 | The Haunted House. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West |  |
22. The Haunted House.
I once had a friend—I say had, for he is dead now,
poor fellow—by the name of Lance Walters, who possessed
the most remarkable nerve of any one I ever saw.
Nothing seemed to alarm him—nothing could frighten
him. I have seen him, when the pestilential scourge was
taking down nearly every other individual, as calm, collected,
and apparently as cheerful as one at a wedding
feast. I have seen him, when the lightning flashed with
blinding vividness, and the thunder was crashing with a
stunning power, sit coolly and collectedly by a window,
quietly reading, apparently without being aware that any
thing unusual was going on around him. When the
cholera was here, in 1832, it gave him no uneasiness.
When that wise savant of Europe startled the world with
the prediction that all sublunary things were about to be
brought to a close by an erratic comet, my friend laughed.
When, a few years subsequently, all the stars of Heaven
seemed shooting from their spheres and falling in one fiery
shower, and hundreds were quaking with terror, believing
at the phenomenon, and thought it a very pleasant and
beautiful sight. When the day drew near which that soi
disant prophet, Father Miller, had so rampantly preached
as the end of time, and thousands of frightened fanatics
were preparing to put on their ascension robes, for a
glorious, saintly, ærial flight, Walters treated his friends
to an essay on the philosophy of fools. In short, nothing
disturbed him; he had an easy digestion, and slept
soundly; and he could at any time—before meals or
afterward, morning, noon, or night, or in the middle of
the night—balance a glass full of wine on a single finger,
and neither spill a drop of the liquid nor show a tremor
of his own nerves. He had a good eye, and was a dead
shot; and if he ever failed to put a ball in the bull's-eye
at a hundred yards, without rest, the fault was in the rifle
and not in him.
I think I have said enough to show that Lance Walters
was a man of remarkable nerve; and a man of remarkable
nerve, let me observe, is a man remarkable for never knowing
what it is to fear—for real fear is something which
always springs from a disturbed condition of the nervous
system. Lance had traveled a good deal; and, in the
course of his career, had met with a number of startling
adventures. He had been in Texas in his earlier days,
and had seen men coolly shot down as dogs; he had seen
covered with ghastly wounds; he had more than once had
a loaded pistol presented at his breast, and fully believed
that the next moment would be his last; and yet in all
these trials of nerve, his features had scarcely paled, his
eye had never quailed, and not a quiver of a single muscle
had ever been perceived.
The bravest, however, have their weak points, and
Lance Walters had his, as my story, or perhaps I should
rather say his story, will show.
“Were you ever afraid?” I once said to him, as we sat
conversing upon kindred subjects.
“Once,” he replied, “never but once—I never knew
what fear was but once.”
“And pray,” said I, “on what particular occasion was
that?”
“A particular occasion, indeed!” he rejoined, as he lit
a fresh Havana and threw himself back in his easy chair,
while the cloud of smoke which soon enveloped him
seemed to indicate that even the recollection brought with
it some little nervous excitement. “Do you know,” he
pursued, “I was never a believer in the supernatural!”
“You were never a believer in any thing, except a kind
of iron immobility, which you were pleased to term
courage,” I replied.
“I say, my friend, I never was a believer in the supernatural
in it now; but this much I shall say, that there are
some things I have seen, belonging either to Heaven or
earth, or both, which far surpass my comprehension, and
seem unexplainable by any known law.”
“Well, go on,” said I, with interest, “and give me the
particulars of that particular occasion, when for once, and
only once in his life, Lance Walters was scared.”
“Well, scared is a term I am not partial to,” smiled my
friend; “but no matter. To begin, then, you must know
I was once traveling through the interior of Alabama; and
being one day belated in reaching my destination, I concluded
to ask a night's entertainment of a planter, whose
dwelling loomed up invitingly on my way. I rode up to
the door, and found the proprietor himself quietly sitting
on the piazza, indulging in the luxury of what, had I been
among the Choctaws, the original proprietors of the soil, I
should unhesitatingly have pronounced a calumet of peace.
Having passed the usual salutations of the day, and replied
to his inquiry, that I was neither a pedlar nor a relation to
one, I quietly made the proposition of passing the night
beneath his roof. He gave a cordial assent, and some
half a dozen negroes very speedily disposed of my horse
and valise. I next proceeded to make myself agreeable to
mine host—a hale, hearty man of fifty, of a pleasant and
sociable turn of mind—and soon we were in full blast,
parts of the country—east, west, north and south.
