{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41108/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41108","id":"gutenberg_41108","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41108","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- England -- Cheshire"],"text":"[Illustration: Legends of Longdendale\n    By TOM MIDDLETON\n    Author of \"Annals of Hyde\"; \"Old Godley\", &c &c]\n\n\n\n\n    LEGENDS of LONGDENDALE\n\n    Being a Series of Tales\n    Founded upon the Folk-lore of Longdendale\n    Valley and its Neighbourhood.\n\n    BY\n    THOMAS MIDDLETON,\n    Author of \"Annals of Hyde,\" \"Old Godley,\" etc., etc.\n\n\n    Should you ask me whence these stories?\n    Whence these Legends and Traditions?\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    I should answer, I should tell you,\n    I repeat them as I heard them\n    From the lips of Nawadaha,\n    The musician, the sweet singer.\n    Should you ask where Nawadaha\n    Found these songs so wild and wayward,\n    Found these legends and traditions,\n    I should answer, I should tell you,\n    In the bird's nest of the forest.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    All the wild fowl sang them to him,\n    In the moorlands and the fenlands,\n    In the melancholy marshes.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    In the Vale of Tawasentha,\n    In the green and silent valley.--(Longfellow).\n\n\n    HYDE:\n\n    FRED HIGHAM, PRINTER AND BOOKBINDER, \"CHESHIRE POST\" OFFICE,\n    CLARENDON PRESS.\n\n    MCMVI.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.\n\n\nThe Author desires to gratefully acknowledge the kindness and\nencouragement that he has received from the Ladies and Gentlemen whose\nnames appear in the following list. It is in great measure owing to\ntheir assistance that the present effort to preserve in book form the\nLegends and Traditions of Longdendale has been successful.\n\n    ANDREW, J. D., ESQ.,\n        Longdendale, Oswestry.\n\n    ANDREW, W. J., ESQ., F.S.A.,\n        Cadster, Whaley Bridge.\n\n    ASHTON, MRS. THOMAS,\n        37, Princess Gardens, London, S.W. (4 copies).\n\n    ASHTON, THOMAS GAIR, ESQ., M.P.,\n        Of Hyde, and of Vinehall Place, Robertsbridge, Battle, Sussex.\n\n    ASTLEY-CHEETHAM PUBLIC FREE LIBRARY\n        (Stalybridge)--Thomas Swain, Esq., Librarian.\n\n    ASPLAND, MRS.,\n        Werneth Lodge, Gee Cross, Hyde.\n\n    BARR, JOHN, ESQ.,\n        Dinting Lodge, Dinting.\n\n    BEAUMONT, MRS. T. A.,\n        Lower Market Street, Broadbottom.\n\n    BEELEY, JAMES, ESQ.,\n        Derbyshire Level, Moorfield, Glossop.\n\n    BENNETT, ISAAC BOOTH, ESQ.,\n        Godley Green, Hyde.\n\n    BIRKENHEAD CENTRAL LIBRARY\n        (John Shepherd, Esq., Librarian).\n\n    BLACKBURN PUBLIC LIBRARY\n        (R. Ashton, Esq.)\n\n    BODELL SMITH, REV. H.,\n        The Parsonage, Mottram-in-Longdendale.\n\n    BOOTH, AMOS, ESQ.,\n        Hattersley, Gee Cross, Hyde.\n\n    BOOTH, D., ESQ.,\n        4, Mottram Moor, Mottram-in-Longdendale.\n\n    BOWLES, CHARLES E. B., ESQ.,\n        The Nether House, Wirksworth.\n\n    BRADBURY, GEO. T., ESQ.,\n        Green Lane, Hollingworth.\n\n    BRAMHALL, FREDK. J., ESQ.,\n        56, Bank Street, Hadfield.\n\n    BRIDGES, REV. W. G., M.A.,\n        Oxford (formerly Vicar of Hyde).\n\n    BROWN, PERCY B., ESQ.,\n        Chisworth House, Charlesworth, near Manchester.\n\n    CALDWELL, MISS C. M.,\n        Marple.\n\n    CHAPMAN, CHARLES, ESQ.,\n        Carlecotes Hall, Dunford Bridge, Sheffield.\n\n    CHAPMAN, GEORGE J., ESQ.,\n        Carlecotes, Dunford Bridge, Sheffield.\n\n    CHEETHAM, F. H., ESQ.,\n        Triscombe House, Taunton, Somerset.\n\n    CLEGG, W. E., ESQ.,\n        Printer and Publisher, Market Place, Oldham.\n\n    COCKS, JOHN, ESQ.,\n        Brookside, Romiley.\n\n    COCKS, JAMES, ESQ.,\n        Harden Cottage, Woodley.\n\n    COLLIER, ALFRED, ESQ.,\n        Solicitor, 44, Mosley-street, Manchester.\n\n    COLLIER, EDWARD, ESQ.,\n        Glen Esk, Whalley Range, Manchester.\n\n    COLLIER, EDWIN, ESQ.,\n        Holly Wood, Glossop.\n\n    COPPOCK, MAJOR SYDNEY,\n        Daisy Bank, Macclesfield.\n\n    DAIN, EDWARD, ESQ.,\n        Market Street, Stalybrldge.\n\n    DERBY PUBLIC FREE LIBRARY,\n        (W. Crowther, Esq.)\n\n    DODDS, JAMES, ESQ.,\n        Penketh House, near Warrington.\n\n    DUKINFIELD FREE LIBRARY,\n        (E. B. Broadrick, Esq., Librarian).\n\n    ELLISON, F. B., ESQ.,\n        Holly Grove, Hollingworth.\n\n    EVANS, SETH, ESQ.,\n        Bradwell Villa, New Mills.\n\n    FAULKNER, F. W., ESQ.,\n        527, Hollins Road, Hollinwood, Oldham\n\n    FIDLER, SAMUEL, ESQ.,\n        26, Ashton Road, Newton Moor.\n\n    FIRTH, D., ESQ.,\n        Hall Green, Dukinfield.\n\n    FLINT, WILLIAM, ESQ.,\n        Woolley Lane, Hollingworth.\n\n    GARTSIDE, J. E., ESQ.,\n        Moorlands, Stalybridge.\n\n    GLOSSOP DALE NEW INDUSTRIAL CO-OPERATIVE  SOCIETY\n        (John Hyde, Esq., 2 copies).\n\n    HAMNETT, ROBERT, ESQ., Glossop.\n\n    HEAPE, C, ESQ.,\n        Hartley, High Lane, Cheshire.\n\n    HIBBERT, OLIVER, ESQ.,\n        Brook Bank, Mottram Road, Godley.\n\n    HOLLINWORTH, GEORGE, ESQ.,\n        277, Crompton Road, Macclesfield.\n\n    HOLLINGWORTH INDUSTRIAL CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY, LTD.\n        (J. Swindells, Esq.,     secretary, Education Committee).\n\n    HOWARTH, DANIEL F., ESQ., F.S.A.,\n        24, Villiers Street, Ashton-under-Lyne.\n\n    HOWARD, JOSEPH, ESQ.,\n        Denby Grange, Burford Road, Whalley Range, Manchester.\n\n    HYDE PUBLIC FREE LIBRARY\n        (John Chorton, Esq., Librarian).\n\n    KENYON AND SONS,\n        Chapel Field Works, Dukinfield (4 copies).\n\n    KENWORTHY, ORLANDO, ESQ.,\n        106, Werneth Hall Road, Oldham.\n\n    KNIGHT, MISS M. H., Brooklands.\n\n    KNIGHT, RICHARD, ESQ., F.R.C.O., Hyde.\n\n    LAWRANCE, REV. HENRY,\n        Dinting Vicarage, near Manchester.\n\n    LEECH, MRS.,\n        4, Kensington Palace Gardens, London, W. (8 copies).\n\n    LEES, MRS.,\n        Leesdene, Hale, Altrincham.\n\n    LOMAX, HY., ESQ.,\n        School House, Mottram.\n\n    MACKENZIE, DR., Glossop.\n\n    MARSDEN, JOSEPH, ESQ.,\n        Solicitor, Hall Street, Glossop.\n\n    MILLER, N., ESQ.,\n        297, Buxton Road, Macclesfield.\n\n    MOORHOUSE, F., ESQ.,\n        Westfield, Bramhall.\n\n    MOSS, ROBERT, ESQ.,\n        Hague View, Charlesworth (5 copies).\n\n    MOSSLEY INDUSTRIAL CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY\n       (Ed. Jackson, Esq., Librarian)\n\n    MANCHESTER PUBLIC LIBRARIES\n        (C. W. Sutton, Esq., Chief Librarian--4 copies.)\n\n    NEALE, JOHN, ESQ.,\n        Borough Treasurer, Town Hall, Ashton-under-Lyne.\n\n    NICHOLSON, ALBERT, ESQ.,\n        Portinscale, Arthog Road, Hale, Altrincham.\n\n    OGDEN, MISS, Oldham.\n\n    OGDEN, GEORGE, ESQ., Broadbottom.\n\n    OLDHAM CENTRAL FREE LIBRARY\n        (W. H. Berry, Esq.)\n\n    PEARSE, PERCIVAL, ESQ.,\n        Bookseller, Warrington.\n\n    PEMBERTON, REV. W. A., M.A., C.C.,\n        The Vicarage, Mottram-in-Longdendale\n\n    PHILLIPS, W. G., ESQ., J.P.,\n        Ansley Hall, Atherstone, Warwickshire (2 copies).\n\n    PLATT, EDWARD, ESQ., J.P.,\n        Mersey Bank, Hadfield.\n\n    POMFRET, DR. H. W., M.D., F.R.C.S.,\n        Hollingworth, Cheshire (2 copies).\n\n    POTTS, CHARLES, ESQ.,\n        Braehead, Great Norbury Street, Hyde (4 copies).\n\n    RAMSBOTTOM, MRS.,\n        Highfield, Alderley Edge.\n\n    RIDYARD, ALDERMAN JOSEPH, J.P.,\n        High Bank, Stalybridge.\n\n    RINGROSE, REV. R. D.,\n        The Vicarage, Glossop.\n\n    ROCHDALE PUBLIC LIBRARY\n        (George Hanson, Esq.)\n\n    ROSCOE, T., ESQ.,\n        The Old Hall, Mottram-in-Longdendale.\n\n    ROSS, G. B., ESQ.,\n        Mersey Mill, Hollingworth.\n\n    SALMONS, EDWARD J., ESQ.,\n        The Villa, Mottram-in-Longdendale.\n\n    SHAW, WRIGHT, ESQ.,\n        234, Stamford Street, Ashton-under-Lyne.\n\n    SIDEBOTHAM, E. J., ESQ., J.P.,\n        Erlesdene, Bowdon.\n\n    SIDEBOTHAM, J. W., ESQ., J.P., C.C.,\n        Merlewood, Bowdon, Cheshire.\n\n    SIDEBOTTOM, T. HARROP, ESQ., J.P.,\n        Etherow House, Hollingworth.\n\n    SIDEBOTTOM, COLONEL W., V.D., J.P.,\n        Harewood, Broadbottom.\n\n    SIMPSON, ALDERMAN ALLWOOD, J.P.,\n        Enville Place, Stamford Street, Stalybridge.\n\n    SPARROW, WALTER W., ESQ., J.P.,\n        Betton Hall, Market Drayton.\n\n    STAMFORD, THE RT. HON. THE EARL OF,\n        Dunham Hall, Cheshire.\n\n    SUMMERS, H., ESQ., Stalybridge.\n\n    SUMMERS, JOHN, ESQ.,\n        Inglewood, Stalybridge.\n\n    TAYLOR, MISS JESSIE, A.L.C.M.,\n        West End Terrace, Harry Fields, Broadbottom.\n\n    TAYLOR, HENRY, ESQ.,\n        Hollingworth Hall, Hollingworth, near Manchester.\n\n    TURNER, GEORGE, ESQ.,\n        5, Cathedral Yard, Manchester.\n\n    UNDERWOOD, WM., ESQ., J.P.,\n        Albert House, Astley Street, Dukinfield\n\n    WAGSTAFFE, JOHN, ESQ.,\n        Mottram House, Mottram-in-Longdendale.\n\n    WAINWRIGHT, JOEL, ESQ., J.P.,\n        Finchwood, Marple Bridge.\n\n    WALTON, WILLIAM, ESQ., J.P.,\n        Horsley Priory, Nailsworth, Stroud.\n\n    WARD, MRS., The Hurst, Glossop.\n\n    WATTS, JAMES, ESQ., J.P.,\n        Abney Hall, Cheadle (2 copies).\n\n    WHEWELL, SAMUEL, ESQ.,\n        Hollingworth, Cheshire.\n\n    WILKINSON, ARTHUR, ESQ.,\n        Victoria Road, Dukinfield.\n\n    WIGAN PUBLIC FREE LIBRARY\n        (H. T. Folkhard, Esq., F.S.A., Librarian)\n\n    WOOD, MRS., Moorfield, Glossop (2 copies).\n\n    WOOD, COLONEL JOHN, V.D., J.P.,\n        Whitfield House, Glossop.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nHitherto, the Legends of Longdendale--although popular with the\ncountry people of the extreme north-east corner of Cheshire--have been\nscattered, and, to some extent, fragmentary. They are here re-told in\nwhat, I hope, is a more permanent and complete form. As far as\npossible I have carefully followed the original versions; but in one\nor two instances, it has been necessary to draw upon imagination. I\nhave, therefore, introduced several characters and incidents for the\npurpose of giving local connection and completeness to those stories\nwhich were lacking in detail or were vague in location. The legends\nare here printed in chronological order. They were first published in\nthe columns of the \"CHESHIRE POST\" during the winter of 1905-6; and it\nis to the kind encouragement and assistance of Mr. Frederick Higham,\nthe proprietor and editor of that journal, that they owe their\nappearance in book form.\n\nIf further explanation as to the publication of these stories be\nconsidered necessary, I would refer the reader to the Preface to the\nfirst series of \"The Traditions of Lancashire.\" In it Mr. Roby quotes\nthe following passage from a German writer:--\"All genuine, popular\ntales, arranged with local and national reference, cannot fail to\nthrow light upon contemporary events in history, upon the progressive\ncultivation of society, and upon the prevailing modes of thinking in\nevery age. Though not consisting of a recital of bare facts, they are\nin most instances founded upon fact, and in so far connected with\nhistory, which occasionally, indeed, borrows from, and often\nreflects light upon, these familiar annals, these more private and\ninteresting casualties of human life. It is thus that popular\ntradition connected with all that is most interesting in human history\nand human action upon a national scale, ... invariably possesses so\ndeep a hold upon the affections, and offers so many instructive hints\nto the man of the world, to the statesman, the citizen, and the\npeasant.\"\n\nI may add to the above the fact that these wild and improbable tales\nhave a fascination for me, and that I firmly believe it to be the duty\nof the people of the present to preserve from oblivion the traditions\nof the past. In the case of the County of Lancaster, this preservation\nhas been admirably carried out by the late John Roby; and it is with\nthe desire to perform a similar service for the County of Cheshire--or\nat least one corner of it,--that I have ventured to write the stories\nwhich appear in this volume.\n\n                                                    THOMAS MIDDLETON.\n\n    Manchester Road,\n        Hyde.\n            1906.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n        I. THE LEGEND OF COOMBS ROCKS\n        II. THE LEGEND OF ALMAN'S DEATH: A Tale of Melandra Castle\n       III. KING ARTHUR'S ADVENTURE\n        IV. THE LEGEND OF WAR HILL\n         V. SIR RO, OF STALEY HALL\n        VI. ROBIN HOOD'S VISIT TO LONGDENDALE\n       VII. THE ABBOT OF BASINGWERKE, or the Wehr Wolf of Longdendale\n      VIII. THE DEVIL'S ELBOW\n        IX. THE LEGEND OF CHARLESWORTH CHAPEL\n         X. SIR EDMUND SHAA\n        XI. LORD LOVEL'S FATE\n       XII. THE RAIDERS FROM THE BORDER-SIDE\n      XIII. THE LEGEND OF GALLOW'S CLOUGH\n       XIV. THE KING'S EVIL: or the Wonderful Cure of the Mottram Parson\n        XV. THE MAGIC BOOK\n       XVI. THE PARSON'S WIFE\n      XVII. THE DEVIL AND THE DOCTOR\n    XVIII. THE WRITING ON THE WINDOW PANE\n       XIX. A LEGEND OF THE CIVIL WAR\n        XX. A TALE OF THE '))45\n       XXI. THE HAUNTED FARM\n      XXII. THE SPECTRE HOUND\n    XXIII. THE BOGGART OF GODLEY GREEN\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n    PICTORIAL TITLE, with Distant View of Mottram Church, and\n        Author's Portrait.--(A Sketch by H. C. Jaxon and F. Redfern)\n    ROMAN COINS, BRICKS, AND TILES FROM MELANDRA\n    INSCRIBED ROMAN STONE FROM MELANDRA\n    PREHISTORIC SPEARHEAD FROM MOUSELOW CASTLE\n    \"THE PRINCESS INELD\"\n    \"A COUNTRY MAID OF LONGDENDALE\"\n    THE WAR-HILL, MOTTRAM--WITH VIEW OF CHURCH\n    \"IN THE MINSTREL'S GALLERY\"\n    DOORWAY TO STALEY CHAPEL, MOTTRAM CHURCH\n    EFFIGY OF SIR RO AND HIS LADY, MOTTRAM CHURCH\n    \"THE FOREST OF LONGDENDALE\":--View at Bottom's Hall\n    \"THE ROBIN HOOD STONE\"\n    \"THE ABBOT'S CHAIR\"\n    BASE OF CROSS ON THE MONK'S ROAD\n    \"THE LADY GERALDINE\"\n    \"THE FAIRIES\"\n    \"BESS ANDREW\"\n    MOTTRAM CHURCH AND VILLAGE CROSS\n    \"A RUNNING STREAM\"\n    DUKINFIELD HALL\n    \"A PURITAN CHANT OF PRAISE\"\n    ARMS OF THE DUKINFIELD FAMILY\n    ANCIENT DOORWAY, MOTTRAM CHURCH\n\n\n                           To\n                    FREDERICK HIGHAM,\n                           of\n             Abbotsford, Godley Green, Hyde,\n                      in memory of\n    Happy Hours spent together in Literary Association,\n                   and for the sake of\n        A Friendship which ripens as the Years pass,\n                     This Book of\n          Legends of that Wild Land we both Love,\n                     is Dedicated\n                          by\n                      THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nThe Legend of Coombs Rocks.\n\n\nFor some time after the invasion of Britain by Julius C\u00e6sar (55 B.C.)\nno proper steps were taken by the Romans to reduce to submission the\nnorthern portion of the island. The civil war in Rome, which resulted\nin the establishment of a monarchy under Augustus, prevented the\nRomans from making further attempts upon Britain, for Augustus was\nunwilling to endanger the empire by extending its limits. At length,\nhowever, the Emperor Claudius, remembering the island, sent over an\narmy which carried the Roman line beyond the Thames. Later in the same\nreign the Romans subdued an insurrection among the Brigantines--a\nnation which inhabited Lancashire, Yorkshire and the other Northern\ncounties. The kingdom of the Brigantines extended to Longdendale,\nwhere it was bounded by the territory of the Cornavii, another ancient\nBritish tribe who were masters of Cheshire and several other counties\nto the south of the Brigantine line. These warlike tribes again rose\nin opposition to the Romans, but were finally subdued by Julius\nAgricola, who, coming to Britain about the year 79 A.D., took\npossession of Cheshire, and occupied the county with his own legion.\nHe is supposed to have either led or sent a strong force of soldiers\nto overcome the inhabitants of Longdendale, and one outcome of this\nexpedition was the series of incidents narrated in the following\nlegend.\n\nIt would be about the year 80 A.D. when the Romans advanced up the\nnorth-east Horn of Cheshire to attack the people of Longdendale.\nAgricola heralded his coming by a summons to surrender, which was met\nby a defiant refusal from the haughty Britons. Proud of their country\nand her great traditions, the local Britons determined to fight for\ntheir freedom to the last, preferring death in battle to slavery\nbeneath the yoke of Rome.\n\n\"Tell thy proud chief that the sons of Britain are warriors and free\nmen. Free men will they live, and free men die. Never will they submit\ntheir necks to the yoke of the Eagle. Rather will they perish on the\nspears of the legionaires.\"\n\nThus spoke Edas the son of Atli, the brave hill warrior, who was chief\nof the Britons in Longdendale. The Roman heard, and, proud and haughty\nthough he was, could not help admiring the heroic audacity of the\nwhite, half naked savage who stood before him. Edas, son of Atli, was\na finely built man, six feet and more in height, broad of chest and\nstout of limb, and standing thus, with no garment save a covering of\nwolf-skin about his loins, the beautiful proportions of his frame\nstood out with the clearness of a statue. His long hair hung loose\nabout his shoulders, shining golden in the sunlight, and truly was it\nsaid of him that no hero of the old time was more glorious to look\nupon.\n\nFor a moment the Roman paused. Then at length he spake.\n\n\"Why battle with the legions? Why fight against fate? Why not live as\nfree men? To be a citizen of Rome is to be a free man indeed--a\ncitizen of an empire which rules the world. Welcome the Eagles and\nlive. But resist the legions, and--what then?\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied Edas, \"we shall at least preserve our honour; we shall\nat least remain free as our fathers were; we shall have the chance to\nemulate the deeds, and die deaths as glorious as those of the heroes\nof whom the bards sing, and we shall not live to see our wives and\ndaughters dishonoured by the ruthless soldiers of Rome.\"\n\nHe looked the Roman full in the face, and the emissary of Agricola\nflushed with anger at the implication contained in the chief's\nconcluding words.\n\n\"Is that all?\" he asked. \"Is that thy message to Agricola? Not peace\nbut war?\"\n\n\"War,\" answered the chief fiercely. \"War to the death against the\nRomans.\"\n\n\"So be it. The legions will surely come. Farewell.\"\n\nA short time only elapsed after the dispatch of this defiant\ndeclaration ere the British outposts brought news of the Roman\nadvance. Perfect master of the art of war, Agricola left nothing to\nthe last moment, and the same day which brought the message from the\nBritons, saw the Roman army in motion. The troops marched along the\ncourse of the Mersey, and halted for a space at Stockport, where they\nafterwards built a strong station. Then they moved on, still following\nthe stream, and passed up the banks of the river Etherow, until the\ngreat basin of the Coombs Valley lay before them.\n\nMeanwhile the Britons had vigorously prepared themselves for the great\nstruggle. Over the heathery wastes of the hills--into what are now the\ncounties of Lancashire, Yorkshire, and Derbyshire--through the thick\nforests where the wolves, bears, and other wild beasts of prey\nlurked--went the war message of Edas the chief, rallying the warriors\nto battle. For once the tribal jealousies were forgotten, feuds\nvanished in face of the common danger, and Brigantines joined with\nCornavii to offer a united front to the common enemy. For days\nsucceeding the arrival of the Roman herald there was a great massing\nof warriors, fleet-footed graceful men from the Cheshire plains, big\nwild men from the mountains which lie to the north and east of\nLongdendale. Day and night the forest altars and the stone circles of\nthe Druids, which stood amid the heather on the summit of the Coombs,\nwere constantly the scenes of sacrifices and other savage rites of\nDruid worship. Young men and maidens were slain by the golden knife of\nthe Arch Druid, and their spirits passed, with the strains of weird\nsinging, to intercede with God for the cause of Britain. All day the\nbards sang the songs of old, and at night the ghosts of buried heroes\nsailed past on the wings of the wind. Thus were the hearts of the\nBritish warriors strengthened for the battle which was to come.\n\nNight fell, and the forests of Longdendale were full of the white,\nfierce warriors, who moved silently yet swiftly in the direction of\nthe Coombs. It was the last night of peace; on the morrow the songs of\nwar would arise, and brave men would die. Also, it was the night of\nsacrifices, and the Druid altar--that strange group of stones now\nknown as the Robin Hood's Picking Rods--would witness the supreme\nsacrifice--the offering to the Gods of that which was most dear to the\nhearts of the Britons. That day, just before the setting of the sun,\nArwary, the fleet-footed, had bounded into the camp with the lightness\nof the deer, bringing tidings of the Roman advance. The legions would\nattack on the morrow, and so that night must be a night of\nsacrifice--the greatest sacrifice of all. Caledon, the ancient Druid,\nhad summoned the Druid priests to the sacred groves of oak, and the\nwarriors were bidden to gather about the altar shortly before the\nrising of the moon.\n\nIn the wood, near the dwelling of Edas, stood the chief. By his side\nwas a maid--Nesta the fair--the beloved of Edas, son of Atli. Soon, if\nthe gods willed, she would become his bride. Meanwhile she was the\nfairest maid in all Britain, and even the voluptuous Romans sang her\npraises about the camp fires at night.\n\nEdas, son of Atli, spoke of love, and Nesta the fair drew close to his\nbreast. Her arms were about his neck, and the lovers kissed. Edas, son\nof Atli, and Nesta the Fair, were happy.\n\nPresently a voice was heard, and the maiden started. It was the voice\nof Caledon, ancient Druid and he called for Nesta the Fair.\n\n\"The gods have need of thee,\" he cried. \"They have sent to me their\nmessage, and they ask as a sacrifice the beloved of Edas--the bride of\nthe chief.\"\n\nThe voice of the Druid was stern and terrible. Edas the chief stood\nlike one bereft of reason. Only Nesta the Fair remained calm.\n\n\"It is the will of the All-Giver,\" she said, and sighed. \"Yet--I had\ndreamed of happiness and love.\"\n\nAgain the voice of Caledon cried--\n\n\"What greater happiness can a maiden have than to be the chosen of the\ngods?\"\n\nBut Edas flung his arms about the maid.\n\n\"She is too young, too fair to die,\" said he, his voice breaking with\nagony. \"Druid, it shall not be.\"\n\nFor a moment the priest stood silent. Then the words fell from his\nlips in an angry torrent.\n\n\"Art thou a coward, Edas, son of Atli? Must the daughters of the poor\nbe offered for sacrifices, and shall the mighty ones of the earth\nescape? Shall the gods ask the consent of Edas before they select\nthemselves a holy bride?\"\n\n\"And thou, Nesta, art thou not a daughter of a race of kings? Is not\nthe blood of Hu the Mighty in thy veins, the blood of heroes who\nfeared nought, death least of all. Maiden, I tell thee the gods demand\nit. Only by thy death can the Romans be overthrown, and Britain remain\nfree. And behold the moon is even now in the sky, the hour of\nsacrifice is come.\"\n\nNesta the Fair flung her arms about her lover and kissed him.\n\n\"Farewell, my heart,\" she cried. \"The gods prosper thee, and give thee\na hero's death at last.\"\n\nIn another moment she was gone, and Edas, who knew the power of the\nDruids, fell on the ground and sobbed.\n\nThe wild warriors hurried on, and gathered in silence about the altar\nof sacrifice. There, between the upright stones, was bound the form of\nNesta the Fair. About her were the white-robed Druids, and Caledon,\nthe priest, stood near her on the altar.\n\nThe voice of Caledon rose, and the multitude drew their breaths to\nlisten.\n\n\"To thee, Dread All Giver, Master of Life, and Death, we offer now the\nfairest maid in all the Isle of Britain. We give to thee our best\nbeloved. Better far is it that she should become Thy bride than fall\ninto the power of Roman ravishers. Deign to accept her blood as the\nprice of British victory. May our spears be dyed in the blood of the\nEagles, and may the Roman legions be swept away before the rush of our\nwarriors, even as the leaves scatter before the wind.\"\n\nSo he chanted, and then, as the moonlight fell in a slanting beam upon\nthe snow-white breasts of Nesta the Fair, he raised the golden knife,\nplunged it deep in the maiden's heart, and the spirit of the bride of\nEdas passed beyond the mountains to the Land of Rest.\n\nThen Caledon turned to the warriors.\n\n\"Sons of Britain,\" he cried, \"the Gods have accepted your sacrifice.\nGet ye to your spears. The air is thick with ghosts. The dead heroes\nhave left their graves, and their spirits sail about the moor. Sing ye\nthe songs of the heroes who died for Britain. For on the morrow the\nblood will flow like water, and it is well that ye know how to die.\nThe victory will be as the gods decree, but end the battle as it may,\nsee that the bards have a glorious song to sing of you, and let not\nthe ghosts of your fathers be ashamed when they greet you in the after\nworld.\"\n\nSilently the warriors filed away, and, as they laid themselves to\nrest, the bards sang of glorious deeds. Thus passed the night, and on\nthe morrow Edas the Chief, pale and heavy eyed with weeping, yet loyal\nand true to the land he loved, led his men to meet the Roman steel.\n\nNow the British army was gathered upon the level summit of Coombs,\nwhich runs crescent shaped about the northern end of the valley, and\ncommands the whole land beneath. One glance at this position convinced\nthe skilful Roman leader of its impregnable character, and of the\nimpossibility of taking it by direct assault. The rocks at the head of\nthe basin-like vale presented an unscaleable barrier to the legions.\nThe Roman general determined to seek some easier path to the summit.\nHe moved his men to the right, and, working his way up the gentler\nslopes about Ludworth, reached the high ground which stands level with\nthe crest of Coombs. Here, gathering his men in battle array, he\nprepared for a final assault upon the British line.\n\nBut the British finding that the Romans were not inclined to attempt\nthe impossible task of scaling the rocks, and seeing no further\nadvantage in maintaining their position, moved rapidly towards the\nwest, and met the Romans on the Ludworth moor. Chanting their wild\nsongs of battle, the warriors charged upon the Roman line. Again and\nagain the warriors charged, but the legions stood firm, and the\nslaughter was horrible to see. The Britons fought for freedom, which\nwas dearer to them than life, and few who went to battle that day\nreturned home to tell the tale. It is said that the British army was\nannihilated, and certainly that was the last great fight between the\nRomans and the Britons which took place in this part of the country.\n\nWhen the battle was ended the dead were buried in two great groups\nupon the field, and mighty cairns of stones were raised above their\ngraves. These cairns still remain, and are probably the oldest\nmonuments to British bravery in this district.\n\nThe chief Edas was one of the last to fall. He led charge after charge\nof his warriors, shouting his wild war cry, until at length, pierced\nby many blades, he fell far in front of the British. For a moment or\nso he lay as one dead. Then a glad smile spread over his face, and he\nsprang to his feet.\n\n\"Nesta, my beloved, I come. The gods are just. They will unite us. We\nshall dwell together in the Land of Rest. Thus do I win my way to thy\nside.\"\n\nSo crying, he gripped his war hatchet, and, rushing full upon the line\nof Roman spears, slew until the soldiers made an end of him.\n\n\"That was truly a brave man,\" said the Roman general. \"He could not\nhave died a nobler death had he been a Roman.\" And having learned the\nstory of the death of Nesta, he had the two bodies of the lovers\nburied in one grave. The Romans encamped in the neighbourhood, and at\nnight were startled by a wild song which came from the battlefield. It\nwas Caswallon the bard, who sang above the grave of Edas. And thus he\nsang.\n\n\"Now have the heroes gone beyond the veil of the Invisible, and the\nLand of Ghosts is thronged with the spirits of the brave.\"\n\n\"Edas, the son of Atli, led his warriors to join the hosts of their\nforefathers.\"\n\n\"Edas was of the blood of Hu the Mighty; he was glorious to look upon;\nfair was his countenance, even as the light of the morning; he was\nsturdy of stature as the oak; he was fleet of foot as the deer; his\neye was as the eye of the eagle; men fell before him in the battle.\"\n\n\"He gave his heart to Nesta the Fair. She was the fairest maid in all\nBritain. The Gods had need of her.\"\n\n\"The Romans came, who are brave men. But the Britons are still braver.\nEvery Briton is a warrior.\"\n\n\"Edas, the son of Atli, led his men to the battle. The battle raged,\nand the war song of Edas arose. Many brave men died, but the Britons\nstill fought on. Edas, son of Atli, led the way; he led his warriors\nthrough the gates of death.\"\n\n\"The battle ended. The Romans won. But the Land of Ghosts welcomed the\nsouls of Edas and his brave Britons.\"\n\n\"The men sleep beneath the cairns amid the heather. But their spirits\nsail upon the wind. And they shall watch over Britain until new heroes\nshall arise. And the fame of the Eagles shall grow dim before their\nfame, and Britain shall conquer, and shall be mightier than Rome.\"\n\nSuch was the song of Caswallon the bard.\n\nIt is said that at certain seasons of the year, when the moonlight\nfalls upon the Coombs Rocks, the ghosts of the ancient heroes marshall\non the battlefield, waving in phantom hands their phantom axes, as\nthough ready for the coming of the Roman foe. Thus they keep eternal\nvigil over the wild land they loved of old.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThe foregoing story is founded upon one of the earliest traditions of\nthe neighbourhood, which states that a great battle between the\nancient Britons and the Romans was fought upon the elevated ground in\nthe vicinity of \"Coombs Tor.\" Several writers of local history have\nincluded this battle in their accounts of actual events. Butterworth,\nthe historian, gives an elaborate account of it in his description of\nthe Coombs Cairns. He first mentions the conflict as having taken\nplace between the Romans, \"who were inspired by conquest and the\nthirst for military glory,\" and the Britons, who \"fought for their\ncountry's independence\"; and then he continues as follows: \"Though the\npoet and other historians are silent upon the great engagement--for\nsuch I consider it to have been--yet two prodigious mounds, barrows or\ntumuli, at from a quarter to half a mile distant from each other, on\nthe field of battle, remain to attest the magnitude and consequence of\nthe action. I have been upon them both, and observed that they each\nconsist of some hundred tons of stone heaped together in a circular or\nrather an oval form, covered with the effect of time. One of them has\nfurze or dwarf gorse growing upon it, and I have seen cows in hot\nweather standing on their summits for the purpose of inhaling the\ncooling breezes.\" The same writer then goes on to record the erection\nof a Roman trophy stone at some short distance from the field, and\nalso deduces evidence of the Druids once existing near.\n\nIn the neighbourhood of Coombs Rocks there are several relics of\nantiquity which are classed as Druidical. One of these, which consists\nof two upright stone pillars, rising from a massive stone base, is\nsituated on Ludworth Moor. It is locally known as the \"Robin Hood's\nPicking Rods,\" because Robin Hood and his men are said to have used it\nas a target for their arrows. But tradition states it to have been\nused by the Druids as an altar of sacrifice.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nThe Legend of Alman's Death.\n\nA TALE OF MELANDRA CASTLE.\n\n\nWhen the Roman general, Julius Agricola completed the subjugation of\nthe Britons, he began to prepare for a permanent occupation of the\ncountry by erecting a series of strong military stations or forts\nthroughout the entire kingdom. A number of these fortresses were built\nin Cheshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire, and among the rest was\nMelandra Castle, erected on the banks of the river Etherow, in what is\nnow known as the township of Gamesley. This fort was established about\nthe end of the first century of the Christian era; it was well built\nand was of considerable size; moreover its importance was increased\nbecause it commanded the hill country north and east of Longdendale.\nIt proved an admirable means of driving back the raids which the\nscattered hill-tribes were fond of making on the rich lands of the\nvalley. The Romans originally called the fort \"Zedrotalia,\" but, on\naccount of its standing in a district where oak trees were plentiful,\nit came to be known by its present name. Melandra is said to be a\nRoman name derived from the Greek MELANDRYON, which signifies \"The\nheart of oak,\" or \"The heart in the oak,\" and is supposed to have\nreference to the fact that the forests of Longdendale were noted for\ntheir splendid oaks at the time when the Romans built their station.\n\nThe site of the Castle has been excavated during the years 1899-1905,\nand the result of this has been the securing of ample proof that\nMelandra was a station of great strength and importance. The\nfoundations of walls of considerable thickness, with the masonry still\nsolid and straight as on the day when it was laid, have been\nunearthed. Pieces of pottery, broken weapons, and coins have\nbeen found. There is also an inscribed stone containing the\ninscription--\"Cohortis Prim\u00e6 Frisianorum Centurio Valerius Vitalis.\"\nDr. Watson, the eminent antiquary, translates this into \"The Cohort of\nthe First Frisians, Centurion Valerius Vitalis.\" The Frisians were\ntroops attached to the renowned Twentieth Legion--the \"Valiant and\nVictorious\"--and Valerius Vitalis is the only one of the Roman\ncommanders whose name has been handed down.\n\nAcross the valley, some distance from Melandra, is a hill called\nMouselow. This hill is supposed to have been a stronghold of the\nAncient Britons. It forms a position of great natural strength, and\nwas well adapted for military occupation in the days anterior to\ngunpowder and artillery. Several pre-historic weapons have been\ndiscovered near.\n\nFor a considerable time after the erection of Melandra Castle, the\nRoman garrison was much harassed by the activity of a chieftain who\nwas encamped on Mouselow. This chief watched his opportunity, and\nrallying to his side the few fighting men of the Britons who were\nleft, darted down on detached bands of the Roman soldiery, and left\nnot one alive to tell the tale. Thus from the earliest days, it seemed\nfated that there was to be strife and enmity between the two\nstrongholds. Even when the Romans had finally driven out the Britons,\nand razed the original building of Mouselow to the ground, the\nstruggle did not cease; for after a time the legions were forced to\nleave the country, and no sooner had they turned their backs than the\nnative chiefs were quarrelling over the spoils. One chief took\npossession of Melandra and became prince of that place, and a rival\nchief rebuilt the fort on Mouselow and took the title of Prince of\nMouselow.\n\nAfter a time came the Saxon invasion--bands of freebooters from the\ncontinent landed on these shores, and pillaged where they listed, some\nreturning to their own land with the spoil they had won, others\nsettling on the lands of the chiefs they had defeated and slain. Among\nthe latter class was a Saxon chief named Alman--a brave, though\nruthless warrior, who, after some fierce fighting put to death the\nPrince of Mouselow, and established himself in that mountain\nstronghold. Thereafter the country of Longdendale was never free from\nthe depredations of this chief; his robber bands harassed the valleys,\nand no man's property was safe if it happened to attract the attention\nof the new Prince of Mouselow. He terrorised the native chiefs, who\nwere nearly all reduced to a state of vassalage by him; indeed, of all\nthose chiefs, the Prince of Melandra alone maintained his former state\nof independence, and this principally because he was fortunate enough\nto hold a castle built by the Romans, which, as may be readily\nsupposed, was the strongest fortress in that part of the country.\nAffairs were in this state when there occurred those incidents which\nform the substance of this legend.\n\nNow Alman had set his heart upon winning the daughter of a\nneighbouring chief for his bride. She was named Ineld, and her father\nwas the Lord of Woley--which at that time was a fair-sized town. He\nwas a brave old man, but his forces had been defeated, and his\nterritory ravaged by Alman's soldiers, so he was somewhat afraid of\nthe Prince of Mouselow, and more than half inclined to bestow his\ndaughter's hand upon Alman without ever consulting the girl's wishes\nat all.\n\nBut it chanced that Ineld had views of her own upon the subject, and\nAlman and his robber ways were not to her liking. She had heard things\nof Alman and his doings which made the blood run cold.\n\nOne day there had come to her father's gate an old woman, who craved\nan audience of the chief.\n\n\"Why are thine eyes so heavy with mourning?\" asked the Lord of Woley.\nAnd the old dame made answer:\n\n\"O Chief, I am a widow, and the only stay and comfort of my old age\nwas my son--an only child. He kept me from beggary and want. He loved\na maiden, and hoped shortly to make her his wife, and even to-day they\ntalked together by the roadside. But it chanced that the Prince of\nMouselow rode by with his retinue, and, happening to catch sight of\nthe maid, he ordered his guards to seize her and carry her to the\ncastle. My son interfered, and in an instant the Prince of Mouselow\nslew him with his own hand. And now, O chief, I cry aloud to thee for\njustice.\"\n\nAnd another day one of her father's serfs had come in weeping.\n\n[Illustration: ROMAN COINS, BRICKS, AND TILES, FOUND AT MELANDRA\nCASTLE.]\n\n\"My lord,\" he cried, \"I am heavy of heart. I have suffered a great\nwrong, and I look to thee for redress. My farm, as thou knowest, is on\nthe boundary of the Prince of Mouselow's territory, and to-day, in my\nabsence, his men came and carried off my cattle and much store of\ncorn. Also, when my wife, who is very fair, remonstrated with them,\nthey seized her and carried her away to their prince, and my little\nchild they slew with the sword.\"\n\nThese things had Ineld heard, and they in no way predisposed her in\nfavour of Alman, nor did the appearance of the chief when he came\na-wooing, alter her first opinions of him. He was a rough, boisterous\nman, who drank deep, and swore loud oaths--fine and handsome of\noutward appearance, but a man lacking that refinement which most women\nprefer to see in men.\n\nHaving disclosed his intention to the Lord of Woley, Alman made his\nway to the fair Ineld's side, but so used was he to wooing by force\nthat he could not even now altogether rid himself of his blunt,\nrepulsive manner.\n\n\"Ah, my May,\" cried he, stealing behind the maid, and flinging his arm\nroughly about her waist, \"one kiss from those rosy lipe of thine, and\nthen we will talk of love.\"\n\nHe laughed as the startled Ineld struggled to free herself from his\ngrasp, but a scowl of anger swept over his face as, with her little\nhand, she struck him heavily upon the coarse lips which he had thrust\nnear her face.\n\nThen he laughed again, and even swore.\n\n\"By Woden,\" said he, \"but you are a fit wife for any chief. Little\nspitfire--but I like such play. Trust me, I love thee none the less\nfor that blow. Some day I will tame thee, and then, by the gods, we\nshall make a mighty pair.\"\n\n\"Never,\" cried Ineld fiercely.\n\nAnd, breaking away, she ran to the mansion, and hid herself in the\nwomen's quarters, where even Alman dared not follow.\n\nThat day the Prince of Mouselow rode away immensely pleased with\nhimself; he loved to see a maid full of fight, so he said, and he\npromised himself that Ineld should love him by and by. But the days\nwent past, and do what he would, he could never persuade the maiden to\ngrant him an interview alone.\n\nHis spirit chafed at the prolonged delay, and at length he determined\nupon bolder measures. He lay in wait in the woodland near the home of\nIneld, and in due course his patient waiting was rewarded. The fair\nmaiden appeared, and, first looking timidly around, as though to make\nsure she was unobserved, made her way through the glade to a spot near\na fern-covered spring.\n\nAlman chuckled to himself with glee, and silently he kept pace with\nthe maiden, although remaining concealed the while.\n\nWhen Ineld stopped, and showed unmistakable signs of going no further,\nthe Prince of Mouselow emerged from the undergrowth behind which he\nhad been hidden, and, with a laugh of triumph, stood before her.\n\n\"Now, my little vixen,\" said he, \"I have won you at last. Maids so coy\nas you must be wooed in rough fashion. And, once inside my mountain\nfortress, I doubt not your consent to wed Alman will soon be\nforthcoming.\"\n\nSo saying, he made to carry her to the spot where his steed was\ntethered, for he would win his bride by force, even as he had won his\nwealth and lands.\n\nIneld screamed shrilly in terror, and the Prince clapped his rough\nhand upon her lips to stifle the cries.\n\n\"Cease such idle wailing,\" said he. \"The wood is deserted, no one can\nhear, nor would it greatly matter if they could. I hold thee now, and\nno man in all the land shall rob me of my prize.\"\n\n\"Be not so sure of that,\" said a voice at his shoulder, so suddenly\nand unexpectedly that Alman dropped the girl, who immediately, with a\njoyful cry, sprang to the side of the new comer.\n\n\"Lewin--sweetheart,\" cried she--then could say no more by reason of\nthe caress which her deliverer bestowed upon her.\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Alman--a light breaking on him, as he recognised the\nyouthful Lewin, Prince of Melandra. \"So 'tis a lover's tryst I have\nmarred by my presence. Well, let us see who is the better man--Lewin\nor Alman, and the winner takes the maid.\"\n\nHe loosened the short axe at his side, and, without pause, rushed on\nLewin, waving the weapon aloft. Scarce had the youth time to thrust\nthe maid behind him and draw his blade when the axe fell; but the\nsword of Lewin was swift to parry, and at the same instant he sprang\naside. The axe missed him by a hairsbreadth, but the sword was\nshattered by the stroke, and the Prince of Melandra stood\nweaponless--at the mercy of Alman.\n\n[Illustration: INSCRIBED ROMAN STONE FOUND AT MELANDRA CASTLE.]\n\nThe Prince of Mouselow laughed, and again raised his axe to make an\nend, but Lewin, disdaining to fly, faced him calmly, awaiting death\nwithout a tremour. His cool and gallant bearing touched the fierce\nrobber, and he dropped his arm.\n\n\"I could slay thee easily,\" said he, \"but I soil not my fame so. Thou\nart a brave man, and above all the chiefs about, hast hitherto opposed\nme with credit to thyself. I give thee thy life--the maiden goes with\nme. But this chance I give thee. Rally thy men and meet me now in\nbattle array--Melandra against Mouselow, and we will fight for a noble\nprize--the lordship of all the land of Longdendale, and the fair Ineld\nfor a queen. Thou may'st trust me. The maid stays in my keeping, but I\ntouch her not until the battle has been fought and won.\"\n\nLewin advanced and took the hand of Alman.\n\n\"I trust thee, Prince.\" said he. \"'Tis a noble act. Get thee to thy\nstronghold with the maiden, for soon the axe of Lewin will be knocking\nat thy door.\"\n\nThen, turning to the trembling girl, he whispered:\n\n\"Fear not, Ineld, I come quickly. Ere another hour is passed the\nwar-song of Lewin will echo through the hills.\"\n\nThen he was gone.\n\nAn hour later Alman stood on the rampart of Mouselow, and gazed in the\ndirection of Melandra. The warrior by his side pointed to a dancing\nlight which played upon the distant fields and seemed to move on\nMouselow. It was the sunlight reflected from a host of shields and\nspears.\n\n[Illustration: PREHISTORIC SPEAR HEAD FOUND NEAR MOUSELOW CASTLE]\n\n\"They come, my lord,\" said he. And Alman answered:\n\n\"This Lewin keeps his word. The fight will be such as a soldier loves.\nNow get to your arms.\"\n\nThe Prince of Mouselow watched the approach of the foe with gladness.\nRude and tyrannous though he might be, he was yet a brave man, and\nasked for nothing better than a worthy foe and a fair field. It\nmattered little to him if death came in the conflict. His fathers had\nall died fighting, and he, too, longed to die in the thick of the\nfray. He loved fighting for fighting's sake, and in the lust for the\nconflict he even forgot the fair Ineld--the prize for which he fought.\nPlacing himself at the head of his men, he led them out of the fort,\nand soon the two forces were in touch with each other. The Prince of\nMelandra was at the head of his own troops, and as the two armies\nclosed he gave forth his war shout and called upon his men to charge.\nThe warriors clashed their axes and shields together, and cried aloud:\n\n\"Lewin we will follow thee to death. Lead on!\"\n\nAnd thus the great fight begun.\n\nThe battle lasted through the day, and it seemed almost certain that\nthe superior force of the Prince of Mouselow would win. But the men of\nMelandra fought like heroes; they stubbornly maintained their ground,\nand, as the day passed, the battle was still undecided.\n\nThroughout the combat Lewin seemed to bear a charmed life. He was ever\nin the thick of battle, and where his axe descended there death\nreigned in the foemen's ranks. But towards the evening he realised\nthat his rapidly thinning ranks were in danger of being enveloped by\nthe greater number of the foe, and that if the battle was to be saved,\nit would require a superhuman effort.\n\nThen, knowing that where he led his men would surely follow, he raised\nhis war shout, and, with a mighty rush, charged single-handed on the\nfoe. He was surrounded in an instant, and a score of blows were\nshowered at his head. The peril of their chief so incensed the men of\nMelandra that they became like madmen, and swept onwards with a charge\nthat nothing could withstand. This was exactly what Lewin had looked\nfor, and, hoping to render the effect of the charge doubly sure, he\nstill pushed on, making for the standard where Alman fought.\n\nThe Prince of Mouselow rallied his men about him, and, shoulder to\nshoulder, they stood to repel the onslaught. But the rush of Lewin was\ntoo fierce, the men of Mouselow were scattered like chaff, and Alman\nhimself fell pierced by a score of blades.\n\n[Illustration: THE PRINCESS INELD.]\n\nWith the fall of Alman the battle ended, his men fled from the field,\nand their dying chief turned and laughed as he watched them fly.\n\n\"They run,\" said he--\"the dogs. And yet--they fought bravely. Well,\nlet them run. Ho. Lewin, the day is thine. Ineld is thine, and I--I\ndie. Tell her I died as a brave man should--face to the foe. Valhalla\ncalls me. Lewin, farewell.\"\n\nSo he died.\n\nThe old chronicle tells us that he died as the sun set, and his spirit\npassed away with the dying beams to the eternal land of rest. It is\nsaid that so keen was the conflict, and so great was the bloodshed,\nthat one part of the battlefield was afterwards termed Redgate in\nperpetual commemoration of the day. The spot whereon Alman died was\ncalled Almansdeath, a name it still retains.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThere are many traditions which speak of the fierce encounters between\nthe forces of Melandra and Mouselow. They are, however, extremely\nvague, and it is difficult to say whether the story of Alman refers to\na battle between the Romans and the Britons, or a struggle of the\nlater Saxon period. For the purpose of this narrative I have adopted\nthe latter date. It may be added that Melandra has been a favourite\ntheme with local writers. The following fragments from the pen of\nThomas Barlow, the Longdendale poet, will serve as illustrations of\nthe way in which the \"castle\" has been the subject of song and\nromance.\n\n    And well I loved the roaring flood--\n    The wind, when whistling through the wood,\n    Below where once Melandra stood,\n          With turrets high;\n    And often stray'd at eve, to brood\n          On days gone by;\n\n    In which, traditions old declare,\n    Melandra flourish'd, free and fair,\n    And glisten'd in the morning air,\n          Anent the sun;\n    Ere Time, who swept the ruins bare,\n          His freaks begun.\n\n    When lordly knight, at dawn of day,\n    Led forth his train--a proud array\n    Of stalwart warriors blithe and gay\n          With martial fire;\n    Whose arms upheld the feudal sway\n          Of knight and squire.\n\n    When martial music could entrance,\n    And prompt the love inspiring glance,\n    Till knights and ladies would advance,\n          Quick-step or slow;\n    In halls where hung the sword and lance,\n          And good yew bow.\n\n    In fancy oft I saw the throng,\n    And heard the aged minstrel's song,\n    As, softly sweet, he did prolong,\n          His tender strain;\n    With themes of love or war his tongue\n          Could audience gain.\n\n    When deeds of arms his song would claim,\n    He sang Melandra's knightly fame,\n    And hung with reverence on the name\n          His chieftain bore,\n    Till tears reveal'd the ardent flame\n          That fired his lore.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nKing Arthur's Adventure.\n\n\nArthur, son of Uthyr, Pendragon of Great Britain, organised that high\norder of Christian chivalry, commonly known as the knighthood of the\nRound Table. The companions of this Order bound themselves by oath to\noppose the progress of paganism, to be loyal to the British throne, to\nfight--not for self-glory, but for the redressing of human wrong, to\nprotect the defenceless, to show mercy to the fallen, to honour\nwomanhood, and never to turn their backs upon a foe in battle.\n\nIt is said that God raised up King Arthur that he might render Britain\nfree, drive out the heathen, purify his realm, and spread Christ among\nmen. For this purpose, the Lady of the Lake, \"clothed in white samite,\nmystic, wonderful,\" gave to the king the huge cross-hilted sword,\n\"Excalibur,\" which was forged beneath the sea, whose blade was so\nbright that men were blinded by it, and before whose sweep no man\nmight stand. With this blade, Arthur led his knighthood, and in twelve\ngreat battles overcame the Saxon heathen hordes. It is said that four\nof these great victories of the young Pendragon were fought in\nLancashire, and that after the battles the knights of the Round Table\nrode through the country, redressing the wrongs of the people, and\nputting tyrants to the sword.\n\nAt this time there were great castles on the hills of Longdendale, and\nin one of these strongholds dwelt a cruel and treacherous knight of\ngigantic stature and enormous strength. On account of his many\ncruelties he was known as Sir Terrible. His fortress was built upon a\ncommanding eminence; it was defended by ramparts surmounted by massive\ntowers of stone, and was so strong a place that it had never yet been\ntaken by a foe.\n\nSir Terrible was not married, though he was now in the prime of life.\nIt was said that no woman would mate with him, so black were his\ndeeds. Strange tales were told of his love passages, and many a\ncountry maiden had mysteriously disappeared. Rumour said that the\nknight carried off the maidens to his dreadful dwelling under cover of\nthe darkness, and it was certain that when morning came, the cottage\nof each victim was found in ashes, and the dead bodies of the kinsfolk\nlay around. No trace of the maids could be found, and they were never\nseen again, though shrieks and cries of agony floated on the air from\nthe direction of the castle walls.\n\nNow King Arthur held Court after one of his great victories, which he\nwon near Wigan, and to him flocked the people from far and near,\nlaying their grievances before the King, and beseeching help at his\nhands. Among the rest came an old dame from Longdendale, who wept\nbitterly as she told her story, bewailing the loss of the fairest maid\nin all Cheshire. For it seemed that the maiden was the old dame's\ngrandchild, that they two lived in a lonely spot in the valley of\nLongdendale, that Sir Terrible had become enamoured of the maid, and\nhad carried her to his castle, where he kept her a prisoner, neither\nsuffering her to go out, nor yet anyone to hold converse with her.\nAlso he had slain two noble knight-errants to whom the dame had told\nher tale, and who had chivalrously sought to rescue the maiden.\n\nIt was towards the close of the day when the old dame told her story,\nfor there had been a large attendance of petitioners to see the King;\nmoreover all the knights had left the court on some quest or other in\nkeeping with their oaths as members of the Round Table. But when the\nKing heard of the cruelty of Sir Terrible, he rose at once, the gentle\nlook passed from his face, and in its place gleamed the determined\nlight of battle. He donned his war-gear, and buckled the great sword\n\"Excalibur\" to his side. Then, accompanied only by a young squire, and\ndressed only as a simple knight, he rode away towards Longdendale.\n\nThe King rested for the night at the hut of a poor peasant, from whom\nhe gleaned tidings of many fresh cruelties of Sir Terrible. Early in\nthe morning he set out and soon came in sight of the Castle.\n\nNow, as they rode, the young squire had been silent. But when the\nCastle towers hove in sight he spoke to the King.\n\n\"My liege,\" said he, \"My father was a knight at the court of Uthyr\nPendragon, and was esteemed meet company for brave men. I, his son,\nhave not yet done a deed worthy of mine ancestry. Grant, I pray, that\nthis quest be mine to follow. 'Tis true I am untried, and the foe is\nstrong, yet the cause is just, and, mayhap, God will nerve my arm.\"\n\nSo he pleaded, for he desired above all else the chance to do some\nChristian deed that might win for him the fellowship of the Round\nTable.\n\nAfter much persuasion the king at last granted him his prayer, and the\nSquire rode with a glad heart to the castle gate, while Arthur hid\nhimself among the trees.\n\nReaching the gate, the squire thundered at it with his lance, and then\ndrew back to wait. In answer to his knocking, the knight Sir Terrible\nappeared, ready mounted, armed with lance and sword.\n\n\"Villain and treacherous knight,\" cried the squire. \"How darest thou\nabduct innocent and defenceless maidens, whom all thy Order are bound\nto protect, keeping them as slaves within thy castle? I am come to\nmake thee rue this foul insult to the order of our good King Arthur;\nfor thy cruelties are a stain upon the honour of his knighthood, and a\nblotch upon the fair fame of his kingdom.\"\n\n\"Thou discourteous churl,\" answered Sir Terrible. \"Do but lead on to\nyon level piece of green, and I will first meet thee in fair fight,\nand then send thy carcase to thy base born king.\"\n\nNow the squire, used to the honour of noble knights, turned to ride to\nthe greensward indicated, but no sooner was his back turned than the\ntreacherous Sir Terrible, couching his lance, drove at him between the\nshoulders, striking him so fierce a blow that the squire fell\nsenseless to the ground.\n\nThen the knight laughed loudly, and would have hacked off the head of\nhis fallen foe, had not the king, who was now dismounted, stepped from\nthe shelter of the trees, and stood above the prostrate squire.\n\n[Illustration: \"A COUNTRY MAID OF LONGDENDALE.\"]\n\n\"Thou cruel traitor,\" cried the king. \"That foul stroke shall cost\nthee thy life. Never have I seen a blow more foul.\"\n\nOn seeing this new foe, Sir Terrible--who did not recognise the\nking--again couched his lance, and, without waiting to give his\nopponent chance to mount, and meet him in fair combat, charged down\nupon the king.\n\nBut Arthur stood calm and firm, and drawing Excalibur from its sheath,\nhe stepped aside as the horseman charged, and smote with all his\nmight. The blow cut clean through the lance close to the haft, and\nfalling on the steed, brought it to the ground. Instantly the knight\nsprang up in terror.\n\n\"Now I know thee,\" he cried. \"Thou art Arthur Pendragon. No sword save\nthe brand Excalibur could have struck so great a blow as that.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest truly,\" answered the king. \"I am indeed Pendragon.\"\n\nThen the coward knight turned to fly, for well he knew that none\nmight stand before Excalibur and live.\n\nBut the king stepped forward. He raised the great sword aloft. The\nblade flashed in the sunlight. It cut clean through the iron helm, and\nthe head of Sir Terrible rolled on the sward.\n\nAfter slaying the tyrant--so the story tells us--King Arthur restored\nthe squire, who was merely wounded, and then the two, mounting their\nsteeds, rode up to the castle gates. The king rode in front, and at\nhis saddle bow there hung the bloody head of the dead tyrant.\n\nArthur raised his lance, and with it thundered on the outer gate.\n\n\"Ho! warder,\" cried the king, \"open instantly!\"\n\nBut the warder made answer--\n\n\"Who art thou who knockest so loudly? Know that I hold the castle for\nSir Terrible, and that I open only when my master comes.\"\n\nAt which the king laughed.\n\n\"Then open hastily,\" said he, \"for thy master is here even now.\"\n\nAnd swinging his arms, he hurled the gory head of the traitor knight\nover the iron spikes of the gate, so that it fell with a thud at the\nfeet of the warder. The terrified fellow shrieked and fled, and his\ncries rang through the castle, causing the men-at-arms to grasp their\nweapons and stand at attention.\n\nBy this time the king was hammering loudly at the gate--great blows\nthat shook the stout oaken portal so that it trembled in its sockets,\nand threatened to fall into splinters.\n\n\"By my troth,\" cried the captain of the men-at-arms, \"but 'tis a\nmighty arm which deals such blows. No wonder our master fell before\nit.\"\n\nThen, leaning over the rampart, he called aloud:\n\n\"Ho! there without. Who art thou who makest such a din; and what is\nthy business?\"\n\nThen Arthur made answer:\n\n\"I am the king,\"\n\nWhereupon the men were overcome with fear, and casting aside their\nweapons, they opened the gate, and surrendered the castle to King\nArthur. The king ordered all the captives to be set at liberty, and\nthis was immediately done, the long procession of unfortunate victims\nof the cruelty of Sir Terrible passing before the king, each one\nblessing him for having wrought their deliverance.\n\nLast of all came the maiden whose rescue had been the immediate cause\nof the king's visit to Longdendale. She was wondrously beautiful, and\nas she stood before him, Arthur was so struck by her good looks that\nhe could not refrain from passing knightly compliments.\n\n\"Such beauty as thine,\" said he, \"would best befit a court. 'Tis\nwasted in these wilds. Thou shalt have a place among the maidens who\nwait upon the Queen.\"\n\nBut the maiden answered:\n\n\"If it please thee, sire, I would stay in fair Longdendale. I am but a\ncountry maiden. I love the free life of these hills and valleys; and\nat thy court I should be but as a wild bird in a cage.\"\n\nWhereupon the king, noticing her earnest look of supplication,\nsmilingly bent his head, and suffered her to depart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow the rest of the tale is soon told. The king bestowed the castle\nand the lands of the dead Sir Terrible, upon the young squire who had\naccompanied him, and whom he now made into a knight.\n\nAnd then great changes took place in that part of Longdendale. Instead\nof being looked upon with dread by all the people of the countryside,\nthe castle came to be regarded as the seat of a protecting power, to\nwhose lord the poor might look for succour in time of need, and for\njustice in all seasons.\n\nAnd perhaps the greatest change of all took place in the maiden who\nhad been rescued from the clutches of Sir Terrible by King Arthur and\nhis squire. Formerly she had trembled at the very name of the lord of\nthe castle, and had witnessed his approach with a terror as great as\nthat which causes the timid to shrink from death. But now she shrank\nfrom his approach no longer, there were even whispers that she kept\ntryst with the new lord; and at length there arrived a day when the\nyoung knight came in state, and carried her to the castle--a willing\ncaptive--where, in the presence of the king, they were made man and\nwife. The two lived long and happily together, trusted by the king,\nrespected by their equals, and beloved by all who were beneath them in\nstation. The knight won great renown as a warrior, so much so that\nevil-disposed men feared to meet him, and during his lifetime,\nalthough there were wars in other parts of the kingdom, the land of\nLongdendale enjoyed peace.\n\nIn due time the knight and his lady had several fine sons, who grew up\nafter the pattern of the king, and long maintained the fair fame of\nArthur Pendragon in Longdendale, even in days after the good king had\npassed from life, to sail in the black barge with the three Queens, to\nAvilion, the Isle of Rest.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nConcerning the connection of King Arthur with Longdendale, it may be\nof interest to mention that Bernard Robinson, in his \"History of\nLongdendale,\" writes thus:--\"Traditions speak of castles and kings,\nand great bloody battles fought along the hills--traditions of the\ntimes of Aurelius Ambrosius, and King Arthur, that have come\n\n\"Floating down the tide of years' mantled in mystery.\"\n\nI may further add that it is not surprising to find Longdendale\nassociated by tradition with the great hero of English romance.\nSeveral great battles of King Arthur are said to have been fought in\nLancashire and Cheshire, and the former county is very closely linked\nwith the chief of the knights of the Round Table. The name Lancashire\nis said to mean \"Lancelot's Shire.\" Lancelot of the Lake is reputed to\nhave been monarch or ruler of this county.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nThe Legend of War Hill.\n\n\nIt was early autumn of the year 1138, and the Valley of Longdendale\nwas a vast tract of desolation. True, the trees were still decked with\nverdure, and the mellow tint of autumn clothed nature with a lovely\ngarb. The streams still murmured with silvery splashes as they\nwandered through the woodland, and the birds warbled among the\nbranches. In all this the valley was as of old--lovely, radiant, fair.\nBut the song of the reaper was never heard; the fields were tangled\nand untilled, the instruments of husbandry were destroyed or\nabandoned, and a grievous famine reigned. For the demon of war was\nabroad, and the blight of his shadow had fallen on the fair Cheshire\nvale.\n\nKing Stephen was seated on the throne which he had won by violence. As\nhe had usurped the sovereign power without the pretence of a title, he\nwas necessitated to tolerate in others, the same violence to which he\nhimself had been beholden for his crown. Even in time of peace the\nnobles made sad havoc with the property of the people, but now that\nwar was in the land, and the forces of the Lady Matilda, King Henry's\nchild, sought to drive the usurper from the throne,--now, indeed, the\ncastles poured forth bands of licensed robbers, and the homesteads of\nLongdendale were burned, the people driven to the woods, and the\nflocks and herds of the yeomen were confiscated.\n\nHad the reader been privileged to wander through the woodland glades\nnear Mottram, he would, maybe, have seen a group of fugitives\nbargaining with a sturdy forester for leave to shelter themselves in\nthe depths of the forest, without fear of molestation.\n\n\"Thou hast known me all my life,\" said the leader of the party, \"for a\npatient, God-fearing, and faithful husbandman. I have ever kept the\nforest laws, and seek not to work harm therein even now. But Mottram\ntown is no place for me, for all my poor belongings have been seized\nby the King's men, and my hut has been burned to the ground. And but\nyesterday there came a party of the other side, and their leader had\nme up, and soundly thrashed me, because he said I helped the King, and\nwas disloyal to the Princess. Helped the King, forsooth, when the King\nhelped himself to all I had, and turned me out o' doors to shift for\nmyself.\"\n\n\"And I,\" quoth another, \"come from Tingetvisie (Tintwistle), and there\nthe townsfolk are so scared they dare not seek their beds at night.\nNothing have I left to call my own, not even arms with which to\nprotect myself. Truly the forest is a heaven to all such poor people\nas we.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" grumbled the bluff forester, \"get into the woods and\nhide yourselves, but play not with the deer at your peril. A pest on\nthese troubles. I would the great folk would settle their differences\nthemselves, and allow the poor to live in peace. Get off, I say, and\nhide yourselves. Steer clear of both King's men and Queen's men, and\nbe damned to both sides.\"\n\nSo saying he went on his way whistling, and the fugitives hastily left\nthe path, and were soon lost from view in the undergrowth. There, like\nbeasts of the forest, they lay by day, and emerged when the night\nfell, to pick up such scraps of food as were to be had by the way.\nLittle wonder there were robbers on the roads in those times.\n\nDays passed on, and the wanderers in the woods beheld parties of\nrovers, riding with lance and sword, now north, now south, as the tide\nof war ebbed and flowed. Rumours had reached them of an invasion of\nthe Scots under King David, and following the rumours came bands of\nwild Highland men, who laid waste with fire and sword what little the\nrobber-bands of the English knighthood had spared. The King of\nScotland came south to aid his niece, the Princess Matilda, and with\nthe appearance of his army on this side the border, the nobles who\nfavoured the Princess arose. There was a mustering of all the\nable-bodied men of the Vale of Longdendale, and, glad to strike a blow\nto bring the state of tumult to an end, the men took sides.\n\n\"Hast thou heard the news?\" asked one fugitive of another.\n\n\"To what news dost thou refer, good man?\" was the reply. \"Is it more\nof evil?\"\n\n\"Nay, that is as thou listest,\" was the answer. \"'Tis said the King of\nScots rides hither with a great following of men at arms, and that\nKing Stephen's forces muster for the combat. In that case there may be\na great struggle toward, and now, maybe, we shall see the ending of\nall this strife and misery.\"\n\n\"In that case, good man, methinks I will strike a blow for one side,\nso that the matter may indeed be ended.\"\n\n\"On what side art thou?\"\n\n\"I am for the Princess.\"\n\n\"And I for King Stephen.\"\n\n\"Then we are enemies, but I bear thee no ill-will. Mayhap we shall\nmeet again in the battle.\"\n\n\"Maybe. At least it will be better than starving in the woods. I wish\nthee a good-morrow.\"\n\n\"And I thee. Farewell.\"\n\nUpon which the speakers went their several ways to arrange themselves\nbeneath the banners of the cause they favoured.\n\nSoon there was a fair mustering of each faction, and with the trains\nof knights, who came from north and south, the rival forces grew from\ncompanies into armies. King Stephen sent a great body of horse and\nfoot to strengthen the array of those who fought beneath his banner,\nwhilst stray bands of Highland men swelled the ranks of the warriors\nof Matilda.\n\nNow the chief forester of Longdendale was a man with a kind heart, and\nto all those civil and respectable folk who took to the woods for a\nrefuge, he showed such toleration and care as his position allowed;\nonly upon the idle, thieves, and evildoers, was his anger bestowed. It\nwas no new thing for him to meet with fugitives--particularly\nwomen--seeking shelter in the forest, and, accordingly, he gave little\nheed to a small band of riders in which were several females, who\nentered the forest of Longdendale upon a certain evening just before\nthe hour of sunset.\n\n\"Another band of fugitives,\" said he. \"Poor souls; God have mercy on\nthem.\"\n\nHe would have passed on his way had not one of the band--a\nsturdy-looking young man, dressed in plain russet garb--thus accosted\nhim:\n\n\"Ho there, fellow,\" cried the youth. \"Come thou hither, for I would\nhave a word with thee.\"\n\nThe tone in which the words were spoken was commanding, and to the\nforester it sounded insolent.\n\nFor answer he turned, and looking the horseman straight in the face\nsaid:\n\n\"Have a care, knave, what words thou usest to thy betters, or thou art\nlikely to rue such speeches as that.\"\n\nThe young man frowned, and, raising a light riding whip, made as\nthough he would strike the forester. But the latter brought into\nposition a stout oak staff which he carried, and, advancing boldly,\nsaid in a threatening voice:\n\n\"Take advice from an older man, and drop thy paltry weapon. Otherwise\nI shall be put to the necessity of cracking thy pate. One blast of\nthis horn now dangling at my side will speedily summon some of the\nstoutest lads in Cheshire, and thou and thy followers will ere long be\ndangling from the nearest tree.\"\n\nSo saying, the bold forester blew upon his horn, and scarcely had the\nechoes died away ere five stalwart men clad in green, each armed with\nyew-bow and quiver, and long knives at their girdle, burst from the\nthickets and ranged themselves by the forester's side.\n\nWhat the newcomers would have done with the old forester at their\nhead, it is difficult to say; but a diversion was created by one of\nthe female riders, chiding the horseman who had first spoken.\n\n\"Thou art over-hasty, and even rude,\" said she; \"where is thy\ndiscernment. Seest thou not that these men are honest, and wouldst\nthou set them against us?\".\n\nThen, advancing alone, she bent in her saddle, and whispered something\nto the forester. The old man started, gazed at the speaker, for a\nmoment, then doffed his cap, and bowed low. Next turning to the five\nwho stood behind him, he cried:\n\n\"Uncover, and on your knees. It is the Queen.\"\n\nThe Royal Matilda--for she it was, thus driven with her infant son,\nHenry, and a few faithful followers, to adopt the disguise of poor\ntravellers, and to seek for a place of refuge until the coming battle\nshould decide her fate--smiled graciously upon the old man and his\ncompanions.\n\n\"Methinks there is a likeness in all your faces,\" said she. \"Are these\nthy sons?\"\n\n\"They are my sons,\" answered the forester; \"and withal thy loyal\nsubjects, gracious lady, ready to give their lives for thee and\nthine.\"\n\nAfter a few further passages of speech, the chief forester led the way\nto his own dwelling--which was a strongly built and well concealed\nplace, where, attended by his good wife, the Queen might rest secure\nuntil the battle had been fought and won.\n\nMeanwhile the forester and his sons donned their war-gear, and when\nthe time was ripe they took their stand with the rest of those who\nfought beneath the banner of the Queen.\n\nIt was in the gray dawning of an autumn day when the two armies met.\nThe battle was fought on a hill in the Mottram township, where the\nancient Church of Mottram now stands. But there was no sacred building\nthere on that gray morning of long ago, when the clashing of arms\nawoke the echoes, and the air was heavy with the shrieks of dying men.\n\nThe army of Matilda was posted on the hill. Their position was strong\nand commanding. From it they could note the approach of the foe, and\nfight him with advantage. In the midst of their array rose the\nstandard of the Princess--the royal banner of the great Henry--and by\nits side the bonnie flag of Scotland floated in the breeze.\n\nAs the gray light broke from the east, the watchers on the hill beheld\nthe first line of Stephen's forces emerge from the woods. The King's\narmy was a mighty host, the bright spears gleamed in the light of\ndawn, and the archers carried great quivers full of deadly\ngoose-tipped shafts.\n\nThe royal force came on, and the leading ranks broke into a\nbattle-chant as they neared the hill foot, and bent to meet the slope.\nThe archers winged their shafts, the axes, bills, and pikes advanced;\na rain of arrows beat whistling from the ranks upon the hill, and the\ngreat fight commenced.\n\nBit by bit the soldiers of Stephen advanced up the hill. They left\nmany dead upon the slopes, but still the host went on. The army of\nMatilda hung thick and massive upon the crest, and waited with\nunbroken front for the closing of the foe; they rained down their\nflights of arrows, but kept their ranks unbroken, with bristling rows\nof pikes in front.\n\nAt length the advancing host drew near. The foremost men rushed\nbravely on, they clutched the wall of pikes with their hands, and\nstrove to hew a way to victory. But the arrows fell among them,\ndealing death in full measure, and the brave men fell. Others took\ntheir places, and again the goose-shafts flew.\n\nNow the advancing army remembered the trick of Norman William on the\nfield of Senlac. At a given signal they turned and fled in apparent\nconfusion. With a wild yell the unwary Highland men broke from their\npost upon the summit, and charged down to slay. Then, swift as\nlightning, the warriors of Stephen turned. Their archers met the\nonrush of the pursuers with a staggering volley of shafts. The pikes\nand bills charged up the slope. The axes hacked the brawny Scots, and\nthe broken ranks upon the hill, opening wider yet to receive their\nretreating comrades, let in the charging body of the foe. After that\nthere was a mingled mass of slaying men about the summit. The hosts of\nKing Stephen girt the hill round, so that there was no escape for the\nmen who stood upon it. Death was everywhere, death for the victors\nand the vanquished; for the soldiers of the Princess died as soldiers\nshould, and they slew great numbers of the foe.\n\n[Illustration: MOTTRAM CHURCH AND THE WAR HILL, THE SITE OF THE BATTLE\nMENTIONED IN THE LEGEND.]\n\nThat was the last stand for the Princess Matilda in that part of\nCheshire, and the old chronicles say that the blood shed in the battle\nran in a stream down the slopes, and formed a great pool at the foot\nof the hill.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs the gray of the morrow's dawn fell upon the scene of battle, the\npale light fell also upon a group of living beings, who stood upon the\nsummit of the hill among the hosts of the dead.\n\nMatilda, the Queen, was there--beaten and dismayed, since all hope was\nlost. The chief forester of Longdendale stood there also, and he, too,\nsighed, as one whose heart is broken--he had just been groping among\nthe corpses, and had found what he sought.\n\n\"Are thy fears well founded?\" asked Matilda, anxiously.\n\nThe old man pointed to the inert forms of five dead men.\n\n\"They were all I had--and I am an old man. Now they are gone, my very\nname must perish.\"\n\nThe royal lady looked at him for a moment, her whole being trembling\nwith grief.\n\n\"My heart is broken,\" she said. \"Yet what is my loss to thine?\"\n\nThe old man took her hand, and kissed it.\n\n\"I am a loyal man--and an Englishman. I gave them freely to the cause\nof my Queen. Who am I that I should complain?\"\n\nRoyal lady and lowly-born forester gazed into each other's eyes for a\nbrief space--their looks conveying thoughts which were too sacred for\nwords--and then the Queen's train moved down the hill, and the old man\nwas left alone--alone with his sorrow and his dead.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe world is full of changes, and ever on the heels of war comes the\nangel form of peace. Men called the hill whereon the battle had been\nfought Warhill, and in after days the builders raised the sacred pile\nof Mottram Church, where the soldiers of Matilda and Stephen fought\nand died.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nAccording to an old Longdendale tradition, the War Hill, Mottram, is\nthe site of a battle which was fought in the twelfth century between\nthe forces of the Princess Matilda and King Stephen.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nSir Ro of Staley Hall.\n\n\nThere was a noble gathering in the great banqueting room of Staley\nHall, on that memorable morning when Sir Ro or Ralph de Stavelegh\nentertained his guests for the last time ere he set sail for the Holy\nLand. The message of war had been sent through all merrie England, and\nmany of the Cheshire knights were leaving their homes, their wide and\npleasant meadows, and their dear wives and children, to engage in the\nstern conflict of the great Crusade. Sir Ro, of Staley, was one of the\nfirst to offer his sword in the holy cause. He was a brave knight,\nborn of a war-like ancestry, and desirous above all things to risk his\nlife in so sacred a war. And now he had called together his friends\nand neighbours, that they might feast once more in the old banqueting\nhall, and pledge themselves as true and leal comrades before the\nknight said farewell.\n\nThere were many brave knights and squires, many noble dames and fair\nmaidens, seated about that hospitable board. But the lovliest of all\nwomen gathered there was the young lady of Staley, and the handsomest\nof men in that goodly company was the warrior knight, Sir Ro.\n\nThe feasting went on well into the night. In the minstrels' gallery\nthere were harpers who harped of war, and bards who sang of heroes'\ndeeds and victory. The music was wild and glorious; it lured men to\nwar, it breathed the spirit of strife, it lured the love of maidens to\nthe man who wielded axe and sword. When the music ceased there were\nspeeches made by the knights, and good wishes expressed, and the words\nof friendship passed.\n\nThen the Knight of Staley rose to bid farewell. He spoke of the true\ncomradeship between his guests and himself. He begged them to see that\nno enemy laid waste his fair domain while he was distant at the war.\nBy every tie of friendship, he prayed them to protect well his dear\nlady should ever the need arise. Then, turning to his wife, he asked\nthat she should hand her wedding ring to him, and the lady complied.\nHolding up the ring, and in sight of all the guests, Sir Ro next\nsnapped the golden circlet in twain, and, restoring one half to his\nspouse, he placed the other against his heart, swearing by that token\nto be a true lover and husband until death. On her part, the lady made\na like vow, and thus, before all that noble company, they pledged\nagain eternal troth.\n\nOn the morrow, with many bitter tears at the pain of the parting, with\nmany tender kisses and protestations of fidelity, Sir Ro and his lady\nparted--the lady to her lonely bower, the knight to his ship, his\njourney, and the war.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSir Ro sailed the seas in company with many other English knights and\nmen-at-arms. They marched across the great desert, suffering many\nprivations, often being in peril of death by the wilderness, and at\nother times endangered by the craft and might of the foe. They fought\nmany battles, winning great glory for the Christian arms, and putting\nnumbers of the Saracens to death. In all the fighting Sir Ro of Staley\nplayed a great part. He was ever in the thickest of the battle, his\nhelm bore the marks and dints of many blows, his breast was scarred\nwith wounds, his sword dulled with hacking, his axe chipped with\nstriking. Wherever he rode the foe fell like hail beaten by the wind.\nThey were powerless before him; death came to them with the falling of\nhis brand; and before his arm multitudes of heathen bit the dust.\n\n[Illustration: \"IN THE MINSTRELS' GALLERY.\"]\n\nAt length befell an evil day for the Christian army. Sir Ro was\ncaptured by a cunning strategy of the foe, and, bound hand and foot,\nwas carried off to a Saracen town. There, stripped of his knightly\nraiment, and dressed in the poor garb of a palmer, he was cast into a\nfilthy and dark dungeon, and there left to pine and die.\n\nFor long dreary months did the brave knight suffer this cruel\ncaptivity without a murmur or complaint. His cheeks grew white, his\nlimbs thin, his frame was wasted; the palmer's dress hung loose about\nhis figure. None would have recognised in that feeble prisoner the\nonce gay and handsome lord of Staley Hall.\n\nOne night Sir Ro fell into a troubled sleep, in which he dreamed some\nhorrid dream. It seemed that some great evil threatened his wife and\nkindred at home--an evil which he had no power to avert. So vivid was\nthe dream that, on awakening, the force of his anguish was such as to\ncause his frame to tremble and his heart to languish with despair.\nBut, like a good Christian knight, he fell upon his knees and poured\nforth his soul in earnest prayer to God, asking his Heavenly Father to\nsuccour his wife in the hour of peril, and, by some means--if it were\nHis will--to restore him to his home.\n\nHaving thus prayed, a calm fell upon the knight, and, repeating the\nSaviour's prayer, he laid himself upon his couch, and fell into a\ngentle sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSir Ro awoke with a start. It seemed as though a bright light from\nheaven blinded him. There was a warmth as of living fire about him.\nAll the cell seemed a-flame. Then his full senses came, and he leaped\nand cried aloud for joy.\n\nThere in front of him was the fairest scene in all the world.\n\nGone was the cold damp cell, gone the poisonous atmosphere of the\ndungeon, gone were the iron fetters, his strength had returned to him,\nand lo!--before him, shining fair in the summer sunlight, rich in the\nfulsome melody of singing birds, was a fair English landscape, and\nbeyond it his own ancestral hall of Staley.\n\nGod had heard his prayer. By His own Almighty working he had bridged\ntime and space, and Sir Ro was safe again at his old English home.\n\n\"A miracle, a miracle!\" exclaimed the knight. And, like a good\nChristian, he fell upon his knees, and gave thanks to God.\n\nWhen he arose Sir Ro passed along the soft and level sward of green\nuntil he came to the hall door. There he knocked long and loud. The\nwarder who answered the knocking, failed to recognise the knight.\n\n\"Who knocks so long and loudly?\" asked the warder, peering curiously\nat the palmer. \"For a holy man, friend, methinks thou hast a mighty\npowerful stroke.\"\n\nThis greeting reminded Sir Ro that he was no longer dressed as a\nknight, but in the garb of a palmer, and that he had best put off\nknightly ways unless he wished to be discovered, so, in a feigned\nvoice, he answered:\n\n\"I am a humble palmer, hungry and footsore, and I crave a meal and\nleave to rest awhile. All of which I pray ye grant for Christ Jesu's\nsake.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the warder, somewhat mollified by the penitent tone\nof his visitor, \"of a truth thou lookest woe-begone and\ntravel-stained. Come thou within and eat and drink, and then,\nperchance, thou wilt have a tale to tell, which will help the hours to\npass merrily. Hast thou any tidings? Is there any fresh news from the\nHoly Land?\"\n\n\"Little of importance,\" replied the supposed palmer. \"But before I\ntell my story, perhaps thou wilt answer me a few inquiries, for I\nconfess I am mightily curious about this same hall of thine. I had\nthought this was the hall of Staley.\"\n\n\"And so it is, Sir Palmer. What belike should make thee doubt it?\"\n\n\"Well, friend, I have travelled in the Holy Land myself, and thy\nmaster's escutcheon is not unknown to me. He was a stout soldier of\nKing Richard against the Paynim. And that banner which floats from the\nhigh tower bears not the same devise as that which Sir Ro of Staley\nbravely upheld against the Saracens.\"\n\n\"In truth, thou art right there, Sir Palmer. 'Tis not the same banner,\nand, though I eat my salt beneath the new devise, I do not mind\nconfessing that I would sooner see the old one flying overhead. 'Tis a\nsad story, friend. Hast thou not heard in thy wanderings that the\nbrave knight of Staley was slain in the Holy Land?\"\n\n\"That is news to me,\" answered the other, starting. \"But even so, what\nof his lady? Is she not alive?\"\n\nThe warder looked uneasily about him, as though he had no wish to talk\nupon such a subject.\n\n\"The women can tell thee more of my lady,\" said he. \"And thou art\nstill hungry. Eat first, and talk afterwards.\"\n\n[Illustration: DOORWAY TO STALEY CHAPEL, MOTTRAM CHURCH.]\n\nSaying which he ushered Sir Ro to an apartment, and left him for a\nwhile to the attention of the waiting maids. As the warder, even so\nthe maids--none recognised their lord, Sir Ro, in the palmer's garb\nwhich he was wearing. In accordance with the old laws of English\nhospitality, they brought to him a cup of methyglin, and manchets of\nbread to eat. As he supped, Sir Ro fell into conversation with the\nmaids; he asked after the health of the Lady of Staley, and whether he\nmight have an audience with her. To which the maids made answer that\nthe Lady of Staley was sore troubled, and even then was weeping in her\nchamber, and would see no man. Then they related to him the\ncircumstances of their lady's trouble. The knight of Staley, they\nsaid, had gone away to fight in the great crusade. News had come that\nhe was dead--having been captured and put to death by the enemy--and\nnow the kinsmen of the lady were forcing her to wed again, although\nher heart was still with her dead lord, and she could bear the sight\nof no other man.\n\n\"That,\" said the spokeswoman, \"is why Staley Hall is so much changed,\nand why another banner floats above the turrets.\"\n\n\"But if your lady does not love the newcomer, why then does she submit\nto a marriage which must be distasteful? Did not her lord will his\nestates to her in case he should fall in the Crusade?\"\n\n\"That we know not, good sir palmer. But 'tis said that this new knight\nhas made her understand that he hath a grant of her late husband's\nlands from the king, and that he will dispossess both her and her\nrelations unless she consents to marry him. Folk do think it is more\nfor the sake of her kinsfolk that she brings her mind to the wedding.\"\n\n\"And when is the wedding to be?\"\n\n\"To-morrow.\"\n\nSir Ro pondered awhile, then turning to the chief serving-maid, asked:\n\n\"Would'st do thy lady a service?\"\n\nBeing answered in the affirmative, he took his empty drinking-cup,\nand dropped into it the half of his wife's broken wedding ring, which\nhe had retained, and bade the maid carry it to her mistress. This the\nmaid did. On seeing it, the Lady of Staley gave a great cry, and,\nsaying that the palmer surely brought some news of her dead husband's\nlast hours, and perchance carried his dying message, she commanded him\nto be brought into her presence.\n\nSir Ro now beheld the face of his loved one, whom he had never thought\nto see again. At first the lady failed to recognise in the guise of\nthe palmer, the husband whom she had never ceased to love, and Sir Ro,\nbeing anxious to learn whether she was still true to him, forebore to\nmake himself known. The lady, with tears in her eyes, looked at the\nhalf of the wedding ring which the palmer had brought, and placing her\nhand in her bosom drew forth the companion half which she wore ever\nnear her heart. Then, with many sobs, she protested that the image of\nher dead lord had never left her, and that she only consented to mate\nwith another in order that her kinsfolk should not be reduced to\nbeggary.\n\n[Illustration: EFFIGY OF SIR RO AND HIS LADY, IN STALEY CHAPEL,\nMOTTRAM CHURCH.]\n\nBit by bit the knight drew from her all the story: how her new suitor\nhad been the one to bring tidings of her lord's death, and how he,\nhaving secured the Staley estates, now offered her the choice of a\nunion with him or beggary for herself and her people.\n\nThen Sir Ro, unable to restrain himself any longer, uttered her name\nin his own voice, and instantly she recognised him, and, with a great\ncry, fell into his arms.\n\nNow the joyful cry uttered by the Lady of Staley rang throughout the\nhall, and, full of wonder and fear, the retainers rushed to the\nchamber, feeling that they had been indiscreet to leave her alone with\nan unknown palmer. The treacherous knight, who, by his lying tale,\nsought to entrap her into marriage, also appeared upon the scene, and,\nin a voice of anger, demanded of the palmer what he wanted, and by\nwhat right he was there.\n\n\"By the best right in the world,\" answered Sir Ro--\"the right of\nmaster.\"\n\n\"Insolent,\" cried the traitor-knight in a fury, drawing his sword as\nhe spake. \"Thou shalt pay dearly for thy folly.\"\n\nBut Sir Ro, with a sharp action, cast from his shoulders the palmer's\ndisguise, and, standing forth in the full glory of his warlike figure,\nsnatched a mace from the wall, and advanced to meet his enemy.\n\n\"A Staley, a Staley!\" he cried, giving forth the rallying cry of his\nhouse in a voice which the retainers knew of old.\n\nInstantly he was recognised, and with shouts of joy the men-at-arms\nand servitors sprang to his side, whilst some of them disarmed the\ntraitor, and without waiting for the order from their lord, hurried\nhim to the deepest dungeon, there to await justice when the joyful\ncelebrations anent Sir Ro's return had come to an end.\n\nNeedless to say the imposter met with the punishment he deserved; he\nwas stripped of his knightly rank, and was never afterwards seen or\nheard of in Longdendale. The bells of Mottram Church rang out a merry\npeal in honour of the homecoming of the Knight of Staley. Sir Ro and\nhis lady lived a long and happy life together. At their death they\nwere buried in Mottram Church, where an effigy was placed to their\nmemory above their grave. This effigy, which represents a knight in\nfull armour, and his lady lying side by side, may still be seen in the\nStaley Chapel of the old Church at Mottram, and it serves to keep\ngreen the story of Sir Ro's adventures.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nIn Mottram Church is an ancient monumental effigy, which is said to\nrepresent the figures of Sir Ro or Ralph de Stavelegh of Staley Hall\nand his wife--the hero and heroine of the foregoing legend. \"Roe\nCross,\" the name of a well-known spot in Mottram, is also attributed\nto the connection of the place with this popular local crusader.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nRobin Hood's Visit to Longdendale.\n\n\nRobin Hood, the greatest bowman that old England ever knew, frequently\nvisited Longdendale. Probably the \"thick woods of Longden,\" with their\nwealth of wild red deer, induced him to lead his band from the haunts\nof merrie Sherwood to the no less merrie land of Longdendale. Old\ntraditions tell of a \"mighty forest in Longdendale, whose trees were\nso thick that the squirrels could leap from branch to branch from\nMottram to Woodhead.\" Such a country might well attract a lover of the\nfree forest life like bold Robin Hood; moreover, there ran a road over\na good portion of Longdendale, along which the fat old Abbots of\nBasingwerke were wont to convey their treasures from their township of\nGlossop, to their fine abbey seat in Wales. Doubtless the Abbot\ndreaded a meeting with the mighty outlaw, for Robin dearly loved to\npluck a fat-bellied churchman that he might place the golden nobles in\nthe pouches of the poor.\n\nThis story, however, has nothing to do with the robbing of the Abbots\nor Monks of Basingwerke. It is a story of skill and fabulous strength.\nIndeed, there are many who doubt that the incidents related ever\noccurred--simply because such things seem impossible. But then those\nincidents are recorded in the traditions of the people of Longdendale,\nand, consequently, they are worthy of serious consideration. He must\nbe either an amazingly bold or an exceedingly ignorant man, who would\ncast a doubt on the veracity of a Longdendale tradition.\n\nHowever, the reader must judge for himself.\n\nThe story has it that bold Robin Hood and his forest band (including\nthe redoubtable Little John, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, and Much, the\nmiller's son, and a hundred other sturdy yeomen, all clad in Lincoln\ngreen, and having great long bows of English yew and good cloth-yard\nshafts) appeared one day in the Longdendale country. Weary of hunting\nthe stag through the woodland glades, they were longing for some\nchance of adventure to present itself, when they became aware of a\nloud and dismal moaning hard by. The sound came from a handsome youth\nwho, cast full length upon the sward, was bitterly bemoaning his cruel\nfate. It appeared that he was betrothed to a beautiful maiden, but her\nguardian (who was a grim old bachelor) had forbidden their union, and\nfinally, to prevent all intercourse between them, had shut her up in\nhis castle.\n\nOn hearing the story the foresters were loud in their denunciations of\nsuch heartless conduct. They vowed it was the greatest sin that man\ncould possibly commit--to interfere with lover's meetings. Little John\nwas for attacking the castle, battering down the gates, and sending an\narrow through the mid-rib of the guardian, which process, he\nthought, was calculated to end the matter at once. But Robin, though\nanxious enough for a fight, was of opinion that his henchman's plan\nmight endanger the maiden, who was completely at the mercy of the\ntyrant. He suggested an interview, and, accordingly, the stout Friar\nTuck was sent as ambassador or emissary to make terms with the\nmaiden's guardian.\n\n[Illustration: SCENE NEAR BOTTOM'S HALL; \"PART OF THE ANCIENT FOREST\nOF LONGDENDALE.\"]\n\nAt first the Friar was met with an angry outburst on the part of the\nguardian--a bold bad baron--who loudly declaimed that he would permit\nno outside interference with his affairs.\n\n\"Out on thee, thou fat-bellied churchman,\" shouted the Baron. \"What\nhast thou to do with lovers, particularly maidens. Methinks thy vows\nshould bid thee leave maids and love severely alone.\"\n\nNow this sort of talk did not at all suit Friar Tuck, who, churchman\nthough he might be, and shaven and shorn to boot, yet loved to kiss a\npretty maid on the sly as well as the best layman who ever walked. But\nhe loved not to be twitted about it in this fashion.\n\n\"Fat-bellied churchman, indeed,\" quoth he. \"And what about thine own\nfat paunch. As for love and pretty maids, I warrant thou would'st have\na long way to travel fore thou comest across a maiden who would fall\nin love with thee. Such a foul-visaged reptile I never set eyes on. As\nfor beauty--well, as far as thou art concerned--the least said on that\nhead the better.\"\n\nThe Baron stared at this rejoinder, as well he might. Such language\nhad never been hurled at him before, and for a moment he could\nscarcely speak, so great was his surprise. When he recovered speech,\nhe ordered his attendants who were in the room to seize the Friar and\ncast him into the dungeon. But Tuck lifted the quarter-staff which he\ncarried, and brought it down so heavily upon their crowns that the men\ndropped like poled oxen. At this the Baron began to swear and rave,\nvowing all manner of punishments for the Friar,--all of which,\nhowever, only made Tuck fall a-laughing.\n\n\"Come,\" said he, \"thou art short of wind enough, friend Baron. And if\nthou goest on like that thou art like to choke thyself. Moreover, if\nthou only so much as raises a finger to summon thy vassals to thy side\nwith intent to lay me by the heels, I shall een clout thee on the\nsconce as I have served thy catiffs. So thou hadst best listen to\nreason.\"\n\nNow sorely discomfited as he was, a bright idea suddenly struck the\nBaron, and turning blandly to the Friar, he readily consented to set\nfree the maiden, and to permit her marriage with her handsome lover,\nproviding the foresters (of whose shooting prowess he had heard so\nmuch) could shoot their arrows from the tumulii now called \"The Butts\"\nto the upright Druid stones, now known by the name of \"Robin Hood's\nPicking Rods.\" By setting them this (apparently impossible) task, he\nthought to rid himself of interference from the band; and he chuckled\nmerrily to himself, when Tuck (who knew nothing of the distance to be\ncovered by the archers) coolly accepted the terms.\n\nThe time for the shooting display having arrived, the Baron led a gay\ncompany to the scene, that he and all his friends might witness the\ndiscomfiture of the renowned archers of Sherwood. As for the handsome\nyouth on whose behalf Robin had interfered, he was quite dismayed, and\neven the assurance of the outlaw could not comfort him, for he thought\nthe feat impossible.\n\nThe archers stood at the butts, and away in the distance rose the\nstone target of \"The Picking Rods.\" Robin Hood took the first shot,\nand he laughed inwardly as he drew the string tight and true. For he\nknew the secret of the \"Long Bow\"--(as, indeed, do the chroniclers who\ntell this story). The arrow left the bow with a shrill whistle of the\ngoose-wing tip, and, greatly to the surprise of the Baron, it fell\nplump on the target with such force as to cut a notch in the hard\nstone,--a notch so deep that it may be seen to this day. Little John,\nWill Scarlet, and the rest of the forest band, all tried their skill,\nand but few failed to hit the mark, though none were quite so near the\ncentre as their leader Robin Hood.\n\nWhen the shooting was finished the Baron was in a great rage, and he\nsought for some means of evading the fulfilment of his promise.\nTurning to Robin Hood he made an offer--that if the outlaw, with his\nown hands, cast down the great stone which stood upon Werneth Low,\nthen the Baron would not only bestow the maiden upon her lover, but\nwould give her a good dowry into the bargain. On the other hand, if\nRobin failed to accomplish the task, the whole matter must rest where\nit was, and the maiden remain a captive.\n\nGreatly to the surprise of all, Robin agreed to the proposal.\n\n\"I will humour thee this once,\" said he to the Baron. \"But if thou\nattemptest to get behind thy word when the feat is done, my good\nforesters shall fall upon thee and knock sparks out of thy baronial\nhide.\"\n\n\"If thou doest the feat,\" quoth the Baron, \"rest assured I shall keep\nmy promise.\"\n\nFor the task he had set bold Robin was, as the Baron well knew, a\nthousand times more difficult than that of shooting at the Picking\nRods.\n\nRobin Hood conversed awhile with Friar Tuck, and then the whole\ncompany moved off to the summit of Werneth Low. The stone, or rock, as\nit should more properly be called, was a huge mass almost the height\nof a man. It had occupied its position on the summit of Werneth since\nthe world was created. A round half-dozen of the Baron's retainers\nfailed to lift it. But Robin Hood, casting aside his jerkin, and\nbaring his brawny arm, raised the great stone slowly aloft, and then,\nwith one mighty throw, cast it out westward towards the sunset, and,\namid a wild shout of triumph, it disappeared in the distance.\n\nThey afterwards found the stone in the bed of the River Tame, near the\nwoods of Arden, and, under the name of \"Robin Hood's Stone\" it\nremains in that same spot to this day.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE ROBIN HOOD STONE.\"]\n\nNow there are some who profess to believe that no mortal power could\ncast that stone so great a distance, and they explain the event by\nsupposing that Robin was in league with the good fairies, who gave him\nstrength to lift the stone, and then, (invisible to men) flew away\nwith it, and dropped it in the Tame. And perhaps these people may be\nright.\n\nBe that as it may, there is no record to show that the bold bad Baron\ndisbelieved in Robin's powers, and we may take it for granted that the\nlovely maiden was duly released, that she married the lad of her\nchoice, and that they lived happy ever afterwards, as they certainly\ndeserved to do.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is asserted by some that there was a much smaller stone near the\ngreat Robin Hood Stone on Werneth Low, and that Little John afterwards\nthrew this stone in the direction of the one thrown by Robin. The\nsecond stone, being lighter, travelled a few yards further than the\nfirst, but the throw being not so skilful the stone was broken in\nseveral pieces by the fall. It lies to this day near the Robin Hood\nStone in the waters of the River Tame, and it still retains the name\nof that giant forester Little John.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThe \"Robin Hood relics,\" referred to in the foregoing legend, are\nobjects of great local interest and curiosity. The \"Robin Hood's\nPicking Rods\" are situated on Ludworth Moor, and consist of portions\nof two upright stone pillars rising from a massive stone base. They\nare thought by many to be relics of the Druidical period, and are\nreferred to in the \"Legend of Coombs Rocks\"--the first legend of the\npresent series. It is said that they received their present name\nbecause Robin Hood and his outlaws used them as a target for their\narrows, and the dents in the pillars are said to have been caused by\nthe arrow points.\n\nThe \"Robin Hood Stone\" is a huge rock which lies in the bed of the\nRiver Tame near the Denton Cemetery at Hulme's Wood, almost opposite\nthe Arden Paper Mill.\n\nAs stated in the legend, there are fragments of Little John's stone\nnear it, and old traditions state that both stones were thrown to\ntheir present positions from the top of Werneth Low by the two\nforesters whose names they bear. Certain indentations in the larger\nstone are said to be the imprints of the fingers of Robin Hood, whose\ngrip was so strong that he left the impression in the solid stone.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nThe Abbot of Basingwerke\n\nOr THE WEHR-WOLF OF LONGDENDALE.\n\n\nGlossop, which in the Doomsday survey was reckoned as part of\nLongdendale, was granted by William the Conqueror to his natural son,\nWilliam Peveril--Peveril of the Peak,--whose descendant was\ndisinherited by Henry II. for procuring the death of the Earl of\nChester by poison, when the township reverted to the Crown. King\nHenry, however, being on a military expedition to North Wales, became\nacquainted with the monks of Basingwerke, and in return for their\nfriendship and attention he bestowed the township upon Basingwerke\nAbbey.\n\nA road which crosses a portion of Longdendale is known as The Monk's\nRoad, and is so called because the Monks of Basingwerke are said to\nhave made and used it. On the wildest part of this road stands a large\nstone, hollowed out in the shape of a rude seat, which is said to have\nbeen the seat of the Abbot of Basingwerke, who periodically held\nopen-air court on that spot. The stone is known as \"The Abbot's\nChair.\"\n\nOn a certain day in the reign of good King Henry, the Abbot of\nBasingwerke sat in state upon the stone seat of \"The Abbot's Chair.\"\nHe was holding a court for the receipt of all his rents and tithes,\nfor the dispensation of justice in that part of his possessions, and\nfor the purpose of hearing any petitions which the people might wish\nto make. To him came an old dame, full of woe and misery, and almost\nblind with the falling of bitter tears. Her tale was enough to melt\nthe stoutest heart. She had an enemy, and the enemy was a woman who\ndabbled in witchcraft. Through the agency of evil spirits, this witch\nhad brought death upon the old dame's husband and on all her children,\nso that now she was all alone in the world, and knew not where to look\nfor shelter or for bread. It was said, also, that the witch possessed\nthe power of changing her shape, appearing now as a woman, now as a\nman, now as an animal or bird, so that it was almost impossible to\ncatch her and bring her for punishment.\n\nThe Abbot of Basingwerke, on hearing the story, was very angry. He\nfirst relieved the distress of the poor woman, and then pronounced an\nawful curse upon the wicked witch.\n\n\"May the hand of Heaven fall upon this wicked mortal,\" cried the\nAbbot, \"and in whatever shape she be at the present moment, may that\nshape cling to her until justice has been done.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE ABBOT'S CHAIR.\"]\n\nThen he prophesied that ere long the righteous wrath of heaven would\nfall upon the witch, and that a bitter death would assuredly be her\nportion. And the old dame went away satisfied.\n\nNow it chanced that that very morning the witch had changed herself\ninto a wehr-wolf, and was even then prowling about the forest in\nsearch of victims. And by further good luck it happened that good King\nHenry II., who was on a visit to the Baron of Ashton-under-Lyne, was\nout hunting in company with his son, Prince Henry, the Lord of\nLongdendale, the Baron of Ashton, and other noblemen and knights of\nthe district, The Royal party hunted chiefly in the forests of\nLongdendale, which were noted for wild boars, deer, and game of every\ndescription. And inasmuch as it was customary at a Royal hunt for\nevery portion of the forest to be explored, and all the game therein,\ngreat and small, driven forth before the hunters, there was--providing\nthere was any efficacy in the Abbot's curse--every prospect of the\nwicked old witch being immediately laid by the heels. On former\noccasions when she had assumed the form of an animal, it had always\nbeen easy for her, if pursued, to fly into the nearest thicket, and\nthere resume her human shape, or else to suddenly disappear\naltogether. But if the Abbot's curse took effect and compelled her to\nremain in the garb of a wehr-wolf, then it was almost certain that\nshe would meet her doom before the sun set.\n\nThe hunt proceeded, and the huntsmen met with good sport, but the\nchief success of the day fell to the lot of the Lord of Longdendale,\nwho slew \"several horrible British tigers,\" and after a tough struggle\nsucceeded in killing the largest wild boar which was ever seen in\nCheshire.\n\nPrince Henry, who was a valiant youth, was desirous of imitating the\nexploits of the Lord of Longdendale, and accordingly he repaired to a\ngloomy part of the forest in search of some worthy adventure. Here, to\nhis great surprise, he was suddenly set upon by a fierce old\nwehr-wolf, which, taking him unawares, seemed likely to put him to\ndeath.\n\n[Illustration: BASE OF CROSS ON THE MONKS' ROAD.]\n\nAt the first assault the Prince's steed, by swerving as the wehr-wolf\nsprang, luckily saved the rider, and Prince Henry was enabled to bring\nhis hunting spear to bear upon the beast. He drove at it, and although\nhe succeeded in piercing its side, so that it cried out horribly--more\nlike a human cry than a beast's, said the Prince, when he afterwards\ncame to recount the story of the combat--yet it seized the spear\nhandle in its forepaws, and with a snap of its great jaws broke the\nspear clean in two, so that the Royal huntsman was left almost\ndefenceless. He drew out his long hunting-knife and buried it to the\nhilt as the beast sprang at him, but though he fought bravely and\nlong, the terrible thing succeeded in pulling him from his horse to\nthe ground. Here the Prince gripped the beast by the throat, but his\nstrength was much spent, and it seemed almost certain that he must\nsuccumb. Fortunately, however, he had been followed at a distance by\nthe Baron of Ashton, who arrived upon the spot just in time to turn\nthe fight, and to engage and finally slay the wehr-wolf.\n\nGreat honour was, of course, bestowed upon the Baron of Ashton, and\nthe carcase of the wolf was taken in triumph to the Castle at\nAshton-under-Lyne. Upon the beast being opened, its stomach was found\nto contain the heads of three babes which it had devoured that\nmorning.\n\nMuch talk then ensued as to the unusual fierceness shown by the\nwehr-wolf, and the Prince again and again asserted that at times the\ncries of the beast were most human in sound. A forester, also, on\nhearing of the exploit, came forward and gave some strange testimony.\n\n\"May it please your highness,\" said he, \"I was to-day lying in a doze\nbeneath the greenwood, whither I had crawled to hide, the better to\nenable me to watch and ambush certain forest marauders who interfere\nwith the deer, when I was suddenly startled by a strange noise, and,\non looking through the copse, beheld a wehr-wolf tearing at its own\nskin as though it desired to cast it off, even as a man discards his\nclothes. And the thing screamed and moaned piteously, and it seemed\nto me that a woman's cracked voice, muttering wild incantations,\nemerged from the beast's throat. Upon hearing which I was sore afraid,\nthinking I was bewitched by the evil one, and I fled.\"\n\nDivers others had also strange tales to tell of the wehr-wolf's\nactions, and that same evening, on the Abbot of Basingwerke coming to\ndine with the Royal hunting party at the hall of Ashton-under-Lyne, it\nwas proved beyond doubt that the wehr-wolf was none other than the\nwicked witch.\n\nThus was the curse of the Abbot speedily fulfilled and justice meted\nout. Needless to say that witch was never seen again.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nThe Devil's Elbow.\n\n\nThe traveller through the valley of the Etherow is invariably\nimpressed with the wild grandeur of the scenery, and in nine cases out\nof ten his attention is especially claimed by the bold rock escarpment\nknown as \"The Devil's Elbow,\" which frowns high over the course of the\nstream. The situation of the rock is certainly romantic: the wild\nmoorlands of bog and heather stretch away on either side, in fact the\nrock stands on the verge of some of the wildest mountain scenery of\nGreat Britain. The very name of the place is suggestive of legend, and\none is not surprised to learn that there are some queer stories\nrelated concerning the neighbourhood; one of these explains how the\nrock came to receive its name.\n\nThe date of the story is uncertain--that fact, however, should not\ntrouble the reader. At the time when the events now to be related\nactually occurred, there was a castle standing on one of the heights\nabove the Etherow; it was a strong castle, fit home for a proud old\nfeudal lord; and its owner, De Morland, was one of the most haughty of\nthose barons who claimed descent from the great Norman lords who\nlanded with William the Conqueror. Little is known of him beyond the\nfact that he was immensely proud of his long ancestry, that he was\nvery fierce, that he was rich, and looked with scorn upon most of the\ngentry of the neighbourhood. These things certainly do not speak much\nfor his good sense, for why a man should imagine that the possession\nof a few more pieces of gold or silver makes him a better man than his\nneighbour, is a mystery. For instance, a thief may by successful\nrobbery become wealthier than an honest poor man, but surely the mere\npossession of greater wealth does not make him better than the poor\nman. The principle of this holds good with regard to wealth, no matter\nhow it may have been secured. So, after all, the Baron de Morland had\nno sound base on which to build up his pride.\n\nThe baron had a daughter named Geraldine, who was born on May day, and\nwas as sweet as the month in which she was born. Her teeth were like\npearls, her hair gleamed like gold, her skin was the fairest, and her\nfigure the most beautiful ever known in Longdendale. Altogether she\nwas a maid to set the hearts of men aflame with love.\n\nNow it should be stated at the outset that the maiden had been wooed\nby more than one noble suitor, but she had an eye to none save a brave\nyoung knight who came from Mottram. His name was Sir Mottram de\nMossland, and he was lord of a castle--something similar in appearance\nto that of the Baron de Morland, but not quite so grand--which stood\non a bold ridge near Mottram town. This knight had long been in love\nwith the lady Geraldine, and on several occasions had managed to get\ninterviews with his lady-love. We may be sure he lost no time in\nmaking known to her the state of his heart, and in ascertaining the\nexact condition of her own. They kissed, and swore fidelity to each\nother, and generally behaved like all young lovers do. But bye and bye\nthe Baron de Morland got to hear of this lover's business, and he\nswore a terrible oath concerning it.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE LADY GERALDINE.\"]\n\n\"By my halidome,\" swore he, in the hearing of his daughter; \"Who is\nthis upstart de Mossland? Are his lands to be compared with mine? Is\nhis name to be linked with that of de Morland? Shall one of his hated\nblood mate with my own superior stock. Out upon the thought. I will\nslay him sooner. Yea, by my halidome, and all the saints whom I adore,\nI swear most solemnly that if I know him to speak another word with my\ndaughter, it shall be the last word he shall ever speak. For I will\nhave his blood.\"\n\nThe Lady Geraldine heard this terrible oath, and knowing the character\nof her furious parent well, was quite certain that he would carry out\nhis threat. So, fearing for the safety of her lover, she had a message\nconveyed to him, begging him, if he really cared for her, to cease his\nstolen visits for a time. The lover, though sorely troubled, obeyed\nher requests, and the days passed by in fruitless sighing and longing.\n\nOf course, it goes without saying, that, although he might refrain\nfrom speaking to the maid, a handsome and brave gallant like Sir\nMottram de Mossland would yet be on the alert to secure a glimpse of\nhis lady-love, and would worship her with his eyes even if his lips\nwere doomed to be closed. And so it came to pass that, day by day,\noften in disguise, he followed her path, and gazed longingly at her\nfrom a distance. Now, one day when she was out riding on her\nmilk-white palfrey, her steed took fright, and ran away, and would\ncertainly have leaped down a dreadful precipice--carrying the lady to\ndeath,--if the gallant Sir Mottram had not sprung at its head, and\npulled it, by main force, to a place of safety.\n\nNow, in spite of his lady-love's message, he could no longer refrain\nfrom speaking, and, folding her in his arms, he kissed her, and asked\nfor some token of love in return. The maid kissed him gladly, and\npromised to marry him in spite of her stern and cruel father. Then,\nfull of joy, Sir Mottram went on his way singing gaily, for his heart\nwas lifted up by the promise of his lady-love.\n\nUnfortunately, however, the Baron de Morland was riding that way, and\nwhen he beheld the transports of Sir Mottram he immediately guessed\nwhat had been toward, and he at once began to swear again. No oath was\ntoo strong for him to use concerning the family of Sir Mottram de\nMossland. It should be stated in explanation, that years before, the\nBaron had been in love with Sir Mottram's mother--then a pretty maiden\nin her teens--and had been rejected by her in favour of Sir Mottram's\nfather. Hence the Baron de Morland could never bear the sight or\nmention of a de Mossland, and hence his hatred of a union between Sir\nMottram and his daughter Geraldine.\n\nFull of anger the Baron rode home to his castle, and there at once\nsent for his daughter.\n\n\"You minx,\" cried he, \"is't true that you have promised yourself to\nthat foul de Mossland?\"\n\n\"It is true, my father,\" said Geraldine, in a low yet clear voice.\n\"What else could I do since I love him? Moreover, he is not a foul\nknight, but is brave and true.\"\n\nNow the Baron swore again.\n\n\"You witch,\" he cried, \"know this, rather than you should wed de\nMossland--yea, by all the saints I swear it!--I will send you to the\ndevil.\"\n\n\"Oh, my father!\" shrieked Geraldine, \"have mercy!\"\n\nAnd her shrieks rang through the castle, till the serving maids and\nthe men-at-arms came running in to see what was the matter.\n\nBut the Baron took up his sword, and with the flat of it struck right\nand left, and drove them forth. Then, turning once more to her, he\nshouted:\n\n\"Mark well what I say. If you speak to de Mossland again I will summon\nthe devil's aid, and you shall be sorely punished.\"\n\nThen he left the room, and the lady fainted.\n\nNow, the Lady Geraldine was bold enough, as became a daughter born of\na race of fighting men, and, having pledged her word to her lover, she\nhad no intention of going from it. So, on the day appointed, she\nproceeded to a certain spot, where her lover met her, all prepared for\nflight. The lovers kissed, and then the knight began:\n\n\"Dear Geraldine,\" said he.--But before he could proceed further, an\nawful thing happened. A dark form rose up between them, and, on\nlooking at it they knew it was the Devil. He was in his own shape,\nwith horns, hoofs, and tail complete. With a mocking laugh he bent his\nelbow, and made as though to seize the maid, but Sir Mottram,\nthrowing his arms about her, turned and fled, hoping to be able to\ncross a running stream before the devil could touch them, and then, by\nthe laws of sorcery, they would be free from satanic molestation.\n\nThe devil, however, gained on them rapidly, and it appeared certain\nthat he would catch them, when, just as he put out his hand to touch\nthe maid, a strange light appeared in the sky, and a voice called out\nthe one word--\"Hold.\"\n\nThe Devil staggered as though he had been shot, and when he recovered\nthe light had vanished, and with it the maiden and her lover.\n\nThey were never seen again, but the legends say that they were made\nperfectly happy by the fairies, and that they still haunt the banks of\nthe Etherow at certain seasons of the year in the forms of two white\nswans.\n\nAs for the devil, he received a shock. At the moment the light\nappeared, his right arm had been bent at the elbow for the purpose of\nseizing hold of his prey, but lo! when his victims had disappeared, he\nfound that the powers which had delivered them from him had turned his\nright arm into stone. Not a muscle of it could he move, it would not\nbend, it was worse than useless, it was an encumbrance.\n\nSo Satan, being a philosopher in his way, determined to make the best\nof a bad job. He tore the arm out by the roots, and left it there--the\nelbow showing prominently over Longdendale. And that is how the great\nrock known as the Devil's Elbow came to be perched high up above the\nEtherow valley.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThe Devil's Elbow is the name given to a picturesque rock which stands\non the brow of a high and steep hill above the valley of the Etherow.\nThis rock is one of the landmarks of the Longdendale country.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nThe Legend of Charlesworth Chapel.\n\n\nAn old chapel at Charlesworth is said to have owed its foundation to\nthe circumstances narrated in the following tradition.\n\nOnce upon a time--it is impossible to say exactly when, because,\nunfortunately, the records as to date have been lost, but it was\ncertainly in that halcyon period of English history which is generally\nspoken of as \"the olden time\"--a traveller was on his way from the\nnorthern parts of England to London. Here again the chronicles are\nslightly obscure, because there is no mention of his name, and\nopinions differ as to his occupation. Some state that he was an Irish\nmerchant, others that he was a priest. But be that as it may, all\nagree that he made the journey, that he made it on foot and alone. For\nthe purposes of this story, therefore, it will suffice to refer to him\nas \"The Traveller.\"\n\nHe had reached that portion of Derbyshire known as the Peak, and was\njourneying over that part of the Peak which includes Coombs Rocks and\nthe hills above the River Etherow, when he found himself overtaken by\nthe night-fall. The track he was travelling was but ill-defined; it\nled through a desolate region--in fact, one of the wildest regions in\nall Britain--and, therefore, was but seldom used. As a consequence it\nwas no easy task to keep to it in broad daylight, and when the\ndarkness enveloped the moor, the danger of losing it was very great.\nTo-day, when almost every acre of the country is cultivated and\ndrained, the neighbourhood though savage enough is comparatively a\nsafe one to travel, but in the time of which we speak there were\ntreacherous bogs on every side in which the unwary might easily be\nswallowed up.\n\nAccustomed as he was to the perils and vicissitudes of a wandering\nlife, the Traveller was, nevertheless, somewhat dismayed to find\nhimself be-nighted so far from any habitation, and in a country\naltogether strange to him.\n\n\"Now may the good saints protect me,\" mused he, \"for of a truth I am\nlike to need their intercession this night. Already the path grows\nfainter, the skies seem charged with rain, and the wind moans eerily.\"\n\nHe wrapped his cloak tighter about his limbs, and stepped along at a\nbrisker pace.\n\n\"If only the night would clear,\" he said, \"so that I could see distant\nobjects, then should I be likely to make my way in safety from this\ndesolate moor. But the darkness hangs heavy like a pall: it is damp as\nthough the clouds were settling on the heather, and--ha!\"\n\nThe last exclamation was wrung from him by the slipping of his foot,\nand the fact that he suddenly found himself standing up to the knees\nin the sponge-like peat. He turned his face and tried to retrace his\nsteps, hoping to regain the path, but this was no easy task, and\npresently he found that he was wandering hopelessly through the bog,\nwith every risk of becoming engulfed if he proceeded further. To make\nmatters worse, at that moment, a thick white choking mist settled down\non the moor, and it seemed to the Traveller that his fate was indeed\nsealed. He stretched out his staff in despair, and by great good luck\nit struck on firm grit, and in another moment the Traveller had hauled\nhimself upon solid earth. Once here, prudence told him not to stir,\neither to the right hand or the left, lest all the horrors from which\nhe had just escaped should be again about him. There was nothing for\nit but to wait patiently for the return of day, when he might be able\nto thread his way through the mazy bogs in safety. But the night was\nchill, the mist was like the icy touch of death, and in a little while\nthe Traveller was shaking in every joint. The keen cold went to the\nbone, and it seemed as though he must now perish from exposure.\n\n\"Now indeed am I in a sorry plight,\" quoth he, \"and I have need of the\nDivine help; else I am lost.\"\n\nWhereupon, being a good Christian, he fell upon his knees, and prayed\naloud to God for help, vowing that if he was permitted to reach his\nhome again he would return to those hills, and as a thankoffering\nerect thereon a house of prayer dedicated to his patron saint.\n\nScarcely was the prayer ended when a great wind arose, the mists were\nrolled away like a curtain, the hill tops stood out in the clear\nnight, the stars shone, and the moon-beams fell softly over the\nlandscape, and a shepherd came along as though a heaven-sent guide to\nshow him the path from the hills.\n\n\"Friend,\" said the shepherd simply, as he beheld the Traveller, \"Hast\nthou been long upon the moor? If so, thou shouldst indeed be thankful\nto God, for thou hast run a great risk of losing thy life upon this\ndesolate wilderness of heather.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest truly,\" replied the Traveller, who then proceeded to\nrecount his experiences and his vow, and also asked the name of the\nplace where they stood. Then he marked the spot, which lay upon the\nbleak hill-side above the present village of Charlesworth.\n\n\"I will surely come here again,\" said he, \"if my life is spared, and\nfulfil my vow.\"\n\nOn concluding his journey, and having discharged his business, he\nimmediately returned to the Peak, and on the spot of his delivery he\nbuilt a small chapel or oratory of bog oak, which was specially\nbrought over from Ireland. This building, says tradition, was erected\nupon the site now occupied by the present Charlesworth Chapel.\n\nWhy Irish bog oak should have been the material used in building, the\npresent writer has not been able to discover, nor does the tradition\nin this particular altogether agree with the following account of what\nis therein stated to have been the original fabric.\n\n\"It was a small octagon chapel,\" says the historian, \"the roof of\nwhich was carved; the arched rafters resting on massive buttresses,\nthe walls rough blocks of stone, the floor earth covered with rushes,\nthe seats and altar simple and unpretentious.\"\n\nPossibly the building mentioned in this account was a successor of an\neven earlier structure, and to judge from other sacred buildings in\nthe neighbourhood, it is by no means unlikely that the earliest chapel\nof all was one mainly composed of timber. But after all, what does it\nreally matter whether the chapel was built of wood or stone, so long\nas the Traveller fulfilled his vow, and so long as the chapel served\nthe purpose for which it was erected?\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nSir Edmund Shaa.\n\n\nIn the reign of King Henry VI. there dwelt in Longdendale a youth who\nbore the name of Edmund Shaa. It is claimed by some that he was a\nnative of Longdendale, but other authorities assert that he was born\nin the parish of Stockport. Certain it is that he was connected with\nthe parish of Stockport, and also with that of Mottram--a connection\nwhich he maintained up to the close of his life. Moreover, the Shaas\nwere among the earliest of the inhabitants of Mottram of whom we have\nreliable record, and the name Shaa, in its modernised form of Shaw, is\nstill found in the town, and other portions of the parish.\n\nAt the period of our story, the Shaas were recognised as a family of\ngreat respectability, though not of much wealth. They probably\nbelonged to the yeoman class, and for generations had been accustomed\nto live on the soil, passing their lives in the open air, varying the\nhours of toil with the healthy recreations then common--shooting with\nthe bow, sword-play, or indulging in the chase. Healthy, manly lives\nthey led, fearing God, obeying the laws, and paying their way honestly\nenough, with a margin left over to provide against a rainy day--but by\nno means able to amass any great store of wealth. Besides Edmund Shaa,\nhis father, John Shaa, had other sons, of whom, however, little is\nknown.\n\nThe boyhood of Edmund Shaa passed like that of other Longdendale\nchildren, exhibiting no signs of extraordinary promise, unless the\nbright alertness and the ambitious imaginings of the lad might be\naccounted as such. But as he grew older, there came over the boy an\nunconquerable aversion to the unchanging life of the country. Not that\nthe life itself was disagreeable, but the labour seemed all in vain,\nnever leading to anything better than the humble respectability which\nwas the highest mark of yeoman rank. Young Edmund Shaa had seen the\ntrains of noble knights pass by; he had witnessed the huntings in the\nforests of Longdendale, when lords and ladies gay rode in grand\nattire, on richly-caparisoned steeds, and received every mark of\nrespect from the country people who assembled to witness the sport.\nAnd to his young brain, it seemed that the best of them all was but a\nmortal of flesh and blood and intelligence, like any yeoman's son and\ndaughter, or even as the hinds. Was not he, Edmund Shaa, as well made,\nas shapely, as strong, as keen of intellect as any of the rich\ngallants who flaunted themselves in silken attire before his eyes; and\nthat being so, why should not he, putting his abilities to use, come\nto attain a position of power and affluence equal to theirs?\n\nThe young lad thought the matter out many a time, and to him there\nseemed but one reason--the lack of opportunity. In Longdendale he had\nno chance of distinguishing himself. There was no wealth to be won in\nLongdendale,--nay, even the very abilities which he knew himself to\npossess were not recognised by his fellows--for is it not a worldwide\ntruism that \"a prophet is not without honour save in his own country?\"\n\nThen the lad decided in his own mind that he must leave his Cheshire\nhome, and seek occupation elsewhere, if he was to become anything\nbetter than a yeoman. He accordingly sought counsel of his elders--his\nrelatives and friends--and made known his ambitions to them. But the\nelders only laughed at him, and discouraged his scheming.\n\n\"Banish all such dreams from thy foolish pate,\" said one. \"Thou art a\ngood lad, and a clever one to boot, but the life thy fathers led is\ngood enough for thee. Lords and ladies are above thy station; thou\nwilt have to work for thy living, and, as for holding thy head high,\nand bothering thy brains with affairs of State--why, lad, thou art a\nfool to think about it.\"\n\nSuch discouragement was kindly meant, but other folk, to whom the lad\ntold his hopes and longings, were less sympathetic. Some openly jeered\nat him, called him a dreamer, denounced him as a conceited fop,\nupbraided him with the fault of considering himself superior to other\npeople, and finally snubbed him and treated him as a snob.\n\nYoung Shaa bore all this quietly enough in the presence of his\ntormentors; but the bitterness of it was keenly felt by him, and when\nalone, he gave way to grief. Often he would seek the quiet of some\nsecluded spot in the woodland glades of Longdendale, and sob as though\nhis heart would break, for it seemed that the obstacles in his path\nwere too great for him to overcome.\n\nOne day when he thus lay lamenting in solitude over his fate, a great\nweariness stole over him, the hot summer's day overpowered him, and\npresently he fell into a doze. Then it was that the good fairies stole\nfrom their tiny palaces under the leaves in the forest, where no\nmortal may ever find them even if he looks, and, taking pity upon the\nhandsome youth who lay sleeping near, decided to help him to achieve\nthat goal of greatness upon which his soul was set. The little sprites\ngathered around him, and whispered in his ears a wondrous tale of the\nwealth and honour awaiting in London town all those bold English lads\nwho dared seek fortune there. They drew phantom pictures of a young\nman's struggle in London, of his success by honest industry and skill,\nof civic functions in which the young man bore a part, of a grand\nprocession, where the youth,--now grown to manhood's prime,--was\nbecome Lord Mayor; and to Edmund Shaa, who saw the pictures in his\nsleep, it seemed as though the face of that phantom Lord Mayor was his\nown face.\n\nThen the fairies sang a song, and the words of the dream song were\nthese:--\n\n    \"If thou would'st win great renown,\n    Make thy way to London town;\n    Fortune waits to greet thee there\n    Even London's civic chair;\n    Lord Mayor of London thou shalt be\n    --The wielder of authority.\n    And when thou rulest London town\n    The King shall beg of thee his crown.\"\n\nShaa awoke with a start, sat up, and rubbed his eyes, telling himself\nthat he had been dreaming--a wondrous pleasant dream,--but to his\ncharmed ears there still came the sweet strains of the music, and the\nwords of the fairy song:--\n\n    \"If thou would'st win great renown,\n    Make thy way to London town.\n      London town, London town.\"\n\nThe lad listened awhile, then sprang to his feet with a joyful cry,\nand a determined look in his eyes.\n\n\"To London town,\" quoth he. \"To London town! Thither I will go, and\nnought shall stop me now.\"\n\nThen with a merry whistle, he made off homewards, and before the sun\nset, had completed his preparations for the long journey to the south.\n\nThe rest of Shaa's story reads like some romance, and yet it is true.\nOnce settled in London, he appears to have been successful even beyond\nhis wildest dreams. He became a member of the goldsmith's company, and\nrising rapidly in wealth and civic position, was ultimately appointed\njeweller to King Edward IV.--and this position he continued to hold\nunder four successive monarchs. In the year 1482 he received the\ndignity of Lord Mayor of London, and henceforth he became one of the\nmost striking and interesting figures in that most dramatic period of\nEnglish history. He received the honour of knighthood, and his\ninfluence was sufficiently powerful to render him one of the most\nprominent factors in securing the crown of England for King Richard\nIII.\n\nWhen Edward IV. died in 1483, it fell to the lot of Shaa, as Lord\nMayor of London, to attend and take part in the funeral ceremonies,\nand to receive in great state the infant King Edward V., on his\nsubsequent entry to the city. This occurred on May 4th, 1483, and is\nthus described in the old chronicle:--\"When the Kynge approached nere\nthe citie, Edmund Shaa, goldsmith, then Mayre, with William Whyte and\nJohn Matthewe, Sheriffs, and all the other Aldermene, in scarlette,\nwith five hundred horse of the citizens in violette, received him\nreverentleye at Harnesey, and rydyng from thence accompanyed him into\nthe city.\"\n\nRichard, Duke of Gloucester, anxious to seize upon the crown, saw that\nthe only way to accomplish his design was to secure the sympathies and\nsupport of the city of London. Being at that time Protector, he made\nLord Mayor Shaa a member of the Privy Council, and, after that, he\nseems to have had no difficulty in inducing him to enlist his sympathy\nand influence on the side of the plotters, and to secure the services\nof his brother,--Dr. Shaa--an Austin Friar, and a noted preacher of\nhis day. The initial steps taken, the Shaas played conspicuous and\nimportant parts in the critical events which followed. Dr. Shaa\npreached at St. Paul's Cross against the legitimacy of Edward's\nchildren, and in advocacy of the claims of Richard; and Lord Mayor\nShaa headed a deputation to Gloucester with an offer of the crown, and\nafter the proclamation he attended as cup-bearer of the King. The\ncitizens of London, however, began to suspect that the sons of their\nlate King (Edward VI.) had been murdered, and showed signs of\nrebellion, upon which, Richard sent for over 5,000 soldiers to form\nhis bodyguard, and not daring to levy money for the purpose of\nrewarding them, he disposed of some of the Crown property to Sir\nEdmund Shaa, who found means to supply the sum required. After the\ndeath of Richard at Bosworth Field, Shaa lived more the life of a\nprivate citizen, though he still continued to hold office as a\nmagistrate and as the Royal Jeweller, and enjoyed the friendship and\nconfidence of King Henry VII., until his death. During the latter\nportion of his career he had been associated with the most influential\nmen of his time, honours had fallen thickly upon him, and his\nrelations had become connected with families whose representatives are\nstill to be found in the British Peerage, and among the older landed\ngentry.\n\nIt is pleasing to know that although Sir Edmund Shaa figured so\nprominently in great historic events of his day, he did not forget the\nnorthern county that gave him birth. He founded the old Grammar School\nat Stockport, and left a considerable sum of money with which to endow\nit. He gave a sum of money towards the cost of the building of the\ntower of Mottram Church. He also built a chapel in the Longdendale\nvalley, at Woodhead, to which he thus refers in his will.\n\n\"I woll have two honest preestes, one of them to syng his mass and say\nhis other divine service in a chapel that I have made in Longdendale,\nin the Countie of Chester; and to pray especially for my soule, and\nfor the soules of my father and mother, and all Christian people; and\nI woll that he have for his salarie yerely for evermore, the sume of\n\u00a34 6s. 8d.; and I woll that the other honest preeste be a discrete\nman, and coning in gramer.\"\n\nThe will of Sir Edmund Shaa is a curious yet beautiful specimen of the\nold English testamentary document. It begins thus--\"In the name of God\nbe it, Amen. The xxth day of the monthe of Marche, the yeare of our\nLord after tha' compt of the Church of England mcccclxxxvijth, and\niijth yeare of the reigne of Kinge Henry the vijth, I, Edmund Shaa,\nKnight Cytezen and Goldsmith and Alderman and Late Mayor of the Citie\nof London etc.... First I bequeathe and reccomend my soule to my Lord\nJesus Christe, my Maker and my Redeemer; to the most glorious Virgin\nhis mother, our Lady Saint Marye; to the full glorious Confessor,\nSaint Dunstan, and to the Holy Company of Heaven, and my body to be\nburyed in the Church of St Thomas of Acres in London, between the\nPyler of the same Churche, whereupon the image of Sainte Mychel, the\nArchangel, standeth before the Auter, there called Saint Thomas Auter,\nand the nether ende of the same that is to wit as nigh the same as my\nbody may reasonably be layed.... And in consideration that I have\nbourne the office of Mayoralte of the said City, I will for the honour\nof the same City, that my body be brought from my house to the Parish\nChurch of St. Petery's, in Chepe, where I am a Parysshen as the Manor\nis, and from there to my burying at St. Thomas's, of Acres aforesaid,\nin descrete and honest wise without pomp of the world, and I will have\nxxiiij (24) honest torches to be bourne by xxiiij paide persons to\nconvey my body from my house to my said Parisshe Churche as the maner\nis and so to my burying aforesaid, and I will have the same xxiiij\ntorches and my honest tapers to be holden in like wise by iiij poor\npersons to brenne at my exequies to be doon for my soul as well at my\nburying aforesaid as at my Moneth's Mynde to be done for me. And I\nwill that eache of the torch bearers and taper holders have for their\nsuche labours to pray for my soule after all my said Exequyes full\ndoon xxd.\"\n\nThe will then goes on to say--translated into modern English--\"And, as\nthe usage of the City of London, at the burial of one who hath borne\nthe office of mayoralty is, for the mayor and aldermen, and other\nworshipful and honest commoners, to be present in their proper\npersons;--to the extent that they may understand that I was a true\nloving brother of theirs, and am in perfect charity with them, and\neach of them--if it would like the mayor and aldermen and recorder of\nthe City of London, to be present at my Dirge and Mass of Requiem to\nbe done for me; I would tenderly desire them, after the said Mass, to\ntake such a repast as my executors by the sufferance of our Lord God,\nshall provide for them; and I will that each of them after his repast,\nhave of my gift, from the hands of my executors, to remember my soul\namong their devout meditations, inasmuch as I am a brother of theirs,\n6s. 8d.\" Among local bequests, the will contained the following--\"I\nwill that my executors, as soon as they may goodly after my decease,\ndo buy so much Welsh frieze, half white, half black or gray, and\nthereof do make at my cost, 200 party gowns; and the 200 party gowns\nwith 12d. in money along with every gown, I will be given to 200 poor\npersons dwelling in the parish of Stopford, in the County of Chester,\nwhereat 'my fader and moder lyen buryed,' and within the parishes of\nCheadle and Mottram in Longdendale in the said County, and in the\nparishes of Manchester, Ashton, Oldham, and Saddleworth, in the County\nof Lancaster, by the counsel and advice of the curates of the said\nparishes, ... such curates taking counsel with the saddest men dwelling\nin their parishes, to the intent that those poor persons should have\nthem that have most need unto them.\" He also wills that his executors\nmake at his cost \"sixteen rings of fine gold, to be graven with the\nWell of Pity, the Well of Mercy, and the Well of Everlasting Life;\nwith all other images and other things concerning the same--the rings\nto be distributed to certain persons named in the will.\" He also again\nrefers to \"the saide Church of Stopford\" (Stockport) and the grave\ntherein where the bodies of his father and mother \"lyen buried.\"\n\nSir Edmund Shaa died on April 20th, 1487, just a month after making\nhis will, and was buried according to his direction in \"the Church of\nSt. Thomas of Acres in London.\" He left behind him a widow--Dame\nJuliana, one son, Hugh, and two daughters, Katherine and Margaret.\nHugh Shaa did not long survive his father, and died without male\nissue. It only remains to be added in conclusion that Shakespeare has\nimmortalized Sir Edmund Shaa.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nLord Lovel's Fate.\n\n\nThe Lovel family came into possession of the township of Mottram at an\nearly period. In the time of Edward III. Sir John Lovel held the\nlordship of Longdendale from the King (as Earl of Chester) by military\nservice. Sir John was a warrior of great bravery and fame. He served\nthrough the French wars, and in 1368 is mentioned as a leader under\nthe Duke of Clarence. Most of the Lovels figure in history, and\nFrancis, Lord Viscount Lovel, was a great favourite with Richard III.\nHe was the King's chief Butler and Chamberlain of the Household.\nMoreover, he exercised a great influence in shaping the course of\nEnglish affairs of his day. He was the Lovel of the ancient couplet:--\n\n    The cat, the rat, and Lovel the dog,\n    Rule all England under a hog.\n\nThe cat was Catesby, the rat Ratcliffe or Radcliffe, of Ordsall Hall,\nSalford, and the hog represented the crookbacked King.\n\nFrancis Lovel was looked upon by his tenants in Mottram as a being of\nalmost equal importance to the King. His word was law, his favour was\ncourted, his anger feared. There are many curious stories told\nconcerning his connection with Mottram and its neighbourhood. It is\nsaid that he owned a hall in Mottram which was connected by a\nsubterranean passage with the Parish Church. He is also the hero of\nmany adventures, most of which may be set down as pure stories of\nimagination. Perhaps the following legend is of this class.\n\nNow it should be stated that at the period of which we speak there\nwere witches in Longdendale. The age was one of gross superstition,\nand it was universally believed that certain mortals, notably old\nwomen, were in league with the evil one, and that Satan had bestowed\nupon them powers of evil whereby they were enabled to work harm upon\nthe persons of any to whom they took a dislike. What particular powers\nthese wretched women possessed will probably never be known; it is\nquite possible that some of them were students of magic, for in those\nages some of the most learned men professed to dabble in mystic arts;\nbut the probability is that by far the greater part of their dreaded\npowers existed only in the superstitious imaginings of the day. But to\nthe people of that time the witches and their witchcraft were real\nenough and terrible to boot; so much so that if a man fell ill, or if\nsome piece of bad luck befell him, to all the suffering caused thereby\nwas added the mental torture consequent upon the belief that all the\ntrouble had been caused by the evil schemes of some demon-possessed\nwitch-woman. This belief was widespread, even among the better\neducated classes, to such an extent, that if a person lay ill of\nconsumption, it was supposed that his waxen image was at that moment\nslowly melting before some witch-woman's fire, and that every fresh\npang of pain was caused by the witch thrusting her sharp bodkin into\nthe image. In Longdendale it was asserted that at night the witches\nsailed across the bleak moors seated on broomsticks. Often would the\npeasants rush in terror to the shelter of their cots as they heard a\nstrange rustling overhead, and, on looking up, beheld the wizened\nforms of old hags riding on broomsticks through the air with a speed\nwhich no horse could equal.\n\nThere are certain stories told which ascribe to Lord Lovel the habit\nof consulting and using the services of these unholy mortals, but\nimplicit faith cannot be placed upon these stories, because other\ntales describe him as absolutely fearless and devoid of\nsuperstition--a man, in fact, who placed no faith in their supposed\npowers.\n\nOn one occasion Lovel was in Longdendale. History does not tell us the\ncause of his visit, but he had left his hall at Mottram, and was\nwalking in the woodland, when suddenly he found himself confronted by\na woman of evil shape. She was an old hag, of bent form and wrinkled\nface, and she leaned heavily upon a crutch. For all that when she\nwalked she was nimble enough, and could get about with speed. When she\nspoke it was in a cracked voice, like the croaking of a raven, so that\nher very tones caused the flesh to creep, and a shudder to pass\nthrough the frame of the listener. The nobleman would have passed on\nwith a brief salutation, but the hag planted herself firmly in his\npath, and sawing the air with her fore-finger commenced to speak.\n\n\"Thou art a proud man, Lord Lovel, and like all thy class thou\nregardest the poor as dirt beneath thy feet. But I tell thee that the\nhour is at hand when thou shalt be lower than they. They that live by\nthe sword shall e'en perish by the sword, and they who scheme to\nentrap others shall be caught in their own net. The curse of doom is\nalready on thee, and this night I can prophesy the end. Thy downfall\nshall be speedy, and thy death paltry. Nothing heroic shall there be\nabout either. And the end shall be total. Neither child nor kindred\nof thine shall rule after thee in Longdendale.\"\n\nLovel heard, and, despite his courage, he could not help trembling at\nthe terrible aspect of the witch.\n\n\"Out upon thee, thou whelp of Satan,\" he said at length, \"or I will\nhave thee in the ducking stool.\"\n\nBut with a shriek of horrible laughter the witch vanished.\n\nNow this was the end of Lord Lovel, and the reader may decide for\nhimself whether or not the witch's prophesy was fulfilled. It is quite\ncertain that from that date his fortunes began to wane. He fought in\nthe Battle of Bosworth Field on the side of the defeated King Richard\nIII., and after the battle he took refuge for a time in Longdendale\nand Lancashire, but finally was forced to fly to Flanders. He returned\nto England with the Earl of Lincoln as a supporter of the Pretender,\nLambert Simnel, and was a prominent figure at the \"court\" held for a\nbrief space by that would-be King at the Pile or Peel of Fouldrey--now\na picturesque ruin on Fouldrey Island off the coast of Lancashire. On\nbehalf of Simnel he fought in the Battle of Stoke, and the last seen\nof him was after the defeat of the rebel army, when he was observed to\njoin in the flight, and to swim his horse across a river, and to\nscramble safely up the further bank. Some say he was slain in this\nbattle, but the popular version of his death ascribes to him a far\ndifferent ending. According to this version some days after the\ncombat, the disguised figure of a man might have been seen wending his\nway stealthily to a house at Minster Lovel, near Oxford. The fugitive\nwas none other than Lord Lovel himself.\n\nWith his enemies on his track, and afraid to trust even his friends,\nhe made his way alone to his own house and entered it under cover of\nthe darkness. Then, not daring to trust even his oldest servants, lest\nthey might be tempted to betray him, he quietly stole to a secret\nunderground chamber, and there immured himself, thinking to lie hidden\nwithin until he could find some means of escape from the country. What\nactually happened no man will ever know, but it is easy to surmise. It\nwould appear that Lovel, from some cause or other, was unable to open\nthe door by which he had entered his hiding-place, and having told no\none of his intention to make use of the chamber--or else through\ntreachery--he was perforce left to his fate, and died of starvation.\nIn all probability when he found out his predicament he attempted to\nset some record of it down on paper, but, if so, his story was\ndestined never to be read. He disappeared from the sight of his own\ngeneration, and the world had well-nigh forgotten him. But in the\nEighteenth Century--several hundred years after his death--a party of\nworkmen broke into the remains of an underground chamber at Minster\nLovel, and to their great surprise came across a skeleton. It was\nthought that this skeleton was the frame of the once powerful\nnoble--Lord Lovel.\n\nIt is said that when the workmen broke into the vault, the skeleton\nwas found sitting at a table, the hand resting on a bundle of papers,\nbut that with the admission of air it soon crumbled into dust.\n\nAfter the Battle of Stoke, Lovel's lands were confiscated, and in 1409\nwere granted to Sir Wm. Stanley, who had turned the fortunes of the\nday at Bosworth Field. With this change of ownership Longdendale\npassed out of the hands of the Lovels for ever.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nThe Raiders from the Border-Side.\n\n\nThere was once a time when it was considered the height of fashionable\nconduct for the Scotch who lived upon the border, to dash into the\nNorthern Counties of England, put the men they met with to the sword,\nburn their homesteads and stores, and carry off the women and cattle.\nIt is quite true that the English, on their part, considered it fit\nand proper to cross the Scottish border, to raid the lands, and carry\noff women and cattle from the lower shires of \"Bonnie Scotland;\" and\nso on the score of fairness neither side had any cause for complaint.\nBut then, both parties never thought of that; the nature of their own\nconduct was never questioned, it was always the other side that was in\nthe wrong. Their opponents were \"thieves and marauders,\" their own\nforays were characterized by the high sounding title of \"military\nexpeditions.\" For such is the way of the world.\n\nThere is no record to say whether the men of Longdendale ever rode\nnorth to join in expeditions across the Scottish border; but it is\nchronicled that \"bold moss-troopers from the border-side\" occasionally\nraided as far south as the rich country of the Longdendale valley.\nThese Scotchmen usually came in strong and well-armed bands,\nconsisting of picked fighting-men, and, oftener than not, led by some\ndistinguished lord or knight who wished to reap fresh honour by\nreddening his blade in English blood. Sometimes the lord or knight\nlooked upon it as a fair (and certainly the easiest and cheapest) way\nof securing a wife, or mayhap a mistress, together with a good fat\ndowry in the shape of plunder. None can blame him for holding such\nviews, for it all came in the manner of living in the olden time.\n\nBut it did not always happen that the raiders were successful.\nSometimes the \"raided\" were on the look out, and the surprise party\nthemselves met with a surprise.\n\nIt was a bright morning in the summer, and the valley of Longdendale\nhad never looked more beautiful than it did that morning when Jock,\nthe steward's son, kissed his sweetheart at the end of the lane ere he\nentered the woods to join his father's men, who had some work to do in\nthe forest. A fine lad was Jock, merry and free as becomes one whose\nlife is mostly spent in the greenwood: his limbs were finely made, he\nwas straight and strong, and there were none in all the country-side\nwho could run, fence, or box like he, or who could shoot straighter or\nfurther with the bow. A right proper lad, such as an English maiden\nloves. His father was steward to the Lord of Mottram, and to that\nposition young Jock looked one day to succeed. In the meantime he\ndischarged such tasks as were set him with diligence, and drank his\nfill of happiness with that bonny yeoman's daughter, Bess Andrew. Bess\nknew his habits and his times of departure and homecoming right well,\nand thus the two found many a chance to bill and coo throughout the\nday.\n\nIt was with a light heart that Jock sped through the lanes when he had\ntaken leave of Bess; and with a heart as buoyant, sweet Bess returned\nto the homestead when the parting was over. The maid sang a snatch of\na country song as she entered the farmyard and set about her tasks,\nwondering whether her mother had missed her during the few moments she\nhad been absent in the lane.\n\n[Illustration: BESS ANDREW.]\n\nBut Goody Andrew, the farmer's wife, was busy in the kitchen, and the\nfarmer himself was away in the fields. His lands were broad, and on\nthis merry morn he was busy at a distance. So Bess had the farmyard to\nherself save for the presence of the children, her brothers and\nsisters, all younger than herself.\n\nBess busied herself with the milking-cans for some time, dreaming, as\nsweet maids will, of love and hope and the life that is to be.\nSuddenly she started, then bent her head to listen. On the wind came\nthe sound of horses' tread, and the jingling of harness; the sound\nincreased in volume, and it came from the lane which led to the farm.\nBess left her work, and moved to the gate. Then she screamed and\nturned to fly to the steading. For, all gay and boldly, armed to the\nteeth, came galloping into the farmyard a band of fierce\nmoss-troopers, having at their head a tall big-limbed laird, from the\nLowlands over the border.\n\n\"The raiders,\" screamed Bess, as she hurried towards the house. \"God\n'a mercy on us.\"\n\nBut she never reached the door, for the leader of the band rode to her\nside, and with a laugh leaned down, seized her in a strong grip, and\nswung her to the saddle before him.\n\n\"The raiders,\" echoed he; \"and of a truth we have won a prize worth\nraiding. Come, kiss me, my beauty. Thou shalt be my share of the\nplunder.\"\n\nHe forced his face to hers, but the maid fought fiercely, and struck\nhim in the face, whereat the trooper laughed again.\n\n\"What a spitfire of a wench\" said he. \"But we will tame thee ere thou\nart much older. Bring hither a rope my men, and tie her up. Also gag\nher until she has found her senses, and knows where and how to use her\ntongue. Now get to work and lose no time, for I have no wish to bring\na hornet's nest about my ears. Ho! who comes here. Settle them off in\nthe good old fashion.\"\n\nThe last words were uttered as a couple of farm-hands came from an\nout-building to see what was astir. The poor knaves were instantly\nseized before they had chance to cry aloud, and in another moment were\nhanging by the neck from a neighbouring bough. That preliminary\naccomplished, the troopers proceeded to plunder the farm of all its\nvaluables, and to get together the cattle that lay about. Poor Goody\nAndrew begged hard for mercy, but her plea only met with a coarse\nlaugh from the robbers.\n\n\"Thou art a well-favoured vixen,\" quoth the chief. \"And had'st thou\nonly been a score years younger, then I had not left thee to the\nembraces of the southerners. But thy daughter is fair enough, and I\ndoubt not she will like her Scottish lover when her good humour\nreturns. Now, my lads, set the stead ablaze, and then to horse.\"\n\nThe men obeyed to the letter, and in a little while the farm was\nblazing fiercely, the troopers, loaded with plunder, were galloping\ntowards the hills, on the saddle of the chief was the lovely form of\nthe maiden Bess, bound and gagged; and in the farmyard sat the good\ndame with her younger children, wringing her arms, and weeping\nbitterly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the distant meadows, Yeoman Andrew paused at his work to wipe the\nsweat from his brow, and then looked up. In the direction of his home\na column of smoke arose, which had not been there when last he looked.\n\n\"Hallo!\" quoth he, \"there is surely something amiss. What ho! ye\nknaves, leave your work awhile, and hurry with me to the farm, for I\nfear the worst.\"\n\nThen, in company with his men, he ran to the steading, to find his\nweeping wife, and the ruin of what had been his home.\n\nThe farmer was a practical man, so he just swore a good round English\noath, and then he got to business.\n\n\"Ho, there! Will Leatherbarrow, do thou slip for my good grey mare\ndown to John the smith's, get aback, and ride for thy life on their\ntrail. Send word by any messengers thou canst catch from time to time,\nhow they fare. And thou, Hob, cross the fields, and set the great bell\nat Mottram Church a-ringing, and the rest of you scatter and bring out\nthe archers and the men who can fight. Cease thy chatter, good dame,\nand see if thou canst scrape me a good meal together '))fore I set about\npaying my debt to the Scottish laird.\"\n\nIn a little while the great bell at Mottram Church was clanging out\nits wild alarm, and from the woods and fields about, and the distant\nfarms, the stout yeomen were hurrying into the town, bringing with\nthem their bows and bills, their swords and axes, and their horses all\nready for the chase. For they had ridden on the track of the raiders\nbefore.\n\nAs the men mustered round the cross near the church, a horseman\ngalloped into the throng, the flanks of his steed white with foam. It\nwas the first messenger from Will Leatherbarrow, who hung like a\nsleuthhound on the trail.\n\n\"They have e'en ta'en the Kings' high road,\" he shouted, \"and they\nride for the hills.\"\n\n\"They will turn off at the bend before they reach Glossop town,\" said\nJock, the steward's son, who now sat his horse at the farmer's side.\n\"I know a short cut, and we may head them off. Do you, Farmer Andrew,\nride on the trail, and I will lead a band to get before them. Then not\na man of them shall escape.\"\n\n\"To horse!\" cried the yeoman, curtly assenting. And in another moment\nthe spurs were driven deep, and the men of Longdendale were hard on\nthe track of the foe.\n\nGrim men were they when the scent of war was in the air. Men who had\nlearned the use of the bow from their cradle. For did not the men of\nLongdendale help to scatter the French at Cressy and Agincourt, and\ndid they not in later days join in the annihilation of the Scotch at\nthe fight of Flodden Field? On they rode, and as they went, their\nnumber was swollen by fresh recruits, and so they galloped till near\nthe sundown.\n\n\"The pace tells on the beasts,\" said one man at length.\n\n\"It will tell more on the Scotch,\" said another, \"since they are\nhampered with plunder.\"\n\nAnd the cavalcade still galloped along.\n\nThe road wound up the hills, and at the top there was a level stretch\nof several miles. As the band of pursuers reached the top of the rise,\nthey beheld a cloud of dust at some distance ahead, and a shout of\ntriumph burst from their lips.\n\n\"They are yonder!\" said one. \"Ride faster, my men. We shall catch them\nat the gorge.\"\n\n\"They will never get beyond the gorge,\" said Farmer Andrew quietly.\n\"Jock will ambush them there. The thieves are fairly caught.\"\n\nThen silence reigned again, save for the sound of the galloping horses\nand the rush of the wind about the horsemen.\n\nThe pursuers clearly gained upon the foe, but the latter reached the\nnext dip of the road well ahead, and disappeared from sight. A few\nminutes later, when the Longdendale band reached the top of the\ndescent, a glad sight met their eyes. Across the narrow path, just\nwhere the road bent, Jock had drawn up his men, and already the\narchers were at work. Already several of the Scotch lay dead upon the\nroad, and the rest were in confusion. Ere they could rally, with a\nwild shout the pursuing yeomen burst on them at the charge, and then\nthere was a fray well worth the telling. It only lasted a few minutes,\nand Jock backed out of it the moment he found the sweet maid Bess\nsafely in his arms. But the rest of the Longdendale lads laid lustily\nabout them until the work was done. A palatable work it was to them--a\nclashing of blades, a crashing of axes, and then the great Scottish\nraid was over. Yeoman Andrew was avenged, and he had more in plunder\nfrom the Scots than made up the total of the damages he had sustained.\n\nIt is said that many a \"guid wife\" in bonnie Scotland looked\nsouthwards with eager eyes for the homecoming of her \"man\" from the\nforay in Longdendale, but always looked in vain. For the ravens had a\nrich feast spread on the hills above the Derbyshire and Cheshire\nborder, and those Longdendale moors were dotted white with the\nbleaching bones of Scottish men.\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nThe Legend of Gallow's Clough.\n\n\nNear Mottram, on the verge of the moors, overlooking what is now the\nhigh road to Stalybridge, is a spot known as Gallow's Clough, which,\nas its name implies, was in feudal times the scene of the Gibbeting of\nmalefactors. Here in the good old days, was reared the gallows,\nwhereon the criminal was first \"hanged by the neck until he was dead,\"\nand from which his body was afterwards suspended in chains, until the\nweather and the birds between them had picked the flesh away, and\nnothing remained but a few bones--a grim reminder of the power of the\nlaw, and the folly and risk of departing from the paths of virtue.\n\nIn the days when gibbetting was fashionable, it behoved almost every\npetty township to possess its own gallows, for there was far too great\na demand for the services of rope and hangman to permit of only a few\nrecognised places of execution, and one common hangman, as is the\ncustom at the present time. Not that people were very much worse than\nthey are now, but the extreme punishment of the law was meted out for\nwhat are now considered the minor crimes of sheep and cattle stealing,\npoaching, highway robbery, house-breaking with violence, and such like\noffences. The sight of a dead man dangling between earth and sky was\nof too common a nature to cause surprise, even so late as the early\ndecades of the nineteenth century.\n\nWild and lonesome as the Gallow's Clough is at the present day, it was\na much bleaker and more awesome place in the days when the gibbet was\nstanding there. Then it was considered as a place accursed, and was\nsaid to be haunted by the ghosts of all the dead men who had been\nstrangled there. Even in the daylight folk gave the spot a wide berth,\nand at night when the winds moaned down the gullies from the hills,\nand swayed the dead men to and fro, and caused the chains to clank and\nrattle, then, indeed, the traveller kept as far off as his route would\npermit, and hurried past with beating heart, and face blanched with\nfear.\n\nNor was that all the terror. Witches were said to infest the place at\ncertain seasons, and in the darkness to hold converse with the ghosts\nof the malefactors, from whom they learned how to transact deeds of\ndarkness successfully. Men forced to pass that way at these seasons\nhad seen from a distance the crouching forms of the old hags, and had\neven heard their crooning voices, and the fiendish laughter with which\nthey accompanied their terrible midnight revels. Many a timid dame\nadded a petition to her prayers--that Providence would accord her and\nall belonging to her, special protection from the witches who danced\nand plotted and sang the hell-song round the gibbet at Gallow's\nClough.\n\nOn a certain day in the olden time, a throng of people might have been\nseen wending their way through Mottram to the place of execution at\nGallow's Clough. It was a gloomy procession,--calculated to depress\nthe beholder for the remainder of the day, and probably for many days\nto come. First marched a company of well-armed men--part of the\nretinue of the feudal lord--and in their midst was one bound, and\nwearing a halter dangling from his neck. Behind came a motley company\nof the country-folk--some weeping, some grimly silent, and some few\nlaughing and jesting. Most of those who thus followed in the heels of\nthe armed men were women, and in the front rank of these was a\nhandsome peasant girl, who wrung her hands and cried aloud as though\ndistracted.\n\nThe prisoner--condemned man though he was, with only a few hundred\nyards between himself and death--walked with a firm tread, and head\nheld proudly erect. Now and then he turned his head to look at the\nweeping, wailing girl, and at such times his eyes grew moist: when the\nguards somewhat roughly thrust the girl back, his lips compressed, and\nhis chest heaved, and his arms tugged at the thongs which bound him,\nin a manner which indicated that it would have fared ill with the\nguards had the young man been free. But beyond those silent\nmanifestations of feeling, the prisoner marched to his death as calmly\nand fearlessly as though the journey had been an ordinary country\nwalk.\n\nPresently the procession reached the gibbet at Gallow's Clough, and\nhere it halted. The guard cleared a space about the gibbet, and by\nmeans of their axes and bills kept back the crowd. The prisoner and\nthe executioners took their place beneath the gallows, and near them\nstood a well-dressed man--the representative of the feudal lord.\n\nWithout loss of time, and with but little ceremony, the executioners\nwent about their business, heedless of the cries of the women, and the\npiteous appeals for mercy from the handsome peasant girl.\n\nSoon the preparations were complete; the well-dressed,\nofficious-looking personage drew forth a document, and proceeded to\nread aloud the details of the crime for which the poor wretch had to\nsuffer death--shooting at and killing deer in his lordship's forest of\nLongdendale--a crime of so serious a nature in the eyes of the\nauthorities of that day that nothing less than the death of the\noffender could atone for the sin. The reading being ended, the reader\nnodded to the executioners, and they made as though to carry out the\nsentence forthwith.\n\nBut at this juncture a diversion was created, for the young woman who\nhad hitherto so persistently and closely hung upon the steps of the\nguard, burst through the ring and threw herself upon her knees before\nthe lord's representative.\n\n\"Mercy, mercy, Master Steward! Thou canst save him yet; and it is such\na little crime. What is one deer from the forest against the life of a\ngood man? He but shot the deer because I--his wife--and his child\nneeded food. And if thou sparest his life we will work, and more than\ndoubly make up the loss to his lordship.\"\n\nThe steward--a dark man of evil countenance--looked at the girl for a\nmoment, and hesitated; then he caught the eye of the prisoner, and\ninstantly his face grew stern.\n\n\"Get thee gone, thou baggage,\" said he, spurning the female. \"Stop her\nmouth, some of you; or, if she will scream, take her to the ducking\nstool.\"\n\nThen, turning to the hangman, he curtly said:\n\n\"Do your work.\"\n\nWith a wild cry of despair, the girl sprang up, leaped towards the\ncondemned man, flung her arms about his neck, and kissed him, and\nthen, before any could stop her, burst from the crowd and fled,\nshrieking and laughing, over the wastes of the hills. In another\nmoment the prisoner was dangling in the air, and before the night fell\nthe gibbet at Gallow's Clough held the ghastly form of a dead man\nswinging in chains.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was midnight, and the skies were inky black; not a single star\nshowed in the heavens, and there was no moon. A cold wind moaned down\nthe gully, and swung the dead man in his chains so that the gibbet\nrocked and creaked. In the distant farms the timid country folk\nshivered in their beds, and as the wind shook the casements, they\ntrembled the more, and told each other they could hear the clanking of\nthe chains and the shrieking of the witches at Gallow's Clough.\n\nIt was a night on which few would care to stir out of doors, but for\nall that there were those who set out through the eerie darkness to\nwend their way to the gibbet. When night had fallen, the dead man's\nwife crept down from the hills and stood beneath the swaying form of\nher lifeless husband, and with a grim energy cast pebbles, and uttered\nshrill cries to scare away the birds that came to peck at the carrion\nthat had once been man.\n\nAs she kept her vigil, she sang snatches of wild songs, and ever and\nanon talked to the dead man as though he could understand. It was\nclear that the woman's grief had driven her mad.\n\nTowards midnight she slackened in her exertions, and seated herself at\nthe foot of the gibbet, contenting herself with fearful but\nintermittent screams to scare away the birds. But presently nature\ngave out, and she fell into a troubled slumber. She was awakened by\nthe sensation that some other mortal was near, and with a wild cry she\nsprang to her feet to find herself confronted by an old hag who\nappeared to be sawing at the dead man's wrist, as though to sever the\nhand from the arm.\n\n\"Malediction,\" croaked the hag, \"who art thou?\"\n\n\"I am his wife,\" answered the mad woman. \"What dost thou want, witch?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the hag; \"now I know thee. Thou hast need of help and\nfriendship--I will be thy friend.\"\n\n\"What dost thou here?\" said the woman, unheeding the latter part of\nthe sentence.\n\n\"I seek a dead man's hand, and a dead man's flesh. The hand I would\ndry and wither in the smoke of the fire, and it will point out the way\nby which my schemes may achieve success. Of the fat of the dead man I\nwould make candles--witch-lights--and by their glimmer I shall see,\nand see, and see,--things and secrets that are hidden from mortal\neyes.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not touch this dead man; he is my husband. Seek what thou\nrequirest elsewhere.\"\n\nThe witch placed a long hand on the distracted widow's shoulder.\n\n\"Be not so foolish, poor wench,\" said she. \"Trouble not over what I\ndo. I tell thee I am thy friend, and the hand of thy dead husband once\nin my possession, will be of more service to thee than if left rotting\nhere. Will not the ravens come--the birds of the air--and peck the\nbones clean; and is that not a greater defilement than boiling the fat\nin the witches' kitchen, and drying the dead man's hand in the smoke\nof the witches' fire? Listen!--dost know the meaning of revenge?\"\n\nThe poor widow's eyes glistened as though a fire burned within her\nbrain, and she repeated the single word \"Revenge.\"\n\nThe old witch laughed, and said:\n\n\"Ah--thou knowest that. Tell me thy story.\"\n\nThen the younger woman told the tale of want and woe and cruel wrong.\n\n\"The steward cast his eyes on me,\" she said, \"but I loved my husband,\nand would have nought to do with him. And one day, my man being near\nwhen the tyrant insulted me, struck him to the ground, whereupon the\nsteward dismissed him from his post, and we were made beggars. Then my\nchild sickened, and since we needed nourishment, and there was no\nchance of honest labour for my husband, he took to the forest and shot\none of the deer, saying that no wife or child of his should starve as\nlong as there were any of God's creatures to be shot in the woods of\nLongdendale. The steward heard of this, and, like a wicked fiend, he\nhounded my man to death. There his body hangs, and the man who drove\nhim to sin walks about in pride and power.\"\n\nShe ended her story with a wail, and commenced to tear at her hair.\n\n\"Where is thy child?\" asked the hag.\n\nThe distracted creature pointed to a bundle, which she had previously\ndeposited at the foot of the gallows. In the bundle was the form of a\nmale child, lately dead.\n\n\"Dead too, like its father,\" said the witch. \"How did it die?\"\n\n\"It died of want and of grief. Grief poisoned my milk, and the child\ndrank of it and died.\"\n\n\"Does anyone know 'tis dead?\"\n\n\"No one but me--its mother.\"\n\nThe witch looked intently at the eyes of the mother, as though she\nwould read her very soul.\n\n\"And thou would'st have revenge?\" she asked at length.\n\n\"Would I not,\" answered the woman; \"Oh, would I not. 'Tis all I live\nfor now. Give me vengeance and I will become thy slave.\"\n\n\"Then listen to me.\" And the hag whispered something in the ears of\nher young companion which appeared to satisfy her, for in a little\nwhile the two left the gibbet, carrying the dead child in a bundle\nbetween them.\n\nThe next day, one who passed the gibbet noticed that the corpse\nhanging thereon had only one hand.\n\nA short time afterwards it was reported that the infant child of the\nsteward had been spirited away in the night. It had been set to sleep\nin its cradle, and when the nurse awoke the cradle was empty, and the\nwindow open. There was a great outcry, and men were sent in search;\nthe searchers presently returned bearing the dead body of a male\nchild, the face of which had been half eaten away. It was impossible\nto recognise the features, but the steward wept over the body, telling\nhimself that his son had been devoured by some savage beast of the\nforest, that had made its way into the mansion, and stolen the child\nwhile the household slept. He suspected that some evil witch-wife had\nbeen at work, and he trembled with fear, for he was sore afraid of the\npowers of darkness, as all wicked men are.\n\nMeanwhile the dead man's widow dwelt with the old witch at a haunted\nhut in the forest, and it was reported that her son throve apace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYears passed by, and the steward had no more children. The shock of\nhis son's death had proved too much for his lady's strength, and she\nbecame an invalid. He grew more brutal and unmerciful in his conduct\nday by day, and the peasantry came to regard him as a fiend in human\nshape.\n\nAs for the old witch and the poor distracted widow and her child, they\nlived in the haunted hut, shunned by all--for it was reported that the\nwidow herself had also become a witch, and was in league with the\npowers of darkness. The lad grew up into a fine youth, and had he\nlived an honest life, he would have been accounted one of the\nhandsomest and likeliest lads in all Longdendale. But the training of\nhis mother and the old witch had led him to spend his days in all\nmanner of evil, he robbed and plundered, and finally took to the woods\nas an outlaw. Inspired by his mother, he was particularly severe in\nhis depredations upon the property of the steward, and being reckless\nand daring to an unusual degree, he had so far succeeded in avoiding\ncapture. At length there came a time when an adventure more impudent\nand daring than all previous affairs, caused the steward to put a\nprice upon his head, and so keen was the hunt after him that the bold\nrascal found it necessary to keep in hiding.\n\nThe steward chafed with anger, for all his efforts to lay the robber\nby the heels were fruitless, and he had small hopes of ascertaining\nthe whereabouts of the man he wanted. One day, however, an old hag\npresented herself at his gate, and asked for an interview.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, recognising the old witch, \"what doest thou here. Where\nis that imp of Satan whom thou hast helped to rear?\"\n\n\"That, good Master Steward, is even what I am come to tell thee,\"\nanswered the hag.\n\n\"How now,\" said the steward; \"what evil scheme is afloat now?'\n\n\"Revenge,\" said the witch, snapping her toothless gums, and shaking\nher crutch. \"Revenge upon the woman--my companion, and upon her\nevil-minded son. They have played me false, and now I mean to return\nthe compliment. The woman is away on a journey, and to-night her son\ncrept in from the forest for shelter and a meal. I gave him meat and\ndrink, but I drugged the drink, and now he lies in slumber at my hut\nin the forest. Send thy guards, steward, and take him ere he wakes.\"\n\nThe steward rubbed his hands with glee, and laughed joyously.\n\n\"Thou devil's spawn,\" said he, \"thou shalt be rewarded if we take\nhim.\"\n\n\"I seek no reward but to see him gibbetted,\" said the witch.\n\n\"Thy wish shall be gratified,\" said the steward; and without more ado\nhe called his men, and marched off to the witch's hut to effect the\narrest.\n\nIn those days little time was lost between the arrest of a man and his\ndeath upon the gallows; and on the following day the witch and\nher companion--the young widow of the earlier part of this\nstory--accompanied a procession to the place of execution at Gallow's\nClough. The steward was there with his men-at-arms--and as he beheld\nthe widow, he turned to her and began to rail.\n\n\"Ah, thou hell-cat. Dost thou love the gallows so? Thy husband died on\nthis gibbet, and now thy son comes to the same end. Like father, like\nson. 'Tis in the breed. Why dost thou not weep and shriek for mercy as\nthou did'st when thy man was swung?\"\n\nThen the woman answered with a laugh:\n\n\"Because I am mad, thou fool, and cannot weep. My tears were dried up\nwith weeping over my husband, and now I can weep no more. I must\nlaugh, man, laugh when the gibbet creaks beneath the weight of a dead\nman. The days of weeping are past, the time of laughter and rejoicing\nis come.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest truth,\" quoth the steward, turning away. \"Thou art mad\nindeed.\"\n\n\"Yet not so mad as thou, oh, thou wise man,\" said the woman,--but the\nsteward did not hear her.\n\nThe executioners did their work, and the young man was hanged by the\nneck until he was dead. Then the steward and his men turned to depart.\n\nBut the widow stood before him, and laughed in his face.\n\n\"Wise man--madman, rather,\" said she. \"Whom, thinkest thou, is that\ndead man on the gallows?\"\n\n\"Thy son, witch, thy son,\" said the steward, stepping back before the\nwild appearance of the woman.\n\n\"My son, fool! Nay, 'tis thy son, steward. The child who disappeared\nfrom his nurse's room was brought to me, was reared by me, was trained\nfor the gallows, and hangs there dead. My son died the same day that\nhis father was hanged--murdered by thee--and his mangled and\ndisfigured body was found by thy servants and buried as thy son. Dost\nunderstand me now?\"\n\nThe steward reeled, but recovered himself with an effort.\n\n\"'Tis false,\" said he, in a choking voice.\n\n\"'Tis true,\" screamed the woman; \"was not there a birthmark upon thy\nchild's shoulder? Ah, thou rememberest it, I see. Look at the dead man\non the gallows, and thou wilt find the birthmark there.\"\n\nWith a wild cry the steward stripped the clothing from the dangling\ncorpse, and there upon the lifeless shoulder, he found the mark which\nbranded the criminal as his child. He had hanged his own son.\n\nBefore his men could lend a hand to stay him he had fallen senseless\nto the ground.\n\nThe men turned and sprang towards the woman, who was now convulsed\nwith horrible laughter.\n\n\"Seize her,\" cried one,--and they all made to obey.\n\nBut quickly raising a phial to her lips, she drank the contents, and\nin an instant fell back a corpse.\n\nThe old witch shook her crutch at the armed men.\n\n\"The murder of an innocent man is avenged,\" she cried. \"Is it not\nwritten that the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the\nchildren? And lo--the murderer's son perishes upon the gibbet where\nthe father's crime was done.\"\n\nThen, laughing shrilly, she hobbled away over the hills, and, full of\nfear, the men-at-arms let her go unmolested.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nThe King's Evil\n\nOr THE WONDERFUL CURE OF THE MOTTRAM PARSON.\n\n\nThere was a certain John Hyde appointed Vicar of Mottram in the year\n1575, who continued to hold the sacred office for over 50 years. He\nsucceeded his father, Sir Nicholas Hyde (the Vicar of Mottram from\n1547 to 1575) who was buried in the Chancel of Mottram Church on the\n24th day of April, 1575. John Hyde married at Mottram on February\n26th, 1575-6, Alice Reddich, of Mottram, by whom he had several\nchildren: and after her death on March 21st, 1593-4, he married for a\nsecond wife, Ann Hyde, on May 22nd, 1597. In the year 1599 the Parish\nRegisters were transcribed from the old paper books into the parchment\nvolumes now in use, and every page of the transcripts bears the\nsignature of John Hyde. He was also rural dean of Macclesfield.\n\nDuring a great portion of his life, Parson John Hyde had curates to\nassist in the discharge of his ministerial duties; this assistance was\nthe more necessary on account of the wide extent of the ancient parish\nof Mottram, and also because there was a chapel at Woodhead dependent\nfor its ministry upon the mother church at Mottram. The most prominent\nof these curates was his eldest son, Hamnet Hyde, who, as appears from\nthe Mottram registers, was baptized at Mottram Church on May 14th,\n1580, and afterwards settled in the town, marrying there on the 12th\nday of January, 1601, Joane Greaves, of Mottram, by whom he had three\nsons, John, Nicholas, and Thomas.\n\nParson Hyde was of an ancient family of gentry, notable in both\nLancashire and Cheshire; being connected with the Hydes of Denton, and\nthe Hydes of Hyde. His great influence, however, was not alone owing\nto this circumstance, but was rather due to his own attainments and\nhis proved superiority in the matter of learning and wisdom. Hamnet\nHyde, his son, inherited his father's good qualities; he was a man of\ngood parts, was distinguished for his learning, and was withal pious\nand devout. He made a good curate in every way. He was well liked by\nthe parishioners of Mottram, and was, indeed, well spoken of\nthroughout the whole of the Longdendale country. It should also be\nadded in view of the details of this tradition, that he was a fairly\nrobust man, steady, sober, in no way given to gluttony, and there\nseemed every prospect of his living to a good old age.\n\nThere came a time, however, when good Master Hamnet Hyde was greatly\ndistressed to find a grievous disease slowly yet surely creeping over\nhim. Do what he would, it was impossible to shake the sickness off.\nBit by bit the disease grew worse, and the local quacks and surgeons\nwere entirely powerless to stay its course. One by one the local\ndoctors tried, and each one was sorrowfully obliged to confess to\nfailure in the end. \"Nothing could be done,\" they said; and a complete\ncure seemed almost hopeless.\n\nNow, not only was Master Hamnet Hyde distressed with this\nintelligence, and not only did his good wife Dame Joane, weep until\nher good looks were impaired, but the news also gave great pain\nthroughout the parish. The people took the matter to heart as though\nthe parson was one of their own relations. So greatly was he beloved\nby the common people that some of them even went so far as to employ\ncharms and other harmless means, whereby they hoped to remove the\nsickness from which the curate was suffering.\n\nThe curate's condition formed the subject of gossip when the people\ngathered together about the cross opposite the churchgates after\ndivine service.\n\n\"Goodman Shaw,\" said one to his neighbour, \"what think you of Master\nHamnet Hyde to-day?\"\n\nThe man addressed shook his head sadly before he answered.\n\n\"Methinks we shall not have many more sermons from him unless he\nalters greatly.\"\n\nThe curate, it should be stated, had preached that morning.\n\n\"Thou art right, goodman,\" went on the first speaker, \"but it comes\ninto my mind that there is one remedy he has not yet tried, which it\nwere worth his while to put to the test. Someone should suggest it to\nhim.\"\n\n\"And what is that, pray?\" \"Why, the Royal Touch. Let him visit the\nKing, and be touched for the evil. There was a pedlar called on my\ndame but yestereen, and he told a great tale of the marvellous cures\nwrought by His Majesty King James, God bless him. Why should not our\ncurate journey up to London, and get the King to remove his sickness?\"\n\n\"Why not, indeed. Thou hast spoken wisely.\"\n\nIt should be mentioned that in those days the cure of disease by the\npatient being \"touched\" by the Royal fingers was widely believed in.\nIt was asserted that kings were specially endowed by God with the\npower of healing by touch; and of all the monarchs who ever ruled in\nEngland, none were believed to have received this truly royal gift in\nsuch abundance as that Most High and Mighty Prince, James the First.\n\nA suggestion of the sort mentioned by the gossip was not likely,\ntherefore, to be neglected, and accordingly the idea was laid\npertinently before the curate, who eventually made up his mind to seek\nthe royal remedy. With this object in view, he mounted his horse, and,\nattended by his friends, journeyed southward to see the king. Before\nsetting out on the journey, he commended himself to God, for the roads\nwere infested with highwaymen, and it was a perilous venture to travel\nfrom Longdendale to London at that time. There was a goodly\ncongregation in the old church at Mottram, and from the heart of every\nworshipper there went up a fervent prayer for the curate on the\noccasion of the last service specially held before his departure.\n\nOn the morrow the whole village was early astir, for it was known that\nthe curate would that morning set out upon his journey; and a numerous\narray of villagers gathered in the street before the parson's door as\nthe hour of departure drew nigh.\n\n[Illustration: MOTTRAM CHURCH AND VILLAGE CROSS.]\n\n\"Fare thee well, good Master Hamnet,\" cried one; \"God prosper thy\njourney.\"\n\n\"If the king but touch thee thou art surely healed,\" said another.\n\n\"Look well to thy pistols, parson,\" quoth a third. \"'Twere a pity not\nto put to good service the weapons God hath placed in our hands. And,\nof a truth, there be many rogues upon the road.\"\n\n\"Be sure the beds whereon thou sleepest are well aired,\" put in an old\ndame. \"Nothing aggravates the sickness like a damp bed.\"\n\nAnd so with numerous manifestations of good will, the sturdy Mottram\nfolk sped their parson upon his journey.\n\nNow, after safely passing the many perils of the road, Master Hyde\narrived at Greenwich in due course and, securing an audience of the\nKing, was touched by His Majesty upon the 22nd day of May, 1610. There\nwas a crowd of sufferers gathered about the Royal Palace, many of\nwhom, like the curate, had travelled from a distance, and they cried\naloud for joy when the King came amongst them. They fell upon their\nknees before him; and, with a gracious smile and many words of\ncomfort, the monarch passed through the crowd, touching each patient\nas he passed, and breathing a prayer for their welfare. Immediately\nthe fingers touched the patient, the royal virtue passed into the\nframe of the sufferer, and he was instantly healed. Then the crowd\ngave thanks to God and his Majesty, and with glad hearts set out for\ntheir homes.\n\nIt is needless to dwell long over the homecoming of good Master\nHamnet. The news of his return was heralded abroad, and when he\nentered the village, the people flocked about him, throwing up their\ncaps and cheering lustily, so that he returned like some great\nconqueror to his own.\n\nAfter his return, he not only showed his gratitude by rendering public\nthanks to God for the wonderful cure performed upon him, but in order\nthat future generations might know of the Divine goodness, and the\nKing's most excellent kindness, he inscribed the following passage in\nthe parish register of Mottram, where it may be read to this day.\n\n     \"Anno Dni, 1610. Md. that uppon the 22nd daie of Maie, 1610, I,\n     Hamnet Hyde, of Mottram clerke was under the King's most\n     excellent Matie. his hands (for the evill) and att Greenewiche\n     was healed. On wch. daie three years itt is requyred by his\n     Matie. that the ptie so cured shoulde returne (if God pmitt) to\n     render thanks bothe to God and His Matie.\n\n      God save Kinge James, p. me. Hamnettum Hyde, clericum.\"\n\nHamnet Hyde lived several years after this miraculous cure. He died in\n1617, and was buried at Mottram on the 3rd January, 1617-18. The entry\nin the register written by his father is as follows:\n\n     \"1617-18, January 3rd. Hamnet Hyde, my sonn, buried--.\"\n\nParson John Hyde survived his son Hamnet nearly 20 years, for he\ncontinued Vicar of Mottram until the year 1637, being buried on the\n17th March in that year. He left direction concerning his burial in\nhis will as follows: \"In the name of God. Amen. The 13th February,\n1633, I John Hyde, Vicar of Mottram, in the County of Chester, Clerk,\nbeing aged. My body to be buried in due and decent manner under the\nstone where my late father lyeth buryed, in the Chancell of the Parish\nChurch of Mottram, adjoining to the tomb of Mr. John Picton, late\nparson there.\" etc., etc.\n\nIt may be added in conclusion that the sovereigns of England claimed\nand frequently exercised the power of healing certain diseases by\ntouch. The curing of scrofula, or the \"King's Evil,\" as it was called,\nwas practised by Henry VII, Henry VIII., and Queen Elizabeth; and was\nalso very extensively carried on by those believers in the \"Divine\nRight\" theory--the Stuart Kings. The \"cure by touch\" was believed in\nas late as the time of Queen Anne. The \"Form of Healing\" occurs in the\nolder prayer books, especially those of the 17th century.\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nThe Magic Book.\n\n\nThere is a spot prettily situated near the town of Glossop, known as\nMossey Lea. It is notable as having been the home of a great magician,\nwho dwelt there in the olden time, and who was renowned far and wide.\nHe was, perhaps, the most learned and powerful of all magicians who\nhave lived since the days of Merlin, but unfortunately his name has\nbeen forgotten. Such is fame.\n\nSo renowned was he in his own day, however, that pupils came to him,\nnot only from all parts of England, but even from across the seas.\nThese pupils desired to be inculcated with the mystic lore, and\ninvested with the same degree of skill in the exercise of the magic\narts, that their master possessed. Accordingly they left no stone\nunturned in their efforts after knowledge--that is to say, they were\nnot over-particular as to the means they adopted to secure the end\nthey had in view. They strove to impress upon everyone with whom they\ncame in contact, their vast superiority to ordinary mankind, and\ngenerally they proved a big nuisance to the country side.\n\nBut there were two of these pupils who were especially curious; they\nwere constantly prying into nooks and corners which were labelled\n\"private\"; they were ever meddling with business that did not concern\nthem. By some evil chance, the magician fixed upon these two pupils to\nact as his agents for the transaction of some business in a town in\nStaffordshire, and to bring back with them a very remarkable book,\nwhich dealt with magic, and which was, moreover, itself endowed with\nmagical powers. Thus the two luckless youths became all unwittingly\nthe heroes of the following Longdendale tradition.\n\nHistory--as is often the case in these legends of the olden time--has\nforgotten to record for us the names of the two notable youths, hence\nwe are driven to the necessity of naming them ourselves, in order to\ndistinguish them from each other. So we call one Ralph and the other\nWalter. It has already been said that they were two curious youths,\never ready to pry into things; and on the night preceding their\njourney, they indulged in this pastime to the full.\n\nWhile they were at supper the magician had bidden them to repair to\nhis private chamber ere they retired to rest; and having\nentered therein, they were treated to the information already\nrecorded--namely, that they would have to make a journey on his\nbehalf, transact some business, and bring back with them a magic\nbook--with the addition of the following piece of advice and warning.\n\n\"Look to it that ye heed what I now say,\" said the magician; \"for by\nthe shades, 'tis a matter of mighty import. Ye shall get the book, and\nye shall jealously guard it. On no account shall you open it. More I\ndo not vouchsafe to you, but remember my warning. Open not the book at\nyour peril. Now get ye to rest, for to-morrow you must een start with\nthe rising of the sun.\"\n\nThe youths left the room looking very solemn and good, with many\npromises that they would faithfully remember their master's charges,\nand what was of more consequence, that they would act upon them. But\nfor all that they did not retire to rest. When they reached the\npassage leading to their apartment, Ralph said to Walter:\n\n\"What thinkest thou of this quest of ours? Is our master treating us\nfairly in thus keeping secret this matter? We have paid a high fee for\ntuition in magic, and here he sends us on our first quest, and we are\neen to know nothing of the mission on which we go.\"\n\n\"Thou art right,\" said Walter. \"'Tis most unfair, and methinks our\nmaster has in view the acquisition of some potent power. If we engage\nin the quest, it is but fair we should share the spoil--the knowledge\nto be gained.\"\n\nTo which Ralph added, \"I am with thee, comrade. And I would know more\nof this business before I start.\"\n\nHere he whispered to his companion, and the latter nodded his head in\nacquiescence. After which the two stole together in silence to the\ndoor of the magician's room, and in turn set their eyes to the\nkey-hole, whilst their ears drank in every sound.\n\nThe magician was seated before a crucible, muttering certain\nincantations which are as foreign language to the unlearned. But the\ntwo students understood the meaning of the sentences quite well, and\nthe result of their eavesdropping appeared to give them satisfaction.\nWhen the magician made signs of coming to the end of his labour, they\nskipped nimbly away, and sought their beds, chuckling triumphantly as\nthey ran.\n\nIt is not to the purpose of the legend to dwell upon the incidents of\ntheir next day's journey. Suffice it to say that on that day they were\nearly astir, that they went gaily upon their way, and in due course\nreceived the magic book from its owner. Then they set out on their\nhomeward journey, looking very good and innocent until they were well\nout of sight. But withal both determined to see the inside of that\nvolume before the day was over.\n\nSoon they came to a lonely part of the country, and here they sat\ndown, intending to gratify their curiosity.\n\n\"If there is knowledge contained within, then am I determined to drink\nof the well thereof, and become even one of the wise.\"\n\nSo spoke Ralph, and Walter also said:\n\n\"And I am of a like mind, comrade. So bring hither the book, and let\nus fall to.\"\n\nThey placed the thick volume upon their knees, and quickly undid the\nhandsome clasp which held the sides together, when, lo! a veritable\nearthquake seemed to have come upon the scene. The ground shook,\nhouses tottered, walls and fences fell down, a tremendous whirlwind\narose, which uprooted trees and tossed the forest giants about like\nlittle wisps of hay. Even the students were terrified at the result of\ntheir curiosity, and as for ordinary mortals, why there is no\ndescribing the panic in which they were thrown.\n\nWhen the luckless students recovered from the first shock of\nastonishment, they could only bemoan their folly in discarding the\nwarning of so potent a magician as their master, and they were filled\nwith dread as to the punishment they would receive when next they\nstood before him.\n\n\"Of a truth we are undone,\" said Ralph; \"our master will never more\ntrust us.\"\n\n\"We are like to be beaten to death with the tempest,\" said Walter \"Who\ncan stay the power of this evil Spirit, that our mad curiosity has\nthus let loose?\"\n\nNow, luckily, the magician no sooner beheld the tempest than he at\nonce divined the cause of this hubbub of the elements, and with\ncommendable promptitude he proceeded with all speed to the spot where\nthe students lay with the magical volume. Arrived there, he pronounced\nan incantation, and then by magic means known to himself alone,\nrapidly stilled the tempest, which the ill-timed curiosity of his\npupils had brought forth. In the words of the old chronicle, he \"laid\nthe evil spirit, commanding him as a punishment to make a rope of sand\nto reach the sky.\"\n\nWhich venture no doubt had a salutary effect upon the spirit, for\nthere is no later mention of any similar antics on its part. We may\nconclude from this circumstance, that the spirit has found the task\nassigned it as a punishment, greater than it can discharge, and that\nit is still labouring away at the sand rope, which is not much nearer\nreaching the sky than it was when the work first begun.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nThe Parson's Wife,\n\n\nIn olden time Providence often punished the sins of men and women in\nsome remarkable fashion. The divine retribution often followed swiftly\nupon the violation of the sacred rules of life. We frequently read of\nprofane men and women whose blasphemy has been instantly followed by\nsome paralytic seizure, or who, when guilty, and protesting their\ninnocence have called down heaven's vengeance on their heads if they\nwere not even then stating the truth, have been at once rendered\nlifeless by some strange stroke of the divine power. The following\nstory will illustrate this principle.\n\nThere was once a parson of Mottram--his name and the date of his\nholding the benefice are for obvious reasons not mentioned--who had a\npeculiar wife. In many respects she was a loveable woman, but she\npossessed a nose formed like a pig's snout, and she was forced to eat\nher meals out of a silver trough specially provided for her. How she\ncame to win the affections of the parson, is not known, it might have\nbeen that she had riches to make up for her deficiency in beauty of\ncountenance, or it might have been that the parson saw in her\ncompensating charms which were not obvious to the rest of mankind.\nThis tradition only deals with the cause of her strange infirmity.\n\nHer parents were very wealthy; her mother was a haughty dame who\nworshipped wealth, and looked down on all people who were humble in\nstation. To those wealthier than herself, or whose social standing was\nabove her own, she was most polite and agreeable, and willing to go to\nany trouble no matter how great, to win their friendship and esteem,\nbut to those who were poor, no matter how estimable they might be in\nmind, ability, or real worth, she was chilling and distant, and even\ninsolent in bearing. True Christian love and charity were virtues she\ndid not understand. Probably she did not believe in them; at least she\ndid not practice them. No poor man's blessing ever ascended to heaven\non her behalf, for she was never known to bestow a gift willingly upon\nthe needy. So, no doubt, Providence considered that it was necessary\nshe should be taught a severe lesson, that thereby mankind might be\nled to see that such un-Christian conduct was opposed to the highest\nrules of life, and could not be practised with benefit and impunity.\n\nOne day, to her door, there came an old beggar woman and her children,\nclearly betokening by their appearances the utmost misery and\ndestitution. Their clothes were all in rags, only just able to hang\ntogether, while here and there, through the great rents, the flesh\nshowed bare and cold. Their faces were pinched, and their frames thin\nand withered from lack of proper food; and nearly all of them were\nshoeless. Their feet were red and blistered, cut in places by the\nsharp stones of the wayside.\n\n\"A charity, I pray, good lady, for the love of Christ,\" said the\nbeggar woman as the lady stood at the door. \"Not a bite have we had\nthis day, and we have travelled far. If thou hast children of thine\nown, take pity upon the starving children of the poor.\"\n\nBut the haughty dame bade her begone.\n\n\"Out on thee, thou vulgar drab,\" said she. \"Thou art no honest woman,\nelse had thou hadst a husband to provide for thee.\"\n\n\"My man is dead, lady,\" protested the beggar, \"and I am left a widow.\"\n\n\"More likely thou art a harlot, and the children basely begotten. Away\nwith thee from my door, or I will have the constables after thee, and\nthou shalt be publicly whipped for a low woman.\"\n\nThen, losing her temper completely, she called for her serving men.\n\n\"Ho, there. Rid me of this pest. Turn out this old sow and her litter,\nfor there is the smell of the stye about them.\"\n\nAt this outrage the poor woman fled. Some say she called down the\nvengeance of heaven upon the haughty dame, others state that divine\njustice asserted itself of its own accord. Be that as it may, the\nwealthy lady was in due course with child, and she brought forth a\ndaughter having a face shaped like an animal with a pig's snout\nthereon, who in after years married the parson of Mottram. Thus did\npride and want of charity bring its own reward.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\nThe Devil and the Doctor.\n\n\nLongdendale has always been noted for the number of its inhabitants\ndevoted to the study of magic arts. Once upon a time, or to give it in\nthe words of an unpublished rhyme (which are quite as indefinite)--\n\n    \"Long years ago, so runs the tale,\n    A doctor dwelt in Longdendale;\"\n\nand then the rhyme goes on to describe the hero of the legend--\n\n    \"Well versed in mystic lore was he--\n    A conjuror of high degree;\n    He read the stars that deck the sky,\n    And told their rede of mystery.\"\n\nComing down to ordinary prose, it will suffice to say that the doctor\nreferred to was a most devoted student of magic, or, as he preferred\nto put it--\"a keen searcher after knowledge\"--a local Dr. Faustus in\nfact. Having tried every ordinary means of increasing his power over\nhis fellow mortals, he finally decided to seek aid of the powers of\ndarkness, and one day he entered into a compact with no less a\npersonage than His Imperial Majesty, Satan, otherwise known as the\nDevil. The essentials of this agreement may thus be described.\n\nIt was night--the black hour of midnight--and the doctor was alone in\nhis magic chamber. He had long desired power sufficient to enable him\nto accomplish a certain project, and hitherto all means by which he\nhad tried to secure that power, had been of no avail. Blank failure\nhad attended every effort, and at last he had decided to make use of\nthe most certain, yet withal most desperate, agency known to him. In\nother words, he would call up the Prince of Darkness, and ask his aid.\nThe only thing which troubled the doctor was the thought that the\nprice which Satan would demand, might be much greater than he would\ncare to pay. But, after all, that was something he would have to risk.\n\nHe set a lamp burning on the table, and into a small cauldron hung\nabove it, he poured certain liquids, which he mixed with certain\nevil-looking powders and compounds. Some of the items which he added\nto this unholy brew, appeared to have once been members of the human\nframe. But that, of course, was known only to the doctor. When the\nbrew began to simmer, the doctor commenced to mumble certain strange\nincantations, which he continued with unabated vigour for the best\npart of an hour, without, however, eliciting any manifestations from\nthe dwellers in the spirit world. At length, however, his patience was\nrewarded, for the light beneath his cauldron suddenly went out, the\nmixture within boiled over, and the vapour which rose from it, spread\nover the room until all the objects therein were hidden as though by a\nthick black cloud. Then, out of the cloud, came a voice, deep and\nterrible in tone, which caused the very building to rock as though an\nearthquake had occurred.\n\n\"Why hast thou summoned me from the shades, O mortal, and what dost\nthou require?\"\n\nThe doctor gasped with awe, he almost felt afraid to address the\ndreadful spirit, which his own incantations and rites had brought from\nthe underworld. At length he screwed up sufficient courage to proceed,\nand said:\n\n\"I would have the possession of certain powers, O, thou Dread spirit.\"\n\n\"And of what nature are they?\" asked the spirit.\n\nWhereupon, the worthy doctor commenced a long explanation, into which\nwe need not enter, setting forth his evil desires, and begging the\nDevil to aid him.\n\n\"Thou shalt have all that thou requirest, and more,\" said the Devil\nwhen the doctor had come to an end of his requests; \"that is,\nproviding thou art prepared to pay the price.\"\n\n\"And the price is?\" ventured the doctor, trembling.\n\n\"The usual one,\" said the Devil. \"I have but one price, which all\nmortals must pay. On a day which I shall name, thou shalt wait upon\nme, and deliver up thy soul to me.\"\n\n\"'Tis a stiff price, good Satan,\" said the doctor in protest.\n\n\"'Tis the only price I will listen to,\" said the Devil.\n\n\"Then I must een pay it,\" said the doctor, seeing that further\nargument was useless, and, being by this time quite determined to have\nhis desires no matter what the cost. \"I agree,\" he added. And there\nand then he signed the bond in blood, with a pen made from a dead\nman's bone.\n\nSatan pocketed the bond.\n\n\"Thy desires are granted,\" said he. \"Make the most of thy\nopportunities. One day I shall surely call upon thee for payment.\"\n\nThen, with a burst of mocking laughter, he disappeared.\n\nThe doctor seems to have enjoyed the results of the compact until the\nday drew near for the settlement. Then, indeed, he appears to have\nrepented, But he was by no means a dull-witted individual, and in a\nhappy moment he began to cudgel his brain for some way out of the\ndifficulty--some plan of escape. Before long his face brightened, a\ngleam of hope shone on it, and at length he seemed to see his way\nclear. He received the formal summons of Satan with a knowing smile,\nand when the day at last arrived, set out in good time to keep his\nunholy tryst.\n\nIn the language of the rhyme,\n\n    \"Now rapidly along he sped\n    Unto a region waste and dead,\n    And here at midnight hour did wait\n    His Sable Majesty in state.\"\n\nThe Devil appeared, seated upon a coal black charger, which was of the\npurest breed of racing nags kept specially for the Derby Day of the\nInfernal Regions. Satan was very proud of his horse; he was open to\nlay any odds on its beating anything in the shape of horse flesh that\ncould be found on earth.\n\nJudge then of the Devil's surprise when the Longdendale doctor offered\nto race him. (It should be stated that the doctor had ridden to the\nplace of meeting on a horse which was bred in Longdendale, though the\ntrainer's name has unfortunately been lost).\n\nAt first Satan laughed at the impudence of the proposition, but after\nsome little haggling, he at length agreed to the doctor's conditions.\nThe conditions were that the Devil was to give the doctor a good\nstart, and that the latter was to have his freedom if he won the race.\n\n[Illustration: \"A RUNNING STREAM.\"]\n\n\"I am unduly favouring thee,\" said the Devil; \"I do not as a rule\nallow my clients a single minute's grace when payment falls due, and I\ndo not reckon to let them bargain as to other means of payment. But\nfor all that, I do not see why I should not make merry at thy expense.\nI am not altogether as black as I am painted. And if it will give thee\nany comfort to imagine thou hast a chance of escape--why then get on\nwith the race.\"\n\nActing upon the above agreement, a start was made, and the course was\nalong the road now known as Doctor's Gate. The contest was most\nexciting. Prose can scarcely do justice to the occasion, but we will\nendeavour to give some account of the strange contest. The Devil good\nnaturedly conceded a big start, for, of course, he felt quite certain\nof reaching the winning post first, and when the signal was given he\nwent full cry in pursuit. Away the coursers sped like wind, the doctor\nriding with grim countenance, and teeth firmly set, ever and anon\ncasting an anxious look behind him, and now looking as anxiously in\nfront. Meanwhile the Devil rode in approved hunting fashion, with many\na loud halloa, which made the very mountains shake as though a thunder\npeal was sounding. His horns projected from his head, his cloven feet\ndid away with the necessity for stirrups, and he lashed the flanks of\nhis coal black charger with his tail in lieu of a whip.\n\nSlowly but surely the Devil gained upon the doctor. Inch by inch the\nblack steed drew nearer the Longdendale hack, until at length the\nDevil, by leaning over his horse's head, was able to grasp the tail of\nthe doctor's horse. With a loud burst of fiendish laughter, Satan\nbegan to twist the tail of the Longdendale horse, until at last the\npoor beast screamed with pain and terror. This greatly amused the\nDevil, who twisted the tail all the harder, so that the doctor's\nhorse, goaded almost to madness, plunged along faster than before, and\nin its fright took a mighty leap into a running stream which dashed\nbrawlingly across the path. All too late Satan saw his danger; he held\non to the beast's tail and tugged with all his might. For a second,\nthe contest hung in the balance, and the result seemed doubtful. But\nluckily for the doctor, the tail of the horse came off--torn out by\nthe roots--the Devil's steed fell back on its haunches, and the\ndoctor's charger plunged safely through the flood, and gained the\nopposite bank. Then the doctor gave a great shout of triumph, for\naccording to the laws of sorcery--laws which even the Devil must\nobey--when once the pursued had crossed a running stream, the powers\nof evil lost all dominion over him.\n\nThus by a combination of skill, cunning, and good luck, the\nLongdendale doctor outwitted the Devil. Some profane mortals state\nthat when he found himself victorious, the doctor turned towards the\nDevil, and put his fingers to his nose as a sign of victory, while the\nDevil, sorely disgusted, rode off to hell with his tail between his\nlegs, vowing that the mortals of Longdendale would have no place to go\nto when they died, for they were too bad for heaven, and too clever\nfor hell.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThe road known as \"The Doctor's Gate\"--mentioned in the above\nstory--runs across a portion of Longdendale. In reality it is part of\nthe old Roman road from Melandra Castle, Gamesley, to the Roman\nstation at Brough in the Vale of Hope.\n\nWith reference to the main incident of this legend, the following\nquotation from Sir Walter Scott will be found of interest:--\"If you\ncan interpose a brook between you and witches, spectres, or fiends,\nyou are in perfect safety.\"\n\nNo date is attached to the legend.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nThe Writing on the Window Pane.\n\n\nIt was an evening in the glad month of June, of the year 1644, and the\nchildren of Longdendale were playing games on the smooth green plots\nbefore the cottage doors. At one spot not far distant from the site of\nthe old Roman station, Melandra Castle, a group of merry little ones,\nlads and lassies, were swinging round hand in hand, their sweet young\nvoices chanting an old-time rhyme.\n\nSuddenly there was a shrill cry from one of the girls, and following\nthe direction of her gaze, the children beheld a sight that at first\nset their young hearts beating sharp with fear. A company of horsemen,\nwearing wide-brimmed and much befeathered hats, with long hair hanging\nabout their shoulders, rode jauntily past the greensward in the\ndirection of the Carr House Farm. The horsemen were well armed,\ncarrying swords and pistols, and bright steel armour shone dazzling\nupon their breasts. As the cavalcade moved on, the jingling of\nstirrups, bits, and harness, made a merry music that was well adapted\nto the martial scene. The children, though startled at first, soon\nrecovered from their fright, and ran gaily to see the squadron pass\nby. Curiosity, in their case, got the mastery of fear. For those were\nwhat the historians term \"stirring times,\"--days of war and tumult, of\nperil and death, of bloodshed and ruin, of suffering and horror; and\nwell the children of Longdendale knew that the quarrel between King\nCharles and his Parliament had already made sad hearts and weeping\neyes, widowed women and orphaned children, even in their own\nneighbourhood. But the great battles of which they had heard had all\nbeen fought at a distance, and, as is well known in the case of war,\n\"distance lends enchantment to the view.\" There was something wildly\nromantic and fascinating to the minds of the children in those great\nevents which were daily transpiring, and about the men who fought in\nthe battles; and so, on the June evening of this story, the children\nflocked curiously about the horsemen, who were a band of gentlemen\ncavaliers on their way from Lancashire to join the army of King\nCharles at York.\n\nAccompanied by the children, the cavaliers rode up to the Carr House\nFarm, and, at a sign from their leader, dismounted, and, without\ntroubling to ask consent, proceeded to stable their horses, and take\npossession of the best rooms for their own accommodation. It was not\naltogether a good mannered proceeding, but then, the people who lived\nin those days when war was rife, grew accustomed to such violations of\nthe rights of property, and submitted to the indignities with as good\na grace as they could assume. They knew full well that if they had not\nplaced upon the table of their very best, the soldiers would have\nraided the larder and confiscated all the contents. So, in the\nlanguage of modern days, \"they made the best of a bad job.\"\n\nOne stalwart trooper, throwing the reins of his steed to a comrade,\nwas the first to stride through the farm door, and, as he came, the\nfarmer went bareheaded to greet him,--not altogether without some\nqualms of doubt and fear.\n\n\"Come, good man,\" cried the trooper merrily, \"show me the way to thy\nbest room, for our leader, Captain Oldfield, rests there this night.\nAnd if thou art of the King's party, set thy wife to work at once, and\nprepare him a feast right merrily, or if thou be'st of the roundhead\nfaction, why, do the same unwillingly, and be damned to thee.\"\n\nHistory does not tell us which side of the quarrel the farmer\nfavoured, and it does not really matter which, for in any case a visit\nfrom the Royalists would be alike unwelcome. If he was a Roundhead,\nthen, as a matter of course, the billeting of a force of Cavaliers was\nbound to be distasteful; if he were loyal to the King, then against\nthe satisfaction of providing for the King's troops, must be set the\nknowledge that the next force of Roundheads that came into the\nneighbourhood would pay him a visit and demand satisfaction for the\nfavour he had shown their enemies. The farmer made a discreet remark.\n\n\"If ye are true men, ye are welcome to such hospitality as I can\nafford.\"\n\nAnd then he and his servants set about doing with as good a grace as\npossible that which they knew themselves compelled to do.\n\nBut although the soldiers might be unwelcome guests to the farmer and\nhis wife, their coming was by no means received with a bad grace by\nother members of the household. The maids, in particular, seemed quite\nglad as they beheld the Cavaliers enter the yard, and what was more\nremarkable, they made scarcely any attempt to prevent the arms of the\nfighting-men stealing around their trim-set waists with the coming of\nthe gloaming and the shadows. There were shy giggles and blushes and\nmany a stolen kiss in and about the Carr House Farm that night, before\nthe bugle sounded the hour of rest.\n\nWhen all the men were inside save the sentries, whose duty it was to\ngive notice of the approach of Roundheads--if any such rebel gentlemen\nshould chance to put in an appearance--the officer in command gathered\nhis soldiers around the oak table in the best room, and seated himself\nat their head. Captain Oldfield, of Spalding (for such was his name\nand title), first addressed the company, which included the master and\nmistress of the farm, and all the pretty maids whose lips so readily\nlent themselves to a soldier's kiss. He reminded his hearers of the\ngreat sin of fighting against the \"Lord's anointed.\"\n\n\"For,\" said he, \"did not God appoint kings and princes and governors,\nand if they are not to rule their people, wherefore are they created?\nTherefore it stands to reason that they who oppose the will, and set\nthemselves in array against the authority of good King Charles, are\nfighting against God, and are likely ere long to suffer grievously\nfrom the displeasure of God. And I would especially urge upon ye good\npeople of Longdendale that ye remain loyal and true to His Majesty,\nand have nothing to do with traitorous rebels who are prompted of the\ndevil. So shall ye escape a felon's death here and damnation\nhereafter.\"\n\nThen, drawing from his finger a ring set with a large diamond, he\ncontinued--\n\n\"My stay will doubtless be short, yet would I leave behind a loyal\nsentiment which shall serve to remind you of your duty toward your\nroyal master.\"\n\nWhereupon he advanced to the window, and on one of the little\ndiamond-shaped panes, he scratched the following words in the Latin\ntongue:--\n\n    \"May King Charles live and conquer.\n    Thus prays\n    John Oldfield,\n    of Spalding,\n    1644.\"\n\nThe task of writing being ended, he then called on all present to fill\ntheir cups with the farmer's best country wine, and drink deep to the\nsentiment which he had just inscribed.\n\nThe men filled their cups and drained them to the dregs, after which\nthey cheered for King Charles. And then the band broke up, the\ntroopers seeking their hard couches, while Captain Oldfield retired to\nhis room with the officers, to discuss their future movements, and to\nquestion and gossip with the farmer and such of the loyal gentry of\nthe neighbourhood as had come to greet him on hearing of the arrival\nof his force.\n\n\"And whither march ye, Captain Oldfield?\" asked one of the gentlemen\nof Longdendale, as the talk went on.\n\n\"Toward York, Sir Squire,\" replied the officer; \"To join the King.\"\n\n\"And how will the fight go? Think you the rebels will attack the\ncity?\"\n\n\"That I doubt. For Rupert is there, he of the Rhine, a Prince of fire,\nwhose hot blood can never wait in patience for an assault. Rather\nshould I think he will sweep down on the Roundheads before they muster\nin force sufficient to attack the city. As for the end of the fight,\nwhy, look you, I am no prophet. Being in the struggle I do my best,\nand I take the outcome, be it what it may, as becomes a true soldier.\nThere be some who pretend the seer's gift of sight so that they can\nforesee what is to happen, but on such things I set little importance.\nIf the end is evil, why, then, the knowledge of it comes soon enough.\nAnd if good, why the joy is all the greater for the waiting.\"\n\nThe farmer now raised his voice:\n\n\"If it please you,\" he said, \"there is a neighbour woman who possesses\nthe gift of sight. She foretells events in a manner right wonderful.\nIf your worships like, I will e'en summon her before you.\"\n\n\"Well,\" quoth the Cavalier, \"I have no objection to witnessing her\nantics, though I set no store by what she may say. So bring her\nwithin; 'twill help the time to pass.\"\n\nThe farmer left the room, and presently returned, leading in an old\nbeldame, whose withered and bent form seemed scarcely able to stand\nupright. She leaned heavily upon an old crutch, and her breath came in\nloud gasps as though she were a prey to asthma.\n\n\"What is your will?\" she asked, in a fit of coughing. \"I am old; could\nye not let me rest a'nights without summoning me to make sport at your\nrevels.\"\n\n\"Come, granny,\" said one of the gentlemen, \"be not ill-tempered; we\nwould let these good Cavaliers witness a sample of your skill. They\nride to York to join the King, and would know what fate awaits them\nthere.\"\n\nThe old dame laughed shrilly.\n\n\"Better had they wait. Evil comes soon enough. Why not drink and be\nmerry while ye may?\"\n\n\"Why, granny, whence this croaking? What ill-fate seest thou?\"\n\n\"I see what ye in your pride deem impossible. Ye have just now drunk\nto the King. Ye have inscribed on the window-pane of this dwelling a\nprayer for his triumph. And a bonny sentiment it is that ye have\nwritten, ye bloody murderers of Englishmen. Upholders of a tyrant,\nthink ye that the powers of the other world will ever smile upon your\ncause? Not so. Your cause is accursed. Never shall the words of the\nwriting come to pass. King Charles shall perish. So shall ye, his\nmyrmidons. Lo! I see a field of battle. Rupert is there and the army\nof King Charles--a glorious array without the walls of York. But there\ncometh Cromwell, the man of iron, his horsemen charge once twice,\nthrice, and lo! the army of the King is scattered, and the earth is\nred with blood. I see faces, cold and dead, turned upwards towards the\nsky. The faces of men slain in the battle. And behold, some of the\nfaces are your faces, For such is your doom. And in the end your King\nshall perish, and old England shall be free.\"\n\nThe frame of the old beldame shook as she delivered herself of this\ntirade, and when she had ended she moved feebly to the door. The\ncompany remained still, too awestruck to stay her, and presently she\nhad disappeared. The soldiers soon recovered their spirits, and joked\ngaily over the occurrence.\n\nBut it was destined that the words should come true.\n\nWith the first streak of dawn, Captain Oldfield led his men on their\nlong march to the city of York. There on the second day of July, they\nfought in the Battle of Marston Moor, and, even as the woman had\nprophesied, most of the band perished in the battle, and Cromwell beat\nback the King's army, and England was one step nearer being free.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nRalph Bernard Robinson refers to the above legend in the following\npassage in his little book on Longdendale.\n\n\"Opposite, on the other side of the river, is Melandra Castle as the\nthe villagers call it. Some fields here are called in old deeds 'THE\nCASTLE CARRS.' Hard by is an ancient homestead going to ruin called\n'THE CARR HOUSE.' This old house has an historical celebrity. A party\nof Royalists, on their march to Yorkshire before the Battle of Marston\nMoor, stayed here one night. The name of the Captain, John Oldfield,\nof Spalding, that of King Charles, and the date (1644), long remained\ninscribed in Latin, with a diamond ring, on a window-pane of the old\ndwelling.\"\n\nIn some way or other, the pane of glass referred to by Robinson became\nthe property of the late A. K. Sidebottom, Esq., J.P., and after his\ndeath was purchased at a public auction by my friend, Mr. Robert\nHamnett, of Glossop. To the kindness of the last-named gentleman, I am\nindebted for the loan of the glass, and for various particulars\nconcerning it. When it came into Mr. Hamnett's possession, it was in\ntwo pieces, which, however, have now been cemented together. The pane\nis the ordinary size of small diamond panes frequently found in\ncottages of old date, and still largely used in the windows of our\nchurches. The inscription is quite clear, but the glass is badly\nscratched, as though some sturdy member of the Cromwell faction had\ndone his best to obliterate the Royalist writing without going to the\nexpense of breaking the window.\n\nThe inscription is as follows:--\n\n    Vivat et vincat Rex Carolus,\n    Sic orat\n    Johnes Oldfield\n    de Spalding\n    1644.\n\nMr. Hamnett has been at considerable pains to trace the career and\nfamily of the above John Oldfield. I am indebted to him for the\nfollowing particulars. The passage given here is taken from an ancient\nMSS. belonging to the family, and has been supplied by the Wingfields,\nwho are direct descendants of Captain Oldfield.\n\n\"We now come to John--the Captain Oldfield of the Longdendale\nlegend--the eldest son of the first Anthony, who, as we have sayd,\nsucceeded to his estate November, 1635. This gentleman was a most\nzealous Royalist, and as the other party prevailed (he being left\nwealthy by his father, notwithstanding his providing so well for\nhis other children), was at several times plundered by the\nparliamentarians, and sequestred as a Delinqt., and at the Siege of\nNewark, where he served the Royal cause gallantly as a gentleman\nvolunteer, was shot through the body, but recovered of his wounds. He\nmarried Alice, the daughter of ---- Blythe, of Shawson, in the County\nof Lincoln. He added to, and very much improved the seat built here by\nhis father, building the rooms and grand staircase in the north wing\nof that house, and planting many forest trees and much wood about it.\nThis John was interred in the chancel of the Parish Church of our Lady\nand St. Nicholas, in Spalding, as was Alice, his wife, by whom he had\nthree sons and as many daughters, viz., Anthony, his eldest, who\nsucceeded him to his estate and was afterwards created a Baronet by\nKing Charles II.... We now come to Anthony, eldest son of John, who,\nas we have said, succeeded to his father's estate, 1660. He married\nfirst Mary, the daughter of ---- Parker, Esq., by whom he had no\nissue; secondly, Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edmond Gresham.... This\ngentleman was much esteemed and had a great intimacy with people of\nthe greatest worth and quality in his neighbourhood, and particularly\nwith Sir Robert Carr, Bart., Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and\none of His Majesty's Most Honble. Privy Council, and upon the\nrecommendation of the Rt. Hon the Countess of Dorset, he was, by His\nMajesty King Charles II., by letters patent, bearing date the 6th day\nof August, 1660, advanced to the degree and dignity of a Baronet of\nEngland, by the title of Sir Anthony Oldfield, of Spalding, in the\nCounty of Lincoln, Bart.--he lies in the chancel under a very large\ngrey marble, upon which is this inscription:--\n\n     \"Here was interred the body of Sir Anthony Oldfield, of this\n     town, Bart., who departed this life the fourth day of\n     September, Anno Salutis--1668; Aetatis--42.\"\n\nSir John Oldfield, son of Sir Anthony, married in 1668, but at his\ndeath in 1704, left only three daughters surviving. The baronetcy\naccordingly became extinct. Elizabeth, the third daughter and co-heir\nof the last Sir John, married John Wingfield, of Tickencote, High\nSheriff of Rutland (1702). From this union spring the present family\nof Wingfield, which includes among its members Sir Edward Wingfield,\nK.C.B., and Captain John Maurice Wingfield, of the Coldstream\nGuards.\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\nA Legend of the Civil War.\n\n\nIn the year 1644 the town of Stockport became the scene of some\nexciting incidents in the great struggle then waging between the King\nand his Parliament. From ancient days, Stockport had been accounted a\nplace of military importance, commanding, as it did, the passage of\nthe river Mersey. When the Romans took possession of the county, they\nestablished a strong fortified camp upon a site near the modern market\nplace. The Norman lords of Stockport reared a castle upon the same\nsite, and from that period downwards, the strategic value of the place\ncontinued to increase. When the Civil War broke out, the importance of\nobtaining and maintaining possession of the town, was soon recognised\nby both factions, and throughout the grim and prolonged contest.\nStockport was held first by one party, then by the other, as the\nrespective fortunes of the Cavaliers and Roundheads ebbed and flowed.\n\nThe majority of the principal landowners and gentry--that is to say,\nthe most powerful of the representatives of the old county\nfamilies--in the vicinity of Stockport, were much inclined to\nPuritanism, and so the cause of Parliament received strong support in\nthis part of the country. The Bradshawes of Marple Hall were vigorous\nsupporters of the Roundheads--Colonel Henry Bradshawe was a\ndistinguished Parliamentary soldier; and his brother, John Bradshawe,\nafterwards became President of the Council of State, acted as the\nJudge at the trial of King Charles, and passed the death sentence upon\nthat unhappy monarch. The Ardernes of Arden Hall, the Dukinfields of\nDukinfield, the Hydes of Hyde, and the Hydes of Denton were all\nresolute supporters of the Parliament; and inasmuch as all these\nfamilies had property and influence in the town and parish of\nStockport, it is scarcely a matter for surprise to find that in the\nyear in which our story opens Stockport was held by a Parliamentary\nforce under command of that staunch soldier, Colonel Dukinfield, of\nDukinfield.\n\nColonel Dukinfield is a man who deserves a few words of description.\nHe was one of the most distinguished of the group of famous historical\ncharacters who sprang from this part of East Cheshire, and helped to\nmould the destinies of the nation in the 17th century. A man of\nPuritan ancestry, himself a great Puritan, with Republican tendencies,\nendowed, moreover, with many of the gifts of a great soldier, he took\npart at an early age in the opening stages of the great war. His\nexploits in the field, and his influence and ability to raise and keep\ntogether strong bodies of horse and foot, soon won for him a high\nplace in the ranks of the Parliamentary party; and right worthily did\nhe acquit himself, whether in the field at the head of his troops, or\nin the Council Chamber, where all the qualities of a statesman were\ncalled into play. Historians are unanimous as to the disinterestedness\nof his character, and the purity of his motives; indeed, it is\ngenerally recognised that he was one of the truest men of either party\nthat the Civil War produced.\n\nIn the year mentioned, he was sent to guard Stockport, and the bridge\nover the Mersey--one of the entrances from Cheshire into\nLancashire--and this task he performed, until military necessity\ncompelled him to evacuate the town, and retire before a superior force\nof the enemy.\n\nA strong army of Loyalists, being sent to invade Lancashire, must\nneeds take possession of Stockport on their way; they were led by that\ndashing dare-devil nephew of the King--Prince Rupert of the Rhine.\nRecognising that the enemy was too strong for him, and deeming it\nimprudent to risk the lives of his soldiers in a hopeless resistance,\nColonel Dukinfield withdrew his force, and vanished from Rupert's\nsight. He of the Rhine sent his men through the rich farm lands about\nStockport, and they plundered the suffering yeomen--confiscating\nwhatever they required for the service of the King. The Roundheads, on\ntheir part, had done the same, so no one could grumble very much about\nthe matter. As the sufferers said, \"One side was every bit as bad as\nthe other.\"\n\nBut not a glimpse of the Roundhead soldiers did the gay Cavaliers get,\nand Rupert of the Rhine, hot-headed as he was, had yet more sense in\nhis pate than to be led astray from his direct line of march to begin\na risky, fruitless, and possibly disastrous chase of the\nParliamentarians. For he knew that Dukinfield, who, being a native,\nwas acquainted with every yard of the country, had taken refuge in the\nwild and mountainous region of Longdendale, where it was easy enough\nfor the Roundheads to ambush the Cavaliers, and where there was little\nchance for practising that dashing form of warfare--the grand charge\nof large masses of cavalry upon equally compact masses of the\nenemy--which was Rupert's favourite method, and which--until Cromwell\nand his Ironsides came upon the scene--was invariably successful.\n\nSo after a time Rupert passed on his march.\n\nOur story, however, has to do with the troops of the Parliament, and\ntheir sojourn in Longdendale. When he left Stockport, Colonel\nDukinfield led his men directly to the wild country beyond Mottram;\nand on the lands adjoining the old halls of Mottram, Thorncliffe, and\nHollingworth, and about the homes of the wealthier inhabitants, he\nquartered his force. He does not seem to have met with much resistance\nin this matter; and it is most likely that the Longdendale landowners\nwere themselves inclined to favour the Parliamentary cause.\n\nBe that as it may, they found food for horse and men, and supplied\nDukinfield with money, cattle, and soldiers, when the time came for\nhim to march. There are some interesting documents still preserved,\nwhich give the details of the various expenses to which the\nLongdendale gentry were put by the prolonged stay of the Roundhead\nforces on their lands.\n\n[Illustration: DUKINFIELD HALL.]\n\nAs was to be expected, the arrival of so renowned a fighter as Colonel\nDukinfield, and his bold band of Roundheads, caused more than a\nflutter of excitement in the breasts of the country folk of\nLongdendale. Those inclined to the Roundhead faction, were rather\nproud to stand by and wave their caps and cheer at the brave men who\nhad so resolutely fought against the tyrant King; while the Royalist\ninhabitants surveyed the soldiers and their Puritan colonel, with\nfeelings akin to hatred seeing in them nothing but a set of rebels who\nwere too vile to live.\n\nOf the last-named class was a stout yeoman whom for the purpose of\nthis story we will name Timothy Cooke. A thorough King's man at heart,\nhe had no sympathy with any who set themselves up to fight against the\n\"lords anointed,\" and as he saw the Roundheads ride past he would, had\nhe dared, and had the opportunity presented itself, have put a bullet\ninto the body of each rider.\n\n\"A damnable set of psalm-singing rascals,\" muttered Tim to a\ncompanion, as the Parliamentary troops went by. \"May the food and\nfodder they get in Longdendale, choke both man and beast. They are of\nthe devil's spawn, every one, enemies to God as well as to the King.\"\n\n\"Steady, Tim,\" whispered his companion. \"They will overhear thee, and\nthen, belike, thou wilt get into serious trouble.\"\n\n\"Trouble!\" quoth Tim. \"I care mighty little for anything they can do.\nThe King's forces will wipe them out ere long; and had I been but half\nthe man I was in my young days, I would have ridden behind the\nCavaliers, and struck a blow for His Majesty.\"\n\nThen, grumbling at the perversity of the times, which permitted such\nunseemly sights as that presented by a band of Republican soldiers\nmarching coolly through Longdendale, he jogged off homeward, to weary\nhis wife with his ill-humour.\n\nBut the goodman had more to put up with ere long, for after a few days\nwere passed, there came riding into his farmyard, the stalwart figure\nof a Roundhead. The soldier was a young man, of gentlemanly\nappearance, and strikingly handsome. He wore his hair cropped close,\nand his face was clean shaven. He sat his horse firmly, and his\nwell-proportioned figure gave signs of strength.\n\n\"Farmer,\" cried he; \"I give you a good day. You have a grey mare, I\nunderstand, of some little fame hereabouts. My officers require the\nuse of her for the service of the Parliament. And I am come to take\nher forthwith. Also a sheep from your fold would not come amiss, but\nthat you may send to the headquarters by one of your farm hands.\"\n\nHe spoke with the free air of one who expected that his requests, or\norders, would be observed as a matter of course.\n\nTimothy stood stock still for a few moments, lost in wonder. Then his\nhot temper blazed forth in a volume of words.\n\n\"Why you knave--you close-cropped murdering rebel--you speak and carry\nyourself with the bearing of an honest King's man. Get out of my yard\nthis instant, or I'll brain you on the spot. No horse or sheep of mine\ngoes from here to the service of the King's enemies.\"\n\nHe flourished a large hay-fork dangerously near the horseman, and the\nsteed began to back with alarm.\n\n\"Drop that fork,\" cried the soldier, drawing his pistols, \"I've no\nmind that there shall be any accident, but if you will advance, and if\none of these weapons goes off, 'tis no fault of mine.\"\n\nBut the old farmer's blood was up.\n\n\"I'll spit you as I would a goose,\" cried he; \"and all other such\nRepublican knaves.\"\n\nThe soldier pulled his horse aside, and levelled his pistol at the\nfarmer's head.\n\n\"Thou mad fool,\" he cried. \"If thou wilt rush to thy death, 'tis no\nconcern of mine.\"\n\nAnd sighting the weapon, he made ready to fire.\n\nBut at that moment came a diversion, and from an unexpected quarter;\nfor in the doorway of the farm, directly behind the irate yeoman,\nthere appeared the figure of a maid. She was the farmer's daughter,\nand a maid of uncommon beauty; and the sight of so fair a daughter of\nEve, bursting thus suddenly on the soldier's vision, banished for one\nbrief second the murderous purpose from his mind. He hesitated, let\nhis eyes wander from the farmer to rest upon the figure of the girl.\nThat second's hesitation was fatal, for the hay-fork driven with force\nby the yeoman, took him in the shoulder, and tumbled him heavily to\nthe ground. He had a confused sense of having done something very\nfoolish and unsoldierlike, of falling with a thud from his horse, of a\nsharp pain in the shoulder, and then his senses left him.\n\nWhen he recovered consciousness, the unfortunate Roundhead found\nhimself lying on a couch inside the farmhouse. He was at first dimly\naware that a somewhat heated discussion was going on in one quarter of\nthe room, and that some person with gentle touch bent over him and\ntended to his hurts. In another moment, his senses having fully\nreturned, he could distinguish the voices of the disputants, and knew\nthat they were talking about himself.\n\nThe farmer's wife, good mistress Cooke, was denouncing her husband's\nfolly in having wounded the soldier, and thus brought the man nigh to\ndeath, and the yeoman, himself, in grave danger of arrest, court\nmartial, and the gallows.\n\n\"'Tis thy hot temper, of which I have so often spoken, and which thou\nnever canst control, that has led thee into this mess--and a pretty\nmess it is, upon my conscience,\" said the dame, \"What harm had the\npoor fellow done to thee or thine, that thou must prod him with the\nfork, as thou dost a truss of hay, and tumble him headlong out of the\nsaddle. A mercy it is he did not break his neck by the fall. As it is,\nhe is not seriously hurt, though the back of his head will carry a\nlump for many a day, and his shoulder will be stiff enough for weeks.\nThe next thing that will happen, I suppose, will be that thou wilt\nhave the whole band of them--foot and horse--about the house, and they\nwill carry thee away a prisoner, and I and the bairns will een be\ntumbled out upon the road-side.\"\n\n\"Stop thy chatter,\" growled the farmer, his courage somewhat overawed\nby the volubility and sting of his wife's tongue. \"Wouldst have me let\na Roundhead knave, an enemy to the King, rob and plunder me of the\ngrey mare, and a sheep from the fold, without using the hay-fork when\n'tis in my hand. Death and damnation is too good for all such rogues.\"\n\n...\"Death and damnation,\" quoth the dame. \"Death and damnation,\nforsooth. That is like to be thy reward for the business. Out of the\nroom, man, for thy presence drives away my patience. Out thou goest,\nwhile I see if I can bring the poor fellow round, and make amends for\nthy fool's folly.\"\n\nShe bundled the farmer out, and at this moment the Roundhead opened\nhis eyes. Then he shut them suddenly, as though some bright light had\ndazzled him, for there, bending close above him, was the bonny face of\nthe maiden, whose dazzling beauty had been the cause of his undoing.\nShe had been tending to his hurts, and was gazing at him anxiously,\nwondering the while if he were about to die.\n\nThe Roundhead did not long remain with closed eyes, for the vision of\nthe maid was too sweet to lose for want of the effort of raising his\nlids. He gazed straight into her eyes, and smiled; and the girl,\nfinding him fully alive, and conscious of her presence, blushed\ncrimson, and drew backwards in confusion. Her movement attracted the\ndame, who by this time had got rid of her husband; and having no\nspecial desire to be the recipient of attentions from an old lady--no\nmatter how estimable and kindly disposed she might be--the Roundhead,\nwith an effort sat up. He had not been seriously injured by his fall,\nwhich had done nothing more than deprive him of his senses for a short\ntime; and the thrust in the shoulder was nothing more serious than a\nflesh wound; now that the bleeding had been stopped, he was really\nlittle the worse for his misadventure.\n\n\"I thank you, madam,\" said he to the farmer's wife, \"for your kindness\nand attention. Doubtless your good offices, and those of the young\nlady, have saved my life; and I promise you they shall not be\nforgotten in my report to my commanding officer.\"\n\nRelieved as she was to find the Roundhead out of all danger, poor Dame\nCooke was terribly upset on hearing the concluding words of the\nsoldier.\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" said she, the tears springing to her eyes, \"must you indeed\nreport the misdeeds of my hot-headed husband. If he is taken,\nand called to account for this mishap, I much fear that his\npunishment will be severe. If you could overlook--could find some\nexcuse--could----\"\n\nShe broke off, utterly unable to say more, but her eyes pleaded with\nthe soldier.\n\nRestraining an inclination to smile, with an effort, the Roundhead\nsaid solemnly:\n\n\"A bandaged head and shoulder must of necessity give rise to comment.\nAnd how can I escape from the necessity of a report? Moreover, there\nis the matter of the grey mare, and the sheep.\"\n\n\"They shall be sent to your camp within the hour,\" put in the woman\neagerly; \"and more likewise, if ye will only be merciful to my good\nman.\"\n\nOther talk followed, but for reasons of his own, the Roundhead omitted\nto assure the dame as fully as she could have wished, that she should\nhear no more about the matter. It was not without a feeling of great\ntrepidation that she listened to his last words of gratitude for her\npersonal attentions, and witnessed his departure.\n\nMounted on his horse, he rode slowly down the lane, and not till the\nfarmhouse had disappeared from sight--hidden by a bend in the lane,\nand a dip in the road--did he meet a single soul. Now, however, he\nreined in his charger suddenly; and he felt his heart beat quicker as\nhe beheld the pretty maid standing in the road barring his path.\n\nOff came his hat, with a sweeping bow, that would have done credit to\na Cavalier; and he bent gallantly in the saddle to converse with the\nfair being who had waylaid him with the evident intention of speaking\nto him.\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" said the maid, her voice trembling with emotion, her face\nrosy with excitement and bashfulness; \"you will forgive my father will\nyou not? He is not a bad man, and if anything happened to him, it\nwould break my heart, and my mother's also. Do not punish him, and\nmother and I will make amends in some way.\"\n\nThe Roundhead looked at the maid, then cast his eyes rapidly up and\ndown the lane, and a twinkle of merriment shone in his glance.\n\n\"You are quite willing to compensate for your father's sins--to render\na service if I pledge myself to silence on his misdeeds.\"\n\n\"I will do anything,\" said the maid, eagerly.\n\nThe Roundhead bent low in his saddle, until his face was dangerously\nnear that of his companion. There was a look in his eyes which caused\nthe maid to blush a deeper red, and set her heart pit-a-pat with a\nthrill of strange and joyous excitement.\n\n\"Then kiss me,\" was all he said.\n\nThe girl dropped her eyes a moment, then looked full into his, and\nfinally raised her lips and kissed him.\n\n\"Now,\" she said, \"remember your promise, and keep it.\"\n\nThen with a mischievous nod of her head, that caused her curls to\ndance in the sun, she skipped out of his reach, and ran up the lane\ntowards the farm.\n\nHe turned the horse as though to pursue her, but contented himself\nwith calling after her, \"Tell your mother not to trouble about the\ngrey mare and the sheep. I will come for them myself--another day.\"\n\nHe doffed his hat, and the girl waved her hand; and then the Roundhead\ntrotted off to explain in some cunning fashion how he had foolishly\nmet with an accident, and if his colonel had no objection he would go\nfor the grey mare and the sheep another day. The young man was a\nfavourite officer with his superiors, and his colonel had no objection\nwhatever, so the farmer heard no more about his attack upon the\nParliamentary forager.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is not to be supposed that human nature of the masculine gender,\nhowever much inclined to Puritanism, could, after having once tasted\nthe sweet lips of the farmer's daughter, resist the longing for more\nof such delights. And so the Roundhead more than once or twice made\nhis way towards the farm; and either, owing to his cleverness, or to\nthe strangest coincidence, it so happened that he never returned to\nquarters without having held some converse with the maid.\n\nIn this way the time passed, and to the two lovers it seemed as though\neverything was sweet and fair, and as though war, and suffering, and\ndeath were not abroad in the land. Indeed, so far, the revolution had\nbrought nothing but fortune to the young man, for he was already\npromised a captaincy when next the troops were put in motion; and then\nhe would move onward to fresh adventures, wherein he hoped to add to\nhis laurels, so that when the wars came to an end, he would have a\nposition of some standing to offer to his bride.\n\nAt last there came a day when Colonel Dukinfield bade his men make\nready to march. Messengers had ridden in on foam-flecked steeds, and\nit was understood that great events were about to transpire. The\ntroops looked to their arms, burnished up their breast-plates, and\nhead pieces, and after a busy day spent in preparations, made ready to\npass their last night in Longdendale in the fashion that the Puritan\nsoldier loved.\n\nWhen the night had fallen, groups of soldiers were gathered within the\nbest rooms of the farms whose owners--being favourers of the\nParliament--had gladly welcomed and billeted the Roundheads, and the\nhost having brought forth some musical instruments, which were tuned\nup forthwith, soon the voices of all were joining in a Puritan chant\nof praise. Loud and long that night sang the Puritans, and ever and\nanon, in the intervals between the chants, some of them, in nasal\ntones, would break out into prayer--strange old-fashioned petitions,\nin which the Lord was asked to strengthen the arms of the Parliament,\nand to sweep the Royalist faction away as the leaves are scattered\nbefore the wind. Then with the first break of day the bugles sounded;\nand, leaving the fair Longdendale land behind them, the Roundheads\npassed to scenes of grim contest--some joining in the conflicts in\nYorkshire, others participating in different sieges in Lancashire and\nCheshire. After their departure, Longdendale was visited in turn by\nbands of Cavaliers, who rode towards the points of strife; and then\nfor a time the valley was left to its rural quietness.\n\n[Illustration: \"A PURITAN CHANT OF PRAISE.\"]\n\nFor some weeks the maid heard nothing of her lover and her only\nconsolation during his absence was to chat and talk with the wives and\nsweethearts of Longdendale men who had joined Colonel Dukinfield's\ntroops, and ridden off to the fight.\n\nOne day, however, when the tasks about the farm were all done, she\nsat in the old-fashioned seat in the advanced porch of the steading,\nwhich looked out towards the west. It was the close of a glorious day,\nand far away over the great levels of the Cheshire plain, the sun was\nsetting--flooding the earth and sky with a light that seemed too\nbeautiful to be real. It was as though one looked right into the gates\nof heaven. The farmer and his wife were seated near, for they, too,\nwere weary with the toil of the day, and were resting for a space in\nthe cool of the evening before the darkness fell.\n\nSuddenly the girl raised her head as though to listen, and then\npointing towards the sunset, she uttered a loud scream.\n\n\"There, there! do you not see them? the Roundheads are beaten back,\nand their leader falls. It is he, my love--and oh!--they have slain\nhim----\"\n\nThen she fell back into the seat and sobbed, and shivered, and moaned.\n\nThe farmer took her by the shoulders, and shook her.\n\n\"Art daft, my lass,\" said he, \"or dreaming. What is it thou see'st?\"\n\nFor a moment the girl could not do anything but sob and moan, then,\nrecovering herself, she told her parents that, as she gazed at the\nsunset, it seemed as though the western heavens were alive with the\nfigures of men--she could see the Roundhead troops rushing to the\nassault, at their head was the form of her lover, and even as she\nlooked, the Royalists repulsed the attack, and in the melee she saw\nher lover fall, his brain pierced by a musket ball. It seemed, too,\nthat she could hear the noise of the piece, and the death-shriek as he\nfell.\n\n\"Tut-tut,\" said the farmer, \"'tis nothing but a dream. Thou hast been\ndozing, that is all.\"\n\nThe mother also tried to comfort her, and the two led her inside, but\nthat night when the farmer and his spouse sought their chamber, the\nlatter said in an awesome whisper:\n\n\"'Tis the gift of sight, good man. My grandmother had it; and I fear\nthat the vision she has seen will prove true.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome days passed, and nothing was heard of the great strife which\nwaged beyond the valley; but one day a man, pale and thin from\nsuffering, seated upon a jaded steed, rode wearily into Longdendale.\nNear Mottram town he met Yeoman Cooke, whom he accosted; and the\nlatter looked at him with a start of surprise.\n\n\"Why, Jack, is't thee, my man?\" said the farmer. \"Bless me if I knew\nthee. Thou art just like a ghost.\"\n\n\"And I had nearly been turned into one, farmer,\" answered the man.\n\"For I got a blow on my head in the fight just a week gone by to-day,\nwhich stretched me senseless; and other hurts about my body, have\nknocked out of me all the fighting for some months to come. 'Twas an\nevil day for Longdendale, and I trow that thy own home will be turned\ninto a house of mourning by it. For this was how we fared. Even as the\nvictory seemed assured, the Royalist rascals made a great rush, and by\nill-luck our leader was shot dead, and other officers falling, we were\nbeaten off. As for the Captain--well, I think he loved that lass of\nthine--King's man though thou art,--for in his breast, when we came to\ncarry his body off, were certain keepsakes which I have seen thy\ndaughter wear. There was also a letter addressed to her, and I have it\nwith me here. Thou wilt tell her that he died as a brave man should\ndie, and that he was worthy of her love to the last. I must ride on\nnow, for it grows late, and I have ill-news to carry to other\nLongdendale women besides thy wench. This is the worst side of war.\"\n\n[Illustration: ARMS OF THE DUKINFIELD FAMILY.]\n\n\"One moment,\" said the farmer, placing his hand on the bridle of the\nother's horse, \"When did this happen?\"\n\n\"A week ago to-day,\" replied the Roundhead. \"Just as the sun set; and\nit was too late to renew the attack that day.\"\n\nWith that the man rode on, and the farmer was left alone.\n\n\"The good wife is right after all,\" he said to himself. \"'Twas second\nsight, and the lass has the gift. We must keep the matter to\nourselves, or the folk will think she is a witch.\"\n\nThen he set his face homewards, and walked off wondering.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nThe following particulars from old historical documents will give the\nreader some idea of the part Longdendale played in the Civil War; they\nwill also afford evidence of the unrest which was the predominant\nfeature throughout the country, in the days of the great Rebellion.\n\nEarwaker, the learned historian of East Cheshire, quotes a series of\naccounts from the Harleian MSS. These relate to Hollingworth in the\ntime of the Civil War, and are the accounts \"made and sworn unto by\nseveral inhabitants of the Township of Hollingworth\" in 1645. The\nfollowing extract will serve as a sample of the contents of this\ninteresting document.\n\nThe accompts of Alexander Hollinworth, of Nearer Hollinworth, in the\nabove said Townshippe.\n\n    Imprimis: I paid to Collonell\n    Duckenfield, the 15th day of\n    Deecmber (1643), for pposicon\n    money                        5 0 0\n\n    Itm: The same tyme ye said\n    Collonell had of me a bay\n    gueldinge ffor to be one in his\n    Troope, well worth           5 6 8\n    Wch continued in his Troope\n    until Candlemas after, and then\n    was soe spoyled that he was not\n    able to do any more service.\n\n    Itm: After the said horse was\n    soe lamed I sent another horse\n    in his roome, and a man to ride\n    him, which horse hath beene in\n    ye said troope ev since Candlemas\n    after to this present tyme:\n    the horse when I put him in\n    was worth                   8 10 0\n\n    Itm: I was att charges for the\n    man that did ride ye said horse\n    sev'all waies above 40tye shillings\n                                  2 0 0\n\n    Itm: When Sr William Breerton\n    marched towards Yorke wth\n    Cheshire fforces ffor ye assistance\n    of that County, there was\n    250 horse and rydrs quartered\n    at my house; the damage I\n    had by them in eatinge my\n    meadowe, killinge my sheepe,\n    and plunderinge some of my\n    goods privily, and consuminge\n    my victualls they found in\n    my house, to ye value att ye\n    least of 20tie marks            13 6 8\n\n    Itm: The damage I sustayned\n    in quarteringe some of Captaine\n    Rich horse and foote ye most\n    pte of halfe a yeare Anno 1642\n    att the least                  10 0 0\n\n    Itm: The damage I sustayned\n    in quarteringe div'se of Captaine\n    Eyres Troope sev'all\n    tymes in Ann 1642 and 1643\n    was att the least               5 0 0\n\n    Itm: In quarteringe some of\n    Collonell Deukenfield souldrs,\n    Major Bradshawes, and diverse\n    others, the tyme when Prince\n    Rupert came to Stockport, was\n    att the least damages to me     3 6 8\n\n    Itm: In quarteringe of 18\n    Troopers of Sr William Breerton\n    Companye when they\n    marched towards Nottingham\n    (as they said) about 5 or 6\n    weeks agoe                     1 10 0\n\n    Itm: I have mainteyned one\n    musquetyer from the beginninge\n    of theise unhappy warres,\n    and never had the value of one\n    penny towards the charge\n    thereof from the Publique       25 0 0\n\n    Item: I have been sometymes\n    att charge of one and sometymes\n    3 souldrs more when any\n    publique danger was, as div'se\n    tymes into Darbishire, to Adlington,\n    to ye raysinge of the\n    siege of Namptwicke, wch I\n    verily thinke cost me above 5\n    markes att the least             3 6 8\n                                  _____\n              Sum                  \u00a382 6 8\n\nJohn Hollinworth, of Hollingworth, had a similar bill of \u00a370 16s., and\nthe Booths and the Bretlands also sought recompense for the expense\nthey had been put to in buying arms and quartering men.\n\nOne other old document may be quoted.\n\nOn the 8th of December, 1653, Colonel Dukinfield and Colonel Henry\nBradshaw sat at Stockport to prepare a list of pensioners in the\nStockport division in connection with the civil wars. The list\ncontained the following names: Ellen Wagstaffe, whose husband was\nwounded at Adlington; Catherine Goodier, whose husband was slain at\nNantwich; Ellen Heape, of Tintwistle, whose husband was slain at\nNantwich; Elizabeth, wife of Hugh Wooley, slain at Chester; Jane\nCooke, whose husband was slain at Middlewich; John Wylde, of Disley,\nwounded at Worcester; Thomas Hinchcliffe, wounded at Worcester;\nElizabeth Small, whose husband was slain at Cholmondeley; Joan Small,\nwhose husband was slain at Middlewich; John Sydebotham, wounded at\nCholmondeley; Margaret Whewall, whose husband was slain at Selby; The\nwidow of George Hopwood, wounded at Middlewich; Randal Cartwright,\nwounded at Hanmore; Margaret Ashton, whose husband was slain at\nLichfield; Ellen Benetson, wife of William Benetson, of Dukinfield,\nwounded at Chester, and died.\n\nIt will be noticed that several of the above are names of Longdendale\nmen.\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\nA Tale of the '))45.\n\n\nThe year 1745 was a noteworthy year in the annals of Longdendale. In\nthat year the valley was roused to excitement by the doings of Prince\nCharles Edward Stuart, the young Pretender, who, at the head of a\nlarge army, marched through Manchester and Stockport on his road to\nDerby. Many of the male portion of the inhabitants of Longdendale\nwalked into either Manchester or Stockport to see the army pass, and\nto catch a glimpse of the romantic figure which might one day sit upon\nthe throne of England. Most of these sightseers returned home full of\nthe grand picture which the Scottish army presented; they told a great\ntale of how the Prince forded the river at Stockport, that the water\ntook him up to the middle, that he wore a light plaid, and a blue\nbonnet, in which was set a milk-white rose.\n\nThese accounts greatly interested the inhabitants of Mottram town,\nwho, like most people, loved to hear of martial doings at a distance.\nThe Mottram folk, however, were not so highly elated when, a little\nlater in the year, they heard that portions of the flying Scottish\narmy were likely to pass through their town during the retreat from\nDerby. They would gladly have had the soldiers play the part of the\nLevite of old, and \"pass by on the other side.\"\n\n\"A murrain on them,\" quoth the sexton, as he sat in the ingle of the\n\"Black Bull's Head\"--that homely tavern perched on the hillside just\nbeneath the graveyard of Mottram Church. \"Why cannot they even travel\nback the same gait they came, and leave our good Mottram folk in\npeace? Like enough if they come, there will be blows, and who knows\nbut what my trade will flourish mightily. And that will be the only\ntrade that will flourish if they get to fighting on this side of the\nborder.\"\n\nThe maid who was attending to the wants of the customers pricked her\nears at the conversation, and as she filled the sexton's glass, she\njoined in with her sweet woman's voice.\n\n\"For my part I should be glad to see them march through Mottram. They\nsay that the Prince is a handsome gentleman, and brave as he is fair.\nOne day he will be the King, and then, think what an honour it will be\nto Mottram, to have had his army billet in the town when he fought\nfor his own. Moreover, as I hear, there be some of the best and\nbravest of the old families of Lancashire in his train, and we see too\nfew of the real gentry hereabouts to throw away so fine a chance as\nthis. As for the fighting, I see no sin in that when the good Prince\nbut seeks to win back his own.\"\n\nThe sexton smiled at the maid's enthusiasm. He slowly charged his\npipe, lit it, and when she had done, took the stem from his lips.\n\n\"You are a maid,\" said he; \"and like all women, are easily carried\naway by a handsome face and a fine figure. And belike you are a\nsupporter of the Stuarts. As for me, I am for King George. I know\nenough of the Stuarts never to wish them in power again. My\ngrand-father was a youth when the great war was on, and he saw enough\nblood shed then through the follies of Charles the First to turn him\nand all his kin against the breed. I could tell you tales he told to\nme that would set your heart a sick at the very mention of a Stuart.\nAnd war is not the grand thing some folks think. It's all well when\nsomeone else gets the worry, and pays the price, and leaves to us the\nglory of it. But I've no desire to see my thatch blazing above my\nhead, my goods and chattels carried off, and my earnings squandered to\nkeep some hungry fighting man in trim.\"\n\nJohn the smith now took up the tale.\n\n\"As for me, I'm a favourer of the Stuarts. The lad is the true King,\nsay I, by all good right. But I'm heart and soul with you, sexton, in\nhoping the army of the Scots will keep clear of Mottram town.\"\n\nAnd as the talk went on the speakers were divided on questions of\npolitics, some siding with the Prince, others with the House of\nHanover; but all alike agreed in hoping that the fugitives would give\nthe Longdendale country a wide berth.\n\nMilitary necessity, however, knows no law, and the Scotchmen came at\nlast--big burly Highland men. They wore kilts, and carried\nclaymores--for the most part they were bearded, unkempt creatures, men\nwho followed their leaders with the blind faith of children. As soon\nas definite news of the retreat of the rebel army in the direction of\nthe town became known, the householders of Mottram became greatly\nalarmed, and everybody grew busy in hiding his or her valuables, and\nin driving the cattle to places of safety. The farmers scattered about\ntheir fields, and horses, cows, sheep, and swine, were hurried into\nthe hills, and there secreted as comfortably and well as possible.\nEven the poultry were collected, and hidden away, so that they should\nnot become a prey to the hungry Scots. It is said that the sexton had\na busy time among the graves, burying such pieces of plate as were\nowned in the neighbourhood; and in many other spots throughout the\ndistrict the savings of the householders were committed to the ground.\n\nContrary to expectation, however, the Mottramites found the\nHighlanders a quiet, harmless lot of mortals, who did not seem\ndesirous of reckless plunder. When they arrived they showed no\ndisposition to take more than was absolutely necessary to provide for\ntheir needs, nor did they turn the people out of doors, and take\nforcible possession of the houses. During their short halt at Mottram,\nthey roughed it with the best, killing cattle for food, and then\n(through lack of proper utensils) boiling the meat in hides skewered\nup at the corners.\n\n[Illustration: BELFRY DOOR IN MOTTRAM CHURCH.]\n\nThe kilts of the Highlanders were what interested the people most of\nall, and the children would often flit about, in and out, near the\nlegs of the soldiers, looking in awe at the strange petticoats for\nmen, and the knees all bare and bony. Sometimes the men would take the\nchildren on their knees, and tell them stories of war and panic, of\nthe charging of horse and foot, and of the glorious deeds of the great\nand brave. At which the children were greatly pleased, and could have\nlistened all day long.\n\nThe soldiers did not camp together, but were divided into companies;\none portion stayed in Mottram, but the bulk of them encamped near\nHollingworth Hall. Some of the inhabitants took pity on the men, and\ntreated them with great kindness, which appears to have been much\nappreciated by the rebels. On departing, one of the soldiers left\nbehind as a mark of his gratitude a tinder-box--the most valuable\npossession he had--and this box was long preserved at Hollingworth\nHall.\n\nA noticeable feature about the coming of the Highland men was the\nexcitement and pleasure it occasioned among the female portion of the\ninhabitants of Longdendale. The lasses in no way showed those signs of\ndistress and doubt which were so evident in their elders. On the\ncontrary, they dressed themselves in their best, became gay with\nribbons, and by every art known to woman sought to enhance their many\ncharms. Even in those days a soldier's coat was a magnet of attraction\nto a maid.\n\nAmong the rest was the pretty maid who had spoken to the sexton in the\n\"Black Bull.\" She was a fair lass, of good figure, and winsome ways,\nand she was greatly admired by all the lads of Mottram town. One of\nthese was one whom we will call Robin Shaw, on whom she seemed to look\nwith favour; and already that handsome yeoman had come to consider her\nas especially his property. A sad surprise was in store for poor Robin\nwhen the Scotchmen came marching through the town.\n\nRobin, young though he was, had strong views upon the situation. He\nwas a staunch \"King's man,\" and it was with no good grace that he\nbeheld his lady love sporting the rebel colours as the Highlanders\nmarched by. His cup of bitterness, however, ran over when, on the next\nnight, he came across the faithless damsel strolling down a lane,\nwhere he himself had often made love to her, in company with a\nhandsome youth who followed the fortunes of Prince Charlie.\n\nIt was an angry scene which followed.\n\nGood Robin lost his temper, and in the most approved Longdendale\nfashion, then and there gave forth his opinion of the heartless\nconduct of his lady love, and the unjustifiable meddlesomeness of the\nsoldier. The two would have come to blows there and then (for the Scot\nwas quite as eager for the fray as his enraged antagonist) had it not\nbeen for the presence of the maid, who placed herself between them,\nand firmly decided against hostilities. As it was, she commenced an\nonslaught with her tongue, and the unlucky Robin, on whose head she\npoured forth her wrath, at last beat an ignominious retreat.\n\n\"I'll be even with you yet, you bare-legged rebel,\" he cried to the\nHighlander as he went.\n\nAnd the soldier with a light laugh replied, \"At your service, my\nfriend, whenever you are ready.\"\n\nBut the fates were against their meeting for the present, for, eager\nto get back beyond the border before the English army, which was\nmassing, should lay them by the heels, the Scots left Longdendale, and\npassed hurriedly northwards.\n\nThe day after they left, a fine figure of a man, equipped and ready\nfor war, strode into the bar of the \"Black Bull\" at Mottram. It was\nRobin Shaw, and he sought the maid.\n\n\"Well, my lass,\" said he, \"I'm off. I've joined the army for the\nnorth, and now I'll be on the track of the rebels. If I meet your\nHighland lover, there'll be blows, and the end will be that you'll\nhave no difficulty to make a choice between us. If I live, I'll come\nback to claim you. One kiss now, and then good-bye.\"\n\nWithout waiting to see if the girl would give consent, he drew her to\nhim in a grasp that would admit of no resistance, and kissed her. Then\nwithout another word he left the inn, and went swinging on his way.\n\nThe weeks passed, and the grey dawn broke upon the heath near\nCulloden, where the English and the Scottish armies lay. With the dawn\nthe Duke of Cumberland set out on his march, and shortly after mid-day\nthe roar of the English artillery told that the battle had begun. All\nthe world knows the history of that fight, how the fierce Highlanders,\nrendered desperate by the play of the cannon upon their ranks, burst\ninto that wild and ill-fated charge which met with a bloody repulse;\nbut there are personal details of the conflict that the world knows\nnothing of.\n\nWhen the Highland line darted forward, there moved in the front rank a\n\"braw\" young Scot, whom one at least of the Royal troops welcomed with\na shout of joy. For an instant the weight of the Scottish column\ncaused the English regiment to waver before the impetus of the charge.\nBut there was one man who never gave ground an inch--the Longdendale\nLoyalist--Robin Shaw. He had seen among the charging host the form of\nthe soldier who had tampered with his love in distant Longdendale, and\nwith a shout he set himself in front of his foe.\n\n\"Now, my merry rebel,\" he cried; \"we meet again. We will settle old\nscores.\"\n\n\"Thou art welcome,\" cried the Highlander, crossing blades. \"We fight\nfor the love of a lass and--King James.\"\n\n\"For the love of a lass, and King George,\" said honest Robin Shaw.\n\nAnd with that the fight began.\n\nNow, Robin was no match for his foe save in strength. In skill of\nsword play, the Scot was greatly the superior of the two, and the\nresult was not long in doubt. Before he knew where he was, Robin's\nblade was dashed from his grasp, and the sword of the Highlander\nthrust him through. Robin grew sick, and a mist rose before his eyes,\nbut in the mist he could still make out the triumphant face of his\nfoe. With teeth firmly set, he pulled himself together, and sprang at\nthe throat of the Scot. In vain the latter drew back. Before he could\ndraw his dirk, the Longdendale lad had him by the throat, gripping him\nlike a vice. The men fell to the ground, rolling over and over in the\nstruggle, but the grip of Robin never slackened, and at length both\nlay still. Another moment and the beaten wave of the Highlanders swept\nover them, and the victorious English charged past in pursuit. The\nbattle of Culloden was fought and won; Charles Edward was beaten, and\nthe Stuart cause for ever lost.\n\nWhen the burial parties passed over the battlefield, they found two\ncorpses firmly locked together--an Englishman run through the body by\nthe other's sword--a Scotchman strangled to death by the grip of his\nfoe. The dead man's grip might not be loosened, and they buried the\nbodies in one common grave.\n\nSo Robin and his rival lay down together in the last long sleep\nbeneath the heather at Culloden, and away in merry Longdendale a fair\ngirl watched and waited for a lover who never came.\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\nThe Haunted Farm.\n\n\nIn the township of Godley, on the fringe of what was formerly an\nunenclosed common known as Godley Green, stands an old farm,\nstone-built, of picturesque appearance. It is pleasantly situated a\nshort distance from the turnpike road, from which it is approached by\na country lane. Its windows command some beautiful views over the farm\nlands of Matley and Hattersley, which stretch away eastwards with many\na clough and dingle, to the bleak hill country where the old church of\nMottram stands out dark against the sky. The farm is said to occupy\nthe site of an ancient hall, and old folk tell of the remains of\nmullioned windows, and a curious antique mounting block, which were to\nbe seen there in the days when they were young.\n\nTradition says that the farm is haunted. In former times it was\noccupied by a family, the last survivor of which was an old dame, who\nis spoken of by those who remember her as being the very picture of a\nwitch. She is said to have had a nose and chin so hooked that they\nalmost met; and to have been very mysterious in her movements. Rumour\nhad it that there was some treasure or secret buried in or about the\nfarm, and that after the old dame's death, her spirit, unable to rest\nin the grave, commenced to wander through the farm at night, as though\nsearching for something which was lost.\n\nVarious persons who have at different times resided in the farm--some\nof whom are still living,--have related strange stories of their\nexperiences of the ghostly visitant. In the dead of night, the\ndoors--even those which were locked--have suddenly opened, footsteps\nhave been heard, as though some unseen being walked through the rooms\nand up the stairs, and then the doors have closed and locked\nthemselves as mysteriously as they opened. Sleepers have been awakened\nby the beds on which they lay suddenly commencing to rock violently;\nand at times the bed clothes have been snatched away and deposited in\na heap upon the floor. The ghostly figure of an old woman has been\nseen moving about from room to room, and then has vanished. Fire-irons\nhave been moved, and have tumbled and danced about mysteriously; pots\nand pans have rattled, and tumbled on the floor; and there has been\nheard a strange noise as though some one invisible was sweeping the\nfloor.\n\nIn the early and the middle decades of the nineteenth century, the\nappearances of the ghost were of frequent occurrence, so much so that\nthe farmer's family became accustomed to them, and beyond the\nannoyance and the loss of sleep which were occasioned, ceased\ntroubling themselves about the visits. But for guests or strangers the\nghost had terrors. The farmer's daughter had a sweetheart, and one\nnight he paid a visit to his betrothed, and sat with her before the\nkitchen fire. Suddenly there came a gust of wind, there was a noise as\nthough every pot and pan in the house had been broken, and every door\nwas flung wide open by a mysterious and invisible agency.\n\n\"What on earth is that?\" asked the young man, full of surprise, not\nunmixed with terror.\n\n\"It is only the ghost of the old dame prowling about,\" answered his\nsweetheart.\n\nBut the youth had seen and heard enough, and seizing his hat, he\ndashed outside and made off rapidly over the fields. Scarcely had he\ndeparted, when the doors shut themselves, and all was quiet as before.\n\nSome time afterwards, the farmer engaged a farm-hand from a place\nbeyond Charlesworth. The new man took up his abode and slept one night\nin the haunted farm. The next morning he came downstairs with blanched\nface and startled eyes.\n\n\"I have seen a boggart,\" said he; \"the ghost of an old woman; and I\nthink it must be my mother. On her deathbed I promised her to place a\nstone upon her grave; I have been too greedy to spare the money for\nthe purpose. It must be her ghost come to upbraid me; and I cannot\nrest until I have placed the stone above her grave.\"\n\nNever again would the poor fellow spend a night in the farm, but for\nyears he walked to and from his home beyond distant Charlesworth and\nhis work at the haunted farm.\n\nOther farm-hands and servants were equally terrified by the strange\nnoises and apparitions; and the farmer found it almost impossible to\nget anyone to remain long in his service. At length, so annoying did\nthe ghost visits become that it was decided to call in the aid of some\nminister of the Gospel for the purpose of \"laying the boggart.\" The\nRev. James Brooks--the respected pastor of Hyde Chapel, Gee Cross,\nfrom 1805-1851--was asked to undertake the task, and he readily\ncomplied. Accompanied by other devout men, he spent several nights in\nthe haunted rooms, reading passages from the Bible, and uttering\nprayers specially adapted for driving evil spirits away. The\nministrations of the reverend gentleman were so far successful that\nthe ghost did not again appear for some time, and its visits have not\nsince been of such frequent occurrence as formerly. It was widely\nbelieved that had Mr. Brooks continued his visits and his prayers long\nenough, the boggart would have been effectively \"laid.\"\n\nAs it is, the strange noises and visitations have continued, and are\nborne witness to by several persons. Between 1880 and 1890 the\nfollowing strange thing happened. It was in the middle of the\nafternoon, when most of the household were out of doors, and there\nwere only the farmer's wife and a boy, and girl within the house.\nPresently the mother went into the yard, and the youngsters, bent on\nmischief, rushed into the pantry for the purpose of feasting on the\njams and honey which they knew to be there, when lo! they were\nsuddenly startled by a loud and strange noise overhead, giving them\nthe impression that some burglars must have got in the upstairs rooms\nby some means or other. Full of fear, they rushed for their mother,\nwho boldly went upstairs, the children following at her heels. When\nthey entered the room from which the noise came, they beheld the\ncurious sight of an old rocking-chair, violently rocking itself as\nthough some person might have been seated in it, and the rocking\ncontinued unabated for a considerable time. A farm labourer, who was\ncalled in to stop the chair, was too terrified to do anything, and\nfinally the farmer's wife had to sit in the chair to stop it.\n\nIt is said that the old dame whose ghost haunts the place, died in her\nrocking-chair in that very corner of the room; and the belief was that\nit was her spirit, invisible to the inhabitants of the farm, which had\nset the chair rocking so mysteriously.\n\nTo add to the mystery and the uncanny character of the place, there is\na certain part of the garden connected with the farm, on which nothing\nwill grow. Time after time have the tenants endeavoured to cultivate\nthis little spot, but always unsuccessfully. Some years ago human\nbones were dug up, and the secret attached to their interment is\nsupposed to account for the sterile nature of the soil. The present\ntenant of the farm asserts that he has paid special attention to the\npiece of ground, has applied quantities of the best manure, and in\nother ways has endeavoured to bring the soil to the same state of\nfruitfulness as the rest of the garden, but all to no purpose. So\nrecently as the month of April, 1906, primroses growing on that part\nof the garden are pale and withered; while those in other parts are\nfine and healthy flowers.\n\nThe present tenant's wife relates a strange story of a supernatural\ndeath-warning which occurred in connection with this haunted house.\nHer brother lay ill in the farm, and she had occasion to go to Gee\nCross on business. Returning homewards, she met a black cat, which, do\nwhat she would she was unable to catch. Then, whilst walking along the\nlane leading to the farm, in company with her mother who had met her,\na strange thing happened. It was a beautiful summer night, hot and\nstill; not a breath of air stirred the leaves upon the trees; and\nthere was no sound. Suddenly the high thorn hedge on their right\ncommenced to rock violently; and behind it there sailed along from the\ndirection of the farm a female figure draped in white. The beholders\nwere spellbound, and they entered the house with bated breaths. There\nthey found that the sick man had just died.\n\nThe history of this haunted farm is but another testimony to the truth\nof the saying that there are more things in heaven and earth than are\ndreamt of by ordinary mortals. Things such as these are beyond human\nken; and in all probability the apparition and the ghost-noises of\nthis old farm house in Godley will baffle the wisdom and the cunning\nof generations yet unborn.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nIt is quite probable that the majority of those who read the foregoing\naccount of \"The Haunted Farm\" will come to the conclusion that it is\nentirely the outcome of the writer's imagination. I therefore hasten\nto explain that there is not a single detail in the account which has\nbeen imagined by me. Every incident recorded has been supplied to me\nby persons who have resided in the farm, and all that I have done has\nbeen to put them in the form in which they now appear.\n\nMost of my informants are still living; indeed, I saw and interviewed\nfour of them so recently as the last week in March, 1906. One of these\nwas the old lady, who, as a young woman, was one of the lovers\nmentioned in the account; after her marriage she resided in the farm\nand is \"the farmer's wife\" referred to, who witnessed, and stopped the\nmysterious rocking-chair. The other individuals, who were much\nyounger, related to me the story of the strange noises, invisible\nfootsteps, and uncanny opening and closing of doors, which they\nwitnessed towards the close of the nineteenth century. They are\npersons of the most reputable character, and of social standing, and\nthey solemnly assure me that the things recorded in the above article\nare literally true.\n\nI also visited the farm in the month of April, 1906, and obtained from\nthe present occupants their experiences, which are also embodied in\nthe above narrative. The sterility of the \"haunted\" part of the garden\nI saw for myself; and can unhesitatingly testify that, from some cause\nor other, the flowers growing on it are quite withered and weak,\nwhilst similar flowers in other parts of the garden are healthy and\nblooming. There is no apparent reason for this fact, inasmuch as the\nunfruitful portion of the ground is as advantageously situated as the\nrest of the garden.\n\n\n\n\nXXII.\n\nThe Spectre Hound.\n\n\nUntil the latter half of the nineteenth century there might have been\nnumbered among the curious old buildings for which the township of\nGodley has long been famed, a low, old-world farmstead of the style\nthat is now fast fading away. It was a small, picturesque building,\nand stood upon a portion of Godley Green, surrounded by a prettily\nlaid-out cottage garden. Its occupants combined farming with other\npursuits, and in one part of the building handloom weaving was carried\non to a comparatively late period. The farm was pulled down, as\nalready indicated, in the latter half of the nineteenth century; and a\nhandsome modern residence has been erected near the site on which it\nstood.\n\nThere is a curious legend told about this old building. It is said to\nhave been haunted; and the ghost, in the form of a spectre hound, is\nstill supposed to roam at nights over the fields which were formerly\nattached to the farm. The legend runs that some persons were done to\ndeath in some mysterious fashion in the building; and that ever since,\nan evil spirit, in the shape of a great yellow hound, has haunted the\nneighbourhood. Old people who can remember the farm, state that in it\nthere was a certain flag on the stone floor, which bore the stains of\nblood; and that no amount of swilling and scrubbing could ever remove\nthe stains. What became of the stone when the house was pulled down is\nnot known.\n\nMany persons--residents in Godley, and others who have had occasion to\nbe in the neighbourhood said to be haunted--have seen the spectre\nhound, careering over the fields and through the lanes during the\nnight-time. The occupants of the adjoining farms have been awakened\nfrom their sleep in the dead of the night by the noises made by the\ncattle in the fields; and on looking from their windows have seen the\nterrified animals dashing wildly across the fields, chased by the\nhorrible form of the great ghost-hound, which with hanging tongue,\nprotruding eyes, and deep sepulchral baying, drove them round and\nround.\n\nChildren, returning along the country lanes from school on winter\nevenings, have seen the hound dash past, and have reached home\nwell-nigh frightened out of their wits. Young lovers, walking arm in\narm along the quiet lanes, seeking some secluded spot wherein to dream\nof love and happiness, have been put to flight by the spectre; and the\nmore timid maids from the farms have been afraid to venture out after\ndark.\n\nThe wife of one of the farmers, when returning home one night, after\ndelivering the milk in the neighbouring towns, was driving slowly\nalong the lane past the site of the demolished farmstead, when the\nhorse suddenly stood still, and began to tremble violently. At that\ninstant the form of the giant hound, yellow in colour, with horrible\nstaring eyes, sprang from the field, leaped over the fence into the\nlane, and with great strides like the galloping of a horse raced down\nthe lane in the direction of a well which is sunk close to another\nfarm. Full of fear the good woman reached home, and told her father\nwhat she had seen. The old man, merely shook his head, and said\nquietly:\n\n\"The yellow hound. So you have seen the yellow hound?\"\n\n\"What is it--what does it mean?\" asked the daughter.\n\n\"Some day I will tell you,\" said he. \"But not now. If you have seen it\nonce, be sure you will see it again.\"\n\nSome time afterwards the old man himself came quietly home, and told\nhis daughter that he, too, had just seen the hound.\n\n\"It was sitting by the edge of the old well,\" said he, \"looking into\nthe water. Its eyes were staring wildly, and foam dropped from its\nlips.\"\n\n\"What is it--what does it mean?\" again asked the daughter.\n\nBut the old man only shook his head, and answered:\n\n\"Who can tell?\"\n\nAgain the woman saw the hound in the fields of their own farm, and\nsometimes it appeared without head. A great hound it was, life-like\nenough at first appearance, but clearly a spectre, terrible to see.\n\nAnother lady saw the hound when she was a child, and several times\nduring her life it has appeared before her. This is her narrative:\n\n\"The first time I saw it was in the lanes, when I was walking with a\nrelation, older than myself. I was a child at the time, and although\nstartled was not too frightened to think of trying to scare it away.\nAs it kept pace with us, I looked out for some stones to fling at it;\nbut my relative caught hold of me and said: 'Don't; you mustn't throw\nat it, or it will attack us, and tear us to bits. It is the\nghost-hound.' Since then I have seen it several times. It is not a\npleasant thing to meet, and I have no wish to see it again.\"\n\nYet a third lady saw the ghost-hound between the years 1890 and 1900.\n\"I was staying at ---- Farm,\" said she; \"and I went down to the well\nto get some water. It was a winter night, and on a pool near the well\nwas a strong sheet of ice. While the buckets were filling I went\ntowards the ice, thinking to enjoy a slide. But when I reached the\npool, there stood the hound. It was about the size of a lion, its skin\nmuch the same as a lion's in colour, and it had eyes as large as\nsaucers. At first I thought it must have been a lion that had escaped\nfrom Belle Vue, or from some menagerie; and as it came towards me I\nbacked away. I was too terrified to turn and run, but kept my face to\nit, as I retreated. When I neared the house it disappeared. I shall\nnever forget the sight as long as I live. It was a dreadful thing to\nsee.\"\n\nA tradesman of Hyde--a fishmonger, who made a weekly journey round\nBroadbottom, and came homewards across Godley Green--once saw the\nspectre, and his story is equally sensational.\n\n\"It was as big as a cow,\" said he, \"its skin a light tan colour. I was\nwalking down the lane with my basket on my shoulder, when suddenly I\nsaw the thing beside me. It kept pace with me as I walked; if I stood\nstill, it stopped, and if I ran, it ran also. I could not overtake it.\nI was not more than a yard from the hedge, and the ghost was between\nme and the hedge. I struck at it, but hit nothing; for my hand went\nclean through it as through air, and my knuckles were scratched by the\nhedge. My blood ran cold, and I was terribly frightened. Then it ran\nin front of me, and then came back, and passed me again; it did not\nturn round to do this, but, strange to say, its head was in front when\nit returned. As soon as it had passed, I took to my heels as fast as I\ncould run, and it was a long time before I ventured down the lane\nagain at night. When next I met the farmer whose lands were haunted by\nit, and whom I had formerly served with fish, he asked me where I had\nbeen lately; and I then told him I had seen the ghost. He replied that\nhe and his family had seen it often; and that I must not be afraid.\"\n\n\"Never mind about that,\" I said. \"You'll have to do without fish at\nnight, unless you like to fetch it.\"\n\n\"It was the most hideous thing I ever saw. Its feet went pit-a-pat,\npit-a-pat, with a horrible clanking noise like chains. I wouldn't meet\nit again for twenty pounds. I never want to see it again if I live to\nbe a hundred.\"\n\nAnd so on, the different mortals who have seen this terrible spectre\nof the yellow hound relate their grim experiences.\n\nThe legend is that the ghost-hound must haunt the lanes and fields\nabout the site of the old farmstead, until the crime for which it is\naccursed has been atoned for, when its midnight wanderings will cease,\nand the troubled spirit will find rest.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nAs in the case of the story of the \"Haunted Farm,\" I desire to state\nthat I have not drawn upon my imagination for any of the incidents\nrelated in the account of \"The Spectre Hound.\" The story of the ghost\ncame to my ears from the lips of a friend, and being filled with\ncuriosity at so remarkable a story I determined to investigate it. For\nthis purpose I saw and interviewed all the persons whose experiences\nare related in the story, and from them I received the substance and\ndetail of the above account. They are all perfectly serious, and\npositively affirm that they saw with their own eyes the actions of the\nspectre hound as recorded.\n\nTheir statements were given to me in the presence of reliable\nwitnesses; and my informants are still alive at the time of writing\n(May, 1906).\n\nThe fishmonger whose statement is given above is a well-known Hyde\nworthy, and I interviewed him at his own house on Thursday evening,\nMarch 29th, 1906. I took with me two friends--well-known public men of\nHyde--as witnesses. My knock at the door was answered by the\nfishmonger himself. I told him who I was, and my object in\ncalling--that it was about a ghost, a spectre hound--a great dog.\n\n\"Great dog,\" said he; \"why, man, it was as big as a blooming cow. Come\ninside.\"\n\nWith that we entered the house, and he related the story which is\nrecorded in the foregoing narrative. At the conclusion I suggested\nthat the spectre might have been a cow.\n\nThe man shook his head.\n\n\"It was no cow,\" said he solemnly. \"It was a ghost. I never want to\nsee the thing again if I live to be a hundred years old.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.\n\nThe Boggart of Godley Green.\n\n\nIt would, perhaps, be difficult to find in all England a tract of\ncountry of which so many wild stories of ghosts and boggarts are told\nas the old common land of Godley Green, and the picturesque cloughs\nand dingles which surround it. Some interesting old farmsteads still\nstand on and near the \"Green,\" and there were in former times others\nstill more quaint, which have disappeared before the march of time.\nConcerning most of these homesteads, ghost tales are told; indeed, one\nold native of Godley recently declared that \"there were more boggarts\nat Godley Green than anywhere else in the kingdom.\" And perhaps this\nstatement is true.\n\nMost of the stories are old tales, which have been handed down from\nformer generations, no living being laying claim to any personal\nexperience of the boggarts referred to. But in one or two cases the\nboggarts are said to be still haunting the scenes of their former\nexploits; and people still living claim to have actually seen the\nghosts, as well as heard about them. The present story belongs to the\nlatter class.\n\nThere is a certain house in that part of the township of Godley known\nas the Green, which is said to be haunted by a boggart in the shape of\nan old lady, who formerly belonged to the house. The legend is not\nvery precise as to the cause of her unrest, but it is said that she\ndid certain things in her lifetime the memories of which will not\nallow her to rest quietly in her grave. Accordingly, her ghost wanders\nabout the house and grounds, occasionally startling people by its\nappearance, and its peculiar actions.\n\nOne old lady--still alive--gives some graphic details of the boggart.\nShe at one time resided in the house but now she has removed to a\ndistance.\n\n\"Many a time,\" says she, \"I have seen 'Old Nanny'--the\nboggart--wandering about after dark. She is generally outside the\nhouse, but occasionally peeps in at the windows. I can remember the\nold woman during her lifetime, and the boggart is just like her. She\nwears an old-fashioned cap, and a skirt kilted or tucked up in the\nold-fashioned style. She wears an apron, which she shakes, and makes a\npeculiar hissing noise. There is a gate leading from the garden into a\nmeadow and I have seen the boggart standing there, waving her apron,\nand saying, 'Ish, ish, ish.'\"\n\n\"On one occasion a relative of the old dame, was present, and saw the\nboggart. 'It's owd Nanny,' said he, '))reet enough. Why the d---- can't\nshe rest quiet in her grave. What does she want frightening people\nlike that.'\"\n\nAnother night a serving man was ordered to go into the back garden,\nand gather a quantity of rhubarb. He was gone a short time, and then\nhe rushed back to the house with blanched face, and terror in his\ncountenance.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked his mistress; \"where is the rhubarb?\"\n\n\"It's where it mun stop, missus, for me,\" he replied. \"I've had enough\nof rhubarb getting in that garden.\"\n\nAnd then he related how he had proceeded to the rhubarb bed, had\ngathered one stick, and was about to pluck another, when he suddenly\nbecame aware of the white figure of an old woman standing before him\nin the midst of the rhubarb, looking at him intently.\n\n\"She waved her apron at me,\" said he, \"and then I heard her say, 'Ish,\nish, ish.'\"\n\nWhile he looked the boggart vanished, and then the man took to his\nheels.\n\nAnother lady, who resided at the house in the last years of the\nnineteenth century, has also some queer tales to tell of the\nappearance of the boggart. Says she:\n\n\"I would not live in that house again if its owner would give it to\nme, and the land it stands on. The place is uncanny, and the boggart\nis always there. I saw it more than once. I remember going into the\norchard one evening with my sister. We went to pick some apples, and\nhaving got as many as we wanted, were returning to the house. At the\ngate, which leads into the meadow, we saw the boggart--in the form of\nan old lady, with a withered face. She stood there waving her apron,\nand saying 'Ish, ish, ish.'\"\n\n\"We dropped the apples, and fled.\"\n\nOther persons still alive assert that they have seen this boggart, and\nit is firmly believed by many that the ghost of the old woman will\ncontinue to haunt the house until her sins are expiated, or until some\nminister or holy man \"lays the boggart,\" by using the forms laid down\nby law in the olden time, for exorcising evil spirits.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.\n\nTo the two other ghost stories relating to the township of\nGodley--namely, the stories of \"The Haunted Farm\" and \"The Spectre\nHound\"--I have thought it necessary to append a note of explanation. I\nnow adopt the same course with regard to the story of \"The Boggart of\nGodley Green.\" I wish to repeat in this instance that nothing in the\nstory must be credited to the imagination of the writer. All the\ndetails have been given to me by persons still living (May, 1906), who\nhave resided in the house at one time or another, and who solemnly\nassert that they have seen the boggart, under the circumstances\nrelated in the above account. Their statements were given to me in the\npresence of witnesses, and it is impossible to doubt the earnestness\nand honesty of my informants.\n\nI do not wish to cast any harsh doubt upon their statements, nor do I,\non the other hand, desire to give it forth that I am a convert to the\nbelief in ghosts and boggarts. I merely record the stories as told to\nme by people whose honesty I know to be above suspicion, and who\nfirmly believe that they have seen the things they describe.\n\nThe houses and the fields and lanes mentioned in the three stories, as\nhaunts of the ghosts, are all well known to me. I have walked over\nthem alone, at all times of the night and day, and in all seasons. And\nwith the house and grounds mentioned in the story of \"The Boggart of\nGodley Green\" I am especially familiar. The land behind the house dips\ndown to a secluded valley; and the gate mentioned by the narrators as\na favourite haunt of the ghost is half-way up the slope. It is\novershadowed by tall trees, and in certain lights the darkness cast by\nthese trees is peculiar, and almost palpable. Beyond the gate is a\nmeadow, from which at certain times the mists rise thick and white.\nWhen seen through the trees the mist sometimes takes strange forms. My\nfirst experience of it was rather startling. I had been in the orchard\nalone one night, and when slowly walking up the rise I chanced to look\ntowards the gate, and there in the gap between the trees appeared a\nwhite form, like the veiled and draped figure of a female. It seemed\nto be moving, and for the moment I received a shock. On proceeding\ntowards the gate, however, I found it was nothing but a moving column\nof mist, framed by the thick foliage of the trees. Even then, by an\nabnormal imagination, it might have been taken for a spectre.\n\nBut although the mist might in some degree explain away the appearance\nof \"The Boggart\" at the gate, I must candidly admit that it does not\naccount for the spectre hound, or the strange noises, movings of\nfurniture, and openings of doors, recorded in the two first stories.\nThese things are as much a mystery as ever.\n\n\n                                 THE END\n\n\n[Illustration:   HYDE:\n              FRED HIGHAM,\n                PRINTER,\n            \"CHESHIRE POST,\"\n             MARKET PLACE.\n                MCMVI.]","title":"Legends of Longdendale : $b being a series of tales founded upon the folk-lore of Longdendale Valley and its neighbourhood","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":51628}