FAMILY ANIMALS
Certain animals are associated with certain families, and in many such
instances the animal makes its appearance as a death-warning.
Sometimes the animal in question, which is in the nature of a totem of
the clan, is the family crest and has an occult connection with its
traditions and history.
The Ferrers, whose country seat is at Chartley Park, near Litchfield,
have a peculiar breed of cattle on their estates. The colour of the
cattle is white with black muzzles. The whole of the inside of the
ear, and one-third of the outside from the tip downwards is red, and
the horns are white, with black tips, very fine and bent upwards.
In the year in which the Battle of Burton Bridge was fought and lost,
a black calf was born into this stock and the downfall of the Ferrers
family occurred about this time, giving rise to a tradition which has
never been falsified, that the birth of a dark or parti-coloured calf
from the Chartley Park breed is an omen of death within the year to a
member of the Ferrers family.
The "Staffordshire Chronicle," of July, 1835, says, "It is a
noticeable coincidence that a calf of this description was born
whenever a death happened in the family. The decease of the seventh
Earl Ferrers and of his countess, and of his son, Viscount Tamworth,
and of his daughter, Mrs. William Jolliffe, as well as the deaths of
the son and heir of the eighth earl and of his daughter, Lady Francis
Shirley, were each preceded by the ominous birth of the fatal-hued
calf. In the spring of 1835 a black calf appeared at Chartley, and
before long the beautiful countess, second wife of the eighth earl,
lay on her death-bed.
Birds of various kinds frequently make their appearance in families as
harbingers of death. When the Oxenhams of Devonshire were visited by the
apparition of a white bird they knew that one of the family was doomed.
The well-known story is told by James Oxenham in a tract entitled "A
True relation of an Apparition in the likenesse of a Bird with a white
breast that appeared hovering over the death-beds of some of the
children of Mr. James Oxenham, of Sale Monachorum, Devon, Gent."
One of the first members of the family to see the apparition was the
famous John Oxenham, a young man of twenty-two, who was taken ill in
the vigour of his youth, a great strapping fellow six foot and a half
in height, well built, of comely countenance and of great intellectual
gifts. He died on the fifth day of September, 1635, and two days
before his death the bird with the white breast hovered over his bed.
Charles Kingsley made use of this incident in "Westward Ho!" John
Oxenham, in the midst of drinking a toast, suddenly drops his glass on
the table and staring in terror at some object which he seems to see
fluttering round the room, he cries out "There! Do you see it? The
bird! The bird with the white breast!"
No sooner was John Oxenham in his grave than the apparition showed
itself to Thomasine, wife of James Oxenham, who died on the seventh of
September, 1635. She was quite a young woman and, according to the
witnesses, Elizabeth Frost and Joan Tooker, the strange phantom was
seen clearly fluttering above her sick-bed. The next member of the
Oxenhams to whom the warning appeared was Thomasine's little sister,
Rebecca, a child of eight, who breathed her last on September the
ninth, following. And no sooner had the little girl been laid in her
grave than Thomasine, infant of the above-mentioned Thomasine and
James Oxenham, was taken sick and died on the 15th of September, 1635,
the bird appearing also in this case.
It is impossible not to wonder what disease it was that carried off so
many members of the Oxenham family within a few days of one another,
and whether the bird was fluttering through the rooms the whole of the
time, or whether it disappeared between the various deaths. Certain it
is that it was not seen hovering over the sick-beds of other members
of the family who recovered health. An earlier visitation had occurred
in 1618, when the grandmother of the said John, a certain Grace
Oxenham, had yielded up her soul into the hands of her Maker. Many
later appearances of the famous bird are on record. A Mr. Oxenham who
lived in Sidmouth for many years and who died between 1810 and 1821,
was attended by an old gardener and his wife, who gave evidence that
they had seen a white bird fly in at the door, dart across the bed in
which their master lay dying, and _disappear in one of the drawers of
the bureau_, but when they opened all the drawers to find the
apparition, they could discover no signs of it.
