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Title: Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland - Collected Entirely from Oral Sources
Author: Campbell, John Gregorson
Language: English
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SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND
Published by
James Maclehose and Sons, Glasgow,
Publishers to the University.
Macmillan and Co., London and New York.
London, Simpkin, Hamilton and Co.
Cambridge, Macmillan and Bowes.
Edinburgh, Douglas and Foulis.
MCM.
SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS & ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND
Collected entirely from Oral Sources
by
JOHN GREGORSON CAMPBELL
Minister of Tiree
Glasgow
James MacLehose and Sons
Publishers to the University
1900
Glasgow: Printed at the University Press
by Robert Maclehose and Co.
EDITOR’S NOTE.
This volume is the result of many years’ labour by the late Rev. John
Gregorson Campbell, while minister of Tiree during the years 1861—to
1891.
Much of the material was already collected before Mr. J. F. Campbell
of Islay published his _Popular Tales of the West Highlands_ in 1860,
and readers of Lord Archibald Campbell’s volumes on _Waifs and Strays
of Celtic Tradition_ are already acquainted with the valuable work
contributed to that series by the Rev. J. Gregorson Campbell.
It is hoped that this volume on the _Superstitions of the Scottish
Highlands_, full as it is of racy stories, may throw fresh light on an
extremely interesting subject.
The MS. of a corresponding work by the same author on _Witchcraft and
Second-Sight in the West Highlands_, is in the editor’s hands, and in
the event of the present work meeting with the reception which the
editor thinks it deserves, the volume on Witchcraft will be published
next year.
Mrs. Wallace, Hynish, Tiree, the author’s sister, has kindly read the
proofs.
_August, 1900._
PREFACE.
The object aimed at in the following pages is to put before the reader
a statement, as complete and accurate as the writer can attain to,
of the Superstitions and Antiquities of the Scottish Highlands and
Islands. In other words, the writer has endeavoured to gather full
materials relating to that subject, and to arrange them in a form that
may prove of some scientific value.
In pursuit of this object, it has been deemed advisable to derive
information solely from oral sources. Books have been purposely avoided
as authorities, and a rule has been laid down, and strictly adhered
to, not to accept any statement in print regarding a Highland belief,
unless also found current among the people. In the few books there
are, having any reference to Gaelic lore, the statements have been
so frequently found at variance with popular beliefs that this rule
has been a necessity. There are a few honourable exceptions, but in
general what is to be found in print on this subject is not trustworthy.
A want of acquaintance with the Gaelic language or with Highland
feelings and modes of thought, is usually the cause of error. The
writers think in English, and are not careful to eliminate from their
statements thoughts derived from English or classical literature,
or to keep from confusing with Celtic beliefs ideas derived from
foreign sources, and from analogous creeds existing elsewhere. This
gives an unconscious tinge to their statements, and (what is more
to be regretted) sometimes makes them fill up with extraneous and
foreign elements what seems to them gaps or blanks in beliefs they but
imperfectly understand.
The writer’s information has been derived from widely separated
districts in the North, West, and Central Highlands, and from the
Islands. Naturally, the bulk of the information was obtained in
Tiree, where the writer had most opportunity of making inquiries, but
information from this or any other source has not been accepted without
comparison with the same beliefs in other districts. The writer has
not been able personally to visit all parts of the Highlands, but his
informants have spent their lives in districts far apart. The reader
will fall into a mistake who supposes that the whole information is
within the belief, or even knowledge, of any one individual, or of any
one district.
The beliefs of one district do not differ essentially from those of
another. In one or two cases several versions of a tale are given to
show to some extent the nature of the variations of popular tradition.
The writer has thankfully to acknowledge, and he cannot but remember
with pleasure, the readiness and courtesy, and in very many cases the
great intelligence with which his inquiries have been answered. Some of
his informants have shown a quickness and retentiveness of memory which
he could not but envy, and an appreciation of, and an acquaintance with
ancient lore that seemed to him to indicate in those who were strangers
to the world of letters powers of mind of a high order.
The objection to books and print as authorities has also been
extended to written correspondence. No doubt much that is additional
and interesting could be obtained through these channels, but if
the account given is to serve any purpose higher than that of mere
amusement, strict accuracy is of such importance that all these
sources of possible error have been avoided; they cannot be sifted
by cross-examination and further inquiry so readily or thoroughly
as information obtained by word of mouth. The whole has thus passed
through the writer’s own hands directly from what he has found current
among the people. Care has been taken that no statement be made
conveying an idea different in the slightest from what has been heard.
A popular Gaelic saying can be quoted as applicable to the case: “If it
be a lie as told by me, it was a lie as told to me” (_Ma’s breug bh’uam
e, is breug dhomh e_). It is as free to another as it has been to the
writer, to draw his inferences from the statements given, and it is
thought no genuine tale or oral tradition will be found to contradict
the statements made in the following pages.
In the translations given of Gaelic, the object aimed at has been to
give the corresponding English expression, that is, one conveying the
same meaning to the English reader that the Gaelic expression conveys
to the Gaelic reader. Accuracy has been looked to on this point
rather than grace of diction. Where there is anything striking in the
Gaelic idiom the literal meaning is also given. In poetry there is
consequently a baldness, to which the original is a stranger; but this,
it may be urged, is a fault inherent in all translations, however
carefully executed. The transference of ideas from one language to
another weakens the force and beauty of an expression; what is racy
and witty, or musical and expressive in one, becomes tame and insipid
in another. This trite observation is made to deprecate unfavourable
opinions being formed of the genius and force of the Gaelic language
from the translations given.
CONTENTS
_CHAPTER I_
The Fairies
PAGE
Names Given to Fairies 3
The Size of Fairies 9
Fairy Dwellings 11
Fairy Dresses 14
The Defects of Fairies 15
Their Occupations 15
Seasons of Festivity 16
Fairy Raids 18
Circumstances under which Fairies are seen 21
Fairy Food 21
Gifts Bestowed by Fairies 22
The Giving and taking of Loans 24
Eddy Wind 24
Rain and Sunshine, Wind and Rain 26
Fairy Arrows 26
Cattle 27
Horses 30
Dogs 30
Elfin Cats 32
Fairy Theft 32
Stealing Women and Children 36
Changelings 38
Deformities 39
Nurses 40
The Men of Peace 40
The Bean Nighe, or Washing Woman 42
The Song of the Fairy Woman 44
The Glaistig as distinct from the Banshi 44
Elfin Queen 45
Protection against Fairies 46
_CHAPTER II_
Tales Illustrative of Fairy Superstition
Luran 52
The Cup of the Macleods of Raasa 57
The Fairies on Finlay’s Sandbank 57
Pennygown Fairies 59
Ben Lomond Fairies 60
Callum Clark and his Sore Leg 60
The Young Man in the Fairy Knoll 61
Black William the Piper 65
The Harris Woman and her Baking 66
Lifted by the Fairies 68
Fairies Coming to Houses 73
The Lowland Fairies 76
Fairies Stealing Women and Children 78
Ready Wit Repulses the Fairies 85
Kindness to a Neglected Child 86
The Bridegroom’s Burial 86
The Crowing of the Black Cock 87
Throwing the Arrow 88
The Woman Stolen from France 90
Changelings 90
Taking away Cows and Sheep 92
The Dwellings of the Fairies 93
Fairy Assistance 96
The Battle of Trai-Gruinard 100
Duine Sith, Man of Peace 101
Bean Shith, Elle Woman, or Woman of Peace 102
Donald Thrashed by the Fairy Woman 105
Iona Banshi 107
Tiree Banshi 108
Macphie’s Black Dog 109
The Carlin of the Spotted Hill 122
Donald, Son of Patrick 123
The Wife of Ben-y-Ghloe 125
Fairy Women and Deer 126
O’Cronicert’s Fairy Wife 127
The Gruagach Ban 132
Deer Killed and conveyed home at Night 133
Fairies and Goats 134
Fairies and Cows 134
Fairy Cows 135
The Thirsty Ploughman 137
The Fairy Churning 137
Milk Spilt by Dairymaids 138
Fairy Music 138
MacCrimmon 139
Fairy Dogs (‘Cu Sith’) 141
What happens to Dogs Chasing Fairies 144
Fairies and Horses 146
Fairies and the Handmill 149
Fairies and Oatmeal 150
Fairies and Iron 152
Name of the Deity 153
Fairy Gifts 153
Struck by the Fairy Arrow Spade 154
_CHAPTER III_
Tutelary Beings
(I) The Glaistig 155
At Glenduror 162
At Sron-Charmaig 162
At Inverawe House 164
At Dunstaffnage Castle 164
In Tiree 165
At Sleat, Skye 165
In the Island of Coll 166
At Dunolly Castle 166
At Mernaig Castle 166
In Strathglass 167
At Lianachan 168
In Glenorchy 171
M‘Millan of Knap stabbing the Glaistig 172
At Craignish 173
On Garlios, Morvern 173
At Ardnadrochit, Mull 175
On Baugh, Tiree 176
On Hianish, Tiree 177
At Strontian 177
In Ulva 178
In Iona 179
In Ross, Mull 179
In Corry-na-Henchor 180
Mac-Ian Year 181
At Erray, Mull 183
(II) The Gruagach 184
(III) Brownie 186
Gunna 189
The Old Man of the Barn 190
_CHAPTER IV_
The Urisk, The Blue Men, and The Mermaid
The Urisk 195
The Blue Men 199
The Mermaid 201
_CHAPTER V_
The Water-Horse
Farmers and Water-Horses 204
Mac-Fir Arois 205
The Talking Horse at Cru-Loch 207
Island of Coll 208
The Nine Children at Sunart 208
Killing the Raasay Water-Horse 209
The Water-Horse at Loch Cuaich 210
The Water-Horse at Tiree 211
Water-Horse and Women 212
The Water-Horse at Loch Basibol, Tiree 214
The Kelpie 215
The Water-Bull 216
The King Otter 216
Biasd na Srogaig 217
The Big Beast of Lochawe 218
_CHAPTER VI_
Superstitions about Animals
Lamprey—Sea Serpent—Gigelorum—Lavellan—Bernicle
Goose—Eels—Whale—Herring—Flounder—Lobster—Serpents—Rats
and Mice—Cormorant—Magpie—Beetles—Emmet—Skip-Jack
219-228
_CHAPTER VII_
Miscellaneous Superstitions
Gisvagun, Eapagun, Upagun 229
The Right-Hand Turn (Deiseal) 229
Rising and Dressing 230
Clothes 231
Houses and Lands 231
Baking 232
Removal Cheese (Mulchag Imrich) 234
Leg Cake (Bonnach Lurgainn) 234
Giving Fire out of the House 234
Thunder 235
Theft 236
Salt 236
Combing the Hair 236
Bird Nests 237
Hen’s First Egg 237
Euphemisms 237
Boat Language 239
Fresh Meat 240
Killing those too long alive 240
Funerals 241
The Watch of the Graveyard (Faire Chlaidh) 242
Cill Challum Chille 242
Suicides 242
Murder 243
The Harvest Old Wife (a Chailleach) 243
La u Bhrochain mhòr (Big Porridge Day) 244
Fires on Headlands 244
Stances 244
Names 245
Delivery of Cattle and Horses 245
Trades 246
Iron 246
Empty Shells 247
Protection against Evil Spirits 247
Misnaming a Person 248
Gaining Straw (Sop Seile) 248
Propitious Times 248
Unlucky Actions 249
_CHAPTER VIII_
Augury
At Outset of a Journey 253
Unlucky to look back 255
_CHAPTER IX_
Premonitions and Divination
Premonitions (Meamna) 258
Trial (Deuchainn) 259
Divination (Fiosachd) 262
Shoulder-blade Reading (Slinneineachd) 263
Palmistry (Dearnadaireachd) 266
Divination by Tea, or Cup-reading (Leughadh
Chupaichean) 266
_CHAPTER X_
Dreams and Prophecies
Dreams (Bruadar) 268
Prophecies (Fàisneachd) 269
The Lady of Lawers 274
_CHAPTER XI_
Imprecations, Spells, and the Black Art
Imprecation (Guidhe) 277
Spells (Geasan no Geasaibh) 281
The Black Art 285
_CHAPTER XII_
The Devil
Card Playing 292
Red Book of Appin 292
Coming for the Dying 295
Making the Devil your Slave 296
Coming Misfortune 298
The Gaïck Catastrophe (Mort Ghàthaig) 300
The Bundle of Fern 303
The Pig in the Indigo Pot 303
Among the Tailors 304
Taghairm, or “Giving his Supper to the Devil” 304
Glas Ghairm—Power of Opening Locks 311
CHAPTER I.
THE FAIRIES.[1]
In any account of Gaelic superstition and popular belief, the first
and most prominent place is to be assigned to the Fairy or Elfin
people, or, as they are called both in Irish and Scottish Gaelic,
the _sìth_ people, that is, ‘the people of peace,’ the ‘still folk,’
or ‘silently-moving’ people. The antiquity of the belief is shown
by its being found among all branches of the Celtic and Teutonic
families, and in countries which have not, within historical times,
had any communication with each other. If it be not entirely of Celtic
origin, there can be no doubt that among the Celtic races it acquired
an importance and influence accorded to it nowhere else. Of all the
beings, with which fear or fancy peopled the supernatural, the Fairies
were the most intimately associated with men’s daily life. In the
present day, when popular poetical ideas are extinguished in the
universal call for “facts” and by “cold material laws,” it is hard to
understand how firm a hold a belief like this had upon men in a more
primitive state of society, and how unwillingly it is surrendered.
Throughout the greater part of the Highlands of Scotland the
Fairies have become things of the past. A common belief is that
they existed once, though they are not now seen. There are others
to whom the elves have still a real existence, and who are careful
to take precautions against them. The changes, which the Highlands
are undergoing, have made the traces of the belief fainter in some
districts than in others, and in some there remains but a confused
jumbling of all the superstitions. It would be difficult to find a
person who knows the whole Fairy creed, but the tales of one district
are never contradictory of those of another. They are rather to be
taken as supplemental of each other, and it is by comparison and such
supplementing that the following statement has been drawn out. It is
thought that it will not be found at variance with any genuine Highland
Fairy Tale.
The Fairies, according to the Scoto-Celtic belief, are a race of
beings, the counterparts of mankind in person, occupations, and
pleasures, but unsubstantial and unreal, ordinarily invisible,
noiseless in their motions, and having their dwellings underground, in
hills and green mounds of rock or earth. They are addicted to visiting
the haunts of men, sometimes to give assistance, but more frequently to
take away the benefit of their goods and labours, and sometimes even
their persons. They may be present in any company, though mortals do
not see them. Their interference is never productive of good in the
end, and may prove destructive. Men cannot therefore be sufficiently on
their guard against them.
NAMES GIVEN TO FAIRIES.
The names by which these dwellers underground are known are mostly
derivative from the word _sìth_ (pronounced _shee_). As a substantive
(in which sense it is ordinarily used) _sìth_ means ‘peace,’ and, as
an adjective, is applied solely to objects of the supernatural world,
particularly to the Fairies and whatever belongs to them. Sound is
a natural adjunct of the motions of men, and its entire absence is
unearthly, unnatural, not human. The name _sìth_ without doubt refers
to the ‘peace’ or silence of Fairy motion, as contrasted with the stir
and noise accompanying the movements and actions of men. The German
‘still folk’ is a name of corresponding import. The Fairies come and go
with noiseless steps, and their thefts or abductions are done silently
and unawares to men. The wayfarer resting beside a stream, on raising
his eyes, sees the Fairy woman, unheard in her approach, standing on
the opposite bank. Men know the Fairies have visited their houses
only by the mysterious disappearance of the substance of their goods,
or the sudden and unaccountable death of any of the inmates or of
the cattle. Sometimes the elves are seen entering the house, gliding
silently round the room, and going out again as noiselessly as they
entered. When driven away they do not go off with tramp and noise, and
sounds of walking such as men make, or melt into thin air, as spirits
do, but fly away noiselessly like birds or hunted deer. They seem to
glide or float along rather than to walk. Hence the name _sìthche_ and
its synonyms are often applied contemptuously to a person who sneaks
about or makes his approach without warning. Sometimes indeed the elves
make a rustling noise like that of a gust of wind, or a silk gown, or
a sword drawn sharply through the air, and their coming and going has
been even indicated by frightful and unearthly shrieks, a pattering
as of a flock of sheep, or the louder trampling of a troop of horses.
Generally, however, their presence is indicated at most by the cloud
of dust raised by the eddy wind, or by some other curious natural
phenomenon, by the illumination of their dwellings, the sound of their
musical instruments, songs, or speech.
For the same reason _sìth_ is applied not merely to what is Fairy, but
to whatever is Fairy-like, unearthly, not of this world. Of this laxer
use of the term the following may be given as illustrations:
_Breac shìth_, ‘Elfin pox,’ hives, are spots that appear on the skin
in certain diseases, as hooping-cough, and indicate a highly malignant
stage of the malady. They are not ascribed to the Fairies, but are
called _sìth_, because they appear and again disappear as it were
‘silently,’ without obvious cause, and more mysteriously than other
symptoms. Cows, said to have been found on the shores of Loscantire in
Harris, Scorrybrec in Skye, and on the Island of Bernera, were called
_cro sìth_, ‘fairy cows,’ simply because they were of no mortal breed,
but of a kind believed to live under the sea on _meillich_, seaweed.
Animals in the shape of cats, but in reality witches or demons, were
called _cait shìth_, ‘Elfin cats,’ and the Water Horse, which has no
connection whatever with the elves, is sometimes called _each sìth_,
unearthly horse. The cuckoo is an _eun sìth_, a ‘Fairy bird,’ because,
as is said, its winter dwelling is underground.
A banner in the possession of the family of Macleod, of Macleod of
Skye, is called ‘Macleod’s Fairy Banner’ (_Bratach shìth MhicLèoid_),
on account of the supernatural powers ascribed to it. When unfurled,
victory in war (_buaidh chogaidh_) attends it, and it relieves its
followers from imminent danger.[2] Every pregnant woman who sees it is
taken in premature labour (a misfortune which happened, it is said, to
the English wife of a former chief in consequence of her irrepressible
curiosity to see the banner), and every cow casts her calf (_cha bhi
bean no bo nach tilg a laogh_). Others, however, say the name is owing
to the magic banner having been got from an Elfin sweetheart.
A light, seen among the Hebrides, a sort of St. Elmo’s light or
Will-of-the-wisp, is called _teine sìth_, ‘Fairy light,’ though no one
ever blamed the Fairies as the cause of it. In a semi-satirical song,
of much merit for its spirit and ease of diction, composed in Tiree to
the owner of a crazy skiff that had gone to the Ross of Mull for peats
and staid too long, the bard, in a spirited description of the owner’s
adventures and seamanship, says:—
“Onward past Greenock,
Like the deer of the cold high hills,
Breasting the rugged ground
With the hunter in pursuit;
She _sailed with Fairy motion_,[3]
Bounding smoothly in her pride,
Cleaving the green waves,
And passing to windward of the rest.”[4]
This latitude in the use of the word has led some writers on the
subject to confound with the Fairies beings having as little connection
with them as with mankind. A similar laxness occurs in the use of the
English word Fairy. It is made to include kelpies, mermaids, and other
supernatural beings, having no connection with the true Fairy, or Elfin
race.
The following are the names by which the ‘Folk’ are known in Gaelic. It
is observable that every one of the names, when applied to mortals, is
contemptuous and disparaging.
_Sithche_ (pronounced _sheeche_) is the generic and commonest term. It
is a noun of common gender, and its plural is _sithchean_ (sheechun).
In Graham’s _Highlands of Perthshire_, a work more than once quoted by
Sir Walter Scott, but unreliable as an authority, this word is written
_shi’ich_.
_Sireach_, plur. _sirich_, also _sibhrich_, is a provincial term; _an
siriche du_, ‘the black elf,’ _i.e._ the veriest elf.
_Sithbheire_ (pronounced _sheevere_), a masculine noun, is mostly
applied to changelings, or the elf substituted for children and animals
taken by the Fairies. Applied to men it is very contemptuous.
_Siochaire_ is still more so. Few expressions of scorn are more
commonly applied to men than _siochaire grannda_, “ugly slink.”
_Duine sìth_ (plur. _daoine sìth_), ‘a man of peace, a noiselessly
moving person, a fairy, an elf’; fem. _Bean shìth_ (gen. _mna sìth_,
plur. _mnathan sìth_, gen. plur. with the article _nam ban shìth_), ‘a
woman of peace, an Elle woman,’ are names that include the whole Fairy
race. _Bean shìth_ has become naturalized in English under the form
_Banshi_. The term was introduced from Ireland, but there appears no
reason to suppose the Irish belief different from that of the Scottish
Highlands. Any seeming difference has arisen since the introduction of
the Banshi to the literary world, and from the too free exercise of
imagination by book-writers on an imperfectly understood tradition.
The _leannan sìth_, ‘fairy sweetheart, familiar spirit,’ might be of
either sex. The use of this word by the translators of the Bible into
Gaelic is made a great handle of by the common people, to prove from
Scripture that Fairies actually exist. The Hebrew word so translated
is rendered ‘pythons’ by the Vulgate, and ‘consulters of the spirits
of the dead’ by modern scholars. Those said to have familiar spirits
were probably a class of magicians, who pretended to be media of
communication with the spirit world, their ‘familiar’ making himself
known by sounds muttered from the ground through the instrumentality,
as the Hebrew name denotes, of a skin bottle.
_Brughadair_, ‘a person from a brugh, or fairy dwelling,’ applied to
men, means one who does a stupid or senseless action.
Other names are _sluagh_, ‘folk, a multitude’; _sluagh eutrom_, ‘light
folk’; and _daoine beaga_, ‘little men,’ from the number and small size
ascribed to the elves.
_Daoine Còire_, ‘honest folk,’ had its origin in a desire to give
no unnecessary offence. The ‘folk’ might be listening, and were
pleased when people spoke well of them, and angry when spoken of
slightingly. In this respect they are very jealous. A wise man will not
unnecessarily expose himself to their attacks, for, ‘Better is a hen’s
amity than its enmity’ (_S’fhearr sìth ciree na h-aimhreit_). The same
feeling made the Irish Celt call them _daoine matha_, ‘good people,’
and the lowland Scot ‘gude neighbours.’
THE SIZE OF FAIRIES.
The difference in size ascribed to the race, though one of the most
remarkable features in the superstition, and lying on its surface, has
been taken little notice of by writers. At one time the elves are small
enough to creep through key-holes, and a single potato is as much as
one of them can carry; at another they resemble mankind, with whom they
form alliances, and to whom they hire themselves as servants; while
some are even said to be above the size of mortals, gigantic hags, in
whose lap mortal women are mere infants. In the Highlands the names
_sithche_ and _daoine sìth_ are given to all these different sizes
alike, little men, elfin youth, elfin dame, and elfin hag, all of whom
are not mythical beings of different classes or kinds, but one and
the same race, having the same characteristics and dress, living on
the same food, staying in the same dwellings, associated in the same
actions, and kept away by the same means. The easiest solution of the
anomaly is that the fairies had the power of making themselves large or
small at pleasure. There is no popular tale, however, which represents
them as exercising such a power, nor is it conformable to the rest of
their characteristics that it should be ascribed to them. The true
belief is that the Fairies are a small race, the men ‘about four feet
or so’ in height, and the women in many cases not taller than a little
girl (_cnapach caileig_). Being called ‘little,’ the exaggeration,
which popular imagination loves, has diminished them till they appear
as elves of different kinds. There is hardly a limit to the popular
exaggeration of personal peculiarities. Og, King of Bashan, was a big
man, and the Rabbis made his head tower to the regions of perpetual
snow, while his feet were parched in the deserts of Arabia. Finmac
Coul was reputed strong, at least he thrashed the devil, and made him
howl. A weaver in Perthshire, known as ‘the weaver with the nose’
(_figheadair na eròine_), had a big nose, at least he carried his loom
in it. Similarly the ‘little men’ came down to the ‘size of half an
ell,’ and even the height of a quart bottle.
The same peculiarity exists in the Teutonic belief. At times the elf
is a dwarfish being that enters through key-holes and window-slits; at
other times a great tall man. In different localities the Fairies are
known as Alfs, Huldra-Folk, Duergar, Trolls, Hill Folk, Little Folk,
Still Folk, Pixies, etc. A difference of size, as well as of name, has
led to these being described as separate beings, but they have all so
much in common with the Celtic Fairies that we must conclude they were
originally the same.
FAIRY DWELLINGS.
The Gaelic, as might be expected, abounds in words denoting the
diversified features of the scenery in a mountainous country. To this
the English language itself bears witness, having adopted so many
Gaelic words of the kind, as strath, glen, corrie, ben, knock, dun,
etc. From this copiousness it arises that the round green eminences,
which were said to be the residences of the Fairies, are known in
Gaelic by several names which have no synonym in English.
_Sìthein_ (pron. shï-en) is the name of any place in which the Fairies
take up their residence. It is known from the surrounding scenery by
the peculiarly green appearance and rounded form. Sometimes in these
respects it is very striking, being of so nearly conical a form, and
covered with such rich verdure, that a second look is required to
satisfy the observers it is not artificial. Its external appearance
has led to its being also known by various other names.
_Tolman_ is a small green knoll, or hummock, of earth; _bac_, a bank
of sand or earth; _cnoc_, knock, Scot. ‘a knowe,’ and its diminutive
_cnocan_, a little knowe; _dùn_, a rocky mound or heap, such, for
instance, as the Castle rock of Edinburgh or Dumbarton, though
often neither so steep nor so large; _òthan_, a green elevation in
wet ground; and _ùigh_, a provincial term of much the same import
as tolman. Even lofty hills have been represented as tenanted by
Fairies, and the highest point of a hill, having the rounded form,
characteristic of Fairy dwellings is called its shï-en (_sìthein na
beinne_). Rocks may be tenanted by the elves, but not caves. The
dwellings of the race are below the outside or superficies of the
earth, and tales representing the contrary may be looked upon with
suspicion as modern.
There is one genuine popular story in which the Fairy dwelling is in
the middle of a green plain, without any elevation to mark its site
beyond a horse-skull, the eye-sockets of which were used as the Fairy
chimney.
These dwellings were tenanted sometimes by a single family only, more
frequently by a whole community. The elves were said to change their
residences as men do, and, when they saw proper themselves, to remove
to distant parts of the country and more desirable haunts. To them, on
their arrival in their new home, are ascribed the words:
“Though good the haven we have left,
Better be the haven we have found.”[5]
The Fairy hillock might be passed by the strangers without suspicion
of its being tenanted, and cattle were pastured on it unmolested by
the “good people.” There is, however, a common story in the Western
Isles that a person was tethering his horse or cow for the night on
a green _tolman_ when a head appeared out of the ground, and told
him to tether the beast somewhere else, as he let rain into “their”
house, and had nearly driven the tether-pin into the ear of one of
the inmates. Another, who was in the habit of pouring out dirty water
at the door, was told by the Fairies to pour it elsewhere, as he was
spoiling their furniture. He shifted the door to the back of the house,
and prospered ever after. The Fairies were very grateful to any one who
kept the shï-en clean, and swept away cow or horse-droppings falling
on it. Finding a farmer careful of the roof of their dwelling, keeping
it clean, and not breaking the sward with tether-pin or spade, they
showed their thankfulness by driving his horses and cattle to the
sheltered side of the mound when the night proved stormy. Many believe
the Fairies themselves swept the hillock every night, so that in the
morning its surface was spotless.
_Brugh_ (brŭ) denotes the Fairy dwelling viewed as it were from the
inside—the interiors—but is often used interchangeably with _sìthein_.
It is probably the same word as burgh, borough, or bro’, and its
reference is to the _number_ of inmates in the Fairy dwelling.[6]
FAIRY DRESSES.
The Fairies, both Celtic and Teutonic, are dressed in green. In
Skye, however, though Fairy women, as elsewhere, are always dressed
in that colour, the men wear clothes of any colour like their human
neighbours. They are frequently called _daoine beaga ruadh_, “little
red men,” from their clothes having the appearance of being dyed with
the lichen called _crotal_, a common colour of men’s clothes, in
the North Hebrides. The coats of Fairy women are shaggy, or ruffled
(_caiteineach_), and their caps curiously fitted or wrinkled. The men
are said, but not commonly, to have _blue_ bonnets, and in the song
to the murdered Elfin lover, the Elf is said to have a hat bearing “a
smell of honied apples.” This is perhaps the only Highland instance of
a hat, which is a prominent object in the Teutonic superstition, being
ascribed to the Fairies.
THE DEFECTS OF FAIRIES.
Generally some personal defect is ascribed to them, by which they
become known to be of no mortal race. In Mull and the neighbourhood
they are said to have only one nostril, the other being imperforate
(_an leth choinnlein aca druid-te_). The Elfin smith who made Finmac
Coul’s sword, “the son of Lun that never asked a second stroke” (_Mac
an Luin, nach d’fhàg riamh fuigheal bheum_), had but one gloomy eye
in his forehead. The _Bean shiìh_ was detected by her extraordinary
voracity (a cow at a meal), a frightful front tooth, the entire want
of a nostril, a web foot, praeternaturally long breasts, etc. She is
also said to be unable to suckle her own children, and hence the Fairy
desire to steal nursing women.
THEIR OCCUPATIONS.
The Fairies, as has been already said, are counterparts of mankind.
There are children and old people among them; they practise all kinds
of trades and handicrafts; they possess cattle, dogs, arms; they
require food, clothing, sleep; they are liable to disease, and can be
killed. So entire is the resemblance that they have even been betrayed
into intoxication. People entering their brughs, have found the inmates
engaged in similar occupations to mankind, the women spinning,
weaving, grinding meal, baking, cooking, churning, etc., and the men
sleeping, dancing, and making merry, or sitting round a fire in the
middle of the floor (as a Perthshire informant described it) “like
tinkers.” Sometimes the inmates were absent on foraging expeditions or
pleasure excursions. The women sing at their work, a common practice in
former times with Highland women, and use distaff, spindle, handmills,
and such like primitive implements. The men have smithies, in which
they make the Fairy arrows and other weapons. Some Fairy families or
communities are poorer than others, and borrow meal and other articles
of domestic use from each other and from their neighbours of mankind.
FESTIVITIES.
There are stated seasons of festivity which are observed with much
splendour in the larger dwellings. The brugh is illumined, the tables
glitter with gold and silver vessels, and the door is thrown open to
all comers. Any of the human race entering on these occasions are
hospitably and heartily welcomed; food and drink are offered them, and
their health is pledged. Everything in the dwelling seems magnificent
beyond description, and mortals are so enraptured they forget
everything but the enjoyment of the moment. Joining in the festivities,
they lose all thought as to the passage of time. The food is the most
sumptuous, the clothing the most gorgeous ever seen, the music the
sweetest ever heard, the dance the sprightliest ever trod. The whole
dwelling is lustrous with magic splendour.
All this magnificence, however, and enjoyment are nothing but semblance
and illusion of the senses. Mankind, with all their cares, and toils,
and sorrows, have an infinitely more desirable lot, and the man
is greatly to be pitied whom the Elves get power over, so that he
exchanges his human lot and labour for their society or pleasures.
Wise people recommend that, in the circumstances, a man should not
utter a word till he comes out again, nor, on any account, taste Fairy
food or drink. If he abstains he is very likely before long dismissed,
but if he indulges he straightway loses the will and the power ever
to return to the society of men. He becomes insensible to the passage
of time, and may stay, without knowing it, for years, and even ages,
in the brugh. Many, who thus forgot themselves, are among the Fairies
to this day. Should they ever again return to the open air, and their
enchantment be broken, the Fairy grandeur and pleasure prove an empty
show, worthless, and fraught with danger. The food becomes disgusting
refuse, and the pleasures a shocking waste of time.
The Elves are great adepts in music and dancing, and a great part of
their time seems to be spent in the practice of these accomplishments.
The changeling has often been detected by his fondness for them.
Though in appearance an ill-conditioned and helpless brat, he has been
known, when he thought himself unobserved, to play the pipes with
surpassing skill, and dance with superhuman activity. Elfin music is
more melodious than human skill and instruments can produce, and there
are many songs and tunes which are said to have been originally learned
from the Fairies. The only musical instrument of the Elves is the
bagpipes, and some of the most celebrated pipers in Scotland are said
to have learned their music from them.
FAIRY RAIDS.
The Gaelic belief recognizes no Fairyland or realm different from
the earth’s surface on which men live and move. The dwellings are
underground, but it is on the natural face of the earth the Fairies
find their sustenance, pasture their cattle, and on which they forage
and roam.
The seasons on which their festivities are held are the last night
of every quarter (_h-uile latha ceann ràidhe_), particularly the
nights before Beltane, the first of summer, and Hallowmas, the first
of winter. On these nights, on Fridays, and on the last night of the
year, they are given to leaving home, and taking away whomsoever of
the human race they find helpless, or unguarded or unwary. They may
be encountered any time, but on these stated occasions men are to be
particularly on their guard against them.
On Fridays they obtrusively enter houses, and have even the impudence,
it is said, to lift the lid off the pot to see what the family have
on the fire for dinner. Any Fairy story, told on this day, should be
prefixed by saying, ‘a blessing attend their departing and travelling!
this day is Friday and they will not hear us’ (_Beannachd nan siubhal
’s nan isneachd! ’se ’n diugh Di-haoine ’s cha chluinn iad sinn_). This
prevents Fairy ill-will coming upon the narrator for anything he may
chance to say. No one should call the day by its proper name of Friday
(_Di-haoine_), but ‘the day of yonder town’ (_latha bhatl’ ud thall_).
The Fairies do not like to hear the day mentioned, and if anyone is so
unlucky as to use the proper name, their wrath is directed elsewhere
by the bystander adding ‘on the cattle of yonder town’ (_air cro a
bhail’ ud thall_), or ‘on the farm of So-and-so,’ mentioning anyone
he may have a dislike to. The fear of Fairy wrath also prevented the
sharpening of knives on this day.
They are said to come always from the west. They are admitted into
houses, however well guarded otherwise, by the little hand-made cake,
the last of the baking (_bonnach beag boise_), called the _Fallaid_
bannock, unless there has been a hole put through it with the finger,
or a piece is broken off it, or a live coal is put on the top of
it;[7] by the water in which men’s feet have been washed; by the fire,
unless it be properly ‘raked’ (_smàladh_), _i.e._ covered up to keep
it alive for the night; or by the band of the spinning wheel, if left
stretched on the wheel.
The reason assigned for taking water into the house at night was that
the Fairies would suck the sleeper’s blood if they found no water in
to quench their thirst. The water in which feet were washed, unless
thrown out, or a burning peat were put in it, let them in, and was used
by them to plash about in (_gan loireadh fhéin ann_) all night. Unless
the band was taken off the spinning wheel, particularly on the Saturday
evenings, they came after the inmates of the house had retired to rest
and used the wheel. Sounds of busy work were heard, but in the morning
no work was found done, and possibly the wheel was disarranged.[8]
On the last night of the year they are kept out by decorating the house
with holly; and the last handful of corn reaped should be dressed up as
a Harvest Maiden (_Maighdean Bhuan_), and hung up in the farmer’s house
to aid in keeping them out till next harvest.
WHEN SEEN.
There seems to be no definite rule as to the circumstances under which
the Fairies are to be seen. A person whose eye has been touched with
Fairy water can see them whenever they are present; the seer, possessed
of second sight, often saw them when others did not; and on nights on
which the _shï-en_ is open the chance passer-by sees them rejoicing in
their underground dwellings. A favourite time for their encounters with
men seems to be the dusk and wild stormy nights of mist and driving
rain, when the streams are swollen and ‘the roar of the torrent is
heard on the hill.’ They are also apt to appear when spoken of and when
a desire is expressed for their assistance; when proper precautions are
omitted and those whose weakness and helplessness call for watchfulness
and care, are neglected; when their power is contemned and when a
sordid and churlish spirit is entertained. Often, without fault or
effort, in places the most unexpected, mortals have been startled by
their appearance, cries, or music.
FOOD.
Fairy food consists principally of things intended for human food, of
which the Elves take the _toradh_, _i.e._ the substance, fruit, or
benefit, leaving the semblance or appearance to men themselves. In
this manner they take cows, sheep, goats, meal, sowens, the produce
of the land, etc. Cattle falling over rocks are particularly liable
to being taken by them, and milk spilt in coming from the dairy is
theirs by right. They have, of food peculiar to themselves and not
acquired from men, the root of silver weed (_brisgein_), the stalks of
heather (_cuiseagan an fhraoich_), the milk of the red deer hinds and
of goats, weeds gathered in the fields, and barleymeal. The _brisgein_
is a root plentifully turned up by the plough in spring, and ranked in
olden times as the ‘seventh bread.’ Its inferior quality and its being
found underground, are probably the cause of its being assigned to the
Fairies. It is a question whether the stalks of heather are the tops
or the stems of the plant. Neither contain much sap or nourishment.
The Banshi Fairy, or Elle woman, has been seen by hunters milking the
hinds, just as women milk cows.
Those who partake of Fairy food are as hungry after their repast as
before it. In appearance it is most sumptuous and inviting, but on
grace being said turns out to be horse-dung. Some, in their haste to
partake of the gorgeous viands, were only disenchanted when ‘returning
thanks.’
GIFTS BESTOWED BY FAIRIES.
The Fairies can bestow almost any gift upon their favourites—great
skill in music and in work of all kinds—give them cows and even
children stolen for the purpose from others, leave them good fortune,
keep cattle from wandering into their crops at night, assist them in
spring and harvest work, etc. Sometimes their marvellous skill is
communicated to mortals, sometimes they come in person to assist. If a
smith, wright, or other tradesman catches them working with the tools
of his trade (a thing they are addicted to doing) he can compel them
to bestow on him the _Ceaird Chomuinn_, or association craft, that is
to come to his assistance whenever he wants them. Work left near their
hillocks over night has been found finished in the morning, and they
have been forced by men, entering their dwellings for the purpose, to
tell the cure for diseases defying human skill.
In every instance, however, the benefit of the gift goes ultimately
to the Fairies themselves, or (as it is put in the Gaelic expression)
‘the fruit of it goes into their own bodies’ (_Theid an toradh nan
cuirp fhéin_). Their gifts have evil influence connected with them,
and, however inviting at first, are productive of bad luck in the
end. No wise man will desire either their company or their kindness.
When they come to a house to assist at any work, the sooner they are
got rid of the better. If they are hired as servants their wages at
first appear trifling, but will ultimately ruin their employer. It is
unfortunate even to encounter any of the race, but to consort with them
is disastrous in the extreme.
LOANS.
‘The giving and taking of loans,’ according to the proverb, ‘always
prevailed in the world’ (_Bha toirt is gabhail an iasad dol riamh feadh
an t-saoghail_), and the custom is one to which the ‘good neighbours’
are no strangers.
They are universally represented as borrowing meal, from each other
and from men. In the latter case when they returned a loan, as they
always honestly did, the return was in _barleymeal_, two measures for
one of oatmeal; and this, on being kept in a place by itself, proved
inexhaustible, provided the bottom of the vessel in which it was stored
was never made to appear, no question was asked, and no blessing was
pronounced over it. It would then neither vanish nor become horse-dung!
When a loan is returned to them, they accept only the fair equivalent
of what they have lent, neither less nor more. If more is offered they
take offence, and never give an opportunity for the same insult again.
We hear also of their borrowing a kettle or cauldron, and, under the
power of a rhyme uttered by the lender at the time of giving it,
sending it back before morning.
EDDY WIND.
When ‘the folk’ leave home in companies, they travel in eddies of wind.
In this climate these eddies are among the most curious of natural
phenomena. On calm summer days they go past, whirling about straws and
dust, and as not another breath of air is moving at the time their
cause is sufficiently puzzling. In Gaelic the eddy is known as ‘the
people’s puff of wind’ (_oiteag sluaigh_), and its motion ‘travelling
on tall grass stems’ (_falbh air chuiseagan treòrach_). By throwing
one’s left (or _toisgeul_) shoe at it, the Fairies are made to drop
whatever they may be taking away—men, women, children, or animals. The
same result is attained by throwing one’s bonnet, saying, ‘this is
yours, that’s mine’ (_Is leatsa so, is leamsa sin_), or a naked knife,
or earth from a mole-hill.
In these eddies, people going on a journey at night have been ‘lifted,’
and spent the night careering through the skies. On returning to the
earth, though they came to the house last left, they were too stupefied
to recognize either the house or its inmates. Others, through Fairy
despite, have wandered about all night on foot, failing to reach
their intended destination though quite near it, and perhaps in the
morning finding themselves on the top of a distant hill, or in some
inaccessible place to which they could never have made their way alone.
Even in daylight some were carried in the Elfin eddy from one island to
another, in great terror lest they should fall into the sea.
RAIN AND SUNSHINE, WIND AND RAIN.
When there is rain with sunshine, the ‘little people,’ according to a
popular rhyme, are at their meat,
“Rain and sun,
Little people at their meat.”
When wind and rain come from opposite directions (which may for an
instant be possible in a sudden shift of wind), by throwing some
horse-dung against the wind, the Fairies are brought down in a shower!
FAIRY ARROWS, ETC.
Natural objects of a curious appearance, or bearing a fanciful
resemblance to articles used by men, are also associated with the
Fairies. The reedmace plant is called ‘the distaff of the Fairy women’
(_cuigeal nam ban shìth_), the foxglove the ‘thimble of the Fairy
old women’ (_miaran nan cailleacha sìth_), though more commonly ‘the
thimble of dead old women’ (_m. nan cailleacha marbh_). A substance,
found on the shores of the Hebrides, like a stone, red (_ruadh_), and
half dark (_lith dhorcha_), holed, is called ‘Elf’s blood’ (_fuil
siochaire_).[9]
The Fairy arrow (_Saighead shìth_) owes its name to a similar fancy.
It is known also as ‘Fairy flint’ (_spor shìth_), and consists of a
triangular piece of flint, bearing the appearance of an arrow head.
It probably originally formed part of the rude armoury of the savages
of the stone period. Popular imagination, struck by its curious form,
and ignorant of its origin, ascribed it to the Fairies. It was said
to be frequently shot at the hunter, to whom the Elves have a special
aversion, because he kills the hinds, on the milk of which they live.
They could not throw it themselves, but compelled some mortal (_duine
saoghailte_) who was being carried about in their company to throw it
for them. If the person aimed at was a friend, the thrower managed
to miss his aim, and the Fairy arrow proved innocuous. It was found
lying beside the object of Fairy wrath, and was kept as a valuable
preservation in future against similar dangers, and for rubbing to
wounds (_suathadh ri creuchdun_). The man or beast struck by it became
paralyzed, and to all appearance died shortly after. In reality they
were taken away by the elves, and only their appearance remained. Its
point being blunt was an indication that it had done harm.
The Fairy spade (_caibe sìth_) is a smooth, slippery, black stone, in
shape ‘like the sole of a shoe.’ It was put in water, given to sick
people and cattle.
CATTLE.
Everywhere in the Highlands, the red-deer are associated with the
Fairies, and in some districts, as Lochaber and Mull, are said to be
their only cattle. This association is sufficiently accounted for by
the Fairy-like appearance and habits of the deer. In its native haunts,
in remote and misty corries, where solitude has her most undisturbed
abode, its beauty and grace of form, combined with its dislike to the
presence of man, and even of the animals man has tamed, amply entitle
it to the name of _sìth_. Timid and easily startled by every appearance
and noise, it is said to be unmoved by the presence of the Fairies.
Popular belief also says that no deer is found dead with age, and that
its horns, which it sheds every year, are not found, because hid by the
Fairies. In their transformations it was peculiar for the Fairy women
to assume the shape of the red-deer, and in that guise they were often
encountered by the hunter. The elves have a particular dislike to those
who kill the hinds, and, on finding them in lonely places, delight in
throwing elf-bolts at them. When a dead deer is carried home at night
the Fairies lay their weight on the bearer’s back, till he feels as if
he had a house for a burden. On a penknife, however, being stuck in
the deer it becomes very light. There are occasional allusions to the
Fairy women having herds of deer. The Carlin Wife of the Spotted Hill
(_Cailleach Beinne Bhric horò_), who, according to a popular rhyme,
was ‘large and broad and tall,’ had a herd which she would not allow
to descend to the beach, and which ‘loved the water-cresses by the
fountain high in the hills better than the black weeds of the shore.’
The old women of Ben-y-Ghloe, in Perthshire, and of Clibrich, in
Sutherlandshire,[10] seem to have been _sìth_ women of the same sort.
‘I never,’ said an old man (he was upwards of eighty years of age) in
the Island of Mull, questioned some years ago on the subject, ‘heard
of the Fairies having cows, but I always heard that deer were their
cattle.’
In other parts of the Highlands, as in Skye, though the Fairies are
said to keep company with the deer, they have cows like those of men.
When one of them appears among a herd of cattle the whole fold of them
grows frantic, and follows lowing wildly. The strange animal disappears
by entering a rock or knoll, and the others, unless intercepted, follow
and are never more seen. The Fairy cow is dun (_odhar_) and ‘hummel,’
or hornless. In Skye, however, Fairy cattle are said to be speckled and
red (_crodh breac ruadh_), and to be able to cross the sea. It is not
on every place that they graze. There were not above ten such spots
in all Skye. The field of Annat (_achadh na h-annaid_), in the Braes
of Portree, is one. When the cattle came home at night from pasture,
the following were the words used by the Fairy woman, standing on Dun
Gerra-sheddar (_Dùn Ghearra-seadar_), near Portree, as she counted her
charge:
“Crooked one, dun one,
Little wing grizzled,
Black cow, white cow,
Little bull black-head,
My milch kine have come home,
O dear! that the herdsman would come!”
HORSES.
In the Highland creed the Fairies but rarely have horses. In Perthshire
they have been seen on a market day riding about on white horses; in
Tiree two Fairy ladies were met riding on what seemed to be horses, but
in reality were ragweeds; and in Skye the elves have galloped the farm
horses at full speed and in dangerous places, sitting with their faces
to the tails.
When horses neigh at night it is because they are ridden by the
Fairies, and pressed too hard. The neigh is one of distress, and if
the hearer exclaims aloud, “Your saddle and pillion be upon you” (_Do
shrathair ’s do phillein ort_) the Fairies tumble to the ground.
DOGS.
The Fairy dog (_cu sìth_) is as large as a two-year-old stirk, a dark
green colour, with ears of deep green. It is of a lighter colour
towards the feet. In some cases it has a long tail rolled up in a coil
on its back, but others have the tail flat and plaited like the straw
rug of a pack-saddle. Bran, the famous dog that Finmac Coul had, was of
Elfin breed, and from the description given of it by popular tradition,
decidedly parti-coloured:
“Bran had yellow feet,
Its two sides black and belly white;
Green was the back of the hunting hound,
Its two pointed ears blood-red.”
Bran had a venomous shoe (_Bròg nimhe_), with which it killed whatever
living creature it struck, and when at full speed, and ‘like its
father’ (_dol ri athair_), was seen as three dogs, intercepting the
deer at three passes.
The Fairy hound was kept tied as a watch dog in the brugh, but at times
accompanied the women on their expeditions or roamed about alone,
making its lairs in clefts of the rocks. Its motion was silent and
gliding, and its bark a rude clamour (_blaodh_). It went in a straight
line, and its bay has been last heard, by those who listened for it,
far out at sea. Its immense footmarks, as large as the spread of the
human hand, have been found next day traced in the mud, in the snow,
or on the sands. Others say it makes a noise like a horse galloping,
and its bay is like that of another dog, only louder. There is a
considerable interval between each bark, and at the third (it only
barks thrice) the terror-struck hearer is overtaken and destroyed,
unless he has by that time reached a place of safety.
Ordinary dogs have a mortal aversion to the Fairies, and give chase
whenever the elves are sighted. On coming back, the hair is found to be
scraped off their bodies, all except the ears, and they die soon after.
CATS.
Elfin cats (_cait shìth_) are explained to be of a wild, not a
domesticated, breed, to be as large as dogs, of a black colour, with a
white spot on the breast, and to have arched backs and erect bristles
(_crotach agus mùrlach_). Many maintain these wild cats have no
connection with the Fairies, but are witches in disguise.
FAIRY THEFT.
The elves have got a worse name for stealing than they deserve. So far
as taking things without the knowledge or consent of the owners is
concerned, the accusation is well-founded; they neither ask nor obtain
leave, but there are important respects in which their depredations
differ from the pilferings committed among men by jail-birds and other
dishonest people.
