Story of Blue Beard, or, The effects of female curiosity/The murder hole, an ancient legend

THE MURDER HOLE.

an ancient legend.

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In a remote district of country belonging to Lord Cassillis, between Ayrshire and Galloway, about three hundred years ago, a moor of apparently boundless extent stretched several miles along the road, and wearied the eye of the traveller by the sameness and desolation of its appearance; not a tree varied the prospect---not a shrub enlivened the eye by its freshness---nor a native flower bloomed to adorn this ungenial soil. One 'lonesome desert’ reached the horizon on every side, with nothing to mark that any mortal had ever visited the scene before, except a few rude huts that were scattered near its centre; and a road, or rather pathway, for those whom business or necessity obliged to pass in that direction. At length, deserted as this wild region had always been, it became still more gloomy. Strange rumours arose, that the path of unwary travellers had been beset on this 'blasted heath,’ and that treachery and murder had intercepted the solitary stranger as he traversed its dreary extent. When several persons, who were known to have passed that way, mysteriously disappeared, the enquiries of their relatives led to a strict and anxious investigation: but though the officers of justice were sent to scour the country, and examine the inhabitants, not a trace could be obtained of the persons in question, nor of any place of concealment which could be a refuge for the lawless or desperate to horde in. Yet, as inquiry became stricter, and the disappearance of individuals more frequent, the simple inhabitants of the neighbouring hamlet were agitated by the most fearful apprehensions. Some declared that the death-like stillness of the night was often interrupted by the sudden and preternatural cries of more than mortal anguish, which seemed to arise in the distance; and a shepherd, one evening, who had lost his way on the moor, declared he had approached three mysterious figures, who seemed struggling against each other with supernatural energy, till at length one of them, with a frightful scream, suddenly sunk into the earth.

Gradually the inhabitants deserted their dwellings on the heath, and settled in distant quarters, till at length but one of the cottages continued to be inhabited by an old woman and her two sons, who loudly lamented that poverty chained them to this solitary spot. Travellers who frequented this road now generally did so in groups, to protect each other: and if night overtook them, they usually stopped at the humble cottage of the old woman and her sons, where cleanliness compensated for the want of luxury, and where, over a blazing fire of peat, the bolder spirits smiled at the imaginary terrors of the road, and the more timid trembled as they listened to the tales of terror and affright with which their hosts entertained them.

One gloomy and tempestuous night in November, a pedlar boy hastily traversed the moor. Terrified to find himself involved in darkness amidst its boundless wastes, a thousand frightful traditions connected with this dreary scene, darted across his mind---every blast, as it swept in hollow gusts over the heath, seemed to teem with the sighs of departed spirits---and the birds, as they winged their way above his head, appeared, with loud and shrill cries, to warn him of approaching danger. The whistle with which he usually beguiled his weary pilgrimage, died away in silence, and he groped with trembling and uncertain steps, which sounded too loudly in his ears. The promise of Scripture occurred to his memory, and he revived his courage.---'I will be unto thee as a rock in the desert, and as a place of safety.’ This heart-consoling promise inspired him with confidence, and he continued for a time to make, with renewed vigour his way across the moor. At length, however, wearied and faint through fatigue, he was compelled to cast his pack on the ground, and in the midst of the pitiless storm rested himself thereon. Thus situated, he frequently, and with much anxiety looked, to see, that if perchance, some place of shelter might lie near, but nothing met his eye but darkness, and that occasionally made more visible and fearful by the lightning, which ever anon struck through the gloom.

Resigning himself to his unhappy fate, the poor benighted pedlar boy, anticipated nothing but perishing ere the cheering light of day should again lighten the earth.

Despair had a second time nearly taken possession of his soul, when he suddenly started to his feet, and turning round, to his great astonishment and joy, the light of a taper appeared to come from a pot not far distant: a few minutes’ walk brought him to he window whence the light issued, he looked in and saw several individuals busily engaged drinking round a cheerful fire. He now made for the door, which when he came at was firmly locked. The boy in a frolicsome mood, thoughtlessly tapped at the window, when they all instantly started up with consternation strongly depicted on their countenances, that he shrunk back involuntarily with an undefined feeling of apprehension; but before he had time to reflect a moment longer, one of the men suddenly darted out of the door, and seizing the boy roughly by the shoulder, dragged him violently into the cottage. "I am not what you take me for,’ said the boy, attempting to laugh, ‘but only the poor pedlar who visited you last year.' ‘Are you alone?’ enquired the old woman in a harsh deep tone, which made his heart thrill with apprehension. ‘Yes,’ said the boy, 'I am alone here; and alas!’ he added with a burst of uncontrolable feeling, "I am alone in the wide world also! Not a person exists who would assist me in distress, or shed a single tear if I died this very night.’ ‘Then you are welcome!’ said one of the men with a sneer, while he cast a glance of peculiar expression at the other inhabitants of the cottage.

It was with a shiver of apprehension, rather than of cold, that the boy drew towards the fire, and the looks which the old woman and her sons exchanged, made him wish that he had preferred the shelter of any one of the roofless cottages which were scattered near, rather than trust himself among persons of such dubious aspect.---Dreadful surmises flitted across his brain; and terrors which he could neither combat nor examine imperceptibly stole into his mind; but alone, and beyond the reach of assistance, he resolved to smother his suspicions, or at least not increase the danger by revealing them. The room to which he retired for the night had a confused and desolate aspect; the curtains seemed to have been violently torn down from the bed, and still hung in tatters around it---the table seemed to have been broken by some violent concussion, and the fragments of various pieces of furniture lay scattered upon the floor. The boy begged that a light might burn in his apartment till he was asleep, and anxiously examined the fastenings of the door; but they seemed to have been wrenched asunder on some former occasion, and were still left rusty and broken.

It was long ere the pedlar attempted to compose his agitated nerves to rest; but at length his senses began to ‘steep themselves in forgetfulness,’ though his imagination remained painfully active, and presented new scenes of terror to his mind, with all the vividness of reality. He fancied himself again wandering on the heath, which appeared to be peopled with spectres, who all beckoned to him not to enter the cottage, and as he approached it, they vanished with a hollow and desparing cry. The scene then changed, and he found himself again seated by the fire, where the countenances of the men scowled upon him with the most terrifying malignity, and he thought the old woman suddenly seized him by the arms, and pinioned them to his side. Suddenly the boy was startled from these agitated slumbers, by what sounded to him like a cry of distress; he was broad awake in a moment, and sat up in bed,---but the noise was not repeated, and he endeavoured to persuade himself it had only been a continuation of the fearful images which had disturbed his rest, when on glancing at the door, he observed underneath it, a broad red stream of blood silently stealing its course along the floor. Frantic with alarm, it was but the work of a moment to spring from his bed, and rush to the door, through a chink of which, his eye nearly dimmed with affright, he could watch unsuspected, whatever might be done in the adjoining room.

His fear vanished instantly when he perceived that it was only a goat that they had been slaughtering; and he was about to steal into his bed again, ashamed of his groundless apprehensions, when his ear was arrested by a conversation which transfixed him aghast with terror to the spot. This is an easier job than you had yesterday,' said the man who held the goat. 'I wish all the throats we’ve cut were as easily and quietly done. Did you ever hear such a noise as the old gentleman made last night! It was well we had no neighbour within a dozen of miles, or they must have heard his cries for help and mercy.’

'Don’t speak of it,' replied the other; 'I was never fond of bloodshed.’

'Ha! ha!’ said the other with a sneer, 'you say so, do you?’

'I do,' answered the first gloomily; 'the Murder Hole is the thing for me---that tells no tales---a single scuffle---a single plunge---and the fellow is dead and buried to your hand in a moment. I would defy all the officers in Christendom to discover any mischief there.'

'Ay, Nature did us a good turn when she contrived such a place as that. Who that saw a hole in the heath, filled with clear water, and so small that the long grass meets over the top of it, would suppose that the depth is unfathomable, and that it conceals more than forty people who have met their deaths there?---it sucks them in like a leech!’

'How do you mean to dispatch the lad in the next room?’ asked the old woman in an nuder tone. The elder son made her a sign to be silent, and pointed towards the door where their trembling auditor was concealed, while the other, with an expression of brutal ferocity, passed the blood knife across his throat.

The pedlar boy possessed a bold and daring spirit, which was now roused to desperation; but in any open resistance the odds were so completely against him, that flight seemed his best resource. He gently stole to the window, and having by one desperate effort broke the rusty bolt by which the casement had been fastened, he let himself down without noise or difficulty. This betokens good, thought he, pausing an instant in dreadful hesitation what direction to take. This momentary deliberation was fearfully interupted by the hoarse voice of the men calling aloud, ‘The boy has fled---let loose the blood-hound!’ These words sunk like a death-knell on his heart, for escape appeared now impossible, and his nerves seemed to melt away like wax in a furnace. Shall I perish without a struggle! thought he, rousing himself to exertion, and, helpless and terrified as a hare pursued by its ruthless hunters, he fled across the heath. Soon the baying of the blood-hound broke the stillness of the night, and the voice of its masters sounded through the moor, as they endeavoured to accelerate its speed,---panting and breathless the boy pursued his hopeless career, but every moment his pursuers seemed to gain upon his failing steps. The hound was unimpeded by the darkness, which was to him so impenetrable, and its noise rung louder and deeper on his ear---while the lanterns which were carried by the men gleamed near and distinct upon his vision.

At his fullest speed, the terrified boy fell with violence over a heap of stones, and having nothing on but his shirt, he was severely cut in every limb. With one wild cry to heaven for assistance, he continued prostrate on the earth, bleeding, and nearly insensible. The hoarse voices of the men, and the still louder baying of the dog, were now so near, that instant destruction seemed inevitable,---already he felt himself in their fangs, and the bloody knife of the assassin appeared to gleam before his eyes,---despair renewed his energy, and once more, in an agony of affright that seemed verging towards madness, he rushed forward so rapidly that terror seemed to have given wings to his feet. A loud cry near the spot he had left arose on his ears without suspending his flight. The hound had stopped at the place where the Pedlar’s wounds bled so profusely, and deeming the chase now over, it lay down there, and could not be induced to proceed; in vain the men beat it with frantic violence, and tried again to put the hound on the scent,---the sight of blood had satisfied the animal that its work was done, and with dogged resolution it resisted every inducement to pursue the same scent a second time. The pedlar boy in the meantime paused not in his flight till morning dawned---and still as he fled, the noise of steps seemed to pursue him, and the cry of his assassins still sounded in the distance. Ten miles off he reached a village, and spread instant alarm throughout the neighbourhood---the inhabitants were aroused with one accord into a tumult of indignation---several of them had lost sons, brothers, or friends on the heath, and all united in proceeding instantly to seize the old woman and her sons, who were nearly torn to pieces by their violence. Three gibbets were immediately raised on the moor, and the wretched culprits confessed before their execution to the destruction of nearly fifty victims in the Murder Hole which they pointed out, and near which they suffered the penalty of their crimes. The bones of several murdered persons were with difficulty brought up from the abyss into which they had been thrust; but so narrow is the aperture, and so extraordinary the depth, that all who see it are inclined to coincide in the tradition of the country people that it is unfathomable. The scene of these events still continues nearly as it was 300 years ago. The remains of the old cottage, with its blackened walls, (haunted of course by a thousand evil spirits,) and the extensive moor, on which a more modern inn (if it can be dignified with an epithet) resembles its predecessor in every thing but the character of its inhabitants; the landlord is deformed, but possesses extraordinary genius; he has himself manufactored a violin, on which he plays with untaught skill,---and if any discord be heard in the house, or any murder committed in it, this is his only instrument. His daughter has inherited her father’s talent, and learnt all his tales of terror and superstition, which she relates with infinite spirit; when she describes, with all the animation of an eye-witness, the struggle of the victims grasping the grass as a last hope of preservation, and trying to drag in their assassin as an expiring effort of vengeance,---when you are told that for three hundred years the clear waters in this diamond of the desert have remained untasted by mortal lips, and that the solitary traveller is still pursued at night by the howling of the blood hound, ---it is then only that it is possible fully to appreciate the terrors of the murder hole.

finis.