Chapter III: The March of Events

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."--_Ex._ xxii. 18.

"Then said Saul unto his servants, Seek me a woman that hath a familiar spirit, that I may go to her and inquire of her. And his servants said unto him, Behold there is a woman with a familiar spirit at Endor."--1 _Sam._ xxviii. 7.

"Well, Roger, and what do you wish to see me about?" asked Mr. Polperrow as soon as we were comfortably seated.

"I am somewhat in a dilemma," I replied. "The truth is, I want to do something which I am not sure is right, and so I have come to you about it."

"You have done right, Roger. I hope you will always be as mindful of your old friend. But what's the matter?"

"Do you think there are any witches living to-day?"

"Witches! Witches, why certainly, my boy; and yet I don't know exactly----"

And the vicar broke off abruptly, as though he were exceedingly doubtful about the matter.

"What do you mean, Mr. Polperrow?"

"I mean this, Roger. There are a great many women who have been condemned as witches when they have simply had the gift of second sight. During the reign of the Stuarts, hundreds were put to death as witches and wizards, and yet I am not sure, but they were innocent people. Don't mistake me, my boy; I'm not going against the Scriptures. I know that witches get their power from the devil--that is, real witches; but I verily believe that a lot of women who suffered in the time of James I were good women, who, through their goodness, obtained knowledge unknown to the generality of people."

"And ghosts, what about them?"

"Roger, I would rather not talk about them now." The vicar's voice was low and husky.

I thereupon told him about my encounter with Deborah Teague and what she had said, after which I asked him if I should go and see her.

Mr. Polperrow was some time before he answered. "I am not sure," he said, at length, "that old Deborah deserves all that has been said about her. She is a sensible old dame, and has searched out the healing qualities of many of the plants growing around, and thus has gained her reputation as a doctor; besides this, she has a curious way of making the silly folk here do as she tells them; but beyond this I believe a great deal of the talk is so much nonsense."

"Then you think it would be no harm going to see her?"

"Roger, my boy," said the vicar, "the world in which we live is full of mystery, full of shadows. We cannot understand the occult forces that everywhere exist, we cannot read the mystic writing which is everywhere appearing on the lives of men. Before I went to college I was a firm believer in many things which I have since discredited. Once I believed in supernatural events, but since I have seen what can be produced by purely natural and explainable means, I have begun to doubt, and yet I cannot deny some things which the most superstitious and ignorant believe."

"Then what would you advise?"

"I would go and see this old woman; perhaps she knows things, not by any supernatural means, but by keeping her eyes open."

"But if she should possess evil power, Mr. Polperrow?"

"Read your Bible and say your prayers before you go, and in your heart defy all that's wrong."

I went away from the vicarage with a strange feeling that my life was surrounded by mystery, and that unseen forces were hemming me in.

What are we, after all, but the creatures of circumstance? Forces over which we have no control make us what we are. I was born the elder son and Wilfred the younger. I was born with a strong, healthy body, and an impulsive, passionate nature. Wilfred was more delicate, more thoughtful. What had we to do with the choosing of all this? Could I help doing the things that I did? Could I resist the life-forces which moved me, even as a mighty wave moves a ship that sails thereupon? Are we, then, the architects of our own fate, or is our destiny fixed? Is it man who moulds the circumstances, or circumstances that mould the man? Who shall answer these questions? Looking back over my life I cannot, and yet in some way I am conscious that there has been a beneficent hand helping me, and making me strong, even stronger than circumstances.

As I went home I thought the moon became dimmer, while sad, moaning sounds were mixed with the musical splash of the waters, as they played upon the hard sea sand. I slept well that night. No thought of the figure in white haunted my pillow, no thought of my visit to the village witch hindered my sleep. I was young, I was innocent, my blood coursed joyfully through my veins, and the future looked bright, and so I feared not.

The next day the sky was overcast. The sea looked smooth as glass, save that now and then it gave a mighty heave, as if some terrific monster beneath sought to lift a weight from his tired shoulders. Sometimes we heard a moan sweeping across the waters; but we were familiar with the sound, living as we did close to the broad Atlantic.

As evening came on the sky grew darker, while my mind became full of the visit I was to make to old Deborah Teague. I made only a light meal, and as soon as I was able to do so, went alone to her cottage.

It was a little tumble-down shanty, standing beneath a hillock, and was as lonely a place as it was possible to be. Eighteen years of age though I was, my heart beat faster as I thought of Deborah living alone in a house that had the reputation of being haunted. What was I doing? In spite of what the vicar had said, was it not wrong for me to hold converse with the strange old woman?

But I would not go back; and so making straight for the little window, through which I could see a candle dimly burning, I was soon face to face with her.

"Maaster Roger was 'fraid," said the old woman, half questioningly, half wheedlingly.

"No," I said, "I don't think so."

"The Trewinions was never 'fraid ov th' livin', my deer," said the old woman, "but the dead, ah, the dead."

"They can do me no harm, so why should I be afraid?"

"Ah, why! ah! ha!" she giggled. "But Maaster Roger es weth wawn that can do lots ov things."

"Oh, yes, lots, Deborah," I said; "you can cure more diseases than any doctor in Truro."

"And more than that, Maaster Roger; but don't you be 'fraid, my deer, I wa'ant hurt you."

"No, I don't think you will; but why have you brought me here to-night?"

"Because I want to tell ee summin, my deer. Ah, Maaster Roger, tes terrible fur theer to be favourites in a house."

I was silent.

"They say how maaster is maaster; tedn't allays so, my deer. Missus es maaster sometimes. They say I'm a witch, my deer, do'ant um? I read the Bible, Maaster Roger. Iss, an ould woman like me, and theer I've seed that Isaac loved Esau best, and 'Becca, she loved Jacob best. Well, who got off best, my deer, hi? Iss, my deer, and they was twins, they both had wawn mawther."

"What do you mean?"

"I main that Maaster Roger'll have to be keerful, my deer. Ah, theer's jillusy in curious plaaces."

"I don't at all understand what you mean."

"No, but you will, my deer. Do'ee mind what I zed to 'ee 'esterday arternoon, dedn't I tell 'ee as 'ow you'd git nothin' but black looks for all yer explainin'?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, ded 'ee un. Was ould Debrah right or wrong?"

"You were right, Deborah; but then, I was in the wrong. I should not have hurt him so."

The old woman chuckled as I spoke, as though I were trying to hoax her.

"And ef you wadn't in the wrong, they'd make ee in the wrong between 'em."

"Deborah," I said, "you must be in the wrong. You talk as though my mother were my enemy."

"Mawther!" she repeated, "who zed she was yer mawther?"

For a minute I did not know what to say. Was she not my mother? Of course she was. I had ever been taught to call her mother, and my father had ever called her his wife.

"Do you know what you are talking about?" I said, excitedly.

"Knaw!" she repeated. "Knaw! Iss, and I cud tell 'ee lots ov things, Maaster Roger, my deer."

"But what do you mean by hinting that my mother--that is--that--that she isn't my mother at all?"

"Why es it that she've bin allays agin 'ee, hi? Why have she allays tried to shaw that you was in the wrong and yer brother in the right? Why es it that your eyes es black and yer hair brown and curly, while yer brother and sisters ev got blue eyes and yella hair, tell me that, will 'ee, my deer?"

This had never struck me before; certainly there was no likeness between my brothers and sisters and myself.

"B--but," I stammered.

"No buts, my deer, I be'ant goin' to tell 'ee nothin' more, though ould Debrah do knaw lots ov things. There's no time, now, you've got other things to do, and a terrible lot to go through as soon as you git away. Hark, do 'ee 'ear that?"

It was the sound of the breakers upon the rugged rocks and hard sea sand, while the wind blew and moaned dismally.

"Dedn't ould Debrah tell 'ee ov a storm? Well, tes come, and, Roger, yer dark days es comin' on."

"But what did you mean by telling me to come here to hear what I have? I am sure of nothing."

"Main! I main this. Maaster Roger'll have to bee keerful of the woman he do call mawther. Watch her every day and watch Maaster Wilfred, too. Hark, do 'ee 'ear that?"

I heard nothing but the roar of the rising storm.

"I can hear nothing but the wind," I said.

"But I can, I can," she said. "I can hear the screech ov the sufferin'; oa tes wisht, terrible wisht, Maaster Roger, but tes yer fate, my deer. I'll tell 'ee more another time, but you must go now, go and help em, you father wants 'ee go, and be keerful of they I've tould 'ee about."

She pushed me out as I spoke, all the time looking around as though she saw sights unseen by me.

"You'll want oal yer strength and oal yer courage, my deer, oa tes terrible. May Roger be protected; but oa, if 'ee saves her 'ee 'll have to suffer."

Wondering at her words, I rushed out into the wild night, and had scarcely done so before I saw a dark form rise from under the window in the cottage, and hurry away right in the teeth of the wind. I started and followed, but whoever he might be, he was more fleet than I. The night was dark because of the storm, but the figure looked like that of my brother Wilfred.

Full of conflicting thoughts, I hurried home, where I found my father dressed as if to go out.

"What's the matter, father?" I asked.

"There's a vessel round the point, Roger, and she's signalled for help."

"Let me go with you. Is it a large one?"

"No, and I am afraid that my friend's child is in her."

"What child?"

"Did you see that horseman this morning, Roger?"

"Yes, father."

"He came to tell me that an old friend was dead, and that in his last hours he had expressed a wish that I should take care of his child."

"Yes, father; what then?"

"She started to come here by boat, and should have arrived in our little landing-place by this. Hark! that's another signal for help. Come, Roger; where's Wilfred."

"Wilfred cannot help on such a night as this, especially as his brother hurt him so yesterday," said my mother, who had just come into the room.

"Come, let us go alone, then, Roger," said my father.

We hurried down to the little harbour, where a dozen hardy Cornishmen were preparing to launch a boat on the angry sea.

"Not gone yet, men?" said my father.

"No, Maaster Trewinion, and ted'n no good. We should be knocked to pieces in two minutes," said one.

"But we're goin' to have a try," said another.

It was, indeed, a dangerous undertaking. The seas were now rising up like great hills and again falling into deep valleys. It seemed impossible for a boat to live.

"We ca'ant do no good," said the first speaker.

"But they've signalled for help," said the second, "and I ca'ant stand that!"

As he spoke we heard a sound like a crack of a musket, which faintly reached us above the roar of wind and wave.

"We'll man the biggest boat somehow," said my father. "Come here, everyone; who will go with Roger and me?"

To the honour of the brave Cornish boys, a crew was ready in a minute.

We jumped into the boat and soon were out in the boiling surf.

"Hold your oars firmly," cried my father, "now, then, pull while you may, the storm is rising every minute."

Bravely those noble lads strained and tugged; but it was terrible work. We were tossed about as though the boat in which we sat were a chip or a bit of cork.

For a minute no word was spoken. Every man breathed hard, and laboured with all his strength, while my father watched, grasping the rudder in his hand. Time after time I thought we should have been thrown into the sea, but luckily we caught no side winds.

Presently we heard my father's deep voice:

"I see her," he cried. "My God, she's going straight upon the 'Devil's Tooth.'"

The "Devil's Tooth" was one of the most dangerous rocks on the coast. It was called "devil's tooth" because it was thought to possess evil power, and because it had been the means of wrecking many vessels as they tried to get into our harbour.

He had scarcely spoken when we heard a most awful crash. It was far louder than the roar of the storm, and immediately afterwards we fancied we caught the cry of people in distress.

"There, it's on! Pull!" cried my father, "we may reach them yet. God help and preserve us all."

Every man pulled with all his might towards the great rock with the terrible name.

"The great God will help us," said one solemnly.

"Amen," cried the rest; "but this is terrible."

Meanwhile, inch by inch, we drew nearer to the doomed vessel.