garden, for she knew I was in the badger's hole. She came to me, and
made me a wolf. I had to be off, and go to an island, where no one at
all would see me, and now and then I used to be killing sheep, for there
were not many of them, and I was afraid of being seen and hunted; and so
I passed a year, till a shepherd saw me among the sheep, and a pursuit
was made after me. And when the dogs came near me, there was no place
for me to escape to from them; but I recognised the sign of the King
among the men, and I made for him, and the King cried out to stop the
hounds. I took a leap upon the front of the King's saddle, and the woman
behind cried out, "My King and my lord, kill him, or he will kill you."
"Oh, he will not kill me. He knew me; and must be pardoned."
And the King took me home with him, and gave orders that I should be
well cared for. I was so wise when I got food I would not eat one morsel
until I got a knife and fork. The man told the King, and the King came
to see if it was true, and I got a knife and fork, and I took the knife
in one paw and the fork in the other, and I bowed to the King. The King
gave orders to bring him drink, and it came; and the King filled a glass
of wine, and gave it to me.
I took hold of it in my paw, and drank it, and thanked the King.
"Oh, on my honour, it is some king that has lost him when he came on the
island; and I will keep him, as he is trained; and perhaps he will
serve us yet."
And this is the sort of King he was--a King who had not a child living.
Eight sons were born to him and three daughters, and they were stolen
the same night they were born. No matter what guard was placed over
them, the child would be gone in the morning. The Queen was now carrying
the twelfth child, and when she was lying-in, the King took me with him
to watch the baby. The women were not satisfied with me. "Oh," said the
King, "what was all your watching ever? One that was born to me I have
not; and I will leave this one in the dog's care, and he will not let it
go."
A coupling was put between me and the cradle, and when everyone went to
sleep I was watching till the person woke who attended in the daytime;
but I was there only two nights when, it was near the day, I saw the
hand coming down through the chimney, and the hand was so big that it
took round the child altogether, and thought to take him away. I caught
hold of the hand above the wrist, and, as I was fastened to the cradle,
I did not let go my hold till I cut the hand from the wrist, and there
was a howl from the person without. I laid the hand in the cradle with
the child, and, as I was tired, I fell asleep; and when I awoke I had
neither child nor hand; and I began to howl, and the King heard me, and
he cried out that something was wrong with me, and he sent servants to
see what was the matter with me, and when the messenger came he saw me
covered with blood, and he could not see the child; and he went to the
King, and told him the child was not to be got. The King came, and saw
the cradle coloured with the blood, and he cried out, "Where was the
child gone?" and everyone said it was the dog had eaten it.
The King said, "It is not: loose him, and he will get the pursuit
himself."
When I was loosed, I found the scent of the blood till I came to a door
of the room in which the child was. I went to the King, and took hold of
him, and went back again, and began to tear at the door. The King
followed me, and asked for the key. The servant said it was in the room
of the stranger woman. The King caused search to be made for her, and
she was not to be found. "I will break the door," said the King, "as I
can't get the key." The King broke the door, and I went in, and went to
the trunk, and the King asked for a key to unlock it. He got no key, and
he broke the lock. When he opened the trunk the child and the hand were
stretched side by side, and the child was asleep. The King took the
hand, and ordered a woman to come for the child, and he showed the hand
to everyone in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she did
not see the King; and here she is herself to say if I am telling lies of
her.
"Oh, it's nothing but the truth you have."
The King did not allow me to be tied any more. He said there was nothing
so much to wonder at as that I cut the hand off, and I tied.
The child was growing till he was a year old, and he was beginning to
walk, and there was no one caring for him more than I was. He was
growing till he was three, and he was running out every minute; so the
King ordered a silver chain to be put between me and the child, so that
he might not go away from me. I was out with him in the garden every
day, and the King was as proud as the world of the child. He would be
watching him every place we went, till the child grew so wise that he
would loose the chain and get off. But one day that he loosed it I
failed to find him; and I ran into the house and searched the house, but
there was no getting him for me. The King cried to go out and find the
child, that he had got loose from the dog. They went searching for him,
but they could not find him. When they failed altogether to find him,
there remained no more favour with the King towards me, and everyone
disliked me, and I grew weak, for I did not get a morsel to eat half the
time. When summer came I said I would try and go home to my own country.
