WHAT DID I SEE ?

Otago Witness, Issue 1894, 9 March 1888, Page 31

WHAT DID I SEE ?

| { used to think there was nothing else in Le world quite so utterly absurd as a ghost ! ; cry> I had not 'die slightest belief any : ',° r son had ever 'j&ea anything of the sort, IVthat some h'onesfc persons thought they ;'] a nd, from, deceiving themselves, they '. ( i' deceived, others. I argued that all ''peinatur?«i visitants could be accounted /,'f in on( * or wo ww asy >s ; fche P^ 011 seeing item w '- iS either unsettled in mind or it was is result of an illness -which could be exby purely natural causes, if people ouM investigate the matter thoroughly. M I h ;ive changed my views on this subvt. I think all of us change our views and iLiets as we go on in life, and many things £8 scoff at in early days we think more | ' jOUSiyj oUS iy about as we grow older, and begin \xo\ x 0 doubt the wisdom of our earlier, rash Wgrnent. Perhaps there are no such things as ghosts, i am not prepared to say there are, and I cannot say there arc not. But that some tcr y strange and unexplainable things occur, in which wo see, or believe we see, persons jrho havo shaken off tho garments of tho ekttli, and belong henceforth to another jorld than ours, I cannot attempt to deny. I dare not, for havo not I — but let me begin <t the beginning and tell you my story, then too can judge for yourself whether I have jot had good reason for revoking my earlier decision regarding tho utter absurdity of tho ftistence of ghosts.

In the summer of 1870 I was in Rome. I iyl been travelling in Europe for a year. \[y journey ended in the Eternal City, where I was resting for a few weeks before sailing for home. One evening I sat at the window of my room and looked out upon tho glory of an Italian landscape illuminated by the silver l>ht of such a moon as no other country j°cr Fees. It was the most perfectly beaufjul day I had ever seen. It was like something out of a dream. Below me lay the jlwping city bathed in white radiance. Beyond the walls the hills rose, vague, yet wmdcifully distinct, with silver-haze filling the hollows between them like a sea. It was the hour for dreams and all sorts of romantic fancies, and I remember wishing a fairyiliallop would sail across the sea of haze out of which the hills lifted their summits like islands.

"The islands of the blest," I said to myfdf, half smiling at the poetic mood I had fallen into. " Here is earth and yonder heaven."

I was sitting in one of those liltle projecting windows which one so often yees in Home and other Italian cities. A perfect network of vines clambered about it, and the moonlight made black patterns of them en the floor as the slight wind blew them across the window. The hour wa3 quite lite. I cou)d not hear the sound of any living thing, I remember, as I listened. The vrorld seemed to have gone to sleep. I had stajcrl up to mnoke another cigar, after tho friends who had spent the evening with me tad gone away.

Suddenly a thought of John Grayle came into my mind. John and I had been the best of friends in gone-by days. Wo had tceu students together, and in after school life we had kept up the friendship student life had begun. Of all my friends I counted John Grayle first. I looked forward to my meeting with him as one of the pleasantesti wents of my return.

A sensation came over me. H v:as very much the same feeling as that we have when uefeel that someone is looking at us, and look up to meet a person's eyes. It ?ecmed tome that John was near me. I could feel hi? presence.

Suddenly the house faded out of vsight, and (he hills wore swallowed up in tho. white f?a of moonlight . P.eforc me arose a vapour that was strangely luminous. It floated up and about my window, nnrl thorn slowly rosalvefl itself into a shape hko that of a pci&on. it was Hkt 1 n f>|i;»<!"W growing out of a shadow — a shadow cuiideiu-iug and l^ing on the look of a substance, yet renpiing all tho time a shadow. For a Eoment I was frightened, and I shut my eyes to keep out the strange sight ; but as if i-i'cinaled by what i had seen, I opened them again, and saw— John Grayle ! The features of the man I saw, or the shadow, had all the distinctness of life. Even the garments it wore were so plainly Mimed against the moonlight, acting as a kckgiound, that I could describe them af ter*Jrds. I saw everything in that ono brief foment.

"John I" I cried, "what does this mean?"

" I have come to tell you to look in the ' ollow oak at Densmere," I heard a voice fcake answer. " There you will find proofs °S who has done this." Hien the shadow lifted a shadowy hand to a gaping wound in his breast, fa>m which the shadowy garment fell away, '"M I mi^ht see what ho called my atten-''-'n to. Then there was a sound like the filing of the wind among the corn, and ! 'C liirure seemed to dissolve bofore my eyes. 'Imw it one moment, faint, vague, shadowy, !r( ' the next it was gone. Had I been dreaming? I shook myself. ' got up and walked about the room. I 5 'Mieil myself that I was wide awake as I wad" in my life. If I had not been -'timing, what was it I had seen ? .A. Mont h later I sailed for America. The -'^ poison to meet me when I stepped was Carl Thiol, an old artist friend. you heard that terrible story about l jhn Graylo's murder?" he asked, as we '■"'•Wl w\) the street together. r "Jolm Giaylc's murder!" I cried. "My r d- man, you don't mean to say thai it is that John is dead ? " cs, I do," he answered. ,-jy memory flew back to that moonlit in IJome, and what I had seen there. ,'Let i'ic a.sk you a question before you j|. n!o anything more about it?" I said. „}»« lie killed on the 21st of June, and did ''J'PPt'nntDensmero? 11 „ "^s," he answered. " They wrote to you I yi '- if, I sop. I thought perhaps you might it." .„, ' lave never heard a word of it from Hone but you," I answered, "unless I rj 1 it from John Graylo himself." vv eill(» e ill( » I told him what I had seen. He \*C mv st ory with a grave, half-frightened

