The Ghost World

A curious story is told by John Darley, Carthusian monk, who relates that, as he was attending upon the death bed of Father Raby, in 1534, he said to the expiring man, ‘Good Father Raby, if the dead can visit the living, I beseech you to pay a visit to me by-and-by;’ and Raby answered, ‘Yes;’ immediately after which he drew his last breath. But on the same afternoon, about five o’clock, as Darley was meditating in his cell, the departed man suddenly appeared to him in a monk’s habit, and said to him, ‘Why do you not follow our father?’ And I replied, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘Because he is a martyr in heaven next to the angels.’ Then I said, ‘Where are all our fathers who did like to him?’ He answered and said, ‘They are all pretty well, but not so well as he is.’ And then I asked him how he was, and he said ‘Pretty well.’ And I said, ‘Father, shall I pray for you?’ To which he replied, ‘I am as well as need be, but prayer is at all times good,’ and with these words he vanished.223

There is the well-known Beresford ghost tale, about which so many accounts have been given. It appears that Lord Tyrone and Miss Blank were orphans, educated in the same house ‘in the principles of Deism.’ When they were about fourteen years old their preceptor died, and their new guardian tried to persuade them to embrace revealed religion. The boy and girl stuck to Deism. But they made a compact, that he or she who died first should appear to the survivor, ‘to declare what religion was most approved by the Supreme Being.’ Miss Blank married St. Martin Beresford, and one day she appeared at breakfast with a pale face, and a black band round her wrist. On her death-bed she explained how the ghost of Lord Tyrone had appeared to her at the hour of his death, and had correctly prophesied her future: ‘He struck my wrist; his hand was as cold as marble; in a moment the sinews shrank up, every nerve withered… I bound a piece of black ribbon round my wrist.’ The black ribbon was formerly in the possession of Lady Betty Cobb, who, during her long life, was ever ready to attest the truth of this narration, as are, to the present hour, the whole of the Tyrone and Beresford families.224

As Mr. Andrew Lang points out in the ‘Nineteenth Century,’225 Lord Tyrone merely did what many ghosts had done before in the matter of touching Lady Beresford’s wrist. Thus, as he says, according to Henry More, ‘one’ (bogie) ‘took a relation of Melanchthon’s by the hand, and so scorched her that she bore the mark of it to her dying day.’ Before Melanchthon the anecdote was improved by Eudes de Shirton, in a sermon, who tells how a certain clerk, Serlon, made with a friend the covenant which Miss Blank made with Lord Tyrone. The friend died, and appeared to Serlon ‘in a parchment cloak, covered with the finest writing in the world.’ Being asked how he fared, he said that this cloak, a punishment for his love of logic, weighed heavier than lead, and scorched like the shirt of Nessus. Then he held out his hand, and let fall a drop which burned Serlon to the bone —

And evermore that master woreA covering on his wrist.

Before Eudes de Shirton, William of Malmesbury knew this anecdote. His characters are two clerks, an Epicurean and a Platonist, who made the usual compact that the first to die should appear to the survivor, and state whether Plato’s ideas, or Epicurus in his atoms, were the correct reply to the conundrum of the universe. The visit was to be paid within thirty days of the death. One of the philosophical pair was killed, and appeared to the other, but after the time arranged, explaining that he had been unable to keep his appointment earlier, and, stretching out his hand, let fall three burning drops of blood, which branded the brow of the psychical inquirer.

Mrs. Grant, in her ‘Superstitions of the Highlands,’ tells how a widow, returning home through a wood at dusk, was met by her husband’s ghost, ‘who led her carefully along a difficult bridge, but left a blue mark on her wrist which the neighbours had opportunities of seeing during the week; she survived the adventure.’ A similar circumstance is related by Richard Baxter,226 in connection with a lady, soon after the Restoration, when Parliament was passing Acts which pressed sore on the dissenters. While praying for the deliverance of the faithful from the evils which threatened them, ‘it was suddenly given her, that there should be a speedy deliverance, even in a very short time. She desired to know which way, and it being set strongly on her as a revelation, she prayed earnestly that if this were a true divine impulse and revelation, God would certify her by some sign, and she ventured to choose the sign herself, and laid her hand on the outside of the upper part of her leg, begging of God, that if it were a true answer, He would make on that place some visible mark. There was presently the mark of black spots, like as if a hand had burnt it, which her sister witnessed, there being no such sign before.’

