Tales Until Dawn: The World of a Cape Breton Gaelic Story-Teller 9780773561120

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Sgeul gu Latha

Tales until Dawn

Sgeul gu Latha

le Eos (Eos Nil! Bhig) MacNill air ath-sgriobhadh, eadar-theangachadh 's a dheasachadh le IAIN SEATHACH

Tales until Dawn The World of a Cape Breton Gaelic Story-Teller Joe Neil MacNeil Translated and edited by J O H N SHAW

McGill-Queen's University Press Kingston and Montreal

McGill-Queen's University Press 1987 ISBN 0-7735-0559-8 (cloth, English and Gaelic) ISBN 0-7735-0560-1 (paper, English only) Legal deposit 3d quarter 1987 Bibliotheque nationale du Quebec Printed in Canada

Printed on acid-free paper Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data MacNeil, Joe Neil. Sgeul gu latha = Tales until dawn Text in Gaelic and English. Issued also in an English-only edition, under title: Tales until dawn. Bibliography: p. ISBN 0-7735-0559-8 (bound, Gaelic-English) ISBN 0-7735-0560-1 (pbk., English only) 1. Folklore - Nova Scotia - Cape Breton Island. 2. Tales - Nova Scotia - Cape Breton Island. 3. Storytellers - Nova Scotia - Cape Breton Island. 4. Cape Breton Island (N.S.) - Social life and customs. I. Shaw, John William. II. Title. III. Title: Tales until dawn. GR113.5.C36M261987a

398.2'09716'9

C87-093950-5

This book has been published with the help of grants from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, from the Trust of Catherine McCaig, and from Multiculturalism Canada.

Joe Neil MacNeil Photo by Tom Ptacek

Clár-Innsidh

FACAL O'N ÜGHDAR / XÍV

CUID A H-AON SAOGHAL AN SGEULAICHE Lathaichean anns a' Rudha Mheadhonach / 2 Sgeulachdan 'gan Aithris / 22 C U I D A DHÁ SGEULACHDAN 'SA CHOIMHEARSNACHD Na Ceanadaich / 40 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Fear a' Chota Liathghlais / 46 O Cróileagan nan Each / 56 Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg, Dalta Fhinn / 60 Mar a Fhuair Osgar Ainm / 62 Osgar agus Mac a' Luin / 64 Fionn agus na Cathagan Coimheach' / 66 Mar a Fhuair Conan Ainm / 66 Diarmaid agus Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine / 68 Bás Dhiarmaid / 70 An t-Amhas Órmanach / 74 lagan 's a Mhaighstir / 74 Brid Mhór Each / 90

Contents

AUTHOR'S PREFACE / XV ACKNOWLEDGMENTS / XVi INTRODUCTION / XVii

MAPS / xlii PART ONE THE WORLD OF THE S T O R Y - T E L L E R Middle Cape / 3 Stories and Story-Tellers / 23 PART TWO THE RECITERS AND THE TALES The Kennedys / 41 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

The Man in the Light Grey Coat / 47 O Croileagan of the Horses 757 Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts, Fionn's Foster-Son 761 How Oscar Got His Name 7 63 Oscar and Mac a' Luin 7 65 Fionn and the Strange Adversaries 7 67 How Conan Got His Name 7 67 Diarmaid and the Slim Woman in the Green Coat 7 69 The Death of Diarmaid 771 The Amhas Ormanach 7 75 Jack and the Master 7 75 Great Brid of the Horses 791

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Clár-Innsidh

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Bás Chú Chulainn / 96 An Righ agus an Searrach / 98 An Cairteal a Thog Boban Saor 7110 Boban Saor: Obair leis an Tal / 114 Am Faca Sibh Mo Leithid Riamh 7114 Clann'Illeain/118 Duanach Mac na Banndraich / 126 Fear nan Sgeulachd Fada / 134 Mac Duine Láidir na Coilleadh / 140 Am Boireannach a Fhuair na Erogan mar Dhuais bho'n Donas / 160 Na Tri Snaoimeannan / 162 Mar a Chaidh an Suiriche Sidhe a Mhealladh / 168 An Oidhche a Bha i Sileadh na Lite / 168 Cairteal Shruighle / 174 An Spiocaire agus an Táillear / 176 Dithist Spiocairean / 180 Clann íosaig / 184 JackFury/188 Am Fear a Fhuair na Tri Chomhairlean / 202 Am Ministear Diochuimhneach 7210 Di-luain, Di-máirt / 220 An Turus a Chaidh Aonghus Macíosaig dha 'n Ghealaich / 224 A'Mhuc Mhór / 226 Clann 'aclllemhaoil / 232 Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit / 236 An Dotair Bán / 248 Nighean na Droch-Mháthar / 250 An Gille, an Nighean 'sa Chreathuill, agus am Fáinne / 256 Mac na Banndraich agus na Robairean / 258 An t-Eun Óir / 268 Aonghus MacCoinnich/ 292

40 An Saighdear a Chaidh Deochan Uisge a Dhiúltadh Dha / 294 Eos Mac 'Illeain / 302 41 Léine an Duine gun Chüram / 302

ix

Contents 13 14 15 16 17

The Death of Cu Chulainn 7 97 The King and the Foal / 99 The Castle That Boban Saor Built /111 Boban Saor: Working with the Adze 7115 Did You Ever See the Like of Me / 115 The MacLeans / 119

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

Duanach the Widow's Son / 127 The Man with the Long Tales / 135 The Strong Woodsman's Son / 141 The Woman Who Was Awarded a Pair of Shoes by the Devil 7161 The Three Knots / 163 How the Fairy Suitor Was Tricked / 169 The Night It Rained Porridge / 169 Stirling Castle / 175 The Miser and the Tailor / 177 The Two Misers / 181 The Maclsaacs / 185

28 29 30 31 32 33

Jack Fury/189 The Man Who Received the Three Counsels / 203 The Forgetful Minister 7211 Monday, Tuesday 7 221 Angus Maclsaac's Trip to the Moon 7 225 The Big Pig 7 227 The MacMullins 7 233

34 35 36 37 38 39

The King of Egypt's Daughter 7 237 The Fair-haired Doctor 7 249 The Bad Mother's Daughter 7 251 The Lad, the Girl in the Cradle, and the Ring 7 257 The Widow's Son and the Robbers 7 259 The Golden Bird 7 269 Angus MacKenzie 7 293

40 The Soldier Who Was Refused a Drink of Water 7 295 Joe MacLean 7 303 41 The Shirt of the Man without Worries 7 303

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Clár-Innsidh

lain MacNill / 308 42 An Gille Beag a Sguir dha'n Sgoil / 308 Bean Mhicheil 'acNill / 316 43 Bodachanant-Silein/316 44 An Sionnach, am Faol, 's an t-Im 7318 Niall Caimbeul / 324 45 An Turus a Thug Boban Saor 's a Mhac / 324 46 Mar a Fhuair Mac Boban Saor a Bhean / 326 47 Boban Saor: Loighne na Cailc / 328 Dómhnall MacNill / 330 48 Boban Saor: Aran Eórna agus Bainne / 330 Ruairidh MacNill / 334 49 Am Bailan a Thog Boban Saor / 334 50 Gilleasbuig Aotrom agus a' Chearc / 336 Gun Urrainn / 340 51 Gilleasbuig Aotrom agus am Ministear Sútar / 340 52 Gille Mor an Tuathanaich / 342 CUID A TRI B R I A T H R A N B E Ó I L , S P Ó R S IS E Ó L A S Freagairtean Amasach agus Daoine Beárraidh / 360 Diarmaid MacCoinnich (Diarmaid Eóin) / 360 Micheal Dómhnallach (Micheal Raonaill 'ac Dhómhnaill Óig) / 362 Mártainn MacAonghuis (Mártainn Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir) / 364 Alasdair Macíosaig (Sandaidh 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) / 366 Aonghus Macíosaig (Aonghus 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) / 366 lain Macíosaig (lain 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) / 370 Bean Ruairidh 'ic íosaig (Anna Ruairidh Ailein) / 372 Niall Macíosaig (Mac do dh'Anna Ruairidh Ailein) / 374

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John MacNeil / 309 42 The Young Lad Who Quit School / 309 Mrs Michael MacNeil 7317 43 The Little Old Man with the Grains 7317 44 The Fox, the Wolf, and the Butter 7 319 Neil Campbell 7 325 45 The Journey Boban Saor Made with His Son 7 325 46 How Boban Saor's Son Found His Wife 7 327 47 Boban Saor: The Chalk Line 7 329 Dan MacNeil 7 331 48 Boban Saor: Barley Bread and Milk 7 331 Roderick MacNeil 7 335 49 The Tub That Boban Saor Built 7 335 50 Crazy Archie and the Hen 7 337 Anonymous 7 341 51 Crazy Archie and the Minister Sutar 7 341 52 The Farmer's Big Lad 7 343 PART THREE WIT, LORE, AND PASTIMES Repartee and Ready Wit 7 361

Dermot MacKenzie (Diarmaid Eoin) 7 361 Michael MacDonald (Micheal Raonaill 'ac Dhomhnaill Oig) 7 363 Martin Maclnnis (Martainn Ruairidh Dhomhnaill Mhoir) 7 365 Alexander Maclsaac (Sandaidh 'Illeasbu' Mhoir) 7 367 Angus Maclsaac (Aonghus 'Illeasbu' Mhoir) 7 367 John Maclsaac (Iain 'Illeasbu' Mhoir) 7 371 Mrs Roderick Maclsaac (Anna Ruairidh Ailein) 7 373 Neil Maclsaac (Mac do dh'Anna Ruairidh Ailein) 7 375

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Clár-Innsidh

Ruairidh MacNill (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh) / 374 Eos MacNill (Eos Nill Bhig) / 376 Gun Urrainn / 378 Seanfhacail / 380 Gnáth-fhacail / 384 Raiman dha'n Chloinn / 390 Na Cleasan / 394 Fios Leannain / 398 Manaidhean, Giseagan, is Dá-Shealladh / 406 Taibhsichean is Bócain / 420 Ceól is Dannsa / 426 Fidhleirean / 426 Piobairean / 432 Dannsaichean / 436

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Contents Roderick MacNeil (Ruairidh Iain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh) / 375 Joe MacNeil (Eos Nill Bhig) / 377 Anonymous / 379 Proverbs 7381 Expressions / 385 Children's Rhymes / 391 Traditional Games / 395 Marriage Premonitions / 399 Signs, Superstitions, and Second Sight / 407 Ghosts and Apparitions / 421 Music and Dance / 427 Fiddlers / 427 Pipers / 433 Dances / 437 NOTES/443 SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY / 479 AARNE-THOMPSON I N T E R N A T I O N A L F O L K T A L E TYPES / 484

Facal o'n Üghdar

A luchd-leubhaidh ghrádhach 'S e ni a tha seo nach robh düil agam aig uair dhe' n t-saoghal gun tachradh e a chaoidh, na sgeulachdan agus na seanachasan a th'anns an leabhar seo a bhith air an clo-bhualadh. Ach 's fheudar dhomh innse dhuibh aig an am seo nach biodh e comasach dhomhsa a leithid sin a bhith deante gu siorraidh mur b'e am brosnachadh 's a' mhisneach agus am mór-chuideachadh a fhuair mi bho 'm charaid dileas lain Seathach; oir ;s esan a chunnaic iomchaidh agus cudthromach gum biodh a leithid seo do leabhar air a chuir an órdugh, agus 's e thug dhomh a h-uile cuideachadh bha feumail timcheall air a' ghnothach. Tha gach sgeulachd agus seanachas a th'ann air am faotainn bho mhuinntir ghasda, chóir nach eil maireann an diugh. ;S e mo mhiann gun co-pháirticheadh sibh leam ann a bhith a' cuimhneachadh le aigneadh bhláth orra agus a' toirt mór-urram dha'n luchd a choisinn i, agus gun mise a bhith air mo chunntais air árd-inbhidh idir, ach an urram agus an cuimhneachan mor mar charragh-cuimhne a bhith air a' mhuinntir sin a bha ann anns an linn a dh'fhalbh agus a bha tálanta agus gasda, ciallach agus fialaidh le'n cuid sgeul; agus air gach aon mar an ceudna a bha báidheil rium anns a' ghluasad seo agus bha a' toirt misneach dhomh, agus gach aon a rinn cuideachadh ann an dóigh neo air rud sam bith nach eil 'nam chomas aig an am seo bhith ; ga ainmeachas. 'S e mo dhürachd gun córd an leabhar seo ribh uile 's gum faigh sibh mór-thoileachadh as. ;S e sin a bheir toileachadh dhomhsa. Eos MacNill, am Pon Mói 1986

Author's Preface

Dear Readers A thing has happened which I thought would never come to pass - that the folk tales and the items .of Gaelic tradition that are in this book should be published. But first I must tell you that this work could never have been realized were it not for the encouragement and the constant help which I got from my friend of long standing, John Shaw. It was he who saw it fitting and important that this sort of publication be prepared and who gave me all the help that was necessary. Every story and item from our tradition here has come from wonderful and kind people who are no longer living today. It is my hope that you will share with me in remembering them with great warmth and in respecting their achievements. Please do not regard me as deserving of any special praise but see this book as a tribute to those living in times past who were gifted, kindly and sensible, and generous with their store of tales. I wish also to remember those people who were kind to me in the progress of this effort and who gave me the courage to do it, as well as those who helped me in ways or with things too numerous to name at this time. It is my wish that you will all enjoy this book and derive great pleasure from it, for that is what will give me the greatest happiness. foe Neil MacNeil, Big Pond 1986

Acknowledgments

My grateful thanks are extended to the individuals and institutions who have contributed towards the preparation of this work: Joe Neil MacNeil for his generosity, his patience, and his faith in his tradition; Professor Charles Dunn of Harvard University for many helpful comments and constant encouragement; James Watson for help in correcting the Gaelic proofs and suggestions regarding the manuscript; Sister Margaret MacDonell of St Francis Xavier University for her advice; my wife Jill Shaw for her help in compiling the maps and correcting the English proofs,- the Multiculturalism Directorate of the Department of State, Ottawa, for funding received towards research; St Francis Xavier University for the use of its research and office facilities; the Harvard University Library; Allan J. MacEachen; Lawrence O'Neil, MP; Irene Campbell for typing the manuscript; Malcolm MacLean, Mrs Dan Neil MacNeil, and Mrs Michael MacLean, all of Sydney, for their helpful generosity; and the many Gaelicspeaking story-tellers in Cape Breton, living and dead, for learning and passing on the tales. John Shaw, Glendale, Cape Breton

Introduction

This collection of Gaelic oral tradition from the Middle Cape and Big Pond area of Cape Breton County on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, has been transcribed and translated from tape recordings made by the editor of Joe Neil MacNeil (Eos Nill Bhig) of Middle Cape, the most remarkable Gaelic reciter to emerge in Cape Breton since the 1960s. Born in 1908, Joe Neil, unlike most Gaelic-speaking folklore informants on the island, has achieved literacy in Gaelic, largely through his own efforts, but the Gaelic text is based on the unlettered tradition of his people and has been transcribed as told.1 It is not our task here to attempt a comprehensive account of the culture of this Gaelic-speaking community as it existed in Joe Neil's youth.2 Instead, we have endeavoured to portray in part the intellectual life of a once vigorous Gaelic area as seen through the eyes and heart of a traditional story-teller living in our own time. Joe Neil's fund of sgeulachdan, or narrative tales, is what is most remarkable in his repertoire and forms the major part of this collection. The tales have been ordered according to their sources - and where possible according to families of reciters - to provide a partial record of the groups of story-tellers who flourished in the parish some sixty years ago. Until the middle of this century - and the final decades of the story-telling tradition in Scottish Gaelic - little attention had been given to that important element of oral transmission, the traditionbearer. Hence the character and family background of the many story-tellers, wits, and musicians who so willingly passed on their learning to Joe Neil have been described and the glimpses given of these learned Gaels permit some comparison with story-telling counterparts in neighbouring cultures and else-

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Introduction

where.3 Family information about the story-telling sources is included in part because there are no written genealogies for the people of Middle Cape and Big Pond, most of whom claim Barra and South Uist descent. Perhaps later study of these genealogies may one day reveal more concerning the provenance of the region's Gaelic culture and the processes of oral transmission in small rural communities. Because of the island's isolation and lack of convenient internal transport well into the twentieth century, Gaelic folktale research in Cape Breton, compared to that of Scotland, was begun at a late stage in the life of the culture and has enjoyed at best sporadic progress, mostly through the efforts of outsiders. In 1937 John Lome Campbell of Canna and his wife Margaret Fay Shaw made the first organized recording expedition to the island to collect songs from the descendants of settlers from Barra and South Uist living near Boisdale, Cape Breton County, and lona, Victoria County. Although no tales were recorded on this pioneering expedition, the collectors cannot have been unaware that there were competent reciters in the neighbourhood.4 Four years later, Charles Dunn of Harvard University travelled the island extensively in search of Gaelic material and recorded a number of folktales on a portable dictaphone.5 During the same year the Reverend Malcolm MacDonell of Hillsdale, Inverness County, while a student at St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, transcribed a tale from a neighbour, Hector Campbell, which was subsequently published.6 Tales from the same reciter were written down by Kenneth Jackson of Harvard University and the University of Edinburgh in 1946 and published a few years later.7 More of Hector Campbell's tales were tape-recorded in 1952 by collector MacEdward Leach. In 1964 Kathleen MacKinnon, a Scottish student from Tiree, recorded and published an excellent version of Cath nan Eun "The Battle of the Birds" from Hughie Dan MacDonnell of Deepdale, Inverness County.8 Some five years later, C.I.N. MacLeod, then professor of Celtic studies at St Francis Xavier University, published a collection of Cape Breton Gaelic stories from both written and oral sources which included one full-length hero-tale taken from the lips of a

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Introduction

Benacadie reciter on his death-bed (see "The Man in the Light Grey Coat" in Part 2). Additional recordings of Hector Campbell were made by Sister Margaret MacDonell of St Francis Xavier University and Dr Gordon MacLennan of University College, Dublin, and Ottawa University in the late sixties. During the first half of the seventies various collectors contributed tape-recorded folktales to the archives at the College of Cape Breton, and a few Gaelic folktales from collectors were made more widely available in Cape Breton's Magazine.9 Between 1977 and 1983 the Gaelic Language and

Folklore Project at St Francis Xavier University, funded by the federal Multiculturalism Directorate, was engaged in a concentrated effort to record Gaelic material in Cape Breton, including folktales and the lore associated with story-telling. It has recently published a collection of tales from the late Hector Campbell.10 On the basis of the number and quality of the folktales recorded or alluded to in the course of our field-work since 1977, it is clear that had a collector of like talents and dedication been active in Cape Breton during the 1850s and 1860s, the results would have rivalled those contained in the manuscripts and published collections of John Francis Campbell (of Islay), which today form the basis for Scottish Gaelic folktale scholarship. The striking degree of cultural conservatism among Cape Breton Gaels is certainly a result of geographical isolation. Yet, for items in the oral tradition such as the Ulster Cycle or Fenian material which can be termed particularly ancient, there is a further cause: Cape Breton is the most recent and far-flung outpost of the Scottish Gdidhealtachd (Gaelicspeaking region), and it is a well-documented phenomenon that archaic survivals of social and cultural institutions are most likely to be found at the periphery of a given cultural area.11 My acquaintance with Joe Neil MacNeil began during a routine perusal of Gaelic tapes while I was working as a researcher in Gaelic folklore at the archives of the College of Cape Breton in Sydney during the summer of 1975. A recording that

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Introduction

immediately caught my attention was a version of Nighean Righ na h-Eipheit (Part 1, no 34 below), delivered with a sureness of detail and a command of Gaelic that I recognized as the work of a master story-teller. The same command of the language - without apparent effort or limitations impressed me again when I met Joe Neil some weeks later. Over the following months my task of designing a Gaelic language course for the island based on local traditional materials and methods and incorporating tradition-bearers in their former, time-honoured role as teachers, brought us together frequently. Over the winter months, what had begun as an effort to introduce Joe Neil's lore into a language program grew into a more detailed study of his tradition and an effort to recover as many as possible of the apparently endless stock of tales that he recalled from his youth. In February we began noting down scattered details from some thirty separate tales, adding to the notes gradually as Joe Neil recalled additional events. The process of remembering was reinforced by a visit we made over a number of days to another accomplished story-teller, Lauchie MacLellan of Dunvegan, Inverness County. I knew Joe Neil was looking forward to exchanging stories with another reciter, but I did not fully realize how seriously he took our expedition until I became aware in the car on our way to Dunvegan that in a barely audible whisper he was going over the difficult parts of the tales he had prepared for the occasion. By April we were able to record versions of seventeen of the thirty tales, including a number of the more important ones in the present collection: Fear a' Chota Liathghlais, lagan 's a Mhaighstir, Mac Duine Ldidirna Coilleadh, and fragments of further Fenian material. Versions of End Mhor Each and Bds Chu Chulainn were also recovered but were not recorded until 1977. In addition, Joe Neil was able to deliver an excellent version of a long hero-tale, Iain Mac an lasgair Mhoir (AT 300), along with extensive fragments of other tales.12 Our practice of keeping notes and reviewing them as details were added allowed us to check internal consistency, though such checks became superfluous as Joe Neil's own penchant for accuracy

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Introduction

in his recitations began to assert itself. The same attention to faithful reproduction of detail extended to the sources of the tales, and at this point Joe Neil first pointed to the Kennedy family of Middle Cape as coming from a line of story-telling specialists. Although literate in Gaelic, he always took care in our conversations to distinguish between the oral and written sources of his tales. While literacy in Gaelic has provided Joe Neil with a welcome access to material in the Gaelic books and papers available locally, the oral tradition of his own area has remained the touchstone. As has been noted in reciters elsewhere in the Gaelic world, Joe Neil's conversation is replete with the expressions, proverbs, and anecdotes that enlivened the ordinary speech of the previous generation of tradition-bearers of Middle Cape and its environs. Also characteristic of outstanding Gaelic informants is their willingness to record for the serious collector.13 Once the informant's confidence is gained, such a task is perceived as a duty growing out of their unspoken role as the guardians of their people's tradition. Such a sense of responsibility was apparent during a marathon twoweek recording session with Joe Neil in the autumn of 1978. Our recording began in the morning and frequently finished in the early hours of the following morning; yet Joe Neil's energy and enthusiasm never flagged. The material from this session, filling overy fifty half-hour tapes, was by no means the end: a good informant will always have recalled additional important items for the next session.14 Since that time Joe Neil has recorded hundreds more of these, among them further accounts of the lengendary carpenter Boban Saor and the miraculous physician An Dotaii Ban (see Part 2, nos 15, 16, 35, 45-9) which only came to light in late 1981. It is revealing in terms of cultural change in Cape Breton's Gaelic-speaking areas that the informants themselves possess a greater understanding of the importance of collecting their oral literature than is evidenced by their adult offspring who, as a rule, are non-Gaelic-speaking, have had more formal education, and have a more cosmopolitan cultural outlook. Here, as in so many other Celtic areas, the older informants

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often express their regret that systematic folklore collecting was not begun earlier.15 To this day, Joe Neil's social contacts are within the Gaelicspeaking world or around the area where he was raised. Gaelic is and always has been his preferred language; Joe Neil is one of the few Gaels living in Cape Breton today who is satisfied to use his language in public, or indeed within the hearing of non-Gaelic-speakers. Perhaps more unusual in a person of his generation - and those following - is his refusal to accept the often proffered dictum that the living language and the Gaelic world have no place in our times. Joe Neil's relationship to the modern world follows a theme of adapting present realities to suit older priorities that are well known in Gaelic culture. His wide range of skills as a carpenter, plumber, mechanic, electrician, and sawmill operator have provided him with an adequate livelihood in an economy increasingly dominated by technology and money, while allowing him to maintain the centuries-old pattern of the itinerant versatile journeyman. He keeps well informed of events outside the island through the media, yet does not hesitate to express his view that the social benefits of the media have definite limitations compared with the neighbourhood gatherings of his youth. It came as a surprise to me that a person of Joe Neil's gifts of memory and narration would have so little to say concerning his own life. The reason for this apparent reticence is best expressed in the reciter's own words: chaidh mi thro shaoghal cumanta gu leor "my own experience was ordinary enough." Like the famous Irish story-teller Peig Sayers, who required lengthy coaxing before she saw the importance of dictating her autobiography, Joe Neil views his own personal story as relatively insignificant next to the tradition of which he is an active part.16 Many of the finer exponents among the older people in Cape Breton - singers, bards, reciters,fiddlers,pipers, and step-dancers - are inclined to regard performing gifts as a part of the shared cultural store, rather than the exclusive property of gifted individuals. When asked whether such a communal concept of traditional performances was prevalent in Gaelic areas in the past, Joe Neil's unhesitating

xxiii Introduction

answer was, Nach eil fhios agaibh gu robh "Don't you know it was." The accounts given in Parts 1 and 2 of the house gatherings in the Middle Cape district, where the stage was set for stories, songs, and other lore, as well as those of the practice of storytelling itself, provide us with an indication of the extent to which the practices surrounding oral transmission in Old World Gaelic areas were retained in Cape Breton well into this century. Here, as in the rest of Gaeldom, the main occasions for the recitation of tales were reserved for the long winter nights.17 The description of those present quietly engaged in their evening tasks of sewing, knitting, repairing equipment, and so on, could come from any of the ceilidh settings of the nineteenth century published by collectors visiting the Outer Isles. The customary ceilidh sequence given here, starting with a detailed discussion - with full commentary - of the local news and progressing to the recitation of tales, was well known elsewhere.18 As in all Gaelic communities, the taigh-faire or wake-house was a favourite venue for story-tellers, who often performed until daylight. In his district, as in Western Scotland and Ireland, Joe Neil recalls that tales helped to pass the time as fishermen waited to haul in their nets, but story-telling in Cape Breton was no longer associated with other work places such as kilns.19 The rules of etiquette surrounding the recitation of tales in Cape Breton have been relaxed since the beginning of the century. John MacLean's account of an invitation from Donald Kennedy (Part 2) to listen to his rendition of a substantial hero-tale during school hours shows that the prohibition against reciting hero-tales and wonder-tales during daylight hours was not in effect in Cape Breton as it was in Ireland until recent times.20 The custom of direct criticism, in company, of a reciter's performance among Hebridean storytellers is not known to have existed here.21 Occasional corrections from the audience have been observed, often as not from a spouse or sister of a passive tradition-bearer during recent sessions. As a rule, local listeners expressed their appreciation of reciters' gifts through the frequency of their

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Introduction

requests for tales and the numbers who gathered to listen. Although some highly regarded women story-tellers were always active in Scotland's Gdidhealtachd, there, as in Ireland, they were subject to certain traditional constraints.22 The longer, more elaborate wonder- and hero-tales including Fenian tales were regarded as the preserve of male reciters,- occasionally women recited from the body of historical and legendary lore (seanchas) and more frequently they were the custodians of songs (with their associated stories), musical traditions, charms and various other branches of the oral tradition. Joe Neil does not recall any instances of Fenian tales being recited by women in his own district, though the area boasted a large number of good women story-tellers.23 Throughout the island, constraints on women's story-telling repertoires seem to have been relaxed compared to Scotland and Ireland: in 1978 a lengthy introduction to an elaborate romantic tale, Conall Ruadh nan Car "Red Conall of the Tricks" (AT 953), was recorded from Mrs Peggy Smith (Bean Sheumais Alasdair Pheadair) of Deepdale, Inverness County,24 and a Mrs Sarah (Mor) Gillis who lived in the same locality some sixty years ago was well known for her rendition of the Fenian tale Fear a' Chdta Shliobaistich Liathghlais "The Man in the Slovenly Grey Coat" (see Part 2, no I).25 On the rare occasions when a practised reciter is available, folktales are still valued by Cape Breton's remaining Gaelicspeakers as an enjoyable and absorbing pastime. When word was passed around the parish of Glendale, Inverness County, in the autumn of 1978 that Joe Neil would furnish an evening's entertainment of long tales, my house was filled with neighbours who listened raptly to the three-hour session. The role of master story-teller won him the instant respect of his audience, as did his comical turn of phrase. The tendency of both reciter and audience to become completely immersed in a story is well documented for Scottish Gaels; Michael MacLean's lapse of attention with the stove covers so clearly remembered by Joe Neil (page 20) recalls accounts from nineteenth-century Scotland where whole groups sent out to perform heavy labour were known to pass an entire day sitting at the work-site

xxv

Introduction

listening to stories.26 Joe Neil's remarks concerning the feeling of oneness within the audience during the performance of stories and other forms of traditional entertainment (page 10) point to the unifying effect of tales produced through a literature of shared internal experience. For children in traditional Gaelic society, the didactic function of many of the tales, along with riddles, is easily appreciated.27 Equally noteworthy, as pointed out by the Dunvegan, Inverness County, story-teller Lauchie MacLellan, is the profound dramatic effect of a well-told tale which recruits the imagination of its listener.28 Among Gaels and other story-telling cultures, the tales formed a "bridge from reality to illusion, from the state of wakefulness to that of the dream, as many folklorists have pointed out."29 In the repertoires of present-day island story-tellers, wondertales and romantic tales are now rare. Our attempt over four years to compile a list of tales known to have been current in Cape Breton, however,offers substantial evidence that these more elaborate and demanding tales were more plentiful around 1860, during the days when reciters of the caliber of Archie Kennedy of Middle Cape first heard stories as children. Wonder-tales and hero-tales have suffered erosion here, as they evidently also have in Ireland.30 The selection of tales transcribed here has tended to emphasize the lengthier tales. However a wide range of shorter tales, both international and regional, have been recorded during the past decade. These include a surprising number of religious tales of the exemplum type; occasional simple tales (animal tales and formula tales); jokes and anecdotes, which, together with stories of witchcraft and second sight, are the most plentiful variety now remembered. Tales of cleverness, in keeping with the popular proverb, theid seoltachd thai spionnadh "cleverness will prevail over physical strength," are highly regarded.31 That part of the narrative tradition termed seanchas by Delargy incorporating local historical legend, not surprisingly, has been most reduced by the effects of relocation, but some interesting though isolated examples have been recovered.32 One such is a version of the Morar legend Cu Glas Mheobail "The Grey Hound of Meoble"

xxvi

Introduction

briefly referred to by Calum Maclean in his accounts of collecting in that area.33 Another, also summarized by Maclean, concerns the pact made by the Black Captain with the devil and the catastrophe that resulted when the devil returned to claim his own.34 Survivals of fairy-lore, three of which are in this collection, have been recorded in numerous island localities. Interestingly, the Hebridean legend of the origin of the fairies has been preserved by a family of Morar origin in the parish of Broadcove, Inverness County.35 Narrative tales were not strictly confined to transmitted stories,- many locales boasted reciters who, like Sandy Maclsaac (Sandaidh "Illeasbu" Mhoir) of Big Pond (see Part 2, nos 32, 33), took pleasure in relating their own compositions. Locally composed stories, as Bruford notes for their Irish Gaelic counterparts, did not travel far or become permanently established in the general repertoire of tales; yet memories of tales (now lost) composed by the widely admired Southwest Margaree bard Donald (Domhnall Thormaid) MacDonald still persist in his native area.36 Recently a full-length wonder-tale was composed by Lauchie MacLellan of nearby Dunvegan which equals the standard set by the best traditional examples recorded.37 Joe Neil's recorded tales are rarely longer than forty-five minutes (about twenty double-spaced, typewritten pages). This seems to be the maximum length for tales recorded from Cape Breton reciters and agrees well with the accounts of twentieth-century Irish story-tellers cited by Delargy.38 The longest tale Joe Neil remembers hearing was Archie Kennedy's version of the hero-tale Leigheas Coise Cein "The healing of Cian's Leg" (see Part 2, no 2) which lasted for a little over two hours, approximately half the length of that told by Islayman Lachlann MacNeill and written down in the early 1870s by Hector MacLean.39 Further nineteenth-century sources mention tales of greater length: J.F. Campbell refers to a fourhour version of An Ceathamach Caol Riabhach "The Slim Swarthy Champion" and a rendition of Conall Gulban extending through three evenings.40 Angus (Aonghus Barrach) MacMillan, a Benbecula reciter and the son of one of Carmichael's informants, dictated Alasdair Mac a' Cheiid, a

xxvii

Introduction

tale lasting some nine hours, to Calum Maclean in the early 1950s, as well as forty-three other tales that each lasted over three hours.41 Such gleanings from oral sources have led Delargy and Gerard Murphy to observe that the stories in medieval manuscripts served only as condensations of the oral versions which were originally one to several hours in length.42 The labour and interruptions involved in written transcriptions from reciters would offer an explanation for the brevity of many of the tales in J.F. Campbell's published collections,- the original oral renditions would more likely be along the lines of Lachlann MacNeill's Leigheas Coise Cein or K.C. Craig's transcriptions of the tales of Duncan (Dunnchadh Clachair) MacDonald of South Uist.43 The traditional favourites of the story-teller's audience in the cultural unit formed by the Gdidhealtachds of Scotland and Ireland were the Fenian tales recounting the adventures of the legendary warrior Fionn MacCumhail and his band of followers. These formed the chief epic of Gaelic culture since the Middle Ages and were equal in importance to the Kalevala in Finland.44 Such was the Highland Gaels' reverence towards the Fenian tales that men often removed their bonnets during their recitation. It is therefore not entirely surprising that Fenian lore should have been given the position of precedence by rural Cape Breton audiences in Middle Cape.45 In Scottish Gaelic areas, if not beyond, stories of Fionn were considered to be the domain of story-telling specialists, an office that in Middle Cape was filled by the family of Archie Kennedy.46 Fenian material in Scotland, as J.F. Campbell remarks in the introduction to the first volume of his published collection, was most plentiful in the Hebridean Isles of Barra and South Uist, and it is among the communities of Middle Cape and Christmas Island, both with populations primarily of Barra and South Uist extraction, that the greatest amount of such material has been retained.47 Nevertheless, there is ample evidence of an active Fenian tradition among people of mainland or Inner Hebridean origin elsewhere on the island and on the Nova Scotia mainland. A fragment of a Fenian dialogue was recorded in 1946 from a Harbourview, Inverness

xxviii Introduction

County, informant; Sarah (Mor) Gillis of Deepdale, Inverness County, was reputed to have recited a popular Fenian herotale in the 1920s; a version of Teanndachd Mhorna Feinneadh was mentioned as being in the repertoire of an Antigonish County native in the early 1950s; and a Ceudach tale was recorded from Hector Campbell of Hillsdale, Inverness County, in 1964.48 The singing of Fenian lays (duain), which disappeared in Ireland sometime during the last century, can still be heard among the older people in isolated communities of the Western Isles, and until quite recently survived in the memory of Joe Allan MacLean (1892-1984), a native of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Breton County. Joe Neil's account suggests that the singing of the lays, as well as the recitation of Fenian tales, was considered the task of specialists in Cape Breton, as it was in Scotland. The next forms of narrative preferred by Joe Neil, the fulllength wonder-tales (including hero-tales] and the romantic tales, have clearly declined within the story-telling tradition since the time Cape Breton was settled, and many are known to have been lost. Archie Kennedy's rendition of An Tuairisgeal Mor, an important hero-tale which was well known in Cape Breton but never recovered, took two nights of telling, and similar though less spectacular instances of attrition can be found in most localities where tales are told.49 Within tales of this kind, the fixed descriptive passages couched in colourful language termed "runs" have in only one case been recorded in Cape Breton in more than fragmentary form.50 In-tales are likewise rare, having been so far encountered only in two fine versions of a romantic tale (given in the Aarne-Thomson classification of tale-types as AT 953 "The Master Thief Recounts his Adventures"), An Gadaiche Dubh "The Black Thief" from Lauchie MacLellan and Conall Ruadh nan Car "Red Conall of the Tricks" from Hughie Dan MacDonnell; and in the version of Leigheas Coise Cein in this collection.51 In Cape Breton, this class of tale is to be found in the Catholic areas only, though tales of a less elaborate variety, particularly humorous stories, are common in the Presbyterian areas. The

xxix

Introduction

absence of longer tales outside the Catholic areas can be directly attributed to their condemnation by the fundamentalist clergy at least from the sixteenth century and Bishop Carswell, himself no stranger to the Gaelic oral tradition of his time, whose single sentence of invective rivals in its narrative power the descriptive passages from the older tales.52 The results of the suppression of extended story-telling in the reformed districts were described by J.F. Campbell and Alexander Carmichael as both thorough and extensive.53 Yet some of the lighter tales noted down in 1978 from Angus MacKinnon, a native of the isolated Gaelic community of Black Point, Victoria County, settled by Protestant families from Skye and the adjacent mainland, indicate that story-telling among these people remained in a fairly highly evolved form until the 1920s and was not, in J.F. Campbell's words, entirely "buried alive" before the time of immigration.54 The same Angus MacKinnon was able to give successful summaries of his tales in English for the entertainment of eight of his seventeen children during my visit, but with few exceptions Gaelic stories have not crossed over into English.55 The occasional tales in Cape Breton that have weathered the language change are of the "numbskull" or humorous variety, or, like The Golden Arm, turn on a trick that is external to the bounds of the narrative. If the clergy's disapproval of story-telling was confined to specific Gaelic-speaking regions, the advent of formal education, with its insistence on the English language and literacy, has taken a universal toll on the tradition throughout Gaeldom. The best reciters encountered during this century, though learned men in their own terms, possess few or none of the benefits of sgoil na Beurla "English-language education." In the case of Benbecula reciter Angus MacMillan, described so compellingly by Calum Maclean, Gaels' reaction to the enforced demise of their own learned tradition was not always passive; Angus MacMillan never bothered to learn English and terminated his own formal education by thrashing the schoolmaster.56 A combination of selective censure and indirect institutional pressure has driven the practice of story-

xxx

Introduction

telling in Scottish Gaelic-speaking districts underground, or towards the social periphery. In Cape Breton the vestiges of a vast store of tales are still remembered, but folktales are easily the most difficult items to record of all folklore items. In Scotland it is revealing that such an acute observer as Calum Maclean, born into a family of noted Raasay and Skye traditionbearers, did not encounter a practised story-teller among his own countrymen until 1946.57 The earliest descriptions of Scottish Gaelic reciters date from the era of collecting activity in the Outer Hebrides during the second half of the last century. In his introduction to Popular Tales of the West Highlands, J.F. Campbell furnishes a brief sketch of Donald MacPhie of lochdar, reputed to be the outstanding reciter in South Uist in his time; in his journals Campbell has left a more detailed portrait of another exceptional performer, Lachlann MacNeill of Islay.58 Alexander Carmichael, while staying with Campbell on Miunghlaidh, near Barra, in 1871, made the acquaintance of Roderick MacNeill (Ruairidh mac Dhomhnaill), whom he later described.59 Until very recently not even the most cursory description of Cape Breton story-tellers has been attempted. Among Scottish researchers, however, increased attention has been paid to the story-tellers themselves, beginning with Calum Maclean's innovative article "Hebridean Storytellers" (1952) together with " Aonghus agus Donnchadh" (1954), his contrastive study of the two greatest Scottish Gaelic story-tellers living at that time, Angus MacMillan of Benbecula and Duncan MacDonald of South Uist. Further valuable studies of Duncan MacDonald have been published by Maartje Draak in 1958 and William Matheson in 1977. The first autobiography of a Hebridean story-teller, Angus (Aonghus Beag) MacLellan of South Uist, appeared in 1964, to be followed by a short study of another South Uist reciter, Donald Alasdair Johnson and a full-length collection of tales and other material from Padraig Moireasdan of North Uist.60 These published sources together with experience drawn from work in the field make it clear that story-telling is a rural occupation for Scottish Gaels, and story-tellers in Cape Breton,

xxxi

Introduction

as in Scotland and Ireland, are not exclusively identified with any particular profession within rural society.61 Of the storytellers included in this study, Archie Kennedy was a subsistence farmer and part-time labourer, while his neighbour Michael MacLean spent much of his working life fishing off the Grand Banks, and Michael's nephew Donald worked as an inspector for the railways. Joe Allan MacLean of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Breton County, made his living as a blacksmith and Hughie Dan MacDonnell from an early age worked underground in the coal mines a short distance from the farm where he was born in Deepdale, Inverness County. The tradition of the intinerant story-teller continued among those without property or a profession.62 Whether by choice or circumstance, wandering story-tellers like Anna MacNeil, travelling a welldefined circuit through the countryside, were commonplace until the early 1900s; some, like Joe Neil and the Stewart Clan of Scotland, have maintained their way of life into the 1980s.63 The many travelling tailors and shoemakers among reciters in Scotland mentioned by J.F. Campbell have left no record in Cape Breton.64 Joe Neil is one of a few remaining story-tellers in Cape Breton who could be termed an active tradition-bearer, and the skills of most of these have declined through lack of opportunity to perform. There is no doubt that the demand on the talents of these few occasioned by the interest of collectors has provided a welcome challenge and a source of encouragement.65 However long a time has passed since they practised their art, all good active story-tellers share an unusual degree of expressiveness and skill with their native tongue in ordinary conversation. Joe Neil's use of Gaelic recalls Delargy's remarks concerning Irish story-teller Michael Turraoin, a "master of idiom, phrase and linguistic nuance."66 A frequent device of Joe Neil's is to use his skill with expressions, usually with underlying humour, as a means of putting new acquaintances at their ease. William Matheson in his tribute to Duncan MacDonald, remarked that the old man's "command of the language was consummate: the elegance of his phrasing was noticeable even in the most ordinary conversation."67 Equally

xxxii

Introduction

characteristic of active reciters is their concern for their language and the total lack of concern for English as evidenced by Angus MacMillan of Benbecula.68 One need only read Padraig O Siochfhradha's moving description of the Kerryman Micheal ("Mici na gCloch") 6 Suilleabhain, "the king of all the storytellers/' standing on the steps of the church and announcing with great excitement the impending restoration of the Irish language to understand the degree to which such men have been the true champions of the Gaelic language.69 The training of story-tellers in Cape Breton, though never formal, began early in childhood. Joe Neil recalls listening carefully to tales at the age of eight or nine.70 Hughie Dan MacDonnell by the age of ten had begun to acquire a repertoire. Similarly, Duncan MacDonald of South Uist began his career by making a conscious effort as a child to learn and to recite tales.71 As a rule, Irish reciters also began as young boys, showing a fondness for tales and an affection for the old . people who used to tell them. While evidence of any formal instruction in acquiring tales in Cape Breton is lacking, Calum Maclean mentions that young lads in the Outer Hebrides were enrolled in schools of story-telling in learning heroic lays from the older tradition-bearers to chant on New Year's Eve.72 Story-telling throughout Gaeldom, particularly of long, elaborate tales, tended to be transmitted through families. This has been demonstrated for the traditions of Duncan MacDonald (back three generations and possibly more) and Angus MacMillan, and, according to Joe Neil, is true for the Kennedy and MacLean families of Middle Cape.73 Nevertheless, transmission through the family bho ghluin gu glun "from generation to generation" is by no means a fast rule even among the most accomplished reciters. Seumas MacKinnon of Barra learned all of his stories from one man who was not a member of his family, and Sean O Conaill of Kerry, much like Joe Neil, names twenty-seven sources for his tales.74 The Kennedys of Middle Cape were, to my knowledge, unique in the island in being regarded as specialists in Fenian and romantic tales. Unlike Hungary, for instance, where certain tales became the "property of an established story-teller,"

xxxiii Introduction

there was no formal "ownership" of specific tales among local reciters, though one person's version of a tale might be requested most frequently.75 Nor is there evidence of overt competition between reciters here, as has been recorded in Hungary and Ireland, though the absence of visible rivalries does not preclude considerable respect being accorded a skilful narrator. From the picture given here by Joe Neil of his own parish, along with the large number of active reciters that he can recall living in the Benacadie-Christmas Island district of Cape Breton County, it is more than likely that there was an abundance of active tradition-carriers in many of the local rural communities. Similarly, in Scotland at the turn of the century, the North Uist reciter Padruig Moireasdan was well acquainted with twenty competent reciters in his own small neighbourhood.76 The extraordinary memory possessed by story-tellers has been remarked upon by collectors since the time of Alexander Carmichael.77 In Cape Breton, Neil Gillis of Jamesville, Victoria County, by his own admission a passive traditionbearer, was able to recite a lengthy and detailed version of a romantic tale which he had heard some fifty-five years earlier from Charles (Tearlach Pheadair Ruaidh) Maclnnis, a wellknown reciter in nearby Christmas Island; the performance was the more remarkable since Neil Gillis had not used Gaelic in his daily life for the previous twenty-five years.78 The size of present-day Cape Breton reciters' repertoires does not compare with the examples given by Delargy for Irish informants but approaches more closely those contained in recent collections from Scottish reciters.79 Informants assure us, however, that repertoires of reciters from the previous generation when regular story-telling flourished, those of men like Archie Kennedy and Michael MacLean, were considerably larger. As for the retentive abilities of individuals, Maartje Draak has made a detailed comparison of two separate renditions (1944 and 1950| of the lengthy hero-tale Fear na h-Eabaid from Duncan MacDonald of South Uist.80 The results show a surprising degree of accuracy where the story-

xxxiv Introduction

line is concerned (the two renditions differed in only one minor detail); differences in the choice of words are present only to the extent of demonstrating that the tale is not couched in rigid or mechanical language. Similar feats of memory were commonplace among modern Irish reciters, many of whom needed to hear a tale only once or twice in order to acquire it.81 Especially striking is Delargy's anecdote concerning a Valentia Island story-teller named Lynch who managed to "steal" a long, jealously guarded tale, Fdilte Ui Chealla "O'Kelly's Welcome," from an itinerant beggar by concealing himself in a loft at night while the tale was being told.82 Comparisons of the processes of tale transmission in Ireland and Scotland suggest that Scottish story-tellers take more pride in accurate transmission of stories.83 If this is so it could stem from what Douglas Hyde already recognized at the beginning of this century as the relatively slight influence exerted by the manuscript tradition on oral transmission in Scotland from at least the eighteenth century.84 Literacy in rural Gaelic communities, although not unknown in Cape Breton, has been relatively rare; in Middle Cape during Joe Neil's youth, Hector MacMullin and James Smith were the only other residents able to read the language. Moreover, most Scottish reciters distrusted the quality and accuracy of printed versions and did not hesitate to express their reservations to the most illustrious collectors in the field.85 In Ireland, as in Joe Neil's Middle Cape, a good memory was a consciously cultivated, highly prized asset, and literacy was regarded as an obstacle to a good story-telling memory; one man's failure to retain a story was (doubtless correctly) attributed to his having read too many books.86 There are scattered indications, nevertheless, that some manuscripts were in circulation in Scotland at least until the eighteenth century. The MacNabs of Dalmally were reputed to be in possession of a manuscript containing Fenian material; the famous MacMhuirich family, hereditary bards to Clanranald, were also said to possess manuscripts, one of which may have contained romantic tales; Edward Lhuyd in his notes on the contents of manuscripts belonging to the Reverend John Beaton of Mull, the last learned member

xxxv

Introduction

of a famous family of leeches and scholars, lists manuscript versions of the story of the death of Cu Chulainn, along with a number of long romantic tales.87 Whatever influence such manuscripts, both of native and Irish origin, had on the fund of tales in the Scottish Gdidhealtachd, written materials have exerted a decidedly limited influence on the story-telling tradition in Cape Breton. There is only one fragmentary written transcription of a tale surviving, taken down some time before 1911 from the dictation of an unknown informant in the Middle Cape district.88 Printed versions left some traces in many Gaelic-speaking areas. The memories of the generally unlettered listeners allowed these to pass into the oral tradition easily; in some instances the known printed texts were reproduced with astounding accuracy.89 J.F. Campbell was aware of the currency of the Arabian Nights stories in the Outer Isles in the nineteenth century and a version of Sgeulachd a' Lampa Dhuibh "The Story of the Black Lamp" entered the repertoire of Archie Kennedy of Middle Cape, probably through a version printed in the Gaelic newspaper Mac-Talla.90 Many long romantic tales in Ireland, which could be repeated by some almost as heard from two readings of the manuscript, were improved by being absorbed into the stock of orally transmitted tales; in 1978 Joe Neil with no apparent effort recited a Gaelic version of an Irish tale printed in English which is superior to the original.91 Regardless of their origin, once absorbed into the Gaelic folk repertoire, stories are passed on with close attention to the plot or narrative framework. Yet no two reciters tell the same wonder-tale alike. Douglas Hyde, in attempting to account for the differences between Scottish and Irish versions of "alliterative passages" (runs), speculated that the incidents rather than the language were passed on.92 Delargy explains the process in greater detail. The old-time Gaelic story-teller was a conscious literary artist, proud of his art, jealous of his rivals, eager to pass on the tradition as it had come to him, intolerant of change, conser-

xxxvi Introduction

vative as to form and order and plot; but the style and the language are stamped with his own personality, and, as he had an eye for the symmetry of the spoken word, he felt at liberty - true artist that he was - to elaborate inside the traditional framework of the narrative events of the story, and to clothe the commonplaces of fiction with the rich garment of poetic prose.93

Certainly in their efforts toward " the ideal of a story well and truly retold/' Gaelic story-tellers were allowed considerably less latitude with regard to plot and order of events than their counterparts in the equally active storytelling communities of Hungary, where the overall length and contents of a tale, especially the beginning and the end, were habitually altered to suit the immediate wishes of the audience.94 In Cape Breton it is the story-teller's selection of the tale to suit the listeners that is regarded as crucial and determines as much as anything else his success in pleasing them. Within the carefully transmitted framework of the tale, the story-teller was an active, frequently vigorous " shaper of tradition" whose personal, creative role in telling the story was known to Middle Cape story-tellers as Eideadh na Sgeulachd "The Raiment of the Tale."95 The devices used to achieve this differed from person to person, depending on a narrator's ingenuity and talents. The range of such narrative devices is impressive: in his remarks contrasting the narrative techniques of the South Uist reciter of wonder-tales Duncan MacDonald with his contemporary Angus MacMillan, Calum Maclean notes Duncan's reliance on his consummate skill with language and style; Angus MacMillan, on the other hand, was given to elaborate detail in the story-line, with a talent for conjuring up visual images, and took great delight in extensive oratio recte dialogue.96 Joe Neil's technique incorporates elements characteristic of both great reciters, yet his main concern is with the psychology of the story, using the relations between events to elicit the pathos or humour from the characters' situations with a frequent emphasis on the

xxxvii Introduction

moral implications of the tale. This is all expressed through language which, although not ornate, is slightly formal and reminiscent of the wording used by the Islay story-teller Lachlann MacNeill in his version of Leigheas Coise Cein.97 Joe Neil understands the meaning of every word in his tales. There is none of the purposely obscure or elaborate rhetoric, termed in Scottish Gaelic a' chiuaidh-Ghdidhlig dhomhain "deep, hard Gaelic/' which was an attractive feature for Irish audiences of the romances read from post-medieval manuscripts.98 A more formal narrative style can also be seen in the South Uist reciter Angus MacLellan's fondness for impersonal forms in his tales." Characteristic individual styles in Cape Breton are the rapid and dramatic speech of Hughie Dan MacDonnell of Deepdale, Inverness County, and the slow, understated, and often laconic presentation of Hector Campbell. The use of gestures among Irish reciters, and some Scottish reciters, was important in their dramatic presentation.100 Although Joe Neil's observation that gestures played no part in the story-telling of his district seems to be borne out in other parts of the island, he remarks later that the narrative techniques of John Maclsaac, his neighbour in Big Pond, extended to acting out the roles of his characters.101 Most accomplished Scottish reciters possess unusually strong and resonant speaking-voices. Calum Maclean noted this of Barra reciter James (Seumas Iain Ghrunnaraidh) MacKinnon, and we have observed the same to be true of Joe Neil, Lauchie MacLellan, Hughie Dan MacDonnell and Angus MacLellan.102 A final dramatic technique, one that Lauchie MacLellan inherited from his grandfather Neil MacLellan, born in 1826 of recent Morar immigrants, consists of creating suspense by shifting the scene of the narrative at a crucial point in the story and picking up the thread later on. Good Gaelic reciters everywhere, though they may be regarded by their audiences as specialists in wonder-tales or seanchas, invariably have command of wide-ranging repertoires. Material recorded by the School of Scottish Studies, University of Edinburgh, Scotland, from Duncan MacDonald

xxxviii Introduction

of South Uist, in addition to his famous hero-tales, included Fenian tales, Fenian lays (duain), historical legends, religious lore, and fairy lore; an additional 1500 pages of material were transcribed from him by his son, Donald (Domhnall Iain Dhunnchaidh) over a winter and given to the school.103 The contribution of his fellow Uistman Angus MacLellan is no less impressive.104 A similar degree of versatility among Irish reciters is apparent from the collection of the Kerry storyteller Sean O Conaill, along with other examples cited by Delargy.105 The art of humorous repartee, although among the types of least published material in Scottish Gaelic tradition, furnishes the most enduring variety of short anecdote in the Cape Breton communities. The best examples have rapidly passed into the local repertoire where they have been enjoyed for many decades. One Maclnnis family (Clann Eoghainn Duinn) of Judique, Inverness County, achieved such a renown for their ability that a whole series of anecdotes has survived in popular memory a half-century later. It is clear that many such friendly exchanges amounted to a sport and may be a continuation of a much older tradition.106 The tendency to answer using various kinds of word-play could explain why repartee only occasionally crosses over into English. Joe Neil's speech, like that of many story-tellers, often incorporates proverbs, both for the humour they contain and as a type of linguistic shorthand, as well as expressions to characterize the complex situations encountered in daily life. Although some fairly rigorous attempts have been made to describe the proverb, Joe Neil and Gaels in general do not distinguish between proverbs (seanfhacail) and expressions (gndth-fhacail).107 The list of proverbs and expressions given here resembles strongly those collected by Neil Sinclair on the Isle of Barra beginning in the 1930s.108 Accounts of traditional children's games are widespread in Cape Breton, both in Protestant and Catholic communities. Although some clear descriptions, such as those below, have been recorded recently, most memories of these, like the duain, are vague enough to indicate that the practice

xxxix Introduction

was declining when the present older generation was in its youth. Of the various kinds of marriage divination practised on the island, the most popular survival is the ring in the bowl of fuaiag (a kind of whipped-cream dish) eaten on Halloween night (Oidhche-Shamhna). All of the examples described here by Joe Neil involve performing acts that give rise to the interpretation of omens and can thus be classed as " active divination."109 The interpretation of frith "augury" and the various other omens in the following section are largely forms of "passive divination/' being based on conditions independent of the seer. Clearly, in the case of the items concerning death divination, birds, and people encountered on journeys, we are dealing with the remnants of a larger body of omen-reading tradition still current in Gaelic Scotland at the time of Alexander Carmichael and described by him in Carmina Gadelica.110 The ability to read omens, to Joe Neil's mind, is closely associated with the faculty of beachd "keen observation of everyday matters," which remains a strong cultural characteristic among present-day Gaelic-speakers as their conversation and humour often make clear. Short tales of ghosts and spectres were a mainstay of the story-telling sessions in Cape Breton and were particularly enjoyed by children; a common expression from children so affected was tha an t-eagal 'gam mharbhadh "I'm dying of fear."111 Numerous versions survive of ghost and spectre stories that arrived from Western Scotland with the settlers, for example, Colunn gun Cheann and Eoghann a' Chinn Bhig.112 A few Inverness County informants claimed in 1978 to have seen Eoghann riding by on his horse. Local ghost stories similar to those told here are found in every Gaelicspeaking district of the island. These have crossed over effortlessly into English and have become the most popular part of genuine Gaelic tradition for English-speakers. The nature and extent of Gaelic music and dance in Cape Breton before 1900 have only recently been investigated. While it is understandable that instrumental music was more prevalent in the Catholic areas since the time of settlement,

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Introduction

the importance that violin music held in the Big Pond and Middle Cape areas, by Joe Neil's accounts, would seem to indicate that Inverness County was not the only home of a vigorous Gaelic violin-playing tradition.113 The number of active players, along with the survival of the Gaelic words to many dance tunes of undoubted Highland origin, suggests the existence of a considerable tradition of violin-playing in South Uist and Barra at the time of the clearances which was subsequently lost on those islands. There is also strong evidence of a rich folk tradition of piping for dances as well as for listening, and possibly extending to the small pipes, which continued into recent times through the teaching and playing of Neil Maclsaac of Big Pond. A study of the dances of Gaelic origin on the island, particularly the regional square sets, the older dances of the Cailleach an Dudain type described by Flett and Flett, and the origin of the scores of steps known to step-dancers on the island, would yield interesting results.114 The Gaelic text has been selected from over four hundred items recorded between February 1976 and October 1980. Part 1, which consists of Joe Neil's reminiscences of Middle Cape and of the stories and story-tellers, contains the greatest number of collations. Tape numbers and dates are given in the notes. The tales in Part 2 have not required collating; the only changes made are in the rare instances where Joe Neil has corrected himself, and this was usually a matter of one or two words. The first five sections of Part 3, those dealing with repartee, proverbs, expressions, children's rhymes, and games, contain the greater part of Joe Neil's recordings on these topics. The sections on marriage divination, signs, superstitions and second sight, and apparitions comprise only a small number of selections from Joe Neil's contributions. The concluding section on music and dance, except for traditions associated with particular tunes, comprises everything recorded from Joe Neil on these topics. In my translation I have endeavoured to provide an idiomatic rendering into standard English both readable enough to convey the sense of entertainment so natural to the Gaelic

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Introduction

story-teller and accurate enough to be of use to scholars in folklore and Celtic studies. Because of the recent expansion in English of the semantic range of Gaelic ceilidh to cover any group activity of a Celtic nature, actual or purported, I have chosen, with Calum Maclean, to translate the Gaelic word by "house-visit."115 Joe Neil, with his thorough knowledge of English, has supplied many helpful and illuminating suggestions in the translation; the final responsibility, however, rests with the translator.

Cape Breton Island

The Western Highlands and Islands of Scotland

Cuid a h-Aon

SAOGHAL AN SGEULAICHE

An ni nach cluinn cluas cha ghluais cridhe

Part One

THE W O R L D OF THE STORY-TELLER

What the ear does not hear will not move the heart

Lathaichean anns a' Rudha Mheadhonach

'S mise Eósaiph MacNill 's thánaig mi dh'ionnsaidh a; Rudha Mheadhonaich ann a' Siorramachd Cheap Breatuinn nuair a bha mi sia miosan a dh'aois. Chaidh mo thogail cómhla ri seanncháraid a bh' ann a' sin - bha iad aosda nuair a thánaig mise cómhla riu - agus dh' más mi suas anns a' sgireachd a bha sin. Agus 's e a' Gháidhlig a' cheud chánail a bh' agam. Cha robh Beurla 'ga cleachdadh 'san dachaidh agus ged a thigeadh cuideiginn a dh' ionnsaidh an taighe cha bhruidhneadh bean an taighe Beurla ris; cha robh Beurla aice. Bha beagan do Bheurla aig f ear an taighe ach 's e a' Gháidhlig a bha air a cleachdadh agus nan tigeadh coigreach na fear a bhiodh a' falbh mun cuairt - mar a bheireamaid ceannaiche paca neo 'sa Bheurla mar a bheir iad peddler — chainte ris an mear sin nach robh Beurla acá agus cha robh iad ach a' deanamh a' ghnothaich mar sin. Bha mi a' grádhainn nach robh agam ach Gáidhlig nuair a bha mi 'nam óige. Ach bha mi deanamh seórsa do dhicheall air beagan fhacail do Bheurla a thogail a' siod 's a' seo ach cha bhiodh agam ach facal thall 's facal a bhos. Bhiodh fear nach maireann ri griasachd - a' cáradh bhróg - agus fhad 's a bhithinn 'na chuideachd bho 'n a bha beagan do dh 'fhacían Beurla aige bhithinn a' foighneachd dha gu dé an t-ainm Beurla a bh' air na nithean; dh'fhoighneachdainn anns a' Gháidhlig a' facal 's dé a' Bheurla a bh' air. Agus tha cuimhn' agam gun do dh'fhoighneachd mi dha latha gu dé a' Bheurla a bh' air na gloinichean a bhiodh air a shúilean nuair a bhiodh e ri obair ghriasachd agus rinn mi seórsa do dh'ionnsachadh air an fhacal a bh' air a' sin, agus 's e glasses a thuirt e. Agus dh'fhoighneachd mi latha eile dheth gu dé an t-ainm a bh' air a' cheap griasachd - bha cip acá air a dheanamh air iarunn: an ceap a bhiodh iad a' cuir am broinn nam bróg nuair a bhiodh iad a' cuir táirnean annta, a' cuir as na buinn - agus thuirt e gura h-e last a' Bheurla a bh' air. Ach co-dhiubh bha tri dhiubh sin acá agus stéidh acá air an cuireadh tu gach fear dhiubh air réir mar a bha thu 'g obair. Bha fear mor 's fear meadhonach 's fear beag. Agus bho 'n a bha iad acá air f eadh na dúthchadh as an nábachd as

Middle Cape

They call me Joseph MacNeil. I came to Middle Cape, Cape Breton County at the age of six months. I was raised by an old couple there - they were elderly by the time I joined them and grew up in that parish.1 Gaelic was the first language that I spoke for there was no English used in the home. Even if people came to the house the woman of the house could not speak English to them; she had no English. The man of the house could speak a little English but Gaelic was what we used, and if a stranger or a travelling man arrived - what we would call a pack-merchant, or as they say in English " a peddler" - he would be told that they spoke no English and that they were just getting along that way. I said that I spoke only Gaelic when I was young, but I used to make some effort to pick up a bit of English here and there, though I only spoke the odd word. There was one man, now no longer living, who worked as a cobbler - repairing shoes and, since he had a few words of English, when I was around him I used to ask him the English names for various things: I would ask him in Gaelic what the English for a certain word was. I remember asking him one day what the English was for the glasses that covered his eyes when he was at his cobblerwork and I managed to learn the word for them somehow and glasses was what he said. Another day I asked him the name for the shoe last - they had lasts made of iron, the kind of last they would put into shoes when they were putting in the nails to attach the soles - and he said that last was the English word. They had three of these and a stand on which you could put each one as you needed it while you were working. There was a big one and a middle-sized one and a small one. In those days some people in the country used to have them and people

4

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

an am bhite faighinn iasad dhe 'n a h-uile sian. Thánaig fear óg dh'ionnsaidh an taighe latha. Bha e na b'aosta na mi fhin, ma dh'fhaoidte mu thri bliadhna na b'aosta na mi fhin. Agus cha robh Gáidhlig idir aige agus cha robh fear an taighe aig an taigh 'san am. Cha robh aig an taigh ach bean an taighe. Co-dhiubh dh'iarr an t-óganach bha seo na ceapan iaruinn agus cha do thuig bean an taighe gu dé bha e cantail bho nach robh Beurla aice. 'S bha i foighneachd a robh e faicinn a' ghnothach a bh' ann astaigh mun cuairt 's bha e tuigsinn gu dé bha i cantail 's chrathadh e a cheann 's chanadh e nach robh. Bha 'n gnothach a' dol seachad. Ach mar a bha iad 'gan cleachdadh ann an cumantas air an dúthaich co-dhiubh as an am a bh' ann ge b'e thigeadh dh'ionnsaidh an taighe rachadh tea a thoirt dha agus rudeiginn - ma dh'fhaoidte briosgaid mhilis - cómhla rithe. Agus chaidh sin a dheanamh ris an óganach mar ri cacha. Ach chaidh fhoighneachd dheth turus neo dhá a robh e faicinn gu dé a bh' ann 's cha robh. Ach ;s e lasts a thuirt esan 's chuir seo mise ceárr. Cha robh mi cinnteach: cha chuala mise riamh aig an fhear nach maireann ach last. Cha tuirt e riamh lasts, ach last a thaobh cha robh e bruidhinn ach air aonfhear. Agus ge b'e có mheud a bh' ann bha iad a dhith air an fhear óg. Co-dhiubh thog e rithe a' sin; bha e falbh 's thuirt mise ris an t-seann-té a' sin gura h-fheudar gura h-e an ceap a bha e 'g iarraidh. "'S carson/' ors' ise, "nach tuirt thu sin tráth?" Agus dh'éibh i air tilleadh air n-ais 's chaidh i a nuil dha 'n áite 'sa robh na ceapan iaruinn an gléidheadh ann am bogsa: bha iad thall ann a' seotal aig a' staidhir. Thug i a nall fear dhiubh 's dh'fhoighneachd i dha an e sin a bh' ann 's thuirt e gura h-e. Agus sin a' cheud turus dhe 'm bheatha-sa a rinn mi eadar-teangachdainn. Bha mi mu thuairmeachd seachd bliadhna nuair a thóisich mi air a dhol dha 'n sgoil. Bha cóir agam air a bhith dol dha 'n sgoil nuair a bha mi sia bliadhna a dh'aois, ach thánaig lionnadh mor air mo láimh re an t-samhraidh agus bha mi cho deireasach le mo láimh a bhith cho dona a nuil anmoch as an fhoghar agus dh'aontaich iad nach cuireadh iad idir dha 'n sgoil mi air an fhoghar a bha sin. Agus bho nach deachaidh mi ann tráth cha robh iad a' dol 'gana ligeadh ann tha mi cinnteach an córr dhe 'n aimsir; gu h-áraid nuair a thánaig am an fhuachd cha ligeadh asan ann mi co-dhiubh. Agus dh'fhág sin na bu ghainne 'sa Bheurla mi buileach; bha mi bliadhna eile gun dad a Bheurla ionnsachadh agus bha a' Bheurla a' tighinn astaigh orm glé mhall gus an deachaidh mi dha 'n sgoil. Agus tha mi cinnteach gura h-e sin as coireach dh'ionnsaidh a' latha an diugh gu bheil a leithid do

5

The World of the Story-Teller

would borrow them from each other along with everything else. One day a young man came to the house; he was older than myself perhaps by three years. He spoke no Gaelic at all and the man of the house was not home at the time; only the wife was in. The young man asked for the iron shoe lasts and the woman of the house who spoke no English did not understand what he was saying. She asked him if he saw the object he required around and he understood what she was saying but he shook his head and he said that he did not see it. And so it went on. But as was their usual custom in the countryside at that time, anyone who came to the house would be given tea and something - perhaps a sweet biscuit - with it. This was offered to the young man as it had been to others before and he was asked once or twice whether he saw the thing he required and he didn't. But what he had said was lasts and that put me wrong; I was uncertain because I had only ever heard last from the late cobbler; he had never said lasts, only last because he was just referring to a single one. But however many of them there were the young man wanted them. Finally he went on his way; as he was leaving I said to the old lady that it must have been the last that he was looking for. "And why/' said she, "didn't you say so before?" And she called to him to come back and went over to where the iron lasts were kept in a box: they were in a cubbyhole beside the stairs. She brought over one of them and asked him whether this was it and he said that it was. And that was the first time in my life that I ever attempted translating. Around the age of seven I began going to school. I should have attended when I was six years old but I took a bad infection in my hand during the summer and I was in such distress with a sore hand well into the fall that they agreed not to send me that fall. And since I did not go there early on they decided not to let me go for the rest of the school year; particularly when the cold season came they wouldn't let me go. So that left me even poorer in English; I had to go another year without learning English at all, so the language came to me very, very slowly until I finally attended school. And I am sure that that is the reason even until today that I have such

6

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

spéis agam dha 'n Gháidhlig, bho 'n as i a' cheud chánail a bh' agam. 'S i fhathast a' chánail as fheárr learn. Agus nuair a thóisich mi air a dhol dha 'n sgoil cha robh do Bheurla idir agam ach corra fhacal thall 's a bhos agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh iad cho fada thall 's nach robh fios aig an fhear a bha bhos gu dé bha a' dol. Ach co-dhiubh chaidh m'ionnsachadh air gu dé a chanainn nuair a dh'fhoighneachdadh iad c' ainm a bh' orm: chaidh sin a dh'ionnsachadh dhomh ann am Beurla agus chum mi cuimhn' air. Ach nuair a rachadh iad seachad air na ceistean cha robh cus do fhreagairtean agam dhaibh. Cha n-e nach rachadh agam air beagan do leubhadh a dheanamh - 's sin a' rud tha neónach: gu dé mar a leubhadh duine 's gun Bheurla aige? Ach tha mi 'n dóchas gun soilleirich sin dhaibh an diugh nuair a tha iad a' smaointinn gun ionnsaich iad a' chánail ghasda Gháidhealach far nan leabhraichean le bhith 'gan leubhadh: cha n-eil iad a' dol 'ga dheanamh cho math 's a tha iad an dúil. Ach bha feadhainn a' tighinn air chéilidh chon an taighe agus fhuaireadh leabhar beag an áite air choireiginn agus bha beagan do dh'fhaclan ann. Dh'aithnighinn iad 's dh'aithnighinn an litreachas; dh'aithnighinn an aibidil uile. Agus sin na bh' agamsa do Bheurla nuair a chaidh mi dha 'n sgoil agus b'fheudar dhomh tóiseachadh air ionnsachadh air adhart mar sin. 'S cha robh cleachdadh Gáidhlig againn ach nuair a bhithinn amuigh a' cluich cómhla ris an fheadhainn eile bha dol dha 'n sgoil. A' chuid bu mhotha dhiubh aig an am, bha Gáidhlig is Beurla acá a thaobh bha Gáidhlig is Beurla aig am párantan. Agus an fheadhainn a b'aosda dhe 'n chloinn a bha aig na dachaidhean, bha iad an deaghaidh Beurla gu leór ionnsachadh as a' sgoil agus bha 'n fheadhainn a b' óige 'ga togail orra bho 'n am sin 's bha Beurla acá, ach bha Gáidhlig gu leór aig a' chuid bu mhotha dhiubh. Nuair a thóisich mise air a dhol dha 'n sgoil cha n-eil beachd agam air gin idir nach robh Gáidhlig acá. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh feadhainn dhiubh nach robh cho math air labhairt na Gáidhlig: ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh a dha dhiubh ann. Bha dithist ann nach bruidhneadh a' Gháidhlig ach bha corra fhacal aca; tha mi cinnteach gu robh a' Gháidhlig acá sin car cho gann 's a bha a' Bheurla agam fhin. Ach bha gu leór ann airson nuair a bhitheamaid amuigh bhitheamaid a' seanachas agus bha a' Bheurla 'ga labhairt cho pailt as an taigh-sgoil. Agus beag air bheag bha mi togail na Beurla, ach thug e úine mhór dhomh mun do dh'ionnsaich mi a' mhór-chuid dhi. 'S e sgliat a bh' againn agus píos caol do sgliat airson peannsgriobhaidh. Ach bhiodh bior dhe 'n aon t-seórsa stuth agus a bh' anns a' sgliat ach nach robh e buileach cho cruaidh ris a' sgliat fhéin. Agus a h-uile litir na comharra na ge b'e gu dé chuireadh sibh sios air a' sgliat leis a' chumadh sin mar a tha ri cuir nithean air a' bhórd dhubh leis a'

7

The World of the Story-Teller

an interest in Gaelic, for Gaelic is my first language and it is still the language that I prefer. So when I began to go to school I had no English at all except a few words here and there - perhaps they were so far over there that people here didn't know what was going on. They taught me what to say when they asked my name; that was taught to me in English and I was able to remember it. But when they went further I didn't have many answers. That didn't mean that I couldn't read a little. That's what was strange. How could a person read English without speaking it? But I hope this will make something clear to people today who think that they can learn the beautiful Gaelic language by reading from books; they won't do as well as they expect. But people used to come visiting at the house and someone got hold of a small book somewhere with a few English words in it. I could recognize them and the spelling; I knew the whole alphabet. And that's all the English I knew when I went to school and I had to begin acquiring it from there. At school we didn't use Gaelic except when we were outside playing. At that time most spoke Gaelic and English because their parents spoke both. The oldest children in the families at home had learned a good deal of English in school so that the younger ones picked it up and could speak it, but most of them also spoke Gaelic well. When I began to go to school I can't think of any who spoke no Gaelic. There may have been some who didn't speak Gaelic well - perhaps two. In fact there were two who could not speak Gaelic but still knew some words; I believe that their Gaelic was about as scarce as my own English. But there was enough so that when we were outside we could converse and anyway there was so much English spoken in the schoolhouse. So little by little I learned English, but it took a long time before I learned the better part of it.2 For writing we had slates with a thin piece of slate for a pen. It was a stick of the same sort of material as slate but not as hard as the writing slate. You copied down every letter or figure or whatever on the slate, formed the way they put them on the blackboard with chalk. When this was looked over and

8

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

challe, nuair a bha seo air a rannsachadh agus air a cheartachadh na air a ghabhail a nuil gu robh e ceart mar a bha e, dh' fhaodadh sibh sin a shuathadh far na sgliat: drapan do dh'uisge a chuir oirre agus a suathadh le bréid agus bha i deiseil airson tóiseachadh air a' chuid eile. Agus bha 'n gnothach a' dol gu sámhchair anns a' sgoil agus bha 'n fheadhainn nach robh anns a' bhuidhinn againn idir — canaidh sinn an fheadhainn a bha ann arn buidhinn a dhá 's a tri agus f eadhainn a bh' ann am buidhinn a sia 's a seachd - bha iad sin a' toirt an aire air obair shocair air na sgliatan agus bha iad air ionnsachadh rud agus bha iad socair, sámhach. Cha robh a h-uile ban-sgoilear a bhiodh 'gar teagasg 'gar cuir thro 'n obair seo. Bha f eadhainn dhiubh nach robh gabhail uibhir seo do chúram dhinn. Ach tha mi dol air an fheadhainn as fheárr agus 's e an t-aobhar a th' agam air a dhol a' sin, gu bheil mi smaointinn nuair a thána mi gu aois gum b' e seo bean-teagaisg sgoile a b'fheárr a chunnaic mise na a chuala mi mu dheoghainn idir. Bhithinn glé thric a' smaointinn 's a' meórachadh air na dóigheannan sónraichte a bh' aice airson 's gun cuireadh i fóghlum 'nar cinn, cho cruaidh 's gu robh an t-slige. Agus cómhla ris a h-uile rud eile cha bhiodh támh mionaid idir idir air an té sin. Nuair a thigeadh an t-earrach bhite cuir ceist air gach h-aon dhe na h-oileanaich: "An cuala a h-aon agaibh losgann a' ceileireadh fhathast?" agus cha ghluaiseadh neach ach ann an ceann ma dh'fhaoidte latha neo dhá as a dheaghaidh sin, "An cuala a h-aon agaibh losgann a' ceileireadh fhathast?" Thogadh neach neo dhá a lámh agus bha ainm an oileanaich sin air a chuir sios air an fhéillir' bha féillir' air a' bhalla - neo bha i 'ga chuir 'sa leabhar co-dhiubh; bha i cumail cunntais air cuine chuala tu losgann. Rachadh fhoighneachd latha eile "Có chunnaic nathair?" A' cheud neach a chunnaic nathair fhathast, thogadh an neach a bha sin a lámh 's chaidh a' cunntais a chuir sios air a' sin. Agus airson eóin, cha robh eun a bha muncuairt ach "Có chunnaic smeórach?" 's "Có chunnaic dealan-dé?" Agus airson a bhith bruidhinn air eóinteinean na a h-uile dithein beag a bha fas air feadh na machair (na) na coilleadh 's a h-uile h-áite a bh' ann agus flúrs na Máighe agus gach sian a bha sin, bha iad 'gan trusadh sin dh'ionnsaidh na sgoil a h-uile latha agus bha iad 'gam faotainn. Agus ma fhuair duine nead eóin sam bith mas do dhúin a' sgoil bha sin sónraichte. Bha a h-uile sian riamh ri chumail suas. Bha i 'gan cumail suas ri dóigheannan an t-saoghail mun cuairt dhinn gu sónraichte 's tha mi smaointinn gum b'e sin dóigh teagaisg clann cho math 's a chaidh riamh a chuir air adhart. Nuair a chaidh mise dhá 'n sgoil faodaidh mi a ghrádh gu robh a' Gháidhlig cho math ri bhith air a bacadh ann: cha robh i ri bhith 'ga

9

The World of the Story-Teller

corrected or accepted as correct you could erase it from the slate: you put a little drop of water on it and wiped it off with a rag and it was ready for the next part. And things would become silent in the one-room schoolhouse and those who were not in our own class - say those in grades two or three and those in grades six and seven - were concentrating, quietly working on their slates and they would stay quiet and orderly at their study. Not every schoolmistress who taught us would put us through this kind of work. There were some who did not attend to us that much. But here I'll mention the best of them, and the reason is that I realized when I came of age that there was one schoolmistress who was the best I ever saw or heard of. I used to think very often and reflect ^»n the various ways that she had of driving some education into our heads, however hard the shell. In additon to everything else, that teacher was never, never still. When spring came she used to ask each pupil, "Have you heard a frog croaking yet?" And nobody would move, but after perhaps a day or two, "Have any of you heard a frog croaking yet?" And one or two would raise a hand that pupil's name was put down on the calendar - there was a calendar on the wall — or else she would put it in the book; she would keep track of when you heard a frog. Another day we would be asked, "Who has seen a snake?" The first person who had seen a snake then would raise his hand and that was noted down. And as far as birds were concerned, there was not a bird around but (she would ask), "Who saw a robin?" and "Who saw a butterfly?" As for daisies and all the small flowers that grew in the meadows or the woods and everywhere else, as well as mayflowers and the like, the children used to gather them and bring them to school every day they could find them. If somebody found a bird's nest before the school closed, that was a special event. Every single thing had to be observed and maintained. She was keeping us aware of the ways of the world around us in a special way and I feel that was as good a way to teach children as any ever practised. When I went to school I can say that Gaelic was as good as forbidden there; we were not allowed to use it at all except

10

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

cleachdadh againn idir ach amuigh. Nuair a bhitheamaid a' cluich amuigh air feadh achadh na cluich bhitheamaid a' bruidhinn na Gáidhlig ri chéile 's cha robh dóigh air ar ceannsachadh aig an am sin idir. Dh'meumainn-sa bruidhinn ri cuideiginn ann an Gáidhlig air neo cha bhruidhninn idir; agus dh'fheumadh cuideiginn bruidhinn rium ann an Gáidhlig air neo cha bhiodh fhios agam gu robh iad a' bruidhinn rium fhin. Ach tha cuimhn' agam a' latha a lean an cu dh'ionnsaidh an taigh sgoil mi 's cha robh mi ach glé óg as an am. Agus thuigeadh a' bhan-sgoilear a bh' againn — an té bha teagasg sgoil ; san am sin - thuigeadh i Gáidhlig: bha beagan fhaclan aice cuideachd do Gháidhlig. Ach chaidh an cu astaigh dha 'n taigh sgoil agus bha e 'gam leantail fhéin astaigh agus thóisicheadh air an cu a chuir amach as a' sgoil. Agus thuirt fear dhe na gillean "Amach thu!" neo "Cuir amach e". Agus tha mi smaointinn air réir nam beagan fhaclan a dheanainn seórsa do thuigsinn air do Bheurla gun deachaidh a bhruidhinn ris - a bhacail - airson Gáidhlig a bhruidhinn. Sin a thuig mise dhe 'n ghnothach a bh' ann co-dhiubh. Ach cha deachaidh dochann na casg na sian a dheanamh oirnn riamh amach aig an taigh sgoil airson guth Gáidhlig a bhruidhinn. Tha fios gum bitheamaid aig amannan ri seanachas 'nar measg fhéin amach ged a bha cuid mhór do Bheurla feuchainn ri cuir air adhart. Agus b'e sin cor na Gáidhlig. Agus tha mi cinnteach airson cho beag ;s a bha a' dol-air-'n-aghaidh amach nach biodh an córr ann air a' chluich a bh' againn mu chuairt a' dol amach mun sgoil. Tha mi cinnteach aig an am seo gura h-fheudar dhomh innse dhuibh airson dearbhadh a thoirt gu robh mi fhin car gann ann an cuimhne nuair a bha mi dol dha 'n sgoil. Cha deachaidh mi as an úine bheag a bha mi dol ann ach dh'ionnsaidh an cóigeamh leabhar agus cha robh mi ach air m'árdachadh thuige sin fhéin aig deireadh na bliadhna bha sin agus chaidh mi beagan sheachdainnean ann air an ath-teárma sgoil agus mi anns a' chóigeamh leabhar a bha sin a' tóiseachadh. Ach an ceann mu mhios gu leth na 'n uibhir sin dh'fhág mi 'n sgoil agus cha deachaidh mise air ais dha 'n taigh sgoil airson fóghlum fhaighinn tuilleadh. Agus b'fheudar dhomh a bhith taghadh air beag air bheag air feadh an t-saoghail. Ach thug mi fo near a' sin gu robh feadhainn aosda ann a bha fuathasach fóghluamichte soilleir agus gun iad comasach air leubhadh na sgriobhadh; ach 's e an cuimhn' a bh' acá air gnothaichean a bha 'gan toirt air 'n aghaidh. Agus rinn mi dicheall an uair sin feuch am faighinn fhin gum fásainn car beag cuimhneach. Agus sin mar a fhuair mi gu bhith cuimseach cuimhneach air gnothaichean mar a bha tachairt. Chaidh mi thro shaoghal cumanta gu leór, tha mi cinnteach, mar a bha ógradh na dúthchadh as an am, ach bho nach robh balach neo

11

The World of the Story-Teller

outside. When we were playing in the playground we used to speak Gaelic together, and there was no way on earth to control us then. I had to speak to somebody in Gaelic or I couldn't talk at all; and somebody had to speak to me in Gaelic or I wouldn't know that they were addressing me. But I remember the day that the dog followed me to the schoolhouse when I was only very young. The schoolmistress who was teaching us at the time could understand Gaelic; she spoke a few words of the language too. But the dog entered the schoolhouse after me, and people began to try to put the dog out of the school. And one of the young boys said in Gaelic, "Out you go!" or "Put him out." And I believe from the few words of English that I was able to understand vaguely, that the lad was spoken to - was censured - for speaking Gaelic. That's what I understood from it anyway. But we suffered no punishment or restraints or anything for speaking Gaelic outside the schoolhouse. To be sure, we would sometimes speak it among ourselves outside although a lot of English was being promoted. And that was the situation of Gaelic; I am sure that with the insignificant activity going on outside the classroom nothing more was said about the games we played around the school.3 I think it would be in order now to make clear how poor my memory was when I went to school. In the short time that I did attend, I barely got as far as the fifth book and I was only promoted to that at the end of the year. I attended for a few weeks into the next school term and was beginning on the fifth book. But after a month and a half or so I left school and didn't return again for instruction. And soon I had to start making my choices little by little through the world. But I became aware around that time that there were older people who were extremely precise and learned without being able to read or write; and that their memory of things was what had brought them so far. I made a great effort then to see if I could develop a retentive memory, and that was how I came by an ability to recall events. My own experience was ordinary enough, I feel, similar to that of the other young country people at the time, but since there were no young lads or girls at home except myself I used

12

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

nighean as an taigh ach mi fhin bhithinn mar bu trice cuide ris an t-seannchuideachd. Agus nuair a thigeadh feadhainn air chéilidh bhithinn a' faighinn barrachd spéis, tha mi cinnteach, as an cómhradh 's as an dol-air-'n-aghaidh. Nuair a bhiodh feadhainn óga, dithist na triúir na ceathrar dhiubh cómhla, bhiodh iad air an cuideachd fhéin barrachd agus ri fearas-chuideachd dhaibh p-fhéin. Ach cha b' ann mar sin a bha dhomhsa ach a bhith cómhla ris a' chuideachd a b'aosda agus 's ann as an dóigh sin a fhuair mi mór-spéis dhe 'n t-seannchuideachd agus bha mi spéiseil air na naidheachdan 's air an cuid seanachais. Cha robh daoine sónraichte na áraid 'gan cuireadh gu céilidh 's cha robh acá ri duais doruis a pháidheadh airson faighinn astaigh gu céilidh: ach bhathar a7 deanamh toileachadh riu nuair a thigeadh iad air chéilidh agus bha iad a7 faighinn fáilt is furan. Agus bu choingeis có thigeadh air chéilidh; co-dhiubh thigeadh aon neach na thigeadh áireamh dhiubh. Ged a thigeadh sianar neo ged a thigeadh ochdnar neo córr air a' sin b' e 'n aon toileachadh a bha iad a' faighinn. Agus 's e a' cheud ni a bha air a foighneachd do neach nuair a thigeadh e dh' ionnsaidh an taighe gu dé mar a bha e agus gu dé mar a bha a chuideachd. Agus ;s e an ath ni a bha air a foighneachd dheth, a robh úrachadh sgeul aige - bu trie a chanadh iad "Bheil úrachadh agad?" neo "Bheil guth as úr agad?" — agus bha na naidheachdan a' falbh mu chuairt mar sin. Tha 'n diugh againn, tha gnothaichean car ealamh agus furasda. Tha paipear-naidheachd laitheil againn agus tha an cagar-céin againn agus tha an inneal sin feairt-dealain ris an can iad an televisión againn an diugh. Agus tha 'n uidheam eile - agus tha mi smaointinn gun canadh iad ann am fior-Gháidhlig 'craolan' ris ach 's e radio a bheirte ris as an am seo co-dhiubh. Agus bha an céilidh ;na am fhéin air an dúthaich, air réir cor na dúthchadh, bha e iomchaidh agus bha e freagarrach agus bha e deanamh 'na dhóigh fhéin na tha na nithean seo a dh'ainmich mi a' deanamh an diugh agus barrachd. Canaidh sinn barrachd ged nach robh e 'gan deanamh cho ealamh. Gheobh sinn an diugh anns a' phaipear laitheil úirsgeul: gheobh sinn na naidheachdan ann air mar a tha cor an t-saoghail. Ach gheobh sinn ma dh'fhaoidte barrachd leudachadh - barrachd astar - ann 's a bha ri faotainn air a' chéilidh. Ach 's e na h-aon nithean a th' ann a bh' anns a' chéilidh ann an tomhas ma dh'fhaoidte na bu lugha; agus bhite naidheachdan agus sgeul na tir' mu chuairt uileadh 'ga thoirt seachad. Bha cunntais ann air pósadh 's air bainnsean 's air breith agus bás agus iomadh nithean dha 'n ghné sin: bhiodh an sgeul as a robh an toileachadh agus an sgeul as a robh am brón mar a gheobhar iad an diugh anns a' phaipear-naidheachd.

13

The World of the Story-Teller

to spend most of my time in the company of older people. When people would come for a house-visit I would show more interest than most, I believe, in their conversations and goings-on. When young people, two or three or four of them, were together they would spend more time in their own company and socialize more among themselves. But that was not the way it was for me; instead I frequented the older people. In that way I developed a great attachment to them and was attentive to their conversation and stories. No people in particular were invited to a house-visit, nor were people expected to pay admission to go to one; but they were happily welcomed when they came to visit and were extended hospitality.4 It didn't matter who came to visit, whether it was one person or a number of people. Whether six or eight or more came they would receive the same warm reception. And the first thing a person was asked when he came to the house was how he and his family were. And the next thing that he was asked was if there was anything new. People often used the expressions, "Is there any recent news?" or "Is there anything new?" And that's how news was circulated. Today things are fast and easy for us. We have the daily newspaper and the telephone and the electronic gadget known as television as well as the other one - I'm sure in real Gaelic it would be called craolan but, these days at least, it is always called the radio in Gaelic. In the countryside in its own place and time, the ceilidh or house-visit was a fitting and suitable thing, and in its own way it accomplished things that the various electronic gadgets do today and more. Yes, we can say more, although it didn't act so swiftly. These days we get news in the newspapers; we get the news about the world situation. We get a little more breadth - more scope - than the old fashioned house-visit could supply, but the house-visit offered the same things, perhaps on a smaller scale: all the bits of news and the various stories from the surrounding area were told. There was talk of marriage and weddings and births and deaths and many such things; there were stories of gladness and stories of sorrow, just as we find them today in the newspapers.

14

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

Agus 's fheudar dhomh a nist beagan innse air a' chagar-céin, neo mar a thuigeas cuideachd an diugh, telephone. Tha a' ghné sin fhéin gábhaidh furasda, freagarrach agus ealamh agus tha i gu math feumail an diugh do mhuinntir gu h-áraid amach air an dúthaich far a bheil an t-astar acá ri falbh. Ach as an airnsir a bha seo, bha an céilidh a' gabhail a h-áite. Gheobhadh sibh amach gu dé mar a bha cúisean a' dol: a robh an gobhainn aig saod agus an d'fhuair an ceannaiche astaigh luchd bathair a bha e faotainn air a' bháta? Bha am bata smúideadh a' toirt nan gnothaichean a dh'ionnsaidh a' mharsanta: a' toirt thuige na ceannachd dh'ionnsaidh na laimhrig. Agus bhite foighneachd an d'fhuair e astaigh cuid a' gheamhraidh fhathast mar a bha flúr is min agus ceannachd mar sin a bhiodh e faotainn airson a' gheamhraidh a bhiodh aige do mhuinntir na dúthchadh nuair a thigeadh an Dúbhlachd. Agus bhiodh iad a' foighneachd dh'a chéile an tánaig am bata dha 'n laimhrig fhathast airson 's gu rachadh iad a dh'iarraidh nithean a bha dhith orra. Agus bhite a' foighneachd an do thóisich am muillear air bleith gráin neo 'n do thóisich e air cárdadh neo a robh e réidh do bhleith a' ghráin, agus mar sin. Agus gu ruige 's gum biodh iad a' toirt seachad cunntaisean air gnothaichean bhiodh iad ag innse gu robh flúr fior mhath aig Murchadh Ceannaiche aig an am seo agus bhite cho toilichte seo fhaighinn amach. Bhiodh amannan ann nach robh e air a chunntais gu robh a h-uile flúr a bha tighinn dh'ionnsaidh nam búthan cho math. 'S bhiodh iad a' seanachas cuideachd mu dheidhinn an aodach ghábhaidh ghrinn a bh' aig a leithid seo a mharsanta: 's e bhiodh math airson deiseachan - ció dhe 'n chuid a b' fheárr na aodach math. Agus bhite a' bruidhinn air anartan 's air drógaid is calicó 's na nithean a bha sin. Bhiodh sin as an t-seann chéilidh gu math trie. Agus an fheadhainn a bha iad a' tachairt riu nuair a bha iad a' dol dha 'n mhuileann neo nuair a bha iad a' dol dha 'n cheárdaich na a' dol dh'ionnsaidh áite a' mharsanta, na ge b'e c' áite an ceann-turuis air am biodh iad a' dol; bha iad a' faighinn moran do sgeul air am falbh neo air an tighinn agus bha seo air a riarachadh mun cuairt airson 's gun cumte suas iad air gach dóigh. Nuair a thánaig iasg sónraichte astaigh ann an abhainn bha fios air a' seo bho am gu am bho mhuinntir na céilidh agus bha iad fior mhath gus a bhith a' toirt nan naidheachd mun cuairt. Tha mi creidsinn gu faodadh feadhainn a bhith ann a bhiodh beagan an tuilleadh 's a chórr acá ri ghrádh mu dheoghainn rudan ach ann am bitheantas bha iad fior mhath as an am gus an aire thoirt mar an tuirt iad air an gnothach fhéin. Cha bhiodh iad ri moran do sheanachas - mar a bheireamaid smodal - 'ga tharraing eadar

15

The World of the Story-Teller

But perhaps now I should start with the telephone, as it is called today. Such a thing is extremely easy to use, swift, suitable and quite useful today to people, especially to those living out in the countryside some distance apart. But in times past the house-visit fulfilled its function. You could find out what was happening: whether the smith was active and whether the merchant had received the load of goods he expected from the boat. The steamboat used to bring wares to the merchant, delivering his merchandise to the pier. And people would ask whether he had his winter stock yet of such things as flour and meal - the kind of winter merchandise that was brought in to be sold to the country people when the coldest season came. They would ask one another whether the boat had come to the wharf yet so that they could go down to fetch the things that they required. People also would ask whether the miller had begun to grind the grain, whether he had begun carding or whether he finished grinding, and so on. Just as they gave out information about events they might also mention that there was extremely good flour at the merchant Murdock's place and people would be very happy to find out that kind of thing. There would be times when not all the flour coming to the stores was considered good. And they would also describe the wonderful, fine cloth that such and such a merchant was carrying; it would be good for suits, tweed of the very best quality or good cloth. And they used to discuss the linen and the thick drugget cloth and calico and so on. That subject was discussed very often in the old gatherings. People would mention those they had met as they went to the mill or the blacksmith's or the merchant's. Whatever their destination, they would pick up a lot of news on their way down and back, and this was shared so that people were kept informed in every way. When a certain fish started coming up the river people would know about it from time to time from the social gatherings, where people were extremely good about circulating news.5 To be sure there may have been a few with a little too much to say concerning various things, but generally folk were good in those times about minding their own business. There was not much idle talk - what we would

16

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

thaighean; cha robh a leithid sin fo near do mhór-chuid dhiubh idir. Ach co-dhiubh 's fheudar dhomh a nist leigeil leis cuid a'chagairchéin dheth agus feumaidh sinn a dhol sios gu cuid an dithist eile mar a bha a' sealladh-dealain agus an craolan, neo mar a thogras iad 'sa Bheurla, televisión agus radio. Gheobh iad a h-uile sian air an da inneal sin an diugh; gheobh iad ceól agus naidheachd is rudan dha 'n ghné sin. Ach gheobhadh iad as an aimsir ud fearas-chuideachd a bha grinn. Bha feadhainn ann a bha math gu seinn órain agus feadhainn ann a bha math gu aithris dhuain agus feadhainn a bha ñor mhath gu sgeulachdan. Agus bha cuid dhiubh bha math gu cluich ceól agus bha cuid dhiubh math gu dannsa. Agus bha fearas-chuideachd acá a bha cho math 's a ghabhadh a bhith ann, tha mi 'n dúil. Agus thuirt mi cheana gum faigheadh iad a h-uile sian a tha na gnothaichean seo a th' againn an diugh a' toirt dhaibh agus córr. Agus 'nam bharail-sa 's e 'n córr a bh' ann, nuair a bha sibh ag éisdeachd ris an fheadhainn a bha toirt dhuibh a' fearas-chuideachd seo co-dhiubh 's e cluich na seinn na rannan a bha iad a' gabhail neo órain na bha iad a' deanamh dannsa a bha sibh a' faicinn bha sibh cómhla riu beó anns an fheóil agus bha sibh a' gabhail páirt anns a; ghnothach. Dh'fhaodadh sibh a bhith a; seanachas riu fhéin agus ged a bhiodh sibh a' seanachas ris na h-uidheamannan a dh' ainmich mi, cha fhreagair iad sibh. Agus bha 'n toileachadh sin ann - bha 'n aonachd. Tha mi'n dúil gu robh iad aonaichte. Bha iad aonaichte 'nam feóil agus 'nan spiorad. Agus an uair sin bha fialachd a' tighinn an áirde a bhuineadh dha 'n chéilidh, agus tha sin ri faotainn co-dhiubh amach air an düthaich. An fhialachd a bha seo, bha i air a cleachdadh gum feumte biadh rudeiginn beag - a thoirt dha 'n luchd-tadhail. Dh'fheumte aig amannan drama thoirt dhaibh ma bha e pailt, neo co-dhiubh co-dhiubh bheirte dhaibh deoch do bhainne neo deoch do bhláthaich, agus bu trie a thoirte dhaibh an tea. Agus bhiodh biadh beag air choireiginn co-dhiubh - a bheag na mhór gum biodh ann, bha iad 'ga thoirt sin seachad. Agus tha e coltach air réir mar a bha cüisean 'nam bheachd fhéin ged nach biodh an gnothach ach gann gu robh daoine a' smaointinn gu robh 'm pailteas ann agus bha mór-thoileachadh acá as uile gu léir. Agus bheir mi fhathast gu robh an céilidh math airson aonachadh nan daoine airson an cumail ann an toileachadh agus gu robh e 'gan cumail dlúth dha chéile ann an cáirdeas agus 'nam feóil agus 'nan spiorad, agus gura h-e cali mor a bh' ann 'na mo bheachd-sa agus 'nam bharail gun deachaidh uibhir dheth a dhith: gu bheil e air fas cho gann.

17

The World of the Story-Teller

term gossip - going between houses; most people had no interest in that at all.6 But perhaps now I should leave the telephone and pass on to the other two devices known in English as radio and television. Today everything is available on these two devices - music and news and so on — but in those days the people had entertainment that was really fine. There were those who excelled at singing songs and people who excelled at reciting poems and people who were outstanding story-tellers as well as those who were good musicians and dancers. So they had what I consider to be the very best of entertainment. I mentioned before that they used to have everything that these electronic devices supply us with today and more. And in my view the extra was that when you were listening to the people who were entertaining you there - whether it was playing music or singing or rhymes that they were reciting or songs, or whether they were doing a dance for you to watch - you were alive with them there in the flesh and participating in the whole event. You could talk to them right there, but if you ever chose to address the gadgets that I mentioned they could never answer you. So there was that pleasure and a sense of unity. I think that people felt very united, united physically and united in spirit. And then there was the generous hospitality as a part of the gatherings, which can still be found today, at least in the countryside. This code of hospitality dictated that food something small - must be given to visitors. On some occasions they were to be given a dram, if it was plentiful, or at the very least they were given a drink of milk or buttermilk, and frequently tea. But some small meal was given to them whether large or small it was offered. It seems from the way things were then as I saw them, that even in times of scarcity people felt that there was an abundance and they all derived full enjoyment from whatever there was. And I still maintain that the house-visits were good for bringing people together and keeping them happy and that they kept them close to each other and in harmony physically and spiritually; I see it as a great loss that so much of this has declined and grown so rare.

18

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

Bha f ear Eachann Mac 'Illemhaoil thall. Bhiodh e tighinn air chéilidh oirnn sios dh'ionnsaidh a' Rudha Mheadhonach glé thric agus leubhadh esan a' Gháidhlig. Agus nam biodh bideag do phaipear as a robh beagan do Gháidhlig mu chuairt bhite 'ga gléidheadh gun tigeadh e. Agus bhuail e 'nam inntinne fhéin gum bu toil leam tóiseachadh air leubhadh Gáidhlig as an am a bha sin. Agus fhuair mi leth-bhreac dha 'n Mhac-Talla, seann phaipear a bha air a dhol á clo-bhualadh ro 'm am-sa ach fhathast bha naidheachdan is gnothaichean annta. Agus 's e na sanaisean a bh' aig na marsantan bathar a bhiodh iad ag reic mar a bha 'm bathar cruaidh 's ílúr 's min 's tea agus deiseachan ;s gnothaichean dhe 'n t-seórsa sin. 'S chaidh mi 'n sin air 'n aghaidh beag air bheag. Agus bha fhios gu robh barail agam gu dé bu chóir dha na marsantan seo a bhith reic agus uime sin bha mi tuigsinn 's bha mi tighinn air 'n aghaidh le leubhadh o chionn bha a' Gháidhlig agam mar chainnt. Agus fhuair mi leth-bhreac do Shár-Obair nam Bard. Bhithinn a' feuchainn ri sin a leubhadh agus bha 'n gnothach gu math doirbh. Bha cuid mhór do dh'fhaclan ann a bha gu math fada fos mo chionn duilich faighinn timcheall orra. Fhuair mi iasad do Chlársach na Coille agus bhithinn a' feuchainn ri órain a leubhadh as a' sin. 'S bha cuid dhe na h-órain a bha mi air a chluinntinn agus air ionnsachadh 'gan cluinntinn bho bheul-aithris agus thug sin cuideachadh mor dhomh. Bha paipear air a chlo-bhualadh ann am Baile Shudni aig an am ris an canadh iad Teachdaire nan Gáidheal 's bhithinn a; faighinn leth-bhreac dheth sin bho charaide dhomh a bh' anns an tir 's e fhéin an deaghaidh togail gu leubhadh Gáidhlig. Agus bha e ñor dhicheallach gu leubhadh Gáidhlig ged nach robh Gáidhlig aige 'na óige. 'S e fear Seumas Mac a' Ghobha a bh' ann 's rinn e fhéin oidhearp ghábhaidh air leubhadh 's air sgriobhadh na Gáidhlig. Agus bhithinn suas bho 'n am sin a' faighinn iasad do leabhraichean 's a h-uile Gáidhlig a bhiodh air a clo-bhualadh ann am paipearan mar a bha an Casket a bha iad a' clo-bhualadh an Antigonish. Bhiodh iomaire ann ris an canadh iad "Achadh nan Gáidheal" agus 's e órain bu trice bhiodh ann na seanachas beag na litrichean a bhite cuir thuca 's a leithidean sin. Agus thánaig an seanachas-phaipear a bha iad a' clo-bhualadh an Sudni am Post amach, 's bhiodh roinn bheag do Gháidhlig anns an fhear sin uair 'san t-seachdain. Agus leis a h-uile sian a thánaig amach bha mi cumail suas ris a' Gháidhlig. 'S neo-arthaing as a dheaghaidh sin nach robh mi faighinn gu leabhraichean, agus mu dheireadh fhuair mi briathradair airson gum faighinn a h-uile facal a bhiodh cha mhór uile dhith orín. Agus sin agaibh mar a fhuair mise tóiseachadh agus dhol air adhart le leubhadh na Gáidhlig.

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The World of the Story-Teller

There was one man living further on by the name of Hector MacMullin.7 He used to come to visit us in Middle Cape very frequently and could read Gaelic. If there was a piece of paper with a little bit of Gaelic around we used to keep that until he came. And it occurred to me about that time that I would like to begin to read Gaelic. So I got a copy of Mac-Talla, an old paper which had gone out of print before my time but contained stories and various items.8 But it was the ads from the merchants - merchandise that they were selling like hardware and flour and meal and tea and suits and things of that kind - that (helped) my progress bit by bit. Of course I had some idea what merchants should be selling and thanks to that I was able to understand and make some progress with reading, because I spoke Gaelic as my first language. I also came by a copy of Sdr-Obair nam Bard.9 I used to try to read it but I found it very difficult. There were a large number of words there which were far beyond me - hard to get around. I got a loan of Cldrsach na Coille and used to try to read the songs from it; some of the songs I had heard before and learned from hearing them passed on orally and that was a great help to me.10 There was also a paper printed in Sydney at that time called Teachdaiie nan Gdidheal and I used to get a copy of that from a friend in the area who himself had begun to read Gaelic; he was extremely diligent in his efforts although he didn't speak Gaelic in his early childhood.11 His name was James Smith and he made a remarkable effort to read and write Gaelic. From that time on I used to get the loan of books and all the Gaelic that was printed in papers such as the Casket, published in Antigonish.12 There was a section there called Achadh nan Gdidheal, which consisted mostly of songs or a short story or letters sent to them and so on. And the newspaper that they printed in Sydney - the Post - used to come out and there was a little bit of Gaelic in it once each week. And with everything that appeared I managed to keep up with Gaelic. After that I eagerly graduated to books and finally I got a dictionary so that I could find nearly all the words I was looking for. And that is how I was able to start and make some headway in reading Gaelic.

20

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

Ach co-dhiubh cha robh mi ach glé óg nuair a b'fheudar dhomh tóiseachadh air mo chosnadh - mo chosnadh cruaidh. Bhiomaid ag obair gu math trang agus gu math cruaidh nuair a rachamaid gu tuathanach a dheanamh beagan cosnadh agus 's e tuarasdal glé bheag a bhiodh againn. Tha mi cinnteach gun do dh'obraich mi lathaichean a bha gu math cruaidh air tuarasdal cho beag ri deich centaichean 'san uair agus cuid na bu lugha na sin. Agus nuair a rana mi suas gu bhith mu chóig bliadhn' deug a dh'aois - sia bliadhn' deug a dh'aois - bha mi ri beagan tuathanachas ach 's e obair a bha mi coma dheth riamh a bh' as an tuathanachas 's tha mi coma dheth fhathast. Agus thóisich mi air feuchainn ri bhith togail beagan do chiúirdean air choireiginn: bhithinn ri beagan saoirsneachd. Agus o, bhithinn ri obair chruaidh cómhla ris na tuathanaich air na bailtean cuideachd, mar a bhiodh spealadh feóir 's mireachadh feóir agus cuir gran fo dhion 's a leithidean sin. Ach nuair a thóisich mi air beagan do shaoirsneachd a dheanamh chaidh an tuathanachas air chalí buileach agus cha robh mi diombach. Thug mi greis dha 'n üine ag obair mun cuairt air innleachd nan carbadan ola; dheanainn beagan do dh'obair 'nam innleadair agus as a dheaghaidh sin ri beagan do shaoirsneachd agus ri beagan do chuir astaigh gnothaichean airson feairt-dealain neo electricity anns na taighean: cüisean nan soluist. Agus lean mi suas ris an obair sin. Cha deachaidh mi riamh a dh'obair gu cuideachd mhór sam bith mar a bhiodh cuideachd aig obair iaruinn na aig meinneadaireachd guail na aig obair mhór ann a' fiodh na coilleadh na aig cuideachd sam bith ach gum bithinn ri sábhadh fiodh do dh'fheadhainn; ach cha robh mi ach air m' fhasdadh aig aon duine. Agus sin mar a chosg mi mo chuid úine. Tha mi a nist an aois nach eil mi deanamh moran do dh'obair ach gum bi mi ri beagan air m'urradh fhéin — ri beagan do shaoirsneachd agus do dh'obair mar sin. Agus sin mar a tha gnothaichean a' dol dhomh. Ach thánaig atharrachadh mor air a' Rudha Mheadhonach bho 'n a bha mise ann aig beagan do bhliadhnaichean a dh'aois. Bho 'n am a bha mi cóig na sia bhliadhnaichean 's a bha mo chuimhne gu math air mar a bha cúisean a' dol thánaig mór-atharrachadh air as an aimsir sin. Cha n-eil áiteachd idir 'ga dheanamh ann: cha n-eil tuathanachas 'ga dheanamh idir aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach an diugh ged a bha iad a' deanamh cuid mhath do thuathanachas ann nuair a bha mise 'nam óige. Agus cha n-eil cus fuireach ann. Cha n-eil ann ach aon teaghlach an diugh aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach dhe na bh' ann as an t-seann aimsir. Thánaig feadhainn eile ann 's bha iad a' togail taighean ann 's bha iad a' fuireach ann agus bha iad ag obair aig na h-obraichean iaruinn agus iasgach 's na leithidean sin. Agus sin agaibh mar a chaidh do ghnothaichean aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach.

21

The World of the Story-Teller

I was young when I had to start working - working hard for a living. We were kept busy working hard when we hired out to a farmer to make some money, and the wage that we got was very small indeed. I'm sure I worked some hard days for a wage as small as ten cents an hour and sometimes less than that. And when I reached the age of fifteen or sixteen I worked a little at farming, but that was a kind of work I always disliked and I still do to this day. So I began trying to learn a few skills; I used to work at carpentry. Although I still kept on initially working with the farmers on their holdings cutting hay and putting it in the mow and putting grain under a shelter and so on, when I began to do a little bit of carpentry the farming went by the board altogether and I wasn't sorry. I spent some time repairing cars; I did a little bit of work as a mechanic and after that back to the carpentry and occasionally installing electricity in houses - wiring for lights. And I continued on with that work. I never went to work for a big company such as the steel works or coal-mining or for a big project lumbering in the woods or for any big concern. Instead I used to saw lumber for people, hiring out to one man at a time. And that is how I passed my time. Now I have reached an age where I don't do much work at all except on my own time - a little bit of carpentry and such like. And that is how things stand for me now. A big change has come over Middle Cape since I was there at an early age; from the time that I was five or six and my memory was clear about the way things were, there have been changes. Today there is no farming at all, no agricultural activity at all at Middle Cape although they did a great deal of that when I was in my youth. There aren't many living there. There is only one family remaining at Middle Cape of those who lived there in the old days. Other people came there and built houses and lived there and worked at the steel-plant and at fishing and so on. And that is what happened at Middle Cape.

Sgeulachdan 'gan Aithris

Bha mi cluinntinn Sgeulachdan gu math bitheanta bho 'n a bha mi ; nam ghille óg; cha robh mi ach glé óg nuair a chuala mi bhith 'g innse sgeulachd. Tha mi cinnteach nach robh mi ach cho óg agus a bhiodh cuimhne agam - ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh cuimhne agam air nuair a bha mi mu cheithir bliadhna a dh'aois feadhainn a bhith 'g innse sgeulachd. Agus airson seinn nan oran, dh'fhaodadh cuimhne bhith agam air a7 sin bho 'n a thánaig cuimhne thugam: cha robh mi bliadhna idir a dh'aois nuair a bhithinn cluinntinn nan oran agus nam puirt-a-beul. Tha cuimhne agam gur e a7 cheud sgeulachd a chuala mi riamh 'ga h-aithris; 's e boireannach a bhiodh a' tadhal ann an taighean mun cuairt, ach 's i seo a ghabh a' sgeulachd agus b'e a' sgeulachd a tha cuimhne agam a ghabh i Biorachan Beag agus Biorachan Mor. Agus tha cuimhne agam air sgeulachd eile a chuala mi fear a' gabhail 's bha mi ;n uair sin mu thuairmeachd ma dh' fhaoidte cóig bliadhna a dh' aois agus co-dhiubh ghabh e da sgeulachd aig an dachaidh. Agus tha cuimhne agam air na Sgeulachdan tha sin a leubhadh ann a' leabhar áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean as a dheaghaidh sin, ma dh'fhaoidte córr is da fhichead an deaghaidh dhomh an cluinntinn an toiseach. Agus a bhith bruidhinn air an fheadhainn a bhiodh a' gabhail sgeulachd, bha am boireannach aig an cuala mi sgeulachd air Biorachan Beag is Biorachan Mor, 's e Anna NicNill a b' ainm dhi, agus cha b'urrainn dhomhsa a sloinneadh ro mhath mura h-e Nighean 'ic Ruairidh Bháin. Co-dhiubh, 's e boireannach nach do phós riamh a bh' innte. Bha e mar chleachdadh aig a' bhoireannach bhochd a bha seo a bhith falbh mu chuairt air feadh na sgireachd agus chuireadh i seachad greis dha 'n aimsir ann an taigh agus dheanadh i cuid mhath do dh' obair ann, mar a bha nigheadaireachd agus sgüradh agus nithean mar sin. O, dh' innseadh i Sgeulachdan beaga ach cha n-innseadh i Sgeulachdan nuair a thigeadh cuideachd air chéilidh idir; ach nuair a bhiodh i ann an taigh ma bha clann astaigh - ógradh dh'innseadh i Sgeulachdan beaga anns na taighean sin. Ach 's e na h-órain bu trice leatha. Cha robh oran a chaidh a dheanamh mu

Stories and Story-Tellers

I used to hear stories frequently from the time I was a young boy; I was quite young when I first heard stories being told. I am sure I was as young as I could be and still remember perhaps I might be able to remember back to when I was four years old and people were telling stories. And as far as singing songs goes, I could remember that from the time that memory came to me; I wasn't a year old when I used to hear songs and mouth-music. I remember the first story that I ever heard, told by a woman who used to visit around in the houses. She recited the story and the story I remember her telling was Bioiachan Beag agus Bioiachan Mor.11 remember another story I heard a man telling - I was then around five years old - actually he told two stories at the house. And I recall reading the same story in a book a good many years later, perhaps more than forty years after hearing it for the first time. As for the story-tellers, the woman from whom I heard Bioiachan Beag agus Biorachan Mor was called Anna MacNeil. I can't style her altogether accurately unless she was the daughter of Rory Ban's son; anyway she was a woman who never married. It was the poor woman's habit to circulate throughout the district, where she would spend time at various houses and do a good amount of work such as the washing and scrubbing and the like. She could tell short stories but she wouldn't tell them at all when company came to visit; but if she was at home with children - the young ones - she would tell little stories. But most often she preferred to sing songs. There wasn't a single song made locally throughout the whole countryside that she didn't know if she had heard it once, and there were a good number of songs made at the time in those parts. She would learn them

24

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

chuairt 's a chual' i idir air feadh na düthchadh gu léir ... agus bha cuid mhath air an deanamh anns an aimsir sin do dh'órain air feadh nan ceárna sin. Agus bha i 'gan ionnsachadh agus 'gan seinn anns na taighean agus bha cuid ann bliadhnaichean an deaghaidh bás a' bhoireannaich bhochd sin a bhiodh a' seinn órain agus chanadh iad gura h-ann aig Anna a chuaP iad na h-órain agus gura h-ann aice fhéin a bha an co-chruinneachadh do dh'órain. 'S sin mar a bhiodh na seann bhoireannaich ghasda bha siubhal na düthchadh a bhith toirt fearas-chuideachd agus toileachadh dha na daoine. Cha robh iad a' faireachdainn doirbh am beathachadh sin ann. Ged a bha 'n gnothach uaireannan gann bha pailteas ann; bha iad daonnan toirt pailteas do bhiadh agus do dh'fhasgadh 's do bhláthas dhaibh. Agus sin mar a bha 'n saoghal toilichte a' dol. Bha cuid ann do dh'fheadhainn a bha sónraichte gu sgeulachdan nach eil cuimhne agam idir orra. Agus nuair a bhitheamaid air chéilidh agus a' seanachas thigeadh a' seanachas gu bhith bruidhinn air feadhainn a bha math gu aithris sgeulachd. Agus tha mi 'n düil 'nam measg gu robh fear ris an canadh iad Dómhnall Bán air a chunntais air fear cho math 's a bha idir 'san tir airson innse sgeulachd. Agus bha fear eile ann - chunna mi 'n duine bha sin; tha cuimhne agam air an duine sin fhaicinn ach cha robh mi riamh 'na sheanachas agus cha chuala mi e 'g innse sgeulachd ach gum faca mi 'n duine caochladh uaireannan agus bha mi eólach air cuid dha 'n teaghlach. 'S e Micheal Dómhnallach (Micheal lain Bháin na Banndraich) a theirte ris an duine bha seo agus bha e fhéin air a chunntais aig an fheadhainn a bha eólach air sgeulachdan a chluinntinn air a bhith glé mhath. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach robh e cho math ri Dómhnall Bán MacNill a bha seo, agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh, ach gum bitheadh esan air a chunntais co-dhiubh anns an t-sreath córnhla ris an fheadhainn a bha ñor mhath. 'S ann nuair a thigeadh daoine gu na taighean a bha na sgeulachdan air an cleachdadh, agus bhiodh seórsa do bhrosnachadh as a' chüis. Thóisichte air seanachas beag an toiseach 's air foighneachd mu dheidhinn dol anns a' sgireachd mu chuairt agus a robh üirsgeul na sian ann. Rachadh an uair sin ma dh'fhaoidte fhoighneachd do chuideiginn dhe na bh' ann am biodh e gabhail sgeulachd fhathast. Agus dh'aidicheadh an neach a bh' ann gu robh beagan, agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh iad air chéilidh ann an taigh fear dha na sgeulaichean mora: fear dha 'n fheadhainn a bha na sgeulachdan troma aige. Agus mar a thuirt an seanfhacal, ''Cha n-ann a h-uile latha a bhios mód aig Mac-an-Tóisich." Agus bha seanfhacal eile air a sheanachas ann: "Cha n-ann a h-uile latha

25

The World of the Story-Teller

and sing them in the homes, and many years after the poor woman's death when people were singing songs they would say that they had heard them from Anna and that she had a marvellous repertoire. And that was the way with the wonderful old women who used to wander through the countryside giving entertainment and pleasure to people. People didn't find it a burden at all to feed them. Although there was scarcity at times, there was plenty to go around; people always gave them food and shelter and warmth. And that was the way in that contented world.2 There were some outstanding story-tellers that I don't remember at all. When we were out visiting the conversation would turn to good story-tellers, and I think one was called Donald Ban who was considered as good a story-teller as lived in the country. There was another story-teller whom I sawT; I never talked to him or heard him telling stories, but I did see him on various occasions and I knew some of his family. The man's name was Michael MacDonald (Micheal Iain Bhain na Banndraich], and he was considered by people who knew about story-telling to be extremely accomplished. Perhaps he was not as good as Donald Ban MacNeil mentioned above, and perhaps he was, but he was considered to be among the extremely accomplished story-tellers. Long tales were most often recited on occasions when people called in at the houses and there was some encouragement. People would make small conversation at first, inquiring about happenings in the vicinity and whether there was any news. Perhaps someone there would then be asked whether he could still recite a story, and the person would admit that he still told a few; or perhaps people might be visiting at the house of one of the great story-tellers, one who could tell the long, elaborate tales. As the proverb had it, "It's not every day Macintosh has a mod. "3 And there was another proverb that people quoted: "It's not every day MacNeil goes on horseback." There were some reciters who were especially adept at telling tales and who knew some that were extremely long; these tales were not heard very frequently. Most people told items that were shorter than the big, long tales when they

26

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

a théid MacNill air each." Bha cuid dhe mhuinntir nan sgeulachd seo a bha áraid gu innse sgeulachdan ach bha na sgeulachdan a bh' acá cho fad; agus cha chluinnte na sgeulachdan fior fhada bha seo glé thric. Nuair a bhiodh feadhainn a' dol air chéilidh bhiodh seanachasan acá na bu ghiorra na na sgeulachdan fada bha seo. Agus air an aobhar sin bha cuid do dh'fheadhainn ann ma dh'fhaoidte nach cuala gin dhe na sgeulachdan fada bha seo 'gan aithris aig Sgeulaiche gábhaidh math a bh' as a' cheárn. Ach nuair a thigeadh feadhainn air chéilidh - feadhainn a bha math gu siubhal mun cuairt is gu togail sgeulachd — bhiodh iad 'gan innse fheadh nan taighean agus bha iad daonnan 'gam brosnachadh. 'S na h-oidhcheannan fada geamhraidh 's ann bu mhotha a bhite deanamh an obair seo. Bha 'n oidhche cho fada. Tráth bha ;n oidhche a' tighinn orra 's bha obair a' latha deante. Bhiodh iad réidh dha 'n obair feasgair mu chiaradh na h-oidhche. Cha robh iad a' deanamh sian ach ri solust gum faiceadh iad gu dé bhiodh iad a' deanamh - cha robh iad a' deanamh moran do dh'obair le solust lanntair na sian ach gum biodh solust nan coinnlean 's solust nan lampaichean acá 's na taighean. Ach bha iad deiseil airson dol air chéilidh cho luath 's a ghabh iad am biadh-suipeir agus a dhorchnaich an oidhche. 'S bha na h-uibhir ann air an dúthaich as an am agus bhiodh an t-ógradh - na gillean óga 's na h-igheannan óga - a' falbh air chéilidh co-dhiubh. Agus feadh na h-oidhche air an táilleabh sin bha 'n úine cho fada 's oidhcheannan fada geamhraidh a' cuir seachad na h-úine, ma dh'fhaoidte gun innseadh dithist sgeulachd mhór, ghasda. Cha b' ann a aon taigh na da thaigh a thigeadh feadhainn air chéilidh; ma dh'fhaoidte gun tigeadh feadhainn a tri neo ceithir do thaighean. Agus ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh feadhainn air tighinn suas ri tri mile a dh'astar. 'S e na sgeulachdan fada mar bu trice a b'fheárr a chórdadh ris na daoine. Bu choingeis fear neo té a bha math gu innse sgeulachd. Nuair a thóisicheadh an té sin neo 'm fear sin air sgeulachd; bha 'n sgeulachd cho taitneach agus bha 'n sgeulachd a' córdadh ribh cho math 's mar a bha i dol air 'n aghaidh 's gum biodh sibh an dóchas nach tréigeadh i fad úine mhór; gum biodh an t-uamhas buileach do dhol mu thimcheall a' ghnothaich air dóigh 's gun cumadh e fada, fada, fada an gnothach mun tigeadh e gu ceann na sgeulachd. Bhiodh barail co-dhiubh gu dé bha dol a thachairt ach cha robh sibh a' tuigsinn ma's flúor, cha robh sibh ach a' faicinn 'nur n-inntinne mar a bha a' gnothach a' dol 's cha robh sibh a' smaointinn air a' chrioch a bha dol a thighinn oirre idir. 'S e na sgeulachdan fada a b'

27

The World of the Story-Teller

went out visiting; for that reason there were some who perhaps had not heard any of the long tales recited by an accomplished local story-teller. But when people who were good at circulating around and acquiring tales visited, they would tell these wherever they were and they were always encouraged. It was mostly during the long winter months that people engaged in this kind of activity. The nights were so long. Nightfall would come early on and the day's work would be done. People would finish their work just as it grew dark. They weren't accustomed to doing anything except by daylight when they could see what they were doing - they didn't do much work by lantern light or anything; they just had candles and lamps for light in the houses. But they were ready to go out for a house-visit as soon as they had finished their evening meal and night had grown dark. There were so many people living in the country then and the young people at least - the young lads and the young girls - would be going out visiting. So during the nights time was long and, on the long winter nights especially, perhaps two people would pass the time by telling a fine, long tale. People didn't come just from one house or two houses for a house-visit; people would come from perhaps three or four houses, and some people would come over a distance as great as three miles. Generally the long tales were the ones that most pleased people. It did not matter whether it was a man or a woman who was a good story-teller. When she or he began, the tale was so enjoyable and would please you so well as it progressed that you would find yourself hoping that it would not end for a long time, that there would be a great amount of working around it so that the story-teller could make it very, very long before he arrived at the end of the tale. You would have some idea of what was going to happen, but it was as if you did not understand and you were only seeing in your mind how the story was unfolding and you didn't think about how it was going to end at all. The long tales were preferred, but there were also a large number of short tales and often a story which was too long would not be suitable. Everyone used to spend a

28

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

fheárr leo ach bhiodh cuid mhór do sgeulachdan goirid ann agus 's iomadh uair nach freagradh sgeulachd a bhiodh tuilleadh is fada. Bhiodh a h-uile h-aon a' deanamh tacan beag do sheanachas; bhiodh sgeulachdan beaga goirid aig f eadhainn agus rannan beaga agus sgeulachdan ait 's a leithidean sin agus uime sin cha bhiodh na sgeulachdan fada 'gan aithris cho trie. A nist, nuair a bhiodh neach ann aig a robh sgeulachdan air an Fhéinn, bha iad sin fada. Sgeulachdan fada, fada a bh' annta, agus bha 'n gnothach a bh' ann cho neónach. Bha e cho mi-choltach ri rudan a thachradh mar gum biodh as an aimsir seo fhéin air dóigh, ach 'na dheaghaidh sin bha e cho tuigseach; ghabhadh e tuigsinn a h-uile rud a bh' ann: a h-uile mi-fhortan 's a h-uile cruaidh-chás as a rachadh iad. Agus tha mi 'n dúil gura h-e sgeulachdan na Féinne a b' fheárr leo uile. Ach bha sgeulachdan eile ann, sgeulachdan cuimseach fada. Agus bha cuid mhór do sgeulachdan air fuamhraichean ann, agus bhiodh cuid dhiubh sin fhéin a bhiodh gu math fada. Cha robh na sgeulachdan air cath agus air gnothaichean eile buileach cho fada ris na sgeulachdan a bhiodh air na fuamhraichean agus gu h-áraid ri sgeulachd na Féinn. Bha duine sónraichte as a' chéarn 's a robh mi fhin thall agus cha robh sgeulachdan na Féinn aige idir, ach sheinneadh e rann. Chuireadh e ceól air a' rann agus sheinneadh e e. Agus nan tachradh dhuinn a bhith air chéilidh air an fhear a bha math dh'ionnsaidh sgeulachd na Féinn, chanadh Micheal - Micheal Mac 'Illeain a bha seo (Micheal lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). Agus nam bitheamaid air chéilidh air Gilleasbuig Ceanadach, Gilleasbu' Mhurchaidh Ceanadach, nuair a ghabhadh esan a' rann a bha seo, neo a sheinneadh e a' rann, chanadh e, "Tha mise réidh a nist agus gheobh sibh an córr bho Ghilleasbuig. 'S ann aige tha na sgeulachdan." Agus ma dh'fhaoidte as an am a bha sin gun tóisicheadh Gilleasbuig Ceanadach agus gun innseadh e sgeulachd cuimseach taitneach air an Fhéinn as an am. Agus bha ann an aon chuid dha 'n rann a bh' ann, bha an cruinneachadh a bhiodh ann timcheall air. Bha cuid mhór air ainmeachas ach cha n-eil cuimhn' agamsa air sian ach gu robh 'Birlidhean fo thighearnan' air an ainmeachas. 'S bha iad sin tha e coltach a' dol a thighinn ann am bátaichean. Agus bha rann eile aige as a' robh 'A' Mhuilgheartach Mhaol Ruadh' a bh' air a h-ainmeachas. Agus nuair a chuireadh a' cheathrar bu láidire a bh' as an Fhéinn:

29

The World of the Story-Teller

short while in conversation; people would have short little stories, little rhymes and funny stories and the like, and for that reason the long tales were not recited so often. Now when there was somebody who could recite the Fenian tales, those were indeed long. They were exceedingly lengthy tales and their subject matter was so strange. In a way they were just as strange as some things that could happen today, but at the same time so understandable; you could understand everything that was there - every misfortune and hardship that they encountered.4 I think that the Fenian stories were people's favourites, but there also were other tales as well, some of which were fairly lengthy. Some of the many tales concerning giants were extremely long; tales of battles and other things were not altogether as long as giant tales or as the Fenian tales. There was a man from the same area as myself who, although he had none of the Fenian tales, could sing the lays. He could put an air to the lay and sing it. If we happened to be visiting this man Michael who was good at the Fenian tales - Michael MacLean (Micheal Iain Chaluim Oig 'ic Iain ;ic Lachlainn Ghobha] - he would recite [the lays]. And if we were visiting Archie Kennedy (Gilleasbu' Mhurchaidh], Michael would say, when he had recited or sung the lay, "I'm through now and you'll get the rest from Archie. He's the one who knows the tales." And perhaps then Archie Kennedy would begin and tell a very pleasing story about the Fenians. And in one part of the lay, Fionn's men would be gathered about him. There was a great deal that was mentioned but I remember none of it except for a reference to "Galleys under Lords": it seems the lords were going to arrive in boats.5 And there was another lay in which the "Bald, Red Muilgheartach" was mentioned, when the four strongest men of the Fenians would go out to battle. Who would battle against the beast And she was dealing with them one after the other As snow would melt before the flame6

I don't remember any more of it except for this.

