A School Story
by Montague Rhodes James
Two men in a
smoking-room were talking of their private-school days. 'At _our_ school,' said
A., 'we had a ghost's footmark on the staircase. What was it like? Oh, very
unconvincing. Just the shape of a shoe, with a square toe, if I remember right.
The staircase was a stone one. I never heard any story about the thing. That
seems odd(anaeh), when you come to think of it.
Why didn't somebody invent(membuat buat) one, I
wonder?'
'You never
can tell with little boys. They have a mythology of their own. There's a
subject for you, by the way--"The Folklore(dongeng)
of Private Schools".'
'Yes; the
crop(kumpulan) is rather scanty(sedikit), though. I imagine, if you were to
investigate the cycle of ghost stories, for instance(misalnya),
which the boys at private schools tell each other, they would all turn out(menghasilkan) to be highly-compressed( versions of stories out of books.'
'Nowadays
the _Strand_ and _Pearson's_, and so on, would be extensively(luas) drawn upon(dibangkitkan).'
'No doubt:
they weren't born or thought of in _my_ time. Let's see. I wonder if I can
remember the staple(pokok) ones that I was told.
First, there was the house with a room in which a series of people insisted(bersikeras) on passing a night; and each of them in
the morning was found kneeling in a corner, and had just time to say,
"I've seen it," and died.'
'Wasn't that
the house in Berkeley Square?'
'I dare say
it was. Then there was the man who heard a noise in the passage at night,
opened his door, and saw someone crawling towards him on all fours with his eye
hanging out on his cheek. There was besides, let me think--Yes! the room where
a man was found dead in bed with a horseshoe mark on his forehead, and the
floor under the bed was covered with marks of horseshoes also; I don't know
why. Also there was the lady who, on locking her bedroom door in a strange
house, heard a thin voice among the bed-curtains say, "Now we're shut in
for the night." None of those had any explanation or sequel. I wonder if
they go on still, those stories.'
'Oh, likely
enough--with additions from the magazines, as I said. You never heard, did you,
of a real ghost at a private school? I thought not; nobody has that ever I came
across.'
'From the
way in which you said that, I gather that _you_ have.'
'I really
don't know; but this is what was in my mind. It happened at my private school
thirty odd years ago, and I haven't any explanation of it.
'The school
I mean was near London. It was established in a large and fairly old house--a
great white building with very fine grounds about it; there were large cedars
in the garden, as there are in so many of the older gardens in the Thames
valley, and ancient elms in the three or four fields which we used for our
games. I think probably it was quite an attractive place, but boys seldom allow
that their schools possess any tolerable features.
'I came to
the school in a September, soon after the year 1870; and among the boys who
arrived on the same day was one whom I took to: a Highland boy, whom I will
call McLeod. I needn't spend time in describing him: the main thing is that I
got to know him very well. He was not an exceptional boy in any way--not
particularly good at books or games--but he suited me.
'The school
was a large one: there must have been from 120 to 130 boys there as a rule, and
so a considerable staff of masters was required, and there were rather frequent
changes among them.
'One
term--perhaps it was my third or fourth--a new master made his appearance. His
name was Sampson. He was a tallish, stoutish, pale, black-bearded man. I think
we liked him: he had travelled a good deal, and had stories which amused us on
our school walks, so that there was some competition among us to get within
earshot of him. I remember too--dear me, I have hardly thought of it since
then!--that he had a charm on his watch-chain that attracted my attention one
day, and he let me examine it. It was, I now suppose, a gold Byzantine coin;
there was an effigy of some absurd emperor on one side; the other side had been
worn practically smooth, and he had had cut on it--rather barbarously--his own
initials, G.W.S., and a date, 24 July, 1865. Yes, I can see it now: he told me
he had picked it up in Constantinople: it was about the size of a florin,
perhaps rather smaller.
'Well, the
first odd thing that happened was this. Sampson was doing Latin grammar with
us. One of his favourite methods--perhaps it is rather a good one--was to make
us construct sentences out of our own heads to illustrate the rules he was
trying to make us learn. Of course that is a thing which gives a silly boy a
chance of being impertinent: there are lots of school stories in which that
happens--or anyhow there might be. But Sampson was too good a disciplinarian for
us to think of trying that on with him. Now, on this occasion he was telling us
how to express _remembering_ in Latin: and he ordered us each to make a
sentence bringing in the verb _memini_, "I remember." Well, most of
us made up some ordinary sentence such as "I remember my father," or
"He remembers his book," or something equally uninteresting: and I
dare say a good many put down _memino librum meum_, and so forth: but the boy I
mentioned--McLeod--was evidently thinking of something more elaborate than that.
The rest of us wanted to have our sentences passed, and get on to something
else, so some kicked him under the desk, and I, who was next to him, poked him
and whispered to him to look sharp. But he didn't seem to attend. I looked at
his paper and saw he had put down nothing at all. So I jogged him again harder
than before and upbraided him sharply for keeping us all waiting. That did have
some effect. He started and seemed to wake up, and then very quickly he
scribbled about a couple of lines on his paper, and showed it up with the rest.
As it was the last, or nearly the last, to come in, and as Sampson had a good
deal to say to the boys who had written _meminiscimus patri meo_ and the rest
of it, it turned out that the clock struck twelve before he had got to McLeod,
and McLeod had to wait afterwards to have his sentence corrected. There was
nothing much going on outside when I got out, so I waited for him to come. He
came very slowly when he did arrive, and I guessed there had been some sort of
trouble. "Well," I said, "what did you get?" "Oh, I
don't know," said McLeod, "nothing much: but I think Sampson's rather
sick with me." "Why, did you show him up some rot?" "No
fear," he said. "It was all right as far as I could see: it was like
this: _Memento_--that's right enough for remember, and it takes a
genitive,--_memento putei inter quatuor taxos_." "What silly
rot!" I said. "What made you shove that down? What does it
mean?" "That's the funny part," said McLeod. "I'm not quite
sure what it does mean. All I know is, it just came into my head and I corked
it down. I know what I _think_ it means, because just before I wrote it down I
had a sort of picture of it in my head: I believe it means 'Remember the well
among the four'--what are those dark sort of trees that have red berries on
them?" "Mountain ashes, I s'pose you mean." "I never heard
of them," said McLeod; "no, _I'll_ tell you--yews." "Well,
and what did Sampson say?" "Why, he was jolly odd about it. When he
read it he got up and went to the mantelpiece and stopped quite a long time
without saying anything, with his back to me. And then he said, without turning
round, and rather quiet, 'What do you suppose that means?' I told him what I
thought; only I couldn't remember the name of the silly tree: and then he
wanted to know why I put it down, and I had to say something or other. And
after that he left off talking about it, and asked me how long I'd been here,
and where my people lived, and things like that: and then I came away: but he
wasn't looking a bit well."
'I don't
remember any more that was said by either of us about this. Next day McLeod
took to his bed with a chill or something of the kind, and it was a week or
more before he was in school again. And as much as a month went by without
anything happening that was noticeable. Whether or not Mr Sampson was really
startled, as McLeod had thought, he didn't show it. I am pretty sure, of
course, now, that there was something very curious in his past history, but I'm
not going to pretend that we boys were sharp enough to guess any such thing.
'There was
one other incident of the same kind as the last which I told you. Several times
since that day we had had to make up examples in school to illustrate different
rules, but there had never been any row except when we did them wrong. At last
there came a day when we were going through those dismal things which people
call Conditional Sentences, and we were told to make a conditional sentence,
expressing a future consequence. We did it, right or wrong, and showed up our
bits of paper, and Sampson began looking through them. All at once he got up,
made some odd sort of noise in his throat, and rushed out by a door that was
just by his desk. We sat there for a minute or two, and then--I suppose it was
incorrect--but we went up, I and one or two others, to look at the papers on
his desk. Of course I thought someone must have put down some nonsense or
other, and Sampson had gone off to report him. All the same, I noticed that he
hadn't taken any of the papers with him when he ran out. Well, the top paper on
the desk was written in red ink--which no one used--and it wasn't in anyone's
hand who was in the class. They all looked at it--McLeod and all--and took
their dying oaths that it wasn't theirs. Then I thought of counting the bits of
paper. And of this I made quite certain: that there were seventeen bits of
paper on the desk, and sixteen boys in the form. Well, I bagged the extra
paper, and kept it, and I believe I have it now. And now you will want to know
what was written on it. It was simple enough, and harmless enough, I should
have said.
