THE SUPERNATURAL OMNIBUS (91 page)

‘“‘Tell him I want to see him.’

‘“‘Tell who?’ says I.

‘“‘Why, Philip, of course,’ says he - ‘the gentleman who was in the garden just now.’

‘“Well, sir, I didn’t want to bother you with his nonsense, so I said I thought the gentleman was gone; but no, he wouldn’t have it.

‘“‘Go and see,’ says he, and, try as I would, I couldn’t put him off it. At last I said I’d go and see, so here I am, sir.”

‘“And a good thing too,” exclaimed the doctor impatiently.

‘“I only hope we shall not be too late, and find the quiet mood has passed. Come, Father, this is important. If Lushington is still in I this state, you may be able to do something with him.”

‘“By all means, let us go at once,” I said, rising, and we hur- I ried off to the poor creature’s cell, which the doctor and myself entered, leaving the warder outside, with instructions to come in at once if either of us called. The man was lying on his bed, apparently in a state of extreme exhaustion, but as we entered he turned his head to see who we were, and a great sigh escaped his

lips.

“Oh, Philip, come to me,” he murmured faintly, and I I hastened to the bedside and took both his hands in mine.

‘“After all these years, to see you once again,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Oh, Philip, if I had but taken your advice!” I pressed his fingers in my own, hardly daring to speak, and he lay silent, with eyes closed, for quite a minute. Then, all at once, his eyes opened, and he turned to me with a quick glance of terror.

‘“Take me away with you, Philip,” he cried, “quickly, before the other one comes back !” and he flung his arms round me I like a frightened child. Gently I laid him back upon the bed, supporting the poor feeble body in my arms, and tried to reassure him.

‘“You’re all safe now, old fellow,” I whispered gently. “He won’t come back while I am here, no chance of it.”

‘“Oh, do you think so?” he answered eagerly. “Then - why - then you must never leave me. My God! how I hate him, devil that he is; and oh, to think I let him in so willingly!”

‘“We’ll keep him out together, you and I, never fear of that,” I assured him bravely, though, even as I spoke, I was wondering what in the world it all meant; and then I added foolishly, “Tell me, who is he?”

“Who is he?” he almost shrieked, his terror returning more intensely than before. “Who is he? Why, Dick Lushington, of course - the devil-man, who gets inside and uses me. He uses me, I tell you like a slave. My hands, my limbs, my brain, my will, he’s got it all, all of me, at his mercy. The filthy, hateful devil that he is, and did it by pretending to be my friend.”

‘“Hush, hush, be calm,” I said, “you will exhaust yourself. Be calm, he won’t come back while I am here. You see, I am a priest now, did you know it? I promise you, you will be safe with me.

‘“Thank God for that,” he said more calmly, “but oh, Philip, don’t forsake me. I shan’t last long now, I shan’t keep you long. You were my friend once, be my saviour now. Promise me you’ll be with me at the end. Don’t leave me here to die, alone with him.”

‘“I promise you faithfully that I will do everything in my power to help you,” I answered solemnly; “but now you must rest yourself, and try to sleep,” and I laid his head back on the pillow, taking his hand in mine again, while he closed his eyes.

‘“I will do anything - anything you tell me,” he whispered, “only forsake me not, or I am lost.” Then he lay still, and in less than five minutes, to my amazement, the grip on my hand relaxed, his fingers fell back, and he was sleeping like a child. The doctor crept to the door and beckoned the warder in.

‘“Stay here by the bedside,” he ordered, “and if he wakes up, say to him at once, ‘Father Philip is still here and will come if you require him.’ If he says he does, pull the bell which communicates with my room.” Then he touched my arm and led me away on tip-toe along the gallery.

‘“Well,” I said, at length, when we had reached the doctor’s room, “I don’t know what you think, but to my mind it seems a clear case of possession. I have heard of other similar cases among spiritualists.”

‘“It certainly does look like it,” he admitted; “but I am more concerned as to the immediate treatment than I am to explain the origin of his malady. Do you realize, my dear Father, what you have taken upon yourself?”

‘“You mean by promising to do all I can for him? ’ I asked.

‘“I mean by intervening in the case at all,” he answered grimly. “The man’s life is in your hands now, and if you fail him, if you are not at hand whenever he calls for you, I think the consequences will probably be fatal!”

‘“I shall certainly not shirk the consequences of my promise,” I answered; “but did you notice what he said to me? ‘I shan’t last long now, promise me you’ll be with me at the end.’ I may be wrong, but if he is convinced that he is dying, is it not more than probable that he will do so?”

