9th of November 1674, going to Ogburn, at a stile on the high-way,
about nine in the morning, met the apparition of his father-in-law,
one Edward Avon of this town, glover, having upon him, to appearance,
the same clothes, hat, stockings, and shoes he did usually wear when
he was living, standing by, and leaning over that stile; which when
he came near, the apparition spake to him, with an audible voice,
these words, “Are you afraid?” To which he answered, “I am thinking
on one who is dead and buried, whom you are like.” To which the
apparition replied with the like voice, “I am he you were thinking
on; I am Edward Avon your father-in-law: come near to me, I will do
you no harm.” To which Goddard answered, “I trust in him that bought
my soul with his precious blood, you shall do me no harm.” Then the
apparition said, “How stands cases at home?” Goddard asked, “What
cases?” Then it asked him, “How do William and Mary?” Meaning, as
he conceived, his son William Avon, a shoemaker here, and Mary his
daughter, the said Goddard’s wife. Then it said, “What? Taylor is
dead; meaning, as he thought, one Taylor of London, who married
his daughter Sarah; which Taylor died at Michaelmas last. Then the
apparition held out his hand, and in it, as Goddard conceived, 20s.
or 30s. in silver, and then spake with a loud voice, “Take this
money, and send it to Sarah; for I shut up my bowels of compassion
toward her in my lifetime, and now there is somewhat for her.” And
then said, “Mary (meaning the said Goddard’s wife, as he conceived,)
is troubled for me: but tell her, God hath shewed mercy contrary to
my deserts.” But the said Goddard answered, “In the name of Jesus I
refuse all such money.” Then the apparition said, “I perceive you are
afraid, I will meet you some other time.” And immediately it went up
the lane to his appearance; so he went over the same stile, but saw
it no more that day. He saith, the next night, about seven of the
clock, it came and opened his shop windows, and stood in the like
clothes, looking him in the face, but said nothing to him. And the
next night after, as Goddard went forth into his back-shop, with a
candle in his hand, it appeared to him again in the same shape; but
he being in fear ran into his house, and saw it no more then. But he
saith, that on Thursday the 12th instant, as he came from Chilton,
riding down the hill between the manor-house and Axford-farm-field,
he saw somewhat like a hare crossing his way, at which his horse was
frighted, threw him into the dirt, and as soon as he could recover
on his feet, the same apparition met him there again in the same
habit: and there, standing about eight foot before him in the way,
spake again to him with a loud voice, “Source (a word he commonly
used when living) you have stayed long,” and said to him, “Thomas,
bid William Avon take the sword he had of me, which is now in his
house, and carry it into the wood, as we go to Aiton, to the upper
end of the wood, by the way-side, for with that sword I did wrong
thirty years ago, and he never prospered since he had that sword. And
bid William Avon give his sister Sarah 20s. which he received of
me; and do you talk with Edward Laurence, for I borrowed 20s. of him
several years ago, and did say I had paid him, but I did not pay it
him; and I would desire you to pay him 20s. out of the money which
you had from James Elliot at two payments.” Which money the said
Goddard now saith was £.5. which James Elliot, a baker here, owed
the said Avon on bond; and which he, the said Goddard, had received
from the said Elliot since Michaelmas, at two payments, viz. 35s.
at one, and 3l. 5s. at another payment. And it further said to him,
“Tell Margaret (meaning his own wife, as he conceived) that I would
desire her to deliver up the little money which I gave to little
Sarah Taylor the child, or any one she will trust for it; but if she
will not speak to Edward Laurence, persuade her; but if she still
will not, then tell her that I will see her very suddenly; and see
that this be done within a twelvemonth and a day after my decease,
and peace be with you” And so it went away over the rails into the
wood there, in the like manner as any man would go over a stile,
to his apprehension; and so he saw it no-more at that time. And he
saith, that he paid the 20s. to Edward Laurence of this town; who
being present now, doth remember he lent the said Avon 20s. about
twenty years ago, which none knew but himself and his wife, and Avon
and his wife, and was never paid it again before now by this Goddard.
And this Goddard further says, that this very day, by Mr. Major’s
order, he, with his brother-in-law, William, went with this sword,
and about nine o’clock this morning, they laid down the sword in the
copse, near the place the apparition had appointed Goddard to carry
it; and then coming away thence, Goddard looking back, saw the same
apparition again in the like habit as before; whereupon he called to
his brother-in-law, and said, “Here is the apparition of our father;”
who said, “I see nothing:” then Goddard fell on his knees, and said,
“Lord open his eyes that he may see it, if it be thy blessed will.”
