But Finnian was not one who remained long in bewilderment. He thought on
the might of God and he became that might, and was tranquil.
He was one who loved God and Ireland, and to the person who could instruct
him in these great themes he gave all the interest of his mind and the
sympathy of his heart.
“It is a wonder you tell me, my beloved,” he said. “And now you must tell
me more.”
“What must I tell?” asked Tuan resignedly.
“Tell me of the beginning of time in Ireland, and of the bearing of
Partholon, the son of Noah’s son.”
“I have almost forgotten him,” said Tuan. “A greatly bearded, greatly
shouldered man he was. A man of sweet deeds and sweet ways.”
“Continue, my love,” said Finnian.
“He came to Ireland in a ship. Twenty-four men and twenty-four women came
with him. But before that time no man had come to Ireland, and in the
western parts of the world no human being lived or moved. As we drew on
Ireland from the sea the country seemed like an unending forest. Far as
the eye could reach, and in whatever direction, there were trees; and from
these there came the unceasing singing of birds. Over all that land the
sun shone warm and beautiful, so that to our sea-weary eyes, our
wind-tormented ears, it seemed as if we were driving on Paradise.
“We landed and we heard the rumble of water going gloomily through the
darkness of the forest. Following the water we came to a glade where the
sun shone and where the earth was warmed, and there Partholon rested with
his twenty-four couples, and made a city and a livelihood.
“There were fish in the rivers of Eire’, there were animals in her
coverts. Wild and shy and monstrous creatures ranged in her plains and
forests. Creatures that one could see through and walk through. Long we
lived in ease, and we saw new animals grow,—the bear, the wolf, the
badger, the deer, and the boar.
“Partholon’s people increased until from twenty-four couples there came
five thousand people, who lived in amity and contentment although they had
no wits.”
“They had no wits!” Finnian commented.
“They had no need of wits,” Tuan said.
“I have heard that the first-born were mindless,” said Finnian. “Continue
your story, my beloved.”
“Then, sudden as a rising wind, between one night and a morning, there
came a sickness that bloated the stomach and purpled the skin, and on the
seventh day all of the race of Partholon were dead, save one man only.”
“There always escapes one man,” said Finnian thoughtfully.
“And I am that man,” his companion affirmed.
