Allhallow's Night

To many a beautiful landscape the majestic Pendle adds a nameless
charm, and the traveller who gazes upon it from any of the points
whence a view of the whalelike mass is to be obtained, would hardly
dream that the moss and fern-covered hill, smiling through the dim
haze, once was the headquarters of witchcraft and devilry. Readers of
the quaint and sad trials of the witchmania period, and of Harrison
Ainsworth's celebrated novel based thereon, will, however, remember
what dread scenes were said to have transpired in the dim light of its
cloughs and upon its wild sides, when Chattox, Mouldheels, and the
other poor wretches whose 'devilish practices and hellish means,' as
they were termed in the old indictments, made the neighbourhood of the
mountain so unsafe a locality.

In a lonely little house some distance from the foot of Pendle, there
dwelt a farmer and his family, together with a labourer whom he
employed. Entirely illiterate, and living in a wild and weird
district, with but few houses nearer than a mile away, the household
believed firmly in all the dreadful boggart, witch, and feeorin
stories current in the district. For a long time, however, the farmer
had not any personal experience of the power of either witch or
boggart; but at length his turn came. After a tempestuous night, when
the windows and doors rattled in their frames, and the wind, dashing
the big rain drops against the little diamond-shaped panes, moaned and
shrieked round the lonely dwelling, three of the beasts were found
dead in the shippon. A few days afterwards two of the children
sickened, and when 'th' edge o' dark' was creeping up the hill-side
one of them died. As though this trouble was not enough, the crops
were blighted. With reluctance the farmer saw in these things proof
that he had in some unknown manner incurred the displeasure of the
invisible powers, and that the horse-shoe over his door, the branches
of ash over the entrance to the shippon, and the hag stones hung up
at the head of his own and of the children's bed, had lost their power
of protection.

The family council, at which the unprotected condition of the house
was discussed, was of the saddest kind, for even the rough labourer
missed the prattle of the little one whose untimely end had cast a
shadow over the dwelling, and he thoroughly sympathised with his
master in his losses; while, as for the farmer and his wife, dread of
what the future might have in store for them mingled with their
sorrow, and added to the heaviness of their hearts.

'Isaac, yo' may as weel tek' th' wiggin{27} an' th' horse shoes
deawn, for onny use they seem to be on. We'en nowt to keep th' feorin'
off fra' us, an' I deawt we'es come off bud badly till November,' said
the farmer, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe.

'An' why nobbut till November, Ralph,' asked the wife in a terrified
voice, as she gazed anxiously towards the little window through which
Pendle could be dimly seen looming against the evening sky.

'Because on O'Hallow neet, mi lass, I meean to leet th' witches{28}
on Pendle.'

'Heaven save us!' cried the woman. 'Tha'll be lost as sewer as th'
whorld.'

There was a short silence, and then old Isaac spoke--

'If th' mestur goes, Isik guz too. Wis be company, at onny rate.'

The farmer gratefully accepted this offer of fellowship, and the
appeals of his wife, who implored him to abandon the notion, were of
no avail. Others had lighted the witches, and thereby secured a
twelvemonth's immunity from harm, and why should not he go and do
likewise? Ruin was staring him in the face if things did not improve,
thought he, and his determination to 'leet' his unseen enemies grew
stronger and stronger.

At length the last day of October came, bringing with it huge clouds
and a misty rain, which quite obscured the weird hill; but at
nightfall the wind rose, the rain ceased, the stars began to appear,
and the huge outline of Pendle became visible.

When the day's work was over, the farmer and Isaac sat in the kitchen,
waiting for the hour at which they were to start for the haunted
mountain, and the dread and lonesome building where the witches from
all parts gathered in mysterious and infernal conclave. Neither of the
men looked forward to the excursion with pleasurable feelings, for, as
the emotion caused by the losses had somewhat subsided, terror of the
beings who were supposed to assemble in the Malkin Tower resumed its
sway; but soon after the old clock had chimed ten they rose from the
settle and began their preparations for the lighting. Each man grasped
a branch of mountain ash, to which several sprigs of bay were tied as
a double protection against thunder and lightning, and any stray
fiends that might happen to be lurking about, and each carried in the
other hand an unlighted candle.

As they passed from the house the tearful goodwife cried a blessing
upon them, and a massive old bulldog crept from a corner of the yard
and took its place at their heels.

The three stepped along bravely, and before long they had crossed the
brook and reached the foot of Pendle. Rapidly making their way to a
well-known ravine they paused to light the candles. This operation,
performed by means of a flint and steel and a box of tinder, occupied
some time; and while they were so engaged clouds obscured the moon, a
few heavy drops of rain fell, the wind ceased to whisper, and an
ominous silence reigned, and the dog, as though terrified, crept
closer to its master and uttered a low whine.

'We's hev' a storm, I daat, Isik,' said the farmer.

'Ise think mysen weel off an' win nowt else bud a storm,' drily
replied the old man, as, lighted candle in hand, he began to climb the
hill-side, his master and the dog following closely behind.

When they had almost reached the top of the ravine a flash of
lightning suddenly pierced the darkness, and a peal of thunder seemed
to shake the earth beneath them; while a weird and unearthly shriek of
laughter rang in their ears as a black figure flew slowly past them,
almost brushing against their faces in its flight. The dog immediately
turned and fled, howling terribly as it ran down the hill-side; but
the men went on, each one carefully shading his light with the hand in
which the branch of ash was grasped. The road gradually became
rougher, and occasionally Isaac stumbled over a stone, and almost
fell, the farmer frantically shouting to him to be careful of his
candle, but without any serious mishap the pair managed to get within
sight of the tower.

Evidently some infernal revelry was going on, for light streamed from
the window-openings, and above the crash of the thunder came shrieks
of discordant laughter. Every now and again a dark figure floated over
their heads and whirled in at one of the windows, and the noise became
louder, by the addition of another shrill voice.

'It mon be drawin' nee midneet,' said the farmer. 'If we con but pass
th' hour wis be reet for a twelvemonth. Let's mek for whoam neaw.'

Both men readily turned their backs to the building, but no sooner had
they done so than a Satanic face, with gleaming eyes, was visible for
a moment, and instantaneously both lights were extinguished.

'God bless us!' immediately cried both men.

Almost before the words had left their lips the tower was plunged in
total darkness, the shrieks of unholy laughter were suddenly stilled,
and sounds were heard as of the rapid flight of the hags and their
familiars, for the ejaculations had broken up the gathering.

Terrified beyond measure at the extinction of their lights, but still
clinging tenaciously to the branches, which apparently had proved so
ineffectual to preserve them against the power of the witches, the men
hurried away. They had not proceeded far in the direction in which
they supposed the farm lay, when, with a cry, the farmer, who was a
little in advance of his aged companion, fell and vanished. He had
slipped down the cleft, on the brink of which Isaac stood, tremblingly
endeavouring to pierce the darkness below.

Not a sound came up to tell the old man that his master had escaped
with his life; and, as no response came to his shouts, at length he
turned away, feeling sure that he was masterless, and hoping to be
able to reach the farm, and obtain assistance. After wandering about
for some time, however, half-blinded by the lightning, and terrified
beyond measure at the result of their mutual boldness, Isaac crept
under a large stone, to wait for the dawn. Influenced by the cold and
by fatigue, the old man fell asleep; but no sooner had the first faint
rays of coming day kissed the hill-summit, than he was aroused by the
old bulldog licking his face, and as he gazed around in sleepy
astonishment some men appeared. The farmer's wife, terrified by the
arrival of the howling dog, and the non-arrival of the 'leeters,' had
made her way to a distant farm-house and alarmed the inmates, and a
party of sturdy fellows had started off to find the missing men.
Isaac's story was soon told; and when the searchers reached the gorge
the farmer was found nursing a broken leg.

Great were the rejoicings of the goodwife when the cavalcade reached
the farm, for, bad as matters were, she had expected even a worse
ending; and afterwards, when unwonted prosperity had blessed the
household, she used to say, drily, 'Yo' met ha' kept th' candles in to
leet yo' whoam, for it mon ha' bin after midneet when _he_ blew 'em
aat,' a joke which invariably caused the farmer and old Isaac to smile
grimly.