_eolas_ is from father to daughter, and from mother to son. A reciter
said: “A woman still lives in the neighbourhood, said to have obtained
her _eolas_ secret from her father. She is often requisitioned, and her
skill to cure fully believed in.”
Another said: “You know A. McE. His mother had _eolas a chronachaidh_,
and he said that she left the secret with him before she died.” These
were “unprovoked” statements of the reciters, and in the latter case
the interest of the story was in pointing out the method taken to
determine whose Evil Eye had affected a sick horse. The owner was told
to watch the colour of the hair of the first woman that passed the
house, which would be the same as that of the person wanted. The result
was given in the following terms, “Now she is blaming Mrs. MacD.”
In all these cases we see that the _eolas_ was kept in the family, or
at least believed to be so. The deathbed scene of the wife and husband
may be a most uncharitable suggestion of heathenism, but the recital
was made in good faith.
The witch doctor sometimes apparently requires assistance. A horse
being taken ill while ploughing, supposed to be hurt by the Evil
Eye, the farmer refused to have anything to do with these irregular
practices. The horse died. Not long after a second took ill, and as the
ploughman, the reciter, said, “We were all about it saying it could be
cured.” At last the master said if there was any person who could do
it they might try it, it would do no harm at any rate. There was a man
there that had _eolas_, and he took another man out with him, and they
made the _eolas_ outside. They did nothing to the horse, but while they
were out making the _eolas_ the horse got up, shook itself, and was
better at once.
In Arran, as elsewhere, _cronachadh_ seems to be regarded as
hereditary. One reciter said of a man at Loch Ranza that it did not
matter what he would look at, his look would _cronach_ it. A lad from
another part of the island went to ask a daughter of this man to marry
him, and when the nearest neighbour heard of his courtship she became
exceedingly angry, and protested against any of that man’s daughters
being brought there “to _cronaich_ everything about the place.”
FORMS OF INCANTATION
For specimens of these incantations the reader should refer to “Gaelic
Incantations, with Translations,” W. Mackenzie, Inverness, 1895; and
to “Carmina Gadelica,” A. Carmichael, Edinburgh, 1900. Above we have
already given one as recited, but they are hard to get, there being
many reasons why the user is shy of repeating them. One thing is
certain, that a complete performance of any of these rites requires the
repetition of “words,” as they say, of some sort. In far the majority
of cases, the words are what are called “good” words, having a sanction
of Christianity about them, being generally invocations of the Trinity
and of Mary. As a native of Morven said, describing a cure in which
water is used at a certain stage, “The person making the _eolas_ kept
saying good words.” Another woman from Mull, describing a cure done by
herself, said: “I remember a child I cured myself with good words that
I have. It was very ill, and nearly gone when I took it and placed it
in my bosom and cured it. I said the words over it, but after curing
it I was very much exhausted until I got a cup of tea, and then I
felt myself getting better.” When requested to repeat the words, she
affirmed that they were all good words, and that it was in the name
of the Trinity she did it; but she went over the words in such a low
voice, and with so indistinct a pronunciation and so fast, that the
collector found it quite impossible to follow.
The writer was mentioning these circumstances to a lady visiting
him who gave the following example, which aptly illustrates how the
performance of some ceremony can form a foundation for belief in their
beneficial activity. Her sister’s child of three weeks old was lying
exceedingly ill and two medical men were in attendance, one having been
called in as a consultant.
They told my visitor themselves that the child could not live. The
family are Scotch, but this occurred in the neighbourhood of London.
The monthly nurse suggested and urged baptism. The clergyman was sent
for, and while going through the ceremony the child, who had been
lying motionless, made some slight movement. Within two days that
child had recovered, and is at the time of writing this as many years
old as it was then weeks. The consultant subsequently expressed his
dissatisfaction with the infant for having belied his prognosis.
In a case from Mull a servant, having been sent for a means of cure to
a woman supposed to have skill, she found her in bed. She sat up, took
the bottle containing water which had been sent for, put the mouth of
it to her own mouth, and began to say some words over it. The words
were spoken in a low tone, but so far as was recognised they were all
“good” words.
In the case of a sick horse already quoted, the man who saw it went at
once for G. T., then herding in the neighbourhood. The description of
the interview is as follows: “When I reached him he said, ‘Peter, you
need not tell me your business here.’ I said, ‘No.’ We went together to
a little stream, and he said that I might now tell him what had brought
me. When I told him, he asked me if I had tobacco. They do nothing
without pay; not money, but tobacco and things like that. I knew he
would ask for it, and I had it with me, and when I gave it him he asked
if I had a bottle. I had a good notion of every turn he had, and so had
taken a bottle with me, and when I gave it to him he turned his back
to me and began lifting the water and saying the words. There was not
a bad word in all he said, no, no. He said to me when he gave me the
bottle and told me how to use it, ‘Your horse will be all right, Peter,
as soon as you use it.’” His statement came true.
Things are not, however, always reported as of such an innocent
and Christian character. A collector happened to be present at a
conversation between two believers in the Evil Eye. One of them said,
“Those who are working at such as that, applying _eolas_, are not
helped but by the ‘bad one,’ for if it were that they were doing good
they would not need to be hiding themselves when they would be at it.
P. McL., a decent man, said his cow was injured, and sent for A. T.
The cow was in a little hut, and when A. went in where the cow was P.
put his ear to a little window that was in the wall, and he said, that
when he heard such language as A. had, he would never again send for
her should every cow he would have be unwell. She put her cap under her
two knees—she was bare-headed and with her knees bare, but kneeling on
her cap apparently—and she prayed to the vile one. (‘_Ghuidh i ris an
fhear mhosach._’) B. said, ‘Was that the time she said that my father’s
brother injured the cow?’ That was the very time. You were living
beside P. then.”
FORM OF PAYMENT
“The labourer is worthy of his hire.” A case has been already given
where the reciter said that nothing was done without pay, but not of
money. We must not generalise in that way. A native of Tiree says,
speaking of his experience in the cure of a horse of his father’s, “All
these _eolas_ folk must get a piece of silver. It may be a shilling
or two shillings. This they say makes the cure more certain, and they
cannot promise a cure without it. The lad took with him a two-shilling
piece and went to an _eolas_ man who lived five miles away.”
Apparently the silver is given in the form of money as the most
convenient medium, though there is good reason for the supposition that
the whiteness of silver makes it specially appropriate as a medium of
remuneration.
The instance in which the child that was ill is described as if singing
“do re do,” the woman who cured it received from the father tea and
sugar which he had taken with him when he went to consult her; but she
said to “my man” (it was the mother who recited the incident) “that she
was not wanting anything and would do it for us for nothing, but that
he would need to come back with white silver. I sent him back with a
sixpence to give her.”
An innkeeper, a well-read, shrewd woman of about five-and-forty, tells
of a case with which she was well acquainted in which a near neighbour
consulted an old man, wanting him to bring back her butter. “She said
that she would pay him if he would bring it back to her.” He said that
he did not want payment, but at the same time he could not bring it
back unless he were paid in silver for doing so; that being so, he
would require to take something from her, as otherwise the cure would
not be successful. So she gave him the silver and soon had all the
butter that she lost.“
Another reciter having been accustomed to do the churning in his
father’s house, after his father’s death, his stepmother sent for him
because she herself could not get any butter from the churn. He did
his best, but was unsuccessful. Having had a horse cured by _eolas_,
he suggested that the same man should be consulted. The man arrived,
and the case was explained, the woman stating, “_Feuch gun toir sibh
dhachaidh an toradh oir tha e air falbh._” (“Try if you can bring back
the due produce, for it is gone.”) “I’ll do that,” he said, and he did
it by his _eolas_; there was plenty butter on the churn. It cost the
woman a crown, but if it did, that was better than that the butter
should be lost.
A woman who prepared a bottle for a sick cow charged the man who
consulted her “two shillings for the bottle, and when she took the
money she poured a little water on it and spat on it.” She might, one
would think, with advantage have changed the order of her proceedings.
A sick bull which the veterinary surgeon had given up was referred to
an _eolas_ woman, the principal argument being that her assistance
“would only cost a shilling.” She ordered a bucket of water to be
thrown over the animal, and it recovered.
