The manor of Read, it has been said, was skirted by a deep woody ravine
of three or four miles in length, extending from the little village of
Sabden, in Pendle Forest, to within a short distance of Whalley; and
through this gully flowed a stream which, taking its rise near Barley,
at the foot of Pendle Hill, added its waters to those of the Calder at a
place called Cock Bridge. In summer, or in dry seasons, this stream
proceeded quietly enough, and left the greater part of its stony bed
unoccupied; but in winter, or after continuous rains, it assumed all the
character of a mountain torrent, and swept every thing before it. A
narrow bridle road led through the ravine to Sabden, and along it, after
quitting the park, the cavalcade proceeded, headed by Nicholas.
The little river danced merrily past them, singing as it went, the
sunshine sparkling on its bright clear waters, and glittering on the
pebbles beneath them. Now the stream would chafe and foam against some
larger impediment to its course; now it would dash down some rocky
height, and form a beautiful cascade; then it would hurry on for some
time with little interruption, till stayed by a projecting bank it would
form a small deep basin, where, beneath the far-cast shadow of an
overhanging oak, or under its huge twisted and denuded roots, the angler
might be sure of finding the speckled trout, the dainty greyling, or
their mutual enemy, the voracious jack. The ravine was well wooded
throughout, and in many parts singularly beautiful, from the disposition
of the timber on its banks, as well as from the varied form and
character of the trees. Here might be seen an acclivity covered with
waving birch, or a top crowned with a mountain ash--there, on a smooth
expanse of greensward, stood a range of noble elms, whose mighty arms
stretched completely across the ravine. Further on, there were chestnut
and walnut trees; willows, with hoary stems and silver leaves, almost
encroaching upon the stream; larches upon the heights; and here and
there, upon some sandy eminence, a spreading beech-tree. For the most
part the bottom of the glen was overgrown with brushwood, and, where its
sides were too abrupt to admit the growth of larger trees, they were
matted with woodbine and brambles. Out of these would sometimes start a
sharp pinnacle, or fantastically-formed crag, adding greatly to the
picturesque beauty of the scene. On such points were not unfrequently
found perched a hawk, a falcon, or some large bird of prey; for the
gully, with its brakes and thickets, was a favourite haunt of the
feathered tribe. The hollies, of which there were plenty, with their
green prickly leaves and scarlet berries, afforded shelter and support
to the blackbird; the thorns were frequented by the thrush; and
numberless lesser songsters filled every other tree. In the covert there
were pheasants and partridges in abundance, and snipe and wild-fowl
resorted to the river in winter. Thither also, at all seasons, repaired
the stately heron, to devour the finny race; and thither came, on like
errand, the splendidly-plumed kingfisher. The magpie chattered, the jay
screamed and flew deeper into the woods as the horsemen approached, and
the shy bittern hid herself amid the rushes. Occasionally, too, was
heard the deep ominous croaking of a raven.
[Illustration: POTTS AFTER BEING THROWN FROM HIS HORSE.]
Hitherto, the glen had been remarkable for its softness and beauty, but
it now began to assume a savage and sombre character. The banks drew
closer together, and became rugged and precipitous; while the trees met
overhead, and, intermingling their branches, formed a canopy impervious
to the sun's rays. The stream was likewise contracted in its bed, and
its current, which, owing to the gloom, looked black as ink, flowed
swiftly on, as if anxious to escape to livelier scenes. A large raven,
which had attended the horsemen all the way, now alighted near them, and
croaked ominously.
This part of the glen was in very ill repute, and was never traversed,
even at noonday, without apprehension. Its wild and savage aspect, its
horrent precipices, its shaggy woods, its strangely-shaped rocks and
tenebrous depths, where every imperfectly-seen object appeared doubly
frightful--all combined to invest it with mystery and terror. No one
willingly lingered here, but hurried on, afraid of the sound of his own
footsteps. No one dared to gaze at the rocks, lest he should see some
hideous hobgoblin peering out of their fissures. No one glanced at the
water, for fear some terrible kelpy, with twining snakes for hair and
scaly hide, should issue from it and drag him down to devour him with
his shark-like teeth. Among the common folk, this part of the ravine was
known as "the boggart's glen", and was supposed to be haunted by
mischievous beings, who made the unfortunate wanderer their sport.
For the last half-mile the road had been so narrow and intricate in its
windings, that the party were obliged to proceed singly; but this did
not prevent conversation; and Nicholas, throwing the bridle over Robin's
neck, left the surefooted animal to pursue his course unguided, while he
himself, leaning back, chatted with Roger Nowell. At the entrance of the
gloomy gorge above described, Robin came to a stand, and refusing to
move at a jerk from his master, the latter raised himself, and looked
forward to see what could be the cause of the stoppage. No impediment
was visible, but the animal obstinately refused to go on, though urged
both by word and spur. This stoppage necessarily delayed the rest of the
cavalcade.
Well aware of the ill reputation of the place, when Simon Sparshot and
the grooms found that Robin would not go on, they declared he must see
the boggart, and urged the squire to turn back, or some mischief would
befall him. But Nicholas, though not without misgivings, did not like to
yield thus, especially when urged on by Roger Nowell. Indeed, the party
could not get out of the ravine without going back nearly a mile, while
Sabden was only half that distance from them. What was to be done? Robin
still continued obstinate, and for the first time paid no attention to
his master's commands. The poor animal was evidently a prey to violent
terror, and snorted and reared, while his limbs were bathed in cold
sweat.
Dismounting, and leaving him in charge of Roger Nowell, Nicholas walked
on by himself to see if he could discover any cause for the horse's
alarm; and he had not advanced far, when his eye rested upon a blasted
oak forming a conspicuous object on a crag before him, on a scathed
branch of which sat the raven.
Croak! croak! croak!
"Accursed bird, it is thou who hast frightened my horse," cried
Nicholas. "Would I had a crossbow or an arquebuss to stop thy croaking."
And as he picked up a stone to cast at the raven, a crashing noise was
heard among the bushes high up on the rock, and the next moment a huge
fragment dislodged from the cliff rolled down and would have crushed
him, if he had not nimbly avoided it.
Croak! croak! croak!
Nicholas almost fancied hoarse laughter was mingled with the cries of
the bird.
The raven nodded its head and expanded its wings, and the squire, whose
recent experience had prepared him for any wonder, fully expected to
hear it speak, but it only croaked loudly and exultingly, or if it
laughed, the sound was like the creaking of rusty hinges.
Nicholas did not like it at all, and he resolved to go back; but ere he
could do so, he was startled by a buffet on the ear, and turning angrily
round to see who had dealt it, he could distinguish no one, but at the
same moment received a second buffet on the other ear.
The raven croaked merrily.
"Would I could wring thy neck, accursed bird!" cried the enraged squire.
Scarcely was the vindictive wish uttered than a shower of blows fell
upon him, and kicks from unseen feet were applied to his person.
All the while the raven croaked merrily, and flapped his big black
wings.
Infuriated by the attack, the squire hit right and left manfully, and
dashed out his feet in every direction; but his blows and kicks only met
the empty air, while those of his unseen antagonist told upon his own
person with increased effect.
The spectacle seemed to afford infinite amusement to the raven. The
mischievous bird almost crowed with glee.
There was no standing it any longer. So, amid a perfect hurricane of
blows and kicks, and with the infernal voice of the raven ringing in his
ears, the squire took to his heels. On reaching his companions he found
they had not fared much better than himself. The two grooms were
belabouring each other lustily; and Master Potts was exercising his
hunting-whip on the broad shoulders of Sparshot, who in return was
making him acquainted with the taste of a stout ash-plant. Assailed in
the same manner as the squire, and naturally attributing the attack to
their nearest neighbours, they waited for no explanation, but fell upon
each other. Richard Assheton and Roger Nowell endeavoured to interfere
and separate the combatants, and in doing so received some hard knocks
for their pains; but all their pacific efforts were fruitless, until the
squire appeared, and telling them they were merely the sport of
hobgoblins, they desisted, but still the blows fell heavily on them as
before, proving the truth of Nicholas's assertion.
Meanwhile the squire had mounted Robin, and, finding the horse no longer
exhibit the same reluctance to proceed, he dashed at full speed through
the haunted glen; but even above the clatter, of hoofs, and the noise of
the party galloping after him, he could hear the hoarse exulting
croaking of the raven.
As the gully expanded, and the sun once more found its way through the
trees, and shone upon the river, Nicholas began to breathe more freely;
but it was not until fairly out of the wood that he relaxed his speed.
Not caring to enter into any explanation of the occurrence, he rode a
little apart to avoid conversation; as the others, who were still
smarting from the blows they had received, were in no very good-humour,
a sullen silence prevailed throughout the party, as they mounted the
bare hill-side in the direction of the few scattered huts constituting
the village of Sabden.
A blight seemed to have fallen upon the place. Roger Nowell, who had
visited it a few months ago, could scarcely believe his eyes, so changed
was its appearance. His inquiries as to the cause of its altered
condition were every where met by the same answer--the poor people were
all bewitched. Here a child was ill of a strange sickness, tossed and
tumbled in its bed, and contorted its limbs so violently, that its
parents could scarcely hold it down. Another family was afflicted in a
different manner, two of its number pining away and losing strength
daily, as if a prey to some consuming disease. In a third, another child
was sick, and vomited pins, nails, and other extraordinary substances. A
fourth household was tormented by an imp in the form of a monkey, who
came at night and pinched them all black and blue, spilt the milk, broke
the dishes and platters, got under the bed, and, raising it to the roof,
let it fall with a terrible crash; putting them all in mental terror. In
the next cottage there was no end to calamities, though they took a more
absurd form. Sometimes the fire would not burn, or when it did it
emitted no heat, so that the pot would not boil, nor the meat roast.
