The Macabre Megapack: 25 Lost Tales from the Golden Age

by John Galt

  “Hush,” replied his comrade—for the old man’s voice had been unconsciously raised, as his spirit boiled at the idea of being connected with the murderer—“hush, Tom, and don’t plague yourself now about the difference between hiding blood and helping to spill it. In my mind both’s bad enough. But let’s see what’s to be done, for Vandrick will be sure to be here again in a week.”

  “I’ll leave,” said the old man, “if it costs me my life.”

  “And so will I,” said the younger one, “for no man can prosper with blood-spots on him. But let’s turn out now; the rain’s almost over, and all these fellows are asleep.”

  “A good thing if they slept their last,” muttered his companion. “Some of them know more than I thought they did, or I’d never have been here now. But come along, and let’s have this tale of yours fairly out. It makes me feel as if hot water was trickling down my back to think on’t.”

  So saying they crossed the threshold, and disappeared into the gloom. The stranger’s curiosity had been strongly excited, and, rising, after they gone out, he watched the direction they took, and then striding across two or three of the revelers, who lay snoring on the floor, he silently took the same path, and, guided by their voices, was easily enabled to fix himself in a situation where he could hear all that was said without being observed.

  “After I had shown him this spot,” said the one who had commenced the conversation, “to which he could bring his boat in the dark narrow channel of the creek, he bade me begone, with a look that seemed to say, ‘Stay at your peril.’ So I thought, ‘sure enough there’s something he wants to keep secret, is there? But if I know half, I’ll know it all.’ So, after turning round the little clump of cedars, I easily crawled up and hid myself among yon pile of rocks—a place he knows nothing of—and saw as well as heard all that passed. After he and his men had dug the hole, they went back to the schooner, and never shall I forget the sight I then saw. They all came back together, and who should they have with ’em but an old man, trembling with age, who seemed as if his whole heart was fixed on the gold they had in the pot.

  “‘What! Will ye not leave a poor old man sixpence, ye wretches, but bring him here to see you bury it? Many a weary night’s calculations has it cost me, and many a tempest I have encountered, in earning it, ye thieves,’ said the old man, looking wistfully at the gold. ‘Many’s the time it’s been through my fingers; and am I come to this, after all my toil, to see it wasted here, when a good nine per cent might be made of any doubloon of it? Twenty thousand pounds sterling at nine PER CENT for only six years, would be—’

  “‘Hold your prating, you old fool,’ cried Vandrick, as he went on muttering his calculations of usury. ‘You have had pleasure enough in gathering up your gold, and I hope to have the pleasure of spending it. ‘Thieves’ and ‘wretches’ call you us? And did it never occur to you, during the long years that you have been employed in stealing people in Africa as good as yourself, to sell them in Hispaniola, to look into your mirror, and see what sort of man you are yourself? For these ten years I have kept my eye on you, old boy, resolved to pick you up, whenever you might leave your El Dorado for the old country, and I’ve overhauled you at last. I have caught you, as you have caught thousands in Africa, and thus far I am a thousand times the better man. You never loved anything else but your gold, and cheer up, old man! you shan’t be parted from it. Harkee, old fellow! will you do a message for me to the devil?’

  “‘You are the devil yourself, I think,’ said the old man, ‘or you’d never be so wasteful of money, which cost—’

  “‘How many negroes, my old Croesus?’ demanded Vandrick, with a sneer.

  “‘So much labor to get it,’ continued the old man, without regarding the interruption, ‘and might be let out, on good security, for nine per cent, which, on twenty thousand pounds, would yield—’

  “‘Just eighteen hundred pounds a year, old Gripus,’ retorted Vandrick. ‘You shall go and see what the devil will give you for it. Come along,’ continued the pirate captain to the men who now deposited the pot of gold in the hole which had been prepared for its reception; ‘I’ll be parson.’ Then taking the old man by the collar, who looking wildly about him, seemed quite unconscious of their purpose, he walked three times round the pit, and turned and advanced directly to its brink. With the quickness of a flash he drew a knife from his leathern girdle, from which hung a number of pistols, and plunged it to the hilt in the bosom of the prisoner. A deep groan was the only sound he uttered, as a few drops of blood trickled from the wound, and, falling forward into the pit, he expired. The pirates then joined hands, forming a circle round the hole, while the captain repeated some strange mummery, which I cannot recollect.

