The Wind Bloweth

The Wind Bloweth, by Brian
Oswald Donn-Byrne,

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Title: The Wind Bloweth
Author: Brian Oswald Donn-Byrne

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Language: English
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THE WIND BLOWETH
by
DONN BYRNE
Author of "Messer Marco Polo," etc.
Illustrated by George Bellows

[Illustration]

New York The Century Co. Copyright, 1922, by The Century Co.
Printed in U. S. A.

A DEDICATION: A PRAYER
Whilst I was working on the various problems of "The Wind
Bloweth"--problems of wisdom, of color, of phrasing, and trying to
capture the elusive, unbearable ache that is the mainspring of humanity,
and doing this through the medium of a race I knew best, a race that
affirms the divinity of Jesus and yet believes in the little people of the
hills, a race that loves its own land, and yet will wander the wide world
over, a race that loves battle, and yet always falls--whilst doing this, it
seemed to me that I was capturing for an instant a beauty that was
dying slowly, imperceptibly, but would soon be gone.
Perhaps it was the lilt of a Gaelic song in these pages that brought a

sorrow on me. That very sweet language will be gone soon, if not gone
already, and no book learning will revive the suppleness of idiom, that
haunting misty loveliness.... It is a very pathetic thing to see a literature
and a romance die.
But then, what ever dies? There is only change. For people in the
coming times the economist and the expert in politics may have the
beauty and wisdom old men have known in poems and strange tales. A
mammoth building is as romantic to a new age as were the subtle
carvings of Phidias to Greeks of old. For the master of commerce an
oil-driven steel ship has the beauty old folk have seen in cloudy
pyramids of sail. What we have considered beautiful will be quaint.
And their tolerant smile will hurt us under the wind-swept grass.
To whomever this writing of mine may give a moment's thought, a
moment's dreaming, I would ask a privilege, to call out of the romantic
sunset the memories of Irish writers whom it is deep in my heart to
praise, not masters of verse, but those whom in English we call
novelists, being too exact in matters of language to name them poets:
the Four Masters of Donegal who dedicated their tradition do chum
gloire De agus onora na h Eireann,--to the glory of God and the honor
of Ireland,--so high their motive was. And Thomas Moore, not as
author of Irish ballads or of "Lalla Rookh," but as writer of "The
Epicurean." And Lever and Lover. And William Carleton from the
County of Tyrone. And gentle Gerald Griffin, dead at his desk. And
Michael and John Banim, with their "O'Hara Tales." And Sheridan Le
Fanu, and Fitz-James O'Brien, who fell fighting for America. And
Charles Kickham, who wrote "Knocknagow." And I was all but
forgetting Oliver Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson's friend.
Old fathers, old masters, I will never believe but that you wrote because
it sprang from you as the lark sings in the high air. No little sum of
money, no great man's patronage, no doffed caps of the populace, could
have moved you to strike out or write in one line. Old fathers, let me
say aloud your names; it will give me bravery. And, sirs, take this book
kindly to you. It is written caring nothing for money, nothing for light
acclaim. Its faults are because I cannot write better yet....

DONN BYRNE

CONTENTS
PART PAGE
I DANCING TOWN 3
II THE WAKE AT ARDEE 57
III THE MOUTH OF HONEY 109
IV THE WRESTLER FROM ALEPPO 169
V THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG 229
VI THE BOLD FENIAN MEN 287
VII THE KINGDOM AND THE POWER AND THE GLORY 353

PART ONE
DANCING TOWN
§ 1
Because it was his fourteenth birthday they had allowed him a day off
from school, his mother doubtfully, his uncles Alan and Robin with
their understanding grin. And because there was none