Thrawn Janet by
The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish
of Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man,
dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life,
without relative or servant or any human company, in the small and
lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure of
his features, his eye was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he
dwelt, in private admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it
seemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of time to the terrors
of eternity. Many young persons, coming to prepare themselves against
the season of the Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk.
He had a sermon on 1st Peter, v. and 8th, The devil as a roaring
lion, on the Sunday after every seventeenth of August, and he was
accustomed to surpass himself upon that text both by the appalling
nature of the matter and the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The
children were frightened into fits, and the old looked more than
usually oracular, and were, all that day, full of those hints that
Hamlet deprecated. The manse itself, where it stood by the water of
Dule among some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the one
side, and on the other many cold, moorish hill-tops rising toward the
sky, had begun, at a very early period of Mr. Soulis's ministry, to be
avoided in the dusk hours by all who valued themselves upon their
prudence; and guidmen sitting at the clachan alehouse shook their heads
together at the thought of passing late by that uncanny neighbourhood.
There was one spot, to be more particular, which was regarded with
especial awe. The manse stood between the highroad and the water of
Dule with a gable to each; its back was toward the kirktown of
Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of it, a bare garden,
hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river and the road.
The house was two stories high, with two large rooms on each. It opened
not directly on the garden, but on a causewayed path, or passage,
giving on the road on the one hand, and closed on the other by the tall
willows and elders that bordered on the stream. And it was this strip
of causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary so
infamous a reputation. The minister walked there often after dark,
sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; and
when he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daring
schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to follow my leader across
that legendary spot.
This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of
spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and
subject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance or
business into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of the
people of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which had
marked the first year of Mr. Soulis's ministrations; and among those
who were better informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy
of that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of the older folk
would warm into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the cause
of the minister's strange and solitary life.
* * * * *
Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam' first into Ba'weary, he was
still a young mana callant, the folk saidfu' o' book learnin' and
grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi'
nae leevin' experience in religion. The younger sort were greatly taken
wi' his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women
were moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a
self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied. It
was before the days o' the moderatesweary fa' them; but ill things
are like guidthey baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and
there were folk even then that said the Lord had left the college
professors to their ain devices an' the lads that went to study wi'
them wad hae done mair and better sittin' in a peat-bog, like their
forbears of the persecution, wi' a Bible under their oxter and a
speerit o' prayer in their heart. There was nae doubt, onyway, but that
Mr. Soulis had been ower lang at the college. He was careful and
troubled for mony things besides the ae thing needful. He had a feck o'
books wi' himmair than had ever been seen before in a' that
presbytery; and a sair wark the carrier had wi' them, for they were a'
like to have smoored in the Deil's Hag between this and Kilmackerlie.
They were books o' divinity, to be sure, or so they ca'd them; but the
serious were o' opinion there was little service for sae mony, when the
hail o' God's Word would gang in the neuk of a plaid. Then he wad sit
half the day and half the nicht forbye, which was scant decentwritin'
nae less; and first, they were feared he wad read his sermons; and syne
it proved he was writin' a book himsel', which was surely no fittin'
for ane of his years and sma' experience.
Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse
for him an' see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld
limmerJanet M'Clour, they ca'ed herand sae far left to himsel' as
to be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar, for
Janet was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba'weary. Lang or
that, she had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit for
maybe thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin' to hersel' up on
Key's Loan in the gloamin', whilk was an unco time an' place for a
God-fearin' woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel' that had first
tauld the minister o' Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far
gate to pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to
the deil, it was a' superstition by his way of it; an' when they cast
up the Bible to him an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their
thrapples that thir days were a' gane by, and the deil was mercifully
 To come forritto offer oneself as a communicant.
Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M'Clour was to be
servant at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi' her an' him thegether;
and some o' the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door
cheeks and chairge her wi' a' that was ken't again her, frae the
sodger's bairn to John Tamson's twa kye. She was nae great speaker;
folk usually let her gang her ain gate, an' she let them gang theirs,
wi' neither Fair-gui-deen nor Fair-guid-day; but when she buckled to,
she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she got, an' there wasnae an
auld story in Ba'weary but she gart somebody lowp for it that day; they
couldnae say ae thing but she could say twa to it; till, at the hinder
end, the guidwives up and claught hand of her, and clawed the coats aff
her back, and pu'd her doun the clachan to the water o' Dule, to see if
she were a witch or no, soum or droun. The carline skirled till ye
could hear her at the Hangin' Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was
mony a guidwife bure the mark of her neist day an' mony a lang day
after; and just in the hettest o' the collieshangie, wha suld come up
(for his sins) but the new minister.
Women, said he (and he had a grand voice), I charge you in the
Lord's name to let her go.
