a little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair
push Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he
saw the whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on
the sand she said to the cowboy: "When you go home in the evening with
the cows, tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea
yesterday; that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will
come again and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he'll
go out with the tide, and come again with tomorrow's tide, and throw
me again on the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I'm
under the enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or
escape myself. Unless my husband saves me before I'm swallowed the
fourth time I shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a
silver bullet when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the
breast-fin of the whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit
him in that spot, for it is the only place in which he can be killed."
When the cowboy got home, the eldest sister gave him a draught of
oblivion, and he did not tell.
Next day he went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling
on shore again. She asked the boy: "Did you tell the master what I
told you to tell him?"
"I did not," said he; "I forgot."
"How did you forget?" asked she.
"The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget."
"Well, don't forget telling him this night; and if she gives you a
drink, don't take it from her."
As soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a
drink. He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and
told all to the master. The third day the prince went down with his
gun and a silver bullet in it. He was not long down when the whale
came and threw Trembling upon the beach as the two days before. She
had no power to speak to her husband till he had killed the whale.
Then the whale went out, turned over once on the broad of his back,
and showed the spot for a moment only. That moment the prince fired.
He had but the one chance, and a short one at that; but he took it,
and he hit the spot, and the whale, mad with pain, made the sea all
around red with blood, and died.
That minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her
husband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done.
The father came and told him any death he chose to give her to give
it. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with
himself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with
provisions in it for seven years.
In time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she
sent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own
children, and said: "If the little girl that is born to us now lives,
no other man in the world will get her but him."
The cowboy and the prince's daughter lived on till they were married.
The mother said to her husband: "You could not have saved me from the
whale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don't grudge him my
daughter."
The son of the king of Emania and Trembling had fourteen children, and
they lived happily till the two died of old age.
Jack and His Master
A poor woman had three sons. The eldest and second eldest were
cunning, clever fellows, but they called the youngest Jack the Fool,
because they thought he was no better than a simpleton. The eldest got
tired of staying at home, and said he'd go look for service. He stayed
away a whole year, and then came back one day, dragging one foot after
the other, and a poor wizened face on him, and he as cross as two
sticks. When he was rested and got something to eat, he told them how
he got service with the Grey Churl of the Townland of Mischance, and
that the agreement was, whoever would first say he was sorry for his
bargain, should get an inch wide of the skin of his back, from
shoulder to hips, taken off. If it was the master, he should also pay
double wages; if it was the servant, he should get no wages at all.
"But the thief," says he, "gave me so little to eat, and kept me so
hard at work, that flesh and blood couldn't stand it; and when he
asked me once, when I was in a passion, if I was sorry for my bargain,
I was mad enough to say I was, and here I am disabled for life."
Vexed enough were the poor mother and brothers; and the second eldest
said on the spot he'd go and take service with the Grey Churl, and
punish him by all the annoyance he'd give him till he'd make him say
he was sorry for his agreement. "Oh, won't I be glad to see the skin
coming off the old villain's back!" said he. All they could say had no
effect: he started off for the Townland of Mischance, and in a
twelvemonth he was back just as miserable and helpless as his brother.
All the poor mother could say didn't prevent Jack the Fool from
starting to see if he was able to regulate the Grey Churl. He agreed
with him for a year for twenty pounds, and the terms were the same.
"Now, Jack," said the Grey Churl, "if you refuse to do anything you
are able to do, you must lose a month's wages."
"I'm satisfied," said Jack; "and if you stop me from doing a thing
after telling me to do it, you are to give me an additional month's
wages."
"I am satisfied," said the master.
"Or if you blame me for obeying your orders, you must give the same."
"I am satisfied," said the master again.
The first day that Jack served he was fed very poorly, and was worked
to the saddleskirts. Next day he came in just before the dinner was
served up to the parlour. They were taking the goose off the spit, but
well becomes Jack he whips a knife off the dresser, and cuts off one
side of the breast, one leg and thigh, and one wing, and fell to. In
came the master, and began to abuse him for his assurance. "Oh, you
know, master, you're to feed me, and wherever the goose goes won't
have to be filled again till supper. Are you sorry for our agreement?"
