Real Ghost Stories

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_Leaving Darlington Fore-seen._

The first occasion on which I had an absolutely unmistakable intimation
of the change about to occur in my own circumstances was in 1880, the
year in which I left the editorship of the _Northern Echo_ to
become the assistant of Mr. John Morley[6] on the _Pall Mall
Gazette_.

[6] Now Lord Morley.

On New Year's Day, 1880, it was forcibly impressed upon my mind that I
was to leave Darlington in the course of that year. I remember on the
1st of January meeting a journalistic confrere on my way from Darlington
station to the _Northern Echo_ office. After wishing him a Happy
New Year, I said, "This is the last New Year's Day I shall ever spend in
Darlington; I shall leave the _Northern Echo_ this year." My friend
looked at me in some amazement, and said, "And where are you going to?"
"To London," I replied, "because it is the only place which could tempt
me from my present position, which is very comfortable, and where I have
perfect freedom to say my say." "But," said my friend, somewhat
dubiously, "what paper are you going to?" "I have no idea in the world,"
I said; "neither do I know a single London paper which would offer me a
position on their staff of any kind, let alone one on which I would have
any liberty of utterance. I see no prospect of any opening anywhere. But
I know for certain that before the year is out I shall be on the staff
of a London paper." "Come," said my friend, "this is superstition, and
with a wife and family I hope you will do nothing rashly." "You need not
fear as to that," I said; "I shall not seek any position elsewhere, it
will have to come to me if I have to go to it. I am not going to throw
myself out of a berth until I know where my next place is to be. Humanly
speaking, I see no chance of my leaving Darlington, yet I have no more
doubt than of my own existence that I shall be gone by this time next
year." We parted.

The General Election soon came upon us, and when the time came for
renewing my engagement on the _Northern Echo_, I had no option but
to renew my contract and bind myself to remain at Darlington until July,
1880. Although I signed the contract, when the day arrived on which I
had either to give notice or renew my engagement, I could not shake from
me the conviction that I was destined to leave Darlington at least six
months before my engagement expired. At that time the _Pall Mall
Gazette_ was edited by Mr. Greenwood, and was, of all the papers in
the land, the most antipathetic to the principles upon which I had
conducted the _Northern Echo_.

The possibility of my becoming assistant editor to the editor of the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ seemed at that time about as remote as that of
the Moderator of the Free Church of Scotland receiving a cardinal's hat
from the Pope of Rome. Nevertheless, no sooner had Mr. Gladstone been
seated in power than Mr. George Smith handed over the _Pall Mall
Gazette_ to his son-in-law, Mr. Henry Yates Thompson. Mr. Greenwood
departed to found and edit the _St. James' Gazette_, and Mr. Morley
became editor. Even then I never dreamed of going to the _Pall
Mall_. Two other North-country editors and I, thinking that Mr.
Morley was left in rather a difficulty by the secession of several of
the _Pall Mall_ staff, agreed to send up occasional contributions
solely for the purpose of enabling Mr. Morley to get through the
temporary difficulty in which he was placed by being suddenly summoned
to edit a daily paper under such circumstances.

Midsummer had hardly passed before Mr. Thompson came down to Darlington
and offered me the assistant editorship. The proprietor of the
_Northern Echo_ kindly waived his right to my services in deference
to the request of Mr. Morley. As a result I left the _Northern
Echo_ in September, 1880, and my presentiment was fulfilled. At the
time when it was first impressed upon my mind, no living being probably
anticipated the possibility of such a change occurring in the _Pall
Mall Gazette_ as would render it possible for me to become assistant
editor, so that the presentiment could in no way have been due to any
possible calculation of chances on my part.

_The Editorship of the "Pall Mall Gazette."_

The second presentiment to which I shall refer was also connected with
the _Pall Mall Gazette_, and was equally clear and without any
suggestion from outward circumstances. It was in October, 1883. My wife
and I were spending a brief holiday in the Isle of Wight, and I remember
that the great troopers, which had just brought back Lord Wolseley's
army from the first Egyptian campaign, were lying in the Solent when we
crossed. One morning about noon we were walking in the drizzling rain
round St. Catherine's Point. It was a miserable day, the ground slippery
and the footpath here and there rather difficult to follow. Just as we
were at about the ugliest part of our climb I felt distinctly, as it
were, a voice within myself saying: You will have to look sharp and make
ready, because by a certain date (which as near as I can recollect was
the 16th of March next year) you will have sole charge of the _Pall
Mall Gazette_.

I was just a little startled and rather awed because, as Mr. Morley was
then in full command and there was no expectation on his part of
abandoning his post, the inference which I immediately drew was that he
was going to die. So firmly was this impressed upon my mind that for two
hours I did not like to speak about it to my wife. We took shelter for a
time from the rain, but afterwards, on going home, I spoke on the
subject which filled me with sadness, not without reluctance, and said
to my wife, "Something has happened to me which has made a great
impression upon my mind. When we were beside St. Catherine's Lighthouse
I got into my head that Mr. Morley was going to die." "Nonsense," she
said, "what made you think that?" "Only this," said I, "that I received
an intimation as clear and unmistakable as that which I had when I was
going to leave Darlington, that I had to look sharp and prepare for
taking the sole charge of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ on March 16th
next. That is all, and I do not see how that is likely to happen unless
Mr. Morley is going to die." "Nonsense," said my wife, "he is not going
to die; he is going to get into Parliament, that is what is going to
happen." "Well," said I, "that may be. Whether he dies or whether he
gets into Parliament, the one thing certain to me is that I shall have
sole charge of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ next year, and I am so
convinced of that that when we return to London I shall make all my
plans on the basis of that certainty." And so I did. I do not hedge and
hesitate at burning my boats.

As soon as I arrived at the _Pall Mall Gazette_ office, I announced
to Mr. Thompson, to Mr. Morley, and to Mr. Milner,[7] who was then on
the staff, that Mr. Morley was going to be in Parliament before March
next year, for I need hardly say that I never mentioned my first
sinister intimation. I told Mr. Morley and the others exactly what had
happened, namely, that I had received notice to be ready to take sole
charge of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ by March 16th next. They shrugged
their shoulders, and Mr. Morley scouted the idea. He said he had almost
given up the idea of entering Parliament, all preceding negotiations had
fallen through, and he had come to the conclusion that he would stick to
the _Pall Mall Gazette_. I said that he might come to what
conclusion he liked, the fact remained that he was going to go.

[7] Now Lord Milner.

I remember having a talk at the time with Mr. Milner about it. I
remarked that the worst of people having premonitions is that they
carefully hide up their prophecies until after the event, and then no
one believed in them. "This time no one shall have the least doubt as to
the fact that I have had my premonition well in advance of the fact. It
is now October. I have told everybody whom it concerns whom I know. If
it happens not to come to pass I will never have faith in my
premonitions any more, and you may chaff me as much as you please as to
the superstition. But if it turns up trumps, then please remember that I
have played doubles or quits and won."

Nobody at the office paid much attention to my vision, and a couple of
months later Mr. Morley came to consult me as to some slight change
which he proposed to make in the terms of his engagement which he was
renewing for another year. As this change affected me slightly he came,
with that courtesy and consideration which he always displayed in his
dealings with his staff, to ask whether I should have any objection to
this alteration. As he was beginning to explain what this alteration
would be I interrupted him. "Excuse me, Mr. Morley," said I, "when will
this new arrangement come into effect?" "In May, I think," was the
reply. "Then," said I, "you do not need to discuss it with me. I shall
have sole charge of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ before that time. You
will not be here then, you will be in Parliament." "But," said Mr.
Morley, "that is only your idea. What I want to know is whether you
agree to the changes which I propose to make and which will somewhat
affect your work in the office?" "But," I replied, "it is no use talking
about that matter to me. You will not be here, and I shall be carrying
on the _Pall Mall Gazette_; then what is the use of talking about
it." Then Mr. Morley lifted his chin slightly in the air, and looking at
me with somewhat natural disdain, he asked, "And, pray, do you mean to
tell me that I have not to make a business arrangement because you have
had a vision?" "Not at all," said I; "you, of course, will make what
business arrangements you please,--I cannot expect you to govern your
conduct by my vision;--but as I shall have charge of the paper it is no
use discussing the question with me. You can make what arrangements you
please so far as I am concerned. They are so much waste paper. I ask you
nothing about the arrangement, because I know it will never come into
effect so far as relates to my work on the paper." Finding that I was
impracticable, Mr. Morley left and concluded his arrangement without
consultation. One month later Mr. Ashton Dilke sickened with his fatal
illness, and Mr. Morley was elected on February 24th, 1884, as Liberal
candidate for Newcastle-on-Tyne. I remember that when the news came to
Northumberland Street, the first remark which Mr. Thompson made was,
"Well, Stead's presentiment is coming right after all."

I remember all through that contest, when the issue was for some time
somewhat in doubt, feeling quite certain that if Mr. Morley did not get
in he would die, or he would find some other constituency. I had no
vision as to the success of his candidature at Newcastle. The one thing
certain was that I was to have charge of the paper, and that he was to
be out of it. When he was elected the question came as to what should be
done? The control of the paper passed almost entirely into my hands at
once, and Mr. Morley would have left altogether on the day mentioned in
my vision, had not Mr. Thompson kindly interfered to secure me a holiday
before saddling me with the sole responsibility. Mr. Morley, therefore,
remained till midsummer; but his connection with the paper was very
slight, parliamentary duties, as he understood them, being incompatible
with close day-to-day editing of an evening paper.

Here, again, it could not possibly have been said that my premonition
had any share in bringing about its realisation. It was not known by Mr.
Ashton Dilke's most intimate friends in October that he would not be
able to face another session. I did not even know that he was ill, and
my vision, so far from being based on any calculation of Mr. Morley's
chances of securing a seat in Parliament, was quite independent of all
electoral changes. My vision, my message, my premonition, or whatever
you please to call it, was strictly limited to one point, Mr. Morley
only coming into it indirectly. I was to have charge of certain duties
which necessitated his disappearance from Northumberland Street. Note
also that my message did not say that I was to be _editor_ of the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ on Mr. Morley's departure, nor was I ever in
strict title editor of that paper. I edited it, but Mr. Yates Thompson
was nominally editor-in-chief, nor did I ever admit that I was editor
until I was in the dock at the Old Bailey, when it would have been
cowardly to have seemed to evade the responsibility of a position which
I practically occupied, although, as a matter of fact, the post was
never really conferred upon me.

_My Imprisonment._

The third instance which I will quote is even more remarkable, and
entirely precluded any possibility of my premonition having any
influence whatever in bringing about its realization. During what is
known as the Armstrong trial it became evident from the judge's ruling
that a conviction must necessarily follow. I was accused of having
conspired to take Eliza Armstrong from her parents without their
consent. My defence was that her mother had sold the child through a
neighbour for immoral purposes. I never alleged that the father had
consented, and the judge ruled with unmistakable emphasis that her
mother's consent, even if proved, was not sufficient. Here I may
interpolate a remark to the effect that if Mrs. Armstrong had been asked
to produce her marriage lines the sheet anchor of the prosecution would
have given way, for long after the trial it was discovered that from a
point of law Mr. Armstrong had no legal rights over Eliza, as she was
born out of wedlock. The council in the case, however, said we had no
right to suggest this, however much we suspected it, unless we were
prepared with evidence to justify the suggestion. As at that time we
could not find the register of marriage at Somerset House the question
was not put, and we were condemned largely on the false assumption that
her father had legal rights as custodian of his daughter. And this, as
it happened, was not the case. This, however, by the way.

When the trial was drawing to a close, conviction being certain, the
question was naturally discussed as to what the sentence would be. Many
of my friends, including those actively engaged in the trial on both
sides, were strongly of opinion that under the circumstances it was
certain I should only be bound over in my own recognisance to come up
for judgment when called for. The circumstances were almost
unprecedented; the judge, and the Attorney-General, who prosecuted, had
in the strongest manner asserted that they recognised the excellence of
the motives which had led me to take the course which had landed me in
the dock. The Attorney-General himself was perfectly aware that his
Government could never have passed the Criminal Law Amendment Act--would
never even have attempted to do so--but for what I had done. The jury
had found me guilty, but strongly recommended me to mercy on the ground,
as they said, that I had been deceived by my agent. The conviction was
very general that no sentence of imprisonment would be inflicted.

I was never a moment in doubt. I knew I was going to gaol from the
moment Rebecca Jarrett broke down in the witness-box. This may be said
to be nothing extraordinary; but what was extraordinary was that I had
the most absolute conviction that I was going to gaol for two months. I
was told by those who considered themselves in a position to speak with
authority that I was perfectly safe, that I should not be imprisoned,
and that I should make preparations to go abroad for a holiday as soon
as the trial was over.

To all such representations I always replied by asserting with the most
implicit confidence that I was certain to go to gaol, and that my
sentence would be two months. When, however, on November, 10th, 1885, I
stood in the dock to receive sentence, and received from the judge a
sentence of three months, I was very considerably taken aback. I
remember distinctly that I had to remember where I was in order to
restrain the almost irresistible impulse to interrupt the judge and say,
"I beg your pardon, my lord, you have made a mistake, the sentence ought
to have been _two_ months." But mark what followed. When I had been
duly confined in Coldbath-on-the-Fields Prison, I looked at the little
card which is fastened on the door of every cell giving the name of the
prisoner, his offence, and the duration of his sentence. I found to my
great relief that my presentiment had not been wrong after all. I had,
it is true, been sentenced to three months' imprisonment, but the
sentence was dated from the first day of the sessions. Our trial had
been a very long one, and there had been other cases before it. The
consequence was that the judge's sentence was as near two months as he
possibly could have passed. My actual sojourn in gaol was two months and
seven days. Had he sentenced me to two months' imprisonment I should
only have been in gaol one month and seven days.

These three presentiments were quite unmistakable, and were not in the
least to be confounded with the ordinary uneasy forebodings which come
and go like clouds in a summer sky. Of the premonitions which still
remain unfulfilled I will say nothing, excepting that they govern my
action, and more or less colour the whole of my life. No person can have
had three or four premonitions such as those which I have described
without feeling that such premonitions are the only certainties of the
future. They will be fulfilled, no matter how incredible they may
appear; and amid the endless shifting circumstances of our life, these
fixed points, towards which we are inevitably tending, help to give
steadiness to a career, and a feeling of security to which the majority
of men are strangers.[8] Premonitions are distinct from dreams, although
many times they are communicated in sleep. Whether in the sleeping or
waking stage there are times when mortal men gain, as it were, chance
glimpses behind the veil which conceals the future. Sometimes this
premonition takes the shape of a deep indwelling consciousness, based
not on reason or on observation, that for us awaits some great work to
be done, which we know but dimly, but which is, nevertheless, the one
reality of life.

[8] One of the premonitions referred to by my Father was
fulfilled on that fatal night in April, 1912, when the Titanic
struck an iceberg and sunk with 1,600 souls, and his life on
this plane ended.

He had known for years and stated the fact to many that he would
not die in his bed and that his "passing" would be sudden and
dramatic--that he would, as he put it, "die in his boots."

As to the actual cause or place of his "passing" he had no
premonition--but rather inclined to the idea that he would be
kicked to death in the streets by an angry mob whilst defending
some unpopular cause. E. W. Stead.

Chapter II.

Warnings Given in Dreams.

In my case each of my premonitions related to an important crisis in my
life, but often premonitions are of a very different nature. One which
was told me when I was in Glasgow came in a dream, but it is so peculiar
that it is worthy of mention in this connection. The Rev. William Ross,
minister of the Church of Cowcaddens, in Glasgow, is a Highlander. On
the Sunday evening after I had addressed his congregation, the
conversation turned on premonitions and second sight, and he told me the
following extraordinary dream:--When he was a lad, living in the
Highlands, at a time when he had never seen a game of football, or knew
anything about it, he awoke in the morning with a sharp pain in his
ankle. This pain, which was very acute, and which continued with him
throughout the whole day, was caused, he said, by an experience which he
had gone through in a dream. He found himself in a strange place and
playing at a game which he did not understand, and which resembled
nothing that he had seen played among his native hills. He was running
rapidly, carrying a big black thing in his arms, when suddenly another
youth ran at him and kicked him violently on the ankle, causing such
intense pain that he woke. The pain, instead of passing away, as is
usual when we happen anything in dreamland, was very acute, and he
continued to feel it throughout the day.

