LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2151, 17 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SINGLE FOOTSTEP. A Ghost Story, by L. H. F. Ghosts I Is there a man in the world, however sceptical—is there a woman on earth, however strong-minded—is there a child breathing, however well trained and matured—who does not, in the Inmost recesses of his or her secret heart, believe and dearly cherish the belief in ghosts 2 Ghost stories—more especially those which grace or “pad” the pages of periodicals, as the case may be—are generally supposed by a too credulous, yet at the same time incredulous public, to be but the distorted distilllngs of some fever-racked mind, or else the illpaid emanations of some ont-at-elbows pressman who has fallen back on “childhood’s fleeting hon*” for an idea which his beer-bemnddled brain is incapable of spontaneously creating. The above supposition, if a correct one, would do away with too many old-established customs to be tolerated for even a single moment, and I think I may take it for granted that ghosts are an hereditary institution which is about as immutable as Parliament, and as much a matter of fact as the revolution of the globe. Having given vent to the above few, but I trust not inappropriate remarks, J shall now proceed to relate a series af facts, which, in my humble opinion, will remove the veil of scepticism from the eyes of any hardened heathen.

‘ Going down North, old man ?’ said a voice at the window of the smoking carriage in which I had ensconsed myself, and which was attached to the 9.30 Limited Edinburgh Mail. I looked up from the copy of the evening periodical I was perusing, and recognised my old friend’ and college chum. Jack Coleman.

‘Yea, old fellow,’ I replied, after the porter had opened the door; and. Jack, in company with a gun-case, a carpet-bag, and a setter, had been shoved in, ‘Yes, I’m going down to old Sir Malcolm Gordon’s place to see what I can make of the grouse. Jolly old place, I believe, ’ ‘By Jove! you don’t say sol I’m going there too, ’ was Jack’s answer. * What fun ! the gills are no end of stunning, and the shooting isn’t any ways dusty, they tell me,’

* What sort of a place is it ?’ I enquired. * Oh! a very quaint old shop. Ghosty and all that. By-the-bye there a queer old story attached to the castle—did you ever bear it V

‘No,’ replied I, ‘but tell me about the gir.s and the shooting.’ Jack did so, and I have no doubt did it excellently, but I soon fell asleep, and when I awoke the conversation took a different turn.

We arrived at our destination, and having endured a four mile drive in a Scotch dogcart, at length came to the castle. It was an imposing old edifice, and in days of yore might have withstood the sieges of many an adverse clan. Huge turrets and keeps, with arrow slits here and there, and the ruins of an ancient drawbridge, bespoke its age, and once inside the unwary traveller in search of his apartment rendered himself extremely liable to lose his way, to say nothing of such an insignificant item as himself. The time of our visit was Christmas, and the Castle, as usual at the festive season, was full of visitors. The night of our arrival happened to be Christmas Eve, and after dinner the whole of the company were gathered together in the large hall. The Dowager Lady Gordon (Sir Malcolm’s mother), who was hale and as hearty as possible, and played as good a game of whist at her present advanced age as she In all probability had ever played in her life, was of the party, and sat in state directly opposite the immense chimney in an ancient high-backed chair. Conversation had languished for some considerable time, except that which was carried on in suppressed whispers amongst the junior members of opposite sexes. Wo had killed our birds over again, and the ladles had fully discussed and (figuratively) pulled to pieces their various female friends and their respective toilets, when I said—- “ This seems to be a remarkably ancient building, Sir Malcolm, and by the by my friend Coleman was telling me in the train something about a ghost story connected with it. Does any one present know it?’ Before Sir Malcolm had time to reply a general chorus of ‘ The family legend! The family legend if you please, Lady Gordon,’ drew my attention to the old lady in her high-backed chair. ‘ The family legend 1 ’ said the old dowager. ‘Malcolm, do you wish to hear the family legend on this night of the year ? ’ ‘Well, mother,’ said Sir Malcolm, ’you know I’m no believer in it, so I don’t mind if I do. The more especially,’ he added, glancing round the circle of expectant faces, • that I see it still wants an hour of midnight, and the company seemed inclined for a story.’ ‘Malcolm,’ said the old dowager, in a stern voice, and holding on with both her hands to the arms of her chair, ‘ your foolhardiness and daring will be your ruin, but as you seem to think yourself so strong in your unbelief 1 will tell the legend, and may no harm come of it.’ We all drew our chairs somewhat closer together, and the old lady, leaning slightly forward, narrated the following legend

Many years ago, before a single house was built down the glen, and when the hardy Highland men, gentlemen and lairds though they called themselves, were little better than cattle-stealers and robbers, the Q-cid n ' Clan was one of the strongest, as it was one of the most dreaded of the Highland clans In those days of almost continual warfare one with another it was a matter of no little importance for a clan, not only to be strong in numbers, but also to have for Its laird or leader a man who was dauntless and brave, Boderiok Gordon, laird of the clan was certainly both, but it was the undaunted bravery of the wolf, for of manly courage or gentlemanly bearing he did not possess the slightest spark. Uncouth in stature, although of herculean build, with coarse, fiery red bushy hair |and beard, and eyes which seemed to gleam with all the savageness of a hyena, coupled with the cunning of a fox, ho was a terror to all, and his very name would hush a crying child. It was no wonder, then, that he was unmarried. The laird of the neighbouring clan of Mcßae was his very opposite in every particular, being handsome in person and chivalrous and honorable almost to a fault.

Herbert Moßae had been married, but had lost his wife within a year of his marriage, she having died in giving birth to a daughter, who was at the date of my story some nineteen years old, and of surpassing loveliness.

Mcßae lived with his daughter almost alone, and his small but devoted clan were scattered sparsely over a considerably expanse of country. Roderick, if not absolutely at peace with the Mcßae’s, was at any rate on a footing no worse than that of armed neutrality. The reason for this most unusual forbearance on his part towards a clan which he coaid have cnt up and dispersed, and whose lands he could have appropriated with the greatest ease, was not far to find. He had fixed upon Mcßae’s daughter Kate as his bride. He first of all tried fair measures in order to attain bis end, but finding, as was hardly to be wondered at, that Rate loathed the sight of him and scorned his odious attentions, he determined .upon taking rongher if more decisive measures, and for this purpose called a gathering of the clan in the very hall in which we are now sitting. As may be imagined, when such a man as Roderick was chief, it took very little time to decide on the course to |be pursued or the means by which they were to carry out their object. The plan was simply to go to Mcßae’s house and demand Kate, and should she be refused, then to take her. No sooner said than done. Darkly and silently, like a panther creeping on his prey, did the Gordons, with Roderick at their head, steal down on the unsuspecting Mcßae. Arrived at the house, Boderiok, as had already been arranged, stepped forward alone and knocked loudly on the door with the hilt of his claymore. Mcßae immediately opened it, and seeing who it was, at onoe flung the door wide open and stood forth in the porch extending his hand, * I have come to ask you, Mcßae,’ said Roderick, * whether you still stick to your determination not to give me your daughter Kate in marriage ?’ ‘ Most decidedly I do !’ retorted Mcßae. * And that is your final determination V exclaimed Roderick.

‘ It is,’ answered Mcßae, ‘ Then you have to learn that might is right, and that what you refuse to give the Gordons know well how to take. Clansmen, advance!’ roared Roderick, and striking the unguarded Mcßae a terrific blow on the month with his sword hilt, he rushed into the house together with his followers, and soon found and secured Rate and the few attendants who were Inside.

They then bound Mcßae hand and foot, and returned to the castle, taking their prisoners with them.

On arriving at the castle Roderick summoned the clan, and ordered the priest to prepare to go through with the marriage. This was done, and many a ribald joke and jest at the bound Mcßae, who could only writhe in his bonds in impotent fury. But Roderick’s cruelty had only commenced; and when once his temper was aroused or his mood thwarted he was guilty of acts at which even his rough followers shuddered. Commanding In a stern voice that the prisoners should be 'placed before him, he with his own hand stabbed all Mcßae’s attendants bound as they were, and then, as if the sight of the blood had maddened him, strode up and down the hall, endeavoring to invent some torture which should be worthy of even his brutal nature, that he could inflict on the powerless and captive Mcßae.

At length his eye caught sight of two iron rings hanging from the wall, and he stopped in his hurried walk. Calling his two henchmen to him, he proceeded to give them some orders in a low tone, and then took his seat at the head of the long oaken table opposite to the two rings. No sooner had he done so (continued the old Dowager) than the henchmen, with two or three assistants, seized the unfortunate Mcßae and bore him to the wall underneath the two rings. They unbound his feet _ and fastened the right ankle in one of the rings, which was at such a height from the ground as to allow of the poor wretch nearly touching the floor with his finger-tips, but not quite. Roderick then gave orders to be left alone with his victim, and when the last of his followers had left the hall he took a chair, and seating himself close to the tortured Mcßae proceeded to taunt him, while he poured draughts of fiery usquebaugh, unmixed with water, down his own throat. So deep did his potations become that at last his head sank on his breast and he bent forward in a drunken stupor.

And what was the position of the unfortunate Mcßae ? In the moat horrible agony he yet had sufficient presence of mind to perceive that now or never was his chance of escape. His eager eye glanced around in search of a weapon, but none seemed within reach until he caught sight of the handle of his skene then In his stocking, and which his persecutors had unaccountably overlooked. Drawing himself up by both hands he succeeded in taking the weapon from its hiding place; hut of what avail was the keenest of knives against the iron which encircled his ankle ? Herbert Mcßae was, however, not only a desperate man but a Highlander, who had a wrong to redress and a revenge to glut. VV ithout an instant s hesitation he passed the keen blade round his ankle, and after some difficulty succeeded in completely severing his right foot at the joint. On dropping to the ground he lay for some moments, perfectly still, and then raising himself on his sound leg and assisting himself by means of the wall, he gradually made hla way to a corner of the hall, in which some of the Gordons had left their claymores. Seizing the longest of these, ho made his way back to Boderiok, who was still sleeping in his chair, and with one stroke with the flat of the sword across his brawny shoulders, awoke him, Roderick started up, and when he saw who it was that stood before him, he could hardly credit his eyesight. One glance at?tbe ring, and the foot still hanging in it, however, soon showed him all, and with a terrific oath ho drew hia sword and rushed on his antagonist. Mcßae, however, was a matchless swordsman, and met his attack with ease. Gradually Moßae, pressing on his enemy, forced him to retreat towards that part of the Hall, where the ring and it horrible contents hung. Then, with a rapid circular stroke of his claymore, he seat Rokeriok’s sword flying from his hand, and with a straight and true thrust pierced him through the breast. Roderick gave but one gasp and fell forward dead! The attendants having by this time heard the noise of the combat, rushed into the hall, and seeing the fate of their laird, immediately slew the brave Mcßae. Matters, however, did not end here. The occurrecce which I have narrated took place on a Christmas Eve, and ever since that fearful night should a male Gordon bo going to die during the ensuing year, a “ Single Step” is heard to walk thrice round this hall, and woe to him to whom the warning comes. The old Lady Gordon concluded the legend of her clan amid a deathlike silence, raising her thin hand, and pointing to the dial of the clock, which, marked the hour of midnight. Sir Malcolm burst out—

* Ha! ha! ha! very well told Indeed, mother. What a pity it is I can’t quite believe it all 1 I do believe it all but the ghost, and that He was interrupted by a general ‘ hush ?' from the assembled company, and truly enongh through the open door at the extreme end of the hall was heard a sound as of some one entering with a list slipper on one foot and a heavy boot on the other. No;

there was no sound from one foot—it was & single footstep ! Sir Malcolm turned deadly pale, and. clutched the rails of his chair convulsively. Dowager Lady Gordon sat with eyes starting out of her head, and the rest of thoaoprcsrnt wore on the tiptoe of expectation. The footstep went once completely round the hall, but nothing was visible. Twice did the unearthly sound proceed on its beat.

At the third time the “Single Footstep " came, or seemed to come, close up to Sir Malcolm’s chair. He fell forward iu a fit f We raised him up and carried him to bed, from which, however, he never rose again, and the prophecy of the Dowager Lady Gordon was fulfilled.

This may seem curious, but it is true. And will any one now venture to say that he doesn't believe in ghosts ?