30

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

(A) chuireadh cogadh ris a' bhéist Is bha i 'gam fighe mu seach Mar leaghadh sneachda ro lasair Cha n-eil cuimhe agamsa air a' chórr dheth ach sin fhéin. Bha taighean sónraichte ann airson sgeulachd. A' mhór-chuid dhe na taighean céilidh, bha iad math gu leór. Bha taighean taitneach sam bith ann airson dhol air chéilidh ach bha iad na bu deónaiche agus na bu tithiche air a dhol gu taighean sónraichte a thaobh bha am barrachd táthaich air na taighean seo. Bhiodh taighean as am biodh feadhainn a' dol airson sgeulachd a chluinntinn. Ach an oidhche rachadh moran dh'ionnsaidh an taighe cha robh e math, a thaobh bha moran ann 's bha na h-uibhir do sheanachas ri dheanamh mum faighte sgeul a h-uile h-aon a thánaig agus nach biodh úine air sgeulachd mhór a ghabhail. Agus uime sin, 's e fortan mor a bhiodh ann a bhith sona gu leór 's gun d'fhuair sibh do thaigh. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach deachaidh ann ach sibh p-fhéin neo aon neach eile cómhla ribh agus an deaghaidh beagan seanachas a dheanamh chaidh sgeulachdan mora, fada innse. Ach bhiodh iad daonnan a' cruinneachadh ann an áite 's a robh 'n seanachas pailt. Agus thall as a' cheárna as a robh mi fhin, airson seanachas, sgeulachd, is órain 's e an taigh aig Micheal Mac'Illeain (Micheal lain Chaluim); b' e sin an taigh a b' fheárr airson seanachasan agus órain. Agus nuair a bha iad airson na sgeulachdan fhaighinn, b' e taigh Illeasbuig Cheanadaich; b'e sin taigh nan sgeulachdan a chionn nam biodh idir fearas-chuideachd a' sin 's e sgeulachdan a bheireadh bárr. Ach nan tigeadh cuid do dh'fheadhainn ann agus iad math gu seinn órain, tha fios gu seinneadh asan órain an áite a' Cheanadaich agus cha n-fhaighte an oidhche sin sgeulachdan cho math. Ach nam bitheamaid amach airson sgeulachd fhaighinn, bhitheamaid car air ar mealladh ma thánaig moran dh'ionnsaidh an taighe agus gu robh moran do sheanachas a' dol air 'n aghaidh is órain. Agus a; bruidhinn air sgeulachdan, bha taigh na faire sónraichte airson sgeulachdan. Mar bu trice, bhiodh cuid do dh'fheadhainn a' fuireach ann an taigh na faire fad na h-oidhcheadh agus mura robh seann-fheadhainn ann a dh'innseadh sgeulachdan bha feadhainn óga ann a bheireadh greis air sgeulachdan a bha iad a' cluinntinn nuair a bhiodh iad a' siubhal mun cuairt a' dol dh'ionnsaidh nan taighean air chéilidh. Agus bha duine sónraichte a chuir mi fhin eólas air: lain Macíosaig, mac 'Illeasbu' Mhóir 'acíosaig. Bha esan sónraichte gu innse sgeulachdan. Bhiodh e ann an taigh faire 's nuair a rachadh a' gnothach sios gu támh, nuair a sguireadh na bha a' falbh

31

The World of the Story-Teller

There were special houses for story-telling. Most of the visiting houses were good enough. Any of a number of nice homes could be visited, but people were more willing and eager to go to some houses in particular because there were more people frequenting these. There were also houses where people went expressly to hear tales, but on a night when a lot of people would go to the house it was not so good because there was so much conversation before each new arrival was heard from that there was no time for a long tale. Therefore it was very lucky if you were fortunate enough to come to a suitable house. Perhaps no one would go there but yourself or one other person, and after a little bit of conversation great, long tales were told. They always would gather in a place where there was a lot of oral tradition, and, in the neighbourhood where I was, it was Michael MacLean's house that was the best for lore and songs. And when people wanted to hear tales, it was Archie Kennedy's house; that was the house for tales, for if there was any entertainment at all there the tales would prevail. To be sure, if people came visiting who were good singers they would certainly sing songs at Kennedy's and tales would not be so well represented; and so if we were looking for a tale, we would be somewhat disappointed if many people came to the house and there was a lot of conversation and songs. And on the subject of tales, the wake-house was an especially good setting for story-telling. As was often the case, there would be a number of people staying at the wake-house throughout the night and, if there were no old people there who could tell tales, there were young people who would pass time telling stories they heard when they were going around visiting houses. There was one particular man whom I got to know, John Maclsaac, the son of Big Archie (Gilleasbu' Mor) Maclsaac, who excelled at story-telling. He would be in a wakehouse and when things quieted down, when those who were coming and going the first part of the night settled down and the hurrying and the going around - the bustle as they would say - stopped, things would become quiet and the long tales would begin. Although there were a large number of people

32

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

's a' tighinn a' cheud chuid dha 'n oidhche is sguireadh a' chabhag a; dol mun cuairt — mar an tuirt iad a' cadharlaid — bha 'n uair sin a' gnothach air a dhol sios gu barrachd sámhchar is thóisicheadh na sgeulachdan. Tha fios ged a bhiodh áireamh mhór astaigh chruinnicheadh iad mu chuairt timcheall air an duine bha seo agus dh'éisdeadh iad ris na sgeulachdan agus bhiodh iad cuir seachad na h-oidhcheadh as an dóigh sin. A nist bha feadhainn anns an dúthaich a bha beagan na b'fheárr gu innse sgeulachdan na feadhainn eile. Bha mi 'g ainmeachas air Macíosaig; bha e sónraichte gu bhith 'g innse sgeulachad. Agus a bhith bruidhinn air iad a bhith socrachadh sios cha robh taigh faire ach mar güín biodh taigh cómhnaidh. Bha gnothaichean a' dol air 'n aghaidh ach cha robh sian a' dol a chuireadh tilleadh na dragh air fear na sgeulachd. Bhiodh bean an taighe ma dh'fhaoidte a' fighe sogsaichean neo miotagan. Bhite ag obair leis na biorain fighe as an am 's bhite toinnteachadh snáth 's cha robh tilleadh a' dol oirre air a tháilleabh sin. Ach ma dh'fhaoidte airson cárdadh nach biodh iad buileach cho titheach air sin a dheanamh eagal 's nach cluinneadh iad gu dé bha dol: gun cailleadh iad brigh facían dhi. Ach airson cuibhle-shniomh, cha deante car le cuibhle-shniomh nuair a bha sgeulachdan 'gan innse, ged a dheanadh iad obair leis a' chuibhleshniomh agus gnothaichean nuair a bhiodh céilidh a' dol; cha robh sin a' cuir tilleadh orra. Agus a bhith bruidhinn air an fheadhainn a bha sónraichte airson innse nan sgeulachdan, bha feadhainn aost' ann. Agus 'nam chuimhne fhéin 's e Micheal Mac'Illeain agus Gilleasbuig Ceanadach; 's éad an dithist a b'aosta agus tha mi cinnteach gura h-éad a b'fheárr a gheobhadh cothrom. Bha Fionnlagh Dómhnallach, bha e cho sean riu - ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh e beagan na bu shine na iad. Ach 's e deifir naidheachdan a bhiodh aige ach bha iad fhéin aige math le cuimhne. Agus bha cothrom aig an fheadhainn sin air a bhith cluinntinn; ach, gu h-áraid an fheadhainn a bha na sgeulachdan mora acá. Tha mi smaointinn gura h-ann aig an athair 's aig bráthair an athar agus aig feadhainn a bha 'n dlúth-cháirdeas dhaibh mar sin a bha iad a' faighinn nan sgeulachd. Agus cha robh acá ri bhith deanamh uibhir do shiubhal mu chuairt airson sgeulachdan fhaotainn 's a bh' aig an fheadhainn na b' óige na sin. Tha mi 'n dúil gura h-e sin aobhar air a robh an flúor sheann-fheadhainn, gu robh cuimhne cho math acá agus na sgeulachdan acá cho glan. Tha fhios gu robh an fheadhainn a bha siubhal mu chuairt air feadh na dúthchadh, gu robh cothram acá air barrachd a bhith acá do naidheachdan beaga - do sgeulachdan beaga - agus do dh'órain, a thaobh bha iad a' dol air feadh nan

33

The World of the Story-Teller

inside, they would gather around listening to the tales and passing the night in this manner. Now there were some people in the country who were slightly better story-tellers than others. I mentioned Maclsaac; he was a particularly distinguished story-teller. As far as people quieting down is concerned, a wake-house was no different than a dwelling-house. Things were going on but nothing was happening which would hinder or interfere with the storyteller. Perhaps the woman of the house would be knitting socks or mittens; people would be working with knitting needles at the same time and twisting yarn, and the story was in no way interfered with by that. But as for carding, they might not be so set on doing that for fear that they wouldn't hear what was happening; they would lose the gist of the story. As for the spinning wheel, nothing was done with it when tales were being recited although they would work with the wheel and other implements when a house-visit or ceilidh was going on; it didn't interfere with people then. Among the especially good story-tellers were some older people. To my memory Michael MacLean and Archie Kennedy were the two oldest and I'm sure they were the ones who had the best backgrounds. There was a Finlay MacDonald who was as old as they, or perhaps a little older, but had tales of a different kind which he knew by memory very well. These people had had a chance to hear tales, especially long tales. I believe it was mostly from their fathers and uncles and close relations that they learned their tales, so they didn't have to do as much travelling around to hear stories as did some of the younger people. I believe that is one reason that the real old-timers had such good memories and recited their tales in such a pure form. To be sure, people who circulated through the countryside had a chance to pick up more of the short stories - short anecdotes - and songs, because travelling from house to house gave them that opportunity. I think that those who were working in the houses - working around - learned a large number of stories and songs and rhymes and things of that kind from being on that circuit. I don't remember any of them well except for Anna MacNeil who used to travel through the

34

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

taighean agus bha 'n cothrom sin acá. Tha mi 'n dúil gun do dh'ionnsaich an fheadhainn sin a bhiodh ri obair anns na taighean ri obair mu chuairt - cuid mhór do sgeulachdan agus do dh'órain 's do dhuain is dhe gach ni mar sin air an táilleabh iad a bhith ris an t-siubhal sin. Cha n-eil mi fior-chuimhneach ach air Anna NicNill a bhiodh a' falbh air feadh na düthaich a' cuir seachad na h-úine a measg na cuideachd agus gu dearbh dheante toileachadh rithe. Glé thric nuair a ghabhadh fear sgeulachd mhór, mhór fhada agus gu h-áraid ma 's e sgeulachd a bh' ann a chuala fear páirt dhi ma dh'fhaoidte aig piuthar a sheanair na aig cuideiginn fad air n-ais agus chanadh iad, "Beannachd Dhia dhuibh, a dhuine. Nach fhada bho 'n a chuala mi roimhe páirt dhe ;n sgeulachd sin". Agus chanadh mór-chuid dhe na bhiodh astaigh, "Moran taing dhuibh, moran taing dhuibh. 'S ann a bha sgeulachd a bha gasda ri éisdeachd rithe." Agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu foighneachdadh iad dha a robh cuimhne aige air duine sónraichte a bh' ann bho chionn áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean - gun cual' e esan ag innse sgeulachd - agus ma dh'fhaoidte gun canadh e gun cuala. Ma dh'fhaoidte gun canadh e, "Chuala mi e 'g innse sgeulachd." Agus, "An do dh'ionnsaich sibh gin bhuaithe?" "O, tha mi smaointinn gun tug mi leam té dhiubh," chanadh e, "ach tha i cho fada." "O, ma tha, théid sinn oidhche a nuil air chéilidh oirbh agus cluinnidh sinn bhuaibh i." "Glé cheart, ma tha. Thigibh a nall oidhche air chéilidh agus bheir mi dhuibh a' sgeulachd sin." Is sin mar a bha na sgeulachdan fada a' dol. Bha mi uair dhe 'n aimsir a' feuchainn ri beagan dhe na sgeulachdan a bhith 'gan aithris. Agus tha cuimhn' agam gun deachaidh mi air feasgar di-Dómhnaich air chéilidh do thaigh - 's ann anns a' gheamhradh a bh' ann - agus dh'aithris mi tri sgeulachdan beaga, goirid air an fheasgar a bha sin mus do dh'fhág mi. Agus cha chreid mi nach do ghabh bean an taighe aon sgeulachd bheag a bha taitneach. Agus sin mar a bha na sgeulachdan a' dol agus bha 'n fheadhainn a bhiodh 'nan suidhe ag éisdeachd ris na sgeulachdan, bha iad a' cluinntinn cuid mhór. Agus tha mi 'n dúil an deaghaidh a h-uile rud gum faigheadh iad mór-thoileachadh as a bhith suidhe ag éisdeachd ris na sgeulachdan. Bha a' mhuinntir cho aonaichte; bha iad mar gum biodh aon duine - aon neach - astaigh. Agus sin mar a bha a' fearaschuideachd a bh' acá air sgeulachdan is duain is órain agus rannan dhe gach seórsa mar sin. Bha neach a' foighneachd dhiom turus a robh e 'na chleachdadh aig muinntir nan sgeulachdan - aig na sgeulaichean mora mar a bha Micheal Mac'Illeain agus Gilleasbuig Ceanadach - nuair a bhiodh

35

The World of the Story-Teller

country passing time among the folk and indeed she was always welcomed. Very often when someone would tell a great, long tale, and particularly if it was one that someone had heard part of, perhaps from his grandfather's sister or somebody far back, they would say, "God's blessing be with you, my man. Isn't it a long time since I last heard part of that tale." Then most of the people there would say, "Many thanks to you, many thanks to you. That was certainly a wonderful story to listen to." And then they might ask the story-teller whether he remembered a particular man who lived many years ago, whether he had heard him reciting tales, and the person might reply that he had, saying, "I heard him telling tales." "Did you learn any from him?" "Oh, I think that I came away with one of them," he might say, "but it's such a long one." "Oh well, then we'll go over to visit you some evening and we will hear it from you." "Very well then. Come over some night to visit and I will give you that tale." And that is how the long tales were shared. Once when I had begun to attempt to recite a few stories I remember going one Sunday evening on a house-visit - it was in the winter - and I told three short stories that evening before I left. I believe that the woman of the house also told a short story which was very enjoyable. And that is how the stories were told; the people who were sitting listening to the tales being told certainly heard a lot, and I feel after all that they used to get pleasure from sitting and listening to tales. People were so united; they were like one person - one being inside. And that was the kind of entertainment they derived from tales and rhymes and songs and poems of every sort. I was once asked whether it was the practice of story-tellers the great story-tellers like Michael MacLean and Archie Kennedy - when they were telling tales to perform movements or particular gestures with their hands, and I don't remember that they used to do much of that. I remember Michael MacLean stretched out on a sort of a bench in the kitchen telling us a story, and a nice one too. And I also remember well one night when my good friend Archie Kennedy lay

36

Saoghal an Sgeulaiche

iad ag innse sgeulachdan am biodh iad fhéin a' dol thro ghluasadan air neo chómharraichean sónraichte le 'n lamhan, agus cha n-eil cuimhne agam gun deanadh iad moran dheth sin. Tha mo chuimhne glé mhath air Micheal Mac'Illeain a bhith 'na shineadh air seórsa do bheing anns a' chidsin agus e 'g innse naidheachd dhuinn, agus bha i gu math taitneach cuideachd. Agus tha cuimhne agam glé mhath air oidhche bha mo dheagh-charaide Gilleasbuig Ceanadach 'na shineadh anns a' leabaidh thall as an t-seómbar agus mi fhin amuigh aig dorust an t-seómbair agus esan gu socair súmhail 'na shineadh anns a' leabaidh agus e 'g innse na sgeulachd dhomh. Agus cha robh moran do ghluasad na do shian ri shealltainn le lamhan. Cha n-fhaicinn: cha robh mi coimhead co-dhiubh. Bha a' seómbar dorcha ach gu robh solust a' soillseadh astaigh thro 'n dorust. Agus cha n-eil mi 'n dúil gun d'rinn iad moran idir. Ach cha n-e nach robh fear ag innse dhomh gu robh duine sónraichte ann a bha e fhéin eólach air agus bhiodh iad a' dol a dh'éisdeachd ris an duine sin a dh'innse sgeulachd agus tha e coltach gu robh e fhéin sónraichte gu innse sgeulachd. Agus nuair a thigeadh e gu sgeulachd ghábhaidh - rudan uamhasach a rinn gaisgeach a bha fos cionn gaisge iomadh fear — dh'fheumadh e fhéin éirigh 'na sheasamh agus na lamhan a chuir suas agus cuid dhe sheanachas fhéin a chuir 'na measg. Agus 's e ma dh' fhaoidte gur e facían do Bheurla a bha e cuir astaigh am measg a' rud a bh' ann. Ach cha robh e cumanta idir ann am measg na cuideachd gum biodh iad a' deanamh moran a thaobh feadhainn a chunna mi trie ag innse sgeulachd agus ma gheobh thu a h-aon fhathast dhe 'n t-seannfheadhainn a dh'innseas sgeulachd chi thu gum fuirich iad glé shocair: nach deán iad moran úpraid idir leis a' ghnothach a bh' ann. Ach tha mi dol a thoirt rud beag éibhinn an áirde air a' seo. Bha sinn oidhche air chéilidh air Micheal Mac'Illeain agus bha e 'g innse dhuinn naidheachd. Agus 's ann oidhche fhuar 'sa gheamhradh a bh' ann agus cha robh e 'n dúil as an am gu robh 'n teine gabhail le luasgar oirr' - gu robh e toirt dhuinn gu leór do theas - agus dh'éirich e airson brodachadh a thoirt air a' chonnadh a bh' as a' stóbh. Agus nuair a thog e na cómhdaichean uachdair far a' stóbh fear mu seach, chuir e fear an iar mar gum biodh an ear 's chuir e fear an ear an iar, nuair a chaidh e air iomrall as a' ghnothach air táilleabh e bhith cho trang a bhith ag innse dhuinn na naidheachd, agus e faighinn an teine air a chumail aig astar aig an aon am. Agus sin na bheil beachd agamsa air a chluinntinn neo air fhaicinn dhe'n fheadhainn a dheanadh úpraid na comharradh mor sam bith ann an am innse sgeulachd.

37

The World of the Story-Teller

stretched out in bed in a room while I was at the door of the room; he was quietly and comfortably reclining on the bed reciting the tale for me and there was not much gesturing or anything to be seen with his hands. I wouldn't have seen; I wasn't looking anyway. The room was dark except for a light shining through the doorway. So I don't believe that they did much of that at all. Nonetheless I was told of an accomplished story-teller whom people went to hear recite and when he came to an awesome tale — the terrible feats that a hero performed which surpassed the valour of many - he would have to stand up and raise his hands and introduce some of his own embellishments; he might add some words of English to the tale. But it was not at all usual in company for the people that I often saw telling tales to do much of this, and if you find one of the old people who can still recite a tale you will see that they stay very still; they don't make much of a commotion at all about it.7 But now I am going to introduce a short humorous item. One night we were visiting Michael MacLean and he was telling us a story. It was a cold night in the winter and he didn't think at the time that the fire was catching briskly and giving us enough heat, and so he got up to poke the wood that was in the stove. He took the covers off the top of the stove one after the other, and then he put back the one on the west as it were on the east and put the one on the east on the west and got confused because he was so busy telling us the story and keeping the fire going at the same time. And that is what I remember hearing and seeing of the people who moved or gestured as they recited tales.

Cuid a Dha

SGEULACHDAN 'SA CHOIMHEARSNACHD

Part Two

THE RECITERS AND THE T A L E S

Na Ceanadaich

'S e Clann Mhurchaidh Cheanadaich a bh' annta agus ghabhainn-sa 'na mo bheachd fhéin gu robh Murchadh Ceanadach óg a; tighinn a nall a Albainn a thaobh ;s e té ris an canadh iad Seónaid Niclain a bha pósd' aige agus 's ann thall aig áite ris an canadh iad na h-Eileanan Dearga neo Camus an Fheóir neo uime sin — 's ann a bha Cloinn lain sin a' fuireach. Agus bha mi smaointinn air a réir sin gura h-ann a bhos ann an Ceap Breatunn fhéin a phós e. Le m'fhiosrachadh fhéin, bha triúir ghillean aig Murchadh. Bha Seumas is Dómhnall is Gilleasbuig ann. A nist bha fear Micheal Ceanadach 'nam measg agus bha Alasdair ann ach cha d'fhuair mise eachdraidh idir air an fheadhainn sin ach gun cuala mi iad a' seanachas mun deoghainn. Bha triúir pheathraichean aig Seumas 's aig Gilleasbuig 's aig Dómhnall. Bha Mor agus Catriona, neo Ceit Mhór mar a bheireamaid rithe. Agus b'e sin i dha rireabh; 's e boireannach mor, foghainneach a bh' innte - boireannach éibhinn, aighearach agus boireannach aig a robh sgeulachdan mar an tuirt iad, beag agus mor. Agus bha i gu math iasgaidh gus a bhith 'gan aithris. A nist Mor, bha i pósd' aig fear, mac do Chloinn a' Phearsain: Eachann, mac do Mhurchadh 'ic a' Phearsain. 'S bha Anna pósd' aig Niall Mac a' Phearsain. Cha chuala mi i sin ag aithris sgeulachd. Cha robh mi eólach gu leór oirre. Agus uime sin, dh'fhaodadh i fhéin a bhith math gu sgeulachdan. Ach co-dhiubh, a' tilleadh air n-ais dh'ionnsaidh an fheadhainn eile, cha b' aithne dhomh Seumas; chaochail e mun tánaig cuimhne thugamsa. Agus cha b' aithne dhomh Dómhnall. Dh'fhalbh esan tráth mun do rugadh mise 'na mo chuimhne. Ach bha caraide dhomh fhin, fear lain Mac'Illeain (Mac Chaluim lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha) - b'e sin bráthair do Dhómhnall Mac'Illeain bho 'n a robh mi faighinn nan sgeulachdan - bha e 'g innse dhomh latha a chaidh e dha 'n sgoil. Agus bha rudeiginn ceárr anns an taigh sgoil. Cha robh dóigh acá air bláthas a bhith ann, co-dhiubh 's e piob a bheireadh amach an deathach a bhrist 's a thuit na gu dé a thachair, b'fheudar dha tilleadh dhachaidh. Agus nuair a

The Kennedys

The Kennedys were descended from Murdock Kennedy. I would guess that Murdock Kennedy came over from Scotland when he was young, for he was married to a woman known as Janet Johnston and the Johnstons lived over in a place known as Red Islands or Hay Cove or around there.1 For that reason I have supposed that he married over here in Cape Breton. To my knowledge Murdock had three sons: James, Donald, and Archie. Now there was a Michael Kennedy among them, and Alexander, but I never heard anything about these two; they were just mentioned. James and Archie and Donald had three sisters: Sarah, Anna, and Catherine, or Ceit Mhor ("Big Kate"| as we used to call her. And she was a big strong woman indeed - an amusing, cheerful woman and one who had, as they would say, both big and small tales. And she was more than willing to tell them. Now Sarah was married to one of the MacPhersons, Hector, son of Murdock MacPherson. And Anna was married to Neil MacPherson. I did not hear her telling any tales - I did not know her well - yet she may have also been a good story-teller. To return to the others, I did not know James; he died before I could remember. Nor did I know Donald; I remember hearing he left early, before I was born. But there was a friend of mine by the name of John MacLean (Mac Chaluim Iain Chaluim 6ig 'ic Iain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha), the brother of Donald MacLean from whom I got tales, and John told me about one day when he went to school and something was wrong in the schoolhouse. They had no way of heating it - it may have been the pipe that took out the smoke that broke and fell and he had to return home. And as he was on his way home

42

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

bha e air a cheum dhachaidh bha Dómhnall Ceanadach ag obair amuigh faisg air an taigh agus dh'éibh e air suas chon an taighe. " 'Trobhad anuas, a laochain/ ors; esan, 'agus gum faigheadh tu tea agus gun gabhainn sgeulachd dhut.' "Agus chaidh mi suas a thaigh a' Cheanadaich agus fhuair mi cupa tea bho Pheigi agus ghabh Dómhnall a' sgeulachd dhomh. 'S e seo Dómhnall Mhurchaidh Cheanadaich. Agus thug mi greis gun tighinn dhachaidh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd m'athair dhiom nuair a thána mi gu dé thachair: gu robh mi aig an dachaidh na bu tráithe na b'ábhaist dhomh tighinn dhachaidh as a' sgoil. Agus dh'innis mi dha nach robh sgoil idir ann 'ga teagasg an diugh, agus dh'innis mi dha mar a thachair. " "S gu dé/ ors' esan, 'a bha 'gad chumail cho fada gun tighinn dhachaidh bho nach robh sgoil ann an diugh 'ga teagasg?' " 'Bha/ ors' mise, 'gun do dh'éibh Dómhnall Mhurchaidh orm suas dh'ionnsaidh an taighe airson 's gum faighinn cupa tea agus dh'innis e sgeulachd dhomh.' " 'Agus dé 'n sgeulachd a ghabh e dhut?' orsa m'athair - b'e seo Calum lain Mac'Illeain. " 'Dh'innis/ orsa mise, 'dh'innis e dhomh sgeulachd air Fear a' Chota Liathghlais.' Agus rinn m'athair gáire agus thuirt e, " 'Nach neónach leam/ ors' esan, 'thu bhith air tighinn dhachaidh cho tráth 's a thánaig thu ma 's e sin a' sgeulachd a chuala tu.'" Agus b'aithne dhomh clann Sheumais Cheanadaich. Bha mi eólach air an té a b' aosda dhe na h-igheannan agus bha mi eólach air fear dhe na gillean, Murchadh. Fhuair mi sgeulachd neo dha bhuaithe fhéin agus bha mi glé eólach air. 'S iomadh spórs a bh' againn. Ach 's ann air Gilleasbuig a b' eólaiche mi dhiubh uile agus 's ann aige bu mhotha fhuair mi obair Sgeulachdan. Bha e sónraichte air Sgeulachdan na Féinneadh agus a h-uile rud a bhuineadh dhaibh sin. Ach a' mhi-fhortan a thánaig orm, nuair a bha e mu chuairt air tri fichead bliadhna 's a deich a dh' aois, dh' iomraich iad as a' cheárn as a robh iad a' fuireach shuas - mar a bheireamaid aig Gleann nan Eireannach - agus chaidh iad sios dha'n Bháigh an Ear agus thug iad mu sheachd bliadhna a' cómhnaidh anns a' Bháigh an Ear. 'S co-dhiubh bha e air a chleachdadh aige a bhith 'g aithris Sgeulachdan an sin neo nach robh, tha mi smaointinn nach robh cus dol air aghaidh agus nuair a thill e air n-ais an ceann nan seachd bliadhna bha an duine bochd air fas díochuimhneach. Bha e suas greis mhór an aois an uair sin. Agus thug sin cali mor ormsa nach robh e fad nan seachd bliadhna sin anns an nábachd agus gum bithinn ag ionnsachadh Sgeulachdan bhuaithe. Agus tha mi an diugh a' toirt fo near an cali mor a thánaig orm.

43

The Reciters and the Tales

Donald Kennedy was out working near the house and he called him up to the house. '"Come on up, boy/ said he, 'and have some tea and I will tell you a tale/ "And I went up to the Kennedys' house and got a cup of tea from Peggy, and Donald told me the story. That was Donald Murdock Kennedy. And it was a while before I reached home. When I arrived my father asked me what had happened that I had arrived home earlier than usual from school. So I told him there was no school taught today and related to him what had happened. "'And what/ said he, 'kept you so long from coming home since there was no school taught today?' "'It happened/ said I, 'that Donald Murdock called me up to the house for cup of tea and told me a tale.' "'And what tale did he tell for you?' said my father. "'He told me the tale of the Man in the Light Grey Coat/ I answered. My father laughed and said, 'It's strange/ said he, 'that you should be home so early if that's the tale that you heard."' I also knew the children of James Kennedy. I was acquainted with the oldest of his daughters and one of the sons by the name of Murdock. I got a tale or two from him and I knew him very well. We used to have a lot of fun together. Of all of the Kennedys I was best acquainted with Archie and it was from him that I got the most tales.2 He was an outstanding reciter of Fenian tales and everything that had to do with them. But, unfortunately for me, when he was around seventy years of age they moved from the district where they were living - Irish Vale it was called - and they went down to East Bay and spent about seven years there. Whether or not he frequently recited tales there I do not know, but I believe that there was not really much going on, and when he returned after seven years the poor man had grown forgetful.3 He was very much up in years by that time. It was a great loss to me that he was not in the community for those seven years so that I could have learned tales from him. I realize today what a great personal loss this was.

44

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Agus bho 'n a tha mi cómhradh mu dheidhinn Gilleasbuig, 's e duine mor foghainneach a bh' ann an Gilleasbuig. Duine láidir a bh' ann agus duine aighearach — duine éibhinn a bh' ann, 's bhithinn trie a' dol air chéilidh. Bha e mu mhile is cairteal a dh'astar bho 'n áite as a robh mi fhin a' cómhnaidh. Ged a bha mise a' fuireach shios ann an áite iseal — ma dh'fhaoidte gun canadh sibh gleann beag ris an áite a bh' ann - bha esan a' fuireach suas air áite na b' áirde na sin. O, 's ann suas air car do bhruthach cuimseach cas a bha e. Bha gleann beag sios ro 'n áite 'sa robh iad ach bha esan shuas gu h-árd, suas os cionn a' ghlinne bha seo. 'S e áite car ana-cothromach a bh' acá airson tuathanachas, ach tha mi creidsinn as an am a bh' ann gun deanadh iad dicheall air beagan do thuathanachas a dheanamh a chumadh beó iad. Agus nuair a chaidh mi a nuil dha 'n Gháidhealtachd thuig mi gu robh e nádarra gu leór dha na Gáidheil gun deanadh iad beóshlaint a chionn chunna mi gu robh áiteachan a chanainn a bha car ana-cothromach thall anns a' Gháidhealtachd fhéin; nach robh moran do mhachairean briagha, leathan, cómhnard acá. Agus tha mi creidsinn air an aobhar sin gu robh daoine a' deanamh mar an tuirt iad a' bheairt a b' fheárr dhe 'n bheairt bu mhiosa. Bha mi eólach air teaghlach Ghilleasbuig Cheanadaich. Chaidh an dithist a b'óige dhe na gillean aige agus an nighean a b' óige dha 'n sgoil nuair a bha mi fhin a' dol ann. Agus tha fios gu robh mi 'g ionnsachadh bho na gillean páirt dhe na toimhseachain 's dhe na Sgeulachdan 's dhe na rudan a tha mi toirt creideas dha na Ceanadaich air a shon an diugh. Agus 's fheudar dhomh a ghrádh anns an am seo gu bheil mór-bharail agam ri thoirt air na Ceanadaich gu sónraichte a thaobh iad a bhith cho math air gnothaichean nan sgeulachd. Agus tha mi tuigsinn air réir an t-seanachais gu robh Seumas e fhéin math air an obair seo agus gu robh Dómhnall sónraichte air innse nan Sgeulachdan. Agus a bhith seanachas mar an tuirt iad mar a bha Gilleasbuig a' deanamh beóshlaint, uill 's ann air beagan do thuathanachas a bha iad a' deanamh air áite. 'S o, bha iad cómhartail. Cha robh iad ann an éis sian cho fad 's a b' fhiosrach dhomhsa. Tha fios 'na óige, tha mi creidsinn, gu robh e amach aig obraichean agus bha e 'g obair greis cómhla ri cuideachd a bha cuir suas nan cabraichean arda airson gnothaichean a chuir air airson fios a chuir bho thaobh gu taobh na dúthchadh. Tha mi creidsinn gur e telegraph a bha iad ag obair air an uair sin. Agus tha mi dol a thoirt sgeul beag air rud a chuala mi mu dheoghainn sin agus 's e an fhirinn a bha seo. Nuair a bha iad ag obair air an obair a bha seo bha feadhainn ann agus bha iad a' gabhail orra fhéin gu robh iad gu math foghainneach, láidir; agus mar gun gabhadh esan droch-bharail air mar a bha cüisean a' dol,

45

The Reciters and the Tales

And, since I am on the subject of Archie, he was a big, rugged man - a strong man, light-hearted and funny. I would often go to visit. He lived about a mile and a quarter from the place where I lived. I lived in the lower place - perhaps you might call it a small glen - and he was living up on a higher property on a sort of a hill which was fairly steep. There was a little valley down in front of their property but he was up high above this valley. The place they had was not well suited to farming but I believe that at that time they did their best to do a little bit of farming to sustain themselves. And when I went over to the Scottish Highlands I understood that it was a natural enough thing for Gaels to make their living this way for I saw that there were many places that I would consider ill suited for farming where they did not have many nice, wide, level pieces of land. For that reason I believe people were used to making the best of the worst, as they would say. I knew Archie Kennedy's family. The two youngest sons and the youngest daughter went to school when I was going. Indeed I learned from the sons some of the riddles and the stories and the other things with which I credit the Kennedys today. And I must say here that I have a great regard for the Kennedys; particularly because they were so good when it came to tales. I understand from what was passed on that James himself was very good at this and that Donald was an especially good story-teller. As for Archie's livelihood, it came through a little farming that they did on the property. They were comfortable, and in no great need as far as I knew. In his youth, I believe, he was out on various jobs; he worked for some time for a company that was putting up the big poles for installations to send messages from one end of the country to the other. I believe that they were working for the telegraph at that time. And now I am going to give a short account of something I heard which is true enough. When they were working on the job there were people who kept giving the impression that they were very rugged and strong; and since Archie took a dim view of what was going on they wanted very much to find a way to get the upper hand on him. But it was silly for them to

46

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

agus gum bu toil leo idir nam biodh iad an dúil gu rachadh an gnothach leo lámh an áird fhaighinn air. Ach b' e góraiche dhaibh a bhith 'ga smaointinn sin. Latha dhe na lathaichean ghabh e droch-bharail air mar a bha gnothaichean agus airson a shealltainn dhaibh gum faodadh gu robh e fhéin comasach gu leór airson a cheann fhéin a thoirt as an fhinid, ghlac e cabar mor. Tha fhios gur e fiodh nach robh gábhaidh trom a bh' ann agus bha an toll air a chladhach deiseil anns an talamh airson an cabar seo a chuir ann. Agus am bitheantas bhiodh dithis na thriúir timcheall air na cabair 'gan cuir suas. Ach ghabh e dh'ionnsaidh a; chabair ;s chuir e an cabar air a ghualainn; choisich e a nuil agus thog e an ceann suas mar gum biodh e dol a thilgeadh cabar agus lig e bun a' chabair sios as an talamh. Agus tha mi creisdinn glé fhurasda bho ;n latha a bha sin gun do dh'fhuirich cacha air an taobh bu shábhailte dheth; nach gabhadh iad os láimh idir a dhol cho dlúth air agus gum biodh iad ann an cunnart. Agus creididh mi e furasda gu leór o chionn tha mi eólach air an duine fhaicinn agus chunna mi dealbh a chaidh a tharraing air nuair a bha e ;na dhuin' óg, agus b' e sin an duine foghainneach; agus duine gu math briagh cuideachd ann an creubhachd aodainn. 'S e ñor dhuine briagha a bh' ann.

1

Fear a' Chota Liathghlais

'S e sgeulachd gu math fada a th'ann agus cha teid agam air an fheasgar seo ach beagan dhi a chuir air ciar a thaobh tha i cho fada agus tha cuid mhór dhi air a dhol air diochuimhn' orm. 'S e sgeulachd a chuala mi aig seann duine cóir amuigh air an dúthaich bho chionn áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean. Tha córr agus da fhichead bliadhna bho'n chuala mi i. Co-dhiubh 's ann mu dheoghainn na Féirní; nuair a bha Fionn agus na gillean amuigh a; sealg. As an am tha e coltach gu robh an t-sealg a' fas car gann air an Fhéinn; gu robh i air ceiltinn orra, agus bhitheadh iad a' dol amach dha'n bheinn-sheilg. Nuair a ruigeadh iad amach a' bheinn-sheilg, mar a bheireadh iad, shuidheadh na fir air Cnoc nam Fear agus shuidheadh na gillean air Cnoc nan Gillean agus ged a bhitheadh iad ann fad an latha cha robh sealg ri faotainn. Agus bha 'n úine a' dol seachad 's bha ;n gnothach a' fas gu math gann, ach latha dhe na bha iad amuigh chunnaic iad ann am fuaradh na froiseadh Fear a' Chota Liathghlais a' tighinn orra bho'n áird' an iar, agus e tighinn gu math luath. Agus aig an am a thánaig e far a robh iad chunnaic iad fiadh shuas air bruthaich agus chuir

47

The Reciters and the Tales

imagine that they could do that. One day Archie Kennedy was not pleased with the way things were going and to show them that he might be capable of holding his own he grasped a big telegraph pole. To be sure, the wood in it was not terribly heavy and the hole was already in the ground for the pole. Usually two or three men would be around the pole setting it up, but Archie went over to the telegraph pole and put it on his shoulder. He walked over with it and lifted the end up as if he were going to toss the caber and lowered the butt into the ground. I find it very easy to believe that from that day on the others stayed on the safe side of him, that they didn't go too close to him for fear they would be in danger. I believe easily enough that this happened because I was used to seeing the man. I saw a picture of him taken as a young man and he was a fine-looking powerful man then with a handsomely shaped face. He was indeed a fine-looking man.

1

The Man in the Light Grey Coat

This is quite a long story; this afternoon I can only record a little of it because it is so long and I have forgotten a large part of it. I heard the story from a fine old man out in the country many years ago. It is more than forty years since I heard it. The story is about the Fenians — Fionn and the lads out hunting. At that time it seemed that game was becoming quite scarce for the Fenians; it had failed on their expeditions to the hunting-mountain. When they arrived out on the huntingmountain, as they would say, the men would sit on the Hillock of the Men and the lads would sit on the Hillock of the Lads, and though they would remain all day there was no game to be found. As time passed things were getting very scarce, but one day when they were out they saw in the breeze before the shower the Man in the Light Grey Coat coming from the west and approaching them very rapidly. And just as he reached them they saw a deer up on a hillside, so they sent Caoilte after the deer, and off went Caoilte. But as he did, the deer took off. In spite of Caoilte's fleetness it seems that the deer

48

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

iad Caoilte as deaghaidh an fhéidh agus amach a thug Caoilte. Ma thug bha 'm fiadh a' falbh. A dh'aindeoin cho luath 's gu robh Caoilte tha e coltach gu robh am fiadh na bu luaithe agus an ceann greis do dh'úine thuirt Fear a' Chota Liathghlais ri Fionn, "Cuir do rnheur fo do dheud-fios feuch am faigh thu amach gu dé mar a tha cúisean a' dol." Agus rinn Fionn sin agus thuirt e, "Tha iad beinn agus gleann agus áite-suidhe samhraidh air falbh bhuainn a nist, agus cha n-eil Caoilte dha'n fhiadh ach mar a chunna tu shuas ud e." "'S eadh/' ors' esan, Fear a' Chota Liathghlais. Thug iad greis eile 'nan suidhe air na cnuic agus thuirt an sin Fear a' Chota Liathghlais ri Fionn, "Cuir do mheur fo'd dheud-fios feuch am faic thu gu dé mar a tha cúisean a' dol." Agus rinn Fionn sin agus thuirt e ri Fear a' Chota Liathghlais, "Tha iad da bheinn agus da ghleann agus da áite-suidhe samhraidh air falbh bhuainn a nist ach cha n-eil Caoilte dha'n fhiadh ach mar a chunna tu shuas ud e." "'S eadh, mata," ars' esan, Fear a' Chota Liathghlais, agus thug iad greis mhath eile 'nan suidhe. Agus thuirt e ris an treas uair, "Cuir do mheur fo'd dheud-fios, Fhinn, feuch am faic thu gu dé mar a chaidh do Chaoilte agus dha'n fhiadh." 'S rinn Fionn sin. "An da," ars' esan, Fionn, "tha iad tri bheannaibh agus tri ghlinn agus tri áiteachan-suidhe samhraidh air falbh a nist agus cha n-eil Caoilte dha'n fhiadh ach mar a chunna tu shuas ud e." "O, ma's ann mar sin a tha," orsa Fear a' Chota Liathghlais, "'s fheudar dhomh fhin falbh." Agus amach a thug e. Ach co-dhiubh, bha e faireachdainn a' ghúin a bha e cosg ro fhada, agus bha e a' goirteachadh a sháiltean. Agus thill e agus thuirt e nach b'urrainn dha dhol air 'n aghaidh anns an t-suidheachadh a bha 'seo: gu'n robh an gún cho fada 's gu'n robh e a' goirteachadh a sháiltean. Shuidhich iad táillearan na Féinn' an uair sin agus gheárr iad píos far a' ghúin. Thugadh dha an gún, chuir e siod uime agus amach a thug e. Agus fada neo goirid gu robh e falbh, thionndaidh an t-side car fliuch, fuar agus thill Fear a' Chota Liathghlais air n-ais. Thuirt e gu robh an t-side air fas cho fuar agus gu robh an gún ro ghoirid: gu robh e a' faireachdainn fuachd 'n caol a chas agus nach b'urrainn dhasan fuireach amuigh na b'fhaide anns an t-suidheachadh a bha sin. Chaidh an uair sin táillearan na Féinn' a chuir air suidheach' an

49

The Reciters and the Tales

was swifter and after a while the Man in the Light Grey Coat said to Fionn, " Put your finger under your tooth of knowledge to see if you can determine how things are going."1 Fionn did so and said, "They are a mountain and a glen and a sumrner sitting-place away from us now, and Caoilte is no closer to the deer than when you saw it up there."2 "Indeed," said the Man in the Light Grey Coat. They spent another while sitting on the hillocks and then the Man in the Light Grey Coat said to Fionn, "Put your finger under your tooth of knowledge to see if you can determine how things are going." Fionn did so and he said to the Man in the Light Grey Coat, "They are two mountains and two glens and two summer sitting-places away from us now, but Caoilte is no closer to the deer than when you saw it up there." "Yes, indeed," said he, the Man in the Light Grey Coat, and they spent another long while sitting. Then he said to Fionn a third time, "Put your finger under your tooth of knowledge, Fionn, to see if you can determine how Caoilte and the deer havefared." Fionn did so. "Well," said Fionn, "they are three mountains and three glens and three summer sitting-places away now and Caoilte is no closer to the deer than when you saw it up there." "Well, if that is how it is," said the Man in the Light Grey Coat, "FU have to go myself." And he set out. But he felt that the cloak that he was wearing was too long: it was hurting his heels. So he returned saying that he could not go on that way¿ the cloak was so long that it chafed his heels. They located the Fenians' tailors and the tailors cut a piece from the cloak. The cloak was returned to him, he put it on, and off he went. He may have travelled for a long time or a short time, but the weather turned wet and cold, and the Man in the Light Grey Coat turned back saying that the weather had become very cold and that the cloak was too short; he was feeling the cold on his ankles and he could remain outside no longer like that. The Fenians' tailors were located a second time and a

50

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

dama h-uair agus chaidh píos beag a chuir air iochdar a' ghúin airson fhágail na b'fhaide na bha e. Chuir Fear a' Chota Liathghlais an gún uime agus amach a thug e. Agus ge b' e üine a bha e ruaig as deaghaidh an fhéidh, bha e tighinn suas ris an fhiadh. Bha e buannachd air beag air bheag ach bha 'm fiadh a' deanamh air abhainn. Agus nuair a ruigeadh am fiadh bruaich na h-aibhneadh 's a leumadh e fairis, nuair a bhuaileadh e air an taobh eile cha robh air an t-saoghal neo air an domhan gu léir aon neach a bheireadh air. Ach nuair a chunnaic Fear a' Chota Liathghlais gu robh an gnothach air chunnart - gum faigheadh am fiadh teicheadh air - dh'astaraich e na bu luaithe na bha e deanamh agus anns an am a bha 'm fiadh a' tomhas a leum airson a dhol fairis air an t-sruth - air an abhainn - ghlac Fear a' Chota Liathghlais am fiadh 's leag e e. Agus chaidh am fiadh a mharbhadh 's a ghiúlan air n-ais. Agus, o, nuair a ránaig iad dhachaidh an uair sin neo-ar-thaing nach d'rinn ise eud mor ri Fear a' Chota Liathghlais (bean Fionn) agus rinn i eud cho mor ris agus gur ann a bha i airson cuir as do dh'Fhionn. Agus thuirt i ri Fionn, "Tha/' ors' ise, "tha mise 'gad chuir fo gheasaibh, Agus fo chroisibh Agus fo naoidh buar máthraichean Silein, siübhlain, seachrain. 'S an t-uan as meataiche is as mi-threóraiche na thu fhéin A thoirt dhiot do chinn, agus do chluais Agus do chaitheamh-beatha Mura toir thu thugamsa ceann an Fheamain-Fheóir." (Agus tha mi cinnteach nach bitheadh sin furasda fhaighinn ge b'e gu dé 'n seórsa beathach a bh'ann). Agus b'fheudar dhaibh an uair sin tóiseachadh air long a thogail. Agus ge b'e úine a bha iad a togail na long a bha sin faodar bhith cinnteach gu robh iad greis do dh'úine rithe. Agus nuair a bha an long deiseil 's a fhuaireadh a sgioba a chaidh air bórd, sheól iad. Agus thug iad úine mhór a' seóladh agus mu dheireadh ránaig iad a' cheárna anns an robh an creutair a bha seo a bha ri an ceann a thoirt dheth. Agus nuair a ránaig iad cala tharraing iad an long suas a seachd fad fhéin air talamh glas far nach bitheadh beadagan a' bhaile mhóir a' magadh orra. Agus air an adhart a ghabh iad. Agus ge b'e gu dé gach ni a thachair riu na dh'amais dhaibh na ge b'e dé

51

The Recitéis and the Tales

little piece was put back on the bottom of the cloak to make it longer than it had been. The Man in the Light Grey Coat put on the cloak and off he went.3 However long a time he pursued the deer, he was drawing finally cióse to it, gaining little by little. But the deer made for a river, and if it reached the bank of the river and if it leapt across to the other side, no one in the world or the entire universe could catch it. But when the Man in the Light Grey Coat saw the danger - that the deer might escape him - he forged ahead even more swiftly than before and, just as the deer was measuring its leap across the stream or river, the Man in the Light Grey Coat caught it and brought it down. The deer was killed and carried back. When they reached home Fionn's wife became exceedingly attracted to the Man in the Light Grey Coat - so much so that she wanted to do away with Fionn. She said to Fionn, "I am putting you under spells and crosses," said she, "And under nine constraints of the walking wandering fairy mothers That every lamb weaker and more misguided than yourself, May take from you your head and your ear And your livelihood, If you do not bring me the head of the Feamain-Feóir."4

(And I am certain that would not be easily obtained, whatever sort of creature it was.) So they had to begin building a ship; and however long it took them to build it, you can be sure that they spent a good while at it. And when the ship was ready and a crew was found to go on board, they sailed. They sailed a long time until at last they reached the región where the creature lived whose head was to be taken. When they arrived at a harbour, they pulled the ship up seven times its own length on the green earth where the impertinent lads of the big town would not be mocking them5 and they went ahead. And whatever things befell them or carne their way, and whatever they had to do, in the end they finally reached

52

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

b'fheudar dhaibh a dheanamh, air deireadh na cúis' fhuair iad a dh'ionnsaidh an áite anns an robh am Feamain-Feóir agus chaidh an ceann a thoirt dheth. Agus chaidh an sin falbh leis a dh'ionnsaidh na long agus chaidh an long a chuir air cuan agus thill iad dhachaidh. Ach cha robh ise idir riaraichte as a' ghnothach a bh'ann. Bha i smaointinn gum fáilligeadh an gnothach oirre buileach. Ach co-dhiubh airson an gnothach a dheanamh na bu duilghe dh'fheumadh tuilleadh a bhith ri dheanamh, agus thuirt i ri Fionn, "Tha mise 'gad chuir-sa fo gheasaibh Agus fo chroisibh Agus fo naoidh buar máthraichean Silein, siübhlain, seachrain. An t-uan as meataiche is as mi-threóraiche na thu fhéin A thoirt dhiot do chluas agus do chinn Agus do chaitheamh-beatha Mura toir thu thugamsa ceann a' Bhogain Bhalachaidh." Agus cha robh árach air a' sin ach gum f eunaadh iad togail rithe air n-ais agus falbh ge b'e gu dé a' cheárn anns a robh a' chulaidh-uamhais a bha sin. Sheól iad agus ge b'e úine gun tug e dhaibh an turus a dheanamh ránaig iad an t-áite bha seo. Agus ge b'e b'fheudar a dheanamh ann a' sin - cath neo cómhrag neo cuir-air-n-aghaidh — co-dhiubh fhuair iad cuir as dha 'n bhéist a bha sin agus an ceann thoirt dheth, agus sin a thoirt leo agus tilleadh air n-ais. Ach cho robh ise riaraichte fhathast as a' ghnothach a bh'ann agus thuirt i ri Fionn, "Tha mi," ors' ise, "'gad chuir fo gheasaibh Agus fo chroisibh Agus fo naoidh buar máthraichean Silein, siübhlain, seachrain An t-uan as meataiche 's as mi-threóraiche na thu fhéin A thoirt dhiot do chinn agus do chluais Agus do chaitheamh-beatha Mura toir thu thugamsa an cupan ineach Aig a' cheárd mhór."

53

The Reciters and the Tales

the place where the Feamain-Feóir lived and his head was taken off. Then they took it to the ship and the ship was put out to sea and they returned home. But she (Fionn's wife] was by no means satisfied with things as they stood. She feared that her scheme would fail utterly and to make things more difficult there had to be other tasks, so she said to Fionn, "I am putting you under spells and crosses And under nine constraints of the walking, wandering fairy-mothers. That every lamb weaker and more misguided than yourself, May take frorn you your ear and your head And your livelihood, If you do not bring me the head of the Bogan Balachaidh."6

There was no choice but to set out again and travel to whatever quarter that monster dwelt in. They set sail, and however long it took thern to make the journey they reached the place. And whatever they had to do there - a battle or a fight or some conílict — they succeeded in slaying the creature and cutting off its head and bringing it back. But she (Fionn's wife) was not satisfied with things yet, and she said to Fionn, "I am," said she, "putting you under spells and crosses And under nine constraints of the walking, wandering fairy-mothers. That every lamb which is weaker and more misguided than yourself, May take from you your head and your ear And your livelihood Unless you bring me the clawed cup7 From the Great Smith."

There was nothing else to do; they had to set out and certainly there was a fearful distance to cover on that journey. They sailed on and reached land there, and when they landed

54

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Ach co-dhiubh, cha robh árach air; dh'fheumte falbh agus tha fhios gu robh astar uamhasach ri shiúbhal air an turus sin. Agus sheól iad air adhart agus ránaig iad an talaron a bha seo, agus mar a b'ábhaist nuair a ránaig iad tharraing iad an long suas a seachd fad fhéin air feur glas far nach bitheadh beadagan a' bhaile rnhóir a' magadh orra. Agus nuair a ránaig Fear a' Chota Liathghlais shuas áite a' cheáird mhóir, chaidh e astaigh a sheanachas ris. Agus thug iad greis mhór a' seanachas - dh'fheumadh e dhol mun cuairt gu math seólta. Agus co-dhiubh thánaig iad gu seanachas mu dheidhinn a' chupain ineach. Agus sheall an ceárd mor dha an cupan ineach agus bha e tionndadh an sin a' chupain 'na lamhan agus a' coimhead air 's a' bruidhinn air cho maiseach 's a bha e agus lig e leis a' chupan tuiteam air lar 's bhrist an cupan. O, cha mhór nach deachaidh Fear a' Chota Liathghlais gu caoineadh leis mar a thachair is thuirt an ceárd mor ris, "Coma leat," ors' esan, "dheth sin. 'S ann a tha mi toilichte/' ors' esan, "a leithid a thachairt dha. Tha fios agams' a nist," ors' esan, "gu robh fáillinn 'sa chupan. Agus feumaidh sinn," ors' esan, "na ceáird uile a shuidheachadh agus an cupan a dheanamh as úr, agus a bhith cinnteach air an turus sin gu bheil e math gu leór 's gu seas e ri buille neo ri tuiteam neo sian sam bith a thachras dha." "O," ors' esan (am fear eile), "ma's ann mar sin a tha," ors' esan, "cha n-eil an gnothach buileach cho duilich leam." Agus chaidh na ceárdan uile gu léir gu obair agus chaidh an cupan ineach a dheanamh a nuil as úr. Agus chaidh fheuchainn an uair sin le cinnt agus bha an cupan cho láidir agus cho math 's a ghabhadh e. Agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh Fear a' Chota Liathghlais a' gabhail a' chothrom agus e a' tionndadh a' chupain. Agus nuair a fhuair e an cothrom gheárr e leum agus amach a thug e leis a' chupan. Agus thog fear le cách uile gu léir airson a dhol as a dheaghaidh agus dh'éibh an ceárd mor, "O," ors' esan, "ligidh sinn leis a bhith falbh," ors' esan. "Cha ruig sinn a leas a dhol as deaghaidh an fhir ud tuilleadh," ors' esan. "Tha fios agam a nist," ors' esan, "có a th'ann. Siod agad," ors' esan, "Mac Righ nan Collachan Óir, agus cha n-eil," ors' esan, "air an t-saoghal seo neo air an domhan aon a chumas uidh ris. Agus tha e cho math dhuinn," ors' esan, "a ligeadh air falbh." Agus ránaig iad shios far an robh an long agus chuir iad an long air a' mhuir agus amach a thug iad. Agus nuair a thill iad air n-ais bha an cupan ineach acá deiseil. Agus thug Fear a' Chota Liathghlais an cupan ineach do Fionn agus sheall Fionn an cupan ineach dhi-se.

55

The Reciters and the Tales

as was their custom they pulled up the ship seven times its own length on the green grass where the impertinent lads of the big town would not be mocking them. And when the Man in the Light Grey Coat arrived up at the Great Smith's place he went in to talk to him. They spent a long time conversing - he had to go about it in a canny way - but eventually their conversation turned to the clawed cup. The Great Smith showed him the clawed cup, and as he turned it in his hands, regarding it and saying how lovely it was, he dropped the cup on the íloor and it broke. Oh, the Man in the Light Grey Coat almost wept over what had happened, and the Great Smith said to him, "Never mind," said he, " about that. In fact, I am pleased that this has bef alien it, f or now I know that there was a ílaw in the cup. And now we must lócate all the smiths and make the cup over again and be certain then that it is good enough to stand up to any blow or fall or anything at all that happens to it." "Oh," said he (the other one), "if that's how it is, the incident is not altogether so painful for me." And all the smiths went to work and the clawed cup was made anew. And it was tested this time to make certain and the cup was as strong and as good as could be. And the Man in the Light Grey Coat, to be sure, saw his chance as he was turning the cup. And when he got the chance, he took a leap outside and off he went with the cup. The smith and the others all got up to pursue him but the smith called out, "Oh," said he, "we'll let him go. It is not worth our while pursuing that man any longer, for I know now who he is. That is the Son of the King of the Golden Pillars and neither in this world ñor in the universe," said he, "is there one who can keep up with him. It is just as well for us to let him go."8 So they arrived at the ship below and put the ship to sea and off they went. When they returned home they had the clawed cup ready, and the Man in the Light Grey Coat gave the clawed cup to Fionn and Fionn showed it to her. "And now," said he (Fionn), "I am putting you under spells:

56

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

"Agus a nist," ors' esan (Fionn), "tha mise 'gad chuir-sa fo gheasaibh: Tha mi 'gad chuir fo gheasaibh agus fo chroisibh 'S fo naoidh buar máthraichean Silein, siúbhlain, seachrain An t-uan as meataiche 's as mi-threóraiche na thu fhéin A thoirt dhiot do chinn agus do chluas Agus do chaitheamh-beatha Mura bi cas air an taigh bheag Agus cas air an taigh mhór Agus t'aghaidh ris gach sian a thig a adhar agad 'Nuair a thilleas mise. Agus ge b'e an turus air an deachaidh Fionn agus an cuideachd dha'n bheinn-sheilg, neo ge b'e c'áite an deachaidh iad, nuair a thill iad bha ise an deaghaidh tuiteam marbh leis an ardan. Agus sin na bheil cuimhne agam air an sgeulachd air Fear a' Chota Liathghlais.

2

O Cróileagan nan Each

Páirt dhe 'n naidheachd air O Cróileagan: tha e coltach gun d'fhuair iad guie an áiteiginn. Bha e faisg air a bhith marbh nuair a fhuaireadh e, ge b'e c'áite amach an d'fhuaireadh e, agus dh'fhoighneachd Righ Éirinn a robh e béo 's fhreagair fear dha 'n chuideachd aig a' righ gu robh an deó ann - an crónan ann - fhathast co-dhiu. "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "bheir sinn O Cróileagan fhéin mar ainm air agus thogaibh leibh e." Co-dhiubh nuair a dh' fhás an gille suas bhiodh e gabhail cúram dhe na h-eich 's tha e coltach gu robh e fior-mhath timcheall orra cuideachd. Agus bhiodh cách' a' magadh air: 's e O Cróileagan nan Each, Dalta Righ Éirinn a bheireadh iad ris. A nist, bha cuid mhór do dhol-air-'n-aghaidh as a' sgeulachd, ach bha iad a' tighinn anuas gu deireadh as a' sgeulachd mu dheidhinn Céin: mu dheidhinn cois Céin. Tha e coltach gun deachaidh a' chas aige sgealbadh suas agus bha a' sin fear a' tighinn - lighiche air choireiginn a' tighinn - dh'a leigheas. Dheanadh e leigheas agus bha rann aige 'ga ghabhail. 'S chanadh e,

57

The Recitéis and the Tales

I am putting you under spells and crosses And under nine constraints of the walking, wandering fairy-mothers. That every lamb weaker and more misguided than yourself, May take from you your head and your ear And your livelihood, Unless you have one foot on the little house And one foot on the big house And your face toward every kind of weather that comes from the sky, Whenlreturn." 9

And whatever journey Fionn and his companions made to the hunting-mountain - or wherever they went - when they returned, she had fallen dead with rage. And that is what I remember of the tale of the Man in the Light Grey Coat.

2

O Cróileagan of the Horses

This is part of the tale of O Cróileagan: it seems that they found a servant lad somewhere. He was near death when they found him, wherever they discovered him, and the King of Ireland asked if he was alive and one of the king's company said that the breath of life - a murmur - was still in him. "In that case/' said the king, "O Cróileagan is what we will ñame him. Raise him up and bring him with you." Anyway, when the lad grew up he used to take care of the horses and it seems that he was very good around them. And people used to make fun of him: they called him O Cróileagan of the Horses, the King of Ireland's foster-son. Now, there were many goings-on in the tale, but they all carne down in the end to something concerning Céin: about Céin's leg. It seems that his leg was shattered and a man carne - a leech of some kind carne - to heal him. He could perform cures while he chanted a rhyme. And he would say,

58

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

"Sin thusa do chas a Chéin Gun cuirinn-sa oirre ceirean furtachd is fóir is foir-leigheas A ruigeas an cnáimh 's a sheachnas an fheóil... A rugadh ann am Baile Áirde na Fraingeadh 'S a bhristeadh am Baile Boirbh(e) an Lochlann 'S a dh'éisd ri aifreann am Baile Cliath an Éirinn 'san aon latha." "Cha sin mise mo chas," orsa Cein. "Gu ceirean furtachd na fóir na foir-leigheas A ruigeas an cnáimh 's a sheachnas an fheóil Gun inns' thusa tri sgeóile fhiora gun bhreug." Nuair a thóisicheadh e 'n sin air innse na naidheachd - a' cheud sgeul - bha e tighinn gu páirt dhe 'n naidheachd far an tánaig iad gu áite sónraichte agus bha e coltach gu robh an té bha seo, gu robh i air a goid aig na laoich a bh 'ann. Agus bhuaileadh iad aig an dorus is dh'éibheadh iad cath neo cómhrag neo Anna an Diochlais nighean Righ Éirinn chuir amach dha 'n ionnsaidh. Agus sin a gheobhadh iad: cath agus cómhrag. 'S bha cóig ceud lúth-ghaisgeach 's cóig ceud lán-ghaisgeach 's cóig ceud treun-ghaisgeach agus Cu Chulainn air an ceann. 'S nuair a chaidh an cath a bha sin seachad, dh'fhalbh iad an sin agus ránaig iad áite 's dh'éibh iad nuair a bhuail iad aig an dorust cath agus cómhrag neo Anna an Diochlais nighean Righ Laighinn a chuir amach dha 'n ionnsaidh. Sin a gheobhadh iad: cath agus cómhrag. Agus thánaig cóig ceud lán-ghaisgeach 's cóig ceud lúth-ghaisgeach agus cóig ceud treun-ghaisgeach agus lall Greugach air an ceann. Ach mar a thuirt e mun do dh'inns' e a' cheud naidheachd chanadh e, "Ach sin thusa do chas, a Chéin, 'S gun cuirinn-sa oirre ceirean furtachd is fóir is foir-leigheas A rugadh ann am Bail' Áirde na Fraingeadh 'S a bhristeadh ann am Baile Boirbh(e) an Lochlann 'S a dh'éisd ri aifreann ann am Baile Cliath an Éirinn anns an aon latha." "Cha sin mise mo chas," orsa Céin, Airson ceirean furtachd na fóir na foir-leigheas

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The Reciters and the Tales

" Stretch out your leg, Céin; So that I may put on it poultices of relief and deliverance and great healing Which will reach the bone and pass the flesh ... Who was born in a town in Upper France1 And was broken in Bergen in Norway And listened to a mass in Dublin in Ireland, all in one day." "I will not stretch out my leg/' said Céin. "For poultices of relief or deliverance or great healing Which will reach the bone and pass the flesh Unless you tell three true stories without a lie."

When he began trien to tell the story - the first tale - he carne to a part of it in which they arrived at a certain place and it seemed that a certain lady had been abducted by the warriors there. So they hammered on the door and called out for battle or combat2 or for Anna an Diochlais, the daughter of the King of Ireland, to be sent out to them.3 And what they got was battle and combat. And there were five hundred agüe héroes and five hundred complete héroes and five hundred brave héroes with Cu Chulainn leading them. And when the battle was over they set out and reached another place and called out as they struck the door for battle and combat or for Anna an Diochlais, the Daughter of the King of Leinster, to be sent out to them. And what they got was battle and combat. And there were five hundred complete héroes and five hundred agüe héroes and five hundred brave héroes and lall of Greece4 leading them. And before he told the first story, he would say, "But stretch out your leg, Céin, So that I may put on poultices of relief and deliverance and great healing ... Who was born in a city in Upper France And was broken in Bergen in Norway And listened to a mass in Dublin in Ireland, all in one day." "I will not stretch out my leg," said Céin, "For poultices of relief or deliverance or great healing

60

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

A ruigeas an cnáimh 's a sheachnas an fheóil Gus an inns' thusa tri sgeóile fhiora gun bhreug." 'S nuair a thóisich e air an tritheamh sgeul innse thuirt e gun deach iad dh'ionnsaidh an áite seo agus bhuail iad aig an dorus 's dh'éibh iad cath neo cómhrag neo Anna an Diochlais nighean Righ Laighinn a chuir amach dha 'n ionnsaidh. 'S i a gheobhadh iad: cath agus cómhrag. Chaidh cóig ceud lúth-ghaisgeach 's cóig ceud lán-ghaisgeach agus cóig ceud treun-ghaisgeach a chuir amach agus Fear Liath Mac Deamhain air an ceann. Ach a nist air a h-uile sgeul a bha e 'g innse, chanadh am fear eile, "Taing dhut-s' a Dhia, do Righ nan Ceud agus nan Cumhachd. Tha mise na's láidir an diugh na bha mi 'n dé, agus na bu láidir an dé na bha mi 'n latha roimhe sin." Agus mar sin an dol-air-'n-aghaidh gus an do leighiseadh a chas agus gun d'fhuaireadh amach le cinnt a h-uile sian mar a bha. Agus sin na bh'air cuimhn' agamsa air an naidheachd mar a bha Gilleasbuig Ceanadach aig aithris.

3

Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg, Dalta Fhínn

'S e naidheachd air Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg an sin agus tha e coltach gura h-e dalta Fhinn a bh' ann. Agus nuair a bha iad aig a' chath, nuair a thigeadh iad a thoirt cunntais air na thachair, chanadh Fionn nuair a bhuaileadh iad aig an dorust, có bha siod aig an dorust. Chanadh e. "Tha mise, Fiachaire do mhac agus Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg do dhalt'." Is reachadh an uair sin an ligeadh astaigh agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha ciamar a chaidh dhaibh an diugh agus dh'innseadh a mhac dha mar a chaidh an cath. Agus a dh'aindeoin mar a dh'fheuch e bha Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg a' cumail ris agus chanadh e, "O, Fhiachaire, Fhiachaire, tha thusa ro throm air Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg agus gun e ach óg. Feuch nach bi thu a' ligeadh a' chudthrom cho mor air." Agus dh'fhalbhadh iad gu cath eile agus bha an cath a' dol air aghaidh 's mar sin greis agus mu dheireadh thánaig iad gu cath. Bhiodh iad a'

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The Reciters and the Tales

Which will reach the bone and pass the flesh Until you tell three true stories without a lie."

When he began to recite the third story, he said that they went to this place and they struck the door and called out for battle and combat or Anna an Diochlais, the Daughter of the King of Leinster, to be sent out to them. And what they got was battle and combat. Five hundred agüe héroes and five hundred full héroes and five hundred brave héroes were sent out and Fear Liath Mac Deamahainn5 leading them. And at the end of every tale, his companion would say, "My thanks to you, O God the King of the Hundreds and of the Powers. I am stronger today than I was yesterday and I was stronger yesterday than I was the day before." And thus it went on until the leg was healed and it was found out for certain how everything had been. And that is what I remember of the tale as it was told by Archie Kennedy. 3

Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts, Fionn's Foster-Son

This story concerns Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts, who it seems was a foster-son of Fionn. And when they were at the battle,when they carne to give an account of what had passed, Fionn would ask when they knocked on the door who was there at the door. "It is I, Fiachaire, your son, and Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts, your foster-son." And they were admitted and Fionn would ask how they had fared that day and his son would tell him how the battle had gone. And no matter how Fiachaire tried, Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts kept pace with him and Fionn would say, " Oh, Fiachaire, Fiachaire, you are too hard on Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts; he is only young. See that you do not préss him so much." And they would set out to another battle and the battle was going on this way for some time and then they would go to

62

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

dol amach ann an cath agus a h-uile h-uair a thigeadh iad dhachaidh, dh'fhoighneachdadh Fionn ciamar a chaidh dhaibh. Dh'innseadh Fiachaire mac Fhinn mar a chaidh agus a dh'aindeoin cho math 's a dh'fheuchadh e bhiodh 'm fear eile suas ris is chanadh e ri Fiachaire, "Fhiachaire, tha thu ro throm air Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg agus gun e ach óg." Ach mu dheireadh thánaig iad gu cath agus chaidh a mharbhadh. Agus bha iad ag obair air cath - ri sior-chuir cath - agus bha Fiachaire air cath is a' cuir air n-aghaidh is mu dheireadh nuair a chaidh Iseadal Mac Righ nan Sealg a mharbhadh 's chaidh an ceann a chuir dheth, cha robh árach aig' ach an ceann a bhualadh air feadh an fheadhainn eile is leag e marbh e. Bha ;m batail an uair sin a' dol air n-aghaidh agus tha e coltach gu robh an Fhéinn a' buannachd co-dhiubh agus an uair sin, bha na gadan ri 'n lionadh le cinn agus air thoiseach agus air deireadh na h-áireamh a bh'air a' ghad bha ceann Baoth Maol a' Chruachain ri chuir air. Agus dh' fhoighneachd fear dhiubh dha'n fhear eile có mheud a bh' ann agus thuirt iad gu robh iad ann uile ach aon-fhear. "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "feumaidh sinne cath a chuir agus 's e do cheann-s' neo mo cheann-sa a dh'fheumas a dhol air a; ghad." "O," ors' esan, "cha n-ann mar sin a tha idir," ors' esan. "Ach tha na naoidh gadan lán a nist agus air thoiseach agus air deireadh air a h-uile lán tha ceann Baoth Maol a' Chruachain." "Ma tha," ors' esan, "ma's ann mar sin a tha, faodaidh sinn sgur: tha 'n cathseachad."

4

Mar a Fhuair Osgar Ainm

Chuala mi'n naidheachd aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach air Ludair an Eanraich, fear dhe na Fianntaichean. Leis na bhiodh e ag ól do dh'eanrach 's e Ludair an Eanraich a thug iad air. Ach bha iad a' seo ann an áite: bha e coltach gu deach iad air seachran an áiteiginn neo gu robh iad amuigh air turus agus thachair náimhdean gu math dona riu agus nuair a dh'ionndrannaich iad Ludair an Eanraich thóisich iad air siubhal mun cuairt agus dh'éibh fear dhiubh sin gun d'fhuair iad e. "Agus a bheil e beó?" orsa Fionn. "O, tha 'n t-osgar ann," fhreagair am fear eile.

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The Reciters and the Tales

another battle. They would go out to battle and every time they carne home, Fionn would ask how they had fared. Fiachaire, Fionn's son, would tell how things had gone and no matter how hard he tried the other one would keep pace with him and Fionn would say to Fiachaire, " Fiachaire, you are too hard on Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts; he is only young." But at last they carne to a battle when Iseadal was killed. And they were engaging in battle - always offering battle and Fiachaire was advancing and at last Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts was killed and beheaded, and Fiachaire had no choice but to put the head among the others where Iseadal was struck dead. The battle continued and it seems that the Fenians were winning, and there were withes to be strung with heads. And at the beginning and the end of the number of heads on the withes the head of Baoth Maol a' Chruachain was to be placed.l One of them asked the other how many heads there were and the other said that they were all there except for one. "Well then," said he, "we must do battle and either your head or mine must go on the withe." "Oh," he answered, "but that's not how it is at all," said he. "The nine withes are full now and at the beginning and the end of each full one is the head of Baoth Maol a' Chruachain." "Well then," said he, "if that is so, we may stop: the battle is over."

4

How Osear Got His Ñame

I heard a story from Archie Kennedy about Soup-Ladle, one of the Fenians. Because of all the soup he drank, they called him Soup-Ladle. And they were gathered somewhere: it seems that they had become lost, or that they were out on a journey and some hostile enemies happened upon them, and when they missed Soup-Ladle they began walking around and one of them called out then that they had found him. "And is he alive?" said Fionn. "Oh, there is still some forcé

64

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

"Ma tha," ors' esan, Fionn, "bheireamaid Osgar fhéin air agus giúlaineamaid dhachaidh e." Agus sin mar a fhuair Osgar an t-aimn.

5

Osgar agus Mac a' Luin

Chuala mi naidheachd aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach nach maireann air na Sgeulachdan air an Fhéinn, 's an naidheachd a bh' aige air turus a chaidh Fionn agus Osgar; 's ge b-e có mheud eile a chaidh ann cómhla riu cha n-eil ann am chuimhne aig an am. Ach co-dhiubh chaidh iad air turus. Agus air reír seanachas a 7 Cheanadaich 's ann a choimhead air a' phapa a chaidh iad. Ach co-dhiubh tha e coltach gun deachaidh an turus gu math leo agus nuair a bha iad a' fágail dh'fhág Fionn an claidheamh mor Mac a' Luin aig a' phapa mar thiodhlac. Agus dh'fhág iad beannachd aig a chéile agus dh'fhalbh iad. Ach gun fios do chacha, ghoid Osgar leis an claidheamh agus dh'fhalaich e fo chleóc' e. 'S nuair a bha iad air an t-slighe a' tilleadh dhachaidh thuirt e ri Fionn, "Cuir do mheur fo 'd dheud-fios feuch gu dé chi thu neo chluinneas tu." Agus thuirt Fionn, "Cath 'ga chuir 's feum air fir, 'S tha a' ghaoth far sluagh. 'S truagh gun Mac a' Luin," "Agus gu dé dheanadh tu le Mac a' Luin?" "Dheanadh," ors' esan, "gun cuirinn as dha 'n a námhaid; gun tugainn sgrios orra." Tha mi 'n dúil gur e na Lochlannaich a bha cuir cath ris an Fhéinn aig an am. Ach co-dhiubh an ceann greiseadh thuirt Osgar ris a rithist, "Cuir do mhéur fo 'd dheud-fios." Rinneadh sin agus 's e an aon naidheachd a bh' ann. "Cath 'ga chuir 's feum air fir Tha a' ghaoth far sluagh. 'S truagh gun Mac a' Luin." Agus dh'fhoighneachd e gu dé dheanadh e le Mac a' Luin agus fhuair

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The Reciters and the Tales

(an t-osgar] in him," said the other one.1 "Well then," said Fionn, "Osear is what we cali him. Let us carry him home." And that is how Osear got his ñame.

5

Osear and Mac a' Luin

I heard an account from the late Archie Kennedy concerning the tales of the Fenians, and the story he had about the journey of Fionn and Osear; however many others went with thern I don't remember at this time. But anyway, they went on a journey. And, according to Kennedy's versión, they went to see the Pope. And it seems that the journey went well for them, and when they were taking their leave, Fionn left the great sword Mac a' Luin with the Pope as a gift. And they exchanged farewells and went on their way. But unknown to the others, Osear stole back the sword and took it with him, concealing it under his cloak. And on the way home he said to Fionn, " Put your finger under your tooth of knowledge to see what you will see and hear."1 And Fionn said, "A battle being fought and need of men And the wind blowing over the host. How hard it is without Mac a' Luin!"

"And what would you do with Mac a' Luin?" "I would," said he, "do away with the enemy. I would destroy them."2 I suppose that it was the Norsemen who were doing battle with the Fenians at the time. At any rate, after a while Osear said to him again, "Put your finger under your tooth of knowledge." This he did and it was the same story. "A battle being fought and need of men The wind blowing over the host. How hard it is without Mac a' Luin!"

And he asked what he would do with Mac a' Luin, and he

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e 'n fhreagairt mar a b'ábhaist: gun cuireadh e as neo gu sgriosadh e na náimhdean. Ach an treas turus a thuirt e sin 's e an aon naidheachd a bh' ann ach gu robh coltas gu robh Fionn gu math duilich air an naidheachd seo fhaighinn an treas turus. Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhairich e rudeiginn a' dol suas air a dhruim f o 'n chleóc agus, "Gu dé/' ors' esan, "a tha air mo dhruim an sin?" "'S ann air fheuchainn a bhios fhios agaibh/' ors' Osgar agus nuair a dh'fheuch e bha Mac a' Luin an sin. "Nach math mar a rinn thu/' ors' esan. "'S tu rinn glic. Nam biodh tu air Mac 'a Luin a thoirt dhomh 's tu 'nad sheasamh air mo bheulaibh bheireadh e na h-uibhir do thoileachadh dhomh agus gun caillinn cumhachd air mi-fhin a cheannsachadh agus chuirinn dhiot an ceann." Agus sin mar a bha 'n naidheachd a bh' aig a' Cheanadach air Mac a' Luin 's tha e coltach nuair a ránaig iad air n-ais gun deachaidh ac' air sgrios a thoirt air na Lochlannaich co-dhiubh le Mac a' Luin.

6

Fionn agus na Cathagan Coimheach'

Chuala mi naidheachd aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach bho chionn áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean. 'S ann mu dheidhinn Fionn mac Cumhail a bha 'n naidheachd is tha e coltach gu robh iad ann am batail neo ann an cath bha doirbh agus nuair a bha 'n gnothach a' fáilleachdainn air an fhear eile fhuair e fhéin cuideachadh. Bha Cathagan Coimheach' aig an fhear eile agus bha iad sin a' tighinn a chuir air Fionn agus cha robh e 'gam faicinn. Is mu dheireadh thug e fo near mar a bha gnothaichean is thuirt e, "Tog dhiom an fheadhainn nach eil mi faicinn." Agus cha tug am f ear eile f eairt, ach ri üine thog e dheth na Cathagan Coimheach' agus chaidh iad an uair sin gu cath dha rireabh - tha mi cinnteach duine an aghaidh duine - agus chaidh aig Fionn air an gnothach a dheanamh air. Tha cuid mhór dha 'n naidheachd nach eil agam idir agus bha Gilleasbuig e fhéin air a' mhór-chuid dha 'n naidheachd a dhiochuimhneachadh.

7

Mar a Fhuair Conan Ainm

'S ann aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach a chuala mi 'n naidheachd sin air

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The Reciters and the Tales

got the usual answer: that he would do away with or destroy the enemy. The third time that he said this, it was the same story, except that Fionn appeared very sorry to receive this news a third time. And anyway, he felt something going up his back under his cloak. "What," said he, "is on my back there?" "Try and you'11 see," said Osear, and when he tried, Mac a' Luin was there. "Didn't you do well by us," said Fionn. " You have behaved very wisely indeed. If you had given me Mac a' Luin while you were standing in front of me it would have given me such pleasure that I would have lost the ability to control myself and would have cut off your head." And such was the story that Kennedy had on Mac a' Luin, and it seems that when they returned they were able to wreak great destruction on the Norsemen with Mac a' Luin.

6

Fionn and the Strange Adversarles

A story I heard from Archie Kennedy many years ago concerns Fionn mac Cumhail. And it seems that they were in a battle or in some hard conflict and, when things were turning against their opponent, he got assistance. The opponent used the Strange Adversaries, and when they carne to attack Fionn he could not see them. At last Fionn realized how things stood and said, "Lift from me those who are invisible to me." And the opponent paid no heed. But after some time he took the Strange Adversaries off Fionn, and then they went into battle for real - hand-to-hand I am sure - and Fionn managed to prevail. There is a large part of the tale that I no longer have; Archie himself had forgotten most of it.

7

How Conan Got His Ñame

It was from Archie Kennedy that I heard the following story

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Conan, am fear bu shuaraiche a bh' as an Fhéinn. Tha e coltach gu robh Conan a' tighinn tarsainn air garbh-chriochan neónach air choireiginn latha agus thánaig e gu bothan ann a' sin agus thug e súil astaigh agus bha béist mhór do dh'fhuamhaire neo culaidh-uamhais air choireiginn 'na shuidhe astaigh as an áite bha sin agus thuirt Conan, "Cha n-fhaca mi riamh dorust fosgailte nach do choisich mi astaigh throimhe." Agus ghabh e astaigh. Bha áite air an suidheadh e ann a; sin taobh bórd is thuirt e, "Cha n-fhaca mi riamh suidheachan an áite nach do shuidh mi air." Agus shuidh e air an áite bha seo. 'S thug e súil 's bha biadh air a' bhórd agus thuirt e, "Cha n-fhaca mi riamh biadh air bórd nach do dh'ith mi páirt dheth." Chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh a' bhúird is thóisich e air a' bhiadh ithe agus as an am a bha seo bha a' bhéist - am fuamhaire - bha e coimhead air ; s a pheirceall gu math faisg air Conan agus e coimhead air. Tha mi cinnteach gu robh e gabhail beachd gu dé a nist an dóigh air a robh e dol 'ga chuir gu bás is nuair a bha Conan réidh dha 'n bhiadh thuirt e, "Cha n-fhaca mi riamh cothrom air buille mhath a thoirt nach tug." Is chuir e fairis a' bhéist 's bhrist e an citheal aige. Agus chuir e as dha 'n fhuamhaire bha sin. Is nuair a thill e dh'ionnsaidh na Féinn 's a dh'inns' e mar a thachair thuirt iad uile gu léir gun deanadh an duine bu shuaraiche a bh' as an Fhéinn sin. Cha ligeadh an t-eagal leo aideachadh gu robh e gaisgeil air neo thóisicheadh e orra fhéin. Agus sin mar a fhuair e an t-ainm gura h-e Conan an duine bu shuaraiche a bh' as an Fhéinn. Agus cha chreid mi nach e Conan a thuirt. "Ma's ole dhomh cha n-fheárr dhut, mar a thuirt Conan ris an deamhan." Bha siod ann an sean-fhacal. Sin agaibh an sgeulachd air Conan, am fear bu shuaraiche a bh' air an Fhéinn.

8

Diatmaid agus Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine

Ge b'e có an té a bh' ann a' Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine, tha e coltach air réir mar a bha as an t-seanachas a bhiodh acá gu robh Diarmaid O Duinn glé dheónach a bhith 'na cuideachd; gu robh fior-spéis aige dhi. Tha beachd agam air Gilleasbuig Ceanadach nach maireann a bhith

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The Reciters and the Tales

about Conan, the most contemptibie of the Fenians. It seems that Conan was crossing some strange, rugged country one day and he arrived at a hut. He looked in and there was a great hulk of a giant or some terrible creature sitting inside, so Conan said, "I never saw an open door that I did not enter through." And in he went. There was a place for hirn to sit along the table, and he said, " I never saw a seat in a place that I did not sit on." So he sat at that place. He looked and there was food on the table and he said, "I never saw food on the table that I did not partake of it." He went to the table and began to eat the food, and at that moment the monster - the giant - was looking at him and his jaw was very cióse to Conan as he regarded hirn. I am sure he was considering how he would kill him, but when Conan was through with the food he said, "I never saw a chance to deliver a blow that I did not do it." So he pushed the monster over and broke his jaw and did away with him. When he returned to the Fenians and told them what had happened, they all said that only the most contemptible of the Fenians would do such a thing. They were afraid to admit that he was valiant lest he begin on them. And that is how Conan got the reputation for being the most contemptible of the Fenians. And I believe that it was Conan that said, " 'If it's bad for me, it's no better for you/ as Conan said to the devil."1 And that was the saying: '"If it's bad for me, it's no better for you/ as Conan said to the devil." There you have the story of Conan, the most contemptible of the Fenians. 8

Diarmaid and the Slim Woman in the Green Coat

Whoever the Slim Woman in the Green Coat was it seems, according to some accounts, that Diarmaid O Duinn was eager to be in her company, that he was very much enamoured of her. I remember the late Archie Kennedy telling a tale that

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

'g innse sgeul agus 's ann timcheall Sgeulachdan na Féinn' a bha e. Agus tha e coltach gu robh iad ann an cas éiginn co-dhiubh agus bha iad fo bhuidseachd tha e coltach agus iad air leantail ris an áite air a robh iad 'nan suidhe. Agus fhuaireadh cupan do dh'uisge as a robh rud a rachadh an aghaidh na geasachd agus bha e a' crathadh an uisge orra agus theirg na bh' anns a' chupan 's bha aonfhear dhiubh nach robh air a thoirt far a' láir idir. Agus bha e 'g éigheachd esan a thogail agus cha robh dóigh a thoirt far a' láir. Agus thuirt e, "O Dhiarmaid, a Dhiarmaid! Nam b'e Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine a bhiodh anns a' chas seo dheanadh tusa do dhicheall airson a cuideachadh." Agus air réir na naidheachd chuir e f earg air Diarmaid agus ghlac Diarmaid e agus tharraing e leis e agus dh'fhág e craiceann a dhroma 's a shléisninn air a' lar. Agus sin mar a chuala mi aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach mu dheidhinn Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine. Ach bha e aig f eadhainn a bha 'g éisdeachd ris na Sgeulachdan aige trie, chanadh iad nam b'e Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine a bhiodh ann ... Ma b'fhior gum b'e Diarmaid a thuirt seo agus sin na bheil cuimhn' agamsa mu dheidhinn Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine.

9

Bás Dhiarmaid

Bha naidheachd aig Gilleasbuig Ceanadach air Diarmaid agus air Fiorní; bha cuid mhór do naidheachdan na Féinneadh aige. Ach bha 'n naidheachd aige ... tha e coltach gu robh rud air bathais Dhiarmaid agus boireannach sam bith a chitheadh an rud a bh' air a bhathais, cha b' urrainn dhi chuideachadh gun tuiteam ann an gaol air Diarmaid. Agus tha e coltach gu fac' a' bhean aig Fionn seo agus thuit i ann an trom-ghaol air Diarmaid. Bha eud mor aice ris agus chuir seo gu robh gamhlas aig Fionn ri Diarmaid o chionn gun do dh'fhalbh a' bhean aige cómhla ris. Agus tha e coltach gun do ghabh Fionn dona a' chúis agus gu robh e airson Diarmaid a chuir gu bás. Ach cha robh e idir airson lámh a bhith aige fhéin 'na bhás, gun rudeiginn a bhith mu thimcheall agus nach coimheadadh e coltach ri coire a bhith aig Fionn ris. Agus mu dheireadh chuir e Diarmaid a mharbhadh torc

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The Reciters and the Tales

belonged to the Fenian Cycle. It seems that the Fenians were in hard straits and apparently under spells. They were sticking to the place where they were sitting and a cup of water was obtained which contained something to counter the spells and Fionn was sprinkling the water on them until the contents of the cup ran out and one of the Fenians was there who had not been detached from the floor at all. And he was calling out for them to lift him up and there was no way that he could be detached from the floor. And so he said, "O Diarmaid, O Diarmaid! If the Slim Woman in the Green Coat were in these straits you would do your best to help her."1 And according to the story he angered Diarmaid so that Diarmaid grabbed him and dragged him along and lef t the skin of his back and his thighs on the floor. And that is how I heard the story from Archie Kennedy about the Slim Woman in the Green Coat. And people who listened often to his tales used to say if it were only the Slim Woman in the Green Coat... (who needed your help) as if it were Diarmaid that said this. And that is what I remember concerning the Slim Woman in the Green Coat. 9

The Death of Diarmaid

Archie Kennedy had a tale concerning Diarmaid and Fionn. He had a large share of Fenian tales, but in this particular tale it seemed that there was something on the forehead of Diarmaid and any woman who saw it on his forehead could not help but fall in love with him. And it seems that Fionn's wife saw it and she fell deeply in love with Diarmaid. She felt a great longing for him, and that caused Fionn to harbour malice toward Diarmaid, because his - Fionn's - wife had departed with Diarmaid. And it seems that Fionn took the matter to heart and that he intended to put Diarmaid to death, but he did not want to have a hand in the death of Diarmaid or to be directly involved; he did not want to appear to be to blame in any way. Finally he sent Diarmaid to kill a poison

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

nimhe ann an áite; tha mi creidsinn gun do dh'fheuch e iomadh dóigh an toiseach ri chuir gu bás ach cha robh sin furasda: bha Diarmaid cho gaisgeil. Ach chaidh a chuir a mharbhadh an torc nimhe. Bha iad an dúil nuair a rachadh e a shealg an torc nimhe gun cuireadh an torc nimhe crioch air agus cha bhiodh coire ri chuir air Fionn co-dhiubh. Ach mharbh Diarmaid an torc nimhe agus cha robh Fionn buileach riaraicht' as a' ghnothach: bha Diarmaid fhathast beó agus bha leithid do ghamhlas aige ris. Bha gamhlas cho mor aig Fionn ri Diarmaid agus ged a bha Diarmaid cho gaisgeil 's gun do mharbh e an torc nimhe cha robh Fionn riaraichte nach deachaidh e gu bás agus chunnacas iomchaidh gun tomhaiseadh e an torc agus bha an torc ri tomhas air a fad. Agus 's ann le cas-cheum a bha sáil ri bárr coiseadh ri dol air bho cheann gu ceann. 'S thóisich e aig ceann an tuirc agus thomhais e sios e dh'ionnsaidh a' chinn eile - mar gum biodh bho ;n ghnos 's bho shrón na muiceadh sios chon an earbaill. Rinn e sin agus chaidh an uair sin iarraidh air a tomhas air n-ais suas dh'ionnsaidh na sróineadh. Agus bha e dol an aghaidh nan cuilg a' tomhas as an dóigh sin. Nist, bha dorus báis air bonn na coiseadh aig Diarmaid agus nan rachadh bior nimhe ann; bhiodh e marbh. Nuair a bha e dol suas sheas e air a' bhior nimhe agus chaidh e anns an dorus báis na 'm ball-dóbhrain a bh' air bonn a choiseadh agus thuit Diarmaid. Nuair a bha e dol dh'ionnsaidh a' bháis dh'iarr e uisge is tha mi creidsinn nam faigheadh e uisge ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh e beó 's ma dh'fhaoidte nach biodh. Co-dhiubh b'e iarrtas deireannach a bh' ann agus dh'fhalbh Fionn sios dh'ionnsaidh uisge: bha abhainn neo alltan neo Ion neo áite 'sa robh uisge agus thaom e uisge. Chuir e a dhá bhois an taic ri chéile is thaom e uisge agus bha e dol suas dh'a ionnsaidh leis a' seo ach smaointich e air a' ghamhlas a bh' eatorra agus mar a ghoid e a bhean air - mar a dh'fhalbh a' bhean aige fhéin cómhla ris - agus lig e as a lamhan. Ach smaointich e an uair sin gun d'rinn e ceárr: ghabh e aithreachas nach do cho-lion e 'n t-iarrtas mu dheireadh a rinn Diarmaid ged a bha iad aig gamhlas agus thill e air n-ais dh'ionnsaidh an uisge a dh'iarraidh tuilleadh. Ach cha b'urrainn dha uisge ghiülain 'na lamhan tuilleadh. Agus bha an Ceanadach ag rádhainn, "Sin an t-aobhar air nach teid

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The Recitéis and the Tales

boar somewhere. Fin sure that he tried many ways before to kill him, but it was not easy: Diarmaid was so stalwart. But he was sent to kill a poison boar; they expected when he went to hunt down the poison boar that it would finish him, and Fionn would not be blamed. But Diarmaid killed the poison boar and Fionn was not satisfied. Diarmaid was still alive and Fionn still harboured a good deal of malice towards him. Fionn nursed his intense hatred towards Diarmaid and even though Diarmaid was so heroic as to kill the poison boar, Fionn was not happy that he had not met his death. So he saw fit that Diarmaid should measure the boar, and the boar was to be measured along its length. The measuring was to be done by foot-lengths, heel-to-toe, from one end to the other. Diarmaid began measuring the boar at its head, and he measured it down to the other end, that is, from the snout or nose of the pig down to the tail. Once he had done that, he was asked to measure back again toward the nose; measuring that way he was going against the direction of the bristles. Now, there was what was called a "Door of Death" on the solé of Diarmaid's foot and if any venomous point should penétrate it, he would die. As he was going up the pig Diarmaid stepped on a poison bristle which penetrated the "Door of Death" or the mole on the solé of his foot and he fell. As he was approaching death he asked f or water, and I believe that if he had got water, perhaps he might live and perhaps not. It was his last request, so Fionn went down to the water there was a river or rivulet or a pond or a place where there was water - and he scooped some up. He put his two palms together and scooped up water and was going up to Diarmaid with it when he thought of the malice that was between them and how Diarmaid had stolen his wife - how his own wife had gone off with him - and he opened his hands. But he thought then that he had done wrong; he regretted that he had not performed the last request that Diarmaid had made, although there was the malice between them, and he returned to the water for some more. But he could no longer carry water in his hands. And Kennedy used to say, "This is why no one can scoop

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aig aon air uisge a thaomadh le lamhan agus a ghiúlain air astar." Agus siod na bheil agamsa do chuimhne air an naidheachd air bás Dhiarmaid O Duinn.

10

An t-Ambas Ormanach

Fhuair mi sgeul beag bho Ghilleasbuig Ceanadach air — cho fad 's is cuimhneach leam 's e an t-Amhas Ormanach an t-ainm a bh' air an neach a bh' ann. Agus bha e cho misneachail, gaisgeil; cha robh eagal aige ro sian idir an áite sam bith. Agus dh'fhalbh e shiubhal an t-saoghail feuch an tachradh sian ris a chuireadh eagal air. Agus tha e coltach gun do shiubhail e 'n saoghall - na b' urrainn dha shiubhal dhe 'n t-saoghal - 's cha do thachair sian ris a chuir eagal air. 'S bha e tilleadh dhachaidh ;s cha robh sian a' tachairt ris. Ach nuair a bha e faisg air an dachaidh aige fhéin — bha e air fhearann fhéin as an am; bha e glé fhaisg air an dachaidh - bhuail am pathadh e agus chrom e sios taobh sruthan beag a bh' ann 's e dol a dh'ól deoch as an t-sruthan. Agus nuair a chrom e sios 's a bha e direach gus a bhilean a chuir ris an uisge, shnámh iasg beag seachad air 's chrath e 'n t-uisge. 'S thog e a cheann suas ann an cabhaig agus smaointich e 'n uair sin cho górach 's a bha e fhéin a dhol a shiubhal an t-saoghal uile feuch am faiceadh e sian na 'n tachradh sian ris a chuireadh eagal air, agus gun do chuir an t-iasg beag meanbh a bh' as an t-sruth taca ris an taigh aige fhéin uibhir do dh'eagal air 's gun tug e maoimeadh as.

11

lagan 's a Mhaighstír

Uair dha 'n aimsir bha banndrach bhochd ann aig a robh triúir mhac agus bha iad gu math bochd anns an t-saoghal. Ach bha an dithist a b' aosda dha na mic ñor ghleusda, seólta, ach am fear a b' óige dhiubh, lagan, cha robh ann ann am beachd a h-uile h-aon ach amadan. Agus co-dhiubh thuirt a' fear a b' aosda dha na gillean gu robh esan a' dol a dh'fhalbh air ceann an fhortain. Agus thuirt e nuair a dheanadh e fortan math gun tilleadh e dhachaidh dh'ionnsaidh na dachaidh agus gum bitheadh iad gu math dheth an uair sin. Co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh e agus fada neo goirid an úine gu robh e falbh, thánaig e gu áite tuathanach mor: bodach mor glas ann a' sin agus bha croit mhór fearainn aige 's spréidh 's bha e flor mhath air a dhóigh.

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The Recitéis and the Tales

up water with his hands and carry it any distance." And that is what I remember of the tale of the death of Diarmaid O Duinn.

10

The Amhas Ótmanach

I got a short tale from Kennedy concerning a person who as far as I remember was named the Amhas Órmanach. And he was so courageous and gallant; he had no fear of anything anywhere. So he set out to travel the world to see if something would happen to him that would frighten him, and it seems that he travelled throughout the world - whatever parí he could - and he encountered nothing that frightened him. And he was returning home and nothing was happening to him. But when he was cióse to home on his own land he grew thirsty and bent down beside a little stream and was going to drink from the stream. And as he bent over and was just about to put his lips to the water a little fish swam by and stirred the water. He jerked his head up and thought then how silly he was to go travelling through the whole world to see if he could see anything or if anything would happen upon him that would frighten him when that tiny little fish in the stream beside his own house had frightened him so much that he had panicked.

11

Jack and the Master

Once upon a time there was a poor widow who had three sons, and they were all very poor in this world. The two oldest sons were extremely smart and intelligent but the youngest, Jack, was considered by everyone just a fool. So the oldest of the lads said that he was going to go out to seek his fortune, saying that when he had made a sizeable fortune he would return home to the house and that they would be well off then. So he set out, and whether the time that he travelled was long or short, he arrived at the holding of a big farmer, a large, grey-haired oíd man, who had an extensive piece of farmland

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Ach tha e coltach gur e seórsa do dhuine gu math doirbh a bh' ann. Agus rinn iad cumhntannan co-dhiubh agus chaidh roinneachadh air an tuarasdal a pháidheadh e. Ach bha cumhntannan ri bhith ann, nan gabhadh an gille aithreachas airson tighinn a dh'obair dh'ionnsaidh an tuathanaich ro cheann na bliadhna nach fhaigheadh e tuarasdal idir - gum biodh e air ligeil air falbh falamh - agus gu rachadh stiall óirleach a leud a thoirt a craiceann a dhroma bho mhullach a ghuailinneadh sios gu chruachann. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhuirich an gille tacan do 'n úine aig an tuathanach, ach tha e coltach gu robh gnothaichean cho doirbh agus mu dheireadh aon latha bha 'n gnothach air a dhol fairis air cho mor 's nach do smaointich e air fhéin idir 's thuirt e gu robh aithreachas air tighinn an seo idir. Agus rinn sin an gnothach: cha robh aige ach a bhith falbh gun taing gun tuarasdal agus chaidh iall dhe chraiceann — stiall óirleach a leud — a ghearradh as a dhruim bho mhullach a ghuailinneadh sios gu chruachann. Agus thánaig e dhachaidh as an t-suidheachadh a bha sin, glé thruagh leis cho cruaidh 's a bha e air obrachadh agus cho gann ;s a bha am biadh air agus mar a bha e air a dhochann. Agus o, bha a mháthair fuathasach feargach agus bha a bhráthair eile gu math feargach cuideachd mar a thachair agus thuirt e gu robh esan a' falbh agus gu rachadh e dh'ionnsaidh an tuathanaich a bha sin agus gun toireadh esan amach an t-aichbheil. Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh e agus mo thruaighe! Cha do dh'éirich dhasan na b'fheárr na dh'éirich dha 'n cheud fhear. Tha mi cinnteach leis cho cruaidh 's a bha 'n gnothach agus cho dona 's a bhathar dha gun do ghabh e an t-aithreachas agus lig e air latha dhe na lathaichean gu robh an t-aithreachas air agus cha do dh'éirich dha ach mar a dh'éirich dha bhráthair. Thánaig e dhachaidh co-dhiubh agus bha e fhéin gu math truagh agus gu math leóinte. Agus o, bha a mháthair ñor dhiombach mar a thachair. Agus thuirt am bráthair a b' óige - lagan an t-amadan - gu robh esan a' dol a dh'fhalbh. O, chomhairlich a mháthair air gum b'fheárr dha gun falbh idir; nach éireadh dha ach ma dh'fhaoidte na bu mhiosa na dh'éirich do chách'. O, thuirt e gum falbhadh e co-dhiubh agus dh'fhalbh e agus ránaig e áite a' bhodach ghlas a bha seo, an tuathanach mor. Agus co-dhiubh dh'inns' e an turus air a robh e agus thuirt an tuathanach ris gum b'fheárr dha bhith tilleadh dhachaidh: gura h-olc a dh'éirich dha bhráithrean agus gur ann ma dh'fhaoidte na bu mhiosa bhiodh dhasan. O, thuirt e gu fuirgheadh esan co-dhiubh; gun toireadh e deuchainn dha 'n ghnothach a bh' ann.

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and cattle and was very well-to-do. And it seems that he was the sort of man who was hard on people. But they carne to an agreement and settled on the salary he would pay. And the conditions were, should the lad ever express regret for having come to work for the farmer before a year was up, he would receive no pay at all - he would be let go penniless - and a strip an inch wide would be taken from the skin of his back, from the top of his shoulder down to his waist. So the lad stayed for a short length of time with the farmer. But it seems that matters were so difficult that finally one day, when the work had got on top of him so much that he did not think first, he said that he regretted coming there at all. And that was it. He had no choice but to start off on his way without thanks or payment, and a thong of skin - a strip an inch across - was cut from his back from the top of his shoulder down to his waist. So he arrived home in that condition, in great misery from how hard they had worked him and how scarce his food was and how he had been abused. And oh, his mother was extremely angry. And his brother was also quite angry about what had happened, saying that he himself would set out and approach that farmer to exact vengeance. So he set out and, alas, things went no better for him than they had for the first brother. I am sure with things being so difficult there and people behaving so badly to him, that he felt regret and let it be known one day that he was sorry, so he fared exactly as his brother had. He returned home, and he too was miserable and sore. And, oh, his mother was truly unhappy about what had happened. Then Jack, the youngest brother, the fool, said that he was going to set out. Oh, his mother advised him that he had better not go at all, that he would probably f are worse than the others. But he said that he would go anyway, and he set out and he reached the home of this grey-haired oíd man, the big farmer. He told the farmer his mission and the farmer replied that he had better return home, that his brothers had fared badly and that perhaps he would fare even worse. Oh, he said that he would remain there anyway, that he would give it a try.

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Agus co-dhiubh rinn iad cumhntannan agus 's e 'n tuarasdal a bh' aige ri fhaighinn fichead punnd Sasannach anns a' bhliadhna. Bha sin math gu leór: chórdadh sin math gu leór ris ach thuirt an tuathanach ris gum biodh cumhtannan ann: "Ma ghabhas tu an t-aithreachas tighinn an seo mun ruith an üine cha n-fhaigh thu tuarasdal idir. Agus théid stiall dha 'n chraiceann a thoirt as do dhruim bho mhullach do ghuailleadh gu bárr do chruachainneadh." "Tha mi riaraichte," ors' esan, "as na cumhntannan sin." "Tha cumhntan eile ann cuideachd," ors' am bodach liath. "Ma dhiúltas tu sian a dh'iarras mise ort a dheanamh a tha comasach dhut a dheanamh, bidh míos dha'd thuarasdal dha 'd dhith." "Tha mi riaraichte gu leór as a' sin/' ors' lagan. "Ach," ors' esan, "tha cumhntan a nist bhuamsa." "'S eadh," ors' esan, an duin' uasal, an tuathanach. "S e sin," ors' esan.' "Ma dh'fhuirgheas mi cómhla ribh," ors' esan, "bliadhna, gum bi mo thuarasdal air a dhübladh." "Tha mi riaraichte leis a' sin," ors' an duin' uasal. "Agus tha mi," ors' esan, "a' cuir cumhntan eile oirbh." "'S eadh," ors' esan. "Ma dh'iarras sibh sian sam bith orm a dheanamh agus gum bac sibh mi - gun caisg sibh mi 'ga dheanamh a rithist - tha mi 'g iarraidh," ors' esan, "tuarasdal míos." "Tha mi riaraichte leis a' sin," ors' am maighstir. "Agus tha cumhntan eile ann," ors' esan. "Ma throdas sibh rium agus ma ghearaineas sibh air sian sam bith a ni mi, gum faigh mi tuarasdal míos." "Tha mi riaraichte leis a' sin," ors' an tuathanach. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhuirich am fear eile ag obair. Ach a' cheud latha cha d'fhuair e ach glé bheag do bhiadh agus chaidh a riasladh le obair gus a robh e cha mhór sgith sios gu bhrógan. Ach air a' la'r-na-mháireach nuair a chaidh e amach a dh'obair - cha robh i idir am na dinnearach - ghabh e astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar cócaireachd agus bha giadh mor air a' bhior-rósdaidh ann a' sin agus spion e 'n giadh far a' bhior agus thug e thuige sgian mhór agus thug e strácan air a' ghiadh agus thug e leis aon taobh dhe 'n uchd agus thug e leis sgiath agus luirg. Thánaig am maighstir astaigh. "Agus gu dé," ors' esan, "a tha thu deanamh mar sin?" "O," ors' esan, an gille, "nach eil e iomchaidh gu leór gum faigheadh

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So they agreed on the conditions, and the wage that he was to get was twenty English pounds per year. That was good enough; it would picase him well enough, but the farmer told him that there were other conditions, too: "If you ever express regret over coming here before the time is up, you will receive no wage at all. And a strip of skin will be taken from your back, from the top of your shoulder to the top of your hip." "I am satisfied with those conditions/' Jack replied. ''There are other conditions, too/' said the grey-haired oíd man. "If you refuse to do anything that I ask which you are able to do, you will be docked one month's pay." "I am well satisfied with that," answered Jack. "But now/' he continued, "there is a condition that I require." "Very well," said the gentleman-farmer. "That is," said Jack, "if I remain with you for a year my wage will be doubled." "I am satisfied with that," said the gentleman. "And I have another condition for you." "Very well," said the farmer. "That is," said he, "should you ask anything at all of me, and prevent me - hinder me - then from doing it, I will expect a month's wages." "I am satisfied with that," said the master. "And there is yet another condition," said he. "If you should scold me and complain about anything that I do, I shall be entitled to a month's wages." "I am satisfied with that," answered the farmer. So the youngest brother stayed to work. But on the first day he only got a very small amount of f ood, and he was tormented with work until he was fairly exhausted right down to his shoes. But on the following day when he was going out to work - it was nowhere near dinnertime yet - he went into the room where the cooking was done and there was a big goose on the roasting-spit. He snatched the goose off the spit and brought over a big knife and gave the goose a good whack, taking off one side of its breast along with a wing and a leg. Just then the master carne in. "And what," said the master, "are you doing there?"

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seirbhisich am biadhadh? Agus far an teid an giadh," ors' esan, "aig an am seo, cha ruig an córr leas a dhol ann tuilleadh, co-dhiubh gu am na suipeireach." Agus cha robh 'n gnothach a' córdadh ris a' bhodach idir ach dh'fhoighneachd an guie dheth, "A bheil sibh a' gabhail an aithreachas?" "O, cha n-eil," ors' esan. Agus co-dhiubh ghabh esan a bhiadh agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh e a' gabhail air a shocair an córr dha 'n latha. Ach thuirt e ris air a' la'r-na-mháireach, "Feumaidh tu," oís' esan, "a dhol amach a bhuain fóid móineadh." "'S eadh," ors' esan, an gille. Agus nuair a chaidh e a ghabhail a bhiadh-maidneadh tha e coltach nach d'fhuair e ach glé bheag do bhiadh. "An da/' ors' esan, "tha mi smaointinn gum biodh cho math dhomh mo dhinneir fhaighinn, agus fóghnaidh sin gu bhith a' coiseachd air ais 's air aghaidh bho'n a' bhogalach far na bheil na fóid móineadh." "Gheobh thu sin," ars' an t-searbhanta agus thánaig i astaigh agus bonnach aice agus cnap mor do dh'im agus botal do bhainne. 'S bha i 'n dúil gu robh e dol 'ga thoirt leis dh'ionnsaidh far a robh e dol a bhuain nam fóid móineadh. Ach cha do ghluais e as an áite 's a robh e 'na shuidhe, ach dh'ith e a h-uile mir dha 'n bhonnach agus dha 'n im agus dh'ól e 'm bainne. "An da," ors' esan, "tha mi smaointinn gum faodainn éirigh na bu tráithe, tóiseachadh na bu tráithe as a' mhadainn nam bithinn," ors' esan, " 'nam chadal ann am fasgadh na cruach móineadh air an fheur thioram. Agus nach biodh e cho math dhomh," ors' esan, "mo shuipeir a ghabhail?" "Glé cheart," ors' an t-searbhanta. "Bheir mi thugad do shuipeir." Agus bha i smaointinn gum falbhadh e co-dhiubh leis a' sin. Ach 's ann a dh'fhuirich e 'na shuidhe agus dh'ith e a shuipeir. Agus nuair a bha e réidh dheth sin dh'éirich e agus chaidh e a choimhead airson a mhaighistir. "Gu dé," ors' esan, "is cleachdadh dha na seirbhisich as an dúthaich seo a dheanamh nuair a ghabhas iad an suipeir?" "O, gu dé," ors' esan, a mhaighistir, "ach a dhol a chadal?" "Moran taing dhuibh," ors' esan, an gille. Co-dhiubh ghabh e a nuil a sin dh'ionnsaidh an stábuill - na báthaich - agus chaidh e suas air a' lobhtaidh agus chuir e dheth páirt dhe aodach 's lig e e-fhéin sios 'na laighe ann a' sin airson cadal. Agus dh'inns' fear dhe na seirbhisich dha mhaighstir gu robh e thall air lobhta an t-sabhail sin air neo an stábuill a' dol a chadal 's chaidh a mhaighstir a nuil.

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"Oh/' said he, the lad, "isn't it fitting enough that servants should be fed? And where this goose/' said he, "is going now, no more need go, at least until suppertime." And that did not picase the oíd man at all so the lad asked him, "Do you have any regrets?" "Oh, no," replied the oíd man. So Jack had his food and I'm sure that he took things easy for the rest of the day. But the farmer said to him on the next day, " You must," said he, "go out to harvest the peats." "All right," replied the lad. And when he went to get his breakfast, it seems he only got a very small serving of food. "Well," said he, "I think that I would be just as well off getting my dinner and that would suffice for walking back and forth from the bog where the peat sods are." "You will have that,/; said the maidservant, and she carne in with a bonnach1 and big lump of butter and a bottle of milk. She expected that he would take that over to where he was going to harvest the peats, but he did not move from where he was sitting. Instead, he ate every bit of the bonnach and of the butter and drank the milk. "Well," said he, "I think that I could arise and begin work earlier in the morning," said he, "if I were to sleep in the shelter of the peat stack on the dry grass. So wouldn't it be just as well for me," said he, "to take my supper along?" "Very well," said the maidservant. "I will bring you your supper." And she thought that he would at least set out with that but instead he remained seated and ate his supper. When he had finished it, he aróse and went to look for his master. "What," said he, "is the custom for the servants to do in this country when they have had their supper?" "Oh, indeed what," said the master, "but to go to sleep?" "Thank you very much," said the lad. So he went over to the stable - the byre - and he went up into the loft and took off part of his clothes and lay down to sleep. One of the servants told his master that he was over in the loft of the barn - or above the stable - going to sleep, and his master went over to look.

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"Gu dé," ors' esan, "tha thu deanamh an sin?." "O," ors; esan, "nach eil mi dol a chadal? Thug," ors' esan, "an t-searbhanta dhomh mo shuipeir agus nach tuirt sibh p-fhéin rium gura h-e a dhol a chadal a bhiodh muinntir na dúthchadh a' deanamh nuair a ghabhadh iad an suipeir? Agus a bheil an gnothach mar a rinn mi córdadh ribh?" "Cha n-eil," ors' esan. "Dhomhsa," ors' esan, "punnd Sasannach agus tri tasdain deug agus ceithir sgillinnean." "Gheobh thu sin mata," ors' esan, "nuair a ni thu norradh cadail." "Bheil an t-aithreachas oirbh mi thighinn an seo?" Agus o, bha e dol a ghráidhinn "Tha". "O, tha mi riaraichte gu leór fhathast," ors' esan. Agus chaidh aig' air an gnothach a dheanamh air fhéin. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a bha an cadal aig an fhear eile seachad thánaig e agus fhuair e an duais. Ach co-dhiubh thuirt e ris, "Tha thu," ors' esan, "ri dhol am máireach a threabhadh as an iomair," ors' esan, "taca ris a' bhuailidh shios. Cumaidh tu 'n crann." Co-dhiubh 'sa mhadainn dh'fhalbh e sios agus a nuil mu mheadhon-latha thánaig an tuathanach feuch gu dé 'n seórsa treabhaiche a bh' ann an Iagan; agus bha e falbh 's an crann a' ruith air uachdar an talmhainne agus an t-óganach a bha cómhla ris a' treórachadh nan each. "Gu dé," ors' esan, "a tha thu deanamh ann a' seo?" "An da," ors' esan, "tha mi deanamh mar a dh'iarr sibh orm. Nach do dh'iarr sibh orm," ors' esan, "an crann a chumail? 'S tha mise feuchainn ris an crann a chumail mar as fhéarr as urrainn mi. Agus tha 'm burraidh gille ud," ors' esan, "a' saodachadh nan each 's 'gan greasad agus cha n-urrainn dhomhsa deanamh ach mar a tha mi deanamh." "O," ors' esan, "nach ann a dh'iarr mis' ort an talamh a dheargadh is an ür a thionndadh?" "O carson," ors' esan, "nach do dh'inns' thu sin dhomh ceart bho thoiseach? Agus a bheil sibh," ors' esan, "ag iarraidh orm stad dheth seo a dheanamh?" "Tha," ors' esan. "Ma tha," ors' esan, "punnd Sasannach agus tri tasdain deug agus ceithir sgillinnean dhomh. A bheil sibh," ors' esan, "toileach as a' ghnothach a tha mi deanamh?" "O, tha," ors' esan. Agus thóisich e 'n uair sin 's rinn e an treabhadh air a shocair.

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"What," said he, ''are you doing there?" "Oh," said he, "am I not going to sleep? The maidservant," he continued, "gave me my supper and didn't you yourself say that people of this región go to sleep when they have had their supper? Are you pleased with the way I have done things?" "No/' replied his master. "Then give me/' said Jack, "one English pound thirteen shillings and fourpence." "You will have that/' said his master "when you have had your nap." "Do you regret my coming here?" And, oh, the master was going to say yes. "Oh, I am still well satisfied," he said instead. And so he did himself in that way. Anyway, when Jack had finished his sleep he carne and got his due. And his master said to him, "You are," said he, "to go out tomorrow to plow on the ridge beside the lower cattle-fold. You will hold the plow." So in the morning he went down and toward midday the farmer arrived to see what kind of plowman Jack was; and there he was with the plow running on the top of the ground, and the young lad who was with him leading the horses. "And what," said the master, "are you doing here?" "Well," replied Jack, "I am doing what you asked me to. Didn't you ask me to hold the plow? I am trying to hold the plow as best I can and that fool of a boy," he said, "is driving the horses and hurrying them so I can only do as I am doing." "Oh," said the master. "Didn't I ask you to break the earth and turn the soil?" "Oh why," said Jack, "didn't you tell me that correctly in the beginning? Would you like me to cease doing this?" "Yes," said the master. "Well, then," said Jack, "give me one English pound thirteen shillings and fourpence. Are you," said he, "happy with the work that I am doing?" "Oh, yes," replied the master. And he started over then and plowed at his leisure.

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Ach co-dhiubh thuirt a mhaighstir ris air la'r-na-mháireach, "Tha," ors' esan, "tri aighean air chalí orm agus tha mi airson thu 'gam faighinn." "Agus c'áite faigh mi iad?" ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, "coimhead far am biodh e iomchaidh na nádarra dhaibh a bhith agus far nach biodh e nádarra na iomchaidh dhaibh a bhith." Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh lagan agus bha e sireadh airson nan aighean 's ránaig a mhaighstir thall far a robh a' bháthach air greis mhór dhe 'n latha agus bha smúid aig lain air tarraing an tughadh far mullach na báthchadh agus a' coimhead astaigh; choimheadadh e astaigh thro 'n toll a dheanadh e far an draghadh e an tughadh far na báthaich. Agus dh'fheuchadh e sin 's tháirneadh e tom eile amach agus choimheadadh e astaigh. "Gu dé," ors' esan, "a tha thu deanamh an sin?" "Nach eil mi coimhead airson nan aighean a bh' air chalí?" "Agus a robh thu 'n dúil gu robh thu dol 'gam faighinn ... dé chuireadh gu h-árd ann a' sin iad?" "'S gu dé fios a bhiodh agamsa," ors' esan, "gu dé chuireadh a' seo iad? Ach dh'iarr sibh orm coimhead as an áite far am biodh e iomchaidh na 'm biodh e nádarra dhaibh a bhith 's choimhead mis'," ors' esan. "Choimhead mi as a' bháthaich 's choimhead mi as a' bhuailidh agus choimhead mi as a' mhachair taice na buaile 's cha robh iad idir ann. Agus tha mi a nist," ors' esan, "a' coimhead feuch am faodadh iad a bhith a' seo an áite mi-iomchaidh." Cha do chórd seo idir ris an tuathanach agus, "A bheil sibh a' gabhail an aithreachais?" ors' esan. "O, cha n-eil," ors' esan. "'S fheárr dhut," ors' esan, "a' bháthach a thughadh mar gum b'e bothan do mháthar a bhiodh ann." "Glé cheart," ors' esan. Agus thóisich e air tughadh na báthchadh air ais. Agus an ceann greis do dh'úine bha a' bháthach air a tughadh na b' fheárr na bha i roimhe 's thug e air a' ghille a bha freasdaladh air fodar úr a thoirt dha airson mullach na báthaich a thughadh. Agus thuirt a mhaighstir ris, "Halla a nist agus faigh na h-aighean mar gum b'ann leat fhéin a bhiodh iad." Agus dh'fhalbh esan agus mun deach a' ghrian fodha bha na tri aighean anns a' bhuailidh. Ach co-dhiubh, thuirt a mhaighstir ris air la'r-na-mháireach, "Tha," ors' esan, "bogach gu h-árd anns an innis agus bidh na

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The next day his master said to him, "There are/' said he, "three heifers that have strayed and I wish you to find them." "And where shall I find them?" said Jack. "Oh," said the master, "look where it would be fitting or natural for them to be, and where it would not be fitting or natural for them to be." So Jack set out looking for the heifers. And his master arrived at the byre after a large part of the day had passed and there was Jack busily working at pulling the thatch from the top of the byre and looking inside; he would peer inside through the hole he had made pulling the thatch from the byre. He would try in one place and pulí out another clump and look inside there. "And what," said the master, "are you doing there?" "Am I not looking for the heifers that were lost?" "And did you expect that you would find them ... what would put them up here?" "How should I know what would put them there? You asked me to look where it would be proper and natural for them to be and that is where I looked," said he. "I looked in the byre and I looked in the cattle-fold and I looked out on the meadow beside the cattle-fold, and they weren't there at all. And now," said he, "I am looking to see if they might be here in a less likely place." And this did not picase the farmer at all. "Do you regret this?" asked Jack. "Oh, no," replied the master. "You had better thatch the byre as if it were your own mother's little hut." "Very well," said Jack. And he began to re-thatch the byre. And after a period of time the byre was thatched better than it had been before. And he got the lad who was attending him to supply him with fresh straw for the top of the byre. Then his master said to him, " Get going now and fetch those heifers as if they were your own." So he set out and before the sun went down he had the three heifers in the fold. His master said to him on the following day, "There is," said he, "a bog up in the meadow, and the sheep are about to get

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caoraich an impis a' dol an sás ann mar a bhios iad a' dol throimhe sin. Agus halla thus'," ors' esan, "agus deán rathad math ann do chasan caorach." Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh an gille. Agus ránaig an tuathanach shuas air greis dha 'n latha agus bha smüid aig lain a' geurachadh sgian mhór. "An e sin an dóigh a th' agad-sa," ors' esan, "air cuir air dóigh a' rathaid mar a dh'iarr mi ort?" "O"' ors' esan, "seo an tóiseachadh. Agus sian sam bith/' ors' esan, "a bhios air a thóiseachadh gu math, tha e leathach deante." "Gu dé," ors' esan, "a tha thu air deanamh mar sin?" "Nach eil mi/' ors' esan, "a' geurachadh na sgian agus gun geárr mi na casan far nan caorach?" "Carson," ors' esan, "a tha thu dol a ghearradh nan casan far nan caorach?" " 'S nach do dh'iarr sibh orm a' rathad seo a dheanamh math do chasan caorach?" "O, cha n-e sin a bha mi 'g iarraidh ort idir. 'S ann a bha mi 'g iarraidh ort-s' an rathad a dheanamh math gu leór airson chasan chaorach." "Agus carson," ors' esan, "nach tuirt sibh sin bho thoiseach?" Is a bheil sibh a' cuir stad orm?" "Tha," ors' esan. "Punnd Sasannach agus tri tasdain deug agus ceithir sgillinnean. Agus a bheil sibh a' gabhail an aithreachas gun tug sibh mise thighinnan seo?" "O, cha n-eil, cha n-eil," ors' esan. Thug e greis 'na thámh. "Cha n-eil, cha n-eil," ors' esan. Agus co-dhiubh chaidh an gnothach seachad aig a' sin fhéin. Ach thuirt an sin a mhaighstir ris, ors' esan, "Fhuair mise cuireadh gu bainis. Agus tha mi dol 'gad thoirt-sa liom cómhla rium air dóigh agus nach teid mo mhealladh leis a' stuth láidir: bidh agam ri bhith aig an taigh ro mheadhon oidhche agus bidh tusa cómhla rium. Agus nuair chi thu gu bheil mise an deaghaidh gu leór a ghabhail dha 'n stuth;" ors' esan, "nuair bhios tu airson stad a chuir orm, tilgidh tu," ors' esan, "süil caora orm (tha sin sealladh a thoirt air a nuil bho thaobh)." Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad dh'ionnsaidh na bainnseadh. Agus bha esan a' fas gu math aighearach an deaghaidh cuid mhór ól. Agus bha e dol a thogail nam pinnt ñon a bha air a bheulaibh suas - nan stop ñon a' dol 'ga thogail suas ri bheul - agus fhuair e sad bog ann an taobh a pheircill agus thuit a' rud a bh' ann 's nuair a choimhead e dé bh' ann

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stuck in it as they pass through. But you get going," said he, "and build a road that meets the requirements of sheep's feet." So the lad set out. And after a good part of the day, the f armer arrived up there and there was Jack busily sharpening a big knife. "Is that your way of preparing the road as I asked you to?" " Oh," replied Jack, " this is just the beginning. And anything well begun is already half done." "And what," said his master, "have you done there?" " Am I not sharpening the knife so that I can cut the feet off the sheep?" "Why," said the master, "are you going to cut the feet off the sheep?" "And did you not ask me to make a road which would meet the requirements of sheep's feet?" "Oh, that is not what I asked you at all. What I was asking you was to make a road that would be good enough for sheep's feet." "And why," said Jack, "didn't you say so at first? Are you ordering me to stop?" "Yes, I am," said the master. "That will cost you one English pound thirteen shillings and fourpence. And do you regret that you made me come here?" "Oh, no, no," replied his master. He was quiet for a time. "No, no," he said again. So that passed. And then Jack's master said to him, "I have received an invitation to a wedding and I'm going to take you with me so that I will not be led astray by strong drink; I will have to be home before midnight and you are to return with me. And when you see that I have had enough to drink and you want to put a stop to my drinking you can throw me a 'sheep's eye' (a sideways glance)." So they set out to the wedding and the master began to grow quite merry after drinking a good deal. And as he was going to raise the pints of wine that were before him - going to raise the ílagons of wine to his mouth - he felt a soft blow on the side of his jaw. Whatever had caused it fell, and when he

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ach súil caora. Agus thilg e sin an darna taobh agus bha e cuir iaonadh air có 'm beadagan a bha astaigh na có bhiodh a7 caitheamh seo air. Agus bha e dol an ceann tacain air ruitheachas air a 7 chuinneag ñon agus nuair a bha e ruith a lámh sios dh'ionnsaidh a' stop fion, fhuair e sad anns a' pheirceall eile agus thuit a' rud a bha seo air a' bhórd. Agus choimhead e 's gu dé a bh' ann ach süil caora. Ach churn e air - bha 'n fhearg a; tighinn air gu mor gu dé bha tachairt agus chum e air co-dhiubh - ach nuair a bha e a' fosgladh a bheóil ;s e dol a chuir suas balgam math dhe 'n fhion, thánaig an treas rud agus chaidh e 'na bheul. 'S smugaidich e sin amach as a bheul 's gu dé a bh' ann ach súil caorach. Agus dh'éibh e do dh'fhear an taighe có bha seo a' tilgeadh seo airsan agus bha e tóiseachadh air trod. "Gabhaibh air ur socair e/' orsa lagan. "Cha n-eil sian coire aig fear an taighe ris a seo. Nach do dh'iarr sibh orm seo a dheanamh airson 's nach gabhadh sibh moran ?" "'S c'áite an d'fhuair thu," ors' esan, "súilean nan caorach?" "O, c'áite an d'fhuair mi iad/' ors' esan, "ach ann an ceann nan caorach? Ann an ceann nan caorach agaibh p-fhéin/' ors' esan. "Bho nach ann a bha mi dol mun cuairt a thoirt nan súilean a caoraich nan coimhearsanach, gus mo chuir an greim," ors' esan, "ma dh'fhaoidte mi bhith 'n sás mar an tuirt iad clach 'san aol." "O"' ors' esan, am maighstir 's e 'g éigheach, "tha mi duilich," ors' esan. "Tha 'n t-aithreachas orm gun do thachair thu riamh rium." "Tha fianuis agam oirbh," ors' esan, "a nist far an tuirt sibh gu robh an t-aithreachas oirbh. Agus," ors' esan, "faighibh dhomhsa 'sa mhionaid," ors' esan, "mo thuarasdal air a dhúbladh," ors' esan. "'S e sin da fhichead punnd Sasannach. Agus tiugainnibh," ors' esan, "astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar ud thall cómhla riumsa," ors' esan, "agus laighibh sios air an úrlar." Agus chaidh am maighstir astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar gu leth-éiginneach agus thóisich lain air geurachadh na sgéin mhóir airson an craiceann thoirt as a dhruim. Dh'éibh cacha 's dh'éibh iad 's dh'éibh iad stad. "O," ors' esan, "cha do dh'éibh duine guth," ors' esan, "dhasan stad nuair thug e 'n craicionn far druim mo dhithist bhráithrean," ors' esan, "'s a thill e dhachaidh iad falamh gu 'm máthair bhochd." Agus nuair a chual' iad mar a bha, dh'aontaich iad gu robh e iomchaidh gu leór. Agus nuair a fhuair lain an sgian air a geurachadh

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looked what was it but a sheep's eye! He threw it aside and wondered what impudent ras cal was inside or who in the world would throw that at him. After a while he was going to reach over for the pitcher of wine, and when he was extending his hand towards the ílagon he received a soft blow on the other side of his jaw and whatever had done it fell on the table. And he looked and what was it but a sheep's eye! And he continued drinking - he was becoming very annoyed at what was happening but he continued anyway - but when he was opening his mouth, about to put away a good mouthful of wine, the third thing carne and went right into his mouth. He spit it out of his mouth, and what was it but a sheep's eye! So he called out to the host, asking who was throwing that at him and he began to grumble. "Take it easy," said Jack. "The host is not to blame at all for this. Did you not ask me to do this so that you would not drink too much?" "And where/' said the master, "did you get the sheep's eyes?" "Where indeed did I get them," said Jack, "but in the heads of the sheep? In the heads of your own sheep/' he went on. " For I was not about to go around taking the eyes out of the neighbours' sheep for fear that I would be arrested," said he, "and held fast, as they say, like a stone in lime." "Oh," said he, the master, crying out, "I am sorry and I regret that you ever met me at all!" "Now I have a witness against you," said Jack, "that you have stated that you regret this. So get for me my double pay immediately," said he, "that is, forty English pounds. And come into that room yonder with me," said he, " and lie down on the floor." The master went into the room - reluctantly - and Jack began sharpening the big knife to take the skin off his back. The others there called out repeatedly for him to stop. "Oh," said Jack, "nobody said anything to him about stopping when he took the skin off the backs of my two brothers and returned them penniless to their poor mother." And when they heard what had happened, they agreed

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gu math geur thug e tri sgrioban air an úrlar ri thaobh. "Bheir mi dhut cumhntan," ors' esan. "Fágaidh mi 'n craicionn air do dhruim ma bheir thu dhomh da cheud ginidh." "Cha toir/' ors' esan, "ged a bheireadh tu 'n craicionn dhiom bho mhullach mo chinn gu 'm sháiltean." "Glé cheart," ors' lain. "Bheir mi dhiot/' ors' esan, "stiall dha 'd chraicionn." Agus thóisich e ach nuair a thug e criomag bheag dha 'n chraicionn far a dhruim dh'éibh e/'Stad! Stad! Stad ora láimh agus bheir mise dhut/' ors' esan, "an da cheud ginidh." "A nist/' ors' esan, lain, ris an fheadhainn a bha mun cuairt, ors' esan, "na gabhaibh droch-bharail orm idir," ors esan. "Cha robh do chridhe agamsa," ors' esan, "gun tugainn súil á rodan gun deachd air súilean thoirt as na caoraich. Ach 's ann a fhuair mise," ors' esan, "leth dusan do shúilean chaorach bho 'n bhúidsear agus cha do dh'úsaid mi ach a tri dhiubh." Agus nuair a chuaP iad seo thug iad an dithist acá astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar air n-ais agus fhuair iad uile gu léir stópan beag fion agus dh'ól iad deoch-sláinte lain agus thug iad dhasan an uair sin, thug iad searrag fion dha agus dh'ól e fhéin aon deoch-sláinte air a h-uile h-aon acá agus thog iad rithe gu taigh an tuathanaich mhóir. Agus b' fheudar dha dhol dh'ionnsaidh seómbar a bha gu h-árd air a' lobhtaidh agus na ginidhean óir a thoirt anuas, agus an da fhichead punnd Sasannach do dhuais a thoirt dha 'n ghille. Agus dh'fhalbh am fear sin dhachaidh. Agus bha a thuarasdal fhéin aige glé mhath a' dol dhachaidh agus a dhruim slán, gun dochann a dheanamh oirre. Agus bha da cheud ginidh aige airson a bhith aig a mháthair agus air a bhráithrean, agus ged a bha iad 'nan criblich, dh'fhaodadh iad a bhith gu math dheth greis mhath dhe 'n úine. Agus bho 'n am sin tuilleadh, cha chanadh iad lagan an t-Amadan ris an fhear sin, ach lagan Craicinn a' Bhodaich. Agus seo agaibh an sgeulachd mar a chuala mis' i.

12

BrídMhórEach

Tha páirt do naidheachd neo sgeulachd agam a chuala mi aig fear, Murchadh Ceanadach nach maireann. Chaochail e bho chionn áireamh bhliadhnaichean. Tha leithid do dh'úine bho 'n a chula mi

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The Recitéis and the Tales

that that was fitting enough. And when Jack had the knife sharpened to a good, keen edge he made three Unes on the floor beside the master. "I will grant you a condition," said he. "I will leave the skin on your back if you give me two hundred guineas." "I will not," replied the master, "though you would flay the skin off me from the top of my head to my heels." "Very well/' said Jack. "I will flay a strip of your skin off you." And he began, but when he had taken a little piece of the skin from his back, the master cried, "Stop! Stop! Stay your hand and I will give you the two hundred guineas." "Now," said Jack to the people who were around him, "do not think badly of me at all. I did not have the heart to take the eye out of a rat, let alone eyes from sheep. Instead, I got half a dozen sheep's eyes from the butcher and I only used three of them." And when they heard this, they took the two of them back into the room and they all got a little ílagon of wine and drank Jack's health. Then they gave him a glass of wine and he drank one toast to every one of them and they set out for the big farmer's house. And the farmer had to go to a room that was high up in the lof t and bring down the golden guineas and give the lad the two hundred English pounds in wages. The lad set out for home. And he was very well set with his own wages going home and his back was whole and undamaged. And he had two hundred guineas to give to his mother and his brothers, who though they were cripples would be well off for a long time to come. And ever since then, they did not cali him "Jack the Pool" but "Jack the Oíd Man's Hide." And there you have the story as I heard it.

12

Great Bríd of the Horses

I have part of a story or tale that I heard from the late Murdock Kennedy, who died a number of years ago. So much time has

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'n naidheachd a bha seo agus cha chuala mi ach an aon turus i agus cha do dh'ionnsaich mi uile gu h-iomlain i ach gim do thog mi páirt dhi. 'S ann mu dheoghainn righ a bh' ann an Éirinn agus bha triúir mhac aige: bha Ullabhan air fear dhiubh agus bha Marbhan air fear, 's cha n-eil cuimhn' agam air an ainm a bh' air an treas fear dhiubh idir. Ach co-dhiubh, bha fear dhe na gillean sin, bha e air a' rioghachd an deaghaidh bás athar agus bha buidheann a' falbh mu chuairt as an am a bh' ann agus bha iad ri deanamh cosgais mhór dha'n rioghachd: dh'fheumte a bhith 'gan cumail air aoidheachd ge b'e cuine thigeadh iad. 'S e seórsa do luchd-ciúil neo dhe 'n t-seórsa sin a bh' ann. 'S e a' Chleith Sheanachair a bheireadh iad riu. Agus leis mar a bha iad cho cosgail dha 'n rioghachd, 's ann a smaointich an righ óg gun toireadh e suas a' rioghachd agus nach biodh an córr gnothach aige ri cúisean idir. Agus chaidh fios a chuir mun cuairt agus reic iad amach a h-uile sian a bh' air a' rioghachd. O, cheannaich muinntir na rioghachd gnothaichean a nuil 's a nall agus chaidh a' rioghachd a bhristeadh suas. Co-dhiubh an ceann úine ghabh a' righ óg an t-aithreachas gun do dh'fhág e 'n rioghachd 's gun do lig e 'n gnothach seachad. Bha e faicinn gu robh e dona muinntir na rioghachd a bhith gun righ agus gnothaichean air a dhol car mar a chaidh iad. Agus chuir e fios air n-ais gum bu mhath leis tilleadh air a' rioghachd agus gnothaichean a chuir air saod mar a bha iad. O, bha iad cho fior thoilichte as a' seo, agus a h-uile h-aon a cheannaich sian bhuaithe, ge b'e gu dé a' phris a pháidh iad orra nuair a bha iad 'gan ceannach, thug iad dha iad air n-ais air leth na pris agus chaidh an gnothach a shuidheachadh cho math 's a ghabhadh e. 'S bha gnothaichean a' dol math gu leór fad tacain, ach tha e coltach gun d'fhuair Brid Mhór Each - 's i a bha 'na h-uachdaran air a' Chleith Sheanachair 'san am - amach gu robh a' rioghachd air a suidheachadh as ür agus 's ann a thánaig iad a rithist ann. A nist, cha robh a' righ óg deónach idir iad a bhith air a' rioghachd agus thug e órdan dhaibh a bhith falbh: nach robh iad a' dol a dh'fhuireachd idir air a' rioghachd 's a' dol a bhith 'nan aoidhean mar a b'ábhaist dhaibh a bhith. Agus thuirt Brid Mhór Each nach fhalbhadh iad gus am faigheadh iad an tri mianntannan. 'S thuirt e gum faigheadh iad sin ma tha, ach cha do dh'fhalbh e ach gum feumadh e fhaighinn amach gu dé a bh' ann agus ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh cumhntannan air. Thuirt i

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The Reciters and the Tales

passed since I heard this tale; I only heard it once so I did not learn it completely. I just learned part of it. The tale concerns a king in Ireland who had three sons: one was called Ullabhan, one was called Marbhan, and I don't remember the ñame of the third one at all. Anyway, one of the lads was put in charge of the kingdom after his father's death, and there was a band travelling around at that time and they were causing the kingdom great expense, for they had to be kept as guests whenever they arrived. They were musicians of some sort or belonged to some such profession and they were called the Cleith Sheanachair. Since they were so costly, the young king decided to give up the kingdom and not to concern himself with those matters any longer. So notice was given and they sold everything belonging to the kingdom. Oh, the people of the kingdom bought various things here and there, and the kingdom was broken up. But after a time the young king carne to regret having left the kingdom and let everything go. He saw that it was a bad thing for the people to be without a king and for things to take the course that they had. So he sent notice that he would like to return to take charge of the kingdom and to restore things to their former state. Well, people were very happy with this, and everyone who had bought things from him, whatever purchase price they had paid for them, returned them to him for half of the original price, and the matter was settled as well as could be. For a while things went well enough but it seemed that Great Brid of the Horses - for she was the lord over the Cleith Sheanachair at the time - found out that the kingdom had been restored, and so they returned to visit. Now the young king was not at all willing to have them in the kingdom and he gave them his order to leave. They were not to stay in the kingdom at all or to be guests as they had been accustomed to be before. Great Brid of the Horses said that they would not leave until they were given their three wishes. The king replied that they would get those and he set out expressly to determine what these were and to find out if certain conditions might be

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gu robh i ag iarraidh a sáth do smeuran dubha 'san Fhaoilleach, agus gu robh i ag iarraidh a sáth do dh'fheóil an tuirc nach deachaidh a bhreith riamh, agus gu robh i ag iarraidh gus a bhiodh i sgith a' marcachd air each bán na cluais' dheirg. Thuirt e gum feuchadh e ri sin fhaighinn dhi, ach gu robh cumhntannan ri bhith ann mun gabhadh seo toirt seachad. Agus chaidh e gu fear-comhairle agus dh'inns' e dha mar a bha cúisean. "An da," ors' esan, "mar a bha thusa a' falbh ghabh thu an t-árdan 's chaidh gnothaichean 'nad aghaidh — chaidh thu fhéin agus t'athair car amach air a' chéile agus dh'fhalbh thu - agus thilg thu dhiot do chleóc' is chaith thu e air uachdar tom. Agus falbh thusa a dh'ionnsaidh an tom a tha sin 's tog an cleóca 's gheobh thu smeuran dubha ann a' sin as an Fhaoilleach." "'S eadh," ors' esan, "ach c'áit' a bheil mi dol a dh'fhaighinn feóil an tuirc nach do rugadh riamh?" "O"' ors' esan, "bha muc áil aig t'athair agus cha b'urrainn dhi 'n al fhaotainn agus fhuair iad duine a bha math mu chuairt air stoc agus chunnaic am fear sin iomchaidh nach robh dóigh air an al fhaighinn bho 'n mhuic ach cliathach na muiceadh fhosgladh. Agus sin mar a chaidh an al fhaotainn: thog iad na h-uirceinean bho 'n mhuic thro 'n fhosgladh a rinn iad air a cliathaich agus tha fear dhe na h-uirceinean sin beó fhathast agus cha do rugadh an t-uircein seo riamh: chaidh a thoirt amach thro thaobh na muiceadh. Agus faodaidh tu," ors' esan, "an torc tha sin fhaighinn agus a mharbhadh agus a sáth a thoirt dhi dhe 'nfheóil sin." "'S eadh," ors' esan. "Ach c'áite," ors' esan, "a bheil mi a' dol a dh'fhaighinn each bán na cluaise deirgeadh?" "O, tha sin furasda gu leór dhut fhaighinn a nist," ors' esan. "Nuair a mharbhas tu an torc gléidh an fhuil agus suathaidh tu fuil an tuirc ri cluas an eich agus tionndaidh a' chluas dearg agus cha do shil riamh do dh'uisge an Éirinn na leaghas neo na nigheas dheth sin. Agus faodaidh tu a niste falbh." Agus ránaig e co-dhiubh far a robh a' Chleith Sheanachair agus thuirt e rithe gu gabhadh na cumhntannan seo - na h-iarrtasan seo co-lionadh dhi uile gu léir ach gum feumadh i iarrtas a thoirt dhasan. Agus mura co-lionadh i an t-iarrtas sin nach fhaigheadh iad cuid seach cuid. Agus thuirt iad gura h-e a sheachd mianntan dhe 'n Chrónan Shnagach agus tha e coltach gura h-e sin bualadh alt na h-órdaig air am fiaclan 's a' deanamh seórsa do chrónan leis. Agus

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The Reciters and the Tales

laid on him. She said that she required her fill of blackberries in January, and that she wanted her fill of the flesh of a boar that was never born, and that she wished to ride on the white horse with red ears until she was tired. The king replied that he would try to fulfil her wishes for her, but that there were certain conditions before these things could be delivered. Then he went to an adviser and told him how matters stood. "Well," said the adviser, "as you were leaving you became angry when things turned against you - you and your father fell out with each other and you left - and you cast off your cloak and threw it on top of a knoll. Go to the knoll there and raise the cloak and you will find blackberries in January." "Yes, indeed," he replied, "but where will I find the flesh of the boar that was never born?'7 "Oh," said the adviser, "your father had a sow and she could not bear her litter, so they f ound a man who was good around stock and that man saw that the only suitable way to get the litter from the sow was to open up her side. And that was how they got the litter. They lifted out the piglets from the sow through the opening that they made in her side and one of those piglets is alive yet, and that piglet was never born; it was taken out through the side of the sow. You can find that boar and kill it and give her her fill of its flesh." "Yes, indeed," said he. "But where am I to find the white horse with the red ears?" "Oh, that is easy enough for you to find," said he. "When you kill the boar, keep the blood and you can rub its blood on the horse's ear until the ear turns red and no rain ever fell in Ireland that can dissolve or clean off that blood. And now you may go." So the young king reached the place where the Cleith Sheanachair were and he said to her that these conditions these demands - could be fulfilled for her entirely, but that she would have to grant him a demand in return; and if she could not fulfil this they would not receive a single share more of anything. His demand was for his seven satisfactions of the Clonan Snagach) it seerns that the Clonan Snagach consisted of striking the joint of the thumb on their teeth to

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co-dhiubh dh'fheuch iad ris a' sin agus gum b'fheudar dhaibh an gnothach a thoirt suas neo gu dé mar a thachair, air réir mar a fhuair mi 'n naidheachd bho Murchadh Ceanadach dh'fhalbh a' Chleith Sheanchair air ais. Thog iad rithe gu rioghachd air choireiginn eile 's cha do thill iad riamh tuilleadh a chuir dragh air a' righ óg a bha an Éirinn. Agus sin agaibh na bheil agam air fhaotainn dhe 'n naidheachd air Brid Mhór Each agus Righ Éirinn agus a' Chleith Sheanachair, mar a bheireadh iad.

13

Bás Chú Chulainn

Cha n-eil agam ach bliogh a' siod 's a' seo dha 'n naidheachd a bh' ann. Chuala mi aig Murchadh Ceanadach i bho chionn úine mhór. Tha mi cinnteach nam bithinn air barrachd suim a chuir 'sa naidheachd gu robh mi air a h-ionnsachadh gu h-iomlain. Ach bha fhios a'm gu robh laoich air ainmeachas mar a bha Cu Chulainn agus f eadhainn mhór dhiubh sin 's bha fear ann ris an abradh iad am Fitheach. Is tha e coltach ann an cath a bh' ann gun deachaidh fear a mharbhadh agus dh'éibh a' Fitheach gur e Cu Chulainn a mharbh e. Ach chaidh cuideiginn seachad as an ana agus dh'éibh iad gur e a' Fitheach a mharbh e. Ach co-dhiubh am measg gach cath a bh' ann chaidh Cu Chulainn fhéin a mharbhadh. Agus cha ligeadh an t-eagal leis an fhear a bha fios aige gun deachaidh Cu Chulainn a mharbhadh innse dha 'n fhear eile mar a thachair - ma 's e Fionn neo có bh' ann. Tha mi smaoin' gur e Fionn a bh' ann 'san am. Ach thug e fo near gu robh coltas air gu robh rudeiginn a' cuir air inntinne agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth, "A bheil Cu Chulainn marbh?" "'Sibh p-fhéin/' ors' esan, "a thuirt an toiseach 'Cu Chulainn marbh' 's tha feum agad air a' sin," ors' esan. "Nam biodh tu air a chantail air thoiseach dh'fheumainn-sa do mharbhadh." A nist, bha tuilleadh ann mu dheidhinn Leac Fhearghuis Mhóir: gus an gluaiseadh Leac Fhearghuis Mhóir. Agus chaidh an duin' ole a bha seo a dh'ionnsaidh na leac agus thóisich e air iarraidh air an fhear eile gluasad neo éirigh agus chanadh Fearghus Mor, "Seachainn mi, a mhic mhollaichte." Ach lean esan air agus mu dheireadh b'fheudar dha a' leac a ghluasad - Leac Fhearghuis Mhóir - agus ge b'e gu dé na cumhntannan a

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make a sort of droning. They tried it and whether they had to abandon the attempt or whatever happened, according to how I heard the tale from Murdock Kennedy, the Cleith Sheanachair went back, making for some other kingdom and they never again returned to bother the young king in Ireland. And there you have what I have learned of the tale of Great Brid of the Horses and the king of Ireland and the Cleith Sheanachair, as they were known.

13

The Death of Cu Chulainn

I only have a piece here and there of this tale as it was. I heard it from Murdock Kennedy a long time ago. I am certain that had I paid more attention to the tale I would have learned it entirely. But I know that there were warriors named there, such as Cu Chulainn and great ones like that, and there was one they called Raven. And it seems that in a certain battle someone was killed and Raven cried out that it was Cu Chulainn who had slain him. But at that moment somebody carne by and cried out that it was Raven who had slain him. But in the course of all the battles Cu Chulainn himself was killed. And the man who knew that Cu Chulainn had been killed was too afraid to tell the other one what had happened - whether it was Fionn or whoever it was. I think that it was Fionn who was there at the time. But he noticed that the man appeared to have something on his mind, so he asked him, "Is Cu Chulainn dead?" "It was yourself," answered the other, "who was the first to say 'Cu Chulainn dead/ And you needed to do that," said he, "for had you said that before, I would have had to kill you." Now, there was more in the tale about the Stone of Great Fergus - until the Stone of Great Fergus moved - where some evil man went to the stone and he began to ask the other one to move, or to arise, and Great Fergus would say, " Avoid me, O Cursed Son." And he continued at this until at last he had to move the Stone, the Stone of Great Fergus. Whatever the conditions

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bh'ann neo gu dé 'm fiosrachadh a bha ri fhaighinn, sin mar a fhuair iad e. Cha n-eil cuimhn' agam air a' chórr dhe 'n naidheachd a bh' aige air a' sin.

14

An Rígh agus an Searrach

Co-dhiubh chaidh an duine bha seo amach air righ, neo gu dé mar a thachair dha, bha duine sónraicht' ann agus chaochail a bhean. Bha e fhéin 's a nighean a' cumail taighe. Bha e coltach gu robh i uamhasach seólta 's bha i math 's a h-uile gné. Ach co-dhiubh chuir a' righ fios airsan, ge b'e dé 'n t-aobhar a bh' aige agus chaidh e ann. Agus as an dealachadh thuirt a' righ ris gum feumadh e bhith air n-ais ann a' seo am máireach agus innse dhasan gu dé bu phailte a bh' air an t-saoghal, air neo mura rachadh aige sin innse dha gu rachadh a chuir gu bás. Thánaig an duine truagh dhachaidh agus thug an nighean an aire gu robh coltas uamhasach brónach air. Dh'fhoighneachd i dheth gu dé bha cuir air: gu robh e coimhead car mi-shunndach. "Gu dé feum dhomh innse dhut-s'?" ors' esan. "An da/' ors' ise, "ma dh'fhaoidte nach eil ach có dha an innseadh sibh e mura dh'innseadh sibh dhomhsa?" 'S dh'innis e dhi mar a bha. "Is carson/' ors' ise, "nach do dh'inns' sibh dha nuair a bha sibh thall astaigh aige?" "Gu dé dh'innsinn dha?" "Nach innseadh sibh dha/; ors' ise, "nach robh sian air an t-saoghal cho pailt ris na taobhannan?" "'S a bheil thu fhéin a' smaointinn," ors' esan, "gura h-éad na taobhannan as paute?" "O, nach eil fios agaibh, athair," ors' ise, "gura h-éad? Cha n-eil e cuir sian a dheifir gu dé cho pailt 's a tha rud sam bith air an t-saoghal; agus air a' lughad tha da thaobh air 's tha cuid mhór air a bheil barrachd is da thaobh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh mar a tha taobh astaigh 's taobh amuigh 's taobh árd 's taobh iseal, agus air iomadh rud 's taobh thall 's taobh a bhos. Ainmichidh sibhse," ors' ise, "gura h-ann a tha na taobhannan ñas paute na sian sam bith." Dh'fhalbh e a nuil air la'r-na-mháireach 's e cho toilichte. "'S eadh," ors' a' righ, "tha thu air tighinn."

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were, or whatever Information was to be gained, that is how they found him. I don't remember any more of the tale.

14

The King and the Foal

A man offended a king, whatever the reason was. This particular man's wife died and he and his daughter were keeping house. It seems that she was extremely smart and she was good in every respect. But the king sent f or the man - whatever the pretext - and the man went. And the king said to him in parting that he had to be back there the next day to tell him what was the most plentiful thing in the world and if he could not tell him that he would be put to death. The poor man carne home and the daughter noticed that he looked extremely sorrowful. She asked him what his trouble was - he looked so cheerless. "What good will it do me to tell you?" said he. "Well," replied the daughter, "perhaps none, except whom else would you tell it to if you didn't tell me?" So he told her how things stood. "And why," said she, "did you not tell him the answer when you were over at his place?" "And what could I tell him?" "Couldn't you tell him/' said she, "that there was nothing in the world as plentiful as sides?" "And do you yourself think," said he, "that sides are the most plentiful things?" " Oh, don't you know, dear father," said she, " that indeed they are? It does not matter at all how plentiful anything is in the world; there are at least two sides to it and there are many things which have more than two sides. There might be, for example, an inside and an outside and a top side and a bottom side and on some things a far side and a near side. You can ñame sides as being more plentiful than any thing else." So the following day he went back and he was so happy. "Well," said the king, "you have come."

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"Tha, ur Mhórachd," ors' esan. ''A bheil freagairt na ceist agad?" "O, tha/' ors' esan. "'S eadh mata. Dé a nist as pailte air an t-saoghal?" "O, cha n-eil sian air an t-saoghal cho pailt ris na taobhannan." "O, tha/' ors' esan. "Tha mi 'n düil gu bheil." "O, cha n-eil le 'r cead," ors' esan, "sian ann cho pailt riu." "Agus gu dé 'n dearbhadh a th' agad gura h-éad as pailte?" "Thá," ors' esan, "gu bheil air a' lughad gu bheil da thaobh air a h-uile rud. Cho pailt 's gu bheil rud sam bith feumaidh da thaobh a bhith air 's tha cuid do rudan a bhiodh tri taobhan orra is ceithir taobhan air feadhainn dhiubh." "Tha mi riaraichte," ors' esan, "as an fhreagairt gu bheil thu ceart gu leór. Ach bidh thu seo am máireach/' ors' esan, "agus innsidh tu dhomhsa dé as beairtiche air an t-saoghal." Dh'fhalbh an seann-duine dhachaidh agus bha coltas a cheart cho muladach, brónach air 's a bh' air 'n latha roimhe sin. "Gu dé," ors' ise, "a tha cuir trioblaid oirbh an diugh? Tha sibh a' coimhead car trom-inntinneach." "O, gu dé feum dhomh a bhith 'g innse do dhuine neo do neach gu dé tha cuir orm? Nach eil iad a' dol 'gam chuir-sa gu bás am máireach mura h-inns' mi dha 'n righ gu dé as beairtich' a th'air an t-saoghal?" "'S carson nach do dh'inns' sibh dha?" "Dédh'innsinndha?" "Nach urrainn sibh a chantail ris nach robh sian ann cho beairteach ris a'mhuir?" "Cho beairteach ris a' mhuir! A bheil thu fhéin a' smaointinn?" "O, tha mi cinnteach," ors' ise. "Ainmichidh sibhse rudan a th' air talamh 's tha a' mhuir fada na's motha na sin agus tha 'm barrachd innte dhe 'n a h-uile rud a th' ann. Agus leis a sin," ors' ise, "nach i as beairtiche dhe 'n t-saoghal?" Co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh esan a nuil gu áite a' righ. "Tha thu air tighinn," ors' a' righ. "Tha, ur Mhórachd," ors' esan. "Tha mi air tighinn a rithist."

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"Yes, Your Majesty," replied the man. "Do you have an answer to the question?" "Oh, yes indeed," he replied. "Well, then, what is the most plentiful thing in the world?" "There is nothing in the world as plentiful as sides." "Oh, yes there is," said the king. "I do indeed believe there is." "Oh, there is not, by your leave," said the man, "anything as plentiful as those." "And what proof do you have that they are the most plentiful?" "My proof is," replied the man, "that there are at least two sides to everything. However plentiful anything is it must have two sides and there are some things which have three sides and others with four sides." "I am satisfied," said the king, "from that answer that you are correct. But you are to be here tomorrow," he continued, "and you will tell me what is the wealthiest thing in the world." The oíd man went home and he looked just as sad and sorrowful as he had the day before. "What is troubling you today?" said the daughter. "You look so heavy-hearted." " Oh, what use is it to tell anybody or anyone at all what my trouble is? Are they not going to put me to death tomorrow unless I tell the king what is the wealthiest thing in the world?" "So why didn't you tell him?" "What could I tell him?" " Couldn't you say to him that there was nothing so wealthy as the sea?" "So wealthy as the sea! Do you really think so?" "Oh, I am certain," said she. "Ñame anything on earth and the sea is much larger than that and it contains more of everything. And by virtue of that," said she, "is it not the wealthiest thing in the world?" So he returned to the king's palace.

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"'S a bheil fuasgladh na ceist agad?" "O, "ors'esan, "tha." "'S eadh, mata/' ors' esan. "Gu dé as beairtich' a th' air an t-saoghal?" "O, cha n-eil sian," ors' esan "na 's beairtiche air an t-saoghal na a' mhuir." "O, tha," ors' esan. "Nach eil mi fhin na's beairtiche na a' mhuir?" "O, cha n-eil, le 'r cead, sibh cho beairteach. Ach cuimhnichibh/' ors' esan, "gu bheil a' mhuir na's motha na 'n córr dhe 'n t-saoghal. Tha i na's motha na 'n tir agus tha 'm barrachd innte dhe 'n h-uile sian agus uime sin 's i as beairtiche." "Feumaidh mi aideachadh gu bheil mi riaraichte leis a' sin/' ors' a' righ. "Ach bidh tu seo am máireach agus mura h-inns' thu dhomhsa gu dé as luaith' a th' air an t-saoghal caillidh tu 'n ceann." Chaidh esan dhachaidh agus bha e gu math túrsach nuair a ránaig e dhachaidh. "'S eadh," ors' an nighean. "Gu dé a nist a tha cuir oirbh, athair? Tha sibh a' coimhead fuathasach mi-shunndach." "O, nach coma," ors' esan, "dé tha cuir orm. Bidh mise," ors' esan, "a' cali a' chinn am máireach mura h-inns' mi dha 'n righ gu dé is luaithe a th' air an t-saoghal." "'S carson nach do dh'inns' sibh dha?" "Gu dé dh'innsinn dha?" ors' esan. "Nach urrainn sibh a bhith air innse dha nach robh sian air an t-saoghal cho luath ris a' smaointinn?" "'S a bheil thu fhéin," ors' esan, "a' creidsinn gu bheil a' smaointinn cho luath sin? A bheil thu an dúil gu bheil?" "O, nach eil fios agam gu bheil?" ors' ise. "Nach fhaodadh sibh p-fhéin smaointinn air a bhith ann an ceárna sam bith dhe 'n t-saoghal cho fad air taobh thall an t-saoghail? Agus a bheil eun na each na creutair eile ann a rachadh a nuil gu taobh eile 'n t-saoghail cho luath 's a théid ur smaointinn?" "'S flúor sin," ors' esan. Dh'fhalbh e air la'r-na-mháireach a nuil is ránaig e áite a' righ. " 'S eadh," ors' esan, "tha thu air tighinn."

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"You hâve corne," said thé king. "Yes, Your Majesty," said he. "I hâve returned." "And do you hâve thé solution to thé question?" " Oh, I hâve/7 said he. "Well, then," said thé king, "what is thé wealthiest thing in theworld?" "Oh, nothing on earth/' replied thé man; "is wealthier than thé sea." "Oh, yes there is," said thé king. " Am I myself not wealthier than thé sea?" "Oh, no indeed, by your leave, you are not that wealthy. Remember," he continued, "that thé sea is larger than thé rest of thé world; it is larger than thé land and it contains more of everything and for that reason it is wealthiest." "I must confess that I am satisfied with that," said thé king. "But you are to be back hère tomorrow and if you cannot tell me what is thé swiftest thing in thé world you shall lose your head." The old man returned home and he was very down-hearted when he arrived. "Well," said thé daughter. "What is your trouble now, dear father? You look extremely cheerless." "Oh, what différence does it make what is troubling me?" said he. "I will lose my head tomorrow unless I tell thé king what is thé swiftest thing in thé world." "And why didn't you tell him?" "What could I tell him?" he replied. " Could you not hâve told him that there is nothing in thé world so swift as thought?" "And do you yourself think," asked thé old man, "that thought is that swift? Do you really think it is?" "Oh, don't I know it is?" she replied. "Couldn't you yourself think of being in any part of thé world at ail, far away on thé other side of thé world? And is there a bird or a horse or any other créature who could go over to thé other side of thé world as swiftly as your thoughts would travel?" "That is true," said thé old man.

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"Tha, ur Mhórachd/' ors' esan, "mi air tighinn turus eile." "'S eadh, mata/' ors' esan. "A bheil fuasgladh na ceist agad?" "O, tha sin agam/' ors' esan. "'S eadh, mata," ors' esan, "gu dé as luaith' a th'air an t-saoghal?" "O, thá," ors' esan, "a' smaointinn." "O, cha n-eil," ors' esan, a' righ. "Tha mi 'n dúil gu bheil each agam fhin cho luath sin." "O, cha n-eil," ors' esan. "Cha n-eil sian air an t-saoghal cho luath ris a' smaointinn." "'S gu dé 'n dóigh," ors' esan, "a bheil thu a' dearbhadh sin? Dé an dearbhadh a th' agad gu bheil a' smaointinn cho luath sin?" "O, le 'r cead," ors' esan, "faodaidh ur smaointinn a bhith air taobh eile na rioghachd na taobh eile an t-saoghail, agus bidh sibh ann cho ealamh agus nach eil each na eun na beathach eiF ann a bheireadh ann sibh faisg cho ealamh sin." "A," ors' esan, "tha mi riaraichte leis an fhreagairt a tha sin. Tha mi a nist," ors' esan, "a' dol a chuir ceist eile ort, ach tha i seo furasda gu leór. Có tha cómhla riut, neo a bheil thu fuireach leat fhéin, neo ciamar a tha cúisean?" "Tha mo nighean a' cumail taighe dhomh," ors' esan, "bho'n a tha i fuireach cómhla rium." "'S eadh," ors' a' righ. "Tha mise dol a dh'iarraidh na h-ighinn sin airsonapósadh." "Faodaidh sibh sin," ors' esan, "ur Mhórachd a dhol dh'a h-iarraidh, ach," ors' esan, "tha e aig a toil fhéin. Cha n-iarr mise oirre ur pósadh 's cha mhotha a bhacas mi i." "Tha sin math gu leór leam," ors' esan, a' righ. "Gabhaidh mise ris a' sin." Agus co-dhiubh thánaig e agus dh'iarr e i airson a pósadh 's bha i deónach gu leór a phósadh. Agus co-dhiubh nuair a bha am pósadh réidh 's a h-uile sian seachad, "Ach," ors' esan, "bidh cumhntan ann." "O, glé cheart," ors' ise. "Agus cluinneam na cumhntannan."

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The next day he went over to thé king's palace. " Well," said thé king, "you hâve corne." "Yes, Your Majesty," said thé old man. "I hâve returned once more." "Well, then," said thé king. "Do you hâve a solution to thé question?" "Oh, indeed I hâve," said thé old man. "Well, then," said thé king, "what is thé swiftest thing on earth?" "Oh," said he, "it is thought." "Oh, no indeed," said thé king. "I believe I hâve a horse as swift as that." "Indeed no," said thé old man. "There is nothing in thé world as swift as thought." "And by what means," said thé king, "do you intend to prove that? What proof do you hâve that thought is so swift?" "Oh, by your leave," he replied, "your thought can be on thé other side of thé kingdom or thé other side of thé world and you can be there so swiftly that there is not a horse or a bird nor any other beast who could take you there near as swif tly." "Ah," said thé king, "I am satisfied with that answer. Now I am going to ask you another question," said he, "but this one is easy enough. Who is with you, or are you living alone, or how are you managing?" "My daughter is keeping house for me," replied thé man, "since she lives with me." "Indeed," said thé king. "I am going to ask your daughter's hand in marriage. " "Your Majesty, you may go to get her," said he, "but that is up to her. I will not ask her to marry you nor will I prevent her." "That is ail right by me," said thé king. "I accept that." So thé king arrived and he asked her hand in marriage and she was quite willing to marry him. But when thé marriage was ready and everything was finished, thé king said, "There will, however, be a condition." "Oh very well," said she. "Let me hear thé conditions."

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"Tha/' ors' esan, "cumhntan ri bhith ann, ma thig sian gu siorraidh eadarainn gum feum thu falbh: an cairteal fhágail." "Tha sin/' ors' ise, "math gu leór. Ach feumaidh mise/' ors' ise, "cumhntannan a dheanamh cuideachd neo cha bhi mi idir deónach dhol le cumhntannan sam bith." "'S eadh/' ors' esan, "tha sin iomchaidh gu leór." "Tha mi 'g iarraidh cumhntannan/' ors' ise, "a bhith ann, ma thig sian eadarainn gum fág mise an cairteal ach gun ceadaich sibh dhomh tri eallaich a thoirt leam amach as a' chairteal nuair a bhios mi fágail a' tighinn dhachaidh." "Tha sin," ors' esan, "iomchaidh gu leór, na cumhntannan sin a bhith ann." Agus chaidh na cumhntannan a chuir sios freagarrach gu leór is bha iad ceangailte: dh'fheumadh iad a bhith air an co-lionadh nan tachradh cúisean. Ach co-dhiubh bha gnothaichean a' dol air 'n aghaidh math gu leór 's fhuair iad teaghlach: rugadh leanabh gille. Agus as an am a bha sin, an cleachdadh a bhiodh ann, bhite cuir leanabh ann an creathall agus 'ga tulgadh a nuil 's a nall. Agus bha 'n leanabh anns a' chreathaill; ma dh' fhaoidte gu robh e mu bhliadhna a dh'aois. Ach co-dhiubh bha tuathanach as an áite a' fuireach taice ris a' righ agus bha láir aige is searrach aice agus chaidh i dha 'n bheinn. Agus bha eich aig a' righ amuigh air a' bheinn, agus gearrain. Ach co-dhiubh ge b'e gu dé mar a thachair a' chüis, lean a' searrach fear dhe na h-eich dhachaidh dh'ionnsaidh a' stábuill. Agus bha a' righ a' cómhdach gura h-ann leis-san a bha a' searrach: gum buineadh sin dhasan 's gur e a chóir-san a bh' ann; bha e cómhla ris an each. Agus cha n-fhaigheadh an duine a' searrach air n-ais. Agus bha a' righ a' falbh air réir a' ghnothach a bha coltach agus uime sin cha n-fhaigheadh an duine air n-ais a' searrach. Agus bha e coltach gura h-ann leis-san a bha e - gur e a ghnothach-san a bh' ann - nuair a thánaig e dhachaidh cómhla ris an each. Ach co-dhiubh thánaig an tuathanach dh'ionnsaidh an taighe latha bha seo agus bha a' righ air falbh a' sealgaireachd - bhiodh e falbh amach a shealgaireachd, e fhéin 's a sheirbhisich - agus ghearain an tuathanach mar a bha. "Nist," ors' ise, "thig thusa tráth 'sa mhadainn nuair a tha thu smaointinn gu bheil a' righ direach air éirigh. Agus bheir thu leat bucaid shalainn agus tóisichidh tu air a cuir 'sa pháirce. Thig a' righ amach a choimhead feuch gu dé tha thu deanamh agus abraidh tu ris

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"There is a condition to be laid down," said he, "that if anything ever comes between us you must depart and leave the castle." "That is all right/' said she, "but I must impose conditions too or I will not be in the least willing to agree to any conditions whatsoever." "Well," replied the king, "that is fitting enough." "I wish for conditions to be laid down/' said she, "that if anything comes between us that I leave the castle, but that you permit me to take three loads out of the castle as I am leaving for home." "It is fitting enough/' replied the king, "that these conditions be imposed." So the conditions were laid down legally enough and they were made binding; they had to be fulfilled if such things should come to pass. But anyway things were going ahead happily enough and they had a family - a boy was born. And at that time it was the custom to put a child in a eradle and rock him back and forth, so the child was in the eradle; he was perhaps about a year oíd. But there was a farmer in the región living next to the king who had a mare, and the mare had a foal and she went out on the mountain. The king had horses out on the mountain along with a gelding, and, however it occurred, the foal followed one of the horses home to the king's stable. The king claimed that the foal was his own, that it belonged to him and that he had the right to it since it was with the horse, and the man could not get his foal back. The king was going along with appearances and for this reason the man could not recover the foal, for it seemed that it belonged to the king - that it was his property having come home with the horse. So the farmer carne over to the house one day and the king had gone out hunting - he used to go out hunting with his servants - and complained about this. "Now," said she, "come by early in the morning when you think that the king has just arisen, and bring along a bucket of salí and begin sowing it in the field. And the king will come out to see what you are doing and you will say to him that you

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gu bheil thu a' crathadh salainn. Agus feuch/' ors' ise, "gura bruidhinn thu mar gum biodh tu 'ga fhaicinn cumanta na iomchaidh gu leór. Agus nuair a dh'fhoighneachdas e dhiot a bheil thu fhéin an dúil gum fas salann a tha thu crathadh ann am pairee abair ris gu bheil thu 'n dúil gu bheil e cheart cho coltach gum fásadh salann as an talamh 's a tha searrach a bhith aig gearran. Agus a nise/' ors ise, "cha chan mi 'n córr." Co-dhiubh thánaig an duine a nall tráth 'sa mhadainn ;s bha e crathadh salainn as a' pháirce - bha bucaid aige do shalann 's e 'ga crathadh. Chaidh a' righ far a robh e. "Dé tha thusa deanamh an sin?" "Nach eil mi/' ors' esan, "a' crathadh salainn?" "'S a bheil thusa fhéin a' smaointinn gum fas salann a chrathas tu 'san talamh?" "Cha n-eil mi cinnteach gum fas," ors' esan, "ach tha mi smaointinn gu bheil e cho coltach gum fásadh salann as an talamh ri searrach a bhith aig gearran." "'S cinnteach gura h-fhior sin/' ors' a' righ. Agus cha robh a' righ airson dealachadh ris an t-searrach. Tha e coltach gu robh fhios aige gur e searrach gábhaidh a bhith ann - bha an stoc cho math 's bha e cho duilich leis dealachadh ris - agus chaidh e astaigh. "'S e t'obair/' ors' esan, "a bha seo gun tug thu comhairle air an tuathanach." "'Se, "ors'ise. "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "tha mi cinnteach gu bheil cuimhn' agad air na cumhntannan." "O, tha," ors' ise, "cuimhn' agam orra glé mhath; orra uile." "Ma tha," ors' esan, "faodaidh tu a bhith deanamh deiseil agus falbh amach as a' chairteal agus a bhith fágail a' chairteil agus thogail rithe ge b'e dé 'n taobh a thoilicheas tu." "O, tha sin math gu leór." ors' ise. "Ach cuimhnichibh," ors' ise, "gu robh tri eallaich agam ri thoirt amach as a' chairteal nuair a bhithinn a' falbh. Sin an cumhntan a bh' ann. Agus ma chumas mise 'n cumhntan seo, feumaidh sibhse ur cumhntan fhéin a chumail." "O, feumaidh," ors' esan. "tha sin iomchaidh cuideachd. Bha na cumhntannan deante." Agus nan rachadh a' righ an aghaidh a' chumhntain a rinn e fhéin, uill dh'fhaodadh ise diült falbh as a' chairteal. Ach thuirt e gu robh

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The Reciters and the Tales

are shaking salt. And be sure to talk as if you see this as most usual and fitting. And when he asks you whether you believe that the salt you are sprinkling on the field will grow, say to him that it is just as likely that salt would grow in the ground as it is for a gelding to have a foal. And now," said she, "I will say no more/7 So the farmer carne over early in the morning and he was sprinkling salt on the field - he had a bucket of salt and he was sprinkling it. The king went over to him. "What are you doing there?" "Am I not/' replied the farmer, "sprinkling salt?" "And do you really think that the salt that you sprinkle on the ground will grow?" "I am not certain that it will/' replied the farmer, "but I think it is just as likely for salt to grow in the ground as it is for a gelding to have a foal." "That is certainly truc," said the king. The king was not happy to part with the foal. It seems that he knew that it was an exceptional foal - the stock was good and it was hard for him to part with it - and he went inside. " This was your doing," said he, " giving advice to the farmer." "Indeed it was," replied his wife. "Well then," said the king, "I am sure that you remember the conditions." "Oh yes," said she, "I remember them very well. All of them." "Then you can get ready and go out of the castle and leave it and go off in whichever direction you please," said the king. "Oh, that is all very well," said she. "But remember that I was to have three loads to take out of the castle when I left. That was the agreement. And if I hold to this agreement then you must hold to your own." "Oh, yes indeed," said he. "That is fitting too. The agreements were set." If the king were to go against the agreement that he had made, she could refuse to go from the castle. But he said that that was all right, that she could take the three loads with her. So she filled a chest of gold and sil ver and jewels and all sorts

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

sin ceart gu leór: gum faodadh i na tri eallaich a thoirt leatha. Lion i ciste do dh'ór 's do dh'airgiod 's seudan 's a h-uile rud luachmhor 's ghiúlain i sin amach 's chuir i amach air taobh amuigh a' chairteil e agus thill i astaigh. Bha a' chreathall as an t-seómbar agus an gille innt' is tha mi cinnteach gu robh e 'na chadal as an am. Agus thog i a; chreathall. Agus b'e seo an darna h-eallach a bha cead aice air a thoirt leatha as a' chairteal. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh e coimhead air a' chist' óir amuigh is a' coimhead air a' chreathaill agus an gilí' innte - oighre na rioghachd innte. Agus 's cinnteach gu robh a lámh fo leth-cheann 's e smaointinn air cho faoin 's bha e nuair a rinn e an cumhntan a bha seo. Cha d'rinn ise ach coiseachd astaigh 's thug i súil mun cuairt 's rug i air fhéin 's thug i amach air an dorust e. Agus thug i tri eallaich amach as a' chairteal. Dh' fhaodadh an cairteal a bhith aig neach sam bith an uair sin. Agus thuirt e, "Tillidh tusa a nist," ors' esan, "astaigh dha 'n chairteal agus théid mi fhin," ors' esan, "astaigh agus giúlainidh mi astaigh na h-eallaich a thug thu amach 's a h-uile rud as a' chairteal." Agus sin mar a dh'éirich dha 'n nighean séolta a bh' aig an t-seann duine, agus dha 'n righ a bha feuchainn ris an t-searrach fhaighinn bho 'n tuathanach. Sin an sgeul a fhuair mi aig Ceit Cheanadach.

15

An Cairteal a ThogBoban Saor

A nist, tha naidheachd agam air mar a thánaig seóltachd a' bhoireannaich sin agus 's ann bho Chatriona, neo Ceit, mar a bheireamaid, Cheanadach 's ann aice a fhuair mi 'n naidheachd a tha mi a nist a' dol a dh'innse: nuair a chaidh fios a chuir air Boban Saor agus air a ghille gu ceárna airson cairteal a thogail. Tha mi 'n dúil gur ann thall 'sa Fhraing a bha iad na 'n ceárnaidh dhe 'n Ghréig. Ach co-dhiubh ránaig iad agus mun do dh'fhág iad an taigh idir thuirt a' bhean ris a' ghille, "A nist," ors' ise, "tha mi toirt comhairP ort. Bidh," ors' ise, "leannan óinsich agad ge b'e dé am baile as am bi sibh ag obair na fuireach. Agus gheobh thu amach," ors' ise, "gnothaichean bho 'n leannan óinsich a bhios feumail dhut."

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The Reciters and thé Taies

of valuables and carried that out and put it outside thé castle and then she returned inside. The cradle was in thé room and thé young lad was in it and I am sure that he was sleeping at thé time. She lifted up thé cradle, and that was thé second load that she was allowed to take out of thé castle. And I am sure that thé king was looking at thé chest of gold outside and looking at thé cradle and looking at thé baby boy inside - at thé heir to thé kingdom that was in it. And surely he was holding his temples thinking how silly he had been when he made that condition. So ail she did then was to walk inside and glance around and take hold of him and lead him out thé door. She had brought thé three loads out of thé castle and thé castle could be anybody's then. So he said, "You can go back into thé castle now and I will go in myself and carry in thé loads that you brought out along with everything else from thé castle." And that is what happened to thé old man's élever daughter and thé king who was trying to get thé foal from thé farmer. This is thé taie I got from Kate Kennedy.

15

The Castle that Boban Saor Built

Now, I hâve a taie concerning how a certain woman's cleverness came to thé fore, and thé taie came from Catherine or Kate, as we used to say, Kennedy - and it was from her that I got thé story that I am going to tell now — when Boban Saor and his son were sent for to travel to some région where a castle was to be built. I believe that they were to go to France or some région of Greece. So they arrived there, but before they left home at ail thé son's wife said to him, "Now," said she, "I am giving you some advice. You will take a fool for a sweetheart, whatever town you will be working in or staying. And you will find out," said she, "things from this foolish sweetheart that will be very useful to you."

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Co-dhiubh, seo mar a bha. Bha esan a' deanamh suas ri té a bha cinnteach gu robh i dol 'ga phósadh. Agus cha robh sian 'ga cheiltinn. 'S có 'n té a bh' ann ach té a bha 'na searbhant' aig an duin' uasal — aig a' righ gu robh ann — agus bha fios aice air a h-uile sian. Agus nuair a bha 'n cairteal gus a bhith air a thogail - gus a bhith réidh - fhuair an gille amach bhuaipe nach robh dúil acá am páidheadh idir, agus ma dh'fhaoidte nach fhaigheadh iad air n-ais sábhailte dha 'n düthaich fhéin. 'S bha esan ag innse dha athair 'san oidhche, an am a rachadh iad a chadal, mar a bha gnothaichean a' dol agus rinn am bodach suas gun deanadh esan dóigh air 's gum faigheadh iad as. Agus thuirt e ris an duin' uasal latha gu robh an cairteal a nist réidh ach aon rud beag a bha ri dheanamh, agus nach gabhadh sin deanamh gus am faigheadh e uidheam a bh' aige aig an taigh. O, thuirt an duin' uasal gun cuireadh e seirbhiseach dh'a h-iarraidh as a' mhionaid. "O, cha deán sin feum/' orsa Boban Saor. "Feumaidh mi fhin/' ors' esan, "falbh a nuil, neo mi fhin 's mo mhac falbh a nuil mum faigh sinn an uidheam. Cha tugadh a' bhean seachad an uidheam co-dhiubh." "Uill," ors' esan, "cuiridh mi mo mhac fhéin a nuil dh'a h-iarraidh." "Ma tha," ors' esan, Boban Saor, "ma 's ann mar sin a tha, feumaidh e," ors' esan, "ionnsachadh bhuamsa rud a chañas e nuair a ruigeas e thall, air neo cha n-fhaigheadh e 'n uidheam." Agus 's e sin mar a chaidh a dheanamh: dh'ionnsaich mac an duin' uasail rud a chanadh e ri bean Boban Saor nuair ruigeadh e agus nuair a ránaig e thall dh'inns' e gun tánaig e a nall: gun do chuir an companach bha seo e a dh'iarraidh uidheam a bha a dhith orra. "'S eadh," ors' ise, "'s gu dé thuirt e riut a chanadh tu?" "Thuirt e rium a chantail, 'Car mar char 's car an aghaidh cur, Agus cha tig an acfhuinn bheag a nall gus an teid an acfhuinn mhór a nuil.'" "O, glé cheart," ors' ise. "Tiugainn sios dha 'n t-seómbar ann a' seo." Agus nuair a dh'fhalbh iad sios chaidh iad thro dhorust neo dha a' dol sios do sheómbraichean agus ránaig iad an seómbar 's thuirt i ris a dhol astaigh ann a' sin agus nuair a chaidh e astaigh ghlas i 'n dorust; agus ghlas i air 'n dorust 's bha mac an duin' uasail ann a' sin. Agus bha 'n üine dol seachad 's cha robh e tilleadh 's thuirt an duin'

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The Reciters and the Tales

And so it happened. He was courting some wonian who was certain that she was going to marry him, so she held back no Information. And what woman was that but one of the woman servants to the nobleman - to the king - who was there, and she knew about everything. And when the castle was nearly built and completed the lad foimd out from her that they did not intend to pay them at all, and that they might not be allowed to return safely to their own country. He was telling his father that night, when it carne time for them to go to sleep, how thing were going, and the oíd man decided that he would find a way out for them. And he told the nobleman one day that the castle was ready now, except for one detail that was left to do, and that that could not be done until he fetched a tool that he kept at home. Oh, the nobleman said, he would send a servant right away to fetch it. "Oh, that won't do/' said Boban Saor. "I musí go over or my son and myself should go to fetch the tool. The wife would not entrust the tool to just anybody." "Well," said the nobleman, "I will send my own son over to fetch it." "Well, then," said Boban Saor, "in that case he must learn from me what to say when he arrives there, or he will not get the tool." And that was what was done. The nobleman's son learned what to say to Boban Saor's wife when he arrived. When he reached the place he said that he had come over, that the husband had sent him to fetch a tool that they required. "Indeed," said she, "and what did he tell you to say?" "He told me to say, 'Turn alike and tum for turn, and the little tool will not come over here until the big tool goes over there/" "Oh, very well," said she. "Come down to this room." And when they had gone down and through a door or two leading to some rooms, and had reached the room, she told him to enter, and when he did she locked the door; she locked the door on the nobleman's son and there he was. As time passed and he did not return the nobleman said to Boban Saor

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

uasal ri Boban Saor gum bu neónach nach robh a mhac-san a' tilleadh leis an uidheam. "O," ors' esan, Boban Saor, "cha till do mhac idir. Tha e 'na phriosanaich," ors' esan, "thall aig a' bhean agamsa. Agus bidh e ann a' sin gus an teid mise agus an gille dhachaidh agus cha n-fhalbh sinn as a' seo gus am faigh sinn ar páidheadh airson an cairteal a thogail." Agus fhuair Boban Saor 's an gille an tuarasdal agus fhuair iad dhachaidh sábhailte. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a fhuair mi air seóltachd bean a' ghille nuair a thug i dha fios, na chuir i mar íhiachaibh air leannan óinsich a bhith aige. Sin an naidheachd a fhuair mi bho Chatriona Cheanadach.

16

Boban Saor: Obair leis an Tal

An naidheachd "Ag Obair leis an Tal:" nuair a bha 'n gille daonnan airson faighinn amach obair leis an tal agus cha n-innseadh an seann-duine dha a h-uile sian mu dheoghainn. Ach co-dhiubh bha ise airson 's gum faigheadh i a mhealladh agus an naidheachd fhaighinn bhuaithe agus a' latha bha seo bha iad ag obair amach an áiteiginn a' snaidheadh fiodh neo ri obair air choireiginn 's chaidh a' bhean óg amach le 'n dinneir thuca. 'S dé bh' aice ach uighean air an goil agus bha iad air an spiolgadh - na plaoisg air thoirt dhiubh - agus nuair a shuidh iad sios a dh'ith' am biadh dh'fhoighneachd an seann duine có spiolg na h-uighean. "O," ors' ise, "spiolg do mhac fhéin iad leis an tal." 'S thánaig an gnothach cho ealamh air cha do smaointich e air fhéin 's thuirt e, "Ubh, ubh, nach e a chum teann ri shliasaid i." Agus bha 'n gille 'ga chluinntinn 's seo mar a fhuair e amach ciamar a bha obair na tal ri dheanamh.

17

Am Faca Sibh Mo Leithid Riamh

Tha naidheachd an seo a chuala mi aig Alasdair Ceanadach. Tha áireamh mhór bliadhnaichean bho 'n chuala mi e 'ga h-innse: tha córr is lethcheud bliadhna bhuaithe. Agus tha e coltach - fear a bh' ann - gu robh e suas ris na cleasan 's ris na dóigheannan co-dhiubh agus chaidh e choimhead air cailleach

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The Reciters and the Tales

that it was strange that his own son had not returned with the tool. "Oh/' said Boban Saor, "your son won't return at all. He is being held prisoner over there by my wife. And he will remain there until the lad and I go home and we won't leave here at all until we get our wages for building the castle." And Boban Saor and the lad received their wages and they got home safely. And that is the story I got on the cleverness of the lad's wife when she let him know or put him under an obligation to take a fool as a sweetheart. That is the story that I got from Catherine (Kate) Kennedy.

16

Boban Saor: Workíng with the Adze

In the story about working with the adze, Boban Saor's son always wished to find out about working with an adze and the oíd man would never tell him everything about it. But the son's wife determined to trick him and get the information, and so one day, as they were working somewhere outside hewing lumber or at some kind of work, the young wife went to them with their dinner. And what did she have but boiled eggs which had been shelled - the shells had been taken off and when they sat down to eat their food, the oíd man asked who had shelled the eggs. "Oh/' said she, "your own son shelled them with the adze." And this caught the oíd man so swiftly that without thinking he answered, "Didn't he hold it cióse to his thigh!" And the lad overheard him, and that was how he found out how adze work was done.

17

Did You Ever See the Like ofMe

Here is a story that I heard from Alexander Kennedy. It is a great many years since I heard it told, more than fifty. It seems that there was a certain man who engaged in tricks and strange ways, and he went to see a stingy oíd woman. And

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spiocach a bha seo. Agus bha e 'n deaghaidh geall a chuir gum faigheadh esan astaigh 's gum faigheadh e biadh. Agus nuair a thánaig e dh'ionnsaidh an doruist dh'fhoighneachd i có esan na có bha siod 's thuirt e gur e Uilleam Dean Suidhe. "Uilleim Dean Suidhe/' ors' ise agus thánaig e astaigh 's thuirt e, " 'S cóir sin agus bean an taighe 'gam chuireadh." Co-dhiubh bha e astaigh anns an taigh agus thuirt e ris a' chaillich mhosach a bha seo gum feumadh i biadh a dheanamh dha. Agus chuir i an uair sin dileag bheag do dh'uisge ann am poit 's i dol a dheanamh brochan agus chaidh i a dh'iarraidh na min. Agus fhad 's a bha i air falbh ag iarraidh na min chuir esan dileag eile do dh'uisge 'sa phoit. Thánaig i leis a' mhin 's chuir i sin as a' phoit agus airson a cuir throimh chéile, thuirt e gu robh sin ro thana: gum feumadh i tuilleadh min a chuir ann. Agus dh'fhalbh ise a dh'iarraidh tuilleadh do mhin. Agus fhad 's a bha i air falbh, chuir e dileag bheag eile do dh'uisge 'sa phoit. Agus nuair a thill i thuirt e gu robh 'm brochan sin ro thana fhathast agus chuir e i air falbh turus eile a dh'iarraidh min. Agus rinn sin gu robh taosgan math ann do bhrochan co-dhiubh. Agus nuair a ghabh iad sin, fhuair e cothrom agus sgob e leis gnothaichean a bh' aig a' chailleach - co-dhiubh 's e cáise na ge b'e dé na rudan a bh' ann, sgob e sin leis - agus dh'fhoighneachd i dheth a rithist c' ainm a bh' air. Thuirt e nuair a bhiodh esan air falbh gu robh caochladh ainm air, agus gura h-e an t-ainm a bh' air nuair a bhiodh e air siubhal Am Faca Sibh Mo Leithid Riamh. Agus co dhiubh nuair a dh'ionndrainnich a' chailleach na gnothaichean a chaidh thoirt air falbh, chaidh i amach a choimhead 's cha robh sgeul airsan: bha e air togail rithe, air teicheadh. Agus dh'fhalbh i sios a' rathad agus i 'g éibheach dha 'n h-uile duine a thachradh rithe, "'M faca sibh mo leithid riamh? Am faca sibh mo leithid riamh?" Agus tha mi cinnteach gun do shaoil leis na daoine gu robh a' chailleach air a dhol as a rian ag éibheach dhaibh, "Am faca sibh mo leithid riamh?" Agus tha mi 'n dúil gura h-e breith oirre agus a cuir an áite teáruinte a rinn iad mun deanadh i cron. Agus sin na bheil cuimhne agam air an naidheachd air Am Faca Sibh Mo Leithid Riamh.

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he had made a bet that he would get inside and that he would get food. When he carne to the door she asked who he was or who was there and he said that his ñame was William Sit Down. "William Sit Down/' said she and he entered, saying, "That is the proper thing to do now that I have been invited by the woman of the house." So he was in the house and he said to the ill-tempered oíd woman that she would have to prepare food for hirn. She put a little splash of water in a pot as she was about to prepare porridge and went off to fetch the meal. And while she was away getting the meal he poured another little splash of water into the pot. She returned with the meal and put it into the pot and to confuse her he said that it was too thin, that she would have to put more meal in it. And off she went to get more meal. While she was away he put another little splash of water into the pot, and when she returned he said that the porridge was still too thin and sent her away again for meal; so that it amounted to quite a nice amount of porridge. When they had caten that, he got a chance and snatched up articles that belonged to the oíd lady - cheese or whatever was there and she asked him again what his ñame was. He replied that when he was away he had various ñames and the ñame he had when he was travelling was Did You Ever See the Like of Me. And when the oíd woman finally missed the articles that were taken she went out to look and there was no trace of him: he had taken off and fled. So she went down the road and called out to everyone that she met, "Did You Ever See The Like of Me? Did You Ever See The Like of Me?" And I am sure that the people thought that the oíd lady had gone out of her mind calling out, " Did you ever see the like of me?" And I expect that they caught her and put her away in a safe place before she could do any harm. And that is all I remember of the story about Did You Ever See The Like of Me.

Clann 'Illeain

Air réir na h-eachdraidh a fhuair mi bhuapa fhéin 's ann a Barraidh a thánaig Cloinn 'Illeain. Ach bha iad fhéin a 7 cantail gura h-ann do Chloinn 'Illeain Dhubhairt a bha iad bho thüs. Agus tha e coltach ma dh'fhaoidte gun deachaidh iad an toirt a nuil a Bharraidh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh iad ann an Uibhist-a-Tuath. Cha n-eil fhios a'm air a' sin idir, ach ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh iad ann an Uibhist-a-Tuath agus gun deach iad as a' sin a Bharraidh. Tha e coltach thall 'san Albainn gura h-e Lachlainn Gobha agus lain mac Lachlainn Ghobha; agus thánaig Calum Óg mac lain 'ac Lachlainn Ghobha, thánaig e a nall gu Cheap Breatunn. A nist, cha n-eil fhios a'm gu dé an t-am a thánaig esan a nall; an ann an deaghaidh dha 'n chloinn a dhol a nuil na 'n deach e a nuil cómhla riu. Ach co-dhiubh cha deán sin deifir. Bha Calum Óg a bhos ann an Ceap Breatunn. Agus bho 'n a 's e Calum Óg an t-ainm a bh' air shaoilinn-sa ma dh'fhaoidte güín biodh e air fear dhe na b'óige a bh' as an teaghlach: 's cinnteach gu robh da Chalum as an teaghlach air a réir sin. Ach 's ann thall a' sin a chaochail e. Chaidh e thiodhlaigeadh shios aig a' chladh shios aig a' Phón Mhór na aig a' Phón Mheadhonach mar a bheir iad. Agus thánaig Niall mac lain 'ac Lachlainn: 's e bráthair do Chalum Óg a bhiodh ann an Niall. A nist, cha n-urrainn dhomh a ghrádhainn gun tánaig Niall mac lain 'ac Lochlainn idir a nall - cha chuala mi riamh gu robh e a bhos an Ceap Breatunn - ach bha a' chlann aig Niall Mor mac lain 'ic Lachlainn a bhos. Agus nuair a bhios mi réidh a thoirt eachdraidh air muinntir Chaluim Óig chanaidh mi beagan an uair sin - na 'sfiosraichmi - mu dheidhinn muinntir Nill Mhóir. Ach tha mi creidsinn aig an am seo gun tóisich mi anuas bho Chalum Óg. Bha lain Chaluim Óig agus Niall Chaluim Óig agus Alasdair Chaluim a' cómhnaidh thall aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach. Agus bha áireamh do nigheannan aige, mar a bha Máiri Chaluim Óig 's Mor Chaluim Óig, Catriona Chaluim Óig agus Anna Chaluim Óig 's mar

The MacLeans

According to the history that I got from them, these MacLeans carne from Barra. But they maintain that originally they belonged to the MacLeans of Duart. It seems that they may have been brought over to Barra. Perhaps they were in North Uist. I don't know anything about that, but perhaps they were in North Uist and went from there to Barra. It seems that over in Scotland there was Lachlann Gobha (Lachlann the Blacksmith) and lain mac Lachlainn Ghobha (John son of Lachlann the Blacksmith); and Calum Óg, son of lain mac Lachlainn Ghobha carne over to Cape Bretón. Now I don't know when he carne over, whether it was after his children emigrated or whether he carne over with them. But that is of no great importance. Calum Óg was over here in Cape Bretón. And since he was styled Calum Óg (Young Malcolm) I would guess that he would probably be one of the youngest in the family; certainly the ñame indicates there were two Calums in the family. But it was over here that he died. He was buried down in the graveyard in Big Pond or in Middle Pond, as they say. And Niall mac lain 'ac Lachlainn (Neil son of John son of Lachlann) arrived; he was a brother of Calum Óg. Now I cannot say for sure that Niall mac lain 'ac Lachlainn actually carne over - I never heard that he was over here in Cape Bretón but the children of Niall Mor mac lain 'ic Lachlainn were here. And when I have finished giving the history of the progeny of Calum Óg I will say something then, whatever I know, about that of Niall Mor (Big Neil). I believe now that I should begin from Calum Óg down. John son of Calum Óg and Neil son of Calum Óg and Alexander son of Calum Óg were living over in Middle Cape.

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sin. Ach cha bhi mi dol gu domhain as a' ghnothach acá sin. Cha d'fhuair mi naidheachd na sian bhuapa, ach gu robh fios a'm gu robh iad ann. Ach Dómhnall Chaluim lain, nuair a bha e 'na dhuine óg chaidh e air falbh gu chosnadh agus 's ann timcheall air obair a' rathad iaruinn a chaidh e. Agus 's docha gura h-ann anns an taigh chruinn -'se seo an taigh anns am bite tionndadh na h-inneal mhóir a bhiodh a' tarraing leatha nan carbad iaruinn. Agus nuair a thánaig i seo astaigh, bha i ri tionndadh air dóigh 's gu rachadh i amach, agus chanamaid gur e a h-aghaidh a bhiodh air thoiseach oirre a' falbh. Agus bha e 'g obair shios timcheall air an áite bha sin úine mhór gu áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean gus an d'fhuair e suas mu dheireadh cho math agus gum biodh e a' ligeil amach charbadan. Agus 's e an seadh a bh' aig an obair seo, 'sea bhith 'gan rannsachadh mum falbhadh iad leo, neo mar a bheir iad ann am Beurla, bha e 'na char-inspector. Agus nam biodh duine sam bith fo iaonadh na fo iomagain gu dé a nist a bha seo a' ciallachadh na bha dol air 'n aghaidh, fhuair mise ri thuigsinn gum falbhadh e agus órd beag aige 'na láimh, agus bhuaileadh e na rothan iaruinn a bh' air na carbadan. Agus dh'aithnigheadh e air fuaim a' roth nuair a bhuail e a' chuibheall iaruinn leis an órd an robh sgáineadh innte. Agus ma bha sgáineadh anns a' chuibheall - as a' roth iaruinn a bha seo - bha e toirt dha fhollaiseachadh seo agus dh'fheumadh iad an uair sin seo a cheartachadh. Cha ghabhadh an carbad seo ligeadh air falbh is a' roth as a robh sgáineadh. Agus 's e sin mar a thuig mise a' rud a bh' ann a bhith ligeadh amach charbadan. Agus b'e seo an obair tha mi 'n dúil a bh' aige gus an tug e suas an obair. Agus tha mi smaointinn gu robh a fhradharc a' fas dona - fiór dhona - ach cha deanadh sin deifir bho 'n a bha a chlaisdeachd math. Agus bhithinn a' dol air chéilidh air an duine gus glé bheag do dh'úine mun do chaochail e. Agus bhiomaid daonnan ann an cuideachd a chéile agus Sgeulachdan is gnothaichean a' dol. 'S bha leabhraichean aige anns a robh órain Gháidhlig, agus chanadh e rium uair sam bith a thachradh e rium, "Feuch a nist gun tig thu air chéilidh orm an úine ghoirid. Tha na leabhraichean agam an gléidheadh fhathast airson 's gum faigh thu tacan air an leubhadh." Ach Micheal lain Chaluim - dh'ainmich mi trie e - fhuair mi cuid mhath do ghnothaichean bhuaithe-san agus 's ann bhuaithe a fhuair mi an eachdraidh air gu robh Calum Óg fhéin air tiodhlaigeadh anns an dúthaich seo. Agus ged nach d'fhuair mi bheag do Sgeulachdan idir bho Chalum lain fhuair mi cuid dhe ghnothaichean bho mhac, bho Dhómhnall a dh'ainmich mi agus bho lain. Agus Alasdair Nill

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He also had a number of daughters such as Mary Calum Óg and Sarah Calum Óg, Catherine Calum Óg, and Annie Calum Óg, and so on. I won't go into too great detail concerning them because I did not get stories or anything else from them; I only knew that they were there. But Donald son of Malcolm J. (Calum lain), when a young man, went away to work and took up work on the railway. And it seems that he worked in the roundhouse, the house in which they turned the big engine used to pulí the railway cars around. When the engine carne in it had to be turned so that it would go out again, as we would say, facing in the opposite direction. He worked there a long time, a great many years, until at last he worked his way up to where he let the cars out. This job consisted of inspecting cars before they were taken; he was, as they cali it in English, a car inspector. And if anybody should be curious or wonder what this meant and what was involved, I was given to understand that he went with a small hammer in his hand and would strike the iron wheels on the cars. He could tell from the sound when he hit the iron wheel whether there was a crack in it. And if the wheel - the iron wheel - was cracked he was able to detect it and it had to be corrected. The car could not be let out with a cracked wheel. And that's what I understood to be involved in letting the cars out. He had that job, I believe, until he retired. And I believe that his sight was growing bad - extremely bad - but that made no difference since his hearing was good. And I used to go and visit the man until very shortly before he died. And we were always together telling tales and such like. He had some books of Gaelic songs and he would say to me whenever we met, "Be sure to come and visit me soon. I am still keeping the books so that you'll have some time to read them." As for Michael (Micheal lain Chaluim) - I have mentioned him often -1 got a good number of Ítems from him and indeed it was he who gave me the account that Calum Óg was buried in this country. Although I hardly got any stories from Calum lain, I learned a good number of them from his son, from Donald whom I have mentioned, and from John. And there

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Chaluim, chuala mi Sgeulachdan aigesan. Agus tha fios, na mnathan aig an fheadhainn sin, mar a bha Bean Mhicheil lain Chaluim, fhuair mi gnáth-fhacail na rud bhuaipe sin. Agus thachair an ni ceunda dhomh air a' bhean aig Alasdair Nill Chaluim: fhuair mi beagan do ghnáth-fhacail bhuaipe sin. Agus Seumas Mac a' Ghobha: chaidh a thogail an áite Mhicheil lain Chaluim agus fhuair mi gnáth-fhacail 's sean-fhacail bho 'n fhear sin agus chuala mi Sgeulachdan aige 'gan aithris, a bharrachd air gun do thog mi fhin iad mun cuairt ann am paipearan. Agus tha mi creidsinn gun gabh mi leis a' sin do dh'eachdraidh air Chloinn 'Illeain sin - muinntir Chaluim Óig - ach gura h-fheudar dhomh ainmeachas gu robh iad air an cunntais 'nan iasgairean sónraichte. Agus tha e coltach gu robh iad 'nan iasgairean ann am Barraidh ged a bha a' ghoibhneachd 'san t-seann fheadhainn air n-ais gu Lachlann Gobha; tha e coltach gun tánaig iad anuas dha 'n iasgach dh'ionnsaidh anuas bhuaithe sin. Agus bha lain Chaluim agus Niall Chaluim Óig air an cunntais 'nan iasgairean sónraichte a bha thall againn fhin. Agus bha mac lain Chaluim - Micheal - bha e air na bancaichean iasgaich greis dhe shaoghal; bha e air a' chuan. Agus bha Calum, mac Nill, bha a' fear sin air a chunntais 'na iasgair; nuair a bha iad air na bancaichean iasgaich amuigh 's e a' fear a b' fheárr. As aon samhradh dhe na bha iad ann air an iasgach bhuannaichd e air a h-uile h-aon dhe na bh'ann le meud na thug e astaigh do dh'iasg. Agus thog e'n teaghlach nuair a bha e shuas aig Gleann nan Eireannach mun do dh'imrich e astaigh dha 'n bhaile mhór 's an deach a' chlann a dh'obair timcheall rathad iaruinn 's dhe sin. Thog e teaghlach mor agus ged a bha áite aige 's ann air taobh beinneadh bha e,- cha robh moran do dh'áite ann airson tuathanachas. Ach bha e deanamh cho math air an iasgach as an am eadar trosg is sgadan agus gu robh e comasach air an teaghlach a thogail agus a bheathachadh. 'S bha aon naidheachd bheag tha mi smaointinn gum biodh e freagarrach gu leór a h-innse. Bha e fhéin ag innse dhaibh a' sgeul a bha seo. Cha robh aige astaigh do dh'airgiod 'sam am ach na cheannaicheadh lion sgadain. Agus cheannaich e lion sgadain. Agus nuair a thánaig an deigh láidir gu leór air a' loch airson a' lion sgadain a chuir, chuir e a' lion sgadain. Agus bha e 'g innse dhaibh, tha e coltach gu robh cuid mhór do sgadan a' dol seachad as an am a bha sin agus bhiodh iad a' faighinn uamhas do sgadan aig am. Agus thuirt e a' cheud mhadainn a chaidh e amach agus a thog e a' lion sgadain a bha sin, gu robh gu leór do sgadan ann nuair a thug e as an sgadan uile - tha mi creidsinn gu

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The Recitéis and the Tales

was an Alexander (Alasdair Nill Chaluim) from whom I also heard stories. And, to be sure, there were the wives of these people, such as the wife of Michael (Micheal lain Chaluim); I got expressions and such from her, and the same with the wife of Alasdair Nill Chaluim: I got a few expressions from her too. And James Smith: he was raised at Michael's place and I got expressions and proverbs from him and heard stories told by him in addition to those I learned from various newspapers. And I think now I have covered the history of those MacLeans - Calum Og's branch - but I should add here that they were considered to be exceptional fishermen. It seems that they were fishermen in Barra although there was also blacksmithing among the older people all the way back to Lachlann Gobha (Lachlann the Blacksmith); it seems that they carne into the fishing from that time on. John (lain Chaluim) and Neil (Niall Chaluim Óig) were considered to be especially good fishermen over our way. John's son Michael spent some of his life on the fishing banks; he was at sea. And Malcolm, Neil's son, was considered to be a real fisherman; when they were out on the fishing banks he was the best man of all. One summer when they were engaged in fishing he beat all of the rest there with the size of his catch of fish. And he raised his family to the south in Irish Vale before he moved into the town and the children went to work for the railway and such places. He raised a big family; although he owned a place it was on the mountainside and there wasn't much room there for farming. But in those days he did so well fishing cod and herring that he was able to raise and feed his family. There is one short story that I think would be suitable to tell here. He himself used to tell it to people. The only money he had at the time was enough to purchase a herring net. So he bought the herring net. And when the ice got thick enough on the Bras D'Or lake to put out the net, he set it out. And, as he used to tell people, it seemed that a large number of herring were going past at the time and they used to catch a lot of herring at once. He said that the first morning he went out and hauled up the herring net there were quite a few herring by the time he had finished. I believe he was

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robh e 'gan cuir ann am poca amuigh air an deigh agus 's dócha gu robh sleighe bheag aige air an táirneadh e sin gu cladach. Agus gu dé dh'amais e ach gun tánaig f ear a bhiodh ri ceannach air f eadh na dúthchadh. Agus co-dhiubh 's ann 'g iasgach a bha iad an áiteiginn 'sam biodh biadhadh a dhith orra air neo bha e a' dol gu margadh leis a' seo far am biodh feadhainn a bhiodh a' ceannach a' sgadain airson ithe, thánaig a' fear seo 's each agus sleigh' aige far a robh a' lion aige an cuir air an deigh agus stad e far a robh e 's dh'fhoighneachd e dheth a robh sgadan aige. 'S thuirt e gu robh. 'S chunntadh a7 sgadan 's thug a' fear seo leis a' sgadan agus pháidh e. Agus bha gu leór do sgadan aige as a' lion air an aon togail na pháidh pris a' lin. Agus bha uibhir do dh'airgiod aige a nist agus a bha aige mun do cheannach e a; lion. 'S fheudar dhomh a nist ainmeachas air teaghlach Nill Mhóir (Niall Mor mac lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). Bha triúir mhac aige a shuidhich thall aig a; Rudha Mheadhonach. Ach cha n-urrainn dhomhsa a ghrádhainn an do shuidhich Niall Mor fhéin ann a thaobh cha chuala mise riamh guth 'ga thoirt air Niall Mor. Cha tuirt iad "Seo far a robh Niall Mor a' fuireach" neo "Siod far a robh Niall Mor a' fuireach" ach bha iad ag ainmeachas Aonghus agus Lachlann agus Calum. Bha Aonghus pósda 's 's e bana-Chaimbeulach a bha pósda aige. Cha robh teaghlach idir acá; tha e coltach gu robh iad suas an aois mun do phós iad. Cha robh Lachlann pósda idir. Agus bho 'n tha mis' a; bruidhinn air Lachlann, bha iad a' cunntais Lachlann Nill Mhóir air fear dhe na h-óranaiche cho math agus a bha thall aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach 'na am; gu seinneadh e órain cho blasda agus math ri aon dhe na bh' ann. Ach bha Calum Nill Mhóir, bha e pósda agus 's e té do chloinn Nill a bha pósda aige. Agus 's e ogha do Ruairidh Breac a bha pósda aig an fhear sin: Máiri Alasdair 'ic Ruairidh. Agus 's e mac dhaibh sin air a robh Dómhnall, sin fhéin an aonfhear air an d'fhuair mi eólas. Sin a' fear a dh'ainmich mi cheana - sgeul a' siod 's a' seo a chuir mi air ciar far an do dh'ainmich mi Dómhnall Mac'Illeain (Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir). Agus bha Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir, 's ann ri tuathanachas a bha e, ach gum biodh e ri ceannach beagan air an dúthaich 's a' falbh leis gu na margaidean 'ga reic. Bhiodh e 'g obair aig feadhainn: ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh e a' falbh air tumis dhaibh agus a leithidean sin. Agus chuir e seachad a' chuid mu dheireadh dhe shaoghal - 's ann ri tuathanachas a bha e gus an tug e suas e. Dh'fhás a shláinte cho dona. B'e seo Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir. Cha do dh'ainmich mi na boireannaich a bha pósda aig Cloinn

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The Reciters and the Tales

putting them in a bag out on the ice and he probably had a little sleigh to pulí them to shore. And what happened but a man arrived who used to buy up things throughout the countryside. There may have been people fishing somewhere who needed bait or else he was going to market where people would buy herring to eat. So this man arrived with a horse and sleigh and stopped where he was on the ice where his herring net was cast and asked if he had herring and he replied that he had. So the herring were counted and the man took the herring and paid him. And there were enough herring in the net in the one haul to pay the price oí the net so he had as much money then as he had before he bought the net. Now I should pass on an account of the family of Big Neil (Niall Mor mac lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). He had three sons who settled over at Middle Cape. But I cannot say whether Big Neil himself settled there because I never heard anything concerning him. People didn't say, "Here is where Big Neil lived/' or, "There is where Big Neil lived," but they did ñame his sons Angus and Lachlann and Malcolm. Angus was married to a Campbell woman. They had no family at all; it seems that they were up in years when they married. Lachlann was not married at all. And while I am speaking of Lachlann they considered Lachlann Nill Mhóir to be a singer as good as was over there in Middle Cape in his day; he could sing songs as nicely and as well as any there. But Malcolm (Calum Nill Mhóir) was married and his wife was one of the MacNeils. She was a granddaughter of Ruairidh Breac, Máiri Alasdair 'ic Ruairidh. And a son of theirs called Donald was the only one that I carne to know. That's the man that I mentioned before in a story here and there that I put on tape where I mentioned a Donald MacLean (Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir). Donald was a farmer although he did buy a little out in the country and went to markets to sell. He used to work for people; perhaps he would go on errands for them and so on. And he spent the last part of his life farming until he gave it up. His health became so bad. And that was Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir. I have not mentioned the women who were married to this

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'Illeain seo. Agus tha mi smaointinn gum b'e dearmad a bhiodh ann am fágail gun an ainmeachas ;nam sheanachas. 'S e Máiri NicNill a bha pósda aig Micheal (Micheal lain Chaluim Óig). Agus bha i do Chloinn Nill a bha fuireach thall aig Báigh a' Chairteil ann an Ceap Breatunn - agus 's e Nighean Dhómhnaill Óig a bheireamaid rithe. Agus leis a' gháradh neo 'm meas-lios do dh'úbhlan luachmhor a bh' aig an duine sin thall far a robh e fuireach aig Báigh a 7 Chairteil an Ceap Breatunn 's e Dómhnall nan Übhlan a thug iad mar ainm air. Agus tha mi smaointinn gur e Dómhnall mac Ruairidh bu shloinneadh dha nan rachadh iad air ais cho fad' sin ach co-dhiubh fágaidh sinn sin gur e Máiri Dhómhnaill Óig - neo Dhómhnaill nan Übhlan - a bh' aig Micheal. Agus 's e Ealasaid Cheanadach a bh' aig Alasdair Nill Chaluim aig an d'fhuair mi Sgeulachdan. 'S e Ealasaid Cheanadach, nighean do Sheumas Ceanadach a thug mi ainmeachas oirre cheana. Agus aig Calum lain Chaluim, athair lain agus Dhómhnaill bho 'n d'fhuair mi na Sgeulachdan a bh' air ainmeachas orra cheana 's e NicFhionghuin a bha pósd' aigesan. 'S e nighean do Dhómhnall Nill tha mi smaointinn gur e Dómhnall Nill 'ac Dhómhnaill Bháin a bheirte ris an duine bha sin - agus 's e boireannach fior-ghasda: boireannach siobhalta, ceutach, cóir a bha sin agus boireannach criosdail, faighdinneach. Agus bha fior mheas agam oirre sin mar an ceunda. Agus 's e té Ealasaid banndrach lain Dhómhnallaich a bha pósda aig Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhór. 'S i bu mháthair do bhean Dhómhnaill Nill Eóin Mhóir. Agus tha mi creidsinn gum fóghainn sin a nist do dh'eachdraidh air Chloinn 'Illeain. Agus gu dearbh cha n-eil mi idir támailteach a bhith toirt eachdraidh air na daoine seo bho 'n a tha mi glé uasal as a' ghnothach gu robh mi 'nan cuideachd agus gun d'fhuair mi uibhir bhuapa.

18

Duanach Mac na Banndraich

Tha sgeulachd bheag, ghoirid agam ann a' seo agus cha robh mi ach glé óg - bha mi mu cheithir bliadhn' deug a dh'aois - nuair a chuala mi i aig Dómhnall Mac 'Illeain, mac do Chalum lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha. Co-dhiubh, 's e sgeulachd mu dheidhinn fear ris an canadh iad Duanach Mac na Banndraich. Agus bha fuamhaire, air réir na

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branch of the MacLeans, and I think it would be an oversight to leave them unmentioned in my account. There was a Mary MacNeil who was married to Michael (Michael lain Chaluim Óig). She was one of the MacNeils who were living over in Castle Bay in Cape Bretón and she used to be called Nighean Dhómhnaill Óig (Young Donald's Daughter). Because of the garden or orchard of valuable apples that her father had over there where he lived in Castle Bay in Cape Bretón they nicknamed him "Donald the Apples." And I believe that he was styled Dómhnall mac Ruairidh if one went back that far but it will suffice to say that it was Máiri Dhómhnaill Óig (Mary Young Donald] - or Mary Donald the Apples - who was married to Michael. And Elizabeth Kennedy was married to Alasdair Nill Chaluim from whom I got the stories. Elizabeth Kennedy was a daughter of James Kennedy whom I mentioned before. A MacKinnon woman was married to Malcolm J. (Calum lain Chaluim), the father of John and Donald from whom I got the stories. She was a daughter of Donald Neil - I think that the man was called Dómhnall Nill 'ac Dhómhnaill Bháin and she was a fine woman, easy-going, kind and courteous, and a true Christian in her patience. I was very fond of her too. Elizabeth, the widow of John MacDonald, was married to Donald (Dómhnall Chaluim Nill Mhóir). She was the mother of Dómhnall Nill Eóin Mhóir. And I believe that this will suffice for a history of the MacLeans. Indeed, giving a history of these men is no burden to me because I am very proud to have been in their company and to have received so much from them.

18

Duanach the Widow's Son

I have a short tale here and I was only very young - about fourteen years oíd - when I heard it from Donald MacLean son of Calum lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha. The tale concerns a man whom they called Duanach the Widow's Son. And, according to the tale, a giant was living

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sgeulachd a bh' ann, a' cómhnaidh ann an gleann domhain shios. Ach bha e deanamh moran do chalí mun cuairt, tha mi cinnteach, air feadh na tire cuideachd ged a bha e a' cómhnaidh 'sa ghleann. Agus ma chaidh a h-aon a chuir as dha, dh'fháillich orra co-dhiubh. Cha n-urrainn dhomh a ghrádh dé mar a chaidh sin. Ach chaidh Duanach Mac na Banndraich - cha robh ann ach duine gu math beag, meanbh ach bha e lán do sheóltachd. Agus dh'fhalbh esan air turus airson cuir as dha 'n fhuamhaire. Agus tha e coltach gun deachaidh e gu mullach na beinneadh. Chuir e da chlár air a bhonnaibh, air neo bha seórsa do shlaod beag neo mar a bheir iad gu cumanta sleigh' bheag aige air a dheanamh agus chaidh e air a' sin agus sios a ghabh e dha'n ghleann gus na ránaig e shios an t-áit' as a robh am fuamhaire a' cómhnaidh. Agus nuair a ránaig e shios, thánaig am fuamhaire amach. "C'áite bheil thusa a' dol neo dé chuir a' seo thu, 'ille bhig bhóidhich?" ors' am fuamhaire. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh am fuamhaire a' dol a mhaoidheadh air a bheatha mar a bhiodh e cumanta do dh'fhuamhairean a dheanamh co-dhiubh. Ach mun d'fhuair e fios freagairt thuirt e gun tánaig e anuas a chuir deuchainn air agus a shabaid ris. "Is gu dé an t-sabaid a dheanadh tusa?" ors7 esan, "agus tu cho beag, meanbh?" "Ma dh'fhaoidte," ors' esan, "gu bheil mi láidir gu leór an deaghaidh a h-uile rud airson sibhse a bheatadh ann an iomadh dóigh." Agus co-dhiubh thuirt am fuamhaire ris, "Ma tha," ors' esan, "halla sios dh'ionnsaidh an tobair 's bheir anuas uisge agus gum bruich sinn eanrach na biadh a ghabhas sinn." Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha a robh soitheach aige airson an uisge agus thuirt e gu robh. 'S nuair a rug e air bul an t-soithich, tha mi cinnteach gu robh i cho trom 's gur ann air éiginn a rachadh aige air a togail. Agus cha robh e falbh. Cha robh e falbh. An am a chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh an tobair leis a' chuinneag a bh' ann cha b'urrainn dha a gluasad co-dhiubh 's uisg' innte. Agus bha 'm fuamhaire gabhail fadachd nach robh e faighinn an uisge agus thuirt e nach robh a' soitheach a bha seo mor gu léor leis-san airson uisge thoirt á tobar: nam biodh dóigh aig' air an tobar thoirt dhachaidh slán mar a bha e, gum biodh fiach na saothair ann. O, thuirt am fuamhaire ris lán na bucaid fhéin thoirt dhachaidh agus aig an am seo nach robh e airson an tobar thoirt as co-dhiubh. O, cha n-éisdeadh e ris a' sin. Thuirt e nach biodh gnothach aige idir ri dol gu tobar le soitheach cho beag agus

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down in a deep glen. He was doing a lot of damage around, throughout the land too although he was living in the glen. And if anybody went to kill him, they failed. I cannot say why. Duanach the Widow's Son set out; he was only a slight, little man but he was full of craftiness. So he set out on a journey to slay the giant. And it seems that he climbed to the top of the mountain. He put two boards on his feet, or he had some sort of little sled or, as they usually say, a sleigh which he had made, and so he rodé on that down the glen until he arrived at the place below the giant's dwelling. And when he arrived there out carne the giant. " Where are you going and what brought you here, my pretty young fellow?" asked the giant. I am certain that the giant was going to threaten his life as this was a usual enough thing for giants to do. But before he got an answer the little man said that he had come to put him to the test and fight him. "And what kind of fight could you put up," said he, "little and puny as you are?" "Perhaps," said he, "I am strong enough afte^ all to beat you in many ways." So the giant said to him, " Well then, go over to the well and bring down water so that we can cook a soup or some food to eat." And the little man asked him if he had a vessel for the water and he replied that he did. And when the little man grasped the handle of the vessel I am certain it was so heavy that he was barely able to lift it. So he wouldn't budge. He wouldn't budge then, for if he did go to the well with the bucket he would not be able to move it when it was full of water. The giant was growing impatient that he was not getting the water so the widow's son said that as far as he was concerned the vessel was not big enough to fetch water from a well. If he only had a way to bring the entire well home as it was, that would be worth the effort. But the giant told him just to bring the bucketful and that he did not want the well to be taken out just then. Oh, the little man would not listen to that. He said that he would not bother going to a well with such a

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chuir e 'n fhearg air an fhuamhaire agus ghabh am fuamhaire sios 's thug e dhachaidh lán na bucaid. Ach co-dhiubh bha acá ri dhol a dh'iarraidh cuailltean connaidh airson teine a dheanamh airson biadh a bhruich agus chaidh iad suas dha 'n bheinn. Ach cha toireadh an gille feairt air bho nach b'urrainn dha na bha as a' choillidh thoirt dhachaidh cómhla; cha b'fhiach leis-san a bhith toirt dhachaidh lód. Ach chuir seo an fhearg air an fhuamhaire ach bho 'n a bha e cho doirbh a thoileachadh thuirt e, "Bheir mi fhin dhachaidh cuall connaidh." Agus cha toireadh esan leis maide. Bha an fhearg air, ma 's fhior, bho nach fhaigheadh e cead a' choille thoirt leis uileadh. Tha mi cinnteach gu robh eagal air an fhuamhaire nan toirte a' choille mhór dhachaidh nach deanadh i ach grodadh mun rachadh a cosg. Ach co-dhiubh eadar a h-uile dol-mun-cuairt a bh' ann bha iad a' dol a dheanamh suipeir. Tha fhios gu robh an úine dol seachad 's an t-acras orra 's chaidh poit mhór ghábhaidh a chuir air teine agus a lionadh le uisge agus tha mi cinnteach bideagan do dh'fheóil neo do shitheann air choireiginn; bha iad a' dol a dheanamh eanrach. Agus chaidh esan amach agus bha áite amach ann a' sin as am bite cumail treallaichean. Bha seórsa do bhothag bheag amach ann a' sin agus bhite cumail ghnothaichean ann a bhuineadh dha 'n t-sealg 's dha 'n t-sitheann 's dha gach rud a bh' ann. 'S a measg gach ni eile a bh' ann bha cuid do chraicinn chaorach ann. Agus fhuair Duanach craicinn chaorach 's bhuail e iad ri chéile cho ealamh 's a b'urrainn dha. Rinn e sac mor orra a chuireadh e air a chom fhéin fo 'n aodach agus fad 's a bha an eanrach a' bruich thánaig e astaigh. Bha e deiseil airson an eanrach a ghabhail agus bha iad a' dol a ghabhail páirt dheth sin le chéile. 'S o, thuirt an gille nach robh gu leór ;n sin dhaibh ann. "Tha sin/' ors' esan, "beag gu leór dhomh fhin. Tha mi smaointinn nach eil gu leór ann dhomh." O, bha gu leór ann dha 'n dithist acá. Thuirt e nach gabhadh esan tuilleadh mura faigheadh e na bh' ann uile gu léir 's gu robh eagal air nach robh gu leór ann a chionn gu robh an t-acras cho mor air. "Ma tha," ors' esan, am fuamhaire, "seo," ors' esan. "Gabh dha agus ni mise roinn eile dhomh fhin." Agus cha rachadh e a ghabhail boinne dhe na bh' as a' phoit nana

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small vessel and he angered the giant so that the giant went himself and brought back a bucketful. Anyway they had to get sticks of firewood to make a fire to cook food and they went up the mountain. But the young lad would pay no heed to the giant: since he could not bring everything in the forest home at once, he did not consider it worth his while to bring home a load. This made the giant angry and since the lad was so difficult to please he said, "I will bring home a stack of wood myself." And the lad would not take a single stick. The lad pretended to be angry because he could not get permission to take the whole forest home with him. I am sure that the giant was afraid that if the whole great forest were brought home it would rot before it was used. After going back and forth they decided to make their supper. Time was passing, to be sure, and they were growing hungry. So a great, big pot was put on the fire and filled with water and, I am sure, bits of meat or some kind of game; they were going to make a soup. Duanach went out to a place where odds and ends were kept. There was a sort of little hut out there where things were kept f or hunting and game and everything else, and along with the other things there were some sheep skins. Duanach got the sheep skins and he slapped them together as quickly as he could. He made a big sack out of them to cover his own torso under his clothes and while the soup was still cooking he carne inside. He was ready to have some soup and they were going to eat some of it together. But the lad said that there was not enough there f or the two of them. "That's little enough for myself," said he. "I think that there isn't even enough for me." Oh, there was plenty for the two of them, the giant said. Duanach said that he would not take any more unless he got all there was and that he was afraid there was not enough because he was so extremely hungry. "Well then," said the giant, "dig into this and I will make some more for myself." But the lad would not take a drop of what was in the pot if

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beanadh am fuamhaire dha; cha robh gu leór ann. Agus dh'ól e fhéin na bh' as a' phoit mhór eanrach a bha sin, 's tha fhios gu robh e ;ga dórtadh sios as a; phoca a bh' air a dheanamh air craiceann caorach is e fo chómhdach is cha n-fhaca 'm fuamhaire dé bha dol air aghaidh. Agus nuair a bha sin seachad 's a dh'ól e na bha do dh'eanrach 's dh'ith e na bha do shitheann 'sa phoit fhuair am fuamhaire tuilleadh 's an t-acras cho mor air 's lion e a' phoit uibhir 's a thoilleadh i agus thóisich e fhéin nuair a bha sin deiseil air gabhail an eanrach. Agus mun deach e ach mu thri cuid as an eanrach bha e fas gu math lán agus thóisich Duanach air magadh air: cho malí 's a bha e 'g ól an eanrach. Agus thuirt am fuamhaire gu robh e faireachdainn gu robh gu leór aige 's chaidh e gu magadh an uair sin. "Carson/' ors' esan, "a bhiodh gu leór agaibh? Cuimhnichibh cho mor 's a tha sibh seach mise. Agus bha mise a' smaointinn nach robh gu leór as a' phoit dhomh fhin." Agus tha mi cinnteach airson 's gum biodh am fuamhaire air thoiseach air co-dhiubh ghabh e sios an eanrach a bha sin uile gu léir. Dh'ól e a h-uile boinne a bh' ann agus cha bhiodh e neónach ged nach biodh e faireachdainn glé mhath. Ach co-dhiubh an ceann greiseadh thóisich Duanach air ochanaich 's air gearain 's dh'fhoighneachd am fuamhaire dha gu dé a nist a bha cuir air. Thuirt e gu robh e faireachdainn beagan ro lán; gu robh e smaointinn leis an t-acras a bhith cho mor air gun do dh'fhás e tuilleadh is sanndach; gun do ghabh e moran. Agus thug e tacan beag eile 'g ochanaich 's thuirt e ris an fhuamhaire, "'S fheárr dhuibh," ors' esan, "an sgian mhór sin thall a shineadh dhomhsa. Tha mi faireachdainn tuilleadh is lán. Tha mi airson faighinn cuidhteas páirt dhe 'n eanrach." Agus o, cha robh 'm fuamhaire a' faicinn sin iomchaidh ach shin e dha a' chore mhór a bha sin co-dhiubh agus thug e sróiceadh air a chliathaich 's lig e leis an eanrach ruith amach. Ach an ceann tacain thóisich am fuamhaire air gearain agus e 'na shineadh air a' lar a' dol a chadal. Ach bha e gearain 's a' gearain. Tha mi cinnteach gur e dúsgadh as a chadal rinn e 's e gearain; 's cha bhiodh e neónach an deaghaidh dha lán poit mhór do dh'eanrach ól. Agus dh'fhoighneachd Duanach dha dé bha ceárr air 's thuirt e nach robh e faireachdainn gu math: gu robh e smaointinn gun do ghabh e moran eanrach. O, bha e magadh air; 's a' gabhail eanrach.

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the giant touched it; there was not enough. So he drank what was in the great soup pot all by himself, and of course he was pouring it down into the bag f ashioned out of sheep skin which was under his clothes and the giant did not see what was going on. And when that was done and he had drimk all the soup and eaten all of the meat in the pot the giant fetched more food and he was very hungry. So he filled up the pot to the brim and when it was ready he began drinking the soup. And before he went about three-quarters through the soup he began to grow very full and Duanach started to make fun of him, of how slowly he was drinking the soup. And the giant said he had had enough/ and Duanach started laughing at him again. "Why," said he, "should you have had enough? Remember how big you are compared to me. And I thought that there wasn't enough in the pot for me." And I am sure that just so he could be ahead of Duanach the giant put down all the soup that was there. He drank every drop that there was and it was no wonder that he was not feeling very well after that. So after a while Duanach began to groan and complain and the giant asked him what was bothering him. He said that he was feeling a little too full; he was thinking that with the tremendous hunger he had felt before he had become too greedy, that he had eaten to excess. So he groaned for another little while and then said to the giant, ''You had better," said he, "hand that big knife o ver to me. I feel too full; I want to get rid of part of the soup." And oh, the giant did not think that this was proper at all but he handed him the big knife, and the lad ripped open his side and let the soup run out. But after a while the giant began to complain as he was stretched out on the floor going to sleep. He complained and complained. I am sure that he had awakened from sleep and begun complaining, which would hardly seem strange after drinking a whole big pot of soup. And Duanach asked him what was wrong and he replied that he was not feeling well; that he thought that he had eaten too much soup. Oh, the lad began to make fun of him as he helped himself to soup.

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"Cha do ghabh sibh ach uibhir 's a ghabh mi fhin, ged a ghabh mi beagan a bharrachd. Nach eil mise cho beag seach sibhse?" Ach bha 'm fuamhaire a' gearain 's ag ochanaich ach mu dheireadh dh'iarr e sgian a thoirt thuige airson 's gum faigheadh e cuidhteas páirt dhe 'n eanrach. 'S thóisich am fear eile air magadh air agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha a robh e smaointinn gu deanadh sin feum, is o, bha. Uill, cha deanadh mura deanadh e stracadh gábhaidh leis a' choirc air fhéin airson an t-eanrach a ligeadh amach mar sgaoil: cha robh e dol a dheanamh sian feum dha. "Agus nach fhaca sibh mar a b'fheudar dhomhsa dheanamh agus mi cho beag seach sibhse? 'S cha mhór nach b'fheudar dhomh mo chom a shróiceadh fairis uile gu léir." Ach co-dhiubh bha 'm fuamhaire cho goirt 'san am agus bha e coma ach faochadh fhaighinn agus shin Duanach dha sgian 's thuirt e ris, "Mar a thuirt mi ribh, feumaidh sibh gearradh mor a dheanamh oirbh p-fhéin." Agus rinn am fuamhaire sin agus thóisich an eanrach air ruith agus tha mi cinnteach gun do thóisich an fhuil air ruith. Agus 's e an deireadh a bh' air a' sin gun do bhásaich am fuamhaire. Agus air réir na naidheachd mar a fhuair mise i bho Dhómhnall Mac 'Illeain, bha duais air a thairgsinn airson cuir as dha 'n fhuamhaire air táilleabh gu robh e deanamh uibhir do sgrios air f eadh na dúthchadh. Agus nuair a fhuaireadh amach gun deachaidh am fuamhaire a chuir gu bás is a liuthad duine a dh'fheuch ris, tha mi creidsinn, 's a dh'fháillich orra 's a fhuair an duin' uasal a thairg an duais amach có bh' ann, chuireadh fios air Duanach agus fhuair e an duais mhór a chaidh a thairgsinn airson cuir as dha 'n fhuamhaire. Agus bha e fhéin agus a' bhanndrach gu math dheth fad 's a mhair a' fortan a bha sin dhaibh.

19

Fear nan Sgeulachd Fada

Bha righ ann uair agus bha aon nighean aige. Agus cha robh sian air an t-saoghal air a robh uibhir do mheas aig a' righ 's a bh' aige air Sgeulachdan. Agus rinn e suas 'na inntinne nach tugadh e a nighean do dh' aon ri pósadh ach fear a dh'innseadh sgeulachd a bhiodh fada dha - agus tha mi creidsinn nach robh daoine tighinn 'ga riarachadh - agus bha e 'g iarraidh sgeulachd a mhaireadh latha 'us bliadhna. Agus

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"Oh, you did not eat as much as I; I even ate a little more. And am I not small compared to yourself ?" But the giant continued his complaining and groaning and finally asked for the knife so that he could get rid of the soup. And the lad began making fun of him and asked him if he thought that would do any good, and he did. Well, it wouldn't he said, unless he gave himself a mighty slash with the knife to let the soup out: otherwise it would be no help at all. "Didn't you see what I had to do, small as I am compared to you? And I nearly had to cut my belly right across from one side to the other." But the giant was in such pain at the time that all he cared about was finding relief so Duanach handed him the knife saying, "As I explained, you have to make a big cut in yourself." And the giant did that and the soup began to run out and I am sure that blood did too and as a result of that the giant died. According to the story as I heard it from Donald MacLean, there was a reward offered for doing away with the giant because he had wrought such destruction throughout the country. And when it was found out that the giant had been put to death after so many men had tried to do it, I believe, and failed, and when the noblemen who had offered the reward found out who it was, Duanach was sent for and he received the large reward that was offered for slaying the giant. And he and his mother the widow were well off as long as that fortune lasted.

19

The Man with the Long Tales

There was once a king who had one daughter. And there was nothing on earth that the king was so fond of as long tales. So he made up his mind that he would not give his daughter in marriage to anyone except the man who could tell a story that he thought was long - I believe that nobody carne to satisfy him - and so he required a tale that would last for a year and a

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dh'fheumadh an gnothach gum buineadh e dha 'n aon sgeulachd; a h-uile sian mar a bha e 'g innse. O, bha fheadhainn a' tighinn - bha iad a' tighinn as gach ceárna agus iad a' tóiseachadh air sgeulachd innse. 'S mhaireadh i greis do dh'úine agus dh'fheumadh iad toirt suas is togail rithe air falbh. 'S mu dheireadh dh'fhás a' righ cho gráineach air a' ghnothach a bh' ann agus gun tánaig cuideiginn a dh' innse Sgeulachdan agus thug e sanáis dha bho 'n am seo duine sam bith a thigeadh a' seo a dh'innse sgeulachd, nan innseadh e sgeulachd a mhaireadh latha 'us bliadhna, gum faigheadh e 'n nighean; ach mura h-innseadh, gun a thóiseachadh idir, a thaobh mura rachadh aig' air sgeulachd innse a mhaireadh latha 'us bliadhna, gun cuireadh esan an ceann dheth; nach robh iad dol a bhith cumail duine a' seo fad greis do dh'úine 'g innse sgeulachd nach robh sgeulachd fada gu leór aige. Co-dhiubh bha corra fhear a' tighinn agus a' smaointinn gu robh sgeulachd aige. 'S bha feadhainn ann a shiubhail - a rinn cuid mhór do shiubhal air an t-saoghal - 's bha iad fhéin a smaointinn eadar a h-uile rud a bh' ann gu rachadh ac' air naidheachd, tóiseachadh oirre is innse bho cheann gu ceann a mhaireadh latha 'us bliadhna. Ach cha b' urrainn dhaibh. Dh'fháillich air a h-aon acá 's corra fhear dhiubh a thánaig, bha e mu dheireadh 'gan cuir gu bás. Ach co-dhiubh thánaig a' seo fear a bha an deaghaidh an gnothach cluinntinn mu dheoghainn agus a chuala a' stóraidh agus smaoinich e gun deanadh e fhéin a' chúis. Agus thánaig e agus thuirt e ris a' righ gun cual' e mu na cumhntan a bha e deanamh: gu robh e toirt seachad duais mhór agus a nighean ri pósadh dha 'n duine a dh'innseadh sgeulachd a mhaireadh latha 'us bliadhna. Thuirt e ris gu robh. "Ach tha mi toirt sanáis dhut tráth. Mura teid agad air sgeulachd innse a mhaireas latha 'us bliadhna, a' seanachas mun aon ni, tha stob amuigh an cúl a' gháraidh agam agus tha cunntais do chinn air a dhol air spéicean amuigh." O, rinn e gáire agus thuirt e nach bu chúram dhe 'n sgeulachd aigesan. Agus bha aige ri tighinn 'sa mhadainn agus tóiseachadh air innse sgeulachd agus a bhith 'ga h-innse gus am biodh uair shónraichte as an fheasgar ann, ach gum biodh aige gu robh am aige airson a dhinneir a ghabhail - agus a shuipeir tha mi 'n dúil; gum faigheadh e tacan eile. Ach co-dhiubh, bha e bho am fior-mhadainne gu am na suipeir aige ri 'n úine sin a chosg 'g innse na sgeulachd, agus mar a thuirt mi, bha i ri bhith mun aon chúis - mun aon ghnothach - bho 'n a thoiseach gu chrioch.

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day. And everything that the story-teller told had to be part of the same story. Some people arrived - they hailed from every región - and began telling a tale. But the tale would last for a time and after that they had to give up and go on their way. Finally the king got so digusted that when somebody carne to tell stories he warned him that, from that time on, anybody who carne to tell a tale, if he told a tale that lasted a year and a day, would get the princess. But if he could not, it was better not to start at all for if he was unable to relate a tale lasting a year and a day the king would cut off his head; they were not going to keep anybody there for a long time telling a tale who did not have one that was long enough. Anyway a few carne who thought they could tell such a tale. And there were some who had travelled - who had done quite a bit of travelling around the world - and they thought that with everything they could begin a story and tell it from end to end and it would last for a year and a day. But they could not. Every one of them failed and the few of them that did come were finally put to death. So one day a man arrived who had heard of this - had heard what was happening - and who thought that he would be able to succeed. So he arrived and said to the king that he had heard about the conditions that the king had set, that he was offering a large reward and his daughter in marriage to the man who could tell a tale that would last for a year and a day. The king replied that indeed he was. "But I am advising you early on. If you cannot tell a tale that will last for a year and a day on the same subject, there is a stake out in back of my garden and a number of heads have gone on the spikes out there." The man just laughed saying not to worry about his tale. So he was to come in the morning and to begin telling a tale and to continué telling it until a certain hour in the evening. But he would have some time to have his dinner, and for his supper I think he would also be given more time. He was to spend the time from early morning until suppertime reciting the tale and, as I already mentioned, the tale was to be on one subject about one matter - from beginning to end.

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Co-dhiubh thánaig e 'sa mhadainn tráth a' la'r-na-mháireach. B'e sin a' latha a bh' aige ri tóiseachadh air a' sgeulachd. Agus bha aige ri dhol bliadhn' eile as deaghaidh a' latha sin 'g innse na sgeulachd. Agus nuair a shuidhich e sios thuirt e gu robh e a nist a' tóiseachadh air sgeulachd; gur e an toiseach a bh' aig a' sgeulachd mu dheidhinn athar fhéin. Agus thuirt e nuair a bha athair 'na dhuin' óg aig an aois phósaidh, phós e. Agus fhuair e baile-fearainn agus thóisich e air tuathanachas. Agus bha e deanamh beagan do thuathanachas 's bha e dol air 'n aghaidh na b'fheárr mar a bha an úine a' dol seachad. Ach chomhairlich a' sin neach dha air neo a rinn e fhéin suas, rinn e amach gum b'e bu mhotha buannachd dha a dhol ann an togail gráin. Agus bha e togail gráin agus reic gráin 's 'ga ghléidheadh. Bhiodh e cuir tuilleadh sil agus b'fheudar dha 'n uair sin fearann a chuir air rnhál. Agus as a dheaghaidh sin b'fheudar dha fearann a cheannach an toiseach agus as a dheaghaidh sin fhuair e fearann air mhál leis na h-uibhir do ghrán aige. Agus fo dheireadh bha aon bhliadhna bha an bárr gráin cho trom agus nach robh áit' aige dha nuair a thigeadh am a' bhualaidh. Ach thuirt e gu robh sloc shios faisg air an áite as a robh iad a7 fuireach. Mu mhile a dh'astar bho 'n áite as a robh iad bha sloc mhór ann agus bha suas ri mile a dh'astar bho rnhullach an darna taobh dheth sin nuair a bhiodh duine gu h-árd air a bruthaich; bha mile dh'astar aige ri dhol sios dha 'n t-sloc is direadh suas gu mullach air an taobh eile. Agus eagal 's gu siabadh stoirm air falbh an gran neo sian nuair a chaidh am bualadh a dheanamh, thóisich e air a stóradh anns an t-sloc sin. Agus nuair a bha 'm bualadh ullamh, ors' esan, bha sin caran cómhnard a nuil bho bhruthaich gu bruthaich. Agus, ors' esan, "Is suarach sin. Tha agamsa a nist ri tóiseachadh, agus tha sgeulachd bheag agam air a h-uile silein dhe'n ghrán a bha sin. Agus," ors' esan, "mum faigh mi suidheachadh ceart air tóiseachadh air innse nan sgeulachd sin" ors' esan, "tha eagal orm gum bi mi air ruith astaigh ann an úine uamhasach 's nach teid agam air a' sgeulachd sin innse ann an úine na's lugha na dha neo tri bliadhnaichean." Agus thug a' righ tacan ag éisdeachd ris. "Tha mi smaointinn," ors' esan, "gura fheárr dhut gabhail leis na dh'inns' thu dhe 'n sgeulachd. Cha chreid mi," ors' esan, "gun teid agad air a' sgeulachd sin a dheanamh réidh ann an taobh astaigh dhe 'n úine a tha mise cuir mu 'd choinneamh. Agus," ors' esan, "'s fhéarr dhut an duais a ghabhail agus cuiridh sinn crioch air a' ghnothach mar sin fhéin." Agus tha mi cinnteach gun do dh'aithnich a' righ gura h-e a' bhreug a

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So he arrived early in the morning on the next day, the day he was to begin the tale. And he was to continué for a year from that day relating the tale. When he had settled himself he said that he was going to begin a tale, and that the beginning of the tale concerned his own father. He recounted how his father when he was a young man of marriageable age married and acquired a farm and began farming. And he was doing a little farming and he was progressing better as time went on. But somebody advised him, or he himself decided, that it would be most profitable to go into raising grain. So he raised grain and sold grain and stored it. He was sowing more and more seed until he had to rent land. After that he had to buy land at first and later on he rented land for all the grain he had. Finally there was one year when the grain harvest was so plentiful that he did not have room for it when it carne time to thresh it. But the story-teller said that there was a hallow down near the place where they were living. About a mile away from the place where they were there was a big hollow and when a man would be up high on one side of the slope it was about a mile for him to go down into the hollow and climb up to the top on the other side. And for fear that a storm or something else would sweep away the grain once the threshing had been completed he began to store it in that hollow. And when the threshing was finished, the story-teller continued, it was fairly level across from hill to hill. And, said he, "That in itself is of little consequence, for now I am to begin, and I have a little tale about every seed of grain that was there. And/' said he, "before I get properly set to begin telling the story I am afraid that I will be running into such a great length of time that I will not be able to tell it in less than two or three years." The king listened to him for a while. "I think," said the king, " that it is better for you to be satisfied with what you have told of the tale. I do not think that you will be able to complete the tale within the time that I set for you, so you had better take the reward and we will end the matter right there." I am sure that the king recognized that the matter was based

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bh' as a' ghnothach co-dhiubh ach bha ;n duine cho ealanta 's rachadh aige air an gnothach a dheanamh cho dóigheil. Agus tha mi cinnteach gun tug a' righ fhéin fo near gu robh an duine tapaidh gu leór airson seo a dheanamh. Agus fhuair e 'n duais agus nighean a' righ.

20

Mac Duine Láidit na Coilleadh

Bha duine fuireach ann am bothan aig iomall coilleadh; e fhéin 's a bhean agus 's e Duine Láidir na Coilleadh a chanadh iad ris. 'S bha e cuir mór-iaonadh air cuid mhór e bhith cómhnaidh aig iomall na coilleadh far a robh beathaichean fiadhaich, breun. Ach bha fhios gu robh cuid do bheathaichean nach robh cho fiadhaich neo cho dona sin agus 's ann a bhith a' sealgaireachd a bha esan a' tighinn beó. Agus o, cha mhór a h-uile feasgar a bhiodh e tighinn dhachaidh bheireadh e ultach do sheannmhaidean: rudan neo piosan a bha air am bristeadh far nan craobhan re a' gheamhraidh 's bha iad air seacadh is air tioramachadh. Bha e 'gan giúlan dhachaidh airson gun deanadh iad teine 's gum biodh e furasda dha 'n bhean cócaireachd a dheanamh. Air feasgar sónraichte bha e tighinn dhachaidh agus bhiodh annas aige tighinn dhachaidh dh'ionnsaidh na bean air an fheasgar a bha seo agus bha craobh mhór do dharach ann a' sin agus thóisich e air leagail na craoibheadh. Agus thachair mi-fhortan bha mor dha 'n uair sin: thuit a' chraobh car ealamh agus chaidh a ghlacadh foipe, agus cha robh ann ach air éiginn gun d'fhuair e ialadh amach as a' sin cho foghainneach 's gu robh e. Agus nuair fhuair e seórsa do thighinn thuige ghiülain e leis dhachaidh a' chraobh a bha sin. Ach nuair a ránaig e am bothan, thuit e fhéin agus a' chraobh air lar cómhla. Agus chual' a' bhean am fuaim a bha aig taobh amuigh a' bhothain 's chaidh i amach agus bha a companach 'na shineadh ann a' sin. 'S thug i cuideachadh dha airson fhaighinn air a chasan agus cuideachadh airson tighinn astaigh dha 'n taigh agus chaidh e 'na shineadh anns a' leabaidh. Agus o, bha ise a' feuchainn ris a h-uile misneach 's deagh-dhóchas thoirt dha: cha robh sian a' dol a bhith air. 'S o, thuirt e rith' gum faodadh i fuireach sámhach; nach ruigeadh i leas a bhith bruidhinn: gun d'fhuair esan buille bho 'n chraobh a bha sin agus gun deachaidh dochann a dheanamh air taobh astaigh dhe cholainn agus gun d'fhuair e galar a bháis as a' sin agus nach robh árach air neo an córr ri dheanamh air. "Ach seo," ors' esan, 's e sineadh a láimheadh. "Tha fras neo cnó far na craobh daraich ann a' seo. Agus," ors' esan, "an deaghaidh mo bháis-sa cuiridh tusa 'm fras a tha sin ann am mullach an dúin inneir ud thall aig a' bháthaich. Agus mun am a thig duilleagan air an fhras

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on a falsehood but the man was so expert that he was able to perform suitably. And I am sure that the king himself noticed that the man was smart enough to do this, so he got the reward and the princess.

20

The Strong Woodsman's Son

There was a man living with his wife in a hut at the edge of the f orest whom they used to cali the Strong Woodsman. Many wondered at his living at the forest edge where there were wild and dangerous beasts, but there were certainly some animáis that were not so wild and dangerous and he made his living hunting. Nearly every evening when he carne home he would bring an armful of oíd sticks - pieces that had broken off the trees during the winter and had parched and dried out. He carried these home to make a fire so that it would be easy for his wife to cook. On a certain evening he was on his way home looking forward to returning to his wife and he began to fell a great, big oak tree. And a great misfortune befell him. The tree fell suddenly; he was caught under it and only just managed to crawl out from under, strong as he was. When he had fairly come to, he carried the tree back home, but when he reached the hut, both he and the tree fell to the ground. His wife heard the noise outside the hut and went out, and there was her spouse lying full length. So she helped him to his feet and into the house and he stretched out on the bed. She tried to give him all the hope and courage possible: nothing would be wrong with him. But he told her that she might as well keep quiet, that it was not worth her while speaking; he had received a blow from the tree and had been injured internally and had received his death-blow from that, and there was nothing more that could be done. "But here," said he, extending his hand to her. "Here is a seed, an acom from the oak tree. And after my death, you are to plant this acorn at the top of the manure pile over there beside the byre. Around the time that leaves come on the seed you

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a tha sin bidh mac agad-sa ach cha bhi e idir coltach ri clann eile. Feumaidh tu altrum agus árach gus am bi e láidir gu leór gus a' chraobh dharaich, neo 'n t-slatag dharaich a dh'fhásas as an dún ínnearach a spionadh as na freumhaichean." Agus thionndaidh e aghaidh a nuil ris a' bhalla agus tharraing e an anail dheireannach 's bha e marbh. Co-dhiubh nuair a bha 'n tiodhlaigeadh seachad 's a h-uile sian bha ise ann a; dubh-bhrón 's a' caoidh ach smaointich i air na cumhntannan mar a dh'iarr esan oirre dheanamh agus dh'fhalbh i a nuil agus thiodhlaig i a' chnó a bha seo a thánaig far na craobh daraich am bruaich an tórr inneir agus thánaig i dhachaidh. Ach an ceann greis do dh'úine bha da dhuilleig dhonn air tighinn air uachdar an talmhainn as an fhras agus aig an am cheunda fhuaireadh mac dhi-se. Agus nuair a bha am mac seachd bliadhna a dh'aois thug i leath' e a nuil dh'ionnsaidh an dúin inneir agus feuch a rachadh aige air an t-slat a bha sin do dharach a spionadh as an talamh agus o, cha b'urrainn dha sin a dheanamh. Agus ghiúlain i leatha dhachaidh e agus dh'fheumadh i greis eile thoirt 'ga altrum agus 'ga árach. Agus an ceann seachd bliadhna eile bha e 'n uair sin air fas gu math foghainneach. Ach ma bha, bha a' chraobh dharaich air fas cuideachd agus thug i órdan dha dhol a nuil agus a' chraobh dharaich a spionadh as a freumhaichean nam b'urrainn dha, ach cha b'urrainn dha sin a dheanamh. Agus b'fheudar dhi 'n uair sin seachd bliadhn' eile a thoirt 'ga altrum 's 'ga árach. Agus an ceann nan seachd bliadhna eile — bha sin bliadhna air fhichead a bha i 'ga altrum 's 'ga árach - thuirt i ris a dhol a nuil agus a' chraobh a bha seo a spionadh as na freumhaichean. Agus chaidh e a nuil agus chaidh aige air a' chraobh a bha sin a spionadh as an talamh agus thug e a nall dh'ionnsaidh an taighe i agus thug e thuic' i agus thuirt e rithe. "Seo," ors' esan. "Deanaibh connadh air a' sin agus gum fadaidh sibh teine leis." "An da," ors' ise, "'s e a' cheud rud a tha mis' a' dol a dheanamh leis a' sin," ors' ise, "teine a bhruicheas biadh a bheir thusa leat air do thurus. Feumaidh tu," ors' ise, "falbh a nist dha 'd chosnadh. Agus tha thu," ors' ise, "bliadhna air fhichead a' seo agus cha d' rinn thu car fhathast 's tha mis' a' fas seachd sgith 'gad árach." "'S flúor sin," ors' esan. "Feumaidh mise bhith falbh." Agus thog e rithe air falbh agus fada neo goirid an t-astar gu robh e siubhal,

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will bear a son but he won't be like other children. You must nurture and raise him until he is strong enough to pulí the oak tree - the oak sapling - that is growing on the manure pile out by the roots." Then he turned his face to the wall, drew his last breath, and died. When the burial and everything else were over, she was in a state of black sorrow and mourning, but she thought then about the conditions he had asked her to fulíil, so she went and buried the acorn from the tree on the edge of the manure pile and returned horne. After a length of time two brown leaves from the acorn emerged from the ground and at the same time a son was born to her. When the son reached seven years of age she took him over to the manure pile to see if he was able to pulí the oaken sapling from the ground and, oh, he couldn't. So she took him back home and was obliged to bidé her time, nurturing and raising him. After another seven years he had grown quite strong. But if he had, the oak tree had grown too, and when she gave the order to him to go over and pluck the oak out by the roots if he could, he was not able to. So she had to spend another seven years nurturing and raising him. At the end of those seven years - by then she had been nurturing and raising him for twenty-one years - she told him to go over and pulí the tree out by the roots. He went over and managed to pulí the tree out of the ground and he took it over to the house and brought it to her saying, "Here. Make firewood from this, so that you can kindle a

firewithit."

"Well," she replied, "the first thing that I am going to do with this is to make a fire that will cook food for you to take on your journey. You must go out to earn your living. You have been living here twenty years and you haven't done anything yet, and I am getting tired of supporting you." "That is true enough/' he replied. "I must be on my way." And so he set out travelling, and whether the distance he

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thánaig e gu baile mor fearainn. Agus bha coltas gur e sin baile cho mor fearainn 's a chunnaic aon-fhear riamh do bhaile tuathanachas. Bha machaire mhór, mhór an sin lán do mhulain - do mhulain gráin - nach robh áireamh orra agus smaointich e aige fhéin ma bha iad a' dol a bhualadh na bha 'n sin do ghrán gu robh fios gum faigheadh duine cosnadh a' seo. Agus bha sabhal mor air an fhearann seo nach fhaca esan riamh a mheudachd. Agus co-dhiubh ghabh e suas dh'ionnsaidh an taighe agus nuair a bhuail e aig an dorust, thánaig searbhanta dh'ionnsaidh an doruist. Agus nuair a chunnaic i an duine mor, uamhasach a bha seo ghabh i seórsa do dh'eagal. Rinn i ceum air ais agus dh'fhoighneachd i dha air a socair gu dé bha bhuaithe. O, thuirt e gu robh e airson bruidhinn ri maighistir agus tha e coltach gun do bhruidhinn e fhéin gu math siobhalta. Thill ise astaigh agus chaidh i sios far a robh a maighistir ann an cathair mhór as an t-seómbar-suidhe agus e 'na chadal mar bu ghnáth leis an deaghaidh dha a bhiadh a ghabhail: tacan thoirt 'na chadal. Agus dhúisg i e agus thuirt i ris gu robh duine mor aig an dorust: duine cho mor 's a chunnaic ise riamh co-dhiubh; gun canadh i air a mheudachd gur e fuamhaire a bh' ann. Dh'éirich an tuathanach agus ghabh e sios dh'ionnsaidh an doruist 's nuair a dh'fhosgail e 'n dorust 's a choimhead e 's a chunnaic e an duine uamhasach, mor a bha seo rinn e fhéin seórsa do cheum air n-ais. "Agus gu dé bhios sibh 'g iarraidh?" ors' an tuathanach. "An da," ors' esan, "tha mi coimhead airson cosnadh." "An da, ma dh'fhaoidte," ors esan, an tuathanach, "gu rachadh againn air do chuideachadh ann a' sin. An deán thu bualadh?" "Ni," ors' esan, "mi sin gun teagamh." Agus thug e suaineadh air láimh mar gum biodh e ag oibreachadh le súist agus chuir e seórsa do dh'eagal tha mi cinnteach air an tuathanach. "'S eadh," ors' esan, "ma dh'fhasdas sibh mis', tha mi 'n dúil nach bi aobhar agaibh a bhith duilich airson fasdadh a chuir orni." "Tha mi 'n dóchas nach bi" ors' esan, an tuathanach. "Chanainn air réir do mheudachd gum bi tu comasach gu leór." Agus rinneadh cumhntannan mu dheoghainn tuarasdal, ge b'e dé bha iad a' dol a dheanadh suas - bha deuchainn ri chuir air neo rud mar sin. Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhoighneachd e dha'n tuathanach, "Guiñe thóisicheas mi air bualadh?" 'S chuir seo moran iaonadh air an tuathanach, a' chabhag a bh' air a' ghille mhór gu tóiseachadh air bualadh. Cha b'ábhaist dha 'n fheadhainn a thigeadh air fasdadh thuigesan cabhag idir a bhith orra.

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walked was long or short, he carne to a great farm which looked to be as large a farm as anyone had ever seen. There was a great, big field there full of stacks - stacks of grain without number, and he thought to himself that if they were going to thresh all the grain that was there a man might get work. And there was a big barn on the land of a size he had never seen before. So he went over to the house and when he knocked on the door a maidservant carne to the door. And when she saw the big, terrible man at the door she was rather afraid. She took a step back and took her time asking him what he wanted. Oh, he said that he would like to talk to her master, and it seems that he addressed her very civilly. She returned inside and went to where her master was asleep in a large chair in the sitting room, as was his habit after having his food. So she wakened him and said that there was a large man at the door — a man at least as large as she had ever seen — and that from his size she would say that he was a giant. The farmer aróse and went to the door and, when he opened the door and looked and saw the big, huge man there, he also took sort of a step back. "And what will you be wanting?" asked the farmer. "Well," replied the lad, "I'm looking for work." " Well, perhaps," said he, the farmer, " we could manage to be some help to you in this. Do you thresh?" "Yes," he replied, "I do without question." And he twisted his arm as if he were working with a ílail which, I'm sure, frightened the farmer. "Indeed," he continued, "if your hire me I expect that you will have no cause to regret taking me on." "I hope not," said he, the farmer. "I would say from your size that you will be able enough." So they carne to an agreement about wages, whatever they were going to arrange - he was going to have a trial period or something like that. Then he asked the farmer, "When will I begin threshing?" And that surprised the farmer very much to see the hurry the big lad was in to begin threshing. It was not usual for those who carne to him for hire to be in a hurry at all. So the farmer

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Ach thuirt an tuathanach ris, "Tha e," ors' esan, 'mar chleachdadh againn a bhith tóiseachadh/' ors' esan, "nuair a tha solust nan rionnagan a' tréigsinn anns a' mhadainn agus a bhith ag obair gus an nochd solust nan rionnagan air deireadh a; latha." "O," ors' esan, "tha sin glé cheart." Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh Raghnall Mor -'se sin an t-ainm a bh' air: Raghnall Mor - a dh'ionnsaidh an t-sabhail a dh'fhaicinn gu dé bha 'n fheadhainn a bha thall a' sin a' deanamh bho 'n a bha i cho tráth 'san fheasgar. Agus rinn e sgal gáire is thuirt e, na súistean a bh' acá an siod, nach robh ach mar gum biodh rud a bhiodh aig páisdean. Agus thog e fhéin air suas taobh na beinneadh dha 'n choillidh agus leag e anuas da chraobh agus dheanadh iad sin süist dhasan airson nuair a thóisicheadh iad as a' mhadainn. 'S o, chuir e eagal air na gillean nuair a chunnaic iad e tighinn; thuirt iad - na maidean a bh' aigesan gun deanadh iad crann bata leis a' mheudachd a bh' annta. Ach co-dhiubh, fada mun do shoilleirich a' latha thóisich esan air bualadh 'sa mhadainn agus nuair a bha e réidh a' bualadh na bha 'san t-sabhal mhór a bha sin cha robh e ach a' dol amach dha 'n achadh is a' glacadh muían fo gach achlais 's 'gan togail leis astaigh agus ag éirigh air am bualadh. Agus bha e réidh dhe na bha 'san t-sabhal mun am a bha am biadh-madainneadh réidh. Ach co-dhiubh mun robh i idir meadhon-latha, bha a' mhachair amuigh lán do dh'fhodar agus bha 'n sabhal lán gráin. Bha e cuir iaonadh air nach robh duine tighinn 'na chóir feuch gu dé mar a bha e tighinn air 'n aghaidh neo sian agus dh'fhalbh e air a shocair a nuil agus thachair an tuathanach ris. "Dé a nist," ors' esan, "a th' agam ri dheanamh?" "O," ors' esan, an tuathanach, "bualadh." Agus bha iaonadh gu leór air an tuathanach 's na bha e faicinn do thórr fodair amuigh air an achadh. Ach ors'-esan, "Tha 'n sabhal lán." "O," ors' esan, "tha na bheil 'san t-sabhal buailte cuideachd." Agus chuir seo iaonadh agus eagal gu leór air an tuathanach. "Ach feumaidh mi," ors' esan, "ma tha mi dol a leantail air an obair mar seo," ors' esan, "barrachd do bhiadh fhaighinn 's a b' ábhaist." "'S eadh," ors' an tuathanach. "Bidh mi," ors' esan, "ag iarraidh lán coire mor do mhin ann am brochan a' cheud latha. Agus bidh taosg coire mor do mhin a dhith orm air fhuine 'na hhreacagan agus aois dha bhliadhna do dhamh air an ath-latha."

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said to him, "It is our custom to begin when the starlight fades in the morning and to work until the starlight appears again at the end of the day." "Oh/' said the lad, "that is very good." So Big Ranald - his ñame was Big Ranald - went to the barn to see what the people there were doing, since it was only early in the afternoon. And he let forth a peal of laughter, saying that the flails that they had there were just like something children would use. He went up the side of the moimtain to the forest and felled two trees to make a flail for himself when they began in the morning. And, oh, he frightened the boys when they saw him coming; they said that the sticks he was carrying were big enough to serve as a mast for a boat. So in the morning, long before the day dawned, he began threshing and when he had finished threshing what was in the big barn he started going out to the field and catching up a stack under each arm, taking them in with him, and setting about threshing them. By the time breakfast was ready, he had finished what was in the barn. And long before noon the field outside was full of straw and the barn was filled with grain. He was surprised that no one was coming to see how he was getting along or anything, and so finally he went over, taking his time, and the farmer met him. "And what now," said he, "am I to do?" "Oh," said he, the farmer, "threshing." And the farmer was very surprised at the number of piles of straw he saw out on the field. So he said, "The barn is full." "Oh," the lad replied, "what is in the barn is also threshed." And that surprised and frightened the farmer very much. "But," said the lad, "if I am to continué working like this I must be given more food than before." "Yes, indeed," said the farmer. "I shall require a large cauldron full of meal as gruel for the first day. And then I will require a good cauldron full of meal baked into pancakes, and an ox two years of age on the next day."

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Co-dhiubh ghabh an tuathanach eagal a bha neónach 's chaidh e suas far na robh na seirbhisich eile agus dh; inns' e dhaibh mar a bha cüisean. "Bheirinn," ors' esan, "tuarasdal míos a bharrachd do dh'fhear sam bith/' ors' esan, "a rachadh aig' air innse dhomh gu dé mar a tha mi dol a dh'fhaighinn cuibhteas an duine mor, fiadhaich tha seo." O, bha iad a7 cuir an cinn ri chéile 's a' smaointeachadh agus cha b' urrainn do ghin acá cuimhneachadh idir gu dé an dóigh. Ach smaointich fear acá sin nan rachadh an tuathanach a choimhead air Aonghus Mor nan Creag gun tugadh esan comhairle; 's e 'n duine a bu shine bha 'san dúthaich uile gu léir agus bu ghlice. Agus dheónaich an tuathanach gu rachadh e dh'a ionnsaidh agus nuair a ránaig e Aonghus Mor nan Creag dh'inns' e dha mu dheidhinn a' bhualadh agus mu dheidhinn a' bhiadh a bha dhith air a' ghille mhór. "An da," ors' esan, "cha n-eil fhios agams' dé ni mi riut. Nach eil fhios agad," ors' esan, "gu robh faidhidearachd air a dheanamh gun tigeadh duine mor," ors' esan, "agus gum feumadh sibh am baile fearainn thoirt suas? Bha sin aig mo sheanair 'ga h-innse nuair a bha mise glé óg." Agus bha Aonghus Mor e fhéin gu math sean aig an am sin. "Ach," ors' esan, "bheir sinn feuchainn air aon rud co-dhiubh feuch ciamar a théid dhuinn. Abraidh tusa ris," ors' esan, "nuair a théid thu dhachaidh gu bheil an t-uisge fas gann agus gu robh thu airson tobar mor a chladhach shuas ann am meadhon na h-achadh. Agus nuair a gheobh sibh sios e," ors' esan, "doimhneachd mhath cha n-eil sian gu h-iseal a' sin ach gainmheach. Tha fios agam fhin air a' sin. Gheobh sibh domhain gu léor," ors' esan. "Biodh a h-uile h-aon dhe na seirbhisich deiseil agus sluasaid aige 'na láimh deiseil agus nuair a gheobh sibh a chúlaibh ribh tóisichibh air caitheamh sios air a mhuin a h-uile sian a tha e toirt as an tobar. 'S ma d'fhaoidte gum múch sibh ann a' sin e. Ach bithibh deiseil airson teicheadh," ors' esan, "mura teidagaibh air." Co-dhiubh nuair a thill an tuathanach thuirt e ris a' ghille mhór, mac Duine Mor na Coilleadh, gu robh na fuarain ac' air a dhol tioram agus gum bu mhath leis tobar mor a chladhach shios anns an achadh gum faigheadh iad uisge gu leór. Agus thóisich esan 'sa mhadainn air cladhach. Tha mi cinnteach gu robh 'n gnothach a' tighinn anuas gu math ealamh ach co-dhiubh bha a h-uile h-aon dhe na seirbhisich deiseil agus sluasaid aig a h-uile fear. Agus nuair a chunnaic iad gun do chrom e sios a thogail lán na sluasaid dha 'n stuth a bha an grunn an

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The farmer took a terrible fright and went up to the other servants and told them how things stood. "I would give a month's wages more to anyone who could tell me how I am going to get rid of this big, fierce man/' he said. They put their heads together and thought, but none of them could see a way. But then one of them had the idea that, if the farmer went to see Big Angus of the Rocks, he could advise him for he was the oldest man in the entire country, and the wisest. The farmer made up his mind to go, and when he reached Big Angus of the Rocks he told him about the threshing and the food that the big lad required. " Well," said Big Angus, "I don't know what I can do for you. Don't you know that there was once a prophecy made that a big man would come and that you would have to give up the f arm? My grandf ather used to tell that when I was very young." And Big Angus himself was quite oíd at the time. "But/' he continued, "we will attempt one thing anyway just to see how we fare. When you go home say to him that the water is becoming scarce and that you want a big well dug in the middle of the field. And when you get him down there at a good depth, there is nothing below but sand. I know that for a fact myself. You will get deep enough/' said he. "Let every one of the servants be prepared then with a shovel ready in his hand and when you find his back turned to you begin throwing everything on top of him that he is bringing out of the well and perhaps you will smother him there. But be ready to flee if you do not succeed." So when the farmer returned he said to the big lad, the Big Woodsman's son, that their springs had gone dry and that he would like to have a big well dug down in the field so that they would get plenty of water. So the lad began digging in the morning. I am certain that the earth was piling up very swiftly, but every one of the servants was ready and every one of them had a shovel. When they saw that he had bent down to lift up a shovelful of the stuff that was at the bottom of the well, they poured it all down on top of him. But he just threw it back up

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tobair, dhóirt iad air a mhuin na bh'ann. Ach cha robh e ach 'ga shadadh suas mar nach biodh a' tuiteam air ach flathagan sneachda agus theich asan. Co-dhiubh nuair a bha an tobar réidh thánaig esan an áirde agus ghabh e suas a dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. 'S bha a h-uile h-aon air a dhol am falach - air teicheadh. Cha robh mu chuairt ri'm faotainn ach an tuathanach fhéin 's bha e air a dhol fo 'n bhórd am falach. Ach bheat esan aig an dorust. Cha robh duine 'ga fhreagairt 's mu dheireadh thug e buille dha 'n dorust 's bhrist e astaigh an dorust. Nuair a chaidh e astaigh bha 'n tuathanach ag éirigh as an áite 'sa robh e 's a' tighinn 'na choinneimh 's o, bha coltas gu math toilichte air an mear mhór seo. "Ciamar a fhuair thu air 'n aghaidh?" ors' an tuathanach. "Fhuair gu math/' ors' esan. "Tha 'n tobar réidh. Ach/' ors' esan, "bha na fithich a' sadadh sios smodal orm mar gum biodh iad a' feuchainn ri 'm dhalladh. Chuir iad/' ors' esan, "beagan do thrioblaid orm ach fhuair mi air adhart. Agus dé a nist a ni mi?" "O," ors' esan, "cha deán thu an córr an diugh ach gabhaidh tu aig támh. Ni thu," ors' esan, "biadh dhut fhéin." Agus dh'fhalbh an tuathanach cho luath 's a b'urrainn dha gu Aonghus Mor nan Creag agus dh'inns' e dha mar a thachair. "A," ors' esan, "tha e coltach gum bi e doirbh cuir as dha. Ach," ors' esan, "cha toir sinn suas an cas," ors' esan. "Tha dóigh fhathast air. Cuiridh tu," ors' esan, "am máireach e a threubhadh suas dha 'n lomaire Cham a tha taobh an Loch Dhorcha agus ma bhios e 'n sin gus an teid a' ghrian fodha, tha béist a' tighinn an áird' as a' loch sin agus cha deachaidh duine neo beathach riamh ann nach do shluig i agus cha till esan beó." Co-dhiubh nuair a ránaig an tuathanach dhachaidh thuirt e ris a' ghille mhór gum b'fheudar dha a dhol a threubhadh am máireach amach dha 'n lomaire Cham a bha taobh a' loch. Agus cha robh esan tiotadh gus an d'fhuair iad da each agus thilg e 'n crann air a ghualainn 's threóraich e na h-eich as a dheaghaidh 's amach a thug e air dh'ionnsaidh an lomaire Cham. Agus thóisich e air treubhadh 's bha e treubhadh ann a' sin gus na robh i fas gu math anmoch. Agus bha craobh mhór, mhór dharaich ann a' teis-meadhon am lomaire Cham agus bha e treubhadh 's o, bha i fas gu math anmoch. Agus chual' e fuaim air a' loch, agus chunnaic e coltas beathach neo béist ghránnd' a' tighinn an áirde as a' loch ach cha do chuir e umhail air a' sin,- chum e roimhe a' treubhadh agus nuair a bha e an teis-meadhon an lomaire Cham thánaig a' bhéist uamhasach a bha seo anuas agus shluig i fear

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as if nothing were falling on him but snowflakes, and so they fled. When the well was finished he carne up and went up to the house. And they had all gone into hiding - had fled. There was no one around to be found but the farmer himself, and he was hiding under the table. The lad beat on the door, but no one answered him, and at last he gave the door a blow and broke it in. When he went inside, the farmer was getting up from the place he had been and approaching him, and the big lad looked very pleased with himself. "How did you get along?" said the farmer. "Very well," he replied. "The well is finished, but the ravens were throwing stuf f down on me as if they were trying to blind me. They caused me a little bit of trouble but I got along anyway. And what should I do now?;/ "Oh," said the farmer, "you 11 do no more today but rest. You will prepare food for yourself." The farmer set out as quickly as he could for Big Angus of the Rocks and told him what had happened. "Ah," said he, "it looks as if it's going to be difficult to do away with him. But we won't give up the attempt. There is still one way. You 11 send him to plow tomorrow up at the Crooked Ridge beside the Dark Loch. And if he remains there until sunset there is a monster that emerges from the loch and no man or beast ever went there that it did not swallow, so the lad will not return alive." When the farmer arrived home he told the big lad that he was to go out the next day and plow the Crooked Ridge beside the loch. He was no time at all getting two horses, so he threw the plow over his shoulder and, leading the horses after him, set out for the Crooked Ridge. He began plowing, and he plowed there until it became quite late in the day. There was a great oak tree right in the middle of the Crooked Ridge, and he was plowing until it grew quite late. He heard a sound in the loch and saw some sort of ugly beast or monster emerging from the loch but he paid no heed; he continued plowing, and when he was right in the middle of the Crooked Ridge, the terrible monster carne up and devoured one of the horses.

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dhe na h-eich. Thóisich esan air trod agus dh'iarr e oirr' an t-each a thilleadh air n-ais. Agus sin rud nach deanadh i agus co-dhiubh, "Mura deán thu sin," ors' esan, "ni thu fhéin obair an eich." Agus thóisich e air a' bhéist a bha sin a cheangal cómh' ris an each, ach nuair a chaidh i sin a thoirt anuas taobh an eich a bha fhathast as a' chrann ghabh e leithid do sgaoim 's theich e dhachaidh. Agus rug e 'n uair sin air earball oirre agus chuir e snaoirn dh'a h-earball mun cuairt air a' chraoibh. Agus thóisich a' bhéist a bha sin air toinnleachadh 's air suaineadh 's air iomain gus mu dheireadh an do spion i a' chraobh as an talamh. "An da/' ors' esan, "rinn thu glé mhath." Agus dh'éirich e air a' bhéist leis a' chraoibh gus nach robh aig' air fhágail ach bioran dhi. Agus thug e leis an uair sin a' bhéist dhachaidh. Ach chunnaic asan an t-each a' tighinn tráth 's bha iad cho toilichte: bha iad cinnteach gun deachaidh esan a shluigsinn co-dhiubh. Ach aig dorchadh na h-oidhcheadh thánaig e dh'ionnsaidh an doruist agus a' chulaidh-uamhais a bha seo aige agus chaidh e astaigh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd iad dha gu dé mar a fhuair e air 'n aghaidh. "O," ors' esan, "fhuair mi air 'n aghaidh glé mhath." "'Samfaca tusian?" "Cha 'n fhaca mi dad," ors' esan, "a chuireadh eagal orm. Ach" ors' esan, "thánaig creutair gránnda as a' loch agus shluig e fear dhe na h-eich agam. Ach thug mis' air, nach deanadh e a leithid a rithist." "Agus dé rinn thu ris?" ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, "tha e amuigh aig an dorust ann a' siod agus thigibh amach 's gum faiceadh sibh e. Ach," ors' esan, "na biodh an córr cúram oirbh. Dé a ni mi am máireach?" "O," ors' esan, an tuathanach, "an treubhadh." "O, tha 'n treubhadh réidh," ors' esan. "Cha bi cúram do dhuine sam bith a théid a threubhadh dha'n iomaire tha siod tuilleadh." "O," ors' esan, an tuathanath, "deán a' rud a thogras tu ma tha ris a' chulaidh-uamhais sin. Dé tha düil agad a dheanamh ris?" "Cha n-eil mi dol a dheanamh sian ris," ors' esan, "ach dol a ghearradh a chinn dheth is dol 'ga thiodhlaigeadh thall ann an iomall nan dün-bhuachair thall aig cúl na báthchadh." Agus chaidh e a nuil agus thiodhlaig e 'n uile-bhéist a bha sin. Ach dh'fhalbh an tuathanach gu Aonghus Mor nan Creag agus dh'inns' e dha mar a thachair.

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Well, he began scolding it, and asked it to retum the horse, which was something it would not do. "If you don't do as I asked/' said he, "you will do the horse's work yourself." So he began harnessing the monster beside the horse. But when it was brought up beside the horse still hitched to the plow, the horse becarne so afraid that it took off for home. So then he caught the monster by the tail and knotted its tail around the tree, and the monster began turning and twisting and writhing until finally it pulled the tree out of the ground. "Well/' said he, "you've done very well." And he set on the monster with the tree until he only had a little stick of it left. Then he took the monster home with hirn. But early on, the others had seen the horse coming and that pleased them greatly; they were sure that he had been devoured anyway. But at nightfall the lad carne to the door, with the monster in tow, and went in. They asked hirn how he had fared. "Oh," said he, "I got along very well." "And did you see anything?" "I didn't see anything," he replied, "that could frighten me. An ugly creature carne out of the loch and devoured one of my horses, but I prevailed on it not to do the same thing again." "And what did you do to it?" asked the farmer. "Oh," he replied, "it's out there at the door. Come out and see it. But don't worry about that any more. What shall I do tomorrow?" "Oh," said he, the farmer, "plowing." "Oh, the plowing is finished," replied the lad. "No one who goes to that ridge to plow need worry any more." "Oh," said he, the farmer, "do whatever you wish with that monster. What do you intend to do with it?" "I'm not going to do anything with it," said he, "except to go and cut its head off and bury it over at the edge of the manure piles there behind the byre." So he went over and buried the monster. The farmer set out to Big Angus of the Rocks and he told him what had passed.

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"Tha e coltach/' ors' Aonghus Mor, "nach teid againn air idir. Ach," oís' esan, "tha aon chothrom againn fhathast. Canaidh tusa ris/' ors' esan, "feasgar gu bheil a' mhin air fas gu math gann, agus gura fheudar dha falbh leis an each agus slaod agus pocannan gráin thoirt leis dh'ionnsaidh Muileann nan Leth-cheann. Agus nuair a ruigeas e Muileann nan Leth-cheann bidh i anmoch agus ma bhios e 'n sin/' ors' esan, "an deaghaidh dol fodha na gréineadh cha bhi cúram gun tig e as a' sin gu siorraidh," ors' esan, "'s nach cuir am Brüthnach Mor crioch air." Agus co-dhiubh thánaig an tuathanach dhachaidh. "An da," ors' esan, "tha sinn a' fas gann do mhin. Cha n-eil againn," ors' esan, "ach air éiginn na ni biadh-madainneadh. Agus tha mi smaointinn gura fheárr dhut pocannan gráin thoirt leat agus a dhol dh'ionnsaidh a' mhuilinn." 'S dh'inns' e dha far a robh 'm muileann. O, bha sin taght' agus chuir e na pocannan gráin air slaod 's cheangail e 'n t-each rith' is dh'fhalbh e. 'S ránaig e 'n t-áite 'sa robh 'm muileann agus bha 'm muillear air tighinn dhachaidh agus a h-uile sian seachad 's a' ghrian air a dhol fodha. Bhuail e aig an dorust. "Có tha siod?" ors' am muillear. "Tha mis'," ors' esan. Dh'inns' e có bh' ann: seirbhiseach aig an tuathanach. "A," ors' esan, "dé tha bhuat?" "Tha," ors' esan, "a dhol dha 'n mhuileann a bhleith." "An da," ors' esan am muillear, "cha teid mise dha 'n mhuileann, an nochd dhuts'," ors' esan "na do dhaoine air an t-saoghal. Cha rachainn ann airson duine air an t-saoghal gus an éireadh a' ghrian." "O, cha fhreagair sin dhomhsa," ors' an gille mor. "Tha sinn gann do mhin aig an dachaidh agus 's fheudar dhomhsa bhith tráth as a' mhadainn air ais le min." "O, cha teid mise ann a dh'aindeoin chúisean," ors' am muillear. "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "bheir dhomhs' an iuchair 's théid mi fhin dh'ionnsaidh a' mhuilinn agus ni mi fhin an obair." Agus thug am muillear dha na h-iuchraichean agus dh'fhalbh e 's dh'fhosgail e dorust a' mhuilinn 's chaidh e astaigh agus chruinnich e smodal 's rinn e teine mor fo 'n amhainn 's thóisich e air cruadhachadh a' ghráin. Agus nuair a bha an gran air a chruadhachadh - air a thioramachadh - thionndaidh e 'm muileann gu astar is thóisich e air dórtadh a' ghráin as an drabhailt agus bha an gran a' tighinn thro 'n drabhailt is a' tighinn thro na bráthan. Agus nuair a bha gu leór aig' air a bhleith airson deagh-bhreacagan a

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"It looks as if we will not succeed at all," said Big Angus. "But we llave one more chance. You will tell him this afternoon that the meal has grown very scarce and that he must go with a horse and sled and take bags of grain to the mili of Leckan.* And when he reaches the mili of Leckan it will be late. And if he is there after sunset there need be no worry that he will ever come out of there f or the Big Brúthnach will put an end to him." And so the farmer carne home. "Well/' said he, "we are getting short of meal. We barely have enough f or breakfast, so I think you had better take some bags of grain and go to the mili." And he told him where the mili was. Oh, that was fine, and the lad put the bags of grain on the sled, hitched the horse to it and set out. He reached the place where the mili was, and the miller had just come home after he had finished everything, and the sun had set. He knocked on the door. "Who is there?" said the miller. "It is I," said the lad. He told him who it was - a servant of the farmer. "Ah," said he, "what do you require?" "To go to the mili to grind grain," replied the lad. "Well," said he, the miller, "I will not go to the mili tonight for you or for anyone in the world. I would not go there for anyone in the world un til sunrise." "Oh, that does not suit me," said the lad. "We are short of meal at home and I must be back early in the morning with meal." "Oh, I won't go there in spite of that," said the miller. "Well," said the lad, "give me the key and Til go to the mili myself and Til do the work." The miller gave him the keys and he set out. He opened the door to the mili, gathered some odds and ends together, and made a great fire under the oven and began to harden the grain. And when the grain had been hardened - had been parched - he started the mili turning and began pouring grain into the hopper, and the grain went through the hopper and

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dheanamh dha fhéin - bha 'n t-acras air a bhualadh cho mor - stad e 'm muileann agus rinn e cunntais do bhreacagan agus chuir e air uachdar na h-amhainne iad - bha i fhathast teth - airson 's gum bruicheadh iad. Agus nuair a bha iad bruich, neo gu bhith bruich, thánaig cróg mhór agus sgobadh air falbh té dha na breacagan. "Fág a' bhreacag an sin/' ors' esan. "Cuir i sin air n-ais far an d'fhuair thu i." Cha tug e feairt. Thánaig a' chróg agus thugadh leis té eile agus lean sin gus an tugadh na sia breacagan air falbh. "Cuir air n-ais/' ors' esan, "na breacagan neo 's ann dhut a's miosa." Ach cha tug e feairt. Ach ghabh e fhéin agus am Brüthnach - ge b'e dé 'n seórsa beathach a bha as a' Bhrüthnach - ghabh iad am bad a' chéile agus leag iad an áth 's chuir iad am muileann 'nan aimhreit 's am broinn a' chéile. Ach co-dhiubh air a' cheann mu dheireadh chuir Gille Mor Duine Láidir na Coilleadh, chuir e fodha am Brüthnach agus bha e aige air a chiosnachadh. "Agus tha thu a nist/' ors' esan, "a' dol a dh'fhalbh agus cha till thu seo gu brácha tuilleadh." "Falbhaidh," ors' esan. "Ach stad ort/' ors' esan, "cha n-fhalbh." 'S chum e greim air chúl amhaich air. "Cha n-fhalbh thu idir/' ors' esan, "gus an cuir thu an áth ceart mar a fhuair thu i agus an cuir thu a h-uile sian air saod mar a bhaeroimhe." Agus nuair a chaidh sin a dheanamh, "Lig air falbh mise." "Cha lig," ors' esan. "Cha n-fhalbh thu as a' seo idir gus an cuir thu air n-ais na sia breacagan a thug thu bhuam-sa a bha mi dol a ghabhail air mo shuipeir." Agus chuir e a chróg suas aig iomall an t-simileir agus thug e anuas na sia breacagan agus chuir e air uachdar na h-áthadh iad. Agus thilg an guie mor amach air dorust a' mhuilinn e agus thuirt e ris, "Bi falbh. Agus na till," ors' esan, "air an t-saoghal seo. Na till gu brácha dha 'n mhuileann." Agus nuair a dh'ith e na breacagan thóisich e air bleith a' ghráin 's chuir e crioch air a' chórr dha 'n bhleith. Agus chuir e a' mhin anns na pocannan agus cheangail e iad air an t-slaod agus dh'acfhuinnich e 'n t-each agus thóisich e air a' cheum dhachaidh agus ghabh e gu taigh a' mhuilleir. Bha a nist a' lath' gu soilleireachadh. Bhuail e aig an dorust. Chual' am muillear am fuaim a bha dol air 'n aghaidh agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh e fhéin a' gabhail aithreachas an deaghaidh a

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between the millstones. When he had ground enough to make himself some good oatcakes - he was extremely hungry - he stopped the mili and made a number of them and put them up on top of the oven - it was still hot - so that they would cook there. And when they were cooked, or almost cooked, a big claw carne down and one of the oatcakes disappeared. "Leave that oatcake there/' said he. "Put it back where you gotit." It took no heed. The claw carne again and took another and that continued until all six of the oatcakes were taken. "Put back the oatcakes/' said he, "or you will be the worse forit." But it paid no heed, so he and the Brúthnach - whatever kind of creature the Brúthnach was - started at each other and they levelled the oven, and in their battle they gutted the mili, and at the last of it the big Son of the Strong Woodsman put down the Brúthnach and he was conquered. "And now/' said he, "you are going to leave, and you will never return here again." "I will," said the Brúthnach. "But wait," said the lad, "you won't go yet." And he took hold of him by the neck. "You will not go at all," said the lad, "until you put the oven back correctly as you found it and set everything back up as it was before." And when that had been done, the Brúthnach said, " Let me go now." "Not yet," said the lad. "You will not leave here until you put back the six oatcakes that you took from me that I was going to have for my supper." So he reached his big paw up to the edge of the chimney, and he brought down the six oatcakes, and he put them down on top of the oven. And the big lad threw him out the door of the mili and said to him, " Get going. And do not ever return," said he. "Do not ever return to the mili." And when he had caten the oatcakes, he began to grind the grain, and he finished the rest of the milling. And he put the meal in the bags, tied them on the sled, harnessed the horse, and set out on the way home, heading towards the miller's

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h-uile rud gun tug e idir na h-iuchraichean dha 'n ghille mhór; gu robh fios gu robh e air a mharbhadh. Ach bha 'm muillear air a chlisgeadh nuair a chuaF e 'm fuaim gura h-e am Brúthnach a bha fhathast aig an dorust agus dh'éibh e có bha siod. "Thá mise," ors' esan. "Agus seo dhut na h-iuchraichean." Ach cha ligeadh an t-eagal leis a' mhuillear éirigh idir. Agus nuair thug e suas nach robh am muillear a' dol a dh'éirigh thuirt e, "Tha cabhag orms'," ors' esan, "is min a dhith orr' aig an dachaidh." Agus thilg e na h-iuchraichean astaigh fo bhonn na cómhladh. "Seo na h-iuchraichean agad." Agus thog e rithe. A nist bha Aonghus Mor nan Creag an deaghaidh báirlinn thoirt orra mura cuireadh a' bhéist a bh' as a' mhuileann crioch air a' ghille mhór, iad a bhith cinnteach gum biodh na seirbhisich 's gach bean is clann 's gach aon a bh' ann deiseil air a' chnoc airson teicheadh nam faiceadh iad e tighinn. Agus bha fear shuas air a' bhruthach a' cumail freiceadan feuch am faiceadh iad e agus thánaig e 'na ruith anuas dh'ionnsaidh áit' an tuathanaich agus thuirt e gu robh 'n guie mor a' tighinn agus an t-each 's an t-slaod aige agus na pocannan mineadh. Agus thog iad rithe 's nuair a thánaig esan dh'ionnsaidh an taighe cha robh duine ri faicinn neo ri faotainn aig áit' an tuathanaich. "An da," ors' esan, "cha ruigeadh iad a leas teicheadh air mo tháilleahh-s'" ors' esan. "Cha tugainn-sa aobhar teicheadh dhaibh idir nan toireadh iad dhomh gu leór do bhiadh. O, cha n-eil mi 'n cali idir," ors' esan. "Fhuair mi deagh-bhaile fearainn 's fhuair mi spréidh 's gach ni bhiodh a dhith orm. 'S bho 'n a dh'fhalbh iad uile bidh sin agam." Ach smaointich e 'n sin gu biodh e iomchaidh dha a mháthair a thoirt cómhla ris agus dh'fhalbh e dhachaidh agus ránaig e 'm bothan beag far a robh mháthair. Agus dh'inns' e a h-uile sian dhi mar a thachair. "Tha sibh a nist," ors' esan, "a' dol a dh'fhalbh cómhla riumsa." "A," ors' ise, "cha n-eil. Tha mise fas ro shean airson coiseachd air an astar tha sin." "O," ors' esan, "na cuireadh sin cúram oirbh idir an t-astar a th' ann." Agus thog e a mháthair 's chuir e air a ghualainn i. "Tha sibh p-fhéin," ors' esan, "fada gu leór a' gabhail cúram dhiomsa 's 'gam bhiadhadh 's 'gam altrum agus tha e beag gu leór dhomhs' a nist sibhse thoirt leam agus cúram a ghabhail dhibh." Agus dh'fhalbh an gille mor dhachaidh dh'ionnsaidh a' bhaile mhóir

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house. The day was just dawning. He knocked at the door. The miller heard that noise going on, and Tin sure that he regretted that he gave the keys to the lad at all, thinking that he had most likely been killed. And the miller was startled when he heard the noise, thinking that it was probably the Brüthnach who was still at the door, and he called out who was there. "It is I," said the lad. "And here are your keys." But the miller was afraid to get up at all. And when he realized that the miller was not going to get up, he said, "Pm in a hurry, for meal is needed at the house." And he threw the keys in under the door. "Here are your keys." And off he went. Now Big Angus of the Rocks had cautioned them that if the monster in the mili had not killed the big lad to be sure that the servants, every woman and child, and all others there on the hill be ready to flee should they see him returning. They had a lookout stationed on the hill watching for him and the lookout carne running down to the farmer's place saying that the big lad was coming with the horse, sled, and the bags of meal. They all fled and when he arrived at the house there was no one to be seen or found at the farmer's place. "Well," said he, "they didn't need to flee on account of me. I wouldn't have caused them to flee at all, if only they had given me enough food. But I haven't lost anything; I have a good farm and livestock and everything that I should require. And since they have all left, it will all be mine." He thought then that it would be fitting for him to bring his mother along, so he went home and arrived at the small hut where his mother lived and told her everything that had happened. "And now," said he, "you are going to go with me." "No," she replied, "I am not. I am getting too oíd to walk that whole distance." "Oh," said the lad, "don't let the distance worry you at all." And he lifted his mother and put her on his shoulder. "You have looked after me long enough, feeding and nursing me, and now it is little enough to ask for me to take you along and look after you." And the big lad returned home to the large farmstead and

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fearainn agus thug e a mháthair astaigh. Agus bha e ann a' sin ri tuathanachas agus bha a mháthair 'na suidhe astaigh a' ghabhail a' ghnothaich cho socair 's a thogradh i. Agus sin agaibh a' sgeulachd a fhuair mise air Mac Duine Láidir na Coilleadh.

21

Am Boiteannach a Fhuair na Erogan mar Dhuais bho'n Donas

Bha cáraid ann pósda 's bha iad áireamh mhór do bhliadhnaichean pósd' agus bha iad daonnan cho réidh agus cho toilichte. 'S a dh'aindeoin mar a dh'íheuch an donas ri 'n cuir gu aimhreit, dh'fháillich 's dhubh-dh' fháillich air riamh an gnothach a dheanamh orra. Agus bha seo a' cuir moran feirgeadh air. Ach co-dhiubh latha bha seo thachair e ris a' bhoireannach seo agus 's e boireannach gu math ole a bh'innte tha e coltach: fior dhroch-bhoireannach. Agus rinn e cumhntan rithe nan cuireadh i gu aimhreit a' cháraid a bha seo gun tugadh e dhi paidhir bhróg. Agus thuirt i gum feuchadh i ri sin a dheanamh. O, bha i úine mhór, bha i feuchainn. Bha i feuchainn ris a h-uile saod ach cha robh 'n gnothach a' dol leatha. Ach rachadh i latha a bhruidhinn ri bean an taighe agus bheireadh i greis a' seanachas rithe agus bheireadh i greis eile a' seanachas ri fear an taighe far am biodh e ri saoirsneachd neo ri goibhneachd neo ge b' e dé an obair a bh' aige tha mi 'n dúil gur ann ri saoirsneachd bu mhotha a bhiodh e — agus bheireadh i greis a' seanachas ris-san ach cha robh iad a' toirt feairt oirre. Ach latha dhe na lathaichean thuirt i ri bean an taighe, "Cha ruig mi leas/' ors' ise, "bhith ag innse dhut. Ach chreideadh tu glé mhath nam faiceadh tu - namfiosraicheadhtu - mar a tha mi dol a dh'innse dhut." O thuirt i rithe nach robh i toirt feairt sam bith oirre. "Coma leat," ors' ise. "Nuair a thig do chompanach dhachaidh feasgar am máireach," ors' ise, "'s a théid e 'na shineadh air a' bheingidh ann a' sin agus a chaidileas e," ors' ise, "tha róinein gu h-iseal aig iochdar iseal a' sgórnain aige. Agus faigh thusa reusair agus geárr an róinein sin dheth agus bidh fhios agad an uair sin gu dé mar a tha cúisean a' dol." Uill, leis mar a chaidh leis a' ghnothach a bh' ann, chuir i a' bhean gu smaointinn agus mu dheireadh smaointich i ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh rudeiginn ann an deaghaidh a h-uile rud. Agus chaidh ise far an robh an duine agus bha i 'g innse dha a h-uile sian - a' cantail a h-uile sian

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brought his mother inside. And he worked there at farming while his mother sat inside taking things as easy as she pleased. And that is the story I heard of the Strong Woodsman's Son. 21

The Woman Who Was Awarded a Pair of Shoes by the Devil

There was once a married couple who through many years of marriage had always been harmonious and happy. However hard the devil tried to make them quarrel, he failed miserably in his attempts on them and this angered him greatly. So one day the devil met a certain woman who it seems was quite an evil woman - a very bad woman - and he made a bargain with her that if she would start that couple quarrelling he would give her a pair of shoes. She agreed to try. She tried for a long, long time, attempting every stratagem, but without success. Some days she would talk to the woman of the house, spending some time in conversation with her, and then she would spend another little while talking to the husband where he was working on carpentry or blacksmithing or whatever his work was -1 believe he worked mostly at carpentry. She would spend some time conversing with him but neither of them paid her any heed. But one day she spoke to the woman of the house, saying, "It's hardly worth my while telling you, but you would well believe me if you were to see and experience what I am going to tell you." Oh, the woman said to her that she was not heeding her at all. "Never mind," said the evil woman. "When your spouse comes home tomorrow evening and goes to stretch out on the lounge there and falls asleep there is a hair down at the base of his neck. Go get a razor and cut the hair and then you will know how things really stand." Well, as it happened, she set the wife to thinking until at last she thought that there might be something to it after all. So the evil woman went to the husband, telling him

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mu dheidhinn na bean - ;s cha toireadh e feairt oirre; cha robh e toirt géill idir dhi. "Coma leat," ors' ise. "Nuair a théid thusa dhachaidh feasgar an nochd théid thu 'nad shineadh/' ors' ise, "air a' bheingidh agus ligidh tu ort gu bheil thu 'nad chadal: táirnidh tu srann." (Bha i a nist an deaghaidh bhith bruidhinn ris a' bhean an latha roimhe sin). "Agus creididh tu mise," ors' ise, "an uair sin nuair a chi thu do bhean a' tighinn a nall leis a' reusair far a bheil thu airson do sgórnan a ghearradh, ma dh'fhaoidte." Ach co-dhiubh, leis mar a chuir i throimh a' chéile e, bha e a' fas seachd searbh dhi co-dhiubh; tha mi cinnteach leis cho trie 's a bha i deanamh cómhradh ris smaointich e gun deanadh e seo direach. Cha bhiodh ann ach dearbhadh dha gu robh i ceárr co-dhiubh, tha mi 'n dúil. Ach co-dhiubh, rinn e mar a dh'iarr i 's nuair a bha esan 'na shuain chadail is srann aige 'na chadal, smaointich a bhean a' rud a bha 'n té eile a' cantail rithe, gum faigheadh i a nist amach. Agus cha robh 'n té eile ach a' bruidhinn co-dhiubh; cha robh 'n gnothach a' dol a thighinn as co-dhiubh. Ach nuair a thánaig i a nall leis a' reusair os cionn amhaich-san, chreid e 'n uair sin agus leum e 'na sheasamh 's thóisich iad air aimhreit 's tha mi cinnteach gu robh aimhreit ann a bha gábhaidh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gun do theab iad tighinn gu buillean; gun do throid iad cho gábhaidh 's a throid daoine riamh. Agus co-dhiubh air lá'r-na-mháireach chaidh an droch-bhoireannach a dh'fhaighinn na duais agus bha uibhir do dh'eagal aig an donas roimhpe leis cho ole 's a bha i agus gu robh paidhir bhróg aig' air ceann maide fada caol, 'gan sineadh dhi 's e fhéin air taobh thall na callaid. Cha ligeadh an t-eagal leis tighinn a nall far a robh i. Agus sin agaibh mar a fhuair mi an naidheachd aig Micheal Mac'Illeain air an donas agus air an droch-bhoireannach a fhuair na brógan.

22

Na Trí Snaoimeannan

An naidheachd tha seo, chuala mi a' cheud turus i aig Eachann MacNill a bha thall aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach. 'S e Eachann Aonghuis Phost' a dh'abramaid ris. Agus cha do dh'innis e ach bloigh dhe 'n sgeul a bha seo; cha tug e uibhir do chunntais oirre 's a chuala mi a rithist aig Micheal Mac'Illeain (Micheal lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). Air réir seanachas Mhic'Illeain, b'e a cháirdean fhéin a bha anns an

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The Recitéis and the Tales

everything - everything about his wife - and he would not pay any attention to her; he did not believe her at all. "Never mind," said she. "When you go home this evening you will stretch out on the lounge and you will pretend that you are sleeping; you will begin to snore." (She had just finished talking to the wif e the day before). "And perhaps you will believe me when you see your wif e coming toward you with a razor to cut your throat." With all the confusión that she had caused him the man was becoming good and tired of her anyway; Fm sure she had spoken to him so often that he decided to do as she said. Certainly it would only prove that she was wrong. So he did as she asked and when he was in a deep slumber and snoring in his sleep the wife thought of what the other woman had said to her; now she could find out. The other woman was only talking anyway; nothing would come of it. But when she carne over with the razor poised above his throat he believed it then so he leapt up to his feet and they began quarrelling and Fm sure that it was indeed fierce. Probably they nearly carne to blows, quarrelling as violently as people ever have. On the next day when the evil woman went to get her reward the devil was so frightened by how evil she was that he put the pair of shoes at the end of a long, thin stick and stretched them out to her while he remained on the other side of the fence. He was too afraid to approach her. And that is how I got the tale from Michael MacLean concerning the devil and the evil woman who was awarded the shoes.

22

The Three Knots

This tale I heard for the first time from Héctor MacNeil who lived over in Middle Cape. We used to cali him Héctor Angus the Postman. He only told a part of this tale. He did not recount as much of it as I heard later from Michael MacLean (Micheal lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). And according to MacLean's recitation it was his own

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naidheachd. B' éad an fheadhainn a bha falbh leis a' sgoth. Agus thadhail iad aig áit': thánaig iad gu tir aig eilean neo áite air an turus a' dol gu margadh. Agus bha seann.duine agus seann bhean anns an taigh bheag a bha sin agus chaidh iad suas ann a ligeil an sgios. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh i air fas cho fiathail 's nach robh seóladh math acá 'san am. Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhoighneachd iad dhaibh a robh tea acá agus tombaca 's thuirt fear acá gu robh beagan acá air bórd. Agus chaidh e sios agus fhuaireadh an beagan tea a bh' acá agus thugadh sin anuas. Thug e dha 'n t-seann fheadhainn — an t-seann cháraid — an tea agus riaraich iad an tombaca orra gu math. Agus dh'fhoighneachd an seann fhear do dh'fhear acá - dha 'n mear a shaoileadh e a b'aosda - a robh gin dhe theaghlach 's na bláir agus thuirt e gu robh: gun do chaill e dithist rnhac ann am blár. "Nach truagh," ors' esan, "nach tana tu dha 'm ionnsaidh mun deach iaddha'nbhlár." "'S eadh/' ors' esan, an duine bha seo, "O, nam biodh tu air tighinn/' ors' esan, "bhiodh iad air an seunadh bho'nluaidhe." Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a ghabh iad fois 's a bha iad greis a' seanachas, thuirt fear dhiubh gu robh e smaointinn a nist gum b'fheárr dhaibh a bhith feuchainn air falbh, feuch ciamar a rachadh dhaibh. Agus thuirt an t-seann té ris stad tiotadh. Agus chaidh i a nuil gu oisinn neo áite na gu seómbar beag 's thánaig i a nall agus snáithlein aice: píos do shnáth clóimheadh tha mi cinnteach a bh' ann agus bha tri snaoimeannan air. Agus thuirt i ris, "Seo," ors' ise. "Bheir thusa leat seo, bho 'n as tu a tha 'nad uachdaran air a' bháta an diugh. Bheir thu leat seo agus nuair a gheobh sibh amach," ors' ise, "bheiribh aon snaoim far an t-snáithlein tha seo agus gheobh sibh soirbheas. Bithibh a' falbh air aghaidh. Agus nuair a gheobh sibh aig astar gu math," ors' ise, "'s a bhios sibh smaointinn gu gabh i tuilleadh soirbheis, bheir thu snaoim eile far na sreing seo agus gheobh sibh soirbheas fábharach láidir gu leór. Ach bi cinnteach," ors' ise, "air chumhntan no air chor nach toir thu idir an tritheamh snaoim far an t-snáithlein. Neo ma bheir," ors' ise, "cha bhi 'n gnothach cho math." 'S co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh iad 's nuair a fhuair iad an sgoth an órdugh 's amach thug iad an snaoim far na snáithlein a bha seo. Agus cha bu

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relatives who figured in the tale; they were the people who were travelling in the boat. And they visited a place, an island or some place on their journey to niarket. And there was an oíd man and an oíd lady in the little house there so they went up to ease their fatigue. Perhaps it had grown so calm that there was no good sailing at the time. In any case the oíd people asked them whether they had tea or tobáceo and one of the crew said that they had a little on board. He went down and got the little bit of tea that they had and brought it up. He gave the tea to the oíd people - to the oíd couple - and they shared the tobáceo generously with them. The oíd man asked one of them - the one that he thought to be the oldest - whether any of his family had been in the battlefields and the man answered yes, that he had lost two sons on the field. "Isn't it a shame," said the oíd man, "that you did not come to me before they went to battle." "Yes indeed," replied the other. " Oh, if you had come," the oíd man continued, " they would have been magically protected from the lead." So after they had rested themselves and spent some time in conversation one of them said he thought they had better try to go on their way now to see how they would do. The oíd woman told him to stop for a moment. She went over to a córner or somewhere, or a small room and returned with a thread; it was a piece of wool thread, 1'm sure, and there were three knots in it. And she said to him, "Here. Take this with you since you are the one who is in charge of the boat today. You will take this with you and when you are well out take one knot out of the thread and you will get a breeze. Keep on, and when you are well underway and you think that she can take more of a breeze take another knot out of this string and you will get a good, strong, favourable wind. But be absolutely sure that you do not take the third knot out of the thread. For if you do things will not go so well." So they left and when they put their boat in order and got it out they undid a knot from the thread. No sooner had they

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luaithe a thug iad an snaoim far na t-snáithlein na shéid soirbheas beag aotrom freagarrach fábharach dhaibh agus bha iad a' seóladh air adhart. Ach roghnaich am fear a bha cüram aige dha ;n sgoth gun gabhadh iad ri beagan a bharrachd soirbheis agus dh'íhosgladh an dama snaoim. Ach ma dh'fhosgail thánaig soirbheas láidir, dian an uair sin agus bha 'n gnothach gu math fábharach. Bha iad a' seóladh cho math 's a thogradh iad. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a bha iad gu bhith astaigh ann an cala - bha iad cho faisg air a bhith astaigh anns a' chala 's gu robh iad sábhailte co-dhiubh - thug e 'n treas snaoim far an t-snáithlein 's thilg e 'n snáithlein amach air a' mhuir. Ach ma chuir, thánaig an stoirm. Agus cha robh ann ach air éiginn gun d'fhuair iad astaigh gu cala gun a bhith air am báthadh. Ach co-dhiubh fhuair iad dha 'n chala agus nuair a bha iad astaigh aig margadh thug iad leo tea agus tombaca gu leór a bheireadh iad dh'ionnsaidh an t-seann cháraid a mhaireadh greis dhaibh. Agus nuair a fhuair iad deiseil 's a bha iad airson seóladh, sheól iad air n-ais 's o, bha iad a' faighinn soirbheas gu math fábharach. Ach thánaig iad astaigh dh'ionnsaidh an eilein - an t-áite gu robh iad seo as a' bhothan - agus nuair a thánaig iad astaigh rinneadh toileachadh riu 's thug iad a nuil dhaibh tea 's tombaca 's bha sin a' faighinn mór-thaing. Ach thug i 'n aghaidh air an fhear eile. "Cha d'rinn thu," ors' ise, "mar a dh'iarr mi ort." "O, rinn/' ors' esan. "O, cha do rinn," ors' ise, "idir mar a dh'iarr mis' ort. Agus air tháilleabh nach do rinn thu sin, fhuair mise," ors' ise, "miobhadh mor 'gur sábhaladh bho 'n stoirm." Agus thánaig i a nall 's sheall i dha 'n snáithein. "Seo," ors' ise, "an snáithlein a thilg thu fhéin amach bhuat. Agus," ors' ise, "bha feum agad gu robh thu cho faisg air a' chladach. Fhuair mis'," ors' ise, "an gnothach doirbh gu leór ur sábhaladh mar a bha. Ach tha sinn toilichte gun do thill sibh sábhailte co-dhiubh." Agus dh'fhuirich iad tacan cómhla riu 'n sin agus dhealaich iad riu. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a fhuair mise bho Mhac'Illeain agus thuirt e gura h-e bráthair a sheanair neo a shin-seanair a bh' ann am fear dhe na bh' ann co-dhiubh. Agus tha 'n naidheachd cho dlüth sin dha fhéin gu bhith 'ga h-innse. 'S tha mi creidsinn gur ann bhuapa fhéin a thánaig an naidheachd dha 'n áite 'san d'fhuair Eachann MacNill greim oirre an toiseach. Agus sin agaibh mar a bha an naidheachd aig Mac'Illeain.

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released the knot than a small, light, favourable, and fitting breeze sprang up and they sailed f orward. But the man in charge of the boat decided they should take on a little more breeze so they loosened the second knot, and when they did there carne a strong, driving breeze and things were very favourable for them. They were sailing ahead as well as they could picase. When at last they were about to enter the harbour - they were so cióse to being inside the harbour that they thought themselves safe - he undid the third knot from the thread and cast the thread out to sea. But as he did the storm broke and they barely got into harbour without being drowned. But they managed to reach the harbour and when they were in at the market they brought along tea and tobáceo in good quantity to take to the oíd couple to last them for some time. When they were finished and prepared to sail, they sailed back, getting quite a favourable breeze. They carne in to the island - the place where the couple was living in the hut - and when they entered, they were cordially received; they delivered the tea and the tobáceo to them and got great thanks for that. The oíd woman turned to one of the men. " You did not do/' said she, "as I asked you." "Oh indeed I did/' said he. "Oh no you did not/' said she "do at all as I asked you and, since you did not, I had a very hard time saving you from the storm." And she carne over and she showed him the thread. "Here," said she, "is the thread that you threw away. It served you well to be so cióse to shore; I experienced enough hardship saving you as it was. But we are pleased that you returned safely anyway." They stayed with them for some time and then took their leave. And there you have the tale that I got from MacLean, who said that it was his grandfather's or his great-grandfather's brother who was one of the men there; the story was that closely associated with him when he told it. And I believe that it was from them that the story carne to where Héctor MacNeil first got it. And there you have the story as told by MacLean.

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23

Mar a Chaidh an Suiriche Sídhe a Mhealladh

Fhuair mi 'n sgeula bho Mhicheal Mac'Illeain. Agus oidhche nuair a bha mi air chéilidh bha e 'g innse dhuinn sgeula - bha cuid mhór astaigh air chéilidh an oidhche ud; bha feadhainn a bharrachd orm ann 'san am - mu dheidhinn f ear a bha deanamh suas ri nighean - bha i fhéin an dúil gu robh e deanamh suas rithe co-dhiubh - agus bha 'n gnothach a bh' ann car neónach leatha mar a bha gnothaichean a' dol. Agus 's e a bh' ann: chaidh iad gu comhairliche glic na fear ceárd a bhiodh toirt dhaibh comhairle, neo bana-cheárd. Ach co-dhiubh, thug i sin sanáis dhaibh gun iarradh am fear a bha seo dual dha gruag air an nighinn. Agus thug i áithne oirre, na chuir i air shúilean dhi mar bheirte, nan iarradh, i thoirt dha dualan far earball mairt. Bha seiche mhór mairt acá 'n crochadh agus tha e coltach gu robh an t-earball gun ghearradh dhi 's nuair a dh'iarr esan na dualan fuilt oirre, tha e coltach gun do sheall i sin dha agus chaidh seo thoirt thuige. Agus bha iad ;nan suidhe astaigh anns an oidhche, na feasgar gu robh ann agus chualas fuaim 's an t-seiche gluasad is amach a thug an t-seiche, agus as a dheaghaidh a thug iad. Agus cha d'fhuair iad riamh sgeul air an t-seichidh. Co-dhiubh ' s e a dhol astaigh dha 'n chnoc sidh a rinn i na cá 'n deach i, cha d'fhuaireas riamh i. Agus bha iad a rithist a' cantail gura h-e cinnteach a' chúis a bhiodh ann nam biodh an nighean an deaghaidh dual dhe gruag a thoirt dha, gu robh e air a toirt air falbh air an aon dóigh 's a chaidh aige air an t-seiche thoirt air falhh. Agus dh'fhalbh i, tha mi cinnteach, mar a thuirt iad, dh'fhalbh sin gun tilleadh. Agus ma dh'fhaoidte gura h-ann as a' sgeul a bha seo nuair a chaidh e mun cuairt a thánaig na facían a bhiodh acá mu dheidhinn cuideiginn a bha a' faoineis ann na a bhiodh a' bruidhinn air rud a dheanadh e 's nach deachaidh e riamh a cho-lionadh: gun canadh iad nach robh ann ach gruag le gaoith.

24

An Oidhche a Bha i Sileadh na Lite

Tha sgeulachd bheag an seo a chuala mi aig Bean Mhicheil 'ic'Illeain (Micheal lain Chaluim). Agus 's ann mu dheoghainn banndrach a bh'

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23

How The Fairy Suitor Was Trícked

I got this tale from Michael MacLean one night when I was visiting and he was telling us a story - there were quite a f ew people in visiting that night, people there as well as myself at the time - about a man who was courting a girl - at least she thought that he was courting her - but the way things were happening seemed quite strange to her. And this is what happened. Her people went to a wise man who gave advice - perhaps a tinker who used to advise them or a tinker woman. So she indicated that the suitor would require a ringlet of hair from the girl. And she instructed them - put them under some obligation as they say - that should he demand it she was to give him a lock of hair from the tail of a cow. They had a big cowhide hanging there from which the tail apparently had not been cut. When he asked her for the locks of hair it seems she showed him that and it was given to him. She and her f amily were sitting inside one night or early in the evening, and a noise was heard; the hide was moving and out it went and off they went after it, and they never found a trace of the hide. Whether it entered the Fairy Hill or wherever it went it was never found. And people used to add that, if the daughter had given him a lock of her hair, he would certainly have taken her away in the same way he was able to take the cowhide. And the hide disappeared, to be sure, without returning. Perhaps it was from this story, once it had circulated, that the expression originated that was used for someone who was talking pointlessly or talking about something he intended to do that was never done: they used to say that he was nothing but a hair going with the wind.

24

The Night It Rained Porridge

I have a short story here that I heard from the wife of Michael MacLean (Micheal lain Chaluim).

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ann agus bha aona mhac aice agus 's e seórsa do leth-ghloic a bh' ann. Ach bha e mor, foghainneach agus tha e coltach gu robh ise seólta. Ach co-dhiubh chuir i air falbh e le mart airson a toirt gu margadh feuch am faigheadh e rudeiginn air a; mhart; tha mi cinnteach gu robh iad a' fas gann do bhiadh airson am mart a bheathachadh na ni air choireiginn, neo bha i acá a chórr. Ach dh'fhalbh esan leis a' mhart agus bha e aig a 7 mhargadh agus thánaig fear far a robh e. "'S dé tha thu 'g iarraidh air a; mhart?" ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, "tha mi 'g iarraidh rudeiginn oirre." Agus thuirt am fear eile ris, "Fosgail do lámh mata." Agus thilg e smugaid 'na láimh. "Seo rudeiginn/' ors' esan. Agus leis a' láimh eile shin e dha ceann a' ropa. "'Seo am mart/' ors' esan, agus thill e air n-ais a' tilleadh dhachaidh agus a dhórn dúinte, agus bha e cho toilichte gun d'fhuair e rudeiginn air a' mhart. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a bha e tighinn fairis air abhainn bheag shleamhnaich e air té dha na clachan far a robh e deanamh ceum a nuil bho thé gu té air an abhainn agus dh'fhosgail e a lámh is dh'fhalbh a' smugaid. Agus thóisich e air rürach as an allt feuch am faigheadh e i. Agus có thánaig ach ceannaiche-paca, neo mar a bheireadh iad peddlar. "Dé tha thu deanamh," ors' esan, "as an allt ann a' sin?" "Tha mi coimhead airson rudeiginn," ors' esan, "a chaill mi. Agus chaill mi mo rudeiginn." Agus shleamhnaich am fear eile is e fhéin a' dol seachad. "Seo rudeiginn/' ors' esan. "Fhuair thusa mo rudeiginn," ors' am balach. "Cha d'fhuair," ors' esan, "mise rudeiginn." "Fhuair," ors' esan, 's ghabh iad am bad a' chéile. Agus chuir e crioch air a' cheannaiche, na 'm peddlar mar a bheirte. Agus co-dhiubh thiodhlaig e e ann a' sloc air choireiginn is thug e leis na máileidean dhachaidh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd a mháthair dha dé thachair 's dh'inns' e. Thuirt e gun do chaill e a rudeiginn 's gun d'fhuair am fear eil' e 's gun do shabaidich iad. Agus co-dhiubh, thuirt i ris e dhol 'na shineadh; gu robh e sgith an deaghaidh tighinn as a' bhaile, gu robh e a nist air fas gu math sgith agus e a dheanamh tacan do chadal, agus a chuir dheth a chaisbheairt; gun biodh a chasan na b'fheárr gum faigheadh iad barrachd fois le bhith rüisgte. Agus fhuair i fhéin poit agus chuir i uisge as a' phoit agus min 's rinn i lite

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It concerns a widow with one son who was a sort of halfwit. But the son was big and strong and it seems that she was clever. So she sent him off with a cow to market to see if he could get something for the cow; I am sure that they were getting short of food to feed the cow or some other reason, or perhaps she was an extra one. So off he went with the cow, and when he was at the market a man approached him. "What do you want for the cow?" he asked. "Oh/' he replied, "I want something for her." The other man said to him, "Open your hand then." And he spat in his hand. "Here is something/' he said, and the half-wit handed him the end of the rope with the other hand. "Here is the cow," said he, and he started out on his way back home with his fist closed, so happy that he had gotten something for the cow. But when he was crossing a small river he slipped on one of the stepping stones as he was making his way across the river from stone to stone; he opened his hand and the spit went away. So he started groping around in the stream to see if he could find it, and who carne along but a pack merchant or a peddler, as they would say in English. "What are you doing there in the river?" said the peddler. "I am looking for something that I have lost. I lost my something." The other man also slipped as he was crossing. "Here is something," said he. "You found my something/7 said the lad. "I did not find something," replied the peddler. "Yes you did," said the lad and they went at each other and he killed the merchant, or the peddler as he was called. He buried him in a hollow and took his packs home with him. His mother asked him what had happened and he told her. He said that he had lost his something and that the other man had found it and that they had fought. So she told him to go stretch out, that he was tired after coming from town and that he was so fatigued that he should sleep a while and take off his shoes; his feet would get more rest by being bare. She

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thana agus chrath i sin amach mu chuairt aig an taigh. Agus bhiodh esan a' dol amach as an taigh co-dhiubh mun rachadh e a chadal feuch gu dé 'n t-side a bh' ann na ge b'e aobhar, agus co-dhiubh nuair a dh'éirich e an deaghaidh bhith greis 'na chadal dhúisg i ;s thuirt i gu robh an t-am aig' éirigh 's a dhol a chadal dóigheil. Agus choisich e amach 's e air a chasa-ruisgte 's nuair a thill e astaigh, "Tha i/' ors, esan, "a' sileadh lite." // Abheil?"ors'ise. "Tha/' ors' esan. "Tha lite air an talamh. Tha i sileadh." "O, ma tha," ors' ise, "halla a chadal. Coma leat dhe 'n chórr mu dheidhinn." Co-dhiubh, fhuair i amach bhuaithesan far 'n do thiodhlaig e an duine a mharbh e agus nuair a chaidh esan a chadal, chaidh ise dh'ionnsaidh an t-sloc a bha sin 's bha 'n duine air a thiodhlaigeadh ann. Agus co-dhiubh, bha reithe beag acá ann am paire agus 's minig a chanadh feadhainn "peddlar" ri fear dhe na beathaichean sin. Bhiodh e suibhal mun cuairt air feadh nan ceárnan nam faigheadh e air falbh. Agus mharbh i 'm beathach a bha sin agus thug i a' cholann eiP as an áite 'sa robh i agus thiodhlaig i 'm beathach sin ann. Agus chuir i a' cholainn eile ... thiodhlaig i an áite air choireiginn eile fad air falbh i, creid. Ach co-dhiubh greis do dh'úine as a dheaghaidh sin fada neo goirid an úine gu robh ann thánaig dithist mhaor dh'ionnsaidh an taighe agus bha iad a' foighneachd am facas sgeul air an duine bha seo: air a' cheannaiche dol mun cuairt, am peddlar. "O," ors' esan, an gille, "mharbh mise am peddlai sin." "Na mharbh gu dearbh?" orsa fear acá. "Mharbh," ors' esan. "Agus cuine mharbh thu 'n duine bha sin?" ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, "stad ort. Feasgar an lath' ud;" ors' esan, "an oidhche a bha i sileadh na lite." 'S cha robh ann ach burraidh górach co-dhiubh. "Cá 'n do chuir thu e?" ors' am fear eile. Agus dh'inns' e cá 'n do chuir e e agus dh'fhalbh iad. Bha iad a' cantail ri chéile, "An cuala tusa 'n duine górach a bha siod a' bruidhinn air an oidhche a bha i sileadh na lite?" Agus bha iad a' coiseachd sios co-dhiubh ach bha iad a' dol seachad air an áite bha seo. "A," ors' esan, fear acá, "théid sinn astaigh a choimhead feuch gu dé

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The Reciters and the Tales

herself got a pot and put water in the pot and meal and made a thin porridge and shook that out around the house. He used to go out of the house anyway before he went to sleep to see what kind of weather it was or for whatever reason, so when he aróse after sleeping for a while she awoke and told him it was time to get up and to go and sleep properly. He walked outside barefoot and when he carne back in, "It is raining porridge," he said. "Isit?" said she. "It is," said he. "There is porridge on the ground. It is raining." "Oh well," said she, "go and sleep. Don't worry about that any more/' But she found out from him where he had buried the man he had killed and when he had gone to sleep she went to the hollow and the man was buried there. So they had a small ram in a field and often people used to cali one of those animáis "Peddler." This one used to travel around all over the place if it got loóse. She killed that animal there and she buried the other body somewhere else far away, to be sure. Sometime after that, whether the time was long or short, two policeman carne to the house asking if any trace had been seen of a certain man, the merchant that was going around, the peddler. "Oh," said the half-wit, "I killed that peddler." "Did you indeed?" said one of the policemen. "Yes I did," replied the half-wit. "And when did you kill this man?" said he. "Oh," said he. "Wait a moment. It was the evening of the day;" said he, "the night it was raining porridge." And he only seemed to be a crazy fool anyway. "Where did you put him?" said the other man. So he told him where he had put him and off they went. They were saying to each other, "Did you hear the crazy man there talking about the night it rained porridge?" And they were walking down anyway and they passed the place. "Oh well," said one of them, "we will go to see what is

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

tha air a thiodhlaigeadh as an áite a bha e cantail rinn co-dhiubh. Cha n'eil greim túir ann co-dhiubh." Nuair a chaidh iad sios 's a bhúirich iad sios an talamh a bha sin fhuair iad reithe air a thiodhlaigeadh. "Nach tuirt mi riut," orsa fear dhiubh, "nach robh e glic; gu robh e car gun toinisg? Coimhead fhéin," ors' esan. "Siod am peddlar a bha esan a' cantail." Agus chum iad air falbh. 'S bha na máileidean 's a h-uile rud a bh' annta aig a' bhanndraich 's aig a mac. Agus sin mar a bha 'n naidheachd a fhuair mise air an oidhche a bha i sileadh na lite.

25

Caitteal Shruighle

Chuala mi naidheachd bheag air Cairteal Shruighle: mu dheidhinn nuair a chaidh Cairteal Shruighle a thogail. Tha e coltach gur ann aig an donas a bha curam dhe 'n obair: gur e bha deanamh na h-obrach. Chosgadh e cho mor dhaibh, tha mi cinnteach cairteal a dheanamh, ach dheanadh esan e air chumhntan. Tha mi cinnteach gur e a' chumhntan a bh7 ann, gum feumadh e an t-uachdran a thoirt leis mar dhuais air a shon mura biodh fios aige air an aimn nuair a bhiodh a chairteal réidh. 'S chaidh e 'n sin gu duine glic — sin an t-uachdran; chaidh e gu duine seólta air choireiginn: tha mi cinnteach mar as minig a bheireadh iad gur e Seann Dalí Glic - agus thuirt am fear sin ris e bhith mun cuairt timcheall air an obair cho trie 's a b'urrainn dha feuch an cluinneadh e idir idir ainm an fhir a bha curam aige dha 'n obair. Agus dh'amais dha gun cuala e cuideiginn a' grádh "Tomas Sheoc" is chum e cuimhne air an ainm sin. Agus ma dh'fhaoidte gun cuala e turus eile cuideiginn dhe na cosnaichean a bha 'g obair air a' chairteal a' grádhainn "Tomas Sheoc". Ach co-dhiubh nuair a bha 'n cairteal réidh thuirt an donas - oir tha e coltach gura h-e a bh' ann - gum biodh e a nist ag iarraidh a thuarasdal: ag iarraidh a pháidheadh. "Mata," ors' esan, an t-uachdaran na 'n tighearna-fearainn gu robh ann, " 's e cumhntan a bh' againn nam biodh fhios agam air t-ainm nach ruiginn a leas páidheadh." "S e," ors' esan. 'S mar a thuirt mi cheana anns a' sgeul, nuair a thuirt an donas gu robh sin ñor - gu robh na cumhntannan ann - thionndaidh an an t-uachdaran na 'n tighearna gu robh ann agus thuirt e, " 'S tusa Tomas Sheoc."

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buried in the place that he was telling us about. He hasn't a grain of sense." When they went down and dug down into the ground, they found a ram buried there. "Didn't I tell you," said one of them, "that he was not all there; that he was without his sense? Look there/' said he. "That's the peddler he was talking about." And they kept on their way. And the packs and everything in them went to the widow and to her son. And that is the story I got about the night that it rained porridge.

25

Stirling Castle

I heard a short tale about Stirling Castle, about when Stirling Castíe was built. It seems that the devil was given charge of the project - he was the one doing the work. It would have cosí them so much, I am sure, to build a castle, but the devil would do it under certain conditions. I believe the condition was that he could take the laird away as his prize if the laird did not know his ñame by the time the castle was completed. So he - the laird that is - went to a wise man, an intelligent man (I am sure often as not he was called the Oíd Blind One), and the oíd man told him to be around the work as often as he could to see if he could hear at all the ñame of the man who was in charge. And it happened that he heard somebody say "Thomas Jock," and he remembered that ñame. And perhaps another time he heard one of the workers who were labouring on the castle say "Thomas Jock." But in any case when the castle was finished the devil said - f or it seems that it was really he that he was now going to demand his wage, to ask for his pay. "Well," said the laird or landlord, "we agreed on the condition that if I knew the ñame I needn't bother paying." "Yes indeed," said the devil. And, as I said before in the story, when the devil said that that was true - that there had been such a condition - the laird or landlord turned and said, "You are Thomas Jock."

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Agus dh'fhalbh e 's e 'g éigheach, "Cairteal Shruighle ullamh agus Tomas Sheoc bochd falamh!" Agus thog e rithe 's tha mi cinnteach gun do dh'fhalbh e 'na lasair na air dóigh air choireiginn. Cha robh an córr mu dheoghainn. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a fhuair mise bho Mhac 'Illeain air togail Cairteal Shruighle.

26

An Spíocaire agus an Táillear

Bha fear a' foighneachd dhiom uair mu dheidhinn naidheachdan air spiocairean: daoine a bha cúramach; nach cosgadh airgiod na sian; a bha cho gábhaidh cúramach. Agus chuala mi naidheachd mu dheidhinn aon neach agus tha e coltach gu robh e 'na dhuine gu math cúramach, spiocach. Agus bha e gléidheadh ma seach an airgid; cha robh bonn airgid a bha aige na ór nach robh aige an gléidheadh. Agus mu dheireadh thánaig táillear dh'ionnsaidh an taighe aige latha agus thuirt an táillear ris, "Tha mi faicinn/' ors' esan, "gu bheil sibh p-fhéin riatanach air deagh-dheise." "O, tha mi cinnteach/' ors' esan, "gu bheil mi riatanach oirre nam biodh dóigh air a ceannach." O, thuirt an táillear ris nach biodh e duilich dha páidheadh idir. Agus tha e coltach, an duine spiocach a bh' ann, nuair a bhiodh e sealltainn ionndas do dhaoine gum feumadh iad páidheadh airson fhaicinn: bonn a thoirt dha air a shon co-dhiubh 's e tasdan na bonn-a-sia na gu dé bhiodh ann. Ach co-dhiubh thuirt an táillear ris nach biodh e duilich dha páidheadh idir. "Gábhaidh mi do thomhas agus ni mi 'n deise dhut ma bheir thu dhomh gealltanas gu seall thu dhomh do stóras 's na bheil agad gléidhte. Ach," ors' esan, "cha n-iarr mi sin fhaicinn gus an tig mi leis an deise." O, thuirt e gun deanadh e sin ma bha e deónach air a dhol air 'n aghaidh leis a sin. Bhiodh esan deónach gu leór agus co-dhiubh ghabh an táillear a thomhas agus creid gu robh e gu math cúramach. Agus chaidh e air n-ais dhachaidh, agus a h-uile sian aige air a chuir sios gu dóigheil agus creid gun do thagh e 'n t-aodach a b'fheárr a bh' ann airson deise a dheanamh dha 'n spiocaire.

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And the devil went away crying out/'Stiring Castle completed and poor Thomas Jock destitute!" And away he went and I am sure that he travelled surrounded by flame or in some such way. And that was all there was to it. And there you have the story that I heard from MacLean on the building of Stirling Castle.

26

The Miser and the Tailor

Someone was once asking me about tales of misers, men who were cautious and would not spend money or anything, who were so extremely careful. And I did hear a story about one person who it seems was an extremely cautious, miserly man. And he was saving up his money; there was not a piece of silver that he had or of gold that was not being saved. And finally a tailor carne to his house one day and said to him, "I see/' said the tailor, "that you are in need of a good suit." "Oh, I am sure/' said the miser, "that I do need one if only I had the means to buy it." Well, the tailor told him that it would not be difficult at all for him to pay for it. And it seems that the miser, when he was showing his treasure to people, used to require that they pay to see it; they had to give him at least a coin for this whether it was a shilling or sixpence or whatever. But the tailor told him that it would not be difficult to pay for at all. "I will take your measurements and make the suit for you if you give me your assurance that you will show me your treasure and your savings. But," said he, "I won't ask to see that un til I return with the suit." The miser said that he would do so if the tailor was willing to go ahead with that. He was willing enough himself, and so the tailor took his measurements and believe me he was very careful. He returned home with everything written down correctly and you can be sure that he chose the very best cloth that there was to make a suit for the miser.

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Agus chaidh deise mhath a dheanamh - creid gun deachaidh an deise a dheanamh math gu leór - agus nuair a bha i réidh chaidh e dh' ionnsaidh an taighe leatha agus thuirt e, "Tha mis'/' ors' esan; "air tighinn thugaibh leis an deise." "Tha siod glé cheart. An da," ors' esan, "bho 'n a thána tu, tha mi cinnteach gum feum mise cumail ri mo chumhntannan cuideachd mar a chum thu fhéin." "Bidh sin iomchaidh" ors' an táillear. Co-dhiubh, chaidh e a choimhead air an deisidh agus bha i coimhead gu math grinn. Ach co-dhiubh thuirt e ris, "Trobhad," ors' esan. "Tiugainn cómhla riumhsa 's gum páidh mi 'n deise dhut ma tha." Agus chaidh e sios. Thóisich e air fosgladh dhoruist: dh'fhosgail e glas air dorust, dh'fhosgail e 'n dorust a bha sin agus chaidh e thro 'n t-seómbar sin agus dh'fhosgail e dorust air seómbar eile. Nuair a bha e 'n deaghaidh a' ghlas fhosgladh dh'fhosgail e 'n dorust agus bha an t-airgiod air an úrlar ann a' sin. Agus choimhead an táillear air. Thug e aon súil air agus thionndaidh e mun cuairt airson falbh. "Am faod mi," ors' esan, "aon súil eile thoirt air?" "O, cha n-eil fhios a'm," ors' esan. "O, tha mi cinnteach/' ors' esan, "gun ceadaich mi sin dhut." 'S thionndaidh an táillear mun cuairt 's choimhead e astaigh air an airgiod a rithist. Agus thánaig iad an sin a nuas. Ghlaist e na doruist agus nuair a ránaig iad a nuas dha 'n t-seómbar eile thuirt an táillear ris gum b'fheárr dha a nist an deise chuir uime 's gum faiceadh e air i agus cho math 's a bha i freagairt, agus mura robh i 'ga fhreagairt mar bu chóir gu rachadh sin a leasachadh. Agus chuir e air an deise 's o, bha 'n deise cho snasail: bha i 'ga fhreagairt cho math 's a h-uile sian. Agus thuirt e ris an uair sin, "An da," ors' esan, "tha e car dona dhomhsa, a tháilleir, an deise seo chumail 's gun dóigh agam air do pháidheadh," ors' esan. "Rinn thu 'n deise cho math 's tha i 'gam fhreagairt cho math 's tha i cho snasail 's a h-uile dóigh." "O," ors' an táillear, "coma leat dheth sin," ors' esan. "Chaidh mise pháidheadh gu math cheana air a son." "O," ors' esan, "cha deachaidh. Cha n-eil mi a' tuigsinn idir ciamar a chaidh do pháidheadh." "O, chaidh," ors' esan, "mo pháidheadh glé mhath air a shon. Chunna mi," ors' esan, "do chuid ionndas. Agus thionndaidh mi mun cuairt agus chunna mi a rithist e." "'S gu dé feum a rinn sin dhut?"

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And a good suit was made, believe me - the suit was made very well indeed - and when it was ready he took it to the house and he said, "I have returned with the suit." "Very good. Well/' said the miser, "since you have come I am sure that I too must stand by my agreement just as you have done." "That will be fine/' said the tailor. So the miser went to look at the suit and it looked very elegant indeed. So he said to him, "Let's go then/' said he. "Come along with me so that I can pay you for the suit." And down he went. He began opening doors. He opened a lock on a door and opened the door and went through one room and opened the door to another room. When he undone the lock he opened the door and there was the money on the floor. The tailor looked at it. He gave it one look and he turned around to leave. "May I look at it once more?" he asked. "Oh, I don't know/' said the miser. "Oh I am sure/' he said, "that I can permit you to do that." The tailor turned around and he looked at the money again, and they went back up. The miser locked the doors and when they reached the other room the tailor told him that he had better put on the suit so that he could see it on him and see how well it fit him, and if it did not fit him as it should, that could be fixed. The miser put on the suit and the suit was so well made that it fitted him perfectly. The miser spoke to him then: "Well," he said, "it is bad for me, tailor, to keep this suit without any means of paying you for it. You have made the suit so well and it fits me so snugly and it is well made in every way." "Oh," said the tailor, "never mind about that. I have already been well paid for it." "No," replied the miser, "you have not. I don't understand at all how you were paid." "Oh indeed," replied the tailor, "I was paid very well for it. I saw your treasure and then I turned around and I looked at it again." "And what use was that to you?"

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"O, nach do rinn e uibhir do dh'fheum dhomh 's a tha e deanamh dhiubh p-fhéin? Agus/' ors' esan, "gu dé dh'éireas mura bhi sibh p-fhéin ach mar a bha mise? Thug mi 'n t-súil mu dheireadh air agus dh'fhalbh mi. Agus," ors' esan, "sin mar a tha gu éirigh dhuibh-se fhathast: gun toir sibh p-fhéin súil mu dheireadh air an ionndas agus fágaidh sibh an sin e." "'S flúor sin/' ors' esan. '"S fhior sin. Ach cha n-ann mar sin a bhios idir. Bho 'n a dh'fhosgail thu mo shúilean-s' a thug thu mi gu fradharc gum faic mi a nist mar a tha cúisean, théid thu astaigh cómhla ruimsa air n-ais dha 'n t-seómbar a tha sin agus feumaidh mise do pháidheadh math airson na deiseadh. Ge b'e gu dé bhios tu 'g iarraidh air a son, feumaidh tu sin a ghabhail. Agus feumaidh mise," ors' esan, "a' chuid as motha dhe na bheil do dh'ionndas an siod a chosg mum falbh mi fhin agus gum faigh mi feum as." Agus sin agad mar a leasaich an táillear an duine spiocach as a' chas a bha seo.

27

Díthíst Spiocairean

Bho 'n a bha mi bruidhinn air daoine spiocach, bha fear, lain Mac 'Illeain (ogha do dh' lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachluinn) ag innse dhomh naidheachd mu dheidhinn dithist spiocairean a bh' ann. Agus tha e coltach gu robh fear dhiubh air Eilean Cheap Breatuinn is bha fear eile dhiubh a' fuireach air tir-mór Albainn Üir. Agus ge b'e gu dé an dóigh as an cuala an dama fear naidheachd air an fhear eile, 's ann a roghnaich e gu rachadh e a shealltainn air. Agus co-dhiubh nuair a ránaig e shuas an t-áite as a robh a' fear spiocach a bh' air tir-mór, chaidh e suas dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. Fhuair e amach far a robh 'n duine seo a' cómhnaidh agus nuair a ránaig e suas cha robh e aig an taigh, ach bha e shuas ann am pairee agus e cuir buntata neo ag úireadh bhuntata. Agus cha stadadh e idir a bhruidhinn ris an fhear eile, ach chum e roimhe ag obair agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha 'n fhear seo có e agus dh'innis e dha gum b'esan am fear a bh' air a chunntais 'na spiocaire gábhaidh shios air ceann an ear na tir - shios an áiteiginn air Eilean Cheap Breatuinn - agus gun cual' e mu dheoghainn duine cúramach, spiocach a bha bhos a' seo fhéin agus gun tánaig e shealltainn air. 'S eadh, 's lean esan roimhe 's cha do sguir e idir. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a bha an t-anmoch air tighinn chaidh iad

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"Oh, didn't it do me just as much good as it is doing you now? And now," he continued, "what will happen if you yourself are only as I was? I took a last look at it and I left, and that is what is going to happen to you eventually: you too will look at the treasure for the last time and will leave it there." "That is true," said the miser. "That is true. But that is not the way it will be at all. Since you have opened my eyes and brought me the visión to see how things are, you will go back with me to that room for I must now pay you well for the suit. Whatever you want for it, you must take. And I must spend the greater part of the treasure that is there before I leave so that I will get some use from it." And there you have the story of how the tailor helped the miser out of his difficulty. 27

The Two Misers

While we are on the subject of miserly men, there was a man John MacLean (a grandson of lain Chaluim Óig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn| who told me a story about two misers. It seems that one of them lived in Cape Bretón Island and another lived on the mainland of Nova Scotia. And however it was that the one heard stories about the other, he made up his mind to go to see him. When he arrived at the place where the other miser was living on the mainland he went up to the house. He had found out where the man lived and when he arrived at the house the other man was not inside; he was up in the field planting potatoes, or cultivating them. He would not stop at all to talk to the visitor but kept right on working and asked him who he was. The man replied that he himself was considered to be a terrible miser down at the east end of the country - down somewhere in Cape Bretón Island - and that he had heard about a careful, miserly man that was over here and had come to see him. The other one just kept right on with his work without stopping at all. But when evening arrived they went down to the house.

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dhachaidh sios dha 'n taigh. Agus nuair a chaidh iad astaigh dha 'n taigh bha da áite ann - co-dhiubh 's e da órda do dh'fhiodh a bh' ann air an suidheadh iad na bogsaichean na có air an suidheadh iad — agus nuair a shuidh a' fear a mhuinntir tir-mór air a' bhogsa leag e a bhriogais sios far a mhásan. Dh'fhoighneachd a' fear eile dheth carson a bha e air deanamh sin. "O," ors' esan, "carson a bhios mise cosg más na briogais 's mi 'nam shuidhe 's gun mi deanamh car obrach?" Agus co-dhiubh bha sin spiocach gu leór. 'S smaointich am fear eile gur e seo 'n duine bu spiocaiche a chunnaic esan na chuala e riamh agus chaill e fhaighdinn 's cha b'urrainn dha fuireach gus an tigeadh e dhachaidh airson 'n naidheachd innse dha bhráthair. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth a robh dóigh a' seo air a rachadh aige air sgriobhadh; thuirt e gu robh bráthair aige agus gu robh e airson fios a chuir thuige mu dheoghainn mar a thachair an duine sónraichte seo ris. "Tria mi airson innse dha gun do thachair sibh p-fhéin rium. Tha mi cho sgith," ors' esan, "airson falbh ann an cabhaig 's gu bheil eagal orm gum bi mi ro fhada air ruighinn dhachaidh airson 's gum faigh e fios/' "Cha n-eil sian," ors' esan, "a' seo air an deán thu sgriobhadh," ors' esan, "mura faigh mi píos do sheann phaipear glas a bh' air rudeiginn thánaig dhachaidh a stór as a' seo ma ni sin an gnothach dhut." "O, tha mi cinnteach gum feum mi gabhail leis." Agus fhuaireadh bun beag do rud air choireiginn - co-dhiubh 's e guaillean neo gu dé a bh' ann, neo píos do pheann luaidhe neo rudeiginn - leis an sgriobhte agus sgriobh e sios sgriobagan air paipear. Agus as an am a bha e 'ga sgriobhadh seo bha i dorcha agus bha coinneal bheag laiste aig a' spiocaire is e cumail na coinneal laiste thall an taice ris. Agus nuair a sgriobh e na sgrioban a chuir e sios air paipear, gun do thachair e ri spiocaire agus beagan fhaclan eile a chuir e air a' phaipear, dh'fhoighneachd a' fear eile dheth, "Bheil thu réidh a sgriobhadh?" "Tha," ors' esan, "tapadh leibh." Agus shéid e as a' choinneal. "Cha n-eil feum againn air solust idir bho nach eil sinn ach a suidhe a' seanachas." Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd éibhinn a fhuair mise air na daoine spiocach, agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh i car breugach gun teagamh.

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When they went inside there were two places there - whether it was two pieces of wood for them to sit on or boxes or whatever they sat on - and when the man from the mainland sat down on the box he took his pants down off his backside. The other one asked him why he was doing that. "Oh/' he replied, "why should I be wearing out the seat of my pants sitting around and not getting a stroke of work done?" So that was miserly enough, and the visitor thought that this was certainly the stingiest man he had ever seen or heard of. He lost his patience and could not wait until he got home to tell the story to his brother, and so he asked if there were any way that he could write. He said that he had a brother and he wanted to send word to his brother about how he had met this remarkable man. "I would like to tell him that I met you. I am too tired," said he, "to be going off in a hurry and I am afraid that it would take me too long to reach home so that he could get the message." "There is nothing here," replied the other, "for you to write on unless you find a piece of oíd gray paper that carne home on something from the store, if that will do for you." "Oh I am sure that I will have to make do with it." So a little stub of something was found - whether it was a cinder or a piece of pencil or something — with which he could write and he wrote down a little message on paper. And at the time that he was writing it was dark and the miser had a small candle which he was holding over toward him. When he had written down the message on paper, saying that he had met a miser and a f ew other words with it, the other man asked him, "Are you finished writing?" "Yes, thank you/' said he. And he blew out the candle. "We don't need light at all since we are only sitting and talking." And there you have the comical story that I heard about the misers, which I am sure was doubtless made up.

Clann losaig

Bho 'n a bha mi toirt beagan do dh'eachdraidh air a' mhuinntir ghasda bho 'n a robh mi faighinn cuid dhe 'n t-seanachas agus dhe 'n aighear 's dhe 'n éibhinneas a bha dol, bha Clann losaig shios a' sin: Clann do Ghilleasbuig Mor Macíosaig. Agus bha Alasdair is lain agus Dómhnall 's Aonghus; b'e sin ceathrar bhráithrean air an d'fhuair mi eólas. Agus bha Aonghus lán dhe 'n aighear a bha seo. Bhiodh e ri sgeulachdan agus bhiodh e fhéin 'gan deanamh. Dheanadh e iad gu math pailt 's gu math fursada. Agus dheanadh e iad fada cuideachd; 's e sgeulachdan gábhaidh fada a bhiodh ann am feadhainn dhiubh. Agus bha fhios aige fhéin nach robh iad ñor agus chanadh e nuair a bha e réidh dh'innse té dha na sgeulachdan mora bha seo, an deaghaidh dha fhéin gáire beag a dheanamh chanadh e, "Cha n-e breug tha sin." Agus a nist bha e 'g obair amach air feadh áiteachan ann an Canadá. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach robh e cho fada amach 'san áird an iar 's a ligeadh e fhéin air airson a naidheachd a dheanamh. Ach bha e math anns a' cheárdaich; dheanadh e obair a bhiodh grinn as a; cheárdaich. Bha e uamhasach tálantach. Bha iad a' grádh riumsa nach deanadh e ach beachd a ghabhail air casan eich agus gu rachadh aige air cruidhean a dheanamh a bhiodh gu math freagarrach air an son. Ach bha Aonghus 'na dhuine éibhinn agus b'fhior thoil leis a bhith a' dol air chéilidh gu taighean agus gu faire. Agus bha e 'na dhuine cho cuideachdail agus bheireadh e dhaibh cuir seachad üine a bhiodh neónach. Chórdadh oidhche dheth ris a h-uile h-aon. Bha lain, bha e a cheart cho aighearach agus cho ceutach riu, ach bha 'n duine bochd deireasach air dóigh: bha a chlaisdeachd dona. Agus bha e duilich dhut ionnsachadh bhuaithe a thaobh bha esan a' bruidhinn car iseal 's bha e fhéin an dúil gu robh e bruidhinn árd. Agus dh'fheumadh tu bhith furachail: cha deanadh math dhut t'aghaidh a ligeadh dheth nuair a bha e 'g aithris sgeulachd air eagal agus gun cailleadh tu facían. Agus bha sin gu math duilich dhut a dheanamh a chionn nuair a bhiodh e fhéin ag aithris nan sgeulachdan reachadh aige air a dhol anns an h-uile dóigh - ma 's fhior

The Maclsaacs

Since I have been giving a little bit of history of the fine people from whom I learned part of the tradition and the joy and the humour that was going, I should recall the Maclsaacs down that way, the children of Big Archie Maclsaac. Alexander and John and Donald and Angus were the four brothers that I became acquainted with. Angus was full of a kind of cheerfulness. He used to tell stories and he could make them up as well. He made them up in great numbers and with great ease. And he could invent long ones too; some of his tales were extremely long. He knew himself that they were not true and when he was finished telling one of these big stories, after he had let out a little laugh, he would say, "And that's no lie." He worked in various places out in Canadá, though perhaps he was not so far out west as he pretended to make his story. But he was good in the blacksmith shop; he could do extremely nice work there. He was an extremely gif ted man. They would tell me that all he had to do was look at a horse's feet and he could make shoes that would fit snugly. Angus was a humorous man as well and enjoyed going out visiting to houses and wakes. He was such a sociable man that he could entertain people in a way that was altogether amazing; an evening in his company would picase everyone. As for John, he was just as cheerful and easy to be with as the others, but the poor man was deprived in a way; his hearing was defective. It was difficult to learn from him because he would speak very softly, at the same time believing that he was speaking loudly. You had to be very attentive. It would not do for you to turn your face from him when he was reciting a story for fear that you would miss words. And that was very

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- anns a rachadh an gnothach mu dheidhinn rudan a bh' anns a' sgeulachd. Ma thánaig fiamh gáire air an duine mu rud a thachair cha mhór nach deanadh e fhéin an sin fiamh gáire ligeadh air. Agus nuair a chuireadh an duine a bhiodh ann gruaim air aodann rachadh aige air a' seo a dheanamh. Agus nan canadh am fear eile - nan iarradh e air an fhear a thuirt rudeiginn ris e dh'fhuireach sámhach, chuireadh e fhéin a' ghruaim a bha seo air aodann agus mhaoidheadh e air an fhear eile: "Dúin do bheul. Dé ni mise riut?" Agus shaoileadh tu gum b'e fhéin a bh' ann 's gu robh direach an gnothach ann a' seo mu choinneamh. 'S bheireadh sin ort uaireannan a bhith gáireachdaich; agus cha robh e cuir sian air fhéin. 'S ann a chórdadh e ris-san gun tugadh e ort a bhith gáireachdaich. 'S air an aobhar sin bha e duilich sgeulachd ionnsachadh bhuaithe: dh'fheumadh tu bhith cho furachail mun togadh tu a h-uile guth. Ach bha e taitneach a bhith cómhla ris, agus nuair a thigeadh e gu áite 'sa robh faire, a' cheud rud, thóisicheadh e air innse sgeulachd bheag. Agus nuair a chuireadh e crioch air a' sgeulachd bheag a bha sin, thigeadh té eile beagan na bu mhotha na i sin. 'S bha iad coltach ris na ceapan greusachd: a h-uile té tighinn na bu mhotha 's na bu mhotha gus an tigeadh sgeulachd mhór fhada. Bha aon té mhór fhad' ann nach b' urrainn dhomh ionnsachadh a chionn bha i aige cho fuasgailte, furasda 's dh'fhalbhadh e cho réidh leatha is car beag luath air mo shon-sa; 's bha mise feuchainn ri h-ionnsachadh 's bha feadhainn dhe na facían nach robh árd gu leór airson a bhith 'gan togail. Agus 's e sgeulachd shónraichte a bh' ann: Sgeulachd Mac Cailleach nan Trí Chaorach. Ach co-dhiubh bha e 'na dhuine fuathasach aighearach agus cuideachdail. Agus bha sinn uile 'ga mholadh agus bhiodh cunntais aig a h-uile duine air lain, is dheanadh iad gáire nuair a bhruidhneadh iad air sgeulachd lain. Bha Dómhnall e fhéin 'na dhuine aighearach, gasda, seanachasail, cuideachdail. Cha robh mi glé eólach air, ach gun d'fhuair mi cunntais air mar a bhiodh rudan a bhiodh e a' grádhainn. Ach chunnaic mi e - bha mi 'na chuideachd - agus 's e dh'innseadh naidheachd gu dóigheil. Cha bhiodh sian air a chuir a nuil neo a nall ach bha i cho dóigheil agus cho slán mar a bhiodh e 'ga h-innse. Agus cha b'e duine a bh' ann, ma dh'fhaoidte, a chuireadh a' saoghal 'na theine le cabhag na sian, ach ged nach deanadh e sin fhéin thog e teaghlach agus bha iad 'nan teaghlach math agus thánaig iad amach gu bhith 'nan daoine urramach gu leór.

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difficult because when he was reciting stories he could go any way at all, or so it seemed, that the course of events took in the story. If a smile carne on the face of character in a story he would almost laugh himself; and when a man in the story frowned John would do the same. And if the character asked someone who had addressed him to remain quiet, John would get the scowl on his face and would pretend to threaten the other man: "Shut your mouth. What will I do with you?" And you would think that he was that man and that the story was happening right in front of him. Sometimes that would make you laugh, and that was certainly no trouble for him. In fací he enjoyed making you laugh, and for that reason it was hard to learn a tale from him; you had to be so attentive bef ore you got every word. But it was nice to be with him, and when he would go to a place where there was a wake he would start out telling a short story. When he finished the short story, another one would come up a little bit longer than the first. They were like the shoe lasts - each one coming a little larger and larger until finally a big, long tale would come out. There was one big, long one that I did not manage to learn because he knew it so naturally and íluently and proceeded so smoothly with it that it was a little too fast for me; I would try to learn it but there were some words that were not loud enough for me to hear. It was a special story: The Tale of the Son of the Oíd Woman with the Three Sheep. In any case he was an extremely cheerful and sociable man. We all praised him and everybody had something to say about John; they would laugh whenever they talked about John's stories. His brother Donald was himself a cheerful, fine man, fond of company and conversation. I was not very well acquainted with him, but I knew about him through things that he used to say. But I did see him -1 was in his presence - and he could make a very neat job of telling a story. He had no trouble taking it one way or the other, but it was so well done and so complete the way he told it. Perhaps Donald was not the kind of man who would set the world on fire with his hurry but nonetheless he raised a family - a good one - and they turned out to be people of some consequence.

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Bha Alasdair 'na dhuine ceutach; duine socair, ceutach a bh' ann; duine seanachasail, gasda. Agus bha e glé amasach gun teagamh air facían: bha freagairtean aige do ghnothaichean gu math deiseil. Ach bha e 'na dhuine ceutach 's cha robh e mi-mhodhail na sian; cha toireadh e oirbh freagairt ach rud a bha e 'n dúil a bha ceart gu leór. Agus bha e furasda leis órain a dheanamh; dheanadh e deagh-órain. Nan togradh e fhéin dheanadh e órain nach biodh buileach suas ris an taghadh ach cha deanadh e sin gun aobhar a bhith aige air. Ach dheanadh e órain éibhinn cuideachd. Agus tha fios, mar a bhiodh na báird, tha faoin-bheachd nam bárd, tha cuid mhór dheth sin ann an órain airson am fágail math. Agus bha cuid bheag dheth sin ann am páirt dhe na h-órain a dheanadh e airson iad a bhith éibhinn, aighearach. Ach dheanadh e órain a bhiodh gu math tapaidh 'gan cuir sios; rinn e oran dha na saighearan a chaidh dha 'n chogadh mhór agus rinn e deagh-ghniomh air an oran sin fhéin. Rinn e oran turus a bha giuthas sáibhte aig caraide dha fhéin agus bha an giuthas air a ghléidheadh aige 'sa bháthaich agus chaidh a ghoid. A bharrachd air a sin, bhiodh seo iomchaidh gu leór dhomh ainmeachas: b'esan an t-seachdamh mac, agus rugadh ochdnar ghillean do Ghilleasbuig Mor Macíosaig agus bha aon nighean acá. Agus air réir an t-seanachas a bh' acá mu thinneas a' righ, bhiodh e fhéin ris a' leigheas a bha sin cuideachd.

28

Jack Fury

Bha fear ann; tha e coltach gu robh e uamhasach seólta agus coma gu dé dheanadh e dha réir sin. 'S chaidh e a dh'obair do dhithist do dh' fheadhainn a bha uamhasach spiocach. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh iad coma ged nach páidheadh iad duine gu siorraidh ach obair gu leór fhaighinn as. Agus co-dhiubh chaidh esan a dh'obair dhaibh agus 's e an obair a chaidh e a dheanamh a' lath' bha seo a dhol amach gu achadh píos do dh'astar as a threabhadh leis na daimh. Bha e 'na dhuine foghainneach agus bha e árdanach cuideachd agus gu dé thachair nuair a bha e dol mun cuairt a' sin 's (na) daimh acá (ach) gun tánaig eun 's rinn e ceileireadh ann an craoibh 's shaoil esan gur e cuideiginn a bha magadh air a bh' ann. 'S rinn e amach a' seo gur e eun a bh' ann 's thog e clach mhór airson a tilgeadh air an eun a bha seo is gu dé rinn e ach fear dha na daimh a bhualadh agus spad e 'n damh: thuit an damh marbh. An uair sin cha robh uidhreachd air a' sin ach leantail roimhe air treabhadh.

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Alexander was a fine man, a quiet, personable man, and a nice man to talk to. Without a doubt he was extremely good at repartee: he had an answer ready for everything. But he was personable and never impolite in any way; he would never give you an answer except one he felt was fair. He composed songs easily, some good ones. If he wished he could make songs that were not entirely complimentary but he never did so without good reason, and he could make humorous songs too. And very probably he was the way the bards used to be; there had to be a lot of the imagination of the bards in songs for them to be good, and there was some of that in some of the songs that he composed for humour and amusement. He also made songs that were quite clever; he composed a song to the soldiers who went to the World War and he made a good job of it. He composed a song as well about the time a friend of his had a sawn pine tree kept in the byre which was stolen. In addition I should also mention that he was the seventh son; eight sons were born to Big Archie Maclsaac along with one daughter. According to people's tradition, he used to cure the king's evil (scrofula) too.

28

Jack Fury

There was once a man and it seems that he was extremely cunning and independent in whatever he did. And he went to work for two people who were extremely stingy. Fm sure they did not care if they ever paid a man as long as they got enough work out of him. Anyway he went to work for them, and the work that he went to do that day was to go to a field some distance away and plow it with the oxen. He was a strong man and quicktempered, and as he was going around with their oxen a bird alighted and started to sing in a tree. He thought that somebody was making fun of him and he decided it was the bird. So he picked up a large stone to throw at the bird and what did he do but strike one of the oxen, and he killed the ox; the ox fell o ver dead. There was no help for it and he continued

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Ach dh'fheann e 'n damh agus feasgar thug e leis an t-seiche dha 'n bhaile. Agus ránaig e shios áite agus gu dé 'n t-áite a ránaig e ach far a robh greusaiche. Agus bha e smaointinn ma dh'fhaoidte gum bitheadh feum aig a' ghreusaiche air leathar agus bhiodh e iomchaidh gu leór dha seich' an daimh a cheannach is fhaighinn air a cairteadh. Agus nuair a ránaig e shios tria e coltach gu robh duin' uasal córnhla ri bean a' ghreusaiche ;s bha a' greusaiche air falbh. Agus thuirt e ris, "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "chaidh thusa ghlacadh gu math faoin. Ach cha bhi 'n gnothach cho furasda dhut 's a tha thu 'n dúil nuair a chi mise fear an taighe 's a dh'innseas mi dha." A nist ors' esan, am fear seo, "Na can guth. Bheir mi dhut cóig puinnd Shasannach ach fuirich sámhach." "A.," ors' esan, "cóig puinnd Shasannach! Gu dé a nist cóig puinnd Shasannach dhomhsa? Nach eil fhios agad nach eil mise dol a cheiltinn a' ghnothaich airson beagan suarach do dh'airgiod?" "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "bheir mi dhut deich puinnd Shasannach." "Cha bhi gnothach agam ris," ors' esan. "Cha n-eil mis' a' dol a ligeadh seachad na gnothach mu dheidhinn mo dheagh-charaid' airson airgiod cho faoin sin idir." "Bheir mi dhut fichead punnd," ors' esan, "ach fuirich sámhach." "Ma tha," ors' esan, "tha mi coma ged a dh'fhuirgheadh ma tha sibh cho fada sin amach airson mi dh'fhuireach sámhach." Agus fhuair e fichead punnd Sasannach airson seich' an daimh. Co-dhiubh feasgar nuair a ránaig e dhachaidh dh'fhoighneachd iad gu dé mar a fhuair e air 'n adhart 's thuirt e nach d'fhuair e air 'n aghaidh glé mhath idir; gu robh e faighinn air an aghaidh math gu leór an toiseach fhad 's a bha e treabhadh ach gu robh creutair air choireiginn a' magadh air 's thilg e spitheag airson a shaodachadh air falbh neo a mharbhadh neo rudeiginn: "Agus bhuail mi," ors' esan, "fear dhe na daimh is mharbh mi e." O creid gu robh 'n fhearg orra 'san am. "Dh'fheann mi 'n damh," ors' esan, "'s thug mi leam an t-seiche 's chaidh mi dha'n bhaile agus dh'éibh mi a robh duine sam bith a cheannaicheadh seiche daimh. Agus cheannaich iad seich' an daimh bhuam." "'S dé fhuair thu?" "Fhuair mi fichead punnd oirre." " 'S a bheil thu smaointinn nan toireamaid seich' an daimh eile astaigh gun ceannaicheadh iad i?"

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plowing, but he skinned the ox and in the evening he took the oxhide with him to town. He arrived at a certain place there, and where was that but the shoemaker's. And he was thinking perhaps that the shoemaker would need leather and that he might buy the oxhide and get it tanned. But when he arrived, it seems that a gentleman was with the shoemaker's wife while the shoemaker was away. So he said to the gentleman, " Well," said he, "you have been caught in a compromising situation and it will not go so easily for you as you might expect when I see your host and tell him." The gentleman replied, "Picase, don't say anything. I will give you five English pounds to keep quiet." "Oh," he replied, "five English pounds! What is five English pounds to me? Don't you know that I am not going to conceal this matter for a triíling sum of money?" "In that case," said the gentleman, "I will give you ten English pounds." "Fll have nothing to do with it," said he. "I am not going to let this matter concerning my good friend pass for such a trifling sum of money." "I'll give you twenty pounds," said the gentleman, "just for keeping quiet." "Well, then," he replied, "I would not mind being quiet, since you are so concerned about my remaining so." So he got twenty English pounds for the oxhide. Later that evening when he reached home they asked him how he got along, and he said that he did not get along very well at all, although he began well enough. He got along very well at first while he was plowing, but some creature was making fun of him and he threw a pebble at it in order to drive it away or kill it or something. "And," said he, "I struck one of the oxen and I killed it." Well, believe me they were angry then. He continued, "I skinned the ox and I took the hide with me and went to town and shouted to see if there was anyone who would buy an oxhide, and they bought the oxhide from me." "And what did you get?"

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"O cha n-eil fhios agamsa/' ors; esan, "ach tha mi smaointinn nam biodh roinn do sheicheannan daimh air a bhith agam gu robh mi air anreic." Agus mharbh iad an damh eile agus chaidh iad dha'n bhaile 'g éigheach có cheannaicheadh seiche daimh 's shin iad as an deaghaidh leis na coin: shaodaich iad dhachaidh iad. Agus bha 'n fhearg orra nuair a thánaig iad ach cha do lig iad tha mi cinnteach moran orra. Ach bha esan, bha e cho gleusda 's bha e 'g éisdeachd ri gnothaichean mar a bha dol agus chual' e iad a' deanamh suas gu robh iad a' dol chuir as dha air an oidhche bha seo nuair bhiodh e 'na chadal 'sa leabaidh. Agus co-dhiubh thánaig e astaigh 's bha cailleach astaigh cómhla riu na dithist do chailleachan. Agus chaidh e a nuil far na robh té dhiubh agus cha mhór nach robh e caoineadh 's thuirt esan, "Tha droch-naidheachd agam dhuibh. Tha iad/' ors' esan, "a' bruidhinn air cuir as dhuibh-se 'n nochd. Ach ma thig sibhse a nall agus cadal as a' leabaidh as a bheil mise cadal bithidh sibh sábhailte gu leór mar sin." Agus thánaig a' chailleach a nall agus chaidil i 'sa leabaidh aigesan agus chaidh esan a chadal ann an leabaidh eile 'n áiteiginn. Agus thánaig iad a nall agus chaidh cuir as dha'n chaillich an oidhche bha sin. Ach co-dhiubh 'sa mhadainn dh'éirich lain a nuas 's choimhead iad air. "'S dé," ors' asan, "chuir thus' a' seo?" "'S carson," ors' esan, "nach bithinn-s' a' seo?" "Agus c'áit' an do chaidil thu 'n raoir?" "Chaidil mi as a' leabaidh thall ann a' siod/' ors' esan. "Thánaig a' chailleach far a robh mise agus 's e ghearain i nach robh i faighinn cadal agus thuirt mise rith' gum b'fheárr dhi cadal 'sa leabaidh agamsa; gu robh 'n leab' agamsa math gu leór 's gu rachainn-s' a nuil dha'n leabaidh aig a' chaillich. Ach chaidil mise math gu leór 'sa leabaidh aice 's cha d'fhuair mi sian ceárr." O chuir seo an fhearg orra buileach ach cha do lig iad sian orra. Thuirt iad ris, "Feumaidh tu niste falbh agus a' chailleach a thiodhlaigeadh." "O," ors' esan, "cha n-fhalbh mi 'n diugh leatha. Feumaidh sibh," ors' esan, "üine a thoirt dhomh. Falbhaidh mi 'sa mhadainn am máireach leatha." Agus sin an rud a bh'ann. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh esan 'sa mhadainn agus thug e leis a' chailleach agus basgaid air a gháirdein. Agus dh'fhalbh e - ghiúlain e a' bhasgaid 's a' chailleach leis - 's ránaig

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"I got twenty pounds for it." "And do you think if we took the hide of the other ox in, that they would buy it?" "Oh, I don't know," said he, "but I think that if I had a number of oxhides with me, I could have sold them." So they killed the other ox and went to town, calling out, "Who will buy an oxhide?" And people started after them with their dogs; they drove them all the way home. They were angry when they arrived back, but I am sure that they did not show many signs of it. But he was canny so he listened to how things were going and heard them planning to do away with him that night as he slept in his bed. Anyway he entered, and there was an oíd lady in with them, or two of them. And he went o ver to one of them - and he was almost crying - and said to her, "I have bad news for you. They are talking about doing away with you tonight. But," he said, " if you come over and sleep in the bed where I am sleeping now, you will be safe enough." And the oíd woman carne over and slept in his bed, and he went and slept in another bed somewhere. That night they carne and did in the oíd woman. Jack aróse in the morning and they looked at him. "And what," said they, "brought you here?" "And why," said he, "shouldn't I be here?" "And where did you sleep last night?" "I slept in the bed over there," said he. "The oíd lady carne to me complaining that she was not getting enough sleep, and I said to her that she would be better off sleeping in my bed; my bed was quite good and I would go over to the oíd lady's bed. And I slept well enough in her bed. And I found nothing wrong with it." Oh, that made them angry, but they did not let on at all. They said to him, "Now you must go and bury the oíd lady." "Oh," replied he, "I will not go with her today. You must give me time. I will go with her tomorrow morning." And so it carne to pass. He set out in the morning and he took the oíd woman with him and a basket on his arm. He travelled with the basket and the oíd lady in tow and he reached

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e thall direach ann an toiseach a' latha. Tráth 'sa mhadainn ránaig e áite duin' uasail - righ neo duin' uasal air choireiginn - agus dh'fhág e a' chailleach 'na seasamh aig an tobar shuas agus a' bhasgaid air a gáirdean. Agus bha seórsa do challaid timcheall air an tobar agus bha i 'na thagsa 'n sin. Chaidh e suas, bheat e aig an dorus, agus ghearain e ris an duine uasal. Thuirt e gu robh e fhéin 's a mháthair a' falbh mun cuairt 's gu robh iad cho bochd 'san t-saoghal agus gu robh iad a' falbh le basgaid do dh'uighean feuch am faigheadh iad rudeiginn do bhiadh orra a dh'itheadh iad. Agus thuirt a' righ, "larr oirre tighinn anuas." "Cha tig i anuas/' ors' esan. "Tha i air toirt fairis. Tha i cho sgith 's nach urrainn dhi tighinn anuas. Tha i air toirt fairis a coiseachd agus tha mi fhin sgith cuideachd." "Ma tha/' ors' esan, a' righ, "cuiridh mi seirbhiseach sios a bhruidhinn rithe agus iarraidh oirre tighinn anuas gum faigh sibh biadh gus an ceannaich mi na h-uighean bhuat." Agus thuirt e ris an t-seirbhiseach nuair a bha e fágail, "A nist," ors' esan, "tha mo mháthair uamhasach bodhar agus feumaidh tu," ors' esan, "ma dh'fhaoidte putadh thoirt dhi feuch an cluinn i neo an toir i 'n aire gu bheil thu bruidhinn." Agus sios a ghabh seirbhiseach an duin' uasail agus nuair chaidh e sios bhruidhinn e rith' 's dh'éibh e 's cha do fhreagair i 's thug e putadh dhi 's thuit i sios dha'n tobar. Chaidh esan gu caoineadh 's gu ránaich. "Mharbh sibh mo mháthair," ors' esan. "'S ciamar a tha mise dol a bhith a nist cho truagh dheth 'san t-saoghal 's mo mháthair dha'm dhith?" "O, gabh air do shocair, gabh air do shocair," ors' an duin' uasal. "Tha e furasda gu leór dhuibh-se, a dhuin' uasail, sin a ghrádh. Ach mise, chaill mi mo mháthair." "Éisd," ors' esan. "Gabh an gnothach air do shocair." "O," ors' esan, "cha bhi a leithid ann. Tha mise dol a chuir a' ghnothach seo gu lagh. Phut ur seirbhiseach fhéin mo mháthair-sa dha'n tobar agus gun aobhar aige dhi 's chaidh a báthadh. Agus tha mise," ors' esan, "a' dol gu lagh mu dheidhinn." "O, gabh air do shocair," ors' esan, an duin' uasal. "Gabh air do shocair. Bheir mise dhut," ors' esan, "páidheadh." "Coma leam," ors' esan, "do dh'airgiod. Dé an t-airgiod a bheireadh sibh dhomh a ni feum dhomhsa seach mo mháthair?"

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his destination just as the day broke. Early in the morning he reached the place of a gentleman - a king or sorne kind of gentleman - and he left the oíd woman standing up at the well with the basket on her arm. There was some sort of fence surrounding the well and she was leaning against it. He went up, knocked on the door, and complained to the gentleman. He said that he and his mother were travelling around and that they were so poor in the world; they were travelling around with a basket of eggs to see if they could get sorne f ood to eat. The king said, "Tell her to come down." "She won't come down," he replied. "She has given out. She is so tired that she can't come down. She has given up walking, and I'm tired myself." "Well, then," said he, the king, "I will send down a servant to talk to her and ask her to come down, so that you will get food until I buy the eggs from you." And the lad said to the servant as he was leaving, " Now," said he, "my mother is very deaf and you may have to give her a slight push to make sure that she hears and realizes you are speaking to her." So down went the gentlemen's manservant and when he reached there he spoke to her and shouted to her, but she did not answer, so he gave her a slight push and she fell into the well. Jack started weeping and lamenting. "You have killed my mother," said he. "And how am I going to stand being so destitute in this world without my mother?" " Oh, take it easy, take it easy," said the gentleman. "It is easy enough for you, my fine fellow, to say that. But as for me, I have lost my mother." "Listen," said the gentleman, "take it easy there." "Oh," he replied, "I will do nothing of the sort. I am going to take this matter to the law. Your servant pushed my mother into the well without just cause and she was drowned. And I am going to take that to the law." "Oh, take it easy," said he, the gentleman. "Take it easy. I will give you a settlement." "Money means nothing to me," said he. "What good will your money do me compared to my mother?"

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"A nist/' ors; esan, "bheir mi dhut deich puinnd Shasannach ach fuirich sámhach leis a' ghnothach." "Deich puinnd Shasannach thoirt dhomhsa," ors' esan, "airson mo mháthar! Nach bu shuarach an duais sin dhomhsa seach mo mháthair." "Ma tha," ors' esan, "bheir mi dhut fichead punnd Sasannach." "An da/' ors' esan, "ma dh'fhaoidte, bho 'n a tha sibh 'nur duin' uasal agus sibh a' deanamh cho math 's a tha sibh, ma dh'fhaoidte," ors' esan, "nach b'e ur coire a bh' ann uile gu léir, 's gun gabh mi leis a' sin agus fágaidh sinn an gnothach mar a tha e, ma choimheadas sibh p-fhéin as deaghaidh mo mháthar 's a h-uile sian, faicinn gum faigh i tiodhlaigeadh 's gun teid ghabhail aic'," ors' esan. Agus rachadh sin a dheanamh 's co-dhiubh thill esan air n-ais agus dh'fhoighneachd iad dheth an do thiodhlaig e a' chailleach. "Cha do thiodhlaig mise a' chailleach/' ors' esan. "Carson a thiodhlaigeadh? 'S ann a reic mis' a' chaineach." "'S ciamar," orsa fear acá, "a chreic thu a' chailleach?" "Chaidh mi dha 'n bhaile," ors' esan, " 's dh'éibh mi a robh duine ann a' seo a cheannaicheadh cailleach. Agus chruinnich iad mun cuairt agus thóisich iad," ors' esan. "Bheireadh fear 'Bheir mi dhut an uibhir seo oirre' 's chanadh fear eile 'Bheir mi barrachd air a' sin oirre' ',s mu dheireadh," ors' esan, "fhuair mi fichead punnd oirre." "'S a bheil thu smaointinn," orsa fear acá, "gum faigheamaid sin," ors' esan, "nan reiceamaid a' chailleach eile?" "Cha n-eil fhios agamsa gu dé reiceadh sibh," ors' esan, "ach tha mi smaointinn nam biodh tri cailleachan air a bhith agamsa leis a' chabhaig a bh' air a h-uile duine dol a cheannach cailleach mharbh gu robh mi air an reic uile." Agus co-dhiubh, chuir iad as dha'n chailleach eile an oidhche sin is dh'fhalbh iad fhéin dha'n bhaile leis a' chaillich 'ga reic. Ach chaidh na coin a chuir as an deaghaidh is b'fheudar dhaibh teicheadh air neo chuireadh iad na maoir fhéin as an deaghaidh. Is b'fheudar dhaibh teicheadh 's a' choille thoirt orra. Fhuair iad dhachaidh co-dhiubh agus nuair a thánaig iad dhachaidh cha robh an córr feum a' dol 'ga dheanamh ach cuir as do dh'Iain gun dáil. Agus ghlac iad lain 's chuir iad ann am poca mor e 's cheangail iad sreang gu math teann air a' phoca sin agus dh'fhalbh iad; thog iad leo e 's iad a' dol 'ga bháthadh. Ach tha e coltach gu robh a' latha car bláth co-dhiubh agus nuair a bha iad a' falbh a' rathaid thilg iad am poca ri taobh a' rathaid ann an áite is chaidh iad fhéin píos do dh'astar far a robh taigh-ósda 's gun gabhadh iad deochannan do lionn

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"Now," said he. "I will give you ten English pounds to keep quiet about the matter." "Ten English pounds for my mother!" said he. "Is that not a paltry settlement to give me for my mother?" "Well, then," said he, "I will give you twenty English pounds." "Well," said he, "perhaps, since you are a gentleman, and doing as well as you are, perhaps you are not entirely to blame, and I may accept that and we will leave this matter as it is as long as you look after my mother and everything, and see that she gets a decent burial and is taken care of." That was done, so he went back and the others asked him if he had buried the oíd lady. "I did not bury the oíd lady/' he answered. "Why should I? I went and sold her." ^ "And how," said one of them, "did you sell the oíd lady?" "I went to town," said he, "and I called out to see if there was anyone who would buy an oíd lady. And they all gathered around and they began. One would say 'I will give you so much for her/ and another would say, 'I will give you more than that for her/ and finally I got twenty pounds for her." "And do you think," asked one of them, "that we would get that for the other oíd lady?" " I don't know what you could sell," he replied, " but I believe that if I had had three oíd women, with the rush everyone was in to buy an oíd woman I could have sold all of them." So they did away with the other oíd woman that night and took her to town to sell her. But dogs were set on them and they had to flee or the pólice would have been sent out after them, so they had to make for the woods. They reached home and when they did the only thing to do was to do away with }ack Fury immediately. They grabbed Jack and they put him into a large sack, bound a string good and tight around the sack, and set out; they carried him away to drown him. But it seems that the day was quite warm and on their journey they threw the sack to the side of the road in a certain place and continued on a short distance to where there was a tavern for a drink of beer before they went with

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mum falbhadh iad le lain 'ga chaitheadh 'san abhainn. Agus bha e cluinntinn fuaim anuas a' rathad. Rinn e amach gura h-e dróbhair cruidh a bha tighinn: bha e cluinntinn fuaim aig a' chrodh a' coiseachd agus thóisich e air trod 's air trod 's chanadh e, "Cha phós mise nighean a' righ; 's mise nach deán sin. Cha phos mise nighean a' righ a dh'aindeoin. Ged a rachadh mo mharbhadh cha phós mise nighean a' righ." Thánaig am fear seo anuas. "Dé," ors' esan, "a tha thu a' cantail?" "Tha mi cantail/' ors' esan, "nach pos mise nighean a' righ. Carson a phósas mise nighean a' righ agus mi an gaol air nighean eile? Agus tha iad," ors' esan, "a' maoidheadh air cuir as dhomh mura pos mi nighean a' righ." "An da," ors' esan, "phósainn-sa nighean a' righ." "Ma tha," ors' esan, "fosgail an t-sreang far a' phoca 's lig amach mise/' ors' esan. "Faodaidh tu a pósadh. Cha n-eil i dhith orms' idir." Agus chaidh an dróbhair bochd a chuir am broinn a' phoca is an t-sreang a cheangal air agus dh'fhalbh lain leis a' chrodh. Ach thánaig asan as an taigh-ósda agus bha 'm fear eile a' cantail, "O, pósaidh, pósaidh mise nighean a' righ." "An cluinn thu a nist," orsa fear acá, "am plodhaistear: a' rud a tha e cantail?" Bha iad a' falbh leis 's chanadh e, "Pósaidh mise nighean a' righ. Pósaidh mise nighean a' righ." Agus bha e a' smaointinn — is iad a' falbh leis — gur ann a' dol 'ga bháthadh a bha iad, neo a' dol a chuir as dha mura pósadh e nighean a' righ air táilleabh mar a dh'innis am fear eile. Ach co-dhiubh ránaig iad áite sónraichte 's thilg iad dha 'n abhainn an dróbhair 's ghabh e sios leis an t-sruth. Ach an ceann úine, nuair a thill iadsan dhachaidh thánaig lain agus dróbh do chrodh aige. Agus stad e shuas air a' chachaileith agus dh'éibh e 's dh'éibh e dhaibh agus thuirt fear dhiubh, "Siod lain air tilleadh. Halla 'na choinneamh." "Cha teid," ors' esan, am fear eile, "mise 'na choinneamh idir. Bha eagal gu leór agam roimhe mu dheireadh agus e beó ach gu dearbh cha rachainn idir 'na chóir 's e marbh." Ach co-dhiubh thuirt am fear eile, "Ma tha, feumaidh cuideiginn againn a dhol 'na choinneamh agus théid sinn le chéile sios." Chaidh iad amach is dh'éibh e, "Greasaibh oirbh," ors' esan,

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Jack to cast him into the river. And Jack heard a sound down the road. He decided that it was a cattle-drover coming. He heard the noise of the cattle walking and so he began to complain and complain, saying, "I will not marry the king's daughter; I certainly will not. I will not marry the king's daughter in spite of them. Even if I were put to death I would not marry the king's daughter." A drover carne up to him. " What," said he/ " are you saying?" "I am saying," replied Jack, "that I will not marry the king's daughter. Why should I marry the king's daughter when I am in love with another maid? And now they are threatening to do away with me unless I marry the king's daughter." " Well," said the other, "I would marry the king's daughter." "In that case/' he replied, "untie the string from the mouth of the sack and let me out. You can marry her. I don't want her at all." So the poor drover was put into the sack and the string was bound around it and Jack went off with the cattle. When the others carne out of the tavern the man in the sack was saying, "Oh yes, Pll marry the king's daughter." "Do you hear," said one of them, "what that soft-headed fool is saying?" They continued on with him and the man kept saying, "I will marry the king's daughter. I will marry the king's daughter." And he was thinking - they were carrying him along - that they were going to drown him or do away with him unless he married the king's daughter because of what the other man had told him. In any case, they reached a certain place, threw the drover into the river, and down he went with the current. But after a time when they had returned home, there carne Jack with a drove of cattle. He stopped up at the gate and hollered and hollered to them until one of them finally said, "There's Jack back again. Go to meet him." "I will not go to meet him at all," said another of them. "I was afraid enough of him at the end of it when he was alive, and I will certainly not go near him now that he's dead." The first one said, "Well, someone has to go to meet him, so we'll go down together."

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"greasaibh oirbh is fosgailibh a' chachaileith is ligibh astaigh an crodh." "C'áite," orsa fear acá, "an d'fhuair thu 'n crodh?" "Nach d'fhuair mi iad/' ors' esan, "far 'n do chuir sibh mi: sios as an abhainn? Nuair a rana mise shios ann a' sin/' ors' esan, "an grunnd na h-aibhneadh cha n-fhaca mi riamh crodh cho briagh 's a bh' ann. Bha iad ann ann a' sin." "Arobhiadpailt?" "Pailt!" ors' esan. "Ged a bhiodh ceathrar cómhla riumsa cha b'urrainn dhuinn an glacadh, na bh' ann uile. Cha d'rinn mis'/' ors' esan, "ach an fheadhainn bu shuaraich' a bh' as an dróbh a thoirt leam. Cha robh úine agam 's cha robh cuideachadh agam airson an córr thoirt leam." "'S a bheil thu smaointinn/' orsa fear acá, "nam biodh sinn ann gum faigheamaid crodh?" "Cha n-eil fhios agamsa gu dé gheobh sibh ach tha fhios agam nam biodh cuideachadh agamsa gu robh mi air barrachd mhór air a' seo do chrodh fhaighinn." "Ma tha/' orsa fear dhiubh, "bheir thu sinne dha 'n áite." "Cha toir mise sibh a dh'áite sam bith/' ors' esan. "Theirigibh ann." "O," ors' esan, fear acá, "feumaidh tu ar toirt ann feuch am faigh sinne tuilleadh dhe 'n chrodh tha sin." "Ma tha sibh/' ors' esan, "cho titheach sin air a dhol ann, ma tha, théid mise cómhla ribh. Ach feumaidh sibh a dhol dh'ionnsaidh an dearbh áite 'san deachaidh mise. Cha ruig sibh leas a dhol a dh'áit' eile ach an t-áite 'san deachaidh mi fhin." Agus tha e coltach gu robh áite cas ann le creag neo rudeiginn 's gu robh sruth láidir ann. Thuirt e riu, "Bheiribh p-fhéin leibh poca. Cha n-eil mis' a' dol a bhith a' giúlan sacannan as ur déidh-se idir." Nuair a ránaig iad shuas chaidh fear dhiubh a chuir as a' phoca 's a cheangal 's thuirt e ris an fhear eile, "Faodaidh tu," ors' esan, "a thilgeadh dha'n abhainn." 'S nuair a chaidh e sios rinn e plupail air choireiginn. "Dé thuirt e?" ors' am fear eile. "Thuirt e," ors' esan, "gu bheil e faicinn dróbh mor do chrodh 's gu bheil iad a' teannadh ri teicheadh air." "Greas," ors' esan, "air mo cheangal 'sa phoca." "Dé," ors' esan, "a' bhruidhinn a th' ort? Nach teirig thu ann 's nach gabh thu an gnothach faighdinneach?" "O, greas ort, greas ort," ors' esan. "Tha cabhag orm feuch an teid mi

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They went out and he called to them, "Hurry up! Hurry up and open the gate and let in the cattle." "And where," said one of them, "did you get the cattle?" "Didn't I find them/' he replied, "where you threw me? Down in the river. When I reached the bottom of the river, I never saw cattle so fine. There they were." "Were they plentiful?" "Plentiful!" said he. "If there were as many as four people with me, we could not have possibly caught all that were there. All I took was the worst of the drove. I did not have the time ñor the help to take the rest." "And do you think/' said one of them, "that if we were there, we would find cattle, too?" "I don't know what you would find, but I know that had I had help, I could have got many more cattle." "Well," said one of them, "you can take us to the place." " I won't take you anywhere," said Jack. " Go there yourself." "Oh," said one of them, "you have to take us there to see if we can get some more of those cattle." "If you are so determined to go there," said he, "then Til go with you. But you musí go to the exact place where I went. It is not worth your while going anywhere else except for the place where I myself went." And it seems that that was a steep place with big rocks and the like and a strong current. Jack said to them, "Take along you own sack. I'm not going to follow you with sacks at all." When they arrived there one of them was put in the sack and tied and Jack said to the other one, "You can throw him into the river." And as the man went under he made a gurgle of some sort. "What did he say?" said the other one. "He said," Jack replied, "that he sees a large drove of cattle and they are just getting ready to flee from him." "Quick," said the other. "Tie me in the sack." "What sort of talk is that?" said Jack. "Won't you get in and be patient about it?" "Oh, hurry, hurry," said the other. "I am in a hurry to go and help my friend."

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a chuideachadh rao chompanaich." Agus chuireadh am fear elle 'sa phoca agus cheangail lain an t-sreang air 's chuir e car dheth sios - phlop e sios dha'n t-sruth - 's thill lain dhachaidh agus bha 'n dróbh mor cruidh aige 's bha na fhuair e do dh'airgiod air seich' an daimh agus air a'chaillich agus a h-uile sian a bh' ann aige dha fhéin. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a fhuair mise bho lain Maclosaig air mar a bha e fhéin air Jack Fury.

29

Am Fear a Fhuair na Trí Chomhairlean

Tha sgeulachd a' seo a chuala mi aig lain Maclosaig agus aig fear Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil agus tha greis bho 'n a chuala mi aig Aonghus i is tha úine mhath bho 'n a chuala mi aig Maclosaig fhéin i. 'S ann mu dheoghainn fear a dh'fhalbh bho 'n dachaidh air a' chosnadh: bha iad air fas gann dhe 'n h-uile sian agus thuirt e ris a' bhean gu robh e dol a dh'fhalbh greis 'ga chosnadh. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh e agus dh'fhasdaidh e aig duine ann a' sin astar fad air falbh agus bha e glé mhath; bha e córdadh ris. Ach co-dhiubh cha robh an tuarasdal tha mi cinnteach ach beag ach bha esan cho dileas, cho dicheallach co-dhiubh agus dheanadh e an obair a bha ri dheanamh cho math 's a ghabhadh i. Ach mu dheireadh bha aige ri dhol dhachaidh agus dh'fhoighneachd am fear a bha sin dha mu dheidhinn comhairlean. Thuirt e ris, "Bheirinn dhut comhairle. Bheirinn comhairl' ort nan gabhadh tu i." Thuirt e gun gabhadh agus air réir 's mar a thuirt am fear seo rium, "Tha i dol a chosg dhut," ors' esan, "cóig puinnd" - na ge b'e dé uibhir 's a bhiodh ann. Co-dhiubh 's e trian dhe na bha e air a chosnadh a bh' ann co-dhiubh. Agus thug e tacan 'na thámh a' smaointinn. O, thuirt e gu robh e 'n dúil gum biodh e cho math dha a gabhail. Agus 's e a' chpmhairle a thug e air gun a ghabhail rathad goirid uair sam bith ach a ghabhail a' rathad fada glan; agus gura h-e bu shábhailte dha air a thurus: bha astar mor aige ri dhol. Co-dhiubh, chosg e na cunntais phuinnd airson a' comhairle 's tha fhios gum feumadh e an comhairle bha sin a leantail. Thuirt an duine ris, "Bheir mi comhairle eil' ort." "'S eadh," ors'esan. "Ma ghabhas tu i, cosgaidh i cóig puinnd dhut" - na sia puinnd na leth na trian dhe thuarasdal. O, chuimhnich e ma dh'fhaoidte gum

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So the other man was put into the sack and Jack tied the string around it and rolled him down - he plopped into the stream - and Jack returned home. And he had the big drove of cattle along with what money he had gotten for the ox's hide and for the oíd woman; all of these things he had for himself. And there you have the story that I heard about Jack Fury as told by John Maclsaac.

29

The Man Who Received the Three Counsels

Here is a story I heard from John Maclsaac and another man, Angus MacMullin. It is some time since I heard it from Angus and a long time indeed since I heard it from Maclsaac. It concerns a man who left his home to seek employment: they were running short of everything so he told his wife that he was going to go away for a while to work. So he set out and hired on with a man some distance away and it was very good; he liked it. The wages I am sure were only small but he was so faithful and conscientious anyway that he did the work that needed doing as well as it could be done. Finally he was about to return home and his employer asked him about advice, saying, "I could give you advice. I could give you advice if you would take it." He said that he would and, as the reciter told me, "It is going to cost you," said the man, "five pounds" - or however much it was. Anyway it was a third of what he had earned there, and he paused for some time to think it over. Finally he said he felt that it was just as well for him to take it. And the advice that he was given was not to take the short road at any time but to choose the long, clean road, for that was safest for him on his journey; he had a long way to go. So he paid so many pounds for the advice and Tm sure that he had to follow it. Then the man said to him, "I will give you another piece of advice." "Yes,"hereplied. "If you take it it will cost you five pounds" - or six pounds or a half or a third of his wages. Oh, he remembered that

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b'fheárr dha a gabhail: bho 'n a bha an t-astar fada gum biodh i ma dh'fhaoidte iomchaidh agus thuirt e ris, " 'S e 'chomhairle a bheir mi ort gun oidhche chuir seachad ann an taigh as am bi seann duine agus beanóg." Agus bha roinn dhe thuarasdal air falbh an uair sin ach thuirt an duine ris, "Tha comhairle eile agam a bheirinn ort ma ghabhas tu i. Ach ma ghabhas tu i cosgaidh i dhut an córr dhe d' thuarasdal/' Co-dhiubh thuirt e gun gabhadh e a' chomhairle agus thug am fear eile comhairle air gun a dheanamh sian idir air feasgar na air oidhche gun a chuimhneachadh le cinnt a bhiodh aithreachas air 'sa mhadainn la'r-na-mháireach gun d'rinn e e. Co-dhiubh, bha e deanamh deiseil gu falbh. Ach ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh beagan do thuarasdal - ma dh'fhaoidte seachdain na 'n uibhir sin - a' tighinn air as an am agus chaidh sin thoirt dha agus chaidh muileann do dh'aran thoirt dha. Agus thuirt e ris a bhith cinnteach gun tugadh e sin dhachaidh agus gum biodh a bhean as a' láthair nuair a dh'fhosgladh e 'm pasgan bha sin 's sin a thoirt dha 'n bhean. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh esan. Bha e falbh a' rathaid agus thánaig marcaiche suas ris 's bha iad a' seanachas. Ach thánaig iad gu rathad goirid agus thuirt am marcaiche gu robh esan a' dol a ghabhail a' rathad seo; gu robh e na bu ghiorra. "Cha ghabh mise a' rathad sin idir," ors' esan. "'S fheárr leam a' rathad fada glan a leantail." Chuimhnich e air a' chomhairle a thugadh air is chum e roimhe. Ach cha deachaidh am fear sin fada nuair a thachair e ri meáirlich - ri robairean a' rathaid - agus thug iad bhuaithe a chuid airgid agus bho 'n a fhuair e cuidhteas iad le bheatha cha robh guth aige ri chantail. Ach co-dhiubh, chum a' fear eile roimhe. Ránaig e taigh 'san anmoch agus chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. Agus bha seann duine an sin agus boireannach óg. Tha mi creidsinn gun d'fhuair e biadh acá 's bha iad a' seanachas tacan ach 's ann a thog esan air gu falbh; cha robh e dol a dh'fhuireach an oidhche sin co-dhiubh. Agus chaidh e am falach; bha muían feóir ann neo bha feur astaigh ann a' sabhal 's chaidh e ann co-dhiubh. Ach thánaig feadhainn dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. Thánaig co-dhiubh aonfhear na ma dh'fhaoidte dithist dh'ionnsaidh an taighe bha seo 'san oidhche seo. Agus thachair gu robh fear acá agus a dhruim

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perhaps it would be better for him to take it since the distance was so long and the advice might be suitable. So the man said to him, "The advice that I am giving you is not to spend a night in a house where there is an oíd man with a young wife." So part of his wages was gone but the man said to him then, "I have another piece of advice that I could give you if you will take it. But if you do take it it will cost you the rest of your wages." He said that he would take the advice, and the other man advised him not to do anything in the evening or at night without serious reflection that he would regret having done on the morning of the next day. So he prepared to leave and there was a little in wages perhaps a week's or so - coming to him. That was given to him along with a loaf of bread and the man told him to make sure to take it home and that his wife be there when he opened the bundle and to give it to her. So off he went. He was travelling along the road and a rider carne up to him and they began conversing. They reached a short cut and the rider said that he was going to take this road, that it was shorter. "I won't take that road myself at all," said the man. "I prefer to follow the long, clean road." He remembered the advice that was given him and continued on. But the rider had not gone f ar when he encountered thieves, highwaymen, who took his money from him, and since he escaped from them with his life there was nothing that he could say. But the other man continued on his journey. He reached a house late in the evening and went up to it. Inside was an oíd man and a young woman. I believe he got food from them and they spent some time conversing and then he got up to leave; he wasn't going to spend the night there anyway. And he went and hid himself; there was a haystack there or hay inside a barn and he went in. Then some people carne to the house. At least one man and perhaps two approached the house that night. And it happened that one of them had his back against

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an taca ris an áite as a robh esan astaigh am falach am measg an fheóir nuair a thánaig an duine. Is lig e a dhruim 'na thagsa; ruighich e amach thro 'n fheur agus rug e air cúl a' chota aige is bha siosar beag aige 'na phócaid is gheárr e beum as a chota 's chuir e sin 'na phócaid. Is dh'fhalbh am fear eile co-dhiubh. Thog esan rithe agus co-dhiubh nuair a thánaig a' latha - chaidil e a' sin fad na h-oidhche ach nuair a thánaig a' latha thog e rithe. Agus co-dhiubh cha robh e ach air a dhol sios am baile nuair a bha dol-air-n-aghaidh ghábhaidh ann is dh'fhoighneachd e do chuideiginn gu dé bha ceárr is thuirt e gu robh dithist a' seo do sheóladairean a bh' air an glacadh agus gun deachaidh duine a mhurt shuas anns a' cheárna seo an raoir agus gun d' fhuaireadh na seóladairean seo 's gu robh iad 'gan toirt gu cúirt. O, thuirt e gu robh e smaointinn gu rachadh e fhéin 'gan cluinntinn, 's o, gun teagamh rachadh e ann; ma bha toil aige dhol ann bha sin math gu leór. 'S co-dhiubh chaidh e a thaigh na cúirt 's chaidh e astaigh agus bha fear a' diteadh nan seóladairean bochda. Agus nuair a bha an gnothach ann an cunnart gu rachadh an diteadh dh'éirich e 'na sheasamh agus dh'fhoighneachd e an tugadh iad cead dhasan beagan a ghrádh 'sa chúis seo. Thuirt iad ris gum faodadh e rud a ghrádh ma bha sian aige ri ghrádh nan togadh e fianuis. Thuirt e gun deanadh e sin: fianuis a thogail. 'S thuirt e nach e a h-aon dhe na seóladairean - na gillean bochda seo — a rinn an cron a raoir. Agus dh'fhoighneachd iad dha gu dé 'n dearbhadh a bh' aige air 's thuirt e nach robh iad idir as an áite le fhiosrachadh. Ach thuirt e gu robh fear ann a bha as an áit' a raoir agus gun aithnigheadh esan e air aon seól. 'S eadh, 's gu dé an dóigh a bha sin? Thuirt e gun tánaig e anuas; gun do chuir e a dhruim ris an áite 'sa robh esan 'ga fhalach fhéin astaigh am measg feóir agus nuair a bha e cho dlúth air an sin gun do ruighich e 's gun d'rug e air iochdar a' chota aige 's gun do gheárr e bideag as leis an t-siosar. "Agus tha i agam ann a' seo. Agus duine sam bith/' thuirt esan, "a fhreagras am bideag seo ann an cúl a' chót aige, sin an duine a bh' ann a raoir." 'S bha a' fear seo a' dol a theicheadh amach ach chaidh stad a chuir air. Agus nuair thug iad súil bha bideag a dhith cúl a' chota aige agus dh'fheuch iad agus 's e am píos a gheárr esan á cót' an duine: ' s e a

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the place where he was concealed in the hay. The man leaned his back against him, so he reached out through the hay and caught the tail of his coat. He had a small pair of scissors in his pocket and he cut a piece out of the coat and put that into his pocket and the other man went away. He set off then at daybreak - he had slept there all night but when dawn carne off he went. And he had just gone down to town when he noticed a tremendous commotion there so he asked somebody what was wrong and the person replied that there were two sailors who had been caught; a man had been murdered up in these parís the night before and these sailors had been caught and they were taking them to court. Oh, he said he thought he would go to hear them, and they said without a doubt he could go: if he wished to go that was all right. He went to the court-house and entered and there was a man condemning the poor sailors. And when they were in danger of being convicted he stood up and asked whether they would permit him to say a little concerning this case. They replied that he could say something if he would give testimony. He said that he would do so. He stated that it was neither of the sailors - these poor lads - who had committed the crime the night before. They asked what proof he had and he replied that to his knowledge they were not present at the scene. However he said there was someone who was there last night and that he could recognize him by a certain means. Yes, by what means was that? He replied that the man had come down, that he had leaned his back against the place where he himself was hiding in the middle of the hay and when he was cióse to him he reached over and caught hold of the bottom of the man's coat and cut a piece from it with the scissors. "I have it here. And anyone," said he, "whose bottom coat hem fits this piece is the man who was there last night." The guilty man was about to run out but was stopped. They looked and there was a piece missing from the back of his coat. They tried it and the piece cut from the man's coat was the

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fhreagradh ann. Agus 's e duine óg, uasal a bh; as an áite rinn seo agus bha e fhéin dol a dh'fhaighinn cuidhteas e uileadh agus na seóladairean bochda a' dol a bhith air an diteadh air a tháilleabh. Ach co-dhiubh, tha mi cinnteach gu robh na seóladairean gu math buidheach dhasan agus gun tug iad mór-thaing dha. Ach co-dhiubh chum e roimhe 's bha e falbh. Nuair a ránaig e dhachaidh bha 'n oidhch' ann. Bha e a nist greis do dh'úine air falbh 'ga chosnadh is thánaig atharrachadh mor air na gnothaichean. Agus nuair a chaidh e astaigh dha 'n taigh bha i dorcha 's chunnaic e duine 'na shineadh 'sa leabaidh. Shaoil leis gur e cuideiginn a bha fuireach astaigh fhad 's a bha esan air falbh a bh' ann agus bha e dol a dh'fhaighinn sgian na tuagh na claidheamh na rudeiginn airson an duine bha sin a mharbhadh. Ach smaointich e 'n sin air a' chomhairle a thug an duine 's a chosg e cóig na sia puinnd Shasannach a' páidheadh air a son gum bu chóir dha gabhail. Agus 's e sin gun do chomhairlich e dha gun sian a dheanamh 'san oidhche gus an smaointicheadh e 's gu trom am faodadh aithreachas a bhith air 'sa mhadainn. Agus rinn e suas inntinne gum faigheadh e amach le ceartas gu dé bha dol air 'n aghaidh agus chaidh e suas dh'ionnsaidh na leaba feuch có fear a bh' anns a' leabaidh agus có bha sin ach a mhac fhéin; bha e air fas cho mor as an am. Bha e air fás; cha tug e fo near idir agus dh'fhoighneachd i fhéin dheth gu dé 'n tuarasdal a fhuair e 's o, thuirt e gun d'fhuair e tuarasdal ach gun do chosg e e ri comhairlean a thugadh air agus gun tugadh comhairlean air a bha gu math riatanach dha cuideachd. "Agus o/' ors' esan, "seo agad rud a thuirt e rium." Agus shin e dhi am muileann arain. "Seo," ors' esan, "muileann arain a chuir e leam agus thuirt e rium gun fhosgladh gus am fosgladh tusa e." Agus chaidh i a nuil dh'ionnsaidh a' bhúird agus chaidh sgian a chuir air a' mhuileann arain agus fhosgladh bho chéile agus dhóirt a thuarasdal amach as a' mhuileann arain agus bha a h-uile bonn a choisinn e fad 's a bha e air falbh air an turus a bha sin 'ga chosnadh air a chuir ann am broinn an arain. Agus air táilleabh gu robh e cho dileas 's gun tug e feairt air comhairlean an duine thug dha na comhairlean glic thánaig e dhachaidh slán, sábhailte. Agus sin an naidheachd air Fear nan Tri Chomhairlean.

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one that fit it. It was a young gentleman from the región who had committed the crime; he was going to get away completely and the poor sailors were going to be condemned on his account. So I am sure that the sailors were very grateful and that they expressed their deep gratitude. So he continued on his journey and when he reached horne it was nighttime. By this time he had been a long while away working and a great change had come over things. When he went into the house it was dark and he saw a man stretched out on the bed. He thought that it was somebody who was staying there while he was away and he went to get a knife or an axe or a sword or something to kill him. But he thought of the advice that his employer had given him on which he had spent five or six English pounds, and that he should take it. And the advice was not to do anything at night until he thought it over or he might sorely regret his deed in the morning. And he made up his mind that he would justly determine what was going on. He went up to the bed to see who was in it and who was it but his own son; he had grown so big by then. He had grown though the father had not noticed at all, and the wife asked him what wages he had gotten and he replied that he had been paid wages but that he had spent them on the pieces of advice that were given to him and that this advice given to him had been very useful too. "And oh/' said he, "here is something that he said to me." And he reached over the loaf of bread to her. "Here/7 said he, "is a loaf of bread that he sent with me and he told me not to open it until you yourself opened it." So she went over to the table and a knife was put to the loaf of bread and it was opened and his wages poured out of the loaf. Every penny that he had earned while he was away on his journey had been put into the loaf of bread. And because he was so faithful that he had heeded the pieces of advice from the man who had given him the wise counseis, he reached home safe and well. And that is the tale of the man who received the three counsels.

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30

Am Ministear Diochuimhneach

Bha siod ann turus ministear agus bha e uamhasach diochuimhneach. Cha bhiodh cuimhne aige gu dé 'n latha a bh' ann: cha robh cuimhne aige cha mhór bho latha gu latha. Agus bha e coimhead airson seirbhiseach a dh'fhasdadh cómhla ris. Agus thánaig an sin fear óg ann agus bha e, tha mi cinnteach, gu math suas ri cleasan; cha robh uidhreachd aige gu dé dheanadh e. Co-dhiubh, bha e gu math seólta. Agus bha e dol a dh'fhasdadh leis a' mhinistear diochuimhneach agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha gu dé 'n tuarasdal a bha e toirt seachad agus thuirt e gura h-e fichead punnd Sasannach nuair a dh'fhásadh na h-adhaircean air an each. O, bha sin math gu leór. Agus bha tunnag aig a' mhinistear dhiochuimhneach 's bha i breith ugh a h-uile latha, agus sin an dóigh as am biodh fhios aige có 'n latha dhe 'n t-seachdain a bh' ann; bhiodh i breith ugh 'sa mhadainn tráth agus bha e air a chumail cunntais air na h-uighean. Ach co-dhiubh a' mhadainn a bha seo, bha 'm ministear diochuimhneach a' cáradh a bhróigeadh - bha e fuaghal a bhróigeadh. 'S bha e an deaghaidh tóiseachadh air 'a bhróg fhuaghal, air dhá neo tri greimeannan dhe 'n éill a chuir 'sa bhróig, nuair a thánaig an seirbhiseach astaigh ann an cabhaig mhór agus thuirt e ris gu robh an tunnag an deaghaidh an t-seachdamh ugh a bhreith: gura h-e an diugh Di-dómhnaich. Agus rinn esan cabhag mhór is e dol amach 's thuirt am fear eile ris gum b'fheárr dha bhith greasad air; gum biodh iad a' feitheamh ris airson a dhol dha 'n t-searmon. Agus dh'fhalbh e ann an cabhag — cha d'rinn e ach a bhróg a tharraing air. Dh'fhalbh e ann an cabhag mhór agus ruith e 's chaidh e astaigh dh'ionnsaidh na h-eaglais. Agus nuair a bha e dol sios, a' dol dh'ionnsaidh na cúbaid far a robh e dol a dheanamh searmon, bha cailleach bheag a' dol sios air a socair gu treasda. Agus dé rinn esan ach nuair a chaidh e beagan an darna taobh sheas e air iall na bróige, 's bha e falbh ann a' leithid do chabhag agus leag i e. Dh'fhalbh e 'n comhair a chinn agus bhuail e anns a' chaillich agus chaidh a' chailleach sios. Bhuail i a ceann 'san treasda a bh' air thoiseach oirre 's chaidh i spadadh. Agus chaidh 'n gnothach seachad. Thuirt an uair sin an gille ris gum feumadh e bhith falbh: nach deanadh math dha fuireach mun cuairt an seo idir; gum b'fheárr dha gun fuireach mar a chaidh gnothaichean; gum biodh daoine a' smaointinn gu robh e air an daoraich neo gu robh rudeiginn ceárr. Agus bha 'n gnothach cho támailteach leis a' mhinistear co-dhiubh agus 's e rud a bhiodh ann: dh'fhalbhadh e.

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30

The Forgetful Minister

There was once a minister who was extremely forgetful. He couldn't remember what day it was - he could barely remember from day to day. And he was looking for a manservant to take on. A certain young man carne to him who was I am sure pretty much up on tricks: he didn't care what he did. Anyway, he was quite clever. So when he was going to hire on with the forgetful minister he asked what wages he was paying and the minister said twenty English pounds when horns grew on a horse. Oh, that was good enough. The forgetful minister had a duck that laid an egg every day and that was how he knew what day of the week it was, and the duck would lay an egg early in the morning and the minister would keep track of the eggs. One morning the minister wasfixinghis shoe - he was sewing his shoe together. He had just begun sewing the shoe and had made two or three stitches with the thread in the shoe when the manservant carne inside in a great rush and said to him that the duck had just laid the seventh egg and that today was Sunday. So the minister went out in a great hurry and the servant said to him that he had better basten, that they would be waiting for him to appear at the sermón. So he left in a great rush and just pulled on the shoe. He set out in great baste and ran until he entered the church. And when he was going down towards the pulpit to give his sermón there was a little oíd woman proceeding slowly to a bench. What did he do but when he moved a little to the side he trod on his own shoelace, and he was in such a rush that it tripped him. Down he went head first and struck the oíd woman and down she went. She struck her head on the bench in front of her and she was laid low. Once that had happened, the lad told the minister that he should leave, that it was not advisable for him to stay around there at all, and that he had better not remain seeing how things had turned out because people might think that he was intoxicated or that something was wrong with him. The matter was so vexing for the minister that he decided he would leave.

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Ach bha leithid do chabhag orra airson falbh 's thuirt an seirbh-iseach gum b'fheárr dha falbh gun a bhith a' cali úine ri biadh neo sian a dheanamh, ach togail rithe 'sa mhionaid. 'S lion e fhéin a phócannan do dh'aran agus dh'fhalbh iad. 'S bha iad a' falbh 's a' falbh 's bha iad a' dol a thadhal ann an taigh. Agus co-dhiubh ránaig iad an taigh a bha seo agus a' falbh air a' rathad bha an gille 'n drasda 's a rithist, chuireadh e greim 'na bheul 's bhiodh e 'ga chagnadh sin. Agus dh'fhoighneachd am ministear dheth dé bha e cagnadh. O, thuirt e gu róbh e cagnadh clachan beaga a bha e togail far a' rathad 's gura h-éad a bha math: nuair a gheobhadh e sios iad nach teirigeadh iad idir. Agus thuirt e ris, "Bheir dhomhsa feadhainn." "Cha toir/' ors' esan. "Faighibh p-fhéin feadhainn." Agus co-dhiubh thog am ministear a dha neo tri do na clachagan beaga is chuir e 'na bheul iad is dh'fheuch e ri 'n cagnadh 's cha mhór nach do bhrist iad fhiaclan; b'fheudar dha 'n caitheadh amach as a bheul. Agus co-dhiubh an ceann tacain chunnaic e 'm fear óg a' cagnadh a rithist agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth, "Gu dé tha thu cagnadh mar sin?" "A," ors' esan, "tha mi cagnadh buachar eich." "An deán sin biadh?" "O, gu dearbh," ors' esan, "ni. 'S e a ni biadh is e cho beairteach. Feuchrud dheth." "Cha n-fheuch mi," ors' esan, "sian dheth." "Nuair a dh'innis mi dhuibh mu dheidhinn nan clachan beaga, bha sibha'trod." Ach dh'fheuch e agus chuir e bideag bheag 'na bheul 's thilg e sin amach as a bheul is 'ga smugaideachadh amach. "Cha mhór," ors' esan, "nach do phuinsinich thu mi." "Cha d'rinn mise sian rihh," ors' esan, am fear eile. "Rinn sibh p-fhéin e. Bha sibh a' cantail mar sin gun do bhrist mi na fiaclan agaibh. Cha d'rinn mise sian oirbh: 's e sibh p-fhéin a thog na clachagan beaga." Ach co-dhiubh bha iad a' falbh 's nuair a ránaig iad an taigh a bha seo cha robh muinntir an taighe aig an taigh. 'S cha robh ach gabhail astaigh agus tóiseachadh air seórsa do rud a dheanadh iad a dh'itheadh iad. Agus thuirt an gille, "Deanaibh p-fhéin," ors' esan, "rud a dh'itheas sinn. Coma leibh a bhith 'g iarraidh ormsa a bhith a' deanamh nan leithidean sin." Agus fhuaireadh min no ílúr no rudeiginn 's thóisicheadh air cuir rud ann a' soitheach 's 'ga fhliuchadh airson tóiseachadh air deanamh

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They were in a hurry to leave and the servant said that he ñad better set out without losing any time on food or doing anything, but just take off immediately. And the servant filled his own pockets with bread and they set out. They walked and walked on their way to visit at a house. Eventually they reached the house, but as they were on their way the lad now and again would put a bit of food into his mouth and chew it, and the minister asked him what he was chewing. Oh, he said he was chewing little stones he was picking up off the road and that they were very good; when he got them down they never seemed to run out at all. The minister said to him, "Give me some." "I will not," replied the lad. "Get some for yourself." So the minister picked up two or three of the pebbles, put them into his mouth and tried to chew them but they nearly broke his teeth; he had to spit them out again. After a while he saw the young lad chewing again and he asked him, "What are you chewing there?" "Ah," the lad replied, "I am chewing horse manure." "Will that serve as food?" "Oh yes indeed," replied the lad. "It will. It certainly will serve as food and it is so rich. Try a little bit of it." "I will not," said he, "try any of it at all." "But when I told you about the pebbles you complained." But he decided to try it so he put a little bit in his mouth and he expelled it from his mouth again, spitting it out. "You nearly poisoned me," he said. "I never did anything of the sort," replied the lad. "You did it yourself. And you were saying as well that I broke your teeth. I didn't do anything to you,- you were the one that picked up the pebbles." So they continued their journey and when they reached the house the people were not home. So they had no choice but to go inside and begin to prepare something to eat. And the lad said, "You make," said he, "something for us to eat. Don't bother to ask me to do anything like that." So they found meal or flour or something and he began to put something into a container and wet it in order to begin

214

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seórsa do bhreacag air choireiginn. Agus as an am có chunnacas a' tighinn ach muinntir an taighe. Cha do lig an gille sian air gus a robh muinntir an taighe direach a bhos aig an dorust. Agus co-dhiubh; cha d'rinn esan ach a lamhan a dhinneadh 'na achlaisean, eagal 's gu faicte an taois air a lamhan, 's dh'fhalbh an gille, tha mi cinnteach 's chuir e 'n soitheach an darna taobh as a robh an taois. An córr taois nach do thog e air a lamhan chruinnich esan leis 's chuir e 'na achlaisean. Co-dhiubh, cha bheireadh e air láimh idir orra. "O," oís' esan, an gille, "cha n-eil esan a' cleachdadh breith air láimh air daoine idir, agus coma leibh dha agus ligibh leis." Uill, bha e riaraichte gu leór an uair sin gun do ghabh an gille a leisgeul. Ach bha iad a' seanachas co-dhiubh 's chaidh an suipeir a dheanamh 's chaidh feóil is eanrach 's biadh a chuir air a' bhórd. Agus neo-air-thaing nach deanadh an gille fuaim! Cha n-itheadh esan sian: bha a lamhan 'na achlaisean mar a bha leis an taois orra, agus cha n-itheadh e greim. Agus mar a chanadh lain, thogadh an gille suas lán spáineadh dhe 'n eanrach agus dheanadh e fuaim ffffff a' súghadh leis an eanrach far na spáineadh. Agus bha seo cuir a leithid do dhuilgheadas air an mear eile: bhiodh e 'ga choimhead 's bhiodh e mionnanaich 's e coimhead air. Thogadh e 'n sin píos do dh'fheóil air an fhuirc; stobadh e an fhorc ann am pios feóladh 's thogadh e suas i cho árd 's gum faiceadh am fear eile i. Chuireadh e 'n sin am pios feóladh 'na bheul agus thóisicheadh e an sin air a chagnadh 's bha 'm fear eile a' crathadh a chinn. Is b'fheárr leis mu dheireadh gu robh an gille 's an fheóil 's an eanrach 's a h-uile rud a bh' ann - mar a chanadh lain fhéin - gu robh iad amuigh air an t-siteig. Ach co-dhiubh, chaidh an t-suipeir seachad agus thánaig an t-am a dhol a chadal. Agus chaidh iad an sin a chadal. Agus chanadh e ris an t-seirbhiseach, "Tha an t-acras orm. Tha mi gu fannachadh." Chanadh am fear eile, "Dúin do bheul. Gu dé ni mise riut?" Agus chanadh e, "Tha 'n t-acras mor orm." "Ma tha, dé ni mise riut?" Agus chanadh e, "'N do dh'fhág thu 'n córr dha 'n bhiadh? Nach eil fhios gun do dh'fhág?" "O dh'fhág," chanadh e. "Tha e thall. Tha e thall ann am prcas ann a' sin agus halla 's faigh e. Agus ma gheobh thu eanrach is gnothaichean bheir sin thugamsa. Bheir thugamsa páirt dheth cuideachd."

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The Reciters and the Tales

making some sort of little cake. And just then who did they see coming but the people who lived in the house! The lad did not let on at all until the people were right there at the door. The minister just thrust his hands into his armpits for fear that they would see the dough on them and the lad went and I am sure he set the vessel which held the dough to one side. The rest of the dough which he did not take up on his hands the minister gathered together and put into his armpits, so he could not shake hands with them. "Oh," said the lad, "he is not used to shaking people's hands at all, but pay no attention to him. Just leave him alone." Well, he was satisfied enough then that the lad had apologized for him. Anyway they were conversing and their supper was prepared and meat and soup and food put on the table and couldn't the lad made noise! The minister could not eat anything: his hands were in his armpits covered with dough and he could not eat a bite. And as John used to say, the lad would raise a spoonful of the soup and would make a noise ffffff sucking the soup off the spoon. And oh, that was making it so difficult for the minister; he would look at him and start swearing and look at him again. Then the lad took up a piece of meat on the fork: he would stab the fork into a piece of meat and would lift it up so high that the minister would see it. Then he would put the piece of meat into his mouth and begin chewing it and the minister just shook his head. And at last he wished that the lad and the meat and everything else there, as John himself would say, were out on the rubbish heap. When dinner was over it carne time to retire. So they went to sleep, and the minister kept saying to the servant, "Pm hungry. I am about to starve." And the servant would say, " Shut your mouth. What will I do with you?" But the minister kept saying, "Pm very hungry." "So, what will I do with you?" And the minister kept on, "Did you leave behind the rest of the food? Don't you know whether you did?" And the lad would answer, "Yes, it's over there. It's over

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"Ach gu dé mar a dh'amaiseas mise air a' leabaidh agad?" ors' esan. "Amaisidh," ors' esan. "Bheir thu leat ceann na sreing tha seo. Agus ceangailidh mis' an ceann eile dhi air a' ghlas a th' air dorust an t-seómbair. Agus leanaidh tu 'n t-sreang ann a' seo air n-ais." Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh esan, agus nuair chaidh esan astaigh dha 'n áite as a robh an fheóil ;s a h-uile sian a bh' ann, bha e 'g obair air e-fhéin a chuideachadh mar a b'fheárr a b'urrainn dha le feóil ;s le eanrach agus mar sin. Agus smaointich e a' sin gu robh aige ri rud a thoirt dh'ionnsaidh a' ghille agus lean e 'n t-sreang. Is c'áite robh an t-sreang a nist 's an gille an deaghaidh a h-atharrachadh ach air seómbar far a robh am bodach 's a' chailleach 'nan cadal. Agus bha iad an sin 'nan suain-chadail 's chaidh e astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar agus, "Seo," ors' esan. "Seo an eanrach. Seo an eanrach dhut." 'S cha robh aig cacha ach srann acá 'nan cadal. Agus shaoil leis gun do chaidil an gille 's ghabh e 'n fhearg 's dhóirt e lán soitheach dha 'n eanrach air an uachdar as a' leabaidh. Agus co-dhiubh, thill e astaigh air n-ais far a robh an fheóil 's na gnothaichean as a' phreas a bha seo agus fhad 's a bha e air falbh chuir esan an t-sreang a nuil gu ruige dorust an t-seómbair acá fhéin, far a robh e fhéin 'na chadal. 'S nuair a thánaig e astaigh, "An tug sibh thugam," ors' esan, "an eanrach na sian?" "Thug," ors' esan, "'s bha thu 'nad chadal." "O, cha robh," ors' esan, "mise 'nam chadal idir. Bha mise feitheamh ribh 's cha tana sibh idir. Agus," ors' esan, "bheir an aire gu bheil beagan do dh'acras orm an drásda." "A," ors' esan, "cha n-eil sian ann a bheir mi dhut. Theirig na bh' ann," ors' esan. "Thug mise a' chuid mu dheireadh dha 'n eanrach astaigh." "A bheil thu cinnteach?" "O, tha," ors' esan. "Tha mi cinnteach." "Halla," ors' esan, "agus coimhead fhathast feuch a bheil sian ann." Is chaidh e air n-ais agus chuir e a lámh sios ann am pitcher a bh' ann agus bha píos feóladh gu h-iseal ann a' sin. Ach cha b' urrainn dha 'm píos feóladh thoirt as. Bha e 'na dhórn 's bha a dhórn a' dol an sás ann an amhach a' phitcher 's cha robh dóigh air a toirt as. Cha bhiodh a' sgeulachd dóigheil co-dhiubh nan deanadh e sin.

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there in the cupboard so go and get it. And if you get soup and things bring them o ver to me. Bring me part of it." "But how will I find your bed?;/ asked the minister. "Oh you will/' replied the lad. "You'll take the end of this string with you: and Til tie the other end of it to the lock on the door to the room. And you just follow this string right back." So off he went and when he went inside to where the meat and everything else was he set to helping himself as best he could to the meat and the soup and so on. Then he remembered that he had to take something to the lad so he followed the string back. But where was the string now? The lad had switched it over to the room where the oíd man and the oíd woman were sleeping. And there they were in deep slumber when the minister entered the room. "Here," he said. "Here is the soup for you." And the others only made a snoring sound in their sleep by way of reply. And the minister thought that the lad had gone to sleep and he grew angry and he poured a whole container of soup on them in bed. He returned to where the meat and the things were in the cupboard and while he was away the lad switched the string over to the door of their own room where he himself was sleeping. And when the minister carne in, "Did you bring me/' said the lad, "the soup or anything at all?" "Yes," said the minister, "and you were asleep." "Oh, indeed I was not asleep," said the lad. "I was waiting for you and you didn't come at all, and picase note that I'm a little hungry now." "Oh," said the minister, "there is nothing I can give you. What there was is gone. I brought in the last of the soup." "Are you sure?" "Oh yes," said the minister, "I am." " Go," said the servant, " and look again to see if there is anything left." So he went back and put his hand down into a pitcher that was there and there was a piece of meat at the bottom of it.

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Co-dhiubh, thánaig e a nall far a robh an gille - bha 'n t-sreang an uair sin far 'm bu choir dhi bhith - agus thuirt e ris a' ghille, "Tha píos feóladh ann a' seo anns a' phitcher agus cha n-urrainn dhomhsa fhaighinn as." "A," ors' esan, an gille, "na bi bruidhinn rium idir mar sin. Dé a' bhruidhinn gun dóigh a th' ort?" "Cha n-urrainn dhomh," ors' esan. "Cha n-urrainn dhomh am píos feóladh seo thoirt as a' phitcher." Agus nuair a bha seo a' dol air 'n aghaidh, dhúisg am bodach agus throid e ris a' chaillich gu dé an dol-air-'n-aghaidh a bha seo. "Dh'atharraich thu/' ors' esan, "a; leaba. Agus/' ors' esan, "tha a' leaba seo lán. Rinn thu diobhairt as a' leabaidh." "Cha d'rinn," ors' ise. "Bha mise 'nam chadal." "Ged a bhiodh," ors' esan, "rinn. Halla amach agus cuir sin dhiot. Faigh rudeiginn a nigheas sin far an aodaich. Cha n-eil e dóigheil," ors' esan, "a bhith as a' leabaidh mar seo." Ach aig an am a bha seo thuirt esan ris a' mhinistear, "Halla amach," ors' esan, "ma tha is chi thu clach mhór aig ceann an taighe no 'n áiteiginn. Buail am pitcher ris a' chloich agus sgáinidh sin 's gheobh thu do lámh as mar sin." Agus bha i cho dubh, dorcha nuair a chaidh e amach 's bha an tórr geal a bha seo amuigh - a' chailleach -'si suathadh a' rud a bh' ann far a h-aodaich. Chuir e fairis a' chailleach 's sgailc e i 's spad e a' chailleach. Agus thill e astaigh is thuirt e gun do bhuail e clach 's gun do lig i oich aiste. "O," ors' esan, an gille, "rinn thu cron." 'S chaidh esan amach a choimhead 's bha a' chailleach air a spadadh. Is dh'fheumadh iad togail rithe 's togail rithe: cha robh an córr úine ri bhith air a chalí mu rachadh fhaicinn 's dé eile dheanadh iad ach teicheadh? Agus thuirt an gille ris nach deanadh math dha falbh ann an carbad neo bhith feitheamh ri carbad a dheasachadh idir; gur e marcachd a b'fheárr dha dheanamh, agus gum falbhadh e 's nach biodh e cali úine ri acfhuinneachadh idir 's nach deanadh e uibhir do dh'fhuaim air a' rathad; gum falbhadh iad na bu luaithe. Agus bha i cho dubh, dorcha agus thuirt an gille, "Tha 'n t-each agam," ors' esan, "deiseil ann a' seo."

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But he couldn't get the piece of meat out; it was in his fist and his fist got stuck in the neck of the pitcher and there was no way to take the meat out. The story wouldn't be right anyway if he could. He carne back to where the servant was - the string was back where it was supposed to be - and he said to him, " There's a piece of meat here in the pitcher but I can't get it out." "Oh," said the lad, "don't talk to me that way at all. What kind of silly things are you saying?" "I can't/' said the minister. "I can't get this piece of meat out of the pitcher." And while this was going on the oíd man woke up and started scolding the oíd lady asking what was going on now. Said he, "You changed the bed and now this bed is full. You must have thrown up in bed." "I did not/' said she. "I was asleep." "Even if you were/' he replied, "you must have. Go out and take that off. Get something to wash it off your clothes. It's not proper to be in bed like this." But just then the lad was speaking to the minister. "Go out/' said he, "and you will see a big stone at the end of the house or somewhere near by. Strike the pitcher against the stone and it will crack and you'll get your hand out that way." It was pitch dark when he went out and there was a white heap out there - the oíd lady - rubbing the stuff off of her clothing. He knocked over the oíd woman and struck her and flattened her. Then he retumed inside and he said that he had struck the stone and that it had said "Ouch!" "Oh/' said the lad, "you have done some harm." The lad went out to look and there was the oíd woman laid low. They had to get out and get out right away; there was no time to be lost lest they be seen and what else could they do but flee? The lad told the minister that it was not advisable for him to go in a vehicle or to wait for a vehicle - riding was best for him. He could leave without losing time harnessing up, he would not make so much noise on the road, and they would

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Chaidh e a nuil. Chaidh esan a nuil dh'ionnsaidh a' stábuill a dh'fhaighinn an eich deiseil air thoiseach air a' mhinistear diochuimhneach. "Tha mo pháidheadh a dhith ormsa a nist," thuirt esan. "Nach eil na h-adhaircean air fas air an each?" "A bheil?" ors; esan, am ministear diochuimhneach. "Tha," ors' esan. "'S nach do gheall sibh mise pháidheadh: fichead punnd Sasannach thoirt dhomh nuair a dh'fhásadh na h-adhaircean airan each?" "O, gheobh," ors' esan. "Tha thu 'ga chuir 'nam chuimhne." Agus thug e na notaichean as a phóca agus shin e dha 'n ghille iad. "Cuiribh ur lámh a nall," ors' esan, "ann a' seo airson 's cha ruig sibh leas mise chreidsinn." Chuir e a nuil a lámh 's dé bh' acá amuigh ach an tarbh. Chuir e a nuil a lámh agus threóraich am fear eile a' lámh aige a nuil gus na shuath i air té do dh'adhaircean an tairbh. "O," ors' esan, "tha na h-adhaircean air fas air an each cinnteach gu leór." Nuair a pháidh e fichead punnd dha, thuirt e ris a' mhinistear, "Leum suas air druim an eich 's théid mise air do chúlaibh." 'S chaidh am ministear suas air druim an tairbh 's chuir am fear eile toinneamh ann an earball an tairbh is lig an tarbh rán as is amach a thug e is sios a ghabh e. 'S chaidh e le creag no le áiteiginn agus sin a' chrioch a chaidh air a' mhinistear diochuimhneach. Is fhuair am fear eile fichead punnd Sasannach 's bha e na b'fheárr dheth na iomadh duine 'san am. Sin agaibh an naidheachd a bh' aige air a' mhinistear dhiochuimhneach.

31

Di-luain, Di-máirt

Tha sgeul a' seo mu dheidhinn dithist bhodaich a bha fuireach ann an ceárna dhe 'n t-saoghal; tha e coltach gu robh fear acá air gach taobh dhe 'n ghleann a bha seo. Agus tha e coltach gu robh fear dhe na bodaich seo car aighearach, éibhinn, lán do spórs 's dibhearsain 's bhiodh e ri puirt 's ri órain 's ri cuir seachad an t-saoghail cho

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travel faster. It was still pitch black outside and the lad said, "I have the horse ready here." So he went over. He crossed over to the stable to get the horse ready ahead of the forgetful minister. "I want my wages now," he said. "Hasn't the horse grown horns?" "Has he?" said the forgetful minister. "Oh yes/' replied the lad. "And did you not promise to pay me twenty English pounds when the horse grew horns?" "Oh, you will get that/' said the minister, "now that you have reminded me." And he took the bilis out of his pocket and handed them to the lad. "Put your hand over here," said the lad, "so you won't have to take my word for it." He reached his hand over and what did they have out there but the bull! He put his hand out and the lad guided his hand over until he set it on one of the bull's horns. "Oh," said the minister, "the horse has grown horns sure enough." When he had been paid his twenty pounds the lad said to the minister, "Get up on the horse's back and I will go behind you." The minister got up on the back of the bull and the lad gave the bulPs tail a twist and the bull let loóse a bellow and out he went and headed down. He went over a cliff or something and that was the end of the forgetful minister. And the lad got twenty English pounds and he was better off than many at the time. And that is the tale that he had about the forgetful minister.

31

Monday, Tuesday

This story concerns two oíd men who were living in some part of the world; it seems that they were on each side of a glen. And it seems that one of the oíd men was very cheerful, funny, full of fun and games, singing songs and ditties, and always passing his time cheerfully and amiably. But it seems

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aighearach, gasda 'n cómhnaidh. Ach tha e coltach nach robh a leithid sin idir an nádur an fliear eile; gu robh e car cas 'na nádur. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh fear dhe na bodaich mar is minig a chanadh iad mu dheidhinn cuideiginn nach robh aoibheach na geanail na suairce 'na dhóigh, gun canadh iad gu robh cho beag caomhachd 'na chom 's a bh' ann an comhchag. Ach co-dhiubh bha a' fear eile cho aighearach 's bhiodh port-a-beul air neo rann do dh'óran aige daonnan ge b'e c'áite 'm biodh e dol na tighinn. Agus bha e 'san t-seanachas gun deach e amach agus dhirich e a' bheinn agus thánaig e gu áite far a robh dorus fosgailte air taobh cnuic 's bha e cluinntinn nan sithichean astaigh ann a' sin 's iad a' deanamh port. Agus bha e coltach gu robh 'n gnothach car a' fáilleachdainn orra as an am 's cha robh iad ach ag obair air "Di-luain, Di-máirt, Di-luain, Di-máirt, Di-luain, Di-máirt, Di-luain, Di-máirt." 'S stad esan - tha mi cinnteach gu robh grólan aige do phort-a-beul na do rann do dh'óran a' tighinn co-dhiubh. Ach nuair a chual' e seo stad e dh'éisdeachd riu agus thug e fo near gu robh iad car mar gum biodh iad air a dhol ann an aimhreit leis a' rud a bh' ann; cha robh iad a' faighinn air 'n aghaidh gu math leis. 'S leum e astaigh air an dorust 's thuirt e fhéin "Di-ciadain!" direach 'san am a thuirt asan "Di-luain, Di-máirt." Thuirt esan "Di-ciadain!" is as a' mhionaid thuirt asan "Di-ciadain" is "Di-luain 's Di-máirt, Di-ciadain" is o, bha iad cho toilichte gun d'fhuair iad bloigh eile a chuir air a' phort. Agus thánaig bodach a nall far a robh e agus gheobhadh e duais sam bith a bhiodh a dhith air airson cho math 's a rinn e riu. O, cha robh duais a dhith airsan ann: cha robh sian do rud sam bith a dhith air - ór na airgiod na ionndas sam bith — ach gun tuirt e gu robh e coma ged a bhiodh e cuibhteas a' chroit a bha seo air. Agus as a' mhionaid bha a' chroit air a toirt dheth 's bha i air a cuir air bórd a bha thall, mar gum biodh bórd air am biodh iad a' gabhail biadh a' sin. 'S bha esan 'na sheasamh cho direach ri saighdear óg. Dh'fhalbh e dhachaidh sios 's bha e cho aighearach, sunndach 's a b'ábhaist dha bhith. Ach co-dhiubh thánaig am bodach crosda eile a bh' as a' nábachd a nall. Chunnaic e e 's bha e cuir iaonadh air gu dé thachair. Agus dh'innis e dha mar a chaidh 'n gnothach dha co-dhiubh agus 's ann a smaointich am fear eile gur ann a dh'fheuchadh e fhéin ri faighinn

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that was not at all the nature of the other oíd man; he was rather ill disposed. This oíd man was perhaps the way people would often describe someone who was not happy or goodnatured or well-disposed: they would say that there was as little affection in his heart as there was in an owl. But the other oíd man was cheerful and would always be working on some mouth-music or a little ditty of a song whenever he was going or coming. And according to the story he went out, climbed up the mountain, and carne to a place where there was a door opening into a hillside, and he could hear the fairies inside playing a tune. And it seems that they were not having much success at the time and were just going back over "Monday Tuesday Monday Tuesday Monday Tuesday Monday Tuesday." The oíd man stopped -1 am sure that he had some snatch of a tune or a rhyme from a song going anyway. But when he heard this he stopped to listen and he noticed that they seemed to be almost beginning to quarrel over this; they weren't getting very far with it at all. So he jumped inside the door and said "Wednesday!" Just when they had finished saying "Monday Tuesday" he said "Wednesday!" and right away they said "Wednesday" and "Monday Tuesday Wednesday/' and they were so pleased that they had found another piece to add to the tune. A little oíd man carne over to him and said that he would get whatever reward he wanted for having done so well by them. Oh, he did not want a reward at all; there was nothing that he required - gold or silver or any kind of treasure - but he mentioned that he would not mind being rid of the hump that he had on his back. Immediately the hump was removed and put over on a table, the sort of table where they took their meáis. And there he was standing straight as a young soldier. He went down to his home, as cheerful and happy as was usually his custom. But the other oíd man in the neighbourhood - the cross one carne over. He saw him and became curious as to what had happened. The oíd man told him how he had fared and the other thought that he would try to get rid of his own hump. So

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cuibhteas a chroit. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh e 's dhirich e suas a' bheinn a bha seo. Ach cha robh aighear na sunnd na togairt as a; bhodach a bha sin idir 's cha robh blas na tuigse na rud elle aig' air seinn na ceól. Cha robh e géilleachdainn dha mar a bha tha mi creidsinn feadhainn mhi-fhortanach a bh'air uachdar an t-saoghail. Agus nuair a ránaig e shuas bha na sithichean ag obair air a; phort a cheartaich am bodach. Agus chuir esan tuilleadh ris agus mhill e 'm port orra. 'S chuir seo an fhearg orra cho mor agus thog iad astaigh e. Agus an áite duais thoirt dha 's ann a chuir iad air a' chroit a thug iad far an duin' eile. 'S nuair a thill e dhachaidh bha croit mhór, mhór air, air neo bha da chroit air a dhruim coltach ris a' chamhal.

32

An Tutus a Chaidh Aonghus Madosaig dha 'n Ghealaich

Aig an am seo, bu toil leam naidheachd neo sgeulachd a dh'innse dhuibh a rinn Aonghus Macíosaig (Aonghus 'Illeasbuig Mhóir) suas e fhéin. Bha e 'g innse gun deach e amach a shealgaireachd agus seann-mhosgaid aige 's bha e cantail gu robh geóidh 'nan laidhe air a' loch agus bha iad sios mu thaobh a' loch agus aig an iomall shios. Agus bha 'n camadh mor mar a bha an cladach a' ruith: bha iad a; leantail ann an camadh a' chladaich. Agus gu dé an dóigh a rachadh aige air am marbhadh agus iad ann a' sin? Nam biodh iad amuigh ann a' raingeadh dhireach as a' loch bha e furasda gu leór, ach bha iad ann a' lübadh mun cuairt mar a bha an cladach a' falbh. Agus lúb e barailte na mosgaid agus lúb e 'n t-slatag aige. Stamb e na h-urchair agus loisg e sin. Agus chaidh e thro na cinn ac' uileadh is bha iad uile air an t-slat ghunna agus i thro 'n cheann acá. Agus cha d'rinn e ach a dhol sios agus an glacadh is thóisich e air an togail leis. Agus bha asan air an leageadh amach: bha iad ann am preathaill na ann am paiseanadh mar a bheireadh iad gun mhothachadh as an am, ach nuair a bha e 'gan giúlan air falbh thánaig iad thuige gu mothachadh air n-ais is thóisich iad air flapadh an sgiathan. 'S thog iad suas is tha mi cinnteach leis a' ghóraiche bha e cantail gun do dh'fheuch e air an cumail, ach thog iad far an talmhainn e - bha iad cho láidir - agus lean iad roimhe air sgiathadh.

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he set out and he climbed up the mountain. But that oíd man had no cheer ñor happiness ñor keenness at all and no taste or understanding for song or music. He did not believe in it, like sorne other unfortunates, I believe, who were on the face of the earth. And when he arrived the fairies were working on the tune that the other oíd man had improved. So he added something and spoilt the tune for them. That angered them greatly, so they carried him inside, and instead of giving him a reward they fixed the hump on him that they had taken off the other man. And when he returned home he had a great big hump, or perhaps there were two humps on his back like a camel.

32

Angus Maclsaac's Trip to the Moon

At this time I would like to tell you a story or tale that was made up by Angus Maclsaac (Aonghus 'Illeasbuig Mhóir). He was telling us that he went out hunting with an oíd musket and that there were geese sitting on the lake, down at the border of the lake along the edge. The shoreline ran in a great curve there, and they were lined up along the curve of the shore. And how could he manage to kill them when they were lined up that way? If they had been out on the loch in a straight line it would have been easy enough, but there they were, in a curve along the shore. So he bent the barrel of his musket, bent the ramrod, rammed home the shot and fired. The ramrod went through all the heads, and there they were on it, with the ramrod through their heads. All he had to do was to go down and catch them, and he began to take them away. The geese were knocked out. They were delirious or in a faint, as they would say, unconscious at the time. But as he was carrying them away they regained consciousness and began flapping their wings. Up they lifted and I'm sure out of foolishness, as he claimed, he tried to hold them. But they lifted him off the ground - they were so strong - and kept on flying.

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Agus sgiath iad suas. Bha iad a' sgiathadh 's a' sgiathadh a' dol suas. Chum e greim orra. Nuair a chaidh iad píos do dh'astar shuas cha deanadh e math dha ligeadh as, neo nuair a thuiteadh e anuas rachadh mharbhadh. Agus chum e roimhe suas agus nuair a bha iad a' dol seachad air a' ghealaich lig e as an t-slat; lig e leis na geóidh bhith falbh agus leum e far na slat-ghunna agus chuir e a chasan air a' starsaich aig a' ghealaich. Agus bha Bodach na Gealaich 'na sheasamh aig an dorust. Cha do dh'aithnich e esan 's cha do dh'aithnich esan Bodach na Gealaich. Ciamar a dh'aithnigheadh 's gun iad eólach air a; chéile? Ach co-dhiubh bha Bodach na Gealaich uamhasach cóir ris. Dh'iarr e air tighinn astaigh agus thug e dha biadh agus dh'fhuirich e greis do dh'üine; bha e seanachas. Bhiodh iad a' cuir seachad na h-úine. Ach bha e airson tilleadh air n-ais anuas dh'ionnsaidh an talmhainne agus thuirt am bodach a bha anns a' ghealaich ris gum b'fheárr dha fuireach greis fhathast. "Nam fuirgheadh tu/' ors' esan, "cómhla rium (;s) nan toireadh tu cuideachadh a' marbhadh na muiceadh." Bha muc mhór aig a' bhodach a bh' as a' ghealaich. Bha i thall aig an t-sabhal. Co-dhiubh dh'fhuirich e cómhla ris a' bhodach a bh' as a' ghealaich; dh'fhuirich e colla-deug na tri seachdainnean cómhla ri Bodach na Gealaich agus thug e cuideachadh dha a' marbhadh na muiceadh mhór a bh' aige. 'S nuair a mharbh iad a' mhuc fhuair e da chlár barailte cúl an t-sabhail shuas a bh' aig Bodach na Gealaich. Agus dh'iarr e na cláir a bha seo air agus o, gheobh; cha robh aig' ach an toirt leis. Agus dh'iarr e 'n sin páirt do bhloineag na muiceadh air: gheobhadh e sin; bha gu leór dhi ann. Bha a' mhuc cho reamhar 's bha poile do bhloineag ann. Agus chuir e air dóigh na cláir agus shuath e cuid mhór do bhloineag riu agus bha iad aige deiseil 's bha e feitheamh. Agus a' cheud feasgar a bha bogha-frois ann leum e amach far na gealaich agus shleamhnaich e anuas air a' bhogha-frois. Agus anuas a ghabh e gus an do bhuail a chasan air an talamh aig cúl a' bhúth aig Eaton's ann am Moncton. Sin mar a dh'éirich do dh'Aonghus Macíosaig air an turus a bha e a' sealgaireachd 's chaidh e dha 'n ghealaich.

33

A'Mhuc Mhór

Tha naidheachd ann a' seo a rinn Aonghus Macíosaig (Aonghus 'Illeasbuig Mhóir) suas. Agus mar a chluinneas sibh i, tuigibh sibh

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And up they flew. They were flying and ílying, rising up, and he kept his grip on them. But once they had gained a certain altitude he couldn't let go lest he fall and be killed, so he kept on ascending, and when they were passing the moon he let go of the ramrod and let the geese go on. He leaped off the ramrod and planted his feet on the threshold of the moon. The Oíd Man in the Moon was standing at the door, but he did not recognize Angus and Angus did not recognize the Oíd Man in the Moon. How could they, not being acquainted? But the Oíd Man in the Moon was extremely kind to him. He , invited him in and gave him food and Angus stayed a while conversing with him. They passed the time this way. But Angus wanted to return to earth, and the Oíd Man in the Moon said to him that he had better stay for a while yet. "U you would just stay with me/' said he, "and help butcher the pig." The Oíd Man in the Moon had a good-sized pig over in the barn. So he stayed with the Oíd Man in the Moon; he stayed for two or three weeks with the Oíd Man in the Moon and helped him kill the big pig. And when they had killed the pig, he got two barrel-staves at the back of the barn that belonged to the Oíd Man in the Moon. He asked him for the two staves and, yes, he could take them. Then he asked him for some of the pig's lard. Yes, he would get that; there was certainly enough of that. The pig was fat and there was a lot of lard. So he prepared the staves and he rubbed a great deal of the lard on them and finally he had them ready so he waited. The first evening there was a rainbow he jumped off the moon and slid down the rainbow and down he went until his feet struck the ground behind Eaton's Store in Moncton. And that is what happened to Angus Maclsaac the time he went out hunting and took a trip to the moon.

33

The Big Pig

I have a story that was made up by Angus Maclsaac (Aonghus 'Illeasbuig Mhóir). And as you hear it you will see that the

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gu robh 'n duine gábhaidh airson deanamh suas naidheachdan agus gu robh e éibhinn gu leór cuideachd. Rinn e 'n naidheachd a bha seo mu dheidhinn cailleach a thachair ris agus ge b'e air bhith gu dé an coibhneas a nochd e ris a' chaillich, chórd an gnothach rithe cho math co-dhiubh agus thuirt i gum feumadh i duais thoirt dha airson mar a rinn e. Agus thug i dría bogsa beag mu mheudachd bogsa snaoisein agus beagan do thuill bheaga air a dheanamh as a' mhullach aige. Agus bha uircean muiceadh 'na bhroinn sin. Agus thug i dha rud beag do dhuslach órach, na mar a bheireadh e fhéin, gola dust, agus seo am biadh a bha ri thoirt dha 'n mhuic; sileinean dheth seo a bhith 'ga thoirt dhi. Agus dh'fhalbh e dhachaidh leis a' mhuic 's bha e cho toilichte 's thug e a' mhuc as a' bhogsa bheag a bha seo 's chrath e silein no dha air lar 's dh'ith a' mhuc sin 's thóisich i air fas. 'S bha e cantail gu robh i fas cho luath: bha i fas amach an comhair a cúil 's a' fas air 'n aghaidh. Agus thuirt e as a' cheud tóiseachadh gun deanadh seann duine falbh air a shocair 's a' crathadh biadh air lar, gun deanadh e 'n gnothach nuair a thilgeadh e beagan do bhiadh air lar 's a dheanadh e ceumannan suas. 'S nuair a chuireadh e tuilleadh air lar bha a' mhuc a' fas cho mor 's gu ruigeadh i sin. Ach mar a bha an úine dol seachad 's i faighinn a' duslach órach a bha seo, bha i fas cho luath agus mu dheireadh 's e duine óg a b'fheudar dha fhaighinn airson a biadhadh. Cha chumadh seann duine rithe leis cho luath 's bha i fas. Sheasadh e aig a beul 's dhóirteadh e a' mhin a bha seo air lar 's dh'fhalbhadh e cho luath 's a b'urrainn dha 's nuair a chuireadh e 'n ath-rud air lar dha 'n mhin bha ceann na muiceadh ann a' sin leis mar a bha i fas. Cha deanadh an t-óganach fhéin an gnothach mu dheireadh. Ged a bha e ruith cha chumadh e rithe. Agus b'fheudar dha 'n sin duine fhaighinn a' marcachd air druim eich agus dh'fheumadh each math a bhith aige cuideachd 's e falbh leis a' mhin a bha seo 'ga crathadh 's 'ga caitheadh air lar a dh'ionnsaidh na muiceadh 's i fas. Dh'fhás i cho mor agus mu dheireadh bha i cho uamhasach mor air fás; agus bha 'n sin sealladh air tighinn dha 'n bhaile, mar a bheir iad: circus. Agus chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh an fheadhainn a bha gabhail cúram dheth sin agus dh'fhoighneachd e dhaibh am biodh iad airson a' mhuc a shealltainn aig an t-sealladh a bha seo. Agus o, bhiodh: bha iadsan deónach gu leór. 'S nuair a thugadh a' mhuc ann - tha mi cinnteach gura h-ann air carabadan mora air a' rathad iaruinn a chaidh i

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man was astounding in his ability to make up stories and in his sense of humour. He made the story up about an oíd woman who happened to meet him, and whatever kindness it was that he showed the oíd woman she was so pleased that she said she would have to give him some reward for what he had done. So she gave him a small box about the size of a snuff box with a few small holes in the cover. Inside was a little piglet. And she gave him a small quantity of golden dust oí, as he himself said (in English), gold dust, and this was the food that was to be given to the piglet; little grains of this were to be fed to it. So he went home with the little pig very pleased with it. He took the piglet out of the little box and shook a grain or two onto the floor and the piglet ate that and it began to grow. And he said that it grew so fast: it grew out backward and it grew out forward. At the very beginning he said that an oíd man could go at his leisure shaking the food on the ground. He could do this by throwing a little of the food on the ground and going ahead step by step. And when he put more on the ground the piglet grew so big that it would reach that too. But, as time passed and the piglet was eating the gold dust, it grew so quickly that at last he had to get a young man to feed it. And oíd man could not keep up with it since it was growing so fast. The young man would stand at its mouth and pour the meal on the ground, going forward as fast as he could, and when he put the next bit of meal on the ground the pig's head was already there from growing so fast. At last even the young man was not able to do it. Even if he ran he could not keep up with the pig. So he had to get a man on horseback — and he had to have a good horse too - to go with the gold meal and sprinkle and throw it on the ground toward the growing PigFinally the pig got so big that it had grown to an awful size, and a show had come to town, a circus as they say in English. So he went to the people in charge and asked them if they were willing to exhibit the pig at the show. Oh, yes indeed; they were willing enough. And when the pig was brought there - Fm sure that it was brought on great big railroad cars -

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toirt ann - chaidh na h-elephants air an druim aice. Bha iad a' coiseachd mun cuairt air druim na muiceadh. Agus thuirt iad ris feadhainn a bha air criomag do dh'astar air falbh 's iad a' faicinn seo - thuirt iad ge b'e có as an tánaig am beathach a bha siod, gum feumte a thoirt amach as a' pháirce seo uileadh; gu robh miallan na creutairean air choireiginn air an druim aige. Agus thuirt e riu nach ruigeadh iad a leas cüram a bhith orra; gura h-ann a bha seo na h-elephants a bh' acá air an t-sealladh; gu robh iad air druim na muiceadh. 'S tha e coltach gu robh i mor gu leór aig a' sin. Ach co-dhiubh, bha i 'n sin air fas cho mor agus bha an t-am gu tighinn airson a marbhadh. Agus b'fheudar dhaibh inneal smüideadh fhaighinn bho chuideachd a' rathad iaruinn - locomotive bheag agus sgian mhór a chuir air an toiseach aice - airson an fhuil a ligeadh as a' mhuic. Agus airson am frioghan thoirt dhi agus a sgriobadh, b'fheudar dhaibh teintean mora a dheanamh timcheall air a' loch gus na ghoil iad an t-uisge anns a' loch. Nuair a fhuair iad i air a sgriobadh 's a h-uile ni deiseil, cha robh 'n uair sin dóigh acá air a tomhas; cha robh áit' ann air an cuireadh iad i airson a tomhas. Na h-uidheamannan tomhais cudthruim bu mhotha a bh' air an t-saoghal, cha tomhaiseadh iad i. Agus 's e rud a bhiodh ann gum feumadh iad tuairmse thoirt air có mheud punnd a thomhaiseadh píos an uibhir seo dhi. Agus fhuair iad feadhainn an uair sin a bhiodh a' tomhas fearainn, agus combaist acá agus slabhraidh an tomhais, agus iad 'ga tomhas air a fad 's air a leud có mheud ceud troigh a bhiodh ann agus a' falbh a dh'obair le peann is paipear - sgoilearan gábhaidh air am fasdadh acá airson a bhith cunntais amach gu dé uibhir do chunntais phuinnd, agus a bhith 'g innse air réir na meudachd. Agus bha e a' cantail leis an úine a chaill iad, leis a h-uile rud a bh' ann eadar an tomhas agus a bhith cunntais amach a cudthrom 's a h-uile sian, gun do thionndaidh am blas cho dona agus gun do chailleadh cuid mhór dhe 'n mhuic mun d'fhuair iad úine air a sáilleadh. Agus sin agaibh naidheachd na muc mhóir a bh' aig Aonghus 'Illeasbu' Mhóir.

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the elephants climbed up on its back. They were walking around on the pig's back. And they told him - people who were a little distance away and who saw this - they said that wherever that beast had come from it had to be removed from the field entirely for there were lice or some kind of creatures on its back. He told them that they had no cause to worry, that it was just the elephants from the circus on the pig's back. It appears that the pig was big enough then. By then the pig had grown so big that the time was coming to butcher it. And they had to get an engine from the railway company - a little locomotive - and they had to mount a big knife on the front of it in order to bleed the pig. To take the bristles off and to scrape it they had to build great fires around the lake until the water boiled. When they had it scraped and everything ready there was no way for them to weigh it; there was nowhere to put it to weigh it. The biggest sets of scales in the world could not weigh it. And it turned out that they had to estimate how many pounds a certain part of it would weigh. So they got surveyors who measured land with a compass and a measuring chain, and they measured it crosswise and lengthwise - how many hundred feet - and went to work with paper and pencils. They had all kinds of high-powered scholars hired to figure out the total poundage and to give it according to the measurements. And, he said, with the time they lost on everything they had to do between measuring it and weighing it, the flavour turned so bad that a large part of the pig was lost before they found the time to salt it. And that is the tale of the Big Pig told by Angus Maclsaac.

Clann ;aclllemhaoil

Cho fad 's a gheobhainn amach 'a ann a Uibhist a Tuath a thánaig Clann 'ic 'Illemhaoil a bha sin. Nuair a bha Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil (Aonghus Alasdair 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ac Mhurchaidh 'ac Dhómhnaill) 'na óige chaidh e a dh'fhuireach suas gu tir-mór cómhla ri cuideachd a mháthar agus 's ann ris an iasgach a bhiodh iad fad bhliadhnaichean. Bha e amach am Báigh Chanso ag iasgach cómhla riu le bráthair a mháthar 's le f eadhainn a bha shuas a' sin. Agus thánaig e 'n sin anuas 's shuidhich e ann am Bail' lain - na h-Eileannan Dearga a bheirte ris an áite as an am sin. Agus bhiodh e dol gu iasgach cómhla ri Frangaich. Tha e coltach gu robh e 'na mharaiche math agus math gu cáradh a lin agus gu deanamh lin sgadain, agus fior, ñor mhisneachail air a' mhuir. Agus rinn e beagan tuathanachas ach bha áite car ana-cothromach aige: áite nach robh ann ach bruthaichean cas. Agus bha e deanamh iasgach math anns a' loch Bhras d'Or cuideachd a' marbhadh truisg agus sgadan agus neo-ar-thaing a bhith eólach air giullachd a' sgadain 's air a ghlanadh 's air a sháilleadh 's gach sian. Cha leubhadh e fhéin a' Gháidhlig agus bha na Ceanadaich air an dóigh cheudna: cha leubhadh iad fhéin a' Gháidhlig, ach bha iad cho lán do sgeulachdan dhe gach seórsa agus tha mi 'n dúil ged a bhiodh iad a' leubhadh Gáidhlig nach robh áit' acá as an toilleadh na sgeulachdan a leubhadh iad. Ach a bhith cómhradh mu dheidhinn Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil, dheanadh e fhéin suas na sgeulachdan cuideachd. Dheanadh e fhéin naidheachdan beaga, taitneach agus bha fhios aige fhéin agus bha fhios aig gach aon a bhiodh ag éisdeachd ris nach e 'n fhirinn a bh' annta. Cha robh e fhéin a' cómhdach aig am sam bith güín b' e 'n fhirinn a bhiodh ann ach bha e 'gan deanamh airson fearas-chuideachd airson an üine a chuir seachad. Agus chuireadh e fhéin iad ann an suidheachadh cho math nuair a bhiodh e 'g innse dhuibh sgeulachd bheag na mhór. Rachadh aige air a cuir sios ann an órdugh uamhasach math air chor 's gun córdadh i ribh - bhiodh i cho taitneach. Agus b' e sin an dóigh a bh' aige airson sgeulachd. Agus mar a bha oidhche - bha e cómhla ri cuideachd aig bainis na aig cruinneachadh 's bha e 'na shuidhe ann an carbad amach taice ris an

The MacMullins

As far as I have been able to determine this family of MacMullins carne from North Uist. When Angus MacMullin (Aonghus Alasdair 'ic Nill 'ic lain ;ac Mhurchaidh 'ac Dhómhnaill) was a youth he went to live with his mother's people on the mainland of Nova Scotia where they had been fishing for years. He fished out on the bay of Canso with his maternal únele and with others up there. Then he carne back down and settled in Johnstown or the Red Islands, as the place was called at the time. He used to go fishing with Frenchmen; it seems he was a good sailor, very skilled at repairing his nets and making herring nets, and extremely courageous at sea. He also did a small amount of farming but his place was ill suited for it; it was nothing but steep slopes. He did well at fishing in the Bras d'Or Lake also, catching cod and herring; he was skilled at dressing herring, cleaning it, and salting it, and so on. He himself could not read Gaelic, as was also true of the Kennedys; they could not read Gaelic but they were so replete with tales of every sort that I think even if they had been able to read Gaelic they wouldn't have had anywhere left to fit in the tales they read. But to return to Angus MacMullin, he used to compose stories too. He used to invent short, pleasant stories which he himself, along with everybody else who listened to them, knew were not true. But he never claimed at any time that they were the truth. He just made them up to entertain people and to pass the time. He used to set them up so well, whether he was telling you a long tale or a short tale. He was able to order it extremely well and in a way that would appeal to you - it was so enjoyable. That was the way he had with tales. There was one night he was with people at a

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taigh agus tha fhios gu robh e a' seanachas. Bha cacha mun cuairt timcheall air agus iad ann a 7 smior nan nead agus thánaig fear a nall agus dh'fhoighneachd e, "Có tha ag innse nam breug an seo an drásd'?" Agus fhreagair Aonghus agus thuirt e, "Tha fear dha'n aithne an innse." Ach mar an ceunda bha e gábhaidh math gu seinn oran. Bha guth ceólmhor aige. Ach 's e órain Bheurla bu pháilt a bh' aige. Agus b' e 'n t-aobhar a bh' air a' sin, nuair a bha e shuas aig tir-mór Albainn Üir gu robh Éireannaich timcheall air an áite as a robh e ann a' sin. Agus a thaobh e bhith ris an iasgach bhiodh e tachairt ri feadhainn dhiubh agus dh'ionnsaich e cuid mhath do dh'órain Éireannach. Agus dheanadh e sin an seinn; bha iad aige cho blasda agus nach iarradh tu ach a bhith greis 'ga éisdeachd. Agus dheante toileachadh ris a h-uile h-áite a rachadh e bho 'n a bha e cho cuideachdail; agus nam faiceadh iad e a' dol seachad 's deagh-bharail acá c'áite robh e dol an oidhche sin a chuir seachad na h-üine, bhiodh tu cinnteach gun tigeadh feadhainn air chéilidh airson a chluinntinn. Bu choingeis co-dhiubh bha e 'g innse na firinne neo nam breugan; cha robh ann ach breugan nach deanadh coire. Agus bhite cuir seachad na h-úine leis cho taitneach anns an dóigh sin. 'S fheudar dhomh cunntais a thoirt air Eachann, mac Aonghuis. Bha e fhéin 'na dhuine cuideachdail agus leubhadh esan a' Gháidhlig, agus bhiodh e seinn oran 's bha e cho math gus an ionnsachadh. Thogadh e iad ann an úine gábhaidh goirid. Nuair a thigeadh e air chéilidh gu taigh, bheirte air tóiseachadh air seinn oran agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu seinneadh e tri órain nach cuala sibh aige riamh gus an turus seo. Sin cho ealamh 's a bha e 'gan togail. Bha sinn fad na tide cáirdeil agus eólas math againn air a chéile. Agus 's iomadh uair a chuireamaid gnothaichean an comhairle a chéile: dh'fhoighneachdadh fear dhe 'n mear eile gu dé 'n seagh a bh' aig a leithid seo a dh'fhacal neo gu dé 'n t-eadar-theangachdainn a bh' againn air. Agus as na bliadhnaichean mu dheireadh nuair a gheobhainn greim air leabhraichean bheirinn iasad dhiubh thuige airson 's gum faigheadh e greis a bhith 'gan leubhadh. Agus bhiodh e aig a' choinneamh aig a' Chomunn Gháidhealach agus bha e fior thaitneach dhuinn e bhith cómhla rinn. Bhiodh Sgeulachdan beaga neónach aige 'gan innse aig a h-uile turus agus bha cuid dhe na Sgeulachdan sin a bha gu math éibhinn. Bheireadh e air duine sam bith as a robh tur neo a bhiodh sannt gu aighear Sgeulachdan air a bhith gáireachdaich. Agus bha mi fhin glé dhuilich nuair a chaill mi a thagsa - nuair a thánaig am a' saoghal goirid a tha seo fhágail.

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wedding or some occasion sitting outside in a car alongside the house and he was naturally holding forth. There were some people around him in high spirits and one of them went over and asked, "Who's telling the lies here now?" And Angus answered, "Somebody who knows how to."1 Similarly he was an excellent singer with a melodious voice. Most of his songs were in English, the reason being that when he was over on the Nova Scotia mainland there were Irishmen about the place where he was living; through his fishing he met some of them and learned a good number of Irish songs. He could really sing them; he sang them in such a tasteful way that all of you wanted was to pass the time listening to him. He was a welcome guest wherever he went since he was such a sociable man; if people saw him going by and had a good idea where he was going that night to pass the time you could be sure that they would drop in to hear him. It didn't matter whether he was telling true stories or not; the lies were only harmless ones. People used to pass the time happily with him this way. Now I should give an account of Héctor, Angus's son. He too was a very sociable man who could read Gaelic and sing songs and was good at learning them. He could pick up songs extremely quickly. When he carne on a house-visit people would make him start singing songs, and perhaps he would sing three songs that you had never heard him sing until that occasion. That's how fast he was at picking them up. We were always good friends and knew each other well. Many's the time we consulted each other about things; one would ask the other what his interpretation of such and such a word was or how we should transíate it. And during the last few years when I would come into possession of books I would lend them to him so that he could spend some time reading them. He used to attend the meetings of the Gaelic Society and it was a great pleasure for us to have him. He would tell short, funny little stories at every meeting. He could make anyone laugh who had the sense or a taste for humorous anecdotes. I was sorry when I lostjiis support - when the time carne for him to depart from this brief world.

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34

Nighean Rígh na h-Éipheit

Bha duine óg ann an ceárna dhe 'n t-saoghal uair agus bho 'n a bha cosnadh cho gann cha robh obair ri faotainn agus rinn e suas latha bha sin gu rachadh e sios a dh'ionnsaidh na laimhrig sios agus gum faiceadh e a robh soithichean seólaidh astaigh agus gun fhios nach rachadh aig' air córdadh ri sgiobair. Agus dh'amáis gu robh soitheach seólaidh astaigh aig an am agus chaidh e chómhradh ri sgiobair an t-soithich sin agus dh'fhasdaidh e aige. Bha e ri fuireach ann cunntais bhliadhnaichean - latha agus cunntais bhliadhnaichean - 's chaidh roinneachadh air an tuarasdal — cumhntan ri dheanamh — agus nuair a bha iad deiseil sheól iad. Agus ge b'e a' chunntais bhliadhnaichean a bha iad a' seóladh, nuair a bha a' chunntais sin suas agus a' latha, thuirt an seóladair gu robh an t-am aigesan a nist air tighinn gu ceann agus gum bu mhath leis a bhith falbh. O, bha 'n sgiobair fuathasach mi-thoilichte e bhith 'ga fágail bho 'n a bha e cho math co-dhiubh air bórd, ach cha rachadh e 'na aghaidh agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth gu dé 'n dóigh a bha e dol a dheanamh air falbh a nist agus iad amuigh air a' chuan. "Ma bheir sibh dhomhsa," ors' esan, "am bata caol agus seól agus combaiste agus beagan do bhiadh a chuireas mi air bórd, faodaidh mi," ors' esan, "seóladh as a' seo fhéin." Co-dhiubh chaidh a h-uile sian uidheamachadh 's chaidh a thuarasdal a thoirt dha'n t-seóladair agus dh'fhág e a bheannachd aig a' sgiobair agus aig a' chuid eile dhe na bh'air bórd agus sheól e. Ach co-dhiubh thánaig stoirm neo gu dé thachair na chaidh e air seachran, bha e seóladh fad úine agus thánaig e gu eilean. Tha mi cinnteach nach robh fios aige 'san am gur ann air eilean a bha e. Thánaig e gu áite agus thug e 'm bata astaigh air tir 's tharraing e suas e agus chaidh e siubhal mun cuairt. Dhirich e suas air feadh nam beannaibh agus thug e 'n uair sin fo near gur ann air eilean a bha e agus chunnaic e bothan shios air an taobh eile dhe'n eilean agus dh'oibrich e sios dh'a ionnsaidh. Nuair a ránaig e shios am bothan bheat e aig an dorust agus dh'fhosgail boireannach óg an dorust agus thug i súil air. "Nach mi-fhortanach dhut," ors' ise, "tighinn a' seo." "'S eadh," ors' esan. "Gu dé 'n t-aobhar dha sin?" "Thá," ors' ise, "gura h-e taigh meáirlich na mará tha seo," ors' ise. "Agus chaidh a' soitheach air a robh sinn a' seóladh," ors' ise, "chuir an cali. Agus thug iad leo gach ni a bh' oirre agus thug iad leo mise

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34

The King of Egypt's Daughter

There was once a young man in a certain part of the world and, since employment was scarce and work could not readily be found, he decided one day that he would go down to the pier to see if there were any sailing vessels in hopes that he would be able to strike a bargain with a captain. And it happened that there was a sailing vessel in at the time, so he went to talk with the skipper of the vessel and was hired on. He was to stay on the vessel for a certain number of years some years and a day - and a wage was settled, conditions were agreed on, and when they were ready they sailed. And however many years he sailed, when that number of years and the day had passed, the sailor said that his tour was now completed and that he wished to leave. Well, the skipper was unhappy to see him leave because he had been so good on board, but he would not oppose him. But he asked him how he intended to leave now that they were out at sea. "If you give me/; said the sailor, "the longboat with a sail, a compass, and a little food to put on board, I will be able to sail right from here." So everything was fitted out and the sailor was given his wages, and he took leave of the skipper and the others on board and set sail. Whether a storm aróse or he went off course, whatever happened, he sailed for a time until he reached an island; 1'm certain that he did not know at the time that he was on an island. He landed and beached the boat, pulled it up, and went walking around. He climbed up in the mountains, noticing then that he was on an island, and he saw a hut on the other side of the island and made his way down to it. When he reached the hut he beat on the door and a young woman opened the door and looked at him. "Isn't it an unlucky thing for you," said she, "to arrive here!" "Yes, indeed," said he. "And what is the reason for that?" "The reason," said she, "is that this is a sea-pirates' lair. The ship on which we were sailing was caused to founder and they took everything that was on her and took me along with

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cómhla ris a' chórr. Agus chuireadh na bh' air bórd gu bás uile; chuir iad sios dha'n ghrunnd an soitheach. Agus 's mise Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit agus tha mi ann a' seo 'nam phriosanaich aig an triúir mheáirlich a th' ann a' seo. Agus tha iad amuigh an drásd' air a' chuan agus nuair a thig iad/' ors' ise, "cha bhi thusa sábhailte co-dhiubh." "O a roghainn 's a bhiodh dha," ors' esan, "fuirghidh mis' co-dhiubh gus an tig iad." Co-dhiubh, fada neo goirid gu robh an úine thánaig fear dhe na meáirlich anuas a dh'ionnsaidh a' bhothain agus chunnaic e 'm fear a bha seo 'na shuidhe astaigh agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha có as a thánaig esan. Dh'inns' e dha gun tánaig e far long a chaidh 'n cali 's gun deachaidh a cuir as a' chéile as a' stoirm ach gu robh esan fortanach gu leór gun do chroch e ri píos dhe 'n fhiodh a bha falbh air uachdar an uisge 's gun do chum e greimeachadh ris agus gu robh e 'ga thuaineal air feadh a' chuain gus mu dheireadh an tánaig e air tir air an fhearann a bha seo. Agus nuair a thánaig an darna fear dhiubh dhachaidh dh'fhoighneachd e dheth 's bha 'n aon naidheachd aige 's a bha aige dha 'n cheud fhear. Agus nuair a thánaig an treas fear bha 'n aon naidheachd aige dhasan. Agus co-dhiubh dh'aontaich iad bho 'n a thánaig e air an t-suidheachadh sin gum fuirgheadh e cómhla riutha. Agus thuirt fear acá gum biodh asan a' falbh air a' chuan ri robadh agus gum fuirgheadh esan air tir agus gum biodh e siubhal mun cuairt air na cladaichean feuch gu dé dh'amaiseadh ris fhéin. "Agus tha," ors' esan, "riaghladh againn air an eilean seo: am fear as fhéarr a ni againn re na seachdain', 's e 'm fear sin a bhios 'na uachdaran - 'na righ - air an eilean gus an deán fear eile na's fheárr na esan. Agus nuair a ni, théid an gnothach a nuil dh'a ionnsaidh-san." Co-dhiubh, thog na meáirlich rithe air feadh a' chuain ach bha esan a' siubhal mun cuairt air a' chladach agus tha fios gu robh na chuir e 'm falach - 'm beagan a bh' aige do dh'airgiod. Agus nuair a thigeadh iad dhachaidh feasgar bha esan an deaghaidh barrachd a thrusadh air feadh a' chladaich agus a bha asan amuigh air a' chuan. Agus 's ann as an dóigh sin dh'aontaich iad gum biodh esan 'na righ air an eilean fad na seachdain'. Bha asan a' falbh dha 'n chuan agus esan a' fuireach air tir. Ach a' latha bha seo bha e a' smaointinn gu robh 'n gnothach freagarrach: bha e 'n deaghaidh a thuigsinn car an úine a bhiodh iad amuigh air a' chuan 's thuirt e rithe-se gu robh an t-am acasan a nist a bhith togail rithe. Agus fhuair iad deiseil 's cha robh ise deónach idir an cothrom a ghabhail air a' ghnothach gun fios nach rachadh an glacadh. Ach

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the rest. All the others on board were put to death, and they sent the ship down to the bottom. Fm the King of Egypt's daughter and Fm being held a prisoner here by the three pirates. Right now they are out at sea, but when they return you are not going to be at all safe." "Well, be that as it may," said he, "Fll stay here until they return." Whether the passing time was long or short, one of the pirates carne down to the hut and saw the man sitting inside and asked him where he had come from. The sailor replied that he carne off a wrecked ship which was torn apart in a storm, and that he had been fortúnate enough to cling to a piece of wood that was floating on the surface. He had kept hold of it and was driven around the ocean until at last he carne to rest on this piece of land. When the second pirate carne home, he questioned him, and the sailor gave him the same story that he had told the first pirate, and when the third pirate arrived he had the same story for him. So they agreed that since he had come to them in those straits he could stay. So one of them said that they were going out to sea to plunder and that he was to stay on land and to walk the shores to see what he would come upon there. ''And we have," said he, "a rule here on this island: the man among us who does best during the week becomes lord or king of the island until someone else does better than he. And whoever does, the title goes to him/' The pirates took off on the ocean, and he was going around on the shore and Fm sure with what he had hidden - the little bit of money that he had - when they returned home in the evening, he had gathered more along the shore than they had out on the ocean. And by virtue of this it was agreed that he would become king of the island for the week. So they continued going to sea and he remained on land. But one day he began thinking that the time was right; he had begun to reckon the length of time they were out at sea, so he said to the young woman that it was time for them to be taking off. They got ready, though she wasn't at all eager to

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dh'aontaich i gum falbhadh i co-dhiubh agus bu ghlé ghoirid an t-astar a bha iad amuigh air a' chuan nuair a chual' iad buille ráimh agus thug iad súil 's bha na bátaichean aig na meáirlich a' tighinn as an deaghaidh. O, chaidh ise gu gal 's gu brón agus thuirt i gu robh iad a nist na bu truaigh' dheth na bha iad roimhe. "Coma leat/' ors' esan. "Cha n-eil sinn an cali fhathast." Agus mun tánaig iad suas riu thánaig iad astaigh ann an ceó agus lig esan a nuil am bata air cursa eile; dh'atharraich e cursa nuair a fhuair e anns a' cheó agus cha n-amaiseadh iad air tuilleadh. Ach bha ise na bu mhiosa dheth an uair sin nuair a chaidh iad 'sa cheó. Bha iad a nist air chalí agus cha n-fhaigheadh iad as co-dhiubh. Thuirt e rithe gun cúram a bhith oirr' idir nach fhaigheadh iad as; gum falbhadh esan air cursa leis a' bháta. Fada neo goirid an úine gu robh iad a; seóladh ránaig iad co-dhiubh baile-puirt. Chaidh e astaigh gu laimhrig leis a' bháta agus chaidh e suas gu taigh-ósda airson an oidhche chuir seachad ann. Agus bha iad a' dol a bhith ann a' sin gus am faigheadh iad amach am biodh an cothrom ac' air dol dha 'n Éipheit. Co-dhiubh nuair a chaidh iad dha 'n taigh-ósda 's a ghabh iad seómbraichean, nuair a bha iad a' dol dha na seombraichean-támh, thug iad fo near gu robh colann crochte shuas ann a' sin. Agus chaidh ise gu éigheach agus gu caoidh an uair sin buileach. "Bha sin truagh gu leór," ors' ise, "a bhith cómhla ris na meáirlich ach nach ann a tha 'n truaighe buileach/' ors' ise, "bhith cómhla ris na murtairean." "Coma leat," ors' esan. "Gheobh mis' amach dé 's aobhar dheth seo mun teid sinn ceum na's fhaide." Agus ghabh e sios far a robh fear an taigh-ósda. Dh'fhoighneachd e dheth gu dé a b'aobhar a' cholann a bha an crochadh ann a' sin. "An da," ors' esan, fear an taigh-ósda, "'s e 'n cleachdadh a tha 'sa bhaile seo an cómhnaidh - a' riaghladh a bh' ann bho chionn üine aon sam bith a dh'fhágas an saoghal agus fiachan air, gu bheil a cholann ri bhith an crochadh fad chunntais lathaichean anns an taigh-ósda los gum faic a' mhuinntir a bhios a' falbh 's a' tighinn e, agus bheir e samhladh dhaibh iad fhéin a bhith cinnteach gu páidh iad na fiachan mum fág iad an saoghal seo." "Agus," ors' esan, "am biodh e ceadaichte na ceart do dhuine na fiachan sin a pháidheadh?" "O, bhiodh," ors' esan, "sin ceart gu leór." "Mata," ors' esan, "cuiridh sinn mu dheidhinn na fiachan a bh' air an duine seo, ge b'e có e, a pháidheadh."

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take this opportunity in case they might be captured, but at last she agreed to go. They were only a very short distance out to sea when they heard the stroke of an oar, and when they looked the pirates' boats were coming after them. Well, she began crying and lamenting, saying that they were now worse off than they had been before. "Never mind," said he, "we are not lost yet." And before the pirates caught up with them they entered a bank of f og and he put the boat onto another course; he changed course when he entered the f og patch, and they could no longer find him. But the young woman was even worse off once they entered it; now they were lost and she thought they would never get out. He told her not to worry at all about finding their way out and that he would continué on course with the boat. Whatever length of time they sailed, they reached a seaport. He brought the boat into the wharf and went up to an inn to spend the night there. They intended to stay there until they could see whether they would find a chance to go to Egypt. Anyway they went to the inn and engaged rooms and, as they were on their way up to their rooms, they noticed a corpse hanging up there. The woman took to yelling and crying loudly. "It was bad enough," said she, ''to be with the pirates, but isn't it terrible to be with murderers now?" "Never mind," he replied. "I will find out the meaning of this before we go a step further." He went down to the proprietor of the inn and asked him what was the meaning of the corpse hanging there. "Well," said he, the proprietor of the inn, "it is always the custom in this town - it has been the rule for some time that the body of anyone who leaves this world with debts is to be hung in the inn for so many days as a visible example to those passing back and f orth so that they will be sure to settle their own debts before they leave this world." "And," said the sailor, "would it be permitted or regarded as correct for another man to pay those debts off?" "Oh, yes indeed," replied the innkeeper. "That would be all right."

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"Glé cheart/' orsa fear an taigh-ósda. "Cuiridh mis'," oís' esan, "fios air a' mharsanta a bhith a.' seo 'sa mhadainn am máireach agus suidhichidh sinn an gnothach." Agus co-dhiubh chaidh iad gu támh an oidhche sin agus as a' mhadainn air la'r-na-mháireach chaidh fios a chuir air a' mharsanta agus thánaig am marsanta a dh'ionnsaidh an taigh-ósda. Agus dh'fhoighneachd an seóladair seo dheth gu dé na fiachan a bh' air an duine bha seo is dh'inns' am marsanta dha. Agus thuirt e ris gu páidheadh esan ma tha an sin. "Glé cheart/' thuirt am marsanta, "tha mi riaraichte gu leór." Agus pháidh e na fiachan a bh' air an duine bhochd a bha seo. Agus chuir e 'n sin fios air fear-álachaidh agus thuirt e ris a' cholann a bha seo a sgeadachadh amach agus tiodhlaigeadh duin' uasail a thoirt dha agus gu páidheadh esan a chosgais. Co-dhiubh 's e seo a chaidh a dheanamh agus ge b'e an úine a bha iad an sin a' fuireach as a' bhaile bha seo bhiodh esan a' dol a dh'ionnsaidh na laimhrig sios a h-uile latha feuch a robh soithichean-seólaidh a' tighinn mun chuairt. Ach co-dhiubh latha dhe na lathaichean thánaig soitheach mor seólaidh astaigh agus chaidh e a bhruidhinn ris a' sgiobair. Agus fhuair e amach bho 'n sgiobair gu robh iad a' seóladh agus ghabh e fhéin turus dha 'n Éipheit air an t-soitheach a bha seo agus thuirt e gu robh neach eile cómhla ris. 'S bha sin math gu leór: bhiodh iad a' falbh air a' la'r-na-mháireach, a' togail rithe. Agus chaidh e fhéin agus Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit sios dh'ionnsaidh na laimhrig agus nuair a chunnaic sgiobair an t-soithich an nighean a bha seo rinn e mach gum bu chóir dha i seo aithneachadh agus dh'fhalhh e sios dha 'n t-seómbar aige fhéin agus bha dealbh Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit aig' ann a' sin agus cinnteach gu leór 's i bha seo. Ach cha do lig e dad air. Chaidh iad air bórd co-dhiubh agus sheól iad air falbh. Ach thug an seo an sgiobair órdugh do dh'fhear dhe na seóladairean a bh'air an t-soitheach am fear seo a chaitheadh amach far bórd a' cheud chothrom a gheobhadh e air. Agus cha deanadh math dha dhol an aghaidh a' sgiobair ach thug e ri thuigsinn dha 'n fhear eile mar a bha gu tachairt. Agus thuirt e ris nach deanadh esan idir a' rud a bha sin. Ach co-dhiubh, 's ann a chaidh lain amach far bórd is chaidh e sios 's fhuair e greim air a' cheangal a bha sios eadar an crann-sgód agus toiseach an t-soithich 's bha e ann a' sin. 'S chaidh an naidheachd mun cuairt gun do thuit an duine bha seo amach far bórd. Neo-ar-thaing nuair a fhuair ise a' naidheachd nach deach i gu éigheach agus gu gearain ach thuirt a' sgiobair rithe gun e a chuir cúram oirre.

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"Well/' said he, "we will take it upon ourselves to pay the debts that this man has incurred, whoever he may be." "Very well," said the innkeeper. "I will send for the merchant to come here tomorrow morning and we will settle the matter." They retired that night and on the morning of the next day the merchant was sent for and arrived at the inn. The sailor asked him what debts were owed by the man, the merchant told him, and the sailor agreed to pay them. "Very well," said the merchant, "I am well satisfied." So the sailor settled the debts owed by the poor man and sent for a grave-digger and told him to clothe the body and to give him a gentleman's burial, and that he would pay the costs. That was done, and however long they stayed in the town, he would go down to the wharf daily to see if there were any sailing vessels coming around. One day a great sailing vessel carne in and he went to speak to the skipper. He found out from the skipper that they were about to sail, and he obtained passage to Egypt on the vessel, mentioning that there was someone accompanying him. And that was all very well; they were to set out on their journey the next day. He and the King of Egypt's daughter went down to the wharf, and when the skipper of the vessel saw the girl, he thought that he ought to recognize her. He went down to his own room where he had a picture of the King of Egypt's daughter, and sure enough it was she. But he did not let on at all. They went on board and set sail. But the skipper gave an order to one of the sailors on the vessel to throw him overboard at the first opportunity. It was not advisable for that sailor to challenge the skipper, but he conveyed to the other man what was supposed to happen, saying that he would not do what had been asked. But in the end, Jack the sailor went overboard, and down he went. He caught hold of a connecting rope that was underneath between the boom and the bow of the vessel, and there he remained. And the story went around that the sailor had fallen overboard, and when she heard the news, didn't the girl take

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Ach co-dhiubh bha 'n soitheach na támh: cha robh i falbh - fiath a bh' ann - agus chunnacas am fear seo a' snámh taca ris an t-soitheach. Agus thug an sgiobair órdadh dhaibh 'sa mhionaid róp a thilgeadh dha 'n fhear seo feuch am faigheadh a thoirt air bórd. 'S neo-ar-thaing nuair a fhuair esan a' róp a ghlacadh nach tánaig e anuas gu math clis 's bha 'n gnothach an uair sin suidhichte gu leór. Ach air oidhche dhe na bha e fhéin agus a' sgiobair gu h-árd air clár-uachdair agus iad a' curnail faire fhuair a' sgiobair cothrom agus bha 'n long ag iomain a nuil 's a nall 's turus dhe na bha i dol a nuil fairis thug a' sgiobair üpag dhasan agus chaidh e amach air a 7 chuan. Agus bha fhios aige gura h-e an t-olc a bh' as a' sgiobair is cha do dh'fheuch e ri tilleadh an cóir an t-soithich. Shnámh e air falbh bhuaithe agus dh'éibh e dha 'n sgiobair, "Bidh mi 'san Éipheit air thoiseach ort." Agus chum e roimhe a' snámh. O, fada neo goirid an úine bha e falbh air a shocair 's mu dheireadh thug e suas. Cha b'urrainn dha 'n córr snámh a dheanamh ach bha e f euchainn ri cumail air uachdar an uisge mar a b'fheárr a b'urrainn dha. Agus bha e air thuar gu robh e air toirt fairis tur 's bha e ann a' sin 'na laighe air uachdar an uisge eadar da stuadh. "Nach truagh mo cháradh!" ors' esan. "A liuthad stuadha mhór chaidh mise fairis orra ri m' úine air a' mhuir. Agus tha e coltach gu bheil agam ri dhol sios an drásd' eadar a dha dhiubh ann a' seo." Chual' e buille neo fuaim mar gum biodh bata agus thug e súil a nuil. Bha bata caol dubh ri thaobh ann a' sin agus leth-sheann duine 'na shuidhe aig na ráimh. "Cha n-eil dúil a'm/' ors' esan, "nach eil thu ann an cas." "O," ors' esan, "tha mi ann an cas. Tha," ors' esan "mo shaoghal air tighinn gu ceann." "O, cha n-eil fhios a'm," ors' esan, "a bheil do shaoghal aig a cheann fhathast. Nan deanadh tu cumhntan riunisa," ors' esan, an seannduine bha seo, "bheir mi gu cala sábhailt' thu." " 'S duilich dhomhsa cumhntan a dheanamh ri duine sam bith anns an t-suidheachadh as a bheil mi." "An da," ors' esan, "nan gealladh tu dhomhsa a' rud a dh'iarrainn chithinn gum biodh tu aig cala ri úine." "An da," ors' esan, "ciamar a gheallas mise dhuibh rud nach eil ann 's nach urrainn dhomh?" "An da, 's e an gealltanas a tha mis' ag iarraidh," ors' esan, "a thoirt dhomh do mhac a' latha bhios e tri bliadhna a dh'aois." " 'S duilich dhomh," ors' esan, "mo mhac neo mo nighean a thoirt do dhuine aig aois sam bith agus mo shaoghal aig a cheann agus gun bean neo mac neo nighean agam."

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to screaming and complaining, but the skipper told her not to be upset at all. But the boat becarne becalmed. It was not moving - there was a dead calm - and Jack was seen swimming alongside the vessel. Right away the skipper gave the order to throw him a rope to try to bring him aboard. And sure enough he managed to grasp the rope and carne aboard quite smartly. So that was settled. But one night when he and the skipper were up on the top deck keeping watch the skipper saw his chance. The ship was tacking back and forth and on one of her tacks across the skipper gave Jack a shove and out he went into the sea. He knew then that there was malice behind the skipper's actions so he did not attempt to return to the vessel; he struck out from it, calling out to the skipper, "I will be in Egypt before you." And he kept on swimming. Whether the time was long or short, he kept on at his own pace until at last he gave up. He couldn't swim any further; he was just trying to stay above water as best he could. It looked as if he had just about given up completely, lying on the surface between two waves. "Is my plight not a pitiful one!" said he. " All the big waves I have surmounted during my time at sea, and now it seems my lot to sink down between two of them right here." Then he heard a blow or a noise as if from a boat, and when he looked, there was a black longboat beside him and a middleaged man sitting at the oars. "It seems to me,;/ said the man, "that you're in a fix." "Oh," replied Jack, "I am in a fix. My time has come/' "Oh, I don't know," replied the older man, "that your time has come yet. If you were to make an agreement with me," said he, "I will take you safely to a harbour." "It is difficult for me to make a deal with anyone in my present circumstances." " Well, if you promise to do what I ask of you, I could see that you were at a harbour in time." "Well," replied Jack, "how can I promise something that is neither there ñor within my power?"

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"An da," ors' esan, an seann duine, "ma ni thusa do ghealltanas chi sinn mu dheoghainn sin." Agus chaidh e dha 'n bháta co-dhiubh agus leag e e-fhéin 'na shineadh air a' chlár agus bha e cho sgith 's thuit e 'na chadal. Agus ge b'e gu dé 'n úine a bha e 'na chadal neo gu dé 'n úine thug iad air an turus, co-dhiubh ránaig iad an Éipheit. Agus chaidh iad astaigh gu cala 's bha e astaigh ann a' sin cunntais lathaichean mun tánaig a' sgiobair astaigh. Agus fhuair e fasdadh; bha e 'g obair aig a' chladach timcheall na laimhrig mu chuairt nuair a thánaig a' soitheach mor astaigh gu cala. Agus thánaig Righ na h-Éipheit 's seirbhisich anuas 's chaidh iad a dh'ionnsaidh na laimhrig sios agus thánaig sgiobair a' bháta astaigh air a' laimhrig agus bha Nighean a' Righ cómhla ris. Neo-ar-thaing nach deachaidh toileachadh a dheanamh ri Nighean a' Righ. "Tha mi faicinn," ors' a' righ, "gun d'fhuair thu mo nighean." "Fhuair," ors' a' sgiobair. "Bidh sinn a nist," ors' esan, "a' dol suas dh'ionnsaidh a' chairteil agus tha na cumhtannan ri co-lionadh. Gheall mis'," ors' esan, "am fear a gheobhadh mo nighean, gura h-e gheobhadh i ri pósadh." "Am faod mi," ors' ise, "beagan fhaclan a ghrádh mun chüis?" "Faodaidh," ors' a h-athair. "Ceadaichidh mise dhut cead-seanchais aigam sam bith." "Cha b'e seo," ors' ise, "an duine a fhuair mise idir. Chaidh mise fhaighinn leis an duine a tha sibh a' faicinn thall ud ag obair." "O," ors' esan, a' righ, "feumaidh sinn dearbhadh fhaighinn air a' sin." "Cha n-eil a leithid idir ann," ors' a' sgiobair. "O," ors' esan, a' righ, "feumaidh sinn a' chúis a réiteach." "Falbh," ors' ise, "a nuil neo éibh ris tighinn a nall a' seo," ors' ise, "agus gun toir e dhuibh beagan do dh'eachdraidh a bheatha. Agus bidh fios agaibh an uair sin air a' naidheachd air a' chaochladh mar a bhios a' gnothach." Chaidh éigheach air an fhear seo a nall agus chaidh fhoighneachd dheth có as a thánaig e 's ciamar a chaidh cor an t-saoghail dha is thóisich e air innse na naidheachd, tha mi cinnteach, bho 'n am a chaidh e air an t-soitheach-seólaidh gus an t-am a chaidh a chaitheadh e far bórd an t-soithich aig a' sgiobair a bha seo. Nuair a chuala Righ na h-Éipheit mar a chaidh a dheanamh air agus a h-uile rud a bh'ann, 's ann a dh'órdaich e gum biodh a' sgiobair a bha seo air a chuir fo ghlais agus nach biodh a shaors' aige 'n córr dhe bheatha; agus gum biodh a' seóladair air a thoirt suas a dh'ionnsaidh a' chairteil agus gu rachadh a

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"Well/' the man replied, "the promise I am asking is to give me your son on the day that he is three years of age." "It is difficult for me/' said Jack, "to give someone my son or my daughter at any age since my lif e is at an end and I have no wife, son, or daughter/7 "Well," the older man said, "if you promise we will see about the rest." So Jack got into the boat and stretched himself out on the deck, so exhausted that he fell asleep. And however long a time he slept or however long their journey took, at last they reached Egypt. They carne into port and Jack was there a number of days before the skipper landed. He had found employment and was working at the shore around the wharf when the big vessel carne into harbour. The King of Egypt carne down with his servants and they went down to the wharf and the skipper of the boat carne in with the king's daughter and she was received with great pleasure. "I see/' said the king, "that you have found my daughter." "I have/' replied the skipper. "We will go up now/' said the king, "to the castle, for there are agreements to be kept. I promised that whoever should find my daughter would have her in marriage." "May I," said she, "say a few words?" " Yes," replied her f ather. " You have my permission to speak at any time at all." "This is not the man who found me. I was found by the man you see working over there." "Oh, indeed. We would require some proof of that." "There can be no such thing," said the skipper. "Oh," said the king, "we must settle the matter somehow." "Go over there," said she, "or cali him over here, so that he may give you a little of his life story, and you will learn that things are different from what you believe at present." The man was called over and was asked where he hailed from and the way the world had treated him, and he began telling his story, I believe, from the time he went on the sailing vessel until he was thrown off the vessel by the skipper. When the King of Egypt heard what had been done to him and all the

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sgeadachadh amach anns an éideadh a bha cóireach air a bhith air a' leithid do dhuine. Agus chaidh an uair sin bainis mhór a dheanamh agus phós e fhéin agus Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit. Ach co-dhiubh an aimsir gu robh ann dh'fhás ise torrach agus ri úine fhuaireadh leanabh gille. O, an uair sin bha an aighear agus an sólus air a mheudachadh gu mor. Ach co-dhiubh bha 'n úine a' dol seachad an aimsir air a bhith cho ealamh — agus am nan tri bliadhna gu ruith. Agus mu dheireadh thánaig a' latha ;s bha 'n gille tri bliadhna a dh'aois. Thánaig an seann duine bha seo; bhuail e aig an dorust agus chaidh iarraidh air tighinn astaigh 's thánaig e astaigh. Bha 'n seann duine 'na shuidhe astaigh tacan agus dh'inns' an uair sin a' seóladair dha 'n mhnaoi an cumhntan a rinn esan airson a bheatha shábhaladh nuair a bha e air a' chuan. "Mata," ors' ise, "ged is cruaidh 's fheudar"; ors' ise, "feumar gealltanas a bhith air a cho-lionadh." Agus thugadh an gille nall a dh'ionnsaidh an t-seann duine. Thog an seann duine an gille agus chuir e 'na shuidhe air a ghlúin e agus thuirt e 'n uair sin, "Tha thusa cho rnath ri 'd ghealltanas. Agus," ors' esan, "tha do ghealltanas co-lionte 'n nochd. 'S fhada bho 'n a pháidh thumise." "O cha n-eil fhios a'm," ors' esan, an seóladair, "ciamar a pháidh mi idir thu." "O," ors' esan, "ma dh'fhaoidte gu bheil cuimhn' agad nuair a bha thu 'san taigh-ósda agus a thug thu anuas an corp a bha 'n crochadh suas air ropa 's thug thu tiodhlaigeadh duin' uasail dha agus mór-urram is a pháidh thu na fiachan. A nist," ors' esan, "tha 'n gille a' dol air n-ais thugad fhéin mar bu chóir dha bhith agus," ors' esan, "tha mo bheannachdan-sa leis air a h-uile sealbh a bhith air fhéin agus air a' chórr agaibh." Agus sin agaibh an sgeulachd a fhuair mise air an t-seóladair agus air Nighean Righ na h-Éipheit.

35

An Dotan Bán

'S e an naidheachd a bha seo, 's ann mu dheidhinn lighiche agus 's e an Dotair Bán a bheireadh iad ris a' lighiche a bh' ann. Agus bha e air a sheanachas gu robh tálant na fóghlum a bharrachd aige na bha aig iomadh lighiche agus gum faiceadh e - air réir mar a bha asan ann am beachd - gum faiceadh e thro choluinn neach. Agus bha boireannach óg a' seinn oran aig froilig, na aig luadhadh na cruinneachadh gu robh ann, agus thuirt cuideiginn ris an dotair gum

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rest, he ordered that the skipper be shackled and deprived of his freedom for the rest of his days, and that the sailor be taken to the castle, and that he be dressed in garments suitable for a person of his quality. A great wedding was arranged, and Jack and the King of Egypt's daughter were married. But, with the passing of time, she grew heavy with child and gave birth to a baby boy and there was much more happiness and rejoicing. But time passed and passed swiftly, and soon the period of three years had run its course. And the day arrived at last when the young lad was three years of age. The older man carne around; he knocked on the door, was invited in, and entered. When the older man had been sitting inside for a while, the sailor told his wife the conditions to which he had agreed in order to save his own life while he was at sea. "Well/' said she, "hard as it is, a promise must be fulfilled." So the lad was brought to the older man. And he lifted him up and placed him on his knee and said, " You have been as good as your promise, which promise has been fulfilled tonight. It is in fact a long time since you paid me." "I don't understand," said the sailor, "how I could ever have paid you." "Oh," replied the older man, "you may remember when you were at the inn and took down the corpse that was hanging from a rope and gave it a respectable gentleman's burial and paid off the debts. Now the lad is going back to you as he should. And he has my blessing that every good fortune will meet him and the rest of you." And there you have the story that I heard about the sailor and the King of Egypt's daughter.

35

The Fair-haired Doctor

This tale concerns a doctor whom they used to cali the Fairhaired Doctor. It was related that he had more talent or learning than many other doctors and that he could see - so they believed - through people's bodies. And there was a young woman singing a song at a frolic or a

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bu bhinn, blasda an guth a bh' aig a' bhoireannach óg a bha seo. Agus thuirt e gum b' eadh: gum bu bhinn an guth a tha tighinn far uachdar losgainn. Agus gu dé bha seo a' ciallachadh? Agus thánaig an naidheachd a bh' ann mun cuairt, tha mi cinnteach, gu párantan agus 's ann a dh'fheumte cuir mu dheidhinn. Is dh'fheumadh an dotair seo a dhearbhadh. Ach thuirt e gu rachadh aige air sin a dheanamh nan tugadh iad dha an cothrom a bha a dhith air. Agus air réir na naidheachd aigesan 's e uisge agus salann air a chuir ann 's bha an deoch air a deanamh cho láidir leis an t-salann 's gur ann air éiginn a ghabhadh i ól. 'S b'fheudar dha 'n nighinn cuid dheth sin a ghabhail agus cha robh aice ri deoch na sian a ghabhail fad úine - ma dh'fhaoidte fad da uair dheug as a dheaghaidh sin. Thánaig an lighiche fhéin agus tha mi creidsinn gu robh fhios aige gu dé an t-am a bha iomchaidh. Agus bha mias neo measair aige do bhainne air beulaibh na h-ighinneadh 's bha aice ri cumail ann a' sin. 'S mu dheireadh thánaig a' losgann amach as a beul 's chaidh i dha 'n bhainne. Agus sgob esan leis am mias 'sa mhionaid. Co-dhiubh, leum a' losgann amach as an t-soitheach bainne 's i airson tilleadh air n-ais far an robh i roimhe. Ach bha esan ro chlis airson gum faigheadh i ann agus co-dhiubh chaidh a cumail gun faighinn air ais am beul na h-ighinn tuilleadh. Agus thug a' lighiche leis dhachaidh a' losgann. 'S tha mi creidsinn gum biodh soitheach aice shios 's am biodh i dol a shnámh ann an uisge 's a leithid sin 's bhiodh i mun cuairt air feadh an taighe. Ach madainn dheth ma bha iad a' gabhail am biadh-madainneadh, thuit pronnag do bhiadh air choireiginn - co-dhiubh 's e pronnag do dh'ugh a bh' air a ghoil a bh' ann na gu dé, thuit e air a' lar — agus dh'ith a' losgann sin agus fhuair a losgann am bás. Bha a' bhean uamhasach duilich mar a thachair: gun deachaidh na thuit seo far a' bhúird ach bha esan ñor thoilichte gun d'fhuair e amach gu dé rud a thug bás na losgainn. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a bh' aig Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil air an Dotair Bhán agus air a' losgann a bha air giúlan na h-ighinn.

36

Nighean na Droch-Mháthar

Mar a bha 'n naidheachd, bha tuathanach gu math air a dhóighean agus bha triúir nighean aige. Agus thánaig fear a shuiridhe air té dha na

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The Recitéis and the Tales

milling or some gathering, and somebody told the doctor that this woman had a sweet, melodious voice. He replied that sweet indeed was the voice coming out over a frog. But what did that mean? So the story finally carne around, I am sure, to her parents and something had to be done about it; the doctor had to prove that this was so. So he told them that he could do this if they gave him the opportunity he required. According to what he said this involved water with salt added. The drink was made so strong with salt that it was barely potable. The girl had to take some of this and was not to take a drink or anything else for some time, perhaps for twelve hours after that. The doctor himself arrived and I believe that he knew the proper time. There was a basin or a vessel of milk in front of the girl and she was to keep it there. Finally the frog carne out of her mouth and went down to the milk, and the doctor snatched up the basin immediately. The frog jumped out of the milk trying to return to where it had been, but the doctor was too quick for it and it was prevented from getting back into the girFs mouth. The doctor took the frog home with him. I believe that it had a vessel at the kitchen end of the house where it would swim in the water and so on, and it used to go around through the house. But one morning as they were having their breakfast a crumb of food — whether it was a piece of boiled egg or whatever - fell on the floor and the frog ate it and died. The wife was sorry about what had happened, that the food had dropped off the table, but he himself was pleased to find out what caused the death of the frog. And there you have the tale told by Angus MacMullin concerning the Fair-haired Doctor and the frog that was lodged in the young girl's body.

36

The Bad Mother's Daughter

As the tale had it, there was a farmer who was quite well off and he had three daughters. A man carne courting one of the

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h-igheanan agus phós e an té a b'aosda dha na h-igheanan. Agus thánaig an sin fear eile agus phós e an té eile a b'fhaisge air a' sin. Agus thánaig a' sin an t-óganach a bha seo agus tha e coltach gun deachaidh sanáis thoirt dha gu robh 'n nighean seo car doirbh bhith suas rithe: gu robh moran dhe toil fhéin fo near dhi. Ach co-dhiubh chaidh an córdadh a dheanamh ;s am pósadh agus nuair a bha iad a; dol dhachaidh bha 'n cu comhla ris-san — bha each math aige 's bha ;n cu cómhla ris — agus dh'iarr e air a' chú rud a dheanamh a bha fhios aige nach rachadh aig a' chü air a dheanamh co-dhiubh. Agus bho nach d'rinn an cu seo, loisg e air a' chú. Agus bha iad a' falbh a' rathaid co-dhiubh agus thánaig iad gu abhainn agus dh'iarr e air an each leum thairis air an abhainn a bha seo 's cha leumadh an t-each fairis air an abhainn. Dh'fheuch e ;s cha rachadh an t-each fairis. Thuirt e rithe-se tighinn anuas far druim an eich — bha iad a' marcachd 'nan dithist air air druim an eich - agus cha robh i dol a thighinn anuas idir. "Uill," ors' esan, "mura h-eil thu tighinn anuas 'gad dheóin thig thu anuas a dh'aindeoin." Agus thánaig i anuas far druim an eich agus thuirt e rithe, "Bheir leat andiollaid." Agus cha robh i dol a thoirt leatha na diollaid idir, ach o, thuirt e rithe gum b'fheárr dhi 'n diollaid thoirt leatha fhad 's a bhiodh an úine aice agus thug i an diollaid far druim an eich is loisg e air an each. Agus ghabh iad sios gus an tánaig iad gu drochaid neo áite 'sa robh an abhainn caol agus dh'fhoighneachd i dha gu dé bha ceárr: thuirt i gum bu neónach a' rud a chunnaic i. "'S eadh," ors' esan, "dé bha cuir neónachas ort?" "Bha," ors' ise, "gun do loisg thu air a' chú agus gun e deanamh cron." "Agus nach cuala tu mi 'g iarraidh air rud a dheanamh," ors' esan, " 's cha d'rinn e e? Cha d'rinn e mar a dh'iarr mi air. Agus bha 'n dóigh cheudna air an each," ors' esan. "Dh'iarr mi air rud a dheanamh 's cha deanadh e dhomh e. Agus bho nach deanadh cha robh feum ann dhomhsa idir nach deanadh e rud a dh'iarrainn air. Agus sin mar a tha gnothaichean a' dol dhomhsa an cómhnaidh." Agus co-dhiubh chaidh iad dhachaidh agus as a' mhadainn a' sin nuair a thánaig a' latha 's a bha iad 'nan dúsgadh thuirt e, "Cuir ort dobhriogais." "O, cha chuir," ors' ise. "Glé cheart," ors' esan. "Mura cuir thu ort an diugh i cuimhnich nach iarr thu tuilleadh i." Agus bha 'n gnothach a' dol air 'n aghaidh mar sin.

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daughters and married the oldest one; another man carne and married the next oldest. Finally a young man carne along and it seems that he was warned that the other daughter was pretty hard to get along with; she was fairly independent. So an agreement was made and the marriage was performed, and when they were going home he had his dog with him — he had a good horse and the dog was with him - and he asked the dog to do something that he knew the dog could not do. And when the dog did not do it he shot it. They continued along the road until they carne to a river and he asked the horse to leap across the river and the horse could not jump it. He tried and the horse would not go across it, so he told her to come down from the horse's back - they were riding double on the horse's back - and she was not going to come down at all. "Well," said he, "if you are not coming down willingly you're coming down against your will." So she dismounted from the horse's back and he said to her, "Take the saddle with you/' And she was not going to take the saddle with her at all. He told her that she had better take it while she had time so she took the saddle off the horse's back and he shot the horse. They kept on until they arrived at a bridge or a place where the river was narrow and she asked him what was wrong. She said that what she had seen seemed very strange to her. "Indeed," said he, "and what seemed so strange to you?" "It seemed strange," said she, "that you shot the dog when it was doing no harm." "And didn't you hear me asking it to do something that it didn't do? It didn't do as I asked, and it was the same with the horse. I asked it to do something and it wouldn't do it for me. And since it would not do as I asked, it was of no use to me. And that is the way things always are for me." So they went home and in the morning when the day dawned and they were awake he said, "Put on your pants," said he. "No, I will not," said she. "Very well," said he, "if you don't put them on today, remember not to ask for them again." And things continued that way.

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Ach co-dhiubh chuir an athair céile, chuir e fios orra. Bha iad air chéilidh astaigh aige. Dh'éibh e sios air na fir dha 'n t-seómbar - an triúir acá. "A nist." ors' esan, "tha mi dol a chuir cumhntan oirbh. Ach feumaidh sibh a bhith air beó-mhionnachadh nach abair sibh guth mu dheidhinn ri 'r bana-chompanaich. Agus tha sibh/' ors' esan, "ri bhith 'n seo bliadhna bho 'n nochd - an triúir agaibh - agus na mnathan cómhla ribh. Agus an t-aon agaibh as umhaile a bhean dha, gheobh a; fear sin duais. Ach na cluinneadh na mnathan agaibh guth mu dheidhinn a leithid fad na bliadhna." Co-dhiubh, chaidh a' bhliadhna seachad agus thánaig iad air chéilidh, an triúir fhear agus an triúir mhnathan: triúir nigheannan an t-seann duine. Agus thug e sios na fir dha 'n t-seómbar agus bha iad a' seanachas 's chaidh na boireannaich a dh'iomairt chairtean a bhos aig a' bhórd: an triüir nighean agus am máthair, iad ag iomairt chairtean. Agus bha a' seann fhear a' cumail súil an drásda 's a rithist. Agus nuair a chunnaic e gu robh an té a b' aosda dhe na h-igheannan a' cuir nan cairtean ann an seól airson an riarachadh mun cuairt - bha i 'gan cuir am measg a chéile 'san am 's deiseil airson an riarachadh mun cuairt - thuirt e ri companach, "Éibh air do bhean." Agus chaidh a companach dh'ionnsaidh an doruist. "Trobhad," ors' esan, "anuas." "Cho luath 's a riaraicheas mi na cairtean," ors' ise. Agus chuir i na cairtean mun cuairt 's chaidh i sios agus dh' fhoighneachd i dhe companach gu dé feum aige. "O," ors' esan, an seann duine, "coma leat an drásda. Chaidh e seachad." Agus co-dhiubh bha 'n seann duine cumail súil amach gu math biorach. Ach nuair a chunnaic e gu robh an darna té a' cuir nan cairtean ann an órdadh 's i dol 'gan riarachadh, rinn e cómharra ri companach agus thánaig e dh' ionnsaidh an doruist. "Trobhad an seo," ors' esan, "tiotadh." "Théid," ors, ise, "cho luath 's a riaraicheas mi na cairtean." Agus chaidh i sios. An uair sin dh'fhoighneachd i gu dé 'n gnothach a bh' ann. "O," ors' esan, an seann duine, "coma leat an drásda. Lig seachad e." Agus co-dhiubh bha e cumail súil air a' ghnothach agus nuair a chunnaic e gu robh 'n té óg a' cuir nan cairtean an órdan 's i deiseil airson an riarachadh, rinn e cómharra ri companach 's thánaig a companach dh' ionnsaidh an doruist agus dh'éibh e dhi, "An tigeadh tu seo tiotadh," ors' esan.

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One day their father-in-law sent for them. They were over visiting at his house and he called the three men down to the room. "Now," said he, "I am going to lay down some conditions for you, but you have to give me your solemn oath that you will not say a thing to your spouses. You are to be here one year from tonight - the three of you along with your wives. And the one of you whose wife is most obedient will get a reward. But don't let your wives hear anything about this during the whole year." So the year passed and they carne visiting, the three men and their wives, the oíd man's three daughters. And he took the men down to the room where they talked while the women went to play cards over at the table - the three daughters playing cards with their mother. The oíd man kept an eye on things now and again, and when he saw that the oldest of the daughters was arranging the cards to deal them around - she was shuffling them at the time and getting them ready to deal he said to her husband, " Cali your wife." So her husband went to the door. " Come on down here," said he. "As soon as I deal the cards/7 she answered. And she dealt the cards out and went down and asked her husband what he required. "Oh," said the oíd man, "never mind now. It's over." So the oíd man was keeping a good sharp eye on things, and when he saw that the second daughter was getting the cards ready to deal he signalled to her husband and he went to the door. " Come here for a moment," said he. "I will," said she, "as soon as I deal the cards." And she went down to them and asked what was going on. "Oh," said the oíd man, "never mind right now. Let it pass." The oíd man was keeping his eye on things and when he saw that the youngest daughter was getting ready to deal the cards he signalled to her husband and her husband carne up to the door and called to her, "Would you come down here a moment?" said he.

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Thilg i na cairtean air a' bhórd agus leum i sios dha 'n t-seómbar far an robh iad 'nan suidhe. "Dé," ors' ise, "an gnothach a bh' agad rinn?" "O," ors' esan, an seann duine, '"s ann agamsa tha 'n gnothach riut agus seo dhut an fhichead punnd do dhuais. Is tusa a' bhean as aontaiche a th' aig an triúir fhear. 'S tu as aontaiche dhe 'n triúir nighean agamsa." Agus sin agaibh mar a bha 'n naidheachd aig Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil air triúir nigheannan an duin' uasail.

37

An Gille, an Nighean 'sa Chreathuill, agus am Fáinne

Dh'innis Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil dhuinn a' sgeulachd a bha seo air balach óg a chaidh gu taigh agus bha nighean bheag anns a' chreathuill agus i ránaich 's a' caoineadh as an am. Agus tha e coltach nach robh i ach glé bheag co-dhiubh. Agus thuirt e nam biodh e smaointinn gur e a leithid siod do bhoireannach a gheobhadh e fhéin ri phósadh nuair thigeadh e gu aois gu robh e smaointinn gum báthadh e e-fhéin. Agus thuirt seann bhoireannach a bha 'sa láthair, "Coma leat, a laochain," ors' ise. "Is docha gura h-i seo an té bhios 'na bana-chompanach agad fhathast." Agus co-dhiubh ri úine 'na dhéidh seo nuair a dh'fhás an nighean suas bha e faicinn na h-ighinn seo cuimseach trie ach cha robh toil aige idir gu rachadh an fháidhidearachd a chaidh a dheanamh a cho-lionadh. Agus latha a ghabh iad ceum sios a' rathad thánaig iad gu drochaid air abhainn agus thug e fáinne as a phócaid. Sheall e 'm fáinne dha 'n nighinn agus thuirt e rithe, "Gabh beachd air an fháinne ud 's gun aithnicheadh tu a rithist e." Agus thilg e 'm fáinne dha 'n abhainn. "Agus na faiceam," ors' esan, "t'aodann tuilleadh gus am bi 'm fáinne agad dhomh." Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh esan, ge b'e cá 'n deachaidh e mun cuairt gu cosnadh. Chaidh an nighean gu cosnadh gu feadhainn agus ge b'e c'áite robh iad a' fuireach bha iad dlúth air áite iasgair co-dhiubh 's e abhainn na gu dé a bh' ann; co-dhiubh 's e loch na gu dé an t-áite a bh' ann. Ach co-dhiubh fhuair iad iasg - tha e coltach gur e breac neo bradan a fhuair iad - agus bha aice ris am bradan seo glanadh: an taobh astaigh thoirt as, a chuir air saod agus a bhruich dhaibh airson an dinneir. Agus nuair a sgolt i sios an t-iasg dh'fhairich i rud anns a' ghoile aig an iasg. Tha mi cinnteach gun do gheárr i a' ghoile feuch gu dé rud a bh'

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The Recitéis and the Tales

She threw the cards down on the table and she jumped up to the room where they were sitting. "What business did you have with us?" said she. "Oh/' said he, the oíd man, "I am the one who has business with you and here is a reward of twenty pounds. You are the most obedient of the three men's wives, and the most obedient of my three daughters." And there you have Angus MacMullin's story concerning the gentleman's three daughters.

37

The Lad, the Girl in the Cradle, and the Ring

Angus MacMullin told a tale concerning a young boy who went to a house where there was a young baby girl in the eradle who was squalling and crying at the time. It seems she was only very small. And the boy said that he thought that if he were to have that kind of woman in marriage when he carne of age he would drown himself. And an oíd woman who was present spoke, "Never mind my dear," said she. "This one may be your spouse yet." After this, with the passage of time, as the girl grew up he used to see her fairly often, but he had no wish at all that the prophecy be fulfilled. One day as they were taking a walk down the road they carne to a bridge over a river and he took a ring from his pocket. He showed the ring to the girl and said to her, "Take a good look at this ring so that you may recognize it again." And he threw the ring into the river. "And don't let me see your face again until you have the ring for me." So he set out and went somewhere to find work. The girl went to earn her living with some people and wherever they were living they were cióse to a fisherman's place, whether it was a river or a lake or whatever. But anyway they caught a fish - it was a trout or a salmón it seems - and she was to clean the salmón, take the insides out, prepare it, and cook it for their dinner. When she split the fish down the front she felt something in its stomach. To be sure she cut its

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ann 's gu dé bh' ann ach a' fáinne, 's dh'aithnich i 'm fáinne. Agus bha 'm fáinne alce 'n gléidheadh co-dhiubh agus fada neo goirid an üine gu robh ann chunnaic i 'm fear seo tighinn dh'ionnsaidh an taighe anns a robh i fhéin 'na searbhanta. Agus nuair a chunnaic i e tighinn, thug i oirre dh'a seómbar 's thug i 'n leab' oirre agus tha e coltach gun do dh'fhás i tinn. Ach nuair a thánaig am fear seo dh'ionnsaidh an taighe thuirt fear an taighe ris agus iad a' seanachas, "An da/' ors' esan, "tha gnothach neónach an seo. Nuair a bha thu tighinn dh'ionnsaidh an taighe dh'fhás an t-searbhanta againn tinn 's thug i 'n leab' oirre, ge b'e," ors' esan, "gu dé thachair, a' tighinn oirre choealamh." "'S eadh," ors' esan. "Am biodh e gu deifir ged a chithinn i?" "O, cha bhiodh," ors' esan, "deifir sam bith dhut a faicinn. Tha i ann a' seo shios ann a' seómbar." Agus nuair a chaidh e sios thug e súil oirre. Dh'aithnich e i. "Nach do shaoil leam," ors' esan, "gun do dh'iarr mi ort gun t'aghaidh na t'aodann a nochdadh rium gu brácha gus am biodh a' fáinne agad dhomh a thilg mi 'san abhainn? Agus tha thu," ors' esan, "a nist... cha do dh'fhalaich thu t'aodann." "O," ors' ise, "theirig thus' a nuil dh'ionnsaidh an drathair bheag ud thall. Tarraing amach," ors' ise, "a' chisteag bheag ud agus bheir thugamsa an neapaicin phóca a th' ann. Agus," ors' ise, "bidh fhios agad an uair sin mar a tha cúisean a' dol." Agus chaidh e a nuil 's thug e thuic' a' neapaig 's nuair a dh'fhosgail i snaoim a bh' air oisinn na neapaig shin i dha 'm fáinne. "Seo," ors' ise. "Nach e sin a' fáinne?" "O, 's e," ors' esan. "Tha mi faicinn a nist nach eil dóigh againn air dealachadh; ach a' rud a bh' as an dan, gun do thachair e." Agus 's e 'n ceann a thánaig air a' sin air réir na naidheachd aig Mac'Illemhaoil gun do phós iad an ceann teárma bheag agus gu robh iad sona sólasach fad an córr dhe 'n lathaichean 's gun d'fhuair iad saoghal fada, aighearach.

38

Mac na Banndraich agus na Robairean

Bha banndrach ann aig a robh triúir mhac. Agus bha iad air fas gann do ghnothaichean co-dhiubh agus bha an t-sealg car gann. Ach co-dhiubh dh'fheumadh cuideiginn acá falbh a shealg is thog am fear

259

The Recitéis and the Tales

stomach to see what it was, and what was it but the ring, and she recognized it. She kept the ring safe, and whether a long or a short time elapsed she saw the man coming up to the house where she was working as a maidservant. And when she saw him coming she took herself off to her room and went to bed apparently ill. But when the man carne to the house the host said to him in the course of their conversation, "Well," said he, "a strange thing happened here when you were coming up to the house. Our maidservant became sick and took herself to bed, whatever it was that happened and affected her so quickly." "Indeed," answered the man. "Would it be any trouble to you if I were to see her?" "Oh, it would be no trouble at all for you to see her," replied the man of the house. "She's down here in a room." When he went down there he looked at her and recognized her. "I believe," said he, "that I asked you never to show your face or countenance until you had the ring for me that I threw into the river. And now you did not conceal your face." "Well," said she, "go over there to the little drawer. Pulí out that little chest and give to me the handkerchief that is inside, and then you will know how things stand." He went over and gave her the handkerchief and when she had opened the knot in the córner of the handkerchief she extended the ring to him. "Here," said she. "Isn't that the ring?" "So it is," said he. "I see now that there is no way that we can be separated; what was meant to be has happened." And the outcome according to the tale that MacMullin told was they were wed a short time after that. They were happy and contented for the rest of their days and led a long, happy life.

38

The Widow's Son and the Robbers

There was once a widow with three sons. Things were growing scarce, including game, but one of them had to go out hunting

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bu shine air airson a dhol a shealg. Ach bha 'n t-side a bh' ann cho gábhaidh agus thill e; b'fheudar dha tilleadh dhachaidh. Agus chaidh an dama fear amach ach bha 'n t-side cho gábhaidh is thill e fhéin dhachaidh. Ach thuirt am fear a b' óige gum falbhadh esan agus gum feuchadh e amach co-dhiubh. Ach o, bha iad a' cantail ris nach ruigeadh e a leas: nuair a dh'fháillich orra fhéin nach ruigeadh esan a leas falbh. Ach co-dhiubh, thog e rithe. Thug e leis am bogha-saighd' agus cunntais saighdean - tha mi cinnteach gun do lion e 'n dórlach le saighdean - agus dh'fhalbh e. Ach bha e falbh ;s a' falbh 's ged a bha 'n t-side dona fhuair e astaigh dha'n choillidh mhóir agus bha cuid do dh'fhasgadh aig' an uair sin ach cho robh sealg ri faotainn. 'S bha e dol air 'n aghaidh 's a' falbh 's a' falbh 's cha robh sealg ag amas ris. Agus mu dheireadh thánaig an t-anmoch air ;s bha e cho fad' air falbh bho 'n dachaidh 's bha e 'sa choille mhóir agus smaointich e gum b' fheárr dha fuireach far a robh e; ged a thóisicheadh e air feuchainn air faighinn air ais 'san oidhche, nach deanadh e ach a dhol air seachran agus ma dh'fhaoidte nach biodh e sábhailte. Ach co-dhiubh air eagal 's gum faodadh beathaichean fiadhaich tighinn air nan caidleadh e, dhirich e suas ann an craobh mhór. Thug e leis am bogha-saighde 's an dórlach suas agus bha e shuas am measg nan geugan tiugha ann a' sin. Agus an ceann greiseadh chual' e bruidhinn - feadhainn a' bruidhinn - agus thánaig triüir do robairean mora agus bha ceathramh do dh'fheóil acá eatorra 'ga ghiúlain: fear dhiubh 'ga ghiúlain agus poit mhór aig an mear eile. Agus glé fhaisg air an áite 'sa robh esan, aig bonn craoibhe an taice ris, dh' fhadaidh iad teine. Agus rinn iad teine mor agus shuidh iad fhéin ann am bláthas an teine 's bha a' phoit air a crochadh agus i a' goil. Bha an ceathramh feóladh air a ghearradh suas 's air a chuir 'sa phoit; feusda mhór a' dol a bhith acá. Agus dh'iarr fear dhe na robairean air an mear eile feuchainn a robh 'n fheóil faisg air a bhith bruich. Agus nuair a chuir e a nuil an fhorc is a thog e bideag dha 'n fheóil as a' phoit 's an am a bha e dol 'ga cuir suas ri bheul, thilg am fear a bh' as a' chraoibh saighead agus leag e an fhorc as a láimh. 'S thionndaidh e ris an fhear a bha 'n taice ris is throid e ris carson neo dé bha a' toirt air a leithid siod a dheanamh. Thuirt e nach d' rinn esan sian. Ach co-dhiubh an ceann tacain dh'iarr a' robair mor air an fhear seo an fheóil fheuchainn feuch a robh i bruich agus thuirt e ris nach feuchadh: am fear eile 'ga feuchainn. Ach dh'fheuch an dama fear. Chuir e an fhorc ann am bideag dhe 'n fheóil 's thog e i 's nuair a bha

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and so thé oldest one set out to hunt. But thé weather was so rough that he returned; he had to corne back home. Then thé second son went out but thé weather was so adverse that he also returned home. But thé youngest son said that he would go and he would try anyway. Oh, they kept telling him that he need not bother; since they had failed he shouldn't even take thé trouble. But thé youngest son set out. He took a bow and a number of arrows with him - I am sure that hefilledthé quiver with arrows - and set out. He travelled and travelled, and even though thé weather was bad he entered thé gréât forest where there was some shelter for him though there was no game to be found. But he continued travelling and travelling and still he came across no game. Finally night descended and he was so far from home in thé forest that he thought he had better stay where he was. Even if he tried to return he would only get lost and perhaps would be in danger. So for fear that wild animais would corne upon him sleeping he climbed a large tree. He took thé bow and thé quiver of arrows and stayed up there among thé thick branches. Af ter a while he heard talking - people talking - and three big robbers appeared with a quarter of méat which they were carrying between them; one of them was carrying it and another had a big pot. And very close to where he was, at thé base of thé next tree, they kindled a fire. They made a big fire and sat around in thé warmth of thé fire and thé pot was hanging and boiling. The quarter of méat was eut up and put into thé pot; they were going to hâve a big feast. One of thé robbers asked thé other to see if thé méat was close to being cooked. And as he extended thé fork and took a little pièce of méat from thé pot and was just about to put it up to his mouth, thé lad in thé tree shot an arrow and knocked thé fork from his hand. The robber turned to thé one next to him and scolded him, asking why or what made him do that kind of thing. The other answered that he had donc nothing. But after a while thé big robber asked this one to try thé méat to see if it was cooked yet, and he replied that he would not, that thé other one should try it. So thé second one tried it. He put thé fork into a small pièce of méat and raised it and just as he was going to take it

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e dol 'ga cuir suas ri bheul is a dh'fheuchainn a robh i bruich lig esan saighead anuas agus thilg e an fhorc as a láimh. Ach co-dhiubh throid am fear sin ris an fhear eile gu dé thug air sin a dheanamh. Agus an ceann tacain thuirt a' robair mor ri fear do chacha an fheóil fheuchainn feuch ciarnar a bha i tighinn air adhart: a robh i faisg air a bhith bruich. Agus cha robh e airson feuchainn idir. "Ma tha," ors' esan, "feuchaidh mi fhin." Agus chuir e 'n fhorc as a' phios feóladh agus thog e suas i 's nuair a bha e direach a' dol 'ga ligeil gu bheul lig am fear eile anuas saighead 's thilg e 'm píos feóladh far na forc. "Tha mi faicinn a nist," ors' esan, "có bha deanamh na beadachd a bh' ann." Agus choimhead e suas. "A," ors' esan, "tha e shuas ann a' shin. Ach thig a mías," ors' esan. "Na biodh cüram dhut." "O, cha tig," ors' esan. "Tha mi sábhailte gu leór far a bheil mi." Agus bha e a' sin agus an dórlach saighd' aige shuas. "Thig a mías," ors' esan. "Tha mi faicinn gu bheil thu fior mhath leis a' bhogha-saighead. Agus thig a nuas agus gum faigheadh tu rud a dh'itheadh tu cómhla rinn. Agus tha mi smaointinn gum bi thu gu math freagarrach dhuinn. Bidh sinn riatanach ort agus tha mi smaointinn gum bi thu gu math freagarrach dhuinn." Ach thánaig e a nuas air a shocair as a' chraoibh co-dhiubh agus bha an t-acras air an deaghaidh dha bhith amach fad a' latha air feadh na coille mhóir. Agus thánaig e a nuas agus shuidh e a bhos aig an teine. O, thuirt iad ris gun cúram bhith idir air: nach robh sian a' dol a thachairt dha. Cha robh fios aigesan nuair a chunnaic e na daoine mora bha seo a' tighinn. Cha bhiodh fhios aige có a bh' ann, neo gu dé 'n seórsa dhaoine, ach gu robh e airson direach ma dh'fhaoidte spórs a bhith aig' orra. "Nist," ors' esan, am fear mor -'se bha coltach gur e an ceannard a bh' air na robairean - nuair a dh'ith iad biadh, " 's e feum a th' againn ort," ors' esan, "bho 'n a tha thu cho math le saighead. Tha fios againn fhin gu bheil cisteachan óir is airgid as an t-seileir aig an duin' uasal. Agus cha n-eil dóigh na saod againn air faighinn ann airson an goid. Tha cu beag dubh aige agus tha ball bán fo 'n uchd aige." Thuirt e gu robh am ball geal aithneachadh beag na bu mhotha na bonn tasdain agus gur e sin an aon dóigh a bh' air an cu a mharbhadh: gum feumte am ball a bha sin air uchd a bhualadh. "Agus tha mi smaointinn," ors' esan, "leis cho math 's tha thu fhéin

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up to his mouth and taste it to see if it was cooked the lad sent down another arrow and knocked the fork from his hand. So that robber began to scold the other robber, asking what possessed him to do such a thing. And after a while the big robber told one of the others to try the meat again to see how it was coming along - whether it was nearly cooked. But the other did not want to try it at all. "Well then," said the big robber, "Hl try it myself." So he put the fork into the piece of meat and raised it, and just as he was about to put it toward his mouth the widow's son sent down another arrow and knocked the piece of meat off the fork. "I see now/' said the big robber, "who was responsible for this foolishness." And he looked up. "Aha," said he. "There he is up above. Come down/' he said, "and do not be afraid." "No, I will not," said the widow's son. "Pm safe enough where I am." And he remained up there with his quiver of arrows. "Come down," said the big robber. "I see that you are extremely skilled with a bow. So come down to eat something with us and I think that you will suit us very well. We need you and I think that you will be very suitable to us." So he carne down out of the tree, taking his time, hungry after being in the forest all day. He descended and sat with them at the fire. Oh, they told him not to worry at all; nothing was going to happen to him. When he saw the big men coming he did not know who they were or what kind of men they were, but he hoped he might have some sort of fun at their expense. "Now," said the big robber - he seemed to be the leader of the robbers - when they had eaten, "What we need you for," said he, "is your skill with the bow and arrow. We know that the nobleman has chests of gold and silver in the cellar and we have no way or means to get in there to steal them. He has a little black dog with a white spot on his chest." He said that the white spot was just a shade larger than a shilling coin and that was the only way to kill the dog, that the spot on his chest had to be hit.

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leis an t-saighead gu rachadh agad air sin a dheanamh. Agus falbhaidh tu cómhia rinne." Ach cha robh árach aig Mac na Banndraich air a' ghnothach co-dhiubh ach falbh cómhla riu. Ach cha do lig e dad air 's tha mi cinnteach gu robh a ghnothach fhéin fo near dha cuideachd. Agus 's cinnteach gu robh e air a chluinntinn gu robh duais mhór aig an duin' uasal air a thairgsinn airson na robairean seo a ghlacadh - a chuir as dhaibh. Bha iad a' deanamh moran sgaid air feadh na rioghachd. Co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad as an áite bha seo agus nuair a chaidh iad gu áite an duin' uasail bha a h-uile sian air a dhol gu támh. Ach ruith an cu sios bideag do dh'astar 'nan coinneamh agus tha mi creidsinn gun deachaidh an gille suas bideag air thoiseach 's bha cacha shios na b'fhaide na sin air ais agus nuair a bha an cu a' deanamh orra sios far a robh e cluinntinn an fhuaim acá lig an gille air falbh saighead agus bhuail i air a; bhall bhán a bha air uchd a' choin 's thuit an cu marbh agus thachair nach do dhúisg e duine 'sa chairteal. Agus dh'ialaidh iad suas cho fáillidh 's a b' urrainn dhaibh dh'ionnsaidh a' chairteil 's nuair a ránaig iad suas cha robh dóigh neo saod air faighinn astaigh fo 'n chairteal. Bha an t-áite air a mhór-chuartachadh; cha robh cómhla na dorust neo fosgladh eile air am faighte astaigh. Ach cha robh air ach tóiseachadh air cladhach leis na claidhmhtean agus bheireadh iad cladhach 's rinn fear ma seach a' cladhach 's a' deanamh toll anns am faigheadh iad astaigh. Agus nuair a bha 'n toll mor gu leór airson 's gu robh an gille a' smaointinn gu rachadh aigesan air fásgadh astaigh throimhe, thuirt e riu stad 's gum feuchadh esan am faigheadh e astaigh. Agus fhuair esan amas air a dhol astaigh. 'S tha ños gu robh an toll na bu chuimhnge air an taobh astaigh mar a b' fhaid' a bha e air a chladhach astaigh. Ach nuair a fhuair esan throimhe thuirt e riu a nist claidheamh a chuir thuigesan astaigh agus gun cladhaicheadh esan bho 'n taobh astaigh. Sin mar a bha: thugadh dha claidheamh agus thóisich e air cladhach bho 'n taobh astaigh agus thuirt e ris an fhear bu lugha acá an ceann greiseadh, "Feuch a nist an teid agad air tighinn astaigh." Agus dh'fheuch e. "O," ors' esan, "tha 'n t-áite beagan ro chumhang fhathast. 'S fheárr dhut ligeil leis gus an leag mi tuilleadh as." Agus thuirt e ris, "Feuch a nist." Agus dh'fheuch a' fear sin agus thug Mac na Banndraich fo near gu rachadh aige air tighinn astaigh throimhe agus nuair a fhuair e astaigh fada gu leór gheárr e 'n ceann dheth. Agus shlaod e astaigh a' robair dha 'n t-seileir agus lig e 'n darna taobh e. 'S nuair a thóisich e

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''And I think," said the big robber, "with your skill with the bow that you could do it. So you will travel with us." The widow's son had no choice but to go with them. But he did not let on a thing and I am sure that he was watching out for himself too. But surely he had heard that a large reward had been offered by the nobleman to catch the robbers - to do away with them. They were doing a lot of damage throughout the kingdom. So they set out from there and when they approached the nobleman's residence everyone had retired. But the dog ran a short way toward them and I believe that the lad went ahead a little while the others remained further back. And when the dog was coming towards them after hearing the noise they made, the lad released an arrow, and it hit the white spot on the dog's chest and the dog fell dead, and i* happened that it did not awaken anyone in the castle. They crept up to the castle as stealthily as they could and when they arrived there was no way or means to get in under the castle: the place was girded about completely; there was no hatch ñor doorway ñor any other opening the could enter. There was nothing for it but to begin digging with their swords, and so they dug; they took turns digging, making a tunnel through which they could enter. When the hole was big enough so that the lad thought that he could manage to squeeze in he told them to stop and he would try to see if he could get in. He managed to get inside and no doubt the tunnel grew narrower the farther it was dug in. When he got through he told them to send in a sword so that he could dig from the inside. And so it happened: a sword was given to him and he began digging from the inside and after a while he said to the smallest, " See now if you can get in." So he tried. "Oh/' said the lad, "the tunnel is still too narrow. You had better leave it until I dig out some more." And then he said to them, "Now try it." The other one tried again and the widow's son saw that he could get through so when he got in far enough the lad cut off his head. He dragged the robber into the cellar and put him to

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air cladhach a rithist thuirt e ris an ath-fhear feuchainn. Agus bha 'n gnothach faisg air a bhith gu leór 's gu deanadh a' fear sin a' chüis. Agus thuirt e ris nuair a thug e tacan beag eile air búrach air falbh leis a' chlaidheamh feuchainn a nist. Agus thánaig a 7 fear sin astaigh is chaidh aige íhéin air tighinn astaigh fada gu leór agus gun deachaidh an ceann a chuir dheth fhéin. Ach shlaod e astaigh a cholainn ;s lig e 'n darna taobh i. Agus thuirt e ris an fhear eile stad tacan beag gus am biodh e cinnteach gu robh an t-áite mor gu leór airson dh'fhaighinn astaigh. Agus nuair a thánaig a' robair mor astaigh seachad air na guaillean chuir e 'n ceann far a' robair mhóir agus dh'fhág e ann a' sin e. Co-dhiubh dh'fhuirich e fhéin astaigh 'san t-seileir fad na h-oidhche agus nuair a dh'éirich iad 'sa mhadainn, a7 cheud dhuin' a dhúisg, cha robh sgeul air a' chü. Cha robh comhart neo sian ann mu chuairt mar a b' ábhaist. Agus sheall cuideiginn amach air uinneag a' chairteil agus chunnaic e tórr do dh'úir amuigh air a' lar. 'S có as an tánaig an torr úrach a bha sin? Dé chuireadh sin ann? Agus chaidh iad amach agus choimhead iad 's bha duine 'n sás anns an toll a bha ann a' baila an t-seileir gu h-iseal agus tórr mor úrach amuigh air a' chnoc. Agus dh'fheumte an uair sin a dhol a choimhead feuch gu dé bha ceárr: bha e coltach nach robh an duine beó. Agus nuair a chaidh iad sios dha 'n t-seileir bha Mac na Banndraich 'na shuidhe shios ann a' sin air ma dh'fhaoidte té dhe na cisteachan óir na airgid na air áit' air choireiginn. Bha e 'na shuidhe shios ann a' sin co-dhiubh, neo ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh e 'na chadal as an am. Ach nuair a chaidh iad far a robh e dh'inns' e a h-uile sian dhaibh mar a thachair. Thuirt e mar a mharbh e fhéin an cu ged a bha e duilich leis cu an duin' uasail a mharbhadh: gun do smaointich e aige fhéin nam faigheadh e an cu a mharbhadh 's gum faigheadh na robairean suas dha 'n t-seileir gu rachadh aig' air cuir as dhaibh air an dóigh sin is gum b'e sin an t-aobhar. O, thug an duin' uasal mathanas dha as a' mhionaid airson an cu a mharbhadh ged a bha 'n cu cho fiachail. Is rinn e gniomh cho uamhasach: bha 'n triúir mheáirleach mhór a bha seo a bha deanamh nan sgrios air feadh na düthchadh, bha iad air cuir as dhaibh agus bha an dúthaich sábhailte cuidhteas a' mheáirl' acá tuilleadh. Agus thug an duin' uasal duais mhór dha 'n ghille airson cho math agus a rinn e. Agus fhuair e amach bhuaith' a h-uile sian mar a bha dol. Agus chaidh an uair sin fios a chuir air a mháthair agus air a dhithis bhráithrean bho 'n a bha iad cho bochd as an t-saoghal. Chaidh fios a chuir orra tighinn agus bha iad ri bhith 'nan seirbhisich aig an duin'

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one side, and when he began digging again he told the next one to try. The tunnel was almost dug out enough so that the next one could manage it, and af ter he had spent a little time digging away with the sword he told him to try now. The next one carne in and he managed to get inside far enough so that his head too was cut off. So the lad dragged his body in and put it to one side. Then he told the next one to stop a while until he was sure that the space was big enough for him to enter. And when the big robber's shoulders were through the lad cut his head off and left him there. Anyway he stayed in the cellar for the night, and in the morning the first person awake noticed that there was no trace of the dog; none of the usual barking or anything. And someone looked out of the castle window and saw a pile of dirt on the ground. And where did that pile of dirt come from? What would leave that there? So out they went and looked and there was a man stuck in the hole in the cellar wall below and a big pile of earth out on the hill. They had to go and see what was wrong; it seemed that the man was not alive. And when they descended into the cellar, there was the widow's son sitting there, probably on one of the chests of gold or silver or in some such place. He was sitting there anyway or perhaps he was even asleep at the time. But when they went over to him he told them everything that had happened. He told them how he had killed the nobleman's dog even though he was sorry to have done so; how he had thought to himself that if he managed to kill the dog and the robbers got to the cellar that he would then be able to kill them in the way he had and that was his reason. Oh, the nobleman forgave him right away for killing the dog even though it was a fine dog. And he had performed such a great deed; those three great brigands who had done so much damage throughout the countryside had been done away with and the country was safe and free of their plundering for good. And the nobleman gave the lad a big reward for doing so well, and found out from him everything that had passed. Then the lad's mother was sent for and his two brothers, since they were so poor in worldly possessions. They were sent for to come and work as

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uasal. Agus bha a.' bhanndrach ri bhith a' fuireach anns an taigh bha seómbar ri bhith aice dhi fhéin — agus fhuair Mac na Banndraich nighean an duin' uasail ri pósadh. Agus bha cumhntannan ann gum biodh leth na staid aige fhad 's bu bheó an duin' uasal agus gum biodh an gnothach uile gu léir 'na ainm nuair a dh'fhágadh esan a' saoghal. Agus sin agaibh mar a dh'éirich do Mhac na Banndraich a bha cho math air an t-saighead 's a mharbh an cu agus na robairean.

39

An t-Eun Oír

Bha righ ann uair, neo duine uasal air choireiginn — 'se righ a chañas sinn a bh' ann co-dhiubh - agus bha meas-lios aige neo gáradh mor as a robh cuid mhór do chraobhan. 'S bha craobh shónraichte ann air a robh úbhlan a bh' air leth air a h-uile h-ubhal a bha ri faotainn. Nuair a dh'abaicheadh té dha na h-úbhlan a bh' air a' chraoibh sin, bhiodh i 'na h-ubhal óir. Agus bhiodh a' righ neo 'n duin' uasal a' dol amach a choimhead air a' chraoibh gu math trie. Agus feasgar dhe na chaidh e amach bha ubhal air a' chraoibh agus bhiodh i deiseil, abaich air a' la'r-na-mháireach 'na h-ubhal óir. Ach nuair a thánaig a' la'r-na-mháireach bha 'n ubhal air a toirt far na craoibhe. Ach bha ubhal eile air a' chraoibh a bha coltach gu robh i fhéin gu bhith abaich agus bhithte 'ga togail air a' la'r-na-mháireach, ach nuair a thánaig a' latha sin cha robh sgeul air an ubhal. Agus bha seo a' cuir corruiche mhór air a' righ. Agus 's ann á dh'fheumte freiceadan chumail air a' gháradh-chraobh, feuch có bha tighinn a ghoid nan úbhlan. Agus chaidh fear dha na gillean - am fear a b'aosda - amach a ghabhail faire air a' gháradh an oidhche sin agus aig meadhon-oidhche thánaig an cadal cho trom air 's thuit e 'na throm-chadal. Agus nuair a dhúisg e 'sa mhadainn mhoich bha 'n ubhal air a toirt air falbh, agus cha robh athair idir toilichte mar a thachair. Ach co-dhiubh, bha ubhal eile gu bhith abaich agus 's ann a dh'fheumte dhol amach a bhith cumail faire air a' gháradh-ubhal an oidhche sin. Ach bha a' righ cho mi-thoilichte nach d' rinn am mac a b'aosda gnothach sgiobalta dhe 'n oidhche a bha e fhéin amuigh air faire agus cha ligeadh e leis a dhol amach tuilleadh. Ach thuirt an darna fear gu rachadh esan amach agus gun cumadh e faire air a' gnothach. Ach dh'éirich dhasan mar a dh'éirich dha 'n cheud mear: aig meadhon-oidhche thánaig an cadal cho trom air agus thuit e 'na

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servants for the nobleman. And the widow was to stay in the house - she was to have a room of her own - and the widow's son was given the nobleman's daughter in marriage. It was agreed that he would have half the estáte as long as the nobleman was alive and that the whole property would be in his ñame when the nobleman departed from this world. And that is what happened to the widow's son who was so skilled with the arrow and slew the dog and the robbers.

39

The Golden Bird

There was once a king or a nobleman - we'll say that he was a king - who had an orchard or a large garden which contained a large number of trees. And there was a certain tree there on which grew apples that were different from any other apples to be found. When one of the apples on the tree would ripen it would become a golden apple. The king or nobleman used to go out to look at the tree quite often, and one evening when he went out there was an apple on the tree which by the next day was going to be ready and ripen into a golden apple. But when the morrow carne the apple had been plucked from the tree. There was another apple on the tree that seemed about to be ripe and was to be picked on the next day, but when that day carne there was no sign of the apple. This aroused the king's anger, and he required that a vigil be kept over the orchard to see who was coming to steal the apples. One of the king's sons - the oldest - went out that night to keep watch over the garden, and at midnight he grew sleepy and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke in the early morning the apple had been taken and his father was not at all pleased with that course of events. Soon another apple was about to ripen and someone had to go out that night to keep a watch over the orchard. The king was displeased that the oldest son had not done a good job the night he had kept watch and he would not allow him to go out again. So the second oldest son said that he would keep watch. But he fared just as the first one had: at midnight he grew so

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chadal agus nuair a dhúisg e air tighinn a' latha bha 'n ubhal air a toirt far na craoibhe mar a b' ábhaist. Ach co-dhiubh, bha ubhal elle gu bhith abaich air a' chraoibh agus bha iad fo eagal gu rachadh i sin a ghoid mar a chaidh an córr dhe na h-übhlan. Thuirt am fear óg gu rachadh esan amach a' ghabhail faire feuch gu dé bha tachairt agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh iad car deifireach mu esan a ligeadh amach: nuair a dh'fháillich an gnothach air an dithist mhac a b'aosda, gu dé bha esan a; dol a dheanamh? Ach dh'aontaich iad co-dhiubh gu ligeadh iad ann e ach cha b'urrainn dha dheanamh na bu mhiosa na rinn cách. Co-dhiubh, chaidh esan amach dha 'n mheas-lios a bha amuigh a' cumail faire air a' ghnothach agus bha 'n oidhche dol seachad beag air bheag. Ach thánaig e gu meadhon oidhche; ach dh'fhuirich esan 'na dhúsgadh agus chuala e flapadh sgiathan 's thug e súil 's bha eun mor briagh air tighinn air sgéith dh'ionnsaidh na craoibheadh agus thánaig e anuas agus sgob e leis an ubhal. Ach mun d'fhuair e a dhol amach air dad do dh'astar, thilg esan saighead agus bhuail e 'n t-eun; ach cha do leag e an t-eun 's cha do mharbh e e. Ach leag e ite as an earball aige neo as a sgéith. Agus chunnaic e far an do thuit an ite agus thog e i. Thug e leis sin dhachaidh. Co-dhiubh nuair a thánaig an latha chaidh e dhachaidh agus bha 'n ite bha seo aige. Agus dh'fheuch a' righ - choimhead e air an ite 's bha e 'ga feuchainn as a h-uile dóigh — agus dh'aontaich e nam biodh an t-eun a thánaig an ite ud dheth aige, gum biodh e cho math 's ged a bhiodh beairteas an t-saoghail aige; an seórsa ite a thánaig far an eun óir, gum biodh an córr dhe 'n eun air a réir sin. Ach co-dhiubh, 's e rud a bhiodh ann, dh'fhalbhadh am fear a b'aosda feuch am faigheadh e amach c'áite robh an t-eun óir. Rinn e deiseil agus thog e rithe. Agus nuair a bha e falbh, thánaig e gu faisg air iomall coilleadh a bha goirid dha 'n rathad air a robh e siubhal agus thánaig sionnach amach. Agus thog esan an gunna airson losgadh air an t-sionnach agus thuirt an sionnach ris, "Na loisg idir ormsa. Fág mo bheatha agam agus bheir mise comhairle ghlic ort." Ach cha tug e feairt air. Agus thuirt a' sionnach ris, "Nuair a ruigeas tu a leithid seo a bhaile, théid thu dha 'n taigh-ósda bheag dhorcha; cha teid thu idir an cóir an taighe mhóir as a bheil moran sholuist." "Ach gu dé fios a bhiodh agadsa, a bheathaich ghránnda?" ors' esan, agus lig e an urchair air falbh, ach bha 'n sionnach a' gluasad anns an am 's cha do dh'amais e air; thug e astaigh a' choill' air. Agus chum

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sleepy that he fell into a deep sleep and when he awoke at daybreak the apple as usual had been taken from the tree. Another apple was about to ripen on the tree and they feared that this one would be stolen along with the rest. The youngest of the sons said that he would keep watch and see what was happening, and I am sure that they were fairly reluctant to let him out. When the two oldest sons had failed, what would he accomplish? But they agreed finally to let him, since he could do no worse than the others. So he went out to the orchard to keep watch and the night passed slowly. It reached midnight but he stayed awake and heard the flapping of wings. He looked and there was a great, magnificent bird flying towards the tree, and down it carne and snatched away the apple. Before it was able to go any distance he loosed an arrow and struck the bird, but he did not bring it down and he did not kill it; he just knocked a feather out of its tail or wing. He observed where the feather landed and he picked it up and took it home with him. At daybreak he arrived home with the feather. The king looked at it - he examined the feather and turned it every which way - and agreed that if he had the bird from which the feather carne it would be as good for him as if he had all the wealth in the world; the feather that carne from the Golden Bird meant that the rest of the bird must be like that. So it was decided that the oldest son would set out to see if he could discover where the Golden Bird was. So he readied himself and set out, and on his journey he approached the edge of a forest that bordered the road where he was walking and a fox carne out. And he raised the gun to fire at the fox and the fox addressed him: "Don't shoot me. Spare my life and I will give you some timely advice." But he paid him no heed. And the fox said to him, "When you reach such and such a town you are to go to the little dark inn; you will not go cióse to the big inn where there are many lights." "And what would you know, you ugly beast?" said the lad and he fired the shot, but the fox was moving at the time and he did not hit him. The fox disappeared into the forest and the

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esan roimhe agus bha e siubhal 's nuair a ránaig e 'm baile bha seo cha robh cuimhne aige air comhairle an t-sionnaich 's ged a bhiodh cha rachadh feairt thoirt air. Agus ghabh e dha 'n taigh-ósda - bha e lán sholuist is soillse - agus dh' fhuirich e ann a' sin a' támhachd agus tha mi cinnteach ma bha cus do dh'fhortan aige a' falbh, gun deachaidh sin a chosg. Agus cha do ghluais esan as an áite a bha sin; dhiochuimhnich e c' áite robh e dol. Is chaidh na sanáis a bha sin thoirt dha bho thoiseach nan rachadh e dha 'n áite seo gun diochuimhnicheadh e cá robh e dol 's nach biodh suim aige dhe thurus. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a thug iad géill nach robh am mac a b'aosda dol a thilleadh, 's ann a dh'fheumadh an darna mac falbh air an turus. Nuair a bha esan air falbh air a' rathad có thánaig as an tom choilleadh a bha seo ach an sionnach. Agus thog e 'n gunna airson losgadh air ach dh'iarr e air gun losgadh airsan idir, agus gun tugadh e air comhairle ghlic agus gum biodh e freagarrach dha sin a leantail ma bha e dol a bhith sealbhach. Agus thuirt e ris, nuair a ruigeadh e baile, nuair a chitheadh e taigh-ósda nach robh ach glé mhúgach - gann gu robh solust ri fhaicinn idir ann - a dhol ann a' sin, ach gun a dhol idir, idir dha 'n taigh mhór, shoilleir air neo gun cailleadh e suim air gu dé an turus air an robh e. "Dé fiosachd a bhiodh agadsa," ors' esan, "a bheathaich ghránnda? Dé fiosachd a bhiodh agad?" Agus thog e an gunna agus loisg e 'n urchair, ach bha 'n sionnach an deaghaidh gluasad 's cha do bhuail e idir e 's thug e a' choille air. Agus dh'fhalbh am fear sin 's nuair a ránaig e fhéin am baile bha seo bha 'n taigh mor ósda lán soluist; bha e coimhead cho eireachdail agus 's ann a chaidh e. Ach cha deach e 'n cóir an taighe bheag dhorcha idir. 'S cha robh e fada 'n sin - tha mi cinnteach gu robh iad ri ól 's ri úpraid 's dhiochuimhnich e c'áite robh e dol ;s cha robh an córr suim dhe 'n ghnothach a bh' ann. Ach bha e a' gabhail fadachd dhe 'n chúis a bh' ann co-dhiubh. Agus thuirt am fear a b' óige dhe na gillean ri athair gum b'fheárr leis gun tugadh e cead dhasan falbh. "Tha mi truagh gu leór dheth mar a tha mi," ors' athair, "mo dhithist mhac a bhith dha 'm dhith, seach thus' a dh'fhalbh 's thu bhith dha 'm dhith, cho óg 's gu bheil thu," ors' esan. "'S cho suarach, ma dh'fhaoidte, 's gum biodh tu, tha e truagh sibh a bhith dha 'm dhith uile." "Ma cheadaicheas sibh dhomhsa," ors' esan, "falbh, falbhaidh mi

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lad continuad travelling on his way. When he reached the town he did not remember the fox's advice, and even if he had he would not have heeded it. But he went to the inn - the one full of light and brightness - and he stayed there and I am sure that if he had a good deal of money when he set out he spent it. He did not move from that place; he forgot where he was going. He had been warned at the beginning that if he went there he would forget where he was going and would lose interest in his journey. So when the king and his sons finally accepted the fact that the oldest son was not going to return, it f ell to the second son to undertake the journey. And when he was on his way, who carne out of the clump of woods but the fox. And the lad raised his gun to fire at him but the fox asked hini to hold; he would give him some useful advice which he would do well to follow if he intended to succeed. The fox told him that when he reached the town and saw a dismal-looking inn with hardly a light to be seen at all to go inside, but not under any circumstances to go to the big, well-lit inn or he would lose interest in his quest. "What would you know about that/' said the lad, "you ugly beast? How would you know about that?" And he raised the gun and fired the shot, but the fox had moved and he did not hit him. The fox disappeared into the forest and the lad set out. And when he reached the town the big inn was full of lights and looked so fine that he went into it. But he did not go near the little dark inn at all and he was not long there - I am sure that they were drinking and carousing - before he forgot where he was going and lost interest entirely. But he had wearied of the whole matter anyway. Then the youngest of the lads said to his father that he would like his father's permission to set out. "I am sorry enough as it is," said his father, "to be missing my two sons without your going off, young as you are. And however insignificant you may be, it's a shame for all of you to be lost to me." "If you give me permission to set out," said the youngest

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co-dhiubh. Agus ma tha 'n t-eun óir ri faotainn, gheobh mis' e." Co-dhiubh, thog e rithe agus nuair a ránaig e dh'ionnsaidh an áite bha seo air an t-slighe 's a thánaig e faisg air an tom choilleadh thánaig an sionnach amach as a' choillidh. "Na loisg orms' idir/' ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, mac a' righ, "na biodh cúram idir ort gu loisginn-s' ort. Cha bhithinn-sa cho ole 's gun loisginn air beathach bóidheach mar a tha thu fhéin." "An da," ors' esan, "bheir mi comhairl' ort. Tha fios a'm c' áite bheil thu dol. Tha thu a' falbh a choimhead airson an eun óir." "Tha, "ors'esan. "Uill bheir mise comhairl' ort," ors' esan. "Nuair a ruigeas tu a leithid seo a bhaile gabhaidh tu astaigh dha 'n taigh bheag dhorcha far nach eil ach glé bheag do sholust. Ach cha teid thu idir an cóir an taighe mhóir shoillseach far a bheil e lán soluist. Ach tha astar mor romhad," ors' esan. "Tha 'n t-astar cho fad' agad ri shiubhal, 's fhad' mun ruigeadh tu sin. Ach ma théid thu air mo dhruim-sa, bheir mise ann thu ann an úine na's giorra na bheireadh tu fhéin a' dol ann." Agus chaidh an guie air druim an t-sionnaich agus thog an sionnach rithe 's bha e dol fairis air na cnuic 's suas na cnuic 's sios na sluic. Bha e falbh cho luath agus gum biodh falt a' ghille deanamh feadaireachd 'san t-soirbheas. Agus feasgar anmoch thánaig iad faisg air a' bhaile bha seo. Stad an sionnach aig iomall na coilleadh. "Cha n-fhaod mise dhol na's fhaide," ors' esan, "mum faic sealgairean mi. Cumaidh tusa romhad agus bidh cuimhne agad air mo chomhairle." Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh esan dh'ionnsaidh an taigh-ósda - chaidh e seachad air an taigh-ósda mhór anns an robh na soluist mhór a' soillseadh air agus ghabh e dha 'n taigh bheag dhorcha - agus chaidh e astaigh an sin agus chuir e seachad an oidhche ann. Ach dh'éirich e tráth 'sa mhadainn agus thog e rithe agus chaidh e air an t-slighe airson a dhol air 'n aghaidh gu áite far a robh an t-eun óir. Agus cha deach e fada nuair a thachair an sionnach ris. "O," ors' esan, "tha astar mor romhad an diugh. Ach tha mi dol thoirt comhairl' ort a niste an toiseach. Nuair a ruigeas tu an t-áite far a bheil an t-eun óir, fasdaidh tu aig a' righ agus a' toirt faire do

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lad, "I will do so. And if thé Golden Bird can be found I will find it." So off he went and when he came to thé place on thé road and approached thé clump of woods thé fox came out of thé forest. "Don't fire at me at ail," said thé fox. ''Oh/' said thé king's son, "do not worry that I will fire at you. I would not be so ill disposed as to fire at a fine-looking animal like yourself." "Well/' said thé fox, "I will give you some advice. I know where you are going. You are setting out to look for thé Golden Bird." "Yes indeed," answered thé lad. "Well," said thé fox, "I will give you some advice. When you reach such and such a town go into thé small dark inn where there is only very little light to be seen. But you are not to go at ail close to thé big inn that is full of lights. But you still hâve a long distance to go. The distance you must walk is so long that it will be a long time before you arrive there. But if you get on my back I will take you there in a shorter time than it would take you to go on your own." So thé lad climbed up on thé fox's back and they set out and thé fox went up and over hills and down hollows. He went so fast that thé lad's hair whistled in thé breeze. Late in thé evening they came to thé outskirts of thé town. The fox stopped at thé edge of thé forest. "I can go no further," said thé fox, "lest thé hunters see me. You keep on and remember my advice." So thé lad set off for thé inn - he passed thé big inn with its shining lights and made for thé little dark inn - and he went in there and spent thé night. Early in thé morning he arose and went on his way and continued travelling to thé place where thé Golden Bird was. He had not gone far when thé fox met him again. "Oh," said thé fox, "there is a gréât distance before you today. But first I am going to give you some advice. When you reach thé place where thé Golden Bird is to be found you should hire on with thé king to take care of birds. And when

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dh'eóin. Agus nuair a gheobh thu 'n cothrom, nuair a bhios an taigh 's a h-uile sian 'na thámh, tha eunain órach agus eunain fiodh air a' bhórd an taice ris an áite 's a bheil an t-eun óir. Agus cuiridh tu an t-eun óir anns an eunain fhiodh agus bheir thu leat amach am fear eile fo'd achlais. Agus mura deán thu sin, 's ann dhut fhéin as miosa: cha n-fhaigh thu 'n t-eun as 's ma dh'fhaoidte nach fhaigh thu as ri'd bheó. Co-dhiubh, gabhaidh tu air mo dhruim-s'," ors' esan, "agus bheir mise an t-astar thu ann an úine na's giorra." Agus chaidh e air druim an t-sionnaich agus dh'fhalbh iad. Bha e falbh cho luath fairis sios na sluic agus shuas na cnuic 's a' falbh air a' réidhlein chómhnard cho luath agus gu robh falt a' ghille a' deanamh feadaireachd 'san t-soirbheas. Agus ránaig iad faisg air áite righ is thuirt a' sionnach, "Feumaidh mise fuireach ann a' seo. Ma théid mise amach as a' choillidh chi na sealgairean mi agus cha bhi mo bheatha sábhailte. Cuimhnich air a' chomhairle a thug mi ort." Ach co-dhiubh chaidh esan a dh'áite a' righ agus fhuair e fasdadh agus 's ann a' toirt faire do dh'eóin a bha e. Ach nuair a fhuair e an taigh 'na thámh aig meadhon-oidhche 's a h-uile sian 's iad uile 'nan cadal, chaidh e astaigh dha 'n t-seómbar far a robh 'n t-eun óir. Bha 'n t-eun óir ann a' sin agus bha eunain fiodh air a' bhórd agus bha eunain órach ann. Is bha e coimhead air an eunain óir 's bha an t-eunain óir a' coimhead cho eireachdail. Is smaoinich e gum bu mhi-cheutach a dhol a chuir eun cho eireachdail álainn ris ann an eun-lann do mhaide; gum b'fheárr dha a chuir anns an eunain órach. Agus cha bu luaithe a chuir esan an t-eun anns an eunain órach na thánaig sgriach as an eun a bha oillteil agus dhúisg a h-uile duine a bh' as a' chairteal 's anuas a bha iad. Mun d'fhuair esan amach as an t-seómbar bha e air a ghlacadh. Agus chaidh a thilgeil astaigh ann a' seórsa do phriosan an oidhche sin agus bha cúirt a' dol a bhith air 'sa mhadainn agus tha fhios gur e a' chuid bu mhiosa a bha e dol a dh'fhaighinn. Ach co-dhiubh, chaidh a chuir gu cúirt agus bho 'n a dh'fheuch e ri eun a' righ a ghoid, bha e ri chuir gu bás. Ach thuirt a' righ gun toireadh e fathamas dha air aon chumhntan. "Bho 'n a bha thu cho daña agus cho tapaidh agus gun tana tu gus an t-eun óir a ghoid, ma dh'fhaoidte," ors' esan, "gun deanadh tu rud a bhiodh a dhith ormsa dheanamh. Agus ma ni thu sin bheir mi dhut an t-eun óir. Agus tha mise 'g iarraidh an eich luath a th' aig a leithid seo do righ. Tha e cho luath agus gum beir e air a' ghaoth luath Mháirt 's nach beireadh a' ghaoth luath Mháirt air. Agus ma bheir thu an t-each sin thugamsa air shréin bheir mi dhut an t-eun óir."

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you get your chance, and thé house and everything is quiet, there is a golden cage and a wooden cage on thé table next to thé place where thé Golden Bird is kept. You will put thé Golden Bird in thé wooden cage and take that one out under your arm. Unless you do this it will be thé worse for you; you will not get thé bird and perhaps you will not get out alive. So get on my back and I will take you that far in a shorter time." So he got up on thé fox's back and off they went. The fox travelled so swiftly over and down hollows and up hills and on thé level ground that thé lad's hair whistled in thé breeze. They arrived close to thé king's abode and thé fox said, "I must remain hère. If I go outside thé forest thé hunters will see me and my life will not be safe. Remember thé advice that I gave you." So thé lad went to thé king's palace and obtained employment and it was his job to take care of thé birds. When he found thé house quiet at midnight and everything and everyone had gone to sleep, he went into thé room where thé Golden Bird was. There was thé Golden Bird with a wooden cage and a golden one on thé table. He looked at thé golden cage and it looked so splendid. And he thought that it would be ill fitting to put a bird as splendid and beautiful as this in a cage made out of sticks; he thought he should put it into thé golden cage. And no sooner had he put thé bird into thé golden cage than thé bird let forth a terrible cry and everybody in thé castle woke up and down they came and he was caught before he got out of thé room. They threw him into some sort of prison that night. His trial was scheduled for thé morning and it looked as if he were going to get thé worst possible treatment. But anyway he was brought to court, and since he had tried to steal thé king's bird he was to be put to death. But thé king said that he would grant him clemency on one condition. " Since you are so bold and smart that you came to steal thé Golden Bird, perhaps you would do something that I require. And if you accomplish that, I will give you thé Golden Bird. I désire thé swift steed belonging to a certain king. That steed is so swift that he can catch thé swift March wind but thé swift March wind cannot catch him. If you bring that horse to me by thé bridle I will give you thé Golden Bird."

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Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh e agus thachair an sionnach ris. "An da/' ors' an sionnach, "cha do ghabh thu mo chomhairle." "Cha do ghabh/' ors' esan. "Tha mi creidsinn nan gabhadh nach bithinn 'sa trioblaid seo." "An da," ors' esan, an sionnach, "feumaidh mi turus eile fathamas a thoirt dhut, ged a rinn thu mar a rinn thu. Agus bheir mi comhairl' ort air an turus seo. Nuair a théid thu a dh'ionnsaidh cairteal a' righ 's a dh'fhasdas tu, 's ann airson a bhith gabhail cúram do dh'eich a bhios tu, agus chi thu a h-uile sian mar tha gnothaichean a' dol. Is tha 'n t-each luath astaigh anns a' stábull agus tha seann srian car meirgeach astaigh agus tha srian órach ann cuideachd. Agus cuiridh tu an t-seann t-srian mheirgeach air an each. Na cuir idir an t-srian órach air, air neo ma chuireas cha n-ann dhut as fheárr." Co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad air luathas mar a b' ábhaist is an gille air druim an t-sionnaich 's an sionnach a' falbh fairis air na sluic 's air na cruic 's air a' réidhlein. Bhiodh e falbh cho luath agus gu robh falt a' ghille a' feadaireachd 'san t-soirbheas. Nuair a ránaig iad faisg air áite a' righ stad a' sionnach 's thuirt e, "Feumaidh mise fuireach an seo gun tighinn amach as a' choille mum faic na sealgairean mi. 'S cum cuimhn' air mo chomhairle." Co-dhiubh, chaidh esan gu áite' a' righ agus bha e coimhead airson seirbhiseachd agus bha e dol a bhith gabhail cúram do dh'eich. Agus chunnaic e a h-uile sian mar a bha gnothaichean a' dol agus bha barrachd, tha mi creidsinn, air aon ghille stábuill aig a' righ. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a fhuair esan an gnothach aig támh 's a h-uile h-aon 'nan cadal aig meadhon-oidhche, chaidh e astaigh 's bha an t-each ann a' sin 's chuir e 'n diollaid air an each. Ach smaointich e nuair a bha e dol a chuir na srian mheirgeach air - each cho briagh, cho eireachdail 's a bh' ann - gum b'e támailt a biodh ann - gum b'e masladh a bhiodh ann - a dhol a chuir srian mheirgeach air an each a bha sin agus chuir e an t-srian órach air. Ach ma chuir, rinn an t-each seitir 's cha mhór nach do chrath e a' stábull leis an t-seitir a rinn e 's dhüisg iad uile. Mun d'fhuair esan amach as a' stábull idir bha e air a ghlacadh aig na gillean stábuill eile 's a' luchd-geárd agus chaidh a chuir ann am priosan an oidhche bha sin agus chaidh binn a chuir air 'sa mhadainn. Chaidh a chuir suas gu cis 'sa mhadainn agus thug a' righ órdadh gum biodh e air a chuir gu bás. Ach smaointich e 'n sin ma dh'fhaoidte gum b'fheárr an gnothach atharrachadh is thuirt e, "Ach ma dh'fhaoidte," ors' esan, "ged tha mi 'gad órdachadh gu bás, gun toir mi fathamas dhut. Bho 'n a bha thu cho tapaidh agus cho daña 's gun do dh'fheuch thu ris an t-each a ghoid, ma

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So he set out and thé fox met him. "Well," said thé fox, "you did not take my advice." "No I did not," replied thé lad. "I believe that had I donc so I would not be in this trouble.'7 " Well, " said thé fox, " I must show you clemency yet another time although you hâve donc as you hâve donc. And this time I will give you more advice. When you go to thé king's castle and hire on there, your job will be taking care of thé horses and you will see how everything is donc. The swift steed is kept inside in thé stable and there is an old, rusty bridle in there and there is also a golden bridle. You will put thé old, rusty bridle on thé horse. Do not put thé golden one on him for if you do it will go none thé better for you." So they went off at gréât speed as before with thé lad on thé fox's back and thé fox travelling over hollowTs and hills and level ground. He travelled so fast that thé lad's hair whistled in thé breeze. When they arrived close to thé king's palace thé fox stopped and said, "I must remain hère without leaving thé forest lest thé hunters see me. Keep my advice in mind." The lad kept on to thé king's palace and sought work as a servant in charge of thé horses. And he saw how everything was donc there, and I am sure that thé king had more than one stable-boy in his service. But at midnight, when he found things quiet and everybody asleep, he went inside. The horse was there and he put thé saddle on it. But he thought as he was going to put thé rusty bridle on it - such a fine, beautiful horse - that it would be a slight and an insuit to put thé rusty bridle on thé horse, and so he put thé golden bridle on instead. And when he did thé horse let out a neigh which nearly shook thé stable, and they ail woke up. Before he could escape from thé stable he was caught by thé other stable-boys and thé guards and put in prison that night and sentence was passed on him in thé morning. He was sent to his trial in thé morning and thé king ordered him to be put to death. But then thé king thought perhaps that should be changed and said, "Although I am condemning you to death, perhaps I will extend you clemency. Since you were so smart and so bold as to hâve attempted to steal thé steed, perhaps I might

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dh'fhaoidte gu rachadh agam air feum a dheanamh dhiot. Tha nighean a leithid seo a righ a dhith ormsa airson a pósadh agus ma théid agadsa air an nighean sin a thoirt thugamsa air láimh théid an t-each sin a thoirt dhut fhéin mar dhuais." Co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh esan. Chaidh e píos dha 'n astar ;s thachair an sionnach ris, "Cha do ghabh thu mo chomhairle," ors' an sionnach. "Cha do ghabh/' ors' esan. "'S cinnteach nan gabhadh nach bithinn as an t-suidheachadh seo." "Feumaidh mi," ors' esan, "do leisgeul a ghabhail turus eile, tha e coltach. Ach co-dhiubh tha sinn a' falbh. Agus tha mi a' toirt comhairl' ort an toiseach agus biodh cuimhne agad oirre. Nuair a théid thu astaigh, bidh thu ann a' taigh a' righ agus bidh thu a' gabhail cothrom. Agus aig meadhon-oidhche bidh nighean a' righ a' dol astaigh do sheómbar 'ga nighe is 'ga cireadh fhéin mun teid i a chadal. 'S nuair a bhios i dol seachad/' ors' esan, "air a dol astaigh gu dorust an t-seómbair theirig thusa suas 's bheir póg dhi. Agus cha n-eil dóigh air an t-saoghal aice air do dhiült tuilleadh. Agus abraidh tu rithe gu bheil thu 'ga h-iarraidh airson falbh cómhla riut agus do phósadh, agus tha i deónach gu leór falbh. Ach," ors' esan, "ma dh'iarras i cead beannachd fhágail aig a h-athair 's a máthair abair nach eil úine air a' sin a dheanamh. Air neo ma ni, cha n-ann dhut as fheárr." Co-dhiubh chaidh esan suas. Bha e 'n áit' a' righ agus bha e air fasdadh 'na sheiribhiseach air choireiginn ann co-dhiubh. Ach bha e cumail súil amach agus nuair a bha nighean a' righ a' dol dha 'n t-seómbar airson i-fhéin a nighe 's a chireadh mu rachadh i a chadal, nuair a bha i a' tighinn amach air dorust an t-seombair sin ghlac esan nighean a' righ 's thug e póg dhi. Agus cha robh nighean a' righ comasach air guth a ghrádh ach nan iarradh e a pósadh gun aontaicheadh i 's cha robh an córr mu dheidhinn. Thuirt e gu robh e 'ga h-iarraidh airson a pósadh. Thuirt i ris gun deanadh i sin ach thuirt ise gum feumadh i beannachd fhágail aig a h-athair 's aig a máthair mum falbhadh i cómhla ris. O, cha b'urrainn e bhith ann - cha robh úine sin a bhith ann - ach thóisich i air iarraidh 's air tathann agus mu dheireadh cha mhór nach robh i caoineadh a bhith fágail a' chairteil gun beannachd fhágail aig a h-athair 's aig a máthair. Agus dh'aontaich esan gu robh e cinnteach gu robh sin iomchaidh 's nuair a chaidh ise astaigh far a robh a h-athair, dhúisg na bh' as a' chairteal. Agus chaidh esan a ghlacadh 's chaidh a thilgeadh ann am priosan. Agus chaidh cúirt a chuir air 'sa mhadainn agus chaidh binn a' bháis

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be able to use you. I desire the daughter of a certain king in marriage, and if you succeed in bringing this girl to me, the horse will be given to you as a reward." So off he went. He went some distance and the fox met him. "You did not take my advice," said the fox. "Indeed I did not/' replied the lad. "Certainly if I had I would not be in this situation." "Then I must forgive you once again, it seems," said the fox. "But we shall be on our way. And I am giving you advice in the beginning, so keep it in mind. When you go in you will be in the king's house and you are to avail yourself of whatever chance there is. And when midnight comes the king's daughter will enter a room to wash and comb her hair before she goes to sleep. And when she is passing you on her way to the door of the room go up and give her a kiss. And there is no way in the world for her to refuse you from trien on. You will say to her that you wish her to go off and marry you and she will be perfectly willing to go. But, if she asks your permission to take leave of her father and her mother, tell her that there is no time to do that. For if she does it will go none the better for you." So the lad went. He was in the king's palace and he had been hired on as some sort of servant. He kept an eye out and when he saw the king's daughter going to wash and comb her hair before she went to sleep, he caught hold of her and gave her a kiss just as she was coming out of the door to the room. And the king's daughter was not able to say a word about it, but if he asked her to marry him she would have to agree and that was all there was to it. He said that he wanted her to marry him. She replied that she would do so but added that she would have to take leave of her father and her mother before departing. Oh, that could not be - there was not time for that but she began to beg and entreat him and at last she was almost weeping about leaving the castle without taking leave of her father and her mother. At last he agreed that was certainly the proper thing and when she went inside to see her father the people in the castle awoke. He was captured and thrown into prison and tried in court in the morning and a

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thoirt amach. Ach thuirt a; righ ris, "Bheirinn-sa dhut an nighean air aon chumhntan," ors' esan, "nan rachadh agad air sin a dheanamh. Agus mura teid bidh 'n ceann 'gad dhith." "Chórdadh e rium/' ors' esan, "an deuchainn sin a chluinntinn mun rachadh mo mharbhadh co-dhiubh." "Mata," ors' a' righ, "tha beinn ann a' sin. Tha i mu choinneamh an taighe agamsa. Agus tha i milleadh sealladh bho'n chairteal. Chithinn amach fairis air cuid mhór dha 'n rioghachd bho 'n uinneig ann a' sin air a' chairteal ach air táilleabh na beinn' a th' ann tha i milleadh sealladh na düthchadh orm. Agus a h-uile h-aon;" ors' esan, "a dh'fheuch ris a' bheinn sin thoirt as a' sin dhomh - a leagadh sios - dh'fháillich orra a dheanamh. Agus/' ors' esan, "dhiol iad dh'a réir. Agus sin mar a tha a' dol a dh'éirigh dhutsa." Agus co-dhiubh chaidh e gu támh agus 's e tri latha a dh'úine tha mi 'n dúil a bha ri bhith aige airson sin a dheanamh. Ach co-dhiubh thóisich e air spaideadh as a' bheinn agus tha mi cinnteach mar a bha esan a' spaideadh as a' bheinn, ma dh'fhaoidte gur ann a bha a' bheinn a' fas na bu mhotha. Ach co-dhiubh bha 'n gnothach a' dol na bu mhiosa agus na bu mhiosa ach air an darna h-oidhche thánaig a' sionnach far a robh e. Agus thuirt e ris, "Cha d'rinn thu mar a dh'iarr miort." "Cha d'rinn," ors' esan. "Is nan deanadh cha bhithinn as a' chas seo." "Cha n-eil árach air," ors' esan. Ach thóisich a' sionnach agus as a' mhadainn nuair a thánaig a' latha bha a' bheinn, bha i sios cómhnard is bha e spaideadh. Tha mi cinnteach a h-uile turus a chaitheadh e taosg spaid air falbh amach gum falbhadh tórr eile as a dheaghaidh. Agus bha a' bheinn sios cómhnard iseal 's gum faiceadh tu fairis oirre bho uinneag cairteil a' righ. Agus thug a' righ dha an nighean an uair sin air láimh. Ach co-dhiubh, bha iad an uair sin air an ceum a' falbh. "A nist," ors' a' sionnach, "a' righ a tha 'g iarraidh na h-ighinn seo airson a pósadh, bheir e dhut an t-each fiachail a bha dhith air a' righ aig a bheil an t-eun óir. Ach bheir thusa dha nighean a' righ air láimh. Agus bidh nighean a' righ 'na seasamh amuigh ann a' seo, agus nuair a bheir e dhut an t-each ór-bhuidhe tha seo air shréin, nuair a gheobh thusa an t-each óir air shréin, bheir thusa dhasan nighean a' righ air láimh. Agus bi deiseil agus feuchaidh tu dé cho math 's a tha 'n t-each

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death-sentence was passed. But the king said to him, "I would give you the girl on one condition, if you are able to fulfil it. And if you cannot you will pay with your head." "I would like to hear what task that is," replied the lad, "before I am to be killed at least." " Well," said the king, "there is a mountain over there facing my house and it spoils the view from the castle. I could see out over a great portion of the kingdom from that castle window except for the mountain being there; it spoils the view of the whole country for me. And all who have tried to remove the mountain - to knock it down - have failed and have paid accordingly. And that is what is going to happen to you." So the lad retired, and three days, I believe, was the time given to him to do this. So he began shovelling away at the mountain, and I am sure that as he was shovelling at the mountain the mountain was probably growing bigger. Things were going from bad to worse for him, but on the second night the fox approached him and said to him, "You did not do as I askedyou!" "Indeed not," replied the lad. "And if I had I would not be in this fix." "That cannot be helped now," said the fox. But the fox began working and in the morning at daybreak the mountain was levelled and there he was shovelling. I am sure that every time he threw one large spadeful away that a good many others followed it. The mountain was levelled down so low that you could see over it from the window in the king's castle. And now the king handed over his daughter to him. Soon they were under way on their journey. "Now," said the fox, "the king who wants this maiden in marriage will give you the fine, valuable horse which was desired by the king who possesses the Golden Bird. But you will hand over to him the king's daughter and the king's daughter will be standing outside when he gives you the golden horse by the bridle. So when you get the golden horse by the bridle, hand over the king's daughter to him. And," said the fox, "be prepared and try out the horse to see how good it is and as you

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's as an dol mun cuairt sgobaidh tu leat an nighean air do chúlaibh agus cha bheir duine 'sa rioghachd ort. Agus bidh mise a' dealachadh ribh ann a' seo bho 'n tha sinn faisg air áit' a' righ." Co-dhiubh, seo mar a bha. Thánaig e le nighean a' righ dh'ionnsaidh a' righ eile airson a toirt dha. Thuirt e ris a' righ, "Thug mi thugaibh," ors' esan, "an nighean. Agus bidh i agaibh air láimh nuair a gheobh mis' an t-each air shréin." "Sin mar a bhios deante," ors' a' righ, agus chaidh an t-each a thoirt amach as a' stábull is an t-srian a chuir air 's chaidh a shineadh dha. Agus bha e dol a dh'fheuchainn an eich fheuch ciamar a bha e 's thug e sitheadh a bha sin as agus sgob e leis nighean a' righ is amach a thug iad. Is cha bheireadh iad orra leis an each bu luaithe as a' rioghachd. Agus amach a thog e rithe co-dhiubh is thachair a' sionnach ris nuair a chaidh e píos do dh'astar. Nuair a bha iad a' tighinn faisg air an áite far a robh an t-eun óir thuirt e ris, "Fágaidh tu nighean a' righ ann a' seo aig a' rathad. Fuirghidh i mun cuairt far a bheil mi fhin. Agus théid thu fhéin suas dh'ionnsaidh an taighe leis an each agus bheir a' righ dhut an t-eun. Agus cuiridh tu an t-eun anns an eunain agus cuiridh tu e air posta na cachaileith — posta a' gheat - agus fágaidh tu ann a' sin e nuair a bheir thu an t-each dha air shréin. Agus canaidh tu ris ma ' s e a thoil e, gu bheil thu airson an t-each fheuchainn mun cuairt air a' chairteal airson 's gum faic e cho luath 's a tha e. Agus bidh a' righ fior thoilichte as a' sin agus nuair a bhios tu dol seachad sgobaidh tu leat an t-eun óir agus cha n-eil sian as a' rioghachd a bheireas ort." Agus seo mar a bha: chaidh an t-eun óir a thoirt amach agus thuirt e, "Bu mhath leam." ors' esan, "an t-each fheuchainn mun cuairt air chuairt dhuibh 's gum faiceadh sibh cho luath 's a tha e, ma 's e ur toil e." "Bhithinn glé dheónach," ors' a' righ. Agus co-dhiubh, leum e as an diollaid agus bha an t-eun órach air a chuir ann an eunain air posta a' gheat. Agus dh'fhalbh esan mun cuairt an cairteal 's nuair a bha e tighinn seachad sgob e leis an t-eun 's bha e falbh cho luath cha robh 'sa rioghachd creutair a bheireadh air. Agus chum e rithe air falbh gus na ránaig e shios far a robh an nighean i fhéin 's a' sionnach ann a' sin - is thug e leis i air a chúlaibh air druim an eich. "Agus a nist," ors' esan, "tha mi toirt tri chomhairlean ort. 'S e sin,

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pass by, snatch up the girl and put her on the horse behind you and no man in the kingdom will be able to catch you. And I will be parting from you here since we are cióse to the king's palace." And so it happened. He carne with the king's daughter to the other king to deliver her and said to the king, "I have brought you the princess. And she will be handed over to you when I have the horse by the bridle." " So it will be done," said the king, and the horse was brought out of the stable and the bridle was put on it and it was handed to him. He was going to try out the horse to see how good it was and it gave a sudden spurt of speed and he snatched up the princess and off they went and they could not be caught with the swiftest horse in the kingdom. He went on his way then and the fox met him after he had gone some distance. " Now," said the fox, as they were approaching the place where the Golden Bird was kept, "you will leave the king's daughter here at the road. She will stay around where I am. And you yourself will go down to the house with the horse and the king will give you the bird. You will place the bird in the cage and put it on the fencepost — the gatepost — and leave it there while you give him the horse by the bridle. Then say that with his permission you would like to try out the horse around the castle so that he can appreciate its swiftness. The king will be pleased by this and as you pass by you will snatch up the Golden Bird and there is nothing in the kingdom that will catch you." And so it carne to pass. The Golden Bird was brought out and the lad said, "If you please, I would like to make a circuit to try out the horse for you so that you can appreciate its swiftness." "I would be most willing," said the king. So the lad leapt into the saddle - the Golden Bird had been put in a cage on the gatepost - and off he went around the castle and as he carne by he snatched up the bird, travelling at such a pace that there was not a creature in the kingdom that could catch him. And he kept on going until he reached the place where the girl was - she and the fox - and he lifted her up behind him on the horse's back. "And now," said the fox, "I have three pieces of advice for

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na cuir seachad da oidhche ann an taigh ge b'e mar a bhios cúisean. Agus na toir duine sam bith bho 'n chroich: na ceannaich duine bho 'n chroich. Agus na suidh ri taobh tobair na taobh sloc domhain sam bith." Agus dhealaich an sionnach ris. Co-dhiubh ránaig e 'm baile agus dh'fhuirich iad oidhche ann an áite ach cha chuireadh iad seachad ach an aon oidhche as an áite bha seo is bha iad togail rithe air la'r-na-mháireach. Ach co-dhiubh chunnaic e an t-uamhas do dhol-air-'n-aghaidh 'sa bhaile: sluagh a' cruinneachadh 's bha coltas cho cabhagach orra 's a leithid do dh'amas air a h-uile duine tighinn. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e gu dé bha dol a' seo. O, thuirt iad gu robh iad a' dol a chrochadh fear an diugh airson ciont air choireiginn a chaidh a dheanamh - neo coire a bha air a chuir air an fhear airson goid a chaidh a dheanamh. Agus smaoinich e 'n sin gu rachadh e coimhead gu dé mar a bha gnothaichean a' dol agus chunnaic e am fear a bha iad a' dol a chrochadh, agus dh'fhoighneachd e an gabhadh an duine seo ceannach bho 'n chroich. O, ghabhadh: nan rachadh a' cháin a bha seo a pháidheadh gu rachadh an duine a shaoradh. Agus pháidh esan a' cháin a bh' ann agus bha a bhráthair saor, agus thog iad rithe dhachaidh. Ach air an slighe a' dol dhachaidh dh'fhás iad sgith ;s bha acá ri an sgios a ligeil seachad tacan. Agus gu dé rinn esan ach suidhe ri taobh sloc domhain a bh' ann, mar gum biodh seann tobar neo áiteiginn agus nuair a bha iad tacan ann a' sin fhuair fear acá cothrom agus thug iad úpag dhasan agus sios a ghabh e dha 'n t-sloc a bha sin agus thog asan rithe. B'fheudar do nighean a' righ fuireachd 'na tosd; cha deanadh math dhi guth a ghrádhainn co-dhiubh. Ach co-dhiubh ránaig iad áit' a' righ agus dh'fhoighneachd a' righ gu dé dh'éirich dha 'm bráthair. 'S o, thuit e: chaidh e le creag na chaidh e ann a' sloc neo chaidh e a dh'áite air choireiginn. Bha a' righ glé dhuilich nach tánaig a mhac dhachaidh ach cha robh comas air a' chúis co-dhiubh. Cha robh gnothaichean glé thoilichte. Cha n-itheadh an t-each biadh 's cha deanadh an t-eun ceileireadh agus bha ise gu math túrsach: cha n-fhaighte facal bruinneadh idir aiste. Ach co-dhiubh, fágaidh sinn an gnothach sin mar a tha e aig an am seo agus feumaidh sinn tilleadh air n-ais dh'ionnsaidh an duine bhochd a chaitheadh dha 'n tobar. Co-dhiubh cha robh gu h-iseal 'san t-sloc a bha seo ach breuchd na poli. Cha robh uisge ann idir a dheanadh cron neo a bháthadh e co-dhiubh. 'S bha e ann a' sin ach cha robh dóigh air tighinn as: cha b'urrainn dha fhaighinn as. Ach co-dhiubh thánaig a' sionnach.

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you. The first is do not spend two nights in the same house under any circumstances. And do not take anyone off the gallows - do not buy anyone from the gallows. And do not sit beside a well or a deep pit of any kind." And the fox took his leave of the lad. The lad reached the town and they spent a night in a certain place, but they would not spend more than one night there and set out the next day. But the lad saw a fearful bustle in the town, a crowd gathering and everybody appearing to be in a hurry and excited when they arrived. So he asked what was happening there. Oh they said that they were going to hang someone today for a crime of some sort that was committed or for an accusation made against the man for a theft. And the lad thought he would go and see how things were progressing and he saw the man that they were going to hang, and inquired whether the man could be bought off the gallows. Oh, yes indeed. If the fine were paid, the man could be rescued. So the lad paid the fine and his brother was freed and they set off for home. But on the way home they grew tired and were obliged to rest a while.1 And what did he do but sit beside a deep pit somewhere like an oíd well, and when they had been there for a short while one of them saw his chance and they gave him a push. Down he went into the pit and the others went on their way. The princess had to remain silent; it would do her no good to say anything anyway. When they reached the king's palace the king asked what had happened to their brother and one of them replied that he had fallen over a cliff or into a pit or somewhere or other. The king was sad that his son had not come home, but there was nothing he could do and the times were not very happy. The horse would not eat its food and the bird would not sing and the princess was very sorrowful - not a word could be gotten out of her. But anyway we'll leave that as it is for now and return to the poor man who was thrown into the well. There was nothing in the pit but mud and slime, but at least there was no water there to drown him. And there he was with no way out; he could not get out. But presently the fox carne.

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"Cha do ghabh thu mo chomhairle/' ors' esan. "Agus tha thu a niste gu math truagh dheth." "Tha/' ors' esan. "Tha mi a nist ullamh." "An da," ors' a' sionnach, "ma dh'fhaoidte nach eil thu ullamh fhathast. Agus feumaidh mi do chuideachadh turus eile tha e coltach. Bha thu coibhneil rium." Agus chaidh a' sionnach sios - lig e sios earball cho fad 's a ruigeadh e - 's fhuair e greim air earball an t-sionnaich. Agus le bhith streap air a' bhruaich le chasan rinn e 'n gnothach air tighinn as an t-sloc ghábhaidh bha sin. "A nist/' ors' esan, an sionnach, "tha feadhainn a' siubhal air do shon-sa as a' choillidh. Tha seórsa do dh'eagal air do bhráithrean ma dh' fhaoidte nach deachaidh do bháthadh agus gun d'fhuair thu as air dóigh air choireiginn agus tha saighdearan na luchd-géard air choireiginn acá a' siubhal air do shon. Agus feumaidh tu," ors' esan, "a bhith gu math cúramach." Co-dhiubh bha e falbh air a shocair agus thachair ris seórsa do dhiol-déirce a bha falbh mun cuairt feuch am faigheadh e luideagan ma dh'fhaoidte do dh'aodach na cuideachadh beag air choireiginn neo rudeiginn bho fheadhainn a bhiodh a' tachairt ris agus cha robh air ach ñor ghiobagan do dh'aodach as an am. Bha e gu math bochd. "Gu dé bhios sibh ag iarraidh," ors' esan, "airson ur n-aodach a thoirt dhomhsa?" "An da," ors' esan, "ged a tha mi sean agus bochd mar a tha mi ma tha thu magadh air mo chuid aodaich 's beag a ghabhainn-sa am bata ghabhail dha 'd dhruim." "Cha n-ann a' magadh air ur n-aodach a tha mise idir," ors' esan. "Ach 's ann a tha feum sónraicht' agam air, agus bheir mi dhuibh mo chuid aodaich fhéin agus páidhidh mi sibh gu math airson seo cuideachd." Agus chaidh iomlaid aodaich a dheanamh co-dhiubh agus chuir esan air aodach an diol-déirce a bha seo agus thug e 'n t-aodach dha 'n fhear eile. Agus thug e dha sineadas cuimseach math air a shon 's tha mi cinnteach gun tug e dha sanáis e-fhéin a chumail am falach mun rachadh fhaicinn fad greis co-dhiubh. Agus dh'fhalbh e. Ach bha astar mor aige ri dhol tha fios. Agus thug iad an aire gun do thóisich an t-each air rud ithe. Agus thóisich an t-eun óir air ceileireadh beagan mar a dheanadh eun co-dhiubh. Agus thánaig aoibh mhór oirre-se, agus thánaig coltas cho toilichte oirre. Agus thuirt i gu robh an duine a theasraig ise beó fhathast agus feumaidh, ors' ise, gu bheil e tighinn. Agus thánaig an luidein truagh a bha seo dh'ionnsaidh an taighe an

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"You did not take my advice," said he, "and now you are in abad state." "Yes indeed," answered the lad. "Now I am done for." "Well/' said the fox, "perhaps you are not altogether done for yet. It seems I must help you once again for you were kind to me." The fox went down - he lowered his tail as far as it would go - and the lad grasped the fox's tail. By climbing up the side with his feet he managed to get out of the awful pit. "And now/' said the fox, "there are people searching the forest for you. Your brothers are fearful that you may not have been drowned and that one way or another you escaped. Some of their soldiers or guards are out searching for you, and you must be very careful." So he continued on, taking his time and he met some sort of beggar who was travelling around trying to get rags of clothing, perhaps, or some small assistance from people he met and all he wore at the time was rags and tatters. He was poor indeed. "What would you ask," said the lad, "for giving me your clothing?" "Well," said the beggar, "oíd and poor as I am, if you are making fun of my clothing, it would be little enough for me to take this stick to your back." "I'm not making fun of your clothing at all," replied the lad. " But I have a special need of it. I will give you my own clothing in exchange and will pay you well in addition." So they exchanged clothing and the lad donned the beggar's clothing and gave his own to the other man. He gave him a fairly good payment for it and I am sure he warned him to keep out of sight for a while lest he be seen. And he set out, for he doubtless had a good distance to travel. And at the king's palace they noticed that the horse began to eat. And the bird began to sing a little as a bird should. And the princess regained her cheer and began to look happy, saying that the man who had rescued her was still alive and must now be on his way. After a time a pathetic-looking tramp approached the dwelling. He reached the house - they didn't suspect him of being anything but a poor beggar approaching the house - and

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ceann üine. Agus fhuair e dh'ionnsaidh an taighe - cha do smaointich asan sian ach nach robh ann ach diol-déirce bha tighinn dh'ionnsaidh an taighe - is ligeadh suas e dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. Agus nuair thánaig e dh'ionnsaidh an taighe dh'aithnich is' e agus dh'inns' i dh'a athair. Agus neo-ar-thaing nach do dh'aithnich athair a mhac fhéin nuair a thuirt i ri athair a' ghille gur a seo a mhac-san. Is dh'aithnich e e; neo-ar-tháing nuair a chaidh fhaicinn ceart ged a bha na luideagan fhéin air. Agus chaidh an dithist ghillean eile a shaodachadh air falbh - ma dh'fhaoidte gun deachaidh an cuir air eilein, neo bha e a' dol 'gan cuir air eilein. Ach tha mi 'n dúil gun tug esan órdugh fathamas thoirt dhaibh; dh'iarr e air athair am fágail beó agus am fágail air a' rioghachd, ach iad a bhith 'nan seirbhisich, mar sheirbhiseach cumanta. Agus co-dhiubh, chaidh esan a sgeadachadh - chaidh deise bhriagh, riomhach a bhuineadh do mhac righ a chuir air - agus chaidh bainis mhór a dheanamh. Phós e fhéin 's nighean a' righ eile bha seo agus rinneadh bainis mhór; mhair i greis do dh'üine. Ach latha neo dhá an deaghaidh na bainnseadh bha e gabhail ceum sios dh'ionnsaidh a' chladaich agus thachair a' sionnach ris. "Feumaidh tu/' ors' a' sionnach, "a nist mise mharbhadh." "Sin rud," ors' esan, "nach b'urrainn dhomhsa dheanamh." "O feumaidh tu dheanamh," ors' esan. "Mura deán thu sin tha mise truagh dheth, agus 's fheárr dhut dheanamh mar a tha mi 'g iarraidh ort. Nuair a mharbhas tu mise, gearraidh tu dhiom na ceithir spógan agus tilgidh tu ann a' sloc a' chlosach agus na spógan air uachdar." Agus rinn e sin agus thog e rithe a' deanamh air a' chairteal. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh e gu math brónach an deaghaidh a' rud a rinn e 's gu robh e cuir moran dragh air inntinn as an am. Agus chuala e cuideiginn ag éigheach dha agus stad e. Thionndaidh e mun cuairt 's bha duine óg, eireachdail ann a' sin: duine álainn. "'S mise 'n sionnach," ors' esan. "'N e sibh?" ors' esan. "'S mi gu dearbh," ors' esan. "'S mise a' sionnach agus is mis' bráthair na té a tha pósd' agadsa. Agus chaidh mis' a chuir fo gheasaibh; chaidh sionnach a dheanamh dhiom. Agus sin an dóigh as a robh mi airson thusa a bhuannachd mo phiuthar airson a pósadh." Agus bha 'm fear sin, bha e 'na dhuin' uasal. Bha urram mhór aige air a' rioghachd cómhla ris a' chórr dhiubh. Agus sin agaibh mar a bha an naidheachd mar a fhuair mi i.

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he was allowed up to the house. When he reached the house she recognized him and told his father, and indeed the father recognized him once she had told him that it was his own son. He recognized him, particularly when he had a good look at him, though the lad was dressed in rags. And the other two brothers were driven away - perhaps they were sent to an island, or he intended to put them on an island. But I believe the lad gave the order to extend them a reprieve; he asked his father to leave them alive and in the kingdom, but they were to be servants and live as ordinary servants. So he was dressed - a fine, elegant suit worthy of a prince was donned - and a great wedding-feast was arranged. He and the king's daughter were married and there was a big wedding; it lasted for some time. But a day or two after the wedding he was walking down to the shore and the fox met him. "Now," said the fox, "you musí kill me." "That is something I could not do/' the lad replied. "But you must," said the fox. "If you don't I am lost; it is better for you to do as I ask. When you kill me you will cut off my four paws and throw the carcass into a pit and the paws on top." So he did that and set off for the castle and to be sure he was very sorrowful over what he had done; it was troubling him greatly. But he heard someone calling him and he stopped. He turned around and there was a fine-looking young man there, a handsome man. "I am the fox/' said the young man. "Is it you?" said the lad. "Indeed it is," he replied. "I am the fox and I am also the brother of the princess who is married to you. I was put under spells and turned into a fox. And that is why I wanted you to win my sister in marriage." The young man was indeed a gentleman and was highly regarded in the kingdom along with the rest of them. And that is the tale as I heard it.

Aonghus MacCoinnich

Aonghus MacCoinnich a bha seo: 's e Aonghus Sheumais Mhurchaidh Bháin. Bha e do Chlann Choinnich a thánaig gu Parraisde Eilein na Nollaig. Agus bha e greis dha 'n úine a' fuireach thall aig Bail' lain, an áite fear Dómhnall MacNill (Dómhnall Sheumais 'ic Eóin 'ic Dhómhnaill Dhuibh). 'S e piuthar a sheanair - piuthar do Mhurchadh Bán cho fad 's as fhiosrach mi — a bha pósda aig Dómhnall MacNill a bha seo - aig Dómhnall Sheumais. Agus b' e sin an t-aobhar air a robh esan thall a' fuireach greis cómhla riu. 'S ann cómhla riu a bha e fuireach nuair a chuala mi 'n sgeulachd aige a chuir mi air ciar cheana. Bliadhnaichean an deaghaidh dha tilleadh air n-ais gu Eilean na Nollaig agus pósadh agus teaghlach a thogail chaidh mi air chéilidh dha 'n taigh aige. Bha cuimhne aige air a bhith air chéilidh 'san taigh againn fhin agus fhuair e naidheachd na dúthchadh thall bhuam air an fheadhainn a bha e fior eólach orra. Thóisich e air seanachas a rithist: air thoirt dhomh sgeul beag air rudan a bha a' tachairt nuair a bha e thall. Agus lean sinn air a dhol air chéilidh air bho 'n am sin; a h-uile cothrom a gheobhamaid rachamaid air chéilidh thuige. 'S e duine uamhasach aighearach a bh' ann, agus duine amasach. Bha facían freagarrach deiseil aige agus thionndadh e rudan a nuil cho furasda. Bha e pósda aig ban-Leathanach agus bha i fhéin do Chloinn 'Illeain do shiol Chaluim Óig. Bha fear do Chlann 'Illeain nach do dh'ainmich mi idir nuair a dh'ainmich mi lain agus Niall agus Alasdair: bha bráthair acá air a robh Gilleasbuig (Gilleasbuig Chaluim Óig) a shuidhich thall ann am Parraisde Eilein na Nollaig. Agus 's ann anuas bhuapa sin a thánaig a' bhean a bh' aig MacCoinnich. Tha mi creidsinn gur e iar-ogha do Ghilleasbu' Chaluim a bhiodh innte.

Angus MacKenzie

Angus MacKenzie (Aonghus Sheumais Mhurchaidh Bháin) belonged to the MacKenzies who carne to Christmas Island Parish. He lived for some time over in Johnstown at the place of a Donald MacNeil (Dómhnall Sheumais 'ic Eóin 'ic Dhómnhnaill Dhuibh). His grandfather's sister - a sister of Murchadh Bán as far as I can determine - was married to this Donald MacNeil (Dómhnall Sheumais) and that was the reason he lived with them for a time. He was staying with them when I heard the story I have recorded here. Years later, when he had returned to Christmas Island, married/ and raised a family, I went to his house to see him. He remembered visiting at our place and got the news from me of the country over there and the people he had known particularly well. And he began giving me small accounts concerning things that had happened when he lived there, and we continued to go to visit him from that time on; whenever we got the chance we would go over to see him. He was an extremely cheerful man and very witty. He always had the right answers and he could turn things around so easily. He was married to a MacLean, one of the MacLeans descended from Calum Og. There was one of the MacLeans I did not mention at all when I spoke of John, Neil, and Alexander. They had a brother by the ñame of Archie (Gilleasbuig Chaluim Oig) who settled over in Christmas Island Parish. It was from these people that MacKenzie's wife was descended. I believe that she would be a great-grandchild of Archie (Gilleasbuig Chaluim).

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40

An Saighdear a Chaidh Deochan Uisge a Dhiúltadh Dha

Bha saighdear a' falbh a' rathaid agus thánaig e gu taigh. Agus tha e coltach gu robh iad gu math spiocach as an taigh a bha seo. Dh'iarr e deochan uisge - tha mi cinnteach ged a dh'iarr gu robh am barrachd fo near dha nam faigheadh e e - ach nuair a dh'iarr e 'n deochan uisge thuirt am fear seo ris gu robh allt shios a' sin, sios a' rathad agus gum faigheadh e deoch ann a' sin. Thug an saighdear taing dha agus thuirt e ris nuair ruigeadh e uisge gun aithnicheadh e e. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhág e 'n taigh sin agus cha deach e glé fhada - cus do dh'astar sios — nuair a thánaig e gu taigh agus chaidh e suas dh'ionnsaidh an taighe a bha sin agus dh'fhoighneachd e am faigheadh e deochan uisge. 'S thuirt iad ris e thighinn astaigh: gum faigheadh e sin ach ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh e na bu riatanaiche air biadh na bha e air an deoch, ged as e an deoch a dh'iarr e. O, thug e taing dhaibh 's thuirt e gu robh e car riatanach air biadh gun teagamh gu leór agus chaidh e astaigh 's fhuair e 'n deochan uisge 's chaidh biadh thoirt dha. 'S chaidh gabhail aige gu math 's iarraidh air fuireach cómhla riu greis; gu robh e sgith a' siubhal agus gum b'fheárr dha greiseag dha 'n üine chuir seachad agus a sgios a ligeil seachad co-dhiubh. Agus dh'fhuirich e beagan lathaichean anns an taigh a bha sin 's tha mi cinnteach gu robh an fheadhainn a bha thall anns an taigh eile, gu robh iaonadh orra gu dé bha dol air 'n aghaidh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dha 'n fheadhainn a bha e cómhla riu gu dé 'n seórsa feadhainn a bha thall 'san taigh a bha seo 's o, thuirt iad gur e feadhainn gu math spiocach a bh' ann: feadhainn nach robh moran carthantachd annt' idir. Agus thuirt e gun do dhiült iad deochan uisge dhasan, agus nach do chórd an gnothach sin ris-san idir - am fear a bh' anns t-saighdearachd üine mhór - a dhol a dhiúltadh deochan uisge dha. Ach co-dhiubh leis an iaonadh a bha air an fheadhainn seo gu dé bha a' dol air 'n aghaidh, agus iad a' beachdnachadh gu dé a nist a bhiodh a' dol air 'n aghaidh thall an seo 's an saighdear cómhla riu, 's ann a dh' fheuch iad ri faighinn amach gu dé bha dol air 'n aghaidh. Agus bha seann chailleach astaigh acá - co-dhiubh bu mháthair i dhasan na dhi-se na có bh' ann, bha i ann co-dhiubh - agus chuir iad i ann an ciste mhór agus thug iad a nuil dh'ionnsaidh an taighe i bha seo. 'S bha iad a' dol air turus a dh'áiteiginn 's na gnothaichean a bh' as a' chiste

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40

The Soldier Who Was Refused a Drink oí Water

There was a soldier travelling the road and he arrived at a house. And it seems the people were very stingy in that house. The soldier requested a drink of water - I am sure although that is all he asked for but that he hoped for more if he could get it - but when he asked for the drink of water the man of the house told him that there was a stream down the road where he could get his drink. The soldier thanked him and assured him that when he reached water he would recognize it. So he left the house and did not go very much farther down when he arrived at another house. He went up to that house and asked if he could have a drink of water and they told him to come in; he would certainly get that and perhaps he was more in need of food than he was of a drink, although a drink was all he asked for. He thanked them and said that without any doubt he was fairly in need of f ood, and so he entered and got a drink of water and food was given to him. He was well received and invited to stay a while with them; he must be tired travelling and had better spend some time there and at least recover from his fatigue. He stayed a few days in that house and I am certain the people over in the other house were very curious as to what was going on. And he asked the people he was staying with what sort of people were over in the other house; they said that they were very stingy, people without much charity at all. He told them that they had refused him a drink of water and that it had not pleased him at all - the man had been soldiering for a long time - to be refused a drink of water. But so great was the curiosity of those people concerning the goings-on, as they constantly speculated about what was happening in the other household where the soldier was staying, that they finally tried to find out. And there was an oíd woman with them - whether she was his mother or hers or whoever she was, she was there - and they put her into a big chest and took it over to the house in which the soldier was staying. They said that they were going on a journey

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- bha iad luachmhor - bha iad airson am fágail as an taigh mun éireadh sian dhaibh fhad 's a bhiodh iad fhéin air falbh. 'S o, bha na nábaidhean toilichte gu leór sin a dheanamh agus chaidh a' chiste thoirt astaigh. Ach tha fhios gu robh gamhlas aig an t-saighdear riu air táilleabh mar a rinn iad air fhéin agus thuirt e gu robh esan a7 dol a dh'fhaighinn amach gu dé bh; as a' chistidh bha seo. 'S o, cha robh: cha robh a leithid ri bhith ann idir. A' chiste a chuir cách' a nall cha robh i ri fosgladh. O, thuirt e gum fosgladh esan i; nach robh e cuir sian air a fosgladh; agus dh'fhosgail e a' chiste. Bha cailleach am broinn na cisteadh agus mulchagan cáise as a' chistidh an taice rithe. Agus rug an saighdear air píos dhe 'n cháise a bha sin agus dhinn e sin sios am beul na caillich 's stob e sios 'na h-amhaich e. Chaidh a' chailleach bhochd a thachdadh. Ach co-dhiubh, thill asan air la'r-na-mháireach 'sa mhadainn agus ghabh iad leisgeul gun do thachair rudeiginn 's nach robh iad a' dol air an turus a bha düil acá. Thánaig rudeiginn ceárr 'sa rathad: an fheadhainn a bha iad a' dol a choimhead, bha iad air falbh neo bha rud neónach air choireiginn ann. 'S beag an rud nach deanadh leisgeul anns a' chas a bh' ann co-dhiubh. 'S thug iad dhachaidh a' chiste 's nuair a dh'fhosgail iad a' chiste is iad a' dol a dh'fhaighinn amach na h-uibhir, bha a' chailleach marbh as a' chistidh. Agus smaoinich iad an uair sin am mearachd a rinn iad nach do chuir iad uisge neo bainne anns a' chistidh dha 'n chaillich; gun deachaidh a tachdadh ag ithe a' cháise. Agus co-dhiubh, chaidh an uair sin fios mun cuairt gun do dh'eug a' chailleach 's chaidh faire a dheanamh. Agus tha mi cinnteach nach deachaidh an saighdear an cóir an taighe co-dhiubh: dh'ionnsaidh an taighe-faire. Ach nuair a chaidh an fhaire seachad, chaidh a' chailleach a thiodhlaigeadh agus thuirt an saighdear gu robh esan a' dol a thogail na chaillich'. Agus o, cha robh: cha fhreagradh a leithid sin. O, thuirt e gu robh e dol 'ga togail; nach robh e réidh agus an fheadhainn ud fhathast. Agus co-dhiubh, thog e a' chailleach agus chuir e i 'na seasamh; tha mi 'n dúil gur ann shios aig post na cachaileith a chuir e i an toiseach. Agus cha robh fhios aig an fheadhainn eile gu dé dheante co-dhiubh, ach chaidh fios a chuir a nuil gu nábaidh a bh' acá gu dé rachadh acá air innse. Co-dhiubh nuair a chaidh iad a nuil cha robh fios acá air cus mura

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somewhere and wanted to leave the things that were in the chest - they were valuable - in the house lest something happened to them while they were away. Their neighbours were happy enough to do that f or them and the chest was brought inside. It seems that the soldier harboured some ill-will against them for what they had done, and he said that he was going to investígate the contents of the chest. Oh no, that would not do; the chest that the others had sent over was not to be opened. Oh, he said that he would open it, that it was no trouble for him to do; so he opened the chest and inside was a little oíd woman with cakes of cheese in there beside her. The soldier took a piece of the cheese and crammed it in the oíd lady's mouth and shoved it down her throat and the poor oíd lady choked to death. On the morning of the following day the others retumed offering the excuse that something had happened and that they were not going on the journey as they had expected. Some problem carne up; the people they were going to see were away, or some silly reason. Almost any excuse would serve in that situation anyway. They took the chest home with them, and when they opened it, intending to find out so much, there was the oíd lady dead inside. It occurred to them that they had made a mistake in not putting water or milk in the chest for the oíd woman, that she had choked eating the cheese. So then word was sent around that the oíd woman had died and a wake was prepared, but I am sure that the soldier did not go near the wake-house at all. But when the wake was finished the oíd woman was buried, and the soldier said that he was going to exhume her. And oh, no, that would never do. But he said that he was going to exhume her; he was not finished with those people yet. So he dug up the oíd woman and set her upright - I believe down at the gatepost was where he set her first. Her family did not understand what had been done, but they sent for their neighbours to see what they would say about it. When the neighbours went over they claimed no knowledge

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robh fios aig an t-saighdear fhéin; mura bhiodh fhios aig a' choigreach a bha cómhla riu. O, thuirt esan nach b'urrainn dhasan dad a ghrádhainn ach gun canadh e nach d'rinn iad cosgais gu leór ris an fhaire: gum bu chóir dhaibh barrachd chosgais a dheanamh air an fhaire. Agus chaidh oidhche eile do chaithris a dheanamh - faire agus chaidh cosgais a dheanamh air feadh fheadhainn mun cuairt. Agus co-dhiubh, chaidh a' chailleach a thiodhlaigeadh a rithist. Ach cha robh a' saighdear riaraichte fhathast as a' ghnothach 's thuirt e gu robh e dol a thogail na caillich'. 'S o, cha robh, thuirt an fheadhainn a bha e fuireach cómhla riu: sin an fheadhainn nach togadh; nach b'fheárr dha ligeil leatha a nist? O, thuirt e gun togadh e i: nach robh e idir toilichte gun d'rinn iad gu leór do chosgais fhathast. Agus thog e a' chailleach agus aig an turus seo chuir e i shuas aig dorust an t-sabhail. Agus nuair a dh'éirich iad 'sa mhadainn bha a' chailleach shuas aig dorust an t-sabhail. Agus chaidh asan a nuil dh'ionnsaidh taigh nan nábuidh air n-ais. O, thuirt an saighdear nach robh ann ach an aon aobhar cho fad 's a b'urrainn dhasan a thuigsinn: gura h-e nach deachaidh cosgais gu leór a dheanamh ris an fhaire. 'S chaidh am fair' aon oidhche eile agus mar a thuirt am fear eile, tha mi cinnteach gu robh i fas car láidir ann an samh an uair sin: an úine a bha iad 'ga cumail. Ach co-dhiubh, chaidh i tiodhlaigeadh agus thuirt e la'r-namháireach gu robh esan a' dol a thogail na caillich' a nochd. Agus thog e a' chailleach agus chuir e astaigh i aig dorust an stábuill. Agus thánaig fios a nall gu áite nábuidh an saighdear a dhol a nuil. Chaidh e a nuil f euch gu dé bha dol agus thuirt iad gu robh a' chailleach astaigh anns a' stábull agus bha asan a' dol a thogail rithe - a' dol a dh'fhalbh - ach cha ligeadh an t-eagal le gin acá a' láir a thoirt amach. Agus thuirt e gun toireadh esan amach a' láir 's tha mi cinnteach gun do dh'iarr e rud air a shon cuideachd. Ach co-dhiubh thug e amach a' láir agus chaidh an acfhuinn a chuir oirre 's chaidh a cuir anns a' charbad agus thog iad rithe. 'S nuair a dh'fhalbh iad, lig esan amach a' loth agus cheangail e a' chailleach air druim na loth. 'S nuair a rinn a' loth seitir, rinn a' láir seitir 'ga freagairt. Agus amach a thug a' loth a' cluinntinn seitir a máthar agus dh'fhalbh i. 'S bha asan a' falbh sios a' rathad - a' láir acá 's an carbad - 's thug iad süil 's bha a' chailleach a' tighinn as an deaghaidh a' marcachd air a' loth. Agus chuir iad a leithid do chabhag air a' láiridh 's cha robh iad a' coimhead cá robh iad a' dol 's

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about what had happened unless the soldier knew, the stranger who was with them. Oh, he said that he could not say anything for sure except that they had not spent enough on the wake, that they should have paid out more for the wake. So there was another night's vigil and more was spent on people around. The oíd woman was buried once more, but the soldier was still not entirely satisfied with the matter and he said that he was going to exhume her. And oh, no, said his hosts, certainly they would not do it; would it not be better to leave her alone now? But he said that he would exhume her; he was not at all satisfied that they had gone to enough expense yet. So he exhumed the oíd woman and this time he set her up at the barn door. When they aróse the next morning, there was the oíd woman at the barn door. So they went over to their neighbour's house once more. Oh, the soldier said, the cause was still the same as far as he could understand: not enough expense had been laid out for the wake. So there was a wake one more night as the man had said, and I am sure that the oíd woman was growing rather odoriferous for all the time they had kept her. But she was buried and the soldier said on the next day that he was going to exhume her again that night. So he dug up the oíd lady and put her in at the stable door. Soon word carne to the house where the soldier was to go over. He went over to see what was going on; they said that the oíd woman was inside the stable and that they intended to leave - to go away but that none of them had the courage to bring the mare out. The soldier said that he would bring out the mare, and I am certain that he asked a good deal for this too. So he brought out the mare, the harness was put on her and she was hitched to the wagón, and off they went. And when they had lef t he let out the filly and bound the oíd woman on the filly's back, and when the filly neighed the mare gave an answering neigh. So out went the filly when she heard her mother's cali and away she went. Meanwhile the others were going down the road with the horse and wagón, and when they looked back the oíd woman was coming after them riding the filly. And they hurried the mare so much, not

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mu dheireadh chaidh iad sios le bruthaich 's ghabh iad sios ann an sloc. Agus tha mi cinnteach gun deach iad, mar an tuirt iad, far cnáimh an ugainn ann a' sin 's chaidh am marbhadh as an t-sloc. Agus tha mi cinnteach gun deachaidh a' chailleach a thiodhlaigeadh 's cha tánaig i tuilleadh an áirde. Agus sin mar a fhuair an saighdear air thoiseach air an fheadhainn a bha cho spiocach ris agus nach tugadh iad dha deochan uisge.

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taking note of where they were going, that they finally went down a slope and f ell into a pit. And I am sure as the expression has it, that they broke their necks and were killed in the pit. And I am sure also that the oíd woman was buried and did not arise again. And that is how the soldier got the best of the people who were so stingy to him that they would not give him a drink of water.

Eos Mac 'Illeain

Bho 'n a bha mi toirt eachdraidh air Cloinn 'Illeain a bha shuas aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach agus aig Cóbh nan Éireannach mar a bha iad, ;s fheudar dhomh a nist ainmeachas air Clann Illeain a bha cómhnaidh thall aig Eilean na Nollaig agus a dh'imrich fear dhiubh a nuil dh'ionnsaidh a' Phóin Mhóir. Agus bha feadhainn acá a dh'imrich mun cuairt air feadh Eilean Cheap Breatuinn. Ach co-dhiubh bha Eos Mac 'Illeain (Eos Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha): agus b'e Calum Gobha mac do dh'Alasdair an Gobha Mor. Agus tha e coltach gun deachaidh Alasdair an Gobha Mor fhéin a nuil a Cheap Breatunn agus bha a mhac Calum -'se Calum Gobha a bh' acá air agus thog e teaghlach thall ann a' sin. Agus nuair a bha mi fhin thall anns a' Gháidhealtachd thachair fear do Chloinn 'Illeain rium agus b'e esan iar-ogha do Mhicheal, mac Alasdair an Gobha Mor. Agus 's e Micheal Mac'Illeain, mac Eos Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha, 's e iar-ogha do Chalum Gobha a th' annsan. Agus co-dhiubh, bha Eos Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha 'na dhuine ñor aighearach, toilichte agus gábhaidh math gu aithris sgeulachdan beaga agus bhithinn daonnan toileach a bhith 'na chuideachd. Agus 's e té do Chlann a' Phi aig a' Phón Mhór a bha pósda aige: nighean do Mhicheal Nill Dhómhnaill. Agus air taobh a máthar bha i dhe na Caimbeulaich agus dhe na Dómhnallaich.

41

Léine an Duine gun Chúram

'S e sgeulachd air duine beairteach a bh' ann an ceárnaidh dhe 'n t-saoghal agus bha e tinn fad áireamh bhliadhnaichean. 'S bha e dol dh' ionnsaidh a h-uile lighiche a bha mu chuairt a bhiodh anns na bailtean ach cha robh e faotainn leigheas. Agus co-dhiubh thánaig an sin lighiche óg do bhaile a bha faisg orra agus nuair a chual' e mu dheoghainn rinn e deiseil agus dh'fhalbh e choimhead air a' lighiche bha seo. Agus nuair a rinn a' lighiche seo cuid mhór do mhion-rannsachadh air a shláinte thuirt e nach robh ann ach aon leigheas dha; nan gabhadh sin faotainn gum bu dócha gun

Joe MacLean

Since I have given the history of the MacLeans at Middle Cape and Irish Cove, I should now give an account of the MacLeans who lived at Christmas Island, one who moved to Big Pond. Some of them moved all over Cape Bretón Island, and among them was Joe MacLean (Eos Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha). Calum Gobha (Malcolm the Smith) was the son of Alexander the Big Smith, and apparently Alexander the Big Smith went over to Cape Bretón and his son Malcolm - he was called Calum Gobha - raised a family there. When I was over in the Gáidhealtachd in Scotland I met one of the MacLeans who was a great-grandson of Michael the son of Alexander the Big Smith. And Michael MacLean son of Joe (Eos Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha) is a great-grandson of Calum Gobha. In any case Joe MacLean was an extremely cheerful, happy man and an exceptionally good raconteur of short stories. I was always happy to be with him. He was married to a MacPhee woman from Big Pond, a daughter of Micheal Nill Dhómhnaill, descended on her mother's side from the Campbells and the MacDonalds.

41

The Shirt of the Man without Worríes

This is a story about a rich man in a certain part of the world, who was ill for a number of years. He went to every doctor in the surrounding cities but could not get cured. One day a young doctor carne to a nearby town. Upon hearing about him the man prepared himself and went to see the doctor. After the doctor had made a thorough examination of his condition he said that there was one cure; if it could be

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leighiseadh sin e. Agus thuirt an duine beairteach a bha seo nan gabhadh sin faighinn gum bu toil leis sin fhaighinn. Agus thuirt e ris nan cuireadh e uime léine an duine gun chúram gura dócha gu leighiseadh sin e - nan gabhadh i faotainn. Agus co-dhiubh, dh'fhasdaidh e dithist do sheirbhisich a bha e deanamh amach a bhiodh gu math dileas agus a dh'fhalbhadh a shiubhal airson feuch am faigheadh iad léine an duine gun chúram dha. Bha iad a' siubhal agus 's iomadh ceárna dha 'n deach iad a shiubhal mun cuairt, ach cha robh 'n gnothach a' sealbhachadh leo idir. Ach mu dheireadh, latha dhe na bha iad a' gabhail a' rathaid, chunnaic iad leth-sheann duine 'na shuidhe amach taobh bothain do thaigh agus bha coltas gu math sunndach air. 'S chaidh iad suas a sheanachas ris 's bha 'n duine gu math aighearach gasda. Agus bha iad 'ga cheasnachadh tacan agus dh'fhoighneachd fear dhiubh sin dheth a robh sian do chúram idir air. O, thuirt e nach robh sian do chúram sam bith airsan 's carson a bhiodh? " 'S a bheil thu cinnteach," orsa fear dhiubh, "nach eil cúram oirbh?" "O, tha mi glé chinnteach," ors' esan. "Carson a bhiodh cúram ornas'?" ors' esan. "Nach fhaic thu a' loch ud shios faisg air a' rathad? Tha e lán do dh'iasg: gheobh sinn iasg ann a h-uile turus a gheobh sinn amach agus side freagarrach. Agus nach fhaic thu a' réidhlein fearainn a tha mu chuairt air an áit' agam ann a' seo? Togaidh sinn bárr ann a' sin cho math 's a dh'iarras sinn. Cha n-eil siol a chuireas sinn nach fhás gu torrach, pailt. Agus uime sin carson a bhiodh cúram omisa agus an gnothach cho teárainte?" "O, 's eadh/' ors' esan, fear dhiubh. "Tha sinn glé thoilichte gun do thachair sinn ribh. Agus tha rud a dhith oirnn agus cuimhnich nach eil sinn 'ga iarraidh gun pháidheadh. Páidhidh sinn gu math air a shon ge b'e gu dé a' phris a bhios 'na cheann." "O," ors' esan, an duine 's e deanamh gáire, "cha n-eil ni agamsa a reiceas mi ribh air pris sam bith." "O," ors' esan, fear acá, "tha sinn ag iarraidh na léine agad ri cheannach. Tha i dhith oirnn dha 'r maighistir, agus ge b'e gu dé a' phris a bhios i tha sinn deónach sin a pháidheadh." Rinn an duine gáire mor. "An da," ors' esan, "'s duilich dhomhsa léine reic ribhse na ri duine sam bith 's gun léin' orm. Cha n-eil mise cosgléin' idir." Agus dh'fhalbh asan. Thog iad rithe; dh'fhág iad beannachd aige 's bha iad gu math trom-inntinneach a' falbh an deaghaidh na rinn iad

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found it would probably cure him. And the rich man said that if it could be found he would like to obtain it. So the doctor told him if he would put on the shirt of the man without worries, it might cure him - if it could be found. So the rich man hired two servants who he felt would be very faithful to undertake a journey to obtain the shirt of the man without worries. They travelled and visited many parís of the world on their travels, but they met with no success at all. But, finally, one day as they were going along the road they saw a middle-aged man sitting outside beside a little shanty of a house who appeared to be very cheerful. So they went up to talk to him, and the man was extremely cheerful and friendly. They spent some time questioning him, and one of them asked him whether he had any worries. Oh, he said that there was nothing worrying him at all, and why should there be? "And are you certain," said one of them, "that you have no worries?" "Oh, I am very certain of that," replied the man. "Why should I worry? Don't you see the lake down there cióse to the road? It is full of fish; we get fish every time we go out on it in favourable weather. And don't you see the plain of farmland surrounding my place here? We take crops from here as good as we wish for. There is no seed that we plant that does not grow abundantly and fruitfully. So why should I worry when matters are so secure?" "Yes indeed," said one of them. "We are very pleased that we carne upon you. We are looking for something and remember that we don't expect to have it without paying for it. We will pay well for it regardless of the price." "Oh," said the man laughing, "I don't have anything to sell you at any price at all." "Well," replied one of them, "we wish to buy your shirt. We require it for our master and whatever the price is we are willing to pay it./; The man let out a great burst of laughter. "Well," he said, "it is difficult for me to sell you or anybody else a shirt when I don't wear one. I don't wear a shirt at all." So they departed: they took leave of the man and were very

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do shiubhal dhe 'n t-saoghal gu duine gun chúram fhaighinn agus an duine sin a bhith gun léine. Thill iad dhachaidh. Chaidh iad far a robh an duin' uasal agus dh'inns' iad dha 'n duine bheairteach mar a thachair. Bha esan cho toilichte gun tánaig iad co-dhiubh 's dh'fhoighneachd e an d'fhuair iad an duine gun chúram 's fhuair iad sin. '"S eadh/' ors' esan, "'s an tug sibh thugam a léine?" "O," ors' esan, fear acá, "bu duilich dhuinn a léine thoirt thugaibh. Nuair a dh'iarr sinn a' léine air an duine sin, rinn e gáire 's thuirt e rinn nach robh léin' aige." "Agus," ors' esan, "bha 'n duine sin gun chúram agus gun léin' idir aige." "Bha," ors' asan. "O," ors' esan, "ma 's ñor sin, cha bhi feum agamsa air léine an duine gun chúram na 's motha. Agus tha mi a nist a' tuigsinn gu dé 'm feum a bha i dol a dheanamh dhomh." Agus 's e a' chrioch a thánaig air an duine bheairteach a bha sin: lig e fhéin seachad an cüram agus thóisich e air riarachadh a' bheairteis a bh' aige air na daoine agus cha robh sian do chúram air fhéin mu dheireadh. Agus sin agaibh mar a chriochnaich a' sgeulachd aig Eósaiph Pheadair Chaluim Ghobha.

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heavy hearted returning after all the travelling they had done over the world to find the man without worries and finding that he possessed no shirt. They returned home, and went to the rich gentleman, and told him what had happened. He was pleased that they had returned, and when he asked whether they had found the man without worries they said that they had. "Well," said he, "did you bring me his shirt?" "Oh," said one of them, "it would have been difficult for us to bring you his shirt. When we asked the man for his shirt he laughed and said that he did not possess one./; "So/' said the rich man, "that man had no worries and he did not have a shirt at all." "Yes indeed," said they. "Well," said the rich man, "if that is so, I will have no further need of the shirt of the man without worries. And now I understand what use that was to be to me." And the outcome for the rich man was that he let his worries go and began to distribute his wealth to other people until finally he had no worries at all. And that is how the story ended from Joseph MacLean.

lain MacNill

'S e mac do Dhómhnall Dhómhnaill 'ic lain 'ic lain a bh; ann agus 's e Dómhnall Mor Nill Mhóir a bheireadh iad ri athair a thaobh chaochail Dómhnall mac lain 'ic lain tha e coltach nuair nach robh e ach glé óg. Agus 's e Mor Nill Mhóir, b'e sin Mor Nill Mhóir 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha. Agus 's e nighean do Niall Chaluim 7ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha bu mháthair do dh'Iain MacNill a bha seo. Agus tha mi creidsinn gu robh an cáirdeas a' leantail anuas; gur e sin a bha 'gam fágail cho math dh'ionnsaidh nan sgeulachdan, air neo bha iad sónraichte gu bhith 'g innse sgeulachdan co-dhiubh. Bha esan math gu seinn oran: bha guth láidir glan aige. Agus bha e 'na fhidhleir gábhaidh laghach: fidhleir ñor mhath a bh' ann. Chuala mise e a' cluich aig dannsaichean agus chuala mi e cluich 's sinn 'nar suidhe astaigh ann an taigh a' cuir seachad na h-üine. Agus 's iomadh turus a bhiodh spórs againn 's e ri cantail rudan neónach 's bhite ri atharrais air feadhainn cuideachd. Agus bha sinn cho cáirdeil aig a chéile 's gura h-e "Eos mo bhráthair" a bhiodh aige ormsa agus 's e "lain mo bhráthair" a bhiodh agam airsan. Bhitheamaid cho dlüth-cháirdeil sin.

42

An Gíl/e Beag a Sguü dha'n Sgoil

Seo sgeulachd a chuala mi aig lain MacNill bho chionn córr agus leth-cheud bliadhna. 'S ann mu dheoghainn gille beag a bha dol dha 'n sgoil. Agus co-dhiubh latha dha na bha e 'sa sgoil bha gillean mora, foghainneach eile ann 's tha e coltach ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh iad mi-mhodhail agus shrac iad a chuid aodaich. Agus thánaig e dhachaidh agus thuirt e nach robh esan a' dol dha 'n sgoil tuilleadh agus gu robh e dol a thogail rithe air ceann an fhortain. Ach co-dhiubh, fada na goirid an úine gu robh e siubhal thánaig e gu taigh duin' uasail agus chuir an duin' uasal fáilt' air agus

John MacNeil

John MacNeil was the son of Dómhnall Dhómhnaill 'ic lain 'ic lain. His father also used to be styled Dómhnall Mor Nill Mhóir because it seems that his father Dómhnall mac lain 'ic lain died very young. And as for John's mother Sarah (Mor Nill Mhóir) she was styled Mor Nill Mhóir 'ic lain 'ic Lachlann Ghobha. So John MacNeil's mother was a daughter of Neil MacLean (Niall Chaluim 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha). And I believe that there was an inherited capacity that was passed down and that made them so good at telling stories; or perhaps they were just good at it anyway. John MacNeil was a good singer with a strong, clear voice. He was also an extremely nice fiddler and a very competent one. I heard him play at dances and I heard him play when we were sitting in the house just passing the time. Of ten we would enjoy ourselves listening to his funny sayings and listening to him imitate people. He and I were so friendly that he would cali me "my brother Joe" and I would cali him "my brother John." That's how cióse our friendship was.

42

The Young Lad Who Quit School

This is a story I heard from John MacNeil more than fifty years ago. It concerns a little boy who was going to school. And one day at school it seems that some of the bigger, stronger boys were mean to him and tore his clothes. When he carne home he said that he was not going to school any more but was going to set out to seek his fortune. So after travelling for a long or a short time he carne to a gentleman's house, and the gentleman welcomed him and

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dh'fhoighneachd e dheth có esan 's thuirt e gura h-e gille óg a bha coimhead airson maighstir. Agus thuirt an duin' uasal/ "An da/' ors' esan, " 's e do leithid a bha dhith orm: seirbhiseach airson mo chuideachadh timcheall air gnothaichean. Agus a bheil thu math/' ors' esan, "gu cúram a ghabhail do dh'eich?" "Tha. Ghabhainn cüram do dh'eich math gu leór." Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhasdaidh e leis an duin' uasal. Ach latha dhe na lathaichean thuirt an duin' uasal ris, " 'S cóir dhuinn a dhol arnach a shealgaireachd an diugh tacan. Agus a bheil thu math gu sealgaireachd?" "O," ors' esan, "cha n-eil fhios a'm dé cho math 's a tha mi ach tha mi smaointinn gun deanainn beagan sealgaireachd co-dhiubh." Agus thánaig iad gu áite 'sa robh 'n rathad a' bristeadh amach 'na dhá mheanglan 's thuirt an duin' uasal ris, "Cumaidh tusa sios air a' rathad seo agus cumaidh mis' air a' rathad eile. Agus tillidh sinn air n-ais feasgar agus tachraidh sinn ri chéile ann a' seo 's ge b'e có fear a thig an toiseach cha bhi aige ach fuireach gus an tig am fear eile." Seo mar a bha 's co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad. Thill an duin' uasal feasgar agus cha d'fhuair e sealg idir air a' rathad air an deach e fhéin. Tha e coltach gu robh an t-sealg gu math gann. Ach bha e feitheamh aig ceann a' rathaid - an da shráid - nuair a thill e agus bha i fas anmoch 's cha robh sgeul air a' ghille. Ach chunnaic e 'n seo tüic píos do dh'astar bhuaithe shios air a' rathad agus bha seo ag iomain anuas dh'a ionnsaidh. 'S nuair a thánaig an túic a bha seo anuas far a robh e gu dé bha sin ach an gille agus e air a chómhdach le sealg: creutairean a bha marbh - eóin tha mi cinnteach a bha e losgadh orra. Agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh 'n duin' uasal toilichte as a' sin; 's e bha bósdail as an t-seirbhiseach a bh' aige fhéin. Agus bha e gabhail cúram dhe na h-eich agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh e math airson a bhith a' biadhadh 's a' cireadh 's a' cuir nan eich ann a' saod. Agus bha e cho ñor mhath mun cuairt air a h-uile sian agus gura h-ann a dh'aontaich an duin' uasal latha gun cuireadh e e dh'ionnsaidh a' bhanca-chaomhnaidh a dh'iarraidh airgiod. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh e dha 'n bhanca-chaomhnaidh agus fhuair e 'n t-airgiod as a' bhanca. Ach nuair a bha e tighinn dhachaidh thachair robair ris - meáirleach-rathaid - agus dh'iarr e air na bha aige 'sa sporan a thoirt dhasan. O, cha robh e deónach sin a dheanamh idir ach co-dhiubh thug a' fear eile lámh air daga 's thuirt e ris, "Mura libhrig thu dhomh do sporan bidh do bheatha agus an sporan agam cuideachd."

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asked him who he was. He answered that he was a young lad looking for a master. And the gentleman said, "Well, you're the kind of servant Tve been looking for to help me with various things. Are you good at caring for horses?" "Yes I am. I could care for horses well enough." So he hired on with the gentleman. But one day the gentleman said to him, "We should go out and hunt for a while today. Are you good at hunting?" "Oh," replied the lad, "I don't know how good I am but I think that I could do a little hunting anyway." They arrived at a place where the road forked in two1 and the gentleman said to him, "You keep on down that road and I will continué on the other road. In the evening we will return and meet here. Whichever one of us comes back first will just have to wait until the other one arrives." And so it was and they went off. The gentleman returned in the evening, having f ound no game at all on the road that he took. It seems that game was very scarce. But he had been waiting at the head of the road where the road forked in two - since he returned and it was getting late and there was no sign of the lad. But then he saw a dark spot2 some distance down the road approachng him. And when the dark shadow carne up to him, what was it but the lad covered in game - dead animáis and birds, I am certain, that he had shot. The gentleman was indeed pleased with that and he was proud of the servant who had hired on with him. The lad continued taking care of the horses and he was very good at feeding and currying and maintaining them. He was so good around everything that finally the gentleman agreed to send him to the bank to fetch some money. So the lad set out toward the bank and withdrew the money from the bank, and when he was on his way home a robber met him - a highway robber - and demanded that he give him everything in his purse. The lad was not at all willing to do so but the robber put a hand on his pistol and said, "Unless you hand over your purse Til take your Ufe and the purse too." The lad threw the robber his purse and continued on home. He related what had happened and the gentleman was pleased

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Agus thilg e thuige a sporan agus chum e roimhe dhachaidh. Agus dh'inns' e mar a thachair. O, bha an duin' uasal cho toilichte gun tánaig e fhéin dhachaidh beó airneo nach deachaidh e fhéin a mharbhadh air a' rathad a' tighinn. Agus co-dhiubh thuirt e latha na dhá as a dheaghaidh sin, "Tha mi dol thoirt leam," ors' esan, "an fhear as miosa dhe na h-eich as a' stábull." "C' áite bheil thu dol?" ors' esan. "Tha mi dol dh'ionnsaidh a7 bhanca." Thuirt an duin' uasal ris, "'S fheárr dhut/' ors' esan, "gun falbh tuilleadh. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach bi thu sábhailt' a bhith falbh dh'ionnsaidh a' bhanca. Marbhaidh na robairean thu." "O, feuchaidh mi co-dhiubh," ors' esan, "feuch gu dé mar a théid dhomh." Agus dh'fhalbh e leis an each bu mhiosa a bh' as a' stábull agus thachair a' robair ris nuair a bha e falbh. "C'áite bheil thu dol an diugh, a laochain?" ors' esan, "A," ors' esan, "cha n-eil mi airson sin innse do dhuine sam bith." "O," ors' esan, "cha deanadh e moran cron dhut ged a dh'innseadh tu dhomhs' e." "Uill," ors' esan, "ma dh'fhaoidte nach deanadh, ach tha mi a' dol a robadh bañe' an duin' uasail." "'S eadh," ors' esan. "Agus nuair a bhios tu tilleadh an tig thu air n-ais air a' rathad seo?" "O, tha mi cinnteach," ors' esan, "gu bheil a' rathad seo cho math dhomhsa a ghabhail ri rathad sam bith." Dh'fhalbh e dh'ionnsaidh a' bhanca agus fhuair e poca beag 'sa bhanca 's tha mi cinnteach gun deach e amach 's gun d'fhuair e piosan do ghlaine 's do shoithichean créadh 's do rudan 's lion e 'm pocan a bha seo leis mar gum biodh e lán do dh'airgiod aige. Agus bha e tighinn air a shocair agus thachair a' robair ris. "'S eadh," ors' esan, "tha thu air tilleadh." "O, tha," ors' esan, "mi air tilleadh." "Agus an d'fhuair thu," ors' esan, "banca an duin' uasail a robadh?" "O, fhuair mi," ors' esan, "cuid mhath thoirt as." "Uill ma tha," ors' esan, "libhrigidh tu dhomhsa an sporan." "O," ors' esan, "cha robh dúil agam sin a dheanamh idir." "O uill, 's fheárr dhut a dheanamh," ors' esan, "ma tha thu airson do bheatha a bhith sábhailte." Agus bha taobh an eich aig a' robair agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh each math aig a' robair as an am. Agus thilg e 'm poca as a robh an

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that he had reached home alive and had not been killed on his way back. So a day or two later the lad said, "I am going to take with me the worst horse from the stable." "Where are you going?" said the gentleman. "I am going to the bank." The gentleman said to him, "You had better not go anymore. Perhaps you will not be safe travelling to the bank. The robbers may kill you." "Oh I will try anyway," said the lad, "just to see how I fare." He set out with the worst horse in the stable and the robber met him on his way. "Where are you going to today, my fine fellow?" said the robber. "Oh," replied the lad, "I don't want to tell that to anyone." "Well/' replied the robber, "it wouldn't do you much harm to tell me." "All right," said the lad, "perhaps it wouldn't. I am going to rob the gentleman's bank." "Indeed," said the robber. "And when you are on your way back will you be returning by this road?" "Oh, Fm sure," said the lad, "that this road is just as good for me to take as any." He set off toward the bank and he got a small sack at the bank and I am sure that he went out and got small pieces of glass and clay shards and the like and filled the bag with these to make it appear full of money. He was returning in his own good time when the robber met him. "Well/' said the robber, "you've returned." " Oh, yes I have," replied the lad. "And did you manage to rob the gentleman's bank?" "Oh, I was able to get a good deal out of it." "Well then," said the robber, "hand over your purse." "Oh," said the lad, "I had not intended to do that at all." "Well, you had better," said the robber, "if you want your life to be safe." The side of the robber's horse was to him and he had an excellent horse at the time. So the lad threw the sack which

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t-airgiod sios ann a' sloc far a robh drisean is giogain is rudan biorach. "Seo/' ors' esan. "Tha e agaibh ann a' sin 's bithibh a' dol dh'a iarraidh a nist." Agus thánaig a' robair anuas as an diollaid agus sios a ghabh e dha 'n t-sloc a bha seo 's bha e am measg nan drisean 's nan geugan biorach 's a h-uile rud a bh' ann. 'S leum esan air druirn an eich aig a' robair agus thog e rithe dhachaidh 's dh'fhág e 'n seann each ann a' sin: each nach robh cus feum ann. Agus thánaig e dhachaidh gu áite an duin' uasail 's bha 'n t-each a bha seo aige. "C'áite," ors' esan, an duin' uasal, "an d'fhuair thu an t-each?" "O," ors' esan, "fhuair mi 'n t-each aig a' robair. Seo an t-each a bh' aig a' robair. Thilg mi 'm poca airgiod sios dha na drisean agus chaidh e as a dheaghaidh 's leum mise 'san diollaid 's thug mi leam an t-each a bha seo 's dh'fhág mi 'n t-seann each aigesan. Bha mi cinnteach nach beireadh e orm co-dhiubh." "Ma tha," ors' an duin' uasal, "tha mi creidsinn gun cum sinn an t-each seo gus an tig e dh'a iarraidh. Ach 's gann gun tig e idir." Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a bha iad toirt na diollaid far an eich chuir e neónachas air gu robh an diollaid cuimseach trom cuideachd. Agus dh'fheuch iad an diollaid agus bha an t-airgiod a bha air a ghoid - bha na robairean a' coinneachadh ris na gillean a bha toirt an airgid as a' bhanca dha 'n duin' uasal, bha iad a' coinneachadh riu fad greis mhór do dh'üine agus 'gan robadh — 's bha an t-airgiod aige 'n gléidheadh as a' diollaid. Agus fhuair an duin' uasal air n-ais a h-uile h-airgiod a chaidh a ghoid air fad greis do dh'úine. Agus cha ligeadh e an gille air falbh tuilleadh ach chum e cómhla ris fhéin e 's bha e 'na sheiribhiseach aig an duin' uasal sin an córr dha 'n úine. Co-dhiubh cha chuala mise gun deach e a dh'obair a dh'áite sam bith na sian bhuaithe sin. Sin agaibh a' sgeulachd mar a fhuair mi i aig lain MacNill.

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The Reciters and the Tales

supposedly contained the money into a hollow filled with thistles and brambles and stickers. "There you are, go get it." The robber dismounted from the saddle and down into the hollow he went into the brambles and spiky branches and everything else. And the lad leapt onto the back of the robber's horse and took off home and lef t the oíd horse where it was - a horses which was not much use. He returned home to the gentleman's house with the horse and the gentleman said, "Where did you find the horse?" "Oh," replied the lad, "I got the horse from the robber. This is the horse that belonged to him. I threw the bag of money down into the brambles and he went down after it so I leapt into the saddle and I took this horse and left him the oíd one. I made sure he couldn't catch me anyway." " Well then," said the gentleman, " I believe we will keep this horse until he comes for it. But it's unlikely that he will come atall." But when they were taking the saddle off the horse it puzzled him that the saddle was fairly heavy. So they examined the saddle and the money that had been stolen - the robbers had met the lads who were taking money from the bank for the gentleman and had been waylaying them for a long time and robbing them - and the money was stashed in the saddle. So the gentleman got back all the money that had been stolen from him over a long time. And he couldn't let the lad go any more but he kept him with him and he was a servant to the gentleman from then on. In any case I never heard that he went to work anywhere else from that day. And there you have the story that I got from John MacNeil.

Bean Mhicheil 7acNill

Anna nighean Dhómhnaill lain Dhiarmaid, bana-Chaimbeulach: bha i pósda aig Micheal MacNill (Micheal Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn Bháin). 'S e boireannach sónraichte a bh' ann am Bean Mhicheil. Bha i 'na bean-ghlüin. Bhiodh i falbh mun cuairt air feadh na tir as an am agus bha e coltach gu robh i gu math sealbhach, sona as a' chúis sin cuideachd. Bha deagh-ghuth órain aice agus cuid mhór do dh'orain mhath aice. Agus airson puirt-a-beul bha i fior mhath orra; bu choingeis leatha co-dhiubh 'gan athris 'nam facían neo a' dol air canndaireachd eile. Bha i sónraichte math air a shon sin.

43

Bodachan an t-Sílein

Tha sgeul a' seo a chuala mi; o, cha robh mi ach 'nam bhrogach beag. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach robh mi ach deich bliadhna a dh'aois nuair a bhithinn a' cluinntinn na té seo ag innse dhuinn na naidheachd air mar a chanadh iad fhéin Bodachan an t-Silein. Agus chunna mi 'n naidheachd sin bliadhnaichean as a dhéidh sin ann a' leabhar agus 's e cluas do dh'arbhar a fhuair am fear: fhuair e siol. Ach as a' sgeul a bh' aice-se 's e silein do ghrán a fhuair e agus dh'ionnsaich sinn a' sgeulachd bheag a bha sin. Agus co-dhiubh bha e dol dha 'n bhaile no air turus air choireiginn 's dh'fhág e silein a bha seo aig taigh. Agus dh'iarr e orra an aire thoirt dha 'n t-silein seo gus an tilleadh esan, ge b'e cuine; ge b'e ;n úine a bhiodh ann. Agus nuair e thill e dh'ionnsaidh an áite thuirt iad ris nuair a dh'iarr e a' silein gun tánaig a' chearc astaigh 's gun do dh'ith i a' silein. "Ma tha," ors' esan, "bidh a' chearc fhéin agam." "O, cha bhi, cha bhi/' ors' asan. Ach sgob e leis i agus dh'fhalbh e.

Mrs Michael MacNeil

She was a Campbell woman (Anna nighean Dhómhnaill lain Dhiarmaid) married to Michael MacNeil (Micheal Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn Bháin). Michael MacNeil's wife was an extraordinary woman. She was a midwife who used to travel throughout the country in those days, and it seems that she was prosperous and happy in her profession. She had a good singing voice and a large repertoire of good songs. As for mouth-music, she was a very accomplished singer; it didn't matter whether she was just reciting the words or singing them to a tune. She was exceptionally good at it.

43

The Little Oíd Man with the Grains

Here is a story that I heard when I was just a small boy. I was only about ten years oíd when I used to hear a woman telling us a story concerning what they used to cali "The Little Oíd Man with the Grains." And I saw the tale years later in a book, and it was an ear of corn that the man got, seed. But in the tale told by the oíd woman that we learned, it was seeds of grain. He was going to town or on some errand and left the grains at a house. He asked the people there to watch the grains until he returned, whenever that was or after however long a time. And when he returned they told him when he asked for his grains that the hen had come in and had eaten them. "Well then," said he, 'Til take the hen/' "Oh no, no/' said they. But he scooped up the hen and went on his way.

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Agus ránaig e 'n sin taigh eile agus dh'fhág e a' chearc ann a' sin agus thuirt e riu cúram a ghabhail dha 'n chearc gus an tigeadh esan dh'a h-iarraidh an ceann úine. Agus co-dhiubh, thánaig e dh'ionnsaidh an taighe a dh'iarraidh na circeadh. Agus nuair a dh'iarr e a' chearc thuirt iad ris gun do sheas a' bhó air cas na circeadh: gun do bhrist i a cas agus gum b'fheudar cuir as dha 'n chirc. "O, ma tha/' ors' esan, "bidh a' bhó fhéin agam." "O, cha bhi, cha bhi," ors' asan. Ach sgob e leis i 's dh'fhalbh e. 'S ránaig e co-dhiubh áite agus dh'fhág e a' bhó ann a' sin 's thuirt e riu cúram a ghabhail dhe 'n bhó gus an tigeadh esan dh'a h-iarraidh. Agus ge b'e úine a bha e air falbh, co-dhiubh nuair a thánaig e dh'fhoighneachd e c' áite robh a' bhó agus thuirt iad ris gun tug an nighean a' bhó dh'ionnsaidh an uillt a dh'ól deoch agus gun do shleamhnaich i 's thuit i air an deigh 's bhrist i cas is b'fheudar cuir as dhi. "O, ma tha," ors' esan, "bidh an nighean fhéin agam." "Cha bhi, cha bhi," ors' asan. Ach sgob e leis an nighean agus chuir e 'n nighean ann am poca is dh'fhalbh e leatha. Agus bha e falbh a' rathaid agus 's e an criochnachadh a bh' oirre 'sa leabhar co-dhiubh, nuair a bha e falbh a' rathaid dh'fhás e sgith a' giúlan a' phoca - bha 'n nighean car trom - 's leag e sios am poca air lar. Is chaidh e fhéin astaigh do thaigh-ósda no a dh'áiteiginn a ghabhail deoch na a ligeadh anail na ge b'e a bh' ann. Agus nuair a bha e astaigh thánaig cuideiginn mun cuairt agus dh'fhosgladh am poca 's thugadh as an nighean. Agus chuireadh cudthrom na h-ighinn do chloich anns a' phoca; chaidh clachan a chuir 'sa phoca a bha cho trom ris an nighinn. Agus ge b'e có a bh' ann, thug e leis an nighean. Ach thánaig esan amach 's thug e leis am poca 's bha e fas cho seach searbh 'ga ghiúlan agus nuair a ránaig e shios oir a' loch, thilg e 'm poca 'sa robh an nighean, ar leis fhéin, amach dha 'n loch. Agus sin agaibh a' sgeul air Bodach an t-Silein.

44

An Sionnach, am Faol, 's an t-ím

A' sgeul tha seo, a' cheud uair a chuala mi i, 's ann aig Bean Mhicheil 'acNill (Micheal Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn Bháin). Agus an ath-uair a chuala mi 'n sgeul seo, 's ann aig Eachann Mac'Illemhaoil,

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The Recitéis and the Tales

Soon he reached another house and left the hen there and asked them to take care of it until he should return to fetch it after a time. Soon he carne back to fetch the hen, and when he asked for it they told him that the cow had walked on the hen's leg. She had broken her leg and the hen had to be done away with. "Oh well then/' said he, "Fll take the cow." "Oh no, no," said they. But he took the cow and off he went. He arrived somewhere else and left the cow there and told them to take care of the cow until he should return for her. However long he was away, when he arrived back and asked where the cow was, they told him that the daughter had taken it down to the stream to have a drink and the cow had slipped and fallen on the ice and broken a leg and they had to do away with her. "Oh well then," said he, 'Til take the daughter." " Oh no, no," said they. But he snatched up the daughter, and put her in a sack and set out with her. And he was travelling down the road, and the ending in the book was that as he was going down the road he got tired of carrying the sack - the daughter was fairly heavy - so he let the sack down onto the ground and went into a public house or somewhere to have a drink or catch his breath or whatever. And when he was inside someone carne around and the sack was opened up and the daughter was taken out. And the weight of the daughter in stones was put into the sack. And whoever it was took the daughter with him. But he carne out and he took the sack and he was getting so weary of carrying it that when he reached the shore of the lake he threw the sack that he thought contained the daughter out into the lake. And there you have the tale of the little oíd man with the grains.

44

The Fox, the Wolf, and the Butter

The first time I heard the following story was from the wife of Michael MacNeil (Micheal Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

mac do dh'Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil a bha ag innse nan Sgeulachdan dhomh cuideachd. Agus ged a bha dealachadh beag eatorra mar a bha a' sgeulachd, bha i gu math coltach aig an dithist dhiubh. Agus co-dhiubh tha mi dol 'ga h-innse mar a tha cuimhn' agam air a cluinntinn aig Bean Mhicheil 'acNill; agus cha robh mi ach glé óg nuair a chuala mi i. Cha robh mi, tha mi 'n dúil, ach amach 's astaigh mu dhá bhliadhn' deug neo mun uibhir sin. Agus 's e sgeul a bh' ann air sionnach neo madadh ruadh agus faol airneo madadh alladh. Bha e coltach latha a bha iad a' siubhal mun chladach shios gun d'fhuair iad soitheach do dh'im - ma dh'fhaoidte gura h-e tuba a bheirte ris an t-soitheach a bh7 ann. Agus chaidh a chuir am falach gus am biodh úine acá air a thoirt dhachaidh gus a roinn. Ach co-dhiubh air a' la'r-na-mháireach lig am madadh ruadh osna as. "Oi, oi/' ors' esan. "Gu dé, gu dé," ors' am faol. "Tha mo ghoistidh 'gam iarraidh gu baisteadh," ors' esan, "agus 's fheudar dhomh falbh." 'S thog e rithe. Agus tha e coltach gun tug e cuid mhath as an tuba dhe 'n im. Agus nuair a thill e dhachaidh as an fheasgar dh'fhoighneachd am madadh alladh dheth gu dé 'n t-ainm a thug iad air an neach sin a bha iad a' baisteadh. "Fo Bheul, fo Bheul," ors' esan. Agus co-dhiubh chaidh iad gu támh an oidhche sin agus la'r-na-mháireach neo latha as a dheaghaidh sin lig am madadh ruadh osna as. "Oi, oi/' ors' esan. "Gu dé, gu dé," ors' a' faol. "Tha mo ghoistidh 'gam iarraidh gu baisteadh," ors' esan. Dh'fhalbh e co-dhiubh agus nuair a thill e dhachaidh feasgar sin, dh'fhoighneachd am faol dheth an d'rinn iad am baisteadh 's thuirt e gun d'rinn. "'S dé," ors' esan, "an t-ainm a thug sibh air an neach?" "Fo Leth, fo Leth," ors' esan. Agus co-dhiubh chaidh iad gu támh. Ach as a dheaghaidh sin latha neo dhá, neo ma dh'fhaoidte la'r-na-mháireach gun do lig am madadh ruadh osna eile. "Oi, oi/' ors' esan. "Tha mo ghoistidh 'gam iarraidh gu baisteadh." Agus dh'fhalbh e 'n latha sin. Agus nuair a thill e feasgar anmoch dh'fhoighneachd am faol dheth an d'rinn iad am baisteadh 's thuirt e gun d'rinn. A nist aig Eachann Mac'Illemhaoil, 's e an fhreagairt a bh' aige air a' cheist seo gura h-e "Buileach Imlich, Buileach Imlich."

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The Reciters and the Tales

Bháin). And the next time I heard it was from Héctor MacMullin, son of Angus MacMullin, who also used to tell me stories. Even though there was a slight difference between them in the way the story went, both were quite similar. So I am going to recite the story as I remember hearing it from Mrs Michael MacNeil. I was only very young when I heard it. I think I was no more than twelve years oíd or so. The story was about a fox - whatever Gaelic word you prefer to use - and a wolf, as they are often cali it.1 It seems one day as they were walking along the shore they found a container of butter - perhaps the kind of container that could be called a tub - and they hid the tub until they could find the time to take it home and divide it. The next day the fox heaved a sigh. "Oi oi," said he. "What, what?" said the wolf. "My godparent is asking me to a baptism/' said the fox, "and I must be on my way." So off he went, and it seems' that he took a good part of the butter that was in the tub. When he returned home in the evening the wolf asked him what ñame they had given the person they were baptizing. "Under the Lip, Under the Lip," replied the fox. So they retired that night and the next day or the day after the fox heaved a sigh. "Oi oi," said he. "What, what?" said the wolf. "My godparent is asking me to a baptism," replied the fox. So he set out and when he returned home that evening the wolf asked him whether they had performed the baptism and the fox replied that they had. "And what," asked the wolf, "did you ñame the person?" "Under Half, Under Half," replied the fox. So they retired. But a day or two later, or perhaps on the following day, the fox heaved another sigh. "Oi oi," said he, "my godparent is asking me to a baptism." He set out that day, and when he returned late in the evening the wolf asked whether they had performed the baptism and he replied that they had. Now the answer that Héctor MacMullin had to the question of what the ñame was was "All Licked Up, All Licked Up." But "Scrape the Bottom,

322

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

Ach 's e "Sgriob a Thón, Sgriob a Thón" a bh' aig Anna NicNill anns a' sgeulachd. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad a' sin air a' la'r-na-mháireach na a; latha as a dheaghaidh sin sios dh'ionnsaidh an áite as a robh an t-im air a chuir am falach is bha 'n soitheach falamh. Agus gu dé a nist a dh' éireadh dha? Bha e cuir iaonadh air an t-sionnach gu dé dh'éireadh dha 'n im agus gun fios aig neach gu robh e ann ach acá fhéin le chéile. Agus 's ann a dh'fheumte feuchainn a dhearbhadh có fear acá a dh'ith an t-im. Agus b'e 'n doigh a ghabhadh iad air a' sin, 's e teine mor a dheanamh agus cadal ri taobh an teine. Agus ge b' e có a dh'ith an t-im, thigeadh an t-im throimhe air dóigh air choireiginn. Agus bha iad 'nan sineadh aig an teine mhór a bha sin 's tha fhios gur e 'm madadh ruadh a bha ciontach. Ach fhuair e fhéin im an áiteiginn agus shuath e sin ris a' mhadadh alladh agus 's ann air a' mhadadh alladh a bha a' choire air a chuir. Agus tha fhios gu robh binn a' chroin air a thoirt amach - air aontachadh - mun deachaidh seo a dheanamh, agus dh'innis a' sionnach mar a bha ri dheanamh ris fhéin nam b'e bha coireach. Agus cha robh a7 bhinn a bh' ann glé mhór co-dhiubh. Ach bha a' bhinn a bha ri chuir air a' mhadadh alladh, bha i glé mhór: bha cuid mhór dhe 'n chraiceann ri fheannadh dheth. Agus co-dhiubh nuair a dhúisg iad, 's e 'm madadh alladh a bha ciontach. Agus chaidh a dheanamh air réir mar a chaidh a cho-lionadh as na cumhntannan a bh' ann an toiseach. Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh am madadh alladh mun cuairt. Agus feasgar a bha an sionnach a' tighinn dhachaidh fhuair e iasg an áiteiginn. Agus thruis e leis gad do dh'iasg a ghoid e, tha mi creidsinn, air cuideiginn. Agus thachair am madadh alladh ris 's dh'fhoighneachd e dha cá 'n d'fhuair e an t-iasg. 'S thuirt e gun d'fhuair e shios aig an abhainn e. 'S bha 'n t-side cho fuar anns an am, thuirt e gun do chuir e earball 'san abhainn agus gun do thóisich an t-iasg air tighinn 's air dhol air an earball aige; ach gum b'fheudar dha fuireach ann greis do dh'üine. Agus bha 'n t-acras air a' mhadadh alladh 's chaidh e fhéin sios 's chuir e earball as an abhainn agus bha e fuireach. 'S mu dheireadh reoth an t-earball aige as an abhainn 's bha e smaointinn gun deachaidh an t-uamhas do dh'iasg an sás air. Agus thug e spionadh cho láidir air 's gun tug e barr an earbaill dheth fhéin. Agus sin agaibh far 'n do theirig an sgeulachd aig an t-sionnach, am faol, agus an t-im.

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The Reciters and thé Taies

Scrape thé Bottom" was what Anna MacNeil had in her story. And thé following day or thé day after thé fox and thé wolf set out for thé place where thé butter was hidden, and thé container was empty. Now what could hâve happened to it? The fox expressed surprise over what had happened to thé butter, since nobody knew that it was there except for thé two of them. Now they would hâve to try to prove which one of them had eaten thé butter, and they decided to do this by building a big fire and sleeping beside thé fire. Whoever had eaten thé most butter, thé butter would corne through him one way or another. And there they were stretched out beside thé big fire, and of course thé fox was thé guilty one. But he found butter somewhere and rubbed it on thé wolf so that thé blâme would be transferred to him. And to be sure, a sentence for thé crime had been determined - agreed on - beforehand and thé fox had said what was to be donc to him if he were found guilty. That sentence was not very gréât anyway, but thé sentence passed on thé wolf was a heavy one: a good part of his skin was to be flayed off. So when they awakened thé wolf was found guilty, and thé sentence was carried out according to their bargain. But thé wolf started travelling around, and one evening when thé fox was coming home he caught a fish somewhere; he had gathered up a string of fish that I believe he had stolen from someone. The wolf met him and asked him where he got thé fish, and thé fox replied that he caught them down at thé river. The weather was cold at thé time and he said he had put his tail in thé river and that thé fish started coming up and making for his tail; but he had to remain there for some time. The wolf was hungry so he went down himself ; he put his tail into thé river and there he remained. Finally his tail froze in thé river and he thought there were a large number of fish attached to it, so he gave a yank that was so violent that he took off thé end of his own tail. And that is where thé story ended concerning thé fox, thé wolf, and thé butter.

Niall Caimbeul

Bha Niall Caimbeul fhéin 'na fhidhleir sónraichte. Bha e 'g aithris beagan do sgeulachd na do sheanachas a thug e dhomh. Tha mi creidsinn gu robh e air a chunntais ;na fhidhleir cho blasda ceól agus a bha acá thall anns an taobh ud fad áireamh bhliadhnaichean.

45

An Tutus a Thug Soban Saor 's a Mhac

Bha mi faighinn caochladh naidheachdan air Boban Saor 's air an teaghlach; bhiodh cuid do dh'fheadhainn le naidheachdan beag' acá orra. Agus fhuair mi naidheachd air Boban Saor 's air a mhac nuair a thuirt e ri mhac latha gu robh iad a' dol air turus 's e bhith faighinn deiseil. Agus dh'fhoighneachd a mhac dheth c'áite robh iad a' dol 's thuirt e gu robh iad a' dol a dh'fhalbh gus a ruigeadh iad an t-áite as a robh an t-uisge ruith an aghaidh a' bhruthaich. Co-dhiubh bha iad a' falbh - a' marcachd: bha 'n dithist acá air druim an eich - agus chaidh iad píos do dh'astar ;s thánaig iad gu allt. Tha mi cinnteach gu robh 'm fear óg a' gabhail beachd feuch am faiceadh e an t-áite 'sa robh an t-uisge a' ruith an aghaidh a' bhruthaich. Ach mar a thánaig iad dh'ionnsaidh an uillt thuirt Boban Saor ris a' ghille e thighinn air lar agus gu ligeadh iad leis an each a dhol sios a ghabhail deoch. Bha 'n guie 'na sheasamh 's e coimhead air an each agus thuirt e ri athair an ceann tacain, "Faodaidh sinn tilleadh." "Carson a dh'fhaodas sinn tilleadh?" ors' esan. "O," ors' esan, am fear óg, "ránaig sinn an t-áite as a bheil an t-uisge a' ruith an aghaidh a' bhruthaich. Seall/' ors' esan, "mar a tha 'n t-uisge dol suas ann an amhach an eich." //; S fhior sin/' ors' esan, Boban Saor, 's thuig e gu robh an gille gu math seólta.

Neil Campbell

Neil Campbell was an outstanding fiddler. He used to tell a few stories and antecdotes that he gave to me. I believe also that he was considered to be as sweet a fiddler as they had in his área for a number of years.

45

The Journey Boban Saor Made with His Son

I used to hear various stories about Boban Saor and about his family. A good many people had short stories about them. And I heard a story about Boban Saor and his son, about when he told his son one day that they were going on a journey and to get ready. And his son asked him where they were going and he answered that they were going to travel until they reached the place where water ran uphill. They started travelling - both of them riding the horse and they went some distance until they carne to a stream. I am sure that the younger man was looking around to see if he could see the place where water ran uphill. But as they carne to the stream, Boban Saor told the lad to dismount to let the horse drink. The lad was standing looking at the horse and after a short while he said to his father, "We can go back now." "Why can we go back?" replied the father. "Oh," replied the young man, "we have reached the place where water runs uphill. Look how the water is flowing up the horse's throat." "That is true," said Boban Saor, and he understood that the lad was very clever.

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46

Mar a Fhuair Mac Boban Saor a Bhean

A nist, fhuair mi naidheachd aig fear, Niall Caimbeul nach maireann 's bha e 'g innse mar a fhuair mac Boban Saor a bhean. Thuirt an seann-fhear ris latha gum b'fheárr dha niste falbh le caoraich a bh' aige ann a' seo agus gu robh e airson an reic. "Bidh tu 'g éigheach/' ors' esan, "nuair a chi thu aon sana bith amuigh gu bheil thu coimhead airson cuideiginn a cheannaicheas na caoraich seo - páirt dhe na caoraich - ;s a pháidheas iad agus a bheir dhut na caoraich air n-ais air an ath-mhadainn." Co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh an gille agus fada neo goirid an t-astar a shiubhail e thánaig e gu áite agus bha boireannach óg amach taobh an taighe agus tub aice - bailan mar a bheir iad aice - air uachdar fuirm agus i ri nigheadaireachd. O, bha esan ag éigheach gu robh e coimhead airson cuideiginn a cheannaicheadh páirt dhe na caoraich bhuaithe an diugh 's a pháidheadh iad agus a bheireadh dha na caoraich air n-ais am máireach. Agus dh'éibh i dha, "Saodaich iad astaigh/' ors' ise, "dha 'n chró ud shuas agus thig astaigh 's gum faigh thu biadh. Ceannaichidh mise," ors' ise, "páirt dhe na caoraich sin." Agus co-dhiubh chaidh e astaigh. Ghabh e bhiadh agus cheannaich i páirt dhe na caoraich bhuaithe 's pháidh i iad. Ach thuirt i ris gum fuirgheadh e ann a' seo gus am máireach; gu robh e ro sgith airson tilleadh air n-ais. Agus sin mar a bha agus dh'fhuirich e 's nuair a chaidh esan a chadal chaidh ise amach agus rúisg i na caoraich. Agus as a' mhadainn bha na caoraich deiseil airson 's gum faodadh e 'n toirt leis. Pháidh i roimhe sin airson na clóimhe: cheannaich i páirt dha na caoraich cinnteach gu leór. Co-dhiubh thill esan dhachaidh leis na caoraich 's dh'fhoighneachd an seann-fhear dha ciamar a chaidh dha 's dh'inns' e mar a thachair. "Glé cheart," ors' esan. "Falbhaidh tu a nist am máireach agus ruigidh tu far a bheil i sin agus bheir thu tairgse pósaidh dhi agus tha mi 'n dóchas," ors' esan, "gu pos i thu." Agus sin mar a bha. Dh'fhalbh mac Bhoban Saor 's ránaig e ;n t-áite far a robh 'm boireannach óg a bha seo agus thug e tairgse pósaidh dhi agus bha i deónach gu leór a ghabhail. Agus rinn iad deiseil airson pósadh. Thánaig iad dhachaidh 's rinneadh bainis agus sin mar a fhuair e 'm boireannach seólta.

327

The Recitéis and the Tales

46

How Boban Saor's Son Found His Wife

Now I got a tale from the late Neil Campbell - he recounted how Boban Saor's son found his wife. The oíd man told the son one day that he had better go with some sheep that he had there and wished to sell. "And you are to cali out," said he, "whenever you see anyone at all out there, that you are looking for somebody to buy these sheep - part of the sheep - who will pay for them and give you back the sheep the next morning." So the lad set out, and whether his journey was long or short, he carne to a place where there was a young woman out at the side of the house and she had a tub - a washtub, as they say - up on a bench and she was doing the laundry. Oh, he was calling out that he was looking for somebody who would buy part of the sheep from him today and pay for them and return the sheep to him tomorrow. She called to him, "Drive them into the pen up there and come inside and get some food. I will buy part of the sheep." So he went inside. He had some food and she bought part of the sheep from him and paid for them. But she said to him that he was to remain there until the next day, that he was too tired to return. So it happened; he stayed there and when he went to sleep she went out and sheared the sheep. And in the morning the sheep were ready for him to take back with him. She had paid for the wool before; she had bought part of the sheep, sure enough. Anyway, he returned home with the sheep and the oíd man asked him now he had done, and he told him what happened. "Very well," said he. "Now you are to set out tomorrow, and when you reach the place where she is you are to give her a marriage offer. And I hope that she will marry you." And so it happened. Boban Saor's son set out and he reached the place where the young woman was. He gave her a marriage offer which she accepted willingly enough. And they prepared to marry. They returned home and there was a big wedding, and that's how he got the clever woman.

328

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47

Soban Saor: Loighne na Cailc

Nuair a bha bean a' ghille agus bean Boban Saor astaigh 's iad ri obair an taighe bhiodh iad tha mi cinnteach ri sniomh 's ri cárdadh mar a bhiodh boireannaich. Agus bha na fir amuigh 's iad a' snaidheadh fiodh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gur ann a' dol a thogail long a bha iad na obair air choireiginn. Agus bha 'n t-seann-té a' toinnteachadh snáth agus thilg i 'n fheárrsaid a nuil tarsainn an t-úrlar agus dh'éirich a' bhean óg agus rug i air an t-snáth ;s thuirt i, "Saoilidh mi," ors' ise, "nam biodh a leithid siod air a shineadh air uachdar a' mhaid' agus dath air a chuir air 's bheireadh iad buille leis, 's dheanadh e sgriob a chitheadh iad seach iad a bhith coiseachd air ais 's air 'n aghaidh mar a tha mi 'gam faicinn a' coimhead air an fhiodh nuair a tha iad 'ga shnaidheadh." 'S dh'éibh an t-seann-té air a companach tighinn astaigh 's thánaig Boban Saor astaigh agus dh'inns' i dha 'n rud a thuirt a' bhean óg. Agus 's e sin a' rud a bhiodh ann: 's ann a dh'úsaidicheadh iad sreang agus dubhadh air a chuir oirre. Agus 's ann as a' sin a thánaig obair leis an t-sreing an diugh ris an can iad loighne na cailc neo mar a bheir muinntir na Beurla chalk-line. Agus sin agaibh an naidheachd a bh' air a' loighnidh.

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The Reciters and the Tales

47

Soban Saor: The Chalk Line

When the son's wife and Boban Saor's wife were inside doing housework, they were, I'm sure, spinning and carding, as women were accustomed to do. The men were outside hewing lumber. Perhaps they were going to build a ship or some such work. But the oíd woman was twisting thread, and she threw the spindle across the íloor and the young woman rose and she caught the thread. "I think/' said she, "if something like that were stretched tight out on the top of the board with some kind of colouring on it, they could snap it and strike the board with it and it would make a straight line that they could see, instead of their having to walk back and forth as I see them doing now looking at the lumber as they hew it." So the oíd woman called to her spouse to come inside, and Boban Saor carne in and she told him what the young woman had said. And that was what they decided. They were to use a string with some kind of blacking on it. And from this carne the work with a line which today is called in English " the chalk line." And that is the story about the line.

Dómhnall MacNill

Bha Dómhnall MacNill (Dómhnall Nill Eoghainn Mhóir 'ic íomhair) a' cómhnaidh shios am baile mor Shudni. 'S ann aigesan a fhuair mi páirt dhe 'n sgeul a bh' agam air Boban Saor cómhla ri iomadh naidheachd bheag eile a bhithinn a' faotainn.

48

Boban Saor: Aran Eórna agus Bainne

Chuala mi sgeul neo dhá air Boban Saor. Agus bha e coltach gu robh mac dha pósda agus nach b'aithne do bhean a' ghille Boban Saor idir; bha fear dhe na míe pósda 's bha e fuireach astar air falbh bho 'n t-seann dachaidh. 'S thánaig Boban Saor dh'ionnsaidh an taighe agus gun an gille aig an taigh. Agus tha e coltach gun do ghearain e gu robh an t-acras air agus thuirt a' bhean óg nach robh biadh aice-se a bheireadh i dha a bhiodh ro-mhath: nach robh aice dha ach aran eórn' agus bainne. Agus thuirt e gum bu mhath am biadh dha e: gu robh beirm as an eórna agus mil anns a' bhainne. Agus co-dhiubh thug i dha 'm biadh a bha seo agus thog e rithe. Agus air réir na naidheachd a bh' aig Ceit Cheanadach, bha e fiaradh a nuil 's a nall mar a bha 'n cruithneachd na 'n t-eórna a bh' anns an achadh a' lúbadh. Agus thuig a companach nuair a thánaig e dhachaidh 's a dh'innis i mun duine, thuig e có a bh' ann. Ach a nist an naidheachd a bh' aig Dómhnall MacNill, an tuilleadh a bh' aigesan leis, nuair a bha e falbh bha sruthan beag do dh' allt ann agus thug e sgriob ann leis a' bhata - ann an allt na ann an Ion beag. Agus an uair sin nuair a bha e coiseachd seachad air an each thuirt e ris an each, "Tha thusa mar a bha thu 'n uiridh." Agus nuair a bha e dol sios seachad air an achadh as a robh an t-eórna na 'n cruithneachd, bha séideadh beag soirbheis ann 's mar a bha na diasan a' lúbadh a nuil 's a nall bha esan a' falbh leo air a réir a bha sin.

Dan MacNeil

Dan MacNeil (Dómhnall Nill Eoghainn Mhóir 'ic íomhair) lived in Sydney. From him I heard part of the story that I have here about Boban Saor, as well as many more short stories.

48

Boban Saor: Barley Bread and Milk

I heard a tale or two about Boban Saor. And it seems that a son of his was married and that son's wife did not know Boban Saor at all — one of the sons was married and living some distance away from the oíd home. So Boban Saor carne to the house when his son was not home. And it seems he complained that he was hungry and the young wife told him that she did not have any food to give him that was much good; she had only barley bread and milk. But he said that this food was good enough for him: there was yeast in the barley and honey in the milk. So she gave him the food and he went on his way. According to the story as told by Kate Kennedy, Boban Saor was bending back and forth the way wheat or barley bends in the field as he talked to the woman. And when the son carne home and his wife told him about the man, he understood who it was. The story that Dan MacNeil tells has an additional part to it. When Boban Saor was travelling there was a small trickle of a stream and he made a trail in it with a stick - in a stream or a little pool. And then when he was walking past the horse he said to the horse, "You are now as you were last year." And when he was going down past the field where the barley or wheat was, there was a small breeze blowing and the ears were bending this way and that and he was going with them

332

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

'S cinnteach gu robh ise a' gabhail beachd air. Nuair a thánaig a companach dhachaidh dh' inns' i dha a h-uile sian mar a bha agus thuig e gura h-e athair a dh'fheumadh a bhith ann. Agus dh'fhalbh e sios a' rathad as a dheaghaidh agus thánaig e suas ris agus bha iad a' seanachas 's bha e cuir cheistean air mu dheidhinn nan gnothaichean a bha seo. 'S dh' fhoighneachd e dha gu dé bha e ciallachadh nuair a chuir e sgriob anns an uisge leis a' bhata. O, thuirt e ris gum biodh e cosmhuil ri fear a thigeadh gu áite agus nach robh astaigh ach bean an taighe - gum biodh e gu math duilich do dh'fhear an taighe nuair a thánaig e dhachaidh aithneachadh dé mar a chaidh cúisean - gu robh e cho coltach ris a' sgriob a thug e as an allt: gu robh i air a cómhdach fairis. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e 'n sin dheth gu dé bha e ciallachadh nuair a bhruidhinn e ris an each: gu robh e mar a bha e 'n uiridh. "O," oís' esan, "bhruidhinn mise ris a' ghearran. Bha an gearran mar a bha e 'n uiridh/' ors' esan. "Cha robh searrach aige an uiridh 's cha robh searrach aige 'm bliadhna." Dh' fhoighneachd e 'n sin dheth gu dé bha e ciallachadh nuair a bha e a' lúbadh a nuil 's a nall mar a bha an t-eórna na 'n cruithneachd a bh' as an achadh. "O," ors7 esan, "sin agad mar a tha neach a tha neo-earbsach. Théid iad a nuil 's a nall leis a' sgeul. Bheir iad dhut a' sgeul seo an drásda ach théid acá air a dhol a nuil cho furasda gu atharrachadh sgeul."

333

The Recitéis and the Tales

the way they were bending. To be sure, the wife was taking this in, and when her husband carne home she told him everything that had happened and he understood that it had to be his own father. So he went off down the road after him and caught up with him and they were talking and he was questioning him about the things he had done. And he asked what he had meant when he made a trail in the water with a stick. Oh, he replied that it was the same as a man who carne to a place where there was no one inside but the woman of the house - that it might be very difficult for the man of the house when he returned home to know what had passed - and that was like the trail that he made in the stream; it was covered over. The son asked him then what he had meant when he said to the horse that the horse was as it had been the year before. "Oh," replied his father, "I was speaking to the gelding. The gelding was as he was the year before. He didn't have a foal last year and he didn't have one this year." The son then asked him what he had meant by bending this way and that just like the barley and wheat in the field. "Oh/' he replied, "that is how people are who cannot be relied on. They go this way or that way according to the story. They will give you one story now but then they can so easily switch over and give you a different story."

Ruairidh MacNill

A nist s' fheudar dhomh iomradh thoirt air Ruairidh MacNill (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh). 'S e bana-Chamaronach bu mháthair dha: nighean do dh'Alasdair Sheumais Chamshron. Agus bha Ruairidh, bha e gábhaidh gasda agus cuideachdail, agus b'fhior-thoil leis éisdeachd ri órain. Bha naidheachdan aige: feadhainn bheaga ghoirid agus feadhainn cuimseach fada. Agus bhruidhneadh e air bárdachd. Bha beachd aige air rudan a thuirt na báird agus bha beachd aige air páirt dhe na gnothaichean a bh' ann an sgeulachdan, mar a bhiodh rudan a bh; ann an sgeulachdan na Féinn'. A nist an éibh a bhiodh acá ris an canadh iad an lolach Mhór, bhiodh e 'g ainmeachas gun cuala e 'n lolach Mhór aig an té eile: gu robh an t-am acá a bhith dol dha 'n dinneir. Bha e fior, fior mhath gus na naidheachdan éibhinn agus cuimhne a bhith aige orra. Bha e sónraichte.

49

Am Bailan a Thog Boban Saor

Tha e toirt 'nam chuimhne naidheachd eile mu dheidhinn nuair a bha Boban Saor - bhiodh e deanamh saoirsneachd dhe gach seórsa 's bhiodh e deanamh ballahí; bhiodh e ri cúbaireachd. Agus chuir e bailan shios aig taobh a' rathaid latha air uachdar sloc beag 's bha e fhéin foidhpe na bha e 'm falach dlúth oirre. Agus nuair a bha e tacan ann a' sin thánaig dithist anuas a' rathad agus stad iad a choimhead air a' bhallan. Agus thuirt fear acá nach fhac' e bailan riamh air a dheanamh na bu snasaile na sin. 'S thuirt a' fear eile gu robh e glé mhath. "Chanainn-s'," ors' esan, a' cheud mear, "ma bha e idir mun cuairt gur e Boban Saor a thog e." "Chanainn-s' sin/' ors' esan, "cuideachd. Ach tha e rud beag ro árd ro dhomhain."

Roderick MacNeil

Now I should give an account of Roderick MacNeil (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh). His mother was a Garrieron, a daughter of Alexander (Alasdair Sheumais). Roderick was an extremely amiable, sociable man and he loved to listen to songs. He could tell stories, both short little ones and some that were fairly long. And he could hold forth on poetry. He knew things that the bards had said and was acquainted with some of the things that were found in the long tales, such as events in the Fenian tales. Now the cali the Fenians used was known as the lolach Mhói, and he used to say that he heard the lolach Mhór from his wife when it was time for them to go to dinner.x He was very accomplished at telling and remembering funny stories; he was exceptional.

49

The Tub That Soban Saor Built

This brings to mind another story about Boban Saor - he used to work at every kind of carpentry and he used to build tubs; he used to work at coopering. He put a tub down at the side of the road one day over a small hollow and hid underneath it, or concealed himself cióse by. When he had been there a short while, two men carne down the road and stopped to look at the tub. One of them said that he had never seen a tub more neatly made than that, and the other said that it was very good indeed. "I would say/' said the first man, "if he were around at all, that it was Boban Saor that built it." "I would say so too," agreed the other. "But it is a little too high-too deep."

336

Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

'S co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh iad sios a' rathad as an t-sealladh. Agus thug esan astaigh am bailan agus gheárr e píos far nan clár; dh'fhág e 'm bailan ma dh'fhaoidte da óirlich na b' isle. Agus chuir e am bailan amach far a robh e roimhe agus bha e fhéin am falach fodha neo 'm falach taice ris an áiteiginn. 'S thánaig dithist anuas a' rathad agus bha iad a' coimhead air a' bhallan 's bha iad 'ga mholadh. 'S thuirt fear acá gum bu ghasd' am bailan a bha sin. "Gu dearbh," ors' esan, "chanainn-sa ma bha e idir mun cuairt gur e Boban Saor a thog am bailan." " 'S eadh," ors' esan, am fear eile. "Cinnteach gu leór. Ach saoil nach eil e beagan ro iseal? Chanainn-s' gu bheil e óirlich ro iseal." "Ma dh'fhaoidte gu bheil," ors' esan, an dama fear, agus chum iad rompa sios a' rathad. 'S dh'éirich Boban Saor as an áite 'sa robh e 'm falach 's thug e astaigh am bailan dha 'n bhúth 's chuir e an tuagh bheag air na cearcaill 's sgap e iad 's lig e leis na cláir tuiteam air lar. "Cha n-eil ann," ors' esan, "ach góraiche do dhuine bhith smaointinn gun teid aige air rud a dheanamh a thoilicheas a h-uile h-aon."

50

Gilleasbuig Aotrom agus a' Chearc

Tha e coltach, Gilleasbuig Aotrom, gu robh e 'na thoirmeasg do dhuine a bhiodh a' siubhal mun cuairt 's cha robh moran earbsa ri bhith as. Agus tha mi cinnteach gun deanadh e droch-chleasan is cleasan matha mar a thogradh e. Ach co-dhiubh, ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh an t-acras air car 'san am ach thánaig e gu áite agus bha an duine a bh' anns an taigh - fear an taighe sin - tinn 'sa leabaidh. Agus gu dé bha bean an taighe ach a' bruich cearc as an am, agus thánaig esan astaigh agus dh'fhoighneachd e dhi gu dé bha aice 'sa phoit sin 'ga bruich. Agus thuirt i gu robh cearc a bha i bruich airson páirt dhi thoirt dha companach; gu robh e tinn. "An da," ors' esan, "'s e lighiche a th'annamsa." Agus chaidh e choimhead air an duine bha tinn. "O," ors' esan, "bruich a' chearc 's thoir dhomhs' i. Na toir sin dha 'd chompanach idir ma tha thu airson e dh'fhuireach beó." Agus thug i dha a' chearc. Dh' ith e sáth dheth sin agus thuirt e rithe

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And they continuad down the road and out of sight. Boban Saor took the tub inside and cut a piece off the staves; he left the tub perhaps two inches lower. Then he put the tub back outside where it was before and concealed himself under it or cióse by. Soon two men carne down the road and they were looking at the tub and praising it. One of them said what a fine tub it was. "Indeed," said he, "I would say if he were around at all that it was Boban Saor who built the tub." "Yes indeed," said the other. "Certainly enough. But don't you think that it is a little too low? I would say it is an inch too low." ''Perhaps it is/7 said the second man, and they kept on down the road. Boban Saor aróse from his hiding-place. He took the tub inside the shop and went at the hoops with a hatchet, bursting them and letting the staves fall to the ground. "It is only foolishness," he said, "for a man to think that he can do something which picases everybody."

50

Crazy Archie and the Hen

It seems that Crazy Archie was a notorious character and a wanderer who was not wholly to be trusted. And I believe that he used to play bad tricks and good tricks according to his whim. Anyway he may have been a little bit hungry one time when he arrived at a place and the man in the house — the man of the house - was sick in bed. And what was the woman of the house doing but cooking a hen at the time. So he entered the house and asked her what she had cooking in the pot. She replied that she was cooking a hen and that she intended to give part of it to her husband, that he was sick. "Well," said Crazy Archie, "I am a doctor." And he went over and examined the sick man. "Cook the hen and give it to me," he said. "Don't give that to your husband at all if you wish him to remain alive." So she gave him the hen. He ate his fill and said to her then,

338

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an uair sin, "An da," ors' esan, "a' laogh a tha aig a' bhó agad thall aig a bháthaich: marbh a' laogh 's feann e 's cuir an t-seich' aige air uachdar an duine agus lig amach cómhla ris a' chrodh e. 'S ma dh'fhuiligeas an crodh e, leighisidh e." 'S dh'aithnich i, tha mi cinnteach, gura h-e cleas a bha e deanamh, ach co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh Gilleasbuig Aotrom. Ach thill e air la'r-na-mháireach neo ma dh'fhaoidte greiseag bheag do dh'úine as a dheaghaidh sin agus pasg mor, mor aige do bhriosgaidean 's do mhilslean 's do rudan fior mhath dh'ionnsaidh an duine bha tinn. Agus sin agaibh mar a bha an naidheachd a bh' aig Ruairidh MacNill air Gilleasbuig Aotrom.

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"Well," said he, "the calí that is with the cow over there in the barn - kill the calí and skin it and put its hide over the man and let him out with the cattle. And if the cattle suffer him to be with them he will be cured." And she caught on I am sure that he was playing a trick but anyway Crazy Archie went off. He returned to the sick man's house the following day or perhaps a little while after that with a huge bundle of biscuits and sweets and delicacies. And that is the story from Roderick MacNeil about Crazy Archie.

Gun Urrainn

51

Gilleasbuig Aotrom agus am Minístear Sútar

Bha ministear anns a' cheárna ris an canadh iad Ministear Sútar. 'S o, bhiodh iad tarraing as/ tha e coltach. Ach co-dhiubh chaidh e turus a dh'áite Ministeir Sútar agus thuirt e ris a' mhinistear gu robh e 'g iarraidh airgiod airson paidhir bhróg fhaotainn. O, chaidh am ministear a nuil 's fhuair e peann is paipear 's sgriobh e sios órdadh a bheireadh e dh'ionnsaidh a' ghreusaiche. "Seo," ors' esan. "Bheir a' litir seo chun a' ghreusaiche agus bheir e dhutbrógan." Choimhead Gilleasbuig e. "A," ors' esan, "cuir do litir far nach can mi. Bheir dhomhsa an t-airgiod a gheobh brógan." Dh'fhalbh am ministear a nuil 's tharraing e amach cisteag bheag á drathair a bh'ann a' sin is thug e a nall a' phris a bhiodh na brógan. Ma dh'fhaoidte nach biodh iad ach da thasdan na beagan a chórr as an am ach thug e dha an t-airgiod co-dhiubh. Thug Gilleasbuig Aotrom taing dha 's chuir e seo 'na phóca 's thuirt e, "Gheobh an litir na brógan dhomh 's gheobh an t-airgiod uisge-beatha dhomh a dh'ólas mi." Agus cha robh árach aig a' mhinistear air a' chúis ach mar a bh' ann: ligeadh leis. Ach co-dhiubh turus eile thánaig e feasgar anmoch gu áite a' Mhinisteir Sútar agus thuirt e gu robh deagh-leaba a dhith airsan an seo an nochd. Thuirt am ministear ris - bha e fas sgith tha mi creidsinn co-dhiubh dhe chleasan - thuirt e ris gun tugadh e dha áite air lobhta - báthach a bha amuigh na taigh beag air choireiginn, co-dhiubh 's e báthach na sabhal beag a bh' ann. Bha sin math gu leór le Gilleasbuig Aotrom 's thuirt e ris nuair a bha i tighinn faisg air am cadail - mhol am fear eile a' leaba a bh' ann: cho math 's a bha i. Thuirt e ris ma 's e duin' uasal esan gum bu chóir dha dhol agus a' leaba shealltainn dha 'n aoidh. Agus co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh am ministear 's shreap e suas air

Anonymous

51

Crazy Archie and the Minister Sutar

There was a minister in the región called the Minister Sutar, and it seems that people used to tease him. So one day Crazy Archie went to the Minister Sutar's place and told him that he wanted money to obtain a pair of shoes. The minister went over and got a pen and paper and wrote down an order for him to take to the cobbler. "Here," said he. "Take this letter to the cobbler and he will giveyou shoes." Crazy Archie looked at him. "Oh/7 said he, "put your letter in a place I won't mention. Give me the money for the shoes." The minister went over and pulled out a little box from a drawer there and brought back the price of the shoes. Perhaps they cost only two shillings or a little more at the time, but he gave him the money anyway. Crazy Archie thanked him and put it in his pocket saying, "The letter will get me the shoes and the money will get me some whisky to drink." And there was nothing that the minister could do except to let him go. Another time Crazy Archie carne late one evening to the Minister Sutar's place and he said that he required a bed for the night. The minister said to him -1 am sure by then he was growing tired of his antics - that he would give him a place up in the lof t, in a byre outside or some little outbuilding, whether it was a byre or a barn. That was good enough for Crazy Archie and he said to the minister as bedtime drew near - the minister praised the bed that he was to have, saying how good it was - Crazy Archie said to him if he was a gentleman he would show the bed to the guest. So the minister went and

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fáradh a shealltainn do Ghilleasbuig Aotrom a' leaba 's a robh e dol a bhith 's nuair a fhuair e am ministear gu h-árd thug e leis am fáradh. "Bho 'n a tha a' leaba sin/' ors' esan, "cho math 's a tha sibh a' grádh, nach eil fhios gura cóir dhut cadal innte? Agus bidh mise cadal as a' leabaidh agaibh p-fhéin." Agus sin mar a fhuair e air thoiseach air a' Mhinistear Sútar.

52

Gille Mor an Tuathanaich

Chuala mi 'n sgeulachd seo bho chionn áireamh mhór bhliadhnaichean ach cha n-eil chuimh' agam có aig an cuala mi i idir ach gu bheil cuimhne agam air a cluinntinn. Agus fhuair mi 'n sin ann am Beurla i ann a' leabhar agus thánaig i 'nam chuimhne nuair a chunnaic mi 's nuair a leubh mi 'n sgeulachd seo anns a' Bheurla gun cuala mi roimhe i bho chionn fada anns a' Gháidhlig, ach cha b' urrainn dhomh idir cuimhneachadh có aig an cuala mi i. Ach co-dhiubh, thug mi seórsa do dh'oidhearp air a h-eadar-theangachdainn bho 'n Bheurla a bha 'sa leabhar, agus a cuir air n-ais anns a' Gháidhlig mar a chuala mi roimhe i, na faisg air co-dhiubh. Tha e coltach, an tuathanach a bha seo, gu robh áireamh aige do dh'fheadhainn ag obair amuigh. Agus latha dhe na thánaig an gille mor a bha seo, tha e coltach gu robh e car cliobaisteach co-dhiubh. Thánaig e dhachaidh a dh'iarraidh poit mhór do bhrochan a bhiadhadh an fheadhainn a bha 'g obair - aig na cosnaichean - agus leis cho cliobaisteach 's a bha e, dhóirt e na bh' as a' phoit air an turus air n-ais 's bha asan gun bhiadh fad a' latha. 'S nuair a thánaig iad dhachaidh feasgar, nuair a dh'fhoighneachd an tuathanach gu dé mar a fhuair iad air 'n aghaidh, cha d'fhuair ach meadhonach: bha an t-acras orra. Agus sin nuair a fhuaireadh amach gun do dhóirt esan am biadh a bha e toirt thuca. Agus 's e rud a bh' ann, dh'fheumadh e a bhith falbh; cha robh an tuathanach a' dol 'ga chumail na b'fhaide. Cha bhiodh e ach a' cuir cali air nach fhaigheadh an duine an obair air a dheanamh. Agus 's e rud a bhiodh ann, 's ann a dh'fhalbhadh esan air ceann an fhortain. Ach thuirt e ri athair gu robh e 'g iarraidh bata mor na lorg mhór a dheanamh air iarunn na air cruaidh agus gum biodh sin aige a' falbh airson e-fhéin a gheáird. Agus chaidh athair dha 'n cheárdaich airson an slacan a bha seo fhaighinn air a dheanamh agus rinn an gobha sin dha. 'S bha cudthrom cloicheadh ann: sin ceithir puinnd deug.

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climbed up the ladder to show to Crazy Archie the bed which he was going to occupy, and when he had the minister up above Crazy Archie took away the ladder. " Since the bed is as good as you say it is," said he, " shouldn't you be the one to sleep in it? And I will sleep in your own bed." And that is how he got ahead of the Minister Sutar.

52

The Farmer's Big Lad

I heard this tale many years ago. I don't remember at all whom I heard it from, but I do remember hearing it. Later I found it in English in a book, and it carne back to me when I saw it. And when I read the story in English I recalled hearing it a long time ago in Gaelic, but I could not remember whom I heard it from. So I have made some effort to transíate it from the English that was in the book and to put it back into the Gaelic as I heard it before, or approximately so anyway. It seems that a certain f armer had a number of people working outside. One day a certain big lad carne along who it seems was rather clumsy. He went back home to fetch a large pot of porridge to f eed those who were working — the labourers — there and he was so clumsy that he spilled the contents of the pot on his way back so that they were without food for the whole day. When they returned home in the evening and the farmer asked how they had gotten along, they said only very badly, that they had been hungry. And that was when it became known that the lad had spilled the food he was bringing to them. So it turned out that he had to leave; the farmer was not going to keep him any longer. He was only a liability because he could not get his work done. And so it was decided that he would go out to seek his fortune. But the lad told his father that he required a big stick or staff to be fashioned out of iron or steel which he could take with him on his travels to defend himself. So his father went to the smith to get the staff made and the smith fashioned it for him. It weighed a stone, that is, fourteen pounds.

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Co-dhiubh nuair a ránaig e dhachaidh thánaig e dh'ionnsaidh a' ghille leis a' sin. Thug an gille crathadh air agus bhrist e. Thuirt e nach deanadh sin an gnothach. Dh'fhalbh athair dha 'n cheárdaich air ais agus thug e air a' ghobha slacan mor eile a dheanamh agus bha cudthrom da chloich 'san fhear sin. Thánaig e leis a sin dh'ionnsaidh a' ghille mhóir ach nuair a thug an gille mor crathadh air, bhrist e. O, thuirt e nach deanadh seo 'n gnothach idir. B'fheudar dha 'n tuathanach falbh an treas turus dha 'n a' cheárdaich agus rinn an gobha an uair sin slacan mor as a robh cudthrom tri chloich. Agus nuair a ránaig an tuathanach dh'ionnsaidh a' ghille leis a' sin 's a dh'fheuch e e, thug e crathadh uamhasach air ach cha d'rinn e ach lübadh sios gu math. Thuirt e nach cuireadh e an córr trioblaid air athair a dhol dha 'n cheárdaich tuilleadh; gu robh e smaointinn gun deanadh seo fhéin an gnothach. Agus thug e suaineadh air a' bhata bha sin agus dhirich e air n-ais e agus bha e cho math 's a ghabhadh e agus dh'fhalbh e leis a' sin; thog e rithe air ceann an fhortain. Ach ge b'e an úine a bha e siubhal na gu dé an t-astar a chaidh e, thánaig e gu áite righ neo áite duin' uasail agus chuir iad fáilt' air a chéile. Agus dh'fhoighneachd a' fear seo dheth có e agus thuirt e gura h-e gille óg a bha coimhead airson cosnadh: bha e coimhead airson maighstir. Agus dh'fhoighneachd am fear eile dheth an deanadh e buachailleachd, agus dheanadh. Sin a' chiúird a b'fheárr leis a dheanamh. Agus thuirt an duin' uasal gu robh e toilichte a leithid a thighinn mun cuairt 'san am: gu robh e falbh a choimhead airson buachaille 's nach b'urrainn dha buachaillean a chumail a bheireadh an aire dha 'n spréidh; gu robh na fuamhairichean 'gan toirt leo - a' toirt leo té dha 'n chrodh - agus bha na buachaillean a' fágail air a tháilleabh sin. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth gu dé an tuarasdal a bhiodh e ag iarraidh. Thuirt e gum biodh e ag iarraidh deich ginidhean 'sa bhliadhna agus leth-bholla mineadh 'san t-seachdain agus do bhainne na dh' fheumadh e cómhla ris a' bhrochan a dheanadh e air a' mhin a bha sin, agus taigh beag dha fhéin agus deagh-leaba shocair. O, thuirt an tuathanach ris gur e tuarasdal glé mhór a bha sin. Ach smaointich e 'n sin bho 'n a bha e cho riatanach air buachaille, nan deanadh e dha a' bhuachailleachd, gum b'fhiach dha 'n tuarasdal a bha sin thoirt dha. Agus co-dhiubh chaidh roighneachadh a dheanamh air a' sin. Agus chaidh esan 'na thámh an oidhche sin agus air a' la'r-na-mháireach dh'fhalbh e leis a' chrodh. Chum e air 'n aghaidh

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The Reciters and the Tales

So when the father returned home he went to the lad with it. The lad gave it a shake and it broke, and he said that it would not do. His father returned to the smith and got the smith to make another big staff which weighed two stone. He returned with that to the big lad, but when the big lad gave it a shake it broke. Oh, he said, that would not do at all. The farmer had to go a third time to the smith, and this time the smith f ashioned a big staff weighing three stone. When the farmer returned to the lad with that, he tested it and gave it a terrible shake but he only bent it well over. The lad said that he would not put bis father to any more trouble sending him again to the smith; he thought that this would do. So he twisted the staff and straightened it out again and it was as good as could be. And he set off with that; off he went to seek his fortune. But however long a time he was travelling and whatevcr distance he covered, he arrived at a king's or a gentleman's residence; and they greeted each other. The man asked him who he was and he said that he was a young lad seeking employment; he was looking f or a master. And the other man inquired whether he would be willing to hire on as a herdsman and he said he would, that was the calling he most preferred. The gentleman said he was pleased to see such a person coming around at that time; he was just setting off to look for a herdsman since he could not keep herdsmen on the place who would look after the cattle. The giants were taking them away — taking one of the cattle — and the herdsmen were leaving because of this. He asked the lad what wage he would require and the lad replied that he would require ten guineas a year, and a halfboll of meal per week with whatever milk he would require for the porridge that he would make from the meal, and a little house for himself with a good, quiet bed. The gentleman said that that was a high wage indeed, but since he was in such great need of a herdsman, if the lad would tend his herds, it was worthwhile to give him the wage he required. So they settled on that. The lad retired that night and on the next day he set out with the cattle. He kept on with them and entered the giant's

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

's chaidh e astaigh air áite an fhuamhaire. 'S chuir e an crodh astaigh a' sin 's neo-ar-thaing nach robh ionaltradh math acá as an áite sin. Agus chaidh e fhéin suas dha 'n choillidh 's thóisich e air trusadh biorain airson tein' a dheanamh. Bha e airson teine fhadadh airson biadh a bhruich dha fhéin. O, chuaF e fuaim gábhaidh mar gum biodh stoirm 's bha na craobhan cha mhór a' lúbadh leis an fhuaim a bh' ann agus thánaig fuamhaire mor, oillteil agus ghabh e suas far a robh an crodh. Agus throid e ris-san gu dé chuir a' seo e a' tighinn astaigh dha 'n áite seo leis a' chrodh. "Tha sibh/' ors' esan, "a' cuir an eagail orm. Bheiribh leibh an té as fheárr dha 'n chrodh tha sin ;s bithibh a' falbh. Tha sibh cuir eagal mor orm." Ghabh am fuamhaire a nuil mun cuairt air feadh a' chruidh agus thagh e 'n té bu mhotha 's bu reamhra a bh' ann agus leag e sios gu lar i agus cheangail e na casan aice. Dh'éibh e dha 'n mear eile tighinn a nall dh'a chuideachadh. "Cha teid/' ors' esan. "Tha 'n t-eagal agamsa romhaibh. Tha sibh a' cuir an eagail orm." "Na biodh cúram ort," ors' esan. "Cha bhean mi dhut. Thig a nall is bheir cuideachadh dhomh." 'S co-dhiubh chaidh e a nuil far a robh e 's thuirt e ris an fhuamhaire, "Cuiribh sibhse," ors' esan, "ur ceann sios ann a' sin eadar casan a' mhairt far a bheil i ceangailte agus bheir mise cuideachadh dhuibh 'ga cuir air ur druim." Nuair a fhuair esan am fuamhaire as an t-suidheachadh sin, chuir e 'n ceann dheth le strác dhe 'n bhata mhór agus cha d'rinn e ach an ceann a chrochadh air craoibh agus shlaod e sios colunn an fhuamhaire agus thiodhlaig e i ann a' sloc. Chuir e tha mi cinnteach duilleagan is luibhean 's rud air choireiginn fairis oirre agus feasgar anmoch thánaig e dhachaidh leis a' chrodh. Co-dhiubh nuair a thánaig e dhachaidh leis a' chrodh, choinnich a' righ e agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth an robh naidheachd sam bith aige. 'S thug e 'n aire aig an am gu robh an crodh aige uileadh a' tighinn dhachaidh. O, thuirt e nach robh naidheachd aigesan; c' áit' am faigheadh esan an naidheachd na gu dé 'n doigh as am biodh naidheachd aige? Agus cha n-innseadh e sian dé thachair na dé chunnaic e neo sian, ach ghabh e gu áite támh agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh bainne gu leór aig a' chrodh air an fheasgar a bha sin. Co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh e leis a' chrodh air la'r-na-mháireach ach cha robh e riaraichte fuireach far a robh e 'n dé. 'S ann a rachadh e na b'fhaide air 'n aghaidh leo, agus chaidh e píos eile astaigh air áite

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The Recitéis and the Tales

realm. He drove the cattle in and they had excellent grazing there. He himself went up to the woods and began gathering sticks to build a fire. He intended to kindle a fire to cook his food. But then he heard a terrible sound like a storm and the trees were almost bending over with all the noise, and a big, f earsome giant approached and went right up to the cattle. And the giant began to scold the lad, demanding to know what brought him here, invading his own realm with the cattle. "You do," said the lad, "frighten me. Take the pick of the herd and be on your way. You frighten me greatly." The giant went over among the herd and selected the biggest and fattest and knocked her down and bound her feet. Then he called to the lad to come over and help him. "I won't go," said the lad. "I am afraid of you. You frighten me." "Don't worry," said the giant. "I won't touch you. Come over and give me some help." So the lad went over to him and said to the giant, " Put your head there between the cow's feet where she is tied and I will help you get her on your back." When he got the giant in that position he cut his head off with a sweep of his great staff. He simply hung the head on a tree and dragged the giant's body down and buried it in a pit. I am sure he covered it with leaves and weeds and various things, and late in the evening he returned home with the cattle. When he arrived at the house with the cattle the king was there to meet him and inquired whether he had any news. And he noticed at the time that the lad had all of the cattle when he carne home. Oh, the lad replied that he had no news at all; where would he get news and how could he have any to give? But he would not tell anything of what happened or what he had seen or the like and went right up to retire. And indeed there was plenty of milk from the cows that evening. The next day he set off with the cattle, but he was not satisfied to remain where he had been the day before. He decided to take them further on, so they went another distance to the giant's domain. They were there for a while and the lad went up to the f orest and began to break up sticks intending to

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Sgeulachdan 'sa Choimhearsnachd

fuamhaire. Agus bha e tacan a' sin 's ghabh e suas dha 'n choillidh 's thóisich e air bristeadh bhiorain 's e dol a dheanamh teine airson biadh a bhruich dha fhéin. Ach chuala e fuaim mor, uamhasach mar gum biodh stoirm: cha mhór nach robh na craobhan mora a' lúbadh agus thánaig fuamhaire mor astaigh agus ghabh e far robh an crodh. Agus throid e ris-san gu dé thug air an crodh a chuir astaigh dh'a leithid seo a dh'áite agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth am faca e a bhráthair-san an dé. "Cha n-fhaca mis' e/' ors' esan. "Cha robh mi riamh a' seo gus an diugh. Tha sibh a' cuir an eagail orm. Bheiribh leibh an té as fheárr dha 'n chrodh agus bithibh a7 falbh." Co-dhiubh, rug am fuamhaire air a' mhart a b'fheárr a bh' as an dróbh agus leag e sios gu lar i 's cheangail e na casan aice agus dh'iarr e air an mear eile tighinn a nall dh'a chuideachadh. 'S thuirt an gille mor nach rachadh: gu robh eagal airsan a dhol roimhe. "O, na biodh cúram dhut/' ors' esan. "Cha deán mise coir' ort idir." Chaidh e a nuil co-dhiubh agus thuirt e ris, "Cuiribh sibhse/' ors' esan, "ur ceann astaigh fo chasan a' mhairt far a bheil iad ceangailte agus bheir mi fhin cuideachadh airson a chuir air ur druim." Agus rinn a' fuamhaire sin 's nuair a fhuair e 'n cothrom sin air thug e strác as is chuir e 'n ceann far an fhuamhaire. Agus cha d'rinn e ach an ceann a chrochadh air té dhe na craobhan 's shlaod e sios colunn an fhuamhaire 's thiodhlaig e i ann an ciáis an áiteiginn. Agus feasgar anmoch thánaig e dhachaidh leis a' chrodh 's choinnich a' righ ris mar a b'ábhaist agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth am fac' e sian an diugh na an d'fhuair e naidheachd. Cha n-fhac' esan sian 's dé an naidheachd a gheobhadh esan co-dhiubh? Cha n-fhac' e ach a' choille. Agus thog e rithe 's thug e an t-áite támh air mar a b'ábhaist; cha toireadh e seanachas sam bith dha 'n righ. Ach bha 'n righ glé thoilichte gun tánaig a spréidh uile agus bha 'm barrachd bainne acá am feasgar sin 's a b'ábhaist a bhith acá. Ach co-dhiubh, dh'fhalbh e a' la'r-na-mháireach leis a' spréidh mar a b'ábhaist ach bha e air fas sanntach 's chum e air aghaidh. Agus ránaig e áite an treas fuamhaire agus chuir e an crodh astaigh dha 'n iimis a bh' ann a' sin 's neo-ar-thaing nach robh ionaltradh dha rireabh aig a' chrodh an sin. Ach thug e fhéin suas a' choille air is thóisich e air trusadh bhiorain airson teine dheanamh 's e dol a bhruich biadh. 'S cha robh e fada a' sin nuair a thóisich am fuaim a bha neónach: bha stoirm is culaidh-uamhais ann. Cha chualas a leithid do dh'fhuaim mu chuairt, tha mi cinnteach, ma dh'fhaoidte riamh, na

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The Recitéis and the Tales

make a fire to cook food for himself. And he heard a big, loud, frightful sound like a storm; the great trees were nearly bent over, and a big giant carne in and went o ver to the cattle. The giant scolded hirn, saying what caused him to put the cows inside a place like this and asking him whether he had seen his brother the day before. "I have not seen him/' replied the lad. "I was never here before today. You frighten me. Take the pick of the cattle and be onyour way." So the giant took hold of the best cow in the herd and threw her to the ground. He bound her feet and asked the lad to come over to help him. But the big lad said that he would not, that he was afraid to go before him. "Oh, do not worry," said the giant. "I will do you no harm atall." So the lad went over and said to the giant, " Put your head inside under the cow's feet where they are tied and I will help put her up on your back." The giant did so and when the lad had the advantage he took a swipe and took the head off the giant. And he just hung the head there on one of the trees and dragged the giant's body down and buried it in a ditch somewhere. Late that evening he returned with the cattle, and the king was there to meet him as usual, asking him whether he had seen anything that day or had heard any news. No, he had not seen anything and what news would he get anyway? All he had seen was the forest. So off he went to his resting place as usual; he would not give the king any news at all. But the king was very pleased that all the cattle had returned and that evening they gave more milk than usual. So the lad set out the next day with the cattle as usual, but he had grown a little greedy, so he kept on. He reached the domain of the third giant and put the cattle into the meadow and indeed there was real grazing for them there. He himself went up to the woods and began to gather sticks to make the fire to cook his food. He had not been there long when an extraordinary sound began: storm and mayhem. No such sound had ever been heard before around there, I am sure, or at

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fad áireamh bhliadhnaichean co-dhiubh. Agus nochd am fuamhaire. 'S ma bha 'n dithist eile eagalach, oillteil, 's ann a bha mor, gábhaidh am fear seo. Agus o, throid e ris. Thuirt e ris, "Feumaidh gura tus' a chuir as dha m' bhráithrean." "Cha robh mise riamh a' seo/' ors' esan, "ach an diugh. Ach tha sibh a' cuir an eagail orm. Bheiribh leibh am mart as fheárr a tha sin agus bithibha'falbh." Thóisich am fuamhaire air siubhal mun cuairt agus 's e 'm mart as motha 's as reamhra a b'ábhaist a bhith faotainn: 'sea fhuair e. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh 'm mart a' fas sgith dhe 'n dol-air-aghaidh a bh' ann: 'ga cuir air lar 's 'ga ceangal. Ach co-dhiubh dh'iarr e cuideachadh air an fhear eile airson am mart a chuir air a ghualainn 's thuirt e nach rachadh esan a nuil 'na chóir: gu robh an t-eagal air. "Cha bhi cúram dhut," ors' esan. "Cha bhean mi dhut." Co-dhiubh chaidh e a nuil 's mar a thuirt e ri cacha, thuirt e ris an fhuamhaire a cheann a chuir astaigh far a robh casan a' mhairt ceangailte agus gun cuireadh e fhéín am mart air a dhruim. Nuair a rinn am fuamhaire sin fhuair esan an cothrom agus thug e strác air an fhuamhaire 's chuir e an ceann dheth. Agus cha d'rinn e ach an ceann a chrochadh air craoibh agus shlaod e sios a' cholunn 's chuir e ann a' sloc i mar a rinn e air cacha agus chuir e duilleagan is luibhean 's rudan fairis oirre. Agus feasgar anmoch thánaig e dhachaidh leis a' spréidh mar a b'ábhaist agus choinnich a' righ e. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth an robh naidheachd sam bith aige an diugh. "Cha n-eil," ors' esan. "Gu dé chuireadh naidheachd agamsa? Có aige am faighinn-sa naidheachd mura faighinn naidheachd aig na craobhan 's aig fraoch agus feur? Có aige eile a tha mi dol a dh'fhaighinn naidheachd?" Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth am fac' e sian a chuireadh iongantas na iaonadh air. "Cha n-faca mise/' ors' esan, "sian a chuireadh iongantas idir orm." Agus ghabh e gu áite támh. Cha n-innseadh e sian mar a bha tachairt. Ach co-dhiubh air a' la'r-na-mháireach dh'fhalbh e leis a' chrodh agus bha e mar a b'ábhaist. Bha 'n crodh aige astaigh ann an innis 's iad ag ionaltradh agus chaidh e fhéin a' dol a dh' fhaighinn bhiorain bheag airson teine a dheanamh. Ach chualas fuaim a bha neónach agus thug e súil agus bha cailleach mhór, eagalach a' tighinn 's ma bha na fuaimhrichean a' coimhead doirbh, 's ann a bha doirbh i seo.

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least for a good many years. And the giant appeared. And if the other two were frightful and horrible, this one was really big and rough. And he scolded the lad, saying to him, "You must be the one who did away with my brothers." "I have never been here before today," replied the lad. "But you frighten me. Take the best cow there and be on your way." The giant began walking around and the biggest and the fattest cow that was picked before was the one that he got. I'm sure the cow was growing tired of all that to-do - being thrown on the ground and bound. But anyway he asked the lad to help him put the cow up on his shoulder and the lad replied that he would not go near to him at all; he was too frightened. "Do not worry," said the giant. "I will not touch you." So the lad went over and tóld the giant, as he had told the others, to put his head in where the cow's feet were bound and he would put the cow up on his back. When the giant did he got his chance and took a swipe at the giant and took off his head. He just hung the head on a tree and dragged the corpse down and put it into a pit as he had done with the others and covered it over with leaves and weeds. Late that evening he returned home with the cattle as usual and the king was there to meet him. The king inquired whether he had any news today. "No indeed," said the lad. "Where would I get news? From whom would I get it unless it was the trees and the heather and the grass? From whom else would I get any news?" And the king asked him whether he had seen anything to surprise or astonish him. "I have not seen anything that would surprise me at all," replied the lad. And the lad retired. He would not tell the king anything of what was going on. The next day he went off as usual with the cattle. He got the cattle into a meadow there where they were grazing, and he went off to find little sticks in order to build a fire. And then he heard an extraordinary sound and he looked around and there was a big, frightful oíd hag coming, and if the giants looked tough she looked even tougher.

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"Ma tha/' ors' ise, "'s tusa, a bheadagain, a chuir as dhe m' thriúir mhac-sa." Agus cha deach i 'n cóir a' chruidh - cha robh smaointinn air a dhol far a robh 'n crodh ann - ach chaidh i far a robh esan is thóisich sabaid. Agus b'e sin an t-sabaid. Tha e coltach gu robh e neónach. Mar a bheireadh iad, Rinn iad creagan as a' bhogan Agus bogan as a' chreagan. Agus lean iad air an dol-air-'n-aghaidh sin fad üine. Ach mu dheireadh fhuair esan cothrom agus bhrist e a gáirdeannan agus bhrist e a luirgnean agus thuit i air lar. "Tha 'm bás os do chionn," ors' esan. "Dé t-éirig airson do thoirt as dophian?" "Cha bheag sin/' ors' ise. "Tha ciste óir agus ciste airgid agus ciste seudan agam." "C'áite bheil iad?" ors' esan. "Tha iad/' ors' ise, "fo bhonn na starsaich aig a' bhothan aig an uaimh far a bheil sinn a' fuireach. "Ma tha/' ors' esan, "cuiridh mis' thu as do phian a nist." Agus chuir e crioch air a' chaillich. Agus feasgar sin thill e dhachaidh. Agus nuair a bha e tilleadh dhachaidh cha do choinnich a' righ idir e mar a b' ábhaist; bha gnothaichean a' coimhead cho neónach. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e gu dé bha ceárr agus chaidh innse dha gu robh fuamhaire mor a' tighinn a uamh as a' bheinn agus cóig chinn air. Agus bha e tighinn anuas agus am sam bith a thigeadh e anuas bha té dha na h-igheannan as a rioghachd ri fhaotainn agus bha nighean a' righ a dhith air. 'S mura faigheadh e sin thigeadh e anuas an ceann latha neo dha agus bheireadh e sgrios air a' rioghachd. A nist a' righ, bha e duilich dha dealachadh ris a' nighinn, ach b'fheárr leis sin a dheanamh na gun tigeadh a' fuamhaire anuas agus gun deanadh e cron air muinntir na rioghachd; agus dh'aontaich e gum falbhadh an nighean. Dh'fhoighneachd an gille mor a robh duin' idir ann a rachadh 'ga sábhaladh. Agus thuirt a' righ nach robh; ach gu robh fear ann - an Cócaire Ruadh - gu robh esan a' dol suas feuchainn ri dol 'ga sábhaladh. Agus thuirt e ge b'e có shábhaladh i gum faigheadh e

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"Well, well," said the oíd hag, "you are the impudent one who did away with my three sons." And she did not approach the cattle - she did not think of goirig over to them - but carne over to the lad and the fight began. And what a fight it was! It must have been terrific. As they used to say, They turned the bog into a rocky place, And the rocky place into a bog.

And they continued that for some time. But finally the lad got his chance and broke her arms and broke her shins and she fell to the ground. "Death is above you/' said he. "What is your ransom for taking you out of your misery?" "No small thing/' she replied. "There is a chest of gold and a chest of silver and a chest of jewels belonging to me." "Where are they?" asked the lad. "They are/' she replied, "under the base of the threshold to the hut at the cave where we live." "Well then/' said the lad, "I will put you out of your misery now." And he dispatched the oíd hag. That evening he returned home. And when he did the king was not there to meet him as usual; things looked so strange there. He asked what was wrong and was told that there was a big giant with five heads coming out of a cave in the mountain. He was coming down and any time that he did one of the maidens in the kingdom had to be fetched for him and this time he wanted the king's daughter. If he did not get her he would come down in a day or two and destroy the kingdom. Now it was hard for the king to part with his daughter but he preferred that to having the giant descend and harm the sub|ects of the kingdom, and so he agreed that the daughter should go. The big lad asked if there was any one who would go to save her and the king replied that there was none save for one man - the Red Cook - who was going up to try to rescue her. He added that whoever could save her would have

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i ri pósadh. Ach thug e dha ri thuigsinn gu dearbh, gu robh e coma idir an Cócaire Ruadh 'ga faighinn. Ach co-dhiubh dh'fhalbh esan ged a bha e sgith. Thog e rithe suas 's ránaig e an t-áite 'sa robh am fuamhaire astaigh 'sa chreig amuigh air a' bheinn an áiteiginn. Agus nuair a ránaig e shuas bha nighean a' righ 'na suidhe air leac agus i gu math túrsach. 'S dh'fhoighneachd e 'n robh duine idir a' seo airson a geárd. Thuirt i gun tánaig fear cómhla rithe airson a geárd ach gu robh e 'm falach an cül tom ann a' sin. Agus bha i duilich gun tánaig esan anuas agus fhios aice gu robh e sgith. Agus b'fhior thoil leatha esan ged nach do lig i sian riarnh oirre bho 'n cheud latha a thánaig e. Bha e córdadh rithe e bhith mun cuairt. Co-dhiubh, cha b'fhada gus an tánaig am fuamhaire amach as an uaimh a bha seo agus 'na bhad a ghabh an gille mor agus chuir e crioch air an fhuamhaire. Ach ged a chuir, chaidh e fhéin a ghortachadh - tha mi cinnteach ma dh'fhaoidte gun do thuit e 's gun do rug sgor creigeadh air - 's chaidh a gháirdein a shróiceadh gu dona agus thuit e. Bha e cho sgith agus thuit e air lar. Agus shrac ise stiom far iochdar a cleóca agus cheangail i suas a gháirdein agus b'fheudar dhi-se dhol dhachaidh cómhla ris a' Chócaire Ruadh. Tha mi creidsinn gun tug e leis na cinn a bh' air an toirt far an fhuamhaire, ach dh'fheumadh ise fuireach sámhach: dh'fheumadh i aideachadh leis a' rud a chanadh esan co-dhiubh. Agus nuair a ránaig iad áite a' righ, bho 'n a bha ise sábhailte, bha a' righ toilichte ged a bha e coma dhe 'n Chócaire Ruadh. Co-dhiubh bha 'n Cócaire Ruadh ann a' cabhag mhór airson 's gun deante pósadh bha pósadh a dhith air a dheanamh as a' mhionaid - agus cha robh e ach ag éigheach pears'-eaglais fhaotainn airson am pósadh a dheanamh. Ach cha ghabhadh a leithid sin a bhith: dh'fheumte úine thoirt agus cuirm a dheanamh agus gnothaichean fhaighinn deiseil. Agus thuirt ise ri h-athair nach b'e an Cócaire Ruadh a shábhail ise idir bho 'n fhuamhaire. Ach cha robh árach air: cha robh iad 'ga creidsinn. Bha an Cócaire Ruadh, bha e deanamh a' ghnothaich cho ñor. Ach co-dhiubh, chaidh dáil a dheanamh as a' ghnothach agus thuirt i gu robh comharra aice-se gun aithnigheadh ise an duine a theasraig i bho 'n fhuamhaire agus gu robh dearbhadh aice. Agus thóisich muinntir na rioghachd air cruinneachadh ach cha tánaig sgeul air an

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her hand in marriage, but gave the lad to understand that indeed he was not at all eager for the Red Cook to have her. So the lad set out, tired as he was. He set out and climbed until he reached the giant's abode in the crag somewhere out on the moimtain. When he arrived there the king's daughter was sitting on a fíat stone, and she was very sorrowful. He asked if there was anyone there at all to guard her. She replied that someone had come with her to protect her, but that he was hiding somewhere behind a hillock; she was sorry that the lad had come after her for she knew he was tired and she liked him very much - although she had never shown it from the first day that he had arrived; she very much enjoyed having him around. It was not long bef ore the giant carne out of the cave and the big lad attacked him and finished him off. But if he did, he himself was wounded -1 am sure he fell and a pointed rock caught him - and his arm was badly torn and he collapsed. He was so tired that he fell right to the ground. The princess tore a strip from the bottom hem of her cloak and bound up his arm and then she was forced to return home with the Red Cook. I believe that he took the heads that had been struck off the giant, but she had to keep quiet; at least she had to go along with whatever he said. When they reached the king's abode, the king was very pleased that she was safe, although he had no use for the Red Cook. The Red Cook was in great haste for a marriage to be arranged - he wanted it to be perf ormed immediately - and he was busy calling for a clergyman in order to perform the ceremony. But that could not be done; they had to take their time and put on a celebration and get things ready. So she told her father that it was not Red Cook who had saved her at all from the giant. But nothing could be done because they did not believe her and the Red Cook had made it all sound so true. But there was a delay and she said she had a sign by which she could recognize the man who had saved her from the giant and that she had proof of this. The subjects of the kingdom began to gather but no sign appeared of the man who had

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duine rinn an gniomh. Ach mu dheireadh thugadh fo near gu robh an gille mor - am buachaille - gun tighinn idir agus chaidh fios a chuir air a' bhuachaille. Agus thánaig esan - cha robh e glé thoilichte tighinn ach thánaig e — 's bha dóchas math aice gun tigeadh e agus gu sábhaladh e i an drásda bho 'n ghnothach a bh' ann mar a shábhail e i roimhe. Co-dhiubh thánaig e agus chaidh coimhead air a' gháirdein aige. Agus bha a' stiom a bha air a ceangail mu thimcheall a gháirdein, nuair a chaidh a toirt dheth, fhreagradh i air iochdar a gúin agus bha 'n dearbhadh an sin gura h-esan a bh; ann. Agus tha mi cinnteach gun deachaidh an Cócaire Ruadh a chuir fad as, mura 'n deachaidh a chuir gu bás; cha robh guth aige ri chantail mu 'n chúis. Agus nuair a chaidh an gnothach a shuidheachadh, rinneadh réiteach agus bainis mhór is cuirm. 'S bha iad a' cantail gun do mhair a' bhainis naoidh latha agus naoidh oidhche agus gura h-e 'n latha mu dheireadh dhi a b'fheárr. Ach co-dhiubh, nuair a chaidh 'n gnothach a bha sin seachad 's shuidhicheadh sios 's ann a bheireadh esan leis a; righ a nuil a shealltainn mar a bha gnothaichean. Agus ránaig iad thall agus sheall e dha 'n righ na tri fuamhraichean a bh' air an cuir as na sluic agus a' chailleach. Agus chaidh e dh'ionnsaidh nan craobhan agus fhuair e na cinn a bh' air na craobhan. Agus thug e leis a' sin a' righ a nuil dh'ionnsaidh an uamh na 'm bothan as a' robh na fuamhraichean. Agus fo 'n starsaich bha ciste lán do dh'ór agus ciste lán do dh'airgiod agus ciste lán do sheudan ann a' sin. Agus chaidh iad sin a thogail leo agus an toirt air n-ais gu áite a' righ. Agus bha iad gu math saidhbhir, sona an uair sin; bha iad beairteach gu leór. Mura robh a' righ beairteach as a' cheud dol amach bha beairteas gu leór aige a nist. Agus sin mar a dh'éirich do Chille Mor an Tuathanaich: cho cliobaisteach 's gu robh e rinn e math dheth mu dheireadh.

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performed the deed. At last someone noticed that the big lad the herdsman - had not come at all, so he was sent for and arrived - he was not at all happy but he carne anyway - and she was very hopeful that he would rescue her from those straits as he had rescued her before. Anyway, when he arrived they examined his arm. And the strip that was tied around his arm, when it was taken off, fitted the bottom of the princess' gown and there was the proof that he was the one. I am certain that the Red Cook was sent far away, unless he was put to death. He had nothing to say anyway. And when his fate was settled the marriage agreement was made, followed by a big wedding and a celebration. They used to say that the wedding lasted nine days and nine nights and that the last day was the best of all. And when that was over and settled the lad intended to take the king over to show him how things were. They arrived and he showed the king the three giants that had been put in the pits, and the oíd hag, and he went over to the trees and got the heads that were on them. Then he brought the king over to the cave or the hut where the giants had dwelt, and underneath the threshold there was a chest full of gold and a chest full of silver and a chest full of jewels. They took those back with them to the king's domain. And they were well-off and happy then; they were wealthy enough. If the king was not rich in the first place he certainly had wealth enough now. And that is what happened to the Farrner's Big Lad; clumsy as he was, he did well in the end.

Cuid a Tri

BRIATHRAN BEOIL, S P Ô R S IS E Ô L A S

Part Three

WIT, L O R E , A N D PASTIMES

Freagairtean Amasach agus Daoine Beárraidh

Diarmaid MacCoinnich ¡Diarmaid Eóin} Bha fear ann ris an abradh iad Diarmaid Eóin 'ic lain 'ic Alasdair MacCoinnich agus bha e fior, fior amasach air facían. Bhiodh freagairtean aige do shian sam bith a thogradh tu a ghrádhainn. Agus chaidh e sios latha a bha e dol seachad 's thadhail e aig fear a bhiodh a' ceannach chruidh. Agus bha agh aige ri reic ris agus dh'inns' e dría cho math 's a bha an t-agh. Agus creid gun tug e moladh math air an agh. Ach nuair a thánaig an duine dh' ionnsaidh an áite a choimhead air an agh, bha 'n t-agh 'na sheasamh thall ann am pairee. Agus thug an duine seo an aghaidh air 's thuirt e ris nach robh an t-agh idir cho math 's a thuirt e rium a bha e. "O coma leat/' ors' esan. "Cha n-eil thu faicinn ach aon taobh dheth." Turus eile chaidh e fhéin agus a bhráthair céile amach air a chéile ann am mi-thuigse air choireiginn a thánaig eatorra agus sguir iad a dhol air chéilidh air a chéile: cha tigeadh am fear eile a choimhead air Diarmaid 's cha rachadh Diarmaid a choimhead air. Ach co-dhiubh chaidh sin air 'n aghaidh fad greis do dh'üine ach chuala a' sin Diarmaid gu robh a bhráthair céile tinn - gu robh e gu math tinn agus chaidh e a nuil a shealltainn air. Agus nuair a chaidh e astaigh neo-ar-thaing nach d'rinn a bhráthair céile toileachadh ris. "Dia 'gad bheannachadh, a Dhiarmaid. Nach fhada bho nach do dhorchnaich thusa mo dhorust." "Coma leat lain/' orsa Diarmaid. "Cha robh an teadhair a bh' ort fhéin ach glé ghoirid." Bha pairee mhór do choirce acá agus chuir cuideiginn teine amach. Feumaidh gura h-ann 'san fhoghar a bh' ann - gu robh i car anmoch 'san fhoghar agus feumaidh gu robh gnothaichean gu math tioram neo na bu tiorama na bha dúil aig an duine. 'S ruith an teine a nuil agus

Repartee and Ready Wit

Dermot MacKenzie (Diarmaid Eóin) There was a man called Dermot MacKenzie (Diarmaid Eóin 'ic lain 'ic Alasdair) who was very, very witty with words. He had answers for anything at all that you might say to him. One day he went towards town1 and as he was going by he stopped in to see a man who used to buy cattle; he had a heifer to sell him. so he told the man how good the heifer was. You can believe that he praised it highly and, when the man carne to his place to look at the heifer, it was standing over in a field. And the man went up to look at it and he said to Dermot that the heifer was not at all as good as Dermot had said it was. "Oh, never mind," said Dermot, "you're only seeing the one side of it." Another time he and his brother-in-law had a falling out due to some misunderstanding that aróse between them and they stopped visiting each other. He wouldn't come to see Dermot and Dermot would not go to see him. But anyway that continued for some time until Dermot heard that his brother-in-law was sick - that he was extremely ill - so he went over to see him. And when he entered the house his brother-in-law was indeed happy to see him. " God bless you, Dermot. What a long time it is since you darkened my door." "Never mind, John," said Dermot. "Your own tether was just a short one." They had a large field of oats and somebody set a fire outside. It must have been in the autumn - probably very late in the autumn and things must have been quite dry, or drier than one would think - and the fire raced over and kept on until it

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chaidh e a nuil 's loisg e a' pháirce-choirce aig Diarmaid. Chaidh a' chuid bu mhotha dhi mhilleadh co-dhiubh. Agus bha cuideiginn a' foighneachd dha mu dheidhinn na pairee; thuirt e ris gum bu mhór an cali a bh' ann, a' pháirce-choirce aige a dhol a losgadh. O, thuirt e nach robh árach air; bha 'n teine cho gábhaidh cha ghabhadh e cuideachadh. 'S thuirt am fear a bh' ann, "Saoil am biodh tu/' ors' esan, "air uisge coisrigte a chrathadh air a' pháirce ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh e air an teine stad." "Coma leats'/' ors' esan, Diarmaid. "Ged a bhiodh Abhainn Thórn air a coisrigeadh 's air a crathadh oirre cha chuireadh i as i." Bha fear shios aig Cóbh an Fheóir, fear Micheal MacNill (Micheal Lachlainn 'ac Chaluim) agus bhiodh e fhéin a' tarraing a Diarmaid airson toirt air rudan a chantail. Ach cha n-fhaigheadh e air thoiseach air. Ged a bha e 'na bhárd cha robh e amasach gu leór airson faighinn air thoiseach air Diarmaid. 'S bha aodann Mhicheil lom, ach bha riobagan do dh'fheusag air Diarmaid. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e dheth latha a thachair iad ris - tha mi smaointinn gura h-ann aig an eaglais a thachair iad ri chéile a' mhadainn a bha seo - agus dh'fhoighneachd e, "C'áite an d'fhuair thu na frioghain, a Dhiarmaid?" "A/' orsa Diarmaid, "fhuair mi iad as a' mhuic. Robh thu 'gan ionndrainn?"

Micheal Dómhnallach (Micheal Raonaill fac Dhómhnaill Óig) Bha fear eile, Micheal Dómhnallach. Bha e fuireach shios aig a' Rudha Mheadhonach agus bha e fior amasach air freagairtean fhaighinn; do shian sam bith bha e deiseil air freagairt car ealamh. A nuil ann an toiseach a' gheamhraidh thánaig cuid mhór do dh' aiteamh agus reothadh as a dheaghaidh sin 's bha cómhdach do dheigh air cuid mhór dhe 'n talamh mun cuairt. Agus thánaig an sin crathadh beag do shneachda. Cha robh ann ach direach na chuireadh am falach an deigh 's cha robh moran dha 'n chórr ann. Agus bha Micheal crübach. Bha té dhe na casan aige, bha i na hu ghiorra na 'n té eile. Ach beagan lathaichean roimhe sin bha iad aig a' cheárdaich leis na h-eich airson cruidhean geura a chuir orra bhiodh freagarrach nuair a thigeadh iad air an deigh 'sa gheamhradh. Agus bha esan shuas air taobh na bruthaich agus e ligeil anuas maidean do chonnadh

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burnt the field of oats belonging to Dermot. Most of it was spoiled anyway. And somebody was asking him about the field, remarking that it was a great loss for the field to be burnt. Well, Dermot replied that that could not be helped; the fire was so fierce that it could not be helped. So the man said to him then, "I wonder if you had shaken some holy water on the field, perhaps that would have stopped the fire." "Don't worry," replied Dermot. "Even if the whole River Tom were blessed and shaken on it, it would not extinguish it." There was a man down in Hay Cove by the ñame of Michael MacNeil (Micheal Lachlainn 'ac Chaluim) and he used to tease Dermot to make him say something. But he couldn't get ahead of him. Even though he was a bard he was not witty enough to get one over on Dermot. Michaers face was bare but Dermot had a few wisps of beard. So Michael asked him one day when he met him -1 think it was at the church where they met this morning - and he asked him, " Where did you get the bristles, Dermot?" "Oh," said Dermot, "I got them from the pig. Did you miss thern?" Michael MacDonald (Micheal Raonaill 'ac Dhómhnaill ÓigJ There was another man by the ñame of Michael MacDonald He lived down at Middle Cape and he was very witty at repartee; he had a quick answer ready for anything. Around the beginning of winter there was a big thaw and then a frost so that there was a crust of ice on much of the ground around. Then there was a little snowfall, only enough to hide the ice and not much more. And Michael was crippled; one of his feet was shorter than the other. But a few days before, they had been at the blacksmith shop with the horses to put sharp shoes on them that would be suitable for the ice in the winter. And now Michael was up on the side of the hill sending down sticks of dry firewood that were up there and

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tioram a bha shuas ann a' sin is gu dé rinn e ach sleamhnachadh air an deigh. Agus nuair a thuit e cha d'fhuair e éirigh tuilleadh gus an tánaig e anuas 's a bhuail e 'n cómhnard a bhos aig bonn na claise. Thuirt Eachann -'se bha dol seachad as an am, Eachann MacNill, "An da Mhicheil, nam biodh tu fhéin nuair a bha thu amuigh aig a' cheárdaich an latha roimhe cómhla rium an deaghaidh toirt air a' ghobha crudha geur a chuir air a' chois sin a tha math, bhiodh e gu math freagarrach dhut aig an am seo." "Nam biodh crudha geur ormsa an drásd', 's ann air mo thóin a dh'fheumainn e."

Mártainn MacAonghuis (Mártainn Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir) Mártainn Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir: bha e fuireach aig áite ris an canadh iad Gleann a Garaidh air cúlaibh a' Phóin Mhóir. Bhiodh facían aige deiseil 's nan canadh tu rud ris airson feuchainn ri faighinn air thoiseach air ann an dóigh sam bith bha e deiseil 'sa mhionaid airson freagairt. Bha e latha a' tilleadh dhachaidh an deaghaidh dha bhith shios aig na stóraichean neo mar a bheireadh iad shios aig a' chladach, agus thadhail e ann an taigh. Agus cinnteach gu leór cha robh moran cabhag air a; latha bha seo agus dh'fhág e 'n láir shios aig a' rathad mhór. Agus nuair a chaidh greis mhór do dh'úine seachad, thuirt té dhe na boireannaich a bha astaigh - is bha i daonnan deiseil airson rud a chantail co-dhiubh, "Ach a Dhia na firinn', a Mhártainn. A bheil sian idir tüir annad fhéin a' fágail na láir 'na seasamh shios aig a' phosta an úine tha thu a bhos ann a' seo?" "An da/' ors' esan, Mártainn, "bheiribh an aire nach do chleachd mise dha 'n láir i shuidhe an áite sam bith aig am fágainn i." Bha e fhéin agus fear a bh' anns a' choimhearsnachd a' seanachas latha 's ge b'e ciamar a thánaig an gnothach mun cuairt fhuair am fear eile air thoiseach air Mártainn: fhuair e té a chuir seachad air. Ach cha do lig Mártainn dad air. Tha mi cinnteach gun d'rinn e gáire ach bha e feitheamh gus am faigheadh e a chothrom fhéin. Ach co-dhiubh air deireadh an earraich shios aig a' chladach goirid dha 'n chladach far a robh sinn a' fuireach as an áite sin - gu h-áraid shios aig a' Phón Mhór bha a' rathad cho dlúth dha 'n chladach — bha an áile a' tighinn

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what did he do but slip on the ice. And when he fell he didn't manage to get up again until he had slid down and struck the level at the bottom of the rut. Héctor, Héctor MacNeil, was going past at the time. "Well Michael, the day before when you were out at the blacksmith's with me if you had only gotten the smith to put a cleated horseshoe on your good foot, it would have served you well right now." "If I had a cleated horseshoe on right now, my backside is where I would need it."

Martin Maclnnis (Mártainn Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir) Martin Maclnnis lived in a place called Glengarry at the Rear of Big Pond. Words carne easily to him, and if you said something to try to get ahead of him in any way he had an instant answer. One day he was returning home after being at the stores or, as they used to say, down at the shore/ and he stopped at a house to visit. And sure enough he was not in any great hurry that day and he left the mare at the main road. When some time had passed one of the women - one who was always ready to say something anyway - said, "By God's truth, Martin. Do you have any sense at all leaving the mare standing up at the post the whole time that you have been in here?" "Well/' said Martin, "I hope you've noticed that I never taught the mare to sit in any place that I left her." He and another man from the neighbourhood were talking one day and, however the matter got turned around, this man got ahead of Martin; he managed to get one over on him. But Martin never showed a sign of it. I am sure that he laughed, but he was waiting until he saw his opportunity. But towards the end of spring the breeze used to blow in off the salí water and onto the shore below, cióse to the shore where we were living, and especially where the road passed cióse to the shore

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astaigh far an t-sáil ann a' sin. Agus thánaig esan astaigh dh'ionnsaidh fear dha na búthan agus bha am fear eile astaigh: am fear a thug an fhreagairt ghoirid dha uaireiginn roimhe sin. Agus thuirt Mártainn, "Tha mi faicinn/' ors' esan, "nach eil ach glé bheag do shneachda astaigh a' seo agaibh, ach tha cuid mhór amach an taobh againne fhathast." "O," ors' esan, "sin mar a tha an cómhnaidh. Tha 'n sneachda bhos againne a' falbh na's tráithe na tha 'n sneachda amuigh agaibhse a' falbh." "O, cha n-ann a' falbh a tha ;n sneachda a bhios amuigh againn idir," ors' esan. "'S ann a tha e leaghadh air an talamh."

Alasdair Madosaig (Sandaidh 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) As an am ud bhiodh cuid do dh'fheadhainn a' dol gu margadh; bhiodh iad a' toirt lóid gu margadh mar a bhiodh gnothaichean a bha iad a' togail air an áite mar a bha uain is caoraich 's bhiodh im acá 's na nithean sin a' falbh leis dha 'n mhargaid. Agus bha iad cho eólach air na daoine a bhiodh iad a' faicinn. Bhite cho eólach orra; bha iad a.' dol seachad cho trie. Agus bha fear Aonghus Dómhnallach (Aonghus Dhómhnaill Aonghuis Mhóir); bha e dol seachad a' dol dha 'n bhaile latha agus có thachair ris ach Alasdair. 'S e Sandaidh bhiodh againn air, co-dhiubh, air mac 'Illeasbu' Mhóir. Ach co-dhiubh thachair Alasdair ri Aonghus agus bha e tacan a' seanachas. Thug e súil. "An da," ors' esan, "cha n-fhaca mi an t-each seo agad riamh roimhe gusandiugh." "O," ors' esan, Aonghus, "sin agad each a thog sinn fhin." "An da," ors' esan, "tha e glé mhath. Ach na h-eich a bh' againn fhin an cómhnaidh air an áit' againn fhin, cha ruigeamaid a leas a bhith 'gan togail. Dh'éireadh iad leo fhéin."

Aonghus Madosaig (Aonghus 'Üleasbu' Mhóir) Nuair a bha a' cheárdach aige shios aig Rudha Mhurchaidh - bha e 'n ear air Rudha Mhurchaidh; Caolas Naomh Anndra, 's e an t-ainm a

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at Big Pond. And Martin carne into one of the stores and the other man was inside, the man who had given him the short answer some time previously. And Martin said, "I see," said he, "that you don't have much snow in here at all but there is quite a bit out where we live." "Oh/' said the other man, "that is how it always is. The snow always leaves sooner here where we are than it does out where you live." "Oh, where we live the snow never leaves at all," replied Martin. "It melts on the ground."

Alexander Maclsaac (Sandaidh 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) In days past some people used to go to market; they used to take a load of produce that they raised on their farms such as lambs and sheep and sometimes butter. Those were the Ítems they would take to market, and they were very well acquainted with the people they saw on the way. They knew them so well; they used to pass so often. And there was a man by the ñame of Angus MacDonald (Aonghus Dhómhnaill Aonghuis Mhóir); he was going past on his way to town one day and whom did he meet but Alexander. But we used to cali him Sandy, the son of Gilleasbuig Mor. Anyway Sandy met Angus, and after they spent some time in conversation he looked over. "Well," said he, "I never saw this horse of yours before until today." "Oh," replied Angus, "that's a horse we raised ourselves." "Indeed," said Sandy, "he's a very good one. But the horses that we always had on our own place, we never had to raise them. They used to get up on their own."

Angus Maclsaac (Aonghus 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) When Angus had the forge down at Murdock's Point - it was to the east of Murdock's Point, Saint Andrew's Channel was

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bh' acá air an áite — bhiodh feadhainn a' tadhal ann nuair a bhiodh iad a' dol dha 'n bhaile. Agus ann an toiseach a' gheamhraidh bha fear a' dol astaigh dha 'n bhaile, Aonghus Dómhnallach a dh'ainmich mi roimhe (Aonghus Dhómhnaill Aonghuis Mhóir). Agus bha áiteachan boga air a' rathad 's bhiodh na h-eich a7 cuir sios an cas ann an toll. Agus an t-each neo láir gu robh aige, fhuair i greim air sáil a chrudha leis a' chrudha eile agus tharraing i dhi an crudha 's bha e air a chuir a curnadh gu mor. Agus stad e aig a' cheárdaich 's bha cabhag air. Thilg e an crudha astaigh gu Aonghus dha 'n cheárdaich. "Seo," ors' esan. "Greas ort. Tha cabhag orín/' ors' esan, "agus dirichidh tu an crudha ud dhomh." Chaidh e fhéin amach dh'ionnsaidh a' charbad 's bha e coimhead fairis air rudan a bha aige is bha e cluinntinn gleadhraich ghábhaidh 'sa cheárdaich agus órdaireachd a bha neónach. Is ann an ceann tiotag bheag ruith Aonghus amach as a' cheárdaich agus an teanchair 'na láimh agus bior fada do dh'iaruinn aige 'san teanchair. 'S gu dé bha sin ach an crudha air a dhireachadh. "Seo," ors' esan. "Tha mise smaointinn gu bheil siod cho direach 's a théid agamsa air a dheanamh." Bha cuid mhór do chnapan beaga air a' cheann aige. Bha iad mu leth-uibhir ri ugh, neo mar gun gearradh tu ugh circeadh 'na dha leth. Bha iad mun mheudachd sin agus áireamh mhór dhiubh air a cheann 's bhiodh e a' dol gu fear a bha shios aig a' Phón Mhór airson a ghruag fhaighinn air a ghearradh. Agus latha dhe na chaidh e ann 's dh'fhoighneachd e an gearradh e a ghruag. O, thuirt a' fear seo ris gun gearradh, agus 's e fear Dúghall Mac-a-Phi, (Düghall Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill) a bheireamaid ris an duine bha seo a bhiodh ri bearradh gruaige. Is nuair a shuidh Aonghus air an t-seidhir thuirt e ris, "Feuch a nist, a Dhúghaill," ors' esan, "gun toir thu an aire nach creach thu 'n nead." Far a robh e fuireach shios aig a' Phón Mhór cha robh fasgadh ann cus bho shoirbheas a tuath 's an ear-thuath agus air sáilleabh e bhith cho faisg air a' chladach 's an t-áite cho lom nuair a reothadh a' léig uile gu léir 's thigeadh sneachd' ann bhiodh e a' cathadh a nall fairis air an deigh. 'S bha an t-áite 'sam biodh iad toirt deoch dha 'n láir, bha e cho doirbh a ghlanadh amach; spaideadh e amach áite 's thigeadh an uair sin cathadh sneachda. Is bha an t-áite ag éirigh suas cho árd agus mu dheireadh bha sloc cho cas sios dh'ionnsaidh an áite 'sam biodh iad a' toirt deoch dha 'n láir. 'S bha aon latha bha e shios 's bha an t-áite ñor

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the ñame we had for the place - people used to drop in on their way to town. And at the beginning of the winter there was a man going to town, Angus MacDonald, whom I mentioned before. There were soft spots on the road and the horses were putting their feet down into pot-holes, and whether it was a horse or a mare that he had it caught the heel of its shoe on the other shoe and pulled the horseshoe off and it was bent badly out of shape. So he stopped at the blacksmith's in a great hurry and threw the shoe inside the forge to Angus. "Here/' said he. "Hurry up. I am in a rush so you must straighten that shoe for me." He went over to the wagón and was going over things that he had when he heard a terrible commotion in the forge and vigorous hammering. After a short time Angus carne running out of the forge holding the tongs in his hands and a long stick of iron in the tongs. And what was that but the straightened horseshoe. "Here," said he, "I think that is as about as straight as I can makeit." Angus had a lot of little lumps on his head about half the size of an egg or the size of a hen's egg cut in two. They were about that size and a large number of them on his head, and he used to go to a man that was down at Big Pond to have his hair cut. And one day he went there and asked the man if he would cut his hair. Oh, the man said that he would. That was Dougall MacPhee (Dúghall Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill as we used to cali him) who used to cut hair. And when Angus sat on the chair he said to him, "Now Dougall," said he, "be sure that you are careful not to rob the nest." Where he was living down at Big Pond there was not much shelter from the north and northeast wind because he was so cióse to the shore; the place was so bare that when the lake froze over completely and the snow carne it would drift in over the ice. And the place where they would water the mare was so hard to clean out; he would shovel out a place and then a snowdrift would fill it in. Finally the place got piled up so high that a hollow descended steeply to the place where they used to water the mare. One day he was down there, and by

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chas agus a' fas beagan cumhang is cha robh a' láir idir idir airson a dhol dha 'n t-sloc a bha sin a dh'ól deoch. 'S thánaig f ear a nall a' rathad - chaidh e a sheanachas ris. Agus ors' esan, "Nach beag dóigh a th' annad, adhuine." "'S eadh, "ors'esan. "Nach eil," ors' esan, "thu air bheag dóigh! Carson nach cuir thu a' láir sios an comhair a cúil - nach back thu sios i - 'san t-sloc tha sin?" "An da," ors' esan, "ged a dheanainn sin cha n-ann air a' cheann sin a tha a' láir agam ag ól idir." Bha Aonghus turus eile, chaidh e choimhead air daoine a bha e eólach orra is bha e píos a dh'astar air falbh bho 'n dachaidh an uair sin. Ach mar a bha Aonghus, bha e aig an dachaidh ge b'e c'áite 'm biodh e: dheante toileachadh ris; bhite deónach e bhith cómhla riu. Ach bha e aig an taigh a bha seo 's thánaig fear a bh' as an nábachd air chéilidh. Agus 's ann a nuil toiseach a' gheamhraidh a bh' ann, ma dh'fhaoidte mun am seo fhéin agus bha sneachd' air lar 'san arn co-dhiubh. Agus nuair a thánaig am fear seo astaigh rug e air láimh air Aonghus 's rinn e toileachadh ris. "Tha mi creidsinn," ors' esan, "gura h-e na lorgan agad a chunna mi a nall an iomall a' chlioraigeadh" - tha mi cinnteach gun do ghabh e frith-rathad suas: rathad goirid. "An da," ors' esan, "cha n-eil teagamh sam bith nach éad. Tha fios a'm gun do dh'fhág mi feadhainn ann co-dhiubh."

lain Macíosaig (lain 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) Bha e fhéin is clann a bhráthar a' fuireach ann an taigh agus bha muileann-sábhaidh acá aig an áite bha seo. Agus ge b'e gu dé a' mhi-rian a thánaig eadar e fhéin agus am fear leis bu leis an taigh - ma dh' fhaoidte gu robh e car duilich a riarachadh co-dhiubh, ach bha e 'gan cuir air falbh. Agus thuirt e ri lain, "Tha mi," ors' esan, "'g iarraidh sibh a bhith amach as an taigh seo." "'S eadh," ors' esan, lain. "Tha," ors' esan. "Feumaidh sibh a bhith falbh as a' seo Di-haoine." "'S carson," ors' lain, "nach cuir thu air falbh sinn Diardaoin? Ma dh' fhaoidte gum bi i sileadh Di-haoine."

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that time the place was extremely steep and getting a little narrow, and the mare was not at all willing to go down into the hollow for a drink. And somebody carne down the road and carne over to talk to him. "How little sense you have my friend." "Indeed," replied Angus. "Aren't you clumsy!" said the man. "Why didn't you put the mare down backwards - back her down - into the hollow?" "Well," replied Angus, "even if I did, that isn't the end that my mare drinks from." Another time Angus went to see people he knew, travelling some distance from his home. But the way Angus was, he was at home in any place he happened to be: people were glad to see him; they wanted him to be with them. But he was at a certain house and someone from the neighbourhood carne visiting. It was around the beginning of winter, and there was snow on the ground then anyway. And when this man carne in he shook Angus's hand and greeted him. "I believe," said he, "that those were your tracks I saw over on the edge of the clearing." I am sure that Angus had taken a side path up, a short cut. "Well," said Angus, "no doubt those were mine. I know I left some there anyway."

John Maclsaac (lain 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) He and his brother's family were living in a house and they had a sawmill on the place. And whatever misunderstanding aróse between himself and the owner of the house - perhaps the owner was a little difficult to please anyway - he was putting them out. And he said to John, "I want you out of this house." "Certainly," replied John. "Yes/' said the owner. "You will have to leave here Friday." "And why/; said John, "don't you put us out Thursday? It might be raining Friday."

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Bean Ruairidh 'ic losaig (Anna Ruairidh AileinJ Bha i latha amach aig taobh an taighe agus fuirm aice is bailan air a chuir air uachdar agus i nigheadaireachd air latha briagh 'san t-samhradh 's thadhail fear. Agus cha d'rinn e ach an t-each fhágail shuas taobh an rathaid mhóir 's coirce thoirt dha 'n each agus chaidh e sios. Bha e coiseachd sios dh'ionnsaidh an taighe 's bha cu mor, mor acasan agus dheanadh e comhart gu math borb. Ach bha an cu cho cóir, cha robh sian coire idir ann. Agus nuair a bha esan a' dol sios air a' frith-rathad eadar a' rathad mor 's an taigh thánaig an cu anuas 'na choinneamh agus thionndaidh an cu mun cuairt - bha e comhartaich 's e coimhead sios rathad an taighe na a' chladaich gu robh ann 's e sior-chomhartaich - agus stad an duine eile. Thug ise súil ;s thuirt i, "O, cumaibh air tighinn a dhuine," ors' ise. "Na bithibh a' stad idir." "Tha eagal orna/' ors' esan, "gum beir an cu seo orní; gun greim e mi." "O," ors' ise, "cum romhad. Cha chreid mis' 's cha n-fhiosrach mi gun d'rug an cu sin air sian na gun do ghreim e duine na sian fhathast leis a' cheann a tha riutsa dheth co-dhiubh." Nuair a bha i tinn - bha i ann an galar a báis mar a bheireamaid agus bha i gu math tinn — cha robh i mu dheireadh air chothrom idir air tighinn as a' leabaidh, ach gun toireadh i le cuideachadh gum faigheadh i tacan thoirt 'na suidhe air a' bheinge fhéin air beul na leaba mar a bheireadh iad. Ach dh'fheumadh i cuideachadh fhaighinn airson tighinn a' sin. Agus latha bha seo, thug a companach cuideachadh dhi airson faighinn 'na suidhe agus thug i tacan 'na suidhe air oir na leaba mar sin agus bha i a' sin air fas sgith. Bha a casan cho lag — bha té dhe casan fior lag as an am - is dh'éibh i air a companach. "Trobhad, a Ruairidh," ors' ise. "O, 's eadh, Anna," ors' esan. "Gu dé a niste?" "Tha," ors' ise, "nan tugadh tu cuideachadh dhomh airson 's gum faighinn air n-ais dha 'n leabaidh. Tha mi fas sgith 'nam shuidhe." "O, bheireadh," ors' esan. "Bheirinn dhut sin, Anna. Dé tha thu 'g iarraidh orm a dheanamh?" ors' esan. "O," ors' ise, "tha mi 'g iarraidh ort feuch an togadh tu mo chas 's an toireadh tu cuideachadh dhomh tighinn astaigh dha 'n leabaidh."

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Mis Roderíck Maclsaac (Anna Ruairídh Ailein) One fine summer's day she was out at the side of the house with a bench and a tub on it doing the wash and someone stopped by. He just left the horse beside the main road and gave him some oats and went down. He was walking down to the house and they had a great, big dog with a fierce bark. But actually the dog was kind and meant no harm. And as he was coming down the path between the main road and the house the dog carne up to him and turned around - it was barking and looking down toward the house or the shore or whatever and barking all the while - and the man stopped in his tracks. She looked up and she said, " Keep on coming my f riend," said she. "Don't stop at all." "I am afraid," he replied, "that the dog will catch hold of me, that it will bite me." "Oh/' said she, "keep on down. I don't believe and I am not aware that that dog ever caught anything or bit a man or anything else with the end that is facing you anyway." When she was sick — she was in her final sickness as they would say, and terribly ill - at the end of it she was not able to get out of bed, unless with some help she was able to spend a short time sitting on the plank at the "mouth" (side) of the bed, as they used to cali it. But she needed help to get even that f ar. One day her husband helped her into a sitting position, and she spent some time that way on the edge of the bed until she began to grow tired. Her legs were so weak - one of her legs was extremely weak at the time - and she called to her husband. " Come over, Roddie," said she. "Yes, Anna/' he replied. "What do you need now?" "If you could give me some help/' said she, "so that I could get back into bed. I am getting tired sitting." "Yes indeed," he replied. "I would give you that, Anna. What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Oh," said she, "I want you to try to lift my leg and help me get back into bed."

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"O," ors; esan, "ni mi sin Auna. Dé a' chas a tha thu ag iarraidh a thogail?" "O," ors' ise, "tha mi cinnteach gura h-e mo chas deiridh."

Niall Maclosaig (Mac do dh'Anna Ruairidh Ailein) Mun do thóisich muinntir Inbhirnis 's an fheadhainn sin air ceól, mum bite 'gan cluinntinn air radio, bhite faighinn ceól air radio 's och, cha robh moran aigesan mu dheidhinn sin idir. Neo-ar-thaing nuair a thánaig an ceól Gáidhealach a bha córdadh ris mar a bha Uilleam Lamey 's an Siosalach ;s a h-uile gin do mhuinntir Inbhirnis, nuair a thóisich iad sin air ceól a chuir air ciar, neo-ar-tháing nach robh sin taitneach leis. Ach bha sinn oidhche ann an áiteiginn agus bhruidhinn mi air port neo air ceól air choireiginn a chuala mi air a' radio beagan roimhe sin. "Gu dearbh/' orsa mise, "cha robh ann ach port gu math truagh." "Och/' ors' esan, "cha robh sin ach coltach ri port na cuileag ann a' glóba' lampa."

Ruairidh MacNill (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh RuaidhJ Bha fear aig Gleann nan Éireannach, Ruairidh MacNill, agus bha paidhir do bhrógan aige - brógan rubair; 's ann bho Eaton a fhuair e iad - 's bha iad greis mhór do dh'úine aige. Ach bha iad air fas car beag, dona 's thuirt cuideiginn ris gum b'fheárr dha 'n tilleadh air n-ais agus gum faigheadh e paidhir eile nan áite. Ach co-dhiubh, chuir e air falbh iad agus bha iad moran üine aige mun do thill e air falbh iad. Agus roghnaich iad gu robh iad aige moran úine 'gan cosg airson an tilleadh air n-ais. Ach co-dhiubh, bha iad a' seanachas mu dheoghainn seo agus bha a' phosdachd na bu daoire orra a' falbh air neo a' tighinn: bha beagan shentaichean a bharrachd orra a' dol an dama dóigh seach an dóigh eile. 'S thuirt cuideiginn ris, "Nach bu neónach, a Ruairidh, nach robh an aon uibhir posdachd orra a' falbh 's a' tighinn. Dé a nist," ors' esan, "a bheireadh sibh ris a' sin?"

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"Oh/' said he, 'Til do that Anna. Which leg would you likemetolift?" "Oh/' said she, "I think my hind leg." Neil Maclsaac (Mac do dh'Anna Ruairidh Ailein) Before the Inverness people and others began to play (Scottish) music over the radio there was other music on the air, and Neil did not think much of it at all. To be sure, when the Scottish music carne on that he liked, such as William Lamey and Chisholm and all of the Inverness County people when they began to record music, he enjoyed it very much. But one night we were somewhere and I mentioned a tune or some music that I had heard over the radio a while before that. "Indeed," I said, "that was a pretty sorry tune." "Oh," said he, "it was just something like the tune of the fly buzzing in the globe of the lamp." Roderick MacNeil

(Ruairidh lain fic Ruairidh Ruaidh)

There was a man in Irish Vale, Roderick MacNeil, and he had a pair of shoes - rubber shoes from Eaton's - which he had had for a long time. But they had become a little thin and worn so somebody told him that he had better return them and that he would get another pair in their place. So he sent them away, though he had had them a long time before he returned them, and the company decided that he had been wearing them too long for them to be returned for a refund. But anyway, they were talking about this and the postage on them was more expensive going or coming back: they cost a little more going one way than the other. And somebody remarked to him, "Wasn't it strange, Roderick, that the postage wasn't the same going as it was coming back? Now what would you say to that?"

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Briathran Beóil, Spórs is Eólas

"Ma dh'fhaoidte," ors' esan, "gu robh iad a' dol leis a' bhruthach air aon rathad."

Eos MacNHl (Eos Níll Bhig) Tha sgeul beag agam a thachair mar a thachair dhomh fhin nuair a bha mi 'san taigh-eiridinn brío chionn áireamh bhliadhnaichean. Agus air feasgar sónraichte bha eanrach ri tighinn thugainn - súgh isein — agus bha dithist do dhaoine gasda ann an leabannan thall air taobh eile a' bhalla 's bhithinn a' cómhradh riu ged nach robh mi fhin comasach air tighinn as a' leabaidh idir as an am. Agus nuair a thánaig an gnothach thugainn - súgh an isein - cha robh cus do shúgh ann. O, cha robh ann ach an t-uisge tana, glas ach gu robh blas air agus chómhdaicheadh tu gura h-fheudar gur e súgh isein a bh' ann. Agus thuirt fear a bha thall anns a' leabaidh air taobh eile a' bhalla nach d'rinn an t-isein ach a chas a chuir 'sa bholla a fhuair esan. Agus thuirt am fear a bha an taice ris 's e deanamh gáire, "Cha d'rinn e ach seasamh ri taobh a' bholla agamsa." Agus bha mis' an deaghaidh blasad a dheanamh air súgh an isein agus bha 'n gnothach cho tana co-dhiubh. Agus thuirt mi riu gura h-éad a bha duilich an toileachadh 's an riarachadh a bhith gearain; nam biodh iad cho dona dheth 's a bha mise, gum biodh aobhar-gearain acá: nach d'rinn an t-isein ach sgiathadh seachad air a' bholla a bh'agamsa nuair a bha e dol a nuil a thadhal orrasan. Turus eile a bha mi as an taigh-eiridinn, agus mar a tha fios agaibh ann an cuid dhe na taighean-eiridinn thig paipear mu chuairt as a' mhadainn airson a chuir sios do roghainn do bhiadh air la'r-na-mháireach. 'S bha roghainn a h-uile tráth ri chuir air: bha 'm biadh-madainn 's an dinneir agus an t-suipeir. Agus thachair air latha sónraichte gu robh sléisnean isein air an ainmeachas air ar biadh feasgair neo ar suipeir ma thogras sibh a ghrádhainn. Agus nuair a thánaig iad astaigh leis na truinnsearan thugainn feasgar - thugam fhin 's dha 'm chompanach a bha thall 'sa leabaidh an taice rium thachair gu robh a' bhean aige fhéin agus a phiuthar chéile agus cuid dhe na h-igheannan aige astaigh a' sealltainn air as an am. Agus 's e 'm biadh a fhuair mise, ged a 's e sléisnean isein a bh' air an ainmeachas 's e caoban do ghruthan. Chanainn ma dh'fhaoidte gum b' e gruthan mairt a bhiodh ann; cha robh ann ach stiallan garbha dheth co-dhiubh. Agus bha mi air tóiseachadh air mo shuipeir ithe nuair a sheall té dhe na bha thall aig taobh na leabadh aig an duine seo a nall agus dh'fhoighneachd i, "An e sliasaid an isein a fhuair thusa air do shuipeir?"

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Wit, Lore, and Pastimes

"Well perhaps," replied Roderick, "one of those ways they were going downhill."

Joe MacNeil (Eos Nill Bhig) I have a short story concerning what happened to me when I was in the hospital some years ago. On a certain evening we were supposed to have soup, chicken soup, and there were two fine characters in beds over on the other side of the wall, and I used to hold conversations with them even though I wasn't able at the time to get out of bed. And when this arrived for us - the chicken soup - there wasn't much stock there. It was only grey, thin water except for a taste that you could assert must be chicken soup. And one of the men over in the bed on the other side of the wall said that the chicken had only put its foot into the bowl that he received, and the man next to him said, laughing, " All he did was stand beside my bowl." And I had just taken a taste of the chicken soup and it was very thin indeed, so I told them that they must be hard to picase or satisfy with their complaining, that they couldn't possibly be as badly off as I was for all their protesting for the chicken had just flown past my bowl on its way over to visit them. Another time I was in the hospital and as you know in some hospitals a paper comes around in the morning to indícate your choice of food for the next day. And the choice for every meal was to be put down: breakfast and dinner and supper. One particular day it happened that chicken legs were down for our evening meal or our supper as you may prefer to cali it. And in the evening when they carne in to us with the píate to me and to my companion who was over in the bed beside me it happened that his wife and sister-in-law and some of his daughters were in seeing him at the time. And the food that I got, although it was listed as chicken legs, was actually hunks of liver. I would say that perhaps it was beef liver; there were only rough slices of it anyway. I had begun to eat my supper when one of the women beside the other man's bed looked over and asked, "Was it chicken legs you got for your supper?"

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Briathran Beóil, Spórs is Eólas

Agus rinn mi gáire agus thuirt mi, "An rud a fhuair mise air mo shuipeir, tha mi 'n dúil co-dhiubh, 'nam bithinn 'nam choileach 's mi coiseachd sios an t-sráid agus isein fhaicinn air a robh sléisnean coltach ris a' rud a th'air an truinnsear agam an nochd, gu sguirinn dha 'n ghairm."

Gun Urrainn A' bruidhinn air taighean fuar 'sa gheamhradh, thug e dha' m bheachd naidheachd neo sgeul bheag a chuala mi bho fhear; 's ann a mhuinntir Cheap Breatuinn a bha an duine sónraichte a bha seo. Bha e coltach gum biodh am fear óg a bha seo, gum bite car a' tarraing as co-dhiubh. 'S ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh 'm fear eile car beag air an taobh phróiseil: gu robh barail mhór aige air a' ghnothach. Agus air réir mar a fhuair mise a' sgeul, bha iad a' dol amach dha'n choillidh air latha fuar anns a' gheamhradh. 'S dócha gura h-ann anns a' Ghearran a bh' ann neo anns an Fhaoilleach; bha an t-side fuar co-dhiubh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd a' fear a bha seo dhe 'n fhear óg, "A robh an taigh agaibh fuar a raoir?" "Bha," ors' esan. "Taigh sam bith a bha amuigh a raoir, bha e fuar." Tha e coltach gu robh 'm fear óg a bha seo glé amasach air facail: gu robh e furasda dha freagairtean fhaotainn co-dhiubh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh barail seórsa do dh'amadan ac' air. 'S minig a bha e tachairt gum biodh barail górach ac' air fear agus ma dh'fhaoidte gur e fear fior ghlic a bhiodh ann. Ach co-dhiubh air réir na sgeul a bh' ann bha e dol sios a' rathad latha agus an fheadhainn a bha 'g obair aig a' rathad iaruinn far a robh 'n rathad mor a' dol fairis air a' rathad iaruinn, bha iad a' cuir saod ann a' sin. Agus bha a' fiodh a bh' ann air fas dona 's dh'fheumadh iad na bha do dh'fhiodh ann a thoirt as: a h-uile déilinn a bh' eadar na slatan iaruinn, dh'fheumadh iad an togail agus fiodh úr a chuir 'na áite. 'S thánaig esan as an am ge b'e an turus air a robh e a' dol agus stad e a sheanachas riu. Agus tha mi cinnteach gu robh fear acá airson direach tarraing as feuch gu dé bheireadh e air a chantail. Dh'fhoighneachd e dheth, "Có mheud déilinn a tha thu smaointinn," ors' esan, "a dh'fheumas duine airson am bealach a tha seo a lionadh?" Choimhead e. "O," ors' esan, "aonfhear nam biodh e leathan gu leór."

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And I laughed and I replied, "Whatever I got for my supper, if I were a rooster walking down the street and I saw a chicken sporting legs that looked like the thing on my píate tonight I believe I would stop crowing."

Anonymous The subject of cold houses in the winter brought back to memory a story or a short anecdote I heard from a man belonging to Cape Bretón. It seems that there was a certain young man people would tease. And perhaps the man who was with him was a little bit on the proud side and thought quite a bit of himself. And according to the way I heard the story, they were going out to the woods on a cold winter's day. It was probably in February or January - the weather was cold anyway - and this man asked the younger man, ''Was your house cold last night?" "Yes/7 replied the young man. " Any house that was outside last night was cold." It seems that this young man had a great gift of verbal wit and that answers carne to him easily. Perhaps they held him to be some sort of a fool. It often happened that people would regard someone as being a little stupid when he might be a very wise man. At any rate according to the account I heard, he was going down the road one day and the people working for the railway where the main road crossed over the railway were fixing up the crossing. The wood in the crossing had grown bad and they had to take the wooden part out; all of the ties between the iron tracks had to be taken out and replaced with new wood. So he carne by - whatever errand he was on - and stopped to talk to them. And I am sure that one of the men just wanted to tease him to see what he could make him say, so he asked him, "How many ties do you think a person will need to fill this gap?" The young man looked. "Oh," he said, "one would do if it were wide enough."

Seanfhacail

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Am fear a bhios air deireadh, 's ann air a bheireas a' bhiast Am fear a thig gun chuireadh, suidhidh e gun iarraidh Am fear as fheárr a cheangaileas, ;s e as luaithe a dh'fhalbhas An lámh a bheir, 's i a gheobh Cha deán cas thioram iasgach Cha n-eil car 'san t-sionnach nach aithne dha 'n t-sealgair Cha n-iarradh duine sona ach a bhreith Cha sin duine a chas ach mar a ligeas an t-aodach Cha tig an cota glas cho math dha 'n a h-uile fear Cha tig ugh mor a ton an dreólain Comhairle a' chlap-sgáin: rud nach buin dhut, na buin dha Ged is milis am ñon ri ól, 's daor ri pháidheadh e Moch gu loch agus anmoch gu abhainn agus gach am dhe 'n latha gu allt Na náraich mi 's na sáraich mi 's na goirtich mi; agus an uair is fheárr a' spórs, 's ann is cóir stad Nach furasda fuine a dheanamh nuair a tha thu an taic ri min. Nuair a dh'éireas lain Dubh, laighidh am ministear Nuair a sguireas an lámh a dh'fhaighinn, 's ann a sguireas am beul a mholadh Nuair a thig latha, thig comhairle "Rud nach leam, cha tarraing", mar a thuirt an té mun phlaide Ruigidh each malí muileann, ach cha ruig an t-each a bhristeas a chas 'S ann as a ceann a mhligheas a' bhó 'S ann as a chéile a ni iad na cairteil 'S ann 'na mheallan mora a thig an turneas, ach 's ann beag air bheag a thig an t-sláinte

Proverbs

1 The hindmost man will be caught by the beast. 2 He who comes uninvited will sit without being asked. 3 The man who ties his horse most securely will leave most swiftly. 4 The hand that gives is the one that receives. 5 The dry f oot cannot fish. 6 The fox has no tricks unknown to the hunter. 7 The happy man would ask only to be born. 8 No one can stretch a leg except as the cloth permits. 9 The grey coat does not suit everyone equally well. 10 Large eggs do not come from wrens' backsides. 11 A piece of advice for the gossip: do not poke into what does not concern you. 12 Wine is sweet to drink but dear to pay for. 13 Early to the loch, late to the river, and any time of the day to the stream. 14 Do not shame or slight or injure me; when the fun is greatest is the time to stop. 15 How easy it is to bake when the meal is handy. 16 When Black John arises, the minister lies down. 17 When the hand ceases to receive, the mouth ceases its praise. 18 When the day arrives, so will the advice. 19 "What is not mine I will not pulí on," as the woman said about the blanket. 20 The slow horse will reach the mili but the fast horse that breaks a leg will not. 21 The cow is milked from its head. 22 Castles are built from scattered stones. 23 Sickness comes in sudden waves but health arrives little by little.

382

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Briathran Beóil, Spórs is Eólas

'S deacair a thoirt o 'n láimh an cleachdadh 'S duilich a' mhin a chagnadh 's an teine a shéideadh 'S e am farmad a ni treabhadh 'Sea mhuc shámhach as motha a dh'itheas 'S e goirteas a chinn fhéin as motha a dh'fhairicheas gach neach 'S e an t-súil a ghléidheas sealbh 'S fheárr an teine beag a gharas na 'n teine mor a loisgeas 'S fheárr da cheann na aon cheann 'S fheárr fuine thana na bhith buileach falamh 'S fheárr iasg beag na bhith gun iasg idir ; S fheárr sgur na sgáineadh 'S fheárr tilleadh na báthadh 'S fheárrd' am brochan an spáin 'S mairg an neach a ni dha 'n ole na dh'fhaodas e 'S minig a bha cead ligeadh aig fear gun chú Taitinn am bleidire is fanaidh e oidhche, agus taitinn a rithist e is fanaidh e tri 40 Tha iad a' grádh gur léir dha 'n dall a bheul 41 Thig an t-acras barrachd is aon uair 42 Tuigidh fear-leubhaidh leth-fhacal

383

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Wit, Lore, and Pastimes

It is hard to take away what the hand practises. It's hárd to chew meal and blow on the fire. Envy will do the plowing. The quiet pig is the one that eats the most. Each person feels most acutely the pain in his own head. The eye is what keeps possessions. Better a small fire that warms than a big fire that consumes. Two heads are better than one. A thin kneading is better than being completely destitute. A small fish is better than no fish at all. It is better to cease than to crack. It is better to turn back than to drown. The porridge is better for the spoon. Pity the person who will do for evil whatever he can. How often a man has had permission to reléase his dog without a dog to his ñame. Associate with a fool and he will stay the night, associate with him again and he will stay for three. They say that the blind man can see his mouth. Hunger comes more than once. A man who can read will understand half a word.

Gnáth-fhacail

1 Adhaircean fada air crodh ann an Éirinn gus an ruigear iad 2 Am madadh ruadh a' buachailleachd nan cearc 3 An t-uan cho geal ri mháthair 's a mháthair cho geal ris an t-sneachda (Daoine a' bruidhinn air cuideiginn agus a' ruith car air an aon ghné) 4 Barail bhochd: a' bharail aig a' bhroc air a thóin 5 Beul gun phutan (Cuideiginn a bha math gu bhith bruidhinn air rud 's nach biodh gnothach aige ris) 6 Bha e fhéin seachd bliadhna da uair 7 Buille bheag an ceann a' chrudha (Nam biodh feadhainn air tóiseachadh air gnothaichean 's bha iad a' faicinn gu robh 'n gnothach furasda gu leór, chanadh neach, "Coma leibh. Cha n-eil acá fhathast ach buille bheag an ceann a' chrudha.") 8 Cha bhi stuadh na bogha a' bristeadh orra (Bhithinn 'ga cluinntinn aig fear nach maireann aig an taobh againn fhin a7 bruidhinn air feadhainn a dh'fhalbh agus air réir a bheachd-san bha iad gu bhith fortanach dheth. Agus 's e a' seadh a bheirinn-s; as a' sin: stuadh a bhristeadh orra, gum b'e sin stuadh a thigeadh astaigh ann am bata 's ged nach deanadh i am báthadh, chuireadh i trioblaid orra; agus nam biodh iad a' sealg agus bogha bhristeadh, ged nach deanadh iad cron mor chailleadh iad sealg air a tháilleabh) 9 Cha n-ann a chuir casg ora chainnt 10 Cha n-e fhéin am fear a reiceadh a chearc air a' latha fhliuch (Duine a bhiodh car cúramach mu dheidhinn gnothach a bhiodh e reic) 11 Cha n-e sin port a tha fo mheóirean

Expressions

1 Long homs on the cattle in Ireland until you reach them. 2 The fox herding the hens. 3 The lamb as white as its mother and its mother as white as snow. (Said of people talking about somebody and pretty much sharing the same opinions.] 4 A poor opinión: the badger's opinión of his own backside. 5 A mouth without a button. (Said of someone prone to talk about things that do not concern him or her.) 6 He was seven years oíd twice. 7 A small blow at the end of the horseshoe. (If someone had begun something and saw it was easy enough to do, another might say; "Never mind. This is only just a small blow at the end of the horseshoe.") 8 Neither waves ñor bow will break on them. (I used to hear this from a man no longer living down in our part of the country when he spoke about people who had left and who in his opinión were going to be well off. And the sense I would take from it was that a wave breaking over them was a wave coming into the boat and even though it wouldn't drown them would cause them some trouble. And if they were hunting and happened to break a bow, although that would not do much damage they would lose game because of it.) 9 I am not preventing you from speaking. 10 He's not one to sell his hen on a wet day. (Said about a man who would be very careful about Ítems that he was selling.) 11 That's not a tune under his fingers.

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12 Cho falamh ris a' chirc bho 'n a' chócaire 13 Cho lom ri brú piseig 14 Có chunna na chuala: fáslach feall an t-sionnaich? (A7 bruidhinn air feadhainn nach robh cho seólta ri iomadh aon - dheanadh iad rudan a bhiodh car rni-dhóigheil - 's bu chóir barrachd túir a bhith 'sa rud a dheanadh iad) 15 Cuir fáileadh do bhonn-a-sia fhéin fo'd shróin (Chanadh iad seo ri fear nuair a bhiodh e car bleid) 16 Fonnairgillenanlúb: 'seah-uilerudürisfheárrleis (Feadhainna leumadh astaigh airson rud úr na annasach) 17 'Ga innse dha na clachan glasa 18 Guma slán iomradh air (A' bruidhinn air feadhainn a bha astar air falbh. Bha seo a' ciallachadh gu robh e guidhe e bhith ann an sláinte nuair a bhathar bruidhinn mu dheidhinn) 19 Leum na circeadh air a' smugaid (Cuideiginn a rachadh ann am bargan na 'n gnothach a dheanamh gun bheachdnachadh na gun choimhead roimhe) 20 Mar a thuirt a' reithe mu bhleoghainn, "Cha chuir e cüram orm." 21 Nábachd gun fhialachd (Feadhainn nach biodh a' dol air chéilidh) 22 Nuair a bhios a dha iarunn dheug 'san teallach aige 23 Nuair a thig am fear sin cluinnidh luchagan an árd-doruist e (Cuideiginn a bhiodh a' labhairt gábhaidh árd) 24 'S ann orra chaidh uisge nan uighean bho fhear liath gu leanabh 25 'S iomadh atharrachadh a ni am bás agus gaol nam boireannach (Nuair a bhiodh gnothaichean car iogantach a' tachairt mar a bha feadhainn ag imrich na a' dol mun cuairt) 26 Siubhal a' chait a chaidh leis an eas (Rudeiginn a bhiodh a' falbh nach biodh a dhith air neach e thilleadh co-dhiubh) 27 Slacan an láimh óinsich 28 Snáithlein fada an táilleir leasg 29 'S toil leam aran a' bhodaich ach cha toil leam anail a' bhodaich

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12 As empty as the hen coming from the cook. 13 As bare as a kitten's belly. 14 Whoever saw or heard of it: a lapse in the deceit of the fox. (Said of people who were not as smart as others - they would do something that was a little bit unsuitable - and who ought to have more sense about what they did.) 15 Put the fragrance of your own sixpence beneath your nose. (Said to someone who was acting silly.) 16 The twisty lad's tune: he prefers everything that's new. (Said of people who would jump at something new or novel.) 17 Telling it to the grey stones. 18 A report of good health on him. (Used when talking of people who were some distance away. This meant that the speaker was praying f or another's good health when he was being spoken of.) 19 The hen pouncing on the spittle. (Said of someone who would enter into a bargain or make a deal without thinking it over or looking ahead.) 20 As the ram said concerning milking, "It doesn't worry me." 21 Neighbourliness without generosity. (Said for people who did not often go out visiting.) 22 When he has a dozen irons at the hearth. 23 When that one arrives the mice over the door will hear him. (Said of somebody who speaks extremely loudly.) 24 The egg-water carne down on them from the white-haired man to the infant. 25 Many a change is caused by death and the lo ve of women. (When things quite unexpected would happen such as people moving or going around.) 26 The passage of the cat over the waterfall. (Said of something that was going that people did not want to return at all.) 27 A cudgel in the hand of a foolish woman. 28 The lazy tailor's long thread. 29 I like the oíd man's bread but I don't like the oíd man's breath.

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Briathran Beóil, Spórs is Eólas

(Bha e math gu leór fhad's a bha feadhainn a' faighinn ceann math a neach, ach nuair a theirig sin cha robh moran uidhreachd) 30 Tha da thaobh air a' mhaol 31 Tha e coltach gu bheil na cait air a dhol a dh'ithe a' cháise 32 Tha gille math amuigh aige

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Wit, Lore, and Pastimes

(It was fine enough as long as people were getting a good profit from someone, but when that ran out there wasn't much interest.) 30 There are two sides to every hill. 31 It looks as if the cats have gone off to eat trie cheese. 32 He has a good lad waiting outside.

Rannan dha'n Chloinn

1

A Bhogha-frois, a Bhogha-frois

'S ann aig fear, lain MacNill, mac do Dhómhnall Dhómhnaill 'ic lain 'ic lain a chuala mi a' rann a bha seo mu dheidhinn a' bhogha-frois. 'S e nuair a chitheadh tu bogha-frois gu h-árd, ma b'fhior nuair a bhruidhneadh tu ris a; bhogha-frois a chanadh tu, A bhogha-frois, a bhogha-frois, Tárr as, tárr as. Tha t'athair ;s do mháthair aig a' chroich Is crochar iad mun ruig thu. 'S ma b'fhior gun do dh'fhalbh am bogha-frois á sealladh nuair a chual' e seo.

2

An Teid Thu dh'Iomain?

Tha rann neónach ann a' seo agus fhuair mi a' mhór-chuid dheth bho Alasdair Ceanadach - sin mac do Ghilleasbuig Ceanadach aig am bithinn a' cluinntinn nan seann sgeulachdan. Agus fhuair mi beagan fhaclan dheth cuideachd aig fear eile, fear Dómhnall Macíosaig, agus tha esan air falbh: tha e shuas an áiteiginn ann a' Siorramachd Ontario aig an am seo. Agus ;s e mar a bha a' rann a' dol, An teid thu dh'iomain? Gu dé an iomain? lomain chamain 'S gu dé an caman? Caman iubhair

Children;s Rhymes

1

The Rainbow

I heard this rhyme about the rainbow from a man by the ñame of John MacNeil (Mac do Dhómhnall Dhómhnaill 'ic lain 'ic Iain|. When you saw a rainbow up above, you would act as if you were addressing it, saying Rainbow, rainbow, Fly away, fly away. Your father and your mother are at the gallows And they will be hanged before you reach them.

And the rainbow was supposed to disappear when it heard this.

2

Will You Go to Play?

Here is a strange rhyme, most of which I got from Alexander Kennedy, the son of Archie Kennedy from whom I heard the oíd tales. And I got a few words of it also from another man, Donald Maclsaac, who is now away; he's somewhere up in the province of Ontario at this time. And this is how the rhyme went. Will you go to play? What game? To play shinty. What shinty? A yew shinty.

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'S gu dé 'n t-iubhar? lubhar adhair 'S gu dé 'n t-adhar? Adhar eun 'S gu dé 'n t-eun? Eun iteag 'S gu dé 'n iteag? Iteag fraoich 'S gu dé 'm fraoch? Fraoch coilleadh 'S gu dé a' choille? Coille chnó. Agus bha 'n deireadh aigesan air an fhacal sin — aig Maclosaig — nuair a chanadh tu, "Gu dé a' chnó?" chanadh e, "Cnó thombaca!"

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Wit, Lore, and Pastimes

What yew? A yew of sky. What sky? A sky of birds. And what bird? A bird of feathers. And what feather? A sprig of heather. And what heather? Heather of thé wood. And what wood? The nut wood. And thé end that he - Maclsaac - had to rhyme was, when you would say, "And what mit?" he would say, "A nut (or plug) of tobacco!"

Na Cleasan

Dheanadh iad cleasan astaigh 's na taighean agus bhiodh feadhainn dhe na cleasan sin duilich gu leór an deanamh. Nuair a shuidheadh duine air botul cruinn air an úrlar agus a chuireadh e a sháil air uachdar a choiseadh agus a dh'fheuchadh e ri snáithlein a chuir 'san t-snáthaid ;s e 'na shuidhe air a' bhotul, bha an obair sin gu math doirbh. Bhiodh iad a' magadh air duine: "Carson nach fhuirich thu socair?" Bhiodh an duine a nuil 's a nall. Ach nuair a bha thu eólach gu leór air a; ghnothach dh' fhásadh tu mu dheireadh cho cleachte ris, bhiodh an snáithlein 'nad láimh 's an t-snáthad 'san láimh eile, 's choinnicheadh tu iad. Agus ma bha thu ealamh gu leór nuair a bhuail thu an t-snáthad fhuair thu 'n snáithlein 'sa chró -'se snáthad mhór a bhiodh ann - 's a lig thu as an snáithlein, uill dh'fhuirgheadh i ann an sin. 'S air an ath-turus a thill thu gheobhadh tu greim air an t-snáth 's a tharraing. Bha e doirbh: dh'fheumadh tu feuchainn gu math trie. Bhiodh feadhainn eile dhiubh, chuireadh iad prin' as an úrlar 's chuireadh iad botul falamh air mullach an cinn 's reachadh acá air a dhol sios gus an toireadh iad a' phrin as a' lar le 'm fiaclan agus tilleadh air n-ais gus am biodh iad 'nan seasamh is am botul fhathast air mullach an cinn gun char a chuir dheth. 'S e duine gu math ainneamh a dheanadh sin: dh' fheumadh tu bhith cho súbailte agus dh'fheumadh tu bhith falbh cho fáillidh nuair a bha am botul air do cheann. Dh'fheumadh tu am botul a' chuir air ais 's gum biodh e as an aon suidheachadh 's a bha e nuair a bha thu togail a' phrin as an úrlar. 'S e faighinn sios air a' lar a bha duilich. Bha Creachadh a' Bhodaich duilich gu leór. Bha da dhealg do mhaide ud cuimseach garbh agus iad air an snaidheadh gu ceann biorach orra 's fear dhiubh sin as gach láimh. 'S bha iad eadar bárr nan cas agus air na lamhan air an úrlar agus dh'fheumadh iad falbh air an socair sios. Bha prin' air a chuir 'sa lar aig astar los gu ruigeadh tu air. Ge b'e gu dé bha 'n t-astar air a thomhas, bha prin' air a chuir sios agus

Traditional Games

They used to play games in the houses and some of these were fairly difficult. For instance, when a man would sit on a round bottle placed on the floor and put his heel on top of the other foot and would try to thread a needle while sitting on the bottle; that was difficult to do. And they used to make fun of the man: "Why don't you stay still?" He would go back and forth. But when you were used to the game you would get so accustomed to it that the thread would be in one hand and the needle in the other and you could bring them together. And if you were quick enough when you hit the needle you could get the thread into the eye — it was a big needle — and when you let go of the thread it would stay in there. And the next time you swung back you could get hold of the thread and pulí it. It was difficult; you would have to try quite often. Other people used to place a pin in the floor and an empty bottle on the top of their heads and they were able to bend down and take the pin out of the floor with their teeth and stand back up still with the bottle on the top of their heads without upsetting it. It was rare man who could do it: you had to be so supple and go so gently when the bottle was on your head. You had to to put the bottle back so that it would be in the same position as it was when you were taking the pin out of the floor. Getting down to the floor was the difficult part. Robbing the Oíd Man was a difficult game. You held two fairly rough pins of wood carved to a sharp point at the ends, one in each hand. And people would balance horizontally on the tips of their toes with their hands on the floor and would have to go along slowly. There was a sewing pin fixed in the floor at some distance so that you could reach it. However long the measured distance was, the pin was fixed there and

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dh'fheumadh tu bhith bruidhinn nuair a bha thu falbh. Dh'fhoighneachdadh fear, "Cá bheil thu dol, a dhuine bhochd?" "Tha mi dol a chreachadh a' bhodaich." "Agus bheil thu cinnteach gun creach?" "Air a' chluais ud gun creach." Dh'fheumadh tu thu-fhéin a chumail air bárr do chas agus an cudthrom air a' láimh seo agus dh'fheumadh tu beantail dha 'n chluais: "Air a' chluais ud gun creach." Agus dh'fheumadh tu an uair sin a dhol air 'n aghaidh píos. "Cá bheil thu a' dol a dhuine bhochd?" "Tha mi dol a chreachadh a' bhodaich." "Bheil thu cinnteach gun creach?" "Air a' chluais ud gun creach." Mura biodh tu cómhnard reachadh car dhiot. Agus reachadh fhoighneachd ma dh'fhaoidte dhiot an darna turus: dh'fheumadh tu dhol bho chluais gu cluais 's nuair a chaidh thu sios is fhuair thu am prin' thoirt as a' lar le d' fhiaclan bha thu an uair sin a' tóiseachadh air tilleadh air n-ais. "Cá robh thu, a dhuine bhochd?" "Bha mi creachadh a' bhodaich." '"S a bheil thu cinnteach gun do chreach?" "Air a' chluais ud gun do chreach." Is nuair a rachadh e foighneachd a rithist bha da thurus agad ri freagairt mar sin mum faigheadh tu tilleadh air n ais gus éirigh 'nad sheasamh. Bha roinn do dh'obair air a dhol mu chuairt air a' ghnothach. Airson nan cleasan eile a bh' acá, bha Leum a' Bhradain. Bha thu dol sios air an ürlar agus bha thu an uair sin a' gearradh leum 's bha thu togail bárr do chas far a' láir 's bha thu bualadh do lamhan ri chéile agus tu taobh os cionn an úrlair. 'S nuair a bha thu dol sios bha bárr do chas a' bualadh air a' lar agus do dhá láimh mar a bha thu roimhe. Dh' fhaodadh tu sin a dheanamh cho trie 's a thogradh tu. Nan deanadh tu aon turus e bha gu leór ann. Ach duine sam bith a rachadh aige air a dheanamh aon turus fhéin, cha robh e furasda, mun éireadh tu suas far an úrlair agus do dhá láimh a bhualadh ri chéile. 'S tha mi smaointinn gum biodh iad bualadh an da sháil ri chéile; nuair a dh'éireadh iad suas bhuaileadh iad an sáiltean ri chéile agus an da láimh. 'S bha iad a' tilleadh air n-ais 's bha iad a' dol air an úrlar mar a bha iad roimhe. Cha robh e furasda idir.

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you had to talk as you were going toward it. Somebody would ask, "Where are you going, my poor man?" "I am going to rob the oíd man." "And are you sure that you will?" "By that ear I will." You had to keep yourself on the ends of your feet and your weight on one hand while you touched the ear: "By that ear I will." Then you had to go forward another distance. "Where are you going my poor man?" "I am going to rob the oíd man." "Are you certain that you will?" "By that ear I will." Unless you were level your body would roll over. And then you might be asked a second time on your return journey. You had to go from ear to ear and once you went along and got the pin out of the íloor with your teeth, you would begin to come back. "Where were you my poor man?" "I was robbing the oíd man." "And are you certain that you did?" "By that ear I did." And when that was asked again you had two chances to answer that way before you managed to return and assume a standing position. There was a lot of work involved in the game. As for the rest of the games that they played there was the Salmon's Leap. You would go along the floor and then you would make a leap.1 You lifted the tips of your feet from the floor and struck your hands together as you were above the floor. And when you carne down the tips of your feet and your two hands struck the floor in the same position as before. You could do that as often as you wished. If you could do it once that was enough. But for anyone who was able to do it even once it wasn't easy, getting up off the floor and clapping your hands together. And I believe that they used to strike their two heels together; when they went up they would strike their two heels together and their two hands. Then they would come back down onto the floor in the position that they were in before. It was not at all easy.

Fios Leannain

Bha neart do ghnothaichean ann a bh' acá mu dheidhinn na gealaicheadh úire. Bha géilleachdainn aig feadhainn, a' cheud shealladh a chitheadh iad dhe 'n ghealaich úir bha rann acá a ghabhadh iad dha 'n ghealaich. 'S ann aig Ealasaid Cheanadach a chuala mi 'n rann, nighean do Ghilleasbuig Ceanadach. Agus bha agaibh ri choimhead fairis air ur gualainn chli agus na bha fo 'r cois a thogail: ploc neo bioran na gu dé bhiodh ann. Ach bha sibh a' grádhainn as an am a bha sibh a' coimhead air a' ghealaich, "A ghealaich üir 's a ghealaich fhior, Innis dhomhsa gun bhreug gu dé 'n taobh a tha mo leannan. An t-aodach a tha e cosg Agus an dath a th; air a ghruaig." 'S nuair a chanadh sibh a' rann sin bha sibh a' cromadh sios 's a' togail rudeiginn dhe na bha fo 'r cois agus 'ga thoirt sin dhachaidh agus 'ga chuir fo 'r ceann 's a' cadal air. Agus air réir a' chreidsinn a bh' acá as a' ghnothach chitheadh iad ann am bruadar an leannan. Ach bha cleas eile acá agus dh'fhalbhadh iad amach - 's ann amach an comhair an cúil a bha iad a' dol - agus bha iad a' buain ploc na ugh na rud air choireiginn. Thogadh iad rud dhe 'n talamh agus bheireadh iad leo sin astaigh agus bhathar an uair sin 'ga bhristeadh sin suas 's 'ga thoirt as a' chéile feuch am faigheadh iad róinein ann: róinein gruaigeadh sam bith neo fionnadh. Nam faigheadh iad róinein ann ged a b'ann far creutair air choireiginn a thigeadh e - 's e bu dóch' a bhith ann - bhiodh iad a' deanamh amach gur e sin an dath a bhiodh air gruaig an leannain. Agus bheireadh iad leo an róinein a bha sin cúramach. Bheireadh iad leo dhachaidh sin agus agus bha iad 'ga chuir sin fo chluasag agus bha iad a' bruadal air: chitheadh iad aisling agus chitheadh iad an leannan as an aisling a bhiodh a' sin. Chuala mi naidheachd air fear agus bha iad air Oidhche Shamhna ann an taigh. Agus chaidh esan amach a dh'iarraidh ploc. Agus fhad

Marriage Premonitions

People used to have a large number of beliefs about the new moon. There was one belief about the first sight of the new moon and a rhyme people would recite to it. I heard the rhyme from Elizabeth Kennedy, a daughter of Archie Kennedy.1 And you had to look over your left shoulder and pick up whatever was under your foot - a clod or a stick or whatever it was - and recite while you looked at the moon. New moon and moon of truth, Tell me without falsehood in what direction my love lies. The clothes that he wears And the colour of his hair.

And as you were reciting the rhyme you would bend down and pick up whatever was under your foot and take it home and put it under your head and sleep on it. And according to the belief you would see your future love in a dream. There was another game in which people would go outside — they used to go out backwards - and pick up a clod or a piece of earth or some such thing.2 They would pick something off the ground and bring it inside and then it would be broken up and taken apart to see if they could find a hair in it: any human hair or animaPs fur. If they found a hair, even if it carne from some animal - as was most likely - they used to think that that was the hair colour of their future lover. They would take the hair with them carefully. They would take it home and put it under a pillow and dream on it; they would have a dream and they would see their lover in the dream. I heard a story about one man when people were in a house on Halloween night. The man went outside to find a clod and

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's a bha esan amuigh, spion fear róinein a dmim a' choin 's chum e greim air a' seo. 'S nuair a thánaig esan astaigh 's am ploc aige 's ann a dh'fheumte a riarachadh: píos thoirt dha 'n h-uile h-aon. 'S thugadh píos dha 'n fhear seo dha 'n phloc mar a bha 'n córr. "Seo," ors' esan, "an róinein a fhuair mi as a' phloc." Agus cha robh fhios aigesan dé thachair. Cha robh fhios aige air sian. Cha robh fhios aige riamh gur e cleas a rinneadh air. 'S dh'innis e dhomhsa car mun am a phós e - cha n-eil beachd a'm a robh e pósda neo bha e deiseil gu pósadh as an am — is dh'innis e dhomhsa 'n naidheachd mun oidhche a bh'ann air Oidhche Shamhna. Fhuair iad róinein as a' phloc 's thuirt e gun do chuir e an róinein sin fo 'n chluasaig 's chunnaic e 'n té a bha seo. Cha b' aithne dha idir i, ach chunnaic e i. 'S air a' cheud turus a chunnaic e i aig dannsa greis as a dheaghaidh sin dh'aithnich e i. Agus sin an té a phós e. Fhuair iad an róinein: ged a b' ann a druim a' choin a thánaig e dh'oibrich e amach dhaibh. Bha gnothaichean cho neónach as an dóigh sin ann. Agus bhiodh neart do chomharra neo do dhóigheannan acá air áireamh a thoirt 's air gnothaichean. Thilgeadh iad bróg fairis air mullach taighe. Tha mi smaointinn gu robh iad a' cuir an cúl ris an taigh; neo ma 's e a7 lámh dheas leis an caitheadh tu spitheag, 's ann leis a' láimh chli a dh' fheumadh tu a' bhróg a thilgeadh. 'S ann a dh'fheumadh iad a tilgeadh fairis 's ge b'e gu dé an taobh a bha aghaidh na bróigeadh nuair a chaidh i a nuil dha 'n taobh eile, sin an taobh as an robh an leannan. Ach airson nan cleasan eile a bhiodh acá, mar a bha bogadh an fháinne anns a' ghloine uisge, bha sin cumanta gu leór, ach dheanadh duine sam bith sin. Cha robh sin duilich a dheanamh ann. Bha iad a' faighinn róinein gruaigeadh 's 'ga chuir thro 'n fháinne-phósda. Agus bha iad a' ligeil an fháinne sios tri turuis as a' ghloine uisge. Agus cha robh e buileach lán: bhiodh píos air fhágail falamh aig bárr an uisge 's nach beanadh am fáinne dha 'n uisge. 'S nuair a rachadh sin a thogail as an uisge dh'fhalbhadh a' fáinne air ais 's air adhart agus bhuaileadh e ann an taobh na gloineadh a nuil 's a nall 's a h-uile turus a bhuaileadh e, rachadh a chunntais. Ma thug e tri buillean, uill sin tri bliadhna mum pósadh an duine a bha iad a7 bogadh an fháinne air a shon. Agus ann an iomadh cas, cha ghluaiseadh am fáinne idir - cha bhiodh e ach a 7 déilearachd air ais 's

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while he was outside someone else plucked a hair from the dog's back and held on to it. When the man carne inside with the clod/ it had to be divided — a piece given to everyone — and a piece of the clod was given to the other man along with everyone else. "Here," said he, "is the hair that I round in the clod." And the first man didn't know what had happened. He didn't know anything about it. He had no idea that a trick had been played on him. And he told me around the time that he married - I don't remember whether he was married or whether he was just ready to be married at the time - he told me the story about that Halloween night. They got a hair from the clod and he said that he put the hair under the pillow and he saw a certain woman. He didn't know her at all, but he saw her. And the first time that he saw her at a dance some time later he recognized her, and that was the one he married. Even though the hair carne from the dog's back it worked out for them. Things were so mysterious that way. People had many signs and ways of accounting for things.3 They used to throw a shoe over the top of the roof of the house. I think that they turned their back to the house; or if you threw a pebble with your right hand then you would have to throw the shoe with your left hand. They had to throw it over and whatever direction the toe of the shoe was pointing when it landed was the direction in which one's lover was to be found. And there were other games, such as dipping the ring in a glass of water.4 That was common enough and anyone could do that; it wasn't difficult to do. They used to get a human hair and put it through a wedding ring. And then they let the ring down three times into the glass of water (holding it by the hair). The glass was not completely full: there was a part left empty so that the ring would not touch the water. And when the ring was lifted out of the water it would swing back and forth and strike each side of the glass. Every time that it struck was counted. If it struck three times it meant three years before the man married for whom they were dipping the ring. In many cases the ring wouldn't move at all. It would

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air 'n adhart 's cha n-fhalbhadh e a nuil fada gu leór airson a' ghloine a bhualadh. Cha robh an duine sin a' dol a phósadh co-dhiubh. Agus bha cleas eile acá: a' toirt uisge a allt-cricheadh - allt a bh; eadar fearann dithist, mar gum biodh. Agus rachadh tu sios dha 'n allt a bha sin 's thogadh tu balgam uisge as an allt. Agus ge b'e có an taigh a bha thu dol thuige air chéilidh air Oidhche Shamhna, bha thu seasamh amuigh aig an uinneag neo aig an dorust far an cluinneadh tu a' bhruidhinn a bhiodh astaigh. Agus dh'éibheadh iad air ainm air choireiginn astaigh ann a' sin is ge b'e an t-ainm a dh'éibh iad astaigh a' sin, b'e sin ainm an mear neo an té a bha an neach a bh' ann a' dol a phósadh. Uill, bha iad a' géilleachdainn dha - air réir mar a fhuair mi eachdraidh air. Agus bha a' chunntais ñor air réir mar a thachair o chionn b' aithne dhomh grunn do dh'fhir a chaidh gu taigh agus cha robh comasach air uisge a chumail 'na bheul ach aonfhear dhiubh, nuair a chaidh triüir acá sios dha 'n allt-cricheadh agus thog iad balgam as an allt. Ach nuair a bha fear dhiubh togail a bhalgam thánaig rudeiginn mar a bha smodal a bha tighinn anuas leis an t-sruth, chaidh e 'na bheul 's chaith e sin amach as a bheul. Is nuair a bha fear eile a' direadh anuas taobh na bruaich dh' ionnsaidh a' rathaid thánaig sleamhneachas far na sheas e air clach na rudeiginn agus lig e 'n t-uisge as a bheul. Ach chum am fear eile air agus tha fhios nach do bhruidhinn e 's uisge 'na bheul agus nuair a ránaig iad dh' ionnsaidh an taighe, dh'fhuirich a h-uile h-aon acá sámhach. Bha fios acá gu robh an t-uisge aige 'na bheul is dh'fhuirich iad uile 'nan tosd is chaidh iad suas. Is chaidh éigheachd air té shuas is iad ag iomairt chairtean aig a' bhórd is dh'éibh té do chacha oirre, air a h-ainm. Ge b'e dé a bh' ann dh'éibh i amach air a h-ainm agus chuala iad uile ach cha robh uisge am beul gin ach an aonfhear. Agus an t-ainm a dh'éibh iad, b'e sin a' cheud ainm a bh' air an té a phós an duine sin. Dh'innis fear dhe na bha cómhla rinn, dh'innis e dhuinn an naidheachd 's bha am fear seo 'sa láthair nuair a bha e astaigh. 'S thuirt máthair a' ghille bha seo a bha 'g innse na naidheachd, thuirt i ris an fhear eile, "O," ors' ise, "tha mi cinnteach gur e sin an t-ainm a bhios air a' bhoireannach a phósas tusa." Agus 's e sin a' cheud ainm a bh' oirre, oír as i a' cheud ainm a chuaP iad.

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swing back and forth and would not go far enough to strike the glass, so that man wasn't going to marry. There was another game that they had, taking water from a boundary stream, a stream that ran between two properties.5 You would go down to the stream and you would take up a mouthful of water. And whatever house you were going to visit on Halloween night, you would stand outside at the window or the door where you could hear the conversation going on inside. They would cali out some ñame inside and whatever ñame they called was the ñame of the man or the woman that the person was going to marry. Well, the people believed in it - at least according to the story that I heard. And the account was true of what happened, because I knew a group of men who went to a house and only one of them had been able to keep the water in his mouth after the three of them had gone down to the boundary stream and each had taken a mouthful from the stream. When one of them was taking his mouthful, something such as flotsam coming down with the current went into his mouth and he expelled it from his mouth. And when the other was climbing up the bank to the road he hit a slippery place, on a rock or something, and let the water out of his mouth. But the third man continued on and to be sure he did not talk at all with water in his mouth, and when they carne to the house they all remained quiet. They knew that he had the water in his mouth and they all remained silent as they went on up. And a woman was called for while they were playing cards at the table; somebody called her by ñame. Whatever the reason was she called out her ñame, and they all heard but none of them had water in his mouth but that one alone. And the ñame that was called out was the first ñame of the woman that the man married. One of the people along with us told us the story; he was also present in the house at the time the mother of the lad who told us the story said to the man in question, "Oh," said she, "I am sure that is the ñame the woman will have whom you marry." And that was her ñame, for that was the first ñame they heard.

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Chuala mi naidheachd aig té elle air triúir - triúir nigheanan - a chaidh gu allt agus thog iad uisge. Thug an triúir acá balgam do dh'uisge leo as an allt a bha seo agus chaidh iad suas gu fáillidh dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. Agus dh'éibh cuideiginn dhe na bh' aig a' bhórd, dh'éibh e air cuideiginn dhe na a bha ag iomairt nan cairtean aig an am. 'S an t-ainm a dh'éibh an duine bha sin, 's e sin an t-ainm a bh' air an triúir. Oir phós a h-uile té dhe na boireannaich sin: phós iad fear agus sin an t-ainm a bh' air. Bha an aon ainm air companach a h-uile té dhiubh. Cha b'ann aig an aon am a phós iad — bha iad a nuil 's a nall 's an aimsir - ach 's e an aon ainm a thánaig amach air a h-uile companach. Agus uime sin bha e coltach gum bhiodh e ag amas co-dhiubh a bhiodh creideas air a thoirt dha neo nach biodh ach an t-amas.

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I heard a story from another woman about three people three girls — who went down to the stream and took up water. The three of thern took a mouthful of water from the stream and proceeded stealthily toward the house. And someone at the table called out to someone else who was playing cards at the time, and the ñame called out there was the first ñame of their future husbands. And all those women married, and married a man by that ñame. All their husbands had the same ñame. They did not all marry at the same time - they travelled back and forth in those days - but all the husbands turned out to have the same ñame. And for that reason it seems that these things used to happen, whether people believed in it or whether it was thought to be by chance.

Manaidhean, Giseagan, is Dá-Shealladh

Tha mise an duil gu robh cuid mhór dhe na gnothaichean a chañas feadhainn, nach robh ann ach giseagan. Ach tha mise an dúil fhathast gu robh seadh aig a' ghnothach a bh' ann 's gu robh iad a' thachairt. Co-dhiubh bha sin fior na breug bha iad a' géilleachdainn dha 's ma dh'fhaoidte an fheadhainn a bha géilleachdainn dha, gura h-e cho beachdail ;s a bha iad: feumaidh gu robh manadh aig gnothaichean nach robh daoine toirt fo near. Tha cuid mhór dhiubh an diugh nach eil a' toirt fo near a chionn tha gnothaichean air atharrachadh cho mor; cha n-eil gnothaichean a7 dol air 'n aghaidh ann mar a bha iad as an aimsir sin. Agus uime sin canaidh daoine an diugh nach robh a leithid ann co-dhiubh - nach robh ann ach faoin-bheachd a bh' aig na daoine — 's tha e dol seachad gun fhios dhaibh. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh 'n comharra ann 'sa mhadainn an diugh a' rud a bha dol a thachairt do neach ach cha n-fhaca an duine sin an comharra 's chuir e seachad a' latha 's thachair na nithean a bha seo dha 's cha robh fios aige air sian gus na thachair iad dha. Ach nam biodh sanáis aige tráth, e bhith creidsinn as na gnothaichean agus e bhith furachail, ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh e air faicinn mar a bha gnothaichean. Cha n-eil e ach mar a tha iad a thaobh tuairmse thoirt air an t-side a tha gu tachairt. Nuair a chi iad comharran sónraichte anns an iarmailt agus a' falbh air réir an t-soirbheis, mar a tha a' ghaoth ag atharrachadh neo a' séideadh, bheir iad tuairmse mhath air an t-side a tha gu tighinn. Agus sin mar a tha an fheadhainn a tha rud ris an can iad na giseagan annta - a tha a' géilleachdainn do ghnothaichean mar sin - agus air a tháilleabh sin, tha iad ag obrachadh dhaibh. Sin mo bharail-sa air a' ghnothach a thaobh tha beagan dhe 'n fhiosrachadh sin agam fhin. Agus air a tháilleabh sin feumaidh mi chreidsinn ann; cha n-eil mi 'g iarraidh a bhith creidsinn ach tha e ri bhith ann agus cha n-eil dóigh air a sheachnadh.

Signs, Superstitions, and Second Sight

I believe that many of the events that people related amounted to no more than superstitions. Yet I also believe that there was some substance to people's beliefs and some events of this kind did actually take place. Whether they were trae or not people believed they occurred and perhaps those who believed did so because they were so observant; there must have been portents that many people did not notice. There are many today who do not take account of such happenings because circumstances have changed so much; life is not going on the way it did in those times. For that reason people today will claim that experiences of that sort never existed - that it was only people's imagination - and these experiences pass them by without their knowing. Perhaps there was a sign this morning that such an event was going to happen to a person, but he didn't see it and passed the day and these things happened to him and he had no knowledge of them until they occurred. But if he had had some warning, and had believed in such warnings and been attentive, perhaps he would have seen what might happen. It is no different from attempts to predict the weather. When they see certain signs in the sky and account for the winds, how the wind changes the direction it blows, some people can make a good guess at the weather in store. And it is the same with people who possess what are called giseagan "superstitions" - who believe in such things - and as a result of that they work for these people. That is my own opinión on the matter because I have had some of that experience myself. And on account of that I must believe; I don't particularly want to believe but if it must be there is no way to avoid it.

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Am measg a h-uile nithean a bh' ann eadar sean-fhacail is gnáthchainnt is úrnaigh is gach eile bha seórsa do ghéilleachdainn acá do rudan a bhiodh a' tachairt: rudan a bhiodh iad a' faicinn 's a' cluinntinn. ;S bha rud ris an canadh iad frith. B'e sin da shliseag a bha dol fairis air a chéile air an úrlar. Nan tachradh do chuideiginn a bhith coiseachd 's gu robh biorain air an úrlar 's bhuail iad le 'n cois annta gun fios neo gun farbhan dheth dhaibh; air neo ma dh'fhaoidte gur e 'n cu neo an cat a bhuail ann a' sliseag a bh' air an úrlar 'san dol fairis. Chuir iad tarsainn air a' chéile iad mar gum biodh crois 's chanadh iad, "Nach fhaic sibh a' frith bhriagh a th' air an úrlar? Cha n-fhada gus ana faigh sibh litir." Agus tha mi 'n dúil nuair a chitheadh iad air réir cho math 's a bha i coimhead gum biodh dúil acá ri naidheachd mhath. Bha rud ann ris an canadh iad an currachd rath. Chanadh iad, "Siod agad fear a rugadh leis a; churrachd rath": cho sealbhach 's a bha e 's mar a thogadh e air as a h-uile dóigh. Bha mi seanachas air rath agus air mi-rian a bhiodh air feadhainn. Agus a nist bha comharran eile acá air nithean. Chanadh fear 's e suathadh a bhilean, "Gu dearbh, tha sgriob póige (neo sgriob drama) orm fhin an diugh." Agus bha an tachas 'na bhilean as an am. Agus chanadh fear, "Gu dearbh, tha mi fhin a' dol a bhreith air láimh air coigreach an diugh." "Agus gu dé an dóigh as a bheil sin?" "O, tha an tachas a tha 'nana dheárna as a' láimh dheas." Neo chanadh neach air choireiginn, "Gu dearbh, tha mi dol a dh'fhaighinn airgiod ann an úine ghoirid. Tha tachas ann am dheárna chli." Agus chanadh fear eile, "Ach gu dé a nist is ciall dha nuair a bhios súil neach a' breabadaich?" 'S e naidheachd mhath a bhiodh ann an t-súil dheas a bhith ann agus 's e naidheachd bhochd a bhiodh ann - nach biodh cho math sin - as an t-súil thoisgeil. Agus chanadh neach eile, "Día ach cho teth 's a tha nao chluas! Cha mhór nach eil i gabhail leis a' bhláthas a th' innte." Agus, "Tha cuideiginn a' bruidhinn mu 'm dheoghainn." Dh' fhoighneachdte dha 'n duine, "An e do chluas dheas na do chluas thoisgeil a th' ann?" "O, mo chluas thoisgeil." "O, ma tha, tha e math gu leór." "'S gu dé 'n t-aobhar?" Chanadh a' fear sin 's gun fios aige mu dheidhinn. Ach bhiodh seann té air choireiginn na seann duine a' cómhradh ris. "O, nuair bhios am bláthas 'nad chluais dheas tha iad a' deanamh moran do bhruidhinn mu 'd dheidhinn agus gu dearbh cha n-eil i ma dh'fhaoidte glé mhath. Ach

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Along with all the proverbs, expressions, prayers and so on that there used to be, people had a sort of a belief in certain signs that would occur, things that they used to see and hear. And there was one which they called an augury, which consisted of two wood chips crossed over each other on the floor. If a person happened to be walking where there were sticks on the floor and knocked them with his foot without meaning to or intending to, or perhaps the dog or the cat would hit a chip of wood on the floor as they were going over them, he or she would put them over each other in the form of a cross and people would say, "Do you not see the fine augury on the floor? It won't be long before you get a letter." And I believe when they saw it they would expect good news according to how good the augury looked.1 There was also what people used to cali the cap of luck (caul).2 They used to say, "There is a man born with a cap of luck"; how lucky he was and how well he got on in every way. I was talking about the good luck and bad luck that people would experience.3 Now there were other signs they had regarding occurrences. Somebody would say, rubbing his lips, "Indeed, I feel the itch of a kiss (or the itch of a dram) today." And there was indeed an itch on his lips at the time. And somebody else would say, "Indeed, I am going to shake the hand of a stranger today." "And how do you mean that?" "Oh, there is an itch in the palm of my right hand." Or someone might say, " Surely I am going to receive some money in a short time. There is an itch in my left palm." And another man would say, "And what does it mean when a person's eye is quivering?" It was good news if it was the right eye and it was poor news - not so good at all - if it was the left eye. And another might say, "Lord how hot my ear is! It's almost on fire with the warmth in it. Someone is talking about me." People would ask the man, "Is it your right ear or your left ear?" "Oh, my left ear." "Oh, well then, that's good enough." "And what is the reason for that?" He would say that without knowing. But some oíd woman or oíd man would be talking to him. "Well, when the heat is in your right ear they are making a lot of talk about you and indeed it is probably not very good.

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nuair a bhios am bláthas mor tha sin 'nad chluais thoisgeil, tha iad a' gabhail do leisgeul." Trie bha iad a' cantail nuair a chluinneadh iad buille mar gu seasadh neach air a' starsaich. Cha n-e gu robh iad a' bualadh an doruist idir, bheil sibh tuigsinn; cha robh air toirt gnogadh dha 'n dorust ach gun cluinneadh iad saltairt mar gun cuireadh cuideiginn a chas air a' starsach agus gun duine ann. 'S chanadh iad, "Cha n-fhada gus an tig coigreach dh'ionnsaidh an taighe. An cuala sibh buille na coiseadh?" Mar a bha iomadh rud a bhiodh iad a' géilleachdainn dhaibh, nuair a ghairmeadh an coileach air an starsaich aig an dorus 's e manadh coigreach a bh' ann: gu robh e tighinn dh' ionnsaidh an taighe. Agus nuair a chluinneadh iad piob 'nan cluais mar gum biodh — 's minig a' rud mar gum biodh big ri chluinntinn 'nan cluais - chanadh iad gu robh iad a' dol a dh'fhaighinn naidheachd báis. Am measg a h-uile rud - comharran is gnothaichean dha 'n ghné sin a bhiodh iad a' seanachas mu dheidhinn - chuala mi iad a' bruidhinn air dreag. Agus tha e coltach gu robh e mar gum biodh runnagan - mar a bheir iad a' runnag smúide - ach gu robh seo a' falbh iseal. Agus chitheadh iad a' solust a bha seo a' dol seachad 's bha e coltach gum biodh dreósaichean na earball do sholust as a dheaghaidh is mar a b' fhaide bhiodh e - mar bu mhotha bhiodh do sholust air a chúl -'se fear-teagaisg a bhiodh a sin: pears'-eaglais a bhiodh ann. Sagart neo ministear-teagaisg a bhiodh ann a' sin 's tha fhios gum biodh am pobull 'ga leantail a' dol dha 'n tórradh agus 's e seo a' fagail na dreag aig fear dhiubh sin na bu fhaide. Bhiodh i toirt amach barrachd fad anns an iarmailt na as an adhar gu robh i na bhiodh dreag neach cumanta. Cha n-fhaca mise dreag riamh ach gun cuala mi bruidhinn oirre trie gu leór. Bhiodh iad a' bruidhinn air eun nuair a thigeadh eun beag astaigh. ;S e droch rud a bh' ann an eun beag a thighinn astaigh dha 'n taigh, mar a bha uiseag, dreólan na gin dhiubh sin. Agus nan tigeadh fear dhiubh sin astaigh agus a bhiodh ann a' freasdal aona chas, 's e ñor dhroch-naidheachd a bh' ann. Agus bhiodh iad an cómhnaidh fo eagal mor nam biodh fear an taighe air falbh na fear sam bith a mhuinntir an taighe air falbh air turus 's gun tánaig eun astaigh. Bhiodh iad fo chüram mhór, mhór gus an tilleadh e dhachaidh air eagal 's gura h-e droch-naidheachd a bha dol a thighinn air: gun do dh'éirich rudeiginn dha. Agus nam faigheadh iad idir cothrom, 's e an t-eun a ghlacadh 's

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But when that great heat is in your left ear, they are making excuses for you." And people might hear a sound as if somebody were on the threshold.4 They weren't hitting the door at all, you understand; there was no knock on the door but you would hear the stamping as if somebody put his f oot on the threshold though no one was there. And they would say, "It won't be long before a stranger comes to the house. Did you hear the footfall?" Like many other things they believed in, they believed that when the rooster crowed at the threshold of the door it was a sign that a stranger was coming, that he was going to come to the house. And when they heard a shrill sound like a bagpipe in their ear they used to say that they were going to get news of death.5 Among all the things - signs and things of that sort that they used to talk about -1 heard them talking about the dreag.6 It seems that it was like stars - as they say a shooting star except that it passed very low. They would see the light going past and it would look as if there were sparks or a tail of light following in its trail. The longer it was - the more light there was behind it - that would be a teacher or that would be a clergyman. It might be a priest or a teaching minister and since the congregation would follow him to the funeral, that accounted for the dreag of one of them being longer. It would be drawn out longer in the firmament or the sky than that of a lay person. I never saw the dreag but I heard it being described quite often. People would talk about birds, particularly when a small bird entered the house.7 It was a bad sign for a small bird such as a robin or wren or any of those to enter. And if any of these entered using only one foot, it was a very bad sign indeed. People were always extremely frightened if the man of the house was on a journey or anybody at all belonging to the household was away on a journey and a bird carne inside. They would be very, very concerned until he returned home for fear that bad news was going to arrive about him, that something had happened to him. And if they had the chance

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fhaicinn a robh da chois air. Bhiodh iad a' seanachas cuideachd mu dheoghainn feadhainn nach robh sealbhach tighinn mu chuairt a thaobh f ar am biodh iad ag obair nam biodh iad ag obair le innealan sam bith co-dhiubh 's e muileann a bhiodh ann na gu dé 'n uidheam a bhiodh ann, nuair a thóisicheadh gnothaichean air a dhol ceárr - mar is minig a thachair bhiodh iad ag órdachadh gun tigeadh a leithid seo do dhuine a bha anns a' nábachd air turus agus bha iad am barail 's am beachd gum biodh a h-uile sian ann an órdadh tuilleadh — gum biodh sealbh orra. Ach bha iad 'ga chunntais 'na dhroch-mhanadh buileach nan tachradh an duine sin riu air rathad 's iad a' dol air ceann tumis dha 'n bhaile gu margadh neo sian. Cha bu toil leo idir, idir a' cheart duine bha sin a thachairt riu air rathad ged a bha e cho math tighinn dh'ionnsaidh a' mhuilinn. A' cheud aon a thachradh ri neach a bha a 7 dol air ceann tumis sónraichte sam bith, bha iad 'ga chunntais ma dh'fhaoidte gum biodh iad sealbhach 's ma dh'fhaoidte nach biodh. Agus mar a bha fear a dh'eug a bhean air 's phós e a rithist 's bha aon nighean aige; agus cha robh an nighean agus a muime a' faighinn air 'n aghaidh glé mhath idir. Cha robh iad glé cháirdeil. 'S latha bha a muime a' dol dha 'n bhüth na dh'áiteiginn thachair an nighean rithe aig an dorust agus thuirt i rithe, "Guma truagh thusa mura bi sealbh mhath ormsa 's tu a' cheud aon a thachair rium air mo thurus." Thuirt an nighean, "Cha n-eil iad 'gam chunntais-sa fortanach do dhuine sam bith a thachairt ris." "Ga rireabh," ors' ise. "O, 's ann," ors' an nighean, "dha rireabh. 'S mise a' cheud aon a thachair ri m'athair a' latha a bha e dol dh'ur n-iarraidh agus gu dearbh," ors' ise, "cha robh e fortanach." A nist bho 'n a bha mi 'san t-seanachas seo, tha mi dol a bhruidhinn air an t-seórsa giseagan a bhiodh acá. Bha iad 'ga chunntais nam biodh iad a' dol air ceann tumis - co-dhiubh bhiodh iad a' dol a shealgaireachd neo a dh'iarraidh chaoraich a bh'air seachran orra nan tilgeadh tu seann-bhróg as an deaghaidh bha iad 'ga chunntais gu robh e sealbhach. Agus airson tilleadh, cha robh iad 'ga chunntais 'na sealbh mhath idir idir ma bha duine dol air ceann turuis 's rinn e diochuimhne bheag 's b'fheudar dha tilleadh astaigh a dh'iarraidh ni air choireiginn a dh'fhág e a bu chóir dha thoirt leis; 's e mi-shealbh a bh' ann dha rireabh gum feumadh e tilleadh air n-ais a dh'iarraidh an ni a bha sin. 'S nam biodh fear a' dol a shealgaireachd na a' dol a

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at all, they would catch the bird to see whether it had two feet. They used to talk also about unlucky people coming around where they were working.8 If they were working with tools of any kind, whether it was a mili or whatever kind of gear, when things would begin to go wrong - as often happened they would order a certain man in the neighbourhood to journey over. They believed strongly that everything would be in order again - that they would be lucky. But they took it as a very bad sign altogether if that same man met them on the road when they were starting a journey to town or to market or anything. They did not at all like the man to meet them on a road even though he was so good when he carne to the mili. The first person to meet anyone starting out on any particular journey, they thought would either bring them luck or not.9 This is what happened to a man whose wife died and who married again and had one daughter from the first marriage. The daughter and the stepmother did not get along very well at all. They were not very friendly. And one day as her stepmother was going to the store or somewhere the daughter met her at the door and she said to the daughter, " Won't it be too bad for you unless I have good luck, since you are the first one that I met on my journey." The daughter replied, "They don't consider me lucky for anybody to meet/' "Indeed," replied her stepmother. "Oh yes indeed," said the daughter. "I was the first one to meet my father the day that he was going to fetch you, and indeed, he was not lucky." While we are on this subject, I am going to describe the kinds of giseagan "superstitions" that people held.10 If they were going to start out on a journey - whether they were going hunting or to find sheep that had strayed - if you threw an oíd shoe after them they considered it lucky. As for returning, they did not consider it good luck at all if a man was starting out on a journey and forgot a small detail and had to return inside to fetch something that he had left and should have taken; it was indeed very bad luck for him to have to go

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dh'iasgach bhiodh iad a' bacail duine éigheach as a dheaghaidh c' áite robh e dol na siají dheth sin. Tha naidheachd agam air a leithid fheadhainn, bha e air a chantail gun cuireadh iad long ann an cali. 'S bha Micheal Mac 'Illeain (Micheal lain Chaluim Óig ;ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha) ag innse dhomh naidheachd. 'S ann bho bheul-aithris a thánaig i cinnteach gu leór, a thaobh cha deanadh esan leubhadh. Agus bha e 'g innse mun té bha seo agus bha iad a' cantail gun deanadh i buidseachd: gu rachadh aice air long a chuir an cali. Agus co-dhiubh 'sea h-athair neo có bha cuir teagamh as a' ghnothach, dh'iarr e oirre seo a dhearbhadh. Agus dh'iarr i ugh agus chuir i an t-ugh ann am broinn na bróigeadh 's bha i tulgadh na bróigeadh a nuil 's a nall air reír mar a thug e dhomhsa a 7 sgeul. Agus bha long amuigh air an fhairgidh agus nuair a thugadh súil bha 'n long a' tuaineal a nuil 's a nall anns na tonnan mar a bha ise ag obrachadh na bróig', tha e coltach. Agus thugadh oirre sgur. Cha n-eil cuimhn' agam gu dé thuirt Mac'Illeain a rinneadh rithe, an deachaidh cuir as dhi na direach an deachaidh toirt oirre stad dhe 'n ghniomh a bh' ann co-dhiubh. Ach tha e coltach nuair a thánaig am beul-aithris air an astar gu robh rudeiginn timcheall air a' ghnothach. Agus a bhruidhinn air nithean anns a robh iad a' creidsinn - rudan beaga neónach a bhite a' falbh air an reír - chanadh iad nam faigheadh tu craiceann nathrach agus gu h-áraid fhaighinn 'san earrach na b'fheárr na fhaighinn 'san fhoghar 's an craiceann nathrach sin a bhith an gléidheadh am broinn an taighe, nach loisgeadh an taigh sin gu siorraidh: nach rachadh e 'na theine. Ma dh'fhaoidte gu robhar ri géilleachdainn dha sin a thaobh nach deachaidh an taigh as a robh e 'na theine. Cha robh aige ri dhol 'na theine co-dhiubh: sin mar a tha mise an dúil a bha 'n gnothach. Cha n-eil mi 'n dúil nuair a bha aig an taigh ri ghabhail gu robh e a' dol 'ga chumail ged a bhiodh an nathair fhéin 'na bhroinn. Bha danns' acá as an taigh a bha seo: bha duine is bean a bha fuireach shuas ann am Parraisde Bail' lain. Agus thachair air an oidhche bha seo 'sa gheamhradh gu robh danns' acá astaigh, neo mar a chanadh iad froilig. Agus 's ann anns an t-seómbar-suidhe a bha an dannsa: 's e an t-áite bu mhotha 's bha farsuinneachd acá airson ruidhle mor a dheanamh. Agus nuair a sguireadh páirt dhe 'n ruidhle 's a bha iad 'nan seasamh 'nan támh, thuirt am f ear a bha seo ri cuideiginn dhe na a bha 'san dannsa cómhla ris 's e 'na shuidhe na 'na sheasamh thall an

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back to get that. If a person was going out hunting or fishing they would prevent anyone from calling out to find out where he was going or anything of the kind. I have one account of people who were said to be able to sink a ship.11 And Michael MacLean (Micheal lain Chaluim Oig 'ic lain 'ic Lachlainn Ghobha) used to tell me the story. It carne down from oral recitation certainly enough for he was unlettered. He used to tell about a certain woman who they said could practise witchcraft, could sink a ship. And whether it was her father or whoever called it into question, she was asked to prove it. So she asked for an egg, and she put the egg inside a shoe and kept rocking the shoe back and forth according to the story he gave me. And there was a ship out on the ocean and when they loóked, the ship, it seems, was rocking back and forth in the waves just as she was working the shoe. And they made her stop. I don't remember what MacLean said was done with her, whether she was done away with or whether she was just made to cease from the deed that she was committing. But it seems to me if that account carne over such a great distance there must have been something to it. On the subject of beliefs that people held - strange little beliefs that they followed - they used to say, if you found a snake-skin (finding it in the spring was better than finding it in the fall) and kept it inside the house, the house would never bum, it would never catch fire.12 Perhaps people believed in that because the house in which it was kept never caught fire. But then it was never meant to anyway. If the house was going to take fire I don't believe the skin would prevent it even if the snake itself were inside. They once had a dance in a certain house where there was a Campbell and his wife living up in Johnstown Parish.13 And it happened on this particular winter's night that they had a dance or, as they used to cali it, a frolic. And the dance was held in the sitting room; it was the biggest place and they had the space to do the big reel. And when part of that reel was over and they were standing and resting, one of the men there said to somebody who was in the dance with him and who

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tagsa na h-uinneig, ors' esan, "Na bi seasamh ann a' sin idir. Thig a nall as a' sin." Agus thánaig am fear eile a nall 's sheas iad. Bha iad a bhos air meadhon an úrlair 's iad a' seanachas agus dh'fhoighneachd cuideiginn dhe 'n fhear seo a rithist beagan as a dheaghaidh sin - ma dh'fhaoidte gur ann air la'r-na-mháireach na uaireiginn dh'fhoighneachd e, "Gu dé/' ors' esan, "a bha ceárr nuair a dh'iarr thu air an fhear ud seasamh a nall, gun e bhith 'na sheasamh aig an uinneig?" "O," ors' esan, "bha a' chiste aig an uinneag." Agus beagan úine as a dheaghaidh sin - ma dh'fhaoidte mu mhios do dh'úine as a dheaghaidh sin - dh'eug a' bhean aig a' Chaimbeulach agus 's ann thall aig bonn na h-uinneig ann a' sin a bha a' chiste. Chunnaic esan greis ro 'n úine mun do chaochail i. Creididh cuid do dh'fheadhainn tha e coltach gu robh taibhse acá 's gum faiceadh iad ni a bha gu tachairt. Tha e coltach gu sónraichte gum faiceadh iad tórradh. Cha n-eil fios a'm a nist am biodh iad a' faicinn moran eile - 's dócha gum biodh. Ach chitheadh iad co-dhiubh an tórradh; sin a bha iad 'g innse dhomhsa. Bha fear ag innse dhomhsa - duine sónraichte - gun tuirt e ris gum faca e an tórradh aige fhéin. Cho fad 's a fhuair mi 'n naidheachd 's e Calum Gobha a bh' ann: seanair Eos Ailein. 'S e fhéin neo athair Eos a bh' ann. Co-dhiubh 's coingeis, tha mi cinnteach, bho 'n a bha e 'sa naidheachd, dh'innis e dhaibh gum faca e 'n tórradh aige fhéin. Agus gu dé mar a bha fios aige gur e 'n tórradh aige fhéin a bh' ann? Uill, thuirt e gun do dh' aithnich e a h-uile duine a bh' air an tórradh agus 's e fhéin an aon fhear a bha 'gan dith air an tórradh. 'S carson nach robh esan air an tórradh cómhla ri cacha nam b' e cuideiginn eile a bhiodh ann? Agus thuirt e gun innseadh e dhaibh an seórsa each a bha dol a tharraing na ciste 's nach robh e idir 'san áite. "Cha n-eil e idir," ors' esan, "'san áite fhathast, an t-each a bhios a' tarraing na ciste" - co-dhiubh 's e carbad-chuibhlichean air neo sleigh' a bhiodh ann. Agus thug e comharra air an each. Tha e coltach gur e ceithir casa geala a bh' air an each; gu robh na h-eich sin gann air feadh nan sgireachdan co-dhiubh. Agus tha e coltach mun cuairt as an áite seo - as an iomaire dha 'n fhearann a bh' ann - nach robh gin dhe na h-eich seo ann gus na rinn fear iomlaid agus fhuair e each air a robh ceithir casan geala. Fhuair e 'n t-each dhe 'n mheudachd 's dhe

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was sitting or standing over next to the window, "Don't stand there at all. Come over from there." And the other man carne over and they stood. And they were there in the middle of the íloor and talking and somebody asked the man about it a little bit later, perhaps the next day or sometime. "What," said he, "was wrong when you asked that man to stand over beside you and not to stand at the window?" "Oh," he replied, "a coffin was at the window." And a short while later - perhaps a month after that - the Campbell's wife died and they placed the coffin over there at the foot of the window. He foresaw this some time before she died. Apparently a number of people believe that some had the gift of premonition and that they could see things that were about to happen.14 It seems that they were especially adept at seeing a funeral. I don't know now whether they saw much else - probably they did. But anyway they could see a funeral; that's what was told to me. Someone was telling me that a certain man had said that he saw his own funeral. As I heard the story, it was Malcolm MacLean (Calum Gobha), the grandfather of Joe Alian. It was himself or Joe's father. Anyway it doesn't matter, I'm sure. In the story he told them that he saw his own funeral. And how would he know that it was his own funeral? Well, he said he recognized everyone at the funeral and he was the only one who was not present. And why wasn't he at the funeral along with everybody else if it were somebody else? And he said that he would tell them the sort of horse that was going to draw the coffin and the horse was not in the surrounding área. "It is not at all/' said he, "in the área yet, the horse that will be pulling the coffin" - whether it would be with a wheeled carriage or a sleigh. But he described the horse, and it seems that the horse had four white legs; and that those horses were very rare in the surrounding área. And apparently around that locality - in that certain piece of country - there were no horses of this kind until one man made a trade and obtained a horse with four white legs. He got a horse of this size and this

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'n dath a bha seo: a h-uile sian. Agus nuair a chaochail Mac'Illeain 's e sin an t-each a tharraing a' chist' aige dh'ionnsaidh a' chladh. Agus 's fheudar gu robh esan a' faicinn an tórradh soilleir gu leór. Tha mi smaointinn gu robh cuid dhiubh sin a' faicinn tórradh agus bhiodh barail acá có bh; ann ach cha bhiodh iad ag innse. Bha iad a' faicinn cisteachan is a leithid sin ach cha n-innseadh iad idir có a bh' ann. Agus sin mar a bha gnothaichean a' dol leo. A' bruidhinn air manadh is nithean mar sin a bhiodh a' tachairt mun tigeadh tórradh, thachair dhomh fhin rud a bha neónach agus tha mi smaointinn gun tánaig e gu cois fior gu leór. Dh'fhairich mi crathadh a' tighinn 'nam gáirdeannan aig na h-uilnean, agus an crathadh a thánaig ann, cha mhór nach robh e cho dona 's gun toireadh e orna éibh a dheanamh. Cha robh sin ann ach beagan mhionaidean 's chaidh e seachad agus cha tánaig a leithid sin riamh tuilleadh. Chaidh an üine seachad agus bha cunntais mhiosan co-dhiubh ann, tha mi cinnteach, mun robh mi fhin aig tórradh. Agus bha mi air fear dha 'n fheadhainn a bha a' giúlain na ciste. Bha fear aig ceann agus aig casan na ciste agus fear 'sa mheadhon air gach taobh agus thachair gur e mise a bh' anns a7 mheadhon. Agus a' dol fairis sios dha 'n chladh dh'ionnsaidh na h-uaighe bha áiteachan ann as a robh an talamh car árd. Bha sinn a' coiseachd fairis air áiteachan árd, cruinn -'se uaghannan a chaidh a dheanamh bho chionn bhliadhnaichean a bh' ann agus bha i iseal air gach taobh, ach bha 'n t-áite suas árd 'na mheadhon - agus bha mise 'nam sheasamh air an áit' árd a bha seo agus bha 'n fheadhainn eile as an áite iseal air gach taobh. Mar gun canadh tu bha mis' air cnoc agus cách' ann an gleann agus thánaig cudthrom na ciste orm agus thánaig an crathadh 'nam gáirdeannan aig na h-uilnean nuair a thánaig cudthrom na ciste uile gu léir orm as an am. Bha 'm boireannach a bha 'n giúlan aice 'sa chiste 'na boireannach mor, trom 's nuair a thánaig an cudthrom orms' uile gu léir dh'fheumainn a chumail. 'S dh'fhairich mi 'n aon chrathadh 'nam gháirdeannan as an am a bha sin agus a dh'fhairich mi cunntais mhiosan roimhe sin. Agus tha mi cinnteach co-dhiubh a bha mi géilleachdainn dha neo nach robh gum b'fheudar dhomh aig an am a chreidsinn gu robh e fior, o chionn chuala mi feadhainn a' grádh nuair a chrathadh an gáirdeannan, "Tha mi dol a bhith togail ciste mairbh. Tha mi faireachdainn mo gháirdeannan uamhasach trom."

