There were Seven Fishers went out one time from Galway, and a strange sort of a wind blew one of the seven a long way off out into the sea. And when the fisherman came back, he went up to the house and he called to his daughter and he said: ‘I have but the one fish, but let you clean it and bring it to the shop, and it will get us our supper.’

So she brought it out of the boat, and she was cleaning it and rubbing it, and while she was doing that it turned to be a tall fine man standing before her. And he stopped with her for a while, and when he was going away he said: ‘You will have two sons, and you will never know want, and your father will get fish every time he will go out. And here is a letter,’ he said, ‘and give it to the sons at whatever time they will ask tidings of their father.’

So all happened as he said, and she brought up the sons and reared them, and at the last she sent them to get learning in Dublin. And when they got there they saw ball-playing going on, and there was a dispute, and those that were disputing called out to the young men to settle it, and they gave their opinion. ‘Ah,’ said the ball-players then, ‘who are those that are giving a judgment? Scamps that don’t know who is their father.’

Then the young men looked one at another. ‘That is true,’ they said, ‘and we have no business here, but let us go home again.’ So they turned and went back, and when they came to Galway there was a hurling, and a gentleman that was at the head of one side came to them and said: ‘Two of my own men have failed me, and come you take their place at the hurling.’ ‘We never played it, and we know nothing of it,’ said they. ‘No matter,’ says he; ‘come and stand up now.’ So they stood up, and when the ball came near them, the one of them made a leap and struck it, and the other got the goal. And when they were leaving the field they heard the people saying to one another: ‘It is the Fish’s sons were the best.’

They looked at one another then, and they went home and asked the mother was she their own mother. ‘I am that,’ says she. Then they asked news of their father, and she gave them the letter he had left with her. And it gave directions to the eldest son to go to such a cliff, and he would find a flagstone with a keyhole and a key, and it bade him turn the key and take out what he would find in it.

So he went to the cliff and he opened the flagstone, and under it he found a good suit and a horse, and he put on the suit and he got up on the horse. ‘How long will you stop on me?’ says the horse. ‘As long as the saddle is under me,’ says he. ‘That is not enough,’ says the horse. ‘Well, as long as the skin is left on you,’ says he. ‘That will do,’ says the horse. So he set out then till he came to the Court of the King of Munster, that had never spoken a word and never made a laugh for seven years.

The Fish’s son went in and he asked the King why was he seven years without speaking a word. ‘It is my daughter that was brought away from me,’ says he, ‘by Croagcill, that beat me in a battle, and that no man can beat; for he has the strength of a man in every rib of his hair.’ ‘I will go bring her back to you,’ says the Fish’s son.

So they made ready a cake for him, and away with him till he met with an old man, and he asked him did he know where was Croagcill living. ‘I never came to the place where he is living,’ said the old man, ‘and I have been walking for the last four hundred years.’

The Fish’s son went on then till he came to a wood and he met with a white hound, and she searching after food. ‘It is hungry you are,’ says the Fish’s son. ‘I am not,’ says the hound, ‘but the young ones I have are hungry.’ So he gave her then the half of the cake, and she was very thankful, and she said she would come to his help at any time he would be in need of her, and he to give a call for her, or a whistle. He went on then till he came to the strand, and he sat down to eat the half of the cake he had left, and there came a hawk and asked a share of it, and he gave her a share. ‘Can you give me any tidings of Croagcill and of where he is living?’ says he to the hawk. ‘I went as far as Croagcill once,’ says the hawk; ‘and I will give you a little canoe of a boat,’ says she, ‘will bring you to him. But it will be hard for you to kill him,’ says she, ‘for there is no one knows where his body is or where he has it hid. And call to me if I can give help to you,’ says she, ‘and any good anyone can do for you I’ll do it.’

So he went in the boat, and it had charms in it, that it brought him as far as Croagcill’s house. The King’s daughter saw him coming, and she ran out to meet him. ‘My thousand welcomes to you,’ says she, ‘for I thought I never would see one of Ireland’s men again.’ So he told her he had come to bring her back to her father in Munster. ‘Oh, what can I do with you now,’ says she; ‘for when Croagcill comes home he will kill you?’

She put him in hiding before evening in a box, and Croagcill came in, and having a heavy deer upon his shoulders. He drew it through the fire, and through the ashes, and through his long, cold teeth, and there was not one bit left but the bones. ‘Fru, fra, feasog,’ he says then; ‘I feel the smell of a sweet-voiced liar of an Irishman in some place that is not far off.’ ‘My dear and my love, and my man that is better than his father,’ says the King’s daughter, ‘it is that I myself was at the top of the house, and there came a little bird from Ireland and perched upon my hand.’ ‘Maybe so, maybe so,’ says he. ‘You to get your death,’ says the King’s daughter; ‘what at all would I do being left in this strange house?’ ‘Och,’ says he, ‘I will never get my death; for there is no one knows where the life of my body is hid.’ ‘Oh, and where is it?’ says the King’s daughter. ‘It is in the green plot that is outside the door,’ says he.

He went out in the morning, and the King’s daughter rose up and she took roses and posies and every sort that was pretty, and she put them out on the green plot. And she let the Fish’s son come out for the daytime, and she put him back in the box at night. When Croagcill drew to the house in the evening there was a big beast upon his shoulders, and he drew it through the fire, and through the ashes, and through his long, cold teeth, and there was not a bit left on it. ‘Fru, fra, feasog, I get the smell of the sweet-voiced, lying Irishman coming to my house to-night,’ says he. ‘My love and my secret, there is nothing at all but what is used to be in it,’ says she. ‘There is, and more,’ says he. ‘Oh, I was up at the top of the castle, and a little bird from Ireland came and perched on my head,’ says she. ‘Maybe so, maybe so,’ says Croagcill. He went out then. ‘What is the reason the green plot to be full of roses and posies?’ says he. ‘Didn’t I hear you say,’ says she, ‘that is the place your life is?’ ‘Och,’ says he, ‘you to know the place where my life is, it is likely you would have affection for it.’ ‘I would indeed be fond of it,’ says she. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘there is a green holly-bush beyond at the brink of the sea, and it is inside that tree my life is, and I will never get my death till the Fish’s son from Ireland will come and will cut down that tree with his sword, and that is a thing will not happen for ever.’

In the morning Croagcill went out to the wood, and the Fish’s son took his sword and began to cut the holly-tree. And when he had it near cut through, the red fox ran out from the roots, and it is in that fox Croagcill’s life was. Then the Fish’s son gave a call and a whistle, and the white hound from the wood came and followed after the fox, and they were going up and down and there and hither in every part, and at the last the hound got a grip of the fox. But with that it changed into a bird and went flying up high over the tide. ‘Oh, where is now the grey hawk of the dark earth?’ says the Fish’s son. So the hawk was there on the minute, and she made a dart at the bird in the air, and caught it in her claws and killed it that it dropped into the sea, and at that minute Croagcill dropped dead where he was, and there was an end of him.

They gathered all he had of riches, and they went back to the King of Munster’s house. The King was very glad to see them coming home. ‘You can take my daughter now,’ says the King, ‘and you can join and be married to one another.’ So they married and wedded together, and there was a wedding feast for a year and a day for them, and it was as good the last day as at the first.