Human Animals

A pretty story of a woman-kingfisher is also to be found among the classics. Ceyx, King of Trachyn, sets out for Claros, to succour his brother, against the advice of his wife, Halcyone. A storm overtakes the ship on which he is travelling and he is drowned. Halcyone hastens to the seashore to find him, as she feels she cannot live without his presence, and as she stands looking out to sea the body of the drowned Ceyx floats towards her. She leaps into the water to seize his corpse and at that moment is transformed into a kingfisher, and with her bill and wings caresses the dead face and limbs of her beloved husband. Then the gods, in compassion, transform Ceyx also into a kingfisher, so that as birds their love may endure for ever.[142]

CHAPTER XX

FAMILY ANIMALS

Certain animals are associated with certain families, and in many such instances the animal makes its appearance as a death-warning. Sometimes the animal in question, which is in the nature of a totem of the clan, is the family crest and has an occult connection with its traditions and history.

The Ferrers, whose country seat is at Chartley Park, near Litchfield, have a peculiar breed of cattle on their estates. The colour of the cattle is white with black muzzles. The whole of the inside of the ear, and one-third of the outside from the tip downwards is red, and the horns are white, with black tips, very fine and bent upwards.

In the year in which the Battle of Burton Bridge was fought and lost, a black calf was born into this stock and the downfall of the Ferrers family occurred about this time, giving rise to a tradition which has never been falsified, that the birth of a dark or parti-coloured calf from the Chartley Park breed is an omen of death within the year to a member of the Ferrers family.

The "Staffordshire Chronicle," of July, 1835, says, "It is a noticeable coincidence that a calf of this description was born whenever a death happened in the family. The decease of the seventh Earl Ferrers and of his countess, and of his son, Viscount Tamworth, and of his daughter, Mrs. William Jolliffe, as well as the deaths of the son and heir of the eighth earl and of his daughter, Lady Francis Shirley, were each preceded by the ominous birth of the fatal-hued calf. In the spring of 1835 a black calf appeared at Chartley, and before long the beautiful countess, second wife of the eighth earl, lay on her death-bed.

Birds of various kinds frequently make their appearance in families as harbingers of death. When the Oxenhams of Devonshire were visited by the apparition of a white bird they knew that one of the family was doomed. The well-known story is told by James Oxenham in a tract entitled "A True relation of an Apparition in the likenesse of a Bird with a white breast that appeared hovering over the death-beds of some of the children of Mr. James Oxenham, of Sale Monachorum, Devon, Gent."

One of the first members of the family to see the apparition was the famous John Oxenham, a young man of twenty-two, who was taken ill in the vigour of his youth, a great strapping fellow six foot and a half in height, well built, of comely countenance and of great intellectual gifts. He died on the fifth day of September, 1635, and two days before his death the bird with the white breast hovered over his bed. Charles Kingsley made use of this incident in "Westward Ho!" John Oxenham, in the midst of drinking a toast, suddenly drops his glass on the table and staring in terror at some object which he seems to see fluttering round the room, he cries out "There! Do you see it? The bird! The bird with the white breast!"

No sooner was John Oxenham in his grave than the apparition showed itself to Thomasine, wife of James Oxenham, who died on the seventh of September, 1635. She was quite a young woman and, according to the witnesses, Elizabeth Frost and Joan Tooker, the strange phantom was seen clearly fluttering above her sick-bed. The next member of the Oxenhams to whom the warning appeared was Thomasine's little sister, Rebecca, a child of eight, who breathed her last on September the ninth, following. And no sooner had the little girl been laid in her grave than Thomasine, infant of the above-mentioned Thomasine and James Oxenham, was taken sick and died on the 15th of September, 1635, the bird appearing also in this case.

It is impossible not to wonder what disease it was that carried off so many members of the Oxenham family within a few days of one another, and whether the bird was fluttering through the rooms the whole of the time, or whether it disappeared between the various deaths. Certain it is that it was not seen hovering over the sick-beds of other members of the family who recovered health. An earlier visitation had occurred in 1618, when the grandmother of the said John, a certain Grace Oxenham, had yielded up her soul into the hands of her Maker. Many later appearances of the famous bird are on record. A Mr. Oxenham who lived in Sidmouth for many years and who died between 1810 and 1821, was attended by an old gardener and his wife, who gave evidence that they had seen a white bird fly in at the door, dart across the bed in which their master lay dying, and disappear in one of the drawers of the bureau, but when they opened all the drawers to find the apparition, they could discover no signs of it.

In 1873 the Rev. Henry Oxenham gave the following version of the family story, which may be found in Frederick George Lee's "Glimpses of the Supernatural."[143]

"Shortly before the death of my late uncle, G. N. Oxenham, Esq., of 17 Earl's Terrace, Kensington, who was then head of the family, this occurred: His only surviving daughter, now Mrs. Thomas Peter, but then unmarried and living at home, and a friend of my aunt's, Miss Roberts, who happened to be staying in the house, but was no relation, and had never heard of the family tradition, were sitting in the dining-room immediately beneath his bedroom about a week before his death, which took place on December 15, 1873, when their attention was aroused by a shouting outside the window.

"On looking out they observed a white bird—which might have been a pigeon, but, if so, was an unusually large one—perched on the thorn tree outside the windows and it remained there for several minutes, in spite of some workmen on the opposite side of the road throwing their hats at it, in the vain effort to drive it away.

"Miss Roberts mentioned this to my aunt at the time, though not, of course, attaching any special significance to it, and my aunt (since deceased) repeated it to me soon after my uncle's death. Neither did my cousin, though aware of the family tradition, think of it at the time.... My cousin also mentioned another circumstance, which either I did not hear of or had forgotten, viz. that my late aunt spoke at the time of frequently hearing a sound like the fluttering of a bird's wings in my uncle's bedroom, and said that the nurse testified to hearing it also."

A more tragic incident connected with the same legend was that when Lady Margaret Oxenham was about to be married a white bird appeared and fluttered about her head, and that she was stabbed at the altar by a rejected lover.

In another family a white crow was seen as a death-warning. In the late half of the eighteenth century the son of a rich landowner in North Wales was said to exercise an evil influence over his elder brother, who was heir to the estate. When the landowner died the eldest son disappeared mysteriously, and the second son took his place as heir. Wherever the new squire went he was accompanied by a white crow with black wings, and all the neighbours recognised the bird as his constant companion.

A few years passed and the squire found it necessary to make a journey to London on a matter of business, but thinking that the crow would cause an odd sensation if it followed him about the Metropolis, he decided, or let himself be persuaded, that it was better to leave the bird behind. On his way home from town, he stayed for a night or two at the house of a friend in Shrewsbury. During dinner the door of the dining-room was blown open suddenly, as though by an unexpected gust of wind, and the white crow flew into the room and perched on the squire's shoulder, as though well-contented to be once more in the presence of its master.

