How the Fox Took a Turn Out of the Goat
From Hector Boyd, Barra.
THERE was a gray goat and she had kids, and if she
had, the fox went on a day around them, and he caught them, and he killed them, and he ate them. Then the goat came home, and she was black melancholy and miserable when she came and was without them before her. She took on her way and she reached the house of the russet dog, and she went up on the top of the house, and the fox cried out— Who is that on top of my bothy, maiden my deary,
That will not leave my caldrons to boil,
That will not leave my bonnachs to bake,
And that will not let my little one go to the well?”
Goat.
“There is me gray goat, harried out,
Seeking the three kindly kidlings,
And the gray-bellied buck,
And the buck lad.”
Fox.
“Well then; by the earth that is beneath,
By the aether over head,
By the sun that is gone down,
That I have never seen thy set of kids.”
There was no bird in the flock that she did not go to; and she returned home and she did not get them.
This story is known to that section of the poorer Gaelic population, which is, and which has been young; but though everybody knows it, nobody will tell it. I persuaded an old woman on the banks of Loch Hourn, to tell it to me in part, and so far as it went her version was better.
The gray goat went to the strand, and a straw broke her leg, and when she came home there were
Na tri minneana mine-glas
Taraigna taraghlas
Driomana driomaghlas
Agus am boc ceannaglas.
The three kindly kidlings-gray,
With bellies gray bellied,
And with backs gray back-ed,
And the buck gray-head.
And the ram (something, which I forget); and a whole party besides, whom my informant would not name; all gone away. And she went to the fox, and his clearing oath was:—
Air an draigheann air an dreas
Air an talamh fo mo chois
Air a ghrian seachad siar
Cha ’n fhaca mise riamh
Do chuid meann.
By the blackthorn and the briar,
By the earth beneath my foot,
By the sun that has gone west,
I have never never seen
Thy set of kids.
It is manifest that there is a great deal more of this, but I have not got it.*
How the Cock Took a Turn Out of the Fox, and No Creature Ever Took a Turn Out of Him but That Cock
From Hector Boyd, Barra, Sept. 20, 1860.
THE russet dog came to a house, and he caught hold
of a cock. He went away with the cock, and the people of the town-land went away after him.
“Are they not silly!” quoth the cock, “going after thee, and that they cannot catch thee at any rate.”
The cock was for that he should open his mouth that he might spring out.
When he saw that the cock was so willing to go along with himself, he was so pleased.
“Oh! musician, wilt thou not say—It is my own cock that is here, and they will turn back,” said the cock.
The fox said, “Shé-mo-haolach-hay-n-a-han;” and when the fox opened his mouth the cock sprung away.
I have already given a version of this in Vol. II.; the main difference is, that the cock here calls the fox a musician, as the fox in the old story called the crow, when he did him out of a cheese by the same stratagem. Ceolaire is used to express a silly fellow.
The Hen
From Hector Boyd. Learnt this story from Donald M‘Kinnon, Laidhinnis, Barra, who died twelve years ago at the age of sixty —Castle Bay, October 4, 1860. THERE was a woman before now, and she bore a hen
in rock by the shore, after she had been driven into banishment in some way or other.
The hen grew big, and she used to be going to the king’s house every day to try if she could get something that she might give to her mother. The king came out on a day of these days, and he said to her,
“What, thou nasty little creature, art thou doing standing there upon my door?”
“Well, then, though I be little, and even nasty, I can do a thing that the fine big queen thou hast cannot do,” said she.
“What canst thou do?” quoth the king.
“I can spring from spar to spar, with the tongs and the hook for hanging the pot trailing after me.”
He went in and he told that to the queen. The hen was tried, and she did it; they tied the pot-hook and the tongs to her, and she sprang over three spars (rafters), and she came down on the ground.
Then they tied the pot-hook and the tongs to the queen, and she went and she took a spring out of herself, and she cut the edge of her two shanks, and she fell, and the brain went out of her.
He had four queens, and the hen put them all out with this work.
“It would be better for you to marry my mother,” quoth the hen; ‘she is a very fine woman.”
“Avoid me,” said the king; “thou hast caused me loss enough already, thou nasty creature.”
“Well, then, that is not what is best for thee, but to marry her,” said the hen.
“Send down thy mother so that we may see her,” said the king.
She went where her mother was, and she said to her, “The king is seeking you, mother; I was asking him to marry you.”
She went up, and she herself and the king married.
Then there was a Sunday, and they were going to sermon, the king and the queen; and they left within but the hen and the son of the first wife. The hen went when they went away, and she went to a chamber, and she cast off her the husk that was upon her, and the lad went into the room, and he saw the husk that was upon her. He caught hold of it, and he put it into the hot middle of the fire. She came down and she had no tale of the “cochall.”
She came where the lad was, and she had a naked sword, and she said to him,
“Get for me my husk, or else I will take the head off thee, against the throat.”
The lad took much fear, and he could not say a word to her.
“Thou nasty creature,” said she, ‘it is much for me that thy death should be on my hands; I don’t know what I shall do now; if I get another cochall they will think that I am a witch, and I had better stay as I am.”
When the king came home he saw that fine woman within, going about the house, and he had no knowledge what had put her there, and the king must know what sort of a woman she was. She told every whit. She herself and the king’s son married, and a great wedding was made for them.
I suspect this is a fragment of some much longer tale. I know nothing like it in any other language. Wolf.—From a stone at St. Andrews,—Sculptured Stones of Scotland, Pl. lxi.
The Keg of Butter
From Hector Boyd, Barra, who learnt it from Neil M‘Neill, Watersay; and from many other old men. Neil M‘Neill died ten years ago, past eighty years of age.—Castle Bay, Sept. 20, 1860.
THE russet dog and the wild dog, the fox and the
wolf, were going together; and they went round about the sea shore, and they found a keg of butter, and they buried it.
On the morrow the fox went out, and when he returned in he said that a man had come to ask him to a baptism. The fox went and he arrayed himself in excellent attire, and he went away, and where should he go but to the butter keg; and when he came home the wolf asked him what name was on the child; and he said that there was Foveeal (under its mouth).
On the morrow he said that a man had sent to ask him to a baptism, and he reached the keg and he took out about half. The wolf asked when he came home what name was on the child.
“Well,” said he, “there is a queer name that I myself would not give to my man child, if I had him; there is MooLay Moouay (about half and half).
On the morrow he said that there was a man there came to ask him to a baptism again; and he went and he reached the keg, and he ate it all up. When he came home the wolf asked him what name was on the child, and he said that there was Booill eemlich (tackling, licking, or licking all up).
On the morrow he went and he said to the wolf that they ought to bring the keg home. They went, and when they reached the keg there was not a shadow of the butter in it.
“Well! thou wert not without coming to watch this, though I was without coming here,” quoth the fox.
The other one swore that he had not come near it.
“Thou needst not be blessing that thou didst not come here; I know that thou didst come, and that it was thou that took it out; but I will know it from thee when thou goest home, if it was thou that ate the butter,” said the fox.
He went, and when he went home he hung the wolf by his hind legs, with his head dangling below him, and he had a dab of the butter and he put it under his mouth, and if it was true, it was out of the wolf’s belly that it came.
“Thou red thief!” said he, “I said before that it was thou ate the butter.”
They slept that night as they were, and on the morrow when they rose the fox said,
“Well, then, it is silly for ourselves to be going to death in this way with great excess of sloth; we will reach such and such a town-land, and we will take a piece of land in it.”
They reached the town-land, and the man to whom it belonged gave them a piece of land the worth of seven Saxon pounds.
It was oats that they set that year, and they reaped it, and they began to divide it.
“Well, then,” said the fox, “whether wouldst thou rather have the root or the tip? thou shalt have thy two choices.”
“I’d rather the root,” said the wolf.
Then the fox had fine oaten bread all the year, and the other one had fodder.
On the next year they set a crop; and it was tata root (potatoes) that they set, and the potatoes grew well.
“Which wouldst thou like best, the root or the crop this year?” said the fox.
“Indeed, thou shalt not take the twist out of me any more; I will have the crop (top) this year,” quoth the wolf.
“Good enough, my hero,” said the fox.
Then the wolf had the potato tops again, and the fox the potatoes. Then the wolf used to keep stealing the potatoes from the fox.
“Thou hadst best go yonder, and read that name that I have in the hoofs of the gray mare,” quoth the fox.
Away went the wolf, and he began to read the name; and on a time of these times the white mare drew her leg, and she cast the head off the wolf.
“Oh!” said the fox, “it is long since I heard it. I would rather be a clerk than be reading a book.”
He went home, and the wolf was not putting trouble upon him any more.
I heard this story often myself in boyhood. There is some portion of dialogue that I remember, not in this version. When the fox speaks to the wolf about the christening, the conversation goes on in this manner:—
Madadh Ruadh. Och heun! thall.
Madadh Ruadh. Och, och, theid.
For. Och! hein! yonder.
Wolf. What seest thou there?
For. They are asking me to sponsorship.
Wolf. Och! och! wilt thou go there?
Fox. Och! Och! I will. H. MacLean.
See Norse Tales, p. 472, where the creatures are fox and bear.
The Boor and the Fiend, Grimm, No. 189. The notes in vol. iii, Grimm, shew that this is widely spread. See also No. 2, Grimm, vol. iii, where the creatures in company, in various versions, are cat and mouse, cock and hen, cock and fox.
See also stories on Proverbs, 1854, London.
“Send not the cat for lard.” The actors are a kitten and a rat; the scene, a belfry and a garret.
“Ce
Fox, Huntsman, and Falcon.—From a stone at Shandwick.—
Sculptured Stones of Scotland Pl. xxvi.