The Fairies do not take their booty away bodily; they only take what is
called in Gaelic its _toradh_, _i.e._ its substance, virtue, fruit, or
benefit. The outward appearance is left, but the reality is gone. Thus,
when a cow is elf-taken, it appears to its owner only as suddenly
smitten by some strange disease (_chaidh am beathach ud a ghonadh_).
In reality the cow is gone, and only its semblance remains, animated
it may be by an Elf, who receives all the attentions paid to the sick
cow, but gives nothing in return. The seeming cow lies on its side, and
cannot be made to rise. It consumes the provender laid before it, but
does not yield milk or grow fat. In some cases it gives plenty of milk,
but milk that yields no butter. If taken up a hill, and rolled down
the incline, it disappears altogether. If it dies, its flesh ought not
to be eaten—it is not beef, but a stock of alder wood, an aged Elf, or
some trashy substitute. Similarly when the _toradh_ of land is taken,
there remains the appearance of a crop, but a crop without benefit to
man or beast—the ears are unfilled, the grain is without weight, the
fodder without nourishment.
A still more important point of difference is, that the Fairies only
take away what men deserve to lose. When mortals make a secret of
(_cleth_), or grumble (_ceasad_) over, what they have, the Fairies
get the benefit, and the owner is a poor man, in the midst of his
abundance. When (to use an illustration the writer has more than once
heard) a farmer speaks disparagingly of his crop, and, though it be
heavy, tries to conceal his good fortune, the Fairies take away the
benefit of his increase. The advantage goes away mysteriously ‘in pins
and needles’ (_na phrìneachan ’s na shnàdun_), ‘in alum and madder’
(_na alm ’s na mhadair_), as the saying is, and the farmer gains
nothing from his crop. Particularly articles of food, the possession of
which men denied with oaths (_air a thiomnadh_), became Fairy property.
The elves are also blamed for lifting with them articles mislaid. These
are generally restored as mysteriously and unaccountably as they were
taken away. Thus, a woman blamed the elves for taking her thimble. It
was placed beside her, and when looked for could not be found. Some
time after she was sitting alone on the hillside and found the thimble
in her lap. This confirmed her belief in its being the Fairies that
took it away. In a like mysterious manner a person’s bonnet might be
whipped off his head, or the pot for supper be lifted off the fire, and
left by invisible hands on the middle of the floor.
The accusation of taking milk is unjust. It is brought against the
elves only in books, and never in the popular creed. The Fairies take
cows, sheep, goats, horses, and it may be the substance or benefit
(_toradh_) of butter and cheese, but not milk.
Many devices were employed to thwart Fairy inroads. A burning ember
(_eibhleag_) was put into ‘sowens’ (_cabhruich_), one of the weakest
and most unsubstantial articles of human food and very liable to Fairy
attack. It was left there till the dish was ready for boiling, _i.e._
about three days after. A sieve should not be allowed out of the house
after dark, and no meal unless it be sprinkled with salt. Otherwise,
the Fairies may, by means of them, take the substance out of the whole
farm produce. For the same reason a hole should be put with the finger
in the little cake (_bonnach beag ’s toll ann_), made with the remnant
of the meal after a baking, and when given to children, as it usually
is, a piece should be broken off it. A nail driven into a cow, killed
by falling over a precipice, was supposed by the more superstitious to
keep the elves away.
One of the most curious thefts ascribed to them was that of querns,[11]
or handmills (_Bra_, _Brathuinn_). To keep them away these handy
and useful implements should be turned _deiseal_, _i.e._ with the
right hand turn, as sunwise. What is curious in the belief is, that
the handmill is said to have been originally got from the Fairies
themselves. Its sounds have often been heard by the belated peasant, as
it was being worked inside some grassy knoll, and songs, sung by the
Fairy women employed at it, have been learned.
STEALING WOMEN AND CHILDREN.
Most frequently it was women, not yet risen from childbed, and their
babes that the Fairies abducted. On every occasion of a birth,
therefore, the utmost anxiety prevailed to guard the mother and child
from their attacks. It is said that the Fairy women are unable to
suckle their own children, and hence their desire to secure a human
wet-nurse. This, however, does not explain why they want the children,
nor indeed is it universally a part of the creed.
The first care was not to leave a woman alone during her confinement.
A house full of women gathered and watched for three days, in some
places for eight. Various additional precautions against the Fairies
were taken in various localities. A row of iron nails were driven into
the front board of the bed; the smoothing iron or a reaping hook was
placed under it and in the window; an old shoe was put in the fire;
the door posts were sprinkled with _maistir_, urine kept for washing
purposes—a liquid extremely offensive to the Fairies; the Bible was
opened, and the breath blown across it in the face of the woman in
childbed; mystic words of threads were placed about the bed; and, when
leaving at the end of the three days, the midwife left a little cake
of oatmeal with a hole in it in the front of the bed. The father’s
shirt wrapped round the new-born babe was esteemed a preservative, and
if the marriage gown was thrown over the wife she could be recovered
if, notwithstanding, or from neglect of these precautions, she were
taken away. The name of the Deity solemnly pronounced over the child in
baptism was an additional protection. If the Fairies were seen, water
in which an ember was extinguished, or the burning peats themselves,
thrown at them, drove them away. Even quick wit and readiness of reply
in the mother has sent them off.[12]
It is not to be supposed that these precautions were universally known
or practised. In that case such a thing as an elf-struck child would
be unknown. The gathering of women and the placing of iron about
the bed seem to have been common, but the burning of old shoes was
confined to the Western Isles. If it existed elsewhere, its memory has
been forgotten. That it is an old part of the creed is evident from
the dislike of the Fairies to strong smells, being also part of the
Teutonic creed. The blowing of the breath across the Bible existed in
Sunart, part of the west of Inverness-shire.
CHANGELINGS.
When they succeeded in their felonious attempts, the elves left
instead of the mother, and bearing her semblance, a stock of wood
(_stoc maide_), and in place of the infant an old mannikin of their
own race. The child grew up a peevish misshapen brat, ever crying and
complaining. It was known, however, to be a changeling by the skilful
in such matters, from the large quantities of water it drank—a tubful
before morning, if left beside it—its large teeth, its inordinate
appetite, its fondness for music and its powers of dancing, its
unnatural precocity, or from some unguarded remark as to its own age.
It is to the aged elf, left in the place of child or beast, that the
name _sithbheire_ (pron. _sheevere_) is properly given, and as may well
be supposed, to say of one who has an ancient manner or look, ‘he is
but a sithbheire,’ or ‘he is only one that came from a brugh,’ is an
expression of considerable contempt. When a person does a senseless
action, it is said of him, that he has been ‘taken out of himself’
(_air a thoirt as_), that is, taken away by the Fairies.
The changeling was converted into the stock of a tree by saying a
powerful rhyme over him, or by sticking him with a knife. He could be
driven away by running at him with a red-hot ploughshare; by getting
between him and the bed and threatening him with a drawn sword; by
leaving him out on the hillside, and paying no attention to his
shrieking and screaming; by putting him sitting on a gridiron, or in a
creel, with a fire below; by sprinkling him well out of the _maistir_
tub; or by dropping him into the river. There can be no doubt these
modes of treatment would rid a house of any disagreeable visitor, at
least of the human race.
The story of the changeling, who was detected by means of egg-shells,
seems in some form or other to be as widespread as the superstition
itself. Empty egg-shells are ranged round the hearth, and the
changeling, when he finds the house quiet and thinks himself
unobserved, gets up from bed and examines them. Finding them empty, he
is heard to remark sententiously, as he peers into each, “this is but
a wind-bag (_chaneil a’ so ach balg fàs_); I am so many hundred years
old, and I never saw the like of this.”
DEFORMITIES.
Many of the deformities in children are attributed to the Fairies.
When a child is incautiously left alone by its mother, for however
short a time, the Fairies may come and give its little legs such a
twist as will leave it hopelessly lame ever after. To give them
their due, however, they sometimes took care of children whom they
found forgotten, and even of grown up people sleeping incautiously in
dangerous places.
NURSES.
The elves have children of their own, and require the services of
midwives like the human race. ‘Howdies,’ as they are called, taken in
the way of their profession to the Fairy dwelling, found on coming out
that the time they had stayed was incredibly longer or shorter than
they imagined, and none of them was ever the better ultimately of her
adventure.
THE MEN OF PEACE.
The Gaelic _sìthche_, like the English elf, has two ideas, almost
amounting to two meanings, attached to it. In the plural, _sìthchean_,
it conveys the idea of a diminutive race, travelling in eddy winds,
lifting men from the ground, stealing, and entering houses in
companies; while in the singular, _sìthche_, the idea conveyed is that
of one who approaches mankind in dimensions. The ‘man and woman of
peace’ hire themselves to the human race for a day’s work or a term of
service, and contract marriages with it. The elfin youth (_Gille sìth_)
has enormous strength, that of a dozen men it is said, and the elfin
women (or Banshis) are remarkably handsome. The aged of the race were
generally the reverse, in point of beauty, especially those of them
substituted for Fairy-abducted children and animals.
Mortals should have nothing to do with any of the race. No good comes
out of the unnatural connection. However enchanting at first, the
end is disaster and death. When, therefore, the _sìthche_ is first
met, it is recommended by the prudent to pass by without noticing;
or, if obliged or incautious enough to speak, and pressed to make
an appointment, to give fair words, saying, ‘If I promise that, I
will fulfil it’ (_ma gheallas mi sin, co-gheallaidh mi e_), still
sufficiently near houses to attract the attention of the dogs. They
immediately give chase, and the Fairy flies away.
The _Gille sìth_ (or Elfin youth) is very solicitous about his
offspring when his mortal mistress bears him children, and the love
that women have to him as their lover or familiar spirit (_leannan
sìth_) is unnaturally passionate. The Elfin mistress is not always so
secure of the affections of her human lover. He may get tired of her
and leave her. On meeting her first he is put under spells to keep
appointments with her in future every night. If he dares for one night
to neglect his appointment, she gives him such a sound thrashing the
first time she gets hold of him that he never neglects it again. She
disappears at the cock-crowing. While he remains faithful to her, she
assists him at his trade as farmer, shepherd, etc., makes him presents
of clothes, tells him when he is to die, and even when he is to leave
her and get married. She gives _Sian_ a magic belt or other charm, to
protect him in danger. If offended, however, her lover is in danger of
his life. The children of these alliances are said to be the _urisks_.
Those who have taken Elfin women for wives have found a sad termination
to their mesalliance. The defect or peculiarity of the fair
enchantress, which her lover at first had treated as of no consequence,
proves his ruin. Her voracity thins his herds, he gets tired of her
or angry with her, and in an unguarded moment reproaches her with her
origin. She disappears, taking with her the children and the fortune
she brought him. The gorgeous palace, fit for the entertainment
of kings, vanishes, and he finds himself again in his old black
dilapidated hut, with a pool of rain-drippings from the roof in the
middle of the floor.
THE BEAN NIGHE, OR WASHING WOMAN.
At times the Fairy woman (_Bean shìth_) is seen in lonely places,
beside a pool or stream, washing the linen of those soon to die, and
folding and beating it with her hands on a stone in the middle of the
water. She is then known as the _Bean-nighe_, or washing woman; and her
being seen is a sure sign that death is near.
In Mull and Tiree she is said to have praeternaturally long breasts,
which are in the way as she stoops at her washing. She throws them
over her shoulders, and they hang down her back. Whoever sees her
must not turn away, but steal up behind and endeavour to approach her
unawares. When he is near enough he is to catch one of her breasts,
and, putting it to his mouth, call herself to witness that she is his
first nursing or foster-mother (_muime cìche_). She answers that he
has need of that being the case, and will then communicate whatever
knowledge he desires. If she says the shirt she is washing is that of
an enemy he allows the washing to go on, and that man’s death follows;
if it be that of her captor or any of his friends, she is put a stop to.
In Skye the Bean-nighe is said to be squat in figure (_tiughiosal_),
or not unlike a ‘small pitiful child’ (_paisde beag brònach_). If a
person caught her she told all that would befall him in after life.
She answered all his questions, but he must answer hers. Men did not
like to tell what she said. Women dying in childbed were looked upon
as dying prematurely, and it was believed that unless all the clothes
left by them were washed they would have to wash them themselves till
the natural period of their death. It was women ‘dreeing this weird’
who were the washing women. If the person hearing them at work beating
their clothes (_slacartaich_) caught them before being observed, he
could not be heard by them; but if they saw him first, he lost the
power of his limbs (_lùgh_).
In the highlands of Perthshire the washing woman is represented as
small and round, and dressed in pretty green. She spreads by moonlight
the linen winding sheets of those soon to die, and is caught by getting
between her and the stream.
She can also be caught and mastered and made to communicate her
information at the point of the sword. Oscar, son of the poet Ossian,
met her on his way to the Cairbre’s feast, at which the dispute arose
which led to his death. She was encountered by Hugh of the Little Head
on the evening before his last battle, and left him as her parting gift
(_fàgail_), that he should become the frightful apparition he did after
death, the most celebrated in the West Highlands.
SONG.
The song of the Fairy woman foreboded great calamity, and men did not
like to hear it. Scott calls it
“The fatal Banshi’s boding scream,”
but it was not a scream, only a wailing murmur (_torman mulaid_) of
unearthly sweetness and melancholy.
GLAISTIG.
The Banshi is sometimes confounded with the Glaistig, the apparition
of a woman, acting as tutelary guardian of the site to which she is
attached. Many people use Banshi and Glaistig as convertible terms,
and the confusion thence arising extends largely to books. The true
Glaistig is a woman of human race, who has been put under enchantments,
and to whom a Fairy nature has been given. She wears a _green_ dress,
like Fairy women, but her face is wan and grey, whence her name
Glaistig, from _glas_, grey. She differs also in haunting castles and
the folds of the cattle, and confining herself to servant’s work.
ELFIN QUEEN.
The Banshi is, without doubt, the original of the Queen of Elfland,
mentioned in ballads of the South of Scotland. The Elfin Queen met
Thomas of Ercildoune by the Eildon tree, and took him to her enchanted
realm, where he was kept for seven years. She gave him the power of
foretelling the future, ‘the tongue that never lied.’ At first she was
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but when he next looked—
“The hair that hung upon her head,
The half was black, the half was grey,
And all the rich clothing was away
That he before saw in that stead;
Her eyes seemed out that were so grey,
And all her body like the lead.”
In Gaelic tales seven years is a common period of detention among the
Fairies, the _leannan sìth_ communicates to her lover the knowledge
of future events, and in the end is looked upon by him with aversion.
There is no mention, however, of Fairyland, or of an Elfin King or
Queen, and but rarely of Fairies riding. True Thomas, who is as well
known in Highland lore as he is in the Lowlands, is said to be still
among the Fairies, and to attend every market on the look-out for
suitable horses. When he has made up his complement he will appear
again among men, and a great battle will be fought on the Clyde.
PROTECTION AGAINST FAIRIES.
The great protection against the Elfin race (and this is perhaps
the most noticeable point in the whole superstition) is _Iron_,
or preferably steel (_Cruaidh_). The metal in any form—a sword, a
knife, a pair of scissors, a needle, a nail, a ring, a bar, a piece
of reaping-hook, a gun-barrel, a fish-hook (and tales will be given
illustrative of all these)—is all-powerful. On entering a Fairy
dwelling, a piece of steel, a knife, needle, or fish-hook, stuck in the
door, takes from the Elves the power of closing it till the intruder
comes out again. A knife stuck in a deer carried home at night keeps
them from laying their weight on the animal. A knife or nail in one’s
pocket prevents his being ‘lifted’ at night. Nails in the front bench
of the bed keep Elves from women ‘in the straw,’ and their babes. As
additional safe-guards, the smoothing-iron should be put below the bed,
and the reaping-hook in the window. A nail in the carcase of a bull
that fell over a rock was believed to preserve its flesh from them.
Playing the Jew’s harp (_tromb_) kept the Elfin women at a distance
from the hunter, because the tongue of the instrument is of steel. So
also a shoemaker’s awl in the door-post of his bothy kept a Glaistig
from entering.
_Fire_ thrown into water in which the feet have been washed takes away
the power of the water to admit the Fairies into the house at night;
a burning peat put in sowens to hasten their fermenting (_greasadh
gortachadh_) kept the substance in them till ready to boil. Martin
(_West Isl._) says fire was carried round lying-in women, and round
about children before they were christened, to keep mother and infant
from the power of evil spirits. When the Fairies were seen coming in at
the door burning embers thrown towards them drove them away.
Another safe-guard is _oatmeal_. When it is sprinkled on one’s clothes
or carried in the pocket no Fairy will venture near, and it was usual
with people going on journeys after nightfall to adopt the precaution
of taking some with them. In Mull and Tiree the pockets of boys going
any distance after nightfall were filled with oatmeal by their anxious
mothers, and old men are remembered who sprinkled themselves with it
when going on a night journey. In Skye, oatmeal was not looked upon
as proper Fairy food, and it was said if a person wanted to see the
Fairies he should not take oatmeal with him; if he did he would not
be able to see them. When ‘the folk’ take a loan of meal they do not
appear to have any objections to oatmeal. The meal returned, however,
was always barleymeal.
Oatmeal, taken out of the house after dark, was sprinkled with salt,
and unless this was done, the Fairies might through its instrumentality
take the substance out of the farmer’s whole grain. To keep them from
getting the benefit of meal itself, housewives, when baking oatmeal
bannocks, made a little thick cake with the last of the meal, between
their palms (not kneading it like the rest of the bannocks), for the
youngsters to put a hole through it with the forefinger. This palm
bannock (_bonnach boise_) is not to be toasted on the gridiron, but
placed to the fire leaning against a stone (_leac nam bonnach_),
well-known where a ‘griddle’ is not available. Once the Fairies were
overtaken carrying with them the benefit (_toradh_) of the farm in a
large thick cake, with the handle of the quern (_sgonnan na brà_) stuck
through it, and forming a pole on which it was carried. This cannot
occur when the last bannock baked (_Bonnach fallaid_) is a little cake
with a hole in it (_Bonnach beag ’s toll ann_).[13]
_Maistir_, or stale urine, kept for the scouring of blankets and other
cloth, when sprinkled on the cattle and on the door-posts and walls of
the house, kept the Fairies, and indeed every mischief, at a distance.
This sprinkling was done regularly on the last evening of every quarter
of the year (_h-uile latha ceann ràidhe_).
Plants of great power were the _Mòthan_ (_Sagina procumbens_, trailing
pearlwort) and _Achlasan Challum-chille_ (_Hypericum pulcrum_, St.
John’s wort). The former protected its possessor from fire and the
attacks of the Fairy women. The latter warded off fevers, and kept the
Fairies from taking people away in their sleep. There are rhymes which
must be said when these plants are pulled.
Stories representing the Bible as a protection must be of a recent
date. It is not so long since a copy of the Bible was not available in
the Highlands for that or any other purpose. When the Book did become
accessible, it is not surprising that, as in other places, a blind
unmeaning reverence should accumulate round it.
Such are the main features of the superstition of the _Sìthchean_,
the still-folk, the noiseless people, as it existed, and in some
degree still exists, in the Highlands, and particularly in the Islands
of Scotland. There is a clear line of demarcation between it and
every other Highland superstition, though the distinction has not
always been observed by writers on the subject. The following Fairy
characteristics deserve to be particularly noticed.
It was peculiar to the Fairy women to assume the shape of _deer_;
while witches became mice, hares, cats, gulls, or black sheep, and the
devil a he-goat or gentleman with a horse’s or pig’s foot. A running
stream could not be crossed by evil spirits, ghosts, and apparitions,
but made no difference to the Fairies. If all tales be true, they
could give a dip in the passing to those they were carrying away;
and the stone, on which the “Washing Woman” folded the shirts of
the doomed, was in the middle of water. Witches took the milk from
cows; the Fairies had cattle of their own; and when they attacked
the farmer’s dairy, it was to take away the cows themselves, _i.e._
the cow in appearance remained, but its benefit (the real cow) was
gone. The Elves have even the impertinence at times to drive back
the cow at night to pasture on the corn of the person from whom they
have stolen it. The phrenzy with which Fairy women afflicted men was
only a wandering madness (φοιταλεα μανια), which made them
roam about restlessly, without knowing what they were doing, or leave
home at night to hold appointments with the Elfin women themselves;
by druidism (_druidheachd_) men were driven from their kindred, and
made to imagine themselves undergoing marvellous adventures and
changing shape. Dogs crouched, or leapt at their master’s throat, in
the presence of evil spirits, but they gave chase to the Fairies.
Night alone was frequented by the powers of darkness, and they fled
at the cock-crowing; the Fairies were encountered in the day-time as
well. There was no intermarriage between men and the other beings of
superstition, but women were courted and taken away by Fairy men, and
men courted Fairy women (or rather were courted by them), married, and
took them to their houses. A well-marked characteristic is the tinge
of the ludicrous that pervades the creed. The Fairy is an object of
contempt as well as of fear, and, though the latter be the prevailing
feeling, there is observably a desire to make the Elves contemptible
and ridiculous. A person should not unnecessarily provoke the anger
of those who cannot retaliate, much less of a race so ready to take
offence and so sure to retaliate as the Fairies. In revenge for this
species of terror, the imagination loves to depict the Elves in
positions and doing actions that provoke a smile. The part of the
belief which relates to the Banshi is comparatively free from this
feeling, but the ‘little people’ and changelings come in for a full
share of it. Perhaps this part of the superstition is not entirely to
be explained as the recoil of the mind from the oppression of a belief
in invisible beings that may be cognizant of men’s affairs and only
wait for an opportunity to exert an evil influence over them, but its
existence is striking.
CHAPTER II.
TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF FAIRY SUPERSTITION.
LURAN.
This is a tale, diffused in different forms, over the whole West
Highlands. Versions of it have been heard from Skye, Ardnamurchan,
Lochaber, Craignish, Mull, Tiree, differing but slightly from each
other.
The Charmed Hill (_Beinn Shianta_), from its height, greenness, or
pointed summit, forms a conspicuous object on the Ardnamurchan coast,
at the north entrance of the Sound of Mull. On ‘the shoulder’ of this
hill, were two hamlets, Sgìnid and Corryvulin, the lands attached
to which, now forming part of a large sheep farm, were at one time
occupied in common by three tenants, one of whom was named Luran Black
(_Luran Mac-ille-dhui_). One particular season a cow of Luran’s was
found unaccountably dead each morning. Suspicion fell on the tenants
of the Culver (_an cuilibheir_), a green knoll in Corryvulin, having
the reputation of being tenanted by the Fairies. Luran resolved
to watch his cattle for a night, and ascertain the cause of his
mysterious losses. Before long he saw the Culver opening, and a host
of little people pouring out. They surrounded a grey cow (_mart glas_)
belonging to him and drove it into the knoll. Not one busied himself
in doing this more than Luran himself; he was, according to the Gaelic
expression, ‘as one and as two’ (_mar a h-aon ’s mar a dhà_) in his
exertions. The cow was killed and skinned. An old Elf, a tailor sitting
in the upper part of the brugh, with a needle in the right lappel of
his coat, was forcibly caught hold of, stuffed into the cow’s hide,
and sewn up. He was then taken to the door and rolled down the slope.
Festivities commenced, and whoever might be on the floor dancing,
Luran was sure to be. He was ‘as one and as two’ at the dance, as he
had been at driving the cow. A number of gorgeous cups and dishes were
put on the table, and Luran, resolving to make up for the loss of the
grey cow, watched his opportunity and made off with one of the cups
(_còrn_). The Fairies observed him and started in pursuit. He heard one
of them remark:
“Not swift would be Luran
If it were not the hardness of his bread.”[14]
His pursuers were likely to overtake him, when a friendly voice called
out:
“Luran, Luran Black,
Betake thee to the black stones of the shore.”[15]
Below high water mark, no Fairy, ghost, or demon can come, and, acting
on the friendly advice, Luran reached the shore, and keeping below
tide mark made his way home in safety. He heard the outcries of the
person who had called out to him (probably a former acquaintance who
had been taken by ‘the people’) being belaboured by the Fairies for
his ill-timed officiousness. Next morning, the grey cow was found
lying dead with its feet in the air, at the foot of the Culver, and
Luran said that a needle would be found in its right shoulder. On this
proving to be the case, he allowed none of the flesh to be eaten, and
threw it out of the house.
One of the fields, tilled in common by Luran and two neighbours, was
every year, when ripe, reaped by the Fairies in one night, and the
benefit of the crop disappeared. An old man was consulted, and he
undertook to watch the crop. He saw the shïen of Corryvulin open, and
a troop of people coming out. There was an old man at their head, who
put the company in order, some to shear, some to bind the sheaves, and
some to make stooks. On the word of command being given, the field was
reaped in a wonderfully short time. The watcher, calling aloud, counted
the reapers. The Fairies never troubled the field again.
Their persecution of Luran did not, however, cease. While on his way to
Inveraray Castle, with his Fairy cup, he was lifted mysteriously with
his treasure out of the boat, in which he was taking his passage, and
was never seen or heard of after.
According to another Ardnamurchan version, Luran was a butler boy in
Mingarry Castle. One night he entered a Fairy dwelling, and found the
company within feasting and making merry. A shining cup, called _an
cupa cearrarach_, was produced, and whatever liquor the person having
it in his hand wished for and named, came up within it. Whenever a
dainty appeared on the table, Luran was asked, “Did you ever see the
like of that in Mingarry Castle?” At last, the butler boy wished the
cup to be full of water, and throwing its contents on the lights, and
extinguishing them, ran away with it in his hand. The Fairies gave
chase. Some one among them called out to Luran to make for the shore.
He reached the friendly shelter, and made his way below high-water mark
to the castle, which he entered by a stair leading to the sea. The cup
remained long in Mingarry Castle, but was at last lost in a boat that
sank at Mail Point (_Rutha Mhàil_).
A Tiree version of the tale says that Luran entered an open Fairy
dwelling (_brugh_), where he found the inmates asleep, and a large
cauldron, or copper, standing on the floor. He took up the kettle, and
made off with it. When going out at the door, the cauldron struck one
of the door-posts, and made a ringing noise. The Fairies, sixteen men
in number, started out of sleep, and gave chase. As they pressed on
Luran, one of them (probably a friend who had at one time been ‘taken’)
called out, “Luran, Luran, make for the black stones of the shore.” He
did so, and made his escape. It was then the Fairies remarked: “Luran
would be swift if it were not the hardness of his bread. If Luran had
warm milk and soft barley bread, not one among the sixteen of us could
catch him.”
According to the Lochaber story, the Fairies stole a white cow from a
farmer, and every night took it back again to pasture on his corn. He
chased them with his dog Luran, but they threw bread behind them, which
the dog loitered to devour, so that it never overtook the white cow.
The Fairies were heard saying among themselves, “Swift would be Luran
if it were not the hardness of his bread. If Luran got bread singed
and twice turned, it would catch the white cow.” The field where this
occurred is known as the Field of the White Cow (_acha na bò bàin_),
above Brackletter, in Lochaber.
According to a Skye version, the Fairies came to take with them the
benefit (_toradh_) of the farmer’s land, but his dog Luran drove them
away. One night they were overheard saying, “Swift would be Luran if it
were not the hardness of his bread. If thin porridge were Luran’s food,
deer would not overtake Luran.” Next day thin porridge, or ‘crowdie,’
was given to Luran, and it ate too much, and could not run at all. The
Fairies got away, laughing heartily at the success of their trick.
In Craignish, Argyllshire, Luran was a dog, old, and unable to devour
quickly the bread thrown it by the Fairies. There are, no doubt, many
other versions of the story current, but these are sufficient to show
the want of uniformity in popular tales of this kind.
THE CUP OF THE MACLEODS OF RAASA.
In Raasa, a man, named Hugh, entered a Fairy dwelling where there was
feasting going on. The Fairies welcomed him heartily, and pledged his
health. “Here’s to you, Hugh,” “I drink to you, Hugh” (_cleoch ort,
Eoghain_), was to be heard on every side. He was offered drink in
a fine glittering cup. When he got the cup in his hands he ran off
with it. The Fairies let loose one of their dogs after him. He made
his escape, and heard the Fairies calling back the dog by its name
of “Farvann” (_Farbhann! Farbhann!_). The cup long remained in the
possession of the Macleods of Raasa.
THE FAIRIES ON FINLAY’S SANDBANK.
The sandbank of this name (_Bac Fhionnlaidh_) on the farm of
Ballevulin, in Tiree, was at one time a noted Fairy residence, but has
since been blown level with the ground. It caused surprise to many that
no traces of the Fairies were found in it. Its Fairy tenants were at
one time in the habit of sending every evening to the house of a smith
in the neighbourhood for the loan of a kettle (_iasad coire_). The
smith, when giving it, always said:
“A smith’s due is coals,
And to send cold iron out;
A cauldron’s due is a bone,
And to come safe back.”[16]
Under the power of this rhyme the cauldron was restored safely before
morning. One evening the smith was from home, and his wife, when the
Fairies came for the usual loan, never thought of saying the rhyme.
In consequence the cauldron was not returned. On finding this out the
smith scolded savagely, and his wife, irritated by his reproaches,
rushed away for the kettle. She found the brugh open, went in, and (as
is recommended in such cases), without saying a word, snatched up the
cauldron and made off with it. When going out at the door she heard one
of the Fairies calling out:
“Thou dumb sharp one, thou dumb sharp,
That came from the land of the dead,
And drove the cauldron from the brugh—
Undo the Knot, and lose the Rough.”[17]
She succeeded in getting home before the Rough, the Fairy dog,
overtook her, and the Fairies never again came for the loan of the
kettle.
This story is given, in a slightly different form, by Mr. Campbell, in
his _Tales of the West Highlands_ (Vol. ii., p. 44), and the scene is
laid in Sanntrai, an island near Barra. The above version was heard in
Tiree by the writer, several years before he saw Mr. Campbell’s book.
There is no reason to suppose the story belongs originally either to
Tiree or Barra. It is but an illustration of the tendency of popular
tales to localize themselves where they are told.
PENNYGOWN FAIRIES.
A green mound, near the village of Pennygown (_Peigh’nn-a-ghobhann_),
in the Parish of Salen, Mull, was at one time occupied by a benevolent
company of Fairies. People had only to leave at night on the hillock
the materials for any work they wanted done, as wool to be spun,
thread for weaving, etc., telling what was wanted, and before morning
the work was finished. One night a wag left the wood of a fishing-net
buoy, a short, thick piece of wood, with a request to have it made
into a ship’s mast. The Fairies were heard toiling all night, and
singing, “Short life and ill-luck attend the man who asked us to make
a long ship’s big mast from the wood of a fishing-net buoy.”[18] In
the morning the work was not done, and these Fairies never after did
anything for any one.
BEN LOMOND FAIRIES.
A company of Fairies lived near the Green Loch (_Lochan Uaine_), on
Ben Lomond. Whatever was left overnight near the loch—cloth, wool,
or thread—was dyed by them of any desired colour before morning. A
specimen of the desired colour had to be left at the same time. A
person left a quantity of undyed thread, and a piece of black and
white twisted thread along with it, to show that he wanted part of the
hank black and part white. The Fairies thought the pattern was to be
followed, and the work done at one and the same dyeing. Not being able
to do this, they never dyed any more.
CALLUM CLARK AND HIS SORE LEG.
Some six generations ago there lived at Port Vista (_Port Bhissta_),
in Tiree, a dark, fierce man, known as Big Malcolm Clark (_Callum mòr
mac-a-Chleirich_). He was a very strong man, and in his brutal violence
produced the death of several people. Tradition also says of him that
he killed a water-horse, and fought a Banshi with a horse-rib at the
long hollow, covered in winter with water, called the _Léig_. In this
encounter his own little finger was broken. When sharpening knives, old
women in Tiree said, “Friday in Clark’s town” (_Di-haoine am baile
mhic-a-Chleirich_), with the object of making him and his the objects
of Fairy wrath. One evening, as he was driving a tether-pin into a
hillock, a head was popped up out of the ground, and told him to take
some other place for securing his beast, as he was letting the rain
into ‘their’ dwelling. Some time after this he had a painfully sore leg
(_bha i gu dòruinneach doirbh_). He went to the shï-en, where the head
had appeared, and, finding it open, entered in search of a cure for his
leg. The Fairies told him to put ‘earth on the earth’ (_Cuir an talamh
air an talamh_). He applied every kind of earth he could think of to
the leg, but without effect. At the end of three months he went again
to the hillock, and when entering put steel (_cruaidh_) in the door.
He was told to go out, but he would not, nor would he withdraw the
steel till told the proper remedy. At last he was told to apply the red
clay of a small loch in the neighbourhood (_criadh ruadh Lochan ni’h
fhonhairle_). He did so, and the leg was cured.
THE YOUNG MAN IN THE FAIRY KNOLL.
Two young men, coming home after nightfall on Hallowe’en, each with a
jar of whisky on his back, heard music by the roadside, and, seeing
a dwelling open and illuminated, and dancing and merriment going on
within, entered. One of them joined the dancers, without as much as
waiting to lay down the burden he was carrying. The other, suspecting
the place and company, stuck a needle in the door as he entered, and
got away when he liked. That day twelvemonths he came back for his
companion, and found him still dancing with the jar of whisky on his
back. Though more than half-dead with fatigue, the enchanted dancer
begged to be allowed to finish the reel. When brought to the open-air
he was only skin and bone.
This tale is localized in the Ferintosh district, and at the Slope of
Big Stones (_Leathad nan Clacha mòra_) in Harris. In Argyllshire people
say it happened in the north. In the Ferintosh story only one of the
young men entered the brugh, and the door immediately closed. The other
lay under suspicion of having murdered his companion, but, by advice
of an old man, went to the same place on the same night the following
year, and by putting steel in the door of the Fairy dwelling, which he
found open, recovered his companion. In the Harris story, the young men
were a bridegroom and his brother-in-law, bringing home whisky for the
marriage.
Two young men in Iona were coming in the evening from fishing on the
rocks. On their way, when passing, they found the shï-en of that island
open, and entered. One of them joined the dancers, without waiting
to lay down the string of fish he had in his hand. The other stuck a
fish-hook in the door, and when he wished made his escape. He came
back for his companion that day twelvemonths, and found him still
dancing with the string of fish in his hand. On taking him to the open
air the fish dropped from the string, rotten.
Donald, who at one time carried on foot the mails from Tobermory,
in Mull, to Grass Point Ferry (_Ru-an-fhiarain_), where the mail
service crosses to the mainland, was a good deal given to drink, and
consequently to loitering by the way. He once lay down to have a quiet
sleep near a Fairy-haunted rock above Drimfin. He saw the rock open,
and a flood of light pouring out at the door. A little man came to him
and said in English, “Come in to the ball, Donald,” but Donald fled,
and never stopped till he reached the houses at Tobermory, two miles
off. He said he heard the whizz and rustling of the Fairies after
him the whole way. The incident caused a good deal of talk in the
neighbourhood, and Donald and his fright were made the subject of some
doggerel verse, in which the Fairy invitation is thus given:
“Rise, rise, rise, Donald,
Rise, Donald, was the call,
Rise up now, Donald,
Come in, Donald, to the ball.”
It is well known that Highland Fairies, who speak English, are the most
dangerous of any.
A young man was sent for the loan of a sieve, and, mistaking his way,
entered a brugh, which was that evening open. He found there two women
grinding at a handmill, two women baking, and a mixed party dancing on
the floor. He was invited to sit down, “Farquhar MacNeill, be seated”
(_Fhearchair ’ie Neill, bi ’d shuidhe_). He thought he would first
have a reel with the dancers. He forgot all about the sieve, and lost
all desire to leave the company he was in. One night he accompanied
the band among whom he had fallen on one of its expeditions, and after
careering through the skies, stuck in the roof of a house. Looking down
the chimney (_fàr-leus_), he saw a woman dandling a child, and, struck
with the sight, exclaimed, “God bless you” (_Dia gu d’bheannachadh_).
Whenever he pronounced the Holy Name he was disenchanted, and tumbled
down the chimney! On coming to himself he went in search of his
relatives. No one could tell him anything about them. At last he saw,
thatching a house, an old man, so grey and thin he took him for a patch
of mist resting on the house-top. He went and made inquiries of him.
The old man knew nothing of the parties asked for, but said perhaps
his father did. Amazed, the young man asked him if his father was
alive, and on being told he was, and where to find him, entered the
house. He there found a very venerable man sitting in a chair by the
fire, twisting a straw-rope for the thatching of the house (_snìomh
sìomain_). This man also, on being questioned, said he knew nothing
of the people, but perhaps his father did. The father referred to was
lying in bed, a little shrunken man, and he in like manner referred to
his father. This remote ancestor, being too weak to stand, was found in
a purse (_sporran_) suspended at the end of the bed. On being taken out
and questioned, the wizened creature said, “I did not know the people
myself, but I often heard my father speaking of them.” On hearing this
the young man crumbled in pieces, and fell down a bundle of bones
(_cual chnàmh_).
The incident of the very aged people forms part of some versions of
the story, “How the Great Description (a man’s name) was put to Death”
(_Mar a chaidh an Tuairisgeul mòr a chur gu bàs_). Another form is
that a stranger came to a house, and at the door found an old man
crying, because his father had thrashed him. He went in, and asking the
father why he had thrashed his aged son, was told it was because the
grandfather had been there the day before, and the fellow had not the
manners to put his hand in his bonnet to him!
BLACK WILLIAM THE PIPER.
William M‘Kenzie was weaver to the Laird of Barcaldine. He and a friend
were going home with two gallons of whisky in jars strapped on their
backs. They saw a hillock open and illuminated, and entered. William’s
companion stuck a knife in the door when entering. They found inside
an old man playing the bagpipes, and a company of dancers on the floor.
William danced one reel, and then another, till his companion got tired
waiting, and left. When, after several days, M‘Kenzie did not turn up,
the other was accused of having murdered him, and was advised, if his
story was true, to get spades and dig into the hillock for his missing
friend. A year’s delay was given, and when the hillock was entered
M‘Kenzie was found still dancing on the floor. After this adventure he
became the chief weaver in the district; he did more work in a shorter
time than any other. At the first throw of the shuttle he said, “I and
another one are here” (_mise ’s fear eile so!_). He also began to make
pipes, but though a better weaver and piper than he had been before,
he never prospered. He became known as “Black William of the Pipes”
(_Uilleam du na pìoba_).
It is said in Sutherlandshire that a weaver, getting a shuttle from the
Fairies, can go through three times as much work as another man. (Cf.
Tale of M‘Crimmon, p. 139.)
THE HARRIS WOMAN AND HER BAKING.
A woman in Harris was passing _Creag Mhanuis_, a rock having on its
face the appearance of a door, which she saw opening, and a woman
dressed in green standing before it, who called to her to come in
to see a sick person. The woman was very unwilling to go, but was
compelled, and went in without taking any precaution. She found herself
among a large company, for whom she was immediately to begin baking
bread, and was told that when the quantity of meal, not very large,
given her was entirely used, she would be allowed to go away. She began
to bake, and made all possible haste to finish the work, but the more
she strove the less appearance there was of the labour being finished,
and her courage failed when day after day passed, leaving her where
she began. At last, after a long time, the whole company left for the
outer world, leaving her, as she thought, alone. When the last tramp of
their footsteps could no longer be heard, she was startled by hearing a
groan. On looking through an opening which she found in the side of the
dwelling, she saw a bed-ridden old man, who, on seeing her head in the
opening, said, “What sent you here?” “I did not come by my own will,”
she replied. “I was made to come to attend to a sick person.” He then
asked what work was given her to do. She told him, and how the baking
was never likely to be finished. He said she must begin again, and that
she was not to put the dusting meal (_an fhallaid_) at any time back
among the baking. She did as he told her, when she found her stock
of meal soon exhausted, and she got out and away before the others
returned, much to their discomfiture.
A woman in Skye was taken to see a sick person in a _dùn_, and after
attending to her patient, she saw a number of women in green dresses
coming in and getting a loan of meal. They took the meal from a skin
bag (_balgan_), which seemed as if it would never be exhausted. The
woman asked to be sent home, and was promised to be allowed to go,
on baking the meal left in the bag, and spinning a tuft of wool on a
distaff handed to her. She baked away, but could not exhaust the meal
bag; and spun, but seemed never nearer the end of her task. A woman
came in, and advised her to “put the remnant of the meal she baked
into the little bag, and to spin the tuft upon the distaff as the
sheep bites the hillock”[19]—_i.e._, to draw the wool in small tufts,
like sheep bites, from the distaff. On doing this, the task was soon
finished, the Fairies saying, “A blessing rest on you, but a curse on
the mouth that taught you.”[20] On coming out, the woman found she had
been in the _dùn_ for seven years.
LIFTED BY THE FAIRIES.
Black Donald of the Multitude (_Dòmhnull du an t-sluaigh_), as he was
ever afterwards known, was ploughing on the farm of Baile-pheutrais,
in the island of Tiree, when a heavy shower came on from the west. In
these days it required at least two persons to work a plough, one to
hold it, and one to lead the horses. Donald’s companion took shelter to
the lee of the team. When the shower passed, Donald himself was nowhere
to be found, nor was he seen again till evening. He then came from
an easterly direction, with his coat on his arm. He said the Fairies
had taken him in an Eddy wind to the islands to the north—Coll, Skye,
etc. In proof of this, he told that a person (naming him) was dead in
Coll, and people would be across next day for whiskey for the funeral
to Kennovay, a village on the other side of Bally-pheutrais, where
smuggling was carried on at the time. This turned out to be the case.
Donald said he had done no harm while away, except that the Fairies
had made him throw an arrow at, and kill, a speckled cow in Skye. When
crossing the sea he was in great terror lest he should fall.
_Nial Scrob_ (Neil the Scrub), a native of Uist, was on certain days
lifted by the Fairies and taken to Tiree, and other islands of the
Hebrides, at least so he said himself. Once he came to Saälun, a
village near the north-east end of Tiree, and at the fourth house in
the village was made to throw the Fairy arrow. There is an old saying—
“Shut the north window,
And quickly close the window to the south;
And shut the window facing west,
Evil never came from the east.”[21]
And the west window was this night left open. The arrow came through
the open window, and struck on the shoulder a handsome, strong,
healthy woman of the name of M‘Lean, who sat singing cheerfully at her
work. Her hand fell powerless by her side, and before morning she was
dead. Neil afterwards told that he was the party whom the Fairies had
compelled to do the mischief. In this, and similar stories, it must
be understood that, according to popular belief, the woman was taken
away by the Fairies, and may still be among them; only her semblance
remained and was buried.
About twenty years ago a cooper, employed on board a ship, was landed
at Martin’s Isle (_Eilein Mhàrtiunn_), near Coigeach, in Ross-shire, to
cut brooms. He traversed the islet, and then somehow fell asleep. He
felt as if something were pushing him, and, on awakening, found himself
in the island of Rona, ten miles off. He cut the brooms, and a shower
of rain coming on, again fell asleep. On awaking he found himself back
in Martin’s Isle. He could only, it is argued, have been transported
back and forward by the Fairies.
A seer gifted with the second sight (_taibhseis_), resident at Bousd,
in the east end of Coll, was frequently lifted by Fairies, that staid
in a hillock in his neighbourhood. On one occasion they took him to the
sea-girt rock, called _Eileirig_, and after diverting themselves with
him for an hour or two took him home again. So he said himself.
A man who went to fish on Saturday afternoon at a rock in Kinnavara
hill (_Beinn Chinn-a-Bharra_), the extreme _west_ point of Tiree,
did not make his appearance at home until six o’clock the following
morning. He said that after leaving the rock the evening before, he
remembered nothing but passing a number of beaches. The white beaches
of Tiree, from the surrounding land being a dead level, are at night
the most noticeable features in the scenery. On coming to his senses,
he found himself on the top of the Dùn at Caolis in the extreme _east_
end of the island, twelve miles from his starting point.
A few years ago, a man in Lismore, travelling at night with a web
of cloth on his shoulder, lost his way, walked on all night without
knowing where he was going, and in the morning was found among rocks,
where he could never have made his way alone. He could give no account
of himself, and his wanderings were universally ascribed to the Fairies.
Red Donald of the Fairies (_Dòmhnull ruadh nan sìthehean_), as he was
called (and the name stuck to him all his life), used when a boy to see
the Fairies. Being herd at the Spital (_an Spideal_) above Dalnacardoch
in Perthshire, he was taken by them to his father’s house at Ardlàraich
in Rannoch, a distance of a dozen miles, through the night. In the
morning he was found sitting at the fireside, and as the door was
barred, he must have been let in by the chimney.
An old man in Achabeg, Morvern, went one night on a gossiping visit
(_céilidh_) to a neighbour’s house. It was winter time, and a river
near the place was in flood, which, in the case of a mountain torrent,
means that it was impassable. The old man did not return home that
night, and next morning was found near the shï-en of _Luran na
leaghadh_ in Sasory, some distance across the river. He could give no
account of how he got there, only that when on his way home a storm
came about him, and on coming to himself he was where they had found
him.
When Dr. M‘Laurin was tenant of Invererragan, near Connal Ferry in
Benderloch, at the end of last century, “_Calum Clever_,” who derived
his name from his skill in singing tunes and expedition in travelling
(gifts given him by the Fairies), stayed with him whole nights. The
doctor sent him to Fort William with a letter, telling him to procure
the assistance of “his own people” and be back with an immediate
answer. Calum asked as much time as one game at shinty (_aon taghal air
a bhall_) would take, and was back in the evening before the game was
finished. He never could have travelled the distance without Fairy aid.
FAIRIES COMING TO HOUSES.
Ewen, son of Allister Og, was shepherd in the Dell of Banks (_Coira
Bhaeaidh_), at the south end of Loch Ericht (_Loch Eireachd_), and
stayed alone in a bothy far away from other houses. In the evenings he
put the porridge for his supper out to cool on the top of the double
wall (_anainn_) of the hut. On successive evenings he found it pitted
and pecked all round on the margin, as if by little birds or heavy
rain-drops. He watched, and saw little people coming and pecking at
his porridge. He made little dishes and spoons of wood, and left them
beside his own dish. The Fairies, understanding his meaning, took to
using these, and let the big dish alone. At last they became quite
familiar with Ewen, entered the hut, and stayed whole evenings with
him. One evening a woman came with them. There was no dish for her,
and she sat on the other side of the house, saying never a word, but
grinning and making faces at the shepherd whenever he looked her way.
Ewen at last asked her, “Are you always like that, my lively maid?”[22]
Owing to the absurdity of the question, or Ewen’s failure to understand
that the grinning was a hint for food, the Fairies never came again.
The Elves came to a house at night, and finding it closed, called upon
‘Feet-water’ (_uisge nan cas_) _i.e._, water in which the feet had been
washed, to come and open the door. The water answered from somewhere
near, that it could not, as it had been poured out. They called on the
Band of the Spinning Wheel to open the door, but it answered it could
not, as it had been thrown off the wheel. They called upon Little
Cake, but it could not move, as there was a hole through it and a live
coal on the top of it. They called upon the ‘raking’ coal (_smàladh an
teine_), but the fire had been secured in a proper manner, to keep it
alive all night. This is a tale not localized anywhere, but universally
known.
A man observed a band of people dressed in green coming toward the
house, and recognising them to be Fairies, ran in great terror, shut
and barred the door, and hid himself below the bed. The Fairies,
however, came through the keyhole, and danced on the floor, singing.
The song extended to several verses, to the effect that no kind of
house could keep out the Fairies, not a turf house (_tigh phloc_), nor
a stone house (_tigh cloiche_), etc.
The Fairies staying in Dunruilg came to assist a farmer in the vicinity
in weaving and preparing cloth, and, after finishing the work in a
wonderfully short space of time, called for more work. To get rid of
his officious assistants, the farmer called outside the door that
Dunruilg was on fire.[23] The Fairies immediately rushed out in great
haste, and never came back. Of this story several versions are given in
the _Tales of the West Highlands_ (ii. 52-4). In some form or other it
is extensively known, and in every locality the scene is laid in its
own neighbourhood. In Mull the Fairy residence is said to have been the
bold headland in the south-west of the island known as _Tun Bhuirg_.
Some say the Elves were brought to the house by two old women, who were
tired spinning, and incautiously said they wished all the people in
Tòn Bhuirg were there to assist. According to others, the Elves were
in the habit of coming to Tàpull House in the Ross of Mull, and their
excessive zeal made them very unwelcome. In Skye the event is said to
have occurred at Dùn Bhuirbh. There are two places of the name, one in
Lyndale, and one in _Beinn-an-ùine_, near _Druimuighe_, above Portree.
The rhyme they had when they came to Tapull is known as “The rhyme of
the goodman of Tapull’s servants” (_Rann gillean fir Thàbuill_).
“Let me comb, card, tease, spin,
Get a weaving loom quick,
Water for fulling on the fire,
Work, work, work.”[24]
The cry they raised when going away, in the Skye version, runs:
“Dunsuirv on fire,
Without dog or man,
My balls of thread
And my bags of meal.”[25]
A man, on the farm of Kennovay in Tiree, saw the Fairies about twelve
o’clock at night enter the house, glide round the room, and go out
again. They said and did nothing.
THE LOWLAND FAIRIES.
The ‘people’ had several dwellings near the village of Largs[26] (_Na
Leargun Gallta_, the slopes-near-the-sea of the strangers), on the
coast of Ayrshire (see Introduction to Campbell’s _Tales of the West
Highlands_).
Knock Hill was full of _elves_, and the site of the old Tron Tree, now
the centre of the village, was a favourite haunt. A sow, belonging to
the man who cut down the Tron Tree, was found dead in the byre next
morning. A hawker, with a basket of crockery, was met near the Noddle
Burn by a Fairy woman. She asked him for a bowl she pointed out in his
basket, but he refused to give it. On coming to the top of a brae near
the village, his basket tumbled, and all his dishes ran on edge to
the foot of the incline. None were broken but the one which had been
refused to the Fairy. It was found in fragments. The same day, however,
the hawker found a treasure that made up for his loss. That, said the
person from whom the story was heard, was the custom of the Fairies;
they never took anything without making up for it some other way.
On market-days they went about stealing here and there a little of the
wool or yarn exposed for sale. A present of shoes and stockings made
them give great assistance at out-door work. A man was taken by them
to a pump near the Haylee Toll, where he danced all night with them. A
headless man was one of the company.
They often came to people’s houses at night, and were heard washing
their children. If they found no water in the house, they washed them
in _kit_, or sowen water. They were fond of spinning and weaving, and,
if chid or thwarted, cut the weaver’s webs at night. They one night
dropped a child’s cap, a very pretty article, in a weaver’s house, to
which they had come to get the child washed. They, however, took it
away the following night.
In another instance, a band of four was heard crossing over the
bedclothes, two women going first and laughing, and two men following
and expressing their wonder if the women were far before them.
A man cut a slip from an ash-tree growing near a Fairy dwelling. On his
way home in the evening he stumbled and fell. He heard the Fairies give
a laugh at his mishap. Through the night he was hoisted away, and could
tell nothing of what happened till in the morning he found himself in
the byre, astride on a cow, and holding on by its horns.
These are genuine popular tales of the South of Scotland, which the
writer fell in with in Largs. He heard them from a servant girl, a
native of the place. They are quoted as illustrations of the vitality
of the creed. They are not stories of the Highlands, but are quite
analogous. The student of such mythologies will recognize in them a
semblance to the Fairy tales of the North of Ireland.
FAIRIES STEALING WOMEN AND CHILDREN.
The _machair_ (or links) adjoining the hill of Kennavarra, the extreme
south-west point of Tiree, is after sunset one of the most solitary
and weird places conceivable. The hill on its northern side, facing
the Skerryvore lighthouse, twelve miles off, consists of precipices,
descending sheer down for upwards of a hundred feet, with frightful
chasms, where countless sea-birds make their nests, and at the base
of which the Atlantic rolls with an incessant noise, which becomes
deafening in bad weather. The hill juts into the sea, and the coast,
from each side of its inner end, trends away in beaches, which, like
all the beaches in the island, have, after nightfall, from their
whiteness and loneliness, a strange and ghostly look. On the landward
side, the level country stretches in a low dark line towards the
horizon; little is to be seen and the stillness is unbroken, save by
the sound of the surf rolling on the beach and thundering in the chasms
of the hill. It is not, therefore, wonderful that these links should be
haunted by the Fairies, or the timid wayfarer there meet the big black
Elfin dog prowling among the sand-banks, hear its unearthly baying in
the stormy night-wind, and in the uncertain light and the squattering
of wildfowl, hear in wintry pools the Banshi washing the garments of
those soon to die.
Some seventy or eighty years ago the herdsman who had charge of the
cattle on this pasture, went to a marriage in the neighbouring village
of Balephuill (mud-town), leaving his mother and a young child alone
in the house. The night was wild and stormy; there was heavy rain, and
every pool and stream was more than ordinarily swollen. His mother sat
waiting his return, and two women, whom she knew to be Fairies, came to
steal the child. They stood between the outer and inner doors and were
so tall their heads appeared above the partition beam. One was taller
than the other. They were accompanied by a dog, and stood one on each
side, having a hold of an ear and scratching it. Some say there was a
crowd of ‘little people’ behind to assist in taking the child away.
For security the woman placed it between herself and the fire, but her
precautions were not quite successful. From that night the child was
slightly fatuous, ‘a half idiot’ (_leth oinseach_). The old woman, it
is said, had the second sight.
A shepherd, living with his wife in a bothy far away among the hills
of Mull, had an addition to his family. He was obliged to go for
assistance to the nearest houses, and his wife asked him, before
leaving her and her babe alone, to place the table beside the bed, and
a portion of the various kinds of food in the house on it, and also to
put the smoothing-iron below the front of the bed and the reaping-hook
(_buanaiche_) in the window. Soon after he had left the wife heard a
suppressed muttering on the floor and a voice urging some one to go up
and steal the child. The other answered that butter from the cow that
ate the pearlwort (_mòthan_) was on the table, that iron was below the
bed, and the ‘reaper’ in the window, how could he get the child away?
As the reward of his wife’s providence and good sense the shepherd
found herself and child safe on his return.
A man in Morvern, known by the nickname of the ‘Marquis’ (_a
mor’aire_), left a band of women watching his wife and infant child.
On returning at night, he found the fire gone out, and the women fast
asleep. By the time he had rekindled the fire he saw a Banshi entering
and making for the bed where his wife and child were. He took a faggot
from the fire and threw it at her. A flame gleamed about his eyes and
he saw the Fairy woman no more. His wife declared that she felt at the
time like one in a nightmare (_trom-a-lidhe_); she heard voices calling
upon her to go out, and felt an irresistible inclination to obey.
A woman from Rahoy (_Ra-thuaith_) on Loch Sunartside was taken with
her babe to Ben Iadain (_Beinn Iadain_), a lofty hill in the parish
of Morvern, rising to a height of above 2000 feet, and at one time of
great note as an abode of the Fairies. Her husband had laid himself
down for a few minutes’ rest in the front of the bed, and fallen
asleep. When he awoke his wife and child were gone. They were taken,
the woman afterwards told, to the ‘Black Door’ (_a chòmhla dhu_), as
the spot forming the Fairy entrance into the interior of the mountain
is called. On entering, they found a large company of men, women, and
children. A fair-haired boy among them came and warned the woman not to
eat any food the Fairies might offer, but to hide it in her clothes. He
said they had got his own mother to eat this food, and in consequence
he could not now get her away. Finding the food offered her was
slighted, the head Fairy sent off a party to bring a certain man’s cow.
They came back saying they could not touch the cow as its right knee
was resting on the plant _bruchorcan_ (dirk grass). They were sent for
another cow, but they came back saying they could not touch it either,
as the dairymaid, after milking it, had struck it with the shackle
or cow-spancel (_burach_). That same night the woman appeared to her
husband in his dreams, telling him where she was, and that by going for
her and taking the black silk handkerchief she wore on her marriage
day, with three knots tied upon it, he might recover her. He tied the
knots, took the handkerchief and a friend with him, entered the hill at
the Black Door, and recovered his wife and child. The white-headed boy
accompanied them for some distance from the Black Door, but returned to
the hill, and is there still in all probability.
Another wife was taken from the neighbourhood of Castle _Lionnaig_,
near Loch Aline (_Loch Aluinn_, the pretty loch), in the same parish,
to the same hill. She was placed in the lap of a gigantic hag, who told
her it was useless to attempt escaping; her arms would close round her
“As the ivy to the rock,
And as the honeysuckle to the tree;
As the flesh round the bone,
And as the bone round the marrow.”[27]
The woman answered that she wished it was an armful of dirt the Fairy
held. In saying so, she made use of a very coarse, unseemly word, and,
as no such language is tolerated among the Fairies, the big woman
called to take the vile wretch away, and leave her in the hollow in
which she had been found, (_an lag san d’ fhuaradh i_) which was done.
A man in Balemartin, on the south side of Tiree (_air an leige deas_),
whose wife had died in childbed, was sitting one night soon after with
a bunch of keys in his hands. He saw his wife passing and repassing
him several times. The following night she came to him in his dreams,
and reproached him for not having thrown the bunch of keys at her, or
between her and the door, to keep the Fairies from taking her back with
them. He asked her to come another night, but she said she could not,
as the company she was with was removing that night to another brugh
far away.
Another, somewhere on the mainland of Argyllshire, suspecting his wife
had been stolen by Fairies, hauled her by the legs from bed, through
the fire, and out at the door. She there became a log of wood, and
serves as the threshold of a barn in the place to this day.
A woman, taken by the Fairies, was seen by a man, who looked in at the
door of a brugh, spinning and singing at her work.
A wife, taken in childbed, came to her husband in his sleep, and told
him that, by drawing a furrow thrice round a certain hillock sunwise
(_deiseal_) with the plough, he might recover her. He consulted his
neighbours, and in the end it was deemed as well not to attend to a
dream of one’s sleep (_bruadar cadail_). He consequently did not draw
the furrow, and never recovered his wife.
A child was taken by the Fairies from Killichrenan
(_Cill-a-Chreunain_), near Loch Awe, to the shï-en in Nant Wood
(_Coill’ an Eannd_). It was got back by the father drawing a furrow
round the hillock with the plough. He had not gone far when he heard a
cry behind him, and on looking back found his child lying in the furrow.
A trampling as of a troop of horses came round a house, in which a
woman lay in childbed, and she and the child were taken away. At the
end of seven years her sister came upon an open Fairy hillock, and
thoughtlessly entered. She saw there her lost sister, with a child in
her arms, and was warned by her, in the lullaby song to the child, to
slip away out again.
“Little sister, little loving sister,
Rememberest thou the night of the horses?
Seven years since I was taken,
And one like me was never seen.
Ialai horro, horro,
Ialai horro hì.”[28]
READY WIT REPULSES THE FAIRIES.
A Fairy woman came to take away a child, and said to its mother, “Grey
is your child.” “Grey is the grass, and it grows,” was the ready
answer. “Heavy is your child,” said the Banshi. “Heavy is each fruitful
thing,” the mother replied. “Light is your child,” said the Banshi.
“Light is each happy worldly one,” said the mother, bursting into
singing and saying—
“Grey is the foliage, grey the flowers,
And grey the axe that has a handle,
And nought comes through the earth,
But has some greyness in its nature.”[29]
On finding herself outwitted the Banshi left.
A boy, a mere child, was left alone for a few minutes, in the islet of
Soa, near Tiree. The mother was making kelp there at the time, and in
her absence the Fairies came and gave the child’s legs such a twist
that it was lame (_liùgach_) ever after.
KINDNESS TO A NEGLECTED CHILD.
The Elves sometimes took care of neglected children. The herd who
tendered the Baile-phuill cattle on Heynist Hill sat down one day on
a green eminence (_cnoc_) in the hill, which had the reputation of
being tenanted by the Fairies. His son, a young child, was along with
him. He fell asleep, and when he awoke the child was away. He roused
himself, and vowed aloud, that unless his boy was restored he would not
leave a stone or clod of the hillock together. A voice from underground
answered that the child was safe at home with its mother, and they (the
‘people’) had taken it lest it should come to harm with the cold.
THE BRIDEGROOM’S BURIAL.
A young woman in Islay was promised in marriage to a rich neighbour,
and the marriage day was fixed. She had a sweetheart who, on hearing
this, said to a brother older than himself that if he had means to keep
a wedding feast he would run away with the bride. His brother promised
him all he had, being thirty-five gallons of whisky. On getting this,
the young man took the bride away, and gave a nuptial feast himself
that lasted a month. At the end of that time, when he was taking a walk
with his wife, an eddy wind was seen coming. As it passed the young man
was seized with sickness, which in a short time ended in his death.
Before his death his wife said to him, “If the dead have feeling, I
ordain that you be not a night absent from your bed.”[30] The night
after the funeral he came back, to the consternation of his wife. He
told her not to be alarmed, that he was still sound and healthy (_slàn
fallain_), that he had only been taken in the eddy by the Lady of the
Green Island (_Baintighearna ’n Eilein Uaiue_), and that by throwing a
dirk at the eddy wind, when next she encountered it, she would get him
back again. The wife threw a dirk at the next eddy wind she saw, and
her husband dropped at her feet. He told he had been with the light
people (_sluagh eutrom_), and in the tomb in which they supposed him
buried would be found only a log of alder wood (_maide fearna_). His
wife’s relatives were sent for, and they came, thinking the young widow
had lost her wits through grief. The grave was opened, and an alder
stick found in the coffin instead of the body proved the husband’s
account of his disappearance.
THE CROWING OF THE BLACK COCK.
A woman in Islay (the story was heard in Tiree) was taken by the
Fairies, leaving an infant who was baptised by the name of Julia
(_Sìle_). To appearance the mother died and was buried. Every night,
however, she came back, and was heard singing to her child. Her husband
watched one night and caught her. She told that by going to a hillock,
which she named, on a certain night he might recover her. He went,
taking with him, according to her instructions, a black cock born in
the busy time of year (_coileach du màrt_)[31] and a piece of steel
(_cruaidh_). He found the door of the brugh open, put steel in one of
the posts, entered, having the cock in his arms, and hid himself in
a corner. Towards morning the cock crew. The head or principal Fairy
caused a search to be made, and ‘Big Martin without clemency or mercy’
(_Martuinn Mòr gun iochd gun tròcair_) was found in the brugh. On
withdrawing the steel he was allowed to go home, and his wife along
with him.
THROWING THE ARROW.
A weaver at the Bridge of Awe (_Drochaid Atha_) was left a widower with
three or four children. He laboured at his trade all day, and when the
evening came, being a hard-working, industrious man, did odd jobs about
the house to maintain his helpless family. One clear moonlight, when
thatching his house with fern (_ranach_), he heard the rushing sound of
a high wind, and a multitude of little people settled on the housetop
and on the ground, like a flock of black starlings. He was told he
must go along with them to Glen Cannel in Mull, where they were going
for a woman. He refused to go unless he got whatever was foraged on
the expedition to himself. On arriving at Glen Cannel, the arrow was
given him to throw. Pretending to aim at the woman he threw it through
the window and killed a pet lamb. The animal at once came out through
the window, but he was told this would not do, he must throw again. He
did so, and the woman was taken away and a log of alder wood (_stoc
fearna_) was left in her place. The weaver claimed his agreement,
and the Fairies left the woman with him at the Bridge of Awe, saying
they would never again make the same paction with any man. She lived
happily with him and he had three children by her. A beggar came the
way and staid with him that night. The whole evening the beggar stared
at the wife in a manner that made his host at last ask him what he
meant. He said he had at one time been a farmer in Glen Cannel in
Mull, comfortable and well-to-do, but his wife having died, he had
since fallen into poverty, till he was now a beggar, and that the
weaver’s wife could be no other than the wife he had lost. Explanations
were entered into, and the beggar got his choice of the wife or the
children. He chose the former,[32] and again became prosperous in the
world.
THE WOMAN STOLEN FROM FRANCE.
“MacCallum of the Humming Noise” (_Mac Challum a Chrònain_), who
resided in Glen Etive subsequent to the ‘45, was the last to observe
the habits of the Fairies and ancient hunters. He ate three days’
allowance of food before setting out on his hunting expeditions, and
when he got hungry merely tightened his belt another hole. The Indians
of Labrador are said to do the same at the present day. These hunters
can go for nine days without food, merely tightening their belts
as they get thin. In MacCallum’s time, a woman was for seven years
observed among the deer of Ben Cruachan, as swift of foot and action
as the herd with which she consorted. A gathering was made to catch
her. The herd was surrounded by men and dogs, and on her being caught,
she was taken to Balinoe, where MacCallum resided. There were rings on
her fingers, from which it was ascertained that she came from France.
Inquiries were made, and she was sent home by a ship from Greenock. She
had been taken away in childbed doubtless by the Fairies. This story
was believed by the person from whom it was heard. He had heard it from
good authority, he said.
CHANGELINGS.
A young lad was sent for the loan of a corn sieve to a neighbour’s
house. He was a changeling, and in the house to which he went there was
another like himself. He found no one in but his fellow-elf. A woman,
in a closet close by, overheard the conversation of the two. The first
asked for the sieve, and the other replied, “Ask it in an honest way
(that is, in Fairy language) seeing I am alone.”[33] The first then
said (and his words have as much sense in English as in Gaelic):
“The muggle maggle
Wants the loan of the black luggle laggle,
To take the maggle from the grain.”[34]
The words are a ludicrous imitation of the sound made by the fan in
winnowing corn, and several versions of them exist.
A child, in Skye, ate such a quantity of food, people suspected it
could not be ‘canny.’ A man of skill was sent for, and on his saying a
rhyme over it, the changeling became an old man.
A changeling in Hianish (some say Sanndaig), Tiree, was driven away by
a man of skill who came, and, standing in the door, said:
“Red pig, red pig,
Red one-eared pig,
That Fin killed with the son of Luin,
And took on his back to Druim-derg.”[35]
Drim-derg, or the Red Ridge, is a common in the neighbourhood of
Hianish. Fin’s sword, ‘the son of Luin,’ was of such superior metal
that it cut through six feet of whatever substance was struck by it,
and an inch beyond. Its peculiar virtue was “never to leave a remnant
from its blow.” When the changeling heard the bare mention of it, with
the aversion of his race to steel, he jumped, like a fish out of the
water (_thug e iasg-leum as_), rushed out of the house and was never
seen again. The real child was found outside the house.
A woman was told by her neighbours that her child, which was not
thriving, was a changeling, and that she ought to throw it in the
river. The imp, frightened by the counsel, advised the contrary in an
expression, which is now proverbial, “Whether it be fat or lean, every
man should rear a calf for himself” (_Air dha bhi reamhar na caol, is
mairg nach beathaicheadh laogh dha fhéin_).
TAKING AWAY COWS AND SHEEP.
A farmer had two good cows that were seized one spring with some
unaccountable malady. They ate any amount of food given them, but
neither grew fat nor yielded milk. They lay on their sides and could
not be made to rise. An old man in the neighbourhood advised that they
should be hauled up the hill, and rolled down its steepest and longest
incline. The brutes, he said, were not the farmer’s cows at all, but
two old men (_bodaich_) the Fairies had substituted for them. The
farmer acted on this advice, and at the bottom of the descent, down
which the cows were sent rolling, nothing was found, neither cow nor
man, either dead or alive.
There are old people still living in Iona who remember a man driving a
nail into a bull that had fallen over a rock, to keep away the Fairies.
A man in Ruaig, Tiree, possessed of the second sight, saw a wether
sheep (_molt_) belonging to himself whirled through the sky, and was so
satisfied the Fairies had taken it in their eddy wind, that he did not,
when the animal was killed, eat any of its mutton.
DWELLINGS.
An old man kept a green hillock, near his house, on which he frequently
reclined in summer, very clean, sweeping away any filth or cow or horse
droppings he might find on it. One evening, as he sat on the hillock,
a little man, a stranger to him, came and thanked him for his care of
the hillock, and added, that if at any time the village cattle should
leave their enclosure during the night, he and his friends would show
their gratitude by keeping them from the old man’s crops. The village
in these days was in common, ridge about, and the Fairy promise, being
tested, was found good.
Of hills having the reputation of being tenanted by Fairies may
be mentioned Schiehallion (_Sith-chaillionn_), in Perthshire, and
Ben-y-ghloe (_Beinn a Ghlotha_); and in Argyllshire, _Sìthein na
Rapaich_, ‘the Fairy dwelling of tempestuous weather,’ in Morvern
and Dunniquoich (_Dùn Cuaich_, the Bowl-shaped hill) Dùn-deacainn
and Shien-sloy (_sìthein sluaigh_, the multitude’s residence), near
Inverary. The three latter hills are in sight of each other, and the
preference of the Fairies for the last is mentioned in a popular rhyme:
Dùn-deacainn is Dùn-cuaich
Sìthein sluaigh is Airde-slios;
Nam faighinnsa mo roghainn de ’n triùir
B’e mo rùn a bhi san t-slios.
At the head of Glen-Erochty (_Gleann-Eireochd-aidh_, the Shapely
glen), in Athol, in Perthshire, there is a mound known as _Càrn na
Sleabhach_, which at one time was of much repute as a Fairy haunt.
Alasdair Challum, a poor harmless person, who went about the country
making divinations for his entertainers by means of a small four-sided
spinning top (_dòduman_), was asked by a widow where her late
husband now was. Alasdair spun round his teetotum and, examining it
attentively, said, “He is a baggage horse to the Fairies in Slevach
Cairn, with a twisted willow withe in his mouth.”[36]
A native of the Island of Coll went to pull some wild-briar plants
(_fearra-dhris_). He tried to pull one growing in the face of a rock.
The first tug he gave he heard some one calling to him from the inside
of the rock, and he ran away without ever looking behind. To this day
he says no one need try to persuade him there are no Fairies, for he
heard them himself.
A shepherd at Lochaweside, coming home with a wedder sheep on his back,
saw an open cave in the face of a rock where he had never noticed a
cave before. He laid down his burden, and stepping over to the entrance
of the cave, stuck his knife into a fissure of the rock forming a side
of the entrance. He then leisurely looked in, and saw the cave full of
guns and arms and chests studded with brass nails, but no appearance of
tenants. Happening to turn his head for a moment to look at the sheep,
and seeing it about to move off, he allowed the knife to move from its
place. On looking again at the rock, he only saw water trickling from
the fissure from which the knife had been withdrawn.
A person who had a green knoll in front of his house and was in the
habit of throwing out dirty water at the door, was told by the Fairies
to remove the door to the other side of the house, as the water was
spoiling their furniture and utensils. He did this, and he and the
Fairies lived on good terms ever after.
In the evening a man was tethering his horse on a grassy mound. A
head appeared out of the ground, and told him to drive his tether pin
somewhere else, as he was letting the rain into their house, and had
nearly killed one of the inmates by driving the peg into his ear.
Beinn Feall is one of the most prominent hills in the Island of Coll.
It is highly esteemed for the excellence of its pasture, and was of old
much frequented by the Fairies. A fisherman going to his occupation
at night saw it covered with green silk, spread out to dry, and heard
all night the sound of a quern at work in the interior. On another
occasion, similar sounds were heard in the same hill, and voices
singing:
“Though good the haven we left,
Seven times better the haven we found.”[37]
A man who avoided tethering horse or cow on a Fairy hillock near his
house, or in any way breaking the green sward that covered it, was
rewarded by the Fairies driving his horse and cow to the lee of the
hillock in stormy nights.
FAIRY ASSISTANCE.
A man in Flodigarry, an islet near Skye, expressed a wish his corn were
reaped, though it should be by Fairy assistance. The Fairies came and
reaped the field in two nights. They were seen at work, seven score and
fifteen, or other large number. After reaping the field they called for
more work, and the man set them to empty the sea.
One of the chiefs of Dowart was hurried with his harvest, and likely
to lose his crop for want of shearers. He sent word through all Mull
for assistance. A little old man came and offered himself. He asked as
wages only the full of a straw-rope he had with him of corn when the
work was over. M‘Lean formed no high opinion of the little man, but
as the work was urgent and the remuneration trifling, he engaged his
services. He placed him along with another old man and an old woman on
a ridge by themselves, and told them never to heed though they should
be behind the rest, to take matters easy and not fatigue themselves.
The little man, however, soon made his assistants leave the way, and
set them to make sheaf-bands. He finished shearing that ridge before
the rest of the shearers were half-way with theirs, and no fault could
be found with the manner in which the work was done. M‘Lean would not
part with the little reaper till the end of harvest. Fuller payment
was offered for his excellent services, but he refused to take more
than had been bargained for. He began putting the corn in the rope, and
put in all that was in the field, then all that was in the stackyard,
and finally all that was in the barn. He said this would do just now,
tightened the rope, and lifted the burden on his back. He was setting
off with it, when M‘Lean, in despair, cried out, “Tuesday I ploughed,
Tuesday I sowed, Tuesday I reaped; Thou who did’st ordain the three
Tuesdays, suffer not all that is in the rope to leave me.” “The hand of
your father and grandfather be upon you!” said the little man, “it is
well that you spoke.”[38]
Another version of the tale was current in Morvern. A servant,
engaged in spring by a man who lived at _Aodienn Mòr_ (‘Big Face’) in
Liddesdale, when told to begin ploughing, merely thrust a walking-stick
into the ground, and, holding it to his nose, said the earth was not
yet ready (_cha robh an talamh air dàir fathast_). This went on till
the neighbours were more than half-finished with their spring work. His
master then peremptorily ordered the work to be done. By next morning
the whole Big Face was ploughed, sown, and harrowed. The shearing of
the crop was done in the same mysterious and expeditious manner. The
servant had the Association-craft, which secured the assistance of the
Fairies. When getting his wages he was like to take away the whole
crop, and was got rid of as in the previous version.
An old man in Còrnaig, Tiree, went to sow his croft, or piece of land.
He was scarce of seed oats, but putting the little he had in a circular
dish made of plaited straw, called _plàdar_, suspended from his
shoulder by a strap (_iris_), commenced operations. His son followed,
harrowing the seed. The old man went on sowing long after the son
expected the seed corn was exhausted. He made some remark expressive of
his wonder, and the old man said, “Evil befall you, why did you speak?
I might have finished the field if you had held your tongue, but now I
cannot go further,” and he stopped. The piece sown would properly take
four times as much seed as had been used.
A man in the Ross of Mull, about to sow his land, filled a sheet with
seed oats, and commenced. He went on sowing, but the sheet remained
full. At last a neighbour took notice of the strange phenomenon, and
said, “The face of your evil and iniquity be upon you, is the sheet
never to be empty?” When this was said a little brown bird leapt out
of the sheet, and the supply of corn ceased. The bird was called _Torc
Sona_, _i.e._ ‘Happy Hog,’ and when any of the man’s descendants fall
in with any luck they are asked if the _Torc Sona_ still follows the
family.
A man in the Braes of Portree, in Skye, with a large but weak family,
had his spring and harvest work done by the Fairies. No one could tell
how it was done, but somehow it was finished as soon as that of any of
his neighbours. All his family, however, grew up ‘peculiar in their
minds.’
THE BATTLE OF TRAI-GRUINARD.
On 5th August, 1598, one of the bloodiest battles in the annals of
clan feuds was fought at the head of Loch Gruinard, in Islay, between
Sir Lachlan Mor M‘Lean, of Dowart, and Sir James Macdonald, of Islay,
for possession of lands forfeited by the latter’s uncle, of which the
former had received a grant. Of the M‘Leans, Sir Lachlan and 80 of his
near kinsmen and 200 clansmen were killed; and of the Macdonalds, 30
were killed, and 60 wounded.[39] According to tradition, a trifling
looking little man came to Sir Lachlan, and offered his services for
the battle. The chief, who was himself of giant frame and strength,
answered contemptuously, he did not care which side the little man
might be on. The Elf then offered himself to Macdonald, who said he
would be glad of the assistance of a hundred like him. All day Sir
Lachlan, who was clothed from head to foot in armour of steel, was
followed by the little man, and on his once lifting the vizor of his
helmet an arrow struck him in the forehead at the division of the hair,
and came out at the back of his head. It proved to be one of those
arrows known as Elf-bolts. Macdonald was sorry for the death of his
rival, and after the battle made enquiry as to who had killed him.
“It was I” said the little man, “who killed your enemy; and unless
I had done so he would have killed you.” “What is your name?” asked
Macdonald. “I am called” he said, “_Du-sìth_” (_i.e._ Black Elf),[40]
“and you were better to have me with you than against you.”
DUINE SÌTH, MAN OF PEACE.
A wright in the island of Mull, on his way home in the evening from
work, got enveloped in a mist. He heard some one coming towards him
whistling. He entered into talk with the stranger, and was told, a
legacy would be left him, and would continue in the line of his direct
descendants to the third generation. His grandson is unmarried, and
well advanced in years; to the credit of the whistler’s prophecy.
Davie, a south country ploughman, or grieve, was brought to Tiree,
about the beginning of the present century, by the then Chamberlain
or ‘Baillie’ of the Island. Ploughing one day on Crossapol farm, he
saw before him in the furrow a very little man. Not understanding that
the diminutive creature was a Fairy, Davie cried out in broken Gaelic,
“What little man are you? Get out of that.”
A former gardener in Tìr Mhine (Meal Land) in Glenorchy, a good deal
given to drinking, was crossing Loch Awe one night in a boat alone. He
saw a little man sitting in the stern of the boat, and spoke to him
several times but received no answer. He at last struck at the little
man, and himself tumbled overboard. Now, asked the old woman, who told
this story, what could the little man be, but a _brughadair_ (_i.e._
one that came from the Fairy dwelling, an Elf)? To the reader the case
will appear one of simple hallucination produced by ardent spirits, but
it is of interest as shewing the interpretation put upon it under a
belief in the Fairies.
BEAN SHITH, ELLE WOMAN, OR WOMAN OF PEACE.
While supper was being prepared in a farmer’s house in Morvern, a very
little woman, a stranger to the inmates, entered. She was invited to
share the supper with the family, but would take none of the food of
which the meal consisted, or of any other the inmates had to offer. She
said her people lived on the tops of heather, and in the loch called
_Lochan Fasta Litheag_. There does not seem to be any loch of the name
in Morvern. The name is difficult to translate, but indicates a lakelet
covered with weeds or green scum. The little woman left the house as
she came, and fear kept every one from following her, or questioning
her further.
A woman at Kinloch Teagus (_Ceann Loch Téacais_), in the same parish,
was sitting on a summer day in front of the house, preparing green dye,
by boiling heather tops and alum together. This preparation is called
_ailmeid_. A young woman, whom she had never seen before, came to her,
and asked for something to eat. The stranger was dressed in green,
and wore a cap bearing the appearance of the king’s hood of a sheep
(_currachd an righ caorach_). The housewife said the family were at the
shielings with the cattle, and there was no food in the house; there
was not even a drink of milk. The visitor then asked to be allowed to
make brose of the dye, and received permission to do what she liked
with it. She was asked where she stayed, and she said, “in this same
neighbourhood.” She drank off the compost, rushed away, throwing three
somersaults, and disappeared.
A young man, named Callum, when crossing the rugged hills of
_Ard-meadhonach_ (Middle Height), in Mull, fell in with some St. John’s
wort (_Achlusan Challum-chille_), a plant of magic powers, if found
when neither sought nor wanted. He took some of it with him. He had
_dùcun_ (small swellings below the toes) on his feet, and on coming
to a stream sat down and bathed them in the water. Looking up, he saw
an ugly little woman, having no nostrils, on the other side of the
stream, with her feet resting against his own. She asked him for the
plant he had in his hand, but he refused to give it. She asked him to
make snuff of it then and give her some. He answered, “What could she
want with snuff, when she had no nostril to put it in?” He left her and
went further on. As he did not come home that night his friends and
neighbours next day went in search of him through the hills. He was
found by his father asleep on the side of a _cnoc_, a small hillock,
and when awakened, he thought, from the position of the sun, he had
only slept a few minutes. He had, in fact, slept for twenty-four hours.
His dog lay sleeping in the hollow between his two shoulders, and had
‘neither hair nor fur’ on. It is supposed it had lost the hair in
chasing away the Fairies, and protecting its master.
In what seems to be only another version of this story, a herd-boy was
sitting in the evening by a stream bathing his feet. A beautiful woman
appeared on the other side of the stream, and asked him to pull a plant
she pointed out, and make snuff of it for her. He refused, asking what
need had she of snuff, when she had no nostrils? She asked him to cross
the stream, but he again refused. When he went home his step-mother
gave him his food and milk as usual. He gave the whole of it to his
dog, and the dog died from the effects.
A herdsman at Baile-phuill, in the west end of Tiree, fell asleep on
_Cnoc Ghrianal_, at the eastern base of Heynish Hill, on a fine summer
afternoon. He was awakened by a violent slap on the ear. On rubbing his
eyes, and looking up, he saw a woman, the most beautiful he had ever
seen, in a green dress, with a brooch fastening it at the neck, walking
away from him. She went westward and he followed her for some distance,
but she vanished, he could not tell how.
A person in Mull reported that he saw several Fairy women together
washing at a stream. He went near enough to see that they had only one
nostril each.
The places in Tiree where _cailleacha sìth_ (Fairy hags) were seen were
at streams and pools of water on _Druim-buidhe_ (the Yellow Back), the
links of Kennavara, and the bend of the hill (_lùbadh na beinne_) at
Baile-phendrais. They have long since disappeared, the islanders having
become too busy to attend to them.
A Skyeman was told by one of these weird women never to put the burning
end of a peat outside when making up the fire for the night.
DONALD THRASHED BY THE FAIRY WOMAN.
A man in Mull, watching in the harvest field at night, saw a woman
standing in the middle of a stream that ran past the field. He ran
after her, and seemed sometimes to be close upon her, and again to be
as far from her as ever. Losing temper he swore himself to the devil
that he would follow till he caught her. When he said the words the
object of his pursuit allowed herself to be overtaken, and showed her
true character by giving him a sound thrashing. Every night after he
had to meet her. He was like to fall into a decline through fear of
her, and becoming thoroughly tired of the affair, he consulted an old
woman of the neighbourhood, who advised him to take with him to the
place of appointment the ploughshare and his brother John. This would
keep the Fairy woman from coming near him. The Fairy, however, said
to him in a mumbling voice, “You have taken the ploughshare with you
to-night, Donald, and big, pock-marked, dirty John your brother,” and
catching him she administered a severer thrashing than ever. He went
again to the old woman, and this time she made for his protection a
thread, which he was to wear about his neck. He put it on, and, instead
of going to the place of meeting, remained at the fireside. The Fairy
came, and, taking him out of the house, gave him a still severer
thrashing. Upon this, the wise woman said she would make a chain to
protect him against all the powers of darkness, though they came. He
put this chain about his neck, and remained by the fireside. He heard
a voice calling down the chimney, “I cannot come near you to-night,
Donald, when the pretty smooth-white is about your neck.”
IONA BANSHI.
A man in Iona, thinking daylight was come, rose and went to a rock
to fish. After catching some fish, he observed he had been misled by
the clearness of the moonlight, and set off home. On the way, as the
night was so fine, he sat down to rest himself on a hillock. He fell
asleep, and was awakened by the pulling of the fishing rod, which he
had in his hand. He found the rod was being pulled in one direction
and the fish in another. He secured both, and was making off, when he
heard sounds behind him as of a woman weeping. On his turning round to
her, she said, “Ask news, and you will get news.” He answered, “I put
God between us.” When he said this, she caught him and thrashed him
soundly. Every night after he was compelled to meet her, and on her
repeating the same words and his giving the same answer, was similarly
drubbed. To escape from her persecutions he went to the Lowlands. When
engaged there cutting drains, he saw a raven on the bank above him.
This proved to be his tormentor, and he was compelled to meet her
again at night, and, as usual, she thrashed him. He resolved to go to
America. On the eve of his departure, his Fairy mistress met him and
said, “You are going away to escape from me. If you see a hooded crow
when you land, I am that crow.” On landing in America he saw a crow
sitting on a tree, and knew it to be his old enemy. In the end the
Fairy dame killed him.
TIREE BANSHI.
At the time of the American War of Independence, a native of Tiree,
similarly afflicted and wishing to escape from his Fairy love, enlisted
and was drafted off to the States. On landing he thanked God he was now
where the hag could not reach him. Soon after, however, she met him.
“You have given thanks,” she said, “for getting rid of me, but it is
as easy for me to make my appearance here as in your own country.” She
then told him what fortunes were to befall him, that he would survive
the war and return home, and that she would not then trouble him any
more. “You will marry there and settle. You will have two daughters,
one of whom will marry and settle in Croy-Gortan (_Cruaidh-ghortain_,
stone-field), the other will marry and remain in your own house. The
one away will ask you to stay with herself, as her sister will not be
kind to you. Your death will occur when you are crossing the _Leíge_”
(a winter stream falling into Loch Vasipol). All this in due course
happened.
About four generations ago, a native of Cornaig in Tiree was out
shooting on the Reef plain, and returning home in the evening, at the
streamlet, which falls into Balefetrish Bay, near Kennovay, was met by
a Fairy dame. He did not at first observe anything in her appearance
different from other women, but, on her putting over her head and
kissing him, he saw she had but one nostril. On reaching home he was
unable to articulate one word. By the advice of an old man he composed,
in his mind, a love song to the Fairy. On doing this, his speech came
back.
MACPHIE’S BLACK DOG.
[This tale was taken down in Gaelic from the dictation of Donald
Cameron, Ruaig, Tiree, in 1863, and is here given in his words as
closely as a translation will allow. It is a very good specimen of a
class of tales found in the Highlands, and illustrates many remarkable
traits of the belief regarding the Fairy women, their enmity to the
hunter, their beauty and powers of enchanting men at first, their
changing their shape to that of deer, and the aversion dogs have to
them; also the size and character of the Fairy hound.]
Mac-vic-Allan of Arasaig, lord of Moidart, went out hunting in his own
forest when young and unmarried. He saw a royal stag before him, as
beautiful an animal as he had ever seen. He levelled his gun at it, and
it became a woman as beautiful as he had ever seen at all. He lowered
his gun, and it became a royal stag as before. Every time he raised
the gun to his eye, the figure was that of a woman, and every time he
let it down to the ground, it was a royal stag. Upon this he raised the
gun to his eye and walked up till he was close to the woman’s breast.
He then sprang and caught her in his arms. “You will not be separated
from me at all,” he said, “I will never marry any but you.” “Do not do
that, Mac-vic-Allan,” she said, “you have no business with me, I will
not suit you. There will never be a day, while you have me with you,
but you will need to kill a cow for me.” “You will get that,” said the
lord of Moidart, “though you should ask two a day.”
But Mac-vic-Allan’s herd began to grow thin. He tried to send her
away, but he could not. He then went to an old man, who lived in the
townland, and was his counsellor. He said he would be a broken man, and
he did not know what plan to take to get rid of her. The honest old man
told him, that unless Macphie of Colonsay could send her away, there
was not another living who could. A letter was instantly sent off to
Macphie. He answered the letter, and came to Arasaig.
“What business is this you have with me,” said Macphie, “Mac-vic-Allan?”
Mac-vic-Allan told him how the woman had come upon him, and how he
could not send her away.
“Go you,” said Macphie, “and kill a cow for her to-day as usual; send
her dinner to the room as usual; and give me my dinner on the other
side of the room.”
Mac-vic-Allan did as he was asked. She commenced her dinner, and
Macphie commenced his. When Macphie got his dinner past, he looked over
at her.
“What is your news, Elle-maid?” said he.
“What is that to you, Brian Brugh,” said she.
“I saw you, Elle-maid,” said he,
“When you consorted with the Fingalians,
When you went with Dermid o Duvne
And accompanied him from covert to covert.”
“I saw you, Brian Brugh,” she said,
“When you rode on an old black horse,
The lover of the slim Fairy woman,
Ever chasing her from brugh to brugh.”
“Dogs and men after the wretch,” cried Macphie, “long have I known her.”
Every dog and man in Arasaig was called and sent after her. She fled
away out to the point of Arasaig, and they did not get a second sight
of her.
Upon this Macphie went home to his own Colonsay. One day he was out
hunting, and night came on before he got home. He saw a light and made
straight for it. He saw a number of men sitting in there, and an old
grey-headed man in the midst. The old man spoke and said, “Macphie,
come forward.” Macphie went forward, and what should come in his way
but a bitch, as beautiful an animal as he had ever seen, and a litter
of pups with it. He saw one pup in particular, black in colour, and he
had never seen a pup so black or so beautiful as it.
“This dog will be my own,” said Macphie.
“No,” said the man, “you will get your choice of the pups, but you will
not get that one.”
“I will not take one,” said Macphie, “but this one.”
“Since you are resolved to have it,” said the old man, “it will not do
you but one day’s service, and it will do that well. Come back on such
a night and you will get it.”
Macphie reached the place on the night he promised to come. They gave
him the dog, “and take care of it well,” said the old man, “for it will
never do service for you but the one day.”
The Black Dog began to turn out so handsome a whelp that no one ever
saw a dog so large or so beautiful as it. When Macphie went out hunting
he called the Black Dog, and the Black Dog came to the door and then
turned back and lay where it was before. The gentlemen who visited at
Macphie’s house used to tell him to kill the Black Dog, it was not
worth its food. Macphie would tell them to let the dog alone, that the
Black Dog’s day would come yet.
At one time a number of gentlemen came across from Islay to visit
Macphie and ask him to go with them to Jura to hunt. At that time Jura
was a desert, without anyone staying on it, and without its equal
anywhere as hunting ground for deer and roe. There was a place there
where those who went for sport used to stay, called the Big Cave. A
boat was made ready to cross the sound that same day. Macphie rose to
go, and the sixteen young gentlemen along with him. Each of them called
the Black Dog, and it reached the door, then turned and lay down where
it was before. “Shoot it,” cried the young gentlemen. “No,” said he,
“the Black Dog’s day is not come yet” They reached the shore, but the
wind rose and they did not get across that day.
Next day they made ready to go; the Black Dog was called and reached
the door, but returned where it was before. “Kill it,” said the
gentlemen, “and don’t be feeding it any longer.” “I will not kill
it,” said Macphie, “the Black Dog’s day will come yet.” They failed
to get across this day also from the violence of the weather and
returned. “The dog has foreknowledge,” said the gentlemen. “It has
foreknowledge,” said Macphie, “that its own day will come yet.”
On the third day the weather was beautiful. They took their way to the
harbour, and did not say a syllable this day to the Black Dog. They
launched the boat to go away. One of the gentlemen looked and said the
Black Dog was coming, and he never saw a creature like it, because of
its fierce look. It sprang, and was the first creature in the boat.
“The Black Dog’s day is drawing near us,” said Macphie.
They took with them meat, and provisions, and bedclothes, and went
ashore in Jura. They passed that night in the Big Cave, and next
day went to hunt the deer. Late in the evening they came home. They
prepared supper. They had a fine fire in the cave and light. There was
a big hole in the very roof of the cave through which a man could pass.
When they had taken their supper the young gentlemen lay down, Macphie
rose, and stood warming the back of his legs to the fire. Each of the
young men said he wished his own sweetheart was there that night.
“Well,” said Macphie, “I prefer that my wife should be in her own
house; it is enough for me to be here myself to-night.”
Macphie gave a look from him and saw sixteen women entering the door
of the cave. The light went out and there was no light except what the
fire gave. The women went over to where the gentlemen were. Macphie
could see nothing from the darkness that came over the cave. He was
not hearing a sound from the men. The women stood up and one of them
looked at Macphie. She stood opposite to him as though she were going
to attack him. The Black Dog rose and put on a fierce bristling look
and made a spring at her. The women took to the door, and the Black Dog
followed them to the mouth of the cave. When they went away the Black
Dog returned and lay at Macphie’s feet.
In a little while Macphie heard a horrid noise overhead in the top of
the cave, so that he thought the cave would fall in about his head. He
looked up and saw a man’s hand coming down through the hole, and making
as if to catch himself and take him out through the hole in the roof
of the cave. The Black Dog gave one spring, and between the shoulder
and the elbow caught the Hand, and lay upon it with all its might. Now
began the play between the Hand and the Black Dog. Before the Black
Dog let go its hold, it chewed the arm through till it fell on the
floor. The Thing that was on the top of the cave went away, and Macphie
thought the cave would fall in about his head. The Black Dog rushed out
after the Thing that was outside. This was not the time when Macphie
felt himself most at ease, when the Black Dog left him. When the day
dawned, behold the Black Dog had returned. It lay down at Macphie’s
feet, and in a few minutes was dead.
When the light of day appeared Macphie looked, and he had not a single
man alive of those who were with him in the cave. He took with him the
Hand, and went to the shore to the boat. He went on board and went home
to Colonsay, unaccompanied by dog or man. He took the Hand up with him
that men might see the horror he had met with, the night he was in the
cave. No man in Islay or Colonsay ever at all saw such a hand, nor did
they imagine that such existed.
There only remained to send a boat to Jura and take home the bodies
that were in the cave. That was the end of the Black Dog’s day.
* * * * *
A short tale, similar to the first part of the above legend, is
given in Campbell’s _Tales of the West Highlands_ (ii. 52). A fairy
changeling in Gaolin Castle, Kerrera, is detected by a visitor from
Ireland as the Fairy sweetheart of a countryman—_Brian Mac Braodh_. On
being detected the Elle woman ran into the sea from the point since
called _Rutha na Sirich_. The name _Brian Brugh_ of the one tale and
_Brian Mac Braodh_ of the other renders it probable the two tales had
originally more in common.
The expression, “The Black Dog’s day will come yet” (_Thig latha
choindui fhathast_), has passed into a proverb to denote that a time
will yet come when one now despised will prove of service. The English
proverb, “Every dog has its day,” means that everyone has his own time
of enjoyment.
The Macphies or MacDuffies were Lairds of Colonsay till the middle of
the 17th century. In 1623 the celebrated Colkitto was delated for the
murder of umquhill Malcolm Macphie of Colonsay; and one of the race
lies buried in Iona, with the inscription on his tomb
HIC JACET MALCOLUMBUS MACDUFFIE DE COLONSAY.
If the same Malcolm is referred to in both cases, these traces of his
fame, slight though they be, create some presumption that he may be
the person round whom romance has gathered the incidents of the above
tale. In 1615 Malcolm Macphie joined Sir James Macdonald of Dunyveg, in
Islay, in the last and unsuccessful attempt made by the once powerful
Clandonald of Islay and Cantyre to retain their possessions from the
Campbells. He was one of the principal leaders of the rebels and a
remarkable man. The family was one of the oldest and most esteemed in
the West Highlands.
The following are other versions of the tale in circulation. They are
of interest when compared with each other in showing the growth and
character of a popular tale.
Macphie of Colonsay was kept captive by a mermaid in a cave by the
shore. She supplied him with whatever he needed or desired, but he was
not happy, and took advantage of her absence to make his escape. She
missed him on her return and went in pursuit. He had with him a large
black dog, which he had kept in spite of everyone’s remonstrances. When
the mermaid overtook him he threw it into the water and it fought the
mermaid. The end of the battle was that the dog killed the mermaid and
the mermaid killed the dog.
This version is the one which supplied the ground work of Leyden’s
beautiful ballad “The Mermaid.” Considerable changes must have been
made by him upon the legend as it came to his hand. The dog, which in
all the versions is the principal character, is left out; Macphie’s
name is changed to Macphail; a magic ring (a thing unknown in Highland
lore) is introduced, etc. Leyden fell in with the version, of which he
made use, in his travels in the Highlands in 1801.
Macphie of Colonsay was in an island hunting, and in the course of
his ramblings came to a hut, which he entered. He found no one in,
and threw himself on a bed for a little rest. He was accompanied by
a dog as large as a year old calf. A dark object (_dùthra_) came to
the door and the dog attacked it. The Thing made a hideous screaming.
When Macphie saw the dog’s hair beginning to smoke, he made his escape
to the boat that had come with him to the island. Before long the dog
came rushing after him, like a mad beast, with a green flame issuing
from its jaws. Macphie had prepared himself for this by loading his
double-barrelled gun[41] with two crooked sixpences. He fired the
two shots at the dog, as it rushed to attack him, and killed it. The
Banshi, it had fought with, was left cruelly mauled, and she crawled
or dragged herself to the shore, throwing rocks and stones out of
her way. Her track is still known as the Carlin’s Furrow (_Sgrìob na
Caillich_). The boat left the shore before she reached it. She tried
to bring it back by throwing a ball of thread after it, but without
success. This was in Islay.
Macphie of Colonsay, when he went hunting, was met in a particular glen
by a man who accompanied him during the rest of the excursion. His
companion had a brindled bitch (_galla riabhach_), to which Macphie
took a fancy. He asked the man to sell it. “I will not,” said the man,
“sell it to you or any one else, but as you have rested your eye upon
it, I will give it to you for a while. It will have two pups, one like
itself and one black. The brindled one you can keep, but the black one
must be returned along with its mother. You will meet me at this same
spot on such a day.” Macphie took the brindled bitch home, and in due
time the animal had two pups, both very pretty. When the time came,
Macphie went back, according to promise, to the place appointed, but
instead of taking the black pup, took the brindled one. The man said
to him, “You have not brought the Black Dog; it would have been better
for you if you had; but keep it. It will give you but one night’s
service; you will not gain much by the Black Dog.” After this the
Black Dog began to wither; it grew large and tall but lank and lean.
The servants thrashed and kicked it about, as if it never was likely
to come to any good. Macphie himself seemed to have an unaccountable
regard for it, and was very angry when he saw it abused. Two gentlemen
came to see him, with the intention of taking him with them to hunt in
some neighbouring islet. On the morning of their intended expedition
they rose early, and were getting the guns ready, when the Black Dog
rose and whined and fawned upon Macphie. On reaching the boat the Black
Dog was the first to spring on board. The night became stormy, and the
party were not able to get home that night. They passed the night in
a cave. A noise as of walking was heard overhead, and a Hand appeared
through the roof as if to grasp one of Macphie’s friends. All the dogs
fled into the corners of the cave. Macphie himself had a Jew’s harp
(which is said to be the holiest kind of musical instrument), and when
he played fast upon it the Hand drew back; when he played slow the Hand
came nearer. At last he was almost exhausted. He called upon the Black
Dog, and the Black Dog rose. “My Black Dog,” said Macphie, “if you
cannot do it now, I am undone.” The Dog attacked the Hand, and made it
disappear. It then rushed out and gave chase. It came back, spotted and
speckled, with its hair stripped off. When the hunters got home on the
following night the Dog disappeared.
Macphie from Colonsay was cast ashore at Ormsaig, in the district of
Brolas in Mull, clinging to a log of wood. He stayed for some time
at Ormsaig, and was in the habit of going to the hill with his gun. A
Fairy woman met him there, and from her he received the present of a
young dog, which she said would yet be of service to him, but only for
one day. He had seventeen foster brothers, and, on his return home,
they came and asked him to go with them to shoot cormorants at the Paps
of Jura. The Dog, which had by this time grown very large, and had
never before given any indication of being useful, this day eagerly
accompanied the hunters. Macphie’s wife had often urged him to kill
the dog, but he had insisted on keeping it. When Jura was reached, a
servant was left in charge of the boats, and the company passed the
night in a cave. As they reclined round the cave, each expressed a
wish, that his sweetheart were there. Macphie, who was standing by the
fire, said he had no such wish, it was better for his mistress to be at
home. Before long, seventeen women in green dresses entered the cave,
and went over to the beds of heather where Macphie’s foster brothers
were, and Macphie heard the crackling sound of breaking bones. The
seventeen women then came up, as if to attack himself. Afraid of their
number, he called to the Black Dog, “If you assist me not now, I am a
lost man.” The dog attacked the women, drove them out of the cave, and
went off in pursuit. Macphie fled to the boat, and he and the servant
left in charge quitted the shore with all haste. When they were well
out to sea, the servant said there was a fiery star coming after them.
Macphie said it was the Black Dog, and its heart had taken fire. He
made ready, and when the dog overtook them, cut off its head.
THE CARLIN OF THE SPOTTED HILL (_Cailleach Beinne Bhric_).
The Fairy wife, who owned the deer of Ben Breck, is well known in the
Highlands.
It is told of her that on one occasion, as she milked a hind, the
animal became restive and gave her a kick. In return she struck the
hind with her open palm and expressed a wish that the arrow of Donald,
the son of John (a noted hunter in his day), might come upon it. That
very day the restive hind fell to Dò’il MacJain’s arrow.[42]
It is also told of this Elfin wife that while three hunters were
passing the night in a bothy on Ben Breck, the Carlin wife came to the
door and sought admittance. A dog that accompanied the hunters sprang
up to attack her. She retreated and asked one of the men to tie up his
dog. He refused. She asked him again, and a second time he refused. She
asked a third time, and he replied he had nothing to tie it with. She
pulled a hair out of her head and told him to tie his dog with that, it
was strong enough to hold a four-masted ship at anchor. He pretended to
consent, and the hag, on trying again to enter, found the dog was not
secured. She then went away, saying it was well for the hunter the dog
had not been tied, and threatening to come again. It does not appear,
however, that she ever came back.
She was last seen about twenty years ago in Lochaber. Age had told
severely upon her. Instead of being ‘broad and tall,’ she had become no
bigger than a teapot! She wore a little grey plaid or shawl about her
shoulders.
DONALD, SON OF PATRICK.
Donald, the son of Patrick (_Dòmhnull Mac Phàruig_), or, as others say,
the son of Lachlan, was a _brocair_, that is, a foxhunter or destroyer
of ground vermin, in Lorn. Persons following this profession were
employed by the hill farmers, and had generally long tracts of country
to travel over. Their companions were their gun, a pack of terriers,
and perhaps a wiry deer-hound. With these they led as lonely a life as
anyone who had at all to descend to the strath and men’s houses could
do. Many a lonely night they watched by the fox’s cairn in some remote
corrie for an opportunity ‘to put a hole in the red rogue’s hide,’
and they often passed the night in bothies and shielings far from the
haunts of men. One day Donald, the son of Patrick, killed a roe, and
took it to a bothy in the hills. He kindled a fire with the flint of
his gun, and having cut up the roe, roasted pieces of the flesh by a
large fire. As he helped himself, he threw now and then a piece to his
dogs. Before long he observed, the night being moonlit, a large dark
shadow coming about the door, and then a woman snatching at the pieces
of flesh he threw to the dogs. She had one tooth as big as a distaff
projecting from her upper gum. The dogs prevented her entering the hut,
so that she got but little of the food. She asked Donald to leash up
his dogs, and on his refusing, cried out, “This is poor hospitality for
the night, Donald, son of Patrick.” Donald answered, “It will be no
better and no worse than that.” “You proved expert at raising a fire,”
she said. “How do you know?” he asked. “I was,” she said, “on the top
of the Cruach of Rannoch (a hill far away) the first click you gave to
the flint, and this is poor hospitality for the night, Donald, son of
Patrick.” “It will,” he said, “be no better and no worse than that.”
In a while again she said, “This is poor hospitality for the night,
Donald, son of Patrick.” “Take,” he said, “as you are able to win.” She
remained all night, and repeatedly asked him to leash up his dogs,
which he refused to do. The dogs kept her at bay till she left.
Another version says that the foxhunter’s name was _Iain Mac Phàruig_,
that he was accompanied by sixteen dogs, that his strange visitant
disappeared at the cock-crowing, and that she then told she was ‘the
wife of Fe-chiarain’ (_Cailleach Fe-chiarain_). Some identify her with
the Carlin of Ben Breck.
THE WIFE OF BEN-Y-GHLOE.
Donald and Big John (_Dòmhnull ’s Iain mòr_) were out deer-hunting on
the lofty mountain of Ben-y-ghloe, in Athol in Perthshire, when a heavy
snowstorm came on, and they lost their way. They came to a hut in a
hollow and entered. The only one in was an old woman, the like of whom
they said they had never seen. Her two arms were bare, of great length,
and grizzled and sallow to look at. She neither asked them to come in
nor go out, and being much in need of shelter, they went in and sat at
the fire. There was a look in her eye that might ‘terrify a coward,’
and she hummed a surly song, the words of which were unintelligible
to them. They asked for meat, and she set before them a fresh salmon
trout, saying, “Little you thought I would give you your dinner
to-day.” She also said she could do more, that it was she who clothed
the hill with mist to make them come to her house. They stayed with her
all night. She was very kind and hospitable. She told her name to them
when leaving, that she was ‘the wife of Ben-y-Ghloe.’ They could not
say whether she was _sìth_ or _saoghalta_ (Elfin or human), but they
never visited her again.
FAIRY WOMEN AND DEER.
On the lands of Scalasdal in Mull, a deer was killed, which turned out
afterwards to be a woman.
It is perhaps this belief in the metamorphosis of Fairy women and deer
that was the origin of the tradition that Oisian’s mother was a deer.
In Skye it is said that after the poet’s birth his mother could touch
him but once with her tongue on the temple. On that corner (_air an
Oisinn sin_) a tuft of fur like that of a deer grew, hence the poet’s
name. An informant in the centre of Argyllshire said he did not hear
Oisian’s mother was a deer, but he had heard the poet was nurtured by a
deer. In the Northern Hebrides, a song is sometimes heard which Oisian
is said to have composed to the deer.[43]
O’CRONICERT’S FAIRY WIFE.[44]
There was a man in Ireland, whose name was O’Cronicert, and his
dwelling place was Corr-water, and he spent all he had on the great
nobles of Ireland, bringing them for days’ entertainment and for
nights’ entertainment, till he had nothing left but an old tumble-down
black house, and an old wife, and an old lame white horse. The
thought that came into his head was, to go to the King of Ireland for
assistance, to see what he would give. He cut a cudgel of grey oak in
the outskirt of the wood, and sat on the back of the old lame white
horse, and set off at speed through wood, and through moss, and through
rugged ground, till he reached the King’s house. The custom was, that a
man should be a year and a day in the King’s house before being asked
the object of his journey. After being there a year and a day, the King
said, “O’Cronicert, it is not without a cause for your journey you have
come here.” “It is not,” said O’Cronicert, “it is for assistance I have
come here. You know it was for yourself and your great nobles I spent
my property entirely.” “You will wait,” said the King, “till I bring
in the children”; and they were there as men called them Murdoch Mac
Brian, and Duncan Mac Brian, and Torgill Mac Brian, and Brian Borr Mac
Cimi, and his sixteen foster brothers with every one of them.
“I will give,” said Murdoch Mac Brian, “a hundred milch cows to him.”
“I will give,” said Duncan Mac Brian, “a hundred farrow cows to him, in
case they should be in calf all in one year.”
“I will give him,” said Torgill Mac Brian, “a hundred brood mares.”
“I will give him,” said Brian Borr Mac Cimi, “a hundred sheep.”
After O’Cronicert got this, he was not going away. The King told him
to go away, that it was difficult to keep his herd separate from the
King’s own, and to take it away. He said to the King that he had one
thing in view, and if he got it from the King, he would prefer it to
all he had already got.
“It is certain,” said the King, “it must be some bad thing or other;
you had better tell it, that I may let you away.”
“It is,” he said, “the lap-dog, that is out and in after the Queen,
that I wish for”; and the King gave him permission to take it with him.
He took the lap-dog, leapt on the back of the old lame white horse,
and went off at speed, without one look at the herd, through wood,
and through moss, and through rugged ground. After he had gone some
distance through the wood, a roe-buck leapt out of the wood, and the
lap-dog went after it, and in an instant they were out of sight.
Close upon the evening, he saw the lap-dog coming, and a royal stag
before it, and the deer started up as a woman behind O’Cronicert, the
handsomest that eye had ever seen from the beginning of the universe
till the end of eternity. O’Cronicert caught her, and she asked him to
let her go, and he said there would be no separation in life between
them.
“Well,” said she, “before I go with you, you must come under three
conditions to me”; and he promised to come under the conditions.
“The first condition is, that you will not go to ask the King of
Ireland or his great nobles for a day’s or a night’s entertainment
without telling me. The next condition is, that you will not go to a
change-house without putting it in my option; and the third thing,
that you will never cast up to me that you found me an unwise animal
(_beathach mi-chéillidh_) in the wood.”
They reached the old tumble-down black house, and the wife he had left
there was a faggot-bundle of bones in a pool of rain-drip in the middle
of the floor. They cut grass in clefts and ledges of the rocks, and
made a bed, and laid down.
O’Cronicert’s wakening from sleep was the lowing of cattle, and the
bleating of sheep, and the neighing of mares, while he himself was in
a bed of gold on wheels of silver, going from end to end of the Tower
of Castle Town, the finest eye had ever seen from the beginning of the
universe till the end of eternity.
“It is no wonder,” he said, “the like of this should happen to me, when
I found you an unwise animal in the wood.”
“As well as you broke that condition you will break the rest; rise, and
drive the cattle away to pasture.”
When he went out, there was no number to the multitude of his flock,
and on a day of the days after that, while looking at the flock, he
thought he would go to ask the King of Ireland for a day and night’s
entertainment. He sat on the back of the old lame white horse, and went
through wood, and moss, and rugged ground, till he reached the King’s
house.
The King said to him, “Do you at all intend, O’Cronicert, to take your
flock with you? They are to-day so numerous that the herdsmen do not
know them from my own.”
“No, I have no need of them. I have a larger stock than yourself, and
what has brought me is to ask yourself and nobles for a day and night’s
entertainment.”
The King said to him, “We are ready, my good fellow, to go”; and there
were there, as men called them, Murdoch Mac Brian, and Duncan Mac
Brian, and Torgill Mac Brian, and Brian Borr Mac Cimi, and his sixteen
foster-brothers with every one of them. It was when they were near the
house O’Cronicert remembered he had left without telling her. He told
them to make their way slowly, and he himself would go before to tell
they were coming.
“You did not need, I knew very well that you went; let them come on,
everything is ready.”
When the King thought he had been seven days and seven nights drinking
there, he said to Murdoch, his son, that it was time for them to be
going. She then said to the King that it was high time for him—“You
have been seven days and seven years in this place.”
“If I am,” said he, “I need not go back; there is not a man or living
creature awaiting me.”
Murdoch had a foster-brother, whose name was Keyn, the son of Loy
(_Kian Mac an Luaimh_), and he fell in love with O’Cronicert’s wife. He
pretended to be ill and remained behind the rest. She made a drink for
him and went with it to him, but instead of taking the drink he laid
hold of herself. She suddenly became a filly, and gave him a kick and
broke his leg. She took with her the tower of Castle Town as an armful
on her shoulder and a light burden on her back, and left him in the old
tumble-down black house, in a pool of rain-drip, in the middle of the
floor.
In the parting O’Cronicert went to the change-house to bid the party
good-bye, and it was then Murdoch Mac Brian remembered he had left his
own foster-brother, Keyn, the son of Loy, behind, and said there would
be no separation in life between them, and he would go back for him.
He found Keyn in the old tumble-down black house, in the middle of the
floor, in a pool of rain-water, with his leg broken; and he said the
earth would make a nest in his sole, and the sky a nest in his head, if
he did not find a man who would cure Keyn’s leg.
The rest of the tale consists principally of _true_ tales, necessary to
be told, before Keyn will consent to stretch his leg for a salve to be
applied to it. The King of Lochlin, or, according to others, the King
of Ireland, who is bound not to allow any one to remain in distress,
when he can relieve, tells a series of marvellous adventures that
befell himself, all jointing into one another, before Keyn stretches
his foot. The composition is of a kindred character with the _Arabian
Nights’ Entertainment_.
The reader will observe that in this tale, as in that of “Macphie’s
Black Dog,” the Fairy wife is first encountered in the shape of a deer,
that (as is alleged of her race in other tales) she dislikes being
reproached with not being of mortal race, and calls up in one night a
palace of enchanting magnificence, in which time passes unobserved, and
in the end disappears, leaving matters worse than at the beginning.
THE GRUAGACH BAN.
In Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_ (ii. 410) will be found a tale
also highly illustrative of this part of the superstition. The hero
of the tale, the Fair Long-haired One, son of the King of Ireland,
encounters a woman with a narrow green kirtle (the Fairy dress), and
after playing cards with her, is placed under the following spell:—“I
place thee under enchantments and crosses, under the nine shackles of
the roaming, wandering Fairy dame, that the most stunted and weakliest
little calf take off your head, and your ears, and your livelihood, if
you rest night or day, where you take your breakfast, that you will not
take your dinner, and where you take your dinner, you will not take
your supper, till you find out the place I am in, under the four red
divisions of the world.”[45]
There is also in the tale an Elfin old woman, the Carlin of the Red
Stream, who is of the same class with the old wife of Ben Breck. She
has a wonderful deer, which she can restore to life if she can get any
of its flesh as juice to taste, and her yells split the iron hoops
the prudent Fin had put round his men’s heads in anticipation of her
outcries.
DEER KILLED AT NIGHT.
Big Hugh, of Ardchyle (_Eòghan mòr àird-a-chaoil_), in the east of
the island of Mull, a noted deer-hunter in his day, killed a deer at
Torness (_Torr-an-Eas_, the eminence by the ravine), some seven miles
away in Glenmore, and conveyed it home at night. He was accompanied
by a man of the name of Sinclair. Sinclair asked him if the deer was
heavy, and Big Hugh said he felt as if he had a house on his back.
Sinclair then stuck his pen-knife in the deer, and asked again if the
burden felt heavy. Big Hugh said it was now so light he could hardly
believe he had a burden on his back at all. The weight had been laid on
by the Fairies.
FAIRIES AND GOATS.
In Breadalbane and the Highlands of Perthshire it is said the Fairies
live on goat’s milk. A goat was taken home by a man in Strathfillan,
in Perthshire, to be killed. In the evening a stranger, dressed in
green, came to the door. He was asked to enter and rest himself. He
said he could not, as he was in a hurry, and on his way to Dunbuck (a
celebrated Fairy haunt near Dunbarton), an urgent message having come
for him. He said that many a day that goat had kept him in milk. He
then disappeared. He could be nothing but a Fairy.
FAIRIES AND COWS.
A strong-minded headstrong woman in Kianish, Tiree, had a cow, the
milk of which strangely failed. Suspecting that the cow was being
milked by someone during the night, she sat up and watched. She saw
a woman dressed in green coming noiselessly and milking the cow. She
came behind and caught her. In explanation the Fairy woman said she
had a child lying in the smallpox, and as a favour asked to be allowed
to milk the cow for one month, till the child got better. This was
allowed, and when the month was out, the cow’s milk became as plentiful
as ever.
That the Fairies took away cows at night in order to milk them, and
sent them back in the morning, was a belief in Craignish, Morvern,
Tiree, Lochaber, and probably in the whole Highlands. When milk lost
its virtue, and yielded neither cream, nor butter, nor cheese, the
work was that of witches and such like diabolical agencies. When the
mischief was done by the Fairies the whole milk disappeared.
FAIRY COWS.
A strong man named Dugald Campbell was one night, about the end of last
century, watching the cattle on the farm of Baile-phuill, in the west
of Tiree. A little red cow came among the herd and was attacked by the
other cows. It fled and they followed. Dugald also set off in pursuit.
Sometimes the little red cow seemed near, sometimes far away. At last
it entered the face of a rock, and one of the other cows followed and
was never again seen. The whole herd would have followed had not Dugald
intercepted them.
A poor person’s cow, in Skye, was by some act of oppression taken from
him. That night the Fairies brought him another cow, remarkable only in
having green water weeds upon it. This cow throve.
Some four generations ago cows came ashore on Nisibost beach, on the
farm of Loscantire (_Losg-an-tìr_), in Harris. The people got between
them and the shore, with such weapons as they could get, and kept them
from returning to the sea again. Even handfuls of sand thrown between
the cows and the shore kept them back. These sea-cows were in all
respects like ordinary highland cattle but were supposed to live under
the sea on the sea-weed called _meillich_. They were called Fairy cows
(_Cro sìth_), and the superiority of the Loscantire cattle was said to
have originated from them. It is more probable the superiority of the
stock was the origin of the Fairy cattle.
Cows of the same kind were also said to have come ashore in Bernera,
in Uist, and at MacNicol’s Big Rock (_Creag mhòr mhic Neacail_), on
the farm of Scorrybreck, in Skye. In the latter place they were kept
from returning by tossing earth between them and the sea. Earth from a
burying-ground was thought to be the most effective in such cases. On
the evening of the day on which the cows came ashore a voice was heard
from the sea calling them by name. From the rhyme in which this was
done we learn the cows were of different colours, one black, another
brown, brindled, red, white-faced, etc.:
Sisgein, Brisgein,
Meangan, Meodhran,
Bo dhu, bo dhonn
Bo chrom riabhach
Sliochd na h-aona bhà maoile ruaidhe,
Nach d’ fhàg buaile riasnh na h-aonar;
Bo chionnan Thonn,
È bhlàrag.
THE THIRSTY PLOUGHMAN.
A ploughman while engaged at his work heard, or fancied he heard,
a sound of churning, and said he wished his thirst “was on the
dairymaid.” In a short time after a woman appeared and offered him a
drink of buttermilk. Her green dress and sudden appearance made him
refuse the offer, and she said that next year he would not need the
drink. When the twelve months were nearly out the man died.[46]
THE FAIRY CHURNING.
A woman, near Portree, in Skye, was coming home in the evening with
her milk pails from the cattle fold, accompanied by a dog, which went
trotting along before her. Suddenly the dog was observed to run to a
green hillock, fall down on its knees, and hold its ear to the ground.
The woman went up to see what the matter was, and on listening heard
a woman inside the hillock churning milk, and singing at her work. At
the end of every verse there was a chorus or exclamation of _hŭ_.
The song was learnt by the listener, and became known as the “Song of
the Hillock” (_Òran a chnuic_). The writer has not been able to fall in
with a copy of it. The incident occurred three generations ago.
MILK SPILT.
There was a Fairy hillock near Dowart, in Mull, close to the road which
led from the cattle fold to the village. If any milk was spilt by the
dairymaids on their way home with the milk pails, it was a common
saying that the Fairies would get its benefit.
FAIRY MUSIC.
Two children, a brother and sister, went on a moonlight winter’s night
to Kennavarra Hill, to look after a snare they had set for little
birds in a hollow near a stream. The ground was covered with snow, and
when the two had descended into the hollow, they heard most beautiful
music coming from under ground, close to where they were standing. In
the extremity of terror both fled. The boy went fastest, and never
looked behind him. The girl was at first encumbered by her father’s
big shoes, which she had put on for the occasion, but, throwing them
off, she reached home with a panting heart, not long after her brother.
The story was told by her when an old woman. She had never forgot the
fright the Fairy music gave her in childhood.
In the Braes of Portree there is a hillock called “The Fairy Dwelling
of the Pretty Hill” (_Sìthein Beinne Bòidhich_). A man passing near it
in the evening heard from underground the most delightful music ever
heard. He could not, however, tell the exact spot from which the sound
emanated.
Sounds of exquisite music, as if played by a piper marching at the
head of a procession, used to be heard going underground from the Harp
Hillock to the top of the Dùn of Caolis, in the east end of Tiree.
Many tunes, of little poetical, whatever be their musical merit, said
to have been learned from the Fairies, are to be heard. One of these,
which the writer heard, seemed to consist entirely of variations upon
the word ‘do-leedl’em.’
MACCRIMMON.
The MacCrimmons were pipers to Macleod, of Macleod, and the most
celebrated musicians among the Scottish Gaël. The founder of the family
is said to have been an Italian harper from Cremona, who came with
Macleod to Dunvegan, and took the surname from his native town. There
are several versions of the story, which ascribes the excellence of the
MacCrimmons in music to the Fairies. The following two will suffice.
The first of the MacCrimmons, when a young lad, was sent to a music
master to learn bagpipe playing. There was to be a competition of
pipers at a wedding in the neighbourhood, and MacCrimmon asked from
his master permission to attend, but was refused. He resolved to go
notwithstanding, and set off alone, taking a short cut across the
hills. On the way he fell in with a Fairy dwelling, which he entered.
He found no person in but an old woman, who spoke kindly to him,
saying she knew the object of his journey, and, on his promising to go
half loss and gain with her, gave him a black chanter, which, placed
in his pipes, would enable him to excel his master, and every other
performer. She added that she and her people were about to remove from
their present dwelling, but, if he came on a certain night (naming
one near at hand), they would have time to give him some lessons. To
this one night’s instruction, and the magic chanter, which remained
in the family as an heirloom, the MacCrimmons were indebted for their
acknowledged superiority as pipers. Their fame will last “while wind is
blown into sheepskin.”
‘The Blind Piper’ (_am Piobaire dall_) was the first of the MacCrimmons
who acquired fame as a piper. Two Banshis found him sleeping in the
open air, and one of them blinded one of his eyes. The second Banshi
asked that the other eye might be spared. It, however, was blinded
also. The benevolent Fairy then suggested that some gift should be
given that would enable the poor man to earn his living. On this the
Fairy Carlin gave MacCrimmon a brindled chanter, which, placed in the
bagpipes, enabled the player to outrival all pipers. When the Laird of
Dungallon obtained the brindled chanter for his own piper Macintyre,
the MacCrimmons never did well after. The chanter was last known to be
at Callart.
Mac-an-sgialaiche, pipers at Taymouth Castle, were also said to have
got their pipes from the Fairies.
FAIRY DOGS (‘CU SITH’).
A large black dog, passing by with a noiseless and gliding motion,
was a common object of terror in the Hebrides on winter nights. The
coil in the animal’s tail was alone sufficiently alarming. Much of its
shape depended, no doubt, on how his own hair hung over the eyes of the
frightened spectator.
A man, coming across the links near Kennavara Hill in Tiree, came upon
a large black dog, resting on the side of a sandbank. On observing it,
he turned aside, and took another road home. Next day he recovered
courage, and went to examine the spot. He found on the sand the marks
of a dog’s paw, as large as the spread of his palm. He followed these
huge footmarks till he lost them on the plain. The dog had taken no
notice of him, and he felt assured, from its size, it could be no
earthly hound.
On the north shore of Tiree there is a beach of more than a mile in
length, called _Cladach a Chrògain_, well calculated to be the scene
of strange terrors. The extensive plain (about 1500 acres in extent),
of which it forms the northern fringe, is almost a dead level, and in
instances of very high flood-tides, with north-west gales of wind,
the sea has been known to overflow it, and join the sea on the south
side, three miles away, dividing Tiree into two islands. The upper part
of the beach consists of loose round stones, a little larger than a
goose’s egg, which make, when the tide is in, and under the influence
of the restless surf, a hoarse rumbling sound, sufficiently calculated,
with the accompaniment of strange scenery, to awaken the imagination.
An old woman, half-a-century ago, asserted that, when a young girl, she
had heard on this beach the bark of the Fairy hound. Her father’s house
was at a place called Fidden, of which no trace now remains beyond the
name of the Fidden Gate (_Cachla nam Fidean_), given to a spot where
there is no gate. It was after night-fall, and she was playing out
about the doors, when she was suddenly startled by a loud sound, like
the baying of a dog, only much louder, from the other end of the shore.
She remembered her father having come and taken hold of her hand, and
running with her to the house, for if the dog was heard to bark thrice,
it would overtake them. It made a noise like a horse galloping.
At the foot of Heynish Hill, in the extreme south-west of Tiree,
there is one of those small forts to be found in great numbers in the
Hebrides (and said to have been intended, by fires lighted upon them,
to give warning of the approach of the Danes), called Shiadar Fort.
In former days a family resided, or was out at the summer shielings,
near this fort. The byre, in which the milch cows were kept, was
some distance from the dwelling-house, and two boys of the family
slept there to take care of the cows. One night a voice came to the
mother of the family that the two best calves in the byre were at the
point of death, and as a proof of the warning, she would find the big
yellow cow dead at the end of the house. This proved to be the case,
and on reaching the byre the anxious woman found her two boys nearly
frightened to death. They said they heard Fairy dogs trampling and
baying on the top of the house.
There is a natural recess in the rocks of the shore at Baluaig in
Tiree, to which tradition has given the name of the Bed of the Fairy
Dog. It is not far from Crogan beach, already mentioned as a place
where the Fairy dog was heard, and opposite the _Gràdor_, a low-water
rock over which the sea breaks with terrible violence in stormy
weather. The loneliness and wildness of the spot might well cause it to
be associated with tales of superstition.
A shepherd in Lorn came to the top of a rock, and in a nest or lair
below him he saw two pups about two months old with green backs and
sides. They were larger and longer than his own dogs. He got afraid
and fled before the old hound made her appearance. His dogs also were
afraid. So the tradition says.
DOGS CHASING FAIRIES.
Two men from Mull were engaged building a march dyke across the hills
in Kintail. To be near their work, they took up their residence by
themselves in a hut among the hills. One night, before retiring to
rest, they heard a horrible screaming coming in the direction of the
hut. They went out with sticks of firewood in their hands. Though they
could see nothing, they knew something was approaching. The shrieks
came nearer and nearer, and at last a large dark object passed. A
little dog, ‘Dun-foot’ by name, which accompanied the men, gave chase.
When it returned there was no hair on any part of it but on its ears,
and no hair ever grew after but a sort of down.
A number of young men were out at night on the moorlands of Cornaigbeg
farm in Tiree watching the cattle, to keep them from wandering into
the crop lands. They went to the moss about a mile away for peats,
which at the time (some sixty years ago) were plentiful in Tiree,
but becoming in some way alarmed they turned back on the road. When
returning they heard strange noises coming towards them, and a dog that
accompanied them began to course round and round between them and the
noise. At last the noise passed, with sounds like the trampling of a
herd of sheep, and the dog went off in pursuit. On its return its hair
was found scraped off, as if by long sharp nails, and the whole skin
was left bare and white, except where here and there it was torn and
bloody. It died in a short time after.
A man in Mull was sent on a journey after nightfall, and about
midnight, when crossing the hills from Loch Tuath (the North Loch) and
Loch Cuän (_Loch Cumhan_, the narrow loch), saw a light in the face of
a hillock. He was accompanied by his dog, and before long he heard the
noise of dogs fighting, mixed with sounds of lovely music. He made off
as fast as he could, and, on arriving at the house to which he had been
sent, was offered supper. He was unable to take any. Before bed-time
his dog came with every hair on its body pulled off. It smelt its
master’s clothes all over, lay down at his feet, and was dead in a few
minutes.
A gentleman of the name of Evan Cameron (it does not appear where)
on his way home across the hills was overtaken by nightfall and lost
his way. He was accompanied by a greyhound and three terriers. He
saw a light in a bothy or hut, used in summer, when the cattle were
at pasture among the hills, but deserted during the greater part of
the year. He made towards it, and on looking in at the door, saw a
woman sitting by the fire, all wet, and combing her hair. She looked
towards him, and said, “Will you not come after your eye, Evan?” (_Nach
d’thig thu ’n déigh do shùil, Eoghain_). “Not just now” (_Cha d’thig an
dràsd_), he replied. After some further conversation he was obliged to
allow his dogs to attack the strange creature. He himself held on his
way, and in a few hours reached home. The greyhound found its way home,
but without any hair upon its body. None of the terriers was ever heard
of more.[47]
FAIRIES AND HORSES.
At Ruig, at the foot of the Storr Rock, in Skye, at the time it was
occupied by small farmers (sixteen in number), all the horses on the
farm, numbering as many as a hundred, were seen ridden by the Fairies,
sitting with their faces to the tail, on Hallowmas night. The shore
line of the farm consists of frightful precipices, and the horses, as
if very madness (_an cuthach dearg_) had taken possession of them, went
off at their utmost speed towards the shore. Every one thought they
would be lost, but no harm arose after all from the stampede.
Near Killin in Perthshire, a man entered a Fairy Knowe, and found
inside a woman making porridge. The dish boiled so fiercely that a
spark from the porridge flew and struck him in the eye. He saw the
Fairies ever after with that eye. At the St. Fillan market (_Feill
Fhaolain_) at Killin, he saw them in great numbers riding about the
market on white horses. Meeting one, whom he recognized, he remarked,
“What a number of you are here to-day.” The Fairy asked which eye he
saw ‘the folk’ with, and on being told put it out.
* * * * *
A young wife had not, as was customary at that time, learned to spin
and weave. She tried in every way to learn, but try as she might she
made no progress, till one noon-day she wished some one would come
to help her. She then saw a woman standing in the door, who said she
would help her on condition that she would give her her first child
when born, but if she could tell the _shi_ woman’s name when she came
to take away the child she would be free from her promise. The young
woman rashly agreed to this, and in a short time could make _clò_
(cloth) better than any one around her. After some time, however, she
began to be afraid her visitor would return, and she went about eagerly
listening to hear the name, when suddenly one day she saw an opening
in a grassy hillock beside her, and on looking in saw the same woman
standing inside, and heard another one calling to her. She went home
joyously repeating the name all the way, and told her husband how she
heard it. When the _Bean shi_ came again, the mother of the child
called out to her by the name she had heard, and invited her to come
in, but she only said, “A blessing on the name, but banning on the
mouth that taught you,” and she never afterwards darkened the door.
On another day the husband was with his wife in the fields working and
looking about, when they saw a great company of riders on white horses
coming where they were, and as they came near one of the riders caught
hold of her and took her away. Her husband did not know what to do. He
went wandering about looking for her, but never finding her, till one
day, to his great wonderment, he saw a glimmer of light on the side of
the hill. He reached it, and saw an opening. He put a pin in the side
and went in, and saw a great company feasting and dancing, with his
lost wife in the middle of the dancers. She saw him also, and began to
sing loudly:
“Take no food here Ialai o horro horro,
Ask no drink here Ialai o horro hee.”
No one took any notice of him. He got near her, and putting his arm
around her, whisked her out of the circle of dancers. He took her
home, but she became discontented, and was never the same being as she
had been before. At last it happened when they were again out together
that the riders on white horses came their way. On parting with him
this time she said, “If at any time he wished her to come back, he was
to throw her marriage dress, which had _craobh uaine_, _i.e._ green
tracery on the right shoulder, after her when he saw her passing in the
company, and she would return home.” Thinking she did not belong to
this world, he did nothing, and she passed and never returned to him.
FAIRIES AND THE HANDMILL.
The invention of the handmill or quern, in the infancy of the arts,
must have formed an era in the history of human progress. Whoever first
found out a handy way of reducing the solid grain into meal bestowed an
inestimable blessing on the human race. The instrument is still to be
occasionally met with in the Hebrides, in houses not convenient to mill
or market. It is usually worked by two women, like the mills in use in
the East.
“A pair of thick-set hussies
Winding round a quern.”[48]
It is a common practice with women to sing at their work, as indeed
they did in the Highlands in olden times at most of their labours, such
as reaping, sowing, milking.
Old Archibald, for half a century servant to the ministers of Tiree,
would insist to his dying day that, coming home at night with a cart
from the parish mill, he heard the handmill at work inside the Red
Knolls (_na Cnocana ruadha_) near the road. He could put his foot on
the very spot where he heard the noise. To ask him if he was naturally
troubled with singing in the ears, or show any other symptom of
unbelief, was resented as an affront, and neither minister nor elder,
nor a whole synod, would persuade him there were no Fairies. He had
heard them himself “with his own ears.”
The man who first got the loan of a quern from the Fairies never sent
it home. In revenge, the elves took away all substance from his crop
that year, and he derived no benefit from grain or fodder. His is the
fate of many inventors. The benefit is not immediate. It seems the
elves had no power but over the year’s crop.
FAIRIES AND OATMEAL.
A man in Islay got a loan of oatmeal from the Fairies, and when
returning it, he, out of gratitude, left at the hole, which led to the
Fairy residence, and where he had been in the habit of getting and
leaving such loans, more meal than he had borrowed. The Fairies are a
just race; they take no more than their exact due; they were offended
by more being offered, and never after gave that man a loan of meal.
A kind-hearted woman, the wife of a well-to-do farmer in the rugged
district of Kingairloch, was one day visited by a young woman, a
stranger to her, who asked for, and got a loan of meal. In answer to
the housewife’s inquiries, the visitor said she came from the hillock
above the house, on which a rowan-tree, or mountain ash, was growing.
She wore an upper dress like a grey tippet. This event took place
shortly before Beltane, when ploughing and other farm operations were
being proceeded with. In a week after Grey Tippet came back with the
meal, _but it was barley-meal_, and told the good-wife to bless this
every time she took any of it. This direction was carefully attended
to, and the meal never got less. One day a scatter-brain member of the
family asked if that cursed barley-meal was never to be done. The next
time the mistress went to the chest there was no more barley-meal.
The house of one M‘Millan, at the foot of Ben Iadain in Morvern, a
high hill already mentioned for its reputation as a Fairy residence,
was visited by a stranger, a woman, who asked for a loan of meal. She
said she stayed in that same neigbourhood, that the men were away just
now in Lismore, and that the meal would be sent back on their return.
This was done in due course, as promised, and M‘Millan’s wife was told
never to allow any one but herself to bend over the chest, in which
the meal was kept, and the meal would prove inexhaustible. At last,
however, when Mrs. M‘Millan was ill, another opened the chest, and the
meal disappeared.
Hector, son of Ferchar, in the Ross of Mull, was an easy-going,
kind-hearted man, a weaver by trade, who would give away the last
of his goods to any one he saw in distress. So weak was he in this
respect, that his wife did not care to trust him with anything—he was
sure to give it away to the first poor man that came his way. Having
occasion to go to the summer pastures in the hill, and leave Hector
alone in charge of the house, she measured out enough meal to last him
for the fifteen days she expected to be away, and gave it to him in
a skin bag. When returning, she met a beggar, who said he had got a
handful of meal from her husband, and Hector himself, when questioned,
said he had given away sixteen such handfuls. Yet the bag was found to
be quite full.
FAIRIES AND IRON.
In Mull, a person, encountered by a _Bean shìth_, was told by her that
she was kept from doing him harm by the iron he had about him. The only
iron he had was a ring round the point of his walking stick.
In the North of Ireland, an iron poker, laid across the cradle, kept
away the Fairies till the child was baptized.
The writer remembers well that, when a school-boy, great confidence was
put in a knife, of which he was the envied possessor, and in a nail,
which another boy had, to protect us from a Fairy (_sìthche_), which
was said to have made its appearance at a spot near which the road to
school passed the Hawthorn Bush between the Black Nose and the Pass
of the Dead (_An Crògan Sgithich eadar an t-Sròn du ’s Bealach nam
Marbh_). This was in Appin, Argyllshire.
The efficacy of iron, in warding off Fairy attacks, has already been
illustrated.
NAME OF THE DEITY.
The Fairies were building a bridge across Loch Rannoch, between
Camaghouran and Innis-droighinn, when a passer-by wished them
God-speed. Instantly the work stopped, and was never resumed. (Cf. page
64.)
FAIRY GIFTS.
A smith, the poorest workman in his trade, from his inferior
skill, only got coarse work to do, and was known as the “Smith of
Ploughshares” (_Gobhainn nan Soc_). He was, besides, the ugliest man,
and the rudest speaker. One day he fell asleep on a hillock, and three
Fairy women, coming that way, left him each a parting gift (_fàgail_).
After that he became the best workman, the best looking man, and the
best speaker in the place, and became known as the “Smith of Tales”
(_Gobhainn nan sgial_).
A man, out hunting, fell asleep in a dangerous place, near the brink
of a precipice. When he awoke a Fairy woman was sitting at his head,
singing gently.
STRUCK BY THE FAIRY ARROW SPADE.
Donald, who lived in Gortan du in Lorn, was working in a drain with
a pointed spade. One evening, having left the spade standing in the
drain, he was startled by something striking it with a loud knock. He
found the noise was made by the blow of a smooth, polished, flint-like
stone. He put this in his pocket and took it home. Some evenings after,
“Callum Clever,” already mentioned as frequently carried about by the
Fairies, was shown the stone. He declared that it had been thrown by
himself at the instigation of the Fairies, who wanted to take Donald
himself. Donald of Gortan du was a cooper, and was wanted to make a
barrel for a cow the elves had just killed. (Cf. page 26.)
CHAPTER III.
TUTELARY BEINGS.
I. THE GLAISTIG.
The Glaistig was a tutelary being in the shape of a thin grey (_tana
glas_) little woman, with long yellow hair reaching to her heels,
dressed in green, haunting certain sites or farms, and watching in some
cases over the house, in others over the cattle. She is called ‘the
Green Glaistig’ (_a Ghlaistig uaine_) from her wan looks and dress of
green, the characteristic Fairy colour. She is said to have been at
first a woman of honourable position, a former mistress of the house,
who had been put under enchantments and now had a Fairy nature given
her. She disliked dogs, and took fools and people of weak intellect
under her particular charge. She was solitary in her habits, not more
than one, unless when accompanied by her own young one, being found
in the same haunt. Her strength was very great, much greater than
that of any Fairy, and one yell of hers was sufficient to waken the
echoes of distant hills. Strong men were said to have mastered her,
but ordinarily people were afraid of meeting her. She might do them
a mischief and leave them a token, by which they would have cause to
remember the encounter. She made herself generally useful, but in many
cases was only mischievous and troublesome.
She seems in all cases to have had a special interest in the cows
and the dairy, and to have resented any want of recognition of her
services. A portion of milk was set apart for her every evening, in
a hole for the purpose in some convenient stone, and unless this was
done, something was found amiss in the dairy next morning. Others left
milk for her only when leaving the summer pastures for the season.
She was seldom seen, oftenest when anything was to happen to the house
she followed. She might then be seen, making her way in the evening up
the slope to the castle, herding the cattle on the pastures, sunning
herself on the top of a distant rock, or coming to the fold at dusk for
her allowance of milk. Her cries, and the noise she made, arranging
the furniture, shouting after the cattle, or at the approach of joy or
sorrow, were frequently heard.
In the south Highlands, the Glaistig was represented as a little wan
woman, stout and not tall, but very strong. In Skye, where most of her
duties were assigned to a male deity, the _Gruagach_, she was said to
be very tall, ‘a lath of a body’ like a white reflection or shade.
Her name is derived from _glas_, grey, wan, or pale-green, and
_stìg_, a sneaking or crouching object, probably in allusion to her
invisibility, noiseless motions, or small size. In the _Highland
Society’s Dictionary_, she is called “a she-devil, or hag, in the
shape of a goat,” and the definition is accepted by M‘Leod and Dewar.
This, however, is a mistake. The shape of a goat, in the Highlands as
elsewhere, has been assigned to the devil only, and there was nothing
diabolical, or of the nature of an evil spirit, seeking the perdition
of mankind, ascribed to the poor Glaistig. She occupied a middle
position between the Fairies and mankind; she was not a Fairy woman
(_Bean shìth_) but one of human race, who had a Fairy nature given to
her. The Fairies themselves are much nearer in character to the race of
man than to that of devils. Of course all unearthly beings are to be
avoided, but of all the beings, with which fear or fancy has peopled
the unseen world, the Glaistig and her near relation the Brownie are
among the most harmless.
The house or castle-haunting Glaistig was also known by the names of
_Maighdean sheòmbair_, _i.e._ chamber-maid, _Gruagach_, young woman,
lit. long-haired one, and _Gruagach sheòmbair_, ‘fille de chambre,’
and her attachment was not to the family but to the site or stance
(_làrach_). It was always the abodes of the affluent in which she
resided, and she continued her occupancy after a change of tenants,
and even after the building was deserted and had become a nesting
place for wild birds. In olden times there was a perpetuity of tenure
enjoyed by large tenants, and it is not surprising that writers have
fallen into the mistake of supposing the tutelary guardian of the house
to be that of its tenants. The Glaistig had sympathy with the tenant
so far, that she broke out into loud expressions of joy or sorrow, or
made her appearance more frequently when happiness or misfortune were
to come upon the family; but her real attachment was to the building
or site. Indeed, none of these beings of superstition were tutelary
to the human race, or had anything about them of the character of the
Genius or δαιμων. When the house was to be levelled, even
though the family remained on the land, and a new house (on another
site) was built, the Glaistig made a lamentable outcry, left, and was
never afterwards seen or heard. Her usual occupation consisted in
“putting things in order” at night, sweeping the floor, drawing chairs
and tables about, and arranging the furniture. After the household had
retired to rest, she was heard at work in apartments that were locked,
and in which no human being could be. It was then known there would
shortly be an arrival of strangers. In the morning the furniture was
found in most cases untouched or disarranged. In other cases the house
was found tidied up, and work which had been left for the Glaistig,
such as washing, was found finished. She was fond of working with the
spinning wheel, and, according to some, it was to prevent her coming to
the house, and working with it on Sundays that old women were careful
to take off the band every Saturday night. She had a similar fondness
for working with tradesmen’s tools, and artizans were often much
annoyed at hearing her working at night, and finding in the morning
their tools spoiled or mislaid. When the servants neglected their work
or spoke disrespectfully of herself, or did anything to her favourites,
she played pranks to punish them. She knocked down the water-stoups,
disarranged the bedclothes, put dust in the meat, led the objects of
her resentment a fool’s chase about the house, or in the dark gave them
a slap to be remembered on the side of the head. When happiness or
misfortune, a marriage or a death, was to occur in the household, she
was heard rejoicing or wailing long before the event occurred.
It was, however, to the being of this class, that haunted the folds of
the cattle, that the name of _Glaistig_ is most commonly given. Her
occupation consisted in a general superintendence of the sheep, cows,
and horses of the farm. When the family was at dinner, or the herdsman
had fallen asleep and neglected his charge, she kept the cattle out of
mischief; and, though not seen, was heard shouting after them, and
driving them to their proper pastures. In this respect, she behaved
like an old and careful herdsman. If the cows were not clean milked,
she punished the dairy-maid by some unchancy prank. At night she kept
the calves from the cows (a needful and useful occupation before the
days of enclosures and plentiful farm accommodation), and its substance
in the milk. In summer she accompanied the cattle to the hill pastures,
and there had her portion of milk duly poured out for her in the
evening in a stone near the fold. Unless this was done the calves were
found next morning with the cows, the cream not risen from the milk,
a cow was found dead, or some other mischance occurred. She was not
supposed ever to enter a house, but to stay in some ravine (_eas_) near
a Fairy residence. She disliked dogs very much, and if a present of
shoes or clothes were made to her, she was offended and left. She is
not generally spoken of as appearing in any shape but her own, but in
some localities and tales, is said to assume the shape of a horse as
‘old grey mare,’ and even of a dog.
The Glaistig resembled the Fairies in being invisible, and in having a
noiseless gliding motion; in her dislike of dogs; in affecting green
in her dress; in being addicted to meddling at night with the spinning
wheel and tradesmen’s tools; in her outcries being a premonition of
coming events; in being kept away by steel, and in her ability to give
skill in handicrafts to her favourites. The Fairies bestowed this
skill on those who had the _Ceaird-Chomuinn_, or association craft,
_i.e._ the assistance of the Folk. The Glaistig gave the choice of
‘ingenuity without advantage’ (_ealdhain gun rath_) or ‘advantage
without ingenuity’ (_rath gun ealdhain_). Those who chose the former
proved clever workmen but never prospered; and those who chose the
latter turned out stupid fellows who made fortunes.
She differed in being more akin to ordinary women than the true
Fairy wife (_Bean shìth_); she was stronger, and as it were more
substantial; it was true woman’s work which, as chamber-maid or
dairy-maid, she performed. Though her ‘bed’ was near a Fairy dwelling,
and she could command the services of the Elves, she did not engage
in Fairy employments or recreations. The Fairies punished people of a
discontented, grumbling disposition, by taking away the substance of
their goods. The Glaistig was also offended at littleness and meanness
of mind, but meanness of a different kind. Those who looked down on
fools and people of weak intellect, or ill-treated them, she paid off
by putting dust or soot in their meat. Akin to this was her punishment
of neglect in servants.
In some parts of the Highlands the Glaistig is called _Glaisrig_.
The name of her young one is _Méilleachan_, a name probably derived
from its bleating or whimpering after the old one. It is also called
_Isein_, a chicken, and _Gocan_, a little plug.
THE GLAISTIG AT GLENDUROR.
The being which attached herself to the farm-house of Achindarroch
(_Acha-nan-darach, field of oaks_) in Glenduror, Appin, Argyleshire,
was variously known as the _Glaistig_ and as the _Gruagach_ of
Glenduror. She attended to the cattle, and took particular charge of
keeping the calves from the cows at night. She followed the house (not
the family), and was alive not many years ago. A portion of milk was
poured out for her every evening on a stone called _Clach na Glaistig_
(the Glaistig stone), and once this was neglected by a new tenant, the
calves were found next morning with the cows. Her face was described
by those who professed to have seen her, as being like a grey stone
overgrown with lichens. A servant girl, going on a dark evening to
draw water from a stream flowing past the house, was asked by her
fellow-servants if she was not afraid of the Glaistig. In her reply
she spoke contemptuously of that being, and on her way to the stream
received a slap on the cheek that twisted her head to one side. The
following evening, going on the same errand, she got a slap on the
other cheek that put her head right.[49]
THE GLAISTIG AT SRON-CHARMAIG.
The Glaistig attached to this house on Loch Faschan-side in Lorn
was known as _Nic-ille-mhicheil_ (_i.e._ a woman of the surname of
Carmichael), and was said to have been a former mistress of the house.
She lived in a ravine, called Eas-ronaich, near the mansion, and when
any misfortune was about to befall the family set up a loud wailing. On
sunny days she was to be seen basking on the top of _Creag Ghrianach_
(the Sunny Rock), also in the neighbourhood. Before the old house was
levelled, and the present mansion was built, she set up an unusually
loud wailing, and then left. Fully a year before the event, she seemed
greatly disturbed; her step up and down stairs, and the noise of chairs
and tables being moved about was frequently heard after people had
gone to bed. At Glen-Iuchair, a man, who was in the evening convoyed
across the glen by a _grey_ sheep, was firmly of opinion his strange
convoy could have been no other than Nic-ille-mhìcheil. No real sheep
could have been so attentive to him. This attachment to particular
individuals was also shown in the case of a poor old woman, named _Mòr_
(_i.e._ Sarah), resident on the farm. When Mor fell sick, the Glaistig
used to come to the window and wail loudly.
