Transcript

Bhuail Séamus suas toigh Phaidí agus d'fhág thiar gloine a bhain snagarnach as agus d'fhág sruth uisce lena shúilibh. Agus bhí buidéal beag fosta 'na bhealaigh leis.

"Caidé do bharúil de sin?" arsa Paidí.

"Níl lá lochta air," arsa Séamus nuair a fuair sé a anáil leis.

"Ariamh char ól tú gloine inchurtha leis," arsa Paidí.

"D'ól," arsa Séamus, "agus ólfaidh. Chan a rá atá mé nach bhfuil sé toghna[1] fosta, ach rinn mé féin téamh anuraidh nach n-amharcóchadh sé air."

"Shíl mé," arsa Paidí, "gur scoith a dtearnadh anseo ariamh an braon atá mé a rá."

"Níl lá scéil air, a deirim leat, a Phaidí. Lean leat mar tá tú agus chan abaireann duine ná diúlach leat nach bhfuil uisce beatha galánta agad."

Amach le Séamus agus anuas 'na bhaile fá choinne a bhata. Chroith sé an t-uisce coisreactha air féin agus ar Chaitlín agus d'iarr ar Chaitlín paidir a chur leis.

"Maise, rath Dé agus Muire ar mo bhéal," arsa Caitlín, "paidir ná cré cha chuirim leat agus an siúl amaideach a bhfuil tú air. Cha rachadh amhlóir, chan é amháin duine a leagas amach dó féin a bheith siosmaideach ciallmhar stuama, ins an tsiúl seo inniu. Cha cheilim ar Dhia ná ar an tsaol é. Ba mhaith liom thú griosáil mhaith bhuailte a fháil, ach gan do mharú ar fad, sula bpillfidh tú. Agus níl ach amaidí domh an béal a bheith ag milleadh an anam agam. Paidir ná paidir ná cuid den phaidir cha chuirim leat."

"Tá teangaidh in do cheann, a Chaitlín, a bhainfeadh an craiceann anuas den dearnaid, agus nár choiglí Dia thú é a chaitheamh ar cheithre bhallaí an toighe go dtige mise ar ais. Tá mise ar shiúl agus fad agus mhairfeas orlach den bhata seo le chéile beidh Séamus Mór Ó Duibhir ar a sháimhín suilc[2], ag goil agus ag gearradh, ag cosnamh is ag cragadh, mar a chleacht agus mar ba dhual dár maíodh ariamh air.

Siúd 'un siúil é, agus níor chuimhnigh sé a hata Domhnaigh a chur air, agus bhí an ceann lomchaite a bhí ar a cheann drochdhaiteach tuarthaí leis an aimsir, agus comh míofar gránna agus chonaic tú ariamh.

"Pill anseo," arsa Caitlín, "agus cuir ort do hata agus steall duid an seó sin atá ort!"

Ach ní phillfeadh Séamus. Ní chorróchadh sé an seanhata gránna anois de leisc oiread de shásamh a thabhairt daoithe. B'fhearr leis, leoga, in éantoisc uirthi, é a bheith seacht n-uaire ní ba ghráiciúla.

Chuaigh Séamus faoina churach, d'iompair ar a mhuin síos 'na trá é, agus leag i mbéal na toinne é. Chuaigh sé isteach ansin ann fá mhuinín Dé, agus is iomdha buille de chéaslaidh a tharraing sé ó sin go rabh sé ar an tír. Níl aon bhomaite de uair go leith nár bhain an cúrsa as, agus ainneoin nach rabh a mhacasamhail le fáil ar an chósta le brí coirp, cruas agus urradh, bhí a sháith aige dó, agus bhí sé leathchloíte go leor, agus spuaiceacha comh mór le uibh circe ar bhosaibh a dhá lámh ag dorna na céasladh sul má shroich sé an tráigh.

Shomhraigh[3] bean Shéamuis Mhóir Ó Gallchóir Séamus ag teacht agus bhí a fhios aici go maith gur ag teacht ag cuidiú lena fear féin a bhí sé, agus bhí beathach fána shréin agus fána dhiallaid aici ar an tráigh fá choinne Shéamuis.

"Sé do bheatha," arsa ise. "Téigh a mharcaíocht comh tiubh géar agus thig leat, agus bain an t-aonach amach i bpreabadh na súl, má rinn tú ariamh é. Nuair a shroichfeas tú an fad sin, caith an t-adhastar fá mhuineál an bheathaigh, tabhair a ceann daoithe, agus bainfidh sí féin an baile amach."

Translation

James went up to Paddy's house and drank down a glass which made him gasp and made water flow from his eyes. And he also had a little bottle with him for the road.

"What do you think of that?" said Paddy.

"There is nothing wrong with it," said James when he got his breath back.

"You never drank a glass as good as it," said Paddy.

"I did," said James, "and I will (again). I am not saying that it is not also good, but I made a distillation last year that that wouldn't compare to."

"I thought," said Paddy, "that this drop that I speak of was the best ever made here."

"There is nothing wrong with it, I tell you, Paddy. Continue as you are and let no one tell you that you don't have fine whiskey."

James went out and down home to get his stick. He shook the holy water on himself and on Kathleen and he asked Kathleen to say a prayer for him.

"Well, may God and Mary bless my mouth," said Kathleen, "no prayer or creed will I say for you when you are setting off on a foolish journey. A fool wouldn't go to this thing today, let alone a person who sees himself to be sensible, reasonable and prudent. I won't deny it to God or to the whole world. I would like you to get a good beating, but not be killed altogether, before you return. And it is only foolish for me to be ruining my soul with my mouth. I won't say a prayer or a prayer or a bit of a prayer for you."

"There is a tongue in your head, Kathleen, that would skin a flea, and may God not keep you from throwing it at the four walls of this house until I return. I am off and while an inch of this stick survives intact Big James Dwyer will be enjoying himself, attacking(?) and cutting, defending and knocking, as he practised and as was fitting for what he was always known for.

Away he went, and he didn't remember to put his Sunday hat on, and the threadbare one that was on his head was discoloured and bleached by the weather, and as ugly and horrible as you ever saw.

"Come back here," said Kathleen, "and put on your hat and take off that show you have on!"

But James would not return. He wouldn't take off the old horrible hat now lest he give her any satisfaction. He would prefer, just to spite her, if it was seven times uglier.

James went under his currach, he carried it on his back down the shore, and set it on the edge of the waves. He then got into it in God's hands, and it was many a paddle stroke he pulled from then until he reached land. The course took him not a minute less than an hour and a half, and although his like was not to be found along the coast for physical power, hardness and strength, he had enough of it, and he was quite worn down, and the palms of his two hands had blisters as big as a hen's egg from the paddle grips before he reached the shore.

Big James Gallagher's wife saw James coming and she knew well that he was coming to help her own husband, and she had a saddled and bridled horse on the beach for James.

"Welcome," she said. "Go riding as hard and fast as you can, and be at the fair in the blink of an eye, if you ever did it. When you get there, throw the halter on the horse's neck, give it its head, and it will make her own way home."

Footnotes

Commentary

This is an extract from Séamus Mac an Bháird, Troid Bhaile an Droichid (Dublin, 1907; new ed., Dundalk, 1920), 11-12, read by the author. The recitation differs from the printed version (1920) here and there. The theme of the book, faction fighting, is one occasionally found in Irish oral tradition. Another example can be found in the Doegen collection, under the title 'Bliain an Cheannaí', from the storytelling of county Mayo informant Pádraig Mac Meanman.