Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames.
The Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick had been by no means comfortable in his
thoughts after he had retreated to the solitude of his cap-house, and
had in fact anticipated in some degree the effect which would result
from the state of insensibility that Sir Walter had been thrown into.
He was aware that the very mummery he had enacted over him, when he
expected his immediate resuscitation, instead of operating, as in that
event it would have done, to raise his fame as a healing magician,
would now be the means of fixing on him the supposed crime of having
produced his malady, and strengthened it by wicked sorcery. But he by
no means expected that the irritation against him would be so speedy or
so violent in its operation as it really proved, and he perhaps trusted
for his safety from any sudden attack to the dread with which he well
knew his very name inspired every one in the garrison.
He had crept into the farther corner of his den, where, in the present
distracted state of his mind, it did not even occur to him to
extinguish the lamp he had left burning, or to let in the daylight he
had excluded. There he sat, brooding over the unfortunate issue of his
divination, in very uneasy contemplation of the danger that threatened
him in consequence, distant though he then thought it. A coward in his
heart, he began to curse himself for having tried schemes which now
seemed likely to end so fatally for himself. He turned over a variety
of plans for securing his safety, but, after all his cogitation, flight
alone seemed to be the only one that was likely to be really available.
But then Sir Walter might recover; in which case he might still obtain
the credit of his recovery, and his ambitious schemes be yet crowned
with success. Thus the devil again tempted him; and he finally resolved
to wait patiently until night, which was by this time at hand, and then
steal quietly down to ascertain Sir Walter’s state, and act
accordingly. Should he find him worse, or even no better than when he
left him, he resolved to go secretly to the ramparts, there to undo
some of the ropes of the warlike engines that defended the walls, and
to let himself down by means of them at a part where he knew the height
would be least formidable, and so effect his escape.
Occupied as the Ancient was with these thoughts, although he had heard
the clamours and shouts rising from below, yet, buried in the farthest
corner of his den, they came to his ear like the murmurs of a
far-distant storm; and, accustomed to the every-day noise of a crowded
garrison, they did not even strike him as at all extraordinary.
To divert these apprehensions which he could by no means allay, he
opened one of his favourite books, and endeavoured to occupy himself in
his usual study; but his mind wandered in spite of all his exertions to
keep it fixed, and he turned the leaves, and traced the lines with his
eyes without being in the least conscious of the meaning they conveyed.
He roused himself, and began reading aloud, as if he could have talked
himself into quiet by the very sound of his own voice. He went on
without at first perceiving the particular nature of the passage he had
stumbled on; but his attention being now called to it, he was somewhat
horrified to observe that it contained the form of exorcism employed
for raising the devil in person. By some unaccountable fatality, he
went on with it, wishing all the while that he had never begun it, but
yet more strangely afraid to stop; until at length, approaching the
conclusion, he ended with these terrible words—“Sathanas, Sathanas,
Sathanas, Sathanas, Prince of Darkness, appear!”
He stopped, and looked fearfully around him, as soon as they had passed
his lips. The door of the place slowly opened, and the head of the very
Franciscan monk who had formerly visited him, the face deeply shaded by
the projecting cowl, was thrust within the doorway.
“I am here—what wouldst thou with me?” said he, in a deep and hollow
voice.
The Ancient threw himself upon his knees, and drew back his body into
the corner. His teeth chattered in his head, and he was deprived of
speech. He covered his eyes with his hands, as if afraid to look upon
the object of his dread. He now verily believed that he had been
formerly visited by the Devil, and that the Arch-Fiend had again
returned to carry him away. The Franciscan crouched, and glided forward
into the middle of the place.
“What becomes of him, lossel,” said he, in a tremendous voice, “what
becomes of him who takes the Devil’s wages, and doeth not his work?
What becomes of him who vainly tries to deceive the Devil his master?
Fool! didst thou not believe that I was the Prince of Darkness?”
The terrified Ancient had now no doubt that he was indeed the Devil;
still he kept his hands over his eyes, and drew himself yet more up, in
dread that every succeeding moment he should feel himself clutched by
his fiery fangs.
“Hast thou not tried to cheat me, wretch—me, who cannot but know all
things?” continued the Franciscan.
“Oh, spare me, spare me! I confess, I confess. Avaunt thee,
Sathanas!—Spare!—Avaunt!—Spare me, Sathanas!” muttered the miserable
wretch, altogether unconscious of what he uttered.
“Spare thee, thou vile slave!” cried the Franciscan with bitterness, “I
never spared mortal that once roused my vengeance, and thou hast roused
mine to red-hot fury. Answer me, and remember it is vain to attempt
concealment with me. Didst thou not fail of thy promise to rouse Sir
Walter de Selby to my purpose, as it affected Sir Rafe Piersie?”
“Oh, I did, I did—Oh, spare me, spare me, Sathanas!” cried the Ancient.
“Didst thou not rather stir him up to reject and spurn the noble
knight?” demanded the Franciscan.
“Oh, yes, I did—Oh yes—Spare me, spare me!—Avaunt thee, Sathanas!—Spare
me—Oh, spare me!”
“Spare thee!” cried the Franciscan, with a horrid laugh of contempt;
“spare thee! What mercy canst thou hope from me? No, thou art given to
my power, not to be spared, but to be punished. Thine acts of sorcery,
which have murdered Sir Walter de Selby, have put thee beyond the pale
of mercy, nor canst thou now look elsewhere for aid. Thou art fitting
food for hell,” continued he, with a fiend-like grin of satisfaction;
and retreating slowly out of the doorway, and raising his voice into a
shriek, that re-echoed from every projection and turret of the
building, he pronounced the last fatal words, “Body and soul, to the
flames I doom thee!”
An instantaneous shout arose from the court-yard below, and a clamour
of many voices came rapidly up the stairs in the interior of the keep.
It quickly swelled upon the ear, and the clattering noise of many feet
was heard approaching. Out they came on the platform of the keep, one
by one, as they could scramble forth; and as the stoutest spirits
naturally mounted first, the Franciscan was instantly surrounded by a
body of the most determined hearts in the garrison.
“In on the servant of Sathanas,” cried he; “in on the cruel sorcerer,
who hath bewitched thine unhappy Governor, and who refuseth to sayne
again; in on the monster, tear him from his den, and drag him to the
flames. Fear him not; his supernatural powers are quenched. Behold!”
and pulling a wooden crosslet from his bosom, he held it up to their
view—“In on him, I say, and seize him.”
The door was instantly forced open, and one or two of the boldest
entered first; then two or three more followed, to the number of half a
dozen in all, for the place could hardly contain more. The Ancient had
now become frantic from terror, and his reason so far forsook him that
he saw not or knew not the faces of those who came in on him to attack
him, though many of them were familiar to him; he was fully possessed
with the idea that a legion of devils were about to assail him, to drag
him down to eternal punishment. They sprang upon him at once by general
concert. The Ancient was an arrant coward; but a coward so
circumstanced will fight to the last, even against an infernal host;
and so he did, with the desperation of a maniac. In the interior of the
place, the scuffle was tremendous; the very walls and roof of it seemed
to heave and labour with its tumultuous contents. The keep itself shook
to its foundation, and the shrieks, groans, and curses that came from
within appalled the bystanders.
“Pick-axes, crows, and hatchets!” cried the friar; and the implements
were brought with the utmost expedition at his command.
“Unroof his den,” cried he again; and two or three of the stoutest
mounted forthwith on the flags of the roof, and by means of the crows
and pick-axes began to tear them up with so much expedition, that they
very soon laid the wood bare, and following up their work of
devastation with the same energy, speedily and entirely demolished the
roof, letting in the little light that yet remained of day upon the
combatants.
