Part 7 (1/2)

”Thin she said the other charm that called the inchanter an' he come at wanst. She towld him phat she done an' he said it was right av her, an' as she was a purty smart woman he said he'd marry her himself. So he did, an'

bein' that the island was cursed be rayzon av the king's crimes, they come to Ireland wid all the payple. So they come to Connemara, an' the inchanter got husbands fur all the king's wives an' homes fur all the men av the island. But he inchanted the island an' made it so that the bad king must live in it alone as long as the sun rises an' sits. No more does the island stand still, but must go thravellin' up an' down the coast, an'

wan siven years they see it in Kerry an' the next siven years in Donegal, an' so it goes, an' always will, beways av a caution to kings not to cut aff the heads av their wives.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Howlin' wid rage”]

HOW THE LAKES WERE MADE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Initial: ”How the Lakes were made”]

Among the weird legends of the Irish peasantry is found a cla.s.s of stories peculiar both in the nature of the subject and in the character of the tradition. From the dawn of history, and even before, the island has been crowded with inhabitants, and as the centres of population changed, towns and cities were deserted and fell into ruins. Although no longer inhabited, their sites are by no means unknown or forgotten, but in many localities where now appear only irregular heaps of earth and stones to which the archaeologist sometimes finds difficulty in attributing an artificial origin there linger among the common people tales of the city that once stood on the spot; of its walls, its castles, its palaces, its temples, and the pompous wors.h.i.+p of the deities there adored. Just as, in Palestine, the identification of Bible localities has, m many instances, been made complete by the preservation among the Bedouins of the Scriptural names, so, in Ireland, the cities of pagan times are now being located through the traditions of the humble tillers of the soil, who transmit from father to son the place-names handed down for untold generations.

Instances are so abundant as to defy enumeration, but a most notable one is Tara, the greatest as it was the holiest city of pagan Ireland. Now it is a group of irregular mounds that the casual observer would readily mistake for natural hills, but for ages the name clung to the place until at last the attention of antiquaries was attracted, interest was roused, investigation made, excavation begun, and the site of Tara made a certainty.

Not all ancient Irish cities, however, escaped the hand of time as well as Tara, for there are geological indications of great natural convulsions in the island at a date comparatively recent, and not a few of the Irish lakes, whose name is legion, were formed by depression or upheaval, almost within the period of written history. A fertile valley traversed by a stream, a populous city by the little river, an earthquake-upheaval lower down the watercourse, closing the exit from the valley, a rising and spreading of the water, an exodus of the inhabitants, such has undoubtedly been the history of Lough Derg and Lough Ree, which are but reservoirs in the course of the River Shannon, while the upper and lower Erne lakes are likewise simply expansions of the river Erne. Lough Neag had a similar origin, the same being also true of Loughs Allen and Key. The Killarney Lakes give indisputable evidence of the manner in which they were formed, being enlargements of the Laune, and Loughs Carra and Mask, in Mayo, are believed to have a subterranean outlet to Lough Carrib, the neighborhood of all three testifying in the strongest possible manner to the sudden closing of the natural outlet for the contributing streams.

The towns which at one time stood on ground now covered by the waters of these lakes were not forgotten. The story of their fate was told by one generation to another, but in course of ages the natural cause, well known to the unfortunates at the time of the calamity, was lost to view, and the story of the disaster began to a.s.sume supernatural features. The destruction of the city became sudden; the inhabitants perished in their dwellings; and, as a motive for so signal an event was necessary, it was found in the punishment of duty neglected or crime committed.

Lough Allen is a small body of water in the County Leitrim, and on its sh.o.r.es, partly covered by the waves, are several evidences of human habitation, indications that the waters at present are much higher than formerly. Among the peasants in the neighborhood there is a legend that the little valley once contained a village. In the public square there was a fountain guarded by spirits, fairies, elves, and leprechawns, who objected to the building of the town in that locality, but upon an agreement between themselves and the first settlers permitted the erection of the houses on condition that the fountain be covered with an elegant stone structure, the basin into which the water flowed from the spring to be protected by a cover never to be left open, under pain of the town's destruction, the good people being that nate an' clane that they didn't want the laste speck av dust in the wather they drunk. So a decree was issued, by the head man of the town, that the cover be always closed by those resorting to the fountain for water, and that due heed might be taken, children, boys under age, and unmarried women, were forbidden under any circ.u.mstances to raise the lid of the basin.

For many years things went on well, the fairies and the townspeople sharing alike the benefits of the fountain, till, on one unlucky day, preparations for a wedding were going on in a house close by, and the mother of the bride stood in urgent need of a bucket of water. Not being able to bring it herself, the alleged reason being ”she was scholdin' the house in ordher,” she commanded her daughter, the bride expectant, to go in her stead.

The latter objected, urging the edict of the head man already mentioned, but was overcome, partly by her mother's argument, that ”the good people know ye're the same as married now that the banns are cried,” but princ.i.p.ally by the more potent consideration, ”Av ye havn't that wather here in a wink, I'll not lave a whole bone in yer body, ye lazy young shtrap, an' me breaking me back wid the work,” she took the bucket and proceeded to the fountain with the determination to get the water and ”shlip out agin afore the good people 'ud find her out.” Had she adhered to this resolution, all would have been well, as the fairies would have doubtless overlooked this infraction of the city ordinance. But as she was filling the pail, her lover came in. Of course the two at once began to talk of the all-important subject, and having never before taken water from the fountain, she turned away, forgetting to close the cover of the well. In an instant, a stream, resistless in force, burst forth, and though all the married women of the town ran to put down the cover, their efforts were in vain, the flood grew mightier, the village was submerged, and, with two exceptions, all the inhabitants were drowned. The girl and her lover violated poetic justice by escaping; for, seeing the mischief they had done, they were the first to run away, witnessed the destruction of the town from a neighboring hill, and were afterwards married, the narrator of this incident coming to the sensible conclusion that ”it was too bad entirely that the wans that got away were the wans that, be rights, ought to be droonded first.”

Upper Lough Erne has a legend, in all important particulars identical with that of Lough Allen, the catastrophe being, however, in the former case brought about by the carelessness of a woman who left her baby at home when she went after water and hearing it scream, ”as aven the best babies do be doin', G.o.d bless 'em, for no betther rayson than to lishen at thimselves,” she hurried back, forgetting to cover the well, with a consequent calamity like that which followed similar forgetfulness at Lough Allen.

In the County Mayo is found Lough Conn, once, according to local story-tellers, the site of a village built within and around the enclosure of a castle. The lord of the castle, being fond of fish, determined to make a fish-pond, and as the spot selected for the excavation was covered by the cabins of his poorest tenants, he ordered all the occupants to be turned out forthwith, an order at once carried out ”wid process-sarvers, an' bailiffs, an' consthables, an' sogers, an' polis, an' the people all shtandin' 'round.” One of the evicted knelt on the ground and cursed the chief with ”all the seed, breed and gineration av 'im,” and prayed ”that the throut-pond 'ud be the death av 'im.” The prayer was speedily answered, for no sooner was the water turned into the newly-made pond, than an overflow resulted; the valley was filled; the waves climbed the walls of the castle, nor ceased to rise till they had swept the chief from the highest tower, where ”he was down an his hard-hearted knees, sayin'

his baids as fast as he cud, an' bawlin' at all the saints aither to bring him a boat or taiche him how to swim quick.” Regard for the unfortunate tenants, however, prevented any interference by the saints thus vigorously and practically supplicated, so the chief was drowned and went, as the story-teller concluded, to a locality where he ”naded more wather than he'd left behind him, an' had the comp'ny av a shwarm av other landlords that turned out the poor to shtarve.”

Lough Gara, in Sligo, flows over a once thriving little town, the City of Peace, destroyed by an overflow on account of the lack of charity for strangers. A poor widow entered it one night leading a child on each side and carrying a baby at her breast. She asked alms and shelter, but in vain; from door to door she went, but the customary Irish hospitality, so abundant alike to the deserving and to the unworthy, was lacking. At the end of the village ”she begun to scraich, yer Anner, wid that shtrength you'd think she'd shplit her troat.” At this provocation, all the inhabitants at once ran to ascertain the reason of so unusual a noise, upon which, when they were gathered 'round her, the woman p.r.o.nounced the curse of the widow and orphan on the people and their town. They laughed at her and returned home, but that night, the brook running through the village became a torrent, the outlet was closed, the waters rose, and ”ivery wan o' them oncharitable blaggards wor drownded, while they wor aslape. Bad cess to the lie that's in it, for, sure, there's the lake to this blessed day.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: Lough Conn]

In County Antrim there lies Lough Neag, one of the largest and most beautiful bodies of water on the island. The waters of the lake are transparently blue, and even small pebbles on the bottom can be seen at a considerable depth. Near the southern end, a survey of the bottom discloses hewn stones laid in order, and careful observations have traced the regular walls of a structure of considerable dimensions. Tradition says it was a castle, surrounded by the usual village, and accounts for its destruction by the lake on this wise. In ancient times, the castle was owned by an Irish chief named Shane O'Donovan, noted for his bad traits of character, being merciless in war, tyrannical in peace, feared by his neighbors, hated by his dependents, and detested by everybody for his inhospitality and want of charity. His castle then stood by the bank of the lake, on an elevated promontory, almost an island, being joined to the mainland by a narrow isthmus, very little above the water level.

By chance there came into that part of Ireland an angel who had been sent from heaven to observe the people and note their piety. In the garb and likeness of a man, weary and footsore with travel, the angel spied the castle from the hills above the lake, came down, and boldly applied for a night's lodging. Not only was his request refused, ”but the oncivil Shane O'Donovan set an his dogs fur to bite him.” The angel turned away, but no sooner had he left the castle gate than the villagers ran 'round him and a contest ensued as to which of them should entertain the traveller. He made his choice, going to the house of a cobbler who was ”that poor that he'd but the wan pitatee, and when he wanted another he broke wan in two.” The heavenly visitor shared the cobbler's potato and slept on the cobbler's floor, ”puttin' his feet into the fire to kape thim warrum,” but at daylight he rose, and calling the inhabitants of the village, led them out, across the isthmus to a hill near by, and bid them look back. They did so, beholding the castle and promontory separated from the mainland and beginning to subside into the lake. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the castle sank, while the waters rose around, but stood like a wall on every side of the castle, not wetting a stone from turret to foundation. At length the wall of water was higher than the battlements, the angel waved his hand, the waves rushed over the castle and its sleeping inmates, and the O'Donovan inhospitality was punished. The angel pointed to a spot near by, told the villagers to build and prosper there; then, as the awe-stricken peasants kneeled before him, his clothing became white and s.h.i.+ning, wings appeared on his shoulders, he rose into the air and vanished from their sight.

Of somewhat different origin is the pretty Lough Derryclare, in Connemara, south of the Joyce Country. The ferocious O'Flahertys frequented this region in past ages, and, with the exception of Oliver Cromwell, no historical name is better known in the west of Ireland than O'Flaherty.

One of this doughty race was, it seems, a model of wickedness. ”He was as proud as a horse wid a wooden leg, an' so bad, that, savin' yer presince, the divil himself was ashamed av him.” This O'Flaherty had sent a party to devastate a neighboring village, but as the men did not return promptly, he started with a troop of horse in the direction they had taken. On the way he was pa.s.sing through a deep ravine at the bottom of which flowed a tiny brook, when he met his returning troops, and questioning them as to the thoroughness with which their b.l.o.o.d.y work had been done, found, to his great wrath, that they had spared the church and those who took refuge in its sacred precincts.

”May G.o.d drownd me where I shtand,” said he, ”if I don't shlay thim all an the althar,” and no doubt he would have done so, but the moment the words pa.s.sed his lips, the rivulet became a seething torrent, drowned him and his men, and the lake was formed over the spot where they stood when the curse was p.r.o.nounced. ”An' sometimes, they say, that when the lake is quite shtill, ye may hear the groans av the lost sowls chained at the bottom.”

The fairies are responsible for at least two of the Irish lakes, Lough Key and the Upper Lough Killarney. The former is an enlargement of the River Boyle, a tributary of the Shannon, and is situated in Roscommon. At a low stage of water, ruins can be discerned at the bottom of the river, and are reported to be those of a city whose inhabitants injudiciously attempted to swindle the ”good people” in a land bargain. The city was built, it seems, by permission of the fairies, the understanding being that all raths were to be left undisturbed. For a long time the agreement was respected, fairies and mortals living side by side, and neither cla.s.s interfering with the other. But, as the necessity for more arable land became evident, it was determined by the townspeople to level several raths and mounds that interfered with certain fields and boundary lines.

The dangers of such a course were plainly pointed out by the local ”fairy-man,” and all the ”knowledgable women” lifted their voices against it, but in vain; down the raths must come and down they came, to the consternation of the knowing ones, who predicted no end of evil from so flagrant a violation of the treaty with the fairies.

The night after the demolition of the raths, one of the towns-men was coming through the gorge below the city, when, ”Millia, murther, there wor more than a hundherd t'ousand little men in grane jackets bringin' shtones an' airth an' buildin' a wall acra.s.s the glen. Begob, I go bail but he was the skairt man when he seen phat they done, an' run home wid all the legs he had an' got his owld woman an' the childher. When she axed him phat he was afther, he towld her to howld her whisht or he'd pull the tongue out av her an' to come along an' not spake a word. So they got to the top o'