LEGEND OF BOTTLE HILL
From Ireland
Itwas in the good days, when the Little People were more frequently seen than they are in these unbelieving times, that a farmer, named Mick Purcell, rented a few acres of barren ground not far from the city of Cork.
Mick had a wife and seven children. They did all that they could to get on, which was very little, for the poor man had no child grown big enough to help him in his work; and all that the poor woman could do was to mind the children, milk the cow, boil the potatoes, and carry the eggs to market. So besides the difficulty of getting enough to eat, it was hard on them to pay the rent.
Well, they did manage to get along for a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little field of oats was spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles, and poor Mick found that he hadn’t enough to pay half his rent.
“Why, then, Molly,” said he, “what’ll we do?”
“Wisha, then, mavourneen, what would you do but take the cow to the Fair of Cork, and sellher?” said she. “And Monday is Fair-day, so you must go to-morrow.”
“And what’ll we do when she’s gone?” said Mick.
“Never a know I know, Mick, but sure God won’t leave us without help. And you know how good He was to us when little Billy was sick, and we had nothing at all for him to take—that good doctor gentleman came riding past and asked for a drink of milk, and he gave us two shillings, and sent me things and a bottle for the child; and he came to see Billy and never left off his goodness until he was well.”
“Oh, you are always hopeful, Molly, and I believe you are right, after all,” Mick said, “so I won’t be sorry for selling the cow. I’ll go to-morrow, and you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know it’s ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right. And about twelve o’clock the next day he left her, after having promised not to sell his cow except for the highest penny.
He drove the beast slowly through a little stream that crossed the road under the walls of an old fort; and as he passed, he glanced his eyes on a pile of stones and an old elder tree that stood up sharply against the sky.
“Oh, then, if only I had half the Fairy moneythat is buried in yon fort, ’tisn’t driving this cow I’d be now!” said he aloud.
Then he moved on after his beast. ’Twas a fine day, and the sun shone brightly, and after he had gone six miles, he came to that hill—Bottle Hill it is called now, but that was not the name of it then.
“Good morrow, Mick!” said a little voice, and with that a little man started up out of the hill.
“Good morrow, kindly,” said Mick, and he looked at the stranger who was like a dwarf with a bit of an old wrinkled face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower; only he had a sharp red nose, red eyes, and white hair. His eyes were never quiet, but looked at everything; and it made Mick’s blood run cold just to see them roll so rapidly from side to side.
In truth Mick did not like the little man’s company at all, and he drove his cow somewhat faster; but the little man kept up with him. Out of the corner of his eye Mick could see that he moved over the road without lifting one foot after the other; and the poor fellow’s heart trembled within him.
“Where are you going with that cow, honest man?” said the little man at last.
“To the Fair of Cork, then,” said Mick, trembling even more at the shrill and piercing voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” asked the little man.
“Why, then, what else am I going for, but to sell her?”
“Will you sell her to me?”
Mick started. He was afraid to have anything to do with the little man, but he was more afraid to say no.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this bottle,” said the little man, pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and in spite of his terror he could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.
“Laugh if you will!” said the little man, “but I tell you that this bottle is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow at Cork—aye, than ten thousand times as much.”
Mick laughed again. “Why, then,” said he, “do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle—and an empty one, too! Indeed, then, I won’t!”
“You’d better give me the cow, and take the bottle—you’ll not be sorry for it,” said the little man.
“Why, then, what would Molly say? I’d never hear the last of it! And how should I pay the rent? And what should we do without a penny of money?”
“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry,” answered the little man, “but quiet yourself, and make her sweep the room, and set the table in the middle of the floor, and spread the best cover on it. Then put the bottle on the ground, saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty!’ And you will see the end of it.”
“And is this all?” said Mick.
“No more,” said the stranger, forcing the bottle into Mick’s hand. Then he moved swiftly off after the cow.
Well, Mick, rather sick at heart, retraced his steps toward his cabin, and as he went he could not help turning his head to look after the little man; but he had vanished completely.
“He can’t belong to this earth,” exclaimed Mick in horror to himself. “But where is the cow?” She, too, was gone; and Mick hurried homeward muttering prayers and holding fast the bottle.
He soon reached his cabin, and surprised his wife sitting over the turf fire in the big chimney.
“Oh! Mick, are you come back?” said she. “Sure you weren’t at Cork all the way? What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much money did you get for her? What news have you? Tell us everything.”
“Why, then, Molly, if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all about it!”
“Oh! then, you sold her. Where’s the money?”
“Arrah! stop a while, Molly, and I’ll tell you all about it!”
“But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?” said Molly, seeing its neck sticking out.
“Why, then, be easy about it,” said Mick, “till I tell it you.” And putting the bottle on the table, he added, “That’s all I got for the cow.”
His poor wife was thunderstruck. She sat crying, while Mick told her his story, with many a crossing and blessing between him and harm. She could not help believing him, for she had great faith in Fairies. So she got up, and, without saying a word, began to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heather. Then she tidied everything, and put the long table in the middle of the room, and spread over it a clean cloth.
And then Mick, placing the bottle on the ground, said: “Bottle, do your duty!”
“Look! Look there, mammy!” cried his eldest son. “Look there! Look there!” and he sprang to his mother’s side, as two tiny fellows rose like light from the bottle; and in an instant they covered the table with dishes and plates of gold and silver, full of the finest victuals that ever were seen. And when all was done, the two tiny fellows went into the bottle again.
Mick and his wife looked at everything with astonishment; they had never seen such dishesand plates before, and the very sight of them almost took their appetites away. But at length Molly said:—
“Come and sit down, Mick, and try to eat a bit. Sure, you ought to be hungry, after such a good day’s work!”
So they all sat down at the table. After they had eaten as much as they wished, Molly said:—
“I wonder will those two good, little gentlemen carry away these fine things.”
They waited, but no one came; so Molly put the dishes and plates carefully aside. The next day Mick went to Cork and sold some of them, and bought a horse and cart.
Weeks passed by, and the neighbours saw that Mick was making money; and, though he and his wife did all they could to keep the bottle a secret, their landlord soon found out about it. Then he took the bottle by force away from Mick, and carried it carefully home.
As for Mick and his wife, they had so much money left that the loss of the bottle did not worry them much at first; but they kept on spending their wealth as if there was no end to it. And to make a long story short, they became poorer and poorer, until they had to sell their last cow.
So one morning early, Mick once more drove his cow to the Fair of Cork. It was hardly daybreakwhen he left home, and he walked on until he reached the big hill; and just as he got to its top, and cast his eyes before and around him, up started the little man out of the hill.
“Well, Mick Purcell,” said he, “I told you that you would be a rich man!”
“Indeed, then, so I was, that is no lie for you, sir,” replied Mick. “But it’s not rich I am now! And if you happen to have another bottle, here is the cow for it.”
“And here is the bottle!” said the little man, smiling. “You know what to do with it.”
And with that both the cow and the stranger disappeared as they had done before.
Mick hurried away, anxious to get home with the bottle. He arrived with it safely enough, and called out to Molly to put the room to rights; and to lay a clean cloth on the table. Which she did.
Mick set the bottle on the ground, and cried out: “Bottle, do your duty!”
In a twinkling two great, stout men with two huge clubs, issued from the bottle, and belaboured poor Mick and his family until they lay groaning on the floor. Then the two men went into the bottle again.
Mick, as soon as he came to himself, got up and looked around him. He thought and he thought. He lifted up his wife and children, then leaving them to recover as best they could, he put thebottle under his arm, and went to visit his landlord.
The landlord was having a great feast, and when he saw that Mick had another bottle, he invited him heartily to come in.
“Show us your bottle, Mick,” said he.
So Mick set it on the floor, and spoke the proper words; and in a moment the landlord tumbled to the floor, and all his guests were running, and roaring, and sprawling, and kicking, and shrieking, while the two great, stout men belaboured them well.
“Stop those two scoundrels, Mick Purcell,” shouted the landlord, “or I’ll hang you!”
“They shall never stop,” said Mick, “till I get my own bottle that I see on top of yon shelf.”
“Give it to him! Give it to him, before we are killed!” cried the landlord.
Mick put his old bottle in his bosom. Then the two great, stout men jumped into the new one, and Mick carried both bottles safely home.
And to make my story short, from that time on Mick prospered. He got richer than ever, and his son married the landlord’s daughter. And both Mick and his wife lived to a great old age. They died on the same day, and at their wake the servants broke both bottles. But the hill has the name upon it; for so it will always be Bottle Hill to the end of the world, for this is a strange story.