There was a boy I saw went to Biddy Early, and she gave him a bottle and told him to mind he did not lose it in the crossing of some road. And when he came to the place it was broke.
Often I heard of Biddy Early, and I knew of a little girl was sick and the brother went to Biddy Early to ask would she get well. And she said, “They have a place ready for her, room for her they have.” So he knew she would die, and so she did.
The priests can do things too, the same way as she could, for there was one Mr. Lyne was dying, a Protestant, and the priest went in and baptized him a Catholic before he died, and he said to the people after, “He’s all right now, in another world.” And it was more than the baptizing made him sure of that.
Mrs. Brennan, in the house beyond, went one time to Biddy Early, where the old man was losing his health. And all she told him was to bid him give over drinking so much whiskey. So after she said that, he used only to be drinking gin.
There was a boy went to Biddy Early for his father, and she said, “It’s not any of my business that’s on him, but it’s good for yourself that you came to me. Weren’t you sowing potatoes in such a field one day and didn’t you find a bottle of whiskey, and bring it away and drink what was in it?”
And that was true and it must have been a bottle they brought out of some cellar and dropped there, for they can bring everything away, and put in its place what will look like it.
There was a boy near Feakle got the touch in three places, and he got a great desire to go out night-walking, and he got sick. And they asked Biddy Early and she said, “Watch the hens when they come in to roost at night, and catch a hold of the last one that comes.” So the mother caught it, and then she thought she’d like to see what would Biddy Early do with it. So she brought it up to her house and laid it on the floor, and it began to rustle its wings, and it lay over and died.
It was from her brother Biddy Early got the cure. He was sick a long time, and there was a whitethorn tree out in the field, and he’d go and lie under it for shade from the sun. And after he died, every day for a year she’d go to the whitethorn tree, and it is there she’d cry her fill. And then he brought her under and gave her the cure.
It was after that she was in service beyond Kinvara. She did her first cure on a boy, after the doctors giving him up.
THE BLACK ART
HUGH NOLAN FERMANAGH
HENRY GLASSIE 1972
It was supposed there was people and they had what they called the black art.
And I don’t know how the black art run, but it was something in the line of witchery, that they could take the milk of cows there. It was supposed that they used to go out before day in the morning with something white in the shape of a rope and trail it along the grass.
And that when the cows would go in to be milked, they’d give no milk atall.
It was a common topic in days gone by. And whether it was genuine or not, you wouldn’t know, because cows could loss their milk for the want of grass. They want water and many a thing, do ye see. That’s what they used to say was the cause of it. Aye, that it was the black art.
And these people with the black art, if they had cows, their cows would have the milk that ever was lost.
It was supposed that it was the charm, that the dragging of the rope was only—ah, it was just an accompaniment, but that they had the charm of words that took the milk.
Well, there was a man told me about that place where Mrs. Cutler lives.
In days gone by, I think, there was ten cows kept on it.
And there was another man lived beside them,
and he had only a small farm,
three cows in place.
It’s all in Cutlers’ now; Cutlers’ ones, they got that farm after he left.
But this man told me that while he was in the country that he used to supply more milk to the creamery off his three cows than the McMullens (they were McMullens that lived where Mrs. Cutler’s living), that he had more milk than they had off ten cows.
So it was supposed that he had this black art.
That was the way while he was in the country.
Well, this man told me that anyway.
It was a known fact that the McMullens’ milk went down altogether from he came to the country and that his increased.
There used to be a story about persons that used to change into the shapes of animals for to take the milk from cows.
There was a story told about the same person and the supply of milk that the cows was giving was getting very small.
So they took a notion that they’d watch the fields at night for to see was there anyone coming milking the cows because it was a thing was often done: people that’d have no milk of their own, they used to go out and milk neighbors’ cows.
But this night anyway there was a couple of men watching
and one of them had a gun anyway
and there come something in the shape of a hare along
and she started sucking a cow.
So of course, he wouldn’t fire at her when she was in that vicinity because he could shoot the cow, you see.
But anyway, when she moved away, or when the cow moved away from her, he fired, and he struck her.
And she made off anyway.
But in the next day or so, there was some lady going about with a gunshot wound in the locality.
That was told anyway. But I wouldn’t credit it.
MAGICAL THEFT
PÁDRAIG MAC AN LUAIN DONEGAL
SÉAMAS Ó CATHÁIN 1972
Well, these women were just ordinary country women like you still see around except that they were able to work this magic, whatever way they did it. If you had cows, they could take the “profit” of them from you. The milk you got from the cows would be useless, insipid and lifeless, and they would have the butter for themselves.
There was a man living near here one time and he had eight cows. Day in day out, he used to see this hare running about, in and out among the cows in his fields. He didn’t know what the hare was doing there, but he did notice that he was making nothing from the milk his cows were giving—it was just like water.