“A summons to supper interrupted our conversation;
and forthwith mine host conducted me to a bountifully-supplied
table, where I flatter myself I did ample justice
to any quantity of broiled chicken, bacon, eggs, etc.
After supper we took a smoke; and the feelings of my
Southern entertainer having by this time risen to fever
heat in favor of his Northern guest, he proposed that we
should silently indulge in a stimulating distillation called
peach-brandy. I assented; and I think I am justified in
adding, that neither of us drank more than a quart. One
thing is pretty certain, however; in the exact ratio that
the liquor went down, our spirits and fancies went up;
and from beginning with the practical, we glided into
the poetical, advanced to the terrible, and wound up with
the marvelous; that is to say, from talking of crops and
cattle, we proceeded to quote Shakspeare and Byrou,
pushed on to duels and street encounters, and ended with
ghost stories. I did not believe in the last—not even with
the assistance of the brandy—but my Southern friend did.
I could tell as marvelous tales as he; but then, unlike him,
I could not swear to them; and I came near getting
myself into trouble by doubting that he believed all he
said he did.
“ `So you are incredulous?' he queried, looking me
steadily in the eye.
“ `Most assuredly, sir,' I replied. `What! talk of
ghosts, and believe in them? Upon my soul, that is a
little too much for a man that has traveled! I have
always heard of these things as being at a distance, or else
as having happened in some demolished structure, and so
I have pretty much settled it in my own mind that their
ghostships are always a great way off from an enterprising
mortal, or else have long since gone quietly and snugly to
rest.'
“ `Would you like to see a ghost?' he inquired.
“ `If it is convenient,' said I.
“ `Come! what do you say to my own house, here,
being haunted?'
“ `I should like to hear what you say to it first,' returned
I.
“ `Well, sir, I say then, that one room is nightly visited
with something supernatural.'
“ `I am very happy to hear it,' I rejoined; `and if that
room is to let, I should like to engage it, for one night at
least.'
“ `But are you really serious,' he inquired, `in wishing
to lodge in a haunted room?'
“ `Serious as a judge, if not as sober as a priest,'
laughed I.
“ `Well, then, young man, I will try your mettle; you
shall have the room, for one night at least—that is, if I
can get my darkies into it long enough to attend to the
sleeping arrangements.'
“ `Do you really pretend to say,' pursued I, somewhat
quizzingly, `that there is a ghostly performance there every
night?'
“ `Well, I will let you report in the morning whether
there is one there this night or not.'
“ `But it must really be ghostly,' said I, `for any human
performer will be likely to get what he will not want to
keep.'
“ `Use your weapons in any way you please, he rejoined;
`only be careful and not damage my house and
furniture more than is necessary.'
“After some further conversation, during which I
puzzled myself not a little to ascertain whether my host
was really in earnest or not, he ordered his head female
domestic to see that the bed in the haunted room was
in proper condition, and the furniture well dusted. I
watched her, as he gave these directions, thinking to
detect something like a covert smile; but so far from it, I
even fancied that the wench turned a shade lighter; and
her exclamation of, `Oh, Marse John! ef de gen'lman's
gwine to sleep dar, de Lord help him!' seemed to be
spoken with something like horror. Could it be possible
Was there such a thing as a real ghost out of Shakspeare?
Pooh! pshaw! nonsense!
“All things must come to an end, and so did our
smoking, talking, and drinking. At last I rose, with my
nerves less steady than usual; and my host himself conducted
me to my supernatural chamber, through a row of
rolling eyes and ebony faces, which were turned upon me
with the expression of beings who believed I had sold
myself to the Evil One, and was about to hand him over
his bargain.
“ `Well,' said I, as my host set down the light upon the
table, which I saw had recently been dusted, `how soon is
this performance to begin? for, thanks to that brandy of
yours, I shall be asleep in something like a quarter of an
hour.'
“ `Young man!' solemnly replied my superstitious
friend; `you jest now—but if you jest to-morrow morning,
I will give you the best boy on my plantation, and say
you are the bravest man that ever rode through Alabama!'
