Thrawn Janet
The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parishof Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man,dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life,without relative or servant or any human company, in the small andlonely manse under the Hanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure ofhis features, his eye was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when hedwelt, in private admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, itseemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of time to the terrorsof eternity. Many young persons, coming to prepare themselves againstthe season of the holy communion, were dreadfully affected by histalk. He had a sermon on I Pet. V. 8, "The devil as a roaring lion,"on the Sunday after every 17th of August, and he was accustomed tosurpass himself upon that text both by the appalling nature of thematter and the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The children werefrightened into fits, and the old looked more than usually oracular,and were, all that day, full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated.The manse itself, where it stood by the water of Dule among some thicktrees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the one side, and on the othermany cold, moorish hilltops rising toward the sky, had begun, at avery early period of Mr. Soulis's ministry, to be avoided in the duskhours by all who valued themselves upon their prudence; and guidmensitting at the clachan alehouse shook their heads together at thethought of passing late by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was onespot, to be more particular, which was regarded with especial awe. Themanse stood between the highroad and the water of Dule, with a gableto each; its bank was toward the kirktown of Balweary, nearly half amile away; in front of it, a bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupiedthe land between the river and the road. The house was two storieshigh, with two large rooms on each. It opened not directly on thegarden, but on a causewayed path, or passage, giving on the road onthe one hand, and closed on the other by the tall willows and eldersthat bordered on the stream. And it was this strip of causeway thatenjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary so infamous areputation. The minister walked there often after dark, sometimesgroaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; and when hewas from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daring school-boys ventured, with beating hearts, to "follow my leader" across thatlegendary spot.This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God ofspotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder andsubject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance orbusiness into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of thepeople of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which hadmarked the first year of Mr. Soulis's ministrations; and among thosewho were better informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shyof that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of the older folkwould warm into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the causeof the minister's strange looks and solitary life. Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam' first into Ba'weary, he wasstill a young man,--a callant, the folk said,--fu' o' book-learnin'and grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man,wi' nae leevin' experience in religion. The younger sort were greatlytaken wi' his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men andwomen were moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took tobe a self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae illsupplied. It was before the days o' the Moderates--weary fa' them; butill things are like guid--they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at atime; and there were folk even then that said the Lord had left thecollege professors to their ain devices, an' the lads that went tostudy wi' them wad hae done mair and better sittin' in a peat-bog,like their forebears of the persecution, wi' a Bible under their oxterand a speerit o' prayer in their heart. There was nae doubt, onyway,but that Mr. Soulis had been ower-lang at the college. He was carefuland troubled for mony things besides the ae thing needful. He had afeck o' books wi' him--mair than had ever been seen before in a' thatpresbytery; and a sair wark the carrier had wi' them, for they were a'like to have smoored in the Deil's Hag between this and Kilmackerlie.They were books o' divinity, to be sure, or so they ca'd them; but theserious were o' opinion there was little service for sae mony, whenthe hail o' God's Word would gang in the neuk of a plaid. Then he wadsit half the day and half the nicht forby, which was scant decent--writin', nae less; and first they were feard he wad read his sermons;and syne it proved he was writin' a book himsel', which was surely nofittin' for ane of his years an' sma' experience.Onyway, it behooved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the mansefor him an' see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auldlimmer,--Janet M'Clour, they ca'd her,--and sae far left to himsel' asto be ower-persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar', forJanet was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba'weary. Lang orthat, she had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit formaybe thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin' to hersel' up onKey's Loan in the gloamin', whilk was an unco time an' place for aGod-fearin' woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel' that had firsttauld the minister o' Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a fargate to pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib tothe deil, it was a' superstition by his way of it; and' when they castup the Bible to him, an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it dountheir thrapples that thir days were a' gane by, and the deil wasmercifully restrained.Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M'Clour was to beservant at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi' her an' himthegether; and some o' the guidwives had nae better to dae than getround her door-cheeks and chairge her wi' a' that was kent again' her,frae the sodger's bairn to John Tamson's twa kye. She was nae greatspeaker; folk usually let her gang her ain gait, an' she let them gangtheirs, wi' neither fair guid-e'en nor fair guid-day; but when shebuckled to, she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she got, an'there wasnae an auld story in Ba'weary but she gart somebody lowp forit that day; they couldnae say ae thing but she could say twa to it;till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up and claught haud of her, andclawed the coats aff her back, and pu'd her doun the clachan to thewater o' Dule, to see if she were a witch or no, soum or droun. Thecarline skirled till ye could hear her at the Hangin' Shaw, and shefocht like ten; there was mony a guid wife bure the mark of her neistday an' mony a lang day after; and just in the hettest o' thecollieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) but the new minister."Women," said he (and he had a grand voice), "I charge you in theLord's name to let her go."Janet ran to him--she was fair wud wi' terror--an' clang to him, an'prayed him, for Christ's sake, save her frae the cummers; an' they,for their pairt, tauld him a' that was kent, and maybe mair."Woman," says he to Janet, "is this true?""As the Lord sees me," says she, "as