General Jonathan Moulton was one of the richest men in Hampton in the 1700's. How did he acquire such wealth? Some said he was in league with the Devil. This story by William Cram appeared in the Hampton Union & Rockingham County Gazette on February 17, 1938. Similar stories can be found in other sources. Seems that something was up with General Moulton, but what exactly?
I’ve shortened the story considerably for your Halloween pleasure:
The legendary hero of Hampton is General Jonathan Moulton. who, unwisely (as it turns out) declared he would sell his soul for riches.
Think of the devil, and he is at your elbow. The General, alone by his fireside, saw a shower of sparks come down the chimney. From the sparks emerged a man in black velvet.
"Your servant, General!" quoth the stranger. "But let us make haste, if you please, for I am expected at the Governor's in a quarter of an hour." He picked up a live coal and consulted his watch with it.
The General's wits began to desert him. Portsmouth was five leagues -- long ones at that -- from Hampton House, and this stranger talked of getting there in fifteen minutes. Astonished, he stammered: "Then you must be the -- "
"Tush, what signifies a name?" said the stranger. "Come, do we understand each other? Is it a bargain or not?"
At the word "bargain" the General pricked up his ears. Neither man nor devil could get the better of him in trade. He took out his jackknife and began to whittle. The devil took out his, and began to pare his nails.
"What proof have I that you can perform what your promise?" Moulton asked.
The visitor ran his fingers carelessly through his peruke. A shower of gold guineas fell to the floor and rolled to the four corners of the room. The General stooped to pick one up but it was red hot!
"Try again," the stranger said. "Don't be afraid."
Moulton cautiously touched a coin; it was cool. He weighed it in his hand, and rung it on the table; it was full weight and full ring. Then he went down on his knees and began to gather up the guineas with feverish haste.
"Are you satisfied?" demanded the stranger.
"Completely."
"Then to business. By the way do you have anything to drink in this house?"
"There is some Old Jamaica in the cupboard."
"Excellent! I am as thirsty as a Puritan on Election Day."
Moulton brought a decanter and glasses from the cupboard, filling one and passing it to his guest, who tasted it, and smacked his lips with the air of a connoisseur. "Do you not find it to your taste?"
"I have drunk worse. But let me show you how to make a salamander. He touched the lighted candle to the liquid, which instantly burst into a spectral blue flame. He then raised the tankard to the height of his eye, glanced approvingly at the blaze -- which to Moulton's eye resembled an adder's forked and agile tongue.
Moulton pretended to drink, but somehow the liquor choked him. The stranger set down the tankard. He drew a parchment from his coat: "I engage, on my part, on the first day of every month, to fill your boot with golden elephants, like these before you. But mark me well," he said. “If you try to play me any trick, you will repent it! I know you, Jonathan Moulton, and shall keep my eye upon you; so beware! Now sign!”
Moulton hesitated.
"If you are afraid," said the stranger, "why put me to all this trouble?"
Moulton wrote his name at the bottom of the list, where he was astonished to see some of the highest personages in the province. "I shall at least be in good company," he muttered.
"Good!" said the stranger. He and the parchment vanished up the chimney.
Satan performed his part. On the first day of every month, the boots, which were hung on the crane in the fireplace the night before, were found in the morning to be stuffed full of guineas. It is true that Moulton had ransacked the village for the largest pair to be found, and had finally secured a brace of trooper's jackboots, which came nearly up to the wearer's thigh.
Moulton became a very rich man.
But one morning, when the fiend came as usual to fill the boots, what was his astonishment to find that could not fill them. He poured in the guineas but it was like pouring water into a rat hole. The more he put in the more the quantity seemed to diminish. In vain he persisted; the boots not be filled. He tried to climb down the chimney for a closer look, but the chimney was choked with guineas. The General had cut off the soles, leaving only the legs for the devil to fill. The chamber was knee deep with gold.
The same night Hampton House was burned to the ground, the General escaping with only his shirt. The precious guineas were secreted in the wainscot, the ceiling, and other hiding places only known to himself. But, the loss was not irreparable. Gold would melt it was true, but he would find it all at daybreak, run in a lump in the cellar.
And yet, come daybreak, there was no gold.
Years later, when the General died and was buried, strange rumors began to circulate. To quiet them, the grave was opened; but when the lid was removed from the coffin it was found to be empty.
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