But the mice followed him. They swam across the river, clambered up the rock, and crawled through every crack and crevice of the battlements. Swarming over the tower, they chewed their way in by the thousands, through oaken doors and plank floors and wooden ceilings.
And when they had cornered the wicked bishop, they climbed, dropped, and leaped upon him from all sides. As one old poem has it:
They whetted their teeth against the stones,
And then they picked the bishop’s bones;
They gnawed the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to punish him.
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the swarms of mice disappeared. Many people were convinced that the animals were really the souls of those the bishop had so cruelly slain. The Mauseturm remains a place of fearful fascination. It is rumored that one can still hear the ghostly cries of the wretched bishop and the chittering of hordes of unseen mice on the anniversary of the fatal barn fire.
The Devil and Tom Walker
(United States—from a tale by Washington Irving)
A few miles from Boston, the sea has cut a deep inlet that winds several miles inland and ends in a thickly wooded swamp. On one side of the water is a dark grove of trees; on the opposite side the land rises abruptly from the shore into a high ridge, on which grow scattered oaks of immense age and size. Under one such tree, according to old stories, Captain Kidd the pirate buried a great treasure. The stories add that the devil oversaw the hiding of the money, and took it under his guardianship, as he always does with buried treasure that has been ill-gotten. Kidd never returned to claim his gold, being captured soon after at Boston, sent to England, and there hanged for piracy.
Later, in the year 1727, a miserly fellow named Tom Walker dwelled near this place. He lived in a forlorn house surrounded by a few straggling trees. One day Tom took a shortcut homeward, through the swamp. Like most shortcuts, it was an ill-chosen route.
It was dusk when Tom reached the ruins of an old fort in the middle of the swamp. He paused to rest on the trunk of a fallen hemlock. Absently, he turned up the soil with his walking staff. Suddenly his staff struck something hard, and he uncovered an ancient skull with a tomahawk buried deep in it.
“Humph!” said Tom Walker as he gave it a kick.
“Let that skull alone!” said a gruff voice. Tom looked up and saw a tall man dressed in black seated opposite him on the stump of a tree. He scowled at Tom with a pair of large red eyes. “What are you doing on my ground?”
“And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?” said Tom.
“Oh, I go by various names. In this neighborhood I am known by the name of The Black Woodsman.”
“If I mistake not,” said Tom sturdily, “you are also commonly called Old Scratch.”
“At your service!” replied the devil with a nod.
And so the two began a conversation as Tom returned homeward. The dark man told him of huge sums of gold and silver buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak trees on the high ridge. This treasure was protected by his power, so that only someone who gained his favor could find it. This he offered to Tom, on certain conditions.
The conditions must have been very hard, because Tom asked for time to think about them, and he was not a man to worry about trifles when money was in view. When they reached the edge of the swamp, Tom said, “What proof have I that all you have been telling me is true?”
“Here’s my signature,” said Old Scratch, pressing his finger against Tom’s forehead. Then he turned off into the swamp, and seemed to go down, down, down into the earth, until he totally disappeared.
When Tom reached home, he found a black fingerprint, which nothing could erase, on his forehead. This made him think even more carefully about the terms he had been offered.
Soon enough, however, greed won over caution. One evening Tom set out for the abandoned fort. Soon he met The Black Woodsman, with his ax on his shoulder, strolling through the swamp, humming a tune. By degrees Tom brought up the subject of business, and they began to haggle about the terms on which Tom was to have the pirate’s treasure.
“You shall become a moneylender,” the devil proposed. “You shall open a shop in Boston. You shall lend money to the desperate at ruinous rates, extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, and drive the merchants to bankruptcy—”
“I’ll drive them to the devil!” cried Tom.
“Exactly,” said the man in black with a grim smile. Then he extended his hand, saying, “Done!”
“Done!” said Tom Walker.
So they shook hands and struck a bargain.
Soon Tom Walker was seated behind his new desk in a countinghouse in Boston. The place was richly furnished, and had been paid for in antique gold coins to which traces of dark earth still clung.
His business was thronged by the needy who hoped to keep a roof over their heads and bread on the table; the foolhardy who dreamed of turning borrowed money into great fortunes; gamblers whose luck had run out; and merchants whose credit had dried up. In short, everyone driven to raise money by desperate means and desperate sacrifices hurried to Tom Walker.
Tom acted like a friend, but he always demanded full return and more for the money he loaned. He squeezed his customers as dry as a sponge, and sent them away destitute. In this way he became a rich and mighty man, and built himself a vast house.
As Tom grew old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having secured the good things of this world, he began to worry about the next. He regretted his deal with the devil, and tried to think of how to escape from his bargain with The Black Woodsman. All of a sudden he became a violent churchgoer. He prayed loudly, as if he could take possession of heaven by the force of lungs. He constantly censured his neighbors, and seemed to think that every sin he noted in them was a credit to him. Soon his zeal became as notorious as his riches.
In spite of all this, Tom dreaded that the devil would have his due after all and carry him off. So Tom always kept a small Bible in his coat pocket. He also had a huge Bible on his countinghouse desk, and was frequently found reading the Bible when people called on business. Then he would lay his spectacles in the book to mark the place, while he drove some ruinous bargain.
One hot summer afternoon, as a black thunderstorm was coming up, Tom sat in his countinghouse in his white cap and silk robe. He was about to foreclose a mortgage, which would ruin an unlucky man.
“My family will be driven to the poorhouse,” the wretched man pleaded.
“I must take care of myself,” replied Tom.
“But you have made so much money out of me already!” the other cried.
Tom lost his patience and his piety. “The devil take me,” said he, “if I have made a farthing!”
Just then, there were three loud knocks at the door. Tom opened it to see who was there. A man dressed in a black woodsman’s outfit was holding a black horse, which neighed and stamped with impatience.
“Tom, you’re come for,” said the fellow gruffly. Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his little Bible in his coat pocket, and his big Bible on the desk, under the mortgage he was about to foreclose. Never was a sinner taken more unawares.
The black figure whisked him into the saddle, and the horse galloped away down the streets. Tom Walker’s white cap bobbed up and down, his robe fluttered in the wind, and the steed struck fire out of the cobblestones at every bound. The dark woodsman disappeared in a blaze of black fire.
Tom never returned to foreclose the mortgage. A man who lived on the border of the swamp reported that at the height of the thunderstorm he had heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road. He ran to the window and caught sight of a figure on a horse that raced like mad across the fields and down into the black swamp toward the old fort. Shortly thereafter, a lightning bolt fell and seemed to set the whole forest ablaze.
When neighbors searched Tom’s offices they found all his bonds and mortgages burned to cinders. His huge iron chest was filled with chip
s and shavings of wood instead of gold and silver. The next day his house caught fire and burned to the ground.
Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten wealth.
The Greedy Daughter
(Italy)
There once was a widow who had a daughter who was so greedy that the poor woman did not know what to do with her. She would gobble up everything in the house. When the widow came home from selling flowers in the market square, she would find nothing left to eat.
Now it happened that they had a wolf as a neighbor. The wolf had a frying pan, while the girl’s mother was too poor to own one. Whenever she wanted to fry something, the mother sent her daughter, Filomena, to borrow the wolf’s frying pan.
The wolf was very glad to loan the skillet to the widow. And he always sent a nice omelette in it so it would not be empty. The wolf intended this omelette for both mother and daughter. But Filomena was so greedy and so selfish that she always ate the omelette on the way home. Her poor mother never had so much as a taste.
When the good woman was finished with her frying, she would say to her daughter, “Filomena, in the morning scour the pan clean and return it to our neighbor. Take with you a loaf of the bread I baked today to thank him.”
Filomena was lazy as well as greedy. She refused to clean the greasy frying pan. She waited until her mother had gone to the market square. Then she ate the loaf of bread meant for the wolf. After this, she took some mud, baked it in the fireplace, and put it in the frying pan. “Our neighbor is only a wolf, after all,” she said to herself. “He will not know baked dirt from good bread.”
The wolf was hurt when he saw the earthen loaf, but he was too good-hearted to say anything. After Filomena was gone, he said to himself, “Well, well! Perhaps things are going so badly for the widow that she can offer me no more than a bit of baked mud and ash. Next time they borrow the frying pan, I will make them an even finer omelette.”
Soon enough, the old woman asked Filomena to visit the wolf and beg for the loan of his skillet. This time the wolf gave the girl the pan with an omelette so light and filled with fine herbs and cheese and ham that the greedy girl got only a short distance from the wolf’s house before she gobbled up every bit of it. Not a speck was left for her mother that evening.
When the widow had finished her frying, she said to Filomena, “In the morning, scrub out the skillet and return it. And take with you this pitcher of cream to thank our neighbor.”
As soon as her mother had left the next morning, greedy Filomena drank down every drop of the cream. Then she took the empty pitcher and the greasy frying pan with her and walked to the wolf’s house. She paused on the way to dip up a pitcherful of ditch water, muttering, “Why waste sweet cream on a wolf? This will serve quite as well.”
Again the wolf was offended by the sight of the greasy pan and the pitcher of ditch water. But he thanked the unkind girl anyway. To himself, he said, “Now things must really be desperate in the poor woman’s house, that she can only send common ditch water by way of thanks.”
Then he set to scouring the pan himself.
It chanced soon after this that the wolf met the widow in the market square. “How are things with you?” he asked.
“Well enough,” she said.
“How do you like my omelettes?” asked the wolf.
“I am sure you make delicious omelettes,” replied the confused woman. “But I have never had the pleasure of tasting so much as a mouthful.”
“Never tasted them!” exclaimed the wolf. “How many times have you sent Filomena to borrow my frying pan?”
“I am ashamed to say how many times,” said the flustered woman. “A great many, certainly.”
“And every time I sent you an omelette in it,” the wolf said.
“Never a bit of one reached me,” the woman confessed.
“Then that greedy girl of yours must have eaten them on the way home every time.”
Now the poor mother, anxious to keep the wolf from being angry at her daughter, made all manner of excuses for Filomena’s greediness. But the wolf had grown even more suspicious, so he said, “The omelettes would have been better had the frying pan been properly cleaned before it was sent back to me.”
“Surely you are mistaken!” cried the widow. “Filomena told me herself that she always cleaned it inside and out, until it sparkled as bright as new silver.” Then, worried because the wolf was growing angrier by the minute, the good woman said, “I hope you enjoyed the little gifts of bread and cream I sent to you.”
“Dirty ash and ditch water are all your wretched child brought to me!” cried the wolf.
“Dear neighbor, surely you are joking!” said the worried woman. “Perhaps I burned the bread myself. If there was water in the cream, then the farmer I bought it from was a cheat.”
“Oh, I know who has been the cheat,” said the wolf. “Now I must be on my way. Farewell.”
So saying, he hurried away.
But he did not return to his own home. Instead he raced to the woman’s house.
When Filomena saw the angry wolf approaching, she slammed shut the door. Then she called out, “Why have you come here?”
“I’m here to punish you for your unkind gifts of dirt and ditch water,” he roared, “and your greedy way with the omelettes entrusted to you and the bread and cream that were meant for me!”
“Surely,” the wicked girl cried out, “if anything is amiss, it was my mother’s doing. She is in the market square. Go and gobble up that good-for-nothing if you must.”
The wolf just growled and broke down the door. The frightened girl scrambled under the bed to hide herself, but it was as easy for the wolf to go under the bed as to get anywhere else. So under he went, and dragged her out, and gobbled her down on the spot.
And that was the end of the greedy daughter.
The Pirate
(United States—adapted from a poem by Richard H. Dana)
Near the close of the eighteenth century, a ship lay in a Spanish port, being outfitted for a voyage to America. One day, a Spanish doña, a widow, came to the dock, seeking passage to America. The unfortunate woman had no way of knowing that Captain Lee, grown weary of the poverty that dogged his life, had turned pirate.
Eyeing her fine dress, her golden rings, and her jewels, Lee offered her false sympathy for the loss of her husband and falser promises of a swift, safe passage across the ocean. Charmed by the captain’s manner, the woman put herself, her servants, and all her wealth in the buccaneer’s grasp.
At the very last moment—just before the ship set sail—the señora had her most prized possession brought on board: a milk-white Arabian horse. The stallion was tethered on deck. But from the first it stamped and reared and whinnied as though it sensed the danger hiding behind the captain’s polite words and gracious manner.
As soon as the ship was out of sight of land, the crew, at a signal from Lee, slew all the lady’s attendants as they slept. Then he and his men forced the door of her cabin open. It fell inward with a crash, but the lady fought the pirate with all her strength. She managed to break free of Lee’s grasp and fled to the deck of the ship.
There, she tried to untie the Arabian as it raged against the ropes that kept it captive. Realizing that she could not free the horse in time, the brave woman drew her dagger and climbed onto the railing. Calling down the vengeance of heaven on the pirate who had betrayed her, she swore to battle to the end. Lee, tiring of the game, signaled one of his men to stun the frantic woman with a belaying pin, and take her prisoner. But in the confusion, the stricken woman fell backward, into the sea, with a dreadful shriek.
At the sound, the horse snapped its bonds and charged around the deck, trampling many of the pirate’s men underhoof. Firing twice with his long-barreled pistols, Lee dropped the Arabian to its knees. Then he had his men throw the still-living horse into the sea.
For a time the stallion seemed almost to ride the swelling waves. Then it gave a cry unlike any heard b
y mortal men before. It rang out over the wide waters, causing even the fiercest pirate to shiver. Lee clasped his hands to the sides of his head and prayed he would never hear such a sound again.
For a time the cries continued, but they grew fainter as the milk-white steed was carried farther and farther away by the waves. After a while they blended with the cries of the ever-present gulls, and the pirate captain’s moment of fear passed.
Then Lee divided up the señora’s gold. Several fights broke out over the division of the booty. “Avast!” Lee roared. “I’ll have no more fighting on my ship!” He pitched one of his men overboard as a warning to the others. An uneasy quiet followed, for the men knew their captain would toss anyone who defied his orders to the sharks.
When they neared Block Island, off the coast of Rhode Island, Lee decided that his ship was too well known in the coastal waters of America. With the señora’s gold loaded into a lifeboat, he ordered the ship abandoned and set on fire. Then he and his surviving cutthroats rowed to shore. There they silenced any suspicious locals with a little extra gold.
Soon all but Lee drifted away to other ports and pursuits. With his stolen fortune, Lee no longer felt he needed the life of a pirate. He became a wealthy merchant, and began to woo the daughter of the town judge.
Exactly one year from the night when he had hurled a torch into the rigging of his pirate ship and rowed toward a new life with his stolen gold, Lee was walking along the shore toward his lady’s house on the edge of town. Suddenly a glare lit up the sea, and he froze in midstride. Even more chilling was the unearthly cry that issued from the brightness—a cry Lee had heard only once before and had hoped he would never hear again.
The light on the horizon rapidly grew until it was the size of a rising moon, shooting streamers of milk-white and blood-red light across the waves. Now the man could see that it came from a ship, all on fire. Her hull was ablaze; each mast was a pillar of fire; her sails were sheets of flame. She raced shoreward with uncanny speed.
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