A Mull woman tells how her grandmother when newly married, after having
reared calves, could only get butter of such an ugly colour that nobody
would eat it, and it was used for greasing wool before carding. She was
asked by a neighbour for a bowl of butter one day, and accused of greed
for refusing it while she had eight cows. She explained the position,
and was then advised to consult an old man, the neighbour adding that
she would be coming back in a fortnight, when there would be plenty
of butter to give her. The results of the consultation were fairly
successful, though the _eolas_ man explained that she would not for
that year have so much butter as she should have, but that she should
consider herself lucky that her cattle had not died. The reciter then
said that her grandmother gave the man “plenty for his trouble, but did
not grudge it.” When the old woman called on her way back she said,
“Well, you can give me the butter now.” To which her friend replied,
“Yes, I am thankful to you that I can.” And she gave her a good bowl of
butter.
In the above case payment seems to have been in kind. A native of
Ardnamurchan tells of a neighbour of her mother’s who had a number
of cows and lost the due product of the whole of them. Her mother’s
people were sitting down to dinner when a beggar woman came and asked,
“_An sibhse a’ bhoirionnach a chaill an toradh?_” (“Are you the woman
who has lost the milk and butter?”) “My mother was very fond of her
neighbour, and thinking she might find out on her behalf how the milk
might be got back, she answered that she was. The beggar woman said,
‘_Ma bheir sibh dhomh lan meise de mhin bheir mise air ais dhuibh e._’
(‘If you will give me a (wooden) dishful of meal I will bring it back
to you.’) My mother said that she would give her all that was on the
table if she would bring it back, and then ran to the neighbour’s house
to tell what she had heard. They returned together and told the beggar
woman whose cows really had been ill.” They are said to have been
cured. Here also the payment was promised in kind.
A native of Harris tells us of an old man in Stornoway much consulted,
who “would undertake for so much money to bring milk and butter back.”
An Islay man gives us “_ni a chunnaic mise mi fein_” (“a thing I saw
my own self”). This was the cure of his father’s cow. A certain George
T. “came the way” “_b’e duine corr bha ann an Deorsa so, aig an robh
moran sgil mu’n chronachaidh_.” (“This George was a decent man, he had
much skill about _cronachadh_.”) The cure is described, and the reciter
continued: “_Cha b’e duine bha’ n an Deorsa a ghabhadh rud sam bith:
’se sin cha ghabhadh e pris airson a sheirbhis ann a leithid so do
ni._” (“George was not a man that would take anything for his service
in such a thing as this.”) “And my mother said to him, ‘Will you take
a cup of tea, George?’ ‘It is I that will,‘ he said, for he had been
about the cow a long time. When they were taking the tea they were
keeping an eye on the cow now and again. She took a long time that she
did not bend down her head, but at last she gave a shake to herself,
and George said to my mother, ‘Your cow is right, woman.’ In a little
while she gave the next shake, and again the third shake, and with that
she was as well as she had ever been.”
THE NECESSITY OF FAITH
A native of Lewis who professed disbelief in the Evil Eye, though she
knew numbers who did believe, was advised when her cow was ill to send
for a skilled woman. She refused. A woman who was in the habit of
assisting when they were busy, being told she might do as she liked,
went to the _eolas_ woman. When our reciter, Mrs. McN., looked into the
byre shortly afterwards she found the servant girl and the occasional
assistant hiding a bottle. “I asked them what they had in the bottle.
The woman answered that she had just gone to K. McI. for _eolas_, and
that that was what was in the bottle. They had put it in the cow’s ears
and over her back in the name of the Trinity, and the woman remarked
that if it would not do good it would do no harm at any rate. I told
them again that I did not believe in it at all, and as it turned out
I did not need to believe it, for the cow died not long after. But if
I did not believe the woman did, and so did the person who had made
the _eolas_, and they maintained that it was because I did not believe
in it that it failed to cure the cow, for it is believed the success
of _eolas a chronachaidh_ in its attempts to cure depends much upon
whether it is believed in or not.”
Compare this with the statement of another reciter, who on hearing of
a case of cure said, “When I was herding, one of the cows was _air a
cronachadh_, but the people did not believe in _eolas_, and if it had
not been that some of the neighbours went to A. T. the cow was dead.”
