Irish Fairy Tales [52]
champion demanded savagely.
"Nothing," cried a messenger who stood and sped.
"A clump!" cried a champion.
"A hog!" said another.
"A flat-footed,"
"Little-wlnded,"
"Big-bellied,"
"Lazy-boned,"
"Pork!"
"Did you think, Fionn, that a whale could swim on land, or what did you imagine that lump could do?"
"Nothing," cried a messenger, and was sped as he spoke.
Rage began to gnaw in Fionn's soul, and a red haze danced and flickered before his eyes. His hands began to twitch and a desire crept over him to seize on champions by the neck, and to shake and worry and rage among them like a wild dog raging among sheep.
He looked on one, and yet he seemed to look on all at once.
"Be silent," he growled. "Let each man be silent as a dead man."
And he sat forward, seeing all, seeing none, with his mouth drooping open, and such a wildness and bristle lowering from that great glum brow that the champions shivered as though already in the chill of death, and were silent.
He rose and stalked to the tent-door.
"Where to, O Fionn?" said a champion humbly.
"To the hill-top," said Fionn, and he stalked on.
They followed him, whispering among themselves, keeping their eyes on the ground as they climbed.
CHAPTER VII
"What do you see?" Fionn demanded of the watcher.
"Nothing," that man replied.
"Look again," said Fionn.
The eagle-eyed man lifted a face, thin and sharp as though it had been carven on the wind, and he stared forward with an immobile intentness.
"What do you see?" said Fionn.
"Nothing," the man replied.
"I will look myself," said Fionn, and his great brow bent forward and gloomed afar.
The watcher stood beside, staring with his tense face and unwinking, lidless eye.
"What can you see, O Fionn?" said the watcher.
"I can see nothing," said Fionn, and he projected again his grim, gaunt forehead. For it seemed as if the watcher stared with his whole face, aye, and with his hands; but Fionn brooded weightedly on distance with his puckered and crannied brow.
They looked again.
"What can you see?" said Fionn.
"I see nothing," said the watcher.
"I do not know if I see or if I surmise, but something moves," said Fionn. "There is a trample," he said.
The watcher became then an eye, a rigidity, an intense out-thrusting and ransacking of thin-spun distance. At last he spoke.
"There is a dust," he said.
And at that the champions gazed also, straining hungrily afar, until their eyes became filled with a blue darkness and they could no longer see even the things that were close to them.
"I," cried Cona'n triumphantly, "I see a dust."
"And I," cried another.
"And I."
"I see a man," said the eagle-eyed watcher.
And again they stared, until their straining eyes grew dim with tears and winks, and they saw trees that stood up and sat down, and fields that wobbled and spun round and round in a giddily swirling world.
"There is a man," Cona'n roared.
"A man there is," cried another.
"And he is carrying a man on his back," said the watcher.
"It is Cael of the Iron carrying the Carl on his back," he groaned.
"The great pork!" a man gritted.
"The no-good!" sobbed another.
"The lean-hearted,"
"Thick-thighed,"
"Ramshackle,"
"Muddle-headed,"
"Hog!" screamed a champion.
And he beat his fists angrily against a tree.
But the eagle-eyed watcher watched until his eyes narrowed and became pin-points, and he ceased to be a man and became an optic.
"Wait," he breathed, "wait until I screw into one other inch of sight."
And they waited, looking no longer on that scarcely perceptible speck in the distance, but straining upon the eye of the watcher as though they would penetrate it and look through it.
"It is the Carl," he said, "carrying something on his back, and behind him again there is a dust."
"Are you sure?" said Fionn in a voice that rumbled and vibrated like thunder.
"It is the Carl," said the watcher, "and the dust behind him is Cael of the Iron trying to catch him up."
Then the
"Nothing," cried a messenger who stood and sped.
"A clump!" cried a champion.
"A hog!" said another.
"A flat-footed,"
"Little-wlnded,"
"Big-bellied,"
"Lazy-boned,"
"Pork!"
"Did you think, Fionn, that a whale could swim on land, or what did you imagine that lump could do?"
"Nothing," cried a messenger, and was sped as he spoke.
Rage began to gnaw in Fionn's soul, and a red haze danced and flickered before his eyes. His hands began to twitch and a desire crept over him to seize on champions by the neck, and to shake and worry and rage among them like a wild dog raging among sheep.
He looked on one, and yet he seemed to look on all at once.
"Be silent," he growled. "Let each man be silent as a dead man."
And he sat forward, seeing all, seeing none, with his mouth drooping open, and such a wildness and bristle lowering from that great glum brow that the champions shivered as though already in the chill of death, and were silent.
He rose and stalked to the tent-door.
"Where to, O Fionn?" said a champion humbly.
"To the hill-top," said Fionn, and he stalked on.
They followed him, whispering among themselves, keeping their eyes on the ground as they climbed.
CHAPTER VII
"What do you see?" Fionn demanded of the watcher.
"Nothing," that man replied.
"Look again," said Fionn.
The eagle-eyed man lifted a face, thin and sharp as though it had been carven on the wind, and he stared forward with an immobile intentness.
"What do you see?" said Fionn.
"Nothing," the man replied.
"I will look myself," said Fionn, and his great brow bent forward and gloomed afar.
The watcher stood beside, staring with his tense face and unwinking, lidless eye.
"What can you see, O Fionn?" said the watcher.
"I can see nothing," said Fionn, and he projected again his grim, gaunt forehead. For it seemed as if the watcher stared with his whole face, aye, and with his hands; but Fionn brooded weightedly on distance with his puckered and crannied brow.
They looked again.
"What can you see?" said Fionn.
"I see nothing," said the watcher.
"I do not know if I see or if I surmise, but something moves," said Fionn. "There is a trample," he said.
The watcher became then an eye, a rigidity, an intense out-thrusting and ransacking of thin-spun distance. At last he spoke.
"There is a dust," he said.
And at that the champions gazed also, straining hungrily afar, until their eyes became filled with a blue darkness and they could no longer see even the things that were close to them.
"I," cried Cona'n triumphantly, "I see a dust."
"And I," cried another.
"And I."
"I see a man," said the eagle-eyed watcher.
And again they stared, until their straining eyes grew dim with tears and winks, and they saw trees that stood up and sat down, and fields that wobbled and spun round and round in a giddily swirling world.
"There is a man," Cona'n roared.
"A man there is," cried another.
"And he is carrying a man on his back," said the watcher.
"It is Cael of the Iron carrying the Carl on his back," he groaned.
"The great pork!" a man gritted.
"The no-good!" sobbed another.
"The lean-hearted,"
"Thick-thighed,"
"Ramshackle,"
"Muddle-headed,"
"Hog!" screamed a champion.
And he beat his fists angrily against a tree.
But the eagle-eyed watcher watched until his eyes narrowed and became pin-points, and he ceased to be a man and became an optic.
"Wait," he breathed, "wait until I screw into one other inch of sight."
And they waited, looking no longer on that scarcely perceptible speck in the distance, but straining upon the eye of the watcher as though they would penetrate it and look through it.
"It is the Carl," he said, "carrying something on his back, and behind him again there is a dust."
"Are you sure?" said Fionn in a voice that rumbled and vibrated like thunder.
"It is the Carl," said the watcher, "and the dust behind him is Cael of the Iron trying to catch him up."
Then the