THE RIVAL GHOSTS
The good ship sped on her way across the calm Atlantic. It was anoutward passage, according to the little charts which the company hadcharily distributed, but most of the passengers were homeward bound,after a summer of rest and recreation, and they were counting the daysbefore they might hope to see Fire Island Light. On the lee side of theboat, comfortably sheltered from the wind, and just by the door of thecaptain's room (which was theirs during the day), sat a little group ofreturning Americans. The Duchess (she was down on the purser's list asMrs. Martin, but her friends and familiars called her the Duchess ofWashington Square) and Baby Van Rensselaer (she was quite old enough tovote, had her sex been entitled to that duty, but as the younger of twosisters she was still the baby of the family)--the Duchess and Baby VanRensselaer were discussing the pleasant English voice and the notunpleasant English accent of a manly young lordling who was going toAmerica for sport. Uncle Larry and Dear Jones were enticing each otherinto a bet on the ship's run of the morrow.
"I'll give you two to one she don't make 420," said Dear Jones.
"I'll take it," answered Uncle Larry. "We made 427 the fifth day lastyear." It was Uncle Larry's seventeenth visit to Europe, and this wastherefore his thirty-fourth voyage.
"And when did you get in?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I don't care abit about the run, so long as we get in soon."
"We crossed the bar Sunday night, just seven days after we leftQueenstown, and we dropped anchor off Quarantine at three o'clock onMonday morning."
"I hope we sha'n't do that this time. I can't seem to sleep any whenthe boat stops."
"I can, but I didn't," continued Uncle Larry, "because my state-roomwas the most for'ard in the boat, and the donkey-engine that let downthe anchor was right over my head."
"So you got up and saw the sun rise over the bay," said Dear Jones,"with the electric lights of the city twinkling in the distance, andthe first faint flush of the dawn in the east just over Fort Lafayette,and the rosy tinge which spread softly upward, and----"
"Did you both come back together?" asked the Duchess.
"Because he has crossed thirty-four times you must not suppose he has amonopoly in sunrises," retorted Dear Jones. "No; this was my ownsunrise; and a mighty pretty one it was too."
"I'm not matching sunrises with you," remarked Uncle Larry calmly; "butI'm willing to back a merry jest called forth by my sunrise against anytwo merry jests called forth by yours."
"I confess reluctantly that my sunrise evoked no merry jest at all."Dear Jones was an honest man, and would scorn to invent a merry jest onthe spur of the moment.
"That's where my sunrise has the call," said Uncle Larry, complacently.
"What was the merry jest?" was Baby Van Rensselaer's inquiry, thenatural result of a feminine curiosity thus artistically excited.
"Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a patriotic American and awandering Irishman, and the patriotic American rashly declared that youcouldn't see a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, and this gave theIrishman his chance, and he said, 'Sure ye don't have 'm here till we'rethrough with 'em over there.'"
"It is true," said Dear Jones, thoughtfully, "that they do have somethings over there better than we do; for instance, umbrellas."
"And gowns," added the Duchess.
"And antiquities"--this was Uncle Larry's contribution.
"And we do have some things so much better in America!" protested BabyVan Rensselaer, as yet uncorrupted by any worship of the effetemonarchies of despotic Europe. "We make lots of things a great dealnicer than you can get them in Europe--especially ice-cream."
"And pretty girls," added Dear Jones; but he did not look at her.
"And spooks," remarked Uncle Larry, casually.
"Spooks?" queried the Duchess.
"Spooks. I maintain the word. Ghost, if you like that better, orspectres. We turn out the best quality of spook----"
"You forget the lovely ghost stories about the Rhine and the BlackForest," interrupted Miss Van Rensselaer, with feminine inconsistency.
"I remember the Rhine and the Black Forest and all the other haunts ofelves and fairies and hobgoblins; but for good, honest spooks there isno place like home. And what differentiates our spook--_spiritusAmericanus_--from the ordinary ghost of literature is that itresponds to the American sense of humor. Take Irving's stories, forexample. The 'Headless Horseman'--that's a comic ghost story. And RipVan Winkle--consider what humor, and what good humor, there is in thetelling of his meeting with the goblin crew of Hendrik Hudson's men! Astill better example of this American way of dealing with legend andmystery is the marvellous tale of the rival ghosts."
"The rival ghosts!" queried the Duchess and Baby Van Rensselaertogether. "Who were they?"
"Didn't I ever tell you about them?" answered Uncle Larry, a gleam ofapproaching joy flashing from his eye.
"Since he is bound to tell us sooner or later, we'd better be resignedand hear it now," said Dear Jones.
"If you are not more eager, I won't tell it at all."
"Oh, do, Uncle Larry! you know I just dote on ghost stories," pleadedBaby Van Rensselaer.
"Once upon a time," began Uncle Larry--"in fact, a very few yearsago--there lived in the thriving town of New York a young Americancalled Duncan--Eliphalet Duncan. Like his name, he was half Yankeeand half Scotch, and naturally he was a lawyer, and had come to NewYork to make his way. His father was a Scotchman who had come overand settled in Boston and married a Salem girl. When Eliphalet Duncanwas about twenty he lost both of his parents. His father left himenough money to give him a start, and a strong feeling of pride inhis Scotch birth; you see there was a title in the family inScotland, and although Eliphalet's father was the younger son of ayounger son, yet he always remembered, and always bade his only sonto remember, that this ancestry was noble. His mother left him herfull share of Yankee grit and a little old house in Salem which hadbelonged to her family for more than two hundred years. She was aHitchcock, and the Hitchcocks had been settled in Salem since theyear 1. It was a great-great-grandfather of Mr. Eliphalet Hitchcockwho was foremost in the time of the Salem witchcraft craze. And thislittle old house which she left to my friend Eliphalet Duncan washaunted."
"By the ghost of one of the witches, of course?" interrupted DearJones.
"Now how could it be the ghost of a witch, since the witches were allburned at the stake? You never heard of anybody who was burned having aghost, did you?" asked Uncle Larry.
"That's an argument in favor of cremation, at any rate," replied DearJones, evading the direct question.
"It is, if you don't like ghosts. I do," said Baby Van Rensselaer.
"And so do I," added Uncle Larry. "I love a ghost as dearly as anEnglishman loves a lord."
"Go on with your story," said the Duchess, majestically overruling allextraneous discussion.
"This little old house at Salem was haunted," resumed Uncle Larry. "Andby a very distinguished ghost--or at least by a ghost with veryremarkable attributes."
"What was he like?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a premonitoryshiver of anticipatory delight.
"It had a lot of peculiarities. In the first place, it never appearedto the master of the house. Mostly it confined its visitations tounwelcome guests. In the course of the last hundred years it hadfrightened away four successive mothers-in-law, while never intrudingon the head of the household."
"I guess that ghost had been one of the boys when he was alive and inthe flesh." This was Dear Jones's contribution to the telling of thetale.
"In the second place," continued Uncle Larry, "it never frightenedanybody the first time it appeared. Only on the second visit were theghost-seers scared; but then they were scared enough for twice, andthey rarely mustered up courage enough to risk a third interview. Oneof the most curious characteristics of this well-meaning spook was thatit had no face--or at least that nobody ever saw its face."
"Perhaps he kept his countenance veiled?" queried the Duchess,
who wasbeginning to remember that she never did like ghost stories.
"That was what I was never able to find out. I have asked severalpeople who saw the ghost, and none of them could tell me anything aboutits face, and yet while in its presence they never noticed itsfeatures, and never remarked on their absence or concealment. It wasonly afterwards when they tried to recall calmly all the circumstancesof meeting with the mysterious stranger that they became aware thatthey had not seen its face. And they could not say whether the featureswere covered, or whether they were wanting, or what the trouble was.They knew only that the face was never seen. And no matter how oftenthey might see it, they never fathomed this mystery. To this day nobodyknows whether the ghost which used to haunt the little old house inSalem had a face, or what manner of face it had."
