As you enter the romantic vale of Yewdale, about a quarter of a mile
above the saw-mills, by looking over the hedge to your right, you may
perceive, near to the verge of the precipitous bank of Yewdale Beck, and
a few yards from the roadside, a long narrow mound which seems to be
formed of solid stone covered with moss, but which a nearer inspection
would show to be composed of several blocks fitted so closely together
as to prove the mound to have had an artificial, and not a natural
origin. You observe it is somewhere between three and four yards long.
That singular accumulation of lichen-clad rock has been known for
centuries amongst the natives of Yewdale and the adjacent valleys, by
the romance-suggesting designation of Girt Will's Grave. How it came by
that name, and how Cauldron Dub and Yewdale Bridge came to be haunted,
my task is now to tell.
Some few hundred years ago, the inhabitants of these contiguous dales
were startled from their propriety, if they had any, by a report that
one of the Troutbeck giants had built himself a hut, and taken up his
abode in the lonely dell of the Tarns, above Yewdale Head. Of course you
have read the history and exploits of the famous Tom Hickathrift, and
remembering that he was raised at Troutbeck, you will not be much
surprised when I tell you that it was always famous for a race of
extraordinary size and strength; for even in these our own puny days,
the biggest man in Westmoreland is to be found in that beautiful vale.
The excitement consequent upon the settlement of one of that gigantic
race in this vicinity soon died away, and the object of it, who stood
somewhere about nine feet six out of his clogs, if they were in fashion
then, and was broad in fair proportion, became known to the neighbours
as a capital labourer, ready for any such work as was required in the
rude and limited agricultural operations of the period and
locality--answered to the cognomen of "Girt (great) Will o' t' Tarns,"
and, once or twice, did good service as a billman under the Knight of
Conistone, when he was called upon to muster his powers to assist in
repelling certain roving bands of Scots or Irish, who were wont, now and
again, to invade the wealthy plains of low Furness.
The particular Knight who was chief of the Flemings of Conistone, at the
period of the giant's location at the Tarns, was far advanced in years,
and, in addition to some six or eight gallant and stately sons, had
"One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well."
And Eva le Fleming, called by the country people "the Lady Eva," was
famed throughout the broad north for her beauty and gentleness, her
high-bred dignity and her humble virtues; but it is not with her that my
story has to do. She, like the mother of "the gentle lady married to the
Moor," had a maid called Barbara, an especial favourite with her
mistress, and, in her own sphere, deemed quite as beautiful. In fact, it
was hinted that, when she happened to be in attendance upon her lady on
festive or devotional occasions, the eyes of even knights and well-born
squires were as often directed to the maid as to the mistress, and
seemed to express as much admiration in one direction as the other.
And when mounted on the Lady Eva's own palfrey, bedecked in its gayest
trappings, she rode, as she oftentimes did, to visit her parents at
Skelwith, old and young were struck with her beauty, and would turn, as
she ambled past, to gaze after her, and to wonder at the elegance of her
figure, the ease of her deportment, and the all-surpassing loveliness of
her features. Her lady, notwithstanding the disparity of their rank,
loved her as a sister, and it was whispered amongst her envious
fellow-servants, that her mistress's fondness made her assume airs
unbecoming her station. True enough it was that she seemed sufficiently
haughty and scornful in her reception of the homage paid to her charms
by the young men of her own rank, and by many above it. The only one to
whom she showed the slightest courtesy on these occasions was wild Dick
Hawksley, the Knight's falconer, and he was also the only one who
appeared to care no more for her favours than for her frowns.
The Lady Eva, as well befits high-born dames, was somewhat romantic in
her tastes, and would often row for hours upon the lake, and wander for
miles through the woods, or even upon the mountains, unattended, save by
her favourite bower-maiden. And one evening in autumn, after having been
confined for two whole days to the hall, by heavy and incessant rain,
tired of playing chess with her father, and battledore with her younger
brothers, or superintending the needlework of her maids, and tempted by
the brilliant moonlight and now unobscured skies, she summoned Barbara,
and set out upon a stroll by the lake side.
