Seumas MacManus
Our folk-tales
In those days Ireland had many Kings and Queens, and was populated by good people. It was not bounded by the sea; all around it was a strange country in which, at rare intervals, arose many-windowed castles inhabited by Giants, Kings, Queens, or beautiful Princesses. On occasions, others are acknowledged; as, when the boy from Ireland fought the dragon, or when his marriage with the Princess was celebrated. The mysterious population which turned up at these times was not whilst he had fared forward on his long and lonely journey, with, at most, a single habitation punctuating each day’s progress. Whence, then, this population came, and whither it went, I know not; I never knew; for, no further account is taken of it.
Sometimes the young men of Erin sought adventure in their own land, where were both in plenty. But oftener they went away into the land of mystery, the Country Beyond. They were fearless, these boys, and earned the reward. Some day, long after his kindred had concluded that he was killed or enchanted, the adventurer, maybe, emerged again from the Mysterious Land, with fortune and a beautiful damsel, and with such tales of wonder as set off all the other strapping young fellows who had not yet asked their mother’s blessing and gone forth.
Even down to the days of my childhood the Country Beyond still was. Every morning I saw the circle of hills that shut it out. On many, many, bleak and eerie days, when I, herding on our hill, crouched and hugged myself in the cosy shelter of a lone thorn, I watched and watched the rim of those hills, and was filled with wonder, and with longing for the day when I should be able to climb them, and drop into the Land of Adventure. And once in those days, I remember—and the strange sensation is still with me—how, having gone a far journey to the Cormullion uplands after a strayed wether, I saw the tops of the hills of the Country Beyond.
The day came when I did climb, and climb, to the rim, and look over. And lo! the Land of mystery had vanished. I can feel the ache at my heart even yet. That the land I sought had been there when I was young and innocent, I know. But I had not realised that, year by year, it was melting into the unseen; till with painful suddenness I discovered it was no more.
With us, new folk-tales are being enacted every day. Our Irish boys still rise up and go away to a far land and strange to push their fortune. There are fiery dragons in that land, too, and fell giants, with whom our poor boys struggle sore. There cannot be any princesses there, though; or, the
Billy Beg and the Bull
ONCE on a time when pigs was swine, there was a King and a Queen, and they had one son, Billy, and the Queen gave Billy a bull that he was very fond of, and it was just as fond of him. After some time the Queen died, and she put it as her last request on the King that he would never part Billy and the bull, and the King promised that, come what might, come what may, he would not. After the Queen died the King married again, and the new Queen didn’t take to Billy Beg, and no more did she like the bull, seeing himself and Billy so thick. But she couldn’t get the King on no account to part Billy and the bull, so she consulted with a hen-wife what they could do as regards separating Billy and the bull. “What will you give me,” says the hen-wife, “and I’ll very soon part them?” “Whatever you ask,” says the Queen. “Well and good then,” says the hen-wife, “you are to take to your bed, making pretend that you are bad with a complaint, and I’ll do the rest of it.” And, well and good, to her bed she took, and none of the doctors could do anything for her, or make out what was her complaint. So the Queen axed for the hen-wife to be sent for. And sent for she was, and when she came in and examined the Queen, she said there was one thing, and only one, could cure her. The King asked what was that, and the hen-wife said it was three mouthfuls of the blood of Billy Beg’s bull. But the King wouldn’t on no account hear of this, and the next day the Queen was worse, and the third day she was worse still, and told the King she was dying, and he’d have her death on his head. So, sooner nor this, the King had to consent to Billy Beg’s bull being killed. When Billy heard this he got very down in the heart entirely, and he went doitherin’ about, and the bull saw him and asked him what was wrong with him that he was so mournful, so Billy told the bull what was wrong with him, and the bull told him to never mind, but keep up his heart, the Queen would never taste a drop of his blood. The next day then the bull was to be killed, and the Queen got up and went out to have the delight of seeing his death. When the bull was led up to be killed, says he to Billy, “Jump up on my back till we see what kind of a horseman you are. Up Billy jumped on his back, and with that the bull leapt nine mile high, nine mile deep and nine mile broad, and came down with Billy sticking between his horns. Hundreds were looking on dazed at the sight, and through them the bull rushed, and over the top of the Queen, killing her dead, and away he galloped where you wouldn’t know day by night, or night by day, over high hills, low hills, sheep-walks, and bullock-traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn. When at last they stopped, ”now then,“ says the bull to Billy, ”you and I must undergo great scenery, Billy. Put your hand,“ says the bull, ”in my left ear, and you’ll get a napkin, that, when you spread it out, will be covered with eating and drinking of all sorts, fit for the King himself.“ Billy did this, and then he spread out the napkin, and ate and drank to his heart’s content, and he rolled up the napkin and put it back in the bull’s ear again. ”Then,“ says the bull, ”now put your hand into my right ear and you’ll find a bit of a stick; if you wind it over your head three times, it will be turned into a sword and give you the strength of a thousand men besides your own, and when you have no more need of it as a sword, it will change back into a stick again.“ Billy did all this. Then says the bull, ”At twelve o’clock the morrow I’ll have to meet and fight a great bull.“ Billy then got up again on the bull’s back, and the bull started off and away where you wouldn’t know day by night, or night by day, over high hills, low hills, sheep-walks and bullock-traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn. There he met the other bull, and both of them fought, and the like of their fight was never seen before or since. They knocked the soft ground into hard, and the hard into soft, the soft into spring wells, the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills. They fought long, and Billy Beg’s bull killed the other, and drank his blood. Then Billy took the napkin out of his ear again and spread it out and ate a hearty good dinner. Then says the bull to Billy, says he, ”at twelve o’clock to-morrow, I’m to meet the bull’s brother that I killed the day, and we’ll have a hard fight.“ Billy got on the bull’s back again, and the bull started off and away where you wouldn’t know day by night, or night by day, over high hills, low hills, sheep-walks and bullock-traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn. There he met the bull’s brother that he killed the day before, and they set to, and they fought, and the like of the fight was never seen before or since. They knocked the soft ground into hard, the hard into soft, the soft into spring wells, the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills. They fought long, and at last Billy’s bull killed the other and drank his blood. And then Billy took out the napkin out of the bull’s ear again and spread it out and ate another hearty dinner. Then says the bull to Billy, says he—”The morrow at twelve o’clock I’m to fight the brother to the two bulls I killed—he’s a mighty great bull entirely, the strongest of them all; he’s called the Black Bull of the Forest, and he’ll be too able for me. When I’m dead,“ says the bull, ”you, Billy, will take with you the napkin, and you’ll never be hungry; and the stick, and you’ll be able to over-come everything that comes in your way; and take out your knife and cut a strip of the hide off my back and another strip off my belly and make a belt of them, and as long as you wear them you cannot be killed.“ Billy was very sorry to hear this, but he got up on the bull’s back again, and they started off and away where you wouldn’t know day by night or night by day, over high hills, low hills, sheep-walks and bullock-traces, the Cove of Cork and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn. And sure enough at twelve o’clock the next day they met the great Black Bull of the Forest, and both of the bulls to it, and commenced to fight, and the like of the fight was never seen before or since; they knocked the soft ground into hard ground, and the hard ground into soft and the soft into spring wells, the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills. And they fought long, but at length the Black Bull of the Forest killed Billy Beg’s bull, and drank his blood. Billy Beg was so vexed at this that for two days he sat over the bull neither eating or drinking, but crying salt tears all the time. Then he got up, and he spread out the napkin, and ate a hearty dinner for he was very hungry with his long fast; and after that he cut a strip of the hide off the bull’s back, and another off the belly, and made a belt for himself, and taking it and the bit of stick, and the napkin, he set out to push his fortune, and he travelled for three days and three nights, till at last he come to a great gentleman’s place. Billy asked the gentleman if he could give him employment, and the gentleman said he wanted just such a boy as him for herding cattle. Billy asked what cattle would he have to herd, and what wages would he get. The gentleman said he had three goats, three cows, three horses and three asses that he fed in an orchard, but that no boy who went with them ever came back alive, for there were three giants, brothers, that came to milk the cows and the goats every day, and killed the boy that was herding; so if Billy liked to try, they wouldn’t fix the wages till they’d see if he would come back alive. ”Agreed, then,“ said Billy. So the next morning he got up and drove out the three goats, the three cows, the three horses, and the three asses to the orchard and commenced to feed them. About the middle of the day Billy heard three terrible roars that shook the apples off the bushes, shook the horns on the cows, and made the hair stand up on Billy’s head, and in comes a frightful big giant with three heads, and begun to threaten Billy. ”You’re too big,“ says the giant, ”for one bite, and too small for two. What will I do with you?“ ”I’ll fight you,“ says Billy, says he stepping out to him and swinging the bit of stick three times over his head, when it changed into a sword and gave him the strength of a thousand men besides his own. The giant laughed at the size of him, and says he, ”Well, how will I kill you? Will it be by a swing by the back , a cut of the sword, or a square round of boxing?“ ”With a swing by the back,“ says Billy, ”if you can.“ So they both laid holds, and Billy lifted the giant clean off the ground, and fetching him down again sunk him in the earth up to his arm-pits. ”Oh, have mercy,“ says the giant. But Billy, taking his sword, killed the giant, and cut out his tongues. It was evening by this time, so Billy drove home the three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses, and all the vessels in the house wasn’t able to hold all the milk the cows give that night.
“Well,” says the gentleman, “This beats me, for I never saw anyone coming back alive out of there before, nor the cows with a drop of milk. Did you see anything in the orchard?” says he. “Nothing worse nor myself,” says Billy. “What about my wages, now,” says Billy. “Well,” says the gentleman, “you’ll hardly come alive out of the orchard the morrow. So we’ll wait till after that.” Next morning his master told Billy that something must have happened one of the giants, for he used to hear the cries of three every night, but last night he only heard two crying. “I don’t know,” says Billy, “anything about them.” That morning after he got his breakfast Billy drove the three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses into the orchard again, and began to feed them. About twelve o’clock he heard three terrible roars that shook the apples off the bushes, the horns on the cows, and made the hair stand up on Billy’s head, and in comes a frightful big giant, with six heads, and he told Billy he had killed his brother yesterday, but he would make him pay for it the day. “Ye’re too big,” says he, “for one bite, and too small for two, and what will I do with you?” “I’ll fight you,” says Billy, swinging his stick three times over his head, and turning it into a sword, and giving him the strength of a thousand men besides his own. The giant laughed at him, and says he, “How will I kill you—with a swing by the back, a cut of the sword, or a square round of boxing?” “With a swing by the back,” says Billy, “if you can.” So the both of them laid holds, and Billy lifted the giant clean off the ground, and fetching him down again, sunk him in it up to the arm-pits. “Oh, spare my life!” says the giant. But Billy taking up his sword, killed him and cut out his tongues. It was evening by this time, and Billy drove home his three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses, and what milk the cows gave that night overflowed all the vessels in the house, and, running out, turned a rusty mill that hadn’t been turned before for thirty years. If the master was surprised seeing Billy coming back the night before, he was ten times more surprised now.
“Did you see anything in the orchard the day!” says the gentleman. “Nothing worse nor myself,” says Billy. “What about my wages now,” says Billy. “Well, never mind about your wages,” says the gentleman till the morrow, for I think you’ll hardly come back alive again,“ says he. Well and good, Billy went to his bed, and the gentleman went to his bed, and when the gentleman rose in the morning says he to Billy, ”I don’t know what’s wrong with two of the giants; I only heard one crying last night.“ ”I don’t know,“ says Billy, ”they must be sick or something.“ Well, when Billy got his breakfast that day again, he set out to the orchard, driving before him the three goats, three cows, three horses and three asses and sure enough about the middle of the day he hears three terrible roars again, and in comes another giant, this one with twelve heads on him, and if the other two were frightful, surely this one was ten times more so. ”You villain, you,“ says he to Billy, ”you killed my two brothers, and I’ll have my revenge on you now. Prepare till I kill you,“ says he; ”you’re too big for one bite, and too small for two; what will I do with you?“ ”I’ll fight you,“ says Billy, shaping out and winding the bit of stick three times over his head. The giant laughed heartily at the size of him, and says he, ”What way do you prefer being killed? Is it with a swing by the back, a cut of the sword, or a square round of boxing?“ ”A swing by the back,“ says Billy. So both of them again laid holds, and my brave Billy lifts the giant clean off the ground, and fetching him down again, sunk him down to his arm-pits in it. ”Oh, have mercy; spare my life,“ says the giant. But Billy took his sword, and, killing him, cut out his tongues. That evening he drove home his three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses, and the milk of the cows had to be turned into a valley where it made a lough three miles long, three miles broad, and three miles deep, and that lough has been filled with salmon and white trout ever since. The gentleman wondered now more than ever to see Billy back the third day alive. ”Did you see nothing in the orchard the day, Billy?“ says he. ”No, nothing worse nor myself,“ says Billy. ”Well that beats me,“ says the gentleman. ”What about my wages now?“ says Billy. ”Well, you’re a good mindful boy, that I couldn’t easy do without,“ says the gentleman, ”and I’ll give you any wages you ask for the future.“ The next morning, says the gentleman to Billy, ”I heard none of the giants crying last night, however it comes. I don’t know what has happened to them?“ ”I don’t know,“ says Billy, ”they must be sick or something.“ ”Now, Billy,“ says the gentleman, ”you must look after the cattle the day again, while I go to see the fight.“ ”What fight?“ says Billy. ”Why,“ says the gentleman, ”it’s the king’s daughter is going to be devoured by a fiery dragon, if the greatest fighter in the land, that they have been feeding specially for the last three months, isn’t able to kill the dragon first. And if he’s able to kill the dragon the king is to give him the daughter in marriage.“ ”That will be fine,“ says Billy. Billy drove out his three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses to the orchard that day again, and the like of all that passed that day to see the fight with the man and the fiery dragon, Billy never witnessed before. They went in coaches and carriages, on horses and jackasses, riding and walking, crawling and creeping. ”My tight little fellow,“ says a man that was passing to Billy, ”why don’t you come to see the great fight?“ ”What would take the likes of me there?“ says Billy. But when Billy found them all gone he saddled and bridled the best black horse his master had, and put on the best suit of clothes he could get in his master’s house, and rode off to the fight after the rest. When Billy went there he saw the king’s daughter with the whole court about her on a platform before the castle, and he thought he never saw anything half as beautiful, and the great warrior that was to fight the dragon was walking up and down on the lawn before her, with three men carrying his sword, and every one in the whole country gathered there looking at him. But when the fiery dragon came up with twelve heads on him, and every mouth of him spitting fire, and let twelve roars out of him, the warrior ran away and hid himself up to the neck in a well of water, and all they could do they couldn’t get him to come and face the dragon. Then the king’s daughter asked if there was no one there to save her from the dragon, and get her in marriage. But not one stirred. When Billy saw this, he tied the belt of the bull’s hide round him, swung his stick over his head, and went in, and after a terrible fight entirely, killed the dragon. Every one then gathered about to find who the stranger was. Billy jumped on his horse and darted away sooner than let them know; but just as he was getting away the king’s daughter pulled the shoe off his foot. When the dragon was killed the warrior that had hid in the well of water came out, and cutting the heads off the dragon he brought them to the king, and said that it was he who killed the dragon, in disguise; and he claimed the king’s daughter. But she tried the shoe on him and found it didn’t fit him; so she said it wasn’t him, and that she would marry no one only the man the shoe fitted. When Billy got home he changed the clothes again, and had the horse in the stable, and the cattle all in before his master came. When the master came, he began telling Billy about the wonderful day they had entirely, and about the warrior hiding in the well of water, and about the grand stranger that came down out of the sky in a cloud on a black horse, and killed the fiery dragon, and then vanished in a cloud again. ”And, now,“ says he, ”Billy, wasn’t that wonderful?“ ”It was, indeed,“ says Billy, ”very wonderful entirely.“ After that it was given out over the country that all the people were to come to the king’s castle on a certain day, till the king’s daughter would try the shoe on them, and whoever it fitted she was to marry them. When the day arrived Billy was in the orchard with the three goats, three cows, three horses, and three asses, as usual, and the like of all the crowds that passed that day going to the king’s castle to get the shoe tried on, he never saw before. They went in coaches and carriages, on horses and jackasses, riding and walking, and crawling and creeping. They all asked Billy was not he going to the king’s castle, but Billy said, ”Arrah, what would be bringin’ the likes of me there?“ At last when all the others had gone there passed an old man with a very scarecrow suit of rags on him, and Billy stopped him and asked him what boot would he take and swap clothes with him. ”Just take care of yourself, now,“ says the old man, ”and don’t be playing off your jokes on my clothes, or maybe I’d make you feel the weight of this stick.“ But Billy soon let him see it was in earnest he was, and both of them swapped suits, Billy giving the old man boot. Then off to the castle started Billy, with the suit of rags on his back and an old stick in his hand, and when he come there he found all in great commotion trying on the shoe, and some of them cutting down their foot, trying to get it to fit. But it was all of no use, the shoe could be got to fit none of them at all, and the king’s daughter was going to give up in despair when the wee ragged looking boy, which was Billy, elbowed his way through them, and says he, ”Let me try it on; maybe it would fit me.“ But the people when they saw him, all began to laugh at the sight of him, and ”Go along out of that, you example you,“ says they shoving and pushing him back. But the king’s daughter saw him, and called on them by all manner of means to let him come up and try on the shoe. So Billy went up, and all the people looked on, breaking their hearts laughing at the conceit of it. But what would you have of it, but to the dumfounding of them all, the shoe fitted Billy as nice as if it was made on his foot for a last. So the king’s daughter claimed Billy as her husband. He then confessed that it was he that killed the fiery dragon; and when the king had him dressed up in a silk and satin suit, with plenty of gold and silver ornaments everyone gave in that his like they never saw afore. He was then married to the king’s daughter, and the wedding lasted nine days, nine hours, nine minutes, nine half minutes and nine quarter minutes, and they lived happy and well from that day to this. I got brogues of brochan and breeches of glass, a bit of pie for telling a lie, and then I came slithering home.