# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 5/Meg of Meldon

MEG OF MELDON.
In the almost ruined mansion of Seaton Delaval, situated on the sea-coast a few miles north of Newcastle-on-Tyne, there was to be seen, a few years ago, the portrait of a female, which, from the singular dress displayed in it, and the remarkable countenance of the woman represented, was sure to attract the notice of every observant visitor.
The person who was thus portrayed was the Lady Margaret Fenwick; but if you had asked the old keeper of the Hall for any information respecting her, you would only have learnt that “that was Meg o’ Meldon, sure enough,” for by no other name is this somewhat extraordinary woman known to the rural inhabitants of Northumberland.
There is hardly any portion of England so rich in legendary and historical lore as the Border country, and not a few of the ghostly traditions which you may hear round the blazing fire of a Northumbrian pit-man, have Meg of Meldon for their heroine. A few particulars respecting her may not, therefore, be uninteresting to the general reader, as well as to the student of folklore; though, indeed, the strict accuracy of all that we may say about her we are by no means prepared to attest.
To begin with some truth, however, let us here state that Meg was the daughter of one of the principal inhabitants of Newcastle-on-Tyne, and the wife of Sir William Fenwick, of Wallington. Her husband died early, and she was left with an only child—a son. Her attachment for her offspring, however, is the only good which tradition can tell of her. In every other respect she bore a terrible character. She resided principally at Hartington Hall, not far from Morpeth, and there she used to live from year to year, scraping together wealth of every description, and seldom being troubled in business affairs with any samples of conscience. She lived in the most wretched style, denying herself and the one or two lean servants whom she kept everything but the merest necessaries of life. She had, too, a propensity which by no means added to her popularity, for appropriating the smallest savings of the most miserable husbandmen who came within her reach, as well as the more tempting gains of her higher-class tenants. As she grew older, she became worse and worse. She turned off all her servants save one, and she took to living solely on such vegetables as her own extensive gardens provided. But though thus all but starving herself, she continued to live to a great age; at last her oppressed dependents came to the conclusion that she had formed a solemn covenant with Satan, who had agreed to allow her to live as long as nature would permit, and to accumulate wealth rapidly during the whole of her lifetime, on the condition which is generally inserted into the bonds of his Satanic majesty. And so the old woman lived on, and grew richer and richer, until she absolutely rolled in wealth. But all her ill"gotten gains brought her little peace of mind: she was ever haunted by the fear of being robbed; and the terrified inhabitants of the country round Hartington used often to remark her wandering by night as well as by day round certain spots in the neighbourhood of Meldon, which in after years they did not fail to recal to mind.
At last, however, she died, and had as grand a funeral as could have been wished for. She has survived her son, so the estate descended to a distant relative, who very quickly made Meg’s money go in ways the mere thought of which would have been sufficient in her early days to cut off that excellent woman prematurely. But she had scarcely been in her grave a month when rumours began to circulate among the country people as to her having been compelled to leave it by the master she had served so well whilst on earth. She had been condemned, it was said, to “walk” and to sleep alternately for seven years at a time, until certain bags of money, which report said she had secreted about her estate, were found and appropriated. Numerous were the tales which now began to circulate respecting her ​supernatural post-mortem appearances. The whole country-side became alarmed, and he was a bold man who dared go any distance from his home after nightfall. There were certain spots which she seemed particularly to affect. One of these was the old bridge at Meldon, over the Wansbeck; another was a dilapidated well near Meldon Tower. Once a farmer, riding home from market, happened to be passing over the bridge about midnight, when he was somewhat surprised to see a large black dog lying directly in his way upon it. He took his whip, however, and gave the brute a smart cut, when, to his horror, it suddenly arose in the form of a female of tremendous dimensions, who, seizing him by the throat, nearly stifled him before she relaxed her deadly hold. When she did so, she flung the luckless wight into the bottom of his cart, exclaiming, “let sleeping dogs lie,” and then sprang over the battlements of the bridge, and disappeared in the clear waters of the Wansbeck. To this day there are some of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood who would as soon think of walking into a blast furnace as of rousing a sleeping dog, especially if his cost should be black. Then, again, there were some who declared they had seen Meg in the form of a beautiful female, who tried by looks and gestures to allure them towards the well aforesaid, and who tore her hair and seemed to be overcome with rage and vexation when she found that they did not succumb to her fascinations.
