The Phantom Coach

by Amelia B. Edwards

　　The circumstances I am about to relate to you have truth to recommendthem. They happened to myself, and my recollection of them is as vividas if they had taken place only yesterday. Twenty years, however, havegone by since that night. During those twenty years I have told thestory to but one other person. I tell it now with a reluctance which Ifind it difficult to overcome. All I entreat, meanwhile, is that youwill abstain from forcing your own conclusions upon me. I want nothingexplained away. I desire no arguments. My mind on this subject isquite made up, and, having the testimony of my own senses to relyupon, I prefer to abide by it.

　　Well! It was just twenty years ago, and within a day or two of the endof the grouse season. I had been out all day with my gun, and had hadno sport to speak of. The wind was due east; the month, December; theplace, a bleak wide moor in the far north of England. And I had lostmy way. It was not a pleasant place in which to lose one's way, withthe first feathery flakes of a coming snowstorm just fluttering downupon the heather, and the leaden evening closing in all around. Ishaded my eyes with my hand, and staled anxiously into the gatheringdarkness, where the purple moorland melted into a range of low hills,some ten or twelve miles distant. Not the faintest smoke-wreath, notthe tiniest cultivated patch, or fence, or sheep-track, met my eyes inany direction. There was nothing for it but to walk on, and take mychance of finding what shelter I could, by the way. So I shouldered mygun again, and pushed wearily forward; for I had been on foot since anhour after daybreak, and had eaten nothing since breakfast.

　　Meanwhile, the snow began to come down with ominous steadiness, andthe wind fell. After this, the cold became more intense, and the nightcame rapidly up. As for me, my prospects darkened with the darkeningsky, and my heart grew heavy as I thought how my young wife wasalready watching for me through the window of our little inn parlour,and thought of all the suffering in store for her throughout thisweary night. We had been married four months, and, having spent ourautumn in the Highlands, were now lodging in a remote little villagesituated just on the verge of the great English moorlands. We werevery much in love, and, of course, very happy. This morning, when weparted, she had implored me to return before dusk, and I had promisedher that I would. What would I not have given to have kept my word!

　　Even now, weary as I was, I felt that with a supper, an hour's rest,and a guide, I might still get back to her before midnight, if onlyguide and shelter could be found.

　　And all this time, the snow fell and the night thickened. I stoppedand shouted every now and then, but my shouts seemed only to make thesilence deeper. Then a vague sense of uneasiness came upon me, and Ibegan to remember stories of travellers who had walked on and on inthe falling snow until, wearied out, they were fain to lie down andsleep their lives away. Would it be possible, I asked myself, to keepon thus through all the long dark night? Would there not come a timewhen my limbs must fail, and my resolution give way? When I, too, mustsleep the sleep of death. Death! I shuddered. How hard to die justnow, when life lay all so bright before me! How hard for my darling,whose whole loving heart but that thought was not to be borne! Tobanish it, I shouted again, louder and longer, and then listenedeagerly. Was my shout answered, or did I only fancy that I heard afar-off cry? I halloed again, and again the echo followed. Then awavering speck of light came suddenly out of the dark, shifting,disappearing, growing momentarily nearer and brighter. Running towardsit at full speed, I found myself, to my great joy, face to face withan old man and a lantern.

　　"Thank God!" was the exclamation that burst involuntarily from mylips.

　　Blinking and frowning, he lifted his lantern and peered into my face.

　　"What for?" growled he, sulkily.

　　"Well--for you. I began to fear I should be lost in the snow."

　　"Eh, then, folks do get cast away hereabouts fra' time to time, an'what's to hinder you from bein' cast away likewise, if the Lord's sominded?"

　　"If the Lord is so minded that you and I shall be lost together,friend, we must submit," I replied; "but I don't mean to be lostwithout you. How far am I now from Dwolding?"

　　"A gude twenty mile, more or less."

　　"And the nearest village?"

　　"The nearest village is Wyke, an' that's twelve mile t'other side."

　　"Where do you live, then?"

　　"Out yonder," said he, with a vague jerk of the lantern.

　　"You're going home, I presume?"

　　"Maybe I am."

　　"Then I'm going with you."

　　The old man shook his head, and rubbed his nose reflectively with thehandle of the lantern.

　　"It ain't o' no use," growled he. "He 'ont let you in--not he."

　　"We'll see about that," I replied, briskly. "Who is He?"

　　"The master."

　　"Who is the master?"

　　"That's nowt to you," was the unceremonious reply.

　　"Well, well; you lead the way, and I'll engage that the master shallgive me shelter and a supper to-night."

　　"Eh, you can try him!" muttered my reluctant guide; and, still shakinghis head, he hobbled, gnome-like, away through the falling snow. Alarge mass loomed up presently out of the darkness, and a huge dogrushed out, barking furiously.

　　"Is this the house?" I asked.

　　"Ay, it's the house. Down, Bey!" And he fumbled in his pocket for thekey.

　　I drew up close behind him, prepared to lose no chance of entrance,and saw in the little circle of light shed by the lantern that thedoor was heavily studded with iron nails, like the door of a prison.In another minute he had turned the key and I had pushed past him intothe house.

　　Once inside, I looked round with curiosity, and found myself in agreat raftered hall, which served, apparently, a variety of uses. Oneend was piled to the roof with corn, like a barn. The other was storedwith flour-sacks, agricultural implements, casks, and all kinds ofmiscellaneous lumber; while from the beams overhead hung rows of hams,flitches, and bunches of dried herbs for winter use. In the centre ofthe floor stood some huge object gauntly dressed in a dingy wrapping-cloth, and reaching half way to the rafters. Lifting a corner of thiscloth, I saw, to my surprise, a telescope of very considerable size,mounted on a rude movable platform, with four small wheels. The tubewas made of painted wood, bound round with bands of metal rudelyfashioned; the speculum, so far as I could estimate its size in thedim light, measured at least fifteen inches in diameter. While I wasyet examining the instrument, and asking myself whether it was not thework of some self-taught optician, a bell rang sharply.

　　"That's for you," said my guide, with a malicious grin. "Yonder's hisroom."

　　He pointed to a low black door at the opposite side of the hall. Icrossed over, rapped somewhat loudly, and went in, without waiting foran invitation. A huge, white-haired old man rose from a table coveredwith books and papers, and confronted me sternly.

　　"Who are you?" said he. "How came you here? What do you want?"

　　"James Murray, barrister-at-law. On foot across the moor. Meat, drink,and sleep."

　　He bent his bushy brows into a portentous frown.

　　"Mine is not a house of entertainment," he said, haughtily. "Jacob,how dared you admit this stranger?"

　　"I didn't admit him," grumbled the old man. "He followed me over themuir, and shouldered his way in before me. I'm no match for six foottwo."

　　"And pray, sir, by what right have you forced an entrance into myhouse?"

　　"The same by which I should have clung to your boat, if I weredrowning. The right of self-preservation."

　　"Self-preservation?"

　　"There's an inch of snow on the ground already," I replied, briefly;"and it would be deep enough to cover my body before daybreak."

　　He strode to the window, pulled aside a heavy black curtain, andlooked out.

　　"It is true," he said. "You can stay, if you choose, till morning.Jacob, serve the supper."

　　With this he waved me to a seat, resumed his own, and became at onceabsorbed in the studies from which I had disturbed him.

　　I placed my gun in a corner, drew a chair to the hearth, and examinedmy quarters at leisure. Smaller and less incongruous in itsarrangements than the hall, this room contained, nevertheless, much toawaken my curiosity. The floor was carpetless. The whitewashed wallswere in parts scrawled over with strange diagrams, and in otherscovered with shelves crowded with philosophical instruments, the usesof many of which were unknown to me. On one side of the fireplace,stood a bookcase filled with dingy folios; on the other, a smallorgan, fantastically decorated with painted carvings of mediævalsaints and devils. Through the half-opened door of a cupboard at thefurther end of the room, I saw a long array of geological specimens,surgical preparations, crucibles, retorts, and jars of chemicals;while on the mantelshelf beside me, amid a number of small objects,stood a model of the solar system, a small galvanic battery, and amicroscope. Every chair had its burden. Every corner was heaped highwith books. The very floor was littered over with maps, casts, papers,tracings, and learned lumber of all conceivable kinds.

　　I stared about me with an amazement increased by every fresh objectupon which my eyes chanced to rest. So strange a room I had neverseen; yet seemed it stranger still, to find such a room in a lonefarmhouse amid those wild and solitary moors! Over and over again, Ilooked from my host to his surroundings, and from his surroundingsback to my host, asking myself who and what he could be? His head wassingularly fine; but it was more the head of a poet than of aphilosopher. Broad in the temples, prominent over the eyes, andclothed with a rough profusion of perfectly white hair, it had all theideality and much of the ruggedness that characterises the head ofLouis von Beethoven. There were the same deep lines about the mouth,and the same stern furrows in the brow. There was the sameconcentration of expression. While I was yet observing him, the dooropened, and Jacob brought in the supper. His master then closed hisbook, rose, and with more courtesy of manner than he had yet shown,invited me to the table.

　　A dish of ham and eggs, a loaf of brown bread, and a bottle ofadmirable sherry, were placed before me.

　　"I have but the homeliest farmhouse fare to offer you, sir," said myentertainer. "Your appetite, I trust, will make up for thedeficiencies of our larder."

　　I had already fallen upon the viands, and now protested, with theenthusiasm of a starving sportsman, that I had never eaten anything sodelicious.

　　He bowed stiffly, and sat down to his own supper, which consisted,primitively, of a jug of milk and a basin of porridge. We ate insilence, and, when we had done, Jacob removed the tray. I then drew mychair back to the fireside. My host, somewhat to my surprise, did thesame, and turning abruptly towards me, said:

　　"Sir, I have lived here in strict retirement for three-and-twentyyears. During that time, I have not seen as many strange faces, and Ihave not read a single newspaper. You are the first stranger who hascrossed my threshold for more than four years. Will you favour me witha few words of information respecting that outer world from which Ihave parted company so long?"

　　"Pray interrogate me," I replied. "I am heartily at your service."

　　He bent his head in acknowledgment; leaned forward, with his elbowsresting on his knees and his chin supported in the palms of his hands;stared fixedly into the fire; and proceeded to question me.

　　His inquiries related chiefly to scientific matters, with the laterprogress of which, as applied to the practical purposes of life, hewas almost wholly unacquainted. No student of science myself, Ireplied as well as my slight information permitted; but the task wasfar from easy, and I was much relieved when, passing frominterrogation to discussion, he began pouring forth his ownconclusions upon the facts which I had been attempting to place beforehim. He talked, and I listened spellbound. He talked till I believe healmost forgot my presence, and only thought aloud. I had never heardanything like it then; I have never heard anything like it since.Familiar with all systems of all philosophies, subtle in analysis,bold in generalisation, he poured forth his thoughts in anuninterrupted stream, and, still leaning forward in the same moodyattitude with his eyes fixed upon the fire, wandered from topic totopic, from speculation to speculation, like an inspired dreamer. Frompractical science to mental philosophy; from electricity in the wireto electricity in the nerve; from Watts to Mesmer, from Mesmer toReichenbach, from Reichenbach to Swedenborg, Spinoza, Condillac,Descartes, Berkeley, Aristotle, Plato, and the Magi and mystics of theEast, were transitions which, however bewildering in their variety andscope, seemed easy and harmonious upon his lips as sequences in music.By-and-by--I forget now by what link of conjecture or illustration--hepassed on to that field which lies beyond the boundary line of evenconjectural philosophy, and reaches no man knows whither. He spoke ofthe soul and its aspirations; of the spirit and its powers; of secondsight; of prophecy; of those phenomena which, under the names ofghosts, spectres, and supernatural appearances, have been denied bythe sceptics and attested by the credulous, of all ages.

　　"The world," he said, "grows hourly more and more sceptical of allthat lies beyond its own narrow radius; and our men of science fosterthe fatal tendency. They condemn as fable all that resists experiment.They reject as false all that cannot be brought to the test of thelaboratory or the dissecting-room. Against what superstition have theywaged so long and obstinate a war, as against the belief inapparitions? And yet what superstition has maintained its hold uponthe minds of men so long and so firmly? Show me any fact in physics,in history, in archæology, which is supported by testimony so wide andso various. Attested by all races of men, in all ages, and in allclimates, by the soberest sages of antiquity, by the rudest savage ofto-day, by the Christian, the Pagan, the Pantheist, the Materialist,this phenomenon is treated as a nursery tale by the philosophers ofour century. Circumstantial evidence weighs with them as a feather inthe balance. The comparison of causes with effects, however valuablein physical science, is put aside as worthless and unreliable. Theevidence of competent witnesses, however conclusive in a court ofjustice, counts for nothing. He who pauses before he pronounces, iscondemned as a trifler. He who believes, is a dreamer or a fool."

