Traditions, Superstitions and Folk-lore Part 19

The first labour to which he was subjected was the emptying of Dosmery Pool, a mountain lake, some miles in circ.u.mference. This, in itself no slight task, was believed to be rendered more difficult from the supposed fact that the said pool was bottomless, inasmuch as tradition a.s.serted that "once on a time" a thorn bush which had been sunk near its centre had reappeared in Falmouth harbour. One churchman, it is said, nevertheless thought the plan not sufficiently hopeless. He therefore suggested that the only lading or baling utensil employed by the miserable sinner should be a limpet sh.e.l.l with a sufficiently large hole in it to seriously augment the necessary labour. The demon kept his eye on Tregeagle, and endeavoured to divert his attention from his toil, in order that he might lay hold of him. But although he _raised many tempests_, still the doomed one continued to labour. On one occasion, however, the fiends were nearly "too many" for the eternal toiler. Mr.

Hunt's description of this terrible struggle is so strikingly suggestive of one of the myths to which I have referred its origin, that I give it entire. He says:--

"Nature was at war with herself, the elements had lost their balance, and there was a terrific struggle to recover it. Lightnings flashed and coiled like fiery snakes around the rocks of Roughtor. Fire-b.a.l.l.s fell on the desert moors and hissed in the accursed lake. Thunders pealed through the heavens, and echoed from hill to hill; an earthquake shook the solid earth, and terror was on all living. The winds rose and raged with a fury which was irresistible, and hail beat so mercilessly on all things that it spread death around. Long did Tregeagle stand the 'pelting of the pitiless storm,' but at length he yielded to its force and fled. The demons in crowds were at his heels. He doubled, however, on his pursuers and returned to the lake; but so rapid were they that he could not rest the required moment to dip his sh.e.l.l in the now seething waters. Three times he fled round the lake, and the evil ones pursued him. Then feeling that there was no safety for him near Dosmery Pool, he sprang swifter than the wind across it, shrieking with agony, and thus--since the devils cannot cross water, and were obliged to go round the lake--he gained on them and fled over the moor. Away, away went Tregeagle, faster and faster, the dark spirits pursuing, and they had nearly overtaken him, when he saw Roach Rock and its chapel before him.

He rushed up the rocks, with giant power clambered to the eastern window, and dashed his head through it, thus securing the shelter of its sanct.i.ty. The defeated demons retired, and long and loud were their wild wailings in the air. The inhabitants of the moors and of the neighbouring towns slept not a wink that night."

This "wild hunt" is, in some respects, suggestive of Tam O'Shanter's narrow escape from the devil and the witches at Alloway Kirk.

In his "Address to the Deil," Burns a.s.sociates both the devil and witches with stormy weather. He says, of the former:--

Whyles raging like a roaring lion, For prey a' holes an' corners tryin; Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin'; Tirlin the kirks.

And again:--

Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, They skim the moors an' dizzy crags, Wi' wicked speed.

But this is rather corroborative than otherwise of the hypothesis of their common origin. I have previously shown that witches were descended from the Aryan storm-G.o.ds or their attendants. Shakspere appears to have been fully cognisant of their elemental origin, or, in other words, of their supposed power over "the elements," for he makes Macbeth, in his extremity, exclaim:--

I conjure you, by that which you profess (Howe'er you came to know it), answer me: Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches: though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees torn down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; tho' the treasure Of nature's germins tumble altogether, Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you.

The tradition that Dosmery Pool was bottomless, reminds me of a similar presumed phenomenon in the neighbourhood of Preston, which I have often heard referred to in my youth with implicit faith. It was confidently a.s.serted that a large pit near the footpath leading from Moor Park to Cadley Mill was of the bottomless cla.s.s. Doubtless it was, at that time, a very deep pit, though I believe now it is nearly if not entirely dry in the summer season. There was likewise a pit on Preston Moor which was supposed to be bottomless. A similar belief once obtained respecting the "Stone Delph," from which the material was quarried for the tower of the Parish Church, Preston, taken down in 1814. I can yet well remember being convinced of the absurdity of this legend by an older companion, a good swimmer and diver, bringing up some mud and a stone from the bottom. The stone delph referred to is situated in the present bed of the Ribble, at the foot of the steep brow in Avenham Park. The sinking of water into the caverns of limestone rocks, as in Derbys.h.i.+re, and at Malham Cove, in Yorks.h.i.+re, and other places, may have originated the notion of "bottomless pits;" but I am inclined to think that demonology has, likewise, had something to do with these legends.

The mother of the mythic monster Grendel, in the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem, Beowulf, lived in a pool or mere on which fire floated at night, and the depth of which was so great that the wisest living person knew not its bottom. This mere is supposed to be the sheet of water from which Hart-le-pool, in the county of Durham, takes its name.

