Irish Fairy and Folk Tales

by Edited

  “I suppose it was from some such companion he learned his skill,” said Mr. Martin.

  “You have it all now, sir,” replied Bourke. “Darby told him his friends were satisfied with what he did the night of the dance; and though they couldn’t hinder the fever, they’d bring him over it, and teach him more than many knew beside him. And so they did. For you see, all the people he met on the inch that night were friends of a different faction; only the old man that spoke to him, he was a friend of Patrick’s family, and it went again his heart, you see, that the others were so light and active, and he was bitter in himself to hear ’em boasting how they’d dance with any set in the whole country round. So he gave Patrick the gift that night, and afterward gave him the skill that makes him the wonder of all that know him. And to be sure it was only learning he was at that time when he was wandering in his mind after the fever.”

  “I have heard many strange stories about that inch near Ballyhefaan ford,” said Mr. Martin. “ ’Tis a great place for the good people, isn’t it, Tom?”

  “You may say that, sir,” returned Bourke. “I could tell you a great deal about it. Many a time I sat for as good as two hours by moonlight, at th’ other side of the river, looking at ’em playing goal as if they’d break their hearts over it; with their coats and waistcoats off, and white handkerchiefs on the heads of one party, and red ones on th’ other, just as you’d see on a Sunday in Mr. Simming’s big field. I saw ’em one night play till the moon set, without one party being able to take the ball from th’ other. I’m sure they were going to fight, only ’twas near morning. I’m told your grandfather, ma’am, used to see ’em there too,” said Bourke, turning to Mrs. Martin.

  “So I have been told, Tom,” replied Mrs. Martin. “But don’t they say that the churchyard of Kilcrumper is just as favorite a place with the good people as Ballyhefaan inch?”

  “Why, then, maybe you never heard, ma’am, what happened to Davy Roche in that same churchyard,” said Bourke; and turning to Mr. Martin, added: “ ’Twas a long time before he went into your service, sir. He was walking home, of an evening, from the fair of Kilcumber, a little merry, to be sure, after the day, and he came up with a berrin. So he walked along with it, and thought it very queer that he did not know a mother’s soul in the crowd but one man, and he was sure that man was dead many years afore. Howsomever, he went on with the berrin till they came to Kilcrumper churchyard; and, faith, he went in and stayed with the rest, to see the corpse buried. As soon as the grave was covered, what should they do but gather about a piper that come along with ’em, and fell to dancing as if it was a wedding. Davy longed to be among ’em (for he hadn’t a bad foot of his own, that time, whatever he may now); but he was loth to begin, because they all seemed strange to him, only the man I told you that he thought was dead. Well, at last this man saw what Davy wanted, and came up to him. ‘Davy,’ says he, ‘take out a partner, and show what you can do, but take care and don’t offer to kiss her.’ ‘That I won’t,’ says Davy, ‘although her lips were made of honey.’ And with that he made his bow to the purtiest girl in the ring, and he and she began to dance. ’Twas a jig they danced, and they did it to th’ admiration, do you see, of all that were there. ’Twas all very well till the jig was over; but just as they had done, Davy, for he had a drop in, and was warm with the dancing, forgot himself, and kissed his partner, according to custom. The smack was no sooner off of his lips, you see, than he was left alone in the churchyard, without a creature near him, and all he could see was the tall tombstones. Davy said they seemed as if they were dancing too, but I suppose that was only the wonder that happened him, and he being a little in drink. Howsomever, he found it was a great many hours later than he thought it; ’twas near morning when he came home; but they couldn’t get a word out of him till the next day, when he woke out of a dead sleep about twelve o’clock.”

