THE PHANTOM MAIL
by
Richard Morton

Have you heard the true and faithful tale
Of John Dodd's ride in the Phantom Mail?

John Dodd sat in the "Rose and Crown,"
At Urchfont, near Devizes town:
Sat in the parlour's cosy chair,
Six more topers were tippling there.
They drank their quarts of ale, and things,
Puffed tobacco smoke out in rings ;
And they drank deep, for the room was snug
The landlord was first to pass the jug,
But, when he had set it circling, they
Were fain to keep it on the way.
And they told each other gruesome tales,
Of phantom coaches and phantom mails,
That came from London at lightning's pace,
And flew to Bath in a whirlwind race.
And old Ted Giles, who was sexton then
(Creepiest of all creepy men),
Told how he'd seen one, "night afore last,
Looked like phosphorus flashing past!
"The horses went with a galloping rush,
And through the coach you could see the bush,
The passengers all looked cold and dead,
The coachman had a skeleton's head!
It took my breath away in a tick,
It came so soon, and was gone so quick ;
But, as it vanished, the sound was borne
Of a phantom blast on a phantom horn!"
The topers smoked in a silence odd,
And nobody spoke... except John Dodd,
And he said, "Well, as the company waits,
I sez, Ted Giles, you prevaricates!"
And he struck his fist on the old oak bar,
And the rest looked thoughtful, and muttered, "Ah!"
"If it ain't true each word I've said,"
The sexton quoth, "Well, shoot me dead!"
The topers shivered, and all looked glum,
And shook their heads and muttered, "Um!"
But John Dodd said, "It's a fairy tale,
This graveyard yarn of the Phantom Mail
But if such a thing's to he espied,
Let me see it, I'll have a ride!
And I challenge the Phantom Mail to meet
Me in the road, and give me a seat.
I'll see if they're ghosts, and if they're dumb,
If I ride with the coach to Kingdom Come!"
The sexton rose, and put on his hat;
His foot fell soft on the doorway mat;
As he passed outside there was scarce a creak,
Not one of the topers dared to speak.
They rose in silence, word said was none,
And they passed out slowly, one by one.
Till only John and the landlord sat;
The latter swore, and kicked the cat.
"What rubbishing tales to spoil a cup,
And break a cosy party up!
And you, John Dodd, by the self-same rule,
You, John Dodd, are a stricken fule!
To talk like that, and upset my house,
You that hasn't the pluck of a mouse!"
John Dodd rose. " Well, it seems to me,
You are no longer good company."
Then he tried to make a graceful sweep
With his hat... he had been drinking deep.
From his boots he shook the dust of the floor,
When he went outside, and slammed the door.
Outside, the moon looked brightly down,
And lit the way to Devizes town.
To walk quite level John nobly tried,
But his slow steps went from side to side.
Still he cried again (or was it the ale?)
"Come and take me home, you Phantom Mail!"
And then along the white, white road
Something behind him plainly skewed;
Something that came with breakneck pace,
Something like lightning running a race ;
Something that shone and strangely glowed.
And raised no dust on the white, white road!
And John Dodd shivered, went ghastly pale,
Through chattering teeth, said, "The Phantom Mail!"
And the something came to where he stood,
And stilled his heart and froze his blood.
Four white horses, a coach all white,
White guard, white coachman, a lamp's white light,
That three white passengers dimly showed,
And plain through all gleamed the white, white road'.
And the guard came down from his kigh-up perch,
And let fall the steps with a jerk and lurch,
And he turned to John, "If you want a ride,
In the Phantom Mail, there's a seat outside!"
Then he took John Dodd by the arm, and drew
Him on to the coach with its ghastly crew.
He threw the ladder up with a clang,
A blast from his horn he madly rang;
The coachman whipped up the horses white.
And away they flew in the dead midnight.
John Dodd sat with a pallid face;
Thought he was flying through realms of space
Tried to scream, but it seemed a spell
Kept his tongue immovable.
The passengers sat in calm intense,
White, impassive, like monuments.
Only, it seemed, each shape of sin
Grinned on John with a ghastly grin.
Nothing broke the silence round,
Nor horse nor coach made ever a sound,
Yet on its way it swiftly sped,
With one live man, and five who were dead!
Spite of his terror and his alarm,
John Dodd found he met no harm;
Plucked up courage, a bit by bit,
Tried at last to make light of it;
Thought, "Devizes... we'll soon be there,
Why, there! why, yes!... why, that's the Bear!"
So it was, for a space, 'tis plain;
But in a whiff it had gone again.
John rubbed his eye... he was sober quite
The "Bear" at Devizes was out of sight!
He called to the guard, "Here, put me down!...
John Dodd am I, of Devizes town!
Stop the coach, guard!... let me down!
I'm at home in Devizes town!"
The guard moved not, the horses sped,
Teeth gleamed white in each passenger's head,
And it seemed to John, for a rapid while,
Each face grinned with a broader smile.
He beard a chuckle, but that was half
His fancy, of course, for ghosts don't laugh.
And John sat back on his seat, quite dumb,
He had asked to be driver to Kingdom Come!
And this was the coach that lay in wait
For sinners, to make a sinful freight;
This was the ride he had built upon,
This was the end of the world for John!
White coach, white horses, passengers, too,
Swam round John in a whirling view;
Nothing was pain, nothing would last,
The phantom guard blew a phantom blast.
Surely they rode o'er cobble-stones
He heard the passengers' rattling bones.
He opened his eyes, "'Tis Bath!" In vain
He opened his eyes. They closed again.
And under the light of the white, white moon,
John Dodd swayed away in a swoon.

In Bath, a traveller may refer
To the records of the "Christopher."
He'll find a story there has ground
Of a man named Dodd, who one morn was found
Lying ontside, 'neath the window-sill,
Wretchedly cold and terribly still.
They gave him brandy to warm his blood,
And, when he got in a talking mood,
He told a strange and ghastly tale
Of a phantom ride in a Phantom Mail;
How be had ridden, through dead of night,
From beyond Devizes, in coach all white!
That he'd done the journey, inquiry showed,
But if he walked or if he rode,
No one was able for sure to say,
But John swore hard 'twas the latter way,
For certain, he'd had a terrible fright.
For his hair had turned to a silver white!
No more does he scoff in the "Rose and Crown"
At Urchfont, near Devizes town;
And the topers there, believe the tale
Of John Dodd's ride in the Phantom Mail!