by Miss Skelton.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.3 #17 (Jun 1843).
It was nearly twelve o'clock, and bright moonlight, as I rode across the common, in the direction of my father's house; I had been dining with Sir Gregory Mallet, in the neighbouring town of W—. I had somewhat outstayed my usual time of returning home, and, anxious to reach it as quickly as possible, and knowing my road well, I took the shortest cut across the moor; this was a bridle-path, leading directly under the gibbet where the murderer hung in chains. The bones were those of one who had once been in a respectable line of life, having, for many years, tenanted a farm on my father's estate; he had, however, fallen into wild courses, and in the year '45 had suddenly disappeared, it was supposed, to join the Pretender. Nor was he again heard of, until a murder, accompanied with robbery, having taken place on the highway adjoining the common, strict search was made for the criminal, who was discovered lurking in the suburbs of W--: the watch and purse of the murdered gentleman were found in his possession; he was tried, condemned, and executed.
Before his execution, he discovered himself to be our late tenant, and received permission to send for his only brother (my father's steward), and bid him farewell.
Our steward was a strange character, though much respected and beloved by my father. He had long been suspected of an attachment to the losing cause. He and his brother were the last of an old and respectable family, the members of which had lost their substance during the civil wars, by their loyalty to the house of Stuart. He was of a gloomy, reserved turn of mind—singularly handsome in face, and almost gigantic in stature—but he wanted urbanity of manner and goodness of expression.
Notwithstanding the guilt of his brother and the rumours of his own connexion with the rebels, my father continued to retain him in his service, and to entrust him implicitly with all his affairs. About a month after the execution, our steward died—some said, by his own hand; but my father would not allow of this interpretation, and gave out that his death was the result of an apoplectic fit. All I know upon the subject is, that going one evening into the room where the corpse was laid, during the absence of the watcher I raised the napkin from the face, and saw, that though the features still retained their beauty of outline and pride of expression, the complexion, naturally dark, had become quite black in colour. . . . . .
I rode at a sharp pace, but as I neared the gibbet, I heard footsteps behind me, and just as I came beneath it, a tall man strode to my side, and laid his hand upon my bridle.
"You have ridden fast!" he said; "but I think I am in time." My horse stopped instantly, trembling in every limb; I urged with whip and spur, but nothing would induce him to pass the gibbet; the man had taken his hand from the rein the moment the horse ceased to move. He carried across his shoulder a staff, to the end of which was attached an iron hook; with this instrument he endeavoured to disengage the corpse from the gibbet. My blood froze in my veins as I recognised the bold profile and black complexion of my father's late steward. "You need not urge your horse—I have need of him tonight;" and as he spoke, the body fell from the tree; he received it, chains and all, in his arms! "Dismount!" he said.
"Dismount!—never!" And I raised my heavy riding-whip, and struck with all my force at the black face of the steward; the blow passed through air, and fell harmlessly upon the chains round the felon, and I, deprived of sense by some invisible power, fell forwards from my saddle.
When I recovered myself, it was broad daylight; I was lying beneath the gibbet, the corpse swung slowly in the wind above my head, but my horse was gone. I arose, and walked quickly home. As I reached the gates, I met two of my father's servants, coming in search of me: they had found my horse fastened to the stable-door, and bearing marks of having been hard ridden.
In answer to their inquiries, I made some excuse of his having stumbled and thrown me, and that I had been stunned by the fall. Charging them not to mention the circumstance to my father, I entered the hall. I told my story to none of my family; but immediately after breakfast, I proceeded to Chester House, to inform my friend, George Chester, of the events of the preceding night.
George Chester was as brave, as handsome, as gallant, and as true a friend, as ever trod this earth. We were sworn brothers in love, and hoped soon to be brothers by the nearest and dearest ties; for George was already engaged to my beautiful sister Rebecca, and I was paying assiduous court to the gentle Mary Chester.
George laughed heartily at my story. "Come, come, Tom, you have been dreaming: confess you were a little elevated by Sir Gregory's claret, and would fain make some creditable excuse for your tumble from Brown Robin."
"George," I said, "you love a jest; but this is none. Will you ride with me to-morrow night, at the same hour, and in the same direction?"
"That will I, most valiant Tom," laughed George; "and if this black man be civil, I will ask him to supper."
"George," said I, solemnly, "you will not laugh in this way at this time to-morrow."
This redoubled his mirth: however, he promised to keep my adventure secret. We agreed to dine together at the neighbouring town, and to pass across the moor in the same direction, and at the same hour, as I had done the night previous.
Accordingly, twelve o'clock found us turning from the highway on to the path over the common:. before doing so, we looked searchingly in every direction, but saw signs of nothing living; yet we had not been upon the moor one minute, when, on again looking back, we perceived a tall black figure following us, carrying on his shoulder a long staff.
"There he is, George, with the identical hook!"
"There surely is some one, Tom! Now let us give him some exercise;" and we put spurs to our horses.