Tregeagle was next employed on the sh.o.r.e near Padstow, to make "trusses of sand and ropes of sand with which to bind them." Of course, each recurring tide swept away the result of his toil, and, according to the tradition, "the ravings of the baffled soul were louder than the roarings of the winter tempest." He was afterwards removed, by the power of the priesthood, to the estuary of the Loo, and ordered to carry sand across to Porthleven. A fiend maliciously tripped him up, and the contents of his huge sack, it is said, furnished the material of the sandbank which forms the bar that destroyed the harbour of Ella's Town.

Yet we learn that "the sea was raging with the irritation of a pa.s.sing storm" at the time of the mishap, which clearly indicates the origin of the legend. Tregeagle's last location was at the Land's End, where Mr.

Hunt says "he would find no harbour to destroy and few people to terrify. His task was to sweep the sands from Porthcurnow Cove round the headland called Tol-Peden-Penwith, into Nanjisal Cove. Those who know that rugged headland, with its cubical ma.s.ses of granite, piled in t.i.tanic grandeur one upon another, will appreciate the task; and when to all the difficulties are added the strong sweep of the Atlantic current,--that portion of the Gulf Stream which washes our southern sh.o.r.es,--it will be evident that the melancholy spirit has, indeed, a task which must endure to the world's end. Even until to-day is Tregeagle labouring at his task. In calms his wailing is heard; and those sounds which some call the 'soughing of the wind,' are known to be the moanings of Tregeagle; while the coming storms are predicted by the fearful roarings of this condemned mortal."

It is very certain that we have here a singularly curious variation of the popular legend of the "Wandering Jew," and the myth of the "spectre huntsman," or the "furious host." The yelping hounds of the latter are not wanting to complete the picture, for Mr. Hunt tells us that "the tradition of the Midnight Hunter and his headless hounds, _always, in Cornwall, a.s.sociated with Tregeagle_, prevails everywhere. The Abbot's Way, on Dartmoor, an ancient road which extends into Cornwall, is said to be the favourite coursing ground of the 'wish or whisked hounds of Dartmoor,' called also the 'yell hounds.' The valley of the Dewerstone is also the place of their midnight meetings. Once I was told at Jump, that Sir Francis Drake drove a hea.r.s.e into Plymouth at night with headless horses, and that he was followed by a pack of 'yelling hounds'

without heads. If dogs hear the cry of the wish hounds they all die."

The performance attributed to Sir Francis Drake is unquestionably a relatively modernised version of the mythical black coach story previously referred to as one form of the furious host legend. The effect of the cry of the wish hounds on the canine race in Cornwall is similar to that attributed to their compeers in Lancas.h.i.+re, only the death resultant is always that of a human being in the northern locality.

Mr. Hunt seems to doubt Mr. Kemble's etymology of the term "wish," when he says:--"In Devons.h.i.+re, to this day, all magical or supernatural dealings go under the common name of wishtness. Can this have any reference to Woden's name 'Wyse?'" Mr. Hunt, however, acknowledges that "Mr. Kemble's idea is supported by the fact that 'there are _Wishanger_ (Wisehanger, or Woden's Meadow,) one about four miles south-west of Wanborough, in Surrey, and another near Gloucester.'" He acknowledges, likewise, on the authority of Jabez Allies, that there is a _Wishmoor_, which may have such an origin, in Ledstone, Delamere, Worcesters.h.i.+re.

Mr. Hunt thinks that the word "wish" is intimately "connected with the west country word 'whist,' meaning more than ordinary melancholy, a sorrow which has something weird about it." Polwhele, in his "Wishful Swain of Devon," says it is "an expression used by the vulgar to express local melancholy;" and he adds,--"There is something sublime in this impersonation of _wishness_." It is not at all improbable that both these etymologies point to a common origin. The deeds of the spectre huntsman and the furious host, a "cavalcade of the dead," are not calculated to impress on the human imagination anything repugnant to the "melancholy sorrow with something weird surrounding it," to which Mr.

Hunt refers.

This supposed sympathy of "the elements" with human joy, or sorrow, or suffering, is evidently a very ancient superst.i.tion. In Lancas.h.i.+re we have yet the saying--

Happy is the bride that the sun s.h.i.+nes on; Happy is the corpse that the rain rains on.

Shakspere has beautifully ill.u.s.trated this presumed sensitiveness, not only of "the elements," but of animated nature, to the perpetration of deeds of darkness and blood by perverted humanity, in the following lines, which he places in the mouth of Lennox, on the morning after the murder of Duncan, by his host, Macbeth:--

The night has been unruly; where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of death; And prophesying, with accents terrible, Of dire combustion and confused events, New hatched to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamoured the live-long night; some say the earth Was feverous, and did shake.

The sentiment is still further ill.u.s.trated, with singular felicity, in the dialogue which follows, between Rosse and an old man:--

_Old Man._ Three score and ten I can remember well; Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings.

_Rosse._ Ah! good father, Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his b.l.o.o.d.y stage. By the clock 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.

Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?

_Old Man._ 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was, by a mousing owl, hawked at and killed.

_Rosse._ And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain), Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind.

_Old Man._ 'Tis said, they eat each other!

_Rosse._ They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, That looked upon't.

The Ashton "Black Knight" traditions, doubtless, to some extent, influenced the colouring of Bamford's poem, "The Wild Rider." Mr. Hunt quotes from a somewhat similar modern ballad, ent.i.tled "_Tregeagle or Dozmare Poole; an Anciente Cornish Legend_," by John Penwarne, in which, however, he states the author has taken considerable liberties with the tradition. Tregeagle is transformed into a kind of Faust, and the black hunter, whose "dread voyce they hearde in wynde," is no other than the arch-fiend himself.

They heard hys curste h.e.l.l houndes runn yelping behynde, And hys steede loude on the eare!

Although, in compliance with his contract with the demon, "the rede bolte of vengeaunce shot forth wyth a glare, and strooke him a corpse to the grounde,"

Stylle as the traveller pursues hys lone waye In horroure at nighte o'er the waste, He hears Syr Tregeagle with shrieks rushe awaye, He hears the Black Hunter pursuing his preye, And shrynkes at his bugle's dread blasts.

Here we find Odin (the spectre huntsman), by successive degrees, transformed into Sir Tregeagle, with a black knight attendant. The pair does not inaptly represent the Sir Ashton, of Bamford's poem, and the "Black Lad" of the Ashton Legend. The term "Th' Owd Lad" is a common expression in several parts of Lancas.h.i.+re, and means literally "Old Nick," or the devil.[32]

Both knights were baffled in affairs of the heart, and the doom of the one resembles that of the other. Bamford concludes his poem with the following stanzas:--

But strangest of all, on that woe-wedding night, A black horse was stabled where erst stood the white; The grooms, when they found him, in terror quick fled, His breath was hot smoke, and his eyes burning red; He beat down a strong wall of mortar and crag, He tore his oak stall as a dog would a rag, And no one durst put forth a hand near that steed Till a priest had read Ave, and pater, and creed.

And then he came forth, the strange beautiful thing, With speed that could lead a wild eagle on wing; And raven had never spread plume on the air Whose l.u.s.trous darkness with his might compare.

He bore the young Ashton--none else could him ride-- O'er flood and o'er fell, and o'er quarry pit wide; The housewife, she blest her, and held fast her child, And the men swore both horse and his rider were wild.

And then when the knight to the hunting field came, He rode as he sought rather death than his game.

He halloo'd through woods where he wandered of yore, But the lost Lady Mary he never saw more!

And no one durst ride in the track where he led, So fearful his leaps, and so madly he sped; And in his wild phrenzy he gallop'd one day Down the church steps at Rochdale, and up the same way.

The practice of giving a local name and local significance to this tradition and its hero has been previously shown to be by no means unusual. At Fontainebleau Odin is transformed into Hugh Capet; the ancient British king, Hegla, rode at the head of the hunt on the banks of the Wye, in the reign of Henry II.; King Arthur, in Normandy, Scotland, and other places, is elevated to the post of honour; in Sleswig it is the Duke Abel; and at Danzig it is Theordoric the Great.

Wordsworth, in the lines quoted at the head of this chapter, designates the personage who hunts with Gabriel's hounds as an "impious lord."

The mythical connection between unwearied but unwilling toil and arrogance and presumption is referred to by the Rev. G. W. c.o.x in the following terms:--"The myth of Ixion exhibits the sun as bound to the four-spoked wheel which is whirled round everlastingly in the sky.[33]

In that of Sisyphos we see the same being condemned to the daily toil of heaving a stone to the summit of a hill from which it immediately rolls down. This idea of tasks unwillingly done, or of natural operations as accomplished by means of punishment, is found also in the myth of Atlas, a name which like that of Tantalos denotes endurance and suffering, and so pa.s.ses into the notion of arrogance and presumption." In a note he adds,--"The h.e.l.lenic Atlas is simply the Vedic Skambha."

The story of the "spectre huntsman," under various modifications, is found in different parts of the country. They seem invariably to suggest the common origin to which I have referred, however much it may be obscured by relatively modern additions or poetic embellishments.

FOOTNOTES:

[29] QUERY:--May not the "marks of the comb" be, in reality, striae resulting from glacial action?

[30] Since this was written, I have been told in a public company, in Manchester, by an intelligent man, that the squeaking of a pig did give the name to Winwick. My suggestion that the old name of the brook, the "Wynwede," with the common suffix "wick," a village, was sufficient to explain the etymology, was, of course, laughed at as a relatively very prosaic affair indeed.

[31] See the following chapter.

[32] Mr. Roby's version of the tradition states that a half-witted lad met Sir Ralph Ashton, when driving a cow towards the Knight's residence.