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 OSPREY COMBAT AIRCRAFT • 56

US MARINE CORPS
AND RAAF HORNET
UNITS OF OPERATION
IRAQI FREEDOM

Tony Holmes
© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com
© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com
 SERIES EDITOR: TONY HOLMES
OSPREY COMBAT AIRCRAF T • 56

US MARINE CORPS
AND RAAF HORNET
UNITS OF OPERATION
IRAQI FREEDOM
TONY HOLMES

OSPREY
PUBLISHING

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION 6

CHAPTER ONE
BUILD-UP TO WAR 7

CHAPTER TWO
MAG-11 IN OIF 27

CHAPTER THREE
FROM THE SEA 61

CHAPTER FOUR
ONGOING OPS 72

CHAPTER FIVE
AUSSIE HORNETS 85

APPENDICES 94
C O L O U R P L AT E S C O M M E N TA R Y 9 4
INDEX 96

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION
ome 84 of the 250 Hornets committed by Central Command to Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF)

S proudly bore MARINE titling on their rear fuselages. A further 14 were marked with the distinctive
kangaroo roundel of the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). The exploits achieved by the units that
flew these jets into combat are detailed in this volume, the third of three titles that I have written on what has
been dubbed by many TACAIR insiders the ‘Hornet’s War’. Although the bulk of this book deals with the
major hostilities phase of OIF I, which ran from 20 March to 20 April 2003, the decade of pre-war OSW
missions and ongoing post-war OIF II operations are also covered in significant detail.

Acknowledgements
A significant number of Marine Corps pilots and Weapons Systems Officers who flew the Hornet into
combat in OIF I/II have made a contribution to this book, and the finished volume is considerably better for
their valued input. Access to the men and women of the US armed forces who are currently engaged in the
War on Terror has tightened up considerably in the post-9/11 world that we now live in. However, thanks to
the personnel who man the Public Affairs Division of the Headquarters Marine Corps in the Pentagon, I was
able to meet and interview key Hornet aircrew soon after their return home from OIF. I would like to take
this opportunity to thank Capt Shawn Turner, who handled my initial request so expeditiously, and Maj
Robert Premo, Aviation Systems Weapons Requirement Branch, who fielded my initial request for access.
As usual, my old friend Cdr Peter Mersky was relied upon to provide constructive criticism of the text. I
also owe a great debt to Maj Doug Glover, formerly of VMFA(AW)-533 and now with MAWTS-1, who got
the ball rolling by vouching for me with many of his OIF colleagues from MAG-11. He also read through
the manuscript to ensure its accuracy from an end-user’s perspective. Lt Col Mike Burt, Majs Charles
Dockery, Jeff Ertwine, Brian Foster, Eric Jakubowski and Marvin Reed and Capts Ed Bahret, Matthew
Brown, Christopher Holloway, Matt Merrill and Guy Ravey also performed this vital task – thanks to one
and all. Timely information/photos were provided by Capt Jan Jacobs of Tailhook, Capt Zip Rausa of ANA,
Lt Col Doug Steele, Dan Meador, David Isby, Erik Hildebrandt, Richard Siudak and Bob Sanchez.
Finally, thanks to the pilots from the following units, whose experiences and photographs fill this volume;

MAG-11 – Lt Col Doug Pasnik (2002-03) and Maj Mike McGinn

VMFA-115 – Capt Eric Jakubowski (2002-03) and Capt Chris Holloway (2003-05)
VMFA(AW)-121 – Maj Jeff Ertwine and Capt Charles Dockery
VMFA(AW)-224 – Capt Matthew Brown
VMFA(AW)-225 – Capt Ed Bahret
VMFA-232 – Lt Cols Mike Burt and Doug Kurth, Majs Brian Foster (OIF FAC) and Eric Jakubowski
(2004-05) and Capts Garret Rampulla, Heath Reed, Justin Knox and Byron Sullivan
VMFA(AW)-242 – Lt Col Doug Pasnik (2004-05), Maj Marvin Reed and Capt Matt Merrill
VMFA-323 – Capt Robert Peterson (2002-05) and Capt Guy Ravey (2002-05)
VMFA(AW)-533 – Capt Doug Glover

I have also received considerable assistance from a number of individuals in Australia who have aided
my efforts to chronicle the exploits of the RAAF’s No 75 Sqn in Operation Falconer. I would like to thank
Maj Waylan Cain (US Marine Corps Hornet exchange officer), Sqn Ldrs Ken Bowes and Simon Branch,
Flt Lts Peter Weekes (No 75 Sqn) and James Atkinson (current RAAF Hornet exchange officer with the US
Navy), Tony Holmes Snr and Mike Mirkovic for their help.

6 Tony Holmes, Sevenoaks, Kent, November 2005

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

Job: E11-84267 Title: Combat 56

 BUILD-UP TO WAR
BUILD-UP TO WAR
Armed with a single AGM-88C
or the first time since Operation Desert Storm in 1991, the US

F Marine Corps sent a complete Marine Aircraft Group (MAG) into

the field as part of the Coalition build for OIF. As with Desert
Storm, when the backbone of the Bahrain-based MAG-11 was provided
HARM beneath each wing, VMFA-
251’s F/A-18C ‘TBolt 210’ (BuNo
164891) closes on the deck of USS
John F Kennedy (CV-67) at the end
of a SEAD sortie in the ‘Box’ in early
by seven Hornet units, the Marine Corps’ primary TACAIR asset in OIF
2000. Assigned to CVW-1, the unit
was once again the venerable F/A-18. Two C- and three D-model units completed three OSW deployments
called Al Jaber, in northern Kuwait, home for the duration of the 2003 between 1995 and 2000, followed by
conflict, and again they were controlled by MAG-11. an OEF combat cruise in 2001-02.
The Millennium deployment of 1999-
In the intervening 12 years from Desert Storm to OIF, Marine Hornet 2000 was an eventful one for VMFA-
units had very occasionally operated in the area with Central Command 251, as CO Lt Col Doug Yurovich
(CENTCOM) as part of the United Nations’ mandated Operation told the author in February 2000;
Southern Watch (OSW). The latter, established in August 1992, had ‘We have had a chance to use all
of the ordnance available to us in
grown out of Operation Provide Comfort, which had seen the combat on this deployment, bar our
enforcement of a No-Fly Zone in northern Iraq in the wake of Desert air-to-air missiles and our 20 mm
Storm. The No-Fly Zone had been established by Coalition air forces in cannon – we have practised some
60-degree strafing on point targets
an effort to offer protection to the Kurdish population in the north from
on the Udairi range in Kuwait, but
Saddam’s forces. Initially established over all Iraqi territory north of the my admiral is not overly keen on us
36th parallel as part of Provide Comfort in late 1991, the legality of this firing our cannon for real against
mission was mandated by UN Security Council Resolution 688. targets in Iraq! The squadron has
employed a whole generation of
When Shi’ite Muslims also began to suffer persecution in the south, a
weapons on this cruise from laser
No-Fly Zone was created with UN backing in southern Iraq as Operation Maverick, which is very old, to
Southern Watch (OSW) on 26 August 1992. Joint Task Force-Southwest JDAM. I am pretty sure that we are
Asia (JTF-SWA), consisting of units from the US, Britain, France and the first Marine unit to drop JDAM
in combat. This happened in early
Saudi Arabia, stood up on the same date to oversee the running of OSW.
February 2000 – we have proven our
Like the operation in the north, which was officially titled Operation proficiency with both this weapon
Northern Watch (ONW) on 1 January 1997, OSW saw US, British and and JDAM, despite possessing only
French aircraft enforcing the Security Council mandate that prevented two GPS-capable Hornets. The unit
also performed CVW-1’s only
the Iraq Air Force (IrAF) from flying military aircraft or helicopters below successful LMAV shot on cruise,
the 32nd parallel – this was increased to the 33rd parallel in September and we have had good GBU-12 and
1996. Further restrictions, including the introduction of a No-Drive GBU-16 LGB drops too’ (US Navy)
Zone in the south following Iraq’s
mobilisation and deployment of
forces along the Kuwait border in
October 1994, were introduced
several years later to stop surface-
to-air missile (SAM) launchers
being moved south.
During the decade that OSW
was conducted, one of the major
participants in its enforcement
was the US Navy. A seemingly
endless series of carrier battle/task
groups, controlled by Fifth Fleet
(which had been formed in July
1995) as part of the unified 7

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

Job: E11-84267 Title: Combat 56

CHAPTER ONE CENTCOM, oversaw operations in the region. Typically, an aircraft
carrier would be on station in the Northern Arabian Gulf (NAG) at all
times, vessels spending around three to four months of a standard six-
month deployment committed to OSW. Ships from both the Atlantic
and Pacific fleets took it in turns to ‘stand the watch’, sharing the policing
duties in the No-Fly Zone with USAF and RAF assets ashore at bases in
Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Oman and other allied countries in the region.
Although most units committed to OSW from carriers steaming in the
NAG bore NAVY titling on their tactical grey fuselages, occasionally
Marine Corps Hornets would arrive on station as part of a carrier air wing
– the Marine Corps began permanent fleet integration with four of its
single-seat F/A-18C units post-Desert Storm. Flying identical missions to
the other ship-based light strike units, VMFA-251, 312, 314 and 323 all
gained combat experience over southern Iraq during a series of cruises
with CVW-1, 3, 9 and 2, respectively, between 1995 and 2003.
OSW’s original brief was to deter the repression of the Kurdish and
Shi’ite populations and impose a No-Fly Zone, but it soon became
obvious to the Coalition that the Iraqi Army was more than capable of
dealing with the disruptive elements in both the north and the south
without having to involve the IrAF. Frustrated by its inability to defend
the people it had encouraged to rise up and overthrow Saddam’s regime
in 1991, the US-led Coalition subtly changed the emphasis of its ONW
and OSW mission. This saw the systematic monitoring of Iraqi military
activity in the area evolve from being a useful secondary mission tasking
to the primary role of the crews conducting these sorties from the mid
1990s. By December 1998, the justification put forward by the US
government for the continuation of both ONW and OSW was the
protection of Iraq’s neighbours from any potential aggression, and to
ensure the admission, and safety, of UN weapons inspectors.
Most OSW missions were mundane and boring according to the
aircrew involved. However, this all changed with the implementation of
Operation Desert Fox on 16 December 1998, which saw the launching of
a four-day aerial offensive ostensibly aimed at curbing Iraq’s ability to
produce Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD). Although triggered by
Saddam’s unwillingness to cooperate with UN inspections of weapons
sites, many observers believed that the primary aim of Desert Fox was to
attack the Iraqi leadership in a series of decapitation strikes. To this end,
a presidential palace south of Baghdad was hit, as were buildings housing
the Special Security Organisation and the Special Republican Guard.
The aircraft carriers USS Enterprise (CVN-65) and USS Carl Vinson
(CVN-70) played a key role in Desert Fox, the vessels’ CVW-3 and
CVW-11 flying more than 400 sorties in the 25+ strikes launched during
the campaign. In the vanguard of the missions flown from CVN-65 was
VMFA-312, which dropped laser-guided bombs and launched AGM-88
High-speed Anti-Radiation Missiles (HARM). The unit also became the
first Marine Corps squadron to employ the AGM-154 Joint Stand Off
Weapon (JSOW) during the course of this deployment, which also saw
VMFA-312 involved in Operation Allied Force in the Balkans.
Although Desert Fox lasted for just four days, its consequences were felt
right up until OIF in March 2003. Proclaiming a victory after UN
8 weapons inspectors had left Iraq on the eve of the bombing campaign,

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

Job: E11-84267 Title: Combat 56

Saddam now brazenly challenged patrolling ONW and OSW jets by

BUILD-UP TO WAR
moving mobile SAM batteries and AAA weapons into the exclusion
zones. Both were used with increasing frequency in the coming months,
and IrAF jets also started to push more regularly into the No-Fly Zones.
In the post-Desert Fox world, these violations provoked a swift, but
measured, response from JTF-SWA’s Combined Air Operations Center
(CAOC), which controlled the entire No-Fly Zone mission planning
element, and created a daily Air Tasking Order (ATO) for all Coalition
participants (both naval and shore-based aviation assets). Typically, such
missions were devised within the CAOC-approved pre-planned
retaliatory strike framework, and they soon became known as Response
Options (ROs). The latter allowed No-Fly Zone enforcers to react to
threats or incursions in a coordinated manner through the execution of
agreed ROs against pre-determined targets such as SAM and AAA sites
and command and control nodes.
Following VMFA-312’s departure from the NAG at the end of Desert
Fox, the next Marine unit to see action in southern Iraq was VMFA-323.
Assigned to CVW-2 in 1993, and a veteran of two previous OSW cruises
with the air wing aboard USS Constellation (CV-64), VMFA-323
dropped more than 16,000 lbs of ordnance on military targets as it
executed ROs between July and November 1999.
VMFA-251, embarked in USS John F Kennedy (CV-67) with CVW-1,
replaced VMFA-323 and CVW-2 in late 1999, and it also expended
bombs and missiles in anger during four months of OSW patrols. From
March to May 2000, CVW-9, assigned to USS John C Stennis (CVN-74),
undertook the OSW mission. Amongst its trio of Hornet units was
VMFA-314, conducting its second cruise with the air wing. Deployment
highlights were summarised in the following report by the unit’s Capt
Mark Christenson, run in the Fall 2000 issue of Hook magazine;
‘“Black Knight” pilots delivered several LGBs and the new GBU-31
JDAM on Iraqi military targets. While the OSW missions did not come
as frequently as in past years, the flights proved more exciting as each visit
to Iraq had the potential to become a rapid-response air strike. On several
occasions, VMFA-314 pilots, along with other CVW-9 crews, responded
to conduct real-time targeting of Iraqi military targets as directed by
JTF-SWA. Using precision weapons, direct hits were later confirmed
after “Black Knight” pilots dropped their ordnance, and they were
credited with the destruction of Iraqi surface-to-air defence sites.’
The level of conflict in the southern region remained high into the new
millennium, and between March 2000 and March 2001, Coalition
aircraft were engaged more than 500 times by SAMs and AAA while
flying 10,000 sorties into Iraqi airspace. In response to this aggression,
which had seen Coalition jets fired on 60 times since 1 January 2001, US
and British strike aircraft dropped bombs on 38 occasions. The most
comprehensive of these RO strikes – the biggest since Desert Fox –
occurred on 16 February 2001 when CVW-3 (again including
VMFA-312 within its number), operating from USS Harry S Truman
(CVN-75), hit five command, control and communications sites.
CVN-75 was replaced on-station in the NAG by CV-64 in late April
2001, and once again VMFA-323 commenced flying OSW missions
with CVW-2 – the unit’s fourth such deployment in six years. Although 9

