The Lancashire Witches | Page 6

hath done," cried the abbot to the forester, "for I
like it not."
Ashbead instantly obeyed, and on reaching the green spot in question,
shouted out that he could discern nothing; but presently added, as he
moved about, that the turf heaved like a sway-bed beneath his feet, and
he thought--to use his own phraseology--would "brast." The abbot then
commanded him to go down to the orchard below, and if he could find
Demdike to bring him to him instantly. The forester did as he was
bidden, ran down the hill, and, leaping the orchard wall as the other had
done, was lost to sight.
Ere long, it became quite dark, and as Ashbead did not reappear, the
abbot gave vent to his impatience and uneasiness, and was proposing to
send one of the herdsmen in search of him, when his attention was
suddenly diverted by a loud shout from one of the sentinels, and a fire
was seen on a distant hill on the right.
"The signal! the signal!" cried Paslew, joyfully. "Kindle a torch!--quick,

quick!"
And as he spoke, he seized a brand and plunged it into the peat fire,
while his example was followed by the two monks.
"It is the beacon on Blackstone Edge," cried the abbot; "and look! a
second blazes over the Grange of Cliviger--another on Ightenhill--
another on Boulsworth Hill--and the last on the neighbouring heights of
Padiham. Our own comes next. May it light the enemies of our holy
Church to perdition!"
With this, he applied the burning brand to the combustible matter of the
beacon. The monks did the same; and in an instant a tall, pointed flame,
rose up from a thick cloud of smoke. Ere another minute had elapsed,
similar fires shot up to the right and the left, on the high lands of
Trawden Forest, on the jagged points of Foulridge, on the summit of
Cowling Hill, and so on to Skipton. Other fires again blazed on the
towers of Clithero, on Longridge and Ribchester, on the woody
eminences of Bowland, on Wolf Crag, and on fell and scar all the way
to Lancaster. It seemed the work of enchantment, so suddenly and so
strangely did the fires shoot forth. As the beacon flame increased, it
lighted up the whole of the extensive table-land on the summit of
Pendle Hill; and a long lurid streak fell on the darkling moss-pool near
which the wizard had stood. But when it attained its utmost height, it
revealed the depths of the forest below, and a red reflection, here and
there, marked the course of Pendle Water. The excitement of the abbot
and his companions momently increased, and the sentinels shouted as
each new beacon was lighted. At last, almost every hill had its
watch-fire, and so extraordinary was the spectacle, that it seemed as if
weird beings were abroad, and holding their revels on the heights.
Then it was that the abbot, mounting his steed, called out to the
monks--"Holy fathers, you will follow to the abbey as you may. I shall
ride fleetly on, and despatch two hundred archers to Huddersfield and
Wakefield. The abbots of Salley and Jervaux, with the Prior of
Burlington, will be with me at midnight, and at daybreak we shall
march our forces to join the main army. Heaven be with you!"

"Stay!" cried a harsh, imperious voice. "Stay!"
And, to his surprise, the abbot beheld Nicholas Demdike standing
before him. The aspect of the wizard was dark and forbidding, and,
seen by the beacon light, his savage features, blazing eyes, tall gaunt
frame, and fantastic garb, made him look like something unearthly.
Flinging his staff over his shoulder, he slowly approached, with his
black hound following close by at his heels.
"I have a caution to give you, lord abbot," he said; "hear me speak
before you set out for the abbey, or ill will befall you."
"Ill will befall me if I listen to thee, thou wicked churl," cried the abbot.
"What hast thou done with Cuthbert Ashbead?"
"I have seen nothing of him since he sent a bolt after me at your
bidding, lord abbot," replied Demdike.
"Beware lest any harm come to him, or thou wilt rue it," cried Paslew.
"But I have no time to waste on thee. Farewell, fathers. High mass will
be said in the convent church before we set out on the expedition
to-morrow morning. You will both attend it."
"You will never set out upon the expedition, lord abbot," cried
Demdike, planting his staff so suddenly into the ground before the
horse's head that the animal reared and nearly threw his rider.
"How now, fellow, what mean you?" cried the abbot, furiously.
"To warn you," replied Demdike.
"Stand aside," cried the abbot, spurring his steed, "or I