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TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF FAIRY SUPERSTITION
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, Sginid and Corryvulin, the lands attached to which, now forming part of a large sheep farm, were at one time occupied in common by a 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. Suspicioun 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 kknoll. 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 dha) 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 (corn). 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."
("Cha bu luath Luran
Mar a bhi cruas arain.")
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."
("Lurain, Lurain Mhic-ille-dhui
Thoir ort clache du a chladaich.")
Below high water mark, no Fairy, ghost, or demon can come, and, acting on the friendly advice, Luran reached the shore, and keeping below the tide mark made his way home to 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,t he 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 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 shien 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 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 me
s 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" (note 1). In the morning the work was not done, and these Fairies never after did anything for any one.
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 put 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.
Some six generations ago there lived in Port Vista (Port Bhissta), in Tiree, a dark, fierce man, known as Big Malcolm Clark (Callum mor mac-a-Cheirich). 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 Leig. 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 doruinneach doirbh). He went to the shi-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 eart' (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.
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, struck 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 enchnated 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 mora) 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 marriage.
Two young men in Iona were coming in the evening from fishing on the rocks. One their way, when passing, they found the shi-en of that island open, and entered. On 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 (Ruan-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 in 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 had had fallen on one of its expeditions, and after careering through the skies, stuck in the roof of a house. Looking down the chimney (far-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 (sniomh siomain). 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,m 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 do 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 chnamh).
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 mor a chur gu bas). 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!
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 of 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 etter weaver and piper than he had been before, he never prospered. He became known as "Black William of the Pipes" (Uilleam du na pioba).
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. (note 2)
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 and 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 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 her 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 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 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 dun, 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 her her distaff as the sheep bites the hillock" (note 3)--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" (note 4). On coming out, the woman found she had been in the dun for seven years.
Black Donald of the Multitude (Domhunull 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 Saalun, 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."
("Dein an uinneaga tuath,
'S gu luath an uinneaga deas;
'S duin uinneag na h-airde 'n iar,
Cha d'thainig ole riamh o'n airde 'n ear.")
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 whome 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 Mhartiunn), 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 see gifted with the second sight (taibhseis), resident at Bousd, in the east end of Coll, was frequently lifted by the 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 Dun 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 the 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 (Domhnull ruadh nan sithehean), 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 Ardlaraich 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 the chimney.
An old man in Achabeg, Morvern, went one night on a gossiping visit (ceilidh) 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 shi-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 found him.
When Dr. M'Laurin was tenant of Invererragan, near Connal Ferry in Benderlock, at the end of the 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 of 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.
Ewan, 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 dsihes 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?" (note 5). 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 ca) i.e., water in which the feet had been washed, to come and open the door. The water answered from somwhere 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 (smaladh 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), not 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 Dunvuilg was on fire (note 6). 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 known as Tun Bhuirg. Some say the Elves were brought to the house by two old women, who were tired of spinning, and incautiously said they wished all the people in Tun Bhuirg were there to assist. According to others, the Elves were in the habit of coming to Tapull House in the Ross of Mull, and their excessive zeal made them very unwelcome. In Skye the event is said to have occurred at Dun Bhuirbh. There are two places of the name, one in Lydale, and one in Beinn-an-uine, 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 Thabuill.)
"Let me comb, card, tease, spin,
Get a weaving loom quick,
Water for fulling on the fire,
Work, work, work."
("Ciream, cardam, tlamam, cuigealam,
Beairt fhighe gu luath,
'S burn luadh air teine,
Obair, obair, obair.")
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."
("Dun-Bhuirbh ri theine
Gun chu, gun duine,
Mo chearslagan snath
'S mo phocanan mine.")
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 `people' had several dwellings near the village of Largs (note 7) (Na Leargun Gallta, the slopes-near-the-sea of the strangers), on the coast of Ayrshire (see Instroduction 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 villaeg, 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 crokery, 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 tubmled, and all his dishes ran on the 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 stumble and fell. He heard the Fairies give a laugh at his mishap. THrough the night he was hoised 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 serving 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.
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 the 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 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 his 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 story; 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 perlwort (mothan) 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 irresistable 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 chomhla dha), 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 Faiires might offer, but to hide it in her clothes. He said they had got his own mother to eat this foot, and in consequence he could not now get her away. Finding the food offered her was slighted, the head Fairy sent 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). The 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."
