Chapter VIII: Part 8

Since Cud left home, the father and mother had never risen from the fireside, but were sitting there always and crying. When the ship was three miles from land, Cud ran from the stern to the stem, sprang to land, ran into the castle, gave one hand to his mother, and the other to his father.

It wasn’t one boat, but boats, that went out to the ship for the brothers and the women. When they came, all spent the night with great pleasure in the castle. Next day the king sent seven score of ships and one ship to sea to bring supplies for the wedding. When the ships came back laden from foreign parts, he sent messengers to invite all the people in the kingdom. They were coming till they blackened the hills and spotted the valleys. I was there myself, and we spent nine nights and nine days in great glee and pleasure.

CAHAL, SON OF KING CONOR, IN ERIN, AND BLOOM OF YOUTH, DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF HATHONY.

There was a king in Hathony long ago who had an old castle by the sea. This king went out walking one day along the clean, smooth strand, and, while walking, the thought rose in him to take a sail near the shore. He stepped into his boat with attendants and men, and was sailing about in enjoyment and pleasure, when a wind came with a mist of enchantment, and drove the boat away through the sea with the king and his men.

They were going before the wind, without a sight of sky or sea; no man in the boat could see the man who sat next to him. They were that way moving in the mist without knowledge of where they were, or where they were going, and the boat never stopped till it sailed into a narrow harbor in a lonely place without house or habitation.

The king left the boat well fastened at the shore, and went his way, walking till he came to a castle, and what castle should it be but the castle of King Conor, in Erin.

King Conor received the King of Hathony with great hospitality and welcome.

When the two had spent some days in company, they became great friends, and made a match between their two children. The King of Hathony had a daughter called Bloom of Youth, who was nine years of age, and King Conor had a son ten years old, named Cahal.

When the King of Hathony wished to go back to his own land, King Conor of Erin gave a ship to him, and the king sailed away with good wishes and with supplies for a day and a year.

Bloom of Youth grew up in such beauty that she had not her equal in Hathony or in other lands, and Cahal, King Conor’s son, became such a hero that no man knew was the like of him in any place.

On a day Cahal said to his father, “Make up some treasure for me and stores for my ship. I must leave home now and be travelling through the world till I know is there a better man than myself in it.”

“It is, indeed, time for you to be going,” said King Conor, “for in three years you are to marry Bloom of Youth, the daughter of the King of Hathony, and you should be making out the place now where her father lives.”

Next morning Cahal took what treasures his father gave him, and provisions, went to his ship and raised sails. Away he went on his voyage, sailing over the sea in one way and another, in this direction and that. He sailed one year and three-quarters of a second year, but found no man to give tale or tidings of the King of Hathony.

Once on a gloomy day he was sailing along through the waves, when a strong north wind rose, and blew with such force that he let his ship go with it.

Three days and nights the ship went before the north wind, and on the fourth day, in the morning, it was thrown in on a rocky coast.

Cahal saved his life and his sword, and went away walking through the country. On the evening of the fifth day he came to an old castle near the seashore, and said to himself, “I will not go in here to ask for lodgings like any poor traveller.” With that he walked up and put a blow on the pole of combat that made the whole castle tremble.

Out rushed the messenger. “What brought you here, and what do you want?” asked he of King Conor’s son.

“I want men to meet me in combat, seven hundred champions on my right hand, seven hundred on my left, seven hundred behind me, and the same number in front of me.”

The man ran in and gave the message to the king.

“Oh,” said the King of Hathony, “that is my son-in-law from Erin;” and out he went.

“Are you the son of King Conor?” asked the king.

“I am,” said Cahal.

“A hundred thousand welcomes to you,” said the king.

“Thankful am I for the welcomes, and glad to receive them,” said Cahal. “I had great trouble in coming; it is not easy to find you.”

“It is not easy to find any man unless you know the road to his house,” said the king.

There was great feasting that night and entertainment for Cahal. Next day the king said, “Your bride, my daughter, is gone these two months. Striker, son of the King of Tricks, came to my castle and stole her away from me.”

“My word for it, he will not keep her unless he is a better man than I am,” said Cahal.

“I am sure of that,” said the king, “and I said so.”

“My own ship was wrecked on your coast, and now you must give me another in place of it,” said Cahal.

“I will,” said the king, “and a good one; but you can do nothing on sea against Striker.”

“I am more used to the sea now than to land, I am so long on it,” answered Cahal.

“If you were born on the water and had lived every day of your life on it, you could do nothing at sea against Striker. There is not a man living who can face him at sea.”

Nothing would satisfy Cahal but to go against Striker by sea; so he took the ship which the king gave and sailed away, sailed week after week till he was within a day’s journey of Striker’s castle. Striker thrust his head up through the top of the castle then, and let a blast out through his mouth that sent Cahal’s ship back twice the distance it had come.

