riquet_ from the godless revelries of the same prince within its
walls, and the wild deeds of his companions in wickedness; while a
third class of local historians insist upon it that the ruin takes
its name from the congregation of fiendish shapes which resort there
on special occasions, and the riot and rout which they create in the
roofless chambers, reeking vaults, and crumbling corridors of the
desolate edifice. It is to this ruin, and of the adjacent ferry, that
the following legend belongs.

It was in the time when the celebrated Convent of St. Thomas over
Andernach existed in its pristine magnificence, that late on an
autumnal night the ferryman from that city to the Devil's House on the
other side of the river, who lived on the edge of the bank below the
ruins of the ancient palace of the kings of Austrasia, was accosted by
a stranger, who desired to be put across just as the man was about to
haul up his boat for the day. The stranger seemed to be a monk, for he
was closely cowled, and gowned from head to foot in the long, dark,
flowing garb of some ascetic order.

"Hilloa! ferry," he shouted aloud as he approached the shore of the
river, "hilloa!"

"Here, ahoy! here, most reverend father!" answered the poor ferryman.
"What would ye have with me?"

"I would that you ferry me across the Rhine to yonder shore of the
river," replied the monk. "I come from the Convent of St. Thomas, and
I go afar on a weighty mission. Now, be ye quick, my good friend, and
run me over."

"Most willingly, reverend father," said the ferryman. "Most
willingly. Step into my boat, and I'll put you across the current in a
twinkling."

The dark-looking monk entered the boat, and the ferryman shoved off
from the bank. They soon reached the opposite shore. The ferryman,
however, had scarce time to give his fare a good-evening ere he
disappeared from his sight, in the direction of the Devil's House.
Pondering a little on this strange circumstance, and inwardly thinking
that the dark monk might as well have paid him his fare, or, at least,
bade him good-night before he took such unceremonious leave, he rowed
slowly back across the stream to his abode at Andernach.

"Hilloa! ferry," once more resounded from the margin of the river as
he approached, "hilloa!"

"Here, ahoy!" responded the ferryman, but with some strange sensation
of fear. "What would ye?"

He rowed to the shore, but he could see no one for a while, for it was
now dar