Part one in an occasional series. (reposted under a new title)

The Legend Of Knockfierna*

Irish Green FairyIt is a very good thing not to be in any way in dread of the faeries, for without doubt they have then less power over a person, but to make too free with them or to disbelieve in them altogether is as foolish a thing as any man, woman or child can do.

It has been truly said that good manners are no burden, and that civility costs nothing, but there are some people foolhardy enough to disregard doing the civil thing which, whatever they may think, can never harm themselves or anyone else, and who at the same time will go out of their way for a bit of mischief, which never can serve them, but sooner or later they will come to know better, as you shall hear of Carroll O’Daly, a strapping young fellow up out of Connaught, whom they used to call in his own country “Devil Daly.”

Carroll O’Daly used to go roving about from one place to another and the fear of nothing stopped him. He would as soon pass a churchyard or a regular faerie ground at any hour of the night as go from one room to another without ever making the sign of the cross or saying “Good luck attend you, gentlemen,”

It so happened that he was journeying in the county of Limerick towards the “Balbec of Ireland,” the venerable town of Kilmannock, and just at the foot of Knockfierna he overtook a respectable-looking man jogging along on a white pony. The night was coming on and they rode side by side for a while, without much conversation passing between them further than saluting each other very kindly. At last, Carroll O’Daly asked his companion how far he was going.

“Not far away,” said the farmer, for such his appearance bespoke him. “I’m only going as far as the top of this hill here.”

“And what might take you there,” said O’Daly, “at this time of night?”

“Why then,” replied the farmer, “if you want to know, ‘tis the good people.”

“The faeries, you mean,” said O’Daly.

“Shh! Shh!” said his fellow traveller, “or you may be sorry for it.” and he turned his pony off the road they were going towards a little path which led up the side of the mountain, wishing Carroll O’Daly good night and safe journey.

“That fellow,” thought Carroll, “is about no good this blessed night, and I would have no fear of swearing wrong if I took my Bible oath, that it is something else besides the faeries, or the good people, as he calls them, that is taking him up the mountain at this hour. The faeries!” he repeated, “is it for a well-shaped man like him to be going after little chaps like the faeries! To be sure some say there are such things, and more say not, but I know this, that never afraid would I be of a dozen of them, aye, of two dozen for that matter, if they are no bigger than what I hear tell of.”

Carroll O’Daly, whilst these thoughts were passing in his mind, had fixed his eyes steadfastly on the mountain, behind which the full moon was rising majestically. Upon an elevated point that appeared darkly against the moon’s disk, he beheld the figure of a man leading a pony, and he had no doubt it was that of the farmer with whom he had just parted company.

A sudden resolve to follow flashed across the mind of O’Daly with the speed of lightning. Both his courage and curiosity had been worked up by his cogitations to a pitch of chivalry, and muttering “Here’s after you, old boy!” he dismounted from his horse, bound him to an old thorn tree, and then commenced vigorously ascending the mountain.

Following as well as he could the direction taken by the figures of the man and the pony, he pursued his way, occasionally guided by their partial appearance, and after toiling for nearly three hours over a rugged and sometimes swampy path, came to a green spot on the top of the mountain, where he saw the white pony at full liberty grazing as quietly as may be. O’Daly looked around for the rider, but he was nowhere to be seen. However, he soon discovered, close to where the pony stood, an opening in the mountain like the mouth of a pit, and he remembered having heard as a child many a tale about the “Poul-duve” or Black Hole of Knockfierna – how it was the entrance to the faerie castle which was within the mountain, and how a man whose name was Ahern, a land surveyor in that part of the country, had once attempted to fathom it with a line, and had been drawn down into it and was never again heard of, with many other tales of the like nature.

“But,” thought O’Daly, “these are old women’s stories, and since I’ve come up so far, I’ll just knock at the castle door and see if the faeries are at home.”

No sooner said than done, for seizing a large stone as big as both his hands, he flung it with all his strength down into the Poul-duve of Knockfierna. He heard it bounding and tumbling from one rock to another with a terrible noise, and he leant his head over to try and hear when it would reach the bottom. And what should that very stone he had thrown in do but come up again with as much force as it had gone down, and gave him such a blow to the face that it sent him rolling down the side of Knockfierna, head over heels, tumbling from one crag to another, much faster than he had come up. And in the morning Carroll O’Daly was found lying beside his horse; the bridge of his nose broken, which disfigured him for life, his head all cut up and bruised, and both his eyes closed up and as black as if Sir Daniel Donnelly had painted them for him.

Carroll O’Daly was never bold again in riding alone near the haunts of the faeries after dusk, but small blame to him for that. And if ever he happened to be benighted in a lonesome place, he would make the best way of his journey’s end without asking questions or turning to the right or to the left to seek after the good people or any who kept company with them.

-o0o-

* Knock Dhoinn Firinne - the mountain of the Hill of Truth. The mountain is very high and can be seen for many a mile, and when people want to know whether it will rain or not, they look to the top of Knock Firinn, and if they see a mist there they conclude that it will soon rain, believing that the King of that mountain and his aerial assistants are collecting the clouds to hold for a short while to warn people of approaching rain. As the appearance of mist on the mountain in the morning is considered an infallible sign that that day will be rainy, the Donn is called ”Donn Firinne,” Hill of Truth.