The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"Poor Ruchot! Robb'd o' his ownly dowter--an neaw woife to cheer him! Ey
pity him fro' t' bottom o' my heart," said Bess, whose tears had flowed
freely during the narration.

"He is wellnigh crazed with grief," said the chirurgeon. "I hope he will
commit no rash act."

Expressions of deep commiseration for the untimely death of the miller's
daughter had been uttered by all the party, and they were talking over
the strange circumstances attending it, when they were roused by the
trampling of horses' feet at the door, and the moment after, a
middle-aged man, clad in deep mourning, but put on in a manner that
betrayed the disorder of his mind, entered the house. His looks were
wild and frenzied, his cheeks haggard, and he rushed into the room so
abruptly that he did not at first observe the company assembled.

"Why, Richard Baldwyn, is that you?" cried the chirurgeon.

"What! is this the father?" exclaimed Potts, taking out his
memorandum-book; "I must prepare to interrogate him."

"Sit thee down, Ruchot,--sit thee down, mon," said Bess, taking his hand
kindly, and leading him to a bench. "Con ey get thee onny thing?"

"Neaw--neaw, Bess," replied the miller; "ey ha lost aw ey vallied i'
this warlt, an ey care na how soon ey quit it mysel."

"Neigh, dunna talk on thus, Ruchot," said Bess, in accents of sincere
sympathy. "Theaw win live to see happier an brighter days."

"Ey win live to be revenged, Bess," cried the miller, rising suddenly,
and stamping his foot on the ground,--"that accursed witch has robbed me
o' my' eart's chief treasure--hoo has crushed a poor innocent os never
injured her i' thowt or deed--an has struck the heaviest blow that could
be dealt me; but by the heaven above us ey win requite her! A feyther's
deep an lasting curse leet on her guilty heoad, an on those of aw her
accursed race. Nah rest, neet nor day, win ey know, till ey ha brought
em to the stake."

"Right--right--my good friend--an excellent resolution--bring them to
the stake!" cried Potts.

But his enthusiasm was suddenly checked by observing the reeve of the
forest peeping from behind the wainscot, and earnestly regarding the
miller, and he called the attention of the latter to him.

Richard Baldwyn mechanically followed the expressive gestures of the
attorney,--but he saw no one, for the reeve had disappeared.

The incident passed unnoticed by the others, who had been, too deeply
moved by poor Baldwyn's outburst of grief to pay attention to it.

After a little while Bess Whitaker succeeded in prevailing upon the
miller to sit down, and when he became more composed he told her that
the funeral procession, consisting of some of his neighbours who had
undertaken to attend his ill-fated daughter to her last home, was coming
from Rough Lee to Goldshaw, but that, unable to bear them company, he
had ridden on by himself. It appeared also, from his muttered threats,
that he had meditated some wild project of vengeance against Mother
Demdike, which he intended to put into execution, before the day was
over; but Master Potts endeavoured to dissuade him from this course,
assuring him that the most certain and efficacious mode of revenge he
could adopt would be through the medium of the law, and that he would
give him his best advice and assistance in the matter. While they were
talking thus, the bell began to toll, and every stroke seemed to vibrate
through the heart of the afflicted father, who was at last so
overpowered by grief, that the hostess deemed it expedient to lead him
into an inner room, where he might indulge his sorrow unobserved.

Without awaiting the issue of this painful scene, Richard, who was much
affected by it, went forth, and taking his horse from the stable, with
the intention of riding on slowly before the others, led the animal
towards the churchyard. When within a short distance of the grey old
fabric he paused. The bell continued to toll mournfully, and deepened
the melancholy hue of his thoughts. The sad tale he had heard held
possession of his mind, and while he pitied poor Mary Baldwyn, he began
to entertain apprehensions that Alizon might meet a similar fate. So
many strange circumstances had taken place during the morning's ride; he
had listened to so many dismal relations, that, coupled with the dark
and mysterious events of the previous night, he was quite bewildered,
and felt oppressed as if by a hideous nightmare, which it was impossible
to shake off. He thought of Mothers Demdike and Chattox. Could these
dread beings be permitted to exercise such baneful influence over
mankind? With all the apparent proofs of their power he had received, he
still strove to doubt, and to persuade himself that the various cases of
witchcraft described to him were only held to be such by the timid and
the credulous.

