Night-Side of Nature; Or, Ghosts and Ghost-Seers — Chapter 13 - Haunted Houses (Part 1)

HAUNTED HOUSES.

EVERYBODY has heard of haunted houses; and there is no country, and scarcely any place, in which something of the sort is not known or talked of; and I suppose there is no one who, in the course of their travels, has not seen very respectable, good-looking houses shut up and uninhabited, because they had this evil reputation assigned to them.

I

have seen several such, for my own part; and it is remarkable that this _mala fama_ does not always, by any means, attach itself to buildings one would imagine most obnoxious to such a suspicion.

For example, I never heard of a ghost being seen or heard in Haddon hall, the most ghostly of houses; nor in many other antique, mysterious-looking buildings, where one might expect them, while sometimes a house of a very prosaic aspect remains uninhabited, and is ultimately allowed to fall to ruin, for no other reason, we are told, than that nobody can live in it.

I remember, in my childhood, such a house in Kent—I think it was on the road between Maidstone and Tunbridge—which had this reputation.

There was nothing dismal about it: it was neither large nor old, and it stood on the borders of a well-frequented road; yet I was assured it had stood empty for years; and as long as I lived in that part of the country it never had an inhabitant, and I believe was finally pulled down—and all for no other reason than that it was haunted, and nobody could live in it.

I have frequently heard of people, while travelling on the continent, getting into houses at a rent so low as to surprise them, and I have, moreover, frequently heard of very strange things occurring while they were there.

I remember, for instance, a family of the name of S—— S——, who obtained a very handsome house at a most agreeably cheap rate, somewhere on the coast of Italy—I think it was at Mola de Gaeta.

They lived very comfortably in it till one day, while Mrs. S—— S—— was sitting in the drawing-room, which opened into a balcony overhanging the sea, she saw a lady dressed in white pass along before the windows, which were all closed.

Concluding it was one of her daughters, who had been accidentally shut out, she arose and opened the window, to allow her to enter; but on looking out, to her amazement there was nobody there, although there was no possible escape from the balcony unless by jumping into the sea!

On mentioning this circumstance to somebody in the neighborhood, they were told that “that was the reason they had the house so cheap: nobody liked to live in it.

” I have heard of several houses, even in populous cities, to which some strange circumstance of this sort is attached—some in London even, and some in this city and neighborhood; and, what is more, unaccountable things actually do happen to those who inhabit them.

Doors are strangely opened and shut, a rustling of silk, and sometimes a whispering, and frequently footsteps, are heard.

There is a house in Ayrshire to which this sort of thing has been attached for years, insomuch that it was finally abandoned to an old man and woman, who said that they were so used to it that they did not mind it.

A distinguished authoress told me that some time ago she passed a night at the house of an acquaintance, in one of the midland counties of England.

She and her sister occupied the same room, and in the night they heard some one ascending the stairs.

The foot came distinctly to the door, then turned away, ascended the next flight, and they heard it overhead.

In the morning, on being asked if they had slept well, they mentioned this circumstance.

“That is what everybody hears who sleeps in that room,” said the lady of the house.

“Many a time I have, when sleeping there, drawn up the night-bolt, persuaded that the nurse was bringing the baby to me; but there was nobody to be seen.

We have taken every pains to ascertain what it is, but in vain; and are now so used to it, that we have ceased to care about the matter.

” I know of two or three other houses in this city, and one in the neighborhood, in which circumstances of this nature are transpiring, or have transpired very lately; but people hush them up, from the fear of being laughed at, and also from an apprehension of injuring the character of a house; on which account, I do not dwell on the particulars.

But there was, some time since, a _fama_ of this kind attached to a house in St. J—— street, some of the details of which became very public.

It had stood empty a long time, in consequence of the annoyances to which the inhabitants had been subjected.

There was one room, particularly, which nobody could occupy without disturbance.

On one occasion, a youth who had been abroad a considerable time, either in the army or navy, was put there to sleep on his arrival, since, knowing nothing of these reports, it was hoped his rest might not be interrupted.

In the morning, however, he complained of the dreadful time he had had, with people looking in at him between the curtains of his bed all night—avowing his resolution to terminate his visit that same day, as he would not sleep there any more.

After this period, the house stood empty again for a considerable time, but was at length taken and workmen sent in to repair it.

One day, when the men were away at dinner, the master tradesman took the key and went to inspect progress, and, having examined the lower rooms, he was ascending the stairs, when he heard a man’s foot behind him.

He looked round, but there was nobody there, and he moved on again; still there was somebody following, and he stopped and looked over the rails; but there was no one to be seen.

So, although feeling rather queer, he advanced into the drawing-room, where a fire had been lighted; and, wishing to combat the uncomfortable sensation that was creeping over him, he took hold of a chair, and drawing it resolutely along the floor, he slammed it down upon the hearth with some force and seated himself in it; when, to his amazement, the action, in all its particulars of sound, was immediately repeated by his unseen companion, who seemed to seat himself beside him on a chair as invisible as himself.

Horror-struck, the worthy builder started up and rushed out of the house.

There is a house in S—— street, in London, which, having stood empty a good while, was at length taken by Lord B——.

The family were annoyed by several unpleasant occurrences, and by the sound of footsteps, which were often audible, especially in Lady B——’s bed-room—who, though she could not see the form, was occasionally conscious of its immediate proximity.

Some time since, a gentleman having established himself in a lodging in London, felt, the first night he slept there, that the clothes were being dragged off his bed.

He fancied he had done it himself in his sleep, and pulled them on again;—but it happens repeatedly: he gets out of bed each time—can find nobody, no string, no possible explanation—nor can obtain any from the people of the house, who only seem distressed and annoyed.

On mentioning it to some one in the neighborhood, he is informed that the same thing has occurred to several preceding occupants of the lodging, which, of course, he left.

The circumstances that happened at New House, in Hampshire—as detailed by Mr. Barham in the third volume of the “Ingoldsby Legends”—are known to be perfectly authentic; as are the following, the account of which I have received from a highly respectable servant, residing in a family with whom I am well acquainted: she informs me that she was, not very long since, living with a Colonel and Mrs. W——, who, being at Carlisle, engaged a furnished house, which they obtained at an exceedingly cheap rate, because nobody liked to live in it.

This family, however, met with no annoyance, and attached no importance to the rumor which had kept the house empty.

There were, however, two rooms in it wholly unfurnished; and as the house was large, they were dispensed with till the recurrence of the race week, when, expecting company, these two rooms were temporarily fitted up for the use of the nurses and children.

There were heavy Venetian blinds to the windows; and, in the middle of the night, the person who related the circumstance to me, was awakened by the distinct sound of these blinds being pulled up and down with violence, perhaps as many as twenty times.

The fire had fallen low, and she could not see whether they were actually moved or not, but lay trembling in indescribable terror.

Presently feet were heard in the room, and a stamping as if several men were moving about without stockings.

While lying in this state of agony, she was comforted by hearing the voice of a nurse, who slept in another bed in the same chamber, exclaiming: “The Lord have mercy upon us!

” This second woman then asked the first if she had courage to get out of bed and stir up the fire, so that they might be able to see; which by a great effort she did, the chimney being near her bed.

There was, however, nothing to be discovered, everything being precisely as when they went to bed.

On another occasion, when they were sitting in the evening at work, they distinctly heard some one counting money, and the chink of the pieces as they were laid down.

The sound proceeded from the inner room of the two, but there was nobody there.

This family left the house, and though a large and commodious one, she understood it remained unoccupied, as before.

A respectable citizen of Edinburgh, not long ago, went to America to visit his son, who had married and settled there.

The morning after his arrival, he declared his determination to return immediately to Philadelphia, from which the house was at a considerable distance; and, on being interrogated as to the cause of this sudden departure, he said that in the previous night he had heard a man walking about his room, who had approached the bed, drawn back the curtains, and bent over him.

Thinking it was somebody who had concealed himself there with ill intentions, he had struck out violently at the figure, when, to his horror, his arm passed unimpeded through it.

Other extraordinary things happened in that house, which had the reputation of being haunted, although the son had not believed it, and had therefore not mentioned the report to the father.

One day the children said they had been running after “such a queer thing in the cellar; it was like a goat, and not like a goat; but it seemed to be like a shadow.

