approaching nuptials between Oliver Chadwyck and the Lady Eleanor. All
the yeomanry, inhabitants of the hamlets of Honorsfield, Butterworth,
and Healey, were invited to the wedding. Dancers and mummers were
provided; wrestlers and cudgel-players, with games and pastimes of all
sorts, were appointed. The feasts were to be holden for three days,
and masks, motions, and other rare devices, were expected to surpass
and eclipse every preceding attempt of the like nature.
Eleanor sat in her lonely bower. It was the night before the bridal.
To-morrow would see her depart in pageantry and pomp--an envied bride!
Yet was her heart heavy, and she could not refrain from weeping.
She sought rest; but sleep was denied. The owl hooted at her window;
the bat flapped his leathern wings; the taper burned red and heavily,
and its rays were tinged as though with blood; the fire flung out its
tiny coffin; the wind sobbed aloud at every cranny, and wailed
piteously about the dwelling.
"Would that I might read my destiny," thought she. Her natural
inclination to forbidden practices was too powerful to withstand.
Now there was formerly an ancient superstition, that if, on the night
before marriage, a taper were burned, made from the fat of a young
sow, and anointed with the blood of the inquirer, after sundry
diabolical and cabalistical rites at midnight, a spirit would appear,
and pronounce the good or evil destiny of the querent.
Eleanor had prepared the incantation ere she laid her throbbing head
on the pillow. Whether or not she slept, is more than we can divulge.
Such, in all probability, was the case; dreams being the echo only of
our waking anticipations.
She thought there came a rushing wind. The door flapped to and fro,
the curtains shook, and the pictures glared horribly from the wall.
Suddenly--starting from the panel, with eyes lighted up like
bale-fires, and a malignant scowl on her visage--stalked down one of
the family portraits. It was that of a female--a maiden aunt of the
house of Byron, painted by one of the court artists, whom the king had
brought from France, and patronised at a heavy cost. This venerable
dame appeared to gaze at the spectator from whatsoever situation she
was beholden. The eyes even seemed to follow you when passing across
the chamber. A natural consequence though, and only marvelled at by
the ignorant and illiterate.
This ancient personage now advanced from her hanging-place, and
standing at the foot of the bed, opened out a fiery scroll with these
ominous words:--
"Maid, wife, and widow, in one day,
This shall be thy destiny."
Eleanor struggled hard, but was unable to move. She laboured for
utterance, but could not speak. At length, with one desperate effort,
a loud cry escaped her, and the vision disappeared. She slept no more,
but morning disclosed her haggard cheek and sunken eye, intimating
that neither hope nor enjoyment could have been the companion of her
slumbers.
It was a bright morning in June. The sun rode high and clear in the
blue heavens. The birds had "sung their matins blythe" ere the
bridegroom arrived with his attendants. Merrily did the village
choristers acquit themselves in their vocation, while those that were
appointed strewed flowers in the way. The bells of St Chad trolled out
their merry notes when the ceremony was over, and the bride, on her
snow-white palfrey, passed on, escorted by her husband, at the head of
the procession. Gay cavaliers on horseback, and maidens prancing by
their side, made the welkin ring with loud and mirthful discourse. The
elder Byron rode on his charger by the side of Jordan Chadwyck and his
eldest son, with whom rode the vicar, Richard Salley, nothing loath to
contribute his folly to the festival.
As the procession drew nigh to the hall, a messenger rode forward in
great haste, whispering to Byron, who, with angry and disordered
looks, shouted aloud to Oliver--
"Away--away! The cowardly Traffords are at our threshold. They have
skulked out, like traitors as they be, knowing our absence at the
feast. 'Tis an old feud, and a bloody one. Who is for Byron? Down with
the Traffords!"
The old man here put spurs to his horse, and galloped off with his
attendants.
"A Byron--a Byron!" shouted Oliver, as he followed in full cry, first
leaving his wife under a suitable and safe escort. Soon they routed
the enemy, but the prediction was complete; for Eleanor became
"Maid, wife, and widow, in one day!"
her husband being slain during the battle.
The blood of man was held of little account in those days, if we may
judge by the following award on the occasion:--
"In virtue of a writ of appeal of death, sued out against Sir John
Trafford, Knight, his tenants and servants, the sum of sixty pounds
was deemed to be paid by Trafford to Biroun, to be distributed amongst
the cousins and friends of the late Oliver C., in the parish church of
Manchester, on the award of Sir Thomas Stanley, Knight, _Lord
Stanley_--viz. ten marks at the nativity of John the Baptist, and ten
marks at St Martyn, yearly, until the whole was paid, and all parties
to be fully friends. Dated London, 24th March, 20 Edward IV. 4018."
[1] Whitaker's _Hist. Whalley_, p. 441.
[2] Corry's _Lancashire_.
[3] _Mag. Britan._ York, p. 391.
[4] Here vulgarly called the Tearn Barn
(tithe-barn) in Wales; distinctly seen in showery weather, but
invisible in a settled season.
[5] On a bleak moor, called Monstone Edge, in this
hamlet, is a huge moor-stone or outlier, which (though part of
it was broken off and removed some years ago) still retains the
name of Monstone. It is said to have been quoited thither by
Robin Hood, from his bed on the top of Blackstone Edge, about
six miles off. After striking the mote or mark aimed at, the
stone bounced off a few hundred yards and settled there. These
stones, however, in all probability, if not Druidical, were
landmarks, the ancient boundary of the hamlet of Healey; and,
as was once customary, the marvellous story of this ancient
outlaw might be told to the urchins who accompanied the
perambulators, with the addition, probably, of a few kicks and
cuffs, to make them remember the spot.
[Illustration: THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER.]
THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER.
_K. Hen._--"From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight."
_King Henry VI._
"It shall bless thy bed, it shall bless thy board,
They shall prosper by this token;
In Muncaster Castle good luck shall be,
Till the charmed cup is broken."
Gamel de Pennington is the first ancestor of the family of whom
there is any recorded account; he was a person of great note and
property at the time of the Conquest, and the family, having
quitted their original seat of Pennington in Lancashire (where
the foundation of a square building called the Castle is still
visible), he fixed his residence at Mealcastre, now called
Muncaster. It is said that the family originally resided nearer
the sea, at a place not far from the town of Ravenglass, where
at present are the ruins of an old Roman castle, called Walls
Castle. The old tower of the present mansion-house at Muncaster
was built by the Romans, to guard the ford called St Michael's
Ford, over the river Esk, when Agricola went to the north, and
to watch also the great passes into the country over the fells,
and over Hard Knot, where is the site of another fortress
constructed by them, apparent from the traces existing to this
day.
Muncaster and the manor of Muncaster have long been enjoyed by
the Penningtons, who appear to have possessed it about forty
years before the Conquest, and ever since, sometimes
collaterally, but for the most part in lineal descent by their
issue male, to this very time.
There is a room in Muncaster Castle which still goes by the name
of Henry the Sixth's room, from the circumstance of his having
been concealed in it at the time he was flying from his enemies
in 1461, when Sir John Pennington, the then possessor of
Muncaster, gave him a secret reception.
The posts of the bed in which he slept, which are of handsome
carved oak, are also in the same room in good preservation.
When the period for the king's departure arrived, before he
proceeded on his journey, he addressed Sir John with many kind
and courteous acknowledgments for his loyal reception,
lamenting, at the same time, that he had nothing of more value
to present him with, as a testimony of his good-will, than the
cup out of which he crossed himself. He then gave it into the
hands of Sir John, accompanying the present with the following
blessing:--"The family shall prosper as long as they preserve it
unbroken;" which the superstition of those times imagined would
carry good fortune to his descendants. Hence it is called "_The
Luck of Muncaster_." It is a curiously-wrought glass cup,
studded with gold and white enamel spots. The benediction
attached to its security being then uppermost in the
recollection of the family, it was considered essential to the
prosperity of the house at the time of the usurpation that the
Luck of Muncaster should be deposited in a safe place; it was
consequently buried till the cessation of hostilities had
rendered all further care and concealment unnecessary.
Unfortunately, however, the person commissioned to disinter this
precious jewel let the box fall in which it was locked up, which
so alarmed the then existing members of the family, that they
could not muster courage enough to satisfy their apprehensions.
It therefore (according to the traditionary story still
preserved in the family) remained unopened for more than forty
years, at the expiration of which period a Pennington, more
hardy or more courageous than his predecessors, unlocked the
casket, and exultingly proclaimed the safety of the Luck of
Muncaster.
When John, Lord Muncaster (the first of the family who obtained
a peerage), entered into possession of Muncaster Castle, after
his elevation in 1793, he found it still surrounded with a moat,
and defended by a strong portcullis. The family having of late
years entirely resided upon their estate of Wartee in Yorkshire,
the house was in so very dilapidated a state that Lord Muncaster
was obliged to rebuild it almost entirely, with the exception of
Agricola's Tower, the walls of which are nine feet thick. The
elevation of the new part is in unison with that of the Roman
tower, and forms altogether a handsome castellated building. The
situation is eminently striking, and was well chosen for
commanding the different passes over the mountains. It is
surrounded with mountain scenery on the north, south, and east;
while extensive plantations, a rich and cultivated country, with
the sea in the distance, makes a combination of scenery than
which it is scarcely possible to imagine anything more
beautiful or more picturesque.