In another case in which the owner of the sick cow said that there was
many a thing that might happen to a beast, and that she did not believe
that the cow had been hurt by the Evil Eye. A friend persisted in her
opinion that it was the Evil Eye, and when the reciter’s mother refused
to send for _eolas_, the woman went off herself and came back with a
bottle which she sprinkled on the cow, and in less than an hour the
cow was eating as well as ever, and before the water had been put on
her she was groaning and would neither eat nor move. The probability
is, of course, that if no success had followed the application of the
remedy, want of faith on the part of the owner might have been urged as
a reason for failure.
PREVENTING EVIL BY BLESSING
A young man who could read and write, the son of a decidedly
superstitious father, said if any one were praising another person’s
beast, and danger was suspected, because praising by one that has an
Evil Eye is dangerous, if the owners say “God bless it” that would
prevent any mischief happening.
A native of Bernera (Harris) mentioned as among the ordinary
precautions effective against the Evil Eye a person blessing himself.
While another mentioned the keeping of ripe rowans (_caorain dearg_)
beside him, or regularly blessing himself and his belongings, as
sufficient to prevent any injury coming to him from the Evil Eye or
Witchcraft. This blessing seems to have been done in quite a formal
way. An old believer who can read Gaelic remembers having seen cattle
blessed for the purpose of keeping away evil, and when she was young it
was common in the district where she was brought up, when neighbours
visited one another, for the visitor on entering the house to bless
both the house and the people living in it. In this connection she
told the following story: “There was at one time living in the Harris
district of Islay a gentleman trained in the knowledge of the ‘Black
Art’ (_Sgoil Dhubh_). He visited the Laird of Balinaby and took from
every cow on his estate its due produce (_toradh_). He and the Laird
passed this cow, and the visitor remarked: ‘You have a witch on the
estate.’ ‘No,’ said the Laird. ‘Oh yes, there is no doubt of it.’
‘Well, if there is, it is without my knowledge.’ ‘To whom does that cow
belong?’ ‘To a widow that lives in the house over there.’ ‘Well, she
must be a witch, for I can take the produce from every cow on the place
except that one, but I am beat with her.’”
Balinaby called at the woman’s house and asked her what she did
to protect her cow. “I do nothing,” said the woman. “You must do
something, for I find that the _toradh_ can be taken from every cow
on the farm but yours.” “Well,” said she, “I am a God-fearing woman,
and am thankful to have the cow. Every morning I pray that she may be
preserved, and when I go to milk her I bless myself and the cow. That
is all I do.” This is evidently traditional, and is quoted merely as an
evidence of belief in the protection granted to those who audibly place
themselves under the protection of the Deity.
It is a curious fact that Balinaby (the Abbot’s Town), bulks very
largely in the supernatural folklore of Islay.
A native of Tarbat, Ross-shire, already quoted as telling of a child
taken ill because the visitor had not blessed it, details that
visitor’s action for the cure of the child, when taxed with the
dereliction, as follows. “She asked a bowl from my mother and a silver
coin, which she got. She put the coin in the bowl, and going to the
bedside where the child was lying, sprinkled the water on the child’s
face, and wet her lips and the palms of both her hands. While doing
this she blessed the child, repeated some words over it, and in a
little while the bairn was quite well and as brisk as ever.”
The materials used in this cure will be considered in more detail, but
the blessing was evidently an important part of it to repair a neglect
in the first instance.
An old lady in Arran remembers being told of an older generation who,
desiring not to injure their own or another’s beast lest there should
be evil in their eye unknown to themselves, always took the precaution
of blessing the animal before looking at it. The words they used were
“_Gum beannaicheadh Dia am beathach_” (“That God may bless the beast”),
or “_Gum beannaicheadh Dia an ni air am bheil mo shuil ag amhairc_.”
(“May God bless the thing my eye is regarding.”)
PREVENTING BY DISPRAISING
The expression of a blessing seems to be merely a preventative, which
of course is better than curative, if we accept the general proverb.
Another preventative, when the expression of praise seems likely to
be hurtful, is to miscall the animal spoken of. A man ploughing, who
thought very well of his horses, said to his master on seeing another
he knew approaching, “Here comes ——, and he will ruin both the horses
if he can, for he has the Evil Eye.” His master said, “I’ll tell you
what you will do, and if you do it he can do the horses no harm. When
he begins to praise either or both just begin to run them down, and be
sure you say as much against them as he shall say for them.” He of the
Evil Eye came up, and commencing with “What a fine pair of horses you
have,” went on to enumerate their good points. The servant objected
that they looked better than they were, that their looks were the best
of them, and for every point in their favour the other mentioned, the
lad said something to counterbalance it. The other began to show signs
of impatience, and went on his way not very well pleased with the way
his opinions of the horses had been disputed. “Well done, you have
saved the horses,” said his master. “Did I do it right?” said the lad.
“Yes, indeed, you could not have said more than you have said.”
A native of Campbeltown is the authority for the following. Mrs. M’F.
from Knapdale resided in Glasgow for some time after her marriage. She
was standing at the mouth of the close one day with her first child in
her arms when a little woman whom she had never seen before, and never
saw again, as far as she knows, came across the street, and looking
at the child began to praise it for its beauty. Mrs. M’F. had not the
presence of mind to praise it above what the other woman said, nor to
miscall it. Had she done either it would have prevented mischief. As it
was, the child began to cry as soon as the little woman went away. It
continued crying for a day and a half, and never was right afterwards.
The child died. Mrs. M’F. was quite certain it had been injured by the
eye of the little woman.
PREVENTING BY ROWAN AND JUNIPER
Every one knows of the value of the rowan tree as a preventative of
witchcraft. It is equally effective apparently against the Evil Eye.
It is scarcely worth while dilating on this, but it would not do to
neglect it. A resident in the Chanonry had a near neighbour terribly
suspicious of interference with her cow. She would never allow a cow
away from her own ground until she had first tied a sprig of rowan to
its tail.
A native of Kintyre, the opposite side of the country, connects this
observance with May Eve, on which occasion it was common to tie a sprig
of rowan to the cattle’s tails. Above we have mentioned rowan berries
as equally efficacious with a blessing. The rowan is tied to churns
as well as to cows’ tails. Another reciter mentions a case in which,
along with a bottle, a professor of _eolas_ “went to the back of his
house, taking a thin slice of juniper wood (_iubhar beinne_), which he
instructed was to be put between the wood of the churn and one of its
hoops.”
One cannot help speculating as to what may have caused the use of
these plants. We have a hint from the Chanonry that the rowan tree was
attached when the cow left her own ground. Now cows leave their owners’
ground solely when sent to the bull. In connection with the _iubhar_,
attention is called to the curious, incomprehensible shinty formula in
which the word iubhar occurs:—
_Ciod an caman?_ (What shinty-club?)
_Caman iubhair_ (Shinty-club of yew).
_Ciod an t-iubhar?_ (What yew?)
_Iubhar athair_ (Yew of air),
of which another reciter gave the slightly altered pronunciation,
_iubhar athar_ (father’s yew).[7]
A native of the Lewis says it was pretty common to protect cows from
evil influences by the use of a charmed _burrach_ (cow fetter). The
_burrach_ was made of different things, and when a cow calved it was
fixed on her hind legs.
The _burrachs_ the writer has seen were made of hair, possibly they may
have made them upon occasion of some tough wood.
Note that it was in calving that the charmed _burrach_ was of
advantage, and thus the observances for the protection of the cattle
are solely connected with their increase.
[7] “Games of Argyle,” pp. 33, 34.
PREVENTING BY HORSE NAILS AND SHOES
An Arran reciter said: “I was one time staying with a friend here,
and I noticed that a horse nail was tied round the churn. I mentioned
nothing about it till one day when washing the churn I said, ‘I suppose
I may take this off,’ but would she let me, though she did not tell me
why it had been put on, but I soon found that out for myself.”
Another authority mentions not the nail but the whole shoe. “The
produce of the churn may be effectually protected from the Evil Eye by
nailing the shoe of a colt or of an ass to the bottom of the churn.
Where this is done there are not on earth that can do it harm, and many
people always took care not to expose their churn without a shoe of
either a colt or an ass nailed to it.”
PREVENTING BY A SMALL GIFT
A well-informed woman, an innkeeper, said that in cases where a person
possessed of the Evil Eye admired anything belonging to another, no
injury could follow if some little present were given to the suspected
person on leaving.