"Percy," he said, when I had finished, " shall we go to Densmere to-morrow? I want to take a look for the • hollow oak ' yonr spirit visitor told you about. If John Grayle came to you after death, and he certainly was killed on the day when you say you saw him, why should there not be some reason for us that the mossage he gave you meant something ? " On the morrow we went to Densmere, where John Graylo had been spending a few days when he was murdered by some nnunknown person. No clue had ever been obtained to the murderer. The affair "was enshrouded in deep mystery. Mr Grosvenor, the owner of the place, gate us a cordial welcome. We were so impatient to find out the truth or falsity of our clue, if clue it could be called, that we wouldnot sit down until we had satisfied our curiosity. I told my story, and why we were there. " I don't understand it," he said, with a puzzled look on his face. "It is certainly a strange story, and it sounds like an improbable one. Ido not think you will find your ' hollow oak,' for I have never seen one on the place ; but there in no harm in looking. Let us begin the search at once. lam actually getting excited over tha matter myself, though I have absolutely no faith Trhateyer in ghosts and spiritual manifestations." Wo set out on our search. The beeches and hemlocks grew thick on either side of the avenue, but no oak t.reci. " I am afraid your ghost wan drawing on his imagination when he told yon of an oak tree at Densmere," said Mr Grosvenor. " Isn't that sin oak leaf 1 " asked Thiel, stooping and picking up a leaf from the path. Sure enough it was. Looking up, ho saw a gnarled, crooked limb projecting over our heads from a thicket of young bushes. The top of the tree had been broken off years before, and only this one branch remained.

I dashed into the thicket. I saw before me the body of an oak tree, and about four feet from the ground there was a hole large enough for the insertion of a man's arm I I never was more excited in my life. I felt as if all things depended on the result of my search in the cavity of that hollow tree ; I thrust my arm into the aperture and felt my fingers come in contact with something that sent a shiver through me from head to foot. I drew out a knife about whose blade •wan wrapped a bloody paper. 1 held these things for my frionds to ace, and neither of us spoke a word, but I know our faces were very white. I unrolled the paper from about tho blade of the knife. I read : " John Grayle, Esq. " Dear Sir,— Happening to hear that you were stopping at Densmere, I take the liberty of addressing you and asking if a person calling himself Manuol Garcia is there also. If he is, beware of him. He is an impostor. He is a gambler and a villain, and would not for a moment be tolerated in the society into which he has thrust himself if his true character were known. If jon have any doubts of the truth of what I toll you, write to Sebastian Garcia, 27 Rue de Anunciation, New Orleans, and he will tell you that this man, who has borrowed an old and honoured name, is a thief, a liar, and a coward, who would no more show his fa.cc in New Orleans than he would dare to enter a lion's den. The latter place would be the safer of the two. I have kept track of tbii man, whose true name is Goncalo Duprc.i, for years, and he cannot escape me. I will follow him to the grave. Ask him if h« remembers Honore of the old house by th» river, and tell him she i« on his track still. Watch him when you tell him this, and see if he does not turn pale."

The letter bore no signature. I gave it to my friends to read. They read it, and then Grosvenor said :

" I think I sec how it must have been. John Grayle had been to the village for lettei-6, and was returning- when he was murdered. That much we know. He probably received this letter with others we found upon his body. Probably he met Garcia, or he who called himselE so, and charged him with being an impostor. There had been an ill-feeling" between the two for some time, for Garcia Bought to supplant Grayle in the regards of Miss Booth, to whom Grayle was engaged. To save himself from detection and exposure, the man killed Grayle, secured the letter, and, with the foolishness characteristic in many instances concealed it with the knife in the hollow trre. It is strange, but not one of us ever suspected Garcia, or Duprez ; strange indeed, for we knew there had been ill-feeling between them."

" Where is Garcia, or Duprea, now !" aokod Thiel.

"I do not know," answered Grosvenor. " I think we can get track of him, howevor. At any rate we will try." We* set a detective to the work. Ontlio fourth day ho telegraphed to us from a little town on Lake Erie :

" I think I have the man you want. Come at once."

We went. We found our detective waiting at the station for us.

" You have never seen him, but Thiel has," he said to me ; " suppose you go to the hotel at once. I will take Thiel there by a back street, and he can take a look at the man hiraeelf unseen. ll' he identifies him, I will get an officer and have him arrested at once. We must nor excite his suspicions or he will give us the slip. He looks like an ugly man to deal with.' 1

We acted on the detective's advice. I saw Thiel come into the hall and take a look at the dark-faced man on the verandah, who looked at me half suspiciously as I came up the steps. I saw the* detective go away presently, and pretty soon I saw him come back again with a man whom I felt sure to be an, officer. I was right. The man came out on the verandah, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting there. The other started to his feet, frightened at once, and faced the officer.

" What do want with me ? " he asked

" I arrest you for murder," the officer answered. " Don't try to get away, for you cant," and he held the muzzle of a revolver threateningly before the ghastly face of his prisoner. " What murder ? Whose murder ? " he cried. "Are you mad, man? Do I look like a murderer ? "

" For the murder of John Grayle," I said. "We have proofs of it in our possession.

We found them in the hollow oak at Denemere. John Grayle came to me after death, and told me where to find them."

The Spanish blood in the man's reins made him superstitious, and the idea of a ghostly witness against him frightened the truth from him. When he was told what I had seen and how we came to find the knife with which he had slain his victim, he made Ml confession. He died in prison shortly afterwards, and to the last he asserted that every night the ghost of John Grayle Tisited his cell.

There you have my story. If ifc was not a ghost, what did I see 1