About the year 1670 there was a fine young fellow living at a place
called Querin, in the County Clare. He was brave and strong and rich,
for he had his own land and his own house, and not one to lord it over
him. He was called the Kern of Querin. And many a time he would go
out alone to shoot the wild fowl at night along the lonely strand and
sometimes cross over northward to the broad east strand, about two
miles away, to find the wild geese.
One cold frosty November Eve he was watching for them, crouched down
behind the ruins of an old hut, when a loud splashing noise attracted
his attention. “It is the wild geese,” he thought, and raising his gun,
waited in death-like silence the approach of his victim.
But presently he saw a dark mass moving along the edge of the strand.
And he knew there were no wild geese near him. So he watched and waited
till the black mass came closer, and then he distinctly perceived four
stout men carrying a bier on their shoulders, on which lay a corpse
covered with a white cloth. For a few moments they laid it down,
apparently to rest themselves, and the Kern instantly fired; on which
the four men ran away shrieking, and the corpse was left alone on the
bier. Kern of Querin immediately sprang to the place, and lifting the
cloth from the face of the corpse, beheld by the freezing starlight,
the form of a beautiful young girl, apparently not dead but in a deep
sleep.
Gently he passed his hand over her face and raised her up, when she
opened her eyes and looked around with wild wonder, but spake never a
word, though he tried to soothe and encourage her. Then, thinking it
was dangerous for them to remain in that place, he raised her from the
bier, and taking her hand led her away to his own house. They arrived
safely, but in silence. And for twelve months did she remain with the
Kern, never tasting food or speaking word for all that time.
When the next November Eve came round, he resolved to visit the
east strand again, and watch from the same place, in the hope of
meeting with some adventure that might throw light on the history of
the beautiful girl. His way lay beside the old ruined fort called
_Lios-na-fallainge_ (the Fort of the Mantle), and as he passed, the
sound of music and mirth fell on his ear. He stopped to catch the words
of the voices, and had not waited long when he heard a man say in a low
whisper—
“Where shall we go to-night to carry off a bride?”