m-eaten, and the springs perfectly green with mould. The horses
were thin and lank, and the harness in as sorry a condition as the
coach. The driver's clothes, which were very old fashioned, hung about
him in loose folds, and he gazed upon me with a strange, stony stare
that was absolutely appalling; yet his lips unclosed as I worked past
him, and he exclaimed in a harsh, croaking voice, 'One eye!' Thereupon
two or three queer people poked their heads out of the coach window.
There was one old woman with false teeth, in an unpleasant state of
decay, and a voice like a parrot. 'One eye!' she shrieked, as she
gazed on me with an eye as stony as the coachman. A pale, simpering
miss smirked in my face, and cried, 'One eye!' and a military
gentleman, with a ghastly frown, hissed forth the same words. I should
have scrutinized the queer coach and the queer people closer, had not
my horse--my good, old, quiet, steady horse--seized the bit in his
mouth and started off at a dead run. I tried to saw him up, but it was
no use; he ran for a couple of miles, and did not slacken till he had
brought me to the door of an old, decayed tavern, where I resigned him
to the charge of a lame hostler, and made my way into the house in
search of the landlord. I found him at last--a poor, poverty-pinched
man, who had been ruined by the railroad. He complained bitterly of
the hard times. 'But,' said I, 'you must have some custom; the stage
coaches----' 'Bless your soul,' replied he, 'there hasn't been a coach
on this road for fifteen years.' 'What do you, mean?' said I; 'I met a
coach and passengers two miles back, near the river.' The landlord
turned pale. 'What day is this?' he asked. 'The 14th of October.' 'The
14th of October!' cried the landlord; 'I remember that date well. That
day, fifteen years since, was the last trip of the old mail coach. It
left here, with Bill Snaffle, the driver, and three insides, a
military man, an old woman, and a young lady. They were never heard of
after they left here. Their trail was followed as far as the bridge.
It is supposed that the horses got frightened at something, and backed
off into the Concord River. But I have heard,' added the landlord, in
a hollow whisper, 'that on this anniversary the ghost of that coach
and company may be seen upon the turnpike. More, I will tell you, in
confidence, that I have seen them myself.' After this I was convinced
that I had been favored--if favor it may be called--wit