In 1873 the Rev. Henry Oxenham gave the following version of the
family story, which may be found in Frederick George Lee's "Glimpses
of the Supernatural."[143]
"Shortly before the death of my late uncle, G. N. Oxenham, Esq., of 17
Earl's Terrace, Kensington, who was then head of the family, this
occurred: His only surviving daughter, now Mrs. Thomas Peter, but then
unmarried and living at home, and a friend of my aunt's, Miss Roberts,
who happened to be staying in the house, but was no relation, and had
never heard of the family tradition, were sitting in the dining-room
immediately beneath his bedroom about a week before his death, which
took place on December 15, 1873, when their attention was aroused by a
shouting outside the window.
"On looking out they observed a white bird--which might have been a
pigeon, but, if so, was an unusually large one--perched on the thorn
tree outside the windows and it remained there for several minutes, in
spite of some workmen on the opposite side of the road throwing their
hats at it, in the vain effort to drive it away.
"Miss Roberts mentioned this to my aunt at the time, though not, of
course, attaching any special significance to it, and my aunt (since
deceased) repeated it to me soon after my uncle's death. Neither did
my cousin, though aware of the family tradition, think of it at the
time.... My cousin also mentioned another circumstance, which either I
did not hear of or had forgotten, viz. that my late aunt spoke at the
time of frequently hearing a sound like the fluttering of a bird's
wings in my uncle's bedroom, and said that the nurse testified to
hearing it also."
A more tragic incident connected with the same legend was that when
Lady Margaret Oxenham was about to be married a white bird appeared
and fluttered about her head, and that she was stabbed at the altar by
a rejected lover.
In another family a white crow was seen as a death-warning. In the
late half of the eighteenth century the son of a rich landowner in
North Wales was said to exercise an evil influence over his elder
brother, who was heir to the estate. When the landowner died the
eldest son disappeared mysteriously, and the second son took his place
as heir. Wherever the new squire went he was accompanied by a white
crow with black wings, and all the neighbours recognised the bird as
his constant companion.
A few years passed and the squire found it necessary to make a journey
to London on a matter of business, but thinking that the crow would
cause an odd sensation if it followed him about the Metropolis, he
decided, or let himself be persuaded, that it was better to leave the
bird behind. On his way home from town, he stayed for a night or two
at the house of a friend in Shrewsbury. During dinner the door of the
dining-room was blown open suddenly, as though by an unexpected gust
of wind, and the white crow flew into the room and perched on the
squire's shoulder, as though well-contented to be once more in the
presence of its master.
To satisfy the curiosity of the guests, the squire explained that the
bird was his most faithful friend. When the diners left the table and
went into the drawing-room a pet dog chased the bird, which had left
its perch on the squire's shoulder and had flown on ahead. One of the
visitors attempted to strike the dog, hoping to make it cease to
persecute the bird, and by accident he hit the bird instead. Croaking
piteously, the white crow wheeled about twice and fluttered to the
ground dying. The squire who had lingered behind the others came
forward at the noise of the fray and, seeing the dead crow, cried:
"Alas! You have killed one who was to me like a brother."
Then he turned to his host and took a hurried farewell, for, he added,
"I have but three weeks more to live."
At this strange speech the host and his guests concluded that the
squire was over-superstitious and they pooh-poohed his fears, which,
however, proved only too correct. He died three weeks later, as he had
himself prophesied, and then it was reported that the elder brother,
on his disappearance, had taken the shape of a crow and that whoever
owned the bird knew that he would only survive it by three weeks. A
third brother inherited the estate, and to this day when a death is
expected in the family, a white crow with black wings is seen hovering
near the house.[144]
A bird is connected with a death-warning in the Lyttleton family,
whose country seat is Hagley in Worcestershire. The first earl was a
distinguished poet and historian, but his son, Thomas, the second
earl, was known as "the wicked Lord Lyttleton," a title he had won by
his extravagances and profligacy. He died on November 27th, 1779, at
his town house in Hill Street, having been foretold of his death three
days previously.
In the middle of the night of the 24th of November he was awakened by
the fluttering of a bird about the curtains in his bedroom, and
looking up, he saw the vision of a lovely woman dressed in white, upon
whose wrist a small bird was perched like a falcon. As he lay watching
the apparition, the woman spoke, warning him to prepare for death
within three days.
Although he treated the matter lightly, and his friends seconded him
in combating his superstitious fears, Lord Lyttleton died at the exact
hour named by his ghostly visitor and the casement at which the bird
was seen by the doomed man has since been frequently pointed out to
people interested in the tradition.
