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LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE
by
FREDERICK ROSS, F.R.H.S.,
Author of
"Celebrities of Yorkshire Wolds," "Yorkshire Family Romance,"
etc.
Hull:
William Andrews & Co., The Hull Press.
London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Limited.
1892.
_NOTE._
Of this book 500 copies have been printed, and this is
No. ...
Contents.
PAGE
THE ENCHANTED CAVE 1
THE DOOMED CITY 15
THE "WORM" OF NUNNINGTON 34
THE DEVIL'S ARROWS 51
THE GIANT ROAD-MAKER OF MULGRAVE 70
THE VIRGIN'S HEAD OF HALIFAX 80
THE DEAD ARM OF ST. OSWALD THE KING 100
THE TRANSLATION OF ST. HILDA 117
A MIRACLE OF ST. JOHN 131
THE BEATIFIED SISTERS OF BEVERLEY 147
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY 168
THE MIRACLES AND GHOST OF WATTON 176
THE MURDERED HERMIT OF ESKDALE 195
THE CALVERLEY GHOST 214
THE BEWITCHED HOUSE OF WAKEFIELD 231
LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE.
The Enchanted Cave.
Who is there that has not heard of the famous and redoubtable hero of
history and romance, Arthur, King of the British, who so valiantly
defended his country against the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders of the
island? Who has not heard of the lovely but frail Guenevera, his Queen,
and the galaxy of female beauty that constituted her Court at Caerleon?
Who has not heard of his companions-in-arms--the brave and chivalrous
Knights of the Round Table, who went forth as knights-errant to succour
the weaker sex, deliver the oppressed, liberate those who had fallen
into the clutches of enchanters, giants, or malicious dwarfs, and
especially in quest of the Holy Graal, that mystic chalice, in which
were caught the last drops of blood of the expiring Saviour, and
which, in consequence, became possessed of wondrous properties and
marvellous virtue of a miraculous character?
If such there be, let him lose no time in perusing Sir John Mallory's
"La Morte d'Arthur," the "Chronicles of Geoffrey of Monmouth," the
"Mabinogian of the Welsh," or the more recent "Idylls of the King,"
of Tennyson. According to Nennius, after vanquishing the Saxons in
many battles, he crossed the sea, and carried his victorious arms into
Scotland, Ireland, and Gaul, in which latter country he obtained a
decisive victory over a Roman army. Moreover, that during his absence
Mordred, his nephew, had seduced his queen and usurped his government,
and that in a battle with the usurper, in 542, at Camlan, in Cornwall,
he was mortally wounded; was conveyed to Avalon (Glastonbury), where
he died of his wound, and was buried there. It is also stated that in
the reign of Henry II. his reputed tomb was opened, when his bones
and his magical sword "Excaliber" were found. This is given on the
authority of Giraldus Cambrensis, who informs us that he was present on
the occasion. But the popular belief in the West of England was that
he did not die as represented, his soul having entered the body of a
raven, which it will inhabit until he reappears to deliver England in
some great extremity of peril.
This is what is told us by old chroniclers of Western England, the
Welsh bards, and some romance writers; but in Yorkshire we have a
different version of the story. It is true, say our legends, that
Arthur was a mighty warrior, the greatest and most valiant that the
island of Britain has produced either before or since; a man, moreover,
of the most devout chivalry and gentle courtesy, and withal so pure
in his life and sincere in his piety as a Christian, that he alone is
worthy to find the Holy Graal, if not in his former life, in that which
is forthcoming--for he is not dead, but reposes in a spell-bound sleep,
along with his knights, Sir Launcelot, Sir Gawaine, Sir Perceval, etc.,
and that the time is coming when the needs of England will be such as
only his victorious arm, wielding his magically wrought Excaliber,
can rescue from irretrievable ruin. He sleeps--it is asserted--along
with his knights, in a now undiscoverable cavern beneath the Castle
of Richmond, whence he will issue in the fulness of time, scatter the
enemies of England like chaff before the wind, as he so frequently
dispersed the hordes of Teuton pagans, and place England on a higher
eminence among the nations of the earth than it has ever previously
attained. This enchanted cave has been seen but once, and by one man
only. It happened in this wise:--
Once on a time there dwelt in Richmond one Peter Thompson. At what
period he flourished is not recorded, but it matters not, although
a little trouble in searching the parish registers and lists of
burgesses of the town might reveal the fact. He gained a living by
the fabrication of earthenware, and hence was popularly known amongst
his comrades and townspeople as Potter Thompson. He was a simple and
meek-minded man, small in stature and slender in limb, never troubling
himself with either general or local politics. His voice was never
heard at the noisy meetings of the vestry, nor did he join in the
squabbles attendant on the meetings of the electors for the choice
of their municipal governors or representatives in Parliament; he
merely recorded his vote for the candidate who came forward as the
representative of the colour he supported, leaving the shouting and
quarreling and cudgel-playing to those of his fellow-townsmen who had
a liking for such rough work. As for himself, he was only too glad
when he had discharged his duty as a citizen to get back to his clay
and his wheel, for he was an industrious little fellow, had plenty of
work, and was thus enabled, by living a frugal life, to lay by a little
money, and would have lived a comfortable and happy life but for one
circumstance.
Unfortunately, Peter Thompson was a married man; not that matrimony,
in the abstract, is a misfortune, but he was unfortunate inasmuch as
his wife was a termagant, and made his life miserable. Her tongue went
clack, clack, clacking all day long; nothing that he did was right. She
declared herself to be the greatest fool in Richmond to have united
herself to an insignificant little wretch like him; and even when the
bed curtains were drawn around them at night, the poor fellow was kept
awake for an hour or more while she dinned into his ears a lecture on
his manifold faults and his failures of duty as a husband. Peter seldom
replied, but bore it all with meekness, and allowed her to go on with
her monologue until she was tired, or ceased for want of breath. At
times, when she was more exasperating than usual, he would start up
from his wheel, clap his hat on his head, and rush out of the house to
escape her pertinacious scolding. At such times he would go wandering
about the hills and picturesque scenery by which Richmond is environed,
and especially about the hill on which stands the Castle, and amongst
the castle ruins, remaining away for three or four hours, moodily
meditating on the mischance or infatuation which had led him to ally
himself with so untoward a helpmate.
It chanced one day that Peter, unable to endure the persecution of
his wife's tongue, rushed out of his house with the full intention
of throwing himself into the Swale, so as to end his misery there
and then. It was a brilliant summer's day, and there was a glorious
sheen cast over hill and vale, rock and ravine, the silvery river
winding between its emerald-hued banks and the clumps of foliaged
woodland--over the Castle keep standing pre-eminently above all other
buildings, church tower, ruined friary, antique bridge, and the
quaint houses of the burghers, with the tower of Easby gleaming in
the distance, imparting to the whole scene, which is one of the most
picturesque in Yorkshire--which is saying a great deal, and which for
natural beauty can scarcely be surpassed in England--a charm which
had a wonderful effect on Peter's perturbed mind. He was a lover of
nature in all her aspects, and an ardent admirer of the landscape
beauties which surrounded his native town; and he began to reflect, as
he ran down the slope, that if he carried out his purpose, he would
never more be able to delight his eyes with the lovely prospects of
nature so lavishly displayed before him at that moment; and by the
time he reached the river's bank he had almost determined to live on
and find compensation for his domestic discomforts in his communings
with nature--or at least, continued he to himself--"I will take another
turn among the hills and rocks and old ivy-mantled ruins, before I bid
good-bye to it all." He wandered along round the base of the Castle
hill, his spirits becoming more elevated the farther he went, as he
gazed on the glorious landscape which gradually became revealed to his
view. Anon he fell into a contemplative mood, and reasoned calmly and
philosophically on the wisdom of disregarding the minor ills of life,
when it was possible for him as a compensating alternative to revel
in the delights he was now enjoying, and he soon forgot altogether his
purpose of terminating his woes and his life together from the parapet
of Swale bridge. Onward he wandered; when suddenly turning a corner
he came upon a spot altogether unknown to him--a ravine which seemed
to wind away under the Castle hill, walled in with rugged rocks, from
whose crevices sprang upward trees and shrubs, whilst underfoot was a
flooring of rough scattered stones and fragments of fallen rocks, which
appeared not to have been trodden for centuries. Astonished at the
sight, for he imagined that he knew every nook in the neighbourhood,
he rubbed his eyes to ascertain whether he was dreaming; but he found
himself to be fully awake, and the unknown ravine to be a palpable
reality. It just flashed across his mind that sorcery had been at work,
and that what he beheld was the result of necromancy, for in his time
enchanters, warlocks, wizards, and witches were rife in the land; but
Peter had a bold heart, and he resolved upon solving the mystery by an
exploration of the recesses of the ravine, let what would come of it.
Summoning up all his courage, Peter entered the ravine, stumbling
now and then over the stones bestrewn along his pathway. The road
wound about, now to one side then to another, and the trees overhead
to stretch out towards each other so as to overshadow the ravine and
impart a twilight effect, which, as Peter proceeded onward, deepened
into gloom, and eventually almost to darkness. At this period, when
he was compelled to move along with caution, he encountered what at
first seemed to be a wall of rock forming the end of the ravine. On
feeling it carefully he found it to be a huge boulder which obstructed
his path, but, his courage failing him not, he found means to clamber
over it and land safely on the further side. On looking about him, as
well as he could by the dim light, he found that he had alighted on
the entrance to a cavern, the boulder seeming as if it had been placed
there to prevent the intrusion of unauthorised persons, and then he
imagined that it might be the cave of a gang of banditti, and was at
once their treasure house and their refuge in times of peril; and this
idea seemed to be confirmed by the circumstance that he could perceive,
in the extreme distance, a glimmer of light. He felt that it would be
extremely dangerous to be discovered in the purlieus of their haunt,
but curiosity got the better of his fears, and he resolved upon going
forward, mentally adding "After all it may be nothing more than the
daylight streaming in at the other end, and by going on I may come out
into the open air without having to return by the rough, shinbreaking
road by which I have come;" and onward he went, feeling his way by the
rocky walls cautiously and slowly, and, it must be added, with some
degree of trepidation.
