Now the ducks came and they started to eat the grain at the edge of the heap, but then the hens came and they proceeded straight to the top of the heap, and they started to scatter it with their feet. They were scattering more and more, and the men were much afraid that they would uncover Christ before the soldiers’ eyes, but at last they left and Christ just escaped and no more.
Apparently the hens were punished for how near they came to delivering Christ into the hands of his greatest enemy that day. That punishment is that every shower that might come down from the sky would drench them to the skin, but to this day the showers will only slip off the ducks’ feathers and they won’t drench them.
48 Duncan Williamson
WHY THE BEETLE IS BLIND
THE TRAVELLERS BELIEVE that Jesus Christ knew that there was goin to be a crucifixion an He took off . . . an He went off on His own where no-one would find Him in His wanderin. An He passed by this field where the people wis cuttin the corn wi the sickles, an He stopped an He spoke tae the men. He says, ‘If anybody passes by here an asks fir Jesus of Nazareth,’ he says, ‘tell them yes, A passed by when ye were cuttin the corn. Tell them the truth.’
An they said, ‘Yes, we’ll tell them the truth. If anyone comes looking lookin fir You tomorrow we’ll tell them the truth, tell them we were cuttin the corn.’
An lo an behold, the next day, when the troops came tae look fir Him, they came tae the men who were in the fields; they were workin in the fields. An they said, ‘Did ye see a man called Jesus of Nazareth passin by here?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘He passed by here.’
‘When did He pass by?’
He said, ‘He passed by when we were cuttin the corn.’
So naturally one looked at the other – maybe there wis six or maybe seven, maybe eight o them – looked at the other an says, ‘That must be a long, long while ago,’ he says, ‘when He passed by.’ He says, ‘Look at the corn. It’s all stacked – cut, sheaved an stacked, in stacks, ready fir winter.’ He says, ‘It must have been a long, long time ago when He passed by here.’
An the black beetle come up oot the earth, an he stopped in front o the troops an he said, he said, ‘He passed by here yesterday. Yesterday He passed by.’
An fae that day on for evermore, to the end of Eternity, the beetle remains blind an cannot see; it has no eyes of any description. That wis his punishment fir tellin on Jesus Christ Almighty.
49 Angus MacLeod
THE MAN WHO STOPPED GOING TO CHURCH
WHEN I WAS A BOY I used to hear a story about a man who lived long ago: and God called him while he was still a young lad. Every day in life he used to attend divine service and go to church. And he continued that way for many years.
But this year he noticed that corn was disappearing from his stackyard. And he went . . . whether it was a constable or some such man in the village – or it may be it was even the tacksman who had the place – he went to tell him about it. And this man said to him:
‘You’ll have to . . .’ said he, ‘if your com is disappearing through the night, you’ll have to sit up and keep watch, and one of these nights you’ll see the man. And when he comes, you’ll come and tell me who he is.’
Anyway, this night he saw a man coming, and he laid a rope he had with him down on the ground and he began to pull sheaves out of the corn-stack and make up a bundle. And he recognised the man: it was the minister. When he had finished making the bundle he made off with it. And it was the minister of his own church.
Oh, he went back into the house and he never said a word to anyone, and he never went near the man who had told him how to catch the other fellow.
Day after day went by. But Sunday came and all the other folk were going to church and he just stood there at his own door. He saw everybody passing on the way to church but he didn’t budge. He had never missed a day in church for the past twenty years – and more than twenty years: yet there had not been a day all that time that he had not been to church. But that day he let everyone go on by him to church. After a while he took a Bible and set off up the glen. It was a fine summer’s day and he stretched himself out on the slope of the glen there and began to read the Bible.
But a little while later, he had the feeling that there was someone else with him. He looked up, and a man was standing there beside him looking down at him.
‘You’re reading,’ said the man.
‘Yes,’ said he.
‘You’re reading the Bible.’
‘Yes.’
‘And why,’ said he, ‘are you not in church?’
The man had never taken it on himself to tell anything of what he had seen – that he had seen a man stealing his com – till now, but now he told the whole story. He was never going back to church. The minister was just a common thief and a bad man and so forth. He would never go to hear him preach again.
Said the man to him: ‘Come on,’ said he, ‘up the glen with me for a walk.’
He stood up and they went on up. When they were near the burn there, a terrible thirst struck him – the man with the Bible who had not gone to church – he found himself overcome by thirst, and he bent down to the burn and drank his fill from the burn. He stood up then and said: ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘what good water that is.’
‘Oh, it’s very good,’ said the other man. ‘Come on a bit further up the glen with me.’
‘All right.’
They went on up there, and when they got further up, there was a dead horse lying in the burn with a terrible smell coming from it – a smell of decay.
The other man stopped then and said: ‘Don’t you think it strange,’ said he. ‘You told me there how good the water tasted down yonder.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said he.
‘Don’t you think that strange? Look what it’s flowing through. It’s flowing through that rotting carcase and . . .’
‘Indeed,’ said he, ‘I never noticed anything wrong with the water. When I drank it the water tasted good,’ said he.
‘Ah,’ said the other man, said he, ‘that’s the way of it,’ said he. ‘And that’s the way of the Word,’ said he, ‘too, and the Gospel. It cannot be sullied no matter what mouth it comes out of or from whence it issues. And,’ said he, ‘don’t let what you were telling me keep you from going to church again.’
The man vanished and he was left standing alone on the bank of the burn.
50 Donald Alasdair Johnson
THE KING OF HALIFAX
WELL, I HEARD THAT there was once a man and he was married and he made his living by fishing. And when he got a lot of fish he used to sell it to the people in the village that was in that place. And he had no family.
Well, it seems that the fishing got rather poor – that the fish was getting scarce. And one day he was out fishing and he had covered the banks where he used to get good catches as well as he could and he had not got very much.
And he was just folding away his lines and going home when he heard a splash at the stem of his yawl or whatever kind of boat he had – and he glanced down towards the stem and there was an old man there out of the water from the armpits up.
‘You’re not having much success with the fishing, man,’ said he.
‘Oh, no,’ said he.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘if you give me what I ask of you, you shall get the fish just as well as you used to,’ said he.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said the other, ‘if I have such a thing to give you.’
‘Oh, no,’ said he, ‘but you shall have it if you take my advice.’
‘What was that?’ said the fisherman, said he.
‘Your first son,’ said he.
‘Oh,’ said the fisherman, said he. ‘I’m sure I can do that,’ said he, ‘if I have one.’
‘Well,’ said he, ‘you promise that you will give him to me when he is fifteen years of age.’
‘Oh, I might as well,’ said the fisherman, said he. ‘I’m sure that nothing of the sort will happen anyway.�
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‘Well,’ said he, ‘you cast out your lines, and the first thing you catch, you will set it aside and take it home for yourself, for your wife. You will take it home to your wife and you will keep giving her the fish, itself and the liver – a portion of the fish and a portion of the liver with it – until it is all done.’
Well, the old man disappeared. The fisherman went and cast out the line and he had scarcely let it down when a good-sized fish took it. He pulled it in and when he had taken it off the hook he went and took it and threw it up in a place by itself in the bows of the boat. Anyway he began to fish until at last his boat was almost full up to the gunwales; and night was falling. He went ashore, anyway, and there were people waiting for him as usual for fish and he sold the fish – all except this one. It was the only one he managed to hold on to for himself, and he took it home with him and he asked his wife – he told her how the matter was, and he told his wife to keep that fish aside for herself and to take the liver out of it and to keep cooking a portion of it and a portion of the liver together and to keep taking it herself.
This was how it was, anyway. The old woman took it; and the fish was all used up and the old man started fishing and he was getting as much fish as he could pull in. And what should the old woman do now – his wife, who was well up in years – but become pregnant. And from day to day things took their course until at last she bore him a baby boy.
Well, now the boy was there and time passed and the child was growing until at last, anyway, he came to school age and he went to school. I don’t know whether it was far away or near at hand, but he went there, anyway. And when he was getting on for fourteen years of age or thereabouts, there was not a night he came home but his father and mother were crying. And it puzzled him greatly what was making them cry and he would ask them what was going on and, oh, it was nothing, and, anyway, things went on in this way until he was fifteen – more or less – and this night he came home and they were both crying away.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘it looks as if it’s because I come home that you are crying every night, but I’m just about finished with school and when I am finished with school I’ll be leaving you.’
‘Indeed,’ said his mother, ‘it is hard for me that you have to go,’ said she.
And then they told him, the boy, word for word how the matter stood.
‘Oh yes,’ said he. It seems that I have been given away, whoever it may be who has got me, but when I leave school, I am leaving here and I shall find out what this business is about.’
Well anyway, he finished with school, and this day he got ready to go. He went, too, and he had no idea which way he should turn or where he should go, but, anyway, he set about going and off he went. He came to a town, then, that was there and he was meeting people and they were asking him where he was from and where he had come from and he was telling them. And he told one man there, anyway. This man asked him where he was going. He told him that he had no idea where he was going and he told him how the thing had happened and how this man had come up at the stern of his father’s boat and how he had asked him for his first son and how his father had promised – he was so sure, anyway, now that they were getting on in years, that there would be no son – how he had promised him away and everything about it.
‘Oh yes,’ said this man, ‘I’m afraid, my dear lad, that you are in bad hands; that it was the Destroyer himself who came up at the stern of your father’s boat and that it is he who has you in his power. But this is what you must do. There are men in this town,’ said he, ‘men – there are three of them, and they call them hermits and they do nothing but pray all the time, and wherever their food comes from, it comes to them from somewhere, and you go . . . They don’t live together. They live some distance apart, where they are, but call on the first one,’ said he, ‘to see what advice he can give you.’
Well, that was how it was. The lad went off, and he got directions from this man where the place was. He got there, anyway, and he came to the house of this hermit. He knocked at the door and this old man came down and asked him to come in. He went in and:
‘Yes,’ said the man who was in the house; ‘where have you come from?’ said he.
He told him and he told him from start to finish how he had come – how his father had met the man and everything. And he [the hermit] took down books and he began to read books – going through them and searching among them and, anyway, then:
‘Indeed,’ said he, ‘I can see nothing here that is of any use for [such] matters, but I know that it is the Destroyer who has you in his power, that it was he, that it was the Adversary himself there. But there is another man, and he is older than me. He is a day’s walk from here and it may be you will find the answer there, that this man may have more information than I have.’
But anyway, now, at supper-time, doves came and they brought him supper for both of them.
‘Oh well,’ said the hermit, said he, ‘here is a good omen. Your supper has come here along with mine.’
Well, they had their supper and went to sleep and next day when they got up and got ready, with food and everything, the lad went off.
‘Now,’ said the hermit to him, said he, ‘if you ever come back alive this way, do not pass me by.’
‘Oh no,’ said the lad. ‘If I come this way,’ said he, ‘I shall call on you.’
‘Very well, then,’ said he. ‘I should like to find out how you get on.’
Well, the lad said goodbye to him and went off and late at nightfall he came to the other man’s house. He knocked at the door anyway, and this oldish man came down and asked him to come in. He went in.
Well, he asked where he had come from and the lad told him. He began to tell the story – how he came into this world and everything and about the old man his father had seen at the boat, and what he had done and everything he had asked him to do; and that he had been last night in the house of this hermit and how he had found out nothing – that he had gone through books for a great part of the night and that he had found nothing to tell him what could be done about him, and that he was journeying to see if he could get himself set free somehow. Well, this man started, when they had eaten, this man too started on books, and he worked at the books for a good part of the night and:
‘Oh well,’ said he, ‘there is no information in the books I have here, any more than the other man had, but there is another man, about a day’s walk from here and he is far better than I am and it may be that you will find out from him what way you can take or what plan you can devise so that you may be set free.’
But at suppertime, then, his food came to him as it had come last night along with the hermit’s food, and:
‘Oh yes,’ said the hermit. ‘Oh well,’ said he, ‘I think you will be quite successful. Your supper has come here just as mine has and do not despair, for I think you will be quite successful yet.’
And they went to sleep, anyway, and next day, when they got up and had eaten, the lad got ready to go.
‘Now,’ said the hermit to him, said he, ‘if you ever come back this way, do not pass me by.’
‘Oh no,’ said the lad, ‘I shall not pass you by,’ said he. ‘If I come back alive this way, I shall call on you.’
‘Very well, then,’ said the hermit, said he. ‘I should like to find out how you get on.’
And he went off, anyway, and that evening he came to the other man’s house, and when he came to his house, he knocked at the door and this man came down and opened the door and asked him to come in. This man was a good deal older than the others, and he asked him where he had come from and he told him – that he had come from the house of that hermit, that he had spent last night there and the night before that, that he had been in the other one’s house and that he had come from home before that and he told them [sic] the story from start to finish, how he had come and the thing his father had seen and everything that the thing he had seen had asked of him – the old man he had seen coming up at the stem
of his boat.
Well, this man too started – he took down books and started to read them and he worked at them well into the night. But, anyway, at supper-time the doves came bringing their supper to both of them.
‘Oh,’ said the hermit, said he, ‘take courage. Your supper has come here, just like mine, and you are all right so far anyway. We have been given good encouragement. I think you will get on quite well,’ said he.
And, anyway, when they had got supper over, he went on with the books until he had gone over them one after the other, and:
‘Well,’ said he, ‘I can see nothing here about anything of that kind at all, but here is what you will do tomorrow. There is a man here, and he is not very far away, who is called the King of Halifax, and he is bedridden now, and,’ said he, ‘he has a bed in the Evil Place and when he was fit himself, he used to go to see it now and again, but he has a dog now and it is the dog that goes, and if you could get to know that man and you could get to go with the dog and get to the other world, perhaps you could get yourself set free there.’
Well, that was that, anyway. Next day they got up and got everything in order and the lad went and:
‘Now,’ said the hermit, said he, ‘see that you do not pass me by when you come back.’
‘Oh no,’ said the lad. ‘If I come back alive this way, I shall call on you,’ said he.
He went off and he got directions to the house of the King of Halifax from the hermit and he came to the house, anyway, and went in, and there was a man there lying in bed and he asked him where he had come from. He told him, that he had been in the houses of these hermits, that it was they who had directed him here, and he told him how the matter was, from start to finish.
‘Oh yes,’ said the King of Halifax, ‘there is a good chance, right enough, that it is the Destroyer who has you in his power. I myself used to go to that place. I had a bed there, and I used to go there as long as I was able, but I have this dog, and it is able to go there now, and you will go with it tomorrow and it will take you there and you will see what can be done for you there.’
Scottish Traditional Tales Page 28