Full of these meditations, he tied his horse to a tree and entered the
churchyard, and while pursuing a path shaded by a row of young
lime-trees leading to the porch, he perceived at a little distance from
him, near the cross erected by Abbot Cliderhow, two persons who
attracted his attention. One was the sexton, who was now deep in the
grave; and the other an old woman, with her back towards him. Neither
had remarked his approach, and, influenced by an unaccountable feeling
of curiosity, he stood still to watch their proceedings. Presently, the
sexton, who was shovelling out the mould, paused in his task; and the
old woman, in a hoarse voice, which seemed familiar to the listener,
said, "What hast found, Zachariah?"

[Illustration: RICHARD OVERHEARS THE MOTHER CHATTOX AND THE SEXTON.]

"That which yo lack, mother," replied the sexton, "a mazzard wi' aw th'
teeth in't."

"Pluck out eight, and give them me," replied the hag.

And, as the sexton complied with her injunction, she added, "Now I must
have three scalps."

"Here they be, mother," replied Zachariah, uncovering a heap of mould
with his spade. "Two brain-pans bleached loike snow, an the third wi'
more hewr on it than ey ha' o' my own sconce. Fro' its size an shape ey
should tak it to be a female. Ey ha' laid these three skulls aside fo'
ye. Whot dun yo mean to do wi' 'em?"

"Question me not, Zachariah," said the hag, sternly; "now give me some
pieces of the mouldering coffin, and fill this box with the dust of the
corpse it contained."

The sexton complied with her request.

"Now yo ha' getten aw yo seek, mother," he said, "ey wad pray you to tay
your departure, fo' the berrin folk win be here presently."

"I'm going," replied the hag, "but first I must have my funeral rites
performed--ha! ha! Bury this for me, Zachariah," she said, giving him a
small clay figure. "Bury it deep, and as it moulders away, may she it
represents pine and wither, till she come to the grave likewise!"

"An whoam doth it represent, mother?" asked the sexton, regarding the
image with curiosity. "Ey dunna knoa the feace?"

"How should you know it, fool, since you have never seen her in whose
likeness it is made?" replied the hag. "She is connected with the race I
hate."

"Wi' the Demdikes?" inquired the sexton.

"Ay," replied the hag, "with the Demdikes. She passes for one of
them--but she is not of them. Nevertheless, I hate her as though she
were."

"Yo dunna mean Alizon Device?" said the sexton. "Ey ha' heerd say hoo be
varry comely an kind-hearted, an ey should be sorry onny harm befell
her."

"Mary Baldwyn, who will soon lie there, was quite as comely and
kind-hearted as Alizon," cried the hag, "and yet Mother Demdike had no
pity on her."

"An that's true," replied the sexton. "Weel, weel; ey'n do your
bidding."

"Hold!" exclaimed Richard, stepping forward. "I will not suffer this
abomination to be practised."

"Who is it speaks to me?" cried the hag, turning round, and disclosing
the hideous countenance of Mother Chattox. "The voice is that of Richard
Assheton."

"It is Richard Assheton who speaks," cried the young man, "and I command
you to desist from this wickedness. Give me that clay image," he cried,
snatching it from the sexton, and trampling it to dust beneath his feet.
"Thus I destroy thy impious handiwork, and defeat thy evil intentions."

"Ah! think'st thou so, lad," rejoined Mother Chattox. "Thou wilt find
thyself mistaken. My curse has already alighted upon thee, and it shall
work. Thou lov'st Alizon.--I know it. But she shall never be thine. Now,
go thy ways."

"I will go," replied Richard--"but you shall come with me, old woman."

"Dare you lay hands on me?" screamed the hag.

"Nay, let her be, mester," interposed the sexton, "yo had better."

"You are as bad as she is," said Richard, "and deserve equal punishment.
You escaped yesterday at Whalley, old woman, but you shall not escape me
now."

"Be not too sure of that," cried the hag, disabling him for the moment,
by a severe blow on the arm from her staff. And shuffling off with an
agility which could scarcely have been expected from her, she passed
through a gate near her, and disappeared behind a high wall.

Richard would have followed, but he was detained by the sexton, who
besought him, as he valued his life, not to interfere, and when at last
he broke away from the old man, he could see nothing of her, and only
heard the sound of horses' feet in the distance. Either his eyes
deceived him, or at a turn in the woody lane skirting the church he
descried the reeve of the forest galloping off with the old woman behind
him. This lane led towards Rough Lee, and, without a moment's
hesitation, Richard flew to the spot where he had left his horse, and,
mounting him, rode swiftly along it.

CHAPTER VI.--THE TEMPTATION.

Shortly after Richard's departure, a round, rosy-faced personage, whose
rusty black cassock, hastily huddled over a dark riding-dress,
proclaimed him a churchman, entered the hostel. This was the rector of
Goldshaw, Parson Holden, a very worthy little man, though rather,
perhaps, too fond of the sports of the field and the bottle. To Roger
Nowell and Nicholas Assheton he was of course well known, and was much
esteemed by the latter, often riding over to hunt and fish, or carouse,
at Downham. Parson Holden had been sent for by Bess to administer
spiritual consolation to poor Richard Baldwyn, who she thought stood in
need of it, and having respectfully saluted the magistrate, of whom he
stood somewhat in awe, and shaken hands cordially with Nicholas, who was
delighted to see him, he repaired to the inner room, promising to come
back speedily. And he kept his word; for in less than five minutes he
reappeared with the satisfactory intelligence that the afflicted miller
was considerably calmer, and had listened to his counsels with much
edification.

"Take him a glass of aquavitae, Bess," he said to the hostess. "He is
evidently a cup too low, and will be the better for it. Strong water is
a specific I always recommend under such circumstances, Master Sudall,
and indeed adopt myself, and I am sure you will approve of it.--Harkee,
Bess, when you have ministered to poor Baldwyn's wants, I must crave
your attention to my own, and beg you to fill me a tankard with your
oldest ale, and toast me an oatcake to eat with it.--I must keep up my
spirits, worthy sir," he added to Roger Nowell, "for I have a painful
duty to perform. I do not know when I have been more shocked than by the
death of poor Mary Baldwyn. A fair flower, and early nipped."

"Nipped, indeed, if all we have heard be correct," rejoined Newell. "The
forest is in a sad state, reverend sir. It would seem as if the enemy of
mankind, by means of his abominable agents, were permitted to exercise
uncontrolled dominion over it. I must needs say, the forlorn condition
of the people reflects little credit on those who have them in charge.
The powers of darkness could never have prevailed to such an extent if
duly resisted."

"I lament to hear you say so, good Master Nowell," replied the rector.
"I have done my best, I assure you, to keep my small and
widely-scattered flock together, and to save them from the ravening
wolves and cunning foxes that infest the country; and if now and then
some sheep have gone astray, or a poor lamb, as in the instance of Mary
Baldwyn, hath fallen a victim, I am scarcely to blame for the mischance.
Rather let me say, sir, that you, as an active and zealous magistrate,
should take the matter in hand, and by severe dealing with the
offenders, arrest the progress of the evil. No defence, spiritual or
otherwise, as yet set up against them, has proved effectual."

"Justly remarked, reverend sir," observed Potts, looking up from the
memorandum book in which he was writing, "and I am sure your advice will
not be lost upon Master Roger Nowell. As regards the persons who may be
afflicted by witchcraft, hath not our sagacious monarch observed, that
'There are three kind of folks who may be tempted or troubled: the
wicked for their horrible sins, to punish them in the like measure; the
godly that are sleeping in any great sins or infirmities, and weakness
in faith, to waken them up the faster by such an uncouth form; and even
some of the best, that their patience may be tried before the world as
Job's was tried. For why may not God use any kind of extraordinary
punishment, when it pleases Him, as well as the ordinary rods of
sickness, or other adversities?'"

"Very true, sir," replied Holden. "And we are undergoing this severe
trial now. Fortunate are they who profit by it!"

"Hear what is said further, sir, by the king," pursued Potts. "'No
man,' declares that wise prince, 'ought to presume so far as to promise
any impunity to himself.' But further on he gives us courage, for he
adds, 'and yet we ought not to be afraid for that, of any thing that the
devil and his wicked instruments can do against us, for we daily fight
against him in a hundred other ways, and therefore as a valiant captain
affrays no more being at the combat, nor stays from his purpose for the
rummishing shot of a cannon, nor the small clack of a pistolet; not
being certain what may light on him; even so ought we boldly to go
forward in fighting against the devil without any greater terror, for
these his rarest weapons, than the ordinary, whereof we have daily the
proof.'"

"His majesty is quite right," observed Holden, "and I am glad to hear
his convincing words so judiciously cited. I myself have no fear of
these wicked instruments of Satan."

"In what manner, may I ask, have you proved your courage, sir?" inquired
Roger Nowell. "Have you preached against them, and denounced their
wickedness, menacing them with the thunders of the Church?"

"I cannot say I have," replied Holden, rather abashed, "but I shall
henceforth adopt a very different course.--Ah! here comes the ale!" he
added, taking the foaming tankard from Bess; "this is the best cordial
wherewith to sustain one's courage in these trying times."