As he proceeded along, the distant light increased, and could be seen
beaming through an opening like a doorway, with a mild effulgence
resembling moonlight. Clearly it could not be the light of the sun
streaming in through the aperture, and Peter, becoming more convinced
that he was either approaching a robbers' haunt or a scene of
enchantment, crept along as silently as possible, with some timidity,
it is true; but having come thus far, and his curiosity being excited
to the utmost pitch, he determined to carry out his adventure to the
end. As he approached the portal, he stood to listen; but not the
slightest sound broke the death-like stillness, and concluding from
this that the cave was not occupied--at least, was not at present--he
ventured onward with silent footstep, and stood within the illuminated
aperture. What was his amazement cannot be told at beholding the scene
before him. The opening gave entrance to a lofty and spacious cavern,
its walls glittering with crystals and spars, whilst from the roof
depended a profusion of stalactites, glistening and scintillating with
hues of spectroscopic brilliancy. The light which was diffused around
seemed to be something supernatural; it was not that of the sun, nor
that of the moon, nor was it our modern electric light; but seemed to
be an intensity of phosphoric radiance--soft, mild, and provocative
of slumber--which came not from any lamp or other visible source,
but appeared to be self-evolved from the atmosphere. In the centre
of the cave, upon a rocky table or couch, lay the figure of a kingly
personage, resting his head on his right hand, after the fashion of the
recumbent effigies in our mediæval churches. He was clad in resplendent
armour and a superb over-cloak, with a golden crown, studded with
precious stones, encircling his head. By his side was a circular shield
emblazoned with arms, which would have told Peter, had he been versed
in heraldry, that the owner was the famous King Arthur; whilst close
by, suspended from the wall, were a diamond-hilted sword in a chased
golden scabbard, and a highly ornamented horn, such as were used by
military leaders for collecting their scattered troops. Around the King
lay his twelve Knights of the Round Table, some prostrate on the floor,
others reposing on fragments and projections of the rocks, each one
handsome in figure and reclining in unstudied natural grace, presenting
a study for a painter. They all lay as still as death save that their
heaving chests and audible breathing showed that they were wrapped in
profound slumber. Peter gazed upon them for a while with wondering
eyes, keeping within the doorway, so as to have the road clear behind
him for escape, in case of any hostile demonstration on the part of the
knights. As they still slumbered on, without any sign of awakening, he
plucked up courage enough to go amongst them; and, attracted by the
splendour of the sword, he took it down to examine it more closely;
then took it by the handle, and half drew it from its sheath. The
moment he had done so, the sleepers around him gave symptoms of
awakening, turned themselves, and seemed to be preparing to rise; but
the spell of disenchantment was not complete. Peter, terribly alarmed
at what he saw, pushed back the sword into the scabbard, threw it
on the floor, and hurried with all speed to the doorway; whilst the
half-awakened slumberers sank back again into deep sleep. Peter, not
noticing this, rushed through the opening, thinking the knights were
following him to inflict some terrible punishment on him--perhaps that
of death--for his presumptuous intrusion. It was but a few moments,
and he reached the boulder which defended the entrance, and which was
much more difficult to scale from that side. He was endeavouring to
find projections to enable him to clamber up, when he heard a hollow
sepulchral voice exclaim from the cave:--
"Potter, Potter Thompson,
If thou had'st either drawn
The sword or blown the horn,
Thoud'st been the luckiest man
That ever yet was born."
With teeth chattering, hair on end, and a cold perspiration suffusing
his forehead, he made a desperate effort, scrambled somehow or other
over the stone, and running with fleet footstep, regardless of the
rough roadway, gained the open air without any other damage than a few
bruises and a terrible fright. He went home, and had to encounter a
fearful scolding for remaining out so long and neglecting his work.
He told his wife the tale of his adventures, but she only laughed it
to scorn, saying, "You old fool! and so you have fallen asleep on the
hillside and want to persuade me that your dream was a reality. It's
a pretty thing that you should leave your wheel and go mooning about
in this way, leaving your faithful wife to suffer the effects of your
idleness."
Many a time since then did Peter seek for the ravine but could never
find it; but it is confidently assumed that Arthur and his knights are
still slumbering under the Castle hill.
The Doomed City.
Through the valley of Wensleydale, in the North Riding of Yorkshire,
flows the river Yore or Ure, passing onward to Boroughbridge, below
which town it receives an insignificant affluent--the Ouse--when it
assumes that name, under which appellation it washes the walls of York,
and proceeds hence to unite with the Trent in forming the estuary of
the Humber; but although it loses its name of Yore before reaching
York, the capital city of the county is indebted to it for the name it
bears. The river in passing through Wensleydale reflects on its surface
some of the most romantic and charming landscape scenery of Yorkshire,
and that is saying a great deal, for no other county can equal it in
the variety, loveliness, and wild grandeur of its natural features.
"In this district, Wensleydale, otherwise Yorevale or Yorevalle," says
Barker, "a variety of scenery exists, unsurpassed in beauty by any
in England. Mountains clothed at their summits with purple heather,
interspersed with huge crags, and at their bases with luxuriant
herbage, bound the view on either hand. Down the valley's centre
flows the winding Yore, one of the most serpentine rivers our island
boasts--now boiling and foaming, in a narrow channel, over sheets of
limestone--now forming cascades only equalled by the cataracts of the
Nile--and anon spreading out into a broad, smooth stream, as calm and
placid as a lowland lake. On the banks lie rich pastures, occasionally
relieved, at the eastern extremity of the valley, by cornfields.
There are several smaller dales branching out of Wensleydale--of
which they may, indeed, be accounted part. Of these the principal are
Bishopdale and Raydale, or Roedale--the valley of the Roe--which last
contains Lake Semerwater, a sheet of water covering a hundred and five
acres, and about forty-five feet deep. Besides this lake, the natural
objects of interest in the district best known are Aysgarth Force,
Hardraw-scaur, Mill Gill, and Leyburn Shall--the last a lofty natural
terrace from which the eye may range from the Cleveland Hills at the
mouth of the Tees to those bordering upon Westmoreland."
The valley is exceedingly rich in historic memories and noble monuments
of the architectural past--"castles and halls inseparably united with
English story, and abbeys whose names, whilst our national records
shall be written, must for ever remain on the scroll; with fortresses
which have been the palaces and prisons of kings. Of these, Bolton
Castle, the home of the Scropes, and one of the prisons of Mary, Queen
of Scots, and Middleham Castle, where dwelt the great Nevill, the
king-maker, and the frequent and favourite residence of the Duke of
Gloucester, afterwards King Richard III., and the venerable remains of
Yorevale, or Jervaux, and of Coverham Abbeys, are alone sufficient to
immortalise a district of country."
In former times the dale was covered by a dense forest, the home of
countless herds of deer, wild boars, wolves, and other wild animals.
There were no roads, but glades and trackways, intricate and winding,
very difficult and puzzling to traverse, so that travellers often
became benighted, without being able to find other shelter than that
afforded by trees and bushes. At the village of Bainbridge there
is still preserved the "forest horn," which was blown every night
at ten o'clock from Holyrood to Shrovetide, to guide wanderers who
had lost their way to shelter and safety from the prowling beasts of
prey. A bell also was rung at Chantry, and a gun fired at Camhouse
with the same object. In the first century of the Christian era there
existed in the valley of Roedale a large and for that time splendid
city, inhabited by the Brigantian Celts. It nestled in a deep hollow,
surrounded by picturesque hills and uplands, and was environed by the
majestic trees of the forest, where the Druids performed the mystical
rites and ceremonials of their religion. The houses were built of mud
and wattles, and thatched with straw or reeds, and the city was a
mere assemblage of such private residences, without any of the public
buildings, such as churches, chapels, town houses, assembly rooms,
baths, or literary institutions, such as now-a-days appertain to every
small market town; yet it was spoken of as a "magnificent city," and
such it perhaps might be as compared with other and smaller towns and
villages.
It was about the time when Flavius Vespasian annexed Britain to
the Roman Empire, and the Brigantes had been partially subdued by
Octavius Scapula, the Roman Governor of Britain, but before York had
become Eboracum--the Altera Roma of Britain--and the influence of the
conquerors of the world had not penetrated to this remote and secluded
spot in the forest of Wensleydale, so that the people of the city still
retained their old religion, customs, and habits of life; still stained
their bodies with woad, clothed themselves with the skins of animals,
and still fabricated their weapons and implements of bronze. Joseph of
Arimathea had planted the cross on Glastonbury Hill, but the people of
this city had never even heard of the new religion that had sprung up
in Judea, and went on sacrificing human beings to their bloodthirsty
god, cutting the sacred mistletoe from the oaks of their forest, and
drawing the beaver from the water, emblematic of the salvation of Noah
and his family at the deluge, of which they had a dim tradition.
The angels of heaven took great interest in the efforts of the apostles
who, in obedience to their Master's command, went forth from Judea to
preach the gospel of glad tidings and the doctrine of the cross to
all mankind, and had especially noted the erection of the Christian
standard on Glastonbury Hill, in the barbarous and benighted island
of the Atlantic. One of the heavenly host, indeed, became so much
interested in the conversion of the natives of this isle--which
he foresaw would, in the distant centuries, become a great centre
of evangelical truth, and, by means of missionaries, the foremost
promulgator of religious light to other benighted peoples of the
earth--that he determined to descend thither, and, under the guise of
a human form, go about amongst the people, and in some measure prepare
them for the reception of the teachings of the companions of St. Joseph.
Midwinter had come, the period when the sun seemed to the Britons to be
farthest away from the earth, and when, according to the experience of
the past, he would commence his return with his vivifying rays; and the
Druids were holding joyous ceremonial in celebration of this annually
recurring event. The sun was viewed as a superhuman beneficent being
who journeyed across the heavens daily to dispense heat and life, and
to cause the fruits and flowers and cereals to bloom and fructify, and
give forth food for men and animals, who in summer approached near to
the earth, and in winter retired to a distance from it--for what end or
purpose they knew not. Nevertheless they deemed it wise to propitiate
him by two great ceremonials of worship--the one at midsummer, attended
by blazing "Baal-fires" on the hills (a custom which still survives
in some parts of Yorkshire, where, on Midsummer-eve, "beal-fires" are
lighted), a festival of rejoicing and thanksgiving for the ripening
crops and fruits; the other at midwinter, which partook more of the
character of a supplicating worship, imploring him, now that he was far
distant, not to withdraw himself entirely from the earth, but return
as he had been wont to do, and again cheer the world with his beams of
brightness and warmth. On the occasion of this particular festival,
the weather was stormy and cold; the pools were frozen over, and the
ground covered with snow, whilst a chilling sleet, driven by a biting
north-eastern wind, beat upon those who were exposed to its influence
in the open air. The festival was proceeding in a cleared space of the
forest circled round by lofty trees, which was the open-air natural
temple of the Druids; its walls built by the hand of their god, and
its dome-like roof the floor of the habitation where he dwelt. Whilst
the Druids were engaged in offering up prayers, the bards in singing
anthems of praise, and the vates investigating the entrails of slain
animals, to read therein forecasts of the future and the will of the
gods, especially of the Sun God, in whose honour the festival was
held, the venerable figure of an aged man might be seen descending the
hill and approaching the city. He seemed to be bowed down with the
infirmities of age, and to breast with difficulty the forcible rushing
of the wind. His white flowing beard, which reached almost to his
waist, was glittering with incrustations of ice; and his legs trembled
as he came along, leaning on his staff, with feeble and uncertain
footsteps. He was clad in a long gabardine, which he wrapped tightly
round him, to protect his frame as much as possible from the inclemency
of the weather; his head was covered by a hat with broad flapping brim;
and his feet were sandalled, to shield them from the roughness of the
road.
He came amongst the cottages and passed from door to door, asking
for shelter and food, but everywhere was repulsed, and at times with
contumely and opprobrious epithets. No one would take him in beneath
their roof; no one had charity enough to give him a crust or a cup
of metheglin, and onward he went until he came to the spot where the
festival was progressing under the direction of the Arch-Druid, a man
of extreme age, but of commanding stature and majestic port.
The appearance of the angel (for he it was, in the guise of infirm
and poverty-stricken humanity) caused some sensation, chiefly in
consequence of his peculiar and outlandish dress, and all eyes were
directed upon him as he walked boldly and unhesitatingly, but with
halting step, to the centre of the circle where the hierarchs were
grouped.
The angel, addressing himself to the Arch-Druid, inquired, "Whom is it
that you worship in this fashion?"
"Who are you," replied the Druid, "that you know not that our midwinter
festival is in honour of the great and gloriously shining God, who
reveals himself to us in his daily march across the sky?"
"Then you worship the creature instead of the creator?"
"How the creature? He whom we worship was never created, but has
existed from all eternity."
"Alas! blind mortals, you labour under a Satanic delusion. Know that
what you, in your ignorance, worship is but an atom in the great and
resplendent universe of worlds and suns, called into existence by the
fiat of Him whom I serve, who alone is self-existent, immortal, and the
Creator of all men and all things."
"You speak in parables, stranger, and in an impious strain. Mean you
to say that the god-sun is not great and powerful, he who causes the
herbage to grow and the trees to give forth fruit? Can he do this if he
be not a god?"
"He is merely the instrument of the one Almighty God, whose Son, on the
anniversary of this day, became incarnate on earth, and died on the
cross in a land far distant from this, that man might not be subjected
to the penalty for disobedience to His laws, thus dying in his stead,
to satisfy the ends of justice."
"And you say that he, a mere man, who died in the distant land you
speak of, was the son of one who created the sun?"
"Most certainly."
"Then I must say that you speak rank blasphemy."
And the priests and other officials re-echoed the shout, "Blasphemy!
blasphemy!" and the people around took it up, and the cry of
"Blasphemy!" rose up from a thousand tongues.
"Slay him! stone him!" was then cried by the excited people, and they
began to take up stones and hurl them at the old man, who, shaking the
snow of the city from his sandals, and saying "Woe be unto you," passed
through the surrounding crowd, and disappeared amongst the forest trees.
The dusky shades of evening, or rather afternoon, were drawing in as
the angel passed through the wood; and as, in his incarnate form, he
was subject to all the sufferings and discomforts humanity is liable
to, he feared that he would have to pass the night, with all its
inclemency of weather, with no other shelter than that afforded by a
tree trunk or the branches of a bramble bush, but after wandering some
time he came upon a cleared space, where he found some sheep huddling
together on the lee side of a rising ground, and judging that where
sheep were men would not be far distant, he passed up the hillside
and gladly hailed a gleam of light issuing from a cottage window. He
approached and knocked at the door, which was opened by a comely,
middle-aged dame, whilst, by the fire of peat, sat a man whom he
presumed to be her husband, occupied in eating his evening meal, with a
shepherd dog by his side, eagerly looking out for the bones and chance
pieces of meat which his master might think proper to throw him.
