strong north wind rose, and blew with such force that he let his ship go
with it.
Three days and nights the ship went before the north wind, and on the
fourth day, in the morning, it was thrown in on a rocky coast.
Cahal saved his life and his sword, and went away walking through the
country. On the evening of the fifth day he came to an old castle near
the seashore, and said to himself, “I will not go in here to ask for
lodgings like any poor traveller.” With that he walked up and put a blow
on the pole of combat that made the whole castle tremble.
Out rushed the messenger. “What brought you here, and what do you want?”
asked he of King Conor’s son.
“I want men to meet me in combat, seven hundred champions on my right
hand, seven hundred on my left, seven hundred behind me, and the same
number in front of me.”
The man ran in and gave the message to the king.
“Oh,” said the King of Hathony, “that is my son-in-law from Erin;” and
out he went.
“Are you the son of King Conor?” asked the king.
“I am,” said Cahal.
“A hundred thousand welcomes to you,” said the king.
“Thankful am I for the welcomes, and glad to receive them,” said Cahal.
“I had great trouble in coming; it is not easy to find you.”
“It is not easy to find any man unless you know the road to his house,”
said the king.
There was great feasting that night and entertainment for Cahal. Next
day the king said, “Your bride, my daughter, is gone these two months.
Striker, son of the King of Tricks, came to my castle and stole her away
from me.”
“My word for it, he will not keep her unless he is a better man than I
am,” said Cahal.
“I am sure of that,” said the king, “and I said so.”
“My own ship was wrecked on your coast, and now you must give me another
in place of it,” said Cahal.
“I will,” said the king, “and a good one; but you can do nothing on sea
against Striker.”
“I am more used to the sea now than to land, I am so long on it,”
answered Cahal.
“If you were born on the water and had lived every day of your life on
it, you could do nothing at sea against Striker. There is not a man
living who can face him at sea.”
Nothing would satisfy Cahal but to go against Striker by sea; so he took
the ship which the king gave and sailed away, sailed week after week till
he was within a day’s journey of Striker’s castle. Striker thrust his
head up through the top of the castle then, and let a blast out through
his mouth that sent Cahal’s ship back twice the distance it had come.
King Conor’s son sailed forward again, and again Striker blew him back as
far as he had the first time.
Cahal sailed now to the castle of the King of Hathony.
“I said that you could do nothing against Striker on sea. If you wish to
get the upper hand of him I will tell you what to do. Take this bridle
and shake it behind the castle; whatever beast comes to you take that
one, and ride away against Striker.”
When Cahal shook the bridle, out came the smallest and ugliest beast in
the stables, a lean, shaggy mare.
“Oh, then, bad luck to you for coming,” said the king’s son, “and so many
fine steeds in the stables.”
“That is the pony my daughter used to ride, that is the best horse in
the stables; take her. She is not easy to ride though, for she is full
of tricks and enchantment, but if you are the right man she’ll not throw
you. She goes on water as well as land, and you will be at your enemy’s
castle to-day.”
Cahal mounted, and away went the mare. She crossed one hill at the first
leap, three at the second, then twelve hills and valleys at the third
leap; went over land and sea, and never stopped till she was in front of
Striker’s castle, two hours before sunset.
Cahal sprang from the mare, and struck the pole of combat.
“What do you want?” asked the attendant, running out.
“I want seven hundred champions in combat at my right side, seven hundred
at my left, seven hundred behind me, and seven hundred out before my
face.”
The attendant went in, and out came the twenty-eight hundred against
Cahal.
He went at the champions, and before sunset he had them in three heaps, a
heap of their bodies, a heap of their heads, and a heap of their weapons.
Next morning Cahal struck the pole again.
“What do you want this time?” asked the attendant.
“Seven thousand champions against me for every hundred that I had
yesterday.”
Out came the champions in thousands. As they were coming Cahal was going
through them, and before the day was ended he had them in three heaps
without leaving a man, a heap of their heads, a heap of their bodies, and
a heap of their weapons.
He struck the pole on the third morning, and before the attendant had
time to open his mouth, Cahal shouted, “Send out every man in the place.
I may as well spend one day on them all as to be calling for champions
occasionally.”
The forces of Striker, son of the King of Tricks, were coming as fast as
ever they could make their way through the gates. They were rushing at
Cahal like showers of hail on a stormy day, but they could neither kill
him nor get the upper hand. They could neither defend themselves nor hurt
him, and Cahal never stopped till he had them all in a heap at one side.
Cahal struck the pole on the fourth day.
“What do you want now?” asked the attendant.
“Striker, son of the King of Tricks, in combat before me.”
Out came Striker, and fell upon Cahal. The two fought seven days and six
nights without stopping or resting, then Striker called for a truce and
got it. He went into his castle, healed himself in his caldron of cure,
ate enough, slept, and was as fresh as ever next morning. They spent
three days and two nights in combat after that without rest.
Striker called for cessation a second time and got it. On the eleventh
morning a goldfinch perched opposite Cahal and said, “Bad luck to you for
a foolish young man to be giving your enemy rest, time to eat, drink, and
cure himself, and you lying outside at the foot of the wall in hunger and
cold. Keep him working till he yields. Give him no rest till you snatch
from his breast the pin which he has in the left side of it.”
They were struggling four days and nights without rest or cessation till
the fifth morning, when Cahal snatched the pin from the bosom of Striker.
“Oh, spare my life!” cried Striker. “I’ll be your servant in every place,
only spare me.”
“I want nothing of you,” said Cahal, “but this: Send out my bride to
me; you took her from her father, the King of Hathony, and she was to
be my wife soon when you took her. Send her to me, and put no fog or
enchantment on us while we are on the way home.”
“You ask more than I can give,” said Striker, “for Wet Mantle, the hero,
took that maiden from me two months ago. When going, she put him under
bonds not to molest her for two days and two years.”
“Where can I find Wet Mantle?”
“That is more than I can tell; but put your nose before you and follow
it.”
“That’s a short answer, and I would take your life for three straws on
account of it; but I’ll let some other man have his chance to take the
head off you.”
Cahal mounted his mare then, and was travelling over seas and dry
land,—travelling a long time till he came at last to Wet Mantle’s castle.
He struck the pole of combat, and out came the messenger.
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Seven hundred at my right hand, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred
behind me, and seven hundred before my face.”
“That’s more men than you can find in this place,” said the messenger.
“Wet Mantle lives here in his own way, without forces or company; he
keeps no man but me, and is very well satisfied.”
“Go then,” said Cahal, “and tell him to come out himself to me.”
Wet Mantle came out, and the two fought seven days and six nights. Wet
Mantle called for a truce then and got it. The hero went to his castle,
cured himself, and was as fresh the eighth morning as the first. They
began to fight, and the struggle continued three days and two nights.
Wet Mantle called for a truce, and received it the second time. On the
eleventh morning he was well again, and ready for the struggle.
“Oh, then, it is foolish and simple you are, and small good in your
travelling the world,” cried a goldfinch to Cahal. “Why are you out here
in hunger and cold, and he cured and fresh in his castle? Give him no
rest the next time, but fight till you tire him and take the mantle from
him. He’ll be as weak as a common man then, for it is in the mantle his
strength is.”
On the eleventh morning they began for the third time and fought fiercely
all day. In the evening Wet Mantle called for a rest.
“No,” said Cahal, “you’ll get no rest. There is no rest for either of us.
You must fight till you or I yield.”
They fought on till the following evening. Wet Mantle called for rest a
second time.
“No rest till this battle is ended,” cried Cahal.
They held on all that night venomously, and were fighting at noon of the
following day. Then Cahal closed on his enemy, and tore the mantle from
his body.
The hero without his mantle had no more strength than a common man.
“You are the best champion that ever I have met,” said he to Cahal. “I
will give you all that you ask, but don’t kill me.”
“I have no wish to kill or to hurt you, though good treatment is not what
you deserve from me. You caused me great trouble and hardship searching
and travelling, not knowing where to find you. I want nothing of you but
my bride, and your promise not to put fog or magic on us or harm us until
we reach Erin in safety.”
“That is more than I can promise,” said Wet Mantle.
“Why so?” asked Cahal.
“The gruagach, Long Sweeper, took that maiden from me, and she put him
under bonds not to molest her, or come near her for three days and three
years.”
“Where can I find Long Sweeper?”
