It was about eighty years ago, in the month of May, that a Roman
Catholic clergyman, near Rathdowney, in the Queen's County, was
awakened at midnight to attend a dying man in a distant part of the
parish. The priest obeyed without a murmur, and having performed his
duty to the expiring sinner, saw him depart this world before he left
the cabin. As it was yet dark, the man who had called on the priest
offered to accompany him home, but he refused, and set forward on his
journey alone. The grey dawn began to appear over the hills. The good
priest was highly enraptured with the beauty of the scene, and rode
on, now gazing intently at every surrounding object, and again cutting
with his whip at the bats and big beautiful night-flies which flitted
ever and anon from hedge to hedge across his lonely way. Thus engaged,
he journeyed on slowly, until the nearer approach of sunrise began to
render objects completely discernible, when he dismounted from his
horse, and slipping his arm out of the rein, and drawing forth his
"Breviary" from his pocket, he commenced reading his "morning office"
as he walked leisurely along.
He had not proceeded very far, when he observed his horse, a very
spirited animal, endeavouring to stop on the road, and gazing intently
into a field on one side of the way where there were three or four
cows grazing. However, he did not pay any particular attention to this
circumstance, but went on a little farther, when the horse suddenly
plunged with great violence, and endeavoured to break away by force.
The priest with great difficulty succeeded in restraining him, and,
looking at him more closely, observed him shaking from head to foot,
and sweating profusely. He now stood calmly, and refused to move from
where he was, nor could threats or entreaty induce him to proceed. The
father was greatly astonished, but recollecting to have often heard of
horses labouring under affright being induced to go by blindfolding
them, he took out his handkerchief and tied it across his eyes. He
then mounted, and, striking him gently, he went forward without
reluctance, but still sweating and trembling violently. They had not
gone far, when they arrived opposite a narrow path or bridle-way,
flanked at either side by a tall, thick hedge, which led from the high
road to the field where the cows were grazing. The priest happened by
chance to look into the lane, and saw a spectacle which made the blood
curdle in his veins. It was the legs of a man from the hips downwards,
without head or body, trotting up the avenue at a smart pace. The good
father was very much alarmed, but, being a man of strong nerve, he
resolved, come what might, to stand, and be further acquainted with
this singular spectre. He accordingly stood, and so did the headless
apparition, as if afraid to approach him. The priest, observing this,
pulled back a little from the entrance of the avenue, and the phantom
again resumed its progress. It soon arrived on the road, and the
priest now had sufficient opportunity to view it minutely. It wore
yellow buckskin breeches, tightly fastened at the knees with green
ribbon; it had neither shoes nor stockings on, and its legs were
covered with long, red hairs, and all full of wet, blood, and clay,
apparently contracted in its progress through the thorny hedges. The
priest, although very much alarmed, felt eager to examine the phantom,
and for this purpose summoned all his philosophy to enable him to
speak to it. The ghost was now a little ahead, pursuing its march at
its usual brisk trot, and the priest urged on his horse speedily until
he came up with it, and thus addressed it--
"Hilloa, friend! who art thou, or whither art thou going so early?"
The hideous spectre made no reply, but uttered a fierce and superhuman
growl, or "Umph."
"A fine morning for ghosts to wander abroad," again said the priest.
Another "Umph" was the reply.
"Why don't you speak?"
"Umph."
"You don't seem disposed to be very loquacious this morning."
"Umph," again.
The good man began to feel irritated at the obstinate silence of his
unearthly visitor, and said, with some warmth--
"In the name of all that's sacred, I command you to answer me, Who art
thou, or where art thou travelling?"
Another "Umph," more loud and more angry than before, was the only
reply.
"Perhaps," said the father, "a taste of whipcord might render you a
little more communicative;" and so saying, he struck the apparition a
heavy blow with his whip on the breech.
The phantom uttered a wild and unearthly yell, and fell forward on the
road, and what was the priest's astonishment when he perceived the
whole place running over with milk. He was struck dumb with amazement;
the prostrate phantom still continued to eject vast quantities of milk
from every part; the priest's head swam, his eyes got dizzy; a stupor
came all over him for some minutes, and on his recovering, the
frightful spectre had vanished, and in its stead he found stretched on
the road, and half drowned in milk, the form of Sarah Kennedy, an old
woman of the neighbourhood, who had been long notorious in that
district for her witchcraft and superstitious practices, and it was
now discovered that she had, by infernal aid, assumed that monstrous
shape, and was employed that morning in sucking the cows of the
village. Had a volcano burst forth at his feet, he could not be more
astonished; he gazed awhile in silent amazement--the old woman
groaning, and writhing convulsively.
"Sarah," said he, at length, "I have long admonished you to repent of
your evil ways, but you were deaf to my entreaties; and now, wretched
woman, you are surprised in the midst of your crimes."
"Oh, father, father," shouted the unfortunate woman, "can you do nothing
to save me? I am lost; hell is open for me, and legions of devils
surround me this moment, waiting to carry my soul to perdition."
The priest had not power to reply; the old wretch's pains increased; her
body swelled to an immense size; her eyes flashed as if on fire, her
face was black as night, her entire form writhed in a thousand different
contortions; her outcries were appalling, her face sunk, her eyes
closed, and in a few minutes she expired in the most exquisite tortures.
The priest departed homewards, and called at the next cabin to give
notice of the strange circumstances. The remains of Sarah Kennedy were
removed to her cabin, situate at the edge of a small wood at a little
distance. She had long been a resident in that neighbourhood, but
still she was a stranger, and came there no one knew from whence. She
had no relation in that country but one daughter, now advanced in
years, who resided with her. She kept one cow, but sold more butter,
it was said, than any farmer in the parish, and it was generally
suspected that she acquired it by devilish agency, as she never made a
secret of being intimately acquainted with sorcery and fairyism. She
professed the Roman Catholic religion, but never complied with the
practices enjoined by that church, and her remains were denied
Christian sepulture, and were buried in a sand-pit near her own cabin.
On the evening of her burial, the villagers assembled and burned her
cabin to the earth. Her daughter made her escape, and never after
returned.
[Footnote 20: _Dublin University Review, 1839._]