King Conor’s son sailed forward again, and again Striker blew him back as far as he had the first time.

Cahal sailed now to the castle of the King of Hathony.

“I said that you could do nothing against Striker on sea. If you wish to get the upper hand of him I will tell you what to do. Take this bridle and shake it behind the castle; whatever beast comes to you take that one, and ride away against Striker.”

When Cahal shook the bridle, out came the smallest and ugliest beast in the stables, a lean, shaggy mare.

“Oh, then, bad luck to you for coming,” said the king’s son, “and so many fine steeds in the stables.”

“That is the pony my daughter used to ride, that is the best horse in the stables; take her. She is not easy to ride though, for she is full of tricks and enchantment, but if you are the right man she’ll not throw you. She goes on water as well as land, and you will be at your enemy’s castle to-day.”

Cahal mounted, and away went the mare. She crossed one hill at the first leap, three at the second, then twelve hills and valleys at the third leap; went over land and sea, and never stopped till she was in front of Striker’s castle, two hours before sunset.

Cahal sprang from the mare, and struck the pole of combat.

“What do you want?” asked the attendant, running out.

“I want seven hundred champions in combat at my right side, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred behind me, and seven hundred out before my face.”

The attendant went in, and out came the twenty-eight hundred against Cahal.

He went at the champions, and before sunset he had them in three heaps, a heap of their bodies, a heap of their heads, and a heap of their weapons.

Next morning Cahal struck the pole again.

“What do you want this time?” asked the attendant.

“Seven thousand champions against me for every hundred that I had yesterday.”

Out came the champions in thousands. As they were coming Cahal was going through them, and before the day was ended he had them in three heaps without leaving a man, a heap of their heads, a heap of their bodies, and a heap of their weapons.

He struck the pole on the third morning, and before the attendant had time to open his mouth, Cahal shouted, “Send out every man in the place. I may as well spend one day on them all as to be calling for champions occasionally.”

The forces of Striker, son of the King of Tricks, were coming as fast as ever they could make their way through the gates. They were rushing at Cahal like showers of hail on a stormy day, but they could neither kill him nor get the upper hand. They could neither defend themselves nor hurt him, and Cahal never stopped till he had them all in a heap at one side.

Cahal struck the pole on the fourth day.

“What do you want now?” asked the attendant.

“Striker, son of the King of Tricks, in combat before me.”

Out came Striker, and fell upon Cahal. The two fought seven days and six nights without stopping or resting, then Striker called for a truce and got it. He went into his castle, healed himself in his caldron of cure, ate enough, slept, and was as fresh as ever next morning. They spent three days and two nights in combat after that without rest.

Striker called for cessation a second time and got it. On the eleventh morning a goldfinch perched opposite Cahal and said, “Bad luck to you for a foolish young man to be giving your enemy rest, time to eat, drink, and cure himself, and you lying outside at the foot of the wall in hunger and cold. Keep him working till he yields. Give him no rest till you snatch from his breast the pin which he has in the left side of it.”

They were struggling four days and nights without rest or cessation till the fifth morning, when Cahal snatched the pin from the bosom of Striker.

“Oh, spare my life!” cried Striker. “I’ll be your servant in every place, only spare me.”

“I want nothing of you,” said Cahal, “but this: Send out my bride to me; you took her from her father, the King of Hathony, and she was to be my wife soon when you took her. Send her to me, and put no fog or enchantment on us while we are on the way home.”

“You ask more than I can give,” said Striker, “for Wet Mantle, the hero, took that maiden from me two months ago. When going, she put him under bonds not to molest her for two days and two years.”

“Where can I find Wet Mantle?”

“That is more than I can tell; but put your nose before you and follow it.”

“That’s a short answer, and I would take your life for three straws on account of it; but I’ll let some other man have his chance to take the head off you.”

Cahal mounted his mare then, and was travelling over seas and dry land,—travelling a long time till he came at last to Wet Mantle’s castle. He struck the pole of combat, and out came the messenger.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Seven hundred at my right hand, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred behind me, and seven hundred before my face.”

“That’s more men than you can find in this place,” said the messenger. “Wet Mantle lives here in his own way, without forces or company; he keeps no man but me, and is very well satisfied.”

“Go then,” said Cahal, “and tell him to come out himself to me.”

Wet Mantle came out, and the two fought seven days and six nights. Wet Mantle called for a truce then and got it. The hero went to his castle, cured himself, and was as fresh the eighth morning as the first. They began to fight, and the struggle continued three days and two nights. Wet Mantle called for a truce, and received it the second time. On the eleventh morning he was well again, and ready for the struggle.