Then the oatcakes would stick to the bake-stone, and no force could get
them away from it till they were burnt and spoiled; the milk turned
sour, the cheese became so hard that not even rats' teeth could gnaw it,
the stools and settles broke down if sat upon, and the list of petty
grievances was completed by a whole side of bacon being devoured in a
single night. Roger Nowell and Nicholas listened patiently to a detail
of all these grievances, and expressed strong sympathy for the
sufferers, promising assistance and redress if possible. All the
complainants taxed either Mother Demdike or Mother Chattox with
afflicting them, and said they had incurred the anger of the two
malevolent old witches by refusing to supply them with poultry, eggs,
milk, butter, or other articles, which they had demanded. Master Potts
made ample notes of the strange relations, and took down the name of
every cottager.
At length, they arrived at the last cottage, and here a man, with a very
doleful countenance, besought them to stop and listen to his tale.
"What is the matter, friend?" demanded Roger Nowell, halting with the
others. "Are you bewitched, like your neighbours?"
"Troth am ey, your warship," replied the man, "an ey hope yo may be able
to deliver me. Yo mun knoa, that somehow ey wor unlucky enough last Yule
to offend Mother Chattox, an ever sin then aw's gone wrang wi' me. Th'
good-wife con never may butter come without stickin' a redhot poker into
t' churn; and last week, when our brindlt sow farrowed, and had fifteen
to t' litter, an' fine uns os ever yo seed, seign on um deed. Sad wark!
sad wark, mesters. The week efore that t' keaw deed; an th' week efore
her th' owd mare, so that aw my stock be gone. Waes me! waes me! Nowt
prospers wi' me. My poor dame is besoide hersel, an' th' chilter seems
possessed. Ey ha' tried every remedy, boh without success. Ey ha'
followed th' owd witch whoam, plucked a hontle o' thatch fro' her roof,
sprinklet it wi' sawt an weter, burnt it an' buried th' ess at th'
change o' t' moon. No use, mesters. Then again, ey ha' getten a
horseshoe, heated it redhot, quenched it i' brine, an' nailed it to t'
threshold wi' three nails, heel uppard. No more use nor t'other. Then ey
ha' taen sawt weter, and put it in a bottle wi' three rusty nails,
needles, and pins, boh ey hanna found that th' witch ha' suffered
thereby. An, lastly, ey ha' let myself blood, when the moon wur at full,
an in opposition to th' owd hag's planet, an minglin' it wi' sawt, ha'
burnt it i' a trivet, in hopes of afflictin' her; boh without avail, fo'
ey seed her two days ago, an she flouted me an scoffed at me. What mun
ey do, good mesters? What mun ey do?"
"Have you offended any one besides Mother Chattox, my poor fellow?" said
Nowell.
"Mother Demdike, may be, your warship," replied the man.
"You suspect Mother Demdike and Mother Chattox of bewitching you," said
Potts, taking out his memorandum-book, and making a note in it. "Your
name, good fellow?"
"Oamfrey o' Will's o' Ben's o' Tummas' o' Sabden," replied the man.
"Is that all?" asked Potts.
"What more would you have?" said Richard. "The description is
sufficiently particular."
"Scarcely precise enough," returned Potts. "However, it may do. We will
help you in the matter, good Humphrey Etcetera. You shall not be
troubled with these pestilent witches much longer. The neighbourhood
shall be cleared of them."
"Ey'm reet glad to hear, mester," replied the man.
"You promise much, Master Potts," observed Richard.
"Not a jot more than I am able to perform," replied the attorney.
"That remains to be seen," said Richard. "If these old women are as
powerful as represented, they will not be so readily defeated."
"There you are in error, Master Richard," replied Potts. "The devil,
whose vassals they are, will deliver them into our hands."
"Granting what you say to be correct, the devil must have little regard
for his servants if he abandons them so easily," observed Richard,
drily.
"What else can you expect from him?" cried Potts. "It is his custom to
ensnare his victims, and then leave them to their fate."
"You are rather describing the course pursued by certain members of
your own profession, Master Potts," said Richard. "The devil behaves
with greater fairness to his clients."
"You are not going to defend him, I hope, sir?" said the attorney.
"No; I only desire to give him his due," returned Richard.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Nicholas. "You had better have done, Master Potts;
you will never get the better in the argument. But we must be moving, or
we shall not get our business done before nightfall. As to you, Numps,"
he added, to the poor man, "we will not forget you. If any thing can be
done for your relief, rely upon it, it shall not be neglected."
"Ay, ay," said Nowell, "the matter shall be looked into--and speedily."
"And the witches brought to justice," said Potts; "comfort yourself with
that, good Humphrey Etcetera."
"Ay, comfort yourself with that," observed Nicholas.
Soon after this they entered a wide dreary waste forming the bottom of
the valley, lying between the heights of Padiham and Pendle Hill, and
while wending their way across it, they heard a shout from the
hill-side, and presently afterwards perceived a man, mounted on a
powerful black horse, galloping swiftly towards them. The party awaited
his approach, and the stranger speedily came up. He was a small man
habited in a suit of rusty black, and bore a most extraordinary and
marked resemblance to Master Potts. He had the same perky features, the
same parchment complexion, the same yellow forehead, as the little
attorney. So surprising was the likeness, that Nicholas unconsciously
looked round for Potts, and beheld him staring at the new-comer in angry
wonder.