Uncle Joe's Stories

After a moment's pause she broke out in great wrath:

"It's them crones!" she cried in loud and excited tones. "It's them crones, or some like 'em! That kitten's been bewitched – that's what come to it, Tom, you may depend upon't. Drat them witches!" Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when she shrieked loudly – "Ah-a-ah!"

"What's the matter, missis?" said Tom.

"Why," replied she, "something scratched me;" and pointing to her arm, the sleeve around which had been pushed up high in her struggles to sit upright, there indeed was a long, red scratch as if inflicted by the nail of a hand or the claw of an angry cat.

To be sure, a lady who is seated in the middle of a bed of brambles cannot be expected to escape unscratched, and no supernatural agency need be invoked in order to produce such a misfortune. Still Mrs. Long always declared that this was no bramble scratch, and coming as it did at the very moment when she was speaking strongly against the witches, there could be very little doubt as to the source from which the injury really came. However, witches or no witches, it was impossible to sit all the livelong afternoon in a ditch full of brambles, so with much difficulty and many struggles, Mrs. Long contrived to get up, and Tom the Bailiff having looked to Dapple, found there was no very serious damage done either to him or to the cart. So they righted the latter, and having got into it, proceeded on their journey.

True it was that there was now no kitten to take back to the Gowers, but the farmer's wife was determined to let them know the extraordinary manner in which the animal had conducted itself, and had a great dislike to turning back without reaching the place for which she had started. So she directed Tom to drive on along the cross road which leads from the Aldington woods to Bilsington, and comes out into the main road from Mersham to Romney Marsh. At that point, if you turn to the left you can go to the Marsh, or to Ruckinge and Orlestone by a road which lies a little further south, and if you turn to the right, you pass through the end of the great range of woods which occupy so much of that district, and presently come from Bilsington into Mersham.

Of course it was to the right that Mrs. Long turned, having made a kind of half-circle round Bilsington Priory, which was thus at her right hand all the time.

It is necessary to be thus particular, in order that no innocent parish may be wrongfully suspected of having harboured the strange and wicked creatures whose power was almost entirely confined to parts of Mersham, Bilsington and Aldington, and some parishes further west on the borders of the Marsh. A good name is a great possession, and the adjacent parishes of Sevington, Hinxhill, Smeeth and Sellinge have always been so free from the worst class of witches that, in writing of this neighbourhood, one wishes to be precise.

After they had turned to the right, as I say, a short mile brought our travellers to John Gower's cottage; but before they reached it, they had to pass within a hundred yards or so of the abode of the crones, to which a very little-frequented by-road led, branching off from the road on which they were driving. It showed courage in Mrs. Long to take this route, especially after what had happened, but she was naturally a bold woman, and perhaps she thought that the witches had probably done all that they cared to do in having overturned her cart once, and stolen her kitten.

Be this as it may, she reckoned without her host, for Dapple, who had been quiet enough since the accident, began to grow restive again as they neared the part of the road which I have mentioned, and, when within fifty yards of it, suddenly stopped and refused to move an inch.

Tom the Bailiff laid the whip over the pony's back with a will, but the only effect was to make him rear and back, so that they were in imminent danger of a disaster similar to the first. Then, to make matters worse, there arose a cloud of fog before them, which was so thick they could see nothing, and had a disagreeable smell of smoke about it. Whence or wherefore it came they could not tell, for the sun was still high in the heavens and the sky above their heads clear and blue.

It was evident that something evil was at hand and at work, and neither Mrs. Long nor her servant knew what to make of it.

Presently the good lady called out angrily, "How dare you pinch my arm, Tom?" and gave a short, sharp scream as she said so.

"Oh, don't, please don't, missis!" cried the man at the same moment, as a hand hit him a cruel box on the ear.

It need scarcely be said that neither of the occupants of the cart had touched the other; but the matter did not end there. Pinches, pushes, scratches, thumps, hair-pulling, and kicking began to a most extraordinary extent.