Time passed, and six months after his dream he found himself on the
playing fields at Edinburgh, engaged in his first game of football. He
was a long-legged country youth and a swift runner, and he soon found
that he could rush a goal better by taking the ball and carrying it than
by kicking it. After having made one or two goals in this way, he was
endeavouring to make a third, when, exactly as he had seen in his dream,
a player on the opposite side swooped upon him and kicked him heavily
upon the ankle. The blow was so severe that he was confined to the house
for a fortnight. The whole scene was exactly that which he had witnessed
in his dream. The playing fields, the game, the black round ball in his
arms, and finally the kick on the ankle. It would be difficult to
account for this on any ground of mere coincidence, the chances against
it are so enormous. It is a very unusual thing for any one to suffer
physical pain in the waking state from incidents which take place in
dreams.

_A Premonition of a Bad Debt._

When in Edinburgh I had the good fortune to meet a gentleman, who had
held an important position of trust in connection with the Indian
railways. Speaking on the subject of premonitions, he said that on two
occasions he had had very curious premonitions of coming events in
dreams. One was very trivial, the other more serious, but both are quite
inexplicable on the theory of coincidence. The evidential value is
enhanced by the fact that each time he mentioned his dreams to his wife
before the realisation came about. I saw his wife and she confirmed his
stories. The first was curious from its simplicity. A certain debtor
owed Mr. T. an amount of some L30. One morning he woke up and informed
his wife that he had had a very disagreeable dream, to the effect that
the money would never be paid, and that all he would recover of the debt
was seven pounds odd shillings and sixpence. The number of shillings he
had forgotten, but he remembered distinctly the pounds and the sixpence.
A few days later he received an intimation that something had gone wrong
with the debtor, and the total sum which he ultimately recovered was the
exact amount which he had heard in his dream and had mentioned on the
following morning to his wife.

_A Dream of Death._

His other dream was more curious. An acquaintance of his in India was
compelled to return home on furlough on account of the ill-health of his
wife, and he agreed to let his bungalow to Mr. T. One morning Mr. T.
woke up and told his wife of what he had dreamt. He had gone to Lucknow
railway station to take possession of Mr. C's. bungalow, but when
stepping on the platform the stationmaster had told him that Mr. C. was
dead, and that he hoped it would not make any difficulties about the
bungalow. So deeply impressed was he with the dream that he telegraphed
to his friend C. to ask when he was going to start for England, feeling
by no means sure that the reply telegram might not announce that he was
dead. The telegram, however, came back in due course. Mr. C. stated that
he was going to leave on such and such a date. Reassured, therefore, Mr.
T. dismissed the idea of the dream as a subjective delusion. At the
appointed time he departed for Lucknow. When he alighted he was struck
by the strange resemblance of the scene to that in his dream, and this
was further recalled to his mind when the stationmaster came up to him
and said, not that Mr. C. was dead but that he was seriously ill, and
that he hoped it would not make any difference about the bungalow. Mr.
T. began to be uneasy. The next morning, when he entered the office, his
chief said to him, "You will be very sorry to hear that Mr. C. died last
night." Mr. T. has never had any other hallucinations, nor has he any
theory to account for his dreams. All that he knows is that they
occurred, and that in both cases what he saw was realised--in one case
to the very letter, and in the other with a curious deviation which adds
strong confirmatory evidence to the _bona fides_ of the narrator.
Both stories are capable of ample verification if sufficient trouble
were taken, as the telegram in one case could be traced, the death
proved, and in the other the receipt might probably be found.

Dreams which give timely notice of coming accidents are, unfortunately,
quite as often useless as they are efficacious for the protection of
those to whom they are sent. Mr. Kendall, from whose psychical diary I
have often quoted, sends me the following story of a dream which
occurred, but which failed to save the dreamer's leg, although he
struggled against it, and did his best to avert his evil fate:--

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