[Illustration: L]
Long ago there lived in Erin a woman who married a man of high degree
and had one daughter. Soon after the birth of the daughter the husband
died.
The woman was not long a widow when she married a second time, and had
two daughters. These two daughters hated their half-sister, thought she
was not so wise as another, and nicknamed her Smallhead. When the elder
of the two sisters was fourteen years old their father died. The mother
was in great grief then, and began to pine away. She used to sit at home
in the corner and never left the house. Smallhead was kind to her
mother, and the mother was fonder of her eldest daughter than of the
other two, who were ashamed of her.
At last the two sisters made up in their minds to kill their mother.
One day, while their half-sister was gone, they put the mother in a pot,
boiled her, and threw the bones outside. When Smallhead came home there
was no sign of the mother.
"Where is my mother?" asked she of the other two.
"She went out somewhere. How should we know where she is?"
"Oh, wicked girls! you have killed my mother," said Smallhead.
Smallhead wouldn't leave the house now at all, and the sisters were very
angry.
"No man will marry either one of us," said they, "if he sees our fool of
a sister."
Since they could not drive Smallhead from the house they made up their
minds to go away themselves. One fine morning they left home unknown to
their half-sister and travelled on many miles. When Smallhead discovered
that her sisters were gone she hurried after them and never stopped till
she came up with the two. They had to go home with her that day, but
they scolded her bitterly.
The two settled then to kill Smallhead, so one day they took twenty
needles and scattered them outside in a pile of straw. "We are going to
that hill beyond," said they, "to stay till evening, and if you have not
all the needles that are in that straw outside gathered and on the
tables before us, we'll have your life."
Away they went to the hill. Smallhead sat down, and was crying bitterly
when a short grey cat walked in and spoke to her.
"Why do you cry and lament so?" asked the cat.
"My sisters abuse me and beat me," answered Smallhead. "This morning
they said they would kill me in the evening unless I had all the needles
in the straw outside gathered before them."
"Sit down here," said the cat, "and dry your tears."
The cat soon found the twenty needles and brought them to Smallhead.
"Stop there now," said the cat, "and listen to what I tell you. I am
your mother; your sisters killed me and destroyed my body, but don't
harm them; do them good, do the best you can for them, save them: obey
my words and it will be better for you in the end."
The cat went away for herself, and the sisters came home in the evening.
The needles were on the table before them. Oh, but they were vexed and
angry when they saw the twenty needles, and they said some one was
helping their sister!
One night when Smallhead was in bed and asleep they started away again,
resolved this time never to return. Smallhead slept till morning. When
she saw that the sisters were gone she followed, traced them from place
to place, inquired here and there day after day, till one evening some
person told her that they were in the house of an old hag, a terrible
enchantress, who had one son and three daughters: that the house was a
bad place to be in, for the old hag had more power of witchcraft than
any one and was very wicked.
Smallhead hurried away to save her sisters, and facing the house knocked
at the door, and asked lodgings for God's sake.
"Oh, then," said the hag, "it is hard to refuse any one lodgings, and
besides on such a wild, stormy night. I wonder if you are anything to
the young ladies who came the way this evening?"
The two sisters heard this and were angry enough that Smallhead was in
it, but they said nothing, not wishing the old hag to know their
relationship. After supper the hag told the three strangers to sleep in
a room on the right side of the house. When her own daughters were going
to bed Smallhead saw her tie a ribbon around the neck of each one of
them, and heard her say: "Do you sleep in the left-hand bed." Smallhead
hurried and said to her sisters: "Come quickly, or I'll tell the woman
who you are."
They took the bed in the left-hand room and were in it before the hag's
daughters came.
"Oh," said the daughters, "the other bed is as good." So they took the
bed in the right-hand room. When Smallhead knew that the hag's daughters
were asleep she rose, took the ribbons off their necks, and put them on
her sister's necks and on her own. She lay awake and watched them. After
a while she heard the hag say to her son:
"Go, now, and kill the three girls; they have the clothes and money."
"You have killed enough in your life and so let these go," said the son.
But the old woman would not listen. The boy rose up, fearing his mother,
and taking a long knife, went to the right-hand room and cut the throats
of the three girls without ribbons. He went to bed then for himself, and
when Smallhead found that the old hag was asleep she roused her sisters,
told what had happened, made them dress quickly and follow her.
Believe me, they were willing and glad to follow her this time.
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OF BLOOD]
The three travelled briskly and came soon to a bridge, called at that
time "The Bridge of Blood." Whoever had killed a person could not cross
the bridge. When the three girls came to the bridge the two sisters
stopped: they could not go a step further. Smallhead ran across and went
back again.
"If I did not know that you killed our mother," said she, "I might know
it now, for this is the Bridge of Blood."
She carried one sister over the bridge on her back and then the other.
Hardly was this done when the hag was at the bridge.
"Bad luck to you, Smallhead!" said she, "I did not know that it was you
that was in it last evening. You have killed my three daughters."
"It wasn't I that killed them, but yourself," said Smallhead.
The old hag could not cross the bridge, so she began to curse, and she
put every curse on Smallhead that she could remember. The sisters
travelled on till they came to a King's castle. They heard that two
servants were needed in the castle.
