neutral during the great war in heaven. They are sometimes represented
as kindly, but often as mischievous. Near Dungiven, in Co. Derry, I was
told of a friendly fairy who, dressed as an old woman, came one evening
to a cottage where a poor man and his wife lived. She said to the wife
that if the stone at the foot of the table were lifted she would find
something that would last her all her days. As soon as the visitor was
gone, the wife called to her husband to bring a crowbar; they raised the
stone, and under it was a crock of gold.
The old man who related this story to me had himself found in a bog a
crock covered with a slate. He hoped it might be full of gold, but it
only contained bog butter, which he used for greasing cart-wheels.
A carman at Rosapenna told me how the fairies would lead people astray,
carrying one man off to Scotland. A girl had her face twisted through
their influence, and had to go to the priest to be cured. "He was," the
man added, "one of the old sort, who could work miracles, of whom there
are not many nowadays." Near Finntown a girl had offended the fairies by
washing clothes in a "gentle" burn, or stream haunted by the little
people. Her eyes were turned to the back of her head. She, too, invoked
the aid of a priest, and his blessing restored them to their proper
place.
Donegal fairies appear able to adapt themselves to modern conditions. I
was told at Finntown they did not interfere with the railway, as they
sometimes enjoyed a ride on the top of the train. Although usually only
seen in secluded spots, they occasionally visit a fair or market, but
are much annoyed if recognized.
In the following story we have an illustration of intercourse between
fairies and human beings: An old woman at Glenties was called upon by a
strange man to give her aid at the birth of a child. At first she
refused, but he urged her, saying it was not far, and in the end she
consented. When he brought her to his dwelling she saw a daughter whom
she had supposed to be dead, but who was now the wife of the fairy man.
The daughter begged her not to let it be known she was her mother, and,
giving her a ring, bade her look on it at times and she would know when
they could meet. She also added that her husband would certainly offer a
reward, but she implored her mother not to accept it, but to ask that
the red-haired boy might be given to her. "He will not be willing to
part from him," the daughter added; "but if you beg earnestly, he will
give him to you in the end." The mother attended her daughter, and when
his child was born the fairy man offered her a rich reward, but she
refused, praying only that the red-haired boy might be given to her. At
first the father refused, but when she pleaded her loneliness, he
granted her request. The daughter was well pleased, told her mother they
might meet at the fair on the hill behind Glenties, but warned her that
even if she saw the fairy man she must never speak to him. The old woman
returned to her home, taking her grandson, the red-haired boy, with her.
She kept the ring carefully, and it gave her warning when she would meet
her daughter on the hill at Glenties. These interviews were for a long
time a great comfort to mother and daughter, but one day, in the joy of
her heart, the mother shook hands with and spoke to the fairy man. He
turned to her angrily asking how she could see him, and with that he
blew upon her eyes, so that she could no longer discern fairies. The
precious ring also disappeared, and she never again saw her daughter.
Variants of this story were told to me by an old woman at
Portstewart, and by a man whom I met near Lough Salt during the
Rosapenna Conference of Field Clubs. In these versions there is no
mention of the red-haired boy, nor of the old woman being the mother of
the fairy man's wife; she is simply called in to attend to her. When
rubbing ointment on the infant, she accidentally draws her hand across
one of her eyes and acquires the power of seeing the fairies. Shortly
afterwards she meets the fairy man at a market or fair, and inquires for
his wife. He is annoyed at being recognized, asks with which eye she
sees him, blows upon it, and puts it out.[73]
In another Donegal legend the fairies gain possession of a bride, and
would have kept her in captivity had not their plans been frustrated by
a mortal. This is the story as told to me near Gweedore, and also at
Kincasslagh, a small seaport in the Rosses. Owen Boyle lived with his
mother near Kincasslagh, and worked as a carpenter. One Hallow Eve, on
his return home, he found a calf was missing, and went out to look for
it. He was told it was behind a stone near the spink or rock of
Dunathaid, and when he got there he saw the calf, but it ran away and
disappeared through an opening in the rock. Owen was at first afraid to
follow, but suddenly he was pushed in, and the door closed behind him.
He found himself in a company of fairies, and heard them saying: "This
is good whisky from O'Donnel's still. He buried a nine-gallon keg in the
bog; it burst, the hoops came off, and the whisky has come to us." One
of the fairies gave Owen a glass, saying he might be useful to them that
night. They asked if he would be willing to go with them, and, being
anxious to get out of the cave, he at once consented. They all mounted
on horses, and away they went through Dungloe, across the hills to
Dochary, then to Glenties, and through Mount Charles to Ballyshannon,
and thence to Connaught. They came to a house where great preparations
were being made for a wedding. The fairies told Owen to go in and dance
with any girl who asked him. He was much pleased to see that he was now
wearing a good suit of clothes, and gladly joined in the dance. After a
time there was a cry that the bride would choose a partner, and the
partner she chose was Owen Boyle. They danced until the bride fell down
in a faint, and the fairies, who had crept in unseen, bore her away.
They mounted their horses and took the bride with them, sometimes one
carrying her and sometimes another. They had ridden thus for a time when
one of the fairies said to Owen: "You have done well for us to-night."
"And little I have got for it," was the reply; "not even a turn of
carrying the bride." "That you ought to have," said the fairy, and
called out to give the bride to Owen. Owen took her, and, urging his
horse, outstripped the fairies. They pursued him, but at Bal Cruit
Strand he drew with a black knife a circle round himself and the bride,
which the fairies could not cross. One of them, however, stretched out a
long arm and struck the bride on the face, so that she became deaf and
dumb. When the fairies left him, Owen brought the girl to his mother,
and in reply to her questions, said he had brought home one to whom all
kindness should be shown. They gave her the best seat by the fire; she
helped in the housework, but remained speechless.
A year passed, and on Hallow Eve Owen went again to Dunathaid. The door
of the cave was open. He entered boldly, and found the fairies enjoying
themselves as before. One of them recognized him, and said: "Owen Boyle,
you played us a bad trick when you carried off that woman." "And a
pretty woman you left with me! She can neither hear nor speak!" "Oh!"
said another, "if she had a taste of this bottle, she could do both!"
When Owen heard these words he seized the bottle, ran home with it, and,
pouring a little into a glass, gave it to the poor girl to drink.
Hearing and speech were at once restored. Owen returned the bottle to
the fairies, and, before long, he set out for Connaught, taking the girl
with him to restore her to her parents. When he arrived, he asked for a
night's lodging for himself and his companion. The mother, although she
said she had little room, admitted them, and soon Owen saw her looking
at the girl. "Why are you gazing at my companion?" he asked. "She is so
like a daughter of mine who died a twelvemonth ago." "No," replied Owen;
"she did not die; she was carried off by the fairies, and here she is."
There was great rejoicing, and before long Owen was married to the girl,
the former bridegroom having gone away. He brought her home to
Kincasslagh, and not a mile from the village, close to Bal Cruit Strand,
may be seen the ring which defended her and Owen from the fairies. It is
a very large fairy ring, but why the grass should grow luxuriantly on it
tradition does not say.
During the Field Club Conference at Rosapenna a variant of this story
was told me by a lad on the heights above Gortnalughoge Bay. Here the
man who rode with the fairies was John Friel, from Fanad. They went to
Dublin and brought away a young girl from her bed, leaving something
behind, which the parents believed to be their dead daughter. Meanwhile
the young girl was taken northwards by the fairies. As they drew near to
Fanad, John Friel begged to be allowed to carry her, and quickly taking
her to his own cottage, kept her there with his mother. The girl was
deaf and dumb, but there was no mention of the magic circle or of the
blow from the fairy's hand. At the end of the year John Friel, like Owen
Boyle, pays another visit to the fairies, overhears their conversation,
snatches the bottle, and a few drops from it restore speech and hearing
to the girl. He takes her to Dublin. Her parents cannot at first believe
that she is truly their daughter, but the mother recognizes her by a
mark on the shoulder, and the tale ends with great rejoicing.[74]
In these stories we see the relations between fairies and mortals. The
fairy man marries a human wife; he appears solicitous for her health,
and is willing to pay a high reward to the nurse, but the caution his
wife gives to her mother shows her fear of him, and when the latter
forgets this warning and speaks to the husband, he effectively stops all
intercourse between her and her daughter.
