Who has done it?" were the eager questions of the excited man; but to
all of them the youth replied with the stolid indifference of idiocy,
"Steenie not know."
Subsequent inquiries proved that two (as usual) of the crones had been
seen in the vicinity of the farm that day. As a public road ran very
near, this may perhaps be deemed by some to have been slight and
inconclusive evidence of their guilt; but it was universally accepted
at the time as beyond all doubt connecting them with the affair.
Some few there were who insinuated that the idiot boy had set the
stables on fire for amusement, unconscious of the mischief he was
doing; but these of course were some of those foolish and obstinate
people who always like to differ from the rest of the world, and put
forward their own views against those of everybody else. Of course it
was the Mersham crones who had done the thing, else why should it have
occurred at the very time when Farmer Long was engaged on an
expedition, the object of which was to search their cottage? At all
events, so entirely convinced upon the subject was the whole
neighbourhood, that it was resolved that the matter could not rest
there, but must be taken up seriously.
The question was, how to do it? Inquiry before the magistrates appeared
useless, for if two constables, and one of them a Smeeth man, too,
could not even approach the crones' dwelling, of what avail was it to
invoke the authority of the law? The church might be tried, but the
rector of Mersham was known to have steadily set his face against any
belief in witches, and it was more than probable that no other
clergyman would like to interfere in his parish without his knowledge
and consent.
Long consultations were held, and wise heads laid together about the
business, and at last it was determined to rouse the honest people of
the neighbourhood round, most of whom had suffered more or less from
the pilfering habits of the crones, and, covered with as many charms
and magic tokens as they could obtain from old Goody Flaskett and one
or two other wise women who lived near the place, to advance in great
numbers against the enemy, in order to try what ducking in a horsepond
would do for them. So on one fine afternoon, a great concourse of
people, meeting in several parties, bore down from different quarters
upon the cottage of the crones.
It was a mellow day in autumn, and hopping was just over at the time
when this proceeding took place. John Gower had come home that day to
dinner, and a memorable day it was in his family. Mary, Jane, and Billy
were all at home and they had just sat down to their homely meal when a
low, hurried knocking was heard at the door. At this very moment it so
happened that the horse-shoe which was usually nailed over that door
had fallen down, owing to one of the nails which supported it having
given way, and consequently it lay on the grass near the door instead
of hanging in its usual place. Farmer Barrett was always particular in
mentioning this circumstance, else, he said, people might think that a
horseshoe is not a real protection against witches, whereas it is the
best and surest safeguard, only it must be nailed up against a wall or
over a door. John bade his son open the door, and as soon as he had
done so, they perceived a good-looking young woman leading two others,
apparently older than herself, but perfectly blind, whilst on her arm
each carried a basket. They were quite strangers to John and his
family, and appeared to have walked some way.
"Might we ask to rest awhile in your cottage, good friend?" asked the
young woman. "I and my two blind sisters have walked all the way from
Ashford to-day, and are bound to Romney."
"Sartainly, ma'am," said John in reply. "But surely this be a long walk
for such as ye?"
"Ah!" replied the other, "we should have thought so once, but a cruel
landlord has turned us out of our house, these poor afflicted creatures
and me, and having relations at Romney we are going there in the only
way the poor can travel--on our feet, and we have nothing with us but
our tame rabbits, poor creatures, which we always carry in our baskets.
We should be very thankful if we might come in for a couple of hours or
so."
"By all means," said worthy John, whose simple heart was at once
touched by this tale. "Come in, come in by all means," and stepping
forward, he helped one of the blind girls over the threshold and they
all entered the cottage.
The moment they were inside, Mary's favourite cat, who had been seated
by the fireside, intently watching the proceeding, jumped up and sprang
through the open window without saying a word to anybody, which indeed,
as a respectable but ordinary cat, she was not likely to have done
under any circumstances. Mary observed this, and wondered at the animal
being so shy of strangers; but nobody made any remark upon the
incident, and seats being found for the new comers, they not only sat
down, but condescended to share the family dinner, and that with such
appetites, that the children of the house themselves came off but
second best. John Gower asked several questions which were
satisfactorily answered, but he always said afterwards that he never
felt quite at home with his visitors, which he put down to their being
better educated and of a position apparently somewhat above his own. As
they sat and ate and talked, a distant shout was heard, and then
another.
"Father, what's that?" asked Billy.
"Oh!" replied Gower, "I expect it's the people out after the crones. I
forgot all about it, not being a busy man in such matters, or I ought
to have helped my neighbours, perhaps, for those old women are no
better than they should be--ah! oh! oh, dear!" and whilst the words
were still in his mouth, John Gower jumped up and began to hop about
the room upon one leg, having been suddenly seized, he said, with a
violent fit of cramp therein.
"What are they going to do with the crones, father?" asked Billy.
"Duck 'em, I expect, boy," replied he; upon which the lad rejoined,--
"Oh, what fun! how I should like to see it!" and almost immediately
afterwards burst out crying, saying that he had such a bad pain come in
his inside.
Meanwhile more shouting was heard, and not very far off, and presently
the door was thrown open, and in came a neighbour, James Firminger by
name, and a noted enemy to witches, besides being so worthy and
well-thought-of a man that he had more than once been spoken of as fit
to be parish churchwarden.
"Neighbour Gower!" he shouted, as he came in, "why ar't not out with
the rest of us after the crones? 'Twill be a grand day for Mersham if
we get quit of them. But you've got company, I see--bless us, what a
smell of sulphur!"
As he spoke, he turned his eyes on the young woman and her two blind
companions, and started as he did so. Firminger never went about
without some potent witch-charm upon him, which at once protected him
from the malice of such creatures, and enabled him to detect them when
disguised, and upon this occasion he had nothing less than a relic of
the great Kentish saint, Thomas à Becket, being a small piece of the
hair-shirt of that holy man, cut off shortly after his death by one of
the monks of Canterbury, who happened to be a Firminger, and
religiously preserved in the Firminger family ever afterwards.
Naturally, as Farmer Barrett observed, no witch could stand against
_that_, and Firminger was a lucky man to possess it. It was doubtless
in consequence, and by virtue of this relic, that as soon as the good
man was well inside the cottage, he not only smelt the sulphur which
had not been smelt by the family, but saw what was the real character
of John Gower's visitors. He took no second look, but shouted aloud,
"The crones! the crones!" and seizing the little case in which was his
relic in his hands, displayed it openly before them.
The effect was instantaneous. All beauty disappeared from the face of
the young woman, her form changed, her countenance shrivelled, and she
stood confessed before the party as Humpy, the youngest of the three
Crones of Mersham.
No less sudden and complete was the alteration in her two companions,
who recovered their sight at once, but together therewith resumed the
unpleasant forms and features of Skinny and Bony, the two other sisters
of this disreputable family. There was a visible agitation at the same
moment in the baskets which the sisters had carried upon their arms,
and which they had deposited on the floor upon taking their seats.
The lids shook, the baskets quivered, and in another instant
overturned, when out sprang three enormous black cats upon the floor of
the room.
With a yell, which seemed to burst simultaneously from the throats of
all the crones and all the cats, they rushed out at the door; flying
from the charm which James Firminger kept earnestly shaking before
their eyes. Out of the door, over the green space in front of the
cottage, into the road, and as far and fast as they could get away from
the object of their terror.
John Gower and his children sat stupified with mingled surprise and awe
for some seconds; and then, jumping from their seats, they all rushed
through the door after Firminger; who, having done so, stood still
outside, eagerly gazing after the retreating crones. He knew well
enough that, if nought had prevented them, the honest people who were
out after the witches, would by this time have attacked and harried
their home. Whither, then, would they fly?
If they had quitted their cottage ignorant of the coming of their
enemies, and only bent on paying John Gower a visit--doubtless
intending to do him some mischief or other; it might be that they would
hurry home, and encounter the angry mob of people, in which case there
would be wild work one way or the other. If, however, as was more
probable (and as was generally believed to be the case when the matter
was considered afterwards), the three crones had been well aware of the
projected attack upon them, and had purposely left home--hoping that
they might lie safely hid in the abode of so honest and quiet a man as
Gower until the danger was over, then it became a serious question as
to what other refuge they would seek, now that they had been so
manfully driven from their intended place of safety. The doubts of the
lookers-on, however, were soon solved.
A strange thing happened, which would never have been believed in
those days, but that Firminger and Gower both solemnly declared it,
and which perhaps actually will _not_ be believed in these days of
doubt and want of faith, but which I must nevertheless relate as
Farmer Barrett told it to me. As soon as they were well on the other
side of the road, each crone jumped upon her cat, and the animals,
lightly springing over the hedge into the next field, set off full
gallop in an easterly direction--or, in other words, heading as
straight as a line to Aldington Knoll, well-known in those good old
days as the great fortress of witches. That was their point, no doubt,
and it looked very much as if they were going to give up Mersham as a
bad job, and betake themselves to other and safer quarters.
As soon as Firminger saw the line which the crones took, he turned to
Gower and said in a hasty tone, "Come on, mate, this must be seen to at
once. Let us join the chaps who are gone to the old cottage as fast as
we can, and tell them what we have seen, and all that has happened."
John Gower was too wise a man to hesitate. Had he done so, he knew well
enough that he would be suspected of having knowingly harboured the
crones, and of being in league with them, a suspicion which would have
ruined him for ever in his native parish, and probably driven him from
the county.
So he bade Mary mind the house, and keep Jane and Billy at home, and
then he set off at best pace with Firminger down the road in the
direction of the cottage of the crones. They very soon reached it, and
found it surrounded by a number of people, who were engaged in
demolishing the premises altogether. They had not found much, probably
because there was not much to find; and the owners of the place, as we
know, had taken themselves off before the arrival of their unwelcome
visitors. But they broke everything they could find, tore down the
thatched roof to search for magic charms, none of which they found, but
only a number of mice, and a great deal of dust. They pulled to pieces
the wooden part of the cottage, and knocked down a great part of the
stone corner, counting everything as fair game, as witches' property,
and striving their utmost to destroy as much as they possibly could.
There were more than a couple of hundred people, all told, Farmer
Barrett believed, and he gave me a great many names, but I forget most
of them. There was Bully Robus, of the "Farriers' Arms," I know, and
little Dick Broadfoot, the tailor, of Mersham Street, and Bill Parsons,
all the way from Warehorne Green. There were Gowers, and Farrances,
Sillibournes and Swaflers, Swinerds and Finns--in short, not a family
in that or any of the other parishes which was not represented, and
they all seemed to vie with each other, which should do the most
mischief, and be foremost in pulling down and destroying that evil
place.
It was several minutes before James Firminger and John Gower could
command the attention of people so eagerly occupied about their
business as these witch-seekers, and it would have been still longer,
but for the position and character of Firminger, and his known hatred
of all that pertained to witchcraft. He presently succeeded in making
them listen to the wonders he had to relate, and when they knew for
certain what had happened and the direction which the crones had taken,
the whole current of their thoughts was turned into one eager desire to
follow, and, if possible, to make an end of the inmates of that awful
cottage as well as of the abode itself.
They lost no time, therefore, in finishing the work on which they were
then engaged, and immediately afterwards the whole party swarmed up the
road in the direction of Aldington Knoll, keeping up each other's
courage by many brave words, and shouting uncomplimentary epithets with
regard to the three crones. So they pushed on until they came to the
spot where four roads met; one, that which our party had traversed in
walking from the cottage, another bearing back to Bilsington and
Ruckinge, a third to Newchurch and the Marsh, and the fourth to
Aldington Knoll.
Down this last road the people turned, and then, immediately before
them they had the mass of wood upon the side of the hill, which then,
as now, encompassed the knoll itself upon the north, west, and south,
the ground to the east being somewhat less woody. The knoll--apparently
a grass hill, only that the grass being a good deal worn away, showed
the bare rock at several places--peered over the woods, and the road to
it lay right through the latter for some distance, until by turning
into a gate upon your right hand, you entered the field out of which
the knoll rose, and from the higher points of which were magnificent
views over the Marsh and all the country east, west, and south, the
hills behind shutting out the view to the north.
The people were now some three-quarters of a mile from this gate, and,
if the truth could be known, I have no doubt whatever that some of them
would very gladly have been a great deal further off.
The power of the crones themselves was so well known, and the
reputation of Aldington Knoll was so bad, that no one felt sure that
some terrible misfortune might not result from braving the one and
attacking the other.
They had all heard strange tales of people bewitched, changed into
animals, losing their senses, and all kinds of other disagreeable
things, and of course such tales _would_ recur to them at such a
moment. But there were brave hearts--then as now--among the men of
Kent, and although fears and doubts may have been there, they did not
operate so as to turn any man back from the work he had undertaken. The
people moved down the road towards Aldington, and reached the point at
which the woods began. At that moment a loud clap of thunder pealed
through the air, and vivid lightning flashed across the sky.
A shudder passed through many a stout frame, but the men pushed boldly
on. Then came a severe hailstorm--so severe that the people took
shelter beneath the trees, and waited until its violence seemed to be
passed.
But none turned back. Then came a bitter, chilling wind, though it had
been a lovely, soft, mellow day: the wind cut through the trees with a
moaning sound, and pierced the people like a mid-winter blast.
Still they pressed on, knowing that witchcraft was at work, and that
retreat would be ruin. They were half-way between the point at which
the road entered the woods and the gate before mentioned, when a loud
and terrible roaring was heard upon the right, from the woods which
stretched up close to the knoll itself. So strange and so dreadful was
this sound, that it made the blood of those who heard it run cold, and
for a moment the foremost men of the throng paused.
But three men there were in that crowd who neither quailed nor paused
for a moment, so resolutely determined were they to carry out the work
they had commenced that day. These men were James Firminger, Farmer
Long, and old David Finn, the parish clerk of Mersham. The last named
knew but little of crones or witches, but tradition said that there
always must be a Finn for parish clerk, and that Mersham would not be
Mersham without one. This being the case, the old man felt it to be his
duty to take such prominent part in an affair like the present as
became one of an ancient family, filling an hereditary office.
Therefore, although he knew that the rector would most likely have
disapproved of the step he was taking, he had started early that day,
and in company with Bully Robus and sundry other notables of the
parish, had taken an active part in the proceedings from the beginning.
These three men, then, were not deterred by the roaring, though it much
resembled that of wild and savage beasts desiring their prey, and
seeing it before their eyes. And when no beasts appeared, and it seemed
to be nothing but sound, the rest of the people regained their courage,
and all continued to push on towards the gate into the knoll-field.
About a hundred yards before they reached it, however, they found that
they had to encounter an unexpected obstacle in the shape of several
enormous elms which lay stretched across the road in such a manner as
to most effectually bar any further progress.
But to the astonishment of all, no sooner had Firminger, Long, and Finn
(who were now recognised as the leaders of the expedition) approached
close to the barrier, than it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared,
and left the roadway free.
Encouraged by this result, as unexpected as it was satisfactory, the
party advanced a few yards farther, to find a great ditch yawning in
front of them, and evidently intended to stop their farther advance. On
seeing this, Finn rushed to the front, and standing close to the edge
of the abyss, pronounced in a loud voice the word "Amen," which he had
long held to be the most sacred and powerful form of invocation known
to the world, and one which never failed to repel any evil creature to
whom it was addressed.
Whether from the effects of his utterance, or from any other reason, I
cannot say, but certain it is that as the worthy clerk put one leg
forward as if to step into the ditch, it closed up as if it had never
been dug, which perhaps was the case. At all events, whether it was a
real ditch or only a delusion of the eye, the chasm disappeared
altogether, and once more the party proceeded, until they reached the
gate of the field, and faced it, about to enter and approach the knoll,
which now lay upon their right, the field in which it was situate
stretching back into the woods.
On entering the gate, they were at once struck by the novel and curious
appearance of the knoll. Smoke appeared to envelope it on all sides,
and a deep rumbling proceeded from within it, as if a volcano were at
work, and a volcano that meant mischief too. The party paused for a
moment, looked at each other and then at the knoll, and began to wonder
what they had better do next. Everybody thought that everybody else was
stopping quite unnecessarily, but nobody seemed inclined to move on
first.
Even the three bold men, Firminger, Long, and Finn, seemed less eager
than hitherto, and whispered to each other in low, mysterious tones,
that they fancied they saw dark and fearful figures moving about among
the smoke in which the knoll was enveloped. It was well known to these
men, and indeed to most or all of their companions, that Aldington
knoll was reputed to be the abode and principal gathering-place of all
the evil creatures in that part of the country.
By common consent men had for a long time past shunned it as a haunted
and wicked spot, and it was no common evidence of courage that so many
men had been found to approach it upon this occasion. After a few
moments, the three men recollected the responsibility of their
position, and the absolute certainty that if their party returned home
defeated, the neighbourhood would thenceforward be worse off than ever.
The crones would never forget the plunder and destruction of their
cottage, and would doubtless exact a severe compensation from the
perpetrators of that ruthless deed.
Moreover, for a couple of hundred people to have it said that they had
been circumvented and beaten by three old women, was a thing not to be
thought of; so, shame overcoming their reluctance, they boldly marched
forward again, and encouraged their followers to charge up to the very
foot of the knoll. They had got quite close to it when, either by
accident, or because he pulled it too hard in his nervous fidgeting
with it, the string by which James Firminger's relic was tied round his
neck suddenly broke, and the charm itself fell to the ground.
Hardly had this occurred, when a yell, most discordant in its tone, but
appearing to express a mingled feeling of joy, triumph, fury and
revengeful longing all in one, broke from the interior of the mount.
The next instant the knoll itself opened wide, just like the mouth of a
man preparing for a tremendous yawn, and a whole volley of cinders and
ashes came bursting over the approaching party in a most disconcerting
and unpleasant manner. At the same time strange and uncouth figures
suddenly appeared issuing from the knoll, some with goat's heads and
horns, others with the bodies of men but a pig's head, snout and
bristles, others like monkeys (but oh! such frightful monkeys as never
were seen) and all with eyes that rolled fearfully in their heads and
glittered like fire. Conspicuous among this awful band appeared the
figures of the three crones, Bony, Skinny, and Humpy, each carrying a
broomstick in her hand, and followed by her cat, which bounded forward
as if to attack the invaders of the haunted hill. This was more than
the latter could stand--they wavered--looked round--tottered a step or
two backward, and then, as the cinders, hot cinders too, came upon them
and the evil creatures almost touched them, they turned round with one
accord, and fled down from the knoll as fast as their legs would carry
them. Farmer Long was the first of the three leaders who gave way, for
he afterwards declared that he recognized the lost kitten in a cat
which seemed to select him as her particular object of attack, and as
he ran, he vowed that he felt a scratch which penetrated, sharp and
deep, in such a manner that he could not sit down comfortably for a
fortnight, and felt perfectly sure that only the claws of that kitten
could or would have dealt him such a wound. As for Finn, he so lost his
head, that he ran off, bawling out "Amen" continuously at the top of
his voice, but in a tone which conveyed so little of the real
importance and dignity attaching to the word, that it is little wonder
that it had no effect.
James Firminger--as became a man of his character and position--stood
his ground longest, but his charm being gone, he felt less confidence,
and when he, too, turned and ran, he felt himself belaboured by an
invisible stick all the way down to the gate of the field.