E BLUE BOOK NO. 
 ^y E. Haideman-JuUus 
 
 145 
 
 ^ .t Ghost Stories
 
 EXLIBRIS 
 
 WILLYS A. MYERS 
 
 American Vice-Consul
 
 LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. 
 
 Edited by £. Haldeman -Julius 
 
 145 
 Great Ghost Stories 
 
 H ALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY 
 OIRARD, KANSAS
 
 Copyright 
 Halderaan-Julius Company 
 
 PRINTED IX THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 
 RuDYARD Kipling 
 
 "May no ill dreams disturb my rest, 
 Nor Powers of Darkness me molest." 
 
 — Evening Hymn. 
 
 One of the few advantages that India has 
 over England is a certain great Knowability. 
 After five years" service a man is directly or 
 indirectly acquainted with the two or three 
 hundred Civilians in his Province, all the 
 Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Bat- 
 teries, and some fifteen hundred other people 
 of the non-official castes. In ten years his 
 knowledge should be doubled, and at the end 
 of twenty he knov/s, or knov/s something about, 
 almost every Englishman in the Empire, and 
 may travel anywhere and everywhere without 
 payfng hotel-bills. 
 
 Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a 
 right, have, even within my memory, blunted 
 this open-heartedness, but, none the less, to- 
 day if you belong to the Inner C'-rcle and are 
 neither a bear nor a black sheep all houses are 
 open to you and our small world is very kind 
 and helpful. 
 
 Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of 
 Kumaon, some fifteen years ago. He meant 
 to stay two nights only, but was knocked down 
 by rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disor- 
 ganized Polder's establishment, stopped Pold- 
 er's work, and nearly died in Polder's bed-room. 
 Polder behaves as though he had been placed 
 
 J^083393
 
 4 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly 
 sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and 
 toys. It is the same everywhere. The men 
 who do not take the trouble to conceal from 
 you their opinion that you are an incompetent 
 ass, and the women who blacken your charac- 
 ter and misunderstand your wife's amusements, 
 will work themselves to the bone in your be- 
 half if you fall sick or into serious trouble. 
 
 Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to 
 his regular practice, a hospital on his private 
 account — an arrangement of loose-boxes for 
 Incurables, his friends called it — but it was 
 really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that 
 had been damaged by stress of v/eather. The 
 v/eather in India is often sultry, and since the 
 tale of bricks is a fixed quantity, and the only 
 liberty allowed is permission to work overtime 
 and get no thanks, men occasionally break 
 down and become as mixed as the metaphors 
 in this sentence. 
 
 Heatherlegh is the nicest doctor that ever 
 was, and his invariable prescription to all his 
 patients is "lie low, go slow, and keep cool." 
 He says that more men are killed by overwork 
 than the importance of this world justifies. 
 He maintains that overwork slew Pansay who 
 died under his hands about three years ago. 
 He has, of course, the right to speak authori- 
 tatively, and he laughs at my theory that there 
 was a crack in Pansay's head and a little bit 
 of the Dark World came through and pressed 
 him to death. "Pansay went off the handle," 
 says Heatherlegh, "after the stimulus of long 
 leave at Home. He may or he may not have
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 5 
 
 behaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith- 
 Wessington. My notion is that the work of 
 the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, 
 and that he took to brooding and making much 
 of an ordinary P. & 0. flirtation. He certainly 
 was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she cer- 
 tainly broke off the engagement. Then he took 
 a feverish chill and all that nonsense about 
 ghosts developed itself. Overwork started his 
 illness, kept it alight, and killed him, poor 
 devil. Write him off to the System — one man 
 to do the work of two-and-a-half men." 
 
 I do not believe this. I used to sit up with 
 Pansay sometimes when Heatherlegh was 
 called out to visit patients and I happened to 
 be within claim. The man would make me 
 most unhappy by describing in a low, even 
 voice the procession of men, women, children, 
 and devils that was always passing at the bot- 
 tom of his bed. He had a sick man's command 
 of language. When he recovered I suggested 
 that he should write out the whole affair from 
 beginning to end, knowing that ink might as- 
 sist him to ease his mind. When little boys 
 have learned a new bad word they are never 
 happy till they have chalked it up on a door. 
 And this also is Literature. 
 
 He was in a high fever while he was v/rit- 
 ing, and the blood-and-thunder Magazine style 
 he adopted did not calm him. Two months 
 afterwards he was reported fit for duty, but, 
 in spite of the fact that he was urgently needed 
 to help an undermanned Commission stagger 
 through a deficit, he preferred to die; vowing
 
 G GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 at the last that he was hag-ridden. I secured 
 his manuscript before he died, and this is his 
 version of the affair, dated 1885: — 
 
 My doctor tells me that I need rest and 
 change of air. It is not improbable that I shall 
 get both ere long — rest that neither the red- 
 coated orderly nor the mid-day gun cju break, 
 and change of air far beyond that which any 
 homeward-bound steamer can give me. In the 
 meantime I am resolved to stay where I am; 
 and, in flat defiance of my doctor's orders, to 
 take all the world into my confidence. You 
 shall learn for yourselves the precise nature 
 of my malady; and shall, too, judge for your- 
 selves whether any man born of v.'oman on 
 this weary earth was ever so tormented as I. 
 
 Speaking now as a condemned criminal 
 might speak ere the drop-bolts are drawn, my 
 story, wild and hideously improbable as it may 
 appear, demands at least attention. That it 
 will ever receive credence I utterly disbelieve. 
 Two months ago I should have scouted as mad 
 or drunk the man who had dared tell me the 
 like. Two months ago I was the happiest man 
 in India. To-day, from Peshawar to the sea, 
 there is no one more wretched. My doctor and 
 I are the only two who know this. His ex- 
 planation is that my brain, digestion and eye- 
 sight are all slightly affected; giving rise to 
 my frequent and persistent "delusions." Delu- 
 sions, indeed! I call him a fool; but he at- 
 tends me still with the same unwearied smile, 
 the same bxand professional manner, the same 
 neatly-trimmed red whiskers, till I begin to
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 7 
 
 suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered 
 invalid. But you shall judge for yourselves. 
 
 Three years ago it was my fortune — my great 
 misfortune — to sail from Gravesend to Bombay, 
 on return from long leave, with one Agnes 
 Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the 
 Bombay side. It does not in the least concern 
 you to know what manner of woman she was. 
 Be content with the knowledge that, ere the 
 voyage had ended, both she and I were des- 
 perately and unreasoningly in love with one an- 
 other. Heaven knows that I can make the ad- 
 mission now without one particle of vanity. In 
 matters of this sort there is always one who 
 gives and another who accepts. From the first 
 day of our ill-omened attachment, I was con- 
 scious that Agnes's passion was a stronger, a 
 more dominant, and — if I may use the expres- 
 sion — a purer sentiment than mine. Whether 
 she recognized the fact then, I do not know. 
 Afterwards it was bitterly plain to both of us. 
 
 Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, 
 we went our respective ways, to meet no more 
 for the next three or four months, when my 
 leave and her love took us both to Simla. There 
 we spent the season together; and there my 
 fire of straw burnt itself out to a pitiful end 
 with the closing year. I attempt no excuse. 
 I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington had 
 given up much for my sake, and was pre- 
 pared to give up all. From my own lips, in 
 August, 1882, she learnt that I was sick of her 
 presence, tired of her company, and weary of 
 the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine women 
 out of a hundred would have wearied of me as
 
 8 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 I wearied of them; seventy-five of that number 
 would have promptly avenged themselves by 
 active and obtrusive flirtation with other men. 
 Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth. On her 
 neither my openly-expressed aversion, nor the 
 cutting brutalities with which I garnished our 
 interviews had the least effect. 
 
 "Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo- 
 cry, "I'm sure it's all a mistake — a hideous 
 mistake; and we'll be good friends again some 
 day. Please forgive me, Jack, dear." 
 
 I was the offender, and knew it. That knowl- 
 edge transformed my pity into passive endur- 
 ance, and, eventually, into blind hate — the same 
 instinct, I suppose, which prompts a man to 
 savagely stamp on the spider he has but half 
 killed. And with this hate in my bosom the 
 season of 1882 came to an end. 
 
 Next year we met again at Simla — she with 
 her monotonous face and timid attempts at rec- 
 onciliation, and I with loathing of her in every 
 fiber of my frame. Several times I could not 
 avoid meeting her alone; and on each occasion 
 her words were identically the same. Still the 
 unreasoning wail that it was all a "mistake"; 
 and still the hope of eventually "making 
 friends." I might have seen, had I cared to 
 look, that that hope only was keeping her alive. 
 She grew more wan and thin month by month. 
 You will agree with me, at least, that such con- 
 duct would have driven any one to despair. It 
 was uncalled for, childish, unwomanly. I main- 
 tain that she was much to blame. And again, 
 sometimes, in the black, fever-stricken night 
 "watches, I have begun to think that I might
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 9 
 
 have iDeeii a b'ttle kinder to her. But that 
 really is a "delusion." I could not have con- 
 tinued pretending to love her when I didn't; 
 could I? It would have been unfair to us 
 both. 
 
 Last year we met again — on the same terms 
 as before. The same weary appeals, and the 
 same curt answers from my lips. At last I 
 would make her see how wholly wrong and 
 hopeless were her attempts at resuming the old 
 relationship. As the season wore on, we fell 
 apart — that is to say, she found it difficult to 
 meet me, for I had other and more absorbing 
 interests to attend to. When I think it over 
 quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884 
 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and 
 shade were fantastically intermingled — my 
 courtship of little Kitty Mannering; my hopes, 
 doubts and fears; our long rides together; my 
 trembling avowal of attachment; her reply; and 
 now and again a vision of a white face flitting 
 by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white 
 liveries I once watched for so earnestly; the 
 wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved hand; and, 
 when she met me alone, which was but seldom, 
 the irksome monotony of her appeal. I loved 
 Kitty Mannering, honestly, heartily loved her, 
 and with my love for her grew my hatred for 
 Agnes. In August Kitty and I were engaged. 
 The next day I met those accursed "magpie" 
 jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by 
 some passing sentiment of pity, stopped to tell 
 Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it 
 alueady. 
 
 "So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear." Then,
 
 10 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 without a moment's pause: "I'm sure it's all a 
 mistake — a hideous mistake. We shall be as 
 good friends some day, Jack, as we ever were." 
 
 My answer might have made even a man 
 wince. It cut the dying woman before me like 
 the blow of a whip. • "Please forgive me. Jack; 
 I didn't mean to make you angry; but it's true, 
 it's true!" 
 
 And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. 
 I turned away and left her to finish her journey 
 in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, 
 that I had been an unutterably mean hound. I 
 looked back, and saw that she had turned her 
 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of over- 
 taking me. 
 
 The scene and its surroundings were photo- 
 graphed on my memory. The rain-swept sky 
 (we were at the end of the wet weather), the 
 sodden, dingy pines, the muddy road, and the 
 black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy back- 
 ground against which the black and white 
 liveries of the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled 
 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's down-bowed 
 golden head stood out clearly. She was hold- 
 ing her handkerchief in her left hand and was 
 leaning back exhausted against the 'rickshaw 
 cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near 
 the Sanjowlie Reservoir and literally ran away. 
 Once I fancied I heard a faint call of "Jack!" 
 This may have been imagination. I never 
 stopped to verify it. Ten minutes later I came 
 across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight 
 of a long ride with her, forgot all about the 
 interview. 
 