I went away one fine morning, and I went swimming, and God helped me
till I came home. I went into the garden, for I knew there was a place
in the garden where I could hide myself, for fear she should see me. In
the morning I saw my wife out walking, and my child with her, held by
the hand. I pushed out to see the child, and, as he was looking about
him everywhere, he saw me, and called out, "I see my shaggy papa. Oh,"
said he; "oh, my heart's love, my shaggy papa, come here till I see
you."
I was afraid the woman would see me, as she was asking the child where
he saw me, and he said I was up in a tree; and the more the child called
me, the more I hid myself. The woman took the child home with her, but I
knew he would be up early in the morning.
I went to the parlour window, and the child was within, and he playing.
When he saw me, he cried out, "Oh, my heart's love, come here till I see
you, shaggy papa." I broke the window, and went in, and he began to kiss
me. I saw the rod in front of the chimney, and I jumped up at the rod
and knocked it down. "Oh, my heart's love, no one would give me the
pretty rod." I thought he would strike me with the rod, but he did not.
When I saw the time was short, I raised my paw, and I gave him a scratch
below the knee. "Oh, you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa; you have hurt me
so much--I'll give yourself a blow of the rod." He struck me a light
blow, and as there was no sin on him, I came back to my own shape again.
When he saw a man standing before him he gave a cry, and I took him up
in my arms. The servants heard the child. A maid came in to see what was
the matter with him. When she saw me she gave a cry out of her, and she
said, "Oh, my soul to God, if the master isn't come to life again."
Another came in, and said it was he, really. And when the mistress heard
of it, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not believe I
was there; and when she saw me she said she'd drown herself. And I said
to her, "If you yourself will keep the secret, no living man will ever
get the story from me until I lose my head."
Many's the man has come asking for the story, and I never let one
return; but now everyone will know it, but she is as much to blame as I.
I gave you my head on the spot, and a thousand welcomes, and she cannot
say I have been telling anything but the truth.
"Oh, surely, nor are you now."
When I saw I was in a man's shape I said I would take the child back to
his father and mother, as I knew the grief they were in after him. I
got a ship, and took the child with me; and when I was journeying I came
to land on an island, and I saw not a living soul on it, only a court,
dark and gloomy. I went in to see was there anyone in it. There was no
one but an old hag, tall and frightful, and she asked me, "What sort of
person are you?" I heard someone groaning in another room, and I said I
was a doctor, and I asked her what ailed the person who was groaning.
"Oh," said she, "it is my son, whose hand has been bitten from his wrist
by a dog."
I knew then it was the boy who was taking the child from me, and I said
I would cure him if I got a good reward.
"I have nothing, but there are eight young lads and three young women,
as handsome as anyone laid eyes on, and if you cure him I will give you
them."
"But tell me in what place his hand was cut from."
"Oh, it was out in another country twelve years ago."
"Show me the way, that I may see him."
She brought me into a room, so that I saw him, and his arm was swelled
up to the shoulder. He asked if I would cure him; and I said I could
cure him if he would give me the reward his mother promised.
"Oh, I will give it, but cure me."
"Well, bring them out to me."
The hag brought them out of the room. I said I would burn the flesh that
was on his arm. When I looked on him he was howling with pain. I said
that I would not leave him in pain long. The thief had only one eye in
his forehead. I took a bar of iron, and put it in the fire till it was
red, and I said to the hag, "He will be howling at first, but will fall
asleep presently, and do not wake him until he has slept as much as he
wants. I will close the door when I am going out." I took the bar with
me, and I stood over him, and I turned it across through his eye as far
as I could. He began to bellow, and tried to catch me, but I was out and
away, having closed the door. The hag asked me, "Why is he bellowing?"
