chapter 1. rumours of the apparition | chapter 2. merry-making at the ‘mitre’ tavern | chapter 3. the ghost avenged | chapter 4. in moorfields
chapter 1. rumours of the apparition
“HOW comes it, man, that thy friend Jack Walton is never with thee now? The tavern misses him; his cheery face was always welcome; and when I think of it, thou art thyself flat sorry company, nowadays.”
The jolly, red-faced host of the ‘Mitre’ liked not a dull and quiet guest; good food and drink, he used to say, were wasted when they loosened not the tongue in anecdote or song.
“Jack has gone, and I’ll soon follow him,” was the dismal answer.
“Ye mean to tell me that Jack the fearless, the mighty toper, the jolly drunken rogue, has turned craven and thrown up his employ?”
“Landlord, ye have hit it; the others are going too, and if ye take my advice ye’ll shift the ‘Mitre’ to another place.”
“Fool, take thy womanish fears to others; the ‘Mitre’ and Will Railton will not shift for Papist ghost or other foolery; but hark thee, Grale, a week to-morrow I shall prepare a feast, to which ten or twelve young bloods from town will come. You, Grale, and your fellow-workers at the stable, have been my friends; help me now prepare this feast, and lend me your daughters as waiting-maids; my own lass, Rose, who will be here of course, will look after the others, and see that no harm comes to them.”
Grale promised to send his daughter to help prepare the feast, and asked his host in what manner he meant to amuse his wild young guests.
“Ay, that is what I wished to tell you. Ye know yon spot, beneath the arch, where the Papist monk killed his sister and himself. I shall take them there, and you, Grale, or some such ‘other fool who believes the story, must recount it to them; by which time I shall have primed them well with wine. When it is quite dark, they shall all move out, terrible noises shall be made, and as all are waiting for the ghost, my daughter Rose shall spring into their midst, which, if I mistake not, will make them merry and contented with their visit.
Grale looked serious, and thought no good would come from tampering with the ghost, but knew of old that Railton of the ‘Mitre’ regarded the story of the monk as a myth, and laughed at those who differed from him. Grale paid for his little meal, and went out into the courtyard in front of the tavern and rejoined his companions. These men worked in the stables which were built up with the few rounded arches and Norman columns, relics of the once glorious church of Holy Trinity. The spot reported to be haunted was just outside the stable, furthest from the court, exactly where the altar steps of the church had formerly existed. The ghost was said to appear on this spot between twelve and one at night on certain days, and mutter strange warnings, and in other ways disport himself as is the wont of ghosts. All the people in the district firmly believed the story, except the jolly host of the ‘Mitre’; but there were diverse opinions as to the day or days of the appearance, some contending that they had seen it on Sunday nights, others—the majority—on Mondays.
Now though Railton was the only sceptic, and thus formed a party by himself, the other people of Aldgate Ward formed themselves into two factions—those who believed in the Monday appearance—the men engaged in the stables and a few others—and those who swore that Sunday was the ghost’s night.
A wag from town, when told of the affair, had declared that the majority were Sunday believers, because, being virulent anti-Papists, they wished to think the monk had broken the Sabbath law, the wag adding that this fact exercised the people’s minds more than the murder, which they held to be an ordinary occurrence with the priests of old.
However this may be, party feeling ran high, and Railton was wont to declare the Monday folk would sooner believe in no ghost at all than that it should appear on Sunday, and vice versâ. But he was wrong; there were solid foundations for a belief, though many might mistake the day, and in after years the host himself believed the story, and held that the fatal spot was indeed accursed by God and man.
“Jack gone! Then I suppose he has seen the monk,” a brother worker said to Grale.
The latter nodded, and added, “Jack lost his wife a week arter he saw the cursed Papist.”
“But I’ve seen ’im, and nothing’s come to me,’’ remarked several of the stablemen, and Grale, who was the oldest and most learned in the ghost’s ways, turned and said—
“You may ’a seed ’im, so ’ave I; but that is not the point. The man who, with a wicked purpose or to jeer at the monk, stands upon that spot between the hours of twelve and one and sees the ghost, will surely come to harm.” The old fellow was impressive; the terms of the curse were not stated in his own words, but were a formula well known to many of the inhabitants of the Ward of Aldgate.
Certainly it was no joking matter, given the conditions which Grale mentioned. A curse did alight on the unlucky person who approached the spot with a criminal or jeering intention. The curse did not necessarily end in death, another misfortune might happen to the offender; but many and foul were the crimes which this very spot had witnessed from the year 1530 to the date in which this second narrative is cast.
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chapter 2. merry-making at the ‘mitre’ tavern
GREAT preparations were made at the old Mitre Tavern for the advent of Railton’s young gallants. Food and wine, the best that could be procured, were in readiness. The buxom daughters of the stable-men donned their prettiest gowns, and looked their brightest for the occasion. Will Railton, Grale, and others were in attendance, all primed to their duties, and anxious that the meeting should pass off merrily.
The guests were slow in arriving—not one came in time. Railton remembered with a pang that the choicest dishes would be spoilt; a punctual man himself, he had timed the cooking to be ready to the minute, and here it was full half an hour behind the hour arranged.
What with the scowlings of the cook, the kitchen-maids, and the fair waitresses, he did not know, so he said, which was in the worse state—the burnt-up capons or his own head.
But at last they came, and all together; a dissipated crew, richly dressed; men born in a good position, nobles, soldiers, and the like, polished in manners (when sober), irregular in their habits, they honoured the ‘Mitre’ with their presence just once a year, in return for services Railton rendered them in their own part of the town. It may seem strange that they should travel to what was, even in those days, an unfashionable district; but Railton was a man of weight, a famous cook, a maker of good punch; a man the gallants liked to please, and secure for their own costly entertainments. Besides which, Railton was a man of wit, and always prepared some amusement for his guests. Their jaded palates liked his rich cheer, their worn-out sense of fun was tickled with his sparkling wit; they enjoyed their day, and came again when asked.
These were days of hard drinking; not in the sense in which this degenerate nineteenth century understands the term. Drinking was then an art, confined principally to the rich. Drink did not claim its thousand gutter-victims, as at present. The poor got drunk, of course, but not to the same extent as now.
The gentlemen of those days were careful as to the quality of the wine they drank, but not the quantity; they vowed a man ill-bred who did not take his share. But just as they would not cross swords with a man of blood inferior to their own, and regarded duelling as a pastime only of the “gentle,” so also did they consider drunkenness a privilege peculiar to themselves.
They sent their servants to the lock-up for a tipsy peccadillo, they drew long pious faces at the luxury of monks, and fell beneath their tables every day, which became them as true gentlemen.
A merry, worthless set that was which Railton brought together: Lord Wareham, member of the Mohawk gang; Sir Jocelyn Cholmondeley; Jack Mounteagle, Percy Poins, and others, all in the fastest, loudest set. They ate their fill, drank deep, and joked the pretty waiting lasses.
Hilarity was the order of the day. The jokes went round with every dish, and the serving-maids, though teased to death, declared it bright and merry fun!
When to eat more was impossible, Railton rose and bade them fill their glasses, while he proposed a toast with a song:
Here’s a health unto His Majesty;
With a fal lal la!
Damnation to his enemies;
With a fal lal la!
And he who would not pledge this health,
I wish him neither wit nor wealth,
Nor yet a rope to hang himself;
With a fal lal la!
Jacobites they were, one and all. And how lustily all joined in the rowdy fal lal la, and how the elements of seriousness and fun intermingled in the then popular ditty.
When quiet was resumed, the host again rose, and with a merry twinkle in his eye, drew himself up, and in a mocking-serious tone exclaimed—
“Gentlemen, have ye heard of our ghost in yonder part of town? I see ye have. Let’s drink to him. Monk Martin, Papist priest, here’s to your health; mind come and visit us to-night.”
Grale and the other stablemen stood aghast at such temerity, and Railton, seeing their fears, proclaimed them with derision to the company. A shout of laughter greeted this. The gallants had drunk deeply, and were getting quite uproarious. Lord Wareham now got upon his legs—
“Will Railton, you have proposed a toast; let me propose another: ‘ Drink, gallants all, to buxom Mistress Rose, and death to him who says she’s not the prettiest maid in Aldgate.’”
This was followed by great applause, and Railton, who studied well the pleasures of his guests, proposed a dance, and removed the tables and chairs for that purpose.
The young men who, a few minutes ago, appeared half tipsy, threw off their rowdy gaiety, and went through the various evolutions of the dance with the utmost ease and grace. The untaught damsels looked at their elegant partners with evident admiration, and tried to imitate their courtly manners.
