Chapter III: Part 3

“You will have the hardest task of all to-morrow,” said the old man.

“What is that?” asked the young champion.

“The king’s daughter will come to a window in the highest chamber of the castle with a ball in her hand: she will throw the ball through the window, and you must catch it on your hurley, and keep it up during two hours and a half; never let it touch the ground. There will be a hundred champions striving to take the ball from you, but follow my advice. The champions, not knowing where the ball will come down when the king’s daughter throws it, will gather near the front of the castle; and if either of them should get the ball, he might keep it and spoil you. Do you stand far outside; you will have the best chance. I don’t know, though, what you are to do, as you have no hurley, but wait. In my youth I was great to play at hurley, and I never met a man that could match me. The hurley I had then must be in this house somewhere.”

The old man searched the house through, and where did he find the hurley but up in the loft, and it full of dust; he brought it down. Cian swung it, knocked the dust from the hurley, and it was as clean as when made.

“It is glad I am to find this, for any other hurley in the kingdom would not do you, but only this very one. This hurley has the virtue in it, and only for that it would not do.”

Both were very glad, and made three parts of that night, as they had of the nights before. Next morning Cian rose, washed his hands and face, and begged mercy and help of God for that day.

After breakfast he went to the king’s castle, and soon many champions came around him. The king was outside before him, and asked what he wanted that day.

“I want your daughter and Glas Gainach.”

“You will not get my daughter and Glas Gainach till you do the work I’ll give, and I’ll give you the toughest task ever put before you. At midday, my daughter will throw out a ball through the window, and you must keep that ball in the air for two hours and a half: it must never touch ground in that time, and when the two hours and a half are spent, you must drive it in through the same window through which it went out; if not, I will have your head on a spike this evening.”

“God help us!” said Cian.

All the champions were together to see which man would get the ball first; but Cian, thinking of the old man’s advice, stood outside them all. At midday the king’s daughter sent out the ball through the highest window; and to whom should it go but to Cian, and he had the luck of getting it first. He drove the ball with his hurley, and for two hours and a half he kept it in the air, and did not let another man touch it. Then he gave it a directing blow, and sent it in through the window to the king’s daughter.

The king watched the ball closely; and when it went in, he ran to Cian, shook his hand warmly, and never stopped till he took him to his daughter’s high chamber. She kissed him with joy and great gladness. He had done a thing that no other had ever done.

“I have won the daughter and Glas Gainach from you now,” said Cian.

“You have,” said the king; “and they are both yours. I give them with all my heart. You have earned them well, and done what no other man could do. I will give you one-half of the kingdom till my death, and all of it from that out.”

Cian and the king’s daughter were married. A great feast was made, and a command given out that all people of the kingdom must come to the wedding. Every one came; and the wedding lasted seven days and nights, to the pleasure of all, and the greatest delight of the king. Cian remained with the king; and after a time his wife had a son, the finest and fairest child ever born in Spain, and he was increasing so that what of him didn’t grow in the day grew in the night, and what did not grow in the night grew in the day, and if the sun shone on any child, it shone on that one. The boy was called Cormac after Cian’s father, Cormac Mac Art.

Cian remained with the King of Spain till Cormac’s age was a year and a half. Then he remembered his promise to Elin Gow to bring back Glas Gainach.

Cian put stores in the vessel in which he had come, and placed Glas Gainach inside, firmly fettered. He gave then the stem of his ship to the ocean, the stern to land, raised the limber sails; and there was the work of a hundred men on each side, though Cian did the work all alone. He sailed through the main ocean with safety till he came to Tramor,—the best landing-place in Erin at that time. Glas Gainach was brought to shore carefully, and Cian went on his way with her to go to Elin Gow’s house at Cluainte.

There was no highway from Tramor but the one; and on that one were three brothers, three robbers, the worst at that time in Erin. These men knew all kinds of magic, and had a rod of enchantment. Cian had brought much gold with him on the way, coming as a present to his father.

The three brothers stopped Cian, saluted him, and asked would he play a game. He said that he would. They played, and toward evening the robbers had the gold won; then they said to Cian, “Now bet the cow against the gold you have lost, and we will put twice as much with it.” He laid the cow as a wager, and lost her.

One of the three robber brothers struck Cian with the rod of enchantment, and made a stone pillar of him, and made an earth mound of Glas Gainach with another blow. The two remained there, the man and the cow, by the roadside.

Cian’s son Cormac was growing to manhood in Spain, and heard his mother and grandfather talk of his father, and he thought to himself, “There was no man on earth that could fight with my father; and I promise now to travel and be walking always till I find out the place where he is, living or dead.”