And the apparition, to Goddard’s appearance, beckoned with his hand
to come to it, and then Goddard said, “In the name of the Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost, what would you have me to do?” To which it
answered, “Thomas, take up the sword and follow me;” and so he took
up the sword and followed the apparition about ten poles in length
further into the copse, and then turning back, he stood still about
a pole and a half from it, his brother-in-law staying behind at the
place where they first laid down the sword; then Goddard laying down
the sword upon the ground, saw something stand by the apparition like
a mastiff dog of a brown colour. Then the apparition coming towards
Goddard, he stept back about two steps; and the apparition said to
him, “I have a permission to you, and a commission not to touch you;”
and then it took up the sword, and went back to the place at which
before it stood, with a mastiff-dog by it as before, and pointed
the top of the sword into the ground, and said, “In this place lies
buried the body of him whom I murdered in the year 1635, which is
now rotten and turned to dust.” Whereupon Goddard said, “I do adjure
you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, when did you
commit this murder?” And it said, “I took money from the man, and he
contended with me, and so I murdered him.” Then Goddard asked him,
who was confederate with him in the said murder? and he said, “None
but myself was accessory thereto.” Then Goddard said, “What would
you have me to do in this thing?” and the apparition said, “That
is, that the world may know that I murdered a man, and buried him
in this place, in the year 1635.” Then the apparition laid down the
sword on the bare ground there, whereon grew nothing, but seemed to
Goddard as a grave sunk in; and the apparition running further into
the copse, vanished, and he saw it no more; whereupon Goddard and his
brother-in-law, Avon, went away together, leaving the sword there.
Avon told Goddard he heard his voice, and understood what he said,
and heard other words distinct from his, but could not understand a
word of it, nor saw he any apparition at all, which he now, being
present, affirmeth; and all which the said Goddard then attested
under his hand; and affirmed he will depone to the same when he shall
be thereto required.
XV.—_Some Passages of God’s Providence to a godly Minister, in
giving him full clearness concerning Bessie Graham, suspected of
witchcraft._
She was apprehended about the end of August 1649, upon some
threatening words she had spoken in her drunkenness to John Ranken’s
wife in Kilwinning, whereupon the poor woman, ten days after, took
sickness and died. She was imprisoned in the steeple for thirteen
weeks, all which time I, the minister, repaired to her, but found
her still more and more obdured; in all her discourses she was so
subtle, that not only I could get no advantage by her words, but
sometimes she made me think that she was an innocent woman; so that
I was grieved for her hard usage, if it could have been helped, and
had my own secret wishes she had never been meddled with. Yea, if she
could have made an escape, I being innocent of it, I could have been
glad; for I feared much, that all that we could get proven on her,
would not have been a sufficient ground for the civil magistrate to
give a warrant for putting her to an assize. Or, if they had given
a warrant, I feared the assize would not condemn her, unless I had
advised them thereto, wherein I was not clear, so that she would have
been set at liberty, and I blamed for it by reason of my not advising
the assize to condemn her. At this nick of time, one Alexander Bogs,
skilled in searching the mark, came, being often sent for, and finds
the mark on the middle of her back, wherein he thrust a great brass
pin, of which she was not sensible, neither did any blood follow when
the pin was drawn out. I looked upon this but as a small evidence
in respect of what I found afterwards; yet this somewhat inclined
the judges to send the process to Edinburgh, though there were small
hopes of obtaining a commission for putting her to an assize. My
fears deceived me; for I was informed that a commission was granted,
though with difficulty: But here my strait was augmented; for the
chiefest man in the parish refused to meet, professing he thought all
that was proven on her were but clatters; and I was informed that
others of the judges did say little less; however, I myself could not
think her guilty: Yet if the assize had put her to it, I was not so
clear to advise them, by reason that the things were proven but by
one witness. This put me to many thoughts and prayers, wherein I did
engage myself to God, that if he would find me out a way for giving
me and the assize full clearness, either by her own confession or
otherwise, I should remark it as a singular favour, and a special
mercy. This resolution I did often reiterate, “Lord make me mindful
of it.” After a short time providence brought to light an unexpected
presumption of her guiltiness, which did convince me more than any
of the rest. Upon Wednesday the 28th of November, in the evening,
I went to exhort her to a confession, with Alexander Simpson the
kirk-officer, and my own servant with me. After labouring with her
in vain, we left her; but when I came to the stair-head, I resolved
to halt a little, to hear what she would say. Within a very short
space, she begins to discourse as if it had been to somebody with
her. Her voice was so low, that I could not understand what she said,
except one sentence, whereby I perceived she was speaking of somewhat
I had been challenging her of, and she had denied. After she had
spoken this, after a little while, I heard another voice speaking
and whispering, as it were conferring with her, which presently I
apprehended to be the foul fiend’s voice: but being uncertain, if
those that were with me had heard it, so as they could give testimony
concerning it, and not daring to ask them, least she hearing our
whispering, should have spoken no more, I resolved to stand a little
longer, she having kept silence a time, upon occasion as I thought
of some little din amongst us, at our hearing of an uncouth voice;
she began to speak again, and before she had well ended, the other
voice speaketh as it were a long sentence, which though I understood
not what it was, yet it was so low and ghostly, that I was certainly
persuaded that it was another voice than her’s. Besides, her accent
and manner of speaking was as if she had been speaking to some other;
and that other voice, to my best remembrance, did begin before she
had ended, so that two voices were to be heard at once.—By this time
fear took hold on Alexander Simpson, being hindmost in the stair,
and thereby he cries out. I did exhort him with a loud voice not to
fear; and we came all of us down the stair, blessing God that had
given me such a clearness in the business. They both who were with me
declared, they had heard the uncouth voice both the times. Within a
quarter of an hour I went up again, with two or three able men with
me, and brought her down to the school, having placed six men to
watch, where she remains at the time of my writing hereof, November
30, obstinate and obdured, and I fear she shall be so to her death.
_Some special Providence I observed in all these._
First, That however we knew nothing at our first apprehending of her,
but only that she was of a bad report, and had some boasting words
to John Rankin’s wife, after which she died shortly; yet partly more
and more light brake up, until so many presumptions were proven on
her, as the civil magistrate did judge it equitable to put her to an
assize. Secondly, That Alexander Bogs came and found the mark upon
her, at the very nick of time when there was an inclination to let
her go free, which, though it did not say much, yet it was a mean
to keep her still in prison. Thirdly, That a commission was granted
upon more slender grounds than any which had been granted before; and
that the Lord keeped up the greatest evidence of her guilt, until
the commission was obtained, and the day for the assize appointed.
Fourthly, That the commission being granted, I was in a great strait
what to do, no less being presented to me than her blood-guiltiness,
if I should advise to condemn her, and the sparing of an enemy to
God, if I should not advise; this made the mercy in giving me so full
clearing the more acceptable. Fifthly, That God did make all other
means misgive which I did use, until he should clear me by these
whereby more of himself was seen. Sixthly, That before he gave me
clearing, I was made to engage myself to a special observation of his
most remarkable providences towards me. Seventhly, That I had often
thoughts to use the means of trying her, by going to watch in the
night, if I could hear the devil and her conferring together, but was
always hindered until this time having no such resolution when I was
coming out from her, but only a present purpose to stand a little,
not thinking to hear any thing of this kind; and if she had not
presently begun to speak, I would have gone away. Eighthly, That I
myself was present at the hearing of their conference; if it had been
in any other, I would neither have been so fully satisfied myself,
nor yet others who should hear of it. Ninthly, That not only I, but
two with me, did hear also, which will make a legal proof. Tenthly,
That I was borne up with courage all the time, acting faith in God,
that the foul spirit should not do us harm, though he was so near
unto us. Eleventhly, That I heard as much as did give full clearing
that it was another voice, though I could not get any of the words
understood. The Lord thinking it sufficient to loose me out of the
strait, though he would not satisfy my curiosity. Twelthly, though I
could not get the words understood, yet there was as much evidence,
as made it clearly appear it was another voice than hers.
As, 1st, That we heard twice. And, 2dly, Three of us did so think.
3dly, That I was in courage, and so my judgment not jumbled by
any fearful apprehensions. 4thly, That the accent and way of her
discourse, and in what we did understand of it, was not after the
manner how one regrets a thing to himself, but of one conferring with
another. 5thly, That the other voice was to my certain hearing of a
different accent from her’s, so hollow and ghostly, that it was as
easy for me to put a difference between them in the mean time, as
between the voice of a man and the voice of a child. 6thly, That to
my best remembrance the uncouth voice began before she ended, so that
two voices were to be heard at once. Lastly, A. Simpson understood
their language, and afterward did depone the words judicially.——It
is good (1) For folk to hold on in doing of duty, though they forsee
unsuperable difficulties before they come to the end of it. Let a man
go on till he come to the difficulty, and ere he come that far on,
God will remove it. (2) ’Tis good in asking mercies to engage the
heart to some duties of thankfulness, upon the granting them. (3) How
zealous is the devil to get souls damned, that though he be of an
excellent substance, of great natural parts, long experience, deep
understanding, yet he will so far enslave himself to poor miscreant
bodies as to be ready at their call, to discourse and keep company
with them, that at the last he may get them. How serviceable and
trusty soever the devil seems to be unto witches, yet he cares not
to ensnare them at the last; for he could not but know that we were
waiting on to hear him and her; so that he had on purpose entered
into discourse with her, that she might be taken in the grin.
