Chapter XIV: Part 14

At some distance from Fintra, there lived at that time a famed champion, who taught feats of valor and arms, and was surnamed the Knight of Instruction. With this man Ceadach engaged to gain still more knowledge.

The Knight of Instruction had a daughter; and there was with him a second man learning, whose nickname was Red Face.

When the champions had learned all the feats from the knight, the two were in love with his daughter. Not wishing that one of his pupils should envy the other, the knight could not settle which man to choose. He called then his druid, and laid the whole question before him.

“My advice,” said the druid, “is this: Open two opposite doors in your castle; place your daughter half-way between them; and let the two champions pass out, one through one door, and one through the other. Whomever your daughter will follow, let her be the wife of that man.”

The champions had their own compact, that the man whom the young woman would follow should let the other have three casts of a spear at him, and he without right of defence; but if another would defend, he might let him.

The knight brought his daughter to the middle of the chamber, and opened the doors. The young woman went out after Ceadach.

Ceadach and his wife went their way then together; and he feared to stop at any place till he came to a great lonesome forest. He went to the middle of the forest, built a house there, and lived with his wife for a season.

One day as Fin was walking near the water at Fintra, he met a strange creature,—a woman to the waist, from the waist a fish. The human half was like an old hag. When Fin stopped before her, he greeted the hag. She returned the greeting, and asked him to play chess for a sentence.

“I would,” answered Fin, “if I had my own board and chessmen.”

“I have a good board,” said the fish-hag.

“If you have,” said Fin, “we will play; but if you win the first game, I must go for my own board, and you will play the second on that.”

The hag consented. They played on her chessboard, and the hag won that game.

“Well,” said Fin, “I must go for my own board, and do you wait till I bring it.”

“I will,” said the fish-hag.

Fin brought his own board; and they played, and he won.

“Now,” said Fin, “pass your sentence on me, since you won the first game.”

“I will,” said the hag; “and I place you under sentence of weighty druidic spells not to eat two meals off the one table, nor to sleep two nights in the one bed, nor to pass out by the door through which you came in, till you bring me the head of the Red Ox, and an account of what took the eye from the Doleful Knight of the Island, and how he lost speech and laughter. Now pass sentence on me.”

“You will think it too soon when you hear it,” said Fin, “but here it is for you. I place you under bonds of weighty druidic spells to stand on the top of that gable above there, to have a sheaf of oats fixed on the gable beyond you, and to have no earthly food while I’m gone, except what the wind will blow through the eye of a needle fixed in front of you.”

“Hard is your sentence, O Fin,” said the fish-hag. “Forgive me, and I’ll take from your head my sentence.”

“Never,” said Fin. “Go to your place without waiting.”

Before Fin departed, the fish hag had mounted the gable.

The fame of the Red Ox had spread through all lands in the world, and no man could go near him without losing life. The Fenians were greatly unwilling to face the Red Ox, and thought that no man could match him, unless, perhaps, Ceadach.

Though they knew not where Ceadach was living, nor where they were likely to find him, they started in search of that champion. They played with a ball, as they travelled, driving it forward before them, knowing that if Ceadach saw the ball he would give it a blow.

While passing the forest where Ceadach and his wife, the knight’s daughter, were hiding, one of the Fenians gave the ball a great blow; but as he aimed badly, the ball flew to one side, went far away, and fell into the forest.

Ceadach was walking away from his house when the ball fell, and he saw it. He pulled down a tree-branch, and, giving a strong, direct blow, drove the ball high in the air, and out of the forest.

“No one struck that blow,” said the Fenians, “but Ceadach, and he is here surely.” They went then toward the point from which they had seen the ball coming, and there they found Ceadach.

“A thousand welcomes, Fin MacCool,” said Ceadach. “Where are you going?”

“I am under sentence to bring the head of the Red Ox; and ’tis for it that I am going: but I never can bring it unless you assist me. Without you, I cannot lift from my head the sentence that is on it.”

“If it lay with me, I would go with you gladly; but I know that my wife will not let me leave her. But do as I tell you now. When you come to us to eat dinner, taste nothing, and when my wife asks you to eat, say that you will not eat till she grants a request: if she will not grant it, leave the house, and let all the Fenians follow; if she grants you a request, you are to ask that I go with you. I know that she will grant you any request, except to take me in your company; for she is in dread that I may meet Red Face.”

They went to the house; the wife welcomed Fin with the others, and prepared dinner. When meat was placed before Fin, he would not taste it.

“Why not eat, O King of the Fenians?”

“I have a request to make. If you grant it, I will eat; if not, neither I nor my men will taste food.”

“Any request in my power, I will grant,” said she, “except one.”

“What is that?” inquired Fin.

“If you want Ceadach to go with you, I’ll not grant that.”

“’Tis he that I want,” answered Fin.

“You’ll not get him.”

“Well, you may keep him,” said Fin, rising from the table; and all the men followed. Conan Maol, who was with them, thought it hard to leave the dinner untasted, so he took a joint of meat with him.

When Fin and the Fenians had gone, Ceadach said to his wife, “It is a great shame to us that Fin and the Fenians have left our house without tasting food, and this their first visit. Never can I face a man of the Fenians after what has happened this day.” And he talked till the wife consented to let him go with them.

Ceadach then whistled after Fin, who came back with his men; and they raised three shouts of joy when they heard that Ceadach would go with them. They entered the house then; all sat down to dinner, and they needed it badly.

After dinner, all set out together, and went to Ceadach’s father, the King of Sorach, who was very powerful, and had many ships (Fin and the Fenians had no ships at that time). Ceadach’s father had received no account of his son from the time that he left him at first, and was rejoiced at his coming.

Said Fin to the King of Sorach, “I need a ship to bear me to the land where the Red Ox is kept.”

“You may take the best ship I have,” said the king.

Fin chose the best ship, and was going on board with his men when Ceadach’s wife said to him, “When coming back, you are to raise black sails if Ceadach is killed, but white sails if he is living.”

Fin commanded, and the men turned the prow to the sea, and the stern to land; they raised the great sweeping sails, and took their smoothly-polished ship past harbors with gently-sloping shores, and there the ship left behind it pale-green wavelets. Then a mighty wind swept through great flashing waves with such force that not a nail in the ship was left unheated, nor the finger of a man inactive; and the ship raised with its sailing a proud, haughty ridge in the sea. When the wind failed, they sat down with their oars of fragrant beech or white ash, and with every stroke they sent the ship forward three leagues through the water, where fishes, seals, and monsters rose around them, making music and sport, and giving courage to the men; and they never stopped nor cooled till they entered the chief port of the land where the Red Ox was kept.

When all had landed; Ceadach said, “I need the fleetest man of the Fenians to help me against the Red Ox; and now tell me what each of you can do, and how fast he can run.”

“Let out,” said one man, “twelve hares in a field with twelve gaps in it, and I will not let a hare out through any gap of the twelve.”

“Take a sieve full of chaff,” said a second man, “to the top of a mountain; let the chaff go out with the wind; and I will gather all in again before as much as one bit of it comes to the ground.”

“When I run at full speed,” said a third man, “my tread is so light that the dry, withered grass is not crushed underneath me.”

“Now, Dyeermud,” said Ceadach, “I think that you were the swiftest of all when I was the guest of Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin; tell me, how swift are you now?”

“I am swifter,” said Dyeermud, “than the thought of a woman when she is thinking of two men.”

“Oh, you will do,” said Ceadach; “you are the fleetest of the Fenians; come with me.”

Fin and the Fenians remained near the ship, while Ceadach and Dyeermud went off to face the Red Ox.

The Red Ox’s resting-place was enclosed by a wall and a hedge; outside was a lofty stone pillar; on this pillar the Red Ox used to rub his two sides. The Ox had but one horn, and that in the middle of his forehead. With that horn, which was four feet in length, he let neither fly, wasp, gnat, nor biting insect come near, and whatever creature came toward him, he sniffed from a distance.

When he sniffed the two champions, he rushed at them. Ceadach bounded toward the pillar.

Dyeermud took shelter at the hedge, and waited to see what would happen.

Ceadach ran round the pillar, and the Red Ox ran after him. Three days and three nights did they run; such was the speed of the two that Dyeermud never caught sight of them during that time, nor did they have sight of each other: the Red Ox followed by scent. Near the close of the third day, when both were growing tired, the Ox, seeing Ceadach, stopped for an instant to run across and pierce him with his horn. Dyeermud got a glimpse of the Ox, then rose in the air like a bird, split the forehead of the Ox with one blow, and stretched him.

“My love on your blow,” said Ceadach; “and it was time for you to give it.”

“Purblindness and blindness to me,” replied Dyeermud, “if I saw the Ox till that instant.”

Both were now joyful; for they had the head to take with them.

“If Fin and his men had this carcass,” said Dyeermud, “it would give them beef for many a day.”

“Well, Dyeermud,” asked Ceadach, “how much of the Ox can you carry?”

“I think I can take one quarter, with the head.”

“If you can do that,” said Ceadach, “I’ll take the rest of the carcass myself.”

Cutting off one quarter, he thrust through it the point of the horn, put the horn on Dyeermud’s shoulder, with the head and quarter before and behind him. Ceadach took the other three quarters himself. Before they had gone half the way to the vessel, Dyeermud was tired, and Ceadach had to take that quarter as well as his own three; the head was as much as Dyeermud could carry.

When the two men appeared at the ship, all rejoiced greatly, and welcomed them. Fin took the borabu then, and sounded it from joy; this sound could be heard through the world. As the report had gone to all regions that Fin was under sentence to kill the Red Ox, when Red Face heard the borabu, he said to himself, “That is Fin; the Red Ox is killed; no one could kill him but Ceadach, and Ceadach is where the borabu is.” Red Face had the power of druidic spells; so he rose in the air, and soon dropped down near the Fenians, and was unseen till he stood there before them.

Said Red Face to Ceadach, “’Tis many a day that I am following you; you must stand your ground now.”

“What you ask is but fair,” answered Ceadach.

Red Face went to the distance of a spear’s cast, and hurled his spear at Ceadach; but Dyeermud sprang up and caught it on his heel. Red Face made a second cast. Goll MacMorna raised his hand to stop the spear; but it went through his hand, and, going farther, pierced Ceadach, and killed him.

Red Face then vanished; and no man knew when he vanished, or to what place he went.

When Ceadach fell, the Fenians raised seven loud cries of grief that drove the badgers from the glens in which they were sleeping.

Said Dyeermud to Fin, “Chew your thumb to know how we can bring Ceadach to life.”

Fin chewed his thumb from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, from the marrow to the juice, and then he knew that there was a sow with three pigs in the Eastern World, and if blood from one of these pigs were put on Ceadach’s wound, he would rise up well and healthy.

Fin took some men, and, leaving others to watch over Ceadach, set sail for the Eastern World, and never stopped till he anchored in a port near the place where the sow and her pigs were.

Fin knew all paths to the lair of the sow; and they went to it straightway. When they came, she was away hunting food; so they took the three pigs, hurried back to the vessel, set sail in all haste, and were soon out at sea. When the sow came back to her lair, it was empty. Then she found the scent of the men, followed it to the sea, and swam after the ship.

When the ship had made one-third of the voyage, the sow came in sight, and was soon near the stern. Fin ordered his men to throw out one pig of the three. The sow took the pig in her mouth, turned back, swam home, and left it in her lair. She turned a second time, followed the ship, and such was her speed and her venom, that little more than one-half of the voyage was over when the sow was in sight again. When near the ship, they threw her the second pig. The mother went back to her lair with the second pig, left it with the first, and rushed after the ship a third time. Land was in sight when they saw the sow raging on after them.

“Oh, we are lost!” cried the Fenians.

Dyeermud then took a bow with an arrow, and, resting the bow on another man’s shoulder, aimed so truly at the widely-opened mouth of the sow, that the arrow, going in through her mouth, pierced her blood veins, and in no long time she turned her back downward and died.

They landed in safety, bled the pig; and when they let some of the blood into Ceadach’s spear-wound, he sprang up alive.

When Ceadach was restored, Fin blew the borabu, and the Fenians raised seven shouts of joy that were heard throughout the whole kingdom. Then they set sail for Sorach.

Ceadach’s wife thought her husband long in coming, and was watching and waiting every day for him. At last she saw the ship with white sails, and was glad.

Fin and his men landed, but left Ceadach on board.

“Where is Ceadach?” asked the wife, running out to meet Fin.

“He is dead on the vessel,” said Fin.

“Why did you not raise black sails as you promised?”

“We were so troubled that we forgot it.”

“It was well for you to forget; for if you had raised black sails, I should have drowned every man of you.”

“Ceadach is living and well; have no fear,” said Fin, and he sounded the borabu.

Ceadach landed. His father and wife were so glad to see him that they feasted Fin and the Fenians for seven days and seven nights.

Fin told Ceadach’s wife of all their adventures, and what struggles they had in bringing her husband to life. She was glad; for the trouble with Red Face was ended.

Ceadach went now with Fin to visit the Doleful Knight of the Island; and they never halted nor stopped till they came to his castle.

Fin found the knight sitting at a great heavy table, his head on his hand, his elbow on the table, into which it had worn a deep hole; a stream of tears was flowing from his eye to the table, and from the table to the floor.

“A hundred thousand welcomes to you, Fin MacCool,” said the knight; and he began to weep more than ever. “I was once in prosperity, and at that time this was a pleasant place for a good man to visit; but now it is different. I have food in plenty, but no one to cook it.”

“If that’s all your trouble,” said Fin, “we can cure it.”

Fin’s men were not slow in preparing a dinner. When the dinner was eaten, the knight turned to Fin and inquired, “Why have you come to my castle, Chief of the Fenians of Erin?”

“I will tell you,” said Fin. Then he related his story, and all his adventures with Ceadach.

“Well,” said the knight, “it will shorten my life by seven years to give the tale of my sufferings; for they will be as fresh to me now, as when first I went through them. But as you are under bonds to know them, I will tell you.

“I was here in wealth and prosperity, myself and my three sons. We used to hunt beasts and birds with our dogs when it pleased us. On a May morning a hare came, and frisked before my hall-door. Myself and my three sons then followed her with dogs, and followed all day till the height of the evening. Then we saw the hare enter an old fairy fort. The opening was wide; we were able to follow. In we rushed, all of us, and the next thing we saw was a fine roomy building. We went in, looked around for the hare, but saw not a sight of her. There was no one within but an old man and woman. We were not long inside till three gruagachs came, each with a wild boar on his shoulders. They threw the wild boars on the floor, and told me to clean them, and cook them for dinner. One of my sons fell to cleaning a boar; but for every hair that he took from him, ten new ones came out, so the sooner he stopped work the better.

“Then one of the old gruagach’s sons placed the boars in a row, the head of the one near the tail of the other, and, taking a reed, blew once, the hair was gone from all three; twice, the three boars were dressed; a third time, all were swept into one caldron.

“When the meal was cooked and ready, a gruagach brought two spits to me, one of dull wood, the other formed of sharp iron. The old man asked, ‘Which will you choose?’

“I chose the sharp iron spit, went to the caldron, and thrust in the spit; but if I did, I raised only a poor, small bit of meat, mostly bone. That was what I and my three sons had for dinner.

“After dinner, the old man said, ‘Your sons may perform now a feat for amusement.’

“In three rooms were three cross-beams, as high from the floor as a man’s throat. In the middle of each beam was a hole. Through this hole passed a chain, with a loop at each end of it. In front of the hole on each side of the beam was a knife, broad and sharp. One loop of each chain was put on the neck of a son of mine, and one on the neck of a gruagach. Then each of the six was striving to save his own throat, and to cut off the head of the other man; but the gruagachs pulled my three sons to the cross-beams, and took the three heads off them.

“Then they dressed them, and boiled them for supper. When that supper was ready, they struggled to force me to eat some, but could not. Next they threw me across the broad table, plucked out one eye from my head, thrust a light in the socket, and made me lie there, and serve as a candlestick. In the morning, I was flung out through the door, while the gruagach cried after me, ‘You’ll not come to this castle a second time!’”

“Have you seen that hare since?” inquired Ceadach.

“I have, for she comes each May morning, and that renews and gives strength to my sorrow.”

“To-morrow will be May day; come with me, and we’ll hunt her,” said Ceadach.

“I will not,” said the Knight of the Island.

The hare came after breakfast next morning, and halted in front of the castle. The knight was unwilling to hunt, but still yielded to Ceadach, and followed with the others.

Time after time, they came close to the hare, but never could catch her. At last, in the height of the evening, when nearing the same fairy fort, the hound Bran snapped at the haunch of the hare, and took a full bite from her. All passed through the entrance, found the house, and no person inside but an old man and woman. The old woman was lying in bed, and she groaning.

“Have you seen a hare in this house?” inquired Ceadach.

“I have not,” said the old man.

Ceadach saw traces of blood on the bed, and went toward the old woman, who was covered up closely; raising the clothes, he said, “Maybe ’tis here that the hare is.”

The old woman was covered with blood, and wounded in the very same way as the hare. They knew then who was the cause of misfortune to the Knight of the Island, and who made the visits each year on May morning.

They were not long in the house when the gruagachs, the sons of the old man, came in, each with a wild boar on his shoulders. Seeing the Knight of the Island, they laughed, and said, “We thought you had enough of this place the first time that you came here.”

“I saw more than I wished to see,” said the Knight of the Island; “but I had to come this time.”

“Have you any man to cook dinner for us?” asked the old gruagach of Fin.

“I’ll do that myself,” put in Ceadach, who turned to one of the brothers, and asked, “Where is your reed; I must use it.”

The reed was brought. Ceadach blew once, the boars were clean; twice, they were dressed, and ready; thrice, they were in the caldron.

When the spits were brought, Ceadach took the dull wooden spit, thrust it into the pot, and took up all that was in there.

Fin, Ceadach, and the knight ate to their own satisfaction; then they invited the old gruagach and his three sons to dinner.

“What amusement have you in this place?” asked Fin, later in the evening.

“We have nothing,” said the old gruagach and his sons.

“Where are your chains?” asked Ceadach.

“We make no use of them now,” said the young gruagachs.

“You must bring them,” said Ceadach.

The chains were brought, drawn through the cross-beams, and three loops of them put on the necks of the gruagachs. No matter what strength was in the three brothers, nor how they struggled, Ceadach brought their throats to the knives, and took the three heads off them. Next they were boiled in the caldron, as the knight’s three sons had been boiled the first time. Then Ceadach seized the old gruagach, flung him across the broad table, plucked out one eye from his head, and fixed a light in the empty socket.

At sight of what the gruagachs passed through, the Doleful Knight of the Island let one roaring laugh out of him, his first laugh in seven years.

Next morning Ceadach, pointing to the Knight of the Island, said to the old gruagach, “Unless you bring this man’s three sons to life, I will take your own head from you.”

The bones of the three sons were in three heaps of dust outside the door. The gruagach took a rod of enchantment, and struck the bones. The three sons of the knight rose up as well and strong as ever, and went home. The Knight of the Island gave a feast to Fin and Ceadach. After that Fin, with his men and Ceadach, sailed back to the King of Sorach. Ceadach remained with his wife and father. Fin went to the harbor of Fintra, taking with him the head of the Red Ox, and the story of the Doleful Knight, to the fish-hag.

“Have you the head of the Red Ox?” asked the hag.

“I have,” answered Fin.

“You will give it to me,” said the hag.

“I will not,” answered Fin. “If I was bound to bring it, I was not bound to give it.”

When she heard that, the hag dropped to the earth, and became a few bones.

FIN MACCOOL, FAOLAN, AND THE MOUNTAIN OF HAPPINESS.

When Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin were at Fintra, they went hunting one day; and the man who killed the first deer was Dyeermud. When the hunt was over, they returned to the place where the first deer was started, and began, as was usual, to prepare the day’s feast. While preparing the feast, they saw a ship sailing into the harbor, with only one woman on board. The Fenians were greatly surprised at the speed of the vessel; and Dyeermud said to Fin, “I will go and see who is the woman coming in that vessel.”

“You killed the first deer,” replied Fin, “and the honors of the feast on this day are yours. I myself will go down and see who the woman is.”

The woman cast anchor, sprang ashore, and saluted Fin, when he came to the strand. Fin returned the salute, and, after a while, she asked, “Will you play a game of chess for a sentence?”

“I will,” answered Fin.

They played, and she won.

“What is your sentence on me?” inquired Fin.

“I sentence you, under bonds of heavy enchantment,” said she, “to take me for your wife.”

Fin had to marry the woman. After a time, she said, “I must leave you now for a season.”

Fin drove his sword then, with one mighty blow, into a tree-stump, and said, “Call your son Faolan [little wolf], and never send him to me until he is able to draw the sword from this stump.”

She took the stump with her, and sailed away homeward. She nursed her son for only three days, and preserved the rest of the milk for a different use. The boy was called Faolan, was trained well in the use of all arms, and when ten years of age, he was skilled beyond any master. One day there was a game of hurley, and Faolan played alone, against twenty one others. The rule of that game was that whoever won was to get three blows of his club on each one who played against him. Faolan gave three blows to each of the twenty-one men; among them was one who was very much hurt by the blows, and he began to say harsh words to Faolan, and added, “You don’t know your own father.”

Faolan was greatly offended at this. He went home to his mother, in tears, and asked, “Who is my father? I will never stop nor stay till I find him.”

“What caused your vexation?” asked the mother. “Why do you ask such a question at this time?”

Faolan told her the words of the player. At last she said, “Your father is Fin MacCool, Chief of the Fenians of Erin; but you are not to be sent to him till you can draw his sword from the tree-stump into which he drove it with one blow.”

“Show me the sword and the tree-stump,” said Faolan.

She took him then to the stump. With one pull, he drew out the sword.

“Prepare me food for the road,” said Faolan. “I will go to my father.”

The mother made ready three loaves of bread, kneaded them with the milk which she had saved, and baked them.

“My son,” said she, “do not refuse bread on the journey to any one whom you meet; give it from these loaves, even should you meet your worst enemy.”

She took down a sword then, gave it to him, and said, “This was your grandfather’s sword; keep it, and use it till a better one comes to you.”

Faolan took a blessing of his mother, set out on his journey, and was walking always, till he came to a harbor where he found a ship bound for Erin. He went on board, and was not sailing long, when a venomous hound rose up in the sea, and cast such high waves at the vessel as to throw it back a long distance.

Remembering his mother’s advice about sharing the bread, Faolan threw one loaf to the hound. This seemed to appease him. He had not sailed much further, when the hound rose again. Faolan threw out the second loaf; and the beast disappeared for a while, but rose the third time, and drove back the vessel. Faolan threw the third loaf; and, after disappearing the third time, the hound rose the fourth time. Having nothing to give, Faolan seized a brazen ball which his mother had given him, and, hurling it at the hound with good aim, killed him on the spot. As soon as the hound fell, there rose up a splendid youth, who came on board, and, shaking Faolan’s hand, said,—

“I thank you; you delivered me from enchantment. I am your mother’s brother; and there was nothing to free me till I ate three loaves kneaded with your mother’s milk, and was then killed by you with that brazen ball. You are near Ventry Strand now; among the first men you meet will be your own father. You will know him by his dress; and when you meet him, kneel down and ask for his blessing. As I have nothing else to give, here is a ring to wear on your finger, and whenever you look at it you will feel neither cold, thirst, nor hunger.”

When they landed, the uncle went his own way and vanished. Faolan saw champions playing on the strand, throwing a great weighty sledge.

Knowing Fin from his mother’s description, he knelt down at his feet, and asked for his blessing.

“If you are a son of mine,” said Fin, “you are able to hurl this sledge.”

“He is too young,” said Dyeermud, “to throw such a weight; and it is a shame for you to ask him to throw it.”

The youth then, growing angry, caught the sledge, and hurled it seven paces beyond the best man of the Fenians.

Fin shook hands with the youth; and his heart grew big at having such a son. Dyeermud shook his hand also, and swore that as long as he lived he would be to him a true comrade.

When dinner-time came, Fin bade Faolan sit down at his right hand, where Conan Maol, son of Morna, sat usually. Fin gave this place to Conan to keep him in humor. Conan grew enraged now, and said, “It is great impudence for a stripling to sit in my place.”

“I know not who you are,” said Faolan, “but from what I hear you must be Conan Maol, who has never a good word for any man; and I would break your head on the wall, but I don’t wish to annoy people present.”

It was a custom of the Fenians in eating to set aside every bone that had marrow for Oscar, and as Faolan had a thick marrow-bone in his hand, he began to pick out the marrow, and eat it. This enraged Oscar, and he said, “You must put that bone aside as the others put their bones; that is my due, and I will have it.”

“As the meat is mine,” said Faolan, “so is the marrow.”

Oscar snatched at the youth, and caught the bone by one end. Faolan held the other end. Both pulled till they broke the bone, then, seizing each other, they went outside for a struggle. As the two were so nearly related, the other men stopped them. Fin took Oscar aside then, and asked, “How long could you live if we let the youth keep his grip on you?”

“If he kept his grip with the same strength, I could not live five minutes longer.”

Fin took Faolan aside then, and asked the same question.

“I could live for twelve months, if he squeezed me no tighter.”

The two then kept peace with each other. All were very fond of Faolan, especially Dyeermud, who was a good, loyal comrade; and he warned Faolan to distrust and avoid Grainne, Fin’s wife, as much as he could. The youth was learning, meanwhile, to practise feats of activity and bravery. At the end of twelve months, the Fenians were setting out on a distant hunt, for which they had long been preparing. On the eve of the hunt, Grainne dropped on her knees before Fin, and begged him to leave Faolan with her for company, until he and the rest would return. Fin consented, and Faolan stayed with Grainne.

When all the others had gone to the great hunt, Faolan and Grainne went also to hunt in the neighborhood. They did not go far, and returned. After dinner, Grainne asked Faolan would he play a game of chess for a small sentence. He said that he would. They played, and he won.

“What is your sentence on me?” asked Grainne.

“I have no sentence at this time,” replied Faolan.

They played again, and she won.

“Now put your sentence on me,” said the youth.

“You will think it soon enough when you hear it. You are not to eat two meals off the same table, nor sleep two nights on the same bed, till you bring me the tallow of the three oxen on Sliav Sein [Mountain of Happiness].”

When he heard this sentence, he went off, threw himself face downward on his bed, and remained there without eating or drinking till the Fenians came back from the hunt. Fin and Dyeermud, not seeing Faolan when they came, went in search of him.

“Have you found Faolan?” asked Dyeermud of Fin, when he met him soon after.

“I have not,” answered Fin.

Dyeermud then went to see if he could find Faolan in bed. As the door of his chamber was fastened, and no one gave answer, Dyeermud forced it, and found Faolan on his face in the bed. After they had greeted each other, Faolan told of the trouble that was on him.

“I gave you warning against Grainne,” said Dyeermud; “but did you win any game of her?”

“I did; but have put no sentence on her yet.”

“I am glad,” answered Dyeermud; “and let me frame the sentence. I swear by my sword to be loyal to you; and where you fall, I will fall also. But be cheerful, and come to the feast.”

They went together, and Fin, seeing them, was glad. He knew, however, that something had happened to Faolan. Dyeermud went to Fin, and told him of the mishap to the youth. Fin was troubled at what had come on his son.

“I have sworn,” said Dyeermud, “to follow Faolan wherever he may be.”

“I will send with him,” said Fin, “the best man of the Fenians.”

Dyeermud, Oscar, and Goll, son of Morna, were summoned.

“What is your greatest feat?” inquired Fin of Goll.

“If I were to stand in the middle of a field with my sword in my hand on the rainiest day that ever rose, I could keep my head dry with my sword, not for that day alone, but for a day and a year,” answered Goll.

“That is a good feat,” said Fin. “What is your greatest feat, Oscar?”

“If I open a bag filled with feathers on a mountain-top of a stormy day, and let the feathers fly with the wind, the last feather will barely be out of the bag, when I will have every feather of them back into the bag again.”

“That is a very good feat,” answered Fin, “but it is not enough yet. Now, Dyeermud, what is your feat of swiftness?”

“If I were put on a space of seven hundred acres, and each acre with a hedge around it, and there were seven hundred gaps in the hedge of each acre, and seven hundred hares were put on each acre of the seven hundred, I would not let one hare out of the seven hundred acres for a day and a year.”

“That is a great feat,” remarked Fin; “that will do.”

“Chew your thumb, O Fin,” said Dyeermud, “and tell me if it is fated to us to come back from the journey?”

Fin chewed his thumb. “You will come back; but the journey will be a hard and a long one: you will be ankle deep in your own blood.”

Dyeermud went to Faolan, and told him what sentence to put upon Grainne.

On the following day, Fin led Grainne forth for her sentence; and Faolan said, “You are to stand on the top of Sliav Iolar [Mount Eagle], till I come back to Fintra; you are to hold in your hand a fine needle; you are to have no drink saving what rain you can suck through the eye of that needle, no food except what oats will be blown through the eye of that very needle from a sheaf on Sliav Varhin; and Dyeermud will give three blows of a flail to the sheaf to loosen the grain.”

Faolan and Dyeermud set out on their journey. They travelled three days, and saw no house in which they could rest for the night.

