Part 5

Well, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's face and long, black hair, and his short, curly beard--for his poor mother couldn't afford to buy razhurs--and his great, strong arms and bare legs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his waist to his knees. But an envious, wizened _basthard_ of a fellow, with a red head, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how she opened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very snappishly. "My business," says Tom, says he, "is to make the beautiful princess, God bless her, laugh three times." "Do you see all them merry fellows and skilful swordsmen," says the other, "that could eat you up without a grain of salt, and not a mother's soul of 'em ever got a laugh from her these seven years?" So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the bad man aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch of snuff for the whole bilin' of 'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try what they could do. The King, that was too far off to hear what they were saying, asked what did the stranger want. "He wants," says the red-headed fellow, "to make hares of your best men." "Oh!" says the King, "if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and try his mettle." So one stood forward, with sword and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom. He struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew the sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he got on the helmet. Another took his place, and another and another, and then half-a-dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and bodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they were kilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and hips, and limping away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone; and the princess was so amused that she let a great, sweet laugh out of her that was heard all over the yard. "King of Dublin," says Tom, "I've the quarter of your daughter." And the King didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and all the blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.

So there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine with the royal family. Next day Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size of a yearling heifer, that used to be _serenading_ (sauntering) about the walls, and eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would give the King to have it killed. "With all my heart," says Tom. "Send a jackeen to show me where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a stranger."

The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different person with fine clothes and a nice green _birredh_ over his long, curly hair; and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave his consent, and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking in the palace yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his shoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb. The King and Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the officers and people of the court that were _padrowling_ about the great bawn, when they saw the big baste coming in gave themselves up, and began to make for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if he was saying, "Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!" The King shouted out, "O Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrible wolf and you must have all my daughter." But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He pulled out his flute and began to play like vengeance; and dickens a man or boy in the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf himself was obliged to get on his hind legs and dance _Tatther Jack Walsh_ along with the rest. A good deal of the people got inside and shut the doors, the way the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept playing, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing, and the wolf kept dancing and roaring with the pain his legs were giving him; and all the time he had his eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest. Wherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the other on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom shook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped dancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the other down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from fair tiresomeness.

When the princess seen that there was no fear of anyone being kilt, she was so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in that she gave another great laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, "King of Dublin, I have two quarters of your daughter." "Oh, quarters or alls," says the King, "put away that divel of a wolf and we'll see about it." So Gilla put his flute in his pocket, and, says he, to the baste that was sittin' on his currabingo ready to faint, "Walk off to your mountains, my fine fellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find you come within seven miles of any town--." He said no more, but spit in his fist, and gave a flourish of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted: he put his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without looking at man or mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in sight of Dublin again.

At dinner everyone laughed except the foxy fellow; and, sure enough, he was laying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day. "Well, to be sure!" says he, "King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes moidhering us to no end. D---- run to Lusk wid 'em and if anyone can save us from 'em it is this gentleman with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on the collar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand before it." "So," says Tom to the King, "will you let me have the other half of the princess if I bring you the flail?" "No, no," says the princess, "I'd rather never be your wife than see you in that danger."

But Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to reneague the adventure. So he asked him which way he was to go, and Redhead directed him through a street where a great many bad women lived, and a great many shibbeen houses were open, and away he set.

Well, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight of the walls of Hell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself over with the greenish ointment. When he knocked, a hundred little imps popped their heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted. "I want to speak to the big divel of all," says Tom; "open the gate."

It wasn't long till the gate was _thrune_ open, and the Ould Boy received Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business. "My business isn't much," says Tom. "I only came for the loan of that flail that I see hanging on the collar-beam for the King of Dublin to give a thrashing to the Danes." "Well," says the other, "the Danes is much better customers to me; but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse. Hand that flail," says he to a young imp; and he winked the far-off eye at the same time. So, while some were barring the gates, the young devil climbed up and took down the iron flail that had the handstaff and booltheen both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond was grinning to think how it would burn the hands off of Tom, but the dickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it was a good oak sapling. "Thankee," says Tom; "now, would you open the gate for a body and I'll give you no more trouble." "Oh, tramp!" says Ould Nick, "is that the way? It is easier getting inside them gates than getting out again. Take that tool from him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup." So one fellow put out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him such a welt of it on the side of his head that he broke off one of his horns, and made him roar like a divil as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but he gave them, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't forget for a while. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his elbows, "Let the fool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great or small."

So out marched Tom and away with him without minding the shouting and cursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls. And when he got home to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told, he laid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives to touch it. If the King and Queen and princess made much of him before they made ten times as much of him now; but Redhead, the mean scruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to make an end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of him as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept flinging his arms about and dancing that it was pitiful to look at him. Tom run at him as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his own two, and rubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left them before you could reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between the pain that was only just gone, and the comfort he was in, had the comicalest face that ever you see; it was such a mixerumgatherum of laughing and crying. Everyone burst out a-laughing--the princess could not stop no more than the rest--and then says Gilla, or Tom, "Now, ma'am, if there were fifty halves of you I hope you will give me them all." Well, the princess had no mock modesty about her. She looked at her father, and, by my word, she came over to Gilla, and put her two delicate hands into his two rough ones, and I wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!

Tom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other body went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning they found two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far.

But a messenger came in at noon and said that the Danes were so frightened when they heard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and sailed away.

Well, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat Mara of Tomenine to larn him the "principles of politeness," fluxions, gunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the rule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never more saw any want till the end of her days.

The Little Weaver of Duleek Gate.

_From "Legends and Stories of Ireland."_

BY SAMUEL LOVER (1791-1868.)

There was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time, in Duleek here, hard by the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was. He had a wife, an' av coorse, they had childre, and small blame to them, so that the poor little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers to the bone a'most to get them the bit and the sup, and the loom never standin' still.

Well, it was one mornin' that his wife called to him, "Come here," says she, "jewel, and ate your brekquest, now that it's ready." But he never minded her, but wint an workin'. "Arrah, lave off slavin' yourself, my darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it is hot."

"Lave me alone," says he, "I'm busy with a pattern here that is brakin' my heart," says the waiver; "and antil I complate it and masther it intirely I won't quit."

"You're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning, Thady," says the poor wife; "and it's a heavy handful I have of you when you are cruked in your temper; but, stay there if you like, and let your stirabout grow cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin;" and with that off she wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was mighty crabbed, and the more the wife spoke to him the worse he got, which, you know, is only nath'ral. Well, he left the loom at last, and wint over to the stirabout and what would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow--for, you see, it was in the heighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.

"Why, thin," says the waiver, "would no place sarve you but that? and is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you dirty bastes?" And with that, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o' stirabout, and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one blow, for he counted the carcases one by one, and laid them out an a clane plate for to view them.

Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him, when he seen the slaughter he done, at one blow; and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint and was fractious and impident to every one he met, and was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', "Look at that fist! that's the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow--Whoo!"

With that all the neighbours thought he was crack'd, and the poor wife herself thought the same when he kem home in the evenin', afther spendin' every rap he had in dhrink, and swaggerin' about the place, and lookin' at his hand every minit.

"Indeed, an' your hand is very dirty, sure enough, Thady, jewel," says the poor wife. "You had betther wash it, darlin'."

"How dar' you say dirty to the greatest hand in Ireland?" says he, going to bate her.

"Well, it's nat dirty," says she.

"It is throwin away my time I have been all my life," says he, "livin' with you at all, and stuck at a loom, nothin' but a poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the siven champions of Christendom."

"Well, suppose they christened him twice as much," says the wife, "sure, what's that to uz?"

"Don't put in your prate," says he, "you ignorant sthrap," says he. "You're vulgar, woman--you're vulgar--mighty vulgar; but I'll have nothin' more to say to any dirty, snakin' thrade again--sorra more waivin' I'll do."

"Oh, Thady, dear, and what'll the children do then?"

"Let them go play marvels," says he.

"That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady."

"They shan't want feedin'?" says he, "for it's a rich man I'll be soon, and a great man, too."

"Usha, but I'm glad to hear it, darlin'--though I dunno how it's to be, but I think you had betther go to bed, Thady."

"Don't talk to me of any bed, but the bed o' glory, woman," says he, lookin' mortial grand. "I'll sleep with the brave yit," says he.

"Indeed, an' a brave sleep will do you a power o' good, my darlin," says she.

"And it's I that will be a knight!" says he.

"All night, if you plaze, Thady," says she.

"None o' your coaxin'," says he. "I'm detarmined on it, and I'll set off immediately, and be a knight arriant."

"A what?" says she.

"A knight arriant, woman."

"What's that?" says she.

"A knight arriant is a rale gintleman," says he; "going round the world for sport, with a soord by his side, takin' whatever he plazes for himself; and that's a knight arriant," says he.

Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an owld kittle from one, and a saucepan from another, and he took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and that he was very particular about, bekase it was his shield, and he went to a friend o' his, a painter and glazier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:--

"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN, THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN AT A BLOW."

"When the people sees that," says the waiver to himself, "the sorra one will dar for to come near me."

And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small iron pot for him, "for," says he, "it will make an illegent helmet;" and when it was done, he put it an his head, and his wife said, "Oh, murther, Thady, jewel; is it puttin' a great, heavy, iron pot an your head you are, by way iv a hat?"

"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a weight on his brain."

"But, Thady, dear," says the wife, "there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the weather."

"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like o' that."

"The three legs of it look mighty quare, stickin' up," says she.

"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."

"Well," says the wife, getting bitter at last, "all I can say is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."

"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.

Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by, where the miller's horse was grazin', that used to carry the ground corn round the counthry. "This is the identical horse for me," says the waiver; "he's used to carryin' flour and male, and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the laste."

So away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King o' Dublin (for Dublin was a great place thin, and had a King iv its own). When he got to the palace courtyard he let his horse graze about the place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones; everything was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-room windy, for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to the stone sate, undher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all round about the place, for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a dacent obleeging man; well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o' the seats, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him, howldin' up the skirt of his coat, accordin' to rayson, and, says he: "Look here," says he, "what do you think of a vagabone like that, comin' undher my very nose to sleep? It is thrue I'm a good king," says he, "and I 'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation of seein' me here, lookin' out a' my dhrawin'-room windy, for divarsion; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o' the place, and come and sleep here. Who is it, at all?" says the King.

"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."

"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "because his dhress is outlandish."

"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.

"I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says the King; "folly me," says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.

Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and when he wint over to where the waiver was lying, sure the first thing he seen was his shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "This is the very man I want."

"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.

"To kill the vagabone dhraggin', to be sure," says the King.

"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "when all the stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back, and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver?"

"Sure, don't you see there," says the king, pointin' at the shield, "that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done that, I think, is a match for anything."

So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and the King says to him, "God save you," said he.

"God save you kindly," says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite unknownst who he was spakin' to.

"Do you know who I am," says the king, "that you make so free, good man?"

"No, indeed," says the waiver, "you have the advantage o' me."

"To be sure, I have," says the king, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the King o' Dublin?" says he.

The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and, says he, "I beg your pardon for the liberty I tuk; plaze your holiness, I hope you'll excuse it."

"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you here?" says he.

"I'm in want of work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.

"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the king.

"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.

"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow, I understan'," says the King.

"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and I'm afraid my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to do at wanst."

"You shall have a job immediately," says the King. "It is not three score and tin or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," said the King.

"Och, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit."

"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the King. "It will be no trouble in life to you; and I am sorry that it isn't betther worth your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that he lives in the County Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an advantage in that."

"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver, "for the last three score and tin I killed was in a soft place."

"When will you undhertake the job, thin?" says the King.

"Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.

"That's what I like," says the King, "you're the very man for my money," says he.

"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token, I'll want a thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."

"As much as you plaze," says the King; and with the word he brought him into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest, bursting wid goolden guineas.

"Take as many as you plaze," says the King; and sure enough, my dear, the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld with them.

"Now I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.

"Very well," says the King; "but you must have a fresh horse," says he.

"With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought he might as well exchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.

And maybe it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin' to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him, when he was purtendin' to be asleep, but he had no sich notion, all he intended was--to fob the goold, and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter still, for these high quality, you see, is great desaivers; and so the horse the waiver was an was learned on purpose; and sure, the minit he was mounted, away powdhered the horse, and the sorra toe he'd go but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore, until at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if owld Nick was at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers, and cryin'--"The dhraggin, the dhraggin!" and he couldn't stop the horse nor make him turn back, but away he pelted right forninst the terrible baste that was comin' up to him; and there was the most nefaarious smell o' sulphur, savin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver seen he had no time to lose; and so threwn himself off the horse and made to a three that was growin' nigh-hand, and away he clambered up into it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the dhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse body and bones, in less than no time; and then began to sniffle and scent about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye on him, where he was, up in the three, and, says he, "You might as well come down out o' that," says he, "for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate."