The Black Horse and the Devil's Hole: A Story from Rhode Island

Many years ago a Catholic priest in Woonsocket, Rhode Island was trying to get his parishioners to build a church.

This was back when French Canadian immigrants first settled in Rhode Island, and things were hard. Everyone wanted a nice stone church, but the parishioners worked all day at difficult menial jobs. They had almost no free time and very little energy to work on the church. 

The priest was discouraged, but determined to get a good church for his flock. He prayed and prayed to God for guidance, until one night the Virgin Mary appeared.

She said, "God has answered your prayer. Outside in the yard you will find a horse. He has the strength of twenty horses, and can work without food and water."

The priest was elated."Thank you Holy Mother..."

The Virgin raised one finger in warning. "But he is no ordinary horse. He will obey your commands, but whatever you do, don't take off the special bridle he wears!" And with that ominous note, the Virgin disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

The priest went outside, and as promised found a horse standing in his yard. The beast was enormous and blacker than night itself. It looked at the priest with angry red eyes, a bridle jammed tightly in its mouth.

The beast's diabolic nature was obvious to the priest. Had God sent the Devil to work for good? But the priest accepted that God works in mysterious ways, so he named the horse Old Nick and led him the next morning to where the church was being built.

"Whatever you do, don't take off his bridle," the priest said as he gave the horse to the foreman. The foreman was a spooked by the gigantic horse, and readily agreed to the priest's command. Things went well for a while. The horse was able to haul heavy stones tirelessly all day and the church went up quickly.

But the longer Old Nick worked on the project, the sicker and more listless the foreman became. Every night he dreamt that Old Nick glowered and spoke, threatening to drag him to Hell. Finally he couldn't take anymore and just lay feverish in bed.

He summoned one of the younger parishioners to his house. "I want you to take over managing the church construction," he moaned. "But whatever you do, don't take the bridle off Old Nick."

"No problem," the young man said. "Don't take off the bridle!" He whistled as he walked back to the construction site, pleased at his promotion.

The young man was not the brightest person in the parish, and didn't understand why everyone was so nervous around Old Nick. It was a hot summer day, and around noon time he went down to the Blackstone River to cool off. He brought Old Nick with him. As the young man splashed around, he felt bad for the horse, who looked hot and uncomfortable.

"Do you want a drink of water, horsey?" he said. "Here, let me take off that bridle so you can drink."

As soon as he took off the bridle the horse gave terrifying neigh that shook the earth. It knocked the man across the river with one hoof, and then leapt across the water in one jump. Old Nick landed on a ledge on the other bank so heavily that the stone split in two, and he disappeared down into the newly formed chasm.

When the priest found out what happened he rushed to the chasm, but it was too late - the demonic horse had made his way back to Hell. He had also opened a gateway to that infernal realm, and for many years the chasm was a source of unholy phenomena. Wagons passing by would lose their wheels, and people walking by at night told of horrific wailing emerging from the cave. Some people even claimed that strange, wolfish beings were seen lurking nearby. These were the loup garous, the Satanic werewolves of French folklore. The priest became disillusioned - how could God let this happen? - and neglected his parish.

Dues to all these strange activity the chasm became known as the Devil's Hole. Things went on this way for many years until a new priest came to Woonsocket. He was astonished that a gateway to Hell was allowed to be open in his parish. Gathering together a group of brave men, he erected a cross at the Devil's Hole and said prayers to God. From that time onward the strange phenomena stopped, and Woonsocket was freed from the black horse's curse.

*****

The Devil's Hole is supposedly located in the Fairmount area of Woonsocket. This guys in this video try to find it, but don't have much luck. I think the video is pretty funny, but has some obscenity so don't watch if you find that type of thing offensive.

I'd be curious to find out when this story was first told. I've seen it in M.E Reilly-McGreen's Rhode Island Legends and in S.E. Schlosser's Spooky New England, but I'm assuming it is older than those books, which were both printed recently. The Catholic themes are interesting and aren't seen in too many New England folk tales. There are many places in New England named after the Devil, and many stories to explain them, but not very many involve the Virgin Mary!

