Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

The giant never tried to come back. He cleared out all the pillars on the Scottish side, but, you can well believe, he never went near the Irish shore again. To this day you can still see them standing out into the water, just as he left them in his hurry. People call the remaining pillars “The Giant’s Causeway” and this is the story they tell as to how it happens to be there.

THE STORY OF SABA

Finn always enjoyed a hunting excursion. In those days, when all the fighting was done with sword and spear, hunting was a different sport from what it is today. All the champions had fleet hounds, and they, themselves, from their training in speed, lagged little behind the dogs in the chase.

Finn had two beautiful hounds, Bran and Skolawn, which went with him at all times. He was very fond of them both. The stories tell that there were only two times in his life that he shed tears, and one of these was at the death of Bran.

One day Finn was out on the chase when the hounds gave tongue and set off at a rapid pace. You may be sure that Finn was not far behind them. When he came to a little glade among the trees, he saw a peculiar sight. There, on the turf beside a little stream, stood a beautiful doe. Finn raised his spear, but the strange behavior of the dogs stayed his hand. Instead of rushing at the deer, they approached her gently and licked the hair of her neck and shoulders.

The other Fenians came up and would have killed the animal had not Finn stopped them.

“No”, he cried. “She shall not be killed! If the dogs do not wish to harm her no one else shall.”

When Finn went back to his camp, the deer followed him with his dogs. When he went into his house, she lay down on the outside.

That night he awoke suddenly to find standing at his bedside the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Who are you?” he stammered, struggling from his sleep and rubbing his eyes.

“I am Saba, O Finn,” answered the maiden. “I am the deer you spared today.”

“The deer!” exclaimed Finn.

“That shape was put upon me by the Black Druid because I would not become his wife. I have wandered in the forest, pursued by man and beast, and many times I have nearly lost my life. I should have given up all hope had not a kindly slave of the Druid told me that if I could come safely into your camp I would be freed from the enchantment. I feared both dogs and men, but I trusted myself to your two hounds, which seemed to realize my helplessness.”

“Have no fear, fair Saba,” said Finn. “The Fenians fear no enchantment, and you will be safe while under our protection.”

Then Finn called his servants and had them prepare a room for the maiden. The remainder of the night he spent in dreams of the beautiful girl, who had come to him for protection.

Next morning Finn did not go out on the chase. He stayed in camp and talked to Saba. He found her even more beautiful in the daylight. The thought that she had to come to him for aid, added to her many charms, caused him to neglect everything for her. It ended by them both falling deeply in love with one another.

The feast for the wedding of Finn and Saba was an event in the life of the Fenians. Never had such a celebration been held in Ireland. Conn, the High King, and his son, Cormack, came. It could safely have been said that no king nor prince ever had a finer wedding or a more beautiful bride.

For months Finn would not leave his young wife. Adventures had no call to him; hunting had no charms. The love of this couple is one of the most beautiful ones in history.

But later there came a call to duty. Word came to Finn that the Danes had landed on the north coast of Erin, and that the Fenians were battling without their leader. This Finn could not allow. He got out his weapons and shield, mounted his horse and left for the scene of the battle.

His farewell to Saba was very touching. That she might have perfect protection while he was absent, he left behind a guard of some of his bravest men, with cautions that they must give their lives rather than lot her come under the power of the Black Druid.

For eight days and nights he fought the Danes. At the end of that time, with the foe driven back into the sea, he hastened to his young bride. His heart was filled with joyousness at the thought of being with her again.

But when he approached his home, he saw his men standing around in open-mouthed astonishment. Noting their look of fear, he called the chief of them to him.

“What has happened?” he asked. “Why is it my men look at me in such surprise. Did they not expect me to return?”

The chief seemed puzzled, too. “Were you not here three days ago?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” answered Finn. “Where is Saba? Did the Black Druid—”

“I am fearful, O Finn, that it was indeed he,” replied the chief. “Three days ago we saw you approaching with your two dogs at your side. Your wife went joyously forth to meet you. The man we thought was you took her up behind him, and then all disappeared in a mist. If it was not you, it must have been the Druid appearing in your shape.”

Finn, with his heart sad within him, searched every place from one end of Erin to the other, but without success. It was too true. His wife had disappeared as into a mist. It was undoubtedly the work of the Black Druid.

Finn throughout all his life never ceased to mourn for Saba, nor to search for her. Six years after her disappearance, while hunting in the forest, he came upon a wild boy with straggly hair and fierce eyes. His only clothing was the skins of beasts. The hounds had found him, and when Finn came up, the boy was standing with his back to a tree, waiting to strangle the hounds if they came at him.

