Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 29

Five years! What a variety of changes take place in five years! What aeriel castles are built but to fall: what hopes spring up and bloom but to wither: what fears are inspired but to prove that they are baseless: what beautiful bubbles are blown but to burst.

The great majority of mankind find the space of five years rich in incident; but there are individuals to whom, during five years, scarcely an incident worth recording occurs. For example, nothing of importance had occurred to either Aunt Eleanor or the reverend gentleman. They were, moreover, in precisely the same relative positions as they were five years before. It may have been imagined that they might have managed matters between them by this time; and so, indeed, they might, but they didn't. He had obtained her consent, it is true, and continued to visit her daily; nay, he had even on three occasions spoken of the contemplated "happy day;" but he never could get her to name that day, until just before those events occurred which have been detailed in the preceding chapter.

Nor had anything of importance transpired in the village. It is true that the barn which stood opposite the cottage had been, about twelvemonths before, newly thatched: it is also true that Obadiah had twice made an assignment, marvelling how it could possibly be that, while all around him were prosperous, he should be constantly involved—sometimes ascribing it to the measures of "Bobby Peel," and sometimes to those of "Johnny Russell"—but beyond this, nothing worth recording took place.

​When, therefore, Sylvester—after having placed his defence to the action in the hands of the doctor's attorney—went down to Cotherstone, with the view of explaining all that had occurred before the case should appear more pointedly in the papers, he found nothing there to strike him with any great degree of astonishment. But conceive the amazement of his aunt and her reverend friend, when he stated to them the fact of his being the defendant in an action for criminal conversation! Conceive the horror with which they heard that statement made, and the relief which they experienced, when he wound up all by a solemn declaration of his innocence! Nothing could be more touching, or more sincere, than the expressions of their belief in this solemn declaration. And yet, to them, how extraordinary it appeared that precisely the same thing which occurred to the father, should thus have occurred to the son.

"There must be," observed Aunt Eleanor, when she and her reverend friend were alone, "some deep mystery in this."

"It is, certainly," said the reverend gentleman, "the most mysterious thing I ever heard or read of."

"Heaven grant that the consequences may not be the same."

"I say Amen to that. But, if he be innocent, I do not see how they can prove him to be guilty. The case must be tried before a judge, and no judge could allow a young man like him to be cast unjustly."

"That I apprehend depends entirely upon the evidence—does it not?"

"Exactly. But what evidence—what clear, substantial evidence—can be brought against an innocent man? For example: suppose I were accused of burning a house down; would I not, if I were innocent, defy all the world to prove me guilty? What evidence could be brought forward to prove me guilty of that of which I was innocent?"

"Circumstantial evidence," said Sylvester, who at the moment re-entered the room.

"Circumstantial evidence, I grant, has frequently led to conviction; but then it must be very strong and conclusive. What circumstantial evidence could be sufficient in, for instance, a case like yours?"

"In cases like mine, the proof, almost invariably, depends upon circumstantial evidence."

"But what evidence—what sufficient evidence—of any kind, can they bring against you?"

"There is the evidence of the butler, who is ready to swear that he saw me in the house at the time."

"I must go to town and talk to that butler. I must see that man. His soul is in peril. It is necessary that he should know that. I have a great mind to go to-morrow morning."

Sylvester smiled at his reverend friend's simplicity, and observed that he feared that that would be of little use.

"I don't know that," resumed the reverend gentleman. "Men have been induced, under similar circumstances, to turn from the pursuit of evil. It may be that this man has been bribed by his master—I do not say that he has been—but such things are possible: indeed, if my memory serves me right, I have read in some book that such things have ​been done. If, therefore, it be so in this case—if this man's master has wickedly bribed him to swear that that is true which he knows to be false—he should be seen and talked to, and expostulated with: the position in which he is about to place himself ought to be clearly laid before him! the awful nature of the sin he is about to commit should be explained to him seriously and solemnly! and who knows that, when he has been made duly sensible of the consequences which must of necessity follow the commission of so dreadful a sin, he may not become wise in time and repent? I hold it to be the duty of every Christian minister to endeavour, by all the means of which he is capable, to rescue unfortunate souls from perdition; and if I could save this unhappy man—if I could in time convince him of the error of his ways—if I could show him that his immortal soul is now in jeopardy—strike into his mind the light of truth—inspire him with confidence in Him to whom all hearts are open—bring him to the throne of grace and mercy, and teach him to sin no more: if I could but in time effect this, I should think no journey too long, no trouble too great: no pains nor expense should, on my part, be spared."

"I appreciate the feelings by which you are actuated," said Sylvester; "and I am by no means insensible to the power of your appeals; still I think that, under the circumstances, such a journey as that which you contemplate, would be unprofitable."

"Oh! there is no knowing what might be done. The heart of the man might be altogether turned: his ideas of good and evil might be completely changed; and, therefore, I might be successful. However, we'll think the matter over! I don't like in any case to act with precipitation. Our views may change; but I must say that my present impression is, that an hour's conversation with that unhappy man would do good."

During the whole of that evening nothing was discussed or even thought of but the forthcoming trial; and soon after the reverend gentleman had left Sylvester and his aunt retired.

He had not, however, been asleep more than half an hour, when the company, assembled at the Crumpet and Crown, were thrown into a most intense state of consternation by the sudden re-appearance of Pokey, who declared that the ghost had re-visited Cotherstone Grange.

"I see it," said he, with an aspect of terror; "I see it, as plain as I see you here now!"

"Where?" demanded Obadiah.

"Just down the road! I was going home quiet, when, all of a sudden, what should I see but a monstrous tall figure—taller than the t'other by more than a yard—breathing white smoke from his nostrils, and looking with an eye of real fire."

"It won't do," said Legge; "at least, it won't do for me! I suppose you saw a man with a cigar in his mouth."

"Not a bit of it!"

"How many eyes of fire had he?"

"I saw but one, and that was a blazer—I never before see such an eye in my life—but, of course, he has two, although I didn't see 'em." ​"No; you saw but one, and that was a cigar; and the man was puffing away at the time: that was it."

"I know better! Do you think I'm such a fool as not to know a real man from a ghost?"

"That was no ghost!"

"It was, I tell you. Can't I believe my own eyes?"

"It won't do, Pokey! I won't take it in! If you saw anything but a man, you saw it in imagination merely."

"As Peter the Great did," observed Obadiah, "at the time he imagined he'd welted the Dutch."

"Peter the Great!" retorted Pokey, contemptuously. "What has this got to do with Peter the Great?"

"What has it got to do with it? It's got all to do with it! mind you that! When the Dutch, in the reign of old Harry the Eighth—"

"Blister the Dutch, and Harry the Eighth, too! What do you think we want to know about the Dutch? I tell you again that I see a ghost! It was all in white, from head to heel; and what's more, it had an umbrella."

"An umbrella!" cried Legge.

"I say an umbrella! And what's more, he had it up, as if it rained pouring."

"Well!" said Legge. "I have heard of many things, but I never before heard of a ghost with an umbrella!"

Whereupon a loud roar of laughter burst from all but Pokey, whom their utter incredulity rendered indignant.

"I don't care a button about your laughing," said he; "I know what I know; and I'll bet you half a gallon it was a ghost, and nothing but!"

"Who's to prove it?"

"If you can't believe me, come and see it yourself! Now, then!"

"We should be great fools to do that!" said Obadiah; "as big fools as the French was at the battle of Bunker's Hill, when Charley the Second—"

"I don't care about what they was at Bunker's Hill; I only know this: you daren't come and see."

"Daren't!" echoed Obadiah, valiantly; "daren't!"

"Aye, daren't! I'll bet you half a gallon you daren't!"

"Do you know what Cæsar said when Pompey told him he daren't? 'Pompey,' said he—"

"Pompey be smothered. What's Pompey to do with it? I tell you I'll make you this bet, if you like, and I'll put the money down."

"Do you think that, for the sake of half a gallon of beer, I'll allow you, or any other man in the universe, to place me in the juxtaposition of being laughed at? Not exactly. My ideas don't fructify in that way, and so you needn't think of having the laugh against me."

"I don't want to have the laugh against you."

"But it would be against me, if I were to go out on such a fool's errand as that. It won't do, Pokey: it won't do, my boy. You're a very clever man at your needle, no doubt, but you mustn't at all expect to get over me."