“Oh, then, it is foolish and simple you are, and small good in your travelling the world,” cried a goldfinch to Cahal. “Why are you out here in hunger and cold, and he cured and fresh in his castle? Give him no rest the next time, but fight till you tire him and take the mantle from him. He’ll be as weak as a common man then, for it is in the mantle his strength is.”

On the eleventh morning they began for the third time and fought fiercely all day. In the evening Wet Mantle called for a rest.

“No,” said Cahal, “you’ll get no rest. There is no rest for either of us. You must fight till you or I yield.”

They fought on till the following evening. Wet Mantle called for rest a second time.

“No rest till this battle is ended,” cried Cahal.

They held on all that night venomously, and were fighting at noon of the following day. Then Cahal closed on his enemy, and tore the mantle from his body.

The hero without his mantle had no more strength than a common man.

“You are the best champion that ever I have met,” said he to Cahal. “I will give you all that you ask, but don’t kill me.”

“I have no wish to kill or to hurt you, though good treatment is not what you deserve from me. You caused me great trouble and hardship searching and travelling, not knowing where to find you. I want nothing of you but my bride, and your promise not to put fog or magic on us or harm us until we reach Erin in safety.”

“That is more than I can promise,” said Wet Mantle.

“Why so?” asked Cahal.

“The gruagach, Long Sweeper, took that maiden from me, and she put him under bonds not to molest her, or come near her for three days and three years.”

“Where can I find Long Sweeper?”

“That is more than I can tell,” said Wet Mantle. “The world is wide, you have free passage through it, and you can be going this way and that till you find him; he lives in a very high castle, and he is a tall man himself; he has a very long broom, and when he likes he sweeps the sky with that broom three times in the morning, and the day that he sweeps, there is no man in the world that can contradict him or conquer him.”

Cahal went riding his pony from the north to the south, from the east to the west, and west to east, three years and two days. At daylight of the third day he saw a tall castle in the ocean before him. So tall was the castle that he could not tell the height of it, and a man on the summit twice as tall as the castle itself, and he with a broom sweeping the sky.

“Ah,” said Cahal to himself, “I have you at last.”

He rode forward then to the castle, and struck the pole of combat.

“What do you want?” asked the messenger.

“I want men to meet me in combat.”

“Well, that is what you’ll not get in this place. There is no man living on this island but Long Sweeper and myself. The Black Horseman came from the Western World three months ago, and killed every man, gave Long Sweeper great hardship and trouble, and after terrible fighting got the upper hand of him.”

“Well, if he has no men, let him come out himself, for I’ll never leave the spot till I knock satisfaction out of Long Sweeper for the trouble he gave me before I could find him.”

Long Sweeper came out, and they began to fight; they fought for seven days and six nights. Toward evening of the seventh day Long Sweeper called for rest and got it. He went into his high castle, ate, drank, healed himself in his caldron of cure, and slept well and soundly, while Cahal had to rest as best he was able on the ground beyond the wall. The eighth morning Long Sweeper went up on his castle and swept the sky back and forth three times, and got such strength that no man on earth could overcome him that day.

They fought three days and two nights, and fought all the time without rest. Long Sweeper called for rest then and got it, and was cured and refreshed as before. Next morning he mounted the castle, swept the sky three times with his broom, and was ready for combat.

Before Long Sweeper came, the goldfinch perched in front of Cahal and said, “Misfortune to you, son of King Conor in Erin; ’tis to a bad place you came with your life to lose it, and isn’t it foolish of you to give your enemy rest, while yourself has nothing to lie on but the earth, and nothing to put in your mouth but cold air? Give neither rest nor truce to your enemy. He will be losing strength till three days from now. If he gets no chance to sweep the sky, he’ll be no better than a common man.”

That evening Long Sweeper called for rest.

“No,” said Cahal, “you’ll get no rest from me. We must fight till either one or the other yields.”

“That’s not fair fighting.”

“It is not, indeed. I am ten days and nights without food, drink, or rest, while you have had them twice. We have not fought fairly so far, but we will hereafter. You must remain as you are now till one of us is conquered.”

They were fighting till noon, the thirteenth day. “I am beaten,” said Long Sweeper. “Whatever I have I am willing to give you, but spare my life, for if there is a good hero in the world you are he.”

“I want nothing of you,” said Cahal, “but to send out to me my bride, Bloom of Youth, daughter of the King of Hathony, the maiden you took from Wet Mantle. You have caused me great hardship and trouble, but I’ll let some one else take your life, or may you live as you are.”

“I cannot send out your bride,” said Long Sweeper, “for she is not in my castle. The Black Horseman took her from me three months ago.”

“Where am I to find that man?”

“I might tell you to put your nose before you and walk after it, but I will not; I will give you a guide. Here is a rod; whichever way the rod turns, follow it till you come to the Western World, where the Black Horseman lives.”

Cahal mounted his mare, made off with the rod in his hand, and rode straight to the Black Horseman’s castle. The messenger was in front of the castle before him.

“Tell your master to send out champions against me, or to come himself,” said Cahal.

That moment the Black Horseman himself was on the threshold. “I am here all alone,” said he to Cahal. “I have lost all my wealth, all my men, all my magic. I am now in a poor state, though I was living pleasantly and in greatness after the conflict in which I got the better of Long Sweeper. It’s rich and strong I was after parting with that man, and I was waiting here to marry when White Beard from the Western World came, made war on me, and continued it for a day and a year; then he left me poor and lonely, as I am at this moment.”

“Well,” said Cahal, “you have caused me great labor and hardship; but I ask nothing of you except to send out my bride, Bloom of Youth, to me, and not to bring fog or magic on her or on me till we reach home in safety.”

“White Beard took your bride from me, and he cannot marry her for four days and four years, for she put him under bond not to do so. I will tell you now how to find her. Do you see that broad river in front of us? It flows from the Northern to the Southern World, and there is no way to cross it unless a good hero does so by springing from one bank to the other. When White Beard took the maiden from me, they walked to the brink of the river; he placed the woman then on his shoulder and sprang over the river to the west. ‘Let me down, now,’ said the woman. ‘I will not,’ replied White Beard, ‘I have such regard for you that I will show you every place on the road.’ He did not let her down till he showed her everything between the river and the castle. ‘You may come down,’ said he, when they entered the castle (she could see everything from his shoulder, but nothing from the ground). When coming down she thrust a sleeping pin that she had in the head of the old man, and he fell fast asleep standing there. She has whatever she wishes to eat or to drink in the castle. All is in a mist of enchantment. She can see nothing outside the castle, but everything within. That was my home at one time. I was born and reared in that castle, and lived in it till White Beard drove me away with magic and violence. I came to this place and lived here a time without trouble, till I took Bloom of Youth from Long Sweeper. I was waiting to marry her, when White Beard came, destroyed all my forces, took away my enchantment, carried off Bloom of Youth, and left me here without strength or defence. But one thing is left me, and that I will give you. Here is a torch. When you cross the river, light it. You’ll find the road, and no one has found it since I was there. When you light the torch follow the road to an old cottage, at one side from the castle. In this cottage is a henwife, who has lived there since my childhood. She will show the way to the castle and back to her cottage. From there you may journey homeward in safety, by lighting the torch a second time, and keeping it till you ride out of the castle’s enchantment. This is all I have to tell you.”

Cahal rode briskly to the river, rode across, lighted his torch on the other side, saw a narrow bright road, but nothing on either side. The road was a long one, but he came to the end of it at the door of the henwife’s old cottage. Cahal greeted the henwife.

“A hundred thousand welcomes,” said the old woman. “You are here from my master, the Black Horseman, or you could not be in it. Can I help you in any way?”

“I want nothing of you but to show me the way to the castle of White Beard, where my bride is, and then bring me back to this place.”

“Follow me,” said the henwife, “and leave your horse here.”

She took Cahal by the hand and went forward till she came to the castle and entered it. There Cahal saw the finest woman that ever he had met in the world. “Well,” said he to himself, “I am not sorry, after all my troubles and hardships, if you are the woman I am to marry.”

“A greeting to you, young hero,” said the woman. “Who are you who have been able to come to this castle, and why are you here?”

“My name is Cahal, son of King Conor, in Erin. I am long travelling and fighting to find and to rescue my bride, Bloom of Youth, daughter of the King of Hathony. Who are you, fair lady?” asked Cahal.

“I am the daughter of the King of Hathony. The day before I was taken by Striker, son of the King of Tricks, my father told me that the son of King Conor, in Erin, was betrothed to me. You, I suppose, are that man?”

“I am,” said Cahal. “Come with me now, I will free you; but what are we to do with White Beard?”

“Leave him as he is. There is no knowing what he would do should we rouse him.”

The two went with the henwife to her cottage. Cahal lighted the torch a second time, mounted the mare, put Bloom of Youth in front, rode first to Hathony, and then home to Erin.

King Conor made a great feast of welcome for Cahal and his bride. There were seven hundred guests at the short table, eight hundred at the long table, nine hundred at the round table, and a thousand in the grand hall. I was there and heard the whole story, but got no present except shoes of paper and stockings of buttermilk, and these a herder stole from me in crossing the mountains.

COLDFEET AND THE QUEEN OF LONESOME ISLAND.

Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, there lived an old woman in Erin. This old woman’s house was at the northeast corner of Mount Brandon. Of all the friends and relatives that ever she had in the world there was but one left, her only son, Sean,[3] nicknamed Fuarcosa (Coldfeet).

The reason that people called the boy Coldfeet was this: When a child he was growing always; what of him did not grow one hour grew another; what did not grow in the day grew in the night; what did not grow in the night grew in the day; and he grew that fast that when seven years old he could not find room enough in his mother’s house. When night came and he was sleeping, whatever corner of the house his head was in, it was out of doors that his feet were, and, of course, they were cold, especially in winter.

It was not long till his legs as well as his feet were out of the house, first to the knees, and then to the body. When fifteen years old it was all that he could do to put his head in, and he lived outdoors entirely. What the mother could gather in a year would not support the son for a day, he was that large and had such an appetite.

Coldfeet had to find his own food, and he had no means of living but to bring home sheep and bullocks from whatever place he met them.

He was going on in this way, faring rather ill than well, when one day above another he said, “I think I must go into the great world, mother. I am half starving in this place. I can do little good for myself as I am, and no good at all for you.”

He rose early next morning, washed his face and hands, asked assistance and protection of God, and if he did not, may we. He left good health with his mother at parting, and away he went, crossing high hills, passing low dales, and kept on his way without halt or rest, the clear day going and the dark night coming, taking lodgings each evening wherever he found them, till at last he came to a high roomy castle.

He entered the castle without delaying outside, and when he went in, the owner asked was he a servant in search of a master.

“I am in search of a master,” said Coldfeet.

He engaged to herd cows for small hire and his keeping, and the time of his service was a day and a year.

Next morning, when Coldfeet was driving the cattle to pasture, his master was outside in the field before him, and said, “You must take good care of yourself, for of all the herders who took service with me never a man but was killed by one or another of four giants who live next to my pastures. One of these giants has four, the next six, the third eight, and the fourth twelve heads on him.”

“By my hand!” said Coldfeet, “I did not come here to be killed by the like of them. They will not hurt me, never fear.”

Coldfeet went on with the cattle, and when he came to the boundary he put them on the land of the giants. The cows were not long grazing when one of the giants at his castle caught the odor of the strange herder and rushed out. When coming at a distance he shouted, “I smell the blood of a man from Erin; his liver and lights for my supper to-night, his blood for my morning dram, his jawbones for stepping-stones, his shins for hurleys!”

When the giant came up he cried, “Ah, that is you, Coldfeet, and wasn’t it the impudence in you to come here from the butt of Brandon Mountain and put cattle on my land to annoy me?”

“It isn’t to give satisfaction to you that I am here, but to knock satisfaction out of your bones,” said Coldfeet.

With that the giant faced the herder, and the two went at each other and fought till near evening. They broke old trees and bent young ones; they made hard places soft and soft places hard; they made high places low and low places high; they made spring wells dry, and brought water through hard, gray rocks till near sunset, when Coldfeet took the heads off the giant and put the four skulls in muddy gaps to make a dry, solid road for the cows.

Coldfeet drove out his master’s cattle on a second, third, and fourth morning; each day he killed a giant, each day the battle was fiercer, but on the fourth evening the fourth giant was dead.

On the fifth day Coldfeet was not long on the land of the dead giants when a dreadful enchanted old hag came out against him, and she raging with anger. She had nails of steel on her fingers and toes, each nail of them weighing seven pounds.

“Oh, you insolent, bloodthirsty villain,” screamed she, “to come all the way from Brandon Mountain to kill my young sons, and, poor boys, only that timber is dear in this country it’s in their cradles they’d be to-day instead of being murdered by you.”

“It isn’t to give satisfaction to you that I’m here, you old witch, but to knock it out of your wicked old bones,” said Coldfeet.

“Glad would I be to tear you to pieces,” said the hag; “but ’tis better to get some good of you first. I put you under spells of heavy enchantment that you cannot escape, not to eat two meals off the one table nor to sleep two nights in the one house till you go to the Queen of Lonesome Island, and bring the sword of light that never fails, the loaf of bread that is never eaten, and the bottle of water that is never drained.”

“Where is Lonesome Island?” asked Coldfeet.

“Follow your nose, and make out the place with your own wit,” said the hag.

Coldfeet drove the cows home in the evening, and said to his master, “The giants will never harm you again; all their heads are in the muddy gaps from this to the end of the pasture, and there are good roads now for your cattle. I have been with you only five days, but another would not do my work in a day and a year; pay me my wages. You’ll never have trouble again in finding men to mind cattle.”

The man paid Coldfeet his wages, gave him a good suit of clothes for the journey, and his blessing.

Away went Coldfeet now on the long road, and by my word it was a strange road to him. He went across high hills and low dales, passing each night where he found it, till the evening of the third day, when he came to a house where a little old man was living. The old man had lived in that house without leaving it for seven hundred years, and had not seen a living soul in that time.

Coldfeet gave good health to the old man, and received a hundred thousand welcomes in return.

“Will you give me a night’s lodging?” asked Coldfeet.

“I will indeed,” said the old man, “and is it any harm to ask, where are you going?”

“What harm in a plain question? I am going to Lonesome Island if I can find it.”

“You will travel to-morrow, and if you are loose and lively on the road you’ll come at night to a house, and inside in it an old man like myself, only older. He will give you lodgings, and tell where to go the day after.”

Coldfeet rose very early next morning, ate his breakfast, asked aid of God, and if he didn’t he let it alone. He left good health with the old man, and received his blessing. Away with him then over high hills and low dales, and if any one wished to see a great walker Coldfeet was the man to look at. He overtook the hare in the wind that was before him, and the hare in the wind behind could not overtake him; he went at that gait without halt or rest till he came in the heel of the evening to a small house, and went in. Inside in the house was a little old man sitting by the fire.

Coldfeet gave good health to the old man, and got a hundred thousand welcomes with a night’s lodging.

“Why did you come, and where are you going?” asked the old man. “Fourteen hundred years am I in this house alone, and not a living soul came in to see me till yourself came this evening.”

“I am going to Lonesome Island, if I can find it.”

“I have no knowledge of that place, but if you are a swift walker you will come to-morrow evening to an old man like myself, only older; he will tell you all that you need, and show you the way to the island.”

Next morning early Coldfeet went away after breakfast, leaving good health behind him and taking good wishes for the road. He travelled this day as on the other two days, only more swiftly, and at nightfall gave a greeting to the third old man.

“A hundred thousand welcomes,” said the old man. “I am living alone in this house twenty-one hundred years, and not a living soul walked the way in that time. You are the first man I see in this house. Is it to stay with me that you are here?”

“It is not,” said Coldfeet, “for I must be moving. I cannot spend two nights in the one house till I go to Lonesome Island, and I have no knowledge of where that place is.”

“Oh, then, it’s the long road between this and Lonesome Island, but I’ll tell where the place is, and how you are to go, if you go there. The road lies straight from my door to the sea. From the shore to the island no man has gone unless the queen brought him, but you may go if the strength and the courage are in you. I will give you this staff; it may help you. When you reach the sea throw the staff in the water, and you’ll have a boat that will take you without sail or oar straight to the island. When you touch shore pull up the boat on the strand; it will turn into a staff and be again what it now is. The queen’s castle goes whirling around always. It has only one door, and that on the roof of it. If you lean on the staff you can rise with one spring to the roof, go in at the door, and to the queen’s chamber.

“The queen sleeps but one day in each year, and she will be sleeping to-morrow. The sword of light will be hanging at the head of her bed, the loaf and the bottle of water on the table near by. Seize the sword with the loaf and the bottle, and away with you, for the journey must be made in a day, and you must be on this side of those hills before nightfall. Do you think you can do that?”

“I will do it, or die in the trial,” said Coldfeet.

“If you make that journey you will do what no man has done yet,” said the old man. “Before I came to live in this house champions and hundreds of king’s sons tried to go to Lonesome Island, but not a man of them had the strength and the swiftness to go as far as the seashore, and that is but one part of the journey. All perished, and if their skulls are not crumbled, you’ll see them to-morrow. The country is open and safe in the daytime, but when night falls the Queen of Lonesome Island sends her wild beasts to destroy every man they can find until daybreak. You must be in Lonesome Island to-morrow before noon, leave the place very soon after midday, and be on this side of those hills before nightfall, or perish.”

Next morning Coldfeet rose early, ate his breakfast, and started at daybreak. Away he went swiftly over hills, dales, and level places, through a land where the wind never blows and the cock never crows, and though he went quickly the day before, he went five times more quickly that day, for the staff added speed to whatever man had it.

Coldfeet came to the sea, threw the staff into the water, and a boat was before him. Away he went in the boat, and before noon was in the chamber of the Queen of Lonesome Island. He found everything there as the old man had told him. Seizing the sword of light quickly and taking the bottle and loaf, he went toward the door; but there he halted, turned back, stopped a while with the queen. It was very near he was then to forgetting himself; but he sprang up, took one of the queen’s golden garters, and away with him.

If Coldfeet strove to move swiftly when coming, he strove more in going back. On he raced over hills, dales, and flat places where the wind never blows and the cock never crows; he never stopped nor halted. When the sun was near setting he saw the last line of hills, and remembering that death was behind and not far from him, he used his last strength and was over the hilltops at nightfall.

The whole country behind him was filled with wild beasts.

“Oh,” said the old man, “but you are the hero, and I was in dread that you’d lose your life on the journey, and by my hand you had no time to spare.”

“I had not, indeed,” answered Coldfeet. “Here is your staff, and many thanks for it.”

The two spent a pleasant evening together. Next morning Coldfeet left his blessing with the old man and went on, spent a night with each of the other old men, and never stopped after that till he reached the hag’s castle. She was outside before him with the steel nails on her toes and fingers.

“Have you the sword, the bottle, and the loaf?” asked she.

“I have,” said Coldfeet; “here they are.”

“Give them to me,” said the hag.

“If I was bound to bring the three things,” said Coldfeet, “I was not bound to give them to you; I will keep them.”

“Give them here!” screamed the hag, raising her nails to rush at him.

With that Coldfeet drew the sword of light, and sent her head spinning through the sky in the way that ’tis not known in what part of the world it fell or did it fall in any place. He burned her body then, scattered the ashes, and went his way farther.

“I will go to my mother first of all,” thought he, and he travelled till evening. When his feet struck small stones on the road, the stones never stopped till they knocked wool off the spinning-wheels of old hags in the Eastern World. In the evening he came to a house and asked lodgings.

“I will give you lodgings, and welcome,” said the man of the house; “but I have no food for you.”

“I have enough for us both,” said Coldfeet, “and for twenty more if they were in it;” and he put the loaf on the table.

The man called his whole family. All had their fill, and left the loaf as large as it was before supper. The woman of the house made a loaf in the night like the one they had eaten from, and while Coldfeet was sleeping took his bread and left her own in the place of it. Away went Coldfeet next morning with the wrong loaf, and if he travelled differently from the day before it was because he travelled faster. In the evening he came to a house, and asked would they give him a night’s lodging.

“We will, indeed,” said the woman, “but we have no water to cook supper for you; the water is far away entirely, and no one to go for it.”

“I have water here in plenty,” said Coldfeet, putting his bottle on the table.

The woman took the bottle, poured water from it, filled one pot and then another, filled every vessel in the kitchen, and not a drop less in the bottle. What wonder, when no man or woman ever born could drain the bottle in a lifetime.

Said the woman to her husband that night, “If we had the bottle, we needn’t be killing ourselves running for water.”

“We need not,” said the man.

What did the woman do in the night, when Coldfeet was asleep, but take a bottle, fill it with water from one of the pots, and put that false bottle in place of the true one. Away went Coldfeet next morning, without knowledge of the harm done, and that day he travelled in the way that when he fell in running he had not time to rise, but rolled on till the speed that was under him brought him to his feet again. At sunset he was in sight of a house, and at dusk he was in it.

Coldfeet found welcome in the house, with food and lodgings.

“It is great darkness we are in,” said the man to Coldfeet; “we have neither oil nor rushes.”

“I can give you light,” said Coldfeet, and he unsheathed the sword from Lonesome Island; it was clear inside the house as on a hilltop in sunlight.

When the people had gone to bed Coldfeet put the sword into its sheath, and all was dark again.

“Oh,” said the woman to her husband that night, “if we had the sword we’d have light in the house always. You have an old sword above on the loft. Rise out of the bed now and put it in the place of that bright one.”

The man rose, took the two swords out doors, put the old blade in Coldfeet’s sheath, and hid away Coldfeet’s sword in the loft. Next morning Coldfeet went away, and never stopped till he came to his mother’s cabin at the foot of Mount Brandon. The poor old woman was crying and lamenting every day. She felt sure that it was killed her son was, for she had never got tale or tidings of him. Many is the welcome she had for him, but if she had welcomes she had little to eat.

“Oh, then, mother, you needn’t be complaining,” said Coldfeet, “we have as much bread now as will do us a lifetime;” with that he put the loaf on the table, cut a slice for the mother, and began to eat himself. He was hungry, and the next thing he knew the loaf was gone.

“There is a little meal in the house,” said the mother. “I’ll go for water and make stirabout.”

“I have water here in plenty,” said Coldfeet. “Bring a pot.”

The bottle was empty in a breath, and they hadn’t what water would make stirabout nor half of it.

“Oh, then,” said Coldfeet, “the old hag enchanted the three things before I killed her and knocked the strength out of every one of them.” With that he drew the sword, and it had no more light than any rusty old blade.

The mother and son had to live in the old way again; but as Coldfeet was far stronger than the first time, he didn’t go hungry himself, and the mother had plenty. There were cattle in the country, and all the men in it couldn’t keep them from Coldfeet or stop him. The old woman and the son had beef and mutton, and lived on for themselves at the foot of Brandon Mountain.

In three quarters of a year the Queen of Lonesome Island had a son, the finest child that sun or moon could shine on, and he grew in the way that what of him didn’t grow in the day grew in the night following, and what didn’t grow that night grew the next day, and when he was two years old he was very large entirely.

The queen was grieving always for the loaf and the bottle, and there was no light in her chamber from the day the sword was gone. All at once she thought, “The father of the boy took the three things. I will never sleep two nights in the one house till I find him.”

