Part 7

(“There is serpent knowledge (serpent bite) and toothache knowledge. There is eye knowledge and stitch (gripes) knowledge and hurt knowledge (by Evil Eye or Witchcraft). Knowledge of each thing in its own place. If any person is wounded by a serpent let him get serpent knowledge, and when a man has toothache let him get toothache knowledge, and so with every other thing. I myself know two or three who got a cure for serpent bites. The words they have for curing stitch (gripes) are taken from the New Testament, a bit here and a bit there, and these written upon paper, and that paper sewn in the inside of the coat of the person who had the stitch. This will put the stitch away. I knew a man that tried this, and it was of use to him. But one must be sure that he has got the right words. And the words for toothache knowledge are put on paper, and the paper sewn inside a person’s clothes in the same manner. But if the teeth are gone it will do no good, but if they are still whole it will do good, and the toothache will not return any more.

“I have often heard the words they have for eye knowledge, but I will give you what crowns the whole, the thing a Mother gave to her Son to keep evil away from the milk and from the churn. Here are the words:—

‘When you make a beginning Put a good handful of salt in it. Put root and flower of the daisy in it. Put the entrails of a seal and a hare in it. Cut a wand of rowan over from the face of Ellasaid. A red thread with a tight knot Put on the head of the churn staff. And should the witch Hendry (of Endor) come. The boy would conquer her.’

“You see the witch Hendry was in the Bible. She was the strongest witch that ever lived, but if any person would get all these things and use them, she, or any other witch, could not do him injury. I have myself seen the red thread on children to keep evil from them.”)

The above is undoubtedly sheer witchcraft, white witchcraft, if you like. It is not then surprising that the evidence is not in favour of these _eolas_ professors being held in much social esteem. A native of Harris, talking of one of them, said: “Notwithstanding the wide reputation the man had, and the many who went to seek advice, he was not held in high esteem, and this part of his occupation was not admired although so many took advantage of his services.” The reciter himself spoke of him as _bodach granda_ (nasty old man).

A Gaelic-speaking minister gave the following information. It refers to Arran. He knew several old women who professed _eolas a chronachaidh_, but he did not hold a high opinion of them. One case, however, he remembers especially in this connection. A lad was taken suddenly ill, supposed to be a case of _cronachadh_. An old woman, who was respected in the district, came to see him, and going above him in the bed, made motions with her hands over him and on her own person, repeating an incantation of some length at the same time. The lad recovered. The reciter admits the fact, but does not incline to accept the _eolas_ performance as having caused the recovery.

A reciter in Mull was telling before her mother of the operations of a _cailleach_ of this sort, when the mother added, she herself had spoken with the woman, she was a decent body, and assured her that there was nothing whatever wrong in what she did for the cure of cattle when hurt by the Evil Eye. The words used were good, and she repeated them, but she added that a great deal depended upon the person who applied for _eolas_, and that, unless such a person believed that a cure would be effectual, there was little use in what she herself could do, and no use at all in the contents of the bottle which she supplied. It might just as well be thrown out on the roadside.

HURTER AND HEALER

A farmer’s wife, an old woman, but smart and intelligent, and showing no failure of memory, expressed the following opinion:—

The power to do injury to beast or person, and the power to cure such an injury appeared to have been given to different classes of people. Those who did injury were supposed to be malevolent, and of course held in bad repute, while the curers were looked upon as for the good of people and to be respected. What the one did was called _cronachadh_, and what the other did _beannachadh_ (blessing).

To another, an Islay lady, the remark was made that _cronachadh_ was a strange thing. In answer she said: “Yes, but _beannachadh_ was quite as strange.” “What is that?” “_Fiosrachadh or eolas._” (Knowledge the result of inquiry, and knowledge apparently arrived at in any way, say by revelation.)

That is one side of the picture. We see the other in the following:—

“There was a lad at service at one time with Malcolm here beside us. He was one of the T’s. He was in the habit of coming to this house, and my father said to myself, I should not have too much to do with him, for that there was something bad in him. It was maintained that his father had _eolas_, and people would be going to him when a beast or person was unwell, but those that have the one thing, the knowledge of healing, it is usual for them to have the other thing, knowledge to cause injury also.” The reciter believed that this lad deliberately did them an injury, and after recounting the particulars said, “My father advised us not to show any anger to the lad for fear he might do something worse to us, if he were to know that we were angry. ‘That is the way the like of these people have. If they do harm to a person and he shows anger they will do him more harm.’”

A domestic servant, speaking of an old woman that she knew very well, said: “She was known as Mairi Siath (Mary of sprains?) and was looked upon as one who had a great deal of secret power by which she could do both harm and good. People were afraid to offend her, and would give her almost anything she would ask rather than offend her.” The said Mary, having been consulted about unsuccessful churning, “brought back the butter every bit that should have been on the churn from the time it had been taken away, and there was so much that the mistress was afraid to use it in the house, for she said it could not have come in a right way. She gave it away, and after that they always got butter on the churn.”

There is no doubt that the girl who repeated this believed what she was telling as of her own knowledge. The only explanation that occurs to one is that the milk, having been for some reason poor for a time from bad feeding or some such thing, the food having become better and richer, the milk was thereby improved to such an extent as to give the appearance, especially in comparison with the small yield before, of a somewhat supernatural supply.

The same belief in the power of hurting and healing being united in one person has been already mentioned in connection with an Arran shepherd on page 19.

One other case as reported was that of an Islay farmer who, on one occasion riding along the road, passed a man ploughing with a pair of horses. Shortly thereafter the horses lay down, having become to all appearance unwell. A messenger was immediately despatched after the farmer, who, hearing what had happened, returned, and at any rate got the credit of curing the animals.

TRANSMISSION OF EOLAS

It has already been mentioned how a woman who possessed a toothache cure was willing to impart the necessary formula (incantation) to a “relative” who was a male, but could not do it to a female. That case was in Islay.

The following information from Skye shows the belief that _eolas_ is imparted in the same way and under like circumstances there. This Skye woman was believed to have the Evil Eye, and to have the power of taking away the produce (_an toradh_) from other’s cows. When she was on her deathbed, and when she came very near her end, she said to those about her that she was anxious to see her husband. He happened at that particular time to be out looking after something, and they sent for him, but all the time till he came in she kept crying for him, and urging that she wished to see him. When he came in she requested that all the others should withdraw, and when they had done so she said to her husband to shut the door that there might be nobody there but themselves alone. What took place between them there nobody ever knew, but one thing people firmly believed, that was that she gave the skill that she had to her husband, for after that he could take away the _toradh_ from other people’s cows, and did take it away too.

However, authorities do not always agree as to changing the sex in the transmission of this magic.

A native of Harris, a woman of about forty, has no English, and can neither read nor write. When asked as to her experiences, and if she had ever seen a thread tied round a child’s neck to preserve it from the effects of the Evil Eye, she said: “I did see it; wasn’t there one on my own child? and that was for A. McE.‘s Evil Eye. She has an Evil Eye (_Droch shuil_), and one day she came into the house and began to praise the child greatly. She was only a short time gone when the child began to vomit. ‘O Kate,’ said I to my sister, ‘my child is _air a cronachadh_ with the Evil Eye of that woman.’ ‘If that is all that is wrong, we won’t be long putting it right,’ said Kate, and she took a red thread, and when she had said the word, she tied the string on the child’s neck, and there was no time till it was quite well.” She was asked whether Kate had the words, and she replied, “Oh yes, my mother had them and she taught them to Kate.”

The general trend of belief is that the hereditary transmission of _eolas_ is from father to daughter, and from mother to son. A reciter said: “A woman still lives in the neighbourhood, said to have obtained her _eolas_ secret from her father. She is often requisitioned, and her skill to cure fully believed in.”

Another said: “You know A. McE. His mother had _eolas a chronachaidh_, and he said that she left the secret with him before she died.” These were “unprovoked” statements of the reciters, and in the latter case the interest of the story was in pointing out the method taken to determine whose Evil Eye had affected a sick horse. The owner was told to watch the colour of the hair of the first woman that passed the house, which would be the same as that of the person wanted. The result was given in the following terms, “Now she is blaming Mrs. MacD.”

In all these cases we see that the _eolas_ was kept in the family, or at least believed to be so. The deathbed scene of the wife and husband may be a most uncharitable suggestion of heathenism, but the recital was made in good faith.

The witch doctor sometimes apparently requires assistance. A horse being taken ill while ploughing, supposed to be hurt by the Evil Eye, the farmer refused to have anything to do with these irregular practices. The horse died. Not long after a second took ill, and as the ploughman, the reciter, said, “We were all about it saying it could be cured.” At last the master said if there was any person who could do it they might try it, it would do no harm at any rate. There was a man there that had _eolas_, and he took another man out with him, and they made the _eolas_ outside. They did nothing to the horse, but while they were out making the _eolas_ the horse got up, shook itself, and was better at once.

In Arran, as elsewhere, _cronachadh_ seems to be regarded as hereditary. One reciter said of a man at Loch Ranza that it did not matter what he would look at, his look would _cronach_ it. A lad from another part of the island went to ask a daughter of this man to marry him, and when the nearest neighbour heard of his courtship she became exceedingly angry, and protested against any of that man’s daughters being brought there “to _cronaich_ everything about the place.”

