"My God! where is the executioner?" screamed my father-in-law, and when the girl, sobbing, pointed to the tavern, the old man ran off as quick as he was able the whole way to the place, where the executioner and his fellows sat by the beer-jug, laughing and making merry. And when he arrived, the old man's breath was well-nigh gone, and he could scarcely tell of the horrors he had seen and heard; but when he had ended the executioner answered he could not help it. "His worship the attorney-general was at breakfast likewise at the court-house, and had the keys. When he was done he would send for them." The worthy priest then ran back again all the way from the tavern to the court-house, as quick as he could, but stopping his ears the while as he came nearer, not to hear the groans of the poor dairy-mother, and the screams of her daughters, who were running hither and thither round the walls, as if indeed the wretched girls had quite lost their senses. And at last he reached the sheriff's quarter, where another kind of roaring saluted his ears—I mean the shouts and laughter of the drunken noisy crew within.
For the ferocious bloodhound, Christian Ludecke, had invited friends over from Old Stettin, and there they all sat, Sheriff Sparling too amongst them, round the table like coupled hounds, for a fine metal wire had been passed through all their ears as they sat drinking, so that none could go away without having his ear torn by the wire. Or if one of the beastly drunken pigs swilled so much, that he fell under the table, and his ear tore in consequence, it was a source of great laughter and merriment to the other pigs.
When the old man beheld this, he thought that between grief, anger, and horror, he would have fallen to the ground. And for a long while he stood gazing at the scene, unable to utter a word, whilst they roared to him to take his place, and shoved the wine-can over: "But he must have his ear pierced first like the others; for the good old laws were in force here, and he must drain the cup at a draught till his breath was gone, and his two cheeks remained full—this was the true Pomeranian draught."
At this beastly proposition, the pious priest crossed himself, and at last got out the words—"Mercy for the criminal! mercy for the poor dairy-mother!"
At this, the attorney-general, Christian Ludecke, clapped his hand upon his forehead, exclaiming, "'Fore God, it is true, I have let that cursed hag lie on the rack these two hours. I forgot all about her. Send to the executioner, and bid him release her. Let her rest for to-day."
"And you could forget a fellow-creature thus!" exclaimed the priest, with indignation. "Oh! you are more savage than a heathen, or the very brute beasts there without, who trembled at the groans of the poor martyr; yea, hell itself could not be more merciless!"
"What, thou cursed parson!" cried the commissioner, starting from his seat in fury. But just then, as he sprang up, the wire tore through his ear, and the red blood flowed down upon his fine white ruff, whereat the others burst out into a yell of laughter, which increased the villain's fury ten times more.
"Now the damned hag should stay on the rack till night. What did people mean coming with begging prayers for the devil's brood? As well pray mercy for the devil himself—the reverend parson was very tender about his friends the witches." At which he laughed so loud that the roof rang, and all the others roared in chorus.
But the priest replied gravely, "I shall repeat every word you have uttered to his Highness the Duke, with a statement of how I found ye all employed, unless this instant you give orders to release the dairy-mother."
"Never! never!" shouted the bloodhound, and struck the table till the glasses rang. "What is it to thee, damned priest? I am witch-commissioner of Pomerania; and his Highness expressly charged me to show no mercy to these cursed devil's hags, therefore, I am ready to answer to God, the Prince, and my conscience, for what I do."