"Good dame," said he to the woman, "have you charity enough to give
me shelter from the storm, a crust of bread to allay the cravings of
hunger, and permission to imbibe warmth from your fire into my aged and
frozen limbs?"
"Yes, that indeed we have, venerable father," replied she. "Come in and
seat you by the fire, and we will see what the cottage can supply in
the way of victuals."
He stepped in, and was welcomed with equal kindness by the husband,
who placed for him a seat near the fire, took off his coat, which he
suspended before the fire to dry, and gave him a sheepskin to throw
over his shoulders; whilst the dame bustled about in the way of cooking
some slices of mutton and bringing out some of her best bread, with a
wooden drinking vessel filled with home-made barley liquor, not unlike
the ale of after days.
He was then invited to seat himself at the table, a board resting
on two trestles, and ate heartily of the viands before him. After
the meal, and when he was thoroughly warmed and made comfortable, he
entered into conversation with the worthy couple, and ascertained that
the man was a shepherd, and made a fairly comfortable living out of
his small flock of sheep, which supplied him and his wife with raiment
and flesh meat for food, besides a small surplus for barter to procure
other necessaries. He told them that he was a wanderer on the face of
the earth, not a Briton, but allied to people who lived in the far east
near the sun rising, and that he had come hither to tell the Britons
of the true God, and that they whom they worshipped were not gods at
all; to all which they listened with wonderment and awe, but displayed
none of the bigotry and hostility to adverse faiths which had been so
practically shown in the city. With eloquent tongue he explained to
them the mysteries of the Christian religion, but they comprehended
him not, such matters being entirely beyond the capacities of their
understandings. Nevertheless they were much interested in some of
the narratives, such as the nativity and the visit of the Magi; the
miraculous cures of the sick; the crucifixion, the resurrection, and
the ascension, all which were told with great graphic power, and
listened to with rapt ears; and they sat on late into the night in this
converse, and then a bed of several layers of straw was made for the
stranger in a warm corner of the cottage, and a couple of sheep skins
given him for coverlets.
The following morning broke bright and cheerful, a complete contrast
to the preceding day. The sun came out with a radiance as brilliant as
it was possible for a midwinter sun to do, and lighted up the hills,
on which the snow crystals glistened, and the roofs of the houses in
the valley below, with a splendour seldom beheld at that period of the
year, and the people of the city hailed the sight as a response to
their festival prayers, that the God of Day would still continue to
shower his blessings upon them, and bring forth their crops and fruits
in due course. The guest at the shepherd's cottage, wearied with his
wanderings and the buffeting of the storm, slept long after the sun
had risen; but his hosts had been up betimes, the shepherd having
gone to look after his sheep, and his wife to prepare a warm breakfast
for him on his return. When this was ready, and the shepherd had come
home, their guest was awakened, and partook with them of their meal of
sheep's flesh, brown bread, and ewe's milk. He had performed certain
devotions on rising, such as his entertainers understood not, but which
they assumed to be acts of adoration and thanksgiving to his God.
Resuming his cloak, now thoroughly dried, his flapped hat, and his
long walking staff, he went out to pursue his journey. With his hosts
he stood on the elevated ground on which the cottage was situated, and
looked down upon the city in the valley below, from which there rose up
the busy hum of voices of men going about their vocations for the day,
with them the first of their new-born year.
The stranger looked down upon the city for some moments in silence;
then stretching forth his arms towards it, he exclaimed, "Oh city! thou
art fair to look upon, but thou art the habitation of hard, unfeeling,
and uncharitable men, who regard themselves alone, and neither respect
age nor sympathise with poverty and infirmity! Thou art the abode
of those who worship false gods, and shut their ears to, nay, more,
maltreat those who would point out their errors and lead them into the
path of truth; therefore, oh city! it is fitting that thou shouldst
cease to cumber the earth; that thou shouldst be swept away as were
Sodom and Gomorrah. As for you," he added, turning to the shepherd and
his wife, "you took the stranger in under your roof, sheltered him
from the storm, fed him when ahungered, and comforted him as far as
your means permitted. For this accept my thanks and benison, and know
that my benison is worth the acceptance, for I am not what I seem--a
frail mortal--but one of those who stand round the throne of the God
I told you of last evening, which is in the midst of the stars of the
firmament. May your flocks increase, and your crops never fail; may you
live to advanced age, and see your children and children's children
grow up around you, wealthy in this world's wealth, honoured, and
respected." Turning again towards the city, and again stretching forth
his arms over it, the mysterious stranger cried out in a voice that
might be heard in the streets below:--
"Semerwater, rise; Semerwater, sink;
And swallow all the town, save this lile
House, where they gave me meat and drink."
Immediately a loud noise was heard, as of the bursting up of a hundred
fountains from the earth, and the water rushed upward from every part
of the city like the vomiting of volcanoes; the inhabitants cried out
with terror-fraught shouts, and attempted to escape up the hills, but
were swept back by the surging flood, which waved and dashed like
the waves of the tempestuous sea. Higher and higher rose the water;
overwhelmed the houses and advanced up the sides of the hill, engulfing
everything and destroying every vestige of life, and eventually it
settled down into the vast lake as it may now be seen.
