Jack Dogherty lived on the coast of the county Clare. Jack was a
fisherman, as his father and grandfather before him had been. Like
them, too, he lived all alone (but for the wife), and just in the
same spot. People used to wonder why the Dogherty family were so fond
of that wild situation, so far away from all human kind, and in the
midst of huge shattered rocks, with nothing but the wide ocean to look
upon. But they had their own good reasons for it.
The place was just the only spot on that part of the coast where
anybody could well live. There was a neat little creek, where a boat
might lie as snug as a puffin in her nest, and out from this creek a
ledge of sunken rocks ran into the sea. Now when the Atlantic,
according to custom, was raging with a storm, and a good westerly wind
was blowing strong on the coast, many a richly-laden ship went to
pieces on these rocks; and then the fine bales of cotton and tobacco,
and such like things, and the pipes of wine, and the puncheons of rum,
and the casks of brandy, and the kegs of Hollands that used to come
ashore! Dunbeg Bay was just like a little estate to the Doghertys.
Not but they were kind and humane to a distressed sailor, if ever one
had the good luck to get to land; and many a time indeed did Jack put
out in his little _corragh_ (which, though not quite equal to honest
Andrew Hennessy's canvas life-boat, would breast the billows like any
gannet), to lend a hand towards bringing off the crew from a wreck.
But when the ship had gone to pieces, and the crew were all lost, who
would blame Jack for picking up all he could find?
"And who is the worse of it?" said he. "For as to the king, God bless
him! everybody knows he's rich enough already without getting what's
floating in the sea."
Jack, though such a hermit, was a good-natured, jolly fellow. No
other, sure, could ever have coaxed Biddy Mahony to quit her father's
snug and warm house in the middle of the town of Ennis, and to go so
many miles off to live among the rocks, with the seals and sea-gulls
for next-door neighbours. But Biddy knew that Jack was the man for a
woman who wished to be comfortable and happy; for, to say nothing of
the fish, Jack had the supplying of half the gentlemen's houses of
the country with the _Godsends_ that came into the bay. And she was
right in her choice; for no woman ate, drank, or slept better, or made
a prouder appearance at chapel on Sundays, than Mrs. Dogherty.
Many a strange sight, it may well be supposed, did Jack see, and many a
strange sound did he hear, but nothing daunted him. So far was he from
being afraid of Merrows, or such beings, that the very first wish of his
heart was to fairly meet with one. Jack had heard that they were mighty
like Christians, and that luck had always come out of an acquaintance
with them. Never, therefore, did he dimly discern the Merrows moving
along the face of the waters in their robes of mist, but he made direct
for them; and many a scolding did Biddy, in her own quiet way, bestow
upon Jack for spending his whole day out at sea, and bringing home no
fish. Little did poor Biddy know the fish Jack was after!
It was rather annoying to Jack that, though living in a place where
the Merrows were as plenty as lobsters, he never could get a right
view of one. What vexed him more was that both his father and
grandfather had often and often seen them; and he even remembered
hearing, when a child, how his grandfather, who was the first of the
family that had settled down at the creek, had been so intimate with a
Merrow that, only for fear of vexing the priest, he would have had him
stand for one of his children. This, however, Jack did not well know
how to believe.
Fortune at length began to think that it was only right that Jack
should know as much as his father and grandfather did. Accordingly,
one day when he had strolled a little farther than usual along the
coast to the northward, just as he turned a point, he saw something,
like to nothing he had ever seen before, perched upon a rock at a
little distance out to sea. It looked green in the body, as well as he
could discern at that distance, and he would have sworn, only the
thing was impossible, that it had a cocked hat in its hand. Jack stood
for a good half-hour straining his eyes, and wondering at it, and all
the time the thing did not stir hand or foot. At last Jack's patience
was quite worn out, and he gave a loud whistle and a hail, when the
Merrow (for such it was) started up, put the cocked hat on its head,
and dived down, head foremost, from the rock.
Jack's curiosity was now excited, and he constantly directed his steps
towards the point; still he could never get a glimpse of the
sea-gentleman with the cocked hat; and with thinking and thinking
about the matter, he began at last to fancy he had been only dreaming.
One very rough day, however, when the sea was running mountains high,
Jack Dogherty determined to give a look at the Merrow's rock (for he
had always chosen a fine day before), and then he saw the strange
thing cutting capers upon the top of the rock, and then diving down,
and then coming up, and then diving down again.
Jack had now only to choose his time (that is, a good blowing day),
and he might see the man of the sea as often as he pleased. All this,
however, did not satisfy him--"much will have more;" he wished now to
get acquainted with the Merrow, and even in this he succeeded. One
tremendous blustering day, before he got to the point whence he had a
view of the Merrow's rock, the storm came on so furiously that Jack
was obliged to take shelter in one of the caves which are so numerous
along the coast; and there, to his astonishment, he saw sitting before
him a thing with green hair, long green teeth, a red nose, and pig's
eyes. It had a fish's tail, legs with scales on them, and short arms
like fins. It wore no clothes, but had the cocked hat under its arm,
and seemed engaged thinking very seriously about something.
Jack, with all his courage, was a little daunted; but now or never,
thought he; so up he went boldly to the cogitating fishman, took off
his hat, and made his best bow.
"Your servant, sir," said Jack.
"Your servant, kindly, Jack Dogherty," answered the Merrow.
"To be sure, then, how well your honour knows my name!" said Jack.
"Is it I not know your name, Jack Dogherty? Why, man, I knew your
grandfather long before he was married to Judy Regan, your
grandmother! Ah, Jack, Jack, I was fond of that grandfather of yours;
he was a mighty worthy man in his time: I never met his match above or
below, before or since, for sucking in a shellful of brandy. I hope,
my boy," said the old fellow, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, "I
hope you're his own grandson!"
"Never fear me for that," said Jack; "if my mother had only reared me
on brandy, 'tis myself that would be a sucking infant to this hour!"
"Well, I like to hear you talk so manly; you and I must be better
acquainted, if it were only for your grandfather's sake. But, Jack,
that father of yours was not the thing! he had no head at all."
"I'm sure," said Jack, "since your honour lives down under the water,
you must be obliged to drink a power to keep any heat in you in such a
cruel, damp, _could_ place. Well, I've often heard of Christians
drinking like fishes; and might I be so bold as ask where you get the
spirits?"
"Where do you get them yourself, Jack?" said the Merrow, twitching his
red nose between his forefinger and thumb.
"Hubbubboo," cries Jack, "now I see how it is; but I suppose, sir,
your honour has got a fine dry cellar below to keep them in."
"Let me alone for the cellar," said the Merrow, with a knowing wink of
his left eye.
"I'm sure," continued Jack, "it must be mighty well worth the looking
at."
"You may say that, Jack," said the Merrow; "and if you meet me here
next Monday, just at this time of the day, we will have a little more
talk with one another about the matter."
Jack and the Merrow parted the best friends in the world. On Monday
they met, and Jack was not a little surprised to see that the Merrow
had two cocked hats with him, one under each arm.
"Might I take the liberty to ask, sir," said Jack, "why your honour has
brought the two hats with you to day? You would not, sure, be going to
give me one of them, to keep for the _curiosity_ of the thing?"
"No, no, Jack," said he, "I don't get my hats so easily, to part with
them that way; but I want you to come down and dine with me, and I
brought you the hat to dine with."
"Lord bless and preserve us!" cried Jack, in amazement, "would you
want me to go down to the bottom of the salt sea ocean? Sure, I'd be
smothered and choked up with the water, to say nothing of being
drowned! And what would poor Biddy do for me, and what would she say?"
