The Phantom Coach

The circumstances Iam about to relate to you have truth to recommend them.
They happened to myself, and my recollection of them is as vividas if they had
taken place only yesterday Twenty years, however, have gone bysince that night.
During those twenty years I have told the story to but one otherperson. I tell
it now with a reluctance which I find it difficult to overcome.All I entreat,
meanwhile, is that you will abstain from forcing your ownconclusions upon me. I
want nothing explained away I desire no arguments. My mind onthis subject is
quite 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 ofthe end of
the grouse season. I had been out all day with my gun, and had nosport to
speak of. The wind was due east; the month, December; the place,a bleak wide
moor in the far north of England. And I had lost my way It wasnot a pleasant
place in which to lose one's way, with the first feathery flakesof a coming
snowstorm just fluttering down upon the heather, and the leadenevening closing
in all around. I shaded my eyes with my hand, and staredanxiously into the
gathering darkness, where the purple moorland melted into a rangeof low hills,
some ten or twelve miles distant. Not the faintest smoke-wreath,not the tiniest
cultivated patch, or fence, or sheep-track, met my eyes in anydirection. There
was nothing for it but to walk on, and take my chance of findingwhat shelter I
could, by the way So I shouldered my gun again, and pushedwearily forward; for
I had been on foot since an hour after daybreak, and had eatennothing since
breakfast.
Meanwhile, the snow began to come down with ominous steadiness,and the wind
fell. After this, the cold became more intense, and the nightcame rapidly up.
As for me, my prospects darkened with the darkening sky, and myheart grew heavy
as I thought how my young wife was already watching for methrough the window of
our little inn parlour, and thought of all the suffering in storefor her
throughout this weary night. We had been married four months,and, having spent
our autumn in the Highlands, were now lodging in a remote littlevillage
situated just on the verge of the great English moorlands. Wewere very much in
love, and, of course, very happy This morning, when we parted,she had implored
me to return before dusk, and I had promised her 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'srest, 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. 1stopped and
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 in the fallingsnow until,
wearied out, they were fain to lie down and sleep their livesaway Would it be
possible, I asked myself, to keep on thus through all the longdark night? Would
there not come a time when my limbs must fail, and my resolutiongive way? When
I, too, must sleep the sleep of death. Death! I shuddered. Howhard to die just
now, when life lay all so bright before me! How hard for mydarling, whose whole
loving heart but that thought was not to be borne! To banish it,I shouted
again, louder and longer, and then listened eagerly. Was my shoutanswered, or
did I only fancy that I heard a far-off cry? I halloed again, andagain the echo
followed. Then a wavering speck of light came suddenly out of thedark,
shifting, disappearing, growing momentarily nearer and brighter.Running towards
it at full speed, I found myself, to my great joy, face to facewith an 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 myface.
'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 hereabout 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 lost without 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 withthe handle
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 mastershall give me
shelter and a supper tonight.'
'Eh, you can try him!' muttered my reluctant guide; and, stillshaking his
head, he hobbled, gnome-like, away through the falling snow Alarge mass loomed
up presently out of the darkness, and a huge dog rushed out,barking furiously.
'Is this the house?' I asked.
'Ay, it's the house. Down, Bey!' And he fumbled in his pocket forthe key.
I drew up close behind him, prepared to lose no chance ofentrance, and saw
in the little circle of light shed by the lantern that the doorwas heavily
studded with iron nails, like the door of a prison. In anotherminute he had
turned the key and I had pushed past him into the 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 stored withfloursacks,
agricultural implements, casks, and all kinds of miscellaneouslumber; while
from the beams overhead hung rows of hams, flitches, and bunchesof dried herbs
for winter use. In the centre of the floor stood some huge objectgauntly
dressed in a dingy wrapping-cloth, and reaching half way to therafters. Lifting
a corner of this cloth, I saw, to my surprise, a telescope ofvery considerable
size, mounted on a rude movable platform, with four small wheels.The tube was
made of painted wood, bound round with bands of metal rudelyfashioned; the
speculum, so far as I could estimate its size in the dim light,measured at
least fifteen inches in diameter. While I was yet examining theinstrument; and
asking myself whether it was not the work of some self-taughtoptician, a bell
rang sharply.
'That's for you,' said my guide, with a malicious grin. 'Yonder'shis room.
He pointed to a low black door at the opposite side of the hall.I crossed
over, rapped somewhat loudly, and went in, without waiting for aninvitation. A
huge, white-haired old man rose from a table covered with booksand 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 overthe muir,
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 atonce
absorbed in the studies from which I had disturbed him.
I placed my gun in a corner, drew a chair to the hearth, andexamined my
quarters at leisure. Smaller and less incongruous in itsarrangements than the
hall, this room contained, nevertheless, much to awaken mycuriosity. The floor
was carpetless. The whitewashed walls were in parts scrawled overwith strange
diagrams, and in others covered with shelves crowded withphilosophical
instruments, the uses of many of which were unknown to me. On oneside of the
fireplace, stood a bookcase filled with dingy folios; on theother, a small
organ, fantastically decorated with painted carvings of medievalsaints and
devils. Through the half-opened door of a cupboard at the furtherend of the
room, I saw a long array of geological specimens, surgicalpreparations,
crucibles, retorts, and jars of chemicals; while on themantelshelf beside me,
amid a number of small objects, stood a model of the solarsystem, a small
galvanic battery, and a microscope. Every chair had its burden.Every corner was
heaped high with books. The very floor was littered over withmaps, casts,
papers, tracings, and learned lumber of all conceivable kinds.
I stared about me with an amazement increased by every freshobject upon
which my eyes chanced to rest. So strange a room I had never seenyet seemed it
stranger still, to find such a room in a lone farmhouse amidthose wild and
solitary moors! Over and over again, I looked from my host to hissurroundings,
and from his surroundings back to my host, asking myself who andwhat he could
be? His head was singularly fine; but it was more the head of apoet than of a
philosopher. Broad in the temples, prominent over the eyes, andclothed with a
rough profusion of
perfectly white hair, it had all the ideality and much of theruggedness
that characterises the head of Louis von Beethoven. There werethe same deep
lines about the mouth, and the same stern furrows in the browThere was the same
concentration of expression. While I was yet observing him, thedoor opened, and
Jacob brought in the supper. His master then closed his book,rose, and with
more courtesy of manner than he had yet shown, invited me to thetable.
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,' saidmy
entertainer. '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, whichconsisted,
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 my chairback to the
fireside. My host, somewhat to my surprise, did the same, andturning 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 has crossed mythreshold for
more than four years. Will you favour me with a few words ofinformation
respecting that outer world from which I have parted company solong?'
'Pray interrogate me,' I replied. 'I am heartily at your service.'
He bent his head in acknowledgment, leaned forward, with hiselbows resting
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 thelater progress
of which, as applied to the practical purposes of life, he wasalmost wholly
unacquainted. No student of science myself, I replied as well asmy slight
information permitted; but the task was far from easy, and I wasmuch relieved
when, passing from interrogation to discussion, he began pouringforth his own
conclusions upon the facts which I had been attempting to placebefore him. He
talked, and I listened spellbound. He talked till I believe healmost forgot my
presence, and only thought aloud. I had never heard anything likeit then; I
have never heard anything like it since. Familiar with allsystems of all
philosophies, subtle in analysis, bold in generalisation, hepoured forth his
thoughts in an uninterrupted stream, and, still leaning forwardin the same
moody attitude with his eyes fixed upon the fire, wandered fromtopic to topic,
from speculation to speculation, like an inspired dreamer. Frompractical
science to mental philosophy; from electricity in the wire toelectricity in the
nerve; from Watts to Mesmer, from Mesmer to Reichenbach, fromReichenbach to
Swedenborg, Spinoza, Condillac, Descartes, Berkeley, Aristotle,Plato, and the
Magi and mystics of the East, were transitions which, howeverbewildering in
their variety and scope, seemed easy and harmonious upon his lipsas sequences
in music. 13y-and-by-I forget now by what link of conjecture orillustration-he
passed on to that field which lies beyond the boundary line ofeven conjectural
philosophy, and reaches no man knows whither. He spoke of thesoul and its
aspirations; of the spirit and its powers; of second sight; ofprophecy; of
those phenomena which, under the names of ghosts, spectres, andsupernatural
appearances, have been denied by the sceptics and attested by thecredulous, of
all ages.
'The world,' he said, 'grows hourly more and more sceptical ofall that lies
beyond its own narrow radius; and our men of science foster thefatal tendency.
They condemn as fable all that resists experiment. They reject asfalse all that
cannot be brought to the test of the laboratory or the dissecting-room.Against
what superstition have they waged so long and obstinate a war, asagainst the
belief in apparitions? And yet what superstition has maintainedits hold upon
the minds of men so long and so firmly? Show me any fact inphysics, in history,
in archeology, which is supported by testimony so wide and sovarious. Attested
by all races of men, in all ages, and in all climates, by thesoberest sages of
antiquity, by the rudest savage of today, by the Christian, thePagan, the
Pantheist, the Materialist, this phenomenon is treated as anursery tale by the
philosophers of our century. Circumstantial evidence weighs withthem as a
feather in the balance. The comparison of causes with effects,however valuable
in physical science, is put aside as worthless and unreliable.The evidence of
competent witnesses, however conclusive in a court of justice,counts for
nothing. He who pauses before he pronounces, is condemned as atrifler. He who
believes, is a dreamer or a fool.'
He spoke with bitterness, and, having said thus, relapsed forsome minutes
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 tostate my
convictions to the world. I, too, was branded as a visionary,held up to
ridicule by my contemporaries, and hooted from that field ofscience in which I
had laboured with honour during all the best years of my life.These things
happened just three-and-twenty years ago. Since then, I
have lived as you see me living now, and the world has forgottenme, as I
have forgotten the world. You have my history.'
'It is a very sad one,' I murmured, scarcely knowing what toanswer.
'It is a very, common one,' he replied. 'I have only suffered forthe truth,
as many a better and wiser man has suffered before me.
He rose, as if desirous of ending the conversation, and went overto the
window
'It has ceased snowing,' he observed, as he dropped the curtain,and came
back to the fireside.
'Ceased!' I exclaimed, starting eagerly to my feet. 'Oh, if itwere only
possible-but no! it is hopeless. Even if I could find my wayacross the moor, I
could not walk twenty miles tonight.'
'Walk twenty miles tonight!' repeated my host. 'What are youthinking of?'
'Of my wife,' I replied, impatiently. 'Of my young wife, who doesnot know
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 next six oreight hours?'
'So very, very anxious, that I would give ten guineas at thismoment for 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 certain cross-road inabout an hour and
a quarter. If Jacob were to go with you across the moor, and putyou into the
old coach-road, you could find your way, I suppose, to where itjoins the new
one?'
'Easily-gladly.'
He smiled again, rang the bell, gave the old servant hisdirections, 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 tonight onthe moor. A
glass of usquebaugh before you start?'
I would have declined the spirit, but he pressed it on me, and Idrank it.
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.And now you
have no moments to spare. Good night!'
I thanked him for his hospitality, and would have shaken hands,but that he
had turned away before I could finish my sentence. In anotherminute I had
traversed the hall, Jacob had locked the outer door behind me,and we were out
on the wide white moor.
