separate and independent possessions; the northern part of the Long
Island (_an t-eilean fada_),[22] Lewis (_Leòdhais_), was held by one
Cenmal (_Ceannamhaol_ [baldhead]), who was a king, while the southern
portion, Harris (_na h-Earra_), was owned by a prince; and another
king, one named Keligan [thin one], possessed Uist, which is further
south. In this way Lewis and Uist had each a king, while there was only
a prince in Harris. This prince, who was famed for his courage and
bravery, was held in great esteem by those on his land for the good
advice (_na comhairlean dealbhach_) they readily got from him and the
benefits he conferred on them. He discouraged bickerings and jealousy
(_farmad_) among his subordinates and neighbours, and spread among
them a knowledge of many useful arts. He encouraged manual labour as
well as manly exercise and the recitation of poems, romance, etc. His
wife, Garlatha, was not less namely for her goodness to those around
her, among whom she promoted thrifty and industrious habits, and taught
the use and methods of preparing different kinds of roots, grain and
plants, for food and healing, and to be kind and tender to the weak
and infirm, and to live good lives. In this way the people on their
land were contented with their condition and sought no change. Garlatha
died, it is said, about 800 A.D.--a long time ago, but whatever it
was, she went away, (and it was not to be helped), leaving an infant
daughter who was named after her mother, Garlatha. As the girl grew up
it was seen that she inherited her mother’s good gifts, and the people
were equally well pleased with her. In time she began to be spoken
about and heard of, and was sought in marriage by numerous suitors. The
king who ruled in Lewis was eager in pursuit of her (_’an tòir oirre_),
and crossed over to see her. The ruler (_fear-riaghlaidh_) of Uist came
on the same errand. One day then her father said to her, “Daughter, I
wish to see you married, before the end of my life comes, to a good
man, and I am looking to see which of those men who come to see you is
the most suitable, and I see that it will suit you best to take him
who is in Lewis.” His daughter preferred the one who owned Uist, but
by her father’s advice word was sent to the possessor of Lewis to come
and that he would get her. He came, and being well pleased with his
reception every arrangement was made, and they were married. Afterwards
the bride said to a maid, “You will go in to the entertainment
(_fleadh_) and among the company: I am going to hide myself.” This was
done, and the company sat at the feast without the bride, for whose
coming a long delay was made. When it was seen that she would not
return, the question of what had become of her or where she was, was
asked of every one, but no one knew. The maid was asked, but she had
not any knowledge or tale (_fios no sgeul_) to tell of where the lost
one was to be found. The time was passing _(bha ’n ùineachd ’ruith_)
and search was made outside for her, but she was not found. Then they
looked for her from place to place, where it was possible to find her,
but without success. The night passed, leaving the feast untouched and
the guests cheerless. Next day the search was renewed along the shores
and among the hills, and in every direction from day to day, till
there was not a spot between Barra Head and the Butt of Lewis where a
bird could sleep, that was not searched, but there was no trace of her
(_cha d’ fhuaireadh riamh i, cha d’ fhuaireadh idir i_). The father
continued to wander about, searching in vain, for many years after
all hope of finding her was dead, till at last he was seen to turn
every leaf he met with the staff in his hand, and even to look under
ragweed (_buaghallan_). He died, and she was not found. The place,
Harris, was then 200 years without any one to own it (_thug an t-àite
sin dà cheud bliadhna gun duine ann_). MacLeod (_fear Mac Leòid_) then
took possession of the country and began to build new houses; the
old dwellings had become uninhabitable (_air dol fàs_); the roof had
fallen in (_thuit an ceann ’n am broinn_). When clearing out one of
these an old chest was found, and on lifting it the lower part remained
on the ground, with the skeleton of a woman resting in it, each bone
according to its place (_cnàimh a réir cnàimh_), and by its side the
wedding-ring, as new as it was on the day it was put on her finger,
with the name “Garlatha” engraved on it, and from that the story came.
