Caitilín Triail

By Mícheál Ross

She could have sworn she saw a girl on a white horse but a sudden Sí gaoth flitting across the sunlit fields blocked her view… . .

There was a widow’s son in Ireland long ago and he served on a vessel sailing from kingdom to kingdom throughout the globe. No man alive was as handsome as he. He could do the work of any five on board; he was that good. None was more courageous or cheerful than he. Small wonder then that the Scottish captain had a high regard for him and treated him as his righthand man.

Years passed until finally the day came when they were recrossing the Atlantic. When the first seabird of Ireland was sighted hovering over the sparkling sea they knew it would not be long until they were cruising by the purple hills of Connemara. At the thought of home the Irishman filled the heavens with joyful song.

Alas that man was right who said that there are three things that cannot be trusted - the king, the sea and the weather. An hour later the schooner was battling for its life in the grips of a sudden and terrible storm that continued all through the dark day and the howling shrieking night until noon the next day. The crew did not know from which point or at what moment the vessel would be swamped in the fury of the wind and the raging sea. Time and again it was only the captain’s skill that kept them afloat. But the storm was taking its toll. All was given up for lost when the captain became suspicious. Very often,' said he,an entire crew was lost on account of a single man,’ and he ordered all hands on deck. They cast lots and it fell to the Irishman to be thrown into the sea. The captain was aghast.

‘I’ll make another casting of the lots,’ he said to give him a chance. But is was in vain. The verdict remained the same after the second and even after the third trial. By now the vessel was sinking. Och,' says the Irishman,It’s me sure enough. Better I go than all be lost.’

He walked to the stern and saw a sea coming for him higher than any mountain in the world and it poised on high to give the ship the final blow. He had a sailor’s knife in his hand as he smoked his last pipe. `I’ll not need this again,’ he thought and hurled it into the mountain of water. As he did the sea collapsed abruptly and a red crest appeared where the knife vanished into the wave. No more wind remained then that would be at the spout of a kettle. The sails flapped to and fro in the still air.

The vessel stayed as if at anchor from noon that day until the same hour the day after. The captain climbed to the crow’s nest looking about with a glass and he very glad that he still had the Irishman. Suddenly he called down to him that a wonder was to be seen that day such as he himself had never seen before nor had anyone else - a rider on a white horse coming over the sea from the North West. They stood side by side watching the rider until it was clear to them that he was making for the ship. They only had time to drop the ladder into position when a gentleman, resplendent in gold braid came up. He jumped off the horse and climbed up on board.

He retired with the captain to his cabin. There he told the captain that he had come to ask a favour for twenty-four hours. The captain told him that there was no favour on board the vessel that he would refuse him save one - That is the Irishman', said he,and I will not part with him’. That's the same man', said the gentleman,that I am seeking and I give you my hand and my word that I will bring him back safe and sound to you before a day is out. In the meantime your vessel will not stir an inch this way or that from where she is now until we come back again’. ‘On that understanding you can take him’, said the captain.

The gentleman gave the Irishman a sea-cap and put him on the croup of the horse. They headed north west from the vessel until the captain lost sight of them. He bought her a farm of land, cattle and stock, and he built her a grand big house. However he was only a month at home when he began to fail. None of the cures her mother was making could halt his decline. He was withdrawn living in a world of his own. He was forever composing a haunting song in honour of Caitilín Trial and neither his mother nor any of the neighbours knew who she was. It was exactly a year when his mother saw him relax, happy as last that his song was completed. He sang it for her with great tenderness and with shining face. As he finished something caught her eye flashing from the distant coral beach. She could have sworn she saw a girl on a white horse there but a sudden sí goath flitting across the sunlit fields blocked her view. When it passed there was only the sparkling ocean. With a sigh she looked back. At first she thought he was sleeping he looked so peaceful but he himself was away in the fairy wind.

This story was collected at the Belfast Harp Festival. Caitilín Trial or Kitty Tyrrell, was from Arklow. Eamon a Búic a tailor with a thousand stories - told this story about 1940, he heard it from his father fifty years earlier.

This translation of the story to English is by Micheal Ross of Monkstown, Co. Dublin. Go raibh míle maith agat, a Mhichíl.