Mother Crewe

: Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land

Mother Crewe was of evil repute in Plymouth in the last century. It was

said that she had taken pay for luring a girl into her old farm-house,

where a man lay dead of small-pox, with intent to harm her beauty; she

was accused of blighting land and driving ships ashore with spells; in

brief, she was called a witch, and people, even those who affected to

ignore the craft of wizardry, were content to keep away from her. When

/> the Revolution ended, Southward Howland demanded Dame Crewe's house and

acre, claiming under law of entail, though primogeniture had been little

enforced in America, where there was room and to spare for all. But

Howland was stubborn and the woman's house had good situation, so one day

he rode to her door and summoned her with a tap of his whip.

What do you here on my land? said he.

I live on land that is my own. I cleared it, built my house here, and no

other has claim to it.

Then I lay claim. The place is mine. I shall tear your cabin down on


On Friday they'll dig your grave on Burying Hill. I see the shadow

closing round you. You draw it in with every breath. Quick! Home and make

your peace! The hag's withered face was touched with spots of red and

her eyes glared in their sunken sockets.

Bandy no witch words with me, woman. On Friday I will return. And he

swung himself into his saddle. As he did so a black cat leaped on Mother

Crewe's shoulder and stood there, squalling. The woman listened to its

cries as if they were words. Her look of hate deepened. Raising her hand,

she cried, Your day is near its end. Repent!

Bah! You have heard what I have said. If on Friday you are not

elsewhere, I'll tear the timbers down and bury you in the ruins.

Enough! cried the woman, her form straightening, her voice grown

shrill. My curse is on you here and hereafter. Die! Then go down to


As she said this the cat leaped from her shoulder to the flank of the

horse, spitting and clawing, and the frightened steed set off at a

furious pace. As he disappeared in the scrub oaks his master was seen

vainly trying to stop him. The evening closed in with fog and chill, and

before the light waned a man faring homeward came upon the corpse of

Southward Howland stretched along the ground.