From the Carlisle Journal July 5th 1845
Superstition in the Nineteenth Century
Lord Byron protests that “Truth is strange - stranger than fiction” and when we have done with our narrative our readers will be convinced that the poet was right, for the story we are about to tell, all the circumstances considered, is more extravagantly ludicrous than any invented by the wilder romancer, and were it not that the parties who figure in it are living, and that their freaks were seen by numerous individuals, it would be incredible. Whatever wonders may be wrought by time, it would seem that in our own county, and within a stone’s throw of the residence of the Home Secretary of the “most enlightened nation in the world,” there are men who are still influenced by superstitions which, we had wrongly imagined, were buried in oblivion - heard only from the lips of the ancient-ballad monger, or read in the pages of Percy.
Now to our tale. In the parish of Kirkandrews upon Esk which, fringing Scotland as it does, may be properly termed a border parish, there lived within memory of very young people a yeoman by the name of John Johnstone. At least that was the name the parson gave him: he was better known afterwards as “Jock o’ the Gill.” In his district a name of this description is considered rather complimentary than otherwise; in short a mark of distinction that has prevailed since the good old times of Clym of the Cleugh and William of Cloudesly. Well, Jock o’ the Gill was an industrious, thrifty farmer who by exercising through a long series of years the caution of making a prisoner of every sovereign he earned, had accumulated a store which not only supported him in comfort during his declining years, but enabled him to make some little provision for his nephew and niece - James and Elizabeth Graham, or as he was wont familiarly to call them - Jemmy and Betty - who had lived with him and who had helped him for a number of years in the management of the farm.
The three lived together, for the most part, happily but as little tifts will arise in the best regulated families, it is not extraordinary there was occasionally a “difference”. It is rather melancholy, however, that there should have been some unpleasantness on the very day of his death, which is just over six years ago. The morning’s work was over and Jock, Jemmy and Betty were seated in the kitchen at their humble noon-tide repast. For some cause or other which does not appear - whether it was that the bacon was too fat, the potatoes not enough or the buttermilk sour, we have not heard - high words were bandied about. Betty having said something to arouse Jemmy’s combativeness, without more to do he laid down his knife and fork, aimed an unmanly blow with his fist at her face, and before the old man could say Jack Robinson, she was sprawling on the floor - and there she lay insensible.
What Jemmy did, or what Jock did - whether Jock, attempting to speak in the act of swallowing a potatoe, had choked himself, and Jemmy, alarmed, had fled for assistance - our little bird has not been able to inform us; but certain it is that when Betty came to herself again her assailant had disappeared and her uncle, apparently sharing her own fate, was lying like a lifeless thing on the floor - with a potatoe in his mouth. There was no assistance at hand, and she therefore set about to raise him from the floor and place him on the “swab” or settle. He was dead.
So runs the story as it is told and believed in the neighbourhood. It does not appear that it made much noise at the time, or that suspicion attached to Jemmy; for Jock o’the Gill was quietly gathered to his fathers in the parish churchyard, without any Coroner’s inquiry, and his nephew and niece, forgetting their trifling disagreement on the day of the old man’s death, made all things up again and amicably divided the uncle’s property between them, under the will he had made to that effect. Betty went to live with her father Mr James Graham of the Scug - better known as Jem o’the Scug, and Jemmy the son, until recently, tilled the lands which had proved so profitable to his uncle. Fortune smiled on him; he went on prosperously in his calling; and with the assistance of an occasional windfall, in the shape of a lucky bet or two on the turf (for it would seem he is somewhat of a sporting turn), he bought not long ago the estate of Thorney Knowe in Nichol Forest, on which he now resides.
But Jemmy had his troubles. Neighbours began to whisper that had old Jock o’the Gill lived a day longer, Jemmy would not have been the man he is now, for that Jock had intended on the very next day (had he not been cut off with a potatoe) to have altered his will and cut both Jemmy and Betty off with a shilling. Jemmy however, like a sensible man, paid no attention to these idle tales; he ploughed his fields, reaped his harvests and held his kern suppers without caring for the gossips.
We have already said that he does a small matter on the turf. On the 1st of June this year he went to Hawick races leaving in charge of his house one Isaac Milburn who, to a sprinkling of knowledge as to the curing of pork, adds a smattering of the more spiritual business of the cure of souls. In short, Isaac Milburn in a retired itinerant Methodist parson, who can rap out a prayer upon occasion, with a good nasal twang, without caring for either Cobbett or Lindley Murray.
Finding himself in a strange bed room on the first night, he took the prudent precaution of examining the room to see if it all was safe before committing himself to the sheets. He looked under the bed and behind the curtains; and found nothing there that could interfere with his orisons before lying down, or his snoring afterwards. Report says that, having taken a stiff tumbler of whiskey toddy before going to bed, he forgot that night to say his prayers. But this is neither hither nor thither, the best of men are absent sometimes.