Janet ran to himshe was fair wud wi' terroran' clang to him, an'
prayed him, for Christ's sake, save her frae the cummers; an' they, for
their part, tauld him a' that was ken't, and maybe mair.
Woman, says he to Janet, is this true?
As the Lord sees me, says she, as the Lord made me, no a word
o't. Forbye the bairn, says she, I've been a decent woman a' my
Will you, says Mr. Soulis, in the name of God, and before me, His
unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?
Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that
fairly frichtit them that saw her, an' they could hear her teeth play
dirl thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae
way or the ither; an' Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil
before them a'.
And now, says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, home with ye, one and
all, and pray to God for His forgiveness.
And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark,
and took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land;
an' her scrieghin, and laughin' as was a scandal to be heard.
There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but
when the morn cam' there was sic a fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that the
bairns hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their
doors. For there was Janet comin' doun the clachanher or her
likeness, nane could tellwi' her neck thrawn, and her held on ae
side, like a body that has been hangit, and a grin on her face like an
unstreakit corp. By an' by they got used wi' it, and even speered at
her to ken what was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak
like a Christian woman, but slavered and played click wi' her teeth
like a pair o' shears; and frae that day forth the name o' God cam'
never on her lips. Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be.
Them that kenned best said least; but they never gied that Thing the
name o' Janet M'Clour; for the auld Janet, by their way o't, was in
muckle hell that day. But the minister was neither to haud nor to bind;
he preached about naething but the folk's cruelty that had gi'en her a
stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that meddled her; and he had
her up to the manse that same nicht, and dwalled there a' his lane wi'
her under the Hangin' Shaw.
Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair
lichtly o' that black business. The minister was weel thocht o'; he was
aye late at the writing, folk wad see his can'le doon by the Dule water
after twal' at e'en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' and upsitten as
at first, though a' body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet
she cam' an' she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason
she should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an
eldritch thing to see, an' nane wad hae mistrysted wi' her for Ba'weary
About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather, the like o't
never was in that countryside; it was lown an' het an' heartless; the
herds couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to
play; an' yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund that rummled in
the glens, and bits o' shouers that slockened naething. We aye thocht
it but to thun'er on the morn; but the morn cam', an' the morn's
morning, and it was aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and
bestial. Of a' that were the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he
could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an' when he wasnae
writin' at his weary book, he wad be stravaguin' ower a' the
countryside like a man possessed, when a' body else was blythe to keep
caller ben the house.
Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill, there's a bit
enclosed grund wi' an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that
was the kirkyaird o' Ba'weary, and consecrated by the Papists before
the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff, o' Mr.
Soulis's onyway; there he would sit an' consider his sermons; and inded
it's a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam' ower the wast end o' the Black
Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an' syne fower, an' syne seeven corbie
craws fleein' round an' round abune the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh
and heavy, an' squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr.
Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasnae easy
fleyed, an' gaed straucht up to the wa's; and what suld he find there
but a man, or the appearance of a man, sittin' in the inside upon a
grave. He was of a great stature, an' black as hell, and his e'en were
singular to see. Mr. Soulis had heard tell o' black men mony's the
time; but there was something unco about this black man that daunted
him. Het as he was, he took a kind o' cauld grue in the marrow o' his
banes; but up he spak for a' that; an' says he: My friend, are you a
stranger in this place? The black man answered never a word; he got
upon his feet, an' begude to hirsle to the wa' on the far side; but he
aye lookit at the minister; an' the minister stood an' lookit back;
till a' in a meenute the black man was ower the wa' an' runnin' for the
bield o' the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him;
but he was sair forjaskit wi' his walk an' the het, unhalsome weather;
and rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o' the black man
amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o' the hillside, an'
there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an' lowp, ower Dule water
to the manse.
 It was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared as a
black man. This appears in several witch trials and I think in Law's
Memorials, that delightful storehouse of the quaint and grisly.
Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak'
sae free wi' Ba'weary manse; an' he ran the harder, an' wet shoon, ower
the burn, an' up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see.
He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a'
ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the binder end, and a bit
feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and
there was Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn craig, and nane
sae pleased to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set
his een upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue.
Janet, says he, have you seen a black man?
A black man! quo' she. Save us a'! Ye're no wise, minister.
There's nae black man in a' Ba'weary.
But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered,
like a powny wi' the bit in its moo.
Weel, says he, Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken
with the Accuser of the Brethren.
And he sat doun like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in his
Hoots, says she, think shame to yoursel', minister; and gied him
a drap brandy that she keept aye by her.
Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a lang,
laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very dry even in
the top o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he
sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane since he was in Ba'weary,
an' his hame, an' the days when he was a bairn an' ran daffin' on the
braes; and that black man aye ran in his held like the owercome of a
sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' the black man. He
tried the prayer, an' the words wouldnae come to him; an' he tried,
they say, to write at his book, but he couldnae mak' nae mair o' that.
