The Burgh
From Alexander M‘Donald, tenant, and others, Barra, July 1859.
FOUR were watching cattle in Baileburgh (Burgh
Farm). They were in a fold. The four were Domhnull MacGhilleathain, Domhnull Mac-an-t-Saoir, Calum MacNill, and Domhnull Domhnullach. They saw a dog. Calum MacNill said that they should strike the dog. Said Domhnull MacGhilleathain, “We will not strike. If thou strikest him thou wilt repent it.” Calum MacNill struck the dog, and his hand and his arm lost their power. He felt a great pain in his hand and his arm, and one of the other lads carried his stick home; he could not carry it himself. He was lamenting his hand, and he went where there was an old woman, Nic a Phi, to get knowledge about his hand. She said to him that he would be so till the end of a day and a year; and at the end of a day and year, to go to the knoll and say to it, “If thou dost not let with me the strength of my hand, I or my race will leave neither stick nor stone of thee that we will not drive to pieces.”
At the end of a day and year his comrades said, “There is now a day and year since thou hast lost the. power of thy hand, come to the knoll till thy hand get its power, as the woman said.” He went himself and his comrades. They reached the hill. He drew his stick, and he said to the knoll, “If thou dost not let with me the strength of my hand, I myself or my race will leave neither stick nor stone of thee that we will not drive to pieces.” And he got the power of his hand.
Written by Hector MacLean, from the telling of a man in Barra, This may be compared with the Manks tradition about the Black Dog, at Peel Castle.
The Tulman
From Alexander M ‘Donald, tenant, and others, Barra. July 1859.
THERE was a woman in Baile Thangusdail, and she
was out seeking a couple of calves; and the night and lateness caught her, and there came rain and tempest, and she was seeking shelter. She went to a knoll with the couple of calves, and she was striking a tether-peg into it. The knoll opened. She heard a gleegashing as if a pot-hook were clashing beside a pot. She took wonder, and she stopped striking the tether-peg. A woman put out her head and all above her middle, and she said, “What business hast thou to be troubling this tulman in which I make my dwelling?” I am taking care of this couple of calves, and I am but weak. Where shall I go with them?” “Thou shalt go with them to that breast down yonder. Thou wilt see a tuft of grass. If thy couple of calves eat that tuft of grass, thou wilt not be a day without a milk cow as long as thou art alive, because thou hast taken my counsel.”
As she said, she never was without a milk cow after that, and she was alive fourscore and fifteen years after the night that was there.
Written by Hector MacLean, from the dictation of a man in Barra
The Isle of Pabaidh
From Alexander M‘Donald, tenant, and others, Barra. July 1859.
THERE came a woman of peace (a fairy) the way of
the house of a man in the island of Pabaidh, and she had the hunger of motherhood on her. He gave her food, and that went well with her. She staid that night. When she went away, she said to him, “I am making a desire that none of the people of this island may go in childbed after this.” None of these people, and none others that would make their dwelling in the island ever departed in childbed from that time.
Written by Hector MacLean, from the telling of a man in Barra.
Sanntraigh
From Alexander M ‘Donald, tenant, and others, Barra, July 1859.
THERE was a herd’s wife in the island of Sanntraigh,
and she had a kettle. A woman of peace (fairy) would come every day to seek the kettle. She would not say a word when she came, but she would catch hold of the kettle. When she would catch the kettle, the woman of the house would say—
A smith is able to make
Cold iron hot with coal.
The due of a kettle is bones,
And to bring it back again whole.
The woman of peace would come back every day with the kettle and flesh and bones in it. On a day that was there, the housewife was for going over the ferry to Baile a Chaisteil, and she said to her man, “If thou wilt say to the woman of peace as I say, I will go to Baile Castle.” “Oo! I will say it. Surely it’s I that will say it.” He was spinning a heather rope to be set on the house. He saw a woman coming and a shadow from her feet, and he took fear of her. He shut the door. He stopped his work. When she came to the door she did not find the door open, and he did not open it for her. She went above a hole that was in the house. The kettle gave two jumps, and at the third leap it went out at the ridge of the house. The night came, and the kettle came not. The wife came back over the ferry, and she did not see a bit of the kettle within, and she asked, “Where was the kettle?” ‘Well then I don’t care where it is,” said the man; “I never took such a fright as I took at it. I shut the door, and she did not come any more with it.” “Good-for-nothing wretch, what didst thou do? There are two that will be ill off—thyself and I.” “She will come to-morrow with it.” “She will not come.”
She hasted herself and she went away. She reached the knoll, and there was no man within. It was after dinner, and they were out in the mouth of the night. She went in. She saw the kettle, and she lifted it with her. It was heavy for her with the remnants that they left in it. When the old carle that was within saw her going out, he said,
Silent wife, silent wife,
That came on us from the land of chase, Thou man on the surface of the “Bruth,” Loose the black, and slip the Fierce. The two dogs were let loose; and she was not long away when she heard the clatter of the dogs coming, She kept the remnant that was in the kettle, so that if she could get it with her, well, and if the dogs should come that she might throw it at them. She perceived the dogs coming. She put her hand in the kettle. She took the board out of it, and she threw at them a quarter of what was in it. They noticed it there for a while. She perceived them again, and she threw another piece at them when they closed upon her. She went away walking as well as she might; when she came near the farm, she threw the mouth of the pot downwards, and there she left them all that was in it. The dogs of the town struck (up) a barking when they saw the dogs of peace stopping. The woman of peace never came more to seek the kettle.
’S treasaiche gobha gual
Go iarrunn fuar a bhruich;
Dleasnas coire cnàimh
Written by Hector MacLean, from the telling of a man in Barra.
Cailliach Mhor Chlibhrich
From W. Ross, stalker.
THIS celebrated witch was accused of having en-
enchanted the deer of the Reay forest, so that they avoided pursuit. Lord Reay was exceedingly angry, but at a loss how to remedy the evil. His man, William (the same who braved the witch and sat down in her hut) promised to find out if this was the case. He watched her for a whole night, and by some counter enchantments managed to be present when in the early morning she was busy milking the hinds. They were standing all about the door of the hut till one of them ate a hank of blue worsted hanging from a nail in it. The witch struck the animal, and said, “The spell is off you; and Lord Reay’s bullet will be your death to-day.” William repeated this to his master to confirm the tale of his having passed the night in the hut of the great hag, which no one would believe. And the event justified it, for a fine yellow hind was killed that day, and the hank of blue yarn was found in its stomach.
This is one of nearly a hundred stories, gathered amongst the people of Sutherland by a very talented collector, whose numerous accomplishments unfortunately do not include Gaelic. This resembles an account of a Lapp camp (see Introduction), It also bears some affinity to a story published by Grant Stewart, in which a ghost uses a herd of deer to carry her furniture,