CORRESPONDENCE.
SOME CONNEMARA STORIES.
[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."] SIR,—In and out amongst the bays that encircle the coast of Connemara numerous small islets are dotted here and there. One of these is Crump Island, just opposite Renvyle. It is inhabited by a single family. The children, with blowsy masses of red hair over their eyes, stare at a stranger as if he had arrived from the other world. At the appearance of a visitor one of the girls retreated into the far corner of the cabin, holding up a heather broom as if for defence, her great wild eyes peering out of the darkness like the eyes of a terrified cat. The father, the sole adult male in the island, was more communicative. He told us a story which shows that, at any rate in Crump Island, the belief in enchantment is as strong as it was two hundred years ago. "Do you have many rats here, Shamus?" I inquired.—" Is it rats ? " he slowly replied, for Irish is more familiar to him than English, and he has to translate as he goes along. "Rats !" he repeated, scratching his shock of tangled hair, and peering at us again. " Yes ; I suppose you have a good many about. You have the sea so near," looking down at the green, limpid waters of the little sandy beach.—" There's niver a rat at all in it," he said, mysteriously. Then drawing a little closer, "Did ye niver hear how we got shut ov 'em ?"—" No. How ? Were they poisoned P " He shook his rough head in the negative. " Trapped P "—" Not at all. Shure they wor charmed out ov it."—" Charmed ! How was that ? " Shamus gave a knowing look out of his little squeezed-up eyes, and lowering his voice almost to a whisper, he began, " Throth, an' there niver wor rats like thin' used to be on Crump Island. Thousands and thousands ov 'em, and such big fellas, and as sthrong as—as dunkeys. They used to be leppin' and jumpin' out of the say, and atin' and dhrinkin' whatever they could lay a tooth on. Shure, we wor desthroyed wid thim. Well, I knew of a great fella—a rat-charmer he was—over beyant at th' ould castle that ye may see ttimblin' down across the say; so one day I wint over to him, and sez I, Can ye git shut ov the rats that do be tormintin' us over at the island?' ' I can,' sez he. So down he sits, and he takes up a pen, and he writes somethin' on a shlip of a paper, and he folds it up and he gev it to me, and tould me to lay it in the big hole where the rats comes out. And if that did no good, I was to come to him agin. Well ! I put the bit ov a letther in the hole, and jist at sundown a terrible big rat come out, and whin he saw the paper, he let a shriek out ov him that ye cud hear from this to Galway, and away wid him as fast as he could pelt. But next night, I give ye my word, Sir, there wor as many rats as iver,—No ! there was more; the whole place was jist alive wid 'em. So I went to the rat-charmer, and I tnk a bottle of whisky wid me, jist to humour him, and sez I, You done no good. The rats is as bad as iver they wor.' He looked mighty solemn, and sez he : I'll have to thry somethin' sthronger, an' throth, if they don't go now, it'll be the worse for you, or the worse for me.' Wid that, he whips a bit ov a knife oat ov his pocket, and lets two or three dhrops of blood out ov his hand, and he done the same to me, and he mixes the two bloods together, and med ink ov thim. And thin he sits down and writes somethin' wid the blood on a bit ov a paper, and, sez he, 'Put that in the rats' hole, and see what'll come.' Well, I took the letther, and I put it in the
rats' hole, and towards night the rats began to come, and whin they saw the paper they let a roar out ov 'em, and thin they began to pour out ; why, there was thousands of 'ern. Shure, I thought they'd kill me, and I ran in and shut the dare. And off wid thim, thin, shriekin' and screamin' till they bruit into the say like a school (shoal) of fish. And from that day out there's niver been a rat on Crump Island. Shure, they couldn't come, they were charmed out ov it. They come to the little island, but niver a foot do they set here, nor will, by the help ov God. The charm's terrible sthrong." It may be said that rats do not like the sight of white paper nor the smell of blood (probably the rat-charmer knew this). And, like rabbits, if rats take a dislike to a place they never return to it.
The other stories relate to the fairies. I am told by a friend who has lived all his life in this out-of-the-way region, that fairy superstition is remarkably strong in Connemara, and the idea of fairy possession is quite common. Sometimes a sickly invalid is entirely neglected by his or her friends, and if any remonstrance is made, the answer is, "Shure it's not him (or her, as the case may be) at all. It's only an ould fairy." Even medicine ordered by the doctor has not been given to the unfor- tunate sufferers, on the ground that "It 'ad do no good, it's not thim is in it." On the road from Clifden to Letter- frack is a hill called Crnknaragh, where the fairies are sup- posed to live. Some years age two boys were drowned near Crump Island, and shortly afterwards a man was coming back from a fair, and as he passed Cruknaragh he saw a house. He thought "I've niver seen a house there afore, anyway. I'll ask to sit down and git an air of the fire." He went in and he saw an old woman, and sitting by the fire were the two boys that were drowned. The woman milked him to have a cup of tea, and while she went out to fill the kettle one of the boys gave him a hint to be off, "For," sez he, "if you ate or dhrink bit or sup in this house ye'll niver git out ov it agin." So he went away, and the next time he passed that way there was not a sign of a house there. The mountain overlooking the beautiful Bay of Killary is called Mweelrea. (The Bald King), and it, too, is supposed to be sacred to the fairies, and a fairy's spinning-wheel is somewhere concealed there. One day a woman who lived near was spinning in her cabin, when twa old women carrying their wheels came in. They began to spin, and their hostess, thinking they would like some refresh- ment, went out to get water for making tea. One of hei neighbours saw her and asked her what she was doing. "Faith, I'm going to give two dacint little women a cup of tea."—" Shure, they're fairies," said the other.—" What will I do, at all, at all ?"—" Tell them Mweelrea is on fire." So the owner of the cabin went back crying, "Mweelrea is on fire!" And the two women got up and ran out, leaving their wheels behind them.—I am, Sir, &c.,
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