 A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 11 
 
 inexpressible burden of her existence was re- 
 moved from my life. I went Plainsward per- 
 fectly happy. Before three months were over 
 I had forgotten all about her, except that at 
 times the discovery of some of her old letters 
 reminded me unpleasantly of our bygone re- 
 lationship. By January I had disinterred what 
 was left of our correspondence from among my 
 scattered belongings and had burnt it. At the 
 beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was at 
 Simla — semi-deserted Simla — once more, and 
 was deep in lover's talks and walks with Kitty. 
 It was decided that we should be married at the 
 end of June. You will understand, therefore, 
 that, loving Kitty as I did, I am not saying too 
 much when I pronounce myself to have been, 
 at the time, the happiest man in India. 
 
 Fourteen delightful days passed almost before 
 I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to the 
 sense of what was proper among mortals cir- 
 cumstanced as we were, I pointed out to Kitty 
 that an engagement-ring was the outward and 
 visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; 
 and that she must forthwith come to Ham- 
 ilton's to be measured for one. Up to that 
 moment, I give you my word, we had completely 
 forgotten so trivial a matter. To Hamilton's 
 we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. 
 Remember that — whatever my doctor may say 
 to the contrary — I was then in perfect health, 
 enjoying a well-balanced mind and an absolutely 
 tranquil spirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton's 
 shop together, and there, regardless of the 
 order of affairs, I measured Kitty's finger for 
 the ring in the presence of the amused assistant.
 
 12 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 The ring was a sapphire with two diamonds. 
 We then rode out dow^n the slope that leads to 
 the Combermere Bridge and Peliti's shop. 
 
 While my Waler was cautiously feeling his 
 way over the loose shale, and Kitty was laugh- 
 ing and chattering at my side — while all Simla, 
 that is to say as much of it as had then come 
 from the Plains, was grouped round the Read- 
 ing-room and Peliti's veranda — I was aware 
 that some one, apparently at a vast distance, 
 was calling mo by niy Christian name. It struck 
 me that I had heard the voice before, but when 
 and where I could not at once determine. In 
 the short space it took to cover the road be- 
 tween the path from Hamilton's shop and the 
 first plank of the Combermere Bridge I had 
 thought over half-a-dozen people who might 
 have committed such a solecism, and had 
 eventually decided that it must have been some 
 singing in my ears. Immediately opposite 
 Peliti's shop my eye was arrested by the sight 
 of four jliampanics in black and white livery, 
 pulling a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. 
 In a moment my mind flew back to the previous 
 season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of 
 irritation and disgust. Was it not enough that 
 the woman was dead and done with, without 
 her black and white servitors reappearing to 
 spoil the day's happiness? Whoever employed 
 them now I thought I would call upon, and ask 
 as a personal favor to change her jhamixinies* 
 livery. I would hire the men myself, and, if 
 necessary, buy their coats from off their backs. 
 It is impossible to say here what a flood of un- 
 desirable memories their presence evoked.
 
 CEAT GHOoT STORIES 13 
 
 "Kitty," I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wes- 
 sington's jhampanies turned up again! I won- 
 der who has them now?" 
 
 Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly 
 last season, and had always been interested in 
 the sickly woman. 
 
 "What? Where?" she asked. "I can't see 
 them anywhere." 
 
 Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from 
 a laden mule, threw himself directly in front 
 of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely 
 time to utter a word of warning when, to my 
 unutterable horror, horse and rider passed 
 through men and carriage as if they had been 
 thin air. 
 
 "What's the matter?" cried Kitty; "what 
 made you call out so foolishly, Jack? If I am 
 engaged I don't want all creation to know 
 about it. There was lots of space between 
 the mule and the veranda; and, if you think 
 I can't ride — There!" 
 
 Whereupon willful Kitty set off, her dainty 
 little head in the air, at a hand-gallop in the 
 direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting, as 
 she herself afterwards told me, that I should 
 follow her. What was the matter? Nothing, 
 indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or 
 that Simla was haunted with devils. I reined 
 in my impatient cob, and turned round. The 
 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood im- 
 mediately facing me, near the left railing of 
 the Combermere Bridge. 
 
 "Jack! Jack, darling." (There was no mis- 
 take about the words this time: they rang 
 through my brain as if they had been shouted
 
 14 GRHAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 in my ear.) "It's some hideous mistake, I'm 
 sure. Please forgive me, Jack, and let's be 
 friends again." 
 
 The 'ricl^shaw-hood had fallen back, and in- 
 side, as I hope and daily pray for the death 
 I dread at night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessingtoii, 
 handkerchief in hand, and golden head bowed 
 on her breast. 
 
 How long I stared motionless I do not know. 
 Finally, I was aroused by my groom taking 
 the Waler's bridle and asking whether I vv^as 
 ill. I tumbled off my horse and dashed, half 
 fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry- 
 brandy. There two or three couples were 
 gathered round the coffee-tables discussing the 
 gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more 
 comforting to me just then than the consola- 
 tions of religion could have been. I plunged 
 into the midst of the conversation at once; 
 chatted, laughed and jested with a face (when 
 I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white 
 and drawn as that of a corpse. Three or four 
 men noticed my condition; and, evidently set- 
 ting it down to the results of over many pegs, 
 charitably endeavored to draw me apart from 
 the rest of the loungers. But I refused to be 
 led away. I wanted the company of my kind 
 — as a child rushes into the midst of the dinner- 
 party after a fright in the dark. I must have 
 talked for about ten minutes or so, though it 
 seemed an eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's 
 clear voice outside inquiring for me. In an- 
 other minute she had entered the shop, pre- 
 pared to roundly upbraid me for failing so 
 signally in my duties. Something in my face 
 stopped her.
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 15 
 
 *'Why, Jack," she cried, "what have you been 
 doing? What has happened? Are you ill?" 
 Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that the 
 sun had been a little too much for me. It 
 was close upon five o'clock of a cloudy April 
 afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all 
 day. I saw my mistake as soon as the words 
 were out of my mouth: attempted to recover 
 it; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty, in 
 a regal rage, out of doors, amid the smiles of 
 my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I 
 have forgotten what) on the score of my feel- 
 ing faint; and cantered away to my hotel, 
 leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself. 
 
 In my room I sat down and tried calmly to 
 reason out the matter. Here was I, Theobald 
 Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian 
 in the year of grace 1885, presumably sane, 
 certainly healthy, driven in terror from my 
 sweetheart's side hy the apparition of a woman 
 who had been dead and buried eight months 
 ago. These were facts that I could not blink. 
 Nothing was further from my thought than 
 any memory of Mrs. Wessington when Kitty 
 and I left Hamilton's shop. Nothing was more 
 utterly commonplace than the stretch of wall 
 opposite Feliti's. It was broad daylight. The 
 road w^as full of people; and yet here, look 
 you, in defiance of every law of probability, 
 in direct outrage of Nature's ordinance, there 
 had appeared to me a face from the grave. 
 
 Kitty's Arab had gone through the 'rickshaw: 
 so that my first hope that some woman mar- 
 velously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the 
 carriage and the coolies with their old livery
 
 16 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 was lost. Again and again I went round this 
 treadmill of thought; and again and again 
 gave up baffled and in despair. The voice was 
 as inexplicable as the apparition. I had or- 
 iginally some wild notion of confiding it all to 
 Kitty; of begging her to marry me at once; 
 and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant 
 of the 'rickshaw. "After all," I argued, "the 
 presence of the 'rJckshaw is in itself enough 
 to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. 
 One may see ghosts of m.en and women, but 
 surely never of coolies and carriages. The 
 whole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a 
 hill-man!" 
 
 Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty, 
 imploring her to overlook my strange conduct 
 of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was 
 still very wroth, and a personal apology was 
 necessary. I explained, with a fluency born 
 of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I 
 had been attacked with a sudden palpitation 
 of the heart — the result of indigestion. This 
 eminently practical solution bad its effect; and 
 Kitty and I rode out that afternoon with the 
 shadow of my first lie dividing us. 
 
 Nothing would please her save a canter round 
 Jakko. With my nerves still unstrung from 
 the previous night I feebly protested against 
 the notion, suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, 
 the Boileaugunge road — anything rather than 
 the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little 
 hurt, so I yielded from fear of provoking fur- 
 ther misunderstanding, and we set out to- 
 gether towards Chota Simla. We walked a 
 greater part of the way, and, according to our
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 1? 
 
 custom, cantered from a mile or so below the 
 Convent to the stretch of level road by the 
 Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched horses ap- 
 peared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and 
 quicker as we neared the crest of the ascent. 
 My mind had been full of Mrs. Wessington 
 all the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko 
 road bore witness to our old-time walks and 
 talks. The boulders were full of it; the pines 
 sang it aloud overhead; the rain-fed torrents 
 giggled and chuckled unseen over the shame- 
 ful story; and the wind in my ears chanted 
 the iniquity aloud. 
 
 As a fitting climax, in the middle of the 
 level men call the Ladies' Mile, the Horror 
 was awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in 
 sight — only the four black and white jham- 
 panies, the yellow-paneled carriage, and the 
 golden head of the woman within — all ap- 
 parently just as I had left them eight months 
 and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied 
 that Kitty must see what I saw — we were so 
 marvelously sympathetic in all things. Her next 
 words undeceived me — "Not a soul in sight! 
 Come along, Jack, and I'll race you to the 
 Reservoir buildings!" Her wiry little Arab 
 was off like a bird, my Waler followed close 
 behind, and in this order we dashed under 
 the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within 
 fifty yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler 
 and fell back a little. The 'rickshaw was di- 
 rectly in the middle of the road: and once 
 more the Arab passed through it, my horse 
 following. "Jack, Jack, dear! Please forgive 
 me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after
 
 18 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 an interval: "It's all a mistake, a hideous 
 mistake!" 
 
 I spurred my horse like a man possessed. 
 When I turned my head at the Reservoir works 
 the black and white liveries were still waiting 
 — patiently waiting — under the gray hillside, 
 and the wind brought me a mocking echo of 
 the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered 
 me a good deal on my silence throughout the 
 remainder of the ride. I had been talking up 
 till then wildly and at random. To save my 
 life I could not speak afterwards naturally, 
 and from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held 
 my tongue. 
 
 I was to dine with the Mannerings that night 
 and had barely time to canter home to dress. 
 On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two 
 men talking together in the dusk — "It's a 
 curious thing," said one, "how completely all 
 trace of it disappeared. You know my wife 
 was insanely fond of the woman (never could 
 see anything in her myself) and wanted me to 
 pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they 
 were to be got for love or money. Morbid sort 
 of fancy I call it, but I've got to do what the 
 Memsahil) tells me. Would you believe that 
 the man she hired it from tells me that all 
 four of the men, they were brothers, died of 
 cholera, on the way to Hardwar, poor devils; 
 and the 'rickshaw has been broken up by the 
 man himself. Told me he never used a dead 
 Memsahib's 'rickshaw. Spoilt his luck. Queer 
 notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wes- 
 sington spoiling any one's luck except her own!" 
 I laughed aloud at this point | and my laugh
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 19 
 
 jarred on me as I uttered it. So there were 
 ghosts of 'rickshaws after all, and ghostly em- 
 ployments in the other world! How much did 
 Mrs, Wessington give her men? What were 
 their hours? Where did they go? 
 
 And for visible answer to my last question I 
 saw the infernal thing blocking my path m the 
 twilight. The dead travel fast and by short- 
 cuts unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed 
 aloud a second time and checked my laughter 
 suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad. 
 Mad to a certain extent I must have been, for 
 I recollect that I reined in my horse at the 
 head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. 
 Wessington "good evening." Her answer was 
 one I knew only too well. I listened to the 
 end; and replied that I had heard it all be- 
 fore, but should be delighted if she had any- 
 thing further to say. Some malignant devil 
 stronger than I must have entered into me that 
 evening, for I have a dim recollection of talk- 
 ing the commonplaces of the day for five min- 
 utes to the thing in front of me. 
 
 "Mad as a hatter, poor devil — or drunk. 
 Max, try and get him to come home." 
 
 Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! 
 The two men had overheard me speaking to 
 the empty air, and had returned to look after 
 me. They were very kind and considerate, 
 and from their words evidently gathered that 
 I was extremely drunk. I thanked them con- 
 fusedly and cantered away to my hotel, there 
 changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten 
 minutes late. I pleaded the darkness of the
 
 20 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 night as an excuse; was rebuked by Kitty for 
 my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down. 
 
 The conversation liad already become gen- 
 eral; and, under cover of it, I was addressing 
 some tender small talk to my sweetheart when 
 I was aware that at the further end of the table 
 a short red-whiskered man was describing 
 with much broidery his encounter with a mad 
 unknown that evening. A few sentences con- 
 vinced me that he was repeating the incident 
 of half an hour ago. In the middle of the 
 story he looked round for applause, as profes- 
 sional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and 
 straightway collapsed. There was a moment's 
 awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man 
 muttered something to the effect that he had 
 "forgotten the rest"; thereby sacrificing a 
 reputation as a good story-teller which he had 
 built up for six seasons past. I blessed him 
 from the bottom of my heart and — went on 
 with my fish. 
 
 In the fullness of time that dinner came to 
 an end; and with genuine regret I tore myself 
 away from Kitty — as certain as I was of my 
 own existence that It would be waiting for me 
 outside the door. The red-whiskered man, who 
 had been introduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh 
 of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as 
 far as our roads lay together. I accepted his 
 offer with gratitude. 
 
 My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in 
 readiness in the Mall, and, in what seemed 
 devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted 
 head-lamp. The red-whiskered man went to 
 the point at once, in a manner that showed he
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 21 
 
 had been thinking over it all dinner time. 
 
 "I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the mat- 
 ter with you this evening on the Elysium 
 road?" The suddenness of the question 
 wrenched an answer from me before I was 
 aware, 
 
 "That!" said I, pointing to It. 
 
 "That may be either D. T. or eyes for aught 
 I know. Now you don't liquor. I saw as much 
 at dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's nothing 
 whatever w'here you're pointing, though you're 
 sweating and trembling with fright like a 
 scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's 
 eyes. And I ought to understand all about 
 them. Come along home with me. I'm on the 
 Blessington lower road." 
 
 To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead 
 of waiting for us kept about twenty yards 
 ahead — and this, too, whether we walked, 
 trotted, or cantered. In the course of that long 
 ride I had told my companion almost as mxuch 
 as I have told you here. 
 
 "Well, you've spoilt one of the best tales I've 
 ever laid tongue to," said he, "but I'll forgive 
 you for the sake of what you've gone through. 
 Now come home and do what I tell you; and 
 when I've cured you, young man, let this be a 
 lesson to you to steer clear of women and in- 
 digestible food till the day of your death." 
 
 The 'rickshaw kept steadily in front; and my 
 red-whiskered friend seemed to derive great 
 pleasure from my account of its exact where- 
 abouts. 
 
 "Eyes, Pansay — all eyes, brain and stomach; 
 and the greatest of these three is stomach.
 
 22 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 You've too much conceited brain, too little 
 stomach, and thoroughly unhealthy eyes. Get 
 your stomach straight and the rest follows. 
 And all that's French for a liver pill. I'll take 
 sole medical charge of you from this hour; 
 for you're too interesting a phenomenon to be 
 passed over." 
 
 By this time we were deep in the shadow 
 of the Blessington lower road and the 'rick- 
 shaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, 
 overhanging shale cliff. Instinctively I halted 
 too, giving my reason. Heatherlegh rapped 
 out an oath. 
 
 "Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold 
 night on the hillside for the sake of a stom- 
 aeh.-cum-hra.in-cu7n-eye illusion . . , Lord 
 ha' mercy! What's that?" 
 
 There was a muffled report, a blinding 
 smother of dust just in front of us, a crack, 
 the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards 
 of the cliffside — pines, undergrowth, and all — . 
 slid down into the road below, completely 
 blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed and 
 tottered for a moment like drunken giants in 
 the gloom, and then fell prone among their fel- 
 lows with a thunderous crash. Our two horses 
 stood motionless and sweating with fear. As 
 soon as the rattle of falling earth and stone had 
 subsided, my companion muttered: "Man, if 
 we'd gone forward we should have been ten 
 feet deep in our graves by now! 'There are 
 more things in heaven and earth' . . . Come 
 home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a drink 
 badly." 
 
 We retraced our way over the Church Ridge,
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 23 
 
 and I arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh's house 
 shortly after midnight. 
 
 His attempt towards my cure commenced al- 
 most immediately, and for a week I never left 
 his sight. Many a time in the course of that 
 week did I bless the good fortune which had 
 thrown me in contact with Simla's best and 
 kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew 
 lighter and more equable. Day by day, too, I 
 became more and more inclined to fall in with 
 Heatherlegh's "spectral illusion" theory, impli- 
 cating eyes, brain, and stomach. I wrote to 
 kitty, telling her that a slight sprain caused 
 by a fall from my horse kept me indoors for a 
 few days; and that I should be recovered be- 
 fore she had time to regret my absence. 
 
 Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a de- 
 gree. It consisted of liver-pills, cold-water 
 baths and strong exercise, taken in the dusk 
 or at early dawn — for, as he sagely observed: 
 "A man with a sprained ankle doesn't walk a 
 dozen miles a day, and your young woman 
 might be wondering if she saw you." 
 
 At the end of the week, after much examina- 
 tion of pupil and pulse and strict injunctions 
 as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dis- 
 missed me as brusquely as he had taken charge 
 of me. Here is his parting benediction: "Man, 
 I certify to your mental cure, and that's as 
 much as to say I've cured most of your bodily 
 ailments. Now, get your traps out of this as 
 soon as you can; and be off to make love to 
 Miss Kitty." 
 
 I was endeavoring to express my thanks for 
 his kindness. He cut me short:
 
 24 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 "Don't think I did this because I like you. 
 I gather that you've behaved like a blackguard 
 all through. But, all the same you're a 
 phenomenon, and as queer a phenomenon as 
 you are a blackguard. Now, go out and see if 
 you can find the eyes-brain-and-stomach busi- 
 ness again. I'll give you a lakh for each time 
 you see it." 
 
 Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings' 
 drawing-room with Kitty — drunk with the in- 
 toxication of present happiness and the fore- 
 knowledge that I should never more be troubled 
 with It's hideous presence. Strong in the sense 
 of my new-found security, I proposed a ride 
 at once; and, by preference, a canter round 
 Jakko. 
 
 Never have I felt so well, so overladen with 
 vitality and mere animal spirits as I did on 
 the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was 
 delighted at the change in my appearance, and 
 complimented me on it in her delightfully 
 frank and outspoken manner. We left the 
 Mannerings' house together, laughing and 
 talking, and cantered along the Chota Simla 
 road as of old. 
 
 I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Res- 
 ervoir and there make my assurance doubly 
 sure. The horses did their best, but seemed 
 all too slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was 
 astonished at my boisterousness. "Why, Jack!" 
 she cried at last, "you are behaving like a 
 child! What are you doing?" 
 
 We were just below the Convent, and from 
 sheer wantonness I was making my Waler
 
 GREAT GHOST STOrillJS 25 
 
 plunge and curvet across the road as I tickled 
 it with the loop of my riding-whip. 
 
 "Doing," I answered, "nothing, dear. That's 
 just it. If you'd been doing nothing for a week 
 except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I. 
 
 'Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth. 
 
 Joying to feel yourself alive ; 
 Lord over nature. Lord of the visible Earth, 
 
 Lord of the senses five.' " 
 
 My quotation was hardly out of my lips be- 
 fore we had rounded the corner above the Con- 
 vent; and a few yards further on could see 
 across to Sanjowlie. In the center of the level 
 road stood the black and v.-liite liveries, the 
 yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Keith-Wes- 
 sington. I pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes, 
 and, I believe, must have said something. The 
 next thing I knew was that I was lying face 
 downward on the road, with Kitty kneeling 
 above me in tears. 
 
 "Has it gone, child?" I gasped. Kitty only 
 wept more bitterly. 
 
 "Has what gone? Jack dear: what does it all 
 mean? There must be a mistake somewhere. 
 Jack. A hideous mistake." Her last words 
 brought me to my feet — mad — raving for the 
 time being. 
 
 "Yes, there is a mistake somewhere," I re- 
 peated, "a hideous mistake. Come and look 
 at It!" 
 
 T have an indistinct idea that I dragged 
 Kitty by the wrist along the road up to where 
 It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to 
 speak to it; to tell It that we were be- 
 trothed! that neither Death nor Hell could
 
 26 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 break the tie between us; and Kitty only knows 
 how much more to the same effect. Now and 
 again I appealed passionately to the Terror in 
 the 'rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, 
 and to release me from a torture that was kill- 
 ing me. As I talked I suppose I must have told 
 Kitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wessing- 
 ton, for I saw her listen intently with white 
 face and blazing eyes. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Pansay," she said, "that's 
 quite enough. Bring my horse," 
 
 The grooms, impassive as Orientals always 
 are, had come up with the recaptured horses; 
 and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught 
 hold of the bridle entreating her to hear me 
 out and forgive. My answer was the cut of 
 her riding-whip across my face from mouth to 
 eye, and a word or two of farewell that even 
 now I cannot write down. So I judged, and 
 judged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and I 
 staggered back to the side of the 'rickshaw. 
 My face was cut and bleeding, and the blow of 
 the riding-whip had raised a livid blue welt on 
 it. I had no self-respect. Just then, Heather- 
 legh, who must have been following Kitty and 
 me at a distance, cantered up. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, pointing to my face, "here's 
 Miss Mannering's signature to my order of 
 dismissal and . . . I'll thank you for that 
 lakh as soon as convenient." 
 
 Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject mis- 
 ery, moved me to laugh. 
 
 "I'll stake my professional reputation" — he 
 began. "Don't be a fool," I whispered. "I've
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 27 
 
 lost my life's happiness and you'd better take 
 me home." 
 
 As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I 
 lost all knowledge of what was passing. The 
 crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like 
 the crest of a cloud and fail in upon me. 
 
 Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is 
 to say) I was aware that I was lying in 
 Heatherlegh's room as weak as a little child. 
 Heatherlegh was watching me intently from 
 behind the papers on his writing table. His 
 first words were not very encouraging; but I 
 was too far spent to be much moved by them. 
 
 "Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your let- 
 ters. You corresponded a good deal, you young 
 people. Here's a packet that looks like a ring, 
 and a cheerful sort of a note from Mannering 
 Papa, which I've taken the liberty of reading 
 and burning. The old gentleman's not pleased 
 with you." 
 
 "And Kitty?" I asked dully. 
 
 "Rather more drawn than her father from 
 what she says. By the same token you must 
 have been letting out any number of queer 
 reminiscences just before I met you. Says 
 that a man who would have behaved to a 
 wom.an as you did to Mrs. Wessington ought 
 to kill himself out of sheer pity for his kind. 
 She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash. 
 Will have it too that you were suffering from 
 D. T. when that row on the Jakko road turned 
 up. Says she'll die before she ever speaks to 
 you again." 
 
 I groaned and turned over on the other side. 
 
 "Now you've got your choice, my friend.
 
 28 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 This engagement has to be broken off; and the 
 Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. 
 Was it broken through D. T. or epileptic fits? 
 Sorry I can't offer you a better exchange un- 
 less you prefer hereditary insanity. Say the 
 word and I'll tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows 
 about that scene on the Ladies' Mile. Come! 
 I'll give you five minutes to think it over." 
 
 During those five minutes I believe that I 
 explored thoroughly the lowest circles of the 
 Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on 
 earth. And at the same time I myself was 
 watching myself faltering through the dark 
 labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair. 
 I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might 
 have wondered, which dreadful alternative I 
 should adopt. Presently I heard myself an- 
 swering in a voice that I hardly recognized: 
 
 "They're confoundedly particular about mor- 
 ality in these parts. Give 'em fits. Heather- 
 legh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit 
 longer." 
 
 Then my two selves joined, and it was only 
 I (half crazed, devil-driven I) that tossed in 
 my bed, tracing step by step the history of the 
 past month. 
 
 "But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to 
 myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla, and 
 there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable 
 of that woman to pretend there are. Why 
 couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did 
 her any harm. It might just as well have been 
 me as Agnes. Only I'd never have come back 
 on purpose to kill her. Why can't I be left 
 alone — left alone and happy?"
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 29 
 
 It was high noon when I first awoke: and 
 the sun was low in the sky before I slept — slept 
 as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too 
 worn to feel further pain. 
 
 Next day I could not leave my bed. Heather- 
 legh told me in the morning that he had re- 
 ceived an answer from Mr. Mannering, and 
 that, thanks to his (Heatherlegh's) friendly 
 offices, the story of my affliction had traveled 
 through the length and breadth of Simla, where 
 I was on all sides much pitied. 
 
 "And that's rather more than you deserve," 
 he concluded pleasantly, "though the Lord 
 knows you've been going through a pretty se- 
 vere mill. Never mind; v/e'll cure you yet, 
 you perverse phenomenon." 
 
 I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been 
 much too good to me already, old man," said 
 I; "but I don't think I need trouble you 
 further." 
 
 In my heart I knev/ that nothing Heather- 
 legh could do Vv^ouid lighten the burden that 
 had been laid upon me. 
 
 With that knowledge came also a sense of 
 hopeless, impotent rebellion agairsst the un- 
 reasonableness of it all. There were scores of 
 men no better than I whose punisliments had 
 at least been reserved for another world and 
 I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I 
 alone should have been singled out for so 
 hideous a fate. This mood would in time give 
 place to another where it seemed that the 
 'rickshaw and I were the only realities in a 
 world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that 
 Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men
 
 30 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 and women I knew were all ghosts and the 
 great, gray hills themselves but vain shadows 
 devised to torture me. From mood to mood I 
 tossed backwards and forwards for seven 
 weary days, my body growing daily stronger 
 and stronger, until the bed-room looking-glass 
 told me that I had returned to everyday life, 
 and was as other m^en once more. Curiously 
 enough, my face showed no signs of the strug- 
 gle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, 
 but as expressionless and commonplace as 
 ever. I had expected som^e permanent altera- 
 tion — visible evidence of the disease that was 
 eating me avv'ay. I found nothing. 
 
 On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's 
 house at eleven o'clock in the morning; and the 
 instinct of the bachelor drove me to the Club. 
 There I found that every man knew my story 
 as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in clumsy 
 fashion, abnormally kind and attentive. Never- 
 theless I recognized that for the rest of my 
 natural life I should be among, but not of, my 
 fellows; and I envied very bitterly indeed the 
 laughing coolies on the Mall below. I lunched 
 at the Club, and at four o'clock wandered aim- 
 lessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meet- 
 ing Kitty. Close to the band-stand the black 
 and white liveries joined me; and I heard 
 Mrs. Wessington's old appeal at my side. I 
 had been expecting this ever since I came out; 
 and was only surprised at her delay. The 
 phantom 'rickshaw and I went side by side 
 along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close 
 to the bazaar, Kitty and a man on horseback 
 overtook and passed us. For any sign she gave
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 31 
 
 I might have been a dog in the road. She did 
 not even pay me the compliment of quickening 
 her pace; though the rainy afternoon had 
 served for an excuse. 
 
 So Kitty and her companion, and I and my 
 ghostly Light-o'Love, crept round Jakko in 
 couples. The road was steaming with water; 
 the pines dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks 
 below, and the air was full of fine, driving 
 rain. Two or three times I found myself say- 
 ing to myself almost aloud: "I'm Jack Pansay 
 on leave at Simla — at Simla! Everyday, ordi- 
 nary Simla. I mustn't forget that — I woustn't 
 forget that." Then I would try to recollect 
 some of the gossip I had heard at the Club; 
 the prices of So-and-So's horses — anything, in 
 fact, that related to the work-a-day Anglo- 
 Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated 
 the multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to 
 make quite sure that I was not taking leave of 
 my senses. It gave me much comfort; and 
 must have prevented my hearing Mrs. Wessing- 
 ton for a time. 
 
 Once more I wearily climbed the Convent 
 slope and entered the level road. Here Kitty 
 find the man started off at a canter, and I was 
 left alone with Airs. Wessington. "Agnes," said 
 I, "will you put back your hood and tell me 
 what it all means?" The hood dropped noise- 
 lessly and I XV3.S face to face with my dead and 
 buried mistress. She was wearing the dress 
 in which I had last seen her alive: carried the 
 same tiny handkerchief in her right hand; and 
 the same card-case in her left. (A woman 
 eight months dead with a card-case!) I had to
 
 32 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 pin myself down to the multiplication-table, 
 and to set both hands on the stone parapet of 
 the road to assure myself that that at least was 
 real. 
 
 "Agnes," A repeated, "for pity's sake tell me 
 what it all means." Mrs. Wessington leant 
 forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head 
 I used to know so well, and spoke. 
 
 If my story had not already so madly over- 
 lapped the bounds of human belief I should 
 apologize to you now. As I know that no one — ' 
 no, not even Kitty, for whom it is written as 
 some sort of justification of my conduct — will 
 believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington 
 spoke and I walked with her from the San- 
 jowlie road to the turning below the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief's house as I might walk by the 
 side of any living woman's 'rickshaw, deep in 
 conversation. The second and most tormenting 
 of my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold 
 upon me, and like the prince in 'Tennyson's 
 poem, "I seemed to move amid a world of 
 ghosts." There had been a garden-party at the 
 Commander-in-Chief's, and we two joined the 
 crowd of homeward-bound folk. As I saw 
 them then it seemed that they were the 
 shadows — impalpable fantastic shadows — that 
 divided for Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw to 
 pass through. What w^e said during the course 
 of that weird interview I cannot — indeed, I 
 dare not — tell. Heatherlegh's comments would 
 have been a short laugh and a remark that I 
 had been "mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach 
 chimera." It was a ghastly and yet in some 
 indefinable way a marvelously dear experience.
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 33 
 
 Could it be possible, I wondered, that I waa 
 in this life to woo a second time the woman 
 I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty? 
 
 I met Kitty on the homeward road — a 
 shadow among shadows. 
 
 If I were to describe all the incidents of the 
 next fortnight in their order, my story would 
 never come to an end; and your patience 
 would be exhausted. Morning after morning 
 and evening after evening the ghostly 'rick- 
 shaw and I used to wander through Simla to- 
 gether. "Wherever I went, there the four black 
 and white liveries followed me and bore me 
 company to and from my hotel. At the theater 
 I found them amid the crowd of yelling 
 jhampanies; outside the club veranda, after a 
 long evening of whist; at th.^ birthday ball, 
 waiting patiently for my reappearance; and in 
 broad daylight when I went calling. Save that 
 it cast no shadow, the 'rickshaw was in every 
 respect as real to look upon as one of wood 
 and iron. More than once, indeed, I have 
 to check myself from warning some hard-riding 
 friend against cantering over it. More than 
 once I have walked down the Mall deep in con- 
 versation with Mrs. Wessington to the un- 
 speakable amazement of the passers-by. 
 
 Before I had been out and about a week I 
 learnt that the "fit" theory had been discarded 
 in favor of insanity. However, I made no 
 change in my mode of life. I called, rode, and 
 dined out as freely as ever. I had a passion 
 for the society of my kind which I had never 
 felt before; I hungered to be among the reali- 
 ties of life; and at the same time I felt vaguely
 
 34 gr:eat ghost stories 
 
 unhappy when I had been separated too long 
 from my ghostly companion. It would be al- 
 most impossible to describe my varying moods 
 from the 15th of May up to today. 
 
 The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by 
 turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of 
 pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave 
 Simla; and I knew that my stay there was kill- 
 ing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my des- 
 tiny to die slowly and a little every day. My 
 only anxiety was to get the penance over as 
 quietly as might be. Alternately I hungered for 
 a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous 
 flirtations with my successor — to speak more 
 accurately, my successors — with amused in- 
 terest. She was as much out of my life as I 
 was out of hers. By day I wandered with Mrs. 
 Wessington almost content. By night I im- 
 plored Heaven to let me return to the world as 
 I used to know it. Above all these varying 
 moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing won- 
 der that the seen and the unseen should mingle 
 so strangely on this earth to hound one poor 
 soul to its grave. 
 
 August 21th. — Heatherlegh has been inde- 
 fatigable in his attendance on me; and only 
 yesterday told me that I ought to send in an 
 application for sick-leave. An application to 
 escape the company of a phantom! A request 
 that the Government would graciously permit 
 me to get rid of five ghosts and an airy 'rick- 
 shaw by going to England! Heatherlegh's 
 proposition moved me to almost hysterical 
 laughter. I told him that I should await the
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 35 
 
 end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the 
 end is not far off. Believe me that I dread its 
 advent more than any word can say; and I 
 torture myself nightly with a thousand specu- 
 lations as to the manner of my death. 
 
 Shall I die in my bed decently and as an 
 English gentleman should die; or, in one last 
 walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched 
 from me to take its place for ever and ever by 
 the side of that ghastly phantasm? Shall I 
 return to my old lost allegiance in the next 
 world, or shall I meet Agnes loathing her and 
 bound to her side through all eternity? Shall 
 we two hover over the scene of our lives till 
 the end of time? As the day of my death draws 
 nearer, the intense horror that all living flesh 
 feels towards escaped spirits from beyond the 
 grave grows more and more powerful. It is an 
 awful thing to go down quick among thv> dead 
 with scarcely one half of your life completed. 
 It is a thousand times more awful to wait as 1 
 do in your midst, for I know not what unim- 
 aginable terror. Pity me, at least on the score 
 of my "delusion," for I know you will never 
 believe what I have written here. Yet as 
 surely as ever a man was done to death by the 
 Powers of Darkness I am that man. 
 
 In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as 
 ever woman was killed by man, I killed Mrs. 
 Wessington. And the last portion of my pun- 
 ishment is even now upon me.
 
 THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL 
 Daniel De Foe 
 
 the preface 
 
 This relation is matter of fact, and attended 
 with such circumstances, as may induce any- 
 reasonable man to believe it. It was sent by a 
 gentleman, a justice of peace, at Maidstone, in 
 Kent, and a very intelligent person, to his 
 friend in London, as it is here worded; which 
 discourse is attested by a very sober and un- 
 derstanding gentlewoman, a kinswoman of the 
 said gentleman's, who lives in Canterbury, 
 within a few doors of the house in which the 
 withinnamed Mrs. Bargrave lives; who believes 
 his kinswoman to be of so discerning a spirit, 
 as n(/t to be put upon by any fallacy; and who 
 positively assured him that the whole matter, 
 as it is related and laid down, is really true; 
 and what she herself had in the same words, 
 as near as may be, from Mrs. Bargrave's own 
 mouth, who, she knows, had no reason to in- 
 vent and publish such a story, or any design 
 to forge and tell a lie, being a woman of much 
 honesty and virtue, and her whole life a course, 
 as it were, of piety. The use which we ought 
 to make of it, is to consider, that there is a 
 life to come after this, and a just God, who 
 will retribute to every one according to the 
 deeds done in the body; and therefore to re- 
 flect upon our past course of life we have led 
 in the world; that our time is short and uncer- 
 tain; and that if we would escape the punish- 
 ment of the ungodly, and receive the reward
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 87 
 
 of the righteous, which is the laying hold of 
 eternal life, we ought, for the time to come to 
 return to God by a speedy repentance, ceasing 
 to do evil, and learning to do well: to seek 
 after God early, if happily He may be found 
 of us, and lead such lives for the future, as 
 may be well pleasing in His sight. 
 
 A RELATION OF THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL 
 
 This thing is so rare in all its circumstances, 
 and on so good authority, that my reading and 
 conversation has not given me anything like 
 it: it is fit to gratify the mose ingenious and 
 serious inquirer. Mrs. Bargrave is the person 
 to whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her death; 
 she is my intimate friend, and I can avouch for 
 her reputation, for these last fifteen or sixteen 
 years, on my own knowledge; and I can con- 
 firm the good character she had from her 
 youth, to the time of my acquaintance. Though, 
 since this relation, she is calumniated by some 
 people, that are friends to the brother of this 
 Mrs. Veal, who appeared; who think the rela- 
 tion of this appearance to be a reflection, and 
 endeavor what they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave's 
 reputation, and to laugh the story out of coun- 
 tenance. But by the circumstances thereof, 
 and the cheerful disposition of Mrs, Bargrave, 
 notwithstanding the ill-usage of a very wicked 
 husband, there is not yet the least sign of de- 
 jection in her face; nor did I ever hear her let 
 fall a desponding or murmuring expression; 
 nay, not when actually under her husband's 
 barbarity; which I have been witness to, and 
 several other persons of undoubted reputation. 
 
 Now you must know, Mrs. Veal was a maiden
 
 SS GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 gentlewoman of about thirty years of age, and 
 for some years last past had been troubled 
 with fits; which were perceived coming on her, 
 by her going off from her discourse very 
 abruptly to some impertinence. She was main- 
 tained by an only brother, and kept his house 
 in Dover. She was a very pious woman, and 
 her brother a very sober man to all appear- 
 ance; but now he does all he can to null or 
 quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately ac- 
 quainted with Mrs. Bargrave from her childhood 
 Mrs. Veal's circumstances were then mean; her 
 father did not take care of his children as he 
 ought, so that they were exposed to hardships; 
 and Mrs. Bargrave, in those days, had as un- 
 kind a father, though she wanted neither for 
 food nor clothing, whilst Mrs. Veal wanted for 
 both; i.i.somuch that she would often say, Mrs. 
 Bargrave, you are not only the best, but the 
 only friend I have in the world, and no circum- 
 stances of life shall ever dissolve my friend- 
 ship. They would often condole each other's 
 adverse fortunes, and read together Drelincourt 
 upon Death, and other good books; and so, like 
 two Christian friends, they comforted each 
 other under their sorrow. 
 
 Some time after, Mrs. Veal's friends got him 
 a place in the custom-house at Dover, which oc- 
 casioned Mrs. Veal, by little and little, to fall 
 off from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, 
 though there was never any such thing as a 
 quarrel; but an indifferency came on by de- 
 grees, till at last Mrs. Bargrave had not seen 
 her in two years and a half; though above a 
 twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 39 
 
 been absent from Dover, and this last half 
 year has been in Canterbury about two months 
 of the time, dwelling in a house of her own. 
 
 In this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, 
 she was sitting alone in the forenoon, thinking 
 over her unfortunate life, and arguing herself 
 into a due resignation to providence, though 
 her , condition seemed hard. And, said she, I 
 have been provided for hitherto, and doubt not 
 but I shall be still; and am well satisfied that 
 my afflictions shall end when it is most fit for 
 me: and then took up her sewing-work, which 
 she had no sooner done, but she hears a knock- 
 ing at the door. She went to see who was 
 there, and this proved to be Mrs, Veal, her old 
 friend, who was in a riding-habit. At that 
 moment of time the clock struck twelve at 
 noon. 
 
 Madam, says Mrs. Bargrave, I am surprised 
 to see you, you have been so long a stranger; 
 but told her, she was glad to see her, and of- 
 fered to salute her; which Mrs. Veal complied 
 with, till their lips almost touched; and then 
 Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, 
 and said, I am not very well; and so waived it. 
 She told Mrs. Bargrave, she was going a jour- 
 ney, and had a great mind to see her first. 
 But, says Mrs. Bargrave, how came you to take 
 a journey alone? I am amazed at it, because I 
 know you have a fond brother. Oh! says Mrs. 
 Veal, I gave my brother the slip, and came 
 away because I had so great a desire to see you 
 before I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave 
 went in with her, into another room within the 
 first, and Mrs. Veal sat her down in an elbow-
 
 40 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when 
 she heard Mrs. Veal knock. Then says Mrs. 
 Veal, My dear friend, I am come to renew our 
 old friendship again, and beg your pardon for 
 my breach oi it; and if you can forgive me, 
 you are the best of women. O, says Mrs. Bar- 
 grave, do not mention such a thing; I have not 
 had an uneasy thought about it; I can easily 
 forgive it. What did you think of me? said 
 Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I thought you 
 were like the rest of the world, and that pros- 
 perity had made you forget yourself and me. 
 Then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the 
 many friendly offices she did her in former 
 days, and much of the conversation they had 
 with each other in the times of their adversity; 
 what books they read, and what comfort, in 
 particular, they received from Drelincourt's 
 Book of Death, which was the best, she said, 
 on that subject ever written. She also men- 
 tioned Dr. Sherlock, the tVvO Dutch books which 
 were translated, written upon death, and sev- 
 eral others. But Drelincourt, she said, had the 
 clearest notions of death, and of the future 
 state, of any who had handled that subject. 
 Then she asked Mrs. Bargrave, whether she 
 had Drelincourt. She said, Yes. Says Mrs. 
 Veal, Fetch it. And so Mrs. Bargrave goes up 
 stairs and brings it down. Says Mrs. Veal, 
 Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith 
 were as open as the eyes of our body, we should 
 see numbers of angels about us for our guard. 
 The notions we have of heaven now, are noth- 
 ing like what it is, as Drelincourt says; there- 
 fore be comforted under your afflictions, and
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 41 
 
 believe that the Almighty has a particular re- 
 gard to you; and that your afflictions are 
 marks of God's favor; and when they have 
 done the business they are sent for, they shall 
 be removed from you. And believe me, my 
 dear friend, believe what I say to you, one 
 minute of future happiness will infinitely re- 
 ward , you for all your sufferings. For, I can 
 never believe (and claps her hand upon her 
 knee with great earnestness, which irffleed ran 
 though most of her discourse), that ever God 
 will suffer you to spend all your days in this 
 afflicted state; but be assured, that your af- 
 flictions shall leave you, or you them, in a short 
 time. She spake in that pathetical and 
 heavenly manner, that Mrs. Bargrave wept sev- 
 eral times, she was so deeply affected with it. 
 Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Kenrick's 
 Ascetick, at the end of which he gives an ac- 
 count of the lives of the primitive Christians. 
 Their pattern she recommended to our imita- 
 tion, and said, their conversation was not like 
 this of our age: For now, says she, there is 
 nothing but frothy, vain discourse, which is 
 far different from theirs. Theirs was to edifi- 
 cation, and to build one another up in faith; 
 so that they were not as we are, nor are we 
 as they were: but, says she, we ought to do as 
 they did. There was an hearty friendship 
 among them; but where is it now to be found? 
 Says Mrs. Bargrave, It is hard indeed to find 
 a true friend in these days. Says Mrs. Veal, 
 Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, called 
 Friendship in Perfection, which I wonderfully 
 admire. Have you seen the book? says Mrs.
 
 42 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 VeaL No, says Mrs. Bargrave, but I have the 
 verses of my own writing out. Have you? says 
 Mrs, Veal, then fetch them. "Which she did 
 from above stairs, and offered them to Mrs. 
 Veal to read, who refused, and waived the 
 thing, saying, holding down her head would 
 make it ache; and then desired Mrs. Bargrave 
 to read them to her, which she did. As they 
 were admiring friendship, Mrs. Veal said, Dear 
 Mrs. Bargrave, I shall love you for ever. In 
 these verses there is twice used the word 
 Elysian. Ah! says Mrs. Veal, these poets have 
 such names for heaven. She would often draw 
 her hands across her own eyes, and say, Mrs. 
 Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily im- 
 paired by my fits? No, says Mrs. Bargrave, I 
 think you look as ^vell as ever I knew you. 
 After all this discourse, which the apparition 
 put in much finer words than Mrs. Bargrave 
 said she could pretend to, and as much more 
 than she can remember, (for it cannot be 
 thought, that an hour and three quarters' con- 
 versation could all be retained, though the 
 main of it she thinks she does), she said to 
 Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a 
 letter to her brother, and tell him, she would 
 have him give rings to such and such; and 
 that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, 
 and that she would have two broad pieces 
 given to her cousin Watson. 
 
 Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought 
 that a fit was coming upon her, and so placed 
 herself in a chair just before her knees, to 
 keep her from falling to the ground, if her fits 
 should occasion it: for the elbow-chair, she
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 43 
 
 thought, would keep her from falling on either 
 side. And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, 
 took hold of her gown-sleeve several times, and 
 commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it was a 
 scowered silk, and newly made up. But for 
 all this, Mrs. Veal persisted in her request, and 
 told Mrs. Bargrave, she must not deny her: 
 and she would have her tell her brother all 
 their, conversation, when she had opportunity. 
 Dear Mrs. Veal, says Mrs. Bargrave, this seems 
 so impertinent, that I cannot tell how to com- 
 ply with it; and what a mortifying story will 
 our conversation be to a young gentleman? 
 Why, says Mrs. Bargrave, it is much better, 
 methinks, to do it yourself. No, says Mrs. 
 Veal, though it seems impertinent to you now, 
 you will see more reason for it hereafter. Mrs. 
 Bargrave then, to satisfy her importunity, was 
 going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs. Veal 
 said. Let it alone now, but do it when I am 
 gone; but you must be sure to do it: which was 
 one of the last things she enjoined her at part- 
 ing; and so she promised her. 
 
 Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's 
 daughter; she said, she was not at home: 
 But if you have a mind to see her, says Mrs. 
 Bargrave, I'll send for her. Do, says Mrs. 
 Veal. On which she left her, and went to a 
 neighbor's to seek for her; and by the time 
 Mrs. Bargrave was returning, Mrs. Veal was 
 got without the door in the street, in the face 
 of the beast-market, on a Saturday, which is 
 market-day, and stood ready to part, as soon 
 as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her, 
 why she was in such haste. She said she must
 
 44 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 be going, though perhaps she might not go her 
 journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, 
 she hoped she should see her gain at her 
 cousin Watson's, before she went whither she 
 was going. Then she said, she would take her 
 leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave 
 in her view, till a turning interrupted the 
 sight of her, which was three-quarters after 
 one in the afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, at 
 twelve o'clock at noon of her fits, and had not 
 above four hours' senses before her death, in 
 which time she received the sacrament. The 
 next day after Mrs. Veal's appearing, being 
 Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed 
 with a cold, and a sore throat, that she could 
 not go out that day; but on Monday morning 
 she sent a person to Captain Watson's, to 
 know if Mrs. Veal was there. They wondered 
 at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry; and sent her word, 
 that she was not there, nor was expected. At 
 this answer Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she 
 had certainly mistook the name, or made some 
 blunder. And though she was ill, she put on 
 her hood, and went herself to Captain Watson's 
 though she knew none of the family, to see if 
 Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said, they 
 wondered at her asking, for that she had not 
 been in town; they were sure, if she had, she 
 would have been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, 
 I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost 
 two hours. They said, it was impossible; for 
 they must have seen her if she had. In comes 
 Captain Watson, while they were in dispute, 
 and said, that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead,
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 45 
 
 and her escutcheons were making. This 
 strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she 
 sent to the person immediately who had the 
 care of them, and found it true. Then she re- 
 lated the whole story to Captain Watson's fam- 
 ily, and what gown she had on, and how 
 striped; and that Mrs. Veal told her, it was 
 scowered. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, You 
 have seen her indeed, for none knew, but Mrs. 
 Veal and myself, that the gown was scowered. 
 And Mrs. Watson owned, that she described 
 the gown exactly: For, said she, I helped her 
 to make it up. This Mrs. Watson blazed all 
 about the town, and avouched the demonstra- 
 tion of the truth of Mrs. Bargrave's seeing Mrs. 
 Veal's apparition. And Captain Watson carried 
 two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. Bargrave's 
 house, to hear the relation of her own mouth. 
 And when it spread so fast, that gentlemen 
 and persons of quality, the judicious and 
 skeptical part of the world, flocked in upon her, 
 it at last became such a task, that she was 
 forced to go out of the way. For they were, 
 in general, extremely satisfied of the truth of 
 the thing, and plainly saw that Mrs. Bargrave 
 was no hypochondraic; for she always appears 
 with such a cheerful air, and pleasing mien, 
 that she has gained the favor and esteem of all 
 the gentry; and it is thought a great favor, 
 if they can but get the relation from her own 
 mouth. I should have told you before, that 
 Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave, that her sister 
 and brother-in-law were just come down from 
 London to see her. Says Mrs. Bargrave, How 
 came you to order matters so strangely? It
 
 46 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 could not be helped, says Mrs. Veal. And her 
 brother and sister did come to see her, and en- 
 tered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was 
 expiring. Mrs. Bargrave asked her whether 
 she would drink some tea. Says Mrs. Veal, I 
 do not care if I do; but I'll warrant you, this 
 mad fellow (meaning Mrs. Bargrave's hus- 
 band) has broke all your trinkets. But, says 
 Mrs. Bargrave, I'll get something to drink in 
 for all that; but Mrs. Veal waived it, and said. 
 It is no matter, let it alone; and so it passed. 
 
 All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which 
 was some hours, she recollected fresh sayings 
 of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing more 
 she told Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Breton 
 allowed Mrs. Veal ten pounds a year; which 
 was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave, 
 till Mrs. Veal told it her. 
 
 Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story; 
 which puzzles those who doubt of the truth, or 
 are unwilling to believe it. A servant in the 
 neighbor's yard, adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave's 
 house, heard her talking to somebody an hour 
 of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. 
 Bargrave went out to her next neighbor's the 
 very moment she parted with Mrs. Veal, and 
 told her what ravishing conversation she had 
 with an old friend, and told the whole of it. 
 Drelincourt's Book of Death is, since this hap- 
 pened, bought up strangely. And it is to be 
 observed, that notwithstanding all the trouble 
 and fatigue Mrs. Bargrave has undergone upon 
 this account, she never took the value of a 
 farthing, nor suffered her daughter to take
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 47 
 
 anything of anybody, and therefore can have 
 no interest in telling the story. 
 
 But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the 
 matter, and said he would see Mrs. Bargrave; 
 but yet it is certain matter of fact that he 
 has been at Captain Watson's since the death 
 of his sister, end yet never went near Mrs. 
 Bargrave; and some of his friends report her 
 to be a liar, and that she knew of Mr. Breton's 
 ten pounds a ysar. But the person who pre- 
 tends to say so, has the reputation of a no- 
 torious liar, among persons whom I know to 
 be of undoubted credit. Now Mr. Veal is more 
 of a gentleman than to say she lies; but says, 
 a bad husband has crazed her. But she needs 
 only present herself, and it will effectually 
 confute that pretense. Mr. Veal says, he asked 
 his sister on her death-bed, whether she had a 
 mind to dispose of anything? And she said, 
 No. Now, the things which Mrs. Veal's appari- 
 tion would have disposed of, were so trifling, 
 and nothing of justice aimed at in their dis- 
 posal, that the design of it appears to me to 
 be only in order to make Mrs. Bargrave so to 
 demonstrate the truth of her appearance, as to 
 satisfy the world of the reality thereof, as to 
 what she had seen and heard; and to secure 
 her reputation among the reasonable and un- 
 derstanding part of mankind. And then again, 
 Mr. Veal owns, that there was a purse of gold; 
 but it was not found in her cabinet, but in a 
 comb-box. This looks improbable; for that Mrs. 
 Watson owned, that Mrs. Veal was so very care- 
 ful_pf the key of the cabinet, that she would 
 trns? nobody with it. And if so, no doubt she
 
 48 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 would not trust her gold out of it. And Mrs. 
 Veal's often drawing her hand over her eyes, 
 and asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits 
 had not impaired her, looks to me as if she did 
 it on purpose to remind Mrs. Bargrave of her 
 fits, to prepare her not to think it strange that 
 she should put her upon writing to her brother 
 to dispose of rings and gold, which looked so 
 much like a dying person's request; and it 
 took accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave, as the ef- 
 fects of her fits coming upon her; and was one 
 of the many instances of her wonderful love to 
 her, and care of her, that she should not>^e af- 
 frighted; w.iich indeed appears in her whole 
 management, particularly in her coming to her 
 in the day-time, waiving the salutation, and 
 when she was alone; and then the manner of 
 her parting, so prevent a second attempt to 
 salute her. 
 
 Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation 
 a reflection, as it is plain he does, by his en- 
 deavoring to stifle it, I cannot imagine; be- 
 cause the generality believe her to be a good 
 spirit, her discourse was so heavenly. Her two 
 great errands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave 
 in her affliction, and to ask her forgiveness for 
 the breach of friendship, and with a pious dis- 
 course to encourage her. So that, after all, 
 to suppose that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such 
 an invention as this from Friday noon till Sat- 
 urday noon, supposing that she knew of Mrs. 
 Veal's death the very first moment, without 
 jumbling circumstances, and without any in- 
 terest too; she must be more witty, fortunate, 
 and wicked too, than any indifferent person, I
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 49 
 
 dare say, will allow. I asked Mrs. Bargrave 
 several times, if she was sure she felt the gown? 
 She answered modestly. If my senses be to be 
 relied upon, I am sure of it. I asked her, if 
 she heard a sound when she clapped her hand 
 upon her knee? She said, she did not remem- 
 ber she did; but said she appeared to be as 
 much a substance as I did, who talked with her. 
 And I may, said she, be as soon persuaded, that 
 your apparition is talking to me now, as that 
 I did not really see her: for I was under no 
 manner of fear, and received her as a friend, 
 and parted with her as such. I would not, says 
 she, give one farthing to make any one be- 
 lieve it: I have no interest in it; nothing but 
 trouble is entailed upon me for a long time, for 
 aught I know; and had it not come to light by 
 accident, it would never have been made public. 
 But now, she says, she will make her own pri- 
 vate use of it, and keep herself out of the way 
 as much as she can; and so she has done since. 
 She says. She had a gentleman who came thirty 
 miles to her to hear the relation; and that she 
 had told it to a room full of people at a time. 
 Several particular gentlemen have had the 
 story from Mrs. Bargrave's own mouth. 
 
 This thing has very much affected me, and I 
 am as well satisfied, as I am of the best- 
 grounded matter of fact. And why we should 
 dispute matter of fact, because we cannot solve 
 things of which we can have no certain or dem- 
 onstrative notions, seems strange to me. Mrs.. 
 Bargrave's authority and sincerity alone, would 
 have been undoubted in any other case.
 
 ($0 ©BEAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 The origin of the foregoing curious story seems 
 to have been as follows: — 
 
 An adventurous bookseller had ventured to 
 print a considerable edition of a work by the 
 Reverend Charles Drelincourt, minister of the 
 Calvinist church in Paris, and translated by M. 
 D'AssTgny, under the title of "The Christian's 
 Defense against the Fear of Death, with sev- 
 eral directions how to prepare ourselve^ to die 
 well." But however certain, the prospect of 
 death, it is not so agreeable (unfortunately) as 
 to invite the eager contemplation of the public; 
 and Drelincourt's book, being neglected, lay a 
 dead stock on the hands of the publisher. In 
 this emergency, he applied to De Foe to assist 
 him (by dint of such means as were then, as 
 well as now, pretty well understood in the 
 literary world) in rescuing the unfortunate 
 book from the literary death to which general 
 neglect seemed about to consign it. 
 
 De Foe's genius and audacity devised a plan 
 which, for assurance and ingenuity, defied even 
 the powers of Mr. Puff in the Critic: for who 
 but himself would have thought of summoning 
 up a ghost from the grave to bear witness in 
 favor of a halting body of divinity? There is a 
 matter-of-fact, business-like style in the whole 
 account of the transaction, which bespeaks in- 
 effable powers of self-possession. The narrative 
 is drawn up "by a gentleman, a Justice of Peace 
 at Maidstone, in Kent, a very intelligent per- 
 son." And, moreover, "the discourse is attested
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 51 
 
 by a very sober gentlewoman, v.ho lives In 
 Canterbury, within a few doors of the house 
 in which Mrs. Bargrave lives." The JusLice be- 
 lieves his kinswoman to be of so discerning a 
 spirit, as not to be put upon by any fallacy — 
 and the kinswoman positively assures the Jus- 
 tice, "that the whole matter, as it is related 
 and laid down, is really true, and what she her- 
 self heard, as near as may be, from Mrs. Bar- 
 grave's own mouth, who, she knows, had no 
 reason to invent or publish such a story, or any 
 design to forge and tell a lie, being a woman 
 of so much honesty and virtue, and her whole 
 life a course, as it were, of pietf." Skepticism 
 itself could not resist this triple court of evi- 
 dence so artfully combined, the Justice attest- 
 ing for the discerning spirit of the sober and 
 understanding gentlewoman his kinswoman, 
 and his kinswoman becoming bail for the verac- 
 ity of Mrs. Bargrave. And here, gentle reader, 
 admire the simplicity of those days. Had Mrs. 
 Veal's visit to her friend happened in our 
 time, the conductors of the daily press would 
 have given the word, and seven gentlemen unto 
 the said press belonging, would, with an obe- 
 dient start, have made off for x<:ingston, for 
 Canterbury, for Dover, — for Kamchatka if nec- 
 essary, — to pose the Justice, cross-examine Mrs. 
 Bargrave, confront the sober and understand- 
 ing kinswoman, and dig Mrs. Veal up from her 
 grave, rather than not get to the bottom of the 
 story. But in our time we doubt and scrutinize; 
 our ancestors wondered and believed. 
 
 Before the story is commenced, the under- 
 standing gentlewoman (not the Justice o£
 
 52 GREAT GHOST STOIUES 
 
 Peace), who is the reporter, takes some pains 
 to repel the objections made against the story 
 by some of the friends of Mrs. Veal's brother, 
 who consider the marvel as an aspersion on 
 their family, and do what they can to laugh it 
 out of countenance. Indeed, it is allowed, with 
 admirable impartiality, that Mr. Veal is too 
 much of a gentleman to suppose Mrs. Bargrave 
 invented the story — scandal itself c^uld scarce 
 have supposed that — although one notorious 
 liar, who is chastised towards the conclusion of 
 the story, ventures to throw out such an in- 
 sinuation. ■ No reasonable or respectable per- 
 son, however, could be found to countenance the 
 suspicion, and Mr. Veal himself opined that 
 Mrs. Bargrave had been driven crazy by a cruel 
 husband, and dreamed the whole story of the 
 apparition. Now all this is sufficiently artful. 
 To have vouched the fact as universally known, 
 and believed by every one, nem. con., would not 
 have been half so satisfactory to a skeplic as 
 to allow fairly that the narrative had been im- 
 pugned, and hint at the character of one of 
 those skeptics, and the motives of another, as 
 sufficient to account for their want of belief. 
 Now to the fact itself. 
 
 Mrs. Bargrave and Mrs. Veal had been friends 
 in youth, and had protested their attachment 
 should last as long as they lived; but when Mrs. 
 Veal's brother obtained an office in the costoms 
 at Dover, some cessation of their intimacy en- 
 sued, "Though without any positive quarrel." 
 Mrs. Bargrave had removed to Canterbury, and 
 was residing in a house of her own, when she 
 was suddenly interrupted by a visit from Mrs.
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 53 
 
 Veal, as she was sitting in deep contemplation 
 of certain distresses of her own. The visitor 
 was in a riding-habit, and announced herself 
 as prepared for a distant journey (which seems 
 to intimate that spirits have a considerable 
 distance to go before they arrive at their ap- 
 pointed station, and that the females at least 
 put on a hahit for the occasion). The spirit, 
 for such was the seeming Mrs. Veal, continued 
 to waive the ceremony of salutation, both in 
 going and coming, which will remind the reader 
 of a ghostly lover's reply to his mistress in the 
 fine old Scottish ballad: — 
 
 Why should I come within thy bower? 
 
 I am no earthly man ; 
 And should I kiss thy rosy lips, 
 
 Thy days would not be lang", 
 
 They then began to talk in the homely style of 
 middle-aged ladies, and Mrs. Veal proses con- 
 cerning the conversations they had formerly 
 held, and the books they had read together. 
 Her very recent experience probably led Mrs. 
 Veal to talk of death, and the books written on 
 the subject, and she pronounced ex cathedra, 
 as a dead person was best entitled to do, that 
 "Drelincourt's book on Death was the best book 
 on the subject ever written." She also men- 
 tioned Dr. Sherlock, two Dutch books which 
 had been translated, and several others; but 
 Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions 
 of death and the future state of any who had 
 handled that subject. She then asked for the 
 work (we marvel the edition and impress had 
 not been mentioned) and lectured on it with 
 great eloquence and affection. Dr. Kenrlck'a
 
 54 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 Ascetick was also mentioned with approbation 
 by this critical specter (the Doctor's work was 
 no doubt a tenant of the shelf in some favorite 
 publisher's shop); and Mr. Norris's Poem on 
 Friendship, a work, which I doubt, though hon- 
 ored with a ghost's approbation, we may now 
 seek for as vainly as Correlli tormented his 
 memory to recover the sonata which the devil 
 played to him in a dream. Present^^j' after, from 
 former habits we may suppose, the guest desires 
 a cup of tea; but, bethinking herself of her 
 new character, escapes from her own proposal 
 by recollecting that Mr. Bargrave was in the 
 habit of breaking his wife's china. It would 
 have been indeed strangely out of character if 
 the spirit had lunched, or breakfasted upon tea 
 and toast. Such a consummation would have 
 sounded as ridiculous as if the statue of the 
 commander in Do7i Juan had not only accepted 
 of the invitation of the libertine to supper, but 
 had also committed a beefsteak to his flinty 
 jaws and stomach of adamant. A little more 
 conversation ensued of a less serious nature, 
 and tending to show that even the passage from 
 life to death leaves the female anxiety about 
 person and dress somewhat alive. The ghost 
 asked Mrs. Bargrave whether she did not think 
 her very much altered, and Mrs. Bargrave of 
 course complimented her on her good looks. 
 Mrs. Bargrave also admired the gown which 
 Mrs. Veal wore, and as a mark of her perfectly 
 restored confidence, the spirit led her into the 
 important secret, that it was a scoured silk, and 
 lately made up. She informed her also of an- 
 other secret, namely, that one Mr. Breton had
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 55 
 
 allowed her ten pounds a year; and, lastly, she 
 requested that Mrs. Bargrave would write to 
 her brother, and tell him how to distribute her 
 mourning rings, and mentioned there was a 
 purse of gold in her cabinet. She expressed 
 some wish to see Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; but 
 when that good lady went to the next door to 
 seek her, she found on her return the guest 
 leaving the house. She had got without the 
 door, in the street, in the face of the beast 
 market, on a Saturday, which is market day, 
 and stood ready to part. She said she must be 
 going, as she had to call upon her cousin Wat- 
 son (this appears to be a gratis dictum on the 
 part of the ghost) and, maintaining the char- 
 acter of mortality to the last, she quietly turned 
 the corner, and walked out of sight. 
 
 Then came the news of Mrs. Veal's having 
 died the day before at noon. Says Mrs. Bar- 
 grave, "I am sure she was with me on Saturday 
 almost two hours." And in comes Captain Wat- 
 son, and says Mrs. Veal was certainly dead. 
 And then come all the pieces of evidence, and 
 especially the striped silk gown. Then Mrs. 
 Watson cried out, "You have seen her indeed, 
 for none knew but Mrs. Veal and I that that 
 gown was scoured"; and she cried that the 
 gown was described exactly, for, said she, "I 
 helped her to make it up." And next we have 
 the silly attempts made to discredit the his- 
 tory. Even Mr. Veal, her brother, was obliged 
 to allow that the gold was found, but with a 
 difference, and pretended it was not found in 
 a cabinet, but elsewhere; and, in short, we 
 have all the gossip of says I, and thinks 7, and
 
 56 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 says she, and thinks she, which disputed mat- 
 ters usually excite in a country town. 
 
 When we have thus turned the tale, the seam 
 without, it may be thought too ridiculous to 
 have attracted notice. But whoever will read it 
 as told by De Foe himself, will.agree that, could 
 the thing have happened in reality, so it would 
 have been told. The sobering the whole super- 
 natural visit into the language of the middle or 
 low life, gives it an air of probability even in 
 its absurdity. The ghost of an exciseman's 
 housekeeper, and a seamstress, were not to con- 
 verse like Brutus with his Evil Genius. And 
 the circumstances of scoured silks, broken tea- 
 china, and such like, while they are the natural 
 topics of such persons' conversation, would, one 
 might have thought, be the last which an in- 
 ventor would have introduced into a pretended 
 narrative betwixt the dead and living. In short, 
 the whole is so distinctly circumstantial, that, 
 were it not for the impossibility, or extreme im- 
 probability at least, of such an occurrence, the 
 evidence could not but support the story. 
 
 The effect was most wonderful. 'Dfelincourt 
 upon Death, attested by one who could speak 
 from experience, took an unequaled run. The 
 copies had hung on the bookseller's hands as 
 heavy as a pile of lead bullets. They now tra- 
 versed the town in every direction, like the 
 same balls discharged from a field-piece. In 
 short, the subject of Mrs. Veal's apparition was 
 perfectly attained. — (See The Miscellaneous 
 Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., vol. iv. 
 p. 305, ed. 1827.)
 
 BANSHEES* 
 
 Of all Irish ghosts, fairies, or bogies, the 
 Banshee (sometimes called locally the "Boheen- 
 tha" or "Bankeentha") is the best known to 
 the general public: indeed, cross-Channel visi- 
 tors would class her with pigs, potatoes, and 
 other fauna and flora of Ireland, and would 
 expect her to make manifest her presence to 
 them as being one of the sights of the country. 
 She is a spirit with a lengthy pedigree — how 
 lengthy no man can say, as its roots go back 
 into the dim, mysterious past. The most famous 
 Banshee of ancient times was that attached to 
 the kingly house of O'Brien, Aibhill, who 
 haunted the rock of Craglea above Killaloe, 
 near the old palace of Kincora. In a.d. 1014 
 was fought the battle of Clontarf, from which 
 the aged king, Brian Boru, knew that he would 
 never come away alive, for the previous night 
 Aibhill had appeared to him to tell him of his 
 impending fate. The Banshee's method of fore- 
 telling death in olden times differed from that 
 adopted by her at the present day: now she 
 wails and wrings her hands, as a general rule, 
 but in the old Irish tales she is to be found 
 washing human heads and limbs, or blood- 
 stained clothes, till the water is all dyed with 
 human blood — this would take place before a 
 battle. So it would seem that in the course of 
 centuries her attributes and characteristics 
 have changed somewhat. 
 
 Very different descriptions are given of her 
 
 •From "True Irish Ghost Stories."
 
 58 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 personal appearance. Sometimes she is young 
 and beautiful, sometimes old and of a fearsome 
 appearance. One writer describes her as "a 
 tall, thin woman with uncovered head, and long 
 hair that floated round her shoulders, attired 
 in something which seemed either a loose white 
 cloak, or a sheet thrown hastily around her, 
 uttering piercing cries." Another person, a 
 coachman, saw her one evening sitting on a 
 sti'^v in the yard; she seemed to be a very small 
 woman, with blue eyes, long light hair, and 
 wearing a red cloak. Other descriptions will 
 be found in this chapter. By the Avay, it does 
 not seem to be true that the Banshee exclu- 
 sivel:^ follows families of Irish descent, for the 
 last incident had reference to the death of a 
 member of a Co. Galway family English by 
 name and origin. 
 
 One of the oldest and best-known Banshee 
 stories is that related in the Memoirs of Lady 
 Fanshaw.* In 1642 her husband, Sir Richard, 
 and she chanced to visit a friend, the head of 
 an Irish sept, who resided in his ancient bar- 
 onial castle, surrounded with a moat. At mid- 
 night she was awakened by a ghastly and super- 
 natural scream, and looking out of bed, beheld 
 in the moonlight a female face and part of the 
 form hovering at the window. The distance 
 from the ground, as well as the circumstance 
 of the moat, excluded the possibility that v/hat 
 she beheld was of this world. The face was 
 that of a young and rather handsome woman, 
 but pale, and the hair, which was reddish, was 
 
 ♦Scott's Lady of the Lake, notes to Canto 111 
 (edition of 1811).
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 50 
 
 loose and disheveled. The dress, which Lady 
 Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her remark- 
 ing accurately, was that of the ancient Irish. 
 This apparition continued to exhibit* Itself for 
 some time, and then vanished with two shrieks 
 similar to that which had firsf excited Lady 
 Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, with in- 
 finite terror, she communicated to her host 
 what she had witnessed, and found him pre- 
 pared not only to credit, but to account for the 
 superstition. "A near relation of my family," 
 said he, "expired last night in this castle. We 
 disguised our certain expectation of the event 
 from you, lest it should throw a cloud over the 
 cheerful reception which was your due. Now, 
 before such an event happens in this family or 
 castle, the female specter whom you have seen 
 is always visible. She is believed to be the 
 spirit of a woman of inferior rank, \/hom one 
 of my ancestors degraded himself by marrying, 
 and whom afterwards, to expiate the dishonor 
 done to his family, he caused to be drowned in 
 the moat." In strictness this woman could 
 hardly be termed a Banshee. The motive for 
 the haunting is akin to that in the tale of the 
 Scotch "Drummer of Cortachy," where the 
 spirit of the murdered man haunts the family 
 out of revenge, and appears before a death. 
 
 Mr. T. J. Westropp, M. A., has furnished the 
 following story: "My maternal grandmother 
 heard the following tradition from her mother, 
 one of the Miss Ross-Lewins, who witnessed the 
 occurrence. Their father, Mr. Harrison Ross- 
 Lewin, was away in Dublin on law business, 
 and in his absence the young people went off
 
 60 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 to sperd the evening with a friend who lived 
 some miles away. The night was tine and 
 lightsome as they were returning, save at one 
 point where the road ran between trees*of high 
 hedges not far to the west of the old church 
 of Kilchrist. The latter, like many similar 
 ruins, was a simple oblong building, with long 
 side-walls and high gables, and at that time it 
 and its graveyard were unenclosed, and lay in 
 the open fields. As the party passed down the 
 long dark lane they suddenly heard in the dis- 
 tance loud keening and clapping of hands, as 
 the country-people were accustomed to do when 
 lamenting the dead. The Ross-Lewins hurried 
 on, and came in sight of the church, on the 
 side vail of which a little gray-haired old 
 woman, clad in a dark cloak, was running to 
 and fro, chanting and walling, and throwing 
 up her arms. The girls were very frightened, 
 but the young men ran forward and surrounded 
 the ruin, and two of them went into the church, 
 the apparition vanishing from the wall as they 
 did so. They searched every nook, and found 
 no one, nor did any one pass out. All were 
 now well scared, and got home as fast as pos- 
 sible. On reaching their home their mother 
 opened the door, and at once told them that 
 she was in terror about their father, for, as 
 she cat looking out the window in the moon- 
 light, a huge raven with fiery eyes lit on the 
 sill, and tapped three times on the glass. They 
 told her their story, which only added to their 
 anxiety, and as they stood talking, taps came 
 to the nearest window, and they saw the bird 
 again. A few days later news reached them
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES 61 
 
 that Mr. Ross-Lewin had died suddenly in 
 Dublin. This occurred about 1776." 
 
 Mr. Westropp also v/rites that the sister of 
 a former Roman Catholic Bishop told his sis- 
 ters that when she was a little girl she went 
 out one evening with some other children for 
 a walk. Going down the road, they passed the 
 gate of the principal demesne near the town. 
 There was a rock, or large stone, beside the 
 road, on which they saw something. Going 
 nearer, they perceived it to be a little dark, 
 old woman, who began crying and clapping her 
 hands. Some of them attempted to speak to 
 her, but got frightened, and all finally ran 
 home as quickly as they could. Next day the 
 news came that the gentleman near whose gate 
 the Banshee had cried, was dead, and it was 
 found on inquiry that he had died at the very 
 hour at which the children had seen the specter. 
 
 A lady who is a relation of one of the com- 
 pilers, and a member of a Co. Cork family of 
 English descent, sends the two following ex- 
 periences of a Banshee in her family. "My 
 mother, when a young girl, was standing look- 
 ing out of the window in their house at Black- 
 rock, near Cork. She suddenly saw a white 
 figure standing on a bridge which was easily 
 visible from the house. The figure waved her 
 arms toward the house, but my mother heard 
 the bitter wailing of the Banshee. It lasted 
 some seconds, and then the figure disappeared. 
 Next morning my grandfather was walking as 
 usual into the city of Cork. He accidentally 
 fell, hit his head against the curbstone, and 
 never recovered consciousness.
 
 62 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 "In March, 1900, my mother was very ill, and 
 one evening the nurse and I were with her ar- 
 ranging her bed. We suddenly heard the most 
 extraordinary wailing, which seemed to come 
 in waves round and under her bed. We nat- 
 urally looked everywhere to try and find the 
 cause, but in vain. The nurse and I looked at 
 one another, but made no remark, as my mother 
 did not seem to hear it. My sister was down- 
 stairs sitting with my father. She heard it, 
 and thought some terrible thing had happened 
 to her little boy, who was in bed upstairs. She 
 rusned up, and found him sleeping quietly. My 
 father did not hear it. In the house next door 
 they heard" it, and ran downstairs, thinking 
 something had happened to the servant; but 
 the latter at once said to them, 'Did you hear 
 the Banshee? Mrs. P must be dying.' " 
 
 A few years ago (i. e. before 1894) a curious 
 incident occurred in a public school in connec- 
 tion with the belief in the Banshee. One of the 
 boys, happening to become ill, was at once 
 placed in a room by himself, where he used 
 to sit all day. On one occasion, as he was being 
 visited by the doctor, he suddenly started from 
 his seat, and affirmed that he heard somebody 
 crying. The doctor, of course, who could hear 
 or see nothing, came to the conclusion that the 
 illness had slightly affected his brain. How- 
 ever, the boy, who appeared quite sensible, still 
 persisted that he heard some one crying, and 
 furthermore said, "It is the Banshee, as I have 
 heard it before." The following morning the 
 head-master received a telegram saying that
 
 GREAT GHOST STORIES ^'.^ 
 
 the boy's brother had been accidentally shot 
 dead.* 
 
 That the Banshee is not confined within the 
 geographical limits of Ireland, but that she 
 can follow the fortunes of a family abroad, and 
 there foretell their death, is clearly shown by 
 the following story. A party of visitors were 
 gathered together on the deck of a private 
 yacht on one of the Italian lakes, and during 
 a lull in the conversation one of them, a 
 Colonel, said to the owner, "Count, who's thpt 
 queer-looking woman you have on board?" The 
 Count replied that there was nobody except the 
 ladies present, and the stewardess, but the 
 speaker protested that he was correct, and sud- 
 denly, with a scream af terror, he placed his 
 hands before his eyes, and exclaimed, "Oh, my 
 God, what a face!" For some time he was over- 
 come with terror, and at length reluctantly" 
 looked up, and cried: 
 
 "Thank Heavens, it's gone!" 
 
 "What was it?" asked the Count. 
 
 "Nothing human," replied the Colonel— ^ 
 "nothing belonging to this world. It was a 
 woman of no earthly type, with a queer-shaped, 
 gleaming face, a mass of red hair, and eyes 
 that would have been beautiful but for their 
 expression, which was hellish. She had on a 
 green hood, after the fashion of an Irish 
 peasant." 
 
 An American lady present suggested that the 
 description tallied with that of the Banshee, 
 upon which the Count said: 
 
 >A. G. Bradley, Notes on some Irish Stip&rsti'^ 
 iions, p. 9.
 
 34 GREAT GHOST STORIES 
 
 *1 am an O'Neill — at least I am descended 
 from one. My family name is, as you know, 
 Neilsini, which, little more than a century ago, 
 was O'Neill. My great-grandfather served in 
 the Irish Brigade, and on its dissolution at the 
 time of the French Revolution had the good 
 fortune to escape the general massacre of offi- 
 cers, and in company with an O'Brien and a 
 Maguire fled across the frontier and settled in 
 Italy. On his death his son, who had been born 
 in Italy, and was far more Italian than Irish, 
 changed his name to Neilsini, by which name 
 the family has been known ever since. But for 
 all that we are Irish." 
 
 "The Banshee was yours, then!" ejaculated 
 the Colonel. "What exactly does it mean?" 
 
 "It means," the Count replied solemnly, "the 
 death of some one very nearly associated with 
 me. Pray Heaven it is not my wife or daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 On that score, however, his anxiety was 
 speedily removed, for within two hours he was 
 seized with a violent attack of angina pectoris, 
 and died before morning.* 
 
 Mr. Elliott O'Donnell, to whose article on 
 "Banshees" we are indebted for the above, 
 adds: "The Banshee never manifests itself to 
 the person whose death it is prognosticating. 
 Other people may see or hear it, but the fated 
 one never, so that when every one present is 
 aware of it but one, the fate of that one may 
 be regarded as pretty well certain." 
 
 *Occult Review for September, 1913.