” A few years ago, some friends of mine were taking a house in this city, when the servants of the people who were leaving advised them not to have anything to do with it, for that there was a ghost in it that screamed dreadfully, and that they never could keep a stitch of clothes on them at night—the bed-coverings were always pulled off.

My friends laughed heartily and took the house; but the cries and groans all over it were so frequent, that they at length got quite used to them.

It is to be observed that the house was a _flat_, or _floor_, shut in; so that there could be no draughts of air nor access for tricks.

Besides, it was a woman’s voice, sometimes close to their ears, sometimes in a closet, sometimes behind their beds—in short, in all directions.

Everybody heard it that went to the house.

The tenant that succeeded them, however, has never been troubled with it.

The story of the Brown Lady at the Marquis of T——’s, in Norfolk, is known to many.

The Hon. H.

W—— told me that a friend of his, while staying there, had often seen her, and had one day inquired of his host, “Who was the lady in brown that he had met frequently on the stairs?

” Two gentlemen, whose names were mentioned to me, resolved to watch for her and intercept her.

They at length saw her but she eluded them by turning down a staircase, and when they looked over she had disappeared.

Many persons have seen her.

There is a Scotch family of distinction, who, I am told, are accompanied by an unseen attendant, whom they call “Spinning Jenny.

” She is heard spinning in their house in the country, and when they come into town she spins here; servants and all hear the sound of her wheel.

I believe she accompanies them no further than to their own residences, not to those of other people.

Jenny is supposed to be a former housemaid of the family, who was a great spinner, and they are so accustomed to her presence as to feel it no annoyance.

The following very singular circumstance was related to me by the daughter of the celebrated Mrs. S——: Mrs. S—— and her husband were travelling into Wales, and had occasion to stop on their way, some days, at Oswestry.

There they established themselves in a lodging, to reach the door of which they had to go down a sort of close, or passage.

The only inhabitants of the house were the mistress, a very handsome woman, and two maids.

Mr. and Mrs. S——, however, very soon had occasion to complain of the neglected state of the rooms, which were apparently never cleaned or dusted; though, strange to say, to judge by their own ears, the servants were doing nothing else all night, their sleep being constantly disturbed by the noise of rubbing, sweeping, and the moving of furniture.

When they complained to these servants of the noise in the night, and the dirt of the rooms, they answered that the noise was not made by them, and that it was impossible for them to do their work, exhausted as they were by sitting up all night with their mistress, who could not bear to be alone when she was in bed.

Mr. and Mrs. S——

afterward discovered that she had her room lighted up every night; and one day, as they were returning from a walk, and she happened to be going down the close before them, they heard her saying, as she turned her head sharply from side to side, “Are you there again?

What, the devil!

Go away, I tell you!

” &c. , &c. On applying to the neighbors for an explanation of these mysteries, the good people only shook their heads, and gave mysterious answers.

Mr. and Mrs. S—— afterward learned that she was believed to have murdered a girl who formerly lived in her service.

There is nothing in the conduct of this unhappy woman which may not be perfectly well accounted for, by the supposition of a guilty conscience;

but the noises heard by Mr. and Mrs. S—— at night, are curiously in accordance with a variety of similar stories, wherein this strange visionary repetition of the trivial actions of daily life, or of some particular incident, has been observed.

The affair of Lord St. Vincent’s was of this nature; and there is somewhere extant, an account of the ghost of Peter the Great, of Russia, having appeared to Doctor Doppelio, complaining to him of the sufferings he endured from having to act over again his former cruelties; a circumstance which exhibits a remarkable coincidence with the Glasgow dream, mentioned in a preceding chapter.

We must, of course, attach a symbolical meaning to these phenomena, and conclude that these reactings are somewhat of the nature of our dreams.

Certainly, there would need no stronger motive to induce us to spend the period allotted to us on earth, in those pure and innocent pleasures and occupations, which never weary or sicken the soul, than the belief that such a future awaits us!

A family in one of the English counties, was a few years ago terribly troubled by an unseen inmate who chiefly seemed to inhabit a large cellar, into which there was no entrance except the door which was kept locked.

Here there would be a loud knocking—sometimes a voice crying—heavy feet walking, &c. , &c. At first, the old trustworthy butler would summon his accolytes, and descend, armed with sword and blunderbuss; but no one was to be seen.