​"There is certainly something white moving about," said Legge, who had been to the door.

"Is it a fact?" cried Obadiah.

"Come and see!" replied Legge, who returned to the door, and Obadiah rose and followed him, and Quocks, Bobber, and Pokey, rose and followed Obadiah; and, after straining their eyes for some time towards the cottage, they all indistinctly perceived something white.

"Now, will you believe me?" cried Pokey.

"It's strange," observed Legge; "it is certainly strange!—but we have yet to learn that that which we see is a ghost."

"What else can it be?" demanded Pokey.

"It isn't the old maid's white horse?" suggested Obadiah, pointedly.

"No: that's no horse," returned Legge. "Will any one come with me and see what it is?"

"Oh," said Quocks, "if we go at all, we had better go altogether. What do you say?"

Obadiah seemed very unwilling to go, but as all the rest consented, he felt, of course, ashamed to hold back. They, therefore, moved slowly towards the cottage; and as they moved, the figure became more and more distinct; but they had scarcely got more than half way, when Obadiah exclaimed, with a start, "Here it comes!—Don't you see?—It's coming towards us. There—there!" and having uttered these startling exclamations, was about to rush back; but Legge seized his arm on the instant, and stood to watch its movements with comparative calmness. When, however, he found that it was absolutely approaching, even he receded—gradually, it is true—but his retreat kept pace with the advance of the figure, upon which he still kept his eyes constantly fixed.

On reaching the door—to which Bobber, Quocks, and Pokey, had previously rushed—he stood for a moment to ascertain whether the figure really meant to come on, and on being sufficiently convinced that that was its intention, he darted in, closed the door, and locked it.

"Heaven save us!" exclaimed Mrs. Legge, who was then with the rest in the passage.

"Hark!" cried Legge, as footsteps approached; "hark—hark!"

The next moment, to their horror, they saw the latch rise. Their hearts sank within them. They were stricken with terror. There was not a man there who appeared to have sufficient strength to move. They could, in fact, scarcely breathe—while poor Mrs. Legge, who had fallen on her knees and covered her face with her apron, fainted.

Again the latch moved, and a knocking was heard; and Legge, unnecessarily, whispered, "Hu-s-s-sh!" seeing that they would not if they could, at that moment, have made the slightest noise for the world.

The footsteps receded—slowly, and apparently with some degree of irresolution-and then a slight cough was heard—a sort of clearance of the throat—which on their ears fell like a groan. But after that they heard no more: they listened still, and breathed again; yet, although they felt better, they continued very faint. They called for brandy, but ​Legge, who was endeavouring to bring his wife round, could not then attend to that call: nor was it until that lady had recovered that the brandy-bottle made its appearance.

During the whole of this time not a single observation, having reference to the ghost, was made. They were thoughtful, but silent, and looked at each other with expressions of amazement and alarm; but when each had had a glass of Legge's brandy, they began to discuss the subject openly, yet cautiously, until indeed each had had a second glass, when Obadiah boldly declared that he didn't believe it was any ghost at all.

"What!" exclaimed Pokey, on hearing this monstrous declaration. "Do you mean to tell me, after what we've heard and seen, that it could by possibility be anything but a ghost?"

"Yes, I do! Look at the nature of ghosts in general. What are they? Spirits—that's what they're made of. Now fructify your ideas a little: just look you here:—Do you think that if that had been a ghost, and it had wanted to come in here, it wouldn't have come in?"

"How could it?"

"How could it!"

"Aye, when the door was locked?"

"What's the odds about the door being locked. Couldn't it have come through the keyhole?"

"What, a ghost of that size!"

"What's the size to do with it? Ghosts—real ghosts—can go anywhere they like, and through anything they like! It makes no odds to them what it is! Talk about a keyhole; why, they'll go through the smallest conceivable crevice! What does it matter to them? If that had been a ghost, rather than suffer himself to be done, he'd have sunk into the earth on one side of the door, and come up on the other, at once!"

"What do you mean? What, clean through the flag-stones?"

"Flag-stones! Of course! What do ghosts care about flag-stones?"

"Well, if they'll do that—"

"That! They'll do anything, those fellows will. It's no odds to them what they do."

"But do you mean to say—"

"Yes, I do! I mean to say that that was no ghost."

"I don't believe it was myself, now," interposed Legge.

"Nor do I," said Quocks.

"Nor don't I," observed Mr. Bobber.

"Well, but look here," cried Pokey, "if it wasn't, what made you all so frightened!"

"There's times," said Obadiah, assuming a profoundly philosophical expression; "when the ideas of men don't fructify as they ought: there's also times when the amalgamating juxtaposition of those ideas is not boney fidi non compas. When, therefore, the intellects is either nem con, or sine die, and the fructification of ideas in the brain is at its maximus, why, we're just like the Romans when the Greeks stormed Turkey, we don't know what to think; but when the supernatural ex​citement is over—when the mind comes fructifying round to its own proper juxtaposition—then, my boy, we can look at the whole of the ramifications of the case calmly, and see what out-and-out fools we have been."

"I know what you mean," said Pokey, "exact: although I don't understand them hard words: you mean to say that when we're frightened, we're different to what we are when we are not."

"That's just what I do mean."

"Very good. And I agrees with you. But what puzzles me is, that you should have both heard and seen it, and thought it a ghost, and then, when it's gone, say it's no ghost at all! For my part, I still think it was one, and a real one, too. If it was not, what was it?"

"That's the point. That's just what I should like to find out."

"Do you think it was a man dressed up like a ghost?"

"I do."

"Then why don't you go out and tackle him? You're big enough."

"If it be a man," said Legge; "I should only just like to catch him. I'd serve him out! I'd break every bone in his skin!"

"Well, why don't you go and do it? If I thought it was—little as I am—I'll be blistered if I wouldn't go out and tackle him. But I don't—I can't think it. The very fact of its coming right up to the house, convinces me that it isn't a man."

"I think it is now," observed Legge.

"And so do I," cried Obadiah.

"I don't think it was a ghost," said Quocks.

"No more don't I," said Mr. Bobber.

"Well, then, look here," cried Pokey, "if that's it, look here. Here's four men here as believes it to be nothing but a man dressed up as a ghost—four strong, powerful, bony men—why, do you think that if I was one of you four, and believed, as you believe, that I wouldn't be after him in double quick time?"

"If he is a man," cried Mrs. Legge, who had privately had a little brandy-and-water; "I should like to catch the villain—I'd scratch his very eyes out!"

"But just look you here!" resumed Pokey, who wanted to go home, but didn't at all like the idea of starting; "here's four of you here as does believe it, and yet there isn't one that'll move a peg!"

"Oh, I'll go," said Legge, "if you'll all come with me: or if any one of you will come, I'll go."

"You don't stir out of the house again to-night," said Mrs. Legge, "if I know it. You know, I suppose, what you've got to do in the morning? Let them as likes to go, go: you can't. Here's the brewer, here, coming here at four!"

"I know it, my dear—I know it," said Legge.

"Very well, then; what do you want to go out for?"

"I don't want to go, my dear. Still, if I were quite sure of catching this fellow, I should feel myself bound to go out with the rest."

"I only just wish I had him here," cried Mrs. Legge, energetically; "I'd teach the villain, I'll warrant!"

​
The man that's seen the ghost?

​"You had better, I think, go to bed, my dear," said Legge, who perceived that his spouse was excited—"you had better go to bed: I shall be with you shortly."

"I shall not go till you go," replied Mrs. Legge; "and I think it's time for all married men to be at home."

"Let us have some more brandy-and-water," said Quocks, who invariably, when he received a hint of that description, stopped an hour longer, at least. "Suppose," he added, "we have glasses round?"

"What do you want any more for?" inquired Mrs. Legge.

"Oh, we must have another glass apiece."

"I sha'n't draw any more. Legge may do as he likes; but, if I was him, not another drop should be drank in this house to-night, if I knew it."

"Now then, Legge! Come, where's this glass? Now, gentlemen, give your orders."

"I must go," said Pokey.

"Nonsense, man. What, go alone? The ghost is safe to chaw you up. Wait till I go, and then you'll be safe. Come, order another glass like a man."

