In 1854, General Barter, C.B., was a subaltern in the 75th Regiment,and was doing duty at the hill station of Murree in the Punjaub. Helived in a house built recently by a Lieutenant B., who died, asresearches at the War Office prove, at Peshawur on 2nd January, 1854.The house was on a spur of the hill, three or four hundred yards underthe only road, with which it communicated by a "bridle path," neverused by horsemen. That path ended in a precipice; a footpath led intothe bridle path from Mr. Barter's house.One evening Mr. Barter had a visit from a Mr. and Mrs. Deane, whostayed till near eleven o'clock. There was a full moon, and Mr.Barter walked to the bridle path with his friends, who climbed it tojoin the road. He loitered with two dogs, smoking a cigar, and justas he turned to go home, he heard a horse's hoofs coming down thebridle path. At a bend of the path a tall hat came into view, thenround the corner, the wearer of the hat, who rode a pony and wasattended by two native grooms. "At this time the two dogs came, andcrouching at my side, gave low frightened whimpers. The moon was atthe full, a tropical moon, so bright that you could see to read anewspaper by its light, and I saw the party above me advance asplainly as if it were noon-day; they were above me some eight or tenfeet on the bridle road. . . . On the party came, . . . and now I hadbetter describe them. The rider was in full dinner dress, with whitewaistcoat and a tall chimney-pot hat, and he sat on a powerful hillpony (dark-brown, with black mane and tail) in a listless sort of way,the reins hanging loosely from both hands." Grooms led the pony andsupported the rider. Mr. Barter, knowing that there was no place theycould go to but his own house, cried "Quon hai?" (who is it?), addingin English, "Hullo, what the devil do you want here?" The grouphalted, the rider gathered up the reins with both hands, and turning,showed Mr. Barter the known features of the late Lieutenant B.He was very pale, the face was a dead man's face, he was stouter thanwhen Mr. Barter knew him and he wore _a dark Newgate fringe_.Mr. Barter dashed up the bank, the earth thrown up in making thebridle path crumbled under him, he fell, scrambled on, reached thebridle path where the group had stopped, and found nobody. Mr. Barterran up the path for a hundred yards, as nobody could go _down_ itexcept over a precipice, and neither heard nor saw anything. His dogsdid not accompany him.Next day Mr. Barter gently led his friend Deane to talk of LieutenantB., who said that the lieutenant "grew very bloated before his death,and while on the sick list he allowed the fringe to grow in spite ofall we could say to him, and I believe he was buried with it". Mr.Barter then asked where he got the pony, describing it minutely."He bought him at Peshawur, and killed him one day, riding in hisreckless fashion down the hill to Trete."Mr. Barter and his wife often heard the horse's hoofs later, though hedoubts if any one but B. had ever ridden the bridle path. His Hindoobearer he found one day armed with a lattie, being determined towaylay the sound, which "passed him like a typhoon". {74} Here theappearance gave correct information unknown previously to GeneralBarter, namely, that Lieutenant B. grew stout and wore a beard beforehis death, also that he had owned a brown pony, with black mane andtail. Even granting that the ghosts of the pony and lieutenant werepresent (both being dead), we are not informed that the grooms weredead also. The hallucination, on the theory of "mental telegraphy,"was telegraphed to General Barter's mind from some one who had seenLieutenant B. ride home from mess not very sober, or from the mind ofthe defunct lieutenant, or, perhaps, from that of the deceased pony.The message also reached and alarmed General Barter's dogs.Something of the same kind may or may not explain Mr. Hyndford's viewof the family coach, which gave no traceable information.The following story, in which an appearance of the dead conveyedinformation not known to the seer, and so deserving to be calledveracious, is a little ghastly.
