WELL WORSHIP AND SUPERSTITIONS CONNECTED WITH WATER.
I can see the place as it was of yore,
When its crystal riches would ripple and pour
From a fountain channel fresh and dank,
'Mid flowering rush and grassy bank;
When the pale cheek left the city wall,
And the courtier fled the palace hall,
To seek the peaceful shadows that fell
On the waters of the "Holy Well."
. . . . .
Some birds came to plume their wing,
And lave their beaks in the healing spring;
And gorgeous butterflies stopp'd to play
About the place on a sultry day.
Folks came from the east and came from the west,
To take at that fountain health and rest;
From the north and the south they came to dwell,
By the far-famed stream of the "Holywell."
_Eliza Cook._
Perhaps no ancient superstition has had a more enduring existence than
what Mr. Hunt terms "well-worship." This may have arisen, to some
extent, from the fact that water, under certain conditions, possesses
undoubted "medical virtues." The necessity of personal cleanliness to
ensure ordinary comfort, and the value of aqueous agency in its
achievement, would doubtless exercise some influence, even in remote
times. Add to this the horrors of a "water famine," the intense
suffering resulting from prolonged thirst, and we can well imagine that
the early tribes of men who worshipped fire would feel a corresponding
reverence for what may be termed its natural complement--water. The
sun's heat was powerless for good, nay, it was potent for evil, unless
in close alliance with the "gentle rain from heaven." From their union
springs the warm moisture essential to vegetable growth. Water, too, in
more modern times, has been largely employed as a symbol of purity; and,
in the Roman Catholic Church, especially, has been consecrated to
religious purposes, and rendered "holy." It is, indeed, employed by all
Christian sects, in the rite of baptism, as symbolising purity. Hence
it is not surprising that many springs, and especially in the
neighbourhood of religious houses, should in the middle ages have been
invested with a sacred character, or that superstition of a more ancient
and a heathen origin should yet, as it were, haunt their precincts. On
this subject Mr. Robert Hunt makes the following eloquent and pertinent
observations:--"The purity of the liquid impresses itself, through the
eye, upon the mind, and its power of removing all impurity is felt to
the soul. 'Wash and be clean,' is the murmuring call of the waters, as
they overflow their rocky basins, or grassy vases, and deeply sunk in
depravity must that man be who could put to unholy uses one of nature's
fountains. The inner life of a well of waters, bursting from its grave
in the earth, may be religiously said to form a type of the soul
purified by death, rising into a glorified existence and the fulness of
light. The tranquil beauty of the rising waters, whispering the softest
music, like the healthful breathing of a sleeping infant, sends a
feeling of happiness through the soul of the thoughtful observer, and
the inner man is purified by its influence, as the outer man is cleansed
by ablution."
Many such wells as those in connection with the "Old Friary," at
Preston, which gave the name to Ladywell-street, in that borough, like
that which performed a similar office for the now notorious "Hollywell
street," near the Strand, in London, have passed away, and left nothing
behind but the street nomenclature referred to. Others, however, like
the St. Mary's well, at the foot of the hill on which the old priory of
Penwortham was situated, yet retain, in many minds, not only their
reputation for the medical value of their waters, but a vague remnant of
reverence and even superstition is still to a large extent associated
with them.
A spring in the parish of Brindle, near Preston, has some traditionary
associations in connection with it which I am inclined to think date
back far into pagan antiquity, notwithstanding the fact that it has been
for centuries named "St. Helen's well." The name has become corrupted by
the neighbouring peasantry in a most singular manner. On my first visit
to the locality, I inquired of an elderly woman if she could inform me
in what direction I should proceed to find _St. Helen's well_. She at
first said she had never heard of such a place, but after considerable
hesitation she at length exclaimed with some animation, in the dialect
of the district, "Oh! it ull be Stelling well yo mean, I'll be bun." A
writer under the signature, "Leicestriensis," in vol. 6, p. 152, of
"Notes and Queries," speaking of a St. Austin's well, near Leicester
says:--"On making some inquiries, a few years ago, of the 'oldest
inhabitant' of the neighbourhood, respecting _St. Augustine's well_, he
at first pleaded ignorance of it, but at length, suddenly enlightened,
exclaimed, 'Oh! you mean Tosting's well.'" Cakes baked for the
lace-makers' feasts in Buckinghamshire, in honour of St. Andrew, their
patron saint, are locally termed "Tandry Cakes." These are both curious
and instructive specimens of the manner in which names of places and
persons undergo changes in their transmission from generation to
generation by popular tradition.