“That is more than I can tell,” said Wet Mantle. “The world is wide, you
have free passage through it, and you can be going this way and that
till you find him; he lives in a very high castle, and he is a tall man
himself; he has a very long broom, and when he likes he sweeps the sky
with that broom three times in the morning, and the day that he sweeps,
there is no man in the world that can contradict him or conquer him.”
Cahal went riding his pony from the north to the south, from the east to
the west, and west to east, three years and two days. At daylight of the
third day he saw a tall castle in the ocean before him. So tall was the
castle that he could not tell the height of it, and a man on the summit
twice as tall as the castle itself, and he with a broom sweeping the sky.
“Ah,” said Cahal to himself, “I have you at last.”
He rode forward then to the castle, and struck the pole of combat.
“What do you want?” asked the messenger.
“I want men to meet me in combat.”
“Well, that is what you’ll not get in this place. There is no man living
on this island but Long Sweeper and myself. The Black Horseman came from
the Western World three months ago, and killed every man, gave Long
Sweeper great hardship and trouble, and after terrible fighting got the
upper hand of him.”
“Well, if he has no men, let him come out himself, for I’ll never leave
the spot till I knock satisfaction out of Long Sweeper for the trouble he
gave me before I could find him.”
Long Sweeper came out, and they began to fight; they fought for seven
days and six nights. Toward evening of the seventh day Long Sweeper
called for rest and got it. He went into his high castle, ate, drank,
healed himself in his caldron of cure, and slept well and soundly, while
Cahal had to rest as best he was able on the ground beyond the wall. The
eighth morning Long Sweeper went up on his castle and swept the sky back
and forth three times, and got such strength that no man on earth could
overcome him that day.
They fought three days and two nights, and fought all the time without
rest. Long Sweeper called for rest then and got it, and was cured and
refreshed as before. Next morning he mounted the castle, swept the sky
three times with his broom, and was ready for combat.
Before Long Sweeper came, the goldfinch perched in front of Cahal and
said, “Misfortune to you, son of King Conor in Erin; ’tis to a bad place
you came with your life to lose it, and isn’t it foolish of you to give
your enemy rest, while yourself has nothing to lie on but the earth, and
nothing to put in your mouth but cold air? Give neither rest nor truce to
your enemy. He will be losing strength till three days from now. If he
gets no chance to sweep the sky, he’ll be no better than a common man.”
That evening Long Sweeper called for rest.
“No,” said Cahal, “you’ll get no rest from me. We must fight till either
one or the other yields.”
“That’s not fair fighting.”
“It is not, indeed. I am ten days and nights without food, drink, or
rest, while you have had them twice. We have not fought fairly so far,
but we will hereafter. You must remain as you are now till one of us is
conquered.”
They were fighting till noon, the thirteenth day. “I am beaten,” said
Long Sweeper. “Whatever I have I am willing to give you, but spare my
life, for if there is a good hero in the world you are he.”
“I want nothing of you,” said Cahal, “but to send out to me my bride,
Bloom of Youth, daughter of the King of Hathony, the maiden you took from
Wet Mantle. You have caused me great hardship and trouble, but I’ll let
some one else take your life, or may you live as you are.”
“I cannot send out your bride,” said Long Sweeper, “for she is not in my
castle. The Black Horseman took her from me three months ago.”
“Where am I to find that man?”
“I might tell you to put your nose before you and walk after it, but I
will not; I will give you a guide. Here is a rod; whichever way the rod
turns, follow it till you come to the Western World, where the Black
Horseman lives.”
Cahal mounted his mare, made off with the rod in his hand, and rode
straight to the Black Horseman’s castle. The messenger was in front of
the castle before him.
“Tell your master to send out champions against me, or to come himself,”
said Cahal.
That moment the Black Horseman himself was on the threshold. “I am here
all alone,” said he to Cahal. “I have lost all my wealth, all my men, all
my magic. I am now in a poor state, though I was living pleasantly and in
greatness after the conflict in which I got the better of Long Sweeper.
It’s rich and strong I was after parting with that man, and I was waiting
here to marry when White Beard from the Western World came, made war on
me, and continued it for a day and a year; then he left me poor and
lonely, as I am at this moment.”
“Well,” said Cahal, “you have caused me great labor and hardship; but
I ask nothing of you except to send out my bride, Bloom of Youth, to
me, and not to bring fog or magic on her or on me till we reach home in
safety.”
