Chapter II: The Witch's Warning

_Ban._ The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are
of them. Whither are they vanished?
_Macbeth._ Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted,
As a breath of wind. Would they had stayed!
_Ban._ Were there such things here as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten up the root
That makes the reason prisoner?
_Macbeth_, Act. I, Scene 3.

Let it not be supposed that Wilfred and I ever had any quarrels, at any rate before my fifteenth birthday. I do not remember even one. This, however, was not my fault. Ofttimes when I was displeased I said things which, if said to many brothers, would have provoked a quarrel; but Wilfred apparently took no heed of my angry words; save to give me a peculiar look, which sometimes almost made me shudder. But he never lost his temper in return, or indulged in violent speech. This was peculiarly trying to me, for I was passionate, and longed to give vent to my feelings; but he would shrug his shoulders at my rage and, with a strange smile, walk away.

Consequently, although my brother never spoke angrily to me, there were no confidences between us. We never told each other our thoughts, as most brothers do, and we were never companions in any escapades or adventures. Thus I did not speak to him about the curse of the Trewinions, nor of what my father had communicated to me about the history of our house. Yet Wilfred seemed to know far more than I did about everything appertaining to our people.

At first I wondered about this, but after a while I began to realise how much my mother and Wilfred were to each other, and how often they walked together. Besides, I often saw him in the library conning over books that to me contained no interest whatever.

About three years after the interview with my father, that is to say, when I was eighteen years of age and Wilfred sixteen, I had gone out on the headland, and, in a dreamy way, was watching the sea birds as they soared around and around, ever and anon making a dive into the water. Up to this time I had remained a pupil of the Rev. Thomas Polperrow, but had been told by my father that my school days were over. He would, he said, have sent me either to Cambridge or Oxford but for the fact that the Trewinion heir was forbidden by the laws of the family to leave the house for six months together. In my case it did not matter so much, as Mr. Polperrow had given me all the advantages of his University education; and as I was not to be a man of letters like my brother Wilfred, I had all the learning that was necessary for filling the position of Squire of Trewinion Manor.

I was thinking of these things when my brother Wilfred came to me on to the headland.

"It's fine to be you, Roger," he said.

"Why, Wilfred?"

"Because your cares are over. Your life will be one long holiday, you will have everything you need, and will be the most important man in the country side."

"Yes," I said, "and you, Wilfred, will be a great scholar. You will be a clergyman and write books. Your name will live long after I am dead and forgotten."

"It is false," he said. "My prospects are of the dreariest nature. You will give me the living of Trewinion when Mr. Polperrow dies, and I shall drone out my life on your bounty. Ah! The thought makes me mad."

"No, don't say that, Wilfred," I replied, "you will inherit the vicarage as your right, while you know that everything I can give you I shall. Besides, I cannot help being the eldest."

"No, no, you can help nothing, Roger; but there, although I shall be 'Wilfred, the penniless' I shall go to Oxford, and perhaps something will turn up there for me."

"And even if nothing does turn up, Wilfred, and you have to bury your talents down here, we shall still be brothers, and we shall still have each other."

I said this because my heart was very tender towards him. I felt sad that I should have so much and he so little; but he only looked curiously at me, and a strange light played in his eyes.

He left me for a minute, and, walking to the very edge of the cliff, stood watching the waves; then he came back to me again and I thought his sadness was gone.

"What a long time since we've wrestled, Roger," he said; "let's have a hitch now."

Wrestling was then, as it is to-day, the favourite sport of Cornish youths; so I gladly took off my coat, and we began our fun. I soon saw, however, that Wilfred did not regard it as fun. He strained every muscle of his body in order to throw me, until I had to put forth my whole strength. Although I was stronger and heavier than he I had not much advantage. He was so supple and knew so many clever tricks that he was constantly in fair way of obtaining the mastery.

The grass on which we stood was as soft as a sponge, so no harm could befall either of us should we be thrown. At any rate, such was my thought. So becoming a little exasperated at Wilfred's clever strategems, I became somewhat rough, and taking him from a vantage point I had gained I threw him down with great force.

I do not think that I hurt him very much, but as chance would have it he fell on a rock that was concealed by the spongy turf, and when he rose he was pale and trembling.

"You do well," he said at length, "to show your strength in such a way. First you seek to throw me unfairly, and then you choose a rock by which I could be hurt."

"Nay, Wilfred," I said, "I did not throw you unfairly; nor did I know there was a rock there. They are so much hidden by the turf that it would take a wizard to tell where they are. But I'm sorry you are hurt; let me help you home."

He looked at me strangely again.

"Help me home?" he said; "no, I can go without help; and I tell you this, Roger, big as you are I'm as strong as you."

