Shortly after Richard's departure, a round, rosy-faced personage, whose
rusty black cassock, hastily huddled over a dark riding-dress,
proclaimed him a churchman, entered the hostel. This was the rector of
Goldshaw, Parson Holden, a very worthy little man, though rather,
perhaps, too fond of the sports of the field and the bottle. To Roger
Nowell and Nicholas Assheton he was of course well known, and was much
esteemed by the latter, often riding over to hunt and fish, or carouse,
at Downham. Parson Holden had been sent for by Bess to administer
spiritual consolation to poor Richard Baldwyn, who she thought stood in
need of it, and having respectfully saluted the magistrate, of whom he
stood somewhat in awe, and shaken hands cordially with Nicholas, who was
delighted to see him, he repaired to the inner room, promising to come
back speedily. And he kept his word; for in less than five minutes he
reappeared with the satisfactory intelligence that the afflicted miller
was considerably calmer, and had listened to his counsels with much
edification.
"Take him a glass of aquavitæ, Bess," he said to the hostess. "He is
evidently a cup too low, and will be the better for it. Strong water is
a specific I always recommend under such circumstances, Master Sudall,
and indeed adopt myself, and I am sure you will approve of it.--Harkee,
Bess, when you have ministered to poor Baldwyn's wants, I must crave
your attention to my own, and beg you to fill me a tankard with your
oldest ale, and toast me an oatcake to eat with it.--I must keep up my
spirits, worthy sir," he added to Roger Nowell, "for I have a painful
duty to perform. I do not know when I have been more shocked than by the
death of poor Mary Baldwyn. A fair flower, and early nipped."
"Nipped, indeed, if all we have heard be correct," rejoined Newell. "The
forest is in a sad state, reverend sir. It would seem as if the enemy of
mankind, by means of his abominable agents, were permitted to exercise
uncontrolled dominion over it. I must needs say, the forlorn condition
of the people reflects little credit on those who have them in charge.
The powers of darkness could never have prevailed to such an extent if
duly resisted."
"I lament to hear you say so, good Master Nowell," replied the rector.
"I have done my best, I assure you, to keep my small and
widely-scattered flock together, and to save them from the ravening
wolves and cunning foxes that infest the country; and if now and then
some sheep have gone astray, or a poor lamb, as in the instance of Mary
Baldwyn, hath fallen a victim, I am scarcely to blame for the mischance.
Rather let me say, sir, that you, as an active and zealous magistrate,
should take the matter in hand, and by severe dealing with the
offenders, arrest the progress of the evil. No defence, spiritual or
otherwise, as yet set up against them, has proved effectual."
"Justly remarked, reverend sir," observed Potts, looking up from the
memorandum book in which he was writing, "and I am sure your advice will
not be lost upon Master Roger Nowell. As regards the persons who may be
afflicted by witchcraft, hath not our sagacious monarch observed, that
'There are three kind of folks who may be tempted or troubled: the
wicked for their horrible sins, to punish them in the like measure; the
godly that are sleeping in any great sins or infirmities, and weakness
in faith, to waken them up the faster by such an uncouth form; and even
some of the best, that their patience may be tried before the world as
Job's was tried. For why may not God use any kind of extraordinary
punishment, when it pleases Him, as well as the ordinary rods of
sickness, or other adversities?'"
"Very true, sir," replied Holden. "And we are undergoing this severe
trial now. Fortunate are they who profit by it!"
"Hear what is said further, sir, by the king," pursued Potts. "'No
man,' declares that wise prince, 'ought to presume so far as to promise
any impunity to himself.' But further on he gives us courage, for he
adds, 'and yet we ought not to be afraid for that, of any thing that the
devil and his wicked instruments can do against us, for we daily fight
against him in a hundred other ways, and therefore as a valiant captain
affrays no more being at the combat, nor stays from his purpose for the
rummishing shot of a cannon, nor the small clack of a pistolet; not
being certain what may light on him; even so ought we boldly to go
forward in fighting against the devil without any greater terror, for
these his rarest weapons, than the ordinary, whereof we have daily the
proof.'"