But though everybody was so chary of having anything to do with her during the hours of darkness, there were not a few who in broad daylight tried to enrich themselves by becoming the fortunate discoverers of some of her hidden treasure. Many an attempt was made with this end in view, but all without avail; till at last people began to lose faith in her reputed riches, and gave up thinking about, or looking for them. There was, however, one man who was either less superstitious, or more covetous, than his neighbours, and he determined to make a desperate effort to enrich himself. He would look for Meg’s treasure at the very time when Meg herself was known to be hovering over the places where it was concealed. Three times did the bold countryman walk over Meldon Bridge, and sit by the side of Meldon Well, at the dread hour of midnight. The first two nights nothing occurred to reward his bravery; but on the third, as he was about to leave the well disappointed and weary, he suddenly saw Meg herself standing before him just as she had looked during her lifetime. In a moment his boldness forsook him, and he fell upon his knees trembling with fear; he was somewhat re-assured, however, when the unearthly being who stood before him addressed him in the most commonplace accents, merely telling him to return to the same spot the next night at twelve o’clock exactly, when he would have an opportunity of enriching himself for ever; house, till he returned to it again with the money, not to utter a single word either to himself or anybody else. To Hodge’s mind the sole condition which had been laid upon him seemed a very simple and easy one; and it was, therefore, with good hopes of his success that he returned to the appointed place the next night, provided with a long chain and grappling irons, to assist him in his exploit. When he reached the well, he found an ordinary looking man standing beside it, who, without a word being said on either side, took the chain, fastened Hodge to it, and then lowered him gradually down the well. After sinking an immense depth, he found himself on a level with the water, of which there was not, however, nearly so much as he had expected, and on looking into it, he easily discovered, just beneath its surface, an enormous leather bag. This he fastened to the grappling irons, and giving the signal to his assistant, was quickly drawn up to the top. With some difficulty the bag was raised; several times it slipped, and seemed likely to fall; but at last it was safely placed on the ground; at seeing which, poor Hodge, in his joy, quite forgot the command he had received the previous night, and exclaimed in ecstasy:
“There! all the devils alive can’t help me getting it now.”
But, alas! he was mistaken; the instant the fatal words escaped his lips, the bag slid into the well, and fell like a leaden weight to the bottom, whilst he received a sudden blow which deprived him of consciousness; and had he not been discovered the next morning by his anxious wife, and removed home, he would probably have died from the fever which attacked him, in consequence of the excitement and exposure. When he recovered, he went back to his everyday work, like a wise man, and gave up dreaming about Meg of Meldon and her money-bags.
Many years passed on without anything fresh turning up respecting the hidden treasure; but at last a circumstance occurred which brought a portion of it, at any rate, to light, though in a. manner by no means so ghostly or “awsum” as might have been expected. The school-house at Meldon was a building of great antiquity, and one which had suffered very considerably from the ravages of time. Some sixty or seventy years ago, as those of the children who took their dinners at school were emptying the contents of their satchels, in the absence of the master, who was also enjoying his midday repast, they were alarmed by a portentous crack in the ancient ceiling above their heads, and in a moment a portion of it came down, and with it—a veritable bag of Meg’s long-sought money! Age had rotted the bag, and bursting in its fall, its contents were scattered over the floor of the school-room, causing a fine scramble among the fortunate youngsters, who very quickly had the precious pieces stowed away in their pockets, and with true northern doggedness refused to deliver them up to their master, who was sadly disappointed when he heard of the “find” which had fallen to the lot of his varlets during his absence.
Poor Meg has now been dead more than two hundred years; but as yet this is all of her long-concealed and oft-sought-for treasure that has ever been recovered; and it is by no means likely that the monomaniacs who still occasionally waste their time in looking for it, will ever become the richer for their pains.
T. Wemyss Reid.