wretched creature writhed in the hands of his enemy, who shook him to
her heart's content, and then, raising him with apparent ease by the
scruff of the neck, calmly placed him in the sack from which she had
just liberated her goddaughter.
In spite of his continued struggles, she swiftly tied the mouth of the
sack in a knot, which she managed to make; and then, without a word
more, good, bad, or indifferent, descended the bank, threw in the sack,
and sat down upon it.
[Illustration: OPHELIA.--P. 280]
To the surprise of the people, instead of sinking, the sack floated
away into the midst of the river, which boiled and surged around it, so
that every now and then it went down, and then came up again in sight
of the crowd--the old woman keeping her seat upon it all the time, and
smiling grimly as she bobbed up and down in a manner which would have
made many respectable old ladies of my acquaintance feel remarkably
unwell. No such effect, however, was produced upon the old woman, and
she apparently enjoyed the whole thing very much.
When they first left the bank, stifled screams were heard issuing from
the sack, but these soon died away, and it was plain enough that the
wretched Famcram must have been very speedily drowned.
In a little while the old woman and the sack had floated out of sight,
and the people began to recover somewhat from their amazement. Then
occurred another marvellous thing.
The river suddenly rose in several places, in the form of a waterspout,
and came dashing over the crowd. But the extraordinary part of it was
that whilst it drenched and half drowned the black executioners and all
Famcram's particular friends, Ophelia and those who were on her side
were not touched by it. The courtiers and guards of Famcram turned and
fled. Then, after a short pause, the three late ministers, Binks,
Chinks, and Pigspud came forward together and knelt at Ophelia's feet.
Binks was the spokesman of the party.
"Madam," he said, "after what has just happened, we cannot doubt that a
higher power than ours has designated you as our queen. I am sure that
I speak in the name of all that is great, good and powerful in
Pigmyland, when I ask you to reign over us in the place of him who has
proved himself so unworthy to do so."
Ophelia replied at once:--"Rise, sir," she said, "and you too, dear
father, for it is not meet that you should kneel before your child.
There might, doubtless, have been found worthier sovereigns for our
country, but since Fate has thus decreed it, I accept the position
which is offered."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, loud shouts of joy broke
forth from the surrounding people. At a sign from Ophelia, the other
damsels were all set free, and they now came and stood humbly before
her, expressing in meek and lowly tones their deep contrition for the
offences they had committed against her.
Paraphernalia was especially vehement in her expressions of regret,
vowing that she had always entertained the greatest affection for
Ophelia, and that if some demon had not possessed her, she should never
have acted as she had done. Her sisters made various protestations of
the same sort, whilst Euphemia and Araminta stood with blushing cheeks
and downcast eyes awaiting the queen's decision.
Ophelia did not keep them long in suspense. She told the two daughters
of the Prime Minister that she freely forgave them all that had
occurred, being satisfied that it was not from them or their hostility
that it arose. Moreover, they had been the playmates of her childhood,
and she should wish still to retain them about her person. She told the
daughters of the Lord Chamberlain, however, that she must take a
different course with them.
At these words Asphalia, Bettina, and Paraphernalia burst into a
dreadful howl, and the latter threw herself at the feet of Ophelia and
endeavoured to kiss them. But the queen bade her arise, and told her
that she and her sisters need not fear that the commencement of her
reign would be sullied by the infliction of any severe punishment upon
those who had been her companions in misfortune.
Upon this Paraphernalia turned joyous again, and began vociferously to
express her thanks, but was again stopped by the royal lady.
"I cannot have about my court," she said, "persons who have behaved as
you have done, nor indeed can I retain you in my service. I wish that I
could have done so for your father's sake, but he must himself
acknowledge that it is impossible. Out of respect to him I will only
condemn Asphalia and Bettina to be confined to the limits of the city
walls for a year, and during that time they will be forbidden to attend
my court. As for Paraphernalia, she must be banished from Pigmyland
altogether, until I shall have proofs--which I much doubt my ever
receiving--of her entire reformation of character."
At this decision the unhappy Paraphernalia raised a shrill scream and
fell fainting upon the ground, but was speedily carried off by the
attendants. Her sisters, who felt that they had deserved, and fully
expected, to share her fate, returned thanks to Ophelia for her great
clemency, and vowed to lead such lives as should convince her of their
undying loyalty and sincere devotion to her throne and person.
These professions the queen received with a gracious inclination of the
head, and expressed her hope that they might prove to be founded on a
true desire on the part of the damsels to repent of the past and do
better for the future. She then turned to her father and requested that
he, Binks, and Chinks would again resume their former offices, and
render her their best assistance in carrying on the government of the
country.
To this the three statesmen readily assented, having, in fact, desired
nothing better. Ophelia in the first place directed them to prepare a
proclamation, announcing her accession to the throne, and her
determination to govern upon constitutional principles, which, being a
high sounding phrase, and one which nobody exactly understood,
naturally gave great satisfaction.
One or two discontented people did indeed whisper that as the
constitution of Pigmyland had always been a pure despotism, Ophelia
only meant to say that she should rule as other Pigmy kings and queens
had ruled before her. These murmurs, however, were soon silenced, and
this the more effectually when the queen issued the next day a second
proclamation, in which she gave free pardon to all those who had
supported Famcram in his late acts of tyranny, provided they would at
once acknowledge her as their sovereign and obey her authority.
Some people indeed objected to this proclamation, on the ground that
those who had obeyed Famcram, whether he had been right or wrong, were
only acting in accordance with the country's laws in carrying out the
orders of their lawful sovereign (which he undoubtedly was), and
required no pardon at all.
But these people, again, were held to be mere cavillers and idle
talkers, and so general was Ophelia's popularity that whatever she
might have chosen to make the subject of a proclamation would have been
hailed with delight by her loving and loyal subjects.
She ascended the throne under the happiest auspices: the good-will of
her people filled her heart with happiness and strengthened the
stability of her throne, whilst her great talents secured for her
kingdom the blessings of good government, her many virtues afforded a
bright example to all her subjects, and her reign was throughout, that
which it promised at the first to become, an era of unmixed happiness
and prosperity to Pigmyland.
THE CRONES OF MERSHAM.
Things are very dull now-a-days in the country districts of England.
The country gentlemen have got into the habit of going to London a
great deal more than they used to do before railroads were made as
extensively as has been the case of late years. The farmers, too, move
about more than they did in the olden days, and act very differently in
many respects from their forefathers.
Nor are the labourers quite the same; they ask more wages, touch their
hats to master, squire, and parson less than they did, and discuss
matters of politics and the government of the country, which formerly
never entered their heads.
I dare say it is all right: it is a wise and good frame of mind to
cherish, which teaches one that whatever _is_, is right, although
it is sometimes very difficult to think so.
For instance, when my tooth takes to aching without any obvious cause,
and certainly very much against my will, the fact of its doing so is
well established, but the existing state of things in my face is not
recognised by me--not for one single moment--as right because it _is_
the existing state. And when I have overdrawn my account at my
banker's, and the state of things is that he will not let me do so any
more, the circumstance that it is so does not reconcile me to the fact
in the very slightest degree.
Still, as regards the progress which this country has made, and the
condition at which we have now arrived, I am ready to bow my head
meekly, and allow that as a general maxim, the general results may be
admitted by me to be "all right."
There _are_ the railroads, and (though the carriages are not always
comfortable, and the trains generally late) they afford such facilities
for the gentryfolk to go to town, that we cannot wonder at their doing
so. If it is not right that they should, surely railroads would never
have been permitted, cutting up the beautiful country as they do, and
sending their screaming engines along through the green fields and
thriving plough-lands, where all before was peaceful and quiet.
Then if the farmers are changed, it is also all for the best without
doubt. Changed they are, beyond all question. They are a different
class of men from the old species of farmer who existed fifty years
ago, and who seldom went further than his market town.
Our farmers, now-a-days, have all visited London again and again, and
instead of the homely talk over a market dinner which used to take
place in old days, they have got "Chambers of Agriculture," in which
they evince a remarkable ability in discussing anything which
Parliament proposes to do about agricultural matters, and talk nearly
as wisely, I am told, as the members of the House of Commons itself!
Still, however, I stick to my text, and say that, being as it is, it
must be all right.
Of course it is, and so also with regard to the labourers. When I was a
boy they did not know half as much as they do now, but they worked well
for all that.
I have lodged in two rooms in this farmhouse in which I write for
twenty-seven years come next Michaelmas, and I have often heard farmer
Barrett say that his best labourers were generally those who could
neither read nor write.
Most of them can do both now, and people used to say that it was a sin
and a shame that every labourer should not be able to read his Bible
and write his name in it.
"All right," again say I, only unfortunately (as I sometimes venture to
think) it is not their Bibles they read, so much as the penny papers,
and these sometimes teach them different lessons from the Bible, I
fancy. Then there is a lot of cheap--well, trash I was going to say,
and I think I must, too--a lot of cheap trash which is sent about all
over the country, or which they pick up here and there, and which
teaches them lessons altogether mischievous.
Moreover, they have societies, which are curious sort of concerns, I am
told, and through which they are taught actually to demand an increase
of wages, and various other things which were never thought of in old
times.
All these things have made the country districts of England very
different places from what they used to be when I first knew them. That
is now a long time ago, but I know a great deal that happened before I
knew anything from my own eyesight and observation--I mean before I was
born.
I am an old man now, and having enough money to live upon and be
comfortable, I have all my lifetime indulged my inclination for living
in the country.
I used to make it my principal endeavour to avoid railways. I hired
lodgings in rustic villages, and lived quietly therein, studying the
ways and habits of the people, and picking up old legends, which was
always my chief delight. But wherever I went, a railroad was sure to be
immediately afterwards projected through that particular district.
The steam fiend seemed to have marked me out as an involuntary pioneer
to herald his advance; and, move where I would, he and his myrmidons
very shortly appeared in my wake.
This continued for five and twenty years--for I began my system of
country-lodging when I was a tolerably young man--barely turned thirty.
When I tell you, as I did just now, that I have been in my present
abode for twenty-seven years, a little calculation will show you that I
shall never again see my eighty-second birthday. You will therefore, I
hope, excuse the garrulity of old age, and forgive me if I have
somewhat wandered from the tale which in fact I have not yet begun, but
which I have been leading up to all this time.
For you must know that the changes of which I have been speaking have
had great effect upon other people besides gentry, farmers, and
labourers. There are nothing like so many witches, wizards and curious
creatures of that kind as there were, in country places, in the good
old times.
I do not for one moment say that this is to be regretted. On the
contrary, I say again, that being so, I have no doubt it is "all
right."
But, right or wrong, it is undoubtedly true that the witches, warlocks
and wise women have greatly diminished, if indeed they have not
altogether vanished. I hope it will be understood that by "wise women"
I do not allude to the ladies who give scientific lectures and talk
about a variety of subjects upon which they evidently know much more
than an old gentleman like I am could ever know, and, I must say, more
than I should like to know about some things.
This is a different kind of wisdom altogether, and there are plenty of
persons who possess it, or think they do, which serves their purpose
quite as well. I mean "wise," in the sense of possessing an unusual and
supernatural insight into things which are commonly hidden from mortal
knowledge.
Of these people there are few, if any, left in the present day; or if
there are such, they do not come to the front as they once did. There
are, indeed, many persons in the world now, who actually disbelieve in
witches and all creatures of that sort, and who not only disbelieve in
their existence now, but who stoutly maintain that they never _did_
exist.
I don't know how they get over the Witch of Endor, or the various other
allusions to witches in the Bible, but I suppose they _do_ somehow or
other.
