Strange Pages from Family Papers | Page 4

appears that this unnatural
conduct on the part of the younger brother was prompted by a desire to
get possession of the property; and it is added that, long before the heir
to Barcroft was released from his sufferings, he caused a report to be
circulated that he was dead, and by this piece of deception made
himself master of the Barcroft estate. It was in one of his lucid intervals
that the poor injured brother pronounced a curse upon the family of the
Barcrofts, to the effect that their name should perish for ever, and that
the property should pass into other hands. But this malediction was
only regarded as the ravings of an imbecile, unaccountable for his
words, and little or no heed was paid to this death sentence on the
Barcroft name. And yet, light as the family made of it, within a short
time there were not wanting indications that their prosperity was on the
wane, a fact which every year became more and more discernible until
the curse was fulfilled in the person of Thomas Barcroft, who died in
1688 without male issue. After passing through the hands of the

Bradshaws, the Pimlots, and the Isherwoods, the property was finally
sold to Charles Towneley, the celebrated antiquarian, in the year
1795.[1] Whatever the truth of this family tradition, Barcroft is still a
good specimen of the later Tudor style, and its ample cellarage gives an
idea of the profuse hospitality of its former owners, some rude
scribblings on one of the walls of which are still pointed out as the
work of the captive.
In a still more striking way this spirit of persecution incurred its own
condemnation. In the 17th century, Francis Howgill, a noted Quaker,
travelled about the South of England preaching, which at Bristol was
the cause of serious rioting. On returning to his own neighbourhood, he
was summoned to appear before the justices who were holding a court
in a tavern at Kendal, and, on his refusing to take the oath of allegiance,
he was imprisoned in Appleby Gaol. In due time, the judges of assizes
tendered the same oath, but with the like result, and evidently wishing
to show him some consideration offered to release him from custody if
he would give a bond for his good behaviour in the interim, which
likewise declining to do, he was recommitted to prison. In the course of
his imprisonment, however, a curious incident happened, which gave
rise to the present narrative. Having been permitted by the magistrates
to go home to Grayrigg for a few days on private affairs, he took the
opportunity of calling on a justice of the name of Duckett, residing at
Grayrigg Hall, who was not only a great persecutor of the Quakers but
was one of the magistrates who had committed him to prison. As might
be imagined, Justice Duckett was not a little surprised at seeing
Howgill, and said to him, "What is your wish now, Francis? I thought
you had been in Appleby Gaol."
Howgill, keenly resenting the magistrate's behaviour, promptly replied,
"No, I am not, but I am come with a message from the Lord. Thou hast
persecuted the Lord's people, but His hand is now against thee, and He
will send a blast upon all that thou hast, and thy name shall rot out of
the earth, and this thy dwelling shall become desolate, and a habitation
for owls and jackdaws." When Howgill had delivered his message, the
magistrate seems to have been somewhat disconcerted, and said,
"Francis, are you in earnest?" But Howgill only added, "Yes, I am in

earnest, it is the word of the Lord to thee, and there are many living
now who will see it."
But the most remarkable part of the story remains to be told. By a
strange coincidence the prophetic utterance of Howgill was fulfilled in
a striking manner, for all the children of Justice Duckett died without
leaving any issue, whilst some of them came to actual poverty, one
begging her bread from door to door. Grayrigg Hall passed into the
possession of the Lowther family, was dismantled, and fell into ruins,
little more than its extensive foundations being visible in 1777, and,
after having long been the habitation of "owls and jackdaws," the ruins
were entirely removed and a farmhouse erected upon the site of the
"old hall," in accordance with what was popularly known as "The
Quaker's Curse, and its fulfilment." Cornish biography, however, tells
how a magistrate of that county, Sir John Arundell, a man greatly
esteemed amongst his neighbours for his honourable conduct--fell
under an imprecation which he in no way deserved. In his official
capacity, it seems, he had given offence to a shepherd who had by some
means acquired considerable