Transformation into wolves is a favourite subject of Irish legend, and
many a wild tale is told by the peasants round the turf fire in the
winter nights of strange adventures with wolves. Stories that had come
down to them from their forefathers in the old times long ago; for
there are no wolves existing now in Ireland.
A young farmer, named Connor, once missed two fine cows from his
herd, and no tale or tidings could be heard of them anywhere. So he
thought he would set out on a search throughout the country; and he
took a stout blackthorn stick in his hand, and went his way. All day
he travelled miles and miles, but never a sign of the cattle. And the
evening began to grow very dark, and he was wearied and hungry, and no
place near to rest in; for he was in the midst of a bleak, desolate
heath, with never a habitation at all in sight, except a long, low,
rude shieling, like the den of a robber or a wild beast. But a gleam of
light came from a chink between the boards, and Connor took heart and
went up and knocked at the door. It was opened at once by a tall, thin,
grey-haired old man, with keen, dark eyes.
“Come in,” he said, “you are welcome. We have been waiting for you.
This is my wife,” and he brought him over to the hearth, where was
seated an old, thin, grey woman, with long, sharp teeth and terrible
glittering eyes.
“You are welcome,” she said. “We have been waiting for you—it is time
for supper. Sit down and eat with us.”
Now Connor was a brave fellow, but he was a little dazed at first at
the sight of this strange creature. However, as he had his stout stick
with him, he thought he could make a fight for his life any way, and,
meantime, he would rest and eat, for he was both hungry and weary, and
it was now black night, and he would never find his way home even if he
tried. So he sat down by the hearth, while the old grey woman stirred
the pot on the fire. But Connor felt that she was watching him all the
time with her keen, sharp eyes.
Then a knock came to the door. And the old man rose up and opened
it. When in walked a slender, young black wolf, who immediately went
straight across the floor to an inner room, from which in a few moments
came forth a dark, slender, handsome youth, who took his place at the
table and looked hard at Connor with his glittering eyes.
“You are welcome,” he said, “we have waited for you.”
Before Connor could answer another knock was heard, and in came a
second wolf, who passed on to the inner room like the first, and soon
after, another dark, handsome youth came out and sat down to supper
with them, glaring at Connor with his keen eyes, but said no word.
“These are our sons,” said the old man, “tell them what you want, and
what brought you here amongst us, for we live alone and don’t care to
have spies and strangers coming to our place.”
Then Connor told his story, how he had lost his two fine cows, and had
searched all day and found no trace of them; and he knew nothing of the
place he was in, nor of the kindly gentleman who asked him to supper;
but if they just told him where to find his cows he would thank them,
and make the best of his way home at once.
Then they all laughed and looked at each other, and the old hag looked
more frightful than ever when she showed her long, sharp teeth.
On this, Connor grew angry, for he was hot tempered; and he grasped his
blackthorn stick firmly in his hand and stood up, and bade them open
the door for him; for he would go his way, since they would give no
heed and only mocked him.
Then the eldest of the young men stood up. “Wait,” he said, “we are
fierce and evil, but we never forget a kindness. Do you remember, one
day down in the glen you found a poor little wolf in great agony and
like to die, because a sharp thorn had pierced his side? And you gently
extracted the thorn and gave him a drink, and went your way leaving him
in peace and rest?”
“Aye, well do I remember it,” said Connor, “and how the poor little
beast licked my hand in gratitude.”
“Well,” said the young man, “I am that wolf, and I shall help you if I
can, but stay with us to-night and have no fear.”
So they sat down again to supper and feasted merrily, and then all fell
fast asleep, and Connor knew nothing more till he awoke in the morning
and found himself by a large hay-rick in his own field.
“Now surely,” thought he, “the adventure of last night was not all a
dream, and I shall certainly find my cows when I go home; for that
excellent, good young wolf promised his help, and I feel certain he
would not deceive me.”
But when he arrived home and looked over the yard and the stable and
the field, there was no sign nor sight of the cows. So he grew very sad
and dispirited. But just then he espied in the field close by three of
the most beautiful strange cows he had ever set eyes on. “These must
have strayed in,” he said, “from some neighbour’s ground;” and he took
his big stick to drive them out of the gate off the field. But when he
reached the gate, there stood a young black wolf watching; and when the
cows tried to pass out at the gate he bit at them, and drove them back.
Then Connor knew that his friend the wolf had kept his word. So he let
the cows go quietly back to the field; and there they remained, and
grew to be the finest in the whole country, and their descendants are
flourishing to this day, and Connor grew rich and prospered; for a kind
deed is never lost, but brings good luck to the doer for evermore, as
the old proverb says:
“Blessings are won,
By a good deed done.”
But never again did Connor find that desolate heath or that lone
shieling, though he sought far and wide, to return his thanks, as was
due to the friendly wolves; nor did he ever again meet any of the
family, though he mourned much whenever a slaughtered wolf was brought
into the town for the sake of the reward, fearing his excellent friend
might be the victim. At that time the wolves in Ireland had increased
to such an extent, owing to the desolation of the country by constant
wars, that a reward was offered and a high price paid for every wolf’s
skin brought into the court of the justiciary; and this was in the time
of Queen Elizabeth, when the English troops made ceaseless war against
the Irish people, and there were more wolves in Ireland than men; and
the dead lay unburied in hundreds on the highways, for there were no
hands left to dig them graves.