The Ash Tree

Everyone who hastravelled over Eastern England knows the smaller
country-houses with which it is studded - the rather dank littlebuildings,
usually in the Italian style, surrounded with parks of someeighty to a
hundred acres. For me they have always had a very strongattraction: with
the grey paling of split oak, the noble trees, the meres withtheir
reed-beds, and the line of distant woods. Then, I like thepillared portico
- perhaps stuck on to a red-brick Queen Anne house which has beenfaced with
stucco to bring it into line with the "Grecian" tasteof the end of the
eighteenth century; the hall inside, going up to the roof, whichhall ought
always to be provided with a gallery and a small organ. I likethe library,
too, where you may find anything from a Psalter of the thirteenthcentury to
a Shakespeare quarto. I like the pictures, of course; and perhapsmost of
all I like fancying what life in such a house was when it wasfirst built,
and in the piping times of landlords' prosperity, and not leastnow, when,
if money is not so plentiful, taste is more varied and life quiteas
interesting. I wish to have one of these houses, and enough moneyto keep it
together and entertain my friends in it modestly.

But this is a digression. I have to tell you of a curious seriesof
events which happened in such a house as I have tried to describe.It is
Castringham Hall in Suffolk. I think a good deal has been done tothe
building since the period of my story, but the essential featuresI have
sketched are still there - Italian portico, square block of whitehouse,
older inside than out, park with fringe of woods, and mere. Theone feature
that marked out the house from a score of others is gone. As youlooked at
it from the park, you saw on the right a great old ash-treegrowing within
half a dozen yards of the wall, and almost or quite touching thebuilding
with its branches. I suppose it had stood there ever sinceCastringham
ceased to be a fortified place, and since the moat was filled inand the
Elizabethan dwelling-house built. At any rate, it had wellnighattained its
full dimensions in the year 1690.

In that year the district in which the Hall is situated was thescene of
a number of witch-trials. It will be long, I think, before wearrive at a
just estimate of the amount of solid reason - if there was any -which lay
at the root of the universal fear of witches in old times.Whether the
persons accused of this offence really did imagine that they werepossessed
of unusual powers of any kind; or whether they had the will atleast, if not
the power, of doing mischief to their neighbours; or whether allthe
confessions, of which there are so many, were extorted by themere cruelty
of the witch-finders - these are questions which are not, Ifancy, yet
solved. And the present narrative gives me pause. I cannotaltogether sweep
it away as mere invention. The reader must judge for himself.

Castringham contributed a victim to the auto-da-fŽ. MrsMothersole was
her name, and she differed from the ordinary run of villagewitches only in
being rather better off and in a more influential position.Efforts were
made to save her by several reputable farmers of the parish. Theydid their
best to testify to her character, and showed considerable anxietyas to the
verdict of the jury.

But what seems to have been fatal to the woman was the evidenceof the
then proprietor of Castringham Hall - Sir Matthew Fell. Hedeposed to having
watched her on three different occasions from his window, at thefull of the
moon, gathering sprigs "from the ash-tree near my house".She had climbed
into the branches, clad only in her shift, and was cutting offsmall twigs
with a peculiarly curved knife, and as she did so she seemed tobe talking
to herself. On each occasion Sir Matthew had done his best tocapture the
woman, but she had always taken alarm at some accidental noise hehad made,
and all he could see when he got down to the garden was a harerunning
across the park in the direction of the village.

On the third night he had been at the pains to follow at his bestspeed,
and had gone straight to Mrs Mothersole's house; but he had hadto wait a
quarter of an hour battering at her door, and then she had comeout very
cross, and apparently very sleepy, as if just out of bed; and hehad no good
explanation to offer of his visit.

Mainly on this evidence, though there was much more of a lessstriking
and unusual kind from other parishioners, Mrs Mothersole wasfound guilty
and condemned to die. She was hanged a week after the trial, withfive or
six more unhappy creatures, at Bury St Edmunds.