“White Beard took your bride from me, and he cannot marry her for four
days and four years, for she put him under bond not to do so. I will
tell you now how to find her. Do you see that broad river in front of
us? It flows from the Northern to the Southern World, and there is no
way to cross it unless a good hero does so by springing from one bank to
the other. When White Beard took the maiden from me, they walked to the
brink of the river; he placed the woman then on his shoulder and sprang
over the river to the west. ‘Let me down, now,’ said the woman. ‘I will
not,’ replied White Beard, ‘I have such regard for you that I will show
you every place on the road.’ He did not let her down till he showed
her everything between the river and the castle. ‘You may come down,’
said he, when they entered the castle (she could see everything from his
shoulder, but nothing from the ground). When coming down she thrust a
sleeping pin that she had in the head of the old man, and he fell fast
asleep standing there. She has whatever she wishes to eat or to drink in
the castle. All is in a mist of enchantment. She can see nothing outside
the castle, but everything within. That was my home at one time. I was
born and reared in that castle, and lived in it till White Beard drove
me away with magic and violence. I came to this place and lived here a
time without trouble, till I took Bloom of Youth from Long Sweeper. I was
waiting to marry her, when White Beard came, destroyed all my forces,
took away my enchantment, carried off Bloom of Youth, and left me here
without strength or defence. But one thing is left me, and that I will
give you. Here is a torch. When you cross the river, light it. You’ll
find the road, and no one has found it since I was there. When you light
the torch follow the road to an old cottage, at one side from the castle.
In this cottage is a henwife, who has lived there since my childhood. She
will show the way to the castle and back to her cottage. From there you
may journey homeward in safety, by lighting the torch a second time, and
keeping it till you ride out of the castle’s enchantment. This is all I
have to tell you.”
Cahal rode briskly to the river, rode across, lighted his torch on the
other side, saw a narrow bright road, but nothing on either side. The
road was a long one, but he came to the end of it at the door of the
henwife’s old cottage. Cahal greeted the henwife.
“A hundred thousand welcomes,” said the old woman. “You are here from my
master, the Black Horseman, or you could not be in it. Can I help you in
any way?”
“I want nothing of you but to show me the way to the castle of White
Beard, where my bride is, and then bring me back to this place.”
“Follow me,” said the henwife, “and leave your horse here.”
She took Cahal by the hand and went forward till she came to the castle
and entered it. There Cahal saw the finest woman that ever he had met
in the world. “Well,” said he to himself, “I am not sorry, after all my
troubles and hardships, if you are the woman I am to marry.”
“A greeting to you, young hero,” said the woman. “Who are you who have
been able to come to this castle, and why are you here?”
“My name is Cahal, son of King Conor, in Erin. I am long travelling and
fighting to find and to rescue my bride, Bloom of Youth, daughter of the
King of Hathony. Who are you, fair lady?” asked Cahal.
“I am the daughter of the King of Hathony. The day before I was taken
by Striker, son of the King of Tricks, my father told me that the son of
King Conor, in Erin, was betrothed to me. You, I suppose, are that man?”
“I am,” said Cahal. “Come with me now, I will free you; but what are we
to do with White Beard?”
“Leave him as he is. There is no knowing what he would do should we rouse
him.”
The two went with the henwife to her cottage. Cahal lighted the torch a
second time, mounted the mare, put Bloom of Youth in front, rode first to
Hathony, and then home to Erin.
King Conor made a great feast of welcome for Cahal and his bride. There
were seven hundred guests at the short table, eight hundred at the long
table, nine hundred at the round table, and a thousand in the grand hall.
I was there and heard the whole story, but got no present except shoes of
paper and stockings of buttermilk, and these a herder stole from me in
crossing the mountains.
COLDFEET AND THE QUEEN OF LONESOME ISLAND.
Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, there lived an old woman
in Erin. This old woman’s house was at the northeast corner of Mount
Brandon. Of all the friends and relatives that ever she had in the
world there was but one left, her only son, Sean,[3] nicknamed Fuarcosa
(Coldfeet).
The reason that people called the boy Coldfeet was this: When a child he
was growing always; what of him did not grow one hour grew another; what
did not grow in the day grew in the night; what did not grow in the night
grew in the day; and he grew that fast that when seven years old he could
not find room enough in his mother’s house. When night came and he was
sleeping, whatever corner of the house his head was in, it was out of
doors that his feet were, and, of course, they were cold, especially in
winter.
