(Philadelphia Press, Oct. 2, 1898)
The Capitol at Washington is probably the most thoroughly haunted building in the world.
Not less than fifteen well-authenticated ghosts infest it, and some of them are of a more than ordinarily
What particularly inspires this last remark is the fact that the Demon Cat is said to have made its appearance
again, after many years of absence. This is a truly horrific apparition, and no viewless specter such as the
invisible grimalkin that even now trips people up on the stairs of the old mansion which President Madison
and his wife, Dolly, occupied, at the corner of Eighteenth Street and New York Avenue, after the White
House was burned by the British. That, indeed, is altogether another story; but the feline spook of the Capitol
possesses attributes much more remarkable, inasmuch as it has the appearance of an ordinary pussy when first
seen, and presently swells up to the size of an elephant before the eyes of the terrified observer.
The Demon Cat, in whose regard testimony of the utmost seeming authenticity was put on record thirty-five
years ago, has been missing since 1862. One of the watchmen on duty in the building shot at it then, and it
disappeared. Since then, until now, nothing more has been heard of it, though one or two of the older
policemen of the Capitol force still speak of the spectral animal in awed whispers.
Their work, when performed in the night, requires more than ordinary nerve, inasmuch as the interior of the
great structure is literally alive with echoes and other suggestions of the supernatural. In the daytime, when
the place is full of people and the noises of busy life, the professional guides make a point of showing persons
how a whisper uttered when standing on a certain marble block is distinctly audible at another point quite a
distance away, though unheard in the space between.
A good many phenomena of this kind are observable in various parts of the Capitol, and the extent to which
they become augmented in strangeness during the silence of the night may well be conceived. The silence of
any ordinary house is oppressive sometimes to the least superstitious individual. There are unaccountable
noises, and a weird and eerie sort of feeling comes over him, distracting him perhaps from the perusal of his
book. He finds himself indulging in a vague sense of alarm, though he cannot imagine any cause for it.
Such suggestions of the supernatural are magnified a thousand fold in the Capitol, when the watchman
pursues his lonely beat through the great corridors whose immense spaces impress him with a sense of
solitariness, while the shadows thrown by his lantern gather into strange and menacing forms.
One of the most curious and alarming of the audible phenomena observable in the Capitol, so all the
watchmen say, is a ghostly footstep that seems to follow anybody who crosses Statuary Hall at night. It was in
this hall, then the chamber of the House of Representatives, that John Quincy Adams died--at a spot indicated
now by a brass tablet set in a stone slab, where stood his desk. Whether or not it is his ghost that pursues is a
question open to dispute, though it is to be hoped that the venerable ex-President rests more quietly in his
grave. At all events, the performance is unpleasant, and even gruesome for him who walks across that historic
floor, while the white marble statues of dead statesmen placed around the walls seem to point at him with
outstretched arms derisively. Like the man in Coleridge's famous lines he
'--walks in fear and dread, Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread.'
At all events he is uncertain lest such may be the case. And, of course, the duties of the watchman oblige him,
when so assigned, to patrol the basement of the building, where all sorts of hobgoblins lie in wait.
One of the Capitol policemen was almost frightened out of his wits one night when a pair of flaming eyes
looked out at him from the vaults under the chamber of the House of Representatives where the wood is
stored for the fires. It was subsequently ascertained that the eyes in question were those of a fox, which, being
chevied through the town, had sought refuge in the cellar of the edifice occupied by the national Legislature.
The animal was killed for the reason which obliges a white man to slay any innocent beast that comes under
But, speaking of the steps which follow a person at night across the floor of Statuary Hall, a bold watchman
attempted not long ago to investigate them on scientific principles. He suspected a trick, and so bought a pair
of rubber shoes, with the aid of which he proceeded to examine into the question. In the stillness of the night
he made a business of patrolling that portion of the principal Government edifice, and, sure enough, the
footsteps followed along behind him. He cornered them; it was surely some trickster! There was no possibility
for the joker to get away. But, a moment later, the steps were heard in another part of the hall; they had
evaded him successfully. Similar experiments were tried on other nights, but they all ended in the same way.