Witchcraft introduces us to a class of popular superstitions entirely different from those connected with Fairies. Fairies, water-horses, and kindred supernatural beings were distinct from the Evil Spirits that gave to witches their unhallowed powers. They could not be compelled or conjured by mortals to appear when wanted, or enter into contracts of service. The Powers of Darkness, on the other hand, were always at the service of their votaries, and, by means of charms and incantations known to the initiated, were made to lend their aid in any scheme of malevolence.

A belief in magic widely, almost universally, prevails among the tribes of mankind, and the witchcraft of the Christian era, while it undoubtedly gained strength and character from mistaken interpretations of Scripture, owes many characteristics to the delusions of Pagan times.

The Highland witches have of course many points in common with their sisters of the south, but comparatively there is little repulsive or horrible in their character. Tales regarding them make no mention of incubus and succubus, midnight meetings and dances with the devil, dead men’s fingers, and more of the horrible and awful, the ravings of poor women driven crazy by persecution and torture. Neither is there mention of their riding through the air on broomsticks, nor, like the witch of Endor, raising the dead. Their art was forbidden, and their powers came from the devil; but it does not appear under what paction, or that there was any paction, under which this power was to be got. It was in the name of the devil, and against the name of the Trinity, they set about their cantrips, but a knowledge of the necessary charms, and the courage to use them, seem to have been all that was requisite. Those having the reputation of being witches were (and are, for a few still survive) usually old women, destitute of friends and means of support, and naturally ready to eke out a miserable livelihood by working on the fears or the simplicity of their more prosperous neighbours.

There are instances in which a farmer has bribed a witch by yearly presents not to do harm to his cattle; and we must remember that in days of scarcity and famine, poverty with icy hand and slow-consuming age will make people resort to shifts of which they would never dream when food was abundant. In most cases, the reputed witch was merely a superstitious and perhaps ill-favoured old woman, possessing a knowledge of rhymes and charms for the healing of disease in man and beast, and taking pains to sain her own cattle, if she had any, from harm. Sometimes she was also dishonest, desirous of being looked upon with awe, and taking advantage of nightfall to steal milk from her neighbours’ byres and corn from their stackyards. Her powers of witchcraft satisfactorily accounted to the popular mind for her butter and cheese—even if she had no cows—being abundant when the stores of others failed. In dark uncultured times a claim to influence over the unseen powers of nature, and to intercourse with spirits, had only to be made to be allowed, and the mere pretension too readily invests the claimant with awe to make it safe for any one to denounce the imposture. Many believed in the efficacy of the arts they practised, and in their own possession of the power with which the credulity of mankind was willing to accredit them. Unusual natural events and phenomena can easily be turned into proofs of a witch’s claim; imposture readily leads to delusion, and hence among the poor and uneducated it is no wonder to find witchcraft practised and believed in.

The power of witches was always at the disposal of those who were willing to pay for it, and the fact that the rewards of witchcraft did not sometimes exceed a pound of tobacco, alone shows how much the urgencies of want had to do with the pretence to supernatural powers. Unless payment was given the witch could do nothing; her spells were then of no avail. To explain the anomaly that witches possessed such tremendous powers and yet remained always in indigent circumstances, it was said the poor wretches could not benefit themselves; their power, as might be expected, considering the source from which it was derived, was only one of mischief and doing harm to others. Much of the superstition is at variance with this popular explanation, as, for instance, the taking of milk from the neighbours’ cows and the substance from their butter and cheese, but contradictions and absurdities never stand in the way of credulity and superstitious fears.

The Gaelic name ‘Buidseach’ is identical in meaning with the English ‘witch,’ a word it also somewhat resembles in form. The term ‘Bao’ is sometimes translated wizard, but is properly only a careless conversational form of Baobh, a wild furious woman, a wicked mischievous female, who scolds and storms and curses, caring neither what she says nor what she does, praying the houses may be razed (lÀrach lom) and the property destroyed (sgrios an codach) of those who have offended her. This is a word used in proverbs. “A raging woman obtains her imprecation, but her soul obtains no mercy.”[1] Baoth, weak, foolish, is often confounded with it. M’Intosh[2] makes the expression ‘maca bao,’ ‘a wizard’s son’ instead of macan baoth, a weak or little child. “Pity of her who is the mother of a helpless child, when May-day falls on a Thursday,” i.e.[3] owing to the infant mortality of the season.

A common answer to the question, What could witches do? is What could they not do? The classes of actions, however, ascribed to them are not numerous. They could take the milk from their neighbours’ cattle, bring fish to their own coasts, make fishermen successful, go to sea for fish themselves and bring home creelfuls, raise storms, sink ships, drown those who offended them; give strings to sailors with knots on them, the unloosening of which raised the wind; they could go to wine-cellars in London or Ireland, and drink wine till morning; fly through the air with magic quickness, and cross the seas in the most unlikely vessels, sieves, eggshells, or dry cowsherds; produce a wasting disease in an enemy, waylay and endanger the belated traveller, and by their cursed tricks keep a child in its mother’s womb past its proper time; suck cows, and assume various shapes. They could benefit, or at least ward away evil from a favourite, but their power of doing so seems to have been much feebler than their powers of mischief.

In carrying out their unhallowed cantrips, witches assumed various shapes. They became gulls, cormorants, ravens, rats, mice, black sheep, swelling waves, whales, and very frequently cats and hares. The shape was not always well chosen for the object to be attained, a hare, for instance, being but ill-formed for sucking cows, or a cat for drinking wine; neither was a sieve or an eggshell a likely vessel to go to sea in, nor a piece of tangle for carrying milk in, nor the chimney crook a probable substitute for the cow’s udder. This, however, is of no consequence. It is only part of the witch’s diabolical mode of going to work. The truth is, that these harmless animals whose shapes witches were said to assume, being seen in unusual places at unusual times, or conducting themselves in an unusual manner, were converted by the terrified imagination into witches pursuing their unlawful practices. Many tales seem to have their origin in vain attempts to stagger credulity, and in that delight which people of lively imaginations sometimes take in ‘cramming’ their more stupid fellows.

In addition to change of shape, witches had a machinery of charms, incantations, red, black, and blue threads, magic caps, and particularly a magic staff, called ‘an luirgean’ ‘an lorg ohn.’

There were certain nights of the year on which they were unusually busy. These were particularly the last night of every quarter. On Beltane night they were awake all night. Their object seems to have been to sain, i.e. keep evil away from, their own cattle or those of the farmers who employed them for the purpose. Others were no doubt taking advantage of any neglect in this respect to secure to themselves the butter and cheese for the next three months. No one, however, knows what they were after, as a woman who believed in their being awake on Beltane night piously said, “God and themselves know what they are doing.”[4]

Many tales relating to witchcraft, as has been already remarked, must have had their origin in attempts to ridicule people out of their belief and in an unbridled exercise of imagination. They only furnished a proof that men will believe the incredible.

WITCHES AND MILK.

To the poor a cow is invaluable, and its ailments are naturally a source of anxiety. Hence the poor man has been most frequently the victim of imposture, and his cow has the most frequently lost its milk through the machinations of witches. The folds of the affluent were seldom attacked, or those byres in which regard was paid to cleanliness and tidiness.

The stories of witches assuming the shape of hares and sucking cows are numberless. A boy who saw one described the hare as sitting on its hind legs, with its fore paws resting on the cow’s udder. Some people profess to have come upon the witch through the night while thus engaged, and caught her. The hare then became a woman.

When a witch assumes this shape it is dangerous to fire at her without putting silver, a sixpence or a button of that metal, in the gun. If the hare fired at was, as indeed it often was, a witch in disguise, the gun burst, and the shot came back and killed the party firing, or some mischance followed. Old women used, therefore, to recommend that a sixpence be put in the gun when firing at a hare.

Parties who entered the house of a reputed witch in Cornaig, Tiree, found two churns full of water on the floor and a shallow milk-dish (measair) full of butter on the table.

In olden times the master of a ship, dining with the Laird of Coll, was asked if the butter on the table was not very fine. He said it was for pig’s butter. The dairymaid was called up and questioned. She confessed that seeing a whale (muc-mhara, lit. sea-pig) passing, and hearing its bellow (geumraich), she had taken the substance (toradh) of its milk from it. If the laird believed her, he was an honest, unsuspicious man, who never dreamt of any collusion between her and his guest.

A Tiree witch once took all their milk from the Laird of Coll’s cows, and was on her way home with it in a duitheaman, a black seaweed not unlike a tangle, wrapped round her body. A man met her, cut the black tangle with his knife, and all the milk flowed out on the ground. Witches also carried away milk in needles, dung-forks, etc., and have been detected taking it in a stream from the chimney crook. A sailor, whose ship was on her way through the Kyles of Bute (na caoil BhÒdach), hearing a bull roaring on the Cowal coast, took the milk from the herd of which it was lord by cutting the cable with an axe. The milk came streaming from the cable.

It is related of ‘Mr. Lachlan,’ a former minister of Kintail, that going one day to the house of a reputed witch, without telling who he was, he induced her, as a specimen of her power, to milk the chimney crook.[5] The cow from which the milk was to be taken was the minister’s own. The witch went to work, till all the milk was extracted, and then asked the minister if he was satisfied. He told her to go on, and she milked the iron till blood came. When the minister went home he found his cow dead.

A witch in Lochaber had a little pet sheep, by milking which she gathered to herself the milk from the flocks of all the neighbouring farmers.

Hairy Donald (DÒ’ull Molach), a Morven celebrity of last century, professing great skill in healing or hurting cattle by means of magic charms, was laughed at for his pretensions by the parish minister, and his powers were made game of. Donald, at his own request, was shut up in a room, and a particular cow was named by the minister for him to exercise his talents upon. Before he finished his incantations the cow fell over the rocks.

A man bought at a market from a stranger a mart or winter cow. When killing it, the blows of the axe made no impression. An old man who came the way, when told of this, examined the cow’s tail, and found a red string tied round it. On this being taken away, the cow fell at the first blow.

COUNTER-CHARMS.

Of course the spells of witches could be counteracted. It would not be right that such dangerous powers should be unchecked. Some of the counter-charms were good disinfectants, but in general the efficacy of the remedy was as imaginary as the enemy whose machinations were to be defeated. It was to prevent the taking of milk from cows that nearly all the counter-charms were used. Anything in which people believed would be sufficient, but the antidotes in ordinary use were these.

Juniper (Iubhar-beinne, aiteal), pulled in a particular manner, was burned before the cattle and put in cows’ tails.

A ball of hair (gaoisid), called a Ronag, was put in the milk-pail on Lammas-day or on the Thursday after, to keep its substance in the milk during the rest of the year. MacSymon (Mac-Shiomoun, a sept of MacArthurs), a native of Balemartin, Tiree, was much resorted to in former times for these constitution balls. On Lammas-day (LÙnasdal) he gave to all who came to him a little bag of plants, sewn up, to be placed in the cream jug (croggan uachdair) for the ensuing year, that the cattle and the milk might retain their virtue or substance (toradh).

Stale urine (maistir) should be sprinkled on the door-posts and about the byre. It keeps away the evil eye. There was an old woman in Coll who was taken notice of by her neighbours for sprinkling cows and door-posts every night. Her intention no doubt was to make assurance doubly sure.

The mountain ash (Caorrunn) was the most powerful charm of any.

Its efficacy was known in England as well as in the Highlands. The peg of the cow-shackle (Cnag chaorruinn sa bhuaraich) should be made of it, as well as the handle and cross (crois na loinid) of the churn[6] staff. In Islay, not twenty years ago, a man had a rowan-tree collar for securing his cow at night, and every time the animal visited the bull he passed this collar thrice through the chimney crook. On Beltane-day annually he dressed all the houses with rowan. It was said of the man in Craignish who gathered potent herbs on St. Swithin’s day and studied magic with one foot in the chimney crook:

A horse-shoe was of great power for the protection of cattle against witchcraft. As in England, it must be found by accident. It was put above the byre door, and a nail from it driven into the lowest hoop (cearcal) of the milk-dish (mias) kept its substance in the milk. It preserved horses when put above the stable door, and ships when nailed to the mast. An entire horse could not be touched by evil spirits, and its rider was safe from the attacks of witchcraft. A person in the neighbourhood of Luing, Argyllshire, returning from a funeral, found himself unable to make any progress on his road home, though he did his utmost all night to get on. He was retarded by some unseen influence. He rode an entire horse, and found himself safe at daybreak. His safety lay in the horse he rode. The famed Red Book of Appin, according to one version of the tale, was got by one who rode an entire horse to a meeting of witches, and, having got hold of the book, made off with it in despite of the devil and all his servants. In a West Highland tale (ii., 87), the owner of the Red Book advises the shoe of an entire horse to be nailed on the byre door, to counteract the witches, who were taking the milk from the cows. The shoes of entire horses probably are the proper kind to use, though others came into use from being found equally efficacious.

Tar, put on the door, kept witches away, and put on the cow’s ear, was believed to prevent ceathramh gorm, or quarter ill.

If, notwithstanding all these safeguards, or through neglect of them, a cow lost its milk, or the milk ceased to yield butter or cream, there were several methods by which the witchcraft, which was undoubtedly the cause, might be counteracted. Some of these remedies appear more like the inventions of practical jokers than ceremonies from which any rational meaning can be taken.

When a cow ceases unaccountably to give milk, and witchcraft is suspected, its owner is to take some of the animal’s urine (maistir), put it in a bottle, and cork it well. The witch who has taken the milk cannot make a drop of water till the milk is allowed to come back. It is a common story that the owner of bewitched cows, under the advice of ‘wise’ people of his neighbourhood, put a potful of the cows’ dung on the fire, and boiled it. He then put in half an ounce of pins and stirred the compost, till at last the witch appeared at the hole which formed the window, and entreated him to stop tormenting her, and all would be well. He stopped, and next morning his cows had milk as usual. It was also said that by putting pins in the cow’s milk, and boiling till the dish is dry, the witch is made to appear and confess. A woman once did this in Tiree, and found her own brother was the guilty party. Old people in the east side of Skye remember the bull being put on the top of a suspected witch’s house to bring back their milk to a farmer’s cows. The more brutal method of scoring, or drawing blood from, the witch above her breath—the object of which could only be to make clowns strike poor old women on the face with their fists—was unknown in the Highlands. The plant mothan, pearlwort, put in the milk-pail, was a more gentle but quite as sure a method of restoring its virtue to the milk. If a piece of it was in the bull’s hoof at the time of pairing no witch could touch the offspring’s milk.

In Tiree a person lost several stirks by the stakes falling and strangling them in the byre. A ‘wise’ woman, reputed a witch, advised, though her advice was not taken, that the right hand part of a fore horse-shoe, with three nails in it, should be put below the threshold (stairsneach) of the byre, along with a silver coin, and that the hind quarter of one of the beasts should be taken west and buried beyond the limits of the farm. This was to prevent a similar calamity in future.

GOING TO SEA.

The Lewis witches were accounted the best for raising wind. A large number of them were at one time destroyed in the following manner. A tailor, working in a farmer’s house, where there happened at the time to be a scarcity of seasoning for dinner (gann-do-dh’annlan), was told by the farmer’s wife, this would not be the case to-morrow, if he could get breakfast past without the goodman saying grace. The tailor managed this, and his curiosity being roused, remained awake the following night, to see what the wife would do. He saw a number of women, among whom he recognised his own wife, assembling in the farm-house and accompanied by the farmer’s wife, disappearing up the chimney, each in a wicker creel. In the morning the farmer’s wife came back with her creel full of fresh herring. The tailor, when he went home, strongly represented to his wife the propriety of allowing him to accompany the witches in their future fishing expeditions. Two shares of the fish would then fall to them instead of one. The proposal was laid before a meeting of the witches, and in the circumstances they consented. To the number of eighteen the witches went to sea on a line of worsted thread, the tailor’s wife being left ashore to hold the ball, or end of the line, in her hand. The tailor persuaded her to go with the rest, and leave him in charge of the line. She went and the tailor paid out more line, till he thought the witches far enough out at sea. He then cut the thread and allowed the whole lot to drown.

Similarly, somewhere in the north (all marvels of this kind are said in the south Highlands to have occurred in the north) a tailor was working in the house of an old woman, who knew the forbidden arts, but at the time was short of kitchen for dinner. She took a creel, sat in it, and having muttered some mystic words, disappeared through a hole in the roof that formed the chimney. In a while she came back with the creel full of herring. The tailor kept the spell in remembrance, and the first day he got the old woman out of the way, sat in the creel, and repeated it. He does not seem, however, to have learned the words quite correctly, for the creel, instead of making for the hole in the roof, rose straight up and hit his head violently against the rafters. It then floated along against the roof, as if in search of an outlet. It bumped his head a second time against the rafters and he roared out, “Where, in the curse of God, are you going now?” Instantly at the name of the Deity, the creel fell down, and the tailor dislocated his hips (chaidh e as a ghobhal). He never again dabbled in the dark science.

In Skye, one of a party of women, assembled at an old woman’s house to full cloth, went by accident into the barn, and found it full of fish suspended from the roof. “There are many herrings here,” she said; and there being no way by which the old woman could have got them but by witchcraft, she taxed her with unholy practices. The old woman got very angry at the exposure.

A Barra and a Uist witch one year tried each other’s powers in drawing the fish to their respective islands. The Barra witch proved the stronger, and took the fish to Castlebay (BÀgh ChÌosamuill).

Another year the Uist and Tiree witches had a similar contest. The latter prevailed, and the men of a bygone generation believed that every flounder caught that year on the Tiree shores had a hole in its tail, made by the witches in the struggle.

On the shallows (oitir) between Tiree and Coll, the witches of the two islands were often seen fighting for the flounders that abound in the locality. The appearance that suggested the fancy was no doubt the same as is still to be seen on these banks in stormy weather.

A witch, who left home every night, was followed by her husband, who wondered what she could be about. She became a cat, and went in the name of the devil to sea in a sieve, with seven other cats. The husband upset the sieve by naming the Trinity, and the witches were drowned. So the Skye story runs. In the Sound of Mull the witches went on board the sieve, “against the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost”; and the husband upset the concern by putting his foot on board in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. In Tiree the unfortunate women were passing Kennavara hill in eggshells on their way to Ireland, when the husband of one of them, seeing the fleet, wished them God-speed. Instantly the eggshells sank, and the women were drowned.

RAISING STORMS AND DROWNING PEOPLE.

The belief that witches can trouble the sea and raise the wind is widespread, reaching even to the native Africans. It is part of the regular traffic of Finland witches to sell wind to mariners,—as in the case of their Celtic sisters, tied in knots upon a thread. The following story is common to many places.

A boatman from one of the southern islands was long detained in Lewis by adverse winds. He was courting a witch’s daughter, and applied to her mother for a favourable wind. He gave her a pound of tobacco, and, assisted by neighbouring witches, after three days’ exertion, she produced a string with three knots upon it. The first knot was called ‘Come gently’ (Thig gu fÒill), and when he loosened it, as he left the shore, a gentle breeze sprang up. The second knot was called ‘Come better’ (Teann na’ s fhÈarr), and on its being untied the breeze came stiffer. As he neared the harbour, he out of curiosity loosened the last knot, the name of which was ‘Hardship’ (Cruaidh-chÀs). A wind came “to blow the hillocks out of their places” (sÉideadh nan cnoc), and sent the thatch of the houses into the furrows of the plough-land, and the boatman was drowned. In Harris, they say the boat was drawn up on land and secured before the last knot was untied. She was capsized and smashed to pieces.

The following, known as “Big Macmhuirich’s Supplication” (Achanaich Mhic Mhuirich MhÒir), is another form of the Celtic belief.

‘Macpherson of power’ (Mac-Mhuirich nam buadh), a noted wizard in South Uist, was on a passage by sea on a calm day. The skipper said to him, “Ask for a wind, Mac-Vuirich.” He did so, saying:

“Weak and trifling you have asked it,” said the skipper, “when I myself am at the helm.” Mac-Vuirich answered:

“It does not attain to praise yet,” said the skipper, and Mac-Vuirich went on:

A sea came, that rolled the boat’s stern over her bows, and all were drowned but Mac-Vuirich and his dog.

The power of this wizard over the elements was also shown on another occasion. The MacRanalds were coming to attack the MacNeills of Barra, to whom Mac-Vuirich was favourable. Their boat was seen coming along the wild and rocky coast on the west of Skye, and was sunk by the mighty wizard uttering the following words:

As might be expected, such a boat did not go far before sinking.

The usual way witches took to shipwreck a vessel was to put a small round dish (cuach) floating in a milk-pan (measair) placed on the floor full of water. They then began their incantations, and when the dish upset, the ship sank.

On one occasion three witches from Harris left home at night after placing the milk-pan thus on the floor, in charge of a servant-maid, who was straitly enjoined not to let anything come near it. The girl’s attention was, however, called away for a short time, and a duck came in and took to squattering about in the water on the floor. The witches on their return in the morning, asked if anything had come near the milk-pan. The girl said no, and one of them said, “What a heavy sea we had last night coming round CÀbag head!”

A few years ago a boat was lost coming from Raasa to Skye. The witches, who caused the calamity, were seen at work in the Braes of Portree, beside a stream. Three of them were engaged in the evil task, and a man was present along with them. Jobs of the kind require the presence of a man. A cockle-shell (slige coilleig) was placed floating in a pool, and a number of black stones were ranged round the edge of the pool. When the incantation was at its height, the black stones barked like dogs, and the cockle-shell disappeared.

A farmer in Mull and his little daughter were walking along an eminence that overlooked the Sound, through which a number of ships were passing at the time. The little girl asked, “What will you give me, father, if I sink all these ships?” Thinking she was in fun, he asked her how she would do it. She stooped down, and looked backwards between her legs at one of the vessels. The ship whirled round and sank. In this expeditious manner all the ships in sight were sunk, but one. The man asked why this one did not sink. The girl said it was because there was rowan-tree wood on board, and she could not touch it. He then asked who had taught her all this? She said it was her mother. The man, who was a good man, and before ignorant of his wife’s dabbling in witchcraft, gathered his neighbours and burned herself and daughter.

A witch was engaged to destroy a boat coming to Tiree. Another witch, however, wished its safety. The former came in shape of a gull, that hovered about the boat, and kept it back (a head wind?). The other came as a cormorant (sgarbh), followed in the wake of the boat (an uisge na stiÙirceach, lit. the waters of the rudder), and saved it. (Favourable tide?)

A former Lord Macdonald (MÀ-CÒnuill) was on his way by boat to Uist, and experienced very unfavourable weather. When near his destination, a towering wave, or, as it is called in Gaelic, ‘a drowning sea’ (muir bhÀite), nearly overwhelmed the boat, and two birds, a skua (croma-ritheachar) and an ordinary gull, were observed fighting in the air. The one was Yellow Claws, daughter of Donald, son of Cormac (spÒga Buidhe ni’ a DÒ’uill ’ic Cormaig), the other Hump-backed Blue-eye from CrÀcaig (Gorm-shÙil chrotach a CrÀcaig), both celebrated witches. The former was for sinking the boat, the latter for saving it. Sometime after Blue-eye met Lord Macdonald in Edinburgh, and reminded him of the incident, and her own services on the occasion. He just remarked, “There was indeed such a circumstance.”

A ship, sailing from Greenock, was to be destroyed by the Captain’s wife and two other witches. An apprentice overheard them planning this, and saying that they would come upon the ship on a certain day as three rolling waves, and the ship would be sunk, unless the waves were cut with a sword. At the time said the apprentice was allowed the command of the vessel, and standing in the bow with a drawn sword, cleft the waves, and defeated the witches.

A boat from Hianish, Tiree, went out fishing on the day before the New Year. The morning was calm, but when the boat was returning the wind rose and the sea became very heavy. The best steersman in the boat took the helm. Another, sitting on the hindmost thwart (tota shÍlidh), after looking for a while towards the stern, asked the helm from him, and being again and again refused, at last took it by force. When he got the rudder below his arm, he said, “Now, come on!” and the boat reached shore in safety. He then explained that he had been seeing a gull, unseen by the first steersman, following the boat, and had recognised her as a woman of the neighbourhood. This woman had an illegitimate child by the first steersman, and it was thought her object in raising the storm and following so close in the wake of the boat, was to snatch her seducer with her and drown him.

Ian Garve (stout John), laird of Raasa (Iain Garbh Mac-ille-Challum Ratharsa), a man celebrated in Highland song and legend for his great personal strength, was drowned by a witch who had this mysterious power of raising storms. The event occurred on Easter Monday (Di-luain CÀisge), in the great ‘storm of the Borrowing Days,’ of which a contemporary historian says “the like of this tempest was not seen in our time, nor the like of it heard in this country in any age preceding,” A.D. 1625; yet the traditions of the event are still fresh in popular memory. The witch was Ian Garve’s own foster-mother (muime), and resided on the islet of Trodda (Trodaidh), on the east of Skye. She overheard a friend of hers say he wished Ian Garve, who was known to have gone to the Lewis, was drowned, and took up seriously words spoken only in jest. Others say she was bribed by an enemy to effect the hero’s destruction. He left Loch Sealg in Lewis to proceed home on a calm day. The witch was dairymaid (banachag) in Trodda, and, seeing the boat coming, put milk in a large dish, and a small empty dish floating in it. A boy was placed standing in the doorway, where he could see both the milk-pan and Ian Garve’s boat. She herself stood with her foot in the ‘swey’ or chimney crook, and began her unholy incantations. Soon the dish in the milk-pail began to be violently agitated. The boy reported it first as going round sunwise (deiseal), then as going round against the sun and striking the sides of the basin, and finally as being capsized and floating bottom upwards (air a bial foidhpe). The storm had been all this time increasing, till at last it blew a perfect hurricane. That night the heap of shingle on East-side (Du-sear), called Moll-stabhan, was washed ashore. Ian Garve’s boat disappeared simultaneously with the capsizing of the bowl, and all on board perished. Three ravens hovered about the boat as the storm was rising, and it became afterwards known that these three were Yellow Claws (SpÒga Buidhe) from MÀiligeir on East-side, Hump-backed Blue-eye (Gorm-shÙil chrotach) from CrÀcaig near Portree, and Doideag from Mull. When the boat was between Bare Skerries (Sgeire maola) and Trodda twenty birds flew about, and some of them assumed the shape of frogs (muileacha mÀg) on the deck. All the witches in Scotland were there, but were unable to sink the boat till Ian Garve said to the frogs, “What the brindled one has brought you here?”[8] After that he became distracted from the number of birds and frogs coming upon him. A raven lighted on the gunwale of the boat, and Ian Garve, striking at it with his sword, cleft the boat to the water’s edge. The first news of the drowning was heard on Minigeig Hill (Monadh mhinigeig) in Badenoch, and the particulars became known by the telling of other witches. Another account says the hero appeared that night to his wife in her dreams, and said:

The shade came thrice and repeated this. Next day the wife told the dream to her mother-in-law, who exclaimed, “Then my beloved is lost” (tha mo laogh-sa caillte).

By far the most celebrated tale of this class is that of the destruction of Captain Forrest’s ship by witches in the Sound of Mull.

Viola (BheÒla), daughter of the King of Spain, dreamt of a remarkably handsome man, and made a vow not to rest till she found him. She fitted out a boat, and in the course of her wanderings came to Tobermory Bay. Here she saw MacLean of Dowart, who proved to be the man she was in search of, and, though he was a married man, became too intimate with him. MacLean’s wife in her jealousy caused her servant Smollett, a south countryman, to blow up the ship with all on board. After setting fire to a fuse leading to the magazine, Smollett made his escape, and by the time the explosion took place reached Pennygown, a distance of ten or twelve miles. The cook was blown to Srongarve (srÒn-garbh, rough nose), near Tobermory, where there is a cleft still bearing the name of the Cook’s Cave (Uamh ChÒcaire). The Princess herself fell somewhere in the sound, and was buried at Cill, the Loch Aline burying-ground in Morven.[10] Upon the news of the dreadful event reaching Spain, Captain Forrest (whose name is not very Spanish) was sent with a ship to take vengeance upon the Mull people by taking off the right breast of every Mull woman. When the ship came the Lady of Dowart sent for Doideag, the Mull witch, and by her means, with assistance procured from neighbouring witches, Captain Forrest’s ship was sunk before next morning. Doideag shut herself up in a house alone at Guirman Point (Rutha Ghuirmein), near Dowart, and there made her incantations. A rope was put through a hole in a rafter, and all night long the handmill (brÀ) was hoisted up to the beam, lowered, and hoisted again. A native of Tiree reported that, having come that evening to Doideag’s house, he was compelled by her to hoist and lower and hoist the mill-stone all night without rest or refreshment, while the witch herself went away to Tiree and elsewhere for help. On her return she said that when in Tiree she had been detained a little in extinguishing a fire, which had been caused by a spark falling among the fodder in the stirk-house belonging to the man who was her unwilling assistant. As the quern was raised a gale sprang up, and increased in fury as the operation went on. At the same time gulls (others say hooded-crows, others black cats) appeared on the yard-arms of the devoted ship. Captain Forrest knew the Black Art himself, and went below. As word was brought him that another gull had appeared in the rigging, he said, “I will suffice for this one yet” (FÒghnaidh mi fhÌn dhi so fhathast). He could keep the ship against some say eight, others nine, witches, but “ere a’ the play was play’d” there were sixteen, some say eighteen, on the yards. Their names depend on the fancy of the narrator. All the Mull witches (na doideagun Muileach) were there, and the most powerful of the sisterhood from the surrounding districts. Nic-ill’-Domhnuich from Tiree is commonly mentioned.[11] All accounts agree that when Big Blue-eye from Mey (Gorm-shÙil MhÒr bha sa Mheigh), the powerful Lochaber witch, came, the ship sank. Shortly before this Captain Forrest told a sailor to look up and see how many gulls were on the yards (seall suas co miad faoileann air an t-shlait). On being told eighteen, he said, “We are lost.” In the morning Doideag was told her house had been unroofed in the gale, but she was comforted by being told the dreaded ship had gone down opposite Coire-na-theanchoir Bay. “If you are without a house, Captain Forrest is without a ship” (ma tha thusa gun tigh, tha Captain Forrest gun long).

WITCHES AS SHEEP.

A native of Tiree was on his way home to the west end of the island in the evening with a new gun in his hand. When above the beach called Travay, he observed a black sheep running towards him from across the plain of Reef. Alarmed by the animal’s motions, he put a silver sixpence in the gun, and on its coming near enough, took aim. The black sheep instantly became a woman, whom he recognised, with a drugget coat wrapped about her head. The same woman had often persecuted him before, particularly in shape of a cat. She asked him to keep her secret, and he promised to do so, but one day, when drunk in the village to which the woman belonged, he told his adventure and the name of the woman. In less than a fortnight after he was drowned, and the witch (for such the woman was universally reputed to be) was blamed as the cause.

Hector M’Lean, in Coll, according to his own account, was coming in the evening from Arinagour to Breacacha, a distance of four miles along what was then throughout the greater part a mountain track. When halfway, at Airidh-mhic-mharoich, a black sheep came about his feet, and several times threw him down. At last he took out a clasp-knife (sgian-lughaidh), and threatened the sheep, if it came near him again, to stick it with the knife. It, however, again and again came and threw him down. In endeavouring to stab it, the knife closed upon his own hand between the finger and thumb, and cut him severely. On coming to the large open drain or stream below Breacacha Garden, he stood afraid to jump across, in case the black sheep should come about his legs, and make him fall in the drain. He was now, however, within hail of his own house, and whistled loudly for his dog. It came, and was fiercely hounded by him at the sheep. Every time the dog made a rush and came too near, the sheep became an old woman, whom Hector recognised as one of his acquaintances, and jumped in the air. She asked him to call off his dog, and he refused. She asked him again, and promised, if he would do so, to befriend him in right and wrong (an cÒir’s an eucoir). At last he did call the dog, but it would not obey. He caught it by the back of the neck, and it tried to turn upon himself. He promised to keep his hold till the woman made her escape. The witch became a hare, and Hector called out to her, as she seemed to have such wonderful power, to “add another leg to her stern, to make her escape the faster.” When she was some distance away, he let go the dog, and went home. The dog did not come home till the following afternoon; it followed the hare, compelled it to take refuge on a shelf of rock (uirigh creige), and lay below on the watch, till forced by hunger to go home. The woman upbraided Hector, the first time she met him, for letting go the dog. Afterwards, when he went as servant-man to Arileod farm (aÌridh-LeoÌd) in the neighbourhood, the same woman was often seen by him, in the shape of a hare, sucking the cows. His dog, whenever it caught sight of her, gave chase, and compelled her to resume her proper shape. When he left the farm, she was not seen there for some days. He went in search of her, and accused her to her face of having been the party that troubled the farm. She got into a rage, and said she would punish him for raising such a story about her. He answered that the proprietor of the island had offered a reward for the discovery of the guilty person, and if all the women in Coll were gathered on one hillock his speckled dog (cu breac) would pick her out as the offender. To this she made no reply. He asked her to go to Arileod dairy that night, so that people would not have it to say it was for him the evil had arisen. She said this was Wednesday night, and it was out of her power to do anything, but the following night she would go, and he would hear of it. On Thursday night she loosened the cows in Arileod byre, let in the calves, and did much mischief.

WITCHES AS HARES.

In addition to the above tales, in which this transformation has been mentioned, the following may be given as further illustrations of the superstition.

A young man, in the island of Lismore, was out shooting. When near Balnagown Loch, he started a hare, and fired at it. The animal gave an unearthly scream, and it then for the first time occurred to the young man that there were no hares in Lismore. He threw away his gun in terror, and fled home. Next day he came back for the gun, and heard that a reputed witch of the neighbourhood was laid up with a broken leg. Ever after the figure of this woman encountered him and gave him severe thrashings. This preyed on his mind, and he never came to any good. He proved brooding, idle, and useless.

A Manxman, who was in Tiree a few years ago, told the following story. A party of sportsmen, engaged in coursing, were at a loss for a hare. An old woman told her grandson to go to them, tell them they would get a hare at a certain spot, and get half-a-crown for himself. The boy went, got his half-crown, and guided the sportsmen to the spot his grandmother had indicated. When the hare started he cried, “Run, granny, run!” The hare made straight for the old woman’s house, the dogs lost sight of it at the back of the house, and the old woman was found sitting at the fireside.

In Wigtonshire a hare ran up the chimney, and a suspected witch near hand was found with burnt feet.

WITCHES AS CATS.

The association of witches with cats is of great antiquity. In the legends of Greece and Rome, we are told of a woman, who had been changed into a cat, being chosen as priestess by Hecate, the goddess of sorcery and magic power, and of Hecate herself, when the gods were forced to hide themselves in animals, taking refuge in the shape of a cat. The association probably arose not so much from cats being the frequent, almost invariable, companions of the poor old women accused of witchcraft, as from the savage character of the animal itself. Its noiseless and stealthy motions, its persevering watchfulness, its extraordinary agility and tenacity of life, its diabolical caterwauling, prowling habits, deceitful spring, and the luminous appearance of its eyes in the dark, would alone suffice to procure it the name of unearthly; but when infuriated, glaring, bristling, and spitting, it forms a vivid representation of a perfect demon. In the Highlands, it was not, as in the witchcraft of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, looked upon as the familiar or attendant imp of the witch, but merely as an animal, whose form witches frequently assumed.

There were other superstitions connected with the animal. Were it not the fear of being swallowed by the ground, a cat would run much faster than it does. When people have a cat along with them in a boat, they cannot, or will not, be drowned by witches. By burying a cat alive, people waiting for a favourable wind get a breeze from the direction in which its head is put; and a witch, that is, a young one, who is courted by a sailor, can detain him with contrary winds as long as she likes by shutting up the cat in the cupboard. A cat scraping is a sign that some beast, horse, cow, pig, or dog will be found dead on the farm before long. A cat washing its face portends rain next day, and turning its back to the fire storm and rain. When removing from one house to another (imrich), it is unlucky to take a cat. The animal was disliked by the MacGregors, and the Camerons of Glenevis could not tolerate it at all.

A shepherd in Kintail, living alone in a bothy, far from other houses, after kindling in the evening a bright cheerful fire, threw himself on a heather bed on the opposite side of the house. About twenty cats entered and sat round the fire, holding up their paws and warming themselves. One went to the window, put a black cap on its head, cried “Hurrah for London!” and vanished. The other cats, one by one, did the same. The cap of the last fell off, and the shepherd caught it, put it on his own head, cried “Hurrah for London!” and followed. He reached London in a twinkling, and with his companions went to drink wine in a cellar. He got drunk and fell asleep. In the morning he was caught, taken before a judge, and sentenced to be hanged. At the gallows he entreated to be allowed to wear the cap he had on in the cellar; it was a present from his mother, and he would like to die with it on. When it came the rope was round his neck. He clapped the cap on his head, and cried “Hurrah for Kintail!” He disappeared with the gallows about his neck, and his friends in Kintail, having by this time missed him, and being assembled in the bothy prior to searching the hills, were much surprised at his strange appearance.

This is a fair specimen of the popular tale. It forms the foundation of the Ettrick Shepherd’s “Witch of Fife.” In Skye, the adventure was claimed by a man nicknamed ‘Topsy-turvy’ (But-ar-scionn) as having occurred to himself. After coming home, he made the gallows into a weaver’s loom. The hero in Argyllshire made it the stern and keel of a boat, which may be seen in Lorn to this day. In Harris the hero is a tailor: and the tale has been even found in the Monach isles, west of Uist.

Captain Burt (1730) tells a story of a similar kind which he had heard from a minister. A laird, whose wine was disappearing mysteriously, suspecting witches one night, when he thought the plunderers were at work, entered the cellar, closed the door, and laid about him with a broadsword. When light was brought, the cats, whose eyes he had seen glaring at him in the dark, disappeared, and only some blood was found on the floor. An old woman in the neighbourhood, suspected of being a witch, was found, on her house being entered, in bed, with her leg cut off and lying below the bed. The same story is told of the witches of Thurso (Inbher-EÒrsa).

A tailor, named Macilduinn, was left in a house alone on Hallowe’en night, while the rest of the household went to a neighbour’s house to hold the festivities of the evening. As he sat on a bed, working at his trade, a great many cats came in, and attacking a bag of flesh at the end of the bed soon tore it up and devoured it. They then gathered round the tailor. One said, “The back of my paw to Macilduinn!” Another said, “The front of my paw to Macilduinn!”[12] These threats were repeated by all the rest, while they held out their horrid claws, some derisively, some menacingly, to the poor tailor. Frightened from his wits, he blew out the light, sprung to the door, and took to his heels. The cats gave chase, and by the time he reached a neighbours house his back was scratched into shreds and thongs (na iallun) by the claws of the infernal cats.

Cameron of DoÏni, or Glenevis, was out hunting, and killed a wild-cat. The animal, when expiring, asked him to tell, when he went home, that ‘the King of the Cats’ (Righ nan Cat) was dead, or according to others ‘the Key of Battle’ (an Iuchair Chath), or ‘the streaked Brindled one’ (a Bhruchail Bhreac). As he told his story, the little black kitten in the ash-hole (an toll na luath) bristled up and swelled, till it was as large as a dog. Cameron said, “You are swelling, cat.” The cat answered, “My feathers and my swellings are growing bigger with the heat,”[13] and, springing at the chieftain’s throat, killed him. The scions of this family (Teaghlach Dhomhainnidh no Ghlinn-Ibheis) till quite recent times, would not tolerate a cat in the house, from the memory of this tradition.

The same story is told in the following manner, without any locality being assigned for the incident. A hunter killed a wild-cat, and when he came home told his adventure. He said,

A kitten that was listening rose and said, “Has Bald Entrails of the Cats been killed? If it were not the many nights I have got meat and milk in your family, I would have your long brindled weasand in my claws. Tell Streaked Foul-Face, that Bladrum is dead,”[14] and saying this the kitten went away, and was never seen afterwards.

Near Vaul in Tiree, a man riding home at night, with his son, a young boy, seated behind him, was met by a number of cats. The boy had his hands clasped round his father, and the man, pressing them to his sides, to make surer of the boy’s hold, urged his horse to its speed. The cats sprang, and, fastening on the boy, literally devoured him. When the man reached home, with his horse at full gallop, he had only the boy’s arms left.

A Wexford legend of the same kind (the two stories might have been originally identical), said to be at least as old as 1584, will be found in the Dublin University Magazine for September, 1869.

A woman detected a strange cat drinking the milk in her kirn, caught it by the back of the neck, and rapped its nose against the floor. It went about mewing in a melancholy manner, till the woman took pity on it, and called it, saying, “Puss, puss, till you get a drop” (Puis, puis, gus am faigheadh tu diar). The cat answered, “It is not a drop I want, but the way my mouth is, Mary” (Cha-ne diar tha mi’g iarraidh ach mar tha mo bhial a MhÀiri). It then went away, but came back through the night with two other cats. One said they would take the back of their paws to the woman, but the second said the front of their paws. This resolution was carried by the casting vote of the injured cat, and the woman was torn in shreds.

A man, going in the evening to see a girl he was courting, was met at a lonely part of the road (near the end of Balefetrish Hill in Tiree) by seven cats, and was so terrified that he turned back and thereby lost his sweetheart. She married an old man from the village of Hianish, where a noted witch dwelt. The old man got the blame of bribing the witch to send the cats.

In olden times a cat belonging to the tenant of Heynish in Tiree was much addicted, like the rest of its kind, to stealing cheese. It was caught in the act, and, as a punishment for the past and a lesson for the future, its ears were taken off. The tenant had occasion to go from home, and on his return found the cat lying dead, having been hung for theft in his absence. He took it in his lap, and thus addressed it:

On hearing these expressions of sympathy, the cat began to revive, and the man went on:

On hearing this the cat ran away and was never again seen.

A Tiree boat was tacking out of a loch in the north. A man met it at a point of land near which it came, and asked to be taken to the other side. One of the boatmen was willing, but the rest were not, as they would thereby lose time. Next tack back, the man met the boat again, with the same result. “Well, then,” he said, “perhaps you will repent it.” At the mouth of the loch the boatmen heard a howling as of innumerable cats. A storm arose, and with difficulty they reached shelter at the island of Eigg.

WITCHES AS RATS.

A Tiree boatman, bringing a load of peats from the Ross of Mull, was met at the Treshinish Isles by two rats sailing along on dry cowsherds. As good luck did not direct him, he threw a piece of peat at the rats, and upset their frail barks. A storm sprang up, and with difficulty he got to land. The rats were witches, and he should not have meddled with them.

WITCHES AS GULLS.

A witch assumed the shape of a gull, delighting in storms, not only to bring danger or safety to a boat, as already told, but also for payment to bring back news of fishing boats driven away in a storm.

A boat from Tiree, going for a cargo of wood, was caught in a violent gale and driven north past Ardnamurchan Point. With difficulty the boatmen, four in number, secured her in a creek. They remained in a cave for four days, till the storm abated. The suddenness and violence of the gale caused much anxiety to their friends, and two women, one of whom had two sons and a son-in-law in the boat, and the other, a widow, her youngest and only surviving son, consulted a famous witch, Nic-ill’-DÒmhnuich, in Caolas, as to their fate. The witch told them to come next day, and she would tell them. Early next morning the widow went. “Yea,” said the witch, “they live, and they had no little amusement last night fighting for the Fallaid bannock, and your son had his own share of it.” When the young men came home, they were questioned as to their seeing anything the night the witch was sent for news. They said a grey gull was seen by them sitting on the edge of the rocks that overhang their place of shelter and peering down at them. One was for throwing stones at it, but the rest dissuaded him. It was only seen that night and next morning.

WITCH AS CORMORANT.

A man named Campbell, in the Long Island, as the outer Hebrides are called, had two sweethearts, for one of whom he did not very much care. They were both to be present at a gathering of women for fulling cloth, and he resolved to go and see them. When he arrived he found only the one he least liked. He left shortly, and set off to where the other was. On the way he had to cross a ford on large stepping-stones. As he was doing so a cormorant (sgarbh) came, and splashed him fiercely with water. He had a cudgel in his hand, and gave the strange bird a whack on the back. He then passed on, and the distance being considerable did not return till next day. When returning he had to pass the house of the slighted damsel. Her mother met him at the door, and said, she could not understand what was wrong with her daughter; she had got suddenly ill last night, and was very bad with a sore back. Campbell said he knew the reason, and would have nothing further to say to her daughter. The woman then threatened him, but no evil ever came of her threat.

WITCHES AS WHALES.

A Skye fisherman gave the following narrative of witchcraft to which he himself was a witness. He and his brother were at the herring fishing in Portree in his native isle, and during that season out of all the herring boats one only was successful. It had only a crew of two, and every night caught from eight to ten crans of fish. The other boats were empty or nearly so. One night when the nets were set, the boat, in which he and his brother were, sprang a leak, and was taken back to the harbour and beached. The rest of the crew went away to the village, but he remained till the boat was left dry by the receding tide. In a while he also left, and as he did so, saw a young girl coming out of a house and tapping at a neighbour’s window. Another girl came out of that house, and wondering what the two could be about at that hour of the night, he followed them from the village. On reaching the green, the two girls began to disport themselves (braise), then of a sudden became hares, and chased each other round and round. After this they made their way to the shore, and at the edge of the water (gob na tuinne), leapt into the sea and became whales. They went out from land spouting the water as high as a ship’s mast. Next morning the boats came in empty. The fishermen said they had seen during the night two whales throwing up the sea in a dreadful manner (smÙideadh na fairge gu h-eagallach), which made them think there was fish in the neighbourhood. The lucky boat was full as usual.

The meaning of this tale seems to be that the man had been listening the night before to tales of witchcraft, had fallen asleep in the boat on the beach, and had a troublous dream.

DELAYING THE BIRTH OF A CHILD.

This infernal cantrip was played by means of a ball of black worsted thread in a black bag, kept at the foot of the witch’s weaving loom, where it might not be detected. If the ball was taken away the plot fell through. In proof of this, there is a story told that a child was once kept twenty-two years in its mother’s womb by means of witches, and when born it had hair, beard, and teeth, like a person of that age.

The mother of a celebrated West Highland freebooter, ‘Allan of the Faggots’ (Ailein nan sop), was a servant maid who became pregnant by a married man. The man’s wife, when she heard of the scandal, got a bone from a witch, which, she was assured, would, as long as it was kept, delay the birth of the child. Allan of the Faggots was thus kept in his mother’s womb for fifteen months beyond the usual time. The husband got word of his wife’s doings, and took a plan to defeat her. He made his Fool one day come home, pretending to be very drunk, staggering about, and smashing the furniture. On being called to task, the Fool said he had been in a house down yonder (that of the servant-maid), where a child had at last been born, and had got a dram, which went into his head. The wife, on hearing this, thought the witch had deceived her, and threw the bone into the fire. It disappeared in blue smoke, and knocked down the chimney! Allan was then born, with large teeth.

In other tales to the same effect, the trick usually is played on a married woman, by the mother of a maid who had been slighted on her account.

CLAY CORPSE.

The greatest evil that witches can do is to make, for a person whose death they desire, a clay body or image (corp creadha), into which pins are stuck, to produce a slow and painful disease, terminating in dissolution. Waxen figures for the same purpose, and melted by exposure to a slow fire, were known to Lowland superstition. In the Highlands wax was not accessible to poor bodies, and they had to make clay serve the turn. It is said that when a person wants a limb he cannot be destroyed by witches in this manner.

MacIain Ghiarr, the Ardnamurchan thief, stole so many cattle from MacLean of Dowart that he made that chief his deadly enemy. On one of his roving expeditions he was passing at midnight the chapel or burying-ground of Pennygown (caibeal Peighinn-a-ghobhan), on the Sound of Mull. Seeing a light in the chapel, he entered, and found three witches sticking pins in a clay body (corp creadha) intended to represent MacLean of Dowart. As each pin was stuck in, MacLean was seized with a stitch in the corresponding part of his body. Only the last pin remained to be stuck in. It was to be in the heart, and to cause death. MacIain Ghiarr scattered the witches, took with him the clay corpse, and made his way to MacLean, whom he found at death’s door. He took out in his presence the pins one by one, and when the last was taken out MacLean jumped up a hale man, and remained ever after the warm friend of MacIain Ghiarr.

MacGilvray, a former minister of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, was seized with burning pains all over his body, and was slowly wasting away by some malady, of which the nature could not be understood. He lived at Clachan in that strath, and one morning early a woman from the opposite side of the river, on her way to call and ask for him, saw another woman going along before her, who had the reputation of being a witch. Wondering what her neighbour was about at that early hour, she kept well behind and watched. The foremost woman, on coming to a hollow, stooped down, buried something in the ground, and then walked on towards the minister’s house. The other came and dug up what had been buried. It proved to be a piece of wood stuck all over with pins. She took it with her to the manse, and produced it, to the confusion of the witch. On the pins being withdrawn the minister was freed from his pains and got quite well again.

Ross-shire witches could not destroy ‘Donald of the Ear’ (Do’uill na Cluaise), of whom they had made a clay figure, from being unable to put on the ear. Donald had lost the ear in battle. Similarly a corp creadha made for Lord Macdonald by Raonaid a Chreagain failed, because the witches never could put the arm on.

Witches could also produce disease in other ways. Thus, a young man in Perthshire—the tailor Cumming in Drimachastle, Rannoch—fell into a decline. He accounted himself for the loss of health, decay, and sweats at night by witches coming at night when he was in Badenoch (a district at the time celebrated for witchcraft), and converting him into a horse, on which they rode through the air to Edinburgh and other places to spend the night carousing in well-stored cellars. He now saw them often passing in different shapes and in eggshells, etc. The poor young man did not understand the sweats of consumption, and his imagination was disordered by the many tales of witchcraft he had heard.

The same tale, of converting men into horses, is with slight variations common. In Lorn, a woman came night after night and shook a bridle at the son of a neighbouring farmer. He immediately became a horse, on which she rode to London, etc. A younger brother exchanged beds with him, and when the witches were carousing, secured the magic bridle, converted the witch herself into a horse, rode home, and before taking off the bridle took his horse to a smithy, and put on four shoes. Next day an old woman of the neighbourhood was found with her feet and hands horribly mangled.

SILVER SIXPENCE.

As already said, silver fired from a gun will wound a witch, and force her to assume her proper shape. An English sportsman, according to a Perthshire version of an old story, was sitting surrounded by his dogs, in a mountain bothy at the dead hour of night. A cat came in, but the dogs did not move. It sat with its back to the fire, and swelled till it was as large as a yearling calf. The Englishman took a silver button off his clothes, and putting it in the gun, fired at the cat. The brute scampered out at the door. On going to the strath next day, the sportsman being a doctor, was sent for to see a farmer’s wife, who had got suddenly ill. He went, and extracted his own silver button from her right breast.

SAVING HORSES.

In Uist, a band of horses wandered on to a ledge in the face of a steep precipice. It was impossible to take them from their dangerous position to the top of the cliff by ropes, and to force them from the ledge to the sea, which washed the base of the precipice, seemed from the height of the fall, inevitable destruction. An old man, who was reputed to know more than his paternoster, advised, however, they should be driven over, and himself began an incantation, beginning “Casa Gurra, Casa Gurra,” whatever that may mean. The horses of their own accord went over the ledge, and swam safely to land.

TAILOR AND WITCHES.

A Glen-Quoich tailor, detected among a company of witches, was asked what had brought him into such society? He said it was “for the pleasure of the company” (mar shodan ris a chuideachd).

CELEBRATED WITCHES.

The best-known names seem to have been merely nicknames, given perhaps to more than one old woman. ‘Blue-eye’ (Gorm-shÙil) is said to originate from the witch having one eye black or brown and the other blue. It is, however, a corruption of Gormla, an ancient and pretty Gaelic name, usually rendered Dorothy. Gormla MhÒr from Meigh, Lochaber, was stronger than all the witches of Mull, and gave the finishing stroke, as already detailed, to Capt. Forrest’s ship. She met her death when astraddle on a mountain stream, to intercept a salmon that had made its way up to spawn. A large fish made a rush, knocked her backwards in the water, and drowned her. There was a Gormshuil in the village of Hianish, Tiree, a most notorious local witch, and one in CrÀcaig in Skye, equally notorious. ‘Brindled-Headless-Stocking Foot’ (Cas a mhogain riabhaich) and ‘Rough Foot-gear, the Herdsman’s daughter’ (Caiseart gharbh ni’n an Aodhair) were anywhere but where the person who is telling about them comes from himself. Shaw, the Lochnell bard, makes them sisters dwelling in Glenforsa in Mull, when Ossian was a little boy, and contemporaries of Mac-RÙsluin. ‘Sallow Spot’ (Ball Odhar) was from Kintra (Ceann-trÀ) in Ardnamurchan; ‘Yellow Claws’ (SpÒga buidhe) from Maligeir on the east side of Skye; Doideag-un is the well-known name of the Mull witches, and is given by children to the falling snowflakes, which they are informed are the Mull witches on their journey through the air. Big Kate MacIntyre in Fort-William was extensively known some forty years ago as a person skilled in divinations and possessing mysterious powers.

WIZARD RISING AFTER DEATH.

People who practised forbidden arts, as may readily be supposed, did not rest after death. When buried they remained quiet like other people, but till then might be troublesome.

Among the hills of Ross-shire, an old man, who in his time was not ‘canny,’ died in his son’s house, a lonely hut in the hills remote from other houses. He was stretched and adjusted (air a ruidheadh ’s air a chÀradh) on a board in a closet, and the shepherd, leaving his wife and children in the house, went to the strath for people to come to the wake and funeral. At midnight, one of the children, playing through the house, peeped in at the keyhole of the closet and cried out, “Mother, mother! my grandfather is rising.”[15] The door of the closet was fast locked, and the dead man, finding he could not open it, began to scrape and dig the earth below it, to make a passage for himself. The children gathered round their mother, and in extremity of terror all listened to the scraping of the unhallowed corpse. At last the head appeared below the door, the corpse increased its exertions, and the terror of the mother and children became intense. The body was halfway through below the door when the cock crew and it fell powerless in the pit it had dug. That pit could never afterwards be kept filled up to the level of the rest of the floor.

In Tiree, a head-stone, placed at the grave of a man whom report accused of dabbling in the dark science, would not remain in its place till secured by a chain. It fell every now and then out of its position, but after the chain was fastened to it, it remained firm, and is so now without the chain.

HOW TO DETECT WITCHES.

Early in the morning, on the first Monday of each of the four quarters of the year, the smoke from a witch’s house goes against the wind. This may be seen by any one who takes the trouble of rising early and going to an eminence, whence the witch’s house can be seen.