Part 6

Next day the steward came over to arrange some business that required his presence on the place; old greyheaded servants of the family soon told him of the ghostly sounds heard in the ancient mansion, only a few hours past. The strong-minded man of law ridiculed them, and said it was only their fearful fancies, followed by disturbing dreams, which had caused all their dread of their old master’s return. The old servants followed the lawyer to the outer gate, begging him to stay at the house over night. “No, no, I’ve other fish to fry,” replied he, “go’e to rest before you’re all tipsy, and let the squire come if he will or can.”

The steward proceeded slowly down the hill, thinking of his deceased friend. As he passed a churchway stile, a little below the principal entrance gate, a gentleman came over and walked close beside him, keeping pace with his horse. Neither spoke. The steward didn’t even give the customary greeting of “Good night,” so usual here when people meet in country lanes. The strange gentleman’s broad brimmed hat and drooping plume so shaded his face that his features could not be distinctly seen; but his tall figure was attired in a dress precisely like that which had been usually worn by Harris, and which was of too grand a mode for anybody else in the immediate neighbourhood. The horse showed signs of great terror by rubbing his rider against the hedge, and by trying to run off at a gallop; yet, however the steed altered his paces, the stranger kept alongside, with such an easy motion as if he floated in air, until, passing the stream which flows to Ponsandane, when this strange companion disappeared,—there was no knowing whither.

Having crossed the water, and the road ascending for a little way, the rider let his steed take its course; then it went off at a furious rate, and only ceased its race when near the watering-trough at the top of Market-jew Street, opposite the “Star” Inn. After slaking its thirst, it went down a lane, now built on, and called New Street, which led to a yard, stable, and garden, at the back of the lawyer’s house, on the eastern side of Chapel Street (formerly called Our Lady Street) and a little above the end of Vounder Ver.

It is not known whether the lawyer surmised or not that the companion of his ride down Kenegie Hill was his late friend’s ghost, which it was: for he, like most of his profession, could keep his own counsel, especially in doubtful cases.

Next day, however, when he was expected by the family at Kenegie to settle such business as could only be arranged with his help, he begged for delay, on the plea of illness, and took to his bed, which he did not quit for some days.

Night was dreaded in the old mansion at Kenegie. Even the decline of day made its inmates shudder with apprehensive terror. The slamming of doors, rattling of furniture, and other disturbances commenced earlier and continued later into the morning than they did at first; and the spirit’s cries of “I wish, I wish,” seemed to be uttered in anger rather than in grief. During all the family’s trouble the steward was unable, or unwilling, to come near them. Yet, almost daily, one or other of Harris’s old servants came in to enquire after the lawyer’s health, and told his family how their late master’s ghost had been seen and heard before candle-lighting time in a court behind the house; and that it was intended, over a few nights, to try what “spirit-quellers,” as ghost-layers were called, could do in order to give the troubled spirit rest.

The steward was still far from well, when one night, about a week after his last visit to Kenegie, and just after he heard an eight-day clock on his stair-landing strike two, whilst he was listening for the town-clock, five minutes slower than his own, he heard a loud knocking at his front door. Shortly afterwards his housekeeper came to his bedroom door, and asked, “Are ’e waking, master?” Having spoken to her, she said, “There’s an old clergyman, from over Hayle way, below; I’ve seen him here before; he must speak with you, he says: he has a message of the utmost importance to you.” The steward told her to strike a light and show the parson up at once, as he was an old acquaintance who didn’t stand on ceremony with him.

The old dame sat on her three-legged stool, hammering away with flint and steel, in making vain endeavours to kindle the tinder, which wasn’t touched by a spark, for the box had overturned in her lap without her knowing it; her skirts being huddled on in a hurry she hardly knew where to find her knees to steady the tinder-box between them. There was a glimmer of light coming through the diamond-shaped lead lights from a ghostly-looking bit of a morning moon, when the venerable gentleman told her to take no more trouble; as he was well acquainted with the house and her master he could find the way to his room without a candle and alone; his business was too urgent for any farther delay.

The reverend gentleman, on entering the lawyer’s bedroom, drew back the window curtains, and said, whilst shaking hands, “I hope to be excused for calling at this unseasonable hour on account of the message I bring; the importance of which, to you, will be best understood when I tell ye of this night’s occurrences.” Now, the lawyer was impatient to learn this urgent business, but it would seem as if the parson were in no hurry—such good men take things easy. For he went to the window, opened a casement, and looked out, as if to recollect his thoughts. It was too obscure then for him to enjoy the extensive prospect, as seen by day—only bounded by distant eastern hills. Returning to the lawyer’s bedside, the reverend gentleman seated himself and continued thus:—“I calculate, by the stars now rising, as well as by the altitude attained by others, that it is now two hours and forty-five minutes since I, with four other clergymen of our neighbourhood, by a request of the deceased squire’s family, assembled on the Bowling Green, at Kenegie, in order to give rest to the unquiet spirit which quitted Proud Harris’s mortal tenement a fortnight since. Having marked on the turf a circle, and placed on its circumference three lighted candles, to mark the points of an equilateral triangle, within which a ghost is as safe as in consecrated ground—the devil and his hounds are always on the watch for vagrant spirits, roaming from churchyards—we formed ourselves in line, facing south and behind the lights, in order of precedence, my station being at the right hand of all. Then a reverend gentleman, who, like myself, has much knowledge of planetary influence and other occult sciences, as well as great ability in laying obdurate spirits, spoke a form of citation. Not a dozen words of this solemn summons were uttered when Proud Harris’s ghost, in winding-sheet and shroud came before us, and, with a frowning countenance and angry gestures, abruptly said, ‘Begone about your own business, if you have any, for you have none whatever here; and learn, vain mortals, that I will not leave this place for anything you can do or say, until it pleaseth me to do so.’” “Ah, I see,” said the steward, “it’s the same resolute spirit still that always animated my deceased friend, for he never liked those of your cloth; in fact he couldn’t abide to see men feathered all in black and white; he used to say, ‘They are like Market-jew crows.’” “Well, well, let that pass,” replied the reverend gentleman, “You have not yet heard the matter of importance to you. On my commencing a powerful form of conjuration the spirit approached me and said, ‘Dear old friend of my youth, for the sake of those many happy days that we have passed together in the hunting-field, do thou go from me, and at once, to that accursed lawyer and steward of mine; tell him that unless he comes here, and that shortly, to mind his business, I will go to him. Aye, you see that thin rim of the waning moon; if he be not here, attending to his duty to me and mine, ere that moon be renewed, I will appear before him when least expected, whether he be in his office, his bed-chamber, or elsewhere, alone.’ On my assenting to convey his message the ghost vanished, and I at once came hither with such speed as my three-score and six years permit.”

The parson paused a moment, but, the lawyer remaining silent, he continued: “I advise you as a friend, go, as desired, before you are three days older, for by that time this moon’s diminished horns will have recommenced their growth. As I have now faithfully delivered the spirit’s message, I bid you adieu, hoping you will have grace to follow my advice.”

“I intend going to Kenegie,” replied the lawyer, “before another night comes round. Stay and take breakfast; you must need rest after such trying work.”

“No, I must be gone,” said the parson, “though I have neither eaten nor slept since my leaving Ruan yesterday morn.”

“Then if you won’t stop, I wish ’e well,” said the steward, “hoping never more to see ye here with a message from the dead. Farewell.”

After this unpleasant interruption to his night’s rest, the steward lay awake and turned out of bed before his accustomed time of rising, with the intention of going to Kenegie without delay. Yet, from feeling very much out of order, when partly dressed, he returned to bed and sent for a medical man.

The doctor felt the lawyer’s hot forehead and rapidly-throbbing pulse, whilst the sick man told him that he could neither get tranquil sleep nor take his food with any appetite.

“My good friend,” replied the doctor, “you are working yourself to death, in trying to grapple with your extensive practice. Now, you must not think of entering your office for a month at least. Go away to the country; when you are able, for the sake of getting rid of business cares; your clients must have patience until you get well. If they won’t, let them go to Old Nick for advice. His counsel will please the greater part of them much better than the advice of an honest attorney.”

The patient then said, “I am most anxious first to go over and arrange some business in Kenegie which requires my presence there.”

“All right,” replied the doctor, “you can do nothing better, when well enough, mind you, than ride over there daily; but don’t stay long in the house, and say but little about professional matters. After taking some light refreshment, ride away up to Castle-an-Dinas, or, at least, as far as the hamlet called Castle Gate, and ride easily forth and back, over the stretch of level road on that high ground. When there you will breathe the sweet air of the hills, mingled with ocean’s breezes, which will do you more good than any amount of drugs. You must, however, take a small dose at once, in order to procure tranquil sleep. Never mind your appetite, that will return when you are able to take daily rides over the hills, and you will be able to eat like a horse, as the saying is.”

The doctor having sent for medicine, and seen his patient take the same, went downstairs, charged the household to keep still, and on no account to let their master be disturbed with business callers. “If he should sleep for 24 hours, let him,” said the doctor, “and I’ll call again shortly.”

The steward said nothing of his having been accompanied by Harris’s ghost in his ride down Kenegie Hill, nor of the spirit’s message, well knowing that his medical friend had no faith in supernatural appearances; and the ailing man himself had but slight belief in such matters until the evidence of his own eyes, as well as the reverend gentleman’s words, convinced him, in spite of his reason.

The “doctor’s stuff” had its desired effect. The steward slept soundly through the night, and until nearly noon next morning, when he took breakfast in bed, then more medicine, and slept again. About two o’clock the doctor called and asked the housekeeper how her master was. “I suppose,” said she, “that he’s going on as well as can be expected, for he slept well last night, ate a good breakfast for a sick man, and is sleeping again. A few minutes since I went into his room, and saw his eyes were shut, and didn’t speak to him, as you told me not to, but I talked a little to myself, and he didn’t ask me what I was grumbling about, as he mostly does if I speak a few words to, myself.

“A precious nurse you are,” said the doctor, “can’t you keep your tongue still when in your master’s room?”

The lawyer had the same tranquil rest on the following night; got up at his usual time, and soon after an early dinner, took horse for Kenegie.

The steward arrived at the old mansion about three or four o’clock. Having stayed a few hours with the bereaved family, and said all he could to comfort them, he recollected that there were alterations, or repairs, going on down at the mill, which he ought to see. The lengthening shadows warned him that it was time for his departure, that he might see the mill on his way home. Having sent his horse down, by a servant, he took a pathway which made a short cut thither across some fields. This was always a favourite walk with him and the late squire, because it afforded delightful views over land and sea. When on the clear ground, and in sight of Rosemorran, he saw the sunbeams still shining through a few leafless trees on the hill, but the valley was all in shadow. On coming to a high-hedged and narrow lane, near the mill, the gentleman went on slowly, with eyes cast down, musing on times past. Glancing upwards, when his reverie ended, he beheld, at the distance of ten or a dozen paces, the late squire, looking as formerly, and slowly approaching him. The steward, though much terrified at first, noticed that the garb taken by the apparition was, from looped-up hat to silver spurs, exactly like that which Harris had usually worn when following his hounds. At a glance the steward saw the same bright and unsullied attire for which the late owner of Kenegie had been distinguished. There were the same untarnished gold-lace and buttons on his bright scarlet coat; and the boots, with their tops just touching, without hiding, the jewelled knee-buckles of his nether garment. Yet, for all this brightness of dress, the ghostly face, as seen by the terrified man on coming nearer, made his blood run cold. The eyes were like the unclosed eyes of the dead; and the other features were pale and motionless as those of a marble image lying on a tomb. The lawyer had heard, like everybody else here, that one should never turn back from a ghost, but speak, if only a single word, as a spirit is powerless to impart its wishes till spoken to; and if long delayed the person is in danger of receiving bodily harm, and will be haunted to death if he speak not before. The poor man forced himself, as it were, to advance with his eyes cast down, for he couldn’t bear to see the ghastly countenance. When near he could only murmur, “What shall I do for ’e?”

“I am rejoiced that thou hast come to meet me here, and spoken in time, for on the morrow I should have gone to thee. The anger I felt at thy delay hath passed; why shouldst thou fear me, frail mortal that thou art, when, ere long, thou wilt be as I am, and then seek me with a greater desire to meet me than thou hast now to shun my company? Besides thou knowest I always liked thee for thy honesty, and thy regard to me and mine, as well as for thy doing justice to thy poorer clients—as far as unjust laws and judges would allow thee. Now, with regard to my son John,” continued the ghost, looking sorrowfully on his faithful steward, “Death, as thou knowest, cut short my efforts to explain how my wishes were to be accomplished touching Trengwainton. Thy eyes are cast on earth; dost thou attend to what I say?”

“I do my best to,” replied the poor steward like one in a waking dream.

