“I believe, Thomas,” said he, “the brown speckled hen has never got out of your lane; the hedges are walled and high.”
In the afternoon back came the farmer. “Parson, you’ve done for old Cherry with your circle. I found the brown speckled hen in our lane.”
Not twenty miles from Morwenstow, a few years ago, occurred the following circumstances, which I know are true, and which I give here as an illustration of the superstition which prevails in Devon and Cornwall.
A boy of the parish of Bratton Clovelly, proving intelligent in the national school, was sent by the rector to Exeter to the training college, in time passed his examination and obtained his certificate. He then returned for a holiday to his native village and volunteered to deliver in the schoolroom a lecture on “Popular Superstitions.”
The lecture was announced, the rector took the chair, the room was crowded, and a very fair discourse was delivered against the prevailing belief in witchcraft. The lecturer was heard patiently to the close, and then up rose one of the principal farmers in the place, Brown by name.
“Mr. Lecturer,” said he, “and all good people here assembled: You’ve had your say against witchcraft, and you says that there ain’t nothing of the sort. Now, I’ll tell’y a thing or two—facts; and a pinch of facts is worth a bushel of reasons. There was, t’other day, my cow Primrose, the Guernsey, and as gude a cow for milk as ever was. Well, on that day, when my missus put the milk on the fire to scald ’un, it wouldn’t hot. She put on a plenty of wood, and turves, and brimmel-bushes, but ’twouldn’t hot noways. And sez she to me, as I comes in, ‘I’ll tell’y what tez, Richard, Primrose has been overlooked by old Betty Spry. Now, you go off as fast as you can to the White Witch up to Exeter.’ Well, I did so; and when I came to the White Witch, as lives nigh All Hallows on the Walls, I was shown into a room; and there was a farmer stamping about, in just such a predicament as me. Sez I, ‘Are you come to see the White Witch?’—‘Ah, that I be!’ sez he; ‘my old cow has fallen ill, and won’t give no milk.’—‘Why,’ sez I, ‘my cow’s milk won’t hot, and the missus has put a lot of fire underneath.’—‘Do you suspect anybody?’ sez he.—‘I do,’ sez I; ‘there’s old Betty Spry has an evil eye, and her’s the one as has done it.’ Just then the door opens, and the maiden looks in, and sez to me, ‘Mr. Brown, the White Witch will speak with you.’ And then I am shown into the next room. Well, directly I come in, sez he to me, ‘I know what you’ve come for before you speak a word: your cow’s milk won’t scald. I’ll tell’y why: she’s been overlooked by an old woman named Betty Spry.’ He said so to me, as sure as eggs is eggs, and I never had told him not one word. Then sez he to me, ‘You go home, and get sticks out four different parishes, and set them under the milk, and her’ll boil.’ Well, I paid ’un a crown, and then I came here; and I fetched sticks from Lew Trenchard, and from Stowford, and from German’s Week, and from Broadwood Widger; and no sooner were they lighted under the pan than the milk boiled.”
Then up rose Farmer Tickle, very red in the face, and said: “Mr. Lecturer: You’ve said that there be no such things as spirits and ghosts. I’ll tell’y something. I was coming over Broadbury one night, and somehow or other I lost my way. I was afraid of falling into the bog—you know all about that bog, don’t’y, by the old Roman castle? There was a gentleman—a sort of traveller, in my recollection—was driving over Broadbury in a light tax-cart, and suddenly he went into the bog, and his horse and cart were swallowed up, and he had much ado to save himself. Well, he didn’t want to lose his tax-cart and harness, for the tax-cart contained bales of cloth and the harness was new; so he went to the blacksmith at the cross, and got him to come there with his man and grappling-irons. They let the irons down into the bog, and presently they got hold of something and began to draw it up. It was a horse; and they threw it on the side and said, ‘There, sir, now you have your horse.’—‘No,’ answered he, looking hard at it, ‘this is a hunter, with saddle and stirrups. Let down the irons again.’ So they felt about once more, and presently they pulled up another horse and laid him on the side. ‘There, sir, is this yours?’ sez the blacksmith; ‘he’s in gig-harness all right.’—‘No,’ sez the traveller; ‘my horse was a dapple, and this is a grey. Down with the irons again.’ This time they cries out, ‘Yo, heave-oh! we’ve got hold of the tax-cart!’ But when they pulled ’un up it was a phaeton. So they let their grappling-irons down again, and presently up came another horse, and this was in harness; but sez the traveller, ‘He’s not mine, for mine was a mare. Try again, my fine fellows.’ Next as came up had no harness at all on; and the next had blinkers with Squire G——’s crest on them. Well, they worked all day, and they got up a dozen horses and three carriages, but they never found the traveller’s tax-cart and the dapple mare.
“But, Lor’ bless me! I’ve been wandering again on Broadbury, and now I must return to the point. Knowing what I did about the bog, I was a bit frighted of falling into her. Presently I came to a bit of old quarry and rock, and I thought there might be some one about, so I shouted at the top of my voice, ‘Farmer Tickle has lost his way.’ Well, just then a voice from among the stones answered me, and said, ‘Who? who?’—‘Farmer Tickle of X——, I say.’ Then the voice answered again, asking: ‘Who? who? who?’—‘Are ye hard of hearing?’ I shouted. ‘I say tez Farmer Tickle, as live in the old rummling farm of Southcot in X—— parish.’ As imperent as possible again the voice asked: ‘Who? who? who?’ ’Tez Farmer Tickle, I tell’y!’ I shouted; ‘and if you axes again I’ll come along of you with my stick.’—‘Who? who? who?’ I ran to the rocks and beat about with my stick; and then a great white thing rushed out——”
“It was an owl,” said the lecturer scornfully.
“An owl!” echoed Farmer Tickle. “I put it to the meeting. A man as says this was an owl, and not a pixie, would say anything!” and he sat down amidst great applause.