People are much too clever for me, nowadays, and get over any
difficulty that comes in their way--or fancy that they do so, and
trouble themselves no more about it. I have even heard people
disbelieve in fairies, but that of course is sheer nonsense; and no one
who wanders--as I have often done, at all seasons and at all
hours--through the glorious English woodlands, can doubt the existence
of the dear little elves.
Doubt their existence! I should as soon think of doubting my own! How
do the fairy-rings come, I should like to know? Whence comes the name
of "the Fairy Well"--not uncommon by any means? Oh, no! I do not
believe that anybody disbelieves that fairies exist, though I know that
there is a dreadful amount of unbelief in the world regarding warlocks
and witches.
I am glad to say that good Farmer Barrett was never one of the
unbelievers. He was near upon seventy when I first came to lodge under
his roof, so that if he had lived till now he would have been
ninety-seven. As he didn't, however, it is no use making the remark. He
died some twelve years ago, when about eighty-five; cut off, as one may
say, in the prime of life.
Ah, me! how our friends, young and old, fall around us, like grass. My
godson, Jack Barrett, here remarks, with less of reverence than I could
have wished, in speaking of his grandfather, that a man taken away at
eighty-five would be better compared to hay than grass. Well, well,
Jack is young; barely forty, and boys _must_ have their jokes, as we
all know.
I was going to say that good Farmer Barrett's death affected me very
much. He was a very great comfort to me, was Farmer Barrett. It was not
only that we agreed upon most points, and thought alike in a manner
most satisfactory to both of us. _That_ was a great comfort, living as
we did under the same roof, and sitting together, either in his kitchen
or my parlour, almost every evening, to enjoy a quiet gossip. But there
were other comforts too, and the chief one--that which I may fairly
consider the principal advantage which I reaped from the society of
Farmer Barrett--was derived from his extraordinary knowledge of the
legends and traditions of his native county concerning witches and
wizards.
Many and many an evening have we sat talking upon such matters, till I
have really felt quite nervous about going to bed. Not that I am a
nervous man: not by any means; but I own that more than once, after
discussing witches and their cats to a late hour, I have felt a curious
sensation when the house cat came rubbing herself against my shins, and
have looked with a species of creepy feeling over my left shoulder as I
went upstairs to bed, almost thinking I should see something "uncanny"
close behind me.
I never knew any man with such a collection of stories and legends as
old Barrett. He had tales without end of the "Warlock of Coombe," the
"Wizard of Bockhanger," and the "Witch of Brook Hollow." He could tell
of the dark doings of the "Hag of Hothfield," and the fearful creature
who so long inhabited the regions of Charing, and darkened the woods of
Longbeach with her awesome shadow.
I do not believe that any witch or wizard ever existed in Kent whose
story was not well known to Barrett. Of his own knowledge he could tell
something. Once there happened a curious thing in his stables.
His two teams of horses, fed alike, housed equally well, and treated
with precisely the same care, strangely varied in their appearance and
condition. One team were always sleek and slim, "fat and well-liking,"
like Pharaoh's fat kine, and the admiration of all beholders. The other
team were just the reverse. Nothing they took seemed to agree with
them, they fell away, their bones started through their skins, and
their appearance was a disgrace to the farm. This state of things
greatly puzzled and annoyed the farmer and his men.
Barrett himself laid the blame upon the waggoner and his mate, and
threatened to discharge both of them if things went on so, as he felt
sure they petted one team of horses at the expense of the other. The
men earnestly denied the charge, and were evidently much vexed at its
having been made.
Things went on the same until at last the waggoner, who was a clever
and withal a courageous man, determined to sit up all night and watch.
He did so, being carefully hidden in the corner of the stable. The
horses fed well, and lay down as usual. All was quiet until twelve
o'clock struck. At that moment several little men, about a foot high,
leaped down from the loft above the stables, and going to the favoured
team, began to brush and comb them with great care and energy, rubbing
them well all over and uttering no words to anybody as they did so,
save to each other as they worked, as if to encourage themselves to
greater exertions.
"I work--you work, I work--you work," they kept saying, and the coats
of the horses rapidly became more smooth and glossy, until, when the
little men had finished, they were perfect models of what horses should
be.
They merely looked at the other team with funny faces, and then
hastened up again to their loft. All this the waggoner duly told his
master next morning, and, of course, with the natural incredulity of
man, he at first refused to believe it.
But when, upon the man again and again assuring him of its truth, he
determined to put the matter to the proof by hiding himself that same
night, he saw precisely the same thing, and was of course convinced.
I forget how the story ended, but I know that, somehow or other, he
managed to get some "wise" person in the neighbourhood to speak up for
the poor, thin team, and prevent the little elves, or whatever they
were, from "spiting" them any more.
Then the farmer had a tale which had been told him by a groom he had
once in his service, who came from the hill above Charing. Up over the
hill there was a reputed witch, Mrs. Dorland.
I questioned the groom about this woman myself, so I may as well give
the story in his own words.
"She were a noted witch, she were," he said.
"How do you know?" I asked, not because I myself doubted for a moment,
but because I wanted to glean all the particulars I possibly could.
"Bless ye, sir," replied the youth, "I knows all about it because o' my
grandfather. She wouldn't never let him alone. I expect he'd affronted
her, one time or other. I recollect when I was a-staying along with him
once, and the door locked and all--he looked over the stairs and there,
sure enough, was old Dame Dorland on the mat at the bottom, and her
eyes! oh they _glounded_ in her head, they did!"
"But how did she get in?" I asked.
"That's just what I want to know," answered the boy. "The door was shut
and fast locked; but there she was, anyhow. Another time my grandfather
had to drive some bullocks down to Ashford market, and he overtook Dame
Dorland. She had a basket on her arm, and she asked my grandfather to
carry it for her. He wouldn't. I expect he didn't know what bad game
might be up. Well, do you think he could keep his bullocks in the road,
after that? Not he: they was over the hedge, first one side and then
another, and then they was for running back. He couldn't do nothing
with them, so he turns back and offers to carry the old girl's basket.
Then the bullocks was all right directly, and he hadn't no trouble in
getting them along all the way to Ashford."
Since Farmer Barrett had lived all his life in a county where such
people as Dame Dorland were to be found, there can hardly be much
surprise felt at his entire and implicit belief in witchcraft.
But the most wonderful tale that he ever told me was that which not
only concerned the county, but the very district in which he dwelt. It
is a story to which I listened with intense interest when first I heard
it, and my interest was never lessened by its repetition.
Again and again I asked the old farmer to go over it once more, and I
cross-examined him upon all the particulars of his tale in a manner
which would really have offended some people of my acquaintance. He,
however, was not only not offended, but pleased at the perseverance
with which I questioned him.
He told me the story, in fact, so often, that I got to know it nearly
by heart; and I think it is one which I ought to relate for the benefit
of a world, in which, as far as I can see, belief of any kind, and
certainly belief in witches and the like, will shortly be extinct.
The parish of Mersham has long been known as a favourite resort of
queer people of the kind of whom I am speaking. It is a very long,
narrow parish: much narrower, of course, at some parts than others.
Its north end runs into and beyond the park of Mersham Hatch--that is,
the west side of the park, the east side being in the parishes of
Brabourne and Smeeth. The south part of the parish joins Bilsington and
Aldington, and on the south west you are very close upon the Ruckinge
and Orlestone big woods--so close that I am not sure whether a portion
of that vast tract of woodland does not actually lie within the
boundaries of the parish of Mersham. Be that as it may, it is a wild
part of the world, and just the very sort of place in which you would
fancy witches and their confederates to abound. Whether you fancy it or
not, however, beyond all doubt such was the case, in the good old times
of which I speak.
No one ever dreamed of being out at night in those parts if he could
possibly help it. The roads were wretchedly bad, full of deep ruts and
big stones, with ditches inconveniently exposed on either side, and
bushes jutting out from the adjoining woods in the most awkward manner
for the traveller.