With the first streaks of morning light, the great battle of Gowra
began. The men fought as only Fenians could fight against one another.
Finn threw himself into the struggle with reckless bravery, but the late
afternoon found him still unwounded. Many a splendid hero went down,
Gaul of Morna among them. The High King, however, did not allow the
fight to lag when his leader was killed. He took charge of the forces
himself.
Finn tried all day to get his monarch into a combat with him, but the
High King was too shrewd. He kept clear of any of the stronger fighters
of Finn’s forces. It was Oscar, wounded and tired, who finally cornered
him and forced him to fight or show his cowardice.
Like a rat in a trap, the High King put up a desperate battle. He was
fresh and strong, and so was almost a match for the wounded Oscar. The
end came when both men sank to the ground at the same time. Before Finn
could reach the side of his grandson, both men were dead.
Then Finn’s mighty heart broke. He looked about the field, where small
groups of men still struggled desperately. He determined that the
contest should stop. He blew a loud blast on his horn. The men stopped
in surprise. Finn’s voice rang out over the field.
“Men of Erin,” he called. “Sad am I that I have lived to see the day
when brother fights against brother, friend against friend. Let the
fighting cease. Gaul and the High King are dead, and Finn will soon be
with you no longer. I care not to live to think over this useless
conflict. From now on the Fenians will live only in song and story. Go
back to the chase and the pursuits of peace. I command you never to draw
sword again unless it be to protect Erin from a foreign foe.”
Then Finn called his servant and bade him bring to him the drinking horn
from his camp. This horn he had carried with him all through his later
years. It held the magic water which would bring sleep and forgetfulness
to any who drank from it. When the horn was brought he drained it to the
last drop. Then he bade farewell to his men, took his weapons with him
and went into a cave on the hillside to await the sleep that was already
stealing over his limbs.
* * * * *
A thousand years rolled by. A new race of people took possession of
Erin. Only from the lips of the poets and the bards could one hear of
the mighty heroes. Some laugh and say the tales are not true. But the
legend is still told among the Irish peasants that Finn still sleeps in
his cave on the hill, and that if Ireland ever is invaded again, he will
come out and gather his Fenians for battle.