FORMS OF INCANTATION

For specimens of these incantations the reader should refer to “Gaelic Incantations, with Translations,” W. Mackenzie, Inverness, 1895; and to “Carmina Gadelica,” A. Carmichael, Edinburgh, 1900. Above we have already given one as recited, but they are hard to get, there being many reasons why the user is shy of repeating them. One thing is certain, that a complete performance of any of these rites requires the repetition of “words,” as they say, of some sort. In far the majority of cases, the words are what are called “good” words, having a sanction of Christianity about them, being generally invocations of the Trinity and of Mary. As a native of Morven said, describing a cure in which water is used at a certain stage, “The person making the _eolas_ kept saying good words.” Another woman from Mull, describing a cure done by herself, said: “I remember a child I cured myself with good words that I have. It was very ill, and nearly gone when I took it and placed it in my bosom and cured it. I said the words over it, but after curing it I was very much exhausted until I got a cup of tea, and then I felt myself getting better.” When requested to repeat the words, she affirmed that they were all good words, and that it was in the name of the Trinity she did it; but she went over the words in such a low voice, and with so indistinct a pronunciation and so fast, that the collector found it quite impossible to follow.

The writer was mentioning these circumstances to a lady visiting him who gave the following example, which aptly illustrates how the performance of some ceremony can form a foundation for belief in their beneficial activity. Her sister’s child of three weeks old was lying exceedingly ill and two medical men were in attendance, one having been called in as a consultant.

They told my visitor themselves that the child could not live. The family are Scotch, but this occurred in the neighbourhood of London. The monthly nurse suggested and urged baptism. The clergyman was sent for, and while going through the ceremony the child, who had been lying motionless, made some slight movement. Within two days that child had recovered, and is at the time of writing this as many years old as it was then weeks. The consultant subsequently expressed his dissatisfaction with the infant for having belied his prognosis.

In a case from Mull a servant, having been sent for a means of cure to a woman supposed to have skill, she found her in bed. She sat up, took the bottle containing water which had been sent for, put the mouth of it to her own mouth, and began to say some words over it. The words were spoken in a low tone, but so far as was recognised they were all “good” words.

In the case of a sick horse already quoted, the man who saw it went at once for G. T., then herding in the neighbourhood. The description of the interview is as follows: “When I reached him he said, ‘Peter, you need not tell me your business here.’ I said, ‘No.’ We went together to a little stream, and he said that I might now tell him what had brought me. When I told him, he asked me if I had tobacco. They do nothing without pay; not money, but tobacco and things like that. I knew he would ask for it, and I had it with me, and when I gave it him he asked if I had a bottle. I had a good notion of every turn he had, and so had taken a bottle with me, and when I gave it to him he turned his back to me and began lifting the water and saying the words. There was not a bad word in all he said, no, no. He said to me when he gave me the bottle and told me how to use it, ‘Your horse will be all right, Peter, as soon as you use it.’” His statement came true.

Things are not, however, always reported as of such an innocent and Christian character. A collector happened to be present at a conversation between two believers in the Evil Eye. One of them said, “Those who are working at such as that, applying _eolas_, are not helped but by the ‘bad one,’ for if it were that they were doing good they would not need to be hiding themselves when they would be at it. P. McL., a decent man, said his cow was injured, and sent for A. T. The cow was in a little hut, and when A. went in where the cow was P. put his ear to a little window that was in the wall, and he said, that when he heard such language as A. had, he would never again send for her should every cow he would have be unwell. She put her cap under her two knees—she was bare-headed and with her knees bare, but kneeling on her cap apparently—and she prayed to the vile one. (‘_Ghuidh i ris an fhear mhosach._’) B. said, ‘Was that the time she said that my father’s brother injured the cow?’ That was the very time. You were living beside P. then.”

FORM OF PAYMENT

“The labourer is worthy of his hire.” A case has been already given where the reciter said that nothing was done without pay, but not of money. We must not generalise in that way. A native of Tiree says, speaking of his experience in the cure of a horse of his father’s, “All these _eolas_ folk must get a piece of silver. It may be a shilling or two shillings. This they say makes the cure more certain, and they cannot promise a cure without it. The lad took with him a two-shilling piece and went to an _eolas_ man who lived five miles away.”

Apparently the silver is given in the form of money as the most convenient medium, though there is good reason for the supposition that the whiteness of silver makes it specially appropriate as a medium of remuneration.

