by Anne Ross
In Martin Martin’s day Skye was widely famed for its seers; yet later in the same century Pennant was able to write: ‘Very few superstitions exist here at present: pretenders to second-sight are quite out of repute except among the most ignorant and at present are very shy of making boast of their faculties’. And yet the present writer found the island to be full of first-rate examples of custom and belief of every kind, and had direct experience there of people gifted with the unhappy faculty of ‘seeing’. Pennant does, however, record a fascinating instance of divination which clearly caused him much amazement. He states:
A wild species of magic was practised in the district of Trotternish, that was attended with a horrible solemnity: a family who pretended to oracular knowledge practised these ceremonies. In this country is a vast cateract whose waters, falling from a high rock, jet so far as to form a dry hollow beneath, between them and the precipice. One of these imposters was sewed up in the hide of an ox, and, to add terror to the ceremony, was placed in this concavity; the trembling enquirer was brought to the place, where the shade, and the roaring of the waters, increased the dread of the occasion. The question is put, and the person in the hide delivers his answer. And so ends this species of divination styled Taghairm.
This is a method of divination which goes back to early Irish tradition, where the priest or seer, wrapped in a bull-hide (14), would go into a trance state and would see in a vision the answer to whatever question he had been asked. Pennant makes mention of the Brahan Seer, and testifies to his fame. Writing of Sutherland, he says:
Every country has had its prophets: . . . Wales its Robin Ddu and the Highlands their Kenneth Oaur. Kenneth long since predicted these migrations in these terms: ‘Whenever a Mac-cleane with long hands, a Frazier with a black spot on his face, a Mac-gregor with the same on his knee, and a club-footed Mac-cleod of Rasa, should have existed; whenever there should have been successively three Macdonalds of the name of John, and three Mac-innons of the same Christian name; oppressors would appear in the country, and the people change their own land for a strange one.’ The predictions, say the good wives, have been fulfilled, and not a single breach in the oracular effusions of Kenneth Oaur.
Another instance of Second Sight was observed by Pennant, again writing of Sutherland:
In a country where ignorance and poverty prevale it is less wonderful that a tragical affair should happen . . . about three years ago lived in this neighbourhood, a woman of more than common strength of understanding. She was often consulted on the ordinary occurences of life, and obtained a sort of respect which excited the envy of another female in the same district. The last gave out that her neighbour was a witch; that she herself had a good Genius, and could counteract the evils dreaded from the other; at length she so worked on the weak minds of the simple vulgar, that they determined on destroying her rival, and effected their purpose by instigating a parcel of children to strangle her. The murder was enquired into but the inciters so artfully concealed themselves, that they escaped their reward, and no punishment was inflicted, except what was suited to the tender years of the deluded children.
Fortunately, not many seers and people of exceptional powers received such brutal treatment. In much more recent times, at the end of the nineteenth century, long after Pennant recorded that belief in the Second Sight was almost dead in Skye, a strange episode took place in the house of a gentleman. One evening, round about New Year (a popular season for divination in general), a large number of neighbouring gentry and their families had been invited to a ceilidh (convivial gathering) at this house; the mistress was away at the time in the south, and her sons and daughters acted in the rôle of their mother. After dinner, the young people went to the drawing-room; a quadrille was arranged but before it began, the figure of a lady glided along the side wall of the room and was seen by several. One of the girls recognised it to be the form of her mother, and fainted. The vision put an end to the party, and it was later discovered that at the very time the vision had manifested itself, the lady had died in a southern city.
14Pictish figures engraved on stone — bulls
15Pictish figures engraved on stone — sow, boar
Another strange instance of foresight is recorded from Skye and allegedly happened towards the middle of the nineteenth century. The tragic event occurred in the parish of Snizort, where a cottar’s wife was delivered of a fine baby. Soon after her birth the mother was visited by the female neighbours, each bringing a gift of fowls, eggs and so on, according to custom. The child was greatly admired, and every good was wished on it. One woman, however, whispered to her neighbour that she was afraid the fine child’s life would be short and it would be the cause of terrible grief to its mother. This gloomy utterance made the neighbour very angry. The woman, however, said that she had had a dreadful vision of the little child mangled and bleeding. In a few months time when the child was sleeping in his cradle, the mother left him alone while she went to the well to fetch water. She met a neighbour and they talked for a while; when she reached the house the baby was lying on the floor, torn to pieces. During her absence a fierce pig had wandered into the house and devoured the sleeping infant (15).
In spite of Pennant’s comment, there are many other comparatively recent examples of the Sight in Skye. One, which happened in the nineteenth century again, concerns a parish minister. He went to visit a sick brother of his, a Captain MacLeod, who lived near Portree and had been poorly. This man had a large family. When evening came, the minister mounted his horse and set off for home. This was nine miles away, and before he had been very far a severe storm arose. The minister was an elderly man, and he thought he would be wise to spend the night at Scorribreck rather than attempt to continue with his journey. Mrs Nicolson, mistress of the house, welcomed her guest. She was the person who kept the parish mortuary cloth, as her house was close to the burial-ground. She went to the loft to fetch something and those below heard a scream and the noise of something falling on the upper floor. They rushed up the stairs and found Mrs Nicolson in a fainting fit. When she recovered, she told the minister that she had seen a bright light on the mortuary cloth which was spread out on the table, and in the middle of the light she saw the image of his niece’s face, Captain MacLeod’s daughter. Shortly afterwards, the girl took ill and died, and that same cloth was used on her bier.
16Clach-na-buidseach, Stone of Witchcraft, Strathtay, Perthshire
One final example of this strange Highland power of ‘seeing’ the unseen again comes from Skye. Once more a minister is involved, an interesting fact, as the church did not approve of such alleged supernatural powers. Late in the nineteenth century the parish minister visited the miller’s house and found the miller’s wife in the kitchen, in a very distressed state. Quantities of wood frequently found on the shore on that area of the island had drifted in from wrecked vessels. On the day of the minister’s visit, the kitchen was full of driftwood planks, which were drying off there. The woman was extremely glad to see the minister; she said that a well-known seer, Christy MacLeod, had been sitting on one of the planks, by the fire, when she suddenly fainted. She carried her to a bed and laid her on it. The woman begged the minister to go to the seer and ask her about her vision; this he did reluctantly, and without success. However, he persisted and finally she confided in him. She said she had seen a vision while sitting on the plank of wood. She had glanced across at the plank opposite to her and had seen the mangled, bleeding body of a boy, a MacDonald, who, at that time, was in extremely good health. When the minister returned to the miller’s house, the woman demanded to know what Christy had seen and he told her. Some six weeks later there was a wedding in the parish to which the boy in question was invited. On his way home alone late at night, he lost his way and fell over a cliff some 1,000ft high and was dashed to pieces. The body was not found until some days had passed. Men came to the miller’s house for a plank on which to place the remains, and the one chosen was in fact the very one on which
the seer had seen the vision.
Finally, related to the gift of Second Sight, but somewhat different from it, are certain death-omens which appear in the form of blue, quivering lights. They are seen moving along the course which the funeral procession would take; they could also be seen near the bed of one about to die.
4 Witchcraft, black and white
Witchcraft, together with the belief in the power of certain people to bring about a desired situation by magic, is not, of course, confined to the Highlands. But it was, at one time, very prevalent there, and numerous examples of such beliefs are still to be collected from people who claim that they have had direct experience of such things, or who actually know someone with such alleged powers. A distinction is made between black and white witchcraft, and many people imbued with powers have, and do, use them for good rather than evil purposes. Amongst these are the ‘charmers’ or ‘healers’, men and women who are able either to cure specific ills, or to perform cures in general. The writer has had direct experience of both forms of this power, and the following examples have either been collected personally in the field, or, when taken from written sources, can he paralleled from actual fieldwork material. It is a subject that people are often unwilling to speak about, but there is no doubt that belief in powers to work good and evil is still fairly widespread. Pennant, writing in the eighteenth century, says (of Breadalbane): ‘In this part of the country the notion of witchcraft is quite lost; it was observed to cease almost immediately on the repeal of the witch act’. The Scottish and English Witch Acts were repealed by the Witchcraft Act of 1736.
