Miss Featherstone gives me another experience she once had, and which is not without interest.
“About seven years ago,” she says, “my two sisters and I were staying at a farmhouse near Chagford, on Dartmoor, between Thridly and Gidleigh. We started one day to walk to the latter place, and went through the village and up a lane beyond, on to the open moor, where we found ourselves on a level piece of ground, with Kes Tor close by to our left, whilst on our right were three new-looking houses, with little gardens and wicket gates leading to them. I went into one to enquire if there were any rooms to let for the following year, and was shown over it, while my sisters waited on the moor for me. Strange to say, I forgot to ask the name and address of the place, but it seemed on a perfectly straight road from Gidleigh. When we got back to Chagford, we asked our landlady where we had been, and she said the name of the place was Berry Down; so the next year we wrote there for rooms, but on arriving were astonished to find quite a different place—not on the open moor at all. We then set about looking for the three houses we had seen. We walked round Gidleigh in every direction, enquiring of the postman, clergymen, farmers, and villagers, but none knew of any such houses, nor could we ever find the remotest traces of them. The day on which we saw them was bright and sunny, so that we could not possibly have been mistaken, and, moreover, we rested on the moor opposite them for some time, so that had they been mere optical illusions, we should have eventually become aware of the fact. Several old Gidleigh cottagers to whom we narrated the incident were of the opinion we had been ‘Pixie led.’ Is such a thing possible?”
There are instances I know—though I cannot at present recall one—where people have seen and entered phantom houses, just as sailors have witnessed the phenomenon of the phantom ship—which I have heard has been seen again comparatively recently off the North Cornwall coast—but whether such visions are due to Pixies, or any other kind of Elemental, I cannot, with certainty, say. Taking into consideration, however, the numerous tricks Elementals do play, and how they very often, I believe, suggest dreams, I see no reason why they should not have been responsible for the delusion of the three cottages.
CHAPTER IV.
PHANTASMS OF THE DEAD.
Though I head this chapter “Phantasms of the Dead,” it is almost impossible to discriminate between Phantasms of the Dead, i.e., the actual earth-bound souls of the people, and Elementals, whose special function it is to impersonate them. In the case of murder, whereas, I think it quite possible that the spirit of the actual murderer appears, I think it highly unlikely that the soul of his victim (save, of course, where the latter has led a vicious life) is equally earth-bound, but that what we see is merely an impersonating Elemental, who, in company with the earth-bound soul of the homicide, nightly (or periodically) re-enacts the tragedy.
In cases of suicide, too, I think the nature of the Phantasms that subsequently appears largely depends on the life led by the suicide—if vicious the hauntings would be due to his earth-bound spirit, if moral to an Impersonating Elemental, but in either case Vice Elementals would in all probability be attached to the spot, when the hauntings would at once become dual (which so frequently happens). Where the suicide is a criminal lunatic or epileptic imbecile, I believe the phenomenon seen is his or her actual spirit—I do not think such people have souls. By spirit, I mean the mere animal side of man’s nature—that Force, which is solely directed to the attainment and furtherance of carnal desires; by soul, that Force, which recognizes and strives after all that tends to make the mind pure and beautiful.
With regard to wraithes, i.e., apparitions seen shortly after death, I think that in the majority of cases at all events, it is the actual superphysical body of the deceased that appears, prior to its removal to other spheres, and that, except during this interval, the souls of the rational and moral never return to the material world. In all other cases of hauntings the phenomena are due either to the earth-bound spirits of the depraved, to the silly, i.e., those who, without being actually cruel or lustful, have no capacity for the culture of mind; to criminal lunatics, and epileptic imbeciles; or else to Elementals, benevolent, neutral and otherwise.
CASES.
Mrs. P., the wife of an Army Medical Officer, living in my neighbourhood, says: “Some years ago I was travelling to Southampton, with my little daughter, a child of four. My nephew, who lived in Mare Street, Hackney, asked me to pass the night at his house. It was a large building, with long passages, out of which many doors opened, and, close to the back of it, there lay a cemetery.
“We arrived, to find no one at home but the servants. My nephew had left a message for me, asking me to make myself thoroughly ‘at home’ and go to bed, if I felt tired after the journey.
“My little daughter and I shared a big room with a double bed. I did not sleep for some time on account of a curious noise. Though there was no wind, all the doors in the passage rattled on their hinges and bumped about, as if someone was going along trying the handles. The noise lasted for some time, and disturbed me a great deal so that I did not sleep at all well.
“In the morning my nephew said, ‘Well, Aunt, I hope you were comfortable and had a good night?’ ‘Oh, everything was comfortable,’ I replied, ‘but I did not pass a good night. There is something very strange about the doors in your upstairs passage. They seemed to be kicking about on their hinges for hours.’
“He looked at me in rather a curious way, and said, ‘I suppose you did not know that my mother died in the room where you slept—in fact, in the very same bed.’
“‘Indeed, I did not,’ I answered, ‘and, if I had known it, I should never have accepted your hospitality.’
“Well, I went on my journey to India, and thought no more about the matter. But, when I returned, a year or two later, I happened to speak of it to one of my nieces, who instantly gave me her experience in the same house.
“‘After our mother died,’ she said, ‘the room was shut up and it remained so for some time. Then my sister and I decided that we should use it, and we slept there together. The first night we were not disturbed, but the second night I woke and saw our mother sitting in a chair before the large dressing glass. My sister was asleep, but I suppose I must have made some movement which roused her, for she awoke, and, without a word from me, cried out—‘There’s mother! Mother has come back to us!’ Thus, you see, we both saw the apparition plainly and had not the least doubt as to who it was.”
The manifestations in this case were, I think, due to a benevolent Elemental that impersonated the dead lady with the object of conveying some message from the soul of the latter to her living relatives and friends. The impression conveyed by the phenomenon to the girls, would be that their mother was still cognisant of them; whilst the Elemental would, in all probability, find some means of communicating the welcome tidings to the mother that her daughters had not forgotten her.
Mrs. P—— narrated to me another case. “My husband,” she said, “attended a certain old man and his wife who were very devoted to one another. They were quite elderly people, but sound and sane—not at all fanciful or inclined to be foolish. When the old man died, his wife felt his loss most dreadfully. She never quite got over it, and, when she took to her bed with her last illness, she was constantly saying that she wished she could see her husband again. Her attendants told her that she ought not to say such a thing, but the wish grew upon her, till, one day, being alone, she spoke to him and begged him to come back.
“Immediately he appeared to be sitting in a chair by her bedside. But, though her wish was gratified, she was terrified.
“‘Go away, go away!’ she cried, ‘I don’t want you.’ The vision vanished. Some few days later, she died. I often used to sit with her, and I am sure that she was quite reasonable and in full possession of her wits.”
Here, of course, one has to entirely depend upon the evidence of the d
eceased who, being ill at the time, might easily have been the victim of an illusion—at least so it seems to me. I merely quote the case to show that I am not always ready to accept as objective the phenomena witnessed by a single individual.
The case of Miss V. St. Jermyn, a lady living in the North of London, is a great deal stronger.
“My father,” she says, “was the Rector of an immense parish, which was divided at his death. He had ten curates. The senior curate, who was appointed to succeed him in the more important division, was shortly afterwards made a Canon, so I shall speak of him as Canon Jervis. He owed everything he had to my father, and he was always ready to say this and talk of his obligations to my father. I mention this to show the sort of regard he had for my father. We on our side, my brothers, sisters and I, always looked on him as a very great friend, having known him all our lives. There was never anyone with whose appearance we were more familiar, and he certainly was rather remarkable looking. Standing at least six feet and proportionately broad, he had a square face, rough hewn features and very thick crêpé hair, which was getting grizzled. He was always very well dressed. Everyone was much struck with his appearance and I was constantly being asked who he was.