St. Helen's well, which is now sadly neglected, is situated about a mile
and a half to the south-west of the village of Brindle. Dr. Kuerden, who
resided in the neighbourhood, thus refers to it, about two centuries
ago:--
"Over against Swansey House, a little towards the hill, standeth an
ancient fabric, once the manor house of Brindle, where hath been a
chappel belonging to the same, and, a little above it, a spring of very
clear water rushing straight upwards into the midst of a fayre fountain,
walled square about in stone and flagged in the bottom, very transparent
to be seen, and a strong stream issuing out of the same. The fountain is
called Saint Ellen's Well, to which place the vulgar neighbouring people
of the Red letter do much resort, with pretended devotion, on each year
upon St. Ellen's day, where and when out of a foolish ceremony they
offer or throw into the well pins, which there being left may be seen a
long time after by any visitor to that fountain."
There is a St. Helen's well, near Sefton, in West Lancashire, into which
pins were formerly thrown by the credulous, as at Brindle.
The superstitions connected with this "pin dropping" into certain wells
are somewhat varied in character. They, however, seem to have generally
some relation to divination or fortune-telling, and appear to have found
their chief patrons in the fair sex. The well superstitions of this
class are widely spread. Dudley Costello tells us that in many parts of
Brittany they keep a very watchful eye over the morals of the young
women. The fountain of Bobdilis, near Landividian, is famous as an
ordeal to test propriety of conduct. The pin which fastens the habit
shirt is dropped into the water, and if it touch the bottom with the
point downwards the girl is freed from all suspicion; if, on the
contrary, it turns the other way and sinks head foremost, her reputation
is irretrievably damaged.
The author of "Wanderings in Brittany" informs us that there is a "magic
well" of this class at or near Barenton, to which peasants yet bring
their children when ill of fever, having faith in the healing powers of
the water. He thus describes the manner in which the deity of the spring
is invoked:--"You say 'Ris! Ris! Fontaine de Barenton,' dropping a pin
the while into the spring, whereupon it breaks into ripples and bubbles;
if it laughs you are to be fortunate; if it remains mute you will be
unlucky. Tradition and poetry both say the water fizzes around a sword
point, but we had nothing larger than pins to try it with, and to these
it responded gaily." He adds that "when the country was in great want of
rain, a procession was formed to the fountain, and the priest dipped the
foot of the cross, out of the church, into the water, after which rain
is sure to fall abundantly. This ceremony has been successful very
lately." The same writer refers to another superstition, in connection
with the "magic well," which plainly indicates its pagan origin. He
says:--"The peasants believe the priests can punish them by sprinkling
water from the spring on the large stone, the _Perron of Merlin_, above
the well, which brings rain throughout the whole parish for many days."
"Seleucus," in "Notes and Queries," speaks of a well, with a
superstition connected with it similar to the one at Brindle, in the
Welsh peninsula of Gower. It is called the "Cefyn Bryn or the Holy
Well." He says, "it is still supposed to be under the especial patronage
of the Virgin Mary, and a crooked pin is the offering of every visitor
to its sacred precincts. It is believed that if this pin be dropped in
with fervent faith, all the many pins which have ever been thrown into
it may be seen rising from the bottom to greet the new one. Argue the
impossibility of the thing, and you are told, it is true it never
happens _now_, such earnestness of faith being, 'alas!' extinct."
In the same work, vol. 6, p. 28, Robert Rawlinson speaks of a spring
near Wooler, in Northumberland, locally known as "_Pin Well_." He says
"the country maids, in passing this spring, drop a crooked pin into the
water. In Westmorland there is also a _pin well_, into the water of
which rich and poor drop a pin in passing. The superstition in both
cases consists in the belief that the well is under the charge of a
fairy, and that it is necessary to propitiate the little lady by a
present of some sort: hence the pin, as most convenient. The crooked pin
of Northumberland may be explained upon the received hypothesis in
folk-lore, that crooked things are lucky things, as a 'crooked
sixpence,' &c."
Mr. Hunt, in his chapter on the "Superstitions of the Wells," gives
numerous examples of its prevalence in the remote West of England. The
water in the well of St. Ludvan formerly miraculously enlarged the
sense of sight, and loosened the tongue of the true believer; but a
demon that the good saint, after a terrible struggle, exorcised from out
the body of a child and laid in the Red Sea, in his rage, "by spitting
in the water," destroyed its efficacy in these matters. But it is
believed still that any child baptised in its waters is certain never to
succumb to the genius of Calcraft, and his hempen instrument of death.
"On a cord of silk," however, we are informed that "it is stated to have
no power." Some years back, notwithstanding, a woman was actually hanged
here for the murder of her husband, whom she had poisoned with arsenic
in order to clear the way for a more favoured lover. As she was born
near the magic well, and was supposed to have been baptised with its
waters, the greatest consternation prevailed in the neighbourhood. The
much prized fountain had lost its cherished virtue! What was to be done
under such a lamentable state of things? The necks of the inhabitants
would in future be in equal jeopardy with those of the rest of her
Majesty's subjects! It was, however, by some indefatigable enquirer, at
last discovered that a mistake had been made; the murderer had not been
born in the parish, and consequently had not been baptised with the
liquid which flowed from the well of St. Ludwin. Great was the joy of
the inhabitants on the receipt of this welcome news. The spring not only
recovered its ancient prestige, but became more famous than ever.
The Gulvell Well, in Fosses Moor, answered the demands of lone married
women or love-sick spinsters respecting their absent husbands or
sweethearts. Mr. Hunt relates how a mother, one Jane Thomas, with her
babe in her arms, recently, after a severe mental struggle, obeyed the
injunction of an old hag, a "sort of guardian of the well," and tested
its efficacy. "She knelt on the mat of bright green grass which grew
around, and leaning over the well so as to see her child's face in the
water, she repeated after her instructor,
Water, water, tell me truly,
Is the man I love duly
On the earth or under sod.
Sick or well--in the name of God!
Some minutes passed in perfect silence, and anxiety was rapidly turning
cheeks and lips pale, when the colour rapidly returned. There was a gush
of clear water from below, bubble rapidly followed bubble, sparkling
brightly in the morning sunshine. Full of joy the young mother rose from
her knees and exclaimed, 'I am happy now.'" It appears that if the party
inquired after should be sick, the water bubbles, but in a filthy,
muddy, condition. If he should be dead, it remains perfectly quiescent,
to the dismay of the person seeking information.
There is a singular superstition attached to the well of St. Keyne,
"namely, that whichever of a newly-married couple should first drink
thereof was to enjoy the sweetness of domestic sovereignty ever after."
Referring to this superstition, Mr. Hunt says:--"Once, and once only,
have I paid a visit to this sacred spot. Then and there I found a lady
drinking of the waters from her thimble, and eagerly contending with her
husband that the right to rule was hers. The man, however, mildly
insisted upon it that he had the first drink, as he had rushed before
his wife, and, dipping his fingers into the waters, had sucked them.
This, the lady contended, was not drinking, and she, no doubt, through
life had the best of the argument."
There is one well in Cornwall which has long had a reputation for the
cure of insanity. Carew, in his "Survey," describes the formula adopted
to ensure a successful result:--"The water running from St. Nun's well
fell into a square and enclosed walled plat, which might be filled at
what depth they listed. Upon this wall was the frantic person put to
stand, his back towards the pool, and from thence, with a sudden blow in
the breast, tumbled headlong into the pond; where a strong fellow,
provided for the nonce, took him and tossed him up and down, alongst and
athwart the water, till the patient by foregoing his strength had
somewhat forgot his fury. Then was he conveyed to the church, and
certain masses said over him; upon which handling, if his right wits
returned, St. Nun had the thanks; but if there appeared small amendment,
he was bowssened again and again, while there remained in him any hope
of life or recovery."
