Celtic Fairy Tales (17 page)

Now, this was more of Fin's philosophy; for the real state of the
case was, that he pitched upon the top of Knockmany in order that he
might be able to see Cucullin coming towards the house. All we have
to say is, that if he wanted a spot from which to keep a sharp look-
out—and, between ourselves, he did want it grievously—barring
Slieve Croob, or Slieve Donard, or its own cousin, Cullamore, he
could not find a neater or more convenient situation for it in the
sweet and sagacious province of Ulster.

"God save all here!" said Fin, good-humouredly, on putting his
honest face into his own door.

"Musha, Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own Oonagh, you
darlin' bully." Here followed a smack that is said to have made the
waters of the lake at the bottom of the hill curl, as it were, with
kindness and sympathy.

Fin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very
comfortable, considering the dread he had of Cucullin. This,
however, grew upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive
something lay on his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a
woman alone, in the meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret
out of her good man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this.

"It's this Cucullin," said he, "that's troubling me. When the fellow
gets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you a whole townland;
and it's well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always
carries one about him in the shape of a pancake, to show to any one
that might misdoubt it."

As he spoke, he clapped his thumb in his mouth, which he always did
when he wanted to prophesy, or to know anything that happened in his
absence; and the wife asked him what he did it for.

"He's coming," said Fin; "I see him below Dungannon."

"Thank goodness, dear! an' who is it, avick? Glory be to God!"

"That baste, Cucullin," replied Fin; "and how to manage I don't
know. If I run away, I am disgraced; and I know that sooner or later
I must meet him, for my thumb tells me so."

"When will he be here?" said she.

"To-morrow, about two o'clock," replied Fin, with a groan.

"Well, my bully, don't be cast down," said Oonagh; "depend on me,
and maybe I'll bring you better out of this scrape than ever you
could bring yourself, by your rule o' thumb."

She then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after which she
put her finger in her mouth, and gave three whistles, and by that
Cucullin knew he was invited to Cullamore—for this was the way that
the Irish long ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers, to
let them know they were welcome to come and take share of whatever
was going.

In the meantime, Fin was very melancholy, and did not know what to
do, or how to act at all. Cucullin was an ugly customer to meet
with; and, the idea of the "cake" aforesaid flattened the very heart
within him. What chance could he have, strong and brave though he
was, with a man who could, when put in a passion, walk the country
into earthquakes and knock thunderbolts into pancakes? Fin knew not
on what hand to turn him. Right or left—backward or forward—where
to go he could form no guess whatsoever.

"Oonagh," said he, "can you do nothing for me? Where's all your
invention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before your eyes, and
to have my name disgraced for ever in the sight of all my tribe, and
me the best man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain—
this huge cross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt?—with a
pancake in his pocket that was once—"

"Be easy, Fin," replied Oonagh; "troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep
your toe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe, we'll
give him as good as any he brings with him—thunderbolt or
otherwise. If I don't treat him to as smart feeding as he's got this
many a day, never trust Oonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just
as I bid you."

This relieved Fin very much; for, after all, he had great confidence
in his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a
quandary before. Oonagh then drew the nine woollen threads of
different colours, which she always did to find out the best way of
succeeding in anything of importance she went about. She then
platted them into three plats with three colours in each, putting
one on her right arm, one round her heart, and the third round her
right ankle, for then she knew that nothing could fail with her that
she undertook.

Having everything now prepared, she sent round to the neighbours and
borrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which she took and kneaded
into the hearts of one-and-twenty cakes of bread, and these she
baked on the fire in the usual way, setting them aside in the
cupboard according as they were done. She then put down a large pot
of new milk, which she made into curds and whey. Having done all
this, she sat down quite contented, waiting for his arrival on the
next day about two o'clock, that being the hour at which he was
expected—for Fin knew as much by the sucking of his thumb. Now this
was a curious property that Fin's thumb had. In this very thing,
moreover, he was very much resembled by his great foe, Cucullin; for
it was well known that the huge strength he possessed all lay in the
middle finger of his right hand, and that, if he happened by any
mischance to lose it, he was no more, for all his bulk, than a
common man.

At length, the next day, Cucullin was seen coming across the valley,
and Oonagh knew that it was time to commence operations. She
immediately brought the cradle, and made Fin to lie down in it, and
cover himself up with the clothes.

"You must pass for your own child," said she; "so just lie there
snug, and say nothing, but be guided by me."

About two o'clock, as he had been expected, Cucullin came in. "God
save all here!" said he; "is this where the great Fin M'Coul lives?"

"Indeed it is, honest man," replied Oonagh; "God save you kindly—
won't you be sitting?"

"Thank you, ma'am," says he, sitting down; "you're Mrs. M'Coul, I
suppose?"

"I am," said she; "and I have no reason, I hope, to be ashamed of my
husband."

"No," said the other, "he has the name of being the strongest and
bravest man in Ireland; but for all that, there's a man not far from
you that's very desirous of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?"

"Why, then, no," she replied; "and if ever a man left his house in a
fury, he did. It appears that some one told him of a big basthoon of
a—giant called Cucullin being down at the Causeway to look for him,
and so he set out there to try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope,
for the poor giant's sake, he won't meet with him, for if he does,
Fin will make paste of him at once."

"Well," said the other, "I am Cucullin, and I have been seeking him
these twelve months, but he always kept clear of me; and I will
never rest night or day till I lay my hands on him."

At this Oonagh set up a loud laugh, of great contempt, by-the-way,
and looked at him as if he was only a mere handful of a man.

"Did you ever see Fin?" said she, changing her manner all at once.

"How could I?" said he; "he always took care to keep his distance."

"I thought so," she replied; "I judged as much; and if you take my
advice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night and day that
you may never see him, for I tell you it will be a black day for you
when you do. But, in the meantime, you perceive that the wind's on
the door, and as Fin himself is from home, maybe you'd be civil
enough to turn the house, for it's always what Fin does when he's
here."

This was a startler even to Cucullin; but he got up, however, and
after pulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked
three times, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house,
turned it as she had wished. When Fin saw this, he felt the sweat of
fear oozing out through every pore of his skin; but Oonagh,
depending upon her woman's wit, felt not a whit daunted.

"Arrah, then," said she, "as you are so civil, maybe you'd do
another obliging turn for us, as Fin's not here to do it himself.
You see, after this long stretch of dry weather we've had, we feel
very badly off for want of water. Now, Fin says there's a fine
spring-well somewhere under the rocks behind the hill here below,
and it was his intention to pull them asunder; but having heard of
you, he left the place in such a fury, that he never thought of it.
Now, if you try to find it, troth I'd feel it a kindness."

She then brought Cucullin down to see the place, which was then all
one solid rock; and, after looking at it for some time, he cracked
his right middle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft
about four hundred feet deep, and a quarter of a mile in length,
which has since been christened by the name of Lumford's Glen.

"You'll now come in," said she, "and eat a bit of such humble fare
as we can give you. Fin, even although he and you are enemies, would
scorn not to treat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I
didn't do it even in his absence, he would not be pleased with me."

She accordingly brought him in, and placing half-a-dozen of the
cakes we spoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter,
a side of boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to
help himself—for this, be it known, was long before the invention
of potatoes. Cucullin put one of the cakes in his mouth to take a
huge whack out of it, when he made a thundering noise, something
between a growl and a yell. "Blood and fury!" he shouted; "how is
this? Here are two of my teeth out! What kind of bread this is you
gave me."

"What's the matter?" said Oonagh coolly.

"Matter!" shouted the other again; "why, here are the two best teeth
in my head gone."

"Why," said she, "that's Fin's bread—the only bread he ever eats
when at home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you that nobody can eat
it but himself, and that child in the cradle there. I thought,
however, that, as you were reported to be rather a stout little
fellow of your size, you might be able to manage it, and I did not
wish to affront a man that thinks himself able to fight Fin. Here's
another cake—maybe it's not so hard as that."

Cucullin at the moment was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he
accordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately
another yell was heard twice as loud as the first. "Thunder and
gibbets!" he roared, "take your bread out of this, or I will not
have a tooth in my head; there's another pair of them gone!"

"Well, honest man," replied Oonagh, "if you're not able to eat the
bread, say so quietly, and don't be wakening the child in the cradle
there. There, now, he's awake upon me."

Fin now gave a skirl that startled the giant, as coming from such a
youngster as he was supposed to be.

"Mother," said he, "I'm hungry-get me something to eat." Oonagh went
over, and putting into his hand a cake that had no griddle in it,
Fin, whose appetite in the meantime had been sharpened by seeing
eating going forward, soon swallowed it. Cucullin was thunderstruck,
and secretly thanked his stars that he had the good fortune to miss
meeting Fin, for, as he said to himself, "I'd have no chance with a
man who could eat such bread as that, which even his son that's but
in his cradle can munch before my eyes."

"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle," said he to
Oonagh; "for I can tell you that the infant who can manage that
nutriment is no joke to look at, or to feed of a scarce summer."

"With all the veins of my heart," replied Oonagh; "get up, acushla,
and show this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of
your father, Fin M'Coul."

Fin, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as
possible, got up, and bringing Cucullin out, "Are you strong?" said
he.

"Thunder an' ounds!" exclaimed the other, "what a voice in so small
a chap!"

"Are you strong?" said Fin again; "are you able to squeeze water out
of that white stone?" he asked, putting one into Cucullin's hand.
The latter squeezed and squeezed the stone, but in vain.

"Ah, you're a poor creature!" said Fin. "You a giant! Give me the
stone here, and when I'll show what Fin's little son can do, you may
then judge of what my daddy himself is."

Fin then took the stone, and exchanging it for the curds, he
squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in
a little shower from his hand.

"I'll now go in," said he, "to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my
time with any one that's not able to eat my daddy's bread, or
squeeze water out of a stone. Bedad, you had better be off out of
this before he comes back; for if he catches you, it's in flummery
he'd have you in two minutes."

Cucullin, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself;
his knees knocked together with the terror of Fin's return, and he
accordingly hastened to bid Oonagh farewell, and to assure her, that
from that day out, he never wished to hear of, much less to see, her
husband. "I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him," said he,
"strong as I am; tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague,
and that I will make myself scarce in this part of the country while
I live."

Fin, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very
quietly, his heart at his mouth with delight that Cucullin was about
to take his departure, without discovering the tricks that had been
played off on him.

"It's well for you," said Oonagh, "that he doesn't happen to be
here, for it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you."

"I know that," says Cucullin; "divil a thing else he'd make of me;
but before I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth Fin's lad
has got that can eat griddle-bread like that?"

"With all pleasure in life," said she; "only, as they're far back in
his head, you must put your finger a good way in."