by Bob Curran
On July 5th, 1677, Richard Cabell finally died and was laid to rest in Holy Trinity Church, perched on a rocky outcrop looking toward Buckfast Abbey. Today, the church is no more than a shell, but as the visitor walks toward it, he or she is confronted by a massive fortress-like tomb known as “the Sepulchre.” This is Cabell’s tomb, and it is said that it was built to “keep him in.” Indeed, “the Sepulchre” looks more like a prison than anything else, and peering through the iron bars that mark its front, one is struck with a chill, as if something inside was reaching out in order to make its presence known. During his lifetime, Cabell was a keen huntsman and kept a pack of exceptionally ferocious dogs, which were “the terror of the countryside” (some traditions, however, ascribe the ownership to his grandson Thomas who owned the first pack of hounds in Dorset). These hellhounds are now supposed to circle the old churchyard on certain nights of the year, led by Cabell himself, sometimes appearing as a tall dark-cloaked man, and sometimes as a great dog. In order to keep the soul of the evil squire from rising, a great stone was placed over his tomb in the family vault, but this doesn’t appear to have worked very well. It was once a great game among children in the area to go up to the tomb, run around it counterclockwise seven times, and push their fingers through the iron grille and into the darkness beyond. The story was that if they were bad, Cabell would give them a bite. However, a number of locals claim to have seen a strange red light emanating from behind the bars to signal that the evil squire was stirring.
Beneath the tomb and the church lies a system of caves that extends for about 3.5 kilometers. In one of the larger caverns, known as “Reed’s Cave” stands a curious figure known as “the Little Man.” Created by the fusion of a stalactite and a stalagmite, it resembles a small human figure in 17th-century clothes. Eerily, it is said to stand exactly beneath the tomb of Richard Cabell and local imagination has often connected the two. Folklore states that this curious formation—although natural—may contain the very essence of the evil squire and allows his influence to permeate through the graveyard attached to the now-abandoned church and beyond. It is also said that ghastly creatures—specters, demons, and hobgoblins—gather there at night in order to receive instruction from their master who lies above them in his grave.
The graveyard has a sinister reputation. During the late 18th and early 19th centuries, it was allegedly the haunt of bodysnatchers (although this has never been verified and any details concerning the activity would appear to be sketchy) who apparently dug up freshly buried bodies at the behest of local doctors. The remoteness of the site and an enclosed, shadowy lane that led down to the church would have provided cover for their activities. Even today, a number of local residents have seen shadowy figures moving through the graveyard at night—perhaps the ghosts of “Resurrection Men.” “It’s difficult to make out who they are,” said one present-day resident who asked not to be named. “They may be ghosts, although there was some talk that witches used to use this place for their meetings.”
The church has been burned twice. In the first incident, arsonists broke into the building in May 1849 and set fire to the vestry, much of which was destroyed, together with part of the roof, some of the north aisle, and the communion table. In 1992, another fire was started under the altar. When summoned, the local fire brigade had trouble pumping water (the nearest hydrant was over a quarter of a mile away—added to the difficulty that the water had to be pumped uphill) and the blaze managed to take hold of the building. The fire was blamed on Satanists who it was alleged were using the church and Cabell’s tomb for their rituals, although this was never proven. Recently, most of the church and the tomb have been closed off with a stout fence.
So is Richard Cabell truly the inspiration for Sir Hugo Baskerville in Conan Doyle’s novel, and does his restless spirit still prowl the countryside in the guise of a monstrous hound? In 1901, the author visited Cromer Hall in Norfolk with his old friend Bertram Fletcher-Robinson who lived at Ipplepen in Devon. The Hall was then owned (and still is) by the Cabel-Manners family and the two men were invited to dinner by Benjamin Bond Cabell—a direct descendant of the dark squire. During dinner, they discussed the squire and also the local legends of Black Shuck, the Devil Dog of the area. The germ of an idea may have been placed in Conan Doyle’s mind. Later that year, Fletcher-Robinson took his friend on a tour of Dartmoor where they visited Brook Hall (built by Cabell), Grimspound, and the Fox Tor Mires (later to become Great Grimpen Mire in the novel). Their coachman on the tour was Fletcher-Robinson’s young servant, Harry Baskerville; impressed with the grand-sounding name, Conan Doyle would later use it for the name of his family and the coachman as a template for Sir Henry. Many have argued that Cabell’s home at Brook Manor served as the model for Baskerville Hall, but the description seems to owe more to that of Cromer Hall in Norfolk where the author and his friend dined with the dark squire’s descendant. There is no doubt that the story of Richard Cabell served as a basis for the novel.
But does his spirit still wander the moors? Standing by his tomb in the grounds of Holy Trinity churchyard as the light fades, it is easy to think so. Especially when, away in the distance, you hear the cry of some far-away hound!
Capuchin Cemetery (Palermo, Sicily)
“Oh ye Dead! Oh ye Dead!
Whom we know by the light you give,
From your cold gleaming eyes,
though you move like men who live.”
—Thomas Moore, Irish Melodies Vol. 8
What does death really mean? The end of an involvement in all worldly things? To be laid away in the ground and more or less forgotten about, marked only by a stone? Or to preside over a court of decaying and rotting cadavers in a network of underground chambers and tombs, dressed in your most splendid clothes? How creepy is that?
The ancients often had very different ideas about death than we do today. For them, death was probably not the end and the deceased were often well-aware of what was happening in the world of the living. And from time to time, they could and would intervene (sometimes in corporeal form) in everyday affairs—to warn, advise, punish, or reward. They could also serve as protectors to a clan or family. Evidence has shown us in places such as Ireland, Norway, and Peru that early civilizations, which, in some cases followed a tradition of ancestor worship, created monuments, cairns, and even small houses for the rotting cadavers of the deceased. These monuments were placed close to the main settlements, so the dead could be consulted on various matters. Although deceased, their strength, courage, and wisdom were still highly valued amongst their descendants. The dead hadn’t really gone away and their physical presence served as a tangible connection with the world of the living. Death was no hindrance to them; it was probably just the route to another plane of existence.
Something of the same cultural viewpoint lies behind the creation of crypts and catacombs in which the dead are sometimes placed. Within the confines of such places, the dead stand or sit, dressed in their full clothes or robes, just as they did when alive. Here, the distinction between life and death is in no way stark. And such places are often the last resting place of the important and the wealthy—for example, the Roman Christian catacombs beneath several of the major ancient Roman streets, contain the remnants of the early martyrs and fathers of the Church.
Perhaps rivaling the Roman chambers are those of the Capuchin monastery in Palermo, Sicily. The cemetery and catacombs are part of a larger monastic complex that was built in Palermo (originally a Phoenician town) around 1533. The main cemetery was used for the burial of the town’s important Catholic families, and, with the monks also being buried there, it quickly became overcrowded. The monastic center in Palermo also attracted large numbers of ex-Franciscan monks (the Capuchins returned to the basic ideals of St. Francis) from all over Southern Italy, many of whom died within the monastery and were buried there, taking up more and more space; by the end of the 16th century, the cemetery was full. Bizarrely, when Brother Silvestro of Gobbio d
ied at Palermo in 1599, his body was lowered into a disused well on the monastic property. When his body was inspected within a year, it was mummified—perhaps something to do with the tufaceous soil in the area, which produced a warm, dry atmosphere within the well cavity. A similar phenomenon took place in an area below St. Michan’s Church near Smithfield in Dublin where three mummified cadavers have been the subject of much curiosity for many years. It takes between eight to nine months for the flesh of the body to completely dry out and give a brownish, slightly wizened appearance. In some cases, it dries out so completely that dried bone is exposed. The mummification, however, was taken as a sign of supreme holiness, and soon, several other monks wished to be mummified. The catacombs were dug out in the monastery complex, and while this was going on, some bodies were laid out in specially prepared underground “cells” known as “strainers” so that they could be preserved.
Originally, the catacombs were intended only for the Capuchin monks—a sign of their holiness and of the sanctity of their lives. Bodies were laid out on ceramic cylinders to be dried, and sometimes vinegar and herbs were applied to the skin in order to make it dry quicker. Those who were considered especially holy were embalmed and sometimes enclosed within upright glass cases where they could look out upon the palace of the dead around them. The monks were often preserved in their robes complete with crucifixes, holy medallions, and various ropes and cords, which they had worn as penances. However, the notion of sanctity coupled with the idea of being buried in the catacombs greatly appealed to the wealthy of Palermo and beyond. Mummification and burial in the crypts became fashionable, and for a fee, the rich were also laid to rest in the crypts. Some stood, some sat, some were laid out in open, glass-covered coffins. All were set out in life-like poses and dressed in a grandiose style. Some were set together in groups as though chatting or gossiping. The catacombs had various sections—one for the monks, one for priests of the Church, one for professionals, one for children, and one for women (virgins had a special section all to themselves and were identified by metal headbands). The children’s section is particularly poignant, because even babies are interred there, dressed in their christening shawls. Young girls were laid to rest in their confirmation dresses, and the boys were dressed in small suits.
The catacombs are actually part of the overall cemetery and entrance to them is gained through the continuing wall, which actually forms part of the graveyard enclosure with a throughway that leads to the church. The crypt is large, more than 20 feet high, with a vaulted ceiling with individual tombs and “funeral houses” leading off. As mummification became more and more popular, the catacombs filled rapidly. It is thought that, today, they house the remains of more than 1,000 citizens, not including the monks who are interred there. Their families could come to the tombs on a regular basis to pray for the repose of their souls and sometimes to leave small offerings to an especially holy relative. They could even sometimes hold the hands of the dead during prayer or kiss their dead cheeks in order to give them a measure of comfort. Once again, there was little barrier between the living and the dead.
Mummification was outlawed in Italy in 1881 and the practice of having the remains of a holy person or loved one placed in the catacombs stopped. However, there was one last exception that was made: the case of 2-year-old Rosalia Lombardo, the daughter of a military leader in the Italian Army, who died in December 1920 from advanced pneumonia. Her grieving father, General Lombardo, a wealthy and powerful man, hired Dr. Alfredo Salafia, a noted Italian embalmer, to preserve her body. The specially embalmed body was then laid in a glass topped coffin on a marble plinth in a small chapel just off the main concourse (although it was moved in the 1990s). Some investigations by the magazine National Geographic into the Capuchin tombs in the late 1990s revealed a slight decomposition, so the coffin was moved to an even drier spot. Nevertheless, her body was in an almost perfect state and according to one account; she looked like she was “merely sleeping.” Others state that she was “like a little doll.” The last priest to be buried there was Brother Ricardo, a monk from the Palermo abbey, in 1871.
A number of famous people have been interred in these tombs, including several prominent figures in the Italian army as well as the French General Enea DiGuiliano who died in 1848 and is preserved in full Bourbon French military uniform. Others include senior clergymen (often dressed in their full pontificals of office), doctors, sculptors, architects, and writers. Allegedly, the Spanish painter Valazquez is also interred there, but the evidence is uncertain and he may have been buried in his native Spain. Nevertheless, the catacombs include many of the celebrated citizens of both Italy and Sicily, all brought together in a society of the dead.
It is only to be expected that with so many dead around, in various poses and in their everyday clothes and robes—the place is often described as a “realm of the living dead”—that the Cappucini Cemetery has acquired a strong reputation for being haunted. Although it is now a rather macabre tourist attraction, the idea that the spirits of the dead are close by hasn’t gone away. Many tourists, walking through the labyrinthine thoroughfares of this underground city of the dead, have seen, heard, and felt things that they cannot explain. Many visitors claim that they have heard voices both speaking and calling to them from the surrounding tombs. There have been sighs and whispers close by and some tourists have felt cold breath on their cheek as they pass by a certain glass-enclosed cadaver or a group of skeletal gossips in a gloomy alcove. The very attitudes of the cadavers and skeletons only serve to create such an impression, huddled together as though watching people pass them by with a sinister stare.
The dry underground crypts are also full of shadows, several of which tourists have claimed (on their blogs and Websites) to have seen move of their own volition. Of course, the light is poor within the catacombs (this is all part of the macabre atmosphere that tour organizers often encourage) and it is often uncertain, creating the impression of movement amongst the ranks of cadavers along the walls, crypts, and alcoves. There are also drafts coming and going along the corridors, which can often stir the rotting fabric of the clothing and once again give the illusion of movement to those passing by. That, of course, is the easy explanation. Perhaps the mummified bodies do move, just beyond the corner of one’s eye. Who is to say that in such a place something more than the purely physical remnant of the dead may not linger on?
Other tourists in the catacombs claim to have felt a cold and ghostly touch as they walked through them. According to a number of accounts, some visitors have felt extremely cold fingers touch the skin of their hands or bare arms, or felt someone tug lightly at their sleeves. When they turned around, there was nobody there, but many say that they have felt a distinct chill as if a presence of some sort was not all that far away. This could be evidence that the spirits of the dead do not venture too far from their corporeal bodies in such dank places.
Others still state that they have gotten lost in the endless galleries of the dead. With corridors doubling back on each other and with passageways leading off the main thoroughfare to tombs and crypts, it may be quite easy to become confused and take a wrong turn. However, some claim that they have been deliberately misled by voices and noises, which have led them to believe that they were closer to the main centers of the tombs than they thought, only to be led further into the underground world. It is not an experience that many would care to share—wandering helplessly among those skeletal ranks before we find our way back to the places of the living.
A city of the dead, set below the streets of a modern-living city, where the preserved and skeleton bodies of our ancestors are lost in eternal contemplation—what could be creepier?
Chase Mausoleum (Christ Church, Barbados)
“They’s hant then they’s ghost. Hant is a plat-eye. And a
plat-eye some those old timey people what been dead a long
time. Ghost is just uh evil spirit.”
—Thelma Knox, interviewed b
y Genevieve Wilcox
Chandler in Coming Through (Federal Writers’ Project)
There is something that is both mysterious and creepy about the Caribbean, especially when dusk settles across the islands. These are the lands of voodoo, obeah, and Mami Wata—slave religions whose origins are almost as old as time itself, but which can still reach out into the modern world. And not only into our own world, but into the world of spirits as well, for such beliefs draw upon the imminence of unseen things that lurk somewhere close by and observe our every move. As the light fails, isolated locations and remote cemeteries in places such as Trinidad, Jamaica, and Barbados take on an eerie, almost sinister aspect, which can unsettle those passing through. It is little wonder that tales of zombies, haunts, and duppies (island ghosts) abound in certain areas. One such place is the churchyard in Oistins, Christ Church Parish, Barbados.
Even in daylight, parts of the cemetery appear sinister. Queer blue shadows seem to come and go of their own volition under the Caribbean sun and there are many stories of unquiet spirits that come and go among the funeral markers. This is an old cemetery that harbors a particularly terrifying legend.
At the entrance to the cemetery and swathed in the gloom of the silent burying ground stands a rather impressive monument. The ornamented entrance to a burial vault measuring 12 feet by 6 feet, it is sunk halfway into the ground, leading to an underground vault. It is built of large cemented blocks of coral. It is known throughout the Caribbean Islands as the Chase Mausoleum, and it has a particularly curious history.
There are many stories about the origins of the mausoleum, all of them confusing and contradictory. However, one story does seem to have a consistency about it. The Chase Mausoleum was built around 1724 for a prominent planter named James Elliot, who requested that the actual burial vault be underground. Despite his requests and specifications about the tomb, however, Elliot wasn’t buried there (although his wife Elizabeth, who died on May 14th, 1792, appears to have been) and the vault remained closed for a time. On July 13th, 1807, it was opened again to admit the coffin of Mrs. Thomasina Goddard, and it was found to be completely empty. What happened to the body of Elizabeth Elliot and her coffin (if it had ever been there)? Mrs. Goddard was a member of the Walrond family who had purchased the vault from the Elliots, but had never needed to open it until then. A heavy marble slab lay against the door, and it had not been moved since the last interment, and there was no evidence of any disturbance. The disappearance remained a mystery, but there were some who said that Elizabeth Elliot had never been buried there at all.