To satisfy the curiosity of the guests, the squire explained that the bird was his most faithful friend. When the diners left the table and went into the drawing-room a pet dog chased the bird, which had left its perch on the squire's shoulder and had flown on ahead. One of the visitors attempted to strike the dog, hoping to make it cease to persecute the bird, and by accident he hit the bird instead. Croaking piteously, the white crow wheeled about twice and fluttered to the ground dying. The squire who had lingered behind the others came forward at the noise of the fray and, seeing the dead crow, cried:

"Alas! You have killed one who was to me like a brother."

Then he turned to his host and took a hurried farewell, for, he added, "I have but three weeks more to live."

At this strange speech the host and his guests concluded that the squire was over-superstitious and they pooh-poohed his fears, which, however, proved only too correct. He died three weeks later, as he had himself prophesied, and then it was reported that the elder brother, on his disappearance, had taken the shape of a crow and that whoever owned the bird knew that he would only survive it by three weeks. A third brother inherited the estate, and to this day when a death is expected in the family, a white crow with black wings is seen hovering near the house.[144]

A bird is connected with a death-warning in the Lyttleton family, whose country seat is Hagley in Worcestershire. The first earl was a distinguished poet and historian, but his son, Thomas, the second earl, was known as "the wicked Lord Lyttleton," a title he had won by his extravagances and profligacy. He died on November 27th, 1779, at his town house in Hill Street, having been foretold of his death three days previously.

In the middle of the night of the 24th of November he was awakened by the fluttering of a bird about the curtains in his bedroom, and looking up, he saw the vision of a lovely woman dressed in white, upon whose wrist a small bird was perched like a falcon. As he lay watching the apparition, the woman spoke, warning him to prepare for death within three days.

Although he treated the matter lightly, and his friends seconded him in combating his superstitious fears, Lord Lyttleton died at the exact hour named by his ghostly visitor and the casement at which the bird was seen by the doomed man has since been frequently pointed out to people interested in the tradition.

Closeburn Castle, the seat of the Kirkpatricks in Dumfries-shire, was surrounded by a beautiful lake, and whenever any member of the family was about to die a swan appeared on the waters and remained there until the death had taken place, then disappearing as mysteriously as it came.

The story of this ghostly swan is a sad one. In former times a pair of swans made the lake their favourite resort in the summer season. Year after year the pair paid an annual visit to Closeburn to the delight of the family, for they were thought to bring good fortune in their train, and whatever misfortune or sorrow had been impending vanished like magic at their appearance.

One Lady Kirkpatrick had been sick unto death when the first information of the presence of the swans brought her speedily back to health. Another year the heir of the house, a mere babe, lay almost at his last gasp when the broken-hearted mother, gazing from the castle window one dark night, saw the two swans descend as though from the celestial world, and the next moment they were seen sailing majestically upon the lake. Full of joy at this good omen, she turned to her sick child and saw with thanksgiving and praise the first signs of returning health, a recovery which proved to be speedy. And so many stories were told of kindly influence exerted by the original birds and their successors, that for one hundred and fifty years the tradition held good. But after the elapse of that period a change occurred, which unfortunately reversed the omen.

At that time Closeburn Castle was in the possession of a boy of thirteen of the name of Robert. He was romantic by nature, but also mischievous, and it happened that one day he was permitted to go to the theatre in Edinburgh to see a performance of "The Merchant of Venice." The lines which Portia says of Bassanio, that he would

struck his imagination very forcibly and afterwards he could not rest because he was so anxious to know whether the song of a dying swan was a fact and not merely a myth.

Moved by this absorbing impulse, he went a short time later into the Park at Closeburn with the intention of shooting sparrows with his cross-bow, and at that moment, unluckily, the prophetic swans came sailing upon the lake in his direction.

Without a thought as to what might be the result of his action, Robert aimed his bow at one of the swans, and the arrow, winging its way over the lake, hit its mark so surely that the swan perished on the spot. Its companion gave a shrill and lamentable scream and vanished forthwith.

Robert, filled with remorse at what he had done, buried the body of his victim, which had drifted to the shores of the lake, and told nobody what had taken place. But for many years, much to the surprise of the family, no swans came to Closeburn.

Much later, when the matter had been almost forgotten, a single swan returned, but, unlike the earlier visitants, it was shy to wildness, and upon its breast was seen a blood-red stain.

People shook their heads and said this phantom swan boded the family no good, and their prognostications came true, for though the swan with the bleeding breast came more rarely than the others had done, every time it appeared it heralded misfortune. First the sudden death of the Lord of Closeburn occurred at home and then one of his relatives was lost in a shipwreck. And again at the third nuptials of Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the first baronet of that name, his son and heir Roger, who was in good health at the time, caught sight of the swan, and in full conviction that the warning was meant to tell of impending evil, he went home duly despondent. His father rallied him on his mood, which he said proceeded from a jealous dislike of his new stepmother. But Roger answered, "Perhaps before long, you too may be sorrowing," and that very night he gave up the ghost.

Since then, tradition says, that the mystic wounded swan has never been seen at Closeburn, and the tragic revenge has been completely fulfilled.

According to the account of Sir Walter Scott, supernatural appearances announce death to the ancient Highland family of the MacLeans of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor who was slain in battle is heard to gallop along a stony bank and then to ride thrice around the family residence ringing his fairy bridle and thus intimating the approaching calamity. The reference to this legend occurs in "The Lady of the Lake."

A fox is an unusual animal to be responsible for a death-warning, except perhaps in Japan, where so many superstitions cling round this creature, but the Irish family of Gormanston is haunted by a small congregation of foxes whenever the head of the house is about to die.

Before the death of the twelfth viscount, in 1860, foxes were seen round about and even in the house for some days. A few hours before his death, "three foxes were playing about and making a noise close to the house, and just in front of the cloisters, which are yew-trees planted and trailed in that shape." They wandered about the grounds in pairs and sat under the viscount's window, barking and howling all night. Next morning they were crouching in the grass in the front of the house. Although they had access to the poultry yard, it was certainly strange that they never touched any of the birds. As soon as the funeral was over the animals disappeared suddenly.

When the succeeding viscount died, in 1876, the foxes were seen again, appearing constantly under the bedroom window, especially when the sick viscount was supposed to have taken a turn for the better, which, however, proved to be a false hope, for he passed away soon afterwards.

On the occasion of the death of the fourteenth Viscount Gormanston the coachman and gardener saw two foxes near the chapel and five or six more round the front of the house, and several were barking in the cloisters. Lord Gormanston's son, the Hon. Mr. Preston, watched beside his father's body which lay in the chapel, and on one occasion, about three in the morning, he "became conscious of a slight noise, which seemed to be that of a number of people walking stealthily around the chapel on the gravel walk. He went to the side door, listened, and heard outside a continuous and insistent snuffling or sniffing noise, accompanied by whimperings and scratchings at the door. On opening it, he saw a full-grown fox sitting on the path within four feet of him. Just in the shadow was another, while he could hear several more moving close by in the darkness. He then went to the end door, opposite the altar, and on opening it found two more foxes, one so close that he could have touched it with his foot. On shutting the door the noises continued till 5 a.m., when they suddenly ceased."[145]

When a death is about to take place in the Baronet's family at Clifton Hall, in Nottinghamshire, a sturgeon is said to force its way up the river Trent, which runs at the foot of the beautifully wooded slope on which the Hall stands, and whenever white owls are seen perched on the family mansion of the Arundels of Wardour it is held to be an indication that a member of the family is near to death.

In one family a little white dog appears to give warning that a death is about to occur. The story is taken from J. A. Middleton's "Grey Ghost Book."[146] A relative of General French was sitting in the garden talking with a friend when the latter saw a little white dog run under her companion's chair. As it did not reappear she became curious and requested him to see what had become of it. The man rose and removed his chair, but the dog was not there, having suddenly and mysteriously vanished. Then he related that in his family a little white dog appeared before a death, and that this was a warning to him.

Some time after they met again and she learnt that his uncle had died the same night, and that she had seen the animal, and when she remarked that it was strange that it should have been visible to her and not to him, he said that on many other occasions the phantom had appeared to someone outside the family, though always near to a member of it to whom it was visible.

A black dog appears as a death warning to some families, as related by Catherine Crowe in "The Night Side of Nature."[147]

A young lady of well-known family was sitting at work, well and cheerful, when she saw to her great surprise a large black dog close to her. As both door and window were closed she could not understand how he had got in, but when she started up to put him out she could no longer see him. Quite puzzled and thinking it must be some strange illusion, she sat down again, and went on with her work, when presently he was there again. Much alarmed, she now ran out and told her mother, who said she must have fancied it, or else that she must be ill. She said that she was quite well and that she was sure she had seen the animal. Then her mother promised to wait outside the door, and if the dog appeared again her daughter said she would call her. Presently the daughter saw the dog again, but he disappeared when she called her mother. Soon afterwards the mother was taken ill and died. Before her death she said to her daughter, "Remember the black dog."

Another family in the east of England has a tradition that the appearance of a black dog portends the death of one of its members. It was not said that no death took place without such warning; but only that, when the apparition occurred, its meaning was certain. The eldest son of this family married. He knew not whether to believe or disbelieve the legend. On one hand he thought it superstitious to receive it, and, on the other, he could not altogether reject it in the face of much testimony. In this state of doubt—the thing itself being unpleasant—he resolved to say nothing on the subject to his young wife. It could only, he thought, worry and harass her, and could not by any possibility do any good, and he kept this resolution. In due course of time he had a family; but of the apparition he saw nothing. At length, one of his children was taken ill with small-pox; but the attack was slight and not the least danger was apprehended. He was sitting down to dinner with his wife, when she said, "I will just step upstairs and see how baby is going on, and I will be back again in a moment." She went and, returning rather hastily, said, "Baby is asleep; but pray go upstairs, for there is a large black dog lying on his bed. Go up and drive it out of the house." The father had no doubt of the result. He went upstairs; there was no black dog to be seen; but the child was dead.[148]

The New Hall at Nafferton was the occasional residence of the Derwentwater (Radcliffe) family, who left it for Dilston Hall in 1768. Gradually the place fell into decay and strange things were seen about the house. The apparitions were most frequent at times of birth or death, or as preliminaries to any fatal accident, and they took the forms of a white weasel, a white hen, or a white rabbit, and sometimes a headless person dressed in white. Rappings and other noises were frequent, and became so obtrusive that finally a farmer who lived in the house decided to investigate matters. He called his brother to help him, and as the worst noises came from a cavity in his own room, covered by a hearthstone and called the "Priest's Hole," they began by digging up the hearthstone. Beneath it was an accumulation of rubbish, which they emptied out until they found a flagged recess, surrounded at the sides by a stone seat, the actual hiding-place of priests, usual in the houses of gentry of Roman Catholic tenets. Seeing nothing extraordinary, they were about to desist from their labours when they thought they heard a voice urging them to go on digging. From the "priest's hole" they entered another apartment, and then a third, where they found a blood-stained shirt and nightcap, which were apparently of new linen, but as soon as they were exposed to the atmosphere they crumbled away like "burnt tinder."

On careful inquiry it was discovered that about the time of the Radcliffes' occupancy, an old pedlar had been murdered on the spot and his goods stolen by the innkeeper's daughters.[149]

Albert Smith, whose brother was a pupil at Guildford Grammar School, tells a story of a phantom vision which appeared at the time of a death. Several of the schoolboys had been sitting up all night for a frolic when one of them said, "I'll swear there's a likeness of our old huntsman on his grey horse going across the whitewashed wall!" He was laughed at for being so superstitious, but next morning a servant came from the family to say "the old huntsman had been thrown from his horse and killed that morning whilst airing the hounds."

It is no easier to attempt to explain such an apparition than it is to say why Jemmy Lowther, the "bad Lord Lonsdale," was said to dash about in his phantom coach and six after his death.

Another member of a noble family was responsible for bringing trouble on his house through his wicked ways.

The Lambtons were haunted for nine generations by a horrible snake or worm which brought much evil in its train. One day the heir to the estate, a ne'er-do-well, was fishing in the Wear on a Sunday and catching nothing he vented his anger in loud curses. Soon afterwards there were indications that a fish was on his line, and, to his disgust, he found he had hooked a monster, something between a worm and a serpent. Terrified, he threw the creature into a well close by. Before long, repenting of his wicked ways, he betook himself to the Crusades, leaving his aged father to look after the estates without him. Meanwhile the monster he had caught grew too large for the well and crawled forth to work ill to the country-side, laying waste the land, devouring cattle, and plundering right and left. The villagers tried to appease it by offerings of milk, but no real release was to be had from this serpent-tyrant until the return of the young heir from the Crusade. Then he battled with the monster for freedom, much in the manner of St. George and the Dragon, except that he took a vow to offer as a sacrifice the first living thing he met after his victory was won. To his horror this happened to be his father, and incapable of parricide, he preferred to allow a curse to descend on posterity, and for nine generations the Lambtons died by violence.

Another story tells of what happened to a noble dame when she died, after having lived an evil life.

Lady Howard in the time of James I was said to be the possessor of evil qualities in spite of her beauty and accomplishments. She was cruel to her only daughter, and was thought to get rid of her husbands by mysterious means, for she had been married four times.

When she died she had to do penance for her sins. Being transformed into a hound, she was compelled to run a long distance every night from her residence at Fitzford, to Okehampton Park and back to her old home, carrying a blade of grass picked from the park. This work was to go on until all the grass had been removed from Okehampton.

That evil-doing is punishable by a descent in the scale of being is a salient point which appears in the race-beliefs of many nations.

The Lady Sybil of Bernshaw Tower, a fair maid of high rank but evil repute, turned into a white doe after making a strange compact with the devil. Rich, young, and beautiful, her desires were still unsatisfied and she longed for supernatural powers, so that she might take part in the witches' Sabbath. At this time, Lord William of Hapton Tower (a member of the Townley family) was a suitor for Lady Sybil's hand, but his proposals did not meet with her approval. In despair, he decided to consult a famous Lancashire witch called Mother Helston, who promised him success on All Halloween. In accordance with her instructions he went hunting and at a short distance from the Eagle's Crag a milk-white doe started from behind the thicket, and he found it impossible to capture the animal. His hounds were wearied and he returned to the Crag, almost determined to give up the chase, when a strange hound joined his pack. Then a fresh start was made, and the strange hound, Mother Helston's familiar, captured the white doe. That night an earthquake shook Hapton Tower to its foundations and in the morning the white doe appeared as the fair Lady Sybil, who had been fleeing from her suitor in animal shape. Thus Lord William married the heiress of Bernshaw Tower, but a year later she renewed her diabolical practices and not until she lay near death was it possible for Lord William to have the devil's bond cancelled, which he did by enlisting the holy offices of a neighbouring priest. After her death Bernshaw Tower was deserted and tradition says that on All Halloween, the hound and the milk-white doe meet on the Eagle's Crag, where Lady Sybil lies buried, and are pursued by a spectre huntsman in full chase.[150]

Sometimes the ghost of a human being has the power of taking animal shape, as in the case of the eccentric Miss Beswick of Birchen Bower, Hollinwood.

Birchen Bower was a quaint four-gabled mansion built in the form of a cross, and attached to it was a large barn, where many uncanny incidents happened.

"On the 22nd of July," says the "Manchester Guardian" of August 15, 1868, "the remains of Miss Beswick were committed to the earth in the Harpurhey Cemetery. There is a tradition that this lady, who is supposed to have died about one hundred years ago, had acquired so strong a fear of being buried alive that she left certain property to her medical attendant, so long as her body should be kept above ground. The doctor seems to have embalmed her body with tar, and then swathed it with a strong bandage, leaving the face exposed, and to have kept 'her' out of the grave as long as he could. For many years past the mummy has been lodged in the rooms of the Manchester Natural History Society (Peter Street), where it has been an object of much popular interest. It seems that the commissioners, who are charged with the rearrangement of the Society's collections, have deemed this specimen undesirable, and have at last buried it."

A curious bargain appears to have been made by Miss Beswick, namely, that every twenty-one years her body was to be taken back to Birchen Bower and be left there for one week, and the more elderly inhabitants declared that this was done at the stated times, and the body laid in the granary of the old farmstead. On the morning when the corpse was fetched away, the horses and cows were invariably found to have been let loose, and sometimes a cow would be found up in the hayloft, although how it came there was a mystery, as there was no passage large enough to admit the animal. The last prank of this description played by Miss Beswick, as far as information goes, was a few years ago when a cow belonging to the farmer then tenanting the place was found in the hayloft. Naturally enough the neighbours believed that supernatural agency had been employed to place it there. This occurred at the fourteenth anniversary of seven years after Miss Beswick died, and it was a recognised fact that some apparition was usually seen at Birchen Bower at the expiration of every seven years. No one could explain how the cow could get into the loft, and blocks had to be borrowed from Bower Mill to get her down again through the hay-hole outside the barn.

After Miss Beswick's death her house was divided up into several cottages, and she seems to have haunted the spot. To one family she appeared as an old lady in a silken gown, and her arrival was invariably announced to them as they were seated at supper by a rustling of silk which was heard at the entrance. Soon after the lady, arrayed in black silk, glided into the room, walked straight into the parlour and disappeared at one particular flagstone. As she annoyed no one her appearance never drew forth any further remark than "Hush! Here's the old lady again."

Tradition said that Miss Beswick had hidden vast sums of money and other articles of value in the time of Prince Charlie (1745), and a weaver who lived in a part of the haunted house found a tin vessel full of gold pieces under the floor of the haunted parlour. It was thought after this discovery that the phantom lady would rest in her grave, but this was not the case, and she recently appeared near an old well by the brook-side. A rustic going to fetch water, saw a tall lady standing by the well, wearing a black silk gown and a white cap with a frilled border. She stood there in the dusk in a defiant or threatening attitude, streams of blue light appearing to dart from her eyes and flash on the horror-stricken spectator. This appearance of the phantom was said to mean that Miss Beswick could get no rest until certain members of her family regained their property, a result which does not appear to be yet achieved, for the phantom still haunts the neighbourhood, on clear moonlight nights, walking in a headless state between the old barn and the horse-pool, and at other times assuming the forms of different animals which, however, are always lost sight of near the horse-pool. Some people think that Miss Beswick concealed something on this spot in 1745, and is now anxious to point out her treasure to anyone brave enough to address her. On dreary winter nights the barn where the phantom cow was found is said to appear as though on fire, a red glow being observed through the loopholes and crevices of the loft, and loud noises proceeding from the building as though the evil one and his demons were holding revels there. But if an alarm of fire is raised by a frightened neighbour and the farmer has the premises searched, all is found to be in order, and the terror-stricken inhabitants of the village declare that Madame Beswick is up to her ghostly pranks again.[151]

The popular belief in transformation is at the root of a strange family story about Callaly Castle, which is beautifully situated at the foot of the wooded slopes of Callaly Castle Hill, whose highest peaks are some 800 feet above sea level. In the modern building are incorporated the remains of an ancient border tower, the stronghold of the Claverings. The Survey of 1541 says, "At Callalye ys a toure of th'inheritaunce of Claverynge in measurable good repac'ons."

This was probably the tower which owed its erection on its present site—the "Shepherd's Shaw," to a difference in opinion between the Lord and Lady of Callaly in olden days.

The following account of the legend was given by Mr. George Tate, F.G.S., in an article on "Whittingham Vale," contributed to the "Alnwick Mercury," in 1862: "A lord of Callaly in the days of yore, commenced erecting a castle on the hill: his lady preferred a low, sheltering situation in the vale. She remonstrated, but her lord was wilful, and the building continued to progress. What she could not obtain by persuasion she sought to achieve by stratagem, and availed herself of the superstitious opinions of the age. One of her servants who was devoted to her interests, entered into her scheme: he was dressed up like a boar, and nightly he ascended the hill and pulled down all that had been built during the day. It was soon whispered that the spiritual powers were opposed to the erection of a castle on the hill; the lord himself became alarmed, and he sent some of his retainers to watch the building during the night and discover the cause of the destruction. Under the influence of the superstitions of the times those retainers magnified appearances, and when the boar issued from the wood and commenced overthrowing the work of the day, they beheld a monstrous animal of enormous power. Their terror was complete when the boar, standing among the overturned stones, cried out in a loud voice:

They immediately fled and informed the lord of the supernatural visitation; and, regarding the rhymes as an expression of the will of Heaven, he abandoned the work, and, in accordance with the wish of his lady, built his castle low down in the vale where the modern mansion now stands."[152]

The animal connected with the Coneely family is a seal. In the west of Ireland there is a seal-clan; the clansman, calling himself after the seal, conceives himself to be of the blood of the eponym animal. In very ancient times some of the Coneely clan were changed by "art magick" into seals and since then no member of the family can kill a seal without incurring bad luck. Seals are called Coneelys, and on this account it was said that many branches of the family changed their name to Conolly.[153] The story was so thoroughly believed that it was said that people who knew of it would "no more kill a seal, or eat of a slaughtered one than they would of a human Coneely."

In the Faroe Isles the seals are said to appear once a year in human form, and in 1872 a writer to the journal of the Anthropological Institute tells the story of an Irish girl who was transformed into a seal.

"The seals which abound on the rocky parts of the shore," he explains, "are regarded with profound veneration, and on no account could a native be induced to kill one, as they are said to be the souls of their departed friends. In the hut of the king is the skin of a large white seal, which I ascertained was piously treasured on account of having formerly been occupied by the soul of a maiden. The following is the legend related to me:—

"'Many years ago a beautiful young girl lived upon the island and was the betrothed of a "dacent boy" by the name of Rooney. One day Rooney and his bride-elect were fishing out in a coracle, when a storm arose and the frail craft capsized. The terrified lover endeavoured in vain to save his sweetheart. Before sinking for the last time she said farewell to him, and said she would become a white seal and would sing to him. The broken-hearted Rooney swam ashore, but his reason had fled. He daily made a pilgrimage round the island in the hope of meeting his departed in the shape of a white seal; but his journeys were always fruitless.

"'At length one stormy winter night, Rooney started from his couch saying, "Hark, I hear her singing. She calls me now," and before anyone could stop him, he had bounded off and was lost in the darkness. His friends were about to follow when they were deterred by a plaintive voice, chanting a melancholy lay, but when daylight broke it ceased. Then a search was made and down on the seashore they found the dead body of Rooney with a dead white seal clasped to his breast.'" The souls of the lovers had fled to an enchanted island.

Siward in the legend was the son of a bear and had bear's ears. Brochmail was a tusked king of Powis. A tusked or pig-headed birth is said to appear periodically in the Powis family, and there was a story of one member who was so repulsive to the sight that he was kept shut up in the oubliette of Powis Castle.

In Llayn (Carnarvonshire) it is said that March Amheirchion, the Lord of Castell March, had horse's ears, as in the Irish story. These instances are again related to the birth of monsters and deformities, like the Concheannaich or Dogheads, an ancient race who inhabited, in former days, the district now called Moygoniby in Kervy.

Conaire the Great, a mythical king of Ireland, was the son of a Bird King and was therefore forbidden to kill any feathered creatures.

In Scotland the clan Chattan, who gave their name to Caithness, called their Chieftain Mohr an Chat, the Great Wild Cat, probably owing to some physical peculiarity.

Cuchullaine, the "hound of Culain," is a totem name. There is a story of a witch who offered one of the family some cooked dog-flesh to eat, but he refused it as it was against the law that he should "eat his namesake's-flesh."

His name was originally Setanta, but his nickname was obtained in this way: One night when he followed Conchobar to the house of Culain, a smith, the gates were locked, and a ferocious dog lay in watch. The boy killed the hound, and when the smith lamented his loss, Setanta said, "I will be your cu (dog) until another is grown large enough to guard your house," whence he was called hound of Culain or Cuchullaine.

According to one account Cuchullaine has more affinity with a bird than with a dog. "Not only does Cuchullaine bear obvious in his name his origin as a cuckoo god but his birth, exploits, and death are those of a cuckoo."[154]

When he was going forth to his last fight he met three crones, daughters of the mist, who asked him to sup with them. Bent on his destruction, they were cooking a hound with poison and spells on spits of the rowan tree. He refused to partake of the dish because it was against the law, and they rebuked him, saying, "It is because the food is only a hound and so you despise it and us." His chivalry thus appealed to, Cuchullaine helped himself to a shoulder-blade out of the stew, and held it in his left hand while he was eating, putting it, when finished, under his left thigh. Then his left hand and thigh became stricken and he had no strength for the fight.

CHAPTER XXI

ANIMAL GHOSTS

For a ghost to take the form of an animal is not at all unusual, and it has been suggested that human ghosts when they appear in the guise of bulls, dogs, sheep, or other animals are accounted for by being "throw-backs of the spirit to a lower animal form."

Black dogs with glowing eyes like hot embers, phantom calves, white rabbits, etc., are sometimes thought in Lincolnshire to haunt the spots where murder or suicide has been committed. They are supposed to be either spectres of the dead in brute form or demons, and in Denmark there is a legend that pigs or goats, if buried alive in walls, turn to spectres.

In Wales the belief exists that the devil can manifest as a pig, calf, dog, or headless horse.

A woman once passing through a village in North Pembrokeshire at night shouted, "Come out, you evil one!" and there appeared a white cat in answer to her call. In the same country a certain Mr. David Walter was passing two large stones called locally the Devil's Nags, accompanied by a mastiff, when an apparition in the form of a huge dog appeared in his path. He tried to set his own animal upon the other, but the mastiff was frightened and would not attack the phantom. Thereupon Walter picked up a stone and was about to throw it at the evil beast when it was suddenly illumined by a circle of fire, and he knew it to be one of the "infernal dogs of hell."

A black calf was said to haunt a stream in the same neighbourhood and one night two villagers caught the animal and took it home. They locked it up safely as they thought, but in the morning it had disappeared.

The Roaring Bull of Bagbury is a famous Shropshire ghost. Miss Georgina Jackson recites the story as it was told by an old farmer called Hayward.[155]

A very bad man lived at Bagbury Farm, and when he died it was said of him that he had only done two good deeds in his life, one being to give a waistcoat to a poor old man and the other a piece of bread and cheese to a poor village lad. After he was dead, his ghost refused to rest and haunted the farm buildings in the shape of a bull, roaring till the boards, the shutters, and the tiles seemed about to fly off the outhouses. It was quite impossible for anyone to live within range of this roaring which usually began about nine or ten o'clock at night, sometimes even earlier, and at last became so troublesome that the people at the farmhouse sent for twelve parsons to lay the ghost.

When the parsons came "they got him under," but could not lay him, and at last they drove him, still in the shape of a bull, into Hessington Church. All the parsons carried candles, and one of them, who was blind, knowing that there was danger from a stampede, placed his lighted candle in his top-boot. It was a good thing that he did so, for presently the animal made a great rush, and out went every candle except that belonging to the blind parson who said, as though prepared for the event, "You light your candles by mine." But before he was laid the bull made such a "burst" that he cracked the wall of the church from top to bottom, as hundreds of witnesses have asserted from that day to this.

At last they secured the ghost "down into a snuffbox," as the custom is, and he begged that he might be laid under Bagbury Bridge, declaring that every mare that passed over the bridge should lose her foal and every woman her child. This threat made them refuse his request, and they laid him in the Red Sea, where he has to remain for a thousand years. The knowledge that he was so far away did not prevent the villagers being very chary of crossing Bagbury Bridge at night-time.

Another story of a man who turned into a bull after death is told of a squire at Millidrope in Corve Dale. He was killed by a fall from one of the upper windows of the Hall, and an indelible blood-stain marks the spot. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, his estate, owing to his own carelessness or to the malpractices of his trustees, went to the wrong heir. Unable to rest in his grave owing to this piece of injustice, the squire haunted his own parish, where he was frequently seen in the guise of a flayed bull.[156]

Edmund Swifte tells a story of an animal ghost in the Tower, which appeared while he was keeper of the Crown Jewels. The peculiar point about the story is that this phantom animal was seen with fatal results. One of the night sentries in the Jewel chamber was alarmed by a figure like a huge bear issuing from beneath the door. He thrust at it with his bayonet, which stuck in the door. Then he fell into a fit and was carried senseless to the guard-room. His fellow sentry declared that the man was neither asleep nor drunk, he himself having seen him the moment before awake and sober. Swifte saw the man in the guard-house after the incident, when he lay prostrated with terror, and two or three days later the poor sentry was dead.[157]

In the outer Hebrides it is believed that demons take the form of dogs, and a story is told of a priest's dog which was lying on the hearth while his master was hearing confessions. Suddenly the animal started up, annoyed beyond endurance by the atmosphere of ultra-piety and, exclaiming, "If you liked me before, you never will again," he vanished amidst a shower of sparks.

The Highlanders have also a legend of an ownerless black dog, which caused all kinds of misadventure in the vicinity where he prowled. A hunter shot at the dog with a silver bit, and the aim was so successful that nothing more was seen of the animal. Suddenly a small boy ran up to the hunter with a terrible story of his grandfather who had died within sight of his home as though stricken by a gun-shot wound, and on examination it was found indeed that the silver piece was imbedded in his flesh. There was no further misfortune in the village after this double event, but the tale has more of witchcraft about it than ghostliness.

Samuel Drew, who was apprenticed to a shoemaker, had a curious experience at St. Blazey in Cornwall. It is told in his life written by his son.

"There were several of us boys and men, out about twelve o'clock on a bright moonlight night. I think we were poaching. The party were in a field adjoining the road leading from my master's to St. Austell, and I was stationed outside the hedge to watch and give the alarm if any intruder should appear. While thus occupied I heard what appeared to be the sound of a horse approaching from the town, and I gave a signal. My companions paused and came to the hedge where I was, to see the passenger. They looked through the bushes and I drew myself close to the hedge that I might not be observed. The sound increased, and the supposed horseman seemed drawing near. The clatter of hoofs became more and more distinct. We all looked to see what it was, and I was seized with a strange indefinable feeling of dread: when, instead of a horse, there appeared coming towards us, at an easy pace, but with the same sound which first caught my ear, a creature about the height of a large dog. It went close by me, and as it passed, it turned upon me and my companions huge fiery eyes that struck terror to all our hearts. The road where I stood branched off and on the left there was a gate. Towards the gate the phantom moved, and without any apparent obstruction, went at its regular trot, which we heard several minutes after it had disappeared. Whatever it was, it put an end to our occupation and we made the best of our way home.

"I have often endeavoured in later years, but without success, to account for what I then heard and saw on natural principles. I am sure there was no deception as to the facts. It was a night of unusual brightness, occasioned by a cloudless full moon. The creature was unlike any animal I had then seen, but from my present recollections it had much the appearance of a bear, with a dark shaggy coat. Had it not been for the unearthly lustre of its eyes, and its passing through the gate as it did, there would be no reason to suppose it anything more than an animal perhaps escaped from some menagerie. That it did pass through the gate without pause or hesitation I am perfectly clear. Indeed we all saw it, and saw that the gate was shut, from which we were not distant more than about twenty or thirty yards. The bars were too close to admit the passage of an animal of half its apparent bulk, yet this creature went through without an effort or variation of its pace."

Peele Castle in the Isle of Man is haunted by an apparition called the Manx dog, a shaggy spaniel, which was said to walk in every part of the building, and to lie in the guard-chamber before the fire by candlelight. In days gone by the soldiers were accustomed to the apparition, but all the same they suspected it was an evil spirit, and all were afraid to be left alone in its presence, and were also careful of the language they used lest they should receive an injury if they swore before it. The animal used to appear and return by a passage in the church, and as this passage was also used by the soldier who had to deliver the keys to the captain, and he was terrified at the thought of meeting the phantom, it was arranged that he should have a companion, and after that they went two by two, never singly.

One night one of the soldiers who had been drinking and was in a bragging mood, declared that he would carry back the key alone, though it was not really his turn to go. He would not listen to the others, who tried to dissuade him. Blustering and swearing, he snatched up the bunch of keys and marched off. Presently a great noise was heard outside, but the soldiers were too frightened to go out and see what was taking place. In staggered the adventurous boaster, struck dumb with horror at what he had seen, nor could he by sign or word explain what had happened to him, but died, in terrible agony, his features distorted and his limbs writhing.

After this occurrence no one would venture through the passage, which was soon bricked up, and the apparition never appeared again in the castle.

Hergest Court, in Herefordshire, was haunted by a demon dog said to have belonged to Black Vaughan. Black Vaughan was himself said to be the ghost of the member of the family whose monument rests in Kingston Church. So powerful was this ghost that he appeared in daylight and upset farmers' waggons, or rode with the old wives to Kingston Market. Once he was said to have appeared in church in the form of a bull, and the usual elaborate form of exorcism was required to dislodge him, in which twelve parsons with twelve candles had to remain in the church until they had "read him down into a silver snuff-box." The demon dog always appeared as a warning that death was nigh to one of the Vaughan family.