the Lord made me, no a word o''t. Forby the bairn," says she, "I've been a decent woman a' my days.""Will you," says Mr. Soulis, "in the name of God, and before me, Hisunworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?"Weel, it wad appear that, when he askit that, she gave a girn thatfairly frichtit them that saw her, an' they could hear her teeth playdirl thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the aeway or the ither; an' Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deilbefore them a'."And now," says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, "home with ye, one andall, and pray to God for His forgiveness."And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark,and took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land,an' her scrieghin' and laughin' as was a scandal to be heard.There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; butwhen the morn cam' there was sic a fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that thebairns hid theirsel's, and even the men folk stood and keekit fraetheir doors. For there was Janet comin' doun the clachan,--her or herlikeness, nane could tell,--wi' her neck thrawn, and her heid on aeside, like a body that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like anunstreakit corp. By-an'-by they got used wi' it, and even speered ather to ken what was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speaklike a Christian woman, but slavered and played click wi' her teethlike a pair o' shears; and frae that day forth the name o' God cam'never on her lips. Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be.Them that kenned best said least; but they never gied that Thing thename o' Janet M'Clour; for the auld Janet, by their way o' 't, was inmuckle hell that day. But the minister was neither to haud nor tobind; he preached about naething but the folk's cruelty that had gienher a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that meddled her; andhe had her up to the manse that same nicht, and dwalled there a' hislane wi' her under the Hangin' Shaw.Weel, time gaed by, and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtlyo' that black business. The minister was weel thocht o'; he was ayelate at the writing--folk wad see his can'le doon by the Dule Waterafter twal' at e'en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' and upsitten asat first, though a' body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet,she cam' an' she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reasonshe should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was aneldritch thing to see, an' nane wad hae mistrysted wi' her forBa'weary glebe.About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather, the like o' 'tnever was in that countryside; it was lown an' het an' heartless; theherds couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower-weariet toplay; an' yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund that rummled inthe glens, and bits o' shouers that slockened naething. We aye thochtit but to thun'er on the morn; but the morn cam', an' the morn'smorning, and it was aye the same uncanny weather; sair on folks andbestial. Of a' that were the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; hecould neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an' when he wasnaewritin' at his weary book, he wad be stravaguin' ower a' the country-side like a man possessed, when a' body else was blithe to keep callerben the house.Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill, there's a bitenclosed grund wi' an iron yert; and it seems, in the auld days, thatwas the kirkyaird o' Ba'weary, and consecrated by the papists beforethe blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff, o' Mr.Soulis's onyway; there he would sit an' consider his sermons' andinded it's a bieldy bit. Weel, as he came ower the wast end o' theBlack Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an' syne fower, an' syne seevencorbie craws fleein' round an' round abune the auld kirkyaird. Theyflew laigh and heavy, an' squawked to ither as they gaed; and it wasclear to Mr. Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar. Hewasna easy fleyed, an' gaed straucht up to the wa's; and what suld hefind there but a man, or the appearance of a man, sittin' in theinside upon a grave. He was of a great stature, an' black as hell, andhis een were singular to see. Mr. Soulis had heard tell o' black men,mony's the time; but there was something unco abut this black man thatdaunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o' cauld grue in the marrowo' his banes; but up he spak' for a' that; an' says he, "My friend,are you a stranger in this place?" The black man answered never aword; he got upon his feet, an' begude to hirsel to the wa' on the farside; but he aye lookit at the minister; an' the minister stood an'lookit back; till a' in a meenute the black man was ower the wa' an'rinnin' for the bield o' the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why,ran after him; but he was sair forjaskit wi' his walk an' the het,unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisko' the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o' thehillside, an' there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an' lowp,ower Dule Water to the manse.Mr. Soulis wasna weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak' saefree wi' Ba'weary manse; an' he ran the harder, an' wet shoon, owerthe burn, an' up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see.He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a'ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a bitfeard as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; andthere was Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn craig, and nanesae pleased to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he sethis een upon her, he had the same cauld and deidy grue."Janet," says he, "have you seen a black man?""A black man?" quo' she. "Save us a'! Ye 're no wise, minister.There's nae black man in a' Ba'weary."But she didna speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, likea powny wi' the bit in its moo."Weel," says he, "Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spokenwith the Accuser of the Brethren."And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in hisheid."Hoots!" says she, "think shame to yoursel', minister," an' gied him adrap brandy that she keept aye by her.Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a lang,laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very dry evenin the top o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae dounhe sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane since he was inBa'weary, an' his hame, an' the days when he was a bairn an' randaffin' on the braes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like theowercome of a sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' theblack man. He tried the prayer, an' the words wouldnae come to him;an' he tried, they say, to write at his book, but he couldnae mak' naemair o' that. There was whiles he thocht the black man was at hisoxter, an' the swat stood upon him cauld as well-water; and there wasother whiles when he cam' to himsel' like a christened bairn andminded naething.The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at DuleWater. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' blackunder the manse; and there was Janet washing' the cla'es wi' her coatskilted. She had her back to the minister, an' he for his pairt, hardlykenned what he was lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed herface; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an'it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid langsyne, an' this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back apickle and he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-trampin' in thecla'es, croonin' to hersel'; and eh! Gude guide us, but it was afearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, but there was nae man born o'woman that could tell the words o' her sang; an' whiles she lookitsidelang doun, but there was naething there for her to look at. Theregaed a scunner through the flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven'sadvertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel', he said, to thinksae ill of a puir auld afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forbyhimsel'; an' he put up a bit prayer for him an' her, an' drank alittle caller water,--for his heart rose again' the meat,--an' gaed upto his naked bed in the gloaming.That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba'weary, the nichto' the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun'er' an' twal'. It hadbeen het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever.The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as thepit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' aforeyour face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds andlay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it wasgey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an' hetummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes;whiles he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time o'nicht, and whiles a tike yowlin' up the muir, as if somebody was deid;whiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin' in his lug, an' whiles hesaw spunkies in the room. He behooved, he judged, to be sick; an' sickhe was--little he jaloosed the sickness.At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sarkon the bedside, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man an'Janet. He couldnae weel tell how,--maybe it was the cauld to his feet,--but it cam' in upon him wi' a spate that there was some connectionbetween thir twa, an' that either or baith o' them were bogles. Andjust at that moment, in Janet's room, which was neist to his, therecam' a stamp o' feet as if men were wars'lin', an' then a loud bang;an' then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of the house;an' then a' was ance mair as seelent as the grave.Mr. Soulis was feard for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder-box, an' lit a can'le, an' made three steps o' 't ower to Janet'sdoor. It was on the hasp, an' he pushed it open, an' keeked bauldlyin. It was a big room, as big as the minister's ain, an' plenished wi'grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi' auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu'o' the minister's divinity books, an' put there to be out o' the gate;an' a wheen duds o' Janet's lying here and there about the floor. Butnae Janet could Mr. Soulis see, nor ony sign of a contention. In hegaed (an' there's few that wad hae followed him), an' lookit a' round,an' listened. But there was naethin' to be heard neither inside themanse nor in a' Ba'weary parish, an' naethin' to be seen but themuckle shadows turnin' round the can'le. An' then a' at aince theminister's heart played dunt an' stood stock-still, an' a cauld wundblew amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that forthe puir man's een! For there was Janet hangin' frae a nail beside theauld aik cabinet; her heid aye lay on her shouther, her een weresteeked, the tongue projecket frae her mouth, and her heels were twafeet clear abune the floor."God forgive us all!" thocht Mr. Soulis, "poor Janet's dead."He cam' a step nearer to the corp; an' then his heart fair whammled inhis inside. For--by what cantrip it wad ill beseem a man to judge--shewas hingin' frae a single nail an' by a single wursted thread fordarnin' hose.It's an awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan prodigies o'darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' gaedhis ways oot o' that room, and locket the door ahint him; and step bystep doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can'le on thetable at the stair-foot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he wasdreepin' wi' caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o' his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, ormaybe twa, he minded sae little; when a' o' a sudden he heard a laigh,uncanny steer upstairs; a foot gaed to an' fro in the cham'er whairthe corp was hingin'; syne the door was opened, though he minded weelthat he had lockit it; an' syne there was a step upon the landin', an'it seemed to him as if the corp was lookin' ower the tail and dounupon him whaur he stood.He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and, assaftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to the farend o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the can'le,when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room;naething moved, but the Dule Water seepin' and sabbin' doon the glen,an' yon unhaly footstep that cam' plodding' doun the stairs inside themanse. He kenned the foot ower-weel, for it was Janet's; and at ilkastep that cam' a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals.He commended his soul to Him that made an' keepit him; "and, O Lord,"said he, "give me strength this night to war against the powers ofevil."By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door; hecould hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing wasfeelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a longsigh cam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot; an'there stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram goun an' herblack mutch, wi' the heid aye upon the shouther, an' the girn stillupon the face o' 't,--leevin', ye wad hae said--deid, as Mr. Soulisweel kenned,--upon the threshold o' the manse.It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be thirled into hisperishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart didnaebreak.She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again, an' cam' slowlytoward Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the life o' hisbody, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een. Itseemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi'the left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaedthe can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk' an' Mr. Soulis kennedthat, live or die, this was the end o' 't."Witch, beldam, devil!" he cried, "I charge you, by the power of God,begone--if you be dead, to the grave; if you be damned, to hell."An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the heevens struck theHorror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirselled round by deils,lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; thethunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the backo' that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi'skelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan.That same mornin' John Christie saw the black man pass the MuckleCairn as it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house at Knockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaunlinkin' doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but itwas him that dwalled sae lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' atlast; and sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary.But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he layravin' in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye kenthe day.
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