"How awfully weird!" said Baby Van Rensselaer. "And why did the ghostgo away?"
"I haven't said it went away," answered Uncle Larry, with much dignity.
"But you said it _used_ to haunt the little old house at Salem, soI supposed it had moved. Didn't it?" the young lady asked.
"You shall be told in due time. Eliphalet Duncan used to spend most ofhis summer vacations at Salem, and the ghost never bothered him at all,for he was the master of the house--much to his disgust, too, becausehe wanted to see for himself the mysterious tenant at will of hisproperty. But he never saw it, never. He arranged with friends to callhim whenever it might appear, and he slept in the next room with thedoor open; and yet when their frightened cries waked him the ghost wasgone, and his only reward was to hear reproachful sighs as soon as hewent back to bed. You see, the ghost thought it was not fair ofEliphalet to seek an introduction which was plainly unwelcome."
Dear Jones interrupted the story-teller by getting up and tucking aheavy rug more snugly around Baby Van Rensselaer's feet, for the skywas now overcast and gray, and the air was damp and penetrating.
"One fine spring morning," pursued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet Duncanreceived great news. I told you that there was a title in the family inScotland, and that Eliphalet's father was the younger son of a youngerson. Well, it happened that all Eliphalet's father's brothers anduncles had died off without male issue except the eldest son of theeldest son, and he, of course, bore the title, and was Baron Duncan ofDuncan. Now the great news that Eliphalet Duncan received in New Yorkone fine spring morning was that Baron Duncan and his only son had beenyachting in the Hebrides, and they had been caught in a black squall,and they were both dead. So my friend Eliphalet Duncan inherited thetitle and the estates."
"How romantic!" said the Duchess. "So he was a baron!"
"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "he was a baron if he chose. But hedidn't choose."
"More fool he!" said Dear Jones, sententiously.
"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "I'm not so sure of that. You see,Eliphalet Duncan was half Scotch and half Yankee, and he had two eyesto the main chance. He held his tongue about his windfall of luck untilhe could find out whether the Scotch estates were enough to keep up theScotch title. He soon discovered that they were not, and that the lateLord Duncan, having married money, kept up such state as he could outof the revenues of the dowry of Lady Duncan. And Eliphalet, he decidedthat he would rather be a well-fed lawyer in New York, livingcomfortably on his practice, than a starving lord in Scotland, livingscantily on his title."
"But he kept his title?" asked the Duchess.
"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "he kept it quiet. I knew it, and afriend or two more. But Eliphalet was a sight too smart to put 'BaronDuncan of Duncan, Attorney and Counsellor at Law,' on his shingle."
"What has all this got to do with your ghost?" asked Dear Jones,pertinently.
"Nothing with that ghost, but a good deal with another ghost. Eliphaletwas very learned in spirit lore--perhaps because he owned the hauntedhouse at Salem, perhaps because he was a Scotchman by descent. At allevents, he had made a special study of the wraiths and white ladies andbanshees and bogies of all kinds whose sayings and doings and warningsare recorded in the annals of the Scottish nobility. In fact, he wasacquainted with the habits of every reputable spook in the Scotchpeerage. And he knew that there was a Duncan ghost attached to theperson of the holder of the title of Baron Duncan of Duncan."
"So, besides being the owner of a haunted house in Salem, he was also ahaunted man in Scotland?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Just so. But the Scotch ghost was not unpleasant, like the Salemghost, although it had one peculiarity in common with itstrans-atlantic fellow-spook. It never appeared to the holder of thetitle, just as the other never was visible to the owner of the house.In fact, the Duncan ghost was never seen at all. It was a guardianangel only. Its sole duty was to be in personal attendance on BaronDuncan of Duncan, and to warn him of impending evil. The traditions ofthe house told that the Barons of Duncan had again and again felt apremonition of ill fortune. Some of them had yielded and withdrawn fromthe venture they had undertaken, and it had failed dismally. Some hadbeen obstinate, and had hardened their hearts, and had gone on recklessto defeat and to death. In no case had a Lord Duncan been exposed toperil without fair warning."