NOTES:
[22] The Long Island includes the whole of the land between the Butt of
Lewis and Barra Head.
STORIES ABOUT THE FAIRIES.
THE TRADITION OF A HOUSEWIFE AND HER FAIRY VISITOR.
The incidents of this tradition are said to have happened in Lewis, but
the readiness with which similar stories are appropriated and localised
makes it improbable that the circumstances occurred in any special
locality. In this instance the person from whom the story was heard
being a native of Lewis will account for the incidents of the story
having been said to have taken place in that Island. The story is as
follows:--
The wife of a tenant farmer, who lived with his family in an extremely
remote and hilly rough district, was frequently left alone in the
house, as she had no daughters, while her husband and sons were away at
the labour of the farm, or fishing. It happened one day after they had
left, that the housewife having finished her housework, sat as usual at
the spinning-wheel to spin thread for cloth (_clò_) for their clothing.
She had not long begun her labour, when, happening to look towards the
door, she saw a little woman of reddish appearance coming in at the
door with a dog before and one after her. “Woman,” she said, “you are
spinning.” “I am,” the housewife answered. “Will you give me a drink of
water?” she said. “Take it yourself,” the housewife said. “The water is
good, where is the well?” she asked. “It is down,” said the one who was
in, “in the opening of the hollow of the glen (_aig dorus ’an lag a’
ghlinne_).” The fay woman (_a’ bhean-shìth_) then asked the housewife
to lend her a small cauldron, and the other woman believing her to be
sister-in-law or some other relative she did not know of the wife of
her nearest neighbour, who lived far distant from them and was married
to an Ardnamurchan woman, said to her, “There is a table there with
several utensils (_caigionn choireachan_) on its shelf; take with you
any of them that will answer.” When she brought it, she asked for the
suspender (_bùlas_) and lid. The moment she got them she fitted them in
and told the dogs that were with her to take that with them. The dogs
immediately caught the three-legged pot and took it with them. When
her husband came home the housewife said, “I think there is a stranger
with our neighbours,” and told him about her visitor. “Perhaps,” her
husband said, “she is the sister-in-law; it was time some one came to
see the wife, for none of her friends have been since she came here.”
“I never saw the sort of dogs she had, ever here,” his wife said, and
described to him the dogs and how they were different altogether from
sheep-dogs. “Our neighbours have only one dog and it is a sheep-dog,”
he said. This day passed and another and the third, but the cauldron
was not returned. The housewife then sent one of her sons to ask the
neighbours to return the loan. These said that they did not get a loan
of anything, as they did not require it, having more cauldrons and
kettles than was required by themselves, and that no strangers had
come or were with them. The housewife was at her wit’s end and did
not know in the world or time to come (_uile bheatha na dìlinn_) what
to think about the matter. On the fifth day, however, the self-same
one returned with the cauldron. “I am sure,” she said, “that you were
missing the cauldron.” “I was,” the housewife replied, “not from any
need I had of it at the time, but because I did not know who the one
was that took it away.” “I am sure you did not know who took it,”
said the one that came in, “but I knew you too well; many a day you
sang songs above my house (_’s iomadh latha ’sheinn thu luinneag air
mullach an tigh agam_).” “Will you sit?” said the one who was spinning.
“I will sit and tell my story if you are sure that no one will come
in while I am here.” As was customary in those days the byre adjoined
the dwelling-house, whatever kind of wall (_sgàth-balla_) separated
them, and one of the cows that had calved and was in the byre, made
a disturbance (_straighlich_). The next look the woman took she was
alone. On her husband’s return, she said, “You may not leave me here
alone; one of the children must be left with me or I will be where you
are;” and she told him about the second time her strange visitor came
and how suddenly she had disappeared. The goodman then went for advice
to one, the minister, who he knew was able to give him good counsel. On
telling about the undesirable visitor his wife had, the advice he got
was that he was to pull down his house as quickly as possible, and to
put it at the other end of the land; “and when you will pull down your
house, every particle (_h-uile pioc_) of the thatch that covers it is
to be burnt within the rafters on which nine cogfuls of sea-water or
charmed (_naoi cuachan sàile no uisge coisrigte_) is to be poured.”
The goodman returned home with this advice. When his wife heard it she
said that she must get women to help her to finish the cloth she was
working at, and it was agreed to give her the help she required. On
account of the dampness of the houses the method of keeping the thread
and wool dry was by hanging them up to the rafters. Next morning the
goodwife missed a pile of wool from its place, but believing that it
was her son, who often played pranks on her, who had removed it, she
said nothing regarding its disappearance. Next day, however, she was
astonished at seeing her late strange visitor with another and a taller
one coming in. “I am sure,” said the little redhued one, “you were
missing the bag of wool We took it with us to help you, and there it is
brought home made into thread, and your own thread that we took with us
for a pattern (_leth-bhreac_); and any time you have thread to spin, we
are ready to help you.” The goodwife was overcome with fear and could
not utter a word to them. They went away, and she never saw themselves
or their shadow (_an dubh no’n dath_) ever afterwards. The house was
taken down and another was built where they chose it to be, but after
some time an old man saw five of the fairy company leaving the well at
the foot of the glen, each carrying a vessel full of water, and the
place where he saw them going in and lost sight of them, was afterwards
quarried, and the stone taken from it was employed to build a church
that stands at the present day. An opening that was met with, in the
quarry, where human bones were found, was supposed to be the place
where the fairy band entered their dwelling.
THE WISE WOMAN OF DUNTULM AND THE FAIRIES.
A Lord of the Isles, MacConnal (_Buachaille nan Eileinean_), long ago
had two sons, but only one could get the estate at his death. When that
happened the eldest son said one day to the youngest, “You are now left
without anything, but, that you may not be altogether portionless, go
to Duntulm and you will get there a piece of land that you will have to
yourself.” The lands of Duntulm, in the northern part of the Island of
Skye, were at that time occupied by a prosperous tenantry, consisting
chiefly of crofters and the holders of a few larger farms. The youngest
brother was told that the rent he would get from these tenants would
maintain him, and he was to build a house and marry a wife. He agreed
to go to Duntulm, where he was not a long time settled till a claim was
made on his land for the king’s dues, the crown tax being in proportion
to the amount of land which he held. The first time the tax (_a’ chìs_)
was asked, he said, in answer to the demand which was made, “I will
not pay any tax. Why should I pay it? What right has the king to get
it?” An order was sent to him every year for payment of the tax, but
if it was, for six years he did not pay any of it (_cha do phàidh e
sgillinn_). At last the king sent fifty soldiers and one officer to
take the rent from him in spite of him (_thar ’amhaich_), and since he
would pay to neither king nor soldier, the lands were taken from him
and they were now attached to the crown. The king was receiving the
revenue, and a Skye carl (_bodach Sgitheanach_) called John Donaldson
MacWilliam (_Iain Mac Dhòmhnuil’ic Uilleim_) was appointed a factor
to collect the rents from the crofters. He lived sixteen miles from
Duntulm, among the crofts, where he went twice a year to gather the
tax. MacConnal’s castle was built on a precipitous bank, on the west
side of which there was a big pit into which every high tide sent a
flow of water that kept it always full, forming a deep pool (_glumag_)
that sometimes proved dangerous to the unwary. One day it happened
that whatever a crofter, one Macrury, was doing at the castle, he fell
headlong into the pool, and however it was, whether he was killed by
the fall or drowned, he was found dead next day anyhow. He left two
sons who were not of age to help their widowed mother, for whom much
sympathy was felt by her neighbours on account of her being left so
helpless (_bha i air a fàgail cho lom_). Next spring after this the
two lads were drowned in a boat with which they were bringing sea-ware
home, and being now alone she could not work her croft nor pay her
rent. When everything was spent, and she had only one cow left of her
fold of cattle, the factor came for the tax. On reaching the township
he took with him a carle, friendly to himself, to the widow’s house,
where the neighbours had gathered to ascertain the object of their
visit. When the factor was told that the poor woman had no means to pay
her rent, he asked if she had no cattle. She said that she had only one
cow and that it was grazing at some distance from the house. He asked
it to be brought where he was, and when he saw it he said, “It is a
pity there are not more of the kind.” Being the only one, it had got
all the attention and was in good condition. She said she had no other.
He said, “We will keep this one for the dues.” It was taken away from
the widow and put in a field that was surrounded by a stone wall, near
the castle, along with the small red pony which the factor had with
him. While he was in search of some one to drive it away, and taking
his dinner in the carle’s house, the young men of Duntulm climbed over
the wall of the field, though high, and got out the animals, which they
drove to the shore, where a boat was in readiness in which they were
taken to the islet of Fladda (_Fladda ’chuain_), two miles off. The
men put them ashore there, and had their boat drawn up in Duntulm Bay
before the factor and his companion returned to look for their property
and found the park empty. On asking the men, who had again gathered,
if they knew how the animals had escaped or where they were, they said
there was no gap in the wall known to them, and that the only person
likely to know of their whereabouts was a gifted woman who lived near
the castle, in search of whom two of them went. They found her at home,
on reaching the height where her house was, and told her all that had
occurred, and how she was to go with them and say that the cattle had
been charmed away to some wonderful place. Isabel said that she was
not well prepared to go that day. The men asked what preparation she
lacked (_’dé an cion dòigh a bh’ oirre_). She then asked for one of the
men’s broad bonnets, and when she got it, rose, and leaving her hair,
which was becoming grey, streaming over her shoulders, she put it on,
and tying a goatskin round her, tying her shoes and making garters
with stripes of the same fur, she put a rope of straw round her waist
and took a large staff in her hand. “She is prepared at last, and come
now,” the men said. When she came in sight, the factor looked at her in
amazement, for he had never before seen a creature of her appearance.
Before she came near he called, “Wife, do you know where the horse and
cow I put in the park are now?” She paid no attention to him, but kept
on coming nearer (_cha do lag i air a ceum_), till she stood at his
shoulder. “To whom did the animals belong?” she asked him then. “The
cow belonged to the king,” he said, “and the horse to myself.” “How
could a cow belonging to the king be in this township?” she asked.
“This woman gave it to me for the tax,” he said, pointing to the widow.
“She did not give it to you; she said you took it with you; and it is
now that I understand the meaning of what happened when I was in my own
house to-day, and heard an uproar (_straighlich_) in the air above that
was greater than any one could ever have heard, and on looking for the
cause of it, there it was in a fire; and though all the fires that you
ever saw were gathered together, they would not make one like it; and
in the last of the fire (_’an earball an teine_) I looked to see what
there was, and what was there but a horse and cow, while there were as
good as five thousand little men, the hill men (_muinntir nan cnoc_),
who were not larger than bottles, going on, on each side of the fire;
and if you had as much knowledge of the dwellers of these hills as I
have, you would not touch the widow’s portion, but if you are anxious
to get back the animals--there before you, is the hill where they are,
and where you can go and seek them, and if you can, find them.” The
man, who was terrified by her appearance and words, kept looking at
her (_’g a feitheamh_) and always drawing a step further off. He went
home without horse or cow, and however long he remained in the office
he held, the fear of the wise woman, (_Iseabal N’ic Rao’uill_) and the
fairies kept him from ever returning to Duntulm. When he was out of
sight of the township, the young men of Duntulm went to the islet where
they left the animals, which they brought back and gave to the poor
woman, who was then able to pay the tax.
FOLK TALES.
THE TWO BROTHERS.