  “‘After all this was over, they hastily covered up the hole, took such observations, and made such memoranda as would enable them to find the spot again, and returned to their vessel. But the last groan of that poor old man I cannot forget; and it’s only last night, as I was walking by that spot, I heard it as plain as I did the very moment Vandrick stabbed him.’”

  “It’s a horrible story, indeed,” responded Cleveland. “Mercy on us sinful men! To have any dealings with Vandrick and his crew! But I’ll never believe the devil cares for him or his money, and I know what I’ll do—”

  “Not touch the gold?” said his companion, trembling at the thought.

  “Never,” responded his companion; “I am not going to touch what has been blasted by the black mummery of Vandrick. Preserve me from connection with the devil or his crew! But meet me here tomorrow night—” The rest was spoken so low as to be inaudible. But they agreed to meet again, and parted.

  The stranger, who had heard all that passed, now left the retreat, and bent his way back to the cottage, or rude cabin rather, which was by this time cleared of its visitants. The gray tints of the morning were beginning to appear, and the sots, one by one, had strolled away from the scene of their recent and frequent carousals. He immediately walked towards the shore, where he found his attendant anxiously awaiting him, and glided down the Hudson. For reasons which are altogether unknown, he never allowed what he had heard or seen to pass his lips, and his account of it in manuscript was not discovered until many years after his death.

  In the mean time the Revolutionary War had broken out, and various fortifications were planted among the fastnesses of the Highlands. Fort Montgomery had been erected on a little plain immediately north of the deep, narrow creek of which we have already had occasion to speak, and picquets of observation were posted in various directions. Among other stations the one we have just described was selected, and a sentinel paced every night fifty yards of the spot where Vandrick had concealed his treasure. On the first night of duty at this point, during the middle watch, the sentinel heard the noise of approaching footsteps among the bushes skirting the margin of the creek, with low, sepulchral voices, mingled with harsh, shrill, and unearthly sounds, as of people in half-suppressed conversation. Having hailed without answer, he fired his piece, and retreated instantly to the guardhouse. A sergeant with a squadron of men was dispatched to the spot, but no enemy could be discovered, although the sentinel stoutly persisted that he heard noises which were ample cause of alarm. The second night a similar alarm was given by another sentinel when upon the middle watch, with the additional assurance that he had seen a mysterious shadow, like a boat with persons therein, skimming along under the deep shade cast upon the water by the opposite mountain, until it came over against the mouth of the creek, when it shot across the river in a twinkling, and disappeared amid the foliage which overhung the cove. Presently afterwards he heard the noise; but it was not until he had actually seen figures moving among the trees, that he discharged his piece. These alarms were repeated several times, and always with the same unsatisfactory results. At length a resolute fellow by the name of Bishop, of the Connecticut line, volunteered to mount guard upon this startling post during the hours of alarm, vowing with many bitter oat
hs, that he would not yield an inch until he encountered some overpowering force, and given them three rounds of lead and twelve inches of cold iron.

  He was a man of great personal bravery, and was resolved not to be trifled with; and his comrades well knew that what he said was no idle boasting. They knew that whether encountered by “a spirit of health or goblin damned,” bringing with it “airs from heaven or blasts from hell,” it would be all the same to Thal Bishop; he would “speak to it,” and have a brush with it, too, if he could. Bishop had no superstition about him; but still he had heard of the utility of silver bullets in certain exigencies, and he thought it was no harm to cut a few Spanish dollars into pieces to be used as slugs with his balls; and his cartridges had accordingly been made up with a leaden bullet and three silver slugs each. Thus provided, with a heart that never quailed, and limbs that never shook, he repaired to his station.

  It was a clear night, and the moon rose so late in the evening, that the lofty mountains on the east side of the river, now called Anthony’s Nose, cast its dark shadow far across the water. Bishop had not occupied his post until midnight, before his vigilant eye discovered what seemed to be the shadow of a boat, with a sail set, issuing from a little cove at the foot of the mountain before mentioned, some three-quarters of a mile down the stream. The shadow seemed to glide along near the bold shore on that side of the river, until opposite the mouth of the creek, when it darted across and disappeared in its estuary. Bishop soon heard a rustling among the trees. He cocked and pointed his piece, and stood firm. Very soon he saw figures gliding among the bushes, and presenting his musket in that direction, he commanded them to “Stand.” No attention being given to the caution, he fired and immediately reloaded. While he was thus occupied, a figure considerably below the common size, wrinkled and deformed, made its appearance, and approached him. He immediately fired with a precision that he judged would have winged a duck at a hundred yards. But regardless alike of lead and silver, the figure, unmoved, kept his way. As he approached, and came crowding steadily on, Bishop involuntarily retreated, but not without loading and firing at every step. Still the strange figure pressed on. At one moment by the light of the moon he caught a full view of this mysterious visitant, but could distinguish nothing about him peculiar, excepting the piercing keenness of his sunken eye, and the air of magisterial authority with which the little withered semblance of humanity waved him to retire. On the first report of Bishop’s musket, the guard, which was to a man upon the “qui vive,” was mustered, and marched, or rather ran towards the spot. Their curiosity, however, was not satisfied; for after he had passed a certain boundary, the figure always disappeared, and the foremost only of the guard now arrived in season to catch a glimpse of him as he vanished into thin air.

  These circumstances soon became noised abroad, the tale, as usual, losing nothing in its progress; and the officers of the garrison, becoming satisfied that no sentinel could be kept upon the post, after due consultation abandoned it. Every inquiry was of course made about this unaccountable appearance; but nothing satisfactory could be obtained. All the inhabitants from Haverstraw and the shores of the Tappen Sea to Buttermilk Falls had a dread of that spot. An old man, who kept the ferry at the entrance of the Horse Race, and who was the patriarch of that region, was the only being able to give any account of it. He said that groans had been heard there, and figures seen about it, for fifty years; and that when he was a child, the inhabitants were greatly alarmed by the appearance of a mysterious bark, which, gliding down the river, shot into the cove formed by the mouth of the creek with the swiftness of an arrow. No human being could be seen in it excepting the helmsman, who was a little deformed man with withered cheek and sunken blue eye. He never left the helm, and wherever he turned the vessel, blow the wind as it would, or not at all, she darted forward with the swiftness of lightning. Her sails were black, and her sides were painted of the same color; and a black flag with a death’s head and cross-bones, floated from the top of her mast. After remaining there about an hour, when last seen by the inhabitants, she departed, and had not been heard of since. A few hours after her last visit, there was found at the head of the cove a freshly dug pit, in the bottom of which the shape of a large pot was distinctly defined in the earth, and a skull, with a few human bones, were scattered about the ground. Groans are still said to issue from the wood, at the hour of midnight, and a figure similar to that which has been described, is reported to flit restlessly through the glade. Certain it is, that old and young alike are careful to avoid getting benighted near the Haunt of The Withered Man.

  LA MALROCHE, by Louisa Stuart Costello

  (1833)

  When the wanderer in the Montre-Dores has reached the basaltic mass, on which stand frowning in ruin the remains of the castle of Murat-le-Quaire, he looks round on a vast forest of pines of gigantic dimensions, and his eye follows the course of the Dordogne as the mysterious river winds along between the granite rocks which bound it, and as it emerges in light amongst the emerald meadows, whose freshness soothes the sight; here and there remnants of antique forests of beech are scattered along the banks, and numerous villages start up close to their embowering shades.

  Amongst them is the secluded hamlet of Escures, placed at the foot of a dark and rugged mountain, separated from it by a broad plateau of basaltic formation, wild, barren, and desolate. The mountain is called La Malroche, and has a very bad reputation in the neighborhood; indeed, the village of Escures is seldom visited by any of the peasants, unless some particular business obliges them to seek it. The inhabitants of Quaire, La Bourbole, Prenioux, and Saint Sauves, are all unwilling to pass through Escures, and frequently go out of their way to avoid it.

  There are not many people residing there now; and one of the reasons assigned is its vicinity to La Malroche, where it is well known that the witches keep their Sabbath, and send down their evil influence.

  No one cares to live at Escures but very poor persons, or those whom long habit has rendered callous to its bad name. Amongst these was an old woman, called La Bonne Femme, not because she was possessed of any particular virtue or amiability, but from the circumstance of her following the calling of an attendant on lying-in women. She certainly had no right whatever to be called good, for she was malignant, cross, ill-looking, and dangerous; but though she inspired fear in general intercourse, all felt confidence in her skill. No one was more active or useful when called upon; and in all case, particularly those of danger, La Bonne Femme was eagerly sought after, and rewarded liberally.

  It had, however, more than once happened that accidents had occurred to her patients and their infants who have on a former occasion offended her; indeed, she seemed to be endowed with a memory peculiarly retentive of injuries, and had been known to revenge herself on several generations, for she was of great age; so old that no one was who was her contemporary, or could relate anything of her early life.

  These facts being known, it was with some degree of trepidation that Cyprien, the young vacher of Quaire, whose pretty little wife, Ursule, had just been taken ill, bent his steps in the direction of Escures, and on arriving inquired for the cottage of La Bonne Femme.

  She was not at home, but he was told by her next door neighbor that he might open her door and go in, as she would soon return. “She is gone up to Malroche to gather herbs,” was the remark, “as she knew she would be required today, and will come back prepared with the remedies.”

  Cyprien went into the hut of the useful but dreaded personage, whose assistance he sought, and sat down near the open door to watch for her coming.

  He felt a sort of tremor creeping over him as he glanced around the dim apartment, in which he observed heaps of stones of various colors, piled along the wall, pans filled with dark liquids, and vials of singular shapes.

  He dared not approach the hearth where, in the midst of the smoldering ashes, simmered a huge, black, earthen pot, at whose contents he did not venture to guess. He sat and looked towards
the mountain, which was purple, and almost transparent, and saw plainly by this appearance and that of the sky that a heavy shower was about to fall; for the clouds rested immovably on the peaks of strangely shaped rocks, while a dark canopy hung suspended over La Malroche, which became very moment denser and thicker, until it appeared to close in the summit altogether.

  Cyprien began to grow uneasy, for the day was shortening; it was some distance to Quaire, and he feared that the old woman would be displeased at having to accompany him back to Ursule, whose situation caused him also extreme anxiety. At length, he beheld La Bonne Femme slowly descending the steep path above, and with a spring he hurried to meet and offer her his support.

  “Who are you that ask my aid?” she inquired, when he had told his business.

  “I am the vacher of Quaire,” he answered, “and live in the cottage by the Dry Lake.”

  “Oh!” said she, “you married Ursule Bilot, about a year ago—the daughter of Simon Bilot, an old friend of mine?”

  “The same,” replied Cyprien; “she requires your speedy help, good mother; for I left her suffering much.”

  The old woman, without further remark, bustled about, collecting various articles of her trade, and in a very short time was ready to attend the young husband, who expected soon to become a father. The rain by this time had begun—fine, and piercing, and steady—but the old woman expressed no annoyance at being obliged to go through it, and cheerfully accepted the arm of Cyprien, who led her over the stony way which conducts between the hills to the village to the village where he lived.

  The spot called Dry Lake is a wide space which extends beneath the mountain of Murat; all the appearances around prove it to have been formerly a sheet of water, dried up, probably, at the period of a sudden eruption of one of the volcanoes in its vicinity; shells and sand are to be found in the ravines which occur on its surface, and its rounded form shows what was its former nature. There is some pasture here for cattle, which is taken advantage of by the vachers; and here Cyprien had erected his simple cottage, the retreat of himself and his wife—the beauty of the village, with whom all the swains had been in love, and whom his long affection had been fortunate enough to gain; for Ursule was as good as she was beautiful, and repaid his love with a devotedness of which he was deserving.