Legends of Lancashire 18

Legends of Lancashire 18

Gideon was not wrong in one part of his conjectures, for Mary’s

lover, taking advantage of the light being extinguished, was

attempting to console and pacify her by whispers and kisses. The

clock now struck the hour of eleven, and Nelly lighted the candle,

to prepare the last supper for her husband. Not a word was spoken.

Every countenance was fixed upon the miserable pair. Every little

noise startled them, and then again they were immovable, as gloomy

pictures. The candle flame turned blue. The chimney looked darker

and darker. Shadows flitted upon the wall, in formidable guise.

At length the parson’s nephew proposed that Miss Mauncel, rather

than return to her father, should keep poor Nelly company in their

absence.

 

“Come, Gideon, come; it is the hour.” What terror these words

inspired in all, save the speaker, who laughed at superstition, and

even at the devil! The tailor’s limbs trembled,--he looked up, and

then hid his face in his hands. Jeremiah brought a long cloak, to

wrap his brother from the cold. All things were adjusted, as for a

criminal on the drop. He was at the door. Nelly gave a shriek;--her

husband heard it not. She embraced and hugged him,--he was passive

in her arms.

 

“Oh!--he is dead already!” she exclaimed, “he is,--yes!”

 

But they observed, by the rolling of his eyes, that although his

reason might have fled, his spirit was still in its tabernacle.

Jeremiah shook him, but Gideon responded not. He was dragged forth,

as the hour had already passed, and yet, no farewell was uttered by

him. Nelly’s farewell was a loud, a long, a piercing shriek, as he

was moved over the threshold, and then a longer fainting fit.

 

The snow crisped beneath their feet, a slight breeze passed over

their heads, and these were the only sounds heard. The hour of

twelve was striking in the town, as they reached the spot assigned.

 

Gideon now seemed to awake from his insensibility. He attempted to

speak, but words and utterance altogether failed him. The magic

circle was drawn around, and he looked up to summon the enemy of

mankind to fulfil his engagements, when a violent fit of shuddering

seized his limbs, and some thing not less gentle passed over his

soul. The stars above were fiery, and gleaming with malignant

aspect and influence over a mortal’s fate, and around them was a

dull haze, which was interpreted into a shroud. Not that the tailor

was an astrologer, in faith or practice: but there are moments

and circumstances when the orbs of heaven appear as the types of

earth’s history,--as the eyes of fate turned upon individuals,

likewise, with their revelations. He then gazed around. Not a tree

or fence stood near, for a covert; but a desert heath, still more

desolate in its appearance from its snowy covering. The ground,

with its winter’s carpet, was prevented from echoing to footsteps:

and the air seemed, too, as if it were bound up from the vibrations

of sound,--for over all was a dead silence.

 

William Mauncel was the first who spoke. “Gideon, thou tremblest;

I will take thy duty. Give me the charm by which thou renderest the

devil obedient to thy call. Eh? does he stand upon ceremony? My

good uncle assures us that he frequently pays us a visit when he is

not invited, and that he makes himself such a pleasant fellow, that

we are loth to give him a hint that it is not agreeable for the

time to have his company, much less to shew him to the door. Ah!

ah! Gideon, you were too polite, you gave him your card, with name

and residence, last night. That will make him troublesome. He is a

punctual keeper of his appointments. Now, pray, give me the signal.

Nay, then,” as Gideon’s voice could not be heard, “Jeremiah will

oblige me.”

 

The substance of the directions was repeated from the old book,

where they had, at first, stimulated the tailor’s courage, to make

him more than a mortal hero. William laughed at the affectionate

terms in which he was to invite the enemy; and began, in as low

and gentle a tone, to say, “Come, James, come,” as he had ever

employed when he had tapped at the window of his uncle’s study,

where his beautiful cousin was, whispering, “come, Mary, come,” in

order that she should trip out and enjoy a moonlight scene, seated

along with him in the arbour. Still the devil was not pleased most

graciously to appear, and William laughed and shouted in full

merriment. He, indeed, believed in the devil’s journeyings to and

fro, over the earth, and in his exertions and plans to obtain

victims by false and almost involuntary contracts; but then he

was not frightened, for as he firmly believed that human skill,

stratagem, and valour might baffle him. Where was the necessity, he

reasoned, of mistaking his black majesty for a gentleman in black;

of using blood instead of ink; of receiving slate stones instead of

golden coins? He also held as a part of his superstitious creed,

the existence of certain old ladies, on whose chins the Lancashire

rains have fallen with such a fructifying influence, as to beard

them “like the pard;” with hands dark and sickly, from the deadly

drugs which they mix over the light of the cauldron, in their cave,

and with decrepid and corrupted forms, as if they were spirits of

another world, and had come to the charnel house, and there clothed

themselves in a body which had begun to be the prey of worms; and

with souls, whose every idea was familiar with the dark fates in

store for earth, and rejoiced in those which were to blast the

happy, and destroy the beautiful. But then, he as firmly held that

their spells might be made to fall impotent upon man. He laughed at

them, and was prepared to scratch them, in their only vulnerable

part,--_above the breath_. In travelling, he cared not though he

should have the company of a ghost, provided it only spoke, and

recounted some horrible deed, as the avenger of which it walked

the earth,--for he hated silence. At home, he would have shook the

devil very frankly and cordially by the hand, had he ever paid him

a visit, and he would have smoked a pipe, or drunk a cup of tea

(had tea then been known) with any witch, in her own abode. Thus

William Mauncel was exceedingly merry in prospect of beholding the

devil, whom he imagined that he could so easily thwart. In a loud

voice, he again exclaimed, “come, James, come,” and instantly a

little man, with the tools of a mason-builder, stood opposite to

Gideon.

 

“Gideon Chiselwig, give me the dimensions of the wall which I have

contracted to build. You know that it is now an hour from my day

break, and I must finish it, and then claim you. You know me?--or

shall I disclose my features? and assume some of my former tones,

and thus convince you that I am--the devil?”

 

Gideon trembled still more, and feebly ejaculated, “No, no. I

believe in very deed that thou art my enemy, and, I beseech thee,

give me no further proof.”

 

“Until,” was the return, “your very existence and employment, as

well as habitation, shall prove it.”

 

“And that shall never be,” interrupted the vicar’s nephew. “Shew

thyself to us, belch fire and smoke, if you do not wish to pass for

an unskilful conjuror.”

 

“That would do him good,” remarked Jeremiah, “a good and powerful

vomit would be of essential service. Whenever I have compelled my

food to march too quickly down into my stomach, I am not well until

it has made a hasty retreat back again to head quarters. It is

exactly the same when too much goes at once. Now, I suppose that

you have rather more of fire and smoke than you could wish. In

fact, your throat is said to be worse than a chimney. Would it not,

therefore, be prudent to vomit a little?”

 

“To be sure it would,” answered young Mauncel, trying to restrain

his laughter, “yet, Jeremiah, he has enough of brimstone to physic

him.”

 

The earth instantly shook; beneath and around them, they heard the

elements as if contending in the bowels of the earth; fire blazing,

rivers dashing and rolling, and thunder reverberating. Jeremiah

fell down, but very quietly, and lay with his face close to the

ground, if we except his hands, which, somehow or other, intervened

between the snow and his watery countenance. Gideon groaned and

shrieked alternately; and their companion, now, was startled into

silence and paleness, so awful were the signs of the devil’s

presence and power. A low, but deep voice, now came from the mason,

as he approached to the circle.

 

“Give me your directions, Gideon, as to the place where I shall

commence to raise the wall, and they shall be obeyed. For a time I

am your servant, and am content to be so, for through eternity I

shall be your master: men value every thing by time--devils value

every thing by eternity. And who would not be a servant for such

hire?--an hour’s labour,--and as a compensation for it, a soul to

torment through all eternity! Come, haste, give me the dimensions

of the wall. Eh? have I not reformed Nelly?”

 

Gideon tremulously answered, that he had given the dimensions last

night.

 

“True, true,” was the reply, “you did. Gaze, and soon you shall

behold the wall arising, and as the last stone is placed, be ready

to meet your fate; yet,” he soliloquized, as he moved round the

circle, “what have I, in which to carry the sand for the mortar!

I can tear up stones, but I cannot dig for sand, and what can I

procure to convey it from the sand hills! Oh! I see it.”

 

Jeremiah’s apron had been more valorous than its master, and

boldly, though very unwisely, had ventured to lie down without the

circle, and, in a moment, was seized upon by Satan, who disappeared

with his spoil to a little distance. Then commenced the tearing

up of the stones; and so speedily was this part of the engagement

finished, that Jeremiah remarked, with much warmth in his

approbation, “that the devil would make an excellent quarryman,

and that he must have been employed in digging and building his own

pit.” All the fiends of hell seemed to be let loose, so loud was

the noise, and so wide and deep the shaking. Whenever the stones

were heaved up too large, lightning leapt upon them, and they were

broken into smaller sizes. But what was still more surprising,

a deep smoke arose, and every object, for a short space, was

imperceptible, until it was rolled away by a vivid flash of fire,

furious as a tempest. The ground was no more covered with snow, and

Jeremiah found himself squatted on the mud. The enemy could not be

seen, but all the stones were placed ready for the builder.

 

“He is gone over the moss,” exclaimed Gideon, “to the sand

hills. Ha! dost thou not, Jeremiah, perceive those wings of fire

fluttering in the distance, away towards the sea? And soon he will

return to finish his undertaking. I have no hopes.”

 

“Would that his hoofs sunk in the moss,” ejaculated his brother,

“for many a better fellow than he, has met with his fate there. Oh,

brother, sustain your spirits, and your body likewise.”