A well on the line of the Roman Wall, near Walltown, in Northumberland,
has two distinct traditions attached to it and its neighbourhood! It is
locally termed the "King's Well," or "King Arthur's Well." Hutchison
says:--"Travellers are shown a well among the cliffs, where it is said
Paulinus baptised King Egbert; but it is more probable it was Edwin,
king of Northumberland." Dr. Collingwood Bruce says:--"The well has no
doubt been a place of historical interest and importance, but unhappily
modern drainage is robbing it of its treasures. Another interesting
circumstance is connected with this locality. In the crevices of the
whin-rock near the house chives grow abundantly. The general opinion is
that we are indebted for these plants to the Romans, who were much
addicted to the use of these and kindred vegetables. Most of the early
writers refer to this subject; let the reader take a passage from
Camden:--'The fabulous tales of the common people concerning this Wall,
I doe wittingly and wilfully overpasse. Yet this one thing which I was
enformed of by men of good credit, I will not conceale from the reader.
There continueth a settled perswasion among a great part of the people
there about, and the same received by tradition, that the Roman soldiers
of the marches did plant here every where in old time for their use
certain medicinable herbs, for to cure wounds; whence it is that some
emperic practitioners of chirurgery in Scotland, flock here every year
in the beginning of summer, to gather such simples and wound-herbes; the
vertue whereof they highly commend as found by long experience, and to
be of singular efficacy.'"
Many wells have been famous for the cure of "rickety" children. The
mothers generally plunged them _three times into the water_, as they
drew them three times through the cleft rowan or ash tree, with a
similar object. In my youth I remember being solemnly informed, on
bathing for the first time at the cold bath below the Maudlands, on
Preston Marsh, that three distinct plunges into the fearfully cold
liquid was the orthodox number, especially if medical benefit was the
object sought.
The "Maddern or Madron Well, in Cornwall," and another, appear to be the
only wells in that district that, like the one in Brindle, properly come
under the designation of "_pin wells_." The curative properties of the
former were held in very high repute. Bishop Hale, of Exeter, relates,
in his "Great Mystery of Godliness," a singular anecdote respecting its
presumed miraculous power. Referring to the case of a well-known
cripple, he says, "This man, for sixteen years, was forced to walke upon
his hands, by reason of the sinews of his leggs were soe contracted that
he cold not goe or walke on his feet, who upon monition in a dream to
wash in that well, which accordingly he did, was suddenly restored to
the use of his limbs; and I sawe him both able to walk and gett his own
maintenance. I found here was neither art nor collusion--the cure done,
author our invisible God," etc.
In a MS., dated 1777, formerly in the library of Thomas Artle, Esq., and
published by Davis Gilbert, F.R.S., in his "Parochial History of
Cornwall," there is some curious information respecting this class of
superstitions, which throws some light on the practices, formerly of
ordinary occurrence, at St. Helen's Well, Brindle. The writer says:--
"In Madron Well--and, I have no doubt, in many others--may be found
frequently the pins which have been dropped by maidens desirous of
knowing 'when they were to be married.' I once witnessed the whole
ceremony performed by a group of beautiful girls, who had walked on a
May morning from Penzance. Two pieces of straw, about an inch long each,
were crossed and the pin run through them. This cross was then dropped
into the water, and the rising bubbles carefully counted, as they marked
the number of years which would pass ere the arrival of the happy day.
This practice also prevailed amongst the visitors to the well at the
foot of Monacuddle Grove, near St. Austell. On approaching the waters,
each visitor is expected to throw in a crooked pin; and, if you are
lucky, you may possibly see the other pins rising from the bottom to
meet the most recent offering. Rags and votive offerings to the genius
of the waters are hung around many of the wells."
We have accounts of similar customs in North Britain and in the
Hebrides. J. F. Campbell, in his "Popular Tales of the West Highlands,"
says:--"Holy healing wells are common all over the Highlands, and people
still leave offerings of pins and nails, and bits of rag, though few
would confess it. There is a well in Islay, where I myself have, after
drinking, deposited copper caps amongst a hoard of pins and buttons, and
similar gear, placed in chinks in the rocks and trees at the edge of the
'Witches Well.' There is another well with similar offerings freshly
placed beside it, in an island in Loch Meree, in Ross-shire, and many
similar wells are to be found in other places in Scotland."