In another story we see that it was the living girl who was carried off,
and only a false image left to deceive her parents.[75] It is true that,
through the magic of the fairies, she becomes deaf and dumb, but when
this is overcome, she returns home safe and sound. The black knife used
by Owen Boyle was doubtless an iron knife, that metal being always
obnoxious to the fairies.
Stories of children being carried off by fairies are numerous. There was
a man lived near Croghan Fort, not far from Lifford, who was short, and
had a cataract--or, as the country-people call it, a pearl--on his eye.
He was returning home after the birth of his child, when he met the
fairies carrying off the infant. They were about to change a benwood
into the likeness of a child, saying:
"Make it wee, make it short;
Make it like its ain folk;
Put a pearl in its eye;
Make it like its Dadie."
Here the man interrupted them, throwing up sand, and exclaiming: "In
the name of God, this to youse and mine to me!" They flung his own child
at him, but it broke its hinch, or thigh, and was a cripple all its
days.
[Illustration: PLATE X. [_R. Welch, Photo._
TORMORE, TORY ISLAND.]
It is not often that fairies are associated with the spirits of the
departed, but in Tory Island and in some other parts of Donegal it is
believed that those who are drowned become fairies. In Tory Island I
also heard that those who exceeded in whisky met the same fate.
According to the inhabitants of this island, fairies can make themselves
large or small; their hair may be red, white, or black; but they dress
in black--a very unusual colour for fairies to appear in. It may perhaps
be explained by remembering that Tory Island, or Toirinis, was a
stronghold of the Fomorians, whom Keating describes as "sea rovers of
the race of Cam, who fared from Africa."[76] I need hardly add that
"Cam" is an old name for "Ham." I should infer that the fairies of Tory
Island represent a dark race.
King Balor, it is true, is not of diminutive stature. I heard much of
this chieftain with the eye at the back of his head, which, if
uncovered, would kill anyone exposed to its gaze. He knew it had been
said in old times that he should die by the hand of his daughter's son,
and he determined his daughter should remain childless. He shut her up
in Tormore, with twelve ladies to wait on her. Balor had no smith on the
island, but at Cloghanealy, on the mainland, there lived a smith who had
the finest cow in the world, named Glasgavlen. He kept a boy to watch
it, but, notwithstanding this precaution, two of Balor's servants
carried off the cow. When the herd-boy saw it was gone, he wept
bitterly, for the smith had told him his head would be taken off if he
did not bring her back. Suddenly a fairy, Geea Dubh, came out of the
rock, and told the boy the cow was in Tory, and if he followed her
advice he would get it back. She made a curragh for him, and he crossed
over to Tory, but he did not get the cow. The tale now becomes confused.
We hear of twelve children, and how Balor ordered them all to be
drowned, but his daughter's son was saved. The fairy told the herd-boy
that, if the child were taken care of, it would grow up like a crop
which, when put into the earth one day, sprouts up the next.
The boy took service under Balor, and the child was sent to the ladies,
who brought him up for three years. At the end of that time the herd boy
took him to the mainland, where he grew up a strong youth, and worked
for the smith. On one occasion Balor sent messengers across to the
mainland, but the lad attacked them and cut out their tongues. The
maimed messengers returned to Tory, and when Balor saw them he knew that
he who had done this deed was the dreaded grandson. He set out to kill
him; but when the youth saw Balor approaching the forge, he drew the
poker from the fire and thrust it into the eye at the back of the King's
head.
The wounded Balor called to his grandson to come to him, and he would
leave him everything. The youth was wise; he did not go too near Balor,
but followed him from Falcarragh to Gweedore. "Are you near me?" was the
question put by the King as he walked along, water streaming from his
wounded eye; and this water formed the biggest lough in the world, three
times as deep as Lough Foyle.
I have given this story as it was told to me by an elderly man in a
cottage on Tory Island.
