THE HAUNTED TREE by Anonymous

About fifty years since, upon one of the plains which overspread large portions of the south-western part of Maine, certain mysterious things obtruded themselves upon the notice of the community. They startled the thoughtless, puzzled the philosophic, set the superstitious all agog, and made the timid tremble. Unaccountable sounds were heard there; unnatural signs were seen; and often without any visible cause, dogs, cattle, and horses were terribly affrighted.

A pine tree, which stood by the roadside, and which overshadowed the way with its spreading branches, marked that spot which was noted for its wonders. It was tall, straight, and well proportioned—as fair to look upon as its neighbours—and still under its deep shadows all these unaccountable phantoms appeared. The surrounding forest was thickly studded with the same stately growth. In the light of day it was harmless. When the sun pressed its bright rays through that dark forest, when all natural objects were unmistakably distinct and visible, no fearful sight nor sound alarmed the passing man or beast.

But when the eve of day was closed, when deep night—doubly thick and heavy under those green, overshadowing tree-tops—wrapped all things in sable curtains, then these disturbing forces infested the place, and let loose these marvels.

It must be affirmed, however, that this tree did not stand in the most frightful spot traced by that lonesome highway. It was not in the middle of that gloomy forest. It stood nearer the side which bordered on the thickest settlement. Not far above it lay a dark, deep, chilly hollow—often entered with a shudder—which all would declare was the fit home of ghosts and hobgoblins, and where practical robbers would naturally select their ambush. Still, it soon became notorious that this apparently innocent and promising tree was a haunted tree—marked as such by all the surrounding inhabitants—heralded as such through all that region.

It must be added that this spot, which rose into such puzzling notoriety, was about two miles from a dull, unpretentious hamlet, where stores were kept, in which some useful merchandise could be found; but the great article of trade at that time, as it was everywhere, was ardent spirits. Many then regarded strong drink as the elixir of life; while it was surely gliding them into graver difficulties than frights and heart-beatings at the haunted tree. But business at the shops, at the post-office, and most of all at the stores licensed to keep and sell the fashionable, much-loved beverage, would draw the rustics thither after the toils of the day were ended, many of whom had to pass this haunted tree.

As a child could pass it harmless when the light of day guarded the place, they would start in season to pass it before the dusky and fearful hour of night licensed the appearance of these terrors. But if they went on foot, they would always have their dogs accompany them, and then not return alone if they could find company. But after taking a social glass, doing their business, listening to the gossip of the day, hearing the last-reported “scare” at the Tree, they would linger to discuss these mysterious appearances, pro and con, and avow their belief or disbelief in them.

Some who were constant attendants upon the preaching of the uneducated, unpolished, but deeply pious minister of the place, would take a still more serious view of these things. They would say:—“These mysterious sights and sounds mean something! They augur of crime—secret, dark, and heaven-daring. God is making inquisition for blood. Murder will out; and till the awful secret is divulged that spot will be haunted.”

This would disturb the serenity of the man behind the counter. He prided himself as above belief in ghosts, witches, and phantoms; as too intelligent to swallow down such admissions of spiritual manifestations, or of supernatural appearances, and he would say, “Nonsense, nonsense! It is all imagination—all whims, all superstition!”

But at length his own turn came to try these troubles, and to see if it was all bosh and gammon. Returning home one evening upon that road, as he approached the haunted tree his horse stopped short, and stubbornly refused to pass it. It would no more go forward than the beast upon which Balaam rode, when the angel of the Lord, with a drawn sword in his hand, confronted him. This perplexed and disconcerted our merchant; but it was no place to be angry. Though he neither saw nor heard anything unusual himself, his noble horse was trembling with fear and unwilling to advance, as if the road was bristling with armed hobgoblins. He whipped and goaded him on till, with a desperate plunge, he dashed out into the thick, scraggy bushes, rushed by the obnoxious tree, and ran, at the top of his speed, until he brought up, panting and trembling, at his own stable door.

Another incident, which is hard to put aside as a mere phantasm. An elderly man, of a bold, defiant spirit, was passing that way in a partially intoxicated state. A son of six or eight years, and his faithful dog, were with him. As they drew near the tree, a light was seen, as if some invisible hand was holding a lantern. The old man cheered his dog to an attack. Bristling and barking, he bravely struck for the light, when it moved out into the forest. Our tippling friend, more daring than usual just then, attempted to follow it. Up to that point the courage of the boy held out (as he informed the writer), as he saw nothing but a light, and that retreating before the dog. But when the father turned into the bushes, he was thoroughly affrighted, and wished to hasten home if naught forbade it. But the light soon faded, the dog became composed, the father returned to the road, and another wonder was reported.

Sometimes these same persons would pass unmolested, silence reigning through the whole forest, and no unearthly sight disturb them. Some passed frequently in night’s deepest darkness, and never saw or heard anything strange or supernatural. Such was the case with a young physician, whose practice often led him by that place. He was a man of integrity, every way reliable, generous, and kind in spirit. Keeping a clear conscience toward all men, he was fearless of both the dead and living; and often, in the still hours of night, rode by the tree, calling upon any one who had anything to make known, to come and tell it. But he had no vision of these things. Those who were molested by these unaccountable manifestations were usually struck dumb, passed it as best they could, and gave no challenge.

