A Ghost in Blackrock.
During the last four or five weeks, the residents in Blackrock have been kept in a state of excitement by the constant nocturnal visitations of a rival of the ancient spectral denizen of Cock Lane. The place which the Ghost has chosen as the scene of his nightly pranks, is a house where Mr Simon Lacy and his family reside, immediately situated near Sans Souci, the present residence of Francis B Beamish, Esq. The house is a little off the road, and in the back part of it there is a small kitchen, surrounded on two sides by a yard, the wall of which is from twelve to fifteen feet high, and looks in on the avenue of Sans Souci.
It is about five weeks since the Ghost first appeared, or to speak more properly, did not appear, for the manner in which he announces his presence is by that very much used up system observed among the inhabitants of the lower regions, of treating the neighbourhood to a series of loud knocks.
In the present instance, the ghost, according to the statements of ear-witnesses, waits very patiently until the clock of the Corn Exchange strikes twelve, and then forthwith commences a succession of loud and vigorous knocks, which appear to be against the wall of the kitchen which looks in on the avenue. The noise continues until two o’clock, and then ceases.
This has been going on to the terror and annoyance of the neighbours, every night, Sunday alone excepted, for five weeks, and a constant search has been kept up by friends of Mr Lacy’s, and by Mr Beamish and his men, night after night, to discover the cause, but without effect. Shots have been fired into all imaginable places – persons have been stationed to watch everywhere -but all to no purpose – the undaunted spectre defies all mortal efforts, and knocks as loudly as ever.
A valorous policeman, on one night after a search of an hour, fancied he heard some noise in a tree near the kitchen wall, and casting off his boots, adventured up, and chivalrously called out “who’s there?” The only answer was a loud series of knocks which, as the luckless hero subsequently stated, seemed to be close to his ears, and he dropped on the ground in a state between paralysis and perplexity.
On last night, a party, chiefly members of the Temperance Institute, eleven in number, sallied down to the scene of action, armed with a miscellaneous armoury of cudgels, pistols, and cane-swords sufficient to shake the nerves of any goblin of reasonable apprehensions. They waited patiently, until the clock of the Corn Exchange tolled forth the hour of twelve, when an indescribable sound was suddenly heard, apparently somewhere in the kitchen! All rushed in, and with ears intent listened and heard a loud and solemn succession of knocks, which appeared to be produced by a hammer or a thick stick against the outside of the wall. The noise had certainly nothing very awful in it, and the party were not long in arriving at the conclusion that the goblin outside was amenable to a Bench of Magistrates for his rather extraordinary conduct.
A part of five or six of the most athletic instantly scaled the wall, and got into the avenue, where they commenced a sharp search amongst the trees, and in some stables near. They at length returned, having been no more successful than any of their predecessors, but fully determined to make another search, which, as they are now acquainted with the locale, they have strong hopes will form the last act in the goblin drama.
To speak seriously of the matter, it is a very dangerous nuisance, evidently the work of some malicious and persevering scoundrel, who continues to annoy and terrify a family, many of whom are very young and of course subject to superstitious terrors. The effect of it has been already to throw the lady of the house into a serious illness, from the continued system of annoyance kept up. It would be certainly well if the police of the city directed their attention to the matter, and endeavoured to put a stop to the nuisance, and discover the malicious scoundrel by whom it is created.
Cork Examiner, 16th July 1847.