Haunted Jail. Strange and unexplained phenomena.
Experience of Sheriff Hensley and the Jailer.
Theosophy may throw some light on the subject of midnight ghosts.
At this age of scientific investigation, when all the phenomena of nature are explained by the laws of nature, it seems childish to say that there is such a thing as a haunted house. But if the Fresno jail is not haunted, then all signs fail, and the mysteries are unexplainable. For some time strange noises have been heard at all hours of the night, and in all parts of the building; but until the past few days nothing much had been thought of it. Even yet it is not in any way alarming, except to superstitious people who are afraid of ghosts and spirits, and the returning souls of dead men coming back to the places that they knew on earth.
The first appearance of the mysterious noises was about 1 o’clock in the morning a couple of weeks ago. The jailer was awaked by a loud and vigorous knock at the iron door in the hall. Thinking it was a policeman with a prisoner to put in prison, the jailer got out of bed and went down to the door. When he unlocked it and swung it open, no one was there. He was puzzled, and in no good humour, but concluding that it was the wind shaking the iron door, he returned to his bed, and in a few minutes the knocking began again, and the heavy iron latch was lifted and let fall three or four times. Again the jailor ran down, and unlocked the door. Not a sign of person was there. He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes till two. The jailer thought it strange, and concluded that the boys were trying to fool him. So he sat down just inside the door, and watched. But no one appeared, and he lay down and slept till morning, and heard no more knocking that night.
It was Sheriff Hensley’s turn to hear the strange noise next time. He had been in Tulare county, and came home late. There being some important business to attend to, he sat in the front office writing till long after usual bed time. Suddenly there came a rap at the office door. “Come in,” called the Sheriff. No one responded. Resuming his writing, thinking he had been mistaken, the knocking began again. The Sheriff went and opened the door, and found nothing. For the third time there came the knocking, but this time it was under the floor, and in a moment a sound could be heard as if some one were running up and down the cellar in stocking feet. Then a grating, as if a person were scratching with his finger nails on the underside of the floor.
Nobody ever accused Sheriff Hensley of being a man of feeble courage. A danger that he can’t face is a pretty serious matter. But somehow he didn’t feel easy in the office alone. He could not help thinking of the Chinese murderer that had committed suicide in the jail some months ago. The Sheriff does not believe in ghosts, exactly, but he wondered if such a thing could be possible as the dead heathen’s soul coming back. He remembered that the Chinaman had once threatened, if they hung him, to come back and bring the Chinese devil with him to haunt the officers of the jail to their dying day.
While not putting much faith in such the Sheriff could not help feeling lonesome. So he went up into the corridor of the prison and waked the jailer. He told what had happened, and the jailer related his experience of a few nights before, and there seemed a dismal sort of suspicion that all was not right. They lit the lamp and sat down in the corridor to talk the matter over. Finally the jailer said, half in jest: “It is three minutes till 1 o’clock. Now, if the ghost of the dead Chinaman comes tonight it will be here within three minutes. If it don’t come then I will go to bed.”
Almost immediately a light running step was heard, as if someone in stocking feet was gliding along the iron roof of the jail. Then there came a heavy sound as of someone being dragged down stairs by the heels. “What does that mean?” asked the Sheriff, trying to appear calm, but not succeeding very well. “I don’t know,” replied the jailer, “but I propose to see.” They ran to the foot of the stairs, and at that instant they heard the cell door slam shut. It was the cell where the Chinaman had been confined. Running to the cell, they found it bolted; but on that instant their lamp was blown out. They lit it and it was instantly blown out again. Five times this was done, and they stepped away from the cell door and lit the lamp again, and it burned well enough. “Take the lamp up to the cell door again and test the matter,” said Mr Hensley. The lamp was taken toward the door, and when within six feet of it, again the light was blown out. “Light it again,” said the Sheriff. They tried to do so, but not a match would strike. They went again to the corridor, and the matches burned as well as usual, and the lamp was lit again. “Well, that beats me!” said the jailer. “What time is it?” The Sheriff looked at his watch, and found that it was five minutes till 2. “Wait five minutes and try it again,” said he. “I have heard that ghosts never appear later than 2.” They did so, and saw nor heard nothing more of the ghosts.
