The Field Of Boliauns

: Celtic Folk And Fairy Tales

One fine day in harvest--it was indeed Lady-day in harvest, that

everybody knows to be one of the greatest holidays in the year--Tom

Fitzpatrick was taking a ramble through the ground, and went along the

sunny side of a hedge; when all of a sudden he heard a clacking sort

of noise a little before him in the hedge. "Dear me," said Tom, "but

isn't it surprising to hear the stone-chatters singing so late in the

season?" S
Tom stole on, going on the tops of his toes to try if he

could get a sight of what was making the noise, to see if he was right

in his guess. The noise stopped; but as Tom looked sharply through the

bushes, what should he see in a nook of the hedge but a brown pitcher,

that might hold about a gallon and a half of liquor; and by-and-by a

little wee teeny tiny bit of an old man, with a little motty of a

cocked hat stuck upon the top of his head, a deeshy daushy leather

apron hanging before him, pulled out a little wooden stool, and stood

up upon it, and dipped a little piggin into the pitcher, and took out

the full of it, and put it beside the stool, and then sat down under

the pitcher, and began to work at putting a heel-piece on a bit of a

brogue just fit for himself. "Well, by the powers," said Tom to

himself, "I often heard tell of the Lepracauns, and, to tell God's

truth, I never rightly believed in them--but here's one of them in

real earnest. If I go knowingly to work, I'm a made man. They say a

body must never take their eyes off them, or they'll escape."

Tom now stole on a little further, with his eye fixed on the little

man just as a cat does with a mouse. So when he got up quite close to

him, "God bless your work, neighbour," said Tom.

The little man raised up his head, and "Thank you kindly," said he.

"I wonder you'd be working on the holiday!" said Tom.

"That's my own business, not yours," was the reply.

"Well, maybe you'd be civil enough to tell us what you've got in the

pitcher there?" said Tom.

"That I will, with pleasure," said he; "it's good beer."

"Beer!" said Tom. "Thunder and fire! where did you get it?"

"Where did I get it, is it? Why, I made it. And what do you think I

made it of?"

"Devil a one of me knows," said Tom; "but of malt, I suppose, what


"There you're out. I made it of heath."

"Of heath!" said Tom, bursting out laughing; "sure you don't think me

to be such a fool as to believe that?"

"Do as you please," said he, "but what I tell you is the truth. Did

you never hear tell of the Danes?"

"Well, what about them?" said Tom.

"Why, all the about them there is, is that when they were here they

taught us to make beer out of the heath, and the secret's in my family

ever since."

"Will you give a body a taste of your beer?" said Tom.

"I'll tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for you to be

looking after your father's property than to be bothering decent quiet

people with your foolish questions. There now, while you're idling

away your time here, there's the cows have broke into the oats, and

are knocking the corn all about."

Tom was taken so by surprise with this that he was just on the very

point of turning round when he recollected himself; so, afraid that

the like might happen again, he made a grab at the Lepracaun, and

caught him up in his hand; but in his hurry he overset the pitcher,

and spilt all the beer, so that he could not get a taste of it to tell

what sort it was. He then swore that he would kill him if he did not

show him where his money was. Tom looked so wicked and so

bloody-minded that the little man was quite frightened; so says he,

"Come along with me a couple of fields off, and I will show you a

crock of gold."

So they went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand, and never

took his eyes from off him, though they had to cross hedges and

ditches, and a crooked bit of bog, till at last they came to a great

field all full of boliauns, and the Lepracaun pointed to a big

boliaun, and says he, "Dig under that boliaun, and you'll get the

great crock all full of guineas."

Tom in his hurry had never thought of bringing a spade with him, so he

made up his mind to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the

place again he took off one of his red garters, and tied it round the


Then he said to the Lepracaun, "Swear ye'll not take that garter away

from that boliaun." And the Lepracaun swore right away not to touch


"I suppose," said the Lepracaun, very civilly, "you have no further

occasion for me?"

"No," says Tom; "you may go away now, if you please, and God speed

you, and may good luck attend you wherever you go."

"Well, good-bye to you Tom Fitzpatrick," said the Lepracaun; "and much

good may it do you when you get it."

So Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade, and then

away with him, as hard as he could go, back to the field of boliauns;

but when he got there, lo and behold! not a boliaun in the field but

had a red garter, the very model of his own, tied about it; and as to

digging up the whole field, that was all nonsense, for there were

more than forty good Irish acres in it. So Tom came home again with

his spade on his shoulder, a little cooler than he went, and many's

the hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time he thought of the

neat turn he had served him.