The Banshee Part 10

The first extract is the account of the corpse candles given by the Rev.

Mr Davis.

"If it be a little candle," he writes, "pale or bluish, then follows the corpse either of an abortive, or some infant; if a big one, then the corpse either of someone come of age; if there be seen two or three or more, some big, some small, together, then so many such corpses together.

If two candles come from divers places, and be seen to meet, the corpses will do the like; if any of these candles be seen to turn, sometimes a little out of the way that leadeth unto the church, the following corpse will be found to turn into that very place, for the avoiding of some dirty lane, etc. When I was about fifteen years of age, dwelling at Llanglar, late at night, some neighbours saw one of these candles hovering up and down along the bank of the river, until they were weary in beholding; at last they left it so, and went to bed. A few weeks after, a damsel from Montgomeryshire came to see her friends, who dwelt on the other side of the Istwyth, and thought to ford it at the place where the light was seen; but being dissuaded by some lookers-on (by reason of a flood) she walked up and down along the bank, where the aforesaid candle did, waiting for the falling of the waters, which at last she took, and was drowned therein."

Continuing, he says: "Of late, my s.e.xton's wife, an aged understanding woman, saw from her bed a little bluish candle upon her table; within two or three days after comes a fellow in, inquiring for her husband, and taking something from under his cloak, clapped it down directly upon the table end, where she had seen the candle; and what was it but a dead-born child?"

In another case the same gentleman relates a number of these candles were seen together. "About thirty-four or thirty-five years since," he says, "one Jane Wyat, my wife's sister, being nurse to Baronet Reid's three eldest children, and (the lady being deceased) the lady controller of that house, going late into a chamber where the maidservants lay, saw there no less than five of these lights together. It happened a while after, the chamber being newly plastered and a great grate of coal-fire thereon kindled to hasten the drying up of the plastering, that five of the maidservants went there to bed, as they were wont, but in the morning they were all dead, being suffocated in their sleep with the steam of the newly tempered lime and coal. This was at Llangathen in Carmarthenshire."

Occasionally a figure is seen with the lights, but nearly always that of a woman. a propos of this the same writer says: "William John of the County of Carmarthen, a smith, on going home one night, saw one of the corpse candles; he went out of his way to meet with it, and when he came near it, he saw it was a burying; and the corpse upon the bier, the perfect resemblance of a woman in the neighbourhood whom he knew, holding the candle between her forefingers, who dreadfully grinned at him, and presently he was struck down from his horse, where he remained a while, and was ill a long time after before he recovered. This was before the real burying of the woman. His fault, and therefore his danger, was his coming presumptuously against the candle."

Lastly, an account of these death candles appeared some years ago in _Fraser's Magazine_. It ran as follows:

"In a wild and retired district in North Wales, the following occurrence took place to the great astonishment of the mountaineers. We can vouch for the truth of the statement, as many members of our own teutu, or clan, were witnesses of the fact. On a dark evening, a few winters ago, some persons, with whom we are well acquainted, were returning to Barmouth, on the south or opposite side of the river. As they approached the ferryhouse at Penthryn, which is directly opposite Barmouth, they observed a light near the house, which they conjectured to be produced by a bonfire, and greatly puzzled they were to discover the reason why it should have been lighted. As they came nearer, however, it vanished; and when they inquired at the house respecting it, they were surprised to learn that not only had the people there displayed no light, but they had not even seen one; nor could they perceive any signs of it on the sands.

On reaching Barmouth, the circ.u.mstance was mentioned, and the fact corroborated by some of the people there, who had also plainly and distinctly seen the light. It was settled, therefore, by some of the old fisherman, that this was a "death-token"; and, sure enough, the man who kept the ferry at that time was drowned at high-water a few nights afterwards, on the very spot where the light was seen. He was landing from the boat, when he fell into the water, and so perished."

"The same winter the Barmouth people, as well as the inhabitants of the opposite banks, were struck by the appearance of a number of small lights which were seen dancing in the air at a place called Borthwyn, about half a mile from the town. A great number of people came out to see these lights; and after a while they all but one disappeared, and this one proceeded slowly towards the water's edge, to a small bay where some boats were moored. The men in a sloop which was anch.o.r.ed near the spot saw the light advancing--they saw it also hover for a few seconds over one particular boat, and then totally disappear. Two or three days afterwards, the man to whom that particular boat belonged was drowned in the river, where he was sailing about Barmouth harbour in that very boat. We have narrated these facts just as they occurred."

Another well-known Welsh haunting that may be relegated to the same cla.s.s of phenomena as the corpse candles is that of the Stradling Ghost. This phantasm, which is supposed to be that of a former Lady Stradling, who was murdered by one of her own relatives, haunts St Donart's Castle, on the southern coast of Glamorganshire, appearing whenever a death or some very grievous calamity is about to overtake a member of the family. Writing of her, Mr Wirt Sikes, in his "British Goblins," p. 143-4, says: "She appears when any mishap is about to befall a member of the house of Stradling, the direct line, however, of which is extinct. She wears high-heeled shoes, and a long trailing gown of the finest silk." According to local reports, her advent is always known in the neighbourhood by the behaviour of the dogs, which, taking their cue from their canine representatives in the Castle, begin to howl and whine, and keep on making a noise and showing every indication of terror and resentment so long as the earth-bound spirit of the lady continues to roam about. Of course the Stradling Ghost cannot be said to be characteristically Welsh, because its prototype is to be found in so many other countries, but it at least comes under the category of family apparitions.

The Gwyllgi, or dog of darkness, which Mr Wirt Sikes a.s.serts has often inspired terror among the Welsh peasants, does not appear to be confined to any one family, any more than do the corpse candles, though, like the latter, it would seem to manifest itself princ.i.p.ally to really Welsh people. Its advent is not, however, predicative of any special happening.

The Cwn Annwn, or dogs of h.e.l.l, that are chiefly to be met with in the south of Wales, on the contrary, rarely, if ever, appear, saving to warn those who see them of some approaching death or disaster. Neither they, nor the Gwyllgi, nor the corpse candles, since they do not haunt one family exclusively, can be called family ghosts. And only inasmuch as they are racial have they anything in common with the Banshee. Indeed, there is a world of difference between the Banshee and even its nearest counterpart in other countries, and the difference is, perhaps, one which only those who have actually experienced it could ever understand.

CHAPTER XI

THE BANSHEE IN POETRY AND PROSE

"'Twas the Banshee's lonely wailing, Well I knew the voice of death, On the night wind slowly sailing O'er the bleak and gloomy heath."

These are the dramatic lines Thomas Crofton Croker, in his inimitable "Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland," puts in the mouth of the widow MacCarthy, as she is lamenting over the body of her son, Charles, whose death had been predicted by the Banshee; not the beautiful and dainty Banshee of the O'Briens, but a wild, unkempt, haggish creature that seemed in perfect harmony with the drear and desolate moorland from whence it sprang.

Mr Croker, indeed, almost invariably a.s.sociates the Banshee with the heath and bogland, for at the commencement of his Tales of the Banshee in the same volume, we find these well-known lines:

"Who sits upon the heath forlorn, With robe so free and tresses worn, Anon she pours a harrowing strain, And then she sits all mute again!

Now peals the wild funereal cry, And now--it sinks into a sigh."

Very different from this grim and repellent portrayal of the Banshee given by Mr Croker is the very pleasing and attractive description of it presented to us by Dr Kenealy, whose account of it in prose appears in an earlier chapter of this book.

Referring to the death of his brother, Dr Kenealy says:

"Here the Banshee, that phantom bright who weeps Over the dying of her own loved line, Floated in moonlight; in her streaming locks Gleamed starshine; when she looked on me, she knew And smiled."

And again:

"The wish has but Escaped my lips--and lo! once more it streams In liquid lapse upon the fairy winds That guard each slightest note with jealous care, And bring them hither, even as angels might To the beloved to whom they minister."

In reference to phantom music heard at sea, Mr Dyer, in his "Ghost World," p. 413, quotes the following lines:

"A low sound of song from the distance I hear, In the silence of night, breathing sad on my ear, Whence comes it? I know not--unearthly the note, Yet it sounds like the lay that my mother once sung, As o'er her first-born in his cradle she hung."

As I have already stated, the Banshee is not infrequently heard at sea, either singing or weeping, hence, in all probability, the author of these lines, whose name, by the way, Mr Dyer does not divulge, had the Banshee in mind when he wrote them. But, perhaps, the best known, as well as the most direct reference to this ghost in verse is that made by Ireland's popular poet, Thomas Moore, in one of the most famous of his "Irish Melodies." I append the poem, not only for the reference it contains, but also on account of its general beauty.

"How oft has the Banshee cried!

How oft has death untied Bright bonds that glory wove Sweet bonds entwin'd by love.

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth!

Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth!

Long may the fair and brave Sigh o'er the hero's grave.

We're fallen upon gloomy days, Star after star decays, Every bright name, that shed Light o'er the land, is fled.

Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Lost joy, a hope that ne'er returneth, But brightly flows the tear Wept o'er the hero's bier.

Oh, quenched are our beacon lights Thou, of the hundred fights!

Thou, on whose burning tongue Truth, peace, and freedom hung!

Both mute, but long as valour shineth Or Mercy's soul at war refineth So long shall Erin's pride Tell how they lived and died."

With the following extracts from the translation of an elegy written by Pierse Ferriter, the Irish poet soldier, who fought bravely in the Cromwellian wars, I must now terminate these references to the Banshee in poetry:

"When I heard lamentations And sad, warning cries From the Banshees of many Broad districts arise.

Aina from her closely hid Nest did awake The woman of wailing From Gur's voicy lake; From Glen Fogradh of words Came a mournful whine, And all Kerry's Banshees Wept the lost Geraldine.[14]

The Banshees of Youghal And of stately Mo-geely Were joined in their grief By wide Imokilly.

Carah Mona in gloom Of deep sorrow appears, And all Kinalmeaky's Absorbed into tears.

The Banshee of Dunquin In sweet song did implore To the spirit that watches O'er dark Dun-an-oir, And Ennismare's maid By the dark, gloomy wave With her clear voice did mourn The fall of the brave.

On stormy Slieve Mish Spread the cry far and wide, From steeply Finnaleun The wild eagle replied.

'Mong the Reeks, like the Thunder peal's echoing rout, It burst--and deep moaning Bright Brandon gives out, Oh Chief! whose example On soft-minded youth Like the signet impressed Honour, glory, and truth.

The youth who once grieved If unnoticed pa.s.sed by, Now deplore thee in silence With sorrow-dimmed eye, O! woman of tears, Who, with musical hands, From your bright golden hair Hath combed out the long bands, Let those golden strings loose, Speak your thoughts--let your mind Fling abroad its full light, Like a torch to the wind."

In fiction no writer has, I think, dealt more freely with the subject of the Banshee than Thomas Crofton Croker, the translator of the abovementioned elegy. In his "Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland," he gives the most inimitable accounts of it; and for the benefit of those of my readers who are unacquainted with his works, as well as for the purpose of presenting the Banshee as seen by such an unrivalled portrayer of Irish ghost and fairy lore, I will give a brief resume of two of his stories.

The one I will take first relates to the Rev. Charles Bunworth, who about the middle of the eighteenth century was rector of b.u.t.tevant, County Cork.

Mr Bunworth was greatly beloved and esteemed, not only on account of his piety--for pious people are by no means always popular--but also on account of his charity. He used to give pecuniary aid, often when he could ill afford it, to all and any, no matter to what faith they belonged, whom he really believed were in need; and being particularly fond of music, especially the harp, he entertained, in a most generous and hospitable manner, all the poor Irish harpers that came to his house. At the time of his death, no fewer than fifteen harps were found in the loft of his granary, presents, one is led to infer, from strolling harpers, in token of their grat.i.tude for his repeated acts of kindness to them.

About a week prior to his decease, and at an early hour in the evening, several of the occupants of his house heard a strange noise outside the hall door, which they could only liken to the shearing of sheep. No very serious attention, however, was paid to it, and it was not until some time afterwards, when other queer things happened, that it was recalled and a.s.sociated with the supernatural. Later on, at about seven o'clock in the evening, Kavanagh, the herdman, returned from Mallow, whither he had been dispatched for some medicine. He appeared greatly agitated, and, in response to Miss Bunworth's questions as to what was the matter, could only e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e:

"The master, Miss, the master! He is going from us."

Miss Bunworth, thinking he had been drinking, sternly reproved him, whereupon he responded:

"Miss, as I hope mercy hereafter, neither bite nor sup has pa.s.sed my lips since I left this house; but the master----" Here he broke down, only adding with an effort, "We will lose him--the master." He then began to weep and wring his hands.

Miss Bunworth, who, during this strange recital, was growing more and more bewildered, now exclaimed impatiently:

"What _is_ it you mean? Do explain yourself."