Sir Matthew Fell, then Deputy-Sheriff, was present at theexecution. It
was a damp, drizzly March morning when the cart made its way upthe rough
grass hill outside Northgate, where the gallows stood. The othervictims
were apathetic or broken down with misery; but Mrs Mothersolewas, as in
life so in death, of a very different temper. Her "poysonousRage", as a
reporter of the time puts it, "did so work upon theBystanders - yea, even
upon the Hangman - that it was constantly affirmed of all thatsaw her that
she presented the living Aspect of a mad Divell. Yet she offer'dno
Resistance to the Officers of the Law; onely she looked uponthose that laid
Hands upon her with so direfull and venomous an Aspect that - asone of them
afterwards assured me - the meer Thought of it preyed inwardlyupon his Mind
for six Months after."

However, all that she is reported to have said was the seemingly
meaningless words: "There will be guests at the Hall."Which she repeated
more than once in an undertone.

Sir Matthew Fell was not unimpressed by the bearing of the woman.He had
some talk upon the matter with the Vicar of his parish, with whomhe
travelled home after the assize business was over. His evidenceat the trial
had not been very willingly given; he was not specially infectedwith the
witch-finding mania, but he declared, then and afterwards, thathe could not
give any other account of the matter than that he had given, andthat he
could not possibly have been mistaken as to what he saw. Thewhole
transaction had been repugnant to him, for he was a man who likedto be on
pleasant terms with those about him; but he saw a duty to be donein this
business, and he had done it. That seems to have been the gist ofhis
sentiments, and the Vicar applauded it, as any reasonable manmust have
done.

A few weeks after, when the moon of May was at the full, Vicarand Squire
met again in the park, and walked to the Hall together. Lady Fellwas with
her mother, who was dangerously ill, and Sir Matthew was alone athome; so
the Vicar, Mr Crome, was easily persuaded to take a late supperat the Hall.

Sir Matthew was not very good company this evening. The talk ranchiefly
on family and parish matters, and, as luck would have it, SirMatthew made a
memorandum in writing of certain wishes or intentions of hisregarding his
estates, which afterwards proved exceedingly useful.

When Mr Crome thought of starting for home, about half-past nineo'clock,
Sir Matthew and he took a preliminary turn on the gravelled walkat the back
of the house. The only incident that struck Mr Crome was this:they were in
sight of the ash-tree which I described as growing near thewindows of the
building, when Sir Matthew stopped and said:

"What is that that runs up and down the stem of the ash? Itis never a
squirrel? They will all be in their nests by now."

The Vicar looked and saw the moving creature, but he could makenothing
of its colour in the moonlight. The sharp outline, however, seenfor an
instant, was imprinted on his brain, and he could have sworn, hesaid,
though it sounded foolish, that, squirrel or not, it had morethan four
legs.

Still, not much was to be made of the momentary vision, and thetwo men
parted. They may have met since then, but it was not for a scoreof years.

Next day Sir Matthew Fell was not downstairs at six in themorning, as
was his custom, nor at seven, nor yet at eight. Hereupon theservants went
and knocked at his chamber door. I need not prolong thedescription of their
anxious listenings and renewed batterings on the panels. The doorwas opened
at last from the outside, and they found their master dead andblack. So
much you have guessed. That there were any marks of violence didnot at the
moment appear; but the window was open.

One of the men went to fetch the parson, and then by hisdirections rode
on to give notice to the coroner. Mr Crome himself went as quickas he might
to the Hall, and was shown to the room where the dead man lay. Hehas left
some notes among his papers which show how genuine a respect andsorrow was
felt for Sir Matthew, and there is also this passage, which Itranscribe for
the sake of the light it throws upon the course of events, andalso upon the
common beliefs of the time:

"There was not any the least Trace of an Entrance havingbeen
forc'd to the Chamber: but the Casement stood open, as my poor
Friend would always have it in this Season. He had his Evening
Drink of small Ale in a silver vessel of about a pint measure,and
tonight had not drunk it out. This Drink was examined by the
Physician from Bury, a Mr Hodgkins, who could not, however, as he
afterwards declar'd upon his Oath, before the Coroner's quest,
discover that any matter of a venomous kind was present in it.
For, as was natural, in the great Swelling and Blackness of the
Corpse, there was talk made among the Neighbours of Poyson. The
Body was very much Disorder'd as it laid in the Bed, beingtwisted
after so extream a sort as gave too probable Conjecture that my
worthy Friend and Patron had expir'd in great Pain and Agony. And
what is as yet unexplain'd, and to myself the Argument of some
Horrid and Artfull Designe in the Perpetrators of this Barbarous
Murther, was this, that the Women which were entrusted with the
laying-out of the Corpse and washing it, being both sad Persons
and very well Respected in their Mournfull Profession, came to me
in a great Pain and Distress both of Mind and Body, saying, what
was indeed confirmed upon the first View, that they had no sooner
touch'd the Breast of the Corpse with their naked Hands than they
were sensible of a more than ordinary violent Smart and Acheingin
their Palms, which, with their whole Forearms, in no long time
swell'd so immoderately, the Pain still continuing, that, as
afterwards proved, during many weeks they were forc'd to lay by
the exercise of their Calling; and yet no mark seen on the Skin.

