daughter, were hiding, one of the Fenians gave the ball a great blow;
but as he aimed badly, the ball flew to one side, went far away, and fell
into the forest.
Ceadach was walking away from his house when the ball fell, and he saw
it. He pulled down a tree-branch, and, giving a strong, direct blow,
drove the ball high in the air, and out of the forest.
“No one struck that blow,” said the Fenians, “but Ceadach, and he is here
surely.” They went then toward the point from which they had seen the
ball coming, and there they found Ceadach.
“A thousand welcomes, Fin MacCool,” said Ceadach. “Where are you going?”
“I am under sentence to bring the head of the Red Ox; and ’tis for it
that I am going: but I never can bring it unless you assist me. Without
you, I cannot lift from my head the sentence that is on it.”
“If it lay with me, I would go with you gladly; but I know that my wife
will not let me leave her. But do as I tell you now. When you come to
us to eat dinner, taste nothing, and when my wife asks you to eat, say
that you will not eat till she grants a request: if she will not grant
it, leave the house, and let all the Fenians follow; if she grants you a
request, you are to ask that I go with you. I know that she will grant
you any request, except to take me in your company; for she is in dread
that I may meet Red Face.”
They went to the house; the wife welcomed Fin with the others, and
prepared dinner. When meat was placed before Fin, he would not taste it.
“Why not eat, O King of the Fenians?”
“I have a request to make. If you grant it, I will eat; if not, neither I
nor my men will taste food.”
“Any request in my power, I will grant,” said she, “except one.”
“What is that?” inquired Fin.
“If you want Ceadach to go with you, I’ll not grant that.”
“’Tis he that I want,” answered Fin.
“You’ll not get him.”
“Well, you may keep him,” said Fin, rising from the table; and all the
men followed. Conan Maol, who was with them, thought it hard to leave the
dinner untasted, so he took a joint of meat with him.
When Fin and the Fenians had gone, Ceadach said to his wife, “It is a
great shame to us that Fin and the Fenians have left our house without
tasting food, and this their first visit. Never can I face a man of the
Fenians after what has happened this day.” And he talked till the wife
consented to let him go with them.
Ceadach then whistled after Fin, who came back with his men; and they
raised three shouts of joy when they heard that Ceadach would go with
them. They entered the house then; all sat down to dinner, and they
needed it badly.
After dinner, all set out together, and went to Ceadach’s father, the
King of Sorach, who was very powerful, and had many ships (Fin and the
Fenians had no ships at that time). Ceadach’s father had received no
account of his son from the time that he left him at first, and was
rejoiced at his coming.
Said Fin to the King of Sorach, “I need a ship to bear me to the land
where the Red Ox is kept.”
“You may take the best ship I have,” said the king.
Fin chose the best ship, and was going on board with his men when
Ceadach’s wife said to him, “When coming back, you are to raise black
sails if Ceadach is killed, but white sails if he is living.”
Fin commanded, and the men turned the prow to the sea, and the
stern to land; they raised the great sweeping sails, and took their
smoothly-polished ship past harbors with gently-sloping shores, and there
the ship left behind it pale-green wavelets. Then a mighty wind swept
through great flashing waves with such force that not a nail in the ship
was left unheated, nor the finger of a man inactive; and the ship raised
with its sailing a proud, haughty ridge in the sea. When the wind failed,
they sat down with their oars of fragrant beech or white ash, and with
every stroke they sent the ship forward three leagues through the water,
where fishes, seals, and monsters rose around them, making music and
sport, and giving courage to the men; and they never stopped nor cooled
till they entered the chief port of the land where the Red Ox was kept.
When all had landed; Ceadach said, “I need the fleetest man of the
Fenians to help me against the Red Ox; and now tell me what each of you
can do, and how fast he can run.”
“Let out,” said one man, “twelve hares in a field with twelve gaps in it,
and I will not let a hare out through any gap of the twelve.”
“Take a sieve full of chaff,” said a second man, “to the top of a
mountain; let the chaff go out with the wind; and I will gather all in
again before as much as one bit of it comes to the ground.”
“When I run at full speed,” said a third man, “my tread is so light that
the dry, withered grass is not crushed underneath me.”
“Now, Dyeermud,” said Ceadach, “I think that you were the swiftest of all
when I was the guest of Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin; tell me, how
swift are you now?”
“I am swifter,” said Dyeermud, “than the thought of a woman when she is
thinking of two men.”
“Oh, you will do,” said Ceadach; “you are the fleetest of the Fenians;
come with me.”
Fin and the Fenians remained near the ship, while Ceadach and Dyeermud
went off to face the Red Ox.
The Red Ox’s resting-place was enclosed by a wall and a hedge; outside
was a lofty stone pillar; on this pillar the Red Ox used to rub his two
sides. The Ox had but one horn, and that in the middle of his forehead.
With that horn, which was four feet in length, he let neither fly, wasp,
gnat, nor biting insect come near, and whatever creature came toward him,
he sniffed from a distance.
When he sniffed the two champions, he rushed at them. Ceadach bounded
toward the pillar.
Dyeermud took shelter at the hedge, and waited to see what would happen.
Ceadach ran round the pillar, and the Red Ox ran after him. Three days
and three nights did they run; such was the speed of the two that
Dyeermud never caught sight of them during that time, nor did they have
sight of each other: the Red Ox followed by scent. Near the close of the
third day, when both were growing tired, the Ox, seeing Ceadach, stopped
for an instant to run across and pierce him with his horn. Dyeermud got a
glimpse of the Ox, then rose in the air like a bird, split the forehead
of the Ox with one blow, and stretched him.
“My love on your blow,” said Ceadach; “and it was time for you to give
it.”
“Purblindness and blindness to me,” replied Dyeermud, “if I saw the Ox
till that instant.”
Both were now joyful; for they had the head to take with them.
“If Fin and his men had this carcass,” said Dyeermud, “it would give them
beef for many a day.”
“Well, Dyeermud,” asked Ceadach, “how much of the Ox can you carry?”
“I think I can take one quarter, with the head.”
“If you can do that,” said Ceadach, “I’ll take the rest of the carcass
myself.”
Cutting off one quarter, he thrust through it the point of the horn, put
the horn on Dyeermud’s shoulder, with the head and quarter before and
behind him. Ceadach took the other three quarters himself. Before they
had gone half the way to the vessel, Dyeermud was tired, and Ceadach had
to take that quarter as well as his own three; the head was as much as
Dyeermud could carry.
When the two men appeared at the ship, all rejoiced greatly, and welcomed
them. Fin took the borabu then, and sounded it from joy; this sound
could be heard through the world. As the report had gone to all regions
that Fin was under sentence to kill the Red Ox, when Red Face heard the
borabu, he said to himself, “That is Fin; the Red Ox is killed; no one
could kill him but Ceadach, and Ceadach is where the borabu is.” Red Face
had the power of druidic spells; so he rose in the air, and soon dropped
down near the Fenians, and was unseen till he stood there before them.
Said Red Face to Ceadach, “’Tis many a day that I am following you; you
must stand your ground now.”
“What you ask is but fair,” answered Ceadach.
Red Face went to the distance of a spear’s cast, and hurled his spear at
Ceadach; but Dyeermud sprang up and caught it on his heel. Red Face made
a second cast. Goll MacMorna raised his hand to stop the spear; but it
went through his hand, and, going farther, pierced Ceadach, and killed
him.
Red Face then vanished; and no man knew when he vanished, or to what
place he went.
When Ceadach fell, the Fenians raised seven loud cries of grief that
drove the badgers from the glens in which they were sleeping.
Said Dyeermud to Fin, “Chew your thumb to know how we can bring Ceadach
to life.”
Fin chewed his thumb from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the
bone, from the bone to the marrow, from the marrow to the juice, and then
he knew that there was a sow with three pigs in the Eastern World, and if
blood from one of these pigs were put on Ceadach’s wound, he would rise
up well and healthy.
Fin took some men, and, leaving others to watch over Ceadach, set sail
for the Eastern World, and never stopped till he anchored in a port near
the place where the sow and her pigs were.
Fin knew all paths to the lair of the sow; and they went to it
straightway. When they came, she was away hunting food; so they took the
three pigs, hurried back to the vessel, set sail in all haste, and were
soon out at sea. When the sow came back to her lair, it was empty. Then
she found the scent of the men, followed it to the sea, and swam after
the ship.
When the ship had made one-third of the voyage, the sow came in sight,
and was soon near the stern. Fin ordered his men to throw out one pig
of the three. The sow took the pig in her mouth, turned back, swam home,
and left it in her lair. She turned a second time, followed the ship,
and such was her speed and her venom, that little more than one-half of
the voyage was over when the sow was in sight again. When near the ship,
they threw her the second pig. The mother went back to her lair with the
second pig, left it with the first, and rushed after the ship a third
time. Land was in sight when they saw the sow raging on after them.
“Oh, we are lost!” cried the Fenians.
Dyeermud then took a bow with an arrow, and, resting the bow on another
man’s shoulder, aimed so truly at the widely-opened mouth of the sow,
that the arrow, going in through her mouth, pierced her blood veins, and
in no long time she turned her back downward and died.
They landed in safety, bled the pig; and when they let some of the blood
into Ceadach’s spear-wound, he sprang up alive.
When Ceadach was restored, Fin blew the borabu, and the Fenians raised
seven shouts of joy that were heard throughout the whole kingdom. Then
they set sail for Sorach.
Ceadach’s wife thought her husband long in coming, and was watching and
waiting every day for him. At last she saw the ship with white sails,
and was glad.
Fin and his men landed, but left Ceadach on board.
“Where is Ceadach?” asked the wife, running out to meet Fin.
“He is dead on the vessel,” said Fin.
“Why did you not raise black sails as you promised?”
“We were so troubled that we forgot it.”
“It was well for you to forget; for if you had raised black sails, I
should have drowned every man of you.”
“Ceadach is living and well; have no fear,” said Fin, and he sounded the
borabu.
Ceadach landed. His father and wife were so glad to see him that they
feasted Fin and the Fenians for seven days and seven nights.
Fin told Ceadach’s wife of all their adventures, and what struggles they
had in bringing her husband to life. She was glad; for the trouble with
Red Face was ended.
Ceadach went now with Fin to visit the Doleful Knight of the Island; and
they never halted nor stopped till they came to his castle.
Fin found the knight sitting at a great heavy table, his head on his
hand, his elbow on the table, into which it had worn a deep hole; a
stream of tears was flowing from his eye to the table, and from the table
to the floor.
“A hundred thousand welcomes to you, Fin MacCool,” said the knight; and
he began to weep more than ever. “I was once in prosperity, and at that
time this was a pleasant place for a good man to visit; but now it is
different. I have food in plenty, but no one to cook it.”
“If that’s all your trouble,” said Fin, “we can cure it.”
Fin’s men were not slow in preparing a dinner. When the dinner was eaten,
the knight turned to Fin and inquired, “Why have you come to my castle,
Chief of the Fenians of Erin?”
“I will tell you,” said Fin. Then he related his story, and all his
adventures with Ceadach.
“Well,” said the knight, “it will shorten my life by seven years to give
the tale of my sufferings; for they will be as fresh to me now, as when
first I went through them. But as you are under bonds to know them, I
will tell you.
“I was here in wealth and prosperity, myself and my three sons. We used
to hunt beasts and birds with our dogs when it pleased us. On a May
morning a hare came, and frisked before my hall-door. Myself and my three
sons then followed her with dogs, and followed all day till the height of
the evening. Then we saw the hare enter an old fairy fort. The opening
was wide; we were able to follow. In we rushed, all of us, and the next
thing we saw was a fine roomy building. We went in, looked around for the
hare, but saw not a sight of her. There was no one within but an old man
and woman. We were not long inside till three gruagachs came, each with a
wild boar on his shoulders. They threw the wild boars on the floor, and
told me to clean them, and cook them for dinner. One of my sons fell to
cleaning a boar; but for every hair that he took from him, ten new ones
came out, so the sooner he stopped work the better.
“Then one of the old gruagach’s sons placed the boars in a row, the head
of the one near the tail of the other, and, taking a reed, blew once,
the hair was gone from all three; twice, the three boars were dressed; a
third time, all were swept into one caldron.
“When the meal was cooked and ready, a gruagach brought two spits to me,
one of dull wood, the other formed of sharp iron. The old man asked,
‘Which will you choose?’
“I chose the sharp iron spit, went to the caldron, and thrust in the
spit; but if I did, I raised only a poor, small bit of meat, mostly bone.
That was what I and my three sons had for dinner.
“After dinner, the old man said, ‘Your sons may perform now a feat for
amusement.’
“In three rooms were three cross-beams, as high from the floor as a man’s
throat. In the middle of each beam was a hole. Through this hole passed
a chain, with a loop at each end of it. In front of the hole on each
side of the beam was a knife, broad and sharp. One loop of each chain
was put on the neck of a son of mine, and one on the neck of a gruagach.
Then each of the six was striving to save his own throat, and to cut off
the head of the other man; but the gruagachs pulled my three sons to the
cross-beams, and took the three heads off them.
“Then they dressed them, and boiled them for supper. When that supper was
ready, they struggled to force me to eat some, but could not. Next they
threw me across the broad table, plucked out one eye from my head, thrust
a light in the socket, and made me lie there, and serve as a candlestick.
In the morning, I was flung out through the door, while the gruagach
cried after me, ‘You’ll not come to this castle a second time!’”
“Have you seen that hare since?” inquired Ceadach.
“I have, for she comes each May morning, and that renews and gives
strength to my sorrow.”
“To-morrow will be May day; come with me, and we’ll hunt her,” said
Ceadach.
“I will not,” said the Knight of the Island.
The hare came after breakfast next morning, and halted in front of the
castle. The knight was unwilling to hunt, but still yielded to Ceadach,
and followed with the others.
Time after time, they came close to the hare, but never could catch her.
At last, in the height of the evening, when nearing the same fairy fort,
the hound Bran snapped at the haunch of the hare, and took a full bite
from her. All passed through the entrance, found the house, and no person
inside but an old man and woman. The old woman was lying in bed, and she
groaning.
“Have you seen a hare in this house?” inquired Ceadach.
“I have not,” said the old man.
Ceadach saw traces of blood on the bed, and went toward the old woman,
who was covered up closely; raising the clothes, he said, “Maybe ’tis
here that the hare is.”
The old woman was covered with blood, and wounded in the very same way as
the hare. They knew then who was the cause of misfortune to the Knight of
the Island, and who made the visits each year on May morning.
They were not long in the house when the gruagachs, the sons of the old
man, came in, each with a wild boar on his shoulders. Seeing the Knight
of the Island, they laughed, and said, “We thought you had enough of this
place the first time that you came here.”
“I saw more than I wished to see,” said the Knight of the Island; “but I
had to come this time.”
“Have you any man to cook dinner for us?” asked the old gruagach of Fin.
“I’ll do that myself,” put in Ceadach, who turned to one of the brothers,
and asked, “Where is your reed; I must use it.”
The reed was brought. Ceadach blew once, the boars were clean; twice,
they were dressed, and ready; thrice, they were in the caldron.
When the spits were brought, Ceadach took the dull wooden spit, thrust it
into the pot, and took up all that was in there.
Fin, Ceadach, and the knight ate to their own satisfaction; then they
invited the old gruagach and his three sons to dinner.
“What amusement have you in this place?” asked Fin, later in the evening.
“We have nothing,” said the old gruagach and his sons.
“Where are your chains?” asked Ceadach.
“We make no use of them now,” said the young gruagachs.
“You must bring them,” said Ceadach.
The chains were brought, drawn through the cross-beams, and three loops
of them put on the necks of the gruagachs. No matter what strength was in
the three brothers, nor how they struggled, Ceadach brought their throats
to the knives, and took the three heads off them. Next they were boiled
in the caldron, as the knight’s three sons had been boiled the first
time. Then Ceadach seized the old gruagach, flung him across the broad
table, plucked out one eye from his head, and fixed a light in the empty
socket.
At sight of what the gruagachs passed through, the Doleful Knight of the
Island let one roaring laugh out of him, his first laugh in seven years.
Next morning Ceadach, pointing to the Knight of the Island, said to the
old gruagach, “Unless you bring this man’s three sons to life, I will
take your own head from you.”
The bones of the three sons were in three heaps of dust outside the door.
The gruagach took a rod of enchantment, and struck the bones. The three
sons of the knight rose up as well and strong as ever, and went home. The
Knight of the Island gave a feast to Fin and Ceadach. After that Fin,
with his men and Ceadach, sailed back to the King of Sorach. Ceadach
remained with his wife and father. Fin went to the harbor of Fintra,
taking with him the head of the Red Ox, and the story of the Doleful
Knight, to the fish-hag.
“Have you the head of the Red Ox?” asked the hag.
“I have,” answered Fin.
“You will give it to me,” said the hag.
“I will not,” answered Fin. “If I was bound to bring it, I was not bound
to give it.”
When she heard that, the hag dropped to the earth, and became a few
bones.
FIN MACCOOL, FAOLAN, AND THE MOUNTAIN OF HAPPINESS.
When Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin were at Fintra, they went
hunting one day; and the man who killed the first deer was Dyeermud.
When the hunt was over, they returned to the place where the first deer
was started, and began, as was usual, to prepare the day’s feast. While
preparing the feast, they saw a ship sailing into the harbor, with only
one woman on board. The Fenians were greatly surprised at the speed of
the vessel; and Dyeermud said to Fin, “I will go and see who is the woman
coming in that vessel.”
“You killed the first deer,” replied Fin, “and the honors of the feast on
this day are yours. I myself will go down and see who the woman is.”
The woman cast anchor, sprang ashore, and saluted Fin, when he came to
the strand. Fin returned the salute, and, after a while, she asked, “Will
you play a game of chess for a sentence?”
“I will,” answered Fin.
They played, and she won.
“What is your sentence on me?” inquired Fin.
“I sentence you, under bonds of heavy enchantment,” said she, “to take me
for your wife.”
Fin had to marry the woman. After a time, she said, “I must leave you now
for a season.”
Fin drove his sword then, with one mighty blow, into a tree-stump, and
said, “Call your son Faolan [little wolf], and never send him to me until
he is able to draw the sword from this stump.”
She took the stump with her, and sailed away homeward. She nursed her son
for only three days, and preserved the rest of the milk for a different
use. The boy was called Faolan, was trained well in the use of all arms,
and when ten years of age, he was skilled beyond any master. One day
there was a game of hurley, and Faolan played alone, against twenty one
others. The rule of that game was that whoever won was to get three blows
of his club on each one who played against him. Faolan gave three blows
to each of the twenty-one men; among them was one who was very much hurt
by the blows, and he began to say harsh words to Faolan, and added, “You
don’t know your own father.”
Faolan was greatly offended at this. He went home to his mother, in
tears, and asked, “Who is my father? I will never stop nor stay till I
find him.”
“What caused your vexation?” asked the mother. “Why do you ask such a
question at this time?”
Faolan told her the words of the player. At last she said, “Your father
is Fin MacCool, Chief of the Fenians of Erin; but you are not to be sent
to him till you can draw his sword from the tree-stump into which he
drove it with one blow.”
“Show me the sword and the tree-stump,” said Faolan.
She took him then to the stump. With one pull, he drew out the sword.
“Prepare me food for the road,” said Faolan. “I will go to my father.”
The mother made ready three loaves of bread, kneaded them with the milk
which she had saved, and baked them.
“My son,” said she, “do not refuse bread on the journey to any one whom
you meet; give it from these loaves, even should you meet your worst
enemy.”
She took down a sword then, gave it to him, and said, “This was your
grandfather’s sword; keep it, and use it till a better one comes to you.”
Faolan took a blessing of his mother, set out on his journey, and was
walking always, till he came to a harbor where he found a ship bound for
Erin. He went on board, and was not sailing long, when a venomous hound
rose up in the sea, and cast such high waves at the vessel as to throw it
back a long distance.
Remembering his mother’s advice about sharing the bread, Faolan threw one
loaf to the hound. This seemed to appease him. He had not sailed much
further, when the hound rose again. Faolan threw out the second loaf; and
the beast disappeared for a while, but rose the third time, and drove
back the vessel. Faolan threw the third loaf; and, after disappearing
the third time, the hound rose the fourth time. Having nothing to give,
Faolan seized a brazen ball which his mother had given him, and, hurling
it at the hound with good aim, killed him on the spot. As soon as the
hound fell, there rose up a splendid youth, who came on board, and,
shaking Faolan’s hand, said,—
“I thank you; you delivered me from enchantment. I am your mother’s
brother; and there was nothing to free me till I ate three loaves kneaded
with your mother’s milk, and was then killed by you with that brazen
ball. You are near Ventry Strand now; among the first men you meet will
be your own father. You will know him by his dress; and when you meet
him, kneel down and ask for his blessing. As I have nothing else to give,
here is a ring to wear on your finger, and whenever you look at it you
will feel neither cold, thirst, nor hunger.”
When they landed, the uncle went his own way and vanished. Faolan saw
champions playing on the strand, throwing a great weighty sledge.
Knowing Fin from his mother’s description, he knelt down at his feet, and
asked for his blessing.
“If you are a son of mine,” said Fin, “you are able to hurl this sledge.”
“He is too young,” said Dyeermud, “to throw such a weight; and it is a
shame for you to ask him to throw it.”
The youth then, growing angry, caught the sledge, and hurled it seven
paces beyond the best man of the Fenians.
Fin shook hands with the youth; and his heart grew big at having such a
son. Dyeermud shook his hand also, and swore that as long as he lived he
would be to him a true comrade.