No one could be seen, but invisible hands assailed both Mrs. Long and Tom so fiercely and so vigorously, that they both shouted aloud with pain and terror, whilst, as if in answer to their cries, hoarse chuckles and deep bursts of laughter rang in their astonished ears, although no human being of any description was to be seen.

Never was there a more unpleasant experience than that which the worthy pair underwent, and how it would have ended I really cannot say, but for an unlooked-for and fortunate event.

All of a sudden the pinching and beating ceased, the laughter came to an end, and the fog or cloud disappeared, as it had come, by magic, as a cheery voice shouted out, close at hand, —

"Halloo! who is this making such a noise in the road. My good people, it is too bad that you should let drink get the better of you in this way!"

Glancing indignantly round, they beheld no less a person than the worthy rector of Mersham himself, riding upon a stout gray cob, and evidently coming home from some expedition to the further extremity of his parish.

Mrs. Long knew not what reply to make, but as soon as she recovered herself sufficiently, she answered the appeal.

"I am sure, sir, there is no call to say a word about drink, to which some folk lays everything that happens, be it what it will. But if you'd keep your parish clear of these here witches, you'd find things go a good deal better!"

The clergyman gravely shook his head.

"You must know, my good woman," he replied, "that there are no such beings as witches, and you ought not to wrong elderly and respectable females by using such terms. There is nobody here, and nothing to hinder your journey. I am quite ashamed to see you stopping your cart in the middle of the road and quarrelling as has evidently been the case. Take my advice, and get home as fast as you can." So saying, the good man passed the cart and began to trot gently on.

Dapple, as if his difficulties were suddenly over, and his objections to advance removed, immediately started after the rector's cob, and thus they passed the dreaded by-road without further trouble. But to her dying day, Mrs. Long always declared that she was sure they never would have got past if the rector hadn't come along just when he did. This shows the great and proper respect for the clergy which then existed, and is, moreover, a proof that Mrs. Long was a decent and respectable woman, whose word may be taken as establishing beyond doubt the truth of the events which I have undertaken to relate. But it lay heavy on her soul, for many a long day, that the reverend man should have thought she had been drinking, and made her more than ever angry with the crones whose wicked dealings had caused such an imputation to rest upon her.

The rector had trotted briskly on, and was before long out of sight, but the cart was soon close to John Gower's cottage, between which and the road was a bit of waste land; it might be as much as two or three perches in size, for in those days every strip of land was not enclosed as it is now-a-days, but there were plenty of green patches by the side of the roads, and in many places you could ride on grass for miles together.

It is very different now, and although it may be said on the one hand that we travel faster, witches are not heard of, and England is richer than in those days; yet I often say to Jack Barrett that I think there were a good many pleasant things in the old times, especially in country life, which we do not get now, and for my part I should not mind having them back again, even with a few witches here and there with them, provided we could get rid of some of the strange new-fangled ideas and curious goings on which we have got instead, and which are much worse for all of us, than a witch or two or even a stray wizard. Well, Mrs. Long told Tom the Bailiff to drive upon this bit of waste as near to the garden gate of John Gower's cottage as he could manage to get, and then down she scrambled and went into the house. John had not yet come home from his work, though he was expected every moment; but Mary received her guest with much civility, for she was a good-mannered girl, and knew how to behave to her betters.

So she did the honours of the house, whilst her sister and Billy sat still and listened. Mrs. Long was, as you may suppose, not exactly in the best of humours, nor was her dress in precisely that condition in which ladies like their dresses to be when they go out visiting. You cannot be overturned into a ditch, scratched, pinched, hustled, and pushed, without some little disarrangement of your attire, and Mrs. Long's dress consequently required a good deal of "putting tidy," in which Mary Gower assisted her to the best of her ability. Whilst doing so, she listened to the account of all that had occurred since the day upon which she and Billy had left the kitten at the farm, and, upon being questioned by Mrs. Long as to the possible cause of its behaviour, she told her of their having met the two crones as I have described.

The farmer's wife then said that, had she known the circumstances, she would have had nothing to do with the kitten; but that she did not blame Mary for not having told her, as of course she had not suspected that there was anything wrong with the animal. As she spoke, in came John Gower from his work, and to him the whole story was soon told.