"Then how came it that the father and son were lost in the yacht offthe Hebrides?" asked Dear Jones.
"Because they were too enlightened to yield to superstition. There isextant now a letter of Lord Duncan, written to his wife a few minutesbefore he and his son set sail, in which he tells her how hard he hashad to struggle with an almost overmastering desire to give up thetrip. Had he obeyed the friendly warning of the family ghost, theletter would have been spared a journey across the Atlantic."
"Did the ghost leave Scotland for America as soon as the old barondied?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with much interest.
"How did he come over," queried Dear Jones--"in the steerage, or as acabin passenger?"
"I don't know," answered Uncle Larry, calmly, "and Eliphalet didn'tknow. For as he was in no danger, and stood in no need of warning, hecouldn't tell whether the ghost was on duty or not. Of course he was onthe watch for it all the time. But he never got any proof of itspresence until he went down to the little old house of Salem, justbefore the Fourth of July. He took a friend down with him--a youngfellow who had been in the regular army since the day Fort Sumter wasfired on, and who thought that after four years of the littleunpleasantness down South, including six months in Libby, and after tenyears of fighting the bad Indians on the plains, he wasn't likely to bemuch frightened by a ghost. Well, Eliphalet and the officer sat out onthe porch all the evening smoking and talking over points in militarylaw. A little after twelve o'clock, just as they began to think it wasabout time to turn in, they heard the most ghastly noise in the house.It wasn't a shriek, or a howl, or a yell, or anything they could put aname to. It was an undeterminate, inexplicable shiver and shudder ofsound, which went wailing out of the window. The officer had been atCold Harbor, but he felt himself getting colder this time. Eliphaletknew it was the ghost who haunted the house. As this weird sound diedaway, it was followed by another, sharp, short, blood-curdling in itsintensity. Something in this cry seemed familiar to Eliphalet, and hefelt sure that it proceeded from the family ghost, the warning wraithof the Duncans."
"Do I understand you to intimate that both ghosts were there together?"inquired the Duchess, anxiously.
"Both of them were there," answered Uncle Larry. "You see, one of thembelonged to the house, and had to be there all the time, and the otherwas attached to the person of Baron Duncan, and had to follow himthere; wherever he was, there was that ghost also. But Eliphalet, hehad scarcely time to think this out when he heard both sounds again,not one after another, but both together, and something told him--somesort of an instinct he had--that those two ghosts didn't agree, didn'tget on together, didn't exactly hit it off; in fact, that they werequarrelling."
"Quarrelling ghosts! Well, I never!" was Baby Van Rensselaer's remark.
"It is a blessed thing to see ghosts dwell together in unity," saidDear Jones.
&n
bsp; And the Duchess added, "It would certainly be setting a betterexample."
"You know," resumed Uncle Larry, "that two waves of light or of soundmay interfere and produce darkness or silence. So it was with theserival spooks. They interfered, but they did not produce silence ordarkness. On the contrary, as soon as Eliphalet and the officer wentinto the house, there began at once a series of spiritualisticmanifestations--a regular dark seance. A tambourine was played upon, abell was rung, and a flaming banjo went singing around the room."
"Where did they get the banjo?" asked Dear Jones, sceptically.
"I don't know. Materialized it, maybe, just as they did the tambourine.You don't suppose a quiet New York lawyer kept a stock of musicalinstruments large enough to fit out a strolling minstrel troupe just onthe chance of a pair of ghosts coming to give him a surprise party, doyou? Every spook has its own instrument of torture. Angels play onharps, I'm informed, and spirits delight in banjos and tambourines.These spooks of Eliphalet Duncan's were ghosts with all modernimprovements, and I guess they were capable of providing their ownmusical weapons. At all events, they had them there in the little oldhouse at Salem the night Eliphalet and his friend came down. And theyplayed on them, and they rang the bell, and they rapped here, there,and everywhere. And they kept it up all night."
"All night?" asked the awe-stricken Duchess.
"All night long," said Uncle Larry, solemnly; "and the next night too.Eliphalet did not get a wink of sleep, neither did his friend. On thesecond night the house ghost was seen by the officer; on the thirdnight it showed itself again; and the next morning the officer packedhis gripsack and took the first train to Boston. He was a New-Yorker,but he said he'd sooner go to Boston than see that ghost again.Eliphalet wasn't scared at all, partly because he never saw either thedomiciliary or the titular spook, and partly because he felt himself onfriendly terms with the spirit world, and didn't scare easily. Butafter losing three nights' sleep and the society of his friend, hebegan to be a little impatient, and to think that the thing had gonefar enough. You see, while in a way he was fond of ghosts, yet he likedthem best one at a time. Two ghosts were one too many. He wasn't benton making a collection of spooks. He and one ghost were company, but heand two ghosts were a crowd."
"What did he do?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Well, he couldn't do anything. He waited awhile, hoping they would gettired; but he got tired out first. You see, it comes natural to a spookto sleep in the daytime, but a man wants to sleep nights, and theywouldn't let him sleep nights. They kept on wrangling and quarrellingincessantly; they manifested and they dark-seanced as regularly as theold clock on the stairs struck twelve; they rapped and they rang bellsand they banged the tambourine and they threw the flaming banjo aboutthe house, and, worse than all, they swore."
"I did not know that spirits were addicted to bad language," said theDuchess.
"How did he know they were swearing? Could he hear them?" asked DearJones.
"That was just it," responded Uncle Larry; "he could not hear them--atleast, not distinctly. There were inarticulate murmurs and stifledrumblings. But the impression produced on him was that they wereswearing. If they had only sworn right out, he would not have minded itso much, because he would have known the worst. But the feeling thatthe air was full of suppressed profanity was very wearing, and afterstanding it for a week he gave up in disgust and went to the WhiteMountains."
"Leaving them to fight it out, I suppose," interjected Baby VanRensselaer.
"Not at all," explained Uncle Larry. "They could not quarrel unless hewas present. You see, he could not leave the titular ghost behind him,and the domiciliary ghost could not leave the house. When he went awayhe took the family ghost with him, leaving the house ghost behind. Nowspooks can't quarrel when they are a hundred miles apart any more thanmen can."
"And what happened afterwards?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with apretty impatience.
"A most marvellous thing happened. Eliphalet Duncan went to the WhiteMountains, and in the car of the railroad that runs to the top of MountWashington he met a classmate whom he had not seen for years, and thisclassmate introduced Duncan to his sister, and this sister was aremarkably pretty girl, and Duncan fell in love with her at firstsight, and by the time he got to the top of Mount Washington he was sodeep in love that he began to consider his own unworthiness, and towonder whether she might ever be induced to care for him a little--everso little."
"I don't think that is so marvellous a thing," said Dear Jones,glancing at Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Who was she?" asked the Duchess, who had once lived in Philadelphia.
"She was Miss Kitty Sutton, of San Francisco, and she was a daughter ofold Judge Sutton, of the firm of Pixley & Sutton."
"A very respectable family," assented the Duchess.
"I hope she wasn't a daughter of that loud and vulgar old Mrs. Suttonwhom I met at Saratoga one summer four or five years ago?" said DearJones.
"Probably she was," Uncle Larry responded.
"She was a horrid old woman. The boys used to call her Mother Gorgon."
"The pretty Kitty Sutton with whom Eliphalet Duncan had fallen in lovewas the daughter of Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, who wasin Frisco, or Los Angeles, or Santa Fe, or somewhere out West, and hesaw a great deal of the daughter, who was up in the White Mountains.She was travelling with her brother and his wife, and as they journeyedfrom hotel to hotel Duncan went with them, and filled out thequartette. Before the end of the summer he began to think aboutproposing. Of course he had lots of chances, going on excursions asthey were every day. He made up his mind to seize the firstopportunity, and that very evening he took her out for a moonlight rowon Lake Winipiseogee. As he handed her into the boat he resolved to doit, and he had a glimmer of a suspicion that she knew he was going todo it, too."
"Girls," said Dear Jones, "never go out in a row-boat at night with ayoung man unless you mean to accept him."
"Sometimes it's best to refuse him, and get it over once for all," saidBaby Van Rensselaer, impersonally.
"As Eliphalet took the oars he felt a sudden chill. He tried to shakeit off, but in vain. He began to have a growing consciousness ofimpending evil. Before he had taken ten strokes--and he was a swiftoarsman--he was aware of a mysterious presence between him and MissSutton."
"Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him off the match?"interrupted Dear Jones.
"That's just what it was," said Uncle Larry. "And he yielded to it, andkept his peace, and rowed Miss Sutton back to the hotel with hisproposal unspoken."
"More fool he," said Dear Jones. "It will take more than one ghost tokeep me from proposing when my mind is made up." And he looked at BabyVan Rensselaer.
"The next morning," continued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet overslepthimself, and when he went down to a late breakfast he found that theSuttons had gone to New York by the morning train. He wanted to followthem at once, and again he felt the mysterious presence overpoweringhis will. He struggled two days, and at last he roused himself to dowhat he wanted in spite of the spook. When he arrived in New York itwas late in the evening. He dressed himself hastily, and went to thehotel where the Suttons were, in the hope of seeing at least herbrother. The guardian angel fought every inch of the walk with him,until he began to wonder whether, if Miss Sutton were to take him, thespook would forbid the banns. At the hotel he saw no one that night,and he went home determined to call as early as he could the nextafternoon, and make an end of it. When he left his office about twoo'clock the next day to learn his fate, he had not walked five blocksbefore he discovered that the wraith of the Duncans had withdrawn hisopposition to the suit. There was no feeling of impending evil, noresistance, no struggle, no consciousness of an opposing presence.Eliphalet was greatly encouraged. He walked briskly to the hotel; hefound Miss Sutton alone. He asked her the question, and got hisanswer."
"She accepted him, of course?" said Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Of course," said Uncle Larry. "And whil
e they were in the first flushof joy, swapping confidences and confessions, her brother came into theparlor with an expression of pain on his face and a telegram in hishand. The former was caused by the latter, which was from Frisco, andwhich announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their mother."
"And that was why the ghost no longer opposed the match?" questionedDear Jones.
"Exactly. You see, the family ghost knew that Mother Gorgon was anawful obstacle to Duncan's happiness, so it warned him. But the momentthe obstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once."
The fog was lowering its thick, damp curtain, and it was beginning tobe difficult to see from one end of the boat to the other. Dear Jonestightened the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, and thenwithdrew again into his own substantial coverings.
Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to light another of thetiny cigars he always smoked.
"I infer that Lord Duncan"--the Duchess was scrupulous in the bestowalof titles--"saw no more of the ghosts after he was married."
"He never saw them at all, at any time, either before or since. Butthey came very near breaking off the match, and thus breaking two younghearts."
"You don't mean to say that they knew any just cause or impediment whythey should not forever after hold their peace?" asked Dear Jones.
"How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a girl from marrying theman she loved?" This was Baby Van Rensselaer's question.
"It seems curious, doesn't it?" and Uncle Larry tried to warm himselfby two or three sharp pulls at his fiery little cigar. "And thecircumstances are quite as curious as the fact itself. You see, MissSutton wouldn't be married for a year after her mother's death, so sheand Duncan had lots of time to tell each other all they knew. Eliphaletgot to know a good deal about the girls she went to school with; andKitty soon learned all about his family. He didn't tell her about thetitle for a long time, as he wasn't one to brag. But he described toher the little old house at Salem. And one evening towards the end ofthe summer, the wedding-day having been appointed for early inSeptember, she told him that she didn't want a bridal tour at all; shejust wanted to go down to the little old house at Salem to spend herhoneymoon in peace and quiet, with nothing to do and nobody to botherthem. Well, Eliphalet jumped at the suggestion: it suited him down tothe ground. All of a sudden he remembered the spooks, and it knockedhim all of a heap. He had told her about the Duncan banshee, and theidea of having an ancestral ghost in personal attendance on her husbandtickled her immensely. But he had never said anything about the ghostwhich haunted the little old house at Salem. He knew she would befrightened out of her wits if the house ghost revealed itself to her,and he saw at once that it would be impossible to go to Salem on theirwedding trip. So he told her all about it, and how whenever he went toSalem the two ghosts interfered, and gave dark seances and manifestedand materialized and made the place absolutely impossible. Kittylistened in silence, and Eliphalet thought she had changed her mind.But she hadn't done anything of the kind."
"Just like a man--to think she was going to," remarked Baby VanRensselaer.
"She just told him she could not bear ghosts herself, but she would notmarry a man who was afraid of them."
"Just like a girl--to be so inconsistent," remarked Dear Jones.
Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. He lighted a new one,and continued: "Eliphalet protested in vain. Kitty said her mind wasmade up. She was determined to pass her honeymoon in the little oldhouse at Salem, and she was equally determined not to go there as longas there were any ghosts there. Until he could assure her that thespectral tenant had received notice to quit, and that there was nodanger of manifestations and materializing, she refused to be marriedat all. She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted by twowrangling ghosts, and the wedding could be postponed until he had madeready the house for her."
"She was an unreasonable young woman," said the Duchess.
"Well, that's what Eliphalet thought, much as he was in love with her.And he believed he could talk her out of her determination. But hecouldn't. She was set. And when a girl is set, there's nothing to dobut to yield to the inevitable. And that's just what Eliphalet did. Hesaw he would either have to give her up or to get the ghosts out; andas he loved her and did not care for the ghosts, he resolved to tacklethe ghosts. He had clear grit, Eliphalet had--he was half Scotch andhalf Yankee, and neither breed turns tail in a hurry. So he made hisplans and he went down to Salem. As he said good-bye to Kitty he had animpression that she was sorry she had made him go; but she kept upbravely, and put a bold face on it, and saw him off, and went home andcried for an hour, and was perfectly miserable until he came back thenext day."
"Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer,with great interest.
"That's just what I'm coming to," said Uncle Larry, pausing at thecritical moment, in the manner of the trained story-teller. "You see,Eliphalet had got a rather tough job, and he would gladly have had anextension of time on the contract, but he had to choose between thegirl and the ghosts, and he wanted the girl. He tried to invent orremember some short and easy way with ghosts, but he couldn't. Hewished that somebody had invented a specific for spooks--something thatwould make the ghosts come out of the house and die in the yard. Hewondered if he could not tempt the ghosts to run in debt, so that hemight get the sheriff to help him. He wondered also whether the ghostscould not be overcome with strong drink--a dissipated spook, a spookwith delirium tremens, might be committed to the inebriate asylum. Butnone of these things seemed feasible."
"What did he do?" interrupted Dear Jones. "The learned counsel willplease speak to the point."
"You will regret this unseemly haste," said Uncle Larry, gravely, "whenyou know what really happened."
"What was it, Uncle Larry?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I'm allimpatience."
And Uncle Larry proceeded:
"Eliphalet went down to the little old house at Salem, and as soon asthe clock struck twelve the rival ghosts began wrangling as before.Raps here, there, and everywhere, ringing bells, banging tambourines,strumming banjos sailing about the room, and all the othermanifestations and materializations followed one another just as theyhad the summer before. The only difference Eliphalet could detect was astronger flavor in the spectral profanity; and this, of course, wasonly a vague impression, for he did not actually hear a single word. Hewaited awhile in patience, listening and watching. Of course he neversaw either of the ghosts, because neither of them could appear to him.At last he got his dander up, and he thought it was about time tointerfere, so he rapped on the table, and asked for silence. As soon ashe felt that the spooks were listening to him he explained thesituation to them. He told them he was in love, and that he could notmarry unless they vacated the house. He appealed to them as oldfriends, and he laid claim to their gratitude. The titular ghost hadbeen sheltered by the Duncan family for hundreds of years, and thedomiciliary ghost had had free lodging in the little old house at Salemfor nearly two centuries. He implored them to settle their differences,and to get him out of his difficulty at once. He suggested that theyhad better fight it out then and there, and see who was master. He hadbrought down with him all needful weapons. And he pulled out hisvalise, and spread on the table a pair of navy revolvers, a pair ofshot-guns, a pair of duelling-swords, and a couple of bowie-knives. Heoffered to serve as second for both parties, and to give the word whento begin. He also took out of his valise a pack of cards and a bottleof poison, telling them that if they wished to avoid carnage they mightcut the cards to see which one should take the poison. Then he waitedanxiously for their reply. For a little space there was silence. Thenhe became conscious of a tremulous shivering in one corner of the room,and he remembered that he had heard from that direction what soundedlike a frightened sigh when he made the first suggestion of the duel.Something told him that this was the domiciliary ghost, and that it wasbadly scared. Then he was impressed by a certain movement in theopposite corner of the room, a
s though the titular ghost were drawinghimself up with offended dignity. Eliphalet couldn't exactly see thosethings, because he never saw the ghosts, but he felt them. After asilence of nearly a minute a voice came from the corner where thefamily ghost stood--a voice strong and full, but trembling slightlywith suppressed passion. And this voice told Eliphalet it was plainenough that he had not long been the head of the Duncans, and that hehad never properly considered the characteristics of his race if now hesupposed that one of his blood could draw his sword against a woman.Eliphalet said he had never suggested that the Duncan ghost shouldraise his hand against a woman, and all he wanted was that the Duncanghost should fight the other ghost. And then the voice told Eliphaletthat the other ghost was a woman."
"What?" said Dear Jones, sitting up suddenly. "You don't mean to tellme that the ghost which haunted the house was a woman?"
"Those were the very words Eliphalet Duncan used," said Uncle Larry;"but he did not need to wait for the answer. All at once he recalledthe traditions about the domiciliary ghost, and he knew that what thetitular ghost said was the fact. He had never thought of the sex of aspook, but there was no doubt whatever that the house ghost was awoman. No sooner was this firmly fixed in Eliphalet's mind than he sawhis way out of the difficulty. The ghosts must be married!--for thenthere would be no more interference, no more quarrelling, no moremanifestations and materializations, no more dark seances, with theirraps and bells and tambourines and banjos. At first the ghosts wouldnot hear of it. The voice in the corner declared that the Duncan wraithhad never thought of matrimony. But Eliphalet argued with them, andpleaded and persuaded and coaxed, and dwelt on the advantages ofmatrimony. He had to confess, of course, that he did not know how toget a clergyman to marry them; but the voice from the corner gravelytold him that there need be no difficulty in regard to that, as therewas no lack of spiritual chaplains. Then, for the first time, the houseghost spoke, a low, clear, gentle voice, and with a quaint,old-fashioned New England accent, which contrasted sharply with thebroad Scotch speech of the family ghost. She said that Eliphalet Duncanseemed to have forgotten that she was married. But this did not upsetEliphalet at all; he remembered the whole case clearly, and he told hershe was not a married ghost, but a widow, since her husband had beenhanged for murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drew attention to thegreat disparity in their ages, saying that he was nearly four hundredand fifty years old, while she was barely two hundred. But Eliphalethad not talked to juries for nothing; he just buckled to, and coaxedthose ghosts into matrimony. Afterwards he came to the conclusion thatthey were willing to be coaxed, but at the time he thought he hadpretty hard work to convince them of the advantages of the plan."
"Did he succeed? asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a woman's interest inmatrimony.
"He did," said Uncle Larry. "He talked the wraith of the Duncans andthe spectre of the little old house at Salem into a matrimonialengagement. And from the time they were engaged he had no more troublewith them. They were rival ghosts no longer. They were married by theirspiritual chaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan met KittySutton in front of the railing of Grace Church. The ghostly bride andbridegroom went away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and LadyDuncan went down to the little old house at Salem to pass theirhoneymoon."
Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out again. The tale of therival ghosts was told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on thedeck of the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse roar of thefog-horn.
(1883.)