It may be thought that this was a cruel act of revenge on the part of
the angel, but we have the authority of Milton, that the angelic mind
was susceptible of the human weakness of ambition; why, therefore,
should it not be actuated by that other human passion of revenge?
The shepherd and his wife gazed on the spectacle of the destruction
of the city with awe-stricken countenances, when another spectacle
filled them with equal amazement. They turned their eyes upon their
guest, who still stood by them, but who was undergoing a wonderful
transformation. From an aged and infirm man he was becoming youthful
in appearance, of noble figure, with lineaments of celestial beauty,
and an aureola of golden light flashing round his head. His tattered
and way-worn garments seemed to be melting into thin air and passing
away, and in their place appeared a long white robe, as if woven of the
snow crystals of the surrounding hills; whilst from his shoulders there
streamed forth a pair of pinions, which he now expanded, and waving an
adieu to his late entertainers, he rose up into the air, and in a few
minutes had passed beyond their sight.
The shepherd's flocks soon began to multiply wonderfully, and he
speedily became one of the richest men of the countryside. His sons
grew up and prospered as their father had, and their descendants
flourished for many generations in their several branches as some
of the most important and wealthy families of the district. The old
man and his wife abandoned the old Druidical religion, and prayed to
the unknown God of whom their guest spoke on the memorable evening
preceding the destruction of the city; and when the Apostles of
Christianity came hither, were among the first converts. There may be
sceptics who may doubt the truth of this legend, but there the Lake of
Semerwater still remains, and what can be a more convincing proof of
its truth, as old Willet was wont to say, when pointing to the block
of wood at the door of his inn at Chigwell, as a triumphant proof
of the truth of the story he had been narrating. The rustics of the
neighbourhood also assert that they have seen, fathoms deep in the
lake, the chimneys and church spires of the engulfed city; but as there
were neither churches nor chimneys when that city was in existence, we
are inclined to believe that this is an optical delusion.
The "Worm" of Nunnington.
A charming pastoral scene might have been witnessed in the picturesque
valley of Ryedale, northward of Malton, and not far distant from the
spot where, in after ages, sprung up the towers of Byland Abbey, one
fair midsummer eve in the earlier half of the sixth century--a scene
that would have gladdened the heart of a painter, and made him eager
to transfer it to canvas, to display it on the walls of the next Royal
Academy Exhibition, had painters and Royal Academy Exhibitions been
then in vogue. It was in a village near the banks of the Rye--the
precursor of what is now called Nunnington; what was its Celtic name we
are informed not, but it was a Celtic village, and inhabited by Celtic
people, who had been Christianised, and taught the usages and habits
of civilized life during the supremacy of the Romans in the island,
who had now departed to defend the capital of the world against the
incursions of the hordes of barbarians who were thundering at its
gates, leaving the Britons, enervated by civilisation and its attendant
luxuries, a prey to the Picts and Scots and the Teutonic pirates who
infested the surrounding seas.
It was an age of chivalry and romance; the half real, half mythical
Arthur ruled over the land, and made head against the Scots and the
Teutons, defeating both in several battles. He instituted the chivalric
Order of Knights of the Round Table--whose members were patterns of
valour and exemplars in religion, and who went forth as knights-errant
to correct abuses, protect the fairer and weaker sex, chastise
oppressors, release those who were under spells of enchantment, and
do battle with giants, ogres, malicious dwarfs, and enchanters, also
with dragons, hippogriffs, wyverns, serpents, and other similarly
obnoxious creatures. Who hath not read of their marvellous adventures
and valorous exploits in the quest of the Sang-real, the histories
of Sir Launcelot and Sir Tristram, La Morte d'Arthur, and the Idylls
of the King? Witches and warlocks, sorcerers and ogres, tyrants and
oppressors, then abounded in the land, and beauteous damsels, the
victims of their cruelty and lust, so that there was plenty of work,
to say nothing of the reptiles of the forests, for the entire army of
valiant knights who went forth from Caerleon on the Usk in quest of
adventures, inspired by the approving smile of Queen Guinevere and
of the fair ladies in whose honour they placed lance in rest, and
whose supremacy of beauty they vowed to maintain in many a joust and
tournament.
The village lay in a spot where nature had spread out some of her
loveliest features of valley, upland, and meandering river of silvery
sheen running through the midst; whilst trees of luxuriant foliage, in
groups and thickets of forest land, enshrined the whole as a fitting
framework for the sylvan picture. Farmsteads were scattered about, and
a cluster of humbler cottages, the habitations of the serf class of
farm labourers constituted the village.
As we have seen, it was Midsummer Eve, a day of festival and
rejoicing which had been observed from time immemorial, for now the
sun approached the nearest to the zenith with its fructifying beams,
and in celebration of the event a huge bonfire had been built up on
an eminence outside the village; whilst around it, hand in hand,
danced the youths and maidens with much glee and merriment, with
boisterous mirth, and many a joke and song, and moreover with no lack
of flirtation between the lads and lasses, who footed it merrily, and
became more and more vigorous in the dances as the flames mounted
higher and higher. Although they knew it not, this village carnival
was a survival of the paganism of the past, when the remote ancestors
of the existing generation worshipped Baal, the great Sun God. It
had come down through centuries of homage to the creature instead of
the Creator, and having been regarded as a great holiday, did not
suffer extinction at the advent of Christianity, but was permitted
to be retained in that capacity, without any reference to religious
ceremonial, which in course of time was entirely forgotten. And it is
a remarkable instance of the vitality of ancient customs to observe
that in some parts of Yorkshire, in Holderness to wit, "Beal fires" are
lighted on Midsummer Eve, even to the present day.
