Part 24 (1/2)

During the first night of our stay at _Nyslott_ one of us lay and dreamed a semi-waking dream, in which the old rock--Nature's fortress--appeared in the lake bleak, bare, grim, and lonely until 1475, when the first stones of _Olavin Linna_ were laid. After that the scene suddenly s.h.i.+fted, and the b.l.o.o.d.y battles of 1743, when _Nyslott_ was taken by the Russians, were again fought for the benefit of a new spectator, only, as it seemed, for the Castle to be given back four years later to Finland! A very curious reminiscence to occur to any person's mind between ”sleeping and waking.” Later on, that over-tired traveller mused dreamily on the three periods of history, pictured scenes during the two hundred and sixty-eight years of Swedish sovereignty, the half century under Russian sway, and the more modern happenings under Finnish rule, its troubles practically ended in 1871, from which date they have been but a souvenir in the history of Europe.

_Olavin Linna_ was the spot around which three different races met and struggled; the Russians, the Finns, and the Swedes. The Russians with their superior numbers, their riches, and their sharpness, pushed the Finns towards the North and took their country, the now northern half of Russia in Europe. The Swedes came and conquered the Slavs; founded a dynasty and called their State Russia (_i.e._ Sweden, _Ruotsi_ being the Finnish name for Sweden to this day). The Swedes also conquered the remaining part of ancient Finland, and introduced Christianity, and the strong and freedom-loving Scandinavian law.

The struggle now remained between the Scandinavians and the Slavs--between a democratic and courageous race and an oligarchic and diplomatic one. Then our Castle--our own--for had we not conquered it?--was built on the frontier to resist the inroads of the Slavs. But again the Russians were triumphant. Sweden succ.u.mbed, while Russia took the remainder of ancient Finland. Since then Russia has become a great power.

Alexander I. granted to that part of Finland, imbued with Scandinavian law, the privilege of considering itself a nation, and continuing its former laws and government. Under this state of things the country grew prosperous. It arose and shook itself from its dormant existence of the previous six hundred years, collected its own traditions, and worked hard for education, so that it might continue a distinct race.

Then was built the large modern red brick schoolhouse at _Savonlinna_--a fortress of learning to take the place of the old Castle, and to teach the people that ”the pen is indeed mightier than the sword.”

One of us twain dreamed again! Saw the Castle built by _Erik Tott_, a member of one of the greatest Finnish-Swedish families, and read the inscription--

_Anno Domini 1475 leth iag Erik Axelsson Ridder i Lagno, bygia thette Slt, Gud till loff, Christum, helga Christna tro till styrkielse, och th var hustra min Elin Gotstaffsdotter i Lagmansoo._

Translation--

Anno Domini 1475 let Erik, son of Axel Knight of Lagno, build this Castle to the Glory of G.o.d, to strengthen the Holy Christian Faith in Christ: and then was my wife's name Elin, daughter of Gotstaff[D] in Lagmansoo.

That weary traveller saw the indignation at its erection at _Nyslott_, just within the Russian limits of the frontier, saw the five splendid towers finished, of which three now remain, and the _Bastion d.i.c.k_ properly rebuilt.

And then all grew suddenly dark, and, in a deeper sleep, that dreamer groped along the gloomy subterranean pa.s.sage, said to run from the clock tower to the town, seemed to hear the rus.h.i.+ng water, a hundred and twenty feet deep at this point, tearing like a cataract overhead, peered into those many strange dark chambers, and hearkened, appalled, to the piercing shrieks of those two wretched men bricked up together in yonder small chamber, in darkness till death brought relief.

What a life, and what a death! Four stone walls round a room about six feet by ten--with an earthen floor and a low ceiling--no window for light, no stove for warmth in that bitterly cold land.

Half waking from troubled slumber the weary traveller s.h.i.+vered to think of the horror that had been enacted so close to her elaborately carved bedstead and its lumpy mattress.

How hot it still was! The day had been almost tropical, but it is a merciful provision of Providence that all days, even one beginning at four A.M., must end at last, and as I, the nineteenth century traveller, the ”elderly scribe,” aroused myself sufficiently to shake off those terrible visions of a cruel past, I realised it was getting on for midnight. I heard our friend going to rest in his chapel-chamber, and, turning over, tried to go to sleep. How quiet everything was! Except for the gnawing of the rats or mice under the floor--no unusual sound in an old castle, of course--and so unconsciousness came--I slept--yes, I slept--till----

Ah! what was that! Was it? yes, it was--some one calling; and yet it could not be.

The custodians had both retired to their kitchen to rest I knew--for had I not heard them trudging upstairs to seek their improvised couches long before?--and yet, most certainly, a loud strange call had broken the silence of night. Was it, really uttered by a human being, or could it be--no, no, of course not. A spirit? Ridiculous! The very idea was preposterous, and, lying down again, I argued how absurd were such fears, how I had been simply dreaming; over-fatigued after a long day's travel--how, in fact, my mind was disorganised, and the best thing to do was to fall asleep at once. At that moment a tremendous peal of thunder broke overhead, while, simultaneously, the whole room was flooded with light. It played over the walls, it danced over the floor, and then a clap more tremendous than the first seemed to shake the very building.

Yet through the roll of heaven's artillery I heard that hideous weird cry distinctly audible.

Starting up again in response, I began to think sleeping in a haunted castle was not such fun after all; that there _must be_ something very uncanny about _Nyslott_, more especially when a strange door creaked on its hinges, that sort of rasping squeak one a.s.sociates with the opening of a door generally kept firmly closed--and m.u.f.fled feet pattered over the stairs.

Nearer came the sound, nearer, yet nearer. My heart jumped into my mouth, it ceased almost to beat as the strange footsteps stopped on the very threshold of our room. ”Oh!” I gasped, thinking that in another moment spirit fingers would turn the handle, and a ghostly figure enter the room. What form would it take? Would the phantom be man or woman--tall or short--an a.s.sa.s.sin, murderer, or victim? Yes, the steps had ceased at our very door, and the next moment they would be upon us.

But after that brief pause the m.u.f.fled patter pa.s.sed on, it became more and more indistinct, and again all was still.

What a relief! it was perhaps nothing after all--imagination, hallucination probably, but nothing real--nothing any way to fear.

Stay though! The voice, a voice, another voice unheard before, spoke in murmured accents, and then a deeper ba.s.s than that which had previously called shouted again and again in m.u.f.fled reply.

This was too horrible!

It must be a ghost; nay, not even a single ghost but two, and what chance had one poor living woman and a sleeping girl against such odds from the spirit land?

The whole thing, even at _Nyslott_, seemed too terribly impossible; so I pinched myself to make sure I was awake, only to hear the awful footsteps--duplicated--_coming back_! By this time my sister was awake, and lazily asking ”What is the matter?”

”H-st-st,” I answered under my breath.