An old witch in days of yore lived in the neighbourhood of Tavistock,
and whenever she wanted money she would assume the shape of a hare,
and would send out her grandson to tell a certain huntsman, who lived
hard by, that he had seen a hare sitting at such a particular spot, for
which he always received the reward of sixpence. After this deception
had been practised many times, the dogs turned out the hare pursued,
often seen but never caught, a sportsman of the party began to suspect
“that the devil was in the dance,” and there would be no end to it. The
matter was discussed, a justice consulted, and a clergyman to boot, and
it was thought that however clever the devil might be, law and church
combined would be more than a match for him. It was therefore agreed
that, as the boy was singularly regular in the hour at which he came to
announce the sight of the hare, all should be in readiness for a start
the instant such information was given, and a neighbour of the witch,
nothing friendly to her, promised to let the parties know directly that
the old woman and her grandson left the cottage and went off together,
the one to be hunted, and the other to set on the hunt.
The news came, the hounds were unkennelled, and huntsmen and sportsmen
set off with surprising speed. The witch, now a hare, and her little
colleague in iniquity, did not expect so very speedy a turn out, so
that the game was pursued at a desperate rate, and the boy, forgetting
himself in a moment of alarm, was heard to exclaim—
“Run, granny, run; run for your life!”
At last the pursuers lost the hare, and she once more got safe into
the cottage by a little hole in the bottom of the door, but not large
enough to admit a hound in chase. The huntsman and the squires, with
their train, lent a hand to break open the door, but could not do it
till the parson and the justice came up, but as law and church were
certainly designed to break through iniquity, even so did they now
succeed in bursting the magic bonds that opposed them. Up–stairs they
all went. There they found the old hag, bleeding and covered with
wounds, and still out of breath. She denied she was a hare, and railed
at the whole party.
“Call up the hounds,” said the huntsman, “and let us see what they take
her to be. Maybe we may yet have another hunt.”
On hearing this, the old woman cried quarter. The boy dropped on his
knees and begged hard for mercy. Mercy was granted on condition of its
being received with a good whipping, and the huntsman, having long
practised amongst the hounds, now tried his hand on their game. Thus
the old woman escaped a worse fate for the time being, but on being
afterwards put on trial for bewitching a young woman, and making her
spit pins, the above was given as evidence against her, and the old
woman finished her days, like a martyr, at the stake.