Guernsey Folk Lore

Chapter X Witchcraft

“Had learned the art that none may name
In Padua far beyond the sea.”

      “Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,
But horn pipes, gigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels:
… There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge.”

—Tam O’Shanter, Burns.

“Wise judges have prescribed that men may not rashly believe the confessions of witches, nor the evidence against them. For the witches themselves are imaginative, and people are credulous, and ready to impute accidents to witchcraft.”

—Bacon.

The belief in witchcraft dates from so very remote a period, it is so universally spread throughout all the various races that compose the human family, that it is not to be wondered at if it still retains its hold among the ignorant and semi-educated, especially when we find, even in the present day, that persons, who ought by their superior instruction, and by the position they hold in society, to be above such superstitions, are nevertheless, firm believers in judicial astrology, fortune telling, spiritualism, and other similar delusions. Although it is now but very seldom that public rumour goes so far as to point out any particular individual as a proficient in this forbidden art, the persuasion that sorcery does still exist, is by no means extinct. A sudden and unusual malady, either in man or beast, a strange and unlooked-for accident, the failure of crops from blight or insects,—all these, and many more evils, are attributed by the ignorant to supernatural causes; and, it is probable, will continue to be so as long as there are those who find it their interest to encourage this superstitious belief. For there are individuals, commonly called “désorceleurs” or “white-witches,” who pretend to be able to declare whether a person is bewitched or not, and to have it in their power, by charms and incantations, to counteract the evil influence. Of course this is not to be done for nothing; and cases of this kind, where large sums of money have been extorted from ignorant dupes, have, even of late years, formed the subject of judicial investigation. It is useless to attempt to reason with the lower orders on this subject. They have an answer ready which, in their minds at least, is a conclusive reply to all doubts that may be suggested:—

“Witches and witchcraft are frequently spoken of in the Holy Scriptures; who, then, but an unbeliever, can doubt that such things are?”

Guernsey did not escape the epidemic delusion which spread over the whole of Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Here, as elsewhere, a terror seized upon the people, and no man thought himself secure from the machinations of the agents of Satan. The records of the Royal Court of the island contain far too many condemnations of unfortunate men and women to the stake for sorcery; and the evidence on which the sentences against them were based, as well as their own confessions, extorted under the infliction of torture, and taken down in writing at the time, are still extant. The unhappy individuals were of various ages and conditions, but, judging from the statements of their accusers, and the evidence brought against them, they appear to have been in most, if not all cases, persons of irregular life, subsisting by begging and pilfering, vindictive towards those who offended them, and clever in taking advantage of, and working on, the fears and preconceived notions of their dupes.

They were accused of causing storms to arise, in which the unfortunate fisherman who had refused them a share of his catch, either lost his boat, his gear, or his life; or was so tempest-tossed as to be in danger of losing his wits. Women and children were, by their infernal influence, afflicted with sudden and strange maladies. Oxen, horses, calves, sheep, and swine died unexpectedly, the cows calved prematurely, and either gave no milk, or else blood in lieu of it. Butter would not come, or became rancid even while it was being made, and curds dissolved and turned to whey.

Maggots of unusual appearance, black at both extremities, appeared in prodigious quantities in the beds, and even under the women’s caps, and lice were in such numbers that they could be swept away with a broom.

The water in the fountains—usually so bright and limpid—became turbid and unfit for use, and full of tadpoles and disgusting insects. Frogs and black beasts (“des bêtes noires”), whatever they may have been, sat by the bedside of those who were under a spell; but all these evils disappear as suddenly as they have come, either on the sufferer weakly yielding to the demands of the supposed sorcerer, or having courage enough to threaten to denounce him to the judicial authorities.

It is not to be wondered at that the pretended wizards and witches should have shrunk from a judicial investigation at a time when all believed firmly in their supernatural powers, and when the examination into the alleged facts was carried on in a manner so different from the procedure of the present day, hearsay evidence of the vaguest description being admitted as proof, and when that failed, torture being resorted to in order to extort a confession.

From the evidence given, and the confessions of the sorcerers themselves, it appears that the means employed by them to effect their nefarious designs were various; but two in particular are mentioned.

A peculiar black powder, furnished them by their master, the Devil, which, being cast on man or beast, was the cause of serious and unusual maladies; and certain enchanted articles, introduced furtively into the beds or pillows of those on whom they wished to practise their evil arts.

These charms are variously described by the witnesses as consisting of seeds of different kinds, of which mildewed or blighted beans seem to have been the most common, and of feathers, knotted together with ends of thread or silk twist, and sometimes made into the shape of a small image.

When the beds or pillows were opened to search for these articles, it sometimes happened that an animal was seen to leave the bed, which, after taking various forms, as that of a black cat, a cock, a rat, a mouse, or a stoat, succeeded in evading all attempts to catch it, and escaped in a mysterious manner.

Isabell Le Moigne, one of the witches, declared in her confession that this was none other than Satan himself. If these charms were thrown into the fire, they produced a most noisome smell, but, in some instances, the immediate cure of the sufferer was the result. If the person under the influence of witchcraft was uncertain on whom he ought to fix the guilt of bewitching him, there was an infallible method for discovering the culprit.

The house-key was to be placed on the hearth-stone, and the fire heaped around it. As it became hot, the wizard or witch, apparently suffering great agony, would come to the door, and endeavour to force an entrance into the house, offering at the same time to put an end to the spell under which the inmates were bound.

Another means of finding out the guilty party was to roast the heart of some animal—some said that of a black sheep was the most efficacious—with certain prescribed rites and incantations, or to boil it with certain herbs known to the white witch or “désorceleur,” who, of course, could not be expected to give his valuable advice and services for nothing.

According to the confessions of the unfortunate victims of the superstition and credulity of their times, to which allusion has been made above, the doings of Satan with them were just such as we read of in the accounts of prosecutions for witchcraft in other countries. A desire to be revenged on some persons who had given them offence seems to have been the first motive.

The Devil then appeared to them in the shape of a black dog, cat, or other animal, sometimes under one likeness, sometimes under another; offered his services, invited them to attend the “Sabbath,” which was generally held in some weird, out-of-the-way locality; furnished them with a certain ointment, which was to be rubbed on the back and stomach; after doing which, they found themselves carried through the air, with extraordinary velocity, to the appointed place of meeting, where they found other wizards and witches, and a number of imps in the shape of dogs, cats, and hares. They were unable to recognise the other sorcerers on account of their all appearing blackened and disfigured, but they knew who they were by their answering to their names when the roll was called over by Satan before entering on the business of the night.

They commenced by adoring their infernal master in a manner which it is not necessary to describe minutely. They then danced back to back, after which they were regaled with bread and wine, which Satan poured out of silver or pewter flagons into goblets of the same metals. They all agreed in describing the wine as being inferior to that usually drunk; and they asserted that salt was never seen at these feasts. The Devil, before dismissing the assembly, gave them a certain black powder, of which we have spoken before.

The favourite form assumed by Satan on these occasions seems to have been that of a large black dog, standing upright on his hind legs, but he sometimes appeared in the shape of a he-goat.

Isabell Le Moigne described him as a black dog of large size, with long erect horns, and hands like those of a man. Deeds were done at the Sabbath which will not bear being spoken of; but there are circumstances which lead one to suppose that the poor deluded wretches of women may, in some cases, have been deceived by designing men, who enticed them from their houses at night, and, under assumed disguises, abused their credulity.

All sorcerers were marked by Satan in some part or other of the body, and the mark thus made was insensible to pain, and bloodless.

One of the witches asserted that the Devil, before her enlistment into his service, required of her the gift of some living animal, and that she presented him with a young fowl. The next night at the Sabbath, whither she was conveyed through the air after having duly anointed her body with the ointment given her by the Devil, she was made to renounce the Holy Trinity, and to promise obedience to her infernal master. It appeared also from the confessions that if the servants of Satan refused to do his behests, they are beaten and otherwise maltreated by him.

It is clear from the evidence given in many of the trials for witchcraft that the accused, in a majority of cases, were persons who trafficked on the ignorance and credulity of the people, and who encouraged the idea of their being possessed of supernatural powers so long as they found it profitable to do so.

Even in the present day there are people who are afraid to refuse to give alms to a beggar, lest an evil eye should be cast upon them; and who can say how many deaths of cattle and pigs, attributed to witchcraft, may not have been caused by poison adroitly administered out of revenge for a supposed injury?

In their nocturnal flights through the air to their appointed place of meeting with the Demon, witches were said to utter loud cries; and persons may, perhaps, still be found ready to affirm that in tempestuous nights, when the wind was howling round their dwellings, they have been able to distinguish above all the tumult of the elements, the unearthly cry of “Har-hèri146! qué-hou-hou! Sabbat! Sabbat.” This cry is attributed to the “gens du hocq” or “gens du Vendredi,” as they are called by those whose prudence deters them from speaking of “sorciers” and “sorcières,” lest the use of such offensive epithets should give umbrage. It is believed, too, that in their assemblies on Friday nights on the hill of Catiôroc, around the cromlech called “Le Trepied,” or on the sands of Rocquaine Bay, they dance to a roundelay, the burden of which is “Qué-hou-hou! Marie Lihou!” Some suppose that these words are uttered in defiance of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in whose honour the church and priory were erected and dedicated by the name of Notre Dame, Ste. Marie de Lihou. They are now a heap of shapeless ruins, but the place must have been looked upon as one of peculiar sanctity, for even down to the present day French coasting vessels passing by salute it by lowering their topmast. It is not then to be wondered at if the infernal sisterhood—one of whose chief amusements, as is well known, is the raising of storms in which many a proud vessel goes down—should take a particular delight in insulting the “Star of the Sea,” the kind and ever-watchful guardian of the poor mariner.

Wizards and witches are supposed to have the power of navigating on the sea in egg-shells, and on the blade-bones of animals. It is to prevent this improper use of them that the spoon is always thrust through the egg-shell after eating its contents, and that a hole is made through the blade-bone before throwing it away.

It is believed that witches have the power of assuming the shape of various animals, and many stories turn on the exercise of this supposed faculty. The favourite forms with them appear to be those of cats, hares, and “cahouettes”147 or red-legged choughs. It is not easy to conjecture how this beautiful and harmless bird got into such bad company; perhaps its predilection for the wild and unfrequented cliffs and headlands, where the witches are supposed to hold their unholy meetings, may have gained it the reputation of being in alliance with them.

In Guernsey, as elsewhere, a horseshoe, nailed on the lintel, door, or threshold, or on the mast or any other part of a ship or boat, is supposed to be a sure preservative against witchcraft, and, although a black cat is one of the most frequent disguises assumed by Satan’s imps and servants, the household in which a cat without a single white hair is domesticated, is thought to be highly favoured, as none of the infernal gang will venture to molest it. As some persons are fully persuaded that every black cat, however tame and well-behaved it may appear to be, is in reality in league with the Prince of Darkness, it may be that any interference on the part of others of the fraternity is contrary to the rules established among them, and resented accordingly, the old saying that “two of a trade cannot agree,” holding good in this case.

Allusion has been made to those who have an interest in encouraging a belief in witchcraft, and there is no doubt that persons who, for some reason or other, enjoy the unenviable reputation of dabbling in this forbidden art, now that they have no longer the fear of the stake and faggot before their eyes, and have only the minor terrors of a Police Court to dread, are not altogether unwilling to brave the latter danger if, by working on the credulity of the ignorant and superstitious, they can extort money, or even command a certain amount of consideration as the possessors of supernatural powers.

Few would venture in the present day to acknowledge openly that they could injure their neighbours by the exercise of unholy arts; but many may be found who pretend to a secret knowledge which may be used for beneficent purposes.

The difference, however, between a true witch—the servant of Satan—and what is commonly called “a white witch,” has never been clearly defined. The latter is known in Guernsey by the name of “désorceleresse” or “désorceleur,” for the art is quite as frequently, if not more frequently, exercised by men than by women. The persons who practise it pretend to be able to declare whether man or beast is suffering from the effects of witchcraft, to discover who it is that has cast the spell, and, by means of spells and incantations, to counteract the evil influence. It is clear, however, that one who is in possession of such powers must himself have a very intimate and profound knowledge of the arts he is fighting against, and that, if offended, he may perhaps be tempted to practise them. The “désorceleur” thus is as much feared as trusted, and as, of course, he cannot be expected to give his valuable services for nothing, the profession is often found to be very remunerative, large sums of money, besides presents in kind, being sometimes extorted from the superstition and fears of the credulous dupes.

There is no doubt, however, that some of these pretenders have some skill in the cure of the diseases to which cattle are liable, and even that some of the minor ailments to which the human race are subject, are occasionally relieved by them, especially those—and among ignorant, uneducated people they are not few—which arise out of a disordered imagination. The habits of close observation which those of his profession acquire must needs give the “désorceleur” a great insight into character; his cunning will soon teach him how to work on the fears and credulity of those who come to consult him, and his experience will guide him into the best way of exercising his knowledge.

How far the so-called white-witches are believers in their own supernatural powers is an open question. It may be that, in making use of certain forms or practices which they have learned from others, they may be fully persuaded in their own minds of their efficacy, it may be that in some cases they are labouring under a sort of hallucination.

A noted bone-setter, who, it is said, was occasionally resorted to when man or beast was supposed to be under evil influence, or when it was sought to discover the perpetration of a theft, used to account for his pretended knowledge of the anatomy of the human body by asserting solemnly that this knowledge had been revealed to him in a vision from Heaven, and he had repeated this story so often that it was evident to his hearers that he had come at last to believe fully in the truth of what he said.

The rustic bone-setter is not necessarily a “désorceleur,” although, as in the instance just noticed, the two professions may be combined; but he is skilled in the cure of those somewhat mysterious ailments known as “une veine trésaillie,” which seems to be a sprain or strain, and “les côtaïs bas,” which may be defined as that sort of dyspeptic affection which the lower orders call a “sinking of the stomach” or “all-overness.” This ailment is supposed popularly to be caused by the ribs slipping out of their place, and is cured by manipulation and pushing them gradually back into their proper position. The efficacy of friction properly applied in reducing a sprain is well known, and accounts for the frequent success of the bone-setter in the treatment of “veines trésaillies.”

Some of these practitioners—old women as well as men—pretend to have the gift of causing warts to disappear by counting them, and asking certain questions of the persons applying to them for relief. The principal information they seem to wish to arrive at is the age of the person; and this known, they predict that the warts are likely to disappear within a certain time. As these unsightly excrescences affect more particularly young persons, and as it is known that they frequently disappear naturally at that age when youth is passing into manhood, it is not unlikely that this fact may have been observed, and the knowledge of it turned to account. It is believed that those who possess the secret may impart it to one, and to one only; but they must receive neither fee nor reward for so doing; for if they do, or if they tell it to more than one, they lose their power of curing. They must not receive money for their services, but if a cure is effected they are at liberty to take a present.

As might be expected, fortune-telling forms no small part of the white-witch’s profession, although all do not practise it, and some confine themselves to this particular branch alone. Cards seem to be now the principal means used for prying into the secrets of futurity, but other appliances have been used, and may, perhaps, still be used by some, such as the detection of a thief by means of a Bible and key.

A sort of rhabdomancy, or divination by small rods, shuffled together with certain ceremonies and charms, and then thrown on the ground, was used by a sort of half-demented creature called Collas Roussé, about the end of the last century.

He is said to have had a good deal of shrewdness, to have been very quick at repartee, and to have had great facility in expressing himself in rhymed sentences. He appears to have believed that he was really in possession of supernatural knowledge, and as his assumption of extraordinary powers gained credence with the vulgar, he found it an easy task to make a profit of their credulity. It is reported of him that when brought to justice for some gross act of imposition, he had the audacity to threaten his judges with the effects of his vengeance. His threats, however, did not deter the magistrates from sentencing him to exposure in the cage on a market day, with his divining apparatus by his side. He bore his punishment bravely, and entertained the multitude who crowded to see him with rhyming remarks. Another species of rhabdomancy is the use of the divining rod, the efficacy of which is fully believed in, not only for the discovery of springs of water, but also for the revealing of the spot where treasure has been concealed; and, if the stories that are told are all to be depended upon, there is evidence sufficient to stagger the sturdiest unbeliever.

A country gentleman, now dead, whom nobody who knew him took for a conjurer, was particularly renowned for his skill in this art. Not only could he tell by means of the rod where a spring of water was to be found, and to what depth it would be necessary to dig before coming to it, but he could also discover in what part of a field or house money or plate had been hidden. In order, however, to perform this last feat, it is necessary that the rod should be previously touched with metal of the same kind as that to be sought for. It is only in the hands of some few favoured individuals that the rod works, and even then it does so in various degrees; with some, being violently agitated, with others, moving slowly, and sometimes imperceptibly. The art of holding the forked stick may be taught to anyone, but unless a natural aptitude exists, the rod remains inert in the grasp of the holder.

A portion of the confessions of some of the unfortunate victims who suffered at the stake in 1617, translated from the records preserved in the Register Office of the Royal Court of Guernsey, will be given as a specimen of the absurdities to which credence could be given in a superstitious age.148

It must not, however, be forgotten that the island did not stand alone in this belief. No part of Europe seems to have escaped the absurd dread of witchcraft, which, like a pestilence, spread from one nation to another, and from which even the most learned of the age, men of profound thought, did not escape. One curious fact may be noticed; the practices imputed to the accused, who were for the most part of the lowest and most ignorant classes of society, and to which in numberless instances they confessed, appear to have been nearly identical in all countries. The inference is that they must have been handed down from a very remote period, and that they were in use among the pretenders to magical arts and supernatural powers among our pagan ancestors; just as in the present day we find similar ideas and practices existing among savage tribes, and in semi-civilised countries where the light of Christianity has not yet penetrated. It is well known how difficult it is to wean a people from their primitive belief, and how prone they are to cling to it in secret. Is it not possible that some secret society may have existed for ages after the spread of the Gospel in which heathen practices may have been perpetuated?

Trials for Witchcraft, and Confessions of Witches

Editor’s Note.—The documents which follow are translated from the Records of the Royal Court preserved at the Greffe. Sir Edgar MacCulloch had copied out the depositions of the witnesses on loose sheets of paper, evidently meaning to incorporate them into his book. The “Confession of the Witches” in his MS. follows his essay on Witchcraft.

15th May, 1581

Katherine Eustace and her daughter were accused by common consent of practising the art of witchcraft in the island.

The wife of Collas Cousin deposed that having refused to give milk to the accused, saying that there were poorer people to whom she would rather give, her cow then gave blood instead of milk.

Johan Le Roux deposed that having been seized with great pains in his knee, he believed himself to be bewitched by Katherine Eustace, so his wife went to the latter and threatened to denounce her to the Royal Court; after that he got better.

28th October, 1581

Robert Asheley, found dead in the garden behind St. Peter Port parsonage, suspected of having committed suicide by shooting himself with an arquebus. This having been proved according to the law, the Court, after hearing the speech made by Her Majesty’s Procureur, found that the said Robert Asheley shall be carried to some unfrequented spot and there buried, a heap of stones being placed on his body,149 and thus he shall be deprived of burial in the spot where Christian remains are placed; and that all his goods shall be confiscate to Her Majesty the Queen.

25th February, 1583

Collas de la Rue is accused of using the arts of witchcraft, and of grievously vexing and tormenting divers subjects of Her Majesty.

Matthieu Cauchez deposed that his wife being in a pining languorous condition, having heard that Collas de la Rue was a wizard, and knowing that he frequently visited his house, he asked him if he could help his wife. Collas replied:—

“As to her she is an ‘in pace’ (sic), she will not live much longer.”

De la Rue came to the place where his wife lay ill, and caused the bed to be reversed, putting the bolster at the foot; she died three hours afterwards.

James Blanche affirmed that having failed in a promise he had made to De la Rue, the latter swore he should repent. His wife soon afterwards became swollen all over, in which state she remained for some considerable time. He finally went to De la Rue, and consulted him as to how to cure his wife, and he gave him a decoction of herbs to be used as a drink, by which his wife was cured.

Thomas Behot deposed that on returning from fishing, he refused to give some fish to the son of Collas De la Rue. The son said he was a “false villain,” and complained to his father, who on that said, “Tais-toy, il n’en peschera plus guères.” (“Be quiet, he will not catch many more.”) That same day he was taken ill, and became so swollen that he could not rest between his sheets—(en ses draps). After having been ill for a long time, his wife unsewed his mattress and found therein several sorts of grains, such as broom, “alisandre” “nocillons” or “nerillons de fèves,” (black beans?), the treadles of sheep, pieces of laurel, rags with feathers stuck into them,150 and several other things. His wife threw it all into the fire, and such an awful smell arose from the flames that they were obliged to leave the room, and immediately his swelling disappeared. The same day he was taken with such violent pains that he thought his last hour was come. Whereupon his wife put the key of their front door in the fire, and, as soon as it began to get red hot, Collas de la Rue, who had not been invited, and who had not put foot inside their house for six years, arrived there before sunrise, and said that he would undertake to cure him, but that it would be a lengthy operation, that he would have to refer to a book that he had at home, by which he had cured several people, Matthieu Cauchez among others, and that also he (the witness) would be cured. So Collas made him some poultices of herbs, but they did not cure him. With great difficulty he dragged himself to St. Martin’s Church (au temple de St. Martin), where De la Rue said to him:—

“I am glad to see you here, and yet not entirely glad, for you are not yet cured.”

When the deponent replied that he soon hoped to be on the sea again, De la Rue replied:

“Do not go, for you will not return without great danger.” (“N’y vas pas, car à grand’ peine en reviendras tu.”)

However, he persisted in going, and encountered such bad weather that he and all the crew were nearly drowned. And returning very ill, and his malady continuing, his wife again unsewed his mattress and there found an image made of a bone-like substance and apparently all gnawed, (d’une manière d’os tout rongé) which he took to the magistrates, and afterwards got better.

Collas De la Rue also told him that Collas Rouget had gone to Normandy to seek a cure. Had he only consulted him first, he need not have gone so far to be cured. In conclusion he said that on his conscience he believed and affirmed the said De la Rue to be a wizard.

Richard de Vauriouf deposed that having had several differences with Collas De la Rue on the subject of his cattle, which had caused him annoyance, De la Rue said to him:

“You are very strong and active, but before long you will not be thus, and you will be humbled after another manner.” (“Tu es bien robuste et fort, mais avant qu’il soit guères ce ne sera pas ainsy, et tu seras autrement abaissé.”)

Very soon afterwards the said Vauriouf was taken ill, and so was one of his daughters, and he was weak and languishing for more than a month.

Pierre Tardif, who had had some law-suits with Collas De la Rue, deposed that thereupon his daughter was taken ill, and her mattress being searched they found several … (here and in various places the record is torn) … of several kinds, and being … made principally of a coloured silken thread and of … of broom, of beans cut up, two of them being black … a pin stuck in a piece of rag and … After having taken advice he (Tardif) had thrashed De la Rue … after having given him two knock-down blows, his daughter was all right again. After which she was again taken ill, so he searched for De la Rue, and, having found him, he again thrashed him, this time drawing blood, and shortly after that his daughter was cured. In conclusion he also deposed upon oath his belief that De la Rue was a wizard.

… deposed as to having heard Collas De la Rue say that he had means to silence those who spoke ill of him (“qu’il avait des moyens de faire taire ceux qui parloient mal de luy.”)

(The record is here again torn, and the trial apparently did not conclude, but in 1585 the proceedings against Collas De la Rue were recommenced and many of the same witnesses appeared).

The Trial of Collas de la Rue Resumed — 17th December, 1585

Collas Hugues appeared in person and showed his child to us in the Court. This said child cannot talk except at random and with an impediment in its speech that none can cure; and he declares his conviction that his said child is “detained” (detenu) by some wizard, and he will take his oath that it is Collas De la Rue who “detains” him, inasmuch that the latter threatened him that he would afflict him through his most precious treasure (du plus cher joyau qu’il peut avoir). On this declaration, Her Majesty’s Procureur testified to us that the said De la Rue had formerly been imprisoned for sorcery, and now, that though he had not always been proved guilty, yet that to all outward appearance he had practised the art of witchcraft, and so much so, that new complaints being made against him, he had demanded the arrest and the confiscation of the goods of the said De la Rue, which was granted.

On the 25th of December an investigation was ordered.

December, 1585

James Blanche affirms that on a certain day, having promised to go for a day’s work to the aforesaid De la Rue, and not having done so, that he was heard to say to one of his people, that he, Blanche, should repent, and that soon afterwards his wife was seized with an illness which lasted for nearly a year. So that, finding the said De la Rue near “La Croix Guerin,”151 he asked him if he could give him something to cure his wife. Then the said De la Rue took an apple, which he broke into six parts, of which he retained one, and gave the remaining five pieces to the said Blanche to carry back to his wife, forbidding him at the same time to eat a mouthful. Notwithstanding, when he quitted De la Rue, he ate the said apple, and at that moment the said De la Rue appeared before him, he having not yet reached his own house, and taxed him with having eaten the forbidden apple, and the same day his wife was cured. He, Blanche, says that this is a man given to threats, and is much suspected and generally denounced as being a wizard, and he has even heard that people have called him “sorcier” to his face and he has not resented it.

December, 1585

Jehennet des Perques deposed that at divers times the said Collas De la Rue went to the fishermen and foretold to them when they should have fine weather and when they should have storms.… He was commonly reported to be a wizard. He also deposed that on a certain day, he being at the house of Collas Henry, where the said De la Rue had quarrelled with the wife of Collas de Bertran, who had called him “sorcier” (wizard), he threatened her that she should repent, and that the said Mrs. de Bertran fell in descending the stairs (cheut aval les degrez) and bruised herself from head to foot.

Several witnesses depose that Collas De la Rue is a man much given to threats, that various persons have fallen ill after having been threatened by him, and that he cured them at his will.

He was sent back to prison.

It appears that Collas De la Rue was executed, for, in a lawsuit against Denis de Garis for concealing a treasure that he had found in his house, it is said that the aforesaid treasure was found on the day of Collas De la Rue’s execution, that is to say the 25th of March, 1585-6.

24th November, 1602

Marie Roland is accused of sorcery.

John Sohier witnesses that the aforesaid Marie, having been with him one day at the house of the Henry’s, together with Joan Henry, whose child lay ill, she confessed to having bewitched the child, and on being asked in what manner, said that she had put its clothes one night by the stream (auprès du douit) and that she and her master the Devil then entered into the house of the said Henry by the chimney, and found the said child by the hearth, and with a splinter she pricked the child, and it was bewitched for three months.

10th April, 1613

An inquest on the suspicions of witchcraft against Olivier Omont, Cecile Vaultier, his wife, and Guillemine Omont, their daughter.

Jacques Bailleul deposed that having refused alms to Olivier Omont his son was taken with a pain in his ear which lasted twenty-four hours, that the doctor said that he could not understand it (qu’il n’y connaissait rien), that he believes that Olivier is a wizard.

Guillemine Le Pastourell affirms that Omont came begging from her, and she said that he was stronger than her and that he could gain his bread if necessary without begging, that the next day she was taken ill, that she remained ill for three weeks, that Omont, having come again, gave her some bread, and after that she recovered. During her illness all her cattle died. She believed it was from some spell cast by the said Omont.

Marie Sohier witnesses that the day after the death of her husband Olivier Omont came to her house demanding bread. She replied that having numerous children to feed she could not spare him any, that he went away grumbling. At that very moment her daughter Marguerite, aged six years, was taken ill, and when they gave her some bread she threw it away and ate cinders by the handful. That her daughter Marie, one year old, was taken ill one hour after the departure of Omont, and she had remained ill for two years. That having met Omont at the Mont Durand she threatened to throw a stone at him, and called him “sorcier,” that on returning home she gave a lump of white bread to her child, who ate it all, and since then is quite well. She believes that the said Omont was the cause of the sickness of her children.

Philippin Le Goubey witnesses that Olivier Omont having begged for cider from his wife, she refused him, and was instantly afflicted with grievous pains; that he entreated the said Omont several times to come into his house to see his wife, but that he always refused; that one day he forced him to enter, and he put one foot in the house and the other out, and then he fled; that rushing after him he threatened to denounce him to justice if he would not cure his wife; that then he said that she would be well again in a fortnight, but that he could not cure her at that moment; that he forced him to return to the house, and that, when there, he threatened to keep him there until he was delivered up to justice; that at that very moment his wife was cured of the worst of her pains; that having shortly afterwards come into the town to make a notification of these things, he found that the said Omont had already taken a boat and fled from the country.

Pierre Simon, of Torteval, being at the Hougue Antan,152 met Olivier Omont lying with his face against the ground. He tried to awake him, shook him, and heard a buzzing (un bourdonnement) but saw nothing. Feeling rather frightened he left him and went on towards the Buttes153 of Torteval, and then came back to the place where he had left him. Omont suddenly awoke, having his mouth full of mud, and his face all disfigured (défiguré). Omont having been questioned replied that he had fallen from the cliff, and that Pierre Nant had seen him fall.

Several people witnessed that having refused alms to Omont and to his wife, their cattle fell ill and died, their cows gave blood instead of milk, or gave nothing at all, their sows and their cows miscarried, and misfortunes happened to their wives.

29th June, 1613

Thomas Mancell witnessed that his wife having refused alms to Omont, their cow fell ill, and they were obliged to kill it. Jean Hamon, who flayed the cow, cut it at the shoulder, and “there issued a black beast as large as a little ‘cabot’ (a small fish). Its throat was such that one could easily insert the tip of one’s little finger, and it had two little wings” (“en sortit une beste noire, grosse comme un petit cabot, dans la gueule duquell on aurait bien mis le bout du petit doigt et avait deulx petites ailes.”)

Jean Le Feyvre, of the Mielles,154 witnesseth that one morning he found Cécile, wife of Omont, near the Chapelle de l’Epine, where she was searching, he could not tell for what, and where she remained for a long while without his being able to perceive that she found anything, and she did not perceive that he was watching her; and he having asked her shortly afterwards whether it was she that he had observed at such an hour near the chapel, she denied it, and that afterwards he asked her again whether it was she who was in that neighbourhood, and she replied in the affirmative, and then he started fine rumours, (ung beau bruit) saying that she was dancing on the thorn which grows in the aforesaid neighbourhood.

