The Romany Rye by George Borrow

  CHAPTER XLIV

  AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

  Leaving the church, I strolled through the fair, looking at the horses,listening to the chaffering of the buyers and sellers, and occasionallyputting in a word of my own, which was not always received with muchdeference; suddenly, however, on a whisper arising that I was the youngcove who had brought the wonderful horse to the fair which Jack Dale hadbought for the foreigneering man, I found myself an object of thegreatest attention; those who had before replied with stuff! andnonsense! to what I said, now listened with the greatest eagerness to anynonsense which I chose to utter, and I did not fail to utter a greatdeal; presently, however, becoming disgusted with the beings about me, Iforced my way, not very civilly, through my crowd of admirers; andpassing through an alley and a back street, at last reached an outskirtof the fair where no person appeared to know me. Here I stood, lookingvacantly on what was going on, musing on the strange infatuation of myspecies, who judge of a person's words, not from their intrinsic merit,but from the opinion--generally an erroneous one--which they have formedof the person. From this reverie I was roused by certain words whichsounded near me, uttered in a strange tone, and in a strange cadence--thewords were, 'them that finds, wins; and them that can't finds, loses.'Turning my eyes in the direction from which the words proceeded, I sawsix or seven people, apparently all countrymen, gathered round a personstanding behind a tall white table of very small compass. 'What,' saidI, 'the thimble-engro of --- Fair here at Horncastle.' Advancing nearer,however, I perceived that though the present person was a thimble-engro,{288a} he was a very different one from my old acquaintance of --- Fair.{288b} The present one was a fellow about half-a-foot taller than theother. He had a long, haggard, wild face, and was dressed in a kind ofjacket, something like that of a soldier, with dirty hempen trousers, andwith a foreign-looking peaked hat on his head. He spoke with an accentevidently Irish, and occasionally changed the usual thimble formula into'them that finds wins, and them that can't--och sure!--they loses;'saying also frequently 'your honour' instead of 'my lord.' I observed,on drawing nearer, that he handled the pea and thimble with someawkwardness, like that which might be expected from a novice in thetrade. He contrived, however, to win several shillings, for he did notseem to play for gold, from 'their honours.' Awkward as he was, heevidently did his best, and never flung a chance away by permittinganyone to win. He had just won three shillings from a farmer, who,incensed at his loss, was calling him a confounded cheat, and saying thathe would play no more, when up came my friend of the preceding day, Jackthe jockey. This worthy, after looking at the thimble man a moment ortwo, with a peculiarly crafty glance, cried out, as he clapped down ashilling on the table, 'I will stand you, old fellow!' 'Them that findswins; and them that can't--och, sure!--they loses,' said the thimble man.The game commenced, and Jack took up the thimble without finding the pea;another shilling was produced, and lost in the same manner. 'This isslow work,' said Jack, banging down a guinea on the table: 'can you coverthat, old fellow?' The man of the thimble looked at the gold, and thenat him who produced it, and scratched his head. 'Come, cover that, or Ishall be off,' said the jockey. 'Och, sure, my lord!--no, I mean yourhonour--no, shure, your lordship,' said the other, 'if I covers it atall, it must be with silver, for divil a bit of gold have I by me.''Well, then, produce the value in silver,' said the jockey, 'and do itquickly, for I can't be staying here all day.' The thimble manhesitated, looked at Jack with a dubious look, then at the gold, and thenscratched his head. There was now a laugh amongst the surrounders, whichevidently nettled the fellow, who forthwith thrust his hand into hispocket, and pulling out all his silver treasure, just contrived to placethe value of the guinea on the table. 'Them that finds wins, and themthat can't finds--_loses_,' interrupted Jack, lifting up a thimble, outof which rolled a pea. 'There, Paddy, what do you think of that?' saidhe, seizing the heap of silver with one hand, whilst he pocketed theguinea with the other. The thimble-engro stood for some time like onetransfixed, his eyes glaring wildly, now at the table, and now at hissuccessful customer; at last he said, 'Arrah, sure, master!--no, I manesmy lord--you are not going to ruin a poor boy!' 'Ruin you!' said theother, 'what! by winning a guinea's change! a pretty small dodger you--ifyou have not sufficient capital, why do you engage in so deep a trade asthimbling? come, will you stand another game?' 'Och, sure, master, no!the twenty shillings and one which you have cheated me of were all I hadin the world.' 'Cheated you,' said Jack, 'say that again and I willknock you down.' 'Arrah! sure master, you knows that the pea under thethimble was not mine; here is mine, master; now give me back my money!''A likely thing, said Jack; 'no, no, I know a trick worth two or three ofthat; whether the pea was yours or mine, you will never have your twentyshillings and one again; and if I have ruined you, all the better; I'dgladly ruin all such villains as you, who ruin poor men with your dirtytricks, whom you would knock down and rob on the road if you had butcourage: not that I mean to keep your shillings, with the exception ofthe two you cheated from me, which I'll keep. A scramble, boys! ascramble!' said he, flinging up all the silver into the air, with theexception of the two shillings; and a scramble there instantly was,between the rustics who had lost their money and the urchins who camerunning up; the poor thimble-engro tried likewise to have his share; butthough he flung himself down, in order to join more effectually in thescramble, he was unable to obtain a single sixpence; and having in hisrage given some of his fellow scramblers a cuff or two, he was set uponby the boys and country fellows, and compelled to make an ingloriousretreat with his table, which had been flung down in the scuffle, and hadone of its legs broken. As he retired, the rabble hooted, and Jack,holding up in derision the pea with which he had out-manoeuvred him,exclaimed, 'I always carry this in my pocket in order to be a match forvagabonds like you.'

  The tumult over, Jack gone, and the rabble dispersed, I followed thediscomfited adventurer at a distance, who, leaving the town, went slowlyon, carrying his dilapidated piece of furniture, till coming to an oldwall by the roadside, he placed it on the ground, and sat down, seeminglyin deep despondency, holding his thumb to his mouth. Going nearly up tohim, I stood still, whereupon he looked up, and perceiving I was lookingsteadfastly at him, he said, in an angry tone, 'Arrah! what for are youstaring at me so? By my shoul, I think you are one of the thaives whoare after robbing me. I think I saw you among them, and if I were onlysure of it, I would take the liberty of trying to give you a big bating.''You have had enough of trying to give people a beating,' said I; 'youhad better be taking your table to some skilful carpenter to get itrepaired. He will do it for sixpence.' 'Divil a sixpence did you andyour thaives leave me,' said he; 'and if you do not take yourself off,joy, I will be breaking your ugly head with the foot of it.' 'Arrah,Murtagh!' said I, 'would ye be breaking the head of your old friend andscholar, to whom you taught the blessed tongue of Oilien nan Naomha, inexchange for a pack of cards?' Murtagh, for he it was, gazed at me for amoment with a bewildered look; then, with a gleam of intelligence in hiseye, he said, 'Shorsha! no, it can't be--yes, by my faith it is!' Then,springing up, and seizing me by the hand, he said, 'Yes, by the powers,sure enough it is Shorsha agra! Arrah, Shorsha! where have you been thismany a day? Sure, you are not one of the spalpeens who are after robbingme?' 'Not I,' I replied, 'but I saw all that happened. Come, you mustnot take matters so to heart; cheer up; such things will happen inconnection with the trade you have taken up.' 'Sorrow befall the trade,and the thief who taught it me,' said Murtagh; 'and yet the trade is nota bad one, if I only knew more of it, and had some one to help and backme. Och! the idea of being cheated and bamboozled by that one-eyed thiefin the horseman's dress.' 'Let bygones be bygones, Murtagh,' said I; 'itis no use grieving for the past; sit down, and let us have a littlepleasant gossip. Arrah, Murtagh! when I saw you sitting under the wall,with your thumb to your mouth, it brought to my mind tales which you usedto tell me all about Finn-ma-Coul. You have not forgotten Finn-ma-Coul,Mu
rtagh, and how he sucked wisdom out of his thumb.' 'Sorrow a bit haveI forgot about him, Shorsha,' said Murtagh, as we sat down together, 'norwhat you yourself told me about the snake. Arrah, Shorsha! what ye toldme about the snake, bates anything I ever told you about Finn. Ochone,Shorsha! perhaps you will be telling me about the snake once more? Ithink the tale would do me good, and I have need of comfort, God knows,Ochone!' Seeing Murtagh in such a distressed plight, I forthwith toldhim over again the tale of the snake, in precisely the same words as Ihave related it in the first part of this history. After which, I said,'Now, Murtagh, tit for tat; ye will be telling me one of the old storiesof Finn-ma-Coul.' 'Och, Shorsha! I haven't heart enough,' said Murtagh.'Thank you for your tale, but it makes me weep; it brings to my mindDungarvon times of old--I mean the times we were at school together.''Cheer up, man,' said I, 'and let's have the story, and let it be aboutMa-Coul and the salmon, and his thumb.' {291} 'Arrah, Shorsha! I can't.Well, to oblige you, I'll give it you. Well you know Ma-Coul was anexposed child, and came floating over the salt sea in a chest which wascast ashore at Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a castle,where dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and decent people, andthis giant, taking his morning walk along the bay, came to the placewhere the child had been cast ashore in his box. Well, the giant lookedat the child, and being filled with compassion for his exposed state,took the child up in his box, and carried him home to his castle, wherehe and his wife, being dacent respectable people, as I telled ye before,fostered the child and took care of him, till he became old enough to goout to service and gain his livelihood, when they bound him outapprentice to another giant, who lived in a castle up the country, atsome distance from the bay.

  'This giant, whose name was Darmod David Odeen, was not a respectableperson at all, but a big old vagabond. He was twice the size of theother giant, who, though bigger than any man, was not a big giant; for,as there are great and small men, so there are great and small giants--Imean some are small when compared with the others. Well, Finn servedthis giant a considerable time, doing all kinds of hard and unreasonableservice for him, and receiving all kinds of hard words, and many a hardknock and kick to boot--sorrow befall the ould vagabond who could thusill-treat a helpless foundling. It chanced that one day the giant caughta salmon, near a salmon-leap upon his estate--for, though a big ouldblackguard, he was a person of considerable landed property, and highsheriff for the county Cork. Well, the giant brings home the salmon bythe gills, and delivers it to Finn, telling him to roast it for thegiant's dinner; "but take care, ye young blackguard," he added, "that inroasting it--and I expect ye to roast it well--you do not let a blistercome upon its nice satin skin, for if ye do, I will cut the head off yourshoulders." "Well," thinks Finn, "this is a hard task; however, as Ihave done many hard tasks for him, I will try and do this too, though Iwas never set to do anything yet half so difficult." So he prepared hisfire, and put his gridiron upon it, and lays the salmon fairly and softlyupon the gridiron, and then he roasts it, turning it from one side to theother just in the nick of time, before the soft satin skin could beblistered. However, on turning it over the eleventh time--and twelvewould have settled the business--he found he had delayed a little bit oftime too long in turning it over, and that there was a small, tinyblister on the soft outer skin. Well, Finn was in a mighty panic,remembering the threats of the ould giant; however, he did not loseheart, but clapped his thumb upon the blister in order to smooth it down.Now the salmon, Shorsha, was nearly done, and the flesh thoroughly hot,so Finn's thumb was scalt, and he, clapping it to his mouth, sucked it,in order to draw out the pain, and in a moment--hubbuboo!--became imbuedwith all the wisdom of the world.'

  _Myself_. Stop, Murtagh! stop!

  _Murtagh_. All the witchcraft, Shorsha.

  _Myself_. How wonderful!

  _Murtagh_. Was it not, Shorsha? The salmon, do you see, was a fairysalmon.

  _Myself_. What a strange coincidence.

  _Murtagh_. A what, Shorsha!

  _Myself_. Why that the very same tale should be told of Finn-ma-Coul,which is related of Sigurd Fafnisbane.

  'What thief was that, Shorsha?'

  'Thief! 'Tis true, he took the treasure of Fafnir. Sigurd was the heroof the North, Murtagh, even as Finn is the great Hero of Ireland. He,too, according to one account, was an exposed child, and came floating ina casket to a wild shore, where he was suckled by a hind, and afterwardsfound and fostered by Mimir, a fairy blacksmith; he, too, sucked wisdomfrom a burn. According to the Edda, he burnt his finger whilst feelingof the heart of Fafnir, which he was roasting, and putting it into hismouth in order to suck out the pain, became imbued with all the wisdom ofthe world, the knowledge of the language of birds, and what not. I haveheard you tell the tale of Finn a dozen times in the blessed days of old,but its identity with the tale of Sigurd never occurred to me till now.It is true, when I knew you of old, I had never read the tale of Sigurd,and have since almost dismissed matters of Ireland from my mind; but assoon as you told me again about Finn's burning his finger, thecoincidence struck me. I say, Murtagh, the Irish owe much to theDanes--.'

  'Devil a bit, Shorsha, do they owe to the thaives, except many a bloodybating and plundering, which they never paid them back. Och, Shorsha!you, edicated in ould Ireland, to say that the Irish owes anything goodto the plundering villains--the Siol Loughlin.'

  'They owe them half their traditions, Murtagh, and amongst othersFinn-ma-Coul and the burnt finger; and if ever I publish the Loughlinsongs, I'll tell the world so.'

  'But, Shorsha, the world will never believe ye--to say nothing of theIrish part of it.'

  'Then the world, Murtagh--to say nothing of the Irish part of it--will bea fool, even as I have often thought it; the grand thing, Murtagh, is tobe able to believe one's self, and respect one's self. How few whom theworld believes believe and respect themselves.'

  'Och, Shorsha! shall I go on with the tale of Finn?'

  'I'd rather you should not, Murtagh; I know about it already.'

  'Then why did you bother me to tell it at first, Shorsha? Och, it wasdoing my ownself good, and making me forget my own sorrowful state, whenye interrupted me with your thaives of Danes! Och, Shorsha! let me tellyou how Finn, by means of sucking his thumb, and the witchcraft heimbibed from it, contrived to pull off the arm of the ould wagabone,Darmod David Odeen, whilst shaking hands with him--for Finn could do nofeat of strength without sucking his thumb, Shorsha, as Conan the Baldtold the son of Oisin in the song which I used to sing ye in theDungarvon times of old;' and here Murtagh repeated certain Irish words tothe following effect:

  '"O little the foolish words I heed, O Oisin's son, from thy lips which come; No strength were in Finn for valorous deed, Unless to the gristle he sucked his thumb."'

  'Enough is as good as a feast, Murtagh; I am no longer in the cue forFinn. I would rather hear your own history. Now, tell us, man, all thathas happened to ye since Dungarvon times of old?'

  'Och, Shorsha, it would be merely bringing all my sorrows back upon me!'

  'Well, if I know all your sorrows, perhaps I shall be able to find a helpfor them. I owe you much, Murtagh; you taught me Irish, and I will doall I can to help you.'

  'Why, then, Shorsha, I'll tell ye my history. Here goes!'