This was perfectly true; the individual in question having retired, every
night at ten o’clock, to his bed over the coach-house, with no other
company than a pitchfork and a pail of water. That the pail of water
would have been over me, and the pitchfork through me, if I had put
myself without announcement in Bottles’s way after that minute, I had
deposited in my own mind as a fact worth remembering. Neither had
Bottles ever taken the least notice of any of our many uproars. An
imperturbable and speechless man, he had sat at his supper, with Streaker
present in a swoon, and the Odd Girl marble, and had only put another
potato in his cheek, or profited by the general misery to help himself to
beefsteak pie.
“And so,” continued my sister, “I exempt Bottles. And considering, John,
that the house is too large, and perhaps too lonely, to be kept well in
hand by Bottles, you, and me, I propose that we cast about among our
friends for a certain selected number of the most reliable and
willing—form a Society here for three months—wait upon ourselves and one
another—live cheerfully and socially—and see what happens.”
I was so charmed with my sister, that I embraced her on the spot, and
went into her plan with the greatest ardour.
We were then in the third week of November; but, we took our measures so
vigorously, and were so well seconded by the friends in whom we confided,
that there was still a week of the month unexpired, when our party all
came down together merrily, and mustered in the haunted house.
I will mention, in this place, two small changes that I made while my
sister and I were yet alone. It occurring to me as not improbable that
Turk howled in the house at night, partly because he wanted to get out of
it, I stationed him in his kennel outside, but unchained; and I seriously
warned the village that any man who came in his way must not expect to
leave him without a rip in his own throat. I then casually asked Ikey if
he were a judge of a gun? On his saying, “Yes, sir, I knows a good gun
when I sees her,” I begged the favour of his stepping up to the house and
looking at mine.
“_She’s_ a true one, sir,” said Ikey, after inspecting a double-barrelled
rifle that I bought in New York a few years ago. “No mistake about
_her_, sir.”
“Ikey,” said I, “don’t mention it; I have seen something in this house.”
“No, sir?” he whispered, greedily opening his eyes. “’Ooded lady, sir?”
“Don’t be frightened,” said I. “It was a figure rather like you.”
“Lord, sir?”
“Ikey!” said I, shaking hands with him warmly: I may say affectionately;
“if there is any truth in these ghost-stories, the greatest service I can
do you, is, to fire at that figure. And I promise you, by Heaven and
earth, I will do it with this gun if I see it again!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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