Originally published in St. James's Magazine (W. Kent) vol.2 #2 (Sep 1861).
The terrible storm that visited the western coast of Wales on the 29th of August, 1857, was felt with the utmost severity in the county of Pembroke. Huge trees were shattered and torn up by their roots; stacks were ignited and consumed by lightning; cattle were struck down in the fields and perished; several men and women lost their lives. None then living could remember another so disastrous in its effects.
On the day mentioned, two hours after noon, I set out from Narberth—a small town on the confines of the English and Welsh districts of the county—for Tenby, which is on the sea-shore, nine miles off. I was on foot, and not being pressed for time, proceeded at a quiet pace, with the prospect of enjoying a pleasant walk amidst scenery I know and love so well. The road, after descending the abrupt declivity on which Narberth stands, and crossing the narrow stream that flows round its base, winds its way up the steep sides of the opposite hill as far as the quiet and picturesque little village of Colblow, which crowns the summit. Upon arriving within a short distance of this village, the weather—which, when I began my journey, was remarkably fine, and to the ordinary traveller presented nothing to indicate what was so soon to follow—underwent a perceptible and sudden change. I became sensible of an unusual stillness in the air. Sounds, hitherto unheeded, made themselves heard with wonderful distinctness; the bleating of sheep, and the lowing of cattle on distant hills, seemed close at hand; the birds, that just before took to flight at my approach, now flitted from branch to branch, almost within reach of my arm, and kept calling to one another as if they desired companionship. A dead calm prevailed. Suddenly there emerged from below the horizon, in all directions, clouds of strange and menacing aspect. These, at first motionless, speedily began to swell, to unite, and, with rapid motion across the sky, to converge to a point immediately above my head Then there was a short, sharp, puff of wind. A few large drops of rain fell at my feet; and simultaneously a flash of lightning, darting from the dense, dark mass overhead, illuminated the heavens, and was instantly followed by an explosion that almost stunned me. I was in the midst of the storm.
My first thought was of escaping from its effects. What was I to do? The high banks on each side the road were overrun with thick brushwood, and would, in ordinary cases, have afforded ample shelter; but they were a poor defence against such a storm as that which now raged.
Fortunately, at the distance of only a few dozen paces in advance, I perceived a small thatched cottage half hid in a clump of sycamore-trees. Thither, accordingly, I hastened with all speed, and gained the door just as another flash of lightning, with its accompanying thunderclap, made the protection of a roof the more welcome. With a single rap, and without waiting an answer, I raised the latch and entered.
It was a small rude hut, divided into two apartments by a partition of wattle-work roughly coated with coarse mud. In the inner room an old woman, dressed in the costume of the country, was sitting at her wheel engaged in spinning. She was the only occupant, and at my entrance rose and made me a courtesy. There was no need for me to explain the object of my visit: she evidently understood it; for, having with her apron carefully dusted a bench that stood near the large chimney, she invited me by a gesture to sit down. "Thank you," said I, taking the seat she had offered; "with your permission I will dry my coat, which, I find, has not escaped the rain. But do not let me disturb you," I added, seeing she was about to put aside her spinning-wheel. "Judging from matters outside, I fear I shall be obliged to intrude upon you for some time. Do not, therefore, let me incommode you in any way."
Whilst I was speaking she appeared quite unconscious of what I was saying, and when I had finished, a quiet smile overspread her countenance as she exclaimed, "Dim Saesneg—no English—me!"
"You can speak a little?" I asked, by way of encouragement, knowing the aversion those of her class who do not thoroughly understand that language have to make use of what they do know. "Surely you have not lived so long without having acquired a few words of English?"
A shake of the head was her only answer.
Finding it thus impossible to enter into conversation, I did not again make the attempt. Neither of us, however, was at all disconcerted by the peculiarity of our position. The old woman busied herself with her domestic arrangements, whilst I was left to make the best of my situation. Some small branches of furze having been placed on the embers, which were smoking beneath a large brass pan that nearly filled the fire-place, a blaze was soon produced. When I had dried my coat, I sought to amuse myself by examining the prints, broadsides, Christmas carols, last dying-speeches, &c., which were pasted over the whitewashed walls. I managed to spend an hour or more in this employment, varied occasionally by watching the progress of the storm. The weather, meanwhile, showed no signs of improvement. The heavy atmosphere, too thick for the sun to pierce, was charged with a light orange tint, that produced a gloomy and most disagreeable effect; the lightning-flashes followed each other with such fearful rapidity as to present the appearance of a continuous glare; and the rain drove with greater violence than ever against the single pane that formed the only window in the house. To be detained in a wayside cottage, with an aged, uninteresting companion, with whom you are unable to exchange a word, and with the prospect of a long confinement, is vexatious. I began to grow impatient, and to fear a longer delay than I at first anticipated. I wished to ask a question, but my knowledge of Welsh, although sufficient to enable me to comprehend others in a general way, prevented my making the attempt. After a little consideration, however, I fancied myself qualified to inquire whether, if need be, I could procure a bed at the neighbouring village. I put the question to the old woman. Her answer was interrupted by a flash of lightning which lit up every cobweb in the smoky rafters of the roof; and a peal of thunder immediately following, shook the very foundations of the cottage. It had scarcely died away when a violent rapping was heard at the door, that opened with such force as almost to break down the wattling against which it bounded. The woman, who did not comprehend my question, and who was on her knees trying to kindle some fresh firewood, rose to her feet just as a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man, leading a mule by the bridle, made his appearance. When she recognized her new guest she exclaimed, "Natty! dowch i mewn!" and with an air of great deference proceeded to give him welcome.
The new comer was a man of about forty years of age, with a frame indicating great strength—but strength kept in reserve, so as to render it liable to be mistaken, by an inattentive observer, for lassitude. His features were large, but nevertheless essentially feminine, and would have been considered handsome, had they not been deeply and thickly indented by small-pox. An eye of great mildness, tinged with a slight shade of sadness, and a mouth which, whatever might be its habitual expression, softened, as he spoke, into a smile, gave to his countenance an air of much benevolence, and even fascination. His dress was of a humble description, consisting of a brown velveteen vest, and shooting-jacket of great breadth of skirt. Corduroy breeches and leggings, together with heavily-nailed boots—to one of which was attached a spur, that, judging from its immense rowel and peculiar shape, must have been made some centuries before—completed a costume evidently selected more for use than for the sake of appearance.
The stranger proceeded to fasten up his mule to a staple in the wall of the outer room. He then loosed the girths of the saddle, and, having emptied on the floor, within reach of the beast, the contents of a small canvas bag he had brought with him, advanced to where I was standing. "Servant, Sir," said he, lifting his hat and making a slight bow. "The change in the weather has been very sudden. I hope you had taken shelter before the storm burst."
"Luckily I was close to this cottage, and escaped with a few drops of rain. You, however, were not so fortunate," I remarked, seeing his garments were dripping, and that he was completely drenched.
The old woman exhibited an officious attention towards her new guest. She wished him to change his apparel, and expressed a hope he would take some refreshment under her roof. Firmly, but thankfully, he declined both proposals, excusing himself by the plea that he had an engagement further on, for which he was desirous of pushing forward as soon as possible. "The storm is too violent to last much longer," he observed; "by the time my beast has finished his feed it will be over, and I shall take my departure."
And he was right. We had been conversing together but for a short time, when the atmosphere gradually began to clear; the lightning became less vivid, and occurred at longer intervals; the thunder sank to indistinct mumblings; and the storm, after having raged for little more than an hour and a half, at length completely ceased. My companion had excited my curiosity in no small degree, and I felt a desire to know more of him. But the return of fine weather left me without an excuse for delay. Wishing him good morning, and offering the old woman a remuneration (which she, however, refused to accept), I recommenced my journey, and in the course of twenty minutes arrived at the village of Colblow.
Colblow, at one time, was a post-village of considerable importance, and was well known to all who frequented the western part of the island. An immense traffic flowed through it. It was on the highway to the south of Ireland, and the last place where relays were kept. Two mail coaches daily changed horses at the door of the inn, and it was no unusual thing to see half a dozen travelling carriages at a time drawn up in the road. More than one King of England, escorted by yeomanry, had driven up to the door; and, whilst fresh horses were being applied to the royal carriage, had graciously condescended to alight, and to make some inquiries of those who stood around. One of them, indeed, as is proudly boasted to this day, had even drunk of the water that had been drawn at his express wish from the village spring. But alas! those happy times have long since gone. Two new roads, offering a shorter and more easy route, were opened, and the glory of Colblow departed for ever. The inn is now occupied by cottagers, who use only two of its rooms—the remaining apartments being divided between various birds of the air and beasts of the field; and the little village itself has a mute and altogether woe-stricken appearance. It presented none of those sights and sounds we are accustomed to associate with such a scene; not a door had been opened since it was closed against the storm; no women, no children, were to be seen—the only human being I could detect was the tall, gaunt figure of an old man, who was standing upright and motionless by the side of a horse-block at the further end of the straggling street.