Away she went then with the boy,—went over the sea, went through the land where wind never blows and where cock never crows, came to the house of the oldest old man, stopped one night there, then stopped with the middle and the youngest old man. Where should she go next night but to the woman who stole the loaf from Coldfeet. When the queen sat down to supper the woman brought the loaf, cut slice after slice; the loaf was no smaller.

“Where did you get that loaf?” asked the queen.

“I baked it myself.”

“That is my loaf,” thought the queen.

The following evening she came to a house and found lodgings. At supper the woman poured water from a bottle, but the bottle was full always.

“Where did you get that bottle?”

“It was left to us,” said the woman; “my grandfather had it.”

“That is my bottle,” thought the queen.

The next night she stopped at a house where a sword filled the whole place with light.

“Where did you find that beautiful sword?” asked the queen.

“My grandfather left it to me,” said the man. “We have it hanging here always.”

“That is my sword,” said the queen to herself.

Next day the queen set out early, travelled quickly, and never stopped till she came near Brandon Mountain. At a distance she saw a man coming down hill with a fat bullock under each arm. He was carrying the beasts as easily as another would carry two geese. The man put the bullocks in a pen near a house at the foot of the mountain, came out toward the queen, and never stopped till he saluted her. When the man stopped, the boy broke away from the mother and ran to the stranger.

“How is this?” asked the queen; “the child knows you.” She tried to take the boy, but he would not go to her.

“Have you lived always in this place?” asked the queen.

“I was born in that house beyond, and reared at the foot of that mountain before you. I went away from home once and killed four giants, the first with four, the second with six, the third with eight, and the fourth with twelve heads on him. When I had the giants killed, their mother came out against me, and she raging with vengeance. She wanted to kill me at first, but she did not. She put me under bonds of enchantment to go to the castle of the Queen of Lonesome Island, and bring the sword of light that can never fail to cut or give light, the loaf of bread that can never be eaten, and the bottle of water that can never be drained.”

“Did you go?” asked the queen.

“I did.”

“How could you go to Lonesome Island?”

“I journeyed and travelled, inquiring for the island, stopping one night at one place, and the next night at another, till I came to the house of a little man seven hundred years old. He sent me to a second man twice as old as himself, and the second to a third three times as old as the first man.

“The third old man showed me the road to Lonesome Island, and gave me a staff to assist me. When I reached the sea I made a boat of the staff, and it took me to the island. On the island the boat was a staff again.

“I sprang to the top of the queen’s turning castle, went down and entered the chamber where she was sleeping, took the sword of light, with the loaf and the bottle, and was coming away again. I looked at the queen. The heart softened within me at sight of her beauty. I turned back and came near forgetting my life with her. I brought her gold garter with me, took the three things, sprang down from the castle, ran to the water, made a boat of the staff again, came quickly to mainland, and from that hour till darkness I ran with what strength I could draw from each bit of my body. Hardly had I crossed the hilltop and was before the door of the oldest old man when the country behind me was covered with wild beasts. I escaped death by one moment. I brought the three things to the hag who had sent me, but I did not give them. I struck the head from her, but before dying she destroyed them, for when I came home they were useless.”

“Have you the golden garter?”

“Here it is,” said the young man.

“What is your name?” asked the queen.

“Coldfeet,” said the stranger.

“You are the man,” said the queen. “Long ago it was prophesied that a hero named Coldfeet would come to Lonesome Island without my request or assistance, and that our son would cover the whole world with his power. Come with me now to Lonesome Island.”

The queen gave Coldfeet’s old mother good clothing, and said, “You will live in my castle.”

They all left Brandon Mountain and journeyed on toward Lonesome Island till they reached the house where the sword of light was. It was night when they came and dark outside, but bright as day in the house from the sword, which was hanging on the wall.

“Where did you find this blade?” asked Coldfeet, catching the hilt of the sword.

“My grandfather had it,” said the woman.

“He had not,” said Coldfeet, “and I ought to take the head off your husband for stealing it when I was here last.”

Coldfeet put the sword in his scabbard and kept it. Next day they reached the house where the bottle was, and Coldfeet took that. The following night he found the loaf and recovered it. All the old men were glad to see Coldfeet, especially the oldest, who loved him.

The queen with her son and Coldfeet with his mother arrived safely in Lonesome Island. They lived on in happiness; there is no account of their death, and they may be in it yet for aught we know.

LAWN DYARRIG, SON OF THE KING OF ERIN, AND THE KNIGHT OF TERRIBLE VALLEY.

There was a king in his own time in Erin, and he went hunting one day. The king met a man whose head was out through his cap, whose elbows and knees were out through his clothing, and whose toes were out through his shoes.