Water Valley progress., January 14, 1905, Image 6

About Water Valley progress. (Water Valley, Miss.) 1882-1918

Image provided by: Mississippi Department of Archives and History

                
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A NEW YORKER'S EXPERIENCE
WITH A STRANGE OLD CO
LONIAL MANSION.
A Nerve Racking Night—Some Start
ling Incidents Which Seemed
Impossible of Rational
Explanation.
By T. D. Sullivan.
fCongressman-Elect from New York City.)
THIS is, I think, the strangest ex
perience in a career that has not
been monotonous. It is true, and at
one time I had some trouble keeping
It out of the papers. Now there is no
more reason for keeping quiet about
It, so 1 may as well tell the whole story
for the first ame.
The reason why I need not keep the
secret any longer is because a big, old
fashioned red brick building was torn
down this year. It was once a private
residence, then an office building, and
now its site is the site of a steel sky
scraper. That is the way New \ork
grows.
But at the time this narrative deals
with the house was a residence—a big,
rambling, roomy old residence at that,
remodeled from a colonial mansion.
There was a young fellow, whose
father had been a dear friend of mine.
He had recently married. His bride
had taken a fancy to the house and her
husband, being rich and eager to grati
fy any whim of hers, had bought it in
at a sheriff’s sale of uptown property.
The purchaser is now a United States
congressman. I have not permission
to use his name. So I will call him
Clarke. His chief opponent at the sale
was a real estate dealer—O'Gorman is
near enough to his real name to suit
present purposes. This O’Gorman was
a shrewd, shifty, unscrupulous chap,
who had visions of the great future of
the upper west side; visions that later
came true.
“If you ever get dissatisfied with the
old place I’ll take it off your hands at
the figure of my best bid to-day,” he
-said to Clarke after the sale.
Clarke, laughed at him: gave orders
for the house's renovation and sailed
■with his bride for Europe 9I1 a six
months’ trip.
The Trouble Begins.
I was sitting in my office one day
about half a year later when Clarke
sauntered in. I saw from his face he
was bothered about something. After
our first greeting he came to the point.
“I’ve made a bad investment in that
old Bartholf house,” he said. The
colonial builder’s name had been Jan
Bartholf. and the house was still re
ferred to in the neighborhood by his
same.
“Doesn’t Mrs. Clarke like the place
us much as she expected to?” I asked
him.
{"She hasn’t had a chance to-judge of
It,” he said, “and I don't mean that she
shall. The house is haunted.”
“Haunted? What nonsense!”
“That’s what I thought when I came
home last week from Europe and found
that not a single day’s work had been
done on the repairs I ordered,” an
swered Clarke. “I went to the con
tractor and he calmfy informed me he
wouldn't touch the job and that I
fcould have my money back. He said
that ghosts had frightened his work
men half to death; that he’d seen and
heard things there that couldn't be ex
plained, and that every man fh his
employ would strike if he ordered
them to work there.”
“And you believed all that rot?” I
liiighed.
No, replied Clarke, seriously I
didn't. I thought he was lying. I went
over the house myself and—well, what
he said was true. You can guy me .f
you like, old man, but the house is
haunted and I’m going to get rid of it.”
“I suppose white monsters clattered
their chains at you,” I hazarded, “and
you ran a block before you identified
the hideous specters as a pack of mice
scampering in the loose plastering of
the walls?”
"If you take it that way,” he said,
offended at my guying, “there’s no use
inviting- any more of your jokes by
telling you what really happened to me
there'. I’m going to hunt up O’Gorman,
tell him the truth about the place and
see if his offer to buy it still holds
good. He may be willing to pay some
thing for it as a land speculation. He
never could get a tenant to stay there.”
Now Clarke’s absolute sincerity be
gan to make an impression on me. I
saw he was terribly In earnest; that
he believed he was telling the truth,
and that he was really ready to sell
the valuable property for a song.
“Look here. Clarke,” I said, “I’m
sorry I guyed you. But it all seems so
absurd. You know as well as I do that
there are no such things as ghosts.
Don't be foolish and give up the place
•ill you've made sure. What are you
going to do this evening?”
“Nothing especial. Why?”
“Come and dine with me. Then we’ll
take a box of cigars, a bundle of can
dles and a light lunch along and go
together to tliis naunted house of yours
dor the ui- ht. I've always wanted tc.
see a ghost. Maybe I can find some
explanation for it all."
My first idea, on hearing his 3tory,
had been that O’Gorman, in order to
gain possession of the property he
coveted, had bribed the contractor to
spring that ghost yarn. But when
Clarke himself had apparently seen or
heard something to verity the crazy
belief the affair began to take on a
more serious aspect.
A Night Investigation.
I took a long nap that afternoon to
obviate the chance of going to sleep
during the vigil, and promptly at ten
that evening I started, with Clarke, for
the Bartholf mansion.
It was, as I said, a rambling old
brick dwelling and built in colonial
days by an eccentric Dutchman, con
cerning whom some odd stories still
survived. The neighbors, it seems, had
regarded him as a sort of wizard or
magician.
As we walked up the uneven path
to the front porch the old pile of brick
looked in the moonlight like the reg
ular dime-novel “haunted house,” and
as Clarke let us in through the great
blackened oak doors the darkness of
the huge hall seemed to rush forward
to meet us.
We set about our preparations in a
businesslike way. We established our
headquarters for the night in the big
drawing-room to the right of the hall.
We lighted a half dozen candles, stuck
them in the rusty iron sconces about j
the wall, and set about examining the
room. The walls were lined with faded j
tapestry; one or two old half-defaced
pictures hung here and there, notably
one of old Jan Bartholf himself, which
w'as directly above the mantel. Sev
eral pieces of furniture occupied the
bare floor, whose hardwood boards
were warped by dampness and neglect.
We made sure that no hiding place lor
lurking mischief makers existed within
the four walls of the apartment. Then,
candle in hand, we made a systematic
detour of the whole dusty, creaking
house.
“Well,” said Clarke, as we reached
the top of the widft staircase on our
return toward the ground floor, “if
there’d been a man or even a mouse
concealed anywhere we’d have found
him. Let’s go back to the drawing
room. and—why, it’s dark down
there!”
We were half way downstairs as he
spoke. On our way up the light of the
candles in the drawing-room sconces
had cast a giowvacross the hall. Now.
except where illuminated by the two
candles in our hands, the whole lower
floor was in dense blackness.
Ghostly Mystery.
“What do you think now?” asked
Clarke. I made no reply, but ran down
the remaining steps into the drawing
room. The smell of extinguished can
dles filled the room. All was dark save
where a broad patch of moonlight from
the one unshuttered window fell on the
floor. In the very center of that patch
was an old mahogany rocking chair.
It was rocking with a quiet, regular
motion, as if some invisible guest were
taking his ease and swaying himself
to sleep.
“Do you see that?” whispered Clarke
over my shoulder. “That’s what I saw
when 1 came up here in broad day
light.”
“It’s—it’s a current of air,” I ex
plained. But even as I said it I knew
that no real draught could enter that j
closed room with force enough to blow j
out six candles and start a heavy chair !
into motion. Moreover, the air in the j
room was dead and motionless.
"I never used to believe in this sort
of thing any more than you do.” said
Clarke, “but who can doubt it now?”
“I can doubt it,” I answered. “Help
rne light these candles in the sconces,
and we’ll make another inspection of
the room.”
We lighted the candles. As we- set
foot in the room the chair had ceased
rocking. We once more made the
rounds of the apartment, patting the
tapestry against the walls with our
hands, looking under each bit of fur
niture, sounding the bricked-up fire
place. and in other ways making sure
no trick was played on us by human
agency.
“If anybody is putting up this line
of practical joking,” I said, ‘‘he can’t
do anything while we’re in here. If
it’s a ghost—”
The sound as of some one sobbing
and panting for breath came to us,
while L was speaking. It seemed to be
in Ihe room, within arms’ length of us.
“That’s easily explained,” I said, as
Clarke grabbed my arm. “The wind in
he empty passages of the house and
the chimney makes—”
“It’s growing dark,” interrupted my
companion.
I looked up. Only two of the six
candles were burning. Even as I
looked, first one and then another cf
those remaining two lights went out.
It wTas as though some one had passed
along that side of the room and ex
tinguished them.
We were in total darkness, for I had
closed that one open window shutter.
In the dense blackness, as I groped
for a. match, I could hear that great
rocking chair slowly begin to creak
back and forth.
I found a match at last, and struck
it. Wj relighted the candles. Then I
turned to look at the rocker. It was
standing motionless.
We stared hopeless’ into each oth
cr's faces. I hope mine wasn't as
scared and white as Clarke’s.
“And this is the sort of house you
advise me to bring my bride to!” he
said at last. “We’ve seen enough. I’m
going home.”