He had a dog, a pure black hound, and they say that a hound without a speck of white in it that has a rod of the rowan tree tied around its neck is the only animal that can catch a hare like that. So one day when he saw the hare among the cows, he loosed the hound after her. Hound and hare coursed the fields back and forward and finally the hare made to jump over a high stone wall and the hound caught her by the leg and broke it. The man knew that the hound had caught the hare, and when he came up to where they were what did he find there only an old hag who lived in the locality sitting by the wall with the blood pouring out of her.
The hag was brought home and some time after that she died and the man went to the wake. They were going round with the whiskey at the hag’s wake and he was offered a glass too. “Here, drink a glass for the old woman,” they said.
“Indeed, I won’t,” said he, “for I got my fill of her.”
May morning was a terrible time for working charms of all kinds but especially for stealing the “profit” of your milk.
One May morning this man was coming up through Altnapaste and he saw this hag, back and forward through a field, pulling an iron chain after her and this is what she was saying: “Come all to me, come all to me.” The man was riding on horseback on the road and watching all this and he shouts: “The half of it for me.”
That was all there was to that but when he got home he noticed that his cows had an awful lot of milk. All the vessels he had about the house were filled to overflowing with milk. He told the priest about it and eventually things were put right again. He had got half of what the old hag had been asking for herself.
PAUDYEEN O’KELLY AND THE WEASEL
LYNCH BLAKE MAYO
DOUGLAS HYDE 1890
A long time ago there was once a man of the name of Paudyeen O’Kelly, living near Tuam, in the County Galway. He ros
e up one morning early, and he did not know what time of day it was, for there was fine light coming from the moon. He wanted to go to the fair of Cauher-na-mart to sell a sturk of an ass that he had.
He had not gone more than three miles of the road when a great darkness came on, and a shower began falling. He saw a large house among trees about five hundred yards in from the road, and he said to himself that he would go to that house till the shower would be over. When he got to the house he found the door open before him, and in with him. He saw a large room to his left, and a fine fire in the grate. He sat down on a stool that was beside the wall, and began falling asleep, when he saw a big weasel coming to the fire with something yellow in its mouth, which it dropped on the hearthstone, and then it went away. She soon came back again with the same thing in her mouth, and he saw that it was a guinea she had. She dropped it on the hearthstone, and went away again. She was coming and going, until there was a great heap of guineas on the hearth. But at last, when he got her gone, Paudyeen rose up, thrust all the gold she had gathered into his pockets, and out with him.
He was not gone far till he heard the weasel coming after him, and she screeching as loud as bagpipes. She went before Paudyeen and got on the road, and she was twisting herself back and forwards, and trying to get a hold of his throat. Paudyeen had a good oak stick, and he kept her from him, until two men came up who were going to the same fair, and one of them had a good dog, and it routed the weasel into a hole in the wall.
Paudyeen went to the fair, and instead of coming home with the money he got for his old ass, as he thought would be the way with him in the morning, he went and bought a horse with some of the money he took from the weasel, and he came home and he riding. When he came to the place where the dog had routed the weasel into the hole in the wall, she came out before him, gave a leap up, and caught the horse by the throat. The horse made off, and Paudyeen could not stop him, till at last he gave a leap into a big drain that was full up of water and black mud, and he was drowning and choking as fast as he could, until men who were coming from Galway came up and banished the weasel.
Paudyeen brought the horse home with him, and put him into the cows’ byre and fell asleep.
Next morning, the day on the morrow, Paudyeen rose up early and went out to give his horse hay and oats. When he got to the door he saw the weasel coming out of the byre and she covered with blood. “My seven thousand curses on you,” said Paudyeen, “but I’m afraid you’ve harm done.” He went in and found the horse, a pair of milch cows, and two calves dead. He came out and set a dog he had after the weasel. The dog got a hold of her, and she got a hold of the dog. The dog was a good one, but he was forced to loose his hold of her before Paudyeen could come up. He kept his eye on her, however, all through, until he saw her creeping into a little hovel that was on the brink of a lake. Paudyeen came running, and when he got to the little hut he gave the dog a shake to rouse him up and put anger on him, and then he sent him in before himself. When the dog went in he began barking. Paudyeen went in after him, and saw an old hag in the corner. He asked her if she saw a weasel coming in there.
“I did not,” said she. “I’m all destroyed with a plague of sickness, and if you don’t go out quick you’ll catch it from me.”
While Paudyeen and the hag were talking, the dog kept moving in all the time, till at last he gave a leap up and caught the hag by the throat. She screeched, and said: “Paddy Kelly, take off your dog, and I’ll make you a rich man.”
Paudyeen made the dog loose his hold, and said: “Tell me who are you, or why did you kill my horse and my cows?”
“And why did you bring away my gold that I was for five hundred years gathering throughout the hills and hollows of the world?”
“I thought you were a weasel,” said Paudyeen, “or I wouldn’t touch your gold; and another thing,” says he, “if you’re for five hundred years in this world, it’s time for you to go to rest now.”
“I committed a great crime in my youth,” said the hag, “and now I am to be released from my sufferings if you can pay twenty pounds for a hundred and three-score Masses for me.”
“Where’s the money?” says Paudyeen.
“Go and dig under a bush that’s over a little well in the corner of that field there without, and you’ll get a pot filled with gold. Pay the twenty pounds for the Masses, and yourself shall have the rest. When you’ll lift the flag off the pot, you’ll see a big black dog coming out; but don’t be afraid before him; he is a son of mine. When you get the gold, buy the house in which you saw me at first. You’ll get it cheap, for it has the name of there being a ghost in it. My son will be down in the cellar. He’ll do you no harm, but he’ll be a good friend to you. I shall be dead a month from this day, and when you get me dead put a coal under this little hut and burn it. Don’t tell a living soul anything about me—and the luck will be on you.”
“What is your name?” said Paudyeen.
“Maurya Ni Keerwaun,” said the hag.
Paudyeen went home, and when the darkness of the night came on he took with him a loy, and went to the bush that was in the corner of the field, and began digging. It was not long till he found the pot, and when he took the flag off it a big black dog leaped out, and off and away with him, and Paudyeen’s dog after him.
Paudyeen brought home the gold, and hid it in the cowhouse. About a month after that he went to the fair of Galway, and bought a pair of cows, a horse, and a dozen sheep. The neighbors did not know where he was getting all the money; they said that he had a share with the Good People.
One day Paudyeen dressed himself and went to the gentleman who owned the large house where he first saw the weasel and asked to buy the house of him, and the land that was round about.
“You can have the house without paying any rent at all; but there is a ghost in it, and I wouldn’t like you to go to live in it without my telling you, but I couldn’t part with the land without getting a hundred pounds more than you have to offer me.”
“Perhaps I have as much as you have yourself,” said Paudyeen. “I’ll be here tomorrow with the money, if you’re ready to give me possession.”
“I’ll be ready,” said the gentleman.
Paudyeen went home and told his wife that he had bought a large house and a holding of land.
“Where did you get the money?” says the wife.
“Isn’t it all one to you where I got it?” says Paudyeen.
The day on the morrow Paudyeen went to the gentleman, gave him the money, and got possession of the house and land. And the gentleman left him the furniture and everything that was in the house, in with the bargain.
Paudyeen remained in the house that night, and when darkness came he went down to the cellar, and he saw a little man with his two legs spread on a barrel.
“God save you, honest man,” says he to Paudyeen.
“The same to you,” says Paudyeen.
“Don’t be afraid of me at all,” says the little man. I’ll be a friend to you, if you are able to keep a secret.”
“I am able, indeed; I kept your mother’s secret, and I’ll keep yours as well.”
“Maybe you’re thirsty?” says the little man.
“I’m not free from it,” said Paudyeen.
The little man put a hand in his bosom and drew out a gold goblet. He gave it to Paudyeen, and said: “Draw wine out of that barrel under me.”
Paudyeen drew the full up of the goblet, and handed it to the little man. “Drink yourself first,” says he. Paudyeen drank, drew another goblet, and handed it to the little man, and he drank it.
“Fill up and drink again,” said the little man. “I have a mind to be merry tonight.”
The pair of them sat there drinking until they were half drunk. Then the little man gave a leap down to the floor, and said to Paudyeen:
“Don’t you like music?”
“I do, surely,” says Paudyeen, “and I’m a good dancer, too.”
“Lift up the big flag over t
here in the corner, and you’ll get my pipes under it.”
Paudyeen lifted the flag, got the pipes, and gave them to the little man. He squeezed the pipes on him, and began playing melodious music. Paudyeen began dancing till he was tired. Then they had another drink, and the little man said:
“Do as my mother told you, and I’ll show you great riches. You can bring your wife in here, but don’t tell her that I’m here, and she won’t see me. Any time at all that ale or wine are wanting, come here and draw. Farewell now. Go to sleep, and come again to me tomorrow night.”
Paudyeen went to bed, and it wasn’t long till he fell asleep.
On the morning of the day on the morrow, Paudyeen went home, and brought his wife and children to the big house, and they were comfortable. That night Paudyeen went down to the cellar; the little man welcomed him and asked him did he wish to dance.
“Not till I get a drink,” said Paudyeen.
“Drink your ’nough,” said the little man. “That barrel will never be empty as long as you live.”
Paudyeen drank the full of the goblet, and gave a drink to the little man. Then the little man said to him:
“I am going to Doon-na-shee tonight, to play music for the Good People, and if you come with me you’ll see fine fun. I’ll give you a horse that you never saw the like of him before.”
“I’ll go with you, and welcome,” said Paudyeen. “But what excuse will I make to my wife?”
“I’ll bring you away from her side without her knowing it, when you are both asleep together, and I’ll bring you back to her the same way,” said the little man.
“I’m obedient,” says Paudyeen. “We’ll have another drink before I leave you.”
He drank drink after drink, till he was half drunk, and he went to bed with his wife.
When he awoke he found himself riding on a besom near Doon-na-shee, and the little man riding on another besom by his side. When they came as far as the green hill of the Doon, the little man said a couple of words that Paudyeen did not understand. The green hill opened, and the pair went into a fine chamber.
Irish Folk Tales Page 24