One evening at the cattle-fold, after the cows had been milked and
before the herd and dairy-maids had started home with the milk-pails,
a woman, dressed in _green_, was seen coming and trying the udders of
the cows, as if to see whether they had been properly milked. The herd
had his dog with him, and happened at the time to be sitting with it
in his arms. The dog sprang from him and gave chase, and the woman fled
like a bird. This was at a place called _Doire nan Each_, ‘the Wood of
the Horses,’ several miles from the mansion, and the woman was believed
to be Nic-ille-mhìcheil.
AT INVERAWE HOUSE.
This mansion-house has long been haunted by a Glaistig known as the
‘Maiden of Inverawe’ (_Maighdean Inbher-atha_), who was to be heard
(at least till very recently) rustling (_srannail_) through the house.
Stoups full of water, left in the house at night, were found in the
morning upset by her, and chairs, left however neatly arranged, were
turned round. She is said to have been some former mistress of the
house who had proved unfaithful and had been buried alive.
AT DUNSTAFFNAGE CASTLE.
This castle (_Dùn-sta’innis_), once a seat of the kings of Scotland,
was haunted by a woman known as the _Sianag_ (or Elle-maid) of
Dunstaffnage. She broke into outcries of joy or sorrow (_mulad no
aighear_), according as a happy or unfortunate event was to befall the
inmates. A stranger, who accompanied one of the servants to the castle
and remained there that night, had his bedclothes twice pulled off
by her, and heard her all night walking through the room and in the
adjoining passages. Her footsteps were heavy like those of a man.
IN TIREE.
A Gruagach haunted the ‘Island House’ (_Tigh an Eilein_, so called from
being at first surrounded with water), the principal residence in the
island, from time immemorial till within the present century. She was
never called Glaistig, but Gruagach and Gruagach mhara (sea-maid) by
the islanders. Tradition represents her as a little woman with long
yellow hair, but a sight of her was rarely obtained. She staid in the
attics, and the doors of the rooms in which she was heard working were
locked at the time. She was heard putting the house in order when
strangers were to come, however unexpected otherwise their arrival
might be. She pounded the servants when they neglected their work.
AT SLEAT, SKYE.
The Glaistig of the old Castle of Sleat (_Sléibhte_, mountain
pastures), once the residence of the Lords of the Isles, was often seen
at dusk standing near the _Gruagach_ stone, where her allowance of milk
was placed. Her appearance was that of a young woman with long hair.
IN THE ISLAND OF COLL.
The Glaistig that haunted old Breacacha Castle, the family seat of
the MacLeans of Coll, was in size ‘like a lump of a lassie’ (_cnapach
caileig_), and had white hair like a tuft of flax (_gibeag lìn_), as
long as herself. She put the house in order when strangers were to
come, and guests getting up through the night were led astray by her,
so that they could not find their way back to bed again. Indeed, she
is even accused of maltreating strangers, while she let those she knew
alone.
AT DUNOLLY CASTLE.
The Glaistig of this castle made herself very useful. The family
washing had only to be left for her at night and it was done before
morning. Glimpses of her were seen in the evening on her way up to the
castle. During the night she tidied up the house and swept the floors.
The fool (_amadan_) attached to the castle was taken under her special
protection, and he often had his meat clean when others had it full of
‘stour.’
AT MEARNAIG CASTLE.
This ancient ruin is on the summit of a conical rock, above a hundred
feet high, close to the shore, in Glen Sanda, on the Kingerloch coast.
About three or four hundred feet from it there is a beautiful and
curious echo. A call of eight or nine syllables is distinctly repeated
from the castle after the speaker has ceased. The only reminiscence of
the castle’s former tenants is the call usually given, when rousing the
echo, “Are you in, maiden?” (_Am bheil thu stigh a mhaighdean?_) The
maiden is the tutelary Glaistig that haunted all such buildings.
IN STRATHGLASS.
The Gruagach or Glaistig that haunted the house of _Mac ’ic Alasdair_
(the patronymic of the chiefs of Glengarry), in Strathglass, was never
seen, but was commonly heard at night putting dishes in order. She was
given, like many of her sort in the old hospitable Highland days, to
leading strangers astray through the house. A shepherd from Morvern
came some forty years ago to the neighbourhood, and the Glaistig took a
great fancy to staying with him. He suffered a great deal of annoyance
from her, though no ultimate loss. If he left his jacket on the paling
(_staing_) to dry, it might be away the first time he went to look for
it, but the next time he might, and ultimately would, find it all safe.
At times cheese disappeared for a while from the ‘amry.’ At night the
shepherd felt the coverlet being hauled off, and heard the Glaistig
giggling, with a short sort of laugh, hĭ, hĭ, hĭ.
He might leave their calves all night with the two cows he owned, the
Glaistig kept them from sucking. Before being reconciled to her he
tried to keep her away by putting the New Testament above the door
and round the walls, but without effect. A party of young men came one
evening to hear the mysterious noises. They saw and heard nothing till
they were going away. The pot was then lifted off the fire without any
visible agency and left on the floor; while they themselves had their
eyes nearly knocked out at the door with tough clods from the marsh
(_pluic ruighinn réisg_).
AT LIANACHAN.
A strong man of the name of Kennedy or MacCuaric,[50] residing at
Lianachan in Lochaber, was coming home in the evening from setting a
salmon net in the river when a Glaistig met him on the bank of the
stream. He locked his arms round her (_ghlas e lamhun_), took her
with him to the house, and would not let her go till she built for
him a large barn of six couples (_sia suidheachun_). This she did in
one night. As her parting gift she left a blessing and a curse to the
MacCuarics, that they should grow like rushes but wither like ferns.
This proved to be the case—the man’s family grew up tall, and straight,
and handsome, but when they attained their full strength and growth
they wasted prematurely away.
The following is a close translation of a much fuller and slightly
different version of the legend (see volume of Gaelic poems called _An
Duanaire_, p. 123). The Gaelic is not given as the volume is easily
accessible. It is a pity that the author of the piece, if known to the
collector, is not given.
“One night the big black lad MacCuaric was going home from the smithy;
the Glaistig met him as he was crossing _Curr_ at the ford of Croisg:
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,
Would you be the better of a rider behind?
Yes, and a rider before, said he;
And he gave her a little big lift
From the bare beach,
And tied her before him,
Safely and surely,
On the back of the mettlesome horse,
With the wizard belt of Fillan;
And he swore and asseverated
Vehemently and stubbornly,
He would not let her whole from his grasp,
Till he showed her before men.
Let me go, said she, and I will give
For loss and damage,
A fold full of speckled cattle,
White-bellied, black, white-headed,
Success on hill and in company
To yourself and your sort after you.
That is mine in spite of you, said he,
And it suffices not to set you free.
Let me go, and I will leave your land,
Where in the knoll I stayed;
And I will build thee to-night.
On yonder field,
A big, strong, dike house,
A house fire will not pierce,
Water, nor arrow, nor iron,
And will keep thee dry and comfortable,
Without dread, or fear, and charmed
Against poison, caterans, and fairies.
Fulfil your words, said he,
And from me get your leave.
She gave a shriek with wailing,
That was heard over seven hills!
It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,
Owned by Fionn, had whistled.
Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliff
Wakened and echoed,
And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,
Waiting her orders.
She set them to work speedily,
Calmly, orderly,
And they brought flags and stones
From the shore of Clianaig waterfall,
Reaching them from hand to hand;
From the Knoll of Shore Islet
Were cut beams and rafters;
And supports long,
Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;
While she herself unceasing said
One stone above two stones,
And two stones above one stone,
Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,
Every timber in the wood
But mulberry;
Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,
And sows not as he gets!
And at the grey dawning
There was divot on the roof,
And smoke from it!
He kept the coulter in the fire,
To keep him from mischance,
Since he knew the pranks
And enchantments of the Fairies.
When the house was now finished
And she had made up each loss,
He loosened the maid
And suffered no harm.
Going past the window in front
She stretched him her crooked palm
To bid him farewell,—
But (truly) to take him to the shïen.
The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);
She sprang then on a grey stone
Of the Field, to pronounce his doom.
She brought the curse of the people on him,
And the curse of the goblins,
And if we may believe as we hear,
She obtained her request.
‘Grow like rushes.
Wither like fern,
Turn grey in childhood,
Change in height of your strength;
I ask not a son may not succeed.
I am the sorrowing Glaistig
That staid in the land of the Meadow,
I built a big house on the Field,
Which caused a sore pain in my side;
I will put out my heart’s blood,
High on the peak of Finisgeig,
Which will be red for evermore.’
And she leapt in a green flame,
Over the shoulder of the peak.”[51]
IN GLENORCHY.
The Glaistig, living at the waterfall (_eas_) of Bochaoil in Glenorchy,
came behind a man of the name of Campbell, riding home in the evening
to the adjoining farm-house, and jumping up behind him, urged the horse
to greater speed by crying now and then, “Hoosh! for a horse with two”
(_Huis! air each le dithis_). Campbell put back his hands and caught
her. He was going to take her home, but she managed to get away, and
left as her parting gift, that no Campbell should ever be born alive
(_nach gineadh ’s nach goireadh Cairnbeulach_) above Bo-chaoil.
The water before breaking over the fall is curiously split by an unseen
pinnacle of the rock, and the Glaistig is said to cause the appearance
with her foot.
M‘MILLAN OF KNAP.
The _Cnap_ (that is, the Lump) is opposite Shuna Island in Appin, and
the name still remains in _Tigh a Chnaip_ (the house of the Lump), the
Gaelic name of Balachulish hotel on the road to Glencoe, well-known to
tourists. It was regarding the ownership of Knap by the M‘Millans that
the oral charter ran:
“M‘Millan’s right to Knap
While wave strikes rock.”[52]
A Glaistig once came behind a kilted chief of this sept and caught him,
so that he could not struggle or escape. She asked him if he had ever
been in greater straits (_Mhic Mhaoil a Chnaip, an robh thu riamh an
airc is mò?_). He said he had; she asked when; and he said, “Between
plenty and penury” (_Eadar féill is aimbeairt_). On this she let go her
hold. He said, “I give my word I will not be weighed on the same scales
again,”[53] and stabbing her with his dirk killed her.
THE GLAISTIG AT CRAIGNISH.
A weaver, going home in the evening with a web (_còrn_) of cloth on
his shoulder, was met by a Glaistig at a stream. She caught hold of
him and pummelled him (_làd i e_) all night in the stream with his own
web of cloth, saying to all his remonstrances, “Weaving weaver, you
are the better of being washed” (_Figheadair fighe, ’s fhearrd’ thu do
nigheadh_).
ON GARLIOS, MORVERN.
The lonely and rugged mountain tract, known as the Garlios
(_Garbh-shlios_, the rough country side), extending along the coast of
Morvern, from the Sound of Mull to Kingairloch, a distance of about
seven miles, was at one time haunted by a Glaistig, whose special
employment was the herding (_buachailleachd_) of the sheep and cattle
that roamed over its desert pastures. Tradition represents her as a
small, but very strong woman, taking refuge at night in a particular
yew tree (_craobh iuthair_), which used to be pointed out, to protect
herself from wild animals that prowled over the ground. In a cave in
the same locality lived a man, known as ‘Yellow Dougall of the Cave’
(_Dùghaill Buidhè na h-Uamh_), who supported himself and wife by taking
a sheep or goat, when he required it, from the neighbouring flocks.[54]
One day when about to row himself across to the opposite island of
Lismore, in his coracle (_curachan_), a woman came and asked for a
passage. She took the bow oar, and before long cried out, “A hearty
pull, Dougall” (_Hùg orra, Dùghaill._) “Another hearty pull then,
honest woman” (_Hùgan so eil’ orra, bhean chòir_), cried Dougall. Every
now and then she repeated the same cry, and Dougall answered in the
same way. He thought himself a good rower, and was ashamed to be beat
by a woman. He never rowed so hard in his life. When the boat touched
the Lismore shore, he for the first time turned round his head, and no
woman was anywhere to be seen. She who was so strong and disappeared so
mysteriously could only be the Glaistig.
Other accounts say that the boatman was Selvach Mac Selvach (_Sealbhach
Mac Shealbhaich_), a native of Lismore, and the woman against whom he
pulled for the three miles from Kingairloch to Lismore, a Glaistig
that stayed in the ravine of _Alltaogain_ in the latter place. Her cry
was, “Pull away, Selvach” (_Hùg orra, Shealbhaich_), and his answer,
“Pull away, my lass” (_Hùg orra, ghalad._)
AT ARDNADROCHIT, MULL.
The Glaistig that followed the house of Lamont at Ardnadrochit (the
height of the bridge), in Craignure parish, Mull, was commonly seen
in the shape of a dog, and was said to carry a pup at the back of her
head. A band came across from Lorn, the opposite mainland, to ‘lift’
Lamont’s cattle. The Glaistig, whose charge they were, drove them
up the hill out of the way to a place called _Meall na Lìre_. Here,
in a dell called ‘the Heroes’ Hollow’ (_Glaic nan Gaisgeach_), the
freebooters were like to overtake her. On seeing this, she struck the
cows, and converted them into grey stones, which are to be seen to this
day. On coming up, the plunderers stood at these stones, and one of
them, tapping with his broadsword the stone near him, said he felt sure
this was the bed of the white cow (_Bo bhàn_). On his saying this, the
tap of his sword split the stone in two. The Glaistig broke her heart,
and was afterwards taken by Lamont and buried in a small plot of ground
near the Sound of Mull, where in those days the bodies of unbaptized
children were put.
ON BAUGH, TIREE.
The tenants of this farm once got the benefit of seven years’
superintendence of their cattle from a Glaistig. There is a place on
the farm, still called the Glaistig’s Bed, where she died by falling
in the gap of a dyke. She was seldom seen, but was often heard. When
driving the horses to pasture, she called out, “Get along, get along,
thou son of a mare! Betake thee to yonder white bank!” and when the
herd-boy was at his dinner, she was heard shouting to the cattle,
“Horo va ho whish! Did ever any one hear of cattle without a herdsman
but these?” She prepared food for herself by dragging a bunch of eels
(of which there is an over-abundance in the small lochs on the farm)
through the fire-place of a kiln used for preparing corn for the
hand-mill. One night, when engaged at this work along with _Goean_
(_i.e._ a perky little fellow), her son as is supposed, some one came
behind and gave her a rap on the head with a stick. She and her son
fled, and as they were going away, Goean was overheard saying to his
mother, “Your old grey pate has been rapped, but see that you have the
bunch of eels.”
In appearance, this Glaistig is said to have been a thin sallow-looking
little object, with ringletted yellow hair that reached down to her
heels. She had short legs, and in person was not unlike a dwarf.
AT STRONTIAN.
An incident similar to that of the bunch of eels is told of a Glaistig
that came at nights and worked in the smithy at Strontian. The smith
was very much annoyed at the noises in the smithy at night, and at
finding in the morning tools mislaid and the smithy in confusion. He
resolved to stay up and find out the cause. He stood in the dark,
behind the door, with the hammer on his shoulder ready to strike
whatever should enter. The Glaistig came to the door, accompanied by
her bantling, or _Isein_ (_i.e._ a young chicken). The chicken thought
he heard a noise, and said, “Something moving, little woman.” “Hold
your tongue, wretch,” she said, “it is only the mice.” At this point
the smith struck the old one on the head with his hammer, and caught
hold of the little one. On this, the _Isein_ reproached his mother by
saying, “Your old grey pate has got a punching; see now if it be the
mice.” Before the smith let his captive go, the Glaistig left a parting
gift—that the son should succeed the father as smith in the place till
the third generation. This proved to be the case, and the last was
smith in Strontian some forty years ago.
ON HIANISH, TIREE.
About a hundred years ago one of the tenants of this farm, which
adjoins Baugh, wondering what made his cows leave the fank (or
enclosure) every night, resolved to watch. He built a small turf
hut near the fold to pass the night in, and sat mending his _curain_
(shoes or mocassins of untanned hides), when a woman came to the door.
Suspicious of her being an earthly visitant, he stuck his awl in the
door-post to keep her out. She asked him to withdraw the awl and let
her in, but he refused. He asked her questions which much troubled him
at the time. He was afraid of a conscription, which was then impending,
and he asked if he would have to go to the army. The Glaistig said
he would; that though he made a hole in the rock with his awl and
hide himself in it, he would be found out and taken away, but if he
succeeded in mounting a certain black horse before his pursuers came,
he might bid them defiance; and he was to tell the wife who owned the
white-faced yellow cow to let the produce of the cows home to their
master. The man was caught when jumping on the back of the black horse
to run away from the conscription, and after service abroad, came back
to tell the tale.
IN ULVA.
The Glaistig of Ardnacallich, the residence of the Macquarries of Ulva,
used to be heard crying “Ho-hò! ho-hò! Macquarries’ cattle are in the
standing corn near the cave! The bald girl has slept! the bald girl has
slept! ho-hò, ho-hò.” The ‘bald girl’ was no doubt a reference to her
own plentiful crop of hair.
IN IONA.
The common of this Island is called _Staonnaig_, and in former times
the cattle of the east and west end people of the place came to it in
summer for fourteen days alternately. In those days a Glaistig stayed
in a hole of the rocks in Staonnaig, and the people, when at the summer
pastures (_àiridh_) poured milk every night in a stone for her. She
once entered on a very rainy day a house where there was a woman of the
name of Livingstone alone and at dinner. She dried herself at the fire,
holding her clothes spread out, and turning round from side to side.
Her clothes took fire, and she left as her parting gift, that no fire
can be kindled at dinner-time by a woman of the name of Livingstone.
IN ROSS, MULL.
A herd in this district, whenever he moved the cattle at night, heard a
voice shouting after him, “Son of big black John, there is a cow behind
you” (_Mhic Iain du Mhoir, tha bò ád dheighinn_). He shouted in reply,
“If there is one behind there are a hundred before” (_Ma tha h-aon am
dhéigh, tha ceud romham_).
Neil, who lived in _Saor-bheinn_, went to fish on the rocks. Coming
home in the dusk of the evening, a voice (that of the Glaistig)
followed him begging for a fish. “Give me a cuddy fish, Neil” (_Thoir
dhomh cudainn, a Néil_). This occurred every evening, and if he gave a
fish the Glaistig became more and more importunate, and one by one, to
get rid of her solicitations, the fish were given away, the last at the
door. In this way, Neil often returned empty-handed from the fishing.
Hector, son of Ferchar, lived at Hoodie-crow Hillock (_Cnoc na
Feannaig_), and as was common in olden times, the door of his house was
made of bunches of heather, tied together, and made more wind-tight by
straw stuffed between them. One cold frosty night he heard a scraping
at the door, as if some animal were trying to pull out the straw. He
rose and went out, and drove away an old white horse he found nibbling
at the straw. In a while he was disturbed again by the same noise. He
went out, and, taking up a big stick, chased away the old white mare.
When he almost overtook her, the mare became a woman, and, laughing at
Hector, said, “I have played a trick upon you, Hector, son of Ferchar.”
IN CORRY-NA-HENCHOR.
The Glaistig of _Coire-na-sheanchrach_, a valley on the Mull coast,
half way up the sound between that island and the mainland, met a poor
fisherman of the neighbourhood every evening, when he came ashore from
the fishing and always got a fish for herself. One evening he caught
nothing but lithe, and when the Glaistig came and looked at them, she
said, “They are all lithe to-night, Murdoch.” Whatever offence was
taken by her in consequence she never came any more.
MAC-IAN YEAR.
This man (_Mac Iain Ghiarr_), whose name is proverbial in the West
Highlands for that of a master thief, was one of the Mac Ians of
Ardnamurchan, a persecuted race. He had a boat for going on his
thieving expeditions painted black on one side and white on the other,
so that those who saw it passing would not recognize it on its return.
Hence the proverb:
“One side black and one side grey,
Like Mac Ian Year’s boat.”
Many tales are told of his skill in thieving, and the accomplishment is
said to have been bestowed upon him by a Glaistig.
He and his brother Ronald (his own name was Archibald) were out
hunting, and having killed a roe, took it to a bothy and prepared it
for supper. He threw himself on a bed of heather, and Ronald sat by the
fire, roasting pieces of the roe on his dirk. A woman entered the hut,
and made an effort now and then to snatch from him some of the roasted
flesh. Ronald threatened, unless she kept over her paw (_sall_), he
would cut it off with his knife. She appealed to Archibald, “Ho,
Archibald, will you not put a stop to Ronald?” “I will put a stop to
him, poor creature,” he said. He told Ronald to allow the poor woman,
that they had plenty, and perhaps she was hungry. When leaving, the
Glaistig asked him to the door, and it is supposed then bestowed upon
him his wonderful gift of theft. He built a large byre when he had not
a single ‘hoof’ to put in it, and before long it was amply stocked. He
hired the Glaistig to herd for him, and she was to be heard at night on
the tops of the cliffs crying “Ho hŏ, ho hŏ,” to keep the cattle from
wandering too near the verge. Her wages were to be a pair of brogues of
untanned leather, and when she got these, like the rest of her kind,
she disappeared. She seems, however, only to have returned to her
former haunts, which extended all over Ardnamurchan, from the Point to
Loch Sunart. When her former master died, she gave a shriek that roused
the echoes of Ben Resipol (_Réiscapol_). The same night she was seen
in the Coolin hills in Skye, and after that neither her shadow nor her
colour (_a du no dath_) were anywhere seen.
During her period of service with Mac Ian Year, she made her appearance
whenever he raised his standard, however far away she might be.
Ronald’s dog had a great aversion to her, and chased her whenever she
came near. She was then to be heard calling out, “Ho, Archibald, will
you not call off the dog?” (_Ho, Laspuig, nach caisg thu ’n cù?_),—a
common phrase in Ardnamurchan and the small isles to this day.
It is related of her, that to escape from her attentions, Mac Ian Year
and his brother resolved to remove to the Outer Hebrides. They had
barely kindled a fire in their new dwelling, when the Glaistig called
down the chimney they had forgot the old harrow, but she had brought
it, and that she was only on the top of the Coolin Hills when the first
clink (_snag_) was given to the flint to kindle the fire. There was
nothing for it but to return to Ardnamurchan.[55]
AT ERRAY, MULL.
At Erray (_an Eirbhe_, the outlying part of a farm[56]), near
Tobermory, there was a Glaistig that paid attention principally to
the barn. The herd slept in the byre, and he often heard trampling
(_tartaraich_) in the adjoining barn. Whatever had been left there at
night was found in the morning all in confusion, topsy-turvy (_turrach
air tharrach_), one leg over the other (_cas mu seach_). All this was
the Glaistig’s work.
The Glaistig of Fernach on Loch Awe side conveyed persons of the name
of M‘Intyre across a dangerous stream in the neighbourhood. She assumed
the shape of a foal.
II. THE GRUAGACH.
Gruagach, _i.e._ long-haired one, from _gruag_, a wig, is a common
Gaelic name for a maiden, a young woman. In old tales and poems,
particularly those relating to the times of Murchard Mac Brian, who
was king of Ireland _circ._ A.D. 1100, the term means a chief or some
person of consequence, probably a young chief. Thus, in a conversation
between that king and a young woman, whose nine silk-clad brothers he
had killed in battle, she says:
“I am daughter of the heir of Dublin,
I would not hide it, lord of swords,
And to the _Gruagach_ of the Isle of Birds,
I, in truth, bore my children.”[57]
The name evidently refers to the length of the hair, which it seems
to have been a custom in ancient times for men of rank and freemen to
allow to grow long.
In Argyllshire, and commonly in Gaelic, the name Gruagach, applied
to the tutelary being haunting farms and castles, means the same as
_Glaistig_, and the idea attached to it is that of a long-haired
female, well-dressed like a gentlewoman, looking after the servants,
and particularly after the cattle. In parts of Skye, however, the
fold-frequenting Gruagach is a tall young man, with long yellow hair,
in the attire of a gentleman of a bygone period, having a little
switch (_slatag_) in his hand, and with a white breast, as if he wore
a frilled shirt. One of the writer’s authorities described him as in
appearance like a young man fashionably dressed in a long coat and knee
breeches, with a white breast like that of a frilled shirt, and having
a cane in his hand. He had even heard that the Gruagach wore a beaver
hat—a head-dress which in the Highlands was at one time believed to
indicate a gentleman.
This Gruagach was attentive to the herds and kept them from the rocks.
He frequented certain places in the fields where the cattle were. A
Gruagach was to be found in every gentleman’s fold (_buaile_), and,
like the Glaistig, milk had to be set apart for him every evening in a
hollow in some particular stone, called the Gruagach stone (_Clach na
Gruagaich_), kept in the byres. Unless this was done no milk was got at
next milking, or the cream would not rise to the surface of the milk.
Some say milk was placed in the Gruagach stone only when going to and
returning from the summer pastures and when passing with milk.
The Gruagach amused himself by loosing the cattle in the byre at
night, and making people get out of bed several times to tie them up.
The cattle loosened did not fright or gore one another, as they did
when they broke loose themselves or were untied by another person.
On entering the byre, the Gruagach was heard laughing and tittering
in corners. Beyond this diversion he seems to have been ordinarily
harmless. He sometimes walked alongside of people, but was never known
to speak.
A woman was driving calves into the byre at Tota Roam in Scorrybreck.
The Gruagach amused himself inside by keeping them out. The woman, in
a great rage, hastily cursed him. He gave her a slap on the cheek and
killed her. All that night, however, he kept the fire alive for the
woman that sat up watching the body.
Dr. Johnson mentions a ‘Greogaca’ in Troda, an islet off the east coast
of Skye. This Gruagach seems long since to have disappeared, but old
people say the place is a very likely one for a being of the class to
be in. At Holm, East-side, and Scorrybreck, near Portree, the stones,
where the libations were poured out, may still be seen.
In Braes, the Gruagach that followed the herds was a young woman with
long hair; she was also known as the Glaistig, and the rock, in which
her portion of milk was poured, is in Macqueen’s Big Rock (_Creagan na
Glaistig an creag mhor Mhic Cuinn_).
III. BROWNIE.
The term _Brùnaidh_, signifying a supernatural being, haunting the
abodes of the affluent and doing work for the servants, seems to
have made its way into the Highlands only in recent times and along
with south country ideas. It is generally applied only to a big,
corpulent, clumsy man, ‘a fine fat fodgel wight,’ and in many districts
has no other reference. Its derivation is Teutonic and not Celtic,
and Brownies are mostly heard of in places to which, as in the south
of Argyllshire, southern ideas have penetrated, or where, as in the
Orkneys and Shetland, a Teutonic race is settled.
In the islet of Càra, on the west of Cantyre, the old house, once
belonging to the Macdonalds, was haunted by a Brownie that drank milk,
made a terrific outcry when hurt, and disliked the Campbell race. In
the old castle of Largie, on the opposite coast of Cantyre, which
belonged to the same Macdonalds, there was also a Brownie, supposed to
be the same as the Càra one. Since the modern house was built Brownie
has not been seen or heard. In Càra he is still occasionally heard.
It is not known exactly what he is like, no one having ever seen more
than a glimpse of him. Before the arrival of strangers he put the
house in order. He disliked anything dirty being left in the house for
the night. Dirty bed-clothes were put out by him before morning. Dogs
had to be put outside at night, as he often killed those left in the
house. He was much addicted to giving slaps in the dark to those who
soiled the house; and there are some still alive who can testify to
receiving a slap that left their faces black. He tumbled on the floor
water-stoups left full over-night. A man was lifted out of bed by him,
and found himself ‘bare naked,’ on awakening, at the fire. A woman,
going late in the evening for her cows, found Brownie had been before
her, and tied them securely in the barn.
In one of the castles in the centre of Argyllshire, Brownie came to
the bedside of a servant woman who had retired for the night, arranged
the clothes, and, pulling them above her, said: “Take your sleep, poor
creature” (_dean cadal, a chreutair_). He then went away.
In character Brownie was harmless, but he made mischief unless every
place was left open at night. He was fed with warm milk by the
dairy-maid.
A native of the Shetland Isles writes me that Brownie was well known
in that locality. He worked about the barn, and at night ground with
the handmill for those to whom he was attached. He could grind a bag
or two of grain in a night. He was once rewarded for his labours by a
cloak and hood left for him at the mill. The articles were away in the
morning, and Brownie never came back. Hence the bye-word, such a man is
like Brownie,
“When he got his cloak and hood,
He did no more good.”
The same story is told of the ‘Cauld Lad of Hilton,’ in the valley of
the Wear in England (Keightley’s _Fairy Myth_, p. 296), of Brownies in
the Scottish Lowlands (p. 358), and of one in Strathspey (p. 395), who
said, when he went away—
“Brownie has got a coat and cap,
Brownie will do no more work.”
It also made its way to Tiree, and was there told as follows:
GUNNA.
In olden times the tillage in Tiree was in common, the crop was raised
here and there throughout the farm, and the herding was in consequence
very difficult to do. In Baugh, or some farm in the west of the island
(tradition is not uniform as to the locality), the cows were left in
the pastures at night, and were kept from the crops by some invisible
herdsman. No one ever saw him, or knew whence he came, nor, when he
went away, whither he went. A _taibhseir_ or seer (_i.e._ one who had
the second-sight or sight of seeing ghosts) remained up to see how the
cattle were kept. He saw a man without clothes after them, and taking
pity upon him made him a pair of trews (_triubhas_[58]) and a pair of
shoes. When the ghostly herdsman put the trews on, he said (and his
name then, for the first time, became known):
“Trews upon Gunna,
Because Gunna does the herding,
But may Gunna never enjoy his trews,
If he tends cattle any more.”[59]
When he said this he went away and was never more heard of.
Beings of this class seem to have had a great objection to presents of
clothes. A pair of shoes made the Glaistig at Unimore leave; a cap,
coat, and breeches the Phynnodderee in the Isle of Man (Keightley,
_Fairy Myth_, p. 203); in the Black Forest of Germany, a new coat drove
away a nix, one of the little water-people, with green teeth, that came
and worked with the people all day (_ibid._, p. 261); and Brownie, as
already mentioned, in several places.
THE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
In the Highlands of Perthshire, previous to the ‘45, each farm or
village had its own _bodachan sabhaill_, ‘the little old man of the
barn,’ who helped to thresh the corn, made up the straw into bundles,
and saw that everything was kept in order. These Brownies had the
appearance of old men and were very wise. They worked always at night,
and were never mischievous, but highly useful.
The _Glaisein_ (lit. grey-headed man) of the Isle of Man bears a strong
resemblance to them. He was very strong, frequented farms, threshed
corn, and went to the sheep-folds (Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_,
Introd. liii.).
These house-spirits have many relations, the Nis of Scandinavia, Kobold
of Germany, Niägruisar of the Faroe Islands, and it is said the English
Hobgoblin. The Hinzelman that haunted Hudemuhlen Castle in Lüneberg had
‘curled yellow hair,’ also a characteristic of the Glaistig; and the
difference between one household tutelary being and another is only
such as might be expected from differences of country and society.
The oldest member of the family is the _Lar Familiaris_ of the Romans.
There is a noticeable resemblance between _lar_, the Roman household
deity, and _làrach_ (from _làr_, the ground), the Gaelic for the
stance or site of a building, to which, and not to the tenants, the
Celtic household apparition attached itself. The _lares_ of the Romans
were the departed spirits of ancestors, which were believed to watch
over their dependents. The Glaistig was held to have been a woman of
honourable position, a former mistress of the house, the interests
of the tenants of which she now attended to. Small waxen images of
the _lares_, clothed with the skin of a dog, were placed in the hall.
The Glaistig had the Fairy aversion to dogs (an aversion which was
reciprocal), but many of the actions ascribed to her savour strongly of
her being in some way identical with the herdsman’s dogs. This would
very well explain the pouring of milk for her in the evening in the
hollow of a stone. The Glaistig of Ardnadrochit had the shape of a dog
(see p. 175).
A satisfactory explanation of the origin of the superstition does not
readily suggest itself. In days when men did not know what to believe
in regarding the spirit world, and were ready to believe anything, a
fancy may have arisen, that it secures the welfare of a house, and adds
to its dignity, to have a supernatural being attached to it and looking
after its interests. It had its origin after the tribes, among whom
it is to be found, ceased to be roving and unsettled barbarians. In a
large establishment a being of the kind was very useful. The master
would not discredit its existence, as it helped to frighten idle and
stupid servants into attending to their work and into clean and tidy
habits. Shrewd servants would say as little against it when it served
so well to screen their own knavery or faults, and to impose on a
credulous and facile, or careless master. Unless it was sometimes seen
or heard, or some work was mysteriously done, the delusion, either of
master or servant, could not be long continued; and, when men have
little else to do, there are many who take a pleasure in imposing on
their more simple-minded fellows, and are quite ready, as much from
sport as interest, to carry on a delusion of the kind. Besides, when
the mind is nervously anxious, engrossed with the fear of a coming
misfortune or the hope of a coming joy, it is apt to listen to the
whispers of fancy and the confidently-told tales of others. When it
broods alone, during the sleepless night, over the future it is not
surprising if the imagination converts the weird sounds of night—the
melancholy moaning of the wind, its fitful gusts in the woods and round
the house, the roar of the waterfall, the sound of the surf-beaten
shore, and many noises, of which the origin is at the time unknown and
unsought—into the omens of that which makes itself sleepless, or hears
in them the song of the house-spirit, prescient of the coming event.
It must also be remembered that there are people who will see and
hear anything if their story is believingly listened to, and they are
themselves at the time objects of interest.
Pennant (_Tour_, p. 330) says Brownie was stout and blooming, had fine
long flowing hair, and went about with a switch in his hand. He cleaned
the house, helped to churn, threshed the corn, and belaboured those who
pretended to make a jest of him. He says (p. 331) the _Gruagach_ was
in form like the Brownie, and was worshipped by libations of milk; and
“milkmaids still retain the custom of pouring some on certain stones,
that bear his name.” He is thought, it is added, to be an emblem of
Apollo and identical with χρυσοκομος.
Mr. Campbell (_Tales of the West Highlands_, 1. xciii.) supposes the
Gruagach of superstition to be a Druid fallen from his high estate, and
living on milk left for him by those whose priest he had once been. In
another place (ii. 101) he supposes him to be a half-tamed savage,
hanging about the house, with his long hair and skin clothing.
These explanations are not satisfactory. The character, dress, and
actions ascribed to the Gruagach and his congeners are incongruous to
the idea of Druid, heathen deity, or savage wild or reclaimed.
CHAPTER IV.
THE URISK, THE BLUE MEN, AND THE MERMAID.
THE URISK.
The Urisk was a large lubberly supernatural, of solitary habits and
harmless character, that haunted lonely and mountainous places. Some
identify him with Brownie, but he differs from the fraternity of
tutelary beings in having his dwelling, not in the houses or haunts of
men, but in solitudes and remote localities. There were male and female
Urisks, and the race was said to be the offspring of unions between
mortals and fairies, that is, of the _leannan sìth_.
The Urisk was usually seen in the evening, big and grey (_mòr glas_),
sitting on the top of a rock and peering at the intruders on its
solitude. The wayfarer whose path led along the mountain side, whose
shattered rocks are loosely sprinkled, or along some desert moor, and
who hurried for the fast approaching nightfall, saw the Urisk sitting
motionless on the top of a rock and gazing at him, or slowly moving
out of his way. It spoke to some people, and is even said to have
thrashed them, but usually it did not meddle with the passer-by. On the
contrary, it at times gave a safe convoy to those who were belated.
In the Highlands of Breadalbane the Urisk was said, in summer time, to
stay in remote corries and on the highest part of certain hills. In
winter time it came down to the strath, and entered certain houses at
night to warm itself. It was then it did work for the farmer, grinding,
thrashing, etc. Its presence was a sign of prosperity; it was said to
leave comfort behind it. Like Brownie, it liked milk and good food, and
a present of clothes drove it away.
An Urisk, haunting _Beinn Doohrain_ (a hill beloved of the Celtic
muse) on the confines of Argyllshire and Perthshire, stayed in summer
time near the top of the hill, and in winter came down to the straths.
A waterfall near the village of Clifton at Tyndrum, where it stayed
on these occasions, is still called _Eas na h-ùruisg_, the Urisk’s
cascade. It was encountered by St. Fillan, who had his abode in a
neighbouring strath, and banished to Rome.
The Urisk of Ben Loy (_Beinn Laoigh_, the Calf’s hill), also on the
confines of these counties, came down in winter from his lofty haunts
to the farm of Sococh, in Glen Orchy, which lies at the base of the
mountain. It entered the house at night by the chimney, and it is
related that on one occasion the bar, from which the chimney chain was
suspended, and on which the Urisk laid its weight in descending, being
taken away, and not meeting its foot as usual, the poor supernatural
got a bad fall. It was fond of staying in a cleft at Moraig water-fall,
and its labours, in keeping the waters from falling too fast over the
rock, might be seen by any one. A stone, on which it sat with its
feet dangling over the fall, is called ‘the Urisk stone’ (_Clach na
h-ùruisg_). It sometimes watched the herds of Sococh farm.
A man passing through Strath _Duuisg_, near Loch Sloy, at the head of
Loch Lomond, on a keen frosty night, heard an Urisk on one side of the
glen calling out, “Frost, frost, frost” (_reoth, reoth, reoth_). This
was answered by another Urisk calling from the other side of the glen,
“Kick-frost, kick-frost, kick-frost” (_ceige-reoth_, etc.). The man,
on hearing this, said, “Whether I wait or not for frost, I will never
while I live wait for kick-frost”; and he ran at his utmost speed till
he was out of the glen.
The Urisk of the ‘Yellow Water-fall’ in Glen Màili, in the south of
Inverness-shire, used to come late every evening to a woman of the name
of Mary, and sat watching her plying her distaff without saying a word.
A man, who wished to get a sight of the Urisk, put on Mary’s clothes,
and sat in her place, twirling the distaff, as best he could. The
Urisk came to the door but would not enter. It said:
“I see your eye, I see your nose,
I see your great broad beard,
And though you will work the distaff,
I know you are a man.”
Graham (_Highlands of Perthshire_, p. 19, quoted by Sir Walter Scott in
his Notes to _The Lady of the Lake_) says the Urisk “could be gained
over by kind attentions to perform the drudgery of the farm, and it
was believed that many families in the Highlands had one of the order
attached to it.” He adds that the famous _Coire nan ùruisgean_ derives
its name from the solemn stated meetings of all the Urisks in Scotland
being held there.
The Urisk, like the Brownie of England, had great simplicity of
character, and many tricks were played upon it in consequence. A farmer
in Strathglass got it to undergo a painful operation that it might
become fat and sleek like the farmer’s own geldings. The weather at the
time being frosty, it made a considerable outcry for some time after.
From its haunting lonely places, other appearances must often have
been confounded with it. In Strathfillan (commonly called simply the
Straths, _Strathaibh_), in the Highlands of Perthshire, not many years
ago a number of boys saw what was popularly said to be an Urisk. In
the hill, when the sun was setting, something like a human being was
seen sitting on the top of a large boulder-stone, and growing bigger
and bigger till they fled. There is no difficulty in connecting the
appearance with the circumstance that some sheep disappeared that year
unaccountably from the hill, and a quantity of grain from the barn of
the farm.
In the Hebrides there is very little mention of the Urisk at all. In
Tiree the only trace of it is in the name of a hollow, _Slochd an
Aoirisg_, through which the public road passes near the south shore.
The belief that it assisted the farmer was not common anywhere, and all
over the Highlands the word ordinarily conveys no other idea than that
which has been well-defined as “a being supposed to haunt lonely and
sequestered places, as mountain rivers and waterfalls.”
THE BLUE MEN (_Na Fir Ghorm_).
The fallen angels were driven out of Paradise in three divisions, one
became the Fairies on the land, one the Blue Men in the sea, and one
the Nimble Men (_Fir Chlis_), _i.e._ the Northern Streamers, or Merry
Dancers, in the sky.
This explanation belongs to the North Hebrides, and was heard by the
writer in Skye. In Argyllshire the Blue Men are unknown, and there
is no mention of the Merry Dancers being congeners of the Fairies.
The person from whom the information was got was very positive he had
himself seen one of the Blue Men. A blue-coloured man, with a long
grey face (_aodunn fada glas_), and floating from the waist out of
the water, followed the boat in which he was for a long time, and was
occasionally so near that the observer might have put his hand upon him.
The channel between Lewis and the Shant Isles (_Na h-Eileinean siant_,
the charmed islands) is called ‘the Stream of the Blue Men’ (_Sruth nam
Fear Gorm_). A ship, passing through it, came upon a blue-coloured man
sleeping on the waters. He was taken on board, and being thought of
mortal race, strong twine was coiled round and round him from his feet
to his shoulders, till it seemed impossible for him to struggle, or
move foot or arm. The ship had not gone far when two men were observed
coming after it on the waters. One of them was heard to say, “Duncan
will be one man,” to which the other replied, “Farquhar will be two.”
On hearing this, the man, who had been so securely tied, sprang to his
feet, broke his bonds like spider threads, jumped overboard, and made
off with the two friends, who had been coming to his rescue.
_The Streamers._ When the Streamers (_Na Fir Chlis_, lit. the active
or quickly moving men) have ‘a battle royal,’ as they often have, the
blood of their wounded falling to the earth, and becoming congealed,
forms the coloured stones called ‘blood stones,’ known in the Hebrides
also by the name of _fuil siochaire_, Elf’s blood.
THE MERMAID.
The Mermaid (_Muir-òigh_, _maighdean mhara_) of the Scottish Highlands
was the same as in the rest of the kingdom, a sea-creature, half fish
half woman, with long dishevelled hair, which she sits on the rocks by
the shore to comb at night. She has been known to put off the fishy
covering of her lower limbs. Any one who finds it can by hiding it
detain her from ever returning to the sea again. There is a common
story in the Highlands, as also in Ireland, that a person so detained
her for years, married her, and had a family by her. One of the family
fell in with the covering, and telling his mother of the pretty thing
he had found, she recovered possession of it and escaped to the sea.
She pursues ships and is dangerous. Sailors throw empty barrels
overboard, and while she spends her time examining these they make
their escape.
A man in Skye (_Mac-Mhannain_) caught a Mermaid and kept her for a
year. She gave him much curious information. When parting he asked her
what virtue or evil there was in egg-water (_i.e._ water in which eggs
had been boiled). She said, “If I tell you that, you will have a tale
to tell,” and disappeared.
A native of _Eilein Anabuich_ (the Unripe Island), a village in North
Harris, caught a Mermaid on a rock, and to procure her release, she
granted him his three wishes. He became a skilful herb-doctor, who
could cure the king’s evil and other diseases ordinarily incurable,
a prophet, who could foretell, particularly to women, whatever was to
befall them, and he obtained a remarkably fine voice. This latter gift
he had only in his own estimation; when he sang, others did not think
his voice fine or even tolerable.
CHAPTER V.
THE WATER-HORSE (_Each Uisge_).
The belief in the existence of the Water-horse is now in the Highlands
generally a thing of the past, but in olden times almost every lonely
freshwater lake was tenanted by one, sometimes by several, of these
animals. In shape and colour it resembled an ordinary horse, and was
often mistaken for one. It was seen passing from one lake to another,
mixing with the farmers’ horses in the adjoining pastures, and waylaid
belated travellers who passed near its haunts. It was highly dangerous
to touch or mount it. Those whom it decoyed into doing so were taken
away to the loch in which it had its haunt, and there devoured. It was
said to make its approaches also in other guises—as a young man, a boy,
a ring, and even a tuft of wool (_ribeag clòimhe_); and any woman upon
whom it set its mark was certain at last to become its victim. The
cow-shackle round its neck, or a cap on its head, completely subdued
it, and as long as either of these was kept on it, it could be as
safely employed in farm labour as any other horse.
In Skye it was said to have a sharp bill (_gob biorach_), or, as others
describe it, a narrow brown slippery snout. Accounts are uniform that
it had a long flowing tail and mane. In colour it was sometimes grey,
sometimes black, and sometimes black with a white spot on its forehead.
This variation arose, some say, from the water horse being of any
colour like other horses, and others say from its having the power of
changing its colour as well as its shape. When it came in the shape of
a man, it was detected by its horse-hoofs and by the green water weeds
or sand in its hair. It was then very amorous, but the end of those who
were unfortunate enough to encounter it was to be taken to the loch and
devoured. However much benefit the farmer might at first derive from
securing one with the cap or cow-shackle he was ultimately involved by
it in ruinous loss.
The following tales will illustrate the character of the superstition
better than a lengthened dissertation:
FARMERS AND WATER-HORSES.
Stories to the following effect are common in Mull and the
neighbourhood:
A strange horse, which cannot be driven away, is seen all winter among
the rest of the farm horses. In olden times horses were little housed
during winter; the stable door was left open, and the horses, after
eating the little straw allowed them, went out to pick up what they
could. When spring work comes on the strange horse is caught like the
rest and made to work. Perhaps for greater security the cow-shackle
is put round its neck. It proves as docile and easily managed as any
horse could be. It is the best horse the farmer has, and is fat and
sleek when the rest are lean and ragged. It works thus all spring, and
in summer is employed to take home peats from the moor. It is placed
foremost in a string of three or seven horses, which have creels on
their backs, in ancient fashion, and are tied each to the tail of the
horse before it. The farmer rides the foremost of the team. On the
way it becomes restive and unmanageable, and sets off at full speed,
followed by the rest, towards the loch. Observing that the shackle has
slipped off, the man, in passing through a narrow gateway, plants a
foot against each pillar and throws himself off its back, or he tumbles
on the sands of the shore, and jumping up, cuts the halter of the
hindmost horse. Those that remain tied are dragged into the loch, and
next day their entrails or livers come ashore.
The most celebrated tale of this class was that of the son of the
tenant of Aros, in Mull.
MAC-FIR AROIS.
The heir of Aros, a young man of great personal activity, and, it is
said, of dissolute manners, having an opinion of himself that there
was no horse he could not ride, was taken by a Water-horse into Loch
Frisa, a small lake about a mile in length in the north-west of Mull
and devoured. This occurred between his espousal and marriage, and the
Lament composed by his intended bride is still and deservedly a popular
song in Mull. There seems to be this much truth in the story, that the
young man was dragged into Loch Frisa by a mare which he was attempting
to subdue and drowned. It would appear from the song that his body was
recovered. The popular details of the incident vary considerably, and
are of interest as illustrative of the growth of tales of superstition.
One account has it that a remarkably handsome grey mare came among
horses belonging to the tenant of Aros pasturing on the rushes at the
end of Loch Frisa. One day his son haltered and mounted it. The grey
stood quite quietly till it got the young man on its back. It then
rushed into the loch.
Another account says the young man found a mare in the hills, which he
took to be one of those belonging to his father. He caught it with the
intention of riding home, but the mare took out to Loch Frisa, and he
was there devoured by Water-horses.
A third account says the Water-horse was kept all winter, with the
cow-shackle about its neck, and remained so quiet and steady, that at
last the shackle was neglected. The son of the tenant rode it one day
to the peat-moss, three other horses following behind in usual form,
when it suddenly rushed away to the lake, and nothing was ever seen of
the youth or the horses but the livers.
A fourth account says, in spring a band of men went to the hill to
catch a young horse wanted for harrowing or to send to market. They
were unable to catch it, and next day Aros’s son himself went with
them. He caught what he supposed to be the horse wanted and jumped on
its back. The horse rushed at full speed towards the loch, and the
young man found he could not throw himself off. The horse’s liver came
ashore next day, the animal, it is supposed, having been killed by the
other Water-horses tenanting the lake, when they felt the smell of a
man off it.
There is still another account, that Mac-fir Arois was twice taken
away by the Water-horse. The first time, he managed to put a foot on
each side of a gate, in passing through, and allowed the horse to pass
on. The second time, a cap which hitherto had kept the horse, was
forgotten. In the terrible career of the steed to the loch, the young
man clasped his arms round its neck, and could not unclasp them. His
lungs came ashore next day.
THE TALKING HORSE AT CRU-LOCH.
This is a lonely little lake above Ardachyle (_Aird-a-chaoil_, the
height of the sound) in the north-east of Mull. A person passing
it late at night, on his way home, saw a horse with a saddle on,
quietly feeding at the loch side. He went towards it with the
intention of riding it home, but in time he observed green-water herbs
(_liaranaich_) about its feet and refrained from touching it. He walked
on and before long was overtaken by a stranger, who said that unless
he (the Water-horse, who was also the speaker) had been friendly
and a well-wisher, he would have taken him to the loch. Among other
supernatural information it told the man the day of his death.
ISLAND OF COLL.
At noontide, while the cattle were standing in the loch, the herdsman
near Loch Annla was visited by a person in whose head he observed
_rathum_, that is, water weeds. When going away the stranger jumped
into the loch and disappeared without doing any harm. People used
to hear strange noises about that loch, no doubt caused by the
Water-horse, which was the herdsman’s visitor.
THE NINE CHILDREN AT SUNART.
A number of children went on a Sunday to amuse themselves in the
neighbourhood of the ‘Loch of Disaster’ (_Loch na Dunach_) in
this district. They fell in with a horse, caught it, and in their
thoughtless sport mounted it. Its back got longer till they were all
mounted, except one, who had a Bible in his pocket. He touched the
horse with his finger, and had to cut it off to save himself. The horse
rushed into the lake, and the children, nine in number, were never more
seen. The liver of one of them came ashore next day.
This tale is widely spread, and is obviously a pious fraud to keep
children from wandering on Sundays to play in lonely places, and from
meddling with any horse they may find.
KILLING THE RAASAY WATER-HORSE.
‘The Woman’s Loch’ (_Loch na Mna_) near Dùn Can, the highest hill
in this island, derives its name from having been the scene of the
abduction of a woman by the Water-horse that haunted it. The big Smith
(_An Gobha Mòr_), who lived in the neighbourhood, resolved to kill the
horse, and by his success he earned himself the title of ‘Alastair
na Béisde’ (Alexander of the monster). He built a hut close by, with
an opening like the syver of a drain, leading towards the loch. When
he got the wind favourable, he killed and roasted a wether-sheep in
the hut. The wind blew the savoury smell towards the loch, and the
Water-horse, attracted by it, made its way into the hut by the entrance
left for it. The smith had his irons ready in the fire, and rushing
with them at the Water-horse killed it. On examination the monster
proved to be merely grey turves (_pluic ghlas_), or, as others say, a
soft mass (_sgling_) like jelly-fish (_Muir-tiachd_).
THE WATER-HORSE AT LOCH CUAICH.
Some thirty years ago, a small islet in this lake, of about an half
an acre in extent, was tenanted by a strange specimen of the Highland
freebooter, named Macphie. He was a deserter from the army, who at
first took refuge in a cave in the neighbourhood. He took away by force
a girl of twelve years of age, and, coming next day to her parents,
said if it would give any satisfaction he would marry her, but refusing
to part with her. A sort of ceremony of marriage was gone through, but
Macphie seems for several years to have looked upon the girl merely as
his daughter. Her first child was born when she was eighteen years of
age, and she had several more of a family. After his marriage Macphie
removed to the islet mentioned, and remained there undisturbed for
many years. He supported himself by fishing, hunting, and taking now
and then a sheep or goat from the lands surrounding the loch. Such was
his terror of being surprised by soldiers that he always carried arms
about him, and slept with a bayonet and loaded gun beside his bed. The
country people were afraid of him and he was commonly reported to be
not ‘canny.’ He was at last evicted by a south country farmer, when he
removed with his family to Fort William.
In his time a Water-horse was quite commonly seen in Loch Cuaich,
floating on its side, or as it is called, ‘making a film’ (_deanadh
sgleò_) and ‘making a salmon of itself’ (_deanadh bradain dheth
fhein_), disporting itself and then disappearing. One stormy night
Macphie, by his own account, was roused by a loud rattling noise at the
door, as if some one were trying to enter. It stood in the door and
Macphie knew it to be the Water-horse in the shape of a man. He fired
twice at it, but it did not move. He called to his wife to bring a
silver coin, and when he put this in the gun and fired, the figure went
away and was heard plunging into the loch. The people round the loch
heard three shots from the islet that night, for whatever cause they
may have been fired.
THE WATER-HORSE AT TIREE.
A man working in the fields in Caolas, in the east end of the island,
saw a Water-horse coming from _Loch an Air_, a small marshy lake,
full of reeds. He ran off in terror, and left his coat behind. The
Water-horse tore the coat into shreds and then made after the man. The
dogs came out when it came near the house and drove it away.
A son of one of the chamberlains of the island, last century, found
a horse on the moors, and being struck with its excellence mounted
it. The horse tore away at full gallop and could not be stopped. It
galloped all round the country, till at last one side of the reins
broke, and the horse rushed out on Loch Basibol, carrying its ill-fated
rider with it.
WATER-HORSE AND WOMEN.
A young woman herding cattle drove her charge to a sequestered part of
the hill, and while there a young man came her way, and reclining his
head on her lap fell asleep. On his stretching himself she observed
that he had horse-hoofs, and lulling him gently managed to get his head
rested on the ground. She then cut out with her scissors the part of
her clothes below his head and made her escape. When the Water-horse
awoke and missed her it made a dreadful outcry.
This tale, with unimportant variations, is known over the whole
Highlands. Sometimes the young woman is sitting on the turf wall
(_tota_) forming the end of the house when the Water-horse, in the
shape of a handsome young man, comes her way; sometimes she is one of
a band of women, assembled at the summer shieling—the rest are killed
and she makes her escape. She detects the character of the youth by the
water weeds or the sand in his hair. Many of the stories add that the
young man (or Water-horse) came for her on a subsequent Sunday after
dinner, or to church, to which (as in the story of the Water-horse of
Loch Assapol in the Ross of Mull) she went for security rather than
keep an appointment previously made with him, and took her to the loch.
In Sutherlandshire the scene of the incident is laid at _Loch Meudaidh_
in Durness, and the descendants of the woman to whom it occurred are
still pointed out. She detected the young man by the sand in his hair,
and on looking back, after she had got to some distance, she saw him
tearing up the earth in his fury.[60]
A Water-horse in man’s shape came to a house in which there was a woman
alone; at the time she was boiling water in a clay vessel (_croggan_),
such as was in use before iron became common. The Water-horse, after
looking on for some time, drew himself nearer to her, and said in a
snuffling voice, “It is time to begin courting, Sarah, daughter of
John, son of Finlay.” “It is time, it is time,” she replied, “when the
little pitcher boils.” In a while it repeated the same words and drew
itself nearer. She gave the same answer drawing out the time as best
she could, till the water was boiling hot. As the snuffling youth was
coming too near she threw the scalding water between his legs, and he
ran out of the house roaring and yelling with pain.
THE WATER-HORSE AT LOCH BASIBOL, TIREE.
On the north side of this loch, which has been already mentioned as a
haunt of the Water-horse, there was a farm, where there are now only
blowing sand-banks, called the Town of the Clumsy Ones (_Baile nan
Cràganach_) from five men, who resided there, having each six fingers
on every hand. They were brothers, and it was said the Water-horse came
every night, in the shape of a young man, to see a sister, who staid
with them.
With the tendency of popular tales to attach themselves to known
persons, this incident is related of Calum Mor Clarke and his family.
Calum had three sons, Big Fair John (_Iain Bàn Mòr_), Young Fair John
(_Iain Bàn Og_), and Middle Fair John (_Iain Bàn Meadhonach_). The four
conspired to beguile the young man from the loch, who came to see the
daughter, into the house, and got him to sit between two of them on the
front of the bed. On a given signal these two clasped their hands round
him and laid him on his back in the bed. The other two rushed to their
assistance; the young man assumed his proper shape of a Water-horse and
a fearful struggle ensued. The conspirators cut the horse in pieces
with their dirks, and put it out of the house dead.[61]
Not far from the south end of the same loch there is a place called
_Fhaire na h-aon oidhch’_, ‘the one night’s watch,’ said to derive its
name from an incident of which the Water-horse was the hero, similar to
that told of the Urisk of Glen Màili (see page 197).
THE KELPIE.
The Kelpie that swells torrents and devours women and children has no
representative in Gaelic superstition. Some writers speak as if the
Water-horse were to be identified with it, but the two animals are
distinctly separate. The Water-horse haunts lochs, the Kelpie streams
and torrents. The former is never accused of swelling torrents any
more than of causing any other natural phenomenon, nor of taking away
children, unless perhaps when wanted to silence a refractory child. A
Shetland friend writes: “Kelpies, I cannot remember of ever hearing
what shape they were of. They generally did their mischief in a quiet
way, such as being seen splashing the water about the burns, and taking
hold of the water-wheel of mills, and holding them still. I have heard
a man declare, that his mill was stopped one night for half an hour and
the full power of water on the wheel, and he was frightened himself to
go out and see what was wrong. And he not only said but maintained that
it was a Kelpie or something of that kind that did it.”
THE WATER-BULL (_Tarbh Uirge_).
This animal, unlike the Water-horse, was of harmless character, and
did no mischief to those who came near its haunts. It staid in little
lonely moorland lochs, whence it issued only at night. It was then
heard lowing near the loch, and came among the farmers’ cattle, but was
seldom seen. Calves having short ears, as if the upper part had been
cut off with a knife, or, as it is termed in Gaelic, _Carc-chluasach_
(_i.e._ knife-eared), were said to be its offspring. It had no ears
itself and hence its calves had only half ears.[62]
In the district of Lorn, a dairy-maid and herd, before leaving in the
evening the fold, in which the cows had been gathered to be milked and
left for the night, saw a small ugly very black animal, bull-shaped,
soft and slippery, coming among the herd. It had an unnatural bellow,
something like the crowing of a cock. The man and woman fled in terror,
but, on coming back in the morning, found the cattle lying in the fold
as though nothing had occurred.
THE KING OTTER.
The Water Dog (_Dobhar-Chù_), called also the King Otter (_Righ nan
Dòbhran_), is a formidable animal, seldom seen, having a skin of magic
power, worth as many guineas as are required to cover it. It goes at
the head of every band of seven, some say nine, otters, and is never
killed without the death of a man, woman, or dog. It has a white spot
below the chin, on which alone it is vulnerable. A piece of its skin
keeps misfortune away from the house in which it is kept, renders the
soldier invulnerable in battle by arrow or sword or bullet, and placed
in the banner makes the enemy turn and fly. “An inch of it placed on
the soldier’s eye,” as a Lochaber informant said, “kept him from harm
or hurt or wound though bullets flew about him like hailstones, and
naked swords clashed at his breast. When a direct aim was taken, the
gun refused fire.”
Others say the vulnerable white spot was under the King Otter’s arm,
and of no larger size than a sixpence. When the hunter took aim he
required to hit this precise spot, or he fell a prey to the animal’s
dreadful jaws. In Raasa and the opposite mainland the magic power
was said to be in a jewel in its head, which made its possessor
invulnerable and secured him good fortune; but in other respects the
belief regarding the King Otter is the same as elsewhere.
The word _dobhar_ (pronounced dooar, dour), signifying water, is
obsolete in Gaelic except in the name of this animal.
BIASD NA SROGAIG.
This mythical animal, ‘the beast of the lowering horn,’ seems to have
been peculiar to Skye. It had but one horn on its forehead, and, like
the Water-bull, staid in lochs. It was a large animal with long legs,
of a clumsy and inelegant make, not heavy and thick, but tall and
awkward. Its principal use seems to have been to keep children quiet,
and it is little to be wondered at if, in the majority of cases, the
terrors of childhood became a creed in maturer years. _Scrogag_, from
which it derives its name, is a ludicrous name given to a snuff horn
and refers to the solitary horn on its forehead.
THE BIG BEAST OF LOCHAWE.
This animal (_Beathach mòr Loch Odha_) had twelve legs and was to be
heard in winter time breaking the ice. Some say it was like a horse,
others, like a large eel.
CHAPTER VI.
SUPERSTITIONS ABOUT ANIMALS.
_Buarach-bhaoi, lamprey._—The _Buarach-bhaoi_ (lit. wild or wizard
shackle), called also _Buarach na Baoi_ (the shackle of the furious
one), was believed to be a leech or eel-like animal to be found at
certain fords and in dark waters, that twisted itself like a shackle
round the feet of passing horses, so that they fell and were drowned.
It then sucked their blood. It had nine eyes or holes in its head
and back, at which the blood it sucked came out. Hence it was called
_Buarach-bhaoi nan sùilean claon_ (the furious shackle of the squinting
eyes). In Skye, it was believed the animal was to be found in Badenoch.
It was said to haunt the dark waters of Loch Tummel (_Tethuil_, hot
flood, from the impetuosity of the river), in Perthshire, and was
also known on the west coast of Argyllshire. The word is translated
‘lamprey’ in dictionaries, but the description suggests the tradition
of some species of gymnotus or electric eel.
_Cirein Cròin, Sea Serpent._—This was the largest animal in the world,
as may be inferred from a popular Caithness rhyme:
“Seven herring are a salmon’s fill,
Seven salmon are a seal’s fill,
Seven seals are a whale’s fill,
And seven whales the fill of a Cirein Cròin.”
To this is sometimes added, “seven Cirein Cròin are the fill of the
big devil himself.” This immense sea-animal is also called _Mial mhòr
a chuain_, the great beast of the ocean, _cuartag mhòr a chuain_, the
great whirlpool of the ocean, and _uile-bhéisd a chuain_, the monster
of the ocean. It was originally a whirlpool, or the sea-snake of the
Edda, that encircled the whole world.
_Gigelorum._—The _Giolcam-daoram_, or Gigelorum, is the smallest of all
animals. It makes its nest in the mite’s ear and that is all that is
known about it.
_Lavellan._—This animal is peculiar to the north, where it is said
to be able to hurt cattle from a distance of forty yards: “Lavellan,
animal in Cathanesia frequens, in aquis degit, capite mustelae
sylvestri simile, ejusdemque coloris, bestia est. Halitu Bestiis nocet.
Remedium autem est, si de aqua bibant in quâ ejus caput coctum est.”
(Sibbald’s _Scot. Ill._, lib. 3, fol. 11.) Pennant, when at Ausdale,
Langwell, Caithness-shire, says: “I inquired here after the Lavellan,
which, from description, I suspect to be the water shrew mouse.
The country people have a notion that it is noxious to cattle; they
preserve the skin, and, as a cure for their sick beasts, give them the
water in which it has been dipt. I believe it to be the same animal
which, in Sutherland, is called the water mole.” It is also mentioned
by Rob Donn, the Sutherland bard, in his satirical song on “Mac Rorie’s
Breeches”: “Let him not go away from the houses, to moss or wood, lest
the Lavellan come and smite him.”
_Bernicle Goose, Cadhan._—In the Hebrides, as in England, the Bernicle
Goose was believed to grow from the thoracic worm, attaching itself to
floating wood that has been some time in the water, often so closely as
to hide the surface of the log. _Calum na Cròige_, a native of Croig in
Mull, who went about the country some thirty or forty years ago, the
delight of youngsters by his extraordinary tales of personal adventures
and of wonders he had seen, and the energy with which, sitting astride
on a stool, he raised with their assistance the anchor, hoisted sail,
and performed other nautical feats, told that in the Indian seas,
he and a comrade jumped overboard to swim to land. They swam for a
week before reaching shore, but the water was so warm they felt no
inconvenience. The loveliest music Calum ever heard was that made by
Bernicle Geese as they emerged from barnacles that grew on the soles of
his feet!
_Eels (Easgunn)._—It is still a very common belief in the Highlands
that eels grow from horse hairs. In a village of advanced opinions in
Argyllshire, the following story was heard from a person who evidently
believed it:
“In the island of Harris, in a time of scarcity, a person went out for
fish, and succeeded only in getting eels. These animals are not eaten
in the Highlands and his wife would not taste them. The man himself ate
several. By and by he went mad, and his wife had to go for succour to
a party of Englishmen, who had a shooting lodge near. On arriving with
loaded guns, the sportsmen found the eel-eater in the fields fighting
a horse. He was so violent that they had to shoot him. On inquiry it
turned out that the cause of his madness and fighting the horse was
that the eels he had eaten had grown from horse hairs!”
_Whale._—The round-headed porpoises, or caaing whales (_mucun
bearraich_, lit. dog-fish pigs), derive their Gaelic name from being
supposed to grow from dog-fish. An overgrown dog-fish, still retaining
its own shape, is called _Burraghlas_.
_Herring._—The food of the Herring is said to consist of crustacea and
small fishes, but there is ordinarily so little appearance of food in
their stomach that an easier explanation has been found in saying,
they live on the foam they make with their own tails! A door-keeper
at Dowart Castle is said to have successfully warned a M‘Kinnon from
Skye of the dangers awaiting him at the banquet to which he had been
invited, by asking him if they were getting any herring in the north
at present, and then praising the herring as a royal fish (_iasg righ_)
that never was caught by its mouthful of food or drink (_air a bhalgum
no air a ghreim_). On hearing this remark M‘Kinnon turned on his heel
and made his escape.
_Flounder._—According to Sutherland tradition, the wry mouth of the
flounders (_Leòbag_, as it is called in the north) arose from its
making faces at the rock-cod. A judgment (which children, who make
faces, are liable to) came upon it, and its mouth remains as it then
twisted it. In Tiree and Iona the distortion is said to have been
caused by St. Columba. Colum-Kil met a shoal of flounders and asked:
“Is this a removal, flounder?”
“Yes it is, Colum-Kil crooked legs,” said the flounder.
“If I have crooked legs,” said St. Columba, “may you have a crooked
mouth,” and so the flounder has a wry mouth to this day.
_Lobster._—The three animals that dart quickest and farthest in
the sea, according to a popular and perhaps truthful rhyme, are
the lobster, mackerel, and seal. “The dart of lobster, the dart of
mackerel, and the dart of seal; and though far the lobster’s dart,
farther is the mackerel’s dart, and though far the mackerel’s dart,
farther is the seal’s dart.”
_Serpents._—A serpent, whenever encountered, ought to be killed.
Otherwise, the encounter will prove an omen of evil. The head should
be completely smashed (_air a spleatradh_), and removed to a distance
from the rest of the body. Unless this is done, the serpent will again
come alive. The tail, unless deprived of animation, will join the body,
and the head becomes a _beithis_, the largest and most deadly kind of
serpent.[63] A person stung by one should rush to the nearest water.
Unless he reaches it before the serpent, which also makes straight for
it, he will die from the wound.
Another cure for the sting is water in which the head of another
serpent has been put. There was a man in Applecross who cured epilepsy
by water in which he kept a living serpent. The patient was not to see
the water. Farquhar, the physician, obtained his skill in the healing
art from being the first to taste the juice of a white serpent. He was
a native of Tongue, in Sutherlandshire, and on one occasion was met by
a stranger, who asked him where he got the walking-stick he held in his
hand. The stranger further got him to go to the root of the tree from
which the stick had been cut, take a white serpent from a hole at its
foot and boil it. He was to give the juice without touching it to the
stranger. Farquhar happened to touch the mess with his finger, and it
being very hot, he thrust his finger in his mouth. From that moment he
acquired his unrivalled skill as a physician, and the juice lost its
virtue.
A week previous to St. Bridget’s Day (1st February, O.S.) the serpents
are obliged to leave their holes under ground, and if the ground is
then covered with snow they perish. In the popular rhyme relating to
the subject the serpent in Argyllshire and Perthshire is called the
‘daughter of Edward,’ but in Skye _an rìbhinn_, the damsel. In both
cases the name is probably a mere euphemism suggested by the rhyme to
avoid giving unnecessary offence to the venomous creature.
_Rats and Mice._—When a place is infested to a troublesome extent with
rats or mice, and all other means of getting rid of the pests have
failed, the object can be accomplished by composing a song, advising
them to go away, telling them where to go, and what road to take, the
danger awaiting them where they are, and the plenty awaiting them in
their new quarters. This song is called the Rat (or Mouse) Satire, and
if well composed the vermin forthwith take their departure.
When the islet of Calv (_an Calbh_, the inner door), which lies across
the mouth of Tobermory harbour, was let in small holdings, the rats
at one time became so numerous that the tenants subscribed sixpence
a-piece, and sent for _Iain Pholchrain_ to Morven, to come and
satirize the rats away. He came and made a long ode, in which he told
the rats to go away peaceably, and take care not to lose themselves
in the wood. He told them what houses to call at, and what houses
(those of the bard’s own friends) to avoid, and the plenty and welcome
stores—butter and cheese, and meal—to be got at their destination. It
is said that after this there was an observable decrease in the number
of rats in the island!
An Ardnamurchan man, pestered with mice, in strong language tried to
get them away, and all who have had experience of the annoyance, will
heartily join him in his wishes. The poet, with whips and switches,
gathers the mice in a meadow near a stream, and sends a number of the
drollest characters in the district to herd them, and ‘old men, strong
men, striplings, and honest matronly women, with potato beetles,’ to
chase them. At last he gets them on board a boat at _Eabar an ròin_,
and sends them to sea.
“The sea roaring boisterously,
The ocean heaving and weltering,
The tearing sound of sails splitting,
The creaking of the keel breaking,
The bilge water through the hull splashing
Like an old horse neighing.”
And leaving them in this evil plight, the song ceases.
_Cormorant._—This bird passes through three stages of existence; it is
“seven years a scart (_pelecanus cristatus_), seven years a speckled
loon (_colymbus arcticus_), and seven years a cormorant (_pelecanus
carbo_)” (_Seachd bliadhna na sgarbh, seachd bliadhna na learg, ’s
seachd bliadhna na bhallaire bodhain_).
_Magpie._—The pyet (_piaghaid_) is called ‘the messenger of the
Campbells’ (_Gille ruith nan Caimbeulach_), a name also given (for what
reason the writer has not been able to ascertain) to a person who is
‘garrulous, lying, interfering with everbody’ (_gobach, briagach, ’g
obair air na h-uile duine_). It is said of a meddling chatterbox, “What
a messenger of the Campbells you have become!” It is ‘little happiness’
(_beagan sonais_) for any one to kill a magpie.
_Beetles._—The _Ceardalan_ or dung-beetle is spared by boys when met
with, but the _daolag_ or clock is mercilessly killed. The reason
assigned is, that when the former met those who came to seize the
person of our Saviour, and was asked how long since he had passed, it
said, “twenty days ago yesterday” (_fhichead latha gus an dé, chaidh
Mac Dhé seachad_), but the latter said, “it was only yesterday” (_an
dé, an dé chaidh Mac Dhé seachad_). Hence, when boys hammer the life
out of a ‘clock,’ they keep repeating with savage unction, “The day
before yesterday, wretch” (_air a bhò ’n dé, bhradag_), or a rhyme:
“Remember yesterday, yesterday,
Remember yesterday, wretch,
Remember yesterday, yesterday,
That let not the Son of God pass.”
_Emmet (Caora-Chòsag)._—This animal is shaken between the palms of the
hand and laid upon the table. It is believed by boys to indicate the
weather of the following day, by lighting on its back or belly and the
alacrity with which it moves away.
_Skip-Jack._—This insect (_Gobhachan_, _i.e._ little smith or _Buail
a Chnag_, give a knock), when laid on its back emits a loud crack in
springing to its proper position. It is a favourite amusement of boys
when they get hold of one to make it go through this performance. In
Skye, when watching it preparing to skip, they say,
“Strike with your hammer, little smith.
Or I will strike your head.”[64]
CHAPTER VII.
MISCELLANEOUS SUPERSTITIONS.
_Gisvagun, Eapagun, Upagun._—Of the same class with magical charms and
incantations, that is, of no avail to produce the results with which
they are credited, were various minor observances and practices, to
which importance was attached as lucky or unlucky, and ominous of, if
not conducive to, future good or ill. In some cases these observances
became mere customs, followed without heed to their significance or
efficacy; and many were known to, and believed in only by, the very
superstitious. So far as causing or leading to the result ascribed to
them was concerned, they were, ‘like the Sunday plant,’ without good
or harm, but a mind swayed by trifling erroneous beliefs of the kind
is like a room filled with cobwebs. Superstition shuts out the light,
makes the mind unhealthy, and fills it with groundless anxieties.
_The Right-Hand Turn (Deiseal)._—This was the most important of all
the observances. The rule is “_Deiseal_ (_i.e._ the right-hand turn)
for everything,” and consists in doing all things with a motion
corresponding to the course of the sun, or from left to right. This is
the manner in which screw-nails are driven, and is common with many
for no reason but its convenience. Old men in the Highlands were very
particular about it. The coffin was taken _deiseal_ about the grave,
when about to be lowered; boats were turned to sea according to it,
and drams are given to the present day to a company. When putting a
straw rope on a house or corn-stack, if the assistant went _tuaitheal_
(_i.e._ against the course of the sun), the old man was ready to come
down and thrash him. On coming to a house the visitor should go round
it _deiseal_ to secure luck in the object of his visit. After milking a
cow the dairy-maid should strike it _deiseal_ with the shackle, saying
“out and home” (_mach ’us dachaigh_). This secures its safe return. The
word is from _deas_, right-hand, and _iul_, direction, and of itself
contains no allusion to the sun.
_Rising and Dressing._—It is unfortunate to rise out of bed on one’s
left side. It is a common saying when evil befalls a person, who seems
to himself to have rushed to meet it, “I did not rise on my right hand
to-day.”[65]
Water in which eggs have been boiled or washed should not be used for
washing the hands or face. It is also a common saying when mischance
befalls a person through his own stupidity, “I believe egg-water was
put over me.”
When done washing himself a person should spit in the water, otherwise
if the same water should be used by another for a like purpose, there
will be danger of quarrelling with him before long.
_Clothes._—When a person puts on a new suit it is customary to wish
him luck of it: “May you enjoy and wear it.” A man should be always
the first to do this, the tailor, if he has the good sense. It is
unlucky if a woman be the first to say it, and prudent women delay
their congratulations and good wishes till they are satisfied some male
friend has spoken first. It is less unfortunate if the woman has had a
male child.
If a person wearing a dress dyed with _crotal_, a species of lichen,
be drowned, his body will never be found. This belief prevails in
the north, and there the home-made dress indicated, which is of a
reddish-brown colour, is frequently seen.
_Houses and Lands._—There should be placed below the foundation of
every house a cat’s claws, a man’s nails, and a cow’s hoofs, and silver
under the door-post. These will prove omens of the luck to attend the
house. If an outgoing tenant leaves the two former below the door it is
unfortunate for the incoming tenant, as his cattle will die.
An expectant occupier, or claimant, will secure to himself possession
of land by burning upon it a little straw. This straw was called ‘a
possession wisp’ (_Sop seilbhe_). If, for instance, there were two
claimants to land and one of them burnt a ‘possession wisp’ on it,
he might go about his business with his mind easy as to the result of
the lawsuit. Or, if a tenant ran in debt and had to leave his farm,
another, who had a promise of the holding, came and burnt a ‘possession
wisp,’ no evil or debt of those formerly attaching to it would then
follow the holding.
_Baking._—In baking oatmeal cakes there is a little meal left on the
table after the last cake is sprinkled previous to being fired. This
remnant should not be thrown away or returned to the meal chest, but
be kneaded between the palms into a little cake, to be given to one of
the children. This little bannock was the _Bonnach Fallaid_, called
also _Siantachan a chlàir_ (the charmer of the board), to which in
olden times housewives attached so much importance. Unless it was made
the meal lost its substance, and the bread of that baking would not be
lasting (_baan_). On putting a hole through it with the forefinger, as
already explained, it was given to children, and placed beside women
in childbed, to keep the Fairies away. It mightily pleased little
children, and was given to them as a reward for making themselves
useful.
“A little cake to Finlay,
For going to the well.”
Its origin is said to have been as follows:
A man fell in with a skull in a graveyard and took it to a tailor’s
house, where bread was being baked. The tailor gave it a kick, saying,
“There was one period of the world when your gabful of dough was not
small, and if I had you on a New-Year’s day, I would give you your
fill.” When the New Year came round, a stranger came to the tailor’s
house asking for a mouthful of dough. The tailor set his wife to bake,
and whatever she baked the stranger ate, and then asked for more. The
tailor’s stock of meal, and that of his neighbours, was devoured, and
still the stranger asked for more. An old man of the neighbourhood
was consulted, and he advised that the remnants, or dry meal used for
sprinkling the cakes, should also be baked for the voracious guest. On
this _Fallaid_ cake being given the stranger declared himself satisfied
and went away.
If bread, when being baked, breaks frequently a hungry stranger will
come to eat it. Many cakes breaking are a sign of misfortune, by which
the housewife is warned that “something is making for her.”
If the cake for breakfast falls backwards, the person for whom it is
intended should not be allowed to go on a journey that day; his journey
will not be prosperous. The evil can, however, be remedied by giving
plenty of butter, ‘without asking,’ with the cake. To avert this omen,
cakes should not be placed to harden at the fire on their points, but
on either of the two sides or on their round edge. An old woman in
Islay got into a great rage at a wake on seeing the cakes (that is,
quarters of a _farl_ or large round bannock) placed on their points.
It is not good to count the cakes when done baking. They will not in
that case last any time.
_Removal Cheese (Mulchag Imrich)._—When leaving the summer pastures in
the hills, on Lammas day, and returning with the cattle to the strath,
a small cheese made of curds was made from that day’s milk, to be
given to the children and all who were at the _àiridh_, for luck and
good-will. The cows were milked early in the morning, curds were made
and put in the cheese vat (_fioghan_), and this hastily-prepared cheese
was the _mulchag imrich_, and was taken with the rest of the furniture
home for the purpose mentioned.
_Leg Cake (Bonnach Lurgainn)._—This was a cake given to the herd when
he came with news that a mare had foaled, or to the dairy-maid when she
brought word that a cow had calved.
_Giving Fire out of the House._—On the first day of every quarter of
the year—New-Year day, St Bride’s day, Beltane, and Lammas—no fire
should be given out of the house. On the two last days especially it
should not be given, even to a neighbour whose fire had gone out. It
would give him the means of taking the substance or benefit (_toradh_)
from the cows. If given, after the person who had come for it left, a
piece of burning peat (_ceann fòid_) should be thrown into a tub of
water, to keep him from doing harm. It will also prevent his coming
again. On New-Year’s day fire should not be given out of the house on
any consideration to a doubtful person. If he is evil-disposed, not a
beast will be alive next New Year. A suspected witch came on this day
to a neighbour’s house for fire, her own having gone out, and got it.
When she went away a burning peat was thrown into a tub of water. She
came a second time and the precaution was again taken. The mistress of
the house came in, and on looking in the tub found it full of butter.
_Thunder._—In a storm of thunder and lightning iron, for instance
the poker and tongs, put in the fire, averts all danger from the
house. This curious belief seems to have been widespread at one
time throughout the Western Highlands, though now its memory barely
survives. Its _rationale_ seems to have been in some way to propitiate
the fire, of which lightning is the most powerful exhibition. A woman
in Cnoydart (a Roman Catholic district), alarmed by the peals of a
thunder-storm, threw holy water on herself, put the tongs in the fire,
and on being asked the reason, said, “The cross of Christ be upon us!
the fire will not harm us.” Perhaps the practice had some connection
with the belief that the _Beither_, or thunder-bolt, was of iron, a
sharp-pointed mass. It seems one of the most irrational practices
possible, but was probably of remote origin. In Kent and Herefordshire,
a _cold iron bar_ was put on the barrels, to keep the beer from being
soured by thunder.
_Theft._—The stealing of salt, seed of plants, and lint make the thief
liable to judgment without mercy. He may escape punishment from men but
he will never attain to rest, as the rhyme says:
“The stealer of salt, and the stealer of seeds,
Two thieves that get no rest;
Whoever may or may not escape,
The stealer of grey lint will not.”[66]
Another version of the rhyme is:
“Thief of salt and thief of seeds,
Two thefts from which the soul gets no repose;
Till the fish comes on land
The thief of lint gets never rest.”
_Salt._—In addition to the testimony this rhyme bears to the value of
salt, there was a saying, that a loan of salt should be returned as
soon as possible; if the borrower dies in the meantime and without
restitution being made his ghost will revisit the earth. No fish should
be given out of the house without being first sprinkled with salt.
Meal taken out of the house in the evening was sprinkled with salt to
prevent the Fairies getting its benefit.
_Combing the Hair._—A person should not comb his hair at night, or if
he does, every hair that comes out should be put in the fire. Otherwise
they will meet his feet in the dark and make him stumble. No sister
should comb her hair at night if she have a brother at sea.
If the hair is allowed to go with the wind and it passes over an empty
nest, or a bird takes it to its nest, the head from which it came will
ache.
No person should cut his own hair, as he will by doing so become an
unlucky person to meet.
If the hair, when thrown on the fire, will not burn, it is a sign the
person will be drowned.
_Bird Nests._—On falling in with a nest for the first time that year,
if there be only one egg in it, or if there be an odd egg in it, that
egg should be broken.
Any one finding a cuckoo’s nest will live to be widowed.
_Hen’s First Egg._—A young hen’s first egg should be tapped on the
hearth, saying, “one, two, three,” etc., and as many numbers as were
repeated before the egg broke, or the youngster, who was persuaded to
try the experiment, got tired, so many eggs would that hen lay.
_Euphemisms._—By giving diseases and other evils a good name, when
speaking of them, the danger of bringing them upon oneself by his words
is turned away. It will be remembered that for a similar reason the
ancients called the Fairies Eumenides, and the Celt called the Fairies
‘good people.’ The smallpox was called ‘the good woman.’ Epilepsy ‘the
outside disease.’
In telling a tale of any one being taken away by the Fairies, the
ill-will of the ‘people’ was averted by prefixing the narrative with
the words, “A blessing on their journeying and travelling! this is
Friday and they will not hear us.”
When a person sneezes it is customary for the bystander to say “Thank
you,” to which is sometimes added, “We will not take his name in vain.”
Some say, “God be with you,” others, “God and Mary be with you,”
and others, “St. Columba be with you.” By saying, “The hand of your
father and grandfather be over you,” the Fairies are kept away. Any
words would seem to have been deemed availing, and some of the phrases
used were not choice. If the bystander should say, “Your brains the
next time!” the person sneezing should answer, “The bowl of your head
intercept them!”
When a child yawns, the nurse should say, “Your weariness and heaviness
be on yonder grey stone!”
When the story of a house having taken fire is told, the narrative
should be prefixed by saying, “St Mary’s well be in the top of every
house! the cross of Christ be upon us!” This averts a similar calamity
from the house in which the tale is told.
In some places old people are to be found who, when a person comes
in with any tale of misfortune, of the death of one of the cattle, a
neighbour’s house taking fire, etc., pull threads from their clothes
and throw them in the fire, saying, “Out with the evil tale!” or, “To
tell it to themselves.”
In speaking of the dead, it is proper to speak of them only in
commendatory terms—_de mortuis nihil nisi bonum_. Hence _moladh mairbh_
(Praise of the Dead) denotes faint praise, not always deserved. In
speaking of the dead, old people always added, “His share of paradise
be his” (_chuid a fhlaitheanas da_), or “His portion of mercy be his”
(_chuid a thròcair da_). If their tale was not to the credit of the
deceased or they were obliged to make any statement unfavourable to
him, they said, “It is not to send it after him.”
_Boat Language._—When in a boat at sea, sailing or fishing, it was
forbidden to call things by the names by which they were known on
land. The boat-hook should not be called _croman_, but _a chliob_; a
knife, not _sgian_, but _a ghiar_ (the sharp one); the baling dish,
not _taoman_, but _spùidseir_; a seal, not _ròn_, but _béisd mhaol_
(the bald beast); a fox, not _sionnach_, but _madadh ruadh_ (the red
dog); the stone for anchoring the boat was not _clach_, but _cruaidh_
(hardness). This practice prevails much more on the east coast than on
the west, where it may be said to be generally extinct. It is said to
be carefully observed among the fishermen about the Cromarty Firth. It
was deemed unlucky by east coast fishermen coming to Tiree (as several
boats used to do annually to prosecute the cod and ling fishing),
to speak in a boat of a minister or a rat. Everywhere it was deemed
unlucky among seafaring men to whistle in case a storm should arise.
In Tiree, Heynish Hill (the highest in the island) was known at sea as
_a Bhraonach_; _Hogh_ Hill (the next highest) as _Bheinn Bhearnach no
Sgoillte_ (the Notched or Cloven Hill), and a species of whale as _cas
na poite_ (the leg of a pot). It should not be said “He was drowned”
(_bhàthadh e_) but “he journeyed” (_shiubhail e_); not “tie a rope”
(_ceangail ròp_), but “make it” (_dean e_). In the north it was held
that an otter, while in its den, should not be called _béisd du_ (the
black beast, its common name), but _Carnag_. It would otherwise be
impossible for the terriers to drive it from its refuge.
_Fresh Meat._—When fresh meat of the year’s growth is tasted for the
first time, a person should say,
“A death-shroud on the grey, better grey, old woman,
Who said she would not taste the fresh meat,
I will taste the fresh meat,
And will be alive for it next year.”
This ensures another year’s lease of life.
_Killing those too long alive._—If a person is thought to be too long
alive, and it becomes desirable to get rid of him, his death can be
ensured by bawling to him thrice through the key-hole of the room in
which he is bedrid,
“Will you come, or will you go?
Or will you eat the flesh of cranes?”
_Funerals._—It was customary to place a plate of salt, the smoothing
iron, or a clod of green grass on the breast of a corpse, while laid
out previous to being coffined. This, it was believed, kept it from
swelling. A candle was left burning beside it all night. When it was
placed in the coffin and taken away on the day of the funeral, the
boards on which it had been lying were left for the night as they were,
with a drink of water on them, in case the dead should return and be
thirsty. Some put the drink of water or of milk outside the door, and,
as in Mull and Tiree, put a sprig of pearlswort above the lintel to
prevent the dead from entering the house.
When coffining the corpse every string in the shroud was cut with
the scissors; and in defence of the practice there was a story that,
after burial, a woman’s shade came to her friends, to say that all the
strings in her shroud had not been cut. Her grave was opened, and this
was found to be the case.
The only instance the writer has heard of Cere-cloth, that is, cloth
dipped in wax in which dead bodies were wrapped, being used in
the Highlands, is, that the Nicholsons of Scorrybreck, in Skye (a
family said to be of Russian descent through _Neacal mòr_ who was in
Mungastadt), had a wax shirt (_Leine Chéir_) which, from the friendship
between themselves and the chief of the Macleods, was sent for from
Dunvegan on every occasion of a death.
_The Watch of the Graveyard (Faire Chlaidh)._—The person last buried
had to keep watch over the graveyard till the next funeral came. This
was called _Faire Chlaidh_, the graveyard watch, kept by the spirits of
the departed.
At Kiel (_Cill Challum Chille_), in Morvern, the body of the Spanish
Princess said to have been on board one of the Armada blown up in
Tobermory Bay was buried. Two young men of the district made a paction,
that whoever died first the other would watch the churchyard for him.
The survivor, when keeping the promised watch, had the sight of his
dead friend as well as his own. He saw both the material world and
spirits. Each night he saw ghosts leaving the churchyard and returning
before morning. He observed that one of the ghosts was always behind
the rest when returning. He spoke to it, and ascertained it to be the
ghost of the Spanish Princess. Her body had been removed to Spain, but
one of her little fingers had been left behind, and she had to come
back to where it was.
When two funeral parties met at the churchyard, a fight frequently
ensued to determine who should get their friend first buried.
_Suicides._—The bodies of suicides were not taken out of the house, for
burial, by the doors, but through an opening made between the wall and
the thatch. They were buried, along with unbaptized children, outside
the common churchyard.
It was believed in the north, as in Skye and about Applecross (_a
Chomrach_) in Ross-shire, no herring would be caught in any part of the
sea which could be seen from the grave of a suicide.
_Murder._—It was believed in Sutherlandshire that a murdered body
remained undecayed till touched.
_The Harvest Old Wife (a Chailleach)._—In harvest, there was a struggle
to escape being the last done with the shearing, and when tillage in
common existed, instances were known of a ridge being left unshorn
(no person would claim it) because of it being behind the rest. The
fear entertained was that of having the ‘famine of the farm’ (_gort
a bhaile_), in the shape of an imaginary old woman (_cailleach_), to
feed till next harvest. Much emulation and amusement arose from the
fear of this old woman; and from it arose the expression, “Better is a
mercy-leap in harvest than a sheaf additional” (_’As fearr leum-iochd
a’s t’ fhogaradh na sguab a bharrachd_). The _cum-iochd_,[67] or
mercy-leap, is where a rocky mound or a soft spot, where no corn grows,
occurs in a ridge. Its occurrence was a great help to the shearing
being done.
The first done made a doll of some blades of corn, which was called
the ‘old wife,’ and sent it to his nearest neighbour. He in turn, when
ready, passed it to another still less expeditious, and the person it
last remained with had the ‘old woman’ to keep for that year. The old
wife was known in Skye as the Cripple Goat (_a Ghobhar Bhacach_).
The fear of the Cailleach in harvest made a man in _Saor-bheinn_, in
the Ross of Mull, who farmed his land in common with another, rise
and shear his corn by moonlight. In the morning he found it was his
neighbour’s corn he had cut.
_Big Porridge Day (La u Bhrochain mhòr)._—In the Western Islands, in
olden times (for the practice does not now exist anywhere), when there
was a winter during which little sea-ware came ashore, and full time
for spring work had come without relief, a large dish of porridge,
made with butter and other good ingredients, was poured into the sea
on every headland where wrack used to come. Next day the harbours were
full.
This device was to be resorted to only late in the spring—the Iona
people say the Thursday before Easter—and in stormy weather. The
meaning of the ceremony seems to have been that, by sending the fruit
of the land into the sea, the fruit of the sea would come to land.
_Fires on Headlands._—In Skye, fires were lighted on headlands at the
beginning of winter to bring in herrings.
_Stances._—Particular stances, or sites of buildings, were accounted
unlucky, such for instance as the site of a byre in which the death
of several cattle had occurred; and it was recommended, to prevent the
recurrence of such misfortunes, that the site should be altered.
_Names._—So with regard to names. If the children of a family were
dying in infancy, one after the other, it was thought that, by
changing the name, the evil would be counteracted. The new name was
called a ‘Road name’ (_Ainm Rathaid_), being that of the first person
encountered on the road when going with the child to be baptized. It
was given ‘upon the luck’ (_air sealbhaich_) of the person met.
The Mac-Rories, a sept of the Mac-Larens, in Perthshire, were
descendants of one who thus received his name. His parents, having
lost a previous child before its baptism, were advised to change
the name. They were on their way through the Pass, called _Laìrig
Isle_, between Loch Erne and Glen-dochart, to have their second child
baptized, when they were met by one Rory Mac Pherson. He was an entire
stranger to them, but turned back with them, as a stranger ought to
do to avoid being unlucky, and the child was called after him. _Clann
’ic-Shimigeir_, a sept of the Mac Neills, have also a road name.
_Delivery of Cattle and Horses._—Before delivering a cow to the buyer
at a market, the seller should pass the end of the rope, by which she
is led, three times round his body. When taking delivery of a horse,
from one of whom you are not sure, you should come _deiseal_ between
him and the horse, and take hold of the halter inside his hand, that
is, between him and the horse. Otherwise, the seller’s eye will be
after the beast.
_Trades._—Masons were said to be able to raise the devil, or, as the
Gaelic expression more forcibly describes it, “to take the son of
cursing from his roots” (_macmollachd thoirt as a fhriamhaichean_).
Smiths, being people who work among iron, were deemed of more virtue
against the powers of evil than any other tradesmen.
Tailors were looked upon with a feeling akin to that entertained in the
south, where “nine tailors made a man.” The reason probably was that in
olden times every man fit to bear arms thought it beneath him to follow
a peaceful occupation, and only the lame and cripple were brought up as
tailors.
Tinkers are known as _Luckd-Ceaird_, that is literally ‘tradesmen,’
and the name is a memory of days when they held the first rank as
hand-craftsmen.
_Saor_, a joiner, means literally ‘a free-man,’ whence it would appear
that from the earliest times the trade was highly esteemed.
_Iron._—An oath on _cold iron_ was deemed the most binding oath of
any; when people swore on their dirks it was only because it was at
the time the cold iron readiest to hand. A man who secreted iron, and
died without telling where, could not rest in his grave. At Meigh, in
Lochaber, a ghost for a long time met people who were out late. An old
man, having taken with him a Bible and made a circle round himself on
the road with a dirk, encountered it, and, in reply to his inquiries,
the ghost confessed to having stolen a ploughshare (_soc a chroinn_),
and told where the secreted iron was to be found. After this the ghost
discontinued its visits to the earth.
Cold iron, _e.g._ the keys passed round the body of a cow, after her
return from the bull, keeps her from _ath-dàir_, that is, seeking to go
on the same journey again.
_Empty Shells._—Empty whelk shells (_Faochagun failmhe_) should not be
allowed to remain in the house for the night. Something is sure to come
after them.
Similarly, water in which feet have been washed (_i.e._ out of which
the use or benefit has been taken) should not be left in the house for
fear the noiseless people come and plunge about in it all night.
_Protection against Evil Spirits._—On every occasion of danger and
anxiety, the Highlander of former days commended himself to the
protection of the Cross. In a storm of thunder he blessed himself
saying, “the Cross of Christ be upon us.” When he encountered a ghost
or evil spirit at night, he drew a circle round himself on the road
with the point of his dirk, or a sapling in the name of Christ, “the
Cross of Christ be upon me,” and while he remained in the circle no
evil could come near him.
A person was also safe while below high-water mark. Fairies and evil
spirits had no power below the roll of sea-weed.
When walking the high road at night, it is recommended to keep to the
side paths in case of meeting the wraiths of funerals. The ghostly
train may throw a person down, or compel him to carry the bier to the
churchyard.
_Misnaming a Person._—If a person be accidentally misnamed, as _e.g._
being called John when his name is Donald, he who made the mistake, on
observing it, instantly exclaimed, “The Cross of Christ be upon us.”
_Gaining Straw (Sop Seile)._—At certain seasons of the year,
principally at Beltane and Lammas, a wisp of straw, called _Sop-seile_
(literally a spittle wisp), was taken to sprinkle the door-posts and
houses all round sunwise (_deiseal_), to preserve them from harm. When
a new cow came home it was also sprinkled to preserve it from the evil
eye. The liquid used was menstruum.
In spring the horses, harness, plough, etc., were similarly sprinkled
before beginning to plough.
_Propitious Times._—A great number of the observances of superstition
were regulated by days of the week or year. There were certain days on
which alone certain works could be commenced under favourable auspices
and with any chance of being successfully done.
_Unlucky Actions._—It is unlucky to wind black thread at night. A
vicious wish made to one another by women quarrelling, in olden times,
was, “The disease of women who wind black thread at night be upon you!”
Some say the reason of the evil omen is, that black thread is apt to
disappear at night, or be taken by the Fairies, and be found through
the house next morning. Superstition probably assigned some more occult
reason.
It is ‘little happiness’ for anyone to kill a magpie or a bat.
It is unlucky for a person on a journey to return the way he went. This
belief had its origin in the instructions given to the ‘man of God,’
who rebuked the idolatry of Jeroboam. “Eat no bread, nor drink water,
nor turn again by the same way that thou camest” (I Kings xiii. 9).
CHAPTER VIII.
AUGURY.[68]
The anxiety of men to know the future, the issue of their labours,
and the destinies awaiting them, makes them ready listeners to the
suggestions of fancy, and an easy prey to deception. The mind eagerly
lays hold on anything that professes to throw light on the subject of
its anxiety, and men are willing victims to their own hopes and fears.
Where all is dark and inscrutable, deception and delusion are easy, and
hence augury of all kinds, omens, premonitions, divinations, have ever
exercised a noticeable power over the human mind.
The ordinary manner which superstition takes to forecast the future is
to look upon chance natural appearances under certain circumstances as
indications of the character, favourable or unfavourable, of the event
about which the mind is anxious. Any appearance in nature, animate or
inanimate, can thus be made an omen of, and an inference be drawn from
it of impending good or bad fortune. If it be gloomy, forbidding,
awkward, or unpleasant, it is an unlucky omen, and the subsequent
event, with which the mind associates it, will be unfavourable, but
if pleasant, then it is a good omen, and prognosticates pleasant
occurrences.
Omens which proceed upon a similarity of character between the
prognostic and its fulfilment are easy of interpretation. There
are other omens which have no connection, natural, possible, or
conceivable, with the impending event, and of which consequently
the meaning is occult, known only to people of skill instructed in
their interpretation. These probably had their origin in one or two
accidental coincidences. For instance, if the appearance of a fox is
to be taken as an omen, it will naturally be taken as a bad sign,
the stinking brute can indicate nothing favourable; but no amount of
sagacity will teach a person that an itching in the point of his nose
prognosticates the receipt of important news, or the cuckoo calling
on the house-top the death of one of the inmates within the year. His
utmost acuteness will fail to find in a shoulder-blade any indication
of destiny, or any prophetic meaning in the sediment of a cup of tea.
The meaning of these is a mystery to the uninitiated, and it is easy
to see how they might be reduced to a system and lead to the wildest
delusions of fortune-telling.
Everything a Highlander of the old school set about, from the most
trifling to the most important, was under the influence of omens. When
he went to fish, to catch his horse in the hill, to sell or buy at the
market, to ask a loan from his neighbour, or whatever else he left home
to do, he looked about for a sign of the success of his undertaking,
and, if the omen were unpropitious, returned home. He knew his journey
would be of no avail. He consulted mystagogues as to his fate, and at
the proper seasons looked anxiously for the signs of his luck. Like
the rest of mankind, he was, by means of these, pleased or depressed
in anticipation of events that were never to occur. Hence the saying,
“Take a good omen as your omen, and you will be happy.”
Probably the Greek μαντεία, prediction by an oracle, is
cognate to the Gaelic _manadh_, a foretoken, anything from which a
prediction can be drawn. Both among Greeks and Celts a great number of
omens were taken from birds.
As already mentioned, it is a bad sign of a person’s luck during the
day that he should rise from bed on his left hand, wash himself with
water in which eggs have been boiled, or the cakes for his breakfast
should frequently break in the baking, or fall backwards. The coming
evil can be averted in the latter case by giving plenty of ‘butter
without asking’ (_Im gun iarraidh_) with the cakes. Indeed, ‘butter
unasked for’ is of sovereign value as an omen of luck. A cake spread
with it, given to fishermen, secures a good day’s fishing. It is
reckoned good in diseases, particularly measles, and a most excellent
omen for people going on a journey. Its not being given to Hugh of the
Little Head, on the morning of his last battle, was followed by his
losing the battle and his life.
Omens are particularly to be looked for at the outset of a journey. If
the first animal seen by the traveller have its back towards him, or
he meet a sheep or a pig, or any unclean animal, or hear the shrill
cry of the curlew, or see a heron, or he himself fall backward, or his
walking-stick fall on the road, or he have to turn back for anything he
has forgot, he may as well stay at home that day; his journey will not
prosper. A serpent, a rat, or a mouse is unlucky unless killed, but if
killed becomes a good omen. If the face of the animal be towards one,
even in the case of unlucky animals, the omen becomes less inauspicious.
It is of great importance what person is first met. Women are unlucky,
and some men are the most unfortunate omen that can be encountered.
These are called _droch còmhalaichean_, _i.e._ bad people to meet,
and it was told of a man in Skye, that to avoid the mischance of
encountering one of them when setting out on a journey, he sent
one of his own family to meet him. If he met any other he returned
home. In a village in Ayrshire there are three persons noted for
being inauspicious to meet, and fishermen (upon whom as a class this
superstition has a strong hold) are much dissatisfied at meeting any
of them. One of them is not so bad if he puts his hand to his face in
a manner peculiar to him. It is inauspicious to meet a person from the
same village as oneself, or a man with his head bare, or a man going
to pay rent. Old people going to pay rent, therefore, took care to go
away unobserved. A plain-soled person is unlucky, but the evil omen in
his case is averted by rolling up the tongue against the roof of the
mouth. The Stewarts were said to have insteps; water flowed below their
foot; it was, therefore, fortunate to meet any of them. All risk of a
stranger proving a bad _còmhalaiche_ is avoided by his returning a few
steps with the traveller.
A hare crossing one’s path is unlucky, and old people, when they saw
one before them, made considerable detours to avoid such a calamity.
The disfavour with which this harmless animal and the pig were regarded
no doubt arose from their being unclean under the Levitical Law. The
hare chews the cud, but divides not the hoof; the pig divides the hoof,
but does not chew the cud.
The fox is unlucky to meet, a superstition that prevails also in East
Africa. The King of Karague told Captain Speke that “if a fox barked
when he was leading an army to battle, he would retire at once, knowing
that this prognosticated evil” (_Journal_, p. 241).
It is unlucky to look back after setting out. Old people, if they
had to turn to a person coming after them, covered their face. This
superstition probably had its origin in the story of Lot’s wife. Fin
MacCoul, according to a popular tale, never looked back after setting
out on a journey. When he went on the expedition that terminated in
his being “in the house of the Yellow Forehead without liberty to sit
down or power to stand up,” he laid spells on his companions, that
no man born in Ireland should follow him. Fergus, who was born in
Scotland, followed, and Fin, hearing footsteps behind him, called out
without turning his head, in a phrase now obsolete, _Co sid a propadh
mo cheaplaich_? _i.e._, it is supposed, “Who is that following my
footsteps?”
To be called after is a sure omen that a person will not get what he
is going in search of. This belief gave great powers of annoyance to
people of a waggish humour. When everything prognosticated success, and
the fishing boat had left the shore, or the old man, staff in hand,
had set out on his journey, some onlooker cried out, “There is the fox
before you and after you”; or, “Have you got the fish-hooks?” or, “Have
you taken the Bait-stone?”[69] Immediately a damp was thrown on the
expedition, a return home was made for that day, and the wag might be
glad if the party called after did not make him rue his impertinence.
Of omens referring to other events in the life of man than the success
of particular expeditions may be mentioned the following:
A golden plover (_Feadag_, Charadrius pluvialis), heard at night,
portends the near approach of death or other evil. The cry of the bird
is a melancholy wailing note.
A pied wagtail (_Breac an t-sìl_, motaeilla alba), seen between them
and the house, was a sign of being turned out of the house that year
and ‘losing the site’ (_call na làraich_).
The mole burrowing below a house is a sign the tenants will not stay
long on that site.
If the cuckoo calls on the house-top, or on the chimney (_luidheir_),
death will occur in the house that year.
In spring and early summer the omens of happiness and prosperity, or
misery and adversity for the year, are particularly looked for. It is
most unfortunate if the first foal or lamb seen that season have its
tail toward the beholder, or the first snail (some say stone-chat) be
seen on the road or on a bare stone, and a most unmistakable sign of
misfortune to hear the cuckoo for the first time before tasting food in
the morning, ‘on the first appetite’ (_air a chiad lomaidh_), as it is
called. In the latter case, the cuckoo is said ‘to soil upon a person’
(_chac a chuthag air_), and, to avoid such an indignity, people have
been known, at the time of the cuckoo’s visit, to put a piece of bread
below their pillow to be eaten the first thing in the morning.
Cock-crowing before midnight is an indication of coming news. Old
people said the bird had ‘a tale’ to tell; and, when they heard it,
went to see if its legs were cold or not. If cold, the tale will be one
of death; if hot, a good tale. The direction in which the bird’s head
is turned indicates the direction in which the tale is to come.
In visiting the sick, it is a sign of the termination of the illness
whether it be the right or the left foot that touches the threshold
first.
Women pretended to know when they laid their hand on a sick person
whether he would recover.
It is a good sign if the face of the chimney-crook (_aghaidh na
slabhraidh_) be toward the visitor, but an evil omen if its back be
toward him.
CHAPTER IX.
PREMONITIONS AND DIVINATION.
PREMONITIONS.
These are bodily sensations by which future events may be foreknown.
An itching in the nose foretells that a letter is coming, and this in
olden times was a matter of no small consequence. There is an itching
of the mouth that indicates a kiss, and another indicating a dram. A
singing or tingling in the ears denotes death, a friend at the moment
of its occurrence has expired and news of his death will be heard
before long; an itching of the cheek or eyes, weeping; itching of the
left hand, money; of the right, that one is soon to meet a stranger
with whom he will shake hands; of the elbow, that he will soon change
beds or sleep with a stranger; of the brow, that some person will make
you angry before long.
Hot ears denote that some person is speaking about your character. If
the heat be in the right ear, he is supporting or praising you; if in
the left, he is speaking ill of you (_Chluas dheas gam thoirt a nuas;
’s a chluas chli gam shìor-chàineadh_). In the latter case persons of a
vindictive nature repeated the following words:
“He who speaks of me,
If it be not to my advantage,
May he be tossed
On sharp grey knives,
May he sleep in an ant-hill,
And may it be no healthy sleep to him,
But a furious woman between him and the door,
And I between him and his property and sleep.”[70]
The evil wish went on, that “an iron harrow might scrape his guts,” and
something about “a dead old woman” that my informant could not remember.
_Trial (Deuchainn)._—The _deuchainn_ al. _diachuinn_, sometimes called
_frìdh_, omen, was a ‘cast’ or trial made by lots or other appeal to
chance to find out the issue of undertakings—whether an absent friend
was on his way home or would arrive safe; whether a sick man will
recover; whether good or bad fortune awaits one during the year; what
the future husband or wife is to be; the road stolen goods have taken,
etc. This cast may be either for oneself or for another, “for him and
for his luck” (_air a shon ’s air a shealbhaich_). On New-Year day
people are more disposed to wonder and speculate as to their fortunes
during the year upon which they have entered than to reflect upon the
occurrences of the past. Hence these ‘casts’ were most frequently made
on that day. Another favourite time was Hallowmas night. Most of them
might be made at any time of the year, and the difficulty was not in
making them but in interpreting them.
In making a ‘cast’ for one’s future partner, the approved plan is for
him to go at night to the top of a cairn or other eminence where no
four-footed beast can go, and whatever animal is thence seen or met
on the way home is an omen of the future husband or wife. It requires
great shrewdness to read the omen aright.
Another way is to shut the eyes, make one’s way to the end of the
house, and then, and not till then, open the eyes and look around.
Whatever is then seen is an indication of fortune during the year. It
is unlucky to see a woman, particularly an old woman bent with age and
hobbling past. A man is lucky, particularly a young man riding gaily
on a mettlesome horse. A man delving or turning up the earth forebodes
death; he is making your grave, and you may as well prepare. A duck or
a hen with its head below its wing is just as bad, and the more that
are seen in that attitude the speedier or more certain the death. A
man who had the second sight once made a ‘trial’ for a sick person at
the request of an anxious friend. He went out next morning to the end
of the house in the approved manner. He saw six ducks with their heads
under their wings, and the sick man was dead in less than two days.
Other seers, who made ‘trials’ for reward, made the person who
consulted them burn straw in front of a sieve and then look through to
see ‘what they should see.’ From the objects seen the seer foretold
what was to befall.
When a trial was made to ascertain whether an absent friend would
return, if on going out to the end of the house a man is seen coming,
or a duck running towards the seer, his safe arrival will soon be;
but if the object be moving away, the indication is unfavourable. By
this trial it may also be known whether the absent one will return
empty-handed or not.
Another mode of _deuchainn_, for the same purpose, is to take a chance
stick and measure it in thumb-breadths, beginning at its thick or lower
end, and saying, when the thumb is laid on the stick, no or yes as the
opinion of the person consulting the oracle may incline, and repeating
yes, no, alternately till the other end is reached. According to the
position of the last thumb will the answer be affirmative or negative
or doubtful.
When a young woman wants to ascertain whether a young man in whom she
feels an interest loves her, let her look between her fingers at him
and say the following charm. If his first motion is to raise his right
arm she is secure of his affections.
“I have a trial upon you,
I have a looking at you,
Between the five ribs of Christ’s body;
If it be fated or permitted you
To make use of me,
Lift your right hand,
And let it not quickly down.”[71]
In the detection of theft the diviner’s utmost skill could only
determine the direction the stolen goods had taken.
DIVINATION.
_Divination (Fiosachd)._—The same causes which in other countries
led to oracles, astrology, necromancy, card-reading, and other forms
of divination, in the Scottish Highlands led to the reading of
shoulder-blades and tea-cups, palmistry, and the artless spinning of
tee-totums (_dòduman_). In a simple state of society mummeries and
ceremonies, dark caves, darkened rooms, and other aids to mystification
are not required to bring custom to the soothsayer. The desire of
mankind, particularly the young, to have pleasant anticipations of the
future, supply all deficiencies in his artifices. One or two shrewd
guesses establish a reputation, and ordinarily there is no scepticism
or inquiry as to the sources of information. It is noticeable that the
chief articles from which the Highland soothsayer drew his predictions,
supplied him with a luxury.
_Shoulder-blade Reading (Slinneineachd)._—This mode of divination was
practised, like the augury of the ancients, as a profession or trade.
It consisted in foretelling important events in the life of the owner
of a slaughtered animal from the marks on the shoulder-blade, speal
or blade-bone. Professors of this difficult art deemed the right
speal-bone of a black sheep or a black pig the best for this purpose.
This was to be boiled thoroughly, so that the flesh might be stripped
clean from it, untouched by nail or knife or tooth. The slightest
scratch destroyed its value. The bone being duly prepared was divided
into upper and lower parts, corresponding to the natural features of
the district in which the divination was made. Certain marks indicated
a crowd of people, met, according to the skill of the diviner, at a
funeral, fight, sale, etc. The largest hole or indentation was the
grave of the beast’s owner (_úaigh an t-sealbhaduir_), and from its
position his living or dying that year was prognosticated. When to the
side of the bone, it presaged death; when in its centre, much worldly
prosperity (_gum biodh an saoghal aige_).
_Mac-a-Chreachaire_, a native of Barra, was a celebrated shoulder-blade
reader in his day. According to popular tradition he was present at
the festivities held on the occasion of the castle at _Bàgh Chiòsamul_
(the seat of the MacNeills, then chiefs of the island) being finished.
A shoulder-blade was handed to him, and he was pressed again and again
to divine from it the fate of the castle. He was very reluctant, but
at last, on being promised that no harm would be done him, he said
the castle would become a cairn for thrushes (_càrn dhruideachun_),
and this would happen when the Rattle stone (_Clach-a-Ghlagain_) was
found, when people worked at sea-weed in _Baile na Creige_ (Rock-town,
a village far from the sea), and when deer swam across from Uist, and
were to be found on every dung-hill in Barra. All this has happened,
and the castle is now in ruins. Others say the omens were the arrival
of a ship with blue wool, a blind man coming ashore unaided, and that
when a ground officer with big fingers (_maor na miar mòra_) came,
Barra would be measured with an iron string. A ship laden with blue
cloth was wrecked on the island, and a blind man miraculously escaped;
every finger of the ground officer proved to be as big as a bottle (!),
and Barra was surveyed and sold.
When Murdoch the Short (_Murchadh Gearr_), heir to the Lordship of
Lochbuy in the Island of Mull, circ. A.D. 1400, was sent in his
childhood for protection from the ambitious designs of his uncle, the
Laird of Dowart, to Ireland, he remained there till eighteen years of
age. In the meantime his sister (or half-sister) became widowed, and,
dependant on the charity and hospitality of others, wandered about
the Ross of Mull from house to house with her family. It was always
“in the prophecy” (_san tairgneachd_) that Murdoch would return. One
evening, in a house to which his sister came, a wedder sheep was
killed. After the meal was over, her oldest boy asked the farmer for
the shoulder-blade. He examined it intently for some time in silence,
and then, exclaiming that Murdoch was on the soil of Mull (_air grunnd
Mhuile_), rushed out of the house and made for Lochbuy, to find his
uncle in possession of his rightful inheritance.
On the night of the massacre of Glencoe, a party of the ill-fated
clansmen were poring over the shoulder-blade of an animal slain for the
hospitable entertainment of the soldiers. One of them said, “There is a
shedding of blood in the glen” (_tha dòrtadh fuil sa ghleann_). Another
said there was only the stream at the end of the house between them and
it. The whole party rushed to the door, and were among the few that
escaped the butchery of that dreadful night.
It is a common story that a shoulder-blade seer once saved the lives of
a company, of whom he himself was one, who had ‘lifted’ a cattle spoil
(_creach_), by divining that there was only the stream at the end of
the house between them and their pursuers.
A shoulder-blade sage in Tiree sat dawn to a substantial feast, to
which he had been specially invited, that he might divine whether
a certain friend was on his way home or not. He examined the
shoulder-bone of the wedder killed on the occasion critically, unable
to make up his mind. “Perhaps,” he said, “he will come, perhaps he will
not.” A boy, who had hid himself on the top of a bed in the room, that
he might see the fun, could not help exclaiming, “They cannot find you
untrue.” The bed broke, and the diviner and his companions, thinking
the voice came from the skies, fled. When the boy recovered he got the
dinner all to himself.
_Palmistry (Dearnadaireachd)._—Of this mode of divination, as practised
in the Highlands, nothing seems now to be known beyond the name.
Probably from the first the knowledge of it was confined to gipsies and
such like stray characters.
_Divination by Tea, or Cup-reading (Leughadh chu-paichean)._—When tea
was a luxury, dear and difficult to get, the ‘spaeing’ of fortunes from
tea-cups was in great repute. Even yet young women resort in numbers to
fortune-tellers of the class, who for the reward of the tea spell out
to them most excellent matches.
After drinking the tea, the person for whom the cup is to be read,
turning the cup _deiseal_, or with the right-hand turn, is to make
a small drop, left in it, wash its sides all round, and then pour it
out. The fortune is then read from the arrangement of the sediments
or tea-leaves left in the cup. A large quantity of black tea grounds
(_smùrach du_) denotes substance and worldly gear. The person
consulting the oracle is a stray leaf standing to the one side of it.
If the face of the leaf is towards the grounds, that person is to come
to a great fortune; if very positively its back, then farewell even
to the hope “that keeps alive despair.” A small speck by itself is a
letter, and other specks are envious people struggling to get to the
top, followers, etc. Good diviners can even tell to their youthful and
confiding friends when the letter is likely to arrive, what trade their
admirer follows, the colour of his hair, etc.
CHAPTER X.
DREAMS AND PROPHECIES.
Dreams (_Bruadar_) have everywhere been laid hold of by superstition as
indications of what is passing at a distance or of what is to occur,
and, considering the vast numbers of dreams there are, it would be
matter of surprise, if a sufficient number did not prove so like some
remote or subsequent event, interesting to the dreamer, as to keep the
belief alive. On a low calculation, a fourth of the population dream
every night, and in the course of a year, the number of dreams in a
district must be incredible. They are generally about things that have
been, or are, causes of anxiety, or otherwise occupied men’s waking
thoughts. “A dream cometh through the multitude of business,” Solomon
says, and a Gaelic proverb says with equal truth “An old wife’s dream
is according to her inclination” (_Aisling caillich mas a dùrachd_).
Its character can sometimes be traced directly to the health or
position of the body, but in other cases, it seems to depend on the
uncontrolled association of ideas. Out of the numberless phantasies
that arise there must surely be many that the imagination can without
violence convert into forebodings and premonitions.
To dream of raw meat indicates impending trouble; eggs mean gossip and
scandal; herring, snow; meal, earth; a grey horse, the sea. To dream of
women is unlucky; and of the dead, that they are not at rest. In the
Hebrides, a horse is supposed to have reference to the Clan Mac Leod.
The surname of horses is Mac Leod, as the Coll bard said to the Skye
bard:
“Often rode I with my bridle,
The race you and your wife belong to.”[72]
In some districts horses meant the Macgnanean, and a white horse, a
letter.
_Prophecies (Fàisneachd)._—In Argyllshire and Perthshire, the
celebrated Thomas the Rhymer (_Tòmas Reuvair, T. Réim_) is as well
known as in the Lowlands of Scotland. He is commonly called “the son of
the dead woman” (_mac na mna mairbh_), but the accounts vary as to the
cause of this name. One account says, he was, like Julius Caesar, taken
out through his mother’s side, immediately after her death; another,
that the cry of the child was heard in the mother’s tomb after her
burial, and on the grave being opened Thomas was found in the coffin.
A third account says, that a woman, whose husband had been cut in
four pieces, engaged a tailor, at the price of the surrender of her
person, to sew the pieces together again. He did so in two hours time.
Some time after the woman died and was buried. Subsequently, she met
the tailor at night, and leading him to her tomb, the child was found
there. Both the Highland and Lowland accounts agree that Thomas’s gift
of prophecy was given him by a Fairy sweetheart, that he is at present
among the Fairies, and will yet come back.
The Highland tradition is, that Thomas is in Dunbuck hill (_Dùn buic_)
near Dunbarton. The last person that entered that hill found him
resting on his elbow, with his hand below his head. He asked, “Is it
time?” and the man fled. In the outer Hebrides he is said to be in
Tom-na-heurich hill,[73] near Inverness. Hence MacCodrum, the Uist
bard, says:
“When the hosts of Tomnaheurich come,
Who should rise first but Thomas?”[74]
He attends every market on the look-out for suitable horses, as the
Fairies in the north of Ireland attend to steal linen and other goods,
exposed for sale. It is only horses with certain characteristics that
he will take. At present he wants but two, some say only one, a yellow
foal with a white forehead (_searrach blàr buidhe_). The other is to be
a white horse that has got “three March, three May, and three August
months of its mother’s milk” (_trì Màirt, trì Màigh, agus trì Iuchara
’bhainne mhàthar_); and in Mull they say, one of the horses is to be
from the meadow of Kengharair in that island. When his complement is
made up he will become visible, and a great battle will be fought on
the Clyde.
“When Thomas comes with his horses,
The day of spoils will be on the Clyde.
Nine thousand good men will be slain,
And a new king will be set on the throne.”[75]
You may walk across the Clyde, the prophecy goes on to relate, on men’s
bodies, and the miller of Partick Mill (_Muilionn Phearaig_), who is
to be a man with seven fingers, will grind for two hours with blood
instead of water. After that, sixteen ladies will follow after one
lame tailor,[76] a prophecy copied from Isaiah iv. 1. A stone in the
Clyde was pointed out as one, on which a bird (_bigein_) would perch
and drink its full of blood, without bending its head, but the River
Trustees have blasted it out of the way that the prophecy may not come
true. The same prophecy, with slight variation, has been transferred
to Blair Athole in Perthshire. “When the white cows come to Blair,
the wheel of Blair Mill will turn round seven times with people’s
blood.”[77] The writer was told that the Duke of Athole brought white
cattle to Blair more than fifteen years ago, but nothing extraordinary
happened.
Other prophecies, ascribed to the Rhymer, are, “the sheep’s skull will
make the plough useless,” “the south sea will come upon the north sea,”
and “Scotland will be in white bands, and a lump of gold will be at
the bottom of every glen.”[78] The former has received its fulfilment
in the desolation caused by the extension of sheep farms, the second
in the making of the Caledonian canal, and the last in the increase of
highroads and houses.
In the North Highlands, prophecies of this kind are ascribed to
_Coineach Odhar_ (_i.e._ Dun Kenneth), a native of Ross-shire, whose
name is hardly known in Argyllshire. He acquired his prophetic gift
from the possession of a stone, which he found in a raven’s nest. He
first found a raven’s nest with eggs in it. These he took home and
boiled. He then took them back to the nest, with a view to finding out
how long the bird would sit before it despaired of hatching them. He
found a stone in the nest before him, and its possession was the secret
of his oracular gifts. When this became known an attempt was made to
take the stone from him, but he threw it out in a loch, where it still
lies.
He prophesied that “the raven will drink its fill of men’s blood from
off the ground, on the top of the High Stone in Uig,”[79] a place in
Skye. The High Stone is on a mountain’s brow, and it is ominous of the
fulfilment of the prophecy, that it has fallen on its side. Of the Well
of Ta, at _Cill-a-chrò_ in Strath, in the same island, he said:
“Thou well of Ta, and well of Ta,
Well where battle shall be fought,
And the bones of growing men,
Will strew the white beach of Laoras;
And Lachlan of the three Lachlans be slain
Early, early,
At the well of Ta.”[80]
In Harris a cock will crow on the very day on which it is hatched, and
a white calf, without a single black hair, will be born, both which
remarkable events have, it is said, occurred. A certain large stone
will roll up the hill, turning over three times, and the marks of it
having done so, and the proof of the prophecy, are still to be seen. On
the top of a high stone in Scaristavor parks,[81] the raven will drink
its fill of men’s blood, and the tide of battle will be turned back by
Norman of the three Normans (_Tormod nan trì Tormoidean_) at the Steps
of Tarbert (_Càthaichean an Tairbeart_).[82]
_The Lady of Lawers._—Of similar fame for her prophetic gifts was the
Lady of Lawers (_Bantighearna Lathuir_), one of the Breadalbane family,
married to Campbell of Lawers. Her prophecies relate to the house and
lands of Breadalbane, and are written, it is believed, in a book shaped
like a barrel, and secured with twelve iron hoops or clasps in the
charter room of Taymouth Castle. This book is called ‘The Red Book of
Balloch.’
An old white horse will yet take the lineal heirs of Taymouth (or,
according to another version, the last Breadalbane Campbells) across
Tyndrum Cairn. When she said this there were thirty sons in the
family, but soon after twenty-five of them were slain in the battle at
_Sron-a-chlachair_ near Killin (_Cill-Fhinn_).
If the top stone were ever put on Lawers Church no word uttered by
her would ever come true, and when the red cairn on Ben Lawers fell
the church would split. In the same year that the cairn, built by the
sappers and miners on Ben Lawers, fell, the Disruption in the Church of
Scotland took place.
“A mill will be on every streamlet,
A plough in every boy’s hand,
The two sides of Loch Tay in kail gardens;
The sheep’s skull will make the plough useless,
And the goose’s feathers drive their memories from men.”[83]
This was to happen in the time of “John of the three Johns, the worst
John that ever was, and there will be no good till Duncan comes.”
A stone called the ‘Boar Stone’ (_Clach an Tuirc_), a boulder of some
two or three hundred tons in a meadow near Loch Tay, will topple over
when a strange heir comes to Taymouth, and the house will be at its
height of honour when the face of a certain rock is concealed by wood.
CHAPTER XI.
IMPRECATIONS, SPELLS, AND THE BLACK ART.
IMPRECATION (_Guidhe_).
The imprecations, which form so important a part of the vocabulary of
thoughtless and profane swearing, are in Gaelic corruptions of English
expressions. Thus, one of the commonest—_diabhul Mac-eadhar_ is a
corruption of ‘devil may care,’ and though no language has a monopoly
of oaths and curses, and English is not always to blame, it is some
satisfaction that needless profanity is not entirely of native growth.
Most Gaelic imprecations are mere exclamations, condemnatory not so
much of the person himself as of what he is saying or doing. Of these
the following are of common use:
A bad meeting to you! (_Droch còmh ’l ort!_).
A bad growth to you! (_Droch fàs ort!_).
Bad understanding to you! (_Droch ciall ort!_).
Bad accident to you! (_Droch sgiorram ort!_).
Bad —— ? to you! (_Gum bu droch drùileach!_
or _drùthalach dhuit!_).
Black water upon you! (_Bùrn du ort!_).[84]
A down mouth be yours! (_Beul sìos ort!_).[85]
A wry mouth be yours! (_Beul seachad ort!_).
Go to your grandfather’s house! (_Tigh do sheamar dhuit!_).
The mischief be in your side! (_An dunaigh ad chliathaich!_).
The burning of your heart to you! (_Losgadh do chridhe ort!_).
Little increase to you! (_Beagan piseach ort!_).
Little prosperity to you! (_Beagan àidh ort!_).
The spell of your death-stroke be yours! (_Sian do ghonaidh ort!_).
Death without a priest to you! (_Bàs gun sagart ort!_).
Wind without rising be yours! (_Gaoth gun dìreadh ort!_), _i.e._ a
wind that will throw you on your beam-ends, and not allow
you to right.
Your black certain death-stroke to you! (_Sàr du do ghonaidh
ort!_).
The place of the dead be yours! (_Marasg, i.e. marbh-thasg,
ort!_).
The number of Friday be yours! “The curse of Friday be
yours!” “The end of the seven Saturdays to you!”
May you be late! (_Gu ma h-anamoch dhuit!_).
The direction in which you turn the back of your head, may
you never turn your face! (_An toabh bheir thusa cùl do
chinn, gar an d’ thig an t-aon latha bheir thu t’ aghaidh!_),
etc., etc.
When a curse proceeds from rage or malevolence, it is at the same time
a confession of impotence. The party uttering it is unable at the
moment to indulge his rancour in any other way. If he had the power he
would bring all the woes he threatens or imprecates there and then on
his enemy’s devoted head. Patience is no element of wrath and rarely
enters the house of malevolence, and if the man who curses his enemy
had the artillery of heaven at command, he would at that moment devote
his enemy to unspeakable misery. This impotence of rage is the reason
why curses are so frequently ascribed to angry old women.
Those who have seen old women, of the Madge Wildfire school, cursing
and banning, say their manner is well calculated to inspire terror.
Some fifteen or twenty years ago, a party of tinkers quarrelled and
fought, first among themselves, and then with some Tiree villagers.
In the excitement a tinker wife threw off her cap and allowed her
hair to fall over her shoulders in wild disorder. She then bared her
knees, and falling on them to the ground, in a praying attitude, poured
forth a torrent of wishes that struck awe into all who heard her. She
imprecated “Drowning by sea and conflagration by land; may you never
see a son to follow your body to the graveyard, or a daughter to mourn
your death. I have made my wish before this, and I will make it now,
and there was not yet a day I did not see my wish fulfilled,” etc.,
etc. “Once,” says one who is now an old man, “when a boy I roused the
anger of an old woman by calling her names. She went on her knees and
cursed me, and I thought I was going to die suddenly every day for a
week after.”
The curse causeless will not come, but a curse deserved is the
foreshadowing of the ultimate issue of events. The curse of the
oppressed, who have no man to deliver them, is at times but the presage
of the retribution which the operation of the laws of the moral world
will some day bring about. Hence we find such expressions as, “She
cursed him and obtained her wish.” The curse came upon the oppressor,
not because of the malediction, but because what was asked for was
part of the natural sequence of events in the moral government of the
world. For this reason, the curse of the poor is undesirable. There is
something wrong in the relation between superior and inferior when it
is uttered; authority has been misused, and wisdom and patience have
been awanting, selfishness has overstepped its due limit, and the just
influence of the superior has degenerated into wantonness of power. In
the expatriations from the Highlands, there was much in this respect to
be reprobated, and it is most creditable to Highlanders, and is greatly
to be ascribed to the influence of religion over them, that in the
songs made at the time of the Clearances, there are no curses against
the oppressor.
A common expression in the imprecations used by old women was, “May no
benefit be in your cheese, and no cheese in your milk.”[86]
There is said to be a curse on an estate in Argyllshire, that a lineal
descendant will never succeed to it, and on one of the principal
castles in Perthshire, that no legitimate heir (_oighre dligheach_)
will own it till the third generation (_gus an treasa linn_). This
latter curse was paused by the haughtiness of an old woman, a former
mistress of the castle, who lived entirely on marrow.
All evil wishes can be counteracted by the bystander saying, after each
curse, “The fruit of your wish be on your own body” (_Toradh do ghuidhe
far_, etc.). On the occasion above referred to, of the banning by the
tinker wife, her frightful tirade became ludicrous from the earnestness
with which this was done by one of the native women who was listening.
SPELLS (_Geasan no Geasaibh_).
A person under spells is believed to become powerless over his own
volition, is alive and awake, but moves and acts as if asleep. He
is like St. John’s father, not able or not allowed to speak. He is
compelled to go to certain places at certain hours or seasons, is sent
wandering or is driven from his kindred and changed to other shapes.
In nursery and winter evening tales (_sgialachdun ’us ur-sgeulun_)
the machinery of spells is largely made use of. In the former class
of tales they are usually imposed on king’s children by an old woman
dwelling near the palace, called “Trouble-the-house” (_Eachrais
ùrlair_, lit. confusion of the floor). Her house is the favourite place
for the king’s children to meet their lovers. She has a divining rod
(_slacan druidheachd_), by a blow from which she can convert people
into rocks, seals, swans, wolves, etc., and this shape they must keep
till they are freed by the same rod. Nothing else can deliver them from
the spell.
The story usually runs that the king is married a second time. His
daughter by the first marriage is very handsome, and has a smooth
comb (_cìr mhìn_) which makes her hair, when combed by it, shed gold
and precious gems. The daughters by the second marriage are ugly and
ill-natured. When they comb their hair there is a shower of fleas and
frogs. Their mother bribes Trouble-the-house to lay spells on the
daughter of the first marriage. Unless the princess enters the house
the old woman is powerless to do this. One day the beautiful princess
passes near the house, and is kindly and civilly asked to enter. “Come
you in,” says the designing hag, “often did I lick the platters and
pick the bones in your father’s house.”[87] Misled by this artful talk,
the princess enters, is struck with the magic rod, and converted into
a swan.
It is a popular saying that seals and swans are “king’s children under
enchantments” (_clann sigh fo gheasaibh_). On lonely mountain meres,
where the presence of man is seldom seen, swans have been observed
putting off their coverings (_cochull_) and assuming their proper shape
of beautiful princesses in their endeavours to free themselves from the
spells. This, however, is impossible till the magician, who imposed
them, takes them away, and the princesses are obliged to resume their
coverings again.
The expressive countenance and great intelligence of the seal, the
readiness with which it can be domesticated, and the attachment which,
as a pet, it shows to man, have not unnaturally led to stories of its
being a form assumed by, or assigned to, some higher intelligence from
choice or by compulsion. In Caithness, seals are deemed to be the
fallen angels, and the Celtic belief that they are “king’s children
under spells” is paralleled in the Shetland tales of the Norway Finns.
These are persons, a native of these northern islands writes (in a
private letter), who come across from Norway to Shetland in the shape
of large seals. A Shetlander on his way to the fishing, early in the
morning, came across a large seal lying asleep on a rock. Creeping
quietly up he managed to stab it with his knife. The animal was only
slightly wounded and floundered into the water, taking the knife along
with it. Sometime afterwards the fisherman went, with others, to Norway
to buy wood. In the first house he entered he saw his own big knife
stuck up under a beam. He gave himself up for lost, but the Norwegian
took down the knife and gave it back to him, telling him never again to
disturb a poor sea-animal taking its rest.
There is a sept in North Uist known as “the MacCodrums of the seals”
(_Clann ’ic Codrum nan ròm_), from being said to be descendants of
these enchanted seals. The progenitor of the family, being down about
the shore, saw the seals putting off their coverings and washing
themselves. He fled home with one of the skins and hid it above the
lintel of the door, ‘_arabocan_’ as it is called in that part of the
country. The owner of the covering followed him. He clad her with human
garments, married her, and had a family by her. She managed ultimately
to regain possession of her lost covering and disappeared.
West of Uist there is a rock called _Connsmun_, to which the
neighbouring islanders are in the habit of going yearly to kill seals.
On one of these expeditions a young man, named Egan, son of Egan,
killed a large seal in the usual manner by a knock on the head, and
put a withe through its paw to secure it, while he himself went to
attend to other matters. When he came back, however, the seal was gone.
Sometime after he was driven away in a storm, and landed in a district
he did not recognize. He made his way to one of the houses, and was
very hospitably entertained. His host, who had been surveying him
intently, when the meal was over asked his name. He told, and his host
said, “Egan, son of Egan, though I have given you meat, and cheese, and
eggs, upon your two hands be it, Egan, son of Egan, you put the withe
through my fist.”[88]
THE BLACK ART.
Nothing was known in the Highlands of the dark science beyond what is
conveyed in the name given to it, ‘Satan’s black school’ (_Sgoil du
Shatain_), and a few anecdotes of its more illustrious students. All
accounts agree that Michael Scott was an advanced scholar. He, by his
skill in it, made a brazen man, whom he compelled to do all his work
for him. By means of him he brought the Flanders Moss (_Mhòinteach
Fhlansrach_), in the Carse of Stirling, across from the continent on
bearers (_lunnun_). The moss is twenty-three miles long, and lies
north of Stirling, where, unfortunately, the bearers broke. The Mull
doctor (_an t-ollamh Muileach_)[89] and the Islay doctor (_an t-ollamh
Ileach_) also attended the school, and adventures are assigned to them
as to the other scholars.
Cameron of Locheil (_Mac Dhò’uill dui_, the son of Black Donald, is
the Highland patronymic of the chiefs of this house), Macdonald of
Keppoch (_Mac-ic-Rao’uill_), and Mackenzie of Brahan were at the school
together, and when their education was finished the devil was to get as
his fee whoever of them was hindmost. The three young men made a plan
to chase each other round and round in a circle so that none of them
should be hindmost. At last the devil was for clutching some one, but
the young man pointed to his shadow which was behind. The devil in his
hurry caught at it, and the young man never had a shadow from that day.
Locheil hired a servant maid to attend to a set of valuable china
dishes of which he was the possessor. Her post was onerous, and she
had another waiting-maid under her. Her life was to be the forfeit of
any of the dishes being broken. One night when ascending the stairs
with the dishes on a tray, the under-servant leading the way with a
light, she noticed that the sugar bowl was in two and began to weep. A
gentleman, whom she had not till then observed, was walking backwards
and forwards on the stair-head. He asked her why she wept, and she
told. He asked what she would give to have the bowl made whole as it
was before? Would she give herself? She thoughtlessly said she would
give anything. The bargain was struck, and on drying her tears and
looking up the maid found the bowl whole. She told all this to her
master, and when the devil came that same night to claim her, Locheil
gave his former teacher a hospitable reception. When it waxed late, the
devil, afraid of the cock-crowing, was preparing to go away. Cameron
coaxed him to remain till the inch still remaining of the candle on the
table should burn down. Whenever he gave his consent Cameron blew out
the candle and gave it to the servant, telling her her life depended
on its safe custody. In this manner the devil was cheated by his own
scholar.
A drover bought a flock of goats from Macdonald of Keppoch, who himself
accompanied the drove to Locheil-side. Here, in crossing a ford, the
goats were taken away by the stream, and went past the drover as red
stalks of fern (_nan cuiseagun ruadha rainich_), all except one dun
hornless goat (_gobhar mhaol odhar_). The drover returned in search
of Macdonald and found him lying on the heather, seemingly asleep. He
pulled his hand to awaken him, but the hand came away with him. In the
end, however, the hand was put right, and the goats were restored to
the astonished drover.
Another time Keppoch and his dairy-maid had a trial of skill in
sorcery. While she was milking a cow in the cattle-fold, Macdonald, who
was looking on, by his charms prevented the cow from yielding her milk.
The dairy-maid removed to the other side of the cow and defeated his
conjurations. He then removed the hoop on the milk-pail. This also she
counteracted.
Macdonald is said to have put a stop in his own country to the women
winding black thread at night, but how or why does not appear.
The mighty magician, Michael Scott, had a narrow escape from becoming
the prey of the arch-fiend. On his death-bed he told his friends to
place his body on a hillock. Three ravens and three doves would be seen
flying towards it; if the ravens were first the body was to be burned,
but if the doves were first it was to receive Christian burial. The
ravens were foremost, but in their hurry flew beyond their mark. So the
devil, who had long been preparing a bed for Michael, was disappointed.
CHAPTER XII.
THE DEVIL.
Superstition, in assigning to the devil a bodily shape and presence,
endeavoured to make him horrible, and instead made him ridiculous.
For this no doubt the monkish ceremonies of the middle ages are, as
is commonly alleged, much to blame. The fiend was introduced into
shows and dramatic representations with horns, tail, and the hoof of
one of the lower animals; the representation was seized upon by the
popular fancy, and exaggerated till it became a caricature. The human
mind takes pleasure in mixing the ludicrous with the terrible, and in
seeing that of which it is afraid made contemptible. There is, as is
well known, but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and, in
being reduced to a bug-bear, the impersonation of evil has only come
under the operation of a common law. One bad effect to be traced to
the travesty is, that men’s attention is diverted from the power of
evil as the spirit that now worketh strife, lying, dishonesty, and the
countless forms of vice, and the foul fiend is become a sort of goblin,
to frighten children and lonely travellers.
In Gaelic the exaggeration is not carried to the same lengths as in
English. There is nothing said about the fiend’s having horns or tail.
He has made his appearance in shape of a he-goat, but his horns have
not attracted so much attention, or inspired such terror, as his voice,
which bears a horrible resemblance to the bleating of a goat. A native
of the Island of Coll is said to have got a good view of him in a
hollow, and was positive that he was crop-eared (_corc-chluasach_).[90]
He has often a chain clanking after him. In Celtic, as in German
superstition, he has usually a _horse’s hoof_, but also sometimes a
_pig’s foot_. This latter peculiarity, which evidently had its origin
in the incident of the Gadarean swine, and in the pig being unclean
under the ceremonial law, explains the cloven hoof always ascribed to
him in English popular tales. In Scripture, the goat, as pointed out
by Sir Thomas More, formed the sin offering, and is an emblem of bad
men. The reason why a _horse’s hoof_ has been assigned to him is not
so apparent. In the Book of Job, Satan is described as “going to and
fro in the earth”; and the red horses, speckled and white, which the
prophet Zechariah (i. 8) saw among the myrtle trees, were explained
to him to be those whom “the Lord hath sent to walk to and fro through
the earth.” The similarity of description may be casual, but it is on
grounds, equally incidental and slight, that many of the inferences of
superstition are based.
In addition to his Scripture names, the arch-fiend is known in Gaelic
by the following titles:
The worthless one (_am fear nach fhiach_).
The one whom I will not mention (_am fear nach abair mi_).
Yon one (_am fear ud_).
The one big one (_an aon fhear mòr_).
The one from the abyss (_an t-aibhisteir_) from _aibheis_, an abyss, a
depth.
The mean mischievous one (_an Rosad_).
The big sorrow (_an dòlas mòr_).
The son of cursing (_Mac-mollachd_).
The big grizzled one (_an Riabhach mòr_).
The bad one (_an donas_).
The bad spirit (_ain-spiorad_, _droch-spiorad_).
Black Donald (_Dòmhnull Du_).
In the North Highlands he is also known as _Bidein_, _Dithean_,
_Bradaidh_. It is said that _Connan_ was a name given to him, and that
_aisling connain_, a libidinous dream, means literally ‘a devil’s
dream.’ The name must have been very local. There is a fable about
Connan and his twelve sons pulling a plant in the peat moss, in which
the name denoted the wren, and there was a St. Connan, whose memory
is preserved in _Cill-Chonnain_, a burying-ground in Rannoch, and
_Feill-Connain_, the autumn market at Dalmally in Glenorchy.
The occasions on which the devil has appeared in a bodily shape, have
been at meetings of witches; at card-playing, which is the reading of
his books; when he comes to claim his prey; and when summoned by masons
or magicians. He is apt to appear to persons ready to abandon their
integrity, and to haunt premises which are soon to be the scene of
signal calamities. He sometimes comes in unaccountable shapes and in
lonely places for no conceivable purpose but to frighten people.
The following tales will illustrate the character of his appearances
and the notions popularly entertained regarding him.
CARD-PLAYING.
A party of young people were playing cards; a stranger joined them and
took a hand. A card fell below the table, and the youth, who stooped to
lift it, observed the stranger to have a horse’s hoof. The devil, on
being thus detected, went up the chimney in smoke.
This story is universal over the Highlands. Cards are notoriously known
as the devil’s books. When boys play them, the fiend has been known
to come down the chimney feet foremost, the horse’s or pig’s foot
appearing first. When going away, he disappears in smoke, and neighs
horribly in the chimney.
RED BOOK OF APPIN.
This celebrated book contained charms for the cure of cattle, and was
so powerful that its owner had to place an iron hoop about his head
every time he opened it. All accounts agree that it was got from the
devil, but they differ as to how this was done. Very likely the book
was a treatise on the treatment and diseases of cattle, and the origin
of the stories of its magic virtue lay in the fact that the Stewarts,
who owned it, had a magnificent fold of Highland cattle.
The first, who got the book, rode an entire horse (an animal that no
evil power can touch) to a meeting of witches. The devil wrote in a red
book the names of the assembled company. The man, instead of letting
the devil write his name, asked to be allowed to do so himself. On
getting the book for that purpose he made off with it.
By another account (and the person from whom it was heard was positive
as to its being the only correct account) it was got by a young lad
under the following circumstances. The youth was apprenticed to the
miller at Bearachan on Lochawe-side. His master was unkind, and made
him work more than he was fit for. One night he was up late finishing a
piece of work. About midnight a gentleman, whom he did not recognize,
entered the mill and accosted him kindly. Turning the conversation
that ensued on the harsh conduct of the miller, the stranger promised
to better the unhappy prentice’s condition if they met at the Crooked
Pool (_Cama-linn_) in the Middle Mountain (_Monadh Meadhonach_) on a
certain night. An assignation to that effect was made, but after the
strange gentleman went away the lad got frightened, and next day told
about the visitor he had. A conclave of sixteen ministers was called,
and the matter was deliberated upon. As the youth had given his promise
it was deemed necessary he should keep it, but he was advised to take a
wand with him and at the place appointed trace a circle with it round
himself, out of which he was not to move whatever temptation or terrors
the stranger might bring to bear upon him. A committee of the clergy
went to watch on a neighbouring eminence the result of the interview.
The strange gentleman came at the appointed hour, and before giving
the money promised, civilly asked the lad to write his name in a book.
For this purpose the book was not handed but thrown to the youth, and
he, on getting it into his possession, refused to give it up again.
The strange gentleman now showed himself in his true colours. Finding
remonstrances and coaxing of no avail to get the book or the lad out
of the circle he got wild, and tried the effects of terror. First he
became a grizzled greyhound (_mial-chu riabhach_), and came wildly
dashing against the circle; then a roaring bull; then a flock of crows
(_sgaoth ròcais_) sweeping above the youth, so near that the wind
caused by their wings would have carried him out of the circle if he
had not clung to the heather. When cock-crowing time came the devil
abandoned his attempts and disappeared. The book became the Red Book
of Appin, and was last in possession of the Stewarts of Invernahyle
(_Inbher-na h-aoile_).
COMING FOR THE DYING.
A native of the neighbourhood of Oban, on his way home from Loch
Awe-side, after crossing the hills and coming in above Kilmore, was
joined by three strangers. He spoke to them, but received no answer.
At a small public-house on the roadside he asked them in for a
refreshment. They then told him they had business to attend to, and
that after entering the house he was not on any account to come out or
attempt to go home that night. On parting, the strangers turned off
the high road by a private road leading to a neighbouring gentleman’s
house. The night proved unusually stormy, and the man did not move from
the inn till morning. He then heard that the gentleman, towards whose
house the three mysterious strangers had gone, had died the previous
evening just about the time they would have arrived there. No person in
the house or neighbourhood saw anything of them.
It has been already mentioned that the devil, or his emissaries, in
the shape of three ravens, waited to catch the soul of Michael Scott
as soon as it left the body. A freebooter of former days, who made a
house underground for his wife in Loch Con, in Lower Rannoch (_Bun
Raineach_), that he and his men might swear he had no wife above
ground, and then married another, was at his death carried away by
twelve ravens.
MAKING THE DEVIL YOUR SLAVE.
Those who had the courage to perform the awful _taghairm_,[91] called
up the devil to grant any worldly wish they might prefer; the disciples
of the black art made him their obedient servant. Michael Scott,
whose reputation as a magician is as great in the Highlands as in the
Lowlands, made him his slave. He could call him up at any time.
In Michael’s time the people of Scotland were much confused as to
the day on which Shrovetide was to be kept. One year it was early
and another it was late, and they had to send every year to Rome to
ascertain the time (_dh’ fhaotainn fios na h-Inid_). It was determined
to send Michael Scott to get “word without a second telling” (_fios gun
ath-fhios_). Michael called up the devil, converted him into a black
ambling horse (_fàlaire dhu_), and rode away on the journey. The devil
was reluctant to go on such an expedition, and was tired by the long
distance. He asked Michael what the women in Scotland said when they
put their children to sleep or ‘raked’ the fire (_smàladh an teine_)
for the night. He wanted the other to mention the name of the Deity,
when the charm that made himself an unwilling horse would be broken.
Michael told him to ride on—“Ride you before you, you worthless wretch
(_marcaich thusa, bhiasd, romhad_), and never mind what the women
said.” They went at such a height that there was snow on Michael’s hat
when he disturbed the Pope in the early morning. In the hurry the Pope
came in with a lady’s slipper on his left foot. “You rode high last
night, Michael,” said the Pope. Michael’s reply called attention to the
Pope’s left foot. “Conceal my secret and I will conceal yours,”[92]
said the Pope, and to avoid the chance of being again caught in a
similar intrigue he gave Michael “the knowledge of Shrovetide,” viz.,
that it is always “the first Tuesday of the spring light,” _i.e._, of
the new moon in spring.
In Skye this adventure is ascribed to ‘Parson Sir Andro of Ruig’ in
that island. He is said to have started on his terrible journey from
the top of the Storr Rock, a scene the wildness of which is singularly
appropriate to the legend. The Storr is a hill upwards of 2000 feet
high, and on its eastern side, from which the parson must have set out
for Rome, is precipitous, as if the hill were half eaten away, and
the weird appearance of the scene is much increased by the isolated
and lofty pillars from which the hill derives its name,[93] standing
in front. Not unfrequently banks of mist come rolling up against the
face of the cliffs, concealing the lower grounds, and giving a person
standing at the top of the precipices one of the most magnificent views
it is possible to conceive. He seems to look down into bottomless
space, and where the mist in its motions becomes thin and the ground
appears dark through it, there is the appearance of a profounder depth,
a more awful abyss. The scene gives a wildly poetical character to the
legend of the redoubtable parson and his unearthly steed.
COMING MISFORTUNE.
A part of the parish of the Ross of Mull is known ecclesiastically as
Kilviceuen (_Cill-mhic-Eòghain_, the burying-place of the son of Hugh).
Its ancient church was of unhewn stone, and its last minister, previous
to its being united to Kilfinichen, was named Kennedy, a native of
Cantyre, an Episcopalian, in the reign of Charles II. Tradition records
that he came to his death in the following manner.
His parishioners, about the end of spring, were taking a new millstone
from _Port Bheathain_ on Squrraside to the mill, by means of a pole
run through its eye. The parson threw off his cassock, and assisted
them. The cassock was left where it was thrown off. In the evening his
wife sent a servant-maid for it. The maid found, lying on the cassock,
a large black dog, which would not allow her to touch the garment.
She came home without it, and refused to return. The wife herself and
another servant then went, were bitten by the dog, and ultimately
twelve persons, including the minister, died of hydrophobia.
So shocking an event could not take place without superstition busying
itself about it. On Beltane night shortly before the event, the
minister’s servant-man had gone early to bed, while it was yet day.
There was “a large blazing fire of green oak” (_beòlach mhòr dhearg
de glas darach_) on the floor of the room, and he closed and locked
the door before going to bed. Through the night he heard a noise as
of some one feeling for the lock and trying to open the door. He
remained quiet, thinking the noise was made by young men, who came
courting and had mistaken the door. Soon, however, the door opened,
and a person whom he did not recognize entered. The stranger, without
saying a word, went and stood at the fire. When he turned his back the
servant observed that his feet were horse’s feet (_spògun eich_). In
a short time the apparition went away, locking the door after it. The
man rose and went to an old man in great estimation for his piety, who
lived alone at _Creag nan Con_ (the Dog Rock). The old man’s hut was
a poor one, its door being made of wicker work and of the form called
_sgiathalan_. No remonstrances could induce him to stay another night
in the minister’s house, and it was arranged that he should sleep at
the hut, and in the day time go to his work at the manse. He told the
sight he had seen, and the good man inferred from the time of night
at which the devil had been seen that evil was near the house. It was
shortly after this that the dog went mad, and the frightened servant
was the only one of the minister’s household that escaped.
THE GAÏCK CATASTROPHE (_Mort Ghàthaig_).
On the last night of last century[94] a disastrous casualty, in which
six persons lost their lives, occurred in the deer forest of Gaïck in
Badenoch. The wild tract of mountain land, to which the name is given,
was not formally made into a deer forest till 1814, but its loneliness
made it a favourite haunt of wild game at all times. There was not a
house in the large extent of near thirty square miles beyond a hut for
the shelter of hunters. Captain MacPherson of Ballychroän, an officer
in the army, with some friends and gillies were passing the night of
the 31st December, 1800, in this hut, when an avalanche, or whirlwind,
or some unusual and destructive agency came upon them, and swept before
it the building and all its inmates. When people came to look for the
missing hunters they found the hut levelled to the ground, and its
fragments scattered far and wide. The men’s bodies were scattered over
distances of half a mile from the hut; the barrels of their guns were
twisted, and over all there was a deep covering of snow, with here and
there a man’s hand protruding through it. The whole Highlands rang
with the catastrophe, and it is still to be heard of in the Hebrides
as well as in the district in which it occurred. Popular superstition
constructed upon it a wild tale of diabolical agency.
Captain MacPherson was popularly known as “The Black Officer of
Ballychroän” (_Ofhichier du Bailechrodhain_). He is accused of being
a “dark savage” man (_dorcha doirbh_), who had forsaken his wife and
children, and had rooms below his house, whence the cries of people
being tortured were heard by those who passed the neighbourhood at
night. About the end of 1800 he was out among the Gaïck hills with a
party of hunters, and passed the night in the hut mentioned. Late at
night strange noises were heard about the house, and the roof was like
to be knocked in about the ears of the inmates. First came an unearthly
slashing sound, and then a noise as if the roof were being violently
struck with a fishing rod. The dogs cowered in terror about the
men’s feet. The captain rose and went out, and one of his attendants
overheard him speaking to something, or some one, that answered with
the voice of a he-goat. This being reproached him with the fewness of
the men he had brought with him, and the Black Officer promised to
come next time with a greater number.
Of the party who went on the next hunting expedition not one returned
alive. The servant who said he had heard his master speaking to the
devil refused positively to be one of the party, neither threats nor
promises moved him, and others followed his example. Only one of the
previous party, a Macfarlane from Rannoch, a good and pious man it
is said, went. It was observed that this day the officer left his
watch and keys at home, a thing he had never been known to do before.
Macfarlane’s body was not found on the same day with the rest. It was
carried further from the hut than the searchers thought of looking, and
a person who had found before the body of one lost among the hills,
was got to look for his remains. There is a saying that if a person
finds a body once he is more apt to find another. When the melancholy
procession with the dead bodies was on the way from the forest, even
the elements were not at peace, but indicated the agency that had been
at work. The day became exceedingly boisterous with wind and rain, so
much so, when the Black Officer’s body was foremost, that the party was
unable to move on, and the order had to be changed.
Two songs at least were composed on the occasion. One, strong in its
praises of Captain MacPherson, will be found in _Duanaire_, p. 13; the
other, among other things, says of him—
“The Black Officer of Ballychroän it was,
He turned his back on wife and children;
Had he fallen in the wars in France,
The loss was not so lamentable.”[95]
THE BUNDLE OF FERN.
A shepherd in Benderloch saw a large bundle of ferns rolling down the
hillside, and, in addition to the downward motion given by the incline,
it seemed to have a motion of its own. It disappeared down a waterfall.
Of course this was Black Donald; what else could it be?
THE PIG IN THE INDIGO POT.
A former tenant of the farm of Holm, in Skye, and his wife had gone
to bed, leaving a large pot full of indigo dye on the floor. The pig
came in and fell into the pot. The wife got up to see what the noise
was, and on looking into the pot saw the green snout of a pig jerking
out of the troubled water. She roared out that the devil was in the
pot. Her husband shouted in return to put on the lid, and jumping in
great excitement out of bed, he threw his weight on the lid to keep
it down till the devil was drowned. His wife was remarkable for always
commending what her husband did, and kept repeating, “Many a person you
will confer a favour on this night, Murdoch” (_Is iomadh duine d’an
dean thusa feum a nochd, a Mhurchiadh_). At last the noise in the pot
subsided, and Murdoch nearly called up the party he had sought to drown
on finding it was his own pig he had been so zealously destroying.
AMONG THE TAILORS.
It is a saying that the only trade that the devil has been unable
to learn is that of tailoring. The reason is that when he went to
try, every tailor left the room, and having no one to instruct him,
he omitted to put a knot on the thread he began to sew with. In
consequence the thread always came away with him, and he gave up the
trade in despair. It is presumed that he wanted to learn the trade to
make clothes for himself, as no one would undertake the making of them.
TAGHAIRM, OR “GIVING HIS SUPPER TO THE DEVIL.”
The awful ceremony to which this name was given was also known among
old men as “giving his supper to the devil.” It consisted in roasting
cats alive on spits till the arch-fiend himself appeared in bodily
shape. He was compelled then to grant whatever wish the persons who
had the courage to perform the ceremony preferred, or, if that was the
object of the magic rite, to explain and answer whatever question was
put to him.
Tradition in the West Highlands makes mention of three instances of
its performance, and it is a sort of tribute to the fearless character
of the actors that such a rite should be ascribed to them. It was
performed by Allan the Cattle-lifter (_Ailein nan creach_)[96] at
_Dail-a-chait_ (the Cats’ Field), as it has since been called, in
Lochaber, and by Dun Lachlan (_Lachunn odhar_) in the big barn at
Pennygown (_sabhal mòr Peighinn-a-ghobhann_), in Mull. The details of
these two ceremonies are so exactly the same that there is reason to
think they must both be versions of an older legend. Nothing appears to
create a suspicion that the one account was borrowed from the other.
The third instance of its performance was by some of the “children of
Quithen” (_Clann ’ic Cuithen_), a small sept in Skye, now absorbed, as
so many minor septs have been, into the great family of the Macdonalds.
The scene was a natural cavity called the “Make-believe Cave” (_an
Eaglais Bhréige_), on East Side, Skye. There is the appearance of
an altar beside this church, and the locality accords well with the
alleged rite. The following is the Mull legend.
Lachlan Oär and a companion, Allan, the son of Hector (_Ailein Mac
Eachuinn_)—some say he had two companions—shut themselves up in the
barn at Pennygown, on the Sound of Mull, and putting cats on spits
roasted them alive at a blazing fire. By-and-bye other cats came in and
joined in the horrible howling of those being roasted, till at last
the beams (_sparrun an tighe_) were crowded with cats, and a concert
of caterwauling filled the house. The infernal noise almost daunted
Lachlan Oär, especially when the biggest of the cats said, “When my
brother the Ear of Melting comes—” Allan the son of Hector did not
allow the sentence to be finished. “Away cat,” he cried, and then added
to his companion, in an expression which has become proverbial in the
Highlands when telling a person to attend to the work he has in hand,
and never mind what discouragements or temptations may come in his
way, “Whatever you see or hear, keep the cat turning” (_De sam bith a
chì no chluinneas tu, cum an cat mun cuairt_). Dun Lachlan, recovering
courage, said, “I will wait for him yet, and his son too.” At last the
Ear of Melting came among the other cats on the beams, and said, while
all the other cats kept silence, “Dun Lachlan, son of Donald, son of
Neil, that is bad treatment of a cat” (_Lachuinn uidhir ’ic Dhò’uill ic
Néill, ’s olc an càramh cait sin_). Allan to this called out as before,
“Whatever you see or hear, keep the cat turning,” and the fearful rite
was proceeded with. At last the Ear of Melting sprang to the floor
and said, “Whomsoever the Ear of Melting makes water upon will not
see the face of the Trinity” (_Ge b’e co air a mùin Cluas a Leoghaidh
cha ’n fhaic e gnùis na Trianaid_). “The cross of the sword in your
head, wretch; your water is sweat” (_Crois a chlaidheamh a’d cheann, a
bhiasd; ’s tu mùn fallais_), answered Dun Lachlan, and he struck the
cat on the head with the hilt of his two-handed sword. Immediately the
devil, under the potent spell, assumed his proper shape, and asked
his wild summoners what they wanted with him? One asked _Conach ’us
clann_ (“Prosperity and children”), and Dun Lachlan asked “Property
and prosperity, and a long life to enjoy it” (_Cuid ’us conach, ’us
saoghal fada na cheann_). The devil rushed out through the door crying,
“Prosperity! Prosperity! Prosperity!” (_Conach! Conach! Conach!_)
The two men obtained their desires, but were obliged (some say) to
repeat the _taghairm_ every year to keep the devil to the mark.
When Dun Lachlan was on his deathbed his nephew came to see him, and in
the hope of frightening the old fellow into repentance, went through
a stream near the house and came in with his shoes full of water. “My
sister’s son,” said Lachlan, “why is there water in your shoe?” (_a
mhic mo pheathar, c’ arson tha bogan a’a bhróig?_) The nephew then
told that the _two_ companions who had been along with Lachlan in
the performance of the _taghairm_, and who were both by this time
long dead, had met him near the house, and to escape from them he had
several times to cross the running stream: that they told him their
position was now in the bad place, and that they were waiting for his
uncle, who, if he did not repent, would have to go along with them. The
old man, on hearing this melancholy message, said, “If I and my two
companions were there, and we had three short swords that would neither
bend nor break, there is not a devil in the place but we would make a
prisoner of.”[97] After this the nephew gave up all hopes of leading
him to repentance.
A native of the island of Coll and his wife came to see him. Lachlan
asked them what brought them? “To ask,” said the Coll man, “a yoke of
horses you yourself got from the devil” (_dh’ iarraidh seirreach each
fhuair thu fhein o’n douus_). Lachlan refused this and sent the man
away, but he sent a person to overhear what remarks the man and his
wife might make after leaving. The wife said, “What a wild eye the man
had?” (_Nach b’ fhiadhaich an t-sùil bh’aig an duin ’ud?_) Her husband
replied, “Do you suppose it would be an eye of softness and not a
soldier’s eye, as should be?” (_Saoil am bi suil an t-slauchdain, ach
sùil an t-saighdeir mar bu chòir?_) On this being reported to Lachlan,
he called the Coll man back and gave him what he wanted.
Martin, in his _Description of the Western Islands_, p. 110, quoted
by Scott (_Lady of the Lake_, note 2 T), after describing a mode of
_Taghairm_ by taking a man by the feet and arms to a boundary stream
and bumping him against the bank till little creatures came from the
sea to answer the question of which the solution was sought, says:—“I
had an account from the most intelligent and judicious men in the Isle
of Skie, that about sixty-two years ago the oracle was thus consulted
only once, and that was in the parish of Kilmartin, on the east side,
by a wicked and mischievous set of people, who are now extinguished,
both root and branch.” The _Taghairm_ here referred to seems to be
that above-mentioned as having been performed by the M‘Quithens in the
Make-believe or False Cave on East Side, Skye. The race have not borne
a good reputation, if any value is to be attached to a rhyme concerning
them and other minor septs in Skye:—
“The M‘Cuthan, expert in lies,
The M‘Quithens, expert in base flattery,
The M‘Vannins, expert as thieves,
Though no bigger than a dagger handle.”[98]
Another method of _Taghairm_, described by Martin, was by wrapping a
person in a cow-hide, all but his head, and leaving him all night in
a remote and lonely spot. Before morning his “invisible friends” gave
him a proper answer to the question in hand, or, as Scott explains it,
“whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted imagination, passed
for the inspiration of the disembodied spirits who haunt the desolate
recesses.” This method of divination cannot have been common; at least
the writer has been able to find no trace of it.
As a third mode of _Taghairm_, Martin briefly describes that above
detailed, viz., the roasting of a live cat on a spit till at last a
very large cat, attended by a number of lesser cats, comes and answers
the question put to him.
Both Martin and Scott fall into the error of supposing that the object
of the _Taghairm_ was solely divination, to ascertain the future, the
issue of battles, the fate of families, etc. The mode by roasting live
cats was too fearful a ceremony to be resorted to except for adequate
reasons, and the obtaining of worldly prosperity, which was the object
of the Mull _Taghairm_, is a more likely reason than curiosity or
anxiety as to a future event.
The naming of the word _Taghairm_ is not at first sight obvious. There
is no doubt about the last syllable being _gairm_, a call. _Ta_ is
probably the same root that appears in so many words, as _tannasg_,
_taibhse_, etc., denoting spectres, spirits, wraiths, etc., and
_Taghairm_ means nothing else than the ‘spirit-call,’ in fact, “the
calling of spirits from the vasty deep.”
GLAS GHAIRM—POWER OF OPENING LOCKS.
This was a rhyme or incantation by which the person possessing the
knowledge of it could shut the mouths of dogs and open locks. It was
reckoned a very useful gift for young men who went a-wooing. Archibald,
son of Murdoch, or, as he was also popularly known, Archibald the
Light-headed (_Gileasbuig Mhurchaidh, G. Eutrom_), who was about twenty
years ago a well-known character in Skye and its neighbourhood, knew
the charm, but when he repeated it he spoke so fast that no one was
able to learn it from him, and as to his teaching of it to any one,
that was out of the question. Poor Archibald was mad, and when roused
was furiously so. He went about the country attending markets and
wherever there was a gathering of people, and found everywhere open
quarters throughout that hospitable island. Indeed, it was not wise
to contradict him. He had a keen and ready wit, as numerous sayings
ascribed to him testify, and composed several songs of considerable
merit. The fear which dogs had of him, and which made them crouch into
corners on seeing him, was commonly ascribed to his having the _Glas
Ghairm_, but no doubt was owing to the latent madness which his eyes
betrayed, and of which dogs have an instinctive and quicker perception
than men. On their offering the slightest sign of hostility, Archibald
would knock out their brains without as much as looking at their
masters.
The _Glas Ghairm_ was supposed to be in some way connected with the
safety of Israel on the night before the Exodus, “against any of the
children of Israel shall not a dog move his tongue, against man or
beast” (Ex. xi. 7).
FOOTNOTES
[1] The words Elfin and Fairy are, in these pages, used indifferently
as equivalents of the Gaelic names, sìth (or shi) people, etc.
[2] These virtues it is to have only thrice, and it has been already
unfurled twice. Many of the common people wanted it brought out at the
time of the potato failure.
[3] Fairy motion, _i.e._ not rising and falling on the waves, but
gliding smoothly along.
[4]
“Seachad air Grianaig,
Mar fhiadh nam beann fuara,
Direadh ri uchd garbhlaich,
’S an sealgair ga ruagadh,
Ise is siubhal, sìth aice,
Sìnteagan uallach,
Sgoltadh nan tonn uaine
’S a fuaradh air chàch.”
Long aig Callum MacShìomain.
[5]
“Ged is math an cala dh’ fhàg sinn,
Gum bu fearr an cala fhuair sinn.”
[6] Few villages in the Highlands of Scotland are without a _shï-en_ in
their neighbourhood, and often a number are found close to each other.
Strontian, well known to geologists from the mineral which bears its
name, is _Sròn an t-sìthein_, “the nose of the Fairy hillock.”
[7] _Bonnach beag boise, gun bhloigh gun bhearn, Eirich ’s big sinne a
stigh_, _i.e._ Little cake, without gap or fissure, rise and let us in,
is the Elfin call.
[8] In the north of Ireland the band was taken off the spinning wheel
to prevent the Fairies spoiling the linen.
[9] Similarly, in Dorsetshire fossil belemnites are called colepexies’
fingers, and in Northumberland a fungous excrescence, growing about the
roots of old trees, is called Fairy butter. So in Ireland, the round
towers are ascribed to them.
[10] Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_, ii. 46.
[11] The use of some kind of mill, generally a hand mill, is as
universal as the growth of grain, and the necessity for reducing the
solid grain into the more palatable form of meal no doubt led to its
early invention. The Gaelic _meil_ (or _beil_), to grind, the English
_mill_, the Latin _mola_, and the Greek μυλη, show that it was
known to the Aryan tribes at a period long anterior to history. The
handmill mentioned in Scripture, worked by two women, seems the same
with that still to be found in obscure corners in the West Highlands.
An instrument so useful to man in the less advanced stages of his
civilization could not fail to be looked upon with much respect and
good feeling. In the Hebrides it was rubbed every Saturday evening
with a wisp of straw ‘for payment’ of its benevolent labours (_sop ga
shuathadh ris a bhrà ga pàigheadh_). Meal ground in it is coarser than
ordinary meal, and is known as _gairbhein_.
[12] Other charms used on the occasion were the taking of the woman to
be delivered several times across the byre-drain (_inne_), the opening
of every lock in the house, and ceremonies by means of
“A grey hank of flax and a cockscomb,
Two things against the commandments.”
These practices seem to have been known only to the very superstitious,
and to have been local. The first belonged to Ross-shire, the second to
the north-west mainland of Argyllshire, and the last to Tiree.
[13] Carleton (_Tales and Stories_, p. 74) mentions an Irish belief
of a kindred character connected with oatmeal. When one crossed _fair
gurtha_, or hungry grass (Scot., _feur gorta_, famine grass), a spot
on which the Fairies had left one of their curses, he was struck with
weakness and hunger, but, “if the person afflicted but tasted as
much meal or flour as would lie on the point of a penknife, he will
instantaneously break the spell of the Fairies, and recover his former
strength.”
[14]
Cha bu luath Luran
Mar a bhi cruas arain.
[15]
Lurain, Lurain Mhic-ille-dhui
Thoir ort clacha du a chladaich.
[16]
“Dlighe gobhainn gual
Is iarrunn fuar a chuir amach
’S dlighe coire cnàimh
’Se thighinn slàn gu tigh.”
[17]
“A Gheur bhalbh ud, ’s a Gheur bhalbh,
Thàinig oirnnn a tìr na marbh,
Dh’ fhuadaich an coire o’n bhrugh,—
Fuasgail an dul is leig an Garbh.”
[18] Dìomaich is mi-bhuaidh air an fhear a dh’iarr oirnn crann mòr
luinge fada dheanadh de mhaide bhola liòn.
[19] Cuir an fhallaid anns’ a bhalgan, agus snìomh an toban mara
chriomas a chaora an tom.
[20] Beannachd dhuit-sa ach mollachd do bheul t’ ionnsachaidh.
[21]
“Dùin an uinneaga tuath,
’S gu luath an uinneaga deas;
’S dùin uinneag na h-àirde ’n iar,
Cha d’thainig ole riamh o’n àirde ’n ear.”
[22] Am bi thu mar sin daonnan, a bhuineagag?
[23] The man in Flodigarry got rid of his Fairy assistants by telling
them to bale out the sea.
[24]
Cìream, càrdam, tlàmam, cuigealam,
Beairt fhighe gu luath,
’S bùrn luadh air teine,
Obair, obair, obair.
[25]
Dùn-Bhuirbh ri theine
Gun chù, gun duine,
Mo chearslagan snàth
’S mo phocanan mine.
[26] The natives preserve the true name of the place when they call it
“The Lairgs.”
[27]
“Mar an eidheann ris a chreig
’S mar an iadh-shlat ris an fhiodh,
Mar an fheòil mun chnàimh
’S mar an cnàimh mun smior.”
[28]
“A phiuthrag, ’s a phiuthrag chaidreach,
An cuimhne leat oidhche nan capull?
Seachd bliadhn’ on thugadh as mi,
’S bean mo choltais riamh cha-n fhacas,
Ialai horro, horro,
Ialai horro hì.”
[29] “Is glas do leanamh.” “Is glas am fiar ’s fàsaidh e.” “Is trom do
leanamh.” “Is trom gach torrach.” “Is eutrom do leanamh.” “Is eutrom
gach saoghaltach sona.”
“Is glas an duilleach ’s glas am feur,
’S glas an tuadh am bheil a chas,
’S chaneil ni thig roimh thalamh,
Nach eil gnè ghlaise na aoraibh.”
The first two lines of this quatrain occur also in a song on the
deceitfulness of women, by a young man, whose first love had forsaken
him. She “killed him with a stony stare,” and merely asked, “whence
comes the sallow stripling?” (“_Co ar tha’n corra-ghille glas?_”)
[30] Ma tha tùr aig marbh, nach bi thu oidhche dhìth do leabaidh.
[31] My informant could not say whether this was seed-time (_màrt
cur an t-sìl_) or harvest (_màrt buain_); probably the former (cf.
Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_, ii., p. 98).
[32] It may interest the reader that the man (a shrewd enough person in
ordinary life) from whom this story was heard, adduced it as proof of
the existence of Fairies, of which he said there could be no doubt; he
had heard the story from his father, who knew the weaver.
[33] Iarr air choìr e, ’s gun agam ach mi fhìn.
[34]
Dh’iarr a mhugaill a mhagaill
Iased an du-lugaill lagaill
Thoirt a mhagaill as an t-siòl.
[35]
“Muc dhearg, muc dhearg,
Muc leth-chluasach dhearg,
Mharbh Fionn le Mac-a-Luin,
’S a thug e air a mhuin gu Druim-dearg.”
[36] Tha e na each bagais aig na sìthchean an càrn na Sleabhach, agus
gad seillich na bhialthaobh.
Alasdair used to say the men of the present day were very small
compared to their ancestors, and to prophecy with his teetotum, they
would continue growing smaller and smaller, till at last it would take
six of them to pull a wisp of hay.
[37]
“Ged bu mhath an cala dh’fhàg sinn,
Seachd fearr an cala fhuais sinn.”
[38] “Màrt a threabh mi, màrt a chuir mi, màrt a bhuain mi; Fhir a
dh’òrduich na trì màirt, na leig na bheil san ròp’ uamsa.” “Làmh
t’athar ’s do sheanar ort, bha feum agad labhairt.”
[39] Gregory’s _West Highlands and Islands_, p. 285.
[40] Tradition is pretty uniform that Sir Lachlan was killed by the
arrow of a little man, and the above is probably only a superstitious
version of the real circumstances. The story of powerful warriors,
however, struck in the forehead by the arrows of little men, like the
stories of Tell and the apple, and Alfred and the cakes, is told of too
many persons to be above the suspicion of being a popular myth.
The natives of one of the villages in Tiree are known by the nickname
of “Clann Du-shith” and “Sìthbheirean.” The assertion that Du-sìth was
the ancient name of Duncan is incorrect, as one of those from whom the
village nickname was derived was called Donnchadh mòr mac Dhu-shìth.
The little man, who killed Lachunn Mor is also known as an _t-ochdarann
bodaich_, the eighth part measure of a carle.
[41] It is often observable in popular tales that articles of
modern use are ascribed to those who lived before their invention.
Anachronisms are not heeded in popular lore.
[42] This _Dò’il MacJain_ is probably the _Dò’il du beag Innse-ruithe_,
a celebrated bowman and follower of Cameron of Locheil, and, as his
name denotes, a person of small stature, who, according to tradition,
shot the arrow that nailed the hand of Big Angus Macian (Aonghas Mòr
Mac’ic Eòin) of Ardnamurchan, one of the most stalwart men of his day,
to his forehead, in Coir Ospuinn, in Morvern, circ. A.D. 1596. Others
say _Jain du beag_ (little black John) was the hunter whose arrow
struck the hind. Another (perhaps the same) celebrated Lochaber archer
was _Jain beag a bhuilg bhàin_ (little John of the white bag) from
Coiruanain.
[43] Several versions of the song will be found in Campbell’s _Leabhar
na Feinne_, p. 198. According to the Skye tradition, the secret of
Oisian’s birth was not known till notice was taken of his never eating
venison like the rest of the host. On being questioned, he said, “When
everyone picks his mother’s shank bone, I will pick my own mother’s
slender shank bone.”
[44] This version was originally taken down in Gaelic from the
recitation of Malcolm Sinclair, Balefuill, Tiree. The tale was known
in Ireland, and the reputation of it still survives very extensively
throughout the Highlands.
[45] This rendering of the popular incantation differs somewhat from
that given by Mr. Campbell himself. The Gaelic version is the best the
writer has been able to fall in with. Var. _An laogh maol carrach is
miosa na ainm_, “the polled-scabbed calf, that is worse than its name,
take off your head,” etc.
[46] This version of the story is from Skye. A version from Uist
is given in Campbell’s _Tales of the West Highlands_, ii. 68. It
varies merely in representing the thirsty man as a traveller, who,
in consequence of refusing from the Fairy the drink for which he had
wished, was drowned at the next ferry.
[47] This creature, haunting the pastures of the cattle, partakes
more strongly of the character of the _Glaistig_, afterwards to be
described, than of the Fairy women.
[48]
“Paidhir de na cailean guagach
Cuir mu’n cuairt na brathuinn-oran.”
[49] The same incident is related of the Sron-Charmaig Glaistig.
[50] Both names have the same meaning, being derived from a kind of
head-dress (_ceann-eididh, cuaraig_) peculiar to the clan.
[51] The last two lines suggest this to be a modern composition, and
not a popular tradition. Supernatural beings do not go away in flames
in Highland superstition.
[52]
“Coir Mhic-Mhaoilein air a Chnap,
Fhads’ a bhuaileas tonn air creig.”
[53] Bheir mise mo bhriathrun, nach d’ théid mis’ air na sgàlun ciadna
rithis.
[54] It was said of Dougall, that when he wanted a sheep he drove a
whole flock through a particular gap in the rocks, while his wife stood
in waiting to catch the animal fixed upon. Once she allowed this sheep
to pass, and Dougall asked her what she meant. “How,” she said, “could
I take the sheep of my own godfather?” (goistidh). Dougall replied,
“The man might be your godfather, but the sheep was not your godfather.”
[55] This story of Glaistig officiousness is an appropriation of a
floating tale that had its origin long previous to Mac Ian Year’s time.
[56] In olden times a wall (of turf) was commonly built to separate
the crop land from the hill ground, and was known as _Gàradh bràgh’d_,
or Upper Wall. The ground above the _Gàradh bràgh’d_ was known as the
_Eirbhe_.
[57]
“Inghean oighre Bhaile-cliath
Cha cheilinn a thriath nan lann,
’S do Ghruagach Eilein nan eun,
’S ann a rug mi féin mo chlann.”
[58] The trews went into the shoe, close-fitted to the legs, and was
fastened with a buckle at the waist.
[59]
“Triuthas air Gunna
’S Gunna ris a bhuachailleachd,
’S na na mheal Gunna ’n triuthar
Ma ni e tuille cuallaich.”
[60] Such was the terror inspired a few years ago by a report that
the Water-horse of Loch Meudaidh had made its re-appearance that the
natives would not take home peats that they had cut at the end of the
loch by boat (the only way open to them), and the fuel was allowed to
go waste.
[61] A Water-horse was killed in Skye, where the stream from Eisgeadal
falls into Loch Fada, at the foot of Storr, by sticking a knife into
it. It had previously killed a man.
[62] _Corc-chluasach_ is also applied to calves the ears of which are
in any way naturally marked, as if with a knife, slit in the points,
serrated in the upper part, or with a piece out of the back.
[63] The big beast of Scanlastle in Islay was one of this kind. It
devoured seven horses on its way to Loch-in-daal. A ship was lying
at anchor in the loch at the time, and a line of barrels filled with
deadly spikes, and with pieces of flesh laid upon them, was placed from
the shore to the ship. Tempted by the flesh, the ‘loathly worm’ made
its way out on the barrels and was killed by the spikes and cannon.
[64]
“Buail an t-òrd, a ghobachain,
No buailidh mi sa cheann thu.”
[65] “Is mise nach d’éirich air mo làimh dheis an duigh.”
[66]
“Meirleach salainn ’s méirleach frois,
Da mheirleach nach fhaigh fois;
Ge b’e co thig no nach d’thig a nios,
Cha d’thig meirleach an lìn ghlais.”
[67] _Leagadh-iochd_ is the remission of arrears of rent, lit. a
merciful letting down.
[68] _Manadaireachd._
[69] The Bait-stone (_Clach shuill_) was a stone on which to break
shell-fish, potatoes, etc., to be thrown into the water to attract
fish. The broken bait was called _soll_, _faoire_.
[70]
“A neach tha gam iomradh,
Mar h-ann air mo leas e,
Esan bhi ga iomluain
Air sgeanabh geura glasa,
Cadal an tom seangain da,
’S na na cadal fallain da;
Ach baobh eadar e ’s an dorus,
’S mis’ eadar e ’s a chuid ’s a chadal.
Cliath-chliat iarruinn a sgrìobadh a mhionaich,
... Cailleach nharbh....”
[71]
“Tha deuchainn agam dhuit,
Tha sealltuinn agam ort,
Eadar còig aisnean cléibh Chriosd;
Ma tha ’n dàn no ’n ceadachadh dhuit,
Feum dheanadh dhiom,
Tog do làmh dheas a suas,
’S na luaith i nìos.”
[72]
“Is tric a mharcaich mi le ’m shréin
An dream gam bheil the fhéin ’s do bhean.”
[73] _Tom-na-h-iubhraich_, the Boat Mound, probably derives its name
from its resemblance to a boat, bottom upwards. Another popular account
makes it the abode of the Feinné, or Fin Mac Coul and his men. There
is a huge chain suspended from the roof, and if any mortal has the
courage to strike it three times with his fist, the heroes will rise
again. A person struck it twice, and was so terrified by the howling of
the big dogs (_donnal na con mòra_) that he fled. A voice called after
him, “Wretched mischief-making man, that worse hast left than found”
(_Dhuine dhon a dhòlaich, ’s miosa dh’fhàg na fhuair_).
[74]
“Dar thigedh sluagh Tom na h-iubhraich,
Co dh’ eireadh air tùs ach Tòmas?”
[75]
“Nuair thig Tòmas le chuid each,
Bi latha nan creach air Cluaidh,
Millear naoi mìle fear maith,
’S theid righ òg air a chrùn.”
[76] “Bi sia baintighearnun diag as deigh an aon tàilleir chrùbaich.”
[77] “Meair thig an cro bàn do Bhlàr, cuirear seachd cuir de chuibhle
mhuilinn Bhlàir le fuil sluaigh.”
[78] “Cuiridh claigionn na caorach an crann ’s fheum, no an crann
araidh air an fharadh;
Thig a mhuir deas air a mhuir tuath;
Bi Albainn na criosun geala,
’S meall òir ann am bun gach glinne.”
[79] “Olaidh am fitheach a shàth, bhar an làir, air mullach clach àrd
an Uig.”
[80]
“Tobar Tàth sin, ’s tobar Tàth,
Tobar aig an cuirear blàr,
’S bi cnaimhean nam fear fàs
Air tràigh bhàn Laorais
’S marbhar Lachunn nan trì Lachunn
Gu moch, moch, aig tobar Tàth.
Al. Torcuil nan trì Torcuil.”
[81] This stone is about ten ft. high, and is one of the three
fragments into which a larger stone, used by an old woman of former
days as a hammer to knock limpets off the rocks (_òrd bhàirneach_),
was broken. Of the other two, one is in _Uigh an du tuath_, and one in
Tarnsa Islet. At a spot from which these three fragments can be seen,
there is hidden an urn of silver and an urn of gold (_croggan òir ’s
cr. airgid_). It is easy to find a place whence one can see two, but
when about to see the third, one of the first two disappears. Five or
six yards make all the difference. A herdsman once found the spot, but
when digging for the treasure he happened to see a heifer that had
fallen on its back in a stream. He ran to its rescue, and never could
find the place again.
[82] _Càth_, prob. a step path in a rock.
[83]
“Bi muilionn air gach sruthan,
Crann an laìmh gach giullain,
Da thaobh Loch Tatha na ghàracha-càil,
Cuiridh claigionn na caorach an crann o fheum,
’S cuiridh ite gèoidh an cuimhn’ a duine.”
[84] Does this refer to excommunication? A candle was then extinguished
in water.
[85] Perhaps this means burial with the face downwards. The mother of
an illegitimate child, which died in infancy, and the paternity of
which was denied, declared if she had known that would be the case, she
would have buried the child with its face downward. This was said to
be in Tiree, but all the writer’s inquiries failed to find any one who
had ever heard of such a thing being done. It is a saying “a down mouth
to women if they are not to be found everywhere” (_Beul sìos air na
mnathan, mar faighear ’s gach àit iad_).
[86] “Nach faicear toradh ad ìm, no ìm ann ad bhainne.”
[87] “Is tric a bha mise ’g imlich na mias agus a’ lomadh nan cnàmh an
tigh t’ athar.”
[88] “Ged thug mi biadh ’us càise ’s uibhean duit, air do dhà làimh,
Iogain ’ic Iogain, chuir thu ’n gad roi mo dhòrn.”
[89] The Mull doctor passed a house from which loud sounds of talking
proceeded. He remarked that in that house were either twenty men or
three women.
[90] This was _Nial na Buaile_, who lived in a house alone several
miles from any other house. The hollow is called _Sloc-an-tàilisg_.
[91] See page 304.
[92] ’S àrd mharcaich thu ’n raoir a Mhìcheil. Seall air do chois chlì.
Ceil orm ’s ceilidh mi ort.
[93] _Fiacaill storàch_ means a buck tooth.
[94]
“A nollaig mu dheire de’n cheud
Cha chuir mi e’n aireamh na mias.”
[95]
“Ofhichier du Bhaile-chrodhain a bh’ann,
Thréig e a bhean ’s a chlann
Nan do thuit e’n cath na Fraing,
Cha bhiodh an call co farranach.”
[96] Allan was a native of Lochaber, the most notorious district in the
Highlands for cattle-lifters, and derived his name from having lifted a
creach “for every year of his life, and one for every quarter he was in
his mother’s womb.” He died at the age of 34.
[97] Nam bithinn fhìn’s mo dhà chompanach ann, ’s trìgroilleinean
againn nach lùbadh’s nach briseadh, cha bhiodh deamhan a stigh nach
cuireamaidan làimh.
[98] There is a venom and an emphasis in the original impossible to
convey in a translation.
“Clann ’ic Cuthain chuir nam briag,
Clann ’ic Cuithein chur an t-sodail,
Clann ’ic Mhannain chuir na braide
Ged nach b’fhaid aid na cas biodaig.”
INDEX.
(_The figures refer to the page._)
A
_Ailmeid_ (explained), 103
Alasdair Challum, tale of, 94
Alfs, 11
Annat, 29
Apollo, 193
_Arabian Nights’ Entertainment_, 132
Arasaig, 109, ff.
Ardnamurchan, 52, 55, 122, note; 183, 226
Arrows (fairy), 26, 154
Association-craft (assistance of the Folk), 98, 161
Augury, 250-257
omens, 251, 256, 257
outset of a journey, 253
unlucky animals, 254
unlucky to look back, 255
B
Bagpipes, 18
Bait-stone, 255, note
Baking, 232, 233
Banshee, 8, 22, 40, 44, 45, 51, 85, 107, 108, 118, 141
Barra, 59, 264
Bean-nighe (washing-woman), 42, 43
Beanshith, 8, 42, 102-105, 152, 157, 161
Beetles, 227
Beinn Feall, 96
Beltane (first night of summer), 18, 151, 234, 249
Ben Lawers, 275
Ben Lomond fairies, 60
Ben-y-Ghloe, 29, 94;
the wife of, 125, f.
Bernicle Goose, 221
Biasd na Grogaig, 217
Bible (a protection against fairies), 49, 168
Black Art, 285-288
Dog (_see_ Macphie of Colonsay)
Donald, tale of, 68, 69
William the Piper, 65
Blue Men, 199, f.
Boat Language, 239
Breadalbane, 274
Bridge of Awe, tale from, 88, 89
Brownie, 157, 186-193, 195, 196, 198
C
Cailleach, 243, 244
Caithness, 220
Callum, tale, 103
Callum Clark, tale, 60, 61
“Calum Clever,” tale, 72
Cameron of Locheil, 122, note; 286, 287
Campbells, 177, 187, 227
Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_, 29, note; 59, 75, 116, 132, 190, 193
_Leabhar na Feinne_, 126, note
Cantyre, 117, 187
Carleton’s _Tales and Stories_, 48, note
Carlin of the Spotted Hill, 122, 123
Carlin Wife, 28
Cats (fairy), 32
“Cauld Lad of Hilton,” 188
Cere-cloth, 241
Chailleach, 243
Changelings, 38, 39, 90-92
Childbed (customs), 36, 37, 80
Children (deformities attributed to fairies), 39, 85
Clandonald, 117
Colkitto, 116
Coll, 69, 95, 96, 166, 208
Colonsay, 110, ff.
_Connan_, 291
Cows (and fairies), 134, 135, 137
Craignish, 52, 57
Cremona, 139
D
Deer, 109, 126, 132, ff.
Deiseal (right-hand turn), 35, 229, f.; 266
Devil, the, 289-312
Divination, 262-267
Dobhar (water), 217
Dogs (fairy), 30, 31, 109, 141, 144
(ordinary), 144-146, 191
Donald, son of John, 122, note
son of Patrick, 123, 124, 132
Dowart, 97
Dreams, 268
Druid, 193, 194
Duergar, 11
Duine sith (man of peace), 7, 101, note
Dundeacainn, 94
Dun Keneth, 272
Dunniquoich, 94
Du-sith (Black Elf) 101, note
E
Edda, 220
Eddy wind, 24, 25
Eels, 221
Elfin (_see_ Fairies), and 1, note
Queen, 45
Elle Woman (_see_ Bean shith)
Elves (_see_ Fairies)
Emmet, 228
Euphemisms, 237
Ewen, tale of, 73
F
Fàgail (parting gift), 44, 154
Fairies
assistance from, 96-100
belief in, 1, 2
characteristics, 50, 51
churning, 137, 138
coming to houses, 73-76
defects, 15
dresses, 14, 15
dwellings, 11-14, note; 93-96
fallen angels, 199
festivities, 16, 18
food, 21
gifts, 22, 23, 153, 154
lifting by, 69-72
loan to, 58
Lowland, 76-78
metamorphosis, 109, 126, note 132, 133
music, 138, 139
names given to, 3-9
occupations, 15, 16, 161
Pennygown, 59
protection against, 46, 49
raids, 92, 93
seen when, 21
size of, 9, 11
stealing women and children, 78, ff.
thefts by, 32, ff.
_Fallaid_ cake, 48, 232, 233
Fallen angels, 199, 283
Familiar spirit, 8, 41
Faroe Islands, 191
Ferintosh, 62
Finlay’s Sandbank, tale of, 57, ff.
Flounder, 223
Folk, _see_ fairies’ names and, 11
Funerals, customs at, 241, f.
G
Gaël, 139
Gaïch catastrophe, 300, ff.
Gigelorum, 220
Glaisein, 190
Glaisrig (_see_ Glaistig)
Glaistig, 44, 45, 146, note; 155, ff.; 184, 190, 191
at Ardnadrochit, 175
at Baugh, 176
in Coll, 166
in Craignish, 173
at Dunolly, 166
Dunstaffnage C., 164
Garlios, 173, f.
Glenduror, 162
Glenorchy, 171
Hianish, 177
Inverawe House, 164
at Iona, 179
at Mearnig C., 166
in Mull, 179, 180, 183
at Sleat, 165
at Sron-Charmaig, 162, f.
in Strathglass, 167
at Strontian, 177, f.
at Ulva, 178
Glas Ghairm, 311
Glencoe, 265
Graham’s _Highlands of Perthshire_, 7, 198
Greenock, 6
Greogach (Gruagach)
Gruagach, 156, 157, 165, 184, ff.; 193
H
Hallowe’en, 61
Hallowmass, 18, 260
Hand mills (_see_ Querns)
“Happy Hog”, 99
Harris (district), 62, 136, 201, 222
Woman of, 66, f.
Harvest Maiden, 20
Hebrides, 6, 149, 199, 269
North, 14, 126, 199
Herring, 222
_Highland Society’s Dictionary_, 157
Hinzelman, 191
Hobgoblin, 191
Horses, 30, 146-149
I
Imprecations, 277-281
Inveraray Castle, 54
Inverness-shire, 197
Iona, 62, 93, 107
Ireland, 127
King of, 132, 133, 184
Iron (and fairies), 152, f.
Islay, tales from, 86, 87, 100, 112, 117, 119
Isle of Man, 190
J
Johnson, Dr., 186
Jura, 112, 114, 121
K
Keightley’s _Fairy Myth_, 188, 190
Kelpie, the, 215
Kennavarra, haunted by fairies, 78, 138, 141
Kennedy, tale of, 298, f.
King Otter (water-dog), 216
Knap (_see_ M‘Millan)
Kobold, 191
L
Labrador Indians, 90
Lachlan Oär, a tale of _taghairm_, 306, ff.
Lady of Lawers, her prophecies, 274, f.
Lammas day, 234, 249
Lamprey, 219
_Lar Familiaris_, 191
_Lares_, 191
Largs, 76, 78
Lavallan, 220
_Leannan sith_ (fairy sweetheart), 8, 41, 45, 195
Leg cake, 234
Leyden, 117, 118
Lobster, 223
Lochaber, 28, 52, 56, 122, note; 123, 135
Loch Gruinard, tale of battle of, 100
Lorn, 123, 144, 162
Luran Black, tale of, 52-57
M
MacCallum, the hunter, 90
MacCodrums of the seals, 284
MacCrimmon, piper, 66, 138-141
MacCuaric (Kennedy), tale of, 168, 171
Macdonalds, 100
of Keppoch, 286
MacDuffies (Macphies), 116
Mac-fir Arois, tale of, 205, ff.
Mac-Ian Year (Mac Iain Ghiarr), tale of, 181, ff.
Mackenzie of Brahan, 286
M‘Lear, tale of, 97, 98
Sir Lachlan Moir, 100, 101, note
Macleod (Clan), 269
Macleod’s Fairy Banner, 5
Macleod of Macleod, 139
Macleods of Raasa, 57
of Skye, 5, 241
M‘Millan of Knap, tale of, 172
MacNeill, Farquahar, 64
MacNeills, 264
Macphail (Macphie), 118
MacPherson, Captain (_see_ Gaïch catastrophe)
Macphie of Colonsay, 109-122, 132
Magpie, 227
Maistir, 36, 49
Manadaireachid (_see_ Augury)
Martin’s _Description of the Western Islands_, 309
Men of Peace (_see_ _Sithche_)
Mermaid, the, 201
Leyden’s ballad, 117, 118
Merry Dancers (_see_ Northern Streamers)
Moidart, 109
Morvern, 72, 80, 81, 98, 102, 103, 122, note; 135, 151, 173, 242
Mull, 15, 28, 42, 52, 59, 75, 80, 89, 97, 99, 101, 103, 105, 120, 126,
133, 138, 145, 152, 179, 180, 183, 208, 241, 264, 306
Murchard Mac Brian, 184
Murdoch, the Short, 264, f.
N
Names, 245
New-Year day, 234, f.; 260
Niägruisar, 191
Nial Scrob, 69, 70
Nis, 191
Nix, 190
Norman, 274
Northern Streamers (Merry Dancers), 199, f.
O
Oatmeal, 150, ff.
O’Cronicert’s Fairy Wife, 127, 133
Oisian, 44, 126, note
Oscar, 44
Ossian (_see_ Oisian)
P
Palmistry, 266
Pearl work, 49, 80, 241
Pennant’s _Tour_, 193, 220
Pennygown fairies, 59
Perthshire, 30, 44, 74, 196, 198
Phynnodderee, 190
Pixies 11
Pope, the, and Michael Scott, 297
Portree, 29, 30, 75, 99, 137, 139, 186
Premonitions, 258, ff.
Prophecies, 269-276
Protection against evil spirits, 247, 248
against fairies, 46-49
Q
Querns (hand mills), 35, note, 149, 150
R
Raasay Water-Horse, 209
Rannoch, 71
Rats, 225
_Red Book of Balloch_ (_see_ Lady of Lawers)
Red Book of Appin, 292-295
Red-deer, 27, ff.
Red Donald, 71
Right-Hand-Turn (_see_ Deiseal)
Road name, 245
S
Salt, 236
Schiehallion, 94
Scott, Sir Walter, 198
Michael, 285, 288, 295, 296
Seals, 283
Sea-serpent, 220
Serpents, 223, f.
Shetland Isles, 188, 283
Shien-sloy, 94
Shoulder-blade Reading, 263-266
Shrovetide, 297
_Siochaire_, 7
_Sireach_, 7
_Sith_ (peace), 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 28, 29, 40, 41, 126
_Sithbheire_, 7
_Sithche_, 7, 40, 153
_Sithchear_, 7, 49
_Sithein_ (fairies’ dwelling) 11, 14, note; 94
Skip Jack, 228
Skye, 29, 30, 43, 52, 56, 67, 69, 75, 91, 96, 99, 126, 136, 137, 156,
165, 182, 184, 199, 201, 217, 244, 297, 303, 305
Speke, Captain, 254
Spells, 281-285
St. Bridget’s Day, 225
St. Columba, 223
St. Elmo’s light, 6
St. Fillan, 196
St. John’s wort, 49, 103
Stirling, the Carse, 285
Suicides, 242
Superstitions about animals, 219-228
miscellaneous, 229-249
Sutherlandshire, 66
T
Taghairm (“spirit call”), 304-312
_Tales of the West Highlands_ (_see_ Campbell)
Tapull House, 75
Tea, divination by, 266
Theft, 236
Thomas of Ercildoune (the Rhymer), 45, 269-272
Thunder, 235
Tiree, 6, 30, 42, 52, 55, 57, 69, 71, 76, 78, 83, 85, 87, 91, 93,
101, 105, 108, 109, 134, 135, 139, 141, 142, 150, 165, 189,
199, 239, 240, 241, 266
Tobermory, 63, 183
_Toradh_ (benefit), 21, 32, 33, 48
_Trial_ (Deuchainn, fridh), 259, 261
Trolls, 11
“Trouble-the House” (Eachrais ùrlair), 282
Tutelary beings, 155-194
origin of the belief in, 192, 193
U
Uist, 136, 137, note
North, 284
Unimore, 190
Urisk, the, 195-199, 215
of Ben Loy, 196
Yellow-Waterfall, 197
W
Washing-woman (_see_ Bean-nighe)
Water-Bull, 216
Water-Dog (_see_ King Otter)
Water-Horse, 203-215
at Loch Cuaich, 210
at Tiree, 211, 214
Whale, 222
[Illustration: 1900]
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
The spelling, hyphenation, punctuation and accentuation are as the
original, except for apparent typographical errors which have been
corrected.
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the
public domain.
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