Part 12
"While the blessed saint lived here, over acrass the hill an' beyant the peat-bog there was a hedger an' ditcher named O'Connor. He was only a poor laborin' man, an' the owld woman helped him, while his girl, be the name o' Kathleen, tinded the house, fur I must tell ye, they kept a boord in the corner beways av a bar an' a jug wid potheen that they sowld to thim that passed, fur it was afore the days av the gaugers, bad cess to thim, an' ivery man dhrunk phat he plazed widout payin' a pinny to the govermint. So O'Connor made the potheen himself an' Kathleen sowld it to the turf-cutters, an' mighty little did they buy, bekase they'd no money. She was a fine girl, wid a pair av eyes that 'ud dint the hearts av owld an' young, an' wid a dacint gown fur the week an' a clane wan fur the Sunday, an' just such a girl as 'ud make an owld felly feel himself young agin. Sorra the taste av divilmint was there in the girl at all, fur she was good as the sunshine in winther an' as innycent as a shpring lamb, an' wint to church an' did her jooty reglar.
"She was afther fallin' in love wid a young felly that done ditchin' an' they were to be marr'd whin he got his house done an' his father gev him a cow. He wasn't rich be no manes, but as fur feelin' poverty, he never dhreamt o' such a thing, fur he'd the love o' Kathleen an' thought it a forchune.
"In thim times the castle at the foot o' the hill was kept be a lord, that wid roomytisms an' panes in his jints was laid on his bed all the time, and the son av him, Lord Robert, was the worst man to be runnin' afther girls iver seen in the County Clare. He was the dandy among thim an' broke the hearts o' thim right an' lift like he was shnappin' twigs undher his feet. Manny a wan he desaved an' let go to the dogs, as they did at wanst, fur whin the divil gets his foot on a woman's neck, she niver lifts her head agin.
"Wan day, Lord Robert's father's roomytism got the betther av him an' laid him out, an' they gev him an iligant wake an' berryin', an' while they were at the grave Lord Robert looked up an' seen Kathleen shtandin' among the people an' wondhered who she was. So he come into the eshtate an' got a stable full av horses an' dogs, an' did a power o' huntin', an' as he was a sojer, he'd a shwarm av throopers at the cassel, all the like av himself. But not long afther the berryin', Lord Robert was huntin' in the hills, an' he come down towards the bog an' seen O'Connor's cabin, an' says to his man 'Bedad, I wondher if they've a dhrop to shpare here, I'm mortial dhry.' So in they wint, an' axed, an' got thim their dhrink, an' thin he set the wicked eyes av him on the girl an' at wanst remimbered her.
"'It's a mighty fine girl ye are,' says he to Kathleen thin, an' fit fur the house av a prince.'
"'None o' yer deludherin' talk to me, Sorr,' says Kathleen to him. 'I know ye, an' it's no good I know av ye,' says she to him. 'Twas the good girl she was an' as firm as a landlord in a bad year when she thought there was anny avil intinded.
"So he wint away that time an' come agin an' agin when he was huntin' an' always had some impidince to say at her. She towld her parrents av it, an' though they didn't like it at all, they wasn't afeared fur the girl, an' he'd spind more in wan dhrinkin' than they'd take in in a week, so they were not sorry to see him come, but ivery time he come he wint away more detarmined to have the girl, an' whin he found he cudn't get her be fair manes he shwore he'd do it be foul. So wanst, whin she'd been cowlder to him than common an' wouldn't have a prisint he brought her, he says to her, 'Begob, I'll bring ye to terms. If ye won't accept me prisints, I'll make ye bend yer will widout prisints,' an' he wint away. She got frighted, an' whin she saw Tim Maccarty, she towld him av Lord Robert an' phat he said. Well, it made Tim mighty mad. 'Tatther an' agers,' says he, 'be the powers, I'll break every bone in his body if he lays a finger on yer showldher; but, fur all that, whin Tim got to thinkin', he got skairt av Kathleen.
"'Sure,' says he to himself, 'ain't wimmin like glass jugs, that'll break wid the laste touch? I'll marry her immejitly an' take out av Clare into Kerry,' says he, 'an' let him dare to come afther her there,' says he, for he knewn that if Lord Robert came into the Kerry mountains, the boys 'ud crack his shkull wid the same compuncshusness that they'd have to an egg shell. So he left aff the job an' convaynienced himself to go to Kathleen that night an' tell her his belafe.
"'Amn't I afeared fur ye, me darlin',' says he, 'and wouldn't I dhrownd me in the say if anny harm 'ud come to ye, so I think we'd betther be married at wanst.'
"So Kathleen consinted an' made a bundle av her Sunday gown, an' they shtarted fur the saint's cave, that bein' the nearest place they cud be marr'd at, an' bein' marr'd be him was like bein' marr'd be a priest.
"So they wint alang the road to where the foot-path laves it be the oak-tree, then up the path an' through the boreen to where Misther Dawson's black mare broke her leg jumpin' the hedge, an' whin they rached that shpot they heard a noise on the road behint thim an' stud be the hedge, peepin' through to have a look at it an' see phat it was. An' there was Lord Robert an' a dozen av his bad min, wid their waypons an' the armor on thim shinin' in the moonlight. It was ridin' to O'Connor's they were, an' whin Tim an' Kathleen set their eyes on thim, they seen they'd made a narrer eshcape.
"Howandiver, as soon as Lord Robert an' his min were out o' sight, they ran wid all their shpeed, an' lavin' the path where Dennis Murphy fell into the shtrame lasht winter comin' back from Blanigan's wake whin he'd had too much, they tuk the rise o' the hill, an' that was a mishtake. If they'd kep be the hedge an' 'round be the foot-bridge, then up the footway the other side o' the brook an' ferninst the mill, they'd have kep out o' sight, an' been safe enough; but as they were crassin' the hill, wan av Robert's min saw thim, fur it was afther the girl he was sure enough, an' whin he found from her father her an' Tim were gone, they rode aff here an' there sarchin' afther thim. Whin the sojer shpied thim on the top o' the hill, he blew his thrumpet, an' here come all the rest shtreelin' along on the run, round the hill as fast as their bastes 'ud take thim, fur they guessed where the two 'ud be goin'. An' Kathleen an' Tim come tumblin' down the shlope, an' bad luck to the minnit they'd to shpare whin they got into the cave before here was the whole gang, wid their horses puffin', an' their armors rattlin' like a pedler's tins.
"The saint was on a pile av shtraw in the corner, shnorin' away out av his blessed nose, fur it was as sound aslape as a pig he was, bein' tired entirely wid a big day's job, an' didn't wake up wid their comin' in. So Lord Robert an' his min left their horses below an' climbed up an' looked in, but cud see nothin' be razon av the darkness.
"'Arrah now,' says he, 'Kathleen, come along out o' that now, fur I've got ye safe an' sound.'
"They answered him niver a word, but he heard a noise that was the saint turnin' over on his bed bein' onaisey in his slape.
"'Come along out o' that,' he repaited; 'an' you, Tim Maccarty, if ye come out, ye may go back to yer ditchin', but if ye wait fur me to fetch ye, the crows 'ull be atin' ye at sunrise. Shtrike a light,' says he. So they did, an' looked in an' saw Tim an' Kathleen, wan on aitch side o' the althar, holdin' wid all their mights to the crass that was on it.
"'Dhrag thim out av it,' says Lord Robert, an' the min went in, but afore they come near thim, Saint Tigernach shtopped shnorin', bein' wakened wid the light an' jabberin', an' shtud up on the flure.
"'Howld on now,' says the blessed saint, 'phat's the matther here? Phat's all this murtherin' noise about?' says he.
"Lord Robert's min all dhrew back, for there was a power o' fear av the saint in the county, an' Lord Robert undhertuk to axplain that the girl was a sarvint av his that run away wid that thafe av a ditcher, but Saint Tigernach seen through the whole thrick at wanst.
"'Lave aff,' says he. 'Don't offer fur to thrape thim lies on me. Pack aff wid yer murtherers, or it's the curse ye'll get afore ye can count yer fingers,' an' wid that all the min went out, an' Lord Robert afther thim, an' all he cud say 'udn't pervail on the sojers to go back afther the girl.
"'No, yer Anner,' says they to him; 'we ate yer Anner's mate, an' dhrink yer Anner's dhrink, an' 'ull do yer Anner's biddin' in all that's right. We're parfectly willin' to wait till mornin' an' murther the ditcher an' shtale the girl whin they come out an' get away from the saint, but he musn't find it out. It's riskin' too much. Begorra, we've got sowls to save,' says they, so they all got on their horses an' shtarted back to the cassel.
"Lord Robert folly'd thim a bit, but the avil heart av him was so set on Kathleen that he cudn't bear the thought av lettin' her go. So whin he got to the turn av the road, 'T'underation,' says he, ''t is the wooden head that's set on me showldhers, that I didn't think av the witch afore.'
"Ye see, in the break av the mountains beyant the mill, where the rath is, there was in thim times the cabin av a great witch. 'T was a dale av avil she done the County Clare wid shtorms an' rainy sayzons an' cows lavin' aff their milk, an' she'd a been dhrownded long afore, but fur fear av the divil, her masther, that was at her elbow, whinever she'd crook her finger. So to her Lord Robert wint, an' gev a rap on the dure, an' in. There she sat wid a row av black cats on aitch side, an' the full av a shkillet av sarpints a-shtewin' on the fire. He knew her well, fur she'd done jobs fur him afore, so he made bowld to shtate his arriant widout so much as sayin' good day to ye. The owld fagot made a charm to call her masther, an' that minnit he was shtandin' be her side, bowin' an' schrapin' an' shmilin' like a gintleman come to tay. He an' Lord Robert fell to an' had a power av discoorse on the bargain, fur Robert was a sharp wan an' wanted the conthract onsartain-like, hopin' to chate the divil at the end, as we all do, be the help av God, while Satan thried to make it shtronger than a tinant's lace. Afther a dale av palatherin', they aggrade that the divil was to do all that Lord Robert axed him fur twinty years, an' then to have him sowl an' body; but if he failed, there was an end av the bargain. But there was a long face on the owld felly whin the first thing he was bid to do was to bring Kathleen out o' the cave an' carry her to the cassel.
"'By Jayminny,' says Satan, 'it's no aisey job fur to be takin' her from the power av a great saint like him,' a-scratchin' his head. 'But come on, we'll thry.'
"So the three av thim mounted on the wan horse, Lord Robert in the saddle, the divil behind, an' the witch in front av him, an' away like the wind to the cave. Whin they got to the turn o' the hill, they got aff an' hid in the bushes bechune the cave an' the shpring, bekase, as Satan axplained to Lord Robert, ivery night, just at midnight, the saint wint to get him a dhrink av wather, bein' dhry wid the devotions, an' 'ud bring the full av a bucket back wid him.
"'We'll shtop him be the shpring,' says the divil, 'wid the witch, an' you an' me'ull shtale the girl while he's talkin'.
"So while the clock was shtrikin' fur twilve, out come the saint wid the wather-bucket an' shtarted to the shpring. Whin he got there an' was takin' his dhrink, up comes the witch an' begins tellin' him av a son she had (she was purtindin', ye ondhershtand, an' lyin' to him) that was as lazy as a car-horse an' as much in the way as a sore thumb, an' axin' the saint's advice phat to do wid him, while Satan an' Lord Robert ran into the cave. The divil picked up Kathleen in his arrums, but he darn't have done that same, only she was on the other side av the cave an' away from the althar, but Tim was shtandin' by it, an' shtarted out wid her kickin' an' schraichin'. Tim ran to grip him, but Satan tossed him back like a ball an' he fell on the flure.
"'Howld on till I shtick him,' says Lord Robert, pullin' out his soord.
"'Come on, ye bosthoon,' says Satan to him. 'Sure the saint 'ull be on us if we don't get away quick,' an' bedad, as he said thim words, the dure opened, an' in come Saint Tigernach wid a bucket av wather on his arrum an' in a hurry, fur he misthrusted something.
"'God's presince be about us,' says the blessed saint, whin he saw the divil, an' the turkey-bumps begun to raise on his blessed back an' the shweat a-comin' on his face, fur he knewn Satan well enough, an' consaved the owld felly had come fur himself be razon av a bit o' mate he ate that day, it bein' av a Friday; axceptin' he didn't ate the mate but only tasted it an' then spit it out agin to settle a quarl bechune a butcher an' a woman that bought the mate an' said it was bad, only he was afeared Satan didn't see him when he sput it out agin. 'God's presince be about us,' says the saint, a-crossin' himself as fast as he cud. In a minnit though, he seen it wasn't him, but Kathleen, that was in it, an' let go the wather an' caught the blessed crass that was hangin' on him wid his right hand an' gripped Satan be the throat wid his lift, a-pushin' the crass in his face.
"The divil dhropped Kathleen like it was a bag av male she was, an' she rolled over an' over on the flure like a worrum till she raiched the althar an' stuck to it as tight as the bark on a tree. An' a fine thing it was to see the inimy av our sowls a-lyin' there trimblin', wid the saint's fut on his neck.
"'Glory be to God,' says the saint. 'Lie you there till I make an example av ye,' says he, an' turned to look fur Lord Robert, bekase he knewn the two o' thim 'ud be in it. But the Sassenagh naded no invitation to be walkin' aff wid himself, but whin he seen phat come to the divil, he run away wid all the legs he had, an' the witch wid him, an' Tim afther thim wid a whoop an' a fishtful av shtones. But they left him complately an' got away disconsarted, an' Tim come back.
"'Raise up,' says Saint Tigernach to the divil, 'an' shtand in the corner,' makin' the blessed sign on the ground afore him. 'I'm afther marryin' these two at wanst, widout fee or license, an' you shall be the witness.'
"So he married thim there, while the divil looked on. Faix, it's no lie I'm tellin' ye; it's not the onliest marryin' the divil's been at, but he's not aften seen at thim when he's in as low sper'ts as he was at that. But it was so that they were married wid Satan fur a witness, an' some says the saint thransported thim to Kerry through the air, but 't isn't meself that belaves that same, but that they walked to Kilrush an' wint to Kerry in a fisherman's boat.
"Afther they'd shtarted, the saint turns to Satan an' says, 'No more av yer thricks wid them two, me fine felly, fur I mane to give you a job that'll kape ye out av mischief fur wan time at laste,' fur he was mightily vexed wid him a-comin' that-a-way right into his cave the same as if the place belonged to him.
"'Go you to work,' says he, 'an' put yer face on the rock over the shpring, so that as long as the mountain shtands min can come an' see phat sort av a dirthy lookin' baste ye are.'
"So Satan wint out an' looked up at the rock, shmilin', as fur to say that was no great matther, an' whin the blessed man seen the grin that was on him, he says, 'None av yer inchantmints will I have at all, at all. It's honest work ye'll do, an' be the same token, here's me own hammer an' chisel that ye'll take,' an' wid that the divil looked mighty sarious, an' left aff grinnin' for he parsaived the clift was granite.
"'Sure it's jokin' yer Riverince is,' says he, 'ye don't mane it. Sorra the harder bit av shtone bechuxt this an' Donegal,' an' it was thrue for him, fur he knewn the coast well.
"'Bad luck to the taste av a lie's in it,' says the saint. 'So take yer waypons an' go at it, owld Buck-an'-Whey, fur the sooner ye begin, the quicker ye'll be done, an' the shtone won't soften be yer watin'. Mind ye kape a civil tongue in yer head while ye're at the job, or it'll be a holiday to the wan I'll find ye,' says he, lookin' at him very fierce.
"So wid great displazemint, Satan tuk the hammer an' chisel, an' climbed up an' wint to work a cuttin' his own face on the shtone, an' it was as hard as iron it was, an whin he'd hit it a couple av cracks, he shtopped an' shuck his head an' thin scratched over his year wid the chisel an' looked round at the saint as fur to say somethin', but the blessed saint looked at him agin so fayroshus, that he made no raimark at all, but turned back to the clift quick an' begun to hammer away in airnest till the shweat shtud on his haythenish face like the dhrops on a wather-jug.
"On the next day, Lord Robert thought he'd call the owld Inimy, an' remind him that, bein' as he'd failed to get Kathleen, their bargain was aff. So he made the charm Satan gev him, but he didn't come fur anny thrial he'd make.
"'Bad scran to the Imp,' says he. 'Sure he must be mighty busy or maybe he's forgot entirely.'
"So he out an' wint to see the witch, but she wasn't in, an' while he was waitin' for her, bein' not far away from the saint's cave, he thought he'd have a peep, an' see if Tim an' Kathleen were shtill there. So he crawled over the top o' the hill beyant the cave like the sarpint that he was, an' whin he come down a little, he seen the owld Pooka on the clift, wid the hammer in wan hand an' the chisel in the other a poundin' away at the rock an' hangin' on be his tail to a tree. Lord Robert thought the eyes 'ud lave his head, fur he seen it was the divil sure enough, but he cudn't rightly make out phat he was doin'. So he crawled down till he seen, an' thin, whin he undhershtood, he riz an' come an' took a sate on a big shtone ferninst the clift, a shlappin' his legs wid his hands, an' roarin' an' the wather bilin' out av his eyes wid laughin'.
"'Hilloo Nickey,' says he, when he'd got his breath agin an' cud shpake. 'Is it yerself that's in it?' Mind the impidince av him, shpakin' that familiar to the inimy av our sowls, but faix, he'd a tongue like a jewsharp, an' cud use it too.
"'Kape from me,' says Satan to him agin, as crass as two shticks, an' widout turnin' his head fur to raigard him. 'Lave me! Begorra, I'll wipe the clift aff wid yer carkidge if ye come anny closter,' says he.
"'A-a-a-h, woorroo, now. Aisey, ye desayvin' owld blaggard,' says Lord Robert, as bowld as a ram, fur he knewn that Satan daren't lave the job to come at him. 'Will ye kape yer timper? Sure ye haven't the manners av a goat, to be shpakin' to a gintleman like that. I've just come to tell ye that bein' ye failed, our bargain 's aff,' says he.
"'Out wid ye,' says the divil, turnin' half round an' howldin' be wan hand to the big shtone nose he'd just done, an' shakin' the other fist wid the chisel in it at Lord Robert. 'D' ye think I want to be aggervated wid the likes av ye, ye whey-faced shpalpeen, an' me losin' the whole day, an' business pressin' at this saison, an' breakin' me back on the job, an' me fingers sore wid the chisel, an' me tail shkinned wid howldin' on? Bad luck to the shtone, it's harder than a Scotchman's head, it is, so it is,' says he, turnin' back agin when he seen the saint at the dure av the cave. An' thin he begun a peckin' away at the clift fur dear life, shwearin' to himself, so the saint cudn't hear him, every time he give his knuckles an onlucky crack wid the hammer.
"'Ye're not worth the throuble,' says he to Lord Robert; he was that full av rage he cudn't howld in. 'It's a paltherin' gossoon I was fur thriflin' wid ye whin I was sure av ye annyhow.'
"'Yer a liar,' says Lord Robert, 'ye desaivin' nagurly Haythen. If ye was sure o' me phat did ye want to make a bargain fur?'
"'Yer another,' says Satan. 'Isn't a sparrer in yer hand betther than a goose on a shtring?'
"So they were goin' on wid the blaggardin' match, whin the blessed saint, that come out whin he heard thim begin, an' thin set on the dure a-watchin', to see that owld Nick didn't schamp the job, interfared.
"'Howld yer pace, Satan, an' kape at yer work,' says he. 'An' for you, ye blatherin', milk-faced villin, wid the heart as black as a crow, walk aff wid ye an' go down on yer hard-hearted onbelavin' knees, or it's no good 'ull come o' ye.' An' so he did.
"Do I belave the shtory? Troth, I dunno. It's quare things happened in them owld days, an' there's the face on the clift as ugly as the divil cud be an' the hammer an' chisel are in the church an' phat betther proof cud ye ax?
"Phat come av the lovers? No more do I know that, barrin' they grew owld an' shtayed poor an' forgot the shpring-time av youth in the winter av age, but if they lived a hunderd years, they niver forgot the marryin' in the saint's cave, wid the black face av the Avil Wan lookin' on from the dark corner."
THE DEFEAT OF THE WIDOWS.
When superstitions have not yet been banished from any other part of the world it is not wonderful that they should still be found in the country districts of Ireland, rural life being especially favorable to the perpetuation of old ways of living and modes of thought, since in an agricultural district less change takes place in a century than may, in a city, be observed in a single decade. Country people preserve their old legends with their antique styles of apparel, and thus the relics of the pagan ages of Ireland have come down from father to son, altered and adapted to the changes in the country and its population. Thus, for instance, the old-fashioned witch is no longer found in any part of Ireland, her memory lingering only as a tradition, but her modern successor is frequently met with, and in many parishes a retired hovel in a secluded lane is a favorite resort of the neighboring peasants, for it is the home of the Pishogue, or wise woman, who collects herbs, and, in her way, doctors her patients, sometimes with simple medicinal remedies, sometimes with charms, according to their gullibility and the nature of their ailments.
Not far from Ballinahinch, a fishing village on Birterbuy Bay, in the County Galway, and in the most lonely valley of the neighborhood, there dwells one of these wise women who supplant the ancient witches. The hovel which shelters her bears every indication of wretched poverty; the floor is mud, the smoke escapes through a hole in the thatch in default of a chimney; the bed is a scanty heap of straw in the corner, and two rude shelves, bearing a small assortment of cracked jars and broken bottles, constitute Moll's stock in trade.
The misery of her household surroundings, however, furnished to the minds of her patients no argument against the efficiency of her remedies, Moll being commonly believed to have "a power av goold," though no one had ever seen any portion thereof. But with all her reputed riches she had no fear of robbers, for "she could aisily do for thim did they but come as many as the shtraws in the thatch," and would-be robbers, no doubt understanding that fact, prudently consulted their own safety by staying away from the vicinity of her cabin.