A TALE OF ENCHANTMENT.
In early times, long ago, (_’an toiseach an t-saoghail, o chionn nan
cian_), it is said that the island of Mull was uninhabited except by
a few families who were living, on the south side at Carsaig, in that
part of the island known as the Ross of Mull. These families lived
isolated from the rest of the world; none of them had ever seen any
one from anywhere else there, and none of themselves had ever left
the place. They had no boats, and they said the other islets and land
that they were seeing opposite were other worlds. One day, then, they
saw coming on the sea before them (_mu’n comhair_) from the mainland a
speck (_dùradan_), and when it came near they compared it to a horse
with a tree standing on its back, but when it came to the shore it was
a boat made of wicker-work covered with hides, with one man in it, who
had some drink with him, and a quantity of hazel nuts for food. On
account of his boat being covered with hides[23], they named him “The
cowhide man, (_am boicionnach_). On landing, he told them how he had
left home, out of curiosity to see other places, and that was the first
place he was able to reach. He is said to have come from Ardencaple in
the district of Lorn on the mainland (_Ard-nan-capull, ’an Lathurna_.)
He stayed a long time with them, as they treated him kindly, being
much pleased with him. He taught them new ways that were useful to
them in their every-day life, and by his skill and knowledge promoted
their welfare in many ways. On seeing that they were not utilizing the
milk of their cows and goats by making cheese from it, he asked them
the reason of this. They told him that they did not know what cheese
was, as they had never heard of it nor seen it, and would like well
to know how it was made. They had the art of making butter among them
previous to his coming. He took in _Lus-buidhe-bealltainn_, (marsh
marigold) and putting its stalks in the milk turned it to curds and
whey. This is said to be the first cheese that was made in Mull. Some
time, nearly a year after this, another boat, or, as they described
it, a horse with a tree in its back, was seen coming in the same way.
This one came ashore at Lochspelvie, further eastward, and had one
man in it also, whom they named “The one in the skin coverings” (_an
craicionnach_). He was brother to the one who came before, and had
come in search of him. The two strangers and the natives were agreeing
well together, and the brothers began to build a boat when they found
wood abundant in Mull. When the boat was finished they named it “the
six-oared boat” (_iùrach nan sia ràmh_), and when it was fitted up and
made ready for sailing, the two brothers took a crew with them and set
off in it, to go to one or other of the worlds (_na saoghalan eile_)
that they were seeing before them, and reached Jura (_Diùra_), but
the natives of the island would not let them land, as they had never
seen a boat before. They stoned them away from the shore. They then
went to Colonsay, but the Colonsay men (_na Colosaich_) were equally
hard-hearted (_doirbh_). They attacked them, and tried to blind them by
throwing sand about their eyes. It was then that they went on to the
green (_lit._, blue) island (_an t-eilean gorm_), the name by which
Islay was then known, where they arrived at a more favourable time, no
one being before them at the shore. They drew the boat up on the land,
and went on to see if there were people to be found on the island or
if they would meet with anyone who could direct them to a house. The
first person they met was an old man who was watching cattle (_aig aire
sreud_). He thought they belonged to the island, as no one was known
to have ever come to or gone away from it. The first of the brothers
who came, asked the old man to give him information about the place.
The old man remarked, “How curious your speech is, if you were born
in this island.” He said, “No, I am not a native of this island.” The
old man said, “And if not, what has brought you here?” “The reason of
my coming is, to ask what you can give, and give what I may.” The old
man then, as it was nightfall, kindled a fire, and they sat with him
till daylight, when men and houses were to be seen. The Islay men were
hospitable to the strangers, who remained a full year and built seven
boats for them. The elder brother married a woman of the country, and
after some time he thought of returning to Mull again. Having prepared
his boat he set off, taking his wife and the others with him, and set
his course northwards (_aghaidh a bhàta, tuath_). They had not gone
far when a thick mist came on which darkened their world, and as they
had no compass and could see no land, they drifted till the boat went
in to a shore. This was the first appearance of land they saw since
leaving the _Eilean Gorm_. A big man came down where they were--they
never saw his equal for size--and he caught the fore part of the boat
and drew it up above high water mark, with them all in it. He invited
them to go to his house. They went with him and were made welcome. The
daughter of the house, on being asked by the elder of the two brothers
for a drink, brought a a two-hooped wooden dish full of milk, set it
on the floor beside them and went away. One of the strangers rose to
lift the dish and he could not. Then three of them rose, but it defied
them to lift it. She came back, and finding the dish as she left it,
said, “If you have quenched your thirst it is not awanting from the
measure (_air a’ mheasair_)”. The cowhide one replied, “We have not
been accustomed to stoop like cattle (_cromadh mar bhà_) when we take a
drink, and we could not lift the dish.” At that she caught the wooden
dish by the ear, in her left hand, and held the drink to them all.
“Where have you come from,” she said, “or where are you going?” “We
came from the dark-blue sea-isle,” he said, “and are going to the hilly
isle (_do ’n eilean bheannach_).” “That is Mull,” she said, “Mull of my
love, Mull of little men (_Muile mo ghràidh, Muile nam fear beaga_).”
They passed that night cheerfully together, and went to put off to sea
next day; but when they tried to move the boat and get it afloat, they
might as well attempt to move the Rhinns of Islay (_an Roinn Ileach_)
they could not move it. The young wife who came with them from Islay
said then, “I know where we are; we are in the green isle that is under
spells (_fo gheasaibh_), but I have a gift that will let us leave it,”
and she told those with her how her mother had at parting given her a
cap, saying, “If you are ever in a strait, put it on, and you must at
the same time bend your head to the ground as low as your feet seven
times (_seachd uairean do shròn a bhualadh ri òrdaig do choise_).”
She had the cap in her belt (_’n a cneas_), and she told them to sit
in the boat and take the oars. She then stood in their midst, touched
the cap, bent her head, and it went up to her breast (_an cneas_); the
next time it went up to her neck (_am muineal_); the third time, to
her chin, (_an smigead_); then, as she bent her head, at the fourth
time, it went up past her mouth to her nose; the next time, it reached
her eyes, then her forehead, at last the top of her head, and the boat
was off. The mist was still there. They asked the eldest brother in
which direction they were to set their course. He told them to follow
the flight of birds, as they went shorewards in the evening and would
guide them to land. There is a saying about the home-coming of birds
and fish, that “Birds of the universe go westward, and fish of the deep
eastward (_Eòin an domhain, siar, ’s iasg an domhain, sear_).” During
the night, the younger brother, the one of skins, called out that there
was a mound before them (_gu ’n robh tòrr rompa_). His brother who
was in the afterpart of the boat said, “Is it a tòrr without grass,”
and it has got the name of Torrens to the present day (_’se na tòrrain
a theirear riu gus an là ’n diugh_). They reached Mull shore when it
was day, and they ran-in the boat at a narrow strait that was like an
opening in a dyke (_cachaileith ghàraidh_), and before they got them
from the tholepins, the oars were broken. The place is still known as
the narrow strait of broken oars (_Caolas-a’-bhristidh-ràmh_). They
got on shore, and went home and told where they had been and what had
happened to them.
The person, now above 70 years of age, from whom the above story was
taken down almost word for word by the writer, said that he heard the
story when he was a young man, and that the following story (that of
the two sisters), was a continuation of it; the incidents of the story
occurred during the absence of the two brothers from the place, and
were told to them by the natives, in return for the story of their
own adventures. The name Torquil, which occurs in this story, and the
belief in witchcraft and occult power indicated, suggests that the
colony in Mull came originally from Lochlin, or that the story belongs
to a later period of history than that that of “The two brothers.” The
story is as follows:--
THE TWO SISTERS AND THE CURSE.