Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by Montague Rhodes James (large screen ebook reader txt) 📕

paper dropped out. This he picked up and, just

noticing that there was writing on it, put it into his pocket, and

subsequently into a vase on his mantelpiece. I was at his house not very

long ago, and happened to pick up the vase and turn it over to see

whether there were any marks on it, and the paper fell into my hand. The

old man, on my handing it to him, told me the story I have told you, and

said I might keep the paper. It was crumpled and rather torn, so I have

mounted it on a card, which I have here. If you can tell me what it means

I shall be very glad, and also, I may say, a good deal surprised.’

 

He gave me the card. The paper was quite legibly inscribed in an old

hand, and this is what was on it:

 

When I grew in the Wood

I was water’d w’th Blood

Now in the Church I stand

Who that touches me with his Hand

If a Bloody hand he bear

I councell him to be ware

Lest he be fetcht away

Whether by night or day,

But chiefly when the wind blows high

In a night of February.

This I drempt, 26 Febr. Anno 1699. JOHN AUSTIN.

 

‘I suppose it is a charm or a spell: wouldn’t you call it something of

that kind?’ said the curator.

 

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I suppose one might. What became of the figure in which

it was concealed?’

 

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said he. ‘The old man told me it was so ugly and

frightened his children so much that he burnt it.’

 

MARTIN’S CLOSE

 

Some few years back I was staying with the rector of a parish in the

West, where the society to which I belong owns property. I was to go over

some of this land: and, on the first morning of my visit, soon after

breakfast, the estate carpenter and general handyman, John Hill, was

announced as in readiness to accompany us. The rector asked which part of

the parish we were to visit that morning. The estate map was produced,

and when we had showed him our round, he put his finger on a particular

spot. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said, ‘to ask John Hill about Martin’s Close

when you get there. I should like to hear what he tells you.’ ‘What ought

he to tell us?’ I said. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the rector,

‘or, if that is not exactly true, it will do till lunch-time.’ And here

he was called away.

 

We set out; John Hill is not a man to withhold such information as he

possesses on any point, and you may gather from him much that is of

interest about the people of the place and their talk. An unfamiliar

word, or one that he thinks ought to be unfamiliar to you, he will

usually spell—as c-o-b cob, and the like. It is not, however, relevant

to my purpose to record his conversation before the moment when we

reached Martin’s Close. The bit of land is noticeable, for it is one of

the smallest enclosures you are likely to see—a very few square yards,

hedged in with quickset on all sides, and without any gate or gap leading

into it. You might take it for a small cottage garden long deserted, but

that it lies away from the village and bears no trace of cultivation. It

is at no great distance from the road, and is part of what is there

called a moor, in other words, a rough upland pasture cut up into largish

fields.

 

‘Why is this little bit hedged off so?’ I asked, and John Hill (whose

answer I cannot represent as perfectly as I should like) was not at

fault. ‘That’s what we call Martin’s Close, sir: ‘tes a curious thing

‘bout that bit of land, sir: goes by the name of Martin’s Close, sir.

M-a-r-t-i-n Martin. Beg pardon, sir, did Rector tell you to make inquiry

of me ‘bout that, sir?’ ‘Yes, he did.’ ‘Ah, I thought so much, sir. I was

tell’n Rector ‘bout that last week, and he was very much interested. It

‘pears there’s a murderer buried there, sir, by the name of Martin. Old

Samuel Saunders, that formerly lived yurr at what we call South-town,

sir, he had a long tale ‘bout that, sir: terrible murder done ‘pon a

young woman, sir. Cut her throat and cast her in the water down yurr.’

‘Was he hung for it?’ ‘Yes, sir, he was hung just up yurr on the roadway,

by what I’ve ‘eard, on the Holy Innocents’ Day, many ‘undred years ago,

by the man that went by the name of the bloody judge: terrible red and

bloody, I’ve ‘eard.’ ‘Was his name Jeffreys, do you think?’ ‘Might be

possible ‘twas—Jeffreys—J-e-f—Jeffreys. I reckon ‘twas, and the tale

I’ve ‘eard many times from Mr Saunders,—how this young man

Martin—George Martin—was troubled before his crule action come to light

by the young woman’s sperit.’ ‘How was that, do you know?’ ‘No, sir, I

don’t exactly know how ‘twas with it: but by what I’ve ‘eard he was

fairly tormented; and rightly tu. Old Mr Saunders, he told a history

regarding a cupboard down yurr in the New Inn. According to what he

related, this young woman’s sperit come out of this cupboard: but I don’t

racollact the matter.’

 

This was the sum of John Hill’s information. We passed on, and in due

time I reported what I had heard to the Rector. He was able to show me

from the parish account-books that a gibbet had been paid for in 1684,

and a grave dug in the following year, both for the benefit of George

Martin; but he was unable to suggest anyone in the parish, Saunders being

now gone, who was likely to throw any further light on the story.

 

Naturally, upon my return to the neighbourhood of libraries, I made

search in the more obvious places. The trial seemed to be nowhere

reported. A newspaper of the time, and one or more newsletters, however,

had some short notices, from which I learnt that, on the ground of local

prejudice against the prisoner (he was described as a young gentleman of

a good estate), the venue had been moved from Exeter to London; that

Jeffreys had been the judge, and death the sentence, and that there had

been some ‘singular passages’ in the evidence. Nothing further transpired

till September of this year. A friend who knew me to be interested in

Jeffreys then sent me a leaf torn out of a second-hand bookseller’s

catalogue with the entry: JEFFREYS, JUDGE: _Interesting old MS. trial for

murder_, and so forth, from which I gathered, to my delight, that I could

become possessed, for a very few shillings, of what seemed to be a

verbatim report, in shorthand, of the Martin trial. I telegraphed for the

manuscript and got it. It was a thin bound volume, provided with a title

written in longhand by someone in the eighteenth century, who had also

added this note: ‘My father, who took these notes in court, told me that

the prisoner’s friends had made interest with Judge Jeffreys that no

report should be put out: he had intended doing this himself when times

were better, and had shew’d it to the Revd Mr Glanvil, who incourag’d his

design very warmly, but death surpriz’d them both before it could be

brought to an accomplishment.’

 

The initials W. G. are appended; I am advised that the original reporter

may have been T. Gurney, who appears in that capacity in more than one

State trial.

 

This was all that I could read for myself. After no long delay I heard of

someone who was capable of deciphering the shorthand of the seventeenth

century, and a little time ago the typewritten copy of the whole

manuscript was laid before me. The portions which I shall communicate

here help to fill in the very imperfect outline which subsists in the

memories of John Hill and, I suppose, one or two others who live on the

scene of the events.

 

The report begins with a species of preface, the general effect of which

is that the copy is not that actually taken in court, though it is a true

copy in regard to the notes of what was said; but that the writer has

added to it some ‘remarkable passages’ that took place during the trial,

and has made this present fair copy of the whole, intending at some

favourable time to publish it; but has not put it into longhand, lest it

should fall into the possession of unauthorized persons, and he or his

family be deprived of the profit.

 

The report then begins:

 

This case came on to be tried on Wednesday, the 19th of November, between

our sovereign lord the King, and George Martin Esquire, of (I take leave

to omit some of the place-names), at a sessions of oyer and terminer and

gaol delivery, at the Old Bailey, and the prisoner, being in Newgate, was

brought to the bar.

 

Clerk of the Crown. George Martin, hold up thy hand (which he did).

 

Then the indictment was read, which set forth that the prisoner, ‘not

having the fear of God before his eyes, but being moved and seduced by

the instigation of the devil, upon the 15th day of May, in the 36th year

of our sovereign lord King Charles the Second, with force and arms in the

parish aforesaid, in and upon Ann Clark, spinster, of the same place, in

the peace of God and of our said sovereign lord the King then and there

being, feloniously, wilfully, and of your malice aforethought did make an

assault and with a certain knife value a penny the throat of the said Ann

Clark then and there did cut, of the which wound the said Ann Clark then

and there did die, and the body of the said Ann Clark did cast into a

certain pond of water situate in the same parish (with more that is not

material to our purpose) against the peace of our sovereign lord the

King, his crown and dignity.’

 

Then the prisoner prayed a copy of the indictment.

 

L.C.J. (Sir George Jeffreys). What is this? Sure you know that is never

allowed. Besides, here is as plain indictment as ever I heard; you have

nothing to do but to plead to it.

 

Pris. My lord, I apprehend there may be matter of law arising out of

the indictment, and I would humbly beg the court to assign me counsel to

consider of it. Besides, my lord, I believe it was done in another case:

copy of the indictment was allowed.

 

L.C.J. What case was that?

 

Pris. Truly, my lord, I have been kept close prisoner ever since I came

up from Exeter Castle, and no one allowed to come at me and no one to

advise with.

 

L.C.J. But I say, what was that case you allege?

 

Pris. My lord, I cannot tell your lordship precisely the name of the

case, but it is in my mind that there was such an one, and I would humbly

desire—

 

L.C.J. All this is nothing. Name your case, and we will tell you

whether there be any matter for you in it. God forbid but you should have

anything that may be allowed you by law: but this is against law, and we

must keep the course of the court.

 

Att.-Gen. (Sir Robert Sawyer). My lord, we pray for the King that he

may be asked to plead.

 

Cl. of Ct. Are you guilty