The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (64 page)

Now the market-folk gathered round to see what was amiss with the old woman. Peggy, still sitting on the ground, wailed and cried that Tom Tregher had put her eye out by his black magic and that
he had been going round their stalls
stealing their goods. Some accused her of drinking and others told her to get back to Pendeen and sober up.

Angered by their refusal to do anything, she decided to take herself off and went up by way of Castle Horneck and came to the high road there. When she reached there, she remembered the bottle
Jan Tregher had given her for Squire Bosanko. It would be no harm to have just a wee nip from it. Just to revive her spirits. So she did. Then she started along the road and soon the darkness came
down on her, for the sun was now well below the horizon and it was truly the
Nos Calan Gwaf
.

However, by this time, old Peggy Tregear had taken quite a few nips from the bottle and was not concerned at all. She just wanted to get home and report how Tom Tregher had put her eye out to
Squire Bosanko, not to mention what she knew about his thieving at the market.

As she went down the lane, through the little hamlet of Tremayne and beyond, she saw, on the road ahead of her, a man on a large horse silhouetted against the rising moon. Now Squire Bosanko
owned such a large horse and, in her drink-befuddled state, old Peggy Tregear immediately thought that this was the squire.

“
Dew re-sonno dhys
,” she greeted. “Give ’ee a good evening, squire,” she said.

The man sat still and straight in the saddle and did not reply at all, but the old woman did not seem to notice this.

“I’ve had a queer day, your honour,” she went on and proceeded to tell him everything which had happened since she left home. However, when the man still sat there and made no
reply, the old woman grew impatient.

“Now I’ve been long on the road today, your honour, and in spite of being footsore and leg-weary and now being blinded in the one eye by Tom Tregher, I have been hurrying back with
my purchases from Penzance to cook your dinner. I think it would be a gentlemanly thing to do to take me up on the back of your horse and we can ride back to Pendeen. It would be a kindness and
your dinner would be cooked the sooner.”

But the man still sat there, quiet as death, without replying.

Old Peggy Tregear stamped her foot in annoyance. “Why don’t you speak to me? Are you asleep? Are you and your horse taking a nap? For you are both standing so
quiet there.”

Still there was no reply.

Then the old woman shouted as loud as she could. “You know me, Squire Bosanko, and if you be the gentleman everyone knows you to be, then you will take me up behind you.”

Yet still he did not make a murmur.

“Are you drunk, then?” demanded Peggy Tregear, raising her courage to so address her master. “Is it drunk that what you are, so still and quiet? Is it a drop too much drink
that you have taken and fallen asleep there? Shame on you!”

Still there was no movement nor answer.

Hands on hips, the old woman sneered at the man. “A fine thing! Squire Bosanko drunk, and his horse as well. Well, I am as fine a lady as any Bosanko and will not be treated thus. Time was
when we Tregears were first among the people of the parish and buried with the other gentry of Pendeen, when the Bosankos had never been heard of.”

If she had hoped her scorn would move the horse and rider, it had no effect at all. They were still silent and immovable.

Angered beyond endurance, the old woman moved forward and gave the animal a mighty smack on the rump.

You can imagine her surprise when her hand met nothing but air, and such was the force of her weight behind the blow that she lost her balance and fell on the road. When she sat up, blinking,
she saw that the horse and rider were vanished.

“A curse on Tom Tregher,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “He must be bewitching me.”

She gave a cautious look around in the shadowy moon-lit lane, but could make nothing out. Then she was on her feet and the soles of her shoes were slapping down the lane as fast as she could put
one foot before the other. So intent was she on reaching Pendeen that, when she went over the stream at Newbridge, except there was no bridge at all at that place in those days, she did not wait to
balance on the crossing stones but went splashing through the stream, so she had water up to her knees and above.

Along the road she went, drenched and sorry for herself as well as exhausted. She kept the stream to her right, for she planned to go through the hills and across the road
that led by the old Standing Stone which would take her across Wood Gumpus Common.