29th May, 1613

Thomasse, wife of Collas Troussey, deposes that one night, her husband being on guard at the Castle, she was awakened by a frightful noise, like cats squalling, and she dared not cry out on account of Olivier Omont, who was sleeping in the same corridor as herself, though the miauling of the cats still continued. When her husband was returned from his patrol, she dared ask Omont if he had not heard the cats, to which he replied Yes, but there was nothing for her to be afraid of, that they would do her no harm. That another night, her husband being also there, she had heard Omont call “Cats! cats!” and on asking him if he had cats in his wallet (en son bisac,) he replied “No,” and that the noise seemed beneath where she lay, but that he was afraid that they would eat the fish that was on the table.

Olivier Omont, his wife and daughter, were all banished from the island.

30th June, 1613

An enquiry was held on Laurence L’Eustace, wife of Thomas Le Comte, suspected of being a witch.

Jean Hallouvris witnesses that for four years he has driven his cart. As the wheels passed close to Laurence she dropped several strings and twists of rushes (quelques colliers et nattes de pavie)155 that she was carrying, at which she was very angry. Two days afterwards, one of his bullocks set off running as if it were mad, and then fell down stone dead, and the other bullock died the next day.

Pierre Machon deposes that he has heard Laurence swear “By God’s ten fingers” (“Par les dix doigts de Dieu”), and with oaths and blasphemies call devils to her assistance.

Christine, wife of Pierre Jehan, says that her first husband, Collas Henry, having had a quarrel with Laurence Le Comte, one of their children, aged two years, was taken with an illness which lasted for twelve months. When the attack first came on, he jumped high into the air, that, before being taken ill he walked very well, but that afterwards, all that year he crawled on his hands and knees. That, having had a quarrel with the said Laurence, and having put some curds to cool, (des caillebottes à refroidir), she found them the next day just like bits of rag (que de la mêque), and that on the following Monday the child was seized with terror, and cried out that someone was pulling his nose. That, as soon as she went to Laurence’s house, the child got better, but, on her return, fell ill again, and finally died.

Laurence L’Eustache, wife of Thomas Le Comte, was also banished from the island.

On the 17th of May, 1617, began the trial of Collette du Mont, widow of Jean Becquet, Marie, her daughter, wife of Pierre Massy, and Isebel Becquet, wife of Jean Le Moygne.

James Gallienne witnesses that one day, having quarrelled with Jean Le Moigne, husband of the aforesaid Isebell, the said Le Moigne said to him:—

“You are always seeking to pick quarrels with me, and you say that my wife is a witch, but before six months are over you will be very glad to come and implore me to help you;” that immediately his wife fell into a lingering illness, and, doubting not but that it was the effect of a spell, opened all the mattresses and found all kinds of filth and bits of feather, which he has showed to several people; and in some quite new pillows which he had at home he found a large quantity of worms. He says that about six years ago, one of his children being ill, he was putting a pillow under his head, found it hard, and, on unripping it, found it full of dirt. While they unsewed it they heard a flapping noise as of the wings of a cock, and the said child declared that he saw this cock; that, having shut all the doors, they tried to find what it really was, and that, having hunted and ransacked the house, they saw first a rat, then a weasel, which slipped through the holes of the pavement (sortit par les pertius de la dalle). And at the end of two or three days he was asked why he had beaten the said Isebell Becquet. He replied that he had not touched her, and soon after that he was advised to try whether she was a witch, by putting the key of his front door (de son grand huis) in the fire, which he did. When the said key had been nearly two days in the fire the said woman arrived at his house, without asking whether he were at home, and begged of him seven to nine (sept à neuf) things which he refused her, she wishing at all hazards to come in further (entrer plus outre) to see the sick child, which he would not allow.

Item. Deposeth that his wife having rebuked the said Isebell because her children annoyed those of the said Gallienne, she went away very vexed, and the next day one of his oxen broke its neck, his mare miscarried, and his wife was taken ill.

Item; that the children of the said Isebell said one day to the children of the said Gallienne, that if their mother was ill it was because she had spoken rudely; that some time afterwards, Mrs. Gallienne being in bed in her room, the door being shut and simply a sky-light (une luquerne sic, lucarne) open, she felt something like a cat, which, little by little, crept on her chest as she lay on her bed. Having shaken it to the ground, she heard one or two growls, on which, astonished, she began to threaten it that if it was a wizard or a witch she would cut it to pieces (que le couperoit en pièces), it returned by the said sky-light.

Thomas Sohier said that Jean Jehan having summoned him to come and make his will, he complained that the said Isebell was killing him for having refused to make a jacket for her son. That some little time afterwards James Gallienne, having a sick daughter, caused her bed to be unripped, out of which came a sort of animal like a rat (une manière de bête comme un rat), which hid itself in some wood and was hunted for throughout the house; that on the following day, having met the said Isebell, he noticed her face all torn (déchiré sic). On asking her the cause she said it was from “du mal d’Espagne,” (cantharides, the Spanish fly used for making blisters); that on that he asked James Gallienne if he had not beaten her, who replied in the negative; that, being the other day at the house of the said Gallienne, giving evidence to this, his wife fell down as if dead, and on returning to consciousness, said that she was bewitched.

Item. Testifies that in the bed of the aforesaid daughter (of Gallienne), were found twenty-one or twenty-two spells (sorcerons).156

Many other depositions told the same story. Oxen and calves died, cows and mares miscarried, sheep fell dead, children and women were taken ill, no cream was found on the milk, curds would not “make,” cows dried up, or only gave blood. Worms were bred in the beds, or even under the women’s caps. They were black at both ends, or sometimes had two heads. Frogs and black beasts (des bêtes noires) haunted the paths of the bewitched persons. Fountains were full of insects, black pimples appeared all over the bodies of the afflicted persons, and lice, in such abundance that they had to use a broom to sweep them away. On the witch being threatened the sick person recovered.

The trial was resumed on the 6th June, 1617.

Marie, wife of James Gallienne … deposed … Item; that for nearly ten years her eldest daughter Rachel had been bewitched; that, having unsewed her mattress, by which was some straw,157 something was seen lurking in the said straw, and Jean Le Gallez, being present, said that it looked to him like a black cat, and sometimes like a cock, and then like a mouse, and then like a rat, that it—whatever it was—hid in some wood which was in the house, which was immediately rummaged and moved, but no one knew how to capture it (ne sçurent tant faire que de le prendre). That her husband saw it like a cock, and her daughter like a mouse; that on opening the mattress they found within it many spells (force sorcerons) and also beans with which were mingled black grains as if mildewed,158 which beans or grains having been put in a porringer (une écuelle) in the presence of various women who were there, it dissolved in their presence, and they did not know what became of it (cela fondit en leur presence et ne sçurent que devint.) That the said Isabell, having come to the house at the end of two or three days, and asking for seven or nine sorts of things, and trying to force an entrance into the place where the child was lying ill, all which things were refused her by her husband, so she then went away, and her face was all cut; and went to her husband and said that she would not stay while Isebell Becquet was there, and she believes that she is a witch.

On the 4th of July, 1617, these three women, Collette Dumont, widow of Jean Becquet, Marie, her daughter, wife of Pierre Massy, and Isebell Becquet, wife of Jean le Moigne, were convicted by the Royal Court of Guernsey of having practised the damnable art of sorcery, and of having thereby caused the death of many persons, destroyed and injured much cattle, and done many other evil deeds. They were condemned to be tied to a stake, strangled, and burnt until their bodies were totally consumed; and their ashes to be scattered abroad. The sentence added that, previous to execution, they were to be put to the torture159 in order to force them to declare the names of their accomplices.

First, the said Collette, immediately after the said sentence had been rendered, and before leaving the Court, freely acknowledged that she was a witch, but would not particularise the crimes which she had committed; whereupon she was conducted with the others to the torture-house, and, being put to the question, confessed that the Devil, when she was still young, appeared to her in the form of a cat,160 in the parish of Torteval, it being yet day, as she was returning from tending her cattle; that he prevailed upon her by inviting her to revenge herself on one of her neighbours with whom she was on bad terms in consequence of some injury done to her by his cattle; that on subsequent occasions, when she had quarrelled with anyone, he again appeared to her in the same form, and sometimes in that of a dog, inducing her to revenge herself against those with whom she was displeased, and persuading her to cause the death of men and beasts; that the Devil having come to invite her to the Sabbath, called her, without its being perceived by others, and gave her a certain black ointment,161 with which, having stripped, she rubbed her body nearly all over, and, having dressed herself again and gone out of doors, she was immediately carried through the air with great velocity to the place where the Sabbath was held, which was sometimes near the Torteval parish churchyard, and sometimes on the sea-shore near Rocquaine Castle; that, being arrived there, she met frequently as many as fifteen or sixteen wizards and witches, with devils, who were there in the form of dogs, cats, and hares; that she could not recognise the wizards and witches, because they were all blackened and disfigured, although she heard the Devil evoke them by name, and remembers among others, the wives Calais and Hardy. She confesses also that at the opening of the Sabbath, the Devil, in making the evocation, began sometimes by her name; that her daughter Marie, wife of Massy, at present under condemnation for the same crime, is a witch, and that she has taken her twice to the Sabbath with her. She does not know where the Devil has marked her. She says that at the Sabbath they adored the Devil, who stood upon his hind legs … in the form of a dog, that afterwards they danced back to back, and after having danced they drank wine, but of what colour she does not know, which the Devil poured out of a flagon into a silver or pewter goblet; but that the wine did not seem so good as that which is usually drunk, that they also ate white bread, which the Devil presented to them, but that she has never seen any salt162 at the Sabbath.

She confesses that the Devil had charged her to call in on her way for Isebell Le Moigne, when she went to the Sabbath, and that she has done so several times; that on leaving the Sabbath the Devil invited her to perpetrate many evils, and that, for this purpose he gave her certain black powders, which he ordered her to throw on such persons and beasts as she pleased; and that with this powder she did much evil, which she cannot now call to mind, but she remembers that she threw some over Mr. Dolbel, the minister of the parish, and by this means was the cause of his death. With the same powder she bewitched the wife of Jean Manguès, but denies that her death was caused by it. She says that she touched the side, and threw some of this powder on the wife,163 since deceased, of Mr. Perchard, who succeeded Mr. Dolbel as minister of the parish, thereby causing her death and that of her unborn babe. She cannot say what offence the deceased had given her. She says that on the refusal of Collas Tostevin’s wife to give her some milk, she caused her cow to run dry by throwing some of the powder over it, but that she cured the cow afterwards by giving it bran mixed with grass, which the Devil had given her, to eat.

The confession of her daughter Marie, wife of Pierre Massy, is much to the same effect, with this exception, that she seems to have been in the habit of meeting the Devil in the form of a dog, and that he changed her into an animal of the same species at the time of their interviews.

The third of these unfortunate wretches, Isebell, wife of Jean Le Moigne, enters, in her confession, into some additional details.

It was in the semblance of a hare, and in broad daylight, that the Devil appeared to her for the first time, and incited her to avenge herself on her sister-in-law, La Girarde, with whom she had quarrelled. At first she resisted the tempter, but he appeared to her a second time, again in the road next her house, and on this occasion left with her a packet of black powder, which she kept. A third time the demon appeared, in the same form, urging her, if she would not give herself to him, to make him a present of some living animal, whereupon she gave him a chicken, and he appointed her to meet him the next day before sunrise at the Sabbath, promising to send someone to guide her there. Accordingly old Collette Dumont came that night to her house, and gave her some black ointment, with which she rubbed herself. She was then carried over hedges and ditches to the place of meeting near Rocquaine Castle. She was received and welcomed by the Devil in the form of a dog, with long erect horns (avec de grandes cornes dressées en hautt), and hands like those of a man. He caused her to go down on her knees and renounce the Almighty in these words: “I deny God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.” (“Je renie Dieu le Père, Dieu le Fils, et Dieu le Saint Esprit”). After this, she was made to adore the Devil and invoke him in these terms: “Our great Master, help us!” (“Nostre grand Maistre, aide nous!”) and also to enter into an express covenant to adhere to his service. At the conclusion of this ceremony, the same acts of license, dancing and drinking (again bread and wine in mockery of the Holy Sacrament), took place as are described by Collette Dumont, widow Becquet, in her confession. On this occasion Isebell Le Moigne entered into a pact with Satan for one month only; but subsequently the agreement was extended to three years. She stated that Satan treated Collette Dumont with marked respect, always evoking her name first, styling her “Madame, la vieille Becquette,” and giving her a place by his side. She also said that one night, when she was at the Sabbath, the Devil marked her on the thigh. The mark thus made having been examined by women appointed for that purpose, they certified that they had thrust pins deep into it, and that Isebell felt no pain therefrom, nor did any blood follow when the pins were withdrawn.

According to her account, the Devil appeared occasionally in the form of a he-goat, and when they took leave of him, they all had to kiss him, that he inquired of them when they would return, and exhorted them to adhere to him and do all the evil in their power. He then took them all by the hand and they departed in different directions. She asserted also that it was the Devil who had been seen in the forms of a rat and a stoat in the house of James Gallienne, whose child she had bewitched; that she was in the neighbourhood of the house at the time; and that the Devil, having resumed the form of a man, came to her and beat her severely about the head and face, which ill-treatment she attributed to her having refused to go with him to Gallienne’s house. She said that she never went to the Sabbath except when her husband was gone out to sea for the night, fishing.

The depositions of the witnesses, taken down very minutely in the three cases above cited and in many others of a similar nature, have been preserved, and throw a good deal of light on the popular ideas of the day in respect to sorcerers and their doings.

Wizards and Witches

There are some families in Guernsey whose members have the reputation of being sorcerers from their birth. These individuals require no initiation into the diabolic mysteries of the “Sabbat,” Satan claiming them as his own from the very cradle. They are, however, furnished by him with a familiar, generally in the shape of a fly, so that the phrase “avoir une mouque” is well understood as meaning that the person of whom it is said is one of the infernal fraternity. Indeed, in talking of persons who are addicted to magical arts, it is reckoned highly imprudent to speak of them as “sorciers” or “sorcières,” or to call them by the now almost-forgotten name of “Quéraud.”164 By so doing you give offence, and, what is of still more consequence, you put it in their power to injure you. It is, however, quite safe to speak of them as “gens du Vendredi,”165 or “gens du hoc.”166

Satan does not always wait for their death to claim their souls as his own, but sometimes carries them off bodily; and a former schoolmaster of the Vale, who, from his eccentricities, had acquired the reputation of being a wizard, having disappeared mysteriously, and having never been seen again, is commonly believed, to this day, to have been spirited away.

Those who are born sorcerers have the faculty of transporting themselves at will wherever they please, but those who seek admission into the fraternity, and are initiated into the diabolical rites, are furnished by their infernal master with a certain ointment with which they anoint every part of their bodies before undertaking their aerial journeys. They are also supposed to be able to introduce themselves at night through the chinks and crevices of the buildings into the sheds in which the cattle are housed, for the purpose of milking the cows, not only thus depriving the owner of his property, but also worrying and alarming the poor animals, whose altered looks in the morning shew the ill-treatment to which they have been subjected. An old horse-shoe nailed on the door or lintel, or a naturally pierced flintstone pebble attached to the key of the stable door, are both considered efficacious in warding off these attacks—but an infallible method of driving off the witches is to suspend wreaths of the bramble from the rafters. Witches and wizards travelling, not on land, but through the air, finding these unexpected obstacles in their way, get scratched.167

After having rubbed themselves over with this ointment they are then instructed to pronounce without intermission the words “Roule, roule, par dessus ronces et buissons.” (“Roll, roll, above brambles and brakes”).

This was discovered in the following manner:—A prying valet, who lived in the service of a gentleman who was a wizard, of which fact he was nevertheless ignorant, was one day amusing himself by peeping through the key-hole of his master’s bed chamber. He observed his master make use of the ointment, and heard distinctly the words which he pronounced, immediately after which he became invisible. Wishing to try the effect of the unguent on his own person, he entered the room, and went through the process of anointment, but when he came to pronounce the magic formula, he made use of the word “dessous” instead of “dessus” (“under” instead of “over.”) Perhaps he was an Englishman, to whom the French “u” was an insurmountable difficulty. Be this as it may, he had reason to repent bitterly of his indiscreet curiosity, for, no sooner were the words out of his mouth, than he felt himself lifted up, and carried at a fearful rate through furze brakes and bramble hedges, while at the same time he had the mortification to see his master gliding along through the air, several feet above the bushes, and laughing heartily at his misfortunes. At last, dreadfully scratched and torn, and more dead than alive, he arrived at the spot where the infernal troops had their rendezvous, but was too much frightened to notice what took place there, only too happy to escape without being forced, against his will, to enrol himself among them. His curiosity, however, was effectually cured, and he vowed nevermore to pry into his master’s secrets.168

The following is another instance of the use of this infernal ointment. It is related that a lady of St. Pierre-du-Bois was astonished at the long time her husband remained in his private apartment, and her curiosity at last induced her to watch him. Accordingly she one day concealed herself in the room. Her husband came in shortly afterwards, and, after stripping off all his clothes, proceeded to anoint himself from head to foot with a certain ointment, after which he repeated the words “va et vient” (“go and come”), and immediately disappeared. Anxious to know whither he was gone, she went through the same ceremony, and no sooner had she repeated the mysterious words than she found herself on the summit of Pleinmont, in the midst of a large concourse of people. A table was set out, covered with a variety of viands of which some present invited her courteously to partake. Previously, however, to touching anything, she, like a good Christian, repeated aloud the words “Au nom de Dieu soit, Amen,” (“In the name of God, Amen”). No sooner had the sacred name passed her lips than she found herself alone. All had disappeared, and the only signs which remained of any living beings having been on the spot besides herself were recent marks of cloven feet indented on the sward in every direction.

The Aerial Journey

There is a story told of two men who were neighbours and inhabitants of the parish of St. Saviour’s, that their occupation—that of quarrymen—took them frequently to the Vale parish, where the finest qualities of granite are to be procured. The distance they had to traverse before arriving at their destination was considerable, and the road in some places, rather lonely.

Leonard Sarre, who was of a companionable nature, thought that the tediousness of the way would be considerably lessened by having someone to talk to, even if it were only his fellow workman, Matthew Tostevin, whose taciturnity and reserve were proverbial. Often, when setting off in the early morning to go to his work, he would, as he passed Tostevin’s door, look in and offer his company. The answer was invariably the same:—

“Go on, I shall be there as soon as you, though I shall not leave home for an hour to come.”

When Sarre arrived at the quarry where they worked he was frequently astounded at finding Tostevin already there. The way which Sarre took was the very shortest and most direct. He was confident that Tostevin could not pass without his perceiving him, and any other road would entail at least half-an-hour’s extra walking to accomplish. There was evidently a mystery, and Leonard was resolved to fathom it.

At last, in answer to his repeated enquiries, Matthew told him that he was willing to let him into the secret. He bade him place his foot on one of his, clasp him tightly round the waist, shut his eyes closely, and, above all, on no account whatever, to utter a word.

Leonard Sarre did as he was directed, and immediately felt himself lifted into the air and carried along at a fearful rate. In his fright he forgot the injunctions that had been given him, opened his eyes, and, finding himself far above the earth, cried out in terror “O, mon Dieu!” The holy name dissolved the unhallowed spell, at least so far as poor Leonard was concerned. He fell; fortunately it was into one of the most boggy spots of La Grand’ Mare, so he escaped with a few scratches and bruises, a thorough ducking, and a tremendous fright. What became of Matthew Tostevin is not known.

It was not until many years had rolled over his head that Leonard Sarre ventured to relate his perilous adventure, and then Tostevin had long been dead.169

The Countrywoman and the Witch

The barren and rugged hill of Catiauroc, situated near the sea-shore in the parish of St. Saviour’s, is the noted and favourite haunt of wizards and witches. Once every week on the Friday night they resort thither, and grand assemblies, at which their infernal master presides in person, are held at other seasons, particularly on St. Thomas’, or the longest night, and on the eve of Christmas.

Though the power of sorcerers in doing harm is very great, yet they themselves are subject to all the accidents and infirmities of life, nor can their supernatural skill extricate them from any difficulty they may chance to get into.

A countrywoman left her cottage one morning at daybreak to look after her cows. In passing through a furze brake that led to the meadow she thought she perceived, by the yet imperfect light, what appeared to her a bundle of clothes thrown on the top of a hedge. On approaching nearer she was astonished to recognise a lady from the town, whose dress was so entangled in the brambles that it was impossible for her to extricate herself, or to descend from her elevated situation, and who was so exhausted that she had scarcely sufficient strength left to beg for assistance. It immediately occurred to her, that the lady in her aërial journey to the Catiauroc that night had kept too close to the earth, and thus had been caught by the bushes, but, remembering that there are some persons with whom it is better to be friends than enemies, she immediately drew near and assisted the lady to descend, at the same time expressing her surprise at seeing her in such a singular position, and begging her to walk into her cottage and rest herself.

“No,” said the lady, thanking her, “I must now make the best of my way home. Mention to no living creature what you have seen this day, and all will go well with you, but bitterly will you repent your folly if you disobey this injunction.”

She then left the countrywoman. It is not easy for a man to keep a secret from his wife, but it is almost impossible for a woman to conceal anything from her husband.

The secret weighed on the poor woman’s heart and rendered her miserable, till at last she flattered herself she had discovered an expedient by which she might ease her mind without disobeying the commands put upon her. She therefore one morning desired her husband to follow her into the garden and stand at some little distance from her. She then addressed herself to a tree, and related to this inanimate object what she had seen, but the secret of course reached, as was intended, the ears of her husband. The subterfuge availed her nothing; before the close of day she was struck with deafness, and never, to her dying day, did she recover her hearing.

The old woman of the Castel, who related this story to Miss Lane, said that the woman was her great-aunt, and remembered having seen her when very young.

Stories very similar in their general features to the preceding are far from uncommon in the country, and in all the sorceress is represented as a lady of rank.

A countryman met a lady entangled in the brambles on the top of a hedge. He disengaged her, and was promised that as long as he kept the secret he should find every morning, under a stone which she pointed out to him, a piece of money.170

Magic Books

“O Faustus, lay that damnèd book aside
And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy soul,
And heap God’s heavy wrath upon thy head!
Read, read the Scriptures:—that is blasphemy.”

—Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, by Christopher Marlowe.

Many persons, although not absolutely considered as wizards, are looked upon with no favourable eye from their supposed possession of books relating to the black art, by the study of which they are thought to be able to control the elements, to produce strange effects either for good or bad on the bodies of man and beast, to discover hidden secrets, treasure, etc.

These books are generally known by the name of Albins, probably derived from that famous professor of magic, Albertus Magnus, many of whose formulas for raising the Devil, etc., they are said to contain.

They are also called “Le Grammaille” or “Grand-Mêle,”171 and a distinction is made between the Grand-Mêle and the Petit-Mêle.

Among the effects which the possessors of these books are said to be able to produce is that of causing persons to walk in their sleep, and to direct their steps towards any point to which the dabbler in magic may wish them to go, but in order to accomplish this, it is necessary that he should have previously drawn blood from the person on whom he intends to practise his unlawful art. So small a quantity however as that produced by the scratch of a pin is amply sufficient for the purpose.

These books are said to be indestructible. If thrown on the fire they remain unconsumed, if sunk in the sea, or buried in the earth, they will be found again the next day in the cupboard or chest from whence they were taken.172

The Prior of Lihou

The small islet of Lihou lies on the western coast of Guernsey, from which it is separated by an arm of the sea. An ancient causeway, which is uncovered at half-tide, affords an easy access to the main-land, but it is dangerous to attempt the passage when the tide is flowing, for the coast is so flat that the water rises with great rapidity, and many accidents have occurred. A church, the ruins of which are still to be seen, existed here until the Reformation. It was dedicated to Notre Dame de la Roche, and was served by a prior, who was appointed by the Prior of St. Michel du Valle, a dependency of the great Abbey of Mont St. Michel-au-peril-de-la-Mer, in the Bay of Avranches. The isle is to this day looked upon with such veneration by the Norman and Breton sailors employed in the coasting trade, that they never pass it without saluting, by lowering their topmasts, and there is reason to believe that it was a favourite resort of pilgrims. A house belonging to a family of the name of Lenfestey, and situated at Les Adams, is said to have been, in former days, the residence of the priest who officiated at Lihou. A free-stone let into one of the exterior walls has a rough delineation of a church incised on it, which is said to represent the Priory Church of Lihou as it formerly existed.173

A few years ago the remains of a skeleton were discovered in sinking a well on the property, to which a certain number of houses in the neighbourhood have a right of resorting for water. Many persons who have gone to draw water at night have heard groans, thrice repeated, as if from a person expiring, and these have generally been followed by the death of some near relation of the hearer. Three days after Mrs. Savidan heard the groans, a boat, in which were two of her relations named Le Cras, was capsized in a storm and both perished.174

Notwithstanding the sanctity of the place, however, the old proverb of “The nearer the church, the farther from God,” might at one time have been applied to it, for it is related of one of the priors that he was addicted to the black art. Neither the fear of God, nor the censures of the church, could wean him from the fascinating study of magic, and the Grand-Mêle was far oftener in his hands than the Bible or breviary. But wizards, it is well known, have often been the victims of their own art, and so it chanced with the profane Prior of Lihou.

One morning, taking advantage of the receding tide, he crossed over to Guernsey to seek an interview with another adept in necromancy, the priest of the neighbouring Chapel of Ste. Apolline. He was accompanied by his servant, to whom he had entrusted a ponderous tome, containing the formulas by which he performed his incantations, and to whom he had given strict orders on no account to open the volume or read a word which it contained.

The visit over, the prior prepared to return to his convent, and walked along leisurely, knowing as it was then spring tide that two or three hours must elapse before the returning waves could bar the passage to the islet. The servant lingered behind, and when he arrived on the beach found his master already half way over. His curiosity had been vividly excited by the repeated injunctions of his master that he should abstain carefully from opening the book. He began to think that it must contain something very wonderful, and that, as but few minutes must elapse before their arrival at the convent, when the mysterious volume would, without doubt, be instantly demanded by the prior, if he did not seize this opportunity of acquainting himself with its contents, no other occasion might ever present itself. He yielded to the temptation, opened the book, and began to read. The prior by this time had arrived at about the middle of the causeway, and was astonished to find the tide rising rapidly and threatening to cut off his further progress, either backwards or forwards. He felt that some unnatural agency was at work, and, guessing how matters stood, looked back to the shore which he had just left, and saw his faithless servant comfortably seated on a heap of dried sea-weed, with the fatal volume spread open on his knees. He was reading aloud, and the prior caught enough of the words to know that his attendant had hit upon the spell which causes the tides to rise out of their usual course, and, moreover, that he was reading most leisurely.

In great fright he called out to the man to read on quickly to the end, as he knew that then the waves would stop and return to their proper limits. The servant was too much absorbed in his reading to pay any attention to the directions given him, and the waves had by this time reached above the prior’s waist. In mortal agony he called out for the second time:—

“If thou canst not read forwards, read backwards!”

The roaring waves this time effectually drowned his voice. The servant read on, but long before he had arrived at the end of the incantation, the sea had covered the profane priest, and the demon whom the magic lines had evoked carried off his prey.175

Editor’s Notes.

A somewhat similar story was told me in 1896 by Mrs. Le Patourel, who had heard it from her mother-in-law. A schoolmaster, either at St. Pierre-du-Bois or at Torteval, was given to witchcraft, and owned one of these “bad books.” He took it one day to his school and, by an oversight, left it on his desk. It was a lovely day, and, impatient to be out, he omitted to lock it up, and hurried home to get his dinner. Whilst in the middle of eating it, quite suddenly a terrific storm came on, such thunder and lightning as had never before been seen in the country, and was most unaccountable in such a hitherto lovely weather. It seemed to be at its worst just over the school. Terrified, remembering the book he had left there, he rushed back and there he found one of the boys reading this book out loud. He snatched the book from his hand, and asked him to show him where he had begun, and where he had read to, and then began at once to read backwards from where the boy had left off. As he read, the storm began to lull, and when he reached the place where the boy had begun to read, the storm had stopped as suddenly as it begun. (This is possibly another version of the story of “Satan and the Schoolmaster,” related in the chapter on the Devil.)

Mrs. Le Patourel also knew a man who had once owned a “Grand Albert” and used it, and, repenting, tried to burn it, but it is well known that if you have once used one of these books you can never rid yourself of it, try as you will. He heated his oven red hot, and put the book within it. Two minutes afterwards he looked up and saw the book, unsinged even, in its old place on the dresser. My cousin Miss Le Pelley sends me a story told her by an old servant Judy Ozanne, how some very religious people, going into a house found a “Grand Albert” on the poûtre (the centre beam) in the kitchen, so they threw it into the fire, but in vain, for “it went back to its old place and stayed there!”

A Wizard on the West Coast

We all know how dangerous it is to possess books which treat of the arts of magic and sorcery, or to tamper in any way with these forbidden practices.

It came to the ears of a former rector of St. Pierre-du-Bois or Torteval, that one of his parishioners, of the name of Sarre, not only owned such books, but was in the habit of reading and studying them. Indeed, if there was any truth in public rumour, many of Sarre’s neighbours had been sufferers from the improper use he made of the knowledge thus unlawfully acquired. The good rector thought it his duty to remonstrate with his parishioner, and to point out to him the sinfulness of his conduct, and the danger he was incurring of forfeiting both body and soul to the Prince of Darkness; but all his good advice was, for a long time, treated with contempt. At last, what the rector’s charitable remonstrances had been unable to effect was brought about by Sarre’s own fears. The presence of a large black cat, which followed him wherever he went, and was with him night and day, began to alarm him. It was useless to attempt to drive the beast away; it cared neither for threats nor blows. In short Sarre began to be seriously alarmed lest his assiduous study of the forbidden volumes should, at last, have brought, if not Satan, at least one of his familiars, to dog his steps continually, and to watch an opportunity of seizing on his prey.

Under these circumstances he thought it most prudent to get rid of the books, and, with this intent, went one night to the extreme verge of low-water mark at spring-tides, dug a hole in the sand, and buried the accursed volumes. The rising tide soon covered the spot, and Sarre returned home with his mind at ease. His feeling of security was not destined to be of long duration, for, on entering his door, he was met by the black cat, who, erecting his tail, and rubbing himself against his master’s legs, manifested his joy at seeing him again. The next object that his eyes rested on were the books he had just buried, carefully placed on their accustomed shelf, and as dry as if they had never left it. A profound melancholy seized him; he ceased to occupy himself in his usual avocations, and wandered about the cliffs and sea-shore in a disconsolate state, till, at last, he disappeared. Those who were charitably disposed, surmised that, in his despair, he had thrown himself over one of the lofty precipices of Pleinmont into the sea, but there were not wanting others who suggested that the master, into whose service he had entered, had at last claimed his own, and carried him off bodily.176

The Wizard’s Death

A certain man of the name of Robin, who lived near Les Capelles, in the parish of St. Sampson’s, had risen from being a day labourer to be the possessor of what, in Guernsey, passes for a considerable landed estate. Riches are sure to create envy, and more particularly is this the case when a man has been prosperous in the world and has arrived at a rank and station to which he was not born. The poor hate him because he has acquired a title to consideration, which his origin, as humble as their own, can never confer. The rich pretend to despise him because he is wanting in the accidental circumstance of birth. All concur in attributing his success in life to luck, to want of honesty, to anything but intelligence, industry, and good conduct. It will not, therefore, be thought surprising if calumny was busy at work to blacken the character of one, who, like Robin, had been so fortunate in his undertakings. He was openly spoken of by his neighbours as being addicted to sorcery.

It was well known that he possessed the art of taming the most refractory bulls, and it therefore followed as a matter of course that he had also the power of bewitching other cattle. Sometimes, when a cow was sick, and all the usual nostrums of the village farrier had failed in effecting a cure, recourse was had, as a last resort, to Robin, who was generally successful. What conclusion was more natural, than that he, who could so easily remove a malady, had also the power of inflicting it? Besides, it was whispered about by some of those who contrive to be well informed of all that passes, even in the most secret recesses of their neighbours’ houses, that Robin would sit for hours together, shut up in his private room, with a pack of cards before him, with which he appeared to be playing some game. No adversary was seen, but what game can be played by one man alone? It was clear to the most obtuse that another was present, although invisible to mortal eye, and who could this be but the great enemy of human souls?

At last old age came on; Robin became more and more infirm, and was at last confined to his bed. During his illness his attendants were much annoyed by the continual creaking and cracking of an ancient oaken press, which stood in the corner of the room, and which he would not allow them on any account to open or meddle with. Of course they all thought that this chest contained untold gold, for he was known to be extremely avaricious—in fact he was one of those “who would cut a double177 in two” as the saying is. He was frightfully hard on all his workmen, exacting every moment of their time. So far did he carry this, that it is said he only allowed them five minutes to take their noon-day meal, which, according to the universal custom at that time, was furnished by the employer, and eaten at his table. It was commonly believed that one source of his wealth was the discovery of a buried treasure in one of his fields. There was a well on his property which was intermittent, at times overflowing, and at others not having above an inch or so of water in it. It was supposed to conceal a treasure, and a man was sent down to examine it, but no sooner had he begun to bale out the water than it returned with such violence that he was obliged to be drawn up to avoid drowning. When Robin was dying, his son urged him to give something to the poor, but his constant answer was:—

“Je n’en counis pouïnt.” (“I do not know any.”)

His last hour was, however, rapidly approaching, and he desired the press to be opened, and certain books which it contained to be thrown on the hearth where a large fire was blazing. His orders were obeyed, but, to the great astonishment of the servants and attendants, instead of being consumed in the flames, the books extinguished the fire!178 Fresh faggots were, by the orders of the dying man, heaped on the hearth, and kindled, and, at last, the mysterious books, if not consumed, at least disappeared. The press had ceased to creak from the moment the books were taken out of it, and shortly afterwards Robin breathed his last.

A storm of unusual violence was raging at the time, but the most singular circumstance remains yet to be told. A crow of unusual size was seen to hover over the house, and finally alighted on the roof, and, it is said, that on the day of the funeral, as the corpse was leaving the house, it flew down and perched on the coffin. In vain did the bearers endeavour to drive it off; it held its ground, and even when the body was lowered into the grave it would not quit the station which it had chosen, but suffered itself to be covered with the mould by the sexton.179

The Witch of Caubo180

Among the many bays with which the sea-coast of Guernsey is indented, few have a wilder aspect than that of Caûbo; not that it is surrounded with bold cliffs and precipices, like those of the southern coast, for, on the contrary, the sea is only prevented from inundating the neighbouring land by the banks of sand and shingle which the ever-restless waves have thrown up, or by the sea walls which the industry of man has raised to form a barrier against them.

Its charm consists in the wildness of its scenery181—the rugged promontory of “La Roque du Guet,” surmounted by an old watch-house and battery to the south; the point of land known as “Les Grandes Roques,” with its outlying reefs, the scene of many a wreck, to the north; the chain of rocks stretching right across the bay to the westward, and seeming to bar all access to the land. All this, whether seen when, with a westerly wind, the heavy waves are sweeping in with resistless force from the broad Atlantic, or when, on a calm summer’s day, the sun’s rays “like light dissolved in star-showers” pour down on the brilliantly blue water, from which the innumerable jagged peaks arise, from any of which one might expect to “have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.” The shores are alternately picturesque and rugged, or else smiling valleys of green fields overhung with trees, and with a few old thatched houses in the background, and, until lately, were inhabited almost exclusively by a race of poor hardy fishermen, to whom every passage through the intricate and rugged rocks of the bay are well known, but who are by no means exempt from the superstitions that seem to attach particularly to a sea-faring life.

Of late some extensive quarries have been opened in the hills that lie eastward of the bay, from one of which the dark granite steps leading to the western entrance of St. Paul’s Cathedral were hewn. The quarries have brought other labourers to reside in the neighbourhood, and it is from a brother of one of these—a Cornishman—that the following particulars have been obtained.

The quarryman now in question, when he first determined on seeking work at Caûbo, had much difficulty in finding a cottage to suit him; but, at last, tempted by the low rent asked for one, which had remained untenanted for a long time, he made up his mind to take it. Other labourers had lived formerly in the house, but generally, after a short residence, they had left it as soon as they could find a decent excuse, without assigning any definite reason. The quarryman had not been long settled in his new habitation when he and his family began to be alarmed by strange and unaccountable noises, particularly at night. He spoke to some of the neighbours on the subject, and, at last, with some difficulty—for it was evident that there was a great unwillingness to speak on the subject,—he ascertained that the house had the reputation of being bewitched, and that an old woman living in the immediate vicinity was commonly reported to be the cause of the nightly disturbances. Some of the previous tenants went so far as to say that on stormy nights, when the wind was blowing a full gale from the south-west, and all were gathered round the hearth, lamenting the sad condition of the poor mariners and fishermen out at sea, and praying for the safety of the shipping exposed to the pitiless blast, they had seen the old sorceress come down the chimney in a cloud of smoke and soot, pass through their midst, and vanish through the key-hole, causing all the doors in the cottage to slam, and leaving a villainous smell behind her. Other tales, no less veracious, are told of her.

A woman, scrupulously clean in her person and attire, against whom the witch had a previous grudge, chanced to make use of some not very complimentary expressions in speaking of her, and instantaneously her clothes were covered with vermin of the most loathsome description. A neighbour, who had offended her, was never able, either by fair means or foul, to get his cattle past the witch’s dwelling, but was obliged to take another and much longer way in leading them to and from their pasturage, to the grievous loss of his time and temper.

Two strong horses, harnessed to the empty cart of another man with whom the sorceress had lately had a quarrel, though urged by word and whip, were unable to move it an inch forward. It was well known to all that it was by means of books of magic that she was enabled to perform these and still greater marvels; and her brothers, good respectable men, who were aware of her evil deeds and ashamed of the disgrace her conduct brought on the family, finding that all their remonstrances were in vain, and that they could not persuade her to abandon her evil courses, had attempted to destroy the books, and so deprive her, in some degree, of her power of doing mischief.

On one occasion, during her absence from home, they got possession of the unhallowed volumes, and, lighting a large fire on the hearth, placed them in the midst of the flames, and heaped up fuel around them, until, to all appearance, they were reduced to a heap of ashes.

They were rejoicing in the success of their undertaking, but, alas, their joy was of short duration. They soon found that all their labour had been in vain, and that they had consumed their fuel to no purpose; for, chancing to cast their eyes on the top of an old chest of drawers which stood in one corner of the room, where the books, when not actually in use, were always to be found, what was their dismay to see them lying there uninjured and looking as if they had never been touched. Fire, it was clear, had no power over them. So they determined to try what effect the other elements, earth and water, might have. It chanced to be one of the lowest spring-tides in the year, so they carried the books down to dead low-water mark, dug a deep hole in the sand, placed the books in it, and watched until the flowing tide had covered the spot with three or four feet of water.

They then returned home, and on entering the cottage naturally turned their eyes towards the usual resting-place of the books. There they were, without a vestige of sand on them, and as dry as bones. After these two attempts they gave up all hopes of ever getting rid of the unholy tomes; indeed it is well known that there is but one method of destroying such books; it is by burying them with their owner when death shall have delivered the world from his or her presence.

It is fortunate that there are men and women who have the gift of counteracting the spells of wizards and witches; and it so chances that not many doors from the house where the witch of Caûbo dwelt there resided an old man whose knowledge enabled him to frustrate her evil designs, and whose services were readily given to those who may require them. These things are said to have happened as lately as the year 1874, and are a proof that, in some quarters at least, and notwithstanding the boasted enlightenment of the nineteenth century, faith in witchcraft is as rife as ever. Can it, however, be wondered at, if ignorant peasants should believe in what they think they have Scriptural warrant for considering an article of faith, when learned men and educated women are found ready to give in to all the delusions of spiritualism.

The Witch of the Ville-ès-Pies182

There lived in the last century at La Ville-ès-Pies, in that part of the parish of St. Michel-du-Valle known as “Le Clos,” an old lady, whose maiden name it is not necessary to recall any more than that of the really worthy man who had the misfortune to be joined with her in the bonds of wedlock. Suffice it to say that both belonged to respectable families. It was notorious, however, to all the neighbourhood that she was addicted to the execrable practice of witchcraft; indeed she made no mystery of it, for she was proud of the fear she inspired, and clever enough to turn it to her own advantage; knowing well that the time was past when the suspicion alone of being an adept in the black art was sufficient to condemn a person to the stake.

The place whither she was said to be in the habit of resorting to meet her infernal master, and to dance and revel at night with others, who, like herself, had entered into a league with the Prince of Darkness, was that group of rocks and islets near Herm, known by the name of “Les Houmets d’Amont.”183

On these occasions she was in the habit of attiring herself in her very best array, and a pair of silver slippers formed a principal part of her adornment. How she came, in her nocturnal flight, to drop one of them, is not known, but it was picked up on one of these rocks by a fisherman, recognised as her property, and honestly returned to her. Perhaps the finder did not like to run the risk of appropriating the precious metal to his own use.

It is said that, not content with serving Satan herself, she laid a spell on her children as soon as they were presented to her after their birth, and so consecrated them for ever to the service of her infernal master.

The husband, a good pious man, by some means discovered this, and, when his wife was on the point of being delivered of her last child, a son, he begged the midwife in attendance to be careful, as soon as the child made its appearance, and before the unnatural mother could set eyes on it, to sign it with the holy sign of the cross. This precaution saved the infant. The unholy mother’s spell had no power over him, and, as he grew up, he was enabled, by God’s grace, and by the pious teaching of his father, to withstand all the temptations which were laid in his way by his brothers and sisters, who depicted to him in glowing terms the amusements they indulged in, when, in the form of hares, they frolicked on moonlight nights around the mill which stands on the hill around the Ville-ès-Pies.184

The Sick Princess and the Wizards

In ancient days, (in what reign is not mentioned), when the island was as yet but thinly peopled, and considerable tracts of country were destitute of habitations, a peasant and his wife, who had been passing the day in town, were overtaken on their way home by a violent storm of wind, rain, and thunder. They pressed forward, hoping to reach their cottage before night should set in, but, the storm increasing, they were fain to seek shelter in an old ruin that stood by the roadside.

Scarcely had they entered, before they heard on all sides of the building the cries of “Ké-hou-hou,” which are uttered by the sorcerers when on their nocturnal flights. They then remembered that it was Friday, the day on which the powers of darkness have the most power, and that all the wizards and witches of the island were reported to hold their weekly meetings in that place. It was too late to think of retreating, but they were not yet discovered, and there were still hopes of their escaping detection. Fear quickened their invention. Looking round they saw an oven, into which they both crept, and the woman, by spreading her black petticoat over the entrance, effectually concealed them. They had scarcely time to do this, before a tumultuous crowd of wizards entered the building. They conversed with great delight on all the mischief they had caused, and appeared to derive much pleasure from the misfortunes which afflicted mankind.

One of them mentioned the illness of the King of England’s only daughter, which the most eminent of physicians of the realm had been unable to cure, or even to discover the cause of. “Neither will they,” said one, who appeared to be the chief, with an infernal laugh, “for I alone know the cause and the remedy.”

They pressed him to tell, but for a long time he refused. At last, wearied out by their entreaties, he said—“A hair, which this Princess has accidentally swallowed, has twined itself round her heart, and, unless speedily removed, must cause her death. There is but one means of cure—a piece of skin of pork with some of the bristles attached to it, must be well secured by a string. Let the Princess swallow this, and the hair will become entangled in the bristles, and may thus be drawn up.”

Shortly afterwards the meeting broke up, without a suspicion that their conversation had been overheard, and as soon as the day dawned, the countryman and his wife returned to town and made known their adventure to the authorities. A boat immediately set sail for England, with a messenger bound for the King, and the advice of the wizard being followed, the Princess was soon restored to health. A considerable sum of money was sent over as a present to the man and woman by whose means the discovery had been made, with which they were enabled to buy a farm and stock it.

The manner in which they had acquired their riches soon became known, and, tempted by the hopes of gain, a man concealed himself in the oven of the ruined house near the Catioroc one Friday night. He had not long lain there before the wizards entered, but before a word was uttered they made a strict search through the house, and soon discovered the trembling man, whom they obliged to take the oaths of allegiance to their infernal master, to the eternal ruin both of his soul and body.185

A Witch in Disguise

Sorcerers have the power of taking the forms of different animals, but when thus disguised cannot be wounded but by silver.

A Mr. Le Marchant, “des grent mesons,” had often fired at a white rabbit which frequented his warren, but without success. One day, however, beginning to suspect how the case really stood, he detached his silver sleeve button from his wrist-band, loaded his gun with it, took a steady aim, and fired.

The rabbit immediately disappeared behind the hedge. He ran up, and, hearing some person groaning as if in great pain on the other side, looked over and recognised a neighbour of his, a lady of the Vale, who was lying with her leg broken and bleeding profusely from a fresh wound.

Collas Roussé186

Une histouaire du bouan vier temps.

Un bouan houme et sa femme avaient autefais une p’tite ferme ès environs du Vazon; Collas Roussé et sa femme, Nency Guille, étaient des gens tranquilles, qui faisaient d’ leux mûx pour elvaïr leu famille, mais i’ l’taient r’ nomaï pour changier leux forme à volontaï.

Une belle séraïe d’étaï nou vit un biau lièvre dans l’ gardin du Probytère qui dansait autouar d’une vaque qu’ était la fiquie.

La vaque se mins a r’ gardaïr le lièvre qui toute suite se bûti su ses dœux pattes de derriere faisant des pernagues coum si voulait invitaïr la vaque à dansaïr d’auve li. Les gens n’ savaient pas qui en craire ou qu’est que vela qui voulait dire. Ls’ uns disaient que ch’était Collas Roussé ou sa femme, d’autres pensaient q’nou f’rait mûx de l’ tiraï, d’autres enfin disaient que l’lait d’là vaque s’rait gataï et q’la vaque jamais n’vaudrait sa tuache.

Le lecteur, Pierre Simon, qui s’trouvait la par écanche, s’en fut tout doucement pres du lièvre, l’attrapi et s’mis à l’frottaï à r’brousse pel, les uns li criaient d’li teurtre le cô, l’ s’autres d’li rompre les gambes, “et pis nou verrait bien vite si chen ’tait pouint Collas Roussé ou sa femme.” L’s ’uns disaient qu’ils avaient vœu le lièvre v’nir dret du Vazon, mais qu’il avait ieux la malice, de prendre un ch’min detournaï, d’autres vaisins étaient d’avis de prendre le prumier lait d’la vaque et de l’ mettre à bouidre su une bouane fouaie d’vrec et q’nou verrait bientot Collas Roussé et sa vieille v’nir d’mandaï une goutte de lait bouailli; c’h’tait là la vraie manière d’les decouvrir. Pierre Simon fut bien bllamaï de toute la contraie pour avé laissi la bête écappaï, mais i disait pour raison qu’les lièvres étaient sujets à des maux d’ têtes coum d’autres personnes et que ch’tait pour chunna qu’il l’avait frottaï. Il aïmait la soupe de lièvre coum d’autres, mais que ch’nérait pas étaï bien d’sa part de prendre avantage d’la paure bête.

Le bouan vier Mêssier en pâlant d’ l’affaire disait: “Je n’ voudrais pas dire du mà’ d’ personne, seit keriature ou cheva’, mais j’ai mes pensaïes au sujet de Collas Roussé et sa femme, l’annaie passaie coum j’allais r’muaïr nos bêtes de bouan matin qu’est que j’vis sinon daeux biaux lièvres a rôguer ma raie-grasse. J’fis du bruit, et i s’en furent couarant d’vier le Vazon, et un matin j’mécryi “Tu devrais en aver honte Collas.”

Eh bien, chu jour là is’en furent derriere le prinseux, trav’sirent le belle, et, j’n’ments pouint, j’ cré qui passirent par d’sous l’us. Mais terjous, que j’aie tort ou raison, ni Collas ni sa femme n’out peux me r’gardaïr en fache d’pis chu jour-là.

Jamais n’ou ne me fra craire que g’nia point bien de qué que nous n’serait expliquer. J’en ai ouï d’bien des sortes d’pis m’en jâne temps. Jai souvent ouï la raeue du prinseux tournaï a mignet que g’niavait fils d’âme par dehors; j’ai vaeux not’ cat aquand i’ ventait gros assis l’ dos tournaï au faeu, guettant l’us et la f’nêtre coum si s’attendait à véer quiq’un entraïr, et parfais i poussait de drôles de cris, j’vous en reponds, et not t’chen s’mauchaï derriere ma caire quand j’disais mes perières, parfais i’ braq’tait dans s’en dormir coum s’il’ tait a s’battre d’auve d’autres t’chens; o’ch’est m’n avis que des câts et des t’chens vés l’s affaires d’une autre manière que nous, et j’cré que ch’est grand piti que tous cheux qui s’dementent de changier de forme n’aient affaire à yeux.”

Un Luron.

A story of the good old times.

An honest man and his wife had formerly a little farm in the neighbourhood of Vazon; Collas Roussel and his wife, Nancy Guille, were quiet people, who did their best to bring up their family properly, but they were noted for being able to change their forms at will.

One fine summer’s evening people saw a fine hare in the rectory garden, which was dancing round a cow which was tethered there.

The cow began to look at the hare, who at once rose up on his hind legs, gambolling as if he wished to invite the cow to dance with him. The people did not know what to think or what it could all mean. Some said that it was either Collas Roussel or his wife, others thought it would be better to fire at it, and the others finally said that the cow’s milk would be spoilt and that she would never be worth slaughtering.

The clerk, Pierre Simon, who was there by chance, crept quietly near the hare, caught it, and began to rub up its fur the wrong way. Some cried out to him to wring its neck, others to break its legs, “and then we will see very quickly whether it is Collas Roussel or his wife or no.” Some said that they had seen the hare come straight from Vazon, but that it had had the artfulness to take a circuitous route. Other neighbours advised that the first milk the cow should give after this should be taken, and put to boil on a good vraic fire, and that one would soon see Collas Roussel and his old woman come and ask for a cup of boiled milk. That was the best way of finding them out. Pierre Simon was much blamed by all the country side for having allowed the beast to escape, but he said, as an excuse, that hares were subject to headaches as much as other people and it was for that that he had rubbed it. He liked hare soup as well as anyone, but that it would not have been right of him to take advantage of the poor beast.

The good old herdsman in talking over the affair said: “I would not speak ill of anyone, be it creature, man, or horse, but I have my own ideas on the subject of Collas Roussel and his wife. Last year as I was moving our cattle early in the morning, what should I see but two fine hares nibbling my rye grass. I made a noise, and they ran off towards Vazon, and one morning I cried out “You should be ashamed of yourself, Collas.”

Well, on that day they went behind the cider press, crossed the court-yard, and, I am not lying, I believe that they passed under the door. But ever since, whether I am wrong or right, neither Collas or his wife, have been able to look me in the face.

Never will you make me believe that there are not many things that are not explained to us. I have heard of all sorts since my young days. I have often heard the wheel of the cider press turn at midnight, when there was not a soul about. I have seen our cat when it blew hard, sitting with his back turned to the fire, watching the door and the window as if it expected to see some one enter, and sometimes it uttered curious cries, I assure you, and our dog would hide himself behind my chair when I said my prayers. Sometimes he barked in his sleep, as if he were fighting with other dogs. Oh, it is my opinion that cats and dogs see things in a different way to what we do, and I think it is a great pity that all those who deny that people can change their forms, cannot refer to them.”

A Trifler.

The Miller and the Duck

A miller, one day passing by his mill-pond at the Vrangue, was attracted by the noise and struggles of a very beautiful duck. He soon perceived that something was wrong, and that, unless the bird was speedily relieved, it must perish. He accordingly, with some difficulty, succeeded in extricating the duck from the water, and took it into the mill, where, after wiping it dry, and endeavouring to arrange its ruffled feathers, he deposited it in a place of safety and left it. Returning shortly afterwards, he was astonished to find its place supplied by a very beautiful and richly-dressed lady, who thanked him for his humanity, and assured him, but for his assistance, she must inevitably have been drowned, promising him at the same time, that as long as he kept the adventure secret, he should, whenever he was in want, find a sum of money deposited on his mill stone.187

Mahy de la Catte

An old sea captain, of the name of Mahy, who for many years had navigated a cutter between Guernsey and England, had, at last, by industry and perseverance, amassed a sufficient competency to enable him to give up his arduous and dangerous profession, and pass the remainder of his days in peace on shore. At least, so he hoped, but, alas! the expectation of happiness, which poor mortals indulge in, is often doomed to be disappointed, and often by apparently trivial causes. Who could have guessed that a cat would have embittered the remaining days of the old sailor? Yet so it was. The mischievous tricks of this imp of Satan rendered his life almost unbearable; not a moment’s rest could he enjoy in his own house. In vain did he attempt to drive the troublesome brute away. If ejected by the door, she returned immediately by the window, or down the chimney. It was useless to attempt to catch her; she never slept, and her activity was so great that she escaped every blow aimed at her. One day, as he was sitting by his fireside, the tricks of the cat became unsupportable; if he dozed off for a moment, his wig was twitched off his head; if he laid down his pipe, puss was watching her opportunity to give a sly pat and knock it off the table; the moment his glass of grog left his hand, it was sure to be upset. At last his patience being quite exhausted, he seized the poker and gave chase, but with as little effect as ever. Puss contrived to elude him, and managed so well that blows, aimed at her, fell on the furniture and crockery. After leading him several times round the room, she escaped into the passage, and seated herself on the “hecq” or half door, which was formerly to be found in almost every house. Mahy seized a gun that was lying on the bacon-rack, and aimed at the cat, exclaiming at the same time, “Now I have you!” The cat paused, turned round, and, in a voice which domestic jars and curtain lectures made by far too familiar to him, said, very quietly and distinctly, “Pas acouâre.” (“Not yet.”)

He then, for the first time, remembered that he had never seen puss and his wife at one and the same moment, and the unpleasant truth flashed across his mind that his good woman was one of those who frequent the weekly entertainments given by his Satanic Majesty on Friday nights at Catioroc, Pleinmont, le Cimetière de Torteval, and elsewhere.

Soon afterwards, Mrs. Mahy’s identity was revealed in another manner. It is well known to housekeepers who retain the good old custom of having their linen washed and ironed at home, that an amount of gossip, scarcely to be credited, goes on on these occasions. The women employed, moving as they do from house to house, pick up all the news that has arisen during the week, and, meeting every day with fresh companions, retail what they have heard, and gather new information in return, from every direction. Of course the characters of the neighbours, and even of their employers, are not spared, and for this latter reason, perhaps, it is that a certain degree of mystery frequently pervades these conversations, and that listeners and eavesdroppers are discouraged. A sort of freemasonry prevails, and it is only by a rare accident that the scandal and gossip retailed at the washing tub or ironing board find their way to the parlour. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of the discreet and prudent workwomen, whose avocations took them to the houses in the neighbourhood of Madame Mahy’s dwelling, to find that their most confidential communications were repeated, and could in most cases be traced to that good lady. They had never detected her listening; they felt convinced that none among them could be so treacherous as to betray their secrets. They determined to keep a sharp look-out, and at last the mystery was solved. A young ironer, of more keen observation than her companions, had remarked that, in whatever house they worked, the same old tabby cat was to be seen seated before the fire, and apparently dreaming away her existence. Her suspicions were aroused. She watched puss closely, and was convinced at last that, even when apparently dozing, pussy was listening attentively to what was going on. She was not long in forming a plan to prove whether her conjectures were correct. She took up a flat iron from the hearth, and, under the pretence of cleaning and cooling it on the mat, approached the unsuspecting cat and suddenly applied it to her nose. Puss jumped up and suddenly disappeared with a yell, which, as the conclave of gossips declared, resembled far more the cry of a woman in pain than the miauling of a cat. Next day it was rumoured abroad that poor Madame Mahy, while sitting before her fire, had been overtaken with sleep, and falling forward had burnt her face severely on the bars of the grate! “You know,” said the old woman who related the story, “that Capt. Mahy never passed for a conjuror. He ought however to have had more wit than to tell these stories to his friends over a glass of grog, for, although he did not say that he had recognised his wife’s voice, or that he did not believe that she had dozed over the fire, they had already made the remark that Mrs. Mahy and the cat had never been seen together, and were not long in drawing their conclusions and publishing them to the world. The story soon found its way to those hot-beds of gossip, the public bake-houses, and from thence over all the town.”188

Editor’s Note.

Two Witches and Two Cats

In the Vale parish, very many years ago, lived a father and daughter, Nico and Denise Roberts. Denise was an extremely pretty girl, and Pierre Henry, the richest man in the parish, wanted to marry her. There were two old maiden ladies who were neighbours of the Roberts’, and were excessively jealous of all the attention and admiration Denise received. They both considered that they were still young and fascinating, and one was considered to have designs on old Roberts, and the other on Pierre Henry himself.

They both had the reputation of being witches by all the neighbours, principally because they were never seen without two black cats, and they even used to go so far as to take these two cats with them, when, in the evenings, as was their frequent custom, they would take their knitting and go and sit for hours in the Roberts’ kitchen. Denise used to implore her father not to encourage “ces daeux vieilles sorilles,”189 knowing well that they were trying to poison his mind against Pierre Henry, but he paid no attention to his daughter, as they amused him by telling him all the gossip and scandal of the place, and he used to sit and let them whisper to him on one side of the hearth, while Pierre and Denise sat on the other; but all the time the two latter were talking, they were annoyed by the cats brought in by old Margot and Olympe Le Moine, and this went on evening after evening. If Pierre tried to move his chair nearer to hers, one of the cats would climb up and manage to thrust its claws in his leg. If he bent forward to whisper to her, the other cat would jump on her shoulder, and prevent Denise from attending to what he was saying. After some time he grew convinced that all this could not be accidental, so, one evening, just as the largest of the two cats had perched itself on Denise’s shoulder at the most inopportune moment, he whispered in its ear “Margot, tu quérrâs” (“Margot, you will tumble down.”) At that moment, Margot Le Moine, who was sitting at the other end of the room, fell off her chair in a dead faint, and the cat gave a yell and darted up the chimney. This finally convinced old Roberts as to the true character of his friends, and he swore that never again should these two “quéraudes” darken his doors, and, soon after, Denise Roberts and Pierre Henry were married.190

The Transformed Wizard

It is one of the greatest characteristics of wizards and witches that they have the power of assuming any form they please.

A man, who kept a large number of cows, observed that they were gradually pining away, that they failed to give the usual quantity of milk, and that no care that he could bestow on them availed aught in improving their condition. One or two of them had already died, and he feared that all the others would soon follow their example. The summer had set in, and at that season the cows are left out all night in the field, but when in the early morning the farmer went to look after them, he generally found them thoroughly exhausted, and looking as if they had been hard driven all night.

At last he began to suspect that the poor animals were under the influence of some spell, and he determined to watch, in order to discover, if possible, what means were used to bring the cows into the condition in which he found them. It seems rather a singular circumstance that wizards and witches, with all their cleverness, do not appear to be able at times to see things which are passing under their very eyes. Perhaps their eagerness to do mischief blinds them to the danger of discovery. At all events, the farmer, who had concealed himself, as soon as the daylight had well departed, in a cattle shed that stood in one corner of the field, remained undisturbed, with his eyes intently fixed on the cows, who were lying down, quietly chewing the cud.

About midnight his attention was attracted by a large black dog, which jumped over the hedge separating his field from that of a neighbour with whom he had lately had a quarrel. The dog approached the cows, stood up on his hind legs, and began to dance before them, cutting such capers and somersaults as the farmer had never seen before. No sooner had the cows seen the dog than they also stood upright, and imitated all his movements. The farmer crept stealthily out of the field, went home, loaded his gun with a silver coin, which he cut into slugs,—for it is a well known fact that no baser metal than silver will wound a sorcerer,—returned to the field, where he found the dance still going on as fast and furious as ever, and fired at the dog, which ran off howling, and limping on three legs.

The next day his neighbour was seen with his arm in a sling, and it was given out that, in returning from the town the previous evening, he had fallen accidentally over a heap of stones, and so broken it. The farmer had his own ideas, but wisely kept them to himself. His neighbour had had a lesson; he found that he had to deal with a resolute man; the cows were allowed to remain unmolested, and soon recovered their pristine health and strength. This is said to have occurred in Jersey.191

La Dame au Voile

Some years have now elapsed since a family had reason to suppose that recourse had been had to magic arts in order to injure them. Their health declined, their cattle fell sick and died, their crops failed, and everything went wrong with them. It was but too plain that they were bewitched, and no chance remained of any amelioration of their condition unless they could discover the author of their misfortunes. They therefore determined, by the advice of a friend skilled in white witchcraft, to perform a charm for the purpose of obliging the wizard or witch to show himself. This charm is popularly called “Une bouïture” or “boiling,” and consists in setting certain ingredients to seethe in a large cauldron. The pot, duly filled, was accordingly placed on the hearth with all the prescribed ceremonial.

No sooner did it begin to simmer than six mice entered the room, walking in procession, two and two, and all deeply veiled. As soon, however, as the pot boiled, the mice disappeared, and in their place stood a lady whom they all knew full well.

