The Book of Dreams and Ghosts by Andrew Lang (inspirational books TXT) 📖

“This was my first experience with Bob, the demon, as a fire-fiend; and I say, candidly, that until I had had that experience I never fully realised what an awful calamity it was to have an invisible monster, somewhere within the atmosphere, going from place to place about the house, gathering up old newspapers into a bundle and hiding it in the basket of soiled linen or in a closet, then go and steal matches out of the match-box in the kitchen or somebody’s pocket, as he did out of mine, and after kindling a fire in the bundle, tell Esther that he had started a fire, but would not tell where; or perhaps not tell her at all, in which case the first intimation we would have was the smell of the smoke pouring through the house, and then the most intense excitement, everybody running with buckets of water.  I say it was the most truly awful calamity that could possible befall any family, infidel or Christian, that could be conceived in the mind of man or ghost.

“And how much more terrible did it seem in this little cottage, where all were strict members of church, prayed, sang hymns and read the Bible.  Poor Mrs. Teed!”

On Mr. Hubbell’s remarking that the cat was not tormented, “she was instantly lifted from the floor to a height of five feet, and then dropped on Esther’s back. . . .  I never saw any cat more frightened; she ran out into the front yard, where she remained for the balance (rest) of the day.”  On 27th June “a trumpet was heard in the house all day”.

The Rev. R. A. Temple now prayed with Esther, and tried a little amateur exorcism, including the use of slips of paper, inscribed with Habakkuk ii. 3.  The ghosts cared no more than Voltaire for ce coquin d’Habacuc.

Things came to such a pass, matches simply raining all round, that Mr. Teed’s landlord, a Mr. Bliss, evicted Esther.  She went to a Mr. Van Amburgh’s, and Mr. Teed’s cottage was in peace.

Some weeks later Esther was arrested for incendiarism in a barn, was sentenced to four months’ imprisonment, but was soon released in deference to public opinion.  She married, had a family; and ceased to be a mystery.

This story is narrated with an amiable simplicity, and is backed, more or less, by extracts from Amherst and other local newspapers.  On making inquiries, I found that opinion was divided.  Some held that Esther was a mere impostor and fire-raiser; from other sources I obtained curious tales of the eccentric flight of objects in her neighbourhood.  It is only certain that Esther’s case is identical with Madame Shchapoff’s, and experts in hysteria may tell us whether that malady ever takes the form of setting fire to the patient’s wardrobe, and to things in general. {239a}

After these modern cases of disturbances, we may look at a few old, or even ancient examples.  It will be observed that the symptoms are always of the same type, whatever the date or country.  The first is Gaelic, of last century.

It is fully a hundred years ago since there died in Lochaber a man named Donald Ban, sometimes called “the son of Angus,” but more frequently known as Donald Ban of the Bocan.  This surname was derived from the troubles caused to him by a bocan—a goblin—many of whose doings are preserved in tradition.

Donald drew his origin from the honourable house of Keppoch, and was the last of the hunters of Macvic-Ronald.  His home was at Mounessee, and later at Inverlaire in Glenspean, and his wife belonged to the MacGregors of Rannoch.  He went out with the Prince, and was present at the battle of Culloden.  He fled from the field, and took refuge in a mountain shieling, having two guns with him, but only one of them was loaded.  A company of soldiers came upon him there, and although Donald escaped by a back window, taking the empty gun with him by mistake, he was wounded in the leg by a shot from his pursuers.  The soldiers took him then, and conveyed him to Inverness, where he was thrown into prison to await his trial.  While he was in prison he had a dream; he saw himself sitting and drinking with Alastair MacCholla, and Donald MacRonald Vor.  The latter was the man of whom it was said that he had two hearts; he was taken prisoner at Falkirk and executed at Carlisle.  Donald was more fortunate than his friend, and was finally set free.

It was after this that the bocan began to trouble him; and although Donald never revealed to any man the secret of who the bocan was (if indeed he knew it himself), yet there were some who professed to know that it was a “gillie” of Donald’s who was killed at Culloden.  Their reason for believing this was that on one occasion the man in question had given away more to a poor neighbour than Donald was pleased to spare.  Donald found fault with him, and in the quarrel that followed the man said, “I will be avenged for this, alive or dead”.

It was on the hill that Donald first met with the bocan, but he soon came to closer quarters, and haunted the house in a most annoying fashion.  He injured the members of the household, and destroyed all the food, being especially given to dirtying the butter (a thing quite superfluous, according to Captain Burt’s description of Highland butter).  On one occasion a certain Ronald of Aberardair was a guest in Donald’s house, and Donald’s wife said, “Though I put butter on the table for you tonight, it will just be dirtied”.  “I will go with you to the butter-keg,” said Ronald, “with my dirk in my hand, and hold my bonnet over the keg, and he will not dirty it this night.”  So the two went together to fetch the butter, but it was dirtied just as usual.

Things were worse during the night and they could get no sleep for the stones and clods that came flying about the house.  “The bocan was throwing things out of the walls, and they would hear them rattling at the head of Donald’s bed.”  The minister came (Mr. John Mor MacDougall was his name) and slept a night or two in the house, but the bocan kept away so long as he was there.  Another visitor, Angus MacAlister Ban, whose grandson told the tale, had more experience of the bocan’s reality.  “Something seized his two big toes, and he could not get free any more than if he had been caught by the smith’s tongs.  It was the bocan, but he did nothing more to him.”  Some of the clergy, too, as well as laymen of every rank, were witnesses to the pranks which the spirit carried on, but not even Donald himself ever saw him in any shape whatever.  So famous did the affair become that Donald was nearly ruined by entertaining all the curious strangers who came to see the facts for themselves.

In the end Donald resolved to change his abode, to see whether he could in that way escape from the visitations.  He took all his possessions with him except a harrow, which was left beside the wall of the house, but before the party had gone far on the road the harrow was seen coming after them.  “Stop, stop,” said Donald; “if the harrow is coming after us, we may just as well go back again.”  The mystery of the harrow is not explained, but Donald did return to his home, and made no further attempt to escape from his troubles in this way.

If the bocan had a spite at Donald, he was still worse disposed towards his wife, the MacGregor woman.  On the night on which he last made his presence felt, he went on the roof of the house and cried, “Are you asleep, Donald Ban?”  “Not just now,” said Donald.  “Put out that long grey tether, the MacGregor wife,” said he.  “I don’t think I’ll do that tonight,” said Donald.  “Come out yourself, then,” said the bocan, “and leave your bonnet.”  The good-wife, thinking that the bocan was outside and would not hear her, whispered in Donald’s ear as he was rising, “Won’t you ask him when the Prince will come?”  The words, however, were hardly out of her mouth when the bocan answered her with, “Didn’t you get enough of him before, you grey tether?”

Another account says that at this last visit of the bocan, he was saying that various other spirits were along with him.  Donald’s wife said to her husband: “I should think that if they were along with him they would speak to us”; but the bocan answered, “They are no more able to speak than the sole of your foot”.  He then summoned Donald outside as above.  “I will come,” said Donald, “and thanks be to the Good Being that you have asked me.”  Donald was taking his dirk with him as he went out, but the bocan said, “leave your dirk inside, Donald, and your knife as well”.

Donald then went outside, and the bocan led him on through rivers and a birch-wood for about three miles, till they came to the river Fert.  There the bocan pointed out to Donald a hole in which he had hidden some plough-irons while he was alive.  Donald proceeded to take them out, and while doing so the two eyes of the bocan were causing him greater fear than anything else he ever heard or saw.  When he had got the irons out of the hole, they went back to Mounessie together, and parted that night at the house of Donald Ban.

Donald, whether naturally or by reason of his ghostly visitant, was a religious man, and commemorated his troubles in some verses which bear the name of “The Hymn of Donald Ban of the Bocan”.  In these he speaks of the common belief that he had done something to deserve all this annoyance, and makes mention of the “stones and clods” which flew about his house in the night time.  Otherwise the hymn is mainly composed of religious sentiments, but its connection with the story makes it interesting, and the following is a literal translation of it.

O God that created me so helpless,
Strengthen my belief and make it firm.
Command an angel to come from Paradise,
And take up his abode in my dwelling,
To protect me from every trouble
That wicked folks are putting in my way;
Jesus, that did’st suffer Thy crucifixion,
Restrain their doings, and be with me Thyself.

Little wonder though I am thoughtful—
Always at the time when I go to bed
The stones and the clods will arise—
How could a saint get sleep there?
I am without peace or rest,
Without repose or sleep till the morning;
O Thou that art in the throne of grace,
Behold my treatment and be a guard to me.

Little wonder though I am troubled,
So many stories about me in every place.
Some that are unjust will be saying,
“It is all owing to himself, that affair”.
Judge not except as you know,
Though the Son of God were awaking you;
No one knows if I have deserved more
Than a rich man that is without care.

Although I am in trouble at this time,
Verily, I shall be doubly repaid;
When the call comes to me from my Saviour,
I shall receive mercy and new grace;
I fear no more vexation,
When I ascend to be with Thy saints;
O Thou that sittest on the throne,
Assist my speaking and accept my prayer.

O God, make me mindful
Night and day to be praying,
Seeking pardon richly
For what I have done, on my knees.
Stir with the spirit of Truth
True repentance in my bosom,
That when Thou sendest death to seek me,
Christ may take care of me.

The bocan was not the only inhabitant of the spirit-world that Donald Ban encountered during