crept farther from the entrance; but Norton, as though bent on some
wild exploit, approached the door. He raised the latch, and, as it
swung slowly back, most of the party beheld a figure on horseback,
motionless before the opening. From the height they occupied this
mysterious visitor was depicted in a clear bold outline against a mass
of red angry-looking clouds, towards the south-east, on the edge of
which hung the broad disc of the moon breaking through "Alps" of
clouds, her calm sweet glance fast dissipating the wrath that yet
lowered on the brow of Heaven. The intruder wore a dark-coloured
vestment; a low-crowned hat surmounted his figure. His steed was black
and heavily built. Probably, from the position whence he was seen,
both horse and rider looked almost gigantic. Not a word was spoken.
The stranger stood apparently immovable, like some huge equestrian
statue, in the dim and mystic twilight.
Norton's two friends were evidently astonished and alarmed, but he
scarcely evinced any surprise; some superior and unknown source of
excitement overpowered the fear he might otherwise have felt. Silence
continued for a few moments, the strange figure remaining perfectly
still. Pilkington approached nearer to his friend, who was yet
standing near the threshold, gazing intently on the vision before him.
He whispered a few words over Norton's shoulder.
"Knowest thou this stranger, Norton?"
"Yes," he replied with great earnestness and solemnity; "years have
gone by since I saw him. Thou never knewest mine uncle; but that is
he, or one sense hath turned traitor to the rest. This very night,
twelve years ago--it was just before I left home for school"----His
voice now became inaudible to his friend, who observed him, after a
gaze of inquiry on the stranger, suddenly disappear through the
opening. The door was immediately closed by a loud and violent gust.
Flying open again with the rebound, the figure of Norton was seen
rapidly descending the hill towards the south-east, preceded by the
mysterious horseman. The light was too feeble for enabling them to
ascertain the course they took; but it seemed probable that Norton
was away over the hills with the unknown messenger. Their first
impulse was to follow; but the impossibility of overtaking the
fugitives, and the near approach of night, would have rendered it a
vain and probably a perilous attempt. Looking anxiously down the dark
ravine where Norton had so strangely disappeared, Pilkington was
startled by a voice from behind; turning, he saw it was the man who
had previously dropped those mysterious hints about the "Spectre
Horseman," which now vividly recurred to his memory and imagination.
"Master," said this personage, respectfully touching his cap, "you had
better not follow."
"Follow!" said Pilkington, as though bewildered; and the words were
but the echo of his thoughts; "follow!--I cannot--yet why should we
not make the attempt?"
"Step in, if you please, sir. I should not like to speak of it here."
He said this hurriedly, in a tone of deep anxiety and apprehension,
looking wistfully around and over the dark hills, fearful, apparently,
that others were listening. Pilkington obeyed, but with reluctance.
The door was cautiously latched; and to prevent the wind, which now
began to rise in louder gusts, from bursting this crazy barrier, a
heavy stone was laid to the threshold.
"It is--let me see"--said Martin, counting the lapse upon his fingers;
"ay,--ten--eleven--'tis twelve years ago, on this very night, St
Bartlemy's Eve, my father, a hale old man at that time of day, some'at
given, though, to hunting and fowling a bit o' moonlights--and a fine
penny he made on't, for many a week, selling the birds at Manchester.
Well, as I was saying;--one evening before dusk--the sun had but just
cooled his chin i' the water away yonder--he trudged off wi' the dogs,
Crab and Pincher--two as cunning brutes as ever ran afore a tail. They
might ha' known the errand they were going on, sneakin' about wi' such
hang-dog looks, which they always took care to put on when t' ould man
began to get ready for a night's foraging. They would follow at his
heels, almost on their bellies, for fear o' being seen by the Squire's
men; but when fairly astart for the game, they could show as much
breeding as the best-trained pointer i' the parish. I am getting sadly
wide o' my story, your honour; but I used to like the cubs dearly, and
many a time I have played with 'em when I wasn't a bit bigger than
themselves. They came to a sad end, sir, like most other rogues and
thieves besides, and"----
"But we are not getting an inch nearer the end of the story all this
time," said Pilkington.
"True, your honour; but I'll piece to it presently. I was a great
lubberly lad, I know, and tented the cattle then upon the moors. Well,
on this same night, as I was saying, my mother and the rest were gone
to bed, my father was upon the hills, and I was watching at home,
thinkin' maybe of the next Michaelmas fair, and many a fine bit of fun
thereby. The fire was gone out, but I had lighted a scrap of candle,
which sweeled sadly down, I remember, in the socket. Well, just as I
was getting sleepy I heard a scratch, and then a whine at the door.
'What's to do now,' thinks I, 'that the dogs are here again so soon?'
an' without more ado, I lifted the latch, when, sure enough, it was
them, dirty draggled beasts, they might ha' bin possed through a
slutch-pit. 'Where's yere master?' says I;--the things took no heed to
me, but began licking themselves, an' tidying their nasty carcases,
till the house verily reek'd again. 'So, friends,' says I, 'if ye're
for that gait, you may as well take a turn i' the yard,' an' without
more ado, I bundled 'em off, with a sound kick into the bargain. Well,
you see, I hearkened till my ears crack'd for my father's foot; but I
heard nought except the crickets, and the little brook that runs
behind the house, for everything was so still I could have heard a
mouse stir. I opened the door, and looked out, I think, into as clear
and mellow a night as ever gazed down from the sky upon our quiet
hills. Then I went to the gate, and looked up the road which takes you
into the little glen by a short path, away up to the high meadows; but
I could neither see him, nor hear any likelihood of his coming. I
could ha' told his footstep amongst a thousand, and his cough, too,
for that matter. I felt myself growing all of a shake, an' the very
hairs seemed crawling over my head; a pea might have knocked me down,
and, for the life of me, I durst not venture farther--it was something
so strange that the dogs should come back without their master--I was
sure some mischief had happened to him. All at once it jumped into my
head that he had stuck fast in some of these bogs or mosses, and the
rascal curs had left him there instead of their own pitiful carcases;
but that my father should be so forefoughten as to let himself be
nabbed in one of these bog-traps I could hardly believe. Yet the
dogs--ay, there was the mischief--and the lurching ne'er-do-weels
coming back in such dismal pickle. I went back to the house, for I
durst not stay abroad; and yet, when I was indoors, I could not bide
there neither; so I walked up and down the house-flags, like as I waur
dazed. I durst not go to bed; so there I was, and for a couple of
hours too, in a roarin' pickle, that I would not be steeped in again
for a' the moorgates between here and Chorley."
"Go on;--we've no loitering time now," said Pilkington; "thy story
sticks fast, I fear, like thy father i' the bog."
"Why, I was but rincing the evil thoughts out of my mind, as it were,
for they come about me like a honey-swarm at the thoughts on't; and I
don't just like their company at present, it minds me o' the time when
this plaguy chance befell my father."
"He did not tarry away for good and all, I reckon?"
"You shall hear, sir, if you but gie me a taste o' the flask; for I
feel just like to go into a swoon, or some tantrum or another."
Martin took a strong pull at the bottle, and, thus refreshed, he
resumed his story.
"Well, you see as how I waited, and my mind was like as it might ha'
been set on a pismire hillock, I waur so uneasy. The dogs, too, began
to howl pitifully at the door, so I let the poor things in for a bit
o' company. I had not waken'd mother; for I kept thinking I'd wait a
while longer, and a while longer, as I never in all my life liked to
bring bad news. Well, it might be about two or three hours I went on
at that gait, an' just as I was pondering as to whether I should go
up-stairs or not, I heard something come with a quick step through the
gate and up the flags to the door. It was not like father's foot,
neither; it was so terrible sharp and hasty. I felt as if I'd been
strucken of a heap. My knees shook an' dither'd as if I'd had the
ague. Up goes the latch; for I could not stir--I was holden fast to
the floor. The door bangs open in a fearfu' hurry, and in comes my
father, as though 'Legion' had been at his heels. He looked pale, and
almost fleered out of his wits, so I made sure he had seen the bogle
that my granam used to frighten us with. 'Father, father,' says I, as
soon as I could speak, 'what's happened? ha' ye seen it?' He did not
say a word, but sat down in the big rocking-chair by t' hob-end, when
he tilted his head back, and began swingin' back'ard and for'ard,
moaning all the while as if he waur in great trouble. I looked at him,
as well as I could, for I had lighted a whole candle a while before. I
sat down, too, and not another word could I say. But, my conscience!
