Chapter V: Part 5

“He made two halves of the cow, ate one-half himself, and left the other to the twelve. While they were eating the cow, I took off my coat, for I knew what was coming, wrapped it around a block which I made like myself, and then climbed a tree quickly. The red cat came up to the fire a third time, opened his great eyes, looked toward my coat, and said, ‘I’ll not be long this way; give me more food.’

“My coat gave no answer. The big cat sprang at it, struck the block with his tail, and found it was wood.

“‘Ah,’ said he, ‘you are gone; but whether above ground or under ground, we will find you.’

“He put six cats above and six under ground to find me. The twelve cats were gone in a breath. The big red cat sat there waiting; and when the other twelve had run through all Erin, above ground and under ground, and come back to the fire, he looked up, saw me, and cried, ‘Ah, there you are, you deceiver. You thought to escape, but you will not. Come, now,’ said he to the cats, ‘and gnaw down this tree.’

“The twelve sprang at the tree under me, and they were not long cutting it through. Before it fell, I escaped to another tree near by, and they attacked that, gnawing it down. I sprang to a third. We were that way, I escaping and they cutting, till near daybreak, when I was on the last tree next the open country. When the tree was half cut, what should come the way but thirteen terrible wolves,—twelve, and a thirteenth above them, their master. They fell upon the cats, and fought desperately a good while. At length the twelve on each side were stretched, but the two chiefs were fighting each other yet. At last the wolf nearly took the head off the cat with one snap; the cat whirled in falling, struck the wolf with the sharp hook in his tail, made two halves of his skull, and the two fell dead, side by side.

“I slipped down then, but the tree shook in the way that I was in dread it would tumble beneath me, but it didn’t. Now, wasn’t I nearer death that time than this young man?”

“Oh, you were,” said King Conal. “He’s not near death at all, for I give his life to him; but if the two have escaped, we’ll put the third man in the pot; and have you ever seen any one nearer death than he is?”

“I was nearer myself,” said the Black Thief.

“If you were, I will give his life to this young man as well as his brothers.”

“I had apprentices in my time,” said the Black Thief. “Among them was one, a young man of great wit, and he pleased me. I gave no real learning to any but this one; and in the heel of the story he was a greater man than myself,—in his own mind. There was a giant in the other end of the kingdom; he lived in a mountain den, and had great wealth gathered in there. I made up my mind to go with the apprentice, and take that giant’s treasures. We travelled many days till we reached the mountain den. We hid, and watched the ways of the giant. He went out every day, brought back many things, but often men’s bodies. At last we went to the place in his absence. There was only one entrance, from the top. I was lowering the young man with a rope, but when half-way to the bottom he called out as if in pain. I drew him up. ‘I am in dread,’ said he, ‘to go down in that place. Go yourself. I will do the work here for you.’

“I went down, found gold and precious things in plenty, and sent up what one man could carry. ‘I will go out of this now,’ thought I, ‘before the giant comes on me.’ I called to the apprentice; no answer. I called again; not a word from him. At last he looked down and said,—

“‘You gave me good learning, and I am grateful; I will gain my own living from this out. I hope you’ll spend a pleasant night with the giant.’

“With that, he made off with himself, and carried the treasure. Oh, but I was in trouble then! How was I to bring my life home with me? How was I to escape from the giant? I looked, but found no way of escape. In one corner of the giant’s kitchen were bodies brought in from time to time. I lay down with these, and seemed dead. I was watching. After a while I heard a great noise at the entrance, and soon the giant came in carrying three bodies; these he threw aside with the others. He put down a great fire then, and placed a pot on it: he brought a basket to the bodies, and began to fill it; me he threw in first, and put six bodies on the top of me. He turned the basket bottom upward over the pot, and six bodies fell in. I held firmly to my place. The giant put the basket aside in a corner bottom upward,—I was saved that time. When the supper was ready, the giant ate the six bodies, and then lay down and slept soundly. I crept from under the basket, went to the entrance; a tree trunk, standing upright in the wall at one end of it, was turned around. There were steps in its side from bottom to top; this was the giant’s ladder. Whenever the giant wished to go up, he turned the tree till the steps came outside; and when on top, he turned it till the smooth side was out in the way no one could go down in his absence. When he wished to go down, he turned the steps out; and when at the bottom, he turned them in again in the way no one could follow him. This time he forgot to turn the tree, and that gave me the ladder. I went up without trouble; and, by my hand, I was glad, for I was much nearer death at the giant’s pot than this man at yours.”

“You were, indeed, very near death,” said King Conal, “and I give his life to the third man. The turn is on you now; the three young men are safe, and it’s you that will go into the pot.”

“Must I die?” asked the Black Thief.

“You must, indeed,” said King Conal, “and you are very near death.”

“Near as I am,” said the Black Thief, “I was nearer.”

“Tell me the story; and if you were ever nearer death than you are at this minute, I will give your life to you.”

“I set out another day,” said the Black Thief, “and travelled far. I came at last to a house, and went into it. Inside was a woman with a child on her knee, a knife in her hand, and she crying. Twice she made an offer of the knife at the child to kill it. The beautiful child laughed, and held out its hands to her.

“‘Why do you raise the knife on the child,’ asked I, ‘and why are you crying?’

“‘I was at a fair,’ said the woman, ‘last year with my father and mother; and while the people were busy each with his own work, three giants came in on a sudden. The man who had a bite of bread in his hand did not put the bread to his mouth, and the man who had a bite in his mouth did not swallow it. The giants robbed this one and that, took me from my father and mother, and brought me to this place. I bound them, and they promised that none of the three would marry me before I was eighteen years of age. I’ll be that in a few days, and there is no escape for me now unless I raise hands on myself.

“‘Yesterday the giants brought this child; they said it was the son of some king, and told me to have it cooked and prepared in a pie for their supper this evening.’

“‘Spare the child,’ said I. ‘I have a young pig that I brought to roast for myself on the road; take that, and prepare it instead of the child.’

“‘The giants would know the pig, and kill me,’ said the woman.

“‘They would not,’ said I; ‘there is only a small difference between the flesh of a young pig and a child. We will cut off the first joint of the left little finger. If they make a remark, show them that.’

“She cooked the pie, and I watched outside for the giants. At last I saw the three coming. She hid the child in a safe place aside; and I went to the cellar, where I found many dead bodies. I lay down among them, and waited. When the giants came home, the eldest ate the pie, and called to the woman, ‘That would be very good if we had enough of it.’ Then he turned to his second brother, and sent him down to the cellar to bring a slice from one of the bodies. The brother came down, took hold of one body, then another, and, catching me, cut a slice from the end of my back, and went up with it. He was not long gone when he came down again, raised me on his back, and turned to take me with him. He had not gone many steps when I sent my knife to his heart, and there he fell on his face under me. I went back, and lay in my old place.

“The chief giant, who had tasted my flesh and was anxious for more of it, now sent the youngest brother. He came, saw the middle brother lying there, and cried out,—

“‘Oh, but you are the lazy messenger, to be sleeping when sent on an errand!’

“With that, he raised me on his back, and was going, when I stabbed him and stretched him on the ground not far from his brother.

“The big giant waited and waited, grew angry, took his great iron club with nine lumps and nine hooks on it. He hurried down to the cellar, saw his two brothers, shook them, found them dead. I had no chance of life but to fight for it; I rose and stood a fair distance in front of the giant. He ran toward me, raised the club, and brought it down with what strength there was in him. I stepped aside quickly; the club sank in the earth to the depth of a common man’s knee. While the giant was drawing the club with both hands, I stabbed him three times in the stomach, and sprang away to some distance. He ran forward a second time, and came very near hitting me; again the club sank in the ground, and I stabbed him four times, for he was weaker from blood loss, and was a longer time freeing the club. The third time the club grazed me, and tore my whole side with a sharp iron hook. The giant fell to his knees, but could neither rise nor make a cast of the club at me; soon he was on his elbow, gnashing his teeth and raging. I was growing weaker, and knew that I was lost unless some one assisted me. The young woman had come down, and was present at the struggle. ‘Run now,’ said I to her, ‘for the giant’s sword, and take the head off him.’ She ran quickly, brought the sword, and as brave as a man took the head off the giant.

“‘Death is not far from me now,’ said I.

“‘I will carry you quickly to the giant’s caldron of cure, and give you life,’ said the woman.

“With that, she raised me on her back, and hurried out of the cellar. When she had me on the edge of the caldron, the death faint was on me, I was dying; but I was not long in the pot when I revived, and soon was as well as ever.

“We searched the whole house of the giants, found all their treasures. I gave some to the woman, kept some myself, and hid the remainder. I took the woman home to her father and mother. She kept the child, which was well but for the tip of its little finger. Now wasn’t I nearer death that time than I was when I began this story?”

“You were, indeed,” said King Conal; “and even if you were not, I would not put you in the pot, for if you had not been in the house of the three giants that day there would be no sign of me now in this castle. I was that child. Look here at my left little finger. My father searched for you, and so did I when I grew up, but we could not find you. We made out only one thing, that it was the Black Thief who saved me. Men told me that the Black Thief was dead, and I never hoped to see you. A hundred thousand welcomes! Now we’ll have a feast. The three young men will get the three horses for your sake, and take them home after we have feasted together. You will stay with me now for the rest of your life.”

“I must go with the young men as far as my own house,” said the Black Thief; “then I’ll come back to you.”

King Conal made a feast the like of which had never been in his kingdom. When the feast was over, he gave the three horses to the young men, and said at parting, “When you have done the work with the horses, let them go, and they will run home to me; no man could stop them.”

“We will do that,” said the brothers.

They set out then with them, stopped one night with the Black Thief at his house, and after that travelled home to their father, and stood in front of the castle. The stepmother was above, watching for them. She was glad when she saw them, and said, “Ye brought the horses, and I am to have them.”

“If we were bound to bring the horses,” said the elder brother, “we were not bound to give them to you.”

With that, he turned the horses’ heads from the castle, and let them go. They ran home to King Conal.

“I will go down now,” said the queen, “and it is time for me.”

“You will not go yet,” said the youngest; “I have a sentence which I had no time to give when we were going. I put you under sentence to stay where you are till you find three sons of a king to go again to King Conal for the horses.”

When she heard that sentence, she dropped dead from the castle.

THE KING’S SON FROM ERIN, THE SPRISAWN, AND THE DARK KING.

There was a king in Erin long ago who was called King of Lochlinn, and his wife died. He had two sons. The elder of the two was Miach Lay; the second was Manus. Miach Lay was a fine champion, and trained in every art that befitted a king’s son.

One day the father called Miach Lay to his presence, and said, “It is time for you to marry, and I have chosen for you a maiden of great beauty and high birth.”

“I am willing to marry,” said Miach Lay.

The king and his son then left the castle, and went to the house of the young woman’s father, and there they spent seven days and seven nights. On their way home, the king said to his son, “How do you like the young lady?”

“I like her well, but I’ll not marry her.”

“Oh, my shame!” said the father. “How can I ever face those people a second time?”

“I cannot help that,” said Miach Lay.

The king was greatly confused. After another while he said to his son, “I have another maiden chosen for you, and it is well for us to go to her father’s, and settle the match.”

“I am willing,” said Miach Lay.

They went away together, and never stopped nor stayed till they reached the house of the young lady’s father. They were welcomed there warmly, and spent seven days and seven nights, and were better attended each day than the day before.

“Well, my son,” asked the father, “how do you like this match?”

“Well, and very well,” said Miach Lay; “but I will not marry this lady either. She is ten times better than the first; and if I had married the first, I could not marry this one, and so I will not marry the second any more than the first lady.”

“Oh, my shame!” said the father. “I can never show my face to these people again.”

After another while the king told Miach Lay that he had a better lady than ever selected, and asked him to go with him to arrange the marriage.

“I am willing,” answered the son.

The two went to the father of the maiden; they spent seven days and seven nights at his house, and were fully satisfied with everything. They were on the way home a third time. “Well,” said the king, “you have no reason to refuse this time.”

“Well, and very well, do I like the match,” said Miach Lay; “but I will not marry this lady. If I had married the first lady, I should have had no chance of getting the second, and the second is ten times better than the first; if I had married the second lady, I should have had no chance of this one, and she is twenty times better than the second.”

“I have lost all patience with you,” said the king, “and I turn the back of my hand to you from this out.”

“I’m fully satisfied,” said Miach Lay, so they came home, and passed that night without conversation. The following morning, when Miach Lay rose, he said to his father, “I am for leaving the house now; will you prepare for me the best ship that you have, and put in it a good store of provisions for a long voyage?”

The vessel was prepared, and fully provisioned for a day and a year. The king’s son went on board, sailed out of the harbor, and off to sea. He never stopped sailing till he entered a harbor in the kingdom of Greece. There was a guard there on watch at the harbor with a keen eye on all ships that were passing or coming. The King of Greece was at war in that time with the King of Spain, and knew not what moment his kingdom would be invaded.

The guard saw the vessel coming when she was so small to the eye that he could not tell was it a bird or a vessel that he was looking at. He took quick tidings to the castle; and the king ordered him to go a second time and bring tidings. When he reached the sea, the ship was inside, in the harbor.

“Oh,” said the king, when the guard ran to him a second time, “that is a wonderful vessel that was so far away a few minutes ago as not to be told from a bird, and is now sailing into harbor.”

“There is but one man to be seen on board,” said the guard.

In front of the king’s castle was the landing-place, the only one of the harbor; and even there no one went beyond the shore without passing through a gate where every man had to give an account of himself. There was a chosen champion guarding the gate, who spoke to Miach Lay, and asked, “Who are you, and from what country?”

“It is not the custom for a man of my people to answer a question like that till he is told first what country he is in, and who asks the question.”

“It was I asked the question,” said the champion; “and you must tell me who you are, first of all.”

“I will not tell you,” said Miach Lay. With that, he drew his ship nearer land till it grounded; then, taking an oar, he put the blade end in the sand, and sprang to shore. He asked then the champion at the gate to let him pass, but the champion refused. Miach Lay raised his hand, gave him a blow on the ear, and sent him backward spinning like a top, till he struck the pillar of the gate and broke his skull. As Miach Lay had no thought to kill the man, he was grieved, and, delaying a short time, went to the castle of the king, not knowing what country he was in or what city.

When he came to the castle, he knelt down in front of it. The people in the castle saw a young champion with bared head outside; the king came out, and asked what trouble was on him. Miach Lay told of all that had happened at the harbor, and how he had killed the champion at the gate without wishing it.

“Never mind that,” said the king.

“I did not intend to kill or harm him at all,” said Miach Lay; “he wanted to know who I was, and from what country. By the custom of my land, I cannot tell that till I know where I am, and who are the people among whom I am travelling.”

“Do you know now where you are?”

“I do not,” answered Miach Lay.

“You are in front of the castle of the King of Greece, and I am that king.”

“I am the son of the King of Lochlinn from Erin,” said Miach Lay, “and have come this way to seek my fortune.”

The King of Greece welcomed him then, took the young champion by the hand, and did not stop till he brought him to where all the princes and nobles were assembled; he was rejoiced at his coming, for, being at war, he expected aid from this champion.

“Will you remain with me for a day and a year,” asked the king, “and perform what service I ask of you?”

“I will,” said Miach Lay.

Manus, the second son of the King of Lochlinn, stopped going to school when Miach Lay, his elder brother, left home, and, after a time, the father wished him to marry. As the elder son had acted, so did the second; he refused to marry each of the three maidens whom the king had chosen, and left his father at last.

Manus was watching when his brother sailed away, and noticed the course of the vessel, so now he sailed the same way.

Miach Lay was gaining favor continually; and just as the day and the year of his service were out to a month, the king’s guard saw a vessel sailing in swiftly. He ran with tidings to the king, and added, “There is only one man on board.”

The king and the nobles said it was best not to let him land till he gave an account of himself. Miach Lay was sent to the landing-place to get account of him.

He was not long at the landing-place when the vessel came within hailing, and Miach Lay asked the one man on board who was he and from what land he came. The man would not tell, as it was not the custom in his country. “But,” said he, “I want something to eat.”

“There is plenty here,” said Miach Lay; “but if there is, you will get none of it,—you would better be sailing away.”

“I have enough of the sea; I’ll come in.”

He put down the blade of his oar, and sprang ashore. No sooner had he touched land than he was grappled by Miach Lay. As neither man knew the other, they were in hand grips all day. They were nearly equal in strength, but at last Miach Lay was getting the worst of it. He asked Manus for a truce.

“I will grant you that,” said Manus; “but you do not deserve it, for you began the battle.”

They sat apart then, and Miach Lay asked, “How long can you hold out?”

“It is getting stronger and braver I am,” replied Manus.

“Not so with me. I could not hold out five minutes longer,” said Miach Lay. “My bones were all falling asunder, and I thought the earth was trembling beneath me. Till this day I thought to myself, ‘There is no champion I cannot conquer.’ Now tell me your name and your country.”

“I am from Erin and a son of the King of Lochlinn,” said Manus.

“Oh,” said Miach Lay, “you are my brother.”

“Are you Miach Lay?” inquired Manus.

“I am.”

They embraced each other, and sat down then to eat. Miach Lay was so tired that he could taste nothing, but Manus ate his fill. Then they went arm in arm to the castle. The king and all the nobles of Greece had seen the combat from the castle, and were surprised to see the men coming toward them in such friendliness, and all went out to know the reason. The king asked Miach Lay, “How is all this?”

“This man is my brother,” said Miach Lay. “I left him at home in Erin, and did not know him at the harbor till after the combat.”

The king was well pleased that he had another champion. The following day Manus saw the king’s daughter, and fell in love with her and she with him. Then the daughter told the king if she did not get Manus as husband, the life would leave her.

The king called Miach Lay to his presence, and asked, “Will you let your brother marry my daughter?”

“If Manus wishes to marry her, I am willing and satisfied,” answered Miach Lay. He asked his brother, and Manus said he would marry the king’s daughter.

The marriage was celebrated without delay, and there was a wedding feast for three days and three nights; and the third night, when they were going to their own chamber, the king said, “This is the third husband married to my daughter, and after the first night no tidings could be had of the other two, and from that time to this no one knows where they are.”

Miach Lay was greatly enraged that the king had permitted the marriage without mentioning this matter first.

“I will do to-night,” said the king, “what has never been done hitherto; I will place sentries all around the grounds, and my daughter and Manus will not lodge in the castle at all, but in one of the houses apart from it.”

“I’ll watch myself,” said Miach Lay; “and if it is the devil that is taking the husbands, I’ll not let him take my brother.”

Sentries were stationed in all parts; a house was prepared in the courtyard. Miach Lay stood on guard at the entrance all the time. Soon after midnight a gust of wind blew through the yard; it blew Miach Lay to the ground, and he fainted. When he recovered, he rushed to search for his brother, but he was not in his chamber. He then roused the king’s daughter, and asked, “Where is my brother?”

“I cannot tell where he is,” said she: “it is you who were on guard; it is you who should know where to find him.”

“I will have your head, wicked woman, unless you give tidings of my brother.”

“Do not take my head; it would not serve you. I have no account of what happened to your brother.”

Miach Lay then refrained from touching her, and waited till morning. The king came in the morning to see was Manus well; and when Miach Lay saw him, he ran at him to destroy him, but the king fled away. After a while, when the household was roused, the king’s daughter was brought in and asked where was her husband, or could she give any account of him.

“I cannot tell,” replied she; “but one day before I was married the first time, something came to my chamber window in the form of a black bee, and asked would I let it in. I said that I would not. The bee remained outside all the day, watching to see could it enter my chamber. I did not let it come in; before going away in the evening, the black bee said, ‘Well, I will worry the heart in you yet.’”

The king’s old druid, who was present, slapped his knee with his hand, and said,“I know the story now; that was Ri Doracha (the Dark King). He is a mighty magician, and it is he who has taken the husbands.”

“I will travel the world till I find my lost brother,” said Miach Lay.

“I will go with you, and take all my forces,” said Red Bow, the son of the King of Greece.

“I need no assistance,” said Miach Lay. “If I myself cannot find him, I think that no man can; but if you wish to come, you are welcome.”

Miach Lay went to his vessel; and Red Bow chose the best ship from all that his father had, and went on board of it. The two ships sailed away together. In time they neared land; and on reaching the mouth of the harbor, they saw a third ship sailing toward them as swiftly as the wind blew, and it was not long till it came alongside. There was only one man on board; he hailed Miach Lay, and asked, “Where are you going?”

“It would not be the custom of my country for me to tell you what you ask till you tell me who you are yourself, and where your own journey lies.”

“I know myself,” said the warrior, “where you are going; you are in search of the Dark King, and I myself would like to see him.”

With that, he took a bundle of branches he had on deck, and blew them overboard. Then every rod and twig of the bundle became an enormous log of wood, so that the harbor was covered with one raft of timber, and then he sailed away without waiting.

After much struggling with the logs, shoving them hither and over, Miach Lay was able by pushing with oars to make room for his vessel, and at last came to land. Red Bow and his men were cast into deep sleep by the man on the vessel that had sailed away.

After Miach Lay landed, he passed through a great stretch of wild country, and, drawing near a large forest, saw rising up a small, slender smoke far in among trees. He made for the place where the smoke was, and there he discovered a large, splendid castle in the depth of the forest, but could find no sign of an entrance.

When Miach Lay had stood outside some time, a young woman looked through the window, hailed him, and said, “You are a stranger, and will find no lodgings in these parts; but if I could at all, I would let you come in here.”

“Open the window if you are able,” said Miach Lay.

The window had hinges, and she opened it in the middle; he stepped backward nine yards, and went in at one bound to the chamber.

“You are welcome,” said she, and soon she had dinner prepared for him. When he had eaten, she inquired who was he, from what place had he come, and what brought him that way.

He told her all that had happened to him from the first; and when he had finished, he said, “I know not where to find my brother.”

“You are not far from him now,” said she; “’tis in this country he is living, and the land he is in bounds our land.”

When they had talked long, she said, “You are tired and need rest, so sleep in this chamber.” She went then to her own place. The following morning his breakfast was ready before him; and after he had eaten, the young woman said, “I suppose you will be thankful if I tell you where to find the castle of the Dark King.”

“I shall, indeed,” said he. Then she gave him full directions how to go. He took his sword then, and sprang out as he had sprung in, in the evening, and went in the direction which she told him to take. About midday he met a man, who hailed him, and asked, “Who are you, and from what country?”

“’Tis not the custom for a man of my country to answer that question till told where he is, and to whom he is speaking.”

“I know who you are and whither you are going. You are going to the castle of the Dark King, and here he is before you; now show your daring.”

They made at each other; and if they did, they made soft ground hard and hard ground soft, they made high places low and low places high, they brought cold spring water through dry, gravelly places, and if any one were to come from the Eastern to the Western World, it is to look at these two he should come.

They were this way till evening, and neither had the better of the other. Miach Lay was equal to the Dark King; but the Dark King, having magic, blew a gust of wind at Miach Lay which knocked him flat on the earth, and left him half dead. Then the Dark King took Miach Lay’s sword, and went away. When he recovered, Miach Lay regretted his sword more than all else, and went back to the castle where he had spent the night before. He was barely able to go in at the window.

“How have you fared this day?” asked the young woman.

He told her of all that had happened.

“Be not grieved; you will meet him another time,” said the young woman.

“What is the use? I have no sword now.”

“If ’tis a sword you need, I will bring you a blade far better than the one which the Dark King took from you.”

After breakfast next morning she brought him her father’s sword, which he grasped in his hand, and shook. Miach Lay bade farewell to the young woman, and sprang out through the window. Knowing the way better this time, he hastened forward, and met the Dark King just where he met him before.

“Did not yesterday tire you?” asked the king.

“No,” said Miach Lay.

“Your journey is useless,” said the king.

“We shall see,” answered Miach Lay, and they made at each other; and terrible as the battle was on the first day, it was more terrible on the second; but when the Dark King thought it time to go home, he blew a gust of wind which threw Miach Lay to the earth, and left him senseless. The Dark King did not take the sword this time.

After the Dark King had gone, another man came the way, who was called Sprisawn Wooden Leg.[2]

“Well, my good man, you are nearly dead,” said the Sprisawn.

“I am,” said Miach Lay, rousing up.

“You are his equal but for the magic. I watched the combat these two days, and you would have overcome him but for his magic; he will finish you to-night if he finds you. He has three magic tricksters who are leaving his house at this moment. They have a spear which the rear man of the three hurls forward, the trickster in front catches the spear in the heel of his foot, and in turn hurls it with all his force forward; those behind rush ahead of the front man, and in turn catch the spear in their heels. No matter how far nor how often the spear is thrown forward, there is always a man there before it to catch it. They are rushing hither a long distance apart.”

The Sprisawn saw the tricksters approach, and told Miach Lay that they were coming. When they came within a spear-cast, one of them hurled the spear at Miach Lay; it went through his heart, passed out through his body, and killed him.

When the Sprisawn saw Miach Lay lying dead, he fell to weeping and wailing; and so loud was his wail that every one heard it throughout the whole kingdom. Red Bow was sleeping yet in the harbor; but so loud was the wail of the mourning Sprisawn that it roused him from the slumber which the Dark King had put on him. He landed at once with his forces, and made on toward the wailing. When they came to the place, and saw Miach Lay lying dead, they themselves began to wail; they asked the Sprisawn then, “Are there any means by which we might raise him to life?”

“There are,” replied the Sprisawn. “The Dark King is rejoicing now in his castle with the King of Mangling, and the Gruagach of Shields. They are drinking each other’s health from a horn, and the Dark King is telling the other two that Miach Lay was the best man that ever stood in front of him; and if he could drink from that horn, he would rise up as well as he ever was.”

“I with my men will go for that horn,” said Red Bow.

“Not you nor all the men like you living on earth could bring that horn from the castle of the Dark King,” replied the Sprisawn. “That castle is surrounded by three walls. Each wall is four feet in thickness and twenty feet high. Each wall has a gate as high and as thick as the wall is itself. How could you pass through those walls? Remain here and watch over this body; I will bring the horn hither myself.”

Off went the Sprisawn, and he had more control over magic than even the Dark King. When he arrived at the castle, he struck the gate with the heel of his wooden foot and it opened before him; the second and third gate opened too, in like manner, when he struck them. In he went to the room where the king and his two friends were drinking. There he found them raising toasts to each other. He was himself invisible. As soon as they rested the horn on the table, he snatched it and made off for the place where Miach Lay was lying dead. Then Red Bow and his men raised up the dead man, and poured down his throat some of the wine or whatever liquor was held in the horn.

After a time Miach Lay opened his eyes, and yawned. They were all so delighted that they raised three shouts of joy.

“Come on with me now,” said the Sprisawn, “to the castle of the Dark King. We will have a trial of strength with him. I will take the Dark King in hand myself. Do you, Miach Lay, take the King of Mangling, and you, Red Bow, take the Gruagach of Shields.”

“This will be very good for us to keep,” said Red Bow, when he saw the virtue of the horn.

“No,” said the Sprisawn; “it is good for the man who owns it, and I will return it.”

The Sprisawn, who could travel as swiftly as his own thought, vanished with the horn, placed it on the table from which he had snatched it, and came back to the others. No one had missed the horn; when they turned to use it, it was there on the table before them, in the chamber of the Dark King. Miach Lay and his friends went on together, and never stopped till they stood in the chamber where the Dark King was sitting with his friends. The gates had remained open since the Sprisawn opened them. When the Dark King saw the dead man alive, standing in his chamber before him, he said, “Never a welcome to you, you miserable creature with the wooden foot. What brought you hither, or how did you come?”

“I have come to you with combat,” said the Sprisawn; “and now do you choose the manner of fighting.”

In the castle were three chambers, in each chamber a cross-beam as high from the floor as a man’s throat; in the middle of each cross-beam was a hole, through this hole passed a chain, at each end of the chain was an iron loop; above the hole and lengthwise with the beam was a sword with a keen edge on it. Each pair of champions was to take one room of the three, and each man of them was to place a loop on his own neck; each then was to pull the other to the hole if he could, and then pull till the sword cut his head off.

The Sprisawn and the Dark King took one room, Miach Lay and the King of Mangling another, Red Bow and the Gruagach of Shields took the third.

The first pair were not long at each other, as the Sprisawn was greatly anxious for the other two, and with the second pull that he gave he had the head off the Dark King. He ran then to see how it fared with Miach Lay. Miach Lay was tired and nearly beaten.

“Come out of that for me,” said the Sprisawn. “What playing is it you have with him?”

“Fully satisfied am I to give this place to you,” said Miach Lay, raising the loop; and the Sprisawn put it quickly on his own neck.

With the first pull the Sprisawn gave he had the head off the King of Mangling. They ran then to Red Bow, whose head was within two feet of the sword.

“Go on out of this,” said the Sprisawn, putting the loop on his own neck. The Gruagach, by reason of having Red Bow so near the beam, was himself at a distance, but at the first pull which the Sprisawn gave he drew the Gruagach within a foot of the beam. Fearing that if he killed the third man there would be no one to give an account of those carried off by the Dark King, the Sprisawn offered the Gruagach his life if he told him where Manus and the other two husbands of the king’s daughter were.

“If I tell you that,” said the Gruagach, “the Dark King will knock the head off me.”

“If you saw the head of the Dark King would you tell me?”

“I would.”

The Sprisawn sent Miach Lay for the head of the Dark King; he brought it.

“Is that his head?” asked the Sprisawn.

“It is,” said the Gruagach.

“Well, tell me now.”

“Were I to tell you,” said the Gruagach, “the King of Mangling would knock the head off me.”

“If you saw his head would you tell me?”

“I would.”

The head of the King of Mangling was brought.

“Is this the head?”

“It is.”

“Well, tell me, or you’ll lose your own head.”

“Near this castle is a lake,” said the Gruagach, “and under its water is an enchanted steel tower, with high walls three feet in thickness; around that tower on the outside a long serpent has wound herself closely from the bottom to the top. This serpent is called the Worm of Nine Eyes. Inside in the tower are the three men.”

“And how can we come at them?” asked the Sprisawn.

“Whoever wants to free them,” said the Gruagach, “must stand on the shore of the lake and shout to the serpent, calling her the Worm of Nine Eyes. Hearing this, the serpent will unwind, and with lashing will drive all the water of the lake in showers through the country and flood the whole land. The basin of the lake will be dry then, and the serpent will rush at the man who uttered the insult and try to devour him. The serpent must be killed, and the champion must run to the tower; if he can break in, he will rescue the three men.”

“Is that all?” asked the Sprisawn.

“It is,” said the Gruagach. “I have no further account of the matter; that is all I know.”

“Then you’ll lose your head, too,” said the Sprisawn; and with one pull of the chain he swept the head off the Gruagach. The three champions went to the lake then. Miach Lay and Red Bow wished to help the Sprisawn, but he forced them to remain behind, saying that they would be swept away by the waters if they went.

The Sprisawn, coming to the bank of the lake, shouted: “Worm of Nine Eyes!” No sooner did the serpent hear the name than she uncoiled from the tower, lashed the lake, and sent the water over the country. When the lake bed was dry the serpent rushed toward the Sprisawn with open mouth. When the Sprisawn saw the serpent he took his sword in both hands and held it crosswise in front of his face, and when the serpent was coming to swallow him so great was the force with which she rushed forward and sucked the air to draw him in, that the Sprisawn split her in two from the mouth to the tail, dividing the back from the belly, and the two pieces fell apart like the two halves of a split log of timber.

Miach Lay and Red Bow came then to the Sprisawn and went to the tower, but if they did, they could not go in.

“Oh,” said the Sprisawn, “if you had all the arms in the world you could not break through that tower.” He went himself to the door then, and striking it slightly with his wooden foot, for fear of killing the men inside by too hard a blow, he burst in the door. The three men inside came out, and Miach Lay embraced his own brother. All were glad, and all started for home, but had not gone far when the other two men began to dispute whose would the king’s daughter be. The first husband said his claim was strongest; the second said his was. The Sprisawn tried to settle the quarrel, but could not. “I would advise you,” said he, “to leave the matter to the first man you meet.”

All agreed to do this.

The Sprisawn now left them and vanished as if he had never been with them. They had not gone far when they met a man. “Well met,” said they; “we are glad to see you.”

“What is the trouble that is on you?” asked the man.

“So and so,” said they, telling him the whole story; “and now you are to be our judge.”

“I will do my best,” said the man, “if each one will be satisfied with my decision.”

“We will,” said they.

“Now let each man tell his story.”

Each man told his story to the end.

“Who rescued you?” asked he.

“Miach Lay and his forces,” said they.

“Had not this man and his forces come, you would have been there till this time?”

“We should,” said the three.

“If so,” said the man, “my decision is that the first and second husband should each be thankful, go to his own people, and get another wife for himself; and that the daughter of the King of Greece belongs to the brother of the man who rescued all three.”

The two princes went away toward their own homes, and the man remained, and who was he when he took his own form again but the Sprisawn. They went then to the castle where the young lady had entertained Miach Lay, and whose castle was it but the Sprisawn’s; the young woman was his daughter. After resting there for some days, the Sprisawn asked Miach Lay would he marry his daughter. Miach Lay was willing and glad, and remained there.

Manus and Red Bow returned to the King of Greece. Manus lived in Greece happily, and so did his children.

The two brothers did well not to marry any woman their father found for them, for they would not have had the grand ladies that they had in the end, and Miach Lay had the dominions of the Dark King, as well as those of the Sprisawn, and they were very rich kingdoms.

THE AMADAN MOR AND THE GRUAGACH OF THE CASTLE OF GOLD.

On a time in Erin the King of Leinster resolved to make war on the King of Munster, and sent him a message to be ready for battle on a day mentioned. They raised flags for combat when the day came, and stood face to face. The forces closed in battle, and were at one another then till the King of Leinster and his men killed all the warriors of the King of Munster and the king himself.

After the King of Munster and all his champions were slain, the King of Leinster thought it better to live in Munster than in his own kingdom, so he took possession of Munster and went to live in the king’s castle.

The wife of the King of Munster fled in haste to a forest, a thing easily done, for all Erin was under forests in that time. The queen had a son in the forest, and after a time she had no clothes for herself or the child. Hair came out on them as on wild beasts of the wilderness. The child was thriving and growing; what of him did not grow in the day grew threefold at night, till at last there was no knowing what size was he.

The queen was seven years without leaving the place around her hut in the forest. In the eighth year she went forth from the forest and saw her husband’s castle and open kingdom, and began to weep and lament. There was a great crowd of people around the castle where she had herself lived in past years. She went to see what was happening. It was a summer of great want, and the king was giving out doles of meal to people daily, and the man who was giving the meal gave her a dole also. He was greatly surprised when he saw her, and in the evening he was telling the king that he had never seen such a sight in his life; she was all covered with hair like a beast of the forest.

“She will come again to-morrow,” said the king; “then do you inquire what sort is she, and where is her place of abode.”

She went next day to the castle; the man in charge gave her meal. After she had gone he followed her, and when he was coming near she sat down at the roadside from shame.

“Fear me not,” said the man. “I wish to know if you are of the dead or the living, and what sort are you.”

“I am a living person, though I may seem like one from the dead.”

“Where do you live?”

“I have no house or home save a small hut in the forest, and I have the look of a beast because I eat fruits and leaves of trees and grass of the earth.”

The man told the king, and the king said, “Tell the woman to-morrow that I will give her a house of some kind to live in.”

The king gave the strange woman a house, and she went to live with her son in it. The son was seven years old at that time, and not able to walk or speak, although he was larger than any giant. His mother had called him Micky, and soon he was known as Micky Mor (Big Micky).

She was there for awhile in the house with her son, and she taking doles of food like any poor person. One fine summer day she was sitting at the doorstep, and she began to weep and lament.

“What is the cause of your crying?” asked the boy, who had never spoken before till that moment.

“God’s help be with us,” said the mother. “It is time for you to get speech. Thank God you are able to talk now.”

“It is never too late, mother.”

“That is right, my child,” said she, “it is better late than never.”

“Tell me, mother, why do you cry in this way and lament?”

“It is no use for me to tell you, my child; three men have just gone back to the strand, and once I was able to give the like of them a good warm dinner.”

“Well, mother, you must go and invite them to dinner this time.”

“What have I to give them to eat, my poor child?”

“If you have nothing to give them but only to be talking till morning, you will have to go and invite them.”