The Lancashire Witches | Page 9

and instantly afterwards, with a crash like thunder, the whole of
the green circle beneath slipped off, and from a yawning rent under it
burst forth with irresistible fury, a thick inky-coloured torrent, which,
rising almost breast high, fell upon the devoted royalist soldiers, who
were advancing right in its course. Unable to avoid the watery eruption,
or to resist its fury when it came upon them, they were instantly swept
from their feet, and carried down the channel.
A sight of horror was it to behold the sudden rise of that swarthy stream,
whose waters, tinged by the ruddy glare of the beacon-fire, looked like
waves of blood. Nor less fearful was it to hear the first wild despairing
cry raised by the victims, or the quickly stifled shrieks and groans that
followed, mixed with the deafening roar of the stream, and the crashing
fall of the stones, which accompanied its course. Down, down went the
poor wretches, now utterly overwhelmed by the torrent, now regaining
their feet only to utter a scream, and then be swept off. Here a
miserable struggler, whirled onward, would clutch at the banks and try
to scramble forth, but the soft turf giving way beneath him, he was
hurried off to eternity.
At another point where the stream encountered some trifling opposition,
some two or three managed to gain a footing, but they were unable to
extricate themselves. The vast quantity of boggy soil brought down by
the current, and which rapidly collected here, embedded them and held
them fast, so that the momently deepening water, already up to their
chins, threatened speedy immersion. Others were stricken down by
great masses of turf, or huge rocky fragments, which, bounding from
point to point with the torrent, bruised or crushed all they encountered,
or, lodging in some difficult place, slightly diverted the course of the
torrent, and rendered it yet more dangerous.
On one of these stones, larger than the rest, which had been stopped in
its course, a man contrived to creep, and with difficulty kept his post
amid the raging flood. Vainly did he extend his hand to such of his
fellows as were swept shrieking past him. He could not lend them aid,
while his own position was so desperately hazardous that he did not

dare to quit it. To leap on either bank was impossible, and to breast the
headlong stream certain death.
On goes the current, madly, furiously, as if rejoicing in the work of
destruction, while the white foam of its eddies presents a fearful
contrast to the prevailing blackness of the surface. Over the last
declivity it leaps, hissing, foaming, crashing like an avalanche. The
stone wall for a moment opposes its force, but falls the next, with a
mighty splash, carrying the spray far and wide, while its own fragments
roll onwards with the stream. The trees of the orchard are uprooted in
an instant, and an old elm falls prostrate. The outbuildings of a cottage
are invaded, and the porkers and cattle, divining their danger, squeal
and bellow in affright. But they are quickly silenced. The resistless foe
has broken down wall and door, and buried the poor creatures in mud
and rubbish.
The stream next invades the cottage, breaks in through door and
window, and filling all the lower part of the tenement, in a few minutes
converts it into a heap of ruin. On goes the destroyer, tearing up more
trees, levelling more houses, and filling up a small pool, till the latter
bursts its banks, and, with an accession to its force, pours itself into a
mill-dam. Here its waters are stayed until they find a vent underneath,
and the action of the stream, as it rushes downwards through this exit,
forms a great eddy above, in which swim some living things, cattle and
sheep from the fold not yet drowned, mixed with furniture from the
cottages, and amidst them the bodies of some of the unfortunate
men-at-arms which have been washed hither.
But, ha! another thundering crash. The dam has burst. The torrent roars
and rushes on furiously as before, joins its forces with Pendle Water,
swells up the river, and devastates the country far and wide.[1]
The abbot and his companions beheld this work of destruction with
amazement and dread. Blanched terror sat in their cheeks, and the
blood was frozen in Paslew's veins; for he thought it the work of the
powers of darkness, and that he was leagued with them. He tried to
mutter a prayer, but his lips refused their office. He would have moved,
but his limbs were stiffened and paralysed, and he could only gaze

aghast at the terrible spectacle.
Amidst it all he heard a wild burst of unearthly laughter, proceeding, he
thought, from Demdike, and