The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"This day--great King for government admired!
Which these thy subjects have so much desired--
Shall be kept holy in their heart's best treasure,
And vow'd to JAMES as is this month to Caesar.
And now the landlord of this ancient Tower,
Thrice fortunate to see this happy hour,
Whose trembling heart thy presence sets on fire,
Unto this house--the heart of all our shire--
Does bid thee cordial welcome, and would speak it
In higher notes, but extreme joy doth break it.
He makes his guests most welcome, in his eyes
Love tears do sit, not he that shouts and cries.
And we the antique guardians of this place,--
I of this house--he of the fruitful chase,--
Since the bold Hoghtons from this hill took name,
Who with the stiff, unbridled Saxons came,
And so have flourish'd in this fairer clime
Successively from that to this our time,
Still offering up to our immortal powers
Sweet incense, wine, and odoriferous flowers;
While sacred Vesta, in her virgin tire,
With vows and wishes tends the hallow'd fire.
Now seeing that thy Majesty is thus
Greater than household deities like us,
We render up to thy more powerful guard,
This Tower. This knight is thine--he is thy ward,
For by thy helping and auspicious hand,
He and his home shall ever, ever stand
And flourish, in despite of envious fate;
And then live, like Augustus, fortunate.
And long, long mayst thou live!--To which both men
And guardian angels cry--"Amen! amen!"

James, who had demeaned himself critically during the delivery of the
address, observed at its close to Sir Richard Hoghton, who was standing
immediately behind his chair, "We cannot say meikle for the rhymes,
which are but indifferently strung together, but the sentiments are leal
and gude, and that is a' we care for."

On this the second tutelar divinity advanced, and throwing himself into
an attitude, as if bewildered by the august presence in which he stood,
exclaimed--

"Thou greatest of mortals!"--

And then stopped, as if utterly confounded.

The King looked at him for a moment, and then roared out--"Weel,
gudeman, your commencement is pertinent and true enough; and though we
be 'the greatest of mortals,' as ye style us, dinna fash yoursel' about
our grandeur, but go on, as if we were nae better nor wiser than your
ain simple sel'."

But, instead of encouraging the dumbfounded deity, this speech
completely upset him. He hastily retreated; and, in trying to screen
himself behind the huntsman, fell back from the stage, and his hound
leapt after him. The incident, whether premeditated or not, amused the
spectators much more than any speech he could have delivered, and the
King joined heartily in the merriment.

Silence being again restored, the first divinity came forward once more,
and spoke thus:--

'Dread lord! thy Majesty hath stricken dumb
His weaker god-head; if to himself he come,
Unto thy service straight he will commend
These foresters, and charge them to attend
Thy pleasure in this park, and show such sport;
To the chief huntsman and thy princely court,
As the small circle of this round affords,
And be more ready than he was in words."[5]

"Weel spoken, and to the purpose, gude fallow," cried James. "And we
take this opportunity of assuring our worthy host, in the presence of
his other guests, that we have never had better sport in park or forest
than we have this day enjoyed--have never eaten better cheer, nor
quaffed better wine than at his board--and, altogether, have never been
more hospitably welcomed."

Sir Richard was overwhelmed by his Majesty's commendation.

"I have done nothing, my gracious liege," he said, "to merit such
acknowledgment on your part, and the delight I experience is only
tempered by my utter unworthiness."

"Hoot-toot! man," replied James, jocularly, "ye merit a vast deal mair
than we hae said to you. But gude folk dinna always get their deserts.
Ye ken that, Sir Richard. And now, hae ye not some ither drolleries in
store for us?"

