shown him. He was entertained seven days, and at last, when the king
didn’t ask him what journey he was on, he said, “It is a wonder to me
that you do not ask what brought me, and why I am travelling.”
“I am not surprised at all,” said the king. “A good father’s son like
you, and a man of such beauty, ought to travel all nations, and see every
people.”
“I am not travelling to show myself nor to see people. Men told me that
you have an only daughter. I want her in marriage, and ’tis for her sake
that I am here.”
“I have never heard news I liked better,” said the king; “and if my
daughter is willing, and her mother is satisfied, you have my blessing.”
Art went to the queen and told her the cause of his coming.
“If the king and my daughter are satisfied,” replied she, “that is the
best tale that man could bring me.”
Art went to the princess, and she said, “If my father and mother are
willing, your words are most welcome to me; but there is one obstacle
between us,—I can marry no man but the man who will bring me the head of
the Gruagach of Bungling Leaps.”
“Where is he to be found?” asked Art.
“If ’twas in the east he was, I would direct you to the west; and if
’twas in the west he was, I would send you to the east: but not to harm
you would I do this, for thousands of men have gone toward that gruagach,
and not a man of them has ever come back.”
“Your opinion of me is not very high. I must follow my nose and find the
road.”
Next morning Art took farewell of the king, and went his way travelling
to know could he find the gruagach. At that time gruagachs and heroes
lived in old castles. Art inquired and inquired till he heard where the
gruagach lived.
At last he came to the castle, and shouted outside; but if he did it was
no use for him, he got no answer. Art walked in, found the gruagach on
the flat of his back, fast asleep and snoring. The gruagach had a sword
in his hand. Art caught the sword, but could not stir it from the grasp
of the gruagach.
“’Tis hard to say,” thought he, “that I could master you awake, if I can
do nothing to you in your slumber; but it would be a shame to strike a
sleeping man.”
He hit the gruagach with the flat of his sword below the knee, and woke
him. The gruagach opened his eyes, sat up, and said, “It would be fitter
for you to be herding cows and horses than to be coming to this place to
vex me.”
“I am not here to give excuse or satisfaction to you,” said Art, “but to
knock satisfaction out of your flesh, bones, and legs, and I’ll take the
head off you if I can.”
“It seems, young man, that it is a princess you want; and she will not
marry you without my head.”
“That is the truth.”
“What is your name?” asked the gruagach; “and from what country do you
come?”
“My name is Art, and I am son of the King of Leinster, in Erin.”
“Your name is great, and there is loud talk of you, but your size is not
much; and if the princess were in question between us, I would think as
little of putting that small hill there on the top of the big one beyond
it as of killing you. For your father’s sake, I would not harm you; your
father is as good a man for a stranger to walk to as there is in the
world; and for that reason go home and don’t mind me or the princess, for
your father and mother waited long for you, and would be sorry to lose
you.”
“Very thankful am I,” said Art, “for your kind speech; but as I came
so far from home, and want the princess, I’ll knock a trial out of you
before I leave this place.”
Next morning the two faced each other, and fought like wild bulls, wild
geese, or wolves, fought all day with spears and swords. Art was growing
weak, and was not injuring the gruagach till evening, when he thought,
“Far away am I from father, mother, home, and country.” With that he got
the strength of a hundred men, gave one blow to the gruagach under the
chin, and sent his head spinning through the air. That moment the body
went down through the earth.
When the body disappeared, Art thought the head would come down like any
other thing; but the earth opened, and the head flew into the earth and
vanished.
“I will go back to the castle of the King of Greece,” thought Art, “and
tell him the whole story.”
On the way to the castle, and while passing a cabin, a big old man came
out of the cabin, and cried, “Welcome, Art, son of the King of Leinster.
It is too far you are going to-night. Stay with me, if you like my
entertainment.”
“Very thankful am I,” said Art, “and glad to stay with you. It is weak
and tired I am.”
When he went in, the old man stripped him, put him first into a caldron
of venom, and then into a caldron of cure, and he was as well as ever.
“Would go against the gruagach to-morrow?” asked the old man.
“I would if I knew where to find him.”
“You will find him where he was to-day; but he will be twice as strong
to-morrow, since you vexed him to-day.”
After breakfast Art went to the castle, and found the gruagach asleep, as
the first time, struck him with the flat of his sword, but so hard that
he saw stars.
“Art, son of the King of Leinster, you are not satisfied yet; but you
will suffer.”
“I am not satisfied,” said Art. “I’ll have your head or you will have
mine.”
“Go home to your father and mother; don’t trouble me: that is my advice.”
“I am thankful to you,” said Art, jestingly; “but I’ll take a trial of
you.”
They fought as before. The gruagach had twice the strength of the first
day; and Art was knocking no quarters out of him, but suffering from
every blow, his flesh falling and his blood flowing.
“I am not to last long,” thought Art, “unless I can do something.” He
remembered his father and mother then, and how far he was from home; that
moment the strength of two hundred men came to him. With one blow he
swept off the gruagach’s head and sent it twice as far into the sky as on
the first day; the body sank through the earth. Art stood at the place
where the body had vanished.
When the head was coming down, and was near, he caught it and held it
firmly by the hair; then, cutting a withe, he thrust it through the ears
and, throwing the head over his shoulder, started for the castle of the
King of Greece; but before reaching the old man’s cabin, he met three men
and with them a headless body.
“Where are ye going?” asked Art.
“This body lost its head in the eastern world, and we are travelling the
earth to know can we find a head to match it.”
“Do you think this one would do?” asked Art of one of the men.
“I don’t know,” said he; “it is only for us to try.”
The moment the head was put on the body, men, head, and body went down
through the earth.
Art went to the old man, and told him of all that had happened.
“You were very foolish,” said the old man, “to do what you did. Why did
you not keep the head and bring it to me? I would tell you what to do.”
The old man cured Art’s wounds, and after supper he asked, “Will you
fight the gruagach again?”
“I will.”
“Well, if you have the luck to knock the head off him a third time, never
part with it till you come to me.”
Art went a third time to the gruagach, struck him with the flat of his
sword, and knocked ferns out of his eyes.
“Oh, ho! Art, son of the King of Leinster, you are not satisfied yet, it
seems. To-day will tell all. You’ll fall here.”
They went at each other with venom; and each sought the head of the other
so fiercely that each hair on him would hold an iron apple. The gruagach
had the upper hand till evening. Art thought of home then, of the young
princess, and of the mean opinion that she had of him, and gave such a
blow that the gruagach’s head vanished in the sky. The body went through
the earth, and Art stood as before at the place where it sank till he saw
the head coming; he seized it, cut two withes, passed them through the
ears, threw the head over his shoulder, and went toward the old man’s
cabin. He was within one mile of the house, when he saw, flying from the
southeast, three ravens, and each bird seemed the size of a horse. At
that time a terrible thirst came on him; he put the gruagach’s head on
the ground, and stooped to drink from a spring near the wayside; that
moment one of the ravens swept down and carried off the head.
“I am in a worse state now than ever,” said Art, lamenting.
He went to the cabin of the old man, who received him well, and cured
him, and said, “You may go home now, since you did not keep the head when
you had it; or you may go into a forest where there is a boar, and that
boar is far stronger and fiercer than the gruagach: but if you can kill
the boar, you will win yet, if you do what I tell you. When the boar is
dead, open the body and hide in it. The three ravens will come after
awhile to eat; you can catch one of them, and hold it till the others
bring the head.”
Art went away to the forest. He was not long in it when the boar caught
the scent of him, and ran at him, snapped at his body, and took pieces
out of it. Art defended himself till evening, and was more losing than
gaining, when he remembered home and that princess who thought so little
of his valor. He got the strength of four hundred men then, and made two
even halves of the boar. When Art tried to draw his sword, it was broken
at the hilt: and he let three screeches out of him that were heard all
over the kingdom. He could not prepare the carcass, so he went to the old
man with the sword hilt.
“A hundred thousand welcomes to you,” said the old man; “and you deserve
them. You are the best man I have seen in life.”
“I do not deserve the welcomes,” said Art; “’Tis badly the day has gone
with me: my sword is broken.”
“I will give you a better one,” said the old man, taking him to a room
where there was nothing but swords. “Here are swords in plenty; take your
choice of them.”
Art tried many, but broke one after another. At last he caught an old
rusty blade, and shook it. The sword screeched so fiercely that it was
heard in seven kingdoms, and his father and mother heard it in Erin.
“This blade will do,” said Art.
“Come, now, and we’ll prepare the boar,” said the old man.