Although the wind had fallen, it was still bitterly cold. Not astar
glimmered in the black vault overhead Not a sound, save the rapidcrunching of
the snow beneath our feet, disturbed the heavy stillness of thenight. Jacob,
not too well pleased With his mission, shambled on before insullen silence, his
lantern in h~5 hand, and his shadow at his feet. I followed, withmy gun over my
shoulder, as little inclined for conversation as himself. Mythoughts were full
of my late host. His voice yet rang in my ears. His eloquence yetheld my
imagination captive. I remember to this day, with surprise, howmy over-excited
brain retained whole sentences and parts of sentences, troops ofbrilliant
images, and fragments of splendid reasoning, in the very words inwhich he had
uttered them. Musing thus over what I had heard, and striving torecall a lost
link here and there, I strode on at the heels of my guide,absorbed and
unobservant. Presently-at the end, as it seemed to me, of only afew minutes-he
came to a sudden halt, and said:
'Yon's your road. Keep the stone fence to your right hand, andyou can'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 uponthree
mile.'
I pulled out my purse, and he became more communicative.
The roads a fair road enough,' said he, 'for foot passengers; but'twas over
steep and narrow for the northern traffic. You'll mind where theparapets broken
away, close again the sign-post It's never been mended since theaccident,'
'What accident?'
'Eh, the night mail pitched right over into the valley below-agude fifty
feet an' more-just at the worst bit o' road in the whole county.'
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 a faint
pretence of touching his hat, and trudged back by the way he hadcome.
I watched the light of his lantern till it quite disappeared, andthen
turned to pursue my way alone. This was no longer matter of theslightest
difficulty, for, despite the dead darkness overhead, the line ofstone fence
showed distinctly enough against the pale gleam of the snow Howsilent it seemed
now, with only my footsteps to listen to; how silent and howsolitary! A strange
disagreeable sense of loneliness stole over me. I walked faster.I hummed a
fragment of a tune. I cast up enormous sums in my head, andaccumulated them at
compound interest. I did my best, in short, to forget thestartling speculations
to which I had but just been listening, and, to some extent, Isucceeded.
Meanwhile the night air seemed to become colder and colder, andthough I
walked fast I found it impossible to keep myself warm. My feetwere like ice. I
lost sensation in my hands, and grasped my gun mechanically Ieven breathed with
difficulty, as though, instead of traversing a quiet northcountry highway, I
were scaling the uppermost heights of some gigantic Alp. Thislast symptom
became presently so distressing, that I was forced to stop for afew minutes,
and lean against the stone fence. As I did so, I chanced to lookback up the
road, and there, to my infinite relief, I saw a distant point oflight, like the
gleam of an approaching lantern. I at first concluded that Jacobhad retraced
his steps and followed me; but even as the conjecture presenteditself, a second
light flashed into sight-a light evidently parallel with thefirst, and
approaching at the same rate of motion. It needed no secondthought to show me
that these must be the carriage-lamps of some private vehicle,though it seemed
strange 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 already see thedark outline
of the carriage between them. It was coming up very fast, andquite noiselessly,
the snow being nearly a foot deep under the wheels.
And now the body of the vehicle became distinctly visible behindthe lamps.
It looked strangely lofty. A sudden suspicion flashed upon me.Was it possible
that I had passed the cross-roads in the dark without observingthe sign-post,
and could this be the very coach which I had come to meet?
No need to ask myself that question a second time, for here itcame round
the bend of the road, guard and driver, one outside passenger,and four steaming
greys, all wrapped in a soft haze of light, through which thelamps blazed out,
like a pair of fiery meteors.
I jumped forward, waved my hat, and shouted. The mail came downat full
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 apparently sound asleep in therumble, neither
answered my hail nor made the slightest effort to dismount; theoutside
passenger did not even turn his head. I opened the door formyself, and looked
in. There were but three travellers inside, so I stepped in, shutthe door,
slipped into the vacant corner and congratulated myself on mygood fortune.
