Part 5

So Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the island.

Early one brave morning in May when the sun had just risen over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself how much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it was full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the sun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and, behold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on, fast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin whiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her cheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face of the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on her neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she was a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into the ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.

Then she awoke and opened her eyes, which were blue as the sea, and when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror, 'Loose me, man, loose me!'

Conchubar did not answer, so she said again, 'Loose me, I beg thee!' in a voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.

By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He answered, trembling, 'Woman, my heart, who art thou?'

'I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,' said she. 'Set me free, I pray thee.'

'But if I set thee free,' said Conchubar, 'thou wilt leave me.'

'I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,' she cried; 'set me free, and I will give thee a precious gift.'

'I will loose thee,' answered Conchubar. 'It is not for the gift, but because I cannot resist thee.'

He unfastened the girdle from her and she said, 'My gift to thee is this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him that Teeval, Princess of the Ocean, bids him to put her figure on the shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it always in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my name, thy enemies' strength shall go from them and shall come into thee and thy men.' When she had said this, she waved her white arm to Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long time at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly to the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.

Culain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and forged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear set with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and white gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and his mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.

All that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went into battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried 'Help, Teeval.'

Then he felt strength come into him like the strength of a giant, and he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous all over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King of Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom, and gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.

But he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.

THE WIZARD'S PALACE

Long hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain sloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.

In it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his spells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and he would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants, and they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace, to ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of again. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite near the palace were like the men who had gone up the mountain and never came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught them and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became the terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within several miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island fled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.

So things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going on the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not knowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain, where the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to see the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to the usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found the houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where was the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds and stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he walked and walked; but never a bit of shelter could he find, and he did not know where to go to get a bed. 'It's a middlin' dark night,' he thought; 'but it's better to go on than back--a road a body is used on is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.' He was travelling on the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing 'Colcheragh Raby' for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to a grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked out of him.

'In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big house,' he said to himself; 'where did it come from, for all? Nobody never seen the like of it on this bare breas' before--else where am I at all, at all?'

He was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying about like frozen men.

'I'd swear,' he said to himself as he stumbled over one, 'that this was lil' Neddy Hom, the dwarf man tha's missin', only it's stone.'

When he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows he saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was very tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such a fine place.

'Aw, that place is too gran' for the likes of me!' said he.

He sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:

'I'll stretch meself here till mornin', it's a middlin' sort of a night.'

That day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he had passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he opened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of paper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the ground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans, high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a hundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself on a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace of the palace was to be seen.

He went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his escape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people all that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance of the Wizard.

THE ENCHANTED ISLE

Out under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the Calf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface of the water--that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann--but when Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the form of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan dropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.

Now it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and he rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when Old May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from the sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan looks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isle are green, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may see the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water's edge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds, and smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of the sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.

STORIES ABOUT BIRDS

I. THE RAVENS

Two Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:

'Is there nothing new at you?'

'The white Horse is dead,' said he.

'Is he fat? Is he fat?' said the other.

'Delicious, delicious,' said he.

Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:

'Bare bones, bare bones!'

II. BLACKBIRD'S MORNING SONG

Old Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:

'Irree, Robin, as gow smook.' 'Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.'

'Cha nel thombaga aym.' 'I have no tobacco,' said Robin.

'Kionn eh, kionn eh.' 'Buy it, buy it,' cried Blackbird.

'Cha nel ping aym.' 'I have not a penny,' poor Robin said.

'Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.' 'Credit it, credit it,' was Blackbird's bad advice.

'Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.' 'They won't give me credit, boy.'

'Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.' 'Quit it, then, quit it,' whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.

'The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!' Robin said.

III. HOW THE WREN BECAME KING OF THE BIRDS

A long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all the squabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.

The Corncrake officially announced, 'Raip, raip' (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights; Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them--it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches--'Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,' said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, 'Let every bird hatch her own eggs,' so poor Cuckoo wasn't heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. 'Ha, ha, ha,' laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:

Small though I am and slender my leg, Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.

And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn't like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: 'Birds, it's only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let's try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.' Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: 'I never saw anything yet worth flying for.' But the birds said: ''Deed, it wouldn't be a bad idea at all.' No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn't stir--the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn't lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:

'Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.'

'I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.'

But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried 'Ta mish Ree ny Ein,' she flew on top of his head and called out, 'Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.'

'Not so, not so, I'm above him, I'm above him.'

Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.

And that's why the boys go round on St. Stephen's Day to this day, singing:

The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds, We've caught St. Stephen's Day in the gorse, Though he's small his family is many; We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.

THE MODDEY DOO OR THE BLACK DOG OF PEEL CASTLE

In the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of Derby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The guard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle and a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches, to the Captain of the Guard's room. At the end of the day one of the soldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the dark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.

About this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog with rough curly hair. He did not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about him. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room and the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage and lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there till the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into the passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a time they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear, though they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While he was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words were spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain, two of them would always go together--no man would face the dark passage alone.

One night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good for him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the dog. It was not his turn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was he said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.

'Let him come,' he shouted, laughing; 'I'll see whether he be dog or devil!'

His friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched up the keys and went out into the passage.

The Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.

There was a dead silence in the guard-room--no sound was heard but the dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.

After a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful and unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to see what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently they heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His face was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word, then or afterwards. In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew what had happened to him that fearful night.

The Black Dog has never been seen again.

LITTLE RED BIRD

Little red bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night? I slept last night on the top of the briar, And oh! what a wretched sleep!

Little red bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night? I slept last night on the top of the bush, And oh! what a wretched sleep!

Little red bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night? I slept last night on the ridge of the roof, And oh! what a wretched sleep!

Little red bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night? I slept last night between two leaves As a babe 'twixt two blankets quite at ease, And oh! what a peaceful sleep!

An old Manx Lullaby.

TEHI TEGI

Long hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made herself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like for beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she went out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget to sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off the trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till she went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men, the poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo her, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to leave her. They forgot everything else in the world--all sorrow and care, home and country, till at last everything in the island came to a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch chose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither ploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither built nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their fields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of pasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange stillness throughout the island--no children's voices were to be heard anywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer, 'An' maybe I will,' and then she would say the same to the next. So they spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made slaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:

'Saddle me my horse, for I've a mind to ride.'

So they brought her milk-white horse shod with shoes of gold, with bit of gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl and saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her golden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.

'I'm going,' said she, 'to the country for the day, and you can follow me on foot if you like.'

She rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes, where blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the hedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with stones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of them by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth, and then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny nettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills shining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams ran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower, to the blue sea.

At last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river, and she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and clear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely covered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she took off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed up the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself and rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse turned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam away out to sea and was never more seen.

From that time the wise men of the island made their women go on foot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no such accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first, anyone who saw her cried out 'Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!'

JOHN-Y-CHIARN'S JOURNEY

John-y-Chiarn took the biggest journey in his life without meaning to do it at all.

One night he was going towards Ballaquirk, taking his time and thinking of his younger days, when all of a sudden he heard a great murmur of people coming up behind him, and, before he had time to look round him, he felt himself getting jostled and a voice asked him--middling sharp, too:

'What business have you here in our way at this hour of the night?'

'I am sorry to give anyone trouble,' said John; 'I'll get over the hedge out of the road.'

Then the leader came and touched him with the little stick he was carrying, and said to the others:

'We'll take him with us; he'll be useful enough among the rest.'

At that there was a big titter and John felt himself all altered like, and a thing like a load came on to his back. Then they all went on together, Themselves talking and laughing away. As soon as they came near the Ballaragh Chapel though, all was as silent as the grave. The houses were dark and the only thing they saw stirring was Quilleash's dog, and as soon as he smelt Themselves he took to his heels with his tail between his legs.

It was a fine easy night with just a touch of soft fog on, and a little air coming down from the mountain as we got to Dreem-y-Cuschaage. There the leader sounded his big ram's horn, and as they went galloping down to the Dhoon, out came some more of the Lil Fellas from the gill and joined them, and more talking and laughing went on. He blew another blast at Ballellin, for there they could see the fog rolling down from Creg-ny-Molt.

Again he blew at Ballagorry and they slacked down a bit, and you would have thought the whole glen would have wakened up with the echoes. Down at the bridge they could see the lights going about like will-o'-the-wisps. Then the leader shouted: