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Updated: May 6, 2025
He turned to the Indian: "Someone lives there"? he said. "It is the home of the dead, but life is also there." "White man, or Indian?" But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumbling down the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything except that splendid quarry. Shon was excited. "Sarpints alive," he said, "look at the troops of thim!
The private remarked once on this point "Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and the law of the other is the love of them. They'll weather together like the Divil and Death." The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating; that was less like him.
"Cur'ous thing," remarked Joe, as he struck a light by means of flint, steel, and tinder-box "cur'ous thing that we're made to need sich a lot o' grub. If we could only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can breakfast on a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner! Ain't it cur'ous?" Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the fire into a blaze.
Rodd shook his head. "I saw it plainly enough, uncle." And the skipper gave his head a sapient nod, while the doctor shook his. "What were you going to say, Captain Chubb?" "Only this 'ere, sir. I have 'eard more argufying and quarrelling about sea-sarpints than about almost anything else. I say sarpints, but I mean these things, and I say this.
"They wasn't sarpints, was they?" said Malone, seating the child on his shoulder and hastening towards the rocky point which separated Silver Bay from the land beyond. "No, no not saa'pints. Long beasts, like mans, only hims not stand and walk, but lie down and crawl."
Isn't Carlisle and Whateley smashed to pieces, and their whole college of swaddling teachers knocked into smidhereens. John Tuam, your sowl, has tuck his pasthoral staff in his hand and heathen them out o' Connaught as fast as ever Pathric druve the sarpints into Clew Bay. Poor ould Mat Kevanagh, if he was alive this day, 'tis he would be the happy man.
"That seems the most likely." "There's but one thing agin it." "And what is that?" But the Irishman was silent. The boy repeated his question. "It's bad let it be." But Howard insisted. "Wal, you know, they may wal put him out the way." "O Tim!" groaned Howard, "that cannot be, that cannot be!" "I hopes not, but there's no telling what these sarpints may take into their heads to do.
And as for 'armless as doves and no match for sarpints, ye may be all that and more, which is no sort of argyment and when I sez 'what mischief are ye all up to' I sez it, and expecks a harnser, and a harnser I'll 'ave, or I'll reckon to know the reason why!" The men and women glanced at each other.
"Stop him!" commanded Grace sternly. "Stop him, I say! He will kill the man." "Serve the houn' right if the bear did. I'll larn 'em to mind their business, the sarpints! Henry!" A sharp rap over the bear's shoulder slowed the animal down. A second tap brought him to all fours, with his mistress's hand fastened in the hair of his head. "That'll do, Hen.
William Carleton's "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry," the novels of Samuel Lover and of John Banim are still well known. Thomas Crofton Croker, with whose amusing description of the "Last of the Irish Sarpints," the reader is probably familiar, has studied his countrymen's superstitions and peculiarities with great success.
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