“You’re going to spend the night
here, as you promised,” I answered.
“This ghost seems to be a harmless
sort of creature. As long as he con
tents himself with puffing out candles
and making chairs rock, he can’t both
er us -greatly. Let’s have a smoke and
talk it over.”
I sat down in the ghostly rocker and
lighted a cigar. I kept a keen eye on
the candles, resolved to get some clew,
if possible, to the way they were ex
tinguished. Clarke threw himself on
a sofa at the other side of the room.
“It's no use." he-said. “I’ll get rid
of the house as soon as I can and at
any terms. I’m sorry, because my wife
had set her heart on living here. With
a little repair tins would be an ideal
home. Except for the ghost. What
are you doing?”
The Ghost.
I had risen to my feet and come to
the' middle of the room. The rocker in
which I had been sitting was in the
shadow. The candles as we had rear
ranged them were all at the lower end
of the room, near the big mantelpiece.
As I had sat idly listening to Clarke’s
complaint my gaze had chanced to fall
on old Jan Bartholf’s picture. I could
have sworn that 1 saw the eyes in the
tarnished face close and then open,
“I’m just strolling around for cxei*
cise,” I said, carelessly. “It makes one
so nervous to sit still in here and—”
As I got to this point my steps had
carried me, in a circuitous route, to the
mantel.
With a sudden motion and exerting
all my strength I seized the big pic
ture and wrenched it from its fasten
ings.
It fell to the floor with a crash, and
there, in a great hole in the wall which
the canvas had covered, crouched a
human body.
With a second sweep of the arm I
seized it as it was about to vanish into
the dark passage behind the opening,
and pulled it into the room, where it
tumbled headiong on the floor.
“There’s your ghost, Clarke,” I said,
brushing the dust off my clothes and
watching the figure scramble to its
feet. “You’re a clever chap, O’Gorman,
but you’re not clever enough. That’s
all the trouble with you. Now’, Clarke,
if you’ll keep your hands on this
worthy house haunter I’m going on an
exploring expedition.”
Clarkq had the struggling fellow by
the throat, and I lighted an extra can
dle and clambered up into the hole
above the mantel. “I’ll be back’ in a
minute,” I said.
The aperture led to a passageway
nearly three feet wide that ran the en
tire length of the house, being de
pressed to a height of about three feet
at places, where the windows inter
vened. This explained the unusually
deep window seats I had noted. The
inner walls of the passage (those near
est the rooms) were honeycombed with
augur” holes, whose aspect showed them
to have been bored many years before.
Secret Passages.
Through these apertures it had been
a simple matter for O'Gorman to de
tect the whereabouts of the candles in
the sconces, and, by a sudden puff, to
blow them out. The threadbare tapes
try did not obstruct the air, and one
could see dimly through it. The pas
sage ran clear around the house, be
tween outer and inner walls, connect
ing by ladders with a similar secret
passage on the floor above. A ladder
descended from the ground floor pas
sage to a space between the drawing
room flooring and the cellar ceiling.
This space was quite large enough to
admit the body of a man. As I glanced
into it I could see the draw’ing-room
candle 'light filtering through the
cracks in the flooring. A slender
bladed knife thrust through the cJacks
at the right place Avould readily ac
count for the rocking of the chair. One
light push of the knife point would se{
it in motion.
Old Jan Bartholf must have had odd
theories on the subject of building.
What may have been the original ob
ject of these passages, peep-holes, etc.,
no one can tell. Whether he sought to
spy on his family or guests, or wheth
er lie feared he might one day need
shelter from justice or from Indians, I
don’t know. Perhaps to foster the pop
ular belief in his magic powers.
But the secret chambers were there;
and O’Gorman had made clever use of
them. But for his folly in using the
cut-out eye holes in the portrait In or
der to watch us from a better point of
view, he would assuredly have gained
his point and bought the house of
Clarke for a song.
O Gorman confessed to us that, wnue
wandering over the house with a view
to buying it. just before Clarke had
outbid him, he had blundered on the
secret passage behind Bartholf’s pic
ture. The idea of scaring Clarke into
selling cheap had occurred to him soon
after.
On O’Gorman giving us a written
confession. Clarke (greatly against my
advice) let the fellow go. He was so
much relieved to find the house was
not really haunted, he said, that he
hadn’t the heart to drag the whole story
into the public prints by prosecuting
the swindler.
(Copyright. XiHfti. By Joseph R Bowie#.)
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KK and ms.
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