A farmer of Preston Bissett, named Heley, has for some time been much annoyed and terrified by his house being haunted. After retiring to rest (his daughter sleeping in the same room), they were, at the witching hour of night, constantly aroused by sundry thumpings and noises. The farmer at length spoke to the wife of a neighbour, who, knowing him to have a dislike to the “Ranters” who frequent the village, told him that it was a stratagem of theirs to endeavour to gain him to their faith; but this to him was but poor satisfaction.
Some workmen, engaged in the erection of a parsonage-house in the village, heard of the circumstance, and were solicitous with the landlord of the haunted house to allow them to remain in it for a few nights, and they would engage to find out the troubler. This the landlord agreed to, considering, as the farmer was going to leave, it would be difficult to let the house to any other. They accordingly, at night, repaired to the chamber, and Betsy (the name of the farmer’s daughter), for the sake of propriety, was for the time to lodge in the other chamber.
The watchers pursued their vigils till morning light, but received not the least intimation. As the old farmer had previously been unable to account for the noises for so many nights continuously heard, so now he was equally at a loss to account for their cessation, and, in order that a full and fair inquisition might be entered into, was determined to sacrifice any little etiquette and propriety by desiring that the next night Betsy should as usual remain in the same chamber, two other females being with her as companions, who desired that she should lay on the bed between them, but to this Betsy was by no means agreeable, determining to lay outside.
All things being arranged, the lights extinguished, &c., they awaited with almost breathless anxiety for the invisible power of the night; when, after some two or three hours had elapsed, a loud dead thumping was heard, and one of the party immediately ignited one of “Jones’ superior lucifers,” by which he discovered – what? – not a leg with a club foot certainly, but one possessing symmetry – not a faun or nymph in full figure, but a nymph’s leg in violent action from one side of the bed against the opposite wall, putting one in mind of a battering ram put in motion by steam.
It was discovered to be Betsy’s but of the circumstance she stoutly denied knowing any thing. The party, determining to finish the night there, insisted on Betsy’s removing into the middle of the bed, but it was not long before her arm assumed a similar action, and she was then declared to be the author of the trick.
The discovery soon spread round the village. She has since confessed, and the boys employed themselves in making an effigy of the enchantress, parading it through the streets, and concluding by consigning it to the flames.
Bucks Gazette, 28th March 1840.