“We were now preparing to quit the house, having secured another, belonging to a gentleman who was going to spend some time in Italy; but, a few days before our removal, it happened that Mr. and Mrs. Atkyns, some English friends of ours, called, to whom we mentioned these circumstances, observing how extremely unpleasant it was to live in a house that somebody found means of getting into, though how they contrived it we could not discover, nor what their motive could be except it was to frighten us; adding, that nobody could sleep in the room Marsh and Creswell had been obliged to give up. Upon this Mrs. Atkyns laughed heartily, and said she should like, of all things, to sleep there, if my mother would allow her, adding, that with her little terrier she should not be afraid of any ghost that ever appeared. As my mother had, of course, no objection to this fancy of hers, she requested Mrs. Atkyns to ride home with the groom, in order that the latter might bring her night-things before the gates of the town would be shut, as they were then residing a little way in the country. Mr. Atkyns smiled and said she was very bold; but he made no difficulties, and sent the things,—and his wife retired with her dog to her room when we retired to ours, apparently without the least apprehension.
“When she came down in the morning, we were immediately struck at seeing her look very ill; and on inquiring if she too had been frightened, she said she had been awakened in the night by something moving in her room, and that, by the light of the night-lamp, she saw most distinctly a figure, and that the dog, which was spirited and flew at everything, never stirred, although she had endeavored to make him. We saw clearly that she had been very much alarmed; and when Mr. Atkyns came, and endeavored to dissipate the feeling by persuading her that she might have dreamed it, she got quite angry. We could not help thinking that she had actually seen something; and my mother said, after she was gone, that though she could not bring herself to believe it was really a ghost, still she earnestly hoped that she might get out of the house without seeing this figure, which frightened people so much.
“We were now within three days of the one fixed for our removal. I had been taking a long ride, and, being tired, had fallen asleep the moment I lay down; but, in the middle of the night, I was suddenly awakened—I can not tell by what, for the steps over our heads we had become so used to that it no longer disturbed us. Well, I awoke. I had been lying with my face toward my mother, who was asleep beside me, and, as one usually does on awaking, I turned to the other side, where, the weather being warm, the curtain of the bed was undrawn, as it was, also, at the foot; and I saw standing by a chest of drawers, which were betwixt me and the window, a thin, tall figure, in a loose powdering gown, one arm resting on the drawers, and the face turned toward me. I saw it quite distinctly by the night-light, which burned clearly. It was a long, thin, pale, young face, with, oh, such a melancholy expression as can never be effaced from my memory! I was, certainly, very much frightened; but my great horror was, lest my mother should awake and see the figure. I turned my head gently toward her, and heard her breathing high in a sound sleep. Just then the clock on the stairs struck four. I dare say it was nearly an hour before I ventured to look again, and when I did take courage to turn my eyes toward the drawers, there was nothing; yet I had not heard the slightest sound, though I had been listening with the greatest intensity.
“As you may suppose, I never closed my eyes again; and glad I was when Creswell knocked at the door, as she did every morning, for we always locked it, and it was my business to get out of bed and let her in; but on this occasion, instead of doing so, I called out, ‘Come in; the door is not fastened;’ upon which she answered that it was, and I was obliged to get out of bed and admit her as usual.
“When I told my mother what had happened, she was very grateful to me for not waking her, and commended me much for my resolution; but as she was always my first object, that was not to be wondered at. She however resolved not to risk another night in the house; and we got out of it that very day, after instituting, with the aid of the servants, a thorough search, with a view to ascertain if there was any possible means of getting into the rooms except by the usual modes of ingress; but our search was vain—none could be discovered.
“I think, from the errors in the names, &c., that the publisher of the ‘Accredited Ghost-Stories’ must have obtained his account from the inhabitants of Lille.”
