Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands by Hezekiah Butterworth (fiction books to read .txt) đź“•
Gentleman Jo took a story-telling attitude, and a number of the pupils gathered around him.
GENTLEMAN JO'S GHOST STORY.
I shall never forget the scene of excitement, when one morning Biddy, our domestic, entered the sitting-room, her head bobbing, her hair flying, and her cap perched upon the top of her head, and exclaimed: "Wurrah! I have seen a ghoust, and it's lave the hoose I must. Sich a night! I'd niver pass anither the like of it for the gift o' the hoose. Bad kick to ye, an' the hoose is haunted for sure."
"Why, Biddy, what have you seen?" asked my sister, in alarm.
"Seen? An' sure I didn't see nothin'. I jist shet me eyes and hid mesilf under the piller. But it was awful. An' the way it clanked its chain! O murther!"
This last remark was rather startling. Spirit
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I rose, and, taking a light, went to the chamber with shaky knees and a palpitating heart. I listened before the door. Presently there was a movement in the room as of some one dragging a chain. My courage began to ebb. I was half resolved to retreat at once, and on the morrow advise the family to quit the premises.
But my better judgment at last prevailed, and, opening the door with a nervous hand, I saw an “apparatus” indeed.
Our old cat, that I had left accidentally in the room, had in her claws a large rat, to whose leg was attached the missing trap, and to the trap a short chain.
“I knew the story would end in that way,” said Charlie. “But that is not a true colonial ghost story, if it did happen in old Hingham.”
The sun was going down beyond the Waltham Hills. The shadows of the maples were lengthening upon the lawns, and the chirp of the crickets was heard in the old walls. Charlie seemed quite dissatisfied with Gentleman Jo’s story. The latter noticed it.
“My story does not please you?” said Gentleman Jo.
“No; I am in a different mood to-night.”
Master Lewis smiled.
Just then a quiet old lady, who had charge of a part of the rooms in the Academy, appeared, a bunch of keys jingling by her side, much like the wife of a porter of a lodge in an English castle.
“Grandmother Golden,” said Charlie,—the boys were accustomed to address the chatty, familiar old lady in this way,—“you have seen ghosts, haven’t you? What is the most startling thing that ever happened in your life?”
Grandmother Golden had seated herself in one of the easy piazza chairs. After a few minutes she was induced to follow Gentleman Jo in an old-time story.
GRANDMOTHER GOLDEN’S ONLY GHOST STORY.The custom in old times, when a person died, was for some one to sit in the room and watch with the dead body in the night, as long as it remained in the house. A good, pious custom it was, in my way of thinking, though it is not common now.
Jemmy Robbin was a poor old man. They used to call him “Auld Robin Gray,” after the song, and he lived and died alone. His sister Dorothea—Dorothy she was commonly called—took charge of the house after his death, and she sent for Grandfather Golden to watch one night with the corpse.
We were just married, grandfather and I, and he wanted I should watch with him, for company; and as I could not bear that he should be out of my sight a minute when I could help it, I consented. I was young and foolish then, and very fond of grandfather,—we were in our honeymoon, you know.
We didn’t go to the house at a very early hour of the evening; it wasn’t customary for the watchers to go until it was nearly time for the family to retire.
GRANDMOTHER GOLDEN.
In the course of the evening there came to the house a traveller,—a poor Irishman,—an old man, evidently honest, but rather simple, who asked Dorothy for a lodging.
He said he had travelled far, was hungry, weary, and footsore, and if turned away, knew not where he could go.
It was a stormy night, and the good heart of Dorothy was touched at the story of the stranger, so she told him that he might stay.
After he had warmed himself and eaten the food she prepared for him, she asked him to retire, saying that she expected company. Instead of going with him to show where he was to sleep, as she ought to have done, she directed him to his room, furnished him with a light, and bade him good-night.
The Irishman, as I have said, was an old man and not very clear-headed. Forgetting his directions, and mistaking the room, he entered the chamber where lay the body of poor Jemmy Robbin. In closing the door the light was blown out. He found there was what seemed to be some other person in the bed, and, supposing him a live bedfellow, quietly lay down, covered himself with a counterpane, and soon fell asleep.
About ten o’clock grandfather and I entered the room. We just glanced at the bed. What seemed to be the corpse lay there, as it should. Then grandfather sat down in an easy-chair, and I, like a silly hussy, sat down in his lap.
We were having a nice time, talking about what we would do and how happy we should be when we went to housekeeping, when, all at once, I heard a snore. It came from the bed.
“What’s that?” said I.
“That?” said grandfather. “Mercy! that was Jemmy Robbin.”
We listened nervously, but heard nothing more, and at last concluded that it was the wind that had startled us. I gave grandfather a generous kiss, and it calmed his agitation wonderfully.
We grew cheerful, laughed at our fright, and were chatting away again as briskly as before, when there was a noise in bed. We were silent in a moment. The counterpane certainly moved. Grandfather’s eyes almost started from his head. The next instant there was a violent sneeze.
I jumped as if shot. Grandfather seemed petrified. He attempted to ejaculate something, but was scared by the sound of his own voice.
“Mercy!” says I.
“What was it?” said grandfather.
“Let’s go and call Dorothy,” said I.
“She would be frightened out of her senses.”
“I shall die with fright if I hear anything more,” I said, half dead already with fear.
Just then a figure started up in the bed.
“And wha—and wha—and wha—” mumbled the object, gesticulating.
I sprang for the door, grandfather after me, and, reaching the bottom of the stairs at one bound, gave vent to my terrors by a scream, that, for aught I know, could have been heard a mile distant.
Both of us ran for Dorothy’s room. There was a sound of feet and a loud ejaculation of “Holy Peter! The man is dead!”
“It’s comin’,” shouted grandfather, and, sure enough, there were footsteps on the stairs.
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” I screamed. Dorothy, startled from her sleep, came rushing to the entry in her night-dress.
“I have seen a ghost, Dorothy,” said I.
“A what?”
“I have seen the awfullest—”
“It’s comin’,” said grandfather.
“Holy Peter!” said an object in the darkness. “There’s a dead man in the bed!”
“Why, it’s that Irishman,” said Dorothy, as she heard the voice.
“What Irishman?” asked I. “A murdered one?”
“No; he—there—I suspect that he mistook his room and went to bed with poor Jemmy.”
The mystery now became quite clear. Grandfather looked anything but pleased, and declared that he would rather have seen a ghost than to have been so foolishly frightened.
“Is that all?” asked Charlie.
“That is all,” said Grandmother Golden. “Just hear the crickets chirp. Sounds dreadful mournful.”
“I have been twice disappointed,” said Charlie. “Perhaps, Master Lewis, you can tell us a story before we go in. Something fine and historic.”
“In harmony with books you are reading?”
“And the spirit of Nature,” added Charlie.
“How fine that there boy talks,” said Grandmother Golden. “Get to be a minister some day, I reckon.”
“How would the True Story of Macbeth answer?” asked Master Lewis.
“That would be excellent: Shakspeare. The greatest ghost story ever written.”
“And if you don’t mind, I’ll just wait and hear that story, too,” said good-humored Grandmother Golden.
MASTER LEWIS’S STORY OF MACBETH.More than eight hundred years ago, when the Roman wall divided England from Scotland, when the Scots and Picts had become one people, and when the countries of Northern Europe were disquieted by the ships of the Danes, there was a king of the Scots, named Duncan. He was a very old man, and long, long after he was dead, certain writers discovered that he was a very good man. He had two sons, named Malcolm and Donaldbain.
Now, when Duncan was enfeebled by years, a great fleet of Danes, under the command of Suene, King of Denmark and Norway, landed an army on the Scottish coast. Duncan was unable to take the field against the invaders in person, and his sons were too young for such a trust. He had a kinsman, who had proved himself a brave soldier, named Macbeth. He placed this kinsman at the head of his troops; and certain writers, long, long after the event, discovered that this kinsman appointed a relation of his own, named Banquo, to assist him. Macbeth and Banquo defeated the Danes in a hard-fought battle, and then set out for a town called Forres to rest and to make merry over their victory.
A thane was the governor of a province. The father of Macbeth was the thane of Glamis.
There lived at Forres three old women, whom the people believed to be witches. When these old women heard that Macbeth was coming to the place they went out to meet him, and awaited his coming on a great heath. The first old woman saluted him on his approach with these words: “All hail, Macbeth—hail to thee, thane of Glamis!”
And the second: “All hail, Macbeth—hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!”
And the third: “All hail, Macbeth—thou shalt be king of Scotland!”
Macbeth was very much astonished at these salutations; he expected to become thane of Glamis some day, and he aspired to be king of Scotland, but he had never anticipated such a disclosure of his destiny as this. The old women told Banquo that he would become the father of kings, and then they vanished, according to Shakspeare, “into the air.”
Macbeth and Banquo rode on very much elevated in spirits, when one met them who informed them that the thane of Glamis was dead. The melancholy event was not unwelcome to Macbeth; his spirits rose to a still higher pitch; one thing that the old women had foretold had speedily come to pass,—he was indeed thane of Glamis.
As Macbeth drew near the town, a glittering court party came out to welcome the army. They hailed Macbeth as thane of Cawdor. He was much surprised at this, and asked the meaning. They told him that the thane of Cawdor had rebelled, and that the king had bestowed the province upon him. Macbeth was immensely delighted at this intelligence, feeling quite sure that the rest of the prophecy would come to pass, and that he would one day wear the diadem.
Now the wife of Macbeth was a very wicked woman, and the prophecy of the witches quite turned her head, so that she could think of nothing but becoming queen. She was much concerned lest the nature of her husband should prove “too full of the milk of human kindness” to come to the “golden round.” So she decided that should an opportunity offer itself for an interview with the king, she would somewhat assist in the fulfilment of the last prophecy.
Then Macbeth made a great feast in the grand old castle of Inverness, and invited the king. Lady Macbeth thought this a golden opportunity for accomplishing the decrees of destiny, and when the old king arrived she told Macbeth that the time had come for him to strike boldly for the crown. As Shakspeare says:—
“Macbeth. My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night.
Lady M. And when goes hence?
Macbeth. To-morrow.
Lady M. O never shall sun that morrow see.”
When this dreadful woman had laid her plot for the taking off of Duncan, she went to the banquet-hall and greeted the royal guest with a face all radiant with smiles, and called him sweet names, and told him fine stories, and brimmed his goblet with wine, so that he thought, we doubt not, that she was the most charming creature in all the world.
It was a stormy
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