About seventy years ago, Sir Rose Price often started a hare near
Kerrow, in Zennor. His dogs would run it into the village, where it
would always escape by entering a “bolt” (drain) that ran from a pool
up under a house, not far from the pool. At last, one day the hunters
loaded their guns to hinder it from escaping by that strange way.
Having started the hare it took the usual course, when one of the
guards shot at it, but didn’t kill it, for it went up town and entered
the bolt as usual. Sir Rose lifted the latch and, followed by some
others, entered the dwelling to ask leave to open the bolt, when lo!
there, sitting on the hearthstone, they beheld an old woman of the
house, much bleeding about her head and face, with her hair all hanging
down. Beside her, on the chimney-stool, sat a monstrous big black cat,
with his back up and eyes like coals of fire, showing his teeth as if
ready to spring at the intruders, who turned tail and went away,
without speaking a word, when they saw how they had hunted and shot a
witch. And not one of these hunters ever prospered after! At least so
runs the legend.