The pair were sauntering along a path cut through the dense coppice, the
lady leaning in condescending affection upon the shoulder of her maiden,
and listening to a recital of how, on her return from some of her visits
to her parents, she had been waylaid by Great Will of the Tarns, and
how on a recent evening he had attempted to seize her rein, and would
have stopped her, had she not whipped the palfrey and bounded past him.
The lady was expressing her indignation at this insolence, when a
gigantic figure sprang upon the pathway, and, snatching up the screaming
Barbara with the same ease with which she herself would have lifted an
infant, vanished on the instant amongst the thick hazels.
The Lady Eva stood for a minute struck powerless with terror and
astonishment at this audacious outrage; but the sound of the monster
crashing his headlong course through the coppice, and the half-stifled
screams of his captive, soon recalled her suspended faculties, and then
"Fair" Eva "through the hazel-grove
Flew, like a startled cushat dove,"
back to the hall, where, breathless with terror and exertion, she gave
the alarm that Barbara had been carried off by the giant. There was
noisy and instantaneous commotion amongst the carousing gentles at the
upper, and the loitering lacqueys at the lower end of the hall. Dick
Hawksley, and a few more, darted off in immediate pursuit on foot, while
several rushed to the stables, in obedience to the call of their young
masters, who were, one and all, loudly vociferating for their horses.
Scarce a minute passed, ere half a dozen Flemings, attended by as many
mounted followers, were spurring like lightning through the wood in the
direction of Yewdale. They came in sight of the giant and his burthen as
he neared Cauldron Dub, with the light-heeled falconer close behind,
calling loudly upon him to stay his flight; but he held on with
tremendous strides, till he reached the brow over the pool, when,
finding that the horsemen were close upon him, and that it was hopeless
to try to carry his prize farther, he stopped--uttered one terrible
shout of rage and disappointment--and whirled his shrieking victim into
the flooded beck, resuming his now unencumbered flight with increased
speed.
Dick Hawksley rushed over the bank a little lower down, and the
horsemen, abandoning the chase, galloped to the brink of the stream,
which was high with the recent rains. They saw the falconer plunge into
the torrent, as the bower maiden, yet buoyant with her light garments,
was borne rapidly down. They saw him seize her with one hand, and strike
out gallantly for the bank with the other, but the current was too
strong for him, encumbered as he was with the girl in his grasp. The
devoted pair were swept down the stream, at a rate that made the
spectators put their horses to a gallop to keep them in sight, even
while the exertions of the brave falconer sufficed to sustain their
heads above water, which was only till they came under the bridge, where
the water, pent in by the narrow arch, acquired four-fold force, and
there they heard him utter a hoarse cry of despair, and the gallant
Hawksley and the Lady Eva's beauteous favourite were seen no more, till
their bodies were found, days after, on the shore far down the lake.
One or two of the horsemen continued to gallop down the side of the
beck, in the bootless hope of being able even yet to render them some
aid, but the most of them turned their horses' heads, and went off once
more at their utmost speed in pursuit of the murderous giant. He,
considering the chase at an end, had slackened his pace, and they were
not long in overtaking him. Great Will struck out manfully with his club
(time out of mind the giant's favourite weapon) as they rushed upon him,
but they speedily surrounded him, and, amid a storm of vengeful yells
and bitter execrations, the Giant of the Tarns was stretched upon the
sward, "with the blood running like a little brook" from a hundred
wounds; for he was so frightfully slashed and mangled by their swords,
that, as my informant naively averred, there was not so much whole skin
left upon his huge body as would have made a tobacco-pouch.
It will be apparent enough to the most obtuse intellect, that, after
such events as these, the localities where they occurred must, of
necessity, be haunted; and, as the ghosts of murderers, as well as of
murderees, if they be right orthodox apparitions, always appear to be
re-enacting the closing scene of their earthly career, it is scarcely
required of me to dilate farther upon the manner of their appearance. Of
course I do not expect, and certainly do not wish to be called upon to
prove the even-down truth of every particular of the story, with which I
have been doing my little best to amuse you; but the assured fact of the
Dub and the bridge being haunted, and that by sundry most pertinacious
spirits, I am ready to maintain against all comers.