Come hear my walking, my midnight walking,A cause of dread, and a cause of dread,With that corpse of faierie could get no stretchingAmongst the dead men, amongst the dead.[The Corpse speaks.]"Raise my dead body with no rejoicingAnd a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give,[Tomaus answers.]"If I should settle on that conditionWhere is the beef, and where is the beef?"[The Corpse speaks.]"It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge BinghamMy sureties be, my sureties be,In the crooked letter I wrote a ticketTo Bél-in-Assan beside the sea.""You will get a heaplet beneath the middenSo green and gloomy, green and gloomy,Then take it with thee for thy provisionBeneath thy armpit—against thy journey."The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked,By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.And long was the route, and the cross-track journey,Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms,Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher[77]Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs.[The Corpse speaks.]"At thy right hand is a spade for digging,Behind the door post it will be found,With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."[Tomaus speaks.]"At my right hand did I find the spade,'Twas behind the door there, behind the door,And a strong thrust downward I quickly madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.""I struck it strongly, I drove it down,Through the upper earth, through the upper earth,Till I broke the thigh of the English clown,Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth.""'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper,'Where is my pistol that I may slay?'Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife,'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'"[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,I've a mother's relative's son in CragganAnd it's buried there I shall have to be."On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrowBy the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight."Going down of a race and in great disorder,To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More,I found a spade at my right hand lyingBehind the door there, behind the door.""I found a spade at my right hand laid,Behind the door there, behind the door,Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.""'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson HarfordWas beneath the ground and he raised a clamour,'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'"[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,For my father's brother's son is in DerryAnd it's buried there I shall have to be.""On reaching the place all spent and lonelyAnd I despairing, and I despairing,The gates were all strongly barred before meBut I smote upon them with sudden daring.""Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising,In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken,'Why knock so hard, each to his part;Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'""Bodies and coffins came pouring upwardsFrom the ground beneath in the pale moonlight,And they ranged themselves in a raging rabbleOn the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height.""'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all,'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'"[Tomaus answers.]"It is one of your friends who has died and hereIs the place where he says that he must be buried.For his kindred are here and it's well they are,Then take him from me, and good's my riddance."[The Ghost asks.]"Who of his people is buried hereTo claim admittance, claim admittance?"[Tomaus answers.]"I know not myself of what tribe my man isOn the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar,There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself,Of himself inquire, himself inquire."The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight,Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-Démuis,And he found it fastened that weary night.[The Corpse speaks.]"Search for the key, you will find it lyingBehind the door, or upon the wall."He searched for the key and he found and openedAnd wide and silent and dark was all.[The Corpse speaks again.]"Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus!Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound,See yonder the spade forenenst you lying,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."He took the spade in his hand, and quicklyHe turned the ground so black and bare,Till he broke the bones of an English bodachWho had long been there, who had long been there."Blood and owns, you broke my bones,"That man kept crying with teeth that chatter,And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon,"What is the matter? What is the matter?""Where was he, or where did he pass his life,That he's got no bed where he now may go?"[Tomaus answers.]"He's there before you who knows it best.You must ask him yourself, for I do not know."Then Feeny arose and he took some snuffAnd he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight,And there was the slashing and noise and smashingTill the morning light, till the morning light.The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad,And he brought it up, and he brought it down,And the way was long and the way was bad.To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-RonáinAnd Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried,But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was overThe corpse was buried, the corpse was buried.A stick and a stone on it,And bad luck on it!
Come hear my walking, my midnight walking,A cause of dread, and a cause of dread,With that corpse of faierie could get no stretchingAmongst the dead men, amongst the dead.[The Corpse speaks.]"Raise my dead body with no rejoicingAnd a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give,[Tomaus answers.]"If I should settle on that conditionWhere is the beef, and where is the beef?"[The Corpse speaks.]"It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge BinghamMy sureties be, my sureties be,In the crooked letter I wrote a ticketTo Bél-in-Assan beside the sea.""You will get a heaplet beneath the middenSo green and gloomy, green and gloomy,Then take it with thee for thy provisionBeneath thy armpit—against thy journey."The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked,By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.And long was the route, and the cross-track journey,Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms,Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher[77]Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs.[The Corpse speaks.]"At thy right hand is a spade for digging,Behind the door post it will be found,With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."[Tomaus speaks.]"At my right hand did I find the spade,'Twas behind the door there, behind the door,And a strong thrust downward I quickly madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.""I struck it strongly, I drove it down,Through the upper earth, through the upper earth,Till I broke the thigh of the English clown,Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth.""'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper,'Where is my pistol that I may slay?'Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife,'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'"[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,I've a mother's relative's son in CragganAnd it's buried there I shall have to be."On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrowBy the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight."Going down of a race and in great disorder,To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More,I found a spade at my right hand lyingBehind the door there, behind the door.""I found a spade at my right hand laid,Behind the door there, behind the door,Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.""'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson HarfordWas beneath the ground and he raised a clamour,'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'"[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,For my father's brother's son is in DerryAnd it's buried there I shall have to be.""On reaching the place all spent and lonelyAnd I despairing, and I despairing,The gates were all strongly barred before meBut I smote upon them with sudden daring.""Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising,In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken,'Why knock so hard, each to his part;Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'""Bodies and coffins came pouring upwardsFrom the ground beneath in the pale moonlight,And they ranged themselves in a raging rabbleOn the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height.""'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all,'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'"[Tomaus answers.]"It is one of your friends who has died and hereIs the place where he says that he must be buried.For his kindred are here and it's well they are,Then take him from me, and good's my riddance."[The Ghost asks.]"Who of his people is buried hereTo claim admittance, claim admittance?"[Tomaus answers.]"I know not myself of what tribe my man isOn the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar,There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself,Of himself inquire, himself inquire."The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight,Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-Démuis,And he found it fastened that weary night.[The Corpse speaks.]"Search for the key, you will find it lyingBehind the door, or upon the wall."He searched for the key and he found and openedAnd wide and silent and dark was all.[The Corpse speaks again.]"Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus!Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound,See yonder the spade forenenst you lying,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."He took the spade in his hand, and quicklyHe turned the ground so black and bare,Till he broke the bones of an English bodachWho had long been there, who had long been there."Blood and owns, you broke my bones,"That man kept crying with teeth that chatter,And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon,"What is the matter? What is the matter?""Where was he, or where did he pass his life,That he's got no bed where he now may go?"[Tomaus answers.]"He's there before you who knows it best.You must ask him yourself, for I do not know."Then Feeny arose and he took some snuffAnd he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight,And there was the slashing and noise and smashingTill the morning light, till the morning light.The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad,And he brought it up, and he brought it down,And the way was long and the way was bad.To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-RonáinAnd Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried,But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was overThe corpse was buried, the corpse was buried.A stick and a stone on it,And bad luck on it!
