And now I have your corroboration, I might as
well tell you that we have long suspected the ghost to be a horse, and
have attributed its hauntings to the fact that, some time ago, when
exploring in the cave, several prehistoric remains of horses were
found, one of which we kept, whilst we presented the others to a
neighbouring museum. I dare say there are heaps more." "Undoubtedly there are," I said, "but take my advice and leave them
alone--re-inter the remains you have already unearthed--and thus put a
stop to the hauntings. If you go on excavating and keep the bones you
find, the disturbances will, in all probability, increase, and the
hauntings will become not only many but multiform." Needless to say the Colonel carried out my injunctions to the letter. Far from continuing his work of excavation he lost no time in restoring
the bones he had kept to their original resting-place; after which, as I
predicted, the hauntings ceased. This case, to me, is very satisfactory, as it testifies to what was
unquestionably an actual phantasm of the dead--of a dead horse--albeit
that horse was prehistoric; and such horses are all the more likely to
be earth-bound on account of their wild, untamed natures. Here is another account of a phantom horse taken from Mr. Stead's _Real
Ghost Stories_. It is written by an Afrikander who, in a letter to Mr.
Stead, says:

"I am not a believer in ghosts, nor never was; but seeing you wanted a
census of them, I can't help giving you a remarkable experience of
mine. It was some three summers back, and I was out with a party of Boer
hunters. We had crossed the Northern boundary of the Transvaal, and were
camped on the ridges of the Sembombo. I had been out from sunrise, and
was returning about dusk with the skin of a fine black ostrich thrown
across the saddle in front of me, in the best of spirits at my good
luck. Making straight for the camp, I had hardly entered a thick bush
when I thought that I heard somebody behind me. Looking behind, I saw a
man mounted on a white horse. You can imagine my surprise, for my horse
was the only one in camp, and we were the only party in the country. Without considering I quickened my pace into a canter, and on doing so
my follower appeared to do the same. At this I lost all confidence, and
made a run for it, with my follower in hot pursuit, as it appeared to my
imagination; and I did race for it (the skin went flying in about two
minutes, and my rifle would have done the same had it not been strapped
over my shoulders). This I kept up until I rode into camp right among
the pals cooking the evening meal. The Boers about the camp were quick
in their enquiries as to my distressed condition, and regaining
confidence, I was putting them off as best I could, when the old boss
(an old Boer of some sixty-eight or seventy years), looking up from the
fire, said:

"'The white horse! The Englishman has seen the white horse.' "This I denied, but to no purpose. And that night round the camp fire I
took the trouble to make enquiries as to the antecedents of the white
horse. And the old Boer, after he had commanded silence, began. He said:

"'The English are not brave, but foolish. We beat them at Majuba, some
twenty-five seasons back. There was an Englishman here like you; he had
brought a horse with him, against our advice, to be killed with the fly,
the same as yours will be in a day or two. And he, like you, would go
where he was told not to go; and one day he went into a bush (that very
bush you rode through to-night), and he shot seven elephants, and the
next day he went in to fetch the ivory, and about night his horse came
into camp riderless, and was dead from the fly before the sun went down. The Englishman is in that bush now; anyway, he never came back. And now
anybody who ventures into that bush is chased by the white horse. I
wouldn't go into that bush for all the ivory in the land. The English
are not brave, but foolish; we beat them at Majuba.' "Here he ran into a torrent of abuse of all Englishmen in general, and
in particular. And I took the opportunity of rolling myself up in my
blankets for the night, sleeping all the better for my adventure. "Now, Mr. Stead, I don't believe in ghosts, but I was firmly convinced
during that run of mine, and can vouch for the accuracy of it, not
having heard a word of the Englishman or his white horse before my
headlong return to the camp that night. I shortly hope to be near that
bush again, but, like the old Boer, I can say I wouldn't go into that
bush again for all the ivory in the land. "P.S.--A few days after we dropped across a troop of elephants without
entering the fatal bush, and managed to bag seven, photographs of which
I took, and shall be pleased to send for your inspection, if desired." There can be very little doubt that the phantom the Afrikander saw was
the actual spirit of a dead horse. Another experience of haunting by the same animal was told me by a
Chelsea artist who assured me it was absolutely true. I append it as
nearly as possible in his own words. _Heralds of Death_

"It is many years ago," he began, "since I came into my property,
Heatherleigh Hall, near Carlisle, Cumberland. It was left me by my
great-uncle, General Wimpole, whom I had never seen, but who had made me
his heir in preference to his other nephews, owing to my reputed
likeness to an aunt, to whom he was greatly attached. Of course I was
much envied, and I dare say a good many unkind things were said about
me, but I did not care--Heatherleigh Hall was mine, and I had as much
right to it as anyone else. I came there all alone--my two brothers,
Dick and Hal, the one a soldier and the other a sailor, were both away
on foreign service, whilst Beryl, my one and only sister, was staying
with her fiancé's family in Bath. Never shall I forget my first
impressions. Depict the day--an October afternoon. The air mellow, the
leaves yellow, and the sun a golden red. Not a trace of clouds or wind
anywhere. Everything serene and still. A broad highway; a wood; a lodge
in the midst of the wood; large iron gates; a broad carriage drive,
planted on either side with lofty pines and elms, whose gnarled and
forked branches threw grotesque and not altogether pleasing shadows on
the pale gravel. "At the end of the avenue, at least a quarter of a mile long, wide
expanses of soft, velvety grass, interspersed at regular intervals with
plots of flowers--dahlias, michaelmas daisies--no longer in their first
bloom--chrysanthemums, etc. Beyond the lawn, the house, and beyond that
again, and on either side, big, old-fashioned gardens full of
fruit--fruit of all kinds, some, such as grapes and peaches, in monster
green-houses, and others--luscious pears, blenheim oranges, golden
pippins, etc.--in rich profusion in the open, the whole encompassed by a
high and solid brick wall, topped with a bed of mortar and broken glass.