Dirty Dick, or, The Hounds of the Cabells

Of the origin of the Cabell Hounds, which are still known to roam the moors and valleys in Devonshire, there have been many statements, some partly true, and some false. But what will follow is the God’s own truth, as known to the descendants of the Cabell family, a family once sunk so deep in sins that it was hard for them to find the way back. Yet we must remember that the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy that it would not be possible to remove it by prayer and repentance. The Cabells had to learn not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather not to sin in the future, so that those foul passions which used to consume them are not loosed again.

In the time of the Great Rebellion, Brooke Hall, in Devonshire, was held by Sir Richard Cabell, who was a most wild, profane, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned: saints have never flourished in those parts. But there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a by-word through the west counties. To this day the people in Dartmoor remember him as Dirty Dick, a man obsessed by hunting and feasts.

He had a wife, Elizabeth, a daughter of Sir Edmund Fowell, of Fowelscombe, in the parish of Ugborough, Devon. She was, reportedly, a very beautiful woman, with a taste and manners much more refined than that of her wicked husband. Sir Richard loved her (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name), but was also so often blind with jealousy that several times Lady Elizabeth had serious reasons to fear for her life. But it chanced that one day he suspected her of having an affair with a son of a yeoman who held lands near Brooke Hall. This could not be true, as he would have understood, had he listened to the voice of reason. But the wretched squire accused her of infidelity and threatened to publicly dispose her; upon which he locked her in one of the upper chambers. He himself and his friends, meanwhile, sat down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom. Soon their cries, wild songs and the clinging of the cutlery drowned Elizabeth’s distant sobbing.

Had she not been of a sterner stock, she would have gone mad at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Dirty Dick, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear – for who could know if Cabell was going to leave her alive at all – she did that which might have been too much of a challenge for the bravest or most active man. By the help of the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall of the Hall, she came down from under the eaves, and ran bravely across the moor, designing to find the means to reach her father’s home in Fowelscombe and there to seek refuge from the madman. No one in the Hall saw the unfortunate woman leave. One creature, nonetheless, followed her: it was her faithful dog, a large, grey creature, a mixture of a bloodhound and a mastiff. The hound was accustomed never to let his mistress out of sight, and now, at the time of danger, he turned out to be running beside her.

Some little time later Ruchard left his guests to carry food and drink – with other worse things, perhaps – to his captive wife, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became as one that has a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table, bottles, plates and goblets flying before him, and he cried aloud before all the company that he would that very night sell his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. And while the drunken squires stood looking in astonishment at the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. Sir Richard obviously liked the idea, because he ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his horse and unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds his wife’s kerchief, he let them run off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.

For some time his guests stood unable to understand all that had been done in such haste. But soon, through the haze of wine, their wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was going to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar: some were calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for another bottle of wine. But eventually some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took their horses and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they rode fast, taking that course which the woman must have taken if she were to reach her father’s home.

They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they asked him if he had seen the hunt. But the man was so crazed with fear that he could barely speak. At last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy lady, with the hounds upon her track. ‘But I have seen more than that,’ said he, ‘for Richard Cabell passed me upon his black horse, and there ran silently behind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever follow me.’

So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode on. But soon their skin turned cold, for there came a sound of galloping across the moor, and the black horse, all in white froth, went past with empty saddle. Then the men rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad to turn back. Riding slowly in this fashion, they finally saw the hounds. These, though known for their savageness, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them.

The company stopped, more sober men, as can be guessed, than when they started. Most of them would by no means come forward, but three of them, the boldest, or, it may be, the most drunken, rode down to the goyal. Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy lady where she had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor of the body of Richard Cabell lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three reckless squires. No, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eyes seen. It was standing over Richard, and, at that very moment, plucking at his throat.

* * *

It took the drunkards some time to realise that the beast was, in fact, that of the mistress of Brooke Hall – that very faithful dog which had accompanied her in her flight from the house. But what a change came over it! Yes, it was still a hound, an enormous coal-black hound, but now fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes had in them a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and chest were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more horrible, more hellish be conjured than that dark form and savage face which now stood in the moonlit clearing.

* * *

And, even as they looked, the beast tore the throat out of Richard Cabell. Then it turned its fiery eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three cried with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One of them died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were broken men for the rest of their days. As to Cabell’s pack of hounds, they scattered over the moor, because they, too, were very frightened by that awful apparition.

Next day the funeral took place. As Richard died with such an evil reputation, it was decided to place him under a heavy stone, and a sort of stone penthouse was built over that with iron gratings to it to prevent his coming up and haunting the neighbourhood.

On the very night of his interment, however, a phantom pack of hounds came running across the moor to howl at his tomb. And from that night on, many inhabitants of the area saw Richard being pursued by the dogs, usually on the anniversary of his death. If the pack were not out hunting, they could be found around his grave howling and shrieking. And at the head of the pack there is always that huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral, which was the cause of Dirty Dick’s death – if, of course, his intention to set the hounds upon his own wife, a fine, honest and loving woman, can be laid aside as not being a direct reason. The reign of terror in the district continued for many years after these tragic events, and even now there are very few who will cross the ill-omened moor at night.

* * *

Such is the tale of the coming of the hounds have avenged the Cabell family so sorely ever since. It is good to know the truth of it, because that which is clearly known has less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. It cannot be denied that many of the family died under strange circumstances, and their deaths were sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet the infinite goodness of Providence will remove the ban from the innocent, born beyond that third or fourth generation, as it is written in the Bible. To that Providence everyone should commence themselves. But, for the sake of safety, it is still better to avoid crossing the Devonshire moorland in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted.