TUTELARY BEINGS.
I. THE GLAISTIG.
The Glaistig was a tutelary being in the shape of a thin grey (_tana
glas_) little woman, with long yellow hair reaching to her heels,
dressed in green, haunting certain sites or farms, and watching in some
cases over the house, in others over the cattle. She is called ‘the
Green Glaistig’ (_a Ghlaistig uaine_) from her wan looks and dress of
green, the characteristic Fairy colour. She is said to have been at
first a woman of honourable position, a former mistress of the house,
who had been put under enchantments and now had a Fairy nature given
her. She disliked dogs, and took fools and people of weak intellect
under her particular charge. She was solitary in her habits, not more
than one, unless when accompanied by her own young one, being found
in the same haunt. Her strength was very great, much greater than
that of any Fairy, and one yell of hers was sufficient to waken the
echoes of distant hills. Strong men were said to have mastered her,
but ordinarily people were afraid of meeting her. She might do them
a mischief and leave them a token, by which they would have cause to
remember the encounter. She made herself generally useful, but in many
cases was only mischievous and troublesome.
She seems in all cases to have had a special interest in the cows
and the dairy, and to have resented any want of recognition of her
services. A portion of milk was set apart for her every evening, in
a hole for the purpose in some convenient stone, and unless this was
done, something was found amiss in the dairy next morning. Others left
milk for her only when leaving the summer pastures for the season.
She was seldom seen, oftenest when anything was to happen to the house
she followed. She might then be seen, making her way in the evening up
the slope to the castle, herding the cattle on the pastures, sunning
herself on the top of a distant rock, or coming to the fold at dusk for
her allowance of milk. Her cries, and the noise she made, arranging
the furniture, shouting after the cattle, or at the approach of joy or
sorrow, were frequently heard.
In the south Highlands, the Glaistig was represented as a little wan
woman, stout and not tall, but very strong. In Skye, where most of her
duties were assigned to a male deity, the _Gruagach_, she was said to
be very tall, ‘a lath of a body’ like a white reflection or shade.
Her name is derived from _glas_, grey, wan, or pale-green, and
_stìg_, a sneaking or crouching object, probably in allusion to her
invisibility, noiseless motions, or small size. In the _Highland
Society’s Dictionary_, she is called “a she-devil, or hag, in the
shape of a goat,” and the definition is accepted by M‘Leod and Dewar.
This, however, is a mistake. The shape of a goat, in the Highlands as
elsewhere, has been assigned to the devil only, and there was nothing
diabolical, or of the nature of an evil spirit, seeking the perdition
of mankind, ascribed to the poor Glaistig. She occupied a middle
position between the Fairies and mankind; she was not a Fairy woman
(_Bean shìth_) but one of human race, who had a Fairy nature given to
her. The Fairies themselves are much nearer in character to the race of
man than to that of devils. Of course all unearthly beings are to be
avoided, but of all the beings, with which fear or fancy has peopled
the unseen world, the Glaistig and her near relation the Brownie are
among the most harmless.
The house or castle-haunting Glaistig was also known by the names of
_Maighdean sheòmbair_, _i.e._ chamber-maid, _Gruagach_, young woman,
lit. long-haired one, and _Gruagach sheòmbair_, ‘fille de chambre,’
and her attachment was not to the family but to the site or stance
(_làrach_). It was always the abodes of the affluent in which she
resided, and she continued her occupancy after a change of tenants,
and even after the building was deserted and had become a nesting
place for wild birds. In olden times there was a perpetuity of tenure
enjoyed by large tenants, and it is not surprising that writers have
fallen into the mistake of supposing the tutelary guardian of the house
to be that of its tenants. The Glaistig had sympathy with the tenant
so far, that she broke out into loud expressions of joy or sorrow, or
made her appearance more frequently when happiness or misfortune were
to come upon the family; but her real attachment was to the building
or site. Indeed, none of these beings of superstition were tutelary
to the human race, or had anything about them of the character of the
Genius or δαιμων. When the house was to be levelled, even
though the family remained on the land, and a new house (on another
site) was built, the Glaistig made a lamentable outcry, left, and was
never afterwards seen or heard. Her usual occupation consisted in
“putting things in order” at night, sweeping the floor, drawing chairs
and tables about, and arranging the furniture. After the household had
retired to rest, she was heard at work in apartments that were locked,
and in which no human being could be. It was then known there would
shortly be an arrival of strangers. In the morning the furniture was
found in most cases untouched or disarranged. In other cases the house
was found tidied up, and work which had been left for the Glaistig,
such as washing, was found finished. She was fond of working with the
spinning wheel, and, according to some, it was to prevent her coming to
the house, and working with it on Sundays that old women were careful
to take off the band every Saturday night. She had a similar fondness
for working with tradesmen’s tools, and artizans were often much
annoyed at hearing her working at night, and finding in the morning
their tools spoiled or mislaid. When the servants neglected their work
or spoke disrespectfully of herself, or did anything to her favourites,
she played pranks to punish them. She knocked down the water-stoups,
disarranged the bedclothes, put dust in the meat, led the objects of
her resentment a fool’s chase about the house, or in the dark gave them
a slap to be remembered on the side of the head. When happiness or
misfortune, a marriage or a death, was to occur in the household, she
was heard rejoicing or wailing long before the event occurred.
It was, however, to the being of this class, that haunted the folds of
the cattle, that the name of _Glaistig_ is most commonly given. Her
occupation consisted in a general superintendence of the sheep, cows,
and horses of the farm. When the family was at dinner, or the herdsman
had fallen asleep and neglected his charge, she kept the cattle out of
mischief; and, though not seen, was heard shouting after them, and
driving them to their proper pastures. In this respect, she behaved
like an old and careful herdsman. If the cows were not clean milked,
she punished the dairy-maid by some unchancy prank. At night she kept
the calves from the cows (a needful and useful occupation before the
days of enclosures and plentiful farm accommodation), and its substance
in the milk. In summer she accompanied the cattle to the hill pastures,
and there had her portion of milk duly poured out for her in the
evening in a stone near the fold. Unless this was done the calves were
found next morning with the cows, the cream not risen from the milk,
a cow was found dead, or some other mischance occurred. She was not
supposed ever to enter a house, but to stay in some ravine (_eas_) near
a Fairy residence. She disliked dogs very much, and if a present of
shoes or clothes were made to her, she was offended and left. She is
not generally spoken of as appearing in any shape but her own, but in
some localities and tales, is said to assume the shape of a horse as
‘old grey mare,’ and even of a dog.
The Glaistig resembled the Fairies in being invisible, and in having a
noiseless gliding motion; in her dislike of dogs; in affecting green
in her dress; in being addicted to meddling at night with the spinning
wheel and tradesmen’s tools; in her outcries being a premonition of
coming events; in being kept away by steel, and in her ability to give
skill in handicrafts to her favourites. The Fairies bestowed this
skill on those who had the _Ceaird-Chomuinn_, or association craft,
_i.e._ the assistance of the Folk. The Glaistig gave the choice of
‘ingenuity without advantage’ (_ealdhain gun rath_) or ‘advantage
without ingenuity’ (_rath gun ealdhain_). Those who chose the former
proved clever workmen but never prospered; and those who chose the
latter turned out stupid fellows who made fortunes.
She differed in being more akin to ordinary women than the true
Fairy wife (_Bean shìth_); she was stronger, and as it were more
substantial; it was true woman’s work which, as chamber-maid or
dairy-maid, she performed. Though her ‘bed’ was near a Fairy dwelling,
and she could command the services of the Elves, she did not engage
in Fairy employments or recreations. The Fairies punished people of a
discontented, grumbling disposition, by taking away the substance of
their goods. The Glaistig was also offended at littleness and meanness
of mind, but meanness of a different kind. Those who looked down on
fools and people of weak intellect, or ill-treated them, she paid off
by putting dust or soot in their meat. Akin to this was her punishment
of neglect in servants.
In some parts of the Highlands the Glaistig is called _Glaisrig_.
The name of her young one is _Méilleachan_, a name probably derived
from its bleating or whimpering after the old one. It is also called
_Isein_, a chicken, and _Gocan_, a little plug.
THE GLAISTIG AT GLENDUROR.
The being which attached herself to the farm-house of Achindarroch
(_Acha-nan-darach, field of oaks_) in Glenduror, Appin, Argyleshire,
was variously known as the _Glaistig_ and as the _Gruagach_ of
Glenduror. She attended to the cattle, and took particular charge of
keeping the calves from the cows at night. She followed the house (not
the family), and was alive not many years ago. A portion of milk was
poured out for her every evening on a stone called _Clach na Glaistig_
(the Glaistig stone), and once this was neglected by a new tenant, the
calves were found next morning with the cows. Her face was described
by those who professed to have seen her, as being like a grey stone
overgrown with lichens. A servant girl, going on a dark evening to
draw water from a stream flowing past the house, was asked by her
fellow-servants if she was not afraid of the Glaistig. In her reply
she spoke contemptuously of that being, and on her way to the stream
received a slap on the cheek that twisted her head to one side. The
following evening, going on the same errand, she got a slap on the
other cheek that put her head right.[49]
THE GLAISTIG AT SRON-CHARMAIG.
The Glaistig attached to this house on Loch Faschan-side in Lorn
was known as _Nic-ille-mhicheil_ (_i.e._ a woman of the surname of
Carmichael), and was said to have been a former mistress of the house.
She lived in a ravine, called Eas-ronaich, near the mansion, and when
any misfortune was about to befall the family set up a loud wailing. On
sunny days she was to be seen basking on the top of _Creag Ghrianach_
(the Sunny Rock), also in the neighbourhood. Before the old house was
levelled, and the present mansion was built, she set up an unusually
loud wailing, and then left. Fully a year before the event, she seemed
greatly disturbed; her step up and down stairs, and the noise of chairs
and tables being moved about was frequently heard after people had
gone to bed. At Glen-Iuchair, a man, who was in the evening convoyed
across the glen by a _grey_ sheep, was firmly of opinion his strange
convoy could have been no other than Nic-ille-mhìcheil. No real sheep
could have been so attentive to him. This attachment to particular
individuals was also shown in the case of a poor old woman, named _Mòr_
(_i.e._ Sarah), resident on the farm. When Mor fell sick, the Glaistig
used to come to the window and wail loudly.
One evening at the cattle-fold, after the cows had been milked and
before the herd and dairy-maids had started home with the milk-pails,
a woman, dressed in _green_, was seen coming and trying the udders of
the cows, as if to see whether they had been properly milked. The herd
had his dog with him, and happened at the time to be sitting with it
in his arms. The dog sprang from him and gave chase, and the woman fled
like a bird. This was at a place called _Doire nan Each_, ‘the Wood of
the Horses,’ several miles from the mansion, and the woman was believed
to be Nic-ille-mhìcheil.
AT INVERAWE HOUSE.
This mansion-house has long been haunted by a Glaistig known as the
‘Maiden of Inverawe’ (_Maighdean Inbher-atha_), who was to be heard
(at least till very recently) rustling (_srannail_) through the house.
Stoups full of water, left in the house at night, were found in the
morning upset by her, and chairs, left however neatly arranged, were
turned round. She is said to have been some former mistress of the
house who had proved unfaithful and had been buried alive.
AT DUNSTAFFNAGE CASTLE.
This castle (_Dùn-sta’innis_), once a seat of the kings of Scotland,
was haunted by a woman known as the _Sianag_ (or Elle-maid) of
Dunstaffnage. She broke into outcries of joy or sorrow (_mulad no
aighear_), according as a happy or unfortunate event was to befall the
inmates. A stranger, who accompanied one of the servants to the castle
and remained there that night, had his bedclothes twice pulled off
by her, and heard her all night walking through the room and in the
adjoining passages. Her footsteps were heavy like those of a man.
IN TIREE.
A Gruagach haunted the ‘Island House’ (_Tigh an Eilein_, so called from
being at first surrounded with water), the principal residence in the
island, from time immemorial till within the present century. She was
never called Glaistig, but Gruagach and Gruagach mhara (sea-maid) by
the islanders. Tradition represents her as a little woman with long
yellow hair, but a sight of her was rarely obtained. She staid in the
attics, and the doors of the rooms in which she was heard working were
locked at the time. She was heard putting the house in order when
strangers were to come, however unexpected otherwise their arrival
might be. She pounded the servants when they neglected their work.
AT SLEAT, SKYE.
The Glaistig of the old Castle of Sleat (_Sléibhte_, mountain
pastures), once the residence of the Lords of the Isles, was often seen
at dusk standing near the _Gruagach_ stone, where her allowance of milk
was placed. Her appearance was that of a young woman with long hair.
IN THE ISLAND OF COLL.
The Glaistig that haunted old Breacacha Castle, the family seat of
the MacLeans of Coll, was in size ‘like a lump of a lassie’ (_cnapach
caileig_), and had white hair like a tuft of flax (_gibeag lìn_), as
long as herself. She put the house in order when strangers were to
come, and guests getting up through the night were led astray by her,
so that they could not find their way back to bed again. Indeed, she
is even accused of maltreating strangers, while she let those she knew
alone.
AT DUNOLLY CASTLE.
The Glaistig of this castle made herself very useful. The family
washing had only to be left for her at night and it was done before
morning. Glimpses of her were seen in the evening on her way up to the
castle. During the night she tidied up the house and swept the floors.
The fool (_amadan_) attached to the castle was taken under her special
protection, and he often had his meat clean when others had it full of
‘stour.’
AT MEARNAIG CASTLE.
This ancient ruin is on the summit of a conical rock, above a hundred
feet high, close to the shore, in Glen Sanda, on the Kingerloch coast.
About three or four hundred feet from it there is a beautiful and
curious echo. A call of eight or nine syllables is distinctly repeated
from the castle after the speaker has ceased. The only reminiscence of
the castle’s former tenants is the call usually given, when rousing the
echo, “Are you in, maiden?” (_Am bheil thu stigh a mhaighdean?_) The
maiden is the tutelary Glaistig that haunted all such buildings.
IN STRATHGLASS.
The Gruagach or Glaistig that haunted the house of _Mac ’ic Alasdair_
(the patronymic of the chiefs of Glengarry), in Strathglass, was never
seen, but was commonly heard at night putting dishes in order. She was
given, like many of her sort in the old hospitable Highland days, to
leading strangers astray through the house. A shepherd from Morvern
came some forty years ago to the neighbourhood, and the Glaistig took a
great fancy to staying with him. He suffered a great deal of annoyance
from her, though no ultimate loss. If he left his jacket on the paling
(_staing_) to dry, it might be away the first time he went to look for
it, but the next time he might, and ultimately would, find it all safe.
At times cheese disappeared for a while from the ‘amry.’ At night the
shepherd felt the coverlet being hauled off, and heard the Glaistig
giggling, with a short sort of laugh, hĭ, hĭ, hĭ.
He might leave their calves all night with the two cows he owned, the
Glaistig kept them from sucking. Before being reconciled to her he
tried to keep her away by putting the New Testament above the door
and round the walls, but without effect. A party of young men came one
evening to hear the mysterious noises. They saw and heard nothing till
they were going away. The pot was then lifted off the fire without any
visible agency and left on the floor; while they themselves had their
eyes nearly knocked out at the door with tough clods from the marsh
(_pluic ruighinn réisg_).
AT LIANACHAN.
A strong man of the name of Kennedy or MacCuaric,[50] residing at
Lianachan in Lochaber, was coming home in the evening from setting a
salmon net in the river when a Glaistig met him on the bank of the
stream. He locked his arms round her (_ghlas e lamhun_), took her
with him to the house, and would not let her go till she built for
him a large barn of six couples (_sia suidheachun_). This she did in
one night. As her parting gift she left a blessing and a curse to the
MacCuarics, that they should grow like rushes but wither like ferns.
This proved to be the case—the man’s family grew up tall, and straight,
and handsome, but when they attained their full strength and growth
they wasted prematurely away.
The following is a close translation of a much fuller and slightly
different version of the legend (see volume of Gaelic poems called _An
Duanaire_, p. 123). The Gaelic is not given as the volume is easily
accessible. It is a pity that the author of the piece, if known to the
collector, is not given.
“One night the big black lad MacCuaric was going home from the smithy;
the Glaistig met him as he was crossing _Curr_ at the ford of Croisg:
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,
Would you be the better of a rider behind?
Yes, and a rider before, said he;
And he gave her a little big lift
From the bare beach,
And tied her before him,
Safely and surely,
On the back of the mettlesome horse,
With the wizard belt of Fillan;
And he swore and asseverated
Vehemently and stubbornly,
He would not let her whole from his grasp,
Till he showed her before men.
Let me go, said she, and I will give
For loss and damage,
A fold full of speckled cattle,
White-bellied, black, white-headed,
Success on hill and in company
To yourself and your sort after you.
That is mine in spite of you, said he,
And it suffices not to set you free.
