way, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the
track and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached
the mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves
on the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the
island, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta
with much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them their
joy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them
many questions regarding their home and their friends.
At last Avarta himself came forth and asked who these strangers were;
and Foltlebar replied:
"We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to
thee. He and his heroes have landed on this island guided hither by me;
and he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this
land with fire and sword as a punishment for that thou hast brought away
his people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage."
When Avarta heard this he made no reply, but called a council of his
chief men to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of
war or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Feni, were minded to
restore Finn's people and to give him his own award in satisfaction for
the injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had
come with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta.
Avarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he
and Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council
had resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And
Finn and Avarta put hand in hand and made a league of friendship.
So they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost
friends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each
other. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days,
and they ate and drank and made merry.
On the fourth day a meeting was called on the green to hear the award.
Now, it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as King of
the Feni, and on the other to those who had been brought away by the
Gilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together Finn was first asked
to name his award; and this is what he said:
"I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric
from thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at
Knockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou
hast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship
between us for ever."
But Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to
Finn:
"Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in this matter; and thou mayst well
waive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones
and the rough carcass of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse in a long
journey from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through
tangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks,
name an award."
At this, Avarta and the others who had seen Conan and his companions
carried off on the back of the big horse could scarce keep from
laughing; and Avarta said to Conan:
"Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot; for I have heard of
thee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul
tongue on myself and my people."
"Well, then," said Conan, "my award is this: that you choose fifteen of
the best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be
your own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the
back of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In
this manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the self-same track
the horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas,
through the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and
rough rocks and dark glens. And this, Avarta, is my award," said Conan.
Now, Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard
Conan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for
like. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and
silver, and thus bring reproach on the Feni.
Avarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done,
binding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and
having launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by
the same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at
Knockainy, where they rested in their tents.
Avarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and
he himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared
till they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed
not, but straightway journeyed over the self-same track as before till
they reached Knockainy.
Finn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great
speed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running
before the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the
Feni could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the
fifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice
that Conan had made a good award that time.
When the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out the
men began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward,
held up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Feni
towards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes
were startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be
seen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence.
Finn and the others now turned round again with intent to speak to the
Gilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did
they marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse
and fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant;
and neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards.
PATRICK WESTON JOYCE.
Jamie Freel and the Young Lady
(_Ulster Irish._)
Down in Fannet, in times gone by, lived Jamie Freel and his mother.
Jamie was the widow's sole support; his strong arm worked for her
untiringly, and as each Saturday night came round he poured his wages
into her lap, thanking her dutifully for the halfpence which she
returned him for tobacco.
He was extolled by his neighbours as the best son ever known or heard
of. But he had neighbours of whose opinions he was ignorant--neighbours
who lived pretty close to him, whom he had never seen, who are, indeed,
rarely seen by mortals, except on May Eves or Halloweens.
An old ruined castle, about a quarter of a mile from his cabin, was said
to be the abode of the "wee folk." Every Halloween were the ancient
windows lighted up, and passersby saw little figures flitting to and
fro inside the building, while they heard the music of flutes and pipes.
It was well known that fairy revels took place; but nobody had the
courage to intrude on them.
Jamie had often watched the little figures from a distance, and listened
to the charming music, wondering what the inside of the castle was like;
but one Halloween he got up, and took his cap, saying to his mother,
"I'm awa to the castle to seek my fortune."
"What!" cried she. "Would you venture there--you that's the widow's only
son? Dinna be sae venturesome and foolitch, Jamie! They'll kill you, an'
then what'll come o' me?"
"Never fear, mother; nae harm'll happen me, but I maun gae."
He set out, and, as he crossed the potato field, came in sight of the
castle, whose windows were ablaze with light that seemed to turn the
russet leaves, still clinging to the crab-tree branches, into gold.
Halting in the grove at one side of the ruin, he listened to the elfin
revelry, and the laughter and singing made him all the more determined
to proceed.
Numbers of little people, the largest about the size of a child of five
years old, were dancing to the music of flutes and fiddles, while others
drank and feasted.
"Welcome, Jamie Freel! Welcome, welcome, Jamie!" cried the company,
perceiving their visitor. The word "Welcome" was caught up and repeated
by every voice in the castle.
Time flew, and Jamie was enjoying himself very much, when his hosts
said, "We're going to ride to Dublin to-night to steal a young lady.
