Truly Satan must have been reigning upon earth in full fig when it was
found necessary to execute thirty of his disciples at one time in
Edinburgh. As for poor Mrs Hicks and her little daughter, aged nine,
who were hanged at Huntingdon in 1716, they might have rejoiced at the
opportunity of getting out of such a world of fools and ignorance. They
must have been great sinners, though, for they had sold their souls to
the devil, and--crowning atrocity!--they had raised a storm, and the
recipe is handed down to posterity, for the _modus operandi_ was
"pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap!"
If for such a crime as this a tender child of nine could be punished
with death in Christian England in those salutary days, there can be no
wonder that Mother Goodhugh's condemnation was pretty sure. She was the
known witch of the neighbourhood, and those who had feared her, sought
her help, and paid her, were among the first to give evidence against
the repository of their secrets.
Jeremiah Cobbe strove hard to save her, and so did Master Peasegood; but
two men in an out-of-the-way part of England could not stem the tide of
popular opinion, as it set strong against the wretched woman. In her
rage and hate she strove to drag down Mistress Anne as well, but in so
doing made a bitter enemy of one who was strong in court favour. For on
hearing of the accusation Sir Mark lost no opportunity of fighting
against "this notorious witch."
But Mother Goodhugh was not condemned without ample test and trial,
fallen as she had under the care of a famous witch-finder and judge of
the day, who came down to the nearest town by royal command to
investigate the case.
The wretched woman was put through a course of torture. She suffered
the pin test for the witch's mark. This failing, she next had her
thumbs and toes tied together, she was wrapped in a sheet, and in the
presence of plenty of spectators thrown into a pool.
As a certain amount of air remained in the sheet, and the water was some
time in penetrating it, the poor woman naturally enough floated, amidst
the execrations of the crowd, among whom were some twenty or thirty of
Sir Mark's men.
None but a witch could float, so it was said; so after a final test, in
which Mother Goodhugh failed to repeat the Lord's prayer without
hesitation, her trial proceeded, and she was condemned to be burnt at
the stake in her own village a week after sentence.
There was not much mercy shown in those days, and, though the fair
rounded cheeks of Anne Beckley turned a little pale when Sir Mark
brought her the news, they flushed directly after, for she felt that she
would be freed from a persecutor who would give her no rest, and who
might cause her trouble with her husband after the first few months of
matrimonial life.
Besides, Anne Beckley argued with a shudder, the old woman had done
strange things, and, with the superstition in her nature ready to accept
it, she argued that if living she might curse her to her injury. True
she might curse her now, but, as her accusations had been set aside as
malicious, it was quite possible that her evil genius had deserted her
as he did those who became unfortunate, and, as she had risked so much
and gained only defiance, Anne Beckley determined to go on to the end.
It was a strange mixture, but the preparations for the wedding of
Mistress Anne Beckley and for the execution of Mother Goodhugh went on
side by side, in spite of the further efforts of Master Peasegood and
the founder, who even went so far as to make a journey to London to seek
the King's clemency. Of course without avail.
From his position as maker of his Majesty's Ordnance, Master Cobbe
succeeded in getting an audience, to be received well, told that he was
a good man, that his guns were strong, but that he knew naught of
witchcraft.
"Read my book, Master Cobbe, read my book," said his Majesty; and
Jeremiah Cobbe had to bow himself out with the stout parson, who was
perspiring with anger.
"I'm a loyal and I hope religious man, Master Cobbe," said the latter
excitedly; "I fear God and I honour the King; but all the same, Master
Cobbe, I vow and declare that his Majesty is the damnedest fool I ever
saw, and may the Lord forgive me for swearing."
"Yes," said the founder, sadly. "Well, old friend, we have done all we
can, so let us stay away till they have wreaked their silly vengeance on
that poor, mad soul."
"No, no, thank God!" said Master Peasegood, "they can only wreak it on
her body, my friend, and as to staying here--nay, that must not be. I
have no love for the weak old creature, who spent her time in mummery
and silly cursing, but my place is by her side to ask forgiveness with
her and a painless passage to the mercy-seat."
"Ay, parson, thou art right, and I'll join thee in thy prayer, for there
should be mercy for one who men declare shall have her hellish flames
before she dies."
"I don't quite like that speech, Master Cobbe, but you mean quite right.
Now, good friend, take me to some hostel and give me ale, or I shall
faint here by the way. Nay, I'll not. It is choler. I'll be blooded
instead, a good nine ounces, or I shall have a fit."
They were stout, strong posts that were set up outside the Moat gates to
bear the arch of evergreens and flowers, but it was a stronger one in
front of the cottage where Mother Goodhugh had spent her days, and,
while men piled last year's faggots and heaped up charcoal taken from
the founder's dogwood stacks, others cut down branches of yew and holly
and gathered bundles of heather and golden gorse, and the preparations
for the wedding feast went on.
"Ah, parson," cried Sir Mark, from the back of one of Sir Thomas's stout
cobs, as he rode along beside fair Mistress Anne, who was mounted on a
handsome jennet, "I have not seen thee for days. Art ready to tie our
nuptial knot?"
"No, Sir Mark," said Master Peasegood, sternly. "I am going to pray
beside the dying and the dead."
"What does he mean--the insolent fool?" cried Sir Mark, angrily.
"Truth, love, I cannot tell," said Mistress Anne; but in her heart of
hearts she felt a sickening sensation, and would have given anything
that the execution or the coming wedding were to take place elsewhere.
"As he will, sweetest," said Sir Mark, tenderly, and they rode on,
receiving salutations from all they passed; "there are plenty of priests
who will be glad to make us one; and only think, love--only two days
now."
Anne Beckley rode on in silence for some time, thinking. Her betrothed
laughed and chatted gaily, and truly they were a handsome pair; but the
girl's heart was ill at ease, and at last, being bantered by Sir Mark
upon her silence, she leaned towards him in a quiet glade of the forest,
and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, offered her lips to his long
clinging kiss.
"I have a favour to ask, love," she said.
"Ask favours from now till night, and thou shalt have them all," he
cried.
"It is but one," faltered Anne; "our wedding."
"I would it were over," cried Sir Mark, eagerly; "but what of it, bright
eyes?"
"I like not the day," said Anne, checking her horse's pace so that she
could cling to her companion.
"And why not?" he asked.
"I like it not for my sake and thine," she said in a low tone.
"Let's hear the reason on thy part," said Sir Mark, laughing.
"It is the day they burn that wicked woman; and it troubles me that we
should go to church at such a time."
"The day of a good deed, love," he said. "Now the other, for my sake."
"Have you not thought," she said, pressing closer to him, heedless of
the fact that they were watched.
"I thought? Yes, that it is the most blessed day in the calendar."
"Nay; but have you not thought what day it is?"
"Not I. Saint Somebody-or-another's--some Christian martyr's, perhaps;
and we'll give him a burnt sacrifice of bad witch to satisfy his manes."
"Mark, it is the anniversary of the day that was to have seen you a
husband; me a broken-hearted girl."
Sir Mark started and changed colour. He was troubled, for it seemed a
bad augury that such a day should have been chosen, but he lightly put
it aside.
"Never mind, love; it was an accident, and can make no difference now.
Besides, the matter is settled, and if we picked the days over we should
find each the anniversary of some troubled time."
Anne Beckley was disappointed, but she made no more objection, and they
rode soon after through the avenue and over the bridge, beneath which
the great carp gaped and stared with their big round eyes in unconscious
imitation of their master, the wise dispenser of King James's justice,
and keeper of the peace.
Volume 3, Chapter XII.