what a racket the dogs made when they saw him! They jumped, and
frisked, and almost cried for joy, as though they had gi'en him up for
lost, and were desperately fain, poor things, at his return. The first
word he spoke was to these dummies; for they whined, wriggled, and
wagged their tails, and licked his fingers, enough to have drawn words
from a stone wa'. 'Ay, ay, ye sneaking rascals,' said he, 'ye left me
wi' yere tails down low enough, and as fast as your legs could lilt ye
off, when I was forefoughten wi''----Here he looked round, with a face
so dismal and disturbed that I verily think I should not forget it if
I waur at my last shrift. Taking this opportunity, as I may say, I
ventured a word or so. The old man gave me another of those terrible
looks before he spoke--'Eh, me!' said he, 'my days are but few now, I
reckon. I've seen the'----He stopped and looked round again; then he
said, almost in a whisper--'I've seen him, Martin!' 'I thought so,'
says I. 'I've seen the ould one, I believe,' says he; 'an' that's more
nor I'll like to do again, or thee either. We've done wi' our
night-work now, an' the dogs may just go where they can get an honest
bellyful.' You may be sure I was sadly fear'd. I durst not ask him how
it happened that he should have snappered upon old Sootypaws; but in a
while he saved me the speerin', and, as well as I can think, this was
the account of his misadventure:--
"'I was goin' up by the Pike,' said he, 'and a brave shower of
moonlight there was, weltering on the side of the hill, when, just as
I got behind it there in the shadow, I thought I saw somethin' big and
black standing among a little clump of gorses afore me. I felt started
a somehow, but I rubb'd my forehead and eyes, and looked again. It did
not shift, so I thought I might as well make the best o' the matter,
an' went for'ard without altering my speed. Well, what should I see
when I got nearer, but a great spanking black horse, and a littleish
man upon it, who seemed just waiting till I came up. I stood still
when I got within a yard or two, expecting he would speak first, for I
thought as how it might be some poor body belike that had lost his
way in crossing the moors. But he did not say a word, which I thought
mighty uncouth and uncivil. So making my best speech for the once,
though fearful it was some fellow watching to waylay me, I asked him
civilly how he did, and so on. Then I asked if he waur in want of a
guide over the hills any way. The thing here set up a great rollickin'
horse laugh, that frightened my father worse than anything he said;
but he durst not turn back for fear he might follow, and happen to
catch him as he ran, so he stood still, dithering like a top all the
while.
"'Canst show me the road to the Two Lads?'[19] he ask'd, as soon as he
had gotten his laugh out.
"'That can I,' says my father, 'as well as anybody i' the parish.' 'On
with thee, then,' says the devilkin, 'and don't mind picking your way,
friend, for my horse can tread a bog without wetting a hair of his
foot.' My father walked on, but the dogs kept a wary eye towards the
stranger, he thought, and hung their tails, an' slunk behind, like as
they were mightily afeard on him. But it wasn't long afore my father
began to wonder within himself what this unlikely thing could want
there at the Two Lads, which, as you know, is scarcely two miles off
yonder, and on the highest and ugliest part of the whole commoning; a
place, too, which is always said to have a bad name sticking to it. He
durst not ask him his business though, and they went on without
speaking, until the Two Lads were just peeping out before them into
the clear soft moonlight. 'There they are,' said my father; 'and now
I'll bid your honour good-night.' 'Stay,' said his companion: 'I may
want you a little while yet, so budge on, if you please.' Somehow my
father felt as though he durst not refuse, and however loth to such
company, he trudged away till they came together to the spot. 'Now,'
says the little gentleman, 'lift up that big heap of stones there, and
I'll tell you what to do with them.' 'Sir,' says my father, 'you are
in jest, belike.' 'Not a bit of it,' replied the other; 'see, 'tis
easy as flying.' Wi' that he leaps off his horse, and at one stroke of
his switch, up they went, jump, jump, jump, like a batch of crows from
a corn-field. The dogs set up a fearful howl, and, without once
turning to see what was behind them, set off helter-skelter through
bog and bush for the nearest, and left my father to himself with the
foul fiend. All at once it popped into his head the tales he had once
heard about the '_Spectre Horseman_,' that was said to ramble about
these hills, sometimes in the air, sometimes on the ground, like the
dark clouds and their shadows upon the soft grass, without ever a
footprint. My poor father could have wished the ground to gape and
swallow him, he said, he was so frightened. Where the stones had been
