At this point the Rhine makes a sudden bend and the channel becomes very narrow. Formerly the passage was very dangerous, and in the olden times it was a favorite spot for the robber knights who had their strongholds on the banks thereabouts, to stop trading vessels on their way up and down the river to request the payment of tolls.
THE DEVIL’S LADDER.
The merchants always paid the tolls. Sir Hugo, or Sir Bruno, or Sir whoever he might be, did not need a Custom House to collect his imposts. He merely had a score or more of cut-throats, fellows who would kill a man for sixpence, or its equivalent in the money of the day, and in default of the sixpence would do it for the sheer love of the thing, and the trader found it much better to give what was asked than to go to the bottom of the Rhine with a slit in his windpipe. But I have no idea that he lost anything. He counted this in his expense account, the same as the merchant of to-day does his insurance and bad debts, and he took it out of his customers, and they in turn took it out of the people. All of these things come out of the ground at the end. It is the tiller of the soil who finally pays for the soldier, the robber, the judge and jury, the gin-mill and the faro bank. And Tibbitts referred at once to a remark he had previously made, that it was vice, not virtue, that cost the world, that to wipe out the gin-mills was to do away with the police, the courts, and with the hangman, and everything else connected with what is called justice, that is so expensive. Armies are supported to sustain kings and courts, liquor makes police and justices’ courts necessary, and while everybody seems to pay a tax, none of them do it but the tiller of the soil, for they all charge up these expenses on what they do till it gets down to him. What he would do would be to do away with vice. Virtue is very cheap—so cheap that he wondered more people did not encourage it.
The banks now assume a more rugged appearance, and on each eminence is a castle or a ruin. We pass by in rapid succession a number of very picturesque views, in each one of which these ancient fortresses play an important part. Those old robbers knew well where to build, and they built exceeding well.
After passing Lorch we came to the pretty stream of the Wisper, which empties into the Rhine at this point. On the left bank of the stream is a rugged cliff, towering high in the air, called the “Devil’s Ladder,” which, of course, has its legend.
Near Lorch there lived a knight who, after losing his wife, became sullen and morose, and would have nothing to do with any one but his daughter, a lovely girl, just budding into womanhood. He refused to grant hospitality to any one who asked it. One stormy night a knight in distress applied for shelter and rest and was gruffly refused. The next morning when old Sibo, the knight, inquired for his daughter, he was told that she had been seen early in the morning with two sprites going up the impassable crag across the river. The distracted father hastened after and could see his daughter on the very summit of the crag. Almost crazed with grief he in vain besought the sprites to return her to him. But they only laughed and jeered at him. Finally, after a long time had passed, a young knight who had long loved the maid returned from the wars, and hearing the rather awkward situation his early love was in, hastily repaired to the foot of the crag determined to rescue her. But it was in vain. There was no way of making the ascent. He was about giving up in despair when a little figure suddenly appeared before him, and asked him why he was so despondent. On learning his love for the girl she told him to come again at the same time the following evening. The young knight returned promptly, as young men in love always do, and was surprised to find a ladder reaching from the foot to the top of the crag. He hastily mounted to the summit, and there in an enchanted garden he found the object of his search, and soon restored her to her father, who henceforth was most lavish with his hospitality. The maiden and the brave young knight were united in marriage and lived a long and happy life. The ladder remained on the rock for many years, and was called the Devil’s Ladder. It fell away in the course of time, but the name has ever since been applied to the great rugged cliff.
It is a thousand pities that some of these ladders and things don’t remain, simply to give us faith in the legends. If there was just one round of the ladder left, if one could only be shown the holes in the rock in which he was fastened, it would be something, but there is nothing of the kind. You have to take it all on faith, and that is sometimes wrenching.
THE LURLIEBERG.
All the way along the river, from here to beyond Coblenz, the Rhine is a succession of constantly changing views as the boat winds its way around the tortuous channel, every one more beautiful and picturesque than its predecessor. There are castles on high hills on the right bank, some close to the river, others further inland, just discernable through the trees. On the left bank are pretty villas and more castles, and occasionally an island is passed that has on it a ruined watch tower built hundreds of years ago, when might was right in this romantic country.
Just before approaching the pretty village of St. Goar, on the left hand of the Rhine, the imposing rocks of the Lurlie rise over four hundred feet above the river. Here the current is very swift, and many are the tales told of bold adventurous knights who have lost their lives under the shadow of this famous rock.