An Caecar agus Rí na Turcaí (1780s)
Collected from Seán Ó Sé, Cill Maoilchéadair, Co. Chiarraí, 1938. Preserved through the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
This story is internally dated to the 1780s, a time when Catholics in Newfoundland yearned for religious freedom, mirroring developments in England. Responding to a plea from Irish merchants, James Louis O'Donel, hailing from County Tipperary, was dispatched to St. John's to address the presence of "unlicensed" and "unruly" priests on the island. O'Donel's selection was strategic, as he not only possessed widespread popularity but also had the ability to preach in Irish, a language shared by many Irish residents in Newfoundland during that era. In a historic turn of events in 1784, St. John's was designated as an Archdiocese of the Catholic Church, and O'Donel was appointed as its inaugural bishop. For over two decades, O'Donel served as a pillar of the faith in Newfoundland, tirelessly shepherding his flock through Irish. In 1807 he retired to Ireland and died tragically after the chair in which he was reading caught fire. O’Donel left behind a legacy of devotion and service to the Irish community in Newfoundland.
Adapted from: Unknown. “James Louis O’Donel.” Benevolent Irish Society. 1906. Centenary volume, Benevolent Irish Society of St. John's, Newfoundland, 1806-1906. Guy & Co.: Cork.
“Na seandaoine a bhíodh anseo fadó is go Talamh an Éisc a théidís. Ní raibh aon stímear ann ach árthaí seoil. Ag iascach a bhídís i mBaile Sheáin. Cuan an-bhreá atá ann go dtugaid siad Harbour Gréas air. Thugaidís leath bhliain ansin ag iascach. Thagadh leac air sa gheimhreadh, ar an gcuan seo, agus ní bhídís ag iascach ansin is thagadh cuid acu abhaile is d’fhanadh a thuilleadh acu ag baint adhmaid is ag marú rónta.
Ach do bhí easpag i mBaile Sheáin a theastaigh uaidh teacht don Róimh go dtí an Pápa. Árthach seoil a bhí acu. Nuair a bhíodar ag déanamh suas ar Itailí tháinig gála gaoithe mara orthu do shéid an t-árthach suas isteach. Do lean an gála gur cuireadh suas go Cuan Constaintínóipl sa Tuirc iad. Bhí an-alfraits rí an uair sin sa Tuirc. Chuaigh an criú isteach i dtír. Chuaigh an t-easpag isteach. Tháinig an rí a féachaint orthu. D’umhlaíodar do Rí na Tuirce. Ach bhí fear ann Cuaecer agus níor dhein sé aon umhlú dhon rí.
“Cad é mar shaghas duine é sin,” arsa an rí, “nár bhain a hata dhó?”
“Sin é creideamh atá aige sin” adúirt an chuid eile dhíobh. “Ní bhaineann siad a hata anuas d’éinne.”
“Is dóigh mhuise!” ar seisean, “daingneódsa an hata go maith ar a cheann.”
Fuair sé spíce iarainn agus chuir sé síos trína hata é is trína cheann, an rí. Bhí an t-easpag ag féachaint air agus mórán nach é, agus ní raibh aon áthas air nuair a chonaic sé cad a dhein sé. D’fhiafraigh sé dhon easpag cad é an saghas duine é. Dúirt sé gur easpag Caitlicí é.
“An léifeá aifreann dom?”
“A Rí onóraigh, nílim ‘riúnach chuige anois ach déarfaidh amárach duit é.”
Dúirt sé an t-aifreann dó lá arna mhárach é.
Níor thóg sé, an rí, an dá shúil dó fad a bhí sé a rá an aifrinn ach ag féachaint air. Ach níor chuir sé aon chuir-isteach ar aon duine eile ach ar seo.
Nuair a tháinig an t-easpag abhaile ansin go Talamh an Éisc bhí sé á dh’insint don phobal. Duine ón áit seo a bhí ag éisteacht leis ag eachtraí ar a scéal thall i dTalamh an Éisc, i mBaile Sheáin. Nuair a tháinig sé abhaile d’eachtraigh sé cad a dhein an tioránach seo ar an gCuaecer seo gan aon chúis. Do bhí an-alfraits rí insa Tuirc. Is dócha go bhfuil céad go leith bliain ó shin anseo mo thuairim. Tá.”
“The old people that were here long ago, it is to Newfoundland that they did go. There weren’t any steamers then but sailing ships. Fishing they were in St. John’s. A very fine harbour is there that they call Harbour Grace. They would give a half a year there fishing. The ice would come on it in the winter, on this harbour, and they wouldn’t be fishing there and some of them would come home and the rest of them stayed cutting wood and killing seals.
But there was a bishop in St. John’s that wanted to come to Rome to the Pope. A sailing ship they had. When they were making upon Italy, a gust of sea wind came upon them that blew the vessel up and in. The gust continued until they were put up to the harbour of Constantinople in Turkey. A great scoundrel was king at that time in Turkey. The crew went ashore. The bishop went in. The king came to look upon them. They bowed to the King of Turkey. But there was a man there, a Quaker, and he didn’t make any bow for the king.
“What kind of person is that,” said the king, “that doesn’t take his hat off?”
“That’s the religion that he has” said the others of them. “They don’t take their hat off for anyone.”
“Is that so indeed!” he said, “I will secure the hat well on his head.”
He got a spike of iron and he put it down through his hat and through his head, the king did. The bishop was watching this and much else, and he was not happy when he saw what he did. He asked the bishop what kind of person he was. He said he was a Catholic Bishop.
“Will you read mass for me?”
Oh honourable king, I am not suitable for that now but I will say it for you tomorrow.”
He said the mass for him the following day.
He didn’t take, the king, the two eyes from him as long as he was saying the mass but was watching him. But he didn’t interrupt or bother any other person there.
When the bishop came home then to Newfoundland he was telling it to the community. A person from this place was listening to him recounting his adventure over in Newfoundland, in St. John’s. When he came home, he recounted what the tryant did to this Quaker without any cause. A great scoundrel was the king in Turkey. Is probable that there are one hundred and fifty years since this in my opinion. There are.”
Adapted from: “The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0446, Page 123” by Dúchas © National Folklore Collection, UCD is licensed under CC BY-NC 4.0.
