Along about midnight, the ghosts’ galley came creeping along through a solid bank of fog and tied up at the pier in the small harbor of Dulldreary. The ghosts landed themselves and their goods and set the galley adrift to go wherever it would, and then they shouldered their belongings and started up the road from the shore toward the manor house, five miles away.
The fog kept the villagers indoors, most of them being by now in their beds, but it did not bother the ghosts at all. They were all so lighthearted and frolicsome because they were near their journey’s end that they could not contain themselves. Like lads coming out of school to begin their holidays they whooped, they shrieked, they whistled, and danced and sang. Dulldreary folk woke in their beds and shuddered to hear them.
“Have you e’er heard sie’ a storm?” they said, pulling the covers about them. “Hark, now, to the terrible sound o’ the wind!” And the fishermen’s wives among them praised the Lord that their men had not gone to sea that night.
The happy ghosts did not care how much of a din they made. With the fog to hide them, no mortal eye could tell who they were or where they were going. Up the road they traveled, paying no heed to the five long miles. Coming at last to the manor house, they all went in and joyfully took possession of the place.
In the village at the end farthest away from the shore there stood two shielings, one on either side of the road. In the one on the left hand side a young fellow named Angus lived with his parents, and a young fellow named Fergus lived with his parents in the house on the right hand side. There was no harm in either of these lads, but they were both so lively and so full of curiosity that the whole village kept a watchful eye upon the pair. It was well-advised to do so, for if there was any mischief afoot, Fergus and Angus were sure to be in it and, most of the time, leaders of whatever was going on.
When the ghosts were rollicking through the village, Angus, wakened by the uproar, raised himself from his bed and crept to the window to look out and see what was causing the commotion outside. At the same time Fergus, in the house across the road, was doing the same thing. As the two lads peeped out the fog lifted a wee bit for a moment. It closed in again quickly, but in that moment Angus and Fergus caught a glimpse of what looked to be a host of men carrying upon their shoulders boxes, kegs, sacks, and bundles of different sorts. In an instant the fog had hidden the strange sight, but Angus and Fergus had seen enough to make them very curious about it.
There was a good bit of talk in the morning about the noise of the night’s storm. The villagers were amazed that, with all the howling and whistling of the wind, there was not a sign of damage done.
Angus and Fergus kept quiet before their elders but later, when alone together, each told the other what he had seen.
“Storm!” said Angus, grinning.
“Wind!” said Fergus with a chuckle.
“Let the auld folk think as they please,” said Angus. “We know what we saw.”
“Och, aye, and we’re not telling,” Fergus said. “There was a terrible lot of men—”
“Hundreds of them!” said Angus. “All carrying boxes and the like.”
“Smugglers!” Fergus agreed.
“Look, Fergus. Where would you say they’d be making for?” asked Angus.
“Making for? Och, for Aberdoom Manor house,” said Fergus. “Where else?”
And it was to the manor house the two curious lads meant to go, as soon as they had a chance.
It was not soon the chance came, for it was the season for the herring run. Sure enough, the night after the big fog the waters were full of fish. The weather, though foggy, was not so bad that the fishermen could not go out, and every man in Dulldreary, Fergus and Angus among them, was needed to go out with the fishing fleet, night after night.
The run was over at last, and what with taking the fish they’d caught to the fish buyer and salting down those they’d kept to eat at home, to say nothing of cleaning the boats and mending the nets, the folk of Dulldreary had had enough of fish for a while. The catch had been a good big one, and to celebrate it, there was going to be a grand ceilidh in Dulldreary at the village hall.
The night of the ceilidh the moon hung like a polished golden plate in the cloudless sky. There was not a soul in Dulldreary who bided at home that night. When the fun was at its height, Angus and Fergus slipped unnoticed away from the ceilidh and started up the road that led to the manor house.
The ghosts had settled in and were well-contented. They were having a ceilidh of their own, a house-warming you might call it. When Angus and Fergus turned from the road and started up the lane that led through the trees, they heard the sound of voices shouting, and music and laughter, coming from the house ahead.
They came up to the front door and found it standing open. No one seemed to be in sight, so the two stepped into the manor house hall. At one side there was a long dark passage running through the house. At the end of the passage they saw a light shining dimly where a doorway led into a room, and that was where all the din was coming from.
Angus started down the passage. “Come along, Fergus,” he said.
“Och, I dare not,” said Fergus, hanging back. “I’m feared o’ smugglers.”
“Och, weel, so am I,” Angus said. “But come along anyway.”
So they crept down the passage, keeping close to the wall. The din grew louder and louder as they came near the doorway. They peeped around it to see what was going on.
It was the grand ballroom of the manor house, and Angus and Fergus saw at the far end of it a great long table stretching clear across the room. The place was none too bright, for the only light came from a row of candles down the middle of the table, but anyway they saw what looked like scores and scores of men gathered about the table, having a high old time. They were a strange looking crew to see and as wild as foxes, and they were feasting and drinking, dancing and singing, talking and laughing, till the rafters rang. There was even a piper or two blowing away.
The corners of the room near the door were dark, being too far away for the candlelight to reach them. Angus and Fergus crept into the nearest corner and crouched there to get a better view. There were things piled up on either side of them, so the lads were as well hidden as if they were in a cave. They watched for a while spellbound at the queer sights, then Angus, finding his eyes were getting used to the darkness, looked at the pile of things beside him, curious to see what was there.
There at his elbow was a great heap of leather bottles stacked up like the stones in a cairn. He poked Fergus in the ribs, and pointed a finger at the pile.
“Look ye,” whispered Fergus. “Whiskey, I dinna doubt.”
“Och, more like ’tis brandy the smugglers sneaked in from France,” Angus whispered back.
“A wee bit of it would not be so bad,” and he reached out and took hold of one of the leather bottles by its neck.
The bottle pulled from the pile dislodged all the rest of them and down they fell with a clatter, bouncing and banging on the bare board floor.
The company about the table stopped their carousing and turned about to stare at Angus and Fergus who stood, horror stricken, in the corner, Angus with the bottle still in his hand. His eyes and mouth flew open, and Fergus’s did the same. They could look right through the men around the table and see the wall of the room beyond them!
“Ghosts!” screeched Angus.
“Smuggling ghosts!” shrieked Fergus. “Let us get out of here!”
The ghosts swooped down in a body, but Angus and Fergus were gone. Down the long passage the two lads flew and out the front door, clearing the front steps in one bound. The ghosts came pelting along after, but the lads were well ahead of them. Down the lane through the trees, and into the road, and on toward Dulldreary they sped. Luathas, the swiftest dog that ever lived, would not have outrun Angus and Fergus that night.
The ghosts chased them down the road for a mile or two but could not catch up with them, so at last they gave up and went bac
k to the manor house.
Angus and Fergus kept up the pace for another mile, until they discovered their pursuers were gone.
“I’ve no breath more for running,” Fergus panted, dropping down under a hedge by the road, and Angus threw himself down by his side. They lay gasping and panting until they got their breath again. Then they sat up and looked wildly at each other in the pale moonlight.
“That would be ghosts, to be sure,” said Fergus.
“Och, aye, indeed it would!” said Angus. “Smuggling ghosts, into the bargain.”
“What’s that you have in your hand, Angus?” Fergus asked.
“Och, this? ’Tis the bottle. Och, now! Did I forget to put it down when we left!” said Angus.
“Well, then,” said Fergus. “Open it up! With all the running I’ve been doing and the shock I’ve had forbye, I’m needing a bit of a drink.”
So Angus opened the bottle and it went back and forth between them. The very best of old French brandy was in it, and between the two of them they drank up every drop.
The ceilidh at Dulldreary village hall ended around about four in the morn, and dawn was getting ready to cry itself in when Dulldreary folk were settling down in their beds. There wasn’t a body waking in the place when, an hour later, Angus and Fergus came roaring down the road. The two lads stood in the middle of the road shouting to all the folk of the village to come out and hear their news.
The villagers woke and leaping from their beds rushed out their doors, thinking the houses were on fire and the village about to go up in flames. When they found out it was naught but Angus and Fergus babbling of ghosts and smugglers, they turned in disgust and went back to their beds again, leaving the lads to their parents who put a flea in each of their ears for shaming them before the neighbors with their foolish tales. Folk would think they were daft, going on in such a way, they scolded, and sent the silly lads off to their beds.
But when the villagers had had their sleep out, they were willing to listen, and even paid some heed to what Angus and Fergus told them, although nobody was quite sure what it was all about. They were certain of only one thing: something very queer was going on at the manor house. The villagers were divided on the subject. Half of them said it was smugglers, bringing in wines and silks and the like from France or maybe Spain. There had been smugglers in their grandsires’ day, so why not now? The other half would not hear to that. What would be more likely than a lot of ghosts in an empty old house left so long ago to itself?
In the end, both sides won, in a manner of speaking. Those who said it was smugglers sent for the King’s Men to come and arrest the rogues for not paying their tax. Those who said it was ghosts got the minister to promise to go and exorcise them with his bell and his Book.
Back at the manor house the ghosts were in a terrible taking. Being discovered by two lads was bad, but the lads would tell about it all over the countryside and that would be a hundred times worse. After their defeat by the master builder and his workmen they doubted their power to deal with a horde of cotters and crofters and fishermen. They sat and keened like mourners watching over the dead. They had been homeless before. Were they to lose the grand big manor house, and be homeless again?
The old chief took his stand undauntedly. “Leave the greeting till later,” he said. “It may not be needed at all. This is a time to do something helpful, not to sit idle, rubbing the tears out of your eyes.”
He called the spry young ghost to his side and bade him go down to the village and spy on the folks, to learn what they were planning to do.
“Look to ’t, lad, that none see you,” he warned. “The sight of you would add to the trouble we have already. And hasten back as soon as you can.”
The spry young ghost was clever enough to keep from sight, although the lack of anything much in Dulldreary made it hard to keep out of view. He lurked about behind outbuildings and boulders, and managed very well. What he heard sent him speeding back to the manor house.