“When we find a house,” said Dyeermud, “we will have from the people a lodging, either with their good will, or in spite of them.”

“I will help you in that,” said Faolan.

On the evening of the fourth day, a large white-fronted castle appeared in the distance. They went toward it, and knocked at the door. A fine young woman welcomed them kindly, and kissed Faolan. “You and I,” said she, “were born at the same hour, and betrothed at our birth. Your mother married Fin to rescue her brothers, your uncles, from the bonds of enchantment.”

They sat down to eat and drink, the young woman, Dyeermud, and Faolan; they were not long eating when in came four champions, all torn, cut, and bleeding. When Dyeermud saw these, he started up, and seized his sword.

“Have no fear,” said the young woman to Dyeermud.

“We are returning from battle with a wild hag in the neighborhood,” said the four champions. “She is trying to take our land from us; and this is the seventh year that we are battling with the hag. All of her warriors that we kill in the daytime, she raises at night; and we have to fight them again the next day.”

“No man killed by my sword revives; and these will not, if I kill them,” said Dyeermud.

“They would revive after your sword,” said the four champions.

“Do you stay at home to-morrow,” said Dyeermud; “Faolan and I will give battle to the hag and her forces; no one whom we slay will trouble you hereafter.”

The four champions agreed, and gave every direction how to find the wild hag and her army. Faolan and Dyeermud went to the field; one began at one end, and one at the other, and fought till they met in the middle at sunset, and slew all the hag’s warriors.

“Go back to the castle,” said Faolan to Dyeermud; “I will rest here to-night, and see what gives life to the corpses.”

“I will stay,” replied Dyeermud, “and you may return.”

“No, I will stay here,” said Faolan; “if I want help, I will run to the castle.”

Dyeermud went back to the castle. About midnight, Faolan heard the voice of a man in the air just above him. “Is there any one living?” asked the voice. Faolan, with a bound, grasped the man, and, drawing him down with one hand, pierced him through with a sword in his other hand. The man fell dead; and then, instead of the old man that he seemed at first, he rose up a fresh young man of twenty two years. The young man embraced and thanked Faolan. “I am your uncle,” said he, “brother of the poisonous hound that you freed from enchantment at sea. I was fourteen years in the power of the wild hag, and could not be freed till my father’s sword pierced me. Give me that sword which belonged to my father. It was to deliver me that your mother gave you that blade. I will give you a better one still, since you are a greater champion than I. I will give you my grandfather’s sword; here it is. When the wild hag grows uneasy at my delay, she herself will hasten hither. She knew that you were to come and release me, and she is preparing this long time to meet you. For seven years, she has been making steel nails to tear you to pieces; and she has sweet music which she will play when she sees you: that music makes every man sleep when he hears it. When you feel the sleep coming, stab your leg with your sword; that will keep you awake. She will then give you battle; and if you chance to cut off her head, let not the head come to the body: for if it comes on the body, all the world could not take it away. When you cut off her head, grasp it in one hand, and hold it till all the blood flows out; make two halves of the head, holding it in your hand all the while; and I will remove the stone cover from a very deep well here at hand; and do you throw the split head into that well, and put the cover on again.”

The uncle went aside then; and soon the hag came through the air. Seeing Faolan, she began to play strains of beautiful music, which were putting him to sleep; but he thrust his new sword in the calf of his leg, and kept away sleep. The wild hag, outwitted, attacked the youth fiercely, and he went at her in earnest. Every time that she caught him with her nails, she scraped skin and flesh from his head to his heels; and then, remembering his mother, and being aroused by his uncle, he collected his strength, and with one blow cut the head off the hag; but he was so spent from the struggle that it took him some time to seize the head, and so weak was he that he could not raise his hand to split it.

“Lay your sword on the head; the blade alone will split it!” cried the uncle.

Faolan did this. The sword cut the head; and then Faolan threw the head into the well. Just as he was going to cover the well, the head spoke, and said, “I put you under bonds of heavy enchantment not to eat two meals off the same table, nor sleep two nights on the same bed, till you tell the Cat of Gray Fort that you destroyed the wild hag out of her kingdom.”

The uncle embraced Faolan then, and said, “Now I will go to my sister, your mother; but first I will guide you to this hag’s enchanted well: if you bathe in its water, you will be as sound and well as ever.”

Faolan went, bathed in the well, and, when fully recovered, returned to the castle. Thinking Gray Fort must be near by, he did not rouse Dyeermud, but went alone in search of the cat. He travelled all day, and at last saw a great fort with the tail of a cat sticking out of it. “This may be the cat,” thought he, and he went around the whole fort to find the head. He found it thrust out just beyond the tail.

“Are you the Cat of Gray Fort?” inquired Faolan.

“I am,” said the cat.

“If you are,” said Faolan, “I destroyed the wild hag out of her kingdom.”

“If you did,” said the cat, “you will kill no one else; for the hag was my sister.”

