Transcript

Ins an am a chuaigh thart ins na Dúnaibh bur[1] an gnás a bhí ins an áit[2] s'againne an bád is faide a rachadh amach 'na[3] farraige, sagart a thabhairt ar bord uirthi choinne Aifreann a léamh. Bhuel, bur Seán Ó Siadhail an sagart a bhí ann in m'amsa le choil[4] amach ag iascaireacht agus ba ghnách liom(sa) a thabhairt (ag) gach uile shéasúr liom amach ar an bhád ab fhaide amach a rachadh.

Ach bhí sin maith go leor. Nuair a bhí (an) séasúr na hiascaireacht thart cha rabh a fhios agam goidé b'fhearr domh dhéanamh le choil 'na farraige agus cha rabh gléas ar bith agam le choil, ach tháinig soitheach seoil isteach lá amháin anoir[5] as na hIndiacha Thoir fá choinne lasta de mhurlais ghoirte. An t-ainm a bheir muidinne orthu inár n-áit-inne[6] 'sceilpíní'. Agus d'iarr mise ar mo chriú iad a chur ar bord, (an) bád a fháil lódáilte agus fáil réidh. Agus bur an chriú a bhí liom Jimí Antain agus Dónall Óg. Cha rabh an ach muid, an triúr[7] de chriú. Rinn siad mar d'iarr mé orthu agus bhí sin maith go leor. Nuair a bhí achan seórt déanta bhí siad ag iarraidh orm fáil réidh gach uile lá ach cha rabh deifre ar bith orm go dtige an lá seo. Fuair an soitheach mór réidh agus nuair a fuair sise réidh fuair mise ar obair comh tapaidh agus thiocfadh liom. Startáil muid amach agus níl aon bhord dá rabh sise a dhéanamh nach rabh mise ag déanamh bord ina aice. Ach lá amháin thiontaigh an soitheach mór thart ar an bhord ghairid seo agus dúirt sé liom... dúirt sé liom inse dó cén áit a rabh muidinne a choil. Dúirt mé go rabh mé ag goil soir[8] go Bengal ins na hIndiacha Thoir le lód de mhurlais ghoirte, sin sceilpíní. Dúirt sé go rabh báigh fhada agam le choil thairis go fóill agus go rabh mé i mbunús seachtain amuigh. Dúirt mise má bhí go rabh sin maith go leor. D'fhiafraigh sé domh an rabh mórán itheacháin nó ólacháin ar bord agam. Dúirt mé nach rabh aon rud ach cuid lá amháin.

"Bhuel," ar seisean, "tar anseo in m'aicesa."

Tháinig mé aníos a fhad leis.

"Bhfuil a fhios agat goidé an cúrsa a bhfuil tú air?"

"Chan fhuil a fhios agam," arsa mise, "ach tá mé do choimhéadsa."

"Bhfuil compáis ar bord agat?"

Sin rud a dtabhrann muidinne snáthad mairnéalach in Éirinn air inár n-áit-inne. Dúirt mé nach bhfaca mise aon chompáis, rud nach bhfacaidh ariamh ach ceann a bhí ag deartháir daom, agus bhris an teaghlach í, barr daoithe, ag déanamh poll ins an urlár. Bhí sin fad ó shoin. Ach dúirt sé liom gurbh fhearr domh déanamh suas agus pilleadh arís. D'fhiafraigh sé domh goidé (an t-ardadh) a rabh ó dheas agus d'ins[9] mé dó[10] nuair a thiocfadh uair an dó dhéag, nuair a dh'éireochadh an ghrian amach, gur sin an dóigh a mbeadh a fhios agamsa goidé an pointe a rabh mé air, go rabh an ghrian ar m'aghaidh, taobh thoir ar mo láimh chlí[11], taobh thiar ar mo láimh deis agus ó thuaidh ar mo dhroim.

Dúirt sé go rabh sin maith go leor. "Soir-deas ó thuaidh," ar seisean, "choinne na Dúnaibh."

Dúirt mise go rabh sin maith agus chuaigh mé air ach d'iarr sé orm gan mo chúrsa a athrach do aon rud dá dtiocfadh in mo chasán. Ach nuair a bhí mé dhá lá ag seoltóireacht tháinig soitheach mór aníos agus shéid sé orm coinneáil ar shiúl. Ach níor choinnigh mé aon orlach agus scaoil sé urchar. Ach char fhág mise mo chúrsa a'n[12] orlach, (dósan ná) do fhear ar bith dá bhfaca mé ariamh. Agus tháinig sé agus chuir sé suas 'na gaoithe é, is chuir mise suas é gur bhuail (muid ' dá) bhád (...) agus d'fhiafraigh domh an rabh itheachán nó ólachán ar bord agam. Dúirt mé nach rabh ach cuid dhá lá. Agus dúirt sé nach rabh aon rud aigesean ach oiread.

Sheol mé liom go dtige lá eile agus casadh soitheach eile domh. Agus bhí sise (ag stróicigh) a cuid éadaigh daoithe agus a cuid crainn briste. Agus cha dtiocfadh liomsa aon rud a dhéanamh fad a bhí an triúr (a'inn féin) beag go leor agus bhí go leor againn le déanamh. D'fhiafraigh sé domh an rabh aon itheachán nó ólachán liom, agus dúirt mé nach rabh ach lód de mhurlais ghoirte a bhí liom ag imeacht soir (údaí) agus go dtáinig an drochaimsir orm is go rabh orm a choil arís.

Ar seisean, "Bhéarfaidh mise lód brandy daotsa[13] le choil soir agus sé an rud is fearr daotsa a dhéanamh lód de na murlais sin a thabhairt domhsa ar a shon."

Rinn muid mar a d'iarr sé agus nuair a bhí muid dhá lá ag seoladh chonaic mé an soitheach seoil ag teacht agus bhí a fhios agam gur bád as Tír Cholumbus a bhí inti agus go rabh fear a dhíth uirthi le í eolas a thabhairt daoithe 'na chuain.

Fuaigh mise ar bord agus d'fhuíg[14] mé charge ag Jimí Antain le í a thabhairt isteach agus thug seisean isteach í mar d'iarr mise agus d'fhan muid (air) is fuair mise (a ghairm) fiche punta. Chuir mé suas teach tábhairne.

Translation

In times gone by in the Downings the custom in our place was that the boat that went furthest out to sea would take a priest on board to read Mass. Well, John Shields was the priest who used to go out fishing in my time and I used to bring him out with me each fishing season on the boat that went the furthest distance out.

Anyway, that was fine. When the fishing season was over I didn't know what to do about going out to sea and I didn't have any way of going, but a sailing ship came in one day from the East Indies for a load of salted mackerel. We call them scelpeens here in our place. And I asked my crew to take them on board, to get the boat loaded and get ready. And the crew I had with me was Jimí Antain and Dónall Óg. It was only us, a crew of three. They did as I asked of them and that was fine. When everything was done they were asking me to get ready every day but I was in no hurry until this one day. The big ship got ready and when it was ready I set off working as fast as I could. We started out and any tack she made we made the same. But one day the big ship tacked sharply and he said to me... he said to me to tell him where we were going. I said we were going east to Bengal in the East Indies with a load of salted mackerel, that's to say scelpeens. He said I had a wide bay to cross yet and that I was out the best part of a week. I said that if that was how it was, it was fine. He asked me if I had much to eat or drink on board. I said I only had enough for one day.

"Well," he said, "come here to me."

I came up alongside.

"Do you know what course you're on?"

"I don't know," said I, "but I'm watching you."

"Do you have a compass on board?"

That's what we call a sailor's needle in Ireland in our place. I said I never saw a compass, which I never did but one belonging to one of my brothers, and the children broke it, the top of it, making a hole in the floor. That was a long time ago. But he told me I'd better hoist the sail and return home. He asked me which way was south and I told him that when it was midday, when the sun came out, that that's how I'd know which point I was on, that the sun was on my face, the east on my left, the west on my right and the north at my back.

He said that was fine. "North south-east," he said, "to Downings."

I said that was fine and I set off but he asked me not to change my course for anything that came in my way. But after sailing for two days a big ship came up and blew its horn at me to get out of the way. But I didn't move an inch and it fired a shot. And I didn't move an inch off my course for him (?) or for any man I ever saw. And he came and he furled his sails, and I did the same until we came alongside (?) and he asked me if I had food or drink on board. I said I only had enough for two days. And he said he didn't have anything either.

I sailed on until another day and I met another ship. And her sails were in tatters (?) and her mast was broken. And I couldn't do anything as the three of us were small enough and we had enough to do. He asked me if I had anything to eat or drink, and I said I only had a load of salted mackerel that was going away(?) to the east and that bad weather came and that I had to turn back.

He said, "I'll give you a load of brandy to go east and the best thing for you to do is to give me that load of salted mackerel for it."

We did as he asked and after sailing for two days I saw a sailing ship coming and I knew it was a ship from the Land of Columbus and that she needed a man to steer her into the bay.

I went on board and I left Jimí Antain to steer her in like I asked and we stayed there(?) and I got a payment (?) of twenty pounds. I built a pub.

Footnotes

Commentary

The idea of a voyage overseas to some far-off country is one that is extremely popular in international folklore, and has an ancient pedigree in Ireland. So-called 'immrama', or voyage tales, were known in early Irish literature, with perhaps some of the best examples being the voyages of Bran mac Febail and Máel Dúin. See Anton G. van Hamel, Immrama (Dublin, 1941), 1–19. See also Whitley Stokes, 'The voyage of Mael Duin', Revue Celtique 9 (1889), 452–92, and 10 (1889), 50–94. Another related narrative type is the 'echtrae', or adventure tale, which could also involve overseas adventures. See David N. Dumville, 'Echtrae and Immram: some problems of definition', Ériu 27 (1976), 73-94. These tales often appear to employ international folklore motif F110.1 Wonder voyages. See Stith Thompson, Motif-index of folk literature (rev. and enlarged ed., Bloomington, Ind., 1955-8). The current story does not contain many of the fantastical elements of these earlier accounts, but the type of tale represented by these stories may have served as a general template for the first person account of the voyage to Bengal by the storyteller.

This story is transcribed also in Róise Ní Bhaoill, Ulster Gaelic voices: bailiúchán Doegen 1931 (Belfast, 2010), 100-5.