The ancient Fenwick was now discovered lying on his back, his jaws wide
open, his huge tusks displayed, and his mouth covered with foam, while
his opponents were clustered over him like ants employed in
overpowering a huge beetle. All their efforts to drag him out at the
door had been quite unavailing. Though there were no weapons of edge or
point among the combatants, many severe wounds and blows had been given
and received, and blood flowed on the pavement in abundance. The
Ancient’s teeth seemed to have done him good service after his arms had
been mastered and rendered ineffectual to him, for many of his
assailants bore deep and lasting impressions of his jaws on their hands
and faces.
“In on the savage wizard now, overwhelm and bind him,” cried the
Franciscan, with a devilish laugh of triumph.
At his word they scaled the roofless walls, and jumped down on the
miserable wretch in such numbers that the place was literally packed.
But the more that came on him the more furiously the Ancient defended
himself, kicking, and heaving, and tossing some of them, till one of
their number, laying his hand on a huge folio, made use of his code of
necromancy against himself, and gave him a knock on the head that
stunned him, and rendered him for some time insensible. Taking
advantage of this circumstance, cords were hastily employed to bind his
arms behind him; and a set of ropes being passed under him, he was with
great difficulty hoisted from his den, and laid out at length upon the
platform of the keep. There he lay, breathing, to be sure, but in a
temporary state of perfect insensibility.
Availing themselves of the swoon into which he had fallen, the
assailants began to hold counsel how they were to get his unwieldy and
unmanageable carcase down to the court-yard. To have attempted to carry
it by the stairs would have been hopeless; a week would have hardly
sufficed to have manœuvred it through their narrow intricacies. The
only possible mode, therefore, was to let him down by means of ropes,
over the outside walls of the keep. Accordingly strong loops were
passed around his legs and under his arm-pits; and by the united
exertions of some dozen of men, he was lifted up and projected over the
battlements.
As they were lowering him down slowly and with great care, the wretched
Ancient, recovering from his swoon, found himself dreadfully suspended
between sky and earth; and looking upwards, and beholding the grim
faces of the men who managed the ropes scowling over the battlements,
strongly illuminated by the light of the torches they held, he was more
than ever convinced that they were demons, nor did he doubt that he was
already in the very commencement of those torments of the nether world
which he had been condemned to undergo for his iniquity. He shrieked
and kicked, and made such exertions, that the very ropes cracked, so
that he ran imminent risk of breaking them, and of tumbling headlong to
the bottom. Afraid of this, the people above began to lower him away
more quickly, and the darkness below not permitting them to see the
ground, so as to know when he had nearly reached it, his head came so
rudely in contact with it that he was again thrown into a state of
insensibility.
The whole men of the garrison, both within and without the keep, having
now assembled around him, a white sheet was brought out by order of the
Franciscan, and he was clothed in it as with a loose robe. A black
cross was then painted on the breast, and another on the back of it,
from the charitable motive of saving his soul from the hands of the
Devil, after it should be purified from its sins by the fire his body
was destined to undergo. A parchment cap of considerable altitude, and
also ornamented with crosses, was next tied upon his head; and two long
flambeaux were bound firmly, one on each side, above his ears. He was
then carried to the pile of wood, and extended at length upon the top
of it. The torches attached to his head were lighted, and the
Franciscan, approaching the pile with a variety of ceremonies, set fire
to it with much solemnity—a grim smile of inward satisfaction lighting
up his dark and stern features as he did so.
“Thus,” said he, “let all wizards and sorcerers perish, and thus let
their cruel enchantments end with them.”
The anticipation of the horrific scene which was to ensue operated so
powerfully on the vulgar crowd around, that a dead silence prevailed;
and even those who, a few minutes before had shouted loudest and fought
most furiously against the Ancient, now that they beheld the wretched
victim laid upon the pile, and the fire slowly gaining strength, and
rising more and more towards him—already hearing in fancy the piercing
agony of his screams, and beholding in idea the horrible spectacle of
his half-consumed limbs writhing with the torture of the flames—stood
aloof, and, folding their sinewy arms and knitting their brows, half
averted their eyes from the painful spectacle.
Up rose the curling smoke, until the whole summit of the broad and
lofty keep was enveloped in its murky folds; while the flames, shooting
in all directions through the crackling wood, began already to produce
an intolerable heat under the wretched and devoted man, though they had
not yet mounted so high as to catch the sheet he was wrapt in. Life
began again to return to him. He stretched himself, and turned his head
round first to the right, and then to the left; and, beholding the
dense group of soldiers on all sides of him, their eyes glaring red on
him, from the reflection of the flame that was bursting from beneath
him, and being now sensible of the intolerable heat, and half
suffocated with the gusts of smoke that blew about him, his belief that
he was in the hands of demons, and that his eternal fiery punishment
was begun, was more than ever confirmed. He bellowed, writhed, and
struggled; and his bodily strength, which was at all times enormous,
being now increased tenfold by the horrors that beset him, he made one
furious exertion, and, snapping the cords which bound his arms behind,
and which, fortunately for him, had been weaker than they otherwise
would have been, had those who tied them not believed that he was
already nearly exanimate, he sprang to his feet and rent open the front
of the white robe they had put round him. Down came the immense and
loosely-constructed pile of faggots, by the sheer force of his weight
alone, and onward he rushed, with the force and fury of an enraged
elephant, overturning all who ventured to oppose him, or who could not
get out of his way, the flambeaux blazing at his head, and his long
white robe streaming behind him, and exposing the close black frieze
dress he usually wore. The guards and sentinels at the first gate,
aware of what was going on, and conceiving it impossible for human
power to escape, after the precautions which had been taken, when they
saw the terrible figure advancing towards them, with what appeared to
them to be a couple of fiery horns on his head, abandoned their posts
and fled in terror. Those at the outer gate were no less frightened,
and retreated with equal expedition. But the drawbridge was up. Luckily
for the Ancient, however, he, like many other fortunate men, was on the
right side for his own interest on this occasion. Without hesitation he
put the enormous sole of one foot against it—down it rattled in an
instant, chains and all, and he thundered along it.
By this time the panic-stricken soldiers of the garrison had recovered
from their alarm, and started with shouts after the fugitive, being now
again as eager to take him, and much more ready to sacrifice him when
taken, than they had even been before. On they hurried after him,
yelling like a pack of hounds, and cheered to the chase by the
revengeful and bloodthirsty Franciscan, their pursuit being directed by
the flaming torches at his head; and forward he strode down the hollow
way to the mead of Norham, and, dreading capture worse than death
itself, be darted across the flat ground, flaming like a meteor, and,
dashing at once into the foaming stream of the Tweed, began wading
across through a depth of water enough to have drowned any ordinary
man; until at length, partly by swashing and partly by swimming, during
which last operation the lights he bore on his head were extinguished,
he made his way fairly into Scotland.
His pursuers halted in amazement. The whole time occupied in his escape
seemed to have been but as a few minutes. Fear once more fell upon
them, and they talked to one another in broken sentences and
half-smothered voices.
“Surely,” said one, “the Devil, whose servant he was, must have aided
him.”
“Ay, ay, that’s clear enow,” said another.
“He was stone-dead, and came miraculously alive again,” said a third.
“Nay,” said a fourth, “he came not alive again; ’twas but the Devil
that took possession of his dead body.”
“In good troth thou hast hit it, Gregory,” said a fifth, with an
expression of horror; “for no one but the Devil himself could have
broken the cords that tied his hands, or kicked down the drawbridge
after such a fashion.”
“Didst see how he walked on the water?” cried a sixth.
“Ay,” said a seventh, “and how he vanished in the middle o’ Tweed in a
flash o’ fire that made the very water brenn again?”
Having thus wrought themselves into a belief that the spectre they had
been following was no other than the Devil flying off with the already
exanimate body of Ancient Fenwick, they trembled at the very idea of
having pursued him; and they crept silently back to the garrison, the
blood in their veins freezing with terror, and crossing themselves from
time to time as they went.
As for the Franciscan, he disappeared, no one knew how.