The sight reminded Finn of his own boyhood days. He called off the dogs and took the boy home with him. At first the little fellow was too timid and unused to language to speak. Gradually, however, his fear left him and he became able to tell of his life in the forest.

He could remember a woman who had dwelt with him in a cave. A dark man had come and pleaded with her for several days, but always she had refused to do what the man asked. At last he had become angry, had left the cave and had never returned. The little boy remembered that he had never seen the woman again. After that he had been tended by a beautiful deer.

Then Finn knew that the woman was Saba and that the wild boy was his own son. He understood what the boy could not. The Black Druid had enticed his wife away and tried once more to get her to marry him. When she persistently refused him, he had turned her back into a deer.

Once more Finn searched the forest, hoping that he might again find the gentle deer, which had come to him before. His quest was without result. Possibly the Druid saw to it that she should never get near him, but it was more likely that some hunter had killed her. Finn mourned her as dead and gave his attention to the raising of his boy.

He named the child Ossian, which means Little Faun. He taught him the poetry of the day and trained him in feats of arms. Ossian grew up to be a worthy son of his father. In all the later battles we read of what a splendid fighter he was. He and his son, Oscar, were always in the front in time of danger.

But Ossian was not only a great warrior. He inherited his father’s love for poetry and the ability to write it. We have great numbers of stories about the deeds of Finn and the Fenians, and the greater number are written by the poet, Ossian.

CONAN, THE BALD

Not all the warriors of the Fenians were noted for their bravery. It is now necessary that we become acquainted with Conan, the unheroic member of the band. The stories do not tell how he ever passed his entrance trials, or why he was allowed to remain a member. He did many things the Fenians considered as unworthy of them.

Conan was a man with an evil tongue. He never had a good word for any one. No matter what his companions did, Conan would never have a word of praise for them. He would make sneering remarks about the feat. This did not mean that he would have done better himself. Far from it! He was a great coward and shirked any task which had any danger attached to it.

The fact that he had lost all his hair gave him his name. But there was something else about him that gave the Fenians a great deal of amusement. Whenever his armor was cut at the back, it showed everyone that he had the back of a sheep. When you hear how he got such a back, you will not wonder why the Fenians enjoyed the joke so much.

One day Finn, Conan and several other heroes were out hunting. All day long they had followed the chase, and in the afternoon they arrived in a new country, before a beautiful castle. Seeing no one around they went in. They found themselves in a large room, down the center of which ran a big table loaded with food. Along the sides of the table were rows of high-backed chairs.

As there was no one around, and as the feast seemed to have been just prepared, the men decided that it had been placed there for them. They sat down and began to eat. It was a delicious meal.

Suddenly something about the room made Finn look up from his food. When they had come in, the ceiling had been high and richly decorated. Now it was changing into the smoke-stained roof of a hut. Finn knew then that they had walked into an enchanted house, put there just to trap them. He called out a warning to his companions and ordered them all outside immediately.

When they were free from the house, and saw the great change that had taken place in it, they were, thankful for Finn’s wisdom in getting them out before it had been too late.

But they were not all out. Conan was still in the room eating like a pig. They called to him, urging him to hurry. He refused to leave such a fine array of food. At last two of the Fenians rushed in and took him by the arms. When they pulled at him they found that the enchantment was already beginning to work. He was growing fast to the back of the chair.

Conan was now thoroughly alarmed. He begged the men to pull him loose. The two Fenians pulled with all their might. With a mighty wrench they freed him, but his shirt and the skin of his back had grown fast to the chair.

He was in a very painful condition. Something had to be done to relieve him. He just lay on the ground and moaned and groaned.

“Kill a sheep and cover the wound with the skin of the animal,” ordered Finn.

The men did his bidding. The skin of the freshly killed sheep was cut to fit and bound to his sore back. Then Finn gave him a drink of water from his cupped hands and restored his strength to him. The sheepskin grew fast and could never be removed, so Conan always had to wear it.

With all Conan’s cowardice, he really did come out victorious in one battle. But when you hear of this particular combat, you will understand why the Fenians, instead of honoring him for it, had less respect for him than ever.

During the progress of one battle, when a hostile army had landed on the shores of Erin, one champion stood out in front each morning and demanded single combat.

“If you are not afraid of me,” he would call, “why don’t you send a man to meet me?”

He was not a great hero and the Fenians refused to be bothered with him alone. Finally, when they grew tired of hearing the challenge, as a joke they sent Conan out to fight with him. A roar of laughter came from the Fenians as Conan went cautiously out to meet this man. The enemy gave a cry of rage at the insult, and the champion called out angrily:

“What do you mean by sending a clown to meet me? Is there not a man among you who dares to face me?”

Conan came forward slowly, afraid for his life. When he got close to the champion, the latter said sarcastically:

“The Fenians seem anxious that I be left unharmed, since they send me such a dangerous foe.”

“You are in more danger from the man behind you, than from the one in front of you,” said the cowardly Conan.

The champion looked around to see what he meant. At that moment Conan swung his sword and cut off the man’s head.

This treacherous way of winning a combat angered Finn and the Fenians beyond all measure. They considered that Conan had disgraced them. It is a wonder they did not put him to death. His only punishment was banishment from the band for a short time. We find him in the later stories, just as full of trickery, just as cowardly and just as uncomplimentary to his companions, but still the butt of all their jokes.

DERMOT OF THE LOVE SPOT

One of the most splendid heroes of the Fenians was Dermot. His name is second only to that of Finn in the stories of valiant deeds. He was younger than his chief by many years, even younger than Ossian, Finn’s son. Dermot was the fleetest man of them all, and also the one with the keenest eyes. In many of the stories he is chosen for deeds of valor rather than Finn himself. This happens, however, when Finn is an old man, and his wisdom and leadership are of more value than his strength.

This young hero was the son of a god. In those days, however, gods could be wounded and could die. They lived on earth and needed food to live on, just the same as other men. The distinction between the Irish gods and heroes like Finn is very slight in the old stories. Dermot did have one gift no other Fenian possessed. His foster-father, the god Angus, had granted him a body that no weapon could wound. There was but one thing that could harm him. That was the tusks of a wild boar. His foster-father warned him never to hunt the boar unless it was absolutely necessary, and then to exercise every care so as not to be wounded by the tusks.

Dermot was a handsome man, with curling fair hair and blue eyes like those of his leader. He was Finn’s closest companion and greatly loved by him. His was the soul of honor. If he got into trouble it was from doing some task his honor demanded. His courage and strength were unquestioned. The Fenians always fought with more bravery if they knew Dermot was with them.

Such a handsome man could not help being very popular with the maidens of Erin. They liked him because of his strength and his handsome face. But it was the Love Spot on his forehead which made it impossible for any girl to look at him and not fall in love with him. You shall have to hear how he received this gift.

One day he was out hunting with Conan, Oscar and Gaul of Morna. As often happened in those days, the chase led them far from their camp. With the coming of darkness they began to look for a shelter for the night. They wandered around until they came upon a little house in the forest. When they knocked, a gray-haired man came to the door and inquired their errand.

“We ask for thy hospitality,” said Dermot.

“That you shall have,” declared the old man, throwing wide the door. “Come right in, and thousand welcomes to you.”

Inside they found a queer household waiting for them. At the table sat a beautiful young girl; before the fire was a large gray cat; while lying at one side of the fireplace was a big sheep with a fleece of long, shaggy wool.

The old man went into the kitchen of the house and prepared a splendid meal, which he placed before the heroes. All ate heartily, but, as usual, Conan was still eating after all the others had finished.

He was interrupted by the sheep, which climbed to the table and commenced eating of the food that was left. Conan pushed the animal’s nose out of the food time and time again and tried to go on with his eating. It was of no use. Before he could get a bite, the old sheep would thrust its nose into the plate.

“I call it a strange house where a sheep is allowed to eat from the table,” declared Conan.

“I did not put him there,” answered the old man. “If you do not like his company, put him off.”

Conan grasped the sheep in his two arms, intending to lift it from the table. To his surprise he could not move it. He tugged and strained without avail. At last the sheep, with a quick toss of his head, threw Conan into the center of the room.

How the other men roared with laughter! It was always amusing to see Conan get the worst of anything. As for Conan, he picked himself up sulkily.

“You laugh loudly,” he growled. “I’ll wager there is not one of you who can move it.”

The idea was ridiculous. To think of anyone claiming to be a hero and unable to lift an ordinary sheep! Oscar, with a laugh, started to brush the animal away with one hand. Soon he had the sheep in both arms and was tugging and straining in an attempt to move it. Then he, too, found himself thrown lightly away from the table.

Now it ceased to be a joke. Dermot tried to remove the animal with no better success. Gaul, it is true, got the sheep off the table for a moment, but the animal soon turned this hero on his back and stood upon him. Then it jumped back to the table.

During all this time the old man had been looking on in amusement. Now he spoke to the cat, which was lazily basking itself before the fire.

“Take him away,” ordered the old man.

The cat got up slowly and climbed to the table. Then, taking the sheep by the long hair of its throat, the cat led it down and out of the room.

The four heroes looked at one another in surprise and astonishment. Dermot picked up his shield and his weapons. “Come,” he said to his companions. “We shall not stay under a roof where a host makes game of his guests.”

“Sit down,” said the old man. “You have been testing your strength in an impossible feat. You will not feel badly over your failure when I tell you that the sheep you tried to move was the World, itself. To lift it is a task no man can accomplish. The cat could master the animal easily, because the cat was Old Age, and even the world cannot withstand its force. Come, let me show you to your beds.”

The heroes were somewhat soothed by the explanations and followed the host into another room, where they found their beds prepared for them. Later, the young girl came to the door and looked from one to the other of the men.

“I have a gift,” she said. “It goes to but one of you.”

“Let me have it,” said Conan. “If ever a man needed a gift, it is I.”

“Give it to me,” said Oscar. “I am the strongest.”

Gaul and Dermot said nothing. These men were wise. They knew that they were in an enchanted house, and that the girl would give the gift to whom she chose.

“Not to you, or you, or you,” she said pointing in turn to Conan, Oscar and Gaul. “My gift cannot go to any of you. I am Youth and youth has left you all.”

She approached the couch of Dermot. “You can never grow old,” she said, “so I shall always be with you. To you I shall give the gift that Youth can bestow.”

She raised her wand and touched him lightly on the forehead.

“I give to you the Love Spot, Dermot,” she said. “Who wears it will win the love of all women. No maiden will be able to look upon you without loving you. Treat my gift with honor and with wisdom.”

Then the maiden left the room, and the heroes went to sleep.

That is the way in which Dermot received the Love Spot. It made him beloved by all women, but in the end, this gift caused him great sorrow. You shall see in the story of “Dermot and Grainne” that the gifts of the fairies do not always bring happiness.

DERMOT RESCUES FINN

Finn’s dearest friend and constant companion, during his later years, was Dermot. This young man was most loyal to his chief, and because he was such a true friend, so strong in the fight, so swift of foot and so keen of sight, Finn depended greatly upon him. Where Finn went you were sure to find Dermot, and if Dermot was off on an adventure, Finn was pretty sure to be with him.

On the day of our story the two were out hunting with some friends. We find these Fenians on the hunt a great deal of the time. The reason is a simple one. From November to May the men of the army lived at the expense of the High King and the people; from May to November they had to get their food and clothing by hunting. Naturally, many of the adventures start on a hunting trip.

As this particular morning advanced, the party decided to stop in a little sheltered spot near the shore for their meal. It was while the men were getting the game cooked that Finn and Dermot strolled along the beach and sat down on a ledge of rock. While they were there a ship sailed into the little harbor.

It was a small vessel, handsome in every line, with sails full as if in a strong breeze. This was remarkable because no air was stirring at that time. The ship neared the shore and stopped. The sails dropped loosely. Finn and Dermot looked in vain for the crew, but there was no one visible except a lone woman, who sat on the deck.

“It is a wonder to me that one woman should be able to sail a ship alone and come into a harbor at full speed with no wind blowing,” said Finn.

Dermot was looking with interest toward the ship.

“You shall not wonder long,” said Dermot. “I will go down and bring you word.”

Finn detained him with a laugh. “No, Dermot,” he said. “This time we will take into consideration the heart of the lady. I shall see for myself.”

Finn went down to the shore, placed the point of his sword upon a rock and sprang lightly to the deck of the vessel.

He was amazed at the beauty of it all. The deck was as clean as a deck could be with trimmings of silver and gold. At the end, on a seat of the finest tapestry, sat a beautiful woman. She smiled engagingly and held out her hand toward Finn.

“Come here,” she said. “I wish you would tell me where I have landed.”

“You are in the harbor of Erin,” said Finn.

“And could you tell me where I am to find the home of a man named Finn MacCool?” she asked.

“You will not need to find his home, for I am Finn himself,” he answered.

“Then I am indeed lucky,” said the woman. “I have come to play a game with Finn. I have heard that he never refuses to play for a sentence, and that he honorably lives up to his agreements.”

It flattered Finn to be praised by a beautiful woman. Like most of the heroes of history his wisdom deserted him when dealing with a woman. It was true that he and the other Fenians took great delight in playing a game for a wager. These wagers were usually in the form of sentences. That is, they would play a game and at the end the winner would set a task for the loser to perform. Sometimes these tasks required years of labor and much suffering, but no Fenian ever refused to carry out a sentence imposed upon him.

“I would willingly play if I had my board and chessmen,” said Finn.

“I have them as good as your own,” answered the woman. To prove it she pulled out a beautiful board and a set of silver and gold chessmen. She had Finn sit on the seat near her to play. At the end of the first game Finn was the winner.

“You have beaten me,” she said with a dazzling smile. “What is the sentence you are to pronounce?”

Now Finn had not quite made up his mind as to what manner of woman it was who was playing with him. She looked and dressed like a king’s daughter, but an enchantress could assume that appearance. To prove it he made a sentence that would prove very difficult for anyone not able to use the arts of magic.

“I put you under bonds,” he said, “not to eat twice in the same place or sleep twice in the same bed until you have brought me a white horse with a saddle and bridle of red leather for myself and each of the Fenians with me today.”

The woman smiled again. “Look behind you,” she said.

Finn looked toward the shore. There were the beautiful steeds he had ordered, handsome in their saddles and bridles of red leather. In the lead was one much finer than the others.

Finn knew then that he was playing with an enchantress. He wished he was well out of his bargain, but he could not refuse to play the second game without violating the honor of a Fenian. He felt sure that the woman would win the next game.

The second game was short. As Finn imagined, the woman, by the aid of her powers, proved an easy winner. He was anxious to know what was in store for him.

“Let me know my sentence at once,” he demanded.

“Perhaps you will be sorry for your impatience when you hear it,” said the lady.

“No trouble was ever made lighter by putting it off,” declared Finn. “Pronounce your sentence immediately.”

“Very well,” she answered. “I put you under bonds to go with me and obey me in what I ask until some one throws upon you the amount of seven shovelfuls of earth. You will be under my enchantment until that happens.”

Finn did not show his dismay when he heard this hard sentence.

“It is your right to demand it,” he said. “Wait here until I give the steeds to my men and leave orders for them to follow during my absence.”

When he turned to look for the horses they had vanished. She saw his look of astonishment.

“You put me under bonds to bring the steeds, but I was not obliged to leave them there,” said the enchantress.

“It is true,” said Finn. “Now, since you have taken advantage of the wording of my sentence, I shall try to evade yours. You have put me under bonds to go with you, but you did not mention that I was not to try to escape from them.”

She nodded. “Of course, as a man of honor you cannot tell anyone what will release you,” she said. “If you free yourself otherwise, I shall be to blame.”

Finn went ashore to tell his men of his wager and sentence. He gave orders as to the conduct of the Fenians during his absence, then took Dermot to the top of a hill near the shore.

“Your eyes and ears are best in all Erin,” said Finn. “You will remain here to watch and listen. If you hear my horn, it will mean that I am not able to release myself by my own efforts.”

“I will not leave until you are back or my body turns to dust and the wind carries it away,” declared Dermot.

Then Finn went down to the ship and sprang aboard. The watchers saw the sails fill and the boat move swiftly out of sight over the waves.

II.

It was not long before the vessel arrived in a small harbor, which Finn recognized as the port of the White Nation. This was not very encouraging to him, because in a battle not long before he had defeated the king of that nation. He began to suspect that he was under enchantment for some purpose. Still he must go with the woman because he had pledged his word.

When the ship stopped the woman got out and bade him follow her. On the shore she paused, and pointing to a broad road bordered with tall trees, said,

“As you are a great champion in your country it is not fitting for you to follow me into the city as a servant. You will walk up the road to the palace while I take a shorter one and prepare a welcome for you.”

Finn did as he was told. He was puzzled and anxious. He could not but feel that there was something wrong with this plan. The woman had put him under bonds to come as a servant, and now she made it appear that this was not what she wished. Finn wished that he had been able to keep his sword, but that the woman would not allow. Only one thought cheered him. Dermot was watching and listening, ready to come to his assistance at any time.

Soon he came to the gates of the palace. A great crowd of people rushed out as though to welcome him. The welcome was a deceit. The men pushed against him on all sides and shoved him from one to another until he was bruised and bleeding. Finn was the match for many ordinary men in strength. Still, without his swords, he could not stand off a multitude.

Thus pushing and jostling him the crowd bore him into the courtyard into the presence of the ruler of the nation. The king sat upon a raised platform and by his side, in the robes of a princess, was the woman who had brought Finn to the country under sentence.

When the king saw Finn he laughed long and loudly.

“What ho, Finn MacCool!” roared he. “Methinks this is a fine manner for the arrival of a champion of Erin.”

Finn hung his head in shame.

“My daughter asked me to name the thing I most desired in all the world,” went on the king. “I told her the one thing necessary to my happiness was the head of Finn MacCool. She promised to bring you here that I might take it myself.”

Finn’s heart sank. He felt that the hour of his death was very near. The king stepped down from his platform, sword in hand, and swung the weapon back and forth.

“You would not dare do that if you would let me have a sword,” said Finn, looking him squarely in the eye.

The king drew back and bowed his head in thought. Probably he had hoped to have Finn beg for his life.

“No,” he said at length, “I will let you think over the fact that you are in my power. It will be pleasant for you to lie and wonder how long I will let you live.”

He gave orders that Finn’s legs and arms be firmly tied with seven knots on each rope so that escape would be impossible. Then he had his captive placed in a dark dungeon. Each day he was to receive an ounce of bread and a pint of water, no more under any consideration. For a big strong man like Finn this was very little food. But being tied and lying in a black hole was even more likely to take the spirit out of him.

Each day an old woman came with his food and water, but his arms and legs were never loosened. On the eighth day Finn said to the woman,

“Tell the king that I beg leave to walk in the garden for an hour. I do not ask for my head, but if he does not give me a little freedom I shall not be able to live. For the king to take the head of a dead man would be small glory.”

The king yielded to this request and ordered Finn an hour of freedom. He took no chances, however. The walk was to occur in a walled garden and thirty armed men were to be with him every moment.

Finn was happy over the privilege. It was not the fear of death that had made him ask for the walk. No, he had a far better reason, as you shall see. After he had walked a few minutes he said,

“I am very fond of music. Have you any musical instruments with you?”

Now the chief was very sorry to see such a mighty man a prisoner without a chance for his life. He would gladly have had the music played, but was obliged to confess that none of his men had instruments with them at the time.

Then Finn took from under his clothes a queerly shaped horn. He turned it over and over in his hands and looked at it as though it was very dear to him. Finally he spoke.

“When I was at home and in charge of my men I used to play for them quite often. I really enjoy music very much. I wonder—perhaps you and your men might like to hear a tune?” he finished, as though the idea had just come to him.

“I should be very glad to hear you play,” answered the chief.

So Finn placed the horn to his lips and played a tune of the Fenians. At the end of the air he blew a blast that echoed from hill to hill and made the listeners involuntarily put their hands to their ears. Then Finn put the horn away and was willing to be tied up again. The chief thought he had heard some wild Irish music. He little dreamed that the call had gone out for help.

III.

Dermot was asleep when Finn sounded the horn but the last note of it waked him. He sprang to his feet with a mighty bound that sent showers of rocks and dirt in every direction.

“Great is the trouble of my chief!” he exclaimed. “I have never heard such a blast from his horn.”

He rushed to the shore, found a small boat lying there, hoisted the sail and set off in the direction from whence the sound had come. He was lucky enough to arrive at the same harbor in which was anchored the ship on which Finn had been taken away. Dermot anchored his boat and started up the broad road.

As he went along he found men, women and children hastening in the same direction with all the speed at their command. He asked several of them the reason for their hurry, but all seemed too excited to answer him. Finally Dermot grew angry, so singling out one man who seemed to be in greater haste than the rest, he picked him up and held him off the ground while he repeated his question.

The man was greatly frightened, you may believe, for Dermot was taller and broader than any man of the White Nation and must have seemed quite like a giant to his captive. The man suddenly became very anxious to explain.

“You must not belong to this country, if you do not know where we are going,” he said.

“I am not from this country,” answered Dermot. “I am from Erin.”

“If that is so, you must know Finn MacCool,” said the man.

“I know him well. He is my chief,” replied Dermot.

“Then you had better tell no one that you are from Erin,” said the man. “If you do, you are likely to share the same fate. Finn is to be hanged in the palace courtyard today. The gallows is ready. When he is dead, his body is to be pulled to pieces by wild horses. You had better not acknowledge that you know him.”

Dermot set the fellow on his feet again. The fierce look in his eyes caused the man to step back.

“If you were not so small,” thundered Dermot, “you would never give such advice to another man. Men from Erin never fail to acknowledge their friends. Show me the way to the palace.”

“If you will go up the hill on your right, you can see it in the valley below,” directed the man. He lost no time in getting a safe distance from this mighty stranger. He was so frightened that instead of going on to the hanging, he turned around and made for his home as fast as he could. In the whole White Nation he was the only man traveling away from the palace.

Dermot bounded up the hill with mighty strides. When on top he looked in the direction of the hurrying people. Sure enough, there was the castle with crowds spread out all around it. Dermot dashed down the hill at full speed.

People were crowded so closely together that no ordinary man could possibly have squeezed through them. Each man was elbowing his neighbor so that he might get close enough to see the death of this great Fenian chief. Dermot could have cut his way through with his sword, but it was one of the rules of the Fenians not to harm the common people of a nation. He cleared his way by taking several in his right hand and several in his left and putting them behind him. Then he stepped into the opening and repeated the process until he reached the courtyard. He walked past the gallows and up to the pole of combat before the palace. This he struck a mighty blow with his sword.

The king came to his window and looked out in alarm.

“Who struck that blow?” he asked. “It must have been an enemy.”

If the trouble had not been so serious, Dermot might have laughed at this silly remark. But he was in no humor for laughter.

“If that sounded like the blow of a friend,” he said, “listen to this.”

Once more he swung his sword against the pole. This time his blow was so strong that the pole broke into splinters, which showered over the heads of the people.

“What do you want?” whined the king, who was, and always had been, a fearful coward.

“I want to see my chief, Finn MacCool, or to fight for him,” announced Dermot.

“See him you shall not,” declared the king, keeping well in the protection of his castle. “You are at liberty to fight for him.”

“Very well,” answered Dermot. “Send out seven hundred of your best men on my right hand, seven hundred on my left, seven hundred at my back and as many as you wish in front of me.”

“How many?” demanded the startled king, drawing still further back into his palace.

Dermot repeated his demand. You must remember that Dermot was the son of a god and could not be wounded. It is no wonder the king thought he had misunderstood. It was too good a chance to let go by. The king sent out the men requested, feeling sure that he would soon be rid of this fellow, who had made splinters of the combat pole.

But the king’s men were no match for Dermot even when they pressed against him in such numbers. By nightfall not a man had touched him while hundreds of the warriors of the White Nation were wounded or dead. With the setting of the sun, Dermot put up his sword and called out to the king,

“Do I get shelter for the night?”

It was customary in those days to stop fighting when the sun went down. It was also the custom to furnish food and a bed to a hero who was making a trial at arms. The king pointed to a long, low house a short distance from the courtyard.

“Go in there,” he called. “You are welcome to what shelter you find.”

IV.

Dermot was tired from his combat. He went to the house, opened the door and walked in. To his surprise he found himself surrounded by hundreds of little men, reaching no higher than his knee. They were wild, shaggy little fellows, kept by the king to kill people he did not like. Though not strong singly, they were there in such numbers that they could cover a man like ants and crush the life out of him.

When Dermot had entered, the little men shut the door and barred it. Then they began covering the windows and filling up the chinks between the logs.

“Why are you going to such trouble?” asked Dermot. The antics of the little fellows amused him. He never thought of treachery on the part of the king.

“We fear you may escape,” answered one of the men. “It is our duty to eat you.”

Poor foolish little fellows! They imagined a mighty hero like Dermot could creep through a hole large enough to let one of them through.

Dermot’s amusement turned to anger. By all the laws of hospitality he was entitled to a place to rest quietly until time for the next day’s combat. The king would have lasted only a few minutes if Dermot could have laid a hand on him when he discovered the foul scheme. The little men rushed at him by the hundreds. There was little use of using a sword against such small enemies. Dermot caught up the nearest by the ankles and used him as a club to beat down the others.

Soon there were no little savages left except one very small fellow in the corner.

“Spare me, great champion,” he called in a shrill, high voice. “If you give me my life there is not a place to which you will go but I will be with you. I will be a good servant to you.”

“No man ever asked for his life but I granted it,” said Dermot.

He sat down on a bench and looked about him. “Have you any food?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said the small chief, for he was the leader of the small men. “We never have food except the people the king sends us to eat. If you will go out and walk forty paces to your right, you will come to the king’s bakery. There you should be able to get some loaves.”

Dermot followed directions and found the king’s baker just closing up for the night.

“Give me two loaves of bread,” demanded Dermot.

The baker let out a scream of rage. “Ruffian,” he yelled. “Do you dare ask me for bread after the way you treated our soldiers today? Get out of here this minute.”

The little man was dancing with rage. Dermot let out a roar of laughter. He picked up the baker and held him at arms’ length. “You are a nimble dancer,” he said. “I shall give you a place to dance.”

Opening the oven, now cool enough so that it would not injure him, Dermot put the baker inside and shut the door. He helped himself to what bread he wanted while the baker kept up an excited dancing, accompanied by a steady pounding on the oven door.

But Dermot was not content to live on bread alone. He asked the small chief where he might get some meat.

“Instead of turning to the right, as you did when you went to the bakery, turn to the left and go the same distance in that direction. That will bring you to the king’s butcher, where you should be able to get plenty of meat.”

Dermot did as he was advised and found the man in his shop. He was a big, red-faced fellow, smeared from head to foot with the blood of the last animal he had killed.

“I want some meat for my supper,” said Dermot.

The butcher flew into a fine rage and brandished his knife. “Get out of here, you ruffian from Erin!” he shouted. “It was you who wounded so many of our people today. Get away before I cut out your heart.”

The butcher made a dash at Dermot. The latter was merely amused by the rage of the man. He laughed loudly, took away the knife with one hand, while with the other he caught the butcher by the belt and lifted him off the floor. A meat hook on the wall was very handy. Dermot hooked the belt of the butcher over that and left him hanging there, a funny sight as he kicked and yelled. With the meat Dermot got from the shop, and the bread, he and the small chief had a hearty supper.

The next day he again presented himself before the king.

“What do you want today?” asked the ruler of the White Nation.

“I want to see my chief, Finn MacCool, or to fight for him,” said Dermot.

“Fight you shall,” declared the king. “You shall not see him.”

Then the king ordered sent out double the number of men that had faced the champion the day before. He still had hopes that he could overpower Dermot by numbers. But this battle was but a second like the one of the day before. Dermot could not be wounded, while the slaughter of the king’s soldiers was something terrible. With the setting of the sun the combat was over, and Dermot went back to the long house to eat the supper the small chief had prepared for him, and to rest after his hard day.

V.

Next morning Dermot went again to the palace and made the same demand as on the two previous days. This time the king did not send out his forces to battle. Even he could see that he was wasting his soldiers without hope of defeating this new champion. Still he did not wish to give up Finn MacCool. His soldiers were not strong enough, the small men could not eat this man, but the king had other schemes to try before he gave up. Everyone knew the fondness of the Fenians for attempting feats of strength or adventure. The king decided to try that on Dermot, so that he could gain time, even if he did not get rid of this nuisance.

In the land of the White Nation there lived an enormous fellow known as the Red Giant. His choicest possession was a beautiful hound, which he kept near him at all times. When he went out walking, he had the dog with him on the end of a chain of solid gold. When he was at home he fastened the chain to the wall and kept the dog beside him.

There was a strange thing about this Red Giant. He had only one eye and that was in one side of his head, just above his ear. Because of this, he could see only what happened on one side of him. He kept the hound to warn him if anyone approached on the other side.

Though this man was the strongest person in the White Nation, he had no use for the king and would not serve him. The monarch resolved to get his aid by trickery.

“I will not let you see Finn MacCool,” he told Dermot, “until you have brought to this courtyard the hound and the golden chain.”

“Where can I find it?” asked Dermot.

“The world is wide,” answered the king. “Finding it is part of the task.”

“No man can give me a task I will not try to accomplish,” said Dermot. “There is but one thing I demand. If I go after this hound, you must pledge yourself that Finn is to be taken out of the dungeon and given a better room, with plenty of food to eat.”

This request did not please the king. He did not wish to grant Finn any favors, but he was afraid Dermot would not go to the Red Giant if he did not agree. He gave a grudging consent.

Poor Dermot! He went to the long house in despair. How was he to bring back something when he did not know where to look for it, and when there was no one in the country to give him directions? Yet, if he did not complete the task, he would lose his head and Finn would have to die. He sat down in the long house and buried his face in his hands.

“What is troubling you, master?” asked the small chief.

Dermot sighed. “Nothing that you can help me with,” he said.

“I’ll wager that you have been sent to bring the hound and the golden chain,” said the chief.

Dermot sat up in surprise. “How did you know that?” he demanded.

“Because the hound is kept by the Red Giant, and the king has rid himself of many a good man by sending him after that hound,” said the little fellow.

“Do you know where I can find him?” asked Dermot.

“I can lead you to the place and show you how to get the hound,” declared the chief.

The two set out immediately and traveled all day through a heavy forest. In the evening they came to the gate of an immense stone castle. There the chief stopped Dermot.

“In there lives the Red Giant,” he said. “At this hour he has had his meal and is sleeping beside the table in the center of the castle.”

Then the chief went on to explain that the giant had but one eye, which faced the main door to see if anyone entered. He took from his pocket a little cake and passed it to Dermot.

“Take this cake,” he said. “Do not go in at the main door but follow the corridor around and come to the small opening at the other side of the room. Throw this cake to the dog, and when he has eaten it pick him up and bring him with you. If you are quiet the giant will never know you have been in there.”

Dermot thanked his helper and went into the castle. Everything happened just as the small chief had promised. The task was so easy that he was back in five minutes with the hound under his arm. The two set off for the palace with their prize.

But Dermot was not happy. He kept going slowly and more slowly, until finally he stopped all together.

“What is the matter?” asked the chief.

“I can’t help thinking of the dirty trick I played on the Red Giant,” answered Dermot.

“How is that?”

“Like a thief I took away his hound without giving him a chance to fight for it,” said Dermot.

“It was the hound you went for, not a contest, and bringing him back will give you sight of Finn MacCool,” argued the chief. “Let us hurry.”

But Dermot would not go. “I’d think a man a fine champion if he sneaked in and took something of mine,” he said. “Not even for Finn will I do such a thing. I am going back and take the hound away from the giant as a champion should.”

No argument of the small chief did any good. Back they went to the castle and again the small chief stayed outside.

“Since you are bent on being foolish, I will give you some more advice,” said the little fellow. “The giant is strongest on his stone floor. Much of his strength leaves him when he is on soft earth.”

“I thank you for your help,” said Dermot.