Mistress Rose being the prettiest maiden present, and the daughter of the host, of course came in for the greater attention, and these jaded men, who had ceased to care for dancing with the well-taught damsels of their own class, eagerly sought Railton’s daughter for a partner, and rivalled one another in their gallant speeches to her.
“Host Railton, dost thou think the Papist Martin will obey thy summons?”
“Thou’dst better ask the stablemen, my friend. Here, Grale, will the ghost appear to-day on yonder spot?”
“Many ha’ seen Monk Martin, but we canna tell for certain when he comes. But the man who, with a wicked purpose, or to jeer at the monk, stands upon the spot, between the hours of twelve and one and sees the ghost, will surely come to harm.”
“Tut, tut, man, stop that silly jargon. Tell us, if thou canst, whether Martin will appear or not?”
Grale feared the vengeance of the ghost, and knew what ill had come to those who jeered and disbelieved its appearance.
“Noble gallants, listen not to Master Railton’s gibes! Do not, I pray thee, visit yonder spot.”
The guests laughed loud and long at the old man’s fears, and began to pester him with ridicule.
“Look, Grale, there is the monk behind thee. Methinks that Master Grale had better don the cowl. Turn Papist, man, and please the ghost, and save thyself from danger.”
“Art thou a Sunday or Monday believer, Grale? Prophesy; tell on which of us will come the curse?”
The old man was grave and silent; he did not mind the ridicule, and feared a reckoning would come to such misplaced and sacrilegious mirth.
“Thou dost not answer, man. Did Martin break the Sabbath law?”
“I must tell the parson of thee, Grale. Thou won’t accuse a ghost of crime. Fie, thou call’st thyself a Protestant.”
On another occasion pretty Mistress Rose would have thought such conversation dangerous, but surrounded with such gay and noble gallants, she felt secure and happy.
By-and-by they adjourned to another room, where Railton had prepared a bowl of steaming punch.
The waiting-maids now sat down to table with the others, and more toasts and pretty speeches followed.
Rose sat between Lord Wareham and Poins, and looked from one to the other with divided admiration,
“They ought to send thee, Mistress Rose, to seek the ghost. Mine host, Will Railton, what say you? Shall thy daughter go and find the monk?”
Poins followed his lordship in his little jest. “If Martin sees thy buxom face and cherry lips and answers not thy call, then, odsbodikins, if he’s Papist priest or no, a ghost he is, and I’ll believe the story.”
Railton answered: “Methinks if the myth which goes the round be true, the monk will have no more to do with womankind; but still, as it seems to please your wit, the damsel shall betake her to the spot, and try to exorcise the spirit.”
The hour was now getting late, and Rose, much to her regret, left with the stableman to find the accursed spot. Once away from the scene of revelry, her heart misgave her. What was she doing? Going to stand on that awful site to jeer at the avenging spirit? No, she could not do it; look at the fate which had befallen so many fearless sceptics!
She spoke with Grale, and the two determined to hide in an outhouse, and see what happened. They had left the tavern very late, and the night, though dark, was then quite fine.
It was late in autumn, but not cold, and as the hour of midnight came a close feeling was noticeable in the air; the sky became dark; a storm had been presaged for this very night. A disturbing, fierce wind now suddenly sprang up; it shook the very stables; the moaning, soughing noise increased; a mighty gust of wind swept past the ancient Norman arches, and seemed to make them totter.
“Oh, leave me, Grale, and go and warn yon gallants of the night!”
“No, Mistress Rose; I stir not from this place. The monk is coming. Look not on the fatal spot! Oh, save us from the sight! I did not jeer thee, priest. Send not the curse upon my aged head.”
“Then I will go to father, and tell him not to come.”
“Thou shalt not do so, damsel. Hark! Listen to the storm! A deed of vengeance is at hand. Look, maiden, at the fierce and sudden flames! The heavens are on fire!”
The old man held the girl in a tight grip, and would not let her move. She tried to force herself away, but was not able, and Grale at last persuaded her that Railton and his guests were not likely to leave the tavern in such a fearful storm.
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chapter 3. the ghost avenged
AFTER the departure of the maids, the men drained the bowl of punch, and Railton brewed them another. They soon began to show evidence that the second howl was too much for them; one dropped beneath the table, another fell asleep, but Lord Wareham and Poins emptied the bowl, and were still comparatively sober.
Railton went to the window and looked out.
“It’s raining, my lord, and I see a storm’s approaching. Had we not better wait a little, until the weather clears?”
“No, no, unless the ghost does not appear in storms. What weather does he generally bring?”
“Well, my lord, they say the monk appears in a flash of lightning, and if that be true he might be appearing in a dozen places now.”
Poins woke up the others, not in a very gentle manner, and said—
“A little cold water will do us all no harm, and if you are ready, Railton, lead the way while I help these gallants to move.”
The men were all put upon their legs. Lord Wareham, Poins, and Railton helped them along; and when they got outside the pouring rain soon sobered them.
Two centuries had indeed altered this part of Aldgate ward. The monastic buildings and church of Holy Trinity had all gone, except for a few rounded arches and huge Norman pillars which, as before mentioned, had been partly roofed over as stables. Near these was the old “Mitre” tavern, which looked on to a court; and close by was an ugly red brick church, St. James’, surrounded with a small churchyard. The scene of Monk Martin’s crimes was just outside the stables—a large slab of stone, and near to a remnant of a decorated arch and wall of the old chancel.
The men shivered from the wet, and Poins exclaimed, “The monk must have gone to the brimstone pit to seek the earth on such a rainy night.”
But both gallants and host soon ceased their prattling; it was evident that the worst of the storm had yet to come. The thunder grew louder and louder, the rain came down in torrents, and forked flames were shooting from the heavens, and lit up the ruins of the once stately church.
Nearer and nearer came the storm, when a terrific peal of thunder made the bravest of them quail. Now was the storm right above them, and raging with ungovernable fury. The wind howled like a fierce beast in pain, the heavens seemed to open and cast down streams of liquid fire. Listen to that fearful crash! A mighty battle was being waged above; or was an angry God hurling His anathemas at the sins and crimes of men? Could the elements increase their fury? The liquid flames seemed to unite and concentrate their force; they struck that fatal slab of stone, once, twice; it seemed to disappear, and then a hellish cry—the pitch-black cloud seemed resting on that awful spot!
The men were almost dead with fear. What was yon cloud? Why did it not move? The tempest seemed to gather round it, the lightning struck at it a dozen times. It slowly lifts and utters a hollow, dreadful laugh. Is it ghost or fiend? It seems diminishing in size. Horror! It assumes the shape of a man! What is it that it holds aloft? Again the lightning struck at it, and its ghastly head was seen.
Another crash of thunder, and a naked arm appears, holding a blood-stained dagger. Oh, what is it that it strikes with such a demon fury? Why that final, dreadful cry?
The spectre seemed approaching them; they shriek with terror, but cannot escape. Railton seizes two of them, and drags them from the spot. Why could he not take the others? A dark and mighty mass is moving; it splits into a thousand bits, it flies at them with fierce spite, it strikes and kills, and buries its disfigured slain!
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chapter 4. in moorfields
“I TOLD ye all about Monk Martin’s ghost.”
“Yes, Grale. We know about the wicked monk.”
“Well, master, what think ye happened on the cursed spot not twenty hours ago?”
“Tell us, Grale; ye know we all believe the ghost.”
The old man, with a look of triumph in his weather-beaten face, now got up and
said—
“Ye know about the curse. The man who, with a wicked purpose, or to jeer at the monk, stands upon that spot—”
“Tut, Grale we know about the curse.”
“Well masters, ye know Will Railton of the ‘Mitre’ tavern, Aldgate. He asked a dozen gallants from yonder part of town. They came and made merry, and jeered at Martin’s ghost. I warned them not to do it, but ye know the sort of men. Well, in the middle of the storm Will Railton took them to the cursed spot. Ye also know that the man who, with a wicked—”
“Hurry on, friend Grale, we know all that.”
“Well, when the storm was at its worst they saw the ghost. They say he struck that ancient arch. It fell upon the gallants, and killed and buried ten of them.”
This conversation took place in Moorfields, some distance from the tavern. Grale had left Aldgate and sought employ elsewhere. Will Railton, Lord Wareham, and Poins, the men who had escaped from the falling ruin, probably because they were the most sober, now believed in Monk Martin’s ghost.
No more gallants were seen in the ‘Mitre’ tavern. Railton left, and took another inn, and vowed the spot indeed accursed!
END OF BOOK 2
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Intro | Book I | Book II | Book III | Images of Mitre Square