"Go now," said Smallhead to the two sisters, "and ask for service. Be
faithful and do well. You can never go back by the road you came."
The two found employment at the King's castle. Smallhead took lodgings
in the house of a blacksmith near by.
"I should be glad to find a place as kitchen-maid in the castle," said
Smallhead to the blacksmith's wife.
"I will go to the castle and find a place for you if I can," said the
woman.
The blacksmith's wife found a place for Smallhead as kitchen-maid in the
castle, and she went there next day.
"I must be careful," thought Smallhead, "and do my best. I am in a
strange place. My two sisters are here in the King's castle. Who knows,
we may have great fortune yet."
She dressed neatly and was cheerful. Every one liked her, liked her
better than her sisters, though they were beautiful. The King had two
sons, one at home and the other abroad. Smallhead thought to herself one
day: "It is time for the son who is here in the castle to marry. I will
speak to him the first time I can." One day she saw him alone in the
garden, went up to him, and said:
"Why are you not getting married, it is high time for you?"
He only laughed and thought she was too bold, but then thinking that she
was a simple-minded girl who wished to be pleasant, he said:
"I will tell you the reason: My grandfather bound my father by an oath
never to let his oldest son marry until he could get the Sword of Light,
and I am afraid that I shall be long without marrying."
"Do you know where the Sword of Light is, or who has it?" asked
Smallhead.
"I do," said the King's son, "an old hag who has great power and
enchantment, and she lives a long distance from this, beyond the Bridge
of Blood. I cannot go there myself, I cannot cross the bridge, for I
have killed men in battle. Even if I could cross the bridge I would not
go, for many is the King's son that hag has destroyed or enchanted."
"Suppose some person were to bring the Sword of Light, and that person a
woman, would you marry her?"
"I would, indeed," said the King's son.
"If you promise to marry my elder sister I will strive to bring the
Sword of Light."
"I will promise most willingly," said the King's son.
Next morning early, Smallhead set out on her journey. Calling at the
first shop she bought a stone weight of salt, and went on her way, never
stopping or resting till she reached the hag's house at nightfall. She
climbed to the gable, looked down, and saw the son making a great pot of
stirabout for his mother, and she hurrying him. "I am as hungry as a
hawk!" cried she.
Whenever the boy looked away, Smallhead dropped salt down, dropped it
when he was not looking, dropped it till she had the whole stone of salt
in the stirabout. The old hag waited and waited till at last she cried
out: "Bring the stirabout. I am starving! Bring the pot. I will eat from
the pot. Give the milk here as well."
The boy brought the stirabout and the milk, the old woman began to eat,
but the first taste she got she spat out and screamed: "You put salt in
the pot in place of meal!"
"I did not, mother."
"You did, and it's a mean trick that you played on me. Throw this
stirabout to the pig outside and go for water to the well in the field."
"I cannot go," said the boy, "the night is too dark; I might fall into
the well."
"You must go and bring the water; I cannot live till morning without
eating."
"I am as hungry as yourself," said the boy, "but how can I go to the
well without a light? I will not go unless you give me a light."
"If I give you the Sword of Light there is no knowing who may follow
you; maybe that devil of a Smallhead is outside."
But sooner than fast till morning the old hag gave the Sword of Light to
her son, warning him to take good care of it. He took the Sword of Light
and went out. As he saw no one when he came to the well he left the
sword on the top of the steps going down to the water, so as to have
good light. He had not gone down many steps when Smallhead had the
sword, and away she ran over hills, dales, and valleys towards the
Bridge of Blood.
The boy shouted and screamed with all his might. Out ran the hag. "Where
is the sword?" cried she.
"Some one took it from the step."
Off rushed the hag, following the light, but she didn't come near
Smallhead till she was over the bridge.
"Give me the Sword of Light, or bad luck to you," cried the hag.
"Indeed, then, I will not; I will keep it, and bad luck to yourself,"
answered Smallhead.
On the following morning she walked up to the King's son and said:
"I have the Sword of Light; now will you marry my sister?"
"I will," said he.
The King's son married Smallhead's sister and got the Sword of Light.
Smallhead stayed no longer in the kitchen--the sister didn't care to
have her in kitchen or parlour.
The King's second son came home. He was not long in the castle when
Smallhead said to herself, "Maybe he will marry my second sister."
She saw him one day in the garden, went toward him; he said something,
she answered, then asked: "Is it not time for you to be getting married
like your brother?"
"When my grandfather was dying," said the young man, "he bound my father
not to let his second son marry till he had the Black Book. This book
used to shine and give brighter light than ever the Sword of Light did,
and I suppose it does yet. The old hag beyond the Bridge of Blood has
the book, and no one dares to go near her, for many is the King's son
killed or enchanted by that woman."
"Would you marry my second sister if you were to get the Black Book?"
"I would, indeed; I would marry any woman if I got the Black Book with
her. The Sword of Light and the Black Book were in our family till my
grandfather's time, then they were stolen by that cursed old hag."
"I will have the book," said Smallhead, "or die in the trial to get it."
Knowing that stirabout was the main food of the hag, Smallhead settled
in her mind to play another trick. Taking a bag she scraped the chimney,
gathered about a stone of soot, and took it with her. The night was dark
and rainy. When she reached the hag's house, she climbed up the gable to
the chimney and found that the son was making stirabout for his mother.
She dropped the soot down by degrees till at last the whole stone of
soot was in the pot; then she scraped around the top of the chimney till
a lump of soot fell on the boy's hand.
"Oh, mother," said he, "the night is wet and soft, the soot is falling."
"Cover the pot," said the hag. "Be quick with that stirabout, I am
starving."
The boy took the pot to his mother.
"Bad luck to you," cried the hag the moment she tasted the stirabout,
"this is full of soot; throw it out to the pig."
"If I throw it out there is no water inside to make more, and I'll not
go in the dark and rain to the well."
"You must go!" screamed she.
"I'll not stir a foot out of this unless I get a light," said the boy.
"Is it the book you are thinking of, you fool, to take it and lose it as
you did the sword? Smallhead is watching you."
"How could Smallhead, the creature, be outside all the time? If you have
no use for the water you can do without it."
Sooner than stop fasting till morning, the hag gave her son the book,
saying: "Do not put this down or let it from your hand till you come in,
or I'll have your life."
The boy took the book and went to the well. Smallhead followed him
carefully. He took the book down into the well with him, and when he was
stooping to dip water she snatched the book and pushed him into the
well, where he came very near drowning.
Smallhead was far away when the boy recovered, and began to scream and
shout to his mother. She came in a hurry, and finding that the book was
gone, fell into such a rage that she thrust a knife into her son's heart
and ran after Smallhead, who had crossed the bridge before the hag could
come up with her.
When the old woman saw Smallhead on the other side of the bridge facing
her and dancing with delight, she screamed:
"You took the Sword of Light and the Black Book, and your two sisters
are married. Oh, then, bad luck to you. I will put my curse on you
wherever you go. You have all my children killed, and I a poor, feeble,
old woman."
"Bad luck to yourself," said Smallhead. "I am not afraid of a curse from
the like of you. If you had lived an honest life you wouldn't be as you
are to-day."
"Now, Smallhead," said the old hag, "you have me robbed of everything,
and my children destroyed. Your two sisters are well married. Your
fortune began with my ruin. Come, now, and take care of me in my old
age. I'll take my curse from you, and you will have good luck. I bind
myself never to harm a hair of your head."
Smallhead thought awhile, promised to do this, and said: "If you harm
me, or try to harm me, it will be the worse for yourself."
The old hag was satisfied and went home. Smallhead went to the castle
and was received with great joy. Next morning she found the King's son
in the garden, and said: "If you marry my sister to-morrow, you will
have the Black Book."
"I will marry her gladly," said the King's son.
Next day the marriage was celebrated and the King's son got the book.
Smallhead remained in the castle about a week, then she left good health
with her sisters and went to the hag's house. The old woman was glad to
see her and showed the girl her work. All Smallhead had to do was to
wait on the hag and feed a large pig that she had.
"I am fatting that pig," said the hag; "he is seven years old now, and
the longer you keep a pig the harder his meat is: we'll keep this pig a
while longer, and then we'll kill and eat him."
Smallhead did her work; the old hag taught her some things, and
Smallhead learned herself far more than the hag dreamt of. The girl fed
the pig three times a day, never thinking that he could be anything but
a pig. The hag had sent word to a sister that she had in the Eastern
World, bidding her come and they would kill the pig and have a great
feast. The sister came, and one day when the hag was going to walk with
her sister she said to Smallhead:
"Give the pig plenty of meal to-day; this is the last food he'll have;
give him his fill."
The pig had his own mind and knew what was coming. He put his nose under
the pot and threw it on Smallhead's toes, and she barefoot. With that
she ran into the house for a stick, and seeing a rod on the edge of the
loft, snatched it and hit the pig.
That moment the pig was a splendid young man.
Smallhead was amazed.
"Never fear," said the young man, "I am the son of a King that the old
hag hated, the King of Munster. She stole me from my father seven years
ago and enchanted me--made a pig of me."
Smallhead told the King's son, then, how the hag had treated her. "I
must make a pig of you again," said she, "for the hag is coming. Be
patient and I'll save you, if you promise to marry me."
[Illustration]
"I promise you," said the King's son.
With that she struck him, and he was a pig again. She put the switch in
its place and was at her work when the two sisters came. The pig ate his
meal now with a good heart, for he felt sure of rescue.
"Who is that girl you have in the house, and where did you find her?"
asked the sister.
"All my children died of the plague, and I took this girl to help me.
She is a very good servant."
At night the hag slept in one room, her sister in another, and Smallhead
in a third. When the two sisters were sleeping soundly Smallhead rose,
stole the hag's magic book, and then took the rod. She went next to
where the pig was, and with one blow of the rod made a man of him.
With the help of the magic book Smallhead made two doves of herself and
the King's son, and they took flight through the air and flew on without
stopping. Next morning the hag called Smallhead, but she did not come.
She hurried out to see the pig. The pig was gone. She ran to her book.
Not a sign of it.
"Oh!" cried she, "that villain of a Smallhead has robbed me. She has
stolen my book, made a man of the pig, and taken him away with her."
What could she do but tell her whole story to the sister. "Go you," said
she, "and follow them. You have more enchantment than Smallhead has."
"How am I to know them?" asked the sister.
"Bring the first two strange things that you find; they will turn
themselves into something wonderful."
The sister then made a hawk of herself and flew away as swiftly as any
March wind.
"Look behind," said Smallhead to the King's son some hours later; "see
what is coming."
"I see nothing," said he, "but a hawk coming swiftly."
"That is the hag's sister. She has three times more enchantment than the
hag herself. But fly down on the ditch and be picking yourself as doves
do in rainy weather, and maybe she'll pass without seeing us."
The hawk saw the doves, but thinking them nothing wonderful, flew on
till evening, and then went back to her sister.
"Did you see anything wonderful?"
"I did not; I saw only two doves, and they picking themselves."
"You fool, those doves were Smallhead and the King's son. Off with you
in the morning and don't let me see you again without the two with you."
Away went the hawk a second time, and swiftly as Smallhead and the
King's son flew, the hawk was gaining on them. Seeing this Smallhead and
the King's son dropped down into a large village, and, it being
market-day, they made two heather brooms of themselves. The two brooms
began to sweep the road without any one holding them, and swept toward
each other. This was a great wonder. Crowds gathered at once around the
two brooms.
The old hag flying over in the form of a hawk saw this and thinking that
it must be Smallhead and the King's son were in it, came down, turned
into a woman, and said to herself:
"I'll have those two brooms."
She pushed forward so quickly through the crowd that she came near
knocking down a man standing before her. The man was vexed.
"You cursed old hag!" cried he, "do you want to knock us down?" With
that he gave her a blow and drove her against another man, that man gave
her a push that sent her spinning against a third man, and so on till
between them all they came near putting the life out of her, and pushed
her away from the brooms. A woman in the crowd called out then:
"It would be nothing but right to knock the head off that old hag, and
she trying to push us away from the mercy of God, for it was God who
sent the brooms to sweep the road for us."
"True for you," said another woman. With that the people were as angry
as angry could be, and were ready to kill the hag. They were going to
take the head off the hag when she made a hawk of herself and flew away,
vowing never to do another stroke of work for her sister. She might do
her own work or let it alone.
When the hawk disappeared the two heather brooms rose and turned into
doves. The people felt sure when they saw the doves that the brooms were
a blessing from heaven, and it was the old hag that drove them away.
On the following day Smallhead and the King's son saw his father's
castle, and the two came down not too far from it in their own forms.
Smallhead was a very beautiful woman now, and why not? She had the magic
and didn't spare it. She made herself as beautiful as ever she could:
the like of her was not to be seen in that kingdom or the next one.
The King's son was in love with her that minute, and did not wish to
part with her, but she would not go with him.
"When you are at your father's castle," said Smallhead, "all will be
overjoyed to see you, and the king will give a great feast in your
honour. If you kiss any one or let any living thing kiss you, you'll
forget me for ever."
"I will not let even my own mother kiss me," said he.
The King's son went to the castle. All were overjoyed; they had thought
him dead, had not seen him for seven years. He would let no one come
near to kiss him. "I am bound by oath to kiss no one," said he to his
mother. At that moment an old grey hound came in, and with one spring
was on his shoulder licking his face: all that the King's son had gone
through in seven years was forgotten in one moment.
Smallhead went toward a forge near the castle. The smith had a wife far
younger than himself, and a stepdaughter. They were no beauties. In the
rear of the forge was a well and a tree growing over it. "I will go up
in that tree," thought Smallhead, "and spend the night in it." She went
up and sat just over the well. She was not long in the tree when the
moon came out high above the hill tops and shone on the well. The
blacksmith's stepdaughter, coming for water, looked down in the well,
saw the face of the woman above in the tree, thought it her own face,
and cried:
"Oh, then, to have me bringing water to a smith, and I such a beauty.
I'll never bring another drop to him." With that she cast the pail in
the ditch and ran off to find a king's son to marry.
When she was not coming with the water, and the blacksmith waiting to
wash after his day's work in the forge, he sent the mother. The mother
had nothing but a pot to get the water in, so off she went with that,
and coming to the well saw the beautiful face in the water.
"Oh, you black, swarthy villain of a smith," cried she, "bad luck to the
hour that I met you, and I such a beauty. I'll never draw another drop
of water for the life of you!"
She threw the pot down, broke it, and hurried away to find some king's
son.
When neither mother nor daughter came back with water the smith himself
went to see what was keeping them. He saw the pail in the ditch, and,
catching it, went to the well; looking down, he saw the beautiful face
of a woman in the water. Being a man, he knew that it was not his own
face that was in it, so he looked up, and there in the tree saw a woman.
He spoke to her and said:
"I know now why my wife and her daughter did not bring water. They saw
your face in the well, and, thinking themselves too good for me, ran
away. You must come now and keep the house till I find them."
"I will help you," said Smallhead. She came down, went to the smith's
house, and showed the road that the women took. The smith hurried after
them, and found the two in a village ten miles away. He explained their
own folly to them, and they came home.
The mother and daughter washed fine linen for the castle. Smallhead saw
them ironing one day, and said:
"Sit down: I will iron for you."
She caught the iron, and in an hour had the work of the day done.
The women were delighted. In the evening the daughter took the linen to
the housekeeper at the castle.
"Who ironed this linen?" asked the housekeeper.
"My mother and I."
"Indeed, then, you did not. You can't do the like of that work, and tell
me who did it."
The girl was in dread now and answered:
"It is a woman who is stopping with us who did the ironing."
The housekeeper went to the Queen and showed her the linen.
"Send that woman to the castle," said the Queen.
Smallhead went: the Queen welcomed her, wondered at her beauty; put her
over all the maids in the castle. Smallhead could do anything; everybody
was fond of her. The King's son never knew that he had seen her before,
and she lived in the castle a year; what the Queen told her she did.
The King had made a match for his son with the daughter of the King of
Ulster. There was a great feast in the castle in honour of the young
couple, the marriage, was to be a week later. The bride's father brought
many of his people who were versed in all kinds of tricks and
enchantment.
The King knew that Smallhead could do many things, for neither the Queen
nor himself had asked her to do a thing that she did not do in a
twinkle.
"Now," said the King to the Queen, "I think she can do something that
his people cannot do." He summoned Smallhead and asked:
"Can you amuse the strangers?"
"I can if you wish me to do so."
When the time came and the Ulster men had shown their best tricks,
Smallhead came forward and raised the window, which was forty feet from
the ground. She had a small ball of thread in her hand; she tied one end
of the thread to the window, threw the ball out and over a wall near the
castle; then she passed out the window, walked on the thread and kept
time to music from players that no man could see. She came in; all
cheered her and were greatly delighted.
"I can do that," said the King of Ulster's daughter, and sprang out on
the string; but if she did she fell and broke her neck on the stones
below. There were cries, there was lamentation, and, in place of a
marriage, a funeral.
The King's son was angry and grieved and wanted to drive Smallhead from
the castle in some way.
"She is not to blame," said the King of Munster, who did nothing but
praise her.
Another year passed: the King got the daughter of the King of Connacht
for his son. There was a great feast before the wedding day, and as the
Connacht people are full of enchantment and witchcraft, the King of
Munster called Smallhead and said:
"Now show the best trick of any."
"I will," said Smallhead.
When the feast was over and the Connacht men had shown their tricks the
King of Munster called Smallhead.
She stood before the company, threw two grains of wheat on the floor,
and spoke some magic words. There was a hen and a cock there before her
of beautiful plumage; she threw a grain of wheat between them; the hen
sprang to eat the wheat, the cock gave her a blow of his bill, the hen
drew back, looked at him, and said:
"Bad luck to you, you wouldn't do the like of that when I was serving
the old hag and you her pig, and I made a man of you and gave you back
your own form."
The King's son looked at her and thought, "There must be something in
this."
Smallhead threw a second grain. The cock pecked the hen again. "Oh,"
said the hen, "you would not do that the day the hag's sister was
hunting us, and we two doves."
The King's son was still more astonished.
She threw a third grain. The cock struck the hen, and she said, "You
would not do that to me the day I made two heather brooms out of you and
myself." She threw a fourth grain. The cock pecked the hen a fourth
time. "You would not do that the day you promised not to let any living
thing kiss you or kiss any one yourself but me--you let the hound kiss
you and you forgot me."
The King's son made one bound forward, embraced and kissed Smallhead,
and told the King his whole story from beginning to end.
"This is my wife," said he; "I'll marry no other woman."
"Whose wife will my daughter be?" asked the King of Connacht.
"Oh, she will be the wife of the man who will marry her," said the King
of Munster, "my son gave his word to this woman before he saw your
daughter, and he must keep it."
So Smallhead married the King of Munster's son.
[Illustration]
The Legend of Knockgrafton.
[Illustration: T]
There was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at
the foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his
back: he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon
his shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much
that his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for
support. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any
lonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as
inoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he
scarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons
had set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have a great
knowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty
skilful hand in plaiting straw and rushes into hats and baskets, which
was the way he made his livelihood.
Lusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him by reason of his always
wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in his
little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited work
than any one else, and perhaps that was the reason why some one, out of
envy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may,
it happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of
Cahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on
account of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came
to the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of
his road. Tired and weary was he, and noways comfortable in his own mind
at thinking how much farther he had to travel, and that he should be
walking all the night; so he sat down under the moat to rest himself,
and began looking mournfully enough upon the moon.
Presently there rose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of
little Lusmore; he listened, and he thought that he had never heard such
ravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices, each
mingling and blending with the other so strangely that they seemed to be
one, though all singing different strains, and the words of the song
were these--
_Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort;_
when there would be a moment's pause, and then the round of melody went
on again.
Lusmore listened attentively, scarcely drawing his breath lest he might
lose the slightest note. He now plainly perceived that the singing was
within the moat; and though at first it had charmed him so much, he
began to get tired of hearing the same round sung over and over so often
without any change; so availing himself of the pause when the _Da Luan,
Da Mort_, had been sung three times, he took up the tune, and raised it
with the words _augus Da Cadine_, and then went on singing with the
voices inside of the moat, _Da Luan, Da Mort_, finishing the melody,
when the pause again came, with _augus Da Cadine_.
[Illustration: [Lyrics on sheet music: Da Luan Da Mort Da Luan Da Mort
Da Luan Da Mort augus Da Cadine Da Luan Da Mort Da Luan Da Mort Da Luan
Da Mort augus Da Cadine]]
The fairies within Knockgrafton, for the song was a fairy melody, when
they heard this addition to the tune, were so much delighted that, with
instant resolve, it was determined to bring the mortal among them,
whose musical skill so far exceeded theirs, and little Lusmore was
conveyed into their company with the eddying speed of a whirlwind.
Glorious to behold was the sight that burst upon him as he came down
through the moat, twirling round and round, with the lightness of a
straw, to the sweetest music that kept time to his motion. The greatest
honour was then paid him, for he was put above all the musicians, and he
had servants tending upon him, and everything to his heart's content,
and a hearty welcome to all; and, in short, he was made as much of as if
he had been the first man in the land.
Presently Lusmore saw a great consultation going forward among the
fairies, and, notwithstanding all their civility, he felt very much
frightened, until one stepping out from the rest came up to him and
said,--
"Lusmore! Lusmore!
Doubt not, nor deplore,
For the hump which you bore
On your back is no more;
Look down on the floor,
And view it, Lusmore!"
When these words were said, poor little Lusmore felt himself so light,
and so happy, that he thought he could have bounded at one jump over the
moon, like the cow in the history of the cat and the fiddle; and he saw,
with inexpressible pleasure, his hump tumble down upon the ground from
his shoulders. He then tried to lift up his head, and he did so with
becoming caution, fearing that he might knock it against the ceiling of
the grand hall, where he was; he looked round and round again with
greatest wonder and delight upon everything, which appeared more and
more beautiful; and, overpowered at beholding such a resplendent scene,
his head grew dizzy, and his eyesight became dim. At last he fell into a
sound sleep, and when he awoke he found that it was broad daylight, the
sun shining brightly, and the birds singing sweetly; and that he was
lying just at the foot of the moat of Knockgrafton, with the cows and
sheep grazing peacefully round about him. The first thing Lusmore did,
after saying his prayers, was to put his hand behind to feel for his
hump, but no sign of one was there on his back, and he looked at himself
with great pride, for he had now become a well-shaped dapper little
fellow, and more than that, found himself in a full suit of new clothes,
which he concluded the fairies had made for him.
Towards Cappagh he went, stepping out as lightly, and springing up at
every step as if he had been all his life a dancing-master. Not a
creature who met Lusmore knew him without his hump, and he had a great
work to persuade every one that he was the same man--in truth he was
not, so far as outward appearance went.
Of course it was not long before the story of Lusmore's hump got about,
and a great wonder was made of it. Through the country, for miles round,
it was the talk of every one, high and low.
One morning, as Lusmore was sitting contented enough, at his cabin door,
up came an old woman to him, and asked him if he could direct her to
Cappagh.
"I need give you no directions, my good woman," said Lusmore, "for this
is Cappagh; and whom may you want here?"
"I have come," said the woman, "out of Decie's country, in the county
of Waterford looking after one Lusmore, who, I have heard tell, had his
hump taken off by the fairies; for there is a son of a gossip of mine
who has got a hump on him that will be his death; and maybe if he could
use the same charm as Lusmore, the hump may be taken off him. And now I
have told you the reason of my coming so far: 'tis to find out about
this charm, if I can."
Lusmore, who was ever a good-natured little fellow, told the woman all
the particulars, how he had raised the tune for the fairies at
Knockgrafton, how his hump had been removed from his shoulders, and how
he had got a new suit of clothes into the bargain.
The woman thanked him very much, and then went away quite happy and easy
in her own mind. When she came back to her gossip's house, in the county
of Waterford, she told her everything that Lusmore had said, and they
put the little hump-backed man, who was a peevish and cunning creature
from his birth, upon a car, and took him all the way across the country.
It was a long journey, but they did not care for that, so the hump was
taken from off him; and they brought him, just at nightfall, and left
him under the old moat of Knockgrafton.
Jack Madden, for that was the humpy man's name, had not been sitting
there long when he heard the tune going on within the moat much sweeter
than before; for the fairies were singing it the way Lusmore had settled
their music for them, and the song was going on; _Da Luan, Da Mort, Da
Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, augus Da Cadine_, without ever
stopping. Jack Madden, who was in a great hurry to get quit of his hump,
never thought of waiting until the fairies had done, or watching for a
fit opportunity to raise the tune higher again than Lusmore had; so
having heard them sing it over seven times without stopping, out he
bawls, never minding the time or the humour of the tune, or how he could
bring his words in properly, _augus Da Cadine, augus Da Hena_, thinking
that if one day was good, two were better; and that if Lusmore had one
new suit of clothes given him, he should have two.
No sooner had the words passed his lips than he was taken up and whisked
into the moat with prodigious force; and the fairies came crowding round
about him with great anger, screeching, and screaming, and roaring out,
"Who spoiled our tune? who spoiled our tune?" and one stepped up to him,
above all the rest and said:
"Jack Madden! Jack Madden!
Your words came so bad in
The tune we felt glad in;--
This castle you're had in,
That your life we may sadden;
Here's two humps for Jack Madden!"
And twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump and put it
down upon poor Jack's back, over his own, where it became fixed as
firmly as if it was nailed on with twelve-penny nails, by the best
carpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him;
and, in the morning, when Jack Madden's mother and her gossip came to
look after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot
of the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well to be sure, how
they did look at each other! but they were afraid to say anything, lest
a hump might be put upon their own shoulders. Home they brought the
unlucky Jack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their
looks as ever two gossips were; and what through the weight of his other
hump, and the long journey, he died soon after, leaving they say his
heavy curse to any one who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.
Elidore.
[Illustration: In]
In the days of Henry Beauclerc of England there was a little lad named
Elidore, who was being brought up to be a cleric. Day after day he would
trudge from his mother's house, and she was a widow, up to the monks'
Scriptorium. There he would learn his A B C, to read it and to write it.
But he was a lazy little rogue was this Elidore, and as fast as he
learned to write one letter, he forgot another; so it was very little
progress he was making. Now when the good monks saw this they remembered
the saying of the Book: "Spare the rod and spoil the child," and
whenever Elidore forgot a letter they tried to make him remember it with
the rod. At first they used it seldom and lightly, but Elidore was not a
boy to be driven, and the more they thwacked him the less he learned: so
the thwackings became more frequent and more severe, till Elidore could
not stand them any longer. So one day when he was twelve years old he
upped with him and offed with him into the great forest near St.
David's. There for two long days and two long nights he wandered about
eating nothing but hips and haws. At last he found himself at the mouth
of a cave, at the side of a river, and there he sank down, all tired and
exhausted. Suddenly two little pigmies appeared to him and said: "Come
with us, and we will lead you into a land full of games and sports": so
Elidore raised himself and went with these two; at first through an
underground passage all in the dark, but soon they came out into a most
beautiful country, with rivers and meadows, woods and plains, as
pleasant as can be; only this there was curious about it, that the sun
never shone and clouds were always over the sky, so that neither sun
was seen by day, nor moon and stars at night.
[Illustration]
The two little men led Elidore before their king, who asked why and
whence he came. Elidore told him, and the king said: "Thou shalt attend
on my son," and waved him away. So for a long time Elidore waited on the
king's son, and joined in all the games and sports of the little men.
They were little, but they were not dwarfs, for all their limbs were of
suitable size one with another. Their hair was fair, and hung upon their
shoulders like that of women. They had little horses, about the size of
greyhounds; and did not eat flesh, fowl, or fish, but lived on milk
flavoured with saffron. And as they had such curious ways, so they had
strange thoughts. No oath took they, but never a lie they spoke. They
would jeer and scoff at men for their struggles, lying, and treachery.
Yet though they were so good they worshipped none, unless you might say
they were worshippers of Truth.
After a time Elidore began to long to see boys and men of his own size,
and he begged permission to go and visit his mother. So the King gave
him permission: so the little men led him along the passage, and guided
him through the forest, till he came near his mother's cottage, and when
he entered, was not she rejoiced to see her dear son again? "Where have
you been? What have you done?" she cried; and he had to tell her all
that had happened to him. She begged of him to stay with her, but he had
promised the King to go back. And soon he returned, after making his
mother promise not to tell where he was, or with whom. Henceforth
Elidore lived, partly with the little men, and partly with his mother.
Now one day, when he was with his mother, he told her of the yellow
balls they used in their play, and which she felt sure must be of gold.
So she begged of him that the next time he came back to her he would
bring with him one of these balls. When the time came for him to go back
to his mother again, he did not wait for the little men to guide him
back, as he now knew the road. But seizing one of the yellow balls with
which he used to play, he rushed home through the passage. Now as he got
near his mother's house he seemed to hear tiny footsteps behind him, and
he rushed up to the door as quickly as he could. Just as he reached it
his foot slipped, and he fell down, and the ball rolled out of his hand,
just to the feet of his mother. At that moment two little men rushed
forward, seized the ball and ran away, making faces, and spitting at the
boy as they passed him. Elidore remained with his mother for a time; but
he missed the play and games of the little men, and determined to go
back to them. But when he came to where the cave had been, near the
river where the underground passage commenced, he could not find it
again, and though he searched again and again in the years to come, he
could not get back to that fair country. So after a time he went back to
the monastery, and became in due course a monk. And men used to come and
seek him out, and ask him what had happened to him when he was in the
Land of the Little Men. Nor could he ever speak of that happy time
without shedding tears.
Now it happened once, when this Elidore was old, that David, Bishop of
St. David's, came to visit his monastery and ask him about the manners
and customs of the little men, and above all, he was curious to know
what language they spoke; and Elidore told him some of their words. When
they asked for water, they would say: _Udor udorum_; and when they
wanted salt, they would say: _Hapru udorum_. And from this, the Bishop,
who was a learned man, discovered that they spoke some sort of Greek.
For _Udor_ is Greek for _Water_, and _Hap_ for _Salt_.
Hence we know that the Britons came from Troy, being descendants from
Brito, son of Priam, King of Troy.
The Leeching of Kayn's Leg.
[Illustration: T]
There were five hundred blind men, and five hundred deaf men, and five
hundred limping men, and five hundred dumb men, and five hundred cripple
men. The five hundred deaf men had five hundred wives, and the five
hundred limping men had five hundred wives, and the five hundred dumb
men had five hundred wives, and the five hundred cripple men had five
hundred wives. Each five hundred of these had five hundred children and
five hundred dogs. They were in the habit of going about in one band,
and were called the Sturdy Strolling Beggarly Brotherhood. There was a
knight in Erin called O'Cronicert, with whom they spent a day and a
year; and they ate up all that he had, and made a poor man of him, till
he had nothing left but an old tumble-down black house, and an old lame
white horse. There was a king in Erin called Brian Boru; and O'Cronicert
went to him for help. He cut a cudgel of grey oak on the outskirts of
the wood, mounted the old lame white horse, and set off at speed through
wood and over moss and rugged ground, till he reached the king's house.
When he arrived he went on his knees to the king; and the king said to
him, "What is your news, O'Cronicert?"
"I have but poor news for you, king."
"What poor news have you?" said the king.
"That I have had the Sturdy Strolling Beggarly Brotherhood for a day and
a year, and they have eaten all that I had, and made a poor man of me,"
said he.
"Well!" said the king, "I am sorry for you; what do you want?"
"I want help," said O'Cronicert; "anything that you may be willing to
give me."
The king promised him a hundred cows. He went to the queen, and made his
complaint to her, and she gave him another hundred. He went to the
king's son, Murdoch Mac Brian, and he got another hundred from him. He
got food and drink at the king's; and when he was going away he said,
"Now I am very much obliged to you. This will set me very well on my
feet. After all that I have got there is another thing that I want."
"What is it?" said the king.
"It is the lap-dog that is in and out after the queen that I wish for."
"Ha!" said the king, "it is your mightiness and pride that has caused
the loss of your means; but if you become a good man you shall get this
along with the rest."
O'Cronicert bade the king good-bye, took the lap-dog, leapt on the back
of the old lame white horse, and went off at speed through wood, and
over moss and rugged ground. After he had gone some distance through the
wood a roebuck leapt up and the lap-dog went after it. In a moment the
deer started up as a woman behind O'Cronicert, the handsomest that eye
had ever seen from the beginning of the universe till the end of
eternity. She said to him, "Call your dog off me."
"I will do so if you promise to marry me," said O'Cronicert.
"If you keep three vows that I shall lay upon you I will marry you,"
said she.
"What vows are they?" said he.
"The first is that you do not go to ask your worldly king to a feast or
a dinner without first letting me know," said she.
"Hoch!" said O'Cronicert, "do you think that I cannot keep that vow? I
would never go to invite my worldly king without informing you that I
was going to do so. It is easy to keep that vow."
"You are likely to keep it!" said she.
"The second vow is," said she, "that you do not cast up to me in any
company or meeting in which we shall be together, that you found me in
the form of a deer."
"Hoo!" said O'Cronicert, "you need not to lay that vow upon me. I would
keep it at any rate."
"You are likely to keep it!" said she.
"The third vow is," said she, "that you do not leave me in the company
of only one man while you go out." It was agreed between them that she
should marry him.
They reached the old tumble-down black house. Grass they cut in the
clefts and ledges of the rocks; a bed they made and laid down.
O'Cronicert's wakening from sleep was the lowing of cattle and the
bleating of sheep and the neighing of mares, while he himself was in a
bed of gold on wheels of silver, going from end to end of the Tower of
Castle Town.
"I am sure that you are surprised," said she.
"I am indeed," said he.
"You are in your own room," said she.
"In my own room," said he. "I never had such a room."
"I know well that you never had," said she; "but you have it now. So
long as you keep me you shall keep the room."
He then rose, and put on his clothes, and went out. He took a look at
the house when he went out; and it was a palace, the like of which he
had never seen, and the king himself did not possess. He then took a
walk round the farm; and he never saw so many cattle, sheep, and horses
as were on it. He returned to the house, and said to his wife that the
farm was being ruined by other people's cattle and sheep. "It is not,"
said she: "your own cattle and sheep are on it."
"I never had so many cattle and sheep," said he.
"I know that," said she; "but so long as you keep me you shall keep
them. There is no good wife whose tocher does not follow her."
He was now in good circumstances, indeed wealthy. He had gold and
silver, as well as cattle and sheep. He went about with his gun and dogs
hunting every day, and was a great man. It occurred to him one day that
he would go to invite the King of Erin to dinner, but he did not tell
his wife that he was going. His first vow was now broken. He sped away
to the King of Erin, and invited him and his great court to dinner. The
King of Erin said to him, "Do you intend to take away the cattle that I
promised you?"
"Oh! no, King of Erin," said O'Cronicert; "I could give you as many
to-day."
"Ah!" said the king, "how well you have got on since I saw you last!"
"I have indeed," said O'Cronicert! "I have fallen in with a rich wife
who has plenty of gold and silver, and of cattle and sheep."
"I am glad of that," said the King of Erin.
O'Cronicert said, "I shall feel much obliged if you will go with me to
dinner, yourself and your great court."
"We will do so willingly," said the king.
They went with him on that same day. It did not occur to O'Cronicert how
a dinner could be prepared for the king without his wife knowing that he
was coming. When they were going on, and had reached the place where
O'Cronicert had met the deer, he remembered that his vow was broken, and
he said to the king, "Excuse me; I am going on before to the house to
tell that you are coming."