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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
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How oft has the banshee cried!
How oft has death untied
Bright links that glory wove,
Sweet bonds entwined by love!
— Thomas Moore
ONE dull December evening, arriving in London from Portsmouth, I took the shortest way towards the West-End, in which quarter of the town an aunt and sister of mine resided. I intended spending Christmas with them at the house of a friend in Lincolnshire, which I generally did when I happened to be in England at this time; so that I hoped not only to have the pleasure of seeing them shortly, but also that of their company down. As I passed through the different streets on my route, I noted the various preparations for the approaching Christmas; but they failed to awaken in me those pleasurable sensations which they usually arouse: in their stead was a sickening presentiment of coming evil, though in what form or from what quarter it would come I felt alike ignorant.
It is said that coming events cast their shadows before, and I knew that a shadow was upon me then, as dark and drear as the sky above me, and do what I would I could not shake it off.
This presentiment will not appear so unreasonable when I explain a little, to do which it will be necessary to mention a few particulars respecting myself and family.
I was the youngest son of an Irish family formerly living in the north-west of Ireland. There were five of us, all speaking brogues as thick as the fog that lost mother Maloney in the bog.
When Norah and I were still very young, my three brothers went abroad one after another, consequently we were the only children left to my father to make anything like a home for him.
Our mother had been dead some time, and the care of us had devolved upon an old woman who had been in the family for years, and who was as fond of us as if we had been her own.
It is well known that the peasantry of the west of Ireland retain more of the customs and superstitions of the early Irish than that of the other portions of the island; this may result from their having had less intercourse with their English neighbours.
It was among these people and still wilder surroundings that our childhood was passed, listening to and becoming familiar with the wild legends current among them, which we believed in as firmly as we did the earth we trod, or the air we breathed.
But it was from our old nurse that we first heard of the "good people," as the fairies are called in Ireland; and in the long winter evenings, when the snow lay thick outside, Norah and I would sit in the glow of the turf-fire while she told us weird stories of the Pookah and the Banshee, till we fancied we heard the mournful cry of the last, mingling with the moaning of the wind as it swept over the bleak hills that lay in the rear of our house.
The belief in the Banshee is now so generally known that I presume any explanations I might offer here with regard to it would only prove unnecessary. The first time I ever heard it was late one dreary winter's night. I was waiting for my father, who had been away since early morning. As I sat listening intently, imagining often I distinguished his horse's hoofs coming over the frozen ground, my brain filled with strange fancies, and a vague fear benumbing my senses, the stillness, which had seemed to grow more awful each moment, was suddenly broken by the mournful cry—which once heard is never to be forgotten—the dreaded voice of the Banshee.
My father never came home that night; but he was discovered next morning at some little distance from the house quite dead; and his horse, which it is supposed had stumbled and thrown him, standing by him whinnying.
After this sad event our home of course was quite broken up. Norah went to live with a rich aunt in London, while, through the interest of some of my father's friends, a berth was obtained for me on board the Daphne. At the time my story opens I no longer sported the middy's short jacket, but was happy in the dignity conferred by a tailcoat and odd epaulette when worn in the Queen's service.
Remembering well my father's death and the strange warning that preceded it, my very blood was chilled when I heard the Banshee for the second time one dark night as we stood up the Channel.
What did the mystic voice portend? I only knew that as surely as the shadow proclaims the presence of an object from which it derives its being, so surely was it the forerunner of some evil; what, I could not know yet, though come I felt it must, and that all I could do would neither prevent nor defer it.
My mind given over to reflection of a most gloomy character, I arrived at my aunt's house, but only to learn from the housekeeper that Miss Norah and Miss O'Hara had gone down to Lincolnshire the week before, and that young Mr. Leyton had come up for the express purpose of escorting them thither. I bore my disappointment with as good a grace as possible; and as there was nothing for it but to wait till the morrow and take the early coach, I sat down in front of a fire which my coming had given life to, and read some letters which I found awaiting me, while tea was being prepared for me.
The letters were from my aunt and friend respectively, and were both to the effect that Fergus O'Hara—my respected self—would transport himself to Leyton Hall at the first possible opportunity; which I of course fully intended to do.
Harry Leyton and I were old and fast friends, though we saw each other rarely, and this friendship, which was no common one, his engagement to Norah tended to strengthen; and I did hope that in the future another tie might be added which would cement it still more closely.
I first made his acquaintance through my aunt, at whose house he used to be a frequent visitor. He was a handsome young fellow, had studied for the Bar, and was then making some little name.
I felt rather solitary partaking of my meal alone; the room which to another's eyes would have no doubt appeared cheerful enough seemed desolate to me, myself the only tenant, where I had expected to see Norah's pretty person and my dear old aunt. My meal over, I thought an early retreat to bed the best means of disposing of the remainder of a miserable evening, and of securing a good night's rest, as I should be forced to rise early to be in time for the coach.
I arrived at Leyton Hall early in the evening of the following day.
"Well, old fellow," said Harry, bursting into the apartment which I bad been shown into, and which was to be mine during my stay, "I'm glad you're come at last. Here," giving a look round, "let me take your traps into my room till that fire looks a little brighter;" and suiting the action to the word he seized upon as many articles as he could conveniently transport there, in spite of my remonstrances.
I was not long in making my toilette, when we went to the drawing-room together. The scene which met my eyes was indeed a happy one, and well worthy of the season which had occasioned it, and speedily banished the dark fears which had oppressed me during the past few days.
The guests were as numerous as they appeared happy. Norah and my aunt were delighted to see me, and Sir Henry and Lady Leyton gave me as warm a welcome as I could have desired. All this time there was a young lady, with red flowers in her hair, who was unaware, or pretended to be so, of my presence, till Harry apprising her of it, she rose from the piano, at which she had been playing, to greet me. The vivid blush that dyed her fair face at sight of me, and the pretty look o f surprise that accompanied it, made her appear more charming and bewitching than I had ever before seen her.
She resumed her seat at the instrument, and took up the verse of a ballad which my approach had interrupted. When it was finished I selected some old favourites of mine, and requested her to sing them, which she did; thus listening, and talking in the pauses of the songs, I passed one of the happiest hours it is ever permitted a mortal to enjoy.
The next morning at breakfast a ball was planned for the same evening; and as the time for the proper decoration of the large dining-hall in which it was principally to take place was rather short, all hands were pressed into the service.
There is no season like Christmas for making people sociable. All seemed to enter heart and soul into the spirit of the thing, and showed the greatest interest in what was going forward. Even the two Miss Mills, a couple of unusually crabbed spinsters, who rarely relaxed from their grim frigidity, became quite genial under its influence, much to the astonishment of everybody; which so affected a short, puffy old gentleman, a neighbour of theirs, who was nailing up holly hard by them, that he either made a joke or paid a compliment to the younger of the ladies in question. I am inclined to think it was the latter, for the elder Miss Mills seemed slightly resentful to her sister for some little time afterwards.
Well, at last, after a great deal of laughing and talking and directing, a great deal of hammering and noise, the immense piles of green which the servants had been constantly bringing in were transferred from the floor to the dark panelled walls, where the pictures looked out from their annual frames of scarlet and green. There was not an available spot where holly could be put that we did not put it— swords were wreathed with it, helmets were crowned with it; and the fire, blazing and crackling on the hearth, glinted on the ancient breast-plates and head-pieces through the friendly branches of the holly and mistletoe.
When I entered the ballroom in the evening, it really presented a most pleasing and splendid appearance, and we were w ell repaid for the labours of the morning. The wax tapers, which were plentifully distributed throughout the apartment, shed a brilliant though soft light over the happy scene. The gaiety around me was so contagious that I grew infected with it, and, casting care and dark thoughts to the winds, I entered on the pleasures of the evening with full determination to enjoy them. I had just ended a careful survey of the company, to discover if Harry's sister were yet present, when I espied her in the doorway, a vision of loveliness to remember. She was attired in a soft creamy-tinted material, with crimson flowers in her hair—the flowers in her hair were always red, the colour, I suppose, became her best.
From the centre of the oak ceiling a huge bough of mistletoe depended, which was the cause of much fun and amusement. No sooner did any unwary maiden wander beneath it than some cavalier, instantly taking advantage of the occasion thus offered, claimed the legal kiss, when would ensue struggles of resistance, either assumed or real, which called forth such shouts of laughter as made the old room ring again.
Alice I could have kissed several times, but I lacked both courage and inclination to do so. Alice's manner had been very cold towards me during the few minutes that I was allowed to enjoy her society; for directly the dancing commenced I saw little of her. I was no proficient in the Terpsichorean art myself.
I was the more surprised and gratified, then, when she came over to me and said, with a very sweet, smile, "Don't you dance, Fergus?"
"No," I replied, wishing with all my heart I could give a different answer—"or at least," I hastened to add, "very indifferently."
"Which means that you are afraid of being laughed at, did you make the attempt," she returned mischievously.
"Not at all; but though I do not object to making myself food for mirth on an especial occasion like the present, I should greatly regret having rendered a lady such."
"O, if that is your scruple lay it aside for once; and as I fear a laugh as little as you do, accept my guidance through the next quadrille. You must—every one is dancing to-night."
Though she laughed as she said this, the real kindness intended was unmistakable. What could I do but yield? So when the next dance was forming we rose; and with the knowledge I had unconsciously gained from watching others, and the whispered directions and signs she favoured me with, I acquitted myself very creditably.
Once during the evening I found myself quite alone with Alice, when I put a question to her which I had had it in my heart to ask so long; and the answer she made me gave me the right to kiss her without being under the mistletoe.
It was late when I reached my room that night; but feeling no desire to sleep I opened my window, and, leaning out, smoked a cigar.
The room I occupied was in the left wing of the house, its one window looking on to a broad terrace from which a handsome flight of steps led down to the beech avenue. The snow, which had fallen heavily all day, had nearly ceased; only a few stray feathery flakes slowly descended on the white carpet beneath, while in the air that strange stillness reigned which a snowstorm always produces. I stood watching the patches of light thrown from the windows along the terrace disappear one by one, till, my second cigar being finished, I went to bed. I had been to sleep about two hours, as far as I could judge, when I awoke suddenly with the conviction that some one had pronounced my name. I listened: all was silent. I spoke aloud: there was no answer; and by the imperfect light I could see that there was no one in the room.
I was just about to lay my head on the pillow again, persuading myself that I had been the victim of my own imagination, when close beside me arose a low wailing cry; it was so mournful, so weird, that I had not an instant's doubt as to its identity.
"The Banshee!" I cried, starting from the bed, all my old horror returned and intensified; but the words had scarcely left my lips ere a shadow passed the window. I sprang towards it, the sound dying away as I did so. At first I could see nothing unusual outside to attract my attention; but after a keen survey, I discerned a tall shadowy form moving in a direction opposite to the house. I put my hand over my eyes: was I mad or dreaming? I knew I was neither.
When I looked again it had reached the avenue, where, though farther off, I could distinguish it more clearly, the dark tree-trunks offering a better background than the snow. It continued to flit among the tree shadows for some time, when it seemed to vanish altogether.
My first impulse, though I did not act upon it, was to rush out into the air, and penetrate, if I could, the mystery that enshrouded me. I waited long in the hope that the spectre might return; but this hope I was forced to abandon, when the gray light of a winter's morning began to steal into my chamber; I seemed to have lost all conception of time. Then I threw myself on the bed dressed as I was, and, thoroughly exhausted, fell into a dreamless sleep.
It was late when I awoke. The day wore slowly, even tediously on, in my anxiety for the night to arrive; for then I had determined to wait on or near the spot where I had lost sight of the figure on the preceding night.
I spoke to no one of the dread forebodings I was a prey to, not even Norah; for she I knew held the same beliefs as myself, and I was unwilling to cause her any uneasiness; but I tried, though fruitlessly, to learn whether she had received any warning of the evils which I felt the future held for one or both of us.
It was the greatest possible relief to me when the daylight began to give out, and night to spread its dark curtain over the sky. The state of suspense I was in was unendurable; even Alice's dear voice, as she sang my favourite airs, seemed to have lost something of its charm—for the time at least—and her smile the magic power to cheer me. But I never left her so reluctantly, or with such a heavy heart, as when we parted for the night; for the long hours were before me in which, something whispered, I should be an actor in some terrible drama.
Once in my room, I sat over the fire till it boasted but a few dull embers, my brain busily engaged with the events of the past night. By my watch it wanted a quarter to one, when I arose, wrapped a boat-cloak round me, and taking a pistol which I had placed in readiness, and opening the window as quietly as possible, dropped out on to the terrace, where the snow lay so thick that my footsteps were rendered almost inaudible. I soon reached the spot which I intended making my post of observation, and, screening myself from view among the trees, I waited the issue of events. There was a moon, though not a bright one. The wind, which moaned in the distance, swept by in cold biting blasts, shaking the leafless branches overhead, and causing me to shudder involuntarily and draw my cloak close about me for warmth.
I remained in this position for some time, and had almost given up the idea of again seeing the phantom, when, on looking towards the hall, I became conscious of its dim form stealing along the terrace. With a terrible anxiety I watched its stealthy progress, trying to descry its features—if features it had—till the fixedness of my gaze made the space before me black, and forced me to rest my aching sight.
When I watched it again, it had passed all the windows on one side of the terrace, with the exception of one, which was mine; a second or two, and it had reached it; it stopped, and disappeared within.
The chill of horror which crept over me at this circumstance I could not describe; it seemed to numb my brain and deprive me of the power to act. But not for long. Soon the hot blood came surging through my veins, till I felt like one in a fever. I left my place of concealment, hurried along the avenue, up the steps, along the terrace, dreading yet longing for the moment that would reveal to me the unbidden occupant of my apartment, I found my window open, as I had left it; my first quick glance inside discovered nothing. With my pistol ready I was preparing to enter, when a sudden clutch was laid upon me—something confronted me, and I fired full at it. A low groan, horribly human, followed the report. I sprang into the window; beneath it, close against the wall, crouched or huddled an object. I stooped hastily to examine it, and saw what made me faint and sick with fear and remorse—Harry's face, white and still.
IT was New year's eve, when the oak dining-hall, and the guests assembled there, were looking their brightest and gayest, while Harry, with his arm still in a sling, was being made much of by the company in general, and Norah and myself in particular.
Some days had elapsed since I had mistaken poor Harry, in a fit of somnambulism, for a genuine ghost—when by a mad act I narrowly escaped depriving him of his life and myself of all future happiness. Why he had unconsciously taken the same course on the two successive occasions was fully explained by what he afterwards told me.
A certain Sir Eustace Leyton, an ancestor of Harry's, who owned the Hall in the time of the Parliamentary wars, being at one particular period forced to leave it somewhat scantily garrisoned, caused a great part of the household silver to be placed in a chest, and buried in a spot known only to himself and a select few. There were rumours afloat to the effect that this silver had remained buried ever since; which rumours, Harry, having the curious chance to come across an old document seeming to refer, though indefinitely, to the place where the treasure was deposited, had begun to give some little credence to, though they were generally accounted as among the many improbable stories connected with the old mansion.
It was just upon twelve when we threw open the window to hear the bells ring out the old year and usher in the new—the New Year that might have been so dark, yet which promised so much happiness for some of us. Standing by Alice, I looked out on the moonlight scene. Our window commanded the long double-line of beeches; and as I watched the weird shadows their branches cast on the frost-bound ground beneath as the wind swayed them, a certain night was brought so vividly to my mind that I could almost fancy the Banshee's warning voice still filling my ears.
I have lived many happy years since that time, and I have never once heard it. I can't help hoping that I never shall.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.