innkeeper; and he had a kettle before him, into which he was cramming sausages, bread, ham, and all sorts of eatables. But he would have taken no further heed, only that the carl had but one tail to his coat, which made the knight at once recognise him as the very fellow whose coat-tail he had hewed off in the forest. He sprang on him, therefore ; and as the man drew his knife, Dinnies seized hold of him and plumped him down, head foremost, into a hogshead of water, holding him straight up by the feet till he had drunk his fill. So the poor wretch began to quiver at last in his death agonies; whereupon the knight called out, "Wilt thou confess? or hast thou not drunk enough yet?"

"He would confess, if the knight promised him life. His name was Konnemann; he had lost his mill and all he was worth, by the Loitz bankruptcy, therefore had joined the robber-band, who held their meeting in an old cave in the forest, where also they kept their booty." On further question, he said it was an old, ruined place, with the walls all tumbling down. A man named Muckerwitze had lived there once, who buried his wife alive in this cave, therefore it had been deserted ever since.

Then the knight asked the innkeeper if he knew of such a place in the forest; who said, "Yes." Then he asked if he knew this fellow, Konnemann; but the host denied all knowledge of him (though he knew him well enough, I think). Upon which Konnemann said, "That he merely came to buy provisions for the band, who were hungry, and had despatched him to see what he could get, while they remained hiding in the cave. The knight having laid these facts before their Graces and the envoys, it was agreed that they should steal a march upon the robbers next morning, and meanwhile keep Konnemann safe under lock and key.

Next morning they set off by break of day, taking Konnemann as guide, and surrounded the old ruin, which lay upon a hill buried in oak-trees; but not a sound was heard

inside. They approached nearer-listened at the cave— nothing was to be heard. This angered Dinnies Kleist, for he thought the miller had played a trick on them, who, however, swore he was innocent; and as the knight threatened to give him something fresh to drink in the castle well, he offered to light a pine torch and descend into the cave. Hardly was he down, however, when they heard him screaming "The robbers have murdered the women—they are all lying here stone dead, but not a man is to be seen."

The knight then went down with his good sword drawn. True enough, there lay the old hag, her daughter, and Sidonia, all stained with blood, and stiff and cold, upon the damp ground. And when the knight asked, "Which is Sidonia ?" the fellow put the pine torch close to her face, which was blue and cold. Then the knight took up her little hand, and dropped it again, and shook his head, for the said little hand was stiff and cold as that of a corpse.

Summa. As there was nothing further to be done here, the knight left the corpses to moulder away in the old cellar, and returned with the burghers to Mutzelburg, when his Highness wondered much over the strange event; but Marcus rejoiced that his wicked cousin was now dead, and could bring no further disgrace upon his ancient name.

But was the wicked cousin dead? She had heard every word that had been said in the cave; for they had all drunk some broth made by the gipsy mother, which can make men seem dead, though they hear and see everything around them. Such devil's work is used by robbers sometimes in extremity, as some toads have the power of seeming dead when people attempt to seize them. It will soon be seen what a horrible

use Sidonia made of this devil's potion.

Wherefore she tried its effect upon herself now, I know not-I have my own thoughts upon the subject-but it is certain that the innkeeper, who was a secret friend of the robbers (as most innkeepers were in those evil times), had

VOL. I.

R

sent a messenger by night to warn them of their danger. So, while the band saved themselves by hiding in the forest, perhaps the old hag recommended this plan for the women, as they had got enough of cold steel the day before; or perhaps the robbers wished to have a proof of the power of this draught, in case they might want to save themselves, some time or other, by appearing dead. Still I cannot, with any certainty, assert why they should all three choose to simulate death.

Further, just to show the daring of these robber-bands, now that his Highness had closed the courts, I shall end this chapter by relating what happened at Monkbude, a town through which their Highnesses passed that same day, and which, although close to the Stettin border, belongs to Wolgast.