As Cormac had heard that his father was from Erin, to Erin he faced, first of all. The mother was grieved, and advised him not to go wandering. “Your father must be dead, or on the promise he made me he’d be here long ago.”

“There is no use in talking; the world will not stop me till I know what has happened to my father,” said Cormac.

The mother could not stop him; she gave her consent. He turned then to his grandfather. “Make ready for me the best vessel you have,” said he. The vessel was soon ready with provisions for a day and a year, and gold two thousand pieces. He embarked, and went through the main ocean faster than his father had gone till he sailed into Tramor. He was on his way walking till he came to the robbers about midday.

They saluted him kindly, thinking he had gold, and asked, “Will you play a game with us?”

“I will,” said Cormac; “I have never refused.”

They played. The robbers gained, and let him gain; they were at him the best of the day, till they won the last piece of gold of his two thousand pieces.

When he had lost what he had, he was like a wild man, and knew not what to do for a while. At last Cormac said to himself, “It is an old saying never contradicted that strength will get the upper hand of enchantment.” He jumped then, and caught two of the three robbers, one in each hand, and set them under his two knees. The third was coming to help the two; but Cormac caught that one with his hand and held the three, kept them there, and said, “I will knock the heads off every man of you.”

“Do not do that,” begged the three. “Who are you? We will do what you ask of us.”

“I am seeking my father, Cian Mac Cormac, who left Spain eighteen years ago with Glas Gainach.”

“Spare us,” said the three brothers; “we will give back your gold and raise up your father with Glas Gainach.”

“How can ye do that,” asked Cormac, “or where is my father?”

“He is that pillar there opposite.”

“And where is Glas Gainach?”

They showed him the earth mound.

“How can ye bring them back to their own shapes?” asked Cormac.

“We have a rod of enchantment,” said the brothers; and they told where the rod was. When Cormac had a true account of the rod, what he did was to draw out his sword and cut the heads off the three brothers, saying, “Ye will never again rob any man who walks this way.” Cormac then found the rod of enchantment, went to the pillar, gave it a blow, and his father came forth as well and healthy as ever.

“Who are you?” asked Cian of Cormac.

“I am your son Cormac.”

“Oh, my dear son, how old are you?”

“I’m in my twentieth year,” said Cormac. “I heard my mother and grandfather talk of your bravery, and I made up my mind to go in search of you, and be walking always till I found you. I said I’d face Erin first, for ’twas there you went with Glas Gainach. I landed this morning, met these three robbers; they won all my gold. I was like a wild man. I caught them, and swore I would kill them. They asked who was I; I told them. They said you were the stone pillar; that they had a rod that would raise you up with Glas Gainach. They told where the rod was. I took the heads off them, and raised you with the rod.”

Now Cormac struck the earth mound, and Glas Gainach rose up as well as before. Everything was now in its own place, and they were glad. Cian would not stop till he brought Glas Gainach to Elin Gow, so he was walking night and day till he came here behind to Cluainte, where Elin Gow was living. He screeched out Elin Gow’s name, told him to come. He came out; and when he saw Cian and Glas Gainach he came near fainting from joy. Cian put Glas Gainach’s horn in his hand, and said, “I wished to keep the promise I made when you spared my head; and it was gentle of you to spare it, for great was the loss that I caused you;” and he told all that had happened,—how he had won and lost Glas Gainach, and lost her through the robbers.

“Who is this brave youthful champion with you?” asked Elin Gow.

“This is my son, and but for him I’d be forever where the three robbers put me. I was eighteen years where they left me; but for that, the cow would have been with you long ago. What were you doing all this time?” asked Cian of Elin Gow.

“Making swords and weapons, but I could not have lived without the support of your father.”

“He promised me that,” said Cian, “before I left Erin. I knew that he would help you.”

“Oh, he did!” said Elin Gow.

The father and son left good health with Elin Gow, and never stopped nor stayed till they reached the castle of Cian’s father. The old king had thought that Cian was dead, as he had received no account of him for so many years. Great was his joy and gladness, and great was the feast that he made.

Cian remained for a month, and then went to the house of the robbers, took out all its treasures, locked up the place in the way that no man could open it; then he gave one-half his wealth to his father. He took the rest to Spain with his son, and lived there.

Elin Gow had grown old, and he was in dread that he had not the strength to follow Glas Gainach, and sent a message to Caol na Crua, the fleetest champion in Kerry. Caol came. Elin Gow agreed to pay him his price for minding the cow, and was glad to get him. He told Caol carefully how to herd the cow. She travelled as before, and was always at home before nightfall.

Glas Gainach had milk for all; and when any one came to milk her she would stop, and there never was a vessel that she did not fill. One woman heard this; and once when Glas Gainach was near a river, the woman brought a sieve and began to milk. She milked a long time. At last the cow saw the river white with milk; then she raised her leg, gave the woman a kick on the forehead, and killed her.

Caol na Crua was doing well, minding the cow all the time, till one evening Glas Gainach walked between the two pillars where she used to scratch herself; when she was full, her sides would touch both pillars. This evening she bellowed, and Elin Gow heard her. Instead of going home then, she went down to a place northwest of Cluainte, near a ruin; she used to drink there at times, but not often. Caol na Crua did not know this. He thought she was going into the sea, and caught her tail to hold her back. With that, instead of drinking, she went straight toward the water. Caol tried to hold her. She swept him along and went through the ocean, he keeping the grip he had, and she going with such swiftness that he was lying flat on the sea behind her; and she took him with her to Spain and went to the king, and very joyful was the king, for they were in great distress for butter while Glas Gainach was gone.

MOR’S SONS AND THE HERDER FROM UNDER THE SEA.

In old times, there was a great woman in the southwest of Erin, and she was called Mor. This woman lived at Dun Quin; and when she came to that place the first time with her husband Lear, she was very poor. People say that it was by the water she came to Dun Quin. Whatever road she took, all she had came by the sea, and went the same way.

She built a small house, and their property was increasing little by little. After a while she had three sons, and these grew to be very fine boys and then strong young men.

The two elder sons set out to try their fortunes; they got a vessel, sailed away on the sea, and never stopped nor halted till they came to the Kingdom of the White Strand, in the eastern world. There they stayed for seven years, goaling and sporting with the people.

The king of that country wished to keep them forever, because they were strong men, and had risen to be great champions.

The youngest son remained at home all the time, growing to be as good a man as his brothers. One day he went out to look at a large field of wheat which his mother had, and found it much injured.

“Well, mother,” said he when he came in, “all our field is destroyed by something. I don’t know for the world what is it. Something comes in, tramples the grain and eats it.”

“Watch the field to-night, my son, and see what is devouring our grain.”

“Well, mother, boil something for me to eat to give me strength and good luck for the night.”

Mor baked a loaf, and boiled some meat for her son, and told him to watch well till the hour of night, when perhaps the cattle would be before him.

He was watching and looking there, till all at once, a little after midnight, he saw the field full of cattle of different colors,—beautiful colors, blue, and red, and white. He was looking at them for a long time, they were so beautiful. The young man wanted to drive the beasts home with him, to show his mother the cattle that were spoiling the grain. He had them out of the field on the road when a herder stood before him, and said, “Leave the cattle behind you.”

“I will not,” said Mor’s son; “I will drive them home to my mother.”

“I will not let them with you,” said the herder.

“I’ll carry them in spite of you,” replied Mor’s son.

He had a good strong green stick, and so had the herder; the two faced each other, and began to fight. The herder was too strong for Mor’s son, and he drove off the cattle into the sea.

“Oh,” said the herder, as he was going, “your mother did not boil your meat or bake your loaf rightly last night; she gave too much fire to the loaf and the meat, took the strength out of them. You might do something if your mother knew how to cook.”

When Mor’s son went home, his mother asked, “Did you see any cattle, my son?”

“I did, mother; the field was full of them. And when I was bringing the herd home with me to show you, a man stood there on the road to take the beasts from me; we fought, and when he beat me and was driving the cattle into the sea, what did he say but that you boiled the meat and baked the loaf too much last night. To-night, when you boil my meat, do not give it half the fire; leave all the strength in the meat and the loaf.”

“I will,” said the mother.

When night came, the dinner was ready. The young man ate twice as much of the meat and the loaf as the evening before. About the same hour, just after midnight, he went to the field, for he knew now what time the cattle would be in it. The field was full of the same cattle of beautiful colors.

Mor’s son drove the beasts out, and was going to drive them home, when the herder, who was not visible hitherto, came before him and said, “I will not let the cattle with you.”

“I will take them in spite of you,” replied Mor’s son.

The two began to fight, and Mor’s son was stronger this time.

“Why do you not keep your cattle out of my wheat?” asked he of the herder.

“Because I know very well that you are not able to take them with you.”

“If I am not able to take the cattle, you may have them and the wheat as well,” said Mor’s son.

The herder was driving the cattle one way, and Mor’s son was driving them the opposite way; and after they had done that for a while, they faced each other and began to fight again.

Mor’s son was doubly angry at the herder this night for the short answers that he gave. They fought two hours; then the herder got the upper hand. Mor’s son was sorry; and the herder, as he drove the cattle to the sea, called out, “Your mother gave too much fire to the meat and the loaf; still you are stronger to-night than you were last night.”

Mor’s son went home.

“Well, my son,” asked the mother, “have you any news of the cattle and the herder?”

“I have seen them, mother.”

“And what did the herder do?”

“He was too strong for me a second time, and drove the cattle into the sea.”

“What are we to do now?” asked the mother. “If he keeps on in this way, we’ll soon be poor, and must leave the country altogether.”

“The herder said, as he drove the cattle away, ‘Your mother gave too much fire to the meat and the loaf; still you are stronger to-night than you were last night.’ Well, mother, if you gave too much fire to my dinner last night, give but little to-night, and I will leave my life outside or have the cattle home with me this time. If I do not beat him, he may have the wheat as well as the cattle after to-night.”

Mor prepared the dinner; and this time she barely let the water on the meat begin to bubble, and to the bread she gave but one roast.

He ate and drank twice as much as the day before. The dinner gave him such strength that he said, “I’ll bring the cattle to-night.”

He went to the field, and soon after midnight it was full of cattle of the same beautiful colors; the grain was spoiled altogether. He drove the cattle to the road, and thought he had them. He got no sight of the herder till every beast was outside the field, and he ready to drive them home to his mother. Then the herder stood before him, and began to drive the cattle toward the sea.

“You’ll not take them this time,” said Mor’s son.

“I will,” said the herder.

They began to fight, caught each other, dragged, and struggled long, and in the heel of the battle Mor’s son was getting the better of the herder.

“I think that you’ll have the upper hand of me this time,” said the herder; “and ’tis my own advice I blame for it. You’ll take the cattle to-night in spite of me. Let me go now, and take them away with you.”

“I will,” said Mor’s son. “I will take them to the house, and please my mother.”

He drove the cattle home, and said to his mother, “I have the cattle here now for you, and do whatever you wish with them.”

The herder followed Mor’s son to the house.

“Why did you destroy all my grain with your cattle?” asked Mor.

“Let the cattle go with me now, and I promise that after to-night your field of wheat will be the best in the country.”

“What are we to do?” asked Mor of the son. “Is it to let the cattle go with him for the promise he gives?”

“I will do what you say, mother.”

“We will give him the cattle,” said Mor.

“Well,” said the son to the herder, “my mother is going to give you the cattle for the promise that our grain will be the best in the country when ’tis reaped. We ought to be friends after the fighting; and now take your cattle home with you, though you vexed and hurt me badly.”

“I am very grateful to you,” said the herder to Mor’s son, “and for your kindness you will have plenty of cattle and plenty of wheat before you die, and seeing that you are such a good man I will give you a chance before I leave you. The King of Mayo has an only daughter; the fairies will take her from him to-morrow. They will bring her through Daingean, on the shoulders of four men, to the fairy fort at Cnoc na Hown. Be at the cross-roads about two o’clock to-morrow night. Jump up quickly, put your shoulder under the coffin, the four men will disappear and leave the coffin on the road; do you bring what’s in the coffin home with you.”

Mor’s son followed the herder’s directions. He went toward Daingean in the night, for he knew the road very well. After midnight, he was at the cross-roads, waiting and hidden. Soon he saw the coffin coming out against him, and the four men carrying it on their shoulders.

The young man put his shoulder under the coffin; the four dropped it that minute, and disappeared. Mor’s son took the lid off the coffin; and what did he find lying inside but a beautiful woman, warm and ruddy, sleeping as if at home in her bed. He took out the young woman, knowing well that she was alive, and placing her on his back, left the coffin behind at the wayside.

The woman could neither walk nor speak, and he brought her home to his mother. Mor opened the door, and he put the young woman down in the corner.

“What’s this you brought me? What do I want with the like of her in the house?”

“Never mind, mother; it may be our luck that will come with her.”

They gave her every kind of drink and nourishing food, for she was very weak; when daylight came, she was growing stronger, and could speak. The first words she said were, “I am no good to you in the way that I am now; but if you are a brave man, you will meet with your luck to-morrow night. All the fairies will be gathered at a feast in the fort at Cnoc na Hown; there will be a horn of drink on the table. If you bring that horn, and I get three sips from it (if you have the heart of a brave man you will go to the fort, seize the horn, and bring it here), I shall be as well and strong as ever, and you will be as rich yourself as any king in Erin.”

“I have stood in great danger before from the like of them,” replied Mor’s son. “I will make a trial of this work, too.”

“Between one and two o’clock in the night you must go to the fort,” said the young woman, “and you must carry a stick of green rowan wood in your hand.”

The young man went to the fairy fort, keeping the stick carefully and firmly in his hand. At parting, the young woman warned him, saying, “They can do you no harm in the world while you have the stick, but without the stick there is no telling what they might do.”

