Irish Folk Tales (49 page)

Then the girl remembered that she had washed her feet the night before, and had never thought to throw out the water. And it’s well known to wash the feet and not to throw the water out, brings some harm—except you throw fire into the vessel it stands in.

T
HE FEET WATER

In every house in the country long ago the people of the house would wash their feet, the same as they do now, and when you had your feet washed you should always throw out the water, because dirty water should never be kept inside in the house during the night. The old people always said that a bad thing might come into the house if the feet water was kept inside and not thrown out, and they always said, too, that when you were throwing the water out you should say
“Seachain!”
for fear that any poor soul or spirit might be in the way. But that is not here nor there, and I must be getting on with my story.

There was a widow woman living a long time ago in the east of County Limerick in a lonely sort of a place, and one night when she and her daughter were going to bed, didn’t they forget to throw out the feet water. They weren’t long in bed when the knock came to the door, and the voice outside said: “Key, let us in!”

Well, the widow woman said nothing, and the daughter held her tongue as well.

“Key, let us in,” came the call again, and, faith! this time the key spoke up: “I can’t let you in, and I here tied to the post of the old woman’s bed.”

“Feet water, let us in!” says the voice, and with that, the tub of feet water split and the water flowed around the kitchen, and the door opened and in came three men with bags of wool and three women with spinning wheels, and they sat down around the fire, and the men were taking tons of wool out of the bags, and the little women were spinning it into thread, and the men putting the thread back into the bags.

And this went on for a couple of hours and the widow woman and the girl were nearly out of their minds with the fright. But the girl kept a splink of sense about her, and she remembered that there was a wise woman living not too far away, and down with her from the room to the kitchen, and she catches up a bucket. “Ye’ll be having a sup of tea, after all the work,” says she, as bold as brass, and out the door with her.

They didn’t help or hinder her.

Off with her to the wise woman, and out with her story. “ ’Tis a bad case, and ’tis lucky you came to me,” says the wise woman, “for you might travel far before you’d find one that would save you from them. They are not of this world, but I know where they are from. And this is what you must do,” and she told her what to do.

Back with the girl and filled her bucket at the well, and back with her to the house. And just as she coming over the stile, she flung down the bucket with a bang, and shouted out at the top of her voice: “There is Sliabh na mBan all on fire!”

And the minute they heard it, out with the strange men and women running east in the direction of the mountain.

And in with the girl, and she made short work of throwing out the broken tub and putting the bolt and the bar on the door. And herself and her mother went back to bed for themselves.

It was not long until they heard the footsteps in the yard once more, and the voice outside calling out: “Key, let us in!” And the key answered back: “I can’t let you in. Amn’t I after telling you that I’m tied to the post of the old woman’s bed?” “Feet water, let us in!” says the voice.

“How can I?” says the feet water, “and I here on the ground under your feet!”

They had every shout and every yell out of them with the dint of the rage, and they not able to get in to the house. But it was idle for them. They had no power to get in when the feet water was thrown out.

And I tell you it was a long time again before the widow woman or her daughter forgot to throw out the feet water and tidy the house properly before they went to bed for themselves.

T
HE FAIRY RABBIT AND THE BLESSED EARTH OF TORY

My grandfather, Donnchadh Ó Duibhir, was a great fisherman, and as well as being a good seaman he was a wonderful swimmer. He was a very strong man too. He used to go out fishing with a man from the east of the island. It was in Port an Dúin he kept his curragh and it was on the north side of the island he did most of his fishing.

One fine summer evening he went east to meet his comrade and the two of them went to Port an Dúin. They took all the boat-gear and the curragh down to the edge of the strand and set out for the northern shore.

There is a place on the east of the island near the Dún called Poll an Rutáin. It is a cavern open at both ends and it is a good short-cut compared with having to go round the nose of Tor Mór. It was through Poll an Rutáin they were going that evening. There was not a breath of wind and the sea was as smooth as a board.

They saw a rabbit sitting up on the height overhead and it seemed to them it was very bold. My grandfather drew in his paddles and began to beat them against the edge of the curragh, but not a hair did they move of the rabbit which did not stir from where it sat. The curragh was out on the water by then and both men began to shout and roar, but it seems there was no hunting it away.

“Donnchadh, that is no natural rabbit!” said the man in the stern of the curragh to my grandfather.

With that they saw a great wave coming upon them.

“God save us!” they cried. The wave swept the curragh halfway over its crest. With that they saw another wave much worse than the first one. It struck the curragh amidship and capsized it, and before they had time to offer their souls to God and Mary another wave of the same kind broke over them, but they did not let go their hold of the curragh. My grandfather shouted to the other man to keep a good grip, and he himself began to swim and draw the curragh after him with one hand. He was not able to bring the curragh to land where he was, and he had to draw the curragh and the man hanging on it a long way.

Well and good. He struggled on until he got the curragh in beside a flat rock and succeeded in landing his comrade. When they had come to themselves a little they turned the curragh but the two paddles were still afloat. Donnchadh went out swimming again and brought in the paddles. They
both went out then and rescued the line-frames and other gear they had lost. They returned to Port an Dúin sodden wet, bruised, and exhausted.

As long as they lived both men held, and I heard my grandfather speak of it a score of times, that it was a fairy rabbit they had seen on the height above them and that it was trying to drown them. They had a grain of the earth of Tory in the curragh, and that surely is why it did not succeed.

T
HE CATS’ JUDGMENT

My father was herdsman to the manor house, and one of his jobs was to boil up a good pot of mangolds and turnips every evening for the cattle. He was a very particular kind of man, and so that the roots should brew thoroughly he not only put the iron lid on the pot, but put a stone on the top of the lid to keep it firm. But night after night, to his surprise in the morning, the stone was knocked off the pot and the lid lifted.

One night he said to himself, “I’ll watch,” he said; and he sat up watching the pot, and the lamp had gone down and the room was dark only for the firelight. And what did he see but a big cat come in and push away the stone and lift the lid off the pot, and dip his paw into the mash just as if it was cream.

No sooner did he see the cat than he hits it a welt of a stick, and as it leaps through the door he puts his two dogs after it. But the dogs were back in no time, and they shivering, as if with the fright. So he shuts the door and goes to bed.

Well, he is hardly under the sheets when the door opens and in comes the cat that he was after hitting. And following her, in come a dozen others, one after the other.

And they all sat down in a circle and they began to talk in the cat language.