Ghost Stories and Mysteries. Ernest Favenc
Davy, who at any other time would have opposed any proposition emanating from Hawthorne, on principle, now seemed struck by the altered tone of Hawthorne, and agreed with him that it might be as well to spend the rest of the day as proposed; I gave my consent to the proposed vote, and in an evil hour we started on our fatal errand.
Davy and Hawthorne went to gather the horses together when our meal was over; they found two strange horses had joined in with them—a bay and a chestnut, —both poor and saddle-marked. As we expected to overtake the owners of them, we drove them on with our spare horses.
We proceeded about five miles up the creek, the country getting more broken and barren. Small white sandy hills, covered with low wattle scrub, and here and there huge piles of granite boulders, were on either side of the creek. The creek itself had grown considerably deeper and narrower during the last two miles, the bed of it being full of holes of white, milky looking water. The tracks of the two horses were plainly to be seen the whole way, crossing and recrossing the creek.
Hawthorne was riding ahead, Davy and I were driving the horses after him; presently we saw him pull up, beckon to us, and then point ahead. We looked, and saw in the distance a rough humpy. We drove the horses up to within a few hundred yards, and then left them, to feed about; the three of us rode on to the camp. No fire was burning; a few crows rose up as we approached, and flew away, cawing loudly. Davy rode his horse up close to the gunyah and peered through the boughs.
“There’s someone asleep inside,” he said, and dismounted; Hawthorne and I did the same. Davy entered the rude place unceremoniously.
“Asleep, mate!” he called out.
No answer. “Hi!” he cried; then stooped and looked into the sleeper’s face.
“By God, he’s dead!”
Hawthorne and I crowded in, and saw a man lying upon a blanket spread over some dried grass, his head pillowed upon some articles of clothing folded neatly up. He was lying upon his back, his eyes half open, no trace of decomposition visible; life seemed to have but lately fled. Lifting my eyes from the dead man, I happened to notice Hawthorne and was startled by the look of combined joy and recognition visible in his face. Again I looked upon the corpse, and the dread fancy seized me that the dead and senseless body was aware of the evil glance directed upon it, and that a fearful, haunted, terrified look was now visible in the glazed eyeballs. I could stay no longer; calling to Davy, I hurried outside, Hawthorne, with a half concealed smile, following.
What were we to do? was our next question. Examine the camp, and see if we could find any clue as to his name, was the unanimous opinion. We did so. Outside the humpy were a riding saddle and a pack saddle, also a bridle and halter; inside were some ration bags, containing a little flour, tea, and sugar, an empty phial labelled “Laudanum,” a quart pot with some tea leaves in it, and a pint pot smelling strongly of laudanum. That the man had poisoned himself was self evident; his body was well nourished, and free from any marks of violence. We next removed the articles of clothing from underneath his head, and in the pockets found about thirteen pounds in notes and silver, and two horse receipts in favor of George Seamore; underneath the pillow, as though pushed underneath, was a Letts’ Diary, scribbled all over with writing in pencil; there were also such slight articles as tobacco, pipe, and matches. We then carefully examined the body, and made perfectly certain of the absence of life. He had been a tall man, with a fine determined face, fair chestnut beard, and gray eyes; the eyelids would not remain closed, and the eyes still seemed to me to wear a startled, shrinking look.
We now unpacked our horses, arranged our own camp, and proceeded to dig a grave, this of course being easy with our prospecting tools. That task finished, it was growing dark, and we carried the body to the grave. I had a prayer book in my swag, and read a part of the burial service over the body; the sandy soil had proved easy digging, and the grave was about four feet deep. The body was laid at the bottom, rolled in the blanket on which we found it lying. We filled in the grave just as it fell dark; I can see the whole scene before me as I write, the desolate looking hills, an unnaturally large red moon rising from behind them, and making the fantastic looking piles of boulders show black and grim against its light, my two companions and myself standing silent beside the mound of earth, ere we turned away.
Now, during the time that we had been digging the grave, Hawthorne left us and went down to the camp where the body was then lying; soon afterwards I called to him to ask him to bring some water when he came back. Receiving no answer, I went down myself, being thirsty from digging; on passing through the camp I saw Hawthorne inside the bough humpy bending over the body, making what looked like mesmeric passes. I called out sharply to know what he was doing; he started, and stammered out that he was only making sure that there were no indications of breathing. I said crossly that there seemed to be no occasion for that, and he went back to the grave.
After our supper was finished I tried to decipher the writing in the diary, but it was too illegible to read without a great deal of trouble, so I put it away under my head when I turned in. From the little that I had been able to make out, it seemed to be an account of the life of the man whom we had just buried, written by himself during his last hours. We talked for some time of the strange affair, dropping off to sleep one by one; we were sleeping round the fire, having been too busy to pitch our tent.
About the middle of the night, the moon then shining very brightly overhead, I was awakened by feeling something moving beneath my head; on lifting my head I saw Hawthorne feeling with his hand underneath my pillow. Angrily, I asked him what he was doing. He made no reply at first, but glared savagely at me, looking straight into my eyes, and seeming as though he would awe me by the very fierceness of his gaze; but my nerves were strong, and I looked back boldly and defiantly, and saw his eyes drop baffled; but his strange superhuman look had affected me more than I was then aware of.
“I was feeling for your matches, mine are all used; I am sorry that I disturbed you,” he said.
I handed him my match-box without a word, and he went back to his blankets and lit his pipe. After a short time I again fell asleep, first feeling for the dead man’s diary, as I felt certain that that was the object of Hawthorne’s search; it was there where I had placed it. Once more was I disturbed; Davy shook me by the shoulder, and called me by name. I raised myself and looked around. The cold breath of the coming dawn was making itself felt; the moon sinking low in the west gave but a dim half light, and threw long shadows of the I stunted trees upon the white sandy soil around us; a few tall gum trees on the bank of the creek standing out white and spectral like. Davy was standing beside my bed, evidently greatly excited. “What do you think,” he said in a frightened whisper; “Hawthorne has gone away with the dead man!”
I stared at him in astonishment. “I saw him, saw him go, and as I live, the dead man rode with him.”
My courage has been put to the test in many lands, and I do not think I have been found wanting; but I must confess that when this weird communication was whispered into my ear in the ghastly failing moonlight, in the desert far from our fellow men, I felt a thrill of abject fear run through me. I laid my hand upon my companion’s shoulder, and at the human contact the cowardly superstitious feeling that I had weakly given way to left me.
“What can you mean? How could he take a dead man with him?” I asked.
“I tell you that I saw them go. Listen! Can you hear anything?” We both listened, holding our breath, but the dead silence was unbroken; not even the scream of a curlew or the howl of a native dog could be heard.
“No,” said Davy, “they are out of hearing now. A short time ago I awoke and thought that I heard the horses galloping about in their hobbles away down the creek. I put on my boots, and taking my revolver, went down to see what was up, as I thought the blacks might be knocking about. When I got near where the horses were I heard a strange noise, and was on the point of turning back to call you, but changed my mind, and went a little closer, sneaking along under cover as much as possible. I saw two men amongst the horses, catching and saddling some of them, saw them mount and come straight towards where I was hidden. I had my revolver ready to fire, when I saw that it was Hawthorne and—” He pointed towards the grave.
“The