I come to some other remarkable passages concerning Elizabeth Graham
before her death, giving evidence that she was most guilty of
witchcraft, though she died obstinate, and would not confess. Upon
Saturday night, November 13, she seemed to incline to a confession,
and promised to William Watt, to tell me to-morrow after sermon all
that was in her heart. At which time, I had none with me but William
Watt. When I spoke with her, she regretted her mispent time, but
especially her malice towards myself, which she affirmed the devil
tempted her to. All which time she spake with a very low voice,
that although I desired her to speak out, we could scarce hear
her. Whereupon I inquired the reason why she was not able to speak
louder? She replied, “That when she set herself to speak any thing
that was for her soul’s good, she dought not get spoken.” These were
her words. “But if she would scold and flyte as she used to do, the
devil would give her strength enough to speak as loud as ever she
did.” Within a little I posed her if she was guilty of witchcraft:
She stared with her eyes by me, first to the one side, and then to
the other; at which time, I certainly think that she saw the devil;
for immediately after, she began to rail upon me, although she had
confessed her malice at me was partly the cause of her greatest
grief, and still as she went on in railing, her voice became stronger
and stronger, till at last she spoke as loud as ever she did.
Upon Monday before noon, she was most bitter in her language. I posed
her what grounds of confidence she had, if it would be well with her
soul? She answered, “She had no grounds yet; for she had lived a
wicked woman, and had not yet repented; but she hoped she would get
heaven, and get repentance, and a change would be wrought in her;
and though she was to live but a short while, she was sure of it,
and that I would soon see it.” I thought in the mean time, she had
spoken that in her rage. But after I perceived the devil and she had
a further design in it, as appears by what follows. That same day
afternoon, they came and told me, that she had fallen to pray, and
had many gracious words, expressing her own vileness, and the sense
she had of God’s mercy, and with tears: In which strain she continued
till after supper. I came then to see her, at which time she was
continuing still as before, aggravating her sin and guilt, and
shewing her hopes of salvation, and desire to die. And all along, she
had such pithy expressions, and Scripture so often, and plentifully
cited, that I was put to wonder, considering that I ever had found
her altogether ignorant of the grounds of religion, both before, and
after she was put into prison.
After I had wondered at it a while, without speaking to her,
considering what she had foretold so confidently before noon, I
concluded in my mind, that it was a draught between the devil and
her, to feign repentance in such an odd way, that we might be
deceived; being made to think that she was not a witch, else she
would confess it, seeing God had given her repentance.—Whereupon,
seriously considering the matter, I posed her of guiltiness; she
confessed all the particulars of the process, which did not certainly
conclude her to be a witch; but the rest of the particulars she
denied, as also the crime of witchcraft itself. However, she said,
“She knew she would die, and desired not to live; and she thought we
would be free before God of her blood, because that, however she was
free, yet there were so many things deponed against her, that though
it was hard for us to think otherwise of her than we did, yet she
knew well enough her own innocence.” Thus I have written all those
particulars, as I found them in the authentic record, written by the
minister’s own hand. She was soon after executed, and died without
any acknowledgment of witchcraft.
XVI.—_Anent the Apparition of Sir George Villiers._
Some few days before the Duke of Buckingham went to Portsmouth, where
he was stabbed by Felton, the ghost of his father Sir George Villiers
appeared to one Parker, a religious and sober man, who had been a
servant to the said Sir George, but now to the Duke his son. He
appeared to him, I say, in his morning chamber-gown, and charged him
to tell his son, that he should decline that employment and design
he was going upon, or else he would certainly be murdered. Parker
promised to the apparition to do it. The Duke making preparation for
his expedition, the apparition came again to Parker, taxing him very
severely for his breach of promise, and required him not to delay the
acquainting his son of the danger he was in. Then Parker the next day
tells the Duke, “That his father’s ghost had twice appeared to him,
and had commanded him, without any farther delay, to give him that
warning.” The Duke slighted it, and told him, “That he was an old
doting fool.” That night the apparition came to Parker a third time
saying, “Parker thou hast done well in warning my son of his danger,
but though he will not believe thee, go to him once more, however,
and tell him from me by such a token, (naming a private token) which
nobody knows but only he and I, that if he will not decline this
voyage, such a knife as this is, (pulling a long knife out from under
his gown) will be his death.” This message Parker also delivered
the next day to the Duke, who, when he heard the private token,
believed he had it from his father’s ghost. Yet, said he, that his
honour was now at stake, and he could not go come back from what he
had undertaken, come life come death. This message Parker, after the
Duke’s murder, communicated to his fellow-servant Henry Celey, who
told it to a reverend divine a neighbour of mine, (says my author)
from whose mouth I have it. This Henry Celey has not been dead above
twenty years; and his habitation for several years before his death,
was at North Currie, but three miles from this place. My friend, the
divine aforesaid, was an intimate acquaintance of this Henry Celey’s,
and assures me he was a person of known truth and integrity.
XVII.—_Anent Hattaraick, an old Warlock._