remains the luminiferous ether. Through one of these +cavities light could not pass, for there would be nothing to bear +it. Sound could not come from it; nothing could be felt in +it. It would not have a single one of the conditions +necessary to the action of any of our senses. In such a +void, in short, nothing whatever could occur. Now, in the +words of the writer before quoted—the learned doctor +himself nowhere puts it so concisely: “A man inclosed in +such a closet could neither see nor be seen; neither hear nor be +heard; neither feel nor be felt; neither live nor die, for both +life and death are processes which can take place only where +there is force, and in empty space no force could +exist.” Are these the awful conditions (some will +ask) under which the friends of the lost are to think of them as +existing, and doomed forever to exist?</p> +<p>Baldly and imperfectly as here stated, Dr. Hem’s theory, +in so far as it professes to be an adequate explanation of +“mysterious disappearances,” is open to many obvious +objections; to fewer as he states it himself in the +“spacious volubility” of his book. But even as +expounded by its author it does not explain, and in truth is +incompatible with some incidents of, the occurrences related in +these memoranda: for example, the sound of Charles +Ashmore’s voice. It is not my duty to indue facts and +theories with affinity.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">A.B.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote372"></a><a href="#citation372" +class="footnote">[372]</a> The Isle of Pines was once a +famous rendezvous of pirates.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRESENT AT A HANGING***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4387-h.htm or 4387-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/3/8/4387 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/4387-h/images/cover.jpg b/4387-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0fff3a --- /dev/null +++ b/4387-h/images/cover.jpg |