The master was going to cry out he was, but he bethought himself in
time. "Oh, no, not at all," said he.
"That's well," said Jack.
Next day Jack was to go clamp turf on the bog. They weren't sorry to
have him away from the kitchen at dinner time. He didn't find his
breakfast very heavy on his stomach; so he said to the mistress, "I
think, ma'am, it will be better for me to get my dinner now, and not
lose time coming home from the bog."
"That's true, Jack," said she. So she brought out a good cake, and a
print of butter, and a bottle of milk, thinking he'd take them away to
the bog. But Jack kept his seat, and never drew rein till bread,
butter, and milk went down the red lane.
"Now, mistress," said he, "I'll be earlier at my work to-morrow if I
sleep comfortably on the sheltry side of a pile of dry peat on dry
grass, and not be coming here and going back. So you may as well give
me my supper, and be done with the day's trouble." She gave him that,
thinking he'd take it to the bog; but he fell to on the spot, and did
not leave a scrap to tell tales on him; and the mistress was a little
astonished.
He called to speak to the master in the haggard and said he, "What
are servants asked to do in this country after aten their supper?"
"Nothing at all, but to go to bed."
"Oh, very well, sir." He went up on the stable-loft, stripped, and lay
down, and some one that saw him told the master. He came up.
"Jack, you anointed scoundrel, what do you mean?"
"To go to sleep, master. The mistress, God bless her, is after giving
me my breakfast, dinner, and supper, and yourself told me that bed was
the next thing. Do you blame me, sir?"
"Yes, you rascal, I do."
"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, if you please, sir."
"One divil and thirteen imps, you tinker! what for?"
"Oh, I see, you've forgot your bargain. Are you sorry for it?"
"Oh, ya--no, I mean. I'll give you the money after your nap."
Next morning early, Jack asked how he'd be employed that day. "You are
to be holding the plough in that fallow, outside the paddock." The
master went over about nine o'clock to see what kind of a ploughman
was Jack, and what did he see but the little boy driving the bastes,
and the sock and coulter of the plough skimming along the sod, and
Jack pulling ding-dong again' the horses.
"What are you doing, you contrary thief?" said the master.
"An' ain't I strivin' to hold this divil of a plough, as you told me;
but that ounkrawn of a boy keeps whipping on the bastes in spite of
all I say; will you speak to him?"
"No, but I'll speak to you. Didn't you know, you bosthoon, that when I
said 'holding the plough,' I meant reddening the ground."
"Faith, an' if you did, I wish you had said so. Do you blame me for
what I have done?"
The master caught himself in time, but he was so stomached, he said
nothing.
"Go on and redden the ground now, you knave, as other ploughmen do."
"An' are you sorry for our agreement?"
"Oh, not at all, not at all!"
Jack ploughed away like a good workman all the rest of the day.
In a day or two the master bade him go and mind the cows in a field
that had half of it under young corn. "Be sure, particularly," said
he, "to keep Browney from the wheat; while she's out of mischief
there's no fear of the rest."
About noon, he went to see how Jack was doing his duty, and what did
he find but Jack asleep with his face to the sod, Browney grazing near
a thorn-tree, one end of a long rope round her horns, and the other
end round the tree, and the rest of the beasts all trampling and
eating the green wheat. Down came the switch on Jack.
"Jack, you vagabone, do you see what the cows are at?"
"And do you blame me, master?"
"To be sure, you lazy sluggard, I do?"
[Illustration:]
"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, master. You said if I
only kept Browney out of mischief, the rest would do no harm. There
she is as harmless as a lamb. Are you sorry for hiring me, master?"
"To be--that is, not at all. I'll give you your money when you go to
dinner. Now, understand me; don't let a cow go out of the field nor
into the wheat the rest of the day."
"Never fear, master!" and neither did he. But the churl would rather
than a great deal he had not hired him.
The next day three heifers were missing, and the master bade Jack go
in search of them.
"Where will I look for them?" said Jack.
"Oh, every place likely and unlikely for them all to be in."
[Illustration:]
The churl was getting very exact in his words. When he was coming into
the bawn at dinnertime, what work did he find Jack at but pulling
armfuls of the thatch off the roof, and peeping into the holes he was
making?
"What are you doing there, you rascal?"
"Sure, I'm looking for the heifers, poor things?"
"What would bring them there?"
"I don't think anything could bring them in it; but I looked first
into the likely places, that is, the cow-houses, and the pastures, and
the fields next 'em, and now I'm looking in the unlikeliest place I
can think of. Maybe it's not pleasing to you it is."
"And to be sure it isn't pleasing to me, you aggravating goose-cap!"
"Please, sir, hand me one pound thirteen and fourpence before you sit
down to your dinner. I'm afraid it's sorrow that's on you for hiring
me at all."
"May the div--oh no; I'm not sorry. Will you begin, if you please, and
put in the thatch again, just as if you were doing it for your
mother's cabin?"
"Oh, faith I will, sir, with a heart and a half"; and by the time the
farmer came out for his dinner, Jack had the roof better than it was
before, for he made the boy give him new straw.
Says the master when he came out, "Go, Jack, and look for the heifers,
and bring them home."
"And where will I look for 'em?"
"Go and search for them as if they were your own." The heifers were
all in the paddock before sunset.
Next morning says the master, "Jack, the path across the bog to the
pasture is very bad; the sheep does be sinking in it every step; go
and make the sheep's feet a good path." About an hour after he came to
the edge of the bog, and what did he find Jack at but sharpening a
carving knife, and the sheep standing or grazing around.
"Is this the way you are mending the path, Jack?" said he.
"Everything must have a beginning master," said Jack, "and a thing
well begun is half done. I am sharpening the knife, and I'll have the
feet off every sheep in the flock while you'd be blessing yourself."
"Feet off my sheep, you anointed rogue! and what would you be taking
their feet off for?"
"An' sure to mend the path as you told me. Says you, 'Jack, make a
path with the foot of the sheep.'"
"Oh, you fool, I meant make good the path for the sheep's feet."
"It's a pity you didn't say so, master. Hand me out, one pound
thirteen and fourpence if you don't like me to finish my job."
"Divil do you good with your one pound thirteen and fourpence!"
"It's better pray than curse, master. Maybe you're sorry for your
bargain?"
"And to be sure I am--not yet, any way."
The next night the master was going to a wedding; and says he to Jack,
before he set out: "I'll leave at midnight, and I wish you to come and
be with me home, for fear I might be overtaken with the drink. If
you're there before, you may throw a sheep's eye at me, and I'll be
sure to see that they'll give you something for yourself."
About eleven o'clock, while the master was in great spirits, he felt
something clammy hit him on the cheek. It fell beside his tumbler,
and when he looked at it what was it but the eye of a sheep. Well, he
couldn't imagine who threw it at him, or why it was thrown at him.
After a little he got a blow on the other cheek, and still it was by
another sheep's eye. Well, he was very vexed, but he thought better to
say nothing. In two minutes more, when he was opening his mouth to
take a sup, another sheep's eye was slapped into it. He sputtered it
out, and cried, "Man o' the house, isn't it a great shame for you to
have any one in the room that would do such a nasty thing?"
"Master," says Jack, "don't blame the honest man. Sure it's only
myself that was throwin' them sheep's eyes at you, to remind you I was
here, and that I wanted to drink the bride and bridegroom's health.
You know yourself bade me."
"I know that you are a great rascal; and where did you get the eyes?"
"An' where would I get em' but in the heads of your own sheep? Would
you have me meddle with the bastes of any neighbour, who might put me
in the Stone Jug for it?"
"Sorrow on me that ever I had the bad luck to meet with you."
"You're all witness," said Jack, "that my master says he is sorry for
having met with me. My time is up. Master, hand me over double wages,
and come into the next room, and lay yourself out like a man that has
some decency in him, till I take a strip of skin an inch broad from
your shoulder to your hip."
Every one shouted out against that; but, says Jack, "You didn't hinder
him when he took the same strips from the backs of my two brothers,
and sent them home in that state, and penniless, to their poor
mother."
When the company heard the rights of the business, they were only too
eager to see the job done. The master bawled and roared, but there was
no help at hand. He was stripped to his hips, and laid on the floor in
the next room, and Jack had the carving knife in his hand ready to
begin.
