[...] We were informed the time reached back over a hundred years; and when that picturesque and triple range, the Black, Middle, and White Mountains of Cullenagh were covered with a thick growth of primeval timber, the forest was infested with wild black cats, which were known to be malicious, and were dreaded by the country people, as if they were demons.
In a deep gorge, through which a small rapid stream descends in a succession of tiny waterfalls between the Black and Middle Mountains, there lived all alone an old hag, who practised charms, and healed various diseases and affections, by gathering herbs and simples. She gave it to be understood, that these were mixed with the blood of a black cat, which she caught occasionally, and then sacrificed, with some incantations calculated to effect a cure.
How she lived there was a mystery to many, and few of the Cullenagh people cared to cultivate the acquaintance of that sorceress, whose reputation for magic, nevertheless, was widely extended. From distant places, people were known to visit her, and having been guided through the by-ways which led to her shieling, they returned with philtres and ointments and drugs to be applied as she directed. A fee was exacted and cheerfully paid in each case.
A natural enmity sprang up between herself and the wild cats, so that whenever she ventured abroad, these animals beset her way in troops, and grinned vengefully and screamed loudly on her approach. The hag carried a stout blackthorn stick, which she was able to wield with vigour; and if any came too near its stroke, they were sure to pay the forfeit with their lives. The resentment of the survivors resembled that of the peasant’s wild justice of revenge, and it was treasured up for an opportunity of wreaking dire vengeance on the oppressor of their breed and race.
The fine castellated mansion of the Cullenagh Barringtons then arose on the northern slope of the Black Mountain, and there at the present day, its ruined and roofless walls are still to be seen. It was sheltered towards the rear by the spreading forests, then a great covert for game, while an extensive view opened in front over pasture and corn fields, and this was closed in the distance by the circling range of Fossey and Timahoe Mountains.
There the celebrated Sir Jonah Barrington spent much of his youthful life in the last century with his aged grandfather, whose peculiarities are so humorously described in his Personal Memoirs. At all times, the Barringtons were addicted to hunting and field sports. They kept packs of harriers, while pointers and setters and greyhounds accompanied their rambles over the fields and through the woods. Frequently their fowling pieces rang through the latter; and being excellent shots, after a day’s sport, they returned home, their game-bags usually filled with woodcock, grouse and pheasants.
Now they had a wood-ranger, called Watt, who had charge of preserving the game, and of rambling among the brakes, to warn poachers against trespass on the hares and rabbits, that preyed in numbers on their tenants’ growing corn. Watt was a frolicsome and foolhardy character, never brought up to any other occupation, and who preferred entirely the woodman’s independent and rather solitary life, to any regular course of manual industry.
He often passed through that glen, where the old hag’s cabin stood, and in his rounds sometimes stopped awhile to make observations; for, in common with all living on the estate, he was curious to glean some definite knowledge of her habits and mode of living. Sometimes she opened the door very cautiously, to learn who was coming, and then to bid him the time of day; but all the professions of friendship and blandishments he used could not induce her to invite him into her cabin.
It so happened, nevertheless, that while on his range one day, with greyhound and gun, and peering through the woods, a hare suddenly appeared across his pathway, and from all sides he heard a growling of wild cats, as if approaching towards himself. He soon found, however, that the object of their pursuit was the poor frightened hare; and in whatever quarter she turned, one or other of the cats seemed to head her off, as the circle narrowed around her.
At last, after several doublings, she turned towards Watt, and making one desperate spring, the hare jumped full on to his breast, and she clung to him with paws extended on his shoulders, her heart violently palpitating with fear. At first he was startled, but moved to compassion for the poor animal’s terror, he resolved to save her.
The dog by his side was even impatient to pounce on the poor creature; yet was he restrained by the looks and motions of his master. Still the growlers around him appeared to be increasing in number, while the trees seemed to be alive with the wild cats, and their shrill screams were piercing to the ear.
Meanwhile, to the astonishment of her protector, the hare cried out in a plaintive voice:
“For your life, Watt, for your life, Watt, don’t let them near me!”
Terrified out of his wits, at the idea of holding a bewitched creature in his arms, the wood-ranger lost all presence of mind, and at once vigorously wrenched the hare from his embrace, and threw her far away from him.
Immediately the dog gave chase, and she bounded up the glen towards the old hag’s cabin with the speed of lightning, the greyhound gaining on her at every stretch, but frequently balked of his prey by her occasioned doublings.
At last she reached the cabin, the window of which lay open, while the woods around echoed the vengeful screams of the wild cats. However, just as the terrified hare had jumped on to the window-sill, the greyhound was so close on her trail, that with open jaws he seized her hindmost leg, and his sharp teeth severed it completely from the body.
Having thus narrowly escaped capture, the hare reached the interior, when the window casement suddenly closed down and excluded her pursuer.
Following up the chase with the keen interest of a sportsman, Watt was soon on the scene, and he heard piteous wailings from within the hag’s cabin. Raising the latch, he entered, and found only the occupant of his acquaintance in a bed—but with the stump of her amputated limb extended from the covering, and blood streaming from it in great profusion.
He now well knew, that she was a sorceress, who had assumed the form of a hare for some unaccountable purpose he could not divine; and therefore he thought it best to get away with all haste from the cottage, unheeding her screams and entreaties to remain and bandage her limb, as otherwise she must bleed to death.
In the flurry of the moment, he left the door open; and calling away the greyhound, both followed the bridle-road down the wooded glen.
No sooner had the hag been left alone, than the troop of wild cats entered the cabin; and finding its former occupant maimed and helpless, they fell upon her, scratched and gnawed her to that degree, that she perished miserably. Only her mangled remains were found the next day, when such a ghastly discovery was made.
Every vestige of the cabin tenanted by the sorceress has long since disappeared; even the grand forest trees have been cut down, with the exception of a stripe of woodland, which winds down the rugged glen, on either side of the gurgling stream, that separates the over-topping Slieve Dubh from the Middle Mountain of lesser elevation. [...]
