The Slim Swarthy Champion

THERE was a poor man dwelling in Ard na h-Uamh,

and a son was born to him, and he gave him school and learning till he was fourteen years of age. When he was fourteen years of age, he said to his father,

“Father, it is time for me to be doing for myself, if thou wouldst give me a fishing-rod and a basket.”

The poor man found every chance till he got a fishing-rod and a basket for him. When he got the fishing-rod and the basket, he went round about Loch Aird na h-Uamh, and took down (by) Loch Thorabais; and after he had fished Loch Thorabais closely, he came to Loch Phort an Eillean;* and after he had fished Loch Phort an Eillean before him, he took out by Loch Allalaidh. He stayed the night in Aird Eileastraidh, and every trout he had he left with a poor woman that was there.

On the morrow he thought that he would rise out, and that he would betake himself to Eirinn. He came to the garden of Aird Inneasdail, and he plucked with him sixteen apples, and then he came to Mull of Otha. + He threw an apple out into the sea, and he gave a step on it: he threw the next one, and he gave a step on it: he threw thus one after one, until he came to the sixteenth, and the sixteenth took him on shore in Eirinn.

When he was on shore he shook his ears, and he thought that it was in uo sorry place he would stay.

O’Domhnuill took much anger and rage that such an unseemly ill strippling should come into his court, while he had a doorkeeper for his town.

“I will not believe,” said the Champion, but “that thou art taking anger and rage, O’Domhnuill.”

“Well, then, I am,” said O’Domhnuill, “if I did but know at whom I should let it out.”

“My good man,” said the Champion, “coming in was no easier for me than going out again would be.”

“Thou goest not out,” said O’Domhnuill, “until thou tellest me from whence thou camest.”

“I came from hurry-skurry, From the end of endless spring.

“What,” said O’Domhnuill, “canst thou do, oh Champion? Surely, with all the distance thou hast travelled, thou canst do something.”

“I was once,” said he, “that I could play a harp.”

“Well, then,” said O’Domhnuill, “it is I myself that have got the best harpers in the five-fifths of Kirin, or in the bridge of the first of the people, such as— Ruairidh O’Cridheagan, Tormaid O’Giollagan, and Thaog O’Chuthag.”

“Tet’s hear them playing,” said the Champion.

“They could play tunes and “uirt” and “organ,”

The music did not please the Champion. He caught the harps, and he crushed them under his feet, and he set them on the fire, and made himself a warming, and a sound warming at them.

O’Domhnuill took much lofty rage that a man had come into his court who should do the like of this to the harps.

“My good man, I will not believe that thou art not taking anger,” said the Champion.

“Well, then, I am, if I did but know at whom I should let it out.”

“Back, my good man; it was no easier for me to break thy harps than to make them whole again,” said the Champion.

“J will give anything to have them made whole again,” said O’Domhnuill.

“For two times five marks I will make thy harps as good as they were before,” said the Champion.

“Thou shalt get that,” said O’Domhnuill.

O’Domhnuill gave him the marks, and he seized on the fill of his two palms of the ashes, and he made a harp for Ruairidh O’Cridheagan; and one for Tormaid O’Giollagan; and one for Thaog O’Chuthag; and a great choral harp for himself.

“Tet’s hear thy music,” said O’Domhnuill.

“Thou shalt hear that, my good man,” said the Champion.

The Champion began to play. and och! but he was the boy behind the harp.

That would set in sound lasting sleep The whole great world With the sweetness of the calming tunes That the champion could play.” “Thou art melodious, oh Champion!” said O’Domhnull. When the harpers heard the Champion playing, they betook themselves to another chamber, and though he had followed on, still they had not come to the fore.

O‘Domhnuill went away, and he sent a bidding to meat to the Champion.

“Tell the good man that he will not have that much to gloom on me when I go at mid-day to-morrow,” said the Champion.

O’Domhunill took much proud rage that such a man should come into his court, and that he would not take meat from him. He sent up a fringed shirt, and a storm mantle.

“Where is this going?” said the Champion.

“To thee, oh Champion,” said they.

“Say you to the good man that he will not have so much as that to gloom on me when I go at mid-day to-morrow,” said the Champion.

O’Domhnuill took much anger and rage that such a man had come into his court and would not either take meat or dress from him. He sent up five hundred Galloglachs to watch the Champion, so that O‘Domhnuill might not be affronted by his going out by any way but by the door.

“Where are you going?” said the Champion.

“To watch thee, Champion, so that thou shouldst not go to affront O‘Domhnuill, and not to let thee out but as thou shouldst,” said they.

“Lie down there,” said the Champion, “and I will let you know when I am going.”

They took his advice, and they lay down beside him, and when the dawn broke, the Champion went into his garments,

“Where are my watchers, for I am going?” said the Champion.

“If thou shouldst stir,” said the great Galloglach, “I would make a sharp sour shrinking for thee with this plough-board in my hand.”

The Champion leaped on the point of his pins, and he went over top and turret of court and city of O’Domhnuill.

The Galloglach threw the plough-board that was in his hand, and he slew four and twenty persons of the very people of O‘Domhnuill.

Whom should the Champion meet, but the tracking Jad of O’Domhnuill, and he said to him—

“Here’s for thee a little sour grey weed, and go in and rub it to the mouths of those whom it killed and bring them alive again, and earn for thyself twenty calving cows, and look behind thee when thou partest from me, whom thou shalt see coming.”

When the tracking lad did this he saw no being coming, but he saw the Champion thirteen miles on the other side of Luimineach (Limerick).

And as playballs o’ playballs. As a furious winter wind— So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily, Right proudly, Through glens and high tops, And he made no stop Until he reached MacSeathain,* the Southern Earl.” He struck in the door. Said MacSeathain, the southern Earl, “Who’s that in the door?” “I am Duradan o’ Duradan, Dust of Dust,” said the Champion. “Let in Dust of Dust,” said MacSeathain, the southern Earl; “no being must be in my door without getting in.”

They let him in.

“What couldst thou do, Duradan o’ Duradan?” said the southern Earl.

“I was on a time, and I could play a juggle,” said he.

“Well, then, it is I myself that have the best juggler in the five-fifths of Eirinn, or the bridge of the first of the people, as is Taog Bratach Mac a Cheallaich, rascally Toag, the son of Concealment.”

They got up the juggler.

“What,” said the southern Earl, “is the trick that thou canst do, Dust of Dust?”

“Well, [was on a time that I could bob my ear off my cheek,” said he.

The Champion went and he takes the ear off the cheek.

Said rascally Taog, the son of Concealment: “I could do that myself.”

He went and he took down his ear, and up he could not bring it! but the Champion put up his own ear as it was before.

The Earl took much anger and rage that the ear should be off his juggler.

“For five merks twice over,” said the Champion, “1 would set the ear as it was before.”

He got the five merks twice over, and he put the ear on the juggler as it was before.

“I see,” said the Earl, “that the juggling of this night is with thee.”

Rascally Taog went away; and though they should have staid there the length of the night, he would not have come near them.

Then the Champion went and he set a great ladder up against the moon, and in one place of it he puta hound and a hare, and in another place of it he put a carl and a girl. A while after that he opened first where he had put the hound and the hare, and the hound was eating the hare; he struck him a stroke of the edge of his palm, and cast his head off. Then he opened again where were the carl and the girl, and the carl was kissing the girl. He struck him a stroke of the edge of his palm, and he cast his head off.

“I would not for much,” said the Earl, “that a hound and a carl should be killed at my court.

“Give five merks twice over for each one of them, and I will put the heads on them,” said the Champion.

“Thou shalt get that,” said the southern Earl.

He got the five merks twice over, and he put the head on the hound and the carl as they were before; and though they should be alive till now, the hound woutd not have touched a hare, nor the carl a girl, for fear their heads should be taken off.

On the morrow, after their meat in the morning, he went hunting with the Earl. When they were amongst the wood, they heard a loud voice in a knoll (or a bush).

“Be this from me,” said Dust of Dust, “I must go to see the foot of the car] MacCeochd.” He went out—

And no stop made he Until he reached The house of the Carl MacCeochd.” “He struck at the door. “Who’s that?” said the car MacCeochd.

“I,” said he, “am the leech’s lad.”

“Well,” said the carl, “many a bad black leech is coming, and they are not doing a bit of good to me.”

“Give word to the carl that unless he will not let me in, I will be going,” said the Champion.

“Let in the leech’s lad; perhaps he is the one in whom is my help,” said the carl MacCeochd.

They let him in.

“Rise up, carl MacCeochd, thou art free from thy sores,” said the Champion..

Carl MacCeochd arose up, and there was not a man in Eirinn swifter or stronger than he.

“Lie down, carl MacCeochd, thou art full of sores,” said the Champion.

The carl MacCeochd lay down, and he was worse than he ever was.

“Thou didst ill,” said the carl MacCeochd, “to heal me and spoil me again.”

“Thou man here,” said the Champion, “I was but shewing thee that I could heal thee.”

“I have,” said the carl MacCeochd, “but the one daughter in the world, and thou shalt get her and half of all I have, and all my share when I go way, and heal my leg.”

“It shall not be so, bat send word for every leech that thou hast had, that I might get talking with them,” said the leech’s lad.

They sent word by running lads through the five-fifths of Eirinn for the leeches that were waiting on the carl, and they came, all thinking that they would get pay, and when they came riding to the house of the carl, the Champion went out and he said to them,

“What made you spoil the leg of the carl MacCeochd, and set. himself thus?”

“Well then,” said they, “if we were to raise the worth of our drugs, without coming to the worth of our trouble, we would not leave him the worth of his shoe in the world.

Said the leech’s lad, “I will lay you a wager, and that is the full of my cap of gold, to be set at the end of yonder dale, and that there are none in Eirinn that will be at it sooner than the carl MacCeochd.”

He set the cap full of gold at the end of the dale, and the leeches laid the wager that they could never be.

He went in where the carl MacCeochd was, and he said to him,

“Arise, carl MacCeochd, thou art whole of sores, I have laid a wager on thee.”

The carl got up whole and healthy, and he went out, and he was at three springs at the cap of gold, and he left the leeches far behind.

Then the leeches only asked that they might get their lives. Promise of that they got not (but) the leech’s lad got in order.

He snatched his holly in his fist, and he seized the grey hand plane that was on the after side of his haunch, and he took under them, over them, through and amongst them; and left no man to tell a tale, or earn bad tidings, that he did not kill.*

When the carl was healed he sent word for the nobles and for the great gentles of Eirinn to the wedding of his daughter and the Champion, and they were gathering out of each quarter.

“What company is there?” said the leeches’ lad.

“There is the company of thine own wedding, and they are gathering from each half and each side,” said the carl MacCeochd.

“Be this from me!” said he; “O’Conachar the Shelly (or of Sligo) has a year’s service against me,” and he put a year’s delay on the wedding.

“Who’s that?” said O’Conachar of Sligo.

“J,” said he, “Goodherd.”

“Let in Goodherd,” said O’Conachar of Sligo, for great is my need of him here.”

They let him in.

“What couldst thou do here?” said O’Conachar.

“I am hearing,” said he, to O’Conachar of Sligo, “that the chase is upon thee. If thou wilt keep out the chase, I will keep in the spoil,” said Goodherd.

“What wages wilt thou take?” said O’Conachar of Sligo.

“The wages I will take is that thou shouldst not make half cups with me till the end of a day and year,” said Goodherd.

O’Conachar made this covenant with him, and the herdsman went to herd.

The chase broke in on O’Conachar of Sligo, and they betook themselves to where the herdsman was, to lift the spoil. When the herdsman saw that they had broken in, he took the holly in his fist, and seized the grey hand-plane that was on the after side of his haunch, and left no man to tell a tale, or earn bad tidings, that he did not kill. He went into a herd’s hothy, and he (was) hot, and he saw O’Conachar Sligheach just done drinking a boyne of milk and water.

“Witness, gods and men, that thou hast broken thy promise,” said Goodherd.

“That fill is no better than another fill,” said O’Conachar Sligheach.

“That selfsame fill thou didst promise to me,” said Goodherd.

He took anger at O’Conachar Sligheach, and he went away, and he reached the house of the carl MacCeochd. The daughter of the carl made him a drink of green apples and warm milk, and he was choked.

And I left them, and they gave me butter on a cinder, porridge kail in a creel, and paper shoes; and they sent me away with a big gun bullet, on a road of glass, till they left me sitting here within.

“Co siod?” urs’ O Conachar Sligeach.

“Dé “dheanadh thusa ’Bhuachaill?” ors’O Conachar Sligeach.

Second Version. The History of the Ceabharnach

From John Campbell, Strath Gearloch, Ross-shire. On the day when O’Donull came out to hold right

and justice, he saw a young chap coming. His two shoulders were through his old Suainaiche (sleeping coat?) his two ears through his old Arps, hat, his two squat kick-er-ing tatter-y shoes full of cold roadway-ish water, three feet of his sword sideways on the side of his haunch, after the secabbard had ended.

He blest with easy true-wise maiden’s words.

O’Donull blest him in the like of his own words.

O’Donull asked him what was his art?

“I could do harping,” said the Ceabharnach.

“There are twelve men with me,” said O’Donull, “and we will go to look on them.”

“I am willing to do that,” said the Ceabharnach.

When they went in O’Donull asked them to begin. “Hast thou ever heard music, oh Ceabharnach, finer than that?”

“I came past by the Isle of Cold, and I did not hear a screech in it that was more hideous than that.”

“Wouldst thou play a harp thyself, Ceabharnach?” said O’Donull.

“Here is her player, and who should not play 12

“Give him a harp,” said O’Donull.

“Well canst thou play a harp,” said O’Donull.

“It is not as thou pleasest but as I please myself, since I am at work.”

The music of the Ceabharnach put every harper O’Donull had asleep.

“J will be taking fare thee well,” said the Ceabharnach to O’Donull.

“Thou wilt not do that to me,” said O’Donull, “thou must awaken my men.”

“I am going to take a turn through Eirinn,” said the Ceabharnach; “if I come the way they will see, and if I come not they will be thus with thee.”

He left him, and he met with one herding. “Thy master’s harpers are asleep, and they will not wake till they are awakened. Go thou and awaken them, and thou wilt get what will make a rich man of thee!”

“How shall I do that?” asked the herd.

“Take a tuft of that grass and dip it in water, and shake it on them, and thou wilt awaken them.”

He left the man, and he reached Seathan mor mac an Iarla, great Seathan the son of the Earl, thirteen miles on the western side of Lumraig.

He saw a young chap coming; his two shoulders were through his old coat, his two ears through his old hat, his shoes full of cold roadway-ish water, three feet of his sword sideways on the side of his haunch after the scabbard was ended.

He asked him what was his trade? He said that he could do juggling.

“I have jugglers myself; we will go to look on them.”

“I am willing enough,” said the Ceabharnach.

“Shew thy juggling,” said the great Seathan, “till

we see it.”

He put three straws on the back of his fist and he blew them off it.

“If I should get half five marks,” said one of the king’s lads, “I would make better juggling than that.”

“I will give thee that,” said the Ceabharnach.

He put three straws on the back of his fist and the fist went along with the straws.

“Thou art sore, and thou wilt be sore,” said his master; “my blessing on the hand that gave it to thee.”

“I will do other juggles for thee,” said the Ceabharnach.

He caught a hold of his own ear, and he gave a pull at it.

“If I could get half five marks,” said another of the king’s lads, “I would make a better juggle than that.”

“J will give thee that,” said the Ceabharnach.

He gave a pull at the ear and the head came away with the ear.

“I am going away,” said the Ceabharnach.

“Thou wilt not leave my set of men so.”

“I am for taking a turn through Eirinn. If I come the way I will see them, and if I come not they will be so along with thee.”

He went away, and he met with a man threshing in a barn. He asked him if his work could keep him up.

“Jt was no more than it could do.”

“I,” said the Ceabharnach, “will make thee a free man for thy life. There are two of thy master’s lads, one with his fist off, and one with his head off. Go there and put them on again, and thy master will make thee a free man for life.”

“With what shall I bring them alive?”

“Take a tuft of grass, hold it in water, shake it on them, and thou wilt heal them.”

He went away and he came to Fear chuigeamh mugha,* a nasty man that could not bear a man to go the way of his house, to look at him when he was taking his food. There were twelve men with axes at the outer gate, and twelve men of swords on the inner gate; a porter at the great door.

They saw a young chap coming, his two shoulders through his old coat, his two ears through his old hat, his two squat kick-ering tatter-y shoes full of cold roadway-ish water.

He asked their license in to see Fear Chuigeamh Mugha.

One of them raised his axe to drive his head off, but so it was that he struck it on his own comrade.

They arose on each other till they killed each other; and he came to the men of the sword, one raised his sword to strike off his head, but he cut the head off his comrade with it, and they all fell to slaying each other.

He reached the porter; he caught him by the small of the legs, and he struck his head on the door.

He reached the great man as he sat at his dinner; he stood at the end of the board.

“Oh evil man,” said the king, “great was thy loss before thou camest here,” as he rose to catch hold of his sword to strike his head off. His hand stuck to the sword, and his seat stuck to the chair, and he could not rise; no more could his wife leave her own place. When he had done all he wished he went away, and he met a poor man that was travelling the world.

“If thou wilt take my advice,” said the Ceabharnach,

F2 “I will make a lucky man of thee as long as thou art alive.”

“How wilt thou do that?” said the man.

“The king and the queen are fast in their chairs; go thou and loose them, and the king will make a great man of thee.”

“How shall I loose them?”

“Shake water on them and they will arise.”

He went out of that, and he reached Ros Mac Sheoic Mhic Lagain with a pain in his foot for seven years.

He struck palm to bar. The porter asked “Who was there?”

He said there was a leech.

“Many a leech has come,” said the porter. “There is not a spike on the town without a leech’s head but one, and may be it is for thy head that one is.”

“It might not be,” said the Ceabharnach. “Let me in,”

“What is putting upon thee, Rob?” said the Ceabharnach.:

‘My foot is taking to me these seven years. She has beat the leech and leeches.”

“Arise and stretch out thy foot with the stitch,” said the Ceabharnach; ‘and let’s try if thou canst catch the twelve leeches, or if the twelve leeches will catch thee.”

He arose, no man could catch him; and he himself could catch every other one.

“I have but one begotten, a champion of a girl, and I will give her to thee and half my realm.”

“Be she good or bad,” said the Ceabharnach, “let her be mine or thine.”

An order was made for a wedding for the Ceabharnach; but when they had got the wedding in order, he was swifter out of the town than a year-old hare. He came to Taog O-Ceallaidh, who was going to raise the spoil of Cailliche Buidhniche.

A young chap was seen coming, his two shoulders through his old coat, his two ears through his old hat, his two squat kick-ering tatter-y shoes full of cold roadway-ish water, three feet of his sword sideways on the side of his haunch after the scabbard was ended.

“What’s this that puts on thee?” said the Ceabharnach. “Hast thou need of men?”

“Thou wilt not make a man for me,” said O-Ceallaidh.

“Shall I not get a man’s share if I do a man’s share?”

“What’s thy name?” said Taog.

“There is on me (the name of) Ceabharanach Saothrach Suarach Siubhail—the servile, sorry, strolling kern.”

“What art thou seeking for thy service?”

“I am but asking that thou shouldst not forget my drink.”

“Whence camest thou?”

They went to raise the raid of the carlin. They raised the spoil, but they saw the following coming.

“Be stretching out,” said great Taog to the Ceabharnach, “Thou wilt not make thy legs at least. Whether wouldst thou rather turn the chase or drive the spoil with thy set of men?”

“I would not turn the chase, but if the chase would turn, we would drive the spoil at least.”

The Ceabharnach cut a sharp, hard whistle, and the drove lay down on the road.

He turned to meet them. He caught each one of the slenderest legs, and the biggest head, and he left them stretched legs on head. He returned after the spoil.

“Thyself and thy lot of men can hardly drive the spoil.”

“The spoil will never get up,” said Taog.

He cut a whistle: the drove got up, and he drove it home.

It happened that the great man forgot to give the first drink to the Ceabharnach.

“Mine is the half of the spoil,” said the Ceabharnach.

“That is more than much for thee,” said the king.

“Many a time was I,” said the Ceabharnach, “and Murcha MacBrian hewing shields and splitting blades; his was the half of the spoil, and mine was the other half.”

“If thou art a comrade of that man, thou shalt have half the spoil,” said Taog.

But he went away, and he left themselves and the sp il.

“Health be with thee, oh Ceabharnach. Arise not for ever.”

“Is math a sheinneas tusa cruit!” ars’ O Domhnuill.

“Co as a thiinig thn?” arsa Taog.

3. A third version of this curious tale was told to me in South Uist, by MacPhie. It was very like the version told by James Wilson, blind fiddler in Islay.

It is evidently a composition fallen to bits, and mended with prose, and it is equally clear that it points to Ireland, though the hero was made a Scotchman by the three old men.

As a picture of bygone manners, this is curious, and I know nothing at all like it in any collection of popular tales.

I believe it to be some bardic recitation half-forgotten, It is said that in the mouth of one reciter in Islay, the story nsed to last for four hours,

I lately (September 1860) heard MacPhie repeat his version in part. It was a mixture of the two versions here given, and a fifth, Irish grandee, was added.