When Mor’s son came to Cnoc na Hown, and went in through the gate of the fairy fort, he saw a house and saw many lights flashing in different places. In the kitchen was a great table with all sorts of food and drink, and around it a crowd of small men. When he was making toward the table, he heard one of the men say,—

“Very little good will the girl be to Mor’s son. He may keep her in the corner by his mother. There will be neither health nor strength in her; but if she had three drinks out of this horn on the table here, she would be as well as ever.”

He faced them then, and, catching the horn, said, “She will not be long without the drink!”

All the little men looked at one another as he hurried through the door and disappeared. He had the stick, and they could not help themselves; but all began to scold one another for not having the courage to seize him and take the horn from him.

Mor’s son reached home with the horn. “Well, mother,” said he, “we have the cure now;” and he didn’t put the horn down till the young woman had taken three drinks out of it, and then she said,—

“You are the best champion ever born in Erin, and now take the horn back to Cnoc na Hown; I am as well and hearty as ever.”

He took the horn back to the fairy fort, placed it on the table, and hurried home. The fairies looked at one another, but not a thing could they do, for the stick was in his hand yet.

“The woman is as well as ever now,” said one of the fairies when Mor’s son had gone, “and we have lost her;” and they began to scold one another for letting the horn go with him. But that was all the good it did them; the young woman was cured.

Next day the young woman said to Mor’s son, “I am well now, and I will give you a token to take to my father and mother in Mayo.”

“I will not take the token,” said he; “I will go and seek out your father, and bring back some token to you first.”

He went away, searched and inquired till he made out the king’s castle; and when he was there, he went around all the cattle and went away home to his mother at Tivorye with every four-footed beast that belonged to the king.

“Well, mother,” said he, “it is the luck we have now; and we’ll have the whole parish under stock from this out.”

The young woman was not satisfied yet, and said, “You must go and carry a token to my father and mother.”

“Wait awhile, and be quiet,” answered Mor’s son. “Your father will send herders to hunt for the stock, and these men will have token enough when they come.”

Well, sure enough, the king’s men hunted over hills and valleys, found that the cattle had been one day in such a place and another day in another place; and they followed on till at length and at last they came near Mor’s house, and there they saw the cattle grazing above on the mountain.

There was no house in Dun Quin at that time but Mor’s house, and there was not another in it for many a year after.

“We will send a man down to that house,” said the herders, “to know can we get any account of what great champion it was that brought the cattle all this distance.”

What did the man see when he came near the house but his own king’s daughter. He knew the young woman, and was struck dumb when he saw her, and she buried two months before at her father’s castle in Mayo. He had no power to say a word, he forgot where he was, or why he was sent. At last he turned, ran up to the men above on the mountain, and said, “The king’s daughter is living below in that house.”

The herders would not believe a word he said, but at last three other men went down to see for themselves. They knew the king’s daughter, and were frightened; but they had more courage, and after a while asked, “Where is the man that brought the cattle?”

“He is sleeping,” said the king’s daughter. “He is tired after the long journey; if you wish, I will wake him.”

She woke Mor’s son, and he came out.

“What brought you here?” asked he of the men.

“We came looking for our master’s cattle; they are above on the mountain, driven to this place by you, as it seems. We have travelled hither and over till we found them.”

“Go and tell your master,” said Mor’s son, “that I brought the cattle; that Lear is my father, and Mor is my mother, and that I have his daughter here with me.”

“There is no use in sending them with that message,” said the young woman; “my father would not believe them.”

“Tell your master,” said Mor’s son, “that it is I who brought the cattle, and that I have his daughter here in good health, and ’tis by my bravery that I saved her.”

“If they go to my father with that message, he will kill them. I will give them a token for him.”

“What token will you give?”

“I will give them this ring with my name and my father’s name and my mother’s name written inside on it. Do not give the ring,” said she to the men, “till ye tell my father all ye have seen; if he will not believe you, then give the ring.”

Away went the men, and not a foot of the cattle did they take; and if all the men in Mayo had come, Mor’s son would not have let the cattle go with them, for he had risen to be the best champion in Erin. The men went home by the straightest roads; and they were not half the time going to the king’s castle that they were in finding the cattle.

On the way home, one man said to the others, “It is a great story we have and good news to tell; the king will make rich men of us for the tidings we are taking him.”

When they reached the king’s castle, there was a welcome before them.

“Have ye any news for me after the long journey?” asked the king.

“We found your daughter with a man in Tivorye in the southwest of Erin, and all your cattle are with the same man.”

“Ye may have found my cattle, but ye could not get a sight of my daughter.”

“If you do not believe us in this way, you will, in another. We may as well tell you all.”

“Ye may as well keep silent. I’ll not believe a word of what ye say about my daughter.”

“I will give you a token from your daughter,” said one of the men, pulling out a purse. He had the purse rolled carefully in linen. (And he did well, for the fairies cannot touch linen, and it is the best guard in the world against them. Linen thread, too, is strong against the fairies. A man might travel all the fairy forts of the world if he had a skein of flax thread around his neck, and a steel knife with a black handle in his pocket.) He took out the ring, and gave it to the king. The king sent for the queen. She came. He put the ring in her hand and said, “Look at this, and see do you know it.”

“I do indeed,” said she; “and how did you come by this ring?”

The king told the whole story that the men had brought.

“This is our daughter’s ring. It was on her finger when we buried her,” said the queen.

“It was,” said the king, “and what the men say must be true.” He would have killed them but for the ring.

On the following morning, the king and queen set out with horses, and never stopped till they came to Tivorye (Mor’s house). The king knew the cattle the moment he saw them above on the mountain, and then he was sure of the rest. They were sorry to find the daughter in such a small cabin, but glad that she was alive. The guide was sent to the house to say the king and queen were coming.

“Your father and mother are coming,” said he to the king’s daughter.

She made ready, and was standing in the door before them. The father and mother felt weak and faint when they looked at her; but she ran out, took them by the hands, and said, “Have courage; I am alive and well, no ghost, and ye ought to thank the man who brought me away from my enemies.”

“Bring him to us,” said they; “we wish to see him.”

“He is asleep, but I will wake him.”

“Wake him,” said the father, “for he is the man we wish to see now.”

The king’s daughter roused Mor’s son, and said, “My father and mother are above in the kitchen. Go quickly, and welcome them.”

He welcomed them heartily, and he was ten times gladder to see them than they were to see him. They inquired then how he got the daughter, and she buried at home two months before. And he told the whole story from first to last: How the herder from the sea had told him, and how he had saved her at Cnoc na Hown. They had a joyful night in the cabin after the long journey, and anything that would be in any king’s castle they had in Mor’s house that night, for the king had plenty of everything with him from the castle. Next morning the king and queen were for taking the daughter home with them; but she refused firmly, and said,—

“I will never leave the man who saved me from such straits. I’ll never marry any man but him, for I’m sure that he is the best hero ever reared in Erin, after the courage that he has shown.”

“We will never carry you away, since you like him so well; and we will send him twice as many cattle, and money besides.”

They brought in the priest of whatever religion was in it at the time (to be sure, it was not Catholic priests were in Erin in those days), and Mor’s son and the king’s daughter were married. The father and mother left her behind in Tivorye, and enjoyed themselves on the way home, they were that glad after finding the daughter alive.

When Mor’s son was strong and rich, he could not be satisfied till he found his two brothers, who had left home years before, and were in the kingdom of the White Strand, though he did not know it. He made up a fine ship then, and got provisions for a day and a year, went into it, set sail, and went on over the wide ocean till he came to the chief port of the King of the White Strand. He was seven days on the water; and when he came in on the strand, the king saw him, and thought that he must be a brave man to come alone on a ship to that kingdom.

“That must be a great hero,” said he to his men. “Let some of the best of you go down and knock a trial out of him before he comes to the castle.”

The king was so in dread of the stranger that out of all the men he selected Mor’s two elder sons. They were the best and strongest men he had, and he sent them to know what activity was in the new-comer. They took two hurleys for themselves and one for the stranger, and a ball.

The second brother challenged the stranger to play. When the day was closing, the stranger was getting the upper hand. They invited him to the king’s castle for the night, and the elder brother challenged him to play a game on the following day.

“How did the trial turn out?” asked the king of the elder brother.

“I sent my brother to try him, and it was the strange champion that got the upper hand.”

Mor’s son remained at the castle that night, and found good welcome and cheer. He ate breakfast next morning, and a good breakfast it was. They took three hurleys then and a ball, and went to the strand. Said the eldest brother to the second, “Stop here and look at us, and see what the trial will be between us.”

They gave the stranger a choice of the hurleys, and the game began. It couldn’t be told who was the better of the two brothers. The king was in dread that the stranger would injure himself and his men. In the middle of the day, when it could not be determined who was the better man, the elder brother said, “We will try wrestling now, to know which of us can win that way.”

“I’m well satisfied,” said Mor’s son.

They began to wrestle. The elder brother gave Mor’s son several knocks, and he made several turns on the elder.

“Well, if I live,” said the elder, “you are my brother; for when we used to wrestle at home, I had the knocks, and you had the turns. You are my younger brother, for no man was able to wrestle with me when I was at Tivorye but you.”

They knew each other then, and embraced. Each told his story.

“Come home with me now,” said the youngest brother, “and see our mother. I am as rich as any king, and can give you good entertainment.”

The three went to the King of the White Strand, and told him everything. The eldest and second brother asked leave of him to go home to see their father and mother. The king gave them leave, and filled their vessel with every kind of good food, and the two promised to come back.

The three brothers set sail then, and after seven days came in on the strand near Tivorye. The two found their brother richer than any king in any country. They were enjoying themselves at home for a long time, having everything that their hearts could wish, when one day above another they saw a vessel passing Dun Quin, and it drew up at the quay in Daingean harbor. Next day people went to the ship; but if they did, not a man went on board, for no man was allowed to go.

There was a green cat on deck. The cat was master of the vessel, and would not let a soul come near it. A report went out through the town that the green cat would allow no one to go near the ship, and for three weeks this report was spreading. No one was seen on the vessel but the cat, and he the size of a big man.

Mor’s sons heard of the ship and the green cat at Daingean, and they said, “Let us have a day’s pleasure, and go to the ship and see the cat.”

Mor bade them stay at home. “Don’t mind the ship or the cat,” said she, “and follow my advice.” But the sons would not follow her advice, nor be said by her, and away they went, in spite of all she could do.

When the cat saw them coming, he knew very well who were in it. He jumped out on the shore, stood on two legs, and shook hands with the three brothers. He was as tall himself as the largest man, and as friendly as he could be. The three brothers were glad to receive an honor which no one else could get.

“Come down now to the cabin and have a trial of my cooking,” said the cat.

He brought them to the cabin, and the finest dinner was on the table before them,—meat and drink as good as ever they tasted either in Tivorye or the kingdom of the White Strand.

When the cat had them below in the cabin, and they eating and drinking with great pleasure and delight, he went on deck, screwed down the hatches, raised the sails, and away went the vessel sailing out of the harbor; and before the three brothers knew where they were, the ship was miles out on the ocean, and they thought they were eating dinner at the side of the quay in Daingean.

“We’ll go up now,” said they when their dinner was eaten, “thank the cat, and go on shore for ourselves.”

When on deck, they saw water on all sides, and did not know in the world where they were. The cat never stopped till he sailed to his own kingdom, which was the kingdom of the White Strand, for who should the cat be but the King of the White Strand. He had come for the two brothers himself, for he knew that they would never come of their own will, and he could not trust another to go for them. The king needed them, for they were the best men he had. In getting back the two, he took the third, and Mor was left without any son.

Mor heard in the evening that the ship was gone, and her own three sons inside in it.

“This is my misfortune,” cried she. “After rearing my three sons, they are gone from me in this way.” She began to cry and lament then, and to screech wonderfully.

Mor never knew who the cat was, or what became of her sons. The wife of Mor’s youngest son went away to her father in Mayo, and everything she had went with her. Mor’s husband, Lear, had died long before, and was buried at Dunmore Head. His grave is there to this day. Mor became half demented, and died soon after.

If women are scolding at the present time, it happens often that one says to another, “May your children go from you as Mor’s sons went with the enchanted cat!”

SAUDAN OG AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF SPAIN; YOUNG CONAL AND THE YELLOW KING’S DAUGHTER.

Ri Na Durkach (the King of the Turks) lived many years in Erin, where he had one son, Saudan Og. When this son grew up to be twenty years old, he was a prince whose equal was hard to be found.

The old king was anxious to find a king’s daughter as wife for his son, and began to inquire of all wayfarers, rich and poor, high and low, where was there a king’s daughter fit for his son, but no one could tell him.

At last the king called his old druid. “Do you know,” asked he, “where to find a king’s daughter for Saudan Og?”

“I do not,” said the druid; “but do you order your guards to stop all people passing your castle, and inquire of them where such a woman may be.”

As the druid advised, the king commanded; but no man made him a bit the wiser.

A year later, an old ship captain walked the way, and the guards brought him to the king.

“Do you know where a fitting wife for my son might be found?” asked the king.

“I do,” said the captain; “but my advice to you, and it may be a good one, is to seek a wife for your son in the land where he was born, and not go abroad for her. You can find plenty of good women in Erin.”

“Well,” said the king, “tell me first who is the woman you have in mind.”

“If you must know,” said the old captain, “the daughter of the King of Spain is the woman.”

Straightway the king had a notice put up on the high-road to bring no more tidings to the castle, as he had no need of them.

When Saudan Og saw this notice, he knew that his father had the tidings, but would not give them. Next morning he went to the father and begged him to tell. “I know,” said he, “that the old captain told you.”

The king would say nothing for he feared that his son might fall into trouble.

“I will start to-morrow,” said Saudan Og at last, “in search of the woman; and if I do not find her, I will never come back to you, so it is better to tell me at once.”

“The daughter of the King of Spain is the woman,” said the father; “but if you take my advice, you’ll stay at home.”

On the following day, Saudan Og dressed himself splendidly, mounted a white steed, and rode away, overtaking the wind before him; but the wind behind could not overtake him. He travelled all that was dry of Erin, and came to the seashore; so he had nowhere else to travel on land, unless he went back to his father. He turned toward a wood then, and saw a great ash-tree: he grasped the tree, and tore it out with its roots; and, stripping the earth from the roots, he threw the great ash into the sea. Leaving the steed behind him, he sat on the tree, and never stopped nor stayed till he came to Spain. When he landed, he sent word to the king that Saudan Og wished to see him.

The answer that Saudan got was not to come till the king had his castle prepared to receive such a great champion.

When the castle was ready, the King of Spain sent a bellman to give notice that every man, woman, or child found asleep within seven days and nights would lose their heads, for all must sing, dance, and enjoy themselves in honor of the high guest.

The king feasted Saudan Og for seven days and nights, and never asked him where was he going or what was his business. On the evening of the seventh day, Saudan said to the king, “You do not ask me what brought me this way, or what is my business.”

“Were you to stay twenty years I would not ask. I’m not surprised that a prince of your blood and in full youthful beauty should travel the world to see what is in it.”

“It was not to see the world that I came,” said Saudan Og, “but hearing that you have a beautiful daughter, I wished her for wife; and if I do not get her with your consent, I will take her in spite of you.”

“You would get my daughter with a hundred thousand welcomes,” said the king; “but as you have boasted, you must show action.”

The king then sent a messenger to three kings—to Ri Fohin, Ri Laian, and Conal Gulban—to help him. “If you will not come,” said he, “I am destroyed, for Saudan Og will take my daughter in spite of me.”

The kings made ready to sail for Spain. When Conal Gulban was going, he called up his three sons and said, “Stay here and care for the kingdom while I am gone.”

“I will not stay,” said the eldest son. “You are old and feeble: I am young and strong; let me go in place of you.”

The second son gave a like answer. The youngest had his father’s name, Conal, and the king said to him, “Stay here at home and care for the kingdom while I am gone, since your brothers will not obey me.”

“I will do what you bid me,” said Conal.

“Now I am going,” said the old king; “and if I and your brothers never return, be not bribed by the rich to injure the poor. Do justice to all, so that rich and poor may love you as they loved your father before you.”

He left young Conal twelve advisers, and said, “If we do not return in a day and a year, be sure that we are killed; you may then do as you like in the kingdom. If your twelve advisers tell you to marry a king’s daughter of wealth and high rank, it will be of help to you in defending the kingdom. You will be two powers instead of one.”

The day and the year passed, and no tidings came of Conal’s two brothers and father. At the end of the day and the year, the twelve told him they had chosen a king’s daughter for him, a very beautiful maiden. When the twelve spoke of marriage, Conal let three screeches out of him, that drove stones from the walls of old buildings for miles around the castle.

Now an old druid that his father had twenty years before heard the three screeches, and said, “Young Conal is in great trouble. I will go to him to know can I help him.”

The druid cleared a mountain at a leap, a valley at a hop, twelve miles at a running leap, so that he passed hills, dales, and valleys; and in the evening of the same day, he struck his back against the kitchen door of Conal’s castle just as the sun was setting.

When the druid came to the castle, young Conal was out in the garden thinking to himself, “My father and brothers are in Spain; perhaps they are killed.” The dew was beginning to fall, so he turned to go, and saw the old man at the door. The druid was the first to speak; but not knowing Conal, he said,—

“Who are you coming here to trouble the child? It would be fitter for you to stay in your own place than to be trying to wake young Conal with your screeches.”

“Are you,” asked Conal, “the druid that my father had here years ago?”

“I am that old druid; but are you little Conal?”

“I am,” said Conal, and he gave the druid a hundred thousand welcomes.

“I was in the north of Erin,” said the druid, “when I heard the three screeches, and I knew that some one was troubling you, and your father in a foreign land. My heart was grieved, and I came hither in haste. I hear that your twelve advisers have chosen a princess, and that you are to marry to-morrow. Put out of your head the thought of that princess; she is not your equal in rank or power. Be advised by me, as your father was. The right wife for you is the daughter of the Yellow King, Haughty and Strong. If the king will not give her, take her by force, as your fathers before you took their queens.”