The triumvirate having taken their station with a large pew in their front, the two ghosts uncovered their heads, which by the help of the phosphorus exhibited a pale and lambent flame, extremely dismal10 and ghastly to the view; then Ferret in a squeaking11 tone, exclaimed, “Samuel Crowe! Samuel Crowe!” The captain hearing himself accosted12 in this manner, at such a time, and in such a place, replied, “Hilloah”; and turning his eyes towards the quarter whence the voice seemed to proceed, beheld13 the terrible apparition14. This no sooner saluted15 his view than his hair bristled16 up, his knees began to knock, and his teeth to chatter17, while he cried aloud, “In the name of God, where are you bound, ho?” To this hail the misanthrope answered, “We are the spirits of thy grandmother Jane and thy aunt Bridget.”
At mention of these names, Crowe’s terrors began to give way to his resentment18, and he pronounced in a quick tone of surprise, mixed with indignation, “What d’ye want? what d’ye want? what d’ye want, ho?” The spirit replied, “We are sent to warn thee of thy fate.” “From whence, ho?” cried the captain, whose choler had by this time well-nigh triumphed over his fear. “From Heaven,” said the voice. “Ye lie, ye b———s of hell!” did our novice exclaim; “ye are d—ned for heaving me out of my right, five fathom19 and a half by the lead, in burning brimstone. Don’t I see the blue flames come out of your hawse holes?—mayhap you may be the devil himself, for aught I know—but I trust in the Lord, d’ye see—I never disrated a kinsman20, d’ye see, so don’t come alongside of me—put about on th’other tack21, d’ye see—you need not clap hard a-weather, for you’ll soon get to hell again with a flowing sail.”
So saying, he had recourse to his Paternoster; but perceiving the apparitions23 approach, he thundered out, “Avast,—avast—sheer off, ye babes of hell, or I’ll be foul24 of your forelights.” He accordingly sprung forwards with his hanger25, and very probably would have set the spirits on their way to the other world, had he not fallen over a pew in the dark, and entangled26 himself so much among the benches, that he could not immediately recover his footing. The triumvirate took this opportunity to retire; and such was the precipitation of Ferret in his retreat, that he encountered a post by which his right eye sustained considerable damage; a circumstance which induced him to inveigh27 bitterly against his own folly28, as well as the impertinence of his companions, who had inveigled29 him into such a troublesome adventure. Neither he nor Clarke could be prevailed upon to revisit the novice. The doctor himself thought his disease was desperate; and, mounting his horse, returned to his own habitation.
Ferret, finding all the beds in the public-house were occupied, composed himself to sleep in a Windsor chair at the chimney corner; and Mr. Clarke, whose disposition30 was extremely amorous31, resolved to renew his practices on the heart of Dolly. He had reconnoitred the apartments in which the bodies of the knight and his squire32 were deposited, and discovered close by the top of the staircase a sort of a closet or hovel, just large enough to contain a truckle bed, which, from some other particulars, he supposed to be the bedchamber of his beloved Dolly, who had by this time retired34 to her repose35. Full of this idea, and instigated36 by the demon37 of desire, Mr. Thomas crept softly upstairs, and lifting the latch38 of the closet door, his heart began to palpitate with joyous39 expectation; but before he could breathe the gentle effusions of his love, the supposed damsel started up and seizing him by the collar with a Herculean gripe, uttered, in the voice of Crabshaw, “It wan’t for nothing that I dreamed of Newgate, sirrah; but I’d have thee to know, an arrant40 squire is not to be robbed by such a peddling41 thief as thee—here I’ll howld thee vast, an the devil were in thy doublet—help! murder! vire! help!”
It was impossible for Mr. Clarke to disengage himself, and equally impracticable to speak in his own vindication42; so that here he stood trembling and half throttled43, until the whole house being alarmed, the landlady and her ostler ran upstairs with a candle. When the light rendered objects visible, an equal astonishment44 prevailed on all sides; Crabshaw was confounded at sight of Mr. Clarke, whose person he well knew; and releasing him instantly from his grasp, “Bodikins!” cried he, “I believe as how this hause is haunted—who thought to meet with Measter Laawyer Clarke at midnight, and so far from hoam?” The landlady could not comprehend the meaning of this encounter; nor could Tom conceive how Crabshaw had transported himself thither45 from the room below, in which he saw him quietly reposed46. Yet nothing was more easy than to explain this mystery: the apartment below was the chamber33 which the hostess and her daughter reserved for their own convenience; and this particular having been intimated to the squire while he was at supper, he had resigned his bed quietly, and been conducted hither in the absence of the company. Tom, recollecting47 himself as well as he could, professed48 himself of Crabshaw’s opinion, that the house was haunted, declaring that he could not well account for his being there in the dark; and leaving those that were assembled to discuss this knotty49 point, retired downstairs in hope of meeting with his charmer, whom accordingly he found in the kitchen just risen, and wrapped in a loose dishabille.
The noise of Crabshaw’s cries had awakened50 and aroused his master, who, rising suddenly in the dark, snatched up his sword that lay by his bedside, and hastened to the scene of tumult51, where all their mouths were opened at once, to explain the cause of the disturbance52, and make an apology for breaking his honour’s rest. He said nothing, but taking the candle in his hand, beckoned53 his squire to follow him into his apartment, resolving to arm and take horse immediately. Crabshaw understood his meaning; and while he shuffled54 on his clothes, yawning hideously55 all the while, wished the lawyer at the devil for having visited him so unseasonably; and even cursed himself for the noise he had made, in consequence of which he foresaw he should now be obliged to forfeit56 his night’s rest, and travel in the dark, exposed to the inclemencies of the weather. “Pox rot thee, Tom Clarke, for a wicked lawyer!” said he to himself; “hadst thou been hanged at Bartlemy-tide, I should this night have slept in peace, that I should—an I would there was a blister57 on this plaguy tongue of mine for making such a hollo-ballo, that I do—five gallons of cold water has my poor belly58 been drenched59 with since night fell, so as my reins60 and my liver are all one as if they were turned into ice, and my whole harslet shakes and shivers like a vial of quicksilver. I have been dragged, half-drowned like a rotten ewe, from the bottom of a river; and who knows but I may be next dragged quite dead from the bottom of a coal-pit—if so be as I am, I shall go to hell to be sure, for being consarned like in my own moorder, that I will, so I will; for, a plague on it! I had no business with the vagaries61 of this crazy-peated measter of mine, a pox on him, say I.”
He had just finished this soliloquy as he entered the apartment of his master, who desired to know what was become of his armour62. Timothy, understanding that it had been left in the room when the knight undressed, began to scratch his head in great perplexity; and at last declared it as his opinion, that it must have been carried off by witchcraft63. Then he related his adventure with Tom Clarke, who he said was conveyed to his bedside he knew not how; and concluded with affirming they were no better than Papishes who did not believe in witchcraft. Sir Launcelot could not help smiling at his simplicity64; but assuming a peremptory65 air, he commanded him to fetch the armour without delay, that he might afterwards saddle the horses, in order to prosecute66 their journey.
Timothy retired in great tribulation67 to the kitchen, where, finding the misanthrope, whom the noise had also disturbed, and, still impressed with the notion of his being a conjurer, he offered him a shilling if he would cast a figure, and let him know what was become of his master’s armour.
Ferret, in hope of producing more mischief68, informed him without hesitation69, that one of the company had conveyed it into the chancel of the church, where he would now find it deposited; at the same time presenting him with the key, which Mr. Fillet had left in his custody70.
The squire, who was none of those who set hobgoblins at defiance71, being afraid to enter the church alone at these hours, bargained with the ostler to accompany and light him with a lantern. Thus attended, he advanced to the place where the armour lay in a heap, and loaded it upon the back of his attendant without molestation72
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