Uncle Joe's Stories

by Baron Edward Hugessen Knatchbull-Hugessen Brabourne

Even the three bold men, Firminger, Long, and Finn, seemed less eager than hitherto, and whispered to each other in low, mysterious tones, that they fancied they saw dark and fearful figures moving about among the smoke in which the knoll was enveloped. It was well known to these men, and indeed to most or all of their companions, that Aldington knoll was reputed to be the abode and principal gathering-place of all the evil creatures in that part of the country.

By common consent men had for a long time past shunned it as a haunted and wicked spot, and it was no common evidence of courage that so many men had been found to approach it upon this occasion. After a few moments, the three men recollected the responsibility of their position, and the absolute certainty that if their party returned home defeated, the neighbourhood would thenceforward be worse off than ever. The crones would never forget the plunder and destruction of their cottage, and would doubtless exact a severe compensation from the perpetrators of that ruthless deed.

Moreover, for a couple of hundred people to have it said that they had been circumvented and beaten by three old women, was a thing not to be thought of; so, shame overcoming their reluctance, they boldly marched forward again, and encouraged their followers to charge up to the very foot of the knoll. They had got quite close to it when, either by accident, or because he pulled it too hard in his nervous fidgeting with it, the string by which James Firminger's relic was tied round his neck suddenly broke, and the charm itself fell to the ground.

Hardly had this occurred, when a yell, most discordant in its tone, but appearing to express a mingled feeling of joy, triumph, fury and revengeful longing all in one, broke from the interior of the mount. The next instant the knoll itself opened wide, just like the mouth of a man preparing for a tremendous yawn, and a whole volley of cinders and ashes came bursting over the approaching party in a most disconcerting and unpleasant manner. At the same time strange and uncouth figures suddenly appeared issuing from the knoll, some with goat's heads and horns, others with the bodies of men but a pig's head, snout and bristles, others like monkeys (but oh! such frightful monkeys as never were seen) and all with eyes that rolled fearfully in their heads and glittered like fire. Conspicuous among this awful band appeared the figures of the three crones, Bony, Skinny, and Humpy, each carrying a broomstick in her hand, and followed by her cat, which bounded forward as if to attack the invaders of the haunted hill. This was more than the latter could stand—they wavered—looked round—tottered a step or two backward, and then, as the cinders, hot cinders too, came upon them and the evil creatures almost touched them, they turned round with one accord, and fled down from the knoll as fast as their legs would carry them. Farmer Long was the first of the three leaders who gave way, for he afterwards declared that he recognized the lost kitten in a cat which seemed to select him as her particular object of attack, and as he ran, he vowed that he felt a scratch which penetrated, sharp and deep, in such a manner that he could not sit down comfortably for a fortnight, and felt perfectly sure that only the claws of that kitten could or would have dealt him such a wound. As for Finn, he so lost his head, that he ran off, bawling out "Amen" continuously at the top of his voice, but in a tone which conveyed so little of the real importance and dignity attaching to the word, that it is little wonder that it had no effect.

James Firminger—as became a man of his character and position—stood his ground longest, but his charm being gone, he felt less confidence, and when he, too, turned and ran, he felt himself belaboured by an invisible stick all the way down to the gate of the field.

Shouts, shrieks and yells of laughter, followed the retreating party, and there was scarcely a man in whose breast, amid all his fears, the thought did not arise that the result of this day's work had turned out to be one so utterly unfortunate for the people, and so triumphant for the crones, that the neighbourhood would have to submit to be witch-ridden for ever after.

But, sometimes, in human affairs, whether those of an individual or a community, at the very moment when things seem to be at their worst, they begin to mend, and that amendment is not unfrequently brought about by some agent which, to the wise and knowing of mankind, would have appeared the most insignificant and the most unlikely to have effected the change. So it was in the present instance. The affrighted people came rushing through the gate, and, avoiding the road through the wood, which was their natural way home, turned in an easterly direction, and ran up the road leading away from the woods, and into the main road leading from Aldington Corner to Hythe. They had run but a very short distance when they came upon the "innocent," simple Steenie Long, sitting on the bank of the road side, apparently looking for flowers. He looked up with a vacant expression upon his face (which I am told was not unusual with idiots in those days) and seemed astonished to see so many people all running in such a hurry.

Several of the party hurried past the boy, too much occupied about providing for their own safety to think either of him or of anybody else. Presently, however, Farmer Long came running by, already somewhat out of breath, and burning with rage and shame at having been unable to resist the impulse which had made him fly before the power of the evil creatures of the knoll. When he came to the place where his son was sitting, he stopped short in his flight, and seizing the boy by the arm, hastily exclaimed, "Come along, lad, come along; this is no place for the likes of you!" endeavouring at the same time to hurry the youth away with him.

But "Simple Steenie" was by no means of the same opinion. He drew himself away from his father's hold, opened his large blue eyes to their fullest extent, and observed in a calm but very decided tone. "Steenie not."

"Not what, boy?" said the farmer eagerly. "You'd better not stop here, anyhow; leastways if you do, the witches will have you." But the boy, who had by this time risen to his feet, only smiled pleasantly upon his father, with the simple smile of the weak of intellect, and answered in a gentle tone. "Steenie not 'fraid. People run. Steenie not run."