A BORDER GHOST STORY

BLACK RALPH OF COPSAY

Copsay Hall, I am told, was just over one hundred years ago as picturesque a dwelling as one could see in the district, and was enclosed in a finely wooded glen at the foot of Copsay Hill, hard by the turnpike road leading from Lowick to Kyloe. It was a low ramified building; the walls were of extraordinary thickness- especially the east and west gables- and the roofs were covered with heather. The proprietor- or perhaps, more correctly speaking, the proprietrix- was a well-to-do lady named Catherine Copsay. Her husband was the heir of the Heddon family of Forest House, who adopted the name of Copsay on his marriage with Catherine of Copsay, as that lady was familiarly called. He was a madcap, who devoted most of his time to such pursuits as hunting, badger-baiting, cocking, dog-fighting, and card playing, and as well known in the district by the appellation of Hair-brained Dick.

The Copsays were devoted adherents to the Old Creed, and Catherine of Copsay was no less ardent in her support of that faith than her predecessors had been; whilst the Heddons espoused the Protestant Faith. A feud had existed between the two families for over three hundred years; therefore much surprise was expressed at the union of the House of Copsay with the neighbouring House of Heddon.

Previous to the union, and greatly against the wish of the Heddons, Richard Heddon espoused the Faith of Rome; he also gave up his wild habits and severed his associations with his hair-brained companions. However, after his marriage, he gradually cast aside his regard for religion and resumed his wild pursuits in a more wanton manner, and soon again he drew around himself a coterie of profligates. His wife was deeply grieved, for she saw to her sorrow the evil influence those wanton habits were having upon her young step-brother. Leonard, whose home was also at Copsay Hall, but all remonstrations they laughed to scorn. Such then was the course Richard Copsay pursued for ten years after his marriage, when an incident occurred which entirely changed the trend of his afterlife.

Before proceedings further, I must explain the tragic occurrence that caused the feud of long-standing between the two families, for on the affair hangs the sequel to my narrative. Sometime about the beginning of the sixteenth century the heir of Copsay was known in the district as Black Ralph of Copsay. He was a tall, tithe, dark-complexioned youth of a very amiable disposition, and had long sought the hand and heart of a daughter of the House of Hetton; but he had a rival in the person of the heir of Heddon, who was very wroth when the heir of Copsay became the affianced husband of the Beauty of Hetton, as the damsel was called. One night, at a party at Kyloe, the heir of Heddon evinced his displeasure at the presence of Black Ralph, high words were exchanged, and the rival lovers would have come to blows but for the timely intervention of some friends. Frustrated of his revenge, the heir of Heddon used some ugly threats, and on receiving a hint from the host left the party. Black Ralph left shortly after midnight; and, as was his custom on such occasions, he made to enter his home by a subterranean passage that entered the house underneath the east gable. When he had come to the small-arched chamber in the gable he was treacherously attacked and stabbed with a dagger, his assailant making his escape. In the morning a retainer heard a moaning sound proceeding from the secret chamber in the gable; quickly removing a panel in the wainscoting he entered the chamber and found his young master lying in a pool of blood. He called for assistance, and Black Ralph was got into the room and laid on a couch. The injured man only survived the removal a few minutes, and the only words he faintly uttered were: “Henry of Heddon.” The dastardly acct was not proved on the heir of Heddon, but he made a confession on his death-bed four years after he had committed the act, and all intercourse between the two families then ceased.

Like many other houses belonging to that period, Copsay Hall was said to have its haunted chamber and ghost. The ghost was said to be the disembodied spirit of Black Ralph of Copsay, which nightly entered the subterranean passage shortly after midnight and moaned in the secret chamber. Those nightly wanderings of spirit had continued down to the time when Ralph, the grandfather of Catherine, made some alterations at Copsay Hall, and had the subterranean passage and secret chamber securely closed up. From that time the spirit had neither been heard nor seen, and the good people of Copsay had long concluded that the spectre had been banished from the place, but that they had deceived themselves the following will show:-

One Saturday afternoon in August, and just a few days after the tenth anniversary of his marriage, Richard Copsay entertained a number of his associates to an exhibition of badger-baiting, dog and cock fighting in the cockpit a short distance down the glen from Copsay Hall. A motley gathering of the leading fanciers from the neighbouring villages had brought their dogs and cocks to take part in the afternoon’s programme. Among the house party at Copsay Hall was a Roman Catholic priest, a cousin to Catherine of Copsay, who was officiating pro tem at the Chapel of Our Lady and St. Cuthbert. Father Brock was nown to be keen on such sport, and was appointed judge of the combats. Before a start was made with the events, and at intervals during the proceedings, the retainers of the host went round the gathering with flagons of home brewed ale, and soon the “crow of the victor” was drowned with the boisterous revelry around the cockpit.

The shades of evening were falling ere the hypaethral festivities were brought to a close, and after the noisy fanciers had departed, the host led those of his select companions, who seemed in no hurry to depart, to the parlour, where card-playing was indulged in. The punch-bowl was passed frequently around and the spirits of the players rose and fell with the undulations of their luck. The grandfather’s clock in the hall had chimed the hour of midnight; but still the card-playing and nocturnal revelry was continued. Catherine of Copsay came from another room and reminded the party that it was Sunday morning. “Cathy.” Said her husband, “Good Father Brock is with us, and when he gives up we shall reitre.”

“I am grieved to think that such a thing is taking place in my house on a Sunday morning; and, above all.” She said, rebukingly, “that Father Brock should be so willingly acquiescing. Such conduct.” She added, as she turned to leave the room, “ is enough to bring back the spirit of Black Ralph.”

“Black Ralph, indeed,” repeated her husband with sarcasm, an then in suaver tones he added, “Cathy, I never thought that you were given to superstitious ideas, but rest assured that should that ancient relative of yours favour us with a visit, I will graciously invite him to have a hand.”

“Father Brock, do you believe in ghosts and apparitions?” one of the party asked as the cards were being re-dealt.

“I don’t.” replied the worthy father. “When apparitions are followed up they are generally the superstitious beliefs of nervous and emotional persons, who imagine such things and then brood over their fancies until they believe then to be real. Since I came here I have heard much about spirits, ghosts, hob-goblins and such like spectral appearances. Being a descendant of the House of Copsay, I have, of course, long known the legend of Black Ralph of Copsay; but three days ago I heard for the first time the stories about the Spirit of Offa frequenting Kyloe Wood, the Bogle of Bogle House, the White Lady of Fenwick Wood, the White Hare of Barmoor, the White Calf of Slainsfield, the Witches of Goswick, the Lanthorne of Ladythorne, the Phantom Carriage of Broomhouse, and the Nun of Haggerston. No further gone than Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights I walked around the Bogle House to the spot where the Bogle appears; thence through Kyloe Wood, where the Spirit of Offa is said to roam at midnight; then down to Fenwick Wood, and along the Lady’s Walk, where the spectral lady is said to glide, but never a ghost nor spirit did I hear, see or feel.”

“Nor have I ever seen aught of the White Lady of Fenwick Wood, although I have passed that way hundreds of times at all hours of the night,” said Frank Middleton.

“Rev. Cousin,” said Ricard of Copsay, “I’m proud to think that you are a strong-nerved person like myself”; and, turning to his brother-in-law, he asked him to pass the punch-bowl around so that all might fill their glasses and drink to the confusion of the spectral group Father Brock had named.

The glasses were re-filled and the host raised his glass and gave the toast – “The confusion of all spirits, ghosts, bogles and hobgoblins in the Kingdom.”

The glasses clinked, “The confusion of all spirits, ghosts, bogles and hobgoblins, “ responded the party.

“Hark!” was the general exclamation as all turned and looked in the direction where the portrait of Black Ralph hung against the east gable, from whence a peculiar knocking sound was coming.

“Can it be the Spirit of Black Ralph?” several remarked uneasily.

“The Spirit of Black Ralph; forsooth, it is only rats that have found their way from the subterranean passage and have got behind the wainscoting,” said Richard of Copsay. He went and knocked on a panel and the knocking behind suddenly ceased. “I must have this attended to or the household will soon become alarmed should those brutes continue in there.”

“I told you.” Said Father Brock, “ that such occurrences come to naught when followed up.”

The party re-seated themselves around the large round table, and ahd resumed the game when there was a crash of falling glass. All looked towards the window as a tall, dark gentlemen stepped into the room and came towards them. “ Seize the intruder!” said Richard of Copsay, as he rose to intercept him. No one, however, seemed to have the power to lay hands on the stranger, who silently regarded them for a few seconds.

“Holy Mother! It is Black Ralph!” exclaimed Father Brock, and swooned.

The candles were extinguished and the cards taken from the hands of the players. “My deal,” said the spectre and vanished.

BERT SPOOK