Her name we have not been able to discover, our informant being evidently unwilling to compromise herself by mentioning it, but she was well known to the market women by the name of “La Dame au Voile,” and bold would have been the farmer’s wife who would have refused to let her have her wares at her own price.

Another version of the story says that the mice were caught and carried to the office of “Le Procureur du Roi,” and that in the presence of this legal personage they resumed their own shapes, and appeared as three ladies and three women of the lower orders.192

Case of a Man Who Was Bewitched

A man of the name of Collenette, living in the Castel parish, had sold a lot of furze to another countryman, who was one of the drummers of the North Regiment of Militia, but did not receive payment for it at the time of striking the bargain. Some days afterwards, Collenette, on his way to his work, was met by a neighbour to whom he owed a small sum of money, who put him in mind of his debt. He excused himself for the time, promising to pay as soon as ever he should receive his money for the furze he had sold. He then proceeded to his work, which was that of a quarryman, but the very first blow he struck the stone caused him to start back in affright, for he distinctly heard a voice proceeding from the rock, which said to him:—

“Thou hast told such an one that I did not pay thee for the furze. Thou shalt suffer for this to the last day of thy life, but that day is still distant.”

He looked about to see if any one was concealed near, from whom the voice could proceed, but saw no one. He then returned to his work, but every minute the same words rang in his ears. At noon he ate his meal, which he had brought to the field with him, and then, as labourers do, lay down on the grass to sleep. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he was roused by the beating of a great drum close to his ears. He started up, but could see nothing, and whenever he lay down the drumming re-commenced.

This state of things continued, and the poor man, worn out by fatigue and fright, fell into a lingering illness.

If by chance he fell asleep, he was soon awakened by a sensation which he described as being as though a calf passed over his body, immediately after which he seemed to be violently lifted from his bed and thrown on the floor. It is even asserted that articles of furniture, which were in the same room with him, were thrown about without any visible agency.

His friends and neighbours kindly visited him, and endeavoured to divert his mind from dwelling on his misfortunes, but all to no avail. Whether in company or alone, he was equally tormented. At last, one night, he escaped the vigilance of his friends, and the next morning was found on the sea-shore, entangled in the mooring ropes of a fishing boat, and drowned in two or three inches of water.193

Jean Falla and the Witches

Nowhere is the life of a fisherman to be envied. In summer, when the sea is calm, the days long, and the nights comparatively warm, it may be endurable. The amateur may find pleasure in sailing over a sunny sea, and the excitement of drawing in the lines or nets laden with fish may prove a sufficient compensation for many minor hardships; but the man whose means of subsistence depend on his precarious gains, who must brave the perils of the waves at all seasons, at all hours, and in all weathers, is to be pitied.

The coasts of Guernsey abound in fish of all sorts, and the earliest authentic records of the island prove that for many centuries the fisheries have been of great importance, and one of the main sources of wealth to the inhabitants.

Considering the great number of boats kept, the dangerous nature of the coast, the numerous rocks, the intricate currents and strong tides, it is wonderful that so few accidents occur. The fishermen are skilful navigators, and have full confidence in themselves; they fear not the usual dangers of a sailor’s life, but they dread the supernatural influences that may be brought to bear against them.

They—or even some member of their family—may have, perhaps quite unconsciously, offended some old crone who has it in her power to injure them in various ways. By her evil arts she may cause their lines to become inextricably entangled in the sea-weed, or to come up laden with dog-fish, blue sharks, and such-like worthless fish. Happy indeed may the poor fisherman consider himself if the old woman’s spite confines itself to such trifling annoyances, for has she not also the power to raise storms? Is it not on record how Collette Salmon, wife of Collas Du Port, caused the loss of a boat and the death of the whole crew, merely because one of them asked her more than she thought was right for three miserable dog-fish? Is it not well known how, when that noted witch, Marie Mouton, was banished from the island for her evil doings, the cutter that landed her at Southampton encountered a most terrific gale on its return? And how the captain and crew were ready to depose upon oath that during the height of the storm they had seen Marie, sometimes perched on the top of the mast, and at other times astride on the jib-boom, tearing the sails to shreds and tatters? Who could be incredulous enough to resist such testimony as this? Certainly not Jean Falla. He was a bold fisherman. Every rock and shallow from the Hanois to the Amfroques were thoroughly well known to him. By night or day could he steer his way through their most intricate passes. He was not aware of having any enemy, but witches are easily provoked to anger, and unwittingly he may have offended one of the sisterhood. If he had done so, he had cause to repent his involuntary fault, and to his dying day he never forgot the fright he had to undergo in consequence.

He had left his moorings in the Bay of Les Péqueries early in the morning. A more beautiful day had never risen on Guernsey. The sun shone, a light breeze just ruffled the surface of the sea, the tide served, fish were plentiful on the coast, and everything promised an abundant catch. He sailed out alone, reached the fishing ground, took his marks carefully, cast out his lines, and then anchored to await the turn of the tide when the fish begin to bite. It was not long before the gentle rocking of the boat and the warmth of the atmosphere began to make him feel drowsy, and, knowing that an hour or two must still elapse before he was likely to catch anything, he yielded to the influence, and was soon sound asleep.

How long his sleep lasted he was never able to say, but the impression on his mind was that scarce a quarter of an hour had elapsed before he was awakened by one of the most terrific storms that he had ever experienced. The boat was rolling fearfully, and rapidly filling with water. To hoist a sail, to slip the cable, and to turn the boat’s head in the direction of the land was his next endeavour, but at this critical moment his courage almost failed him. In the howlings of the storm he heard a peal of unearthly laughter above his head, and, looking up, was horrorstruck at discerning, in the fast flying scud, the form of an old woman perfectly well known to him, who appeared quite at home in her elevated situation. She was accompanied by many others who were strangers to him, but she was the leader of the party, and it was evident that his fright and embarrassment were the cause of their uproarious merriment. Who she was, he could never be prevailed upon to say, and, no doubt, in this he acted wisely.

The wind fortunately favoured him. He made for the land, reached his moorings in safety, ran his boat up high and dry on the beach, and leaped ashore. A fresh peal of laughter from his aërial tormentors spurred him on.

His house was at no great distance from the shore, but the way to it by the road was circuitous. He took, therefore, a short cut across the fields, passed over one or two hedges without accident, jumped over another and alighted astride on the back of a cow that was quietly chewing the cud on the other side, regardless of the turmoil of the elements. The poor beast, roused so suddenly from her repose, started up and rushed madly across the field, carrying her terrified load with her. The middle of the field was crossed by one of those deep cuttings which are made for draining the marshy lands of that district, and the cow, brought suddenly to a stand, precipitated the unfortunate Jean Falla head over heels into the muddy ditch.

Again the unearthly laughter resounded. A less resolute man than Jean would have lost all presence of mind, but he remembered that he was within a few perches of his own house. He scrambled out as well as he could, reached his cottage door, which was fortunately open, entered, closed the door behind him, and fell exhausted on the floor. Another prolonged peal of laughter dying away in the distance was heard outside, but Jean, once under his own roof, felt himself safe.

It was some time, however, before he recovered from his fright, and, whatever his real feelings towards them may have been, he was observed from that time forward to treat all old women with marked deference and respect.194

The Bladebone

Every careful and prudent person, before throwing away either the bladebone of an animal, or an empty egg-shell, makes a hole in it, and the reason assigned for this practice is to prevent an improper use being made of either by witches; for it is firmly believed that they have the power of employing both the one and the other as vessels to convey them across the seas. No matter how tempestuous the weather may be, how high the billows may be rolling, the magic bark makes its way against wind and tide, with more speed and greater certainty than the best appointed steamer that was ever launched. Those who avail themselves of these means of conveyance seem to possess the power of making their vessel assume the appearance of a handsome well-rigged ship. It is related that in days long past, a respectable inhabitant of the neighbourhood of La Perelle Bay, went out with the early dawn, after a stormy night, to collect the sea-weed which the waves might have cast on the shore, or to pick up perchance, some fragments of wreckage, which are not unfrequently stranded on that dangerous coast after a heavy gale from the westward.

He was surprised to see, in the yet uncertain light of the morning, a large ship in the offing bearing down upon the land. He watched it attentively, expecting every moment to see it strike on one of the many sunken rocks that render the navigation of our seas so difficult and perilous. To his astonishment the ship, as it neared the shore, appeared to diminish rapidly in size. He was alarmed, but curiosity got the better of fright, and he stood his ground manfully. The vessel at last stranded close to the spot where he was standing, and, by this time, it was reduced to the dimensions of one of those toy boats, with which the children amuse themselves in the pools left on the beach by the receding tide.

A man of dwarfish stature stepped on shore, and the countryman then perceived that the mysterious vessel had assumed the form of the bladebone of a sheep, enveloped in a mass of tangled sea-weed. Nothing daunted, he addressed the mysterious stranger, and asked him whence he came? What was his name? Whither was he going? The stranger either was, or pretended to be, ignorant of the language in which he was addressed, but to the last question answered: “Je vais cheminant”—(“I am going travelling”).

He is said, however, to have remained in the island, to have built himself a house on a spot called “Casquet,”195 in the neighbourhood of the place where he landed, and to have become the progenitor of a family which bears the name of “Le Cheminant,” and of which many of the members were famous for their skill as smiths.

It is not unlikely that in this tale we have the remains—strangely altered by passing through the mouths of many successive generations—of some one of the numerous legendary stories of the early British saints, who, according to some of the hagiographers, were in the habit of navigating from Brittany to Cornwall, and from Wales to Ireland, on their mantles, in stone troughs, or on bundles of sea-weed.196

A Witch’s Foresight

It is generally believed that those who practise unlawful acts, however clever they may be, are generally quite unable to foresee what is likely to happen to themselves. That this is not invariably the case the following story will show.

A woman, who had the reputation of being a sorceress, contrived to live in comparative ease and comfort by begging from door to door, few venturing to send her away without an alms for fear of incurring her displeasure, and bringing down some misfortune on themselves or their households. She presented herself one morning at the house of a farmer in easy circumstances, whose wife was one not likely to be imposed upon, and not by any means remarkable for liberality towards the poor. The witch’s well-contrived tale of distress failed to make an impression on the hard heart of the farmer’s wife, and the beggar was dismissed without even a kind word: indeed, it is even said that the odious epithet “Caïmande”197 was applied to her. On turning her back on the inhospitable door, she was heard to mutter between her teeth, “You shall repent of this.”

It was a fine morning in spring, and a hen that had hatched an early brood of chickens, had brought them out into the sun, and was clucking over her callow brood, and scratching the earth in search of seeds and insects for them. The farmer’s wife was looking on with complacency, and already calculating in her mind what the brood was likely to fetch in the market. The proverb tells us that we must not reckon our chickens before they are hatched. It seems that it is not wise to reckon on them even after they are hatched. And this the farmer’s wife found to her cost; for, scarcely was the witch out of the farm-yard, before one of the chickens fell on its side, gave a kick or two, and died. Its example was soon followed by all its brothers and sisters, and, last of all, the bereaved mother also departed this life. The farmer’s wife was at no loss to whose evil agency to impute this untoward event, and hastened at once to consult an old neighbour, a wise woman, who had the reputation of knowing how these unholy spells were to be counteracted, and what means were to be adopted to prevent the sorceress from doing any further mischief. She was advised to lose no time in returning home; to extract carefully the hearts of all the chickens, as well as that of the hen; to stick new pins or nails into them, and to roast or fry them over a brisk fire, when, she was assured, that not only would the witch be made to suffer unheard of agonies, but that all power would be taken from her to do any further mischief.

The farmer’s wife hastened home to follow the instructions given her by the wise woman, but found, to her dismay, that the sorceress had profited by her short absence from home to re-visit the farmyard and that she had carefully removed every heart from the carcases.198

Fortune Telling

Persons who have the temerity to wish to pry into the secrets of futurity are frequently punished for their curiosity by the exact fulfilment of the prediction, although it may appear to be such as could by no possibility come to pass. The following story may be taken as an instance.

A young man applied to a woman, who pretended to be able to foresee events, to tell him what was likely to happen to him hereafter. She foretold that he had not long to live, but that he should be hanged, drowned, and burnt. Not knowing how it was possible that all these evils should come upon him, he made light of the prophecy, but the event proved the truth of the soothsayer’s prediction. One night, having allowed his fire to go out, and having no means at hand to rekindle it, he ran across the fields to the nearest habitation to beg a light. On his return, in jumping over a ditch, his foot caught in some brambles, and he fell head foremost into the water, his legs at the same time became so entangled in the bushes that he remained suspended, and the torch which he held in his hand setting fire to his clothes, he perished, as the fortune-teller had predicted, by hanging, drowning, and burning.199

Editor’s Note.

Other Editor’s Notes on this subject will be found in Appendix B.

Compare “Damasc, Seigneur d’Asnières, excommunié par Hugues de Saint-Calais, Evêque de Mans (A.D. 1136-1144). Damasc, averti qu’il périrait par le feu et par l’eau, ne fit qu’en rire; mais un jour, traversant en bateau la Sarthe pendant un orage, il fut foudroyé et noyé.”—La Suze.—Magazin Pittoresque, 34me année, p. 312.

Notes

146 Ké, Gué or Tié and Hou are epithets applied to the Deity in the Bas Breton. MS. Note by Mr. George Métivier. “Sabot-Daim—a witch hornpipe.” (Idem.)

147 Mr. Métivier, in his Dictionnaire Franco-Normand, has a long article on “cahouettes.” He says:—
“They play, in neo-latin mythology, a very interesting part, even to-day some traces of which are to be found. Wizards and witches, according to the councils, disguised themselves formerly as ‘cahouets’ and ‘cahouettes.’ Raphaël, Archbishop of Nicosie, capital of the island of Cyprus, in the year 1251, excommunicated all the ‘cahouets’ and the ‘cahouettes’ as well as those who supported and encouraged games of chance.—(Constitutions, ch. 15). And the Council of Nîmes, thirty years after, treats in the same manner witches and sooth sayers, ‘coavets’ and ‘coavettes.’
“In the hierarchy of Mithras, that type of the rising sun which bewitched the Gauls, the deacon, or minister was entitled ‘corneille’ or rook; and on the first day of the year, according to Porphyry, the initiates disguised themselves severally as beasts and birds.”
Mr. Métivier ends by citing two authorities on ancient traditions concerning these birds.
“Le corbeau est consacré à Apollon, et il est son ministre (famulus), voilà pourquoi il possède la faculté de prédire.” Gérard Jean Voss, liv. 3, sur l’Idolâtrie.
“Je crois que ces cérémonies se célébraient près de Coptos, ville dont le nom était si fameux, et d’où vient l’Egypte. Dans les environs de cette cité, on voyait deux corbeaux, c’étaient les seuls.… Et il y avait là l’image d’Apollon, auquel les corbeaux étaient consacrés.”
“La corneille est le symbole de l’amour conjugal.” Nicolas Caussin, Jésuite, natif de Troyes, Notes sur Horapollo. Paris, 1618, p. 165.

148 Editor’s Note.—These are also given in full, in French, with an English translation, by Mr. J. Linwood Pitts, F.S.A., (Normandy), in his Witchcraft and Devil-Lore in the Channel Islands, etc., 1886.

