The Specter of the Castle by W. T. Lyndskill. Several years have
elapsed since I met the butler of Lostree Castle in the Highlanden. I had
just come up from the south of England for some golf and fresh air,
and was looking over my letters one morning at breakfast when I opened the following
missive Lostree Castle, Sir, yours to command, Sir, I have not
forgot our pleasant talk on that snowy night up in the far North, when
you were pleased to be interested in my experiences of Lostree? Could you very
kindly make me any day in time you choose to fix at Lucre's and oblige
your obedient servant Jeremiah anklebonne p s I have something to divulge you connected with
Saint Andrew's. It may absorb your mind. Accordingly, I fixed up arrangements
and met mister Anklebone at Lucre's, where we went to the nearest hostelry and
ordered the best lunch they had there. Jeremiah looked thinner, older, and
whiter than when I last saw him, doubtless owing to his frequent communing with
spirits. How is laws ry getting on? I meekly inquired, and one
of the ghosts. It is getting on fine, Sir, I have had
a number of new experiences since I had the pleasure of seeing you last.
He must understand, sir, that my family for generations have been favored with
the cult powers. My father was a great seer, and my great grandfather,
mister Concrickety Anklebone of the Isle of Sky, was a wonderful visionary.
Now Anklebone was an interesting old fellow, but he had a tiresome habit of
wandering away from his theme, and as it were, getting off the main
road into a labyrinth of bye ways, and one had metaphorically to push him
out of these sidelines and place him on his feet again in the main road.
Before I come to Saint Andrew's castle, he said, I must tell
you about a queer episode of an astral body at Logdury, at disentangled personality
as it were, push along, I said, and tell me well.
One afternoon after luncheon, the Master and I were in the dining hall when
we saw a gentleman crossing the lawn towards the castle. He was a tall
man in a riding dress, with curly hair and a large flowing mustache.
He came up to the window and looked in earnestly at us, and then
walked along the gravel walk round to the castle door. Hullo, said the
Master. That is my old friend Jack Herbert, to whom I have let
logsdury for this summer. What on earth can bring him here? I'll go
to the door myself and let him in. He never said he was coming.
In a minute or two, the Master came back, looking bewildered anklebone.
He said, that's a very queer thing. There's nobody there. Perhaps
I suggested the gentleman has gone round to the stables. We both hurried off
to Luke, but not a sign of anyone could be seen, and we
stared blankly at each other. We could not make it out. Two days
after the Master got a letter from mister Jack Herbert telling him he had had
a bad fall off his horse, had injured his spine, and was confined
to bed. Mister Herbert went on to say that two days before, while
he was asleep, he dreamt vividly that he was at Losdry, that he
crossed the lawn to the window of the dining hall, and looking in saw
my master and the butler. That's me in the room. He was going
round to the front door when he awoke. Now that was his astra body
that master and I saw. He lived lostry and durning sleep, he came
and paid us this visit, queer, isn't it ten days after he died.
He wanted to see the old castle before he died, and his force
of willpower brought his double self or astral body to visit us. It is
not so uncommon as people think. Numbers of people are seen in two places
at once, far apart. Look at Archbishop Sharp of Saint Andrew's. He
was in Edinburgh at Holyrood, I think, and sent his servant over post
haste to Saint Andrew's to bring back some papers he had forgotten There. When
his trusted servant went up to his study in the Novum Hospitium to get the
papers from the desk, lo there was the Archbishop sitting in his usual chair
and scowling at him. He told the Archbishop this when he returned with the
papers to Edinburgh, but his grace sternly bade him be silent and mention the
matter to no one on pain of death. Now, sir, it seems
that my master is able to see astral bodies, for he saw mister Jack
Herbert. But I doubt if he could see a real spirit. Perhaps,
Sir, suggested Uncle Bone politely, he might be able to see astral bodies.
Thank you very much, indeed, I replied, But I'm if I
want to see anything thing of this sort. But I have heard a tale
of an eminent man in London who took a nap in his arm chair every
afternoon, and while asleep appeared to his friends in different parts of the country.
But I doubt the fact very much, ah, said the butler,
very solemnly. Only about one in a thousand has the power of visualizing real
spirits. Many ordinary persons have long sight, and some have short sight,
but most people are short sighted. When ghosts are visible, the ghosts are
really there all the time. Some people cannot see them, but can feel
their presence or touch only. Most animals can see spirits. Sometimes they are
killed with tellor when they see the spirits. I pulled the bell robe and
ordered some spirits for the butler. I don't think that will kill you with
terror, I said. When it arrived, he looked grateful and remarked.
What talking was dry work, however interesting the subject might be. Now look
here to Aunclebone, I said, you know, I dare say the stories
about the cathedral, the haunted tower and all that. Please tell me what
your experiences have been there. Anclebone's whole appearance suddenly changed. He gripped my
arm violently, shivered and shuddered, and turned ghastly pale. I thought he
was going to have a fit. For pity's sake, Sir, he said,
trembling, Ask me nothing about that. There is something too terrible there.
But I dare not reveal what I know and have seemed to anyone.
Do not allude to her again, or it will drive me mad. He
lay back in his chair for a few moments, with his eyes closed and
shaking all over, but he gradually recovered his usual appearance. I wish to
tell you about the castle specter, he said weakly. I must confess that
I felt nonplussed and disappointed at the turn the conversation had taken. That's whatever
my private opinion was regarding the worthy Jeremiah's curious statements. Still, I felt
anxious to find out his expence dances at the cathedral particularly. However, I
swallowed my disappointment like a trojan and begged him to proceed. He gulped down
his spirits and informed me he felt better again, but it did not seem
quite himself. For some time while, sir, he said, I often
used to climb over the castle wall after dusk and smoke my pipe and meditate
on all the grand folk that must have been there in bygone days before the
smashup. I thought of lovely young Queen Mary of mary Hamilton and her other
Marys, of Lord Darnley, of the port Castellar, of Lord Arron,
and the Duke of Rothsty, and all the Stuart Kings that used to be
there. Then I thought of prior Hepburn and poor murdered Cardinal Beaton, and
of monks, knights and lovely wenches that used to frequent the old place.
I loved it, for I have read history a lot. One could not
help thinking of the feasting, revelry and pageants of those interesting old times,
and the grand services in the churches, and what fine dresses everybody wore.
I saw he was going bang off the subject again, and when he began
to tell me there were lots of ankle bones in Norman times about five share.
I had to pull him back with a jerk to his ghost at the
castle very well, Sir. I was in the castle one evening, and
I was sitting on the parapet of the old wall when I saw a head
appearing up the old broken steps on the east side of the castle that once
led down to the great dining hall. I knew no one could now come
up that way without a ladder from the sea beach. And when the figure
got to the level ground, it came right through the iron railing, just
as if no obstruction were there. I stared hard and watched the advancing figure.
It looked like a woman. I had heard of the Cardinal's ghost and
wondered if it could be his Eminence himself. Nearer and nearer it came,
and although it was a gusty evening, I noticed the flowing garments of the
approaching figure were quite still and unruffled by the wind. It was like a
moving statue. As it passed me slowly a few yards away, I saw
they were not the ropes of a cardinal, but those of an archbishop.
I am a churchman and know the garments quite well. I saw all his
vestments clearly, and I shall never forget the pale, ashen set face and
the thin, determined mouth. Then I noticed one very very strange thing.
The statuesque tall figure had a thick rope round the neck, and the end
of the rope was trailing along the grass behind it. But there was no
sound whatever. On it went and began to climb the stairs to the upper
apartments. I tried to follow, but could not move for a bit.
I felt as if I was mesmerized or paralyzed. I was all in a
cold sweat, too, and I was glad to get away from the castle
at last and hurry home. I haven't gone so fast for many years.
When I went next day to Losdry and made a clean breast of the whole
affair to Master. Would you know him again? He asked me, aye,
I replied, I would know that face and figure among a thousand.
Come to the study, said the Master, and I will show you some
pictures. We went, and I looked over a number of them. At
last I came to one that fairly transfixed me. There was no mistaking the
face before me was the picture of the specter I had seen the previous night,
in the ruined castle of Saint Andrew's. Well. Uncle Bowne said the
Master, this is really wonderful, and you actually saw the rope round the
neck? I did, I said, as I am a living man.
But who is it? It is not the Cardinal, No, said the
Master very gravely. This man was publicly hanged by his enemies on a gibbet
at the market cross of Stirling on April first, fifteen seventy one. But
who was he, I asked imploringly. The man or ghost you saw,
said Master was Archbishop on Hamilton of Saint Andrew's in his own castle grounds where
he once reigned Supreme. I said farewell to mister Unclebonne, and as I
thought over his extraordinary story journeying home in the train, I could not help
repeating over and over again to myself that very curious name that seemed to rhyme
with the motion of the train. Concrickety Aunclebonne. End of the Specter of
the Castle by W. T. Lyndskill