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From Fairy Legends and
Traditions of The South of Ireland
The history of
Morty Sullivan ought to be a warning to all young men to stay at home,
and to live decently and soberly if they can, and not to go roving
about the world. Morty, when he had just turned of fourteen, ran away
from his father and mother, who were a mighty respectable old couple,
and many and many a tear they shed on his account. It is said they
both died heart broken for his loss: all they ever learned about
him was that he went on board of a ship bound to America.
Thirty years after the old couple had been laid peacefully in
their graves, there came a stranger to Beerhaven enquiring after
them -- it was their son Morty; and, to speak the truth of him, his
heart did seem full of sorrow when he heard that his parents were
dead and gone; --but what else could he expect to hear? Repentance
generally comes when it is too late.
Morty Sullivan, however, as an atonement for his sins, was
recommended to perform a pilgrimage to the blessed chapel of Saint
Gobnate, which is in a wild place called Ballyvourney. This he
readily undertook; and willing to lose no time, commenced his journey
the same afternoon. He had not proceeded many miles before the
evening came on: there was no moon, and the starlight was obscured by
a thick fog, which ascended from the valleys. His way was through a
mountainous country, with many cross-paths by-ways, so that it was
difficult for a stranger like Morty to travel without a guide.
He was anxious to reach his destination, and exerted himself to do so;
but the fog grew thicker and thicker, and at last he became doubtful
if the track he was in led to the blessed chapel of Saint Gobnate.
But seeing a light which he imagined not to be far off, he went
towards it, and when he thought himself close to it the light suddenly
seemed at a great distance, twinkling dimly through the fog. Though
Morty felt some surprise at this, he was not disheartened, for he
thought that it was a light sent by the holy Saint Gobnate to guide
his feet through the mountains to her chapel.
And thus did he travel for many a mile, continually, as he
believed, approaching the light which would suddenly start off to a
great distance. At length he came so close as to perceive that the
light came from a fire; seated beside which he plainly saw an old
woman; -- then, indeed, his faith was a little shaken, and much did
he wonder that both the fire and the old woman should travel before
him, so many weary miles, and over such uneven roads.
"In the holy names of the pious Gobnate, and of her preceptor
Saint Abban," said Morty, "how can that burning fire move on so
fast before me, and who can that old woman be sitting beside the
moving fire?"
These words had no sooner passed Morty's lips than he found
himself, without taking another step, close to this wonderful fire,
beside which the old woman was sitting munching her supper. With
every wag of the old woman's jaw her eyes would roll fiercely upon
Morty, as if she was angry at being disturbed; and he saw with more
astonishment than ever that her eyes were neither black, nor blue,
nor gray, nor hazel, like the human eye, but of a wild red color,
like the eye of a ferret. If before he wondered at the fire, much
greater was his wonder at the old woman's appearance; and stout-hearted
as he was, he could not but look upon her with fear -- judging, and
judging rightly, that it was for no good purpose her supping in so
unfrequented a place, and at so late an hour, for it was near
midnight. She said not one word, but munched and munched away, while
Morty looked at her in silence. - "What's your name?" at last demanded
the old hag, a sulphureous puff coming out of her mouth, her nostrils
distending, and her eyes growing redder than ever, when she had
finished her question.
Plucking up all his courage, "Morty Sullivan," replied he, "at
your service;" meaning the latter words only in civility. "Ubbubbo !"
said the old woman, "we'll soon see that;" and the red fire of her
eyes turned into a pale green color. Bold and fearless as Morty was,
yet much did he tremble at hearing this dreadful exclamation: he would
have fallen down on his knees and prayed to Saint Gobnate, or any
other saint, for he was not particular ; but he was so petrified with
horror, that he could not move in the slightest way, much less go
down on his knees.
"Take hold of my hand, Morty," said the old woman: "I'll give you
a horse to ride that will soon carry you to your journey's end." So
saying, she led the way, the fire going before them;-- it is beyond
mortal knowledge to say how, but on it went, shooting out bright
tongues of flame, and flickering fiercely.
Presently they came to a natural cavern in the side of the
mountain, and the old hag called aloud in a most discordant voice for
her horse! In a moment a jet-black steed started from its gloomy
stable, the rocky floor whereof rung with a sepulchral echo to the
clanging hoofs.
"Mount, Morty, mount!" cried she, seizing him with supernatural
strength, and forcing him upon the back of the horse. Morty finding
human power of no avail, muttered, "O that I had spurs !" and tried
to grasp the horse's mane; but he caught at a shadow; it nevertheless
bore him up and bounded forward with him, now springing down a
fearful precipice, now clearing the rugged bed of a torrent, and
rushing like the dark midnight storm through the mountains.
The following morning Morty Sullivan was discovered by some
pilgrims (who came that way after taking their rounds at Gougane
Barra) lying on the flat of his back, under a steep cliff, down which
he had been flung by the Phooka. Morty was severely bruised by the
fall, and he is said to have sworn on the spot, by the hand of
O'Sullivan (and that is no small oath)*, never again to take a full
quart bottle of whisky with him on a pilgrimage.
* "Nulla manus,
Tam liberalis
Atque generalis
Atque universalis
Quam Sullivanis."