Come hear my walking, my midnight walking,A cause of dread, and a cause of dread,With that corpse of faierie could get no stretchingAmongst the dead men, amongst the dead.
[The Corpse speaks.]"Raise my dead body with no rejoicingAnd a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give,
[Tomaus answers.]"If I should settle on that conditionWhere is the beef, and where is the beef?"
[The Corpse speaks.]"It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge BinghamMy sureties be, my sureties be,In the crooked letter I wrote a ticketTo Bél-in-Assan beside the sea."
"You will get a heaplet beneath the middenSo green and gloomy, green and gloomy,Then take it with thee for thy provisionBeneath thy armpit—against thy journey."
The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked,By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.
And long was the route, and the cross-track journey,Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms,Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher[77]Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs.
[The Corpse speaks.]"At thy right hand is a spade for digging,Behind the door post it will be found,With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."
[Tomaus speaks.]"At my right hand did I find the spade,'Twas behind the door there, behind the door,And a strong thrust downward I quickly madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor."
"I struck it strongly, I drove it down,Through the upper earth, through the upper earth,Till I broke the thigh of the English clown,Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth."
"'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper,'Where is my pistol that I may slay?'Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife,'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'"
[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,I've a mother's relative's son in CragganAnd it's buried there I shall have to be."
On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted,In the ways of night, in the ways of night,Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrowBy the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.
"Going down of a race and in great disorder,To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More,I found a spade at my right hand lyingBehind the door there, behind the door."
"I found a spade at my right hand laid,Behind the door there, behind the door,Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I madeThrough the earthen floor, through the earthen floor."
"'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson HarfordWas beneath the ground and he raised a clamour,'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'"
[The Corpse speaks.]"Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh!Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,For my father's brother's son is in DerryAnd it's buried there I shall have to be."
"On reaching the place all spent and lonelyAnd I despairing, and I despairing,The gates were all strongly barred before meBut I smote upon them with sudden daring."
"Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising,In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken,'Why knock so hard, each to his part;Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'"
"Bodies and coffins came pouring upwardsFrom the ground beneath in the pale moonlight,And they ranged themselves in a raging rabbleOn the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height."
"'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all,'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'"
[Tomaus answers.]"It is one of your friends who has died and hereIs the place where he says that he must be buried.For his kindred are here and it's well they are,Then take him from me, and good's my riddance."
[The Ghost asks.]"Who of his people is buried hereTo claim admittance, claim admittance?"
[Tomaus answers.]"I know not myself of what tribe my man isOn the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar,There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself,Of himself inquire, himself inquire."
The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight,Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-Démuis,And he found it fastened that weary night.
[The Corpse speaks.]"Search for the key, you will find it lyingBehind the door, or upon the wall."
He searched for the key and he found and openedAnd wide and silent and dark was all.
[The Corpse speaks again.]"Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus!Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound,See yonder the spade forenenst you lying,And turn the ground, and turn the ground."
He took the spade in his hand, and quicklyHe turned the ground so black and bare,Till he broke the bones of an English bodachWho had long been there, who had long been there.
"Blood and owns, you broke my bones,"That man kept crying with teeth that chatter,And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon,"What is the matter? What is the matter?"
"Where was he, or where did he pass his life,That he's got no bed where he now may go?"
[Tomaus answers.]"He's there before you who knows it best.You must ask him yourself, for I do not know."
Then Feeny arose and he took some snuffAnd he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight,And there was the slashing and noise and smashingTill the morning light, till the morning light.
The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad,And he brought it up, and he brought it down,And the way was long and the way was bad.
To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-RonáinAnd Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried,But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was overThe corpse was buried, the corpse was buried.
A stick and a stone on it,And bad luck on it!
PREFACE.
There is at times a certain connection between the use of tobacco and the solemn presence of the dead. Both snuff and tobacco for smoking are handed round at wakes. Pipes and tobacco are, in fact, the principal portion of the equipment of the corp-house. To the present moment when one accepts a pinch of snuff it is customary to say in Irish, "the blessing of God be with the souls of your dead." I have heard this a hundred times. But I never heard the tobacco prayer except once or twice from very old people; and, in spite of this story, I don't believe that it was ever in any way usual to say a prayer over tobacco except perhaps in some isolated parts of the country. All I can say is that I have never heard it said spontaneously. This story was written down word for word for me by my friend Mr. John Mac Neill from the recitation of Michael Mac Rury or Rogers, from Ballycastle, in the County Mayo. The tobacco prayer[78]translated, runs as follows:—
Eighteen fulls of the churchyard of Patrick, of the mantle[79]of Brigit, of the tomb of Christ, of the palace of Rome, of the church of God, be with thy soul (and with the soul of him above whose head was this tobacco),[80]and with the souls of the dead in Purgatory all together.May not more numerous beThe grains of sand by the sea,Or the blades of grass on the lea,Or the drops of dew on the tree,Than the blessings upon thy soulAnd the souls of the dead with thee,And my soul when the life shall flee.It is for God to give shelter, light, and the glory of the heavens to the souls of the dead of Purgatory.
Eighteen fulls of the churchyard of Patrick, of the mantle[79]of Brigit, of the tomb of Christ, of the palace of Rome, of the church of God, be with thy soul (and with the soul of him above whose head was this tobacco),[80]and with the souls of the dead in Purgatory all together.
May not more numerous beThe grains of sand by the sea,Or the blades of grass on the lea,Or the drops of dew on the tree,Than the blessings upon thy soulAnd the souls of the dead with thee,And my soul when the life shall flee.
May not more numerous beThe grains of sand by the sea,Or the blades of grass on the lea,Or the drops of dew on the tree,Than the blessings upon thy soulAnd the souls of the dead with thee,And my soul when the life shall flee.
May not more numerous beThe grains of sand by the sea,Or the blades of grass on the lea,Or the drops of dew on the tree,Than the blessings upon thy soulAnd the souls of the dead with thee,And my soul when the life shall flee.
It is for God to give shelter, light, and the glory of the heavens to the souls of the dead of Purgatory.
The story was evidently invented with the didactic intention of encouraging the use of prayer, and of inculcating the truth that just as we ought to be thankful to God for our meals, so ought we to be thankful to Him for our tobacco, and for all the good things of life.
THE STORY.
There was a woman in it long ago, and she had an only son. When he came to age she sent him to college, and made a priest of him. After his coming from the college he was a short little while at home; and he was one day walking out in the garden when there came a saint [in the air] over his head, and spoke down to him, and told the priest that he himself and all who belonged to him were damned on account of his mother.
The priest asked him what was the crime his mother had committed, and the saint told him that she was smoking tobacco for twelve years and had never said the tobacco prayer all that time.
"Bad enough!" says the priest, "is there anything at all down from heaven to set that right?" says the priest.
"There's nothing but one thing alone," says he, "and this is it. When you go in to your mother tell her as I have told it to you. And unless she shall be prepared to suffer the death that I'll tell you, not a sight of the country of heaven will your mother or anyone of her family see for ever."
"What death is it?" said the priest to him.
"She must let you," says he, "carve every bit off her body as fine as sneeshin."
The priest went into the house and a heavy load on his heart. He sat upon a chair and there was a great grief to be seen in his face. His mother asked him what was on him, and what had happened to him since he went out.
"Ah, there's nothing on me but a little weariness," says he, "kindle the pipe for me mother," says he, "I'd like to get a blast of tobacco."
"I'll kindle it and welcome," says she, "I thought avourneen," says she, "that you were not using tobacco."
"Ah, maybe a whiff would take this weariness off me," said he.
True was the story. She put a coal in the pipe, and after smoking enough of the pipe herself she handed it to the priest, but she never said the prayer. And that was the reason the priest had told her to kindle the pipe, hoping that she would say the prayer, but she did not.
"Poor enough!" said the priest in his own mind.
The priest told her then as the saint had told him, and she threw herself on her two knees praying God and shedding tears, and, said she, "a hundred welcomes to the graces of God, and if it is the death that God has promised me, I am satisfied to suffer it; go out now my son," says she, "and when I'll be ready for you to get to your work I'll call you in."
The priest went out, fervently reading and praying to God.
The mother washed and cleaned herself. She got sheets and sharp knives ready for the work, and whenshe had everything prepared she called the priest to come in. And as the priest turned round on his foot, the brightness came over his head again, and it said to him that all his family had found forgiveness for their sins, on account of the earnest repentance that his mother was after making, and the awful death that she was fully satisfied to suffer.
The priest came into the house, and a great joy in his heart, and his mother was stretched on the length of her back on the table, and sheets under her and over her, and her two hands stretched out from her, and she praying to God, and two sharp knives by her side; and, says the priest to her, "Rise up, mother," says he, "I have got forgiveness from the King of the graces, for our sins, and I beseech you now from this day out, do not forget to diligently offer up the tobacco prayer every time you use it."
And true was the story. There was never a time from that day till the day that the priest's mother went into the clay that she did not earnestly offer up the prayer to God and to the glorious Virgin.
And the old people throughout the country [added the reciter, talking of West Mayo] are offering up that same prayer daily, and they shall do so as long as a word of our Irish language shall remain alive on the green island of the saints.
PREFACE.
I got this story from O'Connor, who himself got it from a man of the name of Peter Srehane, who lived near Castlebar, Co. Mayo.
It is a melange of many curious beliefs, metempsychosis, "St. Patrick's Purgatory" (so well known over Europe in the middle ages), the purse of Fortunatus, fairy gold changing to pebbles, etc. I printed this story with a French translation in my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach." It is the 23rd story in that volume.
THE STORY.
In times long ago there was a poor widow living near Castlebar, in the County Mayo. She had an only son, and he never grew one inch from the time he was five years old, and the people called him Buídeach[81]as a nick-name.
One day when the Buídeach was about fifteen years of age his mother went to Castlebar. She was not gone more than an hour when there came a big Tinker, and aBlack Donkey with him, to the door, and "Are you in, woman of the house?" said the tinker.
"She is not," said the Buideach, "and she told me not to let anyone in until she'd come home herself."
The Tinker walked in, and when he looked at the Buideach he said, "Indeed you're a nice boy to keep anyone at all out, you could not keep out a turkey cock."