"Now you cruel old villain," said he, giving the knife a couple of
scrapes along the floor, "I'll make you an offer. Give me, along with
my double wages, two hundred guineas to support my poor brothers, and
I'll do without the strip."
"No!" said he, "I'd let you skin me from head to foot first."
"Here goes then," said Jack with a grin, but the first little scar he
gave, Churl roared out, "Stop your hand; I'll give the money."
"Now, neighbours," said Jack, "you mustn't think worse of me than I
deserve. I wouldn't have the heart to take an eye out of a rat itself;
I got half a dozen of them from the butcher, and only used three of
them."
So all came again into the other room, and Jack was made sit down, and
everybody drank his health, and he drank everybody's health at one
offer. And six stout fellows saw himself and the master home, and
waited in the parlour while he went up and brought down the two
hundred guineas, and double wages for Jack himself. When he got home,
he brought the summer along with him to the poor mother and the
disabled brothers; and he was no more Jack the Fool in the people's
mouths, but "Skin Churl Jack."
Beth Gellert
Prince Llewelyn had a favourite greyhound named Gellert that had been
given to him by his father-in-law, King John. He was as gentle as a
lamb at home but a lion in the chase. One day Llewelyn went to the
chase and blew his horn in front of his castle. All his other dogs
came to the call but Gellert never answered it. So he blew a louder
blast on his horn and called Gellert by name, but still the greyhound
did not come. At last Prince Llewelyn could wait no longer and went
off to the hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that day because
Gellert was not there, the swiftest and boldest of his hounds.
He turned back in a rage to his castle, and as he came to the gate,
who should he see but Gellert come bounding out to meet him. But when
the hound came near him, the Prince was startled to see that his lips
and fangs were dripping with blood. Llewelyn started back and the
greyhound crouched down at his feet as if surprised or afraid at the
way his master greeted him.
Now Prince Llewelyn had a little son a year old with whom Gellert
used to play, and a terrible thought crossed the Prince's mind that
made him rush towards the child's nursery. And the nearer he came the
more blood and disorder he found about the rooms. He rushed into it
and found the child's cradle overturned and daubed with blood.
[Illustration:]
Prince Llewelyn grew more and more terrified, and sought for his
little son everywhere. He could find him nowhere but only signs of
some terrible conflict in which much blood had been shed. At last he
felt sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert,
"Monster, thou hast devoured my child," he drew out his sword and
plunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and
still gazing in his master's eyes.
As Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry answered it
from beneath the cradle, and there Llewelyn found his child unharmed
and just awakened from sleep. But just beside him lay the body of a
great gaunt wolf all torn to pieces and covered with blood. Too late,
Llewelyn learned what had happened while he was away. Gellert had
stayed behind to guard the child and had fought and slain the wolf
that had tried to destroy Llewelyn's heir.
In vain was all Llewelyn's grief; he could not bring his faithful dog
to life again. So he buried him outside the castle walls within sight
of the great mountain of Snowdon, where every passer-by might see his
grave, and raised over it a great cairn of stones. And to this day the
place is called Beth Gellert, or the Grave of Gellert, and men say, "I
repent me as much as the man that slew his greyhound."
The Tale of Ivan
[Illustration:]
There were formerly a man and a woman living in the parish of
Llanlavan, in the place which is called Hwrdh. And work became scarce,
so the man said to his wife, "I will go search for work, and you may
live here." So he took fair leave, and travelled far toward the East,
and at last came to the house of a farmer and asked for work.
"What work can ye do?" said the farmer.
"I can do all kinds of work," said Ivan.
Then they agreed upon three pounds for the year's wages.
When the end of the year came his master showed him the three pounds.
"See, Ivan," said he, "here's your wage; but if you will give it me
back I'll give you a piece of advice instead."
"Give me my wage," said Ivan.
"No, I'll not," said the master; "I'll explain my advice."
"Tell it me, then," said Ivan.
Then, said the master, "Never leave the old road for the sake of a new
one."
After that they agreed for another year at the old wages, and at the
end of it Ivan took instead a piece of advice, and this was it: "Never
lodge where an old man is married to a young woman."