In Scott’s well-known ballad, the phantom knight impresses an indelible mark on the lady who has been his paramour, and in the Tartan stories, written by a Frenchman, a ghost appears to Prince Faruk in a dream, and touches him on the arm. The Prince finds the mark of the burn when he awakes.227 There are numerous stories of this kind scattered here and there in the traditionary lore of this and other countries, and such indelible marks, left by ghosts of their visits, have been held as a mysterious proof of their materialistic power.

A correspondent of ‘Notes and Queries’ (2nd S. v. 343) vouches for the authenticity of the following ‘incontrovertible facts,’ which, he says, ‘occurred to a friend of my own, and to the companion of his early youth, who, having obtained a cadetship, went to India.’ The story runs thus. ‘The former was towards evening driving across a long barren heath. Suddenly, by his side in the vehicle, was seen the figure of his playmate. Happening to turn his head from him to the horse, and on looking again, the apparition had vanished. Remembering the conversation that they had held together at parting, he doubted not but that his friend was at that moment dead, and that in his appearing to him, he was come in the fulfilment of their mutual promise, in order to remove all pre-existing doubts as to the possibility of a denizen of a higher sphere appearing to its friend on earth. By the next Indian Mail was received intelligence of his death, showing the exact coincidence as to the time of the two events.’

In the biography of William Smellie is the history of a compact he made with his friend William Greenlaw, whereby it was mutually agreed that whoever died first should return and give the other an account of his condition after death. Shortly after the anniversary of his death, the ghost of Greenlaw is reported to have appeared to Smellie, and in a solemn tone informed him ‘that he had experienced great difficulties in procuring permission to return to this earth, according to their agreement; that he was now in a much better world than the one he had left,’ but added ‘that the hopes and wishes of its inhabitants were by no means satisfied, as, like those of the lower world, they still looked forward in the hope of eventually reaching a still happier state of existence.’ Another case of a similar kind is that of the appearance of the Rev. Theodore Alois Buckley, formerly one of the chaplains of Christ Church, Oxford, to his friend Mr. Kenneth Mackenzie. The story, as narrated in Newton Crosland’s ‘Theory of Apparitions,’ is, that about the year 1850 the two friends, when at Oxford, entered into a compact of the kind already described, the signal of appearance arranged between them being the laying of a ghostly hand on the forehead of the surviving friend. On January 30, 1856, Mr. Buckley died, and on February 2, it is said, kept the agreement, for as Mr. Mackenzie ‘was lying in bed, watching the candle expiring, he felt placed over one eye and his forehead a cool, damp hand, and on looking up saw Buckley in his ordinary apparel, with his portfolio under his arm standing by his bedside.’

The Duchess of Mazarin is said to have appeared to Madame de Beauclair, in accordance with a solemn compact made in life, that whoever died first should return, if it were possible, and inform the other of the existence of the future state. But it was some years after her death that the Duchess kept her promise, and when she did, it was to make this announcement: ‘Beauclair, between the hours of twelve and one this night you will be with me.’ The non-appearance of her friend’s spirit for so long had caused Madame de Beauclair to doubt the non-existence of a future life.228

But in some cases such compacts have not been kept. Dr. Chance tells us in ‘Notes and Queries’ (6th S. ii. 501) that in 1846-1847, as a young man, he made such a compact, but when his friend died in 1878 he did not appear, neither has he ever done so. To quote Dr. Chance’s words: ‘It is true my friend died about noon, and that I knew of his death the same evening, so that if he had appeared to me I should have learnt nothing new, whilst in most, if not all, of the recorded cases the apparition has been the first to convey the intelligence of the death. But this did not exonerate my friend from his promise; and if he did not keep it, I must take it that he could not come, for nothing but inability would have kept me from fulfilling my share of the compact if I had been called upon to do so.’

In Mather’s ‘Remarkable Providences’ the failure of a spirit to keep a promise of appearing after its separation from the body is referred to, the author being of opinion that there is great hazard attending such covenants. To quote his words: ‘It may be after men have made such agreements, devils may appear to them pretending to be their deceased friends, and thereby their souls may be drawn in woful snares. Who knoweth whether God will permit the persons, who have thus confederated, to appear in the world again after their death? And if not, then the survivor will be under great temptation unto Atheism, as it fell out with the late Earl of Rochester, who (as is reported in his life by Dr. Burnet) did in the year 1665 enter into a formal engagement with another gentleman, not without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them died, he should appear, and give the other notice of the future state if there were any. After this the other gentleman was killed, but did never appear after his death to the Earl of Rochester, which was a great snare to him during the rest of his life. Though, when God awakened the Earl’s conscience upon his death-bed, he could not but acknowledge that one who had so corrupted the natural principles of truth as he had done, had no reason to expect that such an extraordinary thing should be done for his conviction. Or if such agreement should necessitate an apparition, how would the world be confounded with spectres; how many would probably be scared out of their wits; or what curious questions would vain men be proposing about things which are (and it is meet they should be) hid from mortals?’

CHAPTER XIX

MINERS’ GHOSTS

Mines have long been supposed to be haunted, a fact which is no cause of wonderment, considering the many unearthly sounds – such as ‘the dripping of water down the shafts, the tunnelling of distant passages, the rumbling of trains from some freshly-exploded lode’ – constantly to be heard there. In early times it was thought that all mines of gold, &c. were guarded by evil spirits, a belief to which Falstaff alludes in 2 Henry IV. (Act iv. sc. 3), where he speaks of ‘learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil.’ The Peruvian Indians affirm that the treasures in emerald mines are guarded by evil spirits, and Stevenson, speaking of the emerald mine in the neighbourhood of Los Esmeraldos, writes: ‘I never visited it, owing to the superstitious dread of the natives, who assured me it was enchanted, and guarded by a dragon, which poured forth thunder and lightning on those who dared to ascend the river.’ The spirits that haunt mines are considered to be unfriendly, because, as an old writer quoted by Reginald Scot remarks, ‘they do exceedingly envy every man’s benefit in the discovery of hidden treasure, ever haunting such places where money is concealed, and diffusing malevolent and poisonous influences to blast the lives and limbs of those that dare attempt the discovery thereof.’ And ‘modern authors,’ adds Fuller, ‘avouch that malignant spirits haunt the places where precious metals are found, as if the devil did there sit abrood to hatch them, cunningly pretending an unwillingness to part with them; whereas, indeed, he gains more by one mine minted out into money than by a thousand concealed in the earth.’

It is supposed by the people who live in the neighbourhood of Largo Law, in Fife, that there is a very rich mine of gold under and near the mountain, which has never yet been properly searched for. So convinced are they that this is so, that, whenever they see the wool of a sheep’s side tinged with yellow, they think it has acquired that colour from having lain above the gold of the mine. Many years ago a ghost made its appearance upon the spot, supposed to be acquainted with the secret of the mine, but, as it required to be spoken to before it would condescend to speak, the question arose as to who should accost it. At length a shepherd volunteered to ask the ghost the cause of its haunting this locality, and to his surprise it proved very affable, promising to appear on a particular night at eight o’clock, when, said the spirit,

If Auchindownie cock disna craw,And Balmain horn disna blaw,I’ll tell ye where the gowd mine is in Largo Law.

True to its promise, the ghost came ready to divulge the secret, when Tammie Norrie, the cowherd of Balmain, either through obstinacy or forgetfulness, ‘blew a blast both loud and dread,’ at which the ghost vanished, after exclaiming —

Woe to the man that blew the hornFor out of the spot he shall ne’er be borne.

The unfortunate horn-blower was struck dead on the spot, and as it was found impossible to remove his body, which seemed, as it were, pinned to the earth, a cairn of stones was raised over it, known still as Norrie’s Law, and which is regarded as uncanny by the peasantry.229

Again, frequent accidents in mines were thought to be a proof of the potency ‘of the metallic spirits, which so tormented the workmen in German mines, and in those of other countries, by blindness, giddiness, and sudden sickness, that they were obliged frequently to abandon mines well known to be rich in metals.’230

Strange noises are oftentimes a puzzle to the miner, and suggest a supernatural agency. In the mine at Wheal Vor, where there appears to have been a general belief in ‘tokens’ and supernatural appearances, a man one morning, on being relieved from his turn as watcher, reported that during the night he had heard a sound like the emptying of a cartload of rubbish in front of the account house where he was staying. On going out nothing was to be seen. The man, considering the strange sound as a warning, pined away and died within a few weeks.

The Cornish miner too has long been a firm believer in the existence of a mysterious being known as the ‘Knocker.’ The late Charles Kingsley, in his ‘Yeast,’ asks, ‘Who are the knockers?’ To which question Tregarra answers: ‘They are the ghosts, the miners hold, of the old Jews that crucified Our Lord, and were sent for slaves by the Roman Emperors to work the mines… We used to break into the old shafts and adits which they had made, and find fine old stag’s horn pickaxes, that crumbled to pieces when we brought them to grass. And they say that if a man will listen on a still night about these shafts, he may hear the ghosts of them at work, knocking and picking, as clear as if there was a man at work in the next level.’ In some districts the knockers are designated ‘the buccas,’ and, generally speaking, they work upon productive lodes only. An interesting illustration of these strange beings is given in Carne’s ‘Tales of the West,’ wherein we read how ‘the rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night, often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after the labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them.’

In Wales, when a mysterious thumping, not produced by any human being, is heard, and when, in examining the spot from whence the sound proceeded, indications of ore oftentimes are detected, the sturdiest incredulity is shaken.231 In such cases, ‘science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals.’ Furthermore, as the late Mr. Wirt Sikes rightly suggests, ‘in the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth, it was natural that his awe-struck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which killed him and his companions upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine-fiend.’ Hence, too, originated the superstition of basilisks in mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze.232

In the ‘Colliery Guardian’ for May 13, 1863, many strange superstitions are described, in which it is stated that the pitmen in the Midland Counties have or had a belief unknown to the north, in aerial whistlings warning them against the pit. Who or what the invisible musicians were, nobody pretended to know, but they generally consisted of seven, as the ‘Seven Whistlers’ is the name they bear to this day.233 An instance of this superstition is given in the ‘Times’ of September 21, 1874. Owing to certain nocturnal sounds, a large number of the men employed at some of the Bedworth collieries in North Warwickshire refused to descend the coal-pits in which they were employed. During Sunday it was stated that these sounds had been distinctly heard in the neighbourhood of Bedworth, and the result was that on the following morning, when labour should have been resumed, the men pointedly refused to work.

The Northern mines were supposed to be haunted by two goblins. One was a spiteful elf, who indicated his presence only by the mischief he perpetrated. He rejoiced in the name of ‘Cutty Soams,’ and appears ‘to have amused himself by severing the rope-traces or soams, by which an assistant putter, honoured by the title of “the fool,” is yoked to the tub. The strands of hemp, which were left all sound in the board at “kenner-time,” were found next morning severed in twain. “‘Cutty Soams’ has been at work,” would the fool and his driver say, dolefully knotting the cord.’ The other goblin was no other than a ghostly putter, and his name was ‘Bluecap.’ Sometimes the miners would perceive a light blue flame flicker through the air, and settle on a full coal-tub, which immediately moved towards the rolley way, as though impelled by the sturdiest sinews in the working. Industrious Bluecap was at his vocation, but he required to be paid for his services; therefore, once a fortnight, his wages were left for him in a solitary corner of the mine. If they were a farthing below his due, the indignant Bluecap would not pocket a stiver; if they were a farthing above his due, Bluecap left the surplus where he found it. A hewer was asked if Bluecap’s wages were nowadays to be left for him, whether they would be appropriated. The man shrewdly answered he thought they would be taken by Bluecap, or somebody else.

But as most mines are productive, more or less, of the same weird echoes, we find similar stories current in different localities of strange hammerings and knockings. A story is told in North Ayrshire of a miner who, day by day, heard the sounds of a pick on the other side of the coal into which he was digging, which so terrified him, that at last he sought the help of a minister to protect him ‘from the machinations of the devil.’ The good man having asked him how many ‘holings’ – the depth of coal displaced by one blasting – there were before the wall between him and the evil spirit could be broken through, sent him back to work until there was only one ‘holing’ between them. Then he was to take a piece of bread, and crumble it all down in a train to the mouth of the pit, and again resuming his pick, to strike through the dividing coal. The moment this was done, he was to cry ‘The hole’s mine!’ and make for the mouth of the pit as fast as he could. These directions the miner carefully followed, but he had a narrow escape, for he had no sooner reached his place of safety than the walls of the pit came close together with a thundering crash.