there was a great hole gaping, like one of the mouths of the
bottomless pit, and try how he would, he could not turn away his eyes
from it. 'That's the place,' said this fearful thing; but my father
was ready to cower down with terror. He could not speak, but he
thought he saw a great long black arm thrust out of the hole. 'Take
what he gives thee,' says Blackface, 'and make haste.' But he might
as well have spoken to the whins and gorses, for the chance of being
obeyed. 'Take it!' said this ill-tongued limb of Old Harry, in a voice
like thunder. But my father could not stir, and then there waur
shrieks, yells, and moans, and such noises as he had never heard. The
creature looked angry, and full of venom as a toad. 'I shall miss my
time,' said he; and with that he began to listen, for there came the
sound of footsteps on the dark heather, and then the ugly thing did
laugh for very gladness. 'Go, fool,' he cried, 'here comes one better
than thee;' and with that he lent my father a kick that might have
sent him across the valley, at a moderate calculation, had he not
remembered an old witch charm which he mumbled as he fell. How long he
lay there, and what happened the while, he did not know, but when he
awoke, he saw the heap was in its place again, the moon looking down
bright and beautiful as ever, as if she thought nothing particular had
taken place. He could hardly persuade himself that he had not dreamed
an ugly dream, until he remembered the spot, and how he had been
enticed, or rather forced there against his will. You may be sure he
made the best of his way home again, where he came in the condition I
have just told you. Not many days after we heard that a gentleman of
no mean condition, that lived not many miles off--I have forgotten
his name--and who was supposed to be crossing the hills on that very
night, was lost. He never appeared afterwards. It was generally
thought he was swallowed up in some bog, but my father always believed
that he had fallen into the clutches of that Evil One, from whom he
himself had escaped but with the skin of his teeth. From that time to
his dying day was he never known to ramble on the moors again; an
altered man he became, sure enough, and our big Bible, with the
pictures in it, was brushed fro' the dust. He might be seen with the
book upon his knee at the doorstone on a summer's night, and the
third bench from the Squire's pew at Blackrod church never missed a
tenant till my father was laid quietly down in the churchyard."
During this recital there had been a close and almost breathless
attention. As he concluded a buzz of agitation pervaded the group; not
a word was spoken for a little while until Pilkington exclaimed,
slowly passing one hand over his brow--
"A marvellous delivery, which I might have been disposed to treat like
other marvels, had not our own senses in some measure left with us a
show of truth, or probability at least, about the adventure, which,
for my own part, I find it difficult to throw off. Exaggerated and
full of improbabilities, I admit, yet the story hath some substratum
of truth, no doubt by which it is supported. What it is, would be
difficult to ascertain, but the mystery or misapprehension, whatever
it be, shall be cleared up, and that speedily."
"Doubtless," said Mortimer; "but first let us return to our lodging.
Marvels, being in the inverse ratio to truth, always appear greatest
at a distance; and when the explanation comes, we may perhaps smile at
our present embarrassment. The riddle is easy when solved."
"True; but how is that to be accomplished?"
"Let us return to our quarters; we may perhaps find that our companion
has arrived there before us."
Pilkington shook his head incredulously. Indeed the whole affair had
made a much greater impression upon him than he was willing to allow,
even to himself.
The moon lighted them on their path as they took the nearest route to
their temporary sojourn. Many a cautious glance was cast behind, and
many a dark stone or bush--many a grotesque shadow--assumed the form
they feared to encounter. They arrived at their dwelling without
molestation, but--Norton was not there!
"Here is foul play somewhere," said Mortimer thoughtfully. "Think you,
Pilkington, that we could find out our way in this quiet moonshine to
that same 'Two Lads' which Martin pointed out? I fancy the louts we
have about us durst not venture thither. Indeed I think it may be
prudent to go unattended on several accounts."
"That is my opinion," said Pilkington; "and as for poking out the way,
I can do that readily. I cannot rest without making the attempt, at
any rate."
"Let us not create any alarm, but steal quietly off when we have
refreshed ourselves," said Mortimer; "we need not tell them of our
intent."
"It were best," replied Pilkington, "that we give these knaves a
caution first that they bruit not forth the adventure at present, or
until we have more exact information as to the nature of the
proceedings it may be needful to adopt."
It was not long ere they commenced their journey, traversing the
hill-path in the requisite direction. By day, the pillars are easily
seen from some parts of the valley below, and Pilkington had
frequently passed them in crossing the moors. A pretty accurate notion
of their bearing was thus formed from the point whence they started.
The greater part of the way was trodden in silence. The rivulets were
swollen with the heavy rains, and great care was necessary to attain
their object in safety. The path was not devoid of danger at any time,
by reason of the spongy and uncertain nature of the bogs, accumulated
masses of spumous unhealthy vegetation, showing patches of bright
green verdure, holding water often to an unknown depth, and sometimes
proving fatal to those who dare to venture upon this deceitful and
perilous surface. By using great caution, and carefully ascertaining
the nature of the ground before them, they passed on, without further
inconvenience than that of wading through bogs and ditches, climbing
stone-walls and embankments, aided by the uninterrupted light of a
blazing harvest-moon.
They had now accomplished the most fatiguing part of the ascent, the
dark heathery crown of the mountain, whereon the moonbeams lay so
beautiful, as though nature were one vast region of universal
silence, for ever unbroken and undisturbed. It was like gazing on a
statue--there was the semblance of life, but all was silent and
motionless, the very stillness startling like a spectre.
Soon they had passed through the creaking heather-bushes on the
summit, when they saw two rude pillars peeping up from the dark line
of the horizon before them. A sensation, not unallied to fear, passed
with a sudden thrill across the deep, unseen sources of feeling--the
sealed fountains of the spirit. They felt as though entering on
mysterious or forbidden ground. The hour--the circumstances which led
to their present situation--their companion's recent and unaccountable
disappearance, and the prevalent superstitions connected with this
solitary spot--all contributed to their present alarms with a force
and poignancy unusual, and even appalling. They almost expected the
"_Spectre Horseman_" to rush by, or to rise up suddenly before them,
and forbid their further progress into his domains.
"I am not prone to pay much heed either to marvels or superstitions,
and yet"----said Mortimer, again pausing after a long silence.
"Why," said Pilkington, "the very air feels rank with mystery.
Whatever may be the cause, I never felt more i' the mood for an hour
of devotion in my life."
"We may both have need for the exercise ere we depart hence, or my
thoughts misgive me," replied Mortimer.
"It may be the mystery connected with our expedition which operates in
its own nature upon the mind," said Pilkington. "I feel, as it were,
every faculty impressed with some fearful and indissoluble spell. An
atmosphere, impervious, and almost impalpable, seems to oppress the
spirit. Surely we are on the trail of some demon, and his subtle
influence is about us."
"Ah!" said Mortimer, starting aside with a shudder, as though a
serpent stung him.
"Heardest thou aught, Mortimer?"
"I thought there was a rushing past my ear."
"I heard it too," replied Pilkington, in a low and agitated tone; "but
I heard more, Mortimer. A voice, methought, distinct as thine own,
swept by: '_Go not_,' was faintly uttered. I am sure I heard the
words."
"This place affects me strangely," said Mortimer; "but I will not go
back, though the very jaws of the pit were to interpose."
Suddenly a mist gathered about them, not an unusual circumstance in
these mountain regions, but a sufficiently portentous one to fasten
strongly upon their imaginations, already predisposed to invest every
appearance, however trivial, or according to the common course of
events, with supernatural terrors. A gust of wind soon curled the
vapour into clouds, which swept rapidly on; sometimes with the
moonlight through their shattered rifts, then dark and impervious,
shutting out the whole hemisphere, and wrapping them as with a cloak.
Still they kept on their way, slowly, but in the direction, as near as
they could ascertain, towards the place where they hoped to find some
clue to their search. They felt convinced, though neither of them
could state the nature of their convictions, that the mystery would
here terminate.
The wind came on now in heavier and more continuous gusts, like the
distant rumble of the ocean. They fancied other sounds were audible in
the blast; yells and howlings that seemed to approach nearer with
every successive impulse. A sound, like the rush of wings, brushed
past them, and, instinctively, they grasped each other by the arm. A
moan was distinctly heard; then another, louder and more terrible. A
cry of agony succeeded, then a shriek, so loud and appalling that a
cry of horror involuntarily burst from their lips.
"Save us, Father of Mercy!"