Chapter VII: Part 7

When they had been that way for another half year, she said that she could wait no longer without going back to her father and mother; that she was certain that they were greatly grieved for her; and that it was a shame for her to leave them in grief, when it was in her power to go as far as them. The priest did all he could to keep her with them for another while, but without effect, and Guleesh spoke every sweet word that came into his head, trying to get the victory over her, and to coax her and make her stay as she was, but it was no good for him. She determined that she would go, and no man alive would make her change her intention.

She had not much money, but only two rings that were on her hand, when the sheehogue carried her away, and a gold pin that was in her hair, and golden buckles that were on her little shoes.

The priest took and sold them and gave her the money, and she said that she was ready to go.

She left her blessing and farewell with the priest and Guleesh, and departed. She was not long gone till there came such grief and melancholy over Guleesh that he knew he would not be long alive unless he were near her, and he followed her.

(The next 42 pages in the Leabhar Sgeuluigheachta are taken
up with the adventures of Guleesh and the princess, on their
way to the court of France. But this portion of the story is
partly taken from other tales, and part is too much altered and
amplified in the writing of it, so that I do not give it here,
as not being genuine folk-lore, which the story, except for a
very little embellishment, has been up to this point. The whole
ends as follows, with the restoration of the princess and her
marriage with Guleesh.)

It was well, and it was not ill. They married one another, and that was the fine wedding they had, and if I were to be there then, I would not be here now; but I heard it from a birdeen that there was neither cark nor care, sickness nor sorrow, mishap nor misfortune on them till the hour of their death, and that it may be the same with me, and with us all!

THE WELL OF D’YERREE-IN-DOWAN.

A long time ago—before St. Patrick’s time—there was an old king in Connacht, and he had three sons. The king had a sore foot for many years, and he could get no cure. One day he sent for the Dall Glic (wise blind man) which he had, and said to him:

“I’m giving you wages this twenty years, and you can’t tell me what will cure my foot.”

“You never asked me that question before,” said the Dall Glic; “but I tell you now that there is nothing in the world to cure you but a bottle of water from the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan” (_i.e._, end of the world).

In the morning, the day on the morrow, the king called his three sons, and he said to them:

“My foot will never be better until I get a bottle of water from the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan, and whichever of you will bring me that, he has my kingdom to get.”

“We will go in pursuit of it to-morrow,” says the three. The names of the three were Art, Nart (_i.e._, strength), and Cart[30] (_i.e._, right).

On the morning of the day on the morrow, the king gave to each one of them a purse of gold, and they went on their way. When they came as far as the cross-roads, Art said:

“Each one of us ought to go a road for himself, and if one of us is back before a year and a day, let him wait till the other two come; or else let him set up a stone as a sign that he has come back safe.”

They parted from one another after that, and Art and Nart went to an inn and began drinking; but Cart went on by himself. He walked all that day without knowing where he was going. As the darkness of the night came on he was entering a great wood, and he was going forwards in the wood, until he came to a large house. He went in and looked round him, but he saw nobody, except a large white cat sitting beside the fire. When the cat saw him she rose up and went into another room. He was tired and sat beside the fire. It was not long till the door of the chamber opened, and there came out an old hag.

“One hundred thousand welcomes before you, son of the king of Connacht,” says the hag.

“How did you know me?” says the king’s son.

“Oh, many’s the good day I spent in your father’s castle in Bwee-sounee, and I know you since you were born,” said the hag.

Then she prepared him a fine supper, and gave it to him. When he had eaten and drunk enough, she said to him:

“You made a long journey to-day; come with me until I show you a bed.” Then she brought him to a fine chamber, showed him a bed, and the king’s son fell asleep. He did not awake until the sun was coming in on the windows the next morning.

Then he rose up, dressed himself, and was going out, when the hag asked him where he was going.

“I don’t know,” said the king’s son. “I left home to find out the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.”

“I’m after walking a good many places,” said the hag, “but I never heard talk of the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan before.”

The king’s son went out, and he was travelling till he came to a cross-roads between two woods. He did not know which road to take. He saw a seat under the trunk of a great tree. When he went up to it he found it written: “This is the seat of travellers.”

The king’s son sat down, and after a minute he saw the most lovely woman in the world coming towards him, and she dressed in red silk, and she said to him:

“I often heard that it is better to go forward than back.”

Then she went out of his sight as though the ground should swallow her.

The king’s son rose up and went forward. He walked that day till the darkness of the night was coming on, and he did not know where to get lodgings. He saw a light in a wood, and he drew towards it. The light was in a little house. There was not as much as the end of a feather jutting up on the outside nor jutting down on the inside, but only one single feather that was keeping up the house. He knocked at the door, and an old hag opened it.

“God save all here,” says the king’s son.

“A hundred welcomes before you, son of the king of the castle of Bwee-sounee,” said the hag.

“How do you know me?” said the king’s son.

“It was my sister nursed you,” said the hag, “and sit down till I get your supper ready.”

When he ate and drank his enough, she put him to sleep till morning. When he rose up in the morning, he prayed to God to direct him on the road of his luck.

“How far will you go to-day?” said the hag.

“I don’t know,” said the king’s son. “I’m in search of the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.”

“I’m three hundred years here,” said the hag, “and I never heard of such a place before; but I have a sister older than myself, and, perhaps, she may know of it. Here is a ball of silver for you, and when you will go out upon the road throw it up before you, and follow it till you come to the house of my sister.”

When he went out on the road he threw down the ball, and he was following it until the sun was going under the shadow of the hills. Then he went into a wood, and came to the door of a little house. When he struck the door, a hag opened it and said:

“A hundred thousand welcomes before you, son of the king of the castle of Bwee-sounee, who were at my sister’s house last night. You made a long journey to-day. Sit down; I have a supper ready for you.”

When the king’s son ate and drank his enough, the hag put him to sleep, and he did not wake up till the morning. Then the hag asked:

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t rightly know,” said the king’s son. “I left home to find out the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.”

“I am over five hundred years of age,” said the hag, “and I never heard talk of that place before; but I have a brother, and if there is any such place in the world, he’ll know of it. He is living seven hundred miles from here.”

“It’s a long journey,” said the king’s son.

“You’ll be there to-night,” said the hag.

Then she gave him a little garraun (nag, gelding) about the size of a goat.

“That little beast won’t be able to carry me,” said the king’s son.

“Wait till you go riding on it,” said the hag.

The king’s son got on the garraun, and out for ever with him as fast as lightning.

When the sun was going under, that evening, he came to a little house in a wood. The king’s son got off the garraun, went in, and it was not long till an old grey man came out, and said:

“A hundred thousand welcomes to you, son of the king of the castle of Bwee-sounee. You’re in search of the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.”

“I am, indeed,” said the king’s son.

“Many’s the good man went that way before you; but not a man of them came back alive,” said the old man; “however, I’ll do my best for you. Stop here to-night, and we’ll have sport to-morrow.”

Then he dressed a supper and gave it to the king’s son, and when he ate and drank, the old man put him to sleep.

In the morning of the day on the morrow, the old man said:

“I found out where the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan is; but it is difficult to go as far as it. We must find out if there’s any good in you with the tight loop (bow?).”

Then he brought the king’s son out into the wood, gave him the loop, and put a mark on a tree two score yards from him, and told him to strike it. He drew the loop and struck the mark.

“You’ll do the business,” said the old man.

They then went in, and spent the day telling stories till the darkness of the night was come.

When the darkness of the night was come, the old man gave him a loop (bow?) and a sheaf of sharp stings (darts), and said:

“Come with me now.”

They were going until they came to a great river. Then the old man said:

“Go on my back, and I’ll swim across the river with you; but if you see a great bird coming, kill him, or we shall be lost.”

Then the king’s son got on the old man’s back, and the old man began swimming. When they were in the middle of the river the king’s son saw a great eagle coming, and his gob (beak) open. The king’s son drew the loop and wounded the eagle.

“Did you strike him?” said the old man.

“I struck him,” said the king’s son; “but here he comes again.”

He drew the loop the second time and the eagle fell dead.

When they came to the land, the old man said:

“We are on the island of the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan. The queen is asleep, and she will not waken for a day and a year. She never goes to sleep but once in seven years. There is a lion and a monster (uillphéist) watching at the gate of the well, but they go to sleep at the same time with the queen, and you will have no difficulty in going to the well. Here are two bottles for you; fill one of them for yourself, and the other for me, and it will make a young man of me.”

The king’s son went off, and when he came as far as the castle he saw the lion and the monster sleeping on each side of the gate. Then he saw a great wheel throwing up water out of the well, and he went and filled the two bottles, and he was coming back when he saw a shining light in the castle. He looked in through the window and saw a great table. There was a loaf of bread, with a knife, a bottle, and a glass on it. He filled the glass, but he did not diminish the bottle. He observed that there was a writing on the bottle and on the loaf; and he read on the bottle: “Water For the World,” and on the loaf: “Bread For the World.” He cut a piece off the loaf, but it only grew bigger.

“My grief! that we haven’t that loaf and that bottle at home,” said the king’s son, “and there’d be neither hunger nor thirst on the poor people.”

Then he went into a great chamber, and he saw the queen and eleven waiting-maids asleep, and a sword of light hung above the head of the queen. It was it that was giving light to the whole castle.

When he saw the queen, he said to himself: “It’s a pity to leave that pretty mouth without kissing it.” He kissed the queen, and she never awoke; and after that he did the same to the eleven maidens. Then he got the sword, the bottle, and the loaf, and came to the old man, but he never told him that he had those things.

“How did you get on?” said the old man.

“I got the thing I was in search of,” said the king’s son.

“Did you see any marvel since you left me?” said the old man.

The king’s son told him that he had seen a wonderful loaf, bottle, and sword.

“You did not touch them?” said the old man; “shun them, for they would bring trouble on you. Come on my back now till I bring you across the river.”

When they went to the house of the old man, he put water out of the bottle on himself, and made a young man of himself. Then he said to the king’s son:

“My sisters and myself are now free from enchantment, and they are young women again.”

The king’s son remained there until most part of the year and day were gone. Then he began the journey home; but, my grief, he had not the little nag with him. He walked the first day until the darkness of the night was coming on. He saw a large house. He went to the door, struck it, and the man of the house came out to him.

“Can you give me lodgings?” said he.

“I can,” said the man of the house, “only I have no light to light you.”

“I have a light myself,” said the king’s son.

He went in then, drew the sword, and gave a fine light to them all, and to everybody that was in the island. They then gave him a good supper, and he went to sleep. When he was going away in the morning, the man of the house asked him for the honour of God, to leave the sword with them.

“Since you asked for it in the honour of God, you must have it,” said the king’s son.

He walked the second day till the darkness was coming. He went to another great house, beat the door, and it was not long till the woman of the house came to him, and he asked lodgings of her. The man of the house came and said:

“I can give you that; but I have not a drop of water to dress food for you.”

“I have plenty of water myself,” said the king’s son.

He went in, drew out the bottle, and there was not a vessel in the house he did not fill, and still the bottle was full. Then a supper was dressed for him, and when he ate and drank his enough, he went to sleep. In the morning, when he was going, the woman asked of him, in the honour of God, to leave them the bottle.

“Since it has chanced that you ask it for the honour of God,” said the king’s son, “I cannot refuse you, for my mother put me under _gassa_ (mystic obligations), before she died, never, if I could, to refuse anything that a person would ask of me for the honour of God.”

Then he left the bottle to them.

He walked the third day until darkness was coming, and he reached a great house on the side of the road. He struck the door; the man of the house came out, and he asked lodgings of him.

“I can give you that, and welcome,” said the man; “but I’m grieved that I have not a morsel of bread for you.”

“I have plenty of bread myself,” said the king’s son.

He went in, got a knife, and began cutting the loaf, until the table was filled with pieces of bread, and yet the loaf was as big as it was when he began. Then they prepared a supper for him, and when he ate his enough, he went to sleep. When he was departing in the morning, they asked of him, for the honour of God, to leave the loaf with them, and he left it with them.

The three things were now gone from him.

He walked the fourth day until he came to a great river, and he had no way to get across it. He went upon his knees, and asked of God to send him help. After half a minute, he saw the beautiful woman he saw the day he left the house of the first hag. When she came near him, she said: “Son of the king of the castle of Bwee-sounnee, has it succeeded with you?”

“I got the thing I went in search of,” said the king’s son; “but I do not know how I shall pass over this river.”

She drew out a thimble and said: “Bad is the day I would see your father’s son without a boat.”

Then she threw the thimble into the river, and made a splendid boat of it.

“Get into that boat now,” said she; “and when you will come to the other side, there will be a steed before you to bring you as far as the cross-road, where you left your brothers.”

The king’s son stepped into the boat, and it was not long until he was at the other side, and there he found a white steed before him. He went riding on it, and it went off as swiftly as the wind. At about twelve o’clock on that day, he was at the cross-roads. The king’s son looked round him, and he did not see his brothers, nor any stone set up, and he said to himself, “perhaps they are at the inn.” He went there, and found Art and Nart, and they two-thirds drunk.

They asked him how he went on since he left them.

“I have found out the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan, and I have the bottle of water,” said Cart.

Nart and Art were filled with jealousy, and they said one to the other: “It’s a great shame that the youngest son should have the kingdom.”

“We’ll kill him, and bring the bottle of water to my father,” said Nart; “and we’ll say that it was ourselves who went to the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.”

“I’m not with you there,” said Art; “but we’ll set him drunk, and we’ll take the bottle of (from) him. My father will believe me and you, before he’ll believe our brother, because he has an idea that there’s nothing in him but a half _omadawn_.”

“Then,” he said to Cart, “since it has happened that we have come home safe and sound we’ll have a drink before we go home.”

They called for a quart of whiskey, and they made Cart drink the most of it, and he fell drunk. Then they took the bottle of water from him, went home themselves, and gave it to the king. He put a drop of the water on his foot, and it made him as well as ever he was.

Then they told him that they had great trouble to get the bottle of water; that they had to fight giants, and to go through great dangers.

“Did ye see Cart on your road?” said the king.

“He never went farther than the inn, since he left us,” said they; “and he’s in it now, blind drunk.”

“There never was any good in him,” said the king; “but I cannot leave him there.”

Then he sent six men to the inn, and they carried Cart home. When he came to himself, the king made him into a servant to do all the dirty jobs about the castle.

When a year and a day had gone by, the queen of the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan and her waiting-maidens woke up and the queen found a young son by her side, and the eleven maidens the same.

There was great anger on the queen, and she sent for the lion and the monster, and asked them what was become of the eagle that she left in charge of the castle.

“He must be dead, or he’d be here now, when you woke up,” said they.

“I’m destroyed, myself, and the waiting-maidens ruined,” said the queen; “and I never will stop till I find out the father of my son.”

Then she got ready her enchanted coach, and two fawns under it. She was going till she came to the first house where the king’s son got lodging, and she asked was there any stranger there lately. The man of the house said there was.

“Yes!” said the queen, “and he left the sword of light behind him; it is mine, and if you do not give it to me quickly I will throw your house upside down.”

They gave her the sword, and she went on till she came to the second house, in which he had got lodging, and she asked was there any stranger there lately. They said that there was. “Yes,” said she, “and he left a bottle after him. Give it to me quickly, or I’ll throw the house on ye.”

They gave her the bottle, and she went till she came to the third house, and she asked was there any stranger there lately. They said there was.

“Yes!” said she, “and he left the loaf of lasting bread after him. That belongs to me, and if ye don’t give it to me quickly I will kill ye all.”

She got the loaf, and she was going, and never stopped till she came to the castle of Bwee-Sounee. She pulled the _cooalya-coric_, pole of combat, and the king came out.

“Have you any son?” said the queen.

“I have,” said the king.

“Send him out here till I see him,” said she.

The king sent out Art, and she asked him: “Were you at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan?”

“I was,” said Art.

“And are you the father of my son?” said she.

“I believe I am,” said Art.

“I will know that soon,” said she.

Then she drew two hairs out of her head, flung them against the wall, and they were made into a ladder that went up to the top of the castle. Then she said to Art: “If you were at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan, you can go up to the top of that ladder.”

Art went up half way, then he fell, and his thigh was broken.

“You were never at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan,” said the queen.

Then she asked the king: “Have you any other son?”

“I have,” said the king.

“Bring him out,” said the queen.

Nart came out, and she asked him: “Were you ever at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan?”

“I was,” said Nart.

“If you were, go up to the top of that ladder,” said the queen.

He began going up, but he had not gone far till he fell and broke his foot.

“You were not at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan,” said the queen.

Then she asked the king if he had any other son, and the king said he had. “But,” said he, “it’s a half fool he is, that never left home.”

“Bring him here,” said the queen.

When Cart came, she asked him: “Were you at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan?”

“I was,” said Cart, “and I saw you there.”

“Go up to the top of that ladder,” said the queen.

Cart went up like a cat, and when he came down she said: “You are the man who was at the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan, and you are the father of my son.”

Then Cart told the trick his brothers played on him, and the queen was going to slay them, until Cart asked pardon for them. Then the king said that Cart must get the kingdom.

Then the father dressed him out and put a chain of gold beneath his neck, and he got into the coach along with the queen, and they departed to the Well of D’yerree-in-Dowan.

The waiting-maidens gave a great welcome to the king’s son, and they all of them came to him, each one asking him to marry herself.

He remained there for one-and-twenty years, until the queen died, and then he brought back with him his twelve sons, and came home to Galway. Each of them married a wife, and it is from them that the twelve tribes of Galway are descended.

THE COURT OF CRINNAWN.

A long time ago there came a lot of gentlemen to a river which is between the County Mee-òh (Mayo) and Roscommon, and they chose out a nice place for themselves on the brink of a river, and set up a court on it. Nobody at all in the little villages round about knew from what place these gentlemen came. MacDonnell was the name that was on them. The neighbours were for a long time without making friendship with them, until there came a great plague, and the people were getting death in their hundreds.

One day there was the only son of a poor widow dying from the destructive plague, and she had not a drop of milk to wet his tongue. She went to the court, and they asked her what she was looking for. She told them that the one son she had was dying of the plague and that she had not a drop of milk to wet his tongue.

“Hard is your case,” says a lady that was in the court to her. “I will give you milk and healing, and your son will be as well at the end of an hour as ever he was.” Then she gave her a tin can, and said: “Go home now, this can will never be empty as long as you or your son is alive, if you keep the secret without telling anybody that you got it here. When you will go home put a morsel of the Mary’s shamrock (four-leaved shamrock?) in the milk and give it to your son.”

The widow went home. She put a bit of four-leaved shamrock in the milk, and gave it to her son to drink, and he rose up at the end of an hour as well as ever he was. Then the woman went through the villages round about with the can, and there was no one at all to whom she gave a drink that was not healed at the end of an hour.

It was not long till the fame of Maurya nee Keerachawn (Mary Kerrigan), that was the name of the widow, went through the country, and it was not long till she had the full of the bag of gold and silver.

One day Mary went to a _pattern_ at Cultya Bronks, drank too much, fell on drunkenness, and let out the secret.

There came the heavy sleep of drunkenness on her, and when she awoke the can was gone. There was so much grief on her that she drowned herself in a place called Pull Bawn (the White Hole), within a mile of Cultya Bronks.

Everybody thought now that they had the can of healing to get at the Court of Crinnawn if they would go there. In the morning, the day on the morrow, there went plenty of people to the court, and they found every one who was in it dead. The shout went out, and the hundreds of people gathered together, but no man could go in, for the court was filled with smoke; and lightning and thunder coming out of it.

They sent a message for the priest, who was in Ballaghadereen, but he said: “It is not in my parish, and I won’t have anything to do with it.” That night the people saw a great light in the court, and there was very great fear on them. The day on the morrow they sent word to the priest of Lisahull, but he would not come, as the place was not in his parish. Word was sent to the priest of Kilmovee, then, but he had the same excuse.

There were a lot of poor friars in Cultya Mawn, and when they heard the story they went to the court without a person with them but themselves.

When they went in they began saying prayers, but they saw no corpse. After a time the smoke went, the lightning and thunder ceased, a door opened, and there came out a great man. The friars noticed that he had only one eye, and that it was in his forehead.

“In the name of God, who are you?” said a man of the friars.

“I am Crinnawn, son of Belore, of the Evil Eye. Let there be no fear on ye, I shall do ye no damage, for ye are courageous, good men. The people who were here are gone to eternal rest, body and soul. I know that ye are poor, and that there are plenty of poor people round about ye. Here are two purses for ye, one of them for yourselves, and the other one to divide upon the poor; and when all that will be spent, do ye come again. Not of this world am I, but I shall do no damage to anyone unless he does it to me first, and do ye keep from me.”

Then he gave them two purses, and said: “Go now on your good work.” The friars went home; they gathered the poor people and they divided the money on them. The people questioned them as to what it was they saw in the court. “It is a secret each thing we saw in the court, and it is our advice to ye not to go near the court, and no harm will come upon ye.”

The priests were covetous when they heard that the friars got plenty of money in the court, and the three of them went there with the hope that they would get some as the friars got it.

When they went in they began crying aloud: “Is there any person here? is there any person here?” Crinnawn came out of a chamber and asked: “What are ye looking for?” “We came to make friendship with you,” said the priests. “I thought that priests were not given to telling lies,” said Crinnawn; “ye came with a hope that ye would get money as the poor friars got. Ye were afraid to come when the people sent for ye, and now ye will not get a keenogue (mite?) from me, for ye are not worth it.”

“Don’t you know that we have power to banish you out of this place,” said the priests, “and we will make use of that power unless you will be more civil than you are.”

“I don’t care for your power,” said Crinnawn, “I have more power myself than all the priests that are in Ireland.”

“It’s a lie you’re speaking,” said the priests.

“Ye will see a small share of my power to-night,” said Crinnawn; “I will not leave a wattle over your heads that I will not sweep into yonder river, and I could kill ye with the sight of my eye, if I chose. Ye will find the roofs of your houses in the river to-morrow morning. Now put no other questions on me, and threaten me no more, or it will be worse for ye.”

There came fear on the priests, and they went home; but they did not believe that their houses would be without a roof before morning.

About midnight, that night, there came a blast of wind under the roof of the houses of the priests, and it swept them into the river forenent the court. There was not a bone of the priests but was shaken with terror, and they had to get shelter in the houses of the neighbours till morning.

In the morning, the day on the morrow, the priests came to the river opposite the court, and they saw the roofs that were on all their houses swimming in the water. They sent for the friars, and asked them to go to Crinnawn and proclaim a peace, and say to him that they would put no more trouble on him. The friars went to the court, and Crinnawn welcomed them, and asked them what they were seeking. “We come from the priests to proclaim a peace on you, they will trouble you no more.” “That is well for them,” said Crinnawn, “come with me now until ye see me putting back the roofs of the houses.” They went with him as far as the river, and then he blew a blast out of each nostril. The roofs of the houses rose up as well as they were when they were first put on. There was wonder on the priests, and they said: “The power of enchantment is not yet dead, nor banished out of the country yet.” From that day out neither priest nor anyone else would go near the Court of Crinnawn.

A year after the death of Mary Kerrigan, there was a pattern in Cultya Bronks. There were plenty of young men gathered in it, and amongst them was Paudyeen, the son of Mary Kerrigan. They drank whiskey till they were in madness. When they were going home, Paudyeen O’Kerrigan said: “There is money in plenty in the court up there, and if ye have courage we can get it.” As the drink was in them, twelve of them said: “We have courage, and we will go to the court.” When they came to the door, Paudyeen O’Kerrigan said: “Open the door, or we will break it.” Crinnawn came out and said: “Unless ye go home I will put a month’s sleep on ye.” They thought to get a hold of Crinnawn, but he put a blast of wind out of his two nostrils that swept the young men to a _lis_ (old circular rath) called Lisdrumneal, and put a heavy sleep on them, and a big cloud over them, and there is no name on the place from that out, but Lis-trum-nail (the fort of the heavy cloud).

On the morning, the day on the morrow, the young men were not to be found either backwards or forwards, and there was great grief amongst the people. That day went by without any account from the young men. People said that it was Crinnawn that killed them, for some saw them going to the court. The fathers and mothers of the young men went to the friars, and prayed them to go to Crinnawn and to find out from him where the young men were, dead or alive.

They went to Crinnawn, and Crinnawn told them the trick the young men thought to do on him, and the thing he did with them. “If it be your will, bestow forgiveness on them this time,” said the friars; “they were mad with whiskey, and they won’t be guilty again.” “On account of ye to ask it of me, I will loose them this time; but if they come again, I will put a sleep of seven years on them. Come with me now till you see them.”

“It’s bad walkers, we are,” said the friars, “we would be a long time going to the place where they are.”

“Ye won’t be two minutes going to it,” said Crinnawn, “and ye will be back at home in the same time.”

Then he brought them out, and put a blast of wind out of his mouth, and swept them to Lisdrumneal, and he himself was there as soon as they.

They saw the twelve young men asleep under a cloud in the _lis_, and there was great wonder on them. “Now,” said Crinnawn, “I will send them home.” He blew upon them, and they rose up like birds in the air, and it was not long until each one of them was at home, and the friars as well, and you may be certain that they did not go to the Court of Crinnawn any more.

Crinnawn was living in the court years after that. One day the friars went on a visit to him, but he was not to be found. People say that the friars got great riches after Crinnawn. At the end of a period of time the roof fell off the court, as everyone was afraid to go and live in it. During many years after that, people would go round about a mile, before they would go near the old court. There is only a portion of the walls to be found now; but there is no name on the old court from that day till this day, but Coort a Chrinnawn (Crinnawn’s Court).

NEIL O’CARREE.

There was no nicety about him. He said to his wife that he would go to the forge to get a doctoring instrument. He went to the forge the next day. “Where are you going to to-day?” said the smith. “I am going till you make me an instrument for doctoring.” “What is the instrument I shall make you?” “Make a _crumskeen_ and a _galskeen_” (crooked knife and white knife?). The smith made that for him. He came home.

When the day came—the day on the morrow—Neil O’Carree rose up. He made ready to be going as a doctor. He went. He was walking away. A red lad met him on the side of the high road. He saluted Neil O’Carree; Neil saluted him. “Where are you going?” says the red man. “I am going till I be my (_i.e._, a) doctor.“ ”It’s a good trade,” says the red man, “’twere best for you to hire me.” “What’s the wages you’ll be looking for?” says Neil. “Half of what we shall earn till we shall be back again on this ground.” “I’ll give you that,” says Neil. The couple walked on.

“There’s a king’s daughter,” says the red man, “with the (_i.e._, near to) death; we will go as far as her, till we see will we heal her.” They went as far as the gate. The porter came to them. He asked them where were they going. They said that it was coming to look at the king’s daughter they were, to see would they do her good. The king desired to let them in. They went in.

They went to the place where the girl was lying. The red man went and took hold of her pulse. He said that if his master should get the price of his labour he would heal her. The king said that he would give his master whatever he should award himself. He said, “if he had the room to himself and his master, that it would be better.” The king said he should have it.

He desired to bring down to him a skillet (little pot) of water. He put the skillet on the fire. He asked Neil O’Carree: “Where is the doctoring instrument?” “Here they are,” says Neil, “a crumskeen and a galskeen.”

He put the crumskeen on the neck of the girl. He took the head off her. He drew a green herb out of his pocket. He rubbed it to the neck. There did not come one drop of blood. He threw the head into the skillet. He knocked a boil out of it. He seized hold on the two ears. He took it out of the skillet. He struck it down on the neck. The head stuck as well as ever it was. “How do you feel yourself now?” “I am as well as ever I was,” said the king’s daughter.

The big man shouted. The king came down. There was great joy on him. He would not let them go away for three days. When they were going he brought down a bag of money. He poured it out on the table. He asked of Neil O’Carree had he enough there. Neil said he had, and more than enough, that they would take but the half. The king desired them not to spare the money.

“There’s the daughter of another king waiting for us to go and look at her.” They bade farewell to the king and they went there.

They went looking at her. They went to the place where she was lying, looking at her in her bed, and it was the same way this one was healed. The king was grateful, and he said he did not mind how much money Neil should take of him. He gave him three hundred pounds of money. They went then, drawing on home. “There’s a king’s son in such and such a place,” said the red man, “but we won’t go to him, we will go home with what we have.”

They were drawing on home. The king (had) bestowed half a score of heifers on them, to bring home with them. They were walking away. When they were in the place where Neil O’Carree hired the red man, “I think,” says the red man, “that this is the place I met you the first time.” “I think it is,” says Neil O’Carree. “Musha, how shall we divide the money?” “Two halves,” says the red man, “that’s the bargain was in it.” “I think it a great deal to give you a half,” says Neil O’Carree, “a third is big enough for you; I have a crumskeen and a galskeen (says Neil) and you have nothing.” “I won’t take anything,” said the red man, “unless I get the half.” They fell out about the money. The red man went and he left him.

Neil O’Carree was drawing home, riding on his beast. He was driving his share of cattle. The day came hot. The cattle went capering backwards and forwards. Neil O’Carree was controlling them. When he would have one or two caught the rest would be off when he used to come back. He tied his garrawn (gelding) to a bit of a tree. He was a-catching the cattle. At the last they were all off and away. He did not know where they went. He returned back to the place where he left his garrawn and his money. Neither the garrawn nor the money were to be got. He did not know then what he should do. He thought he would go to the house of the king whose son was ill.

He went along, drawing towards the house of the king. He went looking on the lad in the place where he was lying. He took a hold of his pulse. He said he thought he would heal him. “If you heal him,” said the king, “I will give you three hundred pounds.” “If I were to get the room to myself, for a little,” says he. The king said that he should get that. He called down for a skillet of water. He put the skillet on the fire. He drew his crumskeen. He went to take the head off him as he saw the red man a-doing. He was a-sawing at the head, and it did not come with him to cut it off the neck. The blood was coming. He took the head off him at last. He threw it into the skillet. He knocked a boil out of it. When he considered the head to be boiled enough he made an attempt on the skillet. He got a hold of the two ears. The head fell in _gliggar_ (a gurgling mass?), and the two ears came with him. The blood was coming greatly. It was going down, and out of the door of the room. When the king saw it going down he knew that his son was dead. He desired to open the door. Neil O’Carree would not open the door. They broke the door. The man was dead. The floor was full of blood. They seized Neil O’Carree. He was to hang the next day. They gathered a guard till they should carry him to the place where he was to hang. They went the next day with him. They were walking away, drawing towards the tree where he should be hanged. They stopped his screaming. They see a man stripped making a running race. When they saw him there was a fog of water round him with all he was running. When he came as far as them (he cried), “what are ye doing to my master?” “If this man is your master, deny him, or you’ll get the same treatment.” “It’s I that it’s right should suffer; it’s I who made the delay. He sent me for medicine, and I did not come in time, loose my master, perhaps he would heal the king’s son yet.”

They loosed him. They came to the king’s house. The red man went to the place where the dead man was. He began gathering the bones that were in the skillet. He gathered them all but only the two ears.

“What did you do with the ears?”

“I don’t know,” said Neil O’Carree, “I was so much frightened.”

The red man got the ears. He put them all together. He drew a green herb out of his pocket. He rubbed it round on the head. The skin grew on it, and the hair, as well as ever it was. He put the head in the skillet then. He knocked a boil out of it. He put the head back on the neck as well as ever it was. The king’s son rose up in the bed.

“How are you now?” says the red man.

“I am well,” says the king’s son, “but that I’m weak.”

The red man shouted again for the king. There was great joy on the king when he saw his son alive. They spent that night pleasantly.

The next day when they were going away, the king counted out three hundred pounds. He gave it to Neil O’Carree. He said to Neil that if he had not enough he would give him more. Neil O’Carree said he had enough, and that he would not take a penny more. He bade farewell and left his blessing, and struck out, drawing towards home.

When they saw that they were come to the place where they fell out with one another, “I think,” says the red man, “that this is the place where we differed before.” “It is, exactly,” said Neil O’Carree. They sat down and they divided the money. He gave a half to the red man, and he kept another half himself. The red man bade him farewell, and he went. He was walking away for a while. He returned back. “I am here back again,” said the red man, “I took another thought, to leave all your share of money with yourself. You yourself were open-handed. Do you mind the day you were going by past the churchyard. There were four inside in the churchyard, and a body with them in a coffin. There were a pair of them seeking to bury the body. There were debts on the body (_i.e._, it owed debts). The two men who had the debts on it (_i.e._, to whom it owed the debts), they were not satisfied for the body to be buried. They were arguing. You were listening to them. You went in. You asked how much they had on the body (_i.e._, how were they owed by the body). The two men said that they had a pound on the body, and that they were not willing the body to be buried, until the people who were carrying it would promise to pay a portion of the debts. You said, ‘I have ten shillings, and I’ll give it to ye, and let the body be buried.’ You gave the ten shillings, and the corpse was buried. It’s I who was in the coffin that day. When I saw you going a-doctoring, I knew that you would not do the business. When I saw you in a hobble, I came to you to save you. I bestow the money on you all entirely. You shall not see me until the last day, go home now. Don’t do a single day’s doctoring as long as you’ll be alive. It’s short you’ll walk until you get your share of cattle and your garrawn.”

Neil went, drawing towards home. Not far did he walk till his share of cattle and his nag met him. He went home and the whole with him. There is not a single day since that himself and his wife are not thriving on it.

I got the ford, they the stepping stones. They were drowned, and I came safe.

TRUNK-WITHOUT-HEAD.

Long ago there was a widow woman living in the County Galway, and two sons with her, whose names were Dermod and Donal. Dermod was the eldest son, and he was the master over the house. They were large farmers, and they got a summons from the landlord to come and pay him a year’s rent. They had not much money in the house, and Dermod said to Donal, “bring a load of oats to Galway, and sell it.” Donal got ready a load, put two horses under the cart, and went to Galway. He sold the oats, and got a good price for it. When he was coming home, he stopped at the half-way house, as was his custom, to have a drink himself, and to give a drink and oats to the horses.

When he went in to get a drink for himself, he saw two boys playing cards. He looked at them for a while, and one of them said: “Will you have a game?” Donal began playing, and he did not stop till he lost every penny of the price of the oats. “What will I do now?” says Donal to himself, “Dermod will kill me. Anyhow, I’ll go home and tell the truth.”

When he came home, Dermod asked him: “Did you sell the oats?” “I sold, and got a good price for it,” says Donal. “Give me the money,” says Dermod. “I haven’t it,” says Donal; “I lost every penny of it playing cards at the house half-way.” “My curse, and the curse of the four-and-twenty men on you,” says Dermod. He went and told the mother the trick Donal did. “Give him his pardon this time,” says the mother, “and he won’t do it again.” “You must sell another load to-morrow,” says Dermod, “and if you lose the price, don’t come here.”

On the morning, the day on the morrow, Donal put another load on the cart, and he went to Galway. He sold the oats, and got a good price for it. When he was coming home, and near the half-way house, he said to himself: “I will shut my eyes till I go past that house, for fear there should be a temptation on me to go in.” He shut his eyes; but when the horses came as far as the inn, they stood, and would not go a step further, for it was their custom to get oats and water in that place every time they would be coming out of Galway. He opened his eyes, gave oats and water to the horses, and went in himself to put a coal in his pipe.