Five minutes at a hand-gallop brought us to the gibbet; but the black man was there as soon, and laying his hand on Chester's rein, he said,—"You ride hard, gentlemen! but I think I am in time."
"We ride apace, old boy; but you fly."
"Mr. Chester, I shall want your horse," said the man, as he commenced the work of hooking down the corpse.
George laughed scornfully. "Shall I walk, that you may ride?"
"Nay, then, ride also, if you will!" And the man, as he said these words, strove to lift the body (which had fallen into his arms) on the horse before George Chester.
George drew his pistol, and fired right in the steward's face. My horse, frightened by the report, fled across the common; in a few moments, I had reined him in and returned to the gibbet, beneath which I found my friend extended, senseless—the man, the body, and the horse, were gone!
Some time elapsed before George recovered his consciousness; when he did so, I could not induce him to proceed home: he would wait and see the return of the body, for we doubted not it would return. We paced backwards and forwards beneath the gibbet for some hours, and then seated ourselves on the grass, and leaned against its foot, keeping a sharp look-out to the right and the left. We remained in this position until the first streaks of dawn, when we were startled by a low neigh from my horse (whom I held by the bridle), and a slight noise of chains behind;—both rose at once—the corpse was swinging violently overhead, as if from the impulse of a sudden jerk. George's horse, all reeking with sweat and foam, stood close behind him; but the black man was nowhere to be seen!
As we rode slowly home, we agreed to tell no one of our enterprise, and to pursue it on the following evening.
In the course of the day we went secretly to a priest in the town of W—, a priest of the old faith, and we asked him for a charm to charm evil spirits from the corpse of one who died in sin, and holy water to preserve the watchers from the assaults of the fiend; we obtained what we desired, and when evening fell, we proceeded to the gibbet on the common.
We first sprinkled ourselves, our horses, and their furniture, plentifully with the holy water; we performed the same operation on the corpse and the gibbet, and in addition, George climbed the latter, and attached the chain securely to the neck of the felon.
We then returned to the town, and again, at the hour of twelve, we entered on the moor, and again, on looking back, we saw the black man, and again he overtook us, and again, laying his hand on George's rein, he said, "Gentlemen, you ride hard! but I think I am in time—but how is this?" for he found he could not check the horse.
We drew up by the gibbet, and watched his proceedings: his face was full of rage; he tried, ineffectually, to lower the corpse. It was a frightful sight; the black man pushed and hooked with all his strength, the whole gibbet shook with his efforts, but the corpse remained immovable.
"Good night, old boy!" shouted Chester. "Ha! ha! ha! you have met your match, I think."
The black man turned to Chester; he shook his clenched fist at him, with a slow, yet angry motion, and muttered,—" We shall meet again."
"I am glad to hear it, old fellow; any civility I can shew you, pray command, If not engaged, will you sup with us to-night?—or will you borrow my roan hunter, and ride with us to cover to-morrow?"
"I will borrow your roan hunter, but not to-morrow. Fear me not; we shall meet again." And he was gone.
As George and I rode home, we agreed to name our adventure to no one, not even to our loves, and to take notes of the whole affair.
About a month after these occurrences, we rode together to cover; it was the last day we should hunt that season. George was in high spirits, for the beautiful Rebecca had at last named the period for their marriage. I, too, was happy, for Mary had half-promised to make it a double wedding. George talked about the black man.
"He must make haste, if he wishes to ride my roan hunter this season."
"George, George, don't jest on that subject." But George only laughed.
We had a gallant run, towards the close of which we found ourselves leading the field with one other rider (a stranger on a roan horse) over a break-neck country.
The stranger took the shortest cuts after the hounds, and we felt bound to follow wherever he dared to lead. So we dashed over many a rugged bank, and took many a desperate leap, until at last we came to ground nearly level, but rising from us in a gentle slope. The stranger led, George and I rode abreast.
We gained the summit of this gentle slope, and then we saw our danger: we were on the edge of a precipice, some thirty feet in height; but so sudden was the descent, we saw it not till too late. Over went the stranger, and as his figure stood for the moment clear and defined against the open sky, I saw the features, not to be mistaken, and the long staff in his hand.
George leaped down the precipice. I checked my horse, but it was too late; he fell over, flinging me from the saddle. As I fell, I saw George's horse fly wildly away, George himself lying pale and bleeding, while the black huntsman, the dogs, and the fox, went gallantly up the opposite ascent—I saw no more. When I came to my senses, they were bearing me through my father's gate, and on a litter by my side lay my friend.
I learned afterwards that my horse was killed by the fall, that George had never moved after he had been first found, and that none of the field had seen the black huntsman, though the roan hunter had been abstracted from the stable, hard-ridden, and left at the gate in an almost dying state.
Rebecca died within the year, and it was a long time before I was able, spite of the tender nursing of my gentle Mary, to stir from my couch of pain. I have been, as you know, a cripple all my life, but I have been happy with my beloved Mary. I gave Rebecca and poor George a splendid tomb in our parish church. As for the felon, I procured leave to bury his body in consecrated ground, and the gibbet was removed.