An Original Revenge by W. C. Morrow
On a certain day I received a letter from a private soldier, named
Gratmar, attached to the garrison of San Francisco. I had known him but
slightly, the acquaintance having come about through his interest in
some stories which I had published, and which he had a way of calling
psychological studies. He was a dreamy, romantic, fine-grained lad,
proud as a tiger-lily and sensitive as a blue-bell. What mad caprice
led him to join the army I never knew; but I did know that there he was
wretchedly out of place, and I foresaw that his rude and repellant
environment would make of him in time a deserter, or a suicide, or a
murderer. The letter at first seemed a wild outpouring of despair, for
it informed me that before it should reach me its author would be dead
by his own hand. But when I had read farther I understood its spirit,
and realized how coolly formed a scheme it disclosed and how terrible
its purport was intended to be. The worst of the contents was the
information that a certain officer (whom he named) had driven him to
the deed, and that he was committing suicide for the sole purpose of
gaining thereby the power to revenge himself upon his enemy! I
learned afterward that the officer had received a similar letter.
This was so puzzling that I sat down to reflect upon the young man's
peculiarities. He had always seemed somewhat uncanny, and had I proved
more sympathetic he doubtless would have gone farther and told me of
certain problems which he professed to have solved concerning the life
beyond this. One thing that he had said came back vividly: If I could
only overcome that purely gross and animal love of life that makes us
all shun death, I would kill myself, for I know how far more powerful I
could be in spirit than in flesh.
The manner of the suicide was startling, and that was what might
have been expected from this odd character. Evidently scorning the
flummery of funerals, he had gone into a little canyon near the
military reservation and blown himself into a million fragments with
dynamite, so that all of him that was ever found was some minute
particles of flesh and bone.
I kept the letter a secret, for I desired to observe the officer
without rousing his suspicion of my purpose; it would be an admirable
test of a dead man's power and deliberate intention to haunt the
living, for so I interpreted the letter. The officer thus to be
punished was an oldish man, short, apoplectic, overbearing, and
irascible. Generally he was kind to most of the men in a way; but he
was gross and mean, and that explained sufficiently his harsh treatment
of young Gratmar, whom he could not understand, and his efforts to
break that flighty young man's spirit.
Not very long after the suicide certain modifications in the
officer's conduct became apparent to my watchful oversight. His choler,
though none the less sporadic, developed a quality which had some of
the characteristics of senility; and yet he was still in his prime, and
passed for a sound man. He was a bachelor, and had lived always alone;
but presently he began to shirk solitude at night and court it in
daylight. His brother-officers chaffed him, and thereupon he would
laugh in rather a forced and silly fashion, quite different from the
ordinary way with him, and would sometimes, on these occasions, blush
so violently that his face would become almost purple. His soldierly
alertness and sternness relaxed surprisingly at some times and at
others were exaggerated into unnecessary acerbity, his conduct in this
regard suggesting that of a drunken man who knows that he is drunk and
who now and then makes a brave effort to appear sober. All these
things, and more, indicating some mental strain, or some dreadful
apprehension, or perhaps something worse than either, were observed
partly by me and partly by an intelligent officer whose watch upon the
man had been secured by me.
To be more particular, the afflicted man was observed often to start
suddenly and in alarm, look quickly round, and make some unintelligent
monosyllabic answer, seemingly to an inaudible question that no visible
person had asked. He acquired the reputation, too, of having taken
lately to nightmares, for in the middle of the night he would shriek in
the most dreadful fashion, alarming his roommates prodigiously. After
these attacks he would sit up in bed, his ruddy face devoid of color,
his eyes glassy and shining, his breathing broken with gasps, and his
body wet with a cold perspiration.
Knowledge of these developments and transformations spread
throughout the garrison; but the few (mostly women) who dared to
express sympathy or suggest a tonic encountered so violent rebuffs that
they blessed Heaven for escaping alive from his word-volleys. Even the
garrison surgeon, who had a kindly manner, and the commanding general,
who was constructed on dignified and impressive lines, received little
thanks for their solicitude. Clearly the doughty old officer, who had
fought like a bulldog in two wars and a hundred battles, was suffering
deeply from some undiscoverable malady.
The next extraordinary thing which he did was to visit one evening
(not so clandestinely as to escape my watch) a spirit
mediumextraordinary, because he always had scoffed at the idea of
spirit communications. I saw him as he was leaving the medium's rooms.
His face was purple, his eyes were bulging and terrified, and he
tottered in his walk. A policeman, seeing his distress, advanced to
assist him; whereupon the soldier hoarsely begged,
Call a hack.
Into it he fell, and asked to be driven to his quarters. I hastily
ascended to the medium's rooms, and found her lying unconscious on the
floor. Soon, with my aid, she recalled her wits, but her conscious
state was even more alarming than the other. At first she regarded me
with terror, and cried,
It is horrible for you to hound him so!
I assured her that I was hounding no one.
Oh, I thought you were the spirI meanIoh, but it was standing
exactly where you are! she exclaimed.
I suppose so, I agreed, but you can see that I am not the young
man's spirit. However, I am familiar with this whole case, madam, and
if I can be of any service in the matter I should be glad if you would
inform me. I am aware that our friend is persecuted by a spirit, which
visits him frequently, and I am positive that through you it has
informed him that the end is not far away, and that our elderly
friend's death will assume some terrible form. Is there anything that I
can do to avert the tragedy?
The woman stared at me in a horrified silence. How did you know
these things? she gasped.
That is immaterial. When will the tragedy occur? Can I prevent it?
Yes, yes! she exclaimed. It will happen this very night! But no
earthly power can prevent it!
She came close to me and looked at me with an expression of the most
Merciful God! what will become of me? He is to be murdered, you
understandmurdered in cold blood by a spiritand he knows it and
I know it! If he is spared long enough he will tell them at the
garrison, and they will all think that I had something to do with it!
Oh, this is terrible, terrible, and yet I dare not say a word in
advancenobody there would believe in what the spirits say, and they
will think that I had a hand in the murder! The woman's agony was
Be assured that he will say nothing about it, I said; and if you
keep your tongue from wagging you need fear nothing.
With this and a few other hurried words of comfort, I soothed her
and hastened away.
For I had interesting work on hand: it is not often that one may be
in at such a murder as that! I ran to a livery stable, secured a swift
horse, mounted him, and spurred furiously for the reservation. The
hack, with its generous start, had gone far on its way, but my horse
was nimble, and his legs felt the pricking of my eagerness. A few miles
of this furious pursuit brought me within sight of the hack just as it
was crossing a dark ravine near the reservation. As I came nearer I
imagined that the hack swayed somewhat, and that a fleeing shadow
escaped from it into the tree-banked further wall of the ravine. I
certainly was not in error with regard to the swaying, for it had
roused the dull notice of the driver. I saw him turn, with an air of
alarm in his action, and then pull up with a heavy swing upon the
reins. At this moment I dashed up and halted.
Anything the matter? I asked.
I don't know, he answered, getting down. I felt the carriage
sway, and I see that the door's wide open. Guess my load thought he'd
sobered up enough to get out and walk, without troubling me or his
Meanwhile I too had alighted; then struck a match, and by its light
we discovered, through the open door, the load huddled confusedly on
the floor of the hack, face upward, his chin compressed upon his breast
by his leaning against the further door, and looking altogether vulgar,
misshapen, and miserably unlike a soldier. He neither moved nor spoke
when we called. We hastily clambered within and lifted him upon the
seat, but his head rolled about with an awful looseness and freedom,
and another match disclosed a ghastly dead face and wide eyes that
stared horribly at nothing.
You would better drive the body to headquarters, I said.
Instead of following, I cantered back to town, housed my horse, and
went straightway to bed; and this will prove to be the first
information that I was the mysterious man on a horse, whom the
coroner could never find.
About a year afterwards I received the following letter (which is
observed to be in fair English) from Stockholm, Sweden:
Dear Sir,For some years I have been reading your remarkable
psychological studies with great interest, and I take the
to suggest a theme for your able pen. I have just found in a
library here a newspaper, dated about a year ago, in which is
account of the mysterious death of a military officer in a
Then followed the particulars, as I have already detailed them, and
the very theme of post-mortem revenge which I have adopted in this
setting out of facts. Some persons may regard the coincidence between
my correspondent's suggestion and my private and exclusive knowledge as
being a very remarkable thing; but there are likely even more wonderful
things in the world, and at none of them do I longer marvel. More
extraordinary still is his suggestion that in the dynamite explosion a
dog or a quarter of beef might as well have been employed as a
suicide-minded man; that, in short, the man may not have killed himself
at all, but might have employed a presumption of such an occurrence to
render more effective a physical persecution ending in murder by the
living man who had posed as a spirit. The letter even suggested an
arrangement with a spirit medium, and I regard that also as a queer
The declared purpose of this letter was to suggest material for
another of my psychological studies; but I submit that the whole
affair is of too grave a character for treatment in the levity of
fiction. And if the facts and coincidences should prove less puzzling
to others than to me, a praiseworthy service might be done to humanity
by the presentation of whatever solution a better understanding than
mine might evolve.
The only remaining disclosure which I am prepared now to make is
that my correspondent signed himself Ramtarg,an odd-sounding name,
but for all I know it may be respectable in Sweden. And yet there is
something about the name that haunts me unceasingly, much as does some
strange dream which we know we have dreamt and yet which it is
impossible to remember.