Early in the sixties, while the incapable Young was still administering, or pretending to administer, the affairs of the colony, the settlers in the neighbourhood of the Hawkesbury crossing, known as Wiseman's Ferry, were favoured by the presence of a real ghost. They were fond of talking about it, were these Hawkesbury settlers, and proud of it too, and all attempts on the part of the sceptical stranger at common sense explanations were received with the utmost scorn.
Why, Lord bless you, sir, it's been seen over and over again, and on a dark, still night, ye'll most likely see a faint flitting light in the upper windows of the Old Stone House at the Ferry. That's the ghost.
"The Old Stone House at the ferry" was the favourite residence of the ghost, and many were the stories vouched for by the yokels, of incautious tramps, who had made a convenience of the "Old Stone House" for a night, being disturbed by strange noises in the dead of night, and fleeing for dear life at the approach of the mysterious being, leaving behind all their belongings.
It was a cold, wet Christmas evening, when Jim Harris and his mate reached the Ferry. They had been on the tramp since early morning, and were wet through, and thoroughly knocked up.
The sun had set, leaving an angry glare still visible on the flying storm clouds in the west. The night was closing heavily in, and the moon, which was near full, was completely hidden by the masses of dull, leaden clouds hanging low overhead.
"We're in for it tonight." said Jim, looking up at the flying storm clouds. "I wonder whether we can find a hut to camp in tonight."
"Let's ask the Ferryman ; he'll know", said his mate.
The Ferryman, a long, scraggy specimen of humanity, replied that the only house that he "knowed of" was the "Old Stone House" on the other side. "It's a bit draughty," he continued, "and folks here about say as it's haunted".
Jim looked at his mate. "Any port in a storm, I say", was the answer to his look. "Ghosts are better than rheumatism".
"I'm agreeable to chance it if you are", said Jim, and so it was arranged.
The Ferryman pulled steadily on, while this conversation took place, now and then glancing curiously under the brim of his hat at the two men at the stern, whose figures were conspicuous against the lurid background of the sky. A few directions as to the position of the House, and the best way of getting in, and the Ferryman bade them a gruff good-night.
The Old Stone House, as the two men stood before it a few minutes later, looked dark and grim in the gathering night, and suggestive of any amount of ghosts and goblins. Still, it was a shelter, and the only one, and so, without further remark, Jim and his mate made their entrance.
A large wainscotted (sic) room, with a broad staircase leading to the upper regions, appeared to be the best to camp in, for it had a wide fireplace.
Hastily collecting a heap of firewood, they soon had a roaring fire, and a billy of water hissing and spluttering before it. A bit of salt beef and damper, the remnants of their last meal, were produced, and the two men sat down on their blankets before the fire with their billy of tea between them. Their coats and boots were drying before the fire, and cross-legged they sat, munching and drinking with a relish that only men 'on the wallaby' know.
"Struck it lucky, I reckon," said Jim, looking round the deserted room.
"If it wasn't for the ghost," said his mate with a grin. Jim laughed. It was evident they were sceptics, both of them.
So the two friends, spreading out their blankets, lay down before the fire, smoking and talking till nearly ten o'clock.
"Well, time to turn in", said Jim at last. "By the way, mate," he continued, as each rolled himself in his blankets, "if the ghost SHOULD come, we must be ready to receive him," and jumping up he selected two stout pieces of wood from the heap at the fire, and placed them ready for use.
A hearty good night, and the two tired tramps were soon asleep.
The fire burned low, as the two men slept, while strange ghostly shadows flitted up and down the mildewed walls as the flames rose and fell, and nothing was heard save the peaceful snoring of the sleepers and the crash of the burned old logs as they fell in.
At about midnight Jim, whose dreaming fancies were of ghosts and goblins, turning uneasily in his sleep, was half-awakened by a sound that seemed to come from the rooms upstairs. He listened. All was quiet, and nothing could be heard but the faint crackle of the dying fire.
Outside, the rain continued, and the drip, drip, of the water on the eaves had a ghostly sound.
Settling himself once more to sleep, he was aroused again, this time by a loud noise, as of a heavy fall. Raising himself on his elbow, he listened again intently. There was clearly someone upstairs. Pinching the arm of his mate, to waken him, he whispered in his ear : "Ghost". The other was soon awake and listening with Jim.
Again there came the mysterious sounds. The ghost was really there. Each man grasped his stick, and disengaged himself from his blanket. Again came the noise. The ghost was evidently at work, for sounds as of a piece of timber were heard.
"What shall we do?" said Jim in a whisper.
"Wait for him at the foot of the stairs".
Taking their sticks with them, the men crept stealthily to the stairs, and Jim, whose swag included a tent "fly", hastily twisted it into a rope, and stretched it across the stairway a few feet above the floor.
"That'll fetch him, if it's the kind of ghost I think," he whispered. Then they crouched behind the bannisters and waited. The noises upstairs, which had ceased for a little time, were now heard again, and presently a heavy tramping; the ghost was evidently coming down! The tramping came nearer and nearer; the ghost was coming down without a doubt.
Still the men crouched low behind the stairs and waited. Nothing could be seen but they knew the ghost was nearing the "fly".
A stumble! a fall! a yell! and the two men threw themselves upon the sprawling 'ghost'. He was a very material ghost this, for he struggled violently, though in silence. It was in vain, however, for the men held him fast, and together they dragged him to the fire. Strapping his arms together behind, Jim held him while the other struck a match.
The light revealed **** the ferryman.
He begged to be let off, saying it was only a joke; but Jim and his mate were not to be disturbed for nothing. Unstrapping his arms they gave him a cudgelling and told him to "get", or it would be the worse for him. The ghost needed no second telling. He sprang through the window and took to his heels. The story was never told, for the two friends went off at daybreak next morning and spoke to no one. But the "ghost" had made his last appearance, and the people looked in vain for the ghostly flitting light in the upper windows of the "Old Stone House" at the Ferry.
(Windsor and Richmond Gazette - 21st July, 1894)
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