The instance in which the child that was ill is described as if singing “do re do,” the woman who cured it received from the father tea and sugar which he had taken with him when he went to consult her; but she said to “my man” (it was the mother who recited the incident) “that she was not wanting anything and would do it for us for nothing, but that he would need to come back with white silver. I sent him back with a sixpence to give her.”

An innkeeper, a well-read, shrewd woman of about five-and-forty, tells of a case with which she was well acquainted in which a near neighbour consulted an old man, wanting him to bring back her butter. “She said that she would pay him if he would bring it back to her.” He said that he did not want payment, but at the same time he could not bring it back unless he were paid in silver for doing so; that being so, he would require to take something from her, as otherwise the cure would not be successful. So she gave him the silver and soon had all the butter that she lost.“

Another reciter having been accustomed to do the churning in his father’s house, after his father’s death, his stepmother sent for him because she herself could not get any butter from the churn. He did his best, but was unsuccessful. Having had a horse cured by _eolas_, he suggested that the same man should be consulted. The man arrived, and the case was explained, the woman stating, “_Feuch gun toir sibh dhachaidh an toradh oir tha e air falbh._” (“Try if you can bring back the due produce, for it is gone.”) “I’ll do that,” he said, and he did it by his _eolas_; there was plenty butter on the churn. It cost the woman a crown, but if it did, that was better than that the butter should be lost.

A woman who prepared a bottle for a sick cow charged the man who consulted her “two shillings for the bottle, and when she took the money she poured a little water on it and spat on it.” She might, one would think, with advantage have changed the order of her proceedings.

A sick bull which the veterinary surgeon had given up was referred to an _eolas_ woman, the principal argument being that her assistance “would only cost a shilling.” She ordered a bucket of water to be thrown over the animal, and it recovered.

A Mull woman tells how her grandmother when newly married, after having reared calves, could only get butter of such an ugly colour that nobody would eat it, and it was used for greasing wool before carding. She was asked by a neighbour for a bowl of butter one day, and accused of greed for refusing it while she had eight cows. She explained the position, and was then advised to consult an old man, the neighbour adding that she would be coming back in a fortnight, when there would be plenty of butter to give her. The results of the consultation were fairly successful, though the _eolas_ man explained that she would not for that year have so much butter as she should have, but that she should consider herself lucky that her cattle had not died. The reciter then said that her grandmother gave the man “plenty for his trouble, but did not grudge it.” When the old woman called on her way back she said, “Well, you can give me the butter now.” To which her friend replied, “Yes, I am thankful to you that I can.” And she gave her a good bowl of butter.

In the above case payment seems to have been in kind. A native of Ardnamurchan tells of a neighbour of her mother’s who had a number of cows and lost the due product of the whole of them. Her mother’s people were sitting down to dinner when a beggar woman came and asked, “_An sibhse a’ bhoirionnach a chaill an toradh?_” (“Are you the woman who has lost the milk and butter?”) “My mother was very fond of her neighbour, and thinking she might find out on her behalf how the milk might be got back, she answered that she was. The beggar woman said, ‘_Ma bheir sibh dhomh lan meise de mhin bheir mise air ais dhuibh e._’ (‘If you will give me a (wooden) dishful of meal I will bring it back to you.’) My mother said that she would give her all that was on the table if she would bring it back, and then ran to the neighbour’s house to tell what she had heard. They returned together and told the beggar woman whose cows really had been ill.” They are said to have been cured. Here also the payment was promised in kind.

A native of Harris tells us of an old man in Stornoway much consulted, who “would undertake for so much money to bring milk and butter back.”

An Islay man gives us “_ni a chunnaic mise mi fein_” (“a thing I saw my own self”). This was the cure of his father’s cow. A certain George T. “came the way” “_b’e duine corr bha ann an Deorsa so, aig an robh moran sgil mu’n chronachaidh_.” (“This George was a decent man, he had much skill about _cronachadh_.”) The cure is described, and the reciter continued: “_Cha b’e duine bha’ n an Deorsa a ghabhadh rud sam bith: ’se sin cha ghabhadh e pris airson a sheirbhis ann a leithid so do ni._” (“George was not a man that would take anything for his service in such a thing as this.”) “And my mother said to him, ‘Will you take a cup of tea, George?’ ‘It is I that will,‘ he said, for he had been about the cow a long time. When they were taking the tea they were keeping an eye on the cow now and again. She took a long time that she did not bend down her head, but at last she gave a shake to herself, and George said to my mother, ‘Your cow is right, woman.’ In a little while she gave the next shake, and again the third shake, and with that she was as well as she had ever been.”

THE NECESSITY OF FAITH