The First Wonders Worked by Colum-Cille

W HEN Colum-cille went from home to advance himself in studies that would prepare him for being a cleric, Bauheen, who would do likewise, went with him. The cousins lived next each other in the students' end of the monastery; their huts were of timber, and on the other street were the monks' cells built of stone. The church was in the middle: it was built of hewn oak, and thatched, in sign of lowliness, with reeds; beside it was the hall in which the brethren read and copied Latin books, and near by was another hall in which the students received instruction. Beyond were the fields which the monks tilled or in which they pastured their cattle.

No sound of war nor sign of disturbance ever alarmed the monks and students who passed their years in that monastery. It was on a headland that jutted into the sea; it was separated from the rest of the country by a great bog which only a few who knew the safe paths could cross. The King of Ireland might do this or that and the Northern Princes might found new kingdoms across the sea, but the monks and students in that monastery took no account of such happenings.

Often, standing on the headland, they talked about and wondered at a strange monster that used to disport himself in the sea beyond. By many generations of scholars that monster had been watched without his motions ever having been understood by them. Then Colum-cille, after he had watched them for a while, found out what they portended. He showed the abbot that when this monster (Rochuie they named him) spewed out of his mouth in the direction of the land, sickness followed and lasted for the whole of the year; when he spouted high in the air it signified that there would be great storms and much destruction among the birds; when he spewed out into the sea it meant that shoals of fishes and flocks of seals would come to great destruction. After Colum-cille had interpreted the motions of Rochuie, the folk were able to prepare themselves for sickness, for storms, for destruction among the birds of the air and the fishes and beasts of the sea. The abbot thanked Colum-cille for the knowledge which he imparted to him.

As a thank-offering he sent him a basket of apples from the monastery's apple-yard. But the lay-brother who brought the offering gathered from the wrong tree; when Colum-cille bit into one of them he found that they were apples of an exceeding bitter taste. "Why are these so sour-tasting?" he asked. The lay-brother explained the mistake he had made, and said, "We have taken every trouble with that tree, but still it brings forth bitter fruit. Now we will have the woodman cut it down and its trunk and branches will go into our winter fires."

"Let us visit the tree," said Colum-cille.

When they went into the apple-yard, the brother took him to a tree that was growing on a rise of ground. It was sheltered from the high wind; it had sunshine; there was abundance of sound-seeming fruit on its branches. "Its timbers will be good for our fires," said the lay-brother.

But Colum-cille, walking around that bitter-fruited tree, blessed it; he said, "I bless thee, and I charge thee by the graciousness of Almighty God that thou changest thy bitter-tasting nature into that which is sweet and savory." He made the sign of blessing on the tree, and lo! a fragrance came from it that was felt by the lay-brother who stood beside Colum-cille. Thereafter that tree brought forth apples of sweeter taste than grew on any other tree in Ireland. And this was the first wonder that Colum-cille worked.

But soon another wonder succeeded this. There was a place near by that was very dangerous to man inasmuch as demons had made a refuge for themselves in it, and these demons were the remnant of the band that St. Patrick had banished from Cruchuan Aigle. They had come to this glen in Tir-connal, and they had raised a mist so that men could not see into the glen. And the river that bounded the glen the demons had turned into a fiery stream so that no man could cross it.

Colum-cille asked the Master's permission to go there that he might strive to drive away the demons who were troubling the people. At first the master would not give that permission. But when he thought upon the wonder that the youth had already accomplished, he gave him leave to go to that place with one attendant, the lay-brother who had brought him the basket of bitter-tasting apples.

As far as to the fiery stream that bounded the glen Colum-cille and his attendant went. There they halted, not knowing what they should do. And it might be that Colum-cille and his attendant would have retired then and left that band of demons in possession of the place for another while, if one of them had not, overcome by his own ragefulness, begun the attack.

This raging demon plucked up a holly-sapling and flung it toward where Colum-cille and his attendant were standing. The missile went through the body of the attendant, slaying him instantly. Easily might one have been appalled by the power of the demons within their mist. But Colum-cille drew the sapling out of the prone body and flung it back. And behold! the mist lifted as far as the missile went and the demons in their ranks were revealed. Where the sapling struck ground it rooted itself and grew into a holly tree; to this day that tree stands—it has not withered, and even now it grows a fresh and flourishing holly tree.

Knowing now that the powers of good were beside him, Colum-cille blessed the stream, and the fieriness went from it and it flowed on as clear water. Thereupon he crossed. The demons fled from the glen to a rock far out in the sea. But when he had called upon all the powers of the saints and angels, Colum-cille commanded the demons that they go into the depths of the sea so that they might no more harm or affright men and women. Thereupon the band flung themselves in, tearing for their passage such a hole in the rock that a man in armor might go through it. They took forms of fishes—fishes that have to be soundless in their depths, not affrighting anyone, as they formerly did as demons with their roaring and screaming. They are there to this day, and fishermen often take them out of the water, but if they do, they cast them back again, knowing them for what they are by the marking that Colum-cille put upon them; each one is of reddish color and is blind of one eye.

Then Colum-cille blessed the land from which these evil spirits had been banished, and he made the glen a sanctuary so that those in need of refuge might come and live there and be safe from those who were in pursuit of them. However, the folk who lived in the neighborhood begged Colum-cille that he would make the stream, which had erstwhile been fiery, of such depth that only those who came by boat could pass it: they begged him to do this so that the glen might not be filled up with runaways and unfortunates. But Colum-cille would not listen to their plea; he let the stream run shallow here and there so that the weak and weary might have no hindrance in crossing it, but come readily into that glen and be safe from pursuit and attack.

Now he was back in the school, living in his bothie and conversing with the Master and his fellow-scholars. And from where they walked, they could see beyond the headland the island that is named Tory. All who lived in that far-away island were Pagans, knowing nothing of the Word of God. The Master would have some of his scholars go there: he would have them get to know that barbarous people so that one or another of them, when he would be ordained a priest of God, might go to Tory Island and baptize the people into the true faith. All were eager to go, and one and another said, "Which of us will have the honor of going one day to this place and building there a church that will be named for him?" Hearing this said, the Master told them, "As the boat draws near the island each of you shall cast his staff toward it: it will be for him whose staff reaches the island to return there and baptize those Pagans into the true faith, building a church there that shall bear his name."

They set out in a boat, six youthful scholars. And when they had passed the headland, first one and then another stood up in the boat and made a cast of his staff. Each staff went through the air as if it were a javelin hurled by a warrior. Only one of these staves reached Tory: the others struck the rocky islets that are around the main island. And when the scholars landed, behold! Colum-cille's staff was driven into a ledge there. Seeing it, the others acknowledged that he should have the honor of returning there one day and of baptizing the people and building a church that would be named for him.

The Chieftain of Tory was not pleased to see strangers come near his stronghold. In a rage he came toward them. He held in leash a hound of surprising size and fierceness—no hound that hunted the wolf packs in the glens of Ireland was so large and fierce as this hound of Tory was. The chieftain, Oilill, loosed him: venom-foam was dripping from his jaws. Colum-cille stood forward to protect his company. When the hound came to where he stood he groveled on the ground and fawned upon Colum-cille. Oilill was stricken with amazement to see his fierce hound make himself so tame. And then he went away and did no more to prevent the scholars from going here and there on the island and building themselves cells of loose stones. The hound attached himself to Colum-cille, followed him everywhere, and at night lay before his cell. Seeing his hound become so friendly, Oilill reconciled himself to that band being on Tory; he even grew friendly toward them and promised Colum-cille that he would give them land on which to build a church on the day when he should return.