But the ancient belief in the malevolent powers of witches was widespread and deep-rooted in the Gaelic-speaking Highlands; and, as we have noted, equal credit was given to the so-called white witches, or ‘charmers’, people whose alleged supernatural powers were used solely for the good of man and beast. How far these beliefs continue actively into the present day is a matter for speculation; they are subjects which are not readily discussed if any true belief-element is present, but the custom of nailing branches of rowan and horseshoes above house doors, outside or inside the dwelling, suggest that a certain uneasy credulity lingers on in parts of the Highlands. One of the great powers with which witches were accredited was that of the Evil Eye; by merely looking at something they could destroy, corrupt or acquire it. Rowan was held to be a potent talisman against the Evil Eye; and even today, there are extant, charms and incantations to counter the effects of the ‘eye’. One, from the Outer Hebrides states:
I make to thee the charm of Mary,
The most perfect charm that is in the world,
Against small eye, against large eye,
Against the eye of swift voracious women,
Against the eye of swift rapacious women,
Against the eye of swift sluttish women.
The witches of Highland tradition are quite distinct from the fairies. Their association with the Devil and the forces of evil was never in doubt; their dark powers could be tapped by those who knew the correct ritual and formulae. Some witches achieved a wide area of fame; others had an essentially local notoriety. Their existence was, however, universally accepted and feared. There are numerous stories of witches and their activities. One of the most typical and famous of these concerns the ruthless Witch of Laggan, in Badenoch. Laggan was one of the three parishes of Badenoch, the other two being Kingussie and Alvie; the district extended from Corryarrick on the west to Craigellachie near Dufftown on the east — some 45 miles of singularly remote and high country. The Witch of Laggan is alleged to have lived two miles from Kingussie, in the seventeenth century. Tales about her can still be heard in the locality. She was famed for her evil deeds and she and her companion witches were both feared and hated. The weird, inhospitable forest of Gaick lies in Badenoch, inhabited only by deer and other wild beasts and birds of prey, and frequented by hunters. Many stories were told of the strange things that happened in this wild tract of country. According to one version of the story of the Witch of Laggan, a local hunter went there one stormy day in search of deer; he was a man of great reputation in the countryside for his hatred of witches and his ruthless persecution of those who practised the Black Art.
On this particular occasion, the storm became extremely violent and he had to make for shelter in his little hut or bothy. He kindled a fire and sat down beside it with his two dogs to wait for the wind to abate. As he sat there, a miserable-looking cat entered the hut — another version has it that it was a hen rather than a cat that came in. The two dogs bristled with terror, their hair stood on end, and then they leapt savagely on the cat. It cried out for mercy, in Gaelic, begging the hunter to call off his dogs and saying that it had need of his protection because it was a poor, wretched witch who had renounced her ungodly habits and, as a result, had been viciously attacked by her companion witches. She had fled to the renowned hunter for protection, knowing his hatred of witchcraft. The man believed her. He called off his frenzied dogs and told the cat to come near the fire and warm itself. Before she would do so, however, she took a long hair and told him to tie the dogs to the beam of the little house with it, or else they would molest her. The hunter pretended to do as she asked, but he only tied the hair round the beam, leaving the dogs free. The cat then approached the fire, sat down, and began to swell. The hunter remarked to it, ‘You are getting very large’. ‘Oh, yes’, said the cat, ‘my fur gets fluffy as it dries in the heat.’ But the cat went on steadily increasing in size until it was as big as a big dog and then, in the blink of an eye, there stood a woman. And to the amazed hunter’s utter horror he recognised her as a close neighbour of his, a woman of excellent reputation, known locally as the ‘Good Wife of Laggan’. ‘Hunter of the Hills’, said she, ‘your hour has come; you have been the devoted enemy of my persecuted sisterhood for too long. The chief opponent of our order is now dead — this morning I saw him drowned. And now, Hunter of the Hills, it is your turn.’
She then flew at his throat in a fury of hatred; but the dogs, which she supposed to be tied by the magical hair, leapt on her breast and throat. She screamed out to the hair, ‘Fasten, fasten’, and it tightened its hold on the beam so violently that it snapped the wood into two pieces; but the two dogs remained free. She then tried to escape, but the dogs fastened onto her and tore off one of her breasts and badly mutilated her. At last, with terrible shrieks the witch took on the form of a raven and flew in the direction of her home. The poor dogs were mortally wounded and died at their heartbroken master’s feet; he buried them with as much grief as he would his children and then made his way back home. His wife was out, but soon after his return she came in; she was very agitated and distressed and told him the Good Wife of Laggan had suddenly taken ill that day while out getting peats, and that she was near to death. ‘Dear, dear’, said her husband, ‘I must come and see her then.’ When he reached her house he found all the neighbours gathered round her. Striding over to the bed he stripped the clothes from her, revealing her terrible wounds and cried, ‘See the object of your grief. This morning she assisted in the drowning of Iain Garbh (Rugged John) of Raasay’ — an island between Skye and the Mainland — ‘and today she tried to make me share his fate. But Providence has overtaken the servant of Satan and she is now about to die and suffer due punishment in the world to come.’ It could not be denied from the state of the ‘Good Wife’s’ injuries that the hunter was telling the truth; she offered no defence of herself. Instead, she told those gathered round her how she had become involved in witchcraft and confessed to her many crimes, including helping to drown the Raasay man that day. She then died a violent and painful death.
Pennant, writing in the eighteenth century about Banffshire, says that ‘some superstitions still lurk even in this cultivated country. The farmers carefully preserve their cattle against witchcraft by placing boughs of the mountain ash (rowan) and honeysuckle in their cow houses on 2 May. They hope to preserve the milk of their cows and their wives fr
om miscarriage by tying red threads about them’; the supposed witch was bled in order to make her confess to her evil practices. One of the great powers of witches was allegedly that of depriving people’s cows of their milk by magic means. This was a widespread belief, and the spell could be performed in a number of different ways. The witch could put the Evil Eye on a beast; and cattle, rather than sheep, were believed to be more vulnerable in this respect. Pennant once more records some interesting information on this aspect of witchcraft:
If any good housewife perceives the effect of the malicious on any of her kine, she takes as much milk as she can drain from the enchanted herd, for the witch commonly leaves very little. She then boils it with certain herbs, and adds to them flints and untempered steel; after that she secures the door and invokes the three sacred persons. This puts the witch into such an agony, that she comes nilling-willing to the house, begs to be admitted to obtain relief by touching the powerful pot; the good woman then makes her terms: the witch restores the milk to the cattle, and in return is freed from her pains.
A most remarkable story of witchcraft — which was frequently connected with the milking process and the milk obtained — was recorded by Otta F. Swire in the Island of Lewis in the twentieth century. It illustrates the hardships which frequently befell the Island of Lewis, the most northerly part of the Outer Hebrides, often known as ‘the Long Island’. There is a folklore story told about how this name was applied to the Outer Hebrides. The Island of Lewis has always been regarded in a superstitious light with its legends concerning the origin of the remarkable standing stones of Callanish (17) and many other tales of a supernatural nature. It was inevitably a focal point for marauders, a sort of stepping stone to other northern regions. On this particular occasion, raiders had left the natives of Lewis on the point of starvation, having consumed most of their edible supplies. One woman, driven to despair, walked down to the seashore with the intention of drowning herself. This was in order that her share of the meagre stores of food would then augment the pitiful rations of her husband and children. She began to wade out into the sea when a beautiful white cow emerged from the water and began to ascend the shore. It was clearly an Otherworld animal and the woman had never seen such a magnificent beast. Upon reaching her it gazed at her with sorrowful brown eyes; seen against the setting sun, its ears appeared to be blood-red in colour. In Celtic mythology, Otherworld animals are regularly described as being white with red ears. The cow addressed the woman in Gaelic — most supernatural animals were capable of human speech. It spoke in a soft, tuneful voice, telling her to return home, fetch her milk-pail and tell her neighbours to come with their own pails to the Stones of Callanish and there to milk it. The woman did as she was told, but her neighbours were sceptical: ‘How could one cow give enough milk to fill all our pails?’ they asked. No matter, they still went to meet the wonder cow, and each pail was filled to the brim, until all were full. The cow spoke again, and told the women to come to her there every evening, each bringing her pail. This miraculous happening saved the lives of the children and kept starvation at bay. Word got round other townships and people came from them to request milk from the magic cow. This they got. One night a woman came with two pails and incurred the wrath of the other women but the kindly cow said that one pail was for the woman herself and the other for a pregnant woman who was her neighbour. So things went on until a wicked woman in the community, who was in fact a witch, brought two pails for herself. The cow would have none of this, and she was unable to obtain any milk from it. She repented and the next night came with only one pail, but she had removed the bottom of the vessel and put a sieve there, and she continued to milk until the cow was completely dry. After that, the wonder cow was never seen again amongst the Callanish Stones (18).