‘“Well, yes,” admitted the doctor, “there is something in that. In fact, if he gets another paroxysm, like you saw in the garden, I do not think he will survive it. But short of that, I shouldn’t be surprised if he were to linger on for some time, or even for several weeks.”

‘“If he does, I shall have to make some arrangement about the parish work,” I answered, “but my own belief is that he won’t last many hours. I have learned to trust the instincts of a dying man.” We talked for some time longer on the point, each of us maintaining his own view, without convincing the other.

‘“Well, I only hope you may be right,” said the doctor, at length; “for many reasons it will be better so. Still, speaking merely from a professional point of view, I see no reason why but his words were cut short by the clash of a bell, ringing violently in the adjoining bedroom. The doctor leaped to his feet, and ran to the door between the two rooms.

“‘No. 17!” he exclaimed, “it is Lushington’s cell. Come, Father” - and once more we hurried down the corridor. As we entered the room I could scarce believe my eyes. The man we had left, not half an hour before, in a state of utter collapse was on the floor kneeling over the prostrate figure of the warder, who was trying to tear away the fingers of the maniac, which were tightly fastened on his throat. The doctor flung himself upon the kneeling man. The weight of the charge knocked him backwards, enabling the warder to rise. The madman’s arms shot out, but luckily I caught one of his wrists, and the warder, a big, powerful man, soon captured the other.

‘“The handcuffs, in my pocket - quick, Doctor,” he cried, “get ’em out while we turn him over!” - and in a few seconds we had the poor wretch secured, with his wrists handcuffed behind his back. He went on struggling until the warder had got his ankles fettered with a strap, but the three of us were too much for him, and in a minute or so he was lying, safely pinioned, on the bed. All this while he had never spoken, though his breath came in great gasps that shook his whole frame; now, at length, he seemed calmer, and I thought it time to speak.

‘“You’re all right now, old fellow,” I said gently, “don’t be afraid; it is I, Philip - I am here as I promised.” The man turned his eyes upon me, and the look of hatred in them was appalling.

‘“All right, am I?” he shrieked savagely. “If it wasn’t for these — handcuffs, I’d soon show yer I’m all right. A nice, mean, low sort of priest’s trick to play on me. Thought you’d get hold of yer old pal, and pilot him into heaven while number one was out, did yer? Bah!” - and he spat at me - “you dirty swine!”

‘“Ask the warder to wait outside, Doctor,” I said, for a sudden inspiration came to me; and the man withdrew at his command.

‘“What yer going to do now, curse ye - sing a hymn?” sneered the madman on the bed, as I took my breviary from my pocket. Without answering I turned to the prayers for the dying, and, kneeling down, began to recite them aloud and slowly, while the thing that animated my poor friend’s body gave a shriek of malicious hatred.

‘The scene that followed was literally indescribable, but I stuck to my task, and, as calmly as I could manage, went through the litanies and all the prayers for a departing soul; while the thing on the bed jerked itself from side to side, so far as the fastenings would allow, and the harsh, strident voice of Dick Lushington, the long-dead murderer, howled oaths, sang filthy songs, hurled curses at my head, and poured forth blasphemies unspeakable. As I reached the end of the prayers the question arose in my mind, “What shall I do now?” when, all at once, a strange phenomenon occurred. It seemed as if some mighty force took hold of me, overpowering my limbs, my will, and all my faculties, so that I no more controlled my soul or body, but simply yielded myself up to serve. I was conscious that I had risen to my feet and was standing beside the bed. Then, in a tone of stern command, I heard my own voice speak the words, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, I command thee, thou evil spirit, to go out of him!”

‘The body on the bed gave one tremendous heave, as if to break the bands with which it was fettered, and then fell back with a cry of baffled rage and frenzy, such as I never heard before and never wish to hear again. Then, gradually, before my astonished gaze, the face that was all distorted with anger grew calm, the purple flesh and swollen veins became deadly pale, and the eyes which looked up at me were no longer those of a madman, but the eyes of my long-lost friend. Then the lips moved feebly, and I caught a faint whisper.

‘“God bless you, Philip, you have saved me ! Jesus, be merciful to me a sinner.”

‘The voice died away, one great sigh shook the frame of the dying man, and I quickly gave him the last absolution. There was silence for a minute or so, and then the doctor stepped forward.