"Upon hearing this, I sent for the Physician, who was stillin
the House, and we made as carefull a Proof as we were able by the
Help of a small Magnifying Lens of Crystal of the condition ofthe
Skinn on this Part of the Body: but could not detect with the
Instrument we had any Matter of Importance beyond a couple of
small Punctures or Pricks, which we then concluded were theSpotts
by which the Poyson might be introduced, remembering that Ring of
Pope Borgia, with other known Specimens of the Horrid Art of the
Italian Poysoners of the last age.

"So much is to be said of the Symptoms seen on the Corpse.As
to what I am to add, it is meerly my own Experiment, and to be
left to Posterity to judge whether there be anything of Value
therein. There was on the Table by the Beddside a Bible of the
small size, in which my Friend - punctuall as in Matters of less
Moment, so in this more weighty one - used nightly, and upon his
First Rising, to read a sett Portion. And I taking it up - not
without a Tear duly paid to him which from the Study of this
poorer Adumbration was now pass'd to the contemplation of its
great Originall - it came into my Thoughts, as at such moments of
Helplessness we are prone to catch at any the least Glimmer that
makes promise of Light, to make trial of that old and by many
accounted Superstitious Practice of drawing the Sortes: of whicha
Principall Instance, in the case of his late Sacred Majesty the
Blessed Martyr King Charles and my Lord Falkland, was now much
talked of. I must needs admit that by my Trial not muchAssistance
was afforded me: yet, as the Cause and Origin of these Dreadful
Events may hereafter be search'd out, I set down the Results, in
the case it may be found that they pointed the true Quarter ofthe
Mischief to a quicker Intelligence than my own.

" I made, then, three trials, opening the Book and placingmy
Finger upon certain Words: which gave in the first these words,
from Luke xiii 7, Cut it down; in the second, Isaiah xiii 20, It
shall never be inhabited; and upon the third Experiment, Jobxxxix
30, Her young ones also suck up blood."

This is all that need be quoted from Mr Crome's papers. SirMatthew Fell
was duly coffined and laid into the earth, and his funeralsermon, preached
by Mr Crome on the following Sunday, has been printed under thetitle of
"The Unsearchable Way; or, England's Danger and theMalicious Dealings of
Anti-christ", it being the Vicar's view, as well as thatmost commonly held
in the neighbourhood, that the Squire was the victim of arecrudescence of
the Popish Plot.

His son, Sir Matthew the second, succeeded to the title andestates. And
so ends the first act of the Castringham tragedy. It is to bementioned,
though the fact is not surprising, that the new Baronet did notoccupy the
room in which his father had died. Nor, indeed, was it slept inby anyone
but an occasional visitor during the whole of his occupation. Hedied in
1735, and I do not find that anything particular marked hisreign, save a
curiously constant mortality among his cattle and livestock ingeneral,
which showed a tendency to increase slightly as time went on.

Those who are interested in the details will find a statisticalaccount
in a letter to the Gentleman's Magazine of 1772, which draws thefacts from
the Baronet's own papers. He put an end to it at last by a verysimple
expedient, that of shutting up all his beasts in sheds at night,and keeping
no sheep in his park. For he had noticed that nothing was everattacked that
spent the night indoors. After that the disorder confined itselfto wild
birds, and beasts of chase. But as we have no good account of thesymptoms,
and as all-night watching was quite unproductive of any clue, Ido not dwell
on what the Suffolk farmers called the "Castringham sickness".

The second Sir Matthew died in 1735, as I said, and was dulysucceeded by
his son, Sir Richard. It was in his time that the great familypew was built
out on the north side of the parish church. So large were theSquire's ideas
that several of the graves on that unhallowed side of thebuilding had to be
disturbed to satisfy his requirements. Among them was that of Mrs
Mothersole, the position of which was accurately known, thanks toa note on
a plan of the church and yard, both made by Mr Crome.

A certain amount of interest was excited in the village when itwas known
that the famous witch, who was still remembered by a few, was tobe exhumed.
And the feeling of surprise, and indeed disquiet, was very strongwhen it
was found that, though her coffin was fairly sound and unbroken,there was
no trace whatever inside it of body, bones, or dust. Indeed, itis a curious
phenomenon, for at the time of her burying no such things weredreamt of as
resurrection-men, and it is difficult to conceive any rationalmotive for
stealing a body otherwise than for the uses of the dissecting-room.

The incident revived for a time all the stories of witch-trialsand of
the exploits of the witches, dormant for forty years, and SirRichard's
orders that the coffin should be burnt were thought by a goodmany to be
rather foolhardy, though they were duly carried out.

Sir Richard was a pestilent innovator, it is certain. Before histime the
Hall had been a fine block of the mellowest red brick; but SirRichard had
travelled in Italy and become infected with the Italian taste,and, having
more money than his predecessors, he determined to leave anItalian palace
where he had found an English house. So stucco and ashlar maskedthe brick;
some indifferent Roman marbles were planted about in the entrance-halland
gardens; a reproduction of the Sibyl's temple at Tivoli waserected on the
opposite bank of the mere; and Castringham took on an entirelynew, and, I
must say, a less engaging, aspect. But it was much admired, andserved as a
model to a good many of the neighbouring gentry in after years.

One morning (it was in 1754) Sir Richard woke after a night of
discomfort. It had been windy, and his chimney had smokedpersistently, and
yet it was so cold that he must keep up a fire. Also somethinghad so
rattled about the window that no man could get a moment's peace.Further,
there was the prospect of several guests of position arriving inthe course
of the day, who would expect sport of some kind, and the inroadsof the
distemper (which continued among his game) had been lately soserious that
he was afraid for his reputation as a game-preserver. But whatreally
touched him most nearly was the other matter of his sleeplessnight. He
could certainly not sleep in that room again.

That was the chief subject of his meditations at breakfast, andafter it
he began a systematic examination of the rooms to see which wouldsuit his
notions best. It was long before he found one. This had a windowwith an
eastern aspect and that with a northern; this door the servantswould be
always passing, and he did not like the bedstead in that. No, hemust have a
room with a western look-out, so that the sun could not wake himearly, and
it must be out of the way of the business of the house. Thehousekeeper was
at the end of her resources.

"Well, Sir Richard," she said, "you know thatthere is but one room like
that in the house."

"Which may that be?" said Sir Richard. "And thatis Sir Matthew's - the
West Chamber."

"Well, put me in there, for there I"ll lie tonight,"said her master.
"Which way is it? Here, to be sure"; and he hurried off.

"Oh, Sir Richard, but no one has slept there these fortyyears. The air
has hardly been changed since Sir Matthew died there." Thusshe spoke, and
rustled after him.

"Come, open the door, Mrs Chiddock. I'll see the chamber, atleast."

So it was opened, and, indeed, the smell was very close andearthy. Sir
Richard crossed to the window, and, impatiently, as was his wont,threw the
shutters back, and flung open the casement. For this end of thehouse was
one which the alterations had barely touched, grown up as it waswith the
great ash-tree, and being otherwise concealed from view.

"Air it, Mrs Chiddock, all today, and move my bed-furniturein in the
afternoon. Put the Bishop of Kilmore in my old room."

"Pray, Sir Richard," said a new voice, breaking in onthis speech, "might
I have the favour of a moment's interview?"

Sir Richard turned round and saw a man in black in the doorway,who
bowed.

"I must ask your indulgence for this intrusion, Sir Richard.You will,
perhaps, hardly remember me. My name is William Crome, and mygrandfather
was Vicar here in your grandfather's time."

"Well, sir," said Sir Richard, "the name of Cromeis always a passport to
Castringham. I am glad to renew a friendship of two generations"standing.
In what can I serve you? for your hour of calling - and, if I donot mistake
you, your bearing - shows you to be in some haste."

"That is no more than the truth, sir. I am riding fromNorwich to Bury St
Edmunds with what haste I can make, and I have called in on myway to leave
with you some papers which we have but just come upon in lookingover what
my grandfather left at his death. It is thought you may find somematters of
family interest in them."

"You are mighty obliging, Mr Crome, and, if you will be sogood as to
follow me to the parlour, and drink a glass of wine, we will takea first
look at these same papers together. And you, Mrs Chiddock, as Isaid, be
about airing this chamber . . . Yes, it is here my grandfatherdied . . .
Yes, the tree, perhaps, does make the place a little dampish . .. No; I do
not wish to listen to any more. Make no difficulties, I beg. Youhave your
orders - go. Will you follow me, sir?"

They went to the study. The packet which young Mr Crome hadbrought - he
was then just become a Fellow of Clare Hall in Cambridge, I maysay, and
subsequently brought out a respectable edition of Polyaenus -contained
among other things the notes which the old Vicar had made uponthe occasion
of Sir Matthew Fell"s death. And for the first time SirRichard was
confronted with the enigmatical Sortes Biblicae which you haveheard. They
amused him a good deal.

"Well," he said, "my grandfather's Bible gave oneprudent piece of advice
- Cut it down. If that stands for the ash-tree, he may restassured I shall
not neglect it. Such a nest of catarrhs and agues was never seen."

The parlour contained the family books, which, pending thearrival of a
collection which Sir Richard had made in Italy, and the buildingof a proper
room to receive them, were not many in number.

Sir Richard looked up from the paper to the bookcase.

"I wonder," says he, "whether the old prophet isthere yet? I fancy I see
him."

Crossing the room, he took out a dumpy Bible, which, sure enough,bore on
the flyleaf the inscription: "To Matthew Fell, from hisLoving Godmother,
Anne Aldous, 2 September, 1659."

"It would be no bad plan to test him again, Mr Crome. I willwager w get
a couple of names in the Chronicles. H'm! what have we here?"Thou shalt
seek me in the morning, and I shall not be." Well, well!Your grandfather
would have made a fine omen of that, hey? No more prophets for me!They are
all in a tale. And now, Mr Crome, I am infinitely obliged to youfor your
packet. You will, I fear, be impatient to get on. Pray allow me -another
glass."

So with offers of hospitality, which were genuinely meant (forSir
Richard thought well of the young man's address and manner), theyparted.

In the afternoon came the guests - the Bishop of Kilmore, LadyMary
Hervey, Sir William Kentfield, etc. Dinner at five, wine, cards,supper, and
dispersal to bed.

Next morning Sir Richard is disinclined to take his gun with therest. He
talks with the Bishop of Kilmore. This prelate, unlike a goodmany of the
Irish Bishops of his day, had visited his see, and, indeed,resided there
for some considerable time. This morning, as the two were walkingalong the
terrace and talking over the alterations and improvements in thehouse, the
Bishop said, pointing to the window of the West Room:

"You could never get one of my Irish flock to occupy thatroom, Sir
Richard."

"Why is that, my lord? It is, in fact, my own."

"Well, our Irish peasantry will always have it that itbrings the worst
of luck to sleep near an ash-tree, and you have a fine growth ofash not two
yards from your chamber window. Perhaps," the Bishop wenton, with a smile,
"it has given you a touch of its quality already, for you donot seem, if I
may say it, so much the fresher for your night's rest as yourfriends would
like to see you."

"That, or something else, it is true, cost me my sleep fromtwelve to
four, my lord. But the tree is to come down tomorrow, so I shallnot hear
much more from it."

"I applaud your determination. It can hardly be wholesome tohave the air
you breathe strained, as it were, through all that leafage."

"Your lordship is right there, I think. But I had not mywindow open last
night. It was rather the noise that went on - no doubt from thetwigs
sweeping the glass - that kept me open-eyed."

"I think that can hardly be. Sir Richard. Here - you see itfrom this
point. None of these nearest branches even can touch yourcasement unless
there were a gale, and there was none of that last night. Theymiss the
panes by a foot."

"No, sir, true. What, then, will it be, I wonder, thatscratched and
rustled so - ay, and covered the dust on my sill with lines andmarks?"

At last they agreed that the rats must have come up through theivy. That
was the Bishop's idea, and Sir Richard jumped at it.

So the day passed quietly, and night came, and the partydispersed to
their rooms, and wished Sir Richard a better night.

And now we are in his bedroom, with the light out and the Squirein bed.
The room is over the kitchen, and the night outside still andwarm, so the
window stands open.

There is very little light about the bedstead, but there is astrange
movement there; it seems as if Sir Richard were moving his headrapidly to
and fro with only the slightest possible sound. And now you wouldguess, so
deceptive is the half-darkness, that he had several heads, roundand
brownish, which move back and forward, even as low as his chest.It is a
horrible illusion. Is it nothing more? There! something drops offthe bed
with a soft plump, like a kitten, and is out of the window in aflash;
another - four - and after that there is quiet again.

"Thou shalt seek me in the morning, and I shall not be."

As with Sir Matthew, so with Sir Richard - dead and black in hisbed! A
pale and silent party of guests and servants gathered under thewindow when
the news was known. Italian poisoners, Popish emissaries,infected air - all
these and more guesses were hazarded, and the Bishop of Kilmorelooked at
the tree, in the fork of whose lower boughs a white tom-cat wascrouching,
looking down the hollow which years had gnawed in the trunk. Itwas watching
something inside the tree with great interest.

Suddenly it got up and craned over the hole. Then a bit of theedge on
which it stood gave way, and it went slithering in. Everyonelooked up at
the noise of the fall.

It is known to most of us that a cat can cry; but few of us haveheard, I
hope, such a yell as came out of the trunk of the great ash. Twoor three
screams there were - the witnesses are not sure which - and thena slight
and muffled noise of some commotion or struggling was all thatcame. But
Lady Mary Hervey fainted outright, and the housekeeper stoppedher ears and
fled till she fell on the terrace,

The Bishop of Kilmore and Sir William Kentfield stayed. Yet eventhey
were daunted, though it was only at the cry of a cat; and SirWilliam
swallowed once or twice before he could say:

"There is something more than we know of in that tree, mylord. I am for
an instant search."

And this was agreed upon. A ladder was brought, and one of thegardeners
went up, and, looking down the hollow, could detect nothing but afew dim
indications of something moving. They got a lantern, and let itdown by a
rope.

"We must get at the bottom of this. My life upon it, mylord, but the
secret of these terrible deaths is there."

Up went the gardener again with the lantern, and let it down thehole
cautiously. They saw the yellow light upon his face as he bentover, and saw
his face struck with an incredulous terror and loathing before hecried out
in a dreadful voice and fell back from the ladder - where,happily, he was
caught by two of the men - letting the lantern fall inside thetree.

He was in a dead faint, and it was some time before any wordcould be got
from him.

By then they had something else to look at. The lantern must havebroken
at the bottom, and the light in it caught upon dry leaves andrubbish that
lay there, for in a few minutes a dense smoke began to come up,and then
flame; and, to be short, the tree was in a blaze.

The bystanders made a ring at some yards' distance, and SirWilliam and
the Bishop sent men to get what weapons and tools they could;for, clearly,
whatever might be using the tree as its lair would be forced outby the
fire.

So it was. First, at the fork, they saw a round body covered withfire -
the size of a man's head - appear very suddenly, then seem tocollapse and
fall back. This, five or six times; then a similar ball leaptinto the air
and fell on the grass, where after a moment it lay still. TheBishop went as
near as he dared to it, and saw - what but the remains of anenormous
spider, veinous and seared! And, as the fire burned lower down,more
terrible bodies like this began to break out from the trunk, andit was seen
that these were covered with greyish hair.

All that day the ash burned, and until it fell to pieces the menstood
about it, and from time to time killed the brutes as they dartedout. At
last there was a long interval when none appeared, and theycautiously
closed in and examined the roots of the tree.

"They found," says the Bishop of Kilmore, "belowit a rounded hollow
place in the earth, wherein were two or three bodies of thesecreatures that
had plainly been smothered by the smoke; and, what is to me morecurious, at
the side of this den, against the wall, was crouching the anatomyor
skeleton of a human being, with the skin dried upon the bones,having some
remains of black hair, which was pronounced by those thatexamined it to be
undoubtedly the body of a woman, and clearly dead for a period offifty
years."