THE WITCH-MARE OF ORRA [URRA]

By Richard Blakeborough.

Once upon a time, in the days when the village of Urra was considerably larger than it is at the present time, there lived a blacksmith, whose forge was noted, for many miles beyond the bounds of the dale itself, as being the best shoeing-forge, and for all kinds of work which it was possible to fashion on an anvil. His name was Robert Wardle. He was quite a young fellow, and, at the time this story opens, just wedded to the lass he loved. Robert was really well-to-do; the house, the forge, and several acres of land adjoining belonged to him, and, as have just remarked, although his forge was in such an out-of-the-way place, the sound of his hammer, and the roar of his bellows, were very rarely silent, for he, and his father before him, were acknowledged as masters at their trade. So he and his bonny wife were laying by a goodly store of money, which the latter, for luck, kept put safely away in one of her bridal stockings, being securely tied, at the top, with her remaining bridal garter. Wardle used to tease his wife, every time when he saw her adding to their store, saying, “T’ brass, lass, is a grand thing ti have, nobbut it spoils t’ shap’ o’ thi stocking, ez Ah yance mind it.”¹ Taking all things into consideration, the fates were smiling upon the young couple.

To go back a little time, a few months before Ruth Nattrass became Ruth Wardle, her mother died. During her last illness, she called her daughter to her bedside, and most earnestly cautioned her never, no matter what the occasion might be, to hand over her threshold a drink water to any friend or stranger. For hospitality’s sake, she might offer such refreshment as she thought fit, set it in any convenient place, and then invite the thirsty passer-by to enter, and drink beneath the shelter of her roof. “But,” again cautioned her mother, in conclusion, “no matter who, or what the circumstance may be, thou must never hand over thi threshold drink o’ water to friend, or stranger, passing thi door.” The old lady offered no explanation for this curious caution—nay, command—and, when questioned, curtly replied, “My orders ought to enough to satisfy a dutiful child.” Just before the mother died, she bade Ruth look in certain cupboard, which had always been kept locked, and its contents a hidden mystery, Ruth, doing as her mother desired, found therein, nothing beyond a curious china cup. Taking it to her mother, the old lady said, with her dying breath, “Keep this in some place handy to get at, and where it will safe, but always in sight; never use it; but when passer-by begs a drink, reach down that cup, and it will call to mind my last command. Fill it with water, set it upon thy table, and bid them enter, and drink. But,” and then the old lady, halting tor breath, with a last effort gasped out, “never hand a sup o’ water over thy doorstep.” And, with this command upon her quivering lips, she passed away.

During the first year of their wedded life, several strangers begged of Ruth to give them a drink of water. Mindful of her mother’s last words, on all such occasions she bade the thirsty ones to enter, and then gave them the cup, often filled with milk as water. Indeed, so mindful was she of her mother’s words, that she made it a rule never to fill the cup until the passer-by was seated.

On one occasion, however, Ruth was very nearly induced to forget the promise she had made, and the resolution she had determined to observe. It came about in this wise. A very old, weary-looking body, and dreadfully lame, too, seated herself upon one of Ruth’s kitchen chairs, which had just been carried out of doors, to dry in the sun, after their weekly scrubbing. “Gi’e us a sup o’ watther, mah sweet honey, for Ah’s fain ti drop wi’ t’ heat, an’ Ah call a blessing on thi an’ heead; an’ may luck tak’ tha biv t’ airm, an’ nivver leave thi side.”² So glibly did the old dame’s tongue wag, and so pleasantly did she smile, that, just for the moment, Ruth was wishful not to miss a single word which fell from her lips, that, until the cup was her hand, all thought of her mother’s injunction slipped from her mind; but the sight of the cup, as she filled it, brought it her mind. So, setting the cup upon the table, she bade the dame to enter, making the excuse for doing that the chair she was sitting upon was damp, and she might catch cold.

“Nay! nay! Ah s’ neean catch cau’d. Fetch it ti ma, mah lass,”³ somewhat querulously whimpered the old body.

“And readily would I so.” said Ruth, “but my mother, who is dead, bade me, with her last breath, never to hand a drink water over my threshold, and I promised I would be ever-mindful of her word. And I am sure you would not wish me to break a promise made to my mother, when on her death-bed. Therefore, I beg your forgiveness if I now obey her last command. Besides, if you will but step within, I will give you comfort, and a bite of oaten cake.”

This she said kindly, offering the old dame her arm. “And wilt thou deny a poor, old, lame body a cup o’ watther, if she refuse ti drag her weary beeans a few yards fo’tthor, to please thi whim?”⁴

“I refuse ye nothing. I offer more than ye crave fra me. Come! see. I offer ye my arm: it is but a few steps, and I must refuse to hand it over the doorstan’; for it duty to obey my mother, rather than the foolish request of a stranger. Come!”

Almost leaping from the chair, the dame shouted, in an angry voice, “Then keep thi watther, Ah’ll a’e neean on’t.”⁵

And, so saying, the bad-tempered old lady hurried away, all signs of lameness and weariness gone. Ruth, for the first time since her mother’s caution, felt that there was some weighty reason for her having made her promise to act in accordance with her last wish. ”I now feel convinced,” said Ruth, to herself, she watched the old body hurry along, “that, had I been persuaded to carry the cup to her, rather than obey my dead mother’s last command, some great evil would have befallen me.”

This experience made her doubly cautious in the future. But it happened, one morning, some months after the above occurrence, a donkey, which an old lady was driving past her door, stumbled, pitching the dame out of the cart, on the cobble-stones, in front of Ruth’s door, from which her head received an ugly crack. Ruth rushed to the rescue, expecting to find the old body lying dead. However, much to Ruth’s amazement, the old dame opened her eves as Ruth took her head upon her lap and feebly thanked her, begging a drink of water, as she felt like fainting. In the excitement of the moment, Ruth forgot her mother’s command. Running indoors, she filled the cup, ran back, and offered it to the poor old thing lying upon the ground; but the instant she had done so, had it been possible, she would have snatched it from the dame, and dragged her inside, before offering the refreshing draught. It was too late! She beheld the wicked gleam which lighted up the old grey eyes she saw with what eagerness the dame almost snatched the cup from her kindly hand; she watched her lift the water to her lips, take a drink, and then smash the cup upon the ground, spring to her feet with demoniacal laugh, leap into her cart, and drive away!

Trembling with fear, poor Ruth went indoors. In the kindness of her heart, she had, all unwittingly, been led into breaking her mother’s last command. Almost without knowing what she did, she gathered together the broken remains of the cup, and, with the broken pieces lying in her lap, her husband found her. To him she told her story. Fearful for the future, he bade her put on her hood and cape, whilst, without a moment’s loss of time, harnessed the mare, and drove straight to the wise man.

When the wise man had listened to their story, he first inquired if all the broken bits of the cup had been secured. This Ruth could not certain about. They were given to understand that the possession of all the fragments would help them in warding off much of the evil which then threatened them. If, on examination, some bits were found wanting, they were to piece what remains they had together, and place the cup so far restored in a place of safety. But, if all the bits were left, when fixed they were to bury the restored cup, at dead of night in the mother’s grave; but that must be done without the knowledge of a third party. The next question was, “Had the dead mother a birth-mark?”

Ruth then remembered once to have seen, on the small of her mother’s back, a mark like horse’s shoe. In reply to the next question, she said she, herself, had not a birth-mark of any kind. On hearing this, the wise man told the husband, immediately on his return home, to burn, the side of his wife’s leg, just above the knee, some distinct mark, which he, seeing anywhere, and under other circumstances, would instantly, and without fail, recognise. After branding his wife, he was bidden to anoint the wound caused by the burn with an ointment, which the wise man gave to Robert in very curious box, which, was assured would not only immediately kill the pain, and heal the sore, but would leave the branded mark, for ever afterwards, distinct, and beyond the power of all earthly power to remove or hide.

“I very much fear that you will find that one bit of your broken cup missing. If such prove to be the case, your wife is under an evil spell, the character of which I may not make known to either of you. Believe me, if I did, it would only complicate matters, and be altogether to your disadvantage.” All the comfort he would, or perhaps could, give them, was the assurance that coming events would shape themselves that they would clearly point out the person in possession of the missing bit of the broken cup, if it were that piece was found wanting, and when that event did happen—which he foresaw would take place in either his own forge, or in that of some brother of the craft, he was instantly to kiss the scar he had branded upon his wife’s leg, and bid the holder of the lost fragment to be rooted to the spot they stood. He had then to demand instant surrender the lost fragment, and, when held the missing bit of pot in his hand, the evil spell which hung over his wife would for ever broken. The wise man admitted that there was much which he had just told them which, doubtless, seemed to them, at that moment, both mysterious and obscure; but everything in its proper time would become quite clear, and present no difficulties in being instantly understood; and that was all he could at that time do for them.

To Robert, it certainly did seem a curious command, to be told to kiss the scar: for many circumstances might—nay, most likely would—present themselves which would make it almost impossible feat to perform and, under the most favourable condition of things, such an act, his part, would be sure to excite suspicion the mind of the suspected person, and at once place them upon their guard. But, in those days, the edict of the wise man—if, at times, secretly doubted—was never boldly, or openly, questioned. No sooner did Rob and his wife arrive home than he bent a piece of wire into the shape of the letter “R,” and branded his wife, as directed. The application of the salve, as foretold, instantly removed the pain, and, by morning, the wound was healed. The cup, when pieced together, was found incomplete: one small bit, about a square inch in size, was missing. Diligent search was made, but they could not discover the missing bit. The pieces were fixed together, and, for security, were placed on the top of a high press, well out of reach, but ever in view.

Time deadens fear, as well as sorrow, so that, when a whole year had quietly passed away since their hurried visit to the wise man, and nothing had happened to give them any uneasiness, or give rise the least suspicion, both husband and wife insensibly came to feel had, perhaps, been unnecessarily excited over an event which, after all, most likely was nothing more alarming than that she (Ruth) had received a visit from some old dame, who, mebbe, was bit soft-headed: and, being a bit daft and sackless, she had smashed the cup in a mad fit, and then, frightened at what she had done, had jumped into her donkey-cart, and ridden, laughing, away.

“Aye! maist likelin’s that’s hoo it war, an’ now’t na mair serious. Ah s’u’dn’t wonder if t’ wise man tell’d us what he did, aiming wa s’u’d gahin him again. If wa ’ed lass, Ah’ll bet he’d made a gay bit o’ brass oot us afore wa’d gitten clear on him. Eh! what duz thoo aim?”⁶ So spake Robert Wardle, as put his black coat. He had just had his breakfast, and was almost to start on mournful errand; he was going to the funeral of the elder of his two brothers, who had long been in partnership at Pickering,

It was glorious morning. There was not cloud, there was not a breath of air stirring, the birds sang and the sun shone, and all was joy and everywhere around. “It might be, I was off to a wedding, instead of to the burying of a brother, ” said Wardle, as kissed his wife, just before he threw himself into the saddle. “Now, think on.” he shouted, as he rode away, “I shall be back home again to-night; they’ll beg me to stay owernight, but I shall come home to thoo and the bairn; that’s sattled yance for all.”

About half past eleven that evening, he led his horse quietly into the stable. Ruth had not opened the kitchen-door when he passed, he concluded that she had fallen asleep, it then long past their usual hour for retiring to rest. On entering the kitchen, he was surprised not to find his wife waiting to welcome him home again. “Ruth! Ruth!” called; but, as no Ruth answered, he rushed upstairs. There he found the baby sound asleep, but no Ruth,

Downstairs he ran, and, went once again into the kitchen, he noticed a heap of clothes—her clothes, those she had been wearing that morning, when he had left her. There they were, every single article, lying huddled, together in a heap; shoes, stockings, underclothing, dress, apron—everything— lying just as if they had slipped from her body she had risen from the chair. Rousing the neighbours, learnt from them that his wife had been seen as late as nine o’clock that evening. She was then quite lively, and looking and longing for his return. But, further than that, not another bit of information could he gather. When left to himself, in a dazed kind of way he wondered had she suddenly lost her reason, thrown off her clothes, and, thus naked, rushed out and drowned herself? But this, and other conjectures, only left him the more bewildered. For a week, the country was searched by willing and sympathetic friends, but no Ruth could be found. The more Wardle reasoned the matter in his mind, the more convinced he became that her disappearance was owing to the evil spell which had fallen upon her when she forgot her mother’s last command, and handed the cup of water over the threshold. One thing was certain; Ruth was gone, and his life, henceforth, and for ever, must hopeless blank.

Again he visited the wise man. But, beyond a promise to work his behalf, and a thrice-repeated caution, that he was to very careful that he remained pure, gravely adding, “Think on, Robert Wardle, neean on us can put a curb upon oor thoughts; but, if so minded, wa can allus be t’maister oor actions.”⁷ Wardle listened to these words of wisdom with grave attention, but, when the wise man wound up his remarks by saying, “And see that you let no other woman win her way into thy — ” he got no further.

That was more than the offended husband could bear, and remain silent. Robert flared up. “No other woman, let her be who she may, can ever win a place within my heart. I swear —.”

“Hold,” cried the wise man, “be careful that you do not now forge links in a chain which, some day, you will find hard to break. You are not the first, think on. who has said—and, at the time, meant it—’I will never wed again!’ Take my advice, return home, place the broken cup in some very secure place, but where it is ever likely to catch your eye, and thus remind you of what I have said. Keep thy heart clean, and thine eye pure. There, go, and heed my caution.”

It was evident to Robert, that he must have a woman about the place. For himself, he was careless how things went, but there was the boy—he must be properly cared for. “Fortunately,” his Pickering brother said, “ I can find you the very person yon need to care for the lad. My wife’s sister, Bella, she is an orphan, she has been living with us for some time. Noo, she’s just the lass you want.”

Wardle knew nothing about the young lady; he had seen her, for the first and only when at his brother’s funeral, and then only at odd moments. He thanked his brother for his kindly suggestion, and it was arranged that the young lady should come, for a time at least, until he could meet with some older body to fill the post of housekeeper. An old fellow, native of Pickering, who met Robert when he drove over to bring Bella his home, shook his head, in very doubtful way, and boldly said, “Thoo mun take heed, Bob: sha’s nobbut a flighty jade, isn’t yon sister o’ thi brother’s wife. Ther’s now’t staid eneeaf aboot her for thoo—thoo man keep an e’e on thi manners.”⁸

“What do yon mean?” demanded Wardle, somewhat annoyed what was hinted at.

“Ah meean, if thoo dizn’t tak’ care o’ thi’sel, an’ watch what’s sha’s efther, sha’ll be Mistress Wardle afore twelve month cum this day. Noo, thoo needn’t git thi dander up, it’s reeght what Ah’s tellin’ o’ ya”⁹; and, before Wardle could assure him that he was entirely mistaken, the old chap walked away, adding, as he turned his back upon him, “Think on, sha’s a despert weel-made lass, An’ bonny leeaking, an’ all!”¹⁰

Bella was more than beautiful; she one of those women who stick at nothing when they have set their mind upon attaining given object. She was not long installed as Robert’s housekeeper before she become fully determined on her line of action. Robert was a handsome young fellow, he was well-to-do; and, if Ruth were not dead, she ought to be. Anyway, when that point should be considered proven, she was quite determined that all things should sufficiently advanced for Robert to make her rightful mistress of the place.

“I mean,” said she to herself, “when the proper time arrives, to hold nearer relationship to you, sir, than your housekeeper; my name is not Bella if I am not mother to his lad.” But the designing damsel well knew that she must be very careful how she approached the weaker side of Robert Wardle’s stricken heart. For long Wardle’s unsuspicious nature was altogether blind to the many arts and wiles Bella cast in his path. Not so. however, was it with the neighbours.

They presently began to whisper amongst themselves, and pass remarks not very much to Bella’s credit; but, be it here remarked, not a word was heard against Robert Wardle himself, Somehow, as time went on, there insensibly grew in his heart a feeling, foolishly imagined, of thankfulness—had he been just to himself, it was one akin to pleasure—in having Bella in his home, to tend to the wants of his boy. He always said to himself that it was his boy, and not the comfort which he every day experienced, having his wants and wishes attended to, which Bella ever strove to divine before he almost required these many little attentions. What might have happened can never be known, had not a neighbour stopped Wardle, as was returning home one evening, and then plainly spoken her mind, “Ah’ll tell tha what, Bob,” said she, “if Ah thow’t, nay, if the village aimed ‘at thoo knaw’d, an’ war willing sike things s’u’d be gahin on i’ thi’ hoos, wa s’u’d cry sham’ o’ tha, wa s’u’d, mun.”¹¹

“Now, what’s up?” demanded Robert.

“Up! whya, dizn’t thco ken ‘at yon brassnd hussey of a Bella is wearing on her breast thi awn dear wife’s ‘kerchief? Is ta willing ‘at yon sham’less wench s’u’d stauping up an’ doon t’ village wi’ her awn legs thrussen intiv thi awn Ruth’s bridal stockings? Tell ma that.”¹²

“Sha wadn’t darr for ti deea sikan thing,”¹³ he gasped; and his questioner was satisfied he was in ignorance of what Bella was doing.

“Bud is, an’ if Ah war thoo, Ah wad gan straight yam, an’ rive ’em off her, an’ turn her ti’ t’ door: sha’s neea better wo’th!”¹⁴

Wardle did not wait to hear another word, but hurried home. When seated by the fire, and quite near Bella, he at once recognised the kerchief that once worn by his own dear Ruth. It was of very fine material, worked with silken flowers; there could be no doubt but that it was the same his own wife had worn, when a blushing bride. Robed, as Bella was, in the short skirt of the period, a very considerable display her nether limbs was afforded him, but it was not then that their shapeliness, as on many other occasions, pleased his eye, but the undoubted proof that the dame had truly spoken. Bella was certainly wearing Ruth’s bridal stockings. He was, for few moments, doubtful that it could be so. for he well remembered that, immediately after his wife’s disappearance, he had gathered those very things together, along with some few other articles, and hidden them away in a safe place. “Bella,” said he. “is that Ruth’s tucker you are wearing?”

“Yes,” she answered, not in the least abashed, and taking it off as she admitted the fact, “It is no use such a pretty tucker lying hidden away, for the moths to spoil. And I am sure I look nice in it. Come, tuck it in for me. as best you like to see them worn.”

Not heeding her request, he continued, interrogatively, “And the stockings ? ”

Coquettishly raising her skirt, she placed her little foot, with its dainty bow and buckle, upon his knee, as she replied, with the gayest little laugh, “Come sir! don’t look so shocked. Of course they are!”

For instant, Wardle sat bewildered. Thoughts whirled through his throbbing heart. Something seemed whisper, “Ruth is gone for ever!” and there came the thought, all unbidden, “Bella is beautiful, and she loves my lad. What need I care what the idle gossips say?” His arm was half-extended, to draw her to his breast. This was hardly needful, for Bella had, already, claimed a place upon his knee. Her head had fallen upon his shoulder, and her arm was striving to wind itself about his neck. For just one second his senses were in perfect whirl; for one single instant Ruth’s memory was, if not forgotten, at least overshadowed the beauty and charms of this being, who was now openly striving blind his better judgment, and win a place in his heart by storm.

To his credit, it was but for one brief instant that Bella’s charms held any influence to bewilder his senses. Whilst yet her arm was striving to wind itself about his neck, his eye rested upon the broken cup, and instantly remembered— ” Man may not always able to govern his thoughts, but if so minded, he can always be master of his actions”—and, to his shame, he called to mind those other words, upon hearing which had lost his temper— ” And see no other woman wins a place in thi heart.” He remembered every word, the wise man had uttered. What would he say now ? Nay, what could he say, what ; dare say, if Ruth were to enter at that moment?

“Bella! Bella!” he cried, pushing her from him, and starting to his feet, “Take those things off at once. You have forgotten—you are now forgetting— yourself.” If he had needed any further insight into Bella’s character, the fearful passion into which she flew, and the terrible scene which followed his refusal to take her to his heart was something he never forgot, and which he was ever thankful that he had escaped from. Of one thing there existed not a ghost of a doubt in his mind: Bella must go back home, and that, too. at the very earliest moment. He had been tempted, and had, fully and sorrowfully admitted, very nearly yielded; it was the sight the broken cup which, had saved him. It, the instant his eye had rested upon it, had, once and for ever, dispelled the network of fascination which Bella, and her charms, too openly displayed, had, for some time, been unconsciously weaving about him. The broken cup had saved him from being spoiled thing like it was; with one piece for ever wanting—his honour. He knew how very near he had been losing, for ever, the chance of regaining the lost piece. Was it that, thus gaining the victory over his passions, he had found it, or was about to find it? He earnestly prayed it might be so.

To the neighbours, he explained that Bella’s hurried departure was owing to his own immediate departure to a sick friend, whose forge he was going to see to. This friend lived at Appleton-le-Moor, whither he went the next day. On that very night, an old lady, driving a donkey-cart, with a led mare behind, stopped at this friend’s forge, to have a cast shoe replaced upon the hind foot of the mare. When Wardle lifted the mare’s leg, to hold its hoof between his knees, what was his amazement, nay, utter bewilderment, when observed the letter “R” branded upon its leg, the exact place where he had branded his own dear Ruth; it was the same letter too. A dimness came over his eyes, and his knees shook beneath him. He was dizzy, and weak with excitement. What he might have done he never knew, had it not been that recognised the far-seeing wisdom of agitated as he was. It was all over in a few seconds. His excitement and nervous agitation instantly gave place to iron determination, and he became as steady as a rock. He had found his Ruth; she had been turned into Witch-mare! Now it was that recognised the far-seeing wisdom of the wise man, in commanding him to brand his wife in that particular place; it was exactly, now that she had been turned into a mare, the very place which his eye must rest upon as seized the limbs, and so easy for him to kiss. Pressing his lips upon the branded letter, he immediately afterwards shouted “Be ye rooted to the ground!”

“Curses on ye!” shrieked the old hag, almost choked with passion, “my blackest and most deadly curse cling to ye! ”

” Hold thi curses; or, by the powers above us, I will heat this bar red-hot. and run it through your vile carcase.” said he, as he busied himself, with gentle care, in drawing and removing the nails of the other three shoes, for well he knew that if his wife should regain her rightful form, with the shoes still fixed upon her hoofs, there they must for ever remain, upon her hands and feet. When the last nail was drawn, and the last shoe fell upon the ground, he turned to his prisoner. “Now then,” he cried, “the piece of pot. Quick, ere I lose my temper. Hand it to me. D’ ye hear,?” But the old witch stood sullen and speechless, immovable and defiant.

Angrily thrusting a bar of iron into the fire, he worked the bellows with such power that the air and fire, together, roared like some wild bull, and the sparks rushed up the wide chimney as from some angry volcano. “The piece of china,” he shouted. “Quick, or I will tear every rag from your vile body, and spit you this molten bar,” drawing it for an instant from the hungry flames. Thrusting it back again, dragged her cape from her shoulders, and, I slitting her dress from top to bottom, flung it upon the ground.

“Have mercy! have mercy!” she wailed, only let me go, and I will give it you.”

“Give it to me now! ” Wardle almost shrieked, in his terrible excitement, “or I will riddle your old carcase with burning holes. As I am a living man, I swear it. ” Three strokes of the bellows he gave, and then, drawing the glowing, hissing, bar from the almost molten and blinding heat the roaring exultant fire, he banged it upon the anvil, where it lay sobbing molten tears, which fell upon the blackened floor, bursting into a thousand weird and hellish forms.

“The piece! the piece of china!” he almost yelled, in his excitement hitting the hissing bar a mighty blow, which burst the glowing mass, as if a bombshell had exploded, and sending thousands of fiery, molten pellets all around. Like spiteful demons, they fell upon the old witch.

“Here it is!” she yelled in agonising tones, as the burning stars fell upon her yellow flesh, and stung her like so many giant hornets. Snatching the lost fragment from her outstretched hand, he stood, speechless with joy. As his fingers closed upon it, the mare instantly changed into his dearly loved Ruth.

“My darling,” he cried, clasping her loved form to his breast, in rapturous delight, “at last you are restored to me, and our boy.”

“Oh, Robert!” was all Ruth could say, as she wound her arms about his neck. And thus, for moment, they stood, filled with emotions too great for words,

Robert hastily covering her with the torn dress and cape of the old hag, saying, as he wrapped them about his wife, “I only wish that you, you wicked old dame, may turn into a mare yourself.”

No sooner had the last word of this wish fallen from his lips, than the old hag uttered a shriek, such as can only imagine breaking from the lips of some lost soul; her clothes fell upon the ground, and, in her place, stood the form of old, worn-out mare. Giving his wife into [the] charge of his friend’s wife, telling her she should hear their sad story presently, seized hold of the big hammer, led the mare forth, down a back lane, and killed it with one blow between the eyes. Later that evening, Ruth told her story.

“On that eventful night,” she began, “I had been seated by the fire for some time, expecting you home every minute. I was very tired, for I had busied myself all the day to pass the time away, and I fell asleep. I was awakened by feeling something cold being thrust between my teeth. I was wide awake in an instant, but it was too late: the headgear of a horse had been thrown over me. I remember making one frantic attempt to tear the thing off. I could not, and, next moment, I was led forth, in the form you found me. I remember once hearing my tormentor say, to another witch, that if you would only yield to the blandishments of Bella, she would be allowed to grind the bit china to powder, and cast it to the four winds; and then you would never have saved me from my cruel persecutor.” The story, of course, ends in Robert and Ruth living a very happy and virtuous life ever afterwards.

There can be, I think, but little doubt that the present story is the sequel to one which has been lost. Here and there we are met with the assumption that we have already been told something, and which, therefore, needs no further explanation. That Ruth’s mother, the cup, the broken piece of china, and the witch, all play a part in some earlier events which we know nothing, is beyond all doubt. There is, however, as here told, indisputable proof that it mutilated ‘’Witch-mare” legend, so commonly told throughout Scandinavia. The withstanding of evil (temptation) so ingeniously introduced in the personage of immodest Bella, belongs to a much later period of story-telling. The actual scenes of Bella’s love-making have been, here, considerably toned down from the MSS., originally dictated.

• Note. —The writer was not aware, ten years ago. that the North Riding possessed a witch-mare story. The foregoing tale is taken from Calvert’s MSS., and, in part, from notes given the writer by the late Vicar of Northallerton.

From the column ‘Tales Our Grandmothers Told’ by Richard Blakeborough and published in the Whitby Gazette on 17 February 1905. Available online at the British Newspaper Archive. <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0001103/19050217/247/0008> [accessed 23 May 2023]

1
“Money, girl, is a wonderful thing to have, but it ruins the shape of your stocking, as I once remember it.”
2
“Give me a drink of water, my dear, because I’m about to faint from the heat. I bless you and your head, and may good fortune always be with you.”
3
“Give me a drink of water, my dear, because I’m about to faint from the heat. I bless you and your head, and may good fortune always be with you.”
4
“And will you deny a poor, old, disabled person a cup of water, if they refuse to drag their weary bones a few yards for you, just to satisfy your own desire?”
5
“Then keep your water, I won’t have any of it.”
6
“Yes, that’s probably how it was, and nothing more serious. I wouldn’t be surprised if the wise man told us what he did, hoping we’d go and see him again. If we had less, I’ll bet he’d have made a fair bit of money out of us before we’d gotten away from him. Well! What do you think?”
7
Consider this, Robert Wardle, none of us can control our thoughts; but, if we choose to, we can always control our actions.
8
You must be careful, Bob: she’s just a flighty girl, isn’t that your brother’s wife’s sister? There’s nothing steady enough about her for you – you should keep an eye on your manners.
9
I mean, if you don’t take care of yourself, and watch what she’s up to, she’ll be Mrs. Wardle before this time next year. Now, you don’t need to get angry, it’s the truth what I’m telling you.
10
Just think, she’s a very well-made girl, and very pretty too!
11
I’ll tell you what, Bob, if I thought, no, if the village knew, and were willing for such things to be going on in your house, we would be ashamed of you, we would, man.
12
Wake up! Don’t you know that that brazen hussy, Bella, is wearing your dear wife’s handkerchief on her chest? Are you willing to let that shameless girl strut up and down the village with her own legs stuffed into your own Ruth’s bridal stockings? Tell me that.
13
She wouldn’t dare to do such a thing.
14
Well, I tell you, if I were you, I would go straight home, take them back from her, and throw her out the door: she’s not worth it!