The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

W >> William Harrison Ainsworth >> The Lancashire Witches

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53

Descending the hill, and passing through the thicket, the party came
within a short distance of Goldshaw Booth, when they were met by a
cowherd, who, with looks of great alarm, told them that John Law, the
pedlar, had fallen down in a fit in the clough, and would perish if they
did not stay to help him. As the poor man in question was well known
both to Nicholas and Roger Nowell, they immediately agreed to go to his
assistance, and accompanied the cowherd along a by-road which led
through the clough to the village. They had not gone far when they heard
loud groans, and presently afterwards found the unfortunate pedlar lying
on his back, and writhing in agony. He was a large, powerfully-built
man, of middle age, and had been in the full enjoyment of health and
vigour, so that his sudden prostration was the more terrible. His face
was greatly disfigured, the mouth and neck drawn awry, the left eye
pulled down, and the whole power of the same side gone.

"Why, John, this is a bad business," cried Nicholas. "You have had a
paralytic stroke, I fear."

"Nah--nah--squoire," replied the sufferer, speaking with difficulty,
"it's neaw nat'ral ailment--it's witchcraft."

"Witchcraft!" exclaimed Potts, who had come up, and producing his
memorandum book. "Another case. Your name and description, friend?"

"John Law o' Cown, pedlar," replied the man.

"John Law of Colne, I suppose, petty chapman," said Potts, making an
entry. "Now, John, my good man, be pleased to tell us by whom you have
been bewitched?"

"By Mother Demdike," groaned the man.

"Mother Demdike, ah?" exclaimed Potts, "good! very good. Now, John, as
to the cause of your quarrel with the old hag?"

"Ey con scarcely rekillect it, my head be so confused, mester," replied
the pedlar.

"Make an effort, John," persisted Potts; "it is most desirable such a
dreadful offender should not escape justice."

"Weel, weel, ey'n try an tell it then," replied the pedlar. "Yo mun knoa
ey wur crossing the hill fro' Cown to Rough Lee, wi' my pack upon my
shouthers, when who should ey meet boh Mother Demdike, an hoo axt me to
gi' her some scithers an pins, boh, os ill luck wad ha' it, ey refused.
'Yo had better do it, John,' hoo said, 'or yo'll rue it efore to-morrow
neet.' Ey laughed at her, an trudged on, boh when I looked back, an seed
her shakin' her skinny hond at me, ey repented and thowt ey would go
back, an gi' her the choice o' my wares. Boh my pride wur too strong, an
ey walked on to Barley an Ogden, an slept at Bess's o th' Booth, an woke
this mornin' stout and strong, fully persuaded th' owd witch's threat
would come to nowt. Alack-a-day! ey wur out i' my reckonin', fo'
scarcely had ey reached this kloof, o' my way to Sabden, than ey wur
seized wi' a sudden shock, os if a thunder-bowt had hit me, an ey lost
the use o' my lower limbs, an t' laft soide, an should ha' deed most
likely, if it hadna bin fo' Ebil o' Jem's o' Dan's who spied me out, an
brought me help."

"Yours is a deplorable case indeed, John," said Richard--"especially if
it be the result of witchcraft."

"You do not surely doubt that it is so, Master Richard?" cried Potts.

"I offer no opinion," replied the young man; "but a paralytic stroke
would produce the same effect. But, instead of discussing the matter,
the best thing we can do will be to transport the poor man to Bess's o'
th' Booth, where he can be attended to."

"Tom and I can carry him there, if Abel will take charge of his pack,"
said one of the grooms.

"That I win," replied the cowherd, unstrapping the box, upon which the
sufferer's head rested, and placing it on his own shoulders.

Meanwhile, a gate having been taken from its hinges by Sparshot and the
reeve, the poor pedlar, who groaned deeply during the operation, was
placed upon it by the men, and borne towards the village, followed by
the others, leading their horses.

Great consternation was occasioned in Goldshaw Booth by the entrance of
the cavalcade, and still more, when it became known that John Law, the
pedlar, who was a favourite with all, had had a frightful seizure. Old
and young flocked forth to see him, and the former shook their heads,
while the latter were appalled at the hideous sight. Master Potts took
care to tell them that the poor fellow was bewitched by Mother Demdike;
but the information failed to produce the effect he anticipated, and
served rather to repress than heighten their sympathy for the sufferer.
The attorney concluded, and justly, that they were afraid of incurring
the displeasure of the vindictive old hag by an open expression of
interest in his fate. So strongly did this feeling operate, that after
bestowing a glance of commiseration at the pedlar, most of them
returned, without a word, to their dwellings.

On their way to the little hostel, whither they were conveying the poor
pedlar, the party passed the church, and the sexton, who was digging a
grave in the yard, came forward to look at them; but on seeing John Law
he seemed to understand what had happened, and resumed his employment. A
wide-spreading yew-tree grew in this part of the churchyard, and near it
stood a small cross rudely carved in granite, marking the spot where, in
the reign of Henry VI., Ralph Cliderhow, tenth abbot of Whalley, held a
meeting of the tenantry, to check encroachments. Not far from this
ancient cross the sexton, a hale old man, with a fresh complexion and
silvery hair, was at work, and while the others went on, Master Potts
paused to say a word to him.

"You have a funeral here to-day, I suppose, Master Sexton?" he said.

"Yeigh," replied the man, gruffly.

"One of the villagers?" inquired the attorney.

"Neaw; hoo were na o' Goldshey," replied the sexton.

"Where then--who was it?" persevered Potts.

The sexton seemed disinclined to answer; but at length said, "Meary
Baldwyn, the miller's dowter o' Rough Lee, os protty a lass os ever yo
see, mester. Hoo wur the apple o' her feyther's ee, an he hasna had a
dry ee sin hoo deed. Wall-a-dey! we mun aw go, owd an young--owd an
young--an protty Meary Baldwyn went young enough. Poor lass! poor lass!"
and he brushed the dew from his eyes with his brawny hand.

"Was her death sudden?" asked Potts.

"Neaw, not so sudden, mester," replied the sexton. "Ruchot Baldwyn had
fair warnin'. Six months ago Meary wur ta'en ill, an fro' t' furst he
knoad how it wad eend."

"How so, friend?" asked Potts, whose curiosity began to be aroused.

"Becose--" replied the sexton, and he stopped suddenly short.

"She was bewitched?" suggested Potts.

The sexton nodded his head, and began to ply his mattock vigorously.

"By Mother Demdike?" inquired Potts, taking out his memorandum book.

The sexton again nodded his head, but spake no word, and, meeting some
obstruction in the ground, took up his pick to remove it.

"Another case!" muttered Potts, making an entry. "Mary Baldwyn, daughter
of Richard Baldwyn of Rough Lee, aged--How old was she, sexton?"

"Throtteen," replied the man; "boh dunna ax me ony more questions,
mester. Th' berrin takes place i' an hour, an ey hanna half digg'd th'
grave."

"Your own name, Master Sexton, and I have done?" said Potts.

"Zachariah Worms," answered the man.

"Worms--ha! an excellent name for a sexton," cried Potts. "You provide
food for your family, eh, Zachariah?"

"Tut--tut," rejoined the sexton, testily, "go an' moind yer own
bus'ness, mon, an' leave me to moind mine."

"Very well, Zachariah," replied Potts. And having obtained all he
required, he proceeded to the little hostel, where, finding the rest of
the party had dismounted, he consigned Flint to a cowherd, and entered
the house.

CHAPTER V.--BESS'S O' TH' BOOTH.

Bess's o' th' Booth--for so the little hostel at Goldshaw was called,
after its mistress Bess Whitaker--was far more comfortable and
commodious than its unpretending exterior seemed to warrant. Stouter and
brighter ale was not to be drunk in Lancashire than Bess brewed; nor was
better sherris or clary to be found, go where you would, than in her
cellars. The traveller crossing those dreary wastes, and riding from
Burnley to Clithero, or from Colne to Whalley, as the case might be,
might well halt at Bess's, and be sure of a roast fowl for dinner, with
the addition, perhaps, of some trout from Pendle Water, or, if the
season permitted, a heath-cock or a pheasant; or, if he tarried there
for the night, he was equally sure of a good supper and fair linen. It
has already been mentioned, that at this period it was the custom of all
classes in the northern counties, men and women, to resort to the
alehouses to drink, and the hostel at Goldshaw was the general
rendezvous of the neighbourhood. For those who could afford it Bess
would brew incomparable sack; but if a guest called for wine, and she
liked not his looks, she would flatly tell him her ale was good enough
for him, and if it pleased him not he should have nothing. Submission
always followed in such cases, for there was no disputing with Bess.
Neither would she permit the frequenters of the hostel to sit later than
she chose, and would clear the house in a way equally characteristic and
effectual. At a certain hour, and that by no means a late one, she would
take down a large horsewhip, which hung on a convenient peg in the
principal room, and after bluntly ordering her guests to go home, if any
resistance were offered, she would lay the whip across their shoulders,
and forcibly eject them from the premises; but, as her determined
character was well known, this violence was seldom necessary. In
strength Bess was a match for any man, and assistance from her
cowherds--for she was a farmer as well as hostess--was at hand if
required. As will be surmised from the above, Bess was large and
masculine-looking, but well-proportioned nevertheless, and possessed a
certain coarse kind of beauty, which in earlier years had inflamed
Richard Baldwyn, the miller of Rough Lee, who made overtures of marriage
to her. These were favourably entertained, but a slight quarrel
occurring between them, the lover, in her own phrase, got "his jacket
soundly dusted" by her, and declared off, taking to wife a more docile
and light-handed maiden. As to Bess, though she had given this
unmistakable proof of her ability to manage a husband, she did not
receive a second offer, nor, as she had now attained the mature age of
forty, did it seem likely she would ever receive one.

Bess's o' th' Booth was an extremely clean and comfortable house. The
floor, it is true, was of hard clay, and the windows little more than
narrow slits, with heavy stone frames, further darkened by minute
diamond panes; but the benches were scrupulously clean, and so was the
long oak table in the centre of the principal and only large room in the
house. A roundabout fireplace occupied one end of the chamber, sheltered
from the draught of the door by a dark oak screen, with a bench on the
warm side of it; and here, or in the deep ingle-nooks, on winter nights,
the neighbours would sit and chat by the blazing hearth, discussing pots
of "nappy ale, good and stale," as the old ballad hath it; and as
persons of both sexes came thither, young as well as old, many a match
was struck up by Bess's cheery fireside. From the blackened rafters hung
a goodly supply of hams, sides of bacon, and dried tongues, with a
profusion of oatcakes in a bread-flake; while, in case this store should
be exhausted, means of replenishment were at hand in the huge,
full-crammed meal-chest standing in one corner. Altogether, there was a
look of abundance as well as of comfort about the place.

Great was Bess's consternation when the poor pedlar, who had quitted her
house little more than an hour ago, full of health and spirits, was
brought back to it in such a deplorable condition; and when she saw him
deposited at her door, notwithstanding her masculine character, she had
some difficulty in repressing a scream. She did not, however, yield to
the weakness, but seeing at once what was best to be done, caused him to
be transported by the grooms to the chamber he had occupied over-night,
and laid upon the bed. Medical assistance was fortunately at hand; for
it chanced that Master Sudall, the chirurgeon of Colne, was in the house
at the time, having been brought to Goldshaw by the great sickness that
prevailed at Sabden and elsewhere in the neighbourhood. Sudall was
immediately in attendance upon the sufferer, and bled him copiously,
after which the poor man seemed much easier; and Richard Assheton,
taking the chirurgeon aside, asked his opinion of the case, and was told
by Sudall that he did not think the pedlar's life in danger, but he
doubted whether he would ever recover the use of his limbs.

"You do not attribute the attack to witchcraft, I suppose, Master
Sudall?" said Richard.

"I do not like to deliver an opinion, sir," replied the chirurgeon. "It
is impossible to decide, when all the appearances are precisely like
those of an ordinary attack of paralysis. But a sad case has recently
come under my observation, as to which I can have no doubt--I mean as to
its being the result of witchcraft--but I will tell you more about it
presently, for I must now return to my patient."