"His majesty is quite right," observed Holden, "and I am glad to hear
his convincing words so judiciously cited. I myself have no fear of
these wicked instruments of Satan."
"In what manner, may I ask, have you proved your courage, sir?" inquired
Roger Nowell. "Have you preached against them, and denounced their
wickedness, menacing them with the thunders of the Church?"
"I cannot say I have," replied Holden, rather abashed, "but I shall
henceforth adopt a very different course.--Ah! here comes the ale!" he
added, taking the foaming tankard from Bess; "this is the best cordial
wherewith to sustain one's courage in these trying times."
"Some remedy must be found for this intolerable grievance," observed
Roger Nowell, after a few moments' reflection. "Till this morning I was
not aware of the extent of the evil, but supposed that the two malignant
hags, who seem to reign supreme here, confined their operations to
blighting corn, maiming cattle, turning milk sour; and even these
reports I fancied were greatly exaggerated; but I now find, from what I
have seen at Sabden and elsewhere, that they fall very far short of the
reality."
"It would be difficult to increase the darkness of the picture," said
the chirurgeon; "but what remedy will you apply?"
"The cautery, sir," replied Potts,--"the actual cautery--we will burn
out this plague-spot. The two old hags and their noxious brood shall be
brought to the stake. That will effect a radical cure."
"It may when it is accomplished, but I fear it will be long ere that
happens," replied the chirurgeon, shaking his head doubtfully. "Are you
acquainted with Mother Demdike's history, sir?" he added to Potts.
"In part," replied the attorney; "but I shall be glad to hear any thing
you may have to bring forward on the subject."
"The peculiarity in her case," observed Sudall, "and the circumstance
distinguishing her dark and dread career from that of all other witches
is, that it has been shaped out by destiny. When an infant, a
malediction was pronounced upon her head by the unfortunate Abbot
Paslew. She is also the offspring of a man reputed to have bartered his
soul to the Enemy of Mankind, while her mother was a witch. Both parents
perished lamentably, about the time of Paslew's execution at Whalley."
"It is a pity their miserable infant did not perish with them," observed
Holden. "How much crime and misery would have been spared!"
"It was otherwise ordained," replied Sudall. "Bereft of her parents in
this way, the infant was taken charge of and reared by Dame Croft, the
miller's wife of Whalley; but even in those early days she exhibited
such a malicious and vindictive disposition, and became so unmanageable,
that the good dame was glad to get rid of her, and sent her into the
forest, where she found a home at Rough Lee, then occupied by Miles
Nutter, the grandfather of the late Richard Nutter."
"Aha!" exclaimed Potts, "was Mother Demdike so early connected with that
family? I must make a note of that circumstance."
"She remained at Rough Lee for some years," returned Sudall, "and though
accounted of an ill disposition, there was nothing to be alleged against
her at the time; though afterwards, it was said, that some mishaps that
befell the neighbours were owing to her agency, and that she was always
attended by a familiar in the form of a rat or a mole. Whether this were
so or not, I cannot say; but it is certain that she helped Miles Nutter
to get rid of his wife, and procured him a second spouse, in return for
which services he bestowed upon her an old ruined tower on his domains."
"You mean Malkin Tower?" said Nicholas.
"Ay, Malkin Tower," replied the chirurgeon. "There is a legend connected
with that structure, which I will relate to you anon, if you desire it.
But to proceed. Scarcely had Bess Demdike taken up her abode in this
lone tower, than it began to be rumoured that she was a witch, and
attended sabbaths on the summit of Pendle Hill, and on Rimington Moor.
Few would consort with her, and ill-luck invariably attended those with
whom she quarrelled. Though of hideous and forbidding aspect, and with
one eye lower set than the other, she had subtlety enough to induce a
young man named Sothernes to marry her, and two children, a son and a
daughter, were the fruit of the union."
"The daughter I have seen at Whalley," observed Potts; "but I have never
encountered the son."
"Christopher Demdike still lives, I believe," replied the chirurgeon,
"though what has become of him I know not, for he has quitted these
parts. He is as ill-reputed as his mother, and has the same strange and
fearful look about the eyes."
"I shall recognise him if I see him," observed Potts.
"You are scarcely likely to meet him," returned Sudall, "for, as I have
said, he has left the forest. But to return to my story. The marriage
state was little suitable to Bess Demdike, and in five years she
contrived to free herself from her husband's restraint, and ruled alone
in the tower. Her malignant influence now began to be felt throughout
the whole district, and by dint of menaces and positive acts of
mischief, she extorted all she required. Whosoever refused her requests
speedily experienced her resentment. When she was in the fulness of her
power, a rival sprang up in the person of Anne Whittle, since known by
the name of Chattox, which she obtained in marriage, and this woman
disputed Bess Demdike's supremacy. Each strove to injure the adherents
of her rival--and terrible was the mischief they wrought. In the end,
however, Mother Demdike got the upper hand. Years have flown over the
old hag's head, and her guilty career has been hitherto attended with
impunity. Plans have been formed to bring her to justice, but they have
ever failed. And so in the case of old Chattox. Her career has been as
baneful and as successful as that of Mother Demdike."
"But their course is wellnigh run," said Potts, "and the time is come
for the extirpation of the old serpents."
"Ah! who is that at the window?" cried Sudall; "but that you are sitting
near me, I should declare you were looking in at us."
"It must be Master Potts's brother, the reeve of the forest," observed
Nicholas, with a laugh.
"Heed him not," cried the attorney, angrily, "but let us have the
promised legend of Malkin Tower."
"Willingly!" replied the chirurgeon. "But before I begin I must recruit
myself with a can of ale."
The flagon being set before him, Sudall commenced his story:
The Legend of Malkin Tower.
"On the brow of a high hill forming part of the range of
Pendle, and commanding an extensive view over the forest, and
the wild and mountainous region around it, stands a stern
solitary tower. Old as the Anglo-Saxons, and built as a
stronghold by Wulstan, a Northumbrian thane, in the time of
Edmund or Edred, it is circular in form and very lofty, and
serves as a landmark to the country round. Placed high up in
the building the door was formerly reached by a steep flight
of stone steps, but these were removed some fifty or sixty
years ago by Mother Demdike, and a ladder capable of being
raised or let down at pleasure substituted for them,
affording the only apparent means of entrance. The tower is
otherwise inaccessible, the walls being of immense thickness,
with no window lower than five-and-twenty feet from the
ground, though it is thought there must be a secret outlet;
for the old witch, when she wants to come forth, does not
wait for the ladder to be let down. But this may be otherwise
explained. Internally there are three floors, the lowest
being placed on a level with the door, and this is the
apartment chiefly occupied by the hag. In the centre of this
room is a trapdoor opening upon a deep vault, which forms the
basement story of the structure, and which was once used as a
dungeon, but is now tenanted, it is said, by a fiend, who can
be summoned by the witch on stamping her foot. Round the room
runs a gallery contrived in the thickness of the walls, while
the upper chambers are gained by a secret staircase, and
closed by movable stones, the machinery of which is only
known to the inmate of the tower. All the rooms are lighted
by narrow loopholes. Thus you will see that the fortress is
still capable of sustaining a siege, and old Demdike has been
heard to declare that she would hold it for a month against a
hundred men. Hitherto it has proved impregnable.
"On the Norman invasion, Malkin Tower was held by Ughtred, a
descendant of Wulstan, who kept possession of Pendle Forest
and the hills around it, and successfully resisted the
aggressions of the conquerors. His enemies affirmed he was
assisted by a demon, whom he had propitiated by some fearful
sacrifice made in the tower, and the notion seemed borne out
by the success uniformly attending his conflicts. Ughtred's
prowess was stained by cruelty and rapine. Merciless in the
treatment of his captives, putting them to death by horrible
tortures, or immuring them in the dark and noisome dungeon of
his tower, he would hold his revels over their heads, and
deride their groans. Heaps of treasure, obtained by pillage,
were secured by him in the tower. From his frequent acts of
treachery, and the many foul murders he perpetrated, Ughtred
was styled the 'Scourge of the Normans.' For a long period he
enjoyed complete immunity from punishment; but after the
siege of York, and the defeat of the insurgents, his
destruction was vowed by Ilbert de Lacy, lord of
Blackburnshire, and this fierce chieftain set fire to part of
the forest in which the Saxon thane and his followers were
concealed; drove them to Malkin Tower; took it after an
obstinate and prolonged defence, and considerable loss to
himself, and put them all to the sword, except the leader,
whom he hanged from the top of his own fortress. In the
dungeon were found many carcasses, and the greater part of
Ughtred's treasure served to enrich the victor.
"Once again, in the reign of Henry VI., Malkin Tower became a
robber's stronghold, and gave protection to a freebooter
named Blackburn, who, with a band of daring and desperate
marauders, took advantage of the troubled state of the
country, ravaged it far and wide, and committed unheard of
atrocities, even levying contributions upon the Abbeys of
Whalley and Salley, and the heads of these religious
establishments were glad to make terms with him to save their
herds and stores, the rather that all attempts to dislodge
him from his mountain fastness, and destroy his band, had
failed. Blackburn seemed to enjoy the same kind of protection
as Ughtred, and practised the same atrocities, torturing and
imprisoning his captives unless they were heavily ransomed.
He also led a life of wildest licence, and, when not engaged
in some predatory exploit, spent his time in carousing with
his followers.
"Upon one occasion it chanced that he made a visit in
disguise to Whalley Abbey, and, passing the little hermitage
near the church, beheld the votaress who tenanted it. This
was Isole de Heton. Ravished by her wondrous beauty,
Blackburn soon found an opportunity of making his passion
known to her, and his handsome though fierce lineaments
pleasing her, he did not long sigh in vain. He frequently
visited her in the garb of a Cistertian monk, and, being
taken for one of the brethren, his conduct brought great
scandal upon the Abbey. The abandoned votaress bore him a
daughter, and the infant was conveyed away by the lover, and
placed under the care of a peasant's wife, at Barrowford.
From that child sprung Bess Blackburn, the mother of old
Demdike; so that the witch is a direct descendant of Isole de
Heton.
"Notwithstanding all precautions, Isole's dark offence became
known, and she would have paid the penalty of it at the
stake, if she had not fled. In scaling Whalley Nab, in the
woody heights of which she was to remain concealed till her
lover could come to her, she fell from a rock, shattering her
limbs, and disfiguring her features. Some say she was lamed
for life, and became as hideous as she had heretofore been
lovely; but this is erroneous, for apprehensive of such a
result, attended by the loss of her lover, she invoked the
powers of darkness, and proffered her soul in return for five
years of unimpaired beauty.
"The compact was made, and when Blackburn came he found her
more beautiful than ever. Enraptured, he conveyed her to
Malkin Tower, and lived with her there in security, laughing
to scorn the menaces of Abbot Eccles, by whom he was
excommunicated.
"Time went on, and as Isole's charms underwent no change, her
lover's ardour continued unabated. Five years passed in
guilty pleasures, and the last day of the allotted term
arrived. No change was manifest in Isole's demeanour; neither
remorse nor fear were exhibited by her. Never had she
appeared more lovely, never in higher or more exuberant
spirits. She besought her lover, who was still madly
intoxicated by her infernal charms, to give a banquet that
night to ten of his trustiest followers. He willingly
assented, and bade them to the feast. They ate and drank
merrily, and the gayest of the company was the lovely Isole.
Her spirits seemed somewhat too wild even to Blackburn, but
he did not check her, though surprised at the excessive
liveliness and freedom of her sallies. Her eyes flashed like
fire, and there was not a man present but was madly in love
with her, and ready to dispute for her smiles with his
captain.