Closeburn Castle, the seat of the Kirkpatricks in Dumfries-shire, was
surrounded by a beautiful lake, and whenever any member of the family
was about to die a swan appeared on the waters and remained there until
the death had taken place, then disappearing as mysteriously as it came.
The story of this ghostly swan is a sad one. In former times a pair of
swans made the lake their favourite resort in the summer season. Year
after year the pair paid an annual visit to Closeburn to the delight
of the family, for they were thought to bring good fortune in their
train, and whatever misfortune or sorrow had been impending vanished
like magic at their appearance.
One Lady Kirkpatrick had been sick unto death when the first
information of the presence of the swans brought her speedily back to
health. Another year the heir of the house, a mere babe, lay almost at
his last gasp when the broken-hearted mother, gazing from the castle
window one dark night, saw the two swans descend as though from the
celestial world, and the next moment they were seen sailing
majestically upon the lake. Full of joy at this good omen, she turned
to her sick child and saw with thanksgiving and praise the first signs
of returning health, a recovery which proved to be speedy. And so many
stories were told of kindly influence exerted by the original birds
and their successors, that for one hundred and fifty years the
tradition held good. But after the elapse of that period a change
occurred, which unfortunately reversed the omen.
At that time Closeburn Castle was in the possession of a boy of
thirteen of the name of Robert. He was romantic by nature, but also
mischievous, and it happened that one day he was permitted to go to
the theatre in Edinburgh to see a performance of "The Merchant of
Venice." The lines which Portia says of Bassanio, that he would
"Make a swan-like end
Fading in music,"
struck his imagination very forcibly and afterwards he could not rest
because he was so anxious to know whether the song of a dying swan was
a fact and not merely a myth.
Moved by this absorbing impulse, he went a short time later into the
Park at Closeburn with the intention of shooting sparrows with his
cross-bow, and at that moment, unluckily, the prophetic swans came
sailing upon the lake in his direction.
Without a thought as to what might be the result of his action, Robert
aimed his bow at one of the swans, and the arrow, winging its way over
the lake, hit its mark so surely that the swan perished on the spot. Its
companion gave a shrill and lamentable scream and vanished forthwith.
Robert, filled with remorse at what he had done, buried the body of
his victim, which had drifted to the shores of the lake, and told
nobody what had taken place. But for many years, much to the surprise
of the family, no swans came to Closeburn.
Much later, when the matter had been almost forgotten, a single swan
returned, but, unlike the earlier visitants, it was shy to wildness,
and upon its breast was seen a blood-red stain.
People shook their heads and said this phantom swan boded the family
no good, and their prognostications came true, for though the swan
with the bleeding breast came more rarely than the others had done,
every time it appeared it heralded misfortune. First the sudden death
of the Lord of Closeburn occurred at home and then one of his
relatives was lost in a shipwreck. And again at the third nuptials of
Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the first baronet of that name, his son and
heir Roger, who was in good health at the time, caught sight of the
swan, and in full conviction that the warning was meant to tell of
impending evil, he went home duly despondent. His father rallied him
on his mood, which he said proceeded from a jealous dislike of his new
stepmother. But Roger answered, "Perhaps before long, you too may be
sorrowing," and that very night he gave up the ghost.
Since then, tradition says, that the mystic wounded swan has never
been seen at Closeburn, and the tragic revenge has been completely
fulfilled.
According to the account of Sir Walter Scott, supernatural appearances
announce death to the ancient Highland family of the MacLeans of
Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor who was slain in battle is heard to
gallop along a stony bank and then to ride thrice around the family
residence ringing his fairy bridle and thus intimating the approaching
calamity. The reference to this legend occurs in "The Lady of the Lake."
Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast,
Of charging steeds, careering fast
Along Benharrow's shingly side,
Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride.
A fox is an unusual animal to be responsible for a death-warning,
except perhaps in Japan, where so many superstitions cling round this
creature, but the Irish family of Gormanston is haunted by a small
congregation of foxes whenever the head of the house is about to die.
Before the death of the twelfth viscount, in 1860, foxes were seen
round about and even in the house for some days. A few hours before
his death, "three foxes were playing about and making a noise close to
the house, and just in front of the cloisters, which are yew-trees
planted and trailed in that shape." They wandered about the grounds in
pairs and sat under the viscount's window, barking and howling all
night. Next morning they were crouching in the grass in the front of
the house. Although they had access to the poultry yard, it was
certainly strange that they never touched any of the birds. As soon as
the funeral was over the animals disappeared suddenly.