"Oh, he will be quiet presently, and will sleep for a good while, and
I'll come again to have a look at him; but bring me out the young men
and the young women."
I took them with me, and I said to her, "Tell me where you got them."
"Oh, my son brought them with him, and they are the offspring of the one
King."
I was well satisfied, and I had no liking for delay to get myself free
from the hag, and I took them on board the ship, and the child I had
myself. I thought the King might leave me the child I nursed myself; but
when I came to land, and all those young people with me, the King and
Queen were out walking. The King was very aged, and the Queen aged
likewise. When I came to converse with them, and the twelve with me, the
King and Queen began to cry. I asked, "Why are you crying?"
"Oh, it is for good cause I am crying. As many children as these I
should have, and now I am withered, grey, at the end of my life, and I
have not one at all."
"Oh, belike, you will yet have plenty."
I told him all I went through, and I gave him the child in his hand,
and: "These are your other children who were stolen from you, whom I am
giving to you safe. They are gently reared."
When the King heard who they were, he smothered them with kisses and
drowned them with tears, and dried them with fine cloths, silken, and
the hairs of his own head, and so also did their mother, and great was
his welcome for me, as it was I who found them all. And the King said to
me, "I will give you your own child, as it is you who have earned him
best; but you must come to my court every year, and the child with you,
and I will share with you my possessions."
"Oh, I have enough of my own, and after my death I will leave it to the
child."
I spent a time till my visit was over, and I told the King all the
troubles I went through, only I said nothing about my wife. And now you
have the story of the death of Anshgayliacht, the hag's son.
And Morraha thanked Rough Niall for the story, and he struck the ground
with the Sword of Light, and Brown Allree was beside of him and she said
to him, "Sit up, now, riding, and take good heed of yourself," and at
one leap she cleared the sea and at the next the three miles of hill
covered with steel thistles and at the third the three miles of fire,
and then he was home and he told the tale of the death of Anshgayliacht
to the Slender Red Champion and gave him the Sword of Light, and he was
well pleased to get them, and he took the spells of Morraha, and he had
his wife and his castle back again, and by-and-by the five children; but
he never put his hand to card-playing with strangers again.
W. LARMINIE.
(_From "West Irish Folk Tales."_)
The Kildare Pooka
Mr. H---- R----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in Dublin,
and he was once a great while out of the country on account of the
"ninety-eight" business. But the servants kept on in the big house at
Rath---- all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used to be
frightened out of their lives, after going to their beds, with the
banging of the kitchen door and the clattering of fire-irons and the
pots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long keeping
one another in heart with stories about ghosts and that, when--what
would you have of it?--the little scullery boy that used to be sleeping
over the horses, and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot
hearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories, sorra fear him,
but he fell dead asleep.
Well and good. After they were all gone, and the kitchen raked up, he
was woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the trampling
of an ass on the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see
but a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and yawning before
the fire. After a little he looked about him, and began scratching his
ears as if he was quite tired, and says he, "I may as well begin first
as last." The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for, says
he, "Now he's going to ate me"; but the fellow with the long ears and
tail on him had something else to do. He stirred the fire, and then he
brought in a pail of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he
put on the fire before he went out. He then put in his hand--foot, I
mean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little boy. He let a roar
out of him with the fright; but the pooka only looked at him, and thrust
out his lower lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched
him into his pew again.
Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming on
the water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the
dresser that he didn't fetch and put in the pot, and wash and dry the
whole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid from that to Dublin
town. He then put all of them up on their places on the shelves; and if
he didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then
he comes and sits fornent the boy, let down one of his ears, and cocked
up the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow strove to roar out, but
not a dheeg 'ud come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done
was to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap o' the door
that the boy thought the house couldn't help tumbling down.