"The wine flowed freely, and song and jest went on till
midnight. When the hour struck, Isole filled a cup to the
brim, and called upon them to pledge her. All arose, and
drained their goblets enthusiastically. 'It was a farewell
cup,' she said; 'I am going away with one of you.' 'How!'
exclaimed Blackburn, in angry surprise. 'Let any one but
touch your hand, and I will strike him dead at my feet.' The
rest of the company regarded each other with surprise, and it
was then discovered that a stranger was amongst them; a tall
dark man, whose looks were so terrible and demoniacal that no
one dared lay hands upon him. 'I am come,' he said, with
fearful significance, to Isole. 'And I am ready,' she
answered boldly. 'I will go with you were it to the
bottomless pit,' cried Blackburn catching hold of her. 'It is
thither I am going,' she answered with a scream of laughter.
'I shall be glad of a companion.'
"When the paroxysm of laughter was over, she fell down on the
floor. Her lover would have raised her, when what was his
horror to find that he held in his arms an old woman, with
frightfully disfigured features, and evidently in the agonies
of death. She fixed one look upon him and expired.
"Terrified by the occurrence the guests hurried away, and
when they returned next day, they found Blackburn stretched
on the floor, and quite dead. They cast his body, together
with that of the wretched Isole, into the vault beneath the
room where they were lying, and then, taking possession of
his treasure, removed to some other retreat.
"Thenceforth, Malkin Tower became haunted. Though wholly
deserted, lights were constantly seen shining from it at
night, and sounds of wild revelry, succeeded by shrieks and
groans, issued from it. The figure of Isole was often seen to
come forth, and flit across the wastes in the direction of
Whalley Abbey. On stormy nights a huge black cat, with
flaming eyes, was frequently descried on the summit of the
structure, whence it obtained its name of Grimalkin, or
Malkin Tower. The ill-omened pile ultimately came into the
possession of the Nutter family, but it was never tenanted,
until assigned, as I have already mentioned, to Mother
Demdike."
* * * * *
The chirurgeon's marvellous story was listened to with great attention
by his auditors. Most of them were familiar with different versions of
it; but to Master Potts it was altogether new, and he made rapid notes
of it, questioning the narrator as to one or two points which appeared
to him to require explanation. Nicholas, as may be supposed, was
particularly interested in that part of the legend which referred to
Isole de Heton. He now for the first time heard of her unhallowed
intercourse with the freebooter Blackburn, of her compact on Whalley Nab
with the fiend, of her mysterious connection with Malkin Tower, and of
her being the ancestress of Mother Demdike. The consideration of all
these points, coupled with a vivid recollection of his own strange
adventure with the impious votaress at the Abbey on the previous night,
plunged him into a deep train of thought, and he began seriously to
consider whether he might not have committed some heinous sin, and,
indeed, jeopardised his soul's welfare by dancing with her. "What if I
should share the same fate as the robber Blackburn," he ruminated, "and
be dragged to perdition by her? It is a very awful reflection. But
though my fate might operate as a warning to others, I am by no means
anxious to be held up as a moral scarecrow. Rather let me take warning
myself, amend my life, abandon intemperance, which leads to all manner
of wickedness, and suffer myself no more to be ensnared by the wiles and
delusions of the tempter in the form of a fair woman. No--no--I will
alter and amend my life."
I regret, however, to say that these praiseworthy resolutions were but
transient, and that the squire, quite forgetting that the work of
reform, if intended to be really accomplished, ought to commence at
once, and by no means be postponed till the morrow, yielded to the
seductions of a fresh pottle of sack, which was presented to him at the
moment by Bess, and in taking it could not help squeezing the hand of
the bouncing hostess, and gazing at her more tenderly than became a
married man. Oh! Nicholas--Nicholas--the work of reform, I am afraid,
proceeds very slowly and imperfectly with you. Your friend, Parson.
Dewhurst, would have told you that it is much easier to form good
resolutions than to keep them.
Leaving the squire, however, to his cogitations and his sack, the
attorney to his memorandum-book, in which he was still engaged in
writing, and the others to their talk, we shall proceed to the chamber
whither the poor miller had been led by Bess. When visited by the
rector, he had been apparently soothed by the worthy man's consolatory
advice, but when left alone he speedily relapsed into his former dark
and gloomy state of mind. He did not notice Bess, who, according to
Holden's directions, placed the aquavitæ bottle before him, but, as long
as she stayed, remained with his face buried in his hands. As soon as
she was gone he arose, and began to pace the room to and fro. The window
was open, and he could hear the funeral bell tolling mournfully at
intervals. Each recurrence of the dismal sound added sharpness and
intensity to his grief. His sufferings became almost intolerable, and
drove him to the very verge of despair and madness. If a weapon had
been at hand, he might have seized it, and put a sudden period to his
existence. His breast was a chaos of fierce and troubled thoughts, in
which one black and terrible idea arose and overpowered all the rest. It
was the desire of vengeance, deep and complete, upon her whom he looked
upon as the murderess of his child. He cared not how it were
accomplished so it were done; but such was the opinion he entertained of
the old hag's power, that he doubted his ability to the task. Still, as
the bell tolled on, the furies at his heart lashed and goaded him on,
and yelled in his ear revenge--revenge! Now, indeed, he was crazed with
grief and rage; he tore off handfuls of hair, plunged his nails deeply
into his breast, and while committing these and other wild excesses,
with frantic imprecations he called down Heaven's judgments on his own
head. He was in that lost and helpless state when the enemy of mankind
has power over man. Nor was the opportunity neglected; for when the
wretched Baldwyn, who, exhausted by the violence of his motions, had
leaned for a moment against the wall, he perceived to his surprise that
there was a man in the room--a small personage attired in rusty black,
whom he thought had been one of the party in the adjoining chamber.
There was an expression of mockery about this person's countenance which
did not please the miller, and he asked him, sternly, what he wanted.
"Leave off grinnin, mon," he said, fiercely, "or ey may be tempted to
tay yo be t' throttle, an may yo laugh o't wrong side o' your mouth."
"No, no, you will not, Richard Baldwyn, when you know my errand,"
replied the man. "You are thirsting for vengeance upon Mother Demdike.
You shall have it."
"Eigh, eigh, you promised me vengeance efore," cried the
miller--"vengeance by the law. Boh ey mun wait lung for it. Ey wad ha'
it swift and sure--deep and deadly. Ey wad blast her wi' curses, os hoo
blasted my poor Meary. Ey wad strike her deeod at my feet. That's my
vengeance, mon."
"You shall have it," replied the other.
"Yo talk differently fro' what yo did just now, mon," said the miller,
regarding him narrowly and distrustfully. "An yo look differently too.
There's a queer glimmer abowt your een that ey didna notice efore, and
that ey mislike."
The man laughed bitterly.
"Leave off grinnin' or begone," cried Baldwyn, furiously. And he raised
his hand to strike the man, but he instantly dropped it, appalled by a
look which the other threw at him. "Who the dule are yo?"
"The dule must answer you, since you appeal to him," replied the other,
with the same mocking smile; "but you are mistaken in supposing that you
have spoken to me before. He with whom you conversed in the other room,
resembles me in more respects than one, but he does not possess power
equal to mine. The law will not aid you against Mother Demdike. She will
escape all the snares laid for her. But she will not escape _me_."
"Who are ye?" cried the miller, his hair erecting on his head, and cold
damps breaking out upon his brow. "Yo are nah mortal, an nah good, to
tawk i' this fashion."
"Heed not who and what I am," replied the other; "I am known here as a
reeve of the forest--that is enough. Would you have vengeance on the
murtheress of your child?"
"Yeigh," rejoined Baldwyn.
"And you are willing to pay for it at the price of your soul?" demanded
the other, advancing towards him.
Baldwyn reeled. He saw at once the fearful peril in which he was placed,
and averted his gaze from the scorching glance of the reeve.
At this moment the door was tried without, and the voice of Bess was
heard, saying, "Who ha' yo got wi' yo, Ruchot; and whoy ha' yo fastened
t' door?"
"Your answer?" demanded the reeve.
"Ey canna gi' it now," replied the miller. "Come in, Bess; come in."
"Ey conna," she replied. "Open t' door, mon."
"Your answer, I say?" said the reeve.
"Gi' me an hour to think on't," said the miller.
"Agreed," replied the other. "I will be with you after the funeral."
And he sprang through the window, and disappeared before Baldwyn could
open the door and admit Bess.