Chapter VI: Appendix: (a) Surprising Story of the Devil of Glenluce 302 (5)

'I wish thee good speed, John Gordon,' said he in a well-known voice. 'I am thy old friend William Hoatson, who, thou mayest remember, was found drowned about seven years since in the Water of Taarfe, near Red Lyon. But I am not dead, as is generally believed, but was carried away by the fairies of Holm Glen, and a body resembling mine placed in the river ford. And I have been permitted to appear unto thee at this time, knowing that thou art a fearless man, and one that seeketh after the Kingdom of Heaven; and I request thee, in the name of Heaven, that this night thou wilt win me back to my family and to the world!'

I expressed the happiness which I felt in meeting so unexpectedly with one whom I had so long considered to be dead. I shook him heartily by the hand, and offered him my friendship and assistance.

'Oh, John!' said he, 'this night will I be offered up a sacrifice in hell, and thou alone can save me from destruction.'

He spoke this so mournfully that the tears trickled down my cheek, and I sobbed aloud.

'Wilt thou promise,' continued he, 'to come this night at twelve o'clock, unarmed and alone, and stand by this ancient thorn-bush, where thou wilt see forty-one horsemen riding past, everyone dressed as I am at present? Pull me down from the chestnut-brown steed upon which I ride, for I will be the last man of that gay troop. They will turn me into a variety of frightful shapes in thy arms, and lastly into the appearance of a red-hot coulter; but thou must hold me fast in the name of Heaven, for if thou let me slip from thy hands they will take thee soul and body, and I also will be lost for ever!'"(54)

The conclusion of the story is not very happy, for John's courage entirely failed him. Through fear he refused his aid, but ever afterwards was haunted and crossed by the evil influence of the night-riding of the fairies of Holm Glen.

Other places in Kirkcudbrightshire which have the lingering touch of fairy romance hovering around them are Hazelfield, Auchencairn, the Nick of Lochenkit, "where the fairies have been seen dancing in thousands by the pale light o' the new moon on her third nicht," and on the "rugged height of Bengairn."

The last Galloway fairy reminiscence we shall quote before passing into Dumfriesshire illustrates the malignant side of their nature, and tells of the drowning of the Morrisons in Edingham Loch, near the present town of Dalbeattie:--

"A' the hale o' braid Gallowa' has heard the story of the drownin' o' hale ane-an'-twenty o' the Morrisons o' Orr, in the Loch of Edingham, nae farder gane than Yule was a seven year. Ye mind that year the frost held on frae Hallowe'en till Februar, and at Yule the ice was mair than thretty inches in thickness, and wad hae carried a' the fouk in sax parishes roun' wi' perfect safety. On that day mony a weel-fared, sturdy chiel had been busy plying the channelstane, wi' a' their skill an' might, frae early morn, and it was not till the last blinks of the sun had lang disappeared off Brownie Fells that the contest was putten aff till the following day, and ilka ane turned his face homewards. But they hadna ha'en their feet three minutes on the side when the moon glowered o'er the tappin o' Lotus, and showed the ice they had so lately left, clad wi' unco players frae side to side; and muckle mirth, din, and deray was there, bumpers o' the red wine were flowin' roun', and there tripped maidens, jimp and tall as yon rowan-trees by the burnie side and fairer than the snow on Logan braes. Swiftly the weary players returned to the margin of the loch, but nane durst venture on the ice for a considerable time. But there were three neibor lairds, in the three Mailins of Culloch, Cocklick, and Drumlane. A' the three were surnamed Morrison, and ilka ane had seven strapping sons, wha never feared skaith frae man nor deil, and sae they a' quickly joined the thrang. Bit strange to tell, the very moment the last o' the ane-an'-twenty was aboon deep water, the ice rent from en' to en' wi' a crack a thousan' times louder than thunner, and dancers, players, and Morrisons a' disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and the ice again resumed its former solidity, without crack or flaw. And mony a time sinsyne has the midnight wanderer observed the loch covered o'er with light-footed dancers, blithely footing it on the limpid wave, and among them the three-times-seven youths, gaily clad in elfin weeds of sylvan green, and mounted on gallant steeds of the milk-white foam. Their spears are of the green bulrashes with targets of the braidest flutterbaus; they ha'e braid swords o' the segg, and cockades of the water-lily; but they ay tak' the gate lang or the first peep o' day, and the place they left retains no the sma'est prent o' their airie feet, nor nane can tell the gate they fled."(55)

On the sharp descent of the Dalbeattie Road towards Dumfries there yet lingers the tradition of fairy song and music being heard 'mid the leafy surroundings of the Long Wood.

FAIRIES IN DUMFRIESSHIRE.

To Allan Cunningham we are indebted for several examples of fairy-lore gathered together in his own particular district of Nithsdale.

