THE WITCH'S WARNING
_Ban._ The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are
of them. Whither are they vanished?
_Macbeth._ Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted,
As a breath of wind. Would they had stayed!
_Ban._ Were there such things here as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten up the root
That makes the reason prisoner?
_Macbeth_, Act. I, Scene 3.
Let it not be supposed that Wilfred and I ever had any quarrels, at any
rate before my fifteenth birthday. I do not remember even one. This,
however, was not my fault. Ofttimes when I was displeased I said
things which, if said to many brothers, would have provoked a quarrel;
but Wilfred apparently took no heed of my angry words; save to give me
a peculiar look, which sometimes almost made me shudder. But he never
lost his temper in return, or indulged in violent speech. This was
peculiarly trying to me, for I was passionate, and longed to give vent
to my feelings; but he would shrug his shoulders at my rage and, with a
strange smile, walk away.
Consequently, although my brother never spoke angrily to me, there were
no confidences between us. We never told each other our thoughts, as
most brothers do, and we were never companions in any escapades or
adventures. Thus I did not speak to him about the curse of the
Trewinions, nor of what my father had communicated to me about the
history of our house. Yet Wilfred seemed to know far more than I did
about everything appertaining to our people.
At first I wondered about this, but after a while I began to realise
how much my mother and Wilfred were to each other, and how often they
walked together. Besides, I often saw him in the library conning over
books that to me contained no interest whatever.
About three years after the interview with my father, that is to say,
when I was eighteen years of age and Wilfred sixteen, I had gone out on
the headland, and, in a dreamy way, was watching the sea birds as they
soared around and around, ever and anon making a dive into the water.
Up to this time I had remained a pupil of the Rev. Thomas Polperrow,
but had been told by my father that my school days were over. He
would, he said, have sent me either to Cambridge or Oxford but for the
fact that the Trewinion heir was forbidden by the laws of the family to
leave the house for six months together. In my case it did not matter
so much, as Mr. Polperrow had given me all the advantages of his
University education; and as I was not to be a man of letters like my
brother Wilfred, I had all the learning that was necessary for filling
the position of Squire of Trewinion Manor.
I was thinking of these things when my brother Wilfred came to me on to
the headland.
"It's fine to be you, Roger," he said.
"Why, Wilfred?"
"Because your cares are over. Your life will be one long holiday, you
will have everything you need, and will be the most important man in
the country side."
"Yes," I said, "and you, Wilfred, will be a great scholar. You will be
a clergyman and write books. Your name will live long after I am dead
and forgotten."
"It is false," he said. "My prospects are of the dreariest nature.
You will give me the living of Trewinion when Mr. Polperrow dies, and I
shall drone out my life on your bounty. Ah! The thought makes me mad."
"No, don't say that, Wilfred," I replied, "you will inherit the
vicarage as your right, while you know that everything I can give you I
shall. Besides, I cannot help being the eldest."
"No, no, you can help nothing, Roger; but there, although I shall be
'Wilfred, the penniless' I shall go to Oxford, and perhaps something
will turn up there for me."
"And even if nothing does turn up, Wilfred, and you have to bury your
talents down here, we shall still be brothers, and we shall still have
each other."
I said this because my heart was very tender towards him. I felt sad
that I should have so much and he so little; but he only looked
curiously at me, and a strange light played in his eyes.
He left me for a minute, and, walking to the very edge of the cliff,
stood watching the waves; then he came back to me again and I thought
his sadness was gone.
"What a long time since we've wrestled, Roger," he said; "let's have a
hitch now."
Wrestling was then, as it is to-day, the favourite sport of Cornish
youths; so I gladly took off my coat, and we began our fun. I soon
saw, however, that Wilfred did not regard it as fun. He strained every
muscle of his body in order to throw me, until I had to put forth my
whole strength. Although I was stronger and heavier than he I had not
much advantage. He was so supple and knew so many clever tricks that
he was constantly in fair way of obtaining the mastery.
The grass on which we stood was as soft as a sponge, so no harm could
befall either of us should we be thrown. At any rate, such was my
thought. So becoming a little exasperated at Wilfred's clever
strategems, I became somewhat rough, and taking him from a vantage
point I had gained I threw him down with great force.
I do not think that I hurt him very much, but as chance would have it
he fell on a rock that was concealed by the spongy turf, and when he
rose he was pale and trembling.
"You do well," he said at length, "to show your strength in such a way.
First you seek to throw me unfairly, and then you choose a rock by
which I could be hurt."
"Nay, Wilfred," I said, "I did not throw you unfairly; nor did I know
there was a rock there. They are so much hidden by the turf that it
would take a wizard to tell where they are. But I'm sorry you are
hurt; let me help you home."
He looked at me strangely again.
"Help me home?" he said; "no, I can go without help; and I tell you
this, Roger, big as you are I'm as strong as you."
This pricked my pride. "As strong as I, Wilfred, why I could throw you
over my head."
"Yes, you say that now because my arm has been hurt on this rock; but
you wouldn't dare to wrestle again if I were well."
This put me into a passion. "Not dare!" I cried. "If I daren't it
would be because I should be afraid of hurting your poor, thin body.
Name any day you like and I'll take you."
"No," he said, "I've had enough of you. Never mind, my turn will come."
I again challenged him, and said all the things I could to vex him; but
he would not reply, and giving me another of his strange looks he went
towards the house.
He had not been gone long before my temper began to cool down, and
loving my brother very much I began to blame myself a great deal. I
condemned myself for not letting him throw me. I was a coward and a
brute, I thought within myself, to hurt my younger brother, and acting
on the impulse of the moment I hurried towards the house in order to
ask his forgiveness.
I had gone about half the distance when I met an old woman who was
almost bent double with old age and rheumatism. We recognised each
other in a minute. The old woman was Deborah Teague, the terror and
yet the blessing of the whole neighbourhood. To her friends there
could be no greater comfort than Deborah. She was acquainted with
medicine that cured almost every disease save that of old age. She
knew all the healing qualities of every herb that grew in the
neighbourhood. Deborah was doctor and nurse to all the people round
about. Fever, colds, ague, rheumatics, scarlatina, jaundice, bile;
Deborah could cure them all, and a dozen diseases besides. But this
was not all. What she could not cure by her medicine she could by her
charms, for with these she was abundantly supplied. Ringworms, warts,
gout, adder's stings, whooping cough, measles, she could charm every
one of them, and what was more, no one who was a friend of Deborah's
went away uncured, if a cure were possible.
Consequently she was much thought of when her helpful qualities were
taken into consideration, but, as I said, she was feared as well as
loved, for Deborah made her enemies tremble. Not only did she possess
the power to heal, but also the power to curse. Her eye was like that
of the fabled serpent, called the basilisk, and in her anger she ever
struck terror. She could stop horses from drawing, and keep cows from
yielding their milk. For her to "ill wish" anyone was a sure sign that
ruin would befall them. Nor was this all. Everyone throughout the
whole countryside believed that Deborah had been seen walking along the
beach towards the haunted cove, and it was reported again and again
that she held intercourse with the powers of darkness. It was also
believed that other women, possessing similar power to hers, likewise
met there, and conversed about unlawful things.
She also had the power of telling fortunes and reading the future, and
thus nearly all the lads and girls in the district came to her at one
time or another for advice and help.
I had always been taught to be careful not to offend Deborah Teague,
for she had once nursed me through a serious illness, and looked on me
as a favourite.
No sooner had we come close together than she lifted her hand as if to
tell me to stop; then when I obeyed her gesture, she looked me straight
in the eyes.
"Cain and Abel," she said, mysteriously.
"No, Mrs. Teague," I replied, catching her meaning, "nothing of the
sort."
"Yer brother es gone to his mawther," she muttered. "I axed un what
was the matter, and he said you'd took advantage and hurt un."
I accordingly told Mrs. Teague what had taken place.
No sooner had I spoken than she seized my hand, and with her bony
fingers began to draw the skin together over my joints, peering
curiously all the while.
"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she said.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she repeated, in a half wheedling,
half chuckling voice. "Maaster Roger es the ouldest and the biggest,
and the strongest; but Maaster Wilfred ev got the eyes to zee."
"Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Teague," I said; "I'm going to Wilfred now, to
tell him I'm sorry I've hurt him."
"And mark my words, Maaster Roger," she said, "when you go, oal you zay
will be took no noatice ov, but yer mawther and Maaster Wilfred 'll
look black."
"How do you know, Mrs. Teague?" I said.
"Know!" she repeated, "what do'ant I know? Tell me that!"
I looked at her and was silent.
"I'll tell ee," she cried, and then stopped. "We musn't talk here,"
she continued. "Will'ee come to th'oull Debrah's house to-night,
Maaster Roger, and I'll tell ee something for yer good? No, not
to-night; but to-morrow night at nine o'clock."
I promised her I would do so, and Deborah hobbled away. As soon as she
had gone I went straight home with a heavy heart. Although I was a
full-grown man I dreaded my mother's anger, and Deborah's words rang in
my ears. Besides, I feared that Wilfred might be prejudiced against me
and not see things in their true light.
No sooner had I entered the dining-hall than I saw my mother bathing
Wilfred's head, my father looking on gravely meanwhile. Even my
father's presence could not quell my mother's anger against me.
"You the elder brother!" she cried. "You, the heir to the Trewinions!
The name will be disgraced if you are master of the Manor. You, a
great strong monster, to punish a younger brother who is not full
grown!"
I tried to explain, but she would not allow me to do so, while Wilfred
looked at me with that strange expression which always appeared on his
face when he was not well pleased.
Shortly after, I went away with my father to whom I told my story.
"Roger," he said, when I had finished, "you must be very careful, my
lad. You will be either a blessing or a curse to your family. Future
generations will either bless your memory or they will remember your
name with loathing."
"Why," I said, "does so much depend on me?"
"Everything depends on you, Roger. You are the first-born son, and if
you turn out bad, everything will turn out bad. So, my boy, whatever
you are, or whatever you do, be truthful, be pure, and be forgiving."
"God helping me, I will, father," I replied.
Some time after we all gathered together in the library, where we
usually sat in the evening. My father made it a rule to send the
servants to bed early when we had no company, so although it was only
eight o'clock and scarcely dark he had taken down the old family Bible
in order that we might hear the Scriptures and join in prayer before
retiring. My mother sat by Wilfred, her hand locked in his, while I
sat near to my father, as was the usual custom, and we waited for the
servants to come to prayers.
Instead of all coming together, only one came, and announced that
Deborah Teague had something to tell us.
Father, in spite of all the complaints against Deborah, regarded her
with much favour, and told the servant to show her in.
The old woman came in mumbling as usual. She waited for no greeting,
and took no notice of my mother's harsh look.
"Maaster Trewinion," she said, lifting the forefinger of her skinny
right hand, "expect!"
She stood up nearly straight as she spoke, and I thought of the Jewess
prophetess whose name she bore.
"Expect!" she repeated. "Expect a stranger and expect a storm."
"What do you mean, Deborah?" asked my father kindly.
"Just that," she replied. "I ha'ant a vollied the fortins of this eer
ous for nothin', and I say expect."
"A stranger and a storm," repeated my father. "The storm would be
nothing to wonder at, the weather is so changeable, but the
stranger----"
"Es a woman," said the old crone, "and a young woman. I cud tell--but
I wa'ant."
"Could tell what?"
"Clouds, and storms, and darkness!"
"Come, tell us."
"No, Maaster Trewinion, I be'ant zackly sure, but this I zay, git yer
booats ready to help the perishin', and it may be as ow the stranger
and the storm'll be together, like."
The old woman went away at this, while father, always heedful of what
Deborah might tell him, asked me to order some men to get the strongest
and best boats in readiness.
As I went down to the village which lies in the hollow near our house,
I remembered the curious looks that passed between my mother and
Wilfred while Deborah had been talking, and then I thought of my
promise to meet Deborah at nine o'clock the next night. I wondered
whether I ought to do so or not, and as the night gathered around I
almost shuddered at the thought of meeting her alone. Had she, I asked
myself, intercourse with evil spirits? Had she given herself to the
devil for knowledge and evil power, as it was reported she had done?
I reached the village at length and went in search of the men my father
had mentioned. There was a harbour near, and as at the time of which I
write a good number of people lived in the village, most of whom
managed to do a great deal of fishing throughout the year, a number of
boats had been built.
After telling the men to make preparations for a storm, I was about to
go back to the Manor House, when the question of Deborah Teague came
into my mind again. What had she to tell me? And ought I to listen to
what she had to say?
I could not for a long time make up my mind. On the one hand was a
great curiosity as to what she had to tell me, besides an anxiety to
please the old woman; on the other I felt sure she gained her knowledge
by unlawful means.
I decided at length. I would go to the vicar that very night. It was
not late yet, only half-past eight, and daylight had barely gone.
Surely the Rev. Thomas Polperrow would settle the matter for me. If
her power were evil he could guard me against it; if it were good, then
all was well.
It was a beautiful night. The moon was nearly full, although it was
encircled by a large misty ring, which betokened a change in the
weather; but the sea was calm and bright, and shone like glass. All
along the coast I could see the misty outlines of the cliffs, while
here and there a giant rock jutted into the water.
What was that? A wail!
Was it the night cry of a sea bird telling of the foretold storm? Or
was it----stop!
A figure all in white stood near me!
I could not move. I was riveted to the place. Surely it was a
visitant from the spirit land!
Slowly it moved away. It went to the edge of the cliffs and
disappeared from my sight.
I was not so much surprised at this, for there was more than one spot
along the coast where those acquainted with the place could disappear
as if by magic. Still, my nerves were shaken. Perhaps some evil was
portended. I would rather have returned home, but I felt drawn to go
to the vicar. He could explain. He could tell me what I wanted to
know.
Does anything happen in one's life without a meaning? Is the Great
Spirit of God in every event, ever trying to warn us from evil and draw
us towards good? If so, these things of which I am now writing must be
in some way connected with the after events of my life. But I shall
not try to connect them now. All I purpose to do is to write just what
happened, so that my children and my children's children may learn
lessons from my history.
I hurried on to the vicarage, therefore, and was soon admitted to the
study, I anxious to ask Mr. Polperrow's advice, he evidently wondering
what I had to say to him.