Experience seems to justify the notion formerly more prevalent than at present, that one who has died a violent death is more likely to return to terrify the living than those who have been gathered in peace to their fathers. The experience of the writer of the following narrative once confirmed this notion in a manner equally convincing and frightful. It is calculated to lower the tone of the obstinate skeptic, who denies the possibility of the re-appearance of deceased persons, and especially such as have been prematurely cut off. It may fare with them as it did with him. Their evil genius, to punish them for their unbelief, may lie in ambush for them, and expose their credulity, were it only for a short time. The story of his instructive adventure is as follows:

At the conclusion of the Seven Years’ War, the number of foreigners in the Prussian army was very great. Many, who were fond of the wild military life in time of war had no notion of bowing their necks in peaceful garrisons to the yoke of strict subordination. Not a few, unmindful of their duty and their oath, sought to escape; and among the French, in particular, desertion was very frequent. It was found necessary to adopt rigorous measures to put a stop to this spreading evil.

Accordingly, in a certain garrison, a young French musqueteer, named Idee, who, impelled by an ardent desire to revisit his native country, had thrice deserted, was sentenced to be hanged. A gibbet was erected for the purpose, near one of the town-gates, not far from which there was a military guard-house. The sentence was executed on the 31st of August, 1764, and the body of Idee was then buried without the town, near a spot where the women were accustomed to dry their linen. It was natural to expect that the culprit would pay nocturnal visits to such of the good-wives as kept watch over the linen hung out there to dry. He actually appeared almost every night, and drove the terrified creatures from the place. Such as may suppose that this was only some sly thief concealed under the disguise of a spectre, need but be informed, that the washerwomen were never more secure from the depredations of thieves than at this time; and that, as soon as the morning dawn had scared away the nocturnal visitor, they always found their linen exactly as they had left it. This was half a proof, at least, that the apparition was of supernatural origin.

The rumour that Idee’s ghost walked, was soon spread throughout the whole town, and became the general topic of conversation in every company. The unsupported statements of the washerwomen might have been liable to suspicion; but their veracity was established beyond the possibility of doubt by the declarations of the sentinels, who affirmed that they had seen the malefactor, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another.

The unfortunate man had been executed and interred in a white coat bordered with black ribbon, a present from some compassionate females of the town. It was in this attire that he appeared again after his death. The story of this spectre, which spread universal consternation, received daily additions, like a rolling snow-ball. The unhappy wight grew bolder by degrees. About four months after his execution, he stalked, with a melancholy air, and with a lantern in his hand, before the faces of the sentinels, to the gallows erected for him within the town, and after surveying it intently on all sides, suddenly vanished. This was seen not only by the sentries, but by several other soldiers on guard.

The belief in the reality of the ghost now gained strength; for it had appeared not merely to old women, but to warriors whose valour had been proved beyond all doubt in many a battle, and to whom more courage and presence of mind are therefore justly ascribed than to any other class of persons. Even those whom a superior education and a mind unfettered by prejudice had hitherto preserved from womanish fears, now felt a thrill of involuntary horror, when chance threw them at night into the way of the resuscitated malefactor.

Among these last, the narrator classed himself. At that time eighteen years old, he was serving as a common soldier in that garrison, but disbelieved the whole story of the spectre, because he had neither seen this nor any other. Though by birth a German, he had from his situation acquired at an early age considerable fluency in. the French language, so that he was employed as interpreter during the confinement of Idee, who understood not a word of German. He had frequently been on duty as a sentinel with this unfortunate man, and was thoroughly acquainted both with his person and sentiments. He never expected to behold his executed comrade again; but his incredulity was at last signally punished. We shall continue the narrative in his own words:

On the 7th of January, 1765, I was on duty at the gate, about fifty paces from which stood the gibbet on which Idee was hanged. The officer of the watch had a friend with him until ten o’clock. When he had retired, I was preparing to lie down on the bench in the soldiers’ room to get a nap, when the officer wished me to go with him into his apartment, to bear him company. I was excessively sleepy, and therefore frankly confessed that I was quite unfit for the purpose: but the officer was so urgent, that 1 could not refuse to take a pipe of excellent tobacco and a glass of good beer with him. Over these I soon recovered my usual flow of spirits.

“Do you know the reason, Pressler,” said the officer, “why I have desired your company ?”

“I suppose,” replied I, “because, out of the twenty-four who are on duty here, you like my company best.”

“Certainly; but I have a particular reason besides.”

“What is that?”

“I am afraid.”

“Is it possible?” cried I, with a burst of laughter. “You forget that there are three sentinels before the house.”

“No matter if there were thirteen. Last Christmas night Idee put them all to the rout, when, in his ludicrous attire, he contemplated the gallows by the light of his lantern. I am no believer in apparitions of this kind, and yet I am now suffering for the sins of my superstitious nurse. The deuse take the confounded gossips!”

We both laughed, smoked our pipes, and chatted away. The clock struck eleven. The relief sallied from the soldiers’ room; the men repairing to their respective posts, some of which were at a considerable distance. In less than a quarter of an hour, those who had been relieved came back. We heard the usual cry of the sentries at a quarter to twelve, and then again at half-past twelve. Immediately afterwards we heard hasty footsteps, like those of many persons together, rushing into the house and into the soldiers’ room opposite to that where we were sitting.

“What is that?” cried the amazed lieutenant.

“I verily believe,” replied I, somewhat alarmed, “that the sentinels have run away again from their posts.” Scarcely were the words out of my mouth, before something rapped at our door. We looked at each other; my companion changed colour, and it is not unlikely that he may have made the same observation respecting me. The candle on the table burned dimly, and thus rendered the scene that ensued the more awful.

The knocking was repeated: I took courage and cried, “Come in!” and in stalked with solemn pace the unfortunate Idee himself, in the very dress in which he suffered.

Our consternation at this sight is not to be described. We sprung from our seats: I flew to the lieutenant, and the lieutenant to me. We sought refuge between the table and the settle, and both sank terrified almost to death upon the latter. We durst scarcely raise our eyes for fear of encountering those of the spectre, which still gazed steadfastly at us in silence.

“Do you know me, lieutenant?” at length cried the intruder, in a hollow sepulchral tone, but yet in pure German. These words enabled me to recover my scattered senses. This cannot be the Idee who was hanged, thought I to myself, for he could not speak a word of German, and he cannot possibly have learned the language so expeditiously in the other world. The idea which naturally followed, that it was a trick of some Impudent fellow to amuse himself at our expense, hurt my pride, and I determined to investigate the matter. Mustering all my courage, I snuffed the candle, and taking it in my left hand advanced towards the figure. My blood curdled as I approached nearer, and I was almost tempted to turn back. Luckily my good genius mparted to me spirit and strength. I rushed upon the spectre, collared it, and behold—it was flesh and bone.

With this conviction all my energies suddenly returned. I thrust the supposed culprit violently against the door, which stood ajar, so as to shut it. “Scoundrel, who are you ?” cried I, in a tone that was none of the gentlest. I received no answer. My unexpected treatment seemed to terrify the ghost quite as much as he had before terrified us. Nevertheless my speedily revived courage had well- nigh left me as speedily, when, after again violently snaking the figure, no answer was returned.

At length it crouched towards a corner, and began to cry out lamentably: “Don’t hurt me, sir!” A smart thump on the head accompanied the repetition of my question: “Scoundrel, who are you!”

“I am Z—-, secretary to —-,” stammered the affrighted ghost. These few words restored to my hitherto speechless officer the use of his tongue. Expressions of the most vehement indignation, curses, and imprecations as coarse as were ever uttered by the roughest soldier, were poured forth by him upon the audacious secretary. “Stab the dog! stab him to the heart!” cried he to me repeatedly.

Notwithstanding the passion in which I was myself.

By Felix Octavius Carr Darley

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* The writer has not given the names, because, though the hero of the story is dead, yet many of his respectable family are still living.