Treunmhar, the chief courier of Fin MacCool, came to Ventry.
“Have you tidings of Fin and the Fenians?” asked Conn.
“I have. They are at the River Lee,” said Teastalach.
“Go to them quickly,” said Conn, “and tell how we are here. Let them
come hither to save us.”
“It would ill become me to go till I had moistened my sword in the blood
of the enemy,” said Teastalach; and he sent a challenge for single combat
to the High King.
“I am the man to meet that warrior,” said Colahan MacDochar, the king’s
champion; and he went on shore without waiting.
Colahan was thirty feet in height, and fifteen around the waist. When he
landed, he went at Teastalach. They fought one hour, and fought with such
fury, the two of them, that their swords and spears went to pieces. The
sword of Colahan was broken at the hilt; but of Teastalach’s blade there
remained a piece as long as the breadth of a man’s palm.
Colahan, who was enraged that any champion could stand against him for
the space of even one hour, seized Teastalach in his arms, to carry him
living to the ship of the High King, twist off his head there, and raise
it on a stake before the forces of the world. When he came to deep water,
he raised Teastalach on his shoulder; but Teastalach, the swift courier
of Fin MacCool, turned quickly, cut the head off his enemy, brought that
head to the strand, and made boast of his deed.
Now Teastalach went to where Fin and his forces were, and told him of all
that happened. Fin marched straightway, and never stopped nor rested till
he came to Maminch, within twenty miles of Ventry. Fin rested there for
the night; but Oscar, son of Oisin, with Conn Ceadach and one other, went
forward. Before going, Oscar turned to Fin, and said, “Chew your thumb,
and tell us what will be the end of our struggle.”
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
said, “The victory will be on our side, but little else will be with us.
The battle will last for a day and a year, and every day will be a day of
fierce struggle. No man of the foreigners will escape; and on our side
few will be left living, and none without wounds.”
Oscar went his way then till he reached Ventry. Fin came on the second
day, and stopped with all his forces at Rahonáin. Next morning, he asked,
“Who will command the battle to-day?”
“We will go with two hundred,” said Oisin and Oscar.
They went toward the harbor; and a great troop landed to meet them. The
two parties faced each other then, and fought till near evening; when
all were killed on the side of the foreigners except three smiths, and of
Fin’s men there remained only Oisin, Oscar, and Goll, son of Morna.
On the following morning, Oisin and Oscar went with two hundred more,
but without Goll. The foreign troop came in numbers as before: and at
midday there was no man left living of Fin’s men but Oisin and Oscar; on
the foreign side all had fallen except the three smiths, who were mighty
champions. Oscar and Oisin faced the smiths. Oscar had two men against
him; and Oisin’s enemy was forcing him backward toward the water. Fin,
seeing this, feared for his son, and sent a poet to praise and encourage
him.
“Now is the time to prove your valor and greatness, Oisin”, said the
poet. “You never went to any place but a king’s daughter, or a high
beauty, fell in love with you. Many are looking this day at you; and now
is your time to show bravery.”
Oisin was greatly encouraged; so he grew in fury and increased on his
blows, till at last he swept the head off his enemy. About the same time,
Oscar killed the two other smiths; but, being faint from open wounds and
blood-loss, he fell senseless on the strand. Oisin, his father, rushed
to him, and held him till aid came. They carried him to Rahonáin, where,
after a long time, he revived.
The smiths had one brother in the fleet of the High King, and his name
was Dealv Dura. This man, who was the first champion in the armies of the
High King, fell into great grief, and swore to have vengeance for his
brothers. He went to the High King, and said, “I will go alone to the
strand, and will slay two hundred men every day till I have slain all the
forces of Erin; and if any man of your troops interfere, I will kill him.”
Next morning, Fin asked who would conduct the battle on that day.
“I will,” said Duvan, son of Donn, “with two hundred men.”
“Go not,” said Fin. “Let another go.”
But Duvan went to the strand with two hundred; and there was no one
before him but Dealv Dura, who demanded two hundred men in combat. A
shout of derision went up from Duvan’s men; but Dealv rushed at them,
and he slew the two hundred without a man of them being able to put a
sword-cut on him. Then, taking a hurley and ball, Dealv Dura threw up
the ball, and kept it in the air with the hurley from the western to the
eastern end of the strand, without letting it touch the ground even one
time. Then, he put the ball on his right foot, and kicked it high in the
air; when it was near the earth, he sent it up with the left foot, and
kept the ball in the air with his two feet, and never let it touch the
earth once, while he was rushing from one end of the strand to the other.
Next, he put the ball on his right knee, sent it up with that, caught it
on the left knee, and kept the ball in the air with his two knees while
he was running from one end of the strand to the other. Last, he put the
ball on one shoulder, threw it up with that shoulder, caught it on the
other, and kept the ball in the air with his two shoulders while he was
rushing like a blast of March wind from one end of the strand to the
other.
When he had finished, he walked back and forth on the strand vauntingly,
and challenged the men of Erin to do the like of those feats.
Next day, Fin sent out two hundred men. Dealv Dura was down on the strand
before them, and not a man of the two hundred returned.
Day after day, two hundred went out, and all fell before Dealv Dura. A
report ran now through all Erin that Fin’s troops were perishing daily
from one man; and this report reached at last the castle of the King
of Ulster. The king had one son, and he only thirteen years of age.
This son, who was the fairest and shapeliest youth in Erin, said to his
father, “Let me go to help Fin MacCool and his men.”
“You are not old enough, nor strong enough, my son; your bones are too
soft.”
When the youth insisted, his father confined him, and set twelve youths,
his own foster-brothers, to guard him, lest he might escape to Ventry
Strand.
The king’s son was enraged at being confined, and said to his
foster-brothers, “It is through valor and daring that my father gained
glory in his young years; and why should I not win a name as well as he?
Help me, and I will be a friend to you forever.”
He talked and persuaded, till they agreed to go with him to Fin MacCool.
They took arms then, hurried across Erin, and, when they came to Ventry,
Dealv Dura was on the strand reviling the Fenians.
“O Fenians of Erin,” said Oisin, “many have fallen by Dealv Dura; and I
would rather die in combat against him, than see the ruin he brings every
day!”
A great cry was raised by all at these words.
Now the son of the King of Ulster stood before Fin, and saluted him.
“Who are you?” asked Fin.
“I am Goll, son of the King of Ulster, and these twelve are my
foster-brothers. We have come to give you what assistance we can.”
“My welcome to you,” said Fin.
The reviling of Dealv Dura was heard now again.
“Who is that?” asked the king’s son from Ulster.
“An enemy asking for two hundred warriors of mine to meet him,” said Fin.
Here the twelve foster-brothers went to the strand, unknown to the king’s
son.
“You are not a man,” said Conan Maol, “and none of these twelve could
face any warrior.”
“I have never seen the Fenians till this day,” said the king’s son,
“still I know that you are Conan Maol, who never speaks well of any man;
but you will see that I am not in dread of Dealv Dura, or any champion on
earth. I will go down now, and meet the warrior single-handed.”
Fin and the Fenians stopped the young hero, and detained him, and talked
to him. Then, Conan began again, and said, “In six days that champion has
slain twelve hundred men; and there was not a man of the twelve hundred
who could not have killed twelve hundred like you every day.”
These words enraged the king’s son. He sprang up, and then heard the
shouting of Dealv Dura on the strand. “What does he want now?” asked the
king’s son.
“More men for combat,” said Conan. “He has just slain your twelve
body-guards.”
With that the king’s son seized his weapons, and no man could stop or
delay him. He rushed to the strand, and went toward Dealv Dura. When the
champion saw the youth coming, he sneered, and the hosts of the High King
sent up a roar of laughter; for they thought Fin’s men were all killed,
since he had sent a stripling to meet Dealv Dura. The courage of the boy
was all the greater from the derision; and he rushed on Dealv Dura, who
got many wounds from the youth before he knew it.
They fought a sharp, bloody combat; and no matter how the champion, Dealv
Dura, used his strength, swiftness, and skill, he was met by the king’s
son: and if the world could be searched, from its eastern edge to its
western border, no braver battle would be found than was that one.
The two fought through the day, the hosts of the Great World and the
Fenians cheering and urging them on. Toward evening their shields were
hacked to pieces, and their weapons all shivered, but they did not stop
the battle; they grappled and caught each other, and fought so that the
sand on the beach was boiling like water beneath them. They wrestled that
way, seeing nothing in the world but each other, till the tide of the sea
went over them, and drowned the two there before the eyes of the Fenians
and the hosts of the High King.
A great cry of wailing and sorrow was raised on both sides, when the
water closed over the champions. Next morning, after the tide-ebb, the
two bodies were found stiff and cold, each one in the grasp of the other;
but Dealv Dura was under the king’s son, so it was known that the youth
was a better man than the other.
The king’s son was buried with great honor by the Fenians; and never
before did they mourn for a hero as on that day.
“Who will command the battle this time?” asked Fin, on the following
morning.
“I and my son Oscar,” said Oisin.
They went to the strand with two hundred men; and against them came the
King of France with his forces. The two sides fought with such venom that
at midday there was no one alive on either side but Oscar, Oisin, and
the King of France. The king and Oisin were fighting at the eastern end
of Ventry; and the king gave such a blow that he knocked a groan from
Oisin. Oscar, who was at the western end of the strand then,—Oscar, of
noble deeds, the man with a heart that never knew fear, and a foot that
never stepped back before many or few,—rushed to see who had injured his
father; and the noise that he made was like the noise of fifty horses
while racing.
The king looked toward the point where the thundering sound was, and saw
Oscar coming. He knew then that unless he escaped he had not long to
live; his beauty and bravery left him, and his terror was like that of
a hundred horses at the sound of a thunderbolt. Lightness of mind and
body came on him; he stretched himself, sprang up, flew through the air,
and never stopped till he came down in Glean nan Allt,—a place to which,
since that time, insane persons go, and every madman in Erin would go
there in twenty four hours, if people would let him.
In the battle of the next day, the King of Norway was chief; and there
was never such destruction of men in Erin before as on that day. This
king had a venomous shield with red flames, and if it were put under the
sea not one of its flames would stop blazing, and the king himself was
not hotter from any of them. When he had the shield on his arm no man
could come near him; and he went against the Fenians with only a sword.
Not to use weapon had he come, but to let the poison of his shield fly
among them. The balls of fire that he sent from the shield went through
the bodies of men, so that each blazed up like a splinter of oak which
had hung a whole year in the smoke of a chimney, and whoever touched the
burning man, blazed up as well as he; and small was every evil that came
into Erin before, when compared with that evil.
“Lift up your hands,” said Fin, “and give three shouts of blessing to the
man who will put some delay on that foreigner.”
A smile came on the king’s face when he heard the shouts that Fin’s men
were giving. It was then that the Chief of the Fenians of Ulster came
near; and he had a venomous spear, the Crodearg. He looked at the King of
Norway, and saw nothing of him without armor, save his mouth, and that
open wide in laughter at the Fenians. He made a cast of his venomous
spear, which entered the king’s mouth, and went out through his neck. The
shield fell, and its blazing was quenched with the life of its master.
The chief cut the head off the king, and made boast of the deed; and his
help was the best that the Fenians received from any man of their own
men. Many were the deeds of that day; and but few of the forces of the
High King went back to their ships in the evening.
On the following day, the foreigners came in thousands; for the High King
had resolved to put an end to the struggle. Conan Maol, who never spoke
well of any man, had a power which he knew not himself, and which no one
in Erin knew except Fin. When Conan looked through his fingers at any
man, that man fell dead the next instant.
Fin never told Conan of this, and never told any one; for he knew that
Conan would kill all the Fenians when he got vexed if he knew his own
power. When the foreigners landed, Fin sent a party of men with Conan
to a suitable place, so that when the enemy were attacking, these men
would look with Conan through their fingers at the enemy, and pray for
assistance against them.
When Conan and his men looked through their fingers, the enemy fell dead
in great numbers, and no one knew that it was Conan’s look alone, without
prayers or assistance from others, that slew them.
Conan and his company stood there all day, looking through their fingers
and praying, whenever a new face made its way from the harbor.
The struggle lasted day after day, till his men spoke to the High King
and said to him, “We can never conquer unless you meet Fin in single
combat.”
The king challenged Fin to meet him on the third day. Fin accepted,
though he was greatly in dread; for he knew that the trunk of the High
King’s body was formed of one bone, and that no sword in the world could
cut it but the king’s own sword, which was kept in the Eastern World by
his grandsire, the King of the Land of the White Men. That old king had
seven chambers in a part of his castle, one inside the other. On the
door of the outer chamber was one lock, on the second two, and so on to
the door of the seventh and innermost chamber, which had seven locks,
and in that chamber the sword and shield of the High King were kept. In
the service of Daire Donn was a champion, a great wizard, who wished ill
to the High King. This man went to Fin, and said, “I will bring you the
sword and shield from the Eastern World.”
“Good will be my reward to you,” said Fin, “if you bring them in time.”
Away went the man in a cloud of enchantment, and soon stood before the
old king. “Your grandson,” said he, “is to fight with Fin MacCool, and
has sent me for his weapons.”
The old king had the sword and shield brought quickly, and gave them. The
man hurried back to Erin, and gave the weapons to Fin on the eve of the
battle.
Next morning, the High King came to the strand full of confidence.
Believing himself safe, he thought he could kill Fin MacCool easily;
but when he stood in front of the chief of the Fenians, and saw his own
venomous sword unsheathed in the hand of his enemy, and knew that death
was fated him from that blade, his face left him for a moment, and his
fingers were unsteady.
He rallied, and thinking to win by surprise, rushed suddenly, fiercely
and mightily, to combat. One of Fin’s men sprang out, and dealt a great
blow with a broadaxe; it laid open the helmet, cut some of the hair of
the High King, but touched not the skin of his body. The High King with
one blow made two parts of the Fenian, and, rushing at Fin, cut a slice
from his shield, and a strip of flesh from his thigh. Fin gave one blow
then in answer, which made two equal parts of the king, so that one eye,
one ear, one arm, and one leg of him dropped on one side, and the other
eye, ear, arm, and leg went to the other side.
Now, the hosts of the High King, and the Fenians of Erin, fought till
there was no man standing in the field except one. He raised the body of
the High King, and said, “It was bad for us, O Fenians of Erin, but worse
for you; I go home in health, and ye have fallen side by side. I will
come again soon, and take all Erin.”
“Sad am I,” said Fin, as he lay on the field, “that I did not find death
before I heard these words from the mouth of a foreigner, and he going
into the Great World with tidings. Is there any man alive near me?”
“I am,” said Fergus Finbel; “and there is no warrior who is not lying in
his blood save the chief man of the High King and your own foster-son,
Caol.”
“Go to seek my foster-son,” said Fin.
Fergus went to Caol, and asked him how his health was. “If my
battle-harness were loosened, my body would fall asunder from wounds; but
more grieved am I at the escape of the foreigner with tidings than at my
own woful state. Take me to the sea, Fergus, that I may swim after the
foreigner; perhaps he will fall by this hand before the life leaves me.”
Fergus took him to the sea; and he swam to the ship. The foreigner
thought him one of his own men, and reached down to raise him to the
ship-board; but Caol grasped the man firmly and drew him to the water.
Both sank in the clear, cold sea, and were drowned.
No man saw the foreigner afterward; but Caol’s body was carried by the
waves, borne northward, and past the islands, till it came to land, at
the port which is now called Caoil Cuan (Caol’s Harbor).
FOOTNOTES
[1] This Winishuyat is represented as no larger than a man’s thumb, and
confined under the hair on the top of the head, the hair being tied over
him. He is foresight itself. _Winis_ means “he sees,” what _huyat_ means
I have not discovered yet.
[2] _Sprisawn_, in Gaelic _spriosan_, a small twig, and, figuratively, a
poor little creature, a sorry little fellow.
[3] Pronounced Shawn,—John.
[4] This is the high point, “the size of a pig’s back,” which the sailor
saw from the topmast.
[5] Fin’s wisdom came in each case from chewing his thumb, which he
pressed once on the Salmon of Knowledge. An account of this is given in a
tale in my “Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland,” p. 211.
NOTES.
The tales in this volume were told me by the following persons:—
Nos. 1, 5, 18, 21. Maurice Lynch, Mount Eagle, West of Dingle, Kerry.
Nos. 2, 11, 24. John Malone, Rahonain, West of Dingle.
Nos. 3, 15. Shea, Kil Vicadowny, West of Dingle.
No. 4. Thomas Brady, Teelin, County Donegal.
No. 6. Maurice Fitzgerald, Emilich Slat, West of Dingle.
Nos. 7, 9, 12, 17. John O’Brien, Connemara.
No. 8. James Byrne, Glen Columkil, County Donegal.
Nos. 10, 14. Colman Gorm, Connemara.
No. 13. Michael Curran, Gortahork, County Donegal.
No. 16. Michael O’Conor, six miles north of Newcastle West, County
Limerick.
Nos. 19, 20. Michael Sullivan, Dingle.
No. 22. Dyeermud Duvane, Milltown, County Kerry.
No. 23. Daniel Sheehy, Dunquin, Kerry, a man over a hundred years old.
_Elin Gow, the Swordsmith from Erin, and the Cow Glas Gainach._
_Glas Gainach._ In this name of the celebrated cow _glas_ means gray;
_gainach_ is a corruption of _gaunach_, written _gamhnach_, which means a
cow whose calf is a year old, that is, a cow without a calf that year, a
farrow cow. _Gamhnach_ is an adjective from _gamhan_, a yearling calf.
In Donegal, _gavlen_ is used instead of _gaunach_; and the best
story-teller informed me that _gavlen_ means a cow that has not had a
calf for five years. He gave the terms for cows that have not had calves
for one, two, three, four, and five years. These terms I wrote down; but
unfortunately they are not accessible at present. The first in the series
is _gaunach_, the last _gavlen_; the intervening ones I cannot recall.
_King Under the Wave_ is a personage met with frequently in Gaelic; his
name is descriptive enough, and his character more or less clear in other
tales.
_Cluainte_ is a place in the parish of Bally Ferriter, the westernmost
district in Ireland. The site of Elin Gow’s house and forge was pointed
out by the man who told the story, also the stone pillars between which
the cow used to stand and scratch her two sides at once when coming home
from pasture in the evening. The pillars are thirteen feet and a half
apart, so that Glas Gainach had a bulky body.
Glas Gainach went away finally through the bay called Ferriter’s Cove.
In Gaelic, this bay is Caoil Cuan (Caol’s harbor), so called because the
body of Caol, foster-son of Fin MacCool, was washed in there after the
Battle of Ventry. (See last paragraph of the Battle of Ventry.)
_Saudan Og and the Daughter of the King of Spain, &c._
_Saudan Og_ means young Sultan. This is a curious naturalization of
the son of the Sultan in Ireland, a very striking example of the
substitution of new heroes in old tales.
_Conal Gulban_ was the great grandfather of Columbkil, founder of Iona
and apostle of Scotland; hence, he lived a good many years before any
King of the Turks could be in any place. In a certain tale of three
brothers which I have heard, the narrator made “two halves” of Mark
Antony, the three heroes being Mark, Antony, and Lepidus.
_Laian_, written _Laighean_ in Gaelic, means Leinster; the King of Laian
is King of Leinster.
_The Black Thief._
There are many variants of this tale, both in the north and south of
Ireland. It seems to have been a great favorite, and is mentioned often,
though few know it well.
There are versions connected with Killarney and the O’Donohue.
The adventures in the present tale are very striking. It would be
difficult indeed to have narrower escapes than those of the Black Thief.
The racing of the cats through all underground Erin is paralleled in
Indian tales, especially those of the Modocs, in which immense journeys
are made underground.
_The King’s Son from Erin, the Sprisawn, and the Dark King._
_Lochlinn_ is used to mean Denmark, though there is no connection
whatever between the names. Lochlinn is doubtless one of the old names
in Gaelic tales, and referred to some kind of water region. Instead of
putting the name “Denmark” in place of the name “Lochlinn,” it was
said in this case that Lochlinn was Denmark. Other regions or kingdoms
in the old tales lost their names: Spain, Sicily, Greece, France were
put in place of them; we have lost the clew to what they were. Lochlinn
has a look that invites investigation. Were all the people of Lochlinn,
creatures of the water, turned by Gaelic tale-tellers into Scandinavians?
Very likely.
In the stealing of Manus, we have a case similar to that of Tobit in the
Apocrypha.
I know of no parallel to the scene in the three chambers with the chains
and the cross-beams. It is terribly grim and merciless. There was no
chance for the weak in those chambers.
The work of the serpent in drying the lake by lashing it, and sending the
water in showers over the country, is equalled in an Indian tale by ducks
which rise from a lake suddenly, and in such incredible numbers that they
take all the water away, carry off the lake with them.
_Amadan Mor._
The boyhood of the Amadan Mor has some resemblance to that of the Russian
hero, Ilyá Múromets, who sat so many years in the ashes without power to
rise.
The fear of stopping in unknown places finds expression frequently in
Indian tales, and arises from the fact that the visitor does not know
what spirits inhabit them, and therefore does not know how to avoid
offending those spirits. Eilin Og seems to have a similar idea in the
dark glen.
_Cud, Cad, and Micad._
_Urhu_ is called _Nurhu_ sometimes, and appears to be the same as the old
English Norroway, Norway. _Hadone_ is said to be Sicily.
_Cahal, Son of King Conor._