On a snowy winter day, two men, of good habits, sound judgment, and unquestionable veracity, were passing by that place with waggons heavily laden. The falling snow had become quite deep. They plodded slowly through it, beguiling their dreary way with occasional conversation. As one of them was observing that nobody ventured out, the storm was so severe, they both looked forward, and saw an old and peculiarly dressed man, footing it through the deep snow towards them. Both noticed him, saw that he was a stranger to them, but in all his appearances a veritable man.

The driver of the foremost waggon went forward to get his horses a little out of the road, and give the venerable stranger an easier passage by; and, behold, no one was to be seen! Looking around in every direction, and seeing no one, he asked his companion if he saw a man just before, approaching them? He replied that he did. What had become of him? He could not tell. They stopped their waggon, and made search; but could not discover any track in the snow, neither in the road where they thought they saw him, nor in any direction by which he might turn aside. Yet they both ever affirmed that they could not have been mistaken, and that the form, and dress, and motions of a veritable man surely appeared to them.

Thus several years passed on; the list of unnatural manifestations lengthened; the wonders of the haunted tree grew more and more wonderful, till they reached their climax in a face-to-face interview. The mystery was then solved; the curtain dropped; and no more troubles have been experienced.

Upon one of those fertile ridges which rise from the plain, there lived a young man, truthful in speech, industrious in his habits, of strong nerve, and not especially superstitious. Upon a bright moonlight night, in the month of September, he was returning from the store at an early hour, alone, but in a state of calm sobriety. Reaching the haunted tree, the horse upon which he rode came to a dead stand, and would not be urged further. Nothing unusual was there visible to the rider. He coolly dismounted, stepped before the horse, and led him, without any unwillingness, to follow his rider by that fearful place. Having passed the gulf safe and fearless, too, without premeditation—scarcely conscious of what he was doing, he spoke out in a firm voice, “If any one is here who wants anything of me, I would like to see him.”

Immediately, a man, venerable in appearance, dressed in a gone-by style, with gray locks hanging below a broad-brimmed hat, stood directly before him. Surprised, dismayed, and nearly confounded, he felt that he was sent for, and the worst might as well come; so, in trembling tones, he asked, “What do you want of me?”

The spectre, in tones our dismayed friend could never forget, proceeded thus:—

“My name is Hiram White. Twenty-five years ago I was robbed of thirty silver dollars, and then murdered, under this tree. The names of two of the guilty perpetrators of that deed of blood will I give, as they are now living. They were Caleb Walsh and Franklin Orme: but some parts of that awful scene I cannot relate to you. Read the 9th Psalm, and you will apprehend them. I have long haunted this blood-stained spot, to make some one inquire for the terrible secret. You are the first person that has challenged me, and now I have divulged it, these things will no more appear. Follow me, and I will show you where they buried my body.”

The spectre led the way into the forest, and our terrified friend followed, feeling that it was no time to oppose, or make excuses. Coming to a low, over-shadowed hollow, he affirmed, “Here is the place!” and instantly vanished. The young man, finding himself unharmed physically, and still alive—though the last dread summons could not have caused a greater mental anguish—made his way back to his horse, which, totally undisturbed, had not started from the place where he left him. He rode slowly home, deeply affected by what he had seen and heard. Upon reaching home, his sad and woful countenance betrayed him.

“What is the matter?” was the first inquiry of his wife.

He tried to evade a disclosure, but could not. Unbosoming himself freely, confidentially to her, it was too momentous, too sacred to be kept secret. Once let loose, it travelled with lightning’s speed and power through the community.

The place pointed out as that where the corpse had been buried, was dug open; and there, sure enough, human bones were found!

But did any other circumstances corroborate the young man’s statement? The recollections of the aged were sounded; and some of them remembered that a man bearing the name of him who professed to be the victim, occasionally visited that place as an itinerant preacher about the time referred to in that disclosure; that his visits suddenly ceased, and he was not afterwards heard from. But as he came from a distant place in New Hampshire, and was somewhat eccentric, his non-appearance excited no surprise. His profession as a preacher may explain the peculiarity of his sending his auditor to an imprecatory psalm to find the supplement of his awful disclosure.

Another fact is well verified. About the same date of this alleged crime, a stray horse, with his saddle turned and bridle on, was found in the highway, about two miles from this noted tree; it was advertised; a green withe was kept upon his neck for several months, as the law required; but no owner ever claimed it; it remained with the person who picked it up.

The names given as the perpetrators of this revolting deed were not unknown—were not fictitious. They had lived and left families there, and these were sensitive and disturbed by these grave charges. They had died, too; and it was now remembered that the last trying scene with them was marked with long and intensified agonies. Beyond all precedent they rolled and struggled in the grasp of the grim monster, but seemed “forbid to die,” till conscience was relieved by some death-bed confession.

With one of them it did come, but came to be locked up in the bosom of its recipient. After long and severe throes and awful moaning, he requested all present to leave the room save one aged, intimate neighbour. With a charge of perfect secrecy he entrusted to him the agonizing burden which no other ear must hear. This done, death completed his work. The waiting and anxious friends came in, but could learn only what they could read upon the troubled visage of him who possessed the dying secret of the departed. Evidently an awful disclosure had been made; but none could draw it from its appointed hiding-place.

Such were the firm impressions left upon the minds of the staid, honest-hearted, and more intelligent of that people. No one could convince them that these things were mystical or empty phantoms. They retained the recollection of these mysterious adventures, without attempting any other explanation than that which we have given.