Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

The king’s son took a knife and was going to cut. “Stop your hand,” said the red man. “Do you remember the day you were going past the churchyard? There were four men in the churchyard. They had a corpse, and they were arguing about the debts that were on the corpse. They were not willing to bury the corpse till the debts were paid. You had five pounds. You gave them to bury the corpse. It was I was in the coffin that day. When I saw you starting on your journey I went to you to save you, you were that good yourself. I bestow on you your child and your money. Health be with you and blessing. You will set eyes upon me no more.”

_GRIG._

_Narrator, JACK GILLESPIE, Glen, Glencolumkille, co. Donegal._

Morrocha heard that Grig would live for ever, until he was killed without sin. He left home to put Grig to death; and he and his boy went one day on the hill, and there came on them rain and mist, and they went astray till night came; and the boy said to Morrocha, “We shall be out this night.”

“Oh, we shall not be,” said Morrocha. And he went and looked through the mist. “I think I see a turf stack: it is not possible we are near a house?” They went on for another bit, and Morrocha stood: “I think,” said he, “I hear the lowing of a cow.”

“We are near a house,” said the boy, “and we’ll get into the byre.”

Morrocha stood up, and he felt the breath of a man, and he came to him. “Bless you,” said Morrocha.

“My blessing to you,” said the man; “for if you did not bless me, I would have your head or you would have mine.”

“The death-bands on you,” said Morrocha; “sorry I am I came to ask shelter of you.”

Said Theegerje, “I have no shelter to give you. There is not a house nearer to you than the house of Grig, and that is seven miles away; and if you go there don’t tell that you have seen me. I am his servant boy, and Grig is lying on the one bed for seven years, and if you go there tell him you are the best doctor ever stepped.”

Morrocha went on then, and when he came to Grig’s house, said Grig, “If it were not that you are a good doctor, I would cut the head from you.”

“The death-bands on you,” said Morrocha; “sorry I am I came to cure you, above and beyond the report I heard about you at home and abroad.”

“And,” said Grig, “if I had Njuclas Croanj and my wife she would not be on your side.”

She was sleeping at Grig’s back in the bed, and he told her to get up, and she did not stir, and Grig lifted his hand and struck her on the jaw-bone and put it out of joint, and she awoke and she said, “What made you do that to me?”

“Be silent, woman; don’t you see the Irish doctor that’s come to cure me, and to see me hale and whole and as good as ever I was?”

“Musha, it’s a poor place he’s come to. There isn’t a wisp dry or wet that isn’t under your side, and we haven’t a stool better than the floor, or a chair better than a lump of clay, and we haven’t as much fire as would cook the wing of a butterfly.”

“Be silent, woman,” said Grig, “and take my old great coat and fix it under me.”

She did that; and Theegerje came, and a load of faggots with him, and he put down a good fire, and Morrocha got food to eat, and when he warmed himself at the fire he was weary-wet, and he was falling asleep.

“The death-bands on you,” said Grig; “you’re not like a doctor, for you’ve never asked what kind of sickness is on me.”

“It is not that,” said Morrocha; “but there are numbers of people, and their blood runs all together when they see strangers.”

“I am of them,” said Grig.

“I was not going to feel your pulse until you got quiet.”

When he became quiet Morrocha arose and felt his pulse.

“And great is the pity,” said he, “that a fine man like you should be lying in that place on one bed, and I will cure you. If you got potatoes and butter, and ate the full of your fist, you would not be long sick.”

“That’s true,” said Grig, “and if Njuclas Croanj gave me that I wouldn’t be lying here.”

Morrocha asked if they had any food in the house, and Njuclas Croanj said they had,—that Theegerje was just after coming from the mill, and that he had three pecks of oatmeal. And Morrocha bade them give him a peck of meal, and she gave him that. And he asked if there was any butter in the house, and she said there was. “Bring me down a crock of fresh butter,” said he. And she brought that to him, and Morrocha mixed the meal and the butter up together, and he asked for a spoon, and he thrust the spoon into the dish.

“Do you see that?” said he.

“I see,” said Grig.

“You won’t get it,” said Morrocha, “till you tell me what was the horde of people from whom you came.”

“I will tell you that,” said Grig. “I am Grig, son of Stubborn, son of Very-evil, Shanrach, son of Canrain, son of the Soldier, who made people loathe him greatly.”

