there--very clever looking she was, and she had a good suit of
clothes. And I bid her rest herself and I'd give her a cup of tea,
and she said, "I travelled far today and you're the first that
offered me that." And when she had it taken she said, "If I had a
bit of tobacco, and a bit of bacon for my dinner, I'd be all right."
And I made a sign to the woman I have, under the table, to give her
a bit of tobacco. So she got it for her and she said, "I shouldn't
take it, and this the second time today you divided it." And that was
true, for a neighbouring boy had come in in the morning and asked
for a loan of a bit, and she had cut it for him. And I said, "Go to
that house beyond and the woman will give you a bit of bacon"; and
she said, "I won't go to that woman, for it was she told you that one
of the neighbours was bringing away her butter from her," and so she
had, sure enough. And then she said, she must be in Cruachmaa that
night, and she went away and I never saw her again.
_A Mayo Man:_
One time I was working in England near Warrington, and I was walking
the road alone at night, and I saw a woman under an umbrella in the
mist and I said, "Is it a living thing you are or dead?" And she
vanished on the minute. And I sat down by the hedge for a while, and
I heard feet walking, walking, up and down inside the hedge, and I
am sure they were the same thing. And then two strange men passed
me, dressed in working clothes, but talking gibberish that I could
not understand, and I know that they were no right men. So I went in
towards the town and I met a policeman, and he took up his lamp and
made it shine in my face, for they carry a lamp in their belt and
they will take the measurement of your face with it, the same as by
daylight. And he said, "There never was a worse road for an Irishman
to walk than this one." It was maybe because of the land and the
rough people of it he said that.
_A Gate-keeper:_
My sister and her husband were driving on the Kinvara road one day,
and they saw a carriage coming behind them, and it with bright lamps
about it. And they drew the car to one side to let it pass. And when
it passed they saw it had no horses, and the men that were sitting up
where the drivers should be were headless.
There's many has seen the coach, in different shapes, and some have
seen the riders going over the country. Drumconnor is a great place
for these things. The Sheehans that lived in the castle had no peace
or rest. Mrs. Sheehan looked up one day she was outside, and there
was some person standing at the window, and in a moment it was
headless. And they'd see them coming in at the gate, sometimes in
the shape of a woman, and a sort of a cape in the old fashion and a
handkerchief over the head, and sometimes in the shape of a cow or
such things. And noises they'd hear, and things being thrown about
in the house and packs of wool thrown down the stairs.
And they had a good many children, and all the best and the
best-looking were taken. And at last they got the owner to build them
a house outside, and since that they have no trouble and have lost no
more children.
_Mrs. Madden:_
Rivers of Cloonmore one time when he was going to Loughrea, at the
fish-pond corner saw the coach. I didn't see it, but I saw him draw
aside and say to Leary not to let on they saw it.
Meagher another time saw it, and it full of children all in white.
But Egan beyond, he'd never let on to believe in such things and
would make them out to be nothing--he has such a gift of talking.
And one time in the night I and my husband woke and heard the car
rattling by, and we thought it was St. George going to Ballylee
Castle, till we asked in the morning. Four horses it has and they
headless, and sure and certain we heard it pass that night.
_Mrs. Casey:_
And I knew a boy met the coach and four one time. Drawn by four
horses it was, and lights about it and music, and the horses dressed
with flowers. And in it were sitting ladies, very clever-looking and
wild, and their hair twisted up on their heads, and when they went
on a little way they called to some man on the road to come with
them, and he refused, and they laughed at that and ridiculed him.
I never saw the coach and four with these two eyes; but one time I
heard it pass by, about 11 o'clock at night, when I was sitting up
mending the sole of a boot. Surely it passed by, but I would not look
out to see what it was like.
For there was a woman I knew was walking with a man one night from
Kilcolgan to Oranmore. And as they were sitting by the roadside they
heard the coach and four coming. And the man stood up and looked at
it, but he had no right to do that, he should have turned his head
away. And there were grand people in it, ladies, and flowers about
them. But no sooner did he look at it than he was struck blind and
never had his eyesight since.
It's best not to look at them if they pass. And when you go along the
road and a storm comes in the calm and raises all the dust of the road
up in the air, turn your head another way, for it's they that are
passing. In the month of May is the most time they do be travelling.
And it's best not to go near water then, near a river or a lake.
When my father was dying my mother was sitting with him, and she
heard a car pass the door, going light and quick, but when it passed
down the road again it went heavy, and that was the coach and four.
There was Sully had the forge one time, and passing one night down
the road towards Nolan's gate, he saw a brake pass full of ladies
and gentlemen, as he thought, and he believed it to be St. George's
carriage. But at Nolan's gate, it turned and came up again, and
whatever he saw, when he got home he took to his bed for some days
with the fright he got.
Kelly told me one time he saw the coach and four driving through the
field above Dillon's, with four horses. And wasn't that a strange
place for it to be driving through all the rocks?
* * * * *
There was boys used to be stealing apples from the orchard at Tyrone,
and something in white with a candle used to come after them, and then
change to something in red. So they went to a forth, and they went to
the side of it where the sun rises and there they made the mark of the
cross, but after all they had to leave going after the apples.
* * * * *
There was a woman down at Silver's the other night, and when I was
standing to go home she said, "I wonder you not to be afraid to go
through these fields." So I asked her did ever she see anything,
and she said, "I was with another girl one day near Inchy gate,
and we heard a voice, and we saw the coach and four coming and we
were afraid, and we went in under the bushes to hide ourselves. It
passed by us then, it was big and long, longer than a carriage you
could see now, and there were people in it, men and women dressed in
all colours, blue and red and pink and black, but I could not say
what had they on their heads. And there was a man on the box, not a
coachman but just a Christian, and he driving the four horses.
"As to the horses, the two that were in front were grey, but the two
that were near the carriage were brown; it gave me a great fright at
the time."
* * * * *
There is no light about it in the daytime, but at night it is all
shining.
* * * * *
There was a girl saw it one time in the same way, drawn by horses
that were without heads. She got a great fright and she ran home. And
in the morning when she got up, she that had been a dark-haired girl
was as white as snow, and her hair grey. She is living yet and is up
to nearly a hundred years.
_Mrs. Roche:_
My father would never believe in anything till one time he was walking
near Seanmor with another smith, and he stopped and said "I can't go on
with all the people that's in that field." And my father said "I don't
see any people." And the other said "Put your right foot on my right
foot, and your hand on my right shoulder." And he did, and he saw a
great many in the field, but not so many as the other saw; fine men
and all dressed in white shirts, shining they were so white. He told us
about it when he came home, and he said he wished he didn't see them.
He was dead within the twelvemonth, and the man that was with him was
dead before that, not much time between them.
VIII
BUTTER
VIII
BUTTER
_I have been told:_
Butter, that's a thing that's very much meddled with. On the first
of May before sunrise it's very apt to be all taken away out of
the milk. And if ever you lend your churn or your dishes to your
neighbour, she'll be able to wish away your butter after that. There
was a woman used to lend a drop of milk to the woman that lived next
door, and one day she was churning, churning, and no butter came. And
at last some person came into the house and said, "It's hard for you
to have butter here, and if you want to know where it is, look into
the next house." So she went in and there was her neighbour letting
on to be churning in a quart bottle, and rolls of butter beside her.
So she made as if to choke her, and the woman run out into the garden
and picked some mullein leaves, and said, "Put these leaves in under
your churn, and you'll find your butter come back again." And so she
did. And she found it all in the churn after.
To sprinkle a few drops of holy water about the churn, and to put a
coal of fire under it, that you should always do--as was always done
in the old time--and the _others_ will never touch it.
* * * * *
There was a woman in the town was churning, and when the butter came
she went out of the house to bring some water for to wash it and to
make it up. And there was a tailor sitting sewing on the table. And
the woman from next door came in and asked the loan of a coal of
fire, and that's a thing that's never refused from one poor person
to another in the morning. So he bid her take it. And presently she
came in again and said that the coal of fire had gone out, and asked
another, and this she did the third time. But the tailor knew well
what she was doing, and that every coal of fire she brought away,
there was a roll of butter out of the churn went with it. So whatever
prayers he said is not known, but he brought the butter all back
again, and into a can on the floor, and no hands ever touched it. So
when the woman of the house came back, "There's your butter in the
can," said he. And she wondered how it came out of the churn to be in
three rolls in the can. And then he told her all that had happened.
* * * * *
There was a man was churning, churning, every day and no butter would
come only froth. So some wise woman told him to go before sunrise to a
running stream and bring a bottle of the water from it. And so he did
before sunrise, and had to go near four miles to it. And from that day
he had rolls and rolls of butter coming every time he churned.
* * * * *
There was one Burke, he knew how to bring it back out of some old
Irish book that has disappeared since he died. There was a woman
a herd's wife lived beyond, and one time Burke had his own butter
taken, and he said he knew a way to find who had done it, and he
brought in the coulter of the plough and put it in the fire. And
when it began to get red hot, this woman came running, and fell on
her knees, for it was she did it. And after that he never lost his
butter again. But she took to her bed and was there for years until
her death. And she couldn't turn from one side to another without
some person to lift her. Her son is now living in Dublin, and is the
President of some Association.
* * * * *
If a woman in Aran is milking a cow and the milk is spilled, she says,
"There's some are the better for it," and I think it a very nice
thought, that they don't grudge it if there is any one it does good to.
* * * * *
There was a man, one Finnegan, had the knowledge how to bring it back.
And one time Lanigan that lives below at Kilgarvan had all his butter
taken and the milk nothing but froth rising to the top of the pail like
barm. So he went to Finnegan and he bid him get the coulter of the
plough, and a shoe of the wickedest horse that could be found and some
other thing, I forget what. So he brought in the coulter of the plough,
and his brother-in-law chanced to have a horse that was so wicked it
took three men to hold him, and no one could get on his back. So he
got a shoe off of him. But just at that time, Lanigan's wife went to
confession, and what did she do but to tell the priest what they were
doing to get back the butter. So the priest was mad with them, and bid
them to leave such things alone. And when Finnegan heard it he said,
"What call had she to go and confess that? Let her get back her own
butter for herself any more, for I'll do nothing to help her."
* * * * *
Grass makes a difference? So it may, but believe me that's not all.
I've been myself in the County Limerick, where the grass is that rich
you could grease your boots in it, and I heard them say there, one
quart of cream ought to bring one pound of butter. And it never does.
_And where does the rest go to?_
IX
THE FOOL OF THE FORTH
IX
THE FOOL OF THE FORTH
_We had, before our quest began, heard of faeries and banshees and
the walking dead; but neither Mr. Yeats in Sligo nor I in Galway had
ever heard of "the worst of them all," the Fool of the Forth, the
Amadán-na-Briona, he whose stroke is, as death, incurable. As to the
fool in this world, the pity for him is mingled with some awe, for who
knows what windows may have been opened to those who are under the
moon's spell, who do not give in to our limitations, are not "bound by
reason to the wheel." It is so in the East also, and I remember the
surprise of the European doctor who had charge of an hospital in one of
the Native States of India, because when the ruler of the State came
one day to visit it, he and his high officials, while generous and
pitiful to the bodily sick, bowed down and saluted a young lad who had
lost his wits, as if recognizing an emissary from a greater kingdom._
_In one of my little comedies "The Full Moon," the cracked woman
comforts her half-witted brother, saying of his commonsense critics,
"It is as dull as themselves you would be maybe, and the world to be
different and the moon to change its courses with the sun." Those
commonsense people of Cloon describe a fool as "one that is laughing
and mocking, and that would not have the same habits as yourself, or
to have no fear of things you would be in dread of, or to be using a
different class of food." May it not be the old story of the deaf man
thinking all his fellow guests had suddenly lost their reason when they
began to dance, and he alone could not hear the call of the pipes?_
_There is perhaps sometimes a confusion in the mind between things
seen and unseen, for an old woman telling me she had often heard of
the Amadán-na-Briona went on "And I knew one too, and he's not dead
a twelvemonth. It's at night he used to be away with them, and they
used to try to bring people away into the forth where he was._
"_Was he a fool in this world too? Well, he was mostly, and I think I
know another that's living now_."
I was told by:
_A Woman Bringing Oysters from the Strand:_
There was a boy, one Rivers, got the touch last June, from the
Amadán-na-Briona, the Fool of the Forth, and for that touch there is no
cure. It came to the house in the night-time and knocked at the door,
and he was in bed and he did not rise to let it in. And it knocked
the second time, and even then, if he had answered it, he might have
escaped. But when it knocked the third time he fell back on the bed,
and one side of him as if dead, and his jaw fell on the pillow.
He knew it was the Amadán-na-Briona did it, but he did not see
him--he only felt him. And he used to be running in every place after
that and trying to drown himself, and he was in great dread his
father would say he was mad, and bring him away to Ballinasloe. He
used to be asking me could his father do that to him. He was brought
to Ballinasloe after and he died there, and his body was brought back
and buried at Drumacoo.
_Mrs. Murphy:_
Cnoc-na-Briona is full of them, near Cappard. The Amadán-na-Briona is
the master of them all, I heard the priest say that.
There was a man of the MacNeills passing by it one night coming back
from the bog, and they brought him in, and when he came out next
day--God save the mark--his face was turned to his poll. They sent
then to Father Jordan, and he turned it right again. The man said
they beat him while he was with them, and he saw there a great many
of his friends that were dead.
_The Spinning Woman:_
There are fools among them, and the fools we see like that Amadán at
Ballymore go away with them at night. And so do the women fools, that
we call _lenshees_, that means, an ape.
It's true enough there is no cure for the stroke of the
Amadán-na-Briona. There was an old man I knew long ago, he had a
tape, and he could tell what disease you had with measuring you, and
he knew many things. And he said to me one time "What month of the
year is the worst?" And I said, "The month of May, of course." "It
is not," he said, "but the month of June, for that's the month that
the Amadán gives his stroke." They say he looks like any other man,
but he's _leathan_--wide--and not smart. I know a boy one time got a
great fright, for a lamb looked over the wall at him, and it with a
big beard on it, and he knew it was the Amadán, for it was the month
of June. And they brought him to that man I was telling you about,
that had the tape. And when he saw him he said "Send for the priest
and get a Mass said over him." And so they did, and what would you
say but he's living yet, and has a family.
_A Seaside Man:_
The stroke of the Fool is what there is no cure for; any one that
gets that is gone. The Amadán-na-Briona we call him. It's said they
are mostly good neighbours. I suppose the reason of the Amadán being
wicked is he not having his wits, he strikes out at all he meets.
_A Clare Man:_
They, the other sort of people, might be passing you close and
they might touch you; but any one that gets the touch of the
Amadán-na-Briona is done for. And it's true enough that it's in the
month of June he's most likely to give the touch. I knew one that got
it, and told me about it himself.
He was a boy I knew well, and he told me that one night a gentleman
came to him, that had been his landlord, and that was dead. And he told
him to come along with him, for he wanted to fight another man. And
when he went he found two great troops of them, and the other troop had
a living man with them too, and he was put to fight him. And they had
a great fight and at last he got the better of the other man, and then
the troop on his side gave a great shout, and he was left home again.
But about three years after that he was cutting bushes in a wood, and
he saw the Amadán coming at him. He had a big vessel in his arms, and
it shining, so that the boy could see nothing else, but he put it
behind his back then, and came running; and he said he looked wide
and wild, like the side of a hill.
And the boy ran, and the Amadán threw the vessel after him, and it
broke with a great noise, and whatever came out of it, his head
was gone then and there. He lived for a while after and used to be
telling us many things, but his wits were gone. He thought they
mightn't have liked him to beat the other man, and he used to be
afraid something would come on him.
_Mrs. Staunton:_
A friend of mine saw the Amadán one time in Poul-na-shionac, low-sized
and very wide, and with a big hat on him, very high, and he'd make
shoes for you if you could get a hold of him. But there are some say
"No, that is not the Amadán-na-Briona, that is the leprechaun."
_An Old Woman:_
The Amadán-na-Briona is a bad one to meet. If you don't say, "The
Lord be between us and harm," when you meet him, you are gone for
ever and always. What does he look like? I suppose like any fool in a
house--a sort of a clown.
_A Man near Athenry:_
Biddy Early could cure nearly all things, but she said that the only
thing that she could do no cure for was the touch of the Amadán.
_Another:_
Biddy Early couldn't do nothing for the touch of the Amadán, because
its power was greater than hers.
_In the Workhouse:_
The Amadán-na-Briona, he changes his shape every two days. Sometimes he
comes like a youngster, and then he'll come like the worst of beasts.
Trying to give the touch he used to be. I heard it said of late that he
was shot, but I think myself it would be hard to shoot him.
_Ned Meehan of Killinane:_
The Amadán is the worst; I saw him myself one time, and I'd be swept
if I didn't make away on the moment. It was on a race-course at
Ballybrit, and no one there but myself, and I sitting with my back
to the wall and smoking my pipe. And all at once the Amadán was all
around me, in every place, and I ran and got out of the field or I'd
be swept. And I saw others of them in the field; it was full of them,
red scarfs they had on them.
I came home as quick as I could, and I didn't get over the fright for
a long time, but there he was all about me.
_Meehan's wife says_: I remember you well coming in that night, and
you trembling with the fright you got. And you told me the appearance
he had, like a jockey he was, on a grey horse.
"That is true indeed," _says Ned, and he goes on_:
And one night I was up in that field beyond, watching sheep that were
near their time to drop, and I saw a light moving through the fields
beside me, and down the road and no one with it. It stopped for a
while where the water is and went on again.
And there was a woman in Ballygra the same night heard the coach-a-baur
passing, and she not hearing at all about the lights I saw.
_A Man at Kilcolgan:_
Father Callaghan that used to be in Esker was able to do great cures;
he could cure even a man that had met the Amadán-na-Briona. But to
meet the Amadán is to be in prison for ever.
X
FORTHS AND SHEOGUEY PLACES
X
FORTHS AND SHEOGUEY PLACES
_When as children we ran up and down the green entrenchments of the big
round raths, the lisses or forths, of Esserkelly or Moneen, we knew
they had been made at one time for defence, and that is perhaps as much
as is certainly known. Those at my old home have never been opened,
but in some of their like I have gone down steps to small stone-built
chambers that look too low for the habitation of any living race._
_Had we asked questions of the boys who led our donkeys they would
in all likelihood have given us, from tradition or vision, news of
the shadowy inhabitants, the Sidhe, whose name in the Irish is all
one with a blast of wind, and of the treasures they guard. And the
old writings tell us that when blessed Patrick of the Bells walked
Ireland, he did not refuse the promise of heaven to some among those
spirits in prison, the old divine race for whom Mannanan himself had
chosen these hidden dwellings, after the great defeat in battle by
the human invaders, the Gaels, or to some they had brought among them
from the face of the green earth. It was one of their musicians who
played to the holy Clerks till Patrick himself said, "But for some
tang of the music of the Sidhe that is in it, I never heard anything
nearer to the music of heaven." That music is heard yet from time to
time; and it was into one of those hill dwellings that the father of
McDonough the Galway piper, my friend, was taken till the Sidhe had
taught him all their wild tunes and so bewitched his pipes that they
would play of themselves if he threw them up among the rafters. There
were great treasures there also in Saint Patrick's time, golden vats
and horns, and crystal cups, and silks of the colour of the foxglove.
It may be of these treasures that so many dreams are told._
_As to the women of the Sidhe, some who have seen them, as old Mrs.
Sheridan, tell of their white skin and yellow hair, for age has not
come on them through the centuries. When one of them came claiming
the fulfilment of an old promise from Caoilte of the Fianna, Patrick
wondered at her young beauty, while the man who had been her lover
was withered and bent and grey. But Caoilte said that was no wonder
"for she is of the Tuatha de Danaan who are unfading and whose life
is lasting, while I am of the sons of Milesius who are perishable
and fade away." Yet then as now, notwithstanding their beauty and
grandeur, those swept away into the hill dwellings would rather have
the world they know. One of Finn's men meeting a comely young man who
had been his comrade but was now an inhabitant of one of those hidden
houses, asked how he fared. And for all his fine clothing and his
blue weapons and the hound he held in a silver chain, the young man
gave the names of three drudges "who had the worst life of any who
were with the Fianna," and then he said, "I would rather be living
their life than the life I am leading now."_