Irish Fairy and Folk Tales (47 page)

Tom Moor was a linen draper in Sackville Street. His father, when he died, left him an affluent fortune, and a shop of excellent trade.

As he was standing at his door one day a countryman came up to him with a nest of jackdaws, and accosting him, says, “Master, will you buy a nest of daws?” “No, I don’t want any.” “Master,” replied the man, “I will sell them all cheap; you shall have the whole nest for ninepence.” “I don’t want them,” answered Tom Moor, “so go about your business.”

As the man was walking away one of the daws popped out his head, and cried “Mawk, mawk.” “Damn it,” says Tom Moor, “that bird knows my name; halloo, countryman, what will you take for the bird?” “Why, you shall have him for threepence.” Tom Moor bought him, had a cage made, and hung him up in the shop.

The journeymen took much notice of the bird, and would frequently tap at the bottom of the cage, and say, “Who are you? Who are you? Tom Moor of Sackville Street.”

In a short time the jackdaw learned these words, and if he wanted victuals or water, would strike his bill against the cage, turn up the white of his eyes, cock his head, and cry, “Who are you? who are you? Tom Moor of Sackville Street.”

Tom Moor was fond of gaming, and often lost large sums of money; finding his business neglected in his absence, he
had a small hazard table set up in one corner of his dining-room, and invited a party of his friends to play at it.

The jackdaw had by this time become familiar; his cage was left open, and he hopped into every part of the house; sometimes he got into the dining-room, where the gentlemen were at play, and one of them being a constant winner, the others would say: “Damn it, how he nicks them.” The bird learned these words also, and adding them to the former, would call, “Who are you? who are you? Tom Moor of Sackville Street. Damn it, how he nicks them.”

Tom Moor, from repeated losses and neglect of business, failed in trade, and became a prisoner in the Fleet; he took his bird with him, and lived on the master’s side, supported by friends, in a decent manner. They would sometimes ask, “What brought you here?” when he used to lift up his hands and answer, “Bad company, by G—.” The bird learned this likewise, and at the end of the former words, would say, “What brought you here? Bad company, by G—.”

Some of Tom Moor’s friends died, others went abroad, and by degrees he was totally deserted, and removed to the common side of the prison, where the jail distemper soon attacked him; and in the last stage of life, lying on a straw bed; the poor bird had been for two days without food or water, came to his feet, and striking his bill on the floor, calls out, “Who are you? Tom Moor of Sackville Street; damn it, how he nicks them, damn it, how he nicks them. What brought you here? Bad company, by G—, bad company, by G—

Tom Moor, who had attended to the bird, was struck with his words, and reflecting on himself, cried out: “Good God, to what a situation am I reduced! my father, when he died, left me a good fortune and an established trade. I have spent my fortune, ruined my business, and am now dying in a loath-some
jail; and to complete all, keeping that poor thing confined without support. I will endeavor to do one piece of justice before I die, by setting him at liberty.”

He made a struggle to crawl from his straw bed, opened the casement, and out flew the bird. A flight of jackdaws from the Temple were going over the jail, and Tom Moor’s bird mixed among them. The gardener was then laying the plats of the Temple gardens, and as often as he placed them in the day the jackdaws pulled them up by night. They got a gun and attempted to shoot some of them; but being cunning birds, they always placed one as a watch in the stump of a hollow tree; who, as soon as the gun was leveled cried “Mawk,” and away they flew.

The gardeners were advised to get a net, and the first night it was spread they caught fifteen; Tom Moor’s bird was amongst them. One of the men took the net into a garret of an uninhabited house, fastens the doors and windows, and turns the birds loose. “Now,” said he, “you black rascals, I will be revenged of you.” Taking hold of the first at hand, he twists her neck, and throwing him down, cries, “There goes one.” Tom Moor’s bird, who had hopped up to a beam at one corner of the room unobserved, as the man lays hold of the second, calls out, “Damn it, how he nicks them.” The man alarmed, cries, “Sure I heard a voice, but the house is uninhabited, and the door is fast; it could only be imagination.” On laying hold of the third, and twisting his neck, Tom’s bird again says, “Damn it, how he’nicks them.” The man dropped the bird in his hand, and turning to where the voice came from, seeing the other with his mouth open, cries out, “Who are you?” to which the bird answered, “Tom Moor of Sackville Street, Tom Moor of Sackville Street.” “The devil you are; and what brought you here?” Tom Moor’s bird, lifting up his pinions, answered, “Bad company, by G—, bad company, by G—.”
The fellow, frightened almost out of his wits, opened the door, ran down stairs, and out of the house, followed by all the birds, who by this means regained their liberty.

Translated from the original Irish of the Story-teller
,
A
BRAHAM
M
C
C
OY, BY
N
ICHOLAS
O’K
EARNEY

It was long before the time the western districts of
Innis Fodhla
^†
had any settled name, but were indiscriminately called after the person who took possession of them, and whose name they retained only as long as his sway lasted, that a powerful king reigned over this part of the sacred island. He was a puissant warrior, and no individual was found able to compete with him either on land or sea, or question his right to his conquest. The great king of the west held uncontrolled sway from the island of Rathlin to the mouth of the Shannon by sea, and as far as the glittering length by land. The ancient king of the west, whose name was Conn, was good as well as great, and passionately loved by his people. His queen was a
Breaton
(British) princess, and was equally beloved and esteemed, because she was the great counterpart of the king in every respect; for whatever good qualification was wanting in the one, the other was certain to indemnify the omission. It was plainly manifest that heaven approved of the career in life of the virtuous couple; for during their reign the earth produced exuberant crops, the trees fruit ninefold commensurate with their usual bearing, the rivers, lakes, and surrounding sea
teemed with abundance of choice fish, while herds and flocks were unusually prolific, and kine and sheep yielded such abundance of rich milk that they shed it in torrents upon the pastures; and furrows and cavities were always filled with the pure lacteal produce of the dairy. All these were blessings heaped by heaven upon the western districts of
Innis Fodhla
, over which the begnignant and just Conn swayed his scepter, in approbation of the course of government he had marked out for his own guidance. It is needless to state that the people who owned the authority of the great and good sovereign were the happiest on the face of the wide expanse of earth. It was during his reign, and that of his son and successor, that Ireland acquired the title of the “happy isle of the west” among foreign nations.

Conn Mor and his good Queen Eda reigned in great glory during many years; they were blessed with an only son, whom they named Conn-eda, after both his parents, because the Druids foretold at his birth that he would inherit the good qualities of both. According as the young prince grew in years, his amiable and benignant qualities of mind, as well as his great strength of body and manly bearing, became more manifest. He was the idol of his parents, and the boast of his people; he was beloved and respected to that degree that neither prince, lord nor phebeian swore an oath by the sun, moon, stars, or elements, except by the head of Conn-eda. This career of glory, however, was doomed to meet a powerful but temporary impediment, for the good Queen Eda took a sudden and severe illness, of which she died in a few days, thus plunging her spouse, her son, and all her people into a depth of grief and sorrow from which it was found difficult to relieve them.

The good king and his subjects mourned the loss of Queen Eda for a year and a day, and at the expiration of that time
Conn Mór reluctantly yielded to the advice of his Druids and counsellors, and took to wife the daughter of his Arch-Druid. The new queen appeared to walk in the footsteps of the good Eda for several years and gave great satisfaction to her subjects. But, in course of time, having had several children, and perceiving that Conn-eda was the favorite son of the king and the darling of the people, she clearly foresaw that he would become successor to the throne after the demise of his father, and that her son would certainly be excluded. This excited the hatred and inflamed the jealousy of the Druid’s daughter against her stepson to such an extent, that she resolved in her own mind to leave nothing in her power undone to secure his death, or even exile from the kingdom. She began by circulating evil reports of the prince; but, as he was above suspicion, the king only laughed at the weakness of the queen; and the great princes and chieftains, supported by the people in general, gave an unqualified contradiction; while the prince himself bore all his trials with the utmost patience, and always repaid her bad and malicious acts toward him with good and benevolent ones. The enmity of the queen toward Conn-eda knew no bounds when she saw that the false reports she circulated could not injure him. As a last resource, to carry out her wicked projects, she determined to consult her
Cailleach-chearc
(hen-wife), who was a reputed enchantress.

Pursuant to her resolution, by the early dawn of morning she hied to the cabin of the
Cailleach-chearc
, and divulged to her the cause of her trouble. “I cannot render you any help,” said the
Cailleach
, “until you name the
duais
” (reward). “What
duais
do you require?” asked the queen, impatiently. “My
duais
,” replied the enchantress, “is to fill the cavity of my arm with wool, and the hole I shall bore with my distaff with red wheat.” “Your
duais
is granted, and shall be immediately given you,” said the queen. The enchantress thereupon stood
in the door of her hut, and bending her arm into a circle with her side, directed the royal attendants to thrust the wool into her house through her arm, and she never permitted them to cease until all the available space within was filled with wool. She then got on the roof of her brother’s house, and, having made a hole through it with her distaff, caused red wheat to be spilled through it, until that was filled up to the roof with red wheat, so that there was no room for another grain within. “Now,” said the queen, “since you have received your
duais
, tell me how I can accomplish my purpose.”

“Take this chess board and chess, and then invite the prince to play with you; you shall win the first game. The condition you shall make is that whoever wins a game shall be at liberty to impose whatever
geasa
(conditions) the winner pleases on the loser. When you win, you must bid the prince, under the penalty either to go into
ionarbadh
(exile), or procure for you, within the space of a year and a day, the three golden apples that grew in the garden, the
each dubh
(black steed), and
cuileen con na mbuadh
(hound of supernatural powers), called Samer, which are in the possession of the king of the Firbolg race, who resides in Lough Erne.
^*
Those two things are so precious, and so well guarded, that he can never attain them by his own power; and, if he would rashly attempt to seek them, he should lose his life.”

The queen was greatly pleased at the advice, and lost no time in inviting Conn-eda to play a game at chess, under the conditions she had been instructed to arrange by the enchantress. The queen won the game, as the enchantress foretold, but so great was her anxiety to have the prince completely in her power, that she was tempted to challenge him to
play a second game, which Conn-eda, to her astonishment, and no less mortification, easily won. “Now,” said the prince, “since you won the first game, it is your duty to impose your
geis
first.” “My
geis
,” said the queen, “which I impose upon you, is to procure me the three golden apples that grow in the garden, the
each dubh
(black steed), and
cuileen con na mbuadh
(hound of supernatural powers), which are in the keeping of the king of the Firbolgs, in Lough Erne, within the space of a year and a day; or, in case you fail, to go into
ionarbadh
(exile), and never return, except you surrender yourself to loose your head and
comhead beatha
(preservation of life). “Well, then,” said the prince, “the
geis
which I bind you by, is to sit upon the pinnacle of yonder tower until my return, and to take neither food nor nourishment of any description, except what red-wheat you can pick up with the point of your bodkin; but if I do not return, you are at perfect liberty to come down at the expiration of the year and a day.”