THE TALE OF DANDO AND THE WILD HUNT

 

 

Dando and the Wild Hunt

In the medieval period the priest of the parish of St Germans in Cornwall, south west England was called Dando. He was not a figure of virtue but abused his powers to enjoy as many earthly pleasures as he could. He was not at all attractive, and his vices were reflected in his potbelly and his fat red face. His main pleasures were good food, wine,the ladies of the town  and the drunken company of his more unsavoury parishioners. The one thing that he enjoyed above all else was hunting, and could often be found riding with his friends, more often than not quite inebriated. 

One Sunday in Autumn, he gathered a group of around thirty people and set out on a hunt. As usual for them, they rode roughshod over the land,  trampling crops, breaking fences, and crossing boundaries without a thought for anyone else. They rode into the bleak moorland that surrounded the parish, and were joined by a dark stranger, who seemed to appear from out of the mist. He did not speak or acknowledge any of the men but easily rode past the front horseman and Dando. Some time later Dando shouted for the company to stop, he was in need of a drink, and the men and dogs were tired after such a long day.  Dando shouted for a drink but a servant told him there was none left, and that he had drank the last drop that afternoon. "No drink" yelled Dando in his drunken rage, "I shall have drink if I have to go to hell for it." At this the stranger stirred for the first time, and drew a golden drinking horn from under his cloak. He offered this to Dando who quickly drank the lot in one draught.  The golden ale still dripping from his flabby lips, Dando proclaimed that the drink was the best that he had ever tasted, and that gods must drink ofsuch.  " Gods do not drink of it but devils do" The stranger replied in a straight voice. "Then I wish that I was a devil" replied Dando. At this the stranger dismounted in one movement, and quickly gathered the days game. With astonishing deftness he tied the game to his saddle and remounted.

Dando let out a furious howl. "Those are mine" he shouted, and staggered to the side of the stranger, he fumbled with the game and declared again the they were his game, and the stranger had no right to touch them. "What I have I will hold" said the stranger. Dando lurched forward again "I shall have them back if I have to ride to  hell to get them". "And so you will", said the stranger, and with that he leaned forward, grabbed Dando by the scruff of the neck and lifted him with ease in front of him. He spurred the horse on its way, and with tremendous speed they took of across the moorland. The other men could only stand open mouthed as they sped away, but Dando's hounds were quickly on their heels. Over the moorland and through the valleys they rode, until finally they came to the river Lynter. Without pausing the dark rider and Dando, and all of Dando's hounds plunged into the river, where they were swallowed up inflames, which left the river a bubbling mass of steam.

In the years after, Dando returned to the parish in demonic form, riding with his ember eyed pack of hounds over the moorland and valleys on dark nights. It was said that he had become an emissary of Hell, searching for souls such as his that he could claim for his master. He is still seen now and again, on stormy nights when few people venture out on to the moorland.