The two went and dressed the boar in the way to give Art room within the
body, and a place to seize the raven. The old man went to a hilltop, at a
distance, and sat there till he heard the three ravens coming, and they
cawing as before. “Oh, it is ye that are coming!” thought he. The birds
came to the ground, and walked about, till at last one of them began to
peck at the carcass. Art caught that one quickly by the neck; the bird
struggled and struggled.
“You might as well stop,” said Art; “you’ll not go from me. This fellow’s
head, or the head ye took yesterday,” said Art to the other two.
“Kill not our brother,” cried they; “we’ll bring the head quickly.”
“He has but two hours to live, unless ye bring here the head ye took from
me.”
The ravens were not gone one hour when the gruagach’s head was in Art’s
hands, and the raven was free.
“Come home with me now,” said the old man. Art went with him. “Show this
head to the princess,” said the old man; “but do not give it to her;
bring it back here to me.”
Art went to the king’s castle, and, showing the head to the princess,
said, “Here is the head which you wanted; but I will not marry you.” He
turned away then, went to the old man, and gave him the head. The old man
threw the head on a body which was lying in the cabin; the head and the
body became one, and just like the old man.
“Now, Art, king’s son from Erin, the gruagach was my brother, and for the
last three hundred years he was under the enchantment of that princess,
the only daughter of the King of Greece. The princess is old, although
young in appearance; my brother would have killed me as quickly as he
would you; and he was to be enchanted till you should come and cut the
head off him, and show it to the princess, and not marry her, and I
should do as I have done. My brother and I will stay here, take care of
our forests, and be friends to you. Go you back to Erin: a man can find a
good wife near home, and need not look after foreign women.”
Art went to Erin, and lived with his father and mother. One morning he
saw a ship coming in, and only one man on board, the Red Gruagach, and
he having a golden apple on the end of a silver spindle, and throwing the
apple up in the air and catching it on the spindle.
The Red Gruagach came to Art, and asked, “Will you play a game with me?”
“I have never refused to play,” said Art; “but I have no dice.”
The gruagach took out dice; they played. Art won. “What is your wish?”
asked the gruagach.
“Get for me in one moment the finest woman on earth, with twelve
attendant maidens and thirteen horses.”
The Red Gruagach ran to his ship, and brought the woman with her maidens;
the horses came bridled and saddled. When Art saw the woman, he fell in
love, took her by the hand, and went to the castle. They were married
that day. The Red Gruagach would not sail away; he stayed near the castle
and watched. Art’s young wife knew this, and would not let her husband
leave the castle without her.
Two or three months later she fell ill, and sent for the old king. “You
must guard Art, and keep him safe,” said she, “till I recover.”
Next morning the king was called aside for some reason, and Art went out
of the castle that moment. At the gate he met the gruagach, who asked
him to play. They played with the gruagach’s dice, and Art lost.
“Give your sentence,” said he to the gruagach.
“You will hear it too soon for your comfort. You are to bring me the
sword of light, and the story of the man who has it.”
Art’s wife saw the king coming back. “Where is Art?” asked she.
“Outside at the gate.”
She sprang through the door, though sick, but too late.
“You are not a husband for me now, you must go from me,” said she to
Art. “The man who has the sword of light is my sister’s husband; he has
the strength of thousands in him, and can run with the speed of wild
beasts. You did not know me, did not know that I was not that gruagach’s
daughter; you did not ask me who I was. Now you are in trouble, you must
go. Sit on the horse that I rode, and that the gruagach gave you, take
the bridle in your right hand, and let the horse go where he pleases;
he will face the ocean, but a road will open before him, and he will
never stop till he comes to my father’s castle. My father is King Under
the Wave. The horse will stop at steps in front of the castle; you will
dismount then. My father will ask where you got that steed, and you will
say you got him when you won him and the daughter of King Under the Wave
from the Red Gruagach.”
Next morning Art took farewell of his wife and his father and mother,
started, and never stopped nor dismounted till he came to the steps
outside the castle-yard where horsemen used to mount and dismount. He
came down then.
“Where did you get that horse?” asked King Under the Wave; “and where is
the rider who left my castle on his back?”
“I won him and the daughter of King Under the Wave from the Red Gruagach.”
“Ah, ’tis easily known to me that it was the Foxy Gruagach who stole my
child. Now, who are you, and where are you going?”