He had neither to count the slow passing of a flock of sheep or to imagine the dropping of water to court slumber; he snored loudly till 12 o’clock. The sound of the last “chap” awoke him, and at the same moment the colley dog in the farm yard set up a furious barking. Being rather dry he stretched his hand out of bed for the water jug and was conveying it to his lips when the latch of his bedroom was lifted with a gentle but palpable click. Isaac let fall the jug, and looked towards the door. There was a figure coming towards the bed.
“Who the devil’s that?” cried Isaac, forgetting that he was a parson.
The figure made no answer but advanced to the bedside. Isaac trembled from head to foot and his hair stood on end. His first impulse was to hide himself under the bedclothes, but afraid of smothering himself, he decided on facing the figure, whoever he may be, for he made no noise and never spoke, which gave the parson time and courage to eye him attentively. The figure had on an old blue coat, a patched red coloured velveteen waistcoat and corduroy breeches. “By G-d” exclaimed Isaac, (again forgetting he was a parson), “Its Jock o’the Gill’s wraith!” To think that a ghost was in the room, and he alone! He was “distilled almost to jelly with the act of fear”, or to use his own more homely words, “he fell unto a muck of sweat”.
The words of Hamlet rushed on his mind:-
“Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
O, answer me
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath op’ed his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous”.
But Isaac had lost the power of utterance, and could only think, without saying this. The ghost was equally dumb, and without breaking silence, “faded with the crowing of the cock”. Next morning Isaac felt queer about his head, which he cured with a dram - and thought as for the ghost, he must have been dreaming. He went to bed on the following night, and what happened we give in his own words and from his own manuscript:-
Statement of Isaac Milburn
The apparition of John Johnston late of Baxton Gill in this township did appear to me on the nights of the 6th and 7th June 1845 and I spoke to it on the morning of the 8th June about 6 o’clock, and the following conversation ensued between us.
Isaac Milburn - What do you want with me?
Ghost - I came to acquaint you with the manner of my death and what my effects were left and I cannot get rest in consequence of both.
Isaac Milburn - What do you want me to do?
Ghost - My death was occasioned by blows which I received from my nephew. First blow was struck on the back of the head, and when I was down I was kicked on the left side by the foot. From that blow I came by my death.This is all he said respecting his death.
Isaac Milburn - I inquired what was to be done with his effects.
Ghost - He answered that if he had lived a few days longer he should have altered his will; but he wished that Jane Forster should get £20, Peggy Johnston £12 and Wm Johnston and his wife should have £16 between them.
Isaac Milburn - When is the money to be paid?
Ghost - He was answered, immediately.
Isaac Milburn - I said that I thought the whole or the most part of Jemmy’s money was invested in the Thorney Knowe, and that with regard to him, I thought it was not a proper time for him to pay his share of the money.
Ghost - He replied, that what I said might be true, and that he would give until Christmas, and if it is not paid, then I will come back to them (James and Betty) and, if possible, I will tear them to pieces; but I will first come to you before I appear to them, and I will get rest now till that time (Christmas).
But I forgot to mention, that he requested me to seek the Coroner, and get a jury, and hold an inquest over his body, and it will be seen the blows which occasioned his death.
There is one thing that Isaac forgot; and it is, that on the reappearance of the ghost, having got on familiarly with it, he jumped up and seizing what he supposed was a bible, edified Jock’s wraith with a short ex tempore prayer, grasping the bible with fervour the while. He left it open at the page from which he had taken the text, and laid it aside. On looking at it next morning, he found the book was an old treatise on Horse and Cattle Medicine and Farriery.
To proceed with our story, Isaac told his neighbours about the apparition, what he had said and what the ghost had said - and he told Jemmy on his return from Hawick races. Jemmy was annoyed at it, exceedingly. He went to his father to ask his advice, for he could not endure to be thought a murderer, and he began to fear for next Christmas, when for anything he knew, the ghost might again take a fit of walking. Jem o’the Scug, an intelligent yeoman who, by his industry, has become well to do in the world, has it would appear, no faith in spirits, for when consulted, his reply was, “Hoot, hoot, lad, let him walk on - he’ll soon tire o’that - keep the siller and keep quiet, gin ye be wise”.
But Jemmy was not satisfied. He had heard that if a guilty man suspected of murder touched the bones or body of the corpse, blood would flow - if it did not, it was a proof of innocence; and he determined on having Jock o’the Gill raised from the dead.
The parties to whom the ghost had referred as defrauded by Jemmy’s alleged crime, of what he intended to give them, were equally anxious for the disinterment, and it was set about without delay. On Thursday week Jemmy and his friends went to the churchyard at Kirkandrews upon Esk to open the grave. Someone suggested that, before the ground could be legally broken, the clergyman’s leave should be obtained, and as that was wanting they desisted. But on Friday they returned at daybreak. Whether the clergyman had or had not been consulted, we do not know; but there was Jemmy and his friends, the expectant legatees, two respectable surgeons from Longtown, and many other spectators who went out of idle curiosity; the active resurrectionists being supplied with pickaxes and shovels. The ground was opened and the coffin raised.
Jemmy was in an agony of suspense until the lid was removed but when the remains of Jock o’the Gill were exposed, lo! Instead of the “perfect corpse” which Isaac Milburn had led them to expect, there was literally a bag of bones!
“Stand back” said a spectator, “we’ll sune ken whether he’s a murderer or no!”
Jemmy tremblingly advanced to the coffin and touched the skull rather gingerly. No blood flowed.
“Haud your fingers down harder,” cried one of the crowd, “we maun do things fairly”.
Jemmy did as he was bidden; still no blood flowed.
“I’m an innocent man!” he cried.
“Hurrah!” shouted the crowd.
“But we must look for the bruises,” suggested one.
“Let us wash the skull and the ribs, and then we shall see!” cried another.
And the skull and the ribs were taken to the river and washed. They were examined by the surgeon, who said there were no marks of violence on any of them. The remains of poor Jock o’the Gill were then put back in the grave, and Jemmy and his friends are enjoying the most perfect satisfaction at the result. The legatees expectant are disappointed in a corresponding degree.
What we have related above is no fictitious tale. The statement is substantially, nay, almost literally true. Our Printer’s Devil, who is a shrewd young rogue, suggested that the “methody parson” must have lost count of his tumblers when left in charge of Jemmy’s farm, and dreamed he saw Jock o’the Gill’s wraith, and that maybe Jemmy played two midnight freaks in his uncle’s clothes, with a view to give Isaac a “flay.” The report in Nichol Forest is that the wrong grave has been opened!
From the TIMES, July 22nd 1845.
Letters to the Editor.
Sir - I have just read with pain and shame an account in the Carlisle Journal of the 5th inst, headed “Superstition in the Nineteenth Century”. Some six years ago one of Sir James Graham’s farmers, “Jock of the Gill” died very suddenly - dropped down dead, in fact. No inquest was held on the body; and though there was a vague suspicion in the neighbourhood that all was not exactly as it should be, the matter was nearly forgotten, and had ceased to be a subject of gossip, until about six weeks ago Jock’s ghost appeared to a man named Milburn, a ranter preacher, and informed him he had been murdered by his nephew, who, together with his niece, had lived with him many years before his death. The ghost story is related at length, for which there is no necessity here. Jemmy (the nephew) determined to convince his neighbours of his innocence, had the body - six years in the grave - disinterred in order to that he might touch it to see whether blood would flow! This disinterment actually took place “in the presence of two respectable surgeons from Longtown and many other idle spectators” in the churchyard of Kirkandrews upon Esk, almost in front of Sir J Graham’s windows at Netherby. The account says - “some one suggested that before the ground could be legally broken the clergyman’s leave must be obtained, and that as that was wanting, they desisted; but on Friday they returned at day break; whether the clergyman had been consulted or not we do not know”. Let us hope not, the clergyman, the rector of the parish, is Sir J Graham’s brother, who certainly could never sanction such a proceeding.
Now, Sir, I know nothing of this matter further than what is recorded in the Carlisle paper; but I do know well the neighbourhood in which the transaction is said to have taken place, and I speak without fear of contradiction when I say, that in the British Isles there is not a district so thoroughly, totally destitute - I mean in spiritual matters - so completely, disgracefully neglected, as that large scattered agricultural population lying to the east and north of Netherby. Were you to issue a “Commission of Inquiry” you would find there a state of things hardly credible in a Christian country. You would express your astonishment that Sir J Graham, while splendidly endowing Maynooth, and founding new Irish colleges, had no eye to, no sympathy for, the spiritual wants of his own neighbourhood.
The account does not surprise me at all, it is only what one would expect. Poor James Graham or “Jemmy o’the Gill” as he is called, differs simply from a hog in having only two legs - he had never had, nor ever has, any opportunity of knowing anything better. Did he ever enter a church? Did he ever see a clergyman at the Gill or the Thorney-knowe? Is a tithe of the interest taken in his spiritual welfare - a tithe of the facilities for spiritual instruction afforded him that are afforded to the aborigines of New Zealand? Assuredly not.
Pray, Sir, in some way take some notice of this. Sir James will be at Netherby during the recess - do beg of him to turn his attention, for a short time, from Maynooth and the “gigantic scheme of godless education” to the Forest and Solport - he can hardly refuse.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A BORDERER
The headstone of John Johnston - "Jock o'the Gill" and his nephew James "Jemmy" Graham, in Kirkandrews on Esk churchyard. The inscription reads:
Sacred to the memory of John Johnson who died at Banton Gill May 11th 1840 aged 80 years. Also James Graham his nephew who died at Thorneyknowe Dec 22nd 1872 aged 70 years.
Jock's ghost did not, after all reappear at Christmas to tear his nephew into pieces!