　　He spoke with bitterness, and, having said thus, relapsed for someminutes into silence. Presently he raised his head from his hands, andadded, with an altered voice and manner, "I, sir, paused,investigated, believed, and was not ashamed to state my convictions tothe world. I, too, was branded as a visionary, held up to ridicule bymy contemporaries, and hooted from that field of science in which Ihad laboured with honour during all the best years of my life. Thesethings happened just three-and-twenty years ago. Since then, I havelived as you see me living now, and the world has forgotten me, as Ihave forgot--ten the world. You have my history."

　　"It is a very sad one," I murmured, scarcely knowing what to answer.

　　"It is a very common one," he replied. "I have only suffered for thetruth, as many a better and wiser man has suffered before me."

　　He rose, as if desirous of ending the conversation, and went over tothe window.

　　"It has ceased snowing," he observed, as he dropped the curtain, andcame back to the fireside.

　　"Ceased!" I exclaimed, starting eagerly to my feet. "Oh, if it wereonly possible--but no! it is hopeless. Even if I could find my wayacross the moor, I could not walk twenty miles to-night."

　　"Walk twenty miles to-night!" repeated my host. "What are you thinkingof?"

　　"Of my wife," I replied, impatiently. "Of my young wife, who does notknow that I have lost my way, and who is at this moment breaking herheart with suspense and terror."

　　"Where is she?"

　　"At Dwolding, twenty miles away."

　　"At Dwolding," he echoed, thoughtfully. "Yes, the distance, it istrue, is twenty miles; but--are you so very anxious to save the nextsix or eight hours?"

　　"So very, very anxious, that I would give ten guineas at this momentfor a guide and a horse."

　　"Your wish can be gratified at a less costly rate," said he, smiling."The night mail from the north, which changes horses at Dwolding,passes within five miles of this spot, and will be due at a certaincross-road in about an hour and a quarter. If Jacob were to go withyou across the moor, and put you into the old coach-road, you couldfind your way, I suppose, to where it joins the new one?"

　　"Easily--gladly."

　　He smiled again, rang the bell, gave the old servant his directions,and, taking a bottle of whisky and a wineglass from the cupboard inwhich he kept his chemicals, said:

　　"The snow lies deep, and it will be difficult walking to-night on themoor. A glass of usquebaugh before you start?"

　　I would have declined the spirit, but he pressed it on me, and I drankit. It went down my throat like liquid flame, and almost took mybreath away.

　　"It is strong," he said; "but it will help to keep out the cold. Andnow you have no moments to spare. Good night!"

　　I thanked him for his hospitality, and would have shaken hands, butthat he had turned away before I could finish my sentence. In anotherminute I had traversed the hall, Jacob had locked the outer doorbehind me, and we were out on the wide white moor.

　　Although the wind had fallen, it was still bitterly cold. Not a starglimmered in the black vault overhead. Not a sound, save the rapidcrunching of the snow beneath our feet, disturbed the heavy stillnessof the night. Jacob, not too well pleased with his mission, shambledon before in sullen silence, his lantern in his hand, and his shadowat his feet. I followed, with my gun over my shoulder, as littleinclined for conversation as himself. My thoughts were full of my latehost. His voice yet rang in my ears. His eloquence yet held myimagination captive. I remember to this day, with surprise, how myover-excited brain retained whole sentences and parts of sentences,troops of brilliant images, and fragments of splendid reasoning, inthe very words in which he had uttered them. Musing thus over what Ihad heard, and striving to recall a lost link here and there, I strodeon at the heels of my guide, absorbed and unobservant. Presently--atthe end, as it seemed to me, of only a few minutes--he came to asudden halt, and said:

　　"Yon's your road. Keep the stone fence to your right hand, and youcan't fail of the way."

　　"This, then, is the old coach-road?"

　　"Ay, 'tis the old coach-road."

　　"And how far do I go, before I reach the cross-roads?"

　　"Nigh upon three mile."

　　I pulled out my purse, and he became more communicative.

　　"The road's a fair road enough," said he, "for foot passengers; but'twas over steep and narrow for the northern traffic. You'll mindwhere the parapet's broken away, close again the sign-post. It's neverbeen mended since the accident."

　　"What accident?"

　　"Eh, the night mail pitched right over into the valley below--a gudefifty feet an' more--just at the worst bit o' road in the wholecounty."

　　"Horrible! Were many lives lost?"

　　"All. Four were found dead, and t'other two died next morning."

　　"How long is it since this happened?"

　　"Just nine year."

　　"Near the sign-post, you say? I will bear it in mind. Good night."

　　"Gude night, sir, and thankee." Jacob pocketed his half-crown, made afaint pretence of touching his hat, and trudged back by the way he hadcome.

　　I watched the light of his lantern till it quite disappeared, and thenturned to pursue my way alone. This was no longer matter of theslightest difficulty, for, despite the dead darkness overhead, theline of stone fence showed distinctly enough against the pale gleam ofthe snow. How silent it seemed now, with only my footsteps to listento; how silent and how solitary! A strange disagreeable sense ofloneliness stole over me. I walked faster. I hummed a fragment of atune. I cast up enormous sums in my head, and accumulated them atcompound interest. I did my best, in short, to forget the startlingspeculations to which I had but just been listening, and, to someextent, I succeeded.

　　Meanwhile the night air seemed to become colder and colder, and thoughI walked fast I found it impossible to keep myself warm. My feet werelike ice. I lost sensation in my hands, and grasped my gunmechanically. I even breathed with difficulty, as though, instead oftraversing a quiet north country highway, I were scaling the uppermostheights of some gigantic Alp. This last symptom became presently sodistressing, that I was forced to stop for a few minutes, and leanagainst the stone fence. As I did so, I chanced to look back up theroad, and there, to my infinite relief, I saw a distant point oflight, like the gleam of an approaching lantern. I at first concludedthat Jacob had retraced his steps and followed me; but even as theconjecture presented itself, a second light flashed into sight--alight evidently parallel with the first, and approaching at the samerate of motion. It needed no second thought to show me that these mustbe the carriage-lamps of some private vehicle, though it seemedstrange that any private vehicle should take a road professedlydisused and dangerous.

　　There could be no doubt, however, of the fact, for the lamps grewlarger and brighter every moment, and I even fancied I could alreadysee the dark outline of the carriage between them. It was coming upvery fast, and quite noiselessly, the snow being nearly a foot deepunder the wheels.

　　And now the body of the vehicle became distinctly visible behind thelamps. It looked strangely lofty. A sudden suspicion flashed upon me.Was it possible that I had passed the cross-roads in the dark withoutobserving the sign-post, and could this be the very coach which I hadcome to meet?

　　No need to ask myself that question a second time, for here it cameround the bend of the road, guard and driver, one outside passenger,and four steaming greys, all wrapped in a soft haze of light, throughwhich the lamps blazed out, like a pair of fiery meteors.

　　I jumped forward, waved my hat, and shouted. The mail came down atfull speed, and passed me. For a moment I feared that I had not beenseen or heard, but it was only for a moment. The coachman pulled up;the guard, muffled to the eyes in capes and comforters, and apparentlysound asleep in the rumble, neither answered my hail nor made theslightest effort to dismount; the outside passenger did not even turnhis head. I opened the door for myself, and looked in. There were butthree travellers inside, so I stepped in, shut the door, slipped intothe vacant corner, and congratulated myself on my good fortune.

　　The atmosphere of the coach seemed, if possible, colder than that ofthe outer air, and was pervaded by a singularly damp and disagreeablesmell. I looked round at my fellow-passengers. They were all three,men, and all silent. They did not seem to be asleep, but each leanedback in his corner of the vehicle, as if absorbed in his ownreflections. I attempted to open a conversation.

　　"How intensely cold it is to-night," I said, addressing my oppositeneighbour.

　　He lifted his head, looked at me, but made no reply.

　　"The winter," I added, "seems to have begun in earnest."

　　Although the corner in which he sat was so dim that I coulddistinguish none of his features very clearly, I saw that his eyeswere still turned full upon me. And yet he answered never a word.

