31. CHAPTER XXXI.
FATHER VON HORN ENCOUNTERS COURTLANDT THE TALL.
The afternoon slowly waned, the sunset died away,
and nine o'clock approached on that fatal night when
father Von Horn was to go forth to meet the shade, or not
the shade, of his ancestor.
Father Von Horn, the more he reflected, the more decidedly
came to agree with Nina. He was almost certain
now, that some trick had been played upon him, or, which
was far worse, on his name. He accordingly determined
to prepare himself for an encounter with an earthly power,
not, however, going unprepared for unearthly visitants.
Around him pale faces and trembling hands looked on,
and obeyed his bidding. First came an old rusty sabre
which had hung for nearly half a century on the walls,
and being about to see some service in all probability,
was buckled around the old man's waist by its antique
band. It had belonged to Courtlandt the Tall himself,
and now it was to be used, in a possible contingency,
against his derider or deriders. Then a dark lantern
attached to the end of a stick was produced—the lantern
to see by, and the stick to be used on the back of the
person or persons who had taken such unwarrantable
liberties with the Von Horn name; if indeed the liberty
were not taken by one whose right was unimpeachable—
old Courtlandt Von Horn himself.
Thus equipped father Von Horn called Barry and bade
him keep by his side, mounted his horse, the coal black
Burt, and went forth, accompanied by the child into the
dark night.
It was very dark and threatening—heavy thunder
clouds having slowly gathered overhead sweeping from
the western mountains. The moon, struggling through
them like a storm-beaten ship, over whose lights waves
incessantly break, glimmered and disappeared, and rode
forth again, as the wind swept it onward to the west.
The ravine was flooded. The little tinkling rivulet
was becoming a mountain torrent, each moment growing
larger and larger. The freshet caused by the heavy rains
in the mountains, beat full and tumultuous against the
stone work of the bridge. This stone work trembled and
shook, as the large waves which had bowed huge trees
above, struck against it, rebounding covered with foam
like furious war-steeds in the shock of battle.
Father Von Horn and Barry crossed the bridge slowly,
and bent their way toward the church-yard. No sound
was heard but the mutterings of thunder far away in the
western mountains, and the heavy footsteps of Burt, or
his uneasy snort as he snuffed up the coming storm.
They approached the church-yard through the profound
darkness, which was only relieved by a few flashes of
lightning and the fitful glimmering of the moon; the
lantern had been closed securely.
The whole neighborhood was wild and lonely: the
wind sighed in the tall melancholy trees which bowed
and bent toward each other like courteous giants, and
across the waste moor by which they drew near the
church-yard, the tall tombstones gleamed like spectres.
Suddenly father Von Horn caught Barry by the arm.
“I have seen something,” he said in a whisper, “I
will conceal myself here behind this bush; show yourself.”
Barry obeyed trembling; and indeed he had no sooner
advanced with faltering steps into the open space in full
view of the tomb than a flash of lightning revealed to
father Von Horn's terrified sight a gigantic figure standing
with uplifted arms upon the grave of Courtlandt
the Tall! The flash of lightning, however, had another
effect; it revealed the old German to the spectre. The
consequence was that the white figure leaped the stone
wall with remarkable agility, and—the moon just then
sailing slowly forth—was seen scudding across the common
toward a clump of bushes at the distance of some
hundred yards.
Father Von Horn's superstitious fears disappeared like
magic, and full of wrath he put spurs to Burt, and sweeping
like a substantial whirlwind toward the ghost would
have immediately overtaken him—but for a very simple
but also very unlucky circumstance. There grazed near
the clump of bushes mentioned, quietly and peacefully, a
noble mare, milk white and fleet as a deer, which every
body in the borough was well acquainted with; the ghost
already imagined himself in the clutches of his enemy
when this chance of escape presented itself.
Burt, with fiery nostrils, which emitted clouds of vapor
in the chill air, heavy breathing, and energetic gallop was
sweeping toward him; on Burt's back a gentleman whose
name had been trifled with, whose family traditions ridiculed,
and whose superstitious ideas had been made a
laughing stock of by the ghost.
The ghost was naturally averse to any encounter with
this personage at the moment in question; so wrapping
about him his sheet, he leaped with one vigorous bound,
on the back of the startled and neighing animal and
clasping him round the neck, took to the open road at
lightning speed.
