LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 542, 14 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FLITTERMOUSE WELL. {From Chamber's Journal.) ( Continued.) My grandfather never got over the shock these tidings gave him. That his son, his only remaining son, should have joined the robbers and plunderers of his country, was more than he could bear. But if his heart was wounded, the old man’s passions was roused. He would hear of no extenuating circumstances, he would not allow the possibility of hia son’s having been pressed into the smuggler’s gang, or that his own harshness and severity had led to this end. ‘ Only let him land with his ill-gotten gains_ upon this coast,’ he was heard to say, ‘ and he and his wretched associates shall know that there is vengeance in the land. He has chosen a smuggler’s life—let him die a smuggler’s death.’ Upon a certain night the smugglers came again to deposit their stores in the caves, and the landsmen were there to meet them. Then ensued a combat between desperate men on both sides—men who had ceased to regard the laws of God or man on the one hand, and men rendered savage by the desecration of their homes and the loss of their property on the other. It was a wild and stormy night; but the fierce waves which dashed themselves against the shore were less turbulent than the fierce passions which raged in the hearts of the con-bat-mts. Many fell in the struggle; the precipitous cliffs found some victims; some were drowned, others wounded. My grandfather was in the thickest of the fight; and among the bodies identified was found that of his son Everard; a bullet had pierced his heart. They say that bullet was aimed at my grandfather, and that he knew at whom he was aiming ! Heaven knows if this be true ! I know only that Everard Eoche was my father, and that my mother died in giving birth to me at the manor, after hearing the result of that night’s work. From that time my grandfather is said tc have grown more morose, more stern; and from that time also his prosperity deserted him. The farm was given up, and the farm buildings allowed to fall to ruins; one by one. the old man had to part with all the heirlooms long preserved (for our family dates back many generations). Yet he still continued to watch for the smugglers, and to plan further revenge upon them, until old ago came upon him unawares, and he became the helpless and infirm creature that I remember him.

As for me, an orphan and unloved, I grew up in that dreary household, as I have said, uncared for, yet treated with no harshness, and with only the one command laid upon me from my earliest years (and that under the threat of my grandfather’s curse, if I disobeyed him) namely, that I should never whilst he lived set my foot upon that shore where my father found his death. 1 was kept in ignorance of the reason for this prohibition for many years, but I obeyed it. Never once did my feet venture to the edge of Dunmoor Crags. The cliffs and the sea were alike unknown mysteries to me; I never rambled on the shore, 1 never bathed or waded in the waves.

Long ago, before my grandfather had ceased to pass beyond these tumble-down gateways, and when I was but a little child I can remember going with him over the hill to Blackness Farm, where he would confabulate for hours with its tenant, farmer l lorwood; and as I stood by watching them, 1 used to see my grandfather point to where, in the distance, the gray rolling sea heaved