The same thing happened at the end of the third year, when the piece
of advice was: "Honesty is the best policy."
But Ivan would not stay longer, but wanted to go back to his wife.
"Don't go to-day," said his master; "my wife bakes to-morrow, and she
shall make thee a cake to take home to thy good woman."
And when Ivan was going to leave, "Here," said his master, "here is a
cake for thee to take home to thy wife, and, when ye are most joyous
together, then break the cake, and not sooner."
So he took fair leave of them and travelled towards home, and at last
he came to Wayn Her, and there he met three merchants from Tre Rhyn,
of his own parish, coming home from Exeter Fair. "Oho! Ivan," said
they, "come with us; glad are we to see you. Where have you been so
long?"
"I have been in service," said Ivan, "And now I'm going home to my
wife."
"Oh, come with us! you'll be right welcome."
But when they took the new road Ivan kept to the old one. And robbers
fell upon them before they had gone far from Ivan as they were going
by the fields of the houses in the meadow. They began to cry out,
"Thieves!" and Ivan shouted out, "Thieves!" too. And when the robbers
heard Ivan's shout they ran away, and the merchants went by the new
road and Ivan by the old one till they met again at Market-Jew.
"Oh, Ivan," said the merchants, "we are beholding to you; but for you
we would have been lost men. Come lodge with us at our cost, and
welcome."
When they came to the place where they used to lodge, Ivan said, "I
must see the host."
"The host," they cried; "what do you want with the host? Here is the
hostess, and she's young and pretty. If you want to see the host
you'll find him in the kitchen."
So he went into the kitchen to see the host; he found him a weak old
man turning the spit.
"Oh! oh!" quoth Ivan, "I'll not lodge here, but will go next door."
"Not yet," said the merchants, "sup with us, and welcome."
Now it happened that the hostess had plotted with a certain monk in
Market-Jew to murder the old man in his bed that night while the rest
were asleep, and they agreed to lay it on the lodgers.
So while Ivan was in bed next door, there was a hole in the pine-end
of the house, and he saw a light through it. So he got up and looked,
and heard the monk speaking. "I had better cover this hole," said he,
"or people in the next house may see our deeds." So he stood with his
back against it while the hostess killed the old man.
But meanwhile Ivan out with his knife, and putting it through the
whole, cut a round piece off the monk's robe.
The very next morning the hostess raised the cry that her husband was
murdered, and as there was neither man nor child in the house but the
merchants, she declared they ought to be hanged for it.
So they were taken and carried to prison, till at last Ivan came to
them. "Alas! alas! Ivan," cried they, "bad luck sticks to us; our host
was killed last night, and we shall be hanged for it."
"Ah, tell the justices," said Ivan, "to summon the real murderers."
"Who knows," they replied, "who committed the crime?"
"Who committed the crime!" said Ivan. "If I cannot prove who committed
the crime, hang me in your stead."
So he told all he knew, and brought out the piece of cloth from the
monk's robe, and with that the merchants were set at liberty, and the
hostess and the monk were seized and hanged.
Then they came all together out of Market-Jew, and they said to him:
"Come as far as Coed Carrn y Wylfa, the Wood of the Heap of Stones of
Watching, in the parish of Burman." Then their two roads separated,
and though the merchants wished Ivan to go with them, he would not go
with them, but went straight home to his wife.
And when his wife saw him she said: "Home in the nick of time. Here's
a purse of gold that I've found; it has no name, but sure it belongs
to the great lord yonder. I was just thinking what to do when you
came."
Then Ivan thought of the third counsel, and he said: "Let us go and
give it to the great lord."
So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so
they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then
they went home again and lived in quiet for a time.
But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of
water, and Ivan's wife said to him: "I hope your lordship found your
lordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it."
"What purse is that you are talking about?" said the lord.
"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle," says
Ivan.
"Come with me and we will see into the matter," said the lord.
So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out
the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and
was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan
that he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.
"Honesty's the best policy!" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his
new quarters. "How joyful I am!"
Then he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he
was most joyful, and when he broke it, lo and behold, inside it was
his wages for the three years he had been with him.
Andrew Coffey