‘“You may come away now, Father,” he said softly. “You have kept your promise. He is dead.”’

from
THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS
(Third Series)

Richard Bentley, 1847

***

'The wig's the thing! the wig! the wig!'
-- Old Song.

'Joe,' said old Jarvis, looking out of his window,-- it was his ground-floor back,--'Joe, you seem to be very hot, Joe, and you have got no wig!'

'Yes, sir,' quoth Joseph, pausing and resting upon his spade, 'it 's as hot a day as ever I see; but the celery must be got in, or there'll be no autumn crop, and -- '

'Well, but Joe, the sun's so hot, and it shines so on your bald head, it makes one wink to look at it. You'll have a coup-de soleil, Joe.'

'A what, sir?'

'No matter; it's very hot working; and if you'll step in doors, I'll give you –‘ 'Thank ye, your honour, a drop of beer will be very acceptable.'

Joe's countenance brightened amazingly.

'Joe, I'll give you -- my old wig!'

The countenance of Joseph fell, his grey eye had glistened as a blest vision of double X flitted athwart his fancy; its glance faded again into the old, filmy, gooseberry-coloured hue, as he growled in a minor key, 'A wig, sir!'

'Yes, Joe, a wig. The man who does not study the comfort of his dependants is an unfeeling scoundrel. You shall have my old worn-out wig.'

'I hope, sir, you'll give me a drop o' beer to think your honour's health in, it is very hot, and -- '

'Come in, Joe, and Mrs. Witherspoon shall give it you.'

'Heaven bless your honour;' said honest Joe, striking his spade perpendicularly into the earth, and walking with more than usual alacrity towards the close-cut, quickset hedge which separated Mr. Jarvis's garden from the high road.

From the quickset hedge aforesaid he now raised, with all due delicacy, a well- worn and somewhat dilapidated jacket, of a stuff by drapers most pseudonymously termed 'everlasting.' Alack! alack! what is there to which tempus edax rerum will accord that epithet? In its high and palmy days it had been all of a piece; but as its master's eye now fell upon it, the expression of his countenance seemed to say with Octavian,

'Those days are gone, Floranthe!'

It was now, from frequent patching, a coat not unlike that of the patriarch, one of many colours.

Joseph Washford inserted his wrists into the corresponding orifices of the tattered garment, and with a steadiness of circumgyration, to be acquired only by long and sufficient practice, swung it horizontally over his ears, and settled himself into it.

'Confound your old jacket,' cried a voice from the other side the hedge; 'keep it down, you rascal! don't you see my horse is frightened at it?'

'Sensible beast!' apostrophized Joseph, 'I've been frightened at it myself every day for the last two years.'

The gardener cast a rueful glance at its sleeve, and pursued his way to the door of the back kitchen.

'Joe,' said Mrs. Witherspoon, a fat, comely dame, of about five-and-forty, 'Joe, your master is but too good to you; he is always kind and considerate. Joe, he has desired me to give you his old wig.'

'And the beer, Ma'am Witherspoon?' said Washford, taking the proffered caxon, and looking at it with an expression some what short of rapture; 'and the beer, ma'am?'

'The beer, you guzzling wretch! -- what beer? Master said nothing about no beer. You ungrateful fellow, has not he given you a wig?'

'Why, yes, Madam Witherspoon; but then, you see, his honour said it was very hot, and I'm very dry, and -- '

'Go to the pump, sot! 'said Mrs. Witherspoon, as she slammed the back-door in the face of the petitioner.

Mrs. Witherspoon was 'of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion,' and Honorary Assistant Secretary to the Appledore branch of the 'Ladies' Grand Junction Water- working Temperance Society.'

Joe remained for a few moments lost in mental abstraction; he looked at the door, he looked at the wig; his first thought was to throw it into the pigstye,-- his corruption rose, but he resisted the impulse; he got the better of Satan; the half-formed imprecation died before it reached his lips, He looked disdainfully at the wig; it had once been a comely jasey enough, of the colour of over-baked gingerbread, one of the description commonly known during the latter half of the last century by the name of a 'brown George.' The species, it is to be feared, is now extinct, but a few, a very few of the same description might, till very lately, be occasionally seen,-- rari nantes in gurgite vasto -- the glorious relics of a bygone day, crowning the cerebellum of some venerated and venerable provost, or judge of assize; but Mr. Jarvis's wig had one peculiarity; unlike most of its fellows, it had a tail!--'cribbed and confined,' indeed, by a shabby piece of faded shalloon.