The magic horse who can help build things is an old folk motif, and is found for example in the Norse myth about the gods building Asgard. I mentioned that in an earlier post about the Devil building a barn. 

Finally, I'll just say that I love a story where someone is told not to do something. "Don't use this key!" "Don't go in the basement!" "Don't stay out past midnight!" You just always know the warning will be ignored at some point.

The Witch of Mashpee, and a Book Release Party

I'm having a party to celebrate the release of my book Legends and Lore of the North Shore. Here are the details:

When: Tuesday, September 9, from 6 - 8:00 pm

Where: Club Cafe, 209 Columbus Avenue, Boston

What: Appetizers, cash bar, and me signing books!

Who: You're invited! I hope you can attend!

Now that the obligatory marketing is over, on to the witchcraft.

*****

Last week the murderous Hannah Screecham was the star of this blog. This week her sister Sarah gets a turn in the spotlight.

While Hannah partnered with pirates to bury their treasure and kill anyone who might reveal its whereabouts, Sarah headed to Mashpee and built herself a cottage on the shores of a small pond. The pond is now called Witch Pond, so you can guess what type of work Sarah pursued.

The pond was in the middle of a very dense forest, so dense that even when the moon was full no light could shine through its trees. Most people avoided the place, fearful of the witch's magic, but when times where lean members of the Mashpee tribe would venture into Sarah's domain in search of game.

Sarah was very protective of the forest and the animals that lived in it. If she saw a hunter she cursed them will ill luck, preventing them from killing any game. She could appear and disappear at will in the woods, traveling unseen, though after she disappeared hunters often saw a beautiful young doe or huge black mare running through the trees. Both animals were impervious to arrows and bullets.

One day Sarah saw a particularly handsome Mashpee man hunting near her home. Even in her witch's heart there was room for love, and she fell in love hard. She pursued the man, begging him to be her lover, but he was terrified and refused her. Sarah was persistent, however, and eventually the man relented. They could meet, but he had one condition - she must come to his home outside the forest.

Blinded by love, Sarah agreed. She visited the man, and as the sun set she turned herself into the huge black mare. Playfully she scampered around the man's house, and playfully she let herself be tied to a tree. Once she was securely tied the Mashpee man's smile dropped away, and he pulled out a hammer and four horseshoes. The black mare didn't make a sound as he nailed in the first three, which were made of iron, but the horse neighed in terror and pain when he nailed in the final one, which was silver. When the man was done he ran to get his neighbors so they could see how he had hobbled the witch.

The black horse had vanished by the time they came back, so they went to Sarah's cottage. They found her inside, screaming in pain with a silver horseshoe nailed to her hand.

Once she recovered Sarah returned to her witchy ways, cursing hunters and transforming herself into animals. She gave up on love. The hunters once again avoided her forest, until many years later a particularly grim winter hit the Cape. No game could be found anywhere, and the Mashpee people were starving. In desperation one hunter finally set out for Witch Pond. He was armed with a rifle, and because he remembered the story about the horseshoe he carried with him one silver bullet.

The forest was strangely silent, even for a winter day, and the hunter didn't see any animals as he trekked through the deep snow. As he neared the pond a beautiful young doe leapt out of the woods. It stared at him fearlessly, as if if was taunting him. He fired his silver bullet, and struck the doe in the hear. It disappeared. The hunter made his way to Sarah's cottage, where he found an old woman dead with a silver bullet in her heart.

*****

I find this story sad. Poor Sarah! Lots of witch stories involve death by silver bullet, but the silver horseshoe incident is quite cruel. She was just lonely and looking for some male companionship. Even witches need some love. That part of the story reminded me of the recent movie Maleficent. It's unsettling how misogynist some of these stories are.

Sarah's story is included in William Simmons's Spirit of the New England Tribes, and if you approach it from the Mashpee perspective Sarah's not quite so sympathetic. Historically the Mashpee people had most of their land taken by English settlers, saw their numbers reduced by European diseases, and saw their way of life vanish. I see a woman looking for love and protecting animals in this story, but from a Mashpee perspective Sarah, a white woman preventing the tribe from pursuing their traditional hunt, is probably symbolic of white domination. We know the Mashpee weren't able to displace the whites, but at least in this story they can symbolically kill their oppressor.

