THRAWN JANET
The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish ofBalweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadfulto his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relativeor servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse under theHanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eyewas wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in privateadmonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eyepierced through the storms of time to the terrors of eternity. Manyyoung persons, coming to prepare themselves against the season of theHoly Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk. He had a sermon onlst Peter, v. and 8th, 'The devil as a roaring lion,' on the Sunday afterevery seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to surpass himselfupon that text both by the appalling nature of the matter and the terrorof his bearing in the pulpit. The children were frightened into fits,and the old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all that day,full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated. The manse itself, where itstood by the water of Dule among some thick trees, with the Shawoverhanging it on the one side, and on the other many cold, moorishhilltops rising towards the sky, had begun, at a very early period of Mr.Soulis's ministry, to be avoided in the dusk hours by all who valuedthemselves upon their prudence; and guidmen sitting at the clachanalehouse shook their heads together at the thought of passing late bythat uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be more particular,which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood between the highroad and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its back was towardsthe kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of it, abare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river andthe road. The house was two stories high, with two large rooms on each.It opened not directly on the garden, but on a causewayed path, orpassage, giving on the road on the one hand, and closed on the other bythe tall willows and elders that bordered on the stream. And it was thisstrip of causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balwearyso infamous a reputation. The minister walked there often after dark,sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; andwhen he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daringschoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to 'follow my leader' acrossthat legendary spot.
This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God ofspotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder andsubject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance orbusiness into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of thepeople of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which had markedthe first year of Mr. Soulis's ministrations; and among those who werebetter informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy of thatparticular topic. Now and again, only, one of the older folk would warminto courage over his third tumbler, and recount the cause of theminister's strange looks and solitary life.
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Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba'weary, he was still ayoung man--a callant, the folk said--fu' o' book learnin' and grand atthe exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi' nae leevin'experience in religion. The younger sort were greatly taken wi' hisgifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women were movedeven to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a self-deceiver,and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied. It was before thedays o' the moderates--weary fa' them; but ill things are like guid--theybaith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and there were folk even thenthat said the Lord had left the college professors to their ain devices,an' the lads that went to study wi' them wad hae done mair and bettersittin' in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the persecution, wi' aBible under their oxter and a speerit o' prayer in their heart. Therewas nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower lang at thecollege. He was careful and troubled for mony things besides the aething needful. He had a feck o' books wi' him--mair than had ever beenseen before in a' that presbytery; and a sair wark the carrier had wi'them, for they were a' like to have smoored in the Deil's Hag betweenthis and Kilmackerlie. They were books o' divinity, to be sure, or sothey ca'd them; but the serious were o' opinion there was little servicefor sae mony, when the hail o' God's Word would gang in the neuk of aplaid. Then he wad sit half the day and half the nicht forbye, which wasscant decent--writin', nae less; and first, they were feared he wad readhis sermons; and syne it proved he was writin' a book himsel', which wassurely no fittin' for ane of his years an' sma' experience.
Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse forhim an' see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auldlimmer--Janet M'Clour, they ca'd her--and sae far left to himsel' as tobe ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar, for Janetwas mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba'weary. Lang or that, shehad had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit {140} for maybethretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin' to hersel' up on Key'sLoan in the gloamin', whilk was an unco time an' place for a God-fearin'woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel' that had first tauld theminister o' Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far gate topleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to the deil,it was a' superstition by his way of it; an' when they cast up the Bibleto him an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their thrapples thatthir days were a' gane by, and the deil was mercifully restrained.
Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M'Clour was to be servantat the manse, the folk were fair mad wi' her an' him thegether; and someo' the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door cheeks andchairge her wi' a' that was ken't again her, frae the sodger's bairn toJohn Tamson's twa kye. She was nae great speaker; folk usually let hergang her ain gate, an' she let them gang theirs, wi', neither Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day; but when she buckled to, she had a tongue to deavethe miller. Up she got, an' there wasnae an auld story in Ba'weary butshe gart somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae say ae thing butshe could say twa to it; till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up andclaught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff her back, and pu'd her dounthe clachan to the water o' Dule, to see if she were a witch or no, soumor droun. The carline skirled till ye could hear her at the Hangin'Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was mony a guidwife bure the mark ofher neist day an' mony a lang day after; and just in the hettest o' thecollieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) but the new minister.
'Women,' said he (and he had a grand voice), 'I charge you in the Lord'sname to let her go.'
Janet ran to him--she was fair wud wi' terror--an' clang to him, an'prayed him, for Christ's sake, save her frae the cummers; an' they, fortheir pairt, tauld him a' that was ken't, and maybe mair.
'Woman,' says he to Janet, 'is this true?'
'As the Lord sees me,' says she, 'as the Lord made me, no a word o't.Forbye the bairn,' says she, 'I've been a decent woman a' my days.'
'Will you,' says Mr. Soulis, 'in the name of God, and before me, Hisunworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?'
Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that fairlyfrichtit them that saw her, an' they could hear her teeth play dirlthegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way orthe ither; an' Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil beforethem a'.
'And now,' says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, 'home with ye, one and all,and pray to God for His forgiveness.'
And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, andtook her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land; an' herscrieghin' and laughin' as was a scandal to be heard.
There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but whenthe morn cam' there was sic a fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that the bairnshid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors.For there was Janet comin' doun the clachan--her or her likeness, nanecould tell--wi' her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like a bodythat has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit co
rp. Byan' by they got used wi' it, and even speered at her to ken what waswrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a Christian woman,but slavered and played click wi' her teeth like a pair o' shears; andfrae that day forth the name o' God cam never on her lips. Whiles shewad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Them that kenned best said least;but they never gied that Thing the name o' Janet M'Clour; for the auldJanet, by their way o't, was in muckle hell that day. But the ministerwas neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about naething but thefolk's cruelty that had gi'en her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt thebairns that meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that same nicht,and dwalled there a' his lane wi' her under the Hangin' Shaw.
Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly o'that black business. The minister was weel thocht o'; he was aye late atthe writing, folk wad see his can'le doon by the Dule water after twal'at e'en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' and upsitten as at first,though a' body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet she cam an'she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason she shouldspeak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an eldritch thing tosee, an' nane wad hae mistrysted wi' her for Ba'weary glebe.
About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather, the like o't neverwas in that country side; it was lown an' het an' heartless; the herdscouldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to play; an'yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund that rumm'led in the glens,and bits o' shouers that slockened naething. We aye thocht it but tothun'er on the morn; but the morn cam, an' the morn's morning, and it wasaye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and bestial. Of a' that werethe waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat,he tauld his elders; an' when he wasnae writin' at his weary book, he wadbe stravaguin' ower a' the countryside like a man possessed, when a' bodyelse was blythe to keep caller ben the house.
Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill, there's a bitenclosed grund wi' an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that wasthe kirkyaird o' Ba'weary, and consecrated by the Papists before theblessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff o' Mr.Soulis's, onyway; there he would sit an' consider his sermons; and indeedit's a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam ower the wast end o' the Black Hill,ae day, he saw first twa, an syne fower, an' syne seeven corbie crawsfleein' round an' round abune the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh andheavy, an' squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulisthat something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasnae easy fleyed,an' gaed straucht up to the wa's; an' what suld he find there but a man,or the appearance of a man, sittin' in the inside upon a grave. He wasof a great stature, an' black as hell, and his e'en were singular to see.{144} Mr. Soulis had heard tell o' black men, mony's the time; but therewas something unco about this black man that daunted him. Het as he was,he took a kind o' cauld grue in the marrow o' his banes; but up he spakfor a' that; an' says he: 'My friend, are you a stranger in this place?'The black man answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an' begude tohirsle to the wa' on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an'the minister stood an' lookit back; till a' in a meenute the black manwas ower the wa' an' rinnin' for the bield o' the trees. Mr. Soulis, hehardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was sair forjaskit wi' his walkan' the het, unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae mairthan a glisk o' the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to thefoot o' the hill-side, an' there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step,an' lowp, ower Dule water to the manse.
Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak' saefree wi' Ba'weary manse; an' he ran the harder, an', wet shoon, ower theburn, an' up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see. Hestepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a' owerthe gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a bit fearedas was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and there wasJanet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn craig, and nane sae pleasedto see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een uponher, he had the same cauld and deidly grue.
'Janet,' says he, 'have you seen a black man?'
'A black man?' quo' she. 'Save us a'! Ye're no wise, minister. There'snae black man in a Ba'weary.'
But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like apowney wi' the bit in its moo.
'Weel,' says he, 'Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken withthe Accuser of the Brethren.'
And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in hisheid.
'Hoots,' says she, 'think shame to yoursel', minister;' an' gied him adrap brandy that she keept aye by her.
Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a lang,laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very dry even inthe tap o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun hesat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane since he was in Ba'weary,an' his hame, an' the days when he was a bairn an' ran daffin' on thebraes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like the ower-come of asang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' the black man. Hetried the prayer, an' the words wouldnae come to him; an' he tried, theysay, to write at his book, but he could nae mak' nae mair o' that. Therewas whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an' the swat stoodupon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam tohimsel' like a christened bairn and minded naething.
