the same time holding up a lock of it for the inspection of his
companions. They looked and there was evidently a clot of blood! This
was a sufficient confirmation of their surmises; and Dick, though
alarmed as well as the rest, felt his sagacity and adroitness
wonderfully confirmed amongst his fellows. They retired, firmly
convinced that some horrible mystery was attached thereto, which all
their guessing could not find out.
At night, as Dick was odding about, he felt fidgety and restless. He
peeped forth at times towards the outhouse where the box was lying,
and as he passed he could not refrain from casting a glance from the
corner of his eye through the half-closed door. The bloody clot he had
seen dwelt upon his imagination; it haunted him like a spectre. He
went to bed before the usual hour, but could not sleep; he tossed and
groaned, but the drowsy god would not be propitiated. The snoring of a
servant in the next bed, too, proved anything but anodyne or oblivion
to his cares. He could not sleep, do what he would. Having pinched his
unfortunate companion till he was tired, but with no other success
than a loud snort, and generally a louder snore than ever, in the end,
Dick, rendered desperate, jumped out of bed, and walked, or rather
staggered across the floor. He looked through the window. It was
light, but the sky was overcast, though objects below might readily be
distinguished. The outhouse where the box lay was in full view; and as
he was looking out listlessly for a few minutes he saw a female figure
bearing a light, who was gliding down stealthily, as he thought, in
the yard below. She entered the building, and Dick could hardly
breathe, he was so terrified. He watched until his eyes ached before
she came out again, when he saw plainly it was his mistress. She bore
something beneath her arm; and as Dick's curiosity was now
sufficiently roused to overcome all fear of consequences, he stole
quickly down-stairs, and by a short route got sufficiently on her
track to watch her proceedings unobserved. He followed into the
garden. She paused, for the first time, under a huge sycamore tree in
the fence, and laid down her burden. She drew something from beneath
her cloak, and, as he thought, began to dig. When this operation was
completed she hastily threw in the burden, and filled up the hole
again; after which, with a rapid step, she came back to the house.
Dick was completely bewildered. He hesitated whether or not to examine
immediately into the nature of the deposit which his mistress seemed
so desirous to conceal; but as he had no light, and his courage was
not then screwed up to the attempt, he satisfied himself at present
with observing the situation, intending to take some other opportunity
to explore this hidden treasure. That his mistress's visit had some
connection with the contents of the mysterious box was now certain,
and whatever she had concealed was part of its contents, a conclusion
equally inevitable; but that she should be so wishful to hide it, was
a problem not easy to be explained without examination. Was it money?
The clotted blood forbade this surmise. A horrible suspicion crossed
him; but it was too horrible for Dick to indulge.
Wondering and guessing, he retraced his steps, and morning dawned on
his still sleepless eyelids.
Some weeks passed by, but he found none other opportunity for
examination. Somebody or something was always in the way, and he
seemed destined to remain ignorant of all that he was so anxious to
ascertain.
After the arrival of the box Maria Downes never mentioned her brother
unless he was alluded to; and even then she waived the subject as soon
as possible, whenever it happened to be incidentally mentioned.
Eleanor saw there was an evident reluctance to converse on these
matters; and, however she might feel grieved at the change, in the end
she forbore inquiry.
One morning her cousin entered the breakfast-room, where Eleanor was
awaiting her arrival. Her face was pale--almost deathly--and her lips
livid and quivering. Her eyes were swollen, starting out, and
distended with a wild and appalling expression.
She beckoned Eleanor to follow; silently she obeyed, but with a
deadly and heart-sickening apprehension. Something fearful, as
connected with the fate of her cousin Harry, was doubtless the cause
of this unusual proceeding. Maria led the way up the staircase, and on
coming to the landing, she pointed to a square opening in the wall,
like unto the loophole of a turret-stair. Here she saw something dark
obstructing the free passage of the light, which, on a closer
examination, presented the frightful outline of a human skull! Part of
the flesh and hairy scalp were visible, but the whole was one dark and
disgusting mass of deformity. She started back, with a look of
inquiry, towards her cousin. Hideous surmises crowded upon her while
she beheld the features of Maria Downes convulsed with some untold
agony.
"Oh, speak--speak to me!" cried Eleanor, and she threw her arms about
her cousin's neck, sobbing aloud in the full burst of her emotion.
Maria wept too. The rising of the gush relieved her, and she spoke.
Every word went as with a burning arrow to Eleanor's heart.
"I have hidden it until now; but--but Heaven has ordained it. His
offence was rank--most foul--and his disgrace--a brother's
disgrace--hangs on me. That skull is Harry's! Believe it as thou wilt,
but the truth is no less true. The box, sent by some unknown hand, I
opened alone, when I beheld the ghastly, gory features of him who was
once our pride, and ought to have been our protection. My courage
seemed to rise with the occasion. I concealed it with all speed until
another opportunity, when I buried this terrible memorial--for ever,
as I hoped, from the gaze and knowledge of the world. I thought to
hide this foul stain upon our house; to conceal it, if possible, from
every eye; but the grave gives back her dead! The charnal gapes! That
ghastly head hath burst its cold tabernacle, and risen from the dust,
without hands, unto its former gazing-place. Thou knowest, Eleanor,
with what delight, when a child, he was accustomed to climb up to that
little eyelet-hole, gazing out thereat for hours, and playing many odd
and fantastic tricks through this loophole of observation."
Eleanor could not speak; she stood the image of unutterable despair.
"In that dreadful package," continued Maria, "this writing was
sent:--'Thy brother has at length paid the forfeit of his crimes. The
wages of sin is death! and his head is before thee. Heaven hath
avenged the innocent blood he hath shed. Last night, in the lusty
vigour of a drunken debauch, passing aver London Bridge, he encounters
another brawl, wherein, having run at the watchman with his rapier,
one blow of the bill which they carry severed thy brother's head from
his trunk. The latter was cast over the parapet into the river. The
head only remained, which an eye-witness, if not a friend, hath sent
to thee!"
Eleanor fell senseless to the ground, whence her cousin conveyed her
to the bed from which she never rose.
The skull was removed, secretly at first, by Maria herself; but
invariably it returned. No human power could drive it thence. It hath
been riven in pieces, burnt, and otherwise destroyed; but ever on the
subsequent day it is seen filling its wonted place. Yet was it always
observed that sore vengeance lighted on its persecutors. One who
hacked it in pieces was seized with such horrible torments in his
limbs that it seemed as though he might be undergoing the same
process. Sometimes, if only displaced, a fearful storm would arise, so
loud and terrible, that the very elements themselves seemed to become
the ministers of its wrath.
Nor would this wilful piece of mortality allow of the little aperture
being walled up; for it remains there still, whitened and bleached by
the weather, looking forth from those rayless sockets upon the scenes
which when living they had once beheld.
Maria Downes was the only survivor of the family. Her brother's death
and deplorable end so preyed on her spirits that she rejected all
offers of marriage. The estate passed into other hands, and another
name owns the inheritance.
RIVINGTON PIKE;
OR,
THE SPECTRE HORSEMAN.
"Are you a man?
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil."
--SHAKESPEARE.
This beacon stands on a conical hill, at an elevation of 1545
feet from the level of the sea. An immense pile of wood was
raised here when the alarm of the French invasion prevailed, at
the beginning of the present century.
Rivington Hall was for many ages the seat of one of the
Pilkingtons, of which family Fuller says--"The Pilkingtons were
gentlemen of repute in this shire before the Conquest;" and the
chief of them, then sought for after espousing the cause of
Harold, was fain to disguise himself as a mower; in allusion to
which the man and scythe was taken as their crest. James
Pilkington, a descendant, and Master of St John's, Cambridge,
was one of the six divines appointed to correct the Book of
Common Prayer; for which and other services he was in 1560
created Bishop of Durham. After the suppression of the great
northern rebellion in 1569, headed by the Earls of
Northumberland and Westmoreland, he claimed the lands and goods
of the rebels attainted in his bishopric. In support of this
claim he brought an action against the queen for a recovery of
the forfeited estates; and though his royal mistress was
accustomed to speak of unfrocking bishops, the reverend divine
prosecuted his suit with so much vigour and success that
nothing but the interposition of Parliament prevented the
defendant from being beaten in her own courts.
The present erection, the scene of our story, was built in the
year 1732, by Mr Andrews, the owner of Rivington Hall, whose
family have for many generations--with, perhaps, one
interruption only--had it in possession.
The evening was still and sultry. The clear and glowing daylight was
gone, exchanged for the dull, hazy, and depressing atmosphere of a
summer's night. The cricket chirped in the walls, and the beetle
hummed his drowsy song, wheeling his lumbering and lazy flight over
the shorn meadows.
[Illustration: RIVINGTON PIKE.
_Drawn by G. Pickering.
_ _Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]
It was about harvest-time--the latter end of August. The moors were
clothed in their annual suit of gay and thickly-clustered blossoms,
but their bloom and freshness was now faded. Here and there a sad
foretokening of dingy brown pervaded the once glowing brilliancy of
their dye, like a suit of tarnished finery on some withering and
dilapidated beau.
A party of sportsmen had that day taken an unusually wide range upon
the moors, stretching out in wild and desolate grandeur through the
very centre of the county, near the foot of which stands the populous
neighbourhood of Bolton-le-Moors. Rivington Pike, an irregularly
conical hill rising like a huge watch-tower from these giant masses of
irreclaimable waste, is a conspicuous and well-known object, crowned
by a stone edifice for the convenience of rest and shelter to those
whom curiosity urges to the fatigue and peril of the ascent. The view
from this elevated spot, should the day be favourable, certainly
repays the adventurer; but not unfrequently an envious mist or a
passing shower will render these efforts unavailing, to scan the wide
creation--or rather but a circlet of that creation--from an
insignificant hillock, scarcely an atom in the heap of created matter,
that is itself but as a grain of dust in the vast space through which
it rolls. But to our tale, or rather, it may be, to our task--for the
author is now sitting in his study, with the twilight of as dull,
hazy, and oppressive an atmosphere about him as beset our adventurous
sportsmen at the close of their campaign; enervating and almost
paralysing thought; the veriest foe of "soaring fantasy," which the
mere accident of weather will prevent from rising into the region
where she can reign without control, her prerogative unquestioned and
unlimited.
The party to whom we have just referred consisted of three
individuals, with their servants, biped and quadruped, from whom their
masters derived the requisite assistance during their useful and
arduous exploits--the results being conspicuous in the death of some
dozen or two of silly grouse or red game, with which these hills are
tolerably well supplied during the season. But alas! we are not
sportsmen ourselves, and bitterly do we lament that we are unable to
describe the desperate conflict, and the mighty issues of that
memorable day; the hopes, fears, and _fire-escapes_ of the whole
party: the consumption of powder, and the waste of flint, or the
comparative merits of Moll and Rover, we shall not attempt to set
forth in our "_veritable prose_," lest we draw down the wrath of some
disappointed fowler upon us for meddling with matters about which we
are so lamentably ignorant, and we are afraid to say, in some measure,
wilfully deficient. To the spoils, when obtained, it may be that we
are less indifferent; and we hail, with favourable reminiscences and
anticipations, the return of another 12th of August--an era which we
would earnestly and affectionately beseech our friends to remember
likewise, for purposes too interesting in the history of our domestic
arrangements to allow them willingly to forget.
But the August in which our narrative opens was many years ago--though
not precisely in the olden time--when the belief in old-world fancies
and delights was not in danger of being blazed out by "diffusions of
useful knowledge," which "useful" knowledge consists in dissipating
some of our most pleasant dreams, our fondest and most cherished
remembrances. We are afraid a writer of "Traditions" must be looked
upon with inconceivable scorn by those worthies whose aim is to throw
open the portals of Truth to the multitude; or, as the phrase goes,
she is to be made plain to the "meanest capacity." For our own parts,
we were never enamoured with that same despotic, hard-favoured,
cross-grained goddess, Truth: she "commendeth not" to our fancy; nor
in reality is she half so worthy of their homage as her ardent and
enthusiastic worshippers imagine. We are more than ever inclined to
believe that imagination is the great source of our pleasures; and in
consequence we look not with an eye of favour on those who would
persuade us that our little hoard of enjoyment is counterfeit, not
being the sterling coin of sovereign and "immutable truth."
Little did we imagine or anticipate that we should be so deviously
betrayed from our subject. We never had the temerity to speak of
ourselves before. Thoughts, wishes, and opinions were studiously
concealed; and if we have been led unwarily and unintentionally from
the subject in this our concluding effort, that very circumstance
alone is a sufficient warranty against a repetition of the offence.
The day was fast closing when the party had surmounted the last hill
on their return to the valley. For the sake of proximity, they had
spent the previous night in a little way-side tavern at the foot of
the descent; and they now looked down towards the place of their
destination, still some weary miles distant--their prospect partly
interrupted by the huge hill called the Pike, of which we have before
spoken. From the elevation whereon they now stood the ascent was but
short to the summit of the beacon, though somewhat abrupt and
difficult of access. When they had gained the ridge overlooking the
valley, with the flat and fertile tract of low lands stretching out
into the dark and apparently interminable vista towards the coast, the
elder of the sportsmen exclaimed--
"Now, Mortimer, mayhap you have never seen a storm in our wilds; but,
if my judgment err not, this happy event is in a very auspicious train
for accomplishment."
The speaker looked towards the south, where the grim clouds were
already accumulated, evidently pouring out a copious blessing in their
progress. From the direction of the wind they too were threatened with
a speedy participation.
"These summer storms always make for the hills," continued he; "and,
looking yonder, I apprehend that we are precisely in the very line of
its path."
"I do like to watch the gathering of a storm, Pilkington," replied
Mortimer. "Surely the outpouring vials of its wrath must be
terrifically sublime in these regions. I would not miss so glorious a
sight for the world."
"In a snug shelter maybe at our hostelrie below, with a mug of the
right barley-bree buzzing at our elbow--oat-cake and cheese
conformable thereto."
"Nay, here; with the sky opening above our heads, and the broad earth
reeking and weltering under the wide grasp of the tempest. See! how
the crooked lightning darts between the coiled clouds, like a swift
messenger from yon dark treasure-house of wrath!"
This was said by a third individual, named Norton, a young man who
lived in the neighbourhood; a friend and former school-fellow of the
preceding speakers--only one of whom, Mortimer, resided in a distant
county, and was on a visit with Norton for the first time.
"Like a train of gunpowder, perhaps, thou meanest, Norton?" said the
less enthusiastic Pilkington, whose residence, too, was but a few
miles distant; "and, furthermore, I warn ye all, that unless we can
house, and that right speedily, we shall have the storm about our
heads, and maybe lose our way if the mist comes on, or get soused over
head and ears in some bog-trap. We'll climb yonder hill, Norton,
whence we may survey the broil and commotion from our 'watch-tower in
the skies,' under a tidy roof and a dry skin. Thou mayest tarry here
an thou wilt, and offer thyself a sacrifice on these altars of Jupiter
Pluvius."
The whole party--dogs, helps, and servants--were soon sheltered in the
little square tower upon the summit, and the predictions of the elder
and more experienced of them were soon verified. Almost on the
entrance of the last of the group came down the deluge in one broad
sheet, an "even-down pour," so loud and terrible, accompanied by a
burst of hail, that they were threatened with an immediate invasion of
their citadel through several crevices in both roof and windows.
A peal of thunder, loud, long, and appalling, shook their shelter to
its base. The very foundations of the hill seemed to rock with the
concussion. Their lofty tabernacle hung suspended in the very bosom of
the clouds, big with their forky terrors. The lightning began to hiss
and quiver, and the sky to open its wide jaws above them, as though to
devour its prey. The roar and rattle of the wind and hail, mingled
with the crash and roll of the contending elements, made the stoutest
of them tremble, and silenced several loud tongues that were generally
the foremost in jest and banter.
"Well, Norton," said Pilkington, "I reckon you are not in the mind to
try a berth abroad in this rude atmosphere during such an angry and
merciless disposition of your deity. 'Tis a _melee_, I imagine, to
your heart's content."
"Norton is hearkening to these rude tongues that do speak so lustily!"
said Mortimer. "He can, peradventure, interpret their mystic voice."
Norton was in the attitude of intense and earnest expectation or
inquiry; his head slightly turned and depressed on one side, the
opposite ear raised, so as to catch the most distinct impressions of
sound. His eyes might have been listening too, yet his vision was
absorbed, and apparently withdrawn from surrounding objects. He was
standing near the window, and the workings of his countenance
betrayed a strange and marvellous expression of wonder and anxiety.
It grew still darker, and the rain came down in torrents. The
thunder-cloud, as though attracted by the height of their situation,
kept hovering over the hill, and often seemed to coil round, and wrap
them in its terrific bosom. Night, they knew, was about setting in,
but they were still unable to issue forth without imminent danger. The
thick cloud by which they were enveloped would have rendered it a
hazardous attempt to proceed under any circumstances.
"We are in excellent condition for a night's lodging in our good
fortalice," said Pilkington: "it hath stood many a close siege from
the elements, and will abide a stouter brush before it yields."
"But surely the storm is too violent to continue. I hope we may
venture out ere it be long," said Mortimer, anxiously.
"Maybe the clouds will either be driven off or disperse. Should a
breeze spring up from the west, which is not unusual after such a
turbulent condition of the atmosphere, it will clear us rapidly from
these lumbering masses of almost impregnable vapour. I think Norton is
still in close communion with the elements. I can yet see his outline
by the window. I thought the last flash lighted on his visage as
though it would tarry there a while ere it departed!"
The servants were huddled in a corner by the door, sitting on the
ground, with the dogs between their legs; the timid animals, terrified
exceedingly at every thunder-peal, and shivering, as though from cold
and distress. Suddenly one of them began to growl; and a short, sharp
bark from another, with eyes and ears turned towards the entrance,
seemed to announce the approach of an intruder.
The brutes now stuffed their officious noses in the crevice beneath
the door, but immediately withdrew them, evidently in great terror, as
they slunk back, trembling and dismayed, to the opposite side of the
chamber, where they crouched, as if to screen themselves from
correction.
"What ails the cowards?" exclaimed Norton, who had apparently observed
their proceedings by the scanty light that was yet left.
"They are witch'd, I think," said one of the men; "or they've seen, or
haply smelt, a boggart."
"'Tis o'er soon for such like gear; they stir not abroad before the
bats and owls be gone to bed," said another.
"Ay! your common everyday sort o' breein' darena' show their bits o'
wizen cheeks by daylight; but there be some 'at will abroad at all
hours, without fear o' being laid by the parson. The '_Spectre
Horseman_' I think they ca' him. I've heard my granam tell as how it
feared neither sunshine nor shade, but"----
Here the speaker's voice failed him, every eye and ear being turned
towards the entrance. There seemed to come a sound from without, as
though a horse were urged to the utmost of its speed, his clattering
hoofs driven to the very threshold, and there he paused, awaiting some
communication from those within.
"Nought living or breathing," cried Mortimer, "could come that bent.
Perch'd as we are on this tall steep summit, 'tis not possible
for"----
"Hush!" said Norton. "I verily think 'tis some adventure which I must
achieve. What if I should turn giant-killer; this invisible steed
being sent for mine especial use, whereon I may ride, like Amadis or
Sir Lancelot, or any other knight or knave o' the pack, delivering
damsels, slaying dragons and old wicked magicians, by virtue of this
good right arm alone."
"Thou art a strange enthusiast, Norton," said Pilkington. "Thy love of
the marvellous will sooner or later thrust thee into some ridiculous
or perilous scrape, from which not all thy boasted prowess can deliver
thee unshent."
"Hark!" said one of the servants in a whisper. Is not that a knock?"
The loud uproar of the elements had suddenly abated, and the sound,
from whatever source it might arise, was distinctly audible to the
whole group. A dull hollow blow seemed to vibrate round the walls, as
if they had been struck with some heavy instrument. They seemed to
breathe the very atmosphere of terror. A strange feeling, portentous
and unaccountable, pervaded every bosom. The quadrupeds too crept
behind their masters for protection. Fear, like other strong and
unreasonable impulses, rapidly becomes infectious. In all likelihood,
the mere mention of the Spectre Horseman, together with their novel
and somewhat dangerous situation, had disposed their minds for the
reception of any stray marvels, however ridiculous or improbable. Yet
this impression could not extend to the trembling brutes, evidently
under the influence of alarm, and from a similar source.