angrily beyond the dark crag, whilst a fierce look, not pleasant to see, would come into his face. I did not understand the meaning of this; but from that time a growing fear and dread of the sea-shore became rooted in my heart, which perhaps I have never quite overcome. Farmer Horwood was our nearest, almost our only neighbour. His farm lay at about two miles’ distance from the manor, but as it was on the other side of the hill, the distance seemed greater than it really was. There was very little communication between the two houses, now that my grandfather was so infirm. Only occasionally the farmer, who joined with my grandfather in his hatred of the smugglers, would ride over on his way to the market town of G —-, and give the last tidings of our enemies. He would, I believe, have welcomed me to his house, had I been willing to go; but as a child I had acquired an unaccountable aversion to his daughter Janet. In the days when I went with my grandfather to Blackness, and Janet Horwood would invite me indoors, and give me cakes, or clotted cream, even these dainties failed to win me, and I shrank from her dark eyes as they rested upon me, and disliked the sound of her cold voice inviting me in. Yet the girl was respected by all who knew her, and had a reputation for piety. Twice every Sunday she rode to chapel on her father’s brown cob. I have often heard her singing hymns over her work as she ordered her father’s house, with her usual neatness and decorum. Having entered into these long explanations, I may now resume my narrative. * * * * * * I was about fourteen when the events which I am about to describe took place, events which had such effect upon my afterlife. At this time, my mind, always imaginative, had arrived at a pitch of morbid sensibility difficult to describe. I continued to indulge my fancies in those midnight rambles which I have before alluded to, and they afforded me a strange kind of excitement and pleasure. Often on dark nights I would fancy that I saw weird, unearthly objects flitting among the pines, or groups of spectre horsemen scouring the plain. At times, I even gave chase to these imaginary phantoms, inspired with an insane desire to discover whether they were real or not. The moon gazing quietly down from the heavens often beheld me chasing these shadows. Human eye to see there was none. Among all the haunts in which I delightedthe place with which was associated the greatest amount of excitement and interest was Flittermouse Well. Strange stories there were of a gray ghost haunting this well, and there was said to be a passage of communication between it and the caverned shore, where the smugglers had in time past taken refuge, or even found means of escape. It is an innocent looking place enough in the day-time; at night, it is an ugly pitfall. Why it is called a well, as there is no water in it, I cannot say, or who gave it the name it has borne ever since I remember it. A large willow tree overhangs it, and sometimes I held on to its gnarled roots, and peered down, fancying I could hear strange noises in its inmost recesses ; but it was more than I dared to do to risk the descent. Flittermouse Well's depth was unknown to me, as, owing to the shadow of the tree, and the roots twining round its mouth, it was in perpetual darkness ; blit the pebbles I threw in sounded faintlj’’, as, after a long pause, they reached the bottom ; and by that I guessed that it was very deep. It must be nearly a mile from the shore, yet I used to think I heard the faint plash and murmer of waves, when I hung over it devising means of descent. Strange in my desire, I had pondered over ways of descending it till I was tired, and at last, in despair of ever succeeding, had discontinued my visits to it; when one night the circumstance I am about to relate attracted my attention to it again. First, however, let me say a few words as to the position of the well. When yon have climbed the hill from the manor, you turn to your right; before you, lies a pine wood, and beyond it the large tract of waste land lying along the hill-top, and called by countrymen ‘Ninety Acres.’ This tract is bounded on one side by a wood, and on the edge of this wood, at the old willow, is Flittermouse Well. I had escaped from my bedroom window as usual one night, and having clambered up the hill by the great chalk pit, found myself over against the well. I was looking in that direction when I fancied I saw the glimmer of a light. It disappeared, however, so quickly that I almost doubted my own.eyes, and to make sure I walked straight across the moor towards the wood. I saw no more of the light, and had made up my mind that my eyes had deceived me, when, as I neared the edge of the wood, I saw distinctly a tall gray figure glide past me in the moonlight, and disappear in the shadow of the trees. This I felt assured was no fancy, so I spent some moments in the pursuit of the figure, but no further trace of it could I see. I then sprawled down at the brink of the well, and peered over it 3 edge. All was dark as usual, but I heard a rattling, as of displaced earth, and then a dull echoing sound, which grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away. I next groped with my hands all round the edge of the well, but found all as usual, and no signs of any disturbance. My easily excited brain now began to conjure up the wildest fancies. That I had seen the ‘ gray ghost,’ 1 had not the smallest doubt, and at all hazards I determined to see the phantom again; but I was not destined to do so that night; and after anxious watching, I was obliged to return home. Next morning I rose early, and came once more to the well; but I saw only the willow branches waving over it as usual, and heard but the sighing of the wind as it shivered through the leaves. There were no footprints, no traces of any intruder. But that night my watching was rewarded. This time I was more cautious, and hid myself behind a juniper bush near the spot. Presently a light glimmered. Excitement nearly choked me, as, instead of disappearing as before, the well seemed illuminated, and faint rays streamed far and wide over the errass. Shadows also played over the willow bows—shadows thrown, as I deemed, by no earthly forms. At length I drew cautiously near; but ere I had reached the well’s mouth the light vanished, and again a gray figure passed me in the moonlight, and disappeared in the shadow of the wood. | To be continued,']