The Legend of Stingy Jack: A Halloween Leftover

“You’ve celebrated how many Samhains and you still don’t know where the jack o’lantern comes from?” my leprechaun friend, Declan, scoffed.

 

We were having another Zoom meeting. Usually, we had tea. This time it was a pint of the plain and a drop of the pure. Him, in his home beneath the Cooley Mountains in County Louth, Ireland and me in my home in Phoenix, Arizona.

 “Allow me then to regale you with the legend of Stingy Jack,” Declan started. “A long time ago in Ireland, there lived a man named Jack. He was so stingy, he’d squeeze a penny until his fingertips met in the middle. He was not only stingy but just a horrible, horrible bloke. A thief and liar, he’d steal from a beggar, and even the parish priest would go out of the way to spit on him at least once a day.

 “Anyway, Jack loved his drink. In fact, so much, the local public house was the only place he’d ever behave. He’d sit in a corner table nursing his pint, not talking to anyone, and of course no one in the pub wanted anything to do with him. Except one day, this well-dressed gent that no one had ever seen before popped into the pub. Some thought he was just passing through. Others thought, he was a guest of the local landlord. Either way, to everyone’s shock and surprise, this gent took a seat with our Jack. Of course, no one was more shocked or surprised than Jack himself.

 Declan chuckled. “It turned out this gent was none other than the Devil himself. He’d come to claim Jack’s filthy soul. That pint he was drinking was on its way to destroying the last bit of healthy gut inside of him. Jack, to his credit, didn’t beg, didn’t plead for more time. He was ready to accept his fate.

 ‘Will you do a dying man a favor, your lordship?” Jack started. ‘Will you sit with me and allow me to finish my pint? Me – last – pint?’

 “Back then, the Devil was an amiable chap – Och, but that would all change after his dealings with Jack. So, the Devil sat with Jack while he finished his pint. Now, to his credit Jack did have a touch of the Blarney, so he soon had the Devil in stitches laughing along with his old jokes and stories. But finally, Jack had drained his glass, and the Devil declared it was time to go.

 ‘Alright, pay for your pint and be on our way,’ he said.

 ‘But I haven’t any money,’ Jack admitted.

 ‘What? How were you expecting to pay for your drink then?’

 ‘I wasn’t. I was just going to start a fight with someone and get chucked out,’ said Jack. Of course, he was lying through his hole. If Jack could be counted on for one thing, he always paid for his drinks. ‘Will you be a mate and pay for me? For – me – last – pint?”

 ‘I never carry any money on me,’ said the Devil. 

 ‘Why not?’

 ‘I’m the Devil. I don’t need it.’

 ‘Shall we start brawling then?’ Jack asked. ‘Get ourselves chucked out?’

 ‘Absolutely not.’

 ‘Well, do you have the power to create coins?’

 The Devil scoffed. ‘Of course not. If I could do that, I’d retire.’

 ‘What can you do?’

 ‘I can change my form. I suppose I could change into a gold coin, and you could use me to pay for your pint.’

 ‘That sounds grand. And when the pub closes, you can change yourself back and sneak out, none the wiser.’

 “The Devil agreed and changed himself into a gold coin, but instead of using him to pay for his pint, he plucked the Devil in his pocket then took his Mammy’s old crucifix off his neck and dropped it in his pocket. That trapped the Devil good.”

 I laughed out loud.

 “Oh, we’re not done yet,” said Declan. “So Jack went on and had himself quite a night. He drank with what coin he had – except for the one that was actually the Devil. He even picked a few pockets so he could drink even more. He finally staggered out around dawn, stomach growling, aching for something to eat. He didn’t quite have his wits together from that night’s drinking to steal anything, so he fished through his pockets for some coin. But all he had was the coin the Devil had turned into. He pulled it from his pocket, and the Devil resumed the form of a well-dressed gent. Needless to say, he was not happy about being made a fool and still insisted on taking Jack’s soul with him.

 ‘Okay, your lordship,’ he said. ‘I’ll go quietly with you. But could I possibly get a bit of food in me first? Just a wee apple from that tree over there?’ Jack pointed.

 “The Devil didn’t see the harm in it. He followed Jack to the apple tree, watching him staggering and lurching and almost falling over more than once. When they got to the tree, Jack tried to climb its trunk but appeared to be in no shape.

 ‘Here, let me,’ said an impatient Devil.

 “The Devil scaled the tree and snatched up an apple. Only before he could climb back down, he saw that a now sobered-up Jack had carved four crosses into the tree trunk trapping the Devil. The Devil threatened Jack to scratch out the crosses, but our Jack only laughed at him. Soon, the Devil was pleading, thinking how undignified it would be to be caught in a tree like he was.

 ‘I’ll make you a deal,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll scratch out the crosses and let you down, only if you agree to never take my soul to Hell with you. Agreed?’

 “The Devil sighed. He agreed, and if anything he was a man of his word and let our Jack be. But years passed, and Jack’s body finally started giving out on him. He sought shelter in a barn one night. He collapsed on a pile of hay, clutching his Mammy’s crucifix, ready to join her in Heaven. And sure enough, an angel descended from above. Jack closed his eyes, ready to be taken away. Only …

 ‘You actually think Heaven would want you, Jack?’

 “Jack’s eyes popped open. There was no angel, only his old foe the Devil in disguise.

 ‘But we have a deal,’ Jack reminded him. ‘You said you won’t take my soul to Hell with you.’

 ‘And I won’t,’ grinned the Devil. 

“He punched a hole in Jack’s chest and pulled out a glowing ember. Jack whimpered as the Devil placed it in his hands. ‘Behold your soul. Yours to do with as you wish, Jack.’

“Jack shrieked and fought to shove his soul back into his chest, only it kept tumbling out. He looked to the Devil, but the Devil had already disappeared leaving nothing behind but his laughter. The soul burned Jack’s hands. It was too hot to carry. He juggled it back and forth. Finally, he spotted a hollowed-out gourd in the pigs’ trough and stuffed his soul inside it. He then staggered from the barn, holding the gourd out in front of him, his soul shining from it, lighting his way.”

Declan poured more whiskey into his glass. “So Jack wandered all about Ireland, the light of his soul, shining from his gourd, lighting his way. His story spread, and he soon went from being known as Stingy Jack to Jack o’the’lantern and later Jack O’Lantern. Of course, Jack’s story came to scare people so much, they started carving their own gourds with terrifying faces on them in hopes it would scare away evil spirits on Samhain – including Jack himself if he should happen to wander down their street. Eventually, pumpkins were used because they were so big and easy to carve. That, and they were a symbol of the passing harvest.”

 I raised my glass to my computer screen to toast Declan and thank him for his marvelous story. We then freshened up our drinks, and I sat back as my leprechaun friend had more stories to share with me.