Analogous appearances have been seen in Westmoreland and other mountainous districts, the inhabitants imagining that the air was full of troops of cavalry, and whole armies even; such illusions resulting simply from the shadows of men and horses passing over an opposite mountain being thrown on the fog.
A vast number of different circumstances give rise to these illusions, such as a strong impression, or the recollection of some striking event, which may easily cause them, by the association of ideas. Wigan relates, that being at a soirée held at the house of M. Bellart, a few days after the execution of Marshal Ney, the groom of the chamber, instead of calling out the name of M. Maréchal aîné (M. Maréchal, senior), announced the arrival of M. le Maréchal Ney. A shudder passed through the company, and many of them declared, that for an instant they saw the face and figure of the dead man in place of those of his involuntary representative.
When the mind is thus prepared, the most familiar objects are transformed into phantoms. Ellis relates an anecdote of this kind, which he heard from an eye-witness, who was a ship’s captain of Newcastle-on-Tyne. During a voyage that he made, the ship’s cook died. Some days after the funeral, the chief mate came running to him in a great fright, with the news that the ship’s cook was walking on the water, astern of the vessel, and that all the crew were on deck looking at him. The captain, who was angry at being disturbed with so nonsensical a tale, answered sharply, that they had better put the ship about and race the ghost to Newcastle. His curiosity, however, was presently aroused, and he went upon deck and looked at the spectre. He frankly avowed that for some moments he saw what really appeared to be his old shipmate, just as he knew him in life, with his walk, clothes, cap and figure perfectly resembling those of the dead man. The panic became general, and every one was struck motionless for a time. He had the presence of mind, however, to seize the helm and put the ship about, when as they neared the ghost, they found the absurd cause of their fright was a broken mast from some wreck, which was floating after them in an upright position. If the captain had not boldly sailed up to the supposed ghost, the story of the dead cook walking upon the water would have continued to this day to terrify half the good inhabitants of Newcastle.
Such facts as these are innumerable, and we shall mention a few more which will explain a host of stories found in various ancient and modern authors.
Ajax was so angry at the arms of Achilles being awarded to Ulysses, that he became furious, and, seeing a herd of pigs, drew his sword and fell upon them, taking them for Greeks. He next seized a couple of them and beat them cruelly, loading them at the same time with insults, imagining one of them to be Agamemnon, his judge, and the other Ulysses, his enemy. When he came to himself, he was so ashamed at what he had done, that he stabbed himself with his sword.
Theodoric, blinded by jealousy and yielding to the base solicitations of his courtiers, ordered that Symmachus, one of the most upright men of his time, should be put to death. The cruel order had hardly been executed, when the king was seized with remorse, and bitterly reproached himself with his crime. One day a new kind of fish was put upon the table, when the king suddenly cried out that he saw in the head of the fish the absolute resemblance of that of his victim. This vision had the effect of plunging the king into a state of melancholy that lasted his whole life.
Bessus once, when surrounded by his guests and giving himself up to the enjoyment of the feast, ceased suddenly to listen to the flattering speeches of his courtiers. He apparently listened with great attention to some sound that was heard by no one else, and suddenly leaping from his couch, mad with rage, he seized his sword and rushing at a swallow’s nest that was near, beat it down, killing the poor birds inside it, crying out that these insolent birds dared to reproach him with the murder of his father. Surprised at such a sight, his courtiers gradually disappeared, and it became known some time afterwards that Bessus was really guilty, and that the senseless action he had performed simply resulted from the voice of conscience.
The illusions of sight and hearing are often found to take an epidemic form, and historians relate an immense number of anecdotes bearing on this particular phase of self-delusion. One of the commonest of them is that which transforms the clouds into armies and figures of all kinds. Religious prejudices, optical phenomena, physical laws that are still unknown, dangerous fevers, derangements of the brain, afford a natural explanation of these hallucinations.
We have borrowed most of these examples from Brière de Boismont’s works, for the special purpose of showing how easy it is to deceive the imagination, and to demonstrate the facility with which the sense of sight is led astray without the intervention of complicated apparatus. In addition, we may quote instances from Brewster, showing the ease with which the imagination enables us to see distinct forms in a confused mass of flames, or in a number of shadows superposed upon each other. This great philosopher gives us an anecdote of Peter Heamann, a Swedish pirate and murderer. One day that his crew were repairing some unimportant portion of the ship, after having pitched the place well he took the brush in order to tar the other parts of the vessel, which were much in want of such treatment; but as soon as he spread the pitch over the timbers of the ship, he was thunderstruck at seeing apparently reflected in its shining surface the image of a gallows with a headless man beneath. The head belonging to the body was lying before it, and the body itself was depicted with every limb—legs, thighs, and arms—perfect. He frequently told his crew of these illusions, adding that it was evidently a prediction of the fate in store for them. He was often in such a state of terror, that on calm days he would drop down into the hold and wrap himself up in a spare sail in order not to catch sight of the horrible image that he constantly saw in the shining surface of the tar.
The imagination really seems to create for itself a sort of mental visual organ which is in intimate relation with that of the body, and which often takes its place so efficiently—as in the case of dreams—that the mind is utterly unable to perceive the substitution. It is on account of this that practical opticians are so unsparing in their endeavours to predispose their spectators to being deceived.