The baronet replied in the affirmative, and soon afterwards the stage
was occupied by a new class of performers, and a drollery commenced
which kept the audience in one continual roar of laughter so long as it
lasted. And yet none of the parts had been studied, the actors entirely
trusting to their own powers of comedy to carry it out. The principal
character was the Cap Justice, enacted by Sir John Finett, who took
occasion in the course of the performance to lampoon and satirise most
of the eminent legal characters of the day, mimicking the voices and
manner of the three justices--Crooke, Hoghton, and Doddridge--so
admirably, that his hearers were wellnigh convulsed; and the three
learned gentlemen, who sat near the King, though fully conscious of the
ridicule applied to them, were obliged to laugh with the rest. But the
unsparing satirist was not content with this, but went on, with most of
the other attendants upon the King, and being intimately versed in court
scandal, he directed his lash with telling effect. As a contrast to the
malicious pleasantry of the Cap Justice, were the gambols and jests of
Robin Goodfellow--a merry imp, who, if he led people into mischief, was
always ready to get them out of it. Then there was a dance by Bill
Huckler, old Crambo, and Tom o' Bedlam, the half-crazed individual
already mentioned as being among the crowd in the base court. This was
applauded to the echo, and consequently repeated. But the most diverting
scene of all was that in which Jem Tospot and the three Doll Wangos
appeared. Though given in the broadest vernacular of the county, and
scarcely intelligible to the whole of the company, the dialogue of this
part of the piece was so lifelike and natural, that every one recognised
its truth; while the situations, arranged with the slightest effort, and
on the spur of the moment, were extremely ludicrous. The scene was
supposed to take place in a small Lancashire alehouse, where a jovial
pedlar was carousing, and where, being visited by his three
sweethearts--each of whom he privately declared to be the favourite--he
had to reconcile their differences, and keep them all in good-humour.
Familiar with the character in all its aspects, Nicholas played it to
the life; and, to do them justice, Dames Baldwyn, Tetlow, and Nance
Redferne, were but little if at all inferior to him. There was a reality
in their jealous quarrelling that gave infinite zest to the performance.

"Saul o' my body!" exclaimed James, admiringly, "those are three braw
women. Ane of them maun be sax feet if she is an inch, and weel made and
weel favourt too. Zounds! Sir Richard, there's nae standing the spells
o' your Lancashire Witches. High-born and low-born, they are a' alike. I
wad their only witchcraft lay in their een. I should then hae the less
fear of 'em. But have you aught mair? for it is growing late, and ye ken
we hae something to do in that pavilion."

"Only a merry dance, my liege, in which a man will appear in a
dendrological foliage of fronds," replied the baronet.

James laughed at the description, and soon afterwards a party of
mummers, male and female, clad in various grotesque garbs, appeared on
the stage. In the midst of them was the "dendrological man," enclosed in
a framework of green boughs, like that borne by a modern
Jack-in-the-green. A ring was formed by the mummers, and the round
commenced to lively music.

While the mazy measure was proceeding, Nance Redferne, who had quitted
the stage with Nicholas, and now stood close to him among the
spectators, said in a low tone, "Look there!"

The squire glanced in the direction indicated, and to his surprise and
terror, distinguished, among the crowd at a little distance, the figure
of a Cistertian monk.

"He is invisible to every eye except our own," whispered Nance, "and is
come to tell me it is time."

"Time for what?" demanded Nicholas.

"Time for you to seize those two accursed Devices, Jem and his mother,"
replied Nance. "They are both on yon boards. Jem is the man in the tree,
and Elizabeth is the owd crone in the red kirtle and high-crowned hat.
Yo win knoa her feaw feace when yo pluck off her mask."

"The monk is gone," cried Nicholas; "I have kept my eyes steadily fixed
on him, and he has melted into air. What has he to do with the Devices?"

"He is their fate," returned Nance, "an ey ha' acted under his orders.
Boh mount, an seize them. Ey win ge wi' ye."

Forcing his way through the crowd, Nicholas ran up the steps, and,
followed by Nance, sprang upon the stage. His appearance occasioned
considerable surprise; but as he was recognised by the spectators as the
jolly Jem Tospot, who had so recently diverted them, and his companion
as one of the three Doll Wangos, in anticipation of some more fun they
received him with a round of applause. But without stopping to
acknowledge it, or being for a moment diverted from his purpose,
Nicholas seized the old crone, and, consigning her to Nance, caught
hold of the leafy frame in which the man was encased, and pulled him
from under it. But he began to think he had unkennelled the wrong fox,
for the man, though a tall fellow, bore no resemblance to Jem Device;
while, when the crone's mask was plucked off, she was found to be a
comely young woman. Meanwhile, all around was in an uproar, and amidst a
hurricane of hisses, yells, and other indications of displeasure from
the spectators, several of the mummers demanded the meaning of such a
strange and unwarrantable proceeding.

"They are a couple of witches," cried Nicholas; "this is Jem Device and
his mother Elizabeth."

"My name is nother Jem nor Device," cried the man.

"Nor mine Elizabeth," screamed the woman.

"We know the Devices," cried two or three voices, "and these are none of
'em."

Nicholas was perplexed. The storm increased; threats accompanied the
hisses; when luckily he espied a ring on the man's finger. He instantly
seized his hand, and held it up to the general gaze.

