comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word
he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was holding me
up, and _whap_ it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,' says the
spiteful little blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a
bit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit, and fair
weather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to him, for
I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling, at the rate of a
fox-hunt. 'God help me!' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle for a
decent man to be seen in at this time of the night. I am now sold
fairly.' The word was not out of my mouth, when, whiz! what should fly
by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own
bog of Ballyasheenagh, else how should they know _me_? The _ould_
gander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,
'Is that you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he
said, for I was by this time used to all kinds of _bedivilment_, and,
besides, I knew him of _ould_. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel
O'Rourke; how are you in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I,
'thank you kindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of
some, 'I hope your honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are,
Daniel,' says he. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you
going all the way so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had
taken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in
the bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how
the man in the moon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you; put
out your hand and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.' 'Sweet is
your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though all the time
I thought within myself that I don't much trust you; but there was no
help, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese
flew after him as fast as hops.
"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide
ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking
up out of the water. 'Ah, my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought
it best to keep a civil tongue in my head anyway, 'fly to land, if you
please.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,
because, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I, 'that's
surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose, why, then,
to be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.'
"'Whist, whist, you fool,' said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia
is a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like
another, only there is a little more sand there.'
"Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, sailing so beautiful
before the wind. 'Ah, then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship,
if you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he; 'if I dropped you
now you would go splash into the sea.' 'I would not,' says I, 'I know
better than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at
once.'
"'If you must, you must,' said he; 'there, take your own way'; and he
opened his claw, and, faith, he was right--sure enough, I came down
plump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I
went, and I gave myself up, then, for ever, when a whale walked up to
me, scratching himself after his night's sleep, and looked me full in
the face, and never the word did he say, but, lifting up his tail, he
splashed me all over again with the cold salt water till there wasn't a
dry stitch upon my whole carcass! And I heard somebody saying--'twas a
voice I knew too--'Get up, you drunken brute, off o' that'; and with
that I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she
was splashing all over me--for, rest her soul, though she was a good
wife, she could never bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of
her own.
"'Get up,' said she again; 'and of all places in the parish, would no
place _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of
Carrigapooka? An uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And, sure
enough, I had, for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,
and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through
bogs and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If I
was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the
same spot again, I know that!"
T. CROFTON CROKER.
Cuchulain of Muirthemne
(The Birth of Cuchulain.)
In the long time ago, Conchubar, son of Ness, was King of Ulster, and he
held his court in the palace of Emain Macha. And this is the way he came
to be King. He was but a young lad, and his father was not living, and
Fergus, son of Rogh, who was at that time King of Ulster, asked his
mother Ness in marriage.
Now Ness, that was at one time the quietest and kindest of the women of
Ireland, had got to be unkind and treacherous because of an unkindness
that had been done to her, and she planned to get the kingdom away from
Fergus for her own son. So she said to Fergus, "Let Conchubar hold the
kingdom for a year, so that his children after him may be called the
children of a king; and that is the marriage portion I will ask of you."
"You may do that," the men of Ulster said to him; "for even though
Conchubar gets the name of being king, it is yourself that will be our
King all the time." So Fergus agreed to it, and he took Ness as his
wife, and her son Conchubar was made King in his place.
But all through the year Ness was working to keep the kingdom for him,
and she gave great presents to the chief men of Ulster to get them on
her side. And though Conchubar was but a young lad at the time, he was
wise in his judgments and brave in battle, and good in shape and in
form, and they liked him well. And at the end of the year, when Fergus
asked to have the kingship back again, they consulted together; and it
is what they agreed, that Conchubar was to keep it. And they said, "It
is little Fergus thinks about us, when he was so ready to give up his
rule over us for a year; and let Conchubar keep the kingship," they
said, "and let Fergus keep the wife he has got."
Now, it happened one day that Conchubar was making a feast at Emain
Macha for the marriage of his sister Dechtire with Sualtim, son of Roig.
And at the feast Dechtire was thirsty, and they gave her a cup of wine,
and as she was drinking it a mayfly flew into the cup, and she drank it
down with the wine. And presently she went into her sunny parlour, and
her fifty maidens along with her, and she fell into a deep sleep. And in
her sleep Lugh of the Long Hand appeared to her, and he said, "It is I
myself was the mayfly that came to you in the cup, and it is with me you
must come away now, and your fifty maidens along with you." And he put
on them the appearance of a flock of birds, and they went with him
southward till they came to Brugh na Boinne, the dwelling-place of the
Sidhe. And no one at Emain Macha could get tale or tidings of them, or
know where they had gone, or what had happened them.
It was about a year after that time there was another feast in Emain,
and Conchubar and his chief men were sitting at the feast. And suddenly
they saw from the window a great flock of birds, that lit on the ground
and began to eat up everything before them, so that not so much as a
blade of grass was left.
The men of Ulster were vexed when they saw the birds destroying all
before them, and they yoked nine of their chariots to follow after them.
Conchubar was in his own chariot, and there were following with him
Fergus, son of Rogh, and Laegaire Buadach the Battle-Winner, and
Celthair, son of Uithecar, and many others, and Bricriu of the bitter
tongue was along with them.
They followed after the birds across the whole country southward, across
Slieve Fuad, by Ath Lethan, by Ath Garach and Magh Gossa, between Fir
Rois and Fir Ardae; and the birds before them always. They were the most
beautiful that had ever been seen; nine flocks of them there were,
linked together two-and-two with a chain of silver, and at the head of
every flock there were two birds of different colours, linked together
with a chain of gold; and there were three birds that flew by
themselves, and they all went before the chariots to the far end of the
country, until the fall of night, and then there was no more seen of
them.
And when the dark night was coming on, Conchubar said to his people, "It
is best for us to unyoke the chariots now, and to look for some place
where we can spend the night."
Then Fergus went forward to look for some place, and what he came to was
a very small poor-looking house. A man and a woman were in it, and when
they saw him they said, "Bring your companions here along with you, and
they will be welcome." Fergus went back to his companions and told them
what he had seen. But Bricriu said: "Where is the use of going into a
house like that, with neither room nor provisions nor coverings in it;
it is not worth our while to be going there."
Then Bricriu went on himself to the place where the house was. But when
he came to it, what he saw was a grand, new, well-lighted house; and at
the door there was a young man wearing armour, very tall and handsome
and shining. And he said, "Come into the house, Bricriu; why are you
looking about you?" And there was a young woman beside him, fine and
noble, and with curled hair, and she said, "Surely there is a welcome
before you from me." "Why does she welcome me?" said Bricriu. "It is on
account of her that I myself welcome you," said the young man. "And is
there no one missing from you at Emain?" he said. "There is, surely,"
said Bricriu. "We are missing fifty young girls for the length of a
year." "Would you know them again if you saw them?" said the young man.
"If I would not know them," said Bricriu, "it is because a year might
make a change in them, so that I would not be sure." "Try and know them
again," said the man, "for the fifty young girls are in this house, and
this woman beside me is their mistress, Dechtire. It was they
themselves, changed into birds, that went to Emain Macha to bring you
here." Then Dechtire gave Bricriu a purple cloak with gold fringes; and
he went back to find his companions. But while he was going he thought
to himself, "Conchubar would give great treasure to find these fifty
young girls again, and his sister along with them. I will not tell him I
have found them. I will only say I have found a house with beautiful
women in it, and no more than that."
When Conchubar saw Bricriu he asked news of him.
"What news do you bring back with you, Bricriu?" he said. "I came to a
fine well-lighted house," said Bricriu; "I saw a queen, noble, kind,
with royal looks, with curled hair; I saw a troop of women, beautiful,
well dressed; I saw the man of the house, tall and open-handed and
shining." "Let us go there for the night," said Conchubar. So they
brought their chariots and their horses and their arms; and they were
hardly in the house when every sort of food and of drink, some they knew
and some they did not know, was put before them, so that they never
spent a better night. And when they had eaten and drunk and began to be
satisfied, Conchubar said to the young man, "Where is the mistress of
the house that she does not come to bid us welcome?" "You cannot see her
to-night," said he, "for she is in the pains of childbirth."
So they rested there that night, and in the morning Conchubar was the
first to rise up; but he saw no more of the man of the house, and what
he heard was the cry of a child. And he went to the room it came from,
and there he saw Dechtire, and her maidens about her, and a young child
beside her. And she bade Conchubar welcome, and she told him all that
had happened her, and that she had called him there to bring herself and
the child back to Emain Macha. And Conchubar said, "It is well you have
done by me, Dechtire; you gave shelter to me and to my chariots; you
kept the cold from my horses; you gave food to me and my people, and now
you have given us this good gift. And let our sister, Finchoem, bring up
the child," he said. "No, it is not for her to bring him up, it is for
me," said Sencha, son of Ailell, chief judge and chief poet of Ulster.
"For I am skilled; I am good in disputes; I am not forgetful; I speak
before anyone at all in the presence of the King; I watch over what he
says; I give judgment in the quarrels of kings; I am judge of the men of
Ulster; no one has a right to dispute my claim, but only Conchubar."
"If the child is given to me to bring up," said Blai, the distributor,
"he will not suffer from want of care or from forgetfulness. It is my
messages that do the will of Conchubar; I call up the fighting men from
all Ireland; I am well able to provide for them for a week, or even for
ten days; I settle their business and their disputes; I support their
honour; I get satisfaction for their insults."
"You think too much of yourself," said Fergus. "It is I that will bring
up the child; I am strong; I have knowledge; I am the King's messenger;
no one can stand up against me in honour or riches; I am hardened to war
and battles; I am a good craftsman; I am worthy to bring up the child. I
am the protector of all the unhappy; the strong are afraid of me; I am
the helper of the weak."
"If you will listen to me at last, now you are quiet," said Amergin, "I
am able to bring up a child like a king. The people praise my honour, my
bravery, my courage, my wisdom; they praise my good luck, my age, my
speaking, my name, my courage, and my race. Though I am a fighter, I am
a poet; I am worthy of the King's favour; I overcome all the men who
fight from their chariots; I owe thanks to no one except Conchubar; I
obey no one but the King."
Then Sencha said, "Let Finchoem keep the child until we come to Emain,
and Morann, the judge, will settle the question when we are there."
So the men of Ulster set out for Emain, Finchoem having the child with
her. And when they came there Morann gave his judgment. "It is for
Conchubar," he said, "to help the child to a good name, for he is next
of kin to him; let Sencha teach him words and speaking; let Fergus hold
him on his knees; let Amergin be his tutor." And he said, "This child
will be praised by all, by chariot drivers and fighters, by kings and by
wise men; he shall be loved by many men; he will avenge all your wrongs;
he will defend your fords; he will fight all your battles."
And so it was settled. And the child was left until he should come to
sensible years with his mother Dechtire and with her husband Sualtim.
And they brought him up upon the plain of Muirthemne, and the name he
was known by was Setanta, son of Sualtim.
The Boyhood of Cuchulain
Dectera, one of the sisters of Conchubar Mac Nessa, married a prince
whose patrimony lay along the shores of the Muirnict, and whose capital
was Dun Dalgan. They had one child, a boy, whom they named Setanta.
As soon as Setanta was able to understand the stories and conversation
of those around him, he evinced a passion for arms and the martial life,
which was so premature and violent as to surprise all who knew him. His
thoughts for ever ran on the wars and achievements of the Red Branch. He
knew all the knights by name, the appearance and bearing of each, and
what deeds of valour they had severally performed. Emain Macha, the
capital of the Clanna Rury, was never out of his mind. He saw for ever
before his mind its moats and ramparts, its gates and bridges, its
streets filled with martial men, its high-raised Duns and Raths, its
branching roads, over which came the tributes of wide Ulla to the High
King. He had seen his father's tribute driven thither, and had even
longed to be one of the four-footed beasts that he beheld wending their
way to the wondrous city. But, above all, he delighted to be told of the
great school where the young nobles of Ulster were taught martial
exercises and the military art, under the superintendence of chosen
knights and of the High King himself. Of the several knights he had his
own opinion, and had already resolved to accept no one as his instructor
save Fergus Mac Roy, tanist of Ulster.
Of his father he saw little. His mind had become impaired, and he was
confined in a secluded part of the Dun. But whenever he spoke to Dectera
of what was nearest his heart, and his desire to enter the military
school at Emain Macha, she laughed, and said that he was not yet old
enough to endure that rough life. But secretly she was alarmed, and
formed plans to detain him at home altogether. Then Setanta concealed
his desire, but enquired narrowly concerning the partings of the roads
on the way to Emania.
At last, when he was ten years old, selecting a favourable night,
Setanta stole away from his father's Dun, and before morning had crossed
the frontier. He then lay down to rest and sleep in a wood. After this
he set out again, travelling quickly, lest he should be met by any of
his father's people. On his back was strapped his little wooden shield,
and by his side hung a sword of lath. He had brought his ball and hurle
of red-bronze with him, and ran swiftly along the road, driving the ball
before him, or throwing up his javelin into the air, and running to meet
it ere it fell.
In the afternoon of that day Fergus Mac Roy and the King sat together in
the part that surrounded the King's palace. A chessboard was between
them, and their attention was fixed on the game.
At a distance the young nobles were at their sports, and the shouts of
the boys and the clash of the metal hurles resounded in the evening air.
Suddenly, the noise ceased, and Fergus and the King looked up. They saw
a strange boy rushing backwards and forwards through the crowd of young
nobles, urging the ball in any direction that he pleased, as if in
mockery, till none but the very best players attempted to stop him,
while the rest stood about the ground in groups. Fergus and the King
looked at each other for a moment in silence.
After this the boys came together into a group and held a council. Then
commenced what seemed to be an attempt to force him out of the ground,
followed by a furious fight. The strange boy seemed to be a very demon
of war; with his little hurle grasped, like a war-mace, in both hands,
he laid about him on every side, and the boys were tumbling fast. He
sprang at tall youths, like a hound at a stag's throat. He rushed
through crowds of his enemies like a hawk through a flock of birds. The
boys, seized with a panic, cried out that it was one of the Tuatha from
the fairy hills of the Boyne, and fled right and left to gain the
shelter of the trees. Some of them, pursued by the stranger, ran round
Conchubar Mac Nessa and his knight. The boy, however, running straight,
sprang over the chess table; but Conchubar seized him deftly by the
wrist and brought him to a stand, but with dilated eyes and panting.