The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at Dulewater. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' black underthe manse; an' there was Janct washin' the cla'es wi' her coats kilted.She had her back to the minister, an' he, for his pairt, hardly kennedwhat he was lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed her face; Mr.Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an' it was bornein upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an' this was abogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned hernarrowly. She was tramp-trampin' in the cla'es, croonin' to hersel'; andeh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder,but there was nae man born o' woman that could tell the words o' hersang; an' whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething therefor her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon hisbanes; and that was Heeven's advertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamedhimsel', he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife thathadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' he put up a bit prayer for him andher, an' drank a little caller water--for his heart rose again themeat--an' gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming.
That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba'weary, the nicht o'the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun'er' an twal'. It had been hetafore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. The sungaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no astar, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' afore your face, andeven the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin' fortheir breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikelyMr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an' he tummled; the gude, callerbed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, and whiles hewaukened; whiles he heard the time o' nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin' upthe muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he heard boglesclaverin' in his lug, an' whiles he saw spunkies in the room. Hebehoved, he judged, to be sick; an' sick he was--little he jaloosed thesickness.
At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark onthe bed-side, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man an' Janet. Hecouldnae weel tell how--maybe it was the cauld to his feet--but it cam'in upon him wi' a spate that there was some connection between thir twa,an' that either or baith o' them were bogles. And just at that moment,in Janet's room, which was neist to his, there cam' a stramp o' feet asif men were wars'lin', an' then a loud bang; an' then a wund gaedreishling round the fower quarters of the house; an' then a' was aincemair as seelent as the grave.
Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil
. He got his tinder-box,an' lit a can'le, an' made three steps o't ower to Janet's door. It wason the hasp, an' he pushed it open, an' keeked bauldly in. It was a bigroom, as big as the minister's ain, an' plenished wi' grand, auld, solidgear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi' auldtapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu' o' the minister'sdivinity books, an' put there to be out o' the gate; an' a wheen duds o'Janet's lying here and there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr.Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an' there's fewthat wad ha'e followed him) an' lookit a' round, an' listened. But therewas naethin' to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a' Ba'wearyparish, an' naethin' to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin' round thecan'le. An' then a' at aince, the minister's heart played dunt an' stoodstock-still; an' a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten aweary sicht was that for the puir man's een! For there was Janat hangin'frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet: her heid aye lay on hershoother, her een were steeked, the tongue projekit frae her mouth, andher heels were twa feet clear abune the floor.
'God forgive us all!' thocht Mr. Soulis; 'poor Janet's dead.'
He cam' a step nearer to the corp; an' then his heart fair whammled inhis inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, shewas hingin' frae a single nail an' by a single wursted thread for darnin'hose.
It's an awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan prodigies o'darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' gaed hisways oot o' that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and step by step,doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can'le on the tableat the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin'wi' caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o'his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, heminded sae little; when a' o' a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steerupstairs; a foot gaed to an' fro in the cha'mer whaur the corp washingin'; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he hadlockit it; an' syne there was a step upon the landin', an' it seemed tohim as if the corp was lookin' ower the rail and doun upon him whaur hestood.
He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and assaftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to the farend o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the can'le, whenhe set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naethingmoved, but the Dule water seepin' and sabbin' doon the glen, an' yonunhaly footstep that cam' ploddin doun the stairs inside the manse. Hekenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet's; and at ilka step that cam'a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He commanded hissoul to Him that made an' keepit him; 'and O Lord,' said he, 'give mestrength this night to war against the powers of evil.'
By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door; hecould hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing wasfeelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a lang sighcam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot; an' therestood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram goun an' her black mutch,wi' the heid aye upon the shouther, an' the girn still upon the faceo't--leevin', ye wad hae said--deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned--upon thethreshold o' the manse.
It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled into hisperishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart didnae break.
She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an' cam' slowlytowards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the life o' hisbody, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een. Itseemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' theleft hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed thecan'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, liveor die, this was the end o't.
'Witch, beldame, devil!' he cried, 'I charge you, by the power of God,begone--if you be dead, to the grave--if you be damned, to hell.'
An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the Heevens struck theHorror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the witch-wife,sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils, lowed up likea brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed,peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o' that; and Mr.Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi' skelloch uponskelloch, for the clachan.
That same mornin', John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle Cairnas it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house atKnockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun linkin' doun thebraes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but it was him thatdwalled sae lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' at last; and sinsynethe deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary.
But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin'in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day.