STEVENSON, JOHN 314
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
Daniel O'Rourke.
_From Crofton Croker's "Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of
Ireland."_
BY DR. MAGINN (1793-1842).
People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but
how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and
below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls
of the Phooka's tower. I knew the man well: he lived at the bottom of
Hungry Hill. He told me his story thus:--
"I am often axed to tell it, sir, so that this is not the first time.
The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign parts; and sure
enough there was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle
and simple, high and low, rich and poor. Well, we had everything of the
best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and we drunk, and we danced. To make
a long story short, I got, as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy
almost. And so, as I was crossing the stepping-stones of the ford of
Ballyasheenogh, I missed my foot, and souse I fell into the water.
'Death alive!' thought I, 'I'll be drowned now!' However, I began
swimming, swimming, swimming away for dear life, till at last I got
ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell how, upon a
dissolute island.
"I wandered, and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,
until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as
day, or your lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning her), and
I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, and nothing
did I see but bog, bog, bog. I began to scratch me head, and sing the
Ullagone--when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and I looked up, and
saw something for all the world as if it was moving down between me and
it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came with a pounce, and
looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an eagle? So he
looked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he,
'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you sir,' says I; 'I hope you're
well'; wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to
speak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing
at all, sir,' says I: 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of
the island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I. 'Dan,'
says he, 'though it is very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day,
yet, as you are a decent, sober man, who 'tends Mass well, and never
flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields--my
life for yours,' says he, 'so get on my back and grip me well for fear
you'd fall off, and I'll fly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I,
'your honour's making game of me; for who ever heard of riding horseback
on an eagle before?' ''Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting
his right foot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest: and so now either
take my offer or starve in the bog--besides, I see that your weight is
sinking the stone.'
"It was true enough, as he said, for I found the stone every minute
going from under me. 'I thank your honour,' says I, 'for the loan of
your civility; and I'll take your kind offer.' I therefore mounted upon
the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough by the throat, and up
he flew in the air like a lark. Little I knew the trick he was going to
serve me. Up--up--up, dear knows how far he flew. 'Why, then,' said I to
him--thinking he did not know the right road home--very civilly, because
why? I was in his power entirely: 'sir,' says I, 'please your honour's
glory, and with humble submission to your better judgment, if you'd fly
down a bit, you're now just over my cabin, and I could be put down
there, and many thanks to your worship.'
"'Arrah, Dan,' said he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next
field, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no
joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked
off a cowld stone in a bog.' Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and
I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use. 'Where in the
world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your tongue, Dan,' says
he: 'mind your own business, and don't be interfering with the business
of other people.'
"At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now, you can't
see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook
sticking out of the side of the moon, this way' (drawing the figure thus
on the ground with the end of his stick).
"'Dan,' said the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion
'twas so far.' 'And, my lord, sir,' said I, 'who in the world axed you
to fly so far--was it I? did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to
stop half-an-hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' says he; 'I'm
tired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I
rest myself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I; 'is it upon that
little round thing, then? why, sure, I'd fall off in a minute, and be
kilt and split, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver, so you
are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' said he; 'you can catch fast hold of the
reaping hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill
keep you up.' 'I won't, then,' said I. 'May be not,' said he, quite
quiet. 'But if you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one
slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in
your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in
the morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever to
have come along with the likes of you'; and so, giving him a hearty
curse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back, with
a heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon the
moon, and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.
"When he had me fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said, 'Good
morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked you
fairly now. You robbed me nest last year' ('twas true enough for him,
but how he found it out is hard to say), 'and in return you are freely
welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cockthrow.'
"'Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?' says
I. 'You ugly, unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at
last?' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out his great, big
wings, burst out laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled after
him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without his
minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to
this--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate
condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a
door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as
if it had not been opened for a month before--I suppose they never
thought of greasing 'em, and out there walks--who do you think, but the
man in the moon himself? I knew him by his bush.
"'Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' says he; 'how do you do?' 'Very
well, thank your honour,' said I. 'I hope your honour's well.' 'What
brought you here, Dan?' said he. So I told him how it was.
"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff, when I was
done, 'you must not stay here.'
"'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much against my will I'm here at all; but
how am I to go back?' 'That's your business,' said he; 'Dan, mine is to
tell you that you must not stay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm
doing no harm,' says I, 'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest
I fall off.' 'That's what you must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,'
says I, 'may I ask how many you are in family, that you would not give a
poor traveller lodging; I'm sure 'tis not so often you're troubled with
strangers coming to see you, for 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,'
says he; 'but you'd better let go the reaping hook.' 'And with your
leave,' says I, 'I'll not let go the grip, and the more you bids me, the
more I won't let go;--so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again.
'Why, then, my little fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him
with my eye from head to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and
I'll not budge, but you may if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,'
says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him
(for it was plain he was huffed) that I thought the moon and all would
fall down with it.
"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again
he comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a
word he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping hook that was
keeping me up, and whap! it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,'
says the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling
down with a bit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit,
and fair weather after you, Daniel.' I had not time to make any answer
to him, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling, and rolling, at
the rate of a fox-hunt. 'This is a pretty pickle,' says I, 'for a decent
man to be seen at this time of night: I am now sold fairly.' The word
was not out of my mouth when, whizz! what should fly by close to my ear
but a flock of wild geese; all the way from my own bog of
Ballyasheenogh, or else, how should they know me? The ould gander, who
was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me, 'Is that
you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he said,
for I was by this time used to all kinds of bedevilment, and, besides, I
knew him of ould. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel O'Rourke; how
are you in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I, 'I thank you
kindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mighty in want of some. 'I hope
your honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are, Daniel,' says
he. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you going all the
way so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop,
and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how
the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the
moon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you: put out your hand
and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.'
"'Sweet is your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though
all the time I thought within myself that I don't much trust you; but
there was no help, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the
other geese flew after him as fast as hops.
"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide
ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking
up out of the water. 'Ah! my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought
it best to keep a civil tongue in my head, any way, 'fly to land if you
please.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,
because, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I; 'that's
surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose: why, then,
to be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.' 'Whist, whist, you fool,'
said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of
place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a
little more sand there.'
"Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful
before the wind; 'Ah! then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship
if you please?' 'We are not fair over her,' said he. 'We are,' said I.
'We are not,' said he; 'If I dropped you now you would go splash into
the sea.' 'I would not,' says I; 'I know better than that, for it is
just clean under us, so let me drop now, at once.' 'If you must, you
must,' said he; 'there, take your own way,' and he opened his claw, and,
'deed, he was right--sure enough, I came down plump into the very bottom
of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went, and I gave myself up
then for ever, when a whale walked up to me, scratching himself after
his night's sleep, and looked me full in the face, and never the word
did he say, but, lifting up his tail, he splashed me all over again with
the cold, salt water till there wasn't a dry stitch on my whole carcase;
and I heard somebody saying--'twas a voice I knew, too--'Get up, you
drunken brute, off o' that'; and with that I woke up, and there was Judy
with a tub full of water which she was splashing all over me--for, rest
her soul! though she was a good wife, she never could bear to see me in
drink, and had a bitter hand of her own. 'Get up,' said she again: 'and
of all places in the parish would no place sarve your turn to lie down
upon but under the ould walls of Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am
sure you had of it.' And sure enough I had: for I was fairly bothered
out of my senses with eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders,
and whales driving me through bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the
bottom of the green ocean. If I was in drink ten times over, long would
it be before I'd lie down in the same spot again, I know that."
Adventures of Gilla na Chreck an Gour.
(THE FELLOW IN THE GOAT SKIN).
_From "Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts."_
BY PATRICK KENNEDY (1801-1873).
(Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect.)
Long ago a poor widow woman lived down by the iron forge near
Enniscorthy, and she was so poor, she had no clothes to put on her son;
so she used to fix him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the warm
ashes about him; and, accordingly, as he grew up, she sunk the pit
deeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin and fastened
it round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the
street. So, says she to him next morning, "Tom, you thief, you never
done any good yet, and you six-foot high, and past nineteen; take that
rope and bring me a _bresna_ from the wood." "Never say't twice,
mother," says Tom; "here goes."
When he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big
_joiant_, nine-foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become
Tom, he jumped a-one side and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack
he gave the big fellow he made him kiss the clod. "If you have e'er a
prayer," says Tom, "now's the time to say it, before I make _brishe_ of
you." "I have no prayers," says the giant, "but if you spare my life
I'll give you that club; and as long as you keep from sin you'll win
every battle you ever fight with it."
Tom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the club
in his hands he sat down on the bresna and gave it a tap with the
kippeen, and says, "Bresna, I had a great trouble gathering you, and run
the risk of my life for you; the least you can do is to carry me home."
And, sure enough, the wind of the word was all it wanted. It went off
through the wood, groaning and cracking till it came to the widow's
door.
Well, when the sticks were all burned Tom was sent off again to pick
more; and this time he had to fight with a giant with two heads on him.
Tom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the prayers _he_
said was to give Tom a fife that nobody could help dancing to when he
was playing it. _Begonies_, he made the big faggot dance home, with
himself sitting on it. Well, if you were to count all the steps from
this to Dublin, dickens a bit you'd ever arrive there. The next giant
was a beautiful boy with three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor
catechism no more nor the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green
ointment that wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. "And
now," says he, "there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks
here till little Lunacy Day in harvest without giant or fairy man to
disturb you."
Well, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and used to take a walk
down the street in the heel of the evening; but some of the little boys
had no more manners nor if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their
tongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that at all,
and it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last, what should
come through the town but a kind of bellman, only it's a big bugle he
had, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of painted shirt. So
this--he wasn't a bellman, and I don't know what to call him--bugleman,
maybe--proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was so melancholy
that she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and that her father would
grant her in marriage to whoever would make her laugh three times.
"That's the very thing for me to try," says Tom; and so, without burning
any more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at the little
boys, and set off along the yalla highroad to the town of Dublin.
At last Tom came to one of the City gates and the guards laughed and
cursed at him instead of letting him through. Tom stood it all for a
little time, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said--drove his
_bagnet_ half an inch or so into his side. Tom did nothing but take the
fellow by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his corduroys and
fling him into the canal. Some ran to pull the fellow out, and others to
let manners into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers; but a tap
from his club sent them headlong into the moat or down on the stones,
and they were soon begging him to stay his hands.
So at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the Palace
yard; and there was the King and the Queen, and the princess in a
gallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling and sword-playing, and
_rinka-fadhas_ (long dances) and mumming, all to please the princess;
but not a smile came over her handsome face.
Well, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's
face and long, black hair, and his short, curly beard--for his poor
mother couldn't afford to buy razhurs--and his great, strong arms and
bare legs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his waist
to his knees. But an envious, wizened _basthard_ of a fellow, with a red
head, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how she
opened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very
snappishly. "My business," says Tom, says he, "is to make the beautiful
princess, God bless her, laugh three times." "Do you see all them merry
fellows and skilful swordsmen," says the other, "that could eat you up
without a grain of salt, and not a mother's soul of 'em ever got a laugh
from her these seven years?" So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the
bad man aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch of snuff
for the whole bilin' of 'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try
what they could do. The King, that was too far off to hear what they
were saying, asked what did the stranger want. "He wants," says the
red-headed fellow, "to make hares of your best men." "Oh!" says the
King, "if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and try his mettle."
So one stood forward, with sword and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom. He
struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew
the sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he
got on the helmet. Another took his place, and another and another, and
then half-a-dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and
bodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they were
kilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and hips,
and limping away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone; and the princess was
so amused that she let a great, sweet laugh out of her that was heard
all over the yard. "King of Dublin," says Tom, "I've the quarter of
your daughter." And the King didn't know whether he was glad or sorry,
and all the blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.
So there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine with
the royal family. Next day Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size of a
yearling heifer, that used to be _serenading_ (sauntering) about the
walls, and eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would
give the King to have it killed. "With all my heart," says Tom. "Send a
jackeen to show me where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a
stranger."
The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different person
with fine clothes and a nice green _birredh_ over his long, curly hair;
and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave his
consent, and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking in the
palace yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his
shoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb. The King
and Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the officers
and people of the court that were _padrowling_ about the great bawn,
when they saw the big baste coming in gave themselves up, and began to
make for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if he was
saying, "Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!" The King
shouted out, "O Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrible wolf
and you must have all my daughter." But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He
pulled out his flute and began to play like vengeance; and dickens a man
or boy in the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf
himself was obliged to get on his hind legs and dance _Tatther Jack
Walsh_ along with the rest. A good deal of the people got inside and
shut the doors, the way the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept
playing, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing, and the wolf kept
dancing and roaring with the pain his legs were giving him; and all the
time he had his eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest.
Wherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the
other on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom
shook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped
dancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the
other down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from fair
tiresomeness.
When the princess seen that there was no fear of anyone being kilt, she
was so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in that she gave another
great laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, "King of Dublin, I have
two quarters of your daughter." "Oh, quarters or alls," says the King,
"put away that divel of a wolf and we'll see about it." So Gilla put his
flute in his pocket, and, says he, to the baste that was sittin' on his
currabingo ready to faint, "Walk off to your mountains, my fine fellow,
and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find you come within
seven miles of any town--." He said no more, but spit in his fist, and
gave a flourish of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted: he put
his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without looking at man
or mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in sight of
Dublin again.
At dinner everyone laughed except the foxy fellow; and, sure enough, he
was laying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day. "Well, to be sure!"
says he, "King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes moidhering
us to no end. D---- run to Lusk wid 'em and if anyone can save us from
'em it is this gentleman with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on
the collar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand before
it." "So," says Tom to the King, "will you let me have the other half of
the princess if I bring you the flail?" "No, no," says the princess,
"I'd rather never be your wife than see you in that danger."
But Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to
reneague the adventure. So he asked him which way he was to go, and
Redhead directed him through a street where a great many bad women
lived, and a great many shibbeen houses were open, and away he set.
Well, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight of the walls of
Hell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself over
with the greenish ointment. When he knocked, a hundred little imps
popped their heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted. "I
want to speak to the big divel of all," says Tom; "open the gate."