“How is that?”
“Oh, my life is in that block of wood there.”
“If it is there, ’tis in a strange place; and it is little trouble you
take for it. You should put it in some secure spot in the castle.”
“The place is good enough,” said he.
When Hung Up Naked went off next day, the wife told Blaiman all she had
heard.
“His life is not there,” answered Blaiman; “try him again to-night.”
She searched the whole castle, and what silk or satin or jewels she
found, she dressed with them the block of wood. When Hung Up Naked came
home in the evening, and saw the block so richly decked, he laughed
heartily.
“Why do you laugh?” asked the woman.
“Out of pity for you. It is not there that my life is at all.”
On hearing these words, she fainted, was stiff and cold for some time,
till he began to fear she was dead.
“What is the matter?” asked Hung Up Naked.
“I did not think you would make sport of me. You know that I love you,
and why did you deceive me?”
Hung Up Naked was wonderfully glad. He took her to the window, and,
pointing to a large tree growing opposite, asked, “Do you see that tree?”
“I do.”
“Do you see that axe under my bed-post?” He showed the axe. “I cannot be
killed till a champion with one blow of that axe splits the tree from
the top to the roots of it. Out of the tree a ram will rush forth, and
nothing on earth can come up with the ram but the Hound of Tranamee. If
the ram is caught, he will drop a duck; the duck will fly out on the sea,
and nothing on earth can catch that duck but the Hawk of Cold Cliff.
If the duck is caught, she will drop an egg into the sea, and nothing
on earth can find that egg but the Otter of Frothy Pool. If the egg is
found, the champion must strike with one cast of it this dark spot here
under my left breast, and strike me through the heart. If the tree were
touched, I should feel it, wherever I might be.”
He went away next morning. Blaiman took the axe, and with one blow split
the tree from top to roots; out rushed the ram. Blaiman rushed after him
through the fields. Blaiman hunted the ram till he was dropping from
weariness. Only then did he think of the hound, and cry, “Where are you
now, Little Hound of Tranamee?”
“I am here,” said the hound; “but I could not come till you called me.”
The hound seized the ram in one moment; but, if he did, out sprang a
duck, and away she flew over the sea. Blaiman called for the Hawk of Cold
Cliff. The hawk caught the duck; the duck dropped an egg. He called the
Otter of Frothy Pool; the otter brought the egg in his mouth. Blaiman
took the egg, and ran to the castle, which was whirling no longer; the
enchantment left the place when the tree was split. He opened the door,
and stood inside, but was not long there when he saw Hung Up Naked
coming in haste. When the tree was split, he felt it, and hurried home.
When nearing the castle, his breast open and bare, and he sweating and
sweltering, Blaiman aimed at the black spot, and killed Hung Up Naked.
They were all very glad then. The hawk, hound, and otter were delighted;
they were three sons of the king of that kingdom which Hung Up Naked had
seized; they received their own forms again, and all rejoiced.
Blaiman did not stay long. He left the three brothers in their own
castle and kingdom. “If ever you need my assistance,” said Blaiman to the
brothers, “send for me at my father-in-law’s.” On his return, he spent a
night at each place where he had stopped in going.
When the king saw his daughter and Blaiman, he almost dropped dead from
joy. They all spent some days very happily. Blaiman now thought of his
uncles; and for three days servants were drawing every choice thing to
his vessel. His wife went also to the ship. When all was ready, Blaiman
remembered a present that he had set aside for his mother, and hurried
back to the castle, leaving his wife on the ship with his uncles. The
uncles sailed at once for Erin. When Blaiman came back with the present,
he found neither wife, ship, nor uncles before him. He ran away like one
mad, would not return to his father-in-law, but went wild in the woods,
and began to live like the beasts of the wilderness. One time he came out
on an edge of the forest, which was on a headland running into the sea,
and saw a vessel near land; he was coming that time to his senses, and
signalled. The captain saw him, and said, “That must be a wild beast of
some kind; hair is growing all over his body. Will some of you go to see
what is there? If a man, bring him on board.”
Five men rowed to land, and hailed Blaiman. He answered, “I am from Erin,
and I am perishing here from hunger and cold.” They took him on board.
The captain treated him kindly, had his hair cut, and gave him good
clothing. Where should the captain be sailing to but the very same port
of his grandfather’s kingdom from which Blaiman had sailed. There was a
high tide when the ship neared, and they never stopped till she was in at
the quay. Blaiman went on shore, walked to the chief street, and stood
with his back to a house. Soon he saw men and horses carrying and drawing
many kinds of provisions, and all going one way.