“The death-bands on you,” said Morrocha. “Weren’t they ugly names they had?”

“The death-bands on you,” said Grig. “Isn’t it you that are ugly? They were prosperous, blessed.”

“I give in that they were,” said Morrocha. “It was ignorance made me say that. But what sort was that one, the son of the Soldier?”

“This,” said Grig, “was one of the fathers who came before me; and the snout of a pig was on his forehead; and he had two daughters, whose names were Maywa, the big, Molloy’s daughter, and the other’s Sahwa, the big, daughter of Cricheen, and they went to Cornelius (?) the tailor, and they gathered the clippings the tailors threw away, and they made up two lying books of them, and they failed to make the books agree upon one story; and they struck one another, and the father came, and they struck their father and cut him; and he went, and he in his blood, and the pig’s snout on his forehead, and there is not one that saw him, but they would flee from him in thousands. And at last they got the two books to agree upon one story, and when the clergy heard they had the books, they desired to possess them, and they would not give them. And they banished them; and if they banished them we will not leave the night supperless.”

“And now,” said Morrocha, “I will give you supper.” And he went and gave the dish to Grig, and he ate the peck of meal and the butter mixed together. “Now,” said the other, “thirst will come on you; the butter was saltish, but do not drink a drop until I gather herbs that will help your sickness.” He went and the boy, and Njuclas Croanj and Theegerje with them, and they put down a big pot full of water before they went, and Morrocha gathered the full of a basket of hellebore (?) and he gathered tormentil, and he went into the house with Njuclas Croanj and Theegerje, and he bade them put the herbs into the pot and boil them, and when he grew thirsty to give him some of the liquor to drink, and, if he wished, some of the stalks to eat, “and I will gather more, and will come in to see if he is getting better.”

And Grig took a great thirst, and he set to drinking what was in the pot, and he drank it all; and when Njuclas Croanj went in, Morrocha and his boy went away; and when Grig drank the last of what was in the pot, he burst as he lay on the bed; and when Njuclas Croanj saw he was dead, she followed Morrocha; but since the Lord was with Morrocha, he escaped.

_THE LITTLE GIRL WHO GOT THE BETTER OF THE GENTLEMAN._

_Narrator, P. M’GRALE, Achill, co. Mayo._

There was an old man with a little girl of seven years, and he was begging; and he came to a gentleman, and begged of him; and the gentleman said it would be better for him to go and earn wages than to be as he was—begging; and the man said he would go, and willingly, if he got any one to pay him, and the other said he would himself give him pay, and a house to live in for himself, and for the little girl to come to and wash and cook for him. He gave them the house, and they went to live in it.

They were not long there when the gentleman came to the little girl one day, and thought to take liberties with her, but she kept herself free from him. When he saw that, he went to his workmen, and he spoke to her father, and said to him that he would hang him at twelve o’clock next day unless he told him which there was the greater number of, rivers or banks. His intention was to put the old man to death, that he might have his way with the little girl. And the old man went home sorrowful and troubled, and his daughter asked him what ailed him, and he told her he was to be hung at twelve o’clock next day unless he could tell which there was the greater number of, rivers or banks.

“Oh, don’t be sorrowful,” said his daughter, “eat your supper, and sleep plenty, and eat your breakfast in the morning, and when you are going to work, I will tell you.”

In the morning said she to him, “Say, when he asks you the question, that there is not a river but has two banks.”

When he went to work the master came and asked him, “Which is there the greater number of, rivers or banks?”

“There is not a river,” said he, “but has two banks.”

“Your question is answered; but you must tell me to-morrow the number of the stars.”

And he went home in the evening sorrowful and troubled. And his daughter asked him what ailed him, and he told her. She bade him not to be sorrowful, for she would tell him in the morning. And in the morning he went to his work, and his master came and asked him to count the number of the stars; and he said,—

“I will, if you put posts under them.”

And he could not do that, but he said,—

“I will hang you at twelve to-morrow, if you don’t give me the measure of the sea in quarts.”

And he went home to his daughter and told her, and in the morning, as he was going to work, she said,—

“Let him stop the rivers that are going into the sea or out of it, and you will measure it in quarts.”

So he gave that answer to his master, and his master could not stop the rivers.

Then he asked for the little girl in marriage, and the old man told him not to be making fun of the little girl, she was not fit for him. He would get a lady.

“I will not do that,” said he, “you must give her to me to marry.”