Will you come, too, Jamie Freel?"
"Ay, that I will," cried the rash youth, thirsting for adventure.
A troop of horses stood at the door. Jamie mounted, and his steed rose
with him into the air. He was presently flying over his mother's
cottage, surrounded by the elfin troop, and on and on they went, over
bold mountains, over little hills, over the deep Lough Swilley, over
towns and cottages, where people were burning nuts and eating apples and
keeping merry Halloween. It seemed to Jamie that they flew all round
Ireland before they got to Dublin.
"This is Derry," said the fairies, flying over the cathedral spire; and
what was said by one voice was repeated by all the rest, till fifty
little voices were crying out, "Derry! Derry! Derry!"
In like manner was Jamie informed as they passed over each town on the
route, and at length he heard the silvery voices cry, "Dublin! Dublin!"
It was no mean dwelling that was to be honoured by the fairy visit, but
one of the finest houses in Stephen's Green.
The troop dismounted near a window, and Jamie saw a beautiful face on a
pillow in a splendid bed. He saw the young lady lifted and carried away,
while the stick which was dropped in her place on the bed took her exact
form.
The lady was placed before one rider and carried a short way, then given
another, and the names of the towns were cried as before.
They were approaching home. Jamie heard "Rathmullan," "Milford,"
"Tamney," and then he knew they were near his own house.
"You've all had your turn at carrying the young lady," said he. "Why
wouldn't I get her for a wee piece?"
"Ay, Jamie," replied they pleasantly, "you may take your turn at
carrying her, to be sure."
Holding his prize very tightly he dropped down near his mother's door.
"Jamie Freel! Jamie Freel! is that the way you treat us?" cried they,
and they, too, dropped down near the door.
Jamie held fast, though he knew not what he was holding, for the little
folk turned the lady into all sorts of strange shapes. At one moment she
was a black dog, barking and trying to bite; at another a glowing bar of
iron, which yet had no heat; then again a sack of wool.
But still Jamie held her, and the baffled elves were turning away when a
tiny woman, the smallest of the party, exclaimed, "Jamie Freel has her
awa frae us, but he sall nae hae gude of her, for I'll mak' her deaf and
dumb," and she threw something over the young girl.
While they rode off, disappointed, Jamie Freel lifted the latch and went
in.
"Jamie man!" cried his mother, "you've been awa all night. What have
they done on you?"
"Naething bad, mother; I hae the very best o' gude luck. Here's a
beautiful young lady I hae brought you for company."
"Bless us and save us!" exclaimed his mother; and for some minutes she
was so astonished she could not think of anything else to say.
Jamie told the story of the night's adventure, ending by saying, "Surely
you wouldna have allowed me to let her gang with them to be lost for
ever?"
"But a _lady_, Jamie! How can a lady eat we'er (our) poor diet and live
in we'er poor way? I ax you that, you foolitch fellow!"
"Well, mother, sure it's better for her to be over here nor yonder," and
he pointed in the direction of the castle.
Meanwhile the deaf and dumb girl shivered in her light clothing,
stepping close to the humble turf fire.
"Poor crathur, she's quare and handsome! Nae wonder they set their
hearts on her," said the old woman, gazing at their guest with pity and
admiration. "We maun dress her first; but what in the name o' fortune
hae I fit for the likes of her to wear?"
She went to her press in "the room" and took out her Sunday gown of
brown drugget. She then opened a drawer and drew forth a pair of white
stockings, a long snowy garment of fine linen, and a cap, her "dead
dress," as she called it.
These articles of attire had long been ready for a certain triste
ceremony, in which she would some day fill the chief part, and only saw
the light occasionally when they were hung out to air; but she was
willing to give even these to the fair trembling visitor, who was
turning in dumb sorrow and wonder from her to Jamie, and from Jamie back
to her.
The poor girl suffered herself to be dressed, and then sat down on a
"creepie" in the chimney corner and buried her face in her hands.
"What'll we do to keep up a lady like thou?" cried the old woman.
"I'll work for you both, mother," replied the son.
"An' how could a lady live on we'er poor diet?" she repeated.
"I'll work for her," was all Jamie's answer.
He kept his word. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears
stole down her cheeks many an evening, while the old woman span by the
fire and Jamie made salmon nets, an accomplishment acquired by him in
hopes of adding to the comfort of their guest.
But she was always gentle, and tried to smile when she perceived them
looking at her; and by degrees she adapted herself to their ways and
mode of life. It was not very long before she began to feed the pig,
mash potatoes and meal for the fowls, and knit blue worsted socks.
So a year passed and Halloween came round again. "Mother," said Jamie,
taking down his cap, "I'm off to the ould castle to seek my fortune."
"Are you mad, Jamie?" cried his mother in terror; "sure they'll kill you
this time for what you done on them last year."
Jamie made light of her fears and went his way.
As he reached the crab-tree grove he saw bright lights in the castle
windows as before, and heard loud talking. Creeping under the window he
heard the wee folk say, "That was a poor trick Jamie Freel played us
this night last year, when he stole the young lady from us."
"Ay," said the tiny woman, "an' I punished him for it, for there she
sits a dumb image by the hearth, but he does na' know that three drops
out o' this glass that I hold in my hand wad gie her her hearing and
speech back again."
Jamie's heart beat fast as he entered the hall. Again he was greeted by
a chorus of welcomes from the company--"Here comes Jamie Freel! Welcome,
welcome, Jamie!"
As soon as the tumult subsided the little woman said, "You be to drink
our health, Jamie, out o' this glass in my hand."
Jamie snatched the glass from her and darted to the door. He never knew
how he reached his cabin, but he arrived there breathless and sank on a
stove by the fire.
"You're kilt, surely, this time, my poor boy," said his mother.
"No, indeed, better luck than ever this time!" and he gave the lady
three drops of the liquid that still remained at the bottom of the
glass, notwithstanding his mad race over the potato field.
The lady began to speak, and her first words were words of thanks to
Jamie.
The three inmates of the cabin had so much to say to one another that,
long after cock-crow, when the fairy music had quite ceased, they were
talking round the fire.
"Jamie," said the lady, "be pleased to get me paper and pen and ink
that I may write to my father and tell him what has become of me."
She wrote, but weeks passed and she received no answer. Again and again
she wrote, and still no answer.
At length she said, "You must come with me to Dublin, Jamie, to find my
father."
"I hae no money to hire a car for you," he answered; "an' how can you
travel to Dublin on your foot?"
But she implored him so much that he consented to set out with her and
walk all the way from Fannet to Dublin. It was not as easy as the fairy
journey; but at last they rang the bell at the door of the house in
Stephen's Green.
"Tell my father that his daughter is here," said she to the servant who
opened the door.
"The gentleman that lives here has no daughter, my girl. He had one, but
she died better nor a year ago."
"Do you not know me, Sullivan?"
"No, poor girl, I do not."
"Let me see the gentleman. I only ask to see him."
"Well, that's not much to ax. We'll see what can be done."
In a few moments the lady's father came to the door.
"How dare you call me your father?" cried the old gentleman angrily.
"You are an impostor. I have no daughter."
"Look in my face, father, and surely you'll remember me."
"My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago." The
old gentleman's voice changed from anger to sorrow. "You can go," he
concluded.
"Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at
your name and mine engraved on it."
"It certainly is my daughter's ring, but I do not know how you came by
it. I fear in no honest way."
"Call my mother--_she_ will be sure to know me," said the poor girl, who
by this time was weeping bitterly.
"My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of
her daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her
loss?"
But the young lady persevered till at last the mother was sent for.
"Mother," she began, when the old lady came to the door, "don't _you_
know your daughter?"
"I have no daughter. My daughter died, and was buried a long, long time
ago."
"Only look in my face and surely you'll know me."
The old lady shook her head.
"You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely,
mother, you know me now?"
"Yes, yes," said her mother, "my Gracie had a mole on her neck like
that; but then I saw her in the coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon
her."
It became Jamie's turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy
journey, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid
in its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Halloween,
and of the three drops that had released her from her enchantments.
She took up the story when he paused and told how kind the mother and
son had been to her.
The parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every
distinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said
they did not know what to do to express their gratitude.
But an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go
without her. "If Jamie goes, I'll go, too," she said. "He saved me from
the fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for
him, dear father and mother, you would never have seen me again. If he
goes, I'll go, too."
This being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should
become his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a
coach-and-four, and there was a splendid wedding.
They all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to
untold wealth at his father-in-law's death.
LETITIA MACLINTOCK.
