STORIES ABOUT THE FAIRIES.

THE TRADITION OF A HOUSEWIFE AND HER FAIRY VISITOR.

The incidents of this tradition are said to have happened in Lewis, but the readiness with which similar stories are appropriated and localised makes it improbable that the circumstances occurred in any special locality. In this instance the person from whom the story was heard being a native of Lewis will account for the incidents of the story having been said to have taken place in that Island. The story is as follows:—

The wife of a tenant farmer, who lived with his family in an extremely remote and hilly rough district, was frequently left alone in the house, as she had no daughters, while her husband and sons were away at the labour of the farm, or fishing. It happened one day after they had left, that the housewife having finished her housework, sat as usual at the spinning-wheel to spin thread for cloth (clò) for their clothing. She had not long begun her labour, when, happening to look towards the door, she saw a little woman of reddish appearance coming in at the door with a dog before and one after her. “Woman,” she said, “you are spinning.” “I am,” the housewife answered. “Will you give me a drink of water?” she said. “Take it yourself,” the housewife said. “The water is good, where is the well?” she asked. “It is down,” said the one who was in, “in the opening of the hollow of the glen (aig dorus ’an lag a’ ghlinne).” The fay woman (a’ bhean-shìth) then asked the housewife to lend her a small cauldron, and the other woman believing her to be sister-in-law or some other relative she did not know of the wife of her nearest neighbour, who lived far distant from them and was married to an Ardnamurchan woman, said to her, “There is a table there with several utensils (caigionn choireachan) on its shelf; take with you any of them that will answer.” When she brought it, she asked for the suspender (bùlas) and lid. The moment she got them she fitted them in and told the dogs that were with her to take that with them. The dogs immediately caught the three-legged pot and took it with them. When her husband came home the housewife said, “I think there is a stranger with our neighbours,” and told him about her visitor. “Perhaps,” her husband said, “she is the sister-in-law; it was time some one came to see the wife, for none of her friends have been since she came here.” “I never saw the sort of dogs she had, ever here,” his wife said, and described to him the dogs and how they were different altogether from sheep-dogs. “Our neighbours have only one dog and it is a sheep-dog,” he said. This day passed and another and the third, but the cauldron was not returned. The housewife then sent one of her sons to ask the neighbours to return the loan. These said that they did not get a loan of anything, as they did not require it, having more cauldrons and kettles than was required by themselves, and that no strangers had come or were with them. The housewife was at her wit’s end and did not know in the world or time to come (uile bheatha na dìlinn) what to think about the matter. On the fifth day, however, the self-same one returned with the cauldron. “I am sure,” she said, “that you were missing the cauldron.” “I was,” the housewife replied, “not from any need I had of it at the time, but because I did not know who the one was that took it away.” “I am sure you did not know who took it,” said the one that came in, “but I knew you too well; many a day you sang songs above my house (’s iomadh latha ’sheinn thu luinneag air mullach an tigh agam).” “Will you sit?” said the one who was spinning. “I will sit and tell my story if you are sure that no one will come in while I am here.” As was customary in those days the byre adjoined the dwelling-house, whatever kind of wall (sgàth-balla) separated them, and one of the cows that had calved and was in the byre, made a disturbance (straighlich). The next look the woman took she was alone. On her husband’s return, she said, “You may not leave me here alone; one of the children must be left with me or I will be where you are;” and she told him about the second time her strange visitor came and how suddenly she had disappeared. The goodman then went for advice to one, the minister, who he knew was able to give him good counsel. On telling about the undesirable visitor his wife had, the advice he got was that he was to pull down his house as quickly as possible, and to put it at the other end of the land; “and when you will pull down your house, every particle (h-uile pioc) of the thatch that covers it is to be burnt within the rafters on which nine cogfuls of sea-water or charmed (naoi cuachan sàile no uisge coisrigte) is to be poured.” The goodman returned home with this advice. When his wife heard it she said that she must get women to help her to finish the cloth she was working at, and it was agreed to give her the help she required. On account of the dampness of the houses the method of keeping the thread and wool dry was by hanging them up to the rafters. Next morning the goodwife missed a pile of wool from its place, but believing that it was her son, who often played pranks on her, who had removed it, she said nothing regarding its disappearance. Next day, however, she was astonished at seeing her late strange visitor with another and a taller one coming in. “I am sure,” said the little redhued one, “you were missing the bag of wool We took it with us to help you, and there it is brought home made into thread, and your own thread that we took with us for a pattern (leth-bhreac); and any time you have thread to spin, we are ready to help you.” The goodwife was overcome with fear and could not utter a word to them. They went away, and she never saw themselves or their shadow (an dubh no’n dath) ever afterwards. The house was taken down and another was built where they chose it to be, but after some time an old man saw five of the fairy company leaving the well at the foot of the glen, each carrying a vessel full of water, and the place where he saw them going in and lost sight of them, was afterwards quarried, and the stone taken from it was employed to build a church that stands at the present day. An opening that was met with, in the quarry, where human bones were found, was supposed to be the place where the fairy band entered their dwelling.

THE WISE WOMAN OF DUNTULM AND THE FAIRIES.

A Lord of the Isles, MacConnal (Buachaille nan Eileinean), long ago had two sons, but only one could get the estate at his death. When that happened the eldest son said one day to the youngest, “You are now left without anything, but, that you may not be altogether portionless, go to Duntulm and you will get there a piece of land that you will have to yourself.” The lands of Duntulm, in the northern part of the Island of Skye, were at that time occupied by a prosperous tenantry, consisting chiefly of crofters and the holders of a few larger farms. The youngest brother was told that the rent he would get from these tenants would maintain him, and he was to build a house and marry a wife. He agreed to go to Duntulm, where he was not a long time settled till a claim was made on his land for the king’s dues, the crown tax being in proportion to the amount of land which he held. The first time the tax (a’ chìs) was asked, he said, in answer to the demand which was made, “I will not pay any tax. Why should I pay it? What right has the king to get it?” An order was sent to him every year for payment of the tax, but if it was, for six years he did not pay any of it (cha do phàidh e sgillinn). At last the king sent fifty soldiers and one officer to take the rent from him in spite of him (thar ’amhaich), and since he would pay to neither king nor soldier, the lands were taken from him and they were now attached to the crown. The king was receiving the revenue, and a Skye carl (bodach Sgitheanach) called John Donaldson MacWilliam (Iain Mac Dhòmhnuil’ic Uilleim) was appointed a factor to collect the rents from the crofters. He lived sixteen miles from Duntulm, among the crofts, where he went twice a year to gather the tax. MacConnal’s castle was built on a precipitous bank, on the west side of which there was a big pit into which every high tide sent a flow of water that kept it always full, forming a deep pool (glumag) that sometimes proved dangerous to the unwary. One day it happened that whatever a crofter, one Macrury, was doing at the castle, he fell headlong into the pool, and however it was, whether he was killed by the fall or drowned, he was found dead next day anyhow. He left two sons who were not of age to help their widowed mother, for whom much sympathy was felt by her neighbours on account of her being left so helpless (bha i air a fàgail cho lom). Next spring after this the two lads were drowned in a boat with which they were bringing sea-ware home, and being now alone she could not work her croft nor pay her rent. When everything was spent, and she had only one cow left of her fold of cattle, the factor came for the tax. On reaching the township he took with him a carle, friendly to himself, to the widow’s house, where the neighbours had gathered to ascertain the object of their visit. When the factor was told that the poor woman had no means to pay her rent, he asked if she had no cattle. She said that she had only one cow and that it was grazing at some distance from the house. He asked it to be brought where he was, and when he saw it he said, “It is a pity there are not more of the kind.” Being the only one, it had got all the attention and was in good condition. She said she had no other. He said, “We will keep this one for the dues.” It was taken away from the widow and put in a field that was surrounded by a stone wall, near the castle, along with the small red pony which the factor had with him. While he was in search of some one to drive it away, and taking his dinner in the carle’s house, the young men of Duntulm climbed over the wall of the field, though high, and got out the animals, which they drove to the shore, where a boat was in readiness in which they were taken to the islet of Fladda (Fladda ’chuain), two miles off. The men put them ashore there, and had their boat drawn up in Duntulm Bay before the factor and his companion returned to look for their property and found the park empty. On asking the men, who had again gathered, if they knew how the animals had escaped or where they were, they said there was no gap in the wall known to them, and that the only person likely to know of their whereabouts was a gifted woman who lived near the castle, in search of whom two of them went. They found her at home, on reaching the height where her house was, and told her all that had occurred, and how she was to go with them and say that the cattle had been charmed away to some wonderful place. Isabel said that she was not well prepared to go that day. The men asked what preparation she lacked (’dé an cion dòigh a bh’ oirre). She then asked for one of the men’s broad bonnets, and when she got it, rose, and leaving her hair, which was becoming grey, streaming over her shoulders, she put it on, and tying a goatskin round her, tying her shoes and making garters with stripes of the same fur, she put a rope of straw round her waist and took a large staff in her hand. “She is prepared at last, and come now,” the men said. When she came in sight, the factor looked at her in amazement, for he had never before seen a creature of her appearance. Before she came near he called, “Wife, do you know where the horse and cow I put in the park are now?” She paid no attention to him, but kept on coming nearer (cha do lag i air a ceum), till she stood at his shoulder. “To whom did the animals belong?” she asked him then. “The cow belonged to the king,” he said, “and the horse to myself.” “How could a cow belonging to the king be in this township?” she asked. “This woman gave it to me for the tax,” he said, pointing to the widow. “She did not give it to you; she said you took it with you; and it is now that I understand the meaning of what happened when I was in my own house to-day, and heard an uproar (straighlich) in the air above that was greater than any one could ever have heard, and on looking for the cause of it, there it was in a fire; and though all the fires that you ever saw were gathered together, they would not make one like it; and in the last of the fire (’an earball an teine) I looked to see what there was, and what was there but a horse and cow, while there were as good as five thousand little men, the hill men (muinntir nan cnoc), who were not larger than bottles, going on, on each side of the fire; and if you had as much knowledge of the dwellers of these hills as I have, you would not touch the widow’s portion, but if you are anxious to get back the animals—there before you, is the hill where they are, and where you can go and seek them, and if you can, find them.” The man, who was terrified by her appearance and words, kept looking at her (’g a feitheamh) and always drawing a step further off. He went home without horse or cow, and however long he remained in the office he held, the fear of the wise woman, (Iseabal N’ic Rao’uill) and the fairies kept him from ever returning to Duntulm. When he was out of sight of the township, the young men of Duntulm went to the islet where they left the animals, which they brought back and gave to the poor woman, who was then able to pay the tax.