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The story is current in the village, that "old Winchcombe," as they call him, was very fond of hunting, and, as in many other versions of the tale, was not content with six days in the week for his favourite pastime, but devoted Sunday also to the chase; and that after his death he might be heard at night with his hounds, careering over the neighbouring country, until he was finally "laid by twelve parsons."
I did not ascertain the date of this last event, but it is significant that the village is on the edge of Otmoor, formerly the haunt of innumerable wild fowl, which of course we know are in many places termed "Gabriel hounds," in their nocturnal flight, from the resemblance of their cry to that of a pack of hounds, and the moor having been (within the last century) drained, they are of course no longer heard.
When the wild hunt drew nigh, the woman whispered to the soldier, "Ride without me, ride without me, there he comes."
The soldier, however, continued holding her fast by the hair, but she tore herself away and fled, leaving her long tresses in his hand. But the huntsman soon caught her and threw her across his saddle, so that her head and arms hung down on one side, and her legs on the other.
Next morning, when he entered the town, the soldier related his adventure and showed the hair on his arm. The people at first would not believe him, but went and opened the coffin, and there found the body lying without hair.
"God preserve us, here's the Wild Huntsman!" said the sober countryman; but the drunkard laughed and said, "I would fain know what the foul fiend catches," and then in a loud voice cried, "Holla Sir Hunter, pray give me part of your game."
At this the other crossed himself, and they pursued their way home.
On the following morning, when the drunkard's wife would go out to fetch water, she found, on opening the door, the hind quarter of an ox that had died in the village about a month before, and had been thrown on the common laystall, and which stank horribly, and was full of worms and maggots.
When the old peasant at length lay on his deathbed, he had his son called to him, for the purpose of giving him a last Christian exhortation. He came not, but whistling to his dogs, went out into the thicket.
At this the old man was struck with terrific despair, and he cursed his son with the appalling words, "Hunt then forever! Aye forever!" He then turned his head and expired.
From that time the unhappy son has wandered restless about the woods. At night he is frequently heard crying, "Jacko! Jacko! Jacko!" and then the whole neighborhood re-echoes with the noise of the huntsman and the baying of dogs.
Others say that the huntsman was, by his father's malediction, transformed to a bird of prey, and flies about in that form, following and attacking both men and beasts, and constantly crying, "Jacko! Jacko! Jacko!"
In these latter years the old woods about Wynendael have been grubbed up, since which time the huntsman has gone further up.
One night a drunk peasant was returning home from town. His path led him through the woods. There he heard the wild hunt with the huntsman shouting at his noisy dogs high in the air.
A voice called out, "In the middle of the path! In the middle of the path!" But the peasant paid no attention to it.
Suddenly a tall man on a white horse bolted from the clouds and approached him. "How strong are you?" he said. "Let's have a contest. Here is a chain. Take hold of it. Who can pull the hardest?"
Undaunted, the peasant took hold of the heavy chain, and the huntsman remounted. Meanwhile the peasant wrapped his end of the chain around a nearby oak tree, and the huntsman pulled in vain.
"You wrapped your end around the oak tree," said Wod, dismounting.
"No," responded the peasant, quickly undoing the chain. "See, here it is in my hands."
"I'll have you in the clouds!" cried the huntsman and remounted. The peasant quickly wrapped the chain around the oak tree once again, and once again Wod pulled in vain. Up above the dogs barked, the wagons rolled, and the horses neighed. The oak tree creaked at its roots and seemed to twist itself sideways. The peasant was terrified, but the oak tree stood.
"You have pulled well!" said the huntsman. "Many men have become mine. You are the first who has withstood me. I will reward you."
The hunt proceeded noisily, "Halloo! Halloo!" The peasant crept along his way. Then suddenly, from unseen heights, a groaning stag fell before him. Wod appeared and jumped from his white horse. He hurriedly cut up the game.
"The blood is yours," he said to the peasant, "and a hind quarter as well."
"My lord," said the peasant, "your servant has neither a bucket nor a pot."
"Pull off your boot!" cried Wod.
He did it.
"Now take the blood and the meat to your wife and child."
At first his fear lightened the burden, but gradually it became heavier and heavier until he was barely able to carry it. With a crooked back and dripping with sweat he finally reached his hut, and behold, his boot was filled with gold, and the hind quarter was a leather bag filled with silver coins.
One time she stayed in Goslar longer than usual, not leaving until it was already half dark. But she knew every step of the way, so she lifted her pack basket filled with earthenware to her back, and proceeded merrily on her way toward Clausthal. It was slow work going uphill, but at last she reached the summit where the Zipollen field is.
Tired from her heavy load and the long uphill climb, she decided to sit down and take a decent rest. Suddenly she saw a large fire and noticed some people. Thinking they must be charcoal burners or woodcutters, and being very thirsty, she approached them to ask for some water to drink. But as she came closer, she saw to her great fear that it was a giant huntsman and his companions seated around the fire--a terrifying sight.
They were roasting a huge stag on a spit above the fire. But worst of all, some horribly large dogs were running about, and they suddenly chased up to her, jumping at her until she could feel their hot breath, and snapping at her coat as though they wanted to tear her apart. The men just sat there, paying no heed to the terrified woman. Everything was so uncanny, so quiet.
She ran as fast as she could to escape from the beasts' claws. She ran, driven by terror, until she at last collapsed and lay there unconscious beneath her pack basket.
When she finally awoke she saw a man standing over her. He was wearing a green miner's hat and a black jacket, and was carrying a large torch in his hand. He helped her up and asked her what she needed. She tearfully told him what had happened and that because of her running and her fall her earthenware had probably broken to pieces. She was very poor, and all that she owned was invested in this trade, and today in particular, it was all in this pack basket. Now everything was in pieces, and she did not know what she would do.
The juryman, for this is who the woman thought was standing before her, felt sorry for her. He pulled her coat away from her pack basket and looked inside with his torch. He told her that everything was in order. Then wishing her good luck [He uses the expression "Glückauf," a traditional miner's greeting.], he set off in the direction of Goslar.
The woman, filled with sorrow and feeling like she had been beaten, continued on her way to Clausthal. It was after daybreak when she arrived home. She went into her little kitchen, set her pack basket on the table, and fell exhausted onto the bench. But she could not resist looking into the pack basket to see what had happened to her earthenware, to see if anything could be salvaged.
Looking inside, she was startled to see, instead of broken pieces, or pots and jars, nothing but shiny coins. She immediately ran to her landlady, a clever old woman. After hearing the story, she said, "Those beings by the fire were the wild huntsman with his followers and his dogs. The juryman, however, was the Mine-Monk. Consider yourself lucky that you escaped alive."
The woman used the money to buy a small house and a few cows. And from that time forth she never again brought earthenware from Goslar.
If you want to hunt,
You can join the ride!
At the same time someone threw a woman's leg at the worker, a woman's leg wearing a red shoe. The worker quickly retreated into the mill. It is said that the next morning he buried the leg beneath the mill platform.
Outraged by the insolence of the knight, who then and there slew his game, the priest solemnly cursed him. At the same moment the ground opened beneath the hunter's feet, and a pack of hounds from the infernal regions fell upon and tore him to pieces.
Ever since then, on stormy nights, this sabbath-breaker's restless ghost hunts wildly through the air, followed by a spectral train of huntsmen and hell hounds, for he can find no rest, though dead, and is condemned to lead the wild hunt forever.
This legend, which originated in the myth of Odin, leader of the Raging Host, is told with slight variations of many places along the Rhine, where sudden wind storms, rising during the night, are still considered by the credulous peasantry as the passing of a mysterious heavenly host.
In the Skrzynka Woods, which are part of Wyrth Forest in the Stargardt region, there is a high mountain named Buller Mountain. The Wild Huntsman frequents this mountain on St. Bartholomew's Night [August 24]. Many people have experienced how he rides through the woods with a frightful clamor.
One time the head forester of the district was passing through these woods on this night, and he heard the noise. In the belief that he was pursuing some poachers, he followed the sound. Although he exerted himself to the utmost, he was unable to overtake the huntsmen, and he uttered a blasphemous curse. Suddenly there was a frightful commotion above his head. He heard the words "Here is something for you from our hunt!" and a human leg was thrown into his carriage.
If anyone calls back "haho," that evening the wild huntsman will throw the hind quarter of a horse through his window. It gives off a horrible smell, and one cannot get rid of it. However often one throws it away, it always reappears in the same place. But if one cooks it and buries it beneath the roof drain, it will disappear as soon as raindrops fall on it. (Dr. Ruschko from Neubistritz)
Forester Grünwald from Studena tells that he once saw the wild hunt passing over him. Instead of throwing himself to the ground he fired his gun at them. A terrible bang followed, and a large owl fell wounded at his feet. (B. Pick from Studena)
In Schönlinde the wild huntsman is called Banditterch (Berndietrich). He is said to conduct his hunt with wood-dogs [wolves] in Schweinsgründen and in Budersdorf. (A. Stellzig from Schönlinde)
In the Braunau district he is called the forest huntsman. On certain days he rides around in the wooods with four fiery dogs. Four glowing chicken run ahead of him, which are said to be deceased souls from hell. (F. Kahler from Braunau)
In the Riesengebirge Mountains they say that the wild huntsman's followers are Frederick the Great's Prussian soldiers who were killed there. Every year on certain days they are said to rise up and attempt to return through the air to Prussia. However, they cannot find their way out of Bohemia and therefore turn around with horrible shouts. They kill anyone they meet who does not throw himself down with his face to the ground.
It is said that a peasant was returning home from town at midnight when he suddenly heard hunting cries behind him. Turning around he saw an old man who shouted to him to be careful. The peasant threw himself down with his face to the ground, and the procession passed him by without incident.
Another time a tradesman was walking through a forest by night. Suddenly he heard barking dogs and an unusual commotion in the woods. He threw himself down with his face to the ground. Before the procession flew past him he curiously looked up, and from that hour onward he was insane. (O. Hussa)
Revised May 14, 2009.