'"_Si
tu non veneris ad me, ego veniam ad te_," which means, I suppose, "If
you don't come to me, I'll come to you."'
'Could you
show me the paper?' interrupted the listener.
'Yes, I
could: but there's another odd thing about it. That same afternoon I took it
out of my locker--I know for certain it was the same bit, for I made a
finger-mark on it--and no single trace of writing of any kind was there on it.
I kept it, as I said, and since that time I have tried various experiments to
see whether sympathetic ink had been used, but absolutely without result.
'So much for
that. After about half an hour Sampson looked in again: said he had felt very
unwell, and told us we might go. He came rather gingerly to his desk and gave
just one look at the uppermost paper: and I suppose he thought he must have
been dreaming: anyhow, he asked no questions.
'That day
was a half-holiday, and next day Sampson was in school again, much as usual.
That night the third and last incident in my story happened.
'We--McLeod
and I--slept in a dormitory at right angles to the main building. Sampson slept
in the main building on the first floor. There was a very bright full moon. At
an hour which I can't tell exactly, but some time between one and two, I was
woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod; and a nice state of mind he
seemed to be in. "Come," he said,--"come! there's a burglar
getting in through Sampson's window." As soon as I could speak, I said,
"Well, why not call out and wake everybody up?" "No, no,"
he said, "I'm not sure who it is: don't make a row: come and look."
Naturally I came and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross
enough, and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only--I couldn't tell
why--it seemed to me that there _was_ something wrong--something that made me
very glad I wasn't alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out,
and as soon as I could, I asked him what he had heard or seen. "I didn't
_hear_ anything at all," he said, "but about five minutes before I
woke you, I found myself looking out of this window here, and there was a man
sitting or kneeling on Sampson's window-sill, and looking in, and I thought he
was beckoning." "What sort of man?" McLeod wriggled. "I
don't know," he said, "but I can tell you one thing--he was beastly
thin: and he looked as if he was wet all over: and," he said, looking
round and whispering as if he hardly liked to hear himself, "I'm not at
all sure that he was alive."
'We went on
talking in whispers some time longer, and eventually crept back to bed. No one
else in the room woke or stirred the whole time. I believe we did sleep a bit
afterwards, but we were very cheap next day.
'And next
day Mr Sampson was gone: not to be found: and I believe no trace of him has
ever come to light since. In thinking it over, one of the oddest things about
it all has seemed to me to be the fact that neither McLeod nor I ever mentioned
what we had seen to any third person whatever. Of course no questions were
asked on the subject, and if they had been, I am inclined to believe that we
could not have made any answer: we seemed unable to speak about it.
'That is my
story,' said the narrator. 'The only approach to a ghost story connected with a
school that I know, but still, I think, an approach to such a thing.'
* * * * *
The sequel
to this may perhaps be reckoned highly conventional; but a sequel there is, and
so it must be produced. There had been more than one listener to the story,
and, in the latter part of that same year, or of the next, one such listener
was staying at a country house in Ireland.
One evening
his host was turning over a drawer full of odds and ends in the smoking-room.
Suddenly he put his hand upon a little box. 'Now,' he said, 'you know about old
things; tell me what that is.' My friend opened the little box, and found in it
a thin gold chain with an object attached to it. He glanced at the object and
then took off his spectacles to examine it more narrowly. 'What's the history
of this?' he asked. 'Odd enough,' was the answer. 'You know the yew thicket in
the shrubbery: well, a year or two back we were cleaning out the old well that
used to be in the clearing here, and what do you suppose we found?'
'Is it
possible that you found a body?' said the visitor, with an odd feeling of
nervousness.
'We did
that: but what's more, in every sense of the word, we found two.'
'Good
Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Was this thing found
with them?'
'It was.
Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies. A bad business,
whatever the story of it may have been. One body had the arms tight round the
other. They must have been there thirty years or more--long enough before we
came to this place. You may judge we filled the well up fast enough. Do you
make anything of what's cut on that gold coin you have there?'
'I think I
can,' said my friend, holding it to the light (but he read it without much
difficulty); 'it seems to be G.W.S., 24 July, 1865.'
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