("Mar an eidheann ris a chreig
's mar an iadh-shlat ris an fhiodh,
Mar an fheoil mun chnaimh
'S mar an cnaimh mun smior.")
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 leav 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, suspected his wife had been stolen by the Fairies, hauled her by the legs from the bed, through the fire, and out at the door. She there became a log of wood, and serves at 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 shi-en in Nant Wood (Coill' an Eannd). It was got back by the father drawing a furror 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 hi."
("A phiuthrag, 's a phiuthrag chaidreach,
An cuimhne leat oidhche nan capull?
Seachd bliadhn' on thuagadh as mi,
'S bean mo choltais riamh cha-n fhacas.
Ialai horro, horro,
Ialai horro hi.")
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 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 wordly 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." note 8
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 theFairies came and gave the child's legs such a twist that it was lame (liugach) ever after.
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 come to harm with the cold.
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 the 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" (note 9). 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 (slan fallain), that he had only been taken in the eddy wind 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 that 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.
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 (Sile). 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 him 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 the year (coileach du mart) (note 10) and a piece of steel (cruaidh). He found the door of the brugh open, put the steel in one of the posts, entered, having the cock in his arms, and hid himself in the 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 Mor gun iochd gun troacair) was found in the brugh. On withdrawing the steel he was alloed to go home, and his wife along with him.
A weaver at the Bridge of Awe (Droachaid 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 to him to throw. Pretending to aim at the woman he threw it through the window and killed a pet lamb. The animal 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, and again became prosperous in the world. (note 11)
"MacCallum of the Humming Noise" (Mac Challum a Chronain), who resided in Glen EEtive 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 witohut 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 heard 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 MacCullum 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 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.
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" (Iarr air choir e, 's gun agam ach mi
fhin). The first then said (and his words have as much sense in English
as in Gaelic):
The words are a ludicrous imitation of the sound made by a 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 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:
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 iash-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, adviced 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 fhein).
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 gew 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.
And old man kept a green hillock, near his house, on which he requently
reclined in summer, very clean, sweeping away any filth or cow or hourse
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
Schielhallion (Sith-chail-lionn), in Perthshire, and Ben-y-ghloe
(Beinn a Ghlotha); and in Argyllshire, Sithein na Rapachi, `the
Fairy dwelling of tempestuous weather', in Morven and Dunniquoich (Dun
Cuaich, the Bowl-shaped hill) Dundeacainn and Shien-sloy (sithein
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:
At the head of Glen-Erochty (Gleann-Eireochd-aidh, the Shapely glen),
in Athol, in Perthshire, there is a mound known as Carn 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 his divinations for
his entertainers by means of a small four-sided spinning top (doduman),
was asked by a widow where her late husband now was. Allistir 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." (note 12)
A native of the Island of Coll went to pull some wild-briar plants
(fhearra-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 rock forming a side of the entrance. He then
leisurely looked in, and saw the cave full of guns and arms and chests studied
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
to knife to move from its place. On looking again at the rock, he only saw
water trickling from the fissure from whicyh 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:
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.
A man in Flodigarry, an islet near sky, 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 his 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 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 women 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 assitants 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 repaed; 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." (note 13)
Another version of the tale was current in Morvern. A servant, engaged in
spring by a man who lived at Aodienn Mor ('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 dair 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 Cornaig, 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 pladar, 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 birds 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'.
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 (note 14). 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 helment 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 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-sith" (i.e. Black Elf (note 15)), "and
you were better to have me with you than against you."
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 gardner in Tir 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
recived 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.
While supper was being prepared in a farmer's housein 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 of 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 Teacais), 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 siad, "in this same neighbourhood." She drank off the
compost, rushed away, throwing three sumersaults, 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 Challumchille), a plant of magic powers, if found when
neither sought nor wanted. He took some of it with him. He had ducun
(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 thrtough 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 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 fastened in 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 sith (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 (lubadh 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.
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
himeself 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 the
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 bigt,
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, thoguh 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, Donalkd, when the pretty smooth-white is about your
neck."
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 feel asleep, and was awakened by the
pulling of the fishing rod, which he had in his hand. He found the rod was
beingpulled 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, 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.
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 as easy for me to make my apperance
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
Leige" (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 eveing, 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.
[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 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
"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 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 beauitful 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 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
wiished 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 a fierce bristling look and made a spring at her. The woman 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 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 probably that 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 his race lies buried in Iona,
with the inscription on his tomb
If the same Malcolm is referred to in both cases,
these traces of his fame, slight though they may 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 of 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 (duthra) 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 (note 16) with
two crooked sixpences. He fied the two shots at the dog, as it rushed to
attack him, and killed it. The Banshi, it had fought with, was left cruelly
maule3d, 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 (Sgriob 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
anyone 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.
[NOT FINISHED
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 Do'il MacJain's arrow. (note 17)
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 the 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 hiar out of his 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 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.
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 Ossian is said to have composed to the deer. (note X)
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 Fairy Longhaired 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." (note Y)
There is also in the tale of 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.
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.
There was a Fairy hillock near Dowart, in Mull, close to the road which led
fromt he 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.
Two children, 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 intot he 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 Prttree there is a hillock called "The Fairy Dwelling of the
Pretty Hill" (Sithein Beinne Boidhich). 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 Dun 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.'
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 sopped, and was never resumed. (See also Chapter
I, page 64)
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
started 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.
"The muggle maggle
Wants the loan of the black luggle laggle,
To take the maggle from the grain."
("Dh'iarr a mhugaill a mhagaill
Iased an du-lugaill lagaill
Thoirt a mhagaill as an t-siol.")
"Red pig, red pig,
Red one-eared pig,
That fin killed with the son of Luin,
And took on his back to Druim-derg."
("Muc dhearg, muc dhearg,
Muc leth-chluasach dhearg,
Mharbh Fionn le Mac-a-Luin,
'S a thug e air a mhuin gu Druim-dearg.")
Dun-deacainn is Dun-cuaich
Sithein sluaigh is Airde-slios;
Nam faighinnsa mo roghainn de 'n triuir
B'e mo run a bhi san t-slios.
"Though good the haven we left,
Seven times better the haven we found."
("Ged bu mhath an cala dh'fhag sinn,
Seachd fearr an cala fhuis sinn.")
"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."
Note 1: Diomaich is mi-bhuaidh air an fhear a dh'iarr
oirnn crann mor luinge fada dheanadh de mhaide bhola lion.
Note 2: Cf. Tale of M'Crimmon, p. 139.
Note 3: Cuir an fhallaid anns' a bhalgan, agus sniomh an toban mara chriomas a chaora am tom.
Note 4: Beannachd dhuit-sa ach mollachd do bheul t' ionnsachaidh.
Note 5: Am bi thu mar sin daonnan, a bhuineagag?
Note 6: The man in Flodigarry got rid of his Fairy assistants by telling them to bale out the sea.
Note 7: The natives preserve the true name of the place
when they call it "THe Lairgs".
Note 8: "Is glas do leanamb." "I?s glas am fair 's
fasaidh 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 gne ghlais na aoraibh."The first two lines of this quatrain occur also in a song on the deceit, fulness 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 th'n corra-ghille glas?")
Note 9: Ma tha tur aig marbh, nach bi thu oidhche dhith do leabaidh.
Note 10: My informant could not say whether this was seed-time (mart cur an t-sil) or harvest (mart buain) probably the farmer (cf. Campbell's West Highland Tales, ii., p. 98).
Note 11: 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.
Note 12: Tha e na each bagais aig na sithchean an carn 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.
Note 13: "Mart a threabh mi, mart a chuir mi, mart a bhuain mi; Fhir a dh'orduich na tri mairt, na leig na bheil san rop' uamsa." "Lamh t'athar 's do sheanar ort, bha feum agad labhairt."
Note 14: Gregory's West Highlands and Islands, p. 285.
Note 15: 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 "Sithbheirean". The assertion that Du-sith was the
ancient name of Duncan is incorrect, as one of those from whom the village
nickname was derived was called Donnchadh mor mac Dhu-shith. The little man,
who killed Lachunn Mor is also known as an t-ochdarann bodaich, the
eighth measure of a carle.
Note 16: 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.
Note 17: This Do'il MacJain is probably the Do'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 nailked the hand of Big Angus Macian (Aonghas Mor Mac'ic Eoin) 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 bhain (little John of the white bag) from Coiruanain.
Note X: Several versions of the song will be found in Campbell's Leabhar na Feinne, p. 198. According to the Skye traditon, 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."
Note Y: 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 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.