She suddenly saw a light on her right hand and recalled that the Tregerest dwelling was there; she thought the light must be shining from the window of the dwelling. Here she could ask if she
could dry her clothes and rest for a while. So off she set. She did not know how far she walked because the curious thing was that, the more she hurried towards it, the light always seemed just the
same distance away. Then the light went out and left her in darkness.

She was across the hills and knew she must have been hurrying across Boswens Common and away from the main road. There she was, floundering along in boggy land. She was almost in despair. Then
the moon came peeking out from behind the dark clouds and before her she saw a pig pen with a little shed for the shelter of the animals. She was so exhausted that she would have welcomed any
shelter at all, to sit down and rest and be dry for a while.

Into the little shed she crawled, that she might take an hour’s rest from the cold and damp of the evening. There was some straw inside and she did not take heed of the smell of the pigs.
Onto the straw she went and was soon asleep.

Now the pig pen contained a dozen young suckling pigs and these came into the shed and mistook old Peggy Tregear for their dam. They crowded round, pushing her with their snouts, so that there
was no way she could rest nor lay nor sit in comfort.

Tired, angry and confused, the old woman crawled out of the pig pen and then paused in surprise.

Not far away she could see a light and it seemed to come from a big barn. She heard the sound of a
fust
, a flail, being used against wheat. Now she knew that there was only one farm in
that area, and that was Boslow’s farm. She wondered what the farmer was doing so late in the evening, threshing corn, but she was more concerned that there was somewhere warm where she might
dry and rest herself.

She made for the barn and peered in.

There was a lamp lit there, sure enough. There was the slash-staff, the beating part of the flail, going up and down, beating the wheat. But, heaven preserve her, there was no one holding it. It
seemed to be doing it on its own.

She swallowed hard and blinked. Was she going mad? Being of a curious mind, she moved cautiously into the barn. So intent was she, on looking at the flail in action, that she tripped over a sack
and measured her length on the ground. She felt that she had landed against something soft.

There was a cry of pain.

The next moment, she found herself looking at a little man, no higher than two feet. His face was long, the eyes great round owl’s eyes, shaded by shaggy eyebrows. His mouth stretched from
ear to ear and they were sharp and pointed. His teeth were long and jagged and his skin was a strange green colour.

Now Peggy Tregear was not stupid when it came to knowing the
pisky
lore.

“This is luck, indeed, for whoever espies a
pisky
threshing is sure to have a wish granted.”

She sat up and was about to address the little man when she became aware that there were a number of other little people all around her. They were all engaged in threshing the wheat. She could
not help but admire how professionally the wheat was cut, stacked and ready for the collection.

There was a tinge of jealousy in her.

How come farmer Boslow had this special treatment from the
pisky
folk, that they would thresh his corn for him while he stretched in front of his fire and ate his meal in comfort, without
having to worry about work? Maybe she could get the
piskies
to do work for her?

So she climbed to her feet.

“A good evening to you, little folk,” she said.

Suddenly all the lights went out and they vanished. But a handful of chaff dust was thrown into her eyes so that she was nearly blinded. She blinked and rubbed hard. She had forgotten the rule
that, in order to speak to the fairy folk, she had to first take one by the hand and hold him, or her, fast.

Then she heard a voice hissing in her ear.

“Ill becomes she who would spy on the
pisky
at their work.”

She felt suddenly afraid when she remembered that
piskies
were known to take revenge on any who stumbled across them and had no hold on them.

So she turned and went stumbling from the barn and from Boslow to the roadway, which was now lit with the moonlight. Quick she ran along the lane that led over Wood Gumpus Common. Even today it
is a haunted place, with its stone circles, earns and strange earth mounds. Folk still dread to take that haunted lane. Locals will tell you that on such nights, with the full of the moon, the
Torpen, which is their name for the Devil himself, rode across those grim moors with his hounds in search of restless spirits that might have strayed from the stone-walled churchyards. The hounds
from hell would hunt them down and drag them off to eternal suffering. And, further, they will tell you that the Torpen was not so particular as to wait until your body was dead but would hunt out
the souls of the living and drag them off as well.

