‘There have been three cruel plagues,’ he said, ’out through the country since I was born in the west.  First, there was the big wind in 1839, that tore away the grass and green things from the earth.  Then there was the blight that came on the 9th of June in the year 1846.  Up to then the potatoes were clean and good; but that morning a mist rose up out of the sea, and you could hear a voice talking near a mile off across the stillness of the earth.  It was the same the next day, and the day after, and so on for three days or more; and then you could begin to see the tops of the stalks lying over as if the life was gone out of them.  And that was the beginning of the great trouble and famine that destroyed Ireland.  Then the people went on, I suppose, in their wickedness and their animosity of one against the other; and the Almighty God sent down the third plague, and that was the sickness called the choler.  Then all the people left the town of Sligo—­it’s in Sligo I was reared—­and you could walk through the streets at the noon of day and not see a person, and you could knock at one door and another door and find no one to answer you.  The people were travelling out north and south and east, with the terror that was on them; and the country people were digging ditches across the roads and driving them back where they could, for they had great dread of the disease.

’It was the law at that time that if there was sickness on any person in the town of Sligo you should notice it to the Governors, or you’d be put up in the gaol.  Well, a man’s wife took sick, and he went and noticed it.  They came down then with bands of men they had, and took her away to the sick-house, and he heard nothing more till he heard she was dead, and was to be buried in the morning.  At that time there was such fear and hurry and dread on every person, they were burying people they had no hope of, and they with life within them.  My man was uneasy a while thinking on that, and then what did he do, but slip down in the darkness of the night and into the dead-house, where they were after putting his wife.  There were beyond twoscore bodies, and he went feeling from one to the other.  Then I suppose his wife heard him coming—­she wasn’t dead at all—­and “Is that Michael?” says she.  “It is then,” says he; “and, oh, my poor woman, have you your last gasps in you still?” “I have, Michael,” says she; “and they’re after setting me out here with fifty bodies the way they’ll put me down into my grave at the dawn of day.”  “Oh, my poor woman,” says he; “have you the strength left in you to hold on my back?” “Oh, Micky,” says she, “I have surely.”  He took her up then on his back, and he carried her out by lanes and tracks till he got to his house.  Then he never let on a word about it, and at the end of three days she began to pick up, and in a month’s time she came out and began walking about like yourself or me.  And there were many people were afeard to speak to her, for they thought she was after coming back from the grave.’