FOOTNOTES:

Some the night-mare hath prestWith that weight on their breast,No returnes of their breath can passe.But to us the tale is addle,We can take off her saddle,And turn out the night-mare to grasse.

Another old writer, Holiday, in his "Marriage of the Arts," deprecates the practice of relying on charms, "that your stables may bee alwies free from the queene of the goblins." He, however, makes the night-hag equestrian or jockey, and not equine. Herrick, too, in his "Hesperides," is both correct and explicit on the subject. He says:—

Hang up hooks and shears to scareHence the hag that rides the mareTill they be all over wetWith the mire and the sweat;This observed, the manes shall beOf your horses all knot free.

The term "nightmare," in some instances, may have been applied to a witch transformed into a mare by means of a magic bridle, and ridden with great violence by the very party at whose bedside she had previously metamorphosed into a steed, on the back of which she had galloped to the witches' revel. If the man-horse contrived to slip off the bridle, and throw it over the witch's head, she immediately became transformed into a mare, and was frequently, according to popular belief, subjected to much harsh usage. There appears, however, to be little doubt that the night-mares are legitimately descended from the Aryan Maruts, the "couriers of the air," who rode the winds in the "wild hunt," or "furious host," headedby Odin, or the renowned spectre horseman of mediæval legends. Kelly says, "these riders, in all other respects identical with the Maruts, are in some parts of Germany called Wabriderske,i.e., Valkyrs. In some of the tales that are told of them they still retain their old divine nature; in others they are brought down to the level of mere earthly witches. If they ride now in stables, without locomotion, it is because they swept of old through the air on their divine coursers. Now they steal by night to the beds of hinds and churls; but there was a time when they descended from Valhalla to conceive, in the embrace of a mortal, the demi-god whom they afterwards accompanied to the battle-field, to bear him thence to the hall of Odin."

I entertain a strong impression that the singular ceremony practised at Ashton-under-Lyne, at Easter, styled "Riding the Black Lad," contains some remnant of the tradition of the spectre huntsman. Its origin is confessed on all hands to be extremely doubtful. The severities of a Sir Ralph Assheton, in the reign of Henry VI., may have had something to do with it, but they alone could scarcely have perpetuated the legend and its accessories. The custom of perambulating the parish boundaries, still in use in many parts of England, and which, in my own youth, was performed with much solemnity by the Corporation of Preston, may likewise have had some influence upon the practice. At the close of the Preston perambulation, it was customary for the younger spirits "to leap the colt-hole," as it was termed, the said "colt-hole" being a ditch or fosse on Preston Marsh. Some unlucky wights occasionally fell into the said ditch, to the infinite amusement of the graver dignitaries, as well as to the merriment of the holiday schoolboys attendant. Dr. Hibbert Ware, referring to the Ashton custom, says:—"An effigy is made of a man in armour, and the image is deridingly emblazoned with some emblems of the occupation of the first couple that are linked together in the course of the year." The story of the enforcing of the weeding of "Carr gulds" (an obnoxious plant) from the land by Sir Ralph's rough riding, may have had some foundation in fact; but it is rather strange a successor should have "abolished the usage for ever, and reserved from the estate a small sum of money, for the purpose of perpetuating, in an annual ceremony, the memory of the dreaded visits of the Black Knight."

Spelman, in his "Icenia," referring to the Tilney legend concerning Tom Hickathrift and his giant-slaying, clearly shows that the "monstrous giant," slain by Tom, armed with his axle and wheel,like the Cornish Tom the Tinkheard, and his followers, was none other than the tyrant lord of the manor who sought by violence to rob his copy-hold tenants out of their right of pasture in the common field.

Samuel Bamford, in his poem of the "Wild Rider," relates a legend not uncommon in various parts of the country, about a Sir Ashton Lever, a lover of a descendant of the Black Knight, who seems to have rivalled him in horsemanship. Bamford, in a note, says:—"He was an excellent bowman and a fearless rider, and tradition has handed down stories of feats of horsemanship analogous to those recited in the ballad, accompanied with sage intimations thatno horse could have carried him save one of more than earthly breed or human training." The narrow valley of the Tame, in the neighbourhood of Ashton, is as likely as the gorge at Cliviger to be haunted by the storm-rider or the wild hunt. Singularly enough, Mr. Baines, in his History of Lancashire, relates minutely the particulars of two tremendous storms which devastated the locality, one in 1817, and the other 26 years previously. They both created much dismay, and the latter, he says, caused "an involuntary expression of horror throughout the whole place." A neighbouring exposed hill is named the "Wild Bank." Around it storms often rage with great fury. In one of the Welsh triads, we find that the "three embellishing names of the wind" are "Hero of the World, Architect of Bad Weather, and Assaulter of the Hills." It has been previously shown the spectre huntsman of Dartmoor is styled the "BlackMaster," which lends further probability to the hypothesis advanced.