“Well, I must see the little girl; she will know what she will do.”

He went to his daughter and told her what the gentleman said, and the little girl answered her father, and said to him,—

“I will marry him, but he must give me a writing under his hand that on the day when he puts me away he must give me my choice of all that’s in his house, to take away three loads with me.”

And he said he would give her that, and she got it in his handwriting and signed by the lawyer.

Then the little girl came and lived in his house with him until she had two children.

At that time there was a dispute in the village between two men, one of whom had a horse, and the other a mare and a foal, and the three beasts used to be together. And the man who owned the horse said that the foal belonged to the horse; and the man of the mare, said no, that the foal was his; and the man who owned the horse put law on the man who owned the mare, and they left it to arbitration; and the man who was brought in to decide was the gentleman, who said he would settle it between them. And this is the judgment he gave, “He would put the three beasts into an empty house, and he would open two doors, and which ever of the two the foal followed, she should be with that one.” And he (did so) and opened the doors, and struck each beast, and prodded the horse; and the horse went out first and the foal followed him. Then the foal was given to the man who owned the horse.

All was well till there came some gentlemen to the house. They went out hunting. And when they were a while gone the woman took a fishing-rod, and she went fishing in the lake, and she was catching white trout until she saw the company coming, and she turned her back to the lake, and she began casting her line on the dry land. When her husband saw that, he went towards her, away from the other people, and he came and said it was a great wonder she should be casting her line on the dry ground and the lake on the other side of her; and she said it was a great wonder that a horse without milk should have a foal. That made him very angry, and he said on the spot,—

“After your dinner get ready and go from me.”

“Will you give me what you promised?”

“I will give it.”

After dinner, when the gentlemen were gone, he told her to be going, and she stood up and took with her her own child as a load and laid it down outside the door. She came in and took the second child as her load and put it outside. She came and she said, “I believe yourself are the load that’s nearest to me.” And she threw her arms round him and took him out as her third load. “You are now my own,” said she, “and you cannot part from me.”

“Oh! I am content,” said he, “and I promise I will not part from you for ever.”

They lived together then, and she took her father into the house, and he was with her until he died. They had a long life after.

_GILLA OF THE ENCHANTMENTS._

_Narrator, P. M’GRALE, Dugort, Achill co. Mayo._

There was a king in Ireland and his wife, and they had but one daughter, whose name was Gilla of the Enchantments, and she had a magic coat that her mother left her when she died. And there was a man courting her whose name was George nă Riell, and the two were courting.

When her mother died the king made a fair and beautiful greenawn for his three sons on an island in the midst of the sea, and there he put them to live; and he sent his daughter to them with food every evening.

It was not long after that till he married another wife, and by this wife he had three daughters. She was one day walking in the garden, and she got the corner of her apron under her foot and she fell.

“May neither God nor Mary be with you,” said the hen-wife.

“Why do you say that?” said the queen.

“Because the wife that was here before was better than you.”

“Was there a wife before me?”

“There was; and that one is her daughter, and there are three sons also in an island in the sea, and the daughter goes every night to them with food.”

“What shall I do with the three of them, to put them to death?”

“I’ll tell you,” said the hen-wife, “if you will do what I advise you.”

“I will do it,” said she.

“Promise a dowry to your eldest daughter if she will follow the (other) daughter out when she is going with food to her brothers.”

And she sent her daughter after the one who was going with food; but she looked behind her and saw the other coming, and she made a bog and a lake between them, so big that she went astray. She came to her mother, and told her she was wandering all the night, and the mother went to the hen-wife again and told her that her daughter had not made her way to the men; and the hen-wife said to her, “Promise a dowry to your second daughter.”

And she did this, and the second daughter followed as the first did, and fared in the same way, and she came and told her mother. And the mother went again to the hen-wife, and told her, and asked what she ought to do, and the hen-wife said, “Promise the dowry to your third daughter.”

And the third daughter followed Gilla of the Enchantments when she was going with the food; and she did not look behind her till she came to the house; and she put a pot of water down, and cut off the heads of her three brothers, and washed them, and put them on their shoulders again. And the half-sister was at the window looking on at everything she did, and she went home through the sea, before the sea returned together; and when they ate their supper, her sister came home.

The mother went in the morning to the hen-wife and told her the third woman had succeeded, and had learned everything. And she asked her what she should do.