It being agreed among the party to rest for an hour at the little
hostel, and partake of some refreshment, Nicholas went to look after the
horses, while Roger Nowell and Richard remained in the room with the
pedlar. Bess Whitaker owned an extensive farm-yard, provided with
cow-houses, stables, and a large barn; and it was to the latter place
that the two grooms proposed to repair with Sparshot and play a game at
loggats on the clay floor. No one knew what had become of the reeve;
for, on depositing the poor pedlar at the door of the hostel, he had
mounted his horse and ridden away. Having ordered some fried eggs and
bacon, Nicholas wended his way to the stable, while Bess, assisted by a
stout kitchen wench, busied herself in preparing the eatables, and it
was at this juncture that Master Potts entered the house.

Bess eyed him narrowly, and was by no means prepossessed by his looks,
while the muddy condition of his habiliments did not tend to exalt him
in her opinion.

"Yo mey yersel a' whoam, mon, ey mun say," she observed, as the attorney
seated himself on the bench beside her.

"To be sure," rejoined Potts; "where should a man make himself at home,
if not at an inn? Those eggs and bacon look very tempting. I'll try some
presently; and, as soon as you've done with the frying-pan, I'll have a
pottle of sack."

"Neaw, yo winna," replied Bess. "Yo'n get nother eggs nor bacon nor sack
here, ey can promise ye. Ele an whoat-kekes mun sarve your turn. Go to
t' barn wi' t' other grooms, and play at kittle-pins or nine-holes wi'
hin, an ey'n send ye some ele."

"I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you, hostess," replied Potts,
"and have no desire to play at kittle-pins or nine-holes. But what does
this bottle contain?"

"Sherris," replied Bess.

"Sherris!" echoed Potts, "and yet you say I can have no sack. Get me
some sugar and eggs, and I'll show you how to brew the drink. I was
taught the art by my friend, Ben Jonson--rare Ben--ha, ha!"

"Set the bottle down," cried Bess, angrily.

"What do you mean, woman!" said Potts, staring at her in surprise. "I
told you to fetch sugar and eggs, and I now repeat the order--sugar, and
half-a-dozen eggs at least."

"An ey repeat my order to yo," cried Bess, "to set the bottle down, or
ey'st may ye."

"Make me! ha, ha! I like that," cried Potts. "Let me tell you, woman, I
am not accustomed to be ordered in this way. I shall do no such thing.
If you will not bring the eggs I shall drink the wine, neat and
unsophisticate." And he filled a flagon near him.

"If yo dun, yo shan pay dearly for it," said Bess, putting aside the
frying-pan and taking down the horsewhip.

"I daresay I shall," replied Potts merrily; "you hostesses generally do
make one pay dearly. Very good sherris this, i' faith!--the true nutty
flavour. Now do go and fetch me some eggs, my good woman. You must have
plenty, with all the poultry I saw in the farm-yard; and then I'll teach
you the whole art and mystery of brewing sack."

"Ey'n teach yo to dispute my orders," cried Bess. And, catching the
attorney by the collar, she began to belabour him soundly with the whip.

"Holloa! ho! what's the meaning of this?" cried Potts, struggling to get
free. "Assault and battery; ho!"

"Ey'n sawt an batter yo, ay, an baste yo too!" replied Bess, continuing
to lay on the whip.

"Why, zounds! this passes a joke," cried the attorney. "How desperately
strong she is! I shall be murdered! Help! help! The woman must be a
witch."

"A witch! Ey'n teach yo' to ca' me feaw names," cried the enraged
hostess, laying on with greater fury.

"Help! help!" roared Potts.

At this moment Nicholas returned from the stables, and, seeing how
matters stood, flew to the attorney's assistance.

"Come, come, Bess," he cried, laying hold of her arm, "you've given him
enough. What has Master Potts been about? Not insulting you, I hope?"

"Neaw, ey'd tak keare he didna do that, squoire," replied the hostess.
"Ey towd him he'd get nowt boh ele here, an' he made free wi't wine
bottle, so ey brought down t' whip jist to teach him manners."

