Part 18

As soon as its wounds were closed and it had rested, it began working again, and nothing wonderful happened to it until it came to the place where the city of Limerick is to-day. In that place there was a great troop of enchanted heroes near the spot where the Treaty Stone is now. The warriors threatened it and told it not to come any further, but it challenged them to battle. They attacked it with battle-axes and great clubs, and they were cutting it and beating it throughout the day until they thought it was dead. Then they went away. But as soon as the sun went down it came to itself again and it was as strong as it was at the commencement of the battle. It came up on land and went to the castle of the enchanted warriors. They were asleep, and it threw down the castle on top of them and killed every mother's son of them. Then it returned to go in face of its work.

It went on well after leaving Limerick, for there was nothing to hinder it. For that reason it made the river wider in that place than in any other. But as soon as it got out into the sea a great whale met it and it had to fight a hard battle, and was nearly beaten, when a sea-maiden came and helped it and they killed the whale.

The sea-maiden and the Great Worm went on side by side until they came to a village on the coast, where there were about three score of men in boats fishing. The Great Worm was very hungry and began swallowing them down greedily, men and boats and all, until the sea-maiden spoke and said that it was a shame. That angered it and it attacked her, but she was too clever for it. She drew out a golden comb with venom in it, and thrust it into the Worm's eye and blinded it out and out. Then said the Worm to her, "I would sooner be dead than alive; put a hole in my stomach with your scissors." She did that and it died in a moment.

The water was ebbing, and when it had gone out the Great Worm was left dead on the sand. The people of the villages round about came; they opened the worm, and every mother's son that he had swallowed they found alive and in a heavy sleep at the bottom of their boats. The bones of the Great Worm remained on the shore of Bantry Bay until the fishermen made oars out of them. If my story is not true, there is no water in the sea and no river Shannon in Ireland.

THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA OÏ.

PREFACE.

This story I got from Pronisias O'Conor when he was in the workhouse in Athlone, and he had it from one Rose Grennan or in Irish, Róise nic Ghrianain, from a parish near Athlone.

This story is chiefly remarkable for the introduction of Grainne Oigh, which seems to mean Grania the virgin. But who was Grainne? My narrator could tell me nothing about her. She occurs in the story of "William of the Tree" in my "Beside the Fire," and Alfred Nutt has an interesting note on her at p. 194, but it throws no light upon the subject. There, as here, she appears as a beneficent being, very pious, powerful and mysterious, and able to work miracles. The town of Moate, in Co. Westmeath, is called in Irish the Moat of Grainne Óg, who is said to have been a Munster princess, very good and very wise, and there seems to have been some body of legend connected with her, alluded to by Caesar Otway in his "Tour in Connaught," p. 55. See also Joyce's "Names of Places," vol. I, p. 270. Whether Grainne Óg and Grainne Oigh are the same person seems doubtful, but I should think it very probable, and the appellation of "Oigh" may have tended to some confusion with Muire Oigh. Except in these two stories, one from O'Conor and the other from a man named Blake, near Ballinrobe, I have never met or heard or read of any allusion to this being. But the town of Athlone, being half in Westmeath, the county with which Grainne Óg is associated, and the very old woman who told this story being from the borders of that county, would suggest that there was some connection between the mysterious being and the princess from whom Moate is said to have got its name.

THE STORY.

Long, long ago there was a poor Widow living in the County Clare, and she had seven children, and the eldest was only ten years old. It was a Christmas night that was in it, and she had not a morsel to give them to eat, and since she hadn't, she prayed God to take them to Himself.

It was not long after her prayer until the door opened and Grania Oï[88] walked in and two young women after her, carrying a big dish filled with fine food. They were all clad in raiment as white as mountain snow. The Widow welcomed the ladies, and she said, "Perhaps ye would give some relief to a poor family that is fasting all the day."

[88] In Irish "Grainne Oigh," pronounced like "Grania O-ee."

"God has sent us in answer to your prayer to give you relief at the present time, and to ask if you are ready and submissive to part with the whole of your family."

"I am not," said the Widow.

"Did you not pray to God to take them to Himself a short while ago?"

"Indeed, I don't know," said she, "I was half mad at seeing them fasting, but if God has a place for myself along with my family I am obedient and ready to go."