Well, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next morning when the
poor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole
day. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery
girl said the wittiest thing of all. "Musha!" says she, "if the pooka
does be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep, what should
we be slaving ourselves for doing his work?" "_Sha gu dheine_," says
another, "them's the wisest words you ever said, Kauth; it's meeself
won't contradict you."
So said, so done. Not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water that
evening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and everyone went to bed
soon after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as fine in the
kitchen, and the lord mayor might eat his dinner off the flags. It was
great ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and everything went on
well till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would stay up one night and
have a chat with the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was
thrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.
"And then, sir," says he at last, picking up courage, "if it isn't
taking a liberty, might I ax who you are, and why you are so kind as to
do half of the day's work for the girls every night?" "No liberty at
all," says the pooka, says he: "I'll tell you, and welcome. I was a
servant in the time of Squire R----'s father, and was the laziest rogue
that ever was clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time
came for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to come
here and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the cold. It
isn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what it is to
stand with your head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight
to sunrise, on a bleak winter night." "And could we do anything for
your comfort, my poor fellow?" says the boy. "Musha, I don't know," says
the pooka; "but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me to keep
the life in me them long nights." "Why, then, in troth, we'd be the
ungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you."
To make a long story short, the next night the boy was there again; and
if he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding a fine warm coat before
him, it's no mather! Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into
the four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and the belly,
and he was so pleased he walked up to the glass to see how it looked.
"Well," says he, "it's a long lane that has no turning. I am much
obliged to you and your fellow-servants. You have made me happy at last.
Good night to you."
So he was walking out, but the other cried, "Och! sure you're going too
soon. What about the washing and sweeping?" "Ah, you may tell the girls
that they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was
thought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You'll see me no
more." And no more they did, and right sorry they were for having been
in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.
PATRICK KENNEDY.
The King's Son
Who rideth through the driving rain
At such a headlong speed?
Naked and pale he rides amain
Upon a naked steed.
Nor hollow nor height his going bars,
His wet steed shines like silk,
His head is golden to the stars
And his limbs are white as milk.
But, lo, he dwindles as the light
That lifts from a black mere,
And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,
The steed grows mightier.
What wizard by yon holy tree
Mutters unto the sky
Where Macha's flame-tongued horses flee
On hoofs of thunder by?
Ah, 'tis not holy so to ban
The youth of kingly seed:
Ah! woe, the wasting of a man
Who changes to a steed.
Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,
When Macha's day is nigh,
He gallops; and the dark wind brings
His lonely human cry.
THOMAS BOYD.
Murtough and the Witch Woman
In the days when Murtough Mac Erca was in the High Kingship of Ireland,
the country was divided between the old beliefs of paganism and the new
doctrines of the Christian teaching. Part held with the old creed and
part with the new, and the thought of the people was troubled between
them, for they knew not which way to follow and which to forsake. The
faith of their forefathers clung close around them, holding them by many
fine and tender threads of memory and custom and tradition; yet still
the new faith was making its way, and every day it spread wider and
wider through the land.
The family of Murtough had joined itself to the Christian faith, and his
three brothers were bishops and abbots of the Church, but Murtough
himself remained a pagan, for he was a wild and lawless prince, and the
peaceful teachings of the Christian doctrine, with its forgiveness of
enemies, pleased him not at all. Fierce and cruel was his life, filled
with dark deeds and bloody wars, and savage and tragic was his death, as
we shall hear.
Now Murtough was in the sunny summer palace of Cletty, which Cormac, son
of Art, had built for a pleasure house on the brink of the slow-flowing
Boyne, near the Fairy Brugh of Angus the Ever Young, the God of Youth
and Beauty. A day of summer was that day, and the King came forth to
hunt on the borders of the Brugh, with all his boon companions around
him. But when the high-noon came the sun grew hot, and the King sat down
to rest upon the fairy mound, and the hunt passed on beyond him, and he
was left alone.