"A proof!--a proof!" he cried. "This sapphire ring was given by the King
to my cousin, Richard Assheton, this morning, and stolen from him by Jem
Device."

"Examine their features again," said Nance Redferne, waving her hands
over them. "Yo win aw knoa them now."

The woman's face instantly altered. Many years being added to it in a
breath. The man changed equally. The utmost astonishment was evinced by
all at the transformation, and the bystanders who had spoken before, now
cried out loudly--"We know them perfectly now. They are the two
Devices."

By this time an officer, attended by a party of halberdiers, had mounted
the boards, and the two prisoners were delivered to their custody by
Nicholas.

"Howd!" cried the man; "Ey win no longer deny my name. Ey am Jem Device,
an this is my mother, Elizabeth. Boh a warse offender than either on us
stonds afore yo. This woman is Nance Redferne, grandowter of the owd
hag, Mother Chattox. Ey charge her wi' makin' wax images, an' stickin'
pins in 'em, wi' intent to kill folk. Hoo wad ha' kilt me mysel', wi'
her devilry, if ey hadna bin too strong for her--an' that's why hoo
bears me malice, an' has betrayed me to Squoire Nicholas Assheton. Seize
her, an' ca' me as a witness agen her."

And as Nance was secured, he laughed malignantly.

"Ey care not," replied Nance. "Ey am now revenged on you both."

While this impromptu performance took place, as much to the surprise of
James as of any one else, and while he was desiring Sir Richard Hoghton
to ascertain what it all meant--at the very moment that the two Devices
and Nance removed from the stage, an usher approached the monarch, and
said that Master Potts entreated a moment's audience of his majesty.

"Potts!" exclaimed James, somewhat confused. "Wha is he?--ah, yes! I
recollect--a witch-finder. Weel, let him approach."

Accordingly, the next moment the little attorney, whose face was
evidently charged with some tremendous intelligence, was ushered into
the king's presence.

After a profound reverence, he said, "May it please your Majesty, I have
something for your private ear."

"Aweel, then," replied James, "approach us mair closely. What hae ye got
to say, sir? Aught mair anent these witches?"

"A great deal, sire," said Potts, in an impressive tone. "Something
dreadful has happened--something terrible."

"Eh! what?" exclaimed James, looking alarmed. "What is it, man? Speak!"

"Murder? sire,--murder has been done," said Potts, in low thrilling
accents.

"Murder!" exclaimed James, horror-stricken. "Tell us a' about it, and
without more ado."

But Potts was still circumspect. With an air of deepest mystery, he
approached his head as near as he dared to that of the monarch, and
whispered in his ear.

"Can this be true?" cried James. "If sae--it's very shocking--very
sad."

"It is too true, as your Majesty will find on investigation," replied
Potts. "The little girl I told you of, Jennet Device, saw it done."

"Weel, weel, there is nae accounting for human frailty and wickedness,"
said James. "Let a' necessary steps be taken at once. We will consider
what to do. But--d'ye hear, sir?--dinna let the bairn Jennet go. Haud
her fast. D'ye mind that? Now go, and cause the guilty party to be put
under arrest."

And on receiving this command Master Potts departed.

Scarcely was he gone than Nicholas Assheton came up to the railing of
the platform, and, imploring his Majesty's forgiveness for the
disturbance he had occasioned, explained that it had been owing to the
seizure of the two Devices, who, for some wicked but unexplained
purpose, had contrived to introduce themselves, under various disguises,
into the Tower.

"Ye did right to arrest the miscreants, sir," said James. "But hae ye
heard what has happened?"

"No, my liege," replied Nicholas, alarmed by the King's manner; "what is
it?"

"Come nearer, and ye shall learn," replied James; "for we wadna hae it
bruited abroad, though if true, as we canna doubt, it will be known soon
enough."

And as the squire bent forward, he imparted some intelligence to him,
which instantly changed the expression of the latter to one of mingled
horror and rage.

"It is false, sire!" he cried. "I will answer for her innocence with my
life. She could not do it. Your Majesty's patience is abused. It is
Jennet who has done it--not she. But I will unravel the terrible
mystery. You have the other two wretches prisoners, and can enforce the
truth from them."

"We will essay to do so," replied James; "but we have also another
prisoner."

"Christopher Demdike?" said Nicholas.

"Ay, Christopher Demdike," rejoined James. "But another besides
him--Mistress Nutter. You stare, sir; but it is true. She is in yonder
pavilion. We ken fu' weel wha assisted her flight, and wha concealed
her. Maister Potts has told us a'. It is weel for you that your puir
kinsman, Richard Assheton, did us sic gude service at the boar-hunt
to-day. We shall not now be unmindful of it, even though he cannot send
us the ring we gave him."