A version of it is related by the late Most Rev. Dr. MacDevitt in the
"Donegal Highlands." It is referred to by Mr. Stephen Gwynn, M.P., in
"Highways and Byways in Donegal and Antrim," and a very full narrative
is given by Dr. O'Donovan in a note in his edition of the "Annals of the
Four Masters."[77] Dr. O'Donovan states that he had the story from Shane
O'Dugan, whose ancestor is said to have been living in Tory in the time
of St. Columbkille. Here we read of the stratagem by which Balor,
assuming the shape of a red-haired little boy, carried off the famous
cow Glasgavlen from the chieftain MacKineely, and it is not the herdboy,
but the chieftain himself, who is wafted across to Tory Island and
introduced to Balor's daughter. Three sons are born; Balor orders them
all to be drowned, but the eldest is saved by the friendly banshee and
taken to his father, who places him in fosterage under his brother, the
great smith Gavida. After a time MacKineely falls a victim to the
vengeance of Balor, and is beheaded on the stone Clough-an-neely, where
the marks of his blood may still be seen.
Balor now deems himself secure. He often visits the forge of Gavida, and
one day, when there, boasts of his conquest of MacKineely. No sooner has
he uttered the proud words than the young smith seizes a glowing rod
from the furnace and thrusts it through Balor's basilisk eye so far that
it comes out at the other side of his head.
It will be noted that in this version Balor's death is instantaneous;
nothing is said about the deep lough formed by the water from his eye.
According to O'Flaherty's "Ogygia," Balor was killed at the second
battle of Moyture "by a stone thrown at him by his grandson by his
daughter from a machine called Tabhall (which some assert to be a
sling)."[78]
If Balor is the grim hero of Tory Island, on the mainland we hear much
of Finn McCoul. I was informed that he had an eye at the back of his
head, and was so tall his feet came out at the door of his house. How
large the house was, tradition does not say. The island of Carrickfinn
opposite to Bunbeg is said to have been a favourite hunting-ground of
Finn McCoul. When crossing over to this island, I was told by the
boatman that the Danes were stout, small, and red-haired, and that they
lived in the caves. The Finns, he said, were even smaller, dark yellow
people.
Near Loughros Bay I saw the Cashel na Fian, but whether it was built by
tall or small Finns I do not know. Part of the wall was standing, built
in the usual fashion with stones without mortar.
This cashel was on a height, and near it I was shown some old fields,
the ridges farther apart than those of the present day, and I was told
they might be the fields of those who built the cashel, or perhaps of
the Firbolgs. The old man who acted as my guide softened the _b_ in the
Irish manner, and spoke of those people as the Firwolgs; he said they
were short and stout, and cultivated the lands near the sea.
To the Danes are ascribed the kitchen-middens on Rosguill, and the lad
I met above Gortnalughoge Bay, told me they lived and had their houses
on the water, I should infer after the fashion of the lake-dwellers. He
could not tell me the height of these Danes, but those who built the
forts and cashels have often been described to me as short and
red-haired. As I have stated on former occasions, I should be inclined
to identify these short Danes with the Tuatha de Danann. I visited one
of their cashels above Dungiven, under which there is a souterrain, and
I also went to one on a hill above Downey's pier at Rosapenna. I believe
it is the Downey's Fort marked on the Ordnance Survey map. It appeared
to be regarded as an uncanny spot; treasure is said to be hidden under
it, and I had a difficulty in getting anyone to take me to it. A little
girl, however, acted as guide, and a young farmer, who had at first
refused, joined me on the top. I took some very rough measurements of
this cashel. From the outer circumference it was about 60 by 60 feet;
the walls had fallen inwards, so it was impossible to say how thick they
had been originally, but the space free from stones in the centre
measured about 25 by 25 feet.
The young farmer told me of some rocks at a place he called Dooey, on
which crosses were inscribed. I believe that near Mevagh, in addition to
the spiral markings, which were visited by many members of the
Conference, there is another rock on which crosses are also inscribed.
Firbolgs, Danes, Finns, and Pechts, of whom I have spoken on former
occasions, are all strictly human; and if the fairy has been more
spiritualized, I think, in many of the traditions, we may see how
closely he is allied to ancient and modern pygmies.