149 Editor’s Note.—See in “Hamlet,” where the priest refuses Christian burial to Ophelia as a suicide, and commands:—“Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown upon her.”
It has been conjectured that these heaps of stones were placed upon graves, more especially of criminals and suicides, to keep the spirit in the earth, and prevent the ghost from walking. Hence the modern gravestone.

150 Editor’s Note.—In a letter called “Voudouism in Virginia,” quoted by Mr. Moncure D. Conway in his book on Demonology and Devil-Lore, Vol. I., p. 69., the following similar superstition is noticed. “If an ignorant negro is smitten with a disease which he cannot comprehend, he often imagines himself the victim of witchcraft, and, having no faith in ‘white folks’ physic’ for such ailments, must apply to one of these quacks. A physician residing near this city (Richmond), was invited by such a one to witness his mode of procedure with a dropsical patient for whom the physician in question had occasionally charitably prescribed. On the coverlet of the bed on which the sick man lay, was spread a quantity of bones, feathers and other trash. The charlatan went through with a series of so-called conjurations, burned feathers, hair, and tiny fragments of wood in a charcoal furnace, and mumbled gibberish past the physician’s comprehension. He then proceeded to rip open the pillows and bolsters, and took from them some queer conglomerations of feathers. These he said had caused all the trouble. Sprinkling a whitish powder over them he burnt them in his furnace. A black offensive smoke was produced, and he announced triumphantly that the evil influence was destroyed and that the patient would surely get well. He died not many days later, believing, in common with all his friends and relatives, that the conjurations of the ‘trick doctor’ had failed to save him only because resorted to too late.”

151 Editor’s Note.—The old name for the cross roads at St. Martin’s, near where the village Post Office now stands.

152 This is a hill at Torteval, on which, says Mr. Métivier, our ancestors used to light signal fires near the “Hougue Hérault,” where the northern King Herolt made his signals. He says the name is derived from the Breton An Tat, “the old Father,” a name for the God of the Gauls; in Swedish it is Anda, the spirit, or Onda, the evil one. See Notes in Rimes Guernesiaises.

153 These were the mounds of earth where they practised with the cross-bow before the introduction of muskets. The “Buttes” still exist in some parishes.

154 Mielles, in Normandy, Brittany, and the Channel Islands, means the “waste lands on the sea-shore.” In the Vale parish alone there were two estates called “Les Mielles.” See Métivier’s Dictionary, Mielles.

155 Editor’s Note.—Pavie used to be grown in ponds arranged for the purpose, and was used for making pack-saddles, horse-collars, mats, etc. It is a reed.—From John de Garis, Esq.

156 Editor’s Note.—(See footnote to p. 308). Some had a goat’s hair intwined, others a flaxen thread.
Mr. J. Linwood Pitts, in his pamphlet on Witchcraft in the Channel Islands, points out, page 6, “that the natural tendency of wool and feathers to felt and clog together, has been distorted, by widely different peoples, into an outward and visible sign that occult and malignant influences were at work.”

157 Editor’s Note.—“Il y avoit de l’etrain”—a Guernsey-French word—from the old French estraîn, estraine, lat. strannu.—See Métivier’s Dictionary “Etrain.”

158 Editor’s Note.—“Des graines noires comme de la neisle” (an old French word nêle, from Latin Nigella.)—Métivier’s Dictionary “Néle.”

159 Editor’s Note.—The manner in which torture was administered in Guernsey is thus described by Warburton, herald and antiquary, temp. Charles II., in his Treatise on the History, Laws and Customs of the Island of Guernsey, 1682, page 126.
“By the law approved (Terrien, Lib. XII, Cap. 37), torture is to be used, though not upon slight presumption, yet where the presumptive proof is strong, and much more when the proof is positive, and there wants only the confession of the party accused. Yet this practice of torturing does not appear to have been used in the Island for some ages, except in the case of witches, when it was too frequently applied, near a century since. The custom then was, when any person was supposed guilty of sorcery or witchcraft, they carried them to a place in the town called La Tour Beauregard, and there, tying their hands behind them by the two thumbs, drew them to a certain height, with an engine made for that purpose, by which means sometimes their shoulders were turned round, and sometimes their thumbs torn off; but this fancy of witches has for some years been laid aside.”

160 Editor’s Note.—Mary Osgood, one of the “Salem Witches” tried in 1692, confessed that “when in a melancholy condition she saw the appearance of a cat at the end of the house, which cat proved to be the Devil himself.” See Demonology and Devil-Lore, Vol. II., p. 315.

161 The Witches’ Sabbath being a travesty of all Christian holy rites and ceremonies, the “black ointment” evidently represented the chrism.

162 Editor’s Note.—“It is an example of the completeness and consistency with which a theory may organise its myth, that the fatal demons are generally represented as abhorring salt,—the preserving agent against decay.… The Devil, as heir of death-demons, appears in all European folk-lore as a hater of salt.” Demonology and Devil-Lore, by Moncure Conway, Vol. I., p. 288.

163 Editor’s Note.—Susanne de Quetteville, daughter of Jehannet de Quetteville and his wife Colliche de Sausmarez, was born in 1586, married the Rev. Jean Perchard in 1611, and died in 1612.

164 Mr. Métivier derives this word “quéraud,” meaning enchanter, or “maître sorcier,” from the old French charay, caral, meaning magical type or letter. “In dog Latin Caraco was the writer or engraver of occult characters, and in the old French version of “Le Roman du Lancelot du Lac” it says that “Morgain, la seur au Roi Artur, sceut des enchantements et des caraulx plus que nulle femme.””

165 Friday nights being always the nights appointed for the “Sabbat.”

166 Mr. Métivier translates this word Hoc as the great feast given by the enemy of mankind to his familiars, the wizards and witches. Like most of the words and customs connected with witchcraft it had originally a sacred meaning, for he says that the Hebrew word in the seventh verse of the second Psalm, translated “the decree” is “the Hoc,” and means:—The law imposed by a King on his subjects from which there is no appeal.

167 From George Allez, Esq.

168 From Miss Elizabeth Chepmell.
Editor’s Notes.
A very similar story is told in M. Paul Sebillot’s Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute Bretagne, Tome I., p. 277.
“Une femme avait deux enfants, quand elle les avait couchés, elle sortait, et ils ne la revoyaient que de matin. Un des enfants, qui commençait à être grand, fit mine de s’endormir, il vit sa mère aller sous le lit, se mettre toute nue, et se frotter d’onguent, puis dire, avant de partir:
“Par sur haies et bûchons (buissons) Faut que je trouve les autres où qu’ils sont.” Le gars, dès que sa mère fut partir, se frotta aussi avec l’onguent et dit:—“Par en travers haies et bûchons. Faut que je trouve les autres où qu’ils sont.” Mais, comme il s’était trompé en répétant ce qu’il avait ouï dire, il passa à travers les ronces et les haies, et arriva tout sanglant au rendezvous des sorciers. Il les trouva qui dansaient, et qui chantaient, et sa mère était avec eux.”

169 From John De Garis, Esq.

170 From Miss E. Chepmell.

171 Mr. Métivier in his dictionary translates Grand-Mêle as Grimoire, or the book by which sorcerers pretend to raise the dead, being derived from the old Norse word grîma, a spectre, a witch, a word which is, he says, also the origin of “grimace.” The Grand-Mêle of the Guernsey folk was literally the big book, just as the Petit-Mêle was the little book, Mêle being nothing but a survival of the Gothic Meli—a writing, discourse, or song. Also Ma’l, with the Norsemen, as Veda with the Hindoos, and as Scripture with us, was simply the collective name of all the holy books.

172 From Elizabeth Matthieu.
Editor’s Notes.
Nowadays the people, in speaking of the “bad books” as they frequently term them, call them the “Grand Albert” and the “Petit Albert,” the former being undoubtedly derived from “Albertus Magnus.” The “Petit Albert” is an abridgment of the larger book, and is supposed to be comparatively harmless, and, with proper precautions, some say it may even be used by good Christians. The country people to this day believe these books to be imperishable, and many is the tale they tell of how they will neither drown, nor burn, and how in particular, one old wizard’s books at Saints’ Bay had to be buried, and part of the funeral service read over them, to keep them from reappearing on their accustomed shelf.
Our old nurse, Margaret Mauger, has often told me the story of the books belonging to an extremely clever old gentleman who owned an estate in the country. At his death, when his daughters came to divide his large library, they were horrified to find many “witch books” and atheistical books included in it. These they set aside to be burnt, and also a great many harmless but dull histories, biographies, and sermons, which they did not wish to keep, and made one huge bonfire. But (and it was one of the daughters who vouched for the truth of this story) the good books would not burn with the bad books! A frightful smell arose, and thick columns of black smoke, but none were consumed, and they all had to be re-sorted, and made into two separate piles,—the sheep and the goats—and then they all burnt readily enough.—From Margaret Mauger.
“In Denmark and some neighbouring countries it is believed that a strange and formidable book exists, by means of which you can raise or lay the Devil—called the Book of Cyprianus. The owner of it can neither sell, bury or burn it, and if he cannot get rid of it before his death he becomes the prey of the fiend.”—Demonology and Devil-Lore, by Moncure Conway, Vol. 2., p. 282.

173 Editor’s Note.—Mr. S. Carey Curtis, who is an architect, has made some very interesting plans of the ruins of Lihou Priory, and has shown their correspondence with the architecture of the building depicted on this stone. I will quote his exact words:—
“There is built into the wall of a house, on the Paysans Road, a sculptured stone, which corresponds so exactly with what might have been the Chapel of Lihou that I have, on the plan, restored the chapel on those lines. All the principal features work in exactly, the tower, the windows, the roof, etc.,—all except the door, of which there is positively no trace; but possibly, in view of the various coats of paint on the stone, it is merely a fancy of one of the many artists who have retouched it. Of the ruins which remain there is sufficient to show what its measurements once were. Of the tower, about twelve feet is still standing, a large portion of the north wall, and several smaller pieces; these all show that it consisted of a nave about thirty-four by twenty-three feet inside measurement, and a choir or sanctuary about thirty-four by twenty feet. There is enough of the north wall still standing to shew where the spring of the vaulting began, and thus, approximately, the height of the walls and roof. The corner of the chancel arch pier is a Caen stone, with a plain beading on it; there is also trace of a porphyry column on the south side of the sanctuary, and under the site of the altar is a paving of Malachite green and buff tiles, some of which still remain; they measure six and a quarter inches square and were laid alternately.”
The lettering has been explained as standing for “H … Dominus Lihou Mel,” “H … priest of Lihou Mel, (as Lihou was called in ancient times) in 1114.”

174 From Mrs. Savidan.

175 From Dr. Lukis, to whom the story was told by an old woman at l’Erée.

176 From Mrs. W. T. Collings, wife of the late Seigneur of Sark.

177 A double is the smallest copper coin in Guernsey currency, value one-eighth of a penny.

178 Editor’s Note.—In Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute Bretagne, Tome I., p. 304, M. Sebillot tells the story of a priest, who, at the request of a penitent “sorcier,” tries to burn Le Petit Albert:—“Il le mit dans le foyer pour le brûler; mais le livre sautait dans le feu comme s’il avait voulu en sortir. Le prêtre le repoussait dans les flammes avec sa canne, et il brûla longtemps sans se consumer.”

179 From Miss Elizabeth Chepmell, Nancy Bichard, and Rachel Duport.
Editor’s Note.
“In German Switzerland, a crow perching on the roof of a house where a corpse lies, is a sure sign that the dead is damned.” Swainson’s Folk-Lore, p. 84.
“In Germany ravens are believed to hold the souls of the damned, sometimes to be the evil one himself.” Idem., p. 90. “The raven was indeed, from of old endowed with the holy awfulness of the Christian dove in the Norse mythology. Odin was believed to have given this bird the colour of the night, that it might the better spy out the deeds of darkness.” Demonology and Devil-Lore, by Conway, Vol. 2., p. 368.

180 Caûbo = “Sic Armorici Coet-Bo = La Baie du Bois, Sinus Sylvestris, il y a une Coet Bo sur la côte du Bretagne.” MS. note by Mr. Métivier.

181 Editor’s Note.—It must be remembered that none of Sir Edgar’s MSS. are dated later than 1874, and therefore that none of the greenhouses, suburban villas, and workmen’s cottages which have so spoilt our island scenery were then built.

182 A MS. note by Mr. Métivier explains this name by saying that this was an old residence of Friars, robed in black and white, and hence known as “Les Frères Pies,”—the Magpie Friars.

183 “Houmet, from the Swedish holm, is a peninsula, or a grazing ground down near the water.”—Métivier’s Dictionary.

184 From Mr. Thomas Hocart Henry.

185 From Miss E. Chepmell.
See an incident somewhat similar in Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland, in the tale of Sir James Ramsay, of Bamff.
See also Suzet’s Veillées Bretonnes, Comte de Cocherard et Turquin, p. 258, and Folk-Lore Record, Vol. III., part 1., p. 40.
Editor’s Note.—This story is also told in Folk-Lore of Guernsey and Sark, by Louisa Lane-Clarke (2nd Edition, 1890, p. 24). She makes certain alterations in the narrative and her version of the cure for the Princess is:—“If they cut a small square of bacon from just over the heart, tied it to a silken thread, and made the Princess swallow it, then jerked it up again, the hair would stick to it, and come away from her heart, and she would recover.”
On the 16th May, 1900, the late Mrs. Murray-Aynsley read a paper on “Guernsey Folk-Lore,” to the Folk-Lore Society of England, and she also quoted this story, evidently taken from Mrs. Lane-Clarke’s version, only told in slightly different words.

186 The above Guernsey story of animal transformations I found cut out and placed with Sir Edgar MacCulloch’s MSS. in its Guernsey-French form. I think it better to give both the Guernsey-French and its English translation, the former being the language in which all these old stories are handed down to us.

187 From Miss E. Chepmell. The transformation of princesses into ducks by magical arts is a very common incident in the fairy tales of Norway and Sweden and Denmark. See Thorpe’s Yule-tide Stories.

188 From Miss Martineau, to whom the story was related by Mrs. Jonathan Bichard, of L’Ancresse, and also from Rachel Du Port.

189 Métivier translates sorille as a term of reproach, derived probably from the Bas-Breton sorelh, wizard, sorelhés, witch.

190 From Mrs. Charles Marquand, who had heard it from Denise Roberts’ first cousin.

191 From Reuben Wilkins.

192 From Miss Martineau, to whom the story was related by an old servant.

193 From Rachel Du Port.

194 From my father, to whom the main incidents were related by Sieur Jean Falla himself.

195 According to Métivier’s Dictionary—“Casquet”—(from the Latin Casicare) means “Over-fall Rock,” and is the same as the Casus Rupes of Hearne and Leland.
Editor’s Note.—The name of the house is “La Perelle,” “Casquet” is a nick-name. After the erection of a lighthouse on “Casquet” or “Les Casquets,” the fishermen keeping their boats in Perelle Bay, nick-named the house “Le P’tit Casquet,” because the inhabitants were in the habit of sitting up late, and consequently there was light to be seen in the house when they returned from sea late in the evening.—From John de Garis, Esq.

196 From George Métivier, Esq., and Mrs. Savidan.
See in Thorpe’s Northern Mythology, Vol. I., p. 179, how Oller crosses the sea on a bone.

197 Métivier derives this word—meaning “beggar”—from the old French word “guermenter” to complain. The old Bas-Breton word was “c’harm”—to utter cries.

198 From Charlotte Du Port.

199 From Rachel Du Port.