“I am Art, son of the King of Leinster, in Erin.”
King Under the Wave gave a hundred thousand welcomes to Art then, and
said, “You are the best king’s son that has ever lived; and if my
daughter was to go from me, I am glad that it is to you she went. It is
for the fortune that you are here, I suppose?”
“I am not here for a fortune; but I am in heavy trouble. I am in search
of the sword of light.”
“If you are going for that sword, I fear that you will not be a
son-in-law of mine long. It is the husband of another daughter of mine
who has the sword of light now; and while he has it, he could kill
the whole world. But I like you better, and will send servants to the
stable to get you the worst horse for to-night; you will need the best
afterward. Balor Beimenach, this son-in-law of mine, will grow stronger
each time you go to his castle. One of my men will ride with you, and
show you where Balor lives, and show you the window of the room where
he sleeps. You will turn your horse’s back to the window, and call out,
‘Are you asleep, Balor Beimenach?’ He will reply, and call out, ‘What do
you want?’ You will answer, ‘The sword of light and the story of Balor
Beimenach.’ Put spurs to your horse that instant, and ride away, with
what breath the horse has. I will have the twelve gates of this castle
open before you, to know will you bring the life with you. Balor is
bound not to cross a gate or a wall of this castle without my request,
or to follow any man through a gate or over a wall of mine. He must stop
outside.”
On the following day, Art and a serving-man rode away; the man pointed
out Balor’s castle, and the window of his bedchamber. In the evening, Art
rode up to the window, and shouted, “Are you asleep, Balor Beimenach?”
“Not very soundly. What do you want?”
“The sword of light and the story of Balor Beimenach.”
“Wait, and you will get them!”
Art put spurs to his horse, and shot away. Balor Beimenach was after him
in a flash. Art’s horse was the worst in the stables of King Under the
Wave, though better than the best horse in another kingdom. Still Balor
was gaining on him, and when he came near the castle, he had not time to
reach the gate. He spurred over the wall; but if he did, Balor cut his
horse in two behind the saddle, and Art fell in over the wall with the
front half.
Balor was raging; he went to his castle, but slept not a wink,—walked his
chamber till morning to know would Art come again.
Next evening, Art rode to the window on a better horse, and called out,
“Balor Beimenach, are you asleep?” and raced away. Balor followed, and
followed faster. Art could not reach the gate before him, so he spurred
his horse over the wall. Balor cut this one in two just at the saddle.
Art tumbled down from the wall with his life.
This enraged Balor more than the first escape; he slept not a wink that
night, but was walking around the whole castle and cursing till morning.
King Under the Wave gave Art the best horse in his stable, for the third
night, and said, “This is your last chance with horses. I hope you will
escape; but I’m greatly in dread that Balor will catch you. Now put this
horse to full speed before you shout, and you will have some chance if
your horse runs with what speed there is in him.”
Art obeyed the king. But Balor killed that horse as he had the other two,
and came nearer killing Art; for he cut a piece of the saddle behind him,
and Art came very near falling outside the wall; but he fell in, and
escaped with his life.
“Well,” said King Under the Wave, on the fourth day, “no horse that ever
lived could escape him the fourth time. Every vein in his body is wide
open from thirst for blood; he would use every power that is in him
before he would let you escape. But here is where your chance is. Balor
has not slept for three nights; he will be sound asleep this time; the
sword of light will be hanging above his head near his grasp. Do you slip
into the room, and walk without noise; if you can touch the sword, you
will have all Balor’s strength, and then he will give you the story.”
Art did as the king directed. He slipped into the room, saw the sword of
light hanging just above Balor’s head. He went up without noise till he
caught the hilt of the sword; and that moment it let out a screech that
was heard throughout the dominions of King Under the Wave, and through
all Erin.
Balor woke, and was very weak when he saw Art. The moment Art touched the
hilt of the sword, he had all the strength that Balor had before. The
screech that the sword gave put Balor in such fear that he fell to the
floor, struck his face against the bed-post, and got a great lump on his
forehead.
“Be quiet,” said Art; “the sword is mine, and now I want the story.”
“Who are you?” asked Balor, “and what land are you from? It seems that
you are a friend of my father-in-law; for he is shielding and aiding you
these four nights.”
“I am a friend of his, and also his son-in-law. I wish to be your friend
as well.”
“What is your name?” asked Balor.
“Art, son of the King of Leinster, in Erin.”
“I would rather you had the sword than any other man save myself.”
Balor rose, and went to his wife, and said, “Come with me to your
father’s castle.”
King Under the Wave gave a great feast, and when the feast was over
Balor Beimenach took Art aside, and told him this story: “I was married
to my wife but a short time, and living in that castle beyond, when I
wanted to go to a fair. When not far from the castle, I found I had left
my whip behind, and went back for it. For years there had lived in my
castle a cripple. On returning I found that my wife had disappeared with
this cripple. I went after them in a rage. When I reached her, she struck
me with a rod of enchantment, and made a white horse of me. She gave me
then to a servant, who was to take grain to a mill with me. I had no
saddle on my back, only a chain to cut and gall me. Though a horse, I had
my own knowledge. I wanted freedom. The boy who drove me misused me, and
beat me. I broke his leg with a kick, and ran away among wild hills to
pasture. I had the best grass, and lived for a time at my ease; but my
wife heard of me, and had me brought home. She struck me again with her
rod of enchantment, made a wolf of me. I ran away to rocky places. The
wolves of the mountains bit and tore me; but at last they grew friendly.
I took twelve of these with me, and we killed my wife’s cattle, day and
night. She collected hunters and hounds, who killed six of the wolves.
The other six and I were more harmful than ever. A second party killed
the other six, and I was alone. They surrounded me; there was no escape
then. I saw among the hunters my own father-in law. I ran to King Under
the Wave, fell down before him, looked into his face; he pitied and saved
me, took me home with him.
“My wife was at her father’s that day, and knew me. She begged the king
to kill me; but he would not; he kept me. I served him well, and he
loved me. I slept in the castle. One night a great serpent came down
the chimney, and began to crawl toward the king’s little son, sleeping
there in the cradle. I saw the serpent, and killed it. My wife was at her
father’s castle that night, and rose first on the following morning. She
saw the child sleeping, and the serpent lying dead. She took the child to
her own chamber, rubbed me with blood from the serpent, and told the king
that I had eaten the child. ‘I begged you long ago to kill that wolf,’
said she to her father; ‘if you had followed my advice you would not be
without your son now.’ She turned and went out.
“Right there on a table was the rod of enchantment, which my wife had
forgotten. I sprang toward the king; he was startled, and struck me with
the rod, without knowing its power. I became a man, was myself again,
and told the king my whole story. We went to my wife’s chamber; there the
king found his son living and well. King Under the Wave gave command then
to bring seven loads of turf with seven barrels of pitch, make one pile
of them, and burn his daughter and the cripple on the top of the pile.
“‘Grant me one favor,’ cried I. ‘I will,’ said the king. ‘Spare your
daughter; she may live better now.’ ‘I will,’ said the king; ‘but they
will burn the cripple.’
“That is my story for you. Go now, and tell it to the Red Gruagach;
keep the sword in your hand while telling the story; and when you have
finished, throw the sword into the air, and say, ‘Go to Balor Beimenach!’
It will come to me. When you need the sword, send me word; I will throw
it to you; and we’ll have the strength of thousands between us.”
Art gave a blessing to all, and mounted his wife’s steed; the road
through the sea opened before him. The wife received him with a hundred
thousand welcomes. After that he went to the Red Gruagach, and,
holding the sword of light in his hand, told the story. When the story
was finished, he threw the sword in the air, and said, “Go to Balor
Beimenach.”
“Why did you not give me the sword?” cried the Red Gruagach, in a rage.
“If I was bound to bring the sword, I was not bound to give it to you,”
answered Art. “And now leave this place forever.”
Art lived happily with his wife, and succeeded his father.
SHAWN MACBREOGAN AND THE KING OF THE WHITE NATION.
There was a very rich man once who lived near Brandon Bay, and his name
was Breogan.
This Breogan had a deal of fine land, and was well liked by all people
who knew him. One morning as he was walking on the strand for himself, he
found, above the highest tide, a little colt, barely the size of a goat;
and a very nice colt he was.
“Oh, what a beautiful little beast!” said Breogan; “he doesn’t belong to
any one in this country. He is not mine; but still and all I’ll take him.
If an owner comes the way, sure he can prove his claim, if he is able.”