Old Peggy Tregear was full of fear now as she went slapping her leather-soled way along the lane and hoping to see sight of Higher Boscaswell and the crossroads there, which would bring her down
towards Pendeen Watch and the safety of Pendeen House. Ah, Pendeen House! Her mind was full of thoughts of a nice warm fire in her kitchen, of warmth and a comfortable chair and a good bottle of
spirits in her hand.

But she seemed to be running for hours. Surely Higher Boscaswell was not so far from Boslow’s farm?

Now she was hurrying along the lane when a curious thing began to happen. She began to hear music, fiddles scraping a merry jig and she felt she had to stop and try a few steps. The music seemed
to come from behind some tall trees and there seemed to be a light there and the sound of people laughing, dancing and making music. She thought that perhaps there was an encampment of tinkers
there. She would see if she could warm herself by their fire for a moment or two before continuing her journey.

She left the road and came behind the trees and what did she see? Among the trees and the rocks was a fair. But such a fair that she had never seen before. It was a
pisky
fair. Hundreds of small people were crowding around, buying, selling, drinking and dancing and eating. They were all clad in splendid little costumes and most were bedecked with silver
and gold and precious jewels. They were dressed like gentry, all very smart. None of them was taller than two feet in height.

She stood quiet as she watched them, especially the dancers as they gathered round the bonfire. There were fiddlers and pipers and drummers and old Peggy never felt more inclined to get up and
dance in all her life. The music seemed to have a strange hypnotic effect on her.

Then her eye fell on the stalls of the fair and she realized how beautiful were the objects being bought and sold. She determined that she must have something to take away. She saw a stall with
some beautiful jewels which made her feel that she had to have them at any cost. She took a step forward towards the stall and bent down to speak with the stall holder.

As she did so, the little people began to call out in rage and point to her. As she bent to speak with them, half-a-dozen leapt onto her back. They dug their heels in and some prodded her with
tiny swords, like pins. Others tripped her so that she fell flat on the ground. They began to leap all over her and she tried to bundle herself up into a ball. They pulled off her shoes, and dug
their little swords into the soles of her feet and she went almost mad with their torment.

Fighting them, she rolled and rolled, and cursed them and hit out with her rowan stick. Now the rowan, as we know, has many properties, and it so happened that as she struck out, it hit the head
of the king of these
piskies
. Now
piskies
are allergic to the rowan and the king screamed and went leaping away. In a moment, the others followed, the fair disappeared and all was
deserted.

Old Peggy Tregear found herself sprawled on damp bracken, minus her shoes, in a bit of boggy land under the trees. She was cold and miserable and aching. The moon was now low
and the stars shining. She realized to her horror that it was early in the morning and she had come down off Wood Gumpus Common by Bojewyan and could see the dark outline of Pendeen
House.

She scrambled to her feet and tried to find her shoes, her hat and her basket. She found the basket, but it was empty. All her purchases at Penzance were gone. There was nothing to do but take
up her stick and hobble barefooted to Pendeen House.

At the gate she paused and glanced at the sky.

It would soon be dawn and she was thinking that she should at least thank her lucky stars that she would soon be in her own bed and asleep within a minute or two.

Now, from the gate of Pendeen, you have to pass over several acres of grounds which are uncultivated. The ground goes down to the cliffs at Pendeen Watch on the north side and overlooks the
rocky cove by the island rock which is called simply, in Cornish, The Enys – the island. Old Squire Bosanko, so they say, had stocked the ground with many breeds of rabbits, tame and wild,
and provided a sort of sanctuary for them, where they were never hunted. Now the rabbits, eating the furze and grass, provided a nice soft path to Pendeen House and, as old Peggy Tregear now had no
shoes, she thought she would tread along the soft grass instead of sticking to the rocky road which led straight up to the house.