Gruagach
One of the brownie-like spirits of the Highlands. Three different
types of Gruagach seem to emerge. In the Highlands there is the fairy lady
dressed in green with long golden hair, sometimes beautiful and sometimes wan
and haggard, who is the guardian of cattle and is a kind of fairy chatelaine to
a farm. There were also male gruagachs in the Highlands, some handsome, slender
youths wearing green and red, but for the most part naked and shaggy and
performing brownie labours about the farm which they patronized. Both kinds had
offerings of milk made to them. In northern Ireland the grogan’s followed the
brownie tradition, but in southern Ireland, the Gruagach was a supernatural wizard,
often a giant.
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| 1. |
Gruagach, a supernatural female who presided over cattle and
took a kindly interest in all that pertained to them. In return a libation of
milk was made to her when the women milked the cows in the evening. If the
oblation were neglected, the cattle, notwithstanding all precautions, were
found broken loose and in the corn; and if still omitted, the best cow in the
fold was found dead in the morning. The offering was poured on 'clach na
gruagaich,' the gruagach stone. There is hardly a district in the Highlands
which does not possess a 'leac gruagaich'--a gruagach, flag-stone--whereon
the milk libation was poured. I have seen such stones in Arran, Kintyre, Gigha,
Islay, Mull, Lismore, Kerara, Lorn, Iona, Tiree, Coll, Barra, South Uist,
Benbecula, North Uist, Heisgeir, St Kilda, Harris, Lewis, Sutherland, Ross, at
Culloden, Cawdor, Lochaber, and in various other places. All these oblation
stones are erratic ice-blocks. Some of them have a slight cavity into which the
milk was poured; others have none, the libation being simply poured on the
stone. In making the oblation the woman intoned a tune—
'A ghruagach, a
ghruagach,
Cum suas mo
spreidhe,
Cum sios an
Guaigean,
Cum uap an Geige.'
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Brownie, brownie,
Uphold my herds,
Keep down the 'Guaigean,'
Keep from them the 'Geige.'
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There is probably no district in the Highlands where the gruagach
could not be fully described.
Each district gives its own local colouring to the
'gruagach.' The following account was given to me by a woman at West Bennan in
Arran in August 1895:
The gruagach lived at East Bennan in a cave which is still
called 'uamh na gruagaich'--cave of the 'gruagach,' and 'uamh na beiste'--cave
of the monster. She herded the cattle of the townland of Bennan, and no
spring-loss, no death-loss, no mishap, no murrain, ever befell them, while they
throve and fattened and multiplied right well.
The gruagach would come forth with the radiant sun, her
golden hair streaming on the morning breeze, and her rich voice filling the air
with melody. She would wait on a grassy hillock afar off till the people would
bring out their 'creatairean,' creatures, crooning a lullaby the while, and
striding to and fro. The following is a fragment of one of her songs:--
'Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean,
Boidhean boidheach
brogach beannach,
Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean.
Crodh Mhicugain,
crodh Mhiceannain,
Crodh
MhicFhearachair mhoir a Bheannain,
Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean.
Corp us carn air
graisg na Beurla,
Mharbh iad orm mo
cheile falaich,
Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean.
Ruisg iad mi gu ruig mo leine,
Struill agus
streuill mo leannan,
Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean.
Oidhch an Arainn,
oidhch an Ile,
’S an Cinntire uaine
a bharraich,
Ho, hi, ho! mach na
boidhean.'
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Ho, hi, ho! out the kine,
Pretty cattle hoofed and horned,
Ho, hi, ho! out the kine.
Cows of Macugan, cows of Mackinnon, [Cook
Cows of big Macfarquhar of the Bennan,
Ho, hi, ho! out the kine.
Corpse and cairn to the rabble English,
They have killed my hidden lover,
Ho, hi, ho! out the kine.
They have stripped me to my shift,
They have clubbed and torn my lover,
Ho, hi, ho! out the kine.
A night in Arran, a night in Islay,
And in green Kintyre of birches,
Ho, hi, ho! out the kine.
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The people of Bennan were so pleased with the tender care
the gruagach took of their corn and cattle that they resolved to give her a
linen garment to clothe her body and down sandals to cover her feet. They
placed these on a knoll near the gruagach and watched from afar. But instead of
being grateful she was offended, and resented their intrusion so much that she
determined to leave the district. She placed her left foot on Ben Bhuidhe in
Arran and her right foot on 'Allasan,' Ailsa Craig, making this her
stepping-stone to cross to the mainland of Scotland or to Ireland. While the gruagach
was in the act of moving her left foot, a three-masted ship passed beneath, the
mainmast of which struck her in the thigh and overturned her into the sea. The
people of Bennan mourned the gruagach long and loudly, and bewailed their own
officiousness.
Gruagach is now applied to a maiden, and occasionally, in
derision, to a man with long hair. But that it was not always so is evidenced
by these lines from an old ballad:--
'Inghean oighre
Bhaile-cliath,
Cha cheilinn, a
thriath nan lann,
Do ghruagach Eilean
nan eun
Is ann a rug mi fein
mo chlann.
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Daughter am I of the heir of Dublin,
I will not conceal, thou chief of spears,
To the gruagach of the Isle of birds
I myself bore my children.’
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Carmina Gadelica, Vol. 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, 1900
Of old it was common enough to pour a milk libation on the
fairy-knoll. In the eighteenth century the Rev. Donald MacQueen, minister of
Kilmuir, Skye, contributed some account of the Gruagach to Pennant's Tour.
After some references to the classics, he adds that "the superstition or
warm imagination of ignorant people introduced him as a sportive salutary guest
into several families, in which he played many entertaining tricks, and then
disappeared. It is a little more than a century ago since he hath been supposed
to have got an honest man's daughter with child, at Shulista, near to Duntulme,
the seat of the family of Macdonald: though it is more probable that one of the
great man's retinue did that business for him. But though the Gruagach offers
himself to every one's fancy as a handsome man, with fair tresses, his emblems,
which are in almost every village, are no other than rude unpolished stones of
different figures just as they seemed cast up to the hand of the Druid who
consecrated them. Carving was not introduced into the Hebrides; and though it
had, such of the unformed images as were preserved would for their antiquity be
reverenced, in presence of any attempts in the modern arts.
"The Gruagach Stones, as far as tradition can inform
us, were only honoured with libations of milk,
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| 2. |
from the hands of the dairy
maid, which were offered to Gruagach upon the Sunday, for the preservation of
the cattle on the ensuing week. From this custom Apollo seems to have derived
the epithet Galaxius. This was one of the sober offerings that well became a
poor or frugal people, who had neither wine nor oil to bestow; by which they
recommended their only stock and subsistence to their favourite Divinity, whom
they had always in their eye and whose blessings they enjoyed every day. . . The idol stones that remain with us are oblong square altars of rough stone,
that lie within the Druids’ Houses, as we call them. Observe also, that the
worship of the sun seems to have continued in England until King Canute's time,
by a law of his, which prohibits that, with other idolatrous practices."
Martin corroborates this of the island of Valay, where "there is a flat
thick stone call’d Brownie's Stone, upon which the ancient inhabitants offered
a cow's milk every Sunday, but this custom is now quite abolish’d."
The old custom of libation is clearly seen in the following:
"Clanranald used to have a summer shieling on one of the islets off
Benbecula. He had a herd and a milkmaid there. They were both of them
Catholics, and at the time of changing residence were in the habit of spilling
a coggie of milk on the fairy-knoll. The dairy maid left Clanranald's service,
and in her stead he engaged a Protestant. On the day of changing from the
shieling the herd requested that milk might be left on the knoll. She replied:
'No! I don't heed Popish incantations.' That same night the best cow in the
fold was dead, and on the morrow it was blood and not milk that the cows gave.
Clanranald sent away the new dairy maid, and he took back the maid who had
formerly left his service to take her place. They never heard any further mishap."
This on the authority of an old shepherd, whose grandfather, he said, was the
herd in question.
Survivals in Belief Among the Celts, by George Henderson, 1911
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| 3. |
Patrick Kennedy has described a Gruagach as a giant, and
states that the word "Gruagach" has for root gruach—"hair,"
giants and magicians being "furnished with a large provision of that
appendage." This Gruagach was closely related to the fairies, and, indeed,
we shall find later in a Donegal story a giant ogress spoken of as a fairy woman.
In Scotland, as well as in the South of Ireland, the name is Gruagach, but in
Antrim I heard it pronounced "Grogach."
Closely allied to the fairy is the Grogach, with his large
head and soft body, who appears to have no bones as he comes tumbling down the
hills. These Grogachs I heard of in North-East Antrim, and in them, as in the
fairies, the supernatural characteristics preponderate. I was told that both
were full of magic, and had come from Egypt. (…) Grogachs have been known to
thresh corn or do other work for the farmers. (…) it will be seen that the
ordinary fairy, the Grogach, the Pecht, and the Dane, all inhabit underground
dwellings, although the fairy and Grogach are regarded more in the light of supernatural beings. To cut down a fairy or a "Skiough" bush is to court
misfortune, sometimes to attempt an impossible task. In Glenshesk some men
tried to cut down a Skiough bush, but the hatchet broke; after several failures
they gave up, and the bush still flourishes. Another bush was transplanted, but
returned during the night.
I was told at Ballycastle of one man who always laid out at
night the bundles of corn he expected the Grogach to thresh, and each morning
the appointed task was accomplished. One night he forgot to lay the corn on the
floor of the barn, and threw his flail on the top of the stack. The poor
Grogach imagined that he was to thresh the whole, and set to work manfully; but
the task was beyond his strength, and in the morning he was found dead. The
farmer and his wife buried him, and mourned deeply the loss of their small
friend.
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| 4. |
A Grogach herded the cattle of a farmer, and drove them home
in the evening. He was about the size of a child, and was naked. A fire was
left burning at night so that he might warm himself, and after a time the
daughter of the house made him a shirt. When the Grogach saw this he thought it
was a "billet" for him to go, and, crying bitterly, he took his
departure, and left the shirt behind him. As I pointed out on a former
occasion, in many respects the Grogach resembles the Swiss dwarf. The
likeness to the Brownie is also very marked. At Ballycastle I was told the
Grogach was a hairy man about four feet in height, who could bear heat or cold
without clothing.
Patrick Kennedy has described a Gruagach as a giant, and
states that the word "Gruagach" has for root gruach—"hair,"
giants and magicians being "furnished with a large provision of that
appendage." This Gruagach was closely related to the fairies, and, indeed,
we shall find later in a Donegal story a giant ogress spoken of as a fairy
woman. In Scotland, as well as in the South of Ireland, the name is Gruagach,
but in Antrim I heard it pronounced "Grogach."
Ulster Folklore, By Elizabeth Andrews, 1913
The Fisherman's Son and the Grugach of Tricks.
There was an old fisherman once in Erin who had a wife and
one son.
The old fisherman used to go about with a fishing-rod and
tackle to the rivers and lochs and every place where fish resort, and he was
killing salmon and other fish to keep the life in himself and his wife and son. The son was not so keen nor so wise as another, and the
father was instructing him every day in fishing, so that if himself should be
taken from the world, the son would be able to support the old mother and get
his own living. One day when the father and son were fishing in a river near
the sea, they looked out over the water and saw a small dark speck on the
waves. It grew larger and larger, till they saw a boat, and when the boat drew
near they saw a man sitting in the stern of it. There was a nice beach near the
place where they were fishing. The man brought the boat straight to the beach,
and stepping out drew it up on the sand. They saw then that the stranger was a
man of high degree (duine uasal).
After he had put the boat high on the sand, he came to where
the two were at work, and said:
"Old fisherman, you'd better let this son of yours with
me for a year and a day, and I will make a very wise man of him. I am the Gruagach na g-cleasan (Gruagach of
tricks), and I'll bind myself to be here with your son this day year."
"I can't let him go," said the old fisherman, till
he gets his mother's advice."
"Whatever goes as far as women I'll have nothing to do
with," said the Gruagach. "You had better give him to me now, and let
the mother alone."
They talked till at last the fisherman promised to let his
son go for the year and a day. Then the Gruagach gave his word to have the boy
there at the seashore that day year. The Gruagach and the boy went into the
boat and sailed away.
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| 5. |
nor so wise as
another, and myself and this son were here fishing, and a stranger came, like
yourself to-day, and asked would I let my son with him for a year and a day. I
let the son go, and the man promised to be here with him to-day, and that's why
I am waiting at this place now."
When the year and a day were over, the old fisherman went to the same place where he had parted with his son and the Gruagach, and stood looking over the sea, thinking would he see his son that day. At last he saw a black spot on the water, then a boat. When it was near he saw two men sitting in the stern of the boat. When it touched land, the two, who were duine uasal in appearance, jumped out, and one of them pulled the boat to the top of the strand. Then that one, followed by the other, came to where the old fisherman was waiting, and asked: "What trouble is on you now, my good man?"
"You are not," said the fisherman.
"Is this man here your son?"
"I don't know him," said the fisherman. Well,
then, he is all you will have in place of your son, said the Gruagach.
The old man looked again, and knew his son. He caught hold
of him and welcomed him home.
"Now," said the Gruagach, " isn't he a better
man than he was a year ago?"
"Oh, he's nearly a smart man now! " said the old
fisherman.
"Well," said the Gruagach, "will you let him
with me for another year and a day?"
"I will not," said the old man; "I want him
myself."
The Gruagach then begged and craved till the fisherman
promised to let the son with him for a year and a day again. But the old man
forgot to take his word of the Gruagach to bring back the son at the end of the
time; and when the Gruagach and the boy were in the boat, and had pushed out to
sea, the Gruagach shouted to the old man: "I kept my promise to bring back
your son today. I haven't given you my word at all now. I'll not bring him back,
and you'll never see him again."
The fisherman went home with a heavy and sorrowful heart,
and the old woman scolded him all that night till next morning for letting her
son go with the Gruagach a second time. Then himself and the old woman were lamenting
a quarter of a year; and when another quarter had passed, he said to her:
" I'll leave you here now, and I'll be walking on myself till I wear my
legs off up to my knees, and from my knees to my waist, till I find where is my
son.
So away went the old man walking, and he used to spend but
one night in a house, and not two nights in any house, till his feet were all
in blisters. One evening late he came to a hut where there was an old woman
sitting at a fire.
"Poor man! " said she, when she laid eyes on him,
" it's a great distress you are in, to be so disfigured with wounds and
sores. What is the trouble that's on you?"
"I had a son," said the old man, "and the Gruagach na g-cleasan came on a day and
took him from me."
"Oh, poor man! " said she. "I have a son with
that same Gruagach these twelve years, and I have never been able to get him
back or get sight of him, and I 'm in dread you 'II not be able to get your son
either. But to-morrow, in the morning, I'll tell you all I know, and show you
the road you must go to find the house of the Gruagach na g-cleasan."
Next morning she showed the old fisherman the road. He was
to come to the place by evening.
When he came and entered the house, the Gruagach shook hands
with him, and said:
"You are welcome, old fisherman. It was I that put this
journey on you, and made you come here looking for your son."
"It was no one else but you," said the fisherman.
"Well," said the Gruagach, " you won't see
your son to-day. At noon tomorrow I 'II put a whistle in my mouth and call
together all the birds in my place, and they 'II come. Among others will be
twelve doves. I 'II put my hand in my pocket, this way, and take out wheat and
throw it before them on the ground. The doves will eat the wheat, and you must
pick your son out of the twelve. If you find him, you 'II have him; if you
don't, you 'II never get him again."
After the Gruagach had said these words the old man ate his
supper and went to bed.
In the dead of night the old fisherman's son came. "
Oh, father! " said he, " it would be hard for you to pick me out
among the twelve doves, if you had to do it alone; but I 'II tell you. When the
Gruagach calls us in, and we go to pick up the wheat, I'll make a ring around
the others, walking for myself; and as I go I'll give some of them a tip of my
bill, and I'll lift my wings when I'm striking them. There was a spot under one
of my arms when I left home, and you'll see that spot under my wing when I
raise it to-morrow. Don't miss the bird that I'll be, and don't let your eyes
off it; if you do, you'll lose me forever."
Next morning the old man rose, had his breakfast, and kept
thinking of what his son had told him.
At midday the Gruagach took his whistle and blew. Birds came
to him from every part, and among others the twelve doves. He took wheat from
his pocket, threw it to the doves, and said to the father: "Now pick out
your son from the twelve."
The old man was watching, and soon he saw one of the doves
walking around the other eleven and hitting some of them a clip of its bill,
and then it raised its wings, and the old man saw the spot. The bird let its
wings down again, and went to eating with the rest. The father never let his
eyes off the bird. After a while he said to the Gruagach: " I'll have that
bird there for my son."
"Well," said the Gruagach, "that is your son.
I can't blame you for having him; but I blame your instructor for the
information he gave you, and I give him my curse.”
So the old fisherman got his son back in his proper shape,
and away they went, father and son, from the house of the Gruagach. The old man
felt stronger now, and they never stopped travelling a day till they came home.
The old mother was very glad to see her son, and see him
such a wise, smart man. After coming home they had no means but the fishing;
they were as poor as ever before.
At this time it was given out at every crossroad in Erin,
and in all public places in the kingdom, that there were to be great
horse-races. Now, when the day came, the old fisherman's son said: "Come
away with me, father, to the races."
The old man went with him, and when they were near the
race-course, the son said: " Stop here till I tell you this: I'll make
myself into the best horse that's here to-day, and do you take me to the place
where the races are to be, and when you take me in, I 'II open my mouth, trying
to kill and eat every man that 'II be near me, I'll have such life and
swiftness; and do you find a rider for me that 'II ride me, and don't let me go
till the other horses are far ahead on the course. Then let me go. I'll come up
to them, and I'll run ahead of them and win the race. After that every rich man
there will want to buy me of you; but don't you sell me to any man for less
than five hundred pounds; and be sure you get that price for me. And when you
have the gold, and you are giving me up, take the bit out of my mouth, and
don't sell the bridle for any money. Then come to this spot, shake the bridle,
and I'll be here in my own form before you."
The son made himself a horse, and the old fisherman took him
to the race. He reared and snorted, trying to take the head off every man that
came near him. The old man shouted for a rider. A rider came; he mounted the
horse and held him in. The old man didn't let him start till the other horses
were well ahead on the course; then he let him go. The new horse caught up with
the others and shot past them. So they had not gone half way when he was in at
the winning-post. When the race was ended, there was a great noise over the
strange horse. Men crowded around the old fisherman from every corner of the
field, asking what would he take for the horse.
"Five hundred pounds," said he.
"Here 't is for you," said the next man to him.
In a moment the horse was sold, and the money in the old
man's pocket. Then he pulled the bridle off the horse's head, and made his way
out of the place as fast as ever he could. It was not long till he was at the
spot where the son had told him what to do. The minute he came, he shook the
bridle, and the son was there before him in his own shape and features.
Oh, but the old fisherman was glad when he had his son with
him again, and the money in his pocket!
The two went home together. They had money enough now to
live, and quit the fishing. They had plenty to eat and drink, and they spent
their lives in ease and comfort till the next year, when it was given out at
all the cross-roads in Erin, and every public place in the kingdom, that there
was to be a great hunting with hounds, in the same place where the races had
been the year before.
When the day came, the fisherman's son said: "Come,
father, let us go away to this hunting."
"Ah! " said the old man, " what do we want to
go for? Haven't we plenty to eat at home, with money enough and to spare? What
do we care for hunting with hounds?"
"Oh! They'll give us more money," said the son,
" if we go."
The fisherman listened to his son, and away they went. When
the two came to the spot where the son had made a horse of himself the year
before, he stopped, and said to the father: " I'll make a hound of myself
to-day, and when you bring me in sight of the game, you'll see me wild with
jumping and trying to get away; but do you hold me fast till the right time
comes, then let go. I'll sweep ahead of every hound in the field, catch the
game, and win the prize for you."
"When the hunt is over, so many men will come to buy me
that they'll put you in a maze; but be sure you get three hundred pounds for
me, and when you have the money, and are giving me up, don't forget to keep my
rope. Come to this place, shake the rope, and I'll be here before you, as I am
now. If you don't keep the rope, you'll go home without me."
The son made a hound of himself, and the old father took him
to the hunting-ground. When the hunt began, the hound was springing and jumping
like mad; but the father held him till the others were far out in the field.
Then he let him loose, and away went the son. Soon he was up with the pack,
then in front of the pack, and never stopped till he caught the game and won
the prize.
When the hunt was over, and the dogs and game brought in,
all the people crowded around the old fisherman, saying: " What do you
want of that hound? Better sell him; he's no good to you."
They put the old man in a maze, there were so many of them,
and they pressed him so hard. He said at last: "I'll sell the hound; and
three hundred pounds is the price I want for him."
"Here 't is for you," said a stranger, putting the
money into his hand.
The old man took the money and gave up the dog, without
taking off the rope. He forgot his son's warning. That minute the Gruagach
na g-cleasan called out: " I'll take the worth of my money out of your
son now; " and away he went with the hound.
The old man walked home alone that night, and it is a heavy
heart he had in him when he came to the old woman without the son. And the two
were lamenting their lot till morning.
Still and all, they were better off than the first time they
lost their son, as they had plenty of everything, and could live at their ease. The Gruagach went away home, and put the fisherman's son in
a cave of concealment that he had, bound him hand and foot, and tied hard knots
on his neck up to the chin. From above there fell on him drops of poison, and
every drop that fell went from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the
bone, from the bone to the marrow, and he sat there under the poison drops,
without meat, drink, or rest. In the Gruagach's house was a servant-maid, and the
fisherman's son had been kind to her the time he was in the place before. On a day when the Gruagach and his eleven sons were out
hunting, the maid was going with a tub of dirty water to throw it into the
river that ran by the side of the house. She went through the cave of
concealment where the fisherman's son was bound, and he asked of her the
wetting of his mouth from the tub.
"Oh! the Gruagach would take the life of me," said
she, " when he comes home, if I gave you as much as one drop."
"Well," said he, " when I was in this house
before, and when I had power in my hands, it's good and kind I was to you; and
when I get out of this confinement I'll do you a turn, if you give me the
wetting of my mouth now."
The maid put the tub near his lips.
"Oh! I can't stoop to drink unless you untie one knot
from my throat," said he.
Then she put the tub down, stooped to him, and loosed one
knot from his throat. When she loosed the one knot he made an eel of himself,
and dropped into the tub. There he began shaking the water, till he put some of
it on the ground, and when he had the place about him wet, he sprang from the
tub, and slipped along out under the door. The maid caught him; but could not
hold him, he was so slippery. He made his way from the door to the river, which
ran near the side of the house.
When the Gruagach na g~cleasan came home in the evening with
his eleven sons, they went to take a look at the fisherman's son; but he was
not to be seen. Then the Gruagach called the maid, and taking his sword, said:
" I'll take the head off you if you don't tell me this minute what
happened while I was gone."
"Oh! " said the maid, " he begged so hard for
a drop of dirty water to wet his mouth that I hadn't the heart to refuse, for
't is good he was to me and kind each time he saw me when he was here in the
house before. When the water touched his mouth, he made an eel of himself,
spilled water out of the tub, and slipped along over the wet place to the river
outside. I caught him to bring him back, but I couldn't hold him; in spite of
all I could do, he made away."
The Gruagach dropped his sword, and went to the water side
with his sons. The sons made eleven eels of themselves, and the Gruagach their
father was the twelfth. They went around in the water, searching in every
place, and there was not a stone in the river that they passed without looking
under and around it for the old fisherman's son. And when he knew that they were after him, he made himself
into a salmon; and when they knew he was a salmon, the sons made eleven otters
of themselves, and the Gruagach made himself the twelfth.
When the fisherman's son found that twelve otters were after
him, he was weak with hunger, and when they had come near, he made himself a
whale. But the eleven brothers and their father made twelve cannon whales of
themselves, for they had all gone out of the river, and were in the sea now.
When they were coming near him, the fisherman's son was weak
from pursuit and hunger, so he jumped up out of the water, and made a swallow
of himself; but the Gruagach and his sons became twelve hawks, and chased the
swallow through the air; and as they whirled round and darted, they pressed him
hard, till all of them came near the castle of the king of Erin.
Now the king had made a summer-house for his daughter; and
where should she be at this time but sitting on the top of the summer-house. The
old fisherman's son dropped down till he was near her; then he fell into her
lap in the form of a ring. The daughter of the king of Erin took up the ring,
looked at it, and put it on her finger. The ring took her fancy, and she was
glad.
When the Gruagach and his sons saw this, they let themselves
down at the king's castle, having the form of the finest men that could be seen
in the kingdom.
When the king's daughter had the ring on her finger she
looked at it and liked it. Then the ring spoke, and said: " My life is in
your hands now; don't part from the ring, and don't let it go to any man, and
you'II give me a long life."
The Gruagach na
g-cleasan and his eleven sons went into the king's castle and played on
every instrument known to man, and they showed every sport that could be shown
before a king. This they did for three days and three nights. When that time
was over, and they were going away, the king spoke up and asked: "What is
the reward that you would like, and what would be pleasing to you from
me?"
"We want neither gold nor silver," said the
Gruagach; " all the reward we ask of you is the ring that I lost on a
time, and which is now on your daughter's finger."
"If my daughter has the ring that you lost, it shall be
given to you," said the king.
Now the ring spoke to the king's daughter and said:
"Don't part with me for anything till you send your trusted man for three
gallons of strong spirits and a gallon of wheat; put the spirits and the wheat
together in an open barrel before the fire. When your father says you must give
up the ring, do you answer back that you have never left the summer-house, that
you have nothing on your hand but what is your own and paid for. Your father
will say then that you must part with me, and give me up to the stranger. When
he forces you in this way, and you can keep me no longer, then throw me into
the fire; and you'll see great sport and strange things."
The king's daughter sent for the spirits and the wheat, had
them mixed together, and put in an open barrel before the fire.
The king called the daughter in, and asked:
"Have you the ring which this stranger lost?"
"I have a ring," said she, ' but it's my own, and
I'll not part with it. I'll not give it to him nor to any man."
"You must," said the king, for my word is pledged,
and you must part with the ring!"
When she heard this, she slipped the ring from her finger
and threw it into the fire.
That moment the eleven brothers made eleven pairs of tongs
of themselves; their father, the old Gruagach, was the twelfth pair. The twelve jumped into the fire to know in what spark of it
would they find the old fisherman's son; and they were a long time working and
searching through the fire, when out flew a spark, and into the barrel.The twelve made themselves men, turned over the barrel, and
spilled the wheat on the floor. Then in a twinkling they were twelve cocks
strutting around. They fell to and picked away at the wheat to know which one
would find the fisherman's son. Soon one dropped on one side, and a second on
the opposite side, until all twelve were lying drunk from the wheat. Then the old fisherman's son made a fox of himself, and the
first cock he came to was the old Gruagach
na g-cleasan himself. He took the head off the Gruagach with one bite, and
the heads off the eleven brothers with eleven other bites. When the twelve were
dead, the old fisherman's son made himself the finest-looking man in Erin, and
began to give music and sport to the king; and he entertained him five times
better than had the Gruagach and his eleven sons. Then the king's daughter fell in love with him, and she set
her mind on him to that degree that there was no life for her without him. When
the king saw the straits that his daughter was in, he ordered the marriage
without delay. The wedding lasted for nine days and nine nights, and the ninth
night was the best of all. When the wedding was over, the king felt he was losing his
strength, so he took the crown off his own head, and put it on the head of the
old fisherman's son, and made him king of Erin in place of himself.The young couple were the luck, and we the stepping-stones.
The presents we got at the marriage were stockings of buttermilk and shoes of
paper, and these were worn to the soles of our feet when we got home from the
wedding.
Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland, by Jeremiah Curtin, 1890