The Buideach rose of a leap and gave the big Tinker a fist between the two eyes and pitched him out on the top of his head, under the feet of the Black Donkey.
The Tinker rose up in a rage and made an attempt to get hold of the Buideach, but he gave him another fist at the butt of the ear and threw him out again under the feet of the Black Donkey.
The donkey began to bray pitifully, and when the Buideach went out to see [why], the Tinker was dead. "You have killed my master," said the Black Donkey, "and indeed I am not sorry for it, he often gave me a heavy beating without cause."
The Buideach was astonished when he heard the Black Donkey speaking, and he said, "You are not a proper donkey."
"Indeed, I have only been an ass for seven years. My story is a pitiful one. I was the son of a gentleman."
"Musha, then, I would like to hear your story," said the Buideach.
"Come in, then, to the end of the house. Cover up the Tinker in the dunghill, and I will tell you my story."
The Buideach drew the dead man over to the dunghill and covered him up. The Black Donkey walked into the house and said, "I was the son of a gentleman, but I wasa bad son, and I died under a heavy load of deadly sins on my poor soul; and I would be burning in hell now were it not for the Virgin Mary. I used to say a little prayer in honour of her every night, and when I went into the presence of the Great Judge I was sentenced to hell until His mother spoke to the Judge and He changed his sentence, and there was made of me a Black Donkey, and I was given to the Tinker for the space of seven years, until he should die a worldly [or corporeal] death. The Tinker was a limb of the devil, and it was I who gave you strength to kill him; but you are not done with him yet. He will come to life again at the end of seven days, and if you are there before him he will kill you as sure as you are alive."
"I never left this townland since I was born," said the Buideach, "and I would not like to desert my mother."
"Would it not be better for you to leave your mother than to lose your life in a state of mortal sin and be for ever burning in hell?"
"I don't know any place where I could go into hiding," said the Buideach; "but since it has turned out that it was you who put strength into my hand to kill the Tinker, perhaps you would direct me to some place where I could be safe from him."
"Did you ever hear talk of Lough Derg?"
"Indeed, I did," said the Buideach; "my grandmother was once on a pilgrimage there, but I don't know where it is."
"I will bring you there to-morrow night. There is a monastery underground on the island, and an old friar in it who sees the Virgin Mary every Saturday. Tell himyour case and take his advice in every single thing. He will put you to penance, but penance on this world is better than the pains of hell for ever. You know where the little dún[82]is, which is at the back of the old castle. If you are in the dún about three hours after nightfall I shall be there before you and bring you to Lough Derg.
"I shall be there if I'm alive," said the Buideach; "but is there any fear of me that the Tinker will get up before that time?"
"There is no fear," said the Black Donkey, "unless you tell somebody that you killed him. If you tell anything about him he will get up and he will slay yourself and your mother."
"By my soul, then, I'll be silent about him," said the Buideach.
That evening when the Buideach's mother came home she asked him did anybody come to the house since she went away.
"I did not see anyone," said he, "but an old pedlar with a bag, and he got nothing from me."
"I see the track of the shoe of a horse or a donkey outside the door, and it was not there in the morning when I was going out," said she.
"It was Páidin Éamoinn the fool, who was riding Big Mary O'Brien's ass," said the Buideach.
The Buideach never slept a wink all that night but thinking of the Tinker and the Black Donkey. The next day he was in great anxiety. His mother observed that and asked him what was on him.
"There's not a feather on me," says he.
That night when the mother was asleep the Buideach stole out and never stopped until he came to the little dún; the Black Donkey was there before him and said, "Are you ready?"
"I am," said the Buideach, "but I am grieved that I did not get my mother's blessing; she will be very anxious until I come back again."
"Indeed she will not be anxious at all, because there is another Buideach at your mother's side at home, so like you that she won't know that it is not yourself that's in it; but I'll bring him away with me before you come back."
"I am very much obliged to you and I am ready to go with you now," said he.
"Leap up on my back; there is a long journey before us," said the Donkey.
The Buideach leapt on his back, and the moment he did so he heard thunder and saw great lightning. There came down a big cloud which closed around the black ass and its rider. The Buideach lost the sight of his eyes, and a heavy sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke he was on an island in Lough Derg, standing in the presence of the ancient friar.
The friar began to talk to him, and said, "What brought you here, my son?"
"Well, then, indeed, I don't rightly know," said the Buideach.
"I will know soon," said the friar; "come with me."
He followed the old friar down under the earth, untilthey came to a little chamber that was cut in the rock. "Now," said the friar, "go down on your knees and make your confession and do not conceal any crime."
The Buideach went down on his knees and told everything that happened to him concerning the Tinker and the Black Donkey.
The friar then put him under penance for seven days and seven nights, without food or drink, walking on his bare knees amongst the rocks and sharp stones. He went through the penance, and by the seventh day there was not a morsel of skin or flesh on his knees, and he was like a shadow with the hunger. When he had the penance finished the old friar came and said, "It's time for you to be going home."
"I have no knowledge of the way or of how to go back," said the Buideach.
"Your friend the Black Donkey will bring you back," said the friar. "He will be here to-night; and when you go home spend your life piously and do not tell to anyone except to your father-confessor that you were here."
"Tell me, father, is there any danger of me from the Tinker?"
"There is not," said the friar; "he is an ass [himself now] with a tinker from the province of Munster, and he will be in that shape for one and twenty years, and after that he will go to eternal rest. Depart now to your chamber. You will hear a little bell after the darkness of night [has fallen], and as soon as you shall hear it, go up on to the island, and the Black Donkey will be therebefore you, and he will bring you home; my blessing with you."
