smiths and Druids, or their modern representatives, have still some
affinity. The reciter told how her mother’s cow had taken suddenly ill
as her brother Sandy was starting for the smithy. When he arrived there
he mentioned the circumstance to the smith. “‘And did your mother no
send any message to me?’ said the smith. Sandy said, ‘No, she had sent
no message.’ ‘Well, I think your mother might ken that anything that
I could do, I would do for her, and she might have sent for me.’ My
brother suggested that he had better come away down to see her, so the
smith came down and found my mother very vexed about the cow. He said,
‘The cow is bad enough, but it might have been one of the family, for
the one that could do this could do the other thing just as well, but
we’ll see what can be done.’ Having taken certain steps, he advised
her also not to allow any one to see the cow on any account, for three
would soon pass, he said, and if she would allow them in to see the
cow, the cow would be gone. The three were strong, and she would need
to use all her strength to keep them out. He told her that was all he
could do just then, but that she must send Sandy over twice to him for
a bottle. When he went away she told the children not to tell any one
where she was, and she went to the byre to watch the cow. Having got
tubs she filled them with stones and placed them against the byre door
with spades and everything she could think of to keep the door from
being opened. She was not long there when a man passed with a horse and
a dog. He came to the kitchen door and asked the children where their
mother was, but they did not tell him. He then came to the byre door,
lifted the sneck, and when it did not yield tried to force it open with
all his might, saying, ‘_A Cheit nic Iain, am bheil thu ann sud?_’
(‘Kate, John’s daughter, are you there?’) My mother knew his voice as
that of a near neighbour, and answered: ‘_Tha Iain, tha a’ mhart gu
bochd agus tha i na laidh cul an doruis ’s cha ’n urrainn dhuit tighinn
a steach._’ (‘Yes, John, the cow is unwell, and she is lying behind
the door and you cannot get in.’) My mother had to tell the lie, or he
would force the door open. The man went away, and these were the three
that the smith had said would come the way—the man and the horse and
the dog. And it was that man that had done the harm to the cow, but it
was found out in time and the cow got better, but it was that very year
my two brothers died, and nobody knows whether he had anything to do
with their death or no.”
We include this under Evil Eye, because there is no statement of any
accusation of witchcraft against the “man,” or for the matter of that
“of the horse or the dog.”
In another case, in which a certain George T., by his devices, cured a
cow of which he had said it was “bitten, wounded” (_teum_), he asked
if there had been a man with a black head praising the cow. When he
was told that they had no knowledge of such a thing, “Well,” said he,
“it is a man with a black head that has injured your cow with the Evil
Eye, but be under no anxiety, the cow is all right now.” He asked my
mother if she had shown to any person the whole of the butter that came
off the churn. My mother said that she was not showing (was not in the
custom of showing) the butter to any one. “That is right, Flora. For
all you have ever seen, although you would not keep but as much as the
size of an egg, be sure that you do not let the whole of the butter be
seen by anybody.”
An Islay farmer’s daughter remembers a certain woman who was supposed
to possess an Evil Eye, and who paid them occasional visits. So
terrified were they lest she should interfere with their butter, that
whenever they saw her coming while they were churning, they would throw
a cloth over the churn and put it out of sight until the woman left.
From Stratherrick, Ross-shire, a reciter said, “When she heard so much
talk about cattle being injured by the Evil Eye, and the substance
taken away, she became afraid of this, and especially when churning
disliked anybody to come where the churn was, so much so that she used
to do the churning in an out-of-the-way corner of the house.”
It is evidently not so easy to protect a horse or a cow from a glance
of an Evil Eye, but a lady tells how that, visiting at a farmhouse, she
saw the old cook, who had been long in the farmer’s service, running
in great excitement to gather in a brood of young ducklings that
were running about the yard. Being a frequent visitor and intimately
acquainted with the cook, she asked her what was wrong, and why she
was hurrying the ducklings at that hour of the day. “Oh,” said the
cook, “Mr. A. is coming up the road, and last time he was here I had a
beautiful brood of ducklings, and his eye took them and every one of
them died, so I am putting these out of sight in case he should look at
them.”
According to one authority the influence of an Evil Eye does not cease
at once with the absence of the possessor. “W. G. lived for some time
on a certain farm; she was supposed to be possessed of the Evil Eye,
and on one occasion it was particularly noticed that certain animals
she had praised died. When removed from the farm, the farmer met with a
succession of misfortunes which were credited to W. G.”
CONVERSION TO BELIEF IN EVIL EYE
We have already seen a case, in which a woman on her own showing
demonstrates that it was the influence of others which caused her to
believe in the power of the Evil Eye; but conviction has in some cases
been carried to the minds of men as a result of experience. A man
taking a valuable horse from the west coast of Kintyre to Tarbert was,
after leaving Musadale, offered a considerable sum for it. He said he
would not, could not sell the beast, and though the offer was raised to
sixty pounds, he still refused and went on his way. Before he reached
Tayinloan the horse fell dead on the road. The owner of the horse,
considered to be a religious man, after this incident could not be
shaken in his belief in the Evil Eye.
In another case, a woman having got from her mother a hen, a first-rate
layer, an acquaintance came in and the conversation turned upon the
excellence of the bird, frankly acknowledged by the owner, who added
her own quota of praise. The visitor was no time gone when the hen
“clapped her wings, fell down, and died.” Mrs. G. declared that it has
been her firm belief ever since that it was a case of _cronachadh_.
GIVING AWAY MILK DANGEROUS
All have heard of the belief in the power of witches to acquire
for themselves, among other things, the milk and butter of their
neighbours. This apparently requires some deliberate act of magic,
“drawing the tether,” as they say in the north of Ireland, or even
milking the pot chain, as reported in the Highlands. In only one case,
as reported, was this danger ascribed to the owner of an Evil Eye, and
the writer is still of opinion that his lady friend, who said, “If
an evil-disposed person who possesses an Evil Eye gets a little milk
from another, he or she will be able to operate through that to injure
all the milk that remains, and even the cows,” had not differentiated
in her own mind the “Evil Eye” from “witchcraft.” We will repeat the
incident.
A suspected woman, living near, one time asked her servant if she
could get a little milk daily, her own cow giving none at the time.
The servant girl told the lady that the woman was asking milk, and
then added, “I will not give it her.” Her mistress said, “Oh, you may
give it; she needs it, and you can spare it quite well.” The girl said
it was not that, but showed that she was afraid of the woman getting
what she asked, and thus taking their milk from them and perhaps
injuring the cow. Her mistress said there was no fear of that, and the
girl yielded, adding, “I know what I’ll do.” What she did was to put
pinches of salt and of sugar in the milk the woman was to get that
evening, and to take the first mouthful (_bolgam_) of it herself. This,
according to prevalent ideas in the district, would hinder the receiver
of the milk having any power to do harm for the remainder of that
season. This performance seems a common precaution in cases where milk
is given to suspected persons.
SCIENCE VERSUS EOLAS
It will be easily understood that to a believer in the Evil Eye mere
modern science, as met with in daily life, in doctors, and veterinary
surgeons, is of small account. A well-educated lady, a friend of the
writer, advised a neighbour whose cow was ill to send for the vet. The
answer was: “_Cha’n eil vet a chum feum sam bith, oir ’san a tha bho
air a cronachadh. ’S e rud is fearr eolas fhaotainn air a son._” (“A
vet is no use whatever, because the cow is _air a cronachadh_; the best
thing is to get _eolas_ for it.)”
In that case they didn’t even send for the “vet.” In the following
instance a certain preliminary confidence seems to have been shown
in medical men. The reciter gives this as a very clear case of Evil
Eye. A child had fallen sick; two doctors were attending it, but it
was getting worse. The parents, having done all that they could think
of, requested the aid of a woman who was known to deal with _eolas a
chronachaidh_. The woman went to see the child, and what she did the
reciter did not know, but, “sure enough, she soon cured the child and
told its parents that it had been _air a cronachadh_.” This may have
been “sure enough” for those immediately interested, others may be
permitted to doubt.
In these cases common sense has generally the minister on its side.
In a case already quoted, in which the mother’s milk was supposed
to have been turned into water in her system by the Tiree woman, her
mother was sent for. This old lady’s granddaughter tells us, “When my
grandmother came she suggested that a decent man who was living near
them, who was used to work with _eolas_ where people or beasts had been
_air an cronachadh_, should be called in, but she said they would need
to go to him secretly, for he had promised the minister that he would
not make any more _eolas_. My father and mother agreed, but my mother
requested my grandmother to go to the man, because she did not know how
to go about it. My grandmother went and spoke to the man’s wife first.
The wife said, ‘I am sure he will do what he can for John (the child’s
father), but he has promised the minister that he would not make any
more of that; but come and speak to him yourself.’ My grandmother
spoke to the man, who said that he had promised to the minister that
he would not do any more of these things. He could not go to her,
but she might come back to him again the following day. This was a
Wednesday, and there were only two days of the week on which he could
make _eolas_—these were Thursdays and Sundays. When she went back the
following day, he had not got his cure ready yet, he said, but would
have it on Sunday. He told her that her daughter would not have so much
milk as she had at first, but would have enough to bring up the child.
On Sunday he had the thing ready as he had promised, and he made it
twice for her afterwards. That is, he made it three times. He correctly
described the whole appearance of the woman who had taken the milk
away, although nobody had ever mentioned about the Tiree _cailleach_
to him. My mother had plenty of milk after that.”
We can scarcely wonder at the minister objecting to this magical
practitioner when we consider the nature and the time of his
performance. An old Islay man says that when he was a young man he
was very intimate with a woman who had knowledge of the curing of
toothache (_eolas deide_). She was a relative of his own, and many
a time she offered to teach him the words she used. She could teach
them to a male, not to a female. He was young at the time, and did not
like to learn them, for some people were saying that it was a sort of
witchcraft (_buideachas_), but it was not that, for the words were all
good words. They were taught by the Saviour, who taught them first to
His mother. Our reciter went on to say that this toothache cure is of
no use, and need not be tried, in any case beyond a first or second
attack. It is hard to make it succeed even in the case of a second
attack, and beyond that it can have no effect whatever. Neither will it
do in a case where the sufferer has his tooth taken out.
These latter confessions were doubtless memories of the instructions
of the teacher. Our old friend did not repeat the formula, but it has
appeared elsewhere.[6]
The “some” who said that _eolas_ was a sort of witchcraft seem
undoubtedly to be right, unless, of course, we admit that their
action is based on a scientific understanding. The Evil Eye itself is
unconscious, and therefore a natural phenomenon like measles or hay
fever, but its cure is a good deal like that employed for hay fever in
many cases, more empirical than scientific.
[6] “Gaelic Incantations, with Translations,” W. Mackenzie, p. 55 _et
seq._
We are lucky in being able to give in his own words medical science as
expounded by a Gaelic-speaking tailor, a simple-minded man of about
seven-and-thirty, a man who can read and can work, but with no special
affection for either. He belongs to one of the inner islands:—
“_Tha Eolas nathrach ann, agus tha Eolas deide ann. Tha Eolas sul,
agus Eolas greim, agus Eolas chronachaidh ann. Eolas gach ni, ’na aite
fein. Ma lotar neach le nathair, faigheadh e Eolas nathrach: agus
’nuair bhios an deide air duine faigheadh e Eolas deide; agus mar sin
leis gach ni eile. Is aithne dhomh fhein da neo tri, a fhuair leigheas
airson lot nathrach. Tha na facail th’ aca airson Eolais greim air an
toirt as an Tiomnadh nuadh, pios an so, agus pios an sin; agus iad sin
air an sgriobhadh air paipear, agus am paipear sin air fhuaigheal air
an taobh a steach de chot’ an duine air an robh an greim. Cuiridh so an
greim air falbh. B’aithne dhomh fhein duine a dh’ fheuch so, agus rinn
e feum dha. Ach feumaidh duine bhi cinnteach gum bu na facail ceart
aige. Agus tha na facail airson eolas deide air an cuir air paiper,
agus am paiper air fhuaigheal an taobh a stigh de aodach duin’ air a
cheart doigh. Ach ma tha na fiaclan air falbh, cha dean e math sam
bith, ach ma tha iad slan fathast, ni e feum, agus cha tig an deide air
ais tuille._
”_Chuala mi iomadh uair na facail th’ aca airson Eolas sul; ach
bheir mi dhuibh na chrunas an t-iomlan—ni a thug Mathair da Mac gus
olc a chumail air falbh, bho’n bhainne agus bho’n chuinneag. So na
briatharan:—_
‘_’Nuair a ni thu toiseachadh.
Cuir dorlach math salainn ann.
Cuir bun ’us barr an neonain ann.
Cuir mionach roin, ’us gearr fheidh ann.
Buain slat de’n chaoran a nall o aodann Eallasaid.
Snathain dearg le snuim teann
Air a chuir mu cheann a’ chratachan.
’S ged a thigeadh buidseach Hendry.
Cheannsaicheadh am balach i._’
_Tha sibh a faicinn, bha ’m buidseach Hendry anns a Bhioball. B’ ise’
m buidseach bu laidire bha beo riomh; ach nam faigheadh neach sambith
na nithe sin uile, agus an cuir gu feum, cha b’ urrainn dhise neo
do bhuidseach sam bith eile a chron a dheanadh. Chunnaic mi fein an
snathain dearg air clann, gus olc a chumail bhuapa._”
(“There is serpent knowledge (serpent bite) and toothache knowledge.
There is eye knowledge and stitch (gripes) knowledge and hurt knowledge
(by Evil Eye or Witchcraft). Knowledge of each thing in its own place.
If any person is wounded by a serpent let him get serpent knowledge,
and when a man has toothache let him get toothache knowledge, and so
with every other thing. I myself know two or three who got a cure for
serpent bites. The words they have for curing stitch (gripes) are taken
from the New Testament, a bit here and a bit there, and these written
upon paper, and that paper sewn in the inside of the coat of the person
who had the stitch. This will put the stitch away. I knew a man that
tried this, and it was of use to him. But one must be sure that he has
got the right words. And the words for toothache knowledge are put on
paper, and the paper sewn inside a person’s clothes in the same manner.
But if the teeth are gone it will do no good, but if they are still
whole it will do good, and the toothache will not return any more.
“I have often heard the words they have for eye knowledge, but I will
give you what crowns the whole, the thing a Mother gave to her Son to
keep evil away from the milk and from the churn. Here are the words:—
‘When you make a beginning
Put a good handful of salt in it.
Put root and flower of the daisy in it.
Put the entrails of a seal and a hare in it.
Cut a wand of rowan over from the face of Ellasaid.
A red thread with a tight knot
Put on the head of the churn staff.
And should the witch Hendry (of Endor) come.
The boy would conquer her.’
“You see the witch Hendry was in the Bible. She was the strongest witch
that ever lived, but if any person would get all these things and use
them, she, or any other witch, could not do him injury. I have myself
seen the red thread on children to keep evil from them.”)
The above is undoubtedly sheer witchcraft, white witchcraft, if you
like. It is not then surprising that the evidence is not in favour of
these _eolas_ professors being held in much social esteem. A native
of Harris, talking of one of them, said: “Notwithstanding the wide
reputation the man had, and the many who went to seek advice, he was
not held in high esteem, and this part of his occupation was not
admired although so many took advantage of his services.” The reciter
himself spoke of him as _bodach granda_ (nasty old man).
A Gaelic-speaking minister gave the following information. It refers to
Arran. He knew several old women who professed _eolas a chronachaidh_,
but he did not hold a high opinion of them. One case, however, he
remembers especially in this connection. A lad was taken suddenly ill,
supposed to be a case of _cronachadh_. An old woman, who was respected
in the district, came to see him, and going above him in the bed, made
motions with her hands over him and on her own person, repeating an
incantation of some length at the same time. The lad recovered. The
reciter admits the fact, but does not incline to accept the _eolas_
performance as having caused the recovery.
A reciter in Mull was telling before her mother of the operations of a
_cailleach_ of this sort, when the mother added, she herself had spoken
with the woman, she was a decent body, and assured her that there was
nothing whatever wrong in what she did for the cure of cattle when hurt
by the Evil Eye. The words used were good, and she repeated them, but
she added that a great deal depended upon the person who applied for
_eolas_, and that, unless such a person believed that a cure would be
effectual, there was little use in what she herself could do, and no
use at all in the contents of the bottle which she supplied. It might
just as well be thrown out on the roadside.
HURTER AND HEALER
A farmer’s wife, an old woman, but smart and intelligent, and showing
no failure of memory, expressed the following opinion:—
The power to do injury to beast or person, and the power to cure such
an injury appeared to have been given to different classes of people.
Those who did injury were supposed to be malevolent, and of course held
in bad repute, while the curers were looked upon as for the good of
people and to be respected. What the one did was called _cronachadh_,
and what the other did _beannachadh_ (blessing).
To another, an Islay lady, the remark was made that _cronachadh_ was a
strange thing. In answer she said: “Yes, but _beannachadh_ was quite
as strange.” “What is that?” “_Fiosrachadh or eolas._” (Knowledge the
result of inquiry, and knowledge apparently arrived at in any way, say
by revelation.)
That is one side of the picture. We see the other in the following:—
“There was a lad at service at one time with Malcolm here beside us. He
was one of the T’s. He was in the habit of coming to this house, and
my father said to myself, I should not have too much to do with him,
for that there was something bad in him. It was maintained that his
father had _eolas_, and people would be going to him when a beast or
person was unwell, but those that have the one thing, the knowledge
of healing, it is usual for them to have the other thing, knowledge to
cause injury also.” The reciter believed that this lad deliberately
did them an injury, and after recounting the particulars said, “My
father advised us not to show any anger to the lad for fear he might do
something worse to us, if he were to know that we were angry. ‘That is
the way the like of these people have. If they do harm to a person and
he shows anger they will do him more harm.’”
A domestic servant, speaking of an old woman that she knew very well,
said: “She was known as Mairi Siath (Mary of sprains?) and was looked
upon as one who had a great deal of secret power by which she could do
both harm and good. People were afraid to offend her, and would give
her almost anything she would ask rather than offend her.” The said
Mary, having been consulted about unsuccessful churning, “brought back
the butter every bit that should have been on the churn from the time
it had been taken away, and there was so much that the mistress was
afraid to use it in the house, for she said it could not have come in a
right way. She gave it away, and after that they always got butter on
the churn.”
There is no doubt that the girl who repeated this believed what she
was telling as of her own knowledge. The only explanation that occurs
to one is that the milk, having been for some reason poor for a time
from bad feeding or some such thing, the food having become better and
richer, the milk was thereby improved to such an extent as to give the
appearance, especially in comparison with the small yield before, of a
somewhat supernatural supply.
The same belief in the power of hurting and healing being united in one
person has been already mentioned in connection with an Arran shepherd
on page 19.
One other case as reported was that of an Islay farmer who, on one
occasion riding along the road, passed a man ploughing with a pair of
horses. Shortly thereafter the horses lay down, having become to all
appearance unwell. A messenger was immediately despatched after the
farmer, who, hearing what had happened, returned, and at any rate got
the credit of curing the animals.
TRANSMISSION OF EOLAS
It has already been mentioned how a woman who possessed a toothache
cure was willing to impart the necessary formula (incantation) to a
“relative” who was a male, but could not do it to a female. That case
was in Islay.
The following information from Skye shows the belief that _eolas_ is
imparted in the same way and under like circumstances there. This
Skye woman was believed to have the Evil Eye, and to have the power
of taking away the produce (_an toradh_) from other’s cows. When she
was on her deathbed, and when she came very near her end, she said to
those about her that she was anxious to see her husband. He happened at
that particular time to be out looking after something, and they sent
for him, but all the time till he came in she kept crying for him, and
urging that she wished to see him. When he came in she requested that
all the others should withdraw, and when they had done so she said
to her husband to shut the door that there might be nobody there but
themselves alone. What took place between them there nobody ever knew,
but one thing people firmly believed, that was that she gave the skill
that she had to her husband, for after that he could take away the
_toradh_ from other people’s cows, and did take it away too.
However, authorities do not always agree as to changing the sex in the
transmission of this magic.
A native of Harris, a woman of about forty, has no English, and can
neither read nor write. When asked as to her experiences, and if she
had ever seen a thread tied round a child’s neck to preserve it from
the effects of the Evil Eye, she said: “I did see it; wasn’t there one
on my own child? and that was for A. McE.‘s Evil Eye. She has an Evil
Eye (_Droch shuil_), and one day she came into the house and began to
praise the child greatly. She was only a short time gone when the child
began to vomit. ‘O Kate,’ said I to my sister, ‘my child is _air a
cronachadh_ with the Evil Eye of that woman.’ ‘If that is all that is
wrong, we won’t be long putting it right,’ said Kate, and she took a
red thread, and when she had said the word, she tied the string on the
child’s neck, and there was no time till it was quite well.” She was
asked whether Kate had the words, and she replied, “Oh yes, my mother
had them and she taught them to Kate.”