Pokey, who didn't like to go alone, ordered another glass; and so did Obadiah, and so did Bobber, and so did Quocks; and Legge attended to their orders, while Mrs. Legge intimated plainly that she thought him a fool.

Legge, however, took no notice of this. He was used to it. There was, therefore, no novelty whatever about it. He replenished their glasses, and took their money, and then philosophically filled another pipe.

He had, however, no sooner done so, than they again heard a knocking at the door: not the same description of knocking—no, but a knocking which clearly intimated that he who knocked really meant it.

"Shall I go?" said Legge, doubtfully.

"Certainly not," cried Mrs. Legge. "No."

"Oh, go," said Obadiah. "Only don't let him in."

"Why not?" demanded Pokey. "You say if he's a ghost he can get in without you; and if he isn't, you should very much like to catch him: why, then, should he not be let in?"

"Who's there?" cried Legge, on approaching the door.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, let me in—oh, pray let me in!" replied the man who had knocked.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a traveller—a poor traveller. But pray let me in."

"Oh, let him in," said Quocks. "If he means any nonsense, we are more than a match for him. Let him in, Legge."

"I'll not have him here," cried Mrs. Legge. "Keep the door closed: I'll not have him here."

But before the last words had been uttered, the door was opened, and in rushed a poor man, with cheeks blanched with terror, exclaiming―

"A ghost—a ghost!"

​"What do you mean?" demanded Legge. "Come into this room. Now, then, what do you mean by a ghost?"

"Pray give me some water," said the poor man, faintly. "Please give me some water."

"Here, take some of this," said Pokey, offering his glass; "it'll do you a little more good."

The poor man drank from Pokey's glass, and appeared to approve of the flavour of its contents.

"Now, then," said Legge, "what was it that alarmed you?"

"A ghost," replied the traveller. "I never saw one before in all my life."

"Are you sure it was a ghost?" inquired Pokey.

"Quite," replied the traveller—"oh, quite sure."

"You don't think it was a man dressed up like a ghost?"

"If it was, he ought to be shot. But I can't think it was: no, I don't think that that was any man."

"Nor do I," observed Pokey.

"What, have you seen him then?"

"Yes; I saw him about half-an-hour ago: we all saw him. He had an umbrella then. Had he one when you saw him?"

"No, he'd no umbrella. But it struck me—though, of course, it couldn't be—but it struck me that he had a cigar in his mouth smoking."

"Then it is a man!" cried Legge. "Whereabouts did you see him?"

"Just down the road, there. He's not a hundred yards from us now."

"Then as true as I'm alive," said Legge, "if any one will go with me, I'll see what he's made of!"

"Indeed," said Mrs. Legge, "you'll do nothing of the sort."

"Will you go, Drant?"

"I don't think it worth while," replied Obadiah. "Not that I'm a mite afraid—only I don't exactly think it worth while."

"Well, will you go, Pokey?"

"I tell you I don't think it is a man at all. If I did, I'd go at once, but I don't."

"That's no man," observed the traveller.

"Not a bit of it!" cried Pokey. "If I thought it was I'd go in a moment."

"I'll go!" cried Quocks.

"Then come along," said Legge; "come along!" and, despite the remonstrances of Mrs. Legge, they started.

On reaching the road, they looked cautiously round. Legge was armed with a thick stick, and Quocks with a poker; and, doubtless, had they seen any ghost at that moment, they would have attacked him; but they didn't: they walked down the road, and all was still; but just as they came within sight of the cottage, they saw the same figure glide slowly towards the door, and apparently vanish through one of the panels.

"No man could do that," observed Quocks, "that's quite clear."

"Strange," said Legge, mysteriously; "very strange, indeed."

​"Shall we go up to the gate?"

"I'll go to the door, and knock them up, if you like!"

"Well, but let's first go up to the gate, and have a look."

Legge consented at once; and they went to the gate, and looked anxiously round, but saw no "ghost." The door was closed, and all was still: there was, indeed, a light in Aunt Eleanor's room; but that they both knew to be usually there.

Aunt Eleanor, however, was restless that night: the duel and the action both preyed upon her mind; and, therefore, when she heard Legge and Quocks talking at the gate, she came to the window and looked.

"What's that!" exclaimed Quocks, as he saw the blind move.

"That's Mrs. Sound," returned Legge. "Stop a bit. Perhaps she'll open the window."

She did do so; and having cried "Who's there?" Legge answered; and she knew his voice at once.

"Is there anything the matter, Mr. Legge?" she inquired.

"Why, ma'am," replied Legge; "they say it's a ghost."

"Good heavens! What again! Did you see it?"

"Why, ma'am, I saw something very much like one; and if it be, it has just now entered your cottage."

"Heaven preserve us!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor.

"You shouldn't have told her that Legge—" said Quocks.

"I don't wish to alarm you, ma'am," cried Legge. "My only object is to render every possible assistance, if any assistance be required."

"You are very kind—very kind. Will you wait a moment?"

"Certainly, ma'am, with all the pleasure in life."

Aunt Eleanor then rang the bell, and continued to ring until Mary appeared.

"Mary," she cried, "tell Judkins to get up this moment."

"Anything the matter, ma'am?"

"Tell him to go down and speak to Mr. Legge."

Mary conveyed the message to Judkins, who was up in a moment, and lost no time in running down to the door.

"What's the row?" he inquired; "what is it?"

"Have you heard any noise?" cried Legge.

"Noise! no. What noise do you mean?"

"We thought that you might perhaps have heard some noise."

"Open the gate, Judkins: I wish to speak to Mr. Legge," said Aunt Eleanor, as she descended.

Judkins opened the gate, and Legge and his friend Quocks went to the door, and explained to Aunt Eleanor all they had seen, and thereby inspired her with feelings of apprehension.

She then searched the cottage, but found nothing at all calculated to create the slightest alarm, and eventually knocked at Sylvester's door, and awoke him.

"Have you been at all disturbed, my dear?" she inquired.

"No, aunt! no!" he replied.

"I am happy to hear it. I thought that you might have been. Good night, my dear: God bless you: good night."

​"Well, Mr. Legge," she added, on her return, "I find everything in the house as it should be; but I, nevertheless, highly appreciate your kindness. We must trust in Providence. Heaven I hope will protect us all."

Legge and his friend then left the cottage with many expressions of deep respect, and with feelings over which they had no controul, returned to the Crumpet and Crown.

"Sold again!" cried Obadiah, as they entered; "a dead sell, of course?"

"Not exactly," replied Legge; "no, not exactly."

"Did you see it, then?"

"Yes."

"And was it a ghost?"

"That I must leave. My impression is, that it was."

"I never," said Quocks, "in all my days, saw anything go through a panel so clean."

"Through a panel! What panel?"

"The panel of Mrs. Sound's door."

"It went clean through?"

"As clean as a whistle!"

"It's a ghost, then! Safe to be a ghost! Just exactly what I said. Didn't I say so? What's a door to a ghost? Why, no more than Bobby Peel is to Johnny Russell. You may bolt and bar your doors till you can't see out of your eyes! What do you think a real ghost cares about that? If it wants to come in, it will come in, and no mistake about it! A ghost cares no more for a door, my boys, than the Egyptians cared for the Turks, when they welted the Chinamen hollow with a single jaw-bone of an ass. I tell you now, as I told you before, a door is no more to a ghost, than Boney was to Nosey; not a mite."

"But did you see it really, though?" said Pokey. "Upon your soul, now, did you see it go into the cottage?"

"As true as I'm alive," replied Quocks; "I saw it go in, as plain as I see you now."

"It's a ghost," said the traveller; "as sure as you're born."

"I haven't half a doubt about it," cried Pokey; "I knew in a moment that it was, by the manner of it."

"Well," said Legge, who now wished them to go; "it certainly is a most mysterious piece of business, but I suppose we shall see no more of it to-night. Therefore, when you're ready, gentlemen—don't let me hurry you—but when you're ready, I'll close the house."

"I'm ready," said Pokey, who thought of his wife; "quite ready. But let us go together, you know: let us go together!"

"With all my heart," cried Obadiah. "As far as ghosts are concernel, I'm no more afraid of ghosts than Peter the Great was of Dickey the Third, still I think it will be as well for us all to go together."

And the rest thought so too; and they rose simultaneously and left the house, with the understanding that they were to meet with the view of discussing the matter in the morning.