Part 9

Soon they came to a lonely part of the country, and here they sat down, intending to gratify their curiosity.

"If there is knowledge contained within, then am I determined to drink of the well thereof, and become even one of the wise."

So spoke Ralph, and Walter also said:

"And I am of a like mind, comrade. So bring hither the book, and let us fall to."

They placed the thick volume upon their knees, and quickly undid the handsome clasp which held the sides together, when, lo! a veritable earthquake seemed to have come upon the scene. The ground shook, houses tottered, walls and fences fell down, a tremendous whirlwind arose, which uprooted trees and tossed the forest giants about like little wisps of hay. Even the students were terrified at the result of their curiosity, and as for ordinary mortals, why there is no describing the panic in which they were thrown.

When the luckless students recovered from the first shock of astonishment, they could only bemoan their folly in discarding the warning of so potent a magician as their master, and they were filled with dread as to the punishment they would receive when next they stood before him.

"Of a truth we are undone," said Ralph; "our master will never more trust us."

"We are like to be beaten to death with the tempest," said Walter "Who can stay the power of this evil Spirit, that our mad curiosity has thus let loose?"

Now, luckily, the magician no sooner beheld the tempest than he at once divined the cause of this hubbub of the elements, and with commendable promptitude he proceeded with all speed to the spot where the students lay with the magical volume. Arrived there, he pronounced an incantation, and then by magic means known to himself alone, rapidly stilled the tempest, which the ill-timed curiosity of his pupils had brought forth. In the words of the old chronicle, he "laid the evil spirit, commanding him as a punishment to make a rope of sand to reach the sky."

Which venture no doubt had a salutary effect upon the spirit, for there is no later mention of any similar antics on its part. We may conclude from this circumstance, that the spirit has found the task assigned it as a punishment, greater than it can discharge, and that it is still labouring away at the sand rope, which is not much nearer reaching the sky than it was when the work first begun.

XVI.

The Parson's Wife,

In olden time Providence often punished the sins of men and women in some remarkable fashion. The divine retribution often followed swiftly upon the violation of the sacred rules of life. We frequently read of profane men and women whose blasphemy has been instantly followed by some paralytic seizure, or who, when guilty, and protesting their innocence have called down heaven's vengeance on their heads if they were not even then stating the truth, have been at once rendered lifeless by some strange stroke of the divine power. The following story will illustrate this principle.

There was once a parson of Mottram--his name and the date of his holding the benefice are for obvious reasons not mentioned--who had a peculiar wife. In many respects she was a loveable woman, but she possessed a nose formed like a pig's snout, and she was forced to eat her meals out of a silver trough specially provided for her. How she came to win the affections of the parson, is not known, it might have been that she had riches to make up for her deficiency in beauty of countenance, or it might have been that the parson saw in her compensating charms which were not obvious to the rest of mankind. This tradition only deals with the cause of her strange infirmity.

Her parents were very wealthy; her mother was a haughty dame who worshipped wealth, and looked down on all people who were humble in station. To those wealthier than herself, or whose social standing was above her own, she was most polite and agreeable, and willing to go to any trouble no matter how great, to win their friendship and esteem, but to those who were poor, no matter how estimable they might be in mind, ability, or real worth, she was chilling and distant, and even insolent in bearing. True Christian love and charity were virtues she did not understand. Probably she did not believe in them; at least she did not practice them. No poor man's blessing ever ascended to heaven on her behalf, for she was never known to bestow a gift willingly upon the needy. So, no doubt, Providence considered that it was necessary she should be taught a severe lesson, that thereby mankind might be led to see that such un-Christian conduct was opposed to the highest rules of life, and could not be practised with benefit and impunity.

One day, to her door, there came an old beggar woman and her children, clearly betokening by their appearances the utmost misery and destitution. Their clothes were all in rags, only just able to hang together, while here and there, through the great rents, the flesh showed bare and cold. Their faces were pinched, and their frames thin and withered from lack of proper food; and nearly all of them were shoeless. Their feet were red and blistered, cut in places by the sharp stones of the wayside.

"A charity, I pray, good lady, for the love of Christ," said the beggar woman as the lady stood at the door. "Not a bite have we had this day, and we have travelled far. If thou hast children of thine own, take pity upon the starving children of the poor."

But the haughty dame bade her begone.

"Out on thee, thou vulgar drab," said she. "Thou art no honest woman, else had thou hadst a husband to provide for thee."

"My man is dead, lady," protested the beggar, "and I am left a widow."

"More likely thou art a harlot, and the children basely begotten. Away with thee from my door, or I will have the constables after thee, and thou shalt be publicly whipped for a low woman."

Then, losing her temper completely, she called for her serving men.

"Ho, there. Rid me of this pest. Turn out this old sow and her litter, for there is the smell of the stye about them."

At this outrage the poor woman fled. Some say she called down the vengeance of heaven upon the haughty dame, others state that divine justice asserted itself of its own accord. Be that as it may, the wealthy lady was in due course with child, and she brought forth a daughter having a face shaped like an animal with a pig's snout thereon, who in after years married the parson of Mottram. Thus did pride and want of charity bring its own reward.

XVII.

The Devil and the Doctor.

Longdendale has always been noted for the number of its inhabitants devoted to the study of magic arts. Once upon a time, or to give it in the words of an unpublished rhyme (which are quite as indefinite)--

"Long years ago, so runs the tale, A doctor dwelt in Longdendale;"

and then the rhyme goes on to describe the hero of the legend--

"Well versed in mystic lore was he-- A conjuror of high degree; He read the stars that deck the sky, And told their rede of mystery."

Coming down to ordinary prose, it will suffice to say that the doctor referred to was a most devoted student of magic, or, as he preferred to put it--"a keen searcher after knowledge"--a local Dr. Faustus in fact. Having tried every ordinary means of increasing his power over his fellow mortals, he finally decided to seek aid of the powers of darkness, and one day he entered into a compact with no less a personage than His Imperial Majesty, Satan, otherwise known as the Devil. The essentials of this agreement may thus be described.

It was night--the black hour of midnight--and the doctor was alone in his magic chamber. He had long desired power sufficient to enable him to accomplish a certain project, and hitherto all means by which he had tried to secure that power, had been of no avail. Blank failure had attended every effort, and at last he had decided to make use of the most certain, yet withal most desperate, agency known to him. In other words, he would call up the Prince of Darkness, and ask his aid. The only thing which troubled the doctor was the thought that the price which Satan would demand, might be much greater than he would care to pay. But, after all, that was something he would have to risk.

He set a lamp burning on the table, and into a small cauldron hung above it, he poured certain liquids, which he mixed with certain evil-looking powders and compounds. Some of the items which he added to this unholy brew, appeared to have once been members of the human frame. But that, of course, was known only to the doctor. When the brew began to simmer, the doctor commenced to mumble certain strange incantations, which he continued with unabated vigour for the best part of an hour, without, however, eliciting any manifestations from the dwellers in the spirit world. At length, however, his patience was rewarded, for the light beneath his cauldron suddenly went out, the mixture within boiled over, and the vapour which rose from it, spread over the room until all the objects therein were hidden as though by a thick black cloud. Then, out of the cloud, came a voice, deep and terrible in tone, which caused the very building to rock as though an earthquake had occurred.

"Why hast thou summoned me from the shades, O mortal, and what dost thou require?"

The doctor gasped with awe, he almost felt afraid to address the dreadful spirit, which his own incantations and rites had brought from the underworld. At length he screwed up sufficient courage to proceed, and said:

"I would have the possession of certain powers, O, thou Dread spirit."

"And of what nature are they?" asked the spirit.

Whereupon, the worthy doctor commenced a long explanation, into which we need not enter, setting forth his evil desires, and begging the Devil to aid him.

"Thou shalt have all that thou requirest, and more," said the Devil when the doctor had come to an end of his requests; "that is, providing thou art prepared to pay the price."

"And the price is?" ventured the doctor, trembling.

"The usual one," said the Devil. "I have but one price, which all mortals must pay. On a day which I shall name, thou shalt wait upon me, and deliver up thy soul to me."

"'Tis a stiff price, good Satan," said the doctor in protest.

"'Tis the only price I will listen to," said the Devil.

"Then I must een pay it," said the doctor, seeing that further argument was useless, and, being by this time quite determined to have his desires no matter what the cost. "I agree," he added. And there and then he signed the bond in blood, with a pen made from a dead man's bone.

Satan pocketed the bond.

"Thy desires are granted," said he. "Make the most of thy opportunities. One day I shall surely call upon thee for payment."

Then, with a burst of mocking laughter, he disappeared.

The doctor seems to have enjoyed the results of the compact until the day drew near for the settlement. Then, indeed, he appears to have repented, But he was by no means a dull-witted individual, and in a happy moment he began to cudgel his brain for some way out of the difficulty--some plan of escape. Before long his face brightened, a gleam of hope shone on it, and at length he seemed to see his way clear. He received the formal summons of Satan with a knowing smile, and when the day at last arrived, set out in good time to keep his unholy tryst.

In the language of the rhyme,

"Now rapidly along he sped Unto a region waste and dead, And here at midnight hour did wait His Sable Majesty in state."

The Devil appeared, seated upon a coal black charger, which was of the purest breed of racing nags kept specially for the Derby Day of the Infernal Regions. Satan was very proud of his horse; he was open to lay any odds on its beating anything in the shape of horse flesh that could be found on earth.

Judge then of the Devil's surprise when the Longdendale doctor offered to race him. (It should be stated that the doctor had ridden to the place of meeting on a horse which was bred in Longdendale, though the trainer's name has unfortunately been lost).

At first Satan laughed at the impudence of the proposition, but after some little haggling, he at length agreed to the doctor's conditions. The conditions were that the Devil was to give the doctor a good start, and that the latter was to have his freedom if he won the race.

"I am unduly favouring thee," said the Devil; "I do not as a rule allow my clients a single minute's grace when payment falls due, and I do not reckon to let them bargain as to other means of payment. But for all that, I do not see why I should not make merry at thy expense. I am not altogether as black as I am painted. And if it will give thee any comfort to imagine thou hast a chance of escape--why then get on with the race."

Acting upon the above agreement, a start was made, and the course was along the road now known as Doctor's Gate. The contest was most exciting. Prose can scarcely do justice to the occasion, but we will endeavour to give some account of the strange contest. The Devil good naturedly conceded a big start, for, of course, he felt quite certain of reaching the winning post first, and when the signal was given he went full cry in pursuit. Away the coursers sped like wind, the doctor riding with grim countenance, and teeth firmly set, ever and anon casting an anxious look behind him, and now looking as anxiously in front. Meanwhile the Devil rode in approved hunting fashion, with many a loud halloa, which made the very mountains shake as though a thunder peal was sounding. His horns projected from his head, his cloven feet did away with the necessity for stirrups, and he lashed the flanks of his coal black charger with his tail in lieu of a whip.

Slowly but surely the Devil gained upon the doctor. Inch by inch the black steed drew nearer the Longdendale hack, until at length the Devil, by leaning over his horse's head, was able to grasp the tail of the doctor's horse. With a loud burst of fiendish laughter, Satan began to twist the tail of the Longdendale horse, until at last the poor beast screamed with pain and terror. This greatly amused the Devil, who twisted the tail all the harder, so that the doctor's horse, goaded almost to madness, plunged along faster than before, and in its fright took a mighty leap into a running stream which dashed brawlingly across the path. All too late Satan saw his danger; he held on to the beast's tail and tugged with all his might. For a second, the contest hung in the balance, and the result seemed doubtful. But luckily for the doctor, the tail of the horse came off--torn out by the roots--the Devil's steed fell back on its haunches, and the doctor's charger plunged safely through the flood, and gained the opposite bank. Then the doctor gave a great shout of triumph, for according to the laws of sorcery--laws which even the Devil must obey--when once the pursued had crossed a running stream, the powers of evil lost all dominion over him.

Thus by a combination of skill, cunning, and good luck, the Longdendale doctor outwitted the Devil. Some profane mortals state that when he found himself victorious, the doctor turned towards the Devil, and put his fingers to his nose as a sign of victory, while the Devil, sorely disgusted, rode off to hell with his tail between his legs, vowing that the mortals of Longdendale would have no place to go to when they died, for they were too bad for heaven, and too clever for hell.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

The road known as "The Doctor's Gate"--mentioned in the above story--runs across a portion of Longdendale. In reality it is part of the old Roman road from Melandra Castle, Gamesley, to the Roman station at Brough in the Vale of Hope.

With reference to the main incident of this legend, the following quotation from Sir Walter Scott will be found of interest:--"If you can interpose a brook between you and witches, spectres, or fiends, you are in perfect safety."

No date is attached to the legend.

XVIII.

The Writing on the Window Pane.

It was an evening in the glad month of June, of the year 1644, and the children of Longdendale were playing games on the smooth green plots before the cottage doors. At one spot not far distant from the site of the old Roman station, Melandra Castle, a group of merry little ones, lads and lassies, were swinging round hand in hand, their sweet young voices chanting an old-time rhyme.

Suddenly there was a shrill cry from one of the girls, and following the direction of her gaze, the children beheld a sight that at first set their young hearts beating sharp with fear. A company of horsemen, wearing wide-brimmed and much befeathered hats, with long hair hanging about their shoulders, rode jauntily past the greensward in the direction of the Carr House Farm. The horsemen were well armed, carrying swords and pistols, and bright steel armour shone dazzling upon their breasts. As the cavalcade moved on, the jingling of stirrups, bits, and harness, made a merry music that was well adapted to the martial scene. The children, though startled at first, soon recovered from their fright, and ran gaily to see the squadron pass by. Curiosity, in their case, got the mastery of fear. For those were what the historians term "stirring times,"--days of war and tumult, of peril and death, of bloodshed and ruin, of suffering and horror; and well the children of Longdendale knew that the quarrel between King Charles and his Parliament had already made sad hearts and weeping eyes, widowed women and orphaned children, even in their own neighbourhood. But the great battles of which they had heard had all been fought at a distance, and, as is well known in the case of war, "distance lends enchantment to the view." There was something wildly romantic and fascinating to the minds of the children in those great events which were daily transpiring, and about the men who fought in the battles; and so, on the June evening of this story, the children flocked curiously about the horsemen, who were a band of gentlemen cavaliers on their way from Lancashire to join the army of King Charles at York.

Accompanied by the children, the cavaliers rode up to the Carr House Farm, and, at a sign from their leader, dismounted, and, without troubling to ask consent, proceeded to stable their horses, and take possession of the best rooms for their own accommodation. It was not altogether a good mannered proceeding, but then, the people who lived in those days when war was rife, grew accustomed to such violations of the rights of property, and submitted to the indignities with as good a grace as they could assume. They knew full well that if they had not placed upon the table of their very best, the soldiers would have raided the larder and confiscated all the contents. So, in the language of modern days, "they made the best of a bad job."

One stalwart trooper, throwing the reins of his steed to a comrade, was the first to stride through the farm door, and, as he came, the farmer went bareheaded to greet him,--not altogether without some qualms of doubt and fear.

"Come, good man," cried the trooper merrily, "show me the way to thy best room, for our leader, Captain Oldfield, rests there this night. And if thou art of the King's party, set thy wife to work at once, and prepare him a feast right merrily, or if thou be'st of the roundhead faction, why, do the same unwillingly, and be damned to thee."

History does not tell us which side of the quarrel the farmer favoured, and it does not really matter which, for in any case a visit from the Royalists would be alike unwelcome. If he was a Roundhead, then, as a matter of course, the billeting of a force of Cavaliers was bound to be distasteful; if he were loyal to the King, then against the satisfaction of providing for the King's troops, must be set the knowledge that the next force of Roundheads that came into the neighbourhood would pay him a visit and demand satisfaction for the favour he had shown their enemies. The farmer made a discreet remark.

"If ye are true men, ye are welcome to such hospitality as I can afford."

And then he and his servants set about doing with as good a grace as possible that which they knew themselves compelled to do.

But although the soldiers might be unwelcome guests to the farmer and his wife, their coming was by no means received with a bad grace by other members of the household. The maids, in particular, seemed quite glad as they beheld the Cavaliers enter the yard, and what was more remarkable, they made scarcely any attempt to prevent the arms of the fighting-men stealing around their trim-set waists with the coming of the gloaming and the shadows. There were shy giggles and blushes and many a stolen kiss in and about the Carr House Farm that night, before the bugle sounded the hour of rest.

When all the men were inside save the sentries, whose duty it was to give notice of the approach of Roundheads--if any such rebel gentlemen should chance to put in an appearance--the officer in command gathered his soldiers around the oak table in the best room, and seated himself at their head. Captain Oldfield, of Spalding (for such was his name and title), first addressed the company, which included the master and mistress of the farm, and all the pretty maids whose lips so readily lent themselves to a soldier's kiss. He reminded his hearers of the great sin of fighting against the "Lord's anointed."

"For," said he, "did not God appoint kings and princes and governors, and if they are not to rule their people, wherefore are they created? Therefore it stands to reason that they who oppose the will, and set themselves in array against the authority of good King Charles, are fighting against God, and are likely ere long to suffer grievously from the displeasure of God. And I would especially urge upon ye good people of Longdendale that ye remain loyal and true to His Majesty, and have nothing to do with traitorous rebels who are prompted of the devil. So shall ye escape a felon's death here and damnation hereafter."

Then, drawing from his finger a ring set with a large diamond, he continued--

"My stay will doubtless be short, yet would I leave behind a loyal sentiment which shall serve to remind you of your duty toward your royal master."

Whereupon he advanced to the window, and on one of the little diamond-shaped panes, he scratched the following words in the Latin tongue:--

"May King Charles live and conquer. Thus prays John Oldfield, of Spalding, 1644."

The task of writing being ended, he then called on all present to fill their cups with the farmer's best country wine, and drink deep to the sentiment which he had just inscribed.

The men filled their cups and drained them to the dregs, after which they cheered for King Charles. And then the band broke up, the troopers seeking their hard couches, while Captain Oldfield retired to his room with the officers, to discuss their future movements, and to question and gossip with the farmer and such of the loyal gentry of the neighbourhood as had come to greet him on hearing of the arrival of his force.

"And whither march ye, Captain Oldfield?" asked one of the gentlemen of Longdendale, as the talk went on.

"Toward York, Sir Squire," replied the officer; "To join the King."

"And how will the fight go? Think you the rebels will attack the city?"