Since the bulk of the preceding pages in this chapter were written, I obtained a copy of Mr. R. Hunt's recently published work, entitled "Popular Romances of the West of England; or the Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall." In it I find several curious and highly interesting variations of the legend or myth of the spectre huntsman, or the furious host, which exhibit not only the connection of the Wandering Jew tradition with that of the hunt of Odin and his followers, but which I conceive throw much light upon, and, to a large extent, countenance the hypothesis I have submitted, that the legend of the celebrated black knight, or "black lad," of Ashton-under-Lyne, retains, along with more modern additions, something of the original Aryan personification of the "elemental strife" previously described. Speaking of the "demon Tregeagle," a well-known legendary hero of "Old Cornwall," he says:—

"Who has not heard of the wild spirit of Tregeagle? He hauntsequally the moor, the rocky coasts, and the blown sandhills of Cornwall. From north to south, from east to west, this doomed spirit is heard of,and to the day of judgment he is doomed to wander, pursued by avenging fiends. For ever endeavouring to perform some task by which he hopes to secure repose, and being for ever defeated. Who has not heard of thehowlingof Tregeagle? When the storms come with all their strength from the Atlantic, and urge themselves upon the rocks around Land's End,the howls of the spirit are louder than the roaring of the winds. When calms rest upon the ocean, and the waves can scarcely form upon the resting waters,low wailings creep along the coast. These are the wailings of this wandering soul.When midnight is on the Moor or on the mountains, and the night winds whistle amidst the rugged cairns,the shrieks ofTregeagle are distinctly heard. We know that he ispursued by the demon dogs, and that till day-break he must fly with all speed before them. The voice of Tregeagle is everywhere, and yet he is unseen by human eye. Every reader will at once perceive that Tregeaglebelongs to the mythologies of the oldest nations, and thatthe traditions of this wandering spiritin Cornwall,which centre uponONE TYRANNICAL MAGISTRATE,are but the appropriation of stories which belong to every age and country."

Here we have clearly a combination of the doings of the Teutonic spectre huntsman, Odin, and of his prototypes the Aryan storm-gods, Indra and Rudra, and their attendant Maruts and the Ribhus; the wailings of the homeless souls of the Irish and other legends; the interminable toil of the Wandering Jew; and the more modern tradition of the hard-hearted lord of the soil, whose deeds have rendered his name odious to the commonalty. The latter worthy modern tradition asserts, as in the case of the Ashton "Black Knight," to have been a relatively recentbonâ fide"tyrannical magistrate," and a "rapacious and unscrupulous landlord," and "one of the Tregeagles who once owned Trevorder near Bodmin." At his death the fiends were anxious to get immediate possession of the soul of this "gigantic sinner;" but the hardened murderer, terrified at his fate, "gave to the priesthood wealth, that they might fight with them, and save his soul from eternal fire." On one occasion it is said that his wandering spirit actually gave evidence in a court of justice, when the fiends in vain endeavoured to carry him off. The power of the priesthood prevailed, but only with the condition attached that the wretched sinner should undertake "some task difficult beyond the power of human nature, which might be extended far into eternity," with the view that the power of repentance might gradually exert itsameliorating influence. His only hope for ultimate salvation was perpetual toil. The demons could not molest him so long as he continued his labour.

The first labour to which he was subjected was the emptying of Dosmery Pool, a mountain lake, some miles in circumference. This, in itself no slight task, was believed to be rendered more difficult from the supposed fact that the said pool was bottomless, inasmuch as tradition asserted that "once on a time" a thorn bush which had been sunk near its centre had reappeared in Falmouth harbour. One churchman, it is said, nevertheless thought the plan not sufficiently hopeless. He therefore suggested that the only lading or baling utensil employed by the miserable sinner should be a limpet shell with a sufficiently large hole in it to seriously augment the necessary labour. The demon kept his eye on Tregeagle, and endeavoured to divert his attention from his toil, in order that he might lay hold of him. But although heraised many tempests, still the doomed one continued to labour. On one occasion, however, the fiends were nearly "too many" for the eternal toiler. Mr. Hunt's description of this terrible struggle is so strikingly suggestive of one of the myths to which I have referred its origin, that I give it entire. He says:—

"Nature was at war with herself, the elements had lost their balance, and there was a terrific struggle to recover it. Lightnings flashed and coiled like fiery snakes around the rocks of Roughtor. Fire-balls fell on the desert moors and hissed in the accursed lake. Thunders pealed through the heavens, and echoed from hill to hill; an earthquake shook the solid earth, and terror was on all living. The winds rose and raged with a fury which was irresistible, and hail beat so mercilessly on all things that it spread death around. Long did Tregeagle stand the 'pelting of the pitiless storm,' but at length he yielded to its force and fled. The demons in crowds were at his heels. He doubled, however, on his pursuers and returned to the lake; but so rapid were they that he could not rest the required moment to dip his shell in the now seething waters. Three times he fled round the lake, and the evil ones pursued him. Then feeling that there was no safety for him near Dosmery Pool, he sprang swifter than the wind across it, shrieking with agony, and thus—since the devils cannot cross water, and were obliged to go round the lake—he gained on them and fled over the moor. Away, away went Tregeagle, faster and faster, the dark spirits pursuing, and they had nearly overtaken him, when he saw Roach Rock and its chapelbefore him. He rushed up the rocks, with giant power clambered to the eastern window, and dashed his head through it, thus securing the shelter of its sanctity. The defeated demons retired, and long and loud were their wild wailings in the air. The inhabitants of the moors and of the neighbouring towns slept not a wink that night."

This "wild hunt" is, in some respects, suggestive of Tam O'Shanter's narrow escape from the devil and the witches at Alloway Kirk.

In his "Address to the Deil," Burns associates both the devil and witches with stormy weather. He says, of the former:—

Whyles raging like a roaring lion,For prey a' holes an' corners tryin;Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin';Tirlin the kirks.

And again:—

Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags,Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags,They skim the moors an' dizzy crags,Wi' wicked speed.

But this is rather corroborative than otherwise of the hypothesis of their common origin. I have previously shown that witches were descended from the Aryan storm-gods or their attendants. Shakspere appears to have been fully cognisant of their elemental origin, or, in other words, of their supposed power over "the elements," for he makes Macbeth, in his extremity, exclaim:—

I conjure you, by that which you profess(Howe'er you came to know it), answer me:Though you untie the winds, and let them fightAgainst the churches: though the yesty wavesConfound and swallow navigation up;Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees torn down;Though castles topple on their warders' heads;Though palaces and pyramids do slopeTheir heads to their foundations; tho' the treasureOf nature's germins tumble altogether,Even till destruction sicken, answer meTo what I ask you.

The tradition that Dosmery Pool was bottomless, reminds me of a similar presumed phenomenon in the neighbourhood of Preston, which I have often heard referred to in my youth with implicit faith. It was confidently asserted that a large pit near the footpath leading from Moor Park to Cadley Mill was of the bottomless class. Doubtless it was, at that time, a very deep pit, though I believe now it is nearly if not entirely dry in the summer season. There was likewisea pit on Preston Moor which was supposed to be bottomless. A similar belief once obtained respecting the "Stone Delph," from which the material was quarried for the tower of the Parish Church, Preston, taken down in 1814. I can yet well remember being convinced of the absurdity of this legend by an older companion, a good swimmer and diver, bringing up some mud and a stone from the bottom. The stone delph referred to is situated in the present bed of the Ribble, at the foot of the steep brow in Avenham Park. The sinking of water into the caverns of limestone rocks, as in Derbyshire, and at Malham Cove, in Yorkshire, and other places, may have originated the notion of "bottomless pits;" but I am inclined to think that demonology has, likewise, had something to do with these legends.

The mother of the mythic monster Grendel, in the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem, Beowulf, lived in a pool or mere on which fire floated at night, and the depth of which was so great that the wisest living person knew not its bottom. This mere is supposed to be the sheet of water from which Hart-le-pool, in the county of Durham, takes its name.