“With this he very gravely shook me by the hand,
wished me a safe deliverance from the woes to come, and
retired with the dignity of a state functionary, leaving me
in a frame of mind something between a grin, a yawn, and
a horror.
“Finding myself entirely alone, I took a quiet survey of
one corner stood a bed, and near it an old-fashioned
burean; a table, a settee, and two or three chairs, were
ranged along the walls; at the windows hung white
muslin curtains, and the floor was covered with a sort of
matting—the whole apartment, in fact, having the appearance
of a genteel, country sleeping-room. I looked out
of the windows, and found they opened upon the garden.
I then examined the walls carefully, the matting, every
corner, crack, and crevice, to be certain there was no
chance of playing a trick upon me, though I hardly
thought my host was one to sanction anything of that
kind. I next locked the door, and then examined my
pistols, and placed them with my knife under my pillow.
Then, having arranged the means of striking a light in a
case of emergency, I proceeded to undress and turn in;
and finding all right, I finally put out the light. The
room was now quite dark, and I looked to see my supernatural
operators begin their nocturnal orgies; but having
looked in vain till my heavy eyelids began to droop, I
gradually yielded to the somnific influence, and a kind of
forgetfulness succeeded.
“I am not certain whether I slept or not; but I was
suddenly aroused by feeling something like a cold hand
placed upon my mouth, followed by a kind of stifling
sensation, not unlike that produced by nightmare.
“ `Well,' thought I, `this is cool, certainly. I am in
for it now, at all events; and so let us see who will come
out second best.'
“My first idea was to carefully raise my hand, and
suddenly grasp the hand of the unknown; and then, if I
found a body to it, to put that particular body in a condition
not to play tricks upon travelers any more. But in
attempting to raise my hand, I made the startling discovery
that it was paralyzed.
“This was the first shock of any thing like fear which
my system ever received; and I freely admit the sensation
was not a pleasant one. What could it mean? Was
it in reality nightmare, or something else? I knew
nothing human could paralyze me, and for the first time
I began to think there might be some foundation for the
stories of my host. But, pshaw! it was a dream—I knew
it was a dream—a kind of waking dream—a dyspeptic
dream—superinduced by a hearty supper, some over-indulgences
afterward, and the ideas fixed upon my mind when
I went to rest.
“I made another effort—a stronger and more determined
effort—and brought up my hand like lightning;
but just as I grasped for the intruding hand, it seemed to
be removed, and I felt something like a light blow upon
my temples.
“ `Have a care, whoever you are!' said I; `for I am
armed, and will not be trifled with!'
“As I spoke, I fancied I heard a low, mocking laugh;
and at the same instant the bed seemed to be raised up
from the floor, and rocked like a cradle.
“Nothing daunted, though somewhat mystified, I
grasped my knife and pistols, sprung out of bed and under
it, but found nothing. Then, strangely enough, the room,
which had till now been very dark, suddenly appeared
slightly illuminated, so that I could see all over it. I
came out from under the bed, and heard a heavy jar, as if
the latter had suddenly been lifted and then dropped back
to its place. This was strange! very strange! but I
would find out the secret; and I hurried about the apartment,
examining every object by the new and gradually
diffused light, which was not unlike that of early day.
“But, then, whence came this light, which was of itself
as much a mystery as the rest? I hastily drew back the
curtains of the windows—but all was dark without—not a
ray came through the glass—and this astonished me
exceedingly. Where could this light come from? and
what could be the cause of it? If there was a lantern, a
lamp, or a fire, in an adjoining apartment, I knew I should
more distinctly perceive the light through a crevice than in
the body of the room itself—yet I could discover nothing
to lead me to suppose that any other place was illuminated.
“I spent some quarter of an hour in looking over and
under every thing I could find, and then went and sat down
on the bed; but just as I did so, the apartment suddenly
became dark again, and I distinctly felt a hand grasp my
ankle. As I cautiously glided my own hand down to it, it
seemed to be removed, and the same instant I felt a
smart blow upon my forehead, followed by another low,
taunting laugh.
“I now began to feel strangely. This was a species of
jugglery that passed my comprehension. Had the room
not been mysteriously lighted at all, I fancied I might
account for the rest as a trick; but that light was something
for which I could fix upon no rational cause; and
not being able to discover the source of the light, the rest
became alike mysterious and inexplicable.
“Next followed sounds, not unlike the rushing and
moaning of winds—the very room itself seemed to rock—
and I heard a slow, steady, measured tread, with a clanking
noise as of chains. With my pistol and knife firmly
grasped, and both ready for action, I waited for the steps
to approach me; but though they seemed to be continually
advancing, they apparently came no nearer. Presently
I felt a cold air blowing upon my face; and believing
that some trap-door had been opened near me, I reached
for my matches, struck a light, and looked eagerly around
seemed to have been disturbed in the least.
“I now made another thorough search around the
walls for a secret door; and then, lifting the matting by
degrees, I also carefully examined the floor underneath;
and having thus fully satisfied myself that there was no
entrance to the room except through the door and windows
—and the door was still locked, with the key remaining in
it, and the windows I knew had not been opened—I threw
myself down upon a seat, and pondered the mystery for
more than an hour, occasionally pinching myself to be certain
I was awake.
“At last, finding I could not settle the matter to my own
satisfaction, I proceeded to make another thorough examination
of every thing and every place—actually opening the
drawers of the bureau to see that no one was concealed
within—and then once more put out the light. The very
instant I did so, however, I felt myself touched in twenty
places at the same time, by what appeared to me to be
twenty hands; while something like a brush was drawn
rapidly up and down and over my face several times. I
now began to grow uneasy—to be in some degree alarmed
—to believe indeed there might be more things in heaven
and earth than had been dreamed of in my philosophy.
“ `In the name of God,' said I, solemnly—`if this be
depart to your rest!'
“From that moment, for something like half an hour, I
neither heard a sound, nor felt a touch; and throwing
myself once more upon the bed, I resolved to sleep out the
night, let it be what it would, and make such a report in
the morning as I might see proper.
“With this intent I closed my eyes, and gradually fell
into a drowsy state as at first; but suddenly a bright flash,
like that of the most vivid lightning, brought me up with
a start, and I found the room illuminated as before, and
heard several strange noises all around me. My feelings
at that moment I can only describe as a kind of mingled
impression of awe and terror—of something wild and
weird-like—a secret sensation of something fearful and
unearthly. A weak, faint, sickening feeling came over me;
and closing my eyes, I fell back, completely exhausted.
On looking up again, the room was as dark as the blackest
night, except in one single spot overhead, where there
seemed to burn a kind of small, bluish light, that illuminated
nothing around it.
“This was too much. I felt I would rather acknowledge
myself vanquished, than courageously remain involved in
such terrible mystery through the night; and tremblingly
I rose, with the intention of finding my way out of the
apartment.
“I had scarcely touched my feet to the floor, however,
when I experienced a kind of paralyzing shock, followed by
a sensation of being lifted and swung in the air. The next
moment I seemed to drop heavily; and as I advanced a step,
with my hair fairly standing on end, a cold, clammy hand
grasped mine. Determined to know what it belonged to,
my fingers closed upon it like a vice; while with the other
hand I felt along an arm that seemed to end in air, without
other form or body attached. The very acme of horror
now seized me; this could belong to nothing human; it
was indeed a creation of the invisible inhabitants of the
invisible world; and with a long, loud, despairing shriek,
I fell.”
Here my friend, Lance Walters, brought his narrative
to a pause.
“Well!” I exclaimed, in no little excitement; “what
then?”
“I hardly know what then,” he replied. “The next
I remember, I found myself in bed, with the old planter
and his wife and some half a dozen negroes standing around
me, and a neighboring leech taking blood from my arm.
I recovered in the course of the day, and in the afternoon
took leave of my entertainer, fully determined never to
spend another night beneath his roof. You perceive,”
he concluded with a smile, “I did not get a darkey for a
bravest man that ever rode through Alabama.”
“But what was the mystery?” said I.
“Ah, what indeed?” mused Lance.
“Was it nightmare—a dream—a chemical trick—or
was it something really supernatural?
“That is what I have been trying to settle ever since,”
replied Lance Walters; “but, till the day of my death, I
fear it will remain a mystery to me. Enough that I was
really frightened for once; and I was only too glad to get
away, without asking or being asked any unnecessary questions.
Let me trouble you for another cigar!”
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