The three following illustrate the expression of gratitude on the part of the fairies when a good turn was served, or a request complied with:--

"Two lads were opening with the plow a fairy-haunted field, and one of them had described a circle around a fairy-thorn, which was not to be plowed. They were surprised when, on ending the furrow, a green table was placed there, heaped with the choicest cheese, bread, and wine. He who marked out the thorn sat down without hesitation, eating and drinking heartily, saying, 'Fair fa' the hands whilk gie.' His fellow-servant lashed his steeds, refusing to partake. The courteous plowman 'thrave,' said my informer, 'like a breckan, and was a proverb for wisdom and an oracle of local rural knowledge ever after!'

A woman of Auchencreath, in Nithsdale, was one day sifting meal warm from the mill; a little, cleanly arrayed, beautiful woman came to her, holding out a basin of antique workmanship, requesting her courteously to fill it with her new meal. Her demand was cheerfully complied with. In a week the comely little dame returned with the borrowed meal. She breathed over it, setting it down basin and all, saying aloud, 'Be never toom.' The guidwife lived to a goodly age, without ever seeing the bottom of her blessed basin.

A woman, who lived in the ancient Burgh of Lochmaben, was returning late one evening to her home from a gossiping. A little, lovely boy, dressed in green, came to her, saying, 'Coupe yere dish-water farther frae yere doorstep; it pits out our fire!' This request was complied with, and plenty abode in the good woman's house all her days."(56)

The advent of summer was an occasion of special rejoicing on the part of the fairies, and was celebrated by a triumphal march or ride known as the "Fairy Rade," which was accompanied by much, and brave, display.

The ceremony usually took place on the eve of Roodmas (May 3rd), and the following account is supposed to have been narrated by an old Nithsdale woman to Allan Cunningham:--

"I' the nicht afore Roodsmass,[23] I had trysted wi' a neebor lass, a Scots mile frae hame, to tak anent buying braws i' the Fair. We hadnae sutten lang aneath the haw-buss till we heard the loud laugh o' fowk riding, wi' the jingling o' bridles an' the clanking o' hoofs. We banged up, thinking they wad ryde owre us--we kent nae but it was drunken fowk riding to the Fair i' the fore-nicht. We glowr'd roun' and roun', an' sune saw it was the Fairie Fowks' Rade. We cowered down till they passed by. A leam o' light was dancing owre them, mair bonnie than moon-shine; they were a' wee, wee fowk, wi' green scarfs on, but ane that rade foremost, and that ane was a guid deal langer than the lave, wi' bonnie lang hair bun' about wi' a strap, whilk glented lyke stars. They rade on braw wee whyte naigs, wi' unco lang swoaping tails an' manes hung wi' whustles that the win' played on. This, an' their tongues whan they sang, was like the soun' of a far-awa' Psalm. Marion and me was in a brade lea fiel' whare they cam' by us; a high hedge o' haw-trees keepit them frae gaun through Johnnie Corrie's corn, but they lap a' owre't like sparrows an' gallop'd into a green knowe beyont it. We gaed i' the morning to look at the tredded corn, but the fient a hoof-mark was there, nor a blade broken."(57)

The accompanying almost idealistic fairy-tale accentuates the idea of the instinct of natural affection with which the fairies were always credited, and their preference for a human mother to nurse their offspring:--

"A fine young woman of Nithsdale was sitting singing and rocking her child, when a pretty lady came into her cottage, covered with a fairy mantle. She carried a beautiful child in her arms, swaddled in green silk.

'Nurse my child,' said the Fairy.

The young woman, conscious to whom the child belonged, took it kindly in her arms and laid it to her breast.

The lady instantly disappeared, saying, 'Nurse kin', an' ne'er want!'

The young mother nurtured the two babes, and was astonished whenever she awoke at finding the richest suits of apparel for both children, with meat of most delicious flavour. This food tasted, says tradition, like loaf mixed with wine and honey. It possessed more miraculous properties than the wilderness manna, preserving its relish even over the seventh day.

On the approach of summer the Fairy lady came to see her child. It bounded with joy when it beheld her. She was much delighted with its freshness and activity, and taking it in her arms, she bade the nurse follow. Passing through some scroggy woods, skirting the side of a beautiful green hill, they walked midway up. On its sunward slope a door opened, disclosing a beauteous porch, which they entered, and the turf closed behind them. The Fairy dropped three drops of a precious dew on the nurse's left eye-lid, and they entered a land of most pleasant and abundant promise. It was watered with fine looping rivulets, and yellow with corn; the fairest trees enclosed its fields, laden with fruit, which dropped honey.

The nurse was rewarded with finest webs of cloth and food of ever-during substance. Boxes of salves, for restoring mortal health and curing mortal wounds and infirmities, were bestowed on her, with a promise of never needing.

The Fairy dropped a green dew over her right eye, and bade her look. She beheld many of her lost friends and acquaintances doing menial drudgery, reaping the corn and gathering the fruits.

'This,' said she, 'is the punishment of evil deeds!'

The Fairy passed her hand over her eye, and restored its mortal faculties. She was conducted to the porch, but had the address to secure the heavenly salve.

She lived, and enjoyed the gift of discerning the earth-visiting spirits, till she was the mother of many children; but happening to meet the Fairy lady who gave her the child, she attempted to shake hands with her.

'What e'e d'ye see me wi'?' whispered she.

'Wi' them baith,' said the dame.

She breathed on her eyes, and even the power of the box failed to restore their gifts again!"(58)

The element of romantic imagery is also manifest in the following tradition:--

"A young man of Nithsdale, being on a love intrigue, was enchanted with wild and delightful music and the sound of mingled voices, more charming than aught that mortal breath could utter. With a romantic daring peculiar to a Scottish lover he followed the sound, and discovered the fairy banquet. A green table, with feet of gold, was placed across a small rivulet, and richly furnished with pure bread and wines of sweetest flavour. Their minstrelsy was raised from small reeds and stalks of corn. He was invited to partake in the dance, and presented with a cup of wine. He was allowed to depart, and was ever after endowed with the second sight."(59)

A vivid example of the method of restoring a "changeling" to its own natural and innocent form has already been described in connection with Sorbie village, in Wigtownshire. The following, quite as realistic, describes a similar uncanny ceremony in Dumfriesshire:--

"A beautiful child, of Caerlaverock, in Nithsdale, on the second day of its birth, and before its baptism, was changed, none knew how, for an antiquated elf of hideous aspect. It kept the family awake with its nightly yells; biting the mother's breasts; and would neither be cradled or nursed. The mother, obliged to be from home, left it in charge of the servant girl.

The poor lass was sitting bemoaning herself. 'Wer't nae for thy girning face I would knock the big, winnow the corn, and grun the meal!'

'Lowse the cradle band,' quoth the elf, 'and tent the neighbours, an' I'll work yer wark.'

Up started the elf, the wind arose, the corn was chafed, the outlyers were foddered, the hand-mill moved around, as by instinct, and the knocking mell did its work with amazing rapidity.

The lass and her elfin servant rested and diverted themselves, till, on the mistress's approach, it was restored to the cradle, and began to yell anew. The girl took the first opportunity of slyly telling her mistress the adventure.

'What'll we do wi' the wee diel?' said she.

'I'll work it a pirn,' replied the lass.

At the middle hour of night, the chimney-top was covered up, and every inlet barred and closed. The embers were blown up until glowing hot, and the maid, undressing the elf, tossed it on the fire. It uttered the wildest and most piercing yells, and, in a moment, the fairies were heard moaning at every wonted avenue, and rattling at the window boards, at the chimney head, and at the door.

'In the name o' God, bring back the bairn!' cried the lass.

The window flew up; the earthly child was laid unharmed on the mother's lap, while its grisly substitute flew up the chimney with a loud laugh."[24](60)

A further narrative, bringing out the idea of gratitude for a favour, and resentment at insult, has been gleaned from the parish of Closeburn:--

"Two men were ploughing down, in Closeburn parish, when they both felt a strong smell of burning cake. One of them said in an off-hand kind o' way--

'Yer cake's burnin'.'

'Make us a spurtle tae burn it wi', then,' said a voice apparently close at hand.

The man, good-naturedly, did as directed, and laid the article down on the ground. On returning to the spot he found the spurtle taken away, and bread and cheese left in its place. He partook of both, and likewise gave some to his horses, but his companion would neither taste himself nor allow his horses to taste. An affront of this kind could not be overlooked, and he had not gone many steps until he dropped down dead in the furrow."(61)

A noted fairy tryste in this Nithsdale district was the Ward-Law Hill, Dalswinton. It came to pass, however, that the green ring where the fairies had danced and gambolled became in the times of the Persecution a place of worship. On this account no longer could the fairy revelry and dance continue, and it was firmly believed in the district that sounds of lamentation and regret, proceeding from no earthly voices, were heard in the neighbourhood of this favourite fairy-haunt for many years afterwards.

The gardens of Drumlanrig Palace (Thornhill) were also a reputed gathering-place of the fairies, who were often seen dancing in the gloaming in the glade opposite to Jock o' the Horn.[25]

There is a "Fairy Knowe" at Sanquhar, described by Simpson[26] as "a beautiful little green knoll which overlooks what is called the Waird, ... formerly covered with the waving broom, with green spaces here and there, the dancing-places of the sportive fairies."

The braes of Polveoch, at the west end of the Bank Wood, between Kirkconnel and Sanquhar, was also a favourite trysting-place