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

Job: E11-84267 Title: Combat 56

CHAPTER ONE

occasionally seeing AAA, the squadron’s four months in the NAG were When CVW-1/CV-67 departed the
NAG on 1 March 2000, their place
remarkably quiet.
on-station in the NAG was taken
Things would be significantly different the next time CVW-2 and by CVW-9 and USS John C Stennis
VMFA-323 arrived on station in the NAG in December 2002 as a direct (CVN-74). A third of the 36-strong
result of the most devastating single act of terrorism the world has ever Hornet force embarked in the vessel
was provided by VMFA-314, which
seen. On the morning of 11 September 2001, just four days prior to
had been the very first Marine Corps
CV-64 finishing its six-month deployment and pulling back into its light strike unit to participate in
homeport of North Island, California, al-Qaeda flew two hijacked OSW when it arrived in the NAG
airliners into the World Trade Center, in New York City, and a single jet with CVW-11 aboard USS Abraham
Lincoln (CVN-72) in August 1992.
into the Pentagon. The subsequent declaration of the War on Terror by
Transitioning from F/A-18As to new
President George W Bush saw US carrier battle groups under Fifth Fleet Lot XVIII F/A-18Cs in 1996, VMFA-
control immediately removed from their OSW station and pushed 314 was assigned to CVW-9 the
further east into the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean in order to support following year and subsequently
completed two OSW cruises (in
Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) in Afghanistan. 1997 and 2000), a single OEF combat
With the bulk of the tactical air power in this conflict provided by deployment (in 2001-02) and the
carrier aircraft flying arduous eight- to ten-hour missions over land- 2003 WestPac cruise with the air
locked Afghanistan, OSW No-Fly Zone operations by the US Navy wing, before reverting back to
MAG-11 control. This photograph
would be halted for the first time in almost a decade. of Lot XVII jet ‘Knight 203’ (BuNo
164956) in afterburner on bow
OSW MISSIONS ASHORE catapult one was taken in April
2000. This aircraft is almost certainly
Although the vast majority of OSW missions flown by Marine Corps
heading for the Udairi bombing
Hornets were undertaken by units flying carrier-based single-seat range in Kuwait, as it is armed with
F/A-18Cs, in March 2000 F/A-18D-equipped VMFA(AW)-121 an unguided 1000-lb Mk 83 general
returned to the theatre for the first time since Desert Storm. One of the purpose bomb, fitted with a metallic
blue M904E4 fuse in the nose. Only
aircrew to participate in this unique deployment was Weapons System
precision-guided ordnance was
Officer (WSO) Capt Charles Dockery, who told the author; cleared for use in the ‘Box’ by the
‘We were in-country from March through to June. We flew all of our CAOC (US Navy)
missions from Al Jaber, in Kuwait, having come into theatre to replace an
Air Force A-10 unit. We were co-located with an Air Force F-16
squadron, so the whole set up of the operation was primarily USAF-
driven. We were viewed by the CAOC as essentially A-10 replacements,
but with a lot more capability to boot. Right
The 1000-lb GBU-16B/B was the
‘The unit was initially sent into Kuwait to simply perform the A-10’s
stock RO weapon of choice in OSW
Combat Search And Rescue (CSAR) mission, but we also arrived with until the first JDAM arrived in-
JSOW and JDAM capability, which was then very new in OSW. Indeed, theatre in late 1999. Flying some of
the F-15Es and F-16s were not J-weapon capable at the time, meaning the first J-weapon-capable jets
assigned to CENTCOM, VMFA(AW)-
that the CAOC could only employ GPS-guided weapons when there was
121 nevertheless dropped a handful
an aircraft carrier on-station in the NAG. We were able to fill in the gap of LGBs during its three months at
10 when there was no task group in the area. Therefore, although we Al Jaber (VMFA(AW)-121)

© Osprey Publishing • www.ospreypublishing.com

Job: E11-84267 Title: Combat 56

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rather late in the night. Being fatigued with the journey, which he
performed as a pedestrian, and having gained access to his
apartments without calling for a light, or otherwise disturbing the
family in whose house he resided, he undressed in the dark and
retired to rest.
On awaking, between two and three o’clock in the morning, he
was horror-stricken to behold in the dim light afforded by the now
risen moon, the figure of an angel of majestic proportions, arrayed
in a loose flowing robe of radiant whiteness, hovering over the foot
of his bed.
He gazed on the seraphic vision with straining eyes, lost in
amazement to observe that, at one moment it seemed to approach
with outstretched arms, as if intending to descend and embrace him,
and then gracefully and slowly recede, gazing all the time with deep,
fixed attention on his countenance.
As far as his terror permitted, he observed that always between
the approach and retreat of the vision there was a pause, as if it
hesitated, and stopped in uncertainty.
All the while the Seraph was palpably floating “in thin air.” The
artist was both astonished and alarmed at so terrifying a phantom,
even although the purity of its robe threw a halo of glory around it
exceedingly Corregiesque.
In that Catholic country, where visions of saints are seen, and
apparitions visible, the phantom, to a good Catholic, would probably
have been hailed as a manifestation of Divine presence, a
Beatification of the blessed Virgin.
Not so, however, to a sturdy Swiss—a Protestant Master of Arts—
educated in the school and church of John Calvin, the contemporary,
school-fellow, and friend of Lavater, Hess, Bodmer, and Bretinger.
But notwithstanding all this, it shook his nerves to their inmost
extremity, and made each particular hair like quills; and as he once
said to me with deep-toned emphasis, “it made my marrow cold.”
For a length of time he continued spell-bound, with his large blue
eyes riveted on the vision as intensely as his own sublime Hamlet
glares on the ghost of his father. Those in this country who
remember the penetrating eyes and look of the late lamented Dr.
Follen, can easily picture to themselves Henry Fuseli, for there was a
striking resemblance between them.
Becoming at last overpowered by the agony of his fears, and
almost mad with excitement and apprehension, involuntarily and
sudden as lightning, he sprung from the bed, and with outstretched
arms clutched at the angelic form, as it came floating majestically
toward him, and seemed to court his embrace.
Alas! poor youth, he little dreamt what an angel is composed of—
the beatific form was evanescent; he caught the radiance, but it was
unearthly—fleshless—boneless—a shadow, “an unreal mockery;” like
Ixion, he had embraced—that which shall appear hereafter.
The next incomprehensible circumstance which I shall relate,
occurred to myself. When I first became a resident in the Temple,
“eating” my way into the technicalities of English jurisprudence, I
rented chambers, consisting of a suite of three rooms and a spacious
entrance hall, in one of those ancient brick tenements, which have
what I believe architects call a well-staircase, built of solid timber
from bottom to top, intended to last, as they have lasted, for ages.
Each suite has two doors, a strong outer one, with a very substantial
lock, and an inner, which can also be locked, should occasion
require, or when the occupant is absent on circuit.
They are snug, cosy places—for bachelors—these Inns of Court,
whether it be in the Temple, the most ancient of all, or Lincoln’s,
Grey’s, Clement’s, Clifford’s, Furnival’s, Serjeant’s, or Staple’s Inn.
Most of them have extensive squares, besides gardens of great
extent, with fountains and jets of water playing under old ancestral
trees. All are extra parochial, and the whole have peculiar privileges
—let the limbs of the law alone for that! There are gates at the
various entrances, strong enough to defy the force of a battering-
ram, which are carefully barred, bolted, and locked, every night at
ten o’clock, and none, save inmates having chambers, are admitted
after that hour.
The benchers, barristers, and students, resident within the
precincts of the Temple, number from one thousand two hundred to
fifteen hundred persons, which will give some idea of the extent of
the societies of the Inner and Middle Temple. Respectable elderly
females, called laundresses, who mostly reside in the neighborhood,
come every morning to clean the rooms, light the fires, prepare
breakfast, &c., &c.
That glorious spirit, Charles Lamb, was a Templer, at the time I
speak of, and rented chambers not far from my own. Perchance I
may hereafter give some reminiscences of dear Elia.
The first night I slept in the Temple was the most melancholy
and uncomfortable which, in the whole course of my life, I
remember ever to have passed.
It was toward the end of the long vacation, during autumn, when
most of the profession were in the country. I felt a solemn awe steal
over me as I locked the outer-door upon myself in a suite of large,
lofty, gloomy rooms, some centuries old, which were wainscoted and
paneled from floor to ceiling, with fifty, perhaps five hundred coats
of paint, that had once been white.
Melancholy and heavy did the hours pass, until I lit my reading
lamp, and took up that detested collection of Commentaries, the text
book of lawyers; but I soon laid it aside in disgust. A Black-snake
could not have been more loathsome to me than was Blackstone,
that dismal, solitary, sad, and heavy evening.
Finding it impossible to read, or write, or do any one thing in the
way of study, I passed through the hall into the very dark bed-room,
and my uncomfortable fears, or fancies, induced me to take down a
long antique rapier, which I had hung up at the head of my bed, and
I was silly enough to plunge it underneath, in case any assassin or
robber might be lying perdu under it. So “stern was the dint,” that I
had some difficulty in withdrawing the point from the wainscot, into
which it had penetrated on the further side of the bed. Ridiculous as
it now seems, I continued this practice of pinking the panels for
some nights afterward. There were five or six floors in the house, on
all which were suites of chambers. Mine were on the floor which, in
this country, would be called the second; in England it is known as
the first. On entering from the courtyard, you ascended three stone
steps into a long passage, in which were a set of chambers, directly
underneath mine. At the end of the passage you ascended a short
flight of nine steps to a landing, and then went up nine more,
making in all eighteen steps from the entrance hall. These eighteen
steps landed you close to the door of my apartments. I am thus
particular for very good reasons, to be stated presently.
It was during the second, or possibly the third night after I had
taken possession of the rooms, between ten and eleven o’clock, that
I heard a very heavy foot coming along the paved court. Whoever it
was, ascended the three stone steps, came along the entrance hall,
up the stairs, and made a sudden dead stop at my door. I waited,
expecting every moment to hear some one knock, but all was silent,
the intruder stirred no further. I went softly, a tip-toe, to the door,
listened, put my ear to the key-hole, but could hear no one move or
breathe.
I thought it very singular, and stood considering what I should
do. After remaining ten minutes breathless, with the light in my
hand, I came away, thinking as there were two stout doors between
us, each of which had strong patent locks, the person outside would
find it a difficult matter to get at me, if so disposed; but I kept a
lamp burning all night, and had my rapier ready at hand.
The following night, after I was in bed, I distinctly heard from the
window of the room, which opened upon the stair-case, the same
heavy tread coming up the stairs, and again it stopped close to my
door. What can the man want haunting my door? thought I. I lay
long immovable, with my head raised from the pillow, scarcely
drawing my breath—but I could hear no further movement. Finally, I
concluded it might be some drunken man, who, having no home,
had somehow contrived to get into the Temple before the gates
were closed, and had probably since then been sitting under the
cloisters, and was now come to lie down and sleep on the mat. I
determined to get up early in the morning and give him into the
custody of the porters at the gate-house.
As the Temple bell struck four, I rose, dressed hastily, and went
to the door; but the bird was flown—no trace of him was there. I
thought I might, possibly, have been deceived, although the sound
of the heavy tread coming up the stairs, and stopping exactly at my
door, was so distinct, and the death-like stillness of the house at the
time, seemed to preclude the possibility of mistake; but to guard
against any chance of future deception, I counted the number of
steps on the stairs, and found them to be eighteen, as I have stated.
Although I watched attentively the next night, the unwelcome
footsteps were not heard; but on the succeeding one I heard them
distinctly—counted the sound of the foot on the three stone steps—
the walk along the passage—then the first nine risings—the turn—
and the succeeding nine steps landed him close to my door. No
mistake now, thought I to myself. I was burning with rage at the
fellow’s pertinacity, and going boldly to the door, whipt it open in a
twinkling, and found—what thinkest thou, reader? Exactly that which
the Dutchman caught in his famous bear-trap—“nothing at all.” Not a
soul was there. And yet that a heavy man had entered, had come
along the hall, had ascended the stair, and had stopped at my door, I
felt as morally certain as I could have been of any thing whatever. I
could have sworn to it, because on this last occasion the night was
remarkably still, so still, indeed, that I could distinctly hear the
pattering of the drops of water, as they fell into the basin from the
jet d’eau in the quadrangle of Garden Court. I had heard the
footsteps on the pavement of the court-yard, before the person
entered the door. The adjoining houses were too large and too solid
for a sound from them being audible, and I had now several times
heard the same footsteps, agreeing in every particular, and always
stopping at my own door. I was completely baffled and at fault.
I tried to account for it in every way I could think of, and failed in
all. So I determined, the next time I heard the mysterious unknown,
to dash down stairs and seize him in the act of entering from the
court-yard. I had become excited, nervous, and was perpetually on
the watch. Sooner than expected, my curiosity was amply gratified;
for the very next night, as I patiently sat on the watch, scarcely
drawing my breath, I heard the well-known sounds,

