It was no time at all until Nancy was out to find what was wrong with the brannet cow. She struck the cow with her fist to quiet her, but when she hit her, her fist stuck to the cow, and she could not get away.
Rory had come running out after Nancy to help her, and Nancy called: “Rory, Rory, pull me away from the cow.”
Rory got hold of her to pull her away, but as he did so his hands stuck to Nancy, and he could not get away himself.
Up then jumped Shamus from under the hay in the corner. “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
And out of the byre starts the cow with Nancy stuck to her, and Rory stuck to that, and heads toward the castle, with the cow rearing and rowting, and Nancy and Rory yelling and bawling. They made a terrible din entirely, and roused the whole countryside, who flocked out to see what was the matter.
Down past Rory’s house the cow went, and Rory’s mother, seeing him sticking to Nancy, ran out to pull him away; but when she laid her hand on Rory, she stuck to him; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
So on they went. And Rory’s father ran after them to pull the mother away; but when he laid his hands on the mother, he stuck to her; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, “drive on the plaisham.”
On again they went, and next they passed where a man was cleaning out his byre. When the man saw the ridiculous string of them, he flung a graip [fork] and a graipful of manure at them, and it stuck to Rory’s father; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.” But the man ran after to save his graip, and when he got hold of the graip, he stuck to it; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
On they went; and a tailor came flying out of his house with his lap-board in his hand. He struck the string of them with the lap-board, the lap-board stuck to the last man, and the tailor stuck to it; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
Then they passed a cobbler’s. He ran out with his heel-stick, and struck the tailor; but the heel-stick stuck to the tailor, and the cobbler stuck to the heel-stick; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
Then on they went, and they next passed a blacksmith’s forge. The blacksmith ran out, and struck the cobbler with his sledge. The sledge stuck to the cobbler, and the blacksmith stuck to the sledge; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
When they came near the castle, they passed a great gentleman’s house entirely, and the gentleman came running out, and got hold of the blacksmith to pull him away; but the gentleman stuck to the blacksmith, and could not get away himself; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
The gentleman’s wife, seeing him stuck, ran after her man to pull him away; but the wife stuck to the gentleman; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
Then their children ran after them to pull the mother away, and they stuck to the mother; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
Then the butler ran to get hold of the children, and he stuck to them; and the footman ran to get hold of the butler, and stuck to him; and the cook ran to get hold of the footman, and stuck to him; and the servants all ran to get hold of the cook, and they stuck to her; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.” And on they went; and when they came up to the castle, the plaisham was a mile long, and the yelling and bawling and noise that they made could be heard anywhere within the four seas of Ireland. The racket was so terrible that Prince Connal and all his guests and all his servants and all in his house came running to the windows to see what was the matter, at all, at all; and when Prince Connal saw what was coming to his house, and heard the racket they were raising, he yelled to his Prime Minister to go and drive them off with a whip.
The Prime Minister ran meeting them, and took the whip to them; but the whip stuck to them, and he stuck to the whip; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
Then Prince Connal ordered out all his other ministers and all of his servants to head it off and turn it away from his castle; but every one of the servants that got hold of it stuck to it; and “Hup, Hup!”says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
And the plaisham moved on still for the castle. Then Prince Connal himself, with all his guests, ran out to turn it away ; but when Prince Connal laid hands on the plaisham, he stuck to it; and when his guest laid hands on him, they stuck one by one to him; and “Hup, Hup!” says Shamus, says he, “drive on the plaisham.”
And with all the racket and all the noise of the ranting, roaring, rearing, and rawting, in through the castle hall-door drove the plaisham, through and through and out at the other side. The castle itself fell down and disappeared, the bone ring rolled away from the cow’s nose, and the plaisham all at once broke up, and when Prince Connal looked around, there was no castle at all, only the sod hut, and he went into it a sorry man.
And all the others slunk off home, right headily ashamed of themselves, for the whole world was laughing at them. Nancy, she went east; and Rory, he went west; and neither one of them was ever heard of more. As for Shamus, he went home to his own little cabin, and lived all alone, happy and contented, for the rest of his life, and may you and I do the same.
The Amadan of the Dough
THERE was a king once on a time that had a son that was an Amadan [half-foolish fellow]. The Amadan’s mother died, and the king married again.
The Amadan’s step-mother was always afraid of him beating her children, he was growing so big and strong. So to keep him from growing and to weaken him, she had him fed on dough made of raw meal and water, and for that he was called “The Amadan of the Dough.” But instead of getting weaker, it was getting stronger the Amadan was on this fare, and he was able to thrash all of his step-brothers together.
At length his step-mother told his father that he would have to drive the Amadan away. The father consented to put him away; but the Amadan refused to go till his father would give him a sword so sharp that it would cut a pack of wool falling on it.
After a great deal of time and trouble the father got such a sword and gave it to the Amadan; and when the Amadan had tried it and found it what he wanted, he bade them all goodby and set off.
For seven days and seven nights he traveled away before him without meeting anything wonderful, but on the seventh night he came up to a great castle. He went in and found no one there, but he found a great dinner spread on the table in the hall. So to be making the most of his time, down the Amadan sat at the table and whacked away.
When he had finished with his dinner, up to the castle came three young princes, stout, strong, able fellows, but very, very tired, and bleeding from wounds all over them.
They struck the castle with a flint, and all at once the whole castle shone as if it were on fire. The Amadan sprang at the three of them to kill them. He said, “What do you mean by putting the castle on fire?”
“O Amadan,” they said, “don’t interfere with us, for we are nearly killed as it is. The castle isn’t on fire. Every day we have to go out to fight three giants -- Slat Mor, Slat Marr and Slat Beag. We fight them all day long, and just as night is falling we have them killed. But however it comes, in the night they always come to life again, and if they didn’t see this castle lit up, they’d come in on top of us and murder us while we slept. So every night, when we come back from the fight, we light up the castle. Then we can sleep in peace until morning, and in the morning go off and fight the giants again.”
When the Amadan heard this, he wondered; and he said he would very much like to help them kill the giants. They said they would be very glad to have such a fine fellow’s help; and so it was agreed that the Amadan should go with them to the fight next day.
Then the three princes washed themselves and took their supper, and they and the Amadan went to bed.
In the morning all four of them set off, and traveled to the Glen of the Echoes, where they met the three giants.
“Now,” says the Amadan, “if you three will engage the two smaller giants, Slat Marr and Slat Beag, I’ll engage Slat Mor myself and kill him.”
They agreed to this.
Now the smallest of the giants was far bigger and more terrible than anything ever the Amadan had seen or heard of in his life before, so you can fancy what Slat Mor must have been like.
But the Amadan was little concerned at this. He went to meet Slat Mor, and the two of them fell to the fight, and a great, great fight they had. They made the hard ground into soft, and the soft into spring wells; they made the rocks into pebbles, and the pebbles into gravel, and the gravel fell over the country like hailstones. All the birds of the air from the lower end of the world to the upper end of the world, and all the wild beasts and tame from the four ends of the earth, came flocking to see the fight; and in the end the Amadan ran Slat Mor through with his sword and laid him down dead.
Then he turned to help the three princes, and very soon he laid the other two giants down dead for them also.
Then the three princes said they would all go home. The Amadan told them to go, but warned them not to light up the castle this night, and said he would sit by the giants’ corpses and watch if they came to life again.
The three princes begged of him not to do this, for the three giants would come to life, and then he, having no help, would be killed.
The Amadan was angry with them, and ordered them off instantly. Then he sat down by the giants’ corpses to watch. But he was so tired from his great day’s fighting that by and by he fell asleep.
About twelve o’clock at night, when the Amadan was sleeping soundly, up comes a cailliach [old hag] and four badachs [unwieldy big fellows], and the cailliach carried with her a feather and a bottle of iocshlainte [ointment of health], with which she began to rub the giants’ wounds. Two of the giants were already alive when the Amadan awoke, and the third was just opening his eyes. Up sprang the Amadan, and at him leaped them all -- Slat Mor, Slat Marr, Slat Beag, the cailliach, and the four badachs.
If the Amadan had had a hard fight during the day, this one was surely ten times harder. But a brave and a bold fellow he was, and not to be daunted by numbers or showers of blows. They fought for long and long. They made the hard ground into soft, and the soft into spring wells; they made the rocks into pebbles, and the pebbles into gravel, and the gravel fell over the country like hailstones. All the birds of the air from the lower end of the world to the upper end of the world, and all the wild beasts and tame from the four ends of the earth, came flocking to see the fight; and one after the other of them the Amadan ran his sword through, until he had every one of them stretched on the ground, dying or dead.
And when the old cailliach was dying, she called the Amadan to her and put him under geasa [an obligation that he could not shirk] to lose the power of his feet, of his strength, of his sight, and of his memory if he did not go to meet and fight the Black Bull of the Brown Wood.
When the old hag died outright, the Amadan rubbed some of the iochslainte to his wounds with the feather, and at once he was as hale and as fresh as when the fight began. Then he took the feather and the bottle of iocshlainte, buckled on his sword, and started away before him to fulfil his geasa.
He traveled for the length of all that lee-long day, and when night was falling, he came to a little hut on the edge of a wood; and the hut had no shelter inside or out but one feather over it, and there was a rough, red woman standing in the door.
“You’re welcome,” says she, “Amadan of the Dough, the King of Ireland’s son. What have you been doing or where are you going?”
“Last night,” says the Amadan, “I fought a great fight, and killed Slat Mor, Slat Marr, Slat Beag, the Cailliach of the Rocks, and four badachs. Now I’m under geasa to meet and to fight the Black Bull of the Brown Wood. Can you tell me where to find him?”
“I can that,” says she, “but it’s now night. Come in and eat and sleep.”
So she spread for the Amadan a fine supper, and made a soft bed, and he ate heartily and slept heartily that night.
In the morning she called him early, and she directed him on his way to meet the Black Bull of the Brown Wood. “But my poor Amadan,” she said, “no one has ever yet met that bull and come back alive.”
She told him that when he reached the place of meeting, the bull would come tearing down the hill like a hurricane. “Here’s a cloak,” says she, “to throw upon the rock that is standing there. You hide yourself behind the rock, and when the bull comes tearing down, he will dash at the cloak, and blind himself with the crash against the rock. Then you jump on the bull’s back and fight for life. If, after the fight, you are living, come back and see me; and if you are dead, I’ll go and see you.”
The Amadan took the cloak, thanked her, and set off, and traveled on and on until he came to the place of meeting.
When the Amadan came there, he saw the Bull of the Brown Wood come tearing down the hill like a hurricane, and he threw the cloak on the rock and hid behind it, and with the fury of his dash against the cloak the bull blinded himself, and the roar of his fury split the rock.
The Amadan lost no time jumping on his back, and with his sword began hacking and slashing him; but he was no easy bull to conquer, and a great fight the Amadan had. They made the hard ground into soft, and the soft into spring wells; they made the rocks into pebbles, and the pebbles into gravel, and the gravel fell over the country like hailstones. All the birds of the air from the lower end of the world to the upper end of the world, and all the wild beasts and tame from the four ends of the earth, came flocking to see the fight; at length, after a long time, the Amadan ran his sword right through the bull’s heart, and the bull fell down dead. But before he died he put the Amadan under geasa to meet and to fight the White Wether of the Hill of the Waterfalls.
Then the Amadan rubbed his own wounds with the iocshlainte, and he was as fresh and hale as when he went into the fight. Then he set out and traveled back again to the little hut that had no shelter without or within, only one feather over it, and the rough, red woman was standing in the door, and she welcomed the Amadan and asked him the news.
He told her all about the fight, and that the Black Bull of the Wood had put him under geasa to meet and to fight the White Wether of the Hill of the Waterfalls.
“I’m sorry for you, my poor Amadan,” says she, “for no one ever before met that White Wether and came back alive. But come in and eat and rest anyhow, for you must be both hungry and sleepy.”
So she spread him a hearty meal and made him a soft bed, and the Amadan ate and slept heartily; and in the morning she directed him to where he would meet the White Wether of the Hill of the Waterfalls. And she told him that no steel was tougher than the hide of the White Wether, that a sword was never yet made that could go through it, and that there was only one place -- a little white spot just over the wether’s heart -- where he could be killed or sword could cut through. And she told the Amadan that his only chance was to hit this spot.
The Amadan thanked her, and set out. He traveled away and away before him until he came to the Hill of the Waterfalls, and as soon as he reached it he saw the White Wether coming tearing toward him in a furious rage, and the earth he was throwing up with his horns was shutting out the sun.
And when the wether came up and asked the Amadan what great feats he had done that made him impudent enough to dare to come there, the Amadan said: “With this sword I have killed Slat Mor, Slatt Marr, Slatt Beag, the Cailliach of the Rocks and her four badachs, and likewise the Black Bull of the Brown Wood.”
“Then,” said the White Wether, “you’ll never kill any other.” And at the Amadan he sprang.
The Amadan struck at him with his sword, and the sword glanced off as it might off steel. Both of them fell to the fight with all their hearts, and such a fight never w
as before or since. They made the hard ground into soft, and the soft into spring wells; they made the rocks into pebbles, and the pebbles into gravel, and the gravel fell over the country like hailstones. All the birds of the air from the lower end of the world to the upper end of the world, and all the wild beasts and tame from the four ends of the earth, came flocking to see the fight. But at length and at last, after a long and terrible fight, the Amadan seeing the little spot above the heart that the red woman had told him of, struck for it and hit it, and drove his sword through the White Wether’s heart, and he fell down. And when he was dying, he called the Amadan and put him under a geasa to meet and fight the Beggarman of the King of Sweden.
The Amadan took out his bottle of iochslainte and rubbed himself with the iochslainte, and he was as fresh and hale as when he began the fight. Then he set out again, and when night was falling, he reached the hut that had no shelter within or without, only one feather over it, and the rough, red woman was standing in the door.
Right glad she was to see the Amadan coming back alive, and she welcomed him heartily and asked him the news.
He told her of the wonderful fight he had had, and that he was now under geasa to meet and fight the Beggarman of the King of Sweden.
She made him come in and eat and sleep, for he was tired and hungry. And heartily the Amadan ate and heartily he slept; and in the morning she called him early, and directed him on his way to meet the Beggarman of the King of Sweden.
She told him that when he reached a certain hill, the beggarman would come down from the sky in a cloud; and that he would see the whole world between the beggarman’s legs and nothing above his head. “If ever he finds himself beaten,” she said, “he goes up into the sky in a mist, and stays there to refresh himself. You may let him go up once; but if you let him go up the second time, he will surely kill you when he comes down. Remember that. If you are alive when the fight is over, come to see me. If you are dead, I will go to see you.”
Donegal Fairy Tales Page 2