"It is here, sire," replied Nicholas. "It was stolen from him by the
villain, Jem Device. The poor youth meant to use it for Alizon. I now
deliver it to your Majesty as coming from him in her behalf."

"And we sae receive it," replied the monarch, brushing away the moisture
that gathered thickly in his eyes.

At this moment a tall personage, wrapped in a cloak, who appeared to be
an officer of the guard, approached the railing.

"I am come to inform your Majesty that Christopher Demdike has just died
of his wounds," said this personage.

"And sae he has had a strae death, after a'!" rejoined James. "Weel, we
are sorry for it."

"His portion will be eternal bale," observed the officer.

"How know you that, sir?" demanded the King, sharply. "You are not his
judge."

"I witnessed his end, sire," replied the officer; "and no man who died
as he died can be saved. The Fiend was beside him at the death-throes."

"Save us!" exclaimed James. "Ye dinna say so? God's santie! man, but
this is grewsome, and gars the flesh creep on one's banes. Let his foul
carcase be taen awa', and hangit on a gibbet on the hill where Malkin
Tower aince stood, as a warning to a' sic heinous offenders."

As the King ceased speaking, Master Potts appeared out of breath, and
greatly excited.

"She has escaped, sire!" he cried.

"Wha! Jennet!" exclaimed James. "If sae, we will tang you in her stead."

"No, sire--Alizon," replied Potts. "I can nowhere find her; nor--" and
he hesitated.

"Weel--weel--it is nae great matter," replied James, as if relieved,
and with a glance of satisfaction at Nicholas.

"I know where Alizon is, sire," said the officer.

"Indeed!" exclaimed James. "This fellow is strangely officious," he
muttered to himself. "And where may she be, sir?" he added, aloud.

"I will produce her within a quarter of an hour in yonder pavilion,"
replied the officer, "and all that Master Potts has been unable to
find."

"Your Majesty may trust him," observed Nicholas, who had attentively
regarded the officer. "Depend upon it he will make good his words."

"You think so?" cried the King. "Then we will put him to the test. You
will engage to confront Alizon with her mother?" he added, to the
officer.

"I will, sire," replied the other. "But I shall require the assistance
of a dozen men."

"Tak twenty, if you will," replied the King,--"I am impatient to see
what you can do."

"In a quarter of a minute all shall be ready within the pavilion, sire,"
replied the officer. "You have seen one masque to-night;--but you shall
now behold a different one--the masque of death."

And he disappeared.

Nicholas felt sure he would accomplish his task, for he had recognised
in him the Cistertian monk.

"Where is Sir Richard Assheton of Middleton?" inquired the King.

"He left the Tower with his daughter Dorothy, immediately after the
banquet," replied Nicholas.

"I am glad of it--right glad," replied the monarch; "the terrible
intelligence can be the better broken to them. If it had come upon them
suddenly, it might have been fatal--especially to the puir lassie. Let
Sir Ralph Assheton of Whalley come to me--and Master Roger Nowell of
Read."

"Your Majesty shall be obeyed," replied Sir Richard Hoghton.

The King then gave some instructions respecting the prisoners, and bade
Master Potts have Jennet in readiness.

And now to see what terrible thing had happened.

CHAPTER XI.--FATALITY.

Along the eastern terrace a youth and maiden were pacing slowly. They
had stolen forth unperceived from the revel, and, passing through a door
standing invitingly open, had entered the garden. Though overjoyed in
each other's presence, the solemn beauty of the night, so powerful in
its contrast to the riotous scene they had just quitted, profoundly
impressed them. Above, were the deep serene heavens, lighted up by the
starry host and their radiant queen--below, the immemorial woods,
steeped in silvery mists arising from the stream flowing past them. All
nature was hushed in holy rest. In opposition to the flood of soft light
emanating from the lovely planet overhead, and which turned all it fell
on, whether tree, or tower, or stream, to beauty, was the artificial
glare caused by the torches near the pavilion; while the discordant
sounds occasioned by the minstrels tuning their instruments, disturbed
the repose. As they went on, however, these sounds were lost in the
distance, and the glare of the torches was excluded by intervening
trees. Then the moon looked down lovingly upon them, and the only music
that reached their ears arose from the nightingales. After a pause, they
walked on again, hand-in-hand, gazing at each other, at the glorious
heavens, and drinking in the thrilling melody of the songsters of the
grove.