A spring in connection with the ancient abbey at Glastonbury retained
its reputation for sanctity and medical virtue until a very recent
period. In consequence of some astounding, or, indeed, miraculous cure
supposed to have been effected by its agency, immense numbers of
invalids flocked to it in the years 1750 and 1751. It is said that, in
the month of May, in the latter year, ten thousand persons visited
Glastonbury, under the influence of this superstition.
Since the above was written, the following paragraph, from the
_Banffshire Journal_, has come under my notice. It demonstrates the
retention to the present day not only of the ancient superstition
respecting wells, but likewise of some others to which I have referred
in previous chapters:--
"A MODERN SCOTCH WITCH.--On the 23rd of February, there died at Mill of
Ribrae, parish of Forglen, Margaret Grant, at the advanced age of 69
years; and as she represented a class which is regarded as becoming very
few in number in the present day, two or three remarks on the chief
features of her character may not be unacceptable. Margaret was
superstitious, and fully and firmly believed, up to her dying day, that
she possessed power to remove or avert the ills and aliments of both man
and beast, especially of the latter; and this by means of various
incantations, ceremonies, and appliances--such as fresh cuttings of
'ra'n tree,' some of which she always carried about with her. She would
carefully place so many before and so many behind the particular beast
she meant to benefit. Another potent charm was what she called 'holy
water,' taken, no doubt, from some 'old and fabulous well.' This she
also generally carried along with her, and used partly in sprinkling the
pathway of the individuals she designed to bless--the rest to be mixed
in common water to wash the hands and face. In the case of such as she
was desirous should prosper, and be defended from evil, she would go
round and round their dwellings, carrying along a rod of her
wonder-working 'ra'n tree'--and this was usually done at a very early
hour in the morning. She also believed herself to be transmutable, and
that she was at times actually changed by evil-disposed persons into a
pony or hare, and rode for great distances, or was hunted by dogs, as
the case might be. We have heard of several other strange enchantments
which Margaret practised when she had opportunity, and was allowed. But
in all her foibles there was ever conspicuous the design of doing good."
From this it would appear that Margaret Grant was a witch of the white
kind, they having, as I have previously shown, power only for good. The
black were potent only for evil, and the grey ones were a combination of
the other two.
I have previously referred to the "well-dressings," or the decoration of
springs and fountains, yet very common in some counties, and especially
in Derbyshire, and suggested that they owe their origin to the Roman
Floralia, or to a still older custom, the common Aryan root of both.
Crofton Croker speaks of the existence of "well worship" in Ireland; Dr.
O'Conner, in his "Travels in Persia," notices its prevalence in the
East; and Sir William Betham, in his "Gael and Cymbri," says, "The Celtæ
were much addicted to the worship of fountains and rivers as
divinities." He adds, "They had a deity called Divona, or the river-god."
It seems, therefore, very clear that this superstition, in one form or
another, is not only widely disseminated, but that its origin may, with
safety, be ascribed to a very remote period in the history of humanity.
The deification of rivers and streams appears to have very generally
prevailed amongst the ancients. Young and beautiful women, under the
general name of Naiads, in the Greek and Roman mythologies, were
believed to preside over brooks, springs, and rivers. Many of the heroic
personages described by the early Greek poets are said to be the
offspring of nymphs of this class.
Each river was supposed to be under the protection of its presiding
deity. Their sources were especially sacred, and religious ceremonies
were performed in their immediate vicinity. As at the Clitumnus, so
beautifully described by Byron, in "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," temples
were erected near the fountains which gave them birth, and small pieces
of money were frequently thrown into their crystal streams with the view
to the propitiation of the presiding deities. Sacrifices were offered to
them, and no bather was allowed to lave his limbs near the source of any
consecrated stream, because the contact of the naked body was held to
pollute the water. Sir John Lubbock, in his dissertation on the
lacustrine dwellings which have recently been discovered in Alpine
districts of Europe, as well as in some other localities, has the
following pertinent observations on this subject:--
"It has been suggested that the early inhabitants of Switzerland may
have worshipped the Lakes, and that the beautiful bracelets, etc., may
have been offerings to the gods. In fact, it appears from ancient
writers that among the Gauls, Germans, and other nations, many lakes
were regarded as sacred. M. Aymard has collected several instances of
this kind. According to Cicero, Justin, and Strabo, there was a lake
near Toulouse in which the neighbouring tribes used to deposit offerings
of gold and silver. Tacitus, Virgil, and Pliny also mention the
existence of sacred lakes. Again, so late as the sixth century, Gregory
of Tours, who is quoted by M. Troyon and M. Aymard, tells us that on
Mount Helanus there was a lake which was the object of popular worship.
Every year the inhabitants of the neighbourhood brought to it offerings
of clothes, skins, cheeses, cakes, etc. Traces of a similar superstition
may still be found lingering in remote parts of Scotland and Ireland; in
the former country I have myself seen a sacred spring surrounded by the
offerings of the neighbouring peasantry, who seemed to consider pence
and half-pence as the most appropriate and agreeable sacrifice to the
spirit of the waters."
A correspondent of the _Inverness Courier_ states, as recently as last
year (1871), that he had recently witnessed a strange instance of the
existence of this superstition, "at a loch in the district of
Strathnaver, county of Sutherland." The editor says,--
"Dipping in the loch for the purpose of effecting extraordinary cures is
stated to be a matter of periodical occurrence, and the 14th appears to
have been selected as immediately after the beginning of August in the
old style. The hour was between midnight and one o'clock, and the scene,
as described by our correspondent, was absurd and disgraceful beyond
belief, though not without a touch of weird interest, imparted by the
darkness of the night and the superstitious faith of the people. 'The
impotent, the halt, the lunatic, and the tender infant were all waiting
about midnight for an immersion in Lochmanur. The night was calm, the
stars countless, and meteors were occasionally shooting about in all
quarters of the heavens above. A streaky white belt could be observed in
the remotest part of the firmament. Yet with all this the night was
dark--so dark that one could not recognise friend or foe but by close
contact and speech. About fifty persons, all told, were present near one
spot, and I believe other parts of the loch side were similarly
occupied, but I cannot vouch for this--only I heard voices which would
lead me so to infer. About twelve stripped and walked into the loch,
performing their ablutions three times. Those who were not able to act
for themselves were assisted, some of them being led willingly and
others by force, for there were cases of each kind. One young woman,
strictly guarded, was an object of great pity. She raved in a
distressing manner, repeating religions phrases, some of which were very
earnest and pathetic. She prayed her guardians not to immerse her,
saying that it was not a communion occasion, and asking if they could
call this righteousness or faithfulness, or if they could compare the
loch and its virtues to the right arm of Christ. These utterances were
enough to move any person hearing them. Poor girl! what possible good
could immersion do to her? I would have more faith in a shower-bath
applied pretty freely and often to the head. No male, so far as I could
see, denuded himself for a plunge. Whether this was owing to hesitation
regarding the virtues of the water, or whether any of the men were
ailing, I could not ascertain. These gatherings take place twice a year,
and are known far and near to such as put belief in the spell. But the
climax of absurdity is in paying the loch in sterling coin. Forsooth,
the cure cannot be effected without money cast into the waters! I may
add that the practice of dipping in the loch is said to have been
carried on from time immemorial, and it is alleged that many cures have
been effected by it.'"
Some pools, streams, or lakes, such as Acheron and Avernus, were
associated with the infernal regions, or the nether world, and its
mythical inhabitants. The mother of the monster Grendel, slain by the
Anglo-Saxon hero, Beowulf, according to the ancient poem, dwelt in the
recesses of a bottomless pool, beneath the dark shadow of a dense wood
in the neighbourhood of Hartlepool, on the coast of Durham. The Scottish
Kelpie is a kind of "mischievous water spirit said to haunt fords and
ferries at night, _especially in storms_."
Burns says in his "Address to the Deil":--
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An' float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction:
An 'nighted travellers are allur'd
To their destruction.
An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er more to rise.
In the same poem Burns refers to the devil himself as an aquatic spirit.
He says:--
Ae dreary, _windy_, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,
Wi' you, mysel I got a fright
Ayout the lough;
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight
Wi' waving sough.
The cudgel in my neive did shake,
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squattered, like a drake,
On whistling wings.
Commenting on this poem, Allan Cunningham relates a characteristic
anecdote. He says,--"The Prince and Power of the air is a favourite
topic of rustic speculation. An old shepherd told me he had, when a boy,
as good as seen him. 'I was,' said he, 'returning from school, and I
stopped till the twilight groping trouts in a _burn, when a thunder
storm came on_. I looked up, and just before me a _cloud_ came down as
dark as night--the _queerest-shaped cloud_ I ever saw; and there was
something terrible about it, for when it was close to me, I saw as plain
as I see you, a dark form within it, thrice the size of any earthly man.
It was the Evil One himself, there's nae doubt o' that. 'Samuel,' I
said, 'did you hear his _cloven foot_ on the ground?' 'No,' replied he,
'but I saw one of his _horns_--and O, what waves o' fire were rowing
after him!' The Devil frequently makes his appearance in our old
mysteries, but he comes to work unmitigated mischief, and we part with
him gladly. The '_Hornie_,' 'Satan,' 'Nick,' or 'Clootie,' who lives in
the imaginations of the peasantry, is not quite such a reprobate, though
his shape is anything but prepossessing. Nor is he an object of much
alarm; a knowledge of the scriptures and a belief in heaven are
considered sure protectors; and a peasant will brave a suspicious road
at midnight if he can repeat a psalm."
The _horn_ and the _cloven foot_ in such intimate connection with the
descent over the burn of a mysterious dark cloud accompanied by waves of
fire, is suggestive of the Aryan thunder and rain clouds and of their
attendant lightning-god. The peasant's faith in the efficacy of a psalm
in overcoming the evil influence is rather corroborative of this, as the
superstitious fear for the dethroned gods of the old mythology long
survived the introduction of Christianity in the country. It is yet
firmly believed in Lancashire that, after going through some mysterious
magic formula, and repeating the Lord's prayer _backwards_, that his
Satanic majesty will appear in the centre of a circle previously
defined. In my youth, "raising the devil," was not considered by the
knowing ones to be a particularly arduous task; the getting rid of him,
afterwards, was the great difficulty. Some contended that the recital of
a certain psalm or other passage from the scriptures was alone
efficacious. Others held that holy water was his especial abhorrence,
and that the repetition of the Lord's prayer, in its proper order, was
essential to success.
I remember well, when very young, being cautioned against approaching to
the side of stagnant pools of water partially covered with vegetation.
At the time, I firmly believed that, if I disobeyed this instruction, a
certain water "boggart" named "Jenny Greenteeth" would drag me beneath
her verdant screen and subject me to other tortures besides death by
drowning. This superstition is yet very common in Lancashire.
In "Brother Fabian's Manuscript" there is a description of a
water-sprite, which appears to be one of the many singular forms which
the memory of the dethroned Æsir god, Wodin or Odin, has assumed in the
popular imagination:--
Where, by the marishes, bloometh the bittern,
Nickar, the soulless one, sits with his ghittern;
Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless,
Waiting his destiny, Nickar the soulless.
Sir Noel Paton, R.S.A., has recently exhibited a picture of this mythic
sprite, treated with great æsthetic power and poetic sympathy. The
colour, the light and shade, the surrounding accessories, as well as the
quaint melancholy features of the "doomed one," and his still quainter
frog-like feet, all combine to leave a single harmonious emotional
impression. This is further enhanced by the presence of the partially
obscured moon and the solitary star, as well as the sedges and other
plants, which, with the lonely bittern, (now extinct in Britain) affect
marshy places; and by the Batrachian reptile which crawls from the water
towards the feet of the "fallen god," who, whilst patiently awaiting his
destiny, lulls his senses to sleep with the music of his ghittern, a
singularly old-fashioned instrument apparently allied to the modern
guitar. This myth is evidently one form of the popular superstition
which connected natural phenomena of a peculiar character with the
memory of Nickarr (old Nick), or the dethroned Odin of our Teutonic
ancestors. Nickarr, it has previously been shown, was one of the
appellations pertaining to this deity.
The Scotch Kelpies were supposed to be delighted with the last agonies
of drowning men and of mariners in distress. Thomas Landseer, in the
notes which accompany his admirable illustrations of Burns's poem,
says:--"It is not twenty years since the piercing shrieks and
supplications for help, of a passage boat's company, which had been
landed on a sandbank at low water, in the Solway Firth, instead of on
the Cumberland coast, and who found, as the moon rose and the haze
dispersed, that they were in mid-channel, with a strong tide setting
fast in upon them, were mistaken by the people, both on the Scotch and
English shores, for the wailings of Kelpies! The consequence was that
the unhappy people (whose boat had drifted from them before their fatal
error was discovered) were drowned; though nothing had been easier, but
for the rooted superstition of their neighbours ashore, than to have
effectually succoured them."
The same writer makes the following sensible observations respecting the
superstitions referred to by Burns. The poet, however, evidently
attributed the phenomena to natural causes:--"This propensity to
attribute natural effects to supernatural causes is one of the best
known and least intelligible phenomena of the human mind. We are always
rejecting the evidence of our senses, to tamper with the imaginary
evidence supplied by analogous reasoning upon mere abstract principles.
The good wife never dreamed of referring her alarms to the natural
objects around her. A humming drone, at twilight by the waters, a
rustling in the leaves of the trees about her cottage--if these did not
bespeak the presence of the devil, what the d----l else could they
indicate? Thus our poet proceeds to tell us that beyond the same loch,
he himself had a visible encounter with something LIKE, indeed, to a
_bunch of rushes_, waving and shaking in the wind; and after an
admirable description of the emotions of fear, by which he was
oppressed, he incidentally mentions that the Great Unknown did
certainly, with an abrupt and hasty flight, take away like a drake; but
even the appropriate note of the fluttering fowl never once awakened his
suspicion that it might be the fowl proper and not the foul fiend!"
M. Du Chaillu, in his "Journey to Ashango-land," relates a singular
legend, believed in by the natives of Aviia, respecting a series of
rapids and a singularly picturesque waterfall which he discovered on the
river Ngouyai, and which bears some resemblance to the popular legend
about Wayland Smith and to those already referred to. He says:--"Like
all other remarkable natural objects, the falls of the Ngouyai, have
given rise, in the fertile imaginations of the negroes, to mythical
stories. The legend runs that the main falls are the work of the spirit
Fougamou, who resides there, and who was _in old times_ a mighty forger
of iron; but the rapids above are presided over by Nagoshi, the wife of
Samba, who has spoiled this part of the river in order to prevent people
from ascending and descending. The falls to which the name Samba is
given lie a good day's journey below the Fougamou, but, from the
description of the natives, I concluded they were only rapids like the
Nagoshi above. The Fougamou is the only great fall of water. It takes
its name from the spirit (mbuiri) who is said to have made it, and who
watches it constantly, wandering night and day round the falls. A legend
on this subject was related to us with great animation by our Aviia
guide, to the following effect: In former times people used to go to the
falls, deposit iron and charcoal on the river side and say, 'Oh! mighty
Fougamou, I want this iron to be worked into a knife or hatchet,' (or
whatever implement it might be), and, in the morning, when they went to
the place, they found the weapon finished. One day, however, a man and
his son went with their iron and charcoal, and had the impertinent
curiosity to wait and see how it was done. They hid themselves,--the
father, in the hollow of a tree, and the son, amongst the boughs of
another tree. Fougamou came with his son and began to work, when
suddenly the son said, 'Father, I smell the smell of people!' The father
replied, 'Of course you smell people, for does not the iron and
charcoal come from the hands of people?' So they worked on. But the son
again interrupted his father, repeating the same words, and then
Fougamou looked round and saw the two men. He roared with rage, and, to
punish the father and son, he turned the tree in which the father was
hidden into an ant-hill, and the hiding place of the son into a nest of
black ants. Since then Fougamou has not worked iron for the people any
more."
In another place, Du Chaillu says,--"I was much amused by the story one
of the men related about the dry and wet seasons. The remarkable dryness
of the present season had been talked over a good deal, and it was this
conversation which led to the story. As usual with the African, the two
seasons were personified, _Nchanga_, being the name of the wet, and
_Enomo_ that of the dry season. One day, the story went, Nchanga and
Enomo had a great dispute as to which was the older, and they came at
last to lay a wager on the question, which was to be decided in an
assembly of the people of the air or sky. Nchanga said, 'When I come to
a place rain comes.' Enomo retorted, 'When I make my appearance the
rains goes.' The people of the air all listened, and, when the two
disputants had ceased, they exclaimed, 'Verily, verily, we cannot tell
which is the eldest, you must be both of the same age.'"