I don’t usually like ghost stories. But I liked Robert Louis Stevenson’s creepy poem “Ticonderoga.”
In Stevenson’s telling of the Scottish legend, a Stewart kills his friend, a Cameron. Coming to his senses, the killer runs to the dead man’s brother and says only that he’s on the run for killing a man and begs protection. The fellow promises to stand by the wanted man.
The promise that seemed noble appears in an eerie light when the ghost shows up and demands justice. The brother says he can’t break an oath.
The ghost pleads, but his brother won’t budge. The ghost says he’ll say no more till they meet at Ticonderoga. The brother has never heard of the place.
The disturbed brother travels the world as a soldier in a Scottish regiment of the British army. British forces were crushed by the French at Ticonderoga, N.Y., in 1758.
I had read some Stevenson without running across “Ticonderoga.” I owe the recommendation to Arthur Conan Doyle, who said it’s one of the best narrative poems in English.
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