They could often hear the feet following them up stairs from this cellar; and once, when the family had determined to watch, they found themselves accompanied up stairs not only by the sound of the feet, but by a _visible_ shadowy companion!

They rushed up, flew to their chamber, and shut the door, when instantly they felt and saw the handle turned in their hand by a hand outside.

Windows and doors were opened in spite of locks and keys; but notwithstanding the most persevering investigations, the only clew to the mystery was the appearance of that spectral figure.

The knockings and sounds of people at work, asserted to be heard in mines, is a fact maintained by many very sensible men, overseers, and superintendents, &c. , as well as by the workmen themselves; and there is a strong persuasion, I know, among the miners of Cornwall, and those of Mendip, that these visionary workmen are sometimes heard among them; on which occasions the horses evince their apprehensions by trembling and sweating; but as I have no means of verifying these reports, I do not dwell upon them further.

When the mother of George Canning, then Mrs. Hunn, was an actress in the provinces, she went, among other places, to Plymouth, having previously requested her friend, Mr. Bernard, of the theatre, to procure her a lodging.

On her arrival Mr. B.

told her that if she was not afraid of a ghost, she might have a comfortable residence at a very low rate, “For there is,” said he, “a house belonging to our carpenter, that is reported to be haunted, and nobody will live in it.

If you like to have it, you may, and for nothing, I believe, for he is so anxious to get a tenant; only you must not let it be known that you do not pay rent for it.

” Mrs. Hunn, alluding to the theatrical apparitions, said it would not be the first time she had had to do with a ghost, and that she was very willing to encounter this one; so she had her luggage taken to the house in question, and the bed prepared.

At her usual hour, she sent her maid and her children to bed, and, curious to see if there was any foundation for the rumor she had heard, she seated herself, with a couple of candles and a book, to watch the event.

Beneath the room she occupied was the carpenter’s workshop, which had two doors.

The one which opened into the street was barred and bolted within; the other, a smaller one, opening into the passage, was only on the latch; and the house was, of course, closed for the night.

She had read something more than half an hour, when she perceived a noise issuing from this lower apartment, which sounded very much like the sawing of wood.

Presently other such noises as usually proceed from a carpenter’s workshop were added, till by-and-by, there was a regular concert of knocking and hammering, and sawing and planing, &c. ; the whole sounding like half a dozen busy men in full employment.

Being a woman of considerable courage, Mrs. Hunn resolved, if possible, to penetrate the mystery; so taking off her shoes, that her approach might not be heard, with her candle in her hand, she very softly opened her door and descended the stairs, the noise continuing as loud as ever, and evidently proceeding from the workshop, till she opened the door, when instantly all was silent—all was still—not a mouse was stirring; and the tools and the wood, and everything else, lay as they had been left by the workmen when they went away.

Having examined every part of the place, and satisfied herself that there was nobody there, and that nobody could get into it, Mrs. Hunn ascended to her room again, beginning almost to doubt her own senses, and question with herself whether she had really heard the noise or not, when it recommenced and continued, without intermission, for about half an hour.

She however went to bed, and the next day told nobody what had occurred, having determined to watch another night before mentioning the affair to any one.

As, however, this strange scene was acted over again, without her being able to discover the cause of it, she now mentioned the circumstance to the owner of the house and to her friend Bernard; and the former, who would not believe it, agreed to watch with her, which he did.

The noise began as before, and he was so horror-struck that, instead of entering the workshop as she wished him to do, he rushed into the street.

Mrs. Hunn continued to inhabit the house the whole summer; and, when referring afterward to the adventure, she observed that use was second nature, and that she was sure if any night these ghostly carpenters had not pursued their visionary labors, she should have been quite frightened, lest they should pay her a visit up stairs.

From many recorded cases, I find the vulgar belief, that buried money is frequently the cause of these disturbances, is strongly borne out by facts.

This certainly does seem to us very strange, and can only be explained by the hypothesis suggested, that the soul awakes in the other world in exactly the same state in which it quitted this.

In the abovementioned instances, of what are called _haunted houses_, there is generally nothing seen; but those are equally abundant where the ghostly visiter is visible.

Two young ladies were passing the night in a house in the north, when the youngest, then a child, awoke and saw an old man, in a Kilmarnock nightcap, walking about their bed-room.

She said, when telling the story in after-life, that she was not the least frightened—she was only surprised!

but she found that her sister, who was several years older than herself, was in a state of great terror.

He continued some time moving about, and at last went to a chest of drawers, where there lay a parcel of buttons, belonging to a travelling tailor who had been at work in the house.

Whether the old man threw them down or not, she could not say; but, just then, they all fell rattling off the drawers to the floor, whereupon he disappeared.

The next morning, when they mentioned the circumstance, she observed that the family looked at each other in a significant manner; but it was not till she was older she learned that the house was said to be haunted by this old man.

“It never occurred to me,” she said, “that it was a ghost.

Who could have thought of a ghost in a Kilmarnock nightcap!

” At the Leipsic fair, lodgings are often very scarce, and on one occasion a stranger, who had arrived late in the evening, had some difficulty in finding a bed.

At length he found a vacant chamber in the house of a citizen.

It was one they made no use of, but they said he was welcome to it; and, weary and sleepy, he gladly accepted the offer.

Fatigued as he was, however, he was disturbed by some unaccountable noises, of which he complained to his hosts in the morning.

They pacified him by some excuses; but the next night, not long after he had gone to bed, he came down stairs in great haste, with his portmanteau on his shoulder, declaring he would not stay there another hour for the world; for that a lady, in a strange old-fashioned dress, had come into the room with a dagger in her hand, and made threatening gestures at him.

He accordingly went away, and the room was shut up again; but some time afterward, a servant-girl in the family of this citizen, being taken ill, they were obliged to put her into that room, in order to separate her from the rest of the family.

Here she recovered her health rapidly; and as she had never complained of any annoyance, she was asked, when she was quite well, whether anything particular had happened while she inhabited that chamber.

“Oh, yes,” she answered; “every night there came a strange lady into the room, who sat herself on the bed and stroked me with her hand, and I believe it is to her I owe my speedy recovery; but I could never get her to speak to me—she only sighs and weeps.

” Not very long since, a gentleman set out, one fine midsummer’s evening, when it is light all night in Scotland, to walk from Montrose to Brechin.

As he approached a place called Dunn, he observed a lady walking on before, which, from the lateness of the hour, somewhat surprised him.

Sometime afterward, he was found by the early laborers lying on the ground, near the churchyard, in a state of insensibility.

All he could tell them was, that he had followed this lady till she had turned her head and looked round at him, when, seized with horror, he had fainted.

“Oh,” said they, “you have seen the lady of Dunn.

” What is the legend attached to this lady of Dunn, I do not know.

Monsieur De S. had been violently in love with Hippolyte Clairon, the celebrated French actress, but she rejected his suit, in so peremptory a manner, that even when he was at the point of death, she refused his earnest entreaties, that she would visit him.

Indignant at her cruelty, he declared that he would haunt her, and he certainly kept his word.

I

believe she never saw his ghost, but he appears to have been always near her; at least, on several occasions when other people doubted the fact, he signalized his presence at her bidding, by various sounds, and this, wherever she happened to be at the moment.

Sometimes it was a cry, at others, a shot, and at others, a clapping of hands or music.

She seems to have been slow to believe in the extra-natural character of these noises; and even when she was ultimately convinced, to have been divided between horror on the one hand, and diversion, at the oddness of the circumstance, on the other.

The sounds were heard by everybody in her vicinity; and I am informed by Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, that the margrave of Anspach, who was subsequently her lover, and Mr. Keppel Craven, were perfectly well acquainted with the circumstances of this haunting, and entertained no doubt of the facts above alluded to.

The ghost known by the designation of “the White Lady,” which is frequently seen in different castles or palaces belonging to the royal family of Prussia, has been mentioned in another publication, I think.

She was long supposed to be a Countess Agnes, of Orlamunde; but a picture of a princess called Bertha, or Perchta von Rosenberg, discovered some time since, was thought so exceedingly to resemble the apparition, that it is now a disputed point which of the two ladies it is, or whether it is or is not the same apparition that is seen at different places.

Neither of these ladies appears to have been very happy in their lives: but the opinion of its being the Princess Bertha, who lived in the fifteenth century, was somewhat countenanced by the circumstance, that at a period when, in consequence of the war, an annual benefit which she had bequeathed to the poor was neglected, the apparition seemed to be unusually disturbed, and was seen more frequently.

She is often observed before a death; and one of the Fredericks said, shortly before his decease, that he should “not live long, for he had met the White Lady.

” She wears a widow’s band and veil, but it is sufficiently transparent to show her features, which do not express happiness, but placidity.

She has only been twice heard to speak.

In December, 1628, she appeared in the palace at Berlin, and was heard to say, “_Veni, judica vivos et mortuos!

Judicium mihi adhuc superest.

_”—“Come, judge the quick and the dead!

I wait for judgment.

” On the other occasion, which is more recent, one of the princesses at the castle of Neuhaus, in Bohemia, was standing before a mirror, trying on a new head-dress, when, on asking her waiting-maid what the hour was, the white lady suddenly stepped from behind a screen and said: “Zehn uhr ist es ihr liebden!

”—“It is ten o’clock, your love!

” which is the mode in which the sovereign princes address each other, instead of “your highness.

” The princess was much alarmed, soon fell sick, and died in a few weeks.

She has frequently evinced displeasure at the exhibition of impiety or vice; and there are many records of her different appearances to be found in the works of Balbinus and of Erasmus Francisci; and in a publication called “The Iris,” published in Frankfort in 1819, the editor, George Doring, who is said to have been a man of great integrity, gives the following account of one of her later appearances, which he declares he received just as he gives it, from the lips of his own mother, on whose word and judgment he could perfectly rely; and shortly before his death, an inquiry being addressed to him with regard to the correctness of the narration, he vouched for its authenticity.

It seems that the elder sister of his mother was companion to one of the ladies of the court, and that the younger ones were in the habit of visiting her frequently.

Two of these (Doring’s mother and another), aged fourteen and fifteen, were once spending a week with her, when she being out and they alone with their needlework, chattering about the court diversions, they suddenly heard the sound of a stringed instrument, like a harp, which seemed to proceed from behind a large stove that occupied one corner of the room.

Half in fear and half in fun, one of the girls took a yard measure that lay beside them, and struck the spot, whereupon the music ceased, but the stick was wrested from her hand.

She became alarmed; but the other, named Christina, laughed and said she must have fancied it, adding that the music doubtless proceeded from the street, though they could not descry any musicians.

To get over her fright, of which she was half ashamed, the former now ran out of the room to visit a neighbor for a few minutes;

but when she returned, she found Christina lying on the floor in a swoon, who, on being revived with the aid of the attendants who had heard a scream, related, that no sooner had her sister left her than the sound was repeated, close to the stove, and a white figure had appeared and advanced toward her, whereupon she had screamed and fainted.

The lady who owned the apartments flattered herself that this apparition betokened that a treasure was hidden under the stove, and, imposing silence on the girls, she sent for a carpenter and had the planks lifted.

The floor was found to be double, and below was a vault, from which issued a very unwholesome vapor, but no treasure was found, nor anything but a quantity of quicklime.

The circumstance being now made known to the king, he expressed no surprise; he said that the apparition was doubtless that of a countess of Orlamunde, who had been buried alive in that vault.

She was the mistress of a margrave of Brandenburg, by whom she had two sons.

When the prince became a widower, she expected he would marry her; but he urged as an objection that he feared, in that case, her sons might hereafter dispute the succession with the lawful heirs.

In order to remove this obstacle out of her way, she poisoned the children; and the margrave, disgusted and alarmed, had her walled up in that vault for her pains.

He added that she was usually seen every seven years, and was preceded by the sound of a harp, on which instrument she had been a proficient; and also that she more frequently appeared to children than to adults,—as if the love she had denied her own offspring in life was now her torment, and that she sought a reconciliation with childhood in general.

I know from the best authority that the fact of these appearances is not doubted by those who have the fullest opportunities of inquiry and investigation; and I remember seeing in the English papers, a few years since, a paragraph copied from the foreign journals, to the effect that the White Lady had been seen again, I think at Berlin.