Then Grania Oï laid down the dish upon the table and said to the Widow, "Eat that, yourself and your family, and when it's eaten I'll come again." Then they went out and it was not long till the Widow and her family began eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on the dish was no less than when they began to take from it.

They were eating at that dish and it never emptied until the evening before Good Friday. That evening the Widow and her family were without bite or sup and they were hoping for Grania Oï and the two young women. But when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin man walked in. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb. The Widow gave him a chair, and asked him to sit down and take a rest.

"I have no time to sit down," said he, "I have lots of business to do. You yourself and your family are without bite or sup."

"We are," said she, "but I hope for succour soon."

"Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty or you will be deceived. The woman who gave you the dish is participator with the fairies, she is trying to get your family from you; but pay her no attention."

There was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said, "It was a messenger from God who brought us the dish."

"Believe me they were fairies who brought you the dish and that it was fairy food that was in it," said the thin man, "and if you accept another dish from her, yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma[89] amongst the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?"

[89] Cnoc Meadha, generally called in English "Castlehacket," a hill to the west of Tuam, Co. Galway, reputed to be the headquarters of all the Tuatha de Danann and shee-folk of Connacht. There dwell Finvara and Nuala, king and queen of the fairies of that province. Many stories are told about it.

"Indeed I have," said she; "but we shall have no more to do with the fairies. I and my family would sooner die of the hunger than accept a bite or sup from her again."

"But don't you know that she has power over you on account of all the fairy food you yourself and your family have eaten this four months, and now unless ye take my advice ye shall be lost."

"Thank you," said the Widow, "it is a friend who would give me good advice."

Now it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow; He had come to put temptation on her. "Well," said he, "you have holy water in the house."

"I have," said she.

"I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is no virtue in it. Go now and throw it in the fire." The woman did so. But no sooner did she do so than there arose a blue flame, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, "Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it in the fire, and they will have no power over you at all. And then as soon as you are free from them I will give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family shall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you."

"I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who gave it to me," said the Widow.

Then he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver, and said, "I had this purse to give you if you had accepted my advice, and not that alone, but yourself and your family would have had a long life."

Great greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, and she said. "I ask your pardon, noble sir, I am submissive to you in every thing. I myself and my family are under your control."

At that he handed her the purse and said: "Throw the cross into the fire." She did so, but instead of its burning there began a stream of blood to come from it. "Ha! ha!" said he, "look at the fairy blood. Here! put your name to this paper. I must give my master an account that I have given you the purse and that you are freed from the Shee-folk, and under my control."

The poor woman put her hand to the pen and made her mark, because she did not know how to write or read, and she did not know what was in the paper. He held the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and he went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running from it. As soon as he was gone the Widow took up the cross. The blood ceased and there was no sign of burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and did not know what she would do.

While she was thinking of the wonderful things that had happened she heard a voice calling her. When she went to the door she saw Grania Oï and two maidens carrying a great dish filled with food.

"We don't want any fairy food," said the Widow. "We have plenty of gold and silver. Go to Knock Ma, and don't come near us any more."

Grania Oï thought that the Widow had lost her senses, and she said: "In God's name have sense, and in Christ's name come here till I talk with you." She did not wish to come, but some power drew her forward until she stood in front of Grania Oï, and she shaking from head to foot.

"What happened to you since I was here before, and where did you get the gold and the silver?"

"A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening, and said that you were a fairy woman, and that you were giving myself and my family fairy food in order to get us into your power. He told me to throw the holy water into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame out of it, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power at all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and better than that, you and your family will have great riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn my cross, that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said, 'I had this purse for you if you had taken my advice, and not only that, but that I and my family would have a long life.' Greed for riches came over me, and I begged his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to him in everything, and that I and my family were under his control. With that he handed me the purse and said, 'Throw the cross into the fire.' I did so, but in place of burning, a stream of blood began to flow out of it. He laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was in it. Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he had an account to give his master that he had given me the purse--and that I was free from the Shee.[90] I cannot write or read, but I made a mark with the pen. When he went away I took up the cross and it was not burnt."

[90] This is the Irish word translated by "fairy," in Irish "_sidhe_": a common diminutive is _sidheóg_ "shee-ogue."

"I put the cross of Christ between myself and you, accursed woman. You have sold your soul and the souls of your family to the devil for the sake of gold and silver, and now you are lost for ever, and you have shed the blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go to your parish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything, and how it happened, and tell him that it was Grania Oï who sent you to him. If you yourself are lost your family is not lost for there is no deadly sin upon them."

The Widow went into the house and took out the purse, and asked, "What shall I do with this gold and silver?"

"Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I renounce the devil and all his works.'"

As soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the words, the Devil came into her presence and said, "You cannot renounce me. You are mine in spite of priest, bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your [own] hand."

"In the name of Jesus go away from me," said the Widow; and when he heard that name he was obliged to go.

* * * * *

The Widow went to the priest and told him the story. "I am afraid," said he, "that you are lost; but at all events I'll write to the bishop about you. Go home now and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when I get an answer from the bishop."

When she came home she found the family eating out of a great dish which Grania Oï had left with them; but the eldest of them said to her not to put her hand in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but that when she should be in want of food they would give it to her.

At the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said that he had got an answer from the bishop to say that he would not be able to have any hand in the case until he would get an order from the Pope; but he bade her to make repentance day and night.

At the end of a month after this the priest sent for her again, and said, "I have a letter from the Pope to say that there is only one way to save you. Put off your shoes and go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Don't sleep the second night in any house, and only eat one meal in the twenty-four hours, make the journey of the cross seven times in the day and seven times in the night for seven days. Take no bread with you, and neither gold nor silver, but ask alms in the name of God, and when you come back again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do. Here is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from you. Go now in the name of God."

When the widow came home Grania Oï was before her at the door, and asked what the priest had said to her. She told her everything that she had to do. "Go without delay," said Grania Oi, "and I'll take care of your family until you come back."

The Widow went away. She endured thirst and hunger, cold and bitter hardship. But she did everything as the Pope had ordered. At the end of three months she came back and it was scarcely her own family recognised her, she was so withered and thin.

It was not long until the priest came and said, "You have a pilgrimage to make to Croagh Patrick, and you must walk on your knees from the foot to the top of the Reek,[91] and no doubt you will see a messenger from God on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge from him. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late." The Widow departed, although her feet were cut and the blood coming from them. She went on her knees at the foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights going to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness came over her and she fell into a sleep.

[91] Croagh Patrick or Reek Patrick is one of the highest mountains in Connacht. It is 2,510 feet high and difficult to climb. St Patrick is reputed to have driven all the serpents in Ireland into the sea down its slopes. It has always been a noted pilgrimage.

When she awoke Grania Oï was by her side. She handed her a paper and said, "Look! is that the paper you put your hand to when you sold yourself and your family?"

"I see that it is," said the poor Widow. "I give a thousand thanks and laudations to God that I am saved."

When she came home the priest came and said Mass in the house. The Widow went to confession. She herself and her seven children received the body of Christ from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she herself and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that they all went to heaven, and that we may go to the same place!

THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH.

PREFACE.

This is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon and East Mayo. I often heard it when I was young. The following version was written down and given me by my friend Mr. John Rogers [Seághan O Ruaidhri] about five miles away from the place where I used to be told the same story. He published it in 1900 in "Irishleabhar na Gaedhilge." There is another story also about a gambler who played cards with the devil.

THE STORY.

Long ago there used to be a king over every kind of trade and special society and it was the "Gambler of the Branch"[92] who was king over all the gamblers and players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the face of the earth could win a match against him in playing cards or any other game.

[92] "To bear alway the branch," is the Irish expression for having first place, or in English, carrying off the palm.

At last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and dissatisfied, and he said that since he was not able to get a game with a man of this world that he would go to try it in the other world. He went off, walking away, and he never stopped of that journey until he came to the great doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. "Who is there?" said the porter.

"I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper world," said he, "and I am seeking to play a game of cards with the Arch-demon."

The Arch-demon came, and he said, "What stake have you to play for with me, for I only play for people's souls?"

"I'll play my own soul against one of these that you have in bondage in this place."

"I'll bet it," says the Demon.

The Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of the others, until he had gained every soul in the place but one, and the Devil would not stake that one no matter how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered them together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind saw them departing it let a screech out of it that would split a stone, but there was no help for it.

He drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep, and said, "What will be done with ye[93] now?"

[93] Anglo-Irish very sensibly uses "ye" for the plural of thou in all cases, "you" having become ambiguous.

"O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven," said they.

"It's as good for me, since ye are here," says he, and he drove them away with him until he came to the great white gates of heaven.

The gates opened and they were welcomed, and the souls went in. And the porter-saint said to the Gambler, "Won't yourself come in?"

"If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go," said the Gambler; "but if I don't, I won't."

"You won't get that permission," said the saint, "but leave them on the wall here outside the gate, and go in, till you see those souls counted in their place. And you can come out after a while for the cards if you wish."

The Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten ever since to come out for them.

That is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to heaven, and that is the reason that when a slow messenger delays in the house he has been sent to with a message, people say, "You forgot to return as the Gambler of the Branch did."

THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN.

PREFACE.

I have often heard versions of the following story. This particular one was written down in Irish by my friend Domhnall O Fotharta of Connemara, who printed it in his "Siamsa an gheimhridh" in 1892.

My friend the O'Cathain tells me that the reason the dardaol (pronounced in Mid-Connacht dhardheel) is burnt, is because if you stamp on it with your foot, or kill it with a stone or a stick, then the next time your foot or the stick or the stone strikes a person or an animal it will give rise to a mortal injury. That is the reason the dardaol is taken up on a shovel and put in the fire, or else destroyed by a hot coal.

The scientific name of the dardaol is "ocypus olens," in English he is sometimes called the "devil's coach-horse." He is really a useful creature and very voracious. He preys on most insects injurious to farm crops. He is very fearless and assumes an attitude of attack when interfered with, opening his jaws and turning his long tail over his back as if to sting. This looks very formidable and intimidating, but the fact is that, in common with the rest of the beetle tribe, he has no sting.

I had the good fortune to twice see a dardaol kill a worm. On each occasion the creature sprang into the air in a manner I could not have conceived possible, and came down on the uphappy worm. It never loosed its hold, but held on for nearly ten minutes, the worm struggling and swelling all the time, until it finally appeared to be dead. One of these dardaols was quite small, not much over three-quarters of an inch, but the other one was very large, an inch and a half or so, and the worm it killed might have been 3¼ or 4 inches long.

The ciaróg or keerogue is one of the common species of ground beetles or "carabus," probably "violaceus." He is a large active insect, usually called a "clock" in Anglo-Irish. "One keerogue knows another," is a common Irish proverb. He is about an inch in length.

The Prumpolaun [priompollán] is the large common dung beetle, "geotrupes stercorarius." It is the heavy, slow-flying beetle, which at dusk flies about searching for dirty places to deposit its eggs, and as its weight and short body render it difficult for it to steer, it is apt to strike the wayfarer in the face. It is the "shard-born beetle" of the poet.

In the south of Ireland the dardaol is generally known as dearg-a-daol, and in the Anglo-Irish of Connacht he is called a "crocodile." There are other allusions to this intimidating insect in this book. Its dull black colour and threatening movements have made the little creature an object of unmerited hatred and superstition in many other countries besides Ireland.

THE STORY.

At the time that Jesus was flying from those who were betraying Him it chanced that He passed through a field in which was a sower who was sowing wheat-seed. His disciples said to the sower that if any man were to ask him "if Jesus out of Nazareth had passed that way," he was to give them this answer: "He passed through this field the time we were sowing the seed in it [but not since.]"

The next day the farmer went out to look at his field for fear the birds of the air might be doing any damage [to the grain he had sowed the day before]. But astonishment seized him when he beheld the wheat [he had sowed the day before] ripe and yellow and of the colour of gold, and fit to be reaped.

The farmer called on his mêhill [troop of workmen] to bring sickles with them and cut the wheat. And while they were cutting it it chanced that the spies came through it. They asked the man whose the field was, whether he had seen Jesus out of Nazareth going that way. The farmer answered them and told them what he had been bidden to tell: "He went through this field when we were sowing the wheat that we are reaping to-day."

The keerogue put his head out of a hole and said "iné, iné,[94] yesterday! yesterday!" to let them know that Jesus had gone past the day before.

[94] Pronounce in-yaé.

As they were talking with the keerogue, the dhardheel put his head out of another hole and said, "gér! gér! gér!" "sharp! sharp, sharp," three times over, to make them feel that if they followed Jesus sharply they would lay hold of Him.

"O vo, vo! boiling and burning and fire on you," said the prumpolaun, for he was afraid that the spies might understand the words that were said to them, and that they might follow Jesus sharply to lay hold of Him.