The cat rushed at Faolan then; and, bad as the hag had been, the cat was far worse. The two fought that night furiously, till the following morning, when Faolan cut the cat in two halves across the middle. The half that the head was on ran around trying to meet the other half; but before it could do so, Faolan cut the head off the front half. Then the head spoke, and said,—

“I put you under bonds of enchantment not to eat two meals off the one table, nor sleep two nights on the one bed, till you tell the Kitten of Cul MacKip that you killed the Cat of Gray Fort and destroyed the wild hag out of her kingdom.”

Faolan then hurried forward to find the kitten. Thinking that her place was near, he did not go back to the castle for Dyeermud, but held on the whole day, walking always. Toward evening, he saw a castle, went toward it, and entered it. When inside he saw half a loaf of barley-bread and a quart of ale placed on the window. “Whoever owns these, I will use them,” said the youth.

When he had eaten and drunk, he put down a fire for the night, and saw a kitten lying near the ashes. “This may be the Kitten of Cul MacKip,” thought he; and, shaking it, he asked, “Are you the Kitten of Cul MacKip?”

“I am,” said the kitten.

“If you are,” said Faolan, “then I tell you that I killed the Cat of Gray Fort and destroyed the wild hag out of her kingdom.”

“If you did,” said the kitten, “you will never kill any one else,” and, starting up, the kitten stretched, and was as big as a horse in a moment. She sprang at Faolan, and he at her. They fought fiercely that night, and the following day, but Faolan, toward evening, swept the head off the kitten; but as he did, the head spoke, and said, “I put you under bonds of heavy enchantment not to eat two meals off the same table, nor sleep two nights on the same bed, till you tell the Dun Ox that you slew the Kitten of Cul MacKip, killed the Cat of Gray Fort, and destroyed the wild hag out of her kingdom.”

Before setting out, Faolan saw a brass ball on the window, and, taking it, said to himself, “I may kill some game with this on the road.”

Away he went then, and walked on till he came to where the road lay through a wood; near the road was a forester’s cabin. Out came the forester with a hundred thousand welcomes.

“Glad am I to see you; gladder still would I be if your comrade, Dyeermud, were with you,” said the forester.

“Can you tell me where the Dun Ox is?” asked Faolan.

“In this wood,” said the forester; “but do you bring your comrade to help you against the Dun Ox; by no chance can you slay him alone. The Dun Ox has only one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead; over that eye is a shield of white metal; from that shield two bars of iron run back to the tail of the ox. Behind him, two champions are on guard always; and when any one nears him, the ox sniffs the stranger, and roars; the champions lean on the bars then, and raise up the shield. When the one eye of the ox sees the person approaching, that moment the person falls dead. What are your chances of slaying that ox? Go back for your comrade.”

“I will not,” said Faolan; “the ox will fall by me, or I by the ox.”

“It is you that will fall,” said the forester.

Faolan entered the cabin, where the forester treated him well. Next morning the forester showed the path that lay toward the place where the ox was. Faolan had not gone far when the ox roared, and, looking in the direction of the roar, he saw the two champions just seizing the bars to raise up the shield, so, failing other means, he sent the ball, with a well-aimed cast, and crushed in the forehead of the ox through the shield. The ox fell dead, but, before falling, his eye turned on Faolan, who dropped dead also.

Dyeermud slept a hero’s sleep of seven days and seven nights. When he woke, and found no tidings of Faolan, he was furious; but the four champions calmed him; and the young woman said, “The wild hag may have killed him; but if as much as one bone of his body can be found, I will bring him to life again.”

Dyeermud, Faolan’s betrothed, and her four brothers set out, and, coming to the battle-field, found the army of the wild hag slain, but no trace of Faolan. They went to the well then, and saw the split head there.

The six went to Gray Fort, and found the cat dead, the hind-part in one place, the fore-part in a second, and the head in a third.

“The head must have sent him to the Kitten of Cul MacKip,” said the young woman; “that kitten has twice as much witch power as the cat and the old hag; all three are sisters.”

They went farther, and, finding the kitten dead, went to find the Dun Ox; “for Faolan must be dead near him,” said the young woman. When they came to his cabin, the forester greeted them, and gave a hundred thousand welcomes to Dyeermud, who was surprised, and inquired, “How do you know me? I have never been in this country before.”

“I know you well; for I saw you two years ago in combat with the Champion of the Eastern World on Ventry Strand. Many persons were looking at that combat, but you did not see them. I was there with the others.”

“Have you seen a young champion pass this way?” asked Dyeermud.

“I have,” said the forester; “but he must have perished by the Dun Ox, for I have not heard the ox bellow this long time.”

The six spent that night at the forester’s cabin; and, setting out next morning early, they soon found Faolan. The young woman bathed him with some fluid from a vial, and, opening his mouth, poured the rest down his throat. He rose up at once, as sound and healthy as ever. All went to the ox, which they found lying dead, and the two champions also; and, searching about, they found the brazen ball sunk in the earth some distance away. Faolan took it up carefully. They went back to the forester’s cabin, and enjoyed themselves well.

“Do you know where the Mountain of Happiness is?” inquired Dyeermud of the forester, during the night.