Ghost Stories of an Antiquary

  THE ASH-TREE

  Everyone who has travelled over Eastern England knows the smallercountry-houses with which it is studded--the rather dank littlebuildings, usually in the Italian style, surrounded with parks of someeighty to a hundred acres. For me they have always had a very strongattraction, with the grey paling of split oak, the noble trees, the mereswith their reed-beds, and the line of distant woods. Then, I like thepillared portico--perhaps stuck on to a red-brick Queen Anne house whichhas been faced with stucco to bring it into line with the 'Grecian' tasteof the end of the eighteenth century; the hall inside, going up to theroof, which hall ought always to be provided with a gallery and a smallorgan. I like the library, too, where you may find anything from aPsalter of the thirteenth century to a Shakespeare quarto. I like thepictures, of course; and perhaps most of all I like fancying what life insuch a house was when it was first built, and in the piping times oflandlords' prosperity, and not least now, when, if money is not soplentiful, taste is more varied and life quite as interesting. I wish tohave one of these houses, and enough money to keep it together andentertain my friends in it modestly.

  But this is a digression. I have to tell you of a curious series ofevents which happened in such a house as I have tried to describe. It isCastringham Hall in Suffolk. I think a good deal has been done to thebuilding since the period of my story, but the essential features I havesketched are still there--Italian portico, square block of white house,older inside than out, park with fringe of woods, and mere. The onefeature that marked out the house from a score of others is gone. As youlooked at it from the park, you saw on the right a great old ash-treegrowing within half a dozen yards of the wall, and almost or quitetouching the building with its branches. I suppose it had stood thereever since Castringham ceased to be a fortified place, and since the moatwas filled in and the Elizabethan dwelling-house built. At any rate, ithad well-nigh attained its full dimensions in the year 1690.

  In that year the district in which the Hall is situated was the scene ofa number of witch-trials. It will be long, I think, before we arrive at ajust estimate of the amount of solid reason--if there was any--which layat the root of the universal fear of witches in old times. Whether thepersons accused of this offence really did imagine that they werepossessed of unusual power of any kind; or whether they had the will atleast, if not the power, of doing mischief to their neighbours; orwhether all the confessions, of which there are so many, were extorted bythe cruelty of the witch-finders--these are questions which are not, Ifancy, yet solved. And the present narrative gives me pause. I cannotaltogether sweep it away as mere invention. The reader must judge forhimself.

  Castringham contributed a victim to the _auto-da-fe_. Mrs Mothersole washer name, and she differed from the ordinary run of village witches onlyin being rather better off and in a more influential position. Effortswere made to save her by several reputable farmers of the parish. Theydid their best to testify to her character, and showed considerableanxiety as to the verdict of the jury.

  But what seems to have been fatal to the woman was the evidence of thethen proprietor of Castringham Hall--Sir Matthew Fell. He deposed tohaving watched her on three different occasions from his window, at thefull of the moon, gathering sprigs 'from the ash-tree near my house'. Shehad climbed into the branches, clad only in her shift, and was cuttingoff small twigs with a peculiarly curved knife, and as she did so sheseemed to be talking to herself. On each occasion Sir Matthew had donehis best to capture the woman, but she had always taken alarm at someaccidental noise he had made, and all he could see when he got down tothe garden was a hare running across the path in the direction of thevillage.

  On the third night he had been at the pains to follow at his best speed,and had gone straight to Mrs Mothersole's house; but he had had to wait aquarter of an hour battering at her door, and then she had come out verycross, and apparently very sleepy, as if just out of bed; and he had nogood explanation to offer of his visit.

  Mainly on this evidence, though there was much more of a less strikingand unusual kind from other parishioners, Mrs Mothersole was found guiltyand condemned to die. She was hanged a week after the trial, with five orsix more unhappy creatures, at Bury St Edmunds.

  Sir Matthew Fell, then Deputy-Sheriff, was present at the execution. Itwas a damp, drizzly March morning when the cart made its way up the roughgrass hill outside Northgate, where the gallows stood. The other victimswere apathetic or broken down with misery; but Mrs Mothersole was, as inlife so in death, of a very different temper. Her 'poysonous Rage', as areporter of the time puts it, 'did so work upon the Bystanders--yea, evenupon the Hangman--that it was constantly affirmed of all that saw herthat she presented the living Aspect of a mad Divell. Yet she offer'd noResistance to the Officers of the Law; onely she looked upon those thatlaid Hands upon her with so direfull and venomous an Aspect that--as oneof them afterwards assured me--the meer Thought of it preyed inwardlyupon his Mind for six Months after.'

  However, all that she is reported to have said were the seeminglymeaningless words: 'There will be guests at the Hall.' Which she repeatedmore than once in an undertone.

  Sir Matthew Fell was not unimpressed by the bearing of the woman. He hadsome talk upon the matter with the Vicar of his parish, with whom hetravelled home after the assize business was over. His evidence at thetrial had not been very willingly given; he was not specially infectedwith the witch-finding mania, but he declared, then and afterwards, thathe could not give any other account of the matter than that he had given,and that he could not possibly have been mistaken as to what he saw. Thewhole transaction had been repugnant to him, for he was a man who likedto be on pleasant terms with those about him; but he saw a duty to bedone in this business, and he had done it. That seems to have been thegist of his sentiments, and the Vicar applauded it, as any reasonable manmust have done.

  A few weeks after, when the moon of May was at the full, Vicar and Squiremet again in the park, and walked to the Hall together. Lady Fell waswith her mother, who was dangerously ill, and Sir Matthew was alone athome; so the Vicar, Mr Crome, was easily persuaded to take a late supperat the Hall.

  Sir Matthew was not very good company this evening. The talk ran chieflyon family and parish matters, and, as luck would have it, Sir Matthewmade a memorandum in writing of certain wishes or intentions of hisregarding his estates, which afterwards proved exceedingly useful.

  When Mr Crome thought of starting for home, about half past nine o'clock,Sir Matthew and he took a preliminary turn on the gravelled walk at theback of the house. The only incident that struck Mr Crome was this: theywere in sight of the ash-tree which I described as growing near thewindows of the building, when Sir Matthew stopped and said:

  'What is that that runs up and down the stem of the ash? It is never asquirrel? They will all be in their nests by now.'

  The Vicar looked and saw the moving creature, but he could make nothingof its colour in the moonlight. The sharp outline, however, seen for aninstant, was imprinted on his brain, and he could have sworn, he said,though it sounded foolish, that, squirrel or not, it had more than fourlegs.

  Still, not much was to be made of the momentary vision, and the two menparted. They may have met since then, but it was not for a score ofyears.

  Next day Sir Matthew Fell was not downstairs at six in the morning, aswas his custom, nor at seven, nor yet at eight. Hereupon the servantswent and knocked at his chamber door. I need not prolong the descriptionof their anxious listenings and renewed batterings on the panels. Thedoor was opened at last from the outside, and they found their masterdead and black. So much you have guessed. That there were any marks ofviolence did not at the moment appear; but the window was open.

  One of the men went to fetch the parson, and then by his directions rodeon to give notice to the coroner. Mr Crome himself went as quick as hemight to the Hall, and was shown to the room where the dead man lay. Hehas left some notes among his papers which show how genuine a respect andsorrow was felt fo
r Sir Matthew, and there is also this passage, which Itranscribe for the sake of the light it throws upon the course of events,and also upon the common beliefs of the time:

  'There was not any the least Trace of an Entrance having been forc'd tothe Chamber: but the Casement stood open, as my poor Friend would alwayshave it in this Season. He had his Evening Drink of small Ale in a silvervessel of about a pint measure, and tonight had not drunk it out. ThisDrink was examined by the Physician from Bury, a Mr Hodgkins, who couldnot, however, as he afterwards declar'd upon his Oath, before theCoroner's quest, discover that any matter of a venomous kind was presentin it. For, as was natural, in the great Swelling and Blackness of theCorpse, there was talk made among the Neighbours of Poyson. The Body wasvery much Disorder'd as it laid in the Bed, being twisted after soextream a sort as gave too probable Conjecture that my worthy Friend andPatron had expir'd in great Pain and Agony. And what is as yetunexplain'd, and to myself the Argument of some Horrid and ArtfullDesigne in the Perpetrators of this Barbarous Murther, was this, that theWomen which were entrusted with the laying-out of the Corpse and washingit, being both sad Pearsons and very well Respected in their MournfullProfession, came to me in a great Pain and Distress both of Mind andBody, saying, what was indeed confirmed upon the first View, that theyhad no sooner touch'd the Breast of the Corpse with their naked Handsthan they were sensible of a more than ordinary violent Smart and Acheingin their Palms, which, with their whole Forearms, in no long time swell'dso immoderately, the Pain still continuing, that, as afterwards proved,during many weeks they were forc'd to lay by the exercise of theirCalling; and yet no mark seen on the Skin.

  'Upon hearing this, I sent for the Physician, who was still in the House,and we made as carefull a Proof as we were able by the Help of a smallMagnifying Lens of Crystal of the condition of the Skinn on this Part ofthe Body: but could not detect with the Instrument we had any Matter ofImportance beyond a couple of small Punctures or Pricks, which we thenconcluded were the Spotts by which the Poyson might be introduced,remembering that Ring of _Pope Borgia_, with other known Specimens of theHorrid Art of the Italian Poysoners of the last age.

  'So much is to be said of the Symptoms seen on the Corpse. As to what Iam to add, it is meerly my own Experiment, and to be left to Posterity tojudge whether there be anything of Value therein. There was on the Tableby the Beddside a Bible of the small size, in which my Friend--punctuallas in Matters of less Moment, so in this more weighty one--used nightly,and upon his First Rising, to read a sett Portion. And I taking itup--not without a Tear duly paid to him wich from the Study of thispoorer Adumbration was now pass'd to the contemplation of its greatOriginall--it came into my Thoughts, as at such moments of Helplessnesswe are prone to catch at any the least Glimmer that makes promise ofLight, to make trial of that old and by many accounted SuperstitiousPractice of drawing the _Sortes;_ of which a Principall Instance, in thecase of his late Sacred Majesty the Blessed Martyr King _Charles_ and myLord _Falkland_, was now much talked of. I must needs admit that by myTrial not much Assistance was afforded me: yet, as the Cause and Originof these Dreadfull Events may hereafter be search'd out, I set down theResults, in the case it may be found that they pointed the true Quarterof the Mischief to a quicker Intelligence than my own.

  'I made, then, three trials, opening the Book and placing my Finger uponcertain Words: which gave in the first these words, from Luke xiii. 7,_Cut it down_; in the second, Isaiah xiii. 20, _It shall never beinhabited_; and upon the third Experiment, Job xxxix. 30, _Her young onesalso suck up blood_.'

  This is all that need be quoted from Mr Crome's papers. Sir Matthew Fellwas duly coffined and laid into the earth, and his funeral sermon,preached by Mr Crome on the following Sunday, has been printed under thetitle of 'The Unsearchable Way; or, England's Danger and the MaliciousDealings of Antichrist', it being the Vicar's view, as well as that mostcommonly held in the neighbourhood, that the Squire was the victim of arecrudescence of the Popish Plot.

  His son, Sir Matthew the second, succeeded to the title and estates. Andso ends the first act of the Castringham tragedy. It is to be mentioned,though the fact is not surprising, that the new Baronet did not occupythe room in which his father had died. Nor, indeed, was it slept in byanyone but an occasional visitor during the whole of his occupation. Hedied in 1735, and I do not find that anything particular marked hisreign, save a curiously constant mortality among his cattle andlive-stock in general, which showed a tendency to increase slightly astime went on.

  Those who are interested in the details will find a statistical accountin a letter to the _Gentleman's Magazine_ of 1772, which draws the factsfrom the Baronet's own papers. He put an end to it at last by a verysimple expedient, that of shutting up all his beasts in sheds at night,and keeping no sheep in his park. For he had noticed that nothing wasever attacked that spent the night indoors. After that the disorderconfined itself to wild birds, and beasts of chase. But as we have nogood account of the symptoms, and as all-night watching was quiteunproductive of any clue, I do not dwell on what the Suffolk farmerscalled the 'Castringham sickness'.

  The second Sir Matthew died in 1735, as I said, and was duly succeeded byhis son, Sir Richard. It was in his time that the great family pew wasbuilt out on the north side of the parish church. So large were theSquire's ideas that several of the graves on that unhallowed side of thebuilding had to be disturbed to satisfy his requirements. Among them wasthat of Mrs Mothersole, the position of which was accurately known,thanks to a note on a plan of the church and yard, both made by Mr Crome.

  A certain amount of interest was excited in the village when it was knownthat the famous witch, who was still remembered by a few, was to beexhumed. And the feeling of surprise, and indeed disquiet, was verystrong when it was found that, though her coffin was fairly sound andunbroken, there was no trace whatever inside it of body, bones, or dust.Indeed, it is a curious phenomenon, for at the time of her burying nosuch things were dreamt of as resurrection-men, and it is difficult toconceive any rational motive for stealing a body otherwise than for theuses of the dissecting-room.

  The incident revived for a time all the stories of witch-trials and ofthe exploits of the witches, dormant for forty years, and Sir Richard'sorders that the coffin should be burnt were thought by a good many to berather foolhardy, though they were duly carried out.

  Sir Richard was a pestilent innovator, it is certain. Before his time theHall had been a fine block of the mellowest red brick; but Sir Richardhad travelled in Italy and become infected with the Italian taste, and,having more money than his predecessors, he determined to leave anItalian palace where he had found an English house. So stucco and ashlarmasked the brick; some indifferent Roman marbles were planted about inthe entrance-hall and gardens; a reproduction of the Sibyl's temple atTivoli was erected on the opposite bank of the mere; and Castringham tookon an entirely new, and, I must say, a less engaging, aspect. But it wasmuch admired, and served as a model to a good many of the neighbouringgentry in after-years.

  * * * * *

  One morning (it was in 1754) Sir Richard woke after a night ofdiscomfort. It had been windy, and his chimney had smoked persistently,and yet it was so cold that he must keep up a fire. Also something had sorattled about the window that no man could get a moment's peace. Further,there was the prospect of several guests of position arriving in thecourse of the day, who would expect sport of some kind, and the inroadsof the distemper (which continued among his game) had been lately soserious that he was afraid for his reputation as a game-preserver. Butwhat really touched him most nearly was the other matter of his sleeplessnight. He could certainly not sleep in that room again.

  That was the chief subject of his meditations at breakfast, and after ithe began a systematic examination of the rooms to see which would suithis notions best. It was long before he found one. This had a window withan eastern aspect and that with a northern; this door the servants wouldbe always passing, and he did not like t
he bedstead in that. No, he musthave a room with a western look-out, so that the sun could not wake himearly, and it must be out of the way of the business of the house. Thehousekeeper was at the end of her resources.

  'Well, Sir Richard,' she said, 'you know that there is but the one roomlike that in the house.'

  'Which may that be?' said Sir Richard.

  'And that is Sir Matthew's--the West Chamber.'

  'Well, put me in there, for there I'll lie tonight,' said her master.'Which way is it? Here, to be sure'; and he hurried off.

  'Oh, Sir Richard, but no one has slept there these forty years. The airhas hardly been changed since Sir Matthew died there.'

  Thus she spoke, and rustled after him.

  'Come, open the door, Mrs Chiddock. I'll see the chamber, at least.'

  So it was opened, and, indeed, the smell was very close and earthy. SirRichard crossed to the window, and, impatiently, as was his wont, threwthe shutters back, and flung open the casement. For this end of the housewas one which the alterations had barely touched, grown up as it was withthe great ash-tree, and being otherwise concealed from view.

  'Air it, Mrs Chiddock, all today, and move my bed-furniture in in theafternoon. Put the Bishop of Kilmore in my old room.'

  'Pray, Sir Richard,' said a new voice, breaking in on this speech, 'mightI have the favour of a moment's interview?'

  Sir Richard turned round and saw a man in black in the doorway, whobowed.

  'I must ask your indulgence for this intrusion, Sir Richard. You will,perhaps, hardly remember me. My name is William Crome, and my grandfatherwas Vicar in your grandfather's time.'

  'Well, sir,' said Sir Richard, 'the name of Crome is always a passport toCastringham. I am glad to renew a friendship of two generations'standing. In what can I serve you? for your hour of calling--and, if I donot mistake you, your bearing--shows you to be in some haste.'

  'That is no more than the truth, sir. I am riding from Norwich to Bury StEdmunds with what haste I can make, and I have called in on my way toleave with you some papers which we have but just come upon in lookingover what my grandfather left at his death. It is thought you may findsome matters of family interest in them.'

  'You are mighty obliging, Mr Crome, and, if you will be so good as tofollow me to the parlour, and drink a glass of wine, we will take a firstlook at these same papers together. And you, Mrs Chiddock, as I said, beabout airing this chamber.... Yes, it is here my grandfather died....Yes, the tree, perhaps, does make the place a little dampish.... No; I donot wish to listen to any more. Make no difficulties, I beg. You haveyour orders--go. Will you follow me, sir?'

  They went to the study. The packet which young Mr Crome had brought--hewas then just become a Fellow of Clare Hall in Cambridge, I may say, andsubsequently brought out a respectable edition of Polyaenus--containedamong other things the notes which the old Vicar had made upon theoccasion of Sir Matthew Fell's death. And for the first time Sir Richardwas confronted with the enigmatical _Sortes Biblicae_ which you haveheard. They amused him a good deal.

  'Well,' he said, 'my grandfather's Bible gave one prudent piece ofadvice--_Cut it down_. If that stands for the ash-tree, he may restassured I shall not neglect it. Such a nest of catarrhs and agues wasnever seen.'

  The parlour contained the family books, which, pending the arrival of acollection which Sir Richard had made in Italy, and the building of aproper room to receive them, were not many in number.

  Sir Richard looked up from the paper to the bookcase.

  'I wonder,' says he, 'whether the old prophet is there yet? I fancy I seehim.'

  Crossing the room, he took out a dumpy Bible, which, sure enough, bore onthe flyleaf the inscription: 'To Matthew Fell, from his Loving Godmother,Anne Aldous, 2 September 1659.'

  'It would be no bad plan to test him again, Mr Crome. I will wager we geta couple of names in the Chronicles. H'm! what have we here? "Thou shaltseek me in the morning, and I shall not be." Well, well! Your grandfatherwould have made a fine omen of that, hey? No more prophets for me! Theyare all in a tale. And now, Mr Crome, I am infinitely obliged to you foryour packet. You will, I fear, be impatient to get on. Pray allowme--another glass.'

  So with offers of hospitality, which were genuinely meant (for SirRichard thought well of the young man's address and manner), they parted.

  In the afternoon came the guests--the Bishop of Kilmore, Lady MaryHervey, Sir William Kentfield, etc. Dinner at five, wine, cards, supper,and dispersal to bed.

  Next morning Sir Richard is disinclined to take his gun with the rest. Hetalks with the Bishop of Kilmore. This prelate, unlike a good many of theIrish Bishops of his day, had visited his see, and, indeed, residedthere, for some considerable time. This morning, as the two were walkingalong the terrace and talking over the alterations and improvements inthe house, the Bishop said, pointing to the window of the West Room:

  'You could never get one of my Irish flock to occupy that room, SirRichard.'

  'Why is that, my lord? It is, in fact, my own.'

  'Well, our Irish peasantry will always have it that it brings the worstof luck to sleep near an ash-tree, and you have a fine growth of ash nottwo yards from your chamber window. Perhaps,' the Bishop went on, with asmile, 'it has given you a touch of its quality already, for you do notseem, if I may say it, so much the fresher for your night's rest as yourfriends would like to see you.'

  'That, or something else, it is true, cost me my sleep from twelve tofour, my lord. But the tree is to come down tomorrow, so I shall not hearmuch more from it.'

  'I applaud your determination. It can hardly be wholesome to have the airyou breathe strained, as it were, through all that leafage.'

  'Your lordship is right there, I think. But I had not my window open lastnight. It was rather the noise that went on--no doubt from the twigssweeping the glass--that kept me open-eyed.'

  'I think that can hardly be, Sir Richard. Here--you see it from thispoint. None of these nearest branches even can touch your casement unlessthere were a gale, and there was none of that last night. They miss thepanes by a foot.'

  'No, sir, true. What, then, will it be, I wonder, that scratched andrustled so--ay, and covered the dust on my sill with lines and marks?'

  At last they agreed that the rats must have come up through the ivy. Thatwas the Bishop's idea, and Sir Richard jumped at it.

  So the day passed quietly, and night came, and the party dispersed totheir rooms, and wished Sir Richard a better night.

  And now we are in his bedroom, with the light out and the Squire in bed.The room is over the kitchen, and the night outside still and warm, sothe window stands open.

  There is very little light about the bedstead, but there is a strangemovement there; it seems as if Sir Richard were moving his head rapidlyto and fro with only the slightest possible sound. And now you wouldguess, so deceptive is the half-darkness, that he had several heads,round and brownish, which move back and forward, even as low as hischest. It is a horrible illusion. Is it nothing more? There! somethingdrops off the bed with a soft plump, like a kitten, and is out of thewindow in a flash; another--four--and after that there is quiet again.

  _Thou shall seek me in the morning, and I shall not be._

  As with Sir Matthew, so with Sir Richard--dead and black in his bed!

  A pale and silent party of guests and servants gathered under the windowwhen the news was known. Italian poisoners, Popish emissaries, infectedair--all these and more guesses were hazarded, and the Bishop of Kilmorelooked at the tree, in the fork of whose lower boughs a white tom-cat wascrouching, looking down the hollow which years had gnawed in the trunk.It was watching something inside the tree with great interest.

  Suddenly it got up and craned over the hole. Then a bit of the edge onwhich it stood gave way, and it went slithering in. Everyone looked up atthe noise of the fall.

  It is known to most of us that a cat can cry; but few of us have heard, Ihope, such a yell as came out of the trunk of the great ash. Two o
r threescreams there were--the witnesses are not sure which--and then a slightand muffled noise of some commotion or struggling was all that came. ButLady Mary Hervey fainted outright, and the housekeeper stopped her earsand fled till she fell on the terrace.

  The Bishop of Kilmore and Sir William Kentfield stayed. Yet even theywere daunted, though it was only at the cry of a cat; and Sir Williamswallowed once or twice before he could say:

  'There is something more than we know of in that tree, my lord. I am foran instant search.'

  And this was agreed upon. A ladder was brought, and one of the gardenerswent up, and, looking down the hollow, could detect nothing but a few dimindications of something moving. They got a lantern, and let it down by arope.

  'We must get at the bottom of this. My life upon it, my lord, but thesecret of these terrible deaths is there.'

  Up went the gardener again with the lantern, and let it down the holecautiously. They saw the yellow light upon his face as he bent over, andsaw his face struck with an incredulous terror and loathing before hecried out in a dreadful voice and fell back from the ladder--where,happily, he was caught by two of the men--letting the lantern fall insidethe tree.

  He was in a dead faint, and it was some time before any word could be gotfrom him.

  By then they had something else to look at. The lantern must have brokenat the bottom, and the light in it caught upon dry leaves and rubbishthat lay there for in a few minutes a dense smoke began to come up, andthen flame; and, to be short, the tree was in a blaze.

  The bystanders made a ring at some yards' distance, and Sir William andthe Bishop sent men to get what weapons and tools they could; for,clearly, whatever might be using the tree as its lair would be forced outby the fire.

  So it was. First, at the fork, they saw a round body covered withfire--the size of a man's head--appear very suddenly, then seem tocollapse and fall back. This, five or six times; then a similar ballleapt into the air and fell on the grass, where after a moment it laystill. The Bishop went as near as he dared to it, and saw--what but theremains of an enormous spider, veinous and seared! And, as the fireburned lower down, more terrible bodies like this began to break out fromthe trunk, and it was seen that these were covered with greyish hair.

  All that day the ash burned, and until it fell to pieces the men stoodabout it, and from time to time killed the brutes as they darted out. Atlast there was a long interval when none appeared, and they cautiouslyclosed in and examined the roots of the tree.

  'They found,' says the Bishop of Kilmore, 'below it a rounded hollowplace in the earth, wherein were two or three bodies of these creaturesthat had plainly been smothered by the smoke; and, what is to me morecurious, at the side of this den, against the wall, was crouching theanatomy or skeleton of a human being, with the skin dried upon the bones,having some remains of black hair, which was pronounced by those thatexamined it to be undoubtedly the body of a woman, and clearly dead for aperiod of fifty years.'