It was not long till his legs as well as his feet were out of the house,
first to the knees, and then to the body. When fifteen years old it was
all that he could do to put his head in, and he lived outdoors entirely.
What the mother could gather in a year would not support the son for a
day, he was that large and had such an appetite.
Coldfeet had to find his own food, and he had no means of living but to
bring home sheep and bullocks from whatever place he met them.
He was going on in this way, faring rather ill than well, when one day
above another he said, “I think I must go into the great world, mother. I
am half starving in this place. I can do little good for myself as I am,
and no good at all for you.”
He rose early next morning, washed his face and hands, asked assistance
and protection of God, and if he did not, may we. He left good health
with his mother at parting, and away he went, crossing high hills,
passing low dales, and kept on his way without halt or rest, the clear
day going and the dark night coming, taking lodgings each evening
wherever he found them, till at last he came to a high roomy castle.
He entered the castle without delaying outside, and when he went in, the
owner asked was he a servant in search of a master.
“I am in search of a master,” said Coldfeet.
He engaged to herd cows for small hire and his keeping, and the time of
his service was a day and a year.
Next morning, when Coldfeet was driving the cattle to pasture, his master
was outside in the field before him, and said, “You must take good care
of yourself, for of all the herders who took service with me never a
man but was killed by one or another of four giants who live next to my
pastures. One of these giants has four, the next six, the third eight,
and the fourth twelve heads on him.”
“By my hand!” said Coldfeet, “I did not come here to be killed by the
like of them. They will not hurt me, never fear.”
Coldfeet went on with the cattle, and when he came to the boundary he put
them on the land of the giants. The cows were not long grazing when one
of the giants at his castle caught the odor of the strange herder and
rushed out. When coming at a distance he shouted, “I smell the blood of a
man from Erin; his liver and lights for my supper to-night, his blood for
my morning dram, his jawbones for stepping-stones, his shins for hurleys!”
When the giant came up he cried, “Ah, that is you, Coldfeet, and wasn’t
it the impudence in you to come here from the butt of Brandon Mountain
and put cattle on my land to annoy me?”
“It isn’t to give satisfaction to you that I am here, but to knock
satisfaction out of your bones,” said Coldfeet.
With that the giant faced the herder, and the two went at each other and
fought till near evening. They broke old trees and bent young ones; they
made hard places soft and soft places hard; they made high places low and
low places high; they made spring wells dry, and brought water through
hard, gray rocks till near sunset, when Coldfeet took the heads off the
giant and put the four skulls in muddy gaps to make a dry, solid road for
the cows.
Coldfeet drove out his master’s cattle on a second, third, and fourth
morning; each day he killed a giant, each day the battle was fiercer, but
on the fourth evening the fourth giant was dead.
On the fifth day Coldfeet was not long on the land of the dead giants
when a dreadful enchanted old hag came out against him, and she raging
with anger. She had nails of steel on her fingers and toes, each nail of
them weighing seven pounds.
“Oh, you insolent, bloodthirsty villain,” screamed she, “to come all
the way from Brandon Mountain to kill my young sons, and, poor boys,
only that timber is dear in this country it’s in their cradles they’d be
to-day instead of being murdered by you.”
“It isn’t to give satisfaction to you that I’m here, you old witch, but
to knock it out of your wicked old bones,” said Coldfeet.
“Glad would I be to tear you to pieces,” said the hag; “but ’tis
better to get some good of you first. I put you under spells of heavy
enchantment that you cannot escape, not to eat two meals off the one
table nor to sleep two nights in the one house till you go to the Queen
of Lonesome Island, and bring the sword of light that never fails, the
loaf of bread that is never eaten, and the bottle of water that is never
drained.”
“Where is Lonesome Island?” asked Coldfeet.
“Follow your nose, and make out the place with your own wit,” said the
hag.
Coldfeet drove the cows home in the evening, and said to his master,
“The giants will never harm you again; all their heads are in the muddy
gaps from this to the end of the pasture, and there are good roads now
for your cattle. I have been with you only five days, but another would
not do my work in a day and a year; pay me my wages. You’ll never have
trouble again in finding men to mind cattle.”
The man paid Coldfeet his wages, gave him a good suit of clothes for the
journey, and his blessing.