“Did you see aught?” the old chief asked, and the ghosts crowded around to listen.
“Did I not!” said the spry young ghost. “The folk at Dulldreary were all of them talking about us and the manor house.”
“Och, what would they be saying then?” asked the chief.
“Well, I heard some say that the King’s Men were coming to haul the smugglers in the manor house off to prison.”
“The King’s Men!” said the chief. “That is no matter. We can take care of the King’s Men.”
“Aye, that we can!” the other ghosts said.
“Och, ye’ve not heard the worst o’t,” said the spry young ghost. “There are others who are coming up here, bringing the minister along to exorcise us with his Bible and bell.”
“Och, that’s bad!” said the old chief, and he turned paler than ever a ghost was before.
“Exorcise?” said some of the ghosts who had never had much schooling. “What would they mean by that?”
“That’s what happens,” the chief told them, “when the minister comes and reads from his Book and rings his bell, and says some hard words over a ghost. Then —Woosht! You’re exorcised. That’s the end of you!”
“But where do you go?” they asked, bewildered.
“Nowhere,” the old chief said. “You’re out like the flame of a candle when somebody snuffs it.”
“I do not want to be exorcised,” cried one ghost, and the others in chorus echoed his cry.
“Nor I!” the old chief said. “But before they do that, they’ll have to find us. Come, now, let us make sure that not a hide nor hair of us will meet their eye.”
Down in Dulldreary the King’s Men had arrived, full of courage and both of them armed to the teeth. They headed the procession leading those who had held out for its being smugglers at the manor house.
The minister came after them with his Bible under his arm and his bell in his hand, and after the minister the rest of the villagers, being the ones who believed the manor house was lodging a sluagh of ghosts. And at the end came Angus and Fergus, scared but plucky, and as curious as ever about what was going on.
The night was misty and wet, with a bit of sea breeze behind them urging them on. Up the road the procession moved slowly, picking out the way by lantern light, for every villager brought his light. Up the five miles from the village they plodded, and up the lane through the trees, and came to the house, standing tall and dark and scarcely to be seen.
The King’s Men went up to the big front door and banged upon it with their fists. They could hear the sound echoing through the rooms on the other side of the door.
“Open in the name of the King!” called out the King’s Men. But no one opened the door.
The minister came up beside them. He was an old man, but full of fire and spirit. He, too, knocked on the door. He lifted his stern old voice and thundered, “Open in the name of the Lord!” But no one answered, and the door stayed closed.
Then, one of them laid his hand on the handle of the door and turned it. The door was not locked and opened readily. Into the hall of the manor house all the company crowded: the King’s Men, the minister, the Dulldreary folk that believed in smugglers, and the ones that believed in ghosts, and Angus and Fergus at the end. They went down the long passage and came to the door of the ballroom, as Angus and Fergus had done before. They walked in, one by one and looked about them, and saw—nothing at all!
From the cellars to the garrets, in and out of every room, opening every cupboard and press they went, searching the house from top to bottom and from end to end. They found an old empty rattrap in the scullery, and a pile of nuts that squirrels had stored and forgotten in the attic. They found an old broom, lopsided and worn, behind a bedroom door, and mice tracks and spider webs galore. But they did not find in all the forty or fifty rooms of the manor house, to say nothing of the attics or the garrets, even so much as one smuggler, or one lone ghost.
The King’s Men were wild with rage. They hauled Ang
us and Fergus out from among the villagers where the lads had thought it wise to take cover, and started back to Dulldreary with them. All the five miles to the village the King’s Men cuffed and cursed Angus and Fergus for bringing them so far on a fool’s errand, while the minister followed close behind them, praying that the Lord would forgive them for telling such terrible lies.
The folk of Dulldreary had plenty to say about it to Angus and Fergus that night, and each of them had a thrashing from his father that neither would soon forget. It hardly seemed fair, for after all, the two lads had seen the ghosts. They had the leather bottle to prove it, and if the bottle had not belonged to the ghosts where did it come from? But the villagers were so angry about the lads’ trick, as they called it, that Angus and Fergus never mentioned the bottle at all.
When the ghosts saw the lights of the lanterns fade and die away as the procession went farther and farther down the road, and no sound of tramping feet or of voices came up to them on the breeze from the sea, the ghosts climbed down from the trees where they had hidden themselves away, and gathering up their-possessions from the bushes where they’d put them, they moved themselves and their gear back into the manor house.
Dulldreary folk lost all interest in the manor house, and Angus and Fergus had had enough of it to last them all the rest of their lives, so nobody ever went near the place. The trees grew up closer about it, and the bushes and brush grew taller and hid it, until a body going by on the road would not know it was there at all.
But the ghosts were canny. They took no chance of being discovered again and exorcised. When they wanted to have a ceilidh, they took care to hold their revels on nights when the sea fog rolled in from the sea, and the mists rose up from Loch Doom, and the mizzle drifted down from the moor, and only the fishermen, who had to, went out into the weather, and they, poor souls, went out to sea.
So forever after the clan of ghosts lived, undisturbed and happy in the manor house, and most likely living there to this very day.
Twelve Great Black Cats Page 5