"Some remedy must be found for this intolerable grievance," observed
Roger Nowell, after a few moments' reflection. "Till this morning I was
not aware of the extent of the evil, but supposed that the two malignant
hags, who seem to reign supreme here, confined their operations to
blighting corn, maiming cattle, turning milk sour; and even these
reports I fancied were greatly exaggerated; but I now find, from what I
have seen at Sabden and elsewhere, that they fall very far short of the
reality."

"It would be difficult to increase the darkness of the picture," said
the chirurgeon; "but what remedy will you apply?"

"The cautery, sir," replied Potts,--"the actual cautery--we will burn
out this plague-spot. The two old hags and their noxious brood shall be
brought to the stake. That will effect a radical cure."

"It may when it is accomplished, but I fear it will be long ere that
happens," replied the chirurgeon, shaking his head doubtfully. "Are you
acquainted with Mother Demdike's history, sir?" he added to Potts.

"In part," replied the attorney; "but I shall be glad to hear any thing
you may have to bring forward on the subject."

"The peculiarity in her case," observed Sudall, "and the circumstance
distinguishing her dark and dread career from that of all other witches
is, that it has been shaped out by destiny. When an infant, a
malediction was pronounced upon her head by the unfortunate Abbot
Paslew. She is also the offspring of a man reputed to have bartered his
soul to the Enemy of Mankind, while her mother was a witch. Both parents
perished lamentably, about the time of Paslew's execution at Whalley."

"It is a pity their miserable infant did not perish with them," observed
Holden. "How much crime and misery would have been spared!"

"It was otherwise ordained," replied Sudall. "Bereft of her parents in
this way, the infant was taken charge of and reared by Dame Croft, the
miller's wife of Whalley; but even in those early days she exhibited
such a malicious and vindictive disposition, and became so unmanageable,
that the good dame was glad to get rid of her, and sent her into the
forest, where she found a home at Rough Lee, then occupied by Miles
Nutter, the grandfather of the late Richard Nutter."

"Aha!" exclaimed Potts, "was Mother Demdike so early connected with that
family? I must make a note of that circumstance."

"She remained at Rough Lee for some years," returned Sudall, "and though
accounted of an ill disposition, there was nothing to be alleged against
her at the time; though afterwards, it was said, that some mishaps that
befell the neighbours were owing to her agency, and that she was always
attended by a familiar in the form of a rat or a mole. Whether this were
so or not, I cannot say; but it is certain that she helped Miles Nutter
to get rid of his wife, and procured him a second spouse, in return for
which services he bestowed upon her an old ruined tower on his domains."

"You mean Malkin Tower?" said Nicholas.

"Ay, Malkin Tower," replied the chirurgeon. "There is a legend connected
with that structure, which I will relate to you anon, if you desire it.
But to proceed. Scarcely had Bess Demdike taken up her abode in this
lone tower, than it began to be rumoured that she was a witch, and
attended sabbaths on the summit of Pendle Hill, and on Rimington Moor.
Few would consort with her, and ill-luck invariably attended those with
whom she quarrelled. Though of hideous and forbidding aspect, and with
one eye lower set than the other, she had subtlety enough to induce a
young man named Sothernes to marry her, and two children, a son and a
daughter, were the fruit of the union."

"The daughter I have seen at Whalley," observed Potts; "but I have never
encountered the son."

"Christopher Demdike still lives, I believe," replied the chirurgeon,
"though what has become of him I know not, for he has quitted these
parts. He is as ill-reputed as his mother, and has the same strange and
fearful look about the eyes."

"I shall recognise him if I see him," observed Potts.

"You are scarcely likely to meet him," returned Sudall, "for, as I have
said, he has left the forest. But to return to my story. The marriage
state was little suitable to Bess Demdike, and in five years she
contrived to free herself from her husband's restraint, and ruled alone
in the tower. Her malignant influence now began to be felt throughout
the whole district, and by dint of menaces and positive acts of
mischief, she extorted all she required. Whosoever refused her requests
speedily experienced her resentment. When she was in the fulness of her
power, a rival sprang up in the person of Anne Whittle, since known by
the name of Chattox, which she obtained in marriage, and this woman
disputed Bess Demdike's supremacy. Each strove to injure the adherents
of her rival--and terrible was the mischief they wrought. In the end,
however, Mother Demdike got the upper hand. Years have flown over the
old hag's head, and her guilty career has been hitherto attended with
impunity. Plans have been formed to bring her to justice, but they have
ever failed. And so in the case of old Chattox. Her career has been as
baneful and as successful as that of Mother Demdike."