Another story, recorded in ‘Communications with the Unseen World,’ tells how, for many years, the overseer of a mine at Whitehaven was a Cumberland man, but being found guilty of some unfair proceedings, he was dismissed by the proprietors from his post, though employed in an inferior one. The new overseer was a Northumberland man, to whom the degraded overseer bore the strongest hatred, and was heard to say that some day he would be his ruin. One day they were both destroyed by fire-damp, and it was believed in the mine that, preferring revenge to life, the ex-overseer had taken his successor, less acquainted than himself with the localities of the mine, into a place where he knew the fire-damp to exist, without a safety lamp, and had thus contrived his destruction. But, ever after, in the place where the two men perished, their voices might be heard high in dispute, the Northumbrian burr being distinctly audible, and also the well-known pronunciation of the treacherous murderer.

The mysterious apparition of a woman who committed suicide was supposed to haunt Polbreen Mine, Cornwall, locally known as ‘Dorcas.’ She appeared to take a malicious delight in tormenting the miner when at work, calling him by his name, and enticing him from his duties. This was carried on by her to such an extent that when ‘a tributer’ had made a poor month, he was commonly asked if he had ‘been chasing Dorcas.’ On one occasion only, Dorcas is said to have acted kindly. It is stated234 that two miners, who may be styled Martin and Jacky, were at work in their end, and at the time busily engaged ‘beating the borer.’ The name of Jack was distinctly uttered between the blows. He stopped and listened – all was still. They proceeded with their task, a blow on the iron rod – ‘Jacky!’ Another blow – ‘Jacky!’ They pause – all is silent. ‘Well, thee wert called, Jacky,’ said Martin, ‘go and see.’ Jacky, however, disregarded the sound, work was resumed, and ‘Jacky! Jacky! Jacky!’ was called more vehemently and distinctly than before. Jacky threw down his hammer, resolved to satisfy himself as to the person who was calling him. But he had not proceeded many yards from the spot on which he had been standing at work, when a mass of rock fell from the roof of the level weighing many tons, which would have crushed him to death. Martin had been stooping, holding the borer, and a projecting corner of rock just above him turned off the falling mass. He was securely enclosed, but he was extricated without injury. Jack declared to his dying day that he owed his life to Dorcas.

A similar experience is recorded by Mr. John Lean in the ‘West Briton,’ who relates how, when he was underground hundreds of fathoms distant from any other human being at Wheal Jewell, a mine in the parish of Gwennap, ‘as he was walking slowly and silently through the level, his thoughts, as it were, absorbed, examining the rich course of copper ore in the roof or back, he was aroused as though by an audible voice, “You are in the winze!” He at once threw himself flat on his back in the bottom of the level, and on shifting from this posture to that of a sitting one, he discovered that his heels were on the verge of the end of a winze, left exposed and open, embracing all the width of the gunnis, communicating with the next level, ten fathoms below. At the moment he received this singular warning, his foot was lifted for the next step over the mouth of this abyss, a step to eternity, had it not thus been prevented.’

On the Continent, similar tales of phantoms haunting mines are current. In the mines about Clausthal and Andreasberg a spectre was formerly seen who went by the name of the ‘Bergmönch.’ He was clad as a monk, but was of gigantic stature, and always carried in his hand a large tallow candle, which never went out. When the miners entered in the morning, he would stand at the aperture with his light, letting them pass under it. It appears that the Bergmönch was formerly a burgomaster or director, who took such delight in mining that, when at the point of death, he prayed that instead of resting in heaven, he might wander about till the last day, over hill and dale, in pits and shafts, and superintend the mining. To those towards whom he is well disposed he renders many a kind service, and appears to them in a human form and of ordinary stature; while to others he appears in his true form. His eyes sprout forth flames, and are like coach-wheels; his legs are like spiders’ webs.235 Associated, too, with the German miners’ superstitious fancies is the belief in the ‘Cobal,’ or ‘Kobold,’ a supernatural being who is generally malicious, and rarely heard but when mischief is near. But still more to be feared were the ‘Knauff-kriegen,’ of whom Professor Ramazzini of Padua thus writes: