The next
morning, when the Otis family met at breakfast, they discussed the ghost at
some length. The United States Minister was naturally a little annoyed to find
that his present had not been accepted. `I have no wish,' he said, `to do the ghost
any personal injury, and I must say that, considering the length of time he has
been in the house, I don't think it is at all polite to throw pillows at him' -
a very just remark, at which, I am sorry to say, the twins burst into shouts of
laughter. `Upon the other hand,' he continued, `if he really declines to use
the Rising Sun Lubricator, we shall have to take his chains from him. It would
be quite impossible to sleep, with such a noise going on outside the bedrooms. For
the rest of the week, however, they were undisturbed, the only thing that
excited any attention being the continual renewal of the bloodstain on the
library floor. This certainly was very strange, as the door was always locked
at night by Mr. Otis, and the windows kept closely barred. The chameleon-like
colour, also, of the stain excited a good deal of comment. Some mornings it was
a dull (almost Indian) red, then it would be vermilion, then a rich purple, and
once when they came down for family prayers, according to the simple rites of
the Free American Reformed Episcopalian Church, they found it a bright emerald-
green. These kaleidoscopic changes naturally amused the party very much, and bets
on the subject were freely made every evening. The only person who did not
enter into the joke was little Virginia, who, for some unexplained reason, was
always a good deal distressed at the sight of the blood-stain, and very nearly
cried the morning it was emerald-green.
The
second appearance of the ghost was on Sunday night. Shortly after they had gone
to bed they were suddenly alarmed by a fearful crash in the hall. Rushing
downstairs, they found that a large suit of old armour had become detached from
its stand, and had fallen on the stone floor, while, seated in a high-backed
chair, was the Canterville ghost, rubbing his knees with an expression of acute
agony on his face. The twins, having brought their pea-shooters with them, at
once discharged two pellets on him, with that accuracy of aim which can only be
attained by long and careful practice on a writing-master, while the United
States Minister covered him with his revolver, and called upon him, in accordance
with Californian etiquette, to hold up his hands! The ghost started up with a
wild shriek of rage, and swept through them like a mist, extinguishing
Washington Otis's candle as he passed, and so leaving them all in total
darkness. On reaching the top of the staircase he recovered himself, and
determined to give his celebrated peal of demoniac laughter. This he had on
more than one occasion found extremely useful. It was said to have turned Lord
Raker's wig grey in a single night, and had certainly made three of Lady
Canterville's French governesses give warning before their month was up. He
accordingly laughed his most horrible laugh, till the old vaulted roof rang and
rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened, and
Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. `I am afraid you are far from
well,' she said, and have brought you a bottle of Dr. Dobell's tincture. If it
is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent remedy.'
The
ghost glared at her in fury, and began at once to make preparations for turning
himself into a large black dog, an accomplishment for which he was justly
renowned, and to which the family doctor always attributed the permanent idiocy
of Lord Canterville's uncle, the Hon.Thomas Horton. The sound of approaching
footsteps, however, made him hesitate in his fell purpose, so he contented
himself with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and vanished with a deep
churchyard groan, just as the twins had come up to him. On reaching his room he
entirely broke down, and became a prey to the most violent agitation. The vulgarity
of the twins, and the gross materialism of Mrs. Otis, were naturally extremely
annoying, but what really distressed him most was, that he had been unable to
wear the suit of mail. He had hoped that even modern Americans would be
thrilled by the sight of a Spectre In Armour, if for no more sensible reason,
at least out of respect for their national poet Longfellow over whose graceful
and attractive poetry he himself had whiled away many a weary hour when the
Cantervilles were up in town. Besides, it was his own suit. He had worn it with
great success at the Kenilworth tournament, and had been highly complimented on
it by no less a person than the Virgin Queen herself. Yet when he had put it
on, he had been completely overpowered by the weight of the huge breastplate
and steel casque, and had fallen heavily on the stone pavement, barking both
his knees severely, and bruising the knuckles of his right hand.
For some
days after this he was extremely ill, and hardly stirred out of his room at
all, except to keep the blood-stain in proper repair. However, by taking great
care of himself, he recovered, and resolved to make a third attempt to frighten
the United States Minister and his family. He selected Friday, the 17th of
August, for his appearance, and spent most of that day in looking over his
wardrobe, ultimately deciding in favour of a large slouched hat with a red
feather, a winding-sheet frilled at the wrists and neck, and a rusty dagger.
Towards evening a violent storm of rain came on, and the wind was so high that
all the windows and doors in the old house shook and rattled. In fact, it was
just such weather as he loved. His plan of action was this. He was to make his
way quietly to Washington Otis's room, gibber at him from the foot of the bed,
and stab himself three times in the throat to the sound of low music. He bore
Washington a special grudge, being quite aware that it was he who was in the
habit of removing the famous Canterville blood-stain, by means of Pinkerton's
Paragon Detergent. Having reduced the reckless and foolhardy youth to a
condition of abject terror, he was then to proceed to the room occupied by the
United States Minister and his wife, and there to place a clammy hand on Mrs.
Otis's forehead, while he hissed into her trembling husband's ear the awful
secrets of the charnel-house. With regard to little Virginia, he had not quite
made up his mind. She had never insulted him in any way, and was pretty and gentle.
A few hollow groans from the wardrobe, he thought, would be more than sufficient,
or, if that failed to wake her, he might grabble at the counterpane with
palsy-twitching fingers. As for the twins, he was quite determined to teach
them a lesson. The first thing to be done was, of course, to sit upon their
chests, so as to produce the stifling sensation of nightmare. Then, as their
beds were quite close to each other, to stand between them in the form of a
green, icy-cold corpse, till they became paralysed with fear, and finally, to
throw off the winding-sheet, and crawl round the room, with white, bleached
bones and one rolling eyeball, in the character of `Dumb Daniel, or the
Suicide's Skeleton,'
a rôle
in which he had on more than one occasion produced a great effect, and which he
considered quite equal to his famous part of `Martin the Maniac, or the Masked
Mystery.'
At
half-past ten he heard the family going to bed. For some time he was disturbed
by wild shrieks of laughter from the twins, who, with the light-hearted gaiety
of schoolboys, were evidently amusing themselves before they retired to rest,
but at a quarter past eleven all was still, and, as midnight sounded, he
sallied forth. The owl beat against the window panes, the raven croaked from
the old yew-tree, and the wind wandered moaning round the house like a lost
soul; but the Otis family slept unconscious of their doom, and high above the
rain and storm he could hear the steady snoring of the Minister for the United
States. He stepped stealthily out of the wainscoting, with an evil smile on his
cruel,wrinkled mouth, and the moon hid her face in a cloud as he stole past the
great oriel window, where his own arms and those of his murdered wife were
blazoned in azure and gold. On and on he glided, like an evil shadow, the very
darkness seeming to loathe him as he passed. Once he thought he heard something
call, and stopped; but it was only the baying of a dog from the Red Farm, and
he went on, muttering strange sixteenth- century curses, and ever and anon
brandishing the rusty dagger in the midnight air. Finally he reached the corner
of the passage that led to luckless Washington's room. For a moment he paused
there, the wind blowing his long grey locks about his head, and twisting into grotesque
and fantastic folds the nameless horror of the dead man's shroud. Then the
clock struck the quarter, and he felt the time was come.
He
chuckled to himself, and turned the corner; but no sooner had he done so, than,
with a piteous wail of terror, he fell back, and hid his blanched face in his
long, bony hands. Right in front of him was standing a horrible spectre,
motionless as a carven image, and monstrous as a madman's dream! Its head was
bald and burnished; its face round, and fat, and white; and hideous laughter
seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin. From the eyes
streamed rays of scarlet light, the mouth was a wide well of fire, and a
hideous garment, like to his own, swathed with its silent snows the Titan form.
On its breast was a placard with strange writing in antique characters, some
scroll of shame it seemed, some record of wild sins, some awful calendar of
crime, and, with its right hand, it bore aloft a falchion of gleaming steel.
Never
having seen a ghost before, he naturally was terribly frightened, and, after a
second hasty glance at the awful phantom, he fled back to his room, tripping up
in his long winding sheet as he sped down the corridor, and finally dropping
the rusty dagger into the Minister's jackboots, where it was found in the
morning by the butler. Once in the privacy of his own apartment, he flung
himself down on a small pallet-bed, and hid his face under the clothes. After a
time, however, the brave old Canterville spirit asserted itself, and he
determined to go and speak to the other ghost as soon as it was daylight. Accordingly,
just as the dawn was touching the hills with silver, he returned towards the
spot where he had first laid eyes on the grisly phantom, feeling that, after
all, two ghosts were better than one, and that, by the aid of his new friend,
he might safely grapple with the twins. On reaching the spot, however, a
terrible sight met his gaze. Something had evidently happened to the spectre,
for the light had entirely faded from its hollow eyes, the gleaming falchion
had fallen from its hand, and it was leaning up against the wall in a strained
and uncomfortable attitude. He rushed forward and seized it in his arms, when,
to his horror, the head slipped off and rolled on the floor, the body assumed a
recumbent posture, and he found himself clasping a white dimity bedcurtain,
with a sweeping-brush, a kitchen cleaver, and a hollow turnip lying at his
feet! Unable to understand this curious transformation, he clutched the placard
with feverish haste, and there, in the grey morning light, he read these
fearful words:-
YE OTIS
GHOSTE. Ye Onlie True and Originale Spook. Beware of Ye Imitationes. All others
are Counterfeite.
The
whole thing flashed across him. He had been tricked, foiled, and outwitted! The
old Canterville look came into his eyes; he ground his toothless gums together;
and, raising his withered hands high above his head, swore, according to the
picturesque phraseology of the antique school, that when Chanticleer had
sounded twice his merry horn, deeds of blood would be wrought, and Murder walk
abroad with silent feet.
Hardly
had he finished this awful oath when, from the red-tiled roof of a distant
homestead, a cock crew. He laughed a long, low, bitter laugh, and waited. Hour
after hour he waited, but the cock, for some strange reason, did not crow
again. Finally, at half-past seven, the arrival of the housemaids made him give
up his fearful vigil, and he stalked back to his room, thinking of his vain
oath and baffled purpose. There he consulted several books of ancient chivalry,
of which he was exceedingly fond, and found that, on every occasion on which
this oath had been used, Chanticleer had always crowed a second time.
`Perdition seize the naughty fowl,' he muttered, `I have seen the day when,
with my stout spear, I would have run him through the gorge, and made him crow
for me an 'twere in death!' He then retired to a comfortable lead coffin, and stayed
there till evening.
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