The Lancashire Witches | Page 5

cried Paslew, severely. "'Sortilegam non patieris vivere' saith the
Levitical law. If she be convicted she shall die the death. That she is
comely I admit; but it is the comeliness of a child of sin. Dost thou
know the man with whom she is wedded--or supposed to be
wedded--for I have seen no proof of the marriage? He is a stranger
here."
"Ey knoas neawt abowt him, lort abbut, 'cept that he cum to Pendle a
twalmont agoa," replied Ashbead; "boh ey knoas fu' weel that
t'eawtcumbling felly robt me ot prettiest lass i' aw Lonkyshiar--aigh, or
i' aw Englondshiar, fo' t' matter o' that."
"What manner of man is he?" inquired the abbot.
"Oh, he's a feaw teyke--a varra feaw teyke," replied Ashbead; "wi' a
feace as black as a boggart, sooty shiny hewr loike a mowdywarp, an'
een loike a stanniel. Boh for running, rostling, an' throwing t' stoan,
he'n no match i' this keawntry. Ey'n triet him at aw three gams, so ey
con speak. For't most part he'n a big, black bandyhewit wi' him, and, by
th' Mess, ey canna help thinkin he meys free sumtoimes wi' yor
lortship's bucks."
"Ha! this must be looked to," cried the abbot. "You say you know not
whence he comes? 'Tis strange."
"T' missmannert carl'll boide naw questionin', odd rottle him!" replied
Ashbead. "He awnsurs wi' a gibe, or a thwack o' his staff. Whon ey last
seet him, he threatened t' raddle me booans weel, boh ey sooan lowert
him a peg."
"We will find a way of making him speak," said the abbot.
"He can speak, and right well if he pleases," remarked Father Eastgate;
"for though ordinarily silent and sullen enough, yet when he doth talk it
is not like one of the hinds with whom he consorts, but in good set
phrase; and his bearing is as bold as that of one who hath seen service
in the field."

"My curiosity is aroused," said the abbot. "I must see him."
"Noa sooner said than done," cried Ashbead, "for, be t' Lort Harry, ey
see him stonding be yon moss poo' o' top t' hill, though how he'n getten
theer t' Dule owny knoas."
And he pointed out a tall dark figure standing near a little pool on the
summit of the mountain, about a hundred yards from them.
"Talk of ill, and ill cometh," observed Father Haydocke. "And see, the
wizard hath a black hound with him! It may be his wife, in that
likeness."
"Naw, ey knoas t' hount reet weel, Feyther Haydocke," replied the
forester; "it's a Saint Hubert, an' a rareun fo' fox or badgert. Odds loife,
feyther, whoy that's t' black bandyhewit I war speaking on."
"I like not the appearance of the knave at this juncture," said the abbot;
"yet I wish to confront him, and charge him with his midemeanours."
"Hark; he sings," cried Father Haydocke. And as he spoke a voice was
heard chanting,--
"One shall sit at a solemn feast, Half warrior, half priest, The greatest
there shall be the least."
"The very ditty I heard," cried Father Eastgate; "but list, he has more of
it." And the voice resumed,--
"He shall be rich, yet poor as me, Abbot, and Earl of Poverty. Monk
and soldier, rich and poor, He shall be hang'd at his own door."
Loud derisive laughter followed the song.
"By our Lady of Whalley, the knave is mocking us," cried the abbot;
"send a bolt to silence him, Cuthbert."
The forester instantly bent his bow, and a quarrel whistled off in the
direction of the singer; but whether his aim were not truly taken, or he

meant not to hit the mark, it is certain that Demdike remained
untouched. The reputed wizard laughed aloud, took off his felt cap in
acknowledgment, and marched deliberately down the side of the hill.
"Thou art not wont to miss thy aim, Cuthbert," cried the abbot, with a
look of displeasure. "Take good heed thou producest this scurril knave
before me, when these troublous times are over. But what is this?--he
stops--ha! he is practising his devilries on the mountain's side."
It would seem that the abbot had good warrant for what he said, as
Demdike, having paused at a broad green patch on the hill-side, was
now busied in tracing a circle round it with his staff. He then spoke
aloud some words, which the superstitious beholders construed into an
incantation, and after tracing the circle once again, and casting some
tufts of dry heather, which he plucked from an adjoining hillock, on
three particular spots, he ran quickly downwards, followed by his
hound, and leaping a stone wall, surrounding a little orchard at the foot
of the hill, disappeared from view.
"Go and see what he