When the succeeding viscount died, in 1876, the foxes were seen again,
appearing constantly under the bedroom window, especially when the sick
viscount was supposed to have taken a turn for the better, which,
however, proved to be a false hope, for he passed away soon afterwards.
On the occasion of the death of the fourteenth Viscount Gormanston the
coachman and gardener saw two foxes near the chapel and five or six more
round the front of the house, and several were barking in the cloisters.
Lord Gormanston's son, the Hon. Mr. Preston, watched beside his father's
body which lay in the chapel, and on one occasion, about three in the
morning, he "became conscious of a slight noise, which seemed to be that
of a number of people walking stealthily around the chapel on the gravel
walk. He went to the side door, listened, and heard outside a continuous
and insistent snuffling or sniffing noise, accompanied by whimperings
and scratchings at the door. On opening it, he saw a full-grown fox
sitting on the path within four feet of him. Just in the shadow was
another, while he could hear several more moving close by in the
darkness. He then went to the end door, opposite the altar, and on
opening it found two more foxes, one so close that he could have touched
it with his foot. On shutting the door the noises continued till 5 a.m.,
when they suddenly ceased."[145]
When a death is about to take place in the Baronet's family at Clifton
Hall, in Nottinghamshire, a sturgeon is said to force its way up the
river Trent, which runs at the foot of the beautifully wooded slope on
which the Hall stands, and whenever white owls are seen perched on the
family mansion of the Arundels of Wardour it is held to be an
indication that a member of the family is near to death.
In one family a little white dog appears to give warning that a death
is about to occur. The story is taken from J. A. Middleton's "Grey
Ghost Book."[146] A relative of General French was sitting in the
garden talking with a friend when the latter saw a little white dog
run under her companion's chair. As it did not reappear she became
curious and requested him to see what had become of it. The man rose
and removed his chair, but the dog was not there, having suddenly and
mysteriously vanished. Then he related that in his family a little
white dog appeared before a death, and that this was a warning to him.
Some time after they met again and she learnt that his uncle had died
the same night, and that she had seen the animal, and when she
remarked that it was strange that it should have been visible to her
and not to him, he said that on many other occasions the phantom had
appeared to someone outside the family, though always near to a member
of it to whom it was visible.
A black dog appears as a death warning to some families, as related by
Catherine Crowe in "The Night Side of Nature."[147]
A young lady of well-known family was sitting at work, well and
cheerful, when she saw to her great surprise a large black dog close
to her. As both door and window were closed she could not understand
how he had got in, but when she started up to put him out she could no
longer see him. Quite puzzled and thinking it must be some strange
illusion, she sat down again, and went on with her work, when
presently he was there again. Much alarmed, she now ran out and told
her mother, who said she must have fancied it, or else that she must
be ill. She said that she was quite well and that she was sure she had
seen the animal. Then her mother promised to wait outside the door,
and if the dog appeared again her daughter said she would call her.
Presently the daughter saw the dog again, but he disappeared when she
called her mother. Soon afterwards the mother was taken ill and died.
Before her death she said to her daughter, "Remember the black dog."
Another family in the east of England has a tradition that the
appearance of a black dog portends the death of one of its members. It
was not said that no death took place without such warning; but only
that, when the apparition occurred, its meaning was certain. The
eldest son of this family married. He knew not whether to believe or
disbelieve the legend. On one hand he thought it superstitious to
receive it, and, on the other, he could not altogether reject it in
the face of much testimony. In this state of doubt--the thing itself
being unpleasant--he resolved to say nothing on the subject to his
young wife. It could only, he thought, worry and harass her, and could
not by any possibility do any good, and he kept this resolution. In
due course of time he had a family; but of the apparition he saw
nothing. At length, one of his children was taken ill with small-pox;
but the attack was slight and not the least danger was apprehended. He
was sitting down to dinner with his wife, when she said, "I will just
step upstairs and see how baby is going on, and I will be back again
in a moment." She went and, returning rather hastily, said, "Baby is
asleep; but pray go upstairs, for there is a large black dog lying on
his bed. Go up and drive it out of the house." The father had no doubt
of the result. He went upstairs; there was no black dog to be seen;
but the child was dead.[148]
The New Hall at Nafferton was the occasional residence of the
Derwentwater (Radcliffe) family, who left it for Dilston Hall in 1768.
Gradually the place fell into decay and strange things were seen about
the house. The apparitions were most frequent at times of birth or
death, or as preliminaries to any fatal accident, and they took the
forms of a white weasel, a white hen, or a white rabbit, and sometimes
a headless person dressed in white. Rappings and other noises were
frequent, and became so obtrusive that finally a farmer who lived in
the house decided to investigate matters. He called his brother to
help him, and as the worst noises came from a cavity in his own room,
covered by a hearthstone and called the "Priest's Hole," they began by
digging up the hearthstone. Beneath it was an accumulation of rubbish,
which they emptied out until they found a flagged recess, surrounded
at the sides by a stone seat, the actual hiding-place of priests,
usual in the houses of gentry of Roman Catholic tenets. Seeing nothing
extraordinary, they were about to desist from their labours when they
thought they heard a voice urging them to go on digging. From the
"priest's hole" they entered another apartment, and then a third,
where they found a blood-stained shirt and nightcap, which were
apparently of new linen, but as soon as they were exposed to the
atmosphere they crumbled away like "burnt tinder."
On careful inquiry it was discovered that about the time of the
Radcliffes' occupancy, an old pedlar had been murdered on the spot and
his goods stolen by the innkeeper's daughters.[149]
Albert Smith, whose brother was a pupil at Guildford Grammar School,
tells a story of a phantom vision which appeared at the time of a
death. Several of the schoolboys had been sitting up all night for a
frolic when one of them said, "I'll swear there's a likeness of our
old huntsman on his grey horse going across the whitewashed wall!" He
was laughed at for being so superstitious, but next morning a servant
came from the family to say "the old huntsman had been thrown from his
horse and killed that morning whilst airing the hounds."
It is no easier to attempt to explain such an apparition than it is to
say why Jemmy Lowther, the "bad Lord Lonsdale," was said to dash about
in his phantom coach and six after his death.
Another member of a noble family was responsible for bringing trouble
on his house through his wicked ways.
The Lambtons were haunted for nine generations by a horrible snake or
worm which brought much evil in its train. One day the heir to the
estate, a ne'er-do-well, was fishing in the Wear on a Sunday and
catching nothing he vented his anger in loud curses. Soon afterwards
there were indications that a fish was on his line, and, to his
disgust, he found he had hooked a monster, something between a worm
and a serpent. Terrified, he threw the creature into a well close by.
Before long, repenting of his wicked ways, he betook himself to the
Crusades, leaving his aged father to look after the estates without
him. Meanwhile the monster he had caught grew too large for the well
and crawled forth to work ill to the country-side, laying waste the
land, devouring cattle, and plundering right and left. The villagers
tried to appease it by offerings of milk, but no real release was to
be had from this serpent-tyrant until the return of the young heir
from the Crusade. Then he battled with the monster for freedom, much
in the manner of St. George and the Dragon, except that he took a vow
to offer as a sacrifice the first living thing he met after his
victory was won. To his horror this happened to be his father, and
incapable of parricide, he preferred to allow a curse to descend on
posterity, and for nine generations the Lambtons died by violence.
But no Christian might his father slay,
No penance the deed atone;
And no Lambton for nine ages past,
To die in his bed was known.
Another story tells of what happened to a noble dame when she died,
after having lived an evil life.
Lady Howard in the time of James I was said to be the possessor of
evil qualities in spite of her beauty and accomplishments. She was
cruel to her only daughter, and was thought to get rid of her husbands
by mysterious means, for she had been married four times.
When she died she had to do penance for her sins. Being transformed
into a hound, she was compelled to run a long distance every night
from her residence at Fitzford, to Okehampton Park and back to her old
home, carrying a blade of grass picked from the park. This work was to
go on until all the grass had been removed from Okehampton.
That evil-doing is punishable by a descent in the scale of being is a
salient point which appears in the race-beliefs of many nations.
