It was in the good old days that a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a
few acres of barren ground in the neighbourhood of Mouren, situated
about three miles from Mallow and thirteen from the beautiful city
called Cork. Mick had a wife and family. They all did what they could,
and that was but little, for the poor man had no child grown up big
enough to help him in his work; and all the poor woman could do was to
mind the children, and to milk the one cow, and to boil the potatoes
and carry the eggs to market to Mallow; but with all they could do
’twas hard enough on them to pay the rent. Well, they did manage it for
a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little grain of oats
was all spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the
measles--she was sold in Mallow and brought almost nothing; and poor
Mick found that he hadn’t enough half to pay his rent.
“Why, then, Molly,” says he, “what’ll we do?”
“Wisha, then, mavourneen, what would you do but take the cow to the
fair of Cork and sell her?” says she; “and so you must go to-morrow,
that the poor beast may be rested _again_ the fair.”
“And what’ll we do when she’s gone?” says Mick sorrowfully.
“Never a know I know, Mick; but sure God won’t leave us without him,
Mick; and you know how good he was to us when poor little Billy was
sick, and we had nothing at all for him to take--that good doctor
gentleman at Ballydahin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and
how he gave us two shillings; and how he sent the things and bottles
for the child and gave me my breakfast when I went over to ask a
question, so he did; and how he came to see Billy, and never left off
his goodness till he was quite well?”
“Oh! you are always that way, Molly, and I believe you are right after
all, so I won’t be sorry for selling the cow; but I’ll go to-morrow,
and you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know ’tis
ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve
o’clock next day he left her, getting a charge not to sell his cow
except for the highest penny. Mick promised to mind it, and went his
way along the road. He drove his cow slowly through the little stream
which crosses it, and runs under the old walls of Mourne. As he passed
he glanced his eye upon the towers and one of the old elder trees,
which were then only little bits of switches.
“Oh, then, if I only had half the money that’s buried in you, ’tisn’t
driving this poor cow I’d be now! Why, then, isn’t it too bad that it
should be there covered over with earth, and many a one besides me
wanting? Well, if it’s God’s will, I’ll have some money myself coming
back.”
So saying he moved on after his beast. ’Twas a fine day, and the sun
shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey as he passed under them.
He then crossed an extensive mountain tract and after six long miles
he came to the top of that hill--Bottle Hill ’tis called now, but that
was not the name of it then, and just there a man overtook him. “Good
morrow,” says he. “Good morrow, kindly,” says Mick, looking at the
stranger, who was a little man, you’d almost call him a dwarf, only he
wasn’t quite so little neither: he had a bit of an old wrinkled, yellow
face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower only he had a sharp
little nose, and red eyes, and white hair, and his lips were not red,
but all his face was one colour, and his eyes were never quite still
but looking at everything and although they were red they made Mick
feel quite cold when he looked at them. In truth he did not much like
the little man’s company; and he couldn’t see one bit of his legs nor
his body, for though the day was warm, he was all wrapped up in a big
great-coat. Mick drove his cow something faster, but the little man
kept up with him. Mick didn’t know how he walked for he was almost
afraid to look at him, and to cross himself, for fear the old man would
be angry. Yet he thought his fellow-traveller did not seem to walk
like other men, nor to put one foot before the other, but to glide
over the rough road--and rough enough it was--like a shadow, without
noise and without effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said
a prayer to himself, wishing he hadn’t come out that day, or that he
was on Fair-hill, or that he hadn’t the cow to mind that he might run
away from the bad thing--when, in the midst of his fears, he was again
addressed by his companion.
“Where are you going with the cow, honest man?”
“To the fair of Cork then,” says Mick, trembling at the shrill and
piercing tones of the voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” said the stranger.
“Why, then, what else am I going for but to sell her?”
“Will you sell her to me?”
Mick started--he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man,
and he was more afraid to say no.
“What’ll you give for her?” at last says he.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this bottle,” said the little one,
pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, he
could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.
“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle
is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow in
Cork--ay, than ten thousand times as much.”
Mick laughed again. “Why then,” says he, “do you think I am such a fool
as to give my good cow for a bottle--and an empty one, too? indeed,
then I won’t.”
“You’d better give me the cow, and take the bottle--you’ll not be sorry
for it.”
“Why, then, and what would Molly say? I’d never hear the end of it; and
how would I pay the rent? and what would we all do without a penny of
money?”
“I tell you this bottle is better to you than money; take it and give
me the cow. I ask you for the last time, Mick Purcell.”
Mick started.
“How does he know my name?” thought he.
The stranger proceeded: “Mick Purcell, I know you, and I have a regard
for you; therefore do as I warn you, or you may be sorry for it. How do
you know but your cow will die before you go to Cork?”
Mick was going to say “God forbid!” but the little man went on (and
he was too attentive to say anything to stop him; for Mick was a very
civil man, and he knew better than to interrupt a gentleman, and that’s
what many people, that hold their heads higher, don’t mind now).
“And how do you know but there will be much cattle at the fair, and you
will get a bad price, or maybe you might be robbed when you are coming
home? but what need I talk more to you, when you are determined to
throw away your luck, Mick Purcell.”
“Oh! no, I would not throw away my luck, sir,” said Mick, “and if I was
sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty
bottle, although I had drank the contents of it, I’d give you the cow
in the name----”
“Never mind names,” said the stranger, “but give me the cow; I would
not tell you a lie. Here, take the bottle, and when you go home do what
I direct exactly.”
Mick hesitated.
“Well, then, good-bye, I can stay no longer: once more take it, and
be rich; refuse it, and beg for your life, and see your children in
poverty, and your wife dying for want--that will happen to you, Mick
Purcell!” said the little man with a malicious grin, which made him
look ten times more ugly than ever.
[Illustration: “Here take the bottle”]
“Maybe, ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating: he did not know what
to do--he could hardly help believing the old man, and at length in a
fit of desperation, he seized the bottle. “Take the cow,” said he, “and
if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor will be on you.”
“I care neither for your curses nor your blessings; but I have spoken
truth, Mick Purcell, and that you will find to-night, if you do what I
tell you.”
“And what’s that?” says Mick.
[Illustration: Mick went home muttering prayers and holding fast the
bottle]
“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry, but be quiet
yourself, and make her sweep the room clean, set the table out right
and spread a clean cloth over it; then put the bottle on the ground
saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see the end of
it.”
“And is this all?” says Mick.
“No more,” said the stranger. “Good-bye, Mick Purcell--you are a rich
man.”
“God grant it!” said Mick, as the old man moved after the cow, and Mick
retraced the road towards his cabin; but he could not help turning back
his head, to look after the purchaser of his cow, who was nowhere to be
seen.
“Lord between us and harm!” said Mick. “_He_ can’t belong to this
earth; but where is the cow?” She, too, was gone, and Mick went
homeward muttering prayers, and holding fast the bottle.
“And what would I do if it broke?” thought he. “Oh! but I’ll take care
of that.” So he put it into his bosom, and went on anxious to prove his
bottle, and doubting of the reception he should meet from his wife.
Balancing his anxieties with his expectation, his fears with his hopes,
he reached home in the evening and surprised his wife, sitting over
the turf fire in the big chimney.
“Oh! Mick, are you come back? Sure you weren’t at Cork all the way!
What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much
money did you get for her? What news have you? Tell us everything about
it.”
“Why then, Molly, if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all about it.
If you want to know where the cow is, ’tisn’t Mick can tell you, for
the never a know does he know where she is now.”
“Oh! then, you sold her; and where’s the money?”
“Arrah, stop awhile, Molly, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?” said Molly, spying its
neck sticking out.
“Why, then, be easy now, can’t you,” says Mick, “till I tell it to
you.” Then, putting the bottle on the table, “That’s all I got for the
cow.”
His poor wife was thunderstruck. “All you got! and what good is that,
Mick? Oh! I never thought you were such a fool; and what’ll we do for
the rent, and what----”
“Now, Molly,” says Mick, “can’t you hearken to reason? Didn’t I tell
you how the old man, or whatsoever he was, met me--no, he did not meet
me, neither, but he was there with me--on the big hill and how he made
me sell him the cow, and told me the bottle was the only thing for me?”
“Yes, indeed, the only thing for you, you fool!” said Molly seizing
the bottle to hurl it at her poor husband’s head; but Mick caught
it, and quickly (for he minded the old man’s advice) loosened his
wife’s grasp, and placed the bottle again in his bosom. Poor Molly
sat down crying, while Mick told her his story, with many a crossing
and blessing between him and harm. His wife could not help believing
him, particularly as she had as much faith in fairies as she had in
the priest, who indeed never discouraged her belief in the fairies;
maybe he didn’t know she believed in them, and maybe he believed in
them himself. She got up, however, without saying one word, and began
to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heath; then she tidied up
everything, and put out the long table, and spread the clean cloth, for
she had only one, upon it, and Mick, placing the bottle on the ground,
looked at it and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”
“Look there! look there, mammy!” said his chubby eldest son, a boy
about five years old--“look there! look there!” and he sprung to his
mother’s side, as two tiny little fellows rose like light from the
bottle, and in an instant covered the table with dishes and plates of
gold and silver, full of the finest victuals that ever were seen, and
when all was done went into the bottle again. Mick and his wife looked
at everything with astonishment; they had never seen such plates and
dishes before, and didn’t think they could ever admire them enough, the
very sight almost took away their appetites; but at length Molly said,
“Come and sit down, Mick, and try and eat a bit: sure you ought to be
hungry after such a good day’s work.”
“Why, then, the man told no lie about the bottle.”
Mick sat down, after putting the children to the table and they made a
hearty meal, though they couldn’t taste half the dishes.
“Now,” says Molly, “I wonder will those two good little gentlemen
carry away these fine things again?” They waited, but no one came; so
Molly put up the dishes and plates very carefully saying, “Why, then,
Mick, that was no lie sure enough: but you’ll be a rich man yet, Mick
Purcell.”
Mick and his wife and children went to their bed, not to sleep, but
to settle about selling the fine things they did not want and taking
more land. Mick went to Cork and sold his plate, and bought a horse and
cart, and began to show that he was making money; and they did all they
could to keep the bottle a secret; but for all that, their landlord
found it out, for he came to Mick one day and asked him where he got
all his money--sure it was not by the farm; and he bothered him so
much, that at last Mick told him of the bottle. His landlord offered
him a deal of money for it, but Mick would not give it, till at last he
offered to give him all his farm for ever: so Mick, who was very rich,
thought he’d never want any more money, and gave him the bottle: but
Mick was mistaken--he and his family spent money as if there was no end
of it; and to make the story short, they became poorer and poorer, till
at last they had nothing left but one cow; and Mick once more drove his
cow before him to sell her at Cork fair, hoping to meet the old man and
get another bottle. It was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he
walked on at a good pace till he reached the big hill: the mists were
sleeping in the valleys and curling like smoke wreaths upon the brown
heath around him. The sun rose on his left, and just at his feet a lark
sprang from its grassy couch and poured forth its joyous matin song,
ascending into the clear blue sky.
Mick crossed himself listening as he advanced to the sweet song of the
lark, but thinking, notwithstanding, all the time of the little old
man; when, just as he reached the summit of the hill, and cast his eyes
over the extensive prospect before and around him, he was startled and
rejoiced by the same well-known voice: “Well, Mick Purcell, I told you
you would be a rich man.”
“Indeed, then, sure enough I was, that’s no lie for you, sir. Good
morning to you, but it is not rich I am now--but have you another
bottle, for I want it now as much as I did long ago; so if you have it,
sir, here is the cow for it.”
“And here is the bottle,” said the old man, smiling; “you know what to
do with it.”
“Oh! then, sure I do, as good right I have.”
“Well, farewell for ever, Mick Purcell: I told you you would be a rich
man.”
“And good-bye to you, sir,” said Mick, as he turned back; “and good
luck to you, and good luck to the big hill--it wants a name--Bottle
Hill--good-bye, sir, good-bye.”
Mick walked home as fast as he could, never looking after the
white-faced little gentleman and the cow, so anxious was he to bring
home the bottle. Well, he arrived with it safely enough, and called out
as soon as he saw Molly--“Oh! sure I’ve another bottle!”
[Illustration: In a moment the landlord was tumbled on the floor, and
all were roaring and sprawling and shrieking]
“Arrah! then, have you? why, then, you’re a lucky man, Mick Purcell,
that’s what you are.”
In an instant she put everything right; and Mick, looking at his
bottle, exultingly cried out, “Bottle, do your duty.” In a twinkling,
two great stout men with big cudgels issued from the bottle (I do not
know how they got room in it) and belaboured poor Mick and his wife and
all his family, till they lay on the floor, when in they went again.
Mick, as soon as he recovered, got up and looked about him; he thought
and thought, and at last he took up his wife and his children; and,
leaving them to recover as well as they could, he took the bottle under
his coat and went to his landlord, who had a great company: he got a
servant to tell him he wanted to speak to him, and at last he came out
to Mick.
“Well, what do you want now?”
“Nothing, sir, only I have another bottle.”
“Oh! ho! is it as good as the first?”
“Yes, sir, and better; if you like, I will show it to you before all
the ladies and gentlemen.”
“Come along, then.” So saying Mick was brought into the great hall,
where he saw his old bottle standing high up on a shelf. “Ah! ha!” says
he to himself, “maybe I won’t have you by-and-by.”
“Now,” says his landlord, “show us your bottle.” Mick set it on the
floor, and uttered the words: in a moment the landlord was tumbled
on the floor; ladies and gentlemen, servants and all, were running,
and roaring, and sprawling, and kicking, and shrieking. Wine cups and
salvers were knocked about in every direction, until the landlord
called out, “Stop those two devils, Mick Purcell, or I’ll have you
hanged.”
“They never shall stop,” said Mick, “till I get my own bottle that I
see up there at top of that shelf.”
“Get it down to him, give it down to him, before we are all killed!”
says the landlord.
[Illustration: In jumped the men into the new bottle]
Mick put his bottle in his bosom: in jumped the two men into the
new bottle, and he carried them home. I need not lengthen my story
by telling how they got richer than ever; how his son married his
landlord’s only daughter, how he and his wife died when they were very
old, and how some of the servants fighting at their wake, broke the
bottles; but still the hill has the name upon it; ay, and so ’twill be
always Bottle Hill to the end of the world, and so it ought, for it is
a strange story.
* * * * *
Some of the fairies did not think the story so strange as Starveling
the tailor did, but then they were accustomed to wonderful things.
While he was making his way back to his friends (with Puck keeping
close watch upon him the while) the King had already fixed upon the
next tale-teller, and a French Fay--a brilliant delicate little
creature with transparent gauzy wings coloured like the rainbow--was
standing on the stool and had begun to tell the story of the
[Illustration: The French Fay]
[Illustration: “Welcome! what would you ask of me?”]