The Whale and the Grasshopper Part 12

"On the high road overlooking the Glen of the Leprechauns, on a starlit night before the moon came up," said Padna.

"On with the story," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, as he lit his pipe, "three weeks ago, come Tuesday, I was strolling along the road for myself by the Bridge of the Seven Witches, thinking of nothing but the future of the children, when I heard strange footsteps behind me, and on looking over my shoulder, I espied a man I had never seen before. And as our eyes met, he up and ses: 'Good night, stranger,' ses he. 'Good night kindly,' ses I.

"''Tis a fine night,' ses he.

"'A glorious night, thank G.o.d,' ses I.

"'Indeed it is that,' ses he. 'And a night to be appreciated and enjoyed by ghosts, fairies, goblins and hobgoblins, gnomes and elves, owls and barroway-bats, and all the strange creatures of the earth, that does be scared to venture out in the broad daylight, as well as man himself.'

"'There's no doubt whatever about what you say,' ses I. 'And a fine night for any one who likes to walk to the top of a mountain to see the moon rising, the stars twinkling, or for those who like to hear the soft wind blowing through the tall rushes in the bogs, and making music, the like of which would inspire a poet to write verses and have them printed in a book, for women to read and talk about, and hold disputatious arguments on modern poetry,' ses I.

"And so we walked and talked until we came to the great Cliff of Banba, that overlooks the ocean on the southwest coast. And as we sat down to rest our weary limbs, he looked from the sky to a high pinnacle of rock, and ses: 'A beautiful sight is the Cliff of Banba when viewed from the ocean beyond, in a small boat, a sloop, or a four-masted s.h.i.+p. But the most beautiful of all sights is to see the White Horse of Banba himself.'

"'I never heard tell of him,' ses I.

"'Why, you must be a queer man, not to have heard tell of the White Horse of Banba. Now,' ses he, as he crossed his legs, and put his hand under his jaw, 'fill your pipe,' ses he, 'and smoke, and smoke, and smoke until you will drive cold fear from your heart. For the story I am going to tell you this blessed night may turn every hair on your head as white as the drifting snow, and every tooth in your head may chatter, and rattle and fall out on the ground.'

"'Oh,' ses I, ''twould take more than the mere telling of a story, no matter how long or how short, or a hundred stories about the living or the dead to scare or frighten or disturb me in any way, and I a married man for more years than you could count on your own fingers and toes, and herself as stubborn and as contrary as the first day she made up her mind to marry me. So 'tis thinking I am that I will be neither white, nor grey, nor sallow, nor toothless, nor bald maybe, after I have heard the story of the White Horse of Banba; or the Black Horse of Carrigmore, and he that took Shauneen the Cobbler away on his back on a dark and windy night and drowned him in the Lough at Cork, because he was cursed by the widow Maloney for spoiling the heel of her shoe.'

"'G.o.d forgive her for putting a curse on any poor man,' ses he.

"'Amen,' ses I.

"'Well,' ses he, 'if you think that you will be neither white, nor grey, nor one way nor another but the way you are at this present moment, I wouldn't be boasting, if I were you, until the story is told. Because once it strikes your ears, you can never keep it out of your mind, whether you be sailing over the seas in a full-rigged clipper, or walking the lonely roads at home, or in foreign parts. 'Twill be with you when you wake up in the morning, and when you are going to bed at night, and even when you are asleep and dreaming inself.'

"'If 'tis such a wonderful and astonis.h.i.+ng story as all that, why don't you write it down, and have it printed in a book?' ses I.

"'Some of the best stories were never written,' ses he. 'And some of the wisest sayings are forgotten and the foolish ones remembered. But once the story of the White Horse of Banba is told, 'twill keep ringing in your ears till the dawn of your doom.'

"'Really?' ses I.

"'Yes,' ses he. ''Tis the White Horse of Banba who comes in the dark of the night to carry us all from the Prison of Life to the Land of the Mighty Dead. And 'twas he stole the woman of my heart from me.'

"'Well,' ses I, 'maybe 'tis better that he should have stolen her than some worthless bla'guard who couldn't appreciate and treat her decently. There are more married than keep good house,' ses I.

"'That's true, but 'tis no comfort for a man to see the woman he loves the wife of another, unless she might have the devil of a temper, and no taste for anything but gallivanting through the streets,'

ses he. 'And only for the White Horse of Banba, I might be the father of a fine large family, who would be able to earn enough to keep me idle in my old age. Then I wouldn't have to be worrying and fretting, when I am walking behind a plough or a harrow, on a warm day, or searching the boreens, the long winding lanes, or the dusty roads, looking for a lost sheep or a wandering cow, and watering the green gra.s.s that grows under my feet with the sweat that does be falling from my brow. Not, indeed, that I couldn't have more wives than I'd want. But 'tis too respectable a man I am to ever fall in love with more than one woman. And that's something that very few can boast of, whether they be single or married, inself.'

"'And who told you about the White Horse of Banba?' ses I.

"'I have seen him with my own two eyes,' ses he.

"'Where?' ses I.

"'In this very spot. And I have seen him in every nook and corner of the land from the Giants' Causeway to the Old Head of Kinsale, and as many times as you forgot to keep your promises too, and he with the golden shoes and hoofs of ivory, and a long mane that reaches down to the ground and a neck more beautiful than a swan, and eyes that sparkle like glow-worms when night is as dark as pitch.'

"'And he will carry us all to the Land of the Mighty Dead?'

"'Yes, he will carry each and every one of us to the great country beyond the grave.'

"''Tis strange indeed,' ses I, 'that you should see the White Horse of Banba so often.'

"'Some are more favoured than others,' ses he. 'But if you will wait until the lights in the city grow dim, and when the lights in the sky sparkle and glimmer, and when the birds fall asleep on their perches, and the dogs begin to snore in their kennels, and all the tired people are stretched in their beds, then if you are lucky you may see him pa.s.sing by here, and he flying through the night, the way you'd see a pigeon racing home, or a meteor shooting through s.p.a.ce.'

"'And is it all alone that he does be?' ses I.

"'No. There is always some one on his back, and the banshee follows at his heels, wailing and moaning the way you'd be scared out of your wits.'

"'But some people have no wits,' ses I.

"'That's so. But we all dread something. It may be the sea, fire, loneliness, the past, the present, the future, hereafter, a wife with an angel's face and the tongue of the Devil, a rat maybe, or a shadow itself. There's a weak spot in the strongest, and a strong spot in the weakest, even though it might be stubbornness. But there's nothing to make a man more scared than the cry of the banshee that follows the White Horse of Banba as he gallops along the dreary roads, where the ghosts themselves would be afraid to venture. And he always has some one on his back, holding on to his wavy mane, lest they might fall and be dashed to pieces on the cobbled roadway. Sometimes it does be an old man full of days with toothless gums and white hair that you'd see, and other times some comely maiden, with the virtue of purity and innocence stamped on her brow, and she more beautiful than Helen of Troy or the Queen of Sheba. And oftentimes it does be a little child with rosy cheeks and golden curls, or maybe an infant who just opened its eyes to get one peep at the world, and then closed them forever. It may be a young giant of a man that you'd see, or an old woman, wrinkled and feeble. And as he skelters by, the very trees themselves bow their heads, the corncrakes in the meadows and the toads in the marshes keep still, and you would hear no sound at all, except the clattering of hoofs on the stony roads and the wailing of the banshee. 'Tis along this very road that the White Horse comes at the close of night and the birth of morn, and he races with the speed of the lightning flash, until he comes to the top of the cliff beyond, where he stands for a little while, sniffs the air and shakes his mane, turns his head and gives a knowing look at whoever does be on his back. Then a weird whinnying cry is heard, and he plunges into the sea, and he swims and swims through the surf and billows until he reaches the edge of the moon that does be rising out of the waters at the horizon. As quick as thought he shakes the water from his mane, stamps and prances and jumps from the top of the moon to the nearest star, and from star to star until he arrives at the Golden Gate of the Land of No Returning.

"'Then he walks through a beautiful avenue, sheltered by tall green trees and made fragrant with sweet blooms, until he is met by St. Peter and St. Patrick on the steps of a marble palace. And the stranger on his back dismounts and accompanies the Holy Apostles into the Sanctum Sanctorum where a record of our good and bad deeds is kept. And when the record book is found and the stranger's fate discovered, St. Peter looks at St. Patrick, and St. Patrick looks at St. Peter, but no words at all are spoken. Then the stranger is hurried away by an attendant with a flaming sword in his hand.'

"'And where does the angel with the flaming sword carry the poor stranger?' ses I.

"'n.o.body knows,' ses he. 'And the pity of it all is that very few care. It was the White Horse of Banba who took my father away and my grandfather, and his father and grandfather, and his father before him again, and some night when we may least expect it he will take ourselves, and gallop along like the wind over the highways and byways, through the meadows and marshes, underneath bridges, and over the cobbled tracts on the mountain side. And a terrifying sight it is to see him as he thunders past. He spares no one at all, and takes those we love and those we hate. He stole the woman of my heart from me, and made me the lonely man that I am to-night.'

"'But isn't it a foolish thing for you to remain a bachelor, and the world full of beautiful women waiting to be loved by some one?' ses I.

"'A man only loves once,' ses he, 'and when the woman of your heart is dead who would want to be living at all?'

"'And now that the woman of your heart is dead, why don't you try and forget her when you may never see her again?'

"'Of course I will see her again. Life is but the shadow of eternity, and before to-morrow's sun will flood the East with dazzling light, I will see the woman of my heart.'

"'Where will you see her?' ses I.

"'In a land farther away than the farthest star.'

"'And who will carry you there?' ses I.

"'The White Horse of Banba,' ses he.

"'But he may not pa.s.s this way to-night,' ses I.

"'As sure as you will make some mistake to-morrow he will pa.s.s this way to-night,' ses he.

"'How do you know?' ses I.

"'We know lots of things that we have never been told,' ses he. 'And you will be wiser to-morrow than you are to-day. The hands of the clock are now together at the midnight hour, and I can hear the clattering of hoofs in the distance.'

"'Maybe the White Horse of Banba is coming,' ses I.