At the angle of the terrace was a small arbour placed in the midst of a
bosquet, and they sat down within it. Then, and not till then, did their
thoughts find vent in words. Forgetting the sorrows they had endured,
and the perils by which they were environed, they found in their deep
mutual love a shield against the sharpest arrows of fate. In low gentle
accents they breathed their passion, solemnly plighting their faith
before all-seeing Heaven.

Poor souls! they were happy then--intensely happy. Alas! that their
happiness should be so short; for those few moments of bliss, stolen
from a waste of tears, were all that were allowed them. Inexorable fate
still dogged their footsteps.

Amidst the bosquet stood a listener to their converse--a little girl
with high shoulders and sharp features, on which diabolical malice was
stamped. Two yellow eyes glistened through the leaves beside her,
marking the presence of a cat. As the lovers breathed their vows, and
indulged in hopes never to be realised, the wicked child grinned,
clenched her hands, and, grudging them their short-lived happiness,
seemed inclined to interrupt it. Some stronger motive, however, kept her
quiet.

What are the pair talking of now?--She hears her own name mentioned by
the maiden, who speaks of her with pity, almost with affection--pardons
her for the mischief she has done her, and hopes Heaven will pardon her
likewise. But she knows not the full extent of the girl's malignity, or
even her gentle heart must have been roused to resentment.

The little girl, however, feels no compunction. Infernal malice has
taken possession of her heart, and crushed every kindly feeling within
it. She hates all those that compassionate her, and returns evil for
good.

What are the lovers talking of now? Of their first meeting at Whalley
Abbey, when one was May Queen, and by her beauty and simplicity won the
other's heart, losing her own at the same time. A bright unclouded
career seemed to lie before them then. Wofully had it darkened since.
Alas! Alas!

The little girl smiles. She hopes they will go on. She likes to hear
them talk thus. Past happiness is ever remembered with a pang by the
wretched, and they _were_ happy then. Go on--go on!

But they are silent for awhile, for they wish to dwell on that hopeful,
that blissful season. And a nightingale, alighting on a bough above
them, pours forth its sweet plaint, as if in response to their tender
emotions. They praise the bird's song, and it suddenly ceases.

For the little girl, full of malevolence, stretches forth her hand, and
it drops to the ground, as if stricken by a dart.

"Is thy heart broken, poor bird?" exclaimed the young man, taking up the
hapless songster, yet warm and palpitating. "To die in the midst of thy
song--'tis hard."

"Very hard!" replied the maiden, tearfully. "Its fate seems a type of
our own."

The little girl laughed, but in a low tone, and to herself.

The pair then grew sad. This slight incident had touched them deeply,
and their conversation took a melancholy turn. They spoke of the blights
that had nipped their love in the bud--of the canker that had eaten into
its heart--of the destiny that so relentlessly pursued them, threatening
to separate them for ever.

The little girl laughed merrily.

Then they spoke of the grave--and of hope beyond the grave; and they
spoke cheerfully.

The little girl could laugh no longer, for with her all beyond the grave
was despair.

After that they spoke of the terrible power that Satan had lately
obtained in that unhappy district, of the arts he had employed, and of
the votaries he had won. Both prayed fervently that his snares might be
circumvented, and his rule destroyed.

During this part of the discourse the cat swelled to the size of a
tiger, and his eyes glowed like fiery coals. He made a motion as if he
would spring forward, but the voice of prayer arrested him, and he
shrank back to his former size.

"Poor Jennet is ensnared by the Fiend," murmured the maiden, "and will
perish eternally. Would I could save her!"

"It cannot be," replied the young man. "She is beyond redemption."

The little girl gnashed her teeth with rage.

"But my mother--I do not now despair of her," said Alizon. "She has
broken the bondage by which she was enchained, and, if she resists
temptation to the last, I am assured will be saved."

"Heaven aid her!" exclaimed Richard.

Scarcely were the words uttered, than the cat disappeared.

"Why, Tib!--where are yo, Tib? Ey want yo!" cried the little girl in a
low tone.

But the familiar did not respond to the call.

"Where con he ha' gone?" cried Jennet; "Tib! Tib!"

Still the cat came not.

"Then ey mun do the wark without him," pursued the little girl; "an ey
win no longer delay it."

And with this she crept stealthily round the arbour, and, approaching
the side where Richard sat, watched an opportunity of touching him
unperceived.