We are tempted to conclude this description with the words of
John, Lord Muncaster, who himself so greatly contributed to its
renovation. Upon being requested to give an outline of its
beauties, he replied that it consisted of "wood, park, lawn,
valley, river, sea, and mountain."
The reason or excuse we give for introducing within our
Lancashire series this tradition, of which the occurrences took
place in a neighbouring county, is, that the family was
originally native to our own. By the village of Pennington,
situated about midway between Dalton and Ulverstone, is the
Castle Hill, the residence of this family before the Conquest.
The area of the castle-yard appears to have been an octagon or a
square, with obtuse angles, about forty-five yards in diameter.
The south and east sides have been defended by a ditch about ten
yards wide, and by a vallum of earth, still visible. There are
no vestiges of the ancient building. It stood apparently on the
verge of a precipice, at the foot of which flows a brook with
great rapidity. The side commands an extensive view of the
sea-coast and beacons, and was excellently situated for
assembling the dependants in cases of emergency. The name is
diversely written in ancient writings, as Penyngton, Penington,
Pennington, and in Doomsday Book _Pennegetun_, perhaps from
_Pennaig_, in British "a prince or great personage," to which
the Saxon termination _tun_ being added, forms Pennegetun, since
smoothed into Pennington.
PART FIRST.
"Come hither, Sir John de Pennington,
Come hither, and hearken to me;
Nor silver, nor gold, nor ladye-love,
Nor broad lands I give unto thee."
"I care not for silver, I care not for gold,
Nor for broad lands, nor fair ladye;
But my honour and troth, and my good broadsword,
Are the king's eternally."
"Come hither, Sir John, thou art loyal and brave,"
Again the monarch spake;
"In my trouble and thrall, in the hour of pain,
Thou pity didst on me take.
"The white rose withers on every bough,
And the red rose rears its thorn;
But many a maid our strife shall rue,
And the babe that is yet unborn.
"I've charged in the battle with horse and lance,
But I've doffed the warrior now;
And never again may helmet of steel
Bind this burning, aching brow!
"Oh, had I been born of a simple churl,
And a serving-wench for my mate,
I had whistled as blithe as yon knave that sits
By Muncaster's Castle gate!
"Would that my crown were a bonnet of blue,
And my sceptre yon shepherd's crook,
I would honour, dominion, and power eschew,
In this holy and quiet nook.
"For England's crown is a girdle of blood,
A traitor is every gem;
And a murderer's eye each jewel that lurks
In that kingly diadem!
"Hunt on! hunt on, thou blood-hound keen;
I'd rather an outcast be,
Than wade through all that thou hast done,
To pluck that crown from thee!"
"Then tarry, my liege," Sir John replied,
"In Muncaster's Castle gate;
No foeman shall enter, while sheltered here
From Edward's pride and hate."
"I may not tarry, thou trusty knight,
Nor longer with thee abide;
Ere to-morrow shall rise on these lordly towers,
From that gate shall a monarch ride.
"For a vision came to my lonely bed,
And that vision bade me flee;
And I must away, ere break of day,
O'er the hills to the south countrie.
"But take this cup,--'tis a hallowed thing,
Which holy men have blessed;
In the church of the Holy Sepulchre
This crystal once did rest;
"And many a martyr, and many a saint,
Around its brim have sate;
No water that e'er its lips have touched
But is hallowed and consecrate.
"'Tis thine, Sir John; not an empire's worth,
Nor wealth of Ind could buy
The like, for never was jewel seen
Of such wondrous potency.
"It shall bless thy bed, it shall bless thy board,
They shall prosper by this token;
In Muncaster Castle good luck shall be,
Till the charmed cup is broken!"
Sir John he bent him on his knee,
And the king's word ne'er did err,
For the cup is called, to this blessed hour,
"THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER."
PART SECOND.
"Oh haste, Sir William of Liddislee
My kinsman good at need,
Ere the Esk's dark ford thou hast passed by,
In Muncaster rest thy steed;
"And say to my love and my lady bright,
In Carlisle I must stay,
For the foe is come forth from the misty north,
And I cannot hence away;
"But I must keep watch on Carlisle's towers
With the banner of Cumberland;
Then bid her beware of the rebel host,
Lest they come with sword and brand.
"But bid her, rather than house or land,
Take heed of that cup of grace,
Which King Henry gave to our ancestor,
The 'LUCK' of our noble race.
"Bid her bury it deep at dead of night,
That no eye its hiding see.
Now do mine errand, Sir William,
As thou wouldst prosperous be!"
Sir William stayed nor for cloud nor shrine,
He stayed not for rest nor bait,
Till he saw the far gleam on Esk's broad stream,
And Muncaster's Castle gate.
"From whence art thou in such fearful haste?"
The warder wondering said;
"Hast thou 'scaped alone from the bloody fight,
And the field of the gory dead?"
"I am not from the bloody fight,
Nor a craven flight I flee;
But I am come to my lady's bower,
Sir William of Liddislee."
The knight to the lady's bower is gone:
"A boon I crave from thee,
Deny me not, thou lady bright,"
And he bent him on his knee.
"I grant thee a boon," the lady said,
"If it from my husband be;"
"There's a cup of grace," cried the suppliant knight,
"Which thou must give to me."
"Now foul befa' thee, fause traitor,
That with guile would our treasure win;
For ne'er from Sir John of Pennington
Had such traitrous message been."
"I crave your guerdon, fair lady,
'Twas but your faith to try,
That we might know if the 'Luck' of this house
Were safe in such custody.
"The message was thus, thy husband sent;
He hath looked out from Carlisle wa',
And he is aware of John Highlandman
Come trooping down the snaw;
"And should this kilted papistry
Spread hither upon their way,
They'll carry hence that cup of grace,
Though thou shouldst say them nay.
"And thy lord must wait for the traitor foe
By the walls of merry Carlisle;
Else he would hie to his lady's help,
And his lady's fears beguile.
"Thy lord would rather his house were brent,
His goods and his cattle harried,
Than the cup should be broken,--that cup of grace,
Or from Muncaster's house be carried."
The kinsman smiled on that fond lady,
And his traitor suit he plied:
"Give me the cup," the false knight said,
"From these foemen fierce to hide."
The lady of Muncaster oped the box
Where lay this wondrous thing;
Sir William saw its beauteous form,
All bright and glistering.
The kinsman smiled on that fond lady,
And he viewed it o'er and o'er.
"'Tis a jewel of price," said that traitor then,
"And worthy a prince's dower.
"We'll bury the treasure where ne'er from the sun
One ray of gladness shone,
Where darkness and light, and day and night,
And summer and spring are one:
"Beneath the moat we'll bury it straight,
In its box of the good oak-tree;
And the cankered carle, John Highlandman,
Shall never that jewel see."
The kinsman took the casket up,
And the lady looked over the wall:
"If thou break that cup of grace, beware,
The pride of our house shall fall!"
The kinsman smiled as he looked above,
And to the lady cried,
"I'll show thee where thy luck shall be,
And the lord of Muncaster's pride."
The lady watched this kinsman false,
And he lifted the casket high:
"Oh! look not so, Sir William,"
And bitterly she did cry.
But the traitor knight dashed the casket down
To the ground, that blessed token;
"Lie there," then said that false one now,
"Proud Muncaster's charm is broken!"
The lady shrieked, the lady wailed,
While the false knight fled amain:
But never durst Muncaster's lord, I trow,
Ope that blessed shrine again!
PART THIRD.
The knight of Muncaster went to woo,
And he rode with the whirlwind's speed,
For the lady was coy, and the lover was proud,
And he hotly spurred his steed.
He stayed not for bog, he stayed not for briar,
Nor stayed he for flood or fell;
Nor ever he slackened his courser's rein,
Till he stood by the Lowthers' well.
Beside that well was a castle fair,
In that castle a fair lady;
In that lady's breast was a heart of stone,
Nor might it softened be.
"Now smooth that brow of scorn, fair maid,
And to my suit give ear;
There's never a dame in Cumberland,
Such a look of scorn doth wear."
"Haste, haste thee back," the lady cried,
"For a doomed man art thou;
I wed not the heir of Muncaster,
Thy '_Luck_' is broken now!"
"Oh say not so, for on my sire
Th' unerring doom was spent;
I heir not his ill-luck, I trow,
Nor with his dool am shent."
"The doom is thine, as thou art his,
And to his curse, the heir;
But never a luckless babe of mine
That fearful curse shall bear!"
A moody man was the lover then;
But homeward as he hied,
Beside the well at Lord Lowther's gate,
An ugly dwarf he spied.
"Out of my sight, thou fearsome thing;
Out of my sight, I say:
Or I will fling thine ugly bones
To the crows this blessed day."
But the elfin dwarf he skipped and ran
Beside the lover's steed,
And ever as Muncaster's lord spurred on,
The dwarf held equal speed.
The lover he slackened his pace again,
And to the goblin cried:
"What ho, Sir Page, what luckless chance
Hath buckled thee to my side?"
Up spake then first that shrivelled thing,
And he shook his locks of grey:
"Why lowers the cloud on Muncaster's brow,
And the foam tracks his troubled way?"
"There's a lady, the fairest in all this land,"
The haughty chief replied;
"But that lady's love in vain I've sought,
And I'll woo none other bride."
"And is there not beauty in other lands,
And locks of raven hue,
That thou must pine for a maiden cold,
Whose bosom love ne'er knew?"
"Oh, there is beauty in every land,"
The sorrowing knight replied;
"But I'd rather Margaret of Lonsdale wed,
Than the fairest dame beside."
"And thou shalt the Lady Margaret wed,"
Said that loathly dwarf again;
"There's a key in Muncaster Castle can break
That maiden's heart in twain!"
"Oh never, oh never, thou lying elf,
That maiden's word is spoken:
The cup of grace left a traitor's hand,
Proud Muncaster's '_Luck_' is broken."
Then scornfully grinned that elfin dwarf,
And aloud he laughed again:
"There's a key in thy castle, Sir Knight, can break
That maiden's heart in twain!"
The knight he turned him on his steed,
And he looked over hill and stream;
But he saw not that elfin dwarf again,
He had vanished as a dream!
The knight came back to his castle hall,
And stabled his good grey steed;
And he is to his chamber gone,
With wild and angry speed.
And he saw the oaken casket, where
Lay hid that cup of grace,
Since that fearful day, when the traitor foe
Wrought ruin on his race.
"Thou cursed thing," he cried in scorn,
"That ever such 'Luck' should be;
From Muncaster's house, ill-boding fiend,
Thou shalt vanish eternally."
He kicked the casket o'er and o'er
With rage and contumely;
When, lo! a tinkling sound was heard--
Down dropped a glittering key!
He remembered well the wondrous speech
Of the spectre dwarf again,
"There's a key in Muncaster Castle can break
A maiden's heart in twain!"
He took the key, and he turned the lock,
And he opened the casket wide;
When the cause of all his agony
The lover now espied.
The holy cup lay glistering there,
And he kissed that blessed token,
For its matchless form unharmed lay,
The "Luck" had ne'er been broken!
The loud halls rung, and the minstrels sung,
And glad rolled the Esk's bonny tide,
When Lonsdale's Lady Margaret
Was Muncaster's winsome bride!
Now prosper long that baron bold,
And that bright and blessed token:
For Muncaster's Luck is constant yet,
And the crystal charm unbroken!
[Illustration: THE PILE OF FOULDREY[i]
_Drawn by G. Pickering._
_Engraved by Edw^d. Finden._]
THE PEEL OF FOULDREY.
"True, treason never prospers; what's the reason?
When treason prospers, 'tis no longer treason!"
The ancient castle of Peel of Fouldrey, the island of fowls, stands a
little beyond the southern extremity of the isle of Walney. The castle
and its site belong to the ladies of the liberty of Furness.
The ruins, seen from the heights above Rampside, are beautifully
picturesque. Though the sea has wasted part of the outworks, yet the
remains exhibit a complete specimen of the principles and plan upon
which these ancient defences were usually constructed. It may not be
thought out of place to give the reader some account of its present
appearance. West, in his _Antiquities of Furness_, inserts the
following account of his visit to this delightful spot; and as it is
detailed with a good deal of graphic simplicity, if not elegance of
style, we prefer it to our own record of an expedition to this place.
"Choosing a proper time of the tide," says he, "for our excursion, we
set out from Dalton, early on a pleasant summer's morning, and having
crossed the sands in Walney channel, we followed the eastern shore of
the isle of Walney from the small village of Northscale, by the
chapel, to Bigger. Leaving this hamlet, and crossing over a small neck
of land by a narrow lane winding amongst well-cultivated fields,
smiling with the prospect of a plenteous harvest of excellent grain,
but principally of wheat, which the land in Walney generally produces
of a superior quality, we again came to the shore, and having a pretty
distinct view of several parts of the ruinous fabric which was the
object of our excursion, we took the distant castle for our guide, and
entered upon a trackless sand, which, by the route we pursued, is
about two miles and a half over. It is soft and disagreeable
travelling in many places; but there is no quicksand. Those, however,
who are unacquainted with the road to the Peel of Fouldrey should take
a guide from Bigger.