  When Tom had finished the account of Davy Roche and the berrin, it became quite evident that spirits, of some sort, were working too strong within him to admit of his telling many more tales of the good people. Tom seemed conscious of this. He muttered for a few minutes broken sentences concerning churchyards, riversides, leprechauns, and dina magh,* which were quite unintelligible, perhaps, to himself, certainly to Mr. Martin and his lady. At length he made a slight motion of the head upward, as if he would say, “I can talk no more;” stretched his arm on the table, upon which he placed the empty tumbler slowly, and with the most knowing and cautious air; and rising from his chair, walked, or rather rolled, to the parlor door. Here he turned round to face his host and hostess; but after various ineffectual attempts to bid them good-night, the words, as they rose, being always choked by a violent hiccup, while the door, which he held by the handle, swung to and fro, carrying his unyielding body along with it, he was obliged to depart in silence. The cowboy, sent by Tom’s wife, who knew well what sort of allurement detained him when he remained out after a certain hour, was in attendance to conduct his master home. I have no doubt that he returned without meeting any material injury, as I know that within the last month he was, to use his own words, “as stout and hearty a man as any of his age in the county Cork.”

  THE PUDDING BEWITCHED

  WILLIAM CARLETON

  “Moll Roe Rafferty was the son—daughter I mane—of ould Jack Rafferty, who was remarkable for a habit he had of always wearing his head undher his hat; but indeed the same family was a quare one, as everybody knew that was acquainted wid them. It was said of them—but whether it was thrue or not I won’t undhertake to say, for ’fraid I’d tell a lie—that whenever they didn’t wear shoes or boots they always went barefooted; but I heard aftherwards that this was disputed, so rather than say anything to injure their character, I’ll let that pass. Now, ould Jack Rafferty had two sons, Paddy and Molly—hut! what are you all laughing at?—I mane a son and daughter, and it was generally believed among the neighbors that they were brother and sisther, which you know might be thrue or it might not: but that’s a thing that, wid the help o’ goodness, we have nothing to say to. Troth there was many ugly things put out on them that I don’t wish to repate, such as that neither Jack nor his son Paddy ever walked a perch widout puttin’ one foot afore the other like a salmon; an’ I know it was whispered about, that whinever Moll Roe slep’, she had an out-of-the-way custom of keepin’ her eyes shut. If she did, however, for that matther the loss was her own; for sure we all know that when one comes to shut their eyes they can’t see as far before them as another.

  “Moll Roe was a fine young bouncin’ girl, large and lavish, wid a purty head o’ hair on her like scarlet, that bein’ one of the raisons why she was called Roe, or red; her arms an’ cheeks were much the color of the hair, an’ her saddle nose was the purtiest thing of its kind that ever was on a face. Her fists—for, thank goodness, she was well sarved wid them, too—had a strong simularity to two thumpin’ turnips, reddened by the sun; an’ to keep all right and tight, she had a temper as fiery as her head—for, indeed, it was well known that all the Rafferties were warm-hearted. Howandiver, it appears that God gives nothing in vain, and of coorse the same fists, big and red as they were, if all that is said about them is thrue, were not so much given to her for ornament as use. At laist, takin’ them in connection wid her lively temper, we have it upon good authority, that there was no danger of their getting blue-moulded for want of practice. She had a twist, too, in one of her eyes that was very becomin’ in its way, and made her poor husband, when she got him, take it into his head that she could see round a corner. She found him out in many quare things, widout doubt; but whether it was owin’ to that or not, I wouldn’t undertake to say for fraid I’d tell a lie.

  “Well, begad, anyhow, it was Moll Roe that was the dilsy.* It happened that there was a nate vagabone in the neighborhood, just as much overburdened wid beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie. Gusty, the Lord guard us, was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian, and wouldn’t keep Christmas-day, the blagard, exc
ept what they call ‘ould style.’ Gusty was rather good-lookin’ when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself; and, indeed, it was purty well known that—accordin’ as the talk went—it was in nightly meetings that they had an opportunity of becomin’ detached to one another. The quensequence was, that in due time both families began to talk very seriously as to what was to be done. Moll’s brother, Pawdien O’Rafferty, gave Gusty the best of two choices. What they were it’s not worth spakin’ about; but at any rate one of them was a poser, an’ as Gusty knew his man, he soon came to his senses. Accordianly everything was deranged for their marriage, and it was appointed that they should be spliced by the Rev. Samuel M’Shuttle, who was the Prosbytarian parson, on the following Sunday.

  “Now this was the first marriage that had happened for a long time in the neighborhood betune a black-mouth an’ a Catholic, an’ of coorse there was strong objections on both sides aginst it; an’ begad, only for one thing, it would never ‘a tuck place at all. At any rate, faix, there was one of the bride’s uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairy-man, who could cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as he didn’t wish to see his niece married upon sich a fellow, he fought bittherly against the match. All Moll’s friends, however, stood up for the marriage barrin’ him, an’ of coorse the Sunday was appointed, as I said, that they were to be dove-tailed together.

  “Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her, went to mass, and Gusty to meeting, afther which they were to join one another in Jack Rafferty’s, where the priest, Father M’Sorley, was to slip up afther mass to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Misther M’Shuttle, who was to marry them, company. Nobody remained at home but ould Jack Rafferty an’ his wife, who stopped to dress the dinner, for, to tell the truth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe, if all was known, too, that Father M’Sorley was to give them a cast of his office over an’ above the ministher, in regard that Moll’s friends were not altogether satisfied at the kind of marriage which M’Shuttle could give them. The sorrow may care about that—splice here—splice there—all I can say is, that when Mrs. Rafferty was goin’ to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks Harry Connolly, the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts out—‘Blood and blunder-bushes, what are yez here for?’

  “ ‘Arrah why, Harry? Why, avick?’

  “ ‘Why, the sun’s in the suds and the moon in the high Horicks; there’s a clipstick comin’ an, an’ there you’re both as unconsarned as if it was about to rain mether. Go out and cross yourselves three times in the name o’ the four Mandromar-vins, for as prophecy says: Fill the pot, Eddy, supernaculum—a blazing star’s a rare spectaculum. Go out both of you and look at the sun, I say, an’ ye’ll see the condition he’s in—off!’

  “Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door, and his wife leaped like a two-year-ould, till they were both got on a stile beside the house to see what was wrong in the sky.

  “ ‘Arrah, what is it, Jack,’ said she; ‘can you see anything?’

  “ ‘No,’ says he, ‘sorra the full o’ my eye of anything I can spy, barrin’ the sun himself, that’s not visible in regard of the clouds. God guard us! I doubt there’s something to happen.’

  “ ‘If there wasn’t, Jack, what ’ud put Harry, that knows so much, in the state he’s in?’

  “ ‘I doubt it’s this marriage,’ said Jack: ‘betune ourselves, it’s not over an’ above religious for Moll to marry a black-mouth, an’ only for—–; but it can’t be helped now, though you see not a taste o’ the sun is willin’ to show his face upon it.’

  “ ‘As to that,’ says the wife, winkin’ wid both her eyes, ‘if Gusty’s satisfied wid Moll, it’s enough. I know who’ll carry the whip hand, anyhow; but in the manetime let us ax Harry ’ithin what ails the sun.’

  “Well, they accordianly went in an’ put the question to him:

  “ ‘Harry, what’s wrong, ahagur? What is it now, for if any-body alive knows, ’tis yourself?’

  “ ‘Ah!’ said Harry, screwin’ his mouth wid a kind of a dhry smile, ‘the sun has a hard twist o’ the cholic; but never mind that, I tell you you’ll have a merrier weddin’ than you think, that’s all;’ and havin’ said this, he put on his hat and left the house.

  “Now, Harry’s answer relieved them very much, and so, afther calling to him to be back for the dinner, Jack sat down to take a shough o’ the pipe, and the wife lost no time in tying up the pudden and puttin’ it in the pot to be boiled.

  “In this way things went on well enough for a while, Jack smokin’ away, an’ the wife cookin’ and dhressin’ at the rate of a hunt. At last, Jack, while sittin’, as I said, contentedly at the fire, thought he could persave an odd dancin’ kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a good deal.

  “ ‘Katty,’ said he, ‘what the dickens is in this pot on the fire?’

  “ ‘Nerra thing but the big pudden. Why do you ax?’ says she.

  “ ‘Why,’ said he, ‘if ever a pot tuck it into its head to dance a jig, and this did. Thundher and sparbles, look at it!’

  “Begad, it was thrue enough; there was the pot bobbin’ up an’ down and from side to side, jiggin’ it away as merry as a grig; an’ it was quite aisy to see that it wasn’t the pot itself, but what was inside of it, that brought about the hornpipe.

  “ ‘Be the hole o’ my coat,’ shouted Jack, ‘there’s something alive in it, or it would never cut sich capers!’

  “ ‘Be gorra, there is, Jack; something sthrange entirely has got into it. Wirra, man alive, what’s to be done?’

  “Jist as she spoke, the pot seemed to cut the buckle in prime style, and afther a spring that ’ud shame a dancin’-masther, off flew the lid, and out bounced the pudden itself, hoppin’, as nimble as a pea on a drumhead, about the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed herself. Jack shouted, and Katty screamed. ‘In the name of goodness, keep your distance; no one here injured you!’

  “The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack lepped first on a chair and then on the kitchen table to avoid it. It then danced toward Kitty, who was now repatin’ her prayers at the top of her voice, while the cunnin’ thief of a pudden was hoppin’ and jiggin’ it round her, as if it was amused at her distress.

  “ ‘If I could get the pitchfork,’ said Jack, ‘I’d dale wid it—by goxty I’d thry its mettle.’

  “ ‘No, no,’ shouted Katty, thinkin’ there was a fairy in it; ‘let us spake it fair. Who knows what harm it might do? Aisy now,’ said she to the pudden, ‘aisy, dear; don’t harm honest people that never meant to offend you. It wasn’t us—no, in troth, it was ould Harry Connolly that bewitched you; pursue him if you wish, but spare a woman like me; for, whisper, dear, I’m not in a condition to be frightened—troth I’m not.’

  “The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word, and danced away from her toward Jack, who, like the wife, believin’ there was a fairy in it, an’ that spakin’ it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it a soft word as well as her.

  “ ‘Plase your honor,’ said Jack, ‘she only spaiks the truth; an’, upon my voracity, we both feels much oblaiged to your honor for your quietness. Faith, it’s quite clear that if you weren’t a gentlemanly pudden all out, you’d act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he’s jist gone down the road there, and if you go fast you’ll overtake him. Be me song, your dancin’ masther did his duty, anyhow. Thank your honor! God speed you, an’ may you never meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels!’

  “Jist as Jack spoke the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it quietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the road-side, turned down toward the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It was very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go out to see how it intended to thravel; and, as the day was Sunday, it was but natural, too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin’ the road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen followin’ the pudden, the whole neighborhood was soon up and afther it.

  �
� ‘Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty ahagur, will you tell us what it manes?’

  “ ‘Why,’ replied Katty, ‘it’s my big pudden that’s bewitched, an’ it’s now hot foot pursuin’—–;’ here she stopped, not wishin’ to mention her brother’s name—‘some one or other that surely put pishrogues an it.’*

  “This was enough; Jack, now seein’ that he had assistance, found his courage comin’ back to him; so says he to Katty, ‘Go home,’ says he, ‘an’ lose no time in makin’ another pudden as good, an’ here’s Paddy Scanlan’s wife, Bridget, says she’ll let you boil it on her fire, as you’ll want our own to dress the rest o’ the dinner: and Paddy himself will lend me a pitchfork, for purshuin to the morsel of that same pudden will escape till I let the wind out of it, now that I’ve the neighbors to back an’ support me,’ says Jack.

  “This was agreed to, and Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden, while Jack an’ half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips, pitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of instruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish miles an hour, an’ sich a chase never was seen. Catholics, Prodestants, an’ Prosbytarians, were all afther it, armed, as I said, an’ bad end to the thing but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, and there a prod was made at it; but off it went, an’ some one, as eager to get a slice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of the pudden. Big Frank Farrell, the miller of Ballyboulteen, got a prod backward that brought a hullabaloo out of him you might hear at the other end of the parish. One got a slice of a scythe, another a whack of a flail, a third a rap of a spade that made him look nine ways at wanst.