But if the view on that side was somewhat gloomy, the prospect in the opposite direction was quite otherwise. I was standing on the highest point of land for miles around, and at my feet lay one of the widest and most varied landscapes I had ever beheld. Long did I contemplate the scene; and when I turned towards the village I could not help contrasting its sombre and dilapidated aspect with the bright and pleasing view upon which I had been gazing.
"And this is Colblow!" I ejaculated, as I once more pursued my journey.
"Ay, it used to be Colblow, Sir, but is so no longer."
I looked round, and perceived at my side the old man I had noticed as I first approached. He was shabbily dressed, and was not less than seventy years of age. His eye was intensely bright, and none who observed his countenance could avoid the conviction that he was labouring under some heavy calamity.
"What do you mean? Has the name of the village been changed, then?" I inquired.
"Oh no; but the times have changed, and the people have changed, and they may as well change the name of the place too."
"Ah, just so!" said I, at once comprehending his allusion. "You speak of Colblow in its palmy days, and no doubt look back with regret upon the time when it held its head higher than surrounding villages."
"Yes, Sir, I do," he replied with emphasis, after having eyed me inquiringly for a moment or two. "And there is one circumstance," he added, in a tone that asked for my attention, "which I remember as if it had happened only yesterday. 'Twas the last posting that ever went from here," (and he bent his head in the direction of the inn). "It was winter time, and the night was so terrible that I thought the world would come to an end. The rain fell in torrents from a sky that was like ink. They in the house were preparing to goto bed. Jonah, the other postboy, and I, who were in the stables doing up our horses for the night, had just finished our work, when there came the most terrific clap of thunder I ever heard, and before it quite died away I heard a violent ringing at our bell. Both of us went to answer it, for each was afraid to stay alone. By the time we got to the front door, about a score yards from the stable, we were as wet as if we had been dragged through a river. I couldn't imagine what could be wanted at such a time, for it was almost midnight; but hearing voices in the middle of the road, I went for a lantern. Upon entering the house I was told to bring out as quick as possible a pair of horses which had been ordered for Tenby. I did not half like the job, but, without saying a word, I lighted the lantern and went out. As soon as I reached the carriage a voice inside exclaimed, 'Come along, you devil! Are we to stay here for ever?' 'I beg your pardon, Sir,' says I, putting my hand to my hat (and the old man repeated the action), 'but this is an awful night. If I may make so bold, I would recommend you to go no further till morning;' and as I spoke I turned the light of my lantern full on the carriage. It was open, and two men sat within. The one was a dark-complexioned man, with black curly hair, a flat nose, and little eyes that sparkled like coals of fire; the other was very fair, and had long light hair flowing in ringlets over his shoulders. I saw them only for an instant, but as long as I live I shall never forget the countenances of those men. I noticed, too, that although the rain came down in torrents, neither of them was wet. The dark-haired man, when I had done speaking, burst into a loud laugh, and exclaimed, 'Bring out the bay mare and chesnut horse at once—quick!—Do you hear? We must be at Tenby before the clock strikes one.' At this the other looked uneasy and sighed. I, too, trembled like a leaf, since it was my turn to take the job. Promising, however, to bring out the horses in a moment, I returned to the stables. I never knew such a thing before! The bay mare and chesnut horse had both turned themselves in their stalls ready to be harnessed, and, when I entered, neighed as though they had been expecting me. Jonah then came in, and remarked what, in my flurry, had not struck me, that there had been no horses in the strange carriage. All post-boys bringing jobs were in the habit of feeding their horses and taking something themselves before their return; but on this occasion they had not, it seemed, although it was such a bad night. Well, after having put myself straight, I harnessed the cattle, and brought them out, when the dark fellow again cursed me for having been so long. Jonah and I put to the horses as quickly as we were able. It had by this time left off thundering, and when I jumped into the saddle the clock struck twelve.