This pricked my pride. "As strong as I, Wilfred, why I could throw you over my head."

"Yes, you say that now because my arm has been hurt on this rock; but you wouldn't dare to wrestle again if I were well."

This put me into a passion. "Not dare!" I cried. "If I daren't it would be because I should be afraid of hurting your poor, thin body. Name any day you like and I'll take you."

"No," he said, "I've had enough of you. Never mind, my turn will come."

I again challenged him, and said all the things I could to vex him; but he would not reply, and giving me another of his strange looks he went towards the house.

He had not been gone long before my temper began to cool down, and loving my brother very much I began to blame myself a great deal. I condemned myself for not letting him throw me. I was a coward and a brute, I thought within myself, to hurt my younger brother, and acting on the impulse of the moment I hurried towards the house in order to ask his forgiveness.

I had gone about half the distance when I met an old woman who was almost bent double with old age and rheumatism. We recognised each other in a minute. The old woman was Deborah Teague, the terror and yet the blessing of the whole neighbourhood. To her friends there could be no greater comfort than Deborah. She was acquainted with medicine that cured almost every disease save that of old age. She knew all the healing qualities of every herb that grew in the neighbourhood. Deborah was doctor and nurse to all the people round about. Fever, colds, ague, rheumatics, scarlatina, jaundice, bile; Deborah could cure them all, and a dozen diseases besides. But this was not all. What she could not cure by her medicine she could by her charms, for with these she was abundantly supplied. Ringworms, warts, gout, adder's stings, whooping cough, measles, she could charm every one of them, and what was more, no one who was a friend of Deborah's went away uncured, if a cure were possible.

Consequently she was much thought of when her helpful qualities were taken into consideration, but, as I said, she was feared as well as loved, for Deborah made her enemies tremble. Not only did she possess the power to heal, but also the power to curse. Her eye was like that of the fabled serpent, called the basilisk, and in her anger she ever struck terror. She could stop horses from drawing, and keep cows from yielding their milk. For her to "ill wish" anyone was a sure sign that ruin would befall them. Nor was this all. Everyone throughout the whole countryside believed that Deborah had been seen walking along the beach towards the haunted cove, and it was reported again and again that she held intercourse with the powers of darkness. It was also believed that other women, possessing similar power to hers, likewise met there, and conversed about unlawful things.

She also had the power of telling fortunes and reading the future, and thus nearly all the lads and girls in the district came to her at one time or another for advice and help.

I had always been taught to be careful not to offend Deborah Teague, for she had once nursed me through a serious illness, and looked on me as a favourite.

No sooner had we come close together than she lifted her hand as if to tell me to stop; then when I obeyed her gesture, she looked me straight in the eyes.

"Cain and Abel," she said, mysteriously.

"No, Mrs. Teague," I replied, catching her meaning, "nothing of the sort."

"Yer brother es gone to his mawther," she muttered. "I axed un what was the matter, and he said you'd took advantage and hurt un."

I accordingly told Mrs. Teague what had taken place.

No sooner had I spoken than she seized my hand, and with her bony fingers began to draw the skin together over my joints, peering curiously all the while.

"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she said.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she repeated, in a half wheedling, half chuckling voice. "Maaster Roger es the ouldest and the biggest, and the strongest; but Maaster Wilfred ev got the eyes to zee."

"Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Teague," I said; "I'm going to Wilfred now, to tell him I'm sorry I've hurt him."

"And mark my words, Maaster Roger," she said, "when you go, oal you zay will be took no noatice ov, but yer mawther and Maaster Wilfred 'll look black."

"How do you know, Mrs. Teague?" I said.

"Know!" she repeated, "what do'ant I know? Tell me that!"

I looked at her and was silent.

"I'll tell ee," she cried, and then stopped. "We musn't talk here," she continued. "Will'ee come to th'oull Debrah's house to-night, Maaster Roger, and I'll tell ee something for yer good? No, not to-night; but to-morrow night at nine o'clock."

I promised her I would do so, and Deborah hobbled away. As soon as she had gone I went straight home with a heavy heart. Although I was a full-grown man I dreaded my mother's anger, and Deborah's words rang in my ears. Besides, I feared that Wilfred might be prejudiced against me and not see things in their true light.

No sooner had I entered the dining-hall than I saw my mother bathing Wilfred's head, my father looking on gravely meanwhile. Even my father's presence could not quell my mother's anger against me.

"You the elder brother!" she cried. "You, the heir to the Trewinions! The name will be disgraced if you are master of the Manor. You, a great strong monster, to punish a younger brother who is not full grown!"

I tried to explain, but she would not allow me to do so, while Wilfred looked at me with that strange expression which always appeared on his face when he was not well pleased.

Shortly after, I went away with my father to whom I told my story.

"Roger," he said, when I had finished, "you must be very careful, my lad. You will be either a blessing or a curse to your family. Future generations will either bless your memory or they will remember your name with loathing."

"Why," I said, "does so much depend on me?"

"Everything depends on you, Roger. You are the first-born son, and if you turn out bad, everything will turn out bad. So, my boy, whatever you are, or whatever you do, be truthful, be pure, and be forgiving."

"God helping me, I will, father," I replied.

Some time after we all gathered together in the library, where we usually sat in the evening. My father made it a rule to send the servants to bed early when we had no company, so although it was only eight o'clock and scarcely dark he had taken down the old family Bible in order that we might hear the Scriptures and join in prayer before retiring. My mother sat by Wilfred, her hand locked in his, while I sat near to my father, as was the usual custom, and we waited for the servants to come to prayers.

Instead of all coming together, only one came, and announced that Deborah Teague had something to tell us.

Father, in spite of all the complaints against Deborah, regarded her with much favour, and told the servant to show her in.

The old woman came in mumbling as usual. She waited for no greeting, and took no notice of my mother's harsh look.

"Maaster Trewinion," she said, lifting the forefinger of her skinny right hand, "expect!"

She stood up nearly straight as she spoke, and I thought of the Jewess prophetess whose name she bore.

"Expect!" she repeated. "Expect a stranger and expect a storm."

"What do you mean, Deborah?" asked my father kindly.

"Just that," she replied. "I ha'ant a vollied the fortins of this eer ous for nothin', and I say expect."

"A stranger and a storm," repeated my father. "The storm would be nothing to wonder at, the weather is so changeable, but the stranger----"

"Es a woman," said the old crone, "and a young woman. I cud tell--but I wa'ant."

"Could tell what?"

"Clouds, and storms, and darkness!"

"Come, tell us."

"No, Maaster Trewinion, I be'ant zackly sure, but this I zay, git yer booats ready to help the perishin', and it may be as ow the stranger and the storm'll be together, like."

The old woman went away at this, while father, always heedful of what Deborah might tell him, asked me to order some men to get the strongest and best boats in readiness.

As I went down to the village which lies in the hollow near our house, I remembered the curious looks that passed between my mother and Wilfred while Deborah had been talking, and then I thought of my promise to meet Deborah at nine o'clock the next night. I wondered whether I ought to do so or not, and as the night gathered around I almost shuddered at the thought of meeting her alone. Had she, I asked myself, intercourse with evil spirits? Had she given herself to the devil for knowledge and evil power, as it was reported she had done?

I reached the village at length and went in search of the men my father had mentioned. There was a harbour near, and as at the time of which I write a good number of people lived in the village, most of whom managed to do a great deal of fishing throughout the year, a number of boats had been built.

After telling the men to make preparations for a storm, I was about to go back to the Manor House, when the question of Deborah Teague came into my mind again. What had she to tell me? And ought I to listen to what she had to say?

I could not for a long time make up my mind. On the one hand was a great curiosity as to what she had to tell me, besides an anxiety to please the old woman; on the other I felt sure she gained her knowledge by unlawful means.

I decided at length. I would go to the vicar that very night. It was not late yet, only half-past eight, and daylight had barely gone. Surely the Rev. Thomas Polperrow would settle the matter for me. If her power were evil he could guard me against it; if it were good, then all was well.

It was a beautiful night. The moon was nearly full, although it was encircled by a large misty ring, which betokened a change in the weather; but the sea was calm and bright, and shone like glass. All along the coast I could see the misty outlines of the cliffs, while here and there a giant rock jutted into the water.

What was that? A wail!

Was it the night cry of a sea bird telling of the foretold storm? Or was it----stop!

A figure all in white stood near me!

I could not move. I was riveted to the place. Surely it was a visitant from the spirit land!

Slowly it moved away. It went to the edge of the cliffs and disappeared from my sight.

I was not so much surprised at this, for there was more than one spot along the coast where those acquainted with the place could disappear as if by magic. Still, my nerves were shaken. Perhaps some evil was portended. I would rather have returned home, but I felt drawn to go to the vicar. He could explain. He could tell me what I wanted to know.

Does anything happen in one's life without a meaning? Is the Great Spirit of God in every event, ever trying to warn us from evil and draw us towards good? If so, these things of which I am now writing must be in some way connected with the after events of my life. But I shall not try to connect them now. All I purpose to do is to write just what happened, so that my children and my children's children may learn lessons from my history.

I hurried on to the vicarage, therefore, and was soon admitted to the study, I anxious to ask Mr. Polperrow's advice, he evidently wondering what I had to say to him.