The Abbot Of Basingwerke, Or The Wehr Wolf Of Longdendale

Glossop, which in the Doomsday survey was reckoned as part of
Longdendale, was granted by William the Conqueror to his natural son,
William Peveril--Peveril of the Peak,--whose descendant was
disinherited by Henry II. for procuring the death of the Earl of
Chester by poison, when the township reverted to the Crown. King
Henry, however, being on a military expedition to North Wales, became
acquainted with the monks of Basingwerke, and in return for their
friendship and attention he bestowed the township upon Basingwerke
Abbey.

A road which crosses a portion of Longdendale is known as The Monk's
Road, and is so called because the Monks of Basingwerke are said to
have made and used it. On the wildest part of this road stands a large
stone, hollowed out in the shape of a rude seat, which is said to have
been the seat of the Abbot of Basingwerke, who periodically held
open-air court on that spot. The stone is known as "The Abbot's
Chair."

On a certain day in the reign of good King Henry, the Abbot of
Basingwerke sat in state upon the stone seat of "The Abbot's Chair."
He was holding a court for the receipt of all his rents and tithes,
for the dispensation of justice in that part of his possessions, and
for the purpose of hearing any petitions which the people might wish
to make. To him came an old dame, full of woe and misery, and almost
blind with the falling of bitter tears. Her tale was enough to melt
the stoutest heart. She had an enemy, and the enemy was a woman who
dabbled in witchcraft. Through the agency of evil spirits, this witch
had brought death upon the old dame's husband and on all her children,
so that now she was all alone in the world, and knew not where to look
for shelter or for bread. It was said, also, that the witch possessed
the power of changing her shape, appearing now as a woman, now as a
man, now as an animal or bird, so that it was almost impossible to
catch her and bring her for punishment.

The Abbot of Basingwerke, on hearing the story, was very angry. He
first relieved the distress of the poor woman, and then pronounced an
awful curse upon the wicked witch.

"May the hand of Heaven fall upon this wicked mortal," cried the
Abbot, "and in whatever shape she be at the present moment, may that
shape cling to her until justice has been done."

Then he prophesied that ere long the righteous wrath of heaven would
fall upon the witch, and that a bitter death would assuredly be her
portion. And the old dame went away satisfied.

Now it chanced that that very morning the witch had changed herself
into a wehr-wolf, and was even then prowling about the forest in
search of victims. And by further good luck it happened that good King
Henry II., who was on a visit to the Baron of Ashton-under-Lyne, was
out hunting in company with his son, Prince Henry, the Lord of
Longdendale, the Baron of Ashton, and other noblemen and knights of
the district, The Royal party hunted chiefly in the forests of
Longdendale, which were noted for wild boars, deer, and game of every
description. And inasmuch as it was customary at a Royal hunt for
every portion of the forest to be explored, and all the game therein,
great and small, driven forth before the hunters, there was--providing
there was any efficacy in the Abbot's curse--every prospect of the
wicked old witch being immediately laid by the heels. On former
occasions when she had assumed the form of an animal, it had always
been easy for her, if pursued, to fly into the nearest thicket, and
there resume her human shape, or else to suddenly disappear
altogether. But if the Abbot's curse took effect and compelled her to
remain in the garb of a wehr-wolf, then it was almost certain that
she would meet her doom before the sun set.

The hunt proceeded, and the huntsmen met with good sport, but the
chief success of the day fell to the lot of the Lord of Longdendale,
who slew "several horrible British tigers," and after a tough struggle
succeeded in killing the largest wild boar which was ever seen in
Cheshire.

Prince Henry, who was a valiant youth, was desirous of imitating the
exploits of the Lord of Longdendale, and accordingly he repaired to a
gloomy part of the forest in search of some worthy adventure. Here, to
his great surprise, he was suddenly set upon by a fierce old
wehr-wolf, which, taking him unawares, seemed likely to put him to
death.

At the first assault the Prince's steed, by swerving as the wehr-wolf
sprang, luckily saved the rider, and Prince Henry was enabled to bring
his hunting spear to bear upon the beast. He drove at it, and although
he succeeded in piercing its side, so that it cried out horribly--more
like a human cry than a beast's, said the Prince, when he afterwards
came to recount the story of the combat--yet it seized the spear
handle in its forepaws, and with a snap of its great jaws broke the
spear clean in two, so that the Royal huntsman was left almost
defenceless. He drew out his long hunting-knife and buried it to the
hilt as the beast sprang at him, but though he fought bravely and
long, the terrible thing succeeded in pulling him from his horse to
the ground. Here the Prince gripped the beast by the throat, but his
strength was much spent, and it seemed almost certain that he must
succumb. Fortunately, however, he had been followed at a distance by
the Baron of Ashton, who arrived upon the spot just in time to turn
the fight, and to engage and finally slay the wehr-wolf.

Great honour was, of course, bestowed upon the Baron of Ashton, and
the carcase of the wolf was taken in triumph to the Castle at
Ashton-under-Lyne. Upon the beast being opened, its stomach was found
to contain the heads of three babes which it had devoured that
morning.

Much talk then ensued as to the unusual fierceness shown by the
wehr-wolf, and the Prince again and again asserted that at times the
cries of the beast were most human in sound. A forester, also, on
hearing of the exploit, came forward and gave some strange testimony.

"May it please your highness," said he, "I was to-day lying in a doze
beneath the greenwood, whither I had crawled to hide, the better to
enable me to watch and ambush certain forest marauders who interfere
with the deer, when I was suddenly startled by a strange noise, and,
on looking through the copse, beheld a wehr-wolf tearing at its own
skin as though it desired to cast it off, even as a man discards his
clothes. And the thing screamed and moaned piteously, and it seemed
to me that a woman's cracked voice, muttering wild incantations,
emerged from the beast's throat. Upon hearing which I was sore afraid,
thinking I was bewitched by the evil one, and I fled."

Divers others had also strange tales to tell of the wehr-wolf's
actions, and that same evening, on the Abbot of Basingwerke coming to
dine with the Royal hunting party at the hall of Ashton-under-Lyne, it
was proved beyond doubt that the wehr-wolf was none other than the
wicked witch.

Thus was the curse of the Abbot speedily fulfilled and justice meted
out. Needless to say that witch was never seen again.