THE WITCHES' CAVE
As I look back over what I am now about to relate, my mind is strangely
confused with the amount of reality and unreality that appeared. At
one time I am inclined to think it all real, at another I am led to
regard it as pure imagination, or as due to the credulity of a
hot-brained youth. Be that as it may, however, I will try and set down
what I remember as faithfully as I can.
After Wilfred had gone things were very quiet. My mother seldom spoke
to me, but kept Ruth by her side, until the two became, as it seemed to
me, almost inseparable. Indeed, she took far more notice of Ruth than
she did of her own daughters. As a consequence my sisters and I were
often together, until the villagers came to say that Roger Trewinion
wanted no sweethearts but his sisters.
On the afternoon of a sultry autumn day, some time after Wilfred had
gone to Oxford, I had to walk past Deborah Teague's cottage, and saw
the old woman sitting on the doorstep quietly smoking.
"Come ere, Maaster Roger," she said; "I've been waitin' for 'ee a bra
long while."
I looked at her in astonishment.
"Iss' my dear, I knawed you was a comin', so I says I'll jist wait for
Maaster Roger."
"How did you know I was coming?"
"Knaw!" she replied, "what doan't I knaw? But come in, I want to talk
to 'ee."
"What about?"
"Somethin' you're interested in, my deer. Ther set down. Yer brother
es gone away to college edn't a?"
"Yes, he's gone."
"Ah, ould Debrah ev for a long time bin thinkin' 'bout it, my dear."
"About what?"
"'Twas a hawful storm, Maaster Roger, wadn't it, then? People do say
that ould women ca'ant do nothin', but, law, that storm wur big enough
and bad enough!"
"Do you mean to say that you caused the storm then?"
"No, not me, my dear, but I knawed it wur a comin' ded'n I un? And
ded'n I give 'ee warnin', my dear? Ef I dedn't, why she would'n ev bin
livin' now."
"Deborah," I said, "you are talking in riddles. If you have anything
to tell me, let me know about it."
"Doan't 'ee be vexed, Maaster Roger. Ould Debrah is yer friend, and do
want for you to be her friend!"
"But I don't understand all this mysterious talk. You are hinting at
strange things. Let me know about it. Is there witchcraft in the
matter?"
"Ould Debrah do knaw 'bout Trewinion's curse, doan't she, my deer? How
should she know that except by--well, we wa'ant say what."
"Yes, you have hinted about it? But what have I to do with it? I have
done nothing that will cause it to rest upon me."
"But tes comin', Maaster Roger, ef I and some more doan't help 'ee.
Tell 'ee, my dear, things belongin' to the sperrits can onnley be
stopped by they who--well, who have got power in they paarts."
I was getting interested.
"Are you a witch, then?" I asked.
"Can 'ee bear to hear it, Maaster Roger?" she whispered.
"I can bear anything," I said.
"Maaster Roger, you've eerd of Farmer Jory?"
"Yes, often."
"Ah, ee died a awful death, my deer."
"So I've heard," I said. "People have told me that his last hours were
terrible; that he seemed like one placed upon a rock. And that
although at one time he was well off, all his cattle died and his
ground refused to grow crops."
"You've eerd that, av 'ee? Well, now, I tell 'ee summin. My old man
Pitter used to work for'n, my dear, and my maid went there to sarvice.
Pitter and me were 'appy as two turtle doves, my deer, and my maid was
the puttiest in the parish. Well, Farmer Jory was a bad man, my deer.
He ought to ev married my maid, and he ded'n, an' though I went down on
my knees and prayed to 'im to save her frum disgrace, he would'nt, and
so she died heartbroken. By this time Pitter wur nearly a cripple and
couldn't work much, so that we wur nearly starvin'. He had worked for
the Jorys oll his life, and now when they ought to ev 'elped us they
left us to starve. Twa'nt more'n three weeks after we berried the maid
afore Pitter died of starvation and a brokken heart, and I wur left
alone. Oh, Maaster Roger, ef you could ev knawed what I suffered you
would pity me. I wur nearly mad wi' grief and shame, and the day after
my owld man wur berried I wur sittin' in the doorway theer, when Betsey
Tressider comed 'long. I was allays 'fraid of Betsey, cause people
said she wur a witch, and did meet with a lot ov others up in the witch
ov Fraddam's cave. She axed me what I wur grievin' for and I tould
her. Then she laughed and zed I wur a fool not to be revenged on
Farmer Jory, and not to make 'im suffer more'n I'd suffered. I axed
her ow I cud do it, and she tould me to become a witch. Then I axed
her ow I could be a witch, and she tould me to go to Logan Rock nine
times at midnight and tich it wi my little vinger, an' she laughed and
went away.
"Well, I wur oal alone, and so I thot and thot, and then I went to
Logan Rock and tiched it wance, and I veeled a strange shivery feelin'
and then I did it every night until the ninth night."
"And what happened then, Deborah?" I asked.
"I shan't tell 'ee that, my dear, but when I comed 'ome I seed Farmer
Jory, and I looked top un, and I zed--well, never mind what I zed; but
you knaw what happened."
"But witchcraft is of the devil," I said.
"Tes and tedn't," she said, mysteriously. "Who can charm as well as
me, and the charms es oal bout goodness. Here, my dear, I'll tell 'ee
some charms, and then you'll knaw ef they be good; but never tell a
man, Maaster Roger, ef you do you'll break em. You knaw that Tommy
Triscott's cheeld came to me t'other day with a scald, and I charmed
un, and the charm is this:--
Then came three angels out of the east,
One brought fire, and two brought frost;
Out fire, and in frost
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--Amen.
"And is Tommy better?"
"He had aise in three minutes; but he wur cured with a good name. I'll
tell 'ee nother. You do knaw when you wur a cheeld you had a great
thorn in ye arm through fallin' off a hedge, and you comed to me, and I
charmed it and cured 'ee?"
"Very well."
"Well, I'll tell 'ee the charm:--
Christ was of a Virgin born,
And He was prick'd by a thorn,
And it did never throb nor swell,
And I trust in Jesus this never will.
Christ was crowned with thorns;
The thorns did bleed but did not rot.
No more shall thy finger,
In the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
I could not help a creepy feeling coming over me as she uttered the
words. I remembered her charming the place where the thorn had been
and rubbing some ointment over it, and I also remember how quickly I
had ease.
"So, my deer," she went on, "tedn't always a bad power that witches
have."
"Well," I said at length, "have you asked me to come in here in order
that you might tell me this?"
"Not all, my deer. I've wa'anted to show 'ee as ow I've got power,
Maaster Roger, and that tedn't oal bad. And I want 'ee to harken to me
so that you may not have the Trewinion's curse."
"Can you stop it?" I asked.
"I weth others can," she said.
"But the curse of the Trewinion's will not come upon me," I said, "for
I shall not do anything to incur it."
"Wa'ant 'ee, but you will, Maaster Roger, and ef you doan't do as I
tell 'ee you'll rue it to yer dyin' day. I see it comin', I see it
comin'," and she lifted her skinny hand above her head. "I zee Maaster
Roger beggard, I zee un starvin', I zee un mad wi' shame, I zee un
ouseless, and omeless, I zee hes brother where he ought to be oal
through Trewinion's curse."
In spite of myself I felt the old woman to be speaking the truth.
"But I will abide by everything written for my safety," I said.
"You ca'ant, you ca'ant," she screamed.
"Why?" I asked.
"You were born in a onlucky month, and the onlucky week of the month,
and a onlucky day of the week, and an onlucky time ov the day."
"Why, when was I born?"
"You was born at nine o'clock ov a Friday evenin', in the third week in
May," she said.
"And I can do nothing to avert the curse?"
"No, but I can."
"How?"
"Will 'ee come wi' me to Betsey Fraddam's cave?"
"When?"
"To-night."
"At what time?"
"Twelve o'clock."
"No," I said with a shudder.
She glared at me with her evil eye, then she said slowly:
"You'll come."
Betsey Fraddam's cave had an evil reputation. It was the meeting-place
for all the evil women in the neighbourhood. Women who possessed
terrible power. I had been taught to believe in them and to avoid
coming into collision with them.
"Who'll be there?" I asked.
"You'll see," she said.
I went home soon after, pondering over Deborah's words. We retired to
bed early at our house, and by ten o'clock quietness reigned
everywhere. I could not sleep, however. My mind was excited by what
old Deborah had told me, and when eleven o'clock came I had an intense
desire to go to Fraddam's cave. The witch of Fraddam was almost a
household word among the simple people. It was said that she was
constantly raising storms and working mischief, and that if any one saw
her thus engaged, woe be to that one for ever after. From my earliest
childhood I had been frightened with stories of Betsey Fraddam's cave.
It was whispered that the terrible witch herself met the living witches
and goaded them on to terrible deeds.
Still I wanted to go. In the silence of the night the curse of the
Trewinion's became terrible to me, and I was anxious to know how I
could avert it. Besides, so much had my mind been filled with stories
of the superstitious and wonderful that I felt afraid to disobey the
old woman's summons. It is true I was a young man fairly well
educated, and as a consequence disbelieved many of the stories of a
priest-ridden age. And it may be that as the years roll by future
generations may disbelieve in what we speak of to-day, even as we
disbelieve the stories of the past. Nevertheless, at half-past eleven
I rose and dressed quietly in order to go down to Fraddam's cave.
I remembered the old vicar's words, however, and said my prayers before
starting, and then hurried down the precipitous pathway to the sand.
The tide was out, and I could hear the sweet murmur of the sea in the
distance. There was no wind, and the pale light of the moon lit up the
scene, which was grand in the extreme. On my right hand behind me,
rose the giant cliffs, rugged and forbidding, on the great headland
stood our house, bluff and bold like an old castle.
I looked in the direction of the cave of evil repute, but could see
nothing. My heart throbbed wildly. As old Deborah had said, we
Trewinions never feared the living, but we trembled at the thought of
the dead.
As I drew near Fraddam's cave I saw a twinkling light, and on coming up
to its mouth I saw the bent form of an old woman.
"Trewinion's heir!" said a voice, and the light was taken into the cave.
As if drawn on by a charm I entered. It was the first time I had ever
dared to do so. Often had I passed by the cave; but its reputation for
evil was so terrible that I had avoided entering it. I doubt whether
any inhabitant for miles around would ever think of intruding in a
place which, it was believed, belonged to the powers of darkness.
The cave became larger the farther I penetrated into it, and was lit up
by a ruddy kind of light. I noticed, too, in spite of my fears, that
the main cave led to smaller ones, and that on each side of the
entrance the ground was honeycombed. Presently the light became
brighter, and, turning a sharp angle, I saw a good sized fire, on which
a crock was steaming round about which weird forms sat. The ground was
quite dry and it was evident the tide seldom came so far. As my eyes
became more accustomed to the light, I recognised some of the women who
sat there. Betsey Flue, Mally Udy, and Tory Bone lived within a mile
of Trewinion Manor, and had doubtful reputations.
None of them looked at me for some time. They were intent on watching
the fire and the steaming crock. The smell from this article was by no
means unpleasant, evidently some savoury meat was being cooked, and I
began to feel the place to be less gruesome than I had at first
anticipated. I noticed, too, that a great many things were stowed away
which could have no connection with the unseen world. Evidently the
cave was used by smugglers as well as witches.
"Let Debrah Teague spaik," said an aged crone.
"Maaster Roger do knaw what I main," said Deborah. "There's an awful
curse for the Trewinion 'ouse, and unless Maaster Roger do as we do
tell un he'll ave it."
Ghastly as was the sight, uncanny as was the place, this speech of the
old woman dispelled much of my fear. The nocturnal gatherings of
witches were in my idea always associated with mysterious incantations.
Although Shakespeare was a forbidden book to us boys, I had read
"Macbeth," and this meeting was altogether dissimilar from the meeting
of witches therein described. In spite of everything, I could not help
thinking these old women were met for some sinister purpose far removed
from the mysteries of witchcraft, so I said boldly:
"Old Deborah wanted me to come here; I have come. What do you want?"
"The curse is comin'. We can remove it," said the old woman who went
by the name of Mally Udy.
"How?" I asked, for the sound of their voices and the sound of my own
made me bolder still.
"We've worked a charm," said Mally, the oldest woman in the party. "We
stole into Trewinion Church and took some water that the parson had
used fur christenin' his oan grancheeld, an' we've made a broth of it.
We've boiled a piece of lamb in it, with some sycamore leaves and some
hagglet (white thorn) leaves, and we've said nine charms, nine times
aich, and it'll ondo any curse."
"Where is it?" I said.
"Here, a boilin' now," was the reply.
I began to feel fearful again.
"But Maaster Roger must make a vow afore he drinks," said Mally.
"What?" I asked.
"You must say this," she said, shaking her skinny finger. "I, Roger
Trewinion, promise never to hurt the women here to-night, or their
children. I promise it by the sperrits of the place. And I make a vow
that I'll allays protect they and their children as fur as I can."
There was a cunning look on her face as she spoke. I felt now that
these were evil women, and that I would have nothing to do with them.
"I refuse to make the promise," I said.
"You'm afraid, you'm a coward," cried Deborah.
"No, I'm not afraid, I'm not a coward," I said, "and I'll stop these
proceedings of yours. You have other reasons than witchcraft for
coming here, and I'll know what they are."
This roused their passion.
"Evil sperrits shall tear 'ee," they said, "and oal your tribe."
"You are a set of evil hags," I said, furiously; "and the mysteries of
this cavern shall be brought to light."
"Stop!" said old Mally Udy, "this broth here was fur yer good. I'll
turn it to something bad and make 'ee drink it. The spirit of Betsey
Fraddam is here, and she'll make a mixture for 'ee."
I had worked myself up into a passion and I kicked the crock and
overturned it.
Never shall I forget the terrible words they said to me, or the curses
they called upon me. They cursed me in body and mind, they cursed me
in love and hate, in living and dying.
What was it, I wonder? Meaningless jargon, or not? When my story is
told you will be able to judge better.
I went out of the cave in fear, and when outside I fancied I saw the
terrible form of Betsey Fraddam. Then I went back to my home trembling.