The story also conveys metaphysical information about witches, and if you're a historian you can try to figure out whether Sarah really existed. There really is a Witch Pond in Mashpee - was there really a witch? So much to consider in one short (and sad) story.

Kidnapped by Witches in Plymouth

I have been very much on a witch groove these days. I could say it is because of the increasing darkness this time of year, but I think I'm always kind of in a witchy groove. You can't like New England folklore without liking witches!

Here's a nice little witch story from an 1893 book called The Old Colony Town and Other Sketches, by William Root Bliss. The Old Colony in the title refers to Plymouth, Massachusetts. Plymouth, settled by Europeans in 1620,  was considered the old colony when compared to Boston, which was only settled in 1630, and therefore was newer.

These 19th century local history books often have a chapter on witchcraft stories, and The Old Colony Town is no different, having a chapter of stories which Bliss heard from two elderly Plymouth ladies. I particularly like the following one.

**********

In the Plymouth forest near Buzzard's Bay lived two old witches. They never came out during the day, but at night they would emerge from their house and wander around in the gloom, casting spells on anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them. One night they met a boy walking through the woods, and charmed him into following them home. He quickly fell into a deep slumber in the main room of their house.

Around midnight the boy awoke to see the two witches pulling a quahog shell from the oven. The women rubbed the shell behind their ears and said, "Whisk!" In an instant they vanished up the chimney. Curious to see where they had gone, the boy also picked up the shell and rubbed it behind his ears. After saying the magic word, he found himself transported up the chimney into a meadow where the two witches were mounted on black horses. Noticing their new guest, one of the witches produced a bridle and put it on a bundle of straw, which was transformed into a pony. The witches galloped off across the meadow, and the boy followed them on the pony into the night.

After a while they came to a brook, which the witches' horses easily leaped over. When the boy's pony leaped the brook, the boy exclaimed: "A pretty good jump for a lousy calf!" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, the pony reverted back to a bundle of straw, and he was forced to run after the witches on foot.

Winded and tired, he came to an old abandoned house with the black horses tied outside. From inside he could hear the sound of fiddle music. Peering in one broken window he saw the two witches and other elderly ladies dancing around a black man playing the fiddle. Terrified at what he saw, the boy ran away into the woods. Eventually he came to a to a farm house. The farmer and his wife took the boy in, and returned him to his family the next morning.

*********

There are a lot of interesting aspects to this little tale. It definitely has a dream-like feeling, with the witches who only emerge at night, and the sleeping boy who sees them fly up the chimney. (Much like Santa Claus does in a Visit from Saint Nicholas!) When the morning comes he "awakens" and is once again back at home with his parents. The journey on the horses across the meadow and over the brook is reminiscent of various mythic journeys to the Otherworld, which is often separated from the normal, mundane world by a river.

Many New England witch stories deal with issues of women's power, and I think it's salient that the witches kidnap a boy, rather than a girl, particularly since a magic bridle is involved. In most stories about witch bridles, the witches use them to subjugate men who have mistreated them. The sexual and gender issues are quite obvious in those stories, but in this one they are a little more oblique since the boy is obviously young.

It's also significant that the boy breaks the spell over the straw bundle by speaking. Silence is magically powerful in a lot of New England folk stories. For example, Eva Speare's book New Hampshire Folk Tales mentions a spell to immobilize witches that is broken only when someone speaks, and also claims that if you manage to put a witch bridle over a witch, she will obey you until you speak. A single word will set the witch free.

The black man playing the fiddle is obviously the Devil, but black is probably not being used in it's current meaning of having African ancestry. In colonial New England black clothing was quite expensive due to the dyes that were used, and only the very wealthy and important (like ministers) could afford it. Many stories describe the Devil as being dressed in black clothing which signifies his power and material wealth.

Finally, I'll just say that the quahog shell is very, very New England.