There was a witch woman in that country whose name was "Sigh, Sough,
Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail, and Groan." Star-bright and
beautiful was she in face and form, but inwardly she was cruel as her
names. And she hated Murtough because he had scattered and destroyed the
Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin, her country and her
fatherland, and because in the battle which he fought at Cerb on the
Boyne her father and her mother and her sister had been slain. For in
those days women went to battle side by side with men.
She knew, too, that with the coming of the new faith trouble would come
upon the fairy folk, and their power and their great majesty would
depart from them, and men would call them demons, and would drive them
out with psalm-singing and with the saying of prayers, and with the
sound of little tinkling bells. So trouble and anger wrought in the
witch woman, and she waited the day to be revenged on Murtough, for he
being yet a pagan, was still within her power to harm.
So when Sheen (for Sheen or "Storm" was the name men gave to her) saw
the King seated on the fairy mound and all his comrades parted from him,
she arose softly, and combed her hair with her comb of silver adorned
with little ribs of gold, and she washed her hands in a silver basin
wherein were four golden birds sitting on the rim of the bowl, and
little bright gems of carbuncle set round about the rim. And she donned
her fairy mantle of flowing green, and her cloak, wide and hooded, with
silvery fringes, and a brooch of fairest gold. On her head were tresses
yellow like to gold, plaited in four locks, with a golden drop at the
end of each long tress. The hue of her hair was like the flower of the
iris in summer or like red gold after the burnishing thereof. And she
wore on her breasts and at her shoulders marvellous clasps of gold,
finely worked with the tracery of the skilled craftsman, and a golden
twisted torque around her throat. And when she was decked she went
softly and sat down beside Murtough on the turfy hunting mound. And
after a space Murtough perceived her sitting there, and the sun shining
upon her, so that the glittering of the gold and of her golden hair and
the bright shining of the green silk of her garments, was like the
yellow iris-beds upon the lake on a sunny summer's day. Wonder and
terror seized on Murtough at her beauty, and he knew not if he loved
her or if he hated her the most; for at one moment all his nature was
filled with longing and with love of her, so that it seemed to him that
he would give the whole of Ireland for the loan of one hour's space of
dalliance with her; but after that he felt a dread of her, because he
knew his fate was in her hands, and that she had come to work him ill.
But he welcomed her as if she were known to him and he asked her
wherefore she was come. "I am come," she said, "because I am beloved of
Murtough, son of Erc, King of Erin, and I come to seek him here." Then
Murtough was glad, and he said, "Dost thou not know me, maiden?" "I do,"
she answered, "for all secret and mysterious things are known to me and
thou and all the men of Erin are well known."
After he had conversed with her awhile, she appeared to him so fair that
the King was ready to promise her anything in life she wished, so long
as she would go with him to Cletty of the Boyne. "My wish," she said,
"is that you take me to your house, and that you put out from it your
wife and your children because they are of the new faith, and all the
clerics that are in your house, and that neither your wife nor any
cleric be permitted to enter the house while I am there."
"I will give you," said the King, "a hundred head of every herd of
cattle that is within my kingdom, and a hundred drinking horns, and a
hundred cups, and a hundred rings of gold, and a feast every other night
in the summer palace of Cletty. But I pledge thee my word, oh, maiden,
it were easier for me to give thee half of Ireland than to do this
thing that thou hast asked." For Murtough feared that when those that
were of the Christian faith were put out of his house, she would work
her spells upon him, and no power would be left with him to resist those
spells.
"I will not take thy gifts," said the damsel, "but only those things
that I have asked; moreover, it is thus, that my name must never be
uttered by thee, nor must any man or woman learn it."
"What is thy name," said Murtough, "that it may not come upon my lips to
utter it?"
And she said, "Sigh, Sough, Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail,
Groan, this is my name, but men call me Sheen, for 'Storm' or Sheen is
my chief name, and storms are with me where I come."