"But their course is wellnigh run," said Potts, "and the time is come
for the extirpation of the old serpents."

"Ah! who is that at the window?" cried Sudall; "but that you are sitting
near me, I should declare you were looking in at us."

"It must be Master Potts's brother, the reeve of the forest," observed
Nicholas, with a laugh.

"Heed him not," cried the attorney, angrily, "but let us have the
promised legend of Malkin Tower."

"Willingly!" replied the chirurgeon. "But before I begin I must recruit
myself with a can of ale."

The flagon being set before him, Sudall commenced his story:

The Legend of Malkin Tower.

"On the brow of a high hill forming part of the range of
Pendle, and commanding an extensive view over the forest, and
the wild and mountainous region around it, stands a stern
solitary tower. Old as the Anglo-Saxons, and built as a
stronghold by Wulstan, a Northumbrian thane, in the time of
Edmund or Edred, it is circular in form and very lofty, and
serves as a landmark to the country round. Placed high up in
the building the door was formerly reached by a steep flight
of stone steps, but these were removed some fifty or sixty
years ago by Mother Demdike, and a ladder capable of being
raised or let down at pleasure substituted for them,
affording the only apparent means of entrance. The tower is
otherwise inaccessible, the walls being of immense thickness,
with no window lower than five-and-twenty feet from the
ground, though it is thought there must be a secret outlet;
for the old witch, when she wants to come forth, does not
wait for the ladder to be let down. But this may be otherwise
explained. Internally there are three floors, the lowest
being placed on a level with the door, and this is the
apartment chiefly occupied by the hag. In the centre of this
room is a trapdoor opening upon a deep vault, which forms the
basement story of the structure, and which was once used as a
dungeon, but is now tenanted, it is said, by a fiend, who can
be summoned by the witch on stamping her foot. Round the room
runs a gallery contrived in the thickness of the walls, while
the upper chambers are gained by a secret staircase, and
closed by movable stones, the machinery of which is only
known to the inmate of the tower. All the rooms are lighted
by narrow loopholes. Thus you will see that the fortress is
still capable of sustaining a siege, and old Demdike has been
heard to declare that she would hold it for a month against a
hundred men. Hitherto it has proved impregnable.

"On the Norman invasion, Malkin Tower was held by Ughtred, a
descendant of Wulstan, who kept possession of Pendle Forest
and the hills around it, and successfully resisted the
aggressions of the conquerors. His enemies affirmed he was
assisted by a demon, whom he had propitiated by some fearful
sacrifice made in the tower, and the notion seemed borne out
by the success uniformly attending his conflicts. Ughtred's
prowess was stained by cruelty and rapine. Merciless in the
treatment of his captives, putting them to death by horrible
tortures, or immuring them in the dark and noisome dungeon of
his tower, he would hold his revels over their heads, and
deride their groans. Heaps of treasure, obtained by pillage,
were secured by him in the tower. From his frequent acts of
treachery, and the many foul murders he perpetrated, Ughtred
was styled the 'Scourge of the Normans.' For a long period he
enjoyed complete immunity from punishment; but after the
siege of York, and the defeat of the insurgents, his
destruction was vowed by Ilbert de Lacy, lord of
Blackburnshire, and this fierce chieftain set fire to part of
the forest in which the Saxon thane and his followers were
concealed; drove them to Malkin Tower; took it after an
obstinate and prolonged defence, and considerable loss to
himself, and put them all to the sword, except the leader,
whom he hanged from the top of his own fortress. In the
dungeon were found many carcasses, and the greater part of
Ughtred's treasure served to enrich the victor.

"Once again, in the reign of Henry VI., Malkin Tower became a
robber's stronghold, and gave protection to a freebooter
named Blackburn, who, with a band of daring and desperate
marauders, took advantage of the troubled state of the
country, ravaged it far and wide, and committed unheard of
atrocities, even levying contributions upon the Abbeys of
Whalley and Salley, and the heads of these religious
establishments were glad to make terms with him to save their
herds and stores, the rather that all attempts to dislodge
him from his mountain fastness, and destroy his band, had
failed. Blackburn seemed to enjoy the same kind of protection
as Ughtred, and practised the same atrocities, torturing and
imprisoning his captives unless they were heavily ransomed.
He also led a life of wildest licence, and, when not engaged
in some predatory exploit, spent his time in carousing with
his followers.