“Say, now, that your daughter is going to be married, and ask Gilla for the loan of the coat. She will not know that the power of the coat will be gone if she gives it away. So long as she keeps the coat herself she can do everything; there are spells on the coat that the sea must open before it, without closing after it; but she does not know that the spell of the coat will be lost.”

She gave the loan of the coat to her half-sister, but instead of going to be married this is what she did. When night came she put the coat on and went to the house of her half-brothers, knocked at the door, and asked them to open it. And one of the brothers said, “That is not my sister.” But another looked out of the window and saw the coat and recognised it, and he opened the door and let her in. She cut the three heads off, and took them three quarters of a mile and put them into a hole in the ground, and went back to her mother and told her she had killed the three. She gave the coat back to Gilla of the Enchantments, and Gilla went in the evening to her brothers with food, and whatever sort of fastening the other one put on the door she could not open it, but had to go in by the window, and she found her three brothers dead.

She wept and she screamed and pulled the hair from her head in her lamentations, till the whiteness of the day came upon the morrow. She had not one head of the heads to get; but she followed the trace of the blood, and three quarters of a mile from the house were they in the place where they were buried. She dug them up, and took them to her, and washed and cleaned them, as was her wont, and put them on the bodies, but down they fell. She had to take them up at last, and cry to God to do something to them, that she might see them alive. And there were made of them three water-dogs (? otters) and she made another of herself. They were going in that way for a time, and then they made themselves into three doves, and she made of herself another dove. They were going forward and she was following, and the four came and settled on the gable of the house, and in the morning the man said to his wife,—

“There is a barrel of water. Let it be wine with you in the evening.”

(He had a thought that it was not the right woman he had got.)

Then said one of the brothers to the sister,—

“Go in, and do good in return for evil, and make wine of the water.”

She went down, and when she got in, and she in the shape of a dove, the old blind wise man, who was lying on the bed under the window, got his sight, and he saw her dipping her finger in the water and making of it wine cold and wholesome.

And in the morning the man said to his wife,—

“Here is a barrel of water. Let it be wine with you in the evening.”

And the second brother said to his sister,—

“Go in, and do good in return for evil, and make wine of the water.”

She went down, and when she went in at the window, and she in the shape of a dove, the old wise blind man, who was lying on the bed under the window, got his sight, and saw her dipping her finger in the water and making it wine cold and wholesome.

And in the morning on the third day the wise old man spoke to the king, and said to him that he had seen a beautiful woman come in by the window on two days, and that he got his sight when she came in and lost it when she went out; and (said he) “Stretch yourself here to-day, and when she comes in and makes wine of the water, catch her as she is going out.”

And he did so, and the third brother said to his sister,—

“Go down to-day, and do good in return for evil, and make the wine.”

And she did this; and as she was going out the man caught her. And when her brothers heard that she was caught they went away. And she asked him to give her leave to take just one look at her brothers.

“Here’s the corner of my apron.”

And he took hold of the corner of her apron, and she left him the apron and went away after her brothers. When they saw her coming again they waited for her, and she asked them if there was anything at all in the world that would make them alive again; and they said there was one thing only and that hard it was to do.

“What is it?” said she, “and I will try it.”

“To make three shirts of the ivy-leaves in a day and a year, without uttering a word of speech or shedding a single tear, for if you weep[13] we shall lose one member of our members.”

And she said to them to make a little hut for her in the wood, and they made the hut and went away and left her there. She was not long till she began to get material for the shirts, and she began to make them; and she was not long in the house when George nă Riell came to her, and he was with her till she had a child to him.

A young man was in the wood one day and a dog with him, and the dog took him to the place where the woman was; and the man saw the woman and the child there, and he went home and told the queen that there was a beautiful woman in the wood. And she went and took the dog with her, as if the dog was with George nă Riell. She went in and found the woman and the babe, and she killed the babe and caught some of the blood, and mixed the blood and ashes up together and made a cake, and she sought to put a piece of the bread into the woman’s mouth. And the woman dropped one tear from her eye; but the other went away home to her wedded husband, and she said to him that great was the shame for him to have children by that woman, and that she had had to kill her own child and eat it.

“It is not possible,” said he, “that she has killed my babe.”

“She killed and she ate.”

He went to her and found the child dead; but she did not speak a word to him. He said then he would burn her at twelve o’clock on the next day, and that he would put a tree of one foot and hang her on it. He commanded that every one should come in the morning with sods of turf and sheets of paper and everything to make a fire. And he put the tree standing, and she was brought and put up on the top of the tree; and she was sewing during this time. When it was twelve o’clock, sign was given she should be hung, and an old man in the crowd asked them to give her another hour by the clock; and when the hour was passed he asked again that they should give her a half-hour; the woman in it (he said) was under gassa. “You see that it is not her life that is troubling her, but that she is always sewing.”

It was not long till they saw a black cloud coming through the air, and they saw three things in the cloud coming.

“Well,” said the old man, “there are three angels from heaven, or three devils from hell, coming for her soul.”

There were three black ravens coming, and their mouths open, and as it were fire out of their mouths, till the three black ravens came and lay in their sister’s bosom, and she on the top of the tree, and she put the three shirts on them, and said,—

“Finn, Inn, and Brown Glegil, show that I am your sister, for in pain am I to-day.”

They took hold of her and lifted her down from the tree, and the brothers told George nă Riell everything that the half-sister had done, first that she killed the three of them, and afterwards that it was she that killed their sister’s child.

Then she was put up on the tree, and she was hung, and then thrown into the fire. And they went home, and George nă Riell married Gilla of the Enchantments and took her into his own house, and they spent the rest of their life as is right.

I don’t know what happened to them since then.

[13] The narrator knew his story imperfectly as regards this point, for she did shed one tear; but whether the brothers lost an eye in consequence he was not sure.

_THE WOMAN WHO WENT TO HELL._

_Narrator, P. MINAHAN, Malinmore, Glencolumkille, co. Donegal._

There was a woman coming out of her garden with an apron-full of cabbage. A man met her. He asked her what she would take for her burden. She said it was not worth a great deal, that she would give it to him for nothing. He said he would not take it, but would buy it. She said she would only take sixpence. He gave her the sixpence. She threw the cabbage towards him. He said that was not what he bought, but the burden she was carrying. Who was there but the devil? She was troubled then. She went home and she was weeping. It was a short time until her young son was born. He was growing till he was eighteen years old. He was out one day and fell, and never rose up till he died. When they were going to bury him, they took him to the people’s house (_i.e._, the chapel). They left him there till morning.

There was a man among the neighbours who had three daughters. He took out a box of snuff to give (the men) a pinch. The last man to whom the box went round left the box on the altar. They went home. When the man was going to bed he went looking for his box. The box was not to be got. He said he had left it behind him in the people’s house. He said he would not sleep that night until he got a pinch. He asked one of his daughters to go to the people’s house and bring him the box that was on the altar. She said there was loneliness on her. He cried to the second woman, would she go? She said she would not go; that she was lonely. He cried to the third, would she go? And she said she would go; that there was no loneliness on her in his presence (_i.e._, of the corpse).

She went to the people’s house. She found the box. She put it in her pocket. When she was coming away she saw a ring at the end of the coffin. She caught hold of it till it came to her. The end came from the coffin. The man that was dead came out. He enjoined on her not to be afraid.

“Do you see that fire over yonder? If you are able, carry me to that fire.”

“I am not able,” said she.

“Be dragging me with you as well as you can.”

She put him on her back. She dragged him till they came to the fire.

“Draw out the fire,” said he, “and put me lying in the midst of it; fix up the fire over me. Anything of me that is not burnt put the fire on it again.”

He was burning till he was all burnt. When the day was coming she was troubled on account of what she had seen during the night. When the day grew clear there came a young man, who began making fun with her.

“I have not much mind for fun on account of what I have seen during the night.”

“Well, it was I who was there,” said the young man.

“I would go to heaven if I could get an angel made by you left in my father’s room.”

Three quarters (of a year) from that night she dressed herself up as if she was a poor woman. She went to his father’s house and asked for lodging till morning. The woman of the house said that they were not giving lodging to any poor person at all. She said she would not ask but a seat by the fire. The man of the house told her to stay till morning. She stopped. They went both to lie down. She sat by the fire. In the course of the night she went into the room, and there she had a young son. He, _i.e._, her husband, came in at the window in the shape of a white dove. He dressed the child. The child began to cry. The woman of the house heard the crying. She would wager the lady had left a baby after her. She rose to get out of the bed. Her husband told her to lie quiet and have patience. She got up in spite of him. The door of the room was shut. She looked in through the keyhole. He was standing on the floor. She perceived it was her son who was there. She cried to him, was it he that was there? He said it was.

“One glance of your eye has sent me for seven years to hell.”

“I will go myself in your place,” said his mother.

She went then to go to hell. When she came to the gate, there came out steam so that she was burnt and scalded. It was necessary for her to return. “Well,” said the father, “I will go in your place.” It was necessary for him to return. The young man began to weep. He said he must go himself. The mother of the child said that she would go.

“Here is a ring for you,” said he. “When thirst comes on you, or hunger, put the ring in your mouth; you will feel neither thirst nor hunger. This is the work that will be on you—to keep down the souls; they are stewing and burning in the boiler. Do not eat a bit of food there. There is a barrel in the corner, and all the food that you get throw into the barrel.”

She went to hell then. She was keeping down the souls in the boiler. They were rising in leaps out of it. All the food she got she threw into the barrel till the seven years were over. She was making ready to be going then. The devil came to her. He said she could not go yet awhile till she had paid for the food she had eaten. She said she had not eaten one morsel of his share: “All that I got, it is in the barrel.” The devil went to the barrel. All he had given her was there for him.

“How much will you take to stay seven years more?”

“Oh, I am long enough with you,” said she; “if you give me the all that I can carry, I can stay with you.”

He said he would give it. She stopped. She was keeping down the souls during seven years. She was shortening the time as well as she could till the seven years were ended. Then she was going. When the souls saw she was going they rose up with one cry, lest one of them should be left. They went clinging to her; they were hanging to her hair all that were in the boiler. She moved on with her burden. She had not gone far when a lady in a carriage met her.

“Oh! great is your burden,” said the lady; “will you give it to me?”

“Who are you?” said she.

“I am the Virgin Mary.”

“I will not give it to you.”

She moved on with herself. She had not gone far when a gentleman met her.

“Great is your burden, my poor woman; will you give it to me?”

“Who are you?” said she.

“I am God,” said he.

“I will not give my burden to you.”

She went on with herself another while. Another gentlemen met her.

“Great is the burden you have,” said the gentleman; “will you give it to me?”

“Who are you?” said she.

“I am the King of Sunday,” said he.

“I will give my burden to you,” said she. “No rest had I ever in hell except on Sunday.”

“Well, it is a good woman you are; the first lady you met it was the devil was there; the second person you met it was the devil was there, trying if they could get your burden from you back. Now,” said God, “the man for whom you have done all this is going to be married to-morrow. He thought you were lost since you were in that place so long. You will not know till you are at home.”

She did not know till she was at home. The house was full of drinking and music. She went to the fire. Her own son came up to her.

She was making him wonder she was so worn and wasted. She told the child to go to his father and get a glass of whisky for her to drink. The child went crying to look for his father. He asked his father to give him a glass of whisky. His father gave it. He came down where she was by the fire. He gave her the glass. She drank it, there was so much thirst on her. The ring that her husband gave her she put in the glass.

“Put your hand over the mouth of the glass; give it to no one at all till you hand it to your father.”

The lad went to his father. He gave him the glass. The father looked into it, and saw the ring. He recognised the ring.

“Who has given you this?” said he.

“A poor woman by the fire,” said the lad.

The father raised the child on his shoulders that he might point out to him the woman who had given him the ring. The child came to the poor woman.

“That is the woman,” said he, “who gave me the ring.”

The man recognised her then. He said that hardly did he know her when she came so worn and wasted. He said to all the people that he would never marry any woman but this one; that she had done everything for him; that his mother sold him to the devil, and the woman had earned him back; that she had spent fourteen years in hell, and now she had returned.

This is a true story. They are all lies but this one.

_THE KING WHO HAD TWELVE SONS._

_Narrator, JOHN MCGINTY, Valley, Achill Island._

He went down to the river every day and killed a salmon for each one of them. He saw a duck on the river and twelve (young) birds with her; and she was beating the twelfth away from her. He went to the old druid and asked what was the cause why the duck was beating away the twelfth bird from her.

“It was this,” said the old druid; “she gave the bird to God and the Djachwi.”

“Well, I have twelve sons,” said the king; “I will give one of them to God and to the Djachwi, as the duck is giving one of her birds to God and the Djachwi. The twelve are going to school, and you must tell me which of them it is best for me to give away.”