Fairies intermarry freely with the human race; they are not exempt from
death, and sometimes come to a violent end. At Kincasslagh a graphic
story was told me by an old woman of how two banshees attacked a man
when he was crossing the "banks" at Mullaghderg. His faithful dog had
been chained at home, but, knowing the danger, escaped, saved his
master, and killed one of the banshees. Her body was found next morning
in the sand: she had wonderful eyes, small legs, and very large feet. I
may mention that large feet are characteristic of the Pechts.
It is true that those who are drowned may become fairies, but if a
fisherman be missing, who shall say whether he lies at the bottom of the
ocean or has been carried captive to a lonely cave. In later times, when
the fairies were associated with fallen angels, one who had not received
the last rites of the Church might naturally be supposed to become a
fairy.
In the tales of the giants we are brought face to face with beings of
great strength, but in a low stage of civilization. Balor, we have seen,
had no smith on Tory Island, and in a story of the fight between the
giant Fargowan and a wild boar, his sister Finglas goes to his
assistance with her apron filled with stones. Misled by the echo, she
jumps backwards and forwards across Lough Finn until at last her long
hair becomes entangled and she is drowned. It is believed that her
coffin was found when the railway was being made; the boards were 14
feet long. Sometimes the works of Nature are ascribed to the giants; we
have all heard of Finn McCoul as the artificer of the Giant's Causeway,
and near Glenties I was shown perched blocks, which had been thrown by
the giants. On the other hand, these giants, with all their magic, are
often very human; perhaps we are listening to the tales of a small race,
who exaggerated the feats of their large but savage neighbours. Writing
in 1860, J. F. Campbell, in his introduction to the "Tales of the West
Highlands," says: "Probably, as it seems to me, giants are simply the
nearest savage race at war with the race who tell the tales. If they
performed impossible feats of strength, they did no more than Rob Roy,
whose putting-stone is now shown to Saxon tourists ... in the shape of a
boulder of many tons."[79] Turning to fairies, the same writer says: "I
believe there was once a small race of people in these islands, who are
remembered as fairies.... They are always represented as living in green
mounds. They pop up their heads when disturbed by people treading on
their houses. They steal children. They seem to live on familiar terms
with the people about them when they treat them well, to punish them
when they ill-treat them.... There are such people now. A Lapp is such a
man; he is a little flesh-eating mortal, having control over the beasts,
and living in a green mound, when he is not living in a tent or sleeping
out of doors, wrapped in his deerskin shirt."[80]
Since these words were written, our knowledge of dwarf races has been
greatly increased; their skeletons have been found in Switzerland and
other parts of Europe. We are all familiar with the pygmies of Central
Africa, and the members of this Club will remember the interesting
photographs of them shown by Sir Harry Johnston. Besides the Andamnan
Islanders, we have dwarf races in various parts of Asia, and doubtless
we have all read with interest the account of the New Guinea dwarfs,
sent by the members of the British Expedition, who are investigating
that Island under many difficulties.
Dr. Eric Marshall describes these pygmies as "averaging four feet six
inches to four feet eight inches in height, wild, shy, treacherous
little devils; these little men wander over the heavy jungle-clad hills,
subsisting on roots and jungle produce, hunting the wallaby, pig, and
cassowary, and fishing in the mountain torrents.... The only metal tool
they possessed was a small, wedge-shaped piece of iron, one inch by two
inches, inserted into a wooden handle, and answering the purpose of an
axe, and with this the whole twenty-acre clearing had been made. None
but those who have worked and toiled in this dense jungle can really
appreciate the perseverance and patience necessary to accomplish this,
for many of the trees are from twelve to fifteen feet in
circumference."[81]
Throughout Donegal we find many traces of the primitive belief that men
or women can change themselves into animals. At Rosapenna I was told of
a hare standing on its hind-legs like an old woman and sucking a cow,
the inference being plainly that the witch had transformed herself into
a hare. I heard similar stories at Glenties. Here I was told of a man
who killed a young seal, but was startled when the mother, weeping,
cried out in Irish: "My child, my child!" Never again did he kill a
seal.