Billy MacDaniel was once as likely a young man as ever shook his brogue
at a patron, emptied a quart, or handled a shillelagh; fearing for
nothing but the want of drink; caring for nothing but who should pay
for it; and thinking of nothing but how to make fun over it: drunk or
sober, a word or a blow was ever the way with Billy MacDaniel; and a
mighty easy way it is of either getting into or of ending a dispute.
More is the pity that, through the means of his thinking, and fearing,
and caring for nothing, this same Billy MacDaniel fell into bad
company; for surely the good people are the worst of all company any
one could come across.
It so happened that Billy was going home one clear frosty night not
long after Christmas; the moon was round and bright; but although it
was as fine a night as heart could wish for, he felt pinched with the
cold. “By my word,” chattered Billy, “a drop of good liquor would be no
bad thing to keep a man’s soul from freezing in him; and I wish I had
a full measure of the best.”
“Never wish it twice, Billy,” said a little man in a three-cornered
hat, bound all about with gold lace and with great silver buckles in
his shoes, so big that it was a wonder how he could carry them, and he
held out a glass as big as himself, filled with as good liquor as ever
eye looked on or lip tasted.
“Success, my little fellow,” said Billy MacDaniel, nothing daunted,
though well he knew the little man to belong to the good people;
“here’s your health, any way, and thank you kindly; no matter who pays
for the drink”; and he took the glass and drained it to the very bottom
without ever taking a second breath to it.
“Success,” said the little man; “and you’re heartily welcome, Billy;
but don’t think to cheat me as you have done others,--out with your
purse and pay me like a gentleman.”
“Is it I pay you?” said Billy; “could I not just take you up and put
you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry.”
“Billy MacDaniel,” said the little man, getting very angry, “you shall
be my servant for seven years and a day, and that is the way I will be
paid; so make ready to follow me.”
When Billy heard this he began to be very sorry for having used such
bold words towards the little man; and he felt himself, yet could not
tell how, obliged to follow the little man the livelong night about the
country, up and down, and over hedge and ditch, and through bog and
brake without any rest.
When morning began to dawn, the little man turned round to him and
said, “You may now go home, Billy, but on your peril don’t fail to meet
me in the Fort-field to-night; or if you do it may be the worse for
you in the long-run. If I find you a good servant you will find me an
indulgent master.”
Home went Billy MacDaniel; and though he was tired and weary enough,
never a wink of sleep could he get for thinking of the little man; but
he was afraid not to do his bidding, so up he got in the evening, and
away he went to the Fort-field. He was not long there before the little
man came towards him and said, “Billy, I want to go a long journey
to-night; so saddle one of my horses, and you may saddle another for
yourself, as you are to go along with me, and may be tired after your
walk last night.”
Billy thought this very considerate of his master, and thanked him
accordingly: “But,” said he, “if I may be so bold, sir, I would ask
which is the way to your stable, for never a thing do I see but the
fort here, and the old thorn tree in the corner of the field, and the
stream running at the bottom of the hill, with the bit of bog over
against us.”
“Ask no questions, Billy,” said the little man, “but go over to that
bit of bog, and bring me two of the strongest rushes you can find.”
Billy did accordingly, wondering what the little man would be at; and
he picked out two or three of the stoutest rushes he could find, with
a little bunch of brown blossom stuck at the side of each, and brought
them back to his master.
“Get up, Billy,” said the little man, taking one of the rushes from him
and striding across it.
“Where shall I get up, please your honour?” said Billy.
“Why, upon horseback, like me, to be sure,” said the little man.
“Is it after making a fool of me you’d be,” said Billy, “bidding me get
a horseback upon that bit of a rush? Maybe you want to persuade me that
the rush I pulled but while ago out of the bog over there is a horse?”
“Up! Up! and no words,” said the little man, looking very angry; “the
best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it.” So Billy, thinking
all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across
the rush. “Borram! Borram! Borram!” cried the little man three times
(which, in English, means to become great), and Billy did the same
after him: presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away
they went full speed; but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs,
without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback
the wrong way, which was rather awkward, with his face to the horse’s
tail; and so quickly had his steed started off with him that he had no
power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold
on by the tail.
[Illustration: Billy found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way]
At last they came to their journey’s end, and stopped at the gate of a
fine house: “Now, Billy,” said the little man, “do as you see me do,
and follow me close; but as you did not know your horse’s head from his
tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can’t tell
whether you are standing on it or on your heels: for remember that old
liquor, though able to make a cat speak, can make a man dumb.”
The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy
could make no meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for
all that; and in they both went through the key-hole of the door,
and through one key-hole after another, until they got into the wine
cellar, which was well-stored with all kinds of wine.
The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy, no
way disliking the example, did the same. “The best of masters are
you, surely,” said Billy to him; “no matter who is the next; and well
pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty
to drink.”
“I have made no bargain with you,” said the little man, “and will make
none; but up and follow me.”
Away they went through key-hole after key-hole; and each mounting
upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking
the clouds before them like snowballs, as soon as the words, “Borram,
Borram, Borram,” had passed their lips.
When they came back to the Fort-field, the little man dismissed Billy,
bidding him be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go
on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another
night there--sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south,
until there was not a gentleman’s wine-cellar in all Ireland they had
not visited and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well--ay,
better than the butler himself.
One night when Billy MacDaniel met the little man as usual in the
Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their
journey, his master said to him, “Billy, I shall want another horse
to-night, for maybe we may bring back more company than we take.” So
Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by
his master, brought a third rush much wondering who it might be that
would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a
fellow-servant. “If I have,” thought Billy, “he shall go and fetch the
horses from the bog every night; for I don’t see why I am not, every
inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master.”
Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped
until they came to a snug farmer’s house in the county Limerick, close
under the old castle of Carrigogunniel, that was built they say, by
the great Brian Boru. Within the house there was great carousing going
forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen;
then turning round all of a sudden said, “Billy, I will be a thousand
years old to-morrow.”
“God bless us, sir,” said Billy, “will you?”
“Don’t say these words again, Billy,” said the little man, “or you will
be my ruin for ever. Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the
world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married.”
“I think so too, without any kind of doubt at all,” said Billy, “if
ever you mean to marry.”
“And to that purpose,” said the little man, “have I come all the way
to Carrigogunniel; for in this house, this very night, is young Darby
Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and
comely girl and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her
myself and taking her off with me.”
“And what will Darby Riley say to that?” said Billy.
“Silence,” said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look: “I
did not bring you here with me to ask questions;” and without holding
further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power
of passing him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy
thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.
In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little
man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock sparrow upon one of the big
beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did
the same upon another facing him; but not being much accustomed to
roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and
it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the
little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been
a tailor all his life he could not have sat more contentedly upon his
haunches.
There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that
was going forward; and under them were the priest and piper, and the
father of Darby Riley, with Darby’s two brothers and his uncle’s son;
and they were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and
proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good
right they had; and her four sisters, with bran new ribbons in their
caps, and her three brothers all looking as clean and as clever as any
three boys in Munster, and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and
cousins enough besides to make a full house of it; and plenty was there
to eat and drink on the table for every one of them, if they had been
double the number.
Now it happened, just as Mrs Rooney had helped his reverence to the
first cut of the pig’s head which was placed before her, beautifully
bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze, which
made every one at table start, but no one said, “God bless us.” All
thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought if he had
done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which
unfortunately was pre-occupied with pig’s head and greens. And after
a moment’s pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on
without the pious benediction.
Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive
spectators from their exalted stations. “Ha,” exclaimed the little man,
throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye
twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into
the curvature of Gothic arches--“Ha,” said he, leering down at the
bride, and then up at Billy, “I have half of her now, surely. Let her
sneeze out twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book,
and Darby Riley.”
[Illustration: Billy danced the Rinka]
Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed
so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take, any
notice; and no one thought of saying “God bless us.”
Billy all this time regarded the poor girl with a most rueful
expression of countenance; for he could not help thinking what a
terrible thing it was for a nice young girl of nineteen, with large
blue eyes, transparent skin, and dimpled cheeks, suffused with health
and joy, to be obliged to marry an ugly little bit of a man, who was a
thousand years old barring a day.
At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy
roared out with all his might, “God save us.” Whether this exclamation
resulted from his soliloquy, or from the mere force of habit, he never
could tell exactly himself; but no sooner was it uttered than the
little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from
the beam on which he had perched himself, and shrieking out in the
voice of a cracked bagpipe, “I discharge you from my service, Billy
MacDaniel--take _that_ for your wages,” gave poor Billy a most furious
kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his
face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.
If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company
into which he was thrown with so little ceremony. But when they heard
his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the
young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy MacDaniel danced the
Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was
what he thought more of than dancing.
* * * * *
Bottom was mighty glad when his story was over, for he did not like
the feeling that he could not get up from the stool when he tried,
and he did not like to hear how small a voice he was speaking in; he
would have liked to speak big and show what a great fellow he was in
that queer company, but there he sat unable to move, and roaring as
gently as any sucking dove to use his own words. As soon as he had got
to the last word of his story he found that he could get up and off he
floundered to his companions.
“Another _fairy_ this time,” said King Oberon, as though he had not
altogether relished Bottom’s story; “the Danish Elves have told us
nothing yet.”
At this, which was of course equal to a command, a Danish Elf came
forward, seated himself and began to tell about
[Illustration: The Danish Elf]
[Illustration: Some lizards were running in and out of the clefts in an
old tree]