iarraiḋ caḃra, ag ráḋ, “Ar son Dé ⁊ saor mé! saor mé! a ḋaoine, saor mé! ó a Ḋia, táim báiṫte! saor mé, saor mé órú!” Níor stad sé do ḃeiṫ ag callairioċt mar sin mar do ḃí uċdaċ[1] maiṫ aige.
“Raġad ⁊ snáṁfad amaċ ċuige,” arsa Diarmuid Mac Aṁlaoiḃ.
“Ná teiġriġ,” arsa na daoine go léir i n-aon ḃéal.
“Raġad,” ar seision. “Ní ḃeiḋead a ṫuilleaḋ ag feuċaint air annsan amuiġ, ag faġḃáil ḃáis as ár gcóṁair.”
Rug Míċeál Meata suas ar ḃrollaċ a léineaḋ ⁊ duḃairt, “Ṁaise, go deiṁin ní raġair, is fada fuar go gcuiṁneóċainn ar ṫú liogaint amaċ ċuige.”
“Bog díom,” arsa Diarmuid, “bog do ġreim díom.”
“Ní ḃogfad,” arsa Míċeál Meata, “ní beag a ḃfuil caillṫe ⁊ fain-se istiġ.” Díreaċ donn do ḃéic Doṁnall de ċaol- sgread amuiġ. “Ní’l aonne’ caillṫe fós,” arsa Diarmuid. “Bog díom, a deirim leat, bog díom;” aċt ní ḃogfaḋ. Do strac seision é féin uaḋ ⁊ do ċaiṫ de a ċuid éadaiġ ⁊ do léim isteaċ ’san ṁuir ⁊ ’san ṁúr; do ṡnáiṁ amaċ ċun Doṁnaill do ḃí beag naċ taḃarṫa ⁊ do strac isteaċ leis é ar ċuma éigin go dtí an tráiġ. Ṫuit Doṁnall i laige mar as[2] go dtáinic ar an dtalaṁ tirm ⁊ d’ ḟan innti go ceann i ḃfad. Nuair ṫáinic sé ċuige féin, duḃairt duine éinig[3] leis gur ċeart do buiḋeaċas do ḃreiṫ le Dia i dtaoḃ nár báṫaḋ é.
“Ná bí im ḃoḋraḋ,” ar seision; “má táim sáḃálṫa, ní ar Dia a ḃuiḋeaċas, mar ní mór do ḃí sé im ċúram; d’ḟágfaḋ annsan amuiġ mé go mbeiḋinn báiṫte, múċta, ⁊ is beag an gearraḃuaic do ċuirfeaḋ sé air aileis, geallaim-se ḋuit; aċt beiḋead buiḋeaċ do Ḋiarmaid MacAṁlaoiḃ, an fear glan g’lánta, ċuaiḋ i n-eineaċ a ċaillṫe[4] ċun mé ṡaoraḋ. A! a ḋuine, má táim sáḃálṫa,
Ní ar Dia a ḃuiḋeaċas!”
(Críoċ).
TRANSLATION.
All the people remained sitting for some time, and during that time the seaweed was drawing near the strand slowly and gradually. One wave came at long-last which filled the harbour up to the brim with branchy, long, red seaweed. Donal jumped to his feet, and flung himself on his hunkers down on a heap of seaweed and was free- ing it in a great fuss, when in comes another wave which went above him, and before he could think of anything (except the seaweed) it swept him clear out. He screamed and shrieked for help, but there wasn’t too much haste on anybody—a thing not to be wondered at— to go at the peril of his life in order to save him.
“Let us send up for a rope to Dermot Liath’s,” said Pierce Power.
“He would be drowned before one would reach half way up,” says Paddy Buidhe,
“Put out the rake, and perhaps he would catch on to it,” says Mick Oge.
Just then, the drowning man screeched and called with erect head, and at the highest pitch of his voice, imploring aid, saying, “For God’s sake and save me! save me! O! men, save me! O God, I am drowned! save me, save me, oroo!” He never stopped, but calling thus as loud as he could, for he was long-winded.
“I’ll go and swim out to him,” says Dermot MacAuliffe.
“Don't,” said all the people in one voice.
“I will,” said he, “I won’t be any longer looking at him there outside, dying before our very eyes.”
Meehawl Meata seized him by the bosom of his shirt, and said, “Wisha faith you won’t. It is long, indeed, till I’d think of letting you out to him.”
“Let me go,” says Dermot MacAuliffe; “loose your hold of me.”
“I won’t,” says Meehawl Meata, “there is enough lost, and let you stay inside.” Just then Donal screamed with a shrill shriek outside. “There's nobody lost yet,” says Dermot; “let me go, I tell you, let me go,” but he wouldn’t. He tore himself from him, divested himself of his clothes, and jumped into the sea and into the seaweed, swam out to Donal, who was nearly exhausted, and dragged him with him, some way or other, to the beach. Donald fell into a faint just as he reached the dry ground, and remained in it a long time. When he came to himself, somebody said to him that he ought to return thanks to God since he was not drowned. “Don’t be bothering me;” says he, “if I am saved, God is not to be thanked for it, for ’tisn’t much He was in my care; He would leave me there outside till I be drowned and suffo- cated, and it is little it would affect Him too, I assure you; but I will be thankful to Dermot MacAuliffe, the good, decent man, who in the face of his being lost went to save me. Why, man alive, if I am saved,
God is not to be thanked for it!”
Nótaiḋe.
Pádruig O’Laoġaire.
- ↑ uċdaċ = anál fada nó guṫ fada (feic foclóir Ui R.)
- ↑ mar as = ċóṁ luaṫ as.
- ↑ éinig = éigin: cloistior iad so araon i mBéara.
- ↑ eineaċ a ċaillṫe : ionann eineaċ ⁊ aġaiḋ.
siṫ = go réiḋ; tarrai(n)g an túinte go siṫ.
i ndeirioḋ na dála = i ndeirioḋ ṫiar ṫall.
coilg-ṡeasaṁ = cirt-ṡeasaṁ, lán-díreaċ mar duine i gcolg no i ḃfeirg.
ar an ġruga, led ċeann fút ⁊ do ḋrom lúbṫa.
i ḃfiúntar a ċaillṫe = i ndóġrainn a anama ċailleaṁain. Is dóiġ naċ ḃfuil i ḃfiúntar aċt an ḟrancais aventure (feic N. 8).