Last night, for the third time the strange sounds were heard. Sometimes it sounds like the breathing of a person in a heavy sleep – just as the Chinaman breathed after he had taken the opium that caused his death. Sometimes it is a knocking under the jail floor. Sometimes it seems one place and sometimes another.
As was said before, it seems rather childish to listen to such tales in this age of civilisation; but the facts are facts. The Sheriff, the jailer and many other persons have heard the sounds, and a thorough investigation is on foot. If it is any person playing a sharp trick, the matter will be found out. And if, as the Theosophists say, the spirits of the dead come back, after reaching that bourne from which no traveler returns, the matter may be explained. It is well known that nearly all Chinese are Theosophists, and this murderer who poisoned himself in the jail to save his neck from the rope, may have been one; and he may now be wandering about the dark cellars and staircases of the jail tormenting those whom he may charge with being his persecutors while he was on this earth.
At any rate, it is a theme for the Theosophy to study. It is a good chance for them to demonstrate that there is such a thing as an “astral body,” and that the ghost of the Chinese murderer, clothed in the “astral body,” has returned to earth searching for a shape to be used in the reincarnation.
Fresno Weekly Expositor, 18th November 1891.
Running Low. The county jail becoming silent and deserted.
The Chinese ghost may have something to do with the transformation.
It has been over three years since the occupants of the county jail have been as few as at present. There are ten below and fifteen above. That is, the place downstairs where they keep the old residents has only ten in it now, while the hurricance deck apartment up aloft, where they keep those who are not hardened in the smoke of sin and iniquity, contains only fifteen. This foots up only twenty-five in all, and is a good showing. It was only a short time ago that the jail, both in steerage and cabin passage, was full and running over. Every cell was packed to its utmost, and the inmates resembled sardines packed in mustard. At that time there were fully three times as many as at present, and every hour of the day brought new candidates knocking at the unmerciful gates for admittance.
Sheriff Hensley was perplexed what to do with the large crop of criminals, tramps and thugs. There was no place to stow away another one. And George Moore, the jailer, said that he wished, for the love of mercy, that no more would come. But still they came. However, about this time relief came in a way that was unexpected and it thinned out the serried ranks of the jail denizens, and has brought their numbers down from seventy-five to twenty-five. Apparatus for heating by steam were put in, and one of the valves under the building got out of order and fluttered and buzzed and hissed and sputtered like a demon, and the word went abroad that it was the soul of the Chinaman, who had committed suicide, come back for revenge.
The effect on the prisoners was wonderful. They could stand anything mortal, but when it came to the hissing of an immortal Chinese ghost they wanted to be excused. The old timers made up their minds to strike for other shores at the first opportunity. As fast as they could get out, they would take the road like Lot fleeing from Sodom and Gomorrah, and their shadows have never dimmed the soil of Fresno since. They have given Fresno the go by ever since, and feel thankful that they are spared to bask in the suns of other climes. The Chinese ghost has saved Fresno a good many dollars.
A few old weather-beaten, storm-pelted, sun-tanned, rain-soaked, wind-whipped, frost-bitten specimens yet remain about the jail; but they are proof against terrors; and neither heaven or hades h as any power to scare or make timid. These old record breakers and idlers still linger round the jail, and are willing to face all the Chinese ghosts that walk the realms of night or bathe in fiery floods and bellow through the vast and boundless deep, rather than go outside the limits of the city of Fresno. If the spirit of Confucius would bounce out of the midnight darkness, flourishing a scythe in one hand and a pitchfork in the other he could not scare one or two of these old settlers from the merciful breakfast table of the county jail.
Expositor, 11th January 1892.