A Legend of Knockmany
It so happened that Finn and his gigantic relatives were all working at
the Giant's Causeway in order to make a bridge, or, what was still
better, a good stout pad-road across to Scotland, when Finn, who was
very fond of his wife, Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go
home and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. So accordingly he
pulled up a fir-tree, and after lopping off the roots and branches, made
a walking-stick of it and set out on his way to Oonagh.
Finn lived at this time on Knockmany Hill, which faces Cullamore, that
rises up, half hill, half mountain, on the opposite side.
The truth is that honest Finn's affection for his wife was by no manner
of means the whole cause of his journey home. There was at that time
another giant, named Far Rua--some say he was Irish and some say he was
Scotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a
_targer_. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such
was his strength that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook
the country about him. The fame and name of him went far and near, and
nothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a
fight. Whether the story is true or not I cannot say, but the report
went that by one blow of his fist he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept
it in his pocket in the shape of a pancake to show to all his enemies
when they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant
in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Finn M'Coul himself; and he
swore that he would never rest night or day, winter or summer, till he
could serve Finn with the same sauce, if he could catch him. Finn,
however, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a
young earthquake or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry, so
accordingly he kept dodging about from place to place--not much to his
credit as a Trojan, to be sure--whenever he happened to get the hard
word that Far Rua was on the scent of him. And the long and the short of
it was that he heard Far Rua was coming to the Causeway to have a trial
of strength with him; and he was, naturally enough, seized in
consequence with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife,
who was delicate in her health, poor woman, and leading, besides, a very
lonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence.
"God save all here," said Finn good-humouredly, putting his honest face
into his own door.
"Musha, Finn, avick, an' you're welcome to your own Oonagh, you darlin'
bully." Here followed a smack that it is said to have made the waters of
the lake curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.
"Faith," said Finn, "beautiful; and how are you, Oonagh--and how did
you sport your figure during my absence, my bilberry?"
"Never a merrier--as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet
'Tyrone among the bushes.'"
Finn gave a short, good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily to
show her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his
absence.
"An' what brought you home so soon, Finn?" said she.
"Why, avourneen," said Finn, putting in his answer in the proper way,
"never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself.
Sure, you know that's truth, anyhow, Oonagh."
Finn spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very
comfortable considering the dread he had of Far Rua. This, however, grew
upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something lay on
his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone in the
meantime for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man when
she wishes. Finn was a proof of this.
"It's this Far Rua," said he, "that's troublin' me. When the fellow gets
angry and begins to stamp he'll shake you a whole townland, and it's
well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries one
about with him in the shape of a pancake to show to anyone that might
misdoubt it."
As he spoke he clapped his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he
wanted to prophesy or to know anything.
"He's coming," said Finn; "I see him below at Dungannon."
"An' who is it, avick?"
"Far Rua," replied Finn, "and how to manage I don't know. If I run away
I am disgraced, and I know that sooner or later I must meet him, for my
thumb tells me so."
"When will he be here?" says she.
"To-morrow, about two o'clock," replied Finn with a groan.
"Don't be cast down," said Oonagh; "depend on me, and, maybe, I'll bring
you out of this scrape better than ever you could bring yourself."
This quieted Finn's heart very much, for he knew that Oonagh was
hand-and-glove with the fairies; and, indeed, to tell the truth, she was
supposed to be a fairy herself. If she was, however, she must have been
a kind-hearted one, for by all accounts she never did anything but good
in the neighbourhood.
Now, it so happened that Oonagh had a sister named Granua living
opposite to them, on the very top of Cullamore, which I have mentioned
already, and this Granua was quite as powerful as herself. The beautiful
valley that lies between the Granlisses is not more than three or four
miles broad, so that of a summer evening Granua and Oonagh were able to
hold many an agreeable conversation across it, from one hill-top to the
other. Upon this occasion Oonagh resolved to consult her sister as to
what was best to be done in the difficulty that surrounded them.
"Granua," said she, "are you at home?"
"No," said the other, "I'm picking bilberries at Althadhawan" (the
Devil's Glen).
"Well," said Oonagh, "go up to the top of Cullamore, look about you, and
then tell us what you see."
"Very well," replied Granua, after a few minutes; "I am there now."
"What do you see?" asked the other.
"Goodness be about us!" exclaimed Granua, "I see the biggest giant that
ever was known coming up from Dungannon."
"Ay," said Oonagh, "there's our difficulty. That's Far Rua, and he's
comin' up now to leather Finn. What's to be done?"