Tregeagle was next employed on the shore near Padstow, to make "trusses of sand and ropes of sand with which to bind them." Of course, each recurring tide swept away the result of his toil, and, according to the tradition, "the ravings of the baffled soul were louder than the roarings of the winter tempest." He was afterwards removed, by the power of the priesthood, to the estuary of the Loo, and ordered to carry sand across to Porthleven. A fiend maliciously tripped him up, and the contents of his huge sack, it is said, furnished the material of the sandbank which forms the bar that destroyed the harbour of Ella's Town. Yet we learn that "the sea was raging with the irritation of a passing storm" at the time of the mishap, which clearly indicates the origin of the legend. Tregeagle's last location was at the Land's End, where Mr. Hunt says "he would find no harbour to destroy and few people to terrify. His task was to sweep the sands from Porthcurnow Cove round the headland called Tol-Peden-Penwith, into Nanjisal Cove. Those who know that rugged headland, with its cubical masses of granite, piled in Titanic grandeur one upon another, will appreciate the task; and when to all the difficulties are added the strong sweep of the Atlantic current,—that portion of the Gulf Stream which washes our southern shores,—it will be evident that the melancholy spirit has, indeed, a task which must endure to the world's end. Even until to-day isTregeagle labouring at his task. In calms his wailing is heard; and those sounds which some call the 'soughing of the wind,' are known to be the moanings of Tregeagle; while the coming storms are predicted by the fearful roarings of this condemned mortal."

It is very certain that we have here a singularly curious variation of the popular legend of the "Wandering Jew," and the myth of the "spectre huntsman," or the "furious host." The yelping hounds of the latter are not wanting to complete the picture, for Mr. Hunt tells us that "the tradition of the Midnight Hunter and his headless hounds,always, in Cornwall, associated with Tregeagle, prevails everywhere. The Abbot's Way, on Dartmoor, an ancient road which extends into Cornwall, is said to be the favourite coursing ground of the 'wish or whisked hounds of Dartmoor,' called also the 'yell hounds.' The valley of the Dewerstone is also the place of their midnight meetings. Once I was told at Jump, that Sir Francis Drake drove a hearse into Plymouth at night with headless horses, and that he was followed by a pack of 'yelling hounds' without heads. If dogs hear the cry of the wish hounds they all die."

The performance attributed to Sir Francis Drake is unquestionably a relatively modernised version of the mythical black coach story previously referred to as one form of the furious host legend. The effect of the cry of the wish hounds on the canine race in Cornwall is similar to that attributed to their compeers in Lancashire, only the death resultant is always that of a human being in the northern locality.

Mr. Hunt seems to doubt Mr. Kemble's etymology of the term "wish," when he says:—"In Devonshire, to this day, all magical or supernatural dealings go under the common name of wishtness. Can this have any reference to Woden's name 'Wyse?'" Mr. Hunt, however, acknowledges that "Mr. Kemble's idea is supported by the fact that 'there areWishanger(Wisehanger, or Woden's Meadow,) one about four miles south-west of Wanborough, in Surrey, and another near Gloucester.'" He acknowledges, likewise, on the authority of Jabez Allies, that there is aWishmoor, which may have such an origin, in Ledstone, Delamere, Worcestershire. Mr. Hunt thinks that the word "wish" is intimately "connected with the west country word 'whist,' meaning more than ordinary melancholy, a sorrow which has something weird about it." Polwhele, in his "Wishful Swain of Devon," says it is "an expression used by the vulgar to express local melancholy;" and he adds,—"There is something sublime in this impersonation ofwishness." It is not at all improbable that both these etymologies point to a common origin. The deeds of the spectrehuntsman and the furious host, a "cavalcade of the dead," are not calculated to impress on the human imagination anything repugnant to the "melancholy sorrow with something weird surrounding it," to which Mr. Hunt refers.

This supposed sympathy of "the elements" with human joy, or sorrow, or suffering, is evidently a very ancient superstition. In Lancashire we have yet the saying—

Happy is the bride that the sun shines on;Happy is the corpse that the rain rains on.

Shakspere has beautifully illustrated this presumed sensitiveness, not only of "the elements," but of animated nature, to the perpetration of deeds of darkness and blood by perverted humanity, in the following lines, which he places in the mouth of Lennox, on the morning after the murder of Duncan, by his host, Macbeth:—

The night has been unruly; where we lay,Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of death;And prophesying, with accents terrible,Of dire combustion and confused events,New hatched to the woeful time. The obscure birdClamoured the live-long night; some say the earthWas feverous, and did shake.

The sentiment is still further illustrated, with singular felicity, in the dialogue which follows, between Rosse and an old man:—

Old Man.Three score and ten I can remember well;Within the volume of which time I have seenHours dreadful and things strange; but this sore nightHath trifled former knowings.Rosse.Ah! good father,Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act,Threaten his bloody stage. By the clock 'tis day,And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,That darkness does the face of earth entomb,When living light should kiss it?Old Man.'Tis unnatural,Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,A falcon, towering in her pride of place,Was, by a mousing owl, hawked at and killed.Rosse.And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain),Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would makeWar with mankind.Old Man.'Tis said, they eat each other!Rosse.They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,That looked upon't.