“Whichever of them is last at the gate in the evening, that is the man you will give away; and whatever money you have left out to give him throw it to him over the gate, and tell him he must go and seek his own fortune.”

The younger children were running on first to the house, being hungry, and the eldest was coming, reading a book, after them. The father was standing at the gate on the inside, and he threw him a purse of money, and told him he must go seek his fortune, that he gave him to God and to the Djachwi.

He went and spent that night with the old druid. He rose in the morning and washed his face, and prayed to God to put him in luck again until evening. He gave a good heap of the gold to the old druid. The old druid gave him a card and a bridle, and told him that any beast he would rub the card to, if his skin was full of disease, would be cured.[14] He went away that morning and he met with a king upon the road. The king asked him,—

“What are you seeking?”

“I am seeking a master,” said he.

“Your like is what I am wanting,” said the king. “I have three hundred horses and there is not one of them fit to put to my carriage, they are so full of lumps in their skin.”

“I am able to cure them,” said the other.

“How much do you ask till the end of a day and a year?”

“I’ll be asking of you nothing at all but the beast that comes and puts the head in this bridle mine.”

“Very well,” said the king.

He was a good serving-boy, and he minded the horses. He was not two days with his master when two of them were cured, fit to go with the carriage. He went every evening to an old couple, and he used to get news in plenty from them.

“Did you hear the great news there is to-night?”

“I did not hear. What is the news?”

“The daughter of the King of the great Wren is to be devoured to-morrow by a piast.”[15]

“I did not hear it,” said he.

“Was it in a wood or a hole in the ground you’ve been that you didn’t hear it? Gentle and simple of the three islands are to be there to-morrow to look at the piast swallowing her—at twelve o’clock to-morrow.”

(The next day) when he found that every one was gone to the place where the piast was to come on land, he called out for his second best suit of clothes, and it came to him with a leap; and he shook the bridle, and the ugliest pony in the stables came to him and put her head into the bridle. “Be up riding on me with a jump” (said the pony) lowering himself on his two knees. He gave his face to the way and he would overtake the wind of March that was before him, and the wind of March that was after would not overtake him. When he came in sight of the place where the gathering was, the piast was coming till she was half upon the land; and he and the piast went fighting, till he tore her with his mouth and feet.

He came back and gave his face to the way, and he ran so near to the place where the king’s daughter was to be swallowed that she caught the boot from the foot of the man who was riding on the pony. He came home and attended to his horses, and no one knew who was the man who was mounted on the pony that killed the piast. She proclaimed a gathering of all the men in the three islands, that she might see who the man was whom the shoe fitted. There was not a man at all coming whom the shoe would fit, and she was not going to marry any man but the one whom the shoe fitted. The old man said it was right for him to go to her to see if the shoe would fit him. He called for the suit of clothes that he wore on the day when the pony killed the piast, and he went to her (the king’s daughter). She knew him at once. The shoe was in her hand, and it leaped from her hand till it went on his foot.

“You are the man that was on the pony on the day that he killed the piast, and you are the man whom I will marry.”

He was seven nights and seven days at feast and festival, and they were married on the eighth day. They spent that night part in talking and part in story-telling; till the early day came and the clear brightness on the morrow morning.

He said to her that he would be riding in the morning on the pony; and he was going, and he came on an apple of gold upon the strand, and the pony told him not to take up the apple or it would give him abundance of trouble.

“Whatever trouble it may give me I will take it up!”

He went home and the pearl of gold with him. In the morning he went to the old druid, and the old druid told him that it was the daughter of a king of the eastern world, who lost it from her hair;—that there was a pearl of gold on every rib of hair upon her head, and that she and her twelve attendant women were bathing in such a place the day she lost it.

“I will never stop,” said he, “till I see the woman who lost it.”

The pony told him she was hard to see.

“There are seven miles of hill on fire to cross before you come to where she is, and there are seven miles of steel thistles, and seven miles of sea for you to go over. I told you to have nothing to do with the apple. All the same it is as good for you to go riding on me till we try to go to her place.”

He went on his two knees, and he went riding on him, till he crossed the seven miles of hill on fire, and the seven miles of steel thistles, and the seven miles of sea. When they came to the castle in which she was, there was a great dinner that day with her, and a great gathering of company. There were three-and-twenty feet of moat to cross before the pony could get in. He rose with a high leap and crossed the three-and-twenty feet. He came down on the inside of the moat, and a report went in (to the castle) that such and such a stranger was there; and she heard it and sent one of her servants to him. He told the servant he could not go in till he got leave to put the pony in the stable. She herself came out to him, with a golden goblet in her hand full of wine, and she offered it to him; but he said he would be obliged to her if she would drink of it first. She drank some of the wine first, and then held it out to him; and what he did was to leap again upon the pony, and throw his arm round her waist, and lift her up beside him on the pommel; and the pony gave his head towards the gates and crossed out beyond them, and made no stop till he came to their own castle with the lady.

“Now,” said the pony, “strike a blow with your rod of druidism upon me, and make of me a rock of stone, and whatever time at all you are in need of me, you have nothing to do but strike another blow on me, and I am up as I was before.”

The woman was with him then; and the young queen he first married did not know there was such a person in the castle till the hen-wife told her. “Well!” said the hen-wife, “do you know what to do? He has no regard for you beside the other. There is an apple of gold on every rib of hair upon her head. You and he will be (playing cards) together to-night, and you will win the first game, and you will put him under bonds to go and bring you the black horse of the bank.”

The two went playing that night. She won the first game, and he was to bring her the black horse of the bank. He went to the pony and struck a blow with his rod of druidism on him, and told her the news, that she put him under bonds to bring her the black horse of the bank. “I told you the first day,” said the pony, “to leave the pearl alone, or it would give you abundance of trouble; you must go now and cover me with leather all over, and put pitch and tar on the outside of the leather. I will then go down to the cliff to fight with the black horse of the bank, till I see if I’ll be able to bring him to you. There is not a bit that he takes out of me that he will not get the full of his mouth of leather and pitch and tar, to my ribs.”

He went down, and he and the horse were fighting till he brought him down from the cliff to him, and he brought him home to his wife. She went then again to the hen-wife, to get more information from her. The hen-wife told her that unless she could win another game on him, and put him under bonds to bring her the skin of the wild pig from the eastern world, he and this young queen would put her to death. The two went playing that night, and he won the first game from her, and she said to him, “Give your judgment now.” “I perceive,” said he, “that if it was you who had to give the first judgment, you would give a brief judgment on me. But now I put you under bonds to go, and not to sleep a wink, but for one night only in the one house, till you bring me the heads of the three black ravens that are in the eastern world.”

She arose in the morning and went to the hen-wife, and told her: and the hen-wife said, “She had plenty of trouble before her ere she got the three black ravens from the eastern world. But now I have three brothers who are three giants, and to-night you will be with the first of them. I will give you a ring that will take you on your way swiftly to the king, and when you come to him you will give him the ring, and he will know who gave it to you. And great will be the welcome he will have for you, and he will give you every knowledge as far as the next brother.”

She gave her the ring, and she was with him that night, and he told her that “he himself was as much as third of the world, that his second brother was two-thirds of the world, and the third brother three-thirds, and that all the birds of the air were under high tribute to him.”

She arose in the morning and washed her face and hands, and prayed to God, to put her in luck; and that night she was with the second brother; and the third night she was with the third brother. She gave him the ring and he recognised it, and said he had not seen his sister for a hundred years. She told him the journey she was going.[16] “To-morrow,” said he, “they are coming with their high tribute, and unless I can get tidings from them I cannot give you tidings.” Then in the morning came all the birds of the air and paid to him their tribute, all except the eagle: “And great is my wonder,” said he, “that the eagle is last to-day, and no tidings are there with any other bird, unless it is with the eagle.” He blew a whistle, and it was not long till he saw a black lump coming in the sky, and who was it but the eagle! He told the eagle he would remit to him the tribute of the seven years, if he could give him tidings of the three black ravens that are in the eastern world. “Well!” said he, “it is a year and a day since I saw them, and I’ll take another year and a day before I can come to you with account of them.” “You must wait here” (said he to the woman) “to the end of a year and a day till the eagle comes back to me with news, and you will have nothing to do but sit down.”

When the day and the year were ended, the eagle came back and the three black ravens with him, and he gave them to the giant, and the giant took them from him. “And now” (said he) “when you go home he will ask you if you have them, and you will say you have not; and he will say he believes you never went at all to look for them, and you will take them with you then, and show them to him and let them out of your hand, and they will not stop till they come to me here.”

When she came home her husband said to her,—“Have you the three ravens?”

“If I promised to bring them to you, I did not promise to give them to you.” And she let them away.