"'Now then, drive as if life or death depended on your pace!' cried a rough voice behind.
"'Life or death!' repeated a voice, so soft, that, had I not known better, I should have thought it came from a woman.
"Faster—faster!' shouted the other. Then I heard high words pass between them in some foreign tongue.
"I never went so fast before; but still I fancied every moment I should hear a voice in the carriage cry, 'Faster!'
"Before I got to Templeton the horses were bathed in sweat, and, to tell the truth, I was little better myself, for I began to be afraid of the men. Going down the hill, I determined to rein-in; but the horses refused—they went like the wind. I feared every moment we should be upset, but we reached the bottom in safety. I thanked God for that. Half way up the next hill I again tried to pull up, as I thought the lamps were getting dim; but the horses flew over the ground, through Begelly, down that steep descent, and on to the King's Moor. There they made a dead stand, so sudden as almost to throw me out of my seat. Nothing I could do would induce them to cross the new road, I whipped them, humoured them, gave them the spur, but all to no purpose—they would not stir. I expected every moment to hear a curse from behind, but all was quiet there. What was to be done? I ventured to look back to see what my passengers thought of our position, when I became horrified to find myself alone! Men and carriage had suddenly disappeared—all had vanished!"
More than once, whilst the old man had been confiding his tale to my unwilling ears, there had emerged from one of the cottages a woman of middle age, who crossed the road, shaded her eyes from the sun with her hand, and looked in the direction I had come in the manner of one who was impatiently expecting the arrival of some person. At length, just as the narrative was brought to a close, she seemed to have been successful in her search; for, addressing the old man, she exclaimed, "Father! here comes Natty at last! Will you see to his mule?"
The old man turned away with a sigh, and apparently with much unconcern, to meet the new arrival, in whom, as he rode up at an ambling pace, I recognized my late companion.
"Well, my friend," said I, "so we have met again—sooner than either of us expected, I presume."
"I am happy to see you, Sir. Had I known our way had been in the same direction, we might perhaps have set out together." So saying, he dismounted, and, followed by the old man, led away his mule to the back of the house.
"Natty is so careful of his beast," observed the woman, after the men had retired, "that he will not suffer my father, though one of the most experienced horsekeepers in the county, to touch him, but always feeds him with his own hand."
"The old man, then, is your father?" I inquired.
"Yes, poor dear fellow! He used to be one of the most active men in all these parts; but now—" and she lowered her voice and pointed significantly to her forehead.
"Just so," said I, remembering what he had been telling me. "He has met with some accident, then?"
"Yes, it is eighteen years, come next Candlemas, since it pleased the Lord to afflict him. He was riding postilion with a family to Tenby, when he was thrown from his seat, and had his skull fractured by one of the horses—but I suppose he has told you all: he repeats his story to every one who will listen to it. He has never been right since, but spends the greater portion of each day in waiting for the mail coaches, which he still-believes and expects will draw up before the door of the inn at their usual time. Nothing else interests him. I have a little girl who is sinking day by day, and has been given up by the parish doctor. He doesn't seem to care; and yesterday, when I asked him to go for Natty, he refused, lest he should not be back in time for the night mail! His ways often grieve me—but the Lord's will be done;" and she wiped away the tears that started to her eyes.
"And what is Natty, may I ask?"
"Natty!" she repeated, as if surprised at my question; "he is the charm-doctor, and has more learning than all the others put together—it is our last hope."
I had frequently heard of the charm-doctor and his wonderful cures, and now felt an irrepressible desire to witness the operations about to take place. I inquired whether there would be any objection to my being present, thinking the "doctor" might dislike the attendance of spectators.
"Not in the least, Sir; you are welcome; walk in. Here is Natty, who, I am sure, will not be displeased to see you."
We all went in together.
It was a small, low, whitewashed cottage, consisting of two rooms on the ground floor. That into which I was conducted was narrow, close, and so dark that at first I could distinguish nothing; but when my eyes had become accustomed to the gloom I was enabled to examine the little chamber. It was floored with a dark kind of concrete, worn here and there into deep hollows, and diversified with flags of old red sandstone. The furniture, which, with the exception of a gorgeously carved oaken chest, was mean and meagre, but very clean, consisted of two or three chairs placed against the rough walls, a couple of tables, a corner cupboard, and a settle in which, on our entrance, sat a child of about eight years of age. A glance told me it was for her the services of the charm-doctor had been required. She was intensely pale, and so weak that her emaciated form had to be supported by pillows. Her hair had been cut short and brushed back, and thus her sunken eye and hollow cheek were the more fully exposed. I felt assured she was so dangerously ill that no human aid could save her.
The old man and Natty entered last. The former stood like a sentinel against the door, as if he expected every moment to be called out to another posting job; the latter having, with a tenderness that much impressed me, addressed a few words to the child, spoke in a low tone to the mother, who thereupon produced a little canvas bag of oatmeal, a small earthenware basin, and a neatly-folded silk kerchief. With these Natty retired to a table that stood by the window, and, during a long and gloomy silence, was occupied in making preparations for his work. When he had completed his arrangements he again advanced, and saying abruptly, "Well, we ought to pray to God to bless us and grant success to our efforts," went on his knees. The mother, whose whole bearing towards Natty had in it the most profound deference, did the same, and I was constrained to follow her example, although I could scarcely forbear a smile at the old man, who had seized his hat and hastily made a retreat. For two or three minutes there was a dead silence, during which Natty appeared to be engaged in silent prayer. He then rose, and commenced operations. I was now spectator of a scene that would have been sadly misplaced in the heart of a great city, and amidst the din and bustle of fashionable civilization, but which was by no means out of keeping with the simple peasantry and the retired and naïve scenery of South Pembrokeshire. In that remote county, "the fairest-cantred of Demetia," the traveller will occasionally encounter ideas and beliefs which have long since been eradicated from other districts, still lingering and interweaving themselves with the daily thoughts and doings of the people. Amongst these, faith in the efficacy of "charms" is not the least conspicuous. Scarcely any malady is thought too rooted to yield to the power of the charmer. And the means adopted are as various as the diseases sought to be cured. For some complaints a portion of the circular cartilage of the ear is cut, and if the operation is accompanied with a certain sharp noise, the patient is assured he has the complaint, and that a repetition of the action for a stated number of times will effect his cure. In other cases a different method is resorted to. The operator fills a basin with oatmeal. This he strikes, so as to make it accurately even, and having tightly bound a silk kerchief over its surface, he performs certain motions with it on the body of the patient. If afterwards the meal is found in the state in which it had been deposited, the patient will soon recover; if, on the other hand, the meal should seem to have grown less, and to have sunk in the centre of the basin, there is little hope of a recovery: the danger is in proportion to the depth of the hollow. But of late years the art is beginning to lose its power, and its professors to be very generally discountenanced; ministers of the various sects even expel any of their members who are known to practise it. It is, however, still followed by a few persons who feel pleasure in the pursuit, and are willing to risk the consequences that may be incurred by the exercise of their power. Of these is Natty, by far the most skilful professor of the art. Famed far and wide for his successes, he is in much request, and possesses great ability in inspiring confidence in those who are fortunate enough to procure his services.
When he had placed the child on a chair, with her face turned from the light, he began. Taking the oatmeal-basin in his right hand, and uttering certain passages out of a Bible which lay before him on a table, he proceeded to make sundry passes on the sick child's person. For some time nothing was heard but his footsteps as he slowly paced round the girl, . gradually and gently applying the test. Beginning at the left shoulder, he moved the basin steadily across the bosom of his patient, resting it occasionally whilst he repeated a verse out of the book; he then softly drew it round the back to the right shoulder; and from there to the point whence he started. He repeated the process thrice. Then there was along pause. At length, unbinding the kerchief, he placed the vessel with great care, and without spilling a particle of its contents, on the table. The mother now drew near, and my curiosity was much too great to allow me to remain seated. The kerchief was steadily removed, and there appeared the fatal hollow! The charmer did not speak, but, motioning the woman aside, whispered something into her ear. The mother, who, throughout, had evidently regarded Natty as one in whose hands were the issues of life and death, said something in a deprecating tone; but I saw by the impression produced that all hope had now been lost to her—the child's fate was—to die!
* * * * *
Fifteen months had elapsed, and I again found myself in the quiet village of Colblow. I did not forget to make inquiries after those of whom I have been speaking. The little girl, I heard without surprise, died within a week after my former visit. The old man, too, had taken his departure. Both are at rest, side by side, in the churchyard at Narberth.