Irish Folk and Fairy Tales Page 2

  ‘Look in my face, father, and surely you’ll remember me.’

  ‘My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago.’ The old gentleman’s voice changed from anger to sorrow. ‘You can go,’ he concluded.

  ‘Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at your name and mine engraved on it.’

  ‘It certainly is my daughter’s ring; but I do not know how you came by it. I fear in no honest way.’

  ‘Call my mother, she will be sure to know me,’ said the poor girl, who, by this time, was crying bitterly.

  ‘My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of her daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her loss?’

  But the young lady persevered, till at last the mother was sent for.

  ‘Mother,’ she began, when the old lady came to the door, ‘Don’t you know your daughter?’

  ‘I have no daughter; my daughter died and was buried a long, long time ago.’

  ‘Only look in my face, and surely you’ll know me.’

  The old lady shook her head.

  ‘You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely, Mother, you know me now?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the mother, ‘my Gracie had a mole on her neck like that; but then I saw her in her coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon her.’

  It became Jamie’s turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy journey, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid in the bed in its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Hallowe’en, and of the three drops that had released Gracie from her enchantment.

  Gracie took up the story when he paused, and told how kind the mother and son had been to her.

  The parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every distinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said they did not know what to do to show their gratitude.

  But an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go without her. ‘If Jamie goes, I’ll go too,’ she said. ‘He saved me from the fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for him, dear Father and Mother, you would never have seen me again. If he goes, I’ll go too.’

  This being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should become his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a coach and four, and there was a splendid wedding.

  They all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to untold wealth at his father-in-law’s death.

  ‘The Legend of Knockgrafton’ by Thomas Crofton Croker

  There was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at the foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his back: he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon his shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much that his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for support. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any lonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as inoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he scarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons had started strange rumours about him. He was said to have a great knowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty skilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and baskets, which was the way he made his livelihood.

  Lusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him by reason of his always wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in his little straw hat, would always get more money for his plaited work than anyone else and perhaps that was the reason why someone, out of envy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may, it happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of Cahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on account of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came to the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of his road. Tired and weary was he, and downcast at thinking how much farther he had to travel, and that he should be walking all the night; so he sat down under the moat to rest himself, and began looking mournfully enough upon the moon.

  Presently there rose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of little Lusmore; he listened, and he thought that he had never heard such ravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices, each mingling and blending with the other so strangely that they seemed to be one, though all singing different strains, and the words of the song were these –

  Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort;

  [Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday]

  when there would be a moment’s pause, and then the round of melody went on again.

  Lusmore listened attentively, scarcely drawing his breath lest he might lose the slightest note. He now plainly perceived that the singing was within the moat; and though at first it had charmed him so much, he began to get tired of hearing the same sound sung over and over so often without any change; so using the pause when Da Luan, Da Mort, had been sung three times, he took up the tune, and raised it with the words augus Da Dardeen [and Wednesday too] and then went on singing with the voices inside of the moat, Da Luan, Da Mort, finishing the melody, when the pause again came, with augus Da Dardeen.

  The fairies within Knockgrafton, for the song was a fairy melody, when they heard this addition to the tune, were so much delighted that, with instant resolve, it was determined to bring the mortal among them, whose musical skill so far exceeded theirs, and little Lusmore was conveyed into their company with the eddying speed of a whirlwind.

  Glorious to behold was the sight that burst upon him as he came down through the moat, twirling round and round, with the lightness of a straw, to the sweetest music that kept time to his motion. The greatest honour was then paid him, for he was put above all the musicians, and he had servants tending upon him, and everything to his heart’s content, and a hearty welcome to all; and, in short, he was made as much of as if he had been the first man in the land.

  Presently Lusmore saw a great consultation going forward among the fairies, and, notwithstanding all their civility, he felt very much frightened, until one stepping out from the rest came up to him and said –

  ‘Lusmore! Lusmore!

  Doubt not, nor deplore,

  For the hump which you bore

  On your back is no more;

  Look down on the floor,

  And view it, Lusmore!’

  When these words were said, poor little Lusmore felt himself so light, and so happy, that he thought he could have bounded at one jump over the moon, like the cow in the history of the cat and the fiddle; and he saw, with inexpressible pleasure, his hump tumble down upon the ground from his shoulders. He then tried to lift up his head, and he did so with becoming caution, fearing that he might knock it against the ceiling of the grand hall, where he was; he looked round and round again with the greatest wonder and delight upon everything, which appeared more and more beautiful; and, overpowered at beholding such a resplendent scene, his head grew dizzy, and his eyesight became dim. At last he fell into a sound sleep, and when he awoke he found it was broad daylight, the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing sweetly; and that he was lying just at the foot of the moat of Knockgrafton, with the cows and sheep grazing peaceably round about him. The first thing Lusmore did, after saying his prayers, was to put his hand behind to feel for his hump, but no sign of one was there on his back, and he looked at himself with great pride, for he had now become a well-shaped dapper little fellow, and more than that, found himself in a full suit of new clothes, which he concluded the fairies had made for him.

  Towards Cappagh he went, stepping out as lightly, and springing up at every step as if he had been all his life a dancing-master. Not a creature who met Lusmore knew him without his hump, and he had a great work to persuade everyone that he was the same man – in truth he was not, so far as the outward appearance went. />
  Of course it was not long before the story of Lusmore’s hump got about, and a great wonder was made of it. Through the country, for miles round, it was the talk of every one high and low.

  One morning, as Lusmore was sitting contented enough at his cabin door, up came an old woman to him, and asked him if he could direct her to Cappagh.

  ‘I need give you no directions, my good woman,’ said Lusmore, ‘for this is Cappagh; and whom may you want here?’

  ‘I have come,’ said the woman, ‘out of Decie’s country, in the county of Waterford, looking after one Lusmore, who, I have heard tell, had his hump taken off by the fairies; for there is a son of a friend of mine who has got a hump on him that will be his death; and maybe, if he could use the same charm as Lusmore, the hump may be taken off him. And now I have told you the reason of my coming so far: ’tis to find out about this charm, if I can.’

  Lusmore, who was ever a good-natured little fellow, told the woman all the particulars, how he had raised the tune for the fairies at Knockgrafton, how his hump had been removed from his shoulders, and how he had got a new suit of clothes into the bargain.

  The woman thanked him very much, and then went away quite happy and easy in her mind. When she came back to her friend’s house, in the county of Waterford, she told her everything that Lusmore had said, and they put the little hump-backed man, who was a peevish and cunning creature from his birth, upon a cart, and took him all the way across the country. It was a long journey, but they did not care for that, as long as the hump was taken from off him; and they brought him, just at nightfall, and left him under the old moat of Knockgrafton.

  Jack Madden, for that was the humpy man’s name, had not been sitting there long when he heard the tune going on within the moat much sweeter than before; for the fairies were singing it the way Lusmore had settled their music for them, and the song was going on: Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, augus Da Dardeen, without ever stopping. Jack Madden, who was in a great hurry to get quit of his hump, never thought of waiting until the fairies had done, or watching for a fit opportunity to raise the tune higher again than Lusmore had; so having heard them sing it over seven times without stopping, out he bawls, never minding the time or the humour of the tune, or how he could bring his words in properly, augus Da Dardeen, augus Da Hena [and Thursday] thinking that if one day was good, two were better; and that if Lusmore had one new suit of clothes given him, he should have two.

  No sooner had the words passed his lips than he was taken up and whisked into the moat with prodigious force; and the fairies came crowding round him with great anger, screeching and screaming, and roaring out, ‘Who spoiled our tune? Who spoiled our tune?’ and one stepped up to him above all the rest, and said –

  ‘Jack Madden! Jack Madden!

  Your words came so bad in

  The tune we felt glad in; –

  This castle you’re had in,

  That your life we may sadden;

  Here’s two humps for Jack Madden!’

  And twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore’s hump, and put it down upon poor Jack’s back, over his own, where it became fixed as firmly as if it was nailed on with twelve-penny nails, by the best carpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him; and in the morning, when Jack Madden’s mother and her friend came to look after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot of the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well to be sure, how they did look at each other! But they were afraid to say anything, lest a hump might be put upon their own shoulders. Home they brought the unlucky Jack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their looks as ever two friends were; and what through the weight of his other hump, and the long journey, he died soon after, leaving, they say, his heavy curse to anyone who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.

  ‘Frank Martin and the Fairies’ by William Carleton

  Martin was a thin, pale man, when I saw him, of a sickly look, and a constitution naturally feeble. His hair was a light auburn, his beard mostly unshaven, and his hands of a singular delicacy and whiteness, owing, I dare say, as much to the soft and easy nature of his employment as to his infirm health. In everything else he was as sensible, sober and rational as any other man; but on the topic of fairies, the man’s mania was peculiarly strong and immovable. Indeed, I remember that the expression of his eyes was singularly wild and hollow, and his long narrow temples sallow and emaciated.

  Now, this man did not lead an unhappy life, nor did the malady he laboured under seem to be productive of either pain or terror to him, although one might be apt to imagine otherwise. On the contrary, he and the fairies maintained the most friendly intimacy, and their dialogues – which I fear were woefully one-sided ones – must have been a source of great pleasure to him, for they were conducted with much mirth and laughter, on his part at least.

  ‘Well, Frank, when did you see the fairies?’

  ‘Whist! There’s two dozen of them in the shop (the weaving-shop) this minute. There’s a little ould fellow sittin’ on the top of the weaving-machine, an’ all to be rocked while I’m weavin’. The sorrow’s in them, but they’re the greatest little rogues alive, so they are. See, there’s another of them at my cloth. Go out o’ that, you blackguard; or, bad luck on me, if you don’t, but I’ll fetch you a smack! Ha! Cut, you thief you!’

  ‘Frank, arn’t you afeard o’ them?’

  ‘Is it me! Arra, what ud’ I be afeard o’ them for? Sure they have no power over me.’

  ‘And why haven’t they, Frank?’

  ‘Because I was baptised against them.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Why, the priest that christened me was tould by my father, to put in the proper prayer against the fairies – an’ a priest can’t refuse it when he’s asked – an’ he did so. Begorra, it’s well for me that he did – (let the tallow alone, you little glutton – see, there’s a weeny thief o’ them aitin’ my tallow) – because, you see, it was their intention to make me king o’ the fairies.’

  ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Devil a lie in it. Sure you may ax them, an’ they’ll tell you.’

  ‘What size are they, Frank?’

  ‘Oh, little wee fellows, with green coats, an’ the purtiest little shoes ever you seen. There’s two of them – both ould acquaintances o’ mine – runnin’ along the yarn-beam. That ould fellow with the bob-wig is called Jim Jam, an’ the other chap, with the three-cocked hat, is called Nickey Nick. Nickey plays the pipes. Nickey, give us a tune, or I’ll malivogue you – come now, “Lough Erne Shore”. Whist, now – listen!’

  The poor fellow, though weaving as fast as he could all the time, yet bestowed every possible mark of attention to the music, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if it had been real.

  Many a time, when a mere child, not more than six or seven years of age, have I gone as far as Frank’s weaving-shop, in order, with a heart divided between curiosity and fear, to listen to his conversation with the good people. From morning till night his tongue was going almost as incessantly as his shuttle; and it was well known that at night, whenever he awoke out of his sleep, the first thing he did was to put out his hand, and push them, as it were, off his bed.

  ‘Go out o’ this, you thieves, you – go out o’ this now, an’ let me alone. Nickey, is this any time to be playing the pipes, and me wants to sleep? Go off, now – troth if yez do, you’ll see what I’ll give yez tomorrow. Sure I’ll be makin’ new cloth; and if yez behave decently, maybe I’ll lave yez the scrapin’ o’ the pot. There now. Och! Poor things, they’re dacent crathurs. Sure they’re all gone, barrin poor Redcap, that doesn’t like to lave me.’ And then his one-track mind would fall back into what we trust was an innocent slumber.

  About this time there was said to have occurred a very remarkable circumstance, which gave poor Frank a vast deal of importance among the neighbours. A man named Frank Thomas had a child sick, but of what complaint
I cannot now remember, nor is it of any importance. One of the gables of Thomas’s house was built against, or rather into, a Fort or Rath, called Towny, or properly Tonagh Fort. It was said to be haunted by the fairies, and what gave it a character peculiarly wild in my eyes was that there were on the southern side of it two or three little green mounds, which were said to be the graves of unchristened children, over which it was considered dangerous and unlucky to pass. At all events, the season was mid-summer; and one evening about dusk, during the illness of the child, the noise of a hand-saw was heard upon the Fort. This was considered rather strange, and, after a little time, a few of those who were assembled at Frank Thomas’s went to see who it could be that was sawing in such a place, or what they could be sawing at so late an hour, for everyone knew that nobody in the whole country about them would dare to cut down the few white-thorns that grew upon the Fort. On going to examine, however, judge of their surprise, when, after surrounding and searching the whole place, they could discover no trace of either saw or sawyer. In fact, with the exception of themselves, there was no one, either natural or supernatural, visible. They then returned to the house, and had scarcely sat down, when it was heard again within ten yards of them. Another examination of the premises took place, but with equal success. Now, however, while standing on the Fort, they heard the sawing in a little hollow, about a hundred and fifty yards below them, which was completely exposed to their view, but they could see nobody. A party of them immediately went down to ascertain, if possible, what this singular noise and invisible labour could mean; but on arriving at the spot, they heard the sawing, to which were now added hammering, and the driving of nails upon the Fort above, whilst those who stood on the Fort continued to hear it in the hollow. On comparing notes, they resolved to send down to Billy Nelson’s for Frank Martin, a distance of only about eighty or ninety yards. He was soon on the spot, and without a moment’s hesitation solved the enigma.