The Buideach went to his room, and as soon as he heard the bell he went up to the island and his friend the Black Donkey was waiting for him.
"Jump up on my back, Buideach, I have not a moment to lose," said the donkey.
He did so, and on the spot he heard the thunder and saw the lightning. A great cloud came down and enveloped the Black Donkey and its rider. Heavy sleep fell upon the Buideach, and when he awoke he found himself in the little dún at home standing in the presence of the Black Donkey.
"Go home now to your mother. The other Buideach is gone from her side; she is in deep sleep and she won't feel you going in."
"Is there any fear of me from the Tinker?" said he.
"Did not the blessed friar tell you that there is not," said the Black Donkey. "I will protect you. Put your hand in my left ear, and you will get there a purse which will never be empty during your life. Be good to poor people and to widows and to orphans, and you will have a long life and a happy death, and heaven at the end."
The Buideach went home and went to sleep, and the mother never had had a notion that the other Buideach was not her own son.
At the end of a week after this the Buideach said to his mother, "Is not this a fair day in Castlebar?"
"Yes, indeed," said she.
"Well then, you ought to go there and buy a cow," says he.
"Don't be humbugging your mother or you'll have no luck," says she.
"Upon my word I am not humbugging," said he. "God sent a purse my way, and there is more than the price of a cow in it."
"Perhaps you did not get it honestly; tell me where did you find it?"
"I'll tell you nothing about it, except that I found it honestly, and if you have any doubt about my word, let the thing be."
Women are nearly always given to covetousness, and she was not free from it.
"Give me the price of the cow."
He handed her twenty pieces of gold. "You'll get a good cow for all that money," said he.
"I will," said she, "but I'd like to have the price of a pig."
"Do not be greedy, mother," said he; "you won't get any more this time."
The mother went to the fair and she bought a milch cow, and some clothes for the Buideach, and when he got her gone he went to the parish priest and said that he would like to make confession. He told the priest then everything that happened to him from the time he met the Tinker and the Black Donkey.
"Indeed, you are a good boy," said the priest, "give me some of the gold."
The Buideach gave him twenty pieces, but he was not satisfied with that, and he asked for the price of a horse.
"I did not think that a priest would be covetous," said he, "but I see now that they are as covetous as women. Here are twenty more pieces for you; are you satisfied now?"
"I am, and I am not," said the priest. "Since you have a purse which will never be empty as long as you live, you should be able to give me as much as would set up a fine church in place of the miserable one which we have in the parish now."
"Get workmen and masons, and begin the church, and I'll give you the workmen's wages from week to week," said the Buideach.
"I'd sooner have it now," said the priest. "A thousand pieces will do the work, and if you give them to me now I'll put up the church."
The Buideach gave him one thousand pieces of gold out of the purse, and the purse was none the lighter for it.
The Buideach came home and his mother was there before him, with a fine milch cow and new clothes for himself. "Indeed, that's a good cow," said he; "we can give the poor people some milk every morning."
"Indeed they must wait until I churn, and I'll give them the buttermilk—until I buy a pig."
"It's the new milk you'll give the poor people," said the Buideach, "we can buy butter."
"I think you have lost your senses," says the mother. "You'll want the little share of riches which God sent you before I'm a year in the grave."
"How do you know but that I might not be in the grave before you?" said he; "but at all events God will send me my enough."
When they were talking there came a poor woman,and three children to the door and asked for alms in the honour of God and Mary.
"I have nothing for ye this time," said the widow.
"Don't say that, mother," said the Buideach. "I have alms to give in the name of God and His mother Mary." With that he went out and gave a gold piece to the poor woman, and said to his mother, "Milk the cow and give those poor children a drink."
"I will not," said the mother.
"Then I'll do it myself," said he.
He got the vessel, milked the cow, and gave lots of new milk to the poor children and to the woman. When they were gone away the mother said to him, "Your purse will be soon empty."
"I have no fear of that," said he; "it's God who sent it to me, and I'll make a good use of it," says he.
"Have your own way,"[83]said she; "but you'll be sorry for it yet."
The next day lots of people came to the Buideach asking for alms, and he never let them go away from him empty-[handed]. The name and fame of the Buideach went through the country like lightning and men said that he was in partnership with the good people [i.e.fairies]. But others said that it was the devil who was giving him the gold, and they made a complaint against him to the parish priest. But the priest said that the Buideach was a decent good boy, and that it was God who gave him the means, and that he was making good use of them.
The Buideach went on well now, and he began growing until he was almost six feet high.
His mother died and he fell in love with a pretty girl, and he was not long until they were married.
He had not a day's luck from that time forward. His wife got to know that he had a wonderful purse and nothing could satisfy her but she must get it. He refused her often, but she was giving him no rest, day or night, until she got the purse from him at last. Then, when she got it, she had no respect for it. She went to Castlebar to buy silks and satins, but when she opened the purse in place of gold pieces being in it there was nothing but pieces of pebbles. She came back and great anger on her; and said, "Isn't it a nice fool you made of me giving me a purse filled with little stones instead of the purse with the gold in it."
"I gave you the right purse," said he; "I have no second one."
He seized the purse and opened it, and as sure as I'm telling it to you, there was nothing in it but little bits of pebbles.
There was an awful grief upon the Buideach, and it was not long until he was mad, tearing his hair, and beating his head against the wall.
The priest was sent for but he could get neither sense nor reason out of the Buideach. He tore off his clothes and went naked and mad through the country.
About a week after that the neighbours found the poor Buideach dead at the foot of a bush in the little dún.
That old bush is growing in the dún yet, and the people call it the "Buideach's Bush," but [as for himself] it is certain that he went to heaven.
PREFACE.
This curious conception of the greatest river in Ireland owing its origin to the struggles of a great worm or serpent is new to me. I got it from Pronisias O'Conor, who was in the workhouse in Athlone at the time, and he got it himself from a man called George Curtin from near Urlaur[84]on the borders of Mayo and Roscommon, who had also been in the workhouse. Unfortunately, after writing it down, I lost the first half of the story, which was the most interesting, and I have had to supply a brief summary of it in brackets, so far as my very imperfect recollection of it goes. I have quite forgotten the incidents which led up to the druids' prophecy and the Worm's hearing about it.
THE STORY.
[The druid foretold that a man was coming to Ireland who would banish all the snakes, dragons and serpents. The great Ollpheist, or worm, or serpent, was at this time in the pool near the Arigna mountains, from which the Shannon partly takes its rise. It heard of this prophecy and was greatly concerned about its future. It determined to leave Ireland and make his way to the sea before the man came who should have the power to kill or banish serpents. The man the druid had prophesied about was Saint Patrick.]
The story describes the desperate efforts of the great worm to make a waterway for itself by cutting away the hole in which it was enclosed. It was its efforts to escape which made the river Shannon. At every prominent part of the Shannon its adventures are related. As it went on its way, working a channel for itself by which to swim out to the sea, it used to commit the most terrible depredations on cattle and sheep, and destroy the country wherever it happened to be. The adventures of the worm at Jamestown, Athleague, Lanesborough and other places are described. Near Athleague the people, led by a drunken piper called O'Rourke, made head against it, but it swallowed the piper at one gulp. The noise of the pipes was too much for it and it threw him up again, after a time, but it lost several days work at the river. After getting rid of the piper who had so troubled its inside it began to work hard to make up for the time it had lost[85]for it was greatly afraid of the good and powerful man who was to come.
After a week or so O'Rourke was blind drunk again, and he faced for the place where the Great Worm had been before, but by this time it had worked its passage far away from that place. The piper, however, walked into the river, and everyone thought that he was drowned, but one of the enchanted eels was left in the hole and the eel put O'Rourke under enchantment too, and it was not long until they heard him playing music in the hole. But he never came up on land since. Only every morning and evening they used to be listening to him playing music in the hole, and from that day to this there is noother name on that same spot but the Piper's Hole. And everybody in Athlone knows the Piper's Hole as well to-day as the people who were alive a thousand years ago knew it.
The Great Worm went on very well until it came to the place which is now Lough Ree. There was a great tribe of venemous serpents there and they attacked it. Some went in front of it, others came behind it, others came on each side of it. They fought for seven nights[86]and seven days; they made the hard ground soft and the soft ground hard. They sent stones and great rocks flying more than half a mile up in the air. Floods of blood were running as plentiful as the water itself, and indeed people thought that it was the end of the world that was in it. The battle went on for a month without any signs of victory on one side or the other, and the people of the villages round about were in great fear; but as the old saying puts it, every battle has an end. When the most of the serpents were dead they asked the Great Worm for peace. He granted that and both sides were rejoiced. The Great Worm was wounded and bruised and in much pain.
After that great battle, the Worm had to take a rest, and that gave great ease to the people of the villages, because it ate neither cow nor sheep nor pig for the space of three months, but it ate up all the serpents that it had killed in the fighting. It never left so much as a bit of bone behind it, and the people began to think that it would never claim its food off them any more. But so soon as it set to work again they had to supply it withcows, sheep, and pigs once more, because it thought that this was its [lawful] wages for cutting out the river for them. And everyone knows that the river did much good for the country on each side of it; and only for the Great Worm there would have been no river.
The Worm worked hard and went on well until it came to the place which is now Lough Derg. The venemous serpents were collected before it in that place and they gave it battle. If hundreds attacked it in Lough Ree thousands attacked it in Lough Derg, and the first battle was only sport in comparison to this one. They attacked before, behind, and on every side, and some of them made holes under its belly so that they might be able to thrust it through in that place, and such a cutting and scalping and tearing and killing there had never been in the world before, and it's likely that there won't be again. They made the dry earth wet, the wet earth dry, and they sent stones and great rocks flying into the air quick as lightning, and God help the man one of them would fall on, it was a warrant of death for him. They fought for a month without appearance of victory on either side, and during all that time the lake was red (dearg) with blood, and the old people say that this is the reason it was called Loch Dearg or Derg. After a month of fighting the Worm gained the battle. It rose of one leap in the air, and came down on top of the serpents, making a mash of them, and those that were not killed went off over the country.
The Worm was torn and wounded and in great pain after this hard battle, and had to take a long rest. But it never went in pursuit of food from the people of thevillages, because it ate its enough of the serpents every day until the last of them was eaten by it.
As soon as its wounds were closed and it had rested, it began working again, and nothing wonderful happened to it until it came to the place where the city of Limerick is to-day. In that place there was a great troop of enchanted heroes near the spot where the Treaty Stone is now. The warriors threatened it and told it not to come any further, but it challenged them to battle. They attacked it with battle-axes and great clubs, and they were cutting it and beating it throughout the day until they thought it was dead. Then they went away. But as soon as the sun went down it came to itself again and it was as strong as it was at the commencement of the battle. It came up on land and went to the castle of the enchanted warriors. They were asleep, and it threw down the castle on top of them and killed every mother's son of them. Then it returned to go in face of its work.
It went on well after leaving Limerick, for there was nothing to hinder it. For that reason it made the river wider in that place than in any other. But as soon as it got out into the sea a great whale met it and it had to fight a hard battle, and was nearly beaten, when a sea-maiden came and helped it and they killed the whale.
The sea-maiden and the Great Worm went on side by side until they came to a village on the coast, where there were about three score of men in boats fishing. The Great Worm was very hungry and began swallowing them down greedily, men and boats and all, until the sea-maiden spoke and said that it was a shame. That angered it and it attacked her, but she was too clever for it. She drewout a golden comb with venom in it, and thrust it into the Worm's eye and blinded it out and out. Then said the Worm to her, "I would sooner be dead than alive; put a hole in my stomach with your scissors." She did that and it died in a moment.
The water was ebbing, and when it had gone out the Great Worm was left dead on the sand. The people of the villages round about came; they opened the worm, and every mother's son that he had swallowed they found alive and in a heavy sleep at the bottom of their boats. The bones of the Great Worm remained on the shore of Bantry Bay until the fishermen made oars out of them. If my story is not true, there is no water in the sea and no river Shannon in Ireland.
PREFACE.
This story I got from Pronisias O'Conor when he was in the workhouse in Athlone, and he had it from one Rose Grennan or in Irish, Róise nic Ghrianain, from a parish near Athlone.
This story is chiefly remarkable for the introduction of Grainne Oigh, which seems to mean Grania the virgin. But who was Grainne? My narrator could tell me nothing about her. She occurs in the story of "William of the Tree" in my "Beside the Fire," and Alfred Nutt has an interesting note on her at p. 194, but it throws no light upon the subject. There, as here, she appears as a beneficent being, very pious, powerful and mysterious, and able to work miracles. The town of Moate, in Co. Westmeath, is called in Irish the Moat of Grainne Óg, who is said to have been a Munster princess, very good and very wise, and there seems to have been some body of legend connected with her, alluded to by Caesar Otway in his "Tour in Connaught," p. 55. See also Joyce's "Names of Places," vol. I, p. 270. Whether Grainne Óg and Grainne Oigh are the same person seems doubtful, but I should think it very probable, and the appellation of "Oigh" may have tended to some confusion with Muire Oigh. Except in these two stories, one from O'Conor and the other from a man named Blake, near Ballinrobe, I have never met or heard or read of any allusion to this being. But the town of Athlone, being half in Westmeath, the county with which Grainne Óg is associated, and the very old woman who told this story being from the borders of that county,would suggest that there was some connection between the mysterious being and the princess from whom Moate is said to have got its name.
THE STORY.
Long, long ago there was a poor Widow living in the County Clare, and she had seven children, and the eldest was only ten years old. It was a Christmas night that was in it, and she had not a morsel to give them to eat, and since she hadn't, she prayed God to take them to Himself.
It was not long after her prayer until the door opened and Grania Oï[87]walked in and two young women after her, carrying a big dish filled with fine food. They were all clad in raiment as white as mountain snow. The Widow welcomed the ladies, and she said, "Perhaps ye would give some relief to a poor family that is fasting all the day."
"God has sent us in answer to your prayer to give you relief at the present time, and to ask if you are ready and submissive to part with the whole of your family."
"I am not," said the Widow.
"Did you not pray to God to take them to Himself a short while ago?"
"Indeed, I don't know," said she, "I was half mad at seeing them fasting, but if God has a place for myself along with my family I am obedient and ready to go."
Then Grania Oï laid down the dish upon the table and said to the Widow, "Eat that, yourself and your family,and when it's eaten I'll come again." Then they went out and it was not long till the Widow and her family began eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on the dish was no less than when they began to take from it.
They were eating at that dish and it never emptied until the evening before Good Friday. That evening the Widow and her family were without bite or sup and they were hoping for Grania Oï and the two young women. But when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin man walked in. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb. The Widow gave him a chair, and asked him to sit down and take a rest.
"I have no time to sit down," said he, "I have lots of business to do. You yourself and your family are without bite or sup."
"We are," said she, "but I hope for succour soon."
"Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty or you will be deceived. The woman who gave you the dish is participator with the fairies, she is trying to get your family from you; but pay her no attention."
There was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said, "It was a messenger from God who brought us the dish."
"Believe me they were fairies who brought you the dish and that it was fairy food that was in it," said the thin man, "and if you accept another dish from her, yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma[88]amongst the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?"
"Indeed I have," said she; "but we shall have no more to do with the fairies. I and my family would sooner die of the hunger than accept a bite or sup from her again."
"But don't you know that she has power over you on account of all the fairy food you yourself and your family have eaten this four months, and now unless ye take my advice ye shall be lost."
"Thank you," said the Widow, "it is a friend who would give me good advice."
Now it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow; He had come to put temptation on her. "Well," said he, "you have holy water in the house."
"I have," said she.
"I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is no virtue in it. Go now and throw it in the fire." The woman did so. But no sooner did she do so than there arose a blue flame, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, "Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it in the fire, and they will have no power over you at all. And then as soon as you are free from them I will give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family shall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you."
"I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who gave it to me," said the Widow.
Then he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver, and said, "I had this purse to give you if you had accepted my advice, and not that alone, but yourself and your family would have had a long life."
Great greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, andshe said. "I ask your pardon, noble sir, I am submissive to you in every thing. I myself and my family are under your control."
At that he handed her the purse and said: "Throw the cross into the fire." She did so, but instead of its burning there began a stream of blood to come from it. "Ha! ha!" said he, "look at the fairy blood. Here! put your name to this paper. I must give my master an account that I have given you the purse and that you are freed from the Shee-folk, and under my control."
The poor woman put her hand to the pen and made her mark, because she did not know how to write or read, and she did not know what was in the paper. He held the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and he went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running from it. As soon as he was gone the Widow took up the cross. The blood ceased and there was no sign of burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and did not know what she would do.
While she was thinking of the wonderful things that had happened she heard a voice calling her. When she went to the door she saw Grania Oï and two maidens carrying a great dish filled with food.
"We don't want any fairy food," said the Widow. "We have plenty of gold and silver. Go to Knock Ma, and don't come near us any more."
Grania Oï thought that the Widow had lost her senses, and she said: "In God's name have sense, and in Christ's name come here till I talk with you." She did not wish to come, but some power drew her forward until she stood in front of Grania Oï, and she shaking from head to foot.
"What happened to you since I was here before, and where did you get the gold and the silver?"
"A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening, and said that you were a fairy woman, and that you were giving myself and my family fairy food in order to get us into your power. He told me to throw the holy water into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame out of it, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power at all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and better than that, you and your family will have great riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn my cross, that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said, 'I had this purse for you if you had taken my advice, and not only that, but that I and my family would have a long life.' Greed for riches came over me, and I begged his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to him in everything, and that I and my family were under his control. With that he handed me the purse and said, 'Throw the cross into the fire.' I did so, but in place of burning, a stream of blood began to flow out of it. He laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was in it. Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he had an account to give his master that he had given me the purse—and that I was free from the Shee.[89]I cannot write or read, but I made a mark with the pen. Whenhe went away I took up the cross and it was not burnt."
"I put the cross of Christ between myself and you, accursed woman. You have sold your soul and the souls of your family to the devil for the sake of gold and silver, and now you are lost for ever, and you have shed the blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go to your parish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything, and how it happened, and tell him that it was Grania Oï who sent you to him. If you yourself are lost your family is not lost for there is no deadly sin upon them."
The Widow went into the house and took out the purse, and asked, "What shall I do with this gold and silver?"
"Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I renounce the devil and all his works.'"
As soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the words, the Devil came into her presence and said, "You cannot renounce me. You are mine in spite of priest, bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your [own] hand."
"In the name of Jesus go away from me," said the Widow; and when he heard that name he was obliged to go.
The Widow went to the priest and told him the story. "I am afraid," said he, "that you are lost; but at all events I'll write to the bishop about you. Go home now and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when I get an answer from the bishop."
When she came home she found the family eating out of a great dish which Grania Oï had left with them; but the eldest of them said to her not to put her hand in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but that when she should be in want of food they would give it to her.
At the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said that he had got an answer from the bishop to say that he would not be able to have any hand in the case until he would get an order from the Pope; but he bade her to make repentance day and night.
At the end of a month after this the priest sent for her again, and said, "I have a letter from the Pope to say that there is only one way to save you. Put off your shoes and go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Don't sleep the second night in any house, and only eat one meal in the twenty-four hours, make the journey of the cross seven times in the day and seven times in the night for seven days. Take no bread with you, and neither gold nor silver, but ask alms in the name of God, and when you come back again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do. Here is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from you. Go now in the name of God."
When the widow came home Grania Oï was before her at the door, and asked what the priest had said to her. She told her everything that she had to do. "Go without delay," said Grania Oi, "and I'll take care of your family until you come back."
The Widow went away. She endured thirst and hunger, cold and bitter hardship. But she did everything as the Pope had ordered. At the end of three monthsshe came back and it was scarcely her own family recognised her, she was so withered and thin.
It was not long until the priest came and said, "You have a pilgrimage to make to Croagh Patrick, and you must walk on your knees from the foot to the top of the Reek,[90]and no doubt you will see a messenger from God on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge from him. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late." The Widow departed, although her feet were cut and the blood coming from them. She went on her knees at the foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights going to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness came over her and she fell into a sleep.
When she awoke Grania Oï was by her side. She handed her a paper and said, "Look! is that the paper you put your hand to when you sold yourself and your family?"
"I see that it is," said the poor Widow. "I give a thousand thanks and laudations to God that I am saved."
When she came home the priest came and said Mass in the house. The Widow went to confession. She herself and her seven children received the body of Christ from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she herself and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that they all went to heaven, and that we may go to the same place!
PREFACE.
This is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon and East Mayo. I often heard it when I was young. The following version was written down and given me by my friend Mr. John Rogers [Seághan O Ruaidhri] about five miles away from the place where I used to be told the same story. He published it in 1900 in "Irishleabhar na Gaedhilge." There is another story also about a gambler who played cards with the devil.
THE STORY.
Long ago there used to be a king over every kind of trade and special society and it was the "Gambler of the Branch"[91]who was king over all the gamblers and players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the face of the earth could win a match against him in playing cards or any other game.
At last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and dissatisfied, and he said that since he was not able to get a game with a man of this world that he would go to try it in the other world. He went off, walking away, and henever stopped of that journey until he came to the great doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. "Who is there?" said the porter.
"I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper world," said he, "and I am seeking to play a game of cards with the Arch-demon."
The Arch-demon came, and he said, "What stake have you to play for with me, for I only play for people's souls?"
"I'll play my own soul against one of these that you have in bondage in this place."
"I'll bet it," says the Demon.
The Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of the others, until he had gained every soul in the place but one, and the Devil would not stake that one no matter how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered them together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind saw them departing it let a screech out of it that would split a stone, but there was no help for it.
He drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep, and said, "What will be done with ye[92]now?"
"O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven," said they.
"It's as good for me, since ye are here," says he, and he drove them away with him until he came to the great white gates of heaven.
The gates opened and they were welcomed, and the souls went in. And the porter-saint said to the Gambler, "Won't yourself come in?"
"If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go," said the Gambler; "but if I don't, I won't."
"You won't get that permission," said the saint, but leave them on the wall here outside the gate, and go in, till you see those souls counted in their place. And you can come out after a while for the cards if you wish."
The Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten ever since to come out for them.
That is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to heaven, and that is the reason that when a slow messenger delays in the house he has been sent to with a message, people say, "You forgot to return as the Gambler of the Branch did."