Part 12

Dr. M’Culloch writes—“It was with some difficulty that we explored our way through the labyrinth of Islands in the centre of this lake; as they are little raised above the water, and covered with scattered firs, and thickets of birch, alder, and holly, while they are separated by narrow and tortuous channels.” The scene indeed, is so grand, wild, and fantastic, that words are at fault to describe it. Some years ago it was visited by tourists, whose admiration of it cannot be better expressed than in their own words. “When this majestic scene first burst upon our view, the effect was as surprising and enchanting, as it was unexpected. The lake sparkled bright in the evening sun. The lofty mountains were, at their summits, tinged with his golden rays, while in the hollows, and nearer their base, they were wreathed in mist and light clouds. The effect of this was to increase to a prodigious degree, the apparent height of the mountains, to make every hollow on their rugged sides, seem a deep and inaccessible glen, and to enlarge to an almost immeasurable extent the lake, and the hills which rose at its extreme distance. It was altogether a scene of enchantment never to be forgotten. The white piqued summits of the File-Mountain sparkled like the spires and turrets of an emerald palace, the work of some eastern magician, or of the genii of Arabian romance, and forming a splendid contrast to the dark and rugged Slioch, which rises from the opposite side of the lake!”

It is by no means surprising that Superstition, in her fantastic freaks, should have, in ages long byegone, selected this weird locality for the manifestation of not a few of her favourite protegés.

This superb sheet of water, from its almost unfathomable depth and other dimensions, furnished a befitting receptacle for brownies, water-horses, uruisgean, kelpies, and such like, while one of the islets of this beautiful lake became the arena of various superstitious practices, and of curing therewith some of the most inveterate diseases. The largest of these Islands are Eilean Suthain (St. Swithan’s Isle), Eilean Ruairidh Mhoir, and Eilean Ruairidh Bhig. Eilean Maree is the most celebrated, and was, as some think, dedicated to the Virgin Mary; others assert that it is named after St. Malrube; but more probably it is called after a Prince, or petty King who occupied the Island—is, in short, “Loch-ma-Righ,” or Loch of my King. It has a burying-ground with tombstones bearing inscriptions and hieroglyphical figures, which cannot now be deciphered. There is in the Island also a Sacred Well, in which, as in the pool of St Fillan’s, lunatics were plunged and healed, and, in short, all manner of diseases cured. Around this sacred spot the usual oblations were made to the tutelary saint, and coins of every descriptions stuck into a tree that grew out of the bank. The sacred water of this well was deemed so effectual in curing the insane, that they were brought to it from the remotest quarters of the north. The treatment they received was no doubt somewhat severe. Before they drank of its waters, it was reckoned indispensable to the permanency of their cure, that they should be dragged at the stern of a boat twice round the Island, pulled by a rope made of horse-hair, fastened under their arms and around their shoulders. They were then dipped in the well, and drank of its water.

Her Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria, recently paid a visit to this romantic district, and held a religious service on the Island. In commemoration of this welcome visit she has been pleased to sanction a memorial inscription, by the proprietor of Gairloch, on a large stone opposite the Loch Maree Hotel, in which she took up her abode. In this manner our beloved sovereign, whose eye is always keen to observe, whose taste is exquisite to admire, and whose sensibility is great to appreciate all that is grand and beautiful in Nature’s workmanship, has conferred a lasting honour on the true-hearted Highland Chief, Sir Kenneth S. Mackenzie, Baronet; on his loyal and delighted tenantry; as well as on his romantic property in Gairloch.

It may be remarked that there is hardly a lake, or perennial fountain in Scotland of any magnitude, but has certain traditional stories connected with it, bearing reference to something wild or supernatural. The celebrated Hugh Miller relates the following regarding the “Fiddler’s Well,” near Cromarty:—“There is a little path which, in the eastern part of the parish, goes winding over rock and stone along the edge of a range of low-browed precipices, till it reaches a fine spring of limpid water, that comes gushing out of the side of a bank, covered with moss and daisies. This beautiful spring has been known to the people of the town, for a century and more, by the name of Fiddler’s Well. Its waters are said to be medicinal; and there is a tradition still preserved, of the circumstance through which its virtues were first discovered, and to which it owes its name. Two young men of the place, who were much attached to each other, were seized at nearly the same time by consumption. In one the progress of the disease was rapid; he died two short months after he was attacked by it; while the other, though wasted almost to a shadow, had yet strength enough left to follow the corpse of his companion to the grave. The surname of the survivor was Fiddler, a name still common among the seafaring men of the town. On the evening of the interment, he felt oppressed and unhappy, his imagination was haunted by a thousand feverish shapes of open graves, with bones smouldering round their edges, and of coffins with the lids displaced; and after he had fallen asleep, the images, which were still the same, became more grisly and horrible. Towards morning, however, they had all vanished; and he dreamed that he was walking alone by the sea-shore in a clear beautiful day in summer. Suddenly, as he thought, some person stepped up behind, and whispered into his ear, in the voice of his deceased companion, ‘Go on, Willie, I shall meet you at Stormy’. There is a rock in the neighbourhood of Fiddler’s Well, so called from the violence with which the sea beats against it, when the wind blows strongly from the east. On hearing the voice, he turned round, and seeing no one, he went on as he thought, to the place named, in the hope of meeting with his friend, and sat down on a bank to wait for his coming; but he waited long, lonely and dejected; and then remembering that he for whom he waited was dead, he burst into tears. At this moment, a large field-bee came humming from the west, and began to fly round his head. He raised his hand to brush it away; it widened its circle, and then came humming in to his ear as before. He raised his hand a second time, but the bee could not be scared off; it hummed ceaselessly round and round him, until at length its murmurings seemed to be fashioned into words, articulated in the voice of his deceased companion. ‘Dig, Willie, and drink,’ it said, ‘Dig, Willie, and drink.’ He, accordingly, set himself to dig, and no sooner had he torn a sod out of the bank, than a spring of clear water gushed from the hollow; and the bee, taking a wider circle, and humming in a voice of triumph that seemed to emulate the sound of a trumpet, flew away. He looked after it, but as he looked, the images of his dream began to mingle with those of the waking world; the scenery of the hill seemed obscured by a dark cloud, in the centre of which there glimmered a faint light; the rocks, the sea, the long declivity faded into the cloud; and turning round, he saw only a dark apartment, and the first beams of morning shining in at the window. He rose, and after digging the well, drank of the water, and recovered. And its virtues are still celebrated; for though the water be only simple water, it must be drunk in the morning, and as it gushes out of the bank; and with pure air, exercise, and early rising for its auxiliaries, it continues to work cures.”[11]

It has been remarked, that almost all our lakes, fountains, pools, waterfalls, rocky crevices, and caves, have been tenanted, by superstition, with water-horses, kelpies, uruisgean, and brownies. Of this there are many instances in the Highland districts of Perthshire, which are now made classic ground by the magic pen of the author of Waverley. Beinn Venue is a lofty mountain which rises from the south-east shore of Loch Katrine. The celebrated “Coir-nan-Uruisgean,” or Goblin’s Cave, is situated at its base. It is guarded by precipitous rocks, which lie strewed in immense fragments on every side, and this well-defended corrie or cave, affords a safe asylum for foxes, badgers, and wild-cats; as also one equally safe, if the natives be credited, for the goblins, kelpies, and uruisgean. The uruisgean are, in short, no strangers in various quarters of Perthshire, as well as in most parts of the Highlands. Dr. Graham says that they are “a sort of lubberly supernaturals, who could be gained over by kind attention, to perform the drudgery of the farm; and it was believed that many Highland families had some of the order so tamed, as to become attached to them”. Sir Walter Scott states that “tradition has ascribed to the uruisgean, a figure between a goat and a man; in short, however much the classical reader may be startled, precisely that of a Grecian Satyr.”

It is related of an honest farmer’s wife in Glenlyon, that one wet morning, as the decent matron was in the act of making the porridge for the family breakfast, she had an unexpected visit from an “uruisg,” who came in unceremoniously, cold, dripping with rain, and squatted herself close by the cheering fire. There the huge, slippery-skinned, uncouth monster lay, enjoying the genial warmth, but awkwardly impeding the worthy good-wife from cooking the family meal. Sadly annoyed at the monster’s impertinence, the good old lady lifted a ladleful of the boiling beverage from the pot on the fire, and poured it on the sides and thighs of her unwelcome guest, on which, the creature arose suddenly, darted off in a moment, upsetting tables and chairs, and exclaiming in pure Gaelic:—

Ochan! loisg thu mi, chràidh thu mi, Led’ bhrochan teth, tana, gu’n stà; Ach fhad’s bhios uisg’ ann an Liobhain, Cha chriochnaich do pheanas gu bràth. A’ Chaillich gu’n mhodh, is gu’n nair ’S tu chiurr mi gu goirt, is gu searbh, Ach thig mi le armachd gu’n dàil, Is cuiream gu bàs thu gu dearbh!

We ought to learn one lesson from this subject—gratitude to the Great Ruler, because we live in more favourable circumstances, and under the light and liberty of a preached Gospel. The press and the pulpit have now opened the eyes of men; the schoolmaster is abroad; and many superstitions by which past ages have been deluded have greatly vanished before the pure light of evangelic truth. In many quarters of the world they have disappeared before the lustre of that revelation which has brought the truth of immortality to light, and which impresses the imagination of man with truer notions and simpler imagery. We cannot but admire the dauntless courage of Paul when he boldly faced the Epicurean and stoic philosophers—when “he stood in the midst of Mars’ Hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious”. There he met a people, the most distinguished for the wisdom of their political constitution, for the brilliancy of their achievements, for the extent and variety of their learning, and for the refinement of their manners; yet a people who, amid all their glory and renown, were ignorant of the true God, and lived the blind and deluded victims of the grossest idolatry and superstition.

FOOTNOTES

[1] In corroboration of the main facts here stated, we quote the following from “Walford’s County Families of the United Kingdom”:—“FLETCHER, JAMES, Esq. of Rosehaugh, Ross-shire, son of the late Wm. Jack, Esq., by Isabel, dau. of the late Charles Fletcher, Esq., and brother of J. C. Fletcher, Esq.; _b._ 18—; _m._ 1852, Frederica Mary, dau. of John Stephen, Esq., niece of Sir Alfred Stephen, C.B., Chief Justice of New South Wales, and widow of Alexander Hay, Esq., of the 58th Regt.… He assumed the name of Fletcher in lieu of his patronymic on the death of his mother in 1856.”

[2] A place of that name near Beauly.

[3] Since the above was in type, we came across the following in Anderson’s History of the Family of Fraser, p. 114:—“Hugh, son of the 10th Lord Lovat, was born on the 28th September, 1666. From a large black spot on his upper lip he was familiarly called, Mac Shimidh Ball-dubh, _i.e._, black-spotted Simpson or Lovat. Three chieftains were distinguished at this time by similar deformities—(1) Mac Coinnich Glùn-dubh, _i.e._, black-kneed Mackenzie; (2) Macintoshich Claon, _i.e._, squint-eyed MacKintosh; (3) Sisealach Càm, crooked or one-eyed Chisholm.”

[4] See Nos. XXVI. and XXVII. of the _Celtic Magazine_, Vol. III., in which this question is discussed at length.

[5] For full details of this act, which afterwards proved the cause of such strife and bloodshed, see Mackenzie’s “History of the Clan Mackenzie”.

[6] Highlands and Isles of Scotland, p. 111.

[7] The late Colonel John Constantine Stanley, son of Lord Stanley of Alderley, who married Susan Mary, eldest daughter of the late Keith William Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth.

[8] Vide Buch. Lib. xiii.

[9] For several of these in England and the South of Scotland, see _Celtic Magazine_, Vol. III., pp. 52-53.

[10] Dr. Buchan, Secretary of the Lancashire Insurance Company at Inverness, a gentleman rarely surpassed in his knowledge of Celtic Legendary Traditions and Folklore, and to whom the writer is much indebted for these remarks on Hallowe’en.

[11] Since this was first published, the late Alexander Fraser, Registrar, Inverness, a well-known Northern Antiquarian, wrote four full and most interesting papers, entitled, _Northern Folk-lore on Wells and Water; with an Account of some interesting Wells in the neighbourhood of Inverness and the North_, which appeared in the _Celtic Magazine_, Vol. III., pp. 348, 370, 419, and 456.

THE END.

A. KING AND CO., ABERDEEN.