Chapter 13
"'Becase,' says Jer, 'if it isn't done you'll never be asy agin,' says he, 'or pusillanimous in your mind,' says he; 'so ax no more questions, but do my biddin',' says he.
"'Well,' says Terence, 'have your own way,' says he.
"An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher an' giv' it to one iv the gossoons.
"'An' take care,' says he, 'don't smother the crathur,' says he.
"Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he:
"'Do you know what that old gandher _is_, Terence Mooney?'
"'Divil a taste,' says Terence.
"'Well, then,' says Jer, 'the gandher is your own father,' says he.
"'It's jokin' you are,' says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; 'how can an ould gandher be my father?' says he.
"'I'm not funnin' you at all,' says Jer; 'it's thrue what I tell you, it's your father's wandhrin' sowl,' says he, 'that's naturally tuck pissession iv the ould gandher's body,' says he. 'I know him many ways, and I wondher,' says he, 'you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,' says he.
"'Oh, blur an' ages!' says Terence, 'what the divil will I ever do at all at all,' says he; 'it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve times at the laste,' says he.
"'That can't be helped now,' says Jer; 'it was a sevare act, surely,' says he, 'but it's too late to lamint for it now,' says he; 'the only way to prevint what's past,' says he, 'is to put a stop to it before it happens,' says he.
"'Thrue for you,' says Terence, 'but how the divil did you come to the knowledge iv my father's sowl,' says he, 'bein' in the ould gandher,' says he.
"'If I tould you,' says Jer, 'you would not undherstand me,' says he, 'without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy,' says he; 'so ax me no questions,' says he, 'an' I'll tell you no lies. But b'lieve me in this much,' says he, 'it's your father that's in it,' says he; 'an' if I don't make him spake to-morrow mornin',' says he, 'I'll give you lave to call me a fool,' says he.
"'Say no more,' says Terence; 'that settles the business,' says he; 'an' oh, blur and ages! is it not a quare thing,' says he, 'for a dacent, respictable man,' says he, 'to be walkin' about the counthry in the shape iv an ould gandher,' says he; 'and oh, murdher, murdher! is not it often I plucked him,' says he, 'an' tundher and ouns! might not I have ate him?' says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration, savin' your prisince, an' on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions iv it.
"Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him, quite an' asy:
"'Terence,' says he, 'don't be aggravatin' yourself,' says he; 'for I have a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out,' says he, 'an' tell what it is in the world he's wantin',' says he; 'an' mind an' don't be comin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you,' says he, 'but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back,' says he, 'how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market,' says he. 'An' if he don't spake to-night,' says he, 'or gother himself out iv the place,' says he, 'put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the cart,' says he, 'straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating,' says he, 'along wid the two gossoons,' says he, 'an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,' says he, 'if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way,' says he. 'An' mind,' says he, 'as soon as iver he says the first word,' says he, 'that very minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,' says he; 'an' if his raverince doesn't make him ratire,' says he, 'like the rest iv his parishioners, glory be to God,' says he, 'into the siclusion iv the flames iv purgathory,' says he, 'there's no vartue in my charums,' says he.
"Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they all begin'd to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for roastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled. But divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv the Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish for the poulthry, an' to 'settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug,' says he, 'for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this world,' says he.
"Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what was goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs wor fairly in bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan sot down to it; an', begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he dhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It wasn't an imparial, though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't anvinted antil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any longer if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst Father Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverince--begin'd to give the pledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.
"An', begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that same, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.
"Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop; 'for enough is as good as a faste,' says he; 'an' I pity the vagabond,' says he, 'that is not able to conthroul his licquor,' says he, 'an' to keep constantly inside iv a pint measure,' says he; an' wid that he wished Jer Garvan a good night an' walked out iv the room.
"But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself an' not rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels, or both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed, where did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper that the boys had settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An', sure enough, he sunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid the turnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but was covered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.
"So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that wor to take the sperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould gandher an' put him in the hamper, an' clapped a good wisp iv hay an the top iv him, an' tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, an' med the sign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the hamper up an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was makin' the ould bird so surprisin' heavy.
"Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every minute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall in with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company but the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same.
"But although they wor shaking in their skhins in dhread iv the ould bird beginnin' to convarse them every minute, they did not let an to one another, but kep singin' an' whistlin' like mad to keep the dread out iv their hearts.
"Well, afther they wor on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to the bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one divil of a rut three feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck goin' through it that it wakened Terence widin in the basket.
"'Bad luck to ye,' says he, 'my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the divil are ye doin' wid me?'
"'Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?' says the boy that was next to the car, turnin' as white as the top iv a mushroom; 'did ye hear anything quare soundin' out iv the hamper?' says he.
"'No, nor you,' says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself. 'It's the ould gandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin',' says he.
"'Where the divil have ye put me into?' says Terence inside. 'Bad luck to your sowls,' says he; 'let me out, or I'll be smothered this minute,' says he.
"'There's no use in purtending,' says the boy; 'the gandher's spakin', glory be to God,' says he.
"'Let me out, you murdherers,' says Terence.
"'In the name iv the blessed Vargin,' says Thady, 'an' iv all the holy saints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,' says he.
"'Who's that, that dar to call me nicknames?' says Terence inside, roaring wid the fair passion. 'Let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,' says he, 'or by this crass I'll stretch ye,' says he.
"'In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,' says Thady, 'who the divil are ye?'
"'Who the divil would I be, but Terence Mooney,' says he. 'It's myself that's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,' says he. 'Let me out, or, by the holy, I'll get out in spite iv yes,' says he, 'an', by jaburs, I'll wallop yes in arnest,' says he.
"'It's ould Terence, sure enough,' says Thady. 'Isn't it cute the fairy docthor found him out?' says he.
"'I'm an the pint of snuffication,' says Terence. 'Let me out, I tell you, an' wait till I get at ye,' says he, 'for, begorra, the divil a bone in your body but I'll powdher,' says he.
"An' wid that he beginned kickin' and flingin' inside in the hamper, and dhrivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wonder he did not knock it to pieces.
"Well, as soon as the boys seen that they skelped the ould horse into a gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the ruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three feet up in the air with the joultin'; glory be to God.
"So it was small wondher, by the time they got to his raverince's door, the breath was fairly knocked out of poor Terence, so that he was lyin' speechless in the bottom iv the hamper.
"Well, whin his raverince kem down, they up an' they tould him all that happened, an' how they put the gandher in the hamper, an' how he beginned to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney; an' they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for good an' all.
"So says his raverince, says he:
"'I'll take my booke,' says he, 'an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy bits out iv it,' says he, 'an' do you get a rope and put it round the hamper,' says he, 'an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the bridge,' says he, 'an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come out iv it,' says he.
"Well, wid that the priest got his horse, and tuck his booke in undher his arm, an' the boys follied his raverince, ladin' the horse down to the bridge, an' divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen it was no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might thrait him to another gallop an' finish him intirely.
"Well, as soon as they wor all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the rope they had wid them an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper, an' swung it fairly over the bridge, lettin' it hang in the air about twelve feet out iv the wather.
"And his raverince rode down to the bank of the river close by, an' beginned to read mighty loud and bould intirely.
"An' whin he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv the hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash into the wather, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him. Down they both wint to the bottom, wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.
"An' before they had time to rise agin, his raverince, wid the fair astonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew where he was, in he wint, horse an' all, a-top iv them, an' down to the bottom.
"Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' and puffin', an' off down wid the current wid them, like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till they kem to the shallow wather.
"The ould gandher was the first out, and the priest and Terence kem next, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded, an' his raverince was so freckened wid the dhroundin' he got and wid the sight iv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better of it for a month.
"An' as soon as Terence could spake he swore he'd have the life of the two gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will. An' as soon as he was got quiter they all endivoured to explain it; but Terence consaved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his wife said the same to shilter him from the suspision for havin' th' dhrop taken. An' his raverince said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched anyone laughin' at the accident he'd lay the horsewhip across their shoulders.
"An' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at last he died in a wondherful old age, lavin' the gandher afther him an' a large family iv childher.
"An' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial and legitimate postariors."
JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANN.
The Fairies' Passage
Tap, tap, rap, rap! "Get up, gaffer Ferryman." "Eh! Who is there?" The clock strikes three. "Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man We have been long, long, longing to see." The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling, And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling Over the wares on his way to the door. But he sees no more Than he saw before, Till a voice is heard: "O Ferryman, dear! Here we are waiting, all of us, here. We are a wee, wee colony, we; Some two hundred in all, or three. Ferry us over the River Lee Ere dawn of day, And we will pay The most we may In our own wee way!"
"Who are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?" "Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land: The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too! Nothing at all but they now understand. We are daily vanishing under the thunder Of some huge engine or iron wonder; That iron--ah! it has entered our souls." "Your souls? O gholes! You queer little drolls, Do you mean ----?" "Good gaffer, do aid us with speed, For our time, like our stature, is short indeed! And a very long way we have to go: Eight or ten thousand miles or so, Hither and thither, and to and fro, With our pots and pans And little gold cans; But our light caravans Run swifter than man's."
"Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably; "Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge." Then again to the little folk: "Tho' you seem laughably Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large." Oh, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing The hubbub the while), there followed these words! What clapping of boards, What strapping of cords, What stowing away of children and wives, And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives! Till all had safely got into the boat, And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat, And his wee little fairies were safely afloat; Then ding, ding, ding, And kling, kling, kling, How the coppers did ring In the tin pitcherling!
Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly, Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while It swayed and it swagged this and that way, and presently Chest after chest, and pile after pile Of the little folk's goods began tossing and rolling, And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling. O Mab! if the hubbub were great before, It was now some two or three million times more. Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks; And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries: "Take care!"--"See there!"--"Oh, dear, my eyes!"-- "I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs, Till to land they drew. "Yeo-ho! Pull to! Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!" And all's right anew. "Now jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities. (Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all? Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities? Well, as I live!"....) He looks blank as a wall, Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes, But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone, And he stands alone, Like a statue of stone, In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer, And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear, With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha! Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah! Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!" "O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!" The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher, And there, alas, to his horror perceives That the little folk's mode of making him richer Has been to pay him with withered leaves!
JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.
The King of the Black Desert
This story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the County Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I got it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the "Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach," and is here for the first time literally translated into English.
AN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.
When O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of Connacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the King could not control him, because he would have his own will in everything.
One morning he went out--
His hound at his foot, And his hawk on his hand, And his fine black horse to bear him--
and he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came as far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was a grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, "King's son, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I would like to play a game with you." The King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over branch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.
The old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, "Can you play these?"
"I can," said the King's son.
"What shall we play for?" said the grey old man.
"Anything you wish," says the King's son.
"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and if you win I must do for you anything you ask of me," says the grey old man.
"I'm satisfied," says the King's son.
They played the game, and the King's son beat the grey old man. Then he said, "What would you like me to do for you, King's son?"
"I won't ask you to do anything for me," says the King's son. "I think that you are not able to do much."
"Don't mind that," said the old man. "You must ask me to do something. I never lost a bet yet that I wasn't able to pay it."
As I said, the King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was in it, and to satisfy him he said to him, "Take the head off my stepmother and put a goat's head on her for a week."
"I'll do that for you," said the grey old man. The King's son went a-riding on his horse--
His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand--
and he faced for another place, and never thought more about the grey old man until he came home.
He found a cry and great grief in the castle. The servants told him that an enchanter had come into the room where the Queen was, and had put a goat's head on her in place of her own head.
"By my hand, but that's a wonderful thing," says the King's son. "If I had been at home I'd have whipt the head off him with my sword."
There was great grief on the King, and he sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know how the thing happened to the Queen.
"Indeed, I cannot tell you that," said he; "it's a work of enchantment."
The King's son did not let on that he had any knowledge of the matter, but on the morrow morning he went out--
His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand, And his fine black horse to bear him--
and he never drew rein until he came as far as the big bush on the brink of the glen. The grey old man was sitting there under the bush, and said, "King's son, will you have a game to-day?" The King's son got down and said, "I will." With that he threw bridle over branch and sat down by the side of the old man. He drew out the cards and asked the King's son did he get the thing he had won yesterday.
"That's all right," said the King's son.
"We'll play for the same bet to-day," says the grey old man.
"I'm satisfied," said the King's son.
They played--the King's son won. "What would you like me to do for you this time?" says the grey old man. The King's son thought and said to himself, "I'll give him a hard job this time." Then he said, "There's a field of seven acres at the back of my father's castle; let it be filled to-morrow morning with cows, and no two of them to be of one colour, or one height, or one age."
"That shall be done," says the grey old man.
The King's son went riding on his horse--
His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand--
and faced for home. The King was sorrowful about the Queen; there were doctors out of every place in Ireland, but they could not do her any good.
On the morning of the next day the King's herd went out early, and he saw the field at the back of the castle filled with cows, and no two of them of the same colour, the same age, or the same height. He went in and told the King the wonderful news. "Go and drive them out," says the King. The herd got men, and went with them driving out the cows, but no sooner would he put them out on one side than they would come in on the other. The herd went to the King again, and told him that all the men that were in Ireland would not be able to put out these cows that were in the field. "They're enchanted cows," said the King.
When the King's son saw the cows, he said to himself, "I'll have another game with the grey old man to-day!" That morning he went out--
His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand, And his fine black horse to bear him--
and he never drew rein till he came as far as the big bush on the brink of the glen. The grey old man was there before him, and asked him would he have a game of cards.
"I will," says the King's son; "but you know well that I can beat you playing cards."
"We'll have another game, then," says the grey old man. "Did you ever play ball?"
"I did, indeed," said the King's son; "but I think that you are too old to play ball, and, besides that, we have no place here to play it."
"If you're contented to play, I'll find a place," says the grey old man.
"I'm contented," says the King's son.
"Follow me," says the grey old man.
The King's son followed him through the glen until he came to a fine green hill. There he drew out a little enchanted rod, spoke some words which the King's son did not understand, and after a moment the hill opened and the two went in, and they passed through a number of splendid halls until they came out into a garden. There was everything finer than another in that garden, and at the bottom of the garden there was a place for playing ball. They threw up a piece of silver to see who would have hand-in, and the grey old man got it.
They began then, and the grey old man never stopped until he won out the game. The King's son did not know what he would do. At last he asked the old man what would he desire him to do for him.
"I am King over the Black Desert, and you must find out myself and my dwelling-place within a year and a day, or I shall find you out and you shall lose your head."
Then he brought the King's son out the same way by which he went in. The green hill closed behind them, and the grey old man disappeared out of sight.
The King's son went home, riding on his horse--
His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand--
and he sorrowful enough.
That evening the King observed that there was grief and great trouble on his young son, and when he went to sleep the King and every person that was in the castle heard heavy sighings and ravings from him. The King was in grief--a goat's head to be on the Queen--but he was seven times worse when they told him the (whole) story how it happened from beginning to end.
He sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know where the King of the Black Desert was living.
"I do not, indeed," said he; "but as sure as there's a tail on the cat, unless the young heir finds out that enchanter he will lose his head."