Legend of the “Spectacular ruin”

The captain of the raft, who was as full of history as he could stick, said that in the Middle Ages a most prodigious fire-breathing dragon used to live in that region, and made more trouble than a tax-collector.  He was as long as a railway-train, and had the customary impenetrable green scales all over him.  His breath bred pestilence and conflagration, and his appetite bred famine.  He ate men and cattle impartially, and was exceedingly unpopular.  The German emperor of that day made the usual offer:  he would grant to the destroyer of the dragon, any one solitary thing he might ask for; for he had a surplusage of daughters, and it was customary for dragon-killers to take a daughter for pay.

So the most renowned knights came from the four corners of the earth and retired down the dragon’s throat one after the other.  A panic arose and spread.  Heroes grew cautious.  The procession ceased.  The dragon became more destructive than ever.  The people lost all hope of succor, and fled to the mountains for refuge.

At last Sir Wissenschaft, a poor and obscure knight, out of a far country, arrived to do battle with the monster.  A pitiable object he was, with his armor hanging in rags about him, and his strange-shaped knapsack strapped upon his back.  Everybody turned up their noses at him, and some openly jeered him.  But he was calm.  He simply inquired if the emperor’s offer was still in force.  The emperor said it was—­but charitably advised him to go and hunt hares and not endanger so precious a life as his in an attempt which had brought death to so many of the world’s most illustrious heroes.

But this tramp only asked—­“Were any of these heroes men of science?” This raised a laugh, of course, for science was despised in those days.  But the tramp was not in the least ruffled.  He said he might be a little in advance of his age, but no matter—­science would come to be honored, some time or other.  He said he would march against the dragon in the morning.  Out of compassion, then, a decent spear was offered him, but he declined, and said, “spears were useless to men of science.”  They allowed him to sup in the servants’ hall, and gave him a bed in the stables.

When he started forth in the morning, thousands were gathered to see.  The emperor said: 

“Do not be rash, take a spear, and leave off your knapsack.”

But the tramp said: 

“It is not a knapsack,” and moved straight on.

The dragon was waiting and ready.  He was breathing forth vast volumes of sulphurous smoke and lurid blasts of flame.  The ragged knight stole warily to a good position, then he unslung his cylindrical knapsack—­which was simply the common fire-extinguisher known to modern times —­and the first chance he got he turned on his hose and shot the dragon square in the center of his cavernous mouth.  Out went the fires in an instant, and the dragon curled up and died.