The elders of the village were seated about in groups on the turf,
watching the upblazing of the fire, casting approving smiles on the
joyous gambols and incipient match-making of their progeny, and
talking of their own juvenile days, when they were equally happy
partners in the circling dance. The blue sky overhead was cloudless,
and in the western horizon the setting sun shot forth beams of golden
light; and all was hilarity and happiness. A queen of the festival had
been chosen--the most beautiful maiden of the village, a sweet girl of
eighteen, with brilliant complexion, melting blue eyes, and flowing
curls of flaxen hue. A platform of boughs had been improvised upon
which to carry her on the shoulders of a half-dozen young bachelors
back to the village with songs of triumph, and the procession had
just been arranged, when a loud hissing sound was heard to issue from
the neighbouring forest, a sound which in these days would have been
attributed to a passing railway train; but which then sounded strange
and unearthly, and spread consternation among the merrymakers, who
turned and looked with panic-stricken countenances in the direction
from whence the sound came.
The first impulse of the crowd was to fly to their homes, from the
unknown object of dread, but curiosity prompted a counter-impulse,
a desire to see what gave rise to the fear-inspiring sound. Nor had
they long to wait, for a few minutes after a monstrous reptile, with
the body of a serpent and the head of a dragon, its mouth seeming, to
their excited imaginations, to breathe out flame, issued from the wood
and came across the open space with fearful but graceful undulations
towards the terrified villagers. The air appeared to become charged,
too, with a pestiferous influence, issuing from the nostrils of the
monster, which increased in intensity the nearer it came. With shrieks
and wild cries, those who had been dancing so merrily but a few
minutes before took to their heels to find refuge in their cottages,
exclaiming, "Oh, that Sir Peter Loschi were here to deliver us from
the monster!" All reached their habitations and barred their doors;
all save one, the beautiful young queen of the festival, the pride of
the village--the beloved of every one--who, fascinated like a bird
by the eyes of the reptile, had stood gazing upon it so long that
she was quite in the rear of the fugitives, and was overtaken by the
serpent, who immediately coiled the foremost part of its body round
her, and in this fashion carried her back into the forest. As she did
not reappear, it was concluded that she had been devoured; and day
after day one young damsel after another disappeared after going to
the spring for water, or on other open-air errands, all of whom, it
was doubted not, had furnished meals for the monster. Indeed, at times
he was seen carrying them off as he had done the poor little queen,
until at length the village seemed to be becoming depopulated of its
maidenhood. The men at times went armed with bludgeons to attack the
serpent in his cave on the hill side, but were ever driven back by the
poisonous exhalations of the animal's breath, which seemed to render
them faint and powerless; and two or three of the bolder spirits who
approached the nearest to the den died under its influence. And the
people continued to cry, "Oh, Sir Peter Loschi, why do you tarry?"--for
in him lay all their hope of deliverance.
This Sir Peter Loschi, whose aid was so frequently and fervently
invoked, was the owner of a castle and certain broad acres in the
vicinity. He was a Celt of unadulterated blood, although his name has
nothing Celtic about it. Single names were then only used, with the
exception of an addition of some personal characteristic or locality,
for distinction sake when there were two persons bearing the same,
and we may suppose that the two names of Peter and Loschi originally
formed one word, which has become altered and corrupted in passing from
generation to generation, in a similar manner to that of George Zavier,
which became transmuted through Georgy Zavier, etc., to eventually
Corky Shaver. Be that as it may, he was the last male of a long line
of ancient British knights and warriors, and was himself not inferior
to any of his ancestors in military skill and almost reckless daring,
having fought with distinction against the wild hordes of Picts and
Scots, who came down from their desolate northern mountains to make
raids on the more fertile lands of the Britons south of the Border,
and against the piratical Saxons and Angles who were endeavouring to
get a foothold on the island. He was one of King Arthur's Knights of
the Round Table, and was often at the Court of Queen Guinevere at
Caerleon, consorting with his brother knights in the mutual recital of
their adventures, in friendly tilting matches, and in dallying with the
fair ladies of the Court, one of whom he had chosen as the mistress of
his heart, and whose favour he wore in front of his helmet at many
a passage of arms in the courtyard of a castle or in the field of a
tournament. Occasionally he went forth for periods of six or twelve
months as a knight-errant, for the purpose of redressing wrongs,
slaying enchanters, etc., and was known as the Knight of the Sable
Plume, from that ornamental appendage of his casque. The cognisance
that he bore on his shield was a chevron arg. between three plumes
sable, on ground or; and many a doughty deed had he performed, young as
he still was, under this cognisance.