Translated literally from the Irish of the _Leabhar
Sgeulaigheachta_.
In the old times, there was a half fool living in Dunmore, in the county
Galway, and although he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to
learn more than one tune, and that was the "Black Rogue." He used to get
a good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out
of him. One night the piper was coming home from a house where there had
been a dance, and he half drunk. When he came to a little bridge that
was up by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began
playing the "Black Rogue" (an rógaire dubh). The Púca came behind him,
and flung him up on his own back. There were long horns on the Púca, and
the piper got a good grip of them, and then he said----
"Destruction on you, you nasty beast, let me home. I have a ten-penny
piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff."
"Never mind your mother," said the Púca, "but keep your hold. If you
fall, you will break your neck and your pipes." Then the Púca said to
him, "Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht' (an t-seann-bhean bhocht)."
"I don't know it," said the piper.
"Never mind whether you do or you don't," said the Púca. "Play up, and
I'll make you know."
The piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made
himself wonder.
"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master," says the piper then; "but
tell me where you're for bringing me."
"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of
Croagh Patric to-night," says the Púca, "and I'm for bringing you
there to play music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your
trouble."
"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then," says the piper, "for
Father William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me, because I stole
the white gander from him last Martinmas."
The Púca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places, till he
brought him to the top of Croagh Patric. Then the Púca struck three
blows with his foot, and a great door opened, and they passed in
together, into a fine room.
The piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds
of old women (cailleacha) sitting round about it. The old women rose
up, and said, "A hundred thousand welcomes to you, you Púca of
November (na Samhna). Who is this you have with you?"
"The best piper in Ireland," says the Púca.
One of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in
the side of the wall, and what should the piper see coming out but the
white gander which he had stolen from Father William.
"By my conscience, then," says the piper, "myself and my mother ate
every taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Moy-rua
(Red Mary), and it's she told the priest I stole his gander."
The gander cleaned the table, and carried it away, and the Púca said,
"Play up music for these ladies."
The piper played up, and the old women began dancing, and they were
dancing till they were tired. Then the Púca said to pay the piper, and
every old woman drew out a gold piece, and gave it to him.
"By the tooth of Patric," said he, "I'm as rich as the son of a lord."
"Come with me," says the Púca, "and I'll bring you home."
They went out then, and just as he was going to ride on the Púca, the
gander came up to him, and gave him a new set of pipes. The Púca was
not long until he brought him to Dunmore, and he threw the piper off
at the little bridge, and then he told him to go home, and says to
him, "You have two things now that you never had before--you have
sense and music (ciall agus ceól)."
The piper went home, and he knocked at his mother's door, saying, "Let
me in, I'm as rich as a lord, and I'm the best piper in Ireland."
"You're drunk," said the mother.
"No, indeed," says the piper, "I haven't drunk a drop."
The mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces, and, "Wait
now," says he, "till you hear the music I'll play."
He buckled on the pipes, but instead of music, there came a sound as
if all the geese and ganders in Ireland were screeching together. He
wakened the neighbours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on
the old pipes, and then he played melodious music for them; and after
that he told them all he had gone through that night.
The next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces,
there was nothing there but the leaves of a plant.
The piper went to the priest, and told him his story, but the priest
would not believe a word from him, until he put the pipes on him, and
then the screeching of the ganders and geese began.
"Leave my sight, you thief," says the priest.
But nothing would do the piper till he would put the old pipes on him
to show the priest that his story was true.
He buckled on the old pipes, and he played melodious music, and from
that day till the day of his death, there was never a piper in the
county Galway was as good as he was.