Considering the number of people that were in the house, the fearlessness of the family, and their disinclination to believe in what is called the supernatural, together with the great interest the owner of this large and handsome residence must have had in discovering the trick, if there had been one, I think it is difficult to find any other explanation of this strange story, than that the sad and disappointed spirit of this poor, injured, and probably murdered boy, had never been disengaged from its earthly relations, to which regret for its frustrated hopes and violated rights still held it attached.
There is a story told by Pliny the younger, of a house at Athens, in which nobody could live, from its being haunted. At length the philosopher Athenadorus took it; and the first night he was there, he seems to have comported himself very much as the courageous Mrs. Canning did, on a similar occasion, at Plymouth. He sent his servants to bed, and set himself seriously to work with his writing materials, determined that fancy should not be left free to play him false. For some time all was still, and his mind was wholly engaged in his labors, when he heard a sound like the rattling of chains—which was the sound that had frightened everybody out of the house; but Athenadorus closed his ears, kept his thoughts collected, and wrote on, without lifting up his eyes. The noise, however, increased; it approached the door; it entered the room; then he looked round, and beheld the figure of an old man, lean, haggard, and dirty, with dishevelled hair, and a long beard, who held up his finger and beckoned him. Athenadorus made a gesture with his own hand in return, signifying that he should wait, and went on with his writing. Then the figure advanced and shook his chains over the philosopher’s head, who, on looking up, saw him beckoning as before; whereupon he arose and followed him. The apparition walked slowly, as if obstructed by his chains; and having conducted him to a certain spot in the court, which separated the two divisions of an ancient Greek house, he suddenly disappeared. Athenadorus gathered together some grass and leaves, in order to mark the place; and the next day he recommended the authorities to dig there, which they did, and found the skeleton of a human being encircled with chains. It being taken up, and the rights of sepulture duly performed, the house was no longer disturbed.
This was, probably, some poor prisoner also; and in his desire to direct notice to his body, we see the prejudices of his age and country surviving dissolution. Grose, the antiquary, who is, as I have before observed, very facetious on the subject of ghosts, remarks that “Dragging chains is not the custom of English ghosts, chains and black vestments being chiefly the accoutrements of foreign spectres, seen in arbitrary governments.” Now, this is a very striking observation. Grose’s studies had, doubtless, introduced him to many histories of this description; and the different characteristics of these apparitions, under different governments, is a circumstance in remarkable conformity with the views of those who have been led to take a much more serious view of the subject. They appear as they lived, and as they conceive of themselves; and when rapport or receptivity enable them to see, and to render themselves visible to those yet living in the flesh, it is by so appearing that they tell their story, and ask for sympathy and assistance. I say enable them to see, because there seem many reasons for concluding that they do not, under ordinary circumstances, see us, any more than we see them. Whether it be rapport with certain inhabitants, or whether the phenomenon be dependent on certain periods, or any other condition, we can not tell; but I have met with several accounts of houses in which an annoyance of this sort has recurred more than once, at different intervals, sometimes at a distance of seven or ten years, the intermediate time being quite free from it.
One of the most melancholy and impressive circumstances of this sort I have met with, occurred to Mrs. L——, a lady with whose family I am acquainted; Mrs. L—— herself having been kind enough to furnish me with the particulars: A few years since, she took a furnished house in Stevenson street, North Shields, and she had been in it but a very few hours before she was perplexed by hearing feet in the passage, though, whenever she opened the door, she could see nobody. She went to the kitchen, and asked the servant if she had not heard the same sound. She said she had not, but that there seemed to be strange noises in the house. When Mrs. L—— went to bed, she could not go to sleep for the noise of a child’s rattle, which seemed to be inside her curtains. It rattled round her head, first on one side, then on the other; then there were sounds of feet, and of a child crying, and a woman sobbing; and, in short, so many strange noises that the servant became frightened and went away. The next girl Mrs. L—— engaged came from Leith, and was a stranger to the place; but she had only passed a night in the house, when she said to her mistress, “This is a troubled house you’ve got into, ma’am;” and she described, among the rest, that she had repeatedly heard her own name called by a voice near her, though she could see nobody.