Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 2 | Page 5

smote his ear,
and, being no less astonished than in need of cordials, he hastened
up-stairs and flung open the door. A table stood there, furnished with
jugs and pipes and cans, and by light of candles that burned as blue as
brimstone could be seen the three gallows-birds from Gibbet Island,
with halters on their necks, clinking their tankards together and trolling
forth a drinking-song.
Starting back with affright as the corpses hailed him with lifted arms
and turned their fishy eyes on him, Vanderscamp slipped at the door
and fell headlong to the bottom of the stairs. Next morning he was
found there by the neighbors, dead to a certainty, and was put away in
the Dutch churchyard at Bergen on the Sunday following. As the house
was rifled and deserted by its occupants, it was hinted that the negro
had betrayed his master to his fellow-buccaneers, and that he, Pluto,
was no other than the devil in disguise. But he was not, for his skiff
was seen floating bottom up in the bay soon after, and his drowned
body lodged among the rocks at the foot of the pirates' gallows.
For a long time afterwards the island was regarded as a place that
required purging with bell, book, and candle, for shadows were
reported there and faint lights that shot into the air, and to this day, with
the great immigrant station on it and crowds going and coming all the
time, the Battery boatmen prefer not to row around it at night, for they

are likely to see the shades of the soldier and his mistress who were
drowned off the place one windy night, when the girl was aiding the
fellow to escape confinement in the guard-house, to say nothing of
Vanderscamp and his felons.

MISS BRITTON'S POKER
The maids of Staten Island wrought havoc among the royal troops who
were quartered among them during the Revolution. Near quarantine, in
an old house,--the Austen mansion,--a soldier of King George hanged
himself because a Yankee maid who lived there would not have him for
a husband, nor any gentleman whose coat was of his color; and, until
ghosts went out of fashion, his spirit, in somewhat heavy boots, with
jingling spurs, often disturbed the nightly quiet of the place.
The conduct of a damsel in the old town of Richmond was even more
stern. She was the granddaughter, and a pretty one, of a farmer named
Britton; but though Britton by descent and name, she was no friend of
Britons, albeit she might have had half the officers in the neighboring
camp at her feet, if she had wished them there. Once, while mulling a
cup of cider for her grandfather, she was interrupted by a self-invited
myrmidon, who undertook, in a fashion rude and unexpected, to show
the love in which he held her. Before he could kiss her, the girl drew
the hot poker from the mug of drink and jabbed at the vitals of her
amorous foe, burning a hole through his scarlet uniform and printing on
his burly person a lasting memento of the adventure. With a howl of
pain the fellow rushed away, and the privacy of the Britton family was
never again invaded, at least whilst cider was being mulled.

THE DEVIL'S STEPPING-STONES
When the devil set a claim to the fair lands at the north of Long Island
Sound, his claim was disputed by the Indians, who prepared to fight for
their homes should he attempt to serve his writ of ejectment. Parley
resulted in nothing, so the bad one tried force, but he was routed in
open fight and found it desirable to get away from the scene of action
as soon as possible. He retreated across the Sound near the head of East
River. The tide was out, so he stepped from island to island, without
trouble, and those reefs and islands are to this day the Devil's

Stepping-Stones. On reaching Throgg's Neck he sat down in a
despairing attitude and brooded on his defeat, until, roused to a frenzy
at the thought of it, he resolved to renew the war on terms
advantageous entirely to himself. In that day Connecticut was free from
rocks, but Long Island was covered with them; so he gathered all he
could lay his hands on and tossed them at the Indians that he could see
across the Sound near Cold Spring until the supply had given out. The
red men who last inhabited Connecticut used to show white men where
the missiles landed and where the devil struck his heel into the ground
as he sprang from the shore in his haste to reach Long Island. At Cold
Spring other footprints and one of his toes are shown. Establishing
himself