“Early one January (about the 3rd, I think), some years ago, he died, and we were all so grieved that we at once wrote expressing our sympathy to his family. We certainly thought about him a good deal, though his death was not one of those great sorrows which leave no room in one’s mind for the remembrance of anything else.
“About the 13th of February (of that year), my brother, sister and myself went to tea with a friend, a well-known artist at the Pembroke Studios, Kensington. It was a very pleasant party and we stayed late; indeed, we were nearly the last to leave. For about fifteen minutes before we left the Studios, I was talking to our host, who was showing us a curious old French bible with coloured illustrations. I mention this to show how my mind had been engaged.
“After leaving the studio, on our way to the High Street, Kensington, we had to pass along one side of Edwardes’ Square. There the houses have little gardens with iron railings and the pathway is very narrow. We were walking one after the other, my brother in front, my sister next, and I last, when, suddenly, I saw Canon Jervis as clearly and plainly as I have ever in my life seen anyone before or since. He passed me on the side next the railings. I cannot in any way explain why I did, or said, nothing at the time, saving that I was too overcome with amazement. We went on and got into an omnibus, which took us to the street where we live. As we walked along the latter, I again saw the Canon coming down a side street and my sister immediately exclaimed: ‘There is Canon Jervis! looking just as if he were alive!’ My brother, who was a little way in front of us, did not speak—he had seen nothing.
“Looking back on the incident I cannot explain why we neither attempted to look after or follow him. But I think most people at the time of seeing an apparition seem to be in a sense paralysed with astonishment and quite lose their presence of mind.”
As the manifestation occurred so soon after the Canon’s death, I am inclined to think that in this instance it was a bona fide phantasm of the Dead.
A case of a haunting with a purpose was related to me recently by a Mrs. Craven. Whilst visiting at a country house, Mrs. Craven often used to retire to the library for a few minutes’ quiet reading, when she invariably found a priest sitting there, in a peculiarly pensive attitude. Wondering who he was, as she never saw him in any other part of the house, but not liking to disturb him, Mrs. Craven used to sit and steal furtive glances at him from over her book, until she felt she could no longer stand being in his presence, when she made her escape as silently as possible from the room. This went on for some days, until determining one morning to brave it out, she remained in her seat till the priest somewhat electrified her by suddenly pointing in a very agitated manner to the book shelves. Thinking him queerer than ever, but attributing his inertness to some possible physical affliction, Mrs. Craven went to the bookcase and after some trouble discovered the book he wanted. But on bringing it to him, he motioned her to turn over the leaves, and to her astonishment the book seemed to open at the place he indicated, where she perceived a loose sheet of paper covered with writing. Obeying his tacit injunctions she threw the document into the fire, whereupon the priest at once vanished.
Much startled, Mrs. Craven related what had occurred to the hostess, who coolly informed her that the library was well known to be haunted by just such an apparition as she had described, which, however, only appeared periodically. So far, Mrs. Craven does not think it has been seen again.
The identity of the priest being unknown, one cannot say for certain whether this phenomenon was a phantasm of the Dead or an Impersonating Elemental, though, from the lives of self-indulgence led by so many priests in the past, I am inclined to believe it was a genuine phantasm of the Dead. I think the incident of the document is quite sufficient in itself to prove the manifestations were objective.
There is a well authenticated story current in Clifton (Bristol) of an apparition appearing (in the home of a well-known professional man) comparatively recently, with a purpose.
Miss Debrett, an artist belonging to one of the Cornish Art Colonies, had a curious experience at Moret, which experience I will tell in her own words:—
“From Paris to Moret-sur-Loing is not a very long run, two hours at the most. My friend, an artist, and myself went there in the month of July. We ‘put up’ at the Hotel de la Chalette. We had rooms adjoining one another, my friend using hers as a studio in the daytime. My room was very close, the roof sloped horribly and I experienced a queer shrinking sensation the moment I entered it. However, overcoming such feelings I resolved to sleep there and say nothing of my misgivings to my friend. At two o’clock in the morning of my first night there, I was awakened by little tappings and a feeling of terror. I tried in vain to sleep but could not, the presence of some ghost-like creature was strongly about me. I lit my candle and placed it on the stand beside my bed, trying to assure myself that this at least would protect me from apparitions, but the feeling of the invisible presence remained. I was immeasurably relieved when morning came, though I did not mention a word of what had happened to my friend.
“Night after night the sensations were repeated with ever increasing intensity, until I could instinctively feel the presence of a woman who appeared to be enduring the most severe mental and physical pain. I could feel her close to me, bending backwards and forwards and writhing to and fro, and a deadly fear seized me lest she would clutch hold of me in her throes of agony. Once I saw her shadow on the wall. Apart from the unmistakeable likeness it bore to a woman, I am sure it was her shadow, as I looked carefully about the room, removing sundry articles of furniture to assure myself the phenomenon was not due to them. It was not, for whatever I did in no way disturbed it—it still remained plainly and ominously outlined on the wall.
“About the second week of my stay in Moret-sur-Loing, I was taken ill with a violent cold and feverish pains. I could not discover any cause, though my friend attributed it to a night’s rowing on the river Loing. For a few days I was confined to my room and my only consolation was to look at a little pot of flowers which I had bought at the local market. The flowers were bright scarlet and in pleasant contrast to the general gloominess of the apartment. At last, however, utterly worn out with my illness and the long succession of harassing nights, I persuaded my friend to leave the hotel, which she reluctantly did, and we returned to England.
“On our way home we met a fellow artist who told us she had also been staying quite recently at Moret, and then it transpired that she, too, had had rooms at the Hotel de la Chalette, but had given them up as they were so depressing. Upon hearing this I related my experiences, whereupon she exclaimed, ‘How odd! A girl whom I knew very well used to go very often to the Hotel de la Chalette, and occupied the very roo
m you slept in. She was very much attached to the place and when she was dying in England continually expressed a longing to be there. She died in the very greatest agony—just such agony as that of the woman you describe—and fought against death to the very last. She was most unresigned and rebellious. I wonder if the sensations you experienced were in any way due to her?’”
I think so without a doubt, and that the phantasm Miss Debrett saw is either that of the earth-bound spirit of the unhappy girl who, when dying, wished herself at the Hotel de la Chalette, or that of an impersonating Elemental;—let us hope it is the latter. Death wishes are, I am sure, frequently fulfilled, and, consequently, cannot be regarded both by utterer and audience with too much seriousness. The strong desire of the girl to cling to life—on this earth—proving that her spiritual aspirations were strictly limited—was almost a sufficient guarantee that her spirit would remain earth-bound.
Miss Viola Vincent, a well-known Society beauty, has furnished me with an account of a house presumably haunted by a Phantasm of the Dead. It is a large country house not very far from London, and the case was reported to Miss Vincent by an old servant of the name of Garth. Garth, who had no idea at the time that the house was haunted, was taking a short nap on her bed one afternoon when she heard the door slowly open and on looking up, saw to her astonishment a little sinister old man, who tiptoed up to her bed and, leaning over her, placed his finger on his lips as if to enjoin silence (an unnecessary precaution as Garth was far too terrified either to utter a sound or to move). On perceiving her fright, a subtle smile of satisfaction stole over the man’s face, which Garth describes as yellow and wizened. He left the bed and, turning round, glided surreptitiously through the open doorway. Greatly mystified, Garth mentioned the affair to the other servants, who, instead of laughing at her, at once exclaimed, “Why, you’ve seen old S——. He committed a murder, just outside the door of your room, many years ago, and is frequently seen about the house and grounds. If you examine the boarding in the passage carefully, you will see the bloodstains.” As Garth refused to sleep in the room again, a valet of one of the visitors was put there, and he experienced precisely the same phenomenon.
The Elliott O’Donnell Supernatural Megapack Page 46