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colour - everything. And when MacLean died that was the horse that drew his coffin to the graveyard. So he must have seen the funeral clearly enough. I think that some of those people saw a funeral and had an idea whose it was but would not say. They would see coffins and the like, but they would not tell at all whose they were. And that's how things went for them. Speaking of premonitions and things that happened before a funeral, a mysterious thing happened to me which I believe carne true enough.15 I felt a shaking coming into my arms at the elbows, and the shaking was so bad that it nearly caused me to scream. It only lasted for a few minutes and then it passed and nothing like it ever returned. Time passed and I'm sure it was at least a number of months before I was at a funeral. I was one of the pallbearers: there was a man at the head and at the foot of the coffin and a man on each side at the middle and it happened that I was at the middle. And on the way down to the graveyard, toward the grave, there were places where the ground was quite high. We were walking over high, rounded places - graves that were made years ago which were low on each side with a high place in the middle - and I was standing there on a high place and the others were in a low place on each side of me. You could say that I was up on the hill and the others were in the valley and the weight of the coffin bore down on me and the shaking carne into my arms at the elbow when the entire weight of the coffin bore down on me. The woman whose body was in the coffin was a big, heavy woman, and when all the weight carne on me I had to support it and I felt the same shaking in my arms then that I had experienced a number of months before. And I am sure whether or not I believed it before that I had to accept it as true, because I had heard people saying when their arms shook, "I am going to be lifting a dead rnan's coffin. My arms feel terribly heavy."

Taibhsichean is Bócain

Tha fios a'm gu robh cleachdadh aig cuid mhór dhiubh, nuair a bhiodh iad ann an taigh faire agus a bhiodh iad a' fágail, chuireadh iad an lámh air lámh an neach a bha marbh 'sa cbistidh, air neo air bathais an duine. Bu choingeis co-dhiubh chuireadh iad an lámh air a bhathais neo air a láimh — bhiodh an lamhan paisgte air an uchd mar güín biodh. Agus 's e an t-aobhar a bh' aig feadhainn, an dóigh as a robh iad a' creidsinn ann a leithid seo, gura h-e nan tachradh an tathasg aig an neach a bhiodh a' sin riut a rithist nach gabhadh tu eagal roimhe a dheanadh deifir dhut. Chuala mi naidheachd air duine a dh' eug air an dúthaich agus as an am sin bhite a' deanamh nan cisteachan agus bhiodh iad gann do ghnothaichean airson na cisteachan a dheanamh. Cha robh iad ach a' dol mun cuairt a thrusadh air feadh na dúthchadh an áiteachan airson gnothaichean fhaighinn deiseil airson na ciste dheanamh. Agus bhiodh na marsantan fhéin a' ruith gann uaireannan do ghnothaichean; 's minig a ruitheadh iad amach á stoc gus am faigheadh iad gnothaichean astaigh. Agus air réir choltais, a' chiste bha seo a bhathar a' dol a dheanamh, bha a h-uile sian acá deiseil ach cha robh táirnean idir acá, agus cha robh táirnean aig a h-aon mun cuairt 'sa nábachd. Agus co-dhiubh a bha 'm marsanta cho fada air falbh bhuapa 'san am, neo bha 'm marsanta air ruith gann do tháirnean freagarrach as an am a bha seo, bha boireannaich astaigh 's iad a' deanamh cócaireachd a thaobh bhite toirt biadh do mhuinntir na faire. An fheadhainn a bha deanamh na ciste, dh'fheumte biadh a thoirt dhaibh sin co-dhiubh. Agus an fheadhainn a bha a' dol a dh'fhuireach aig an fhaire, bha bhiadh ri bhith ann. Agus co-dhiubh, a' mhór-chuid a thigeadh dh'ionnsaidh na faire a thoirt an urraim mu dheireadh dha 'n neach a bha marbh, dh'fheumte iad sin a bhiadhadh. Agus nam biodh iad ann an am bidh, rachadh suipeir a dheanamh dhaibh. Agus air sáilleabh iad a bhith ri cócaireachd bha 'm boireannach a' dol a dh'áiteiginn, co-dhiubh 's ann a' dol a

Ghosts and Apparitions

It seems that many people had the custom, when they had been to a wake-house and were leaving, of putting their hand on the hand of the person who was dead in the coffin or on the person's forehead.1 It didn't matter whether they put their hand on forehead or hand - the hands used to be folded on the breast. And the reason that people had, the way in which they believed in this, was that if the spirit of the man should meet you again, you would not fear him in a way that would créate any difficulty for you. I heard an account of a man who died in the country and in those days they used to make coffins and were often short of materials. They would go around the countryside gathering them in various places to get ready to make the coffin. And the storekeepers themselves used to run short of things sometimes; often they would run out of stock until they got other wares in. And apparently in this case everything was ready for the coffin they intended to make except that they had no nails, and there was no one in the neighbourhood who had them. And whether the storekeeper was too far away from them at the time, or whether he had run short of suitable nails, there were women inside who were cooking food to be given to those present at the wake. The people who were making the coffin had to be fed at least, and for those who were going to remain at the wake there had to be food. And, anyhow, most of those who carne to the wake to pay their last respects to the deceased also had to be fed. And if they were present at mealtime, supper would also be given to them. And because they were cooking, one of the women was going somewhere to fetch meal or flour or whatever she was going to get, and there was a trunk there and she saw the spirit of the dead

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dh'iarraidh min a bha i na flúr, na ge b'e dé bha i dol a dh'iarraidh agus bha ciste anns an áite agus chunnaic i tathasg an duine bha marbh a bha air na búird. Chunnaic i e a' crom sios air uachdar na ciste bha seo: ciste as am bite gléidheadh gnothaichean. Agus dh'innis i do chuideiginn a' rud a chunnaic i - tha mi cinnteach gun tánaig i astaigh is eagal oirre. 'S nuair a chaidh innse mu dheidhinn a' rud a chunnaic i chaidh cuideiginn amach agus thog e suas a' chómhla a bh' air uachdar na ciste agus bha pasg beag shios an oisinn na ciste bha sin agus táirnean ann as a' chistidh as am bite gléidheadh gnothaichean. Bha táirnean ann a bha freagarrach airson ciste an duine bha sin a dheanamh. Agus ma dh'fhaoidte gu robh 'n naidheachd sin fior gu leór gun tánaig sanáis a thoirt dhi a shealltainn dhaibh far am faigheadh iad na táirnean. Tha mi dol a dh'innse dhiubh naidheachd bheag a chuala mi aig Aonghus Mac'Illemhaoil (Aonghus Alasdair 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh 'ac Dhómhnaill) air Bócan Cnoc a' Bhidse. 'S ann shuas air Tir-Mór ann an Siorramachd Antigonish a tha an t-áite ris an abair iad Cnoc a' Bhidse. Agus tha e coltach gu robh iad daonnan a7 faicinn neo a' faireachdainn bócan co-dhiubh. Cha n-eil fhios a'm am fac' iad sian ach bhiodh am bócan a bh' ann, tha e coltach gun do ghabh cuid do dhaoine uibhir do sgaoim ro 'n ghnothach a bh' ann 's nach bite gabhail a' rathaid seo idir. Cha bhite siubhal air a' rathad. Agus an turus a bha seo, tha e coltach gu robh an t-easbuig a 7 tilleadh a áiteiginn 's i anmoch 'san oidhche 's e marcachd agus 's e seo a' rathad a ghabh e. Feumaidh gura h-e a' rathad bu ghiorra airson a thoirt dhachaidh agus ghabh e a' rathad a bha seo. Agus thachair am bócan ris air Cnoc a' Bhidse. Agus nuair a dh'éirich an t-each suas airson tóiseachadh air cath ris a' bhócan, thuit an t-easbuig air lar. Agus bha e ann a' sin 'sa pholl 's tha mi cinnteach gu robh e air a stradadh poli gu leór is an t-each ag obair le chasan. Agus tha e coltach gu robh sin a' dol air 'n aghaidh gus na ghairm an coileach. Agus sguir an cath an uair sin. Agus bha feadhainn a' foighneachd dha 'n easbuig nuair a chunnaic iad an coltas as a robh aodach - bha e lán poli, an t-aodach aige, na eabar - dh'fhoighneachdadh dha dé thachair. "O," ors' esan, "nam biodh bruidhinn aig an each ghlas 's e dh' innseadh sin dhuibh. Ach cha n-urrainn mise innseadh," ors' esan. "Cha do dh'fhiosraich mi e uile. Ach cha chluinn iad an córr," ors' esan, "air a' chnoc dheth sin co-dhiubh." Agus sin an naidheachd a fhuair mi air Cnoc a' Bhidse.

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man who was on the boards. She saw him bending o ver the trunk, a trunk in which things were stored. And she told somebody about what she had seen -1 am sure she carne in a little frightened. And when she related the thing that she had seen, somebody went out and lifted up the cover on top of the trunk and there was a little package down in the córner of the storage trunk containing nails, nails suitable to make the man's coffin. And perhaps the story was true enough that a sign was given to her to show them where they would find the nails. I am going to tell you a short story that I heard from Angus MacMullin (Aonghus Alasdair 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh 'ac Dhómhnaill) about the ghost of Beech Hill.2 The place called Beech Hill is up on the mainland in Antigonish County. It seems that they always used to see or hear a ghost there. I don't know that they saw anything but, whatever ghost was there, it seems it frightened some people so much that they did not use a certain road at all. People did not travel on that road. And on this particular occasion it seems that the bishop was returning from somewhere late at night on horseback and this was the road that he chose; it must have been the shortest way home for him. So he took that road and the ghost met him on Beech Hill. And when the horse reared up to do battle with the ghost, the bishop fell to the ground. He was there in the mud and I am sure he was well splashed while the horse was attacking with its feet. And it seems that went on until the cock crowed, at which time the battle stopped. And people were questioning the bishop when they saw the condition of his clothes - his clothes were covered in mud or mire - and he was asked about what happened. "Oh/' said he, "if the grey horse were able to talk he would be the one to tell you. I cannot tell you because I did not experience it all. But they will hear no more of that on the hill anyway." And that is the story I heard about Beech Hill. And it was said that a horse would side with you to help you

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Agus bha e acá 'san t-seanachas gun tionndadh an t-each air do thaobh fhéin 'gad chuideachadh a dh'aindeoin cúis, ach gu robh e ñor chunnartach gur h-ann a thionndadh an láir 'nad aghaidh: gum biodh i air taobh do námhaid 's a' deanamh coire dhut nuair a thachair bócan riut. Ach bha e air a sheanachas nuair a bhiodh ropa air a chuir mu h-amhaich - na ged nach biodh ann ach snáithlein do shnáth clóimheadh air a cheangail air a h-amhaich - gum biodh i air do thaobh fhéin an uair sin, agus gu robh i pailt cho guineach, neo ma dh'fhaoidte na bu truime na sin an aghaidh nam fuath air do thaobh-sa. Ach bha 'n cu air a chunntais ñor mhath dhut, ach gum feumadh tu air réir an t-seanachas a bh' acá a bhith glé chinnteach nach do dh'éibh thu air ainm a' choin. Bha cunnart ann nan éibheadh tu air ainm a' choin gun tionndadh an cu 'nad aghaidh: gum faigheadh am fuath greim air ainm a' choin agus gun tionndadh e an cu 'nad aghaidh fhéin. Agus uime sin cha robh e air a chunntais idir freagarrach ainm a' choin thoirt. Ach bha e air cantail ged a bha 'n cu guineach airson oibreachadh air do thaobh, nach robh sian idir anns a' chú airson do chuideachadh taca ris a' ghallaidh; ach gu robh e cho cunnartach gum faodadh i fhéin tionndadh 'nad aghaidh. Ach bha e air a sheanachas nan ligeadh tu fuil as a' chluais aice gun toireadh i as a chéile e ged a b'e Satán fhéin a thachradh; gu robh i cho cunnartach gun tugadh i as a chéile e. Agus bho 'n a tha mi as an t-seanachas, a bhith bruidhinn mu dheidhinn chon, chuala mise cho trie aig a' mhuinntir, bhacadh iad thu. Chanadh iad riut, "Na cuir cu 'san oidhche agus na caisg cu". Bha e a' ciallachadh, cu a chuir mar gun cuireadh tu cu as deaghaidh beathaichean na daoine na creutair. Cha robh cu agad ri chuir neo ri chasg 'san oidhche le ceartas. Chuala mi iad trie 'ga bhacail sin.

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in spite of anything, but there was a great danger that a mare would turn against you, that she would side with your enemy and would harm you when a ghost met you.3 But it was also said that if a rope were put around her neck - or even if it were nothing but a thread of woollen yarn tied around her neck that she would side with you and she would fight as fiercely, or perhaps even more effectively, against the spectre. A dog was considered very good for you, but, according to the accounts they told, you had to be certain that you didn't cali the dog's ñame. There was a danger that if you called the dog's ñame the dog would turn against you, the spectre would catch hold of the dog's ñame and would turn the dog against you. And for that reason it was not considered at all fitting to utter the dog's ñame. But it was said that though a dog was fierce in fighting on your side, a dog didn't amount to any help compared with a bitch; but there was a very great danger that she could turn against you. And it was related that if you let some blood from her ear she would tear the spectre apart even if it were Satán who met up with you; she was so dangerous that she would tear him apart. On the subject of dogs, I often heard people caution you; they would say, "Don't loóse a dog at night and don't restrain him." By that they meant, setting a dog as you might set it after farm animáis or people or wild animáis. You were not supposed by rights to loóse or to restrain your dog at night. I often heard them discouraging that.

Ceól is Dannsa

Fídhleirean Seo áireamh do dh'fhidhleirean a chuala mi bho chionn greis do bhliadhnaichean. Fear Niall Caimbeul (Niall Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh); agus Seumas Caimbeul (Seumas Pheadair ;ic Eachainn); Murchadh Mac'Illemhaoil (Murchadh Dhómhnaill 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh 'ic Dhómhnaill); lain Mor Dómhnallach (lain Mor Aonghuis Nill Ruaidh); agus lain MacNill (lain mac Dhómhnaill Mor Nill Mhóir); agus Niall Mac-a-Phi (Niall Alasdair a' Phiobaire); Eachann MacNill (Eachann Aonghuis Phosta); Micheal Mac-a-Phi (Micheal Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill); agus Niall Macíosaig (Niall lain 'ic losaig); Ruairidh Macíosaig (Ruairidh lain Ruairidh); agus Micheal MacAonghuis (Micheal Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir); agus Fionnlagh Dómhnallach (Mac lain Nill 'ic lain Oig); agus Dómhnall MacDhómhnaill (Dómhnall Steaphainn Phádruig). 'S e an dithist bu mhoth' a chuala mi a' deanamh do dh'fhidhleireachd dhe 'n fheadhainn sin, lain MacNill eile (Mac Dhómhnaill Dhómhnaill) agus Micheal Mac-a-Phi (Mac Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill). Agus tha mi smaointinn gu robh an ceól acá glé choltach ris a' cheól a bhiodh aig feadhainn fhathast dhe na tha cleachdadh ceól an dannsa, ach gun tánaig atharrachadh air an dannsa. Cha chreid mi gun tánaig moran do dh'atharrachadh air a' cheól am measg nam fidhleirean sin agus na fidhleirean a tha ann dh'ionnsaidh a' latha an diugh a tha cuimseach aosda. Bha cuid dhe na fidhleirean seo a dh'ainmich mi a bhiodh a' cluich puirt áraid air a' ghleusadh árd. Bhiodh Fionnlagh Dómhnallach cha chluicheadh e fidheall uair sam bith cha mhór gun port neo dhá a chluich air a' ghleusadh árd. Agus chluicheadh lain MacNill seo (Mac Dhómhnaill Mor Nill), chluicheadh e puirt air a' ghleusadh árd. Üisdean Friseal: bha 'm fear sin air port a bhiodh cuid dhe na fidhleirean a' cuir na fidheall air a' ghleusadh árd agus bha fuaim glé

Music and Dance

Fiddlers Here are the ñames of a number of fiddlers that I heard some years ago: a Neil Campbell (Niall Eachainn ;ac Dhunnachaidh); and James Campbell (Seumas Pheadair 'ic Eachainn); Murdock MacMullin (Murchadh Dhómhnaill 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh 'ac Nill 'ac Dhómhnaill); Big John MacDonald (lain Mor Aonghuis Nill Ruaidh); and John MacNeil (lain mac Dhómhnaill Mor Nill Mhóir); and Neil MacPhee (Niall Alasdair a' Phiobaire); Héctor MacNeil (Eachann Aonghuis Phosta); Michael MacPhee (Micheal Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill); and Neil Maclsaac (Niall lain 'ic losaig); Roderick Maclsaac (Ruairidh lain Ruairidh); and Michael Maclnnis (Micheal Ruairidh Dhómhnaill Mhóir); and Finlay MacDonald (Mac lain Nill 'ic lain Óig); and Donald MacDonald (Dómhnall Steaphainn Phádruig). Of those I heard, the two greatest fiddlers were another John MacNeil (Mac Dhómhnaill Dhómhnaill) and Michael MacPhee (Mac Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill). And I believe that their music was very similar to the music still played by dance players but that the dancing itself has changed. I don't believe that there is much difference in the music between the fiddlers mentioned above and fiddlers here today who are fairly up in years. Some of the fiddlers named here used to play certain tunes on the high bass. Finlay MacDonald would almost never play the fiddle without playing one or two tunes on the high bass. John MacNeill (Mac Dhómhnaill Mor Nill) also played tunes on the high bass. Uisdean Friseal was a tune for which many fiddlers would put the fiddle up to the high bass and the fiddle

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bhinn aig an fhidhill nuair a rachadh a cuir suas air a7 ghleusadh árd air a' phort a bha sin. Chanadh e fhéin nach b' ann air thaobh nan Caimbeulach a thánaig an ceól astaigh orra idir: gura h-ann a th' air taobh Chloinn 'ic'Illemhaoil. Agus bha a' bhean aig Mac'Illemhaoil, bha i do Chloinn Nill nam piobairean - nam piobairean a bha thall aig Cóbh nam Piobairean agus ann arn Parraisde Eilein na Nollaig - agus bha esan a' cómhdach gura h-ann bho 'n taobh sin a thánaig an ceól astaigh orra barrachd agus bho thaobh Ghloinn 'ac'Illemhaoil, a chionn Cloinn 'ac'Illemhaoil fhéin, bha iad 'nan luchd-ciúil a bha math. Agus a nist 's e Peadar a b'fheárr dhe 'n teaghlach. Agus an uair sin, tha e coltach gu robh Micheal ged nach biodh e dol amach a dh' áite sam bith a chluich, gu robh e fhéin sónraichte gu ceól fidhleadh, 's chluicheadh e a' phiob. Agus bha lain, bha e air a chunntais gu robh e fhéin 'na fhidhleir gábhaidh math. Agus chanadh feadhainn gura h-e Niall am fear bu lugha ann an tálant dhiubh gu fidhleireachd. Agus nuair a bha e cho math 's a bha e gu fidhleireachd, feumaidh gu robh cacha, gu robh iad áraid. Bha iad a' fuireach shuas faisg air áite ris an canadh iad Camus an Fheóir. 'S ann amach air chúl fearainn a bha iad a' fuireach. Bha na h-uibhir do chlann dhe na Caimbeulaich ud ann,- bha cuid mhór do theaghlach Dhunnachaidh ann. Tha e coltach gu robh Dunnachadh 'na dhrumair anns an arm 'na am fhéin. Ach co-dhiubh bha Dómhnall mac Dhunnachaidh agus lain mac Dhunnachaidh 's Alasdair mac Dhunnachaidh agus Anndra mac Dhunnachaidh agus Eachann. Thánaig cuid mhór dhiubh a dh'fhuireach a nuil; shuidhich iad 'san áite bha seo. Agus leubh mi nuair a thánaig a' cheud fhear dhiubh a nall shuidhich e ann an áite agus fhuair e amach an uair sin gu robh a bhráthair sios astar chóig mile an taobh shios dha air fearann a thogail. 'S bha iad an deaghaidh buntata chuir 'san talamh, tha mi tuigsinn, agus cha robh iad air an cuir ach beagan lathaichean nuair a fhuair e amach. Agus tha iad a' grádhainn gun do thog e am buntata as an talamh air n-ais 's gun do thruis e leis iad. 'S chaidh iad sios airson faighinn cho faisg air a bhráthair 's a b' urrainn dhaibh agus shuidhich e an taca ri bhráthair. B' fheudar dha a dhol beagan is leth-mhile a dh'astar bhuaithe a thaobh bha am fearann air a ghabhail a nuil tha mi 'n dúil aig Clann Choinnich. Cha robh mi ach mu naoidh bliadhn' deug a dh'aois nuair a chuala mi e ach cha robh tuigse gu leór agamsa air ceól. Cha robh a' chluas-chiúil agam cho sónraichte 's a bh' ann. Ach nuair a bhios mi

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made a very nice sound when it was tuned to the high bass for that piece. Neil Campbell, the fiddler mentioned on page 325, used to say that their music did not origínate on the Campbell side, but rather on the side of the MacMullins. MacMullin's wife was one of the piping MacNeils - the pipers over in Piper's Cove in Christmas Island Parish - and he claimed that their music carne more from that side than from the MacMullins, though at the same time the MacMullins themselves were good musicians. Now Peter was the best fiddler in the family. And then it seems that Michael, although he did not go out anywhere at all to play, was a particularly good fiddler and could play the pipes. John was also considered an accomplished player. People used to say that Neil had the least talent of all for fiddle playing, and being as good a player as he was, the rest of them must have been surpassingly good. They used to Uve cióse to the place called Hay Cove, out in the rear. There were numerous offspring of the Campbells there including a large number of Duncan's children. It seems that Duncan was a drummer in the army in his time. There were Duncan's sons: Donald, John, Alexander, Andrew, and Héctor. Many of these Campbells carne over to stay and settled in that place. I read that when the first of them carne over he settled on a place and then f ound out that his brother was down about five miles on the lower side and had acquired land there. They had already planted the potatoes in the ground, as I understand, and had planted them only a few days before he found this out. And they used to relate that he dug up his potatoes out of the ground and gathered them and took them with him. They went down to find a place as cióse to his brother as they could and he settled down near him. He had to go a little more than a half mile away because the land had already been claimed there, I believe, by MacKenzies. I was only nineteen years oíd when I heard him and did not have much of an understanding of music. I did not have the most discerning ear for music at the time. But over the many

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smaointeachadh iomadh uair bho 'n am a bha sin air a' cheól a chaidh acá air a chluich, tha mi smaointinn gun cuireadh e blas uamhasach Gáidhealach air na puirt a bhiodh e cluich, agus gu robh iad direach aige ann an suidheachadh. Tha mi smaointinn am port ris an canadh iad Gun do Dhiúlt am Bodach Fodaí Dhomh, gu robh beagan aige air an fhear sin nach cluinninn idir, idir aig aon an áite sam bith tuilleadh. Agus thuirt seann fhear-ciúil rium a bha fhéin uamhasach sónraichte gu ceól agus a chluicheadh a' phiob agus an fhidheall, "Cha do dhanns ruidhle riamh — 'se ruidhle ceathrar a bhiodh ann cinnteach gu leór - agus 's cinnteach nach danns/' ors' esan, "a thigeadh suas ris a' phort a bh' ann is esan 'ga chluich: Niall Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh a' cluich a 7 Ghiobain Hirteach." Tha sgeul beag a' seo a fhuair mi bho Niall Caimbeul: Bha e 'g innse dhuinn naidheachd mu dheidhinn fear, Dómhnall Caimbeul. Cha b;e na h-aon Chaimbeulaich dha robh e fhéin gu robh a' fear seo idir, ach bha e 'na fhidhleir sónraichte agus tha e coltach gura h-e fidhleir cho math 's a bha an Ceap Breatuinn 'na am. Agus bha e air aithris gura h-ann as an t-sithein a fhuair iad a' bhuaidh. Agus air réir na h-eachdraidh a bh' aigesan bha athair Dhómhnaill Chaimbeul a' tighinn dhachaidh an deaghaidh a bhith a' cluich aig bainis. Agus nuair a bha e tighinn seachad air áite, tha e coltach gura h-e ban-sithich a bha a' bleoghainn mart. Agus nuair a chunnaic e i thuirt i ris nan cumadh e 'n sgeul seo 'm falach gun innse do dhuine idir gum fac' e ise, gum faigheadh e buaidh na fidhleireachd, agus gum biodh sin aige fhéin agus aig a mhac agus aig ogha, agus nach rachadh buaidh na fidhleireachd thoirt bhuapa ge b'e c'áite am biodh iad a' cluich. Agus bha e air a sheanachas gun d'fhuair e bogha a sithein. Nuair a bha e 'na fhior sheann duine 's bha e air fas dall - 's ann aig Eachann Mac'Illemhaoil a fhuair mi a' sgeul beag a bha seo - tha e coltach gun do thadhail feadhainn dhe na fidhleirean astigh an áite Dhdmhnaill Chaimbeul 's bha Aonghus a mhac -'se bha cumail taighe an uair sin - bha e fhéin ris an fhidhleireachd. 'S tha fios nuair a chruinnicheadh cuid do dh'fhidhleirean ann an taigh gum beireadh a h-uile fear greis air fidhleireachd. 'S tha e coltach gu robh iad shios anns an t-seómbar a' cluich agus thánaig Aonghus anuas dha 'n cheann eile dhe'n taigh far a robh athair 's dh'fhoighneachd athair

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times since then that I have thought about the music they were able to play, I think that he could put a very Gaelic flavour on the tunes and that he had them very correctly. I think he put something into the tune called Gun do Dhiúlt am Bodach Podar Dhomh that I have not heard anywhere at all since.1 And one oíd musician said to me, and he was an extremely accomplished musician himself on the pipes and fiddle, " No one ever danced a reel - it was the foursome reel that was going then to be sure - and certainly no one will ever dance one/' said he, " which could be compared to that tune when he plays it: Niall Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh playing the Gioban Hirteach," Here is a short story that I heard from Neil Campbell. He was telling us a story about a man by the ñame of Donald Campbell. He was not of the same Campbells as was Neil» Campbell himself, but he was an outstanding fiddler and it seems that he was as fine a player as lived in Cape Bretón in his time. And it was related that they got their gift from the fairy hill. According to the account that Neil had, Donald Campbell's f ather was coming home af ter playing at a wedding, and when he was passing a certain place it seems that there was a fairy woman there milking a cow. And when he saw her she told him that, if he would keep the story quiet and not tell anybody that he had seen her, he would acquire the gift of fiddling for his own and it would be passed on to his son and grandson and that it would never be taken from them no matter where they played. And it is said that he got a bow from the fairy mound.2 When he was an extremely oíd man and had grown blind -1 heard this account from Héctor MacMullin - it seems that some of the fiddlers visited Donald CampbelPs place and his son Angus, who was keeping house for him at the time, was also a fiddler. And of course when a bunch of fiddlers gathered in a house each one of them would spend some time playing. Apparently they were down in the room playing and Angus carne down to the other end of the house where his f ather was.

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dheth có fear a bha cluich an drásda agus thuirt e ris gur e Calum Beag. "O," ors' esan, "nach b'e an cali nach eil a' lúdag aige. Nach ann a tha 'm fidhleir dha rireabh nam biodh a' lúdag aige!" Agus dh'fhoighneachd Aonghus a mhac dheth, "Bheil sibh a' grádh nach eil feum na lúdaig aige?" "O, chan-eil/' ors' esan, "idir." 'S nuair a chaidh iad sios bha 'm fear eile air sgur a chluich 's dh'fhoighneachd Aonghus Caimbeul dheth a robh sian ceárr air a' lúdaig aige. "O," ors' esan, "tha. Chaidh a' lúdag agamsa a bhristeadh bho chionn bhliadhnaichean agus cha n-eil am feum aice agam tuilleadh. Feumaidh mi an obair a dheanamh leis na tri meóirean." Agus sin agaibh sgeul a fhuair mi air cho geur cluas-chiúil 's a bh' aig Dómhnall Caimbeul. Tha cuid do dh'fhidhleirean ann a fhuair mi an t-ainm acá nach cuala mi idir a' fidhleireachd iad. Bha Niall Dómhnallach (Niall Mhicheil Alasdair); agus bha Micheal Caimbeul (Micheal Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh); agus bha lain Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh; Peadar Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh; Alasdair mac Ailein Dúghallach; agus bha fear Dómhnall Chais; agus Tom Chais; agus bha Dómhnall MacNill (Dómhnall mac Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh); bha Ruairidh Dhómhnaill 'ic Nill; agus Ruairidh Alasdair 'ic Nill; agus Steaphainn Alasdair 'ic Nill; agus bha Calum lain 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh air a chunntais air fear dhe na fhidhleirean cho math 's a bha shuas anns a' cheáma as a robh e fhéin a' fuireach 'na am.

Piobairean A nist a bhith a' toirt iomradh air piobairean a chuala mi, bha lain Dómhnallach -'se lain Dubh a bh' againn air agus 's e bha 'na fhior-phiobaire math; agus Seóras Sutharlanach, mac do Uilleam Sutharlan; agus bha Anthony Dómhnallach nach maireann: chuala mi e cluich 's bha e glé mhath; agus bha Dómhnall Üisdein, athair Anthony, bha e 'na phiobaire ged nach cuala mise e cluich ach aon

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His father asked him who was playing now and he said that it was Little Malcolm. "Oh," said he, "isn't it a pity that he does not have his little finger. What a fine fiddler he would be if he still had it!" And his son Angus asked him, "Are you saying that he doesn't have the use of his little finger?" "Oh, no," Donald replied, "he does not at all." And when they went down the man had stopped playing and Angus Campbell asked him whether there was anything wrong with his little finger. "Yes," he replied, "there is. My little finger was broken years ago and I no longer have the use of it. I have to get by with three fingers." And that's the story I heard about how discerning an ear for music Donald Campbell had. There were some fiddlers whose ñames I have heard but whom I have never heard playing. There was a Neil MacDonald (Niall Mhicheil Alasdair), and Michael Campbell (Micheal Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh), and John Campbell (lain Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh), and Peter Campbell (Peadar Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh), Alexander (Mac Ailein) MacDougall, and there was a Donald Cash, and Tom Cash, and Donald MacNeil (Dómhnall mac Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh), and his sons Roderick (Ruairidh Dhómhnaill 'ic Nill) and a Roderick Allister MacNeil (Ruairidh Alasdair 'ic Nill), and Stephen MacNeil (Steaphainn Alasdair 'ic Nill); and a Malcolm MacMullin (Calum lain 'ic Nill 'ic lain 'ic Mhurchaidh) who was considered to be one of the fiddlers as good as was up in the neighbourhood where he was living at the time. Pipers In an account of the pipers that I have heard, I should mention Jack MacDonald - we used to cali him Black Jack and he was a very good piper - and George Sutherland, son of William Sutherland, and the late Anthony MacDonald -1 heard his

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turus; agus Niall Macíosaig, chuala mi trie gu leór e; agus Peadar MacFhionghuin; agus Eósaiph Mac'Illemhaoil (Eos lain an Táilleir); agus bha Eósaiph Macíosaig (Mac Mhártainn Dhómhnaill 'ac íosaig), bha e fhéin na phiobaire a bha glé ghasda; agus Peadar Mac'Illemhuire, bha e math cuideachd. Tha Peadar beó fhathast agus tha Seóras Sutharlan beó fhathast. Bha fear Dómhnall MacLeóid, bha e cuimseach math agus bha Dómhnall Dómhnallach, mac do Thearlach a' Mhonaidh mar a bheireadh iad ris, bha e fior mhath gu piobaireachd; agus Eos MacEamainn, tha mi smaointinn gu robh e cho math ri h-aon a chuala mi. Chuala mi iad seo a' cluich uileadh agus bha deagh-bhlas acá air a; cheól. Ach 's fheudar dhomh a nist a dhol air n-ais gu Niall Macíosaig, a chionn b'esan a' fear mar a thuirt mi air am b'eólaiche mi uile agus 's e duine sónraichte a bh' ann fhéin. Bha ainmeannan nam puirt aige; bha uibhir do phuirt aige air chuimhne. Dh'ainmicheadh e ceudan do phuirt agus dh'innseadh e dhuibh có na leabhraichean as an gabhadh iad faotainn. Agus dh'ionnsaich e cuid mhór do phuirt bho athair: bha athair lán do phuirt; chluicheadh e fhéin a' phiob agus bha do phuirt-fidhleadh aige 's do phuirt-piob - bha e neónach na bh' ann dhiubh uile. Nist, nuair a rachadh feadhainn gu Niall Macíosaig agus bha iad am beachd tóiseachadh air ionnsachadh a' phiob a chluich, dheanadh e 'n t-uamhas do cheasnachadh orra. Dh'fhoighneachdadh e ceistean dhaibh gun áireamh, agus gu ruige 's gum feumadh e meóirean nan lámh acá fhaicinn is fheuchainn airson 's gum biodh fhios aige co-dhiubh a bha iad dol a bhith math airson cluich piobadh neo nach robh. Agus ma bha sian ceárr orra air an cuideachd - air am párantan - mar a bha cuing na caitheamh na sian dheth sin, cha bhiodh e idir deónach gnothach a ghabhail ri 'n ionnsachadh. Bha e fior, fior chúramach mu dheidhinn an fheadhainn a bha dol a thóiseachadh air ionnsachadh ciüil. Agus an fheadhainn a fhuair beagan do dh'úine air tighinn thuige 's a bha faighinn amach phuirt, tha mi 'n dúil fhathast gun aithnich thu air an fheadhainn sin gu robh iad uair na uaireiginn cómhla ris greis a thaobh gheobh thu seórsa do dhóigh acá air cluich a tha iad a' cuir blas air a' cheól. Tha mis' an dúil co-dhiubh gu bheil iad a' cuir blas sónraichte air a' cheól. Tha mi 'n düil gum faodadh na pioban beaga a bhith air an cleachdadh a' seo uair dhe 'n t-saoghal. Bha iad a' deanamh cuid mhór do dhannsa le ceól nam pioban. Cha n-fhaca mise cus 'ga dheanamh ach tha fhios a'm gum biodh Macíosaig a' deanamh cuid

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playing and he was very good. And Donald Austin, the father of Anthony, was also a piper although I only heard him play once; and Neil Maclsaac, whom I heard quite often; and Peter MacKinnon; Joseph MacMullin (Eos lain an Táilleir); and Joe Maclsaac (Mac Mhártainn Dhómhnaill 'ac losaig) was also a very fine piper; and Peter Morrison was also good. Peter is still living, as is George Sutherland. There was a Donald MacLeod who was fairly good and Donald MacDonald, son of Charles MacDonald (Tearlach a7 Mhonaidh) who was a very accomplished piper. And Joe MacAdam: I think he was as good as any I ever heard. I heard all these pipers playing and they had a good touch. But now I will return to Neil Maclsaac because he was the one with whom I was best acquainted and a remarkable man. He had the ñames to the tunes and he knew so many tunes by heart. He could ñame hundreds of tunes and tell you in which books they could be found. And he learned many tunes from his father. His father was full of tunes; he also played the pipes and he had a great store of fiddle tunes and pipe tunes the size of his repertoire was astounding. Now when people went to Neil Maclsaac intending to learn to play the pipes, he would test them carefully. He would ask them innumerable questions, to the point where he had to see the fingers on their hands and f eel them to find whether or not they would be good at playing the pipes. And if there was anything wrong in their people or their parents, such as asthma or consumption or anything of the sort, he would not at all be willing to teach them. He was extremely careful about the people who were going to learn music. And as for those who spent a little time going to him and acquiring the tunes, I think you can recognize these people as having been with him at one time or another because you find they have a way with music that gives it a (special) flavour. I believe, at least, that they put a special flavour into the music. I believe that the small pipes could have been played here at some time in the past. People used to dance a lot to pipe music. I never saw very much of that done but I know that Maclsaac used to do a tremendous lot of pipe playing. But he

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rnhór, mhór do chluich na piobadh; ach 's e a' phiob mhór a bhiodh aigesan. 'S e a' phiob mhór a bh' aige daonnan 'ga cluich. Ach 's fheudar gura h-e na pioban beaga a bhiodh acá 'gan cluich a chionn dheanadh a' phiob mhór roinn mhór do dh'fhuaim ann am broinn taighe. Agus cha n-fhaca mise bhith cluich piob bheag idir ach ar leam gum faca mi té dhiubh aig Macíosaig am piobaire 's e 'g obair air a' deanamh cáradh na cuir air dóigh air choireiginn oirre. Ach cha bhiodh uidhreachd aigesan air a bhith 'ga cluich co-dhiubh. 'S e a' phiob mhór a bhiodh aige an cómhnaidh 'ga cluich agus cha chuireadh e moran air fhéin 'na am air cluich cho mor 's gu robh i. Bhiodh e gu math toilichte a bhith 'ga cluich 's cha chuireadh e cus air cluich a' chuid bu mhotha dhe 'n oidhche fhad a' gheamhraidh airson a bhith 'ga cluich aig dannsa.

Dannsaichean Bha cuid mhór dhe na dannsaichean ann am bitheantas 'ga dheanamh as na taighean-cómhnaidh. Bha iad 'gan deanamh as na taighean sgoil mar an ceunda ach cha bhiodh iad a sin ach ma dh'fhaoidte aon uair 'sa bhliadhna na ma dh'fhaoidte a dhá. Ach dheanadh iad danns' ann a' ruith an t-samhraidh nuair a bha a' sgoil réidh mun tóisicheadh iad air an ath tim. Agus bha iad a' deanamh beagan do dh'airgiod as an dóigh sin a dheanamh cuideachadh timcheall air gnothaichean na sgoil. Nuair a bhiodh iad ann a' sin a' dannsadh 's e an dannsa ceárnach a bhiodh acá: na suidhichidhean ceárnach. Bha ochdnar a' dol air an úrlar: ceathrar fhireannach 's ceathrar bhoireannach. Agus bha iad a' páidheadh airson faighinn air an úrlar a dhannsa. 'S e cóig roinnean a bh' ann uile gu léir: nuair a rachadh a' cheud roinn a sheinn 's a dhannsadh bheireadh iad tiotan beag 'nan támh 's bha iad a' tóiseachadh suas air n-ais 's bha iad a' leantail air an dóigh sin gus am biodh an cóigeamh roinn seachad. Bha iad an uair sin a' fuireach tacan eile air an úrlar airson suidheachadh eile, na set eile mar a bheireadh iad 'sa Bheurla. Bha iad a' páidheadh a rithist - bhiodh na fireannaich a' páidheadh - agus bha iad a' faighinn boireannaich airson a dhol a dhannsa cómhla riu. As an am ud pháidheadh a h-uile fireannach a bha a' dol air an ürlar deich centaichean agus gheobhadh iad na cóig suidhichidhean a bha sin - na cóigfiogaireana bha sin - a dheanamh airson nan deich centachan. Ach ma bha 'n ceól a' córdadh riu agus an oidhche a bhith cuimseach fionnar neo ma

437

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played the big pipes; they were always his instrument. But they must have had the small pipes to play because the big pipes would make so much noise inside a house. I never saw the small pipes being played at all, but I do believe that I saw one of them with the piper Maclsaac as he was fixing it or making some adjustment on it. But he would not be interested in playing it anyway. He always stayed with the big pipes for playing and it would not bother him much at all to play them however big they were. He was very happy playing and it would be no effort for him to play most of the night throughout the winter playing at a dance.

Dances Many of the dances were customarily held in dwellinghouses. They also used to hold them in schoolhouses, but that would only be perhaps once or twice a year. They would hold a dance there during the summer when school was out and bef ore the next term started. They would make a little money that way to help with things in the school. Square dances were the dances they had there: the square sets. Eight people went out onto the íloor: four men and four women. And people paid to get out onto the floor to dance. There were five figures to it altogether. When the first figure was played and danced the dancers would rest a little time and then start back again and they would keep on that way until the fifth figure was over. The they would stay on the dance floor for another turn or "set," as they cali it in English. Then people paid again - the men would pay - and would find women to dance with them. In those days every man who went on the dance floor would pay ten cents and they would get five figures for the ten cents. But if they liked the music and the night was fairly cool, or if they were near to a window they would stay until perhaps three of the sets were over. And that would mean doing fifteen circuits of good tunes played for them before they left the floor. The dances that they used to hold in the dwelling-houses

438

Briathran Beóil, Spórs is Eólas

bha iad faisg air uinneag dh'fhuirgheadh iad ma dh'fhaoidte gus am biodh a tri dhe na suidhichidhean seachad. Agus bhiodh sin a cóig deug do dhol mun cuairt acá, do phuirt mhath a bhiodh air a chluich dhaibh mum faigheadh iad far an úrlair. Bhiodh iad a' deanamh dannsaichean as na taighean-cómhnaidh; 's e froilig a bheireadh iad riutha sin. Bu thric gura h-ann a' gearradh connaidh na treabhadh na spealadh na obair dheth sin a bhite deanamh. Agus gu h-áraid na banndraichean 's na boireannaich nach robh cuideachadh acá, bhite a' deanamh nan dannsaichean sin as na taighean. Agus a rithist bha rud ann acá ris an canadh iad raifeil. Bha iad a' reic bileagan air rud air choireiginn agus áireamh air a h-uile h-aon dhiubh agus nuair a bha iad uileadh air an reic rachadh uibhir a leth-bhreac a chuir ann an ad agus tháirneadh cuideiginn té dhiubh sin as an adaidh agus ge b'e có 'n áireamh a bh/ oirre, bha 'n áireamh sin a' buannachd na duais a bhiodh ann. Agus bhiodh an t-ógradh, bhiodh iad mu dheireadh a' cruinneachadh an áiteiginn agus gu h-áraid anns na taighean-cómhnaidh. Cha bhiodh iad ma dh'fhaoidte cho aobhach airson a dhol a dhannsa anns na taighean sgoil. Bhiodh fireannaich a' toirt leo nigheannan cuimseach óg a dhannsa airson 's gun ionnsaicheadh iad. Bhiodh iad 'gan toirt ann a dh'aona-ghnothach air chor 's gun ionnsaicheadh iad an sin an dannsa agus gum fásadh iad gu math ealanta air an dannsa. Agus bha cuid dha na h-ighneagan sin a bha fior mhath. Bha iad gu math aotrom, beó air úrlar agus bhiodh e toirt mór-thoileachadh dha 'n fheadhainn a bhiodh aig na dannsaichean iad sin a thoirt leo a dhannsa. Cha robh ruidhle ceathrar idir ri 'm chuimhne-sa 'ga dhannsa. Cha n-fhaca mise ruidhle ceathrar 'ga dhannsa mura dannsadh iad e ann an áite far am biodh cruinneachadh 's iad a' cuir ciar fearas-chuideachd air 'n aghaidh. Airson a chuid sin dheth chunna mi aon bhuidheann a' dannsa Ruidhle Thulachain agus sin na chunna mi riamh, ach cha robh e ach direach air shealltainn dha na daoine mar a bha e ri dhol. Bha 'm fear seo 'g innse naidheachd mu dheidhinn dannsair sónraichte a bh' ann agus smáladh e coinneal as gach ceann dhe 'n t-seómbar. Co-dhiubh bha e fior neo nach robh, bha e cantail gun cuireadh e gloine bheag do dh'uisge ann an crün na h-adadh agus gu rachadh aige air dannsa cho aotrom sios is suas bho cheann gu ceann an t-seómbair 's gu smáladh e na coinnlean le sháiltean agus a'

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were called frolics. Often people would be there to cut firewood or to plow or mow or some such work. In particular, widows and women who had no helpers around used to put on these dances in their houses. And then again they had something they called a raffle. They would sell tickets on something with a number on every ticket and when they were all sold so many copies were put in a hat and somebody would pulí one out and whatever number was on it was the number that won the prize. And lastly, the youth would gather somewhere, particularly in the dwelling-houses. They would not be altogether so enthusiastic about attending dances held in the schoolhouses. Men used to take fairly young girls dancing so that they could learn. They would volunteer to take them there so that they could learn the dance and become accomplished dancers, and some of the young girls were very good. They were very light and lively on the dance íloor and it would give great pleasure to those at the dances to escort them. The foursome reel, to my memory, was never danced. I never saw a foursome reel danced unless they danced it in a place where they were presenting a program of entertainment. As far as that's concerned I saw one group dancing the Reel of Tulloch and that is all I ever saw of it, but that was only a demonstration for people to show how it went. One man gave an account of an outstanding dancer who was able to snuff out candles at each end of the room. Whether this was true or not, he said that this man would put a small glass of water in the crown of his hat and was able to dance so lightly up and down from end to end of the room that he could snuff out the candles with his heels and keep the glass of water in the crease in the top of his hat. As long as it was in the crease in the hat, it wouldn't jump out, it wouldn't spill, and it wouldn't fall out. He would have to be extremely light and extremely accurate. It wouldn't do for him just to come cióse, to approach the candles and hit them with his heels without passing over them, ñor could he break the candle or knock it over, but just hit it. But he could put out the candles. And speaking of places where people used to dance, I saw

440

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ghloine uisge anns an t-sloc a bha am mullach na h-ad. Fhad 's a bhiodh i 'sa lag a bh' as an ad, cha leumadh i, cha dóirteadh i, cha n-fhalbhadh i as. Dh'fheumadh e bhith gu math aotrom ;s gu math cuimseach. Cha deanadh math dha a bhith deanamh tuairmse air a' ghnothach: a' tighinn dh' ionnsaidh nan coinnlean 's am bualadh le sháiltean 's gun a dhol fairis orra, neo gun a' choinneal a bhristeadh neo a leagadh, ach a bualadh. Ach smáladh e na coinnlean. A bhith bruidhinn air áiteachan as a robh iad a' dannsa, chunna mi iad a' dannsa air drochaid nuair a chruinnicheadh buidheann do dh'ógradh f easgar agus bhiodh cuideiginn ann a chluicheadh an fhidheall. Agus dheanadh iad seórsa do sguabadh air an drochaid: ma bha morghan oirre 's gnothaichean bhiodh i deiseil acá agus bheireadh iad tacan air dannsa. Dheanadh iad ma dh' fhaoidte tri neo ceithir do shuidhichidhean-dannsa ann a' sin. Cha robh moran siubhal orra 'san am agus cha chuireadh e tilleadh orra.

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dancing on a bridge when a group of young people gathered in the evening and someone was there to play fiddle. They used to give the bridge a sort of a sweeping; if there was gravel on it or anything they would prepare it and spend some time dancing. They would do perhaps three or four dance sets there. There was not much traffic in those days so it did not interfere.

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Notes

The following abbreviations and shortened references have been used in the notes. Full references are found in the Select Bibliography. Numbers and dates refer to fleld-recordings made by the editor and deposited in the Gaelic Folklore Project Tape Collection at St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, Nova Scotia. Numbers preceded by AT and followed by a title correspond to the Aarne-Thompson folktale classification systern as given in Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson, The Types of the Folktale and listed on page 484. C.B. Mag. CG GWSU LNF

LSIC MWHT

SD SGS SS SSU Superstitions TGSI Wet?S

WHT

Cape Breton's Magazine. Wreck Cove 1973— Alexander Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica. Alian McDonald, Gaelic Woids and Expiessions from South Uist and Eriskay John Francis Campbell, Leabhar na Féinne Séamus Ó Duilearga, Leabhar Sheáin í Chonaill John Francis Campbell, More West Highland Tales K.C. Craig, Sgialachdan Dhunnchaidh Scottish Gaelic Studies. Oxford 1926Scottish Studies. Edinburgh 1957Angus MacLellan, Stories from South Uist John Gregorson Campbell, Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness. Inverness 1871Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition. Argyleshire Series 5 vols. Volumes cited are: 2 Maclnnes, Folk and Hero Tales 3 MacDougall, Folk and Hero Tales 4 Campbell, The Fians John Francis Campbell, Popular Tales of the West Highlands

INTRODUCTION 1 A North Uist reciter, Pádruig Moireasdan, also literate in Gaelic,

444

2

3 4

5

6 7 8 9 10 11

12

Notes to pages xvii-xx recently contributed a collection of traditional material learned entirely from oral sources. See Moireasdan, Ugam agus Bhuam. For this reason little reference has been made to the rich and varied stock of songs (of which Joe Neil, though not an active singer, knows scores) that were regularly enjoyed in the neighbourhood; or the more than one hundred puirt-a-beul (mouth-music) sets of words to tunes that Joe Neil has recited for us, not to mention the immense store of lore concerning religión, weather, folk-medicine, annual festivals, farming, fishing, and material culture that still lives on in the memories of the older natives of his parish. See Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller"; Dégh, Folktales and Society. Campbell was acquainted with Kate Patterson of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Bretón County, who was a well-known singer and a proficient story-teller. See J.L. Campbell and Collinson, Hebridean Folksongs 2: 6. Dunn, "Gaelic in Cape Bretón/' mentions that at that time the folktale was "virtually extinct" and supplies a listing of the rare but interesting examples recorded by himself and the Reverend P.J. Nicholson of St Francis Xavier University, or recited by the Reverend J.D. Nelson MacDonald. Of particular interest here is Dunn's observation (p. 7) regarding the paucity and abased status of the folktale as compared with Gaelic song: "The principal reason must be that in a changing society new forms of entertainment have taken its place. The seanachaidh has no role in this new society; his office as public entertainer is no longer desired or needed." For a translation of a further Cape Bretón folktale noted down that year by the same collector, see Dunn, Highland Settler, 45-6. . Edited by P.J. Nicholson, The Casket, 12 August 1943, 8; 19 August 1943, 8; 2 September 1943, 7. Jackson, "Notes on the Gaelic of Port Hood," 179-83, 186. MacDonnell and MacKinnon, "Cath nan Eun." The magazine, edited by Ronald Caplan and published in Wreck Cove, Victoria County, Cape Bretón, began in 1973. Héctor Campbell, Luiígean Eachainn Nill. See Dillon, ed., Early Irish Society, 13. That a peripheral área such as Cape Bretón should prove to contain material of such valué and interest to the collector of Gaelic folklore would seem to run counter to the thesis advanced by f olklorist C. W. von Sydow that f olk wanderings lead to a mass extinction of folk tradition. See von Sydow, "Geography and Folk-Tale Ecotypes," 354. C18 Al 2/76, printed in C.B. Mag. 16 (June 1977): 24-32; 17 (August

445

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28

Notes to pages xx—xxv 1977): 30-9; Ronald Caplan, ed., Down Noith: The Book of Cape Bretón 's Magazine (Toronto: Doubleday Canadá 1980), 83-96. Delargy "Gaelic Storyteller/' 188. Such has not always been the case for every collector. See Hyde, Beside the Fue, xlv-xlvii. See Donald Archie MacDonald, "Collecting Oral Literature/' 424. Delargy, "Irish Tales and Story-Tellers," 65. Sayers, Peig, vii. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 181. For descriptions of céilidhs held in the nineteenth century, see WHT3: 158-9; CG 1: xii-xiv; Wo)S 2: ix-x; Delargy, "Irish Tales," 71. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 194; Calum Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 125 (evidence cited from Barra); WHT 1: 224-5. For hero-tales see Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 181; for wonder-tales see Delargy, "Irish Tales," 71. Carmichael, Deirdire, 5-6; Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 198; Dégh, Folktales and Society, 118. Maclean, The Highlands, xv; Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 129; Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 181. For similar practice in Hungary see Dégh, Folktales and Society, 92. 321 A10 16/4/81. 77A8-78A1 10/5/78. From a conversation (22/1/81) with Dan Joe ("The Sailor") MacNeil, a native of Deepdale, Inverness County. W&>S 4: xi—xii; Christiansen, The Vikings, 66. See also Dégh, Folktales and Society, 75. Dunn, Highland Settler, 52. Alexander Maclean Sinclair in gently ironic tones had already called attention to the obvious educational function of recited Gaelic lore in Nova Scotia before the turn of the century: see Mac-Talla (Sydney), 9 September 1893, 5. The effects of story-telling on the psychic development of children in traditional rural societies should receive serious study while it is still possible; sufflce it to suggest here that folktales may have provided a major source for the unusual degree of serenity and clarity of mind that can still be observed among the island's older Gaelic-speakers. An innovative and psychologically insightful interpretation of a folktale noted down from a nineteenth-century Irish Gaelic reciter is given by Heinrich Zirnmer in The King and the Corpse, 26-66. See also Charlotte Bühler and Josephine Bilz, Das Marchen und die Phantasie des Rindes (Munich, 1958). For a psychoanalytic study of children and folktales in urban Europe, see Bruno Bettelheim, The Use of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance ofFairy Tales (New York: Random House 1977).

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Notes to pages xxv-xxviii

29 Dégh, Folktales and Society, 85. For an interesting parallel with the Scottish Gaelic waulking-song tradition, see J.L. Campbell and Collinson, Hebridean Folksongs 2: 2nl. 30 Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 180. 31 Ibid., 210. 32 Ibidv 181. 33 Recorded (24/10/80) from Dougall MacDonald of Troy, Inverness County (297 A4); Maclean, The Highlands, 67. 34 38A2 15/3/78; 42A8-43A1 22/3/78. Recorded from Dan Angus Beatón, Blackstone, Inverness County; Maclean, The Highlands, 91-4. 35 Archie Dan MacLellan and family (C2A4 15/11/77). See CG 2: 352-3. 36 Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 240. For Information on this bard, see Smeórach nan Cnoc 's nan Gleann, ed. Héctor MacDougall (Glasgow: Alexander MacLaren & Sons 1939), 113-22. 37 Aiseirigh Cadail Lachlainn, J. Shaw Coll. C14 Al 2/76, printed with translation in C.B. Mag. 23 (August 1979): 18-32. 38 Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 195-6. 39 TGSI25 (1901-3): 179-265. See Delargy, "Three Men of Islay." 40 W H T l r l . 41 Maclean, "Aonghus agus Donnchadh," 173. According to Maclean, Alasdair Mac a' Cheird may be "the longest story that has ever been recorded in the history of folklore recording"; see Tocher 31 (Summer 1979): 64. 42 Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 206; Murphy, Saga andMyth, 5-6. 43 SD. 44 Wé)S 4, xxxvii; Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 191; Christiansen, The Vikings, 69. 45 Wet)S 4: 31; Christiansen, The Vikings, 67; LNF218. 46 Christiansen, The Vikings, 71. 47 WHTI:xxv. 48 Jackson, "International Folktale," 183-4, 188, reports the Fenian dialogue; see An Teangadóir 3, no 15 (1955): 42 for the Antigonish County native's repertoire; Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 53-68. 49 From a conversation with Alee Goldie of Irish Vale, Cape Bretón County (19/7/79). 50 See Part 2, no 1, and Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 57. For a general discussion of runs in Scottish and Irish tales see Bruford, Gaelic FolkTales, 183-209; Hyde, Beside the Pire, xxvii-xxix; Wa>S 2: 448-51. 51 AT 953 may well have been the model from which the convention of in-tales in Gaelic story-telling spread. See Murphy, Ossianic Lore, 52.

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52

53 54 55

56 57 58 59 60

61 62 63

Notes to pages xxviii-xxxi The text and translation of Conall Ruadh nan Caí (J. Shaw Coll. 5 A3 [1964]) are printed in C.B. Mag. 21 (December 1978): 13-21. "And great is the blindness and darkness of sin and ignorance and design of those who teach and write and cultívate Gaelic, that they are more desirous, and more accustomed, to compose vain, seductive, lying and worldly tales about the Tuatha De Danann and the Sons of Mil and the heros and Finn MacCoul and his warriors and to cultivate and piece together much else which I will not enumérate or tell here, for the purpose of winning for themselves the vain rewards of the world, rather than write and teach and cultivate the truc words of God and the puré ways of truth." Bishop Carswell's introduction to his Gaelic translation of the Prayer Book (1567), quoted in Donald Archie MacDonald, " Collecting Oral Litera ture, "414. The original Gaelic passage is printed in R.L. Thomson, ed., Foirm na n-Urrnuidheadh (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boydl970) ; 11. CG 1: xxv-xxvi; WHT 1: iv. Information from a conversation with Angus MacKinnon and fieldnotes (1173/78). Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 181; Ó Súilleabháin and Christiansen, "Types of Irish Folk-Tale," 6. In the rare instances when a Gaelic reciter is called upon to recite in English, the result, as Dutch folklorist Maartje Draak described from her meeting with Duncan MacDonald of South Uist (Fábula 1 [1958]: 47—58), is more a laboured translation than a lively rendition. Maclean, "Aonghus agus Donnchadh," 173, and "Hebridean Storytellers," 126-7. Maclean, The Highlands, xiii, and "Hebridean Storytellers," 124. WHT 1: xxi-xxiii; Delargy, "Three Men of Islay," 126-33. CG2:352. Angus MacLellan, The Funow behind Me, and see also the introduction to Angus MacLellan, Stories from South Uist; Donald Archie MacDonald, "Donald Alasdair Johnson - a Storyteller from South Uist"; Moireasdan, Ugam agus Bhuam. For a successful and widely read folklore autobiography by Tomás Ó Crohan, an Irish informant from the Blasket Islands, see The Islandman, trans. Robin Flower (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1985). The Irish original first appeared in 1929. Delargy, "Irish Tales,"79. Cf. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 198-200. For Hungarian parallels see Dégh, Folktales and Society, 79. See Maclean, The Highlands, 123—32; R. David Clement and Hamish

448

64 65 66 67 68 69 70

71 72 73 74 75 76

77

Notes to pages xxxi-xxxiii Henderson, "Alasdair Stewart ('Brian')," Tocher, 29 (Autumn 1978): 265-301. WHTl: vi, li-lii. In some instances the challenge of recording for a collector, along with the resulting attention within the locality, has turned passive traditionbearers into active reciters. See Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller/' 189. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller/' 188. Matheson, "Duncan MacDonald," 2. Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers/' 126-7. Curtin, Irish Folk-Tales, 169. When Joe Neil was eighteen or nineteen, Anna NicNeacail (Bean Mhicheil 'ic 'Illemhaoil), then an oíd woman and perhaps more perceptive than the rest, counselled him with these words: Cuimhnich gura h-i a' Gháidhligite as áirde tha 'nad churrac. Agusna deán thusa diochuimhn' air cuimhn' a chumail oine agus a bhith dileas dhi. "Remember your Gaelic is the highest feather in your cap. Don't forget to retain it in your memory and to be loyal to it." (225 A3 27/6/79) Matheson, "Duncan MacDonald/' 4. Delargy, "Irish Tales," 79; Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers/' 126. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller/' 196; Matheson, "Duncan MacDonald/' 3-4; Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 128. Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 125; Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 185. Dégh, Folktales and Society, 88. Moireasdan, Ugam agus Bhuam, xx. According to folktale researchers as experienced as von Sydow ("Geography," 347, 379) and Delargy ("Gaelic Storyteller," 208) the number of accomplished reciters ("traditors") in a given community is invariably limited to only a few per thousand people. While an examination of the lists of South Uist and Barra reciters from the 1860s and 1870s in J.F. Campbell of Islay and Alexander CarmichaeFs wofks is inconclusive in this regard, information from reciters active in our own time would tend to make this number conservative for Scottish Gaelic áreas. CG 1: xxiv. Reidar Christiansen's anecdote concerning the return of a collector forty years later to hear a young man recite a tale " in exactly the same words and manner as he had got it from an oíd man in the same house forty years before" (Christiansen, Vikings, 70) is a misquotation from a letter to J.F. Campbell of Islay from his collaborator John Dewar printed in WHT1: li-liii. Dewar did come across the same tale recited by a younger man, but " about therty miles distante from where I had heard it told forty years before that; and the man which

449

78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

89 90 91 92 93 94 95

96 97

Notes to pages xxxiii—xxxvii told me the tale could not tell me the meaning of some of the oíd Gaelic words that was in it" (p. lii). This would be an ordinary enough experience for any collector. 302 A10-304 Al 4/12/80; 305 A7-306 Al 5/1/81. See Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 189-90, for Irish examples. Draak, "Duncan MacDonald of South Uist," 52-3. Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 55, 64-5. Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller/' 200. Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 60, 238. Hyde, Beside the Pire, xix; see Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 60. Christiansen, Vikings, 75; WHT 1: xxv. Delargy, "Irish Tales," 80. Christiansen, Vikings, 72-3; Bruford, "ALost MacMhuirich Manuscript," see bibliography; J.L. Campbell and Thomson, Edward Lhuyd, 39-41. The manuscript employs a system of abbreviations, later filled in, which is certain evidence of its being taken down from oral recitation. The collector, James (Seumas Beag Sheumais Dhómhnaill Mhurchaidh) MacNeil, a native of Irish Vale, Cape Bretón County, later became the editor of Teachdaire nan Gáidheal-, seeDunn, Highland Settleí, 88-9. The tale, titled An t-Each Dubh "The Black Horse," may well be the tale of the same ñame collected by Héctor MacLean from Roderick MacNeill of Mingulay, mentioned above, and listed by J.F. Campbell in WHT 4: 422-3. See James MacNeil's papers, 1930-42, MG 6/24, deposited with the Beatón Institute, University College of Cape Bretón (Sydney, N.S.). Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 201; Murphy, Ossianic Lore, 60. WHT 1: xli; Mac-Talla (Sydney), 10 (6 June 1902) - 12 (21 August 1903). For the English versión see Curtin, Myths and Folklore, 92-113. Hyde, Beside the Pire, xxiv. See also Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 194. Delargy, "Irish Tales,"67. Lord, Singei of Tales, 29; Dégh, Folktales and Society, 83, 85. Donald Archie MacDonald, "Collecting Oral Literature," 425-6; Joe Neil recalls the term "raiment of the tale" being used by Michael MacPhee of Big Pond referring to the story-telling of Donald (Dómhnall Bán) MacNeil mentioned on pp. 24—5, Part 1. Maclean, "Aonghus agus Donnchadh," 173. Bruford (Gaelic Folk-Tales, 240) suspects that MacNeilFs lengthy versión was a " delibérate compilation," possibly with the help of transcriber Héctor MacLean. J.F. Campbell notes in his diaries (Delargy,

450

98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115

Notes to pages xxxvii—7 "Three Men of Islay," 126-7) that during the process of transcription in a small "public" in Paisley both men were "rather screwed. Héctor the worse." Maclean, "Aonghus agus Donnchadh," 173; Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 206-7. Angus MacLellan, Saoghal an Treobhaiche, 3, 214. See Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers/' 124; and Delargey, "Gaelic Storyteller," 186, and "Irish Tales/' 65. See Part 1, pp. 34-5 and Part 1, pp. 186-7. Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 124. Maclean, "Aonghus agus Donnchadh," 171-2. See also Matheson, "DuncanMacDonald," 1-32. See SSU, passim; J.L. Campbell, "Angus MacLellan," 193-7. LSIC, passim-, Delargy, "Gaelic Storyteller," 189-90. See Robinson, Satirists and Enchanters, 117; J.L. Campbell and Collinson, Hebridean Folksongs 2: 112-21. See Roger D. Abrams. "Proverbs and Proverbial Expressions," in Folklore and Folklife, ed. R.M. Dorson, 117-28. J.L. Campbell, "Proverbs from Barra." Maclean, "DeathDivination," 57. CG 5: 286-97. From Lauchie MacLellan, Dunvegan, Inverness County. See MacDonnell and Shaw, "Raonall Mac Ailein Óig." Carmichael (CG 1: xxix—xxxiii) gives a memorable description of the effects of the suppression of traditional music and song in some districts of the Scottish Gáidhealtachd during the nineteenth century. J.F. and T.M. Flett, "Some Hebridean Folk Dances." Maclean, "Hebridean Storytellers," 121. PART ONE: THE W O R L D OF THE S T O R Y - T E L L E R Middle Cape 17A3 20/1/78; 17A4-18A1 20/1/78; 135A2-138A1 23/11/78; 138A2-139A1 23/11/78; 226A6 30/6/79.

1 Joe Neil was born 23 February 1908 at Reserve Mines, Cape Bretón County, and was adopted and raised by Neil (Niall Beag) MacNeil and his wife, both of Barra descent. 2 The period immediately before World War i marked the decline of

451

3

4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12

Notes to pages 7-23 Gaelic-speaking monoglots in the rural áreas of the island along with the flrst appearance of non-Gaelic-speaking children among Highland farming families. The last monoglot Gaelic-speaker in Cape Bretón known to us, Mary Rankin of Broadcove Banks, Inverness County, died in 1976 aged about ninety-five. The exclusión of Gaelic in any form from the classroom has, until the last decade, been the rule in all of the schools serving Cape Breton's Gaelic-speaking districts. Although such ends were generally achieved through various forms of social pressure, including ridicule, incidents of physical punishment f or the use of Gaelic are still vividly recalled by informants living today. See D. Campbell and R.A. MacLean, Beyond the Atlantic Roai: A Study of the Nova Scotia Scots (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart 1974), 131. See p. xxxiv. The fish referred to is smelt (morghadan] and the river (actually a stream), known as Allt Ruairidh Bhric, is cióse to the reciter's boyhood home. In the rural áreas people of Joe Neil's generation show a marked reticence concerning what would be termed idle gossip, particularly where it concerns local personalities. When such reíerences do occur in conversation they are seldom direct, frequently tinged with humour, and always quotable. Here, as in Gaelic Scotland, the acceptable outlet for social comment and speculation was through the more formal device of satirical songs. Although there are now few bards of note left in the región, large numbers of satirical songs survive in all Highland communities (see Dunn, Highland Settler, 69-70). See pp. 234-5. Joe Neil and Héctor know each other from early manhood. A Gaelic newspaper edited by Jonathan G. MacKinnon and published in Sydney from 1892 to 1904; see Dunn, Highland Settler, 83-9. Sar-Obair nam Baid Gaelach, ed. John MacKenzie. For a partial list of the various editions, see Donald MacLean, Typographia ScotoGadelica (Edinburgh 1915), 245-9. A. Maclean Sinclair, ed., Clársach na Coille (Glasgow 1881). Teachdaiie nan Gáidheal was published in Sydney from 1925 and appeared intermittently for more than ten years; see Dunn, Highland Settler, pp. 88-9. The Casket was founded in 1852. Story-tellers

139A2-143A123/11/78.

452

Notes to pages 23-37

1 AT 2030. See WHT 1: 161-7; D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 1—3. This is a formula tale for children, undoubtedly the most universally recognized Gaelic story in Cape Bretón. 2 Anna MacNeil ("Tannag") was by all accounts highly respected as both a tradition-bearer and a personality and was especially beloved of children. Around 1920, when she was over eighty and too infirm to make her rounds, she was sent to the asylum in Sydney (there being no poor-house at the time), and she died there a few years later. 3 Cf. Gaiim 109 (An Geamhradh 1979-80): 49. 4 Compare the account of a story-telling session in the Isle of Barra in the summer of 1859 from the collector Héctor MacLean (WHT 1: v): "They speak of the Ossianic héroes with as much feeling, sympathy, and belief in their existence and reality as the readers of the newspapers do of the exploits of the British army in the Crimea or in India..." 5 This reference is not known to the editor from printed Fenian literature 6 A Fenian lay well known in Scottish Gaelic which seems to have no Irish counterpart. For printed versions, see Wo)S 4: 130-3; WHT 3: 136-60; LNF, 68-71; Gillies' Collections (Perth, 1786), 69-77. The above versions agree in giving fríthealadh "dealing with" for ftghe "weaving." 7 This is confirmed by the editor's experience with leading Cape Bretón story-tellers such as Hughie Dan MacDonnell (Deepdale, Inverness County, d. 1976), Lauchie MacLellan (Dunvegan, Inverness County), Héctor Campbell (Hillsdale, Inverness County, d. 1975), Joe Alian MacLean (Rear Christmas Island, Cape Bretón County, d. 1984), and Joe Neil. The famous South Uist story-teller, Angus (Aonghus Beag) MacLellan, recited a short tale to the editor in 1961 in which gestures were not used; Duncan MacDonald of South Uist was observed by Maartje Draak ("Duncan MacDonald of South Uist," 48) reciting tales with his hands on his knees. With these reciters, peripheral dramatic effects seem to be achieved through the voice, ranging from imitations of various story characters to a dry, understated tone for humorous descriptions and an accelerated near singsong peculiar to the longer tales. Such observations contrast partially with Calum Maclean's description of Seumas MacKinnon, the last great story-teller in Barra ("Hebridean Storytellers," 124), and more markedly with Delargy's poignant image of Kerry story-teller Sean Ó Conaill practising his stories "using the gesticulations and the emphasis, and all the other tricks of narration" ("The Gaelic Storyteller," 186).

453

Notes topages 41-9 PART TWO: THE RE C I T E R S AND THE T A L E S

The Kennedys 269A2 13/5/80; 140A1 23/11/78. 1 Murdock Kennedy's grandson Alexander (d. 1985 aged about eighty) inf ormed us that Murdock was born on the Isle of Canna, Inner Hebrides. 2 Archie Kennedy was born in 1852 and died in 1936. 3 Von Sydow ("Geography," 348) notes the importance of a regular audience of "passive tradition carriers" to the maintenance of the story-teller's skill: "They know the traditor's repertoire and encourage him to tell his tales. So they act as a kind of sounding-board for the tale. It is often due to their presence and insisten ce tbat the traditor consents to function; and if he moves from the district and no longer has their insistence, he often ceases to be active." 1 The Man in the Light Grey Coat }. Shaw Coll. C21A1 2/76 From Archie Kennedy. This tale is printed in C.B. Mag. 22 (June 1979): 30-6. A closely related Cape Bretón versión was recorded ca 1960 from Neil Maclntyre of Benacadie Pond, Cape Bretón County, by C.I.N. MacLeod and published in Sgeulachdan á Albainn Nuaidh, 94-101. The versión also appears in Gaiim 15 (An t-Earrach 1956): 243-8. A number of versions noted down from oral sources in Scotland in the last century have been published: W&S 2: 32-67; W&>S 3: 27-55; MWHT2: 68-77; TGS/25 (1901-3): 185, 247; WHT2: 209-31 (titled Murachadh Mac Brian}. The tale is mentioned in J.F. Campbell's lists of tales (WHT 4: 389, 406) with an English summary in vol. 18, p. 118 of the collector's manuscripts, now held at the National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh (Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 253, 261). In his comparison of the Scottish and Irish variants, Bruford (pp. 129, 252-3) suggests that the origin of the various Irish oral and manuscript variants may lie in an earlier Scottish folk-tale. 1 See W&S 3: 35, 48; W&S 4: 160; LNF, 177 verse 25. Thomas F. O'Rahilly, Early Irish History and Mythology (Dublin: Dublin Insti-

454

Notes to pages 49-57

tute for Advanced Studies 1964), 334-6, cites Irish parallels containing the formula cuir do mheui fo d' dheud ftos. 1 A virtually identical tableau involving the pursuit of a deer by Caoilte, the use of the deud-ftos "tooth of knowledge/' and seven summer seats is to be found in a Fenian tale from Barra titled An Gruagach Bán, Mac Righ Eireann (WHT2: 430-1, 443-4). 3 See TGSI25: 247-8. 4 This bewitching run is common in the repertoire of Gaelic reciters in Scotland and is the only run to have been recorded in Cape Bretón in more than fragmentary form. See SSU, 34, 212; SD, 34; MWHT1: 230, ; Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 93. 5 Cf. W&)S 2: 450. This formula, like a number of others from Cape Bretón reciters, may be a fragment of an earlier, lengthier travelling run: compare the formula in Hughie Dan MacDonnelPs rendition of the romantic tale AT953 (C.B. Mag. 21 [December 1978]: 14) with the travelling runs in WHT 1: 9, 17: MWHT 1, 42. 6 A formless monster-adversary. 7 See W&S 2: 42; W&S 3: 267. 8 Joe Neil understands the Son of the King of the Golden Pillars to be Ceudach Mac Righ non Collachan Oír, known also as Mac Righ nan Collach (Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 87-8; Bruford, GaelicFolk-Tales, 124). For the association of the present tale with the Ceudach tales, see Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 129, 132n41; W&S4: 273, 276, where Righ nan Collach is a brother to Fionn's father Cumhal. 9 A common counter-geas (retaliatory spell or prohibition). See MWHT 1: 430. 2 O Cróileagan of the Horses 41A8-42A1 16/3/78 From Archie Kennedy. The tale of which this is a short fragment, Leigheas Coise Céin "The Healing of Cian's Leg,' originally consisted of over twenty parts, including a large number of in-tales, and took several nights to recite (CG 1: xxiii-xxiv; Wo)S 2: 464). The Reverend Donald MacNicol, in an instructive passage on Gaelic folk tradition in the Highlands, singles out the tale as an example of the advanced state of story-telling: "One of those, in particular, is long enough to furnish subject of amusement for several nights running. It is called Scialachd Choise Ce or Cian O Cathan's Tale; and though Scialachies, or tellers of tales by profession, are not now retained by our great families, as formerly, there are many

455

1 2 3 4 5

Notes to pages 57-63 still living, who can repeat it from end to end, very accurately" (Remarks on Dr. Samuel Johnson's Journey to the Hebrides [London: T. Caddell 1779], 322). See also TGSI25 (1901-8): 179. The oldest written record is in a late fifteenth-century Irish manuscript (Egerton 1781; British Museum, Irish MSS, edited and translated by S.H. O'Grady, Silva Gadelica, vol. 1 [London, 1892], 296); however, the nineteenth-century Scottish Gaelic oral versions, Usted below, are more coherent and detailed and seem to derive from an oral tradition that antedates the manuscript versions, according to Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 135, 262; and Gerard Murphy, Ossianic Loie, 61. For the Scottish Gaelic oral versions, see TGSI 14 (1887-8): 78-100 (Tiree); TGSI 25: 262-4; W&)S 2: 206-77. None of the published versions have been taken down from reciters in the Outer Hebrides. See Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 144 n5. CF. Ghlaodh e cómhiag (W&S 2: 274). For a possible origin of this ñame see Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 168. laU Greugach, cf. WHT2: 183, 194. Fear Diad mac Daimhein, Cu Chulainn's comrade-in-arms. See Calum Maclean, "TáinBó Cúailnge" 168. 3 Iseadal Son of the King of the Hunts, Fionn's Foster-Son 38A4-39A1 16/3/78 From Archie Kennedy.

The above is a fragment of An Bhruidhean Chaorthainn "The Rowan Mansión," a Fenian tale in which Fionn and his retainers are trapped and later rescued after a number of battles by Diarmaid and other members of the band. Scottish oral versions, which are rare, are printed in WHT2: 181-202; SSU, 27-8; D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 53—4. Tale no 8, Diarmaid agus Bean Chaol a' Chót' Uaine "Diarmaid and the Slim Woman in the Green Coat" may have belonged to the same tale in Archie Kennedy's repertoire, or to one of the other tales of the biuidhean type circulating in Scotland and Ireland. The earliest manuscript versión of the tale (ca 1600) is Scottish. See Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 47, 115-18, 251; Murphy, Ossianic Lore, 52—4; Murphy, Duanaire Finn, pt. 3, 26. For a folk retelling of the tale in Ireland, see Murphy, Duannaire Finn, pt. 3, xxv; Mac Róigh, Bmidhean Chaorthainn. 1 The motif of stringing a withe (a flexible willow stick) with heads occurs in two of the Scottish oral versions of the Death of Cu Chulainn (see notes to 13). See Calum Maclean, "Táin Bó Cúailnge," 181; TGSI

456

Notes to pages 63-71 2: 38; MacLeod, "Maoim Chruachan and Cuchullin." Baoth Maol a' Chruachain may echo Maoim a' Chruachain, the Queen Medb of the Ulster Cycle in these nineteenth-century versions. 4 How Osear Got His Ñame 41A2 16/3/78 From Archie Kennedy.

1 The same punning question is asked in another Fenian tale; see W&JS 4: 29; cf. Mod. Ir. osear "agility in plying the limbs." 5 Osear and Mac a' Luin 29A2 8/4/78 From Archie Kennedy 1 Deud-fios: see above pp. 453—4 ni for references to the tooth of knowledge. 2 Cf. WHT3:354, 360. 6 Fionn and the Strange Adversarles 39A3 16/3/78 From Archie Kennedy. 7 How Conan Got His Ñame 40A7 16/3/78 From Archie Kennedy. A South Uist versión of this tale is printed in SSU, 20. For a description of Conan, see Wé)S 4: 73-4. 1 Cf. W&JS4: 73; WHT4: 233. 8 Diarmaid and the Slim Woman in the Green Coat 145A4 24/11 / 78 From Archie Kennedy. The events described in this fragment involving the Slim Woman {Bean Chaol) are commonly incorporated in the bruidhean tales. The Fenian warrior who remained stuck to the floor was Conan (Wo?S 3: 71-2). Bean Chaol is mentioned elsewhere in J.L. Campbell, Sia Sgeulachdan, 40; WHT2: 90, 424-49. 1 Cf. W&S 4: 74. 9 The Death of Diarmaid 145A7-146A1 24/11 / 78 From Archie Kennedy.

457

Notes to pages 71-91 For other versions of this tale, see WHT3: 49-102; W&)S 4: 54-63; SSU, 29-32; Tochei 18 (summer 1975): 62-5; LNF, 158-64. 10 The Ambas Órmanach 146A6 24711 / 78 From Archie Kennedy. AT 326 The Youth Who Wanted to Learn What Fear Is. A tale resembling this type is printed in WHT 2: 290-9. For Irish variants, see Béaloideas 1: 398, 4:50, 4: 230, 10: 188, 19: 29; Folklore 47 (1936): 286. The long tale Echtia Chonaill Ghulban contains references to an Amhus Ór-aramach with various meaningless variants on the ñame (Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 168). 11 Jack and the Master

}. Shaw Coll. C17A1 Feb. 1976. Heard from Archie Kennedy and later reinforced by a printed versión. AT 1000 Bargain Not to Become Angry, combined with types 1005, 1006. A Scottish versión of this tale transcribed in 1860 is printed in WHT 2: 318—43. Some Irish versions bear a striking similarity to this rendition. For possible (partial) written sources, see Patrick Kennedy, The Fiíeside Stories of Iieland (Dublin: M'Glashan and Gilí 1870), 74-80; loseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt 1892), 182-91. See also Béaloideas 5: 44-7, and 10: 178-80. 1 Bonnach is a round, fíat kind of bread or cake. 12 Great Bríd of the Hoises 17A1 20/1/78 From Murdock Kennedy. This is a surprisingly coherent fragment of the Middle Irish literary tale Tiomdamh Guaiie "Guaire's Troublesome Guests," which exists in its oldest form in a fifteenth-century manuscript versión from the Book of Lismore and contains elements from earlier traditions (see Maud loynt, ed., Tromdamh Guaire [Dublin: The Stationery Office 1931]; Sean O Coileáin, "The Making of Tromdamh Guaire"). During a visit to South Uist in 1871 J.F. Campbell took down a summary in English of the tale from an oral source based on a versión contained in a lost manuscript belonging to the MacMhuirich family (Bruford, "MacMhuirich Manuscript," 158-9). See also WJ. Watson, "Cliar Shean-

458

Notes to pages 91-7 chain/' The Celtic Review4 (1907-8): 80-8; Robinson, Satirists and Enchanters, 96, 125-7; W&S 2: 465-7. In the Middle Irish versión the bards' demands for blackberries in January, a boar, and to be mounted on a special steed are included among other seemingly impossible requests. The counter-demand for the cronán snagach is made by King Guaire's brother Marbhán. That oral versions of the story were once widespread and popular in Scotland is clear from numerous references; see Wé)S 2: 206 (where reference to the Cliath-sheanachair is contained in an introduction to Leigheas Coise Céin, no 2 above); Angus Macleod, edv The Songs of Duncan Ban Maclntyre (Edinburgh: Oliver &Boyd 1952), 455-6; CG 2: 270; J.L. Campbell, ed. A Collection of Highland Rites, 55-6. A fragment of another tale, known as Smeuran Dubha 'san Fhaoilleach "Blackberries in January" and incorporating the task mentioned here (H. 1023.3) was supplied by Mary Arme MacKenzie of Washabuck, Victoria County (237A8 16/11/79). Compare the versión of AT 953 by the same title in MWHT 2: 410-36. An allusion to this task is further preserved in a proverb; see Nicholson, Proverbs, 51, 349; see also Tocher 14 (Summer 1974): 235-8. 13 The Death of Cu Chulainn 38A3 16/3/78 From Murdock Kennedy. A more complete versión of this fragment of the Ulster Cycle epic, Táin Bó Cúailnge "The Cattle Raid of Cooley," was recorded in 1959 from the South Uist reciter Angus MacLellan by Dr Calum Maclean for the School of Scottish Studies,- see Maclean, "Táin Bó Cúailnge," 16081 (includes extensive manuscript references from Irish tradition along with a discussion of the oral variants from Scotland); Gairm 29 (Am Foghar 1959): 67-73. The two previously published Scottish Gaelic folk variants were collected during the last century, one by Alexander Carmichael in lochdar, South Uist, in 1872 (TGSI2 [1872]: 25-42) and the other from an Eigg informant by Kenneth MacLeod and published in translation (MacLeod, "Hero Tales," 512-16). All of the Scottish variants agree with the present versión in citing a prohibition against proclaiming Cu Chulainn's death aloud (Maclean, 174; Carmichael, 38; MacLeod, 516). Bruford (Gaelic Folk-Tales, 95, 104 n4) notes that there were a number of manuscripts of the Táin and other Cu Chulainn tales in Scotland about 1700; one was in the possession of the Reverend John Beatón of Mull, and the MacMhuirichs held another manuscript, also now lost, from which the Uist oral versions may have derived. See

459

Notes to pages 97-111 note 87 to the introduction abo ve. For an older, possibly related literary versión, see Whitley Stokes, " Cuchulainn's Death," Revue celtique 3(1876-8): 175-85. The proper ñame Fitheach "raven" given here originated with the raven that appeared, according to Scottish Gaelic tradition, signifying the death of Cu Chulainn (MacLeod, 515-16; W&S 4:8}. For other Cu Chulainn stories in Scottish Gaelic, see WHT 3: 194-9. The reference in the fragment to the Rock of Big Fergus (Clach Fhearghuis Mhóir) is unparalleled in Cu Chulainn tales elsewhere. The stone, traditionally belonging to Fergus Mor mac Eirc, the first of the Dál Riata kings to rule in Scotland, is the only surviving symbol of Scottish sovereignty. Its Irish counterpart, Lia Fáil, situated at the royal seat of Tara also bore the ñame Bod Fhearghuis (R.A.S. MacAllister, Tara, a Pagan Sanctuaryin Ireland [London: Charles Scribners &. Sons 1931], 112) and was said to cry out under one destined for the kingship (Alwyn Rees and Brynley Rees, Celtic Heritage [London: Thames &. Hudson 1961], 146). Joe Neil recalls vaguely from the tale that the stone was approached by those seeking to benefit from its power of prophecy, but the thread of the story is lost. Probably the association between this tradition and the Cu Chulainn stories is secondary. 14 The King and the Foal 128A2-129A1 21/11/78 From Kate Kennedy. AT 875 The Clever Peasant Girl. Cape Bretón versions have been recorded from Sandy William MacDonald of Glencoe, Inverness County (59A2 9/4/78); Héctor Campbell of Hillsdale, Inverness County (Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 73—6), and Dan MacKenzie (Dómhnall Sheónaidh lain Fhionnlaigh) of Benacadie Pond, Cape Bretón County (31A8 20/2/78). See also Dunn, Highland Settler, 45—6. A versión from Scotland is given in translation in D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 80-4. This type is more common in Ireland; Béaloideas 1: 156-7, no 2; 11: 150-1, no 32. 15 The Castle that Boban Saor Built 15A3-16A1 20/1/78 From Kate Kennedy. This is the most popular of many stories told in Scotland and Ireland concerning Boban (or Goban) Saor, a carpenter of legendary skill. In Cape Bretón, versions were recorded from Joe Alian MacLean (70Al

460

Notes to pages 111 -35 28/4/78) of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Bretón County, and Sandy William MacDonald (109A12 - 110A1 20/10/78). A Scottish versión from Angus MacLellanis printed in SSU, 45-7; Irish versions appear in LSIC 5: 264—5; Murphy, Tales from heland, 84-7; Kennedy, Legendary Fictions, 70-2. 16 Working wíth the Adze 16A3 20/1/78 From Kate Kennedy. Compare the versión from Angus MacLellan in SSU, 45. 17 Did You Ever See the Like of Me 163A3-164A1 29/11/78 From Alexander Kennedy. The Scottish versions of the tale, known also as A' Chailleach Bheun, ha ve been gathered and examined by J.G. MacKay in a lengthy study ("Comh-abartachd eadar Cas-shiubhal-an-t-Sléibhe agus a' Chailleach Bheurr," SGS 3 [ 1931 ]: 10-51). The ñame Uilleam Dean Suidhe "William Sit Down" occurs here as a ploy in the battle of wits between the cailleach and her protagonist; it is also listed as a story-title in J.F. CampbelFs lists of tales (WHT4: 398). The MacLeans 271A2-272A1 13/5/80.

18 Duanach the Widow's Son 129A2-130A1 21/11/78 From Donald (Mac Chaluim lain) MacLean. AT 1049 The Heavy Axe, 1088 The Eating Contest. A similar versión of the tale was recorded by Sister Margaret MacDonell (14/8/68) from Héctor Campbell at Hillsdale, Inverness County (Héctor Campbell, Luirgean, 1-10). Angus MacKinnon of St Margaret's Village, Victoria County, recited an outline of the same tale, titled Reamhiachan a' Chraicinn Chaorach, that he had often heard from his grandfather Sandy MacKinnon of neighbouring Lowlands, Inverness County (11 /3/78). For Irish versions, see Béaloideas 4: 228-9 no. 6; 17:211-13. 19 The Man with the Long Tales

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Notes to pages 135-41 120A3-121A1 22/11/78 From Donald (Mac Chaluim lain) MacLean. AT 2301A Making the King Lose Patience. 20 The Strong Woodsman's Son C17A1 2/76 From Donald (Mac Chaluim lain) MacLean with later reference to an unidentified printed versión. AT 650A Strong John. Regarding MacLean's oral versión, Joe Neil adds (220A3 31/6/79): Nuair a bha mi 'nam ghille óg, chuala mi 'n sgeulachd aig fear 'ga h-aithrís, feai ris an abiamaid Dómhnall Mac'Illeain ... Co-dhiubh, leis cho coltach 's a bha 'n naidheachd "Guie Láidirna Coilleadh" nuair a chunna mi ann a' leabhar i ris a' naidheachd a chuala mi aig Mac'Illeain aon uaii 'ga h-innse, smaointich mi gum biodh e iomchaidh gu leór dhomh a h-ionnsachadh; agus bho 'n a bha i cho coltach gun cuirinn sios i 's gum biodh i aii chuimhne. Ach ma's math mo chuimhne air a' ghnothach, 's e tarbh mor a bh' aigesan air ainmeachas ann an aon dhe na h-euchdan mora a bha ri dheanamh - a bha a' dol a chuir as dha 'n ghille mhór láidir. Agus cha n-eil beachd agam ro mhath mun chórr, ach gu robh e air ainmeachas fuamhaire na duinemórfiadhaich láidir air choireiginn a bh'aigeri dhol a shabaid ris. Agus chaidh aige air cuir as dha 'n duine mhór a bha sin agus chaidh aige air cuir as dha 'n tarbh fhiadhaich cuideachd. Cha d' rinn e ach breith air adhairc air agus chuir e suaineadh 'na amhaich agus bha e marbh. Agus dh'fhoighneachd e c'áite robh a' bhéist mhór a bha iad a' dol 'ga chuir-san dha'n bheinn 'ga ghlacadh agus thuirt iad ris gum b'e siod a bh' ann. O, thuirt e nach robh 'n siod ach creutair beag suarach: gum faodadh duine sam bith a ghlacadh 's cuir as dha. Ach co-dhiubh mar a thuirt mi, leis cho coltach 's a bha suidheachadh na sgeulachd ris a' rúa a dh'innis Mac'Illeain, ghabh mi spéis dhi. Agus cha tug esan cunntais as an fhior-thoiseach idir: thóisich esan aig nuair a bha Mac na Banndraich aig aois bliadhna airfhichead agus a thuirt a mháthair ris gu robh an t-am aige bhith falbh a nist amach 'ga chosnadh. Ach bha cuid mhór dhe 'n sgeulachd as an toiseach nach do thóisich e oirre. Tha mi creidsinn gu robh cabhag air as an am agus 's cinnteach gu robh a' chuid mhór dhi aige oír bha e math gu innse sgeulachdan, an duine bha seo, ged nach maireann e 'n diugh. When I was a small boy I heard the tale recited by a man we used to cali

462

Notes to pages 141-63

Donald MacLean ... And when I saw the story "The Strong Lad of the Wood" in a book, it resembled so closely the story I heard MacLean telling on one occasion, I thought it would be appropriate to learn it; since it was so similar I could record it sometime so that it would be remembered. But if I recall things correctly, MacLean mentioned a big bull in one of the great feats that was to be performed - it was going to do away with the big, strong lad. I don't remember the rest very clearly, except that a giant or a big, strong, wild man was mentioned that the lad had to fight. He succeeded in vanquishing the big man and the fierce bull as well. He just seized its horns and twisted its neck until it was dead. Then he asked where the great monster was that they were sending him to the mountain to catch and they replied that that was it. Oh, the lad answered, that was just a puny, insignificant creature; anyone could catch it and kill it. Anyway, as I mentioned, the setting of the tale was so cióse to MacLean's rendition that it caught my interest. But MacLean did not recount the very beginning of the tale; he began where the Widow's Son was twenty-one years oíd and his mother told him that it was time to go out and support himself. There was a good deal in the beginning that he did not start on. I believe he was rushed at the time, but certainly he knew most of it because this man was a good story-teller, though he is not living today. A detailed versión of the tale recorded from Dan MacKenzie of Benacadie Pond, Cape Bretón County (81A6-82A1 18/5/78) titled Laghaiste Mor mac lain Garaidh includes the opening part omitted by Donald MacLean and closely parallels Joe Neil's rendition. See Wo)S 3: 187-215. A large number of variants have been collected in Ireland; see Béaloideas 2: 148-55, 156 (bibl.J; 7: 66, 68, 154-5 no. 3. 1 W&S 3: 197, 211 (Muileann Leacain). 21 The Woman Who Was Awarded a Pair of Shoes by the Devil 178A3 3/12/78 From Michael MacLean. AT 1353 The Oíd Woman as Trouble Maker. One other Cape Bretón versión, A' Chailleach a Bheat an Deamhan "The Oíd Woman Who Beat the Devil," was recorded from Dan MacKenzie of Benacadie Pond, Cape Bretón County (242A2 15/12/79). See also Béaloideas 2: 206-7; 9: 66-7 no 2; 18: 144-5 no 1. 22 The Three Knots 225A4 28/6/79 From Michael MacLean and Héctor MacNeil.

463

Notes to pages 163-83 The story was recorded from Joe Alian MacLean of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Bretón County (245A6-246A1 24/1/80) and John Rannie MacKeigan of Marión Bridge, Cape Bretón County (320A6 27/3/81). Scottish versions are published in translation in D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 131-2; J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 19. For an interestingDonegalparallel, see Ó hEochaidh et al, Síscéalta Ó Thír Chonaill, 132-3. 23 How the Fairy Suitor Was Tricked 224A3 27/6/79 From Michael MacLean. A variant was recited by Joe Alian MacLean (245A5 24/11/80) and the story is well known in the Highlands: Tochei 20 (Winter 1975): 128-9; D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 125; Tocher 1 (Spring 1971): 12-13. For fairy suitors, see CG 5: 132-63. 24 The Night It Rained Ponidge 178A2 3/12/78 From Mrs Michael MacLean. AT 1600 The Fool as Murderer and AT 138 IB The Sausage Rain. The tale was recorded from Joe Alian MacLean (199A3 9/3/79) with the title Dómhnall Dona Mac na Banndraich " Bad Donald the Widow's Son." Scottish versions are given in Gairm 11 (An t-Earrach 1955): 254-5 (Barra); Tocher 6 (Summer 1972): 172-5. 25 Stirling Castle 222A6-223A1 22/6/79 From Donald (Chaluim Nill Mhóir) MacLean. 26 The Miser and the Tailor 172A8-173A1 1/12/78 From Donald (Chaluim Nill Mhóir) MacLean. For Irish versions see Pádraig Ó Siochfhradha, An Seanchaidhe Muimhneach (Baile Átha Cliath: Instituid Béaloideasa Éireann 1932), 246-7; Béaloideas 3 (1932): 93. 27 The Two Misers 173A2 1/2/78 (C15A2 2/76) From John MacLean. AT 1704 Anecdotes about Absurdly Stingy Persons.

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Notes to pages 185-221 The Maclsaacs 270A5-271A1 13/5/80.

28 fackFmy 91B4-92A1 16/6/78 From John Maclsaac. AT 1535 The Rich and the Poor Peasant. Among the Scottish versions assembled by J.F. Campbell (WHT 2: 232—52) this rendítion most closely resembles that from Barra. Irish versions are given in LSIC, 160-70; Béaloideas 4: 236, and 8: 31ff. For additional bibliographic material, see Béaloideas 10: 202; Jackson, "International Folktale/' 291. 29 The Man Who Received the Three Counseis 178A4-179A1 3/12/78 From John Maclsaac and Angus MacMullin. AT 910B The Servant's Good Counsels. See Moireasdan, Ugam agus Bhuam, 31-6; MWHT 1: 74-83 (with references); D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 11-13; Béaloideas 2: 47-50 (bibl.), 8: 25-8, 9: 86-8, 132 (bibl.), 10: 180-1; Jackson, "International Folktale," 289 (bibl.). This exemplum type was recorded in Irish literature as early as the twelfth-century manuscript Merugud Ulix "The Wandering of Ulysses": see Murphy, Ossianic Lore, 17. 30 The Forgetful Ministei 161A3-162A1 28/11/78 From John Maclsaac. AT 1775 The Hungry Parson (Guided by a Rope [X431]). 31 Monday, Tuesday 224A5-225A1 27/6/79 From John Maclsaac and Angus MacMullin. AT 503 The Gifts of the Little People. The numerous Gaelic versions of this widespread international folktale are unique in Scottish Gaelic fairy-lore in having no air

465

Notes to pages 221 -3 7 associated with the song. See Tocher 26 (Autumn 1977): 107-9 (Barra). Irish versions: Béaloideas 1: 65-6, 2: 16 (bibl., 23), 6: 169ff. no 161, 7: 62; for further references see Jackson, "International Folktale," 287. 32 Angus Maclsaac's Trip to the Moon 161A2 28/11/78 From Angus Maclsaac. AT 1881 The Man Carried Through the Air by Geese and AT 1894 The Man Shoots a Ramrod Full of Ducks. Tall tales involving hunting are particularly popular throughout North America. See Aarne and Thompson, Types of Folktale, 509-10; and Thompson, The Folktale, 214. A similar hunting tale was recorded at MabouHarbour, Inverness County, from Angus Gillis (301A8 1 /12/80). 33 TheBigPig 162A2 29/11 / 78 From Angus Maclsaac. AT 1960 The Great Animal or Great Object. The MacMullins 270A3-A4 13/5/80.

1 Joking references among Gaels to the traditional tales as breugan "lies" are so widespread and frequent as to be worthy of notice. The allusion calis to mind the Icelandic terna lygisógur "lying tales," which Delargy ("Gaelic Storyteller," 221—2) observed to be "the nearest parallel to these late Gaelic román tic or hero-tales." For a further parallel between Icelandic and Gaelic story-telling traditions, see John Maclnnes, " Gaelic Poetry and Historical Tradition," The Mídale Ages in the Highlands (Inverness: The Inverness Field Club 1981), 142. 34 The King of Egypt's Daughter 57A4-59A1 8/4/78 From Angus MacMullin and Alexander MacLean. AT 506 The Rescued Princess. WHT2:121-40 (Barra); Béaloideas 4:293-8 (bibl.). For Irish versions, see O'Sullivan and Christiansen, "Types of Irish Folk-Tale," 104 (bibl.); Béaloideas 1: 46, 167, 180. A comparative study of the tale type

466

Notes to pages 237-59 was published by Sven Liljenblad (Die Tobiasgeschichte und andeie Marchen mit Toten Helfern [Lund 1927]). 35 The Fair-haired Doctor 222A4 22/6/79 From Angus MacMullin. This is the most popular of many tales known in the Western Isles concerning An t-OHamh Muileach. See Tocher 25 (Spring 1977): 50-2; D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 135; WHT2: 382; Tocher 24 (Winter 1976-7): 295. The ñame refers to various of the Beatons, who were hereditary physicians and shenachies throughout the Highlands and Islands from the thirteenth century (J.L. Campbell and Thomson, Edward Lhuyd, 12-22). 36 The Bad Mother's Daughter 119A7-120A1 30/10/78 From Angus MacMullin. AT 901 The Taming of the Shrew. One additional Cape Bretón versión was recorded from Dan MacKenzie of Benacadie Pond, Cape Bretón County (242A3-243A1 15 /12 / 79). Angus MacLellan's closely corresponding South Uist versión appears in SSU, 65—9. Irish versions are published in LSIC, 153-6 (biblv 423); Jackson, "International Folktale/' 289 (bibl.j; Béaloideas 1: 345-8 (bibl.). 37 The Lad, the Girl in the Cradle, and the Ring 223A17 27/6/79 From Angus MacMullin. AT 930D Fated Bride's Ring in the Sea. MWHT 1: 292, 307; Aarne and Thompson, Types of Folktale, 328. 38 The Widow's Son and the Robbers 127A2-128A1 20/11/78 From Héctor MacMullin. AT 304 The Hunter. This type is rare both in Scottish and Irish Gaelic, although the incorporated type AT 956 (Robbers' Heads Cut Off One by One as They

467

Notes to pages 259-303 Enter the House) is known in both traditions. Cape Bretón: AT 956B recorded from Peter (Pádraig Aonghuis Sine) MacEachern, Glendale, Inverness County (J. Shaw Coll. C1B11 7/63); Ireland: Béaloideas 4: 62-3 no 35; Jackson, "International Folktale/' 290 (bibl.). 39 The Golden Bird 124A4-127A1 20/11/78 From Héctor MacMullin, reinforced from a written source. AT 550 Search for the Golden Bird.

Seumas MacManus's collection of Irish folktales, In Chimney Córners (New York 1919), 37ff contains a versión of the tale, and is mentioned by Joe Neil as one of the books of tales that carne into his possession during the 1930s. However the tale is well documented in Highland tradition (WHT 2: 344-76). For Irish manuscript and printed versions, see O'Sullivan and Christiansen, "Types of Irish Folk-Tale/' 116-17. 1 The rest of the story suggests that the youngest son rescues his other brother, presumably in a house where he spent more than one night. Angus MacKenzie (Aonghus Sheumais Mhurchaidh Bháin) 273A2 13/5/80. 40 The Soldier Who Was Refused a Drink of Water 159A2-160A1 28/11/78 From Angus MacKenzie. AT 1536A The Woman in the Chest (K2321, K2151). An additional Cape Bretón versión was recited by John K. MacNeil of lona, Victoria County (210A10-211A1 2/5/79). One Scottish Gaelic versión is printed in WHT 1: 237—43. The tale is popular in Ireland; see LSIC, 171-4, 424 (bibl.). Joe MacLean (Eos Fheadair Chaluim Ghobha) 272A2 13/5/80. 41 The Shirt of the Man without Worries 119A6 30/10/78 From Joe MacLean.

468

Notes to pages 303-19 AT 844 The Luck-Bringing Shirt. The story is printed in C.B. Mag. 1 (1973): 10. See also Mac-Talla, 31 August 1900, 67, 70-1. John MacNeil (Mac do Dhómhnall Dhómhnaill 'ic lain 'ic lain) 308A14 26/1/81.

42 The Young Lad Who Quit School 153A28 27/1/78 From John MacNeil (1922). For an Irish versión, see LSIC, 192-3, 425-6 (bibl.). 1 The Gaelic word is pronounced meoghlan which is Uist for meanglan "branch"; see GWSU, 178, and below, s.v. miar for semantic parallel. 2 For the Gaelic word, túic, see GWSU, 244, s.v. tóichd "a large, bulky thing." Mis Michael MacNeil (Arma Nighean Dhómhnaill lain Dhiarmaid)

272A3 13/5/80. 43 The Little Oíd Man with the Grains 225A2 27/6/79 From Mrs Michael MacNeil. AT 1655 The Profitable Exchange. A Barra versión of this children's tale is printed by Christiansen in his wide-ranging study (Béaloideas 3: 107-20). See also Tocher 3 (Autumn 1979): 98-9; D.A. MacDonald and Bruford, Scottish Traditional Tales, 4-, Tocher 20 (Winter 1975): 124-7. Irish variants subsequent to Christiansen's study are printed in Béaloideas 4: 96. 44 The Fox, the Wolf, and the Butter 224A4 27/6/79 Mrs Michael MacNeil, Héctor MacMullin. AT 15 The Theft of Butter (Honey) by Playing Godfather and AT 2 The Tail-Fisher. Scottish versionsofAT 15 arefoundin WHT3: 108-12,116-18 (Barra);

469

Notes to pages 319-31

Storey, Bha Siod Ann Reimhid, 26-30 (Barra); Tochei 30 (Winter 1978-9): 359-60 (Shetland). Irish versions are in Béaloideas 2: 339 ff. (bibl.); Aarne and Thompson, Types of Folktale, 25. A Scottish versión of AT 2 is given in WHT 1: 280-1, and an Irish in Béaloideas 3: 240, 255 (bibl.). 1 In Cape Bretón Gaelic sionnach and madadh ruadh are both used for fox. Madadh alladh is the usual word for wolf. Neil Campbell (Niall Eachainn 'ac Dhunnachaidh) 269A3-270A1 13/5/80. 45 The Journey Boban Saoi Made with His Son 15A1 20/1/78 From Neil Campbell. This story was also recorded from Joe Alian MacLean of Rear Christmas Island, Cape Bretón County (69A3 28/4/78). For an Irish versión, see Murphy, Tales from Ireland, 84-7. 46 How Boban Saor's Son Found His Wife 15A2 20/1/78 From Neil Campbell. See SSU, 44-5. Irish versions are printed in Murphy, Tales from heland, 83-4; Kennedy, Legendary Fictions, 68-79. 47 The Chalk Line 16A2 20/1/78 From Neil Campbell. Dan MacNeil (Dómhnall Nill Eoghainn Mhóir 'ic íomhair) 270A2 13/5/80. 48 Boban Saor: Barley Bread and Milk 16A4 20/1/78; 268A5 13/5/80 From Kate Kennedy and Dan MacNeil. A fragment was recorded from Joe Alian MacLean (298A5 21/10/80).

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Notes to pages 335-43 Roderick MacNeil (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh) 308A15 26/1/81.

1 This is not among the various ñames for the Fernán band's rallying cali listed by Bruford, Gaelic Folk-Tales, 120-1 n 4. 49 The Tub That Boban Saor Built 16A5 20/1/78 From Roderick MacNeil. 50 Crazy Archie and the Hen 297A2 23/10/80 From Roderick MacNeil. The character of Gilleasbuig Aotrom " Crazy Archie," a trickster given to caustic wit, is celebrated in many Scottish Gaelic communities, both Protestant and Catholic, in short anecdotes such as tríese. Anonymous 51 Crazy Archie and the Minister Sutar 221A5 22/6/79 Oral source not recalled. 52 The Farmer's Big Lad 196A7— 197A1 8/3/79 From an unidentified reciter and reinforced by a written versión. AT 300 The Dragon-Slayer. Joe Neil's versión of the hero-tale was once widely enjoyed in Cape Bretón; it is alluded to by the singer and story-teller Lauchie MacLellan of Dunvegan, Inverness County (J. Shaw Coll. C13A10 2/76) who heard it from his paternal grandíather, Neil MacLellan, with the title Sgeulachd a' Chamain laruinn "The Tale of the Iron Shinty-Club: "Bha 'n sin Sgeulachd a' Chamain laruinn aige, Sgeulachd na h-Ubhaill Oír, Righ Tullach Uaine ... O Dhia seall oirnn mar a bha a leithid dhiubh aige. 'He had The Tale of the Iron Shinty-Club, The Tale of the Golden Apple, The King of Green Hill... O God look down upon us, the like he had of them. If I had him here for one day I'd get

471

Notes to pages 343-73 him to go through all of them ... I'd eat every one of them.'" Another longer versión, also in }oe's repertoire, is discussed on p. xx. The presentrenditioncorrespondscloselytothatprintedin W&S2: 72-104, especially the synopses of variants, 95-103. The tale has enjoyed immense populanty in Ireland; see O'Sullivan and Christiansen, "Types of Irish Folk-Tale/' 59-62; Béaloideas 7: 9 (bibl). PART T H R E E : WIT, L O R E , AND PASTIMES Repartee and Ready Wit Dermot Mackenzie (Diarmaid Eóin) 154A17, A23; 155A1, A2 28/11/78.

1 Sios "down" refers to a northerly direction, as from Middle Cape to Sydney. Michael MacDonald (Micheal Raonaill 'ac Dhómhnuill Óig) 155A11 28/11/78. Martin Maclnnis (Mártainn Ruairidh Dhomhnaill Mhóir) 156A1, A6 28/11/78. Alexander Maclsaac (Sandaidh 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) 156A11 28/11/78. Angus Maclsaac (Aonghus 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) 157A2, A4, A5, A10 28/11/78. John Maclsaac (lain 'Illeasbu' Mhóir) 157A12 28/11/78. Mis Roderick Maclsaac (Arma Ruairidh Ailein)

472

Notes to pages 373-81 158A6-A7 28/11/78. Neil Maclsaac (Mac do dh'Anna Ruairídh Ailein) 158A11 28/11/78. Rodeñck MacNeil (Ruairidh lain 'ic Ruairidh Ruaidh) 158A13 28/11/78. Joe MacNeil (Eos Nill Bhig) 221A2-A3 31/6/79. Anonymous 306A1-A2 9/1/81. Proverbs 134 22/11/78; 151 27/11/78; 231 31/8/79.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

ítems not given a recording number here were supplied by Joe Neil in a written list. See Nicholson, Proverbs-, J.L. Campbell, "Proverbs from Barra," 178-208; Charles W. Dunn, "Gaelic Proverbs in Nova Scotia," Journal of American Folklore (reprint, n.p., n.d.J; J.L. Campbell, Sean fhocail agus Comhadan (Glasgow: An Comunn Gaidhealach 1968). 151A7. 151A2. 151A6. 231A21 From Michael MacLean (Micheal lain Chaluim). 231A25 From Michael MacNeil (Micheal Ruairidh'ic lain'ic Eachainn). From Neil MacNeil (Niall Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn). 231 Al5 From Roderick MacNeil (Ruairidh Sheumais Ruairidh Ruaidh neo Ruairidh Ealasaid). 231A12 From Mrs Neil MacNeil (Bean Nill Ruairidh 'ic lain 'ic Eachainn) and Michael MacNeil. 231A11 From Mrs Neil MacNeil and Mrs Roderick MacNeil. 231A6 From Michael MacLean. 151A4 A popular saying in the Hebrides. See GWSU, 45.

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Notes to pages 381-7

12 151A2 From Mrs James MacDonald (Bean Sheumais Aonghuis Ruairidh 'ic Aonghuis). 13 151A2 From James Smith. 14 134A9 From Michael MacLean. 17 231A13 From Michael MacLean. 18 231A8 From James Smith; Michael MacLean; Mrs Michael MacPhee. 20 151A2. 21 134A5. 22 231 A3. 23 134A4. 24 231A26 From Donald MacPhee (Dômhnall Nïll Dhômhnaill). 38 From Malcolm J. MacLean (Calum lain). 41 154A15 From Donald MacLellan and Mrs Donald Campbell (Bean Dhanaidh lain Dhômhnaill), Big Pond. 42 From Joseph MacLean. Expressions 13422/11/78; 151 27/11/78; 154 28/11/78; 231 31/8/79; 232 31/8/79. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13

232A2. 231A33 From Donald MacPhee. 154A13 From Donald MacPhee. From Dougall MacPhee (Dùghall Mhîcheil Nill Dhômhnaill). 231A35 From Neil MacNeil. From Neil MacNeil. See GWSU, 43, given in this référence as applying to a person who is very wide awake. From Neil MacNeil. 134A3. Gaelic bogha "a bow for archery" is thé word understood and given by thé reciter. More likely intended hère is .thé homonymous nautical term bodha "submerged rock" from Old Norse boôi (cas. obi. boÔa) "SL breaker (on hidden rocks)." See Cari Hj. Borgstrom, The Dialects of thé Outei Hébrides (Oslo: Norwegian Universities Press 1940), 31, 137. See GWSU, 64, used when introducing a subject foreign to a conversation. 154A2. 231 Al6 From Michael MacNeil and Mrs Neil MacNeil. 231A24. 232A7.

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Notes to pages 387-97

14 154A14 From Michael MacPhee (Micheal Mhicheil Nill Dhómhnaill); 231A7. 15 151A4. 16 154A8 From Donald MacPhee. 17 From Murdock Kennedy (Murchadh Sheumais Mhurchaidh). 18 231A14 From Alex MacLean (Alasdair Nill Chaluim). 19 231A23 From Michael MacPherson (Mieheal Nill Ruairidh). 20 231A4 From Donald MacPhee. 21 231A9 From Neil MacNeil. 23 154A12. 24 Uisge nan uighean " egg-water" is associated in popular belief with bad luck. 25 154A10 From Donald MacPhee. 26 231A18 From Mrs Michael MacDonald (Bean Mhicheil Dhómhnaill 'ac Dhómhnaill Óig). 27 231 Al 7 From Mrs Anna MacNeil (Bean Mhicheil Ruairidh'ic lain'ic Eachainn). See GWSU, 196, where the expression was used to prevent one child from striking another with a stick. 28 231A36 From Mrs Michael MacLean (Bean Mhicheil lain Chaluim). 29 231A30 From Michael MacLean (Micheal lain Chaluim). 30 231A32 From Mrs Neil MacNeil. 31 154A11. 32 231A31 From Mrs William MacDonald, Big Pond. Children's Rhymes 1 The Rainbow 134A12 22/11/78 From John MacNeil. 2 Will You Go to Play. 135Al 22/11/78 From Archie Kennedy. One Cape Bretón versión was recorded from Dougall MacDonald, Troy, Inverness County (279A1 24/10/80). See also the Scottish Council for Research in Education, Aithris is Oideas, 89. Traditional Games 21A2 16/6/78. 1 Lauchie MacLellan, Dunvegan, Iverness County, has supplied a fur-

475

Notes to pages 397-413 ther description of Leum a' Bhradain "The Salmon's Leap" (319A5 26/3/81); see GWSU, 263. The player begins in a horizontal position supported by his hands and the tips of his toes. Marriage Premonitions

1 2 3 4 5

See Tocher26 (Autumn 1977): 87-8; J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 147-8 for parallels. 14A5 16/3/78. The same belief is attested in the Highlands cf. J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 305. For invocations to the moon, see CG 3: 274-305. 91B1 16/6/78. 91A2 16/6/78. 91A2 16/6/78. 91B1 16/6/78. For other magical properties of boimdary streams, see CG 4: 144, 147, 155. Signs, Superstitions and Second Sight 176A2 1/12/78.

1 144A1 23/11/78. Cf. CG2: 158-9; CG5: 286-97; GWSU, 131. 2 144A1 23/11/78. Cf. CG 2: 344-5; CG 6: 57 s.v. currac-rath-, GWSU, 93. 3 144A1 23/11/78. GWSU, 74, 216. 4 144A1 23/11/78. 5 144A1 23/11/78. 6 144A1 23/11/78. J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 111; GWSU, 104. 7 144A1 23/11/78. For birds as death-omens, see J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 110; CG 6: 148 s.v. tásg. 8 147A7 24/11/78. Such persons were referred to as droch-chómhalaichean. See J.G. Campbell, Superstitions, 253; GWSU, 80; LSIC, 320. 9 147A7 24/11/78. Presumably according to subsequent events on the journey. This could be the basis on which droch-chómhlaichean were identified. Joe Neil believes that the anecdote used to illustrate this belief may be derived from his reading.

476

Notes to pages 413-31

10 151A3 27/11/78. J.G. Campbell, Superstitions, 255, GWSU, 113, s.v. éigheach. 11 148A5 24/11/78. Cf. J.G. Campbell, Witchciaft, 23. 12 148A5 24/11/78. 13 41A3 16/3/78. For a général introduction to thé phenomenon of second sight (dàshealladh] in thé Highlands, see J.G. Campbell, Witchciaft, 120-32. 14 148A1 24/11/78. 15 176A2 1/12/78. See J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 128-9. Ghosts and Apparitions 1 175A3-176A1 1/12/78. J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 173-6. 2 219A3 16/6/79. For bôcain "ghosts," see J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 181-7. 3 219A4 16/6/79. J.G. Campbell, Witchcraft, 185. Music and Dance Fiddlers 269A3-270A1 13/5/80; 261A2 28/3/80. For a description of thé Gaelic origins of Cape Breton fiddle music see thé booklet by William Lamey, John Angus Rankin, and John Shaw accompanying thé record Cape Breton Scottish Fiddle (London: Topic 12TS354 1978). 1 The tune, known in thé collections as Greig's Pipes, is named in thé Gaelic manner from thé first words of thé corresponding port-à-beul or mouth-music. It is customarily played by Cape Breton fiddlers using thé high bass (scordatura] tuning. 2 The acquiring of gifts, particularly music, from a fairy mound is a belief known elsewhere. See Tocher 26 (Summer 1977): 108-12; John Machines, "Gaelic Poetry and Historical Tradition," The Middle Ages in thé Highlands (Inverness: The Inverness Field Club 1981), 154.

477

Notes to pages 433—41 Pipéis 150A5-151A1 27/11/78. Dances 91B1 6/6/78; 150A4 27/11/78. The snuffing of canales by dancers as a demonstration of their skill was common in other localities. Johnny Williams of Melford, Inverness County, recalls a verse composed by a local bard, Dougall MacLennan (Dúghall lain Ruaidh) (10/3/82): Gura h-ann aig Allt 'ic' IlleMhicheil Bhana h-ighneagan bu toil leam. Dhannsadh iad aii úrlar cláraich 'S smáladh iad le 'n sáil a' choinneal. Carmichaers Brook is where the girls dwelt Whom I admired. They could dance on the board floor Snuffing out the candle with their heels.

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Works of reference are arranged beginning with those dealing in a general way with folktales, then listing works on shared Gaelic folktale traditions, and finally covering folktales in the various relevant Gaelic-speaking áreas. Folktales Aarne, Antti, and Stith Thompson. The Types of the Folktale, a Classiftcation and Bibliography. Folklore Fellows Communications 184. Helsinki: Academia Scientarium Fennica 1973. Dégh, Linda. "Folk Narrative." In Folklore and Folklife: an Introduction, edited by Richard M. Dorson, 53-83. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1972. - Folktales and Society: Story-Telling in a Hungarian Peasant Community. Bloomington: Indiana University Press 1965. Dorson, Richard M., ed. Folklore and Folklife: an Introduction. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1972. Lord, Albert B. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1964. Sydow, Cari Wilhelm von. "Geography and Folk-Tale Ecotypes." Béaloideas 4(1934): 344-55. Thompson, Stith. The Folktale. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston 1946. Zimmer, Heinrich. The King and the Corpse. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1971. Gaelic Tales and Story-Tellers 1 Ireland and Scotland Bruford, Alan. Gaelic Folk-Tales and Medieval Romances. Dublin: The Folklore of Ireland Society 1969. Christiansen, Reider Th. The Vikings and Viking Wars in Irish and Gaelic Tradition. Oslo: Norske Videnskaps-Akademi: 1931.

480

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Delargy, James. "The Gaelic Storyteller." Proceedings of the British AcademyZl (1945): 178-221. Murphy, Gerard. Ossianic Lore and Romantic Tales of Medieval Ireland. 1955. Reprint. Cork: The Mercier Press 1971. 2 Ireland Béaloideas. Dublin 1927- . Curtin, Jeremiah. Irish Folk-Tales. Edited by James Delargy. Dublin: The Talbot Press 1964. - Myths and Folklore of Ireland. 1890. Reprint. New York: Weathervane Books 1975. Delargy, James. "Irish Tales and Story-Tellers." In Marchen, Mythos und Dichtung, edited by Hugo Kuhn and Kurt Schier, 63-82. Munich: C.H. Beck 1965. Dillon, Myles, ed. Early Irish Society. Dublin: Colm O Lochlainn 1963. Hyde, Douglas. Beside the Pire. London: David Nutt 1910. Jackson, Kenneth. "The International Folktale in Ireland." Folk-Lore 47 (1936): 263-93. Kennedy, Patrick. Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts. London: Macmillan 1866. Mac Róigh, Fearghus. Bruidhean Chaorthainn (Donegal Folk Versión). Dublin 1911. Murphy, Gerard. Duanaire Finn. Pan 3. Irish Texts Society 43. Dublin 1953. - Saga and Myth in Ancient Ireland. Dublin: Colm O Lochlainn 1961. - Tales from Ireland. Dublin: Browne and Nolan 1946. Ó Crohan, Tomás. The Islandman. Translated by Robin Flower. 1929. Reprint. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1985. O Coileáin, Sean. "The Making of Tromdam Guaire." Ériu 28 (1977): 32-67. Ó Duilearga, Séamus [Delargy, James]. Leabhar Sheáin í Chonaill. Dublin: The Folklore of Ireland Society 1948. Ó hEochaidh, Sean, Máire Ni Néill, and Séamas Ó Catháin. Síscéalta Ó Thír Chonaill/Fairy Legends from Donegal. Dublin: Comhairle Bhéaloideas Éireann 1977. O'Sullivan, Sean [Ó Súilleabháin, Sean]. Folktales of Ireland. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1966. - and Reider Th. Christiansen. "The Types of Irish Folk-Tale." Folklore Fellows Communications 188 (1963). Robinson, Fred Norris. Satirists and Enchanters in Early Irish Literature.

481

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1911. Reprints in Irish Series 1, American Committee for Irish Studies. N.p. n.d. Sayers, Peig. Peig. Áth Cliath agus Corcaigh: Comhlucht Oideachais na hÉireann n.d. 3 Scotland Bruford, Alan. "A Lost MacMhuirich Manuscript." Scottish Gaelic Studies 10, pt. 1 (1963): 158-62. Campbell, John Francis (of Islay). Leabhar na Féinne. 1872. Reprint. Shannon Ireland: Irish University Press 1972. - Popular Tales of the West Highlands. 2nd ed. 4 vols. 1890-3. Reprint. Detroit: Singing Tree Press 1969. - More West Highland Tales. Edited by J.G. MacKay. 2 vols. Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd 1940, 1960. Campbell, John Gregorson. The Fians. Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition, vol. 4. 1891. Reprint. New York: AMS Press 1973. — Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Glasgow: James MacLehose and Sons 1900. - Witchcraft and Second Sight in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. 1902. Reprint. East Ardsley, Yorkshire: E.P. Publishing 1974. Campbell, John Lorne. Sia Sgeulachdan. Edinburgh: T & A Constable 1939. — "Proverbs from Barra Collected by the Late Neil Sinclair." Scottish Gaelic Studies 10, pt. 2 (1965): 178-208. - "Angus MacLellan M.B.E. ('Aonghus Beag')." Scottish Studies 10 (1966): 193-7. — ed. A Collection of Highland Rites and Customs. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer 1975. — and Francis Collinson. Hebridean Folksongs. Vol. 2. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1977. — and Derick Thomson. Edward Lhuyd in the Scottish Highlands, 1699— 1700. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1963. Carmichael, Alexander. "Toirioc na Taine." Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness 2 (1872): 25-42. - Deirdire. 1905. Reprint. Inverness: Club Leabhar 1972. - Carmina Gadelica. 6 vols. Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press 1928-71. Craig, K.C. Sgialachdan Dhunnchaidh. Glasgow: Alasdair Matheson 1944. Delargy, James. "Three Men of Islay." Scottish Studies 4 (1960): 126-33. Draak, Martje. "Duncan MacDonald of South Uist." Fábula 1 (1958): 47-58.

482

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Flett, J. F., and T. M. Flett. "Some Hebridean Folk Dances." Journal of the English Folk Dance and Song Society 6, no 2 (1953): 112-27. Gairm. Glasgow 1952- . McDonald/ Alian. Gaelic Words and Expressions fiom South Uist and Eriskay. Edited by John Lorne Campbell. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies 1958. MacDonald, Donald Archie. "Collecting Oral Literature." In Folklore and Folklife edited by Richard M. Dorson, 407—30. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1972. - "Donald Alasdair Johnson - a Storyteller from South Uist." Tocher 1 (Summer 1971): 36-7. - and Alan Bruford. Scottish Traditional Tales. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh, School of Scottish Studies 1974. MacDougall, James, ed. Folk and Hero Tales. Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition, vol. 3. 1891. Reprint. New York: AMS Press 1973. Machines, Duncan, ed. Folk and Heio Tales. Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition, vol. 2. 1890. Reprint. New York: AMS Press 1973. Maclean, Calum. "Hebridean Storytellers." Arv 8 (1952): 120-9. - "Aonghus agus Donnchadh." Gairm 10 (An Geamhradh 1954): 170-4. - "Death Divination in Scottish Folk Tradition." Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Invemess 42 (1953-9): 56-67. - "A Folk Variant of the Táin Bó Cúailnge from Uist." Arv 15 (1959): 160-71. - The Highlands. 1959. Reprint. Inverness: Club Leabhar 1975. MacLellan, Angus. Stories from South Uist. Translated by John Lorne Campbell. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1961. - The Furrow behind Me. Translated by John Lorne Campbell. London: Routledge &. Kegan Paul 1962. - Saoghal an Treobhaiche. Edited by John Lorne Campbell. Inverness: Club Leabhar 1972. MacLeod, Kenneth. "Maoim-Chruachan and Cuchulinn." The Celtic Magazine 13 (1887-8): 514-16. Matheson, William. "Duncan MacDonald." Tocher 25 (Spring 1977): 1-32. Moireasdan, Pádruig. Ugam agus Bhuam. Edited by Dómhnall Eairdsidh Dómhnallach. Steórnabhagh: Club Leabhar 1977. Nicholson, Alexander, ed. A Collection of Gaelic Proverbs and Familiar Phrases. 2nd ed. Edinburgh: MacLachlan and Stuart 1882. Scottish Council for Research in Education. Aithris is Oideas. London: University of London Press 1964. Scottish Gaelic Studies. Oxford 1926- . Storey, Lisa. Bha SiodAnn Reimhid. Inbhirnis: Club Leabhar 1975.

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Tocher. Edinburgh 1971- . Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness. Inverness 1871- . 4 Nova Scotia (Cape Bretón) Campbell, Héctor. Luirgean Eachainn Nill. Edited by Margaret MacDonell and John Shaw. Stornoway: Acair 1981. Cape Breton's Magazine. Wreck Cove, N.S. 1973- . Dunn, Charles, W. "Gaelic in Cape Bretón." An Gaidheal 43 (1948): 143-5; 44 (1948): 6-9. - Highland Settler: A Portrait of the Scottish Gael in Nova Scotia. Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1953. Jackson, Kenneth. "Notes on the Gaelic of Port Hood." Scottish Gaelic Studies 6 (1949): 179-83. MacDonnell, Hughie Dan, and Kathleen MacKinnon. "Cath nan Eun." Gairm 50 (An t-Earrach 1965): 136-50. - and John Shaw. "Raonall Mac Ailein Óig." Cape Breton's Magazine 13 (June 1976): 18-19. — and Shaw, John. "Conall Ruadh nan Car." Cape Breton's Magazine 21 (December 1978): 13-21. MacLellan, Lauchie, and John Shaw. "Lauchie Tells Lauchie's Dream." Cape Breton's Magazine 23 (August 1979): 18-32. MacLeóid, C.I.M. Sgeulachdan a Albainn Nuaidh. Glasgow: Gairm 1960. MacNeil, Joe Neil, and John Shaw. "lain Mac an lasgair Mhóir." Cape Breton's Magazine 16 (June 1977): 24-32; 17 (August 1977): 30-9. Mac-Talla. Sydney, N.S. 1892-1904.

Aarne-Thompson International Folktale Types

AT

2 15 300 304 326 503 506 550 650A 844 875 901 910B 930D 953 956

The Tail-Fisher The Theft of the Butter (Honey) by Playing Godfather The Dragon-Slayer The Himter The Youth Who Wanted to Learn What Fear Is The Gifts of the Little People The Rescued Princess Search for the Golden Bird Strong John The Luck-Bringing Shirt The Clever Peasant Girl Taming of the Shrew The Servant's Good Counsels Fated Bride's Ring in the Sea The Oíd Robber Relates Three Adventures Robbers' Heads Cut off One by One as they Enter the House. Cf. Type 304. 1000 Bargain Not to Become Angry (combined with Types 1005, 1006) 1049 TheHeavyAxe 1088 Eating Contest 1353 The Oíd Woman as Trouble Maker 138 IB The Sausage Rain 1535 The Rich and the Poor Peasant 1536A The Woman in the Chest 1600 The Fool as Murderer 1655 The Profitable Exchange 1704 Anecdotes about Absurdly Stingy Persons 1775 The Hungry Parson 1881 The Man Carried through the Air by Geese 1894 The Man Shoots a Ramrod Full of Ducks 1960 The Great Animal or Great Object 2030 The Oíd Woman and Her Pig 2301A Making the King Lose Patience