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diff --git a/old/prhg10h.htm b/old/prhg10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..769662e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prhg10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2342 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories, by Ambrose Bierce</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Present at a Hanging et al. +by Ambrose Bierce +(#8 in our series by Ambrose Bierce) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* +</pre> +<p> +<a name="startoftext"></a> +PRESENT AT A HANGING AND OTHER GHOST STORIES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Contents:<br> +<br> +The Ways of Ghosts<br> + Present at a Hanging<br> + A Cold Greeting<br> + A Wireless Message<br> + An Arrest<br> +Soldier-Folk<br> + A Man with Two Lives<br> + Three and One are One<br> + A Baffled Ambuscade<br> + Two Military Executions<br> +Some Haunted Houses<br> + The Isle of Pines<br> + A Fruitless Assignment<br> + A Vine on a House<br> + At Old Man Eckert’s<br> + The Spook House<br> + The Other Lodgers<br> + The Thing at Nolan<br> + The Difficulty of Crossing a Field<br> + An Unfinished Race<br> + Charles Ashmore’s Trail<br> + Science to the Front<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +THE WAYS OF GHOSTS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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. Withal, 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; 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. Yet his style, +for the most part devoid alike of artifice and art, almost baldly simple +and direct, seems hardly compatible with the disingenuousness of a merely +literary intention; one would call it the manner of one more concerned +for the fruits of research than for the flowers of expression. +In transcribing his notes and fortifying their claim to attention by +giving them something of an orderly arrangement, I have conscientiously +refrained from embellishing them with such small ornaments of diction +as I may have felt myself able to bestow, which would not only have +been impertinent, even if pleasing, but would have given me a somewhat +closer relation to the work than I should care to have and to avow. +- A. B.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +PRESENT AT A HANGING<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +An 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A COLD GREETING<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +This is a story told by the late Benson Foley of San Francisco:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“‘But,’ I replied, ‘I have not heard from Mr. +Barting.’<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“All this seemed to me singularly considerate and delicate behavior +on the part of Mr. Conway.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“‘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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A WIRELESS MESSAGE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The sudden darkness was comparative, not absolute, for gradually all +objects of his environment became again visible.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Go to bed, my poor fellow,” said his brother, “and +- wait. We shall hear more of this.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The moment of this culminating horror was eleven o’clock and twenty-five +minutes, standard time.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AN ARREST<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Having 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +On a table in the corridor lay the dead body of Burton Duff.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +SOLDIER-FOLK<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A MAN WITH TWO LIVES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Here 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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘Dave Duck,’ I answered; ‘who should I be?’<br> +<br> +“He stared like an owl.<br> +<br> +“‘You do look it,’ he said, and I observed that he +drew a little away from me. ‘What’s up?’ he +added.<br> +<br> +“I told him what had happened to me the day before. He heard +me through, still staring; then he said:<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +“‘Bill Briscoe, did you really and truly bury the dead body +that you found in these togs?’<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“‘I’d give something to know,’ I said.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THREE AND ONE ARE ONE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Father!” cried the young man, springing forward with outstretched +hand - “Father!”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I am going to visit my home,” said the soldier.<br> +<br> +The other looked at him rather sharply, but said nothing.<br> +<br> +“I know,” continued Lassiter, “that my folks have +not changed, but - ”<br> +<br> +“There have been changes,” Albro interrupted - “everything +changes. I’ll go with you if you don’t mind. +We can talk as we go.”<br> +<br> +But Albro did not talk.<br> +<br> +Instead of a house they found only fire-blackened foundations of stone, +enclosing an area of compact ashes pitted by rains.<br> +<br> +Lassiter’s astonishment was extreme.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And my family - where are they?”<br> +<br> +“In Heaven, I hope. All were killed by the shell.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A BAFFLED AMBUSCADE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Connecting 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Passing the infantry pickets, the detachment soon afterward approached +two cavalry videttes staring hard into the darkness ahead. There +should have been three.<br> +<br> +“Where is your other man?” said the major. “I +ordered Dunning to be here to-night.”<br> +<br> +“He rode forward, sir,” the man replied. “There +was a little firing afterward, but it was a long way to the front.”<br> +<br> +“It was against orders and against sense for Dunning to do that,” +said the officer, obviously vexed. “Why did he ride forward?”<br> +<br> +“Don’t know, sir; he seemed mighty restless. Guess +he was skeered.