{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34263/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34263","id":"gutenberg_34263","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34263","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Ghosts","Spirits"],"text":"</pre>\n\nE-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by\nInternet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/banshee_00odon\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BANSHEE\n\nby\n\nELLIOT O'DONNELL\n\nAuthor of \"Haunted Places in England,\" \"The Irish Abroad,\"\n\"Twenty Years Experiences As a Ghost Hunter,\" Etc., Etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon and Edinburgh\nSands & Company\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.                                         PAGE\n\n     I. THE DEFINITION AND ORIGIN OF BANSHEES      9\n\n    II. SOME HISTORICAL BANSHEES                  20\n\n   III. THE MALEVOLENT BANSHEE                    35\n\n    IV. THE BANSHEE ABROAD                        51\n\n     V. CASES OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY                62\n\n    VI. DUAL AND TRIPLE BANSHEE HAUNTINGS         80\n\n   VII. A SIMILAR CASE FROM SPAIN                 98\n\n  VIII. THE BANSHEE ON THE BATTLE-FIELD          124\n\n    IX. THE BANSHEE AT SEA                       136\n\n     X. ALLEGED COUNTERPARTS OF THE BANSHEE      149\n\n    XI. THE BANSHEE IN POETRY AND PROSE          176\n\n   XII. THE BANSHEE IN SCOTLAND                  196\n\n  XIII. MY OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THE BANSHEE      232\n\n        ADDENDA                                  247\n\n\n\n\nTHE BANSHEE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE DEFINITION AND ORIGIN OF BANSHEES\n\n\nIn a country, such as Ireland, that is characterised by an arrestive and\nwildly beautiful scenery, it is not at all surprising to find something in\nthe nature of a ghost harmonising with the general atmosphere and\nsurroundings, and that something, apparently so natural to Ireland, is the\nBanshee.\n\nThe name Banshee seems to be a contraction of the Irish Bean Sidhe, which\nis interpreted by some writers on the subject \"A Woman of the Faire Race,\"\nwhilst by various other writers it is said to signify \"The Lady of Death,\"\n\"The Woman of Sorrow,\" \"The Spirit of the Air,\" and \"The Woman of the\nBarrow.\"\n\nIt is strictly a family ghost, and most authorities agree that it only\nhaunts families of very ancient Irish lineage. Mr McAnnaly, for instance,\nremarks (in the chapter on Banshees in his \"Irish Wonders\"): \"The Banshee\nattends only the old families, and though their descendants, through\nmisfortune, may be brought down from high estate to ranks of peasant\nfarmers, she never leaves nor forgets them till the last member has been\ngathered to his fathers in the churchyard.\"\n\nA writer in the _Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society_\n(Vol. V., No. 44, pp. 227-229) quotes an extract from a work entitled\n\"Kerry Records,\" in which the following passage, relating to an elegiac\npoem written by Pierse Ferriter on Maurice Fitzgerald, occurs: \"Aina, the\nBanshee who never wailed for any families who were not of Milesian blood,\nexcept the Geraldines, who became 'more Irish than the Irish themselves';\nand in a footnote (see p. 229) it is only 'blood' that can have a Banshee.\nBusiness men nowadays have something as good as 'blood'--they have 'brains\nand brass,' by which they can compete with and enter into the oldest\nfamilies in England and Ireland. Nothing, however, in an Irishman's\nestimation, can replace 'blue blood.'\"\n\nSir Walter Scott, too, emphasises this point, and is even more specific\nand arbitrary. He confines the Banshee to families of pure Milesian stock,\nand declares it is never to be found attached to the descendants of the\nmultitudinous English and Scotch settlers who have, from time to time,\nmigrated to Ireland; nor even to the descendants of the Norman adventurers\nwho accompanied Strongbow to the Green Isle in the twelfth century.\n\nLady Wilde[1] goes to the other extreme and allows considerable latitude.\nShe affirms that the Banshee attaches itself not only to certain families\nof historic lineage, but also to persons gifted with song and music. For\nmy own part I am inclined to adopt a middle course; I do not believe that\nthe Banshee would be deterred from haunting a family of historical fame\nand Milesian descent--such as the O'Neills or O'Donnells--simply because\nin that family was an occasional strain of Saxon or Norman blood, but, on\nthe other hand, I do not think the Banshee would ever haunt a family that\nwas not originally at least Celtic Irish--such, for instance, as the\nFitz-Williams or Fitz-Warrens--although in that family there might happen\nto be periodic infusions of Milesian blood.\n\nI disagree, _in toto_, with Lady Wilde's theory that, occasionally, the\nBanshee haunts a person who is extremely poetical and musical, simply\nbecause he happens to be thus talented. In my opinion, to be haunted by\nthe Banshee one must belong to an Irish family that is, at least, a\nthousand years old; were it not so, we should assuredly find the Banshee\nhaunting certain of the musical and poetical geniuses of every race all\nover the world--black and yellow, perhaps, no less than white--which\ncertainly is not the case.\n\nThe Banshee, however, as Mr McAnnaly says, does, sometimes, travel; it\ntravels when, and only when, it accompanies abroad one of the most ancient\nof the Irish families; otherwise it stays in Ireland, where, owing to the\nfact that there are few of the really old Irish families left, its\ndemonstrations are becoming more and more rare.\n\nIt may, perhaps, be said that in Dublin, Cork, and other of the Irish\ntowns one may still come across a very fair percentage of O's and Macs.\nThat, undoubtedly, is true, but, at the same time, it must be borne in\nmind that these prefixes do not invariably denote the true Irishman, since\nmany families yclept Thompson, Walker, and Smith, merely on the strength\nof having lived in Ireland for two or three generations, have adopted an\nIrish--and in some cases, even, a Celtic Irish name, relying upon their\nknowledge of a few Celtic words picked up from books, or from attending\nsome of the numerous classes now being held in nearly all the big towns,\nand which are presided over by teachers who are also, for the most part,\nmerely pseudo-Irish--to give colour to their claim. Such a pretence,\nhowever, does not deceive those who are really Irish, neither does it\ndeceive the Banshee, and the latter, I am quite sure, would never be\npersuaded to follow the fortunes of any Anglo-Saxon, or Scotch, Dick, Tom,\nor Harry, no matter how clever and convincing their camouflage might be.\n\nOnce again, then, the Banshee confines itself solely to families of\n_bona-fide_ ancient Irish descent. As to its origin, in spite of arbitrary\nassertions made by certain people, none of whom, by the way, are of Irish\nextraction--that no one knows. As a matter of fact the Banshee has a\nnumber of origins, for there is not one Banshee only--as so many people\nseem to think--but many; each clan possessing a Banshee of its own. The\nO'Donnell Banshee, for example, that is to say the Banshee attached to our\nbranch of the clan, and to which I can testify from personal experience,\nis, I believe, very different in appearance, and in its manner of making\nitself known, from the Banshee of the O'Reardons, as described by Mr\nMcAnnaly; whilst the Banshee of a certain branch of the O'Flahertys,\naccording to this same authority, differs essentially from that of a\nbranch of the O'Neills. Mr McAnnaly says the Banshee \"is really a\ndisembodied soul, that of one who, in life, was strongly attached to the\nfamily, or who had good reason to hate all its members.\" This definition,\nof course, may apply in some cases, but it certainly does not apply in\nall, and it is absurd to be dogmatic on a subject, concerning which it is\nquite impossible to obtain a very great deal of information. At the most,\nMr McAnnaly can only speak with certainty of the comparatively few cases\nof Banshees that have come under his observation; there are, I think,\nscores of which he has never even heard. I myself know of several Banshee\nhauntings in which the phantom certainly cannot be that of any member of\nthe human race; its features and proportions absolutely negative such a\npossibility, and I should have no hesitation in affirming that, in these\ncases, the phantom is what is commonly known as an elemental, or what I\nhave termed in previous of my works, a neutrarian, that is a spirit that\nhas never inhabited any material body, and which belongs to a species\nentirely distinct from man. On the other hand, several cases of Banshee\nhauntings I have come across undoubtedly admit the possibility of the\nphantom being that of a woman belonging to the human race, albeit to a\nvery ancient and long since obsolete section of it; whilst a few, only,\nallow of the probability of the phantom being that of a woman, also\nhuman, but belonging to a very much later date.\n\nCertainly, as Mr McAnnaly stated, Banshees may be divided into two main\nclasses, the Friendly Banshees and the Hateful Banshees; the former\nexhibiting sorrow on their advent, and the latter, exultation. But these\nclasses are capable of almost endless sub-division; the only feature they\npossess in common being a vague something that strongly suggests the\nfeminine sex. In most cases the cause of the hauntings can only be a\nmatter of conjecture. Affection or crime may account for some, but, for\nthe origin of others, I believe one must look in a totally different\ndirection. For instance, one might, perhaps, see some solution in sorcery\nand witchcraft, since there must be many families, who, in bygone days,\ndabbled in those pursuits, that are now Banshee ridden.\n\nOr, again, granted there is some truth in the theory of Atlantis, the\ntheory that a whole continent was submerged owing to the wickedness of its\ninhabitants, who were all more or less adepts in necromancy--the most\nancient of the Irish, the so-called Milesian clans who are known to have\npractised sorcery, might well be identical with the survivors of that\ngreat cataclysm, and have brought with them to the Green Island spirits\nwhich have stuck to their descendants ever since.\n\nI think one may dismiss Mr C. W. Leadbeater's[2] and other writers' (of\nthe same would-be authoritative order) assertion that family ghosts may be\neither a thought-form or an unusually vivid impression in the astral\nlight, as absurd. Spiritualists and others, who blindly reverence\nhighfalutin phraseology, however empty it may be, might be satisfied with\nsuch an explanation, but not so those who have had actual experience with\nthe ghost in question.\n\nWhatever else the Banshee may, or may not be, it is most certainly a\ndenizen of a world quite distinct from ours; it is, besides, a being that\nhas prophetic powers (which would not be the case if it were a mere\nthought-form or impression), and it is by no means a mere automaton.\n\nSome Banshees represent very beautiful women--women with long, luxuriant\ntresses, either of raven black, or burnished copper, or brilliant gold,\nand whose star-like eyes, full of tender pity, are either dark and\ntearful, or of the most exquisite blue or grey; some, again, are haggish,\nwild, dishevelled-looking creatures, whose appearance suggests the utmost\nsqualor, foulness, and despair; whilst a few, fortunately, I think, only\na few, take the form of something that is wholly diabolical, and\nfrightful, and terrifying in the extreme.\n\nAs a rule, however, the Banshee is not seen, it is only heard, and it\nannounces its advent in a variety of ways; sometimes by groaning,\nsometimes by wailing, and sometimes by uttering the most blood-curdling of\nscreams, which I can only liken to the screams a woman might make if she\nwere being done to death in a very cruel and violent manner. Occasionally\nI have heard of Banshees clapping their hands, and tapping and scratching\nat walls and window-panes, and, not infrequently, I have heard of them\nsignalling their arrival by terrific crashes and thumps. Also, I have met\nwith the Banshee that simply chuckles--a low, short, but terribly\nexpressive chuckle, that makes ten times more impression on the mind of\nthe hearer than any other ghostly sound he has heard, and which no lapse\nof time is ever able to efface from his memory.\n\nI, for one, have heard the sound, and as I sit here penning these lines, I\nfancy I can hear it again--a Satanic chuckle, a chuckle full of mockery,\nas if made by one who was in the full knowledge of coming events, of\nevents that would present an extremely unpleasant surprise. And, in my\ncase, the unpleasant surprise came. I have always been a believer in a\nspirit world--in the unknown--but had I been ever so sceptical previously,\nafter hearing that chuckle, I am quite sure I should have been converted.\n\nIn concluding this chapter I must refer once again to Mr McAnnaly, who, in\nhis \"Irish Wonders,\" records a very remarkable instance of a number of\nBanshees manifesting themselves simultaneously. He says that the\ndemonstrations occurred before the death of a member of the Galway\nO'Flahertys \"some years ago.\"[3] The doomed one, he states, was a lady of\nthe most unusual piety, who, though ill at the time, was not thought to be\nseriously ill. Indeed, she got so much better that several of her\nacquaintances came to her room to enliven her convalescence, and it was\nwhen they were there, all talking together merrily, that singing was\nsuddenly heard, apparently outside the window. They listened, and could\ndistinctly hear a choir of very sweet voices singing some extraordinarily\nplaintive air, which made them turn pale and look at one another\napprehensively, for they all felt intuitively it was a chorus of Banshees.\nNor were their surmises incorrect, for the patient unexpectedly developed\npleurisy, and died within a few days, the same choir of spirit voices\nbeing again heard at the moment of physical dissolution.\n\nBut as Mr McAnnaly states, the ill-fated lady was of singular purity,\nwhich doubtless explains the reason why, in my researches, I have never\ncome across a parallel case.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nSOME HISTORICAL BANSHEES\n\n\nAmongst the most popular cases of Banshee haunting both published and\nunpublished is that related by Ann, Lady Fanshawe, in her Memoirs. It\nseems that Lady Fanshawe experienced this haunting when on a visit to Lady\nHonora O'Brien, daughter of Henry, fifth Earl of Thomond,[4] who was then,\nin all probability, residing at the ancient castle of Lemaneagh, near Lake\nInchiquin, about thirty miles north-west of Limerick. Retiring to rest\nsomewhat early the first night of her sojourn there, she was awakened at\nabout one o'clock by the sound of a voice, and, drawing aside the hangings\nof the bed, she perceived, looking in through the window at her, the face\nof a woman. The moonlight being very strong and fully focussed on it, she\ncould see every feature with startling distinctness; but at the same time\nher attention was apparently riveted on the extraordinary pallor of the\ncheeks and the intense redness of the hair. Then, to quote her own words,\nthe apparition \"spake loud, and in a tone I never heard, thrice 'Ahone,'\nand then with a sigh, more like wind than breath, she vanished, and to me\nher body looked more like a thick cloud than substance.\n\n\"I was so much affrighted that my hair stood on end, and my night clothes\nfell off. I pulled and pinched your father, who never awaked during this\ndisorder I was in, but at last was much surprised to find me in this\nfright, and more when I related the story and showed him the window\nopened; but he entertained me with telling how much more these apparitions\nwere usual in that country than in England.\"\n\nThe following morning Lady Honora, who did not appear to have been to bed,\ninformed Lady Fanshawe that a cousin of hers had died in the house at\nabout two o'clock in the morning; and expressed a hope that Lady Fanshawe\nhad not been subjected to any disturbances.\n\n\"When any die of this family,\" she said by way of explanation, \"there is\nthe shape of a woman appears in this window every night until they be\ndead.\"\n\nShe went on to add that the apparition was believed to be that of a woman\nwho, centuries before, had been seduced by the owner of the castle and\nmurdered, her body being buried under the window of the room in which Lady\nFanshawe had slept.\n\n\"But truly,\" she remarked, by way of apology, \"I thought not of it when I\nlodged you here.\"\n\nAnother well-known case of the Banshee is that relating to the O'Flahertys\nof Galway, reference being made to the case by Mr McAnnaly in his work\nentitled \"Irish Wonders.\" In the days of much inter-clan fighting in\nIreland, when the O'Neills frequently embarked on crusades against their\nalternate friends and enemies the O'Donnells, and the O'Rourks[5] embarked\non similar crusades against the O'Donovans, it so happened that one night\nthe chief of the O'Flahertys, arrayed in all the brilliance of a new suit\nof armour, and feeling more than usually cheerful and fit, marched out of\nhis castle at the head of a numerous body of his retainers, who were all,\nlike their chief, in good spirits, and talking and singing gaily. They had\nnot proceeded far, however, when a sudden and quite inexplicable silence\nensued--a silence that was abruptly broken by a series of agonising\nscreams, that seemed to come from just over their heads. Instantly\neveryone was sobered, and naturally looked up, expecting to see something\nthat would explain the extraordinary and terrifying disturbance; nothing,\nhowever, was to be seen, nothing but a vast expanse of cloudless sky,\ninnumerable scintillating stars, and the moon which was shining forth in\nall the serene majesty of its zenith. Yet, despite the fact that nothing\nwas visible, everyone felt a presence that was at once sorrowful and\nweird, and which one and all instinctively knew was the Banshee, the\nattendant spirit of the O'Flahertys, come to warn them of some approaching\ncatastrophe.\n\nThe next night, when the chieftain and his followers were again sallying\nforth, the same thing happened, but, after that, nothing of a similar\nnature occurred for about a month. Then the wife of the O'Flaherty, during\nthe absence of her husband on one of these foraging expeditions, had an\nexperience. She had gone to bed one night and was restlessly tossing\nabout, for, try how she would, she could not sleep, when she was suddenly\nterrified by a succession of the most awful shrieks, coming, apparently,\nfrom just beneath her window, and which sounded like the cries of some\nwoman in the direst trouble or pain. She looked, but as she instinctively\nfelt would be the case, she could see no one. She then knew that she had\nheard the Banshee; and on the morrow her forebodings were only too fully\nrealised. With a fearful knowledge of its meaning, she saw a cavalcade,\nbearing in its midst a bier, slowly and sorrowfully wending its way\ntowards the castle; and, needless to say, she did not require to be told\nthat the foraging party had returned, and that the surviving warriors had\nbrought back with them the lifeless and mutilated body of her husband.\n\nThe Kenealy Banshee furnishes yet another instance of this extremely\nfascinating and, up to the present, wholly enigmatical type of haunting.\nDr Kenealy, the well-known Irish poet and author, resided in his earlier\nyears in a wildly romantic and picturesque part of Ireland. Among his\nbrothers was one, a mere child, whose sweet and gentle nature rendered him\nbeloved by all, and it was a matter of the most excessive grief to the\nentire household, and, indeed, the whole neighbourhood, when this boy fell\ninto a decline and his life was despaired of by the physicians. As time\nwent on he grew weaker and weaker, until the moment at length arrived,\nwhen it was obvious that he could not possibly survive another twenty-four\nhours. At about noon, the room in which the patient lay was flooded with a\nstream of sunlight, which came pouring through the windows from the\ncloudless expanse of sky overhead. The weather, indeed, was so gorgeous\nthat it seemed almost incredible that death could be hovering quite so\nnear the house. One by one, members of the family stole into the chamber\nto take what each one felt might be a last look at the sick boy, whilst he\nwas still alive. Presently the doctor arrived, and, as they were all\ndiscussing in hushed tones the condition of the poor wasted and doomed\nchild, they one and all heard someone singing, apparently in the grounds,\nimmediately beneath the window. The voice seemed to be that of a woman,\nbut not a woman of this world. It was divinely soft and sweet, and charged\nwith a pity and sorrow that no earthly being could ever have portrayed;\nand now loud, and now hushed, it continued for some minutes, and then\nseemed to die away gradually, like the ripple of a wavelet on some golden,\nsun-kissed strand, or the whispering of the wind, as it gently rustles its\nway through field after field of yellow, nodding corn.\n\n\"What a glorious voice!\" one of the listeners exclaimed. \"I've never heard\nanything to equal it.\"\n\n\"Very likely not,\" someone else whispered, \"it's the Banshee!\"\n\nAnd so enthralled were they all by the singing, that it was only when the\nfinal note of the plaintive ditty had quite ceased, that they became aware\nthat their beloved patient, unnoticed by them, had passed out. Indeed, it\nseemed as if the boy's soul, with the last whispering notes of the dirge,\nhad joined the beautiful, pitying Banshee, to be escorted by it into the\nrealms of the all-fearful, all-impatient Unknown. Dr Kenealy has\ncommemorated this event in one of his poems.\n\nThe story of another haunting by the friendly Banshee is told in Kerry, in\nconnection with a certain family that used to live there. According to my\nsource of information the family consisted of a man (a gentleman farmer),\nhis wife, their son, Terence, and a daughter, Norah.\n\nNorah, an Irish beauty of the dark type, had black hair and blue eyes; and\npossessing numerous admirers, favoured none of them so much as a certain\nMichael O'Lernahan. Now Michael did not stand very well in the graces of\neither of Norah's parents, but Terence liked him, and he was reputed to be\nrich--that is to say rich for that part of Ireland. Accordingly, he was\ninvited pretty freely to the farm, and no obstacles were placed in his\nway. On the contrary, he was given more than a fair amount of\nencouragement.\n\nAt last, as had been long anticipated, he proposed and Norah accepted him;\nbut no sooner was her troth plighted than they both heard, just over\ntheir heads, a low, despairing wail, as of a woman in the very greatest\ndistress and anguish.\n\nThough they were much alarmed at the time, being positive that the sounds\nproceeded from no human being, neither of them seems to have regarded the\nphenomenon in the shape of a warning, and both continued their love-making\nas if the incident had never occurred. A few weeks later, however, Norah\nnoticed a sudden change in her lover; he was colder and more distant, and,\nwhilst he was with her, she invariably found him preoccupied. At last the\nblow fell. He failed to present himself at the house one evening, though\nhe was expected as usual, and, as no explanation was forthcoming the\nfollowing morning, nor on any of the succeeding days, inquiries were made\nby the parents, which elicited the fact that he had become engaged to\nanother girl, and that the girl's home was but a few minutes' walk from\nthe farm.\n\nThis proved too much for Norah; although, apparently, neither unusually\nsensitive nor particularly highly strung, she fell ill, and shortly\nafterwards died of a broken heart. It was not until the night before she\ndied, however, that the Banshee paid her a second visit. She was lying on\na couch in the parlour of the farmhouse, with her mother sitting beside\nher, when a noise was heard that sounded like leaves beating gently\nagainst the window-frames, and, almost directly afterwards, came the sound\nof singing, loud, and full of intense sorrow and compassion; and,\nobviously, that of a woman.\n\n\"'Tis the Banshee,\" the mother whispered, immediately crossing herself,\nand, at the same time, bursting into tears.\n\n\"The Banshee,\" Norah repeated. \"Sure I hear nothing but that tapping at\nthe window and the wind which seems all of a sudden to have risen.\"\n\nBut the mother made no response. She only sat with her face buried in her\nhands, sobbing bitterly and muttering to herself, \"Banshee! Banshee!\"\n\nPresently, the singing having ceased, the old woman got up and dried her\ntears. Her anxiety, however, was not allayed; all through the night she\ncould still be heard, every now and again, crying quietly and whispering\nto herself \"'Twas the Banshee! Banshee!\"; and in the morning Norah,\nsuddenly growing alarmingly ill, passed away before medical assistance\ncould be summoned.\n\nA case of Banshee haunting that is somewhat unusually pathetic was once\nrelated to me in connection with a Dublin branch of the once powerful\nclan of McGrath.\n\nIt took place in the fifties, and the family, consisting of a young widow\nand two children, Isa and David, at that time occupied an old, rambling\nhouse, not five minutes' walk from Stephen's Green. Isa seems to have been\nthe mother's favourite--she was undoubtedly a very pretty and attractive\nchild--and David, possibly on account of his pronounced likeness to his\nfather, with whom it was an open secret that Mrs McGrath had never got on\nat all well, to have received rather more than his fair share of scolding.\nThis, of course, may or may not have been true. It is certain that he was\nleft very much to himself, and, all alone, in a big, empty room at the top\nof the house, was forced to amuse himself as he best could. Occasionally\none of the servants, inspired by a fellow-feeling--for the lot of servants\nin those days, especially when serving under such severe and exacting\nmistresses as Mrs McGrath, was none too rosy--used to look in to see how\nhe was getting on and bring him a toy, bought out of her own meagre\nsavings; and, once now and again, Isa, clad in some costly new frock, just\npopped her head in at the door, either to bring him some message from her\nmother, or merely to call out \"Hullo!\" Otherwise he saw no one; at least\nno one belonging to this earth; he only saw, he affirmed, at times,\nstrange-looking people who simply stood and stared at him without\nspeaking, people who the servants--girls from Limerick and the west\ncountry--assured him were either fairies or ghosts.\n\nOne day Isa, who had been sent upstairs to tell David to go to his bedroom\nto tidy himself, as he was wanted immediately in the drawing-room, found\nhim in a great state of excitement.\n\n\"I've seen such a beautiful lady,\"[6] he exclaimed, \"and she wasn't a bit\ncross. She came and stood by the window and looked as if she wanted to\nplay with me, only I daren't ask her. Do you think she will come again?\"\n\n\"How can I tell? I expect you've been dreaming as usual,\" Isa laughed.\n\"What was she like?\"\n\n\"Oh, tall, much taller than mother,\" David replied, \"with very, very blue\neyes and kind of reddish-gold hair that wasn't all screwed up on her head,\nbut was hanging in curls on her shoulders. She had very white hands which\nwere clasped in front of her, and a bright green dress. I didn't see her\ncome or go, but she was here for a long time, quite ten minutes.\"\n\n\"It's another of your fancies, David,\" Isa laughed again. \"But come along,\nmake haste, or mother will be angry.\"\n\nA few minutes later, David, looking very shy and awkward, was in the\ndrawing-room being introduced to a gentleman who, he was informed, was his\nfuture papa.\n\nDavid seems to have taken a strong dislike to him from the very first, and\nto have foreseen in the coming alliance nothing but trouble and misery for\nhimself. Nor were his apprehensions without foundation, for, directly\nafter the marriage took place, he became subjected to the very strictest\ndiscipline. Morning and afternoon alike he was kept hard at his books, and\nany slowness or inability to master a lesson was treated as idleness and\npunished accordingly. The moments he had to himself in his beloved nursery\nnow became few and far between, for, directly he had finished his evening\npreparation, he was given his supper and packed off to bed.\n\nThe one or two servants who had befriended him, unable to tolerate the new\nregime, gave notice and left, and there was soon no one in the house who\nshowed any compassion whatever for the poor lonely boy.\n\nThings went on in this fashion for some weeks, and then a day came, when\nhe really felt it impossible to go on living any longer.\n\nHe had been generally run down for some weeks, and this, coupled with the\nfact that he was utterly broken in spirit, rendered his task of learning a\nwellnigh impossibility. It was in vain he pleaded, however; his entreaties\nwere only taken for excuses; and, when, in an unguarded moment, he let\nslip some sort of reference to unkind treatment, he was at once accused of\nrudeness by his mother and, at her request, summarily castigated.\n\nThe limit of his tribulation had been reached. That night he was sent to\nbed, as usual, immediately after supper, and Isa, who happened to pass by\nhis room an hour or so afterwards, was greatly astonished at hearing him\nseemingly engaged in conversation. Peeping slyly in at the door, in order\nto find out with whom he was talking, she saw him sitting up in bed,\napparently addressing space, or the moonbeams, which, pouring in at the\nwindow, fell directly on him.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she asked, \"and why aren't you asleep?\"\n\nThe moment she spoke he looked round and, in tones of the greatest\ndisappointment, said:\n\n\"Oh, dear, she's gone. You've frightened her away.\"\n\n\"Frightened her away! Why, what rubbish!\" Isa exclaimed. \"Lie down at\nonce or I'll go and fetch mamma.\"\n\n\"It was my green lady,\" David went on, breathlessly, far too excited to\npay any serious heed to Isa's threat. \"My green lady, and she told me I\nshould be no more lonely, that she was coming to fetch me some time\nto-night.\"\n\nIsa laughed, and, telling him not to be so silly, but to go to sleep at\nonce, she speedily withdrew and went downstairs to join her parents in the\ndrawing-room.\n\nThat night, at about twelve, Isa was awakened by singing, loud and\nplaintive singing, in a woman's voice, apparently proceeding from the\nhall. Greatly alarmed she got up, and, on opening her door, perceived her\nparents and the servants, all in their night attire, huddled together on\nthe landing, listening.\n\n\"Sure 'tis the Banshee,\" the cook at length whispered. \"I heard my father\nspake about it when I was a child. She sings, says he, more beautifully\nthan any grand lady, but sorrowful like, and only before a death.\"\n\n\"Before a death,\" Isa's mother stammered. \"But who's going to die here?\nWhy, we are all of us perfectly sound and well.\" As she spoke the singing\nceased, there was an abrupt silence, and all slowly retired to their\nrooms.\n\nNothing further was heard during the night, but in the morning, when\nbreakfast time came, there was no David; and a hue and cry being raised\nand a thorough search made, he was eventually discovered, drowned in a\ncistern in the roof.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE MALEVOLENT BANSHEE\n\n\nThe Banshees dealt with in the last chapter may all be described as\nsympathetic or friendly Banshees. I will now present to the reader a few\nequally authentic accounts of malevolent or unfriendly Banshees. Before\ndoing so, however, I would like to call attention to the fact that, once\nwhen I was reading a paper on Banshees before the Irish Literary Society,\nin Hanover Square, a lady got up and, challenging my remark that not all\nBanshees were alike, tried to prove that I was wrong, on the assumption\nthat all Banshees must be sad and beautiful because the Banshee in her\nfamily happened to be sad and beautiful, an argument, if argument it can\nbe called, which, although it is a fairly common one, cannot, of course,\nbe taken seriously.\n\nMoreover, as I have already stated, there is abundant evidence to show\nthat Banshees are of many and diverse kinds; and that no two appear to be\nexactly alike or to act in precisely the same fashion.\n\nAccording to Mr McAnnaly, the malevolent Banshee is invariably \"a horrible\nhag with ugly, distorted features; maledictions are written in every line\nof her wrinkled face, and her outstretched arms call down curses on the\ndoomed member of the hated race.\"\n\nOther writers, too, would seem more or less to encourage the idea that all\nmalignant Banshees are cast in one mould and all beautiful Banshees in\nanother, whereas from my own personal experiences I should say that\nBanshees, whether good or bad, are just as individual as any member of the\nfamily they haunt.\n\nIt is related of a certain ancient Mayo family that a chief of the race\nonce made love to a very beautiful girl whom he betrayed and subsequently\nmurdered. With her dying breath the girl cursed her murderer and swore she\nwould haunt him and his for ever. Years rolled by; the cruel deceiver\nmarried, and, with the passing away of all who knew him in his youth, he\ncame to be regarded as a model of absolute propriety and rectitude. Hence\nit was in these circumstances that he was sitting one night before a big\nblazing fire in the hall of his castle, outwardly happy enough and\nsurrounded by his sons and daughters, when loud shrieks of exultation\nwere heard coming, it seemed, from someone who was standing on the path\nclose to the castle walls. All rushed out to see who it was, but no one\nwas there, and the grounds, as far as the eye could reach, were absolutely\ndeserted.\n\nLater on, however, some little time after the household had retired to\nrest, the same demoniacal disturbances took place; peal after peal of\nwild, malicious laughter rang out, followed by a discordant moaning and\nscreaming. This time the aged chieftain did not accompany the rest of the\nhousehold in their search for the originator of the disturbances.\nPossibly, in that discordant moaning and screaming he fancied he could\ndetect the voice of the murdered girl; and, possibly, accepting the\nmanifestation as a death-warning, he was not surprised on the following\nday, when he was waylaid out of doors and brutally done to death by one of\nhis followers.\n\nNeedless to say, perhaps, the haunting of this Banshee still continues,\nthe same phenomena occurring at least once to every generation of the\nfamily, before the death of one of its members. Happily, however, the\nhaunting now does not necessarily precede a violent death, and in this\nrespect, though in this respect only, differs from the original.\n\nAnother haunting by this same species of Banshee was brought to my notice\nthe last time I was in Ireland. I happened to be visiting a certain\nrelative of mine, at that date residing in Black Rock, and from her I\nlearned the following, which now appears in print for the first time.\n\nAbout the middle of the last century, when my relative was in her teens,\nsome friends of hers, the O'D.'s, were living in a big old-fashioned\ncountry house, somewhere between Ballinanty and Hospital in the County of\nLimerick. The family consisted of Mr O'D., who had been something in India\nin his youth and was now very much of a recluse, though much esteemed\nlocally on account of his extreme piety and good-heartedness; Mrs O'D.,\nwho, despite her grey hair and wrinkled countenance, still retained traces\nof more than ordinary good looks; Wilfred, a handsome but decidedly\nheadstrong young man of between twenty-five and thirty; and Ellen, a\nblue-eyed, golden-haired girl of the true Milesian type of Irish beauty.\n\nMy relative was on terms of the greatest intimacy with the whole family,\nbut especially with the two younger folk, and it was generally expected\nthat she and Wilfred would make what is vulgarly termed a \"match of it.\"\nIndeed, the first of the ghostly happenings that she experienced in\nconnection with the O'D.'s actually occurred the very day Wilfred took the\nlong-anticipated step and proposed to her.\n\nIt seems that my relative was out for a walk one afternoon with Ellen and\nWilfred, when the latter, taking advantage of his sister's sudden fancy\nfor going on ahead to look for dog-roses, passionately declared his love,\nand, apparently, did not declare it in vain. The trio, then, in more or\nless exalted spirits--for my relative had of course let Ellen into the\nsecret--walked home together, and as they were passing through a big\nwooden gateway into the garden at the rear of the O'D.'s house, they\nperceived a tall, spare woman, with her back towards them, digging away\nfuriously.\n\n\"Hullo,\" Wilfred exclaimed, \"who's that?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Ellen replied. \"It's certainly not Mary\" (Mary was the old\ncook who, like many of the servants of that period, did not confine her\nlabour to the culinary art, but performed all kinds of odd jobs as well),\n\"nor anyone from the farm. But what on earth does she think she's doing?\nHey, there!\" and Ellen, raising her naturally sweet and musical voice,\ngave a little shout.\n\nThe woman instantly turned round, and the trio received a most violent\nshock. The light was fading, for it was late in the afternoon, but what\nlittle there was seemed to be entirely concentrated on the visage before\nthem, making it appear luminous. It was a broad face with very pronounced\ncheek-bones; a large mouth, the thin lips of which were fixed in a\ndreadful and mocking leer; and very pale, obliquely set eyes that glowed\nbanefully as they met the gaze of the three now appalled spectators.\n\nFor some seconds the evil-looking creature stood in dead silence,\napparently gloating over the discomposure her appearance had produced,\nand, then, suddenly shouldering her spade, she walked slowly away, turning\nround every now and again to cast the same malevolent gleeful look at\nthem, until she came to the hedge that separated the garden from a long\ndisused stone quarry, when she seemed suddenly to fade away in the now\nvery uncertain twilight, and disappear.\n\nFor some moments no one spoke or stirred, but continued gazing after her\nin a kind of paralysed astonishment. Wilfred was the first to break the\nsilence.\n\n\"What an awful looking hag,\" he exclaimed. \"Where's she gone?\"\n\nEllen whistled. \"Ask another,\" she said. \"There's nowhere she could have\ngone excepting into the quarry, and my only hope is that she is lying at\nthe bottom of it with a broken neck, for I certainly never wish to see\nher again. But come, let's be moving on, I'm chilly.\"\n\nThey started off, but had only proceeded a few yards, when, apparently\nfrom the direction of the quarry, came a peal of laughter, so mocking and\nmalignant and altogether evil, that all three involuntarily quickened\ntheir steps, and, at the same time, refrained from speaking, until they\nhad reached the house, which they hastily entered, securely closing the\ndoor behind them. They then went straight to Mr O'D. and asked him who the\nold woman was whom they had just seen.\n\n\"What was she like?\" he queried. \"I haven't authorised anyone but Mary to\ngo into the garden.\"\n\n\"It certainly wasn't Mary,\" Ellen responded quickly. \"It was some hideous\nold crone who was digging away like anything. On our approach she left off\nand gave us the most diabolical look I have ever seen. Then she went away\nand seemed to vanish in the hedge by the quarry. We afterwards heard her\ngive the most appalling and intensely evil laugh that you can imagine.\nWhoever is she?\"\n\n\"I can't think,\" Mr O'D. replied, looking somewhat unusually pale. \"It is\nno one whom I know. Very possibly she was a tramp or gipsy. We must take\ncare to keep all the doors locked. Whatever you do, don't mention a word\nabout her to your mother or to Mary--they are both nervous and very easily\nfrightened.\"\n\nAll three promised, and the matter was then allowed to drop, but my\nrelative, who returned home before it got quite dark, subsequently learned\nthat that night, some time after the O'D. household had all retired to\nrest, peal after peal of the same infernal mocking laughter was heard,\njust under the windows, first of all in the front of the house, and then\nin the rear; and that, on the morrow, came the news that the business\nconcern in which most of Mr O'D.'s money was invested had gone smash and\nthe family were practically penniless.\n\nThe house now was in imminent danger of being sold, and many people\nthought that it was merely to avert this catastrophe and to enable her\nparents to keep a roof over their heads that Ellen accepted the attentions\nof a very vulgar parvenu (an Englishman) in Limerick, and eventually\nmarried him. Where there is no love, however, there is never any\nhappiness, and where there is not even \"liking,\" there is very often hate;\nand in Ellen's case hate there was without any doubt. Barely able, even\nfrom the first, to tolerate her husband (his favourite trick was to make\nlove to her in public and almost in the same breath bully her--also in\npublic), she eventually grew to loathe him, and at last, unable to endure\nhis hated presence any longer, she eloped with an officer who was\nstationed in the neighbourhood. The night before Ellen took this step, my\nrelative and Wilfred (the latter was escorting his fiancee home after a\npleasant evening spent in her company) again heard the malevolent\nlaughter, which (although they could see no one) pursued them for some\ndistance along the moonlit lanes and across the common leading to the spot\nwhere my relative lived. After this the laughter was not heard again for\ntwo years, but at the end of that period my relative had another\nexperience of the phenomena.\n\nShe was again spending the evening with the O'D.'s, and, on this occasion,\nshe was discussing with Mr and Mrs O'D. the advent of Wilfred, who was\nexpected to arrive home from the West Indies any time within the next few\ndays. My relative was not unnaturally interested, as it had been arranged\nthat she and Wilfred should marry, as soon as possible after his arrival\nin Ireland. They were all three--Mr and Mrs O'D. and my relative--engaged\nin animated conversation (the old people had unexpectedly come into a\nlittle money, and that, too, had considerably contributed to their\ncheerfulness), when Mrs O'D., fancying she heard someone calling to her\nfrom the garden, got up and went to the window.\n\n\"Harry,\" she exclaimed, still looking out and apparently unable to remove\nher gaze, \"do come. There's the most awful old woman in the garden,\nstaring hard at me. Quick, both of you. She's perfectly horrible; she\nfrightens me.\"\n\nMy relative and Mr O'D. at once sprang up and hastened to her side, and,\nthere, they saw, gazing up at them, the pallor of its cheeks intensified\nby a stray moonbeam which seemed to be concentrated solely on it, a face\nwhich my relative recognised immediately as that of the woman she had\nseen, two years ago, digging in the garden. The old hag seemed to remember\nmy relative, too, for, as their glances met, a gleam of recognition crept\ninto her light eyes, and, a moment later, gave way to an expression of\nsuch diabolical hate that my relative involuntarily caught hold of Mr O'D.\nfor protection. Evidently noting this action the creature leered horribly,\nand then, drawing a kind of shawl or hood tightly over its head, moved\naway with a kind of gliding motion, vanishing round an angle of the wall.\n\nMr O'D. at once went out into the garden, but, after a few minutes,\nreturned, declaring that, although he had searched in every direction, not\na trace of their sinister-looking visitor could he see anywhere. He had\nhardly, however, finished speaking, when, apparently from close to the\nhouse, came several peals of the most hellish laughter, that terminated in\none loud, prolonged wail, unmistakably ominous and menacing.\n\n\"Oh, Harry,\" Mrs O'D. exclaimed, on the verge of fainting, \"what can be\nthe meaning of it? That was surely no living woman.\"\n\n\"No,\" Mr O'D. replied slowly, \"it was the Banshee. As you know, the O'D.\nBanshee, for some reason or another, possesses an inveterate hatred of my\nfamily, and we must prepare again for some evil tidings. But,\" he went on,\nsteadying his voice with an effort, \"with God's grace we must face it, for\nwhatever happens it is His Divine will.\"\n\nA few days later my relative, as may be imagined, was immeasurably shocked\nto hear that Mr O'D. had been sent word that Wilfred was dead. He had, it\nappeared, been stricken down with fever, supposed to have been caught from\none of his fellow-passengers, and had died on the very day that he should\nhave landed, on the very day, in fact (as it was afterwards ascertained\nfrom a comparison of dates), upon which his parents and fiancee, together,\nhad heard and seen the Banshee.\n\nSoon after this unhappy event my relative left the neighbourhood and went\nto live with some friends near Dublin, and though, from time to time, she\ncorresponded with the O'D.'s, she never again heard anything of their\nBanshee.\n\nThis same relative of mine, whom I will now call Miss S---- (she never\nmarried), was acquainted with two old maiden ladies named O'Rorke who,\nmany years ago, lived in a semi-detached house close to Lower Merrion\nStreet. Miss S---- did not know to what branch of the O'Rorkes they\nbelonged, for they were very reticent with regard to their family history,\nbut she believed they originally came from the south-west and were\ndistantly connected with some of her own people.\n\nWith regard to their house, there certainly was something peculiar, since\nin it was one room that was invariably kept locked, and in connection with\nthis room it was said there existed a mystery of the most frightful and\nharrowing description.\n\nMy relative often had it on the tip of her tongue to refer to the room,\njust to see what effect it would have on the two old ladies, but she could\nnever quite sum up the courage to do so. One afternoon, however, when she\nwas calling on them, the subject was brought to their notice in a very\nstartling manner.\n\nThe elder of the two sisters, Miss Georgina, who was presiding at the tea\ntable, had just handed Miss S---- a cup of tea and was about to pour out\nanother for herself, when into the room, with her cap all awry and her\neyes bulging, rushed one of the servants.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" Miss Georgina exclaimed, \"whatever's the matter,\nBridget?\"\n\n\"Matter!\" Bridget retorted, in a brogue which I will not attempt to\nimitate. \"Why, someone's got into that room you always keep locked and is\nmaking the devil of a noise, enough to raise all the Saints in Heaven.\nNorah\" (Norah was the cook) \"and I both heard it--a groaning, and a\nchuckling, and a scratching, as if the cratur was tearing up the boards\nand breaking all the furniture, and all the while keening and laughing.\nFor the love of Heaven, ladies, come and hear it for yourselves. Such\ngoings on! Ochone! Ochone!\"\n\nBoth ladies, Miss S---- said, turned deadly pale, and Miss Harriet, the\nyounger sister, was on the brink of tears.\n\n\"Where is cook?\" Miss Georgina, who was by far the stronger minded of the\ntwo, suddenly said, addressing Bridget. \"If she is upstairs, tell her to\ncome down at once. Miss Harriet and I will go and see what the noise is\nthat you complain about upstairs. There really is no need to make all this\ndisturbance\"--here she assumed an air of the utmost severity--\"it's sure\nto be either mice or rats.\"\n\n\"Mice or rats!\" Bridget echoed. \"I'm sorry for the mice and rats as make\nall those noises. 'Tis some evil spirit, sure, and Norah is of the same\nmind,\" and with those parting words she slammed the door behind her.\n\nThe sisters, then, begging to be excused for a few minutes, left the room,\nand returned shortly afterwards looking terribly white and distressed.\n\n\"I am sure you must think all this very odd,\" Miss Georgina observed with\nas great a degree of unconcern as she could assume, \"and I feel we owe you\nan explanation, but I must beg you will not repeat a word of what we tell\nyou to anyone else.\"\n\nMiss S---- promised she would not, and then composed herself to listen.\n\n\"We have in our family,\" Miss O'Rorke began, \"a most unpleasant\nattachment; in other words, a most unpleasant Banshee. Being Irish, you\nwill not laugh, of course, as many English people do, at what I say. You\nknow as well as I do, perhaps, that many of the really ancient Irish\nfamilies possess Banshees.\"\n\nMiss S---- nodded. \"We have one ourselves,\" she remarked, \"but pray go on.\nI am intensely interested.\"\n\n\"Well, unlike most of the Banshees,\" Miss Georgina continued, \"ours is\nappallingly ugly and malevolent; so frightful, indeed, that to see it,\neven, is sometimes fatal. One of our great-great-uncles, for instance, to\nwhom it once appeared, is reported to have died from shock; a similar fate\novertaking another of our ancestors, who also saw it. Fortunately, it\nseems to have a strong attraction in the shape of an old gold ring which\nhas been in the possession of the family from time immemorial. Both\nancestors I have referred to are alleged to have been wearing this ring at\nthe time the Banshee appeared to them, and it is said to strictly confine\nits manifestations to the immediate vicinity of that article. That is why\nour parents always kept the ring strictly isolated, in a locked room, the\nkey of which was never, for a moment, allowed to be out of their\npossession. And we have strenuously followed their example. That is the\nexplanation of the mystery you have doubtless heard about, for I\nbelieve--thanks to the servants--it has become the gossip of half Dublin.\"\n\n\"And the noise Bridget referred to,\" Miss S---- ventured to remark,\nsomewhat timidly, \"was that the Banshee?\"\n\nMiss Georgina nodded.\n\n\"I fear it was,\" she observed solemnly, \"and that we shall shortly hear of\na relative's death or grave catastrophe to some member of the family;\nprobably, a cousin of ours in County Galway, who has been ill for some\nweeks, is dying.\"\n\nShe was partly right, although the latter surmise was not correct. Within\na few days of the Banshee's visit a member of the family died, but it was\nnot the sick cousin, it was Miss Georgina's own sister, Harriet!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE BANSHEE ABROAD\n\n\nAs I have remarked in a previous chapter, the Banshee to-day is heard more\noften abroad than in Ireland. It follows the fortunes of the true old\nMilesian Irishman--the real O and Mc, none of your adulterated O'Walters\nor O'Cassons--everywhere, even to the Poles.\n\nLady Wilde, in her \"Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions of\nIreland,\" quotes the case of a Banshee haunting that was experienced by a\nbranch of the Clan O'Grady that had settled in Canada.\n\nThe spot chosen by this family for their residence was singularly wild and\nisolated, and one night at two o'clock, when they were all in bed, they\nwere aroused by a loud cry, coming, apparently, from just outside the\nhouse. Nothing intelligible was uttered, only a sound indicative of the\ngreatest bitterness and sorrow, such as one might imagine a woman would\ngive vent to, but only when in an agony of mind, almost beyond human\nunderstanding.\n\nThe effect produced by it was one of sublime terror, and all seemed to\nfeel instinctively that the source from which it emanated was apart from\nthis world and belonged wholly and solely to the Unknown. Nevertheless,\nfrom what Lady Wilde says, we are led to infer that an exhaustive search\nof the premises was made, resulting, as was expected, in complete failure\nto find any physical agency that could in any way account for the cry.\n\nThe following day the head of the household and his eldest son went\nboating on a lake near the house, and, although it was their intention to\ndo so, did not return to dinner. Various members of the family were sent\nto look for them, but no trace of them was to be seen anywhere, and no\nsolution to the mystery as to what had happened to them was forthcoming,\ntill two o'clock that night, when, exactly twenty-four hours after the cry\nhad been heard, some of the searchers returned, bearing with them the wet,\nbedraggled, and lifeless bodies of both father and son. Then, once again,\nthe weird and ominous sound that had so startled them on the previous\nnight was heard, and the sorrow-stricken family--that is to say, those who\nwere left of it--agreeing now that the Banshee had indeed visited them,\nremembered that their beloved father, whom they had just lost, had often\nspoken of the Banshee, as having haunted their branch of the clan for\ncountless generations.\n\nAnother case of Banshee haunting, that I have in mind, relates to a branch\nof the southern O'Neills that settled in Italy a good many years ago. It\nwas told me in Paris by a Mrs Dempsey, who assured me she had been an\neye-witness of the phenomena, and I now record it in print for the first\ntime.\n\nMrs Dempsey, when staying once at an hotel in the north of Italy, noticed\namong the guests an elderly man, whose very marked features and intensely\nsad expression quickly attracted her attention. She observed that he kept\nentirely aloof from his fellow-guests, and that, every evening after\ndinner, he retired from the drawing-room, as soon as coffee had been\nhanded round, and went outside and stood on the veranda overlooking the\nshore of the Adriatic.\n\nShe made inquiries as to his name and history, and was told that he was\nCount Fernando Asioli, a wealthy Florentine citizen, who, having but\nrecently lost his wife, to whom he was devoted, naturally did not wish to\njoin in the general conversation. Upon hearing this Mrs Dempsey was more\nthan ever interested. It was not so very long since she, too, had lost her\npartner--a husband to whom she was much attached--and, consequently, it\nwas in sympathetic mood that, seeing the Count go out, as usual, one\nevening, on to the veranda, she resolved to follow him, to try, if\npossible, to get into conversation with him.\n\nWith this end in view she was about to cross the threshold of the veranda,\nwhen, to her astonishment, she perceived the Count was not there alone.\nStanding by his side, with one hand laid caressingly on his shoulder, was\na tall, slim girl, with masses of the most gorgeous red gold hair hanging\nloose and reaching to her waist. She was wearing an emerald green dress of\nsome very filmy substance; but her arms and feet were bare, and stood out\nso clearly in the soft radiance of the moonbeams, that Mrs Dempsey, who\nwas an artist and had studied on the Continent, noticed with a thrill that\nthey equalled, if, indeed, they did not surpass in beauty, any she had\never come across either in Greek or Florentine sculpture.\n\nMuch perplexed as to who such a queerly attired visitor on such friendly\nterms with the Count could be, Mrs Dempsey remained for a second or two\nwatching, and then, afraid lest she should attract their attention and so\nbe caught, seemingly, in the act of spying, she withdrew.\n\nThe moment she got back again into the drawing-room, however, she made\nsomewhat indignant inquiries of a lady who generally sat next to her at\nmeals, as to the identity of the girl she had just seen standing beside\nthe, said to be, heart-broken Count in an attitude of such close intimacy.\n\n\"A woman with the Count!\" was the reply. \"Surely not! Who can she be, and\nwhat was she like?\"\n\nMrs Dempsey described the stranger in detail, but her friend, shaking her\nhead, could only suggest that she was some new-comer, some guest who had\narrived at the hotel, and gone on the veranda whilst they were at dinner.\nFeeling a little curious, however, Mrs Dempsey's friend walked towards the\nveranda, and, in a very short time, returned, looking somewhat puzzled.\n\n\"You must have been mistaken,\" she whispered, \"there is no one with Count\nAsioli now, and, if anyone had come away, we should have seen them.\"\n\n\"I am quite sure I did see a woman there,\" Mrs Dempsey replied, \"and only\na minute or two ago; she must have got out somehow, although there is,\napparently, no other way than through this room.\"\n\nAt this moment, the Count, entering the room, took a seat beside them; and\nthe subject, of course, had to be dropped. The next night, however, the\nevents of the preceding night were repeated. Mrs Dempsey followed the\nCount on to the veranda, saw the girl in green standing with her hand on\nhis shoulder, came back and told her neighbour at meals, and the latter,\non hastening to the veranda to look, once more returned declaring that the\nCount was alone. After this, a slight altercation took place between the\ntwo ladies, the one declaring her belief that it was all an optical\nillusion on the part of the other, and the other emphatically sticking to\nher story that she had actually seen the girl she had described.\n\nThey parted that night, both a little ruffled, though neither would admit\nit, and the following night, Mrs Dempsey, as soon as she saw the Count go\non to the veranda, fetched her friend.\n\n\"Now,\" she said, \"come with me and see for yourself.\"\n\nThe two ladies, accordingly, went to the veranda and, opening the door\ngently, peeped in.\n\n\"There she is,\" Mrs Dempsey whispered, \"standing in just the same\nposition.\"\n\nThe sound of her voice, though so low as to be scarcely heard even by the\nlady standing beside her, seemingly attracted the attention of both the\ngirl and the Count, for they turned round simultaneously. Then Mrs\nDempsey, whose gaze was solely concentrated on the girl, saw a face of\nalmost indescribable beauty--possessing neatly chiselled, but by no means\ncoldly classical features, long eyes of a marvellous blue, a smooth broad\nbrow, and delicately and subtly moulded mouth; it was the face of a young\ngirl, barely out of her teens, and it was filled with an expression of\ninfinite sorrow and affection.\n\nMrs Dempsey was so enraptured that, to quote her own words, she \"stood\ngazing at it in speechless awe and amazement,\" and might, perhaps, have\nbeen gazing at it still, had not the voice of the Count called her back to\nearth.\n\n\"I hope, ladies,\" he was saying, \"that you do not see anything unusually\ndisturbing in my appearance to-night, for I undoubtedly seem to be the\nobject of your solicitude. May I ask why?\"\n\nThough he spoke quite politely, even the dullest could have seen that he\nwas more than a little annoyed. Mrs Dempsey therefore hastened to reply.\n\n\"It is not you,\" she stammered out, \"it is the lady--the lady you have\nwith you. I--I fancied I knew her.\"\n\n\"The lady I have with me,\" the Count exclaimed, in accents of cold\nsurprise. \"Kindly explain what you mean?\"\n\n\"Why the lady----\" Mrs Dempsey began, and then she glanced round.\n\nThe Count was standing in front of her--but he was quite alone. There was\nno vestige of a girl in green, nor of any other person on the veranda\nsaving themselves, and immediately beneath it, at a distance of at least\nthirty feet, glimmered the white shingles of the silent and\ndeserted--utterly deserted--seashore.\n\n\"She's gone,\" Mrs Dempsey cried, \"but I'm positive I saw her--a lady in\ngreen standing beside you.\" Then, for the first time, she felt afraid, and\ntrembled.\n\nThe Count, who had been observing her very closely, now advanced a step or\ntwo towards her, and in a very different tone said:\n\n\"Will you please describe the lady? Was she old or young, dark or fair?\"\n\n\"Young and fair, very fair,\" Mrs Dempsey exclaimed. \"But please come\ninside, for I've received something of a shock, and can, perhaps, talk to\nyou better in the gaslight, with people near at hand whom I know are human\nbeings.\"\n\nHe did as she requested, and became more and more interested as she\nproceeded with her description, interrupting her every now and again with\nquestions. Was she sure the girl had blue eyes, he asked, and how could\nshe tell what colour the eyes were by the light of the moon only; Mrs\nDempsey's reply to which being that the girl's whole body seemed to be\nilluminated from within, in such a manner that every detail could be seen,\nalmost, if not quite, as clearly as if she had been standing in the full\nglare of an electric light. At the conclusion of her narrative Mrs Dempsey\nwas further questioned by the Count.\n\n\"Had she,\" he inquired, \"ever been told that he was partly Irish,\nbecause,\" he added, on receiving a negative reply, \"I am, and my real name\nis O'Neill, my great-great-grandfather having assumed the name of Asioli\nin order to come into some property when the family, which came from the\nsouth of Ireland, settled in Italy, many, many years ago. But what will, I\nam sure, be of considerable interest to you is the fact that this branch\nof the O'Neills, the branch to which I belong, is haunted by a Banshee,\nand that that Banshee has, I believe--since the description of it given me\nby various members of my family tallies with the description you have\ngiven me of the girl you saw standing by me--appeared to you. I would add\nthat it never reveals itself, excepting when an O'Neill is about to die,\nand as I am quite the last of my line, I cannot conceive any reason for\nits having thus appeared three nights in succession, unless, of course, it\nis to predict my own end.\"\n\nMrs Dempsey was not long left in doubt. On the morrow the Count was\nsummoned to Venice on urgent business, and on his way to the railway\ndepot he suddenly dropped down dead, the excitement and exertion having,\nso it was supposed, proved too much for his heart, which was known to be\nweak.\n\nSaid to be descended from the younger of the two sons of King Milesius, it\ncertainly is not surprising that the O'Neills[7] should possess a\nBanshee--indeed, it would be surprising if they did not--but I have found\nit somewhat difficult to trace. However, according to Lady Wilde in her\n\"Irish Wonders,\" p. 112, there is a room at Shane Castle which is strictly\nset aside for it.\n\nThe Banshee, Lady Wilde says, is very often seen in this apartment,\nsometimes appearing shrouded in a dark, mist-like mantle; and at other\ntimes as a very lovely young girl with long, red-gold hair, clad in a\nscarlet cloak and green kirtle, adorned with gold. Lady Wilde goes on to\ntell us no harm ever comes of the Banshee's visit, unless she is seen in\nthe act of crying, when her wails may be taken as a certain sign that some\nmember of the family will shortly die. Mr McAnnaly corroborates this by\nstating that on one occasion one of the O'Neills of Shane Castle heard the\nBanshee crying, just as he was about to set out on a journey, and perished\nsoon afterwards, which is somewhat unusual, because in the majority of\ncases I have come across the Banshee does not manifest itself at all to\nthe person whose death it predicts. A very old, probably the oldest,\nbranch of the O'Neills now resides in Portugal, but up to the present I\nhave not succeeded in obtaining any evidence to warrant the assumption\nthat the Banshee haunting has been experienced in that country.\n\nIndeed, the Banshee seems to be just as erratic and wayward as any\ndaughter of Eve, for there is no consistency whatever in her movements.\nThe very families one thinks she would haunt, she often studiously avoids,\nand not infrequently she concentrates her attention on those who are\nutterly obscure, albeit, always of _bona fide_ Irish extraction.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nCASES OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY\n\n\nIn previous chapters I have dealt exclusively with cases that are, without\ndoubt, those of genuine Banshee haunting. I now propose to narrate a few\ncases which I will term cases of doubtful Banshee haunting--that is to\nsay, cases of haunting which, although said to be Banshee, cannot, in view\nof the phenomena and circumstances, be thus designated with any degree of\ncertainty.\n\nTo begin with I will recall the case relating to the R----s, a family\nliving in Canada. Their house, a long, low, two-storied building, stood on\na lonely spot on the road leading to Montreal, and a young lady, whom I\nwill designate Miss Delane, was visiting them when the incidents I am\nabout to narrate took place.\n\nThe weather had been more than commonly fine for that time of year, but at\nlast the inevitable and unmistakable signs of a break had set in, and one\nevening black clouds gathered in the sky, the wind whistled ominously in\nthe chimneys and savagely shook the many-coloured maple leaves, while,\nafter a time, the moon, which had been hanging like a great red globe over\nthe St Lawrence, became suddenly obscured, and big drops of rain came\nspluttering against the windows.\n\nMiss Delane, who had been seized with a strange restlessness which she\ncould not shake off, then went into the hall, and was about to speak to\none of Major R----'s nieces, who was also on a visit there, when her\nattention was arrested by the sound of a heavy carriage lumbering along\nthe high road, from the direction of Montreal, at a very great rate. It\nbeing now nearly ten o'clock, an hour when there was usually very little\ntraffic, she was somewhat surprised, her astonishment increasing by leaps\nand bounds when she heard the wheels crunching on the gravel drive, and\nthe carriage rapidly approaching the house.\n\n\"Surely, it is too late----\" she began, but was cut short by the Major,\nwho, abruptly pushing past her to the front door, just as the carriage\ndrew up, swung it to, and, in trembling haste, locked, and barred, and\nbolted it.\n\nFootsteps were then heard hurriedly ascending the steps to the front door,\nand immediately afterwards a series of loud rat-tat-tats, although, as\neveryone instantly remembered, there was no knocker on the door, the\nMajor having had it removed many years ago, for a reason he either could\nnot or would not explain.\n\nStartled almost out of their senses by the noise, the whole household had\nin a few seconds assembled in the hall, and they now knelt, huddled\ntogether, whilst the Major in a voice which, despite the fact that it was\nraised to its highest pitch, could barely be heard above the furious and\nfrenzied knocking, besought the Almighty to protect them.\n\nAs he continued praying the rat-tats gradually grew feebler and feebler,\nuntil they finally ceased, after which the footsteps were once again heard\non the stone steps, this time descending, and the carriage drove away. It\nwas not, however, until the reverberations of the wheels could no longer\nbe heard that the Major rose from his knees. Then, bidding his household\ndo likewise, he insisted that they should at once retire, without speaking\na word, to their rooms; and forbade them ever to mention the matter to him\nagain.\n\nAs soon as Miss Delane and the Major's nieces were in their bedroom--they\nshared a room between them--they ran to the window and looked out. The sky\nwas quite clear now, and the moon was shining forth in all the splendour\nof its calm cold majesty; but the grounds and road beyond were quite\ndeserted; not a vestige of any person or carriage could be seen anywhere,\nand, on the morrow, when they hastened downstairs and examined the gravel,\nthere were no indications whatever of any wheels.\n\nThe day passed quite uneventfully, and once again it was night-time; the\nMajor had read prayers as usual at about ten, and the household, also as\nusual, had retired to rest. Miss Delane, who was used to much later hours,\nfound it difficult to compose herself to sleep so soon, but she had just\nmanaged to doze off, when she was aroused by her friend Ellen, the elder\nof the Major's two nieces, pulling violently at her bedclothes, and, on\nlooking up, she perceived a tall figure, clad in what looked like nun's\ngarments, walking across the room with long, stealthy strides. As she\ngazed at it in breathless astonishment, it suddenly paused and, turning\nits hooded head round, stared fixedly at Ellen, and then, moving on,\nseemed to melt into the wall. At all events, it had vanished, and there\nwas nothing where it had been standing, saving moonlight.\n\nFor some minutes Ellen was too terrified to speak, but she at last called\nout to Miss Delane and implored her to come and get into her bed, as she\nno longer dared lie there by herself.\n\n\"Did you see the way it looked at me,\" she whispered, clutching hold of\nMiss Delane, and shuddering violently. \"I don't think I shall ever get\nover it. We must leave here to-morrow. We must, we must,\" and she burst\nout crying.\n\nAs may be imagined, there was little sleep for either of the girls again\nthat night, and it seemed to them as if the morning would never come; but,\nwhen at last it did come, they told Major R---- what had happened, and\ndeclared they really dared not spend another night in the house.\n\nThough obviously distressed on hearing what they had to say, the Major did\nnot press them to alter their decision and stay, but told them that to go,\nhe thought, under the circumstances, was far the wisest and safest thing\nfor them to do. An hour or so later, having finished their packing, they\nwere all three taking a final stroll together in the garden, when they\nfancied they heard someone running after them down one of the sidewalks,\nand, turning round, they saw the figure that had disturbed them in the\nnight, standing close behind them.\n\nThe sunlight falling directly on it revealed features now only too easily\ndistinguishable of someone long since dead, but animated by a spirit that\nwas wholly antagonistic and malicious, and as they shrank back\nterror-stricken, it stretched forth one of its long, bony arms and touched\nfirst Ellen and then her sister on the shoulder. It then veered round,\nand, moving away with the same peculiarly long and surreptitious strides,\nseemed suddenly to amalgamate with the shadows from the trees and\ndisappear.\n\nFor some moments the girls were far too paralysed with fear to do other\nthan remain where they were, trembling; but their faculties at length\nreasserting themselves, they made a sudden dash for the house, and ran at\ntop speed till they reached it.\n\nIt was some weeks afterwards, however, and not till then, that Miss\nDelane, who was back again in her home in Ireland, received any\nexplanation of the phenomena she had witnessed. It was given her by a\nfriend of the R----s who happened to be visiting one of Miss Delane's\nrelatives in Dublin.\n\n\"What you saw,\" this friend of the R----s said to Miss Delane, \"was, I\nbelieve, the Banshee, which always manifests itself before the death of\nany member of the family. Sometimes it shrieks, like the shrieking of a\nwoman who is being cruelly done to death, and sometimes it merely stares\nat or touches its victim on the shoulder with its skeleton hand. In either\ncase its advent is fatal. Only,\" she added, \"let me implore you never to\nbreathe a word of this to the R----s, as they never mention their ghost to\nanyone.\"\n\nMiss Delane, of course, promised, at the same time expressing a devout\nhope that the phenomena she had witnessed did not point to the illness or\ndeath of either of her friends; but in this she was doomed to the deepest\ndisappointment, for within a few weeks of the date upon which the\nBanshee--if Banshee it really were--had appeared, she received tidings of\nthe deaths of both Ellen and her sister (the former succumbing to an\nattack of some malignant fever, and the latter to an accident), and in\naddition heard that Major R---- had died also. As Major R---- would never\ndiscuss the subject of his family ghost with anyone at all, it is\nimpossible to say whether he believed the haunting to be a Banshee\nhaunting or not; but many, apparently, did believe it to be this type of\nhaunting, and I must say I think they were wrong.\n\nTo begin with, the R----s were Anglo-Irish. Their connection with Ireland\nmay have dated back a century or so, but they were certainly not of\nMilesian nor even Celtic Irish descent; and, for this reason alone, could\nnot have acquired a Banshee haunting. Besides, the Banshee that we know\ndoes not appear, as the R----'s ghost appeared, attired in the vestments\nof a religious order; and the coach or hearse phantasm (which in the\nR----'s case preceded the manifestation of the supposed Banshee) is by no\nmeans an uncommon haunting;[8] and since it is more often than not\naccompanied by phenomena of the sepulchral type (the type witnessed by\nMiss Delane and the Major's nieces), it may be said to constitute in\nitself a peculiar form of family haunting which is not, of course,\nexclusively confined to the Irish.\n\nHence I entirely dismiss the theory that the notorious R----'s ghost had\nanything at all to do with the Banshee. A propos of coaches, I am reminded\nof an incident related by that past master of the weird, J. Sheridan Le\nFanu, in a short story entitled \"A Chapter in the History of a Tyrone\nFamily.\" As it relates to that type of phantasm that is so often foolishly\nconfused with the Banshee, I think I cannot do better than give a brief\nsketch of it.\n\nMiss Richardson, a young Anglo-Irish girl, resided with her parents at\nAshtown, Tyrone, and her elder sister, who had recently married a Mr Carew\nof Dublin, being expected with her husband on a visit, great preparations\nwere on foot for their reception.\n\nThey were leaving Dublin by coach on the Monday morning, they had written\nto say, and hoped to arrive at Ashtown some time the following day. The\nmorning and afternoon passed, however, without any sign of the Carews,\nand when it got dark, and still they did not come, the Richardson family\nbegan to feel a trifle uneasy.\n\nThe night was fine, the sky cloudless, and the moon, when it at length\nrose, could not have been more brilliant. It was a still night, too, so\nstill that not a leaf stirred, and so still that those on the qui vive,\nwho were straining their ears to the utmost, must have caught the sound of\nan approaching vehicle on the high road, had there been one, when it was\nstill at a distance of several miles. But no sound came, and when\nsuppertime arrived, Mr Richardson, as was his wont, made a tour of the\nhouse, and carefully fastened the shutters and locked the doors. Still the\nfamily listened, and still they could hear nothing, nothing, either near\nto, or far away.\n\nIt was now midnight, but no one went to bed, for all were buoyed up with\nthe desperate hope that something must at last happen--either, the Carews\nthemselves would suddenly turn up, or a messenger with a letter explaining\nthe delay.\n\nNeither eventuality, however, came to pass, and nothing occurred until\nMiss Richardson, who had, for the moment, allowed her mind to dwell on an\nentirely different topic, gave a start. Her heart beat loud, and she held\nher breath! She heard carriage wheels. Yes, without a doubt, she heard\nwheels--the wheels of a coach or carriage, and they were getting more and\nmore distinct. But she remained silent. She had been rebuked once or twice\nfor giving a false alarm--she would now let someone else speak first. In\nthe meantime, on and on came the wheels, stopping for a moment whilst the\niron gate at the entrance to the drive was swung open on its rusty hinges;\nthen on and on again, louder, louder and louder, till all could\ndistinguish, amid the barking of the dogs, the sound of scattered gravel\nand the crackling and swishing of the whip. There was no doubt about it\nnow, and with joyous cries of \"It is them! They have come at last,\" a\nregular stampede was made for the hall door, parents and sister, servants\nand dogs, vying with one another to see who could get there first. But, lo\nand behold, when the door was opened, and they stepped out, there was no\nsign of a coach or carriage anywhere; nothing was to be seen but the broad\ngravel drive and lawn beyond, alight with moonbeams and peopled with queer\nshadows, but absolutely silent, with a silence that suggested a\nchurchyard.\n\nThe whole household now looked at one another with white and puzzled\nfaces; they began to be afraid; whilst the dogs, running about, and\nsniffing, and whining, were obviously ill at ease and afraid, too.\n\nAt last a kind of panic set in, and all made a rush for the house, taking\ncare, when once inside, to shut the door with even greater haste than they\nhad displayed in opening it. The family then retired to rest, but not to\nsleep, and early the next morning they received news that fully confirmed\ntheir suspicions. Mrs Carew had been taken ill with fever on Monday, while\npreparations for the departure were being made, and had passed away,\nprobably at the very moment when the Richardsons, hearing the phantom\ncoach and mistaking it for a real one, had opened their hall door to\nwelcome her.\n\nThat is the gist of the incident as related by Mr Le Fanu, and I have\nquoted it merely to show how a case of this kind, especially when it\nhappens in Ireland, and to a family that has for some time been associated\nwith Ireland, may sometimes be mistaken for a genuine Banshee haunting,\nalthough, of course, there is no reason whatever to suppose that Mr Le\nFanu himself laboured under any delusion with regard to it, or intended to\nconvey to his readers an impression of the haunting that the circumstances\ndid not warrant. He merely states it as a case of the supernatural without\nattempting to consign it to any special category.\n\nLady Wilde in her \"Ancient Cures, Charms and Usages of Ireland,\" pp. 163,\n164, quotes another case of coach haunting in Ireland, a very terrible\none; while in a book entitled \"Rambles in Northumberland,\" by the same\nauthor, we are informed, \"when the death-hearse, drawn by headless horses\nand driven by a headless driver, is seen about midnight proceeding\nrapidly, but without noise, towards the churchyard, the death of some\nconsiderable personage in the parish is sure to happen at no distant\nperiod.\" Also, there is a phantom of this description that is occasionally\nseen on the road near Langley in Durham, and my relatives, the Vizes[9] of\nLimerick--at least, so my grandmother, _nee_ Sally Vize, used to say--are\nhaunted by a phantom coach too; indeed, there seems to be no end to this\nkind of haunting, which is always either very picturesque or very\nterrifying, and sometimes both picturesque and terrifying.\n\nAt the same time, although intensely interesting, no doubt, the phantom\ncoach is not essentially Irish, and not in any way connected with the\nBanshee.\n\nAs an example of the extreme anxiety of some people to be thought to be of\nancient Irish extraction and to have a Banshee, I might refer to an\nincident in connection with Mrs Elizabeth Sheridan, which is recorded in\nfootnotes on pages 32 and 33 of \"The Memoirs of the Life and Writings of\nMrs Frances Sheridan,\" compiled by her granddaughter, Miss Alicia Lefanu,\nand published in 1824, and quote from it the following:\n\n     \"Like many Irish ladies who resided during the early part of life in\n     the country, Miss Elizabeth Sheridan was a firm believer in the\n     Banshi, a female daemon, attached to ancient Irish families. She\n     seriously maintained that the Banshi of the Sheridan family was heard\n     wailing beneath the windows of Quilca before the news arrived of Mrs\n     Frances Sheridan's death at Blois, thus affording them a\n     preternatural intimation of the impending melancholy event. A niece\n     of Miss Sheridan's made her very angry by observing that as Miss\n     Frances Sheridan was by birth a Chamberlaine, a family of English\n     extraction, she had no right to the guardianship of an Irish fairy,\n     and that, therefore, the Banshi must have made a mistake.\"\n\nNow I certainly agree with Miss Sheridan's niece in doubting that the cry\nheard before Mrs Frances Sheridan's death was that of the real Banshee;\nbut I do not doubt it because Mrs Frances Sheridan was of English\nextraction, for the Banshee has frequently been heard before the death of\na wife whose husband was one of an ancient Irish clan--even though the\nwife had no Irish blood in her at all, but I doubt it because the husband\nof Mrs Frances Sheridan was one of a family who, not being of really\nancient Irish descent, does not, in my opinion, possess a Banshee.\n\nIn \"Personal Sketches of his Own Times,\" by Sir Jonah Barrington, we find\n(pp. 152-154, Vol. II.) the account of a ghostly experience of the author\nand his wife, which experience the writer of the paragraph, referring to\nthis work in the notes to T. C. Croker's Banshee Stories, evidently\nconsidered was closely associated with the Banshee.\n\nAt the time of the incident, Lord Rossmore was Commander-in-Chief of the\nForces in Ireland. He was a Scot by birth, but had come over to Ireland\nwhen very young, and had obtained the post of page to the Lord-Lieutenant.\nFortune had favoured him at every turn. Not only had he been eminently\nsuccessful in the vocation he finally selected, but he had been equally\nfortunate both with regard to love and money. The lady with whom he fell\nin love returned his affections, and, on their marriage, brought him a\nrich dowry. It was partly with her money that he purchased the estate of\nMount Kennedy, and built on it one of the noblest mansions in Wicklow. Not\nvery far from Mount Kennedy, and in the centre of what is termed the\ngolden belt of Ireland, stood Dunran, the residence of the Barringtons; so\nthat Lord Rossmore and the Barringtons were practically neighbours.\n\nOne afternoon at the drawing-room at Dublin Castle, during the Vice-royalty\nof Earl Hardwick, Lord Rossmore met Lady Barrington, and gave her a most\npressing invitation to come to his house-party at Mount Kennedy the\nfollowing day.\n\n\"My little farmer,\" said he, addressing her by her pet name, \"when you go\nhome, tell Sir Jonah that no business is to prevent him from bringing you\ndown to dine with me to-morrow. I will have no ifs in the matter--so tell\nhim that come he MUST.\"\n\nLady Barrington promised, and the following day saw her and Sir Jonah at\nMount Kennedy. That night, at about twelve, they retired to rest, and\ntowards two in the morning Sir Jonah was awakened by a sound of a very\nextraordinary nature. It occurred first at short intervals and resembled\nneither a voice nor an instrument, for it was softer than any voice, and\nwilder than any music, and seemed to float about in mid-air, now in one\nspot and now in another. To quote Sir Jonah's own language:\n\n\"I don't know wherefore, but my heart beat forcibly; the sound became\nstill more plaintive, till it almost died in the air; when a sudden\nchange, as if excited by a pang, changed its tone; it seemed descending. I\nfelt every nerve tremble: it was not a natural sound, nor could I make out\nthe point from whence it came. At length I awakened Lady Barrington, who\nheard it as well as myself. She suggested that it might be an Aeolian harp;\nbut to that instrument it bore no resemblance--it was altogether a\ndifferent character of sound. My wife at first appeared less affected than\nI; but subsequently she was more so. We now went to a large window in our\nbedroom, which looked directly upon a small garden underneath. The sound\nseemed then, obviously, to ascend from a grass plot immediately below our\nwindow. It continued. Lady Barrington requested I would call up her maid,\nwhich I did, and she was evidently more affected than either of us. The\nsounds lasted for more than half an hour. At last a deep, heavy, throbbing\nsigh seemed to come from the spot, and was shortly succeeded by a sharp,\nlow cry, and by the distinct exclamation, thrice repeated, of\n'Rossmore!--Rossmore!--Rossmore!' I will not attempt to describe my own\nfeelings,\" Sir Jonah goes on. \"The maid fled in terror from the window,\nand it was with difficulty I prevailed on Lady Barrington to return to\nbed; in about a minute after the sound died gradually away until all was\nstill.\"\n\nSir Jonah adds that Lady Barrington, who was not so superstitious as\nhimself, made him promise he would not mention the incident to anyone next\nday, lest they should be the laughing stock of the place.\n\nAt about seven in the morning, Sir Jonah's servant, Lawler, rapped at the\nbedroom door and began, \"Oh, Lord, sir!\", in such agitated tones, that Sir\nJonah at once cried out: \"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" Lawler ejaculated, \"Lord Rossmore's footman was running past my\ndoor in great haste, and told me in passing that my lord, after coming\nfrom the Castle, had gone to bed in perfect health (Lord Rossmore, though\nadvanced in years, had always appeared to be singularly robust, and Sir\nJonah had never once heard him complain he was unwell), but that about\ntwo-thirty this morning his own man, hearing a noise in his master's bed\n(he slept in the same room), went to him, and found him in the agonies of\ndeath; and before he could alarm the other servants, all was over.\"\n\nSir Jonah remarks that Lord Rossmore was actually dying at the moment Lady\nBarrington and he (Sir Jonah) heard his lordship's name pronounced; and he\nadds that he is totally unequal to the task of accounting for the sounds\nby any natural causes. The question that most concerns me is whether they\nwere due to the Banshee or not, and as Lord Rossmore was not apparently of\nancient Irish lineage, I am inclined to think the phenomena owed its\norigin to some other class of phantasm; perhaps to one that had been\nattached to Lord Rossmore's family in Scotland. Moreover, I have never\nheard of the Banshee speaking as the invisible presence spoke on that\noccasion; the phenomena certainly seems to me to be much more Scottish\nthan Irish.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nDUAL AND TRIPLE BANSHEE HAUNTINGS\n\n\nIt is a somewhat curious, and, perhaps, a not very well-known fact, that\nsome families possess two Banshees, a friendly and an unfriendly one;\nwhilst a few, though a few only, possess three--a friendly, an unfriendly,\nand a neutral one. A case of the two Banshees resulting in a dual Banshee\nhaunting was told me quite recently by a man whom I met in Paris at\nHenriette's in Montparnasse. He was a Scot, a journalist, of the name of\nMenzies, and his story concerned an Irish friend of his, also a\njournalist, whom I will call O'Hara.\n\nFrom what I could gather, these two men were of an absolutely opposite\nnature. O'Hara--warm-hearted, impulsive, and generous to a degree;\nMenzies--somewhat cold, careful with regard to money, and extremely\ncautious; and yet, apart from their vocation which was the apparent link\nbetween them, they possessed one characteristic in common--they both\nadored pretty women. The high brow and extreme feminist with her stolid\nfeatures and intensely supercilious smile was a nightmare to them; they\nsought always something pleasing, and dainty, and free from academic\nconceits; and they found it in Paris--at Henriette's.\n\nIt so happened one day that, unable to get a table at Henriette's, the\nplace being crowded, they wandered along the Boulevard Montparnasse, and\nturned into a new restaurant close to the Boulevard Raspail. This place,\ntoo, was very full, but there was one small table, at which sat alone a\nyoung girl, and, at O'Hara's suggestion, they at once made for it.\n\n\"You sly fellow,\" Menzies whispered to his friend, after they had been\nseated a few minutes, \"I know why you were so anxious to come here.\"\n\n\"Well, wasn't I right,\" O'Hara, whose eyes had never once left the girl's\nface, responded. \"She's the prettiest I've seen for many a day.\"\n\n\"Not bad!\" Menzies answered, somewhat critically. \"But I don't like her\nmouth, it's wolfish.\"\n\nO'Hara, however, could see no fault in her; the longer he gazed at her,\nthe deeper and deeper he fell in love; not that there was anything very\nunusual in that, because O'Hara was no sooner off with one flame than he\nwas on with another; and he averaged at least two or three love cases a\nyear. But to Menzies this latest affair was annoying; he knew that when\nO'Hara lost his heart he generally lost his head too, and could never talk\nor think on any topic but the eyes, hair, mouth and finger-nails--for,\nlike most Irishmen, O'Hara had a passion for well-kept, well-formed\nhands--of his new divinity, and on this occasion he did want O'Hara to\nremain sane a little longer.\n\nIt was, then, for this reason chiefly, that Menzies did not get a little\nexcited over the new discovery, too; for he was bound to admit that, in\nspite of the lupine expression about the mouth, there was some excuse this\ntime for his friend's enthusiasm. The girl was pretty, an almost perfect\nblonde, with daintily shaped hands, and dressed as only a young Paris\nbeauty can dress, who has money and leisure at her command.\n\nYes, there was excuse; and yet it was the height of folly. Girls mean\nexpenditure in one way or another, and just now neither he nor O'Hara had\nanything to spend. While he was thinking, however, O'Hara was acting.\n\nHe offered the girl a cigarette, she smilingly rejected it; but the ice\nwas broken, and the conversation begun. There is no need to go into any\nparticulars as to what followed--it was what always did follow in a case\nof this description--blind infatuation that invariably ended with a\nstartling abruptness; only in this instance the infatuation was blinder\nthan ever, and the ending, though sudden, was not usual. O'Hara asked the\ngirl to dinner with him that night. She accepted, and he took her out\nagain the following evening. From that moment all reason left him, and he\ngave himself up to the maddest of mad passions.\n\nMenzies saw little of him, but when they did by chance happen to meet it\nwas always the same old tale--Gabrielle! Gabrielle Delacourt. Her\nstar-like eyes, gorgeous hair, and so forth.\n\nThen came a night when Menzies, tired of his own company, wandered off to\nMontmartre, and met a fellow-countryman of his, by name Douglas.\n\n\"I say, old fellow,\" the latter remarked, as they lolled over a little\nmarble-topped table and watched the evolutions of a more than usually\ndaring vaudeville artiste, \"I say, how about that Irish pal of yours, 'O'\nsomething or other. I saw him here the other night with Marie Diblanc.\"\n\n\"Marie Diblanc!\" Menzies articulated. \"I have never heard of her.\"\n\n\"Not heard of Marie Diblanc!\" Douglas exclaimed. \"Why I thought every\njournalist in Paris knew of her, but perhaps she was before your time, for\nshe's had a pretty long spell of prison--at least five or six years, which\nas you know is pretty stiff nowadays for a woman--and has only recently\ncome out. She was quite a kiddie when they bagged her, but a kiddie with a\nmind as old as Brinvillier's in crime and vice--she robbed and all but\nmurdered her own mother for a few louis, besides forging cheques and\nstealing wholesale from shops and hotels. They say she was in with all the\nworst crooks in Europe, and surpassed them all in subtlety and daring.\nWhen I saw her the other night her hair was dyed, and she was wearing the\nmost saint-like expression; but I knew her all the same. She couldn't\ndisguise her mouth or her hands, and it is those features that I notice in\na woman more than anything else.\"\n\n\"Describe her to me,\" Menzies said.\n\n\"A brunette originally,\" Douglas replied, \"but now a blonde--masses of\nvery elaborately waved golden hair; peculiarly long eyes--rather too\nintensely blue and far apart for my liking--a well-moulded mouth, though\nthe lips are far too thin, and give her away at once.\"\n\n\"That's the girl,\" Menzies exclaimed emphatically. \"That's the girl he\ncalls Gabrielle Delacourt. I was with him the day he first met her--over\nin Montparnasse.\"\n\nDouglas nodded.\n\n\"That's right,\" he said. \"That's the name he introduced her to me by. But,\nI'm quite positive she's Marie Diblanc; and I think you ought to give him\nthe tip. If he's seen about with her he'll be suspected by the police.\nBesides, she is sure to commit some crime--for a girl with that kind of\nface and history never reforms, she goes on being right down bad to the\nbitter end--and get him implicated. Only, possibly, she will use him as\nher tool.\"\n\n\"I'll see him and warn him,\" Menzies said. \"I'll call at his place\nto-night, though there's no knowing when he'll turn up, for he's the most\nerratic creature under the sun.\"\n\nTrue to his word, Menzies, after a few more minutes' conversation, got up\nand retraced his steps to Montparnasse. O'Hara lived in the Rue Campagne\nPremiere, close to the famous \"rabbit warren.\" His door, as not\ninfrequently happened, was unlocked, but he was out. Menzies went in, and,\nentering the little room which served as a parlour, dining-room, and study\ncombined, threw himself into an armchair and lit a cigarette. He did not\nbother to light up as it was a moonlight night, and the darkness suited\nhis present mood. After a while, however, feeling a little chilly, he\nturned on the gas fire, and then, glancing at the clock over the\nmantel-shelf, perceived it was close on twelve.\n\nAt that instant there was a noise outside, and, thinking it was O'Hara, he\ncalled out, \"Hulloa, Bob, is that you?\"\n\nAs there was no response he called again, and this time there was a\nlaugh--an ugly, malevolent kind of chuckle that made Menzies jump up at\nonce and angrily demand who was there. No one replying, he went to the\nroom door, and, opening it wide, saw a few yards from him a tall dark\nfigure enveloped in what appeared to be a cloak and gown.\n\n\"Hulloa!\" he cried. \"Who are you, and what the ---- do you want here?\"\n\nWhereupon the figure drew aside its covering and revealed a face that\ncaused Menzies to utter an exclamation of terror and spring back. It was\nthe face of an old woman with very high cheek-bones, tightly drawn\nshrivelled skin, and obliquely set pale eyes that gleamed banefully as\nthey met Menzies' horrified stare. A disordered mass of matted yellow hair\ncrowned her head and descended half-way to her shoulders, revealing,\nhowever, her ears, which stood out prominently from her head, huge and\npointed, like those of an enormous wolf. A leadenish white glow seemed to\nemanate from within her and to intensify the general horror of her\nappearance.\n\nThough Menzies had never believed in ghosts before, he felt certain now\nthat he was looking at something which did not belong to this world. It\nwas, he affirmed, so absolutely hellish that he would have uttered a\nprayer and bid it begone, had not his words died in his throat so that he\ncould not articulate a sound. He then tried to raise a hand to cross\nhimself, but this, also, he was unable to do; and the only thing he found\nhe could do, was to stare at it in dumb, open-mouthed horror and wonder.\n\nHow long this state of affairs might have gone on it is impossible to say;\nbut at the sound of heavy and unmistakably human footsteps, first in the\nlower part of the building, and then ascending the stone staircase leading\nto this flat, the old woman disappeared, apparently amalgamating with the\nsomewhat artistic hangings on the wall behind her. Menzies was still\nrubbing his eyes and looking when O'Hara burst in upon him.\n\n\"Hulloa, Donald, is that you?\" he began. \"I've done it.\"\n\n\"Done what?\" Menzies stuttered, his nerves all anyhow.\n\n\"Why, proposed to Gabrielle, of course,\" O'Hara went on excitedly, \"and\nshe's accepted me. She, the prettiest, sweetest, finest little colleen\nI've ever come across, has told me she will marry me. Ye gods, I shall go\noff my head with joy; go stark, staring mad, I tell you.\" And crossing the\nfloor of the study he tumbled into the chair Menzies himself had just\noccupied.\n\n\"I say, old fellow, why don't you congratulate me?\" he continued.\n\n\"I do congratulate you,\" Menzies observed, taking another seat. \"Of course\nI congratulate you, but are you sure she is the sort of girl you will\nalways care about or who will always care about you. You haven't known her\nvery long, and most women cost a deuced lot of money, especially French\nones. Don't take the irrevocable steps before contemplating them well\nfirst.\"\n\n\"I have,\" O'Hara retorted, \"so it's no use sermonising. I have made up my\nmind to marry Gabrielle, and nothing on earth will deter me.\"\n\n\"Do you know her people, or anything about them?\" Menzies ventured.\n\nO'Hara laughed.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"but that doesn't bother me in the slightest. I shouldn't\ncare whether her father was a navvy or a publican, or whether her mother\ntook in washing and pinched a few odd shirts and socks now and again,\nonly as it happens, they don't affect the question at all, because they\nare both dead. Gabrielle is an orphan--quite on her own--so I am perfectly\nsafe as far as that goes. No pompous papa to consult, no cantankerous old\nmother-in-law to dread. Gabrielle was educated at a convent school, and,\nthough you may laugh, knows next to nothing of the world. She's as\ninnocent as a butterfly. We are to be married next month.\"\n\nFinding that it was no earthly use to say any more on the subject, just\nthen at all events, Menzies changed the conversation and referred to the\nincident of the old woman.\n\nO'Hara at once became interested.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"from your description she must have been one of the\nBanshees that is supposed to haunt our family, and which my mother always\ndeclared she saw shortly before my father's death. A hideous hag with a\nshock head of tow-coloured hair, who stood on the staircase laughing\ndevilishly, and then, all at once, vanished. She is known as the bad\nBanshee to distinguish her from the good one, which is, so I have always\nbeen led to understand, very beautiful, but which never manifests itself,\nsaving when anything especially dreadful is going to happen to an\nO'Hara.\"\n\nFeeling very uneasy in his mind, Menzies now bid his friend good night,\nand went home.\n\nAfter that days passed and Menzies saw nothing of O'Hara, until one\nevening, when he was thinking it must be about now that the marriage was\nto take place, O'Hara turned up at his flat, and proposed that they should\ngo for a stroll in the direction of the fortifications near Montsouris.\nBut O'Hara was not in his usual good spirits; he seemed very glum and\ndepressed, and Menzies gathered that there had been occasional differences\nof opinion between his friend and Gabrielle, and that the affair was not\nrunning quite as smoothly as it might. Gabrielle had a great many\nadmirers, one of them very rich, and O'Hara was obviously very much\nannoyed at the attentions they had been bestowing on his fiancee, and at\nthe manner in which she had received them. But there was something else,\ntoo; something he could see in his friend's face and manner, but which\nO'Hara would not so much as hint at. Menzies was, of course, pleased, for\nthere now seemed to be a glimmer of hope that these frictions would\nmaterialise into something stronger and more definite, and lead to a\nrupture that would be final.\n\nHe was so engrossed in speculations of this nature that he forgot all\nabout the time or where they were, and was only brought back to earth by\nthe whistle and shriek of a train, which made him at once realise they had\nleft Montsouris and were several miles without the fortifications.\n\nIt was also getting very dusk, and, as he had to be up unusually early in\nthe morning, he suggested to O'Hara they had better turn back. They were\nthen close beside a clump of bushes and a very lofty pine tree that was\nbending to and fro in such a peculiar manner that Menzies' attention was\nat once directed to it.\n\n\"What's wrong with that tree?\" he remarked, pointing at it with his stick.\n\n\"What's wrong with the tree?\" O'Hara laughed. \"Why, it's not the tree\nthere's anything the matter with--the tree's all right, quite all\nright--it's you. What on earth are you staring at it for in that\nridiculous fashion? Have you suddenly gone mad?\"\n\nMenzies made no reply, but went up to the tree and examined it. As he was\ndoing so, a slight disturbance in the bushes made him glance around, and\nhe saw, a few feet from him, the tall figure of a girl, clad in a kind of\nlong flowing mantle, but with bare head and feet. The moonlight was on her\nface, and Menzies, hard and difficult though he was, as a rule, to please,\nrealised it was lovely, far more lovely, so he declared afterwards, than\nany woman's face he had ever gazed upon. The eyes particularly impressed\nhim, for, although in the darkness he could not tell their colour, he\ncould see that they were of an extremely beautiful shape and setting, and\nseemed to be filled with a sorrow that was almost more than her heart\ncould bear. Indeed, so poignant was this sorrow of hers, that Menzies,\ninfected by it, too, could not keep back the tears from his own eyes; and,\ndour and unemotional as he was by nature, his whole being suddenly became\nliterally steeped in sadness and pity.\n\nThe girl looked straight at him, but only for a few seconds; she then\nturned towards O'Hara, and seemed to concentrate her whole attention upon\nhim. There was now, Menzies thought, a certain indistinctness and a\nsomething shadowy about her that he had not at first noticed, and he was\nthinking how he could test her to see if she were really a substance or\nmerely an optical illusion, when O'Hara, who was getting tired at his long\nabsence, called out, whereupon the girl at once vanished, uttering, as she\nmelted away in the background, in the same inexplicable manner as the old\nwoman had done, such an awful, harrowing, wailing shriek, that it seemed\nto fill the whole air, and to linger on for an eternity. Thoroughly\nterrified, Menzies, as soon as his scattered senses could collect\nthemselves, fled from the spot, and didn't cease running till O'Hara's\nangry shout brought him to a standstill. To his astonishment O'Hara hadn't\nheard anything, and was only annoyed at his seemingly mad behaviour. In\nanswer to his description of the girl, however, and the wailing, O'Hara at\nonce declared it was the Banshee, and the one he had always been so\nparticularly anxious to see.\n\n\"Unless you are having a joke at my expense,\" he said, \"and you look too\ngenuinely scared for that, you have actually seen her--a very beautiful\ngirl, dressed after some old-time Irish custom, in a loose flowing green\nmantle--only of course you couldn't see the colour--with head and feet\nbare. But it's odd about that wail. The good Banshee in a family is always\nsupposed to make it, but why didn't I hear her? Why should it only be you?\nYou're Scotch, not Irish.\"\n\n\"For which I'm truly thankful,\" Menzies said with warmth. \"I've lived\nwithout ever seeing or hearing a ghost or anything approaching one for\nthirty-eight years, and now I've seen and heard two, within the short\nspace of three weeks, and all because of you, because you're Irish. No\nthanks. None of your Banshees for me. I'd rather, ten thousand times\nrather, be just an ordinary laddie from the Highlands, and dispense with\nyour highly aristocratic and fastidious family ghost.\"\n\n\"Come, now,\" O'Hara said good-humouredly, \"we won't quarrel about so\nunsubstantial a thing as the Banshee. Let's hurry up and have a bottle of\ncognac to make us think of something rather more cheerful.\"\n\nMenzies often thought of those words, for it is not infrequently the most\ntrifling words and actions that haunt our memory to the greatest extent in\nafter days. The rest of the evening passed quite uneventfully, and, after\nthey had \"toasted\" each other, the two friends separated for the night.\n\nTwo days later O'Hara's body lay in the Morque, whither it had been taken\nfrom the Seine. Though there were some doubts expressed as to the exact\nmanner in which he had met his death, it was officially recorded \"death\nfrom misadventure,\" and it was not till several years later Menzies\nlearned the truth.\n\nHe was then in Mexico, in a little town not twenty miles from San Blas, on\nthe Western Coast, doing some newspaper work for a South American paper. A\nstorekeeper and his wife were murdered; done to death in a singularly\ncruel manner, even for those parts, and one of the assassins was caught\nred-handed. The other, a woman, succeeded in escaping. As there had been\nso many murders lately in that neighbourhood, the townspeople declared\nthey would make a very severe example of the culprit, and hang him, right\naway, on the scene of his diabolical outrage. Menzies, who had never\nwitnessed anything of the kind before, and was, of course, anxious for\ncopy, took good care to be present. He stood quite close to the handcuffed\nman, and caught every word of the confession he made to the local padre.\nHe gave his name as Andre Fecamps, his age as twenty-five, and his\nnationality as French. He asserted that he was first induced to take to\ncrime through falling in love with a notorious French criminal of the name\nof Marie Diblanc, who accepted him as her lover, conditionally on his\njoining the band of Apaches of which she was the recognised leader.\n\nHe did so, and forthwith plunged into every kind of wickedness imaginable.\nAmong other crimes in which he was implicated he mentioned that of the\nmurder of an Irishman of the name of O'Hara, who was supposed to have met\nwith an accidental death from drowning in the Seine. What really happened,\nso the young desperado said, was this. M. O'Hara was madly in love with\nMarie Diblanc, who was posing to him as Gabrielle Delacourt, an innocent\nyoung girl from the country, when she was already very much married, and\nwas being searched for high and low, at that very time, by certainly more\nthan one desperate husband. Well, one day she persuaded M. O'Hara to take\nher to a dance given by some very wealthy friends of his.\n\nHe did so, and she contrived, unknown to him of course, to smuggle me in,\nand between us we walked off with something like ten thousand pounds of\njewellery.\n\nM. O'Hara came to suspect her--how I don't know, unless he overheard some\nstray conversation between her and some other member of our gang at one of\nthe restaurants they used to dine at. Anyhow, she got to know of it, and\nat once resolved to have him put out of the way. It was arranged that she\nshould bring him to a house in Montmartre, where several of us were in\nhiding, and that we should both kill and bury him there.\n\nWell, he came, and, on perceiving that he had fallen into a trap, besought\nher, if his life must be forfeited--and, anyhow, now he knew she was a\nthief he wouldn't have it otherwise--to take it herself. This she\neventually agreed to do, and, lying in her arms, he allowed her to press a\npoison-bag over his mouth, and so put him to death. His body was taken to\nthe Seine that night in a fiacre and dropped in. Fecamps added that it was\nthe only occasion upon which he had seen Marie Diblanc really moved, and\nhe believed she was a trifle fond of the Irishman, that is to say, if she\ncould be genuinely fond of anyone.\n\nMenzies, who was of course deeply interested, extracted every particle of\ninformation he could out of the man, but nothing would make the latter\nadmit a word as to what had become of Diblanc.\n\n\"If I go to hell,\" he said, \"she is certain to go there, too; for bad as I\nam, I believe her to be infinitely worse; worse, a hundred times worse\nthan any Apache man I have ever met. And yet, depraved and evil as she is,\nI love her, and shall never know a second's happiness till she joins me.\"\n\nThe man died; and Menzies, as he made a sketch of his swinging body, felt\nthoroughly satisfied at last that the ghost he had seen outside the\nfortifications of Monsouris was the good and beautiful Banshee, the\nBanshee that only manifested itself when some unusually dreadful fate was\nabout to overtake an O'Hara.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nA SIMILAR CASE FROM SPAIN\n\n\nAnother case of dual Banshee haunting that occurs to me, took place in\nSpain, where so many of the oldest Irish families have settled, and was\nrelated to me by a distant connection of mine--an O'Donnell. He well\nremembered, he said, many years ago, when he was a boy, his father, who\nwas an officer in the Carlist Army, telling him of an adventure that\nhappened to him during the first outbreak of the Civil War. His father and\nanother young man, Dick O'Flanagan, were subalterns in a cavalry regiment\nthat took a prominent part in a desperate engagement with the Queen's\nArmy. The Carlists were being driven back, when, as a last desperate\nresource, their bare handful of cavalry charged and immediately turned the\nfortunes of the day. In the heat of the affray, however, Ralph O'Donnell\nand Dick O'Flanagan, carried away by their enthusiasm, got separated from\nthe rest of the corps, and were, consequently, overpowered by sheer\nnumbers and taken prisoners.\n\nIn those days much brutality was shown on either side, and our two heroes,\nbeaten, and bruised, and starving, were dragged along in a half-fainting\ncondition, amid the taunts and gibings of their captors, till they were\nfinally lodged in the filthy dungeon of an old mountain castle, where they\nwere informed they would be kept till the hour appointed for their\nexecution. The moment they were alone, they made the most strenuous\nefforts to unloosen the thongs of tough cowhide with which their hands and\nfeet were so cruelly bound together, and, after many frantic endeavours,\nthey at last succeeded. O'Flanagan was the first to get free, and as soon\nas his numbed limbs allowed him to do so, he crawled to the side of his\nfriend and liberated him, too. They then examined the room as best they\ncould in the dark, and decided their only hope of escape lay in the\nchimney, which, luckily for them, was one of those old-fashioned\nstructures, wide enough to admit the passage of a full-grown person. Ralph\nbegan the ascent first, and, after several fruitless efforts, during which\nhe bumped and bruised himself and made such a noise that O'Flanagan feared\nhe would be heard by the guard outside, he eventually managed to obtain a\nfoothold and make sufficient progress for O'Flanagan to follow in his\nwake.\n\nIn everything they did that night luck favoured them. On emerging from the\nchimney on to the roof of the castle, they were rejoiced to find a tree\ngrowing so near to one of the walls that they had little difficulty in\ngripping hold of one of its branches and so descending in safety to the\nground. The guards apparently were asleep, at least none were to be seen\nanywhere, and so, feeling their way cautiously in and out a thick growth\nof trees and bushes, they soon got altogether clear of the premises, and\nfound themselves once again free, but in a part of the country with which\nthey were totally unacquainted. Two hours tramping along a tortuous, hilly\nhigh road, or to give it a more appropriate name, track, for it was\nnothing more, at last brought them to a wayside inn where, in spite of the\nadvanced hour--for it was between one and two o'clock in the morning--they\ndetermined to risk inquiry for a night's shelter. I say \"risk\" because\nthere was a strong spirit of partisanship abroad, and it was quite as\nlikely as not that the inn people were adherents of the Queen.\n\nRalph knocked repeatedly, and the door was at length opened by a young\ngirl who, holding a candlestick in one hand, sleepily rubbed her eyes\nwith the other and, in rather petulant tones, asked what the gentlemen\nmeant by coming to the house at such an unearthly hour and waking everyone\nup. Ralph and O'Flanagan were so struck by her appearance that for some\nseconds they could only stand gaping at her, deprived of all power of\nspeech. Such a vision of loveliness neither of them had seen for many a\nlong day, and both were more than ordinarily susceptible where the fair\nsex was concerned. Dark, like most of the girls are in Spain, she was not\nswarthy, but had, on the other hand, a most singularly fair complexion,\ndevoid of that tendency to hairiness which is apparent in so many of the\nwomen of that country. Her features were, perhaps, a trifle too bold, but\nin strict proportion, and her eyes a wee bit hard, though the shape and\ncolour of them--by candlelight an almost purplish grey--were singularly\nbeautiful. She had very white teeth, too, though there was a something\nabout her mouth, in the setting of the lips when they were closed for\ninstance, and in the general expression, that puzzled Ralph, and which was\ndestined to return to his mind many times afterwards.\n\nRalph noticed, too, that her hands were not those of a peasant class, of a\nclass that has to do much rough and hard work, but that they were white\nand well-kept, the fingers tapering and the nails long and almond shaped.\nShe wore several rings and bracelets, and seemed altogether different from\nthe type of girl one would have expected to find in such a very\nunpretentious kind of building, situated, too, in such a very remote spot.\n\nRalph was not quite as impulsive as his friend, and although, as I have\nsaid, very susceptible, was not so far led away by his feelings as to be\naltogether incapable of observation.\n\nHis first impressions of the girl were that, although she was\nextraordinarily pretty, there was something--apart even from her\nmouth--that he could not fathom, and which caused him a vague uneasiness;\nhe noticed it particularly when her glance wandered to their\ntravel-stained uniforms, and momentarily alighted on O'Flanagan's solitary\nring, which contained a ruby and was a kind of family mascot, akin to the\nfamous cathach of Count Daniel O'Donnell of Tirconnell; and she muttered\nsomething which Ralph fancied had reference to the word \"Carlists,\" and\nthen, as if conscious he was watching her, she raised her eyes quickly\nand, in tones of sleepy indifference this time, asked what the gentlemen\nwanted. Ralph immediately replied that they required a bed with breakfast,\nnot too early, and, perhaps, later on--luncheon. He added that if the inn\nwas full they wouldn't in the least mind sleeping in a barn or stable.\n\n\"All we want,\" he said, \"is to lie down somewhere with a roof over our\nheads, for we are terribly tired.\"\n\nAt the mention of a stable the girl smiled, saying she could offer them\nsomething rather better than that; and, bidding both follow her upstairs,\nwith as little noise as possible, she conducted them to a large room with\na very low ceiling, and, having deposited the candlestick on a chest of\ndrawers, she wished them good night and noiselessly withdrew.\n\n\"Rather better than our late quarters in the prison,\" Ralph exclaimed,\ntaking a survey of the apartment, \"but a wee bit gloomy.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" O'Flanagan retorted. \"The only gloomy things here are your own\nthoughts. I want to stay here always, for I never saw a prettier girl or a\ncosier-looking bed.\"\n\nHe began to undress as he spoke, and in a few minutes both young men were\nstretched out at full length fast asleep.\n\nAbout two hours later Ralph awoke with a violent start to hear distinct\nsounds of footsteps tiptoeing their way softly along the passage outside\ntowards their room door. In an instant all his faculties were on the\nalert, and he sat up in bed and listened. Then something stirred in the\ncorner by the window, and, glancing in that direction, he saw to his\nastonishment the figure of a tall slim girl, in a long, loose, flowing\ngown of some dark material, with a very pale face, beautifully chiselled,\nthough by no means strictly classical features, and masses of shining\ngolden hair that fell in rippling confusion on to her neck and shoulders.\nThe idea that she was the Banshee instantly occurred to him. From his\nfather's description of her, for his father had often spoken to him about\nher, she and the beautiful woman, whom he was now looking at, were\ncertainly very much alike; besides, as the Banshee, when his father saw\nher, was crying, and this woman was crying--crying most bitterly, her\nwhole body swaying to and fro as if racked with the most poignant\nsorrow--he could not help thinking that the identity between them was\nestablished, and that they were, in fact, one and the same person.\n\nAs he was still gazing at her with the most profound pity and admiration,\nhis attention was suddenly directed, by an odd scratching sound, to the\nwindow, where he saw, pressed against the glass, and looking straight in\nat him, a face which in every detail presented the most startling\ncontrast to that upon which his eyes had, but a second ago, been feasting.\nIt was so evil that he felt sure it could only emanate from the lowest\nInferno, and it leered at him with such appalling malignancy that, brave\nman as he had proved himself on the field of battle, he now completely\nlost his nerve, and would have called out, had not both figures suddenly\nvanished, their disappearance being immediately followed by the most\nagonising, heart-rending screams, intermingled with loud laughter and\ndiabolical chuckling, which, for the moment, completely paralysed him. The\nscreams continued for some seconds, during which time every atom of blood\nin Ralph's veins seemed to freeze, and then there was silence--deep and\nsepulchral silence. Afraid to be any longer in the dark, Ralph jumped out\nof bed and lit the candle, and, as he did so, he distinctly heard\nfootsteps move hurriedly away from the door and go stealthily tiptoeing\ndown the passage.\n\nAs may be imagined, he did not sleep again for some time, not, indeed,\nuntil daylight, when he gradually fell into a doze, from which he was\neventually aroused by loud thumps on the door, and the voice of the pretty\ninn maiden announcing that it was time to get up.\n\nAfter breakfast he narrated his experience in the night to O'Flanagan,\nwho, somewhat to his astonishment, did not laugh, but exclaimed quite\nseriously:\n\n\"Why, you have seen our Banshee. At least, the girl in green is our\nBanshee. I saw her before the death of a cousin of mine, and she appeared\nto my mother the night before my father died. I don't know what the other\napparition could have been, unless it was what my father used to term the\n'hateful Banshee,' which he said was only supposed to appear before some\nvery dreadful catastrophe, worse even than death, if anything could be\nworse.\"\n\n\"You haven't the monopoly of Banshees,\" Ralph laughed. \"We have one too,\nand I am positive the woman I saw--the beautiful woman I mean--was the\nO'Donnell Banshee. I would have you know that the Limerick O'Donnells,\nwith whom I am connected, are quite as old a family as the O'Flanagans;\nthey are, indeed, directly descended from Niall of the Nine Hostages.\"\n\n\"So are we,\" O'Flanagan answered hotly, then he burst out laughing. \"Well,\nwell,\" he said, \"fancy quarrelling about anything as immaterial as a\nBanshee. But, anyhow, if they were Banshees that you saw last night,\nthey're a bit out in their calculations. They should have come before that\nskirmish, not after it; unless it's the death of some relative of one of\nus they're prophesying. I hope it's not my sister.\"\n\n\"I don't imagine it has anything to do with you,\" Ralph replied. \"They\nwere both looking at me.\"\n\nHe was about to say something further, when O'Flanagan, seeing the young\ngirl come into the room to clear away the breakfast things, at once began\ntalking to her; and as it was only too evident that he wanted the field to\nhimself, for he was obviously head over ears in love, Ralph got up and\nannounced his intention of taking a walk round the premises.\n\n\"Don't go in the wood, Senor, whatever you do,\" the girl observed, \"for it\nis infested with brigands. They do not interfere with us because we were\nonce good to one of their sick folk--and the Spaniard, brigand though he\nmay be, never forgets a kindness--but they attack strangers, and you will\nbe well advised to keep to the high road.\"\n\n\"Which is the nearest town?\" Ralph demanded.\n\n\"Trijello,\" the girl answered, the same curious expression creeping into\nher eyes that had puzzled Ralph so much before, and which he found\nimpossible to analyse. \"It is about eight miles from here. Don Hervado,\nthe Governor, is a Carlist, and was entertaining some Carlist soldiers\nthere yesterday.\"\n\n\"Good!\" Ralph exclaimed. \"I will walk there. Will you come with me, Dick,\nor will you wait here till I return. I don't suppose I shall be back much\nbefore the evening.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't hurry,\" O'Flanagan laughed, eyeing the girl rapturously, \"I am\nperfectly happy here, and want a rest badly. Don't, whatever you do, let\non to anyone connected with headquarters where we are. Let them go on\nimagining, for a while, we are dead.\"\n\n\"The Senors have been in a battle, yes?\" the girl interrupted, shyly.\n\n\"A battle,\" O'Flanagan laughed, \"not half one. Why, we were taken\nprisoners and only escaped hanging through my unparalleled wits and\nperseverance. However, I don't in the least bemoan the perils and\nhardships we have undergone, for, had events turned out otherwise, we\nshould never have had the joy of seeing you, Senora,\" and catching hold of\nher hand, before she could prevent him, he pressed it fervently to his\nlips, smothering it with kisses.\n\nThinking it was high time to be off, Ralph now took his departure. A\ncouple of hours' walking brought him to Trijello, where, but for a lucky\nincident, he might have found himself landed in a quandary. As he was\nentering the outskirts of the town he met an old peasant, staggering\nunder a sack of onions, and no sooner did the latter catch sight of his\nuniform than he at once called out:\n\n\"Senor, if you value your liberty, you won't enter Trijello in that\ncostume. The Governor is the sworn enemy of all Carlists, and has given\nstrict orders that, anyone with leanings towards that party shall be put\nunder arrest at once.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Ralph exclaimed. \"Why, I was told it was just the other\nway about, and that he was a strong adherent of our cause.\"\n\n\"Whoever told you that, lied,\" the old man responded, \"for he had a nephew\nof mine shot only yesterday morning for saying in public he hoped that\nwretched weakling of a woman would soon be put off the throne and we\nshould have someone who was fit to govern--meaning Don Carlos--in her\nplace. Take my advice, Senor, and either change those clothes at once or\ngive Trijello as wide a berth as possible.\"\n\nRalph then asked him if there was any place near at hand where he could\npurchase a civilian suit, and, on being informed that there was a Jew's\nshop within a few minutes' walk, he thanked the old man most cordially for\ngiving him so friendly a warning, and at once proceeded there.\n\nTo cut a long story short he bought the clothes and, thus disguised, went\non into the town, and, with the object of picking up any information he\ncould with regard to the enemy's forces, he dined at the principal hotel,\nand listened attentively to the conversation that was taking place all\naround him. Later on in the day some Christino soldiers arrived, officers\non the staff of one of the Royalist generals, and Ralph decided to remain\nin the hotel for the night and see if he could get hold of some really\ndefinite news that might be of value to his own headquarters. Learning\nthat someone would be leaving the hotel shortly and passing by the inn\nwhere O'Flanagan was staying, he gave them a note to give to his friend,\nstating that he could not be back till the following day, perhaps about\nnoon. He then took up his seat before the parlour fire, apparently\nabsorbed in reading the latest bulletin from Madrid, but in reality\nkeeping his ears well open for any conversation that might be worth\ntranscribing in his pocket-book. Nor was he disappointed, for the\nChristino soldiers waxed very talkative over some of mine host's best\nport, and disclosed many secrets concerning the movements of the Queen's\nforces, that would have most certainly entailed a court martial, had it\nbut come to the notice of their general.\n\nThat night, though the room he was given was quite bright and cheerful,\nand very different from the one he had occupied the night before, his\nmind was so full of grim apprehension that he found it quite impossible\nto sleep. He kept thinking of the vision he had seen--that lovely, fairy\nface of the girl with the golden hair, her adorable eyes, her heavenly,\nalbeit very human mouth; she was so perfect, so angelic, so full of\ndelicious sympathy and pity; so unlike any earthly woman he had ever met;\nand then that other face--those intensely evil, pale green eyes, that\nsinister mocking mouth, that dreadfully disordered mass of matted,\ntow-coloured hair. It was too hellish--too inconceivably foul and baneful\nto dare think about, and seized with a fit of shuddering, he thrust his\nhead under the bedclothes, lest he should see it again appearing before\nhim. What, he wondered, did they portend? Not some horrible happening to\nDick. He had always understood that the one who neither sees nor hears the\nBanshee during its manifestations is the one that is doomed to die. And\nyet Dick was assuredly as safe in that inn as he was here--here,\nsurrounded on all sides by his enemies. Once or twice he fancied he heard\nhis name called, and so realistic was it, that, forgetful of his dread of\nseeing something satanic in the room, he at last sat up in bed and\nlistened. All was still, however; there were no sounds at all; none\nwhatever, saving the gentle whispering of the wind, as it swept softly\npast the window, and the far-away hooting of a night bird. Then he lay\ndown again, and once more there seemed to come to him from somewhere very\nclose at hand a voice that articulated very clearly and plaintively his\nname--Ralph, Ralph, Ralph!--three times in quick succession, and then\nceased. Nor did he hear it again.\n\nTired and unrested, he got up early and, paying his bill, set off with\nlong, rapid strides in the direction of the wayside inn. There was an air\nof delightful peace and tranquillity about the place when he arrived. All\nthe sunbeams seemed to have congregated in just that one spot, and to have\nconverted the walls and window-panes of the little old-fashioned building\ninto sheets of burnished gold. Birds twittered merrily on the tree-tops\nand under the eaves of the roof, and the most delicious smell of\nhoneysuckle and roses permeated the whole atmosphere.\n\nRalph was enchanted, and all his grim forebodings of the night before were\ninstantly dissipated. The abode was truly named \"The Travellers' Rest\"; it\nmight even have been styled \"The Travellers' Paradise,\" for all seemed so\ncalm and serene--so truly heavenly. He rapped at the door, and, after some\nmoments, rapped again. He then heard footsteps, which somehow seemed\nstrangely familiar, cautiously come along the stone passage and pause at\nthe other side of the door, as if their owner were in doubt whether to\nopen it or not.\n\nAgain he rapped, and this time the door was opened, and the young girl\nappeared. She looked rather pale, but was very much sprucer and smarter\nthan she had been when Ralph last saw her. She wore a very bewitching kind\nof gipsy frock of red velvet--the skirt very short and the bodice adorned\nwith masses of shining silver coins, whilst her feet were clad in very\nsmart, dainty shoes, also red, with big silver buckles.\n\n\"Your friend's gone,\" she said. \"He seemed very upset at your not turning\nup last night, and went away directly after breakfast.\"\n\n\"But didn't he get my note?\" Ralph exclaimed, \"and didn't he leave any\nmessage?\"\n\n\"No, Senor,\" the girl replied. \"No note came for him, but he said he would\ntry and call in here again to-morrow morning, to see if you had arrived.\"\n\n\"And he didn't say where he had gone?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nRalph eyed her quizzically. She certainly was wonderfully pretty, and,\nmarvellous to relate, did not smell of garlic. Yes, he would stay, and try\nand come under the fascination of her beauty as Dick had done. And yet,\nwhy had Dick gone off in such a hurry? What had this starry-eyed creature\ndone to offend him? Ralph knew O'Flanagan was at times apt to be\nover-impulsive and hasty in his love-makings. Had he got on a bit too\nrapidly? Spanish girls are very easily upset, and perhaps this one had a\nlover in the background. Perhaps she was married. That seemed to him the\nmost feasible explanation for Dick's absence. To be offended at his not\nturning up last night was all nonsense. Ralph knew his friend far too well\nfor that. Anyhow, he decided to stay, and the girl offered him the room he\nand Dick had previously occupied. Only, she explained, he must not go in\nit till later on in the day, as it was going to be cleaned.\n\nAfter luncheon, which he sat down to alone, as the girl, despite his\npressing invitation, refused to partake of the meal with him, on the plea\nthat she had many things to attend to, he went a little way up the\nhillside at the back of the premises, and enjoyed a quiet siesta under the\nshadow of the trees. Indeed, he slept so long that the twilight had well\nset in before he awoke and once again made tracks for the inn.\n\nThis time he entered by a doorway in the rear of the house, and, in a\nsmall paved courtyard, saw the girl, habited in a rather more workaday\nattire, but with her hair still very coquettishly decorated with ribbons,\nsharpening a long glistening knife on a big grinding stone, which she was\nturning round and round with the skill of a past mistress of the art.\n\n\"Hulloa!\" he exclaimed. \"What are you up to? Not sharpening that blade to\nstick me with, I hope.\"\n\n\"The Senor has heard of pigs,\" the girl replied, showing her beautiful\nteeth in a smile, almost amounting to a grin. \"Well, I'm going to kill one\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" Ralph ejaculated, glancing incredulously at the white,\nrounded arms and the long, slim, tapering fingers. \"You kill a pig! Do you\ndo all the work of this house? Is there no one else here to help you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Senor,\" the girl laughed. \"There is Isabella, an old woman who\ncomes here every day to do all the hard rough work, and my aunt, but there\nare certain jobs they can't do because their eyesight is not very good,\nand their hands lack the skill. The gentleman looks shocked, but is there\nanything so very dreadful in killing a pig? One slash and it is quickly\ndone--very quickly. We have to live somehow, and, after all, the Senor is\na soldier--he follows the vocation of killing!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, it is all very well for big, rough men. One somehow associates\nthem with deeds of violence and bloodshed. But with beautiful, dainty\ngirls like you it is different. You should shudder at the very thought of\nblood, and be all pity and compassion.\"\n\n\"But not for pigs,\" the girl laughed, \"nor for Senors. Now please go in\nand sit in the parlour, or my aunt will hear me talking to you and accuse\nme of wasting my time.\"\n\nRalph reluctantly obeyed, and drawing his chair close up to the parlour\nfire--for the summer evenings in Spain are often very chilly--was soon\ndeeply absorbed in plans and speculations as to the future. After supper,\nwhen the young girl came into the room to clear the table, Ralph noticed\nthat she was once again wearing the gay apparel she had worn earlier in\nthe day; and all in red, even to the ribbons in her hair, she seemed to be\ndressed more coquettishly than ever. She was also inclined to be more\ncommunicative, and in response to Ralph's invitation to partake of a glass\nof wine with him, she fetched an armchair and came and planted it close\nbeside him.\n\nPretty as he had thought her before, she now appeared to him to be\nindescribably lovely, and the longer he stared at her, stared into the\ndepths of her large, beautifully shaped purplish grey eyes, the more and\nmore hopelessly enslaved did he become, till, in the end, he realised she\nhad him completely at her mercy, and that he was most madly and\ndesperately in love with her.\n\nThey drank together, and so absorbed was he in gazing at her eyes--indeed\nhe never ceased gazing at them--that he did not observe what he was\ndrinking or how many times she filled up his glass. If she had given him a\npoisoned goblet, it would have been all the same, he would have drained it\noff and kissed her hands and feet with his dying breath.\n\n\"Now, Senor,\" she said at length, after he had held her hand to his lips\nand literally smothered it in kisses, \"now, Senor, it is time for you to\ngo to bed. We do not keep late hours here, and to-morrow, Senor, if he is\nstill in the same state of mind, will have plenty of time for repeating to\nme his sentiments.\"\n\n\"To-morrow,\" Ralph stuttered. \"To-morrow, that is a tremendous way off,\nand isn't it to-morrow that that fellow O'Flanagan is coming?\"\n\nThe girl laughed. \"Yes,\" she said saucily, \"there will be two of you\nto-morrow, the one as bad as the other, and I did think, Senor, you were\nthe steadier of the two. Well, well, you are both soldiers, and soldiers\nwere ever gay dogs; but you must be careful, Senor, you and your friend do\nnot quarrel, for, as you know, more than one friendship has been\nterminated through the witching glance of a lady's eyes, and you both seem\nto like looking into mine.\"\n\n\"What!\" Ralph stuttered angrily. \"Did that fellow Dick look at you? Did he\ndare to look at you? Damn----\" but before he could utter another syllable,\nthe girl put her soft little hand over his mouth and pushed him gently to\nthe door.\n\nAlternately making wild love to her and passionately denouncing Dick,\nRalph then allowed himself to be got upstairs to his room by pushes and\ncoaxings, and, as he made a last frantic effort to kiss and fondle her,\nthe door slammed in his face and he found himself--alone.\n\nFor some moments he stood tugging and twisting at the door handle, and\nthen, finding that his efforts had no effect, he was staggering off to the\nbed with the intention of getting into it just as he was, when he caught\nhis foot on something and fell with a crash to the floor, striking his\nface smartly on the edge of a chair. For a moment or so he was partially\nstunned, but, the flow of blood from his nose relieving him, he gradually\ncame to his senses, all trace of his drunkenness having completely\nvanished. The first thing he did then was to look at the carpet which, by\na stroke of luck, was crimson, a most pronounced, virulent crimson,\nexactly the colour of his blood. The spot where he had fallen was close\nto the bed, and, as his eyes wandered along the carpet by the side of the\nbed, he fancied he saw another damp patch. He at once fetched the candle\nand had a closer look.\n\nYes, there was a great splash of moisture on the floor, near the head of\nthe bed, just about in a line with the pillow. He applied his finger to\nthe patch and then held it to the light--it was wet with blood.\n\nFilled with a sickening sense of apprehension, Ralph now proceeded to make\na careful examination of the room, and, lifting the lid of a huge oak\nchest that stood in one corner, he was horrified to perceive the naked\nbody of a man lying at the bottom of it, all huddled up.\n\nGently raising the body and bending down to examine it, Ralph received a\nsecond shock. The face that looked up at him with such utter lack of\nexpression in its big, bulging, glassy eyes was that of the once gay and\nhumorous Dick O'Flanagan.\n\nThe manner of his death was only too obvious. His throat had been cut, not\ncleanly as a man would have done it, but with repeated hacks and slashes,\nthat pointed all too clearly to a woman's handiwork.\n\nThis then explained it all, explained the curious something in the girl's\neyes and mouth he had noticed when he first saw her; explained, too, the\nstealthy, tiptoeing footsteps in the passage that night, the reason for\nthe appearance of the Banshees, the eagerness with which the girl had\nplied him with wine, her red dress--and--the red carpet.\n\nBut why had she done it--for mere sordid robbery, or because they were\nCarlists. Then recollecting the look she had fixed on the ruby in Dick's\nring, the answer seemed clear. It was, of course, robbery. Snake-like, she\nused those beautiful eyes of hers to fascinate her victims--to lull them\ninto a false sense of security; and then, when they had wholly succumbed\nto love and wine, of which she gave them their fill, she butchered them.\n\nMurders in Spanish inns were by no means uncommon about that time, and\neven at a much later date, and had this murder been committed by some old\nand ugly and cross-grained \"host,\" Ralph would not have been surprised,\nbut for this girl to have done it--this girl so young and enchanting, why\nit was almost inconceivable, and he would not have believed it, had not\nthe grim proofs of it lain so close at hand. What was he to do? Of course,\nnow that he was sober and in the full possession of his faculties, it was\nridiculous for him to be afraid of a girl, even though she were armed;\nbut supposing she had confederates, and it was scarcely likely she would\nbe alone in the house.\n\nNo, he must try and escape; but how! He examined the window, it was\nheavily barred; he tried the door, it was locked on the outside; he looked\nup the chimney, it was far too narrow to admit the passage of anyone even\nhalf his size.\n\nHe was done, and the only thing he could do was to wait. To wait till the\ngirl tiptoed into the room to kill, and then--he couldn't bear the idea of\nfighting with her, even though she had so cruelly murdered poor Dick--make\nhis escape.\n\nWith this end in view he blew out the candle, and, lying on the bed,\npretended to be fast asleep.\n\nIn about an hour's time he heard steps, soft, cautious footsteps, ascend\nthe staircase and come stealing surreptitiously towards his door. Then\nthey paused, and he instinctively knew she was listening. He breathed\nheavily, just as a man would do who had drunk not wisely but too well, and\nhad consequently fallen into a deep sleep. Presently, there was a slight\nmovement of the door handle.\n\nHe continued breathing, and the movement was repeated. Still more\nstentorian breaths, and the handle this time was completely turned. Very\ngently he crept off the bed to the door, and, as it slowly opened and a\nfigure in red, looking terribly ghostly and sinister, slipped in, so he\nsuddenly shot past and made a bolt for the passage. There was a wild\nshriek, something whizzed past his head and fell with a loud clatter on\nthe floor, and all the doors in the house downstairs seemed to open\nsimultaneously. Reaching the head of the stairs in a few bounds, he was\ndown them in a trice. A hideous old hag rushed at him with a hatchet,\nwhilst another aged creature, whose sex he could not determine, aimed a\nwild blow at him with some other instrument, but Ralph avoided them both,\nand, reaching the front door, which providentially for him was merely\nlocked, not bolted, he was speedily out of the house and into the broad\nhighway.\n\nThe screams of the women producing answering echoes from the wood in the\nhoarser shouts of men, Ralph took to his heels, nor did he stop running\nuntil he was well on his way to Trijello.\n\nHe did not, however, go to the latter town, fearing that the inn people\nmight follow him there and get him arrested as a Carlist; instead, he\nstruck off the high road along a side path, and, luckily for him, about\nnoon fell in with an advanced guard of the Carlist Army.\n\nHis troubles then, for a time at least, ceased; but to his lasting regret\nhe was never able to avenge Dick's death; for when the war was at last\nover and he had succeeded in persuading the local authorities to take the\nmatter in hand, the inn was found to be empty and deserted. Nor was the\npretty murderess ever seen or heard of again in that neighbourhood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE BANSHEE ON THE BATTLE-FIELD\n\n\nAlthough the Banshee haunting referred to in my last chapter occurred\nduring a war, the manifestations did not take place on the battle-field;\nnor were they actually due to the fighting. At the same time it cannot be\ndenied that they were the outcome of it, for had our two lieutenants not\nbeen fighting desperately in a skirmish and got separated from the main\nbody of the Army, in all probability they never would have visited the\nwayside inn, and the Banshee manifestations there would never have\noccurred.\n\nThere are, however, many instances on record of Banshee manifestations\noccurring on the battle-field, either immediately before or after, or even\nwhilst the fighting was actually taking place. Mr McAnnaly, in his \"Irish\nWonders,\" p. 117, says:\n\n     \"Before the Battle of the Boyne, Banshees were heard singing in the\n     air over the Irish camp, the truth of the prophecy being verified by\n     the death roll of the next morning.\"\n\nNow several of my own immediate ancestors took part in the Battle of the\nBoyne,[10] and according to a family tradition one of them both saw and\nheard the Banshee. He was sitting in the camp, the night prior to the\nfighting, conversing with several other officers, including his brother\nDaniel, when, feeling an icy wind coming from behind and blowing down his\nback, he turned round to look for his cloak which he had discarded a short\ntime before, owing to the heat from a fire close beside them. The cloak\nwas not there, and, as he turned round still further to look for it, he\nperceived to his astonishment the figure of a woman, swathed from head to\nfoot in a mantle of some dark flowing material, standing a few feet behind\nhim. Wondering who on earth she could be, but supposing she must be a\nrelative or friend of one of the officers, for her mantle looked costly,\nand her hair--of a marvellous golden hue--though hanging loose on her\nshoulders, was evidently well cared for, he continued to gaze at her with\ncuriosity. Then he gradually perceived that she was shaking--shaking all\nover, with what he at first imagined must be laughter; but from the\nconstant clenching of her hands and heaving of her bosom, he finally\nrealised that she was weeping, and he was further assured on this point,\nwhen a sudden gust of wind, blowing back her mantle, he caught a full view\nof her face.\n\nIts beauty electrified him. Her cheeks were as white as marble, but her\nfeatures were perfect, and her eyes the most lovely he had ever seen. He\nwas about to address her, to inquire if he could be of any service to her,\nwhen, someone calling out and asking him what on earth he was doing, she\nat once began to melt away, and, amalgamating with the soft background of\ngrey mist that was creeping towards them from the river, finally\ndisappeared.\n\nHe thought of her, however, some hours later, when they were all lying\ndown, endeavouring to snatch a few hours' sleep, and presently fancied he\nsaw, in dim, shadowy outline, her fair face and figure, her big, sorrowful\neyes, gazing pitifully first at one and then at another of his companions,\nbut particularly at one, a mere boy, who was lying wrapped in his military\ncloak, close beside the smouldering embers of the fire. He fancied that\nshe approached this youths and, bending over him, stroked his short, curly\nhair with her delicate fingers.\n\nThinking that possibly he might be asleep and dreaming, he rubbed his eyes\nvigorously, but the outlines were still there, momentarily becoming\nstronger and stronger, more and more distinct, until he realised with a\ngreat thrill that she actually was there, just as certainly as she had\nbeen when he had first seen her.\n\nHe was so intent watching her and wishing she would leave the youth and\ncome to him, that he did not notice that one of his comrades had seen her,\ntoo, until the latter, who had raised himself into a half-sitting posture,\nspoke; then, just as before, the figure of the girl melted away, and\nseemed to become absorbed in the dark and shadowy background.\n\nA moment later, he heard, just over his head, a loud moaning and wailing\nthat lasted for several seconds and then died away in one long, protracted\nsob that suggested mental anguish of an indescribably forlorn and hopeless\nnature.\n\nThe deaths of most of his companions of the night, including that of the\ncurly haired boy, occurred on the following day.\n\nBut the Banshee, although of course appearing to soldiers of Irish birth\nonly, does not confine its attentions to those who are fighting on their\nnative soil; it has been stated that she frequently manifested herself to\nIrishmen engaged on active service abroad during the Napoleonic Wars, and\nalso to those serving in America during the Civil War.\n\nWith regard to the Banshee demonstrations in connection with the\nNapoleonic campaigns, I have not been able to acquire any written record;\nbut as the result of numerous letters sent out by me broadcast in quest of\ninformation, I was asked by several people to call either at their houses\nor clubs, and, gladly accepting their invitations, I learned from them the\nincidents which, with their permission, I am now about to relate.\n\nMiss O'Higgins, an aged lady, residing, prior to the late war, close to\nFifth Avenue, New York, and visiting, when I met her, a friend in the Rue\nCampagne Premiere, Paris, told me that she well remembered her grandfather\ntelling her when she was a child that he heard the Banshee at Talavera, a\nday or two prior to the great battle. He was serving with the Spanish\nArmy, having married the daughter of a Spanish officer, and had no idea at\nthe time that there were any men of Irish extraction in his corps.\nBivouacking with about a hundred other soldiers in a valley, and happening\nto awake in the night with an ungovernable thirst, he made his way down to\nthe banks of the river that flowed near by, drank his fill, and was in the\nact of returning, when he was startled to hear a most agonising scream,\nquickly followed by another, and then another, all proceeding apparently\nfrom the camp, whither he was wending his steps. Wondering what on earth\ncould have happened, and inclining to the belief that it must be in some\nway connected with one of those women thieves who prowled about everywhere\nat night, robbing and murdering, with equal impunity, wherever they saw a\nchance, he quickened his pace, only to find, on his arrival at the camp,\nno sign whatever of the presence of any woman, although the screaming was\ngoing on as vigorously as ever. The sounds seemed to come first from one\npart of the camp, and then from another, but to be always overhead, as if\nuttered by invisible beings, hovering at a height of some six or seven\nfeet, or, perhaps, more, above the ground, and although Lieutenant\nO'Higgins had at first attributed these sounds to one person only, on\nlistening attentively he fancied he could detect several different\nvoices--all women's--and he eventually came to the conclusion that at\nleast three or four phantasms must have been present. As he stood there\nlistening, not knowing what else to do, the wailing and sobbing seemed to\ngrow more and more harrowing, until it affected him so much that, hardened\nas he had become to all kinds of misery and violence, he, too, felt like\nweeping, out of sheer sympathy. However, this state of affairs did not\nlast long, for at the sound of a musket shot (that of a sentry, as\nLieutenant O'Higgins afterwards ascertained, giving a false alarm in some\ndistant part of the camp) the wailing and sobbing abruptly and completely\nceased, and was never, the Lieutenant declared, heard by him again.\n\nOn mentioning the matter to one of his brother officers in the morning,\nthe latter, no little interested and surprised, at once said: \"You have\nundoubtedly heard the Banshee. Poor D----, who fell at Corunna, often used\nto tell me about it, and, you may depend upon it, there are some Irishmen\nin camp now, and it was their funeral dirge that you listened to.\"\n\nWhat he said proved to be quite correct, for, on inquiring, Lieutenant\nO'Higgins discovered three of the soldiers who had been sleeping around\nhim that evening had Irish names, and were, unquestionably, of ancient\nIrish origin; and all of them perished on the bloody field of Talavera,\ntwenty-four hours later.\n\nA story relating to an O'Farrell, who was with the Spanish in the same\nwar, was also told me by Miss O'Higgins; but whether this O'Farrell was\nthe famous general of that name or not I do not know. The story ran as\nfollows:[11]\n\nIt was the day prior to the fall of Badajoz, and O'Farrell, who was in\nBadajoz at the time, a prisoner of the French, was invited to partake of\nsupper with some Spanish-Irish friends of his of the name of McMahon. The\nFrench, it may be observed, were, as a rule, rather more lenient to their\nIrish prisoners than to their English, and O'Farrell was allowed to ramble\nabout Badajoz in perfect freedom, a mere pledge being extracted from him\nthat he wouldn't stroll outside the boundaries of the town without special\npermission. On the night in question O'Farrell left his quarters in high\nspirits. He liked the McMahons, especially the youngest daughter\nKatherine, with whom he was very much in love. He deemed his case\nhopeless, however, as Mr McMahon, who was poor, had often said none of his\ndaughters should marry, unless it were someone who was wealthy enough to\nensure them being well provided for, should they be left a widow; and as\nO'Farrell had nothing but his pay, which was meagre enough in all\nconscience, he saw no prospect of his ever being able to propose to the\nobject of his affections. Had he been strong-minded enough, he told\nhimself, he would have at once said good-bye to Katherine, and never have\nallowed himself to see or even think of her again; but, poor weakling that\nhe was, he could not bear the idea of taking a final peep into her\neyes--the eyes that he had idealised into his heaven and everything that\nmade life worth living for--and so he kept accepting invitations to their\nhouse and throwing himself across her path, whenever the slightest\nopportunity presented itself.\n\nAnd now he found himself once more speeding to meet her, telling himself\nrepeatedly that it should be the last time, but at the same time making up\nhis mind that it should be nothing of the sort. He arrived at the house\nfar too early, of course--he always did--and was shown into a room to wait\nthere till the family had finished their evening toilets. Large glass\ndoors opened out of the room on to a veranda, and O'Farrell, stepping out\non to the latter, leaned over the iron railings, and gazed into the\nsemi-courtyard, semi-garden below, in the centre of which was a fountain\nsurmounted by the marble statue of a very beautiful maiden, that his\ninstinct told him was an exact image of his beloved Katherine. He was\ngazing at it, revelling in the delightful anticipation of meeting the\nflesh and blood counterpart of it in a very short time, when sounds of\nmusic, of someone playing a very, very sad and plaintive air on the harp,\ncame to him through the open doorway. Much surprised, for none of the\nfamily as far as he knew were harpists, nor had he, indeed, ever seen a\nharp in the house, he turned round; but, to add to his astonishment, no\none was there. The room was apparently just as empty as when he had been\nushered into it, and yet the music unquestionably emanated from it.\nConsiderably mystified, for every now and then there was a peculiar\nfar-offness in the sounds which he could liken to nothing he had ever\nheard before, he remained on the veranda, prevented by a strange feeling\nof awe, and something very akin to dread, from venturing into the room.\n\nHe was thus occupied, half standing and half leaning against the framework\nof the glass door, when the harping abruptly ceased, and he heard moanings\nand sobbings as of a woman suffering from paroxysms of the most intense\nand violent grief. Combatting with a great fear that now began to seize\nhim, he summed up the resolution to peep once more into the room, but\nthough his eyes took in the whole range of the room, he could perceive no\nspot where anyone could possibly be in hiding, and nothing that would in\nany way account for the sounds. There was nothing in front of him but\nwalls, furniture, and--space. Not a living creature. What then caused\nthose sounds? He was asking himself this question, when the door opened,\nand Mr McMahon, followed by Katherine and all of the other girls, came\ninto the apartment; and, with their entry, the strange sounds at once\nceased.