John expressed his great regret at what had happened, and went so far as to offer the farmer's wife another kitten, but, under the circumstances, she deemed it better to decline the offer; and, presently afterwards departed, taking good care to avoid the road by which she had come, and turning up instead by the road, at the corner of which the "Good Intent" public-house now stands; by which means she kept to the north of the big woods, and got safely home. Her adventure, however, made no little talk in the neighbourhood, and people shook their heads, gravely and wisely, whenever the matter was mentioned. Mrs. Long herself was so angry at the disrespectful manner in which she had been treated, and the unjust suspicion that had been raised in the clergyman's breast, that she could by no means be satisfied to rest quiet.

Before taking any steps, however, to get matters set right, she determined to make an expedition to Brabourne, where lived a wise woman named Goody Flaskett, from whom she obtained sundry charms against witchcraft, with which she decorated herself, in order that she might be able to speak and act against witches with impunity. Thus armed, she never lost an opportunity of doing both the one and the other; and I suppose the charms must have had a certain power, because Farmer Barrett declared that the good woman, when she had them on, never felt any of those strange scratches from invisible hands which she had experienced when speaking against witches on the occasion already mentioned.

Still, say and do what she would, the power of the Mersham crones did not seem to be diminished. They seldom appeared all three together, but might be said, generally, to "hunt in couples," although sometimes they were met singly, but hardly ever without a great black cat.

The kitten was never again seen by its former owners, but in all probability had been taken by the crones to form one of the guardian cats by which they were thus attended.

Petty thefts abounded in the neighbourhood, and no one suffered from them more than Farmer Long, although his farm was at a considerable distance from the cottage of the crones.

At last things got so bad that the farmer really thought he could stand it no longer. So one day, after the disappearance of a fine lamb from one of his fields, when the crone Humpy had shortly before been seen in the immediate proximity of the flock, and one man went so far as to say he had seen her driving a lamb before her in the road, the farmer boldly applied to the nearest justice of the peace for a warrant to search the cottage.

There was some little difficulty in the matter, owing to the circumstance that old Finn, the Mersham constable, positively declined for some time to go near the place, but upon being encouraged by the parish constable of Smeeth, bold Joe Worrell, who offered to go with him, they proceeded to perform their duty, accompanied by the farmer.

Mrs. Long had gone to Dymchurch that day for a breath of sea air, so that he knew she would not be uneasy about him, and deemed it but right to back up the officers of justice, whom he met by appointment at the foot of Collier's Hill in Mersham, and they advanced together. But the road appeared to be endless, for although it could not be much more than two miles, if so much, to the cottage, it seemed as if they would never get there.

Then, although the weather had been fine, there came on a hailstorm which nearly blinded them, and, notwithstanding that Finn had been born in the parish and the others knew it well, they actually lost their way, and found themselves close to Kingsnorth Church, which everybody knows to be in quite an opposite direction. They hastily retraced their steps, but then it suddenly became dark. Finn and the farmer both had their hats plucked off their heads by invisible hands, and although Worrell was untouched (it being well-known that no witch dare lay hands on a Smeeth man) yet he felt far from comfortable. Determined, however, to do their duty, the men made another attempt, and going round towards Aldington, were about to try and approach that side, when, all darkness having cleared away, they saw at a distance a light in the sky which betokened a fire, and from the direction, it appeared to be burning somewhere very near to Farmer Long's house. This put out of his head altogether the business upon which he was out, and he immediately retraced his steps as fast as possible, accompanied by the constables. When he got near home the flames seemed to have died away, but a heavy smoke hung over the place, and as he approached still nearer a sad sight indeed met his eyes. His stables were utterly burned to the ground, and three valuable horses destroyed, despite every effort to save them. Farmer Long rushed hastily to the spot, but all he found was his poor half-witted son sitting calmly on the grass contemplating the smouldering embers with a vacant expression of countenance.

"What has happened, Stephen lad? Where's Tom? How did all this begin? Who has done it?" were the eager questions of the excited man; but to all of them the youth replied with the stolid indifference of idiocy, "Steenie not know."