“Why are these people all going one way?” inquired Blaiman of a man in
the crowd.
“You must be a stranger,” answered the man, “since you do not know that
they are going to the castle. The king’s elder son will be married this
evening. The bride is the only daughter of the King of the kingdom of the
White Strand; they brought her to this place twelve months ago.”
“I am a stranger,” said Blaiman, “and have only come now from sea.”
“All are invited to the wedding, high and low, rich and poor.”
“I will go as well as another,” said Blaiman; and he went toward the
castle. He met a sturdy old beggar in a long gray coat. “Will you sell me
the coat?” inquired Blaiman.
“Take your joke to some other man,” answered the beggar.
“I am not joking,” said Blaiman. “I’ll buy your coat.”
The beggar asked more for the coat than he thought would be given by any
one.
“Here is your money,” said Blaiman.
The beggar gave up the coat, and started to go in another direction.
“Come back here,” said Blaiman. “I will do you more good, and I need your
company.”
They went toward the castle together. There was a broad space in front
of the kitchen filled with poor people, for the greater part beggars,
and these were all fighting for places. When Blaiman came, he commanded
the crowd to be quiet, and threatened. He soon controlled all, and was
himself neither eating nor drinking, but seeing justice done those who
were eating and drinking. The servants, astonished that the great,
threatening beggar was neither eating nor drinking, gave a great cup of
wine to him. He took a good draught of the wine, but left still a fair
share in the cup. In this he dropped the ring that he got from his wife
in her own father’s castle, and said to a servant, “Put this cup in the
hand of the bride, and say, ‘’Tis the big beggar that sends back this
much of his wine, and asks you to drink to your own health.’”
She was astonished, and, taking the cup to the window, saw a ring at the
bottom. She took the ring, knew it, and ran out wild with delight through
the people. All thought ’twas enchantment the beggar had used; but she
embraced him and kissed him. The servants surrounded the beggar to seize
him. The king’s daughter ordered them off, and brought him into the
castle; and Blaiman locked the doors. The bride then put a girdle around
the queen’s waist, and this was a girdle of truth. If any one having
it on did not tell the truth, the girdle would shrink and tighten, and
squeeze the life out of that person.
“Tell me now,” said the bride, “who your elder son’s father is.”
“Who is he,” said the queen, “but the king?”
The girdle grew tighter and tighter till the queen screamed, “The
coachman.”
“Who is the second son’s father?”
“The butler.”
“Who is your daughter’s father?”
“The king.”
“I knew,” said the bride, “that there was no kingly blood in the veins
of the two, from the way that they treated my husband.” She told them all
present how the two had taken her away, and left her husband behind. When
Blaiman’s mother saw her son, she dropped almost dead from delight.
The king now commanded his subjects to bring poles and branches and all
dry wood, and put down a great fire. The heads and heels of the queen’s
two sons were tied together, and they were flung in and burned to ashes.
Blaiman remained awhile with his grandfather, and then took his wife back
to her father’s kingdom, where they lived many years.
FIN MACCOOL AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE WHITE NATION.
One day Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin set out on a hunt from the
Castle of Rahonain, and never stopped till they came near Brandon Creek,
and started a hornless deer in a field called Parcnagri.
Over hills and through valleys they chased the deer till they came to Aun
na Vian (the river of the Fenians). The deer sprang from one side of this
river toward the other, but before reaching the bank was taken on a spear
by Dyeermud.
When the hunt was over, Fin and the Fenians went back to the place where
the deer had been started at Parcnagri, for they always returned to the
spot where they roused the first game, and there they feasted.
The feast was nearly ready when Fin saw a boat sailing in toward the
harbor of Ard na Conye (Smerwick Harbor), and no one on board but a
woman.
“’Tis a wonder to me,” said Fin, “that one woman should manage a boat
under sail on the sea. I have a great wish to know who that woman is.”
“’Tis not long I would be in bringing you tidings,” said Dyeermud.
Fin laughed; for Dyeermud was fond of the women. “I would not refuse you
permission to go, but that I myself will go, and be here before our feast
is ready.”
Fin went down from Parcnagri, and stood at the strand of Ard na Conye.
Though great was his speed, the woman was there before him, and her boat
anchored safely four miles from shore.
Fin saluted the woman with friendly greeting; and she returned the salute
in like manner.
“Will you tell me, kind man, where I am now?” asked the woman.
“In the harbor of Ard na Conye.”
“Thanks to you for that answer,” said the woman. “Can you tell where is
Fin MacCool’s dwelling-place?”
“Wherever Fin MacCool’s dwelling-place is, I am that man myself.”
“Thanks to you a second time,” said the woman; “and would you play a game
of chess for a sentence?”
“I would,” replied Fin, “if I had my own board and chessmen.”
“I will give you as good as your own,” said the woman.
“I have never refused, and never asked another to play,” said Fin. “I
will play with you.”
They sat down, and Fin won the first game.
“What is your sentence, Fin MacCool?” asked the woman.
“I put you under bonds of heavy enchantment,” said Fin, “not to eat twice
at the one table, nor to sleep two nights in the one bed, till you bring
a white steed with red bridle and saddle to me, and the same to each man
of the Fenians of Erin.”
“You are very severe, O Fin,” said the woman. “I beg you to soften the
sentence.”
“No,” answered Fin, “you must give what is asked; I will not soften the
sentence.”
“Look behind,” said the woman.
Fin turned, and saw a white steed for himself, and the like for each man
of the Fenians of Erin, all with red bridles and saddles.
“Play a second game, now,” said the woman.
They played, and she won.
“Hasten, kind woman,” said Fin, “and tell me the sentence.”
“Too soon for you to hear it,” said she.
“The sooner I hear it, the better,” said Fin.
“I put you, O Fin, under bonds of heavy enchantment to be my husband
till a shovel puts seven of its fulls of earth on your head.”
“Soften the sentence, good woman,” said Fin; “for this cannot be.”
“The gad may tighten on my throat if I do,” said the woman; “for you did
not soften your sentence on me.”
“Do you stop here,” said Fin to the woman, “till I give my men the
steeds, tell them how I am, and return. But where are the steeds?”
“If I was bound by sentence to bring you the steeds, I was not bound to
keep them.”
Fin went his way to Parcnagri, where the Fenians were waiting, and though
dinner was ready, no man tasted it from that day to this.
Fin posted his men on watch at various harbors, left Dyeermud on Beann
Dyeermud (Dyeermud’s peak), just above the harbor of Ard na Conye, and
went to the woman. She took his hand; they sprang together, and came down
in the woman’s boat, which was four miles from land.
The woman weighed anchor, raised sails, and never stopped ploughing the
weighty sea till she came to the White Nation in the Eastern World, where
her father was king. She entered the harbor, cast anchor, and landed.
“When you were at home,” said the woman to Fin, “you were Chief of the
Fenians of Erin, and held in great honor; I will not that men in this
kingdom belittle you, and I am the king’s only daughter. From the place
where we are standing to my father’s castle there is a narrow and a short
path. I’ll hasten forward on that. There is another way, a broad and long
one; do you choose that. I fear that for you there will not be suitable
seat and a place in the castle, unless I am there to prepare it before
you.”
Fin went the long way, and the woman took the short path. It was many a
day since the woman had seen her own father. For twenty-one years she
had travelled the world, learning witchcraft and every enchantment. She
hurried, and was soon at the door of the castle. Great was the welcome
before her, and loud was the joy of her father. Servants came running,
one after another, with food, and one thing better than the other.
“Father,” said she, “I will taste neither food nor drink till you tell me
the one thing to please your mind most.”
“My child,” said the king, “you have but small chance of coming at that.
The one thing on earth to delight my mind most is the head of Fin MacCool
of Erin. If there was a poor man of my name, he would not be myself if I
had that head.”
“Many a year do I know your desire, my father; and it was not for me to
come back after twenty-one years without bringing Fin’s head. You have
it now, without losing one drop of your blood or a single night’s rest.
Fin is coming hither over the broad road; and do you put men out over
against him with music to meet him, and when he comes between your two
storehouses, let the men dash him against one corner and the other, and
give every reason worse than another to bring him to death.”
The king obeyed his daughter, and sent out guards and musicians.
Fin, going over the broad road, saw men coming with music, and said to
himself, “Great is my joy, or may be my sorrow, for I fear that my life
will be ended in trouble.”
The men received Fin with shouts, and, running up, pushed him from side
to side till he was bruised and bleeding; then they brought him into the
castle.
Glad was the king, and far was the laugh heard that he let out of himself
at sight of Fin MacCool.
The king gave command then to bind the captive, putting seven knots of
cord on every joint of his body, to throw him into a deep vault, and
give him one ounce of black bread with a pint of cold water each day.
Fin was put in the vault, and a very old little woman brought his daily
allowance of food.
On his eighth day in prison, Fin said to the old little woman, “Go now to
the king, and say that I have a petition. I ask not my head, as I would
not get it; but say that my right arm is rotting. I ask to be free in the
garden for one hour; let him send with me men, if he chooses.”
The old woman told the request; and the king said, “I will grant that
with willingness; for it will not take his head from me.”
Thirty armed men were sent, and Fin was set free in the garden. While
walking, he asked the chief of the thirty, “Have you musical instruments?”
“We have not,” said the chief; “we forgot them. If they were here, we
would give music; for I pity you, Fin MacCool.”
“When I was at home,” said Fin, “having the care and charge over men, we
had music; and, if it please you, I will play some of the music of Erin.”
“I would be more than glad if you would do that,” said the chief.
The Fenians of Erin had a horn called the borabu; and when one of them
went wandering he took the borabu with him, as Fin had done this time. It
was the only instrument on which he could play. Fin blew the horn, and
the sound of it came to Beann Dyeermud from the Eastern World. Dyeermud
himself was in deep sleep at the moment; but the sound entered his right
ear and came out through the left. The spring that he made then took him
across seven ridges of land before he was firm on his feet. Dyeermud,
wiping his eyes, said, “Great is the trouble that is on you, Fin; for the
sound of the borabu has never yet entered my right ear unless you were in
peril.”
Then, going at a spring to Cuas a Wudig, he found the remains of an old
currachan, and, drawing out a chisel, knife, and axe, made a fine boat
of the old one. With one kick of his right foot, he sent the boat seven
leagues from land, and, following with a bound, dropped into it. He
hoisted sails, not knowing whither to go, north, south, east, or west,
but held on his way, and ploughed the mighty ocean before him, till, as
good luck would have it, he reached the same harbor to which the woman
had come with Fin MacCool.
Dyeermud saw the boat which had brought them, and said, laughing
heartily, “I have tidings of Fin; he’s in this kingdom in some place,
for this is the boat that brought him from Erin.”
Dyeermud cast anchor, and, landing, drew his sword; and a man seeing his
look at that moment would have wished to be twenty miles distant. On he
went, walking, till he had passed through a broad tract of country. On
the high-road, he saw men, women, and children all going one way, and
none any other. High and low, they were hurrying and hastening; the man
behind outstripping the man in front.
Dyeermud sat on a ditch to rest, and soon a wayfarer halted in front of
him. “Where are these people all hastening?” asked Dyeermud.
“From what country or place are you,” asked the man, “not to know whither
all these people are going?”
“Surely I am not of this place or your country,” said Dyeermud; “and I
care not to know whither you or these people are going, since you cannot
give a civil answer to an honest question.”
“Be patient, good man,” said the wayfarer “From what country or place are
you?”
“From Erin,” said Dyeermud.
“I suppose, then, you have known Fin MacCool, or have heard of him?”
“I have, indeed,” said Dyeermud.
“If you take my advice,” said the wayfaring man, “you’ll go out on the
same road by which you came in, or else not acknowledge Fin MacCool of
Erin, for that man will be hanged this day before the king’s castle; the
gallows is ready and built for him. When the life is gone out of him, his
head will be struck off, and left as a plaything to please the king’s
mind forever. The body is to be dragged between four wild horses; and the
same will be done to you, if you acknowledge Fin MacCool of Erin.”
“I thank you for your answer,” said Dyeermud; “and only because I don’t
like to lay a weighty hand on you, you would never again give advice like
that to a man of the Fenians of Erin. But show me the way to the castle.”
“If you were on the top of that mountain,” said the wayfarer, pointing
northward, “you would see the king’s castle.”
Dyeermud went on in strong haste, and from the mountain-top saw the
king’s castle. On the green field in front of it so many people had
gathered to see Fin MacCool’s death, that if a pin were to drop from the
middle of the sky it could not fall without striking the head of man,
woman, or child. When Dyeermud came down to the field, it was useless to
ask for room or for passage, since each wished himself to be nearest
the place of Fin’s death. Dyeermud drew his sword; and as a mower goes
through the grass of a meadow on a harvest day, or a hawk through a
flock of starlings on a chilly March morning, so did Dyeermud cut his
way through the crowd till he came to the gallows. He turned then toward
the castle, struck the pole of combat, and far was the sound of his blow
heard. The king put his head through the window.
“Who struck that blow?” asked the king. “He must be an enemy!”
“You could not expect a friend to do the like of that,” replied Dyeermud.
“I struck the blow.”
“Who are you?” cried the king.
“My name when in Erin is Dyeermud.”
“What brought you hither?” asked the king.
“I came,” replied Dyeermud, “to succor my chief, Fin MacCool.”
The king let a laugh out of him, and asked, “Have any more men come
besides you?”
“When you finish with me, you may be looking for others,” said Dyeermud.
“What do you want to-day?” asked the king.
“I want to see Fin MacCool, or to fight for him.”
“Fight you may,” said the king; “but see him you will not.”
“Well,” said Dyeermud, “it is too early in the evening for me to rest
without having the blood of enemies on my sword, so send out against me
seven hundred of your best-armed men on my right hand, seven hundred
on my left, seven hundred behind me, and twenty one hundred before my
eyesight.”
Fin’s death was delayed; and the men that he asked for put out against
Dyeermud. Coming sunset, he had the last head cut from the last body,
and, going through his day’s work, made heaps of the bodies, and piles of
the heads.
“Will you give me shelter from the night air?” asked Dyeermud, then
turning to the castle.
“I will, and welcome,” said the king, pointing to a long house at a
distance.
Dyeermud went to the long house, and to his wonder saw there a troop of
wild small men without faith, but no food, fire, or bed. These men were
the agents of the king, who put to death all people who went against
his law. Though a small race of people, they were strong through their
numbers.
When Dyeermud entered, they rose, and began to fill every cranny and
crack they could find in the building.
“Why are you doing that?” inquired Dyeermud.
“For fear that you might escape; for it’s our duty to eat you.”
Dyeermud then seized by the ankles the one who gave him this answer,
and flailed the others with this man, till he wore him down to the two
shin-bones; all the others were killed saving one, who was chief. The
small chief untouched by Dyeermud fell on his knees, and cried out,
“Spare my head! O Dyeermud, there is not a place where you will put one
foot, in which I will not put my two feet, nor a place on which you’ll
put one hand, in which I will not put my two hands; and I can be a good
servant to you.”
“No man ever asked his head of me with peace, but I gave it to him,” said
Dyeermud.
Sitting down then, Dyeermud asked, “Have you any food?”
“I have not,” said the small chief. “We have nothing to eat but men sent
here from one time to another. If you go to the king’s bakery, you may
find loaves of bread.”
Dyeermud went to the baker, and asked, “Will you give me two loaves of
bread?”
“Hardened ruffian,” said the baker, “how dare you come to this place for
bread, or any other thing, you who killed so many of our friends and near
neighbors? Go out of this, or I’ll burn you in the oven.”
“I am thankful,” said Dyeermud; “but before you can do to me what you
threaten, I will do the same to you.”
With that he opened the oven-door, threw in the baker, and burned him to
death. Then he caught up as much bread as he could carry, and went to the
long house; but, being used to good food, could not eat bread alone, and
asked the small chief, “Where can I find drink and meat to go with the
bread?”
“There is a slaughter-house behind us, not far from here,” said the
chief, “and the head butcher might give you a piece to roast or boil.”
Dyeermud went then to the butcher. “Will you give me meat for supper?”
asked he.
“You scoundrel from Erin, if you don’t leave this place I’ll cut off your
head on the block here, and separate it from the body.”
“Never have I met better people to oblige a stranger; but before you can
do to me what you promise, I will do the like to you.”
So Dyeermud caught the butcher, stretched him across the block, and with
the butcher’s own cleaver struck the head off him.
Turning around, Dyeermud saw two fine stalled bullocks dressed for the
king’s table. Taking one under each arm, he brought them to the long
house, and cut them up with his sword; then the small chief cooked
nicely what was needed. The two ate a hearty supper.
Next morning Dyeermud rose up refreshed, and went to the castle, where he
struck the pole of combat.
“What is your wish?” asked the king.
“To see Fin MacCool, or get battle.”
“How many men do you wish for?”
“One thousand of your best armed men on my right hand, as many on
my left, as many behind me, and twice three thousand in front of my
eyesight.”