Arrah Neil; or, Times of Old

by G. P. R. James

"Pooh! the rustling of the casements with the wind," rejoined the other; "I cannot stay all night: unshade the lantern and let us to work."

If a fragment of superstitious doubt as to the interlocutors of this dialogue being of a ghostly character had lingered in the mind of Diggory Falgate, the words about unshading the lantern removed it completely; and the next instant a faint and misty light was seen issuing from a low narrow doorway, which had apparently been left open on the opposite side of the church, towards the eastern angle.

"Some vagabonds robbing the vaults," thought the painter to himself: "I will see what they are about, at all risks. Perchance I may frighten them, make them run over the sentinel, and escape in the confusion. If he shoots one of them instead of me, it will be no great matter; and of course, if these men are as anxious to get away as I am, we shall make common cause and be too strong for him. But I will watch for a minute first; and let them be fairly at their work, as they call it, before I show myself."

Thus thinking, with a noiseless step he advanced towards the door leading from the main body of the building to the vaults below, guided by the light, which continued to glimmer faintly up, casting a misty ray upon the communion-table. When he approached the arch, he looked carefully forward at every step; but nothing could he see till he came to the top of the stone stairs, when he perceived a dark lantern, with the shade drawn back, standing on the ground at the bottom. No human beings were visible, however, though he heard a rustling sound in the vault, as if some living creatures were at no great distance; and the next moment there came a sort of gurgling noise, as if some fluid were poured out of a narrow-necked bottle. An instant after, the first voice he had heard observed, in a pleasant and well-satisfied tone, "That's very good! genuine Nantz, I declare."

"Ay, that it is," answered the second voice: "the stomach requires comfort in such a cold and dismal place as this."

"Oh, 'tis nothing when one is used to it," rejoined the first speaker; "but come, we had better do the business. There stands the coffin. You bring the mallet, and I will take the chisel and bar."

Diggory Falgate did not like their proceedings at all, though he would by no means have objected to a glass of cordial waters himself. But they were evidently about to break open one of the coffins--every word showed it; to violate the sanctity of the grave--to disturb the ashes of the dead; and the poor painter had sufficient refinement of feeling to think that the drinking of intoxicating liquors, while so engaged, was an aggravation of their offence. The collocation of "genuine Nantz, I declare," with "there stands the coffin," shocked and horrified him; and he paused for a moment to consider, feeling as if it would render him almost a partaker in the sacrilege if he were to descend into the vault. A moment's thought, however, settled this case of conscience; and by the time that he had settled his plan he heard a hollow noise, as if some hard substance had struck against an empty chest.

"Now is the time," he thought; "they are busy at their hellish work."

There stood the lantern on the ground beneath; the men were evidently at some small distance. If he could get possession of the light and shade it, they were at his mercy; and the only difficulty was how to descend the stairs without calling their attention. Recollecting, however, that it was the invariable practice of ghosts, whatever sounds they might produce with any other organs with which they may be endowed, to make no noise with their feet, the good painter stooped down, took off his shoes, and put them in his pockets. Then with a quiet and stealthy step he began the descent, totally unperceived by those who were by this time busily engaged wrenching and tearing some well-fastened woodwork.

Stooping down before he quite reached the bottom of the steps, Diggory Falgate looked into the vault, and immediately perceived two men, both of them somewhat advanced in life--one a thin, tall, puritanical-looking person, dressed in black, raising with a chisel and mallet the lid of a coffin which stood upon the ground. Forty or fifty other coffins, some small and narrow, some large, were within the pale glimpse of the lantern, and the painter's imagination filled up the dark space which the rays did not reach with similar mementoes of mortality. On his left hand, near the foot of the stairs, were four coffins placed in a row, with three others laid crosswise upon them, and all raised two or three feet from the floor by trestles. There was a narrow sort of lane behind, between them and the damp wall, and taking another step down, he brought himself as far on that side as possible.