Subsequent inquiries proved that two (as usual) of the crones had been seen in the vicinity of the farm that day. As a public road ran very near, this may perhaps be deemed by some to have been slight and inconclusive evidence of their guilt; but it was universally accepted at the time as beyond all doubt connecting them with the affair.

Some few there were who insinuated that the idiot boy had set the stables on fire for amusement, unconscious of the mischief he was doing; but these of course were some of those foolish and obstinate people who always like to differ from the rest of the world, and put forward their own views against those of everybody else. Of course it was the Mersham crones who had done the thing, else why should it have occurred at the very time when Farmer Long was engaged on an expedition, the object of which was to search their cottage? At all events, so entirely convinced upon the subject was the whole neighbourhood, that it was resolved that the matter could not rest there, but must be taken up seriously.

The question was, how to do it? Inquiry before the magistrates appeared useless, for if two constables, and one of them a Smeeth man, too, could not even approach the crones' dwelling, of what avail was it to invoke the authority of the law? The church might be tried, but the rector of Mersham was known to have steadily set his face against any belief in witches, and it was more than probable that no other clergyman would like to interfere in his parish without his knowledge and consent.

Long consultations were held, and wise heads laid together about the business, and at last it was determined to rouse the honest people of the neighbourhood round, most of whom had suffered more or less from the pilfering habits of the crones, and, covered with as many charms and magic tokens as they could obtain from old Goody Flaskett and one or two other wise women who lived near the place, to advance in great numbers against the enemy, in order to try what ducking in a horsepond would do for them. So on one fine afternoon, a great concourse of people, meeting in several parties, bore down from different quarters upon the cottage of the crones.

It was a mellow day in autumn, and hopping was just over at the time when this proceeding took place. John Gower had come home that day to dinner, and a memorable day it was in his family. Mary, Jane, and Billy were all at home and they had just sat down to their homely meal when a low, hurried knocking was heard at the door. At this very moment it so happened that the horse-shoe which was usually nailed over that door had fallen down, owing to one of the nails which supported it having given way, and consequently it lay on the grass near the door instead of hanging in its usual place. Farmer Barrett was always particular in mentioning this circumstance, else, he said, people might think that a horseshoe is not a real protection against witches, whereas it is the best and surest safeguard, only it must be nailed up against a wall or over a door. John bade his son open the door, and as soon as he had done so, they perceived a good-looking young woman leading two others, apparently older than herself, but perfectly blind, whilst on her arm each carried a basket. They were quite strangers to John and his family, and appeared to have walked some way.

"Might we ask to rest awhile in your cottage, good friend?" asked the young woman. "I and my two blind sisters have walked all the way from Ashford to-day, and are bound to Romney."

"Sartainly, ma'am," said John in reply. "But surely this be a long walk for such as ye?"

"Ah!" replied the other, "we should have thought so once, but a cruel landlord has turned us out of our house, these poor afflicted creatures and me, and having relations at Romney we are going there in the only way the poor can travel – on our feet, and we have nothing with us but our tame rabbits, poor creatures, which we always carry in our baskets. We should be very thankful if we might come in for a couple of hours or so."

"By all means," said worthy John, whose simple heart was at once touched by this tale. "Come in, come in by all means," and stepping forward, he helped one of the blind girls over the threshold and they all entered the cottage.

The moment they were inside, Mary's favourite cat, who had been seated by the fireside, intently watching the proceeding, jumped up and sprang through the open window without saying a word to anybody, which indeed, as a respectable but ordinary cat, she was not likely to have done under any circumstances. Mary observed this, and wondered at the animal being so shy of strangers; but nobody made any remark upon the incident, and seats being found for the new comers, they not only sat down, but condescended to share the family dinner, and that with such appetites, that the children of the house themselves came off but second best. John Gower asked several questions which were satisfactorily answered, but he always said afterwards that he never felt quite at home with his visitors, which he put down to their being better educated and of a position apparently somewhat above his own. As they sat and ate and talked, a distant shout was heard, and then another.

"Father, what's that?" asked Billy.