“Well, as thou knowest, there is much money owing to me on the place; no interest has ever been paid, and more cash is wanted. Do thou supply more and more until the place be indebted to nearly its value. Our boy John is now about fourteen. Before he will be of age, foreclose the mortgage, as the place by that time will be burthened to nearly its full value. If the estate be offered for sale there will be no purchaser; everyone hereabouts has enough to do to keep the land he has. All landowners here are much embarrased to hold what they have. Yet if the place be worth anything more than its encumbrance, pay over the balance on putting my son in possession. The management of my family’s property will be entirely on thy hands for many years, and thou wilt still be my trusty steward. Now understand me clearly, of a Harris it must never with truth be said that he got his lands unfairly. Mark the little more I have to say, that I may depart for good, and no more have to revisit this miserable world. Look up now, that I may know thou attendest to my words, and learn that unless my wishes be accomplished none of my family, nor of thine, will be known in this part of the country for half the time they have flourished here, nor have an inch of land more than their graves occupy. Behold those aged trees which my forefathers planted. Ere they return to dust our ancient homes will know us no more, if my last wishes be disregarded.”

Before the lawyer could reply—if he had anything to say—Harris’s ghost had vanished.

The servant, who awaited the lawyer at the Mill, became uneasy when it was almost night and the gentleman had not arrived; knowing him to be unwell and that he was a man who would never “say die whilst there was a shot in the locker,” as the saying is (everybody liked the steward for his pluck and kindly disposition.) He rode slowly up the lane by which he expected the steward to arrive, and, at last found him sitting on a bank beside the road, seeming all bewildered and stupid, like a person recovering from a trance or just come out of a fit. The servant roused him up, as he said, but the steward didn’t speak, even when he mounted his horse, and rode slowly homeward, with the servant following to his own door, where the doctor was anxiously awaiting his patient’s return. We heard no more of the good lawyer, but hope he rode out no more until perfectly recovered.

Harris’s ghost, satisfied with having told the lawyer how its wishes were to be carried out, has never more been seen nor heard in Kenegie, from that day to this.

HALLANTIDE: OR A ST. JUST FEAST FIFTY YEARS AGO.

“The Saint’s Feast is kept upon the Dedication Day, by every householder of the parish, within his own dores, each entertaining such forrayne acquaintance as will not fayle, when their like turne cometh about, to requite them with the like kindness.”—Carew’s Survey of Cornwall.

Many persons of Penzance and its neighbourhood, whose memories take them back fifty years or more, may recollect an aged man, usually called Dick Rastram, who for some weeks before Christmas, and after it, used to be heard calling around the market,—

“Moore’s almanacks new, Some lies and some true.”

The almanacks he sold were supplemented with advertisements of patent medicines and other special articles kept by his master.

On the whole Dick must have been a good servant, or his master would never have had the patience to bear with his provoking ways for so many years as he did. Dick was very fond of arguing the point as to the best mode of doing any job he was set about, and the time wasted in settling the matter was more than would have sufficed to do the work many times over; but he would exert himself with double vigour when allowed to have his own way. Sometimes, however, the master becoming tired of his man’s pig-headedness, would say “do the work as thou art told to; whether right or wrong no blame will rest on thy shoulders.” Then Dick would keep a sharp look-out for a mistake, and if his master made any, by a “slip of the tongue,” he would be sure to execute it to the very letter.

One morning this precious man-servant was sent to the bake-house in Back Lane, for a twopenny loaf of the proper age for mixing with other ingredients in making pills. In a few minutes he returned, placed the pence on the counter, and said “there’s no bread there stale enough; where must I go next?” Then he was told some other place, and as often returned without bread, asking each time where he was to go next? So he dawdled away great part of the forenoon, when everyone knew that if he had a mind he would find a suitable loaf in some shop best known to himself, in a few minutes. The last time he returned with the two-pence and asked, “Where must I go next?” his master, provoked beyond measure, said go to —, naming a place said to be very hot; and to soften the angry expression, added the word “stone” in a lower voice; but the man heard this cooling word, took up the pence, and went out to get the bread, it was supposed from some shop of his own choice. Night came, however, but no Dick; and the following day passed without his having been seen or heard of in Penzance.

A little after the usual closing time Mr. Harvey was in his shop with a few of his neighbours, wondering what had become of his man, and getting rather uneasy at not having had any tidings of him, and was about to have his shop closed, when Dick entered, put a two-penny loaf on the counter, and said, “Here’s a loaf that’ll please ’e I ’spose. I’ve ben where you told me to go for ut. You will, of course, pay me for what it cost me in lodgings in Helston last night, and for meat and drink on the road. I went as cheap as I cud; ’tes only two and twenty pence; seeman to me you have kept the shop open very late, and all the lamps burnan, when every shop round the market es shut up except the two grocers’ that are always the last.”