II
THE COW OF A WIDOW OF BREFFNY
In the ancient times a man the name of M’Gauran ruled in these parts. He was a cruel tyrant surely and prouder than the High King of Ireland or O’Rourke was a Prince in Breffny. He conceited for to build a house would stand to the end of time, a stronghold past the art of man to overthrow or the fury of the wind to batter down. He gave out that all the bullocks in his dominions were to be slaughtered and mortar wet with the blood of them. Evenly the cows were not spared at the latter end, the way a powerful lamentation went up from the poor of the world were looking on the lonesome fields.
You that are young will be thinking the blackness of his spirit and the cruelty of his heart brought a curse on him to rot the flesh off his living bones. You will be expectant of the story of a king, and he walking the provinces of Ireland a skeleton and a warning to the eyes of man. But the aged and wise have understanding to know of the tribulation laid out for the good and the just, they putting their sorrows over them in this world where the evil have prosperity. The like will be enduring for a short space only, and a queer fate waits the wicked in the age-long hours of eternity. Proud is the tyrant and wealthy till they set him in the clay: humbled with fear is his spirit at the journey’s end.
There was a widow woman had her little dwelling convenient to where M’Gauran was building his castle. Gold she had none, nor evenly a coin was of silver, one cow only was her riches on the earth. (And surely them that had heart to molest her like would be robbing the dead of the raiment is with them in the grave.) Herself was more nor horrid lonesome the day she seen the creature driven from her by a man of the chiefs, he having a lengthy knife in his hand.
At the fall of night a traveller came to the poor woman’s cabin door. He was a bent, aged man with a sorrowful countenance on him, and the garments did cover him were rags. She invited him within, giving him the kindly welcome, and she set out what food was in the place for his refreshment.
“It is destroyed I am with a parching drouth is splitting my gullet,” says he, “and I walking the mountainy ways since the screech of dawn. The sun was splitting the bushes at the noon of day, and the fury of it was eating into my skin. But no person took compassion on me at all.”
With that the widow set a mug of milk before him, and it the last drop was in the countryside. He drank it down, middling speedy, and he held out the cup to be filled again.
“’Tis a heart scald surely,” says herself, “that I be to refuse the request of a man is weary walking the territory of Ireland, since the rising sun brought light on his path. There is a king in these parts, stranger, and he has the cattle destroyed on the poor of the world, the way he will have a lasting mortar to his house.”
“Isn’t yourself after giving me the loveliest mug of sweet milk?” says he, like one was doubtful of the honesty of her words.
“The last drop was in this townland, stranger, and it is heart glad I am that it refreshed you. I had but the one cow only, the grandest milker in the land, and she was driven from me this day—up yonder to the masons are working with their shovels dripping red.”
“I am thinking it is four strong walls in the pit of Hell are building for that chieftain’s soul. Maybe it’s red hot they’ll be, and he imprisoned within them for a thousand years and more,” says the traveller.
“Let there be what masonry there will in the next world, the wealth of the people cements his castle there beyond. For the cow and the milk and the butter are the gold of the dwellers on the land,” says the widow. “But let you be resting a while in this place: what haste is on you to depart?” For she seen he was rising to be gone.
He raised his hand in benediction, and the voice of him speaking was that sweet it charmed the birds off the bushes, the way they flew round him in the darkening night. “May the blessing of the King of Heaven be upon you. May He send you a cow will never run dry, and you milking her at all seasons of the year to the day of your departure from the world.”
With that the place was bare of his presence. He was gone the like of a spirit has power to travel the land unseen.
At the morning of the day following the poor woman stood at her cottage door, facing out to the mountains are a long journey from that place. Didn’t she see a great wonder:—A piece fell clean from the hillside and from it came a cow, white as the driven snow, she travelling faster nor the wind. The widow seen all as clear as we do be regarding the rising of the sun in the Eastern sky. Whatever power was laid on her eyes the distance was no obstruction to her vision that day. But it was not until the creature came and stood by herself that she bethought her of the benediction of the traveller, and the cow would never run dry.
That was the beast had the great renown on her: people came from every art and part to be looking on her. The milk she gave was richer nor the best of cream, and the butter off it was the best in Ireland.
The day the widow died, a young child seen the white cow travelling away to the mountains. And no man beheld her more, nor evenly heard tell of the like. But the Gap of Glan confronts us to this day, and that is where the creature rose to the light of the world.
III
KATE ELLEN’S WAKE
Kate Ellen lived by her lone for her husband was employed overseas. She was a strange sort of a creature, pale and scared looking, with one blue eye in her head and the other one grey. She had some kind of disease that came at her with a fluttering in her heart. Sometimes she would die of it for a couple of hours, and all the while she was dead she’d be dreaming she was drowning.
There was a fort not a many perches distant from my poor Kate Ellen’s house, and that was a noted place for the Good People to be out diverting themselves. Moreover it was well known to the neighbours that herself used to be away with them, but she allowed there was no truth in the report. Now it happened of a May eve that a young child seen her, and she milking the cushogues along with a score of the fairies. Another night a man on his way from a distant fair found her on the road before him riding with the little horseman.
One day Kate Ellen came into the kitchen of a friend’s house, and she stopped there chatting for an hour’s time. She allowed that she’d surely die in a short space for the disease was making great ravages and the doctors could take no hold of it at all.
“No person can give me the least relief in the world,” says she. “And I’ll be making but the one request of my friends and neighbours, let there be no whiskey at the wake.”
“Sure the like was never heard tell of before,” says the woman of the house. “What use would there be in a dry wake?”
“Maybe no use at all, as you are after saying,” answers Kate Ellen. “But let you pay heed to my words or there’s like to be a queer story told at the end of time.”
“’Tis the raving of death is on you, my poor creature,” says the woman of the house. “Sure you’ll be the beautiful corpse and every one of us paying our best respects to the same.”
Not a long after Kate Ellen was found in her own house and she lying dead on the floor. All the friends and neighbours gathered in for the wake, and what had they along with them only a beautiful jar of the best whiskey. They could not think to give in to the arrangement herself set out, that they’d remain in the place with a parching drouth for company.
The whole party were sitting round, and the jar of itself was in the middle of the floor. There came a noise and shouting on the street, like as if there was a powerful assembly of people without; and then a great battering on the windows. The door opened wide and the disturbance came into the kitchen, yet no person sitting there seen a heth that was not in it from the start. It was a queer gathering surely, for the friends and neighbours of the dead were silent and still, and the crying went round them on the air.
After a while didn’t the jar of whiskey let a lep out of it and begin for to roll on the floor. It was turned again and every drop teemed from it before the watching eyes. Yet no person seen the Good People were handling the drink and roving through the house. Then the disturbance passed from the kitchen, and away down the field, whatever was last for to go closed the door behind all.
A man stood up and he says: “This is no right gathering surely, and we would do well to be gone.”
With that another opens the door, and all made ready to depart. But when they looked out and seen the fort all thronged with lights they grew fearful to quit the house.
There was the powerfullest laughter and cheering down among the thorn trees of the circle, and there came a blast of the loveliest music—fiddles and pipes and voices singing.
“It is the Good People are having the whole beautiful wake down there beyond,” says a man. “Sure it is well known Kate Ellen was in league with themselves.”
“By the powers, it is more like a wedding they are conducting this hour,” says another.
“Come on away home,” says a third, “what enticement is on us stop when the drink is gone from us to the fairies are fiddling with joy!”
But they bid him depart by his lone, for the rest were in dread of passing the fort before day. He was a bold, daring sort of a man, and it’s likely he’d have gone only for his brother taking a hold of his coat.
“You’ll be taken by the Good People,” says he, “and they in great humour after whipping off with the whiskey before our eyes.”
Sure it was more nor horrid wonderful that Kate Ellen had understanding for to know what might be taking place on the night of her departure from home. Maybe it’s in agreement she was to be going for good with the fairies and not to her grave at all.
IV
THE DARK OATH
In the ancient times there was a young lad, and he gifted with a temper was a fright to the world of man. He never controlled his speech but took delight in letting great oaths and curses out of him, they rising continually in his heart like water in a spring well.
There were few of the neighbours had a mind to make free with himself, sure it was an odious dread came upon them and they regarding the villainy of his heart lepping out at his mouth with the words speaking. All the time he was middling great with another gosoon of the one age who would not be warned from his company.
The two would be travelling the roads and roaming the fields of Connacht from the screech of dawn to dark. But for all their diversions together they fell out on a summer’s day, and it was blows they gave one another until a strong perspiration ran down from them and the air moved before their eyes like the stars of heaven on a frosty night. Neither could gain the mastery, and at long last they be to quit striving for they were bone weary and feeble as an infant child.
The one was hasty in his speech let a dark oath that he would be the death of his companion, evenly if the power of the lonesome grave itself was set between them to hold him from the fulfilment of his vow.
In three days from the time the words were spoken he died of a strange, sudden sickness.
The other had a great satisfaction on him, he having no dread of a man was rotting in the clay, where rich and poor are alike and the strong have no mastery above the weak. But in a short while a warning came to the lad in a dream, the way he walked the world in fear from that out:—
He seen a field where he was standing by his lone to confront a black bull was charging down. The eyes of the beast were glowing red as burning fire, and it was no right thing surely. There was such a fluttering of dread on the boy that he could not endeavour for to run, but he stood like a growing rush does be waving with the breeze. Three times the likeness of the great black bull came down against him, wounding him with the curved and lengthy horns were upon it; with that he awoke.
“The devil will be gifting the spirit of the dead with the form of a living beast, the way he’ll get bringing me the dark destruction he promised, and I looking fearful at the flames are burning in his eyes,” thinks the lad.
Sure enough, in a month’s time, he was in a field, and the appearance of the black bull came against him. Three times it struck him, the way he was tormented with the agony of the goring horns. With that the likeness of the living beast faded from the place leaving the young lad sore and sorry but alive.
He had peace for a short space only to be thinking on his escape. Didn’t a second warning come in the night to restore the cold fear to his heart:—
He seen a black goat come at him in standing leps, and the eyes of it were glowing like a turf in the heart of a strong fire.
“It is less power the devil be’s giving him this time,” thinks the lad. “All the while ’tis an ill hour stands before me: the like of yon beast will be middling weighty and it striking me in a standing lep with no one of its four feet upon the ground.”
All came about as it was put on his eyes in the vision. Not a many days went by before the likeness of the great black goat threw its strength against him in the field. Three sore batterings he be to endure, the way he was left lying on the grass with every bone of him tormented in pain and a cold fear at his soul.
When the wounds were healed on his body and the passing of time restored his mind to a better peace, didn’t he behold a third dream of the night:—
He stood in the lane between his house and the field, and the appearance of a great turkey cock flew down upon him from the sky.
At that he let a hearty laugh, and he roused up in his bed.
“Sure the devil has little wit to be thinking I’ll take my death from the like,” says he. “And how would it be possible a fine, stout-hearted lad could be scared by the fowls of the sky!”
He laughed that night, and he laughed at the noon of day when the bird flew against him in the lane. But the appearance of the turkey cock opened the joining of his skull with one blow of the beak like a sharpened knife was upon it. The second stroke and the third dashed the brains from his head and scattered them grey on the brown and dusty path.
And that is the how he came to a bad death as his companion promised him, and the dark oath was accomplished no spite of the power of the grave.
We that are yet in this world know well where we are, but ignorance is on us of where we be to repair. Sure the passing of the spirit is the strangest and awfullest thing was ever devised or heard tell of. It was said in the ancient times and is well known to this present that the soul quits the body by the joining of the skull. The eyes have seen evil, the ears have heard it, and the mouth has made laughter and speech of the same: how then would they be a right and a fitting doorway for the feet of the spirit to pass! Moreover, I have heard tell that the skull of man and the skull of woman are different one from another—and it is the soul of herself has the sorest departure from the flesh.
V
FAIRY GOLD
It happened one time that a poor man dreamt three nights after other of a sack of fairy gold was buried in under the roots of a lone bush and it growing in a field convenient to his house.
“It may be there is nothing in it,” says he to himself. “But I will be digging in that place and if I find a treasure it will be a big reward for the labour.”
