Legends of Lancashire 17

Legends of Lancashire 17

Nelly, after many thanks to the vicar, emptied the glass, and once

more braved the storm.

 

The walls of the houses were now completely drifted, and not a

footstep had left its trace on the snow-covered streets. What a

lonely feeling is over the soul, when nothing is heard but the deep

gust of the wind, driving the storm before, around, and against us,

and when all objects are being wrapped in winter’s white raiment.

For us, in youth, there never was a greater luxury, than to wander

over the dreary mountain and vale, with the snow pelting on our

face, as it was turned upwards, when not a glimpse of the sky could

meet it; and then, after having become thoroughly exhausted, to

enter some natural cave, or sheepfold, on the waste, and there

seated, gaze around upon bush, bank, and hill, cottages, and woods,

all thatched with white: and even yet, by night, has the old man

taken his staff, and tottered to the hall door, to stand without

the threshold, devoutly uncovering his head, white as winter’s

after December has smoothed it, and looked up, while the snow

fell, sweet and grateful as the kisses of his only child, upon his

dim eyes, and feverish forehead,--and as he entered the room, has

forbidden Jane to wipe away the flakes, for he wished them gently

to weep themselves to death, on his face, in all their virgin

sorrow. Rain, we love thee not, even in thy spring showers, and

must canopy our head to protect it from thy salutations: but Snow,

we uncover it for thy kisses, so pure and soothing. How beautiful

art thou, when the messenger of death; and a holier and a whiter

bed dost thou afford the poor traveller, than could be smoothed

and softened by the hand of his young and beloved wife, in his own

happy abode, where, true as her love in difficulty and trial, burns

the signal of her expectations, through the small lattice, during

the long night, and often trimmed in vain! How gently is he hushed

to sleep, amidst the wreathes of thy purity, unconscious of the

blast. Not a limb aches, and heaven, likewise, bids thee be thy

lover’s shroud and tomb!

 

Had Mrs. Chiselwig, however, been disposed to apostrophize the

snow, it would have been in very different language; and, perhaps,

the good woman had reason, as she arrived, almost blinded and

senseless, at the door, where stood two figures, whom she instantly

recognized as Gideon and Jeremiah.

 

“Dear, dear husband!” she exclaimed in raptures, and flung her arms

fondly around his neck, for the first time since marriage, and then

she sobbed. Gideon had started back instinctively, when he beheld

the arms raised, but now he was convinced of Nelly’s affection, and

joined her sobbing. It may be superfluous to add, that Jeremiah’s

sympathetic sluices were not closed on this occasion, and that they

threatened to deluge his person.

 

“Oh! Gideon, you shudder in my embrace.”

 

“Aye, aye, I am a lost man, yet now, I feel so happy in your love,

dear Nelly. But I am very, very cold.”

 

The door was opened, and after entering the house, Nelly was

informed of the exploit in the Rough Wood. She upbraided not, she

only kissed her husband, wept, and looked heart-broken. Gideon

conjured her not to be changed in temper for one day at least, and

still to treat him harshly.

 

“I could not,” was the affecting reply, “though such conduct were

to save your life. Oh! I feel ashamed of myself. You must, if you

wish me to be happy hereafter, give me as many scratches, kicks,

and angry words, as I have ever given you. Promise me, Gideon.”

 

Gideon did promise, and as the first-fruits of the vow, kissed her.

They retired not to rest, for, as the husband piteously remarked--

 

“Dear wife, I cannot, and I should not sleep. I must gaze upon you

as long as I am permitted. I must speak with you as long as my

language is of earth. I must embrace you as long as I am not called

upon to embrace clods, dust, and worms. Ha!” he cried in a frantic

voice, “not that! not that! I am denied burial, and must go, body

and soul, to the dark pit! I shall be mangled, and Jeremiah will

not be allowed to sew me together, into a decent corpse. Oh! oh!”

 

At length, punctual to his appointment, the vicar came, attended

by his nephew. What was the astonishment of the worthy man, when

he learned that Gideon had fulfilled verbatim his wife’s dream,

and actually sold himself, for better, for worse, to the devil! He

gravely shook his head, and the motion was also communicated to his

paunch, as he remarked--

 

“I am afraid that the present is a case far beyond my poor skill.

I once, indeed, had the honour of casting out a devil, but he was

a blue devil, and I put his victim into a room by himself, for a

month, and removed a large bottle, after which the man was never

tormented with him again. But this--”

 

“And you a doctor of the church,” interrupted

Jeremiah--“humph!--with a black coat, professing that you are able

and inclined to fight the devil in his own colours. Now, if you

could fight a blue devil, in a black coat, would you not have a

greater chance of success in fighting a black devil? Had I as many

prayers, homilies, and sermons, Dr. Mauncel, I would instantly

take and pull him by the nose, very much to the lengthening of

his proboscis. Oh! doctor, accompany us to the place of the awful

meeting, and I will carry the Book as your weapon!”

 

“Yes, yes,” added Mrs. Chiselwig with great earnestness and

simplicity, “and I will carry--what was the name, sir?--Yes,

Rehoboam. I’ll carry Rehoboam for you.”

 

“He is a dear child, and I could scarcely trust him out of my own

hands.”