“Tramp, tramp, along the court,

Stump, stump, into the hall.”

I bounded down the stairs like a tiger on his prey, and as I leapt into
the passage, the frightful unknown was discovered—the mystery
cleared completely and satisfactorily. I could scarcely believe my own
eyes; but as I had expended much valuable time, and much deep
thought in endeavoring to elucidate the mystery, I shall beg
permission to leave the solution, and the reader to ponder, think,
weigh, and determine, as I had done. He shall be gratified hereafter;
and I doubt not will wonder at much as I did.

This affair of mine was, however, mere child’s play, compared

with the long series of mysterious occurrences which happened to a
very dear friend, whom I shall call Mr. Crofton. He is yet alive, and I
hope he will long live to enjoy the happiness and felicity to which he
is eminently entitled. He is a gentleman who has been long and
favorably known in the literary world as author of many popular and
highly embellished works; and he is, moreover, in common parlance,
as good a fellow as ever stirred a tumbler—and many is the
recherché goblet compounded by his delicate hand, which I have
sipped, listening to his sparkling wit, and most interesting
conversation long years ago. This gentleman being then a bachelor,
and of very studious habits, occupied lodgings in a remarkably quiet
house, in a quiet street, leading from Holborn to Bloomsbury Square,
where he had a large, elegant, richly furnished room, with a
spacious bay-window, and excellent attendance; in short, he found
himself as comfortably situated as is possible or compatible for a
bachelor—to feel. There was no other lodger in the house—no
children—no pet-animals—no parrot—and no piano. The family
consisted of a respectable old gentleman who had a respectable old
wife, both of whom were strictly

“Sober, steadfast, and demure.”

The female attendant was one of those sweet, artless, rosy-cheeked

damsels, which I verily believe no country on the face of the earth
can produce equal to England, in the same station of life.
Mr. Crofton was eminently happy. In process of time, however, as
is generally the lot of humanity, where people begin to feel
themselves too happy, he was somewhat annoyed by frequently
finding his books and papers in disorder, his pens split up to the
plume, and his ink sputtered or overturned.
Now, Mr. Editor, I am very sure you can sympathize with my
friend in these petty annoyances. Did you never feel your bile, if you
have any, bubbling up, on returning to your sanctum, after having
left your papers and proofs in apple-pie order, finding them all
knocked into pi, as your affectionate friends, the compositors, would
call it?
But Mr. Crofton being a gentleman of an uncommonly amiable
disposition, said little, in fact nothing, about it, believing it to be
occasioned by the maid, in her assiduity to keep his room “tidy.”
As, however, repeated and increased annoyances of this kind will,
in time, ruffle the sweetest temper, Mr. Crofton one day, in the
mildest possible manner, ventured to tell the damsel it would much
oblige him, if she would be kind enough always to leave his papers
and books exactly as she found them. To his surprise, the girl burst
into tears, and said she was very glad he had named it, as she had
now an excuse for giving her mistress warning to quit her service.
On inquiring her reason for conduct which seemed to him rather
extraordinary, she said, “There is something wrong about this house,
sir. I never touch your books or papers, and sometimes when I am
cleaning the room, I hear whisperings near me, sometimes groans
and moanings, as of a person in distress. I have searched every
corner, but can discover nothing. I am sure the house is haunted by
the spirit of some woman who has been murdered.”
Mr. Crofton was more surprised at this recital, than he chose to
express, as he had himself reason to suspect there was some secret
mystery to be cleared up; but he comforted Marianne with the
assurance that, if she would say nothing about it, and would
endeavor to arrange the room whilst he was taking his breakfast in
the bay-window, he would lock the door when he went out to his
office, and carry the key with him.
This plan proved extremely acceptable to Marianne, because Mr.
Crofton’s kind, gentlemanly manners, and very handsome Christmas
present, had probably made a deeper impression on her simple
heart, than she was, perhaps, aware of, or would have been willing
to admit.
Soon after this arrangement was entered into, Mr. Crofton was
seized with a complaint to which he was occasionally subject; it was,
in fact, a fit of the gout; and during the first night of his confinement
to the house, as he lay reading, with his candle on a small round-
table, which stood close by the bed-side, he noticed that the light
was becoming paler and fainter; when looking up from his book, he
was astonished and amazed beyond the power of utterance, to
observe that the table was moving, silently and slowly away, and by
degrees gliding from the bed-side.
At first he could scarcely believe his own eyes, he fancied he was
laboring either under an optical delusion, delirium, or hallucination of
the brain, induced by his illness; but on reaching out his hand to feel
whether the table was absolutely removed, he became sensible,
beyond all doubt, that it had not only moved away, but was then
silently traversing the room. He watched its slow progress along the
floor with intense emotion, and noticed that, when it reached the
right hand side of the fire-place, its usual stand, it became
stationary.
The effect of this unaccountable movement of the table,
combined with previous circumstances, operated on Mr. Crofton’s
corporeal system, just as if he had swallowed a dozen papers of
James’s powders. At first he became cold as lead, but when the
table stopped, and the candle appeared to be burning blue, and he
was every instant expecting something would appear, he burst into a
violent perspiration, and the fear of taking cold prevented him from
getting up to investigate the cause of the table’s volition; so he
continued gazing and perspiring until the candle, which was nearly
burnt out, dropped down into the socket; and as the light alternately
flickered up or fell, he again saw the table, of its own mere motion,
making its way back toward the bed-side, as slowly as it had
retreated, and then it stopped at the exact spot from whence it had
taken its mysterious departure, of which he made certain by rising
on his elbow, and raising the slide in the candlestick; and just at that
moment he fancied he heard a mouse run along the carpet; yet the
idea of a mouse moving a table backward and forward, across a
large room, was too absurd to be entertained for a moment. In a
state of most painful perplexity and suspense he passed the first
part of the night, but at last fell asleep; and on awakening late the
next day, he found the copious perspiration which he had been
thrown into, had had the most salutary effect on his gout. When he
got up, he minutely examined the table; but after a long inspection
of it, he failed to discover the slightest cause for its extraordinary
perambulations backward and forward along the room.
A short time after this unaccountable movement of the table, a
friend came to breakfast with him one morning, and as the maid
servant could not with propriety be in the room to arrange it, during
the time his friend was there, they went out together, leaving the
breakfast equipage on the table, to be removed, and the room put
to rights, at leisure.
When Mr. Crofton returned in the afternoon, Marianne’s
handsome features, as she let him in, indicated that all was not
right. She followed him up stairs.
“Oh, sir,” were her first words, “I have been so frightened; I’ll
never enter this room alone again.”
“Why, what’s the matter, Marianne?”
“The matter, sir! Why, as soon as you and Mr. Brooke went out,
sir, I set about cleaning the room, and directly heard those dreadful
mutterings all around me, with such sighs, and such groans, and
weeping and distress, and as I was removing the ashes from under
the grate, one of your books was thrown at me with such force, I do
believe if it had hit me, it would have been the death of me. The
house is haunted by evil spirits; I am sure some horrid murder has
been committed.”
“Do you hear any thing of this in any other of the rooms,
Marianne?”
“No, sir, only in yours, sir; and I cannot think of staying longer in
such a shocking place—there, sir,” said she, starting, “did you hear
that?”
Now Mr. Crofton did hear something, at the very moment, but
the noise was of a vague, confused nature, difficult to comprehend.
It annoyed him exceedingly, however, as he found it impossible to
account for or explain the cause of the disturbances, but he was
possessed of an indomitable courage, and affected to treat it all
lightly, so begging the girl to say nothing about the matter, nor by
any means to think of leaving her place; he put a guinea into her
hand, and told her to continue as good and virtuous a girl as she
had ever been, and to fear nothing.
Always on his return home in the afternoon, the girl was in the
habit of lighting the fire, and having done so, one evening, Mr.
Crofton immediately afterward went out to call on his friend Mr.
Priestly, the bookseller, with whom he staid and took tea. He came
home about nine o’clock, and on unlocking his door, was horrified to
behold a creature, which to all outward appearance was the devil,
standing on his cloven hoofs at the farther side of the table,
engaged in munching some pears which Mr. Crofton had left on a
plate. The creature, or being, was large and black, it had horns,
which were sharp and slightly crooked, and an enormous beard. This
frightful apparition stared Mr. Crofton full in the face, with a pair of
large, black, oblique, glittering eyes, the glance from which seemed
to pierce his very soul! And still it kept its place at the table
devouring the fruit. There was a peculiarly offensive effluvia in the
room—it was not exactly brimstone, but equally nauseous and
strong. From the extremely offensive odor which was emitted,
however, it was soon apparent that the intruder was no other than
an enormous he-goat! but how it had obtained access to the room
was inexplicable. Mr. Crofton hesitated not a moment what was to
be done; he instantly relocked the door, went down stairs and
procured a musket, which having charged with buck-shot, he almost
immediately, or in less than five minutes, as he told me, returned to
his room, fully determined to shoot the hateful beast, but what was
his astonishment on entering the door, to meet, instead of a goat, a
very fine, large bashful Newfoundland dog, wagging his bushy tail in
the most friendly manner. Mr. Crofton could scarcely credit his own
eyes—the room still smelt of a goat, but there was no mistake about
the noble, honest dog! Now it happened that Mr. C. was
uncommonly fond of dogs—who that has a heart is not? So he laid
aside the musket and all hostile intentions, but he made an
immediate examination of his canine visiter’s paws, to verify whether
there was not among them a cloven foot! The scrutiny was
satisfactory, but whether it was dog or devil, he was allowed to
escape, and happy he seemed thereat.
The mystery seemed to thicken, and Mr. Crofton now felt really
uneasy. He spoke to his landlord on the subject, but it was quite
clear from the old gentleman’s artless manner, and the real alarm he
manifested, that he was entirely ignorant of the cause of the
disturbances.
He sent for a police officer, and had every part of the room and
the whole house carefully examined, but no clue to a discovery could
be obtained.
To guard against future surprises, Mr. Crofton procured and kept
a brace of pistols, constantly loaded, at the head of his bed, and
directed Marianne, as she lighted the fire, to put the poker between
the bars, in order that it might be always red hot.
Now let me assure you, Mr. Editor, that a red hot poker is a
potent weapon in the hands of an angry man.
I can of my own personal knowledge vouch, that from some
singular crotchet in his head, arising probably from apprehension of
personal danger, the late eminent antiquary and author, Francis
Douce, invariably, during the winter months, kept his poker in the
fire! I observed he always took it out and laid it aside to cool,
whenever I entered his noble library to settle a Shakspearean
difficulty, or resolve a disputed point of antiquity; and I noticed, that
from long service in the fiery ordeal, his poker was half burnt away,
and become very short, and as thin as a skewer toward the point; in
fact it bore a striking resemblance to some men’s love—it was
become—“too hot to hold!”
Neither dog nor devil ever again made their appearance in the
room; but one afternoon, when Mr. Crofton had caught a cold, and
was lying down on his bed, he was startled to notice the closet-door
near the fire-place slowly and cautiously opening—and at last, the
apparition of a human head, upon the upper shelf of the closet! Its
large, round, black eyes were fixed on his, exactly like those of a
rattlesnake intent on its prey. The head had a horrible indescribable
grin, or ghastly smile. For a second, surprise at the apparition
paralyzed him, but his natural intrepidity rallied the next, he seized a
pistol, and pointing it at the head—which still grinned—he pulled the
trigger, but the weapon flashed in the pan; he instantly seized the
other, but before he could point it and draw the trigger, the door
closed, and the pistol only flashed like the former. Mr. Crofton sprung
from his bed, seized the red-hot poker, rushed to the closet and
whipt open the door, but the head had vanished, whither did not
appear; he thrust the poker against the back of the closet, between
the shelves, where the head had appeared, but the brick wall was
solid.
The clew was, however, at last found; it was plain and palpable
all the annoyances had proceeded from that closet. Detection soon
followed—ample and astounding—but as its details lead back to, and
are connected with the fiercest and bloodiest period recorded in
history, I shall for a short time defer the explanation, whilst I relate
the circumstantial account of a spectral vision which appeared to two
intelligent persons, at or near the same moment of time. I give it on
the authority of a lady of the highest respectability, who is connected
with some of the first families in the city of New York. She related it
one evening, when ghost stories and second-sight—fruitful themes—
were the subject of discussion; and I was not a little surprised to
learn, at the same time, that there is a family in New York,
consisting of two maiden sisters, of high respectability, natives of
New Jersey, who are subject to those mysterious, melancholy and
terrible visitations, identical in every respect with what is known in
the Highlands of Scotland, as the “second-sight.” Equal ridicule has
been attached to the second-sight as to Mesmerism and
clairvoyance; the very name is almost enough to raise a smile, yet I
am assured that the ladies in question, could, if they chose, relate
circumstances of a character so dismal, that they would change
smiles into tears, and ridicule into awe.
It ought to be remembered that the fearful visitation of the
second-sight is involuntary to the party who is subject to it. It is
sudden, unexpected, and unforeseen at the time of its occurrence,
and renders its victim miserable and melancholy to the last degree.
Of this I can vouch, that my friend, the late James Miller, M.D., of
Islington, near London, has often assured me he knew from
boyhood a servant of Sir John Sinclair’s, who resided at his castle
near Thurso, in Caithness, who was one of these pitiable beings, and
the doctor related to me many of the man’s fearful and fatal
predictions, which came to pass, literally, under his, the doctor’s,
own personal knowledge, when he was resident in that part of
Scotland. But I digress.
The vision related by the lady I allude to, I considered so
singular, that I requested the favor of her to write it down for me.
She kindly complied with my request, and the following is a verbatim
copy of her letter. The names, of course, I suppress.
“Dear Sir,—The vision or dream which you wished me to relate,
is, as nearly as I can recollect it, as follows: James, the second son
of Mrs. G****, who lives in the south of England, was suddenly
awakened one night, by the apparition of his elder brother Charles,
who seemed visibly to approach his bed, dressed in his night-
clothes, looking pale and death-like. Charles was at the time absent
in the West Indies, and when the family last heard from him, was in
perfect health, so that James had no anxious fears respecting him,
and although the vision made a powerful and painful impression on
his mind, as it was likely to do from its vividness, he determined to
think no more of it, but compose himself again to sleep. He had,
however, been so much startled by the unearthly look of his brother,
that he found sleep impossible, and therefore rose to take a few
turns about his room, in order to shake off the melancholy
impression, and he remarked, on looking at his watch, that it was
then just three in the morning!
“When the usual breakfast hour arrived, he went down to the
parlor, where the family were assembled. His mother appeared
exceedingly dejected, and complained of violent headache, which
she accounted for by saying she had been much shocked during the
night, at having been awakened by the appearance of her eldest
son, who seemed as if alive in her room, and to approach her
bedside in his night-clothes, looking at her with fixed eyes, and a
countenance so pallid and corpse-like, that she could not get rid of
the impression and belief that he was either dead or dying!
“James and her other children rallied her upon her superstitious
fears and faith in dreams and visions, and endeavored to dissipate
her fears. James appeared carelessly to inquire, whether she knew
at what hour of the night the vision appeared, and was answered it
must have been a few minutes before three in the morning, as she
heard the hall clock strike three directly after the spectre vanished.
“Nothing further was said on the subject, but as soon as James
left the parlor, he went to his own room, and wrote a minute
account of his own and his mother’s dream or visitation, mentioning
the precise hour and day of the month when it occurred.
“He sealed up the paper and asked his eldest sister to certify in
writing, that he had delivered that sealed paper to her that day.
“Both of them had almost forgotten the circumstance, when,
about two months afterward, a letter arrived from Jamaica,
conveying the sad intelligence that their brother had died there, at
the very moment—allowing for the difference of time—of his death-
like appearance to his mother and brother!
“Mr. James G**** was a student of medicine at the University of
Edinburgh, and resided in the same house in which I lived, at the
time he related to us the circumstances. I regret that although only
a few years have elapsed since I heard him relate it, the exact dates
which he then communicated have escaped my memory, and I will
not attempt to supply them. He was a young gentleman of
undoubted veracity, and I believe the circumstances to be true as
stated.
“New York, 22d December, 1840.”
In remarking on this communication, I will not say it is impossible
that the extraordinary circumstance of two persons having each the
same dream—I will call it—at the same hour, and that both believed
they were awakened by the phantom of a distant relative, may not
be explained by natural causes, as some things of a similar character
were attempted to be explained, under the word “spirit,” in an early
edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica, but in the absence of facts,
what do such attempts amount to? Probabilities and possibilities!
But in this instance, although the young man’s death may have
been imprinted on his mother’s and brother’s imagination—from
apprehension of his fate, we will say, by reading or hearing of the
ravages of yellow fever—which, however, is not alluded to in the
lady’s interesting letter, the singularity is, how the dream, or
phantom, should come to visit both—at precisely the same hour—
and dressed exactly alike, and that so vividly, as to awake them in
fear and terror!
It would be folly to attempt a rational explanation—such things
are beyond human comprehension. We may speculate, but we can
never penetrate the veil under which the Divine Will has shrouded
such mysteries; yet I have not the shadow of a doubt that in some
future state of existence, they will, to those who walk aright in this,
be made clear and manifest, and we will then, possibly, wonder how
near, how very close we have been allowed to approach the
threshold, without being able to cross it! “Thus far shalt thou go,
and no farther!”
I well remember one lovely starlight night, walking on the terrace
in front of Somerset House with Henry Fuseli, and whilst speculating
on futurity, he told me that he and Lavater had made a solemn
agreement, that whichever should die first, would, if permitted,
make himself manifest to the other, in some way. Lavater died many
years before his friend, but Mr. Fuseli informed me with a sigh, he
had never, in any way, waking or dreaming, made himself manifest.
It is, perhaps, useless to mention that Fuseli was a classical scholar
of very high attainments, and I know that he was a firm, undoubting
believer in the immortality of the soul. He died at the ripe age of 86,
whilst on a visit to the Dowager Countess of Guilford, and whilst on
his death-bed, within an hour of the time his immortal spirit took its
flight for a better world, he had an impression that he heard soft
sweet music in the room, and faintly inquired of the countess, why
she had placed musical snuff-boxes on the bed. Yet the dying man
never had an ear for music, and could not distinguish one air from
another—music was all perfectly monotonous to him—but the music
which he imagined he then heard was to him heavenly. This
impression on the ear seems altogether different to that made on
the visual organ of many persons on the approach of death.
Fervently do we pray that such impressions as visited the dying hour
of Henry Fuseli, may equally be the blissful harbinger to eternity of
all such good men.
The above story related by a lady, coincides in some degree with
a visitation which occurred to Sir Walter Scott and his lady, at
Abbotsford, who were both awakened by some extraordinary noise
on the premises. He says in a letter—“The night before last, we were
awakened by a violent noise, like the drawing of heavy boards along
the new part of the house. I fancied something had fallen, and
thought no more about it. This was about two in the morning. Last
night, at the same witching hour, the very same noises occurred. So
I got up, with Beardies’ broad-sword under my arm, but nothing was
out of order, neither could I discover what occasioned the
disturbance.
“I protest to you, the noise resembled half a dozen men putting
up boards and furniture, and nothing can be more certain than that
there was nobody on the premises at the time.”
It subsequently appeared, that at the exact hour mentioned by
Scott, Mr. George Bullock died suddenly in London. He was a
particular friend of Sir Walter’s, and had been very active in
planning, and procuring articles of antiquity and old furniture for the
embellishment of Abbotsford. The circumstance appeared to have
made a strong impression on Sir Walter’s mind. But I think I could
show—as I certainly believe—that the death of Mr. Bullock, at the
time when Sir Walter and Lady Scott fancied they heard noises, was
merely a coincidence.
A near and dear relative of my own, a manufacturer, whose
dwelling-house adjoined the factory, was so successful in business,
that his wife, according to the superstition of the period, thought he
was assisted by fairies during the night! The excellent lady and her
maid servants from hearing the sound of the machinery all day,
thought they heard the “good people” making the same noise in the
night; and, as I was told, they more than once went slyly and softly
to the factory-door, which they opened with the greatest caution, in
order to gratify that laudable curiosity, falsely attributed to the fair
sex!—they longed to see the little folks whom they heard so well,
but the moment they peeped in, that instant the fairies ceased! The
accuracy of the eye, exactly as in the case of Scott, destroyed the
deception of the ear!
But Sir Walter’s eye, in consequence probably of irregularity of
the stomach, was sometimes more at fault than his ear. Once, while
crossing the hall at Abbotsford, he believed he saw Lord Byron
standing before him, but the imaginary form soon faded into a plaid
cloak hanging on a screen. At another time, on his way to
Abbotsford, he supposed he saw a shepherd in his plaid, standing on
the moor a short distance from the road, but the man vanished as
soon as Scott came opposite to him, but reappeared after he had
passed a little way. Sir Walter turned his horse to ride up to the man,
who again vanished, into a pit as he supposed, but on searching for
it, he found it was merely an optical delusion, the ground was all
smooth and firm.
It is now high time I should enter the Confessional, and render to
the reader—if he or she have followed me so far—my account—
detailing the mystery of the “dead candle,” and sundry other marvels
contained in this article.
Imprimis, then. Of the annoyances to which the family of Mr.
Wesley were subjected, I have little further to add. The story must
stand or fall on the degree of credibility attached to the witnesses,
but, as Doctor Southey says, it is better authenticated than any
similar story on record.
In reading the letters written from Egypt, by the sister of Mr.
Lane, author of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians,
she details a series of annoyances to which she and her brother’s
family were subjected, in a house at Cairo, supposed to be haunted
by an ’Efreet, or evil spirit, in consequence of a murder having been
committed in it.
Some of the events closely resemble those which befel the family
at Epsworth parsonage, consisting of knockings, and other
annoyances, at all hours of the night, which eluded investigation;
none of the native maid servants would remain in the house over a
week, and although it was in every respect a delightful and most
desirable residence, Mr. Lane and his sister were reluctantly
compelled to abandon it.
My own detection of the “dead candle” arose in this way. On the
third night of its appearance, the beam of light was as clearly
defined to my sight as it had been on the two preceding nights, but
it was now passing across the bed clothes more quickly, and was
accompanied by a faint rustle, and that sound flashed the truth upon
my mind in a moment. It was my own sister crossing the hall, and
the ray of light from her live candle shining through the key-hole of
the door!
I had formed a boyish admiration for the young lady who was ill,
and apprehension for her fate, and thoughts of her, kept me much
longer awake than usual. On the two first nights my sister crossed
the hall slowly and noiselessly, in order that she might not disturb
the dying sufferer, but now that the sad catastrophe was over, she
moved quicker, and I could hear her!

The ANGEL—whose radiant effulgence had excited such fearful

emotion in the mind of Henry Fuseli, was neither more nor less than
the white dress of an Italian lady, which his hostess, not expecting
his return from Frascati before the following day, had hung up on a
cord stretched across the room, to dry, and its slow floating
movements were occasioned by the air from the window, which was
left open to facilitate the drying.
Fatigued by his long walk, he undressed the moment he gained
his own apartment, and retired to rest without observing the
signora’s robe, or that the window was open. The moon had risen
whilst he was asleep, and was faintly shining on the white drapery
when he awoke, and the effect, to an imaginative mind like his, gave
it the appearance of animation.
The whole story, as related by him, was glorious—but who could
relate a ghost story, or any story, like Fuseli? His choice and powerful
language, and his acting of the scene, were inimitable. He was
equally successful in any comic story, although in a dryer way; even
his description of the manner in which the present Lady Jersey
catches a flea! was irresistible. What action, what emphasis, what a
look. You could have almost sworn you saw the indignant flash of
her ladyship’s bold, brazen eye, and her long nose, when she
discovered the little blood-sucker upon her cream-colored skin. The
recollection of it is so perfect at this moment that I cannot resist a
laugh as I write; but the manner of the thing I must defer until I
give my Reminiscences of Harry Fuseli, in which I shall try to detail
some of his literary combats at the table of Joseph Johnson, where
he vanquished the great Porson, with his, Porson’s, own chosen
weapon, Greek.
But his angelic ghost story was absolutely terrific; after having
worked one up to the highest pitch of excitement, the denouement
came so entirely unexpected. With a low, sepulchral tone, he would
say, “I was mad with apprehension; and in an agony which I could
not repress, I sprung up like a maniac, clutched the apparition in my
arms, and came down like a dog, and broke both my shins on a d—d
chair!—instead of an angel, I grasped a white gown, perhaps smock,
of some Italian trollop.”

The invisible and mysterious personage who had, as I supposed,

so pertinaciously haunted the door of my chambers, was a large,
heavy man, employed as a porter in a shop near Temple Bar. His
wife was a respectable laundress, who, unknown to me, occupied
the basement of the house. The entrance hall was rather dark, and
as I had just taken possession, I had not observed a narrow passage
which, by proceeding a few steps beyond the foot of the stairs
leading up, led to a staircase going down, having exactly the same
number of steps, and, in consequence of the whole staircase from
bottom to top being a species of conductor, the sound of footsteps
going down was conveyed up so perfectly, that to any one sitting in
my rooms it was impossible for the nicest ear to tell, whether the
person was coming up or going down; and the floor of the basement
being of brick, the sound was lost the moment it was trodden on.
 I was perfectly dumb-foundered when I saw the big fellow pass
quietly by me without taking the least notice; and I felt a mighty
inclination for a fight, in consequence of his having so cruelly
disappointed and mocked my determined belief in a ghost. But, like
Mr. Van Buren, “sober second thought,” induced me to retrace my
steps, and walk quietly up stairs, somewhat like a president walking
down, when he is unexpectedly turned to the right-about. My
Andrea Ferrara was hung upon its peg, from which it was never
afterward removed, during all the unhappy years I afterwards
passed as a Templar in those old-fashioned rooms. What
reminiscences do they not now revive?