He never let on a word of his intentions to any person, nor did he evenly pass any remark on the strange dreams were after coming to him. At the fall of the day he took a loy in his hand and set out for the lone bush. He was not a great while at work before the steel blade struck against a substance that had no feel of clay, and the man was full sure it was not a stone he was after striking against. He wraught hard to bring whatever was in it to light—and what had he only a powerful fine sack of pure gold and splendid jewels.
He raised it up on his shoulders and set out for home, staggering under the load. It was maybe a hundredweight of treasure he had with him, and he went along planning out the uses of that wealth. Sure the burden was a rejoicement to him and no hardship at all evenly if it had him bent double like an aged and crippled man.
When he came to his own place he went to the byre, and it was there he put down the sack in front of three cows were standing in the bails. For he was not wishful to be making a display of that splendour before the neighbours all, and it was likely he would find some person within making their cailee. Sure enough when he went in on the door of the house he seen two men sitting by the fire and they in no haste to depart. Now the strangers had the English only, and the people of the house spoke Irish with one another.
Says himself, using the Gaelic, “I have a beautiful treasure without—bars of fine gold are in it, and jewels would be the delight of a queen of the world.”
“Oh, bring it into the house,” says she. “Sure it will rise my heart to be looking on the like; the hunger of it is put on my eyes by your words speaking.”
“I have better wit than to make display of my fortune to every person is living in the land,” says he. “Let you content yourself until the two men have departed, and then we’ll fetch the sack in from the byre where I left it in front of the cows.”
When the man and woman of the house were shut of the company they went out to the yard, and they fair wild with delight. Himself told the story of the three dreams and the finding of the gold in under the roots of the lone bush.
“Did you spit on it?” she inquires.
“I did not,” says he.
With that she allowed he was after making a big mistake.
“How would that be?” he asks.
“My father had great knowledge of the like,” says herself. “I often heard him tell of how those treasures do be enchanted, and power is on them for to melt away. But if a man was to spit on fairy gold he’d get keeping it surely.”
“Amn’t I after bringing it this far,” says he, “and the weight of it destroying my shoulders with bruises and pains. Not the least sign of melting was on yon article and it a warrant to bring down the scales at a hundred and more.”
With that they went into the byre, and they seen the three cows were striving to break out of the bails.
“They are in dread of what’s lying there in front,” says herself. “The cattle of the world have good wisdom surely, and they do be looking on more nor the eye of man gets leave to behold.”
“Quit raving about the cows,” says he. “Look at my lovely sack and it bulging full.”
When the two went up to the head of the bails the woman let a great cry out of her.
“What are you after bringing to this place from among the roots of the lone bush? It has the movement of life in it—and how could the like be treasure at all!”
“Hold your whisht, woman,” says the husband, and he middling vexed at her words.
“Will you look at the bag is turning over on the ground?” says she.
He seen there was truth in her words, but all the while he would not give in to be scared.
“It is likely a rat is after creeping in,” he allows, “and he is having his own times striving to win out.”
“Let you open the sack, and I will be praying aloud for protection on us—for it is no right thing is in it at all,” says herself.
With that he went over and he turned the hundredweight of treasure until he had it propped up against the bails. When he began for to open the bag the cows went fair wild, striving and roaring and stamping to get away from the place entirely.
The head of a great eel looked out from under the man’s hand where he was groping for the treasure. The eyes of it were the colour of flame and as blinding to the sight as the naked sun at noon of a summer’s day.
The man gave one lep that carried him to the door and there the paralysis of dread held him down. Herself let a scream could be heard in the next townland, but she never asked to stir from where she was standing.
The appearance of the eel twisted itself out of the sack and travelled along the ground, putting the six feet of its length into the awfullest loops and knots were ever seen. Then it reared up its head and neck to stand swaying for a while, a full half of it in the air. The man and woman were convenient to the door but the both were too scared to go out on it; they watched the eel and they seen it twist up round a bail until the head of it was touching the roof. Didn’t it break away out through the thatch, and whether it melted off the face of the earth or travelled to other parts was never heard tell. But the likeness of that beast was the whole and only treasure came out of the sack the poor man dug from under the roots of the lone bush where the fairy gold was hid.