"May God drownd me where I shtand," said he, "if I don't shlay thim all an the althar," and no doubt he would have done so, but the moment the words passed his lips, the rivulet became a seething torrent, drowned him and his men, and the lake was formed over the spot where they stood when the curse was pronounced. "An' sometimes, they say, that when the lake is quite shtill, ye may hear the groans av the lost sowls chained at the bottom."
The fairies are responsible for at least two of the Irish lakes, Lough Key and the Upper Lough Killarney. The former is an enlargement of the River Boyle, a tributary of the Shannon, and is situated in Roscommon. At a low stage of water, ruins can be discerned at the bottom of the river, and are reported to be those of a city whose inhabitants injudiciously attempted to swindle the "good people" in a land bargain. The city was built, it seems, by permission of the fairies, the understanding being that all raths were to be left undisturbed. For a long time the agreement was respected, fairies and mortals living side by side, and neither class interfering with the other. But, as the necessity for more arable land became evident, it was determined by the townspeople to level several raths and mounds that interfered with certain fields and boundary lines. The dangers of such a course were plainly pointed out by the local "fairy-man," and all the "knowledgable women" lifted their voices against it, but in vain; down the raths must come and down they came, to the consternation of the knowing ones, who predicted no end of evil from so flagrant a violation of the treaty with the fairies.
The night after the demolition of the raths, one of the[pg 086] towns-men was coming through the gorge below the city, when, "Millia, murther, there wor more than a hundherd t'ousand little men in grane jackets bringin' shtones an' airth an' buildin' a wall acrass the glen. Begob, I go bail but he was the skairt man when he seen phat they done, an' run home wid all the legs he had an' got his owld woman an' the childher. When she axed him phat he was afther, he towld her to howld her whisht or he'd pull the tongue out av her an' to come along an' not spake a word. So they got to the top o' the hill an' then they seen the wathers swapin' an the city an' niver a sowl was there left o' thim that wor in it. So the good people had their rayvinge, an' the like o' that makes men careful wid raths, not to displaze their betthers, for there's no sayin' phat they'll do."
The Upper Killarney lake was created by the fairy queen of Kerry to punish her lover, the young Prince O'Donohue. She was greatly fascinated by him, and, for a time, he was as devoted to her as woman's heart could wish. But things changed, for, in the language of the boatman, who told the legend, "whin a woman loves a man, she's satisfied wid wan, but whin a man loves a woman, belike he's not contint wid twinty av her, an' so was it wid O'Donohue." No doubt, however, he loved the fairy queen as long as he could, but in time tiring of her, "he concluded to marry a foine lady, and when the quane rayproached him wid forgittin' her, at first he said it wasn't so, an' whin she proved it an him, faith he'd not a word left in his jaw. So afther a dale o' blasthogue bechuxt thim, he got as mad as Paddy Monagan's dog when they cut his tail aff, an' towld her he wanted no more av her, an' she towld him agin for to go an' marry his red-headed gurrul, 'but mârk ye,' says she to him, 'ye shall niver resave her into yer cassel.' No more did he, for the night o' the weddin',[pg 087] while they were all dhrinkin' till they were ready to burst, in comes the waither an' says, 'Here's the wather,' says he. 'Wather,' says O'Donohue, 'we want no wather to-night. Dhrink away.' 'But the wather's risin',' says the waither. 'Arrah, ye Bladdherang,' says O'Donohue, 'phat d' ye mane be inthrudin' an agrayble frinds an such an outspishus occasion wid yer presince? Be aff, or be the powdhers o' war I'll wather ye,' says he, risin' up for to shlay the waither. But wan av his gintlemin whuspered the thruth in his year an' towld him to run. So he did an' got away just in time, for the cassel was half full o' wather whin he left it. But the quane didn't want to kill him, so he got away an' built another cassel an the hill beyant where he lived wid his bride."
Still another origin for the Irish lakes is found in Mayo, where Lough Carra is attributed to a certain "giont," by name unknown, who formerly dwelt in the neighborhood, and, with one exception, found everything necessary for comfort and convenience. He was a cleanly "giont," and desirous of performing his ablutions regularly and thoroughly. The streams in the neighborhood were ill adapted to his use, for when he entered any one of them for bathing purposes "bad scran to the wan that 'ud take him in furder than to the knees." Obviously this was not deep enough, so one day when unusually in need of a bath and driven desperate by the inadequacy of the means, "he spit an his han's an' went to work an' made Lough Carra. 'Bedad,' says he, 'I'll have a wash now,' an' so he did," and doubtless enjoyed it, for the lake is deep and the water clear and pure.
Just below Lough Carra is Lough Mask, a large lake between Mayo and Galway. Concerning its origin, traditionary authorities differ, some maintaining that the lake was the[pg 088] work of fairies, others holding that it was scooped out by a rival of the cleanly gigantic party already mentioned, a theory apparently confirmed by the fact that it has no visible outlet, though several streams pour into it, its waters, it is believed, escaping by a subterranean channel to Lough Corrib, thence to the sea. Sundry unbelievers, however, stoutly assert a conviction that "it's so be nacher entirely an' thim that says it's not is ignerant gommochs that don't know," and in the face of determined scepticism the question of the origin of the lake must remain unsettled.
Thus far, indeed, it is painful to be compelled to state that scarcely one of the narratives of this chapter passes undisputed among the veracious tradition-mongers of Ireland. Like most other countries in this practical, poetry-decrying age, the Emerald Isle has scientists and sceptics, and among the peasants are found many men who have no hesitation in proclaiming their disbelief in "thim owld shtories," and who even openly affirm that "laigends about fairies an' giants is all lies complately." In the face of this growing tendency towards materialism and the disposition to find in natural causes an explanation of wonderful events, it is pleasant to be able to conclude this chapter with an undisputed account of the origin of Lough Ree in the River Shannon, the accuracy of the information being in every particular guaranteed by a boatman on the Shannon, "a respectable man," who solemnly asseverated "Sure, that's no laigend, but the blessed truth as I'm livin' this minnit, for I'd sooner cut out me tongue be the root than desave yer Anner, when every wan knows there's not a taste av a lie in it at all."
"When the blessed Saint Pathrick was goin' through Ireland from wan end to the other buildin' churches, an' Father Malone says he built three hundherd an' sixty foive, that's a[pg 089] good manny, he come to Roscommon be the way av Athlone, where ye saw the big barracks an' the sojers. So he passed through Athlone, the counthry bein' full o' haythens entirely an' not av Crissans, and went up the Shannon, kapin' the river on his right hand, an' come to a big peat bog, that's where the lake is now. There were more than a thousand poor omadhawns av haythens a-diggin' the peat, an' the blessed saint convarted thim at wanst afore he'd shtir a toe to go anny furder. Then he built thim a church an the hill be the bog, an' gev thim a holy man fur a priest be the name o' Caruck, that I b'lave is a saint too or lasteways ought to be fur phat he done. So Saint Pathrick left thim wid the priest, givin' him great power on the divil an' avil sper'ts, and towld him to build a priest's house as soon as he cud. So the blessed Caruck begged an' begged as long as he got anny money, an' whin he'd the last ha'penny he cud shtart, he begun the priest's house fur to kape monks in.
"But the divil was watchin' him ivery minnit, fur it made the owld felly tarin' mad to see himself bate out o' the face that-a-way in the counthry where he'd been masther so long, an' he detarmined he'd spile the job. So wan night, he goes to the bottom o' the bog, an' begins dammin' the shtrame, from wan side to the other, layin' the shtones shtrong an' tight, an' the wather begins a risin' an the bog. Now it happened that the blessed Caruck wasn't aslape as Satan thought, but up an' about, for he misthrusted that the Owld Wan was dodgin' round like a wayzel, an' was an the watch fur him. So when the blessed man saw the wather risin' on the bog an' not a taste o' rain fallin', 'Phat's this?' says he. 'Sure it's some o' Satan's deludherin'.'
"So down he goes bechuxt the hills an' kapin' from the river, an' comes up below where the divil was workin' away[pg 090] pilin' on the airth an' shtones. So he comes craipin' up on him an' when he got purty clost, he riz an' says, 'Hilloo, Nayber!' Now Belzebub was like to dhrop on the ground wid fright at the look av him, he was that astonished. But there was no gettin' away, so he shtopped on the job, wiped the shweat aff his face, an' says, 'Hilloo yerself.'