Let me go, and I will leave your land,
Where in the knoll I stayed;
And I will build thee to-night.
On yonder field,
A big, strong, dike house,
A house fire will not pierce,
Water, nor arrow, nor iron,
And will keep thee dry and comfortable,
Without dread, or fear, and charmed
Against poison, caterans, and fairies.
Fulfil your words, said he,
And from me get your leave.
She gave a shriek with wailing,
That was heard over seven hills!
It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,
Owned by Fionn, had whistled.
Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliff
Wakened and echoed,
And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,
Waiting her orders.
She set them to work speedily,
Calmly, orderly,
And they brought flags and stones
From the shore of Clianaig waterfall,
Reaching them from hand to hand;
From the Knoll of Shore Islet
Were cut beams and rafters;
And supports long,
Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;
While she herself unceasing said
One stone above two stones,
And two stones above one stone,
Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,
Every timber in the wood
But mulberry;
Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,
And sows not as he gets!
And at the grey dawning
There was divot on the roof,
And smoke from it!
He kept the coulter in the fire,
To keep him from mischance,
Since he knew the pranks
And enchantments of the Fairies.
When the house was now finished
And she had made up each loss,
He loosened the maid
And suffered no harm.
Going past the window in front
She stretched him her crooked palm
To bid him farewell,—
But (truly) to take him to the shïen.
The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);
She sprang then on a grey stone
Of the Field, to pronounce his doom.
She brought the curse of the people on him,
And the curse of the goblins,
And if we may believe as we hear,
She obtained her request.
‘Grow like rushes.
Wither like fern,
Turn grey in childhood,
Change in height of your strength;
I ask not a son may not succeed.
I am the sorrowing Glaistig
That staid in the land of the Meadow,
I built a big house on the Field,
Which caused a sore pain in my side;
I will put out my heart’s blood,
High on the peak of Finisgeig,
Which will be red for evermore.’
And she leapt in a green flame,
Over the shoulder of the peak.”[51]
IN GLENORCHY.
The Glaistig, living at the waterfall (_eas_) of Bochaoil in Glenorchy,
came behind a man of the name of Campbell, riding home in the evening
to the adjoining farm-house, and jumping up behind him, urged the horse
to greater speed by crying now and then, “Hoosh! for a horse with two”
(_Huis! air each le dithis_). Campbell put back his hands and caught
her. He was going to take her home, but she managed to get away, and
left as her parting gift, that no Campbell should ever be born alive
(_nach gineadh ’s nach goireadh Cairnbeulach_) above Bo-chaoil.
The water before breaking over the fall is curiously split by an unseen
pinnacle of the rock, and the Glaistig is said to cause the appearance
with her foot.
M‘MILLAN OF KNAP.
The _Cnap_ (that is, the Lump) is opposite Shuna Island in Appin, and
the name still remains in _Tigh a Chnaip_ (the house of the Lump), the
Gaelic name of Balachulish hotel on the road to Glencoe, well-known to
tourists. It was regarding the ownership of Knap by the M‘Millans that
the oral charter ran:
“M‘Millan’s right to Knap
While wave strikes rock.”[52]
A Glaistig once came behind a kilted chief of this sept and caught him,
so that he could not struggle or escape. She asked him if he had ever
been in greater straits (_Mhic Mhaoil a Chnaip, an robh thu riamh an
airc is mò?_). He said he had; she asked when; and he said, “Between
plenty and penury” (_Eadar féill is aimbeairt_). On this she let go her
hold. He said, “I give my word I will not be weighed on the same scales
again,”[53] and stabbing her with his dirk killed her.
THE GLAISTIG AT CRAIGNISH.
A weaver, going home in the evening with a web (_còrn_) of cloth on
his shoulder, was met by a Glaistig at a stream. She caught hold of
him and pummelled him (_làd i e_) all night in the stream with his own
web of cloth, saying to all his remonstrances, “Weaving weaver, you
are the better of being washed” (_Figheadair fighe, ’s fhearrd’ thu do
nigheadh_).
ON GARLIOS, MORVERN.
The lonely and rugged mountain tract, known as the Garlios
(_Garbh-shlios_, the rough country side), extending along the coast of
Morvern, from the Sound of Mull to Kingairloch, a distance of about
seven miles, was at one time haunted by a Glaistig, whose special
employment was the herding (_buachailleachd_) of the sheep and cattle
that roamed over its desert pastures. Tradition represents her as a
small, but very strong woman, taking refuge at night in a particular
yew tree (_craobh iuthair_), which used to be pointed out, to protect
herself from wild animals that prowled over the ground. In a cave in
the same locality lived a man, known as ‘Yellow Dougall of the Cave’
(_Dùghaill Buidhè na h-Uamh_), who supported himself and wife by taking
a sheep or goat, when he required it, from the neighbouring flocks.[54]
One day when about to row himself across to the opposite island of
Lismore, in his coracle (_curachan_), a woman came and asked for a
passage. She took the bow oar, and before long cried out, “A hearty
pull, Dougall” (_Hùg orra, Dùghaill._) “Another hearty pull then,
honest woman” (_Hùgan so eil’ orra, bhean chòir_), cried Dougall. Every
now and then she repeated the same cry, and Dougall answered in the
same way. He thought himself a good rower, and was ashamed to be beat
by a woman. He never rowed so hard in his life. When the boat touched
the Lismore shore, he for the first time turned round his head, and no
woman was anywhere to be seen. She who was so strong and disappeared so
mysteriously could only be the Glaistig.
Other accounts say that the boatman was Selvach Mac Selvach (_Sealbhach
Mac Shealbhaich_), a native of Lismore, and the woman against whom he
pulled for the three miles from Kingairloch to Lismore, a Glaistig
that stayed in the ravine of _Alltaogain_ in the latter place. Her cry
was, “Pull away, Selvach” (_Hùg orra, Shealbhaich_), and his answer,
“Pull away, my lass” (_Hùg orra, ghalad._)
AT ARDNADROCHIT, MULL.
The Glaistig that followed the house of Lamont at Ardnadrochit (the
height of the bridge), in Craignure parish, Mull, was commonly seen
in the shape of a dog, and was said to carry a pup at the back of her
head. A band came across from Lorn, the opposite mainland, to ‘lift’
Lamont’s cattle. The Glaistig, whose charge they were, drove them
up the hill out of the way to a place called _Meall na Lìre_. Here,
in a dell called ‘the Heroes’ Hollow’ (_Glaic nan Gaisgeach_), the
freebooters were like to overtake her. On seeing this, she struck the
cows, and converted them into grey stones, which are to be seen to this
day. On coming up, the plunderers stood at these stones, and one of
them, tapping with his broadsword the stone near him, said he felt sure
this was the bed of the white cow (_Bo bhàn_). On his saying this, the
tap of his sword split the stone in two. The Glaistig broke her heart,
and was afterwards taken by Lamont and buried in a small plot of ground
near the Sound of Mull, where in those days the bodies of unbaptized
children were put.
ON BAUGH, TIREE.
The tenants of this farm once got the benefit of seven years’
superintendence of their cattle from a Glaistig. There is a place on
the farm, still called the Glaistig’s Bed, where she died by falling
in the gap of a dyke. She was seldom seen, but was often heard. When
driving the horses to pasture, she called out, “Get along, get along,
thou son of a mare! Betake thee to yonder white bank!” and when the
herd-boy was at his dinner, she was heard shouting to the cattle,
“Horo va ho whish! Did ever any one hear of cattle without a herdsman
but these?” She prepared food for herself by dragging a bunch of eels
(of which there is an over-abundance in the small lochs on the farm)
through the fire-place of a kiln used for preparing corn for the
hand-mill. One night, when engaged at this work along with _Goean_
(_i.e._ a perky little fellow), her son as is supposed, some one came
behind and gave her a rap on the head with a stick. She and her son
fled, and as they were going away, Goean was overheard saying to his
mother, “Your old grey pate has been rapped, but see that you have the
bunch of eels.”
In appearance, this Glaistig is said to have been a thin sallow-looking
little object, with ringletted yellow hair that reached down to her
heels. She had short legs, and in person was not unlike a dwarf.
AT STRONTIAN.
An incident similar to that of the bunch of eels is told of a Glaistig
that came at nights and worked in the smithy at Strontian. The smith
was very much annoyed at the noises in the smithy at night, and at
finding in the morning tools mislaid and the smithy in confusion. He
resolved to stay up and find out the cause. He stood in the dark,
behind the door, with the hammer on his shoulder ready to strike
whatever should enter. The Glaistig came to the door, accompanied by
her bantling, or _Isein_ (_i.e._ a young chicken). The chicken thought
he heard a noise, and said, “Something moving, little woman.” “Hold
your tongue, wretch,” she said, “it is only the mice.” At this point
the smith struck the old one on the head with his hammer, and caught
hold of the little one. On this, the _Isein_ reproached his mother by
saying, “Your old grey pate has got a punching; see now if it be the
mice.” Before the smith let his captive go, the Glaistig left a parting
gift—that the son should succeed the father as smith in the place till
the third generation. This proved to be the case, and the last was
smith in Strontian some forty years ago.
ON HIANISH, TIREE.
About a hundred years ago one of the tenants of this farm, which
adjoins Baugh, wondering what made his cows leave the fank (or
enclosure) every night, resolved to watch. He built a small turf
hut near the fold to pass the night in, and sat mending his _curain_
(shoes or mocassins of untanned hides), when a woman came to the door.
Suspicious of her being an earthly visitant, he stuck his awl in the
door-post to keep her out. She asked him to withdraw the awl and let
her in, but he refused. He asked her questions which much troubled him
at the time. He was afraid of a conscription, which was then impending,
and he asked if he would have to go to the army. The Glaistig said
he would; that though he made a hole in the rock with his awl and
hide himself in it, he would be found out and taken away, but if he
succeeded in mounting a certain black horse before his pursuers came,
he might bid them defiance; and he was to tell the wife who owned the
white-faced yellow cow to let the produce of the cows home to their
master. The man was caught when jumping on the back of the black horse
to run away from the conscription, and after service abroad, came back
to tell the tale.
IN ULVA.
The Glaistig of Ardnacallich, the residence of the Macquarries of Ulva,
used to be heard crying “Ho-hò! ho-hò! Macquarries’ cattle are in the
standing corn near the cave! The bald girl has slept! the bald girl has
slept! ho-hò, ho-hò.” The ‘bald girl’ was no doubt a reference to her
own plentiful crop of hair.
IN IONA.
The common of this Island is called _Staonnaig_, and in former times
the cattle of the east and west end people of the place came to it in
summer for fourteen days alternately. In those days a Glaistig stayed
in a hole of the rocks in Staonnaig, and the people, when at the summer
pastures (_àiridh_) poured milk every night in a stone for her. She
once entered on a very rainy day a house where there was a woman of the
name of Livingstone alone and at dinner. She dried herself at the fire,
holding her clothes spread out, and turning round from side to side.
Her clothes took fire, and she left as her parting gift, that no fire
can be kindled at dinner-time by a woman of the name of Livingstone.
IN ROSS, MULL.
A herd in this district, whenever he moved the cattle at night, heard a
voice shouting after him, “Son of big black John, there is a cow behind
you” (_Mhic Iain du Mhoir, tha bò ád dheighinn_). He shouted in reply,
“If there is one behind there are a hundred before” (_Ma tha h-aon am
dhéigh, tha ceud romham_).