The atmosphere of the coach seemed, if possible, colder than thatof the
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 leaned back in hiscorner of the
vehicle, as if absorbed in his own reflections. I attempted toopen a
conversation.
'How intensely cold it is tonight,' I said, addressing myopposite
neighbour.
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 eyes were stillturned 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 icy coldnessof the night air
had struck a chill to my very marrow, and the strange smellinside the coach was
affecting me with an intolerable nausea. I shivered from head tofoot, and,
turning to my left-hand neighbour, asked if he had any objectionto 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 the leatherstrap broke in
my hand', and I observed that the glass was covered with a thickcoat of mildew,
the accumulation, apparently, of years. My attention being thusdrawn to the
condition of the coach, I examined it more narrowly, and saw bythe uncertain
light of the outer lamps that it was in [he last stage ofdilapidation. Every
part of it was not only out of repair, but in a condition ofdecay. The sashes
splintered at a touch. The leather fittings were crusted overwith mould, and
literally rotting from the woodwork. The floor was almostbreaking away beneath
my feet. The whole machine, in short, was foul with damp, and hadevidently been
dragged from some outhouse in which it had been mouldering awayfor years, to do
another day or two of duty on the road.
I turned to the third passenger, whom I had not yet addressed,and hazarded
one more remark.
'This coach,' I said, 'is in a deplorable condition. The regularmail, I
suppose, is under repair?'
He moved his head slowly, and looked me in the face, withoutspeaking a
word. I shall never forget that look while I live. I turned coldat heart under
it. I turn cold at heart even now when I recall it. His eyesglowed with a fiery
unnatural lustre. His face was livid as the face of a corpse. Hisbloodless lips
were drawn back as if in the agony of death, and showed thegleaming teeth
between.
The words that I was about to utter died upon my lips, and astrange
horror-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 looking at me, with the samestartling
pallor in his face, and the same stony glitter in his eyes. Ipassed my hand
across my brow I turned to the passenger on the seat beside myown, and saw-oh
Heaven! how shall I describe what I saw? I saw that he was noliving man-that
none of them were living, men, like myself! A pale phosphorescentlight-the
light of putrefaction-played upon their awful faces; upon theirhair, dank with
the dews of the grave; upon their clothes, earth-stained anddropping to pieces;
upon their hands, which were as the hands of corpses long buried.Only their
eyes, their terrible eyes, were living; and those eyes were allturned
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 in vain toopen it.
In that single instant, brief and vivid as a landscape beheld inthe flash
of summer lightning, I saw the moon shining down through a riftof stormy
cloud-the ghastly sign-post rearing its warning finger by thewayside-the broken
parapet-the plunging horses-the black gulf below Then, the coachreeled like a
ship at sea. Then, came a mighty crash-a sense of crushing pain-andthen,
darkness.

It seemed as if years had gone by when I awoke one morning from adeep
sleep, and found my wife watching by my bedside. I will pass overthe' scene
that ensued, and give you, in half a dozen words, the tale shetold me with
tears of thanksgiving. I had fallen over a precipice, closeagainst the junction
of the old coach-road and the new, and had only been saved fromcertain death by
lighting upon a deep snowdrift that had accumulated at the footof the rock
beneath. In this snowdrift I was discovered at daybreak, by acouple of
shepherds, who carried me to the nearest shelter, and brought asurgeon to my
aid. The surgeon found me in a state of raving delirium, with abroken arm and 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 youthand a fine
constitution, I came out of danger at last. The place of my fall,I need
scarcely say, was precisely that at which a frightful accidenthad happened to
the north mail nine years before.
I never told my wife the fearful events which I have just relatedto you. I
told the surgeon who attended me; but he treated the wholeadventure as a mere
dream born of the fever in my brain. We discussed the questionover and over
again, until we found that we could discuss it with temper nolonger, and then
we dropped it. Others may form what conclusions they please-Iknow that twenty
years ago I was the fourth inside passenger in that Phantom Coach.