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The lads in the pub were having a pint and discussin' the time of day, when in walked Dughall Fionnlah, covered wi' bruises from head t' toe and bleedin' from more than one part of his body.
"M'god, Fionnlagh! How has such a thing come to happen to ye?" queried McTavish, the barkeep, who knew young Dughall as well as his father and grandfather.
The other lads chorused in agreement that he was in quite a state. How could such a thing be so?
"Well," Fionnlagh began, "'Tis a difficult time I'd be havin, tryin' to explain this to ye over such a powerful thirst as I've acquired today."
Well, being naturally hospitable by nature, and not wishin' to see a brother go dry, a round was bought by one of the lads for the sake of hearin' young Dughall's tale.
"I were down at the station, quarter past seven, fresh t' go on holiday down t' Glasgow," Dughall began anew, "when in pulls the train exactly on time. 'Tweren't yer normal engine pullin' this train, but a puffin billowin' steamer, straight out the York Museum, black and shinin' as the day she'd been built."
He stopped to quaff a long drought from his mug, and then resumed his tale.
"The conductor took my ticket and directed me to the first class coach, even though I'd only a second class fare. But mind ye, now, I'm never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I did as I was bid. Wishin' to be cooperative I was. She never let out a whistle leavin' the station, which I thought were mighty queer. She just gave off with a wee bump and off we went. We built up a bit of speed crossin' out o're the moors and I guessed we'd be in Glasgow sooner than were customary for the mornin' train."
"Then, all of a sudden, just as I'd nodded off for a nap, the train ground to a stop. Ver' near tossed me on th' floor, she stopped so fast. And I looked outside to see what I could see but the fog were so thick that I couldn't see anythin' at all."
By this point, all conversation in the pub had ceased and every lad within had lent an ear to Fionnlagh's tale. Someone passed him another pint, which he accepted by swigging three great swallows from it.
"Well, I opened up the door and peered out into that cold gray soup, but my eyes were of no use, so deep the fog were. And I couldna hear a single sound, save the puffin' of the engine. But what were ver' spooky, my lads, was the sound of someone callin' my name from off in the mist."
"The voice of an angel, t'was, with my name on her lips, callin' me and callin'me." Young Dughall's eyes misted at the memory and the lads understood, upon hearing this explanation why he would have stepped off the train and onto the moors (which is a thing no rational fellow normally does).
"I'd gone no more than twenty steps," Dughall continued, when I spied a bright light, and figurin' that to be from where the lady called me, I approached. But then, the mist parted and there, standin' in th' light, dressed in a black robe and carryin' a scythe, were the old Grim Reaper his dark self, finger pointed at me, callin' my name with the voice of a sweet valley lass!"
A chill shivered down the spines of the lads, one and all and a collective gasp issued from their lips. Dughall Fionnlah's eyes now burned as he gulped the remaining ale.
"What were I to do?" He asked, " I couldna run. For where would I run to in the fog on the moors. I couldna stand doing nothing, and 'ave the creature take me wi'out a fight. So I done the only sensible thing I could think of. I marched me up into the face of Death itsself and punched the bastard squarely in th' jaw!"
This time the barkeep stood for the pint all around and slid one it into Dughall's shaking hand. The lad gulped a huge quaff and continued.
"Now death's an ugly bloke from a distance. But when you're near enough to smell it's foul breath, y'need to get yer licks in quick and that's wha' I did. I hit it two more blows, both aside its ugly head and a third one just for measure. Well, 'twas that fourth knock what done it. I knocked the beastie's head completely off'n its shoulders and it fell backward onto the heather."
"Well my heart were poundin' in my ears, but not so loud that I couldn't hear that steamer wheezin' in the fog. I ran back in the direction I'd come from, the same direction from which I could hear that engine, and in my haste to escape the wrath of death, I ran headlong into the conductor, who told me, 'My, lad, you should nae be off the train.' And he only had to say it once as I climbed back into the car and closed the door."
During the telling of this extraordinary tale of courage, Alasdair Murchadh had been listening attentively and quietly. But now he spoke up and said, " Caerect me if I'm wrong, Dughall, but did ye say that ye felled the bastard on the fourth blow?"
To which Fionlagh pronounced, "Aye, I did."
And the lad continued, "And did ye not escape afterward?"
To which Fionnelaugh spake, "Indeed, as witnessed by me standing before you!"
Now Alasdair Murchadh was a stout lad, but slow in comprehending the details of things as they unfold. Just this once though, he grasped the full meaning of it all and said, "If death never laid a hand on ye, than please may we know how ye came to be in such a state of disrepair as ye are right now?"
Surely that were the most words the lad had strung together at one time in a month. The lads muttered appreciatively at his sudden intelligence.
"Aye," agreed the other lads in a murmer. "Tell us what happend to ye then?" Like magic, another pint appeared and Doughall's eyes grew merry in anticipation of the fine ale.
"Well, lads," he said, "it were a situation." I'd just had the fight of me life and won it. So naturally I wished to celebrate with a wee tipple oncet we got to Glasgow and barrin' any more stops. Arrived, we did. I stepped off onto the platform and quickly made my way to the Gored Ox for the purpose of washin' down the dust of combat. As it happened, some off the local lads were knocking back a few at the time when I casually mentioned having arrived on the steamer down at the station. Now that attracted some curiosity and pretty soon they'd drug the whole story from me, right down to the last punch."
Fionnelagh drained the last of the lager before him, wiped the foam from his face and said, "They were in much sympathy with my ordeal, what with meetin' death and all, and bought me many a round, as have you lads. But then, one bright Jimmie stepped forth into me face and swore that I must be a liar, that my ordeal must surely be a fiction! Well, I allowed for the drinkin' and the lad's tender years, so I challenged him to prove it."
"Well, says he, I'm a man of the world and have had some adventures, so most of what ye said rang true. But ye made one wee mistake."
"And what's that, says I?"
"In all the history of the railroad, says he, no train to Glasgow's ever been on time! Then, och, he pasted me right in me bloody jaw!"
Fionnelagh laughed and said, "It was a lovely fight, wi' half the lads takin' up for me and half takin' up for me detractor. When it were all done, I were the only one left standin' but in a state of disrepair such as ye see me now."
Now the lads all regarded him in awe as he finished his tale, they burst into applause for the story, for Fionnelagh, for such a holiday as had been had by himself, not soon to be topped.
The beer did flow. The barkeep bought another round and this time had a pint in joining with them. To my best recollection, it was the better part of midnight before Fionnelagh remembered that he was expected at home. They all had a good laugh about it and drank the night away
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