Neil, who lived in _Saor-bheinn_, went to fish on the rocks. Coming
home in the dusk of the evening, a voice (that of the Glaistig)
followed him begging for a fish. “Give me a cuddy fish, Neil” (_Thoir
dhomh cudainn, a Néil_). This occurred every evening, and if he gave a
fish the Glaistig became more and more importunate, and one by one, to
get rid of her solicitations, the fish were given away, the last at the
door. In this way, Neil often returned empty-handed from the fishing.
Hector, son of Ferchar, lived at Hoodie-crow Hillock (_Cnoc na
Feannaig_), and as was common in olden times, the door of his house was
made of bunches of heather, tied together, and made more wind-tight by
straw stuffed between them. One cold frosty night he heard a scraping
at the door, as if some animal were trying to pull out the straw. He
rose and went out, and drove away an old white horse he found nibbling
at the straw. In a while he was disturbed again by the same noise. He
went out, and, taking up a big stick, chased away the old white mare.
When he almost overtook her, the mare became a woman, and, laughing at
Hector, said, “I have played a trick upon you, Hector, son of Ferchar.”
IN CORRY-NA-HENCHOR.
The Glaistig of _Coire-na-sheanchrach_, a valley on the Mull coast,
half way up the sound between that island and the mainland, met a poor
fisherman of the neighbourhood every evening, when he came ashore from
the fishing and always got a fish for herself. One evening he caught
nothing but lithe, and when the Glaistig came and looked at them, she
said, “They are all lithe to-night, Murdoch.” Whatever offence was
taken by her in consequence she never came any more.
MAC-IAN YEAR.
This man (_Mac Iain Ghiarr_), whose name is proverbial in the West
Highlands for that of a master thief, was one of the Mac Ians of
Ardnamurchan, a persecuted race. He had a boat for going on his
thieving expeditions painted black on one side and white on the other,
so that those who saw it passing would not recognize it on its return.
Hence the proverb:
“One side black and one side grey,
Like Mac Ian Year’s boat.”
Many tales are told of his skill in thieving, and the accomplishment is
said to have been bestowed upon him by a Glaistig.
He and his brother Ronald (his own name was Archibald) were out
hunting, and having killed a roe, took it to a bothy and prepared it
for supper. He threw himself on a bed of heather, and Ronald sat by the
fire, roasting pieces of the roe on his dirk. A woman entered the hut,
and made an effort now and then to snatch from him some of the roasted
flesh. Ronald threatened, unless she kept over her paw (_sall_), he
would cut it off with his knife. She appealed to Archibald, “Ho,
Archibald, will you not put a stop to Ronald?” “I will put a stop to
him, poor creature,” he said. He told Ronald to allow the poor woman,
that they had plenty, and perhaps she was hungry. When leaving, the
Glaistig asked him to the door, and it is supposed then bestowed upon
him his wonderful gift of theft. He built a large byre when he had not
a single ‘hoof’ to put in it, and before long it was amply stocked. He
hired the Glaistig to herd for him, and she was to be heard at night on
the tops of the cliffs crying “Ho hŏ, ho hŏ,” to keep the cattle from
wandering too near the verge. Her wages were to be a pair of brogues of
untanned leather, and when she got these, like the rest of her kind,
she disappeared. She seems, however, only to have returned to her
former haunts, which extended all over Ardnamurchan, from the Point to
Loch Sunart. When her former master died, she gave a shriek that roused
the echoes of Ben Resipol (_Réiscapol_). The same night she was seen
in the Coolin hills in Skye, and after that neither her shadow nor her
colour (_a du no dath_) were anywhere seen.
During her period of service with Mac Ian Year, she made her appearance
whenever he raised his standard, however far away she might be.
Ronald’s dog had a great aversion to her, and chased her whenever she
came near. She was then to be heard calling out, “Ho, Archibald, will
you not call off the dog?” (_Ho, Laspuig, nach caisg thu ’n cù?_),—a
common phrase in Ardnamurchan and the small isles to this day.
It is related of her, that to escape from her attentions, Mac Ian Year
and his brother resolved to remove to the Outer Hebrides. They had
barely kindled a fire in their new dwelling, when the Glaistig called
down the chimney they had forgot the old harrow, but she had brought
it, and that she was only on the top of the Coolin Hills when the first
clink (_snag_) was given to the flint to kindle the fire. There was
nothing for it but to return to Ardnamurchan.[55]
AT ERRAY, MULL.
At Erray (_an Eirbhe_, the outlying part of a farm[56]), near
Tobermory, there was a Glaistig that paid attention principally to
the barn. The herd slept in the byre, and he often heard trampling
(_tartaraich_) in the adjoining barn. Whatever had been left there at
night was found in the morning all in confusion, topsy-turvy (_turrach
air tharrach_), one leg over the other (_cas mu seach_). All this was
the Glaistig’s work.
The Glaistig of Fernach on Loch Awe side conveyed persons of the name
of M‘Intyre across a dangerous stream in the neighbourhood. She assumed
the shape of a foal.
II. THE GRUAGACH.
Gruagach, _i.e._ long-haired one, from _gruag_, a wig, is a common
Gaelic name for a maiden, a young woman. In old tales and poems,
particularly those relating to the times of Murchard Mac Brian, who
was king of Ireland _circ._ A.D. 1100, the term means a chief or some
person of consequence, probably a young chief. Thus, in a conversation
between that king and a young woman, whose nine silk-clad brothers he
had killed in battle, she says:
“I am daughter of the heir of Dublin,
I would not hide it, lord of swords,
And to the _Gruagach_ of the Isle of Birds,
I, in truth, bore my children.”[57]
The name evidently refers to the length of the hair, which it seems
to have been a custom in ancient times for men of rank and freemen to
allow to grow long.
In Argyllshire, and commonly in Gaelic, the name Gruagach, applied
to the tutelary being haunting farms and castles, means the same as
_Glaistig_, and the idea attached to it is that of a long-haired
female, well-dressed like a gentlewoman, looking after the servants,
and particularly after the cattle. In parts of Skye, however, the
fold-frequenting Gruagach is a tall young man, with long yellow hair,
in the attire of a gentleman of a bygone period, having a little
switch (_slatag_) in his hand, and with a white breast, as if he wore
a frilled shirt. One of the writer’s authorities described him as in
appearance like a young man fashionably dressed in a long coat and knee
breeches, with a white breast like that of a frilled shirt, and having
a cane in his hand. He had even heard that the Gruagach wore a beaver
hat—a head-dress which in the Highlands was at one time believed to
indicate a gentleman.
This Gruagach was attentive to the herds and kept them from the rocks.
He frequented certain places in the fields where the cattle were. A
Gruagach was to be found in every gentleman’s fold (_buaile_), and,
like the Glaistig, milk had to be set apart for him every evening in a
hollow in some particular stone, called the Gruagach stone (_Clach na
Gruagaich_), kept in the byres. Unless this was done no milk was got at
next milking, or the cream would not rise to the surface of the milk.
Some say milk was placed in the Gruagach stone only when going to and
returning from the summer pastures and when passing with milk.
The Gruagach amused himself by loosing the cattle in the byre at
night, and making people get out of bed several times to tie them up.
The cattle loosened did not fright or gore one another, as they did
when they broke loose themselves or were untied by another person.
On entering the byre, the Gruagach was heard laughing and tittering
in corners. Beyond this diversion he seems to have been ordinarily
harmless. He sometimes walked alongside of people, but was never known
to speak.
A woman was driving calves into the byre at Tota Roam in Scorrybreck.
The Gruagach amused himself inside by keeping them out. The woman, in
a great rage, hastily cursed him. He gave her a slap on the cheek and
killed her. All that night, however, he kept the fire alive for the
woman that sat up watching the body.
Dr. Johnson mentions a ‘Greogaca’ in Troda, an islet off the east coast
of Skye. This Gruagach seems long since to have disappeared, but old
people say the place is a very likely one for a being of the class to
be in. At Holm, East-side, and Scorrybreck, near Portree, the stones,
where the libations were poured out, may still be seen.
In Braes, the Gruagach that followed the herds was a young woman with
long hair; she was also known as the Glaistig, and the rock, in which
her portion of milk was poured, is in Macqueen’s Big Rock (_Creagan na
Glaistig an creag mhor Mhic Cuinn_).
III. BROWNIE.
The term _Brùnaidh_, signifying a supernatural being, haunting the
abodes of the affluent and doing work for the servants, seems to
have made its way into the Highlands only in recent times and along
with south country ideas. It is generally applied only to a big,
corpulent, clumsy man, ‘a fine fat fodgel wight,’ and in many districts
has no other reference. Its derivation is Teutonic and not Celtic,
and Brownies are mostly heard of in places to which, as in the south
of Argyllshire, southern ideas have penetrated, or where, as in the
Orkneys and Shetland, a Teutonic race is settled.
In the islet of Càra, on the west of Cantyre, the old house, once
belonging to the Macdonalds, was haunted by a Brownie that drank milk,
made a terrific outcry when hurt, and disliked the Campbell race. In
the old castle of Largie, on the opposite coast of Cantyre, which
belonged to the same Macdonalds, there was also a Brownie, supposed to
be the same as the Càra one. Since the modern house was built Brownie
has not been seen or heard. In Càra he is still occasionally heard.
It is not known exactly what he is like, no one having ever seen more
than a glimpse of him. Before the arrival of strangers he put the
house in order. He disliked anything dirty being left in the house for
the night. Dirty bed-clothes were put out by him before morning. Dogs
had to be put outside at night, as he often killed those left in the
house. He was much addicted to giving slaps in the dark to those who
soiled the house; and there are some still alive who can testify to
receiving a slap that left their faces black. He tumbled on the floor
water-stoups left full over-night. A man was lifted out of bed by him,
and found himself ‘bare naked,’ on awakening, at the fire. A woman,
going late in the evening for her cows, found Brownie had been before
her, and tied them securely in the barn.
In one of the castles in the centre of Argyllshire, Brownie came to
the bedside of a servant woman who had retired for the night, arranged
the clothes, and, pulling them above her, said: “Take your sleep, poor
creature” (_dean cadal, a chreutair_). He then went away.
In character Brownie was harmless, but he made mischief unless every
place was left open at night. He was fed with warm milk by the
dairy-maid.
A native of the Shetland Isles writes me that Brownie was well known
in that locality. He worked about the barn, and at night ground with
the handmill for those to whom he was attached. He could grind a bag
or two of grain in a night. He was once rewarded for his labours by a
cloak and hood left for him at the mill. The articles were away in the
morning, and Brownie never came back. Hence the bye-word, such a man is
like Brownie,
“When he got his cloak and hood,
He did no more good.”
The same story is told of the ‘Cauld Lad of Hilton,’ in the valley of
the Wear in England (Keightley’s _Fairy Myth_, p. 296), of Brownies in
the Scottish Lowlands (p. 358), and of one in Strathspey (p. 395), who
said, when he went away—
“Brownie has got a coat and cap,
Brownie will do no more work.”
It also made its way to Tiree, and was there told as follows:
GUNNA.
In olden times the tillage in Tiree was in common, the crop was raised
here and there throughout the farm, and the herding was in consequence
very difficult to do. In Baugh, or some farm in the west of the island
(tradition is not uniform as to the locality), the cows were left in
the pastures at night, and were kept from the crops by some invisible
herdsman. No one ever saw him, or knew whence he came, nor, when he
went away, whither he went. A _taibhseir_ or seer (_i.e._ one who had
the second-sight or sight of seeing ghosts) remained up to see how the
cattle were kept. He saw a man without clothes after them, and taking
pity upon him made him a pair of trews (_triubhas_[58]) and a pair of
shoes. When the ghostly herdsman put the trews on, he said (and his
name then, for the first time, became known):
“Trews upon Gunna,
Because Gunna does the herding,
But may Gunna never enjoy his trews,
If he tends cattle any more.”[59]
When he said this he went away and was never more heard of.
Beings of this class seem to have had a great objection to presents of
clothes. A pair of shoes made the Glaistig at Unimore leave; a cap,
coat, and breeches the Phynnodderee in the Isle of Man (Keightley,
_Fairy Myth_, p. 203); in the Black Forest of Germany, a new coat drove
away a nix, one of the little water-people, with green teeth, that came
and worked with the people all day (_ibid._, p. 261); and Brownie, as
already mentioned, in several places.
THE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
In the Highlands of Perthshire, previous to the ‘45, each farm or
village had its own _bodachan sabhaill_, ‘the little old man of the
barn,’ who helped to thresh the corn, made up the straw into bundles,
and saw that everything was kept in order. These Brownies had the
appearance of old men and were very wise. They worked always at night,
and were never mischievous, but highly useful.
The _Glaisein_ (lit. grey-headed man) of the Isle of Man bears a strong
resemblance to them. He was very strong, frequented farms, threshed
corn, and went to the sheep-folds (Campbell’s _West Highland Tales_,
Introd. liii.).
These house-spirits have many relations, the Nis of Scandinavia, Kobold
of Germany, Niägruisar of the Faroe Islands, and it is said the English
Hobgoblin. The Hinzelman that haunted Hudemuhlen Castle in Lüneberg had
‘curled yellow hair,’ also a characteristic of the Glaistig; and the
difference between one household tutelary being and another is only
such as might be expected from differences of country and society.
The oldest member of the family is the _Lar Familiaris_ of the Romans.
There is a noticeable resemblance between _lar_, the Roman household
deity, and _làrach_ (from _làr_, the ground), the Gaelic for the
stance or site of a building, to which, and not to the tenants, the
Celtic household apparition attached itself. The _lares_ of the Romans
were the departed spirits of ancestors, which were believed to watch
over their dependents. The Glaistig was held to have been a woman of
honourable position, a former mistress of the house, the interests
of the tenants of which she now attended to. Small waxen images of
the _lares_, clothed with the skin of a dog, were placed in the hall.
The Glaistig had the Fairy aversion to dogs (an aversion which was
reciprocal), but many of the actions ascribed to her savour strongly of
her being in some way identical with the herdsman’s dogs. This would
very well explain the pouring of milk for her in the evening in the
hollow of a stone. The Glaistig of Ardnadrochit had the shape of a dog
(see p. 175).
A satisfactory explanation of the origin of the superstition does not
readily suggest itself. In days when men did not know what to believe
in regarding the spirit world, and were ready to believe anything, a
fancy may have arisen, that it secures the welfare of a house, and adds
to its dignity, to have a supernatural being attached to it and looking
after its interests. It had its origin after the tribes, among whom
it is to be found, ceased to be roving and unsettled barbarians. In a
large establishment a being of the kind was very useful. The master
would not discredit its existence, as it helped to frighten idle and
stupid servants into attending to their work and into clean and tidy
habits. Shrewd servants would say as little against it when it served
so well to screen their own knavery or faults, and to impose on a
credulous and facile, or careless master. Unless it was sometimes seen
or heard, or some work was mysteriously done, the delusion, either of
master or servant, could not be long continued; and, when men have
little else to do, there are many who take a pleasure in imposing on
their more simple-minded fellows, and are quite ready, as much from
sport as interest, to carry on a delusion of the kind. Besides, when
the mind is nervously anxious, engrossed with the fear of a coming
misfortune or the hope of a coming joy, it is apt to listen to the
whispers of fancy and the confidently-told tales of others. When it
broods alone, during the sleepless night, over the future it is not
surprising if the imagination converts the weird sounds of night—the
melancholy moaning of the wind, its fitful gusts in the woods and round
the house, the roar of the waterfall, the sound of the surf-beaten
shore, and many noises, of which the origin is at the time unknown and
unsought—into the omens of that which makes itself sleepless, or hears
in them the song of the house-spirit, prescient of the coming event.
It must also be remembered that there are people who will see and
hear anything if their story is believingly listened to, and they are
themselves at the time objects of interest.
Pennant (_Tour_, p. 330) says Brownie was stout and blooming, had fine
long flowing hair, and went about with a switch in his hand. He cleaned
the house, helped to churn, threshed the corn, and belaboured those who
pretended to make a jest of him. He says (p. 331) the _Gruagach_ was
in form like the Brownie, and was worshipped by libations of milk; and
“milkmaids still retain the custom of pouring some on certain stones,
that bear his name.” He is thought, it is added, to be an emblem of
Apollo and identical with χρυσοκομος.
Mr. Campbell (_Tales of the West Highlands_, 1. xciii.) supposes the
Gruagach of superstition to be a Druid fallen from his high estate, and
living on milk left for him by those whose priest he had once been. In
another place (ii. 101) he supposes him to be a half-tamed savage,
hanging about the house, with his long hair and skin clothing.
These explanations are not satisfactory. The character, dress, and
actions ascribed to the Gruagach and his congeners are incongruous to
the idea of Druid, heathen deity, or savage wild or reclaimed.