There was a friar long ago, and he was silenced by the Pope. He had no means of livelihood as a result; so he traveled from place to place. In due course, he came to this country. He went to the top of Errigal Mountain to do penance for his sins. After he had been there for awhile, the evil spirit came to tempt him further. He gave the friar a court and castle on the top of that lonely mountain where there had never before been a shed or a house. The devil enticed the friar to go to live in the castle and told him that all the food and drink he required would come to him. All he would have to do would be to sit down and eat it. And so it happened. The friar went on living there, unknown to everybody. The only thing known about him was that he had gone to the top of Errigal to do penance. That was all. Years passed by.
An Anagry man had an only son, who was very fond of card playing. He used to be at them night after night. Not only that, but he carried a pack of cards about in his pocket. One night, as he was returning from card playing as usual, he met a red-haired girl—as nice a girl as he had ever seen.
“Have you a pack of cards on you?” she asked.
“Of course I have,” said he.
“We’ll play a game, then,” said she.
“For what stake?” he asked.
“Whichever of us loses will belong to the other,” said she.
They played a game, and the girl won.
“You belong to me now,” said she, “and you must give me a promise to that effect in your own blood.”
“How can I do a thing like that?” he asked with a laugh.
“Draw some of your blood with a pin,” said she, “and write your name on this.”
She handed him a piece of paper. He did as she had ordered and gave her back the paper. She put it in her pocket. Then she pulled out another paper with writing on it, put it among the cards in the pack, and left him. He shoved the cards into his pocket and made his way home, heavy of heart, and trying to puzzle out what it all meant. He went to bed and didn’t get up next morning at the usual time.
His father noticed the cards on the windowsill and muttered to himself, “It is ye that have led him astray.”
At that moment, he caught sight of the paper among the cards. He pulled it out and looked at it and immediately saw that it had not been written by human hand. In he went to the son’s room and roused him.
“What sort of writing is that you brought home last night?” said he.
“That’s none of your business,” replied the son.
“If that’s the way with you, you’ll stay no longer in this house, unless you go to see the priest,” said the father.
The son took the writing to the priest, but he wasn’t able to read it, and that being so, the son could not return to his father’s house. With the writing in his pocket, he walked on, not knowing where his way led. As he passed by the side of Muckish Mountain, he caught sight of three priests, who were coming down the hillside after a day’s hunting. He stopped until they came up to him. He handed the writing to one of them and asked him to read it. He could not. Neither could the second. He gave it to the third priest and asked him could he read it at all, as it had him in a trap. The priest examined it closely and said that there wasn’t a priest in Ireland who could read it save one.
“His name is Big Friar O’Connor,” said he. “He was in college with me.”
“And where is he now?” asked the young man.
“That I don’t know,” said the priest; “but you may meet him yet.”
The young man walked on, with a curious feeling in his heart and mind. When he reached the foot of Errigal, he said to himself that he would climb to the top as a penance. Up he went, walking awhile and climbing awhile, until he came to the very top. He wandered about. There was nobody in sight. And then he caught sight of the nice castle. He went to the door, knocked and entered. Inside was a big man seated by a large fire, who looked as if he had every comfort. The man got up and gave a great welcome to the visitor and told him to sit down. He then told him that he had been living there for seven years, and that nobody had ever visited him until now. He seated the young man at a table laden with the best of food, and he ate his fill for he had taken no food since he left home.
When the meal was over, the young man sat by the fire. He saw that the big man had a very sharp, intelligent face. He handed the writing to him and asked him could he make any sense of it. The big man examined it for awhile, and then went to the table and wrote a letter.
“Come outside with me now!” said he. “Your writing is in this letter also. And now,” said he, “you must follow this letter wherever it goes until it stops. Hand it to the person you meet when it stops. And have your ears open to see would you hear anything that would be of help to me.”
