Ships were lost during these dark voyages, and said to have had
their cargoes destroyed by wizards, who were as common on such
voyages as rats, in the hold.
When the old mariner was at his wits’ end what to do with the corpse,
he decided to disburden it, and throw it overboard. The sea had long
since washed the wager out of his mind; nevertheless, he took the dead
body on his back and went to land. They buried the murdered man at
Kingston, the port from which he sailed, and at the request of the
family of the deceased, gave them some money, as the wages of the
victim for his labours. On coming ashore, the captain felt tired and
thirsty, and sat down by a roadside inn to drink some ale, and
refresh himself. And what should they throw into the kettle for his
refreshment but the skull of him who had been murdered.
And when he came home, his wife, who had put up all sorts of yarns to
account for his prolonged absence, fell on him with a scream of joy,
and hugging him about the neck, begged his pardon and expressed great
joy that he had come home safe. Then she sent for the parish priest,
and confessed to him her own share in the unfortunate wager, which was
much smaller than the captain’s, inasmuch as she had not taken any
active part in it. The confessor was astonished at the readiness with
which the woman confessed her sin, and even her share in it, and
regretted that the confession of the captain’s crime would be made all
the more difficult to him.
When the good woman, on confession being taken, was commanded to
pronounce sentence upon the captain, she pleaded, that if he had been
guilty of killing his man, she was not his wife, but his mistress, as
her husband had married her long ago. The father decided the matter in
favour of the mistress; and the marriage being duly registered, the
captain went, with his wife, to bury the treasure with which the
wager was to have been satisfied; and he was as contented with his
retirement, as if he had made the discovery of the Spanish Main at
home.
From _English Fairy Tales_, edited by H. D. Everett, 1867.
_BLACK DICK OF ROUNDABOUT_
In the county of Galway, in Ireland, there lived a couple, an old man
and his wife, who had been married many years, but had no children.
They grew older and older, and did not take pleasure in their work;
still they lived on, as that was a duty they owed to God and the
world. The old man and his wife had never been so healthy, and God had
never given them anything to grumble at.
At last they were not so well, they began to grow weary of life, and
the wife had many thoughts about the next world, as everybody has who
is healthy and well off. She thought of her sins, and of those who
were punished for them, and of how she had offended her Redeemer in
things small as well as great. She wished she could commit her body
and soul to God; then, perhaps, he might let her die. But the old man
said to her, “Don’t be silly; there’s no need to talk of such things
yet. If you want to die, die while we’re still alive; till then you
have me to care for you, and we’ll see how it will all turn out.”
While they were talking one day, a fine, big, black calf fell into the
pot that was on the fire to boil dinner. As it fell it made a noise
like a clapper, and out of it dropped a large black hen, out of that
out dropped a rooster, out of the rooster dropped a hen, out of the
hen dropped an egg, out of that dropped the bacon, out of the bacon
dropped the dish on which it was.
The wife looked at all the things that came out of the calf, and
wondered what they could be; she went to bed, and in the middle of the
night she was brought a vision of the calf. She saw it walking, or
rather stamping, up and down the room, making a great noise, the
clapper in its head; and with its neck stretched out, and walking and
stamping, the calf went all the way round the bed, and out at the
door.
In the morning she asked the old man if he had seen a calf in the
night. “Yes, I did,” said the old man; “but there was no clapper to
it. It walked and stamped, but it did not make any noise;” and he
went to get some broth for breakfast. When he came back he gave the
old woman some to eat; then he went to fill the pot. Before he had
time to fill it, the calf came in at the door with its neck stretched
out, its legs wide apart, and its clapper in its head, and walked
round the room. “God help us!” said the old man; “it’s the black
calf,” and he went to the neighbour’s house, and said to the woman,
“The black calf is passing by, it’s looking in at the window; do you
see it, Mrs. Moll?” “I do,” said Mrs. Moll; “I never saw the likes of
it, except once before.” “If it comes in, it’ll be the death of us;”
and the old man went to try to put the calf out.
“What’s the matter? How are you? What are you up to?” said the wife;
“don’t go to the door, but sit down at the foot of the bed and talk
to me.” “It’s the death of us, we’ll all die. Listen to it,” said the
old man; “go down into the kitchen, and say we’re gone to church.”
“Is it the black calf?” said Mrs. Moll, when she came out; “how
lonesome you must be of it. I wouldn’t live in that house for all the
land you see this day;” and she ran away.
The old woman put on a thick coat, to keep the calf out. The calf came
in after the old woman, and said, “Let me in;” but she did not speak,
but beat the side of the house with a stick, and said, “Don’t let
it come in. You have the key to the door; have you forgotten you’re
married to me, or are you frightened of your sweetheart?” “No, it’s
the black calf you have to mind;” and she continued beating the
floor. The calf said, “Let me in, let me in, my mother;” and it got
upon the bed, and stood on her feet, and beat her with its feet, and
with its neck stretched out, it went all around the room; and then
she stopped beating the side of the house, and ran to the kitchen
door. “What ails the calf? Why do you not let me in? What are you
doing? I’m the calf. Let me in, let me in;” and she opened the door,
and let it in. It came to the bed, and the old man beat it with his
stick. “Out with you! Out with you! Let the daughter of God alone;
you’re a wizard, you’re a wizard, my child!”
The old man went to the field, and the calf got upon the bed, and the
wife thought, perhaps, this was the devil. “Don’t be afraid of me,
woman,” said the calf, “for I am not the devil;” and it stretched out
its neck, and went to the door, and kicked at the lock with its head,
and broke it open. Then it came back to the bed, and the wife thought
it would eat them up; but it did not. It walked all around the bed,
and its feet made a hollow sound like a little mouse, and beat its
head on the ground, and it was not much bigger than a hen; and it
could talk. “What am I to do? To be eaten by the black calf,” said
the wife. “What will your man say? And how will you tell him?” said
the calf. “I have a way to tell him. If you could cut my flesh off
from my bones, and the calf died, I would soon come back.” “I can’t
find you,” said the old man, “I can’t find you, my calf.” “Here’s
the key to the door; if you want me, come and fetch me; but if you
want the calf, don’t come to the door; go and find it.” The wife went
down to the river side, and cried; the calf came and told her that if
she would go home and get dinner ready,