The Black Dog of Hergest was famous all over the country-side, and no one ventured to enter the room he was said to haunt. At night he clanked a chain, but at other times he was seen wandering about without one, often near a pond on the high road to Kingston.

Another phantom dog-story comes from the parish of Dean Prior, a narrow woodland valley watered by a stream. Below a beautiful cascade is a deep hollow called the Hound's Pool. At one time there lived near to this spot a skilful weaver. After his death he was seen by his family working as diligently as ever at his loom, and, this being regarded as uncanny, application was made to the vicar of the parish as to what steps were to be taken to remove the apparition. The parson called at the cottage where the weaver had lived and, hearing the noise of the shuttle in the upstairs room, called to the ghost of the weaver to descend.

"I will," replied the weaver's voice, "as soon as I have worked out my shuttle."

"No," replied the vicar, "you have worked long enough. Come down at once."

So the phantom appeared, and the vicar, taking a handful of earth from the churchyard, threw it in his face. In a moment the apparition turned into a black hound. "Follow me," said the vicar, and the dog followed to the gate of the wood, where a mighty wind was blowing. The vicar picked up a nutshell with a hole in it and leading the hound to the pool below the cascade, said, "Take this, and dip out the pool with it. When it is empty thou shalt rest."

The hound still haunts the spot, and to those who can see is ever at work on the waters of the pool.[158]

Similarly Tregeagle, the famous Demon of Dosmery Pool, in Cornwall, is doomed to empty the pool with a limpet shell which has a large hole in it.

A story is told of a talking Dog which haunted Dobb Park Lodge.

A treasure-seeker who went to explore the underground vaults at the Lodge saw a great, black, rough dog as large as any two or three mastiffs, which said, "No, my man, as you've come here, you must do one of three things, or you'll never see daylight again. You must either drink all the liquor there is in that glass, open that chest, or draw that sword."

The chest was iron-bound and too heavy to move, the drink was scalding hot, and the sword glittered and flashed like lightning wielded by an unseen hand. Fortunately the treasure-seeker escaped after extraordinary experiences with his bare life, returning as empty-handed as he came, and since then no one has ventured into the ruined vaults of Dobb Park Lodge, and the chest of gold is said to be still there, waiting for an adventurer who can brave the terrors of the "Talking Dog" and his surroundings.

The neighbourhood of Burnley used to be haunted by a phantom locally called "Trash" or "Striker." These names came from the sounds made by the animal which had the appearance of a large dog with broad feet, shaggy hair, drooping ears and "eyes as large as saucers." His paws made a splashing noise as of old shoes on a muddy road, and now and again the brute emitted deep howls. His presence was considered a certain sign of death in the family of anyone who caught sight of the apparition. If followed by anyone the animal began to walk backwards, keeping his eyes on the pursuer. At the slightest inattention on the part of his companion the phantom vanished. Sometimes he plunged into a pool of water, at others he dropped at the feet of the pursuer with a curious splashing sound. Some attempted to strike the animal, but there was no substance present to receive the blow, though the apparition remained in the same position as before the blow was delivered.

Some animal ghosts appear in different shapes at different times.

The Manor of Woodstock was haunted in 1649 by an apparition described by several witnesses whose narratives may be found in Dr. Plott's "Natural History of Oxfordshire."

Commissioners took up residence at the Manor House on 13 October, 1649, but heard nothing of the ghost until three days later when "there came, as they thought, somewhat into the bedchamber (where two of the commissioners and their servants lay), in the shape of a dog, which, going under their beds, did as it were gnaw their bed cords, but on the morrow finding them whole and a quarter of beef, which lay on the ground, untouched they began to entertain other thoughts." On the following day, the 17th, some evil spirit hurled the chairs and stools up and down the Presence Chamber, "from whence it came into the two chambers where the commissioners and their servants lay and hoisted their beds' feet so much higher than their heads that they thought they should have been turned over and over; and then let them fall down with such force, that their bodies rebounded from the bed a good distance."

The next day also a mysterious visitor appeared to be present, which fetched the warming-pan out of the withdrawing-room and made so much noise "that they thought five bells could not have made more." On the 20th and 21st of October various phenomena occurred, and then came a respite until the 25th, on the night of which, amongst other curious sounds and sights, there was "a very great noise as if forty pieces of ordnance had been shot off together." Peace was restored until the 1st of November when "something came into the withdrawing-room, treading, as they conceived, much like a bear, which at first only walked about a quarter of an hour: at length it made a great noise about the table and threw the warming-pan so violently, that it quite spoiled it. It threw also glass and great stones at them again, and the bones of horses, and all so violently that the bedstead and walls were bruised by them." This night they set candles all about the rooms, and made great fires up to the mantle-trees of the chimneys, but all were put out, nobody knew how. Nor was this all. For in spite of the fact that one of the commissioners had the boldness to ask in the name of God what it was, what it would have, and what they had done, that they should be disturbed in this manner, and the questions, although evoking no answer, caused a temporary cessation of noise, it returned bringing seven devils worse than itself. Whereupon one of the watchers lighted a candle and set it between two rooms in the doorway, on which another of them "fixing his eyes saw the similitude of a hoof, striking the candle and candlestick into the middle of the bedchamber and afterwards making three scrapes on the snuff to put it out. Upon this the same person was so bold as to draw his sword, but he had scarce got it out, when there was another invisible hand had hold of it too, and tugged with him for it and prevailing, struck him so violently with the pummel that he was stunned with the blow."

This was too much, and two days later the commissioners and their men removed out of the house, unable to stand the strain they were undergoing any longer.

An apparition of a lady in the form of a colt is somewhat unusual, but has been seen, if we may believe the statement of a woman called Sarah Mason. Sarah also saw the ghost of a man who hanged himself and came back afterwards in the form of a large black dog.

The story of Obrick's Colt[159] concerned a lady who was buried with all her jewels and whose corpse was afterwards robbed by the clerk. She haunted the spot, it was said, in the shape of a colt, and the guilty clerk, meeting the phantom animal late one night in a narrow lane, went down on his knees, and said earnestly, "Abide, Satan, abide. I am a righteous man and a psalm-singer." The clerk was called Obitch or Holbeach, from which the ghost is supposed to have taken the name of Obrick's Colt. An old woman in the village declared that "Obitch used to say that he saw the colt as natural as any Christian, and he used to get up against the stile for him to get up on top of his back, and at last the colt grew so bold that folks saw him in the daytime." Holbeach, if that was his real name, never again knew peace of mind on this earth.

On the 21st of January, 1879, a labourer had taken some luggage from one Shropshire village to another, and on the return journey, his horse being tired, he reached a canal bridge some way from home about ten o'clock at night. To his horror a huge black creature with gleaming white eyes jumped out of the hedge and settled on the horse's back. He beat at the phantom with his whip, which, to his astonishment, instead of meeting with resistance went through the apparition. The terrified horse broke into a canter and tore home with the strange creature clinging to his back.

The adventure was much discussed in the neighbouring villages, and some days later the labourer's master was called upon by a policeman who had somehow got knowledge of an account that he had been robbed when crossing the canal bridge in question late one evening. The policeman was told there had been no robbery, and a version of the tale as it had happened was given him.

"Was that all?" he cried in disappointed tones. "I know what that was. It was the man-monkey, sir, as does come at that bridge ever since a man was drowned in the canal at that spot."[160]

The following story was told to Bérenger-Feraud[161] and happened at a country house on the plateau of the Garde near to Toulon. One evening a woman was sitting by the side of her father who had been lying dangerously ill in bed for some days with a disease which the doctors could not identify. The neighbours came in to offer their services, to keep watch over the sick man so that his daughter, who had spent several nights without any sleep, could go and lie down to rest. She thanked them but refused to do so.

Nevertheless they insisted on remaining, and as it was cold she invited them to sit round the fire in the kitchen to warm themselves. As her father seemed to be asleep for a little while she went into the kitchen to speak to her visitors.

Of a sudden they heard the sick man give a terrible cry of pain and fright. They all hurried into his room to see what was the matter, and there, just above the old man's bed, was a huge stinging-fly which hovered round and round him, buzzing in a horrible manner.

They tried to catch the dangerous insect, but this was not an easy matter, for it buzzed so loudly that it positively menaced those who came near it. From time to time it hurled itself at the limbs of the sick man, and every time it touched him he gave vent to a shriek of pain. Those who were near him could see large black blisters rising at the spots where the stinging-fly attacked him.

At last one of the men who had more courage than the others beat down the gigantic insect with his hat. They picked up its body with a pair of tongs and threw it out of the house, shutting the door tightly so that it could not return to its attack.

The deed accomplished, they looked at one another terrified at what had taken place, and to their horror they could plainly hear the buzz of the insect outside. The noise was so loud that the windows positively rattled. Then a howl arose outside, a cry so strange that no one present had ever heard the like, and after that all was silent.

They went back to the bedside of the sick man, who had suffered severely, and who told them that he had been suddenly awakened by this horrible stinging-fly, which had hummed in his ears and struck at his body, in such a terrifying manner that he felt sure it must be an evil spirit.

Now that the insect had been captured and put out of the house he felt better, but none of the visitors dared to leave the cottage, feeling sure that a sorcerer was mixed up in the affair. They passed the night sitting round the fire, carefully avoiding all mention of the matter, as they were afraid that the noise of buzzing and humming would begin afresh.

The next morning at sunrise, they decided to open the door, and then they saw the huge insect lying on the ground just outside. But the mysterious part of it was that those who were courageous enough to look at it closely, stated that it was not the real insect that was lying there but merely its outer shell or covering, just like the skin sloughed by a grasshopper and left behind when it changes its shape.

This then was taken to be proof positive that the stinging-fly was not what it had pretended to be, but was a wizard in disguise, which had intended to do harm to the old invalid, and the horrible cry which had been heard when the insect had been thrown out of doors was only the howl of rage uttered by the wizard at the failure of his wicked designs.

A woman at Toulon told the following story in 1888, saying it had happened in her presence when she was a little girl. Her father, whose name was Isidore, was an omnibus driver and for many years had lived with his own sister in peace and friendliness. One day, however, they fell into an argument and had such a violent quarrel that they decided that they could no longer live together. Isidore, however, felt grieved to think that matters had come to such a pass between himself and the sister he had always loved, and he told a friend about the affair. The friend answered, "You have quarrelled with your sister, because one of your neighbours, who is a sorcerer, has cast a spell over you. To end the enchantment you must give your horses a jolly good hiding to-morrow morning, and then you will see the result. The person who has bewitched you will be taken ill and will bear about his or her body the traces of the blows you give to your horses." Next day Isidore whipped up his horses, as he had been told to do, and he went on slashing them all day long. In the evening he went to bed feeling as though he had done a praiseworthy deed. The next day his sister came to see him and spoke to him quite affectionately, and they decided to bury the hatchet just as though no quarrel had taken place. Then Isidore, to his surprise, heard that a neighbour, of whom he had been very fond until then, and whom he had not in the least suspected of witchcraft, had been taken ill. He hastened to visit her, and found she was in bed, and that she showed traces of having been beaten. As soon as he entered the room to condole with her she said to him bitterly, "Why on earth did you strike your horses so violently? What harm had the poor beasts done to you?"

This was taken as proof that the neighbour was a witch, and that the weals on her body were the stigmata of the blows which Isidore had given his horses, and he was convinced that this woman had tried to separate him from his sister through sheer jealousy.

The well-known ghost of Tedworth, Wiltshire, called the "Drummer of Tedworth," sometimes took the form of an animal, or at least was heard making animal sounds. The following description is taken from Joseph Glanvill's "Sadducismus Triumphatus."

On one occasion the village blacksmith stayed in the house sleeping with the footman, hoping he might hear the supernatural noises and be cured of his incredulity when "there came a noise in the room as if one had been shoeing a horse, and somewhat came, as it were, with a pair of pincers," snipping away at the sceptical smith. Next day the ghost came panting like a dog out of breath, and a woman who was present, taking up a stick to strike at it, the weapon "was caught suddenly out of her hand and thrown away: and company coming up, the room was presently filled with a bloody noisome smell," and was very hot, though there was no fire, and the winter was severe. "It continued scratching for an hour and a half and then went into the next room, when it knocked a little and seemed to rattle a chain."

Sometimes the phantom purred like a cat and it was described by a servant as "a great body with two red and glaring eyes."

The Rev. Joseph Glanvill himself went to the haunted house in January, 1662, and was convinced that the noises were made by a demon or spirit. He heard a strange scratching, as he went upstairs, which appeared to come from behind the bolster of the children's bed. It was loud scratching, and when he thrust his hand behind the bolster at the point from which the noise seemed to come it ceased but began in another place. When he removed his hand, however, it began again in the same place as before. "I had been told that it would imitate noises," says Glanvill, "and made trial by scratching several times upon the sheet, as five, and seven and ten, which it followed, and still stopped at my number. I searched under and behind the bed, turned up the clothes to the bed cords, grasped the bolster, sounded the wall behind, and made all the search I possibly could." But all his endeavours were fruitless; he could discover nothing. There was neither cat nor dog in the room. After scratching for more than half an hour, the phantom went into the midst of the bed, under the children, "and then seemed to pant very loudly, like a dog out of breath. I put my hand upon the place and felt the bed bearing up against it, as if something within had thrust it up." The motion it caused by this panting was so strong that it shook the walls and made the windows rattle; yet this strange animal ghost was never explained.