He threw the letter on the ground, and the wind blew it along. The young man followed it, whatever direction it took—around the shore of Loughsalt—until finally it reached a crossroads. There it stopped. The young man rushed to the spot and saw a huge hole with steps leading down into the ground. Down went the letter and down went he after it until it stopped at a gate. He knocked at the gate and a big black fellow came out to him. He handed the letter to him, and the fellow read it. Then he shouted to the red-haired, card-playing girl to come out, but she didn’t come. He shouted to her a second time, but she stayed where she was.
“Well,” said he, “if I have to shout for you again, I’ll put you into the fiery bed of boiling lead that’s waiting for Big Friar O’Connor when he dies.”
At that, out came the very girl that had played cards witk him when he was returning from Anagry. The black fellow handed the writing to her and ordered her to give up the writing she had got in his own blood from the young man. She gave it to him.
He turned on his heels and never stopped till he reached the castle on the top of Errigal. Then he told the big man what he had heard, and how it had frightened him.
“Well, I’m the friar they were talking about,” said the big man. “I am Big Friar O’Connor. You have helped me greatly by coming here. Give me the writing in your own blood.”
The young man gave it to him. The friar washed and cleaned it carefully and then tore it into small pieces.
“Now take these and swallow them, and your own blood will be in your veins again.”
The young man did so.
“Now,” said the friar, “take the iron knife, the axe, and the saw and edge them well on that stone outside.”
The young man did as he was told, and when he had finished, the friar came out to him.
“Would you be willing to accept this castle and all that is in it and live here for the rest of your life?” asked the friar.
“I wouldn’t accept it, if it were a hundred times as fine,” said the young man.
“I knew that would be your answer,” said the friar. “Wait now until I get my book and vestments in the castle.”
He went in and returned, carrying a box. He opened it, and inside were his book and vestments safe and sound. He took out his stole and put it around his neck.
Then he took up the book, saying, “May the grace of God be again upon us.” He opened the book and started to read. At that moment, the castle disappeared from view, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. There was a flash of fire that scorched the whole mountaintop. The friar placed his book and stole in the box once more and closed it.
“Now,” said he, “you must cut my body up into three pieces.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” said the young man.
“You will have to do it,” said the friar. “The axe will cut what the knife won’t cut, and the saw will cut what the axe won’t cut. When you have that done, be sure to bury me where the wild birds won’t get at me.”
He took off his clothes, and the young man divided his body into three parts, as he had been ordered to do. When he had done so, he was seized with terror and ran down the mountainside as fast as he could. After awhile, he looked back and saw the birds gathering about the friar’s body. He realized that he had done wrong; so he ran back again. On reaching the place, he saw that the friar’s body was whole and sound, as if it had never been touched. The friar gave a snore, then another, then a third, and woke up.
“You have saved me!” said he. “Let us leave this place immediately.”
He put on his clothes and took up his box, and they both left the top of Errigal. Down the mountainside they went until they reached a glen.
“I see smoke from a house over there,” said the friar. “Near it is a church and a graveyard; so it may be the presbytery. We will go to it, as I want to see a priest and make my confession.”
When they reached the house, the priest took them into a room.
“Now,” said the friar, “both of ye go into the kitchen while I examine my conscience for confession.”
The priest and the young man sat by the kitchen fire for a while. They could hear voices in the room where the friar was, as if somebody were conversing with him. The priest listened. The talk was in Latin, and the priest understood every word that was being said. Soon there was a shout to call the priest to the room. The friar was seated in a chair, looking at a picture of Our Saviour, which was hanging on the wall in front of him. The priest knew that it was the picture which had been talking to the friar. The priest then heard the friar’s confession and gave him absolution. The friar then told him that he was dying and asked to be anointed. He asked the priest to keep the young man in his house as long as he lived—that he would be good company for him when he had to go out on sick calls at night.
“It is he who has saved me from the everlasting pains of hell,” said he.
The friar then died, and the priest waked and buried him. He kept the young man in his house until his father heard that he was there and came one day to find out how he was. The priest told him the whole story; what the boy had done and what he had suffered.
“He must stay here for the rest of his life,” said he.
“Well, if that’s the way,” said the father, “he’s better off with you than with me, and let it be so.”
That’s the end of my story!