Poems (Sherwin)/Superstition
SUPERSTITION;
OR, THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.
It is very painful to observe the great degree of superstition which is still entertained in many parts of England. The following tale is really true in substance, though varied a little in detail, in order to render it acceptable to the general reader.
I once paid a visit of a few weeks to a country village, which I will call Barnel, in a sequestered part of Shropshire, where everything appears to move on in the same jog-trot way it did some centuries ago. There is the parson, a free good-natured man, who speaks familiarly to every one, makes frequent visits to the poor, preaches two sermons every Sunday, dines often with the squire, and sometimes with a few of the most substantial farmers in the neighbourhood; and the Doctor, looking very stout and very good humoured, who rides an unusually fat horse, appearing to be on very good terms with himself and every one else: he is a bachelor. There is a Butcher, with plenty of flesh on his back as well as in his shop, with a very lean wife and seventeen children; a Blacksmith also; a widower, with one son and a daughter.
The one thing which is of great importance, and which most villages boast of, the great emporium for news and scandal, namely—a Barber's shop—was wanting in Barnel, but there were several Beershops, which answered the purpose quite as well. Two or three farm houses, and eight or ten labourers' cottages, made up the sum total of the habitations which composed the village of Barnel.
It was early in October when I first visited this rural district, and I was highly delighted with the picturesque beauty of its scenery, checkered with all the variety of colour which autumn, in this country, never fails to bring. It was at a cottage of the bettermost order that I took up my temporary residence—or rather a small farm-house. The inmates consisted of a man, his wife, two children and two servants. The master, whose name was John Seedman, was a plain, good sort of person, very kindhearted, possessing such education as the sons of farmers in that neighbourhood generally received, at the only school of which the village could boast, conducted by the parish clerk; that is to say, he could read a little—write a little—and knew a little of arithmetic. His wife, whom he married young, was the daughter of a saddler in the nearest town, who had saved a little money, and given his daughter a tolerable education. My host and hostess, therefore, were people of good repute and some standing in the village. Their house was better furnished than those of some of their neighbours, and their style of living was somewhat superior. The son was a tall, rawboned youth of eighteen, but the daughter was really a loveable girl. She had been brought up in a boarding school in the market town of which her mother was a native, and had learned such things as girls generally do learn at country boarding schools of the middle class; but what was deficient in education was made up in natural refinement and sweetness of disposition.
With this happy family I spent a few weeks, and during that time had leisure to make many observations: but nothing struck me so much as the incredible superstitious notions which were entertained by the whole village: the amiable Amy Seedman not being an exception.
It happened that amongst the most favoured of Amy's suitors, was one Thomas Green. He was the son of a surgeon, and had been sent to a farmer in the neighbourhood of Barnel, in order to be instructed in the arts of husbandry and agriculture. He was a good looking person, with light hair and a florid complexion, about twenty- five years of age, was generally better dressed than was usual with the farmers' sons thereabouts, and his manners had a slight degree of town polish about them, which made him an object of great interest amongst the girls of the village. But Amy seemed to claim his chief attention, and it was evident that she was what is ordinarily termed, in love with him.
Now Amy was a quiet, reserved girl, but in course of frequent conversation with me, had confessed her attachment to this young man, and her fears that he was not serious in his professions of constancy towards her. "Would there," said she to me, one day, "be any harm in ascertaining this." "Certainly not," I answered, "if you are possessed of the means of doing so." "I have the means," said she, "but I don't know whether such means are culpable or not, and I wish to consult you on the matter, only I must beg that you keep my secret, for I could not bear to have it known." I made the desired promise, and she then proceeded to inform me that on the side of the nearest mountain lived an old man named Jonathan, who obtained a living by telling fortunes; and that he frequently foretold events, which occurred exactly as he predicted, but she feared that he dealt with evil spirits, and on that account arose her scruples to go and consult him on the present occasion. I could not forbear laughing at her seriousness in such a matter, and rallied her on her credulity; at which she seemed a little offended, and assured me that there was not the slightest doubt of old Jonathan's possessing the power not only to foretell events by his arts, but also to render great assistance in recovering stolen property, which he frequently did; and to convince me of this, she gave me an instance which had come under her own knowledge not more than three months previous. I will give the affair in her own words:—
"About three months back, one very hot day, whilst all our people, except mother and myself, were engaged in the fields at haymaking, mother thought it a good opportunity to get the best linen aired, as the sun was sufficiently warm. Accordingly, we looked up a quantity of table linen—best sheets, and such things as were not in everyday use—and spread them on the grass in the orchard at the back of the house. On going in the evening to bring them in, we were much surprised to find that they were all gone. My mother was almost frantic at the idea of losing her best linen, and every enquiry was made in order to recover it; but all was of no avail, and a week passed away without our hearing any tidings of the lost things. It was supposed that some gypsies, which had lately been encamped in the neighbourhood, must have carried them away.
"At the next washing-day, Betty Edwards, our washer-woman, asked mother if she had been to consult old Jonathan about the loss of her linen. At first my mother ridiculed the idea of his being able to give her any assistance; but after Betty had told her of many instances of things which had been long lost, having been again recovered by his means, she began to think there could be no harm in paying him a visit, and ascertaining what he would be able to do in the matter; but she was enjoined by Betty to keep her intentions a profound secret.
"Accordingly, to make no delay, she went the same evening to the cottage of Jonathan, and found him at home. After she had told him all the particulars of her errand, he looked very grave for some time, without speaking, but at length said "he would do what he could for her." He then produced several very large and very old books, the leaves of which he turned over, appearing to read and make calculations for more than half an hour, during which my mother's patience was nearly exhausted. At length he told her that he did not think the things were taken out of the village, and asked her if she had suspicion of any person. After considering for a little time, she told him she thought she had, but did not like to say. This intelligence seemed to give him some uneasiness, and he informed her that he could do nothing more in the matter unless she told him whether the person suspected by her lived in the village or at a distance from it. She very reluctantly, after much hesitation, said it might be one of the servants in her own house, but requested him not to act upon her suspicion. After again becoming grave and silent for some time, he said that he must consult his books before he could , tell anything more, and that for her to wait was useless, but if she would come to-morrow morning, he did not doubt of being able to put her in a way to recover the stolen property.
"Accordingly she departed, and returning again the following morning she found Jonathan at work at his books, where he said he had remained the whole of the night. In the course of about a quarter of an hour he told my mother that, with all his skill he could not discover the thief, but he had succeeded so far as to cause him to pass a night in extreme terror, and that if she would proceed to a certain spot which he pointed out, she would there find, in a hole under the thatch of an old out-building, the lost linen.
"The building pointed out was a detached shed, about two hundred yards from our own house; and, on arriving there, the whole of the linen my mother had lost was found concealed in a hole in the exact spot Jonathan had pointed out. It was a little tumbled, but in other respects just the same as when she laid it on the grass to air.
My mother was much rejoiced on finding it, and very grateful to the old man, but at a loss how to recompence him for his trouble. Jonathan never receives money for his services in finding stolen goods, or makes any charge,—that, he says, would cross the purpose of his art, and render it useless in other instances.
"Then," asked I, "what is the recompence usually made for his valued assistance? or does he render it out of a pure feeling of philanthropy?"
"In love matters," answered she, "he does not scruple to receive money, but in such affairs as I have just related, I believe he usually accepts presents of some thing which he can make useful,—a bushel or two of corn, a sack of potatoes, a pound or so of tea, a cheese, or any thing which is not in the shape of money. My mother gave him a ham."
I soon made my own conclusions on the subject, and felt a wish to see the old impostor; therefore agreed to accompany Amy to the mountain on her mission of inquiry.
We chose the following afternoon, and arrived at the abode of Jonathan about four o'clock. He was sitting on a bench outside the door, smoking a pipe, which he laid down on our approach, and accompanied us into the cottage.
Amy informed him of her errand, and requested his assistance in the little affair which was of so much importance to herself.
I could perceive that he looked towards me with an air of distrust and uneasiness, and he requested Amy to retire with him into an adjoining room, where he said the apparatus to be made use of stood more conveniently. This she refused to do unless I went in also, and the matter was soon settled by his bringing out his books and a curious looking instrument similar to a telescope. This latter he presented to Amy, and desired her to look attentively through it, and tell him what she observed.
"I see, said she, "a shadowy substance something like a church." "Look more steadfastly," said he, "and tell me if nothing else appears." "There is something like a funeral, with a coffin and mourners." "Can you distinguish any figure which is there?" "I cannot say that I do distinctly." "The chief mourner," said he, "is yourself." "It will often be your lot to mourn over blighted prospects;" and, after turning the instrument round, he bade her take another look, and see if any thing brighter would present itself. There appears," said she," the same old church, but there is a gayer party now engaged, either at a wedding or christening."
"Yes," said old Jonathan, "you will fulfil your day, and have much joy as well as sorrow." "But," asked Amy, rather impatiently, "can you answer me the question I first asked, as to the sincerity of the person who now professes entire regard for me." "The heart of man is fickle," answered he, "your present hopes will be blighted, but do not be downcast, brighter will arise and be fulfilled. He that you would now marry is faithless."
At these words Amy's colour rose, and I could see that she was swelling with rage, when, to my astonishment, she demanded, imperatively, to know by what means he had obtained this knowledge.
The old man regarded her for a few moments, and then said, — "Maiden, thou art not wise: there is a secret power which revealeth to me many things,—but I have said too much to the faithless." Then, perceiving that I was inspecting his books, he took them hastily, with the instrument before named, into the inner apartment, and immediately returned, closing the door. I had only time to observe that one of his magic books was an old Greek Testament.
Amy had suddenly become quite calm, and actually begged pardon of the old man for her haste, promising him a very handsome recompence if he could only prove what he had said. After a little coaxing, he promised on the following day to inform her of the means by which she might satisfy herself of her lover's infidelity.
The following evening, at sunset, found us again at the old man's cottage, when he told Amy that if she would go to a certain dwelling to-morrow evening, at seven o'clock, taking care to conceal herself and observe all closely, she would soon be convinced of the truth of his assertion. She then gave him half a sovereign, and we departed.
It was in vain I endeavoured to persuade Amy from attending at the place mentioned by the old man. I represented the meanness of becoming a spy upon the actions of any one; but she was deaf to all my entreaties, and repaired alone on the following day to the spot pointed out to her.
I watched for her return with considerable anxiety, and could with difficulty satisfy her parents on the score of her prolonged absence. She did not return until nine in the evening, and I could then perceive that she was much agitated, and had evidently been weeping. She soon after gave me the following account of her adventure:—
"On leaving you," said she, "I proceeded to the place pointed out by Jonathan, and waited for some time without perceiving any one. At length I thought I heard the footsteps of some persons approaching, and withdrew behind a thick hawthorn bush. Two people very soon made their appearance; and, although it was nearly dark, I could discern that it was Betty Edwards and her daughter Mary. They were engaged in earnest conversation, and I several times heard my own name pronounced. As they drew near to the bush behind which I was concealed, I could distinctly hear all that was said. 'It is quite time he was here,' said Mary, 'he used to be more punctual; but I suppose he has met with Amy Seedman, and he says that whenever he does, he never can get away from her, she is such a regular bore.' 'Ah!' said the mother, 'he may tell you so, but I have heard to day that he is paying his addresses to her, and intends to get her father's consent to marry her, as he is in want of some money to begin farming with.' 'I will never believe a word of it,' answered the girl, 'for I did not run after him, as she does. He nearly broke his heart before I would consent to walk with him at all; and before I went with him to the Spring Fair he swore, with the Bible in his hand, that he would make me his wife as soon as he could get his father's consent. I know he means honourably, therefore do, dear mother, go home. Besides, old Jonathan recommended our meeting here this evening, as he said it would be a lucky evening for me. I am in very good spirits about the matter, but afraid of your saying something to offend him.'
'Offend him!' said the mother, angrily, 'I want to find out if he intends to make a fool of you; and if I find he does, I'll not only offend him, but I'll spoil his pretty face for many a day to come.' 'Oh, mother, mother!' said the girl, 'I am afraid you will make mischief between us: do go home.' ' You are a sad fool,' said Betty, 'and if you had put confidence in me before it was too late, you need not now have been in his power. I tell you I will see him, and know what he means.'
"Scarcely had she done speaking, when quick footsteps approached, and I soon heard the well known voice of Thomas Green."
'Well, Mary,' said he, 'were you afraid to come alone to meet your own Thomas, as I perceive you have your mother with you.' I could hear a smothered 'No, no!' and then a burst of tears. 'How is this,' said he, when the mother spoke, and said—'Mr. Green, my daughter was last night taken very ill with a fainting fit, from which I feared she would never recover, for I thought her to be dying, and in my alarm fetched the doctor, when he told me sufficient to cause my worst fears as to the imprudence of you both. She has since confessed all to me, and I am come this evening to see you myself, and to know what you mean, and when you will perform your promise of marrying her.'
'My good woman,' answered the deceitful fellow, 'You quite take me by surprise: my dear little Mary knows that I love her, and will do all in my power to make her happy.' 'All that is very fine, and may do to deceive her, poor thing, but it wont do for me. Do you mean to marry her or not?' He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then said he could not do so at present without his father would give his consent. 'I hear,' resumed Betty, 'that you are about to marry Miss Seedman!' At this he burst into a laugh, and said, 'What a ridiculous idea: such a thought never entered into my head. I think her the plainest girl in the village,—to me she is quite disagreeable. Besides, do you suppose for a moment I would ever think of any other than my own dear little Mary.'
"At this juncture I walked leisurely towards the spot, and passed before the party. I only wish you could have witnessed the expression on the countenance of my would-be husband (for he actually made me an offer of his hand, only a week ago, with a solemn assurance that he never did, and never could love any but me.) I shouted a laughing 'good-night' to each, walked briskly away, and here I am."
Notwithstanding Amy's affected calmness, I could perceive that she was much agitated, and as soon as we retired for the night, she burst into a violent fit of weeping, which seemed in some measure to relieve her, but she passed a sleepless night, and at the breakfast table the following morning, exhibited rather a woebegone countenance. By degrees this wore off, and she soon regained her usual serenity.
"What think you," said she to me one day, "of my conduct in finding out the treachery of Thomas Green." "I think," answered I, "that it is highly reprehensible, and I do hope, my dear young friend, that for the future you will allow a better judgment to rule in all such matters, and never permit yourself to use improper means to attain any end, however desirable."
"Is there any doubt remaining in your mind," asked she, "of the supernatural knowledge possessed by Jonathan? Do you not remember that he told me my hopes would be blighted? How could he by any ordinary means have known of the meeting and conversation which I yesterday evening witnessed?" "By the very ordinary process," answered I, "of going to the girl Mary Edwards, and advising her that a meeting at that particular time and place would prove happy to her: you yourself heard her say that such was the case. "Certainly," answered Amy, "but the thought did not at the time strike me."
The time of my visit to Barnel being expired, I returned home, and in about six weeks afterwards, whilst sitting at breakfast, and perusing the newspaper, which is my usual custom when alone, at that meal, I was much surprised on observing the following announcement in the list of marriages:—
"On Saturday last, at the parish church of C———, Mr. Thomas Green, of Barnel, to Ruth, daughter of Mr. Brown, of C———."
It then went on to say,—
"Immediately after the ceremony, the youthful pair set out for Australia, and were accompanied by several families from that neighbourhood, who had made previous preparations for emigration."
My thoughts naturally turned to Mary Edwards, and I some time afterwards learned that her disgraceful situation had become known in the village, and she was shunned by all her former companions. The trouble which her conduct had brought upon her parents so prayed upon the mind of her mother, that it brought on a nervous fever, from which she never perfectly recovered. Poor girl, she had cause to repent bitterly her folly, and it is to be hoped that her base seducer may yet be brought to repent the anguish which he inflicted on his victims.
Not long after this an event occurred in the village of Barnel which opened the eyes of the inhabitants to the frauds practised on them by the Old Man of the Mountain. A labourer of the name of John Groom was taken seriously ill, and on being visited by the pastor, expressed many fear for the future state of his soul; and previous to death made a confession that he had been the active ally of old Jonathan for many years, and that by his advice and instruction he had committed many robberies, He mentioned in particular the taking of Mrs. Seedman's linen. He usually, he said, kept whatever was taken, and concealed it until application was made to the old man, Jonathan, for its recovery, and then either deposited it in such a situation as the owner would be directed to for finding it, or retained it altogether, which sometimes happened if the article was easy to be disposed of, and not likely to lead to detection. In that case, himself and Jonathan always shared the products between them.
It sometimes happened that these stolen goods were conveyed in the night-time upon the premises of any person against whom the evil mind of Jonathan wished to raise a suspicion.
This declaration of the dying man was taken down in writing, and made oath to, in the presence of several respectable witnesses, and it was accordingly thought proper to summon Jonathan before the magistrates to answer the charges therein brought against him. A warrant was therefore issued for his apprehension, but when the officers who were sent in search of him reached his cottage, they found it vacant,—he had already decamped, having previously made preparations for so doing by disposing of the the little furniture he possessed, and he has not since been heard of in the village; but it is supposed that he is still in England, carrying on his unholy calling in some equally wise location, for it is little to be doubted that many are still to be found.
Amy now laughs at her former credulity, and employs her leisure time in giving instruction in the excellent school opened in the village for Sabbath-day teaching, and she makes it a strict rule to use her most earnest endeavours to eradicate every shadow of superstition in the minds of her pupils.
On my last visit to the family of the Seedman's they were living much as usual, happily in the affection of dutiful children. The son has become quite an intelligent young man, and is engaged in assisting his father in the cultivation and improvement of their farm, and Amy as amiable as ever, with more rational good sense, daily seeking and gaining knowledge, which I have no doubt she will put to the' best uses, and ever remain, as she now is, a dutiful child and a good christian, dispensing cheerfulness and happiness around.