　　At any other time I should have felt, and perhaps expressed, someannoyance, but at the moment I felt too ill to do either. The icycoldness of the night air had struck a chill to my very marrow, andthe strange smell inside the coach was affecting me with anintolerable nausea. I shivered from head to foot, and, turning to myleft-hand neighbour, asked if he had any objection to an open window?

　　He neither spoke nor stirred.

　　I repeated the question somewhat more loudly, but with the sameresult. Then I lost patience, and let the sash down. As I did so, theleather strap broke in my hand, and I observed that the glass wascovered with a thick coat of mildew, the accumulation, apparently, ofyears. My attention being thus drawn to the condition of the coach, Iexamined it more narrowly, and saw by the uncertain light of the outerlamps that it was in the last stage of dilapidation. Every part of itwas not only out of repair, but in a condition of decay. The sashessplintered at a touch. The leather fittings were crusted over withmould, and literally rotting from the woodwork. The floor was almostbreaking away beneath my feet. The whole machine, in short, was foulwith damp, and had evidently been dragged from some outhouse in whichit had been mouldering away for years, to do another day or two ofduty on the road.

　　I turned to the third passenger, whom I had not yet addressed, andhazarded one more remark.

　　"This coach," I said, "is in a deplorable condition. The regular mail,I suppose, is under repair?"

　　He moved his head slowly, and looked me in the face, without speakinga word. I shall never forget that look while I live. I turned cold atheart under it. I turn cold at heart even now when I recall it. Hiseyes glowed with a fiery unnatural lustre. His face was livid as theface of a corpse. His bloodless lips were drawn back as if in theagony of death, and showed the gleaming teeth between.

　　The words that I was about to utter died upon my lips, and a strangehorror--a dreadful horror--came upon me. My sight had by this timebecome used to the gloom of the coach, and I could see with tolerabledistinctness. I turned to my opposite neighbour. He, too, was lookingat me, with the same startling pallor in his face, and the same stonyglitter in his eyes. I passed my hand across my brow. I turned to thepassenger on the seat beside my own, and saw--oh Heaven! how shall Idescribe what I saw? I saw that he was no living man--that none ofthem were living men, like myself! A pale phosphorescent light--thelight of putrefaction--played upon their awful faces; upon their hair,dank with the dews of the grave; upon their clothes, earth-stained anddropping to pieces; upon their hands, which were as the hands ofcorpses long buried. Only their eyes, their terrible eyes, wereliving; and those eyes were all turned menacingly upon me!

　　A shriek of terror, a wild unintelligible cry for help and mercy;burst from my lips as I flung myself against the door, and strove invain to open it.

　　In that single instant, brief and vivid as a landscape beheld in theflash of summer lightning, I saw the moon shining down through a riftof stormy cloud--the ghastly sign-post rearing its warning finger bythe wayside--the broken parapet--the plunging horses--the black gulfbelow. Then, the coach reeled like a ship at sea. Then, came a mightycrash--a sense of crushing pain--and then, darkness.

　　It seemed as if years had gone by when I awoke one morning from a deepsleep, and found my wife watching by my bedside I will pass over thescene that ensued, and give you, in half a dozen words, the tale shetold me with tears of thanksgiving. I had fallen over a precipice,close against the junction of the old coach-road and the new, and hadonly been saved from certain death by lighting upon a deep snowdriftthat had accumulated at the foot of the rock beneath. In thissnowdrift I was discovered at daybreak, by a couple of shepherds, whocarried me to the nearest shelter, and brought a surgeon to my aid.The surgeon found me in a state of raving delirium, with a broken armand a compound fracture of the skull. The letters in my pocket-bookshowed my name and address; my wife was summoned to nurse me; and,thanks to youth and a fine constitution, I came out of danger at last.The place of my fall, I need scarcely say, was precisely that at whicha frightful accident had happened to the north mail nine years before.

　　I never told my wife the fearful events which I have just related toyou. I told the surgeon who attended me; but he treated the wholeadventure as a mere dream born of the fever in my brain. We discussedthe question over and over again, until we found that we could discussit with temper no longer, and then we dropped it. Others may form whatconclusions they please--I know that twenty years ago I was the fourthinside passenger in that Phantom Coach.