\n\n\"Why, what's the matter, Mr O'Farrell,\" the girls said, laughingly. \"You\nare as white as a sheet and trembling all over. You haven't seen a ghost,\nhave you?\"\n\n\"I haven't seen anything,\" O'Farrell retorted, a trifle nettled at their\ngaiety, \"but I've heard some rather extraordinary sounds.\"\n\n\"Extraordinary sounds,\" Katherine laughed. \"What on earth do you mean?\"\n\n\"Just what I say,\" O'Farrell remarked. \"When I was on the veranda just now\nI distinctly heard the sound of a harp in this room, and shortly\nafterwards I heard a woman weeping.\"\n\n\"It must have been someone outside in the street,\" Mr McMahon observed\nhastily, at the same time giving O'Farrell a warning glance from his dark\nand penetrating eyes. \"We do occasionally receive visits from street\nmusicians. I have something to say to you about the English and their\nrumoured new attack on the town,\" and drawing O'Farrell aside he whispered\nto him: \"On no account refer to that music again. It was undoubtedly the\nBanshee, the ghost that my forefathers brought over from Ireland, and it\nis only heard before some very dreadful catastrophe to the family.\"\n\nThe following day Badajoz was stormed and entered by the English, and\nin the wild scenes that ensued, scenes in which the drunken English\nsoldiery got completely out of hands, many Spanish--Spanish men and\nwomen--perished, as well as French, and among the casualties were the\nentire McMahon family.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE BANSHEE AT SEA\n\n\nTalking of phantom music, there is a widespread belief among Celtic races\nthat whenever it is heard proceeding from the sea, either a death or some\nother great calamity is prognosticated. Such a belief is very prevalent\nalong the coasts of Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall, and Mr Dyer, in his\n\"Ghost World,\" p. 413, refers to it in Ireland. \"Sometimes,\" he says,\n\"music is heard at sea, and it is believed in Ireland that, when a friend\nor relative dies, a warning voice is discernible.\" To what extent this\nmusic is connected with Banshee hauntings it is, of course, impossible to\nsay; but I have known cases in which it has owed its origin to the Banshee\nand to the Banshee only.\n\nDuring the Civil War in America, for example, a transport of Confederate\nsoldiers was making for Charlestown one evening, when a young Irish\nofficer, who was leaning over the bulwarks and gazing pensively into the\nsea, was astonished to hear the very sweetest sounds of music coming\nfrom, so it seemed to him, the very depths of the blue waters. Thinking he\nmust be dreaming, he called a brother officer to his side and asked him if\nhe could hear anything.\n\n\"Yes,\" the latter responded, \"music, and what is more, singing. It is a\nwoman, and she is singing some very tender and plaintive air. How the\ndeuce do you account for it?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" the young Irishman replied, \"unless it is the Banshee, and\nit sounds very like the description of it that my mother used to give me.\nI only hope it does not predict the death of any one of my very near\nrelatives.\"\n\nIt did not do that, but oddly enough, and unknown to him at the time, a\nnamesake of his, whom he subsequently discovered was a second cousin,\nstood not ten yards from him at the very moment he was listening to the\nmusic, and was killed in action in a sortie from Charlestown on the\nfollowing day.\n\nA story of a similar nature was told me in Oregon by an old Irish Federal\nsoldier, who was in the temporary employ of an apple merchant at Medford,\nJackson County. I don't in any way vouch for its truth, but give it just\nas it was related to me.\n\n\"You ask me if I have ever come across any ghosts in America. Well, I\nguess I have, several, and amongst others the Banshee. Oh, yes, I am\nIrish, although I speak with the nasal twang of the regular Yank. Everyone\ndoes who has lived in the Eastern States for any length of time. It's the\nclimate. My name, however, is O'Hagan, and I was born in County Clare; and\nthough my father was only a peasant, I'm a darned sight more Irish than\nhalf the people who possess titles and big estates in the old country\nto-day.\n\n\"I emigrated from Ireland with my parents, when I was only a few weeks\nold, and we settled in New York, where I was working as a porter on the\nquays when the Civil War broke out. Like me, the majority of Irishmen who,\nas you know, are always ready to go wherever there's the chance of doing a\nbit of fighting, I at once enlisted in the Marines, for I was passionately\nfond of the sea, and in due course of time was transferred to a gunboat\nthat patrolled the Carolina Coast on the lookout for Confederate blockade\nrunners. Well, one night, shortly after I had turned in and was lying in\nmy hammock, trying to get to sleep, which was none too easy, for one of my\nmates, an ex-actor, was snoring loud enough to wake the whole ship, I\nsuddenly heard a tapping on the porthole close beside me. 'Hello,' says I\nto myself, 'that's an odd noise. It can't be the water, nor yet the wind;\nmaybe it's a bird, a gull or albatross,' and I listened very attentively.\nThe sound went on, but it had none of that hardness and sharpness about it\nthat is occasioned by a beak, it was softer and more lingering, more like\nthe tapping of fingers. Every now and then it left off, to go on again,\ntap, tap, tap, until, at last, it unnerved me to such an extent that I\njumped out of my hammock and had a peep to see what it was. To my\nastonishment I saw a very white face pressed against the porthole, looking\nin at me. It was the face of a woman with raven black hair that fell in\nlong ringlets about her neck and shoulders. She had big golden rings in\nher ears, that shone like anything as the moonbeams caught them, as did\nher teeth, too, which were the loveliest bits of ivory I have ever seen,\nabsolutely even and without the slightest mar.\n\n\"But it was her eyes that fascinated me most. They were large, not too\nlarge, however, but in strict proportion to the rest of her face, and as\nfar as I could judge in the moonlight, either blue or grey, but\nindescribably beautiful, and, at the same time, indescribably sad. As I\ndrew nearer, she shrank back, and pointed with a white and slender hand at\na spot on the sea, and then suddenly I heard music, the far-away sound of\na harp, proceeding, so it seemed to me, from about the place she had\nindicated. It was a very still night, and the sounds came to me very\ndistinctly, above the soft lap, lap of the water against the vessel's\nside, and the mechanical squish, squish made by the bows each time they\nrose and fell, as the ship gently ploughed her way onwards. I was so\nintent on listening that I quite forgot the figure of the woman with the\nbeautiful face, and when I turned to look at her again, she had gone, and\nthere was nothing in front of me but an endless expanse of heaving,\ntossing, moonlit water. Then the music ceased, too, and all was still\nagain, wondrously still, and feeling unaccountably sad and lonely--for I\nhad taken a great fancy to that woman's face, the only what you might term\nreally lovely woman's face that had ever looked kindly on me--I got back\nagain into my hammock, and was soon fast asleep. On my touching at port,\nthe first letter I received from home informed me of the death of my\nfather, who had died the same night and just about the same time I had\nseen that fairy vision and heard that fairy music.\n\n\"When I told my mother about it, some long time afterwards, she said it\nwas the Banshee, and that it had haunted the O'Hagan family for hundreds\nand hundreds of years.\"\n\nThis, as I have already said, is merely a trooper's story, unconfirmed by\nanyone else's evidence, and, of course, not up to the standard of S.P.R.\nauthority. Yet, I believe, it was related to me in perfect sincerity, and\nthe narrator had nothing whatever to gain through making it up. I did not\neven offer him a chew of tobacco, for at that moment I was pretty nearly,\nif not, indeed, quite as hard up as he was himself.\n\nAnd now, before I finish altogether with Banshee hauntings that are\nassociated with war, I feel I must refer to a statement in Mr McAnnaly's\nbook, \"Irish Wonders,\" to the effect that when the Duke of Wellington\ndied, the Banshee was heard wailing round the house of his ancestors. This\nstatement does not, in my opinion, bear inspection. I am quite ready to\ngrant that some kind of apparition--perhaps a family ghost he had\ninherited from one or other of his Anglo-Irish ancestry--was heard\nlamenting outside the domain in question; but as the family to whom the\nDuke belonged could not be said to be of even anything approaching ancient\nIrish extraction, I cannot conceive it possible that the disturbances\nexperienced were in any way due to the genuine Banshee.\n\nTo revert to the sea, and Banshee haunting. On the coast of Donegal there\nis an estuary called \"The Rosses,\" and this at one time was said to be\nhaunted by several kinds of phantoms, including the Banshee, which was\nreported to have manifested itself on quite a number of occasions.\n\nUnder the heading of \"An Irish Water-fiend,\" Bourke, in his \"Anecdotes of\nthe Aristocracy\" (i. 329), relates the following case of a ghostly\nhappening there, which, although not due to a Banshee, is so\ncharacteristic of Irish supernatural phenomena that I cannot refrain from\nquoting it.\n\nIn the autumn of 1777 the Rev. James Crawford, rector of the parish of\nKillina, County Leitrim, was riding on horseback with his sister-in-law,\nMiss Hannah Wilson, on a pillion behind him, along the road leading to the\n\"The Rosses,\" and, on reaching the estuary, he at once proceeded to cross\nit. After they had gone some distance, Miss Wilson, noticing that the\nwater touched the saddle laps, became so alarmed that she cried out and\nbesought Mr Crawford to turn the horse round and get back to land as\nquickly as possible.\n\n\"I do not think there can be danger,\" Mr Crawford answered, \"for I see a\nhorseman crossing the ford not twenty yards before us.\"\n\nTo this Miss Wilson, who also saw the horseman, replied:\n\n\"You had better hail him and inquire the depth of the intervening water.\"\n\nMr Crawford at once did so, whereupon the horseman stopped and, turning\nround, revealed a face distorted by the most hideous grin conceivable,\nand so frightfully white and evil that the luckless clergyman promptly\nbeat a retreat, and made no attempt to check the mad haste of his panicked\nsteed till he had left the estuary many miles behind him.\n\nOn arriving home he narrated the incident to his wife and family, and\nsubsequently learned that the estuary was well known to be haunted by\nseveral phantoms, whose mission was invariably the same, either to\nforetell the doom by drowning of the person to whom they appeared, or else\nto actually bring about the death of that person by luring them on and on,\nuntil they got out of their depth, and so perished.\n\nOne would have thought that Mr Crawford, after the experience just\nnarrated, would have given the estuary a very wide berth in future; but no\nsuch thing. He again attempted to cross the ford of \"The Rosses\" on 27th\nSeptember, 1777, and was drowned in the endeavour.\n\nAmong many thrilling and (so it struck me at the time) authentic stories\ntold me in my youth by a Mrs Broderick, a well-known vendor of oranges and\nchocolate in Bristol, were several stirring accounts of the Banshee. I was\nat the time a day boy at Clifton College, residing not very far from the\nschool, and Mrs Broderick, who used to visit our house every week with\nher wares, took a particular interest in me because I was Irish--one of\n\"the real old O'Donnells.\" She was a native of Cork, and had, I believe,\nmigrated from that city in the _Juno_, an old cattle boat, that for more\nthan twenty years plied regularly every week between Cork and Bristol\ncarrying a handful of passengers, who, for the cheapness of the fare, made\nthe best of the rolling and tossing and extremely limited space allotted\nfor their accommodation. In later years I often travelled to and from\nDublin and Bristol in the _Argo_, the _Juno's_ sister ship, so I speak\nfeelingly and from experience. But to proceed with Mrs Broderick's Banshee\nstories.\n\nThe one containing an account of a Banshee haunting on the sea I will\nnarrate in this chapter, and the other, which has no connection with\neither sea or river, I will deal with later on.\n\nBefore I commence either story, however, I would like to say that though\nMrs Broderick spoke with a rich brogue and was really Irish, she used few,\nif any, of those words and expressions that certain professors of the\nDublin Academic School apparently consider inseparable from the speech of\nthe Irish peasant class. I cannot, for example, remember her ever saying\nMusha, or Arrah, or Oro; and, as for Erse, I am quite certain she did not\nknow a word of it. Yet, as I have said, she was Irish, and far more Irish\nthan many of the Gaelic scholars of to-day who, insufferably proud of\ntheir knowledge of the Celtic tongue, bore one stiff by their feeble and\nfutile attempts to acquire something of the real Irish wit and proverbial\nhumour.\n\nMrs Broderick did not often speak of her parents; they were, I fancy,\npeasants, or, perhaps, what we should term \"small farmers,\" and from what\nI could gather they lived, at one time, in a little village just outside\nCork; but Mrs Broderick was, she told me, very fond of the sea, and often,\nwhen a girl, walked into Cork and went out boating with her young friends\nin Queenstown harbour.\n\nOn one occasion, she and another girl and two young men went for a sail\nwith an old fisherman they knew, who took them some distance up the coast\nin the direction of Kinsale. There had been a slight breeze when they\nstarted, but it dropped suddenly as they were tacking to come back home,\nand since the sails had to be taken down and oars used, both the young men\nvolunteered to row. Their offer being accepted by the old fisherman, they\npulled away steadily till they espied an old ship, so battered and worn\naway as to be little more than a mere shell, lying half in and half out\nof the water in a tiny cove. Then, as the weather was beautifully fine and\nno one was in a hurry to get home, it was proposed that they pull up to\nthe wreck and examine it. The old fisherman demurred, but he was soon won\nover, and the two young men and Mrs Broderick's girl friend boarded the\nold hulk, leaving Mrs Broderick and the old fisherman in the boat. The\nshadows from the trees and rocks had already manifested themselves on the\nglistening shingles of the beach, and a glow, emanating from the rapidly\nrising moon and myriads of scintillating stars that every moment shone\nforth with increased brilliancy, showed up every object around them with\nstartling distinctness.\n\nAlways in her element in scenes of this description, Mrs Broderick was\nenjoying herself to the utmost. Leaning on the side of the boat and\ntrailing one hand in the water, she drank in the fresh night air, redolent\nwith the scent of flowers and ozone. She could hear her friends talking\nand laughing as they tried to steady themselves on the sloping boards of\nthe old hulk; and presently, one of them, O'Connell, proposed that they\nshould descend below deck and explore the cabins. Then their voices\ngradually grew fainter and fainter, until eventually all was still, save\nfor the lapping of the sea against the sides of the boat, and the gentle\nripple of the wavelets as they broke on the beach, and the occasional\nfar-away barkings of a dog--noises that somehow seem to belong to summer\nmore than to any other period of the year.\n\nMrs Broderick's memory, awakened by these sounds, travelled back to past\nseasons, and she was depicting some of the old scenes over again, when all\nat once, from the wreck, from that side of it, so it seemed to her, that\nwas partly under water, there rang out a series of the most appalling\nscreams, just like the screams of a woman who had been suddenly pounced\nupon and either stabbed, or treated in some equally savage and violent\nmanner.\n\nMrs Broderick, of course, at once thought of her friend, Mary Rooney, and,\nclutching the boatman by the arm, she exclaimed:\n\n\"The Saints above, it's Mary. They're murdering her.\"\n\n\"'Tis no woman, that,\" the old boatman said hoarsely. \"'Tis the Banshee,\nand I would not have had this have happened for the whole blessed world. I\nwith my mother so ill in bed with the rheumatism and a cold she got all\nthrough her with sitting out on the wet grass the night before last.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Mrs Broderick whispered, clutching him tighter, whilst her\nteeth chattered. \"Are you sure it isn't Mary, and they are not killing\nher?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" replied the boatman, \"that's the way the Banshee always\nscreams--'tis her, right enough, 'tis no human woman,\" and like the good\nCatholic that he was, he crossed himself, and, dipping the oars gently\ninto the water, he began to pull slowly and quietly away.\n\nBy and by the screaming ceased, and a moment later the three explorers\ncame trooping on to the deck, showing no signs whatever of alarm, and when\nquestioned as to whether they had heard anything, laughingly replied in\nthe negative.\n\n\"Only,\" O'Connell added facetiously, \"the kiss Mike Power stole from Mary.\nThat was all.\"\n\nBut for O'Connell that was not all. When he arrived home he found that\nduring his absence his mother had died suddenly, and, in all probability,\nat the very moment when Mrs Broderick and the boatman had heard the\nBanshee.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nALLEGED COUNTERPARTS OF THE BANSHEE\n\n\nNo country besides Ireland possesses a Banshee, though some countries\npossess a family or national ghost somewhat resembling it. In Germany, for\nexample, popular tradition is full of rumours of white ladies who haunt\ncastles, woods, rivers, and mountains, where they may be seen combing\ntheir yellow hair, or playing on harps or spinning. They usually, as their\nname would suggest, wear white dresses, and not infrequently yellow or\ngreen shoes of a most dainty and artistic design. Sometimes they are sad,\nsometimes gay; sometimes they warn people of approaching death or\ndisaster, and sometimes, by their beauty, they blind men to an impending\nperil, and thus lure them on to their death. When beautiful, they are\noften very beautiful, though nearly always of the same type--golden hair\nand long blue eyes; they are rarely dark, and their hair is never of that\npeculiar copper and golden hue that is so common among Banshees. When\nugly, they are generally ugly indeed--either repulsive old crones, not\nunlike the witches in Grimm's Fairy Tales, or death-heads mockingly\narrayed in the paraphernalia of the young; but their ugliness does not\nseem to embrace that ghastly satanic mockery, that diabolical malevolence\nthat is inseparable from the malignant form of Banshee, and which inspires\nin the beholders such a peculiar and unparalleled horror.\n\nIt is not my intention in this work to do more than briefly refer to a few\nof the most famous of the German hauntings in their relation to the\nBanshee; and, since it is the best known, I would first of all call\nattention to the White Lady, that restricts its unwelcome attentions to\nRoyalty, and more especially, perhaps, to that branch of it known as the\nHouse of Hohenzollern. Between this White Lady family phantasm and the\nBanshee there is undoubtedly something in common. They are both\nexclusively associated with families of really ancient lineage, which they\nfollow about from town to town, province to province, and country to\ncountry; and the purpose of their respective missions is generally the\nsame, namely, to give warning of some approaching death or calamity, which\nin the case of the White Lady is usually of a national order.\n\nOccasionally, too, the German family ghost, like the Banshee, is heard\nplaying on a harp, but here I think the likeness ends. There are no very\nstriking characteristics in the appearance of the White Lady of the\nHohenzollerns, she would seem to be neither very beautiful nor the\nreverse; nor does she convey the impression of belonging to any very\nremote age; on the contrary, she might well be the earth-bound spirit of\nsomeone who died in the Middle Ages or even later.\n\nIn December, 1628, she was seen in the Royal Palace in Berlin, and was\nheard to say, \"_Veni, judica vivos et mortuos; judicum mihi adhuc\nsuperest_\"--that is to say, \"Come judge the quick and the dead--I wait for\njudgment.\" She also manifested herself to one of the Fredericks of\nPrussia, who regarded her advent as a sure sign of his approaching death,\nwhich it was, for he died shortly afterwards. We next read of her\nappearing in Bohemia at the Castle of Neuhaus. One of the princesses of\nthe royal house was trying on a new head-gear before a mirror, and,\nthinking her waiting-maid was near at hand, she inquired of her the time.\nTo the Princess's horror, however, instead of the maid answering her, a\nstrange figure all in white, which her instincts told her was the famous\nnational ghost, stepped out from behind a screen and exclaimed, \"_Zehn uhr\nist es irh Liebden!_\" \"It is ten o'clock, your love\"; the last two words\nbeing the mode of address usually adopted in Germany and Austria by\nRoyalties when speaking to one another. The Princess was soon afterwards\ntaken ill and died.\n\nA faithful account of the appearance of the White Lady was published in\n_The Iris_, a Frankfort journal, in 1829, and was vouched for by the\neditor, George Doring. Doring's mother, who was companion to one of the\nladies at the Prussian Court, had two daughters, aged fourteen and\nfifteen, who were in the habit of visiting her at the Palace. On one\noccasion, when the two girls were alone in their mother's sitting-room,\ndoing some needlework, they were immeasurably surprised to hear the sounds\nof music, proceeding, so it seemed to them, from behind a big stove that\noccupied one corner of the apartment. One girl got up, and, taking a yard\nmeasure, struck the spot where she fancied the music was coming from;\nwhereupon the measure was instantly snatched from her hand, the music, at\nthe same time, ceasing. She was so badly frightened that she ran out of\nthe room and took refuge in someone else's apartment.\n\nOn her return some minutes later, she found her sister lying on the floor\nin a dead faint. On coming to, this sister stated that directly the other\nhad quitted the apartment, the music had begun again and, not only that,\nbut the figure of a woman, all in white, had suddenly risen from behind\nthe stove and began to advance towards her, causing her instantly to faint\nwith fright.\n\nThe lady in whose house the occurrence took place, on being acquainted\nwith what had happened, had the flooring near the stove taken up; but,\ninstead of discovering the treasure which she had hoped might be there, a\nquantity of quick-lime only was found; and the affair eventually getting\nto the King's ears, he displayed no surprise, but merely expressed his\nbelief that the apparition the girl had seen was that of the Countess\nAgnes of Orlamunde, who had been bricked up alive in that room.\n\nShe had been the mistress of a former Margrave of Brandenburg, by whom she\nhad had two children, and when the Margrave's legitimate wife died the\nCountess hoped he would marry her. This, however, he declined to do on the\nplea that her offspring, at his death, would very probably dispute the\nheirship to the property with the children of his lawful marriage. The\nCountess then, in order to remove this obstacle to her union, poisoned her\ntwo children, which act so disgusted the Margrave that he had her walled\nup alive in the room where she had committed the crimes. The King went on\nto explain that the phantasm appeared about every seven years, but more\noften to children, to whom it was believed to be very much attached, than\nto adults.\n\nAgainst this explanation, however, is the more recent one that the White\nLady is Princess Bertha or Perchta von Rosenberg. This theory is founded\non the discovery of a portrait of Princess Bertha, which was identified by\nsomeone as the portrait of the White Lady whom they had just seen.\n\nIn support of this theory it was pointed out that once when certain\ncharities which the Princess had stated in her will should be doled out\nannually to the poor were neglected, not only was the White Lady seen, but\nmusic and all kinds of other sounds were heard in the house where the\nPrincess had died. Very possibly, however, in neither of these theories is\nthere any truth, and the secret of the White Lady's activity lies in some\nsubtle and, perhaps, entirely unsuspected fact. It is, I think, quite\nconceivable that she is no earth-bound soul, but some impersonating\nelemental, which--like the Banshee--has, for some strange and wholly\ninexplicable reason, attached itself to the unfortunate Hohenzollerns, and\ntheir relatives and kinsmen.\n\nBallinus and Erasmus Francisci, in their published works, give numerous\naccounts of the appearance of this same apparition; whilst Mrs Crowe\nasserts that it was seen shortly before the publication of her \"Night Side\nof Nature.\" It would be interesting to know whether it appeared to the\nex-Kaiser Wilhelm, or to any of his family, before this last greatest and\nmost signally disastrous of all wars.\n\nWilliam Brereton in his \"Travels\" (i. 33) gives rather a different\ndescription of this ghost. He says that the Queen of Bohemia told him\n\"that at Berlin--the Elector of Brandenberg's house--before the death of\nanyone related in blood to that house, there appears and walks up and down\nthat house like unto a ghost in a white sheet, which walks during the time\nof their sickness until their death.\"\n\nIn this account it will be noticed that there is no mention of sex, so\nthat the reader can only speculate as to whether the apparition was the\nghost of a man or a woman. Its appearance, however, according to this\naccount, strongly suggests a ghost of the sepulchral and death-head\ntype--an ordinary species of elemental--which suggestion is not apparent\nin any other description of it that we have hitherto come across. Other\nancient German and Austrian families, besides those of the ruling houses,\npossess their family ghosts, and here again, as in the parallel case of\nthe Irish and their Banshee, the family ghost of the Germans or Austrians\nis by no means confined to the \"White Lady.\" In some cases of German\nfamily haunting, for example, the phenomenon is a roaring lion, in others\na howling dog; and in others a bell or gong, or sepulchral toned clock\nstriking at some unusual hour, and generally thirteen times. In all\ninstances, however, no matter whether the family ghost be German, Irish,\nor Austrian, the purpose of its manifestations is the same--to predict\ndeath or some very grave calamity.[12]\n\nIn the notes to the 1844 edition of Thomas Crofton Croker's \"Fairy Legends\nand Traditions of the South of Ireland,\" we find this paragraph taken from\nthe works of the Brothers Grimm and manuscript communications from Dr\nWilhelm Grimm:\n\n\"In the Tyrol they believe in a spirit which looks in at the window of a\nhouse in which a person is to die (Deutsche Sagen, No. 266), the White\nWoman with a veil over her head answers to the Banshee, but the tradition\nof the Klage-weib (mourning woman) in the Luenchurger Heath (Spiels Archiv.\nii. 297) resembles it more. On stormy nights, when the moon shines faintly\nthrough the fleeting clouds, she stalks of gigantic stature with\ndeath-like aspect, and black, hollow eyes, wrapt in grave clothes which\nfloat in the wind, and stretches her immense arm over the solitary hut,\nuttering lamentable cries in the tempestuous darkness. Beneath the roof\nover which the Klage-weib has leaned, one of the inmates must die in the\ncourse of a month.\"\n\nIn Italy there are several families of distinction possessing a family\nghost that somewhat resembles the Banshee. According to Cardau and\nHenningius Grosius the ancient Venetian family of Donati possess a ghost\nin the form of a man's head, which is seen looking through a doorway\nwhenever any member of the family is doomed to die. The following extract\nfrom their joint work serves as an illustration of it:\n\n\"Jacopo Donati, one of the most important families in Venice, had a child,\nthe heir to the family, very ill. At night, when in bed, Donati saw the\ndoor of his chamber opened and the head of a man thrust in. Knowing that\nit was not one of his servants, he roused the house, drew his sword, went\nover the whole palace, all the servants declaring that they had seen such\na head thrust in at the doors of their several chambers at the same hour;\nthe fastenings were found all secure, so that no one could have come in\nfrom without. The next day the child died.\"\n\nOther families in Italy, a branch of the Paoli, for example, is haunted by\nvery sweet music, the voice of a woman singing to the accompaniment of a\nharp or guitar, and invariably before a death.\n\nOf the family ghost in Spain I have been able to gather but little\ninformation. There, too, some of the oldest families seem to possess\nghosts that follow the fortunes, both at home and abroad, of the families\nto which they are attached, but with the exception of this one point of\nresemblance there seems to be in them little similarity to the Banshee.\n\nIn Denmark and Sweden the likeness between the family ghost and the\nBanshee is decidedly pronounced. Quite a number of old Scandinavian\nfamilies possess attendant spirits very much after the style of the\nBanshee; some very beautiful and sympathetic, and some quite the reverse;\nthe most notable difference being that in the Scandinavian apparition\nthere is none of that ghastly mixture of the grave, antiquity, and hell\nthat is so characteristic of the baleful type of Banshee, and which would\nseem to distinguish it from the ghosts of all other countries. The\nbeautiful Scandinavian phantasms more closely resemble fairies or angels\nthan any women of this earth, whilst the hideous ones have all the\ngrotesqueness and crude horror of the witches of Andersen or Grimm. There\nis nothing about them, as there so often is in the Banshee, to make one\nwonder if they can be the phantasms of any long extinct race, or people,\nfor example, that might have hailed from the missing continent of\nAtlantis, or have been in Ireland prior to the coming of the Celts.\n\nThe Scandinavian family ghosts are frankly either elementals or the\nearth-bound spirits of the much more recent dead. Yet, as I have said,\nthey have certain points in common with the Banshee. They prognosticate\ndeath or disaster; they scream and wail like women in the throes of some\ngreat mental or physical agony; they sob or laugh; they occasionally tap\non the window-panes, or play on the harp; they sometimes haunt in pairs, a\nkind spirit and an evilly disposed one attending the fortunes of the same\nfamily; and they keep exclusively to the very oldest families. Oddly\nenough at times the Finnish family ghost assumes the guise of a man.\nBurton, for example, in his \"Anatomy of Melancholy,\" tells us \"that near\nRufus Nova, in Finland, there is a lake in which, when the governor of the\ncastle dies, a spectrum is seen in the habit of Orion, with a harp, and\nmakes excellent music, like those clocks in Cheshire which (they say)\npresage death to the masters of the family; or that oak in Lanthadran Park\nin Cornwall, which foreshadows so much.\"\n\nI will not dwell any longer, however, on Scandinavian ghosts, as I purpose\nlater on to publish a volume on the same, but will pass on to the family\napparitions of Scotland, England, and Wales.\n\nBeginning with Scotland, Sir Walter Scott was strong in his belief in the\nBanshee, which he described as one of the most beautiful superstitions of\nEurope. In his \"Letters on Demonology\" he says: \"Several families of the\nHighlands of Scotland anciently laid claim to the distinction of an\nattendant spirit, who performed the office of the Irish Banshee,\" and he\nparticularly referred to the ghostly cries and lamentations which\nforeboded death to members of the Clan of MacLean of Lochbery. But though\nmany of the Highland families do possess such a ghost, unlike the Banshee,\nit is not restricted to the feminine sex, nor does its origin, as a rule,\ndate back to anything like such remote times. It would seem, indeed, to\nbelong to a much more ordinary species of phantasm, a species which is\nseldom accompanied by music or any other sound, and which by no means\nalways prognosticates death, although on many occasions it has done so.\n\nIn addition to the MacLean, some of the best known cases of Scottish\nfamily ghosts are as follows:\n\nThe Bodach au Dun, or Ghost of the Hills, which haunts the family of Grant\nRothiemurcus, and the Llam-dearg, or spectre of the Bloody Hand, which\npursues the fortunes of the Clan Kinchardine. According to Sir Walter\nScott in the Macfarlane MSS. this spirit was chiefly to be seen in the\nGlenmore, where it took the form of a soldier with one hand perpetually\ndripping with blood. At one time it invariably signalled its advent in the\nmanner which, I think, has no parallel among ghosts--it challenged members\nof the Kinchardine Clan to fight a duel with it, and whether they accepted\nor not they always died soon afterwards. As lately as 1669, says Sir\nWalter Scott, it fought with three brothers, one after another, who\nimmediately died therefrom.\n\nThen there is the Clan of Gurlinbeg which is haunted by Garlin Bodacher;\nthe Turloch Gorms who, according to Scott, are haunted by Mary Moulach, or\nthe girl with the hairy left hand;[13] and the Airlie family, whose seat\nat Cortachy is haunted by the famous drummer, whose ghostly tattoos must\nbe taken as a sure sign that a member of the Ogilvie Clan--of which the\nEarl of Airlie is the recognised head--will die very shortly.\n\nMr Ingram, in his \"Haunted Houses and Family Legends,\" quotes several\nwell authenticated instances of manifestations by this apparition, the\nlast occurring, according to him, in the year 1899, though I have heard\nfrom other reliable sources that it has been heard at a much more recent\ndate. The origin of this haunting is generally thought to be comparatively\nmodern, and not to date further back than two or three hundred years, if\nas far, which, of course, puts it on quite a different category from that\nof the Banshee, though its mission is, without doubt, the same. According\nto Mr Ingram, a former Lord Airlie, becoming jealous of one of his\nretainers or emissaries who was a drummer, had him thrust in his drum and\nhurled from a top window of the castle into the courtyard beneath, where\nhe was dashed to pieces. With his dying breath the drummer cursed not only\nLord Airlie, but his descendants, too, and ever since that event his\napparition has persistently haunted the family.\n\nOther Highland families that possess special ghosts are a branch of the\nMacdonnells, that have a phantom piper, whose mournful piping invariably\nmeans that some member or other of the clan is shortly doomed to die; and\nthe Stanleys who have a female apparition that signalises her advent by\nshrieking, weeping, and moaning before the death of any of the family.\nPerhaps of all Scottish ghosts this last one most closely resembles the\nBanshee, though there are distinct differences, chiefly with regard to the\nappearance of the phantoms--the Scottish one differing essentially in her\nlooks and attire from the Irish ghost--and their respective origins, that\nof the Stanley apparition being, in all probability, of much later date\nthan the Banshee.\n\nThen, again, there is the Bodach Glas, or dark grey man, in reference to\nwhich Mr Henderson, in his \"Folk-lore of Northern Countries,\" p. 344,\nsays: \"Its appearance foretold death in the Clan of ----, and I have been\ninformed on the most credible testimony of its appearance in our own day.\nThe Earl of E----, a nobleman alike beloved and respected in Scotland, was\nplaying on the day of his decease on the links of St Andrew's at golf.\nSuddenly he stopped in the middle of the game, saying, 'I can play no\nlonger, there is the Bodach Glas. I have seen it for the third time;\nsomething fearful is going to befall me.' That night he fell down dead as\nhe was giving a lady her candlestick on her way up to bed.\"\n\nAnother instance, still, of a Scottish family ghost is that of the willow\ntree at Gordon Castle, which is referred to by Sir Bernard Bourke in his\n\"Anecdotes of the Aristocracy.\" Sir Bernard asserts that whenever any\naccident happens to this tree, if, for example, a branch is blown down in\na storm, or any part of it is struck by lightning, then some dire\nmisfortune is sure to happen to some member of the family.\n\nThere are other old Scottish family ghosts, all very distinct from the\nBanshee, though a few bear some slight resemblance to it, but as my space\nis restricted, I will pass on to family ghosts of a more or less similar\ntype that are to be met with in England.\n\nTo begin with, the Oxenhams of Devonshire the heiress of Sir James\nOxenham, and the bride that is invariably seen before the death of any\nmember of the family. According to a well-known Devonshire ballad, a bird\nanswering to this description flew over the guests at the wedding of the\nheiress of Sir James Oxenham, and the bride was killed the following day\nby a suitor she had unceremoniously jilted.\n\nThe Arundels of Wardour have a ghost in the form of two white owls, it\nbeing alleged that whenever two birds of this species are seen perched on\nthe house where any of this family are living, some one member of them is\ndoomed to die very shortly.\n\nEqually famous is the ghost of the Cliftons of Nottinghamshire, which\ntakes the shape of a sturgeon that is seen swimming in the river Trent,\nopposite Clifton Hall, the chief seat of the family, whenever one of the\nCliftons is on the eve of dying.\n\nThen, again, there is the white hand of the Squires of Worcestershire, a\nfamily that is now practically extinct. According to local tradition this\nfamily was for many generations haunted by the very beautiful hand of a\nwoman, that was always seen protruding through the wall of the room\ncontaining that member of the family who was fated to die soon. Most ghost\nhands are said to be grey and filmy, but this one, according to some\neye-witnesses, appears to have borne an extraordinary resemblance to that\nof a living person. It was slender and perfectly proportioned, with very\ntapering fingers and very long and beautifully kept filbert nails--the\nsort of hand one sees in portraits of women of bygone ages, but which one\nvery rarely meets with in the present generation.\n\nOther families that possess ghosts are the Yorkshire Middletons, who are\nalways apprised of the death of one of their members by the appearance of\na nun; and the Byrons of Newstead Abbey, who, according to the great poet\nof that name, were haunted by a black Friar that used to be seen wandering\nabout the cloisters and other parts of the monasterial building before\nthe death of any member of the family.\n\nIn England, there seems to be quite a number of White Lady phantoms, most\nof them, however, haunting houses and not families, and none of them\nbearing any resemblance to the Banshee. Indeed, there is a far greater\ndissimilarity between the English and Irish types of family ghosts than\nthere is between the Irish and those of any of the nations I have hitherto\ndiscussed.\n\nLastly, with regard to the Welsh family ghosts, Mr Wirt Sikes, in his\n\"British Goblins,\" quite erroneously, I think, likens the Banshee in\nappearance to the Gwrach y Rhibyn, or Hag of the Dribble, which he\ndescribes as hideous, with long, black teeth, long, lank, withered arms,\nleathern wings, and cadaverous cheeks, a description that is certainly not\nin the least degree like that of any Banshee I have ever heard of. He goes\non to add that it comes in the stillness of the night, utters a\nblood-curdling howl, and calls on the person doomed to die thus:\n\"Da-a-a-vy! De-i-i-o-o-ba-a-a-ch.\" If it is in the guise of a male it\nsays, in addition, \"Fy mlentyn, fy mlentyn bach!\" which rendered into\nEnglish is, \"My child, my little child\"; but if in the form of a woman,\n\"Oh! Oh! fy ngwr, fy ngwr\"--\"My husband! my husband!\" As a rule it flaps\nits wings against the window of the room in which the person who is\ndoomed is sleeping, whilst occasionally it appears either to the ill-fated\none himself or to some member of his family in a mist on the mountainside.\n\nMr Sikes gives a very graphic description of the appearance of this\napparition to a peasant farmer near Cardiff, a little over forty years\nago. To be precise, it was on the evening of the 14th November, 1877. The\nfarmer was on a visit to an old friend at the time, and was awakened at\nmidnight by the most ghastly screaming and a violent shaking of the\nwindow-frame. The noise continued for some seconds, and then terminated in\none final screech that far surpassed all the others in intensity and sheer\nhorror. Greatly excited--though Mr Sikes affirms he was not\nfrightened--the old man leaped out of bed, and, throwing open the window,\nsaw a figure like a frightful old woman, with long, dishevelled, red hair,\nand tusk-like teeth, and a startling white complexion, floating in\nmid-air. She was enveloped in a long, loose, flowing kind of black robe\nthat entirely concealed her body. As he gazed at her, completely\ndumbfounded with astonishment, she peered down at him and, throwing back\nher dreadful head, emitted another of the very wildest and most harrowing\nof screams. He then heard her flap her wings against a window immediately\nunderneath his, after which he saw her fly over to an inn almost directly\nopposite him, called the \"Cow and Snuffers,\" and pass right through the\nclosed doorway.\n\nAfter waiting some minutes to see if she came out again, he at length got\nback into bed, and on the morrow learned that Mr Llewellyn, the landlord\nof the \"Cow and Snuffers,\" had died in the night about the same time as\nthe apparition, which he, the old farmer, now concluded must have been the\nGwrach y Rhibyn, had appeared.\n\nThere is, of course, this much in common between the Gwrach y Rhibyn and\nthe Banshee: both are harbingers of death; both signalise their advent by\nshrieks, and both confine their hauntings to really ancient Celtic\nfamilies; but here, it seems to me, the likeness ends. The Gwrach y Rhibyn\nis more grotesque than horrible, and would seem to belong rather to the\norder of witches in fairy lore than to the denizens of the ghost world.\n\nAnother ghostly phenomenon of the death-warning type that is, I believe,\nto be met with in Wales, is the Canhywllah Cyrth, or corpse candle, so\ncalled because the apparition resembles a material candlelight, saving for\nthe fact that it vanishes directly it is approached, and reforms speedily\nagain afterwards. The following descriptions of the Canhywllah Cyrth are\ntaken from Mr T. C. Charley's \"News from the Invisible World,\" pp. 121-4.\nThe first extract is the account of the corpse candles given by the Rev.\nMr Davis.\n\n\"If it be a little candle,\" he writes, \"pale or bluish, then follows the\ncorpse either of an abortive, or some infant; if a big one, then the\ncorpse either of someone come of age; if there be seen two or three or\nmore, some big, some small, together, then so many such corpses together.\nIf two candles come from divers places, and be seen to meet, the corpses\nwill do the like; if any of these candles be seen to turn, sometimes a\nlittle out of the way that leadeth unto the church, the following corpse\nwill be found to turn into that very place, for the avoiding of some dirty\nlane, etc. When I was about fifteen years of age, dwelling at Llanglar,\nlate at night, some neighbours saw one of these candles hovering up and\ndown along the bank of the river, until they were weary in beholding; at\nlast they left it so, and went to bed. A few weeks after, a damsel from\nMontgomeryshire came to see her friends, who dwelt on the other side of\nthe Istwyth, and thought to ford it at the place where the light was seen;\nbut being dissuaded by some lookers-on (by reason of a flood) she walked\nup and down along the bank, where the aforesaid candle did, waiting for\nthe falling of the waters, which at last she took, and was drowned\ntherein.\"\n\nContinuing, he says: \"Of late, my sexton's wife, an aged understanding\nwoman, saw from her bed a little bluish candle upon her table; within two\nor three days after comes a fellow in, inquiring for her husband, and\ntaking something from under his cloak, clapped it down directly upon the\ntable end, where she had seen the candle; and what was it but a dead-born\nchild?\"\n\nIn another case the same gentleman relates a number of these candles were\nseen together. \"About thirty-four or thirty-five years since,\" he says,\n\"one Jane Wyat, my wife's sister, being nurse to Baronet Reid's three\neldest children, and (the lady being deceased) the lady controller of that\nhouse, going late into a chamber where the maidservants lay, saw there no\nless than five of these lights together. It happened a while after, the\nchamber being newly plastered and a great grate of coal-fire thereon\nkindled to hasten the drying up of the plastering, that five of the\nmaidservants went there to bed, as they were wont, but in the morning they\nwere all dead, being suffocated in their sleep with the steam of the newly\ntempered lime and coal. This was at Llangathen in Carmarthenshire.\"\n\nOccasionally a figure is seen with the lights, but nearly always that of a\nwoman. A propos of this the same writer says: \"William John of the County\nof Carmarthen, a smith, on going home one night, saw one of the corpse\ncandles; he went out of his way to meet with it, and when he came near it,\nhe saw it was a burying; and the corpse upon the bier, the perfect\nresemblance of a woman in the neighbourhood whom he knew, holding the\ncandle between her forefingers, who dreadfully grinned at him, and\npresently he was struck down from his horse, where he remained a while,\nand was ill a long time after before he recovered. This was before the\nreal burying of the woman. His fault, and therefore his danger, was his\ncoming presumptuously against the candle.\"\n\nLastly, an account of these death candles appeared some years ago in\n_Fraser's Magazine_. It ran as follows:\n\n\"In a wild and retired district in North Wales, the following occurrence\ntook place to the great astonishment of the mountaineers. We can vouch for\nthe truth of the statement, as many members of our own teutu, or clan,\nwere witnesses of the fact. On a dark evening, a few winters ago, some\npersons, with whom we are well acquainted, were returning to Barmouth, on\nthe south or opposite side of the river. As they approached the\nferryhouse at Penthryn, which is directly opposite Barmouth, they\nobserved a light near the house, which they conjectured to be produced by\na bonfire, and greatly puzzled they were to discover the reason why it\nshould have been lighted. As they came nearer, however, it vanished; and\nwhen they inquired at the house respecting it, they were surprised to\nlearn that not only had the people there displayed no light, but they had\nnot even seen one; nor could they perceive any signs of it on the sands.\nOn reaching Barmouth, the circumstance was mentioned, and the fact\ncorroborated by some of the people there, who had also plainly and\ndistinctly seen the light. It was settled, therefore, by some of the old\nfisherman, that this was a \"death-token\"; and, sure enough, the man who\nkept the ferry at that time was drowned at high-water a few nights\nafterwards, on the very spot where the light was seen. He was landing from\nthe boat, when he fell into the water, and so perished.\"\n\n\"The same winter the Barmouth people, as well as the inhabitants of the\nopposite banks, were struck by the appearance of a number of small lights\nwhich were seen dancing in the air at a place called Borthwyn, about half\na mile from the town. A great number of people came out to see these\nlights; and after a while they all but one disappeared, and this one\nproceeded slowly towards the water's edge, to a small bay where some boats\nwere moored. The men in a sloop which was anchored near the spot saw the\nlight advancing--they saw it also hover for a few seconds over one\nparticular boat, and then totally disappear. Two or three days afterwards,\nthe man to whom that particular boat belonged was drowned in the river,\nwhere he was sailing about Barmouth harbour in that very boat. We have\nnarrated these facts just as they occurred.\"\n\nAnother well-known Welsh haunting that may be relegated to the same class\nof phenomena as the corpse candles is that of the Stradling Ghost. This\nphantasm, which is supposed to be that of a former Lady Stradling, who was\nmurdered by one of her own relatives, haunts St Donart's Castle, on the\nsouthern coast of Glamorganshire, appearing whenever a death or some very\ngrievous calamity is about to overtake a member of the family. Writing of\nher, Mr Wirt Sikes, in his \"British Goblins,\" p. 143-4, says: \"She appears\nwhen any mishap is about to befall a member of the house of Stradling, the\ndirect line, however, of which is extinct. She wears high-heeled shoes,\nand a long trailing gown of the finest silk.\" According to local reports,\nher advent is always known in the neighbourhood by the behaviour of the\ndogs, which, taking their cue from their canine representatives in the\nCastle, begin to howl and whine, and keep on making a noise and showing\nevery indication of terror and resentment so long as the earth-bound\nspirit of the lady continues to roam about. Of course the Stradling Ghost\ncannot be said to be characteristically Welsh, because its prototype is to\nbe found in so many other countries, but it at least comes under the\ncategory of family apparitions.\n\nThe Gwyllgi, or dog of darkness, which Mr Wirt Sikes asserts has often\ninspired terror among the Welsh peasants, does not appear to be confined\nto any one family, any more than do the corpse candles, though, like the\nlatter, it would seem to manifest itself principally to really Welsh\npeople. Its advent is not, however, predicative of any special happening.\nThe Cwn Annwn, or dogs of hell, that are chiefly to be met with in the\nsouth of Wales, on the contrary, rarely, if ever, appear, saving to warn\nthose who see them of some approaching death or disaster. Neither they,\nnor the Gwyllgi, nor the corpse candles, since they do not haunt one\nfamily exclusively, can be called family ghosts. And only inasmuch as they\nare racial have they anything in common with the Banshee. Indeed, there is\na world of difference between the Banshee and even its nearest\ncounterpart in other countries, and the difference is, perhaps, one which\nonly those who have actually experienced it could ever understand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE BANSHEE IN POETRY AND PROSE\n\n\n  \"'Twas the Banshee's lonely wailing,\n      Well I knew the voice of death,\n    On the night wind slowly sailing\n      O'er the bleak and gloomy heath.\"\n\nThese are the dramatic lines Thomas Crofton Croker, in his inimitable\n\"Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,\" puts in the mouth\nof the widow MacCarthy, as she is lamenting over the body of her son,\nCharles, whose death had been predicted by the Banshee; not the beautiful\nand dainty Banshee of the O'Briens, but a wild, unkempt, haggish creature\nthat seemed in perfect harmony with the drear and desolate moorland from\nwhence it sprang.\n\nMr Croker, indeed, almost invariably associates the Banshee with the heath\nand bogland, for at the commencement of his Tales of the Banshee in the\nsame volume, we find these well-known lines:\n\n  \"Who sits upon the heath forlorn,\n  With robe so free and tresses worn,\n  Anon she pours a harrowing strain,\n  And then she sits all mute again!\n  Now peals the wild funereal cry,\n  And now--it sinks into a sigh.\"\n\nVery different from this grim and repellent portrayal of the Banshee given\nby Mr Croker is the very pleasing and attractive description of it\npresented to us by Dr Kenealy, whose account of it in prose appears in an\nearlier chapter of this book.\n\nReferring to the death of his brother, Dr Kenealy says:\n\n  \"Here the Banshee, that phantom bright who weeps\n  Over the dying of her own loved line,\n  Floated in moonlight; in her streaming locks\n  Gleamed starshine; when she looked on me, she knew\n  And smiled.\"\n\nAnd again:\n\n  \"The wish has but\n  Escaped my lips--and lo! once more it streams\n  In liquid lapse upon the fairy winds\n  That guard each slightest note with jealous care,\n  And bring them hither, even as angels might\n  To the beloved to whom they minister.\"\n\nIn reference to phantom music heard at sea, Mr Dyer, in his \"Ghost\nWorld,\" p. 413, quotes the following lines:\n\n  \"A low sound of song from the distance I hear,\n  In the silence of night, breathing sad on my ear,\n  Whence comes it? I know not--unearthly the note,\n  Yet it sounds like the lay that my mother once sung,\n  As o'er her first-born in his cradle she hung.\"\n\nAs I have already stated, the Banshee is not infrequently heard at sea,\neither singing or weeping, hence, in all probability, the author of these\nlines, whose name, by the way, Mr Dyer does not divulge, had the Banshee\nin mind when he wrote them. But, perhaps, the best known, as well as the\nmost direct reference to this ghost in verse is that made by Ireland's\npopular poet, Thomas Moore, in one of the most famous of his \"Irish\nMelodies.\" I append the poem, not only for the reference it contains, but\nalso on account of its general beauty.\n\n  \"How oft has the Banshee cried!\n  How oft has death untied\n  Bright bonds that glory wove\n  Sweet bonds entwin'd by love.\n  Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth!\n  Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth!\n  Long may the fair and brave\n  Sigh o'er the hero's grave.\n\n  We're fallen upon gloomy days,\n  Star after star decays,\n  Every bright name, that shed\n  Light o'er the land, is fled.\n  Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth\n  Lost joy, a hope that ne'er returneth,\n  But brightly flows the tear\n  Wept o'er the hero's bier.\n\n  Oh, quenched are our beacon lights\n  Thou, of the hundred fights!\n  Thou, on whose burning tongue\n  Truth, peace, and freedom hung!\n  Both mute, but long as valour shineth\n  Or Mercy's soul at war refineth\n  So long shall Erin's pride\n  Tell how they lived and died.\"\n\nWith the following extracts from the translation of an elegy written by\nPierse Ferriter, the Irish poet soldier, who fought bravely in the\nCromwellian wars, I must now terminate these references to the Banshee in\npoetry:\n\n  \"When I heard lamentations\n    And sad, warning cries\n  From the Banshees of many\n    Broad districts arise.\n  Aina from her closely hid\n    Nest did awake\n  The woman of wailing\n    From Gur's voicy lake;\n  From Glen Fogradh of words\n    Came a mournful whine,\n  And all Kerry's Banshees\n    Wept the lost Geraldine.[14]\n  The Banshees of Youghal\n    And of stately Mo-geely\n  Were joined in their grief\n    By wide Imokilly.\n  Carah Mona in gloom\n    Of deep sorrow appears,\n  And all Kinalmeaky's\n    Absorbed into tears.\n\n  *       *       *       *\n\n  The Banshee of Dunquin\n    In sweet song did implore\n  To the spirit that watches\n    O'er dark Dun-an-oir,\n  And Ennismare's maid\n    By the dark, gloomy wave\n  With her clear voice did mourn\n    The fall of the brave.\n  On stormy Slieve Mish\n    Spread the cry far and wide,\n  From steeply Finnaleun\n    The wild eagle replied.\n  'Mong the Reeks, like the\n    Thunder peal's echoing rout,\n  It burst--and deep moaning\n    Bright Brandon gives out,\n  Oh Chief! whose example\n    On soft-minded youth\n  Like the signet impressed\n    Honour, glory, and truth.\n  The youth who once grieved\n    If unnoticed passed by,\n  Now deplore thee in silence\n    With sorrow-dimmed eye,\n  O! woman of tears,\n    Who, with musical hands,\n  From your bright golden hair\n    Hath combed out the long bands,\n  Let those golden strings loose,\n    Speak your thoughts--let your mind\n  Fling abroad its full light,\n    Like a torch to the wind.\"\n\nIn fiction no writer has, I think, dealt more freely with the subject of\nthe Banshee than Thomas Crofton Croker, the translator of the\nabovementioned elegy. In his \"Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of\nIreland,\" he gives the most inimitable accounts of it; and for the benefit\nof those of my readers who are unacquainted with his works, as well as for\nthe purpose of presenting the Banshee as seen by such an unrivalled\nportrayer of Irish ghost and fairy lore, I will give a brief resume of\ntwo of his stories.\n\nThe one I will take first relates to the Rev. Charles Bunworth, who about\nthe middle of the eighteenth century was rector of Buttevant, County Cork.\nMr Bunworth was greatly beloved and esteemed, not only on account of his\npiety--for pious people are by no means always popular--but also on\naccount of his charity. He used to give pecuniary aid, often when he could\nill afford it, to all and any, no matter to what faith they belonged, whom\nhe really believed were in need; and being particularly fond of music,\nespecially the harp, he entertained, in a most generous and hospitable\nmanner, all the poor Irish harpers that came to his house. At the time of\nhis death, no fewer than fifteen harps were found in the loft of his\ngranary, presents, one is led to infer, from strolling harpers, in token\nof their gratitude for his repeated acts of kindness to them.\n\nAbout a week prior to his decease, and at an early hour in the evening,\nseveral of the occupants of his house heard a strange noise outside the\nhall door, which they could only liken to the shearing of sheep. No very\nserious attention, however, was paid to it, and it was not until some time\nafterwards, when other queer things happened, that it was recalled and\nassociated with the supernatural. Later on, at about seven o'clock in the\nevening, Kavanagh, the herdman, returned from Mallow, whither he had been\ndispatched for some medicine. He appeared greatly agitated, and, in\nresponse to Miss Bunworth's questions as to what was the matter, could\nonly ejaculate:\n\n\"The master, Miss, the master! He is going from us.\"\n\nMiss Bunworth, thinking he had been drinking, sternly reproved him,\nwhereupon he responded:\n\n\"Miss, as I hope mercy hereafter, neither bite nor sup has passed my lips\nsince I left this house; but the master----\" Here he broke down, only\nadding with an effort, \"We will lose him--the master.\" He then began to\nweep and wring his hands.\n\nMiss Bunworth, who, during this strange recital, was growing more and more\nbewildered, now exclaimed impatiently:\n\n\"What _is_ it you mean? Do explain yourself.\"\n\nKavanagh was silent, but, as she persisted, commanding him to speak, he at\nlength said:\n\n\"The Banshee has come for him, Miss; and 'tis not I alone who have heard\nher.\"\n\nBut Miss Bunworth only laughed and rebuked him for being superstitious.\n\n\"Maybe I am superstitious,\" he retorted, \"but as I came through the glen\nof Ballybeg she was along with me, keening, and screeching, and clapping\nher hands by my side, every step of the way, with her long white hair\nfalling about her shoulders, and I could hear her repeat the master's name\nevery now and then, as plain as ever I hear it. When I came to Old Abby,\nshe parted from me there, and turned into pigeon field next the\nberrin'-ground, and, folding her cloak about her, down she sat under the\ntree that was struck by lightning, and began keening so bitterly that it\nwent through one's heart to hear it.\"\n\nMiss Bunworth listened more attentively now, but told Kavanagh that she\nwas sure he was mistaken, as her father was very much better and quite out\nof danger. However, she spoke too soon, for that very night her father had\na relapse and was soon in a very critical condition. His daughters nursed\nhim with the utmost devotion, but at length, overcome with the strain of\nmany hours of sleepless watchfulness, they were obliged to take a rest and\nallow a certain old friend of theirs, temporarily, to take their place.\n\nIt was night; without the house everything was still and calm; within the\naged watcher was seated close beside the sick man's bed, the head of which\nhad been placed near the window, so that the sufferer could, in the\ndaylight, steal a glimpse at the fields and trees he loved so much. In an\nadjoining room, and in the kitchen, were a number of friends and\ndependents who had come from afar to inquire after the condition of the\npatient. Their conversation had been carried on for some time in whispers,\nand then, as if infected by the intense hush outside, they had gradually\nceased talking, and all had become absolutely hushed. Suddenly the aged\nwatcher heard a sound outside the window. She looked, but though there was\na brilliant moonlight, which rendered every object far and near strikingly\nconspicuous, she could perceive nothing--nothing at least that could\naccount for the disturbance. Presently the noise was repeated; a rose tree\nnear the window rustled and seemed to be pulled violently aside. Then\nthere was the sound like the clapping of hands and of breathing and\nblowing close to the window-panes.\n\nAt this, the old watcher, who was now getting nervous, arose and went into\nthe next room, and asked those assembled there if they had heard anything.\nApparently, they had not, but they all went out and searched the grounds,\nparticularly in the vicinity of the rose tree, but could discover no clue\nas to the cause of the noises, and although the ground was soft with\nrecent rain, there were no footprints to be seen anywhere. After they had\nmade an exhaustive examination, and had settled down again indoors, the\nclapping at once recommenced, and was accompanied this time by moanings,\nwhich the whole party of investigators now heard. The sounds went on for\nsome time, apparently till close to dawn, when the reverend gentleman\ndied.\n\nThe other story concerns the MacCarthys, of whom Mr Croker remarks, \"being\nan old, and especially an old Catholic family, they have, of course, a\nBanshee.\"\n\nCharles MacCarthy in 1749 was the only surviving son of a very numerous\nfamily. His father died when he was twenty, leaving him his estate, and\nbeing very gay, handsome, and thoughtless, he soon got into bad company\nand made an unenviable reputation for himself. Going from one excess to\nanother he at length fell ill, and was soon in such a condition that his\nlife was finally despaired of by the doctor. His mother never left him.\nAlways at his bedside, ready to administer to his slightest want, she\nshowed how truly devoted she was to him, although she was by no means\nblind to his faults. Indeed, so acutely did she realise the danger in\nwhich his soul stood, that she prayed most earnestly that should he die,\nhe should at least be spared long enough to be able to recover\nsufficiently to see the enormity of his offences, and repent accordingly.\nTo her utmost sorrow, however, instead of his mind clearing a little, as\nso often happens after delirium and before death, he gradually fell into a\nstate of coma, and presented every appearance of being actually dead. The\ndoctor was sent for, and the house and grounds were speedily filled with a\ncrowd of people, friends, tenants, fosterers, and poor relatives; one and\nall anxious to learn the exact condition of the sick man. With tremendous\nexcitement they awaited the exit of the doctor from the house, and, when\nhe at length emerged, they clustered round him and listened for his\nverdict.\n\n\"It's all over, James,\" he said to the man who was holding his steed, and\nwith those few brief words he climbed into his saddle and rode away. Then\nthe women who were standing by gave a shrill cry, which developed into a\ncontinuous, plaintive and discordant groaning, interrupted every now and\nagain by the deep sobbing and groaning, and clapping of hands of Charles'\nfoster-brother, who was moving in and out the crowd, distracted with\ngrief.\n\nAll the time Mrs MacCarthy was sitting by the body of her son, the tears\nstreaming from her eyes. Presently some women entered the room and\ninquired about directions for the ceremony of waking, and providing the\nrefreshments necessary for the occasion. Mournfully the widow gives them\nthe instructions they need, and then continues her solitary vigil, crying\nwith all her soul, and yet quite unaware of the tears that kept pouring\nfrom her eyes. So, on and on, with brief intervals only, all through the\nloud and boisterous lamentations of the visitors over her beloved one, far\ninto the stillness of the night. In one of the interludes, in which she\nhas removed into an inner room to pray, she suddenly hears a low\nmurmuring, which is speedily succeeded by a wild cry of horror, and then,\nout from the room in which the deceased lies, pour, like some\npanic-stricken sheep, the entire crowd of those that have participated in\nthe Wake. Nothing daunted, Mrs MacCarthy rushes into the apartment they\nhave quitted, and sees, sitting up on the bed, the light from the candles\ncasting a most unearthly glare on his features, the body of her son.\nFalling on her knees before it and clasping her hands she at once\ncommences praying; but hearing the word \"mother,\" she springs forward,\nand, clutching the figure by the arm, shrieks out:\n\n\"Speak, in the name of God and His Saints, speak! Are you alive?\"\n\nThe pale lips move, and finally exclaim:\n\n\"Yes, my mother, alive, but sit down and collect yourself.\"\n\nAnd then, to the startled and bewildered mother he, whom she had been\nmourning all this time as dead, unfolded the following remarkable tale.\n\nHe declared he remembered nothing of the preliminary stages of his\nillness, all of which was a blank, and was only cognisant of what was\nhappening when he found himself in another world, standing in the presence\nof his Creator, Who had summoned him for judgment.\n\n\"The dreadful pomp of offended omnipotence,\" he dramatically stated, \"was\nprinted on his brain in characters indelible.\" What would have happened he\ndreaded to think, had it not been for his guardian saint, that holy spirit\nhis mother had always taught him to pray to, who was standing by his side,\nand who pleaded with Him \"that one year and one month might be given him\non the earth again, in which he should have the opportunity of doing\npenance and atonement.\"\n\nAfter a terribly anxious wait, in which his whole fate--his fate for\neternity--hung in the balance, the progress of his kindly intercessor\nsucceeded, and the Great and Awful Judge pronounced these words:\n\n\"Return to that world in which thou hast lived but to outrage the laws of\nHim Who made that world and thee. Three years are given thee for\nrepentance; when these are ended thou shalt again stand here, to be saved\nor lost for ever.\"\n\nCharles saw and heard no more; everything became a void, until he suddenly\nbecame once again conscious of light and found himself lying on the bed.\n\nHe told this experience as if it were no dream, but, as he really believed\nit to be, an actual reality, and, on his gradually regaining health and\nstrength, he showed the effect it had had on him by completely changing\nhis mode of life. Though not altogether shunning his former companions in\nfolly, he never went to any excess with them, but, on the contrary, often\nexercised a restraining influence over them, and so, by degrees, came to\nbe looked upon as a person of eminent prudence and wisdom.\n\nThe years passed by till at last the third anniversary of the wonderful\nrecovery drew near. As Charles still adhered to his belief that what he\nhad experienced had been no mere dream or wandering of the mind, but an\nactual visit to spirit land, so nervous did his mother become, as the time\ndrew near for the expiration of the lease of life he declared had been\nallotted to him, that she wrote to Mrs Barry, a friend of hers, begging\nher to come with her two girls and stay with her for a few days, until, in\nfact, the actual day of the third anniversary should have passed.\n\nUnfortunately, Mrs Barry, instead of getting to Spring House, where Mrs\nMacCarthy lived, on the Wednesday, the day specified in the invitation,\nwas not able to commence the journey till the following Friday, and she\nthen had to leave her eldest daughter behind and bring only the younger\none.\n\nWhat ultimately happened is very graphically described in a letter from\nthe younger girl to the elder. In brief it was this: She and her mother\nset out in a jaunting-car driven by their man Leary. The recent rains made\nthe road so heavy that they found it impossible to make other than very\nslow progress, and had to put up for the first night at the house of a Mr\nBourke, a friend of theirs, who kept them until late the following day.\nIndeed, it was evening when they left his premises, with a good fifteen\nmiles to cover before they arrived at Spring House.\n\nThe weather was variable, at times the moon shone clear and bright, whilst\nat others it was covered with thick, black, fast-scudding clouds. The\nfarther they progressed, the more ominous did the elements become, the\nclouds collected in vast masses, the wind grew stronger and stronger, and\npresently the rain began to fall. Slow as their progress had been before,\nit now became slower; at every step the wheels of their car either plunged\ninto a deep slough, or sank almost up to the axle in thick mud.\n\nAt last, so impossible did it become, that Mrs Barry inquired of Leary how\nfar they were from Mr Bourke's, the house they had recently left.\n\n\"'Tis about ten spades from this to the cross,\" was the reply, \"and we\nhave then only to turn to the left into the avenue, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Very well, then,\" answered Mrs Barry, \"turn up to Mr Bourke's as soon as\nyou reach the crossroads.\"\n\nMrs Barry had scarcely uttered these words when a shriek, that thrilled\nthe hearers to the very core of their hearts, burst from the hedge to\ntheir right.\n\nIt resembled the cry of a female--if it resembled anything earthly at\nall--struck by a sudden and mortal blow, and giving out life in one long,\ndeep pang of agony.\n\n\"Heaven defend us!\" exclaimed Mrs Barry. \"Go you over the hedge, Leary,\nand save that woman, if she is not yet dead.\"\n\n\"Woman!\" said Leary, beating the horse violently, while his voice\ntrembled. \"That's no woman; the sooner we get on, ma'am, the better,\" and\nhe urged the horse forward.\n\nThere was now a heavy spell of darkness as the moon was once again hidden\nby the clouds, but, though they could see nothing, they heard screams of\ndespair and anguish, accompanied by a loud clapping of the hands, just as\nif some person on the other side of the hedge was running along in a line\nwith their horse's head, and keeping pace with them.\n\nWhen they came to within ten yards of the spot where the avenue branched\noff to Mr Bourke's on the left, and the road to Spring House led away to\nthe right, the moon suddenly reappeared, and they saw, with startling\ndistinctness, the figure of a tall, thin woman, with uncovered head, and\nlong hair floating round her shoulders, attired in a kind of cloak or\nsheet, standing at the corner of the hedge, just where the road along\nwhich they were driving met that which led to Spring House. She had her\nface turned towards them, and, whilst pointing with her left hand in the\ndirection of Spring House, with her right was beckoning them to hurry. As\nthey advanced she became more and more agitated, until finally, leaping\ninto the road in front of them, and still pointing with outstretched arm\nin the direction of Spring House, she took up her stand at the entrance to\nthe Avenue, as if to bar their way, and glared defiantly at them.\n\n\"Go on, Leary, in God's name!\" exclaimed Mrs Barry.\n\n\"'Tis the Banshee,\" said Leary, \"and I could not, for what my life is\nworth, go anywhere this blessed night but to Spring House. But I'm afraid\nthere's something bad going forward, or she would not send us there.\"\n\nHe pressed on towards Spring House, and almost directly afterwards clouds\ncovered the moon, and the Banshee disappeared; the sound of her clapping,\nthough continuing for some time, gradually becoming fainter and fainter,\nuntil it finally ceased altogether.\n\nOn their arrival at Spring House they learnt that a dreadful tragedy had\njust taken place.\n\nA lady, Miss Jane Osborn, who was Charles MacCarthy's ward, was to have\nbeen married to one James Ryan, and on the day preceding the marriage, as\nRyan and Charles MacCarthy were walking together in the grounds of the\nlatter's house, a strange young woman, hiding in the shrubbery, shot\nCharles in mistake for Ryan, who, it seems, had seduced and deserted her.\nThe wound, which at first appeared trivial, suddenly developed serious\nsymptoms, and before the sun had gone down on the third anniversary of\nhis memorable experience with the Unknown, Charles MacCarthy was again\nushered into the presence of his Maker, there to render of himself a\nsecond and a final account.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE BANSHEE IN SCOTLAND\n\n\nThere is, I believe, one version of a famous Scottish haunting in which\nthere figures a Banshee of the more or less orthodox order. I heard it\nmany years ago, and it was told me in good faith, but I cannot, of course,\nvouch for its authenticity. Since, however, it introduces the Banshee,\nand, therefore, may be of interest to the readers of this book, I publish\nit now for the first time, embodied in the following narrative:\n\n\"Well, Ronan, you will be glad to hear that I consent to your marrying\nIone, provided you can assure me there is nothing wrong with your family\nhistory. No hereditary tendencies to drink, disease, or madness. You know\nI am a great believer in heredity. Your prospects seem good--all the\ninquiries I have made as to your character have proved satisfactory, and I\nshall put no obstacles in your way if you can satisfy me on this point.\nCan you?\"\n\nThe speaker was Captain Horatio Wynne Pettigrew, R.N., late in command of\nHis Majesty's Frigate _Prometheus_, and now living on retired pay in the\nsmall but aristocratic suburb of Birkenhead; the young man he\naddressed--Ronan Malachy, chief clerk and prospective junior partner in\nthe big business firm of Lowndes, Half & Company, Dublin; and the subject\nof their conversation--Ione, youngest daughter of the said captain,\ngenerally and, perhaps, justly designated the bonniest damsel in all the\nland between the Dee and the far distant Tweed.\n\nThe look of intense suspense and anxiety which had almost contorted\nRonan's face while he was waiting for the Captain's reply, now gave way to\nan expression of the most marked relief.\n\n\"I think I have often told you, sir,\" he replied, \"that I have no\nrecollection of my parents, as they both died when I was a baby; but I\nhave never heard either of them spoken of in any other terms than those of\nthe greatest affection and respect. I have always understood my father was\nlost at sea on a journey either to or from New York, and that my mother,\nwho had a weak heart, died from the effects of the shock. My grandparents\non both sides lived together happily, I believe, and died from natural\ncauses at quite a respectable old age. If there had been any hereditary\ntendencies of an unpleasant nature such as those you name, or any\nparticular family disease, I feel sure I should have heard of it from one\nor other of my relatives, but I can assure you I have not.\"\n\n\"Very well then,\" Captain Pettigrew remarked genially, \"if your uncle, who\nis, I understand, your guardian, and whom I know well by reputation, will\ndo me the courtesy to corroborate what you say, I will at once sanction\nyour engagement. But now I must ask you to excuse me, as I have promised\nto have supper with General Maitland to-night, and before I go have\nseveral matters to attend to.\"\n\nHe held out his hand as he spoke, and Ronan, who had been secretly hoping\nthat he would be asked to spend the evening, was reluctantly compelled to\nwithdraw. Outside in the hall, Ione, of course, was waiting, almost beside\nherself with anxiety, to hear the result of the interview, but Ronan had\nonly time to whisper that it was quite all right, and that her father had\nbeen far more amenable than either of them had supposed, before the door\nof the room he had just left opened, and the Captain appeared.\n\nThere was no help for it then, he was obliged to say good-bye, and, having\ndone so, he hurried out into the night.\n\nAt the time of which I am writing there were neither motors nor trains, so\nthat Ronan, who, owing to an accident to his horse, had to walk, did not\nreach home, a distance of some four or five miles, till the evening was\nwell advanced.\n\nOn his arrival, burning with impatience to settle the momentous question,\nhe at once broached the subject of his interview with Captain Pettigrew to\nhis uncle, remarking that his fate now rested with him.\n\n\"With me!\" Mr Malachy exclaimed, placing his paper on an empty chair\nbeside him, and staring at Ronan with a look of sudden bewilderment in his\nbig, short-sighted but extremely benevolent eyes. \"Why, you know, my boy,\nthat you have my hearty approval. From all you tell me, Miss Ione must be\na very charming young lady; she has aristocratic connections, and will\nnot, I take it, be altogether penniless. Yes, certainly, you have my\napproval. You have known that all along.\"\n\n\"I have, uncle,\" Ronan retorted, \"and no one is more grateful to you than\nI. But Captain Pettigrew has very strong ideas about heredity. He believes\nthe tendency to drink, insanity, and sexual lust haunts families, and\nthat, even if it lies dormant for one generation, it is almost bound to\nmanifest itself in another. I told him I was quite sure I was all right\nin this respect, but he says he wants your corroboration, and that if you\nwill affirm it by letter, he will at once give his consent to my\nengagement to Ione. I know letter-writing is a confounded nuisance to you,\nuncle, but do please assure Captain Pettigrew at once that we have no\nfamily predisposition of the kind he fears.\"\n\nMr Malachy leaned back in his chair and gazed into the long gilt mirror\nover the mantel-shelf. \"Drink and gambling,\" he said.\n\n\"And suicide,\" Ronan added. \"You can at any rate swear to the absence of\nthat in our family----\" but, happening to glance at the mirror as he\nspoke, he caught in it a reflection of his uncle's face, that at once made\nhim turn round.\n\n\"Uncle!\" he cried. \"Tell me! What is it? Why do you look like that?\"\n\nMr Malachy was silent.\n\n\"You're hiding something,\" Ronan exclaimed sharply. \"Tell me what it is.\nTell me, I say, and for God's sake put an end to my suspense.\"\n\n\"You are right, Ronan,\" his uncle responded slowly. \"I am hiding\nsomething, something I ought perhaps to have told you long ago. It's about\nyour father.\"\n\n\"My father!\"\n\n\"Yes, your father. I have always told you he was lost at sea. Well, so he\nwas, but in circumstances that were undoubtedly mysterious. He was last\nseen alive on the wharf at Annan, where he was apparently waiting for a\nboat to take him to the opposite coast. Someone said they saw him suddenly\nleap in the water, and some days later a body, declared to be his, was\npicked up in the Solway Firth.\"\n\n\"Then it was suicide,\" Ronan gasped. \"My God, how awful! Was anyone with\nhim at the time?\"\n\n\"I don't think I need tell you any more.\"\n\n\"Yes, tell me everything,\" Ronan answered bitterly. \"Nothing makes any\ndifference now. Let me hear all, I insist.\"\n\nIn a voice that shook to such an extent that Ronan looked at him in\nhorror, Mr Malachy continued: \"Ronan,\" he said, \"remember that I tell you\nagainst my will, and that you are forcing me to speak. They did say at the\ntime that there was a woman with your father--a woman who had travelled\nwith him all the way from Lockerbie--that they quarrelled, that\nhe--he----\"\n\n\"Yes--go on! For God's sake go on.\"\n\n\"Pushed her in the water--in a rage, mind you, in a rage, I say; and then,\napparently appalled at what he had done, jumped in, too.\"\n\n\"Were they both drowned then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And no one tried to save them?\"\n\n\"No one was near enough. The tide was running strong at the time, and they\nwere both carried out to sea. The woman's body was never found; and your\nfather's, when it was recovered several days afterwards, was so disfigured\nthat it could only be identified by the clothes.\"\n\n\"And they were sure it was my father?\"\n\n\"I am afraid there is little doubt on that score. Your Aunt Bridget, who,\nbeing the last of the family to see him alive, was called upon to identify\nthe body, always declared there was a mistake; she identified the clothes,\nbut mentioned that the body was that of a person whom she had never seen\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Then there is a slight hope!\"\n\n\"I hardly think so, but--but go and see her--it is your only hope, and I\nwill defer writing to Captain Pettigrew until your return.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEarly next morning Ronan was well on his way to Lockerbie.\n\nIn his present state of mind, every inch was a mile, every second an\neternity. If his aunt could only furnish him with some absolute proof that\nit was not his father who had pushed the woman into the water and\nafterwards jumped in himself, then he might yet marry the object of his\ndevotion, but, if she could not, he swore with a bitter oath that the\nwater that had claimed his parent, should also claim him; and in the very\nsame spot where the unlucky man who had proved his ruin had perished, he\nwould perish too. It was Ione or obliteration. His whole being\nconcentrated on such thoughts as these, he pressed forward, taking neither\nrest nor refreshments, till he reached Silloth, where he was compelled to\nwait several hours, until a fisherman could be prevailed upon to take him\nacross the Solway Firth to Annan.\n\nSo far luck had favoured him. The weather had kept fine, and, despite the\ndangerous condition of the roads, which were notoriously full of footpads,\nand in the most sorry need of repair, he had covered the distance without\nmishap.\n\nAfter leaving Annan, however, disaster at once overtook him. The coach had\nonly proceeded some seven or eight miles along the road to Lockerbie, when\na serious accident, through the loss of a wheel, was but narrowly escaped,\nand, as there seemed little chance of getting the necessary repairs\nexecuted that night, the driver suggested that his fares should walk back\nto Annan and put up at the \"Red Star and Garter,\" till he was able to call\nfor them in the morning.\n\nTo this all agreed excepting Ronan, who, scorning the proposal to turn\nback, declared that he would continue his journey to Lockerbie on foot.\n\n\"It's a wild, uncanny bit of country you'll have to go through, mon,\" the\ndriver remonstrated, \"and I'm nae sure but what you may come across some\nof them smuggler laddies from away across the borders of Kirkcudbright.\nThey are fair sore just noo at the way in which the Custom House officials\nare treating them, and are downright suspicious of everyone they meet.\nYou'll be weel guided to return to the coast with us.\"\n\nTo this well-intentioned advice Ronan did not even condescend a reply,\nbut, bidding his fellow-passengers good night, he buttoned his overcoat\ntightly round his chest, and stepped resolutely forward into the darkness.\n\nThe driver had not exaggerated. It was a wild, uncouth bit of country. The\nroad itself was a mere track, all ruts and furrows, with nothing to denote\nits boundaries saving ditches, or black tarns that gleamed fitfully\nwhenever the moonbeams, emerging from behind black masses of clouds, fell\non them. Beyond the road, on one side, was a wide stretch of barren\nmoorland, terminating at the foot of a long line of rather low and\nsingularly funereal-looking hills; and, on the other, a black, thickly\nwooded chasm, at the bottom of which thundered a river. In every fitful\noutburst of lunar splendour each detail in the landscape stood out with\nalmost microscopic clearness, but otherwise all lay heavily shrouded in an\nalmost impenetrable mantle of gloom, from which there seemed to emanate\nstrange, indefinable shadows, that, as far as Ronan could see, had no\nmaterial counterparts.\n\nNaturally stout of heart and afraid of nothing, Ronan was, at the same\ntime, a Celt, and possessed, in no small degree, all the Celtic awe and\nrespect for anything associated with the supernatural. Hence, though he\npushed steadily on and kept picturing to himself the face and form of his\nlady love, to win whom he was fully prepared to go to any extremity, he\ncould not prevent himself from occasionally glancing with misgiving at\nsome more than usually perplexing shadow, or, from time to time, prevent\nhis heart from beating louder at the rustle of a gorse-bush, or the dismal\nhooting of an owl. In some mysterious fashion the night seemed to have\nsuddenly changed everything, and to have vested every object and every\ntrifling--or what in the daytime would have been trifling--sound with a\nsignificance that was truly enigmatical and startling.\n\nThe air, however, with its blending of scents from the pines, and gorse,\nand heather, with ozone from the not far distant Solway Firth, was so\ndelicious that Ronan kept throwing back his head to inhale great draughts\nof it; and it was whilst he thus stood a second, with his nostrils and\nforehead upturned, that he first became aware of an impending storm. At\nfirst a few big splashes, and the low moaning of the wind as it swept\ntowards and past him from the far distant hill-tops; then more splashes,\nand then a downpour.\n\nRonan, who was now walking abreast a low white wall, beyond which he could\nsee one of those shelters that in Scotland are erected everywhere for the\nprotection of both cattle and sheep from the terrible blizzards that\nnearly every winter devastate the country, perceiving the futility and\ndanger of trying to face the storm, made for the wall and, climbing it,\ndropped over on the other side. As bad luck would have it, however, he\nalighted on a boulder and, unable to retain his foothold, slipped off it,\nstriking his head a severe blow on the ground. For some seconds he lay\nunconscious, then, his senses gradually returning, he picked himself up\nand made for the shelter.\n\nStumbling blindly forward towards the entrance of the building, he\ncollided with a figure that suddenly seemed to rise from the ground, and\nfor a moment his heart stood still, but his fears were quickly dissipated\nby the unmistakable sound of a human voice.\n\n\"Who is that?\" someone inquired in tremulous tones. \"Oh, sir, are you one\nof the revellers?\"\n\n\"One of the revellers?\" Ronan replied. \"It's an ill night for any\nrevelling. What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean, are you one of the young men going to the fancy dress dance at\nthe Spelkin Towers,\" the voice responded. \"But your accent tells me you\nare not; you don't belong to these parts. You are Irish.\"\n\n\"That is truly said,\" Ronan answered. \"My home is in Dublin, and it's the\nfirst time I have set foot on Dumfries soil, and I'll stake every penny in\nmy purse it will be the last. I'm bound for Lockerbie, but I'm thinking it\nwill be the early hours of the morning before I get there.\"\n\n\"For Lockerbie,\" the voice replied. \"Why that's a distance of about twenty\nmiles. It's a straight road, however, and you pass the Spelkin Towers on\nthe way. It stands in a clump of trees about a hundred yards back from the\nroad, on this side of it, about three miles from here. If there were a\nmoon you would easily recognise the place by the big white gate leading\ndirectly to it.\"\n\n\"So I might, but why waste my time and your breath. The Spelkins, or\nwhatever you call it, has naught to do with me. I'm bound for Lockerbie,\nI tell you, and as the rain seems to be abating I intend moving on again.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" the woman pleaded, \"I pray you stay a few moments and listen to\nwhat I have to say. A gentleman is going to the revels to-night for whom I\nhave a letter of the utmost importance. His name is Dunloe--Mr Robert\nDunloe of Annan. He is due at the Towers at eight o'clock, and should\nsurely be passing here almost at this very moment. But, sir, I durst not\nwait for him any longer, as I have an aged mother at home who has been\ntaken suddenly and violently ill. For mercy's sake I beg of you to wait\nand give him the letter in my stead.\"\n\n\"Give him the letter in your stead!\" Ronan ejaculated. \"Why, I may never\nsee him--indeed, the odds are a thousand to one I never shall. I'm in a\nhurry, too. I can't stay hanging around here all night. Besides, how\nshould I know him?\"\n\n\"He's dressed as a jester,\" the woman answered, \"and if the wind is not\nblowing too strong you'll hear the sound of his bells. He's sure to be\ncoming by very soon. Oh, sir, do me this favour, I pray you.\"\n\nAs she spoke the rain ceased and the moon, suddenly appearing from behind\na bank of clouds, revealed her face. It was startlingly white, and in a\nstrange, elfish kind of way, beautiful. Ronan gazed at it in astonishment,\nit was altogether so different from the face he had pictured from the\nvoice, and as he stared down into the big, black eyes raised pleadingly to\nhis, he felt curiously fascinated, and all idea of resistance at once\ndeparted.\n\n\"All right,\" he said slowly, \"I will do as you wish. A man in\nCourt-jester's costume, with jingling bells, answering to the name of\nRobert Dunloe. Hand me the letter, and I will wait in the road till he\npasses.\"\n\nShe obeyed, and, taking from her bosom an envelope, handed it to him.\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" she said softly, \"I can't tell you how grateful I am. It is\nmost kind of you--most chivalrous, and I am sure you will one day be\nrewarded. Hark! footsteps. A number of them. It must be some of the\nrevellers. I must remain here till they pass, for I would not for the\nworld have them see me; they are rude, boisterous fellows, and have little\nrespect for a maiden when they meet her alone on the highway. There have\nbeen some dreadful doings of late around here.\"\n\nShe laid one of her little white hands on Ronan's arm as she spoke, and,\nwith the forefinger of the other placed on her lips, enjoined silence.\nThen as the footsteps and voices, which had been drawing nearer and\nnearer, passed close to them and died gradually away in the distance, she\nhurriedly bade Ronan farewell, and darted nimbly away in the darkness.\n\nRonan stood for some minutes where she had left him, half expecting she\nwould reappear, but at last, convinced that she had really taken her\ndeparture, he climbed the wall, back again into the road, and waited. Had\nit not been for the envelope, which certainly felt material enough, Ronan\nwould have been inclined to attribute it all to some curious kind of\nhallucination--the girl was so different--albeit so subtly and\ninexplicably different--from anyone he had ever seen before. But that\nenvelope with the name \"Robert Dunloe, Esquire,\" so clearly and\nbeautifully superscribed on it, was a proof of her reality, and, as he\nstood fingering the missive and pondering the subject over in his mind, he\nonce again heard the sound of footsteps. This time they were the footsteps\nof one person only, and, as he had been led to expect, they were\naccompanied by the faint jingle, jingle of bells.\n\nThe moon, now quite free from clouds, rendered every object so clearly\nvisible that Ronan, looking in the direction from which the sounds came,\nsoon detected a tall, oddly attired figure, whilst still a long way off,\nadvancing towards him with big, swinging strides. Had he not been\nprepared for someone in fancy costume, Ronan might have felt somewhat\nalarmed, for a Scotch moor in the dead of winter is hardly the place where\none would expect to encounter a masquerader in jester's costume.\n\nMoreover, though the magnifying action of the moon's rays were probably\naccountable for it, there seemed to be something singularly bizarre about\nthe figure, apart from its clothes; its head seemed abnormally round and\nsmall, its limbs abnormally long and emaciated, and its movements\nremarkably automatic and at the same time spiderlike.\n\nRonan gripped the envelope in his hand--it was solid enough; therefore,\nthe queer, fantastic-looking thing, stalking so grotesquely towards him,\nmust be solid too--a mere man--and Ronan forced a laugh. Another moment,\nand he had stepped out from under cover of the wall.\n\n\"Are you Mr Robert Dunloe?\" he asked, \"because, if so, I have a letter for\nyou.\"\n\nThe figure halted, and the white, parchment-like face with two very light\ngreen, cat-like eyes, bent down and favoured Ronan with a half-frightened,\nbut penetrating gaze.\n\n\"Yes,\" came the reply, \"I am Mr Dunloe. But how came you with a letter for\nme? Give it to me at once.\" And before Ronan could prevent him, he had\nsnatched the envelope from his grasp, and, having broken open the seal,\nwas reading the contents.\n\n\"Ah!\" he ejaculated. \"What a fool! I might have known so all along, but\nit's not too late.\" Then he folded the letter in his hand and stood\nholding it, apparently buried in thought.\n\nRonan, whose hot Irish temper had been roused by the rude manner in which\nthe stranger had obtained possession of the missive, would have moved on\nand left him, had he not felt restrained by the same peculiar fascination\nhe had experienced when talking to the girl.\n\n\"I trust,\" he at length remarked, \"that your letter contains no ill news.\nThe lady who requested me to give it you mentioned the fact that a\nrelative of hers had been taken very ill.\"\n\n\"When and where did you see her?\" the stranger queried, his eyes once\nagain seeking Ronan's face with the same fixed, penetrating stare.\n\n\"In that shelter over there,\" Ronan answered, pointing to it. \"We were\nstrangers to one another, and I was sheltering from the storm. I explained\nto her that I was on my way to Lockerbie, and in no little hurry to get\nthere, but she begged me so earnestly to await your arrival, so that I\nmight hand you the letter, that she might be free to return home at once,\nthat I consented. That is all that passed between us.\"\n\n\"She went?\"\n\n\"Yes, she slipped away suddenly in the darkness, where I don't know.\"\n\nThe stranger mused for a few moments, stroking his chin with long, lean\nfingers. Then he suddenly seemed to wake up, and spoke again, but this\ntime in a far more courteous fashion.\n\n\"Young man,\" he said, \"I believe you. You have a candid expression in your\neyes, and an honest ring in your voice. Men that speak in such tones\nseldom lie. You are kind-hearted, too, and I am going to ask of you a\nfavour. Yesterday morning, in Annan, two of the leading townsfolk laid me\na wager that I would not attend a ball to-night at the Spelkin Towers,\nand, attired as a Court jester, walk all the way to and fro, no matter how\ninclement the weather. I accepted the challenge, and now, having\nprogressed so far, I should aim at completing my task, but for this\nletter, which fully corroborates what the young lady told you, and informs\nme that a very old and dear friend of mine is dying, and would at all\ncosts see me at once, as she has an important statement to make for my\nears only. Now, sir, I cannot possibly go to her in these outlandish\nclothes, lest the shock of seeing me so attired should prove too much for\nher in her present serious condition. Can I prevail upon your charity and\nchivalry--for once again it is on behalf of a woman--and good Christian\nspirit--for I doubt not, from your demeanour, that you have been brought\nup in a truly God-fearing and pious manner--to persuade you to change\ncostumes with me over yonder in that shed. I would then be able to appear\nbefore my poor, dying friend in suitable, sober garments, whilst you would\nbe free to go to the ball, and, by posing as Mr Robert Dunloe, share the\nproceeds of my wager with me.\"\n\nThen, noting the expression that came over Ronan's face, he added quickly:\n\n\"You will incur no risks. I am a comparative stranger in these parts--none\nof the revellers know me by sight. All you will have to do on your arrival\nat the Towers will be to explain to your host, Sir Hector McBlane, the\nnature of the wager, and ask him to give you some record of your\nattendance that I can subsequently show to my two friends. Remember, sir,\nthat it is not only for the sake of gratifying a dying woman's wish that I\nam asking this favour of you, but it is also to make sure that the young\nlady who gave you the letter shall not be jeopardised.\"\n\nRonan hesitated. Had such a mystifying proposition been made to him on any\nother occasion he would, perhaps, have rejected it at once as the sheerest\nlunacy; but there was something about this night--the wild grandeur of the\nsilent moonlit scenery, the intoxicating sweetness of the subtly scented\nair, to say nothing of the maiden whose elfish appearance had seemed in\nsuch absolute harmony both with the soft, silvery starlight and the black\ngranite boulders--that was wholly different from anything Ronan had ever\nexperienced before, and his deeply emotional and easily excited\ntemperament, rising in hot rebellion against his reason, urged him to\nembark upon what he persuaded himself might prove a vastly entertaining\nadventure. He consequently agreed to do as the stranger suggested, and,\naccompanying him into the shelter, he exchanged clothes with him.\n\nAfter arranging to meet in the same spot at four o'clock in the morning,\nthe two men parted, the stranger making off across the moors, and Ronan\ncontinuing along the high road.\n\nNothing of moment occurred again till Ronan caught sight of the clump of\npines, from the centre of which rose the Spelkin Towers, and a few yards\nfarther on perceived the white wooden gate that the elfish maiden had\ndescribed to him. On his approach, several figures, in fancy dress and\nwearing dominoes, advanced to meet him, and one, with a low bow, inquired\nif he had the honour of addressing Mr Robert Dunloe.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" Ronan responded, with some astonishment, \"but I did not think\nanyone knew I was coming here to-night saving our host, Sir Hector\nMcBlane.\"\n\n\"That is because you are so modest,\" was the reply. \"I can assure you, Mr\nDunloe, your fame has preceded you, and everyone present here to-night\nwill be eagerly looking forward to the moment of your arrival. Let me\nintroduce you to my friends. Sir Frederick Clanstradie, Sir Austin\nMaltravers, Lord Henry Baxter, Mr Leslie de Vaux.\"\n\nEach of the guests bowed in turn as their names were pronounced, and then,\nat a signal from the spokesman, who informed Ronan he was Sir Philip\nMcBlane, cousin to their host, they proceeded in a body to the queerly\nconstructed mansion.\n\nInside Ronan could see no sign whatever of any festivity, but on being\ntold that Sir Hector was awaiting him in the ball-room, he allowed himself\nto be conducted along a bare, gloomy passage and down a narrow flight of\nsteep stone steps into a large dungeon-like chamber, piled up in places\nwith strange-looking lumber, and in one corner of which he perceived a\ntall figure, draped from head to foot in the hideous black garments of a\nSpanish inquisitor, standing in the immediate vicinity of a heap of loose\nbricks and freshly made mortar, and bending over a cauldron full of what\nlooked like simmering tar. The whole aspect of the room was indeed so grim\nand forbidding, that Ronan drew back in dismay and turned to Sir Philip\nand his comrades for an explanation.\n\nBefore, however, anyone could speak, the figure in the inquisitorial robes\nadvanced, and, bidding Ronan welcome, declared that he considered it both\nan honour and a privilege to entertain so illustrious a guest.\n\nNot knowing how to reply to a greeting that seemed so absurdly\nexaggerated, Ronan merely mumbled out something to the effect that he was\ndelighted to come, and then lapsed into an awkward and embarrassed\nsilence, during which he could feel the eyes of everyone fixed on him with\nan expression he could not for the life of him make out.\n\nFinally, the inquisitor, whom Ronan now divined was Sir Hector McBlane,\nafter expressing a hope that the ladies would soon make their appearance,\ninvited the gentlemen to partake of some refreshments.\n\nBottles scattered in untidy profusion upon a plain deal table were then\nuncorked, and the sinisterly clad host proposed they should all drink a\ntoast of welcome to their distinguished guest, Mr Robert Dunloe.\n\nUp to the present Ronan had only been conscious of what seemed to him\ncourtesy and cordiality in the voices of his fellow-guests, but now, as\none and all clinked glasses and shouted in unison, \"For he's a jolly good\nfellow, and so say all of us,\" he fancied he could detect something rather\ndifferent; what it was he could not say, but it gave him the same feeling\nof doubt and uncertainty as had the expression in their faces immediately\nafter his introduction to Sir Hector.\n\nAgain there was an embarrassed silence, which was eventually broken by\nRonan, who, perceiving that something was expected from him, at length\nstood up and responded to the toast.\n\nHis speech was of very short duration, but it was hardly over, before a\nloud rapping of high-heeled shoes sounded on the stone steps, and a number\nof women, dressed in every conceivable fashion, from the quaintly\npicturesque costume of the Middle Ages to the still fondly remembered and\npopular Empire gown, came trooping into the room. Their curiously clumsy\nmovements caused Ronan to scrutinise them somewhat closely, but it was\nnot until, in response to a wild outburst on wheezy flutes and derelict\nbagpipes, the assembly commenced dancing, that he awoke to the fact which\nnow seemed obvious enough, that these weird-looking women were not women\nat all, but merely men mummers.\n\nFor the next few minutes the noise and confusion were such that Ronan,\nwhose temples had been set on fire by the wine, hardly knew whether he was\nstanding on his head or his feet. First one of the pretended women, and\nthen another, solicited the honour of dancing with him, until at last,\nthrough sheer fatigue and giddiness, he was constrained to stop and lean\nfor support against the walls of the building.\n\nHe was still in this attitude, when the music, if such one could style it,\nsuddenly ceased, and the whole company, as if by a preconcerted signal,\nsuddenly stood at attention, as still and silent as statues.\n\nSir Hector McBlane then approached Ronan with a bow, and informing him\nthat his bride awaited him in the bridal chamber, declared that the time\nhad now arrived for his introduction to her.\n\nThis announcement was so unexpected and extraordinary that Ronan lost all\npower of speech, and, before he could realise what was taking place, he\nfound himself being conducted by his host to a dimly lighted corner of the\nroom, where he perceived, for the first time, a recess or kind of cell,\nmeasuring not more than four feet in depth, and three feet across, but\nreaching upwards to the same height as the ceiling. Exactly in the centre\nof it was a tall figure, absolutely stiff and motionless, and clad in\nlong, flowing, white garments.\n\nStill too bewildered and astonished to protest or remonstrate, Ronan\npermitted himself to be led right up to the figure, which a sudden flare\nfrom a torch held by one of the revellers, enabled him to perceive was\nmerely a huge rag doll, decked out in sham jewellery, with a painted,\nleering face and a mass of tow hair, a clever but ridiculous caricature of\na woman. He was about to demand an angry explanation of the foolery, when\nhe was pushed violently forward, and, before he could recover his\nequilibrium, a rope was wound several times round his body, and he was\nstrapped tightly to the doll, which was securely attached to an iron stake\nfixed perpendicularly in the ground.\n\nLoud shouts of laughter now echoed from one end of the chamber to the\nother, the merriment being further increased when Sir Hector, with an\nassumed gravity, presented his humblest respects to the bride and\nbridegroom, and hoped that they would enjoy a long and very happy\nhoneymoon.\n\nRonan, whose indignation was by this time raised to boiling pitch,\nfuriously demanded to be released, but the more angry he became, the more\nhis tormentors mocked, until at length even walls, floor, and ceiling\nseemed to become infected and to shake with an uncontrollable and devilish\nmirth. Finally, however, when things had gone on in this fashion for some\ntime, Sir Hector again spoke, and this time announced in loud tones that,\nas he was quite sure the bride and bridegroom must now be wishing for\nnothing better than to be left to themselves, he and his guests would now\nproceed to seal up the bridal chamber.\n\nA general bustle and subsequent clinking of metal on the stone floor,\nimmediately following this speech, left Ronan in no doubt whatever as to\nwhat was happening. He was, of course, being bricked up. Now although he\nfelt assured that it was all a joke, he also felt it was a joke that had\ngone on quite long enough. It was only too clear to him that, for some\nreason or another, Mr Robert Dunloe was very far from popular with these\nmasqueraders, and he began to wonder if Mr Dunloe's explanation of his\ndesire to exchange clothes was the correct one, whether, in fact, Mr\nDunloe had not got an inkling of what was going to happen to him from the\nelfish girl's letter, and whether he had not merely trumped up the story\nof the sick woman and the wager for the occasion.\n\nIn any case Ronan felt that he had been let down badly, and since he did\nnot see why he should still pretend to be the man who had taken such\nadvantage of him, he called out:\n\n\"Look here, I've a confession to make. You think I'm Mr Robert Dunloe, but\nI'm not. My name is Ronan Malachy. I'm staying with my uncle, Mr Hugh\nMalachy, near Birkenhead, and anyone there would confirm my identity. I\nwas bound to-night for Lockerbie, when I met a girl who begged me to wait\nin the road and deliver a letter for her to an individual dressed as a\nCourt jester, and styling himself Robert Dunloe, who would presently pass\nby. Not liking to refuse a lady, I agreed, and when I had given the man\nthe letter, and he had read it, he told me that it was a summons to attend\nthe death-bed of a very dear friend and urged me to exchange clothes with\nhim, in order that he might go suitably attired. To this I naturally\nassented, and he then begged me to impersonate him here, as he had laid a\nbig wager that he would be present at this ball and would walk all the way\nfrom Annan in this costume.\"\n\nRonan was about to add more, when Sir Hector McBlane approached the mound\nof bricks, which was already breast high, and, looking straight at him,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Robert Dunloe, it is useless to try and hoodwink us. We know all about\nyou. We know that you were once arrested for highway robbery and murder,\nbut got off through turning King's evidence against your mate, 'Hal of the\nseventeen strings,' who was hanged at Lancaster; that you then, took up\nGovernment spying as a trade, and got a score of the best fellows who ever\nbreathed life sentences at Morecombe for smuggling a few casks of brandy.\nA month ago we heard that you were coming to Annan to try and place a rope\nround some of our necks for the same so-called felony, and we determined\nthat we would be first in the field and teach you a lesson. We are now\ngoing to seal you up and leave you to soliloquise over the rope which is\nround you, and which is, doubtless, of the same hue and texture as that\nwhich has hanged the many that have been sentenced through your treachery.\nAdieu.\"\n\nIt was in vain, when Sir Hector had finished speaking, that Ronan\nalternately pleaded and swore; he could get no further reply. The layers\nof bricks rose, till only one was left to render the task complete; and\nalready the air within was becoming fetid and oppressive. A terrible sense\nof utter and hopeless isolation now surged through Ronan, and forced him\nonce again to call out:\n\n\"For the love of God,\" he said, \"set me free. For the LOVE OF GOD.\"\n\nHe had barely uttered these words, when the whole assembly looked at one\nanother with startled faces.\n\n\"Hark!\" exclaimed one. \"Do you hear that screaming and clapping? What in\nthe world is it?\"\n\n\"I should say,\" said another, \"that it was some puir bairn being done to\ndeath were it not for the clapping, but that gets over me. Whatever can it\nmean?\"\n\nAt that moment steps were heard descending the stairs in a great hurry,\nand a young man, with bright red hair, and dressed strictly in accordance\nwith the fashion prevailing at that time, burst into the room.\n\n\"Boys,\" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with emotion, \"I have just seen\nthe Banshee. She was in the road outside the gates of this house, running\nbackwards and forwards, just as I saw her five years ago in Kerry, and, as\nI tried to pass her by to get on my way to Dumfries, she waved me back,\nshaking her fist and screaming at the same time. Then she signalled to me\nto come here, and ran on ahead of me, crying, and groaning, and clapping\nher hands. And as I knew it would be as much as my life is worth to\ndisobey her, I followed. You can still hear her outside, keening and\nscreeching. But what are all these bricks for, and this mortar?\"\n\n\"The informer, Robert Dunloe,\" exclaimed one of the revellers. \"We have\nbeen bricking him up for a lark, and intend keeping him here till the\nmorning.\"\n\n\"It's a lie,\" Ronan shouted. \"I'm no more Dunloe than any of you. I'm\nRonan Malachy, I tell you, and my home is in Dublin. I heard an Irish\nvoice just now, surely he can tell I'm Irish, too.\"\n\n\"Arrah, I believe you,\" said the new-comer. \"It's the real brogue you've\ngot, and none other, though it's not so pronounced as is my own; but may\nbe you've lived longer in this country than I. Pull down those bricks,\nboys, and let me have a look at him.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried several voices, angrily. \"Anybody could take you in, Pat.\nHe's Dunloe right enough; and now we've got him, we intend to keep him.\"\n\nIn the altercation that now ensued, some sided with the Irishman, and some\nagainst him; but over and above all the clamour and confusion the voice of\nthe Banshee could still be heard shrieking, and wailing, and clapping her\nhands.\n\nAt last someone struck a blow, and in an instant swords were drawn, sticks\nand cudgels were used, furniture was flung about freely, and table,\nbrazier, and cauldron were overturned; and the blazing pitch and red hot\ncoals, coming in contact with piled up articles of all kinds--casks,\nchests, boxes, musty old books, paper and logs--it was not long before the\nwhole chamber became a mass of flames.\n\nOne or two of the calmer and more sober revellers attempted to get to the\nrecess and batter down the bricks, which were merely placed together\nwithout cement, but the fury of the flames drove them back, and the\nhapless Ronan was, in the end, abandoned to his fate.\n\nHideously aware of what was going on, he struggled desperately to free\nhimself, and, at last succeeding, made a frantic attempt to reach a small\nwindow, placed at a height of some seven or eight feet from the floor.\nAfter several fruitless efforts he triumphed, only to discover, however,\nthat the aperture was just too small for his body to pass through.\n\nThe flames had, by this time, reached the entrance to the recess, and the\nheat from them was so stupendous that Ronan, weak and exhausted after his\nlong fast and all the harrowing and exciting moments he had passed\nthrough, let go his hold, and, falling backwards, struck his head a\nterrific crash on the floor.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMuch to his amazement, on recovering his faculties, Ronan found himself\nlying out of doors. Above him was no abysmal darkness, only the heavens\nbrilliantly lighted by moon and stars, whilst as far as his sight could\ntravel was free and open space, a countryside dotted here and there with\ngorse bushes and the silvery shimmering surface of moorland tarns. He\nturned round, and close beside him was a big boulder of rock that he now\nremembered slipping from when he had dropped over the wall to take cover\nfrom the storm. And there, sure enough, was the shelter. He got up and\nwent towards it. It was quite deserted, no one was there, not even a cow,\nand the silence that came to him was just the ordinary silence of the\nnight, with nothing in it weirder or more arrestive than the rushing of\ndistant water and the occasional croaking of a toad. Considerably\nmystified, and unable to decide in his mind whether all he had gone\nthrough had been a dream or not, he now clambered back into the road and\npursued his way, according to his original intention, towards Lockerbie.\n\nOn reaching the spot where he had in his dream, or whatever it was, first\nsighted the Spelkin Towers, he perceived, to his amazement, the very same\nbuilding, apparently exact in every detail. On approaching nearer he found\nthe white gate, but whereas when he had beheld the Towers only such a\nshort time ago, there had been a feeble flicker of artificial light in\nsome of the slit-like windows, all was now gloomy and deserted, and, still\nfurther to his amazement, he perceived, on opening the gate and entering,\nthat the building was, to some extent, in ruins, and that the charred\ntimber and blackened walls gave every indication of its having been\npartially destroyed by fire.\n\nTotally unable to account for his experience, but convinced in his own\nmind that it was not all a dream, he now hurried on, and reached his\naunt's house in Lockerbie, just in time to wash and tidy himself for\nbreakfast.\n\nAfter the meal, and when he was sitting with his aunt by the fire in the\ndrawing-room, Ronan not only announced to her the purpose of his visit,\nbut gave her a detailed account of his journey and adventures on the way,\nasking her in conclusion what she thought of his experience, whether she\nbelieved it to be merely a dream or, in very truth, an encounter with the\ndenizens of ghostland.\n\nMiss Bridget Malachy, who during Ronan's recitation obviously had found\nit extremely difficult to maintain silence, now gave vent to her feelings.\n\n\"I cannot tell you,\" she said excitedly, \"how immensely interested I am in\nall you have told me. Last night was the anniversary of your father's\nstrange disappearance. I had only been living here a few weeks, when I\nreceived a letter from him, saying he had business to transact in the\nNorth of England, and would like to spend two or three days with me. He\ngave me the exact route he intended to travel by from Dublin, and the\nexact hour he expected to arrive. Your father was the most precise man I\never met.\n\n\"Well, on the night before the day he was due to arrive, as I was sitting\nin this very room, writing, I suddenly heard a tapping at the window, as\nif produced by the beak and claws of some bird, or very long finger nails.\nWondering what it could be, I got up, and, pulling aside the blind,\nreceived the most violent shock. There, looking directly in at me, with an\nexpression of the most intense sorrow and pity in its eyes, was the face\nof a woman. The cheeks shone with a strange, startling whiteness, and the\nlong, straggling hair fell in a disordered mass low over her neck and\nshoulders. As her gaze met mine she tapped the window with her long, white\nfingers and, throwing back her head, uttered the most harrowing,\nheart-rending scream. Convinced now that she was the Banshee, which I had\noften had described to me by my friends, I was not so much frightened as\ninterested, and I was about to address her and ask her what in God's name\nshe wanted, when she abruptly vanished, and I found myself staring into\nspace.\n\n\"A week later, I received tidings that a body, believed to be your\nfather's, had just been recovered from the Solway Firth, and I was asked\nto go at once and identify it. I went, and though it had remained in the\nwater too long, perhaps, to be easily recognisable, I was absolutely\ncertain my surmises were correct, and that the body was that of a\nstranger. It was that of a man somewhat taller than your father, and the\ntips of his fingers, moreover, were spatulate, whereas, like all the rest\nof our family's, your father's fingers were pointed. From what you have\ntold me I am now convinced that I really was right, and that your father,\nfalling into the hands of the smugglers, who, at that time, infested the\nwhole of this neighbourhood, did actually meet with foul play. I recollect\nperfectly well the fire at the Spelkin Towers the night your father\ndisappeared, but, until now, I never in any way associated the event with\nhim. Do, I beseech you, make a thorough search of the ruins and see if\nyou can find anything that will help to substantiate your story and prove\nthat your experience was of a nature very different from that of an\nordinary dream.\"\n\nRonan needed no further bidding. Accompanied by his aunt's gardener and\ntwo or three villagers--for the gardener would not venture there without a\nformidable escort; the place, he said, bore a most evil and sinister\nreputation--he at once proceeded to the Towers, and, in one of the\ncellars, bricked up in a recess, they found a skeleton--the skeleton of a\nman, on one of whose fingers was a signet-ring, which Miss Bridget Malachy\nat once identified as having belonged to her missing brother. Moreover,\nwith the remains were a few tattered shreds--all that was left of the\nclothes--and, though blackened and rusty, a number of tiny bells, such as\nmight have once adorned the cap of a Court jester.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Spelkin Towers is still haunted, for it has ghosts of its own, but\nnever, I believe, since that memorable experience of Ronan's within its\ngrey and lichen-covered walls, has it again been visited by the Banshee.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nMY OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THE BANSHEE\n\n\nIn order definitely to establish my claim to the Banshee, I am obliged to\nstate here that the family to which I belong is the oldest branch of the\nO'Donnells, and dates back in direct unbroken line to Niall of the Nine\nHostages. I am therefore genuinely Celtic Irish, but, in addition to that,\nI have in my veins strains both of the blood of the O'Briens of Thomond\n(whose Banshee visited Lady Fanshawe), and of the O'Rourkes, Princes of\nBrefni; for my ancestor, Edmund O'Donnell, married Bridget, daughter of\nO'Rourk of the house of Brefni, and his mother was the daughter of Donat\nO'Brien of the house of Thomond. All of which, and more, may be\nascertained by a reference to the Records of the Truagh O'Donnells.[15]\n\nPossibly my first experience of the Banshee occurred before I was old\nenough to take note of it. I lost my father when I was a baby. He left\nhome with the intention of going on a brief visit to Palestine, but,\nmeeting on the way an ex-officer of the Anglo-Indian army, who had been\nengaged by the King of Abyssinia to help in the work of remodelling the\nAbyssinian army, he abandoned his idea of visiting the Holy Land, and\ndecided to go to Abyssinia instead.\n\nWhat actually happened then will probably never be known. His death was\nreported to have taken place at Arkiko, a small village some two hours\nwalking distance from Massowah, and from the letters[16] subsequently\nreceived from the French Consul at Massowah and several other people, as\nwell as from the entries in his diary (the latter being recovered with\nother of his personal effects and sent home with them), there seems to\nhave been little, if any, doubt that he was trapped and murdered, the\nobject being robbery.\n\nThe case created quite a sensation at the time, and is referred to in a\nwork entitled \"The Oriental Zig-zag,\" by Charles Hamilton, who, I believe,\nstayed some few years later at the house at Massowah, where my father\nlodged, and was stated to have shared his fate.\n\nWith regard to the supernatural happenings in connection with the event.\nThe house that my father had occupied before setting out for the East was\nsemi-detached, the first house in a row, which at that time was not\ncompleted. It was situated in a distinctly lonely spot. On the one side of\nit, and to the rear, were gardens, bounded by fields, and people rarely\nvisited the place after nightfall.\n\nOn the night preceding my father's death, my mother was sitting in the\ndining-room, which overlooked the back garden, reading. It was a windy but\nfine night, and, save for the rustling of the leaves, and an occasional\ncreaking of the shutters, absolutely still. Suddenly, from apparently just\nunder the window, there rang out a series of the most harrowing screams.\nImmeasurably startled, and fearing, at first, that it was some woman being\nmurdered in the garden, my mother summoned the servants, and they all\nlistened. The sounds went on, every moment increasing in vehemence, and\nthere was an intensity and eeriness about them that speedily convinced the\nhearers that they could be due to no earthly agency. After lasting several\nminutes they finally died away in a long, protracted wail, full of such\nagony and despair, that my mother and her companions were distressed\nbeyond words.\n\nAs soon as they could summon up the courage they went out and scoured the\ngardens, but though they looked everywhere, and there was little cover for\nanyone to hide, they could discover nothing that could in any way account\nfor the noises. A dreadful fear then seized my mother. She believed that\nshe had heard the Banshee which my father had often spoken about to her,\nand she was little surprised, when, in a few days time, the news reached\nher that my father was dead. He had died about dawn, the day after my\nmother and the servants had heard the screaming. I sent an account of the\nincident, together with other phenomena that happened about the same time,\nsigned by two of the people who experienced them, to the Society for\nPsychical Research, who published it in their journal in the autumn of\n1899.\n\nI have vivid recollections of my mother telling me about it when I was a\nlittle boy, and I remember that every time I heard the shutters in the\nroom where we sat rattle, and the wind moan and sigh in the chimney, I\nfully expected to hear terrible shrieks ring out, and to see some white\nand ghastly face pressed against the window-panes, peering in at me. After\nthese recitations I was terrified at the darkness, and endured, when\nalone in my bedroom, agonies of mind that no grown-up person, perhaps,\ncould ever realise. The house and garden, so very bright and cheerful, and\nin every way ordinary, in the daytime, when the sun was out, seemed to be\nentirely metamorphosed directly it was dusk. Shadows assuredly stranger\nthan any other shadows--for as far as I could see they had no material\ncounterpart--used to congregate on the stairs, and darken the paths and\nlawn.\n\nThere were always certain spots that frightened me more than others, a\nbend in one of the staircases, for example, the banisters on the top\nlanding, a passage in the basement of the house, and the path leading from\nthe gate to the front door. Even in the daytime, occasionally, I was chary\nabout passing these places. I felt by instinct something uncanny was\nthere; something that was grotesque and sinister, and which had specially\nmalevolent designs toward me. When I was alone I hurried past, often with\nmy eyes shut; and at night time, I am not ashamed to admit, I often ran.\nYet, at that time I had no knowledge that others beside myself thought\nthese things and had these experiences. I did not know, for instance, that\nonce, when my youngest sister, who was a little older than I, was passing\nalong that passage I so much dreaded, she heard, close beside her, a\nshort, sharp laugh, or chuckle, and so expressive of hatred and derision,\nthat the sound of it haunted her memory ever after. I also did not know\nthen that one evening, immediately prior to my father's death, when\nanother of my sisters was running up the stairs, she saw, peering down at\nher from over the banisters on that top landing I so much dreaded, a face\nwhich literally froze her with horror. Crowned with a mass of disordered\ntow-coloured hair, the skin tightly drawn over the bones like a mummy, it\nlooked as if it had been buried for several months and then resurrected.\nThe light, obliquely set eyes, suffused with baleful glee, stared straight\nat her, while the mouth, just such a mouth as might have made that\nchuckle, leered. It did not seem to her to be the face of anyone that had\never lived, but to belong to an entirely different species, and to be the\ncreation of something wholly evil. She looked at it for some seconds, too\npetrified to move or cry out, until, her faculties gradually reassuring\nthemselves, she turned round from the spot and flew downstairs.\n\nSome years later, just before the death of my mother, at about the same\ntime of day and in precisely the same place, the head was again seen,\nthis time by my younger sister, the one who had heard the ghostly chuckle.\n\nI think, without doubt, that the chuckle, no less than the head, must be\nattributed to the malignant Banshee. I may add, perhaps, without\ndigressing too much, that supernatural happenings, apart from the Banshee,\nwere associated with both my parents' deaths. On the night following my\nfather's murder, and on every subsequent night for a period of six weeks,\nmy mother and the servants were aroused regularly at twelve o'clock by a\nsound, as of someone hammering down the lids of packing-cases, issuing\nfrom the room in the basement of the house, which my father had always\nused as a study. They then heard footsteps ascending the stairs and\npausing outside each bedroom in turn, which they all recognised as my\nfather's, and, occasionally, my old nurse used to see the door of the\nnight nursery open, and a light, like the light of a candle outside,\nwhilst at the same time she would hear, proceeding from the landing, a\nquick jabber, jabber, jabber, as of someone talking very fast, and trying\nvery hard to say something intelligible. No one was ever seen when this\nvoice and the footsteps, said to be my father's, were heard, but this\ncircumstance may be accounted for by the fact that my father, just before\nleaving Ireland, had remarked to my mother that, should anything happen\nto him abroad, he would in his spirit appear to her; and she, growing pale\nat the mere thought, begged him to do no such thing, whereupon he had\nlaughingly replied:\n\n\"Very well then, I will find some other means of communicating with you.\"\n\nMany manifestations of a similar nature to the foregoing, and also, like\nthe foregoing, having nothing to do with the Banshee, occurred immediately\nafter the death of my mother, but of these I must give an account on some\nfuture occasion.\n\nYears passed, and nothing more was seen or heard of the Banshee till I was\ngrown up. After leaving school I went to Dublin to read with Dr Chetwode\nCrawley, in Ely Place, for the Royal Irish Constabulary, and I might, I\nthink, have passed into that Force, had it not been for the fact that at\nthe preliminary medical examination some never-to-be-forgotten and, as I\nthought then, intensely ill-natured doctor, rejected me. Accordingly, I\nnever entered for the literary, but returned home thoroughly dispirited,\nand faced with the urgent necessity of at once looking around for\nsomething to do. However, in a very short time I had practically settled\non going to America to a ranch out West (a most disastrous venture as it\nsubsequently proved to be), and it was immediately after I had reached\nthis decision that my first actual experience with what I believe to have\nbeen the malevolent family Banshee occurred. It happened in the same house\nin which the other supernatural occurrences had taken place. All the\nfamily, saving myself, were away at the time, and I was the sole occupant\nof one of the landings, the servants being all together on another floor.\n\nI had gone to bed early, and had been sleeping for some time, when I was\nawakened about two o'clock by a loud noise, for which I could not account,\nand which reverberated in my ears for fully half a minute. I was sitting\nup, still wondering what on earth could have produced it, when,\nimmediately over my head, I heard a laugh, an abrupt kind of chuckle, that\nwas so malicious and evil that I could not possibly attribute it to any\nhuman agency, but rather to some entity of wholly satanic origin, and\nwhich my instinct told me was one of our attendant Banshees. I got out of\nbed, struck a light, and made a thorough investigation, not only of the\nroom, but the landing outside. There was no one there, nothing, as far as\nI could see, that could in any way explain the occurrence. I threw open\nthe bedroom window and looked out. The night was beautiful--the sky\nbrilliantly illuminated with moon and stars--and everything perfectly\nstill, excepting for the very faintest rustling of the leaves as the soft\nnight breeze swept through the branches and set them in motion. I listened\nfor some time, but, the hush continuing, I at last got back again into\nbed, and eventually fell asleep. I mentioned the incident in the morning\nto the servants, and they, too, had heard it.\n\nA short time afterwards I went to the United States, and had the most\nunhappy and calamitous experience in my whole career.\n\nMy next experience of the Banshee happened two or three years later, when,\nhaving returned from America, I was living in Cornwall, running a small\npreparatory school, principally for delicate boys.\n\nThe house I occupied was quite new, in fact I was the first tenant, and\nhad watched it being built. It was the last house in a terrace, and facing\nit was a cliff, at the foot of which ran a steep path leading to the\nbeach. At this particular time there was no one in the house but my aged\nhousekeeper, by name Mrs Bolitho, and myself, and whilst Mrs Bolitho slept\nin a room on the first floor, I was the sole occupant of the floor\nimmediately above it.\n\nOne night I had been sitting up writing, rather later than usual, and,\nbeing very tired, had dropped off to sleep, almost immediately after\ngetting into bed. I woke about two o'clock hearing a curious kind of\ntapping noise coming along the passage that ran parallel with my bed.\nWondering what it could be, I sat up and listened. There were only bare\nboards outside, and the noise was very clear and resonant, but difficult\nto analyse. It might have been produced by the very high heels of a lady's\nboot or shoe, or the bony foot of a skeleton. I could compare it with\nnothing else. On it came, tap, tap, tap, till it finally seemed to halt\noutside my door. There was then a pause, during which I could feel\nsomebody or something was listening most earnestly, making sure, I\nthought, whether I was awake or not, and then a terrific crash on one of\nthe top panels of the door. After this there was silence. I got up, and,\nsomewhat timidly opening the door, for I more than half expected to find\nmyself confronted with something peculiarly dreadful and uncanny, peeped\ncautiously out. There was nothing to be seen, however; nothing but the\ncold splendour of the moon, which, shining through a window nearly\nopposite me, filled the entire passage with its beams. I went into each of\nthe rooms on the landing in turn, but they were all empty, and there was\nnothing anywhere that could in any way account for what I had heard. In\nthe morning I questioned Mrs Bolitho, but she had heard nothing.\n\n\"For a wonder,\" she said, \"I slept very soundly all through the night, and\nonly awoke when it was time to get up.\"\n\nTwo days later I received tidings of the death of my uncle, Colonel John\nVize O'Donnell of Trough.[17] He had died almost suddenly, his death\noccurring a few hours after I had heard the footsteps and the knock.\n\nThree years after this experience I had moved into another house in the\nsame town--also a new house, and also the last in a terrace. At the rear,\nand on one side of it, was a garden, flanked by a hedge, beyond which were\nfields that led in almost unbroken succession to the coast. It could not\nbe altogether described as occupying a lonely position, although the\nfields were little frequented after dusk.\n\nWell, one night my wife and I were awakened about midnight by a series of\nthe most agonising and heart-rending screams, which, if like anything\nearthly at all, seemed to us to be more like the screams of a woman in the\nvery direst distress. The cries were so terrible and sounded so near to\nus, almost, in fact, in the room, that we were both horribly alarmed, and\nhardly knew what to say or think.\n\n\"Whatever is happening?\" my wife whispered, catching hold of me by the\narm, \"and what is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" was my reply, \"unless it is the Banshee, for there is\nnobody else that could make such a noise.\"\n\nThe screams continued for some seconds, and then died away in one\nlong-drawn-out wail or sob. I waited for some minutes to see if there was\na repetition of the sounds, and, there being none, I at length got up, and\nnot, I confess, without considerable apprehensions, went out on to the\nlanding, where I found several of the other inmates of the house collected\ntogether discussing with scared faces the screams which they, too, had\nheard. An examination of the house and grounds was at once made, but\nnothing was discerned that could in any way account for the sounds, and I\nadhered to my opinion that it must have been the Banshee; which opinion\nwas very considerably strengthened, when, a few days later, I received the\nnews that an aunt of mine, an O'Donnell, in County Kerry, had passed away\nwithin twenty-four hours of the time the screaming had occurred. It is,\nperhaps, a dozen years or so since we left Cornwall, and my latest\nexperience of the Banshee took place in the house in which we are now\nliving near the Crystal Palace.\n\nThe experience occurred in connection with the death of my youngest\nsister. On the night preceding her decease I dreamed most vividly that I\nsaw the figure of a female dressed in some loose-flowing, fantastic\ngarment come up the path leading to the house, and knock very loudly\nseveral times, in quick succession, at the back door. I was going to\nanswer, when a sudden terror held me back.\n\n\"It's the Banshee,\" a voice whispered in my ear, \"the Banshee. Don't let\nher in, she's coming for one of you.\"\n\nThis so startled me that I awoke. I then found that my wife was awake\nalso, trembling all over, and in a great state of excitement.\n\n\"Did you hear that tremendous knock?\" she whispered.\n\n\"What!\" I replied. \"You don't mean to say there really was a knock? Why, I\nfancied it was only in my dream.\"\n\n\"You may have dreamt it,\" she said, \"but I didn't--I heard it; it was at\nthis door, not at the front door. I say knock, but it was really a\ncrash--a terrific crash on the top panel of the door.\"\n\nWe anxiously waited to see if there would be a repetition, but, nothing\nhappening, we lay down again, and eventually went to sleep.\n\nOn the following day we received a telegram informing us that at ten\no'clock that morning my sister had passed away.\n\nSince then, I am glad to relate I have not again come in contact with the\nBanshee. At the same time, however, there are occasions when I feel very\nacutely that she is not far away, and I am seldom, if ever, perhaps,\nabsolutely free from an impression that she hovers near at hand, ready to\nmanifest herself the moment either death or disaster threaten any member\nof my family. Moreover, that she takes a peculiar interest in my personal\naffairs, I have, alas, only too little reason to doubt.\n\n\n\n\nADDENDA\n\n\nIn reply to a letter of mine asking for particulars of the Banshee alleged\nto be attached to the Inchiquin family, I received the following:\n\n     \"I think the name (of the Banshee) was OBENHEIM, but I am not sure.\n     Two or three people have told me that she appeared before my\n     grandfather's death, but none of them either saw or heard her, but\n     they had met people who did say they had heard her.\"\n\nWriting also for particulars of the Banshee to a cousin of the head of one\nof the oldest Irish clans, I received a long letter, from which I will\nquote the following:\n\n     \"I have heard 'the Banshee' cry. It is simply like a woman wailing in\n     the most unearthly fashion. At the time an O'Neill was in this house,\n     and she subsequently heard that her eldest brother had died on that\n     night between twelve a.m. and three a.m., when we all of us heard the\n     Banshee wailing. I heard her also at my mother's death, and at the\n     death of my husband's eldest sister. The cry is not always quite the\n     same. When my dear mother died, it was a very low wail which seemed\n     to go round and round the house.\n\n     \"At the death of one of the great O'Neill family, we located the cry\n     at one end of the house. When my sister-in-law died I was wakened up\n     by a loud scream in my room in the middle of the night. She had died\n     at that instant. I heard the Banshee one day, driving in the country,\n     at a distance. Sometimes the Banshee, who follows old families, is\n     heard by the whole village. Some people say she is red-haired and\n     wears a long flowing white dress. She is supposed to wring her long\n     thick hair. Others say she appears as a small woman dressed in black.\n\n     \"Such an apparition did appear to me in the daytime before my\n     mother-in-law died.\"\n\nThe writer of this letter has asked me not to publish her name, but I have\nit by me in case corroboration is needed.\n\nIn reference to the O'Donnell Banshee, Chapter XIII., my sister,\nPetronella O'Donnell, writes:\n\n     \"I remember vividly my first experience of our Banshee. I had never\n     heard of it at the time, and in fact I have only heard of it in\n     recent years.\n\n     \"It happened one day that I went into the hall, in the daytime, I\n     forget the exact hour, and as I climbed the stairway, being yet a\n     small child, I happened to look up. There, looking over the rails at\n     the top of the stairway, was an object so horrible that I shudder\n     when I think of it even now. In a greenish halo of light the most\n     terrible head imagination could paint--only this was no imagination,\n     I knew it was a real object--was looking at me with apparently\n     fiendish fire in its light and leering eyes. The head was neither man\n     nor woman's; it was ages old; it might have been buried and dug up\n     again, it was so skull-like and shrunken; its pallor was horrible,\n     grey and mildewy; its hair was long. Its mouth leered, and its light\n     and cruel eyes seemed determined to hurt me to the utmost, with the\n     terror it inspired. I remember how my childish heart rebelled against\n     its cowardice in trying to hurt and frighten so small a child. Gazing\n     back at it in petrified horror, I slowly returned to the room I had\n     come from. I resolved never to tell anyone about it, I was so proud\n     and reserved by nature.\n\n     \"I had then two secret terrors hidden in my Irish heart. The first\n     one I have never till recently spoken of to anyone; it happened\n     before I saw this awful head. I was asleep, but yet I knew I was\n     _not_ asleep. Suddenly, down the road that led to our home in Ireland\n     came an object so terrible that for years after my child's heart used\n     to stand still at the memory of it. The object I saw coming down to\n     our house was a procession--there were several pairs of horses being\n     led by grooms in livery, pulling an old coach with them. It was a\n     large and awful looking old coach! The horses were headless, and the\n     men who led them were headless, and even now as I write, the awful\n     terror of it all comes over me, it was a terror beyond words. I\n     _knew_, I felt certain they had come to cut off my head! This\n     procession of headless things stopped at our door, the men entered\n     the house, chased me up to the very top of it, and then cut off my\n     head! I can remember saying to myself, 'Now I am dead, I am dead, I\n     can suffer no more.'\n\n     \"They then went back to the coach, and the procession moved away and\n     was lost to view.\n\n     \"Night after night I lay shivering with terror, for months, for\n     years, there was such a _lurid_ horror about this headless\n     procession.\n\n     \"Some weeks after I saw the head, we heard that our father had been\n     killed about that time in Egypt, murdered it was supposed. My mother\n     died some years afterwards.\n\n     \"One evening, when I was grown up, we were sitting round the fire\n     with friends, and someone said:\n\n     \"'I don't believe in ghosts. Have you ever met anyone who has seen\n     one? I have not!'\n\n     \"A sudden impulse came over me--never to that moment had I ever\n     mentioned the head--and, leaning forward, I said:\n\n     \"'I have seen a ghost; I saw the most terrible head when I was a\n     child, looking over the staircase.'\n\n     \"To my astonishment my sister, who was sitting near me, said:\n\n     \"'I saw a most terrible head, too, looking over the staircase.'\n\n     \"I said:\n\n     \"'When did you see it? I saw it when our father died.'\n\n     \"And she said:\n\n     \"'And, _I_ saw it when our mother died.'\n\n     \"In describing it, we found all the details agreed, and learned not\n     long after that it was without doubt our own Banshee we had seen.\n\n     \"People have said to me that Banshees are heard, not seen. This is\n     not correct, it all depends if one is clairvoyant or clairaudient.\n\n     \"I remember when my mother was alive, how I came in from a walk one\n     evening and found the whole house in a ferment, the most terrible\n     screaming and crying had been heard pass over the house. Our mother\n     said it must be the Banshee. Sure enough we heard of the death of a\n     very near relation directly after. If I had been present, no doubt I\n     should not only have heard the screams but I should have seen\n     something as well.\n\n     \"A few years ago in Ireland I was talking about these things, and a\n     relation I had not met before was present. He said to me:\n\n     \"'But as well as the Banshee do you know that we have a _headless\n     coach_ attached to our family; it is proceeded by men, who lead the\n     horses, and none of them have heads.'\n\n     \"Like a flash came that never-to-be-forgotten vision of that awful\n     procession I had seen as a child, and of which I had never made any\n     mention till then. I remember now that after I saw the headless coach\n     we heard that our grandmother was dead. I believe that the headless\n     coach belongs to her family.\n\n     \"PETRONELLA O'DONNELL.\"\n\nThe headless coach referred to in the foregoing account comes to us, I\nbelieve, from the Vize family. My grandmother before her marriage was\nSarah Vize, daughter of John Vize of Donegal, Glenagad and Limerick. Her\nsister Frances married her cousin, David Roche of Carass (see Burke's\n\"Landed Gentry of Ireland,\" under Maunsell family, and Burke's \"Peerage\nunder Roche\"), their son being Sir David Roche, Bart.\n\nThe great-great-grandmother of Sarah Vize was Mary, daughter of Butler of\nthe house of the Earl Glengall Cahir. Sarah Vize's mother, my\ngreat-grandmother, before her marriage was Sarah Maunsell, granddaughter\nof William Maunsell of Ballinamona, County Cork, the fifth son of Colonel\nThomas Maunsell of Mocollop.\n\nIn the accompanying genealogical tree, tracing the descent of the\nO'Donnells of Trough from Niall of the Nine Hostages, the O'Briens of\nThomond and the O'Rourkes of Brefui, may be found the basis upon which my\nfamily's claim to the dual Banshee rests.\n\nThe original may be seen in the office of the King of Arms, Dublin. The\nfollowing is merely an extract:\n\n  Niall of the Nine Hostages.\n        King of Ireland\n               |\n         Conall Gulban\n               |\n            Feargus\n               |\n  Leadna, Prince of Tirconnell\n               |\n            Feargus\n               |\n      Lughaidb, and from\n\nhim, in direct descent, to Foirdhealbhach an Fhiona O'Donnhnaill, who had\ntwo sons, the elder, Shane Luirg and the younger, Niall Garbh. From Niall\nGarbh the illustrious Red Hugh and his brother Rory, Earl of Tirconnell,\nwere descended, from Shane Luirg, whose rank as \"The O'Donnell\" was taken\nby his younger brother, presumably the stronger man of the two, the Trough\nO'Donnells are descended.\n\nThe line goes on thus:\n\n                              Shane Luirg\n                                  |\n                            Art O'Donnhnail\n                                  |    (ob. circa 1490)\n                                  |\n                          Niall O'Donnhnaill\n                                  |    (ob. circa 1525)\n                                  |\n    Foirdheal bhach O'Donnhnaill _m._ Julia Maguire\n                                  |     (ob. 1552)\n                                  |\n                           Shane _m._ Rosa, d. of Hugh O'Donnell\n                                  |     (ob. 1581)\n                                  |\n      Hugh O'Donnell of Limerick _m._ Maria, d. of Donat O'Brien of the\n                                  |     House of Thomond (ob. 1610)\n                                  |\n             Edmund, of Limerick _m._ Bridget, d. of O'Rourk of the\n                    (ob. 1651)    |     House of Brefui\n                                  |\n              James, of Limerick _m._ Helena, d. of James Sarsfield,\n                     (ob. 1680)   |     great-uncle of Patrick\n                                  |     Sarsfeld, Earl of Lucan\n                                  |\n                            John _m._ Margaret, d. of Thomas Creagh\n                                  |     of Limerick\n                                  |\n                           James _m._ Christiana, d. of William\n                                  |     Stritch of Limerick\n                                  |\n                            John _m._ Deborah, d. of William Anderson\n                       (ob. 1780) |     of Tipperary\n                                  |\n        +--------------------------------------------+\n        |                                            |\n  [18]John, of Limerick _m._ Sarah Elliot   Henry Anderson _m._ Domina Jan,\n      and Baltimore,     |   of Baltimore,    O'Donnell     |   daughter of\n      U.S.A (ob. 1805)   |   U.S.A.           (ob. 1840)    |   nephew of\n                         |                                  |   Shah of\n                         |                                  |   Persia\n                         |                                  |\n    Elliot, of Limerick _m._ Sarah Vize,    Gen. Sir C. R. _m._ Catherine\n      (ob. 1836)         |   of Limerick      O'Donnell,        Anne, d.\n                         |                    K.C.B., and       of Gen. P.\n                         |                    Member of the     Murray,\n                         |                    Irish Academy     nephew of\n                         |                    (ob. 1870)        the Earl\n                         |                                      of Elibank\n               Rev. Henry O'Donnell\n                         |\n               Elliot (youngest son)\n\nFor particulars of the pedigree see Vol. X., p. 327, Genealogias, in the\nOffice of Ulster King of Arms, Dublin.\n\nFrom Niall to Shane Luirg, see Register XV., p. 5; from Shane to my\ngrandfather, Elliot, see Register XXIII., p. 286; and down to myself, see\n\"Sheridan,\" p. 323.\n\nReferring to the Banshee prior to my aunt's death (see Chapter XIII.) my\nwife writes:\n\n     \"I certainly remember, one night, when we were living in Cornwall,\n     hearing a most awful scream, a scream that rose and fell, and ended\n     in a long-drawn-out wail of agony. I have never heard any other sound\n     at all like it, and therefore cannot think that it could have been\n     anything earthly. At the time, however, I did think that possibly the\n     scream was that of a woman being murdered, and did not rest until my\n     husband, with other inmates of our house, had made a thorough search\n     of the garden and premises.\n\n     \"Shortly after we had had this experience, we heard of the death, in\n     Ireland, of one of my husband's aunts.\n\n     \"I also recollect that one night, shortly before we received the news\n     of my sister-in-law's death, I heard a crash on our bedroom door. It\n     was so loud that it quite shook the room, and my husband, apparently\n     wakened by it, told me he had dreamed that the Banshee had come and\n     was knocking for admittance. This happened not very long ago, when we\n     were living in Norwood.\n\n     \"ADA O'DONNELL.\"\n\n\n\n\n  PRINTED AT\n  THE NORTHUMBERLAND PRESS,\n  WATERLOO HOUSE, THORNTON STREET,\n  NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] \"Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions of Ireland,\" by Lady\nWilde.\n\n[2] \"The Astral Plane,\" p. 106.\n\n[3] This book was published in 1888.\n\n[4] In the Addenda at end of this volume will be found a genealogical tree\nshowing descent of author from the Thomond O'Briens.\n\n[5] In Addenda see tree showing descent of author from O'Rourks of Brefni.\n\n[6] As a rule the Banshee is neither heard nor seen by the person whose\ndeath it predicts. There are, however, some notable exceptions.\n\n[7] For further reference to the Banshee of the O'Neills see Addenda.\n\n[8] See Addenda.\n\n[9] See Addenda.\n\n[10] It may be recorded here as a matter of interest that my ancestress,\nHelena Sarsfield, was a daughter of James Sarsfield, great-uncle of\nPatrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan and the defender of Limerick against the\nEnglish.\n\n[11] Neither of her stories have appeared in print before.\n\n[12] See \"The Ghost World,\" by T. F. T. Dyer, p. 227.\n\n[13] See Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, 1853, VIII., p. 126.\n\n[14] These extracts are taken from quotations of the poem in Chapter II.\nof a work entitled \"Ancient History of the Kingdom of Kerry\" by Friar\nO'Sullivan of Muckross Abbey, published in the Journal of the Cork\nHistorical and Archaeological Society (Vol. V., No. 44); and Friar\nO'Sullivan, in commenting upon these passages relating to the Banshees,\nwrites (quoting from \"Kerry Records\"): \"It seems that at this time it was\nthe universal opinion that every district belonging to the Geraldines had\nits own attendant Banshee\" (see _Archaeological Journal_, 1852, on \"Folk\nLore\" by N. Kearney).\n\n[15] See Records of the Truagh O'Donnells in the Office of the King of\nArms, Dublin. Refs.: Genealogias, Vol. XI., p. 327; Register XV., p. 5;\nRegister XXII., p. 286; and Sheridan, p. 323.\n\n[16] The originals are still in existence. The diary was kept right up to\nthe night preceding his death.\n\n[17] Also spelt Truagh.\n\n[18] John O'Donnell of Baltimore's eldest son, Columbus, had a daughter,\nEleanora, who married Adrian Iselin of New York, and their grand-daughter,\nNorah, is the present Princess Coleredo Mansfeldt.\n\n\n\n\n  *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nText in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"know\" corrected to \"known\" (page 14)\n  \"sometime\" corrected to \"sometimes\" (page 17)\n  \"heartrending\" standardized to \"heart-rending\" (page 243)\n\nOther than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling\nand hyphenation have been retained from the original.\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"The Banshee","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":52940}