Part 4 (1/2)

”Whoy,” replied Ashbead, ”t'owd hags had a little figure i' t' midst on 'em, mowded i' cley, representing t' abbut o' Whalley,-ey knoad it be't moitre and crosier,-an efter each o' t' varment had stickt a pin i' its 'eart, a tall black mon stepped for'ard, an teed a cord rownd its throttle, an hongt it up.”

”An' t' black mon,” cried Hal o' Nabs, breathlessly,-”t' black mon wur Nick Demdike?”

”Yoan guest it,” replied Ashbead, ”'t wur he! Ey wur so glopp'nt, ey couldna speak, an' meh blud fruz i' meh veins, when ey heerd a fearfo voice ask Nick wheere his woife an' chilt were. 'The infant is unbaptised,' roart t' voice, 'at the next meeting it must be sacrificed. See that thou bring it.' Demdike then bowed to Summat I couldna see; an axt when t' next meeting wur to be held. 'On the night of Abbot Paslew's execution,' awnsert t' voice. On hearing this, ey could bear nah lunger, boh shouted out, 'Witches! devils! Lort deliver us fro' ye!' An' os ey spoke, ey tried t' barst thro' t' winda. In a trice, aw t' leets went out; thar wur a great rash to t' dooer; a whirrin sound i' th' air loike a covey o' partriches fleeing off; and then ey heerd nowt more; for a great stoan fell o' meh scoance, an' knockt me down senseless. When I c.u.m' to, I wur i' Nick Demdike's cottage, wi' his woife watching ower me, and th' unbapteesed chilt i' her arms.”

All exclamations of wonder on the part of the rustics, and inquiries as to the issue of the adventure, were checked by the approach of a monk, who, joining the a.s.semblage, called their attention to a priestly train slowly advancing along the road.

”It is headed,” he said, ”by Fathers Chatburne and Chester, late bursers of the abbey. Alack! alack! they now need the charity themselves which they once so lavishly bestowed on others.”

”Waes me!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ashbead. ”Monry a broad merk han ey getten fro 'em.”

”They'n been koind to us aw,” added the others.

”Next come Father Burnley, granger, and Father Haworth, cellarer,” pursued the monk; ”and after them Father d.i.n.kley, sacristan, and Father Moore, porter.”

”Yo remember Feyther Moore, lads,” cried Ashbead.

”Yeigh, to be sure we done,” replied the others; ”a good mon, a reet good mon! He never sent away t' poor-naw he!”

”After Father Moore,” said the monk, pleased with their warmth, ”comes Father Forrest, the procurator, with Fathers Rede, Clough, and Bancroft, and the procession is closed by Father Smith, the late prior.”

”Down o' yer whirlybooans, lads, as t' oly feythers pa.s.s,” cried Ashbead, ”and crave their blessing.”

And as the priestly train slowly approached, with heads bowed down, and looks fixed sadly upon the ground, the rustic a.s.semblage fell upon their knees, and implored their benediction. The foremost in the procession pa.s.sed on in silence, but the prior stopped, and extending his hands over the kneeling group, cried in a solemn voice,

”Heaven bless ye, my children! Ye are about to witness a sad spectacle. You will see him who hath clothed you, fed you, and taught you the way to heaven, brought hither a prisoner, to suffer a shameful death.”

”Boh we'st set him free, oly prior,” cried Ashbead. ”We'n meayed up our moinds to 't. Yo just wait till he c.u.ms.”

”Nay, I command you to desist from the attempt, if any such you meditate,” rejoined the prior; ”it will avail nothing, and you will only sacrifice your own lives. Our enemies are too strong. The abbot himself would give you like counsel.”

Scarcely were the words uttered than from the great gate of the abbey there issued a dozen arquebussiers with an officer at their head, who marched directly towards the kneeling hinds, evidently with the intention of dispersing them. Behind them strode Nicholas Demdike. In an instant the alarmed rustics were on their feet, and Ruchot o' Roaph's, and some few among them, took to their heels, but Ashbead, Hal o' Nabs, with half a dozen others, stood their ground manfully. The monks remained in the hope of preventing any violence. Presently the halberdiers came up.

”That is the ringleader,” cried the officer, who proved to be Richard a.s.sheton, pointing out Ashbead; ”seize him!”

”Naw mon shall lay honts o' meh,” cried Cuthbert.

And as the guard pushed past the monks to execute their leader's order, he sprang forward, and, wresting a halbert from the foremost of them, stood upon his defence.

”Seize him, I say!” shouted a.s.sheton, irritated at the resistance offered.

”Keep off,” cried Ashbead; ”yo'd best. Loike a stag at bey ey'm dawngerous. Waar horns! waar horns! ey sey.”

The arquebussiers looked irresolute. It was evident Ashbead would only be taken with life, and they were not sure that it was their leader's purpose to destroy him.

”Put down thy weapon, Cuthbert,” interposed the prior; ”it will avail thee nothing against odds like these.”

”Mey be, 'oly prior,” rejoined Ashbead, flouris.h.i.+ng the pike: ”boh ey'st ony yield wi' loife.”

”I will disarm him,” cried Demdike, stepping forward.