"Why are you so enraged, my boy?" said the King, "and why do you so
maltreat my nobles?"
"Because they have not treated me with the respect due to a stranger,"
replied the boy.
"Who are you yourself?" said Conchubar.
"I am Setanta, the son of Sualtim, and Dectera, your own sister, is my
mother; and it is not before my uncle's palace that I should be insulted
and dishonoured."
This was the debut and first martial exploit of the great Cuculain, type
of Irish chivalry and courage, in the bardic firmament a bright and
particular star of strength, daring, and glory, that will not set nor
suffer aught but transient obscuration till the extinction of the Irish
race; Cuculain, bravest of the brave, whose glory affected even the
temperate-minded Tierna, so that his sober pen has inscribed, in the
annals of ancient Erin, this testimony: "_Cuculain, filius Sualtam
fortissimus heros Scotorum_."
After this Setanta was regularly received into the military school,
where, ere long, he became a favourite both with old and young. He
placed himself under the tuition of Fergus Mac Roy, who, each day, grew
more and more proud of his pupil, for while still a boy his fame was
extending over Ulla.
It was not long after this that Setanta received the name by which he is
more generally known. Culain was chief of the black country of Ulla, and
of a people altogether given up to the making of weapons and armour,
where the sound of the hammer and husky bellows were for ever heard. One
day Conchubar and some of his knights, passing through the park to
partake of an entertainment at the house of the armourer, paused awhile,
looking at the boys at play. Then, as all were praising his little
nephew, Conchubar called to him, and the boy came up, flushed and shy,
for there were with the King the chief warriors of the Red Branch. But
Conchubar bade him come with them to the feast, and the knights around
him laughed, and enumerated the good things which Culain had prepared
for them. But when Setanta's brow fell, Conchubar bade him finish his
game, and after that proceed to Culain's house, which was to the west of
Emain Macha, and more than a mile distant from the city. Then the King
and his knights went on to the feast, and Setanta returned joyfully to
his game.
Now, when they were seen afar upon the plain the smith left his workshop
and put by his implements, and having washed from him the sweat and
smoke, made himself ready to receive his guests; but the evening fell as
they were coming into the liss, and all his people came in also, and sat
at the lower table, and the bridge was drawn up and the door was shut
for the night, and the candles were lit in the high chamber.
Then said Culain, "Have all thy retinue come in, O Conchubar?" And when
the King said that they were all there, Culain bade one of his
apprentices go out and let loose the great mastiff that guarded the
house. Now, this mastiff was as large as a calf and exceedingly fierce,
and he guarded all the smith's property outside the house, and if anyone
approached the house without beating on the gong, which was outside the
foss and in front of the drawbridge, he was accustomed to rend him. Then
the mastiff, having been let loose, careered three times round the liss,
baying dreadfully, and after that remained quiet outside his kennel,
guarding his master's property. But, inside, they devoted themselves to
feasting and merriment, and there were many jests made concerning
Culain, for he was wont to cause laughter to Conchubar Mac Nessa and his
knights, yet he was good to his own people and faithful to the Crave
Rue, and very ardent and skilful in the practice of his art. But as they
were amusing themselves in this manner, eating and drinking, a deep
growl came from without, as it were a note of warning, and after that
one yet more savage; but where he sat in the champion's seat, Fergus Mac
Roy struck the table with his hand and rose straightway, crying out, "It
is Setanta." But ere the door could be opened they heard the boy's voice
raised in anger and the fierce yelling of the dog, and a scuffling in
the bawn of the liss. Then they rushed to the door in great fear, for
they said that the boy was torn in pieces; but when the bolts were drawn
back and they sprang forth, eager to save the boy's life, they found the
dog dead, and Setanta standing over him with his hurle, for he had
sprung over the foss, not fearing the dog. Forthwith, then, his tutor,
Fergus Mac Roy, snatched him up on his shoulder, and returned with great
joy into the banquet hall, where all were well pleased at the
preservation of the boy, except Culain himself, who began to lament over
the death of his dog and to enumerate all the services which he rendered
to him.
"Do not grieve for thy dog, O Culain," said Setanta, from the shoulder
of Fergus, "for I will perform those services for you myself until a dog
equally good is procured to take the place of him I slew."
Then one jesting, said, "Cu-culain!" (Hound of Culain) and thenceforward
he went by this name.
STANDISH O'GRADY.
The Legend of Knockgrafton
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 straws 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 anyone else, and perhaps that was the reason why someone, 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
the road. Tired and weary was he, and no ways 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, which--
Rising in clouded majesty at length
Apparent Queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.