The Lady Sybil of Bernshaw Tower, a fair maid of high rank but evil
repute, turned into a white doe after making a strange compact with
the devil. Rich, young, and beautiful, her desires were still
unsatisfied and she longed for supernatural powers, so that she might
take part in the witches' Sabbath. At this time, Lord William of
Hapton Tower (a member of the Townley family) was a suitor for Lady
Sybil's hand, but his proposals did not meet with her approval. In
despair, he decided to consult a famous Lancashire witch called Mother
Helston, who promised him success on All Halloween. In accordance with
her instructions he went hunting and at a short distance from the
Eagle's Crag a milk-white doe started from behind the thicket, and he
found it impossible to capture the animal. His hounds were wearied and
he returned to the Crag, almost determined to give up the chase, when
a strange hound joined his pack. Then a fresh start was made, and the
strange hound, Mother Helston's familiar, captured the white doe. That
night an earthquake shook Hapton Tower to its foundations and in the
morning the white doe appeared as the fair Lady Sybil, who had been
fleeing from her suitor in animal shape. Thus Lord William married the
heiress of Bernshaw Tower, but a year later she renewed her diabolical
practices and not until she lay near death was it possible for Lord
William to have the devil's bond cancelled, which he did by enlisting
the holy offices of a neighbouring priest. After her death Bernshaw
Tower was deserted and tradition says that on All Halloween, the hound
and the milk-white doe meet on the Eagle's Crag, where Lady Sybil lies
buried, and are pursued by a spectre huntsman in full chase.[150]
Sometimes the ghost of a human being has the power of taking animal
shape, as in the case of the eccentric Miss Beswick of Birchen Bower,
Hollinwood.
Birchen Bower was a quaint four-gabled mansion built in the form of a
cross, and attached to it was a large barn, where many uncanny
incidents happened.
"On the 22nd of July," says the "Manchester Guardian" of August 15,
1868, "the remains of Miss Beswick were committed to the earth in the
Harpurhey Cemetery. There is a tradition that this lady, who is
supposed to have died about one hundred years ago, had acquired so
strong a fear of being buried alive that she left certain property to
her medical attendant, so long as her body should be kept above
ground. The doctor seems to have embalmed her body with tar, and then
swathed it with a strong bandage, leaving the face exposed, and to
have kept 'her' out of the grave as long as he could. For many years
past the mummy has been lodged in the rooms of the Manchester Natural
History Society (Peter Street), where it has been an object of much
popular interest. It seems that the commissioners, who are charged
with the rearrangement of the Society's collections, have deemed this
specimen undesirable, and have at last buried it."
A curious bargain appears to have been made by Miss Beswick, namely,
that every twenty-one years her body was to be taken back to Birchen
Bower and be left there for one week, and the more elderly inhabitants
declared that this was done at the stated times, and the body laid in
the granary of the old farmstead. On the morning when the corpse was
fetched away, the horses and cows were invariably found to have been let
loose, and sometimes a cow would be found up in the hayloft, although
how it came there was a mystery, as there was no passage large enough to
admit the animal. The last prank of this description played by Miss
Beswick, as far as information goes, was a few years ago when a cow
belonging to the farmer then tenanting the place was found in the
hayloft. Naturally enough the neighbours believed that supernatural
agency had been employed to place it there. This occurred at the
fourteenth anniversary of seven years after Miss Beswick died, and it
was a recognised fact that some apparition was usually seen at Birchen
Bower at the expiration of every seven years. No one could explain how
the cow could get into the loft, and blocks had to be borrowed from
Bower Mill to get her down again through the hay-hole outside the barn.
After Miss Beswick's death her house was divided up into several
cottages, and she seems to have haunted the spot. To one family she
appeared as an old lady in a silken gown, and her arrival was
invariably announced to them as they were seated at supper by a
rustling of silk which was heard at the entrance. Soon after the
lady, arrayed in black silk, glided into the room, walked straight
into the parlour and disappeared at one particular flagstone. As she
annoyed no one her appearance never drew forth any further remark than
"Hush! Here's the old lady again."
Tradition said that Miss Beswick had hidden vast sums of money and
other articles of value in the time of Prince Charlie (1745), and a
weaver who lived in a part of the haunted house found a tin vessel
full of gold pieces under the floor of the haunted parlour. It was
thought after this discovery that the phantom lady would rest in her
grave, but this was not the case, and she recently appeared near an
old well by the brook-side. A rustic going to fetch water, saw a tall
lady standing by the well, wearing a black silk gown and a white cap
with a frilled border. She stood there in the dusk in a defiant or
threatening attitude, streams of blue light appearing to dart from her
eyes and flash on the horror-stricken spectator. This appearance of
the phantom was said to mean that Miss Beswick could get no rest until
certain members of her family regained their property, a result which
does not appear to be yet achieved, for the phantom still haunts the
neighbourhood, on clear moonlight nights, walking in a headless state
between the old barn and the horse-pool, and at other times assuming
the forms of different animals which, however, are always lost sight
of near the horse-pool. Some people think that Miss Beswick concealed
something on this spot in 1745, and is now anxious to point out her
treasure to anyone brave enough to address her. On dreary winter
nights the barn where the phantom cow was found is said to appear as
though on fire, a red glow being observed through the loopholes and
crevices of the loft, and loud noises proceeding from the building as
though the evil one and his demons were holding revels there. But if
an alarm of fire is raised by a frightened neighbour and the farmer
has the premises searched, all is found to be in order, and the
terror-stricken inhabitants of the village declare that Madame
Beswick is up to her ghostly pranks again.[151]
The popular belief in transformation is at the root of a strange
family story about Callaly Castle, which is beautifully situated at
the foot of the wooded slopes of Callaly Castle Hill, whose highest
peaks are some 800 feet above sea level. In the modern building are
incorporated the remains of an ancient border tower, the stronghold of
the Claverings. The Survey of 1541 says, "At Callalye ys a toure of
th'inheritaunce of Claverynge in measurable good repac'ons."
This was probably the tower which owed its erection on its present
site--the "Shepherd's Shaw," to a difference in opinion between the
Lord and Lady of Callaly in olden days.
The following account of the legend was given by Mr. George Tate,
F.G.S., in an article on "Whittingham Vale," contributed to the
"Alnwick Mercury," in 1862: "A lord of Callaly in the days of yore,
commenced erecting a castle on the hill: his lady preferred a low,
sheltering situation in the vale. She remonstrated, but her lord was
wilful, and the building continued to progress. What she could not
obtain by persuasion she sought to achieve by stratagem, and availed
herself of the superstitious opinions of the age. One of her servants
who was devoted to her interests, entered into her scheme: he was
dressed up like a boar, and nightly he ascended the hill and pulled
down all that had been built during the day. It was soon whispered
that the spiritual powers were opposed to the erection of a castle on
the hill; the lord himself became alarmed, and he sent some of his
retainers to watch the building during the night and discover the
cause of the destruction. Under the influence of the superstitions of
the times those retainers magnified appearances, and when the boar
issued from the wood and commenced overthrowing the work of the day,
they beheld a monstrous animal of enormous power. Their terror was
complete when the boar, standing among the overturned stones, cried
out in a loud voice:
"Callaly Castle built on the height,
Up in the day and down in the night;
Builded down in the Shepherd's Shaw,
It shall stand for aye and never fa'."
They immediately fled and informed the lord of the supernatural
visitation; and, regarding the rhymes as an expression of the will of
Heaven, he abandoned the work, and, in accordance with the wish of his
lady, built his castle low down in the vale where the modern mansion
now stands."[152]
The animal connected with the Coneely family is a seal. In the west of
Ireland there is a seal-clan; the clansman, calling himself after the
seal, conceives himself to be of the blood of the eponym animal. In
very ancient times some of the Coneely clan were changed by "art
magick" into seals and since then no member of the family can kill a
seal without incurring bad luck. Seals are called Coneelys, and on
this account it was said that many branches of the family changed
their name to Conolly.[153] The story was so thoroughly believed that
it was said that people who knew of it would "no more kill a seal, or
eat of a slaughtered one than they would of a human Coneely."
In the Faroe Isles the seals are said to appear once a year in human
form, and in 1872 a writer to the journal of the Anthropological
Institute tells the story of an Irish girl who was transformed into a
seal.
"The seals which abound on the rocky parts of the shore," he explains,
"are regarded with profound veneration, and on no account could a
native be induced to kill one, as they are said to be the souls of
their departed friends. In the hut of the king is the skin of a large
white seal, which I ascertained was piously treasured on account of
having formerly been occupied by the soul of a maiden. The following
is the legend related to me:--
"'Many years ago a beautiful young girl lived upon the island and was
the betrothed of a "dacent boy" by the name of Rooney. One day Rooney
and his bride-elect were fishing out in a coracle, when a storm arose
and the frail craft capsized. The terrified lover endeavoured in vain
to save his sweetheart. Before sinking for the last time she said
farewell to him, and said she would become a white seal and would sing
to him. The broken-hearted Rooney swam ashore, but his reason had
fled. He daily made a pilgrimage round the island in the hope of
meeting his departed in the shape of a white seal; but his journeys
were always fruitless.
"'At length one stormy winter night, Rooney started from his couch
saying, "Hark, I hear her singing. She calls me now," and before
anyone could stop him, he had bounded off and was lost in the
darkness. His friends were about to follow when they were deterred by
a plaintive voice, chanting a melancholy lay, but when daylight broke
it ceased. Then a search was made and down on the seashore they found
the dead body of Rooney with a dead white seal clasped to his
breast.'" The souls of the lovers had fled to an enchanted island.
Siward in the legend was the son of a bear and had bear's ears.
Brochmail was a tusked king of Powis. A tusked or pig-headed birth is
said to appear periodically in the Powis family, and there was a story
of one member who was so repulsive to the sight that he was kept shut
up in the oubliette of Powis Castle.
In Llayn (Carnarvonshire) it is said that March Amheirchion, the Lord
of Castell March, had horse's ears, as in the Irish story. These
instances are again related to the birth of monsters and deformities,
like the Concheannaich or Dogheads, an ancient race who inhabited, in
former days, the district now called Moygoniby in Kervy.
Conaire the Great, a mythical king of Ireland, was the son of a Bird
King and was therefore forbidden to kill any feathered creatures.
In Scotland the clan Chattan, who gave their name to Caithness, called
their Chieftain Mohr an Chat, the Great Wild Cat, probably owing to
some physical peculiarity.
Cuchullaine, the "hound of Culain," is a totem name. There is a story
of a witch who offered one of the family some cooked dog-flesh to eat,
but he refused it as it was against the law that he should "eat his
namesake's-flesh."
His name was originally Setanta, but his nickname was obtained in this
way: One night when he followed Conchobar to the house of Culain, a
smith, the gates were locked, and a ferocious dog lay in watch. The boy
killed the hound, and when the smith lamented his loss, Setanta said, "I
will be your _cu_ (dog) until another is grown large enough to guard
your house," whence he was called hound of Culain or Cuchullaine.
According to one account Cuchullaine has more affinity with a bird
than with a dog. "Not only does Cuchullaine bear obvious in his name
his origin as a cuckoo god but his birth, exploits, and death are
those of a cuckoo."[154]
When he was going forth to his last fight he met three crones,
daughters of the mist, who asked him to sup with them. Bent on his
destruction, they were cooking a hound with poison and spells on spits
of the rowan tree. He refused to partake of the dish because it was
against the law, and they rebuked him, saying, "It is because the food
is only a hound and so you despise it and us." His chivalry thus
appealed to, Cuchullaine helped himself to a shoulder-blade out of the
stew, and held it in his left hand while he was eating, putting it,
when finished, under his left thigh. Then his left hand and thigh
became stricken and he had no strength for the fight.
FOOTNOTES:
[143] Quoted in Middleton, J. A., "Another Grey Ghost Book," 1914, p.
249.
[144] Trevelyan, M., "Folk-lore and Folk-stories of Wales," 1909, pp.
294-5.
[145] "True Irish Ghost Stories."
[146] 1914, pp. 194-5.
[147] 1852, pp. 378-9.
[148] "The Unseen World," 1853, pp. 79-80.
[149] "The Denham Tracts," Ed. by James Hardy, 1895, Vol. II, pp. 193-6.
[150] Dyer, T. F. Thistleton, "Strange Pages from Family Papers,"
1895, pp. 168-70.
[151] Ingram, J. H., "The Haunted Homes and Family Traditions of Great
Britain," 1901, pp. 345-52.
[152] "The Denham Tracts," Vol. I, p. 324.
[153] "The Archæological Review," 1889, Vol. III, pp. 217, 315 ff.
[154] Kay, C. de, "Bird Gods," 1898, p. 92.