There was whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an' the swat
stood upon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he
cam' to himsel' like a christened bairn and minded naething.
The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at Dule
water. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' black
under the manse; and there was Janet washin' the cla'es wi' her coats
kilted. She had her back to the minister, an' he, for his pairt, hardly
kenned what he was lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed her
face: Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an'
it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne,
an' this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and
he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-trampin' in the cla'es, croonin'
to hersel'; and eh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles
she sang louder, but there was nae man born o' woman that could tell
the words o' her sang; an' whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there
was naething there for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the
flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven's advertisement. But Mr.
Soulis just blamed himsel', he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld
afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' he put up a bit
prayer for him an' her, an' drank a little caller waterfor his heart
rose again the meatan' gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming.
That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba'weary, the
nicht o' the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun'er' an' twal'. It
had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was better than
ever. The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as
the pit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han'
afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their
beds and lay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his
mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay
an' he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very
banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the
time o' nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin' up the muir, as if somebody
was deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin' in his lug, an'
whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He behoved, he judged, to be sick;
an' sick he waslittle he jaloosed the sickness.
At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his
sark on the bed-side, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man an'
Janet. He couldnae weel tell howmaybe it was the cauld to his
feetbut it cam' in up upon him wi' a spate that there was some
connection between thir twa, an' that either or baith o' them were
bogles. And just at that moment, in Janet's room, which was neist to
his, there cam' a stramp o' feet as if men were wars'lin', an' then a
loud bang; an' then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of
the house; an' then a' was ance mair as seelent as the grave.
Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He got his
tinder-box, an' lit a can'le. He made three steps o't ower to Janet's
door. It was on the hasp, an' he pushed it open, an' keeked bauldly in.
It was a big room, as big as the minister's ain, a' plenished wi'
grand, auld, solid gear, for he had nathing else. There was a
fower-posted bed wi' auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was
fu' o' the minister's divinity books, an' put there to be out o' the
gate; an' a wheen duds o' Janet's lying here and there about the floor.
But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he
gaed (an' there's few that wad ha'e followed him) an' lookit a' round,
an' listened. But there was naethin' to be heard, neither inside the
manse nor in a' Ba'weary parish, an' naethin' to be seen but the muckle
shadows turnin' round the can'le. An' then, a' at ance, the minister's
heart played dunt an' stood stock-still; an' a cauld wund blew amang
the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man's
een! For there was Janet hangin' frae a nail beside the auld aik
cabinet: her heid aye lay on her shouther, her een were steeked, the
tongue projeckit frae her mouth, and her heels were twa feet clear
abune the floor.
God forgive us all! thocht Mr. Soulis, poor Janet's dead.
He cam' a step nearer to the corp; an' then his heart fair whammled
in his inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge,
she was hingin' frae a single nail an' by a single wursted thread for
It's a awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan prodigies o'
darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' gaed his
ways oot o' that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and step by step,
doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can'le on the table
at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin'
wi' caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o'
his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa,
he minded sae little; when a' o' a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny
steer up-stairs; a foot gaed to an' fro in the chalmer whaur the corp
was hingin'; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he
had lockit it; an' syne there was a step upon the landin', an' it
seemed to him as if the corp was lookin' ower the rail and doun upon
him whaur he stood.
He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and as
saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to the far
end o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' th can'le, when
he set it on the grund, brunt steedy an clear as in a room; naething
moved, but the Dule water seepin' and sabbin' doon the glen, an' yon
unhaly footstep that cam' ploddin' doun the stairs inside the manse. He
kenned the foot ower weel, for it was Janet's; and at ilka step that
cam' a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He
commended his soul to Him that made an' keepit him; and O Lord, said
he, give me strength this night to war against the powers of evil.
By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door;
he could hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing was
feelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a long sigh
cam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot; an' there
stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram goun an' her black
mutch, wi' the heid upon the shouther, an' the grin still upon the face
o'tleevin', ye wad he saiddeid, as Mr. Soulis weel kennedupon the
threshold o' the manse.
It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled
into his perishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart
She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an' cam' slowly
towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the life o' his
body, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een. It
seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' the
left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the
can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an' Mr. Soulis keened that,
live or die, this was the end o't.
Witch, beldame, devil! he cried, I charge you, by the power of
God, begoneif you be dead, to the graveif you be damned, to hell.
An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the Heevens struck the
Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the
witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils,
lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the
thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back
o' that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi'
skelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan.
That same mornin', John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle
Cairn as it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house
at Knockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun linkin'
doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but it was him
that dwalled se lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' at last; and
sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary.
But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay
ravin' in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken