The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"If Tib had na deserted me he should tear thee i' pieces, thou
ill-favourt little monster," she cried.

"Monster in your own face, you hideous little wretch," exclaimed the
indignant attorney. "If you use such opprobrious epithets I will have
you gagged. You will be taken to Lancaster Castle, and hanged."

"Yo are os bad as ey am, and warse," replied Jennet, "and deserve
hanging os weel, and the King shan knoa of your tricks," she
vociferated, as James appeared at the door of the pavilion. "Yo wished
to ensnare Alizon. Yo wished me to kill her. Ey was only your
instrument."

"Stop her mouth--gag her!" cried Potts.

"Nah, nah!--they shanna stap my mouth--they shanna gag me," cried
Jennet. "Ey win speak out. The King shan hear me. You are as bad os me."

"All malice, your Majesty--all malice," cried the attorney.

"Malice, nae doubt, in great pairt," replied James; "but some truth as
weel, I fear, sir. And in any case it will prevent my doing any thing
for you."

"There, you have ruined my hopes, you little wretch!" cried Potts,
furiously.

"Ey'm reet glad on't," said Jennet. "Yo may tay me to Lonkester Castle,
boh yo conna hong me. Ey knoa that fu' weel. Ey shan get out, and then
look to yersel, lad; for, os sure os ey'm Mother Demdike's grandowter,
ey'n plague the life out o' ye."

"Take the prisoners away, and let them be conveyed under a strict escort
to Lancaster Castle," said James.

"And, as the assizes commence next week, quick work will be made with
them, your Majesty," observed Potts. "Their guilt can be incontestably
proved, so they are sure to be found guilty, sure to be hanged, sire."

As the prisoners were removed, Nance Redferne looked round her, and,
catching the eye of Nicholas, made a slight motion with her head, as if
bidding him farewell.

The squire returned the mute valediction.

"Poor Nance!" he exclaimed, compassionately, "I sincerely pity her.
Would there was any means of saving her!"

"There is none," observed Sir Ralph Assheton. "And you may be thankful
you are not brought in as her accomplice."

As Jennet was taken away, she continued to hurl threats and imprecations
against Potts.

Another officer of the guard was then summoned, and when he came, James
said, "One other prisoner remains within the pavilion. She likewise must
be conveyed to Lancaster Castle but in a litter, and not with the other
prisoners."

Attended by Sir Richard Hoghton, the monarch then proceeded to his
lodgings in the Tower.

CHAPTER XIV.--"ONE GRAVE."

Notwithstanding the sad occurrences above detailed, James remained for
two more days the guest of Sir Richard Hoghton, enjoying his princely
hospitality, hunting in the park, carousing in the great hall, and
witnessing all kinds of sports.

Nothing, indeed, was left to remind him of the sad events that had
occurred. The prisoners were taken that night to Lancaster Castle, and
Master Potts accompanied the escort, to be ready for the assizes. The
three judges proceeded thither at the end of the week. The attendance of
Roger Nowell, Nicholas, and Sir Ralph Assheton, was also required as
witnesses at the trial of the witches.

Sir Richard Assheton and Dorothy had returned, as already stated, to
Middleton; and, though the intelligence of the death of Richard and
Alizon was communicated to them with infinite caution, the shock to both
was very great, especially to Dorothy, who was long--very long--in
recovering from it.

Nicholas's vivacity of temperament made him feel the loss of his cousin
at first very keenly, but it soon wore off. He vowed amendment and
reformation on the model of John Bruen, whose life offered so striking a
contrast to his own, that it has very properly been placed in opposition
by a reverend moralist; but I regret to say that he did not carry out
his praiseworthy intentions. He was apt to make a joke of John Bruen,
instead of imitating his example. He professed to devote himself to his
excellent wife--but his old habits would break out; and, I am sorry to
say, he was often to be found in the alehouse, and was just as fond of
horse-racing, cock-fighting, hunting, fishing, and all other sports, as
ever. Occasionally he occupied a leisure or a rainy day with a
Journal,[6] parts of which have been preserved; but he set down in it
few of the terrible events here related, probably because they were of
too painful a nature to be recorded. He died in 1625--at the early age
of thirty-five.

But to go back. A few days after the tragical events at Hoghton Tower,
the whole village of Whalley was astir. But it was no festive
occasion--no merry-making--that called forth the inhabitants, for grief
sat upon every countenance. The day, too, was gloomy. The feathered
summits of Whalley Nab were wreathed in mist, and a fine rain descended
in the valley. The Calder looked dull and discoloured as it flowed past
the walls of the ancient Abbey. The church bell tolled mournfully, and a
large concourse was gathered in the churchyard. Not far from one of the
three crosses of Paulinus, which stood nearest the church porch, a grave
had been digged, and almost every one looked into it. The grave, it was
said, was intended to hold two coffins. Soon after this, a train of
mourners issued from the ancient Abbey gateway, and sure enough there
were two coffins on the shoulders of the bearers; They were met at the
gate by Doctor Ormerod, who was so deeply affected as scarcely to be
able to perform the needful offices for the dead. The principal mourners
were Sir Richard Assheton of Middleton, Sir Ralph Assheton, and
Nicholas. Amid the tears and sobs of all the bystanders, the bodies of
Richard and Alizon were committed to the earth--laid together in one
grave.

Thus was their latest wish fulfilled. Flowers grew upon the turf that
covered them, and there was the earliest primrose seen, and the latest
violet. Many a fond youth and trusting maiden have visited their lowly
tomb, and many a tear, fresh from the heart, has dropped upon the sod
covering the ill-fated lovers.

CHAPTER XV.--LANCASTER CASTLE.

Behold the grim and giant fabric, rebuilt and strengthened by

"Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster!"

Within one of its turrets called John of Gaunt's Chair, and at eventide,
stands a lady under the care of a jailer. It is the last sunset she will
ever see--the last time she will look upon the beauties of earth; for
she is a prisoner, condemned to die an ignominious and terrible death,
and her execution will take place on the morrow. Leaving her alone
within the turret, the jailer locks the door and stands outside it. The
lady casts a long, lingering look around. All nature seems so
beautiful--so attractive. The sunset upon the broad watery sands of
Morecambe Bay is exquisite in varied tints. The fells of Furness look
black and bold, and the windings of the Lune are clearly traced out. But
she casts a wistful glance towards the mountainous ridges of Lancashire,
and fancies she can detect amongst the heights the rounded summit of
Pendle Hill. Then her gaze settles upon the grey old town beneath her,
and, as her glance wanders over it, certain terrible objects arrest it.
In the area before the Castle she sees a ring of tall stakes. She knows
well their purpose, and counts them. They are thirteen in number.
Thirteen wretched beings are to be burned on the morrow. Not far from
the stakes are an enormous pile of fagots. All is prepared. Fascinated
by the sight, she remains gazing at the place of execution for some
time, and when she turns, she beholds a tall dark man standing beside
her. At first she thinks it is the jailer, and is about to tell the man
she is ready to descend to her cell, when she recognises him, and
recoils in terror.

"Thou here--again!" she cried.

"I can save thee from the stake, if thou wilt, Alice Nutter," he said.

"Hence!" she exclaimed. "Thou temptest me in vain. Hence!"

And with a howl of rage the demon disappeared.

Conveyed back to her cell, situated within the dread Dungeon Tower,
Alice Nutter passed the whole of that night in prayer. Towards four
o'clock, wearied out, she dropped into a slumber; and when the
clergyman, from whom she had received spiritual consolation, came to her
cell, he found her still sleeping, but with a sweet smile upon her
lips--the first he had ever beheld there.

Unwilling to disturb her, he knelt down and prayed by her side. At
length the jailer came, and the executioner's aids. The divine then laid
his hand upon her shoulder, and she instantly arose.

"I am ready," she said, cheerfully.

"You have had a happy dream, daughter," he observed.

"A blessed dream, reverend sir," she replied. "I thought I saw my
children, Richard and Alizon, in a fair garden--oh! how angelic they
looked--and they told me I should be with them soon."

"And I doubt not the vision will be realised," replied the clergyman.
"Your redemption is fully worked out, and your salvation, I trust,
secured. And now you must prepare for your last trial."

"I am fully prepared," she replied; "but will you not go to the others?"

"Alas! my dear daughter," he replied, "they all, excepting Nance
Redferne, refuse my services, and will perish in their iniquities."

"Then go to her, sir, I entreat of you," she said; "she may yet be
saved. But what of Jennet? Is she, too, to die?"

"No," replied the divine; "being evidence against her relatives, her
life is spared."

"Heaven grant she do no more mischief!" exclaimed Alice Nutter.

She then submitted herself to the executioner's assistants, and was led
forth. On issuing into the open air a change came over her, and such an
exceeding faintness that she had to be supported. She was led towards
the stake in this state; but she grew fainter and fainter, and at last
fell back in the arms of the men that supported her. Still they carried
her on. When the executioner put out his hand to receive her from his
aids, she was found to be quite dead. Nevertheless, he tied her to the
stake, and her body was consumed. Hundreds of spectators beheld those
terrible fires, and exulted in the torments of the miserable sufferers.
Their shrieks and blasphemies were terrific, and the place resembled a
hell upon earth.

Jennet escaped, to the dismay of Master Potts, who feared she would
wreak her threatened vengeance upon him. And, indeed, he did suffer from
aches and cramps, which he attributed to her; but which were more
reasonably supposed to be owing to rheum caught in the marshes of Pendle
Forest. He had, however, the pleasure of assisting at her execution,
when some years afterwards retributive justice overtook her.

Jennet was the last of the Lancashire Witches. Ever since then
witchcraft has taken a new form with the ladies of the county--though
their fascination and spells are as potent as ever. Few can now escape
them,--few desire to do so. But to all who are afraid of a bright eye
and a blooming cheek, and who desire to adhere to a bachelor's
condition--to such I should say, "BEWARE OF THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES!"

THE END.

M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON--WORKS, NEWTON.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: A similar eruption occurred at Pendle Hill in August, 1669,
and has been described by Mr. Charles Townley, in a letter cited by Dr.
Whitaker in his excellent "History of Whalley." Other and more
formidable eruptions had taken place previously, occasioning much damage
to the country. The cause of the phenomenon is thus explained by Mr.
Townley: "The colour of the water, its coming down to the place where it
breaks forth between the rock and the earth, with that other particular
of its bringing nothing along but stones and earth, are evident signs
that it hath not its origin from the very bowels of the mountain; but
that it is only rain water coloured first in the moss-pits, of which the
top of the hill, being a great and considerable plain, is full, shrunk
down into some receptacle fit to contain it, until at last by its
weight, or some other cause, it finds a passage to the sides of the
hill, and then away between the rock and swarth, until it break the
latter and violently rush out."]

[Footnote 2: Locus Benedictus de Whalley.]

[Footnote 3: This speech is in substance the monarch's actual
Declaration concerning Lawful Sports, promulgated in 1618, in a little
Tractate, generally known as the "Book of Sports;" by which he would
have conferred a great boon on the lower orders, if his kindly purpose
had not been misapprehended by some, and ultimately defeated by bigots
and fanatics. King James deserves to be remembered with gratitude, if
only for this manifestation of sympathy with the enjoyments of the
people. He had himself discovered that the restrictions imposed upon
them had "setup filthy tipplings and drunkenness, and bred a number of
idle and discontented speeches in the alehouses."]

[Footnote 4: "There is a laughable tradition," says Nichols, "still
generally current in Lancashire, that our knight-making monarch knighted
at the banquet in Hoghton Tower a loin of beef; the part ever since
called the sir-loin." And it is added by the same authority, "If the
King did not give the sir-loin its name, he might, notwithstanding, have
indulged in a pun on the already coined word, the etymology of which was
then, as now, as little regarded as the thing signified is well
approved."--_Nichols's Progresses of James I._, vol. iii.]

[Footnote 5: These speeches, given by _Nichols_ as derived from the
family records of Sir Henry Philip Hoghton, Bart., were actually
delivered at a masque represented on occasion of King James's visit to
Hoghton Tower.]

[Footnote 6: Published by the Chetham Society, and admirably edited,
with notes, exhibiting an extraordinary amount of research and
information, by the Rev. F.R. Raines, M.A., F.S.A., of Milnrow
Parsonage, near Rochdale.]