"And what matter what she says, you _pinkeen_? Who cares for Biddy's
squalling? It's long before your grandfather would have talked in that
way. Many's the time he stuck that same hat on his head, and dived
down boldly after me; and many's the snug bit of dinner and good
shellful of brandy he and I have had together below, under the water."
"Is it really, sir, and no joke?" said Jack; "why, then, sorrow from
me for ever and a day after, if I'll be a bit worse man nor my
grandfather was! Here goes--but play me fair now. Here's neck or
nothing!" cried Jack.
"That's your grandfather all over," said the old fellow; "so come
along, then, and do as I do."
They both left the cave, walked into the sea, and then swam a piece
until they got to the rock. The Merrow climbed to the top of it, and
Jack followed him. On the far side it was as straight as the wall of a
house, and the sea beneath looked so deep that Jack was almost cowed.
"Now, do you see, Jack," said the Merrow: "just put this hat on your
head, and mind to keep your eyes wide open. Take hold of my tail, and
follow after me, and you'll see what you'll see."
In he dashed, and in dashed Jack after him boldly. They went and they
went, and Jack thought they'd never stop going. Many a time did he
wish himself sitting at home by the fireside with Biddy. Yet where was
the use of wishing now, when he was so many miles, as he thought,
below the waves of the Atlantic? Still he held hard by the Merrow's
tail, slippery as it was; and, at last, to Jack's great surprise, they
got out of the water, and he actually found himself on dry land at the
bottom of the sea. They landed just in front of a nice house that was
slated very neatly with oyster shells! and the Merrow, turning about
to Jack, welcomed him down.
Jack could hardly speak, what with wonder, and what with being out of
breath with travelling so fast through the water. He looked about him
and could see no living things, barring crabs and lobsters, of which
there were plenty walking leisurely about on the sand. Overhead was
the sea like a sky, and the fishes like birds swimming about in it.
"Why don't you speak, man?" said the Merrow: "I dare say you had no
notion that I had such a snug little concern here as this? Are you
smothered, or choked, or drowned, or are you fretting after Biddy, eh?"
"Oh! not myself, indeed," said Jack, showing his teeth with a
good-humoured grin; "but who in the world would ever have thought of
seeing such a thing?"
"Well, come along, and let's see what they've got for us to eat?"
Jack really was hungry, and it gave him no small pleasure to perceive
a fine column of smoke rising from the chimney, announcing what was
going on within. Into the house he followed the Merrow, and there he
saw a good kitchen, right well provided with everything. There was a
noble dresser, and plenty of pots and pans, with two young Merrows
cooking. His host then led him into the room, which was furnished
shabbily enough. Not a table or a chair was there in it; nothing but
planks and logs of wood to sit on, and eat off. There was, however, a
good fire blazing upon the hearth--a comfortable sight to Jack.
"Come now, and I'll show you where I keep--you know what," said the
Merrow, with a sly look; and opening a little door, he led Jack into a
fine cellar, well filled with pipes, and kegs, and hogsheads, and
barrels.
"What do you say to that, Jack Dogherty? Eh! may be a body can't live
snug under the water?"
"Never the doubt of that," said Jack, with a convincing smack of his
under lip, that he really thought what he said.
They went back to the room, and found dinner laid. There was no
tablecloth, to be sure--but what matter? It was not always Jack had
one at home. The dinner would have been no discredit to the first
house of the country on a fast day. The choicest of fish, and no
wonder, was there. Turbots, and sturgeons, and soles, and lobsters,
and oysters, and twenty other kinds, were on the planks at once, and
plenty of the best of foreign spirits. The wines, the old fellow said,
were too cold for his stomach.
Jack ate and drank till he could eat no more: then, taking up a shell
of brandy, "Here's to your honour's good health, sir," said he;
"though, begging you pardon, it's mighty odd that as long as we've
been acquainted I don't know your name yet."
"That's true, Jack," replied he; "I never thought of it before, but
better late than never. My name's Coomara."
"And a mighty decent name it is," cried Jack, taking another
shellfull: "here's to your good health, Coomara, and may ye live these
fifty years to come!"
"Fifty years!" repeated Coomara; "I'm obliged to you, indeed! If you
had said five hundred, it would have been something worth the wishing."
"By the laws, sir," cries Jack, "_youz_ live to a powerful age here
under the water! You knew my grandfather, and he's dead and gone better
than these sixty years. I'm sure it must be a healthy place to live in."
"No doubt of it; but come, Jack, keep the liquor stirring."
Shell after shell did they empty, and to Jack's exceeding surprise,
he found the drink never got into his head, owing, I suppose, to the
sea being over them, which kept their noddles cool.
Old Coomara got exceedingly comfortable, and sung several songs; but
Jack, if his life had depended on it, never could remember more than
"_Rum fum boodle boo,
Ripple dipple nitty dob;
Dumdoo doodle coo,
Raffle taffle chittiboo!_"
It was the chorus to one of them; and, to say the truth, nobody that I
know has ever been able to pick any particular meaning out of it; but
that, to be sure, is the case with many a song nowadays.
At length said he to Jack, "Now, my dear boy, if you follow me, I'll
show you my _curiosities_!" He opened a little door, and led Jack into
a large room, where Jack saw a great many odds and ends that Coomara
had picked up at one time or another. What chiefly took his attention,
however, were things like lobster-pots ranged on the ground along the
wall.
"Well, Jack, how do you like my _curiosities_?" said old Coo.
"Upon my _sowkins_,[8] sir," said Jack, "they're mighty well worth the
looking at; but might I make so bold as to ask what these things like
lobster-pots are?"
"Oh! the Soul Cages, is it?"
"The what? sir!"
"These things here that I keep the souls in."
"_Arrah!_ what souls, sir?" said Jack, in amazement; "sure the fish
have no souls in them?"
"Oh! no," replied Coo, quite coolly, "that they have not; but these
are the souls of drowned sailors."
"The Lord preserve us from all harm!" muttered Jack, "how in the world
did you get them?"
"Easily enough: I've only, when I see a good storm coming on, to set
a couple of dozen of these, and then, when the sailors are drowned and
the souls get out of them under the water, the poor things are almost
perished to death, not being used to the cold; so they make into my
pots for shelter, and then I have them snug, and fetch them home, and
keep them here dry and warm; and is it not well for them, poor souls,
to get into such good quarters?"
Jack was so thunderstruck he did not know what to say, so he said
nothing. They went back into the dining-room, and had a little more
brandy, which was excellent, and then, as Jack knew that it must be
getting late, and as Biddy might be uneasy, he stood up, and said he
thought it was time for him to be on the road.
"Just as you like, Jack," said Coo, "but take a _duc an durrus_[9]
before you go; you've a cold journey before you."
Jack knew better manners than to refuse the parting glass. "I wonder,"
said he, "will I be able to make out my way home?"
"What should ail you," said Coo, "when I'll show you the way?"
Out they went before the house, and Coomara took one of the cocked
hats, and put it upon Jack's head the wrong way, and then lifted him
up on his shoulder that he might launch him up into the water.
"Now," says he, giving him a heave, "you'll come up just in the same
spot you came down in; and, Jack, mind and throw me back the hat."
He canted Jack off his shoulder, and up he shot like a bubble--whirr,
whirr, whiz--away he went up through the water, till he came to the
very rock he had jumped off, where he found a landing-place, and then
in he threw the hat, which sunk like a stone.
The sun was just going down in the beautiful sky of a calm summer's
evening. _Feascor_ was seen dimly twinkling in the cloudless heaven, a
solitary star, and the waves of the Atlantic flashed in a golden flood
of light. So Jack, perceiving it was late, set off home; but when he
got there, not a word did he say to Biddy of where he had spent his day.
The state of the poor souls cooped up in the lobster-pots gave Jack a
great deal of trouble, and how to release them cost him a great deal of
thought. He at first had a mind to speak to the priest about the matter.
But what could the priest do, and what did Coo care for the priest?
Besides, Coo was a good sort of an old fellow, and did not think he was
doing any harm. Jack had a regard for him, too, and it also might not be
much to his own credit if it were known that he used to go dine with
Merrows. On the whole, he thought his best plan would be to ask Coo to
dinner, and to make him drunk, if he was able, and then to take the hat
and go down and turn up the pots. It was, first of all, necessary,
however, to get Biddy out of the way; for Jack was prudent enough, as
she was a woman, to wish to keep the thing secret from her.
Accordingly, Jack grew mighty pious all of a sudden, and said to Biddy
that he thought it would be for the good of both their souls if she
was to go and take her rounds at Saint John's Well, near Ennis. Biddy
thought so too, and accordingly off she set one fine morning at
day-dawn, giving Jack a strict charge to have an eye to the place. The
coast being clear, away went Jack to the rock to give the appointed
signal to Coomara, which was throwing a big stone into the water. Jack
threw, and up sprang Coo!
"Good morning, Jack," said he; "what do you want with me?"
"Just nothing at all to speak about, sir," returned Jack, "only to
come and take a bit of dinner with me, if I might make so free as to
ask you, and sure I'm now after doing so."
"It's quite agreeable, Jack, I assure you; what's your hour?"
"Any time that's most convenient to you, sir--say one o'clock, that
you may go home, if you wish, with the daylight."
"I'll be with you," said Coo, "never fear me."
Jack went home, and dressed a noble fish dinner, and got out plenty of
his best foreign spirits, enough, for that matter, to make twenty men
drunk. Just to the minute came Coo, with his cocked hat under his arm.
Dinner was ready, they sat down, and ate and drank away manfully.
Jack, thinking of the poor souls below in the pots, plied old Coo well
with brandy, and encouraged him to sing, hoping to put him under the
table, but poor Jack forgot that he had not the sea over his own head
to keep it cool. The brandy got into it, and did his business for him,
and Coo reeled off home, leaving his entertainer as dumb as a haddock
on a Good Friday.
Jack never woke till the next morning, and then he was in a sad way.
"'Tis to no use for me thinking to make that old Rapparee drunk," said
Jack, "and how in this world can I help the poor souls out of the
lobster-pots?" After ruminating nearly the whole day, a thought struck
him. "I have it," says he, slapping his knee; "I'll be sworn that Coo
never saw a drop of _poteen_, as old as he is, and that's the _thing_
to settle him! Oh! then, is not it well that Biddy will not be home
these two days yet; I can have another twist at him."
Jack asked Coo again, and Coo laughed at him for having no better
head, telling him he'd never come up to his grandfather.
"Well, but try me again," said Jack, "and I'll be bail to drink you
drunk and sober, and drunk again."
"Anything in my power," said Coo, "to oblige you."
At this dinner Jack took care to have his own liquor well watered, and
to give the strongest brandy he had to Coo. At last says he, "Pray,
sir, did you ever drink any poteen?--any real mountain dew?"
"No," says Coo; "what's that, and where does it come from?"
"Oh, that's a secret," said Jack, "but it's the right stuff--never
believe me again, if 'tis not fifty times as good as brandy or rum
either. Biddy's brother just sent me a present of a little drop, in
exchange for some brandy, and as you're an old friend of the family, I
kept it to treat you with."
"Well, let's see what sort of thing it is," said Coomara.
The _poteen_ was the right sort. It was first-rate, and had the real
smack upon it. Coo was delighted: he drank and he sung _Rum bum boodle
boo_ over and over again; and he laughed and he danced, till he fell
on the floor fast asleep. Then Jack, who had taken good care to keep
himself sober, snapt up the cocked hat--ran off to the rock--leaped
in, and soon arrived at Coo's habitation.
All was as still as a churchyard at midnight--not a Merrow, old or
young, was there. In he went and turned up the pots, but nothing did
he see, only he heard a sort of a little whistle or chirp as he raised
each of them. At this he was surprised, till he recollected what the
priests had often said, that nobody living could see the soul, no more
than they could see the wind or the air. Having now done all that he
could do for them, he set the pots as they were before, and sent a
blessing after the poor souls to speed them on their journey wherever
they were going. Jack now began to think of returning; he put the hat
on, as was right, the wrong way; but when he got out he found the
water so high over his head that he had no hopes of ever getting up
into it, now that he had not old Coomara to give him a lift. He walked
about looking for a ladder, but not one could he find, and not a rock
was there in sight. At last he saw a spot where the sea hung rather
lower than anywhere else, so he resolved to try there. Just as he came
to it, a big cod happened to put down his tail. Jack made a jump and
caught hold of it, and the cod, all in amazement, gave a bounce and
pulled Jack up The minute the hat touched the water away Jack was
whisked, and up he shot like a cork, dragging the poor cod, that he
forgot to let go, up with him tail foremost. He got to the rock in no
time, and without a moment's delay hurried home, rejoicing in the good
deed he had done.
But, meanwhile, there was fine work at home; for our friend Jack had
hardly left the house on his soul-freeing expedition, when back came
Biddy from her soul-saving one to the well. When she entered the house
and saw the things lying _thrie-na-helah_[10] on the table before
her--"Here's a pretty job!" said she; "that blackguard of mine--what
ill-luck I had ever to marry him! He has picked up some vagabond or
other, while I was praying for the good of his soul, and they've been
drinking all the _poteen_ that my own brother gave him, and all the
spirits, to be sure, that he was to have sold to his honour." Then
hearing an outlandish kind of a grunt, she looked down, and saw
Coomara lying under the table. "The blessed Virgin help me," shouted
she, "if he has not made a real beast of himself! Well, well, I've
often heard of a man making a beast of himself with drink! Oh hone, oh
hone!--Jack, honey, what will I do with you, or what will I do without
you? How can any decent woman ever think of living with a beast?"
With such like lamentations Biddy rushed out of the house, and was
going she knew not where, when she heard the well-known voice of Jack
singing a merry tune. Glad enough was Biddy to find him safe and
sound, and not turned into a thing that was like neither fish nor
flesh. Jack was obliged to tell her all, and Biddy, though she had
half a mind to be angry with him for not telling her before, owned
that he had done a great service to the poor souls. Back they both
went most lovingly to the house, and Jack wakened up Coomara; and,
perceiving the old fellow to be rather dull, he bid him not to be cast
down, for 'twas many a good man's case; said it all came of his not
being used to the _poteen_, and recommended him, by way of cure, to
swallow a hair of the dog that bit him. Coo, however, seemed to think
he had had quite enough. He got up, quite out of sorts, and without
having the manners to say one word in the way of civility, he sneaked
off to cool himself by a jaunt through the salt water.
Coomara never missed the souls. He and Jack continued the best
friends in the world, and no one, perhaps, ever equalled Jack for
freeing souls from purgatory; for he contrived fifty excuses for
getting into the house below the sea, unknown to the old fellow, and
then turning up the pots and letting out the souls. It vexed him, to
be sure, that he could never see them; but as he knew the thing to be
impossible, he was obliged to be satisfied.
Their intercourse continued for several years. However, one morning, on
Jack's throwing in a stone as usual, he got no answer. He flung another,
and another, still there was no reply. He went away, and returned the
following morning, but it was to no purpose. As he was without the hat,
he could not go down to see what had become of old Coo, but his belief
was, that the old man, or the old fish, or whatever he was, had either
died, or had removed from that part of the country.
[Footnote 8: _Sowkins_, diminutive of soul.]
[Footnote 9: _Recte, deoch án dorrus_--door-drink or stirrup-cup.]
[Footnote 10: _Tri-na-cheile, literally through other_--_i.e._,
higgledy-piggledy.]