It was Sunday, and after the priest had said Amen from the pulpit, the sexton rung the kale-bell. This bell was a sign throughout all Pomerania land, to the women-folk who were left at home in the houses, to prepare dinner; for then, in all the churches, the closing hymn began-"Give us, Lord, our daily bread." So the maid, at the first stroke of the bell, lifted off the kale-pot from the fire, and had the kale dished, with the sausages, and whatever else was wanting, by the time that the hymn was over, and father and mother had come out of church. Then, whatever poor wretch had fasted all the week, and never tasted a morsel of blessed bread, if he passed on a Sunday through the town, might get his fill; for when the hymn is "Give us, Lord, our daily bread," the doors lie open, and no stranger or wayfarer is turned away empty.

sung,

Just before their Highnesses had entered the town, this kale-bell had been rung, and each maid in the houses had laid the kale and meat upon the table, ready for the family, when, behold! in rush a troop of robbers from the forest, Appelmann at their head-seize every dish with the kale

and meat that had been laid on the tables, stick the loaves into their pockets, and gallop away as hard as they can across into the Stettin border.

How the maids screamed and lamented I leave unsaid; but if any one of them followed and seized a robber by the hair, he drew his knife, so she was glad enough to run back again, while the impudent troop laughed and jeered. Thus was it then in dear Pomerania land! It seemed as if God had forsaken them; for the nobles began their feuds, as of old, and the Jews were tormented even to the death-yea, even the pastors were chased away, as if, indeed, they had all learned of Otto Bork, these nobles saying, "What need of these idle, prating swaddlers, with their prosy sermons and whining psalms, teaching, forsooth, that all men are equal, and that God makes no difference between lord and peasant? Away with them! If the people learn such doctrine, no wonder if they grow proud and disobedient—better no priests in the land." And such-like ungodly talk was heard everywhere.

CHAPTER XII.

How the peasants in Marienfliess want to burn a witch, but are hindered by Johann Appelmann and Sidonia, who discover an old acquaintance in the witch, the girl Wolde Albrechts.

At this time, one David Grosskopf was pastor of Marienfliess. He was a learned and pious man, and like other pious priests, was in the habit of gathering all the women-folk of the parish in his study of a winter's evening, particularly the young maidens, with their spinning-wheels. And there they all sat spinning round the comfortable fire, while he read out to them from God's Word, and questioned them on it, and exhorted them to their duties. Thus was it done every even

ing during the winter, the maidens spinning diligently till midnight without even growing weary; or if one of them nodded, she was given a cup of cold water to drink, to make her fresh again. So there was plenty of fine linen by each New Year's day, and their masters were well pleased. No peasant kept his daughter at home, but sent her to the priest, where she learned her duties, and was kept safe from the young men. Even old mothers went there, among whom Trina Bergen always gave the best answers, and was much commended by the priest in consequence. This pleased her mightily, so that she boasted everywhere of it; but withal she was an excellent old woman, only the neighbours looked rather jealously on her.

This same priest, with all his goodness and learning, was yet a bad logician; for by his careless speaking in one of his sermons, much commotion was raised in the village. In this sermon he asserted that anything out of the usual course of nature must be devil's work, and ought to be held in abhorrence by all good Christians: he suffered for this afterwards, as we shall see. On the Monday after this discourse, he journeyed into Poland, to visit a brother who dwelt in some town there, I know not which.

Then arose a great talking amongst the villagers concerning the said Trina Bergen; for the cocks began to sit upon the eggs in place of the hens, in her poultry-yard, and all the people came together to see the miracle, and as it was against the course of nature, it must be devil's work, and Trina Bergen was a witch.

In vain the old mother protested she knew nothing of it, then runs to the priest's house, but he is away; from that to the mayor of the village, but he is going out to shoot, and bid her and the villagers pack off with their silly stories.

So the poor old mother gets no help, and meanwhile the peasants storm her house, and search and ransack every corner for proofs of her witchcraft, but nothing can be found.