 

But we cannot detail the conversation, many episodes of which were

long prayers, and spiritual maxims, calculated to do anything or

everything, save to overturn and reverse the horrid destiny of

Gideon--the doomed of Satan. None gave consolation, until the

parson’s nephew suggested that it was quite possible, indeed

extremely probable, that the devil would find the building of the

wall a task, by no means easy; and that, for his part, he would be

most willing to take his uncle’s post, and accompany poor Gideon to

the place of rendezvous, and see the wall to be, in mason’s terms,

sufficient and proper, before the Devil could claim a hair of the

tailor’s head. Still, this was not altogether satisfactory, for the

first condition, and that which appeared the most difficult, had

been strictly fulfilled.

 

As the clock struck every hour, Gideon seemed to hear the fiend

exclaim, “prepare.” His heart vibrated so much, that had it been

skilfully placed in the mechanism, it would have regularly and

accurately moved the pendulum. He counted every shade darkening on

the sky, until night came on; and melancholy, if not poetical, was

his farewell to the glorious sun. He was not altogether ignorant of

figure and trope, to eke out his pathos, as will be seen.

 

“There thou art, about to disappear for ever from these delighted

eyes, with thy beautiful chariot! That dark cloud is thy coachman,

with a pink-coloured vest. He is now mounting, and in a moment will

be ready to drive thee into the ocean, and wet thy garments, making

them truly uncomfortable for thy tailor, whoever he be, to repair.

He has lighted his pipe of tobacco, and puffs out the smoke to keep

away the sea sickness. His drab great coat is now over him, and he

is exclaiming, ‘all’s right, all’s right.’ ’Tis false, charioteer,

all’s wrong, wrong. Farewell, thou orb of day. I go, where time is

not measured by day--the tailor; and clad by night--his journeyman.

Yet just one other peep; yes, here is thy ray upon my hand. Oh!

Nelly, hast thou a glove to put over my hand, and thus confine

the light for ever to be my hope. Farewell! To-morrow thou again

appearest, but not for me. Perchance, as thou arisest over the

finished wall, thou mayest observe my head as the cope stone. At

morn, how anxiously have I removed the nightcap from my eye to

behold thy charms, O sun! How beautifully dost thou gleam into the

soup, and kindly reveal all the peas and beans which slily lie at

the bottom of the dish. How fondly hast thou loved my needle, and

even danced, with thy hundred feet, upon the point! Farewell!” and

he closed the window and wept.

 

The speech may contain a little of the ludicrous; not so the

feelings. In vain did Nelly, who had been a little consoled by

the remarks of the parson’s nephew, and who had, therefore, been

able to attend to cookery, set before him food the most savoury,

to tempt his appetite, with what one of the signs elegantly terms

“the real-original-genuine-best Ormskirk gingerbread.” As her hands

spread them on the table, Gideon’s sorrow was renewed, for the

thought struck him, that they would move before him no more. It was

no easy matter for the good man to be resigned to the loss of his

wife, just when she had become so agreeable and affectionate.

 

Soon Mary Mauncel entered, leaning on the arm of her cousin. She

had tried all her arts to dissuade him from the expedition, and had

even threatened never to speak to him again. And yet, out of pure

love and care for him, and of her own accord, she had come along

with him to Gideon’s house. And never had she spoken so much and

so tenderly, as she did now, cautioning William, for her sake, not

to be rash. Jeremiah shewed them to seats, and because there was a

scarcity of chairs, mounted the table himself. Gideon had watched

the motion.

 

“Ah! Jeremiah, I have sat there for the last time. Orders shall be

sent, good broad cloth shall be spread out, but no Gideon shall be

there to cut, sew, and mend.”

 

“Reverse the picture,” added his brother, “and change the scene. A

horrible pit, at the bottom of which--”

 

“Nay, Jeremiah; do not make me to anticipate it. Young gentleman,

how are your nerves braced for the work? Give me your hand.”

 

At that moment, however, the lover felt his hand touched, and

detained gently by Mary, so he held out the sinister one to the

tailor.

 

“Ready, quite ready, Gideon. I shall return with you safe again.

Fear not; you shall not lose Mrs. Chiselwig, nor,” he added in a

whisper to his beautiful companion, “shall I lose Mary Mauncel.”

 

“Is the night calm?” meekly inquired Nelly, who had some thoughts

of accompanying her husband.

 

“Beautiful and clear,” was the reply. “The snow is glistening in

the moon’s rays, and not a breath of wind awakes it.”

 

“Beautiful it is,” added Mary, in a low voice to William, “but for

ghosts, devils, and your folly. How much happier should we have

been together, in the garden.”

 

Jeremiah’s very acute ear had distinguished these words. “Ah! my

young lady, the open field, where we are to meet the enemy, is much

more romantic than a garden; and you must be happier there, as the

shelter is better. The devil had fled without a place of meeting

being definitely assigned, but I had courage enough to recall him,

and then we agreed upon a spot of ground to the right of Aughton

Moss, and in the direction of Cleives Hills. Garden? No, no, for

were I concealed behind a bush, even in the presence of your

father, the enemy might ask him to bestow the little bird that was

in such a bush, and his reverence, not knowing, might comply, and I

should then be caged. All must be open and exposed.”

 

“No more,” exclaimed Gideon in agony, after he had returned from

the door, where, for the last minute he had been gazing upon the

moon, “no more must I see thy light, after a few short hours. Ha!

and the candle too. But let me try how I can do without it,” and he

immediately extinguished it. “Horrible darkness; and then I must

for ever put on and take off my clothes, and shave and wash myself

with liquid fire, and eat without a light; yes, eat brimstone and

tempest, without having a candle to shew the mouth. Hush, hush, I hear some fiend eating. His lips smack.”