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Examination disclosed abundant evidence that within a half-hour the +cedar forest had been occupied by a strong force of Confederate infantry +- an ambuscade.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +TWO MILITARY EXECUTIONS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Gorham.”<br> +<br> +“Here!”<br> +<br> +“Grayrock.”<br> +<br> +“Here!”<br> +<br> +The sergeant’s good memory was affected by habit:<br> +<br> +“Greene.”<br> +<br> +“Here!”<br> +<br> +The response was clear, distinct, unmistakable!<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Call that name again.”<br> +<br> +Apparently the Society for Psychical Research is not first in the field +of curiosity concerning the Unknown.<br> +<br> +“Bennett Greene.”<br> +<br> +“Here!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Once more,” commanded the inexorable investigator, and +once more came - a trifle tremulously - the name of the dead man:<br> +<br> +“Bennett Story Greene.”<br> +<br> +“Here!”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +Lieutenant Dudley pushed through the ranks from his place in the rear.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +SOME HAUNTED HOUSES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE ISLE OF PINES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +For 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“But where did you pass the night?” inquired his wife, after +he had briefly related his adventure.<br> +<br> +“With old Deluse at the ‘Isle of Pines,’” <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +This is Mr. Maren’s version of Mr. Galbraith’s reply:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +And to this view of the matter Mr. Galbraith was compelled reluctantly +to assent.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A FRUITLESS ASSIGNMENT<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Henry Saylor, 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +The editor stared blankly as if not wholly awake. “Good +God!” he cried, “are you Saylor?”<br> +<br> +“Yes - why not?” The editor made no answer, but continued +staring.<br> +<br> +“I passed the night there - it seems,” said Saylor.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Nothing whatever.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A VINE ON A HOUSE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +About 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Mrs. Harding was a gentle, sad-eyed woman, lacking a left foot.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“We shall have a storm,” Hyatt exclaimed.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Let us leave,” said the minister.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AT OLD MAN ECKERT’S<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Philip Eckert 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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE SPOOK HOUSE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +On 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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!’<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Colonel McArdle died in Frankfort on the thirteenth day of December, +in the year 1879.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE OTHER LODGERS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +“In 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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘Damn you!’ I said; ‘what do you mean?’<br> +<br> +“Just the same, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind and did +not recognize my own voice.<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +“‘What is the matter, my friend?’<br> +<br> +“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?’<br> +<br> +“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!’<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“‘And who are you?’ I blurted out.<br> +<br> +“‘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.<br> +<br> +“‘I’ll see you at the devil first!’ said I, +bolting out of the door into the street.<br> +<br> +“Sir, that Breathitt House, in Atlanta, is a beastly place! +Don’t you stop there.”<br> +<br> +“God forbid! Your account of it certainly does not suggest +comfort. By the way, Colonel, when did all that occur?”<br> +<br> +“In September, 1864 - shortly after the siege.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE THING AT NOLAN<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +To 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +But what was it that passed through Mr. Odell’s store at Nolan?<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +“MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE DIFFICULTY OF CROSSING A FIELD<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +One 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.<br> +<br> +Throwing away the stump of a cigar, the planter rose, saying: “I +forgot to tell Andrew about those horses.” Andrew was the +overseer.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +It is not the purpose of this narrative to answer that question.<br> +<br> +Mr. Wren’s strange account of the matter, given under oath in +the course of legal proceedings relating to the Williamson estate, here +follows:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AN UNFINISHED RACE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +James Burne Worson 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHARLES ASHMORE’S TRAIL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“What is the matter, father?” the girl asked.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The morning light showed nothing more. Smooth, spotless, unbroken, +the shallow snow lay everywhere.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +If anybody knows the fate of Charles Ashmore it is probably his mother. +She is dead.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +SCIENCE TO THE FRONT<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +A.B.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Footnotes:<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> The Isle +of Pines was once a famous rendezvous of pirates.<br> +<br> +End of the Project Gutenberg eText Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories<br> +by Ambrose Bierce<br> +</body> +</html> |