Old Man.Three score and ten I can remember well;Within the volume of which time I have seenHours dreadful and things strange; but this sore nightHath trifled former knowings.

Rosse.Ah! good father,Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act,Threaten his bloody stage. By the clock 'tis day,And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,That darkness does the face of earth entomb,When living light should kiss it?

Old Man.'Tis unnatural,Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,A falcon, towering in her pride of place,Was, by a mousing owl, hawked at and killed.

Rosse.And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain),Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would makeWar with mankind.

Old Man.'Tis said, they eat each other!

Rosse.They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,That looked upon't.

The Ashton "Black Knight" traditions, doubtless, to some extent, influenced the colouring of Bamford's poem, "The Wild Rider." Mr. Hunt quotes from a somewhat similar modern ballad, entitled "Tregeagle or Dozmare Poole; an Anciente Cornish Legend," by John Penwarne, in which, however, he states the author has taken considerable liberties with the tradition. Tregeagle is transformed into a kind of Faust, and the black hunter, whose "dread voyce they hearde in wynde," is no other than the arch-fiend himself.

They heard hys curste hell houndes runn yelping behynde,And hys steede loude on the eare!

Although, in compliance with his contract with the demon, "the rede bolte of vengeaunce shot forth wyth a glare, and strooke him a corpse to the grounde,"

Stylle as the traveller pursues hys lone wayeIn horroure at nighte o'er the waste,He hears Syr Tregeagle with shrieks rushe awaye,He hears the Black Hunter pursuing his preye,And shrynkes at his bugle's dread blasts.

Here we find Odin (the spectre huntsman), by successive degrees, transformed into Sir Tregeagle, with a black knight attendant. The pair does not inaptly represent the Sir Ashton, of Bamford's poem, and the "Black Lad" of the Ashton Legend. The term "Th' Owd Lad" is a common expression in several parts of Lancashire, and means literally "Old Nick," or the devil.[32]

Both knights were baffled in affairs of the heart, and the doom of the one resembles that of the other. Bamford concludes his poem with the following stanzas:—

But strangest of all, on that woe-wedding night,A black horse was stabled where erst stood the white;The grooms, when they found him, in terror quick fled,His breath was hot smoke, and his eyes burning red;He beat down a strong wall of mortar and crag,He tore his oak stall as a dog would a rag,And no one durst put forth a hand near that steedTill a priest had read Ave, and pater, and creed.And then he came forth, the strange beautiful thing,With speed that could lead a wild eagle on wing;And raven had never spread plume on the airWhose lustrous darkness with his might compare.He bore the young Ashton—none else could him ride—O'er flood and o'er fell, and o'er quarry pit wide;The housewife, she blest her, and held fast her child,And the men swore both horse and his rider were wild.And then when the knight to the hunting field came,He rode as he sought rather death than his game.He halloo'd through woods where he wandered of yore,But the lost Lady Mary he never saw more!And no one durst ride in the track where he led,So fearful his leaps, and so madly he sped;And in his wild phrenzy he gallop'd one dayDown the church steps at Rochdale, and up the same way.

And then he came forth, the strange beautiful thing,With speed that could lead a wild eagle on wing;And raven had never spread plume on the airWhose lustrous darkness with his might compare.He bore the young Ashton—none else could him ride—O'er flood and o'er fell, and o'er quarry pit wide;The housewife, she blest her, and held fast her child,And the men swore both horse and his rider were wild.

And then when the knight to the hunting field came,He rode as he sought rather death than his game.He halloo'd through woods where he wandered of yore,But the lost Lady Mary he never saw more!And no one durst ride in the track where he led,So fearful his leaps, and so madly he sped;And in his wild phrenzy he gallop'd one dayDown the church steps at Rochdale, and up the same way.

The practice of giving a local name and local significance to this tradition and its hero has been previously shown to be by no means unusual. At Fontainebleau Odin is transformed into Hugh Capet; the ancient British king, Hegla, rode at the head of the hunt on the banks of the Wye, in the reign of Henry II.; King Arthur, in Normandy, Scotland, and other places, is elevated to the post of honour; in Sleswig it is the Duke Abel; and at Danzig it is Theordoric the Great. Wordsworth, in the lines quoted at the head of this chapter, designates the personage who hunts with Gabriel's hounds as an "impious lord."

The mythical connection between unwearied but unwilling toil and arrogance and presumption is referred to by the Rev. G. W. Cox in the following terms:—"The myth of Ixîôn exhibits the sun as bound to the four-spoked wheel which is whirled round everlastingly in the sky.[33]In that of Sisyphos we see the same being condemned to the daily toil of heaving a stone to the summit of a hill from which it immediately rolls down. This idea of tasks unwillingly done, or of natural operations as accomplished by means of punishment, is found also in the myth of Atlas, a name which like that of Tantalos denotes endurance and suffering, and so passes into the notion of arrogance and presumption." In a note he adds,—"The Hellenic Atlas is simply the Vedic Skambha."

The story of the "spectre huntsman," under various modifications, is found in different parts of the country. They seem invariably to suggest the common origin to which I have referred, however much it may be obscured by relatively modern additions or poetic embellishments.

FOOTNOTES:[29]Query:—May not the "marks of the comb" be, in reality, striæ resulting from glacial action?[30]Since this was written, I have been told in a public company, in Manchester, by an intelligent man, that the squeaking of a pig did give the name to Winwick. My suggestion that the old name of the brook, the "Wynwede," with the common suffix "wick," a village, was sufficient to explain the etymology, was, of course, laughed at as a relatively very prosaic affair indeed.[31]See the following chapter.[32]Mr. Roby's version of the tradition states that a half-witted lad met Sir Ralph Ashton, when driving a cow towards the Knight's residence. The boy, who was unacquainted with his superior, in answer to questions, said his father was dead, and he was driving the cow to Sir Ralph's as the heriot due under the circumstance. He further asked if the stranger did not think that, on Sir Ralph's death, the devil, his master, would demand his soul as heriot. The question so astonished the Knight that he sent the cow back to the poor widow. Dr. Hibbert Ware mentions a similar tradition, but the Knight's name is not Ralph, but Robert Ashton.[33]"This wheel reappears in the Gaelic story of the Widow and her Daughters, Campbell, ii. 265, and in Grimm's German tale of the Iron Stove. The treasure house of Ixîôn, which none may enter without being either destroyed like Hesioneus or betrayed by marks of gold or blood, reappears in a vast number of popular stories, and is the foundation of the story of Bluebeard."

[29]Query:—May not the "marks of the comb" be, in reality, striæ resulting from glacial action?

[30]Since this was written, I have been told in a public company, in Manchester, by an intelligent man, that the squeaking of a pig did give the name to Winwick. My suggestion that the old name of the brook, the "Wynwede," with the common suffix "wick," a village, was sufficient to explain the etymology, was, of course, laughed at as a relatively very prosaic affair indeed.

[31]See the following chapter.

[32]Mr. Roby's version of the tradition states that a half-witted lad met Sir Ralph Ashton, when driving a cow towards the Knight's residence. The boy, who was unacquainted with his superior, in answer to questions, said his father was dead, and he was driving the cow to Sir Ralph's as the heriot due under the circumstance. He further asked if the stranger did not think that, on Sir Ralph's death, the devil, his master, would demand his soul as heriot. The question so astonished the Knight that he sent the cow back to the poor widow. Dr. Hibbert Ware mentions a similar tradition, but the Knight's name is not Ralph, but Robert Ashton.

[33]"This wheel reappears in the Gaelic story of the Widow and her Daughters, Campbell, ii. 265, and in Grimm's German tale of the Iron Stove. The treasure house of Ixîôn, which none may enter without being either destroyed like Hesioneus or betrayed by marks of gold or blood, reappears in a vast number of popular stories, and is the foundation of the story of Bluebeard."

His other parts besidesProne on the flood, extended long and large,Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as hugeAs whom the fables name of monstrous size;Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove,Briareos or Typhon, whom the denBy ancient Tarsus held, or that sea beastLeviathan, which God of all His worksCreated hugest that swim the ocean stream.Milton.

Milton.

Amongstthe traditionary beings which linger yet in the legends of nearly every race or tribe, few are more universal than those relating to giants or men of colossal size and superhuman power. Geoffrey of Monmouth gravely informs us that, before the arrival of his legendary Trojan, Brutus, Britain was "called Albion, and was inhabited by none but a few giants." According to the same authority, Ireland was originally peopled by a similar race of monsters. He asserts that the magician Merlin transported the materials for the building of Stonehenge from the Irish mountain Killaraus, to Salisbury Plain. Merlin assured Uther Pendragon that the stones were "mystical, and of a medical virtue," and that "the giants of old brought them from the farthest coasts of Africa, and placed them in Ireland while they inhabited that country."

The ancient Britons believed Stonehenge to have been built by giants, hence its name, in their language,Choir-gaur, which signifies the "Giant's Dance."

The earliest reliable notice of the British Islands is, however, to be found in the work "De Mundo," section three, attributed to Aristotle (B.C. 340). The writer says:—"Beyond the Pillars of Hercules is the ocean which flows round the earth. In it are two very large islands, called Britiannic; these are Albion and Ierne."

The Ramayana, which is the next Sanscrit work in point of age to the Vedas, gives a singular account of the conquest of Ceylon, in which some mythic giants and monsters appear together with monkeywarriors. Rama, by the aid of celestial weapons, conquered demons. He obtained his wife, Sita, by snapping the bow of her gigantic father. The said bow was conveyed from place to place by an eight-wheeled carriage, drawn by eight hundred men! His wife having been carried off through the sky by the demon monarch of Ceylon, "at whose name heaven's armies flee," Rama entered into an alliance with Sugriva, king of the monkeys, whose general, Hanuman, at the head of his monkey army, aided Rama in the conquest of his enemy's territory. The demon king was slain, and Sita recovered. The latter successfully underwent the ordeal of walking through blazing fire, in order to demonstrate her purity.

The confusion which existed in ancient times respecting wild men, monsters, and some kind of gigantic ape or monkey, has had some little light thrown upon it by the recent experiences of M. Du Chaillu in Equatorial Africa. In his "Journey to Ashango-land," he says:—

"After reconsidering the whole subject, I am compelled also to state that I think it highly probable that gorillas, and not chimpanzees, as I was formerly inclined to think, were the animals seen and captured by the Carthaginians under Hanno, as related in the 'Periplus.' Many circumstances combine in favour of this conclusion. One of the results of my late journey has been to prove that gorillas are nowhere more common than on the tract of land between the bend of the Fernand Vaz and the sea-shore; and, as this land is chiefly of alluvial formation, and the bed of the river constantly shifting, it is extremely probable that there were islands here in the time of Hanno. The southerly part of the land is rather hilly, and, even if it were not then an island, the Carthaginians, in rambling a short distance from the beach, would see a broad water (the Fernand Vaz) beyond them, and would conclude that the land was an island.... The passage in the 'Periplus,' which I mentioned in 'Equatorial Africa,' is to the following effect:—'On the third day after sailing from thence, passing the streams of fire, we came to a bay called the Horn of the South. In the recess was an island like the first, having a lake, and in this there was another island full of wild men. But much the greater part of them were women with hairy bodies, whom the interpreters called gorillas.... But, pursuing them, we were not able to take the men; they all escaped from us by their great agility, beingcremnobates(that is to say, climbing precipitous rocks and trees), and defending themselves by throwing stones at us. We took three women, who bit and tore those who caught them, and were unwilling to follow. We were obliged, therefore, to kill them,and took their skins off, which skins were brought to Carthage, for we did not navigate further, provisions becoming scarce.'" Du Chaillu adds his opinion that "the hairy men and women met with were males and females of theTroglodytes gorilla. Even the name 'gorilla,' given to the animal in the 'Periplus,' is not very greatly different from its native name at the present day, 'ngina' or 'ngilla,' especially in the indistinct way in which it is sometimes pronounced."

Mr. Robert Hunt seems to regard the giants of "old Cornwall" as something generically distinct from those depicted in Mr. Dasent's translation of Asbjörnsen and Moe's collection of "Norse Tales." He says:—

"May we venture to believe that the Cornish giant is a true Celt, or may he not belong to an earlier race? He was fond of home, and we have no record of his ever having passed beyond the wilds of Dartmoor. The giants of Lancashire, and Cheshire, and Shropshire have a family likeness, and are no doubt closely related; but if they are cousins to the Cornish giants, they are cousins far removed."

So far from entertaining a doubt as to the common origin of these mythical monsters, on account of the diversity of local costume in which they are presented, I rather feel disposed to express astonishment at the vast amount of similarity they yet retain, after being subjected for centuries to so many diverse influences. The Titans and the Cyclops, of the polished Greeks, some of whom are said to have covered nine acres of land when laid on the earth; the Goëmagot, who succumbed in the famous wrestling match to the Trojan chief Corineus, on the cliff at Plymouth, and who, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, was twelve cubits high, and tore up huge oak trees as if they were hazel wands; that prince of pedestrians, Bolster, immortalised by the pencil and burin of George Cruickshank, who took his six miles at a stride, over a Cornish valley, without discomfort; the trolls and giants of the Norse, who, like their Greek cousins, warred with the ascendant gods; the ogres and huge club-wielding monsters of our nursery days, that in Lancashire, as in other parts of England (Cornwall included), yielded to the prowess of the redoubtable "Jack, the Giant-killer," or "Jack, the Tinkeard," present too many corresponding family features and mental and physical coincidences to permit a serious doubt of their common parentage. The Teutonic giants of the German tales collected by the brothers Grimm, bear unmistakable relationship both to those of Cornwall and the north of England. Indeed, "Gogmagog," the very name of the Shropshire colossus who was located in the ruins of the Roman cityUriconium, is preserved in that of the Cornish giant wrestler above referred to. There are Gog-Magog hills, too, near Cambridge; and the Corporation of London yet retains the huge wooden images which represent this mythic monster split into two, and converted into the giant warders of the ancient city—the well-known Gog and Magog. I have seen at Norwich two huge wooden dolls, which, if they do not actually represent the said Gog and Magog, are evidently intended as portraits of some very near relatives of those ponderous misshapen relics of the past.

Much useless discussion has been devoted to the attempt to show that mankind, or at least some portion thereof, in the "pre-historic time," was of Cyclopean or gigantic stature. All known evidence of a reliable character, however, condemns this hypothesis as untenable. The power of ignorance and rumour to magnify small facts into monstrous fictions is aptly illustrated by the story of the famous three black crows. The deeds of a man of uncommon stature, or extraordinary strength, would furnish, under certain circumstances, a sufficient modicum of truth to lay the foundation of a most extravagant myth. We have a modern illustration of the proneness of ignorant or superstitious persons to hyperbole in matters of this kind, in the statements of early voyagers anent the aborigines of Patagonia. Our early school geographies informed us that this then relatively unknown portion of South America was peopled by a race of giants. Indeed, I think it was even intimated that these colossi were most probably thebonâ fidedescendants of the supposed mythical monsters of the days of old. Some Spanish officers, in 1785, measured several of these Patagonian giants, and they reported that the greatest monster of the lot only reached seven feet one inch and a quarter! I can never remember England being without two or three exhibited giants, who would look with contempt upon such pretensions to the honours of the caravan, to say nothing of the "reception room" of such "gentlemanly freaks of nature" as Chang, the Chinese Anak, Mons. Brice, or Captain Bates, with his colossal wife,néeMiss Swan. But Captain Wallis informs us that, on his carefully measuring several of these Patagonian prodigies, he found that the stature of the greater part of them ranged between five feet ten inches and six feet! The well-known regiment of grenadiers raised by Frederick William the First, of Prussia, would have completely dwarfed these once celebrated Patagonian Titans. One of them, a Swede, measured eight feet six inches. "O'Brien, the Irish giant," who died in 1783, was eight feet four inches in height. His real name was Byrne. Hisskeleton is preserved in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. Chang, at nineteen years of age, was said to be seven feet nine and a half inches in height. He stated that a deceased sister was eight inches taller than himself! The proneness to exaggeration or hyperbole to which I have referred was shared in even by such men as Julius Cæsar and Tacitus; or, at the least, they dealt largely in the article at second-hand. They believed and recorded the then vulgar notion that the German "barbarians," our own ancestors, were a race of gigantic men.

Indeed the belief in giants and other monsters was almost universal amongst the more educated section of the Roman people. Pliny speaks of the existence of men in India whose height exceeded five cubits. He assures his readers, on the most unimpeachable authority, that "they are never known to spit, are not troubled with pain in the head or teeth, or grief of the eyes, and seldom or never complain of any soreness in any other parts of the body, so hardy are they, and of so strong a constitution, through the moderate heat of the sun." He likewise talks of a people who, having no heads, stand on their necks. These monsters were said to carry their eyes in their shoulders. He describes the Choromandæ as a savage people, without a distinct speech. Their bodies were rough and hairy. They gnashed their teeth and made a hideous noise. Their eyes were red, and their teeth of the canine order. This same India, according to Pliny, possessed a great variety of other monstrosities, such as men without noses, men with feet a cubit long, while those of their wives were so small that they were called "sparrow-footed."

That such stories were ordinarily accepted as true, even in Shakspere's days, is attested by the fact that the great poet and dramatist places in the mouth of Othello, in his eloquent defence before the senate of Venice, when explaining his method of courtship, the following words:—

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,Of moving accidents, by flood and field;Of hair-breadth scapes i'th imminent deadly breach;Of being taken by the insolent foeAnd sold to slavery; of my redemption thenceAnd portance in my travel's history;Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,It was my hint to speak, such was the process;And of the Cannibals that each other eat,The Anthropophagi, and men whose headsDo grow beneath their shoulders.

Again, in the Tempest, after the appearance of Prospero's magic repast, Sebastian says,—

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