"You teach me! you ignorant and insolent hussy," cried Potts, furiously;
"do you think I'm to be taught manners by an overgrown Lancashire witch
like you? I'll teach you what it is to assault a gentleman. I'll prefer
an instant complaint against you to my singular good friend and client,
Master Roger, who is in your house, and you'll soon find whom you've got
to deal with--"

"Marry--kem--eawt!" exclaimed Bess; "who con it be? Ey took yo fo' one
o't grooms, mon."

"Fire and fury!" exclaimed Potts; "this is intolerable. Master Nowell
shall let you know who I am, woman."

"Nay, I'll tell you, Bess," interposed Nicholas, laughing. "This little
gentleman is a London lawyer, who is going to Rough Lee on business with
Master Roger Nowell. Unluckily, he got pitched into a quagmire in Read
Park, and that is the reason why his countenance and habiliments have
got begrimed."

"Eigh! ey thowt he wur i' a strawnge fettle," replied Bess; "an so he be
a lawyer fro' Lunnon, eh? Weel," she added, laughing, and displaying two
ranges of very white teeth, "he'll remember Bess Whitaker, t' next time
he comes to Pendle Forest."

"And she'll remember me," rejoined Potts.

"Neaw more sawce, mon," cried Bess, "or ey'n raddle thy boans again."

"No you won't, woman," cried Potts, snatching up his horsewhip, which he
had dropped in the previous scuffle, and brandishing it fiercely. "I
dare you to touch me."

Nicholas was obliged once more to interfere, and as he passed his arms
round the hostess's waist, he thought a kiss might tend to bring matters
to a peaceable issue, so he took one.

"Ha' done wi' ye, squoire," cried Bess, who, however, did not look very
seriously offended by the liberty.

"By my faith, your lips are so sweet that I must have another," cried
Nicholas. "I tell you what, Bess, you're the finest woman in Lancashire,
and you owe it to the county to get married."

"Whoy so?" said Bess.

"Because it would be a pity to lose the breed," replied Nicholas. "What
say you to Master Potts there? Will he suit you?"

"He--pooh! Do you think ey'd put up wi' sich powsement os he! Neaw; when
Bess Whitaker, the lonleydey o' Goldshey, weds, it shan be to a mon, and
nah to a ninny-hommer."

"Bravely resolved, Bess," cried Nicholas. "You deserve another kiss for
your spirit."

"Ha' done, ey say," cried Bess, dealing him a gentle tap that sounded
very much like a buffet. "See how yon jobberknow is grinning at ye."

"Jobberknow and ninny-hammer," cried Potts, furiously; "really, woman, I
cannot permit such names to be applied to me."

"Os yo please, boh ey'st gi' ye nah better," rejoined the hostess.

"Come, Bess, a truce to this," observed Nicholas; "the eggs and bacon
are spoiling, and I'm dying with hunger. There--there," he added,
clapping her on the shoulder, "set the dish before us, that's a good
soul--a couple of plates, some oatcakes and butter, and we shall do."

And while Bess attended to these requirements, he observed, "This sudden
seizure of poor John Law is a bad business."

"'Deed on it is, squoire," replied Bess, "ey wur quite glopp'nt at seet
on him. Lorjus o' me! whoy, it's scarcely an hour sin he left here,
looking os strong an os 'earty os yersel. Boh it's a kazzardly onsartin
loife we lead. Here to-day an gone the morrow, as Parson Houlden says.
Wall-a-day!"

"True, true, Bess," replied the squire, "and the best plan therefore is,
to make the most of the passing moment. So brew us each a lusty pottle
of sack, and fry us some more eggs and bacon."

And while the hostess proceeded to prepare the sack, Potts remarked to
Nicholas, "I have got another case of witchcraft, squire. Mary Baldwyn,
the miller's daughter, of Rough Lee."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Nicholas. "What, is the poor girl bewitched?"

"Bewitched to death--that's all," said Potts.

"Eigh--poor Meary! hoo's to be berried here this mornin," observed Bess,
emptying the bottle of sherris into a pot, and placing the latter on the
fire.

"And you think she was forespoken?" said Nicholas, addressing her.

"Folk sayn so," replied Bess; "boh I'd leyther howd my tung about it."

"Then I suppose you pay tribute to Mother Chattox, hostess?" cried
Potts,--"butter, eggs, and milk from the farm, ale and wine from the
cellar, with a flitch of bacon now and then, ey?"

"Nay, by th' maskins! ey gi' her nowt," cried Bess.

"Then you bribe Mother Demdike, and that comes to the same thing," said
Potts.

"Weel, yo're neaw so fur fro' t' mark this time," replied Bess, adding
eggs, sugar, and spice to the now boiling wine, and stirring up the
compound.

"I wonder where your brother, the reeve of the forest, can be, Master
Potts!" observed Nicholas. "I did not see either him or his horse at the
stables."

"Perhaps the arch impostor has taken himself off altogether," said
Potts; "and if so, I shall be sorry, for I have not done with him."

The sack was now set before them, and pronounced excellent, and while
they were engaged in discussing it, together with a fresh supply of eggs
and bacon, fried by the kitchen wench, Roger Nowell came out of the
inner room, accompanied by Richard and the chirurgeon.

"Well, Master Sudall, how goes on your patient?" inquired Nicholas of
the latter.

"Much more favourably than I expected, squire," replied the chirurgeon.
"He will be better left alone for awhile, and, as I shall not quit the
village till evening, I shall be able to look well after him."

"You think the attack occasioned by witchcraft of course, sir?" said
Potts.

"The poor fellow affirms it to be so, but I can give no opinion,"
replied Sudall, evasively.

"You must make up your mind as to the matter, for I think it right to
tell you your evidence will be required," said Potts. "Perhaps, you may
have seen poor Mary Baldwyn, the miller's daughter of Rough Lee, and can
speak more positively as to her case."

"I can, sir," replied the chirurgeon, seating himself beside Potts,
while Roger Nowell and Richard placed themselves on the opposite side of
the table. "This is the case I referred to a short time ago, when
answering your inquiries on the same subject, Master Richard, and a most
afflicting one it is. But you shall have the particulars. Six months
ago, Mary Baldwyn was as lovely and blooming a lass as could be seen,
the joy of her widowed father's heart. A hot-headed, obstinate man is
Richard Baldwyn, and he was unwise enough to incur the displeasure of
Mother Demdike, by favouring her rival, old Chattox, to whom he gave
flour and meal, while he refused the same tribute to the other. The
first time Mother Demdike was dismissed without the customary dole, one
of his millstones broke, and, instead of taking this as a warning, he
became more obstinate. She came a second time, and he sent her away with
curses. Then all his flour grew damp and musty, and no one would buy it.
Still he remained obstinate, and, when she appeared again, he would have
laid hands upon her. But she raised her staff, and the blows fell short.
'I have given thee two warnings, Richard,' she said, 'and thou hast paid
no heed to them. Now I will make thee smart, lad, in right earnest. That
which thou lovest best thou shalt lose.' Upon this, bethinking him that
the dearest thing he had in the world was his daughter Mary, and afraid
of harm happening to her, Richard would fain have made up his quarrel
with the old witch; but it had now gone too far, and she would not
listen to him, but uttering some words, with which the name of the girl
was mingled, shook her staff at the house and departed. The next day
poor Mary was taken ill, and her father, in despair, applied to old
Chattox, who promised him help, and did her best, I make no doubt--for
she would have willingly thwarted her rival, and robbed her of her prey;
but the latter was too strong for her, and the hapless victim got daily
worse and worse. Her blooming cheek grew white and hollow, her dark eyes
glistened with unnatural lustre, and she was seen no more on the banks
of Pendle water. Before this my aid had been called in by the afflicted
father--and I did all I could--but I knew she would die--and I told him
so. The information I feared had killed him, for he fell down like a
stone--and I repented having spoken. However he recovered, and made a
last appeal to Mother Demdike; but the unrelenting hag derided him and
cursed him, telling him if he brought her all his mill contained, and
added to that all his substance, she would not spare his child. He
returned heart-broken, and never quitted the poor girl's bedside till
she breathed her last."