E. Lynn Linton, page 9
Agnes Gourlay was accused of charming milk. She told Anna Simpson to throw a small quantity of the milk into the “grupe” or sewer of the byre, saying, “God betak us to! May be they are under the earth that have as much need of it as they that are above the earth!” After which bread and salt were to be put into the cows’ ears, and milk would come. Agnes got off by penance and confession: which was more than Janet Couts did, or Archibald Watt, alias “Sole the Paitlet;” though eleven other poor creatures delated escaped their doom, partly because the burgh of Lanark disliked having so many mouths to feed in prison pending their trial.
At Lauder, in 1649, Hob Grieve was accused of witchcraft. Twenty years agone his wife, who had been burnt for a witch, told Hob that he might get rich if he would follow her counsel and go along with her. So he went with her to a haugh on Gallow-water, to meet, as she said, a gentleman there; but he saw only a large mastiff dog, “which amazed him.” At last came the devil as a black man, telling him that if he would take suit and service with him he should be made rich. He was to be officer at the meetings, and hold the door at the sabbaths. Hob consented, and for eighteen years held that office; but it does not seem that the foul fiend kept his part of the condition, for Hob had enough to do to find salt for his porridge. He was always poor, and remained poor to the end, with all the kicks and none of the halfpence; and for his eighteen years of servitude got only suspicion and ill-will, without fat or fry to comfort him. When taken, he “delated” many, who, for the most part, confessed. After he had filled the prison, so that it could hold no more, he accused another still, a woman of Lauder. The magistrate kept the secret, wishing to wait until some of the accused were “emptied out,” having nowhere to put her; but the devil, always at mischief, went to her in the night time, and told her what Hob Grieve had said. Next day she arose and came to the prison, railing at Hob, calling him warlock and slave to the devil, and what not. She was told to go home, but she sat down on the Tolbooth stairs, and said she would never stir until she and that slave of Satan had been confronted. The bailie himself came to her, and told her to go home; but that was too mild a proceeding. “No,” she cried, “I must be set face to face with that rascal who has delated me, an honest woman, for a witch.” She was set face to face with him, and she fell down on her bare knees, and cursed him. Says she, “Thou common thief, how dare thou for thy soul say that ever before this time thou saw me or I saw thee, or ever was in thy company, either alone or with others?” Hob listened to her railings patiently, till commanded by the bailie to speak, when says he, “How came she then to know that I had called her a witch? Surely none but the devil, thy old master and mine, has told thee so much.” “The devil and thou perish together, for he is not my master though he be thine. I defy the devil and all his works!” said the woman. Then Hob reminded her of the many times and places where they had met while in the same service; whereat she cried, “Now I perceive that the devil is a lyar and a murderer from the beginning, for this night he came to me, and told me to come and abuse thee; and never come away till I was confronted with thee, and he assured me that thou would deny all and say, thou false tongue, thou lyest!” She then confessed all with which she was charged, and was executed. Hob was a very penitent sinner: being now a mere lunatic, he was easy to manage, and exceeding confidential in his confessions. He said that once in Musselburgh water the devil had tried to drown him when he had a heavy creil on his back; and even since he had been in prison he had come to cast him into the fire. But though there was a very crowd “fylit” by this poor maniac, he was innocent of the death of a certain woman who was hanged a short time after. The magistrates, glutted to satiety with victims, wanted to save her; but she would accept no chance offered to her. She had been fyled as a witch, she said, and as a witch she would die. And had not the devil once, when she was a young lassie, kissed her, and given her a new name? Reason enough why she should die, if even nothing worse lay behind. At last the day of her execution came, and she was taken out to be burnt with the rest. On her way to the scaffold she made this lamentable speech:—“Now all you that see me this day, know that I am now to die a witch by my own confession; and I free all men, especially the ministers and magistrates, of the guilt of my blood. I take it wholly on myself. My blood be upon my own head; and as I must make answer to the God of heaven presently, I declare I am as free of witchcraft as any child; but being delated by a malicious woman, and put in prison under the name of a witch, disowned by my husband and friends, and seeing no ground of hope of my coming out of prison or ever coming in credit again, through a temptation of the devil, I made up that confession on purpose to destroy my own life, being weary of it, and choosing rather to die than to live.” How many poor wretches had been like this unhappy creature—disowned by husband and friends, seeing no ground of hope of ever coming in credit again, and therefore in despair choosing rather to die than to live! In this special case even the magistrates, usually so passionately determined that all the accused should be found guilty and suffer death, even they seem to have sought her release, and to have refused the evidence of her confession as long as they could; but the times were not sufficiently enlightened for them to refuse it altogether; and so she gained the fiery goal whither her anguish and despair impelled her.
MANIE HALIBURTON.[43]
In 1649, John Kinnaird, the witch-finder, made deposition that he had “pricked” Patrik Watson, of West Fenton, and Manie Haliburton, his spouse, and that he had found the devil’s mark on Patrik’s back a little under the point of his left shoulder, and on Manie’s neck a little above her left shoulder; of which marks they were not sensible (had no feeling in them), neither came there any blood when pricked. So Manie, seeing that the scent was hot and the game up, made confession, and saved further trouble. She said that eighteen years ago, the devil had come to her in likeness of a man, calling himself a physician, saying that he had good salves, and specially oylispek (oil of spike or spikenard), wherewith he would cure her daughter, then sick. So she bought some of his salves, and gave him two English shillings for her bargain, forbye bread and milk and a pint of ale. In eight days’ time he came again, and stayed all night; and the next morning, Patrik being “forth” and Manie yet in bed, she became more intimately acquainted with the devil than an honest woman should. We do not read that Manie was tortured, and, considering that it was not an unusual thing to keep suspected witches twenty-eight days and nights on bread and water, they being stripped stark naked, with only a haircloth over them, and laid on a cold stone, or to put them into hair-shirts steeped in vinegar, so that the skin might be pulled from off them, we feel that poor Manie got off pretty well with only cremation as the result of her mad confessions.
But one of the most extraordinary things of all was that wonderful bit of knavery and credulity called
THE DEVIL OF GLENLUCE,[44]
when Master Tom Campbell set the whole country in a flame, and brought no end of notice and sympathy upon his house and family. In 1654 one Gilbert Campbell was a weaver in Glenluce, a small village not far from Newton Stewart. Tom, his eldest son, and the most important personage in the drama, was a student at Glasgow College; and there was a certain old blaspheming beggar, called Andrew Agnew—afterwards hanged at Dumfries for his atheism, having said, in the hearing of credible witnesses, that “there was no God but salt, meal, and water”—who every now and then came to Glenluce to ask alms. One day old Andrew visited the Campbells as usual, but got nothing; at which he cursed and swore roundly, and forthwith sent a devil to haunt the house, for it was soon after this refusal that the stirs began, and the connection was too apparent to be denied. For what could they be but the malice of the devil sent by old Andrew in revenge? Young Tom Campbell was the worst beset of all, the demon perpetually whistling and rioting about him, and playing him all sorts of diabolical and malevolent tricks. Once, too, Jennet, the young daughter, going to the well, heard a whistling behind her like that produced by “the small slender glass whistles of children,” and a voice like the damsel’s, saying, “I’ll cast thee, Jennet, into the well! I’ll cast thee, Jennet, into the well!” About the middle of November, when the days were dark and the nights long, things got very bad. The foul fiend threw stones in at the doors and windows, and down the chimney head; cut the warp and threads of Campbell’s loom; slit the family coats and bonnets and hose and shoon into ribbons; pulled off the bed-clothes from the sleeping children, and left them cold and naked, besides administering sounding slaps on those parts of their little round rosy persons usually held sacred to the sacrifices of the rod; opened chests and trunks, and strewed the contents over the floor; knocked everything about, and ill-treated bairn and brother; and, in fact, persecuted the whole family in the most merciless manner. The weaver sent his children away, thinking their lives but barely safe, and in their absence there were no assaults whatever—a thing to be specially noted. But on the minister’s representing to him that he had done a grievous sin in thus withdrawing them from God’s punishments, they were brought back again in contrition. Only Tom was left behind, and nothing ensued until Tom appeared; but unlucky Tom brought back the devil with him, and then there was no more peace to be had.
On the Sunday following Master Tom’s return, the house was set on fire—the devil’s doing: but the neighbours put the flames out again before much damage had ensued. Monday was spent in prayer; but on Tuesday the place was again set on fire, to be again saved by the neighbours’ help. The weaver, in much trouble, went to the minister, and besought him to take back that unlucky Tom, whom the devil so cruelly followed and molested; which request he, after a time, “condescended to,” though assuring the weaver that he would find himself deceived if he thought that the devil would quit with the boy. And so it proved; for Tom, having now indoctrinated some of his juniors with the same amount of mechanics and legerdemain as he himself possessed, managed that they should be still sore troubled—the demon cutting their clothes, throwing peats down the chimney, pulling off turf and “feal” from the roof and walls, stealing their coats, pricking their poor bodies with pins, and raising such a clamour that there was no peace or rest to be had.
The case was becoming serious. Glenluce objected to be made the head-quarters of the devil; and the ministers convened a solemn meeting for fast and humiliation; the upshot of which was that weaver Campbell was led to take back his unlucky Tom, with the devil or without him. For this was the point at issue in the beginning; the motive of which is not hard to be discovered. Whereupon Tom returned; but as he crossed the threshold he heard a voice “forbidding him to enter that house, or any other place where his father’s calling was exercised.” Was Tom, the Glasgow student, afraid of being made a weaver, consent or none demanded? In spite of the warning voice he valiantly entered, and his persecutions began at once. Of course they did. They were tremendous, unheard of, barbarous; in fact, so bad that he was forced to return once more for a time to the minister’s house; but his imitator or disciple left behind carried on business in his absence. On Monday, the 12th day of February, the demon began to speak to the family, who, nothing afraid, answered quite cheerily: so they and the devil had long confidential chats together, to the great improvement of mind and morals. The ministers, hearing of this, convened again, and met at weaver Campbell’s, to see what they could do. As soon as they entered, Satan began: “Quum literatum is good Latin,” quoth he. These were the first words of the Latin rudiments, as taught in the grammar-school. Tom’s classical knowledge was coming into play.
After a while he cried out, “A dog! a dog!” The minister, thinking he was alluded to, answered, “He thought it no evil to be reviled of him;” to which Satan replied civilly, “It was not you, sir, I spoke to: I meant the dog there;” for there was a dog standing behind backs. They then went to prayer, during which time Tom—or the devil—remained reverently silent; his education being not yet carried out to the point of scoffing. Immediately after prayer was ended, a counterfeit voice cried out, “Would you know the witches of Glenluce? I will tell of them,” naming four or five persons of indifferent repute, but one of whom was dead. The weaver told the devil this, thinking to have caught him tripping; but the foul fiend answered promptly, “It is true she is dead long ago, but her spirit is living with us in the world.”
The minister replied, saying, “Though it was not convenient to speak to such an excommunicated and intercommuned person, ‘the Lord rebuke thee, Satan, and put thee to silence. We are not to receive information from thee, whatsoever fame any person goes under. Thou art seeking but to seduce this family, for Satan’s kingdom is not divided against itself.’” After which little sparring there was prayer again; so Tom did not take much by this move.
All the while the young Glasgow student was very hardly holden, so that there was more prayer on his special behalf. The devil then said, on their rising, “Give me a spade and a shovel, and depart from the house for seven days, and I will make a grave and lie down in it, and shall trouble you no more.”
The good man Campbell answered, “Not so much as a straw shall be given thee, through God’s assistance, even though that would do it. God shall remove thee in due time.” Satan cried out, impudently, “I shall not remove for you. I have my commission from Christ to tarry and vex this family.” Says the minister, coming to the weaver’s assistance, “A permission thou hast, indeed; but God will stop it in due time.” Says the demon, respectfully, “I have, sir, a commission which perhaps will last longer than yours.” And the minister died in the December of that year, says Sinclair. Furthermore, the demon said he had given Tom his commission to keep. Interrogated, that young gentleman replied in an off-hand way, that “he had had something put into his pocket, but it did not tarry.” They then began to search about for the foul fiend, and one gentleman said, “We think this voice speaks out of the children.” The foul fiend, very angry at this—or Master Tom frightened—cries out, “You lie! God shall judge you for your lying; and I and my father will come and fetch you to hell with warlock thieves.” So the devil discharged (forbade) the gentleman to speak anything, saying, “Let him that hath a commission speak (meaning the minister), for he is the servant of God.” The minister then had a little religious controversy with the devil, who answered at last, simply, “I knew not these scriptures till my father taught me them.” Nothing of all this disturbing the easy faith of the audience, they, through the minister, whom alone he would obey, conjured him to tell them who he was; whereupon he said that he was an evil spirit come from the bottomless pit of hell, to vex this house, and that Satan was his father. And then there appeared a naked hand, and an arm from the elbow downward, beating on the floor till the house did shake again, and a loud and fearful crying, “Come up, father! come up, father! I will send my father among ye! See! there he is behind your backs!”
Says the minister, “I saw, indeed, a hand and an arm, when the stroke was given and heard.”
Says the devil, “Saw ye that? It was not my hand, it was my father’s; my hand is more black in the loof.”
“Oh!” said Gilbert Campbell, in an ecstacy, “that I might see thee as well as I hear thee!”
“Would ye see me?” says the foul thief. “Put out the candle, and I shall come but[45] the house among you like fire-balls; I shall let ye see me indeed.”
Alexander Bailie of Dunraget said to the minister, “Let us go ben,[46] and see if there is any hand to be seen.” But the demon exclaimed, “No! let him (the minister) come ben alone: he is a good honest man: his single word may be believed.” He then abused Mr. Robert Hay, a very honest gentleman, very ill with his tongue, calling him witch and warlock: and a little while after, cried out, “A witch! a witch! there’s a witch sitting upon the ruist! take her away.” He meant that there was a hen sitting on one of the rafters. They then went to prayer again, and, when ended, the devil cried out, “If the good man’s son’s prayers at the College of Glasgow did not prevail with God, my father and I had wrought a mischief here ere now.” Ah, Master Tom, did you then know so much of prayer and the inclining of the counsels of God?
Alexander Bailie said, “Well, I see you acknowledge a God, and that prayer prevails with him, and therefore we must pray to God, and commit the event to him.” To whom the devil replied, having an evident spite against Alexander Bailie, “Yea, sir, you speak of prayer, with your broad-lipped hat” (for the gentleman had lately gotten a hat in the fashion with broad lips); “I’ll bring a pair of shears from my father’s which shall clip the lips of it a little.” And Alexander Bailie presently heard a pair of shears go clipping round his hat, “which he lifted, to see if the foul thief had meddled with it.”
Then the fiend fell to prophesying. “Tom was to be a merchant, Bob a smith, John a minister, and Hugh a lawyer,” all of which came to pass. Turning to Jennet, the good man’s daughter, he cried, “Jennet Campbell, Jennet Campbell, wilt thou cast me thy belt?”
Quoth she, “What a widdy would thou do with my belt?”
“I would fain,” says he, “fasten my loose bones together.”
A younger daughter was sitting “busking her puppies” (dressing her puppets, dolls), as young girls are used to do. He threatens to “ding out her harns,” that is, to brain her; but says she quietly, “No, if God be to the fore,” and so falls to her work again. The good wife having brought out some bread, was breaking it, so that every one of the company should have a piece. Cries he, “Grissel Wyllie! Grissel Wyllie! give me a piece of that haver bread. I have gotten nothing this day but a bit from Marritt,” that is, as they speak in the country, Margaret. The minister said to them all, “Beware of that! for it is sacrificing to the devil!” Marritt was then called, and inquired if she had given the foul fiend any of her haver bread. “No,” says she; “but when I was eating my due piece this morning, something came and clicked it out of my hands.”