The vexatious annoyances to which my friend, Mr. Crofton, was

so long subjected, arose from an admirably concocted scheme of
female waggery, in which a youth bore a principal part; but to render
its details intelligible, it is, as formerly hinted, necessary to digress a
little into history.
In the year 1794, during the frenzy excited by the French
Revolution, when every throne in Europe was shaken to its centre, a
society was formed in London for the pretended reform, although it
was in fact for the overthrow of the English Government.
It was called the London Corresponding Society for Constitutional
Reform, and it was in secret correspondence with Robespierre, and
other monsters of that terrible tribunal which never spared, until it
had deluged France with the blood of 1,022,351 of its best citizens.
Start not, reader, in doubt, there is no mistake in the figures—ONE
MILLION, TWENTY-TWO THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE victims, male
and female, adults and children, perished under the axe of the
accursed guillotine, or other wholesale murders, perpetrated during
the Reign of Terror.
May its bloody horrors be a lesson and A WARNING to nations, in all
future time, to beware or the perils attending MOB LAW!
The London Corresponding Society was headed by Hardy, Horne
Tooke, Thelwall, and other turbulent spirits of the time. But by the
firmness of the Prime Minister, William Pitt, son of the Earl of
Chatham, the leaders were apprehended in their own homes, during
the night, and tried for high treason. But the society, although with
greater privacy, still held its sittings, and in order to defeat the
government police, one of its agents hired two houses adjoining
each other, where, with extraordinary care and secrecy, a secret
passage was constructed between the two, by means of closets, so
artfully contrived, that at a moment’s warning the members could
escape with their papers from one house to the other, and elude the
chance of capture.
In the room where the traitors met, the back of the closet was
built up of bricks, resting on strong shelves, which were fixed to a
door of strong plank. This door, with its shelves and brick back,
swung on well oiled pivots. The bricks were whitewashed, and were
firmly attached to the shelves, which were furnished with China and
crockery, coated with fine dust, to make it appear, on looking into
the closet, as if it had not been opened for a long time.
The closet in the adjoining house, resembled it exactly, except in
the arrangement of its contents. The back or swing door, on that
side next to the committee-room, had strong secret bolts, which
kept all firm in its place.
The two houses had passed into the occupation of different
persons, years after the society ceased to exist, without the secret of
the “corresponding” closets having been divulged; but at the time
when Mr. Crofton occupied his apartment, the servants of the
adjoining house had discovered the secret of the bolts and swing
door, in consequence of a brick coming loose, in driving a nail, and
with that amiable curiosity generally attributed to the fair sex, and
probably from envy of her beauty, and of hearing some compliments
paid to Marianne’s graceful figure, they determined on the species of
pantomime which they so successfully put in practice, being mainly
aided in it by a youth of great inventive genius, and a very dare-devil
at mischief.
The disarrangement of the books, papers, pens and ink, with
suppressed mutterings, groans, weepings and wailings, can
therefore be easily understood.
 The movement of the table was effected by means of a long
piece of string, of the color of the carpet, which the young genius
first passed round one of the table-casters, then around the foot of
the bed, and the two ends of the string brought through the closet
under the door, by pulling either one end or the other, he could
withdraw or advance the table at pleasure; when the manœuvre was
complete, he let go one end, and, in nautical phrase, “hauled in the
slack.” The withdrawing of the cord was what Mr. Crofton took for a
mouse.
The goat was obtained from the stable-yard of the George and
Blue Boar, a well-known Inn on the other side of Holborn, in the
immediate neighborhood; and the dog was one which the lad had
enticed from the street. Being perfectly cognizant of every thing said
or done in Mr. Crofton’s apartment, they overheard the conversation
about the pistols and poker, and found it necessary to be rather
cautious. They were perfectly aware of Mr. Crofton’s out-goings and
in-comings, and during his absence, the charges were withdrawn
from his pistols, and plugs of lead, covered with cotton, introduced,
and firmly rammed down. When the girl stealthily opened the closet
door, she was not aware Mr. Crofton was at home, and the
appearance of her head on the shelf, in the act of reconnoitering, led
to the detection and exposure of the whole thing; for the landlord
was so exasperated, he had them all up before the police. Ample
apology, however, was made, and the joke, from its ingenuity,
forgiven. But the party-walls of both houses were restored to their
original condition, putting an effectual stop to all further
correspondence, or tricks, upon Mr. Crofton; but I believe it may
have been this very extraordinary affair, that induced him to write
one of his most popular works; and I only wonder he was never
induced to work up the details of the mystery (which I have so
imperfectly attempted) into a tale, or drama, of exciting interest.
With reference to my chambers in the Temple, when I spoke of the
unhappy years I had passed in them, I alluded to the contrast which
they presented to the felicity which a married life soon afterward
conferred on —
An Unbeliever in Spectral or Supernatural Appearances.
 PICTURE OF TASSO.
“Are there not deep, sad oracles to read
In the clear stillness of that radiant face?
Yes, ev’n like thee must gifted spirits bleed,
Thrown on a world, for heavenly things no place!”

Those poet-eyes, with inspiration burning —

Half wild, half pensive, still they haunt my dream —
Eyes, in whose depths the soul of passionate yearning,
Intense unrest, and high devotion gleam.

The Spirit of the Ideal, throned in glory,

Shines with superior brightness on that brow: —
O, laurel-crowned! thou famed in song and story,
How sweetly float thy spell-strains o’er me now!

Doth this rapt, earnest, mournful face resemble

In all its shaded lineaments thine own?
Did the soft love-vow on that proud lip tremble —
Yet fear to deepen to a tenderer tone?

And the rare love that haunts thy magic numbers —

Didst thou not hope to make such worship thine?
The passionate paleness on thy cheek that slumbers,
Tells that thy heart was but Love’s lonely shrine!

The love of Genius!—with its dream and vision —

Its hopes and fears—vainest of earthly things.
Only in spiritual visitings Elysian
Are realized the bard’s imaginings.
Meanwhile thine image rises oft before me,
With memories that to mine own heart belong;
And as I muse on thy life’s hist’ry, o’er me
Comes the conviction, O, sad son of song!

That the celestial gift can never, never

For all the unrest it hath cost atone;
The Unattained still haunts us here forever —
There, in thy world, vain yearnings are unknown!
ELIZABETH J. EAMES.
 THE MUSICIAN.
A TALE FOUNDED UPON FACT.

———
BY HENRY COOD WATSON.
———

I was traveling outside the coach from B ——, early in the year 18
—, after a season of fashionable dissipation, tired with the important
nothings which eke out the existence of the beau monde, and
determined to seek relief in change of scene, from the daily
increasing ennui that oppressed me. I am not one of those who
travel from Dan to Beersheeba without seeing any thing worthy of
attention. To me the face of every human being is a book, in which
strange and eventful histories are written legibly by the hand of time
and passion, and with the assistance of my somewhat active
imagination, I often fancy that I can trace the actions and events,
the hopes and fears, that have made up their sum of life. It is a
pleasing and grateful task to watch the face of youth; to trace love,
hope, and confidence, in every line of the countenance. There is not
to be seen one doubt, one look of distrust in this the brightest page
of life’s eventful history.
My companions were a young girl, a free and generous-hearted
sailor, two ordinary, every-day travelers, and a pale, and to all
appearances, an intellectual youth. I make it a rule, when thrown
into the company of strangers, if but for an hour, to make that hour,
by conversation, pass as pleasantly as possible; and as I was likely
to remain with my present companions for some hours, I determined
to draw them into a familiar discourse. Our sailor was a character
such as Dibden loved to draw—light-hearted and careless to a fault.
At each place, while the horses were being changed, he would
dismount, and insist upon treating every one around, spending his
hard-earned cash without a thought for to-morrow. He kept us in a
roar of laughter for some hours, by the strange tales he told. One, I
remember, but it was so interlarded with technical terms, which he
explained at the time, that I fear it will lose half its gist by their
omission, and the substitution of my shore-going phraseology.
“We were cruising off the Bermudas,” said he, “in the summer of
179-. And a blazing summer it was—so hot, that all the sugar on
board was turned into hard bake, and the purser’s skin was so dried,
that he kept his tally on his face for the rest of the voyage; to say
nothing of the captain’s dog, Toby, who was sitting on deck one day,
when the pitch in the seams melting, he was held so fast by the
stern, that he was unable to cut and run, and was in consequence
exposed to the heat of the varticle sun, whereby he caught what the
parley-voos call a ‘coop do sol’s heel,’ which, I suppose, means a
‘kick from the sun’s heel.’ Howsomever, that’s as may be. Well, as I
said before, we were sailing with a fine steady breeze, at the rate of
eight knots an hour, when, all of a sudden, we felt ourselves brought
up, as it were, with a round turn. All hands immediately jumped on
deck; the skipper came up in a devil of a hurry, swearing that we
had struck upon some hidden rock. We sounded but could not find
the bottom. The wind was rising and filled the canvas almost to
bursting, but not an inch did she move. The skipper was
flabbergasted, and the master, an old Northman, said that he
thought we were over some magnetical rocks, and, according to the
doctrine of substraction, they would draw all the iron out of the
bottom, and we should fall to pieces. When, all of a sudden, it
strikes Harry Dare-em-all—ah, by the by, he was a fellow—bathing
one day in those very seas, he saw a shark as big as a whale coming
right upon him. Away swims Harry; down he dives, and up he comes
again, but Mr. Sharkey, was close upon his heels, and at last had
turned over, ready for a grip, when Harry darts under him, and gives
him such a kick in the small of his back, just to help him on the
faster, that he broke him in half. The gentleman was hauled on
board, and to this day I uses one of his grinders for a baccy-stopper.
Well, says Harry, I shouldn’t wonder if it’s one of them feline animals
of the shark species—for you see Harry knew something of
fishogomy—as has bolted the junk we threw astarn to catch them
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