THE NIGHT WIND HOWLS

by Frederick Cowles

  On the eve of the new moon she came to him with fair words and love in her eyes, and said their marriage must be solemnised that night in a place dedicated as a temple. He knew what she meant, but was powerless to deny her request. So it came about that the Sabbat of the witches was held in Lishana church, and the horned god sat upon the altar-table and joined the hands of Matthew Cantell and his fairy bride. Afterwards there was dancing, and the assembled warlocks feasted upon the bread and wine used in the Communion service.

  The old sexton, dusting the altar on the following day, found a mark burnt deep through the linen cloth and into the wooden table. He gazed at it with startled eyes and then fled from the building, for it was the mark of a cloven hoof.

  V

  On the Eve of All Hallows, in the year 1812, the Reverend Matthew Cantell vanished from the parish of Lishana and was seen no more in the flesh. He had long been prepared for his going, for often, when she came to him in the night, the lady from the lost land would whisper of the coming Hallowe’en.

  ‘Here I am but a dream,’ were her words. ‘When the Eve of All Hallows comes again the island will rise from the sea and we must return together. There, in the secret land of Lyonnesse, we shall be happy for ever.’

  During the month of October Matthew Cantell busied himself with making a record of the strange events which had befallen him. It was a queer, disjointed document, and some declared that he was mad when he wrote it. For many years it was preserved in the cathedral library at Exeter, and then, in 1894, a canon of Salisbury was allowed to borrow it. Whilst it was in his possession his house was destroyed by fire and the manuscript perished in the flames.

  The whole document was never transcribed, but a small portion of it has come down to us. The concluding paragraph is worth quoting as showing the state of the rector’s mind when he disappeared.

  Many will say that I am the victim of a delusion. Others will vow that a fiend has gained possession of my intelligence. This I know. For centuries this place has been the home of much evil, and many of the folk of Lishana are witches and warlocks, worshipping the ancient gods. Some, indeed, may have been begotten by the lost souls of Lyonnesse at those meetings held within the temple on the mysterious island. She whom I love, whether woman or devil, comes from the vanished land beneath the sea, and thither I must return with her. My soul is already lost, for I have been unfaithful to my trust, have worshipped the horned god, and lain in carnal intercourse with the fairy of Lyonnesse.

  When midnight chimed from the church clock on that All Hallows’ Eve, Matthew met his green-eyed lady on the cliffs of Lishana. Together they descended the steep path and embarked in a boat that was awaiting them. The green island, with its white temple, floated like an emerald in the centre of the bay, and she led him through the grove and up the marble steps. He heard again that low, haunting music and breathed the heavy perfume of incense. Before the black altar of the horned god he joined in the hellish dance. But, when the flames died in the golden brazier and the other mortals departed, Matthew Cantell lingered on in the arms of Lilith of Lyonnesse. He heard the thundering of a mighty storm and the noise of a great wind. Then the waters of the sea swirled and circled above his head as the island sank beneath the waves.

  L’ENVOI

  Lishana church is but a deserted ruin and will never be used again for Christian worship. It is said that often, on winter nights, strange lights are seen gleaming through its broken windows, and the shadows of dancing figures appear against the glow.

  No boats trail their nets in the haunted waters of Lishana Cove, and few care to descend the steep path which leads to the beach.

  The people of Lishana church-town are strange, secretive folk, and have no welcoming smile for strangers. Old Isaac Trewella still rants of hell and Judgment day in the bare Methodist chapel. But he might as well save his breath, for the men and women of the village have that in their eyes which recks little of hell-fire. They hang the rowan above their doors, and profess to dread the silence of the moors. Yet, perhaps, the rowan is but a sign of their sin, and their dread of the moors a thin disguise to hide their love for the ancient temples and the fairy wells.

  When April is ending and the first day of May draws near there is a whispering around Lishana hearths. The old folks tell of a black barge which, on May Eve, will glide across the waves of Lishana Cove. Chained to the prow of that phantom vessel, tortured by the bonds which chafe his limbs, Matthew Cantell screams in agony, and at his feet, crooning a strange melody, sits the fairy lady of Lyonnesse.

  Rats

  SIR JOSHUA NORTON cleared his throat and looked around at the crowded benches in the tiny courtroom. For a few moments he allowed his eyes to rest upon the ancient woman who stood in the dock before him, and then, with a gesture of distaste, he sniffed at his scented kerchief. The clerk dipped his pen into the ink-horn and prepared to write as, in his best magisterial voice, Sir Joshua began to give judgment.

  ‘Our worshipful lord the King, in his divinely inspired wisdom, hath let it be known throughout this realm of England that the crime of witchcraft is a most damnable and filthy offence in the eyes of Almighty God. He hath therefore instructed his judges and magistrates to pledge themselves to use every effort within their power to stamp out this foul canker which is undermining the spiritual life of the kingdom.

  ‘Alison Joyner, you stand before this court charged with the abominable crime of sorcery, and the evidence we have heard has proved this to be no idle indictment. We have actually examined men and women who have suffered through your evil spells. We have heard honest and religious folk solemnly declare that you have overlooked cattle, afflicted children with strange sicknesses, caused boundaries to be moved and streams diverted. The witch’s mark hath been found upon your body and, by your obstinate silence, you have admitted attending hellish Sabbats on Loken Hill.

  ‘In the name of His Majesty King James the First, I direct that, on Friday next, the 23rd day of May, you shall be taken from this place and burned to death on Loken Green. And may God have mercy upon your soul and grant that you repent before you stand arraigned at His awful judgment seat.’

  The pompous voice finished speaking, and, for a few moments, all was silence. Then the old woman in the dock screamed and unintelligible words streamed from her mouth.

  ‘She calls upon her master the devil,’ said Sir Joshua to the clerk, and, raising his voice, he instructed the beadles to remove the hag to the cells.

  The beldame’s voice quietened, and she whispered something in a whining tone.

  ‘What is it she asks?’ queried the magistrate.

  ‘She requests that her cottage and such furniture as it contains shall be bestowed upon her daughter, Elizabeth,’ answered one of the beadles.

  ‘Aroint thee, witch,’ cried Sir Joshua. ‘Thy filthy hovel shall be burned to the ground this very night.’

  The beldame raised her bleary eyes and, lifting her right arm in a threatening gesture, screamed out, ‘My curse upon thee, Sir Joshua Norton. The hands that fire my cottage shall perish, and their owner become a dead thing whilst yet alive.’

  Still shrieking out her threats, she was dragged out of the dock and borne away to the cells.

  The magistrate, after signing the warrant and exchanging a few words with some of the gentlemen in the court, made his way into the street, where his servant waited with the horses. The man assisted his master to mount, and the two rode off in the direction of Loken Hall. They were passing the cross-roads at the foot of the hill when the knight drew rein and pointed to a white cottage a hundred yards or so from the highway.

  ‘Yonder is the witch’s house, Thomas,’ he said. ‘We may as well ride over and set a light to it.’

  ‘Would it not be better to leave the beadles to carry out your honour’s instructions?’ protested the man fearfully.

  ‘Not on your life,’ cried his master. ‘I said it should burn tonight and so it shall. If you are afraid of the old hag’s curse I’ll
kindle the blaze myself.’

  He turned his horse’s head and galloped across the meadow. Thomas followed, and they alighted together at the door of the cottage. The place was deserted and contained but a few miserable sticks of furniture. Sir Joshua produced his tinder box and, with his own hands, struck the flint against the steel. The sparks fell upon the tinder which he carefully fanned into a flame, and applied to the dry wood. It soon caught and the hovel began to blaze. With an improvised torch the knight spread the fire, and then he and Thomas returned to the horses, mounted into the saddles, and sat watching the work of destruction.

  Suddenly something darted out of the burning building and sprang at Sir Joshua’s horse. It was a great black rat, and, as its teeth met in the mare’s throat, she reared on her hind legs. The knight strove to retain his seat, but he was thrown heavily to the ground. He lay there groaning, and it was evident that he had injured his back on a large stone. The servant managed to lift his master into the saddle and, with some difficulty, conveyed him back to the Hall. There he proved to be so badly bruised that he was forced to take to his bed, and lay mouthing obscene oaths and blasphemies.

  At nine o’clock that same night a farmhand, going home through Loken Wood, heard a strange sound like a concourse of animals advancing through the undergrowth. The fellow, sorely frightened, climbed into the branches of a tree, and, from this safe retreat, witnessed an amazing sight. The moon was full, and, by its light, he afterwards declared he had seen thousands of rats, led by one great black monster, pass through the wood in the direction of Loken Hall.

  Others, too, saw this remarkable spectacle. A stable-boy at the Hall vowed the vermin had chewed their way through a gate, and swept on across the lawns. The butler saw them swarm up the steps of the mansion, gnaw the massive oaken doors to pieces, and ascend the staircase.

  It was hours before the terrified servants dared leave the kitchens to discover what had happened. Towards midnight the stable-boy arrived with the news that the army of rats had departed, and only then did some of the men summon up sufficient courage to climb the stairs. Thomas, who was the first to enter the master’s bed-chamber, collapsed before the sight which met his eyes.

  Sir Joshua lay in the great bed whining and whimpering like an animal. His hands, up to the wrists, had been literally chewed away, and the bleeding stumps hung grotesquely across the stained sheets. A surgeon, hastily summoned from the village, stayed the flow of blood and bandaged the mutilated arms. But Sir Joshua lay with vacant eyes and his lips twisted into the mirthless grin of an idiot.

  It is recorded that on Friday the 23rd of May a fire was built on Loken Green and a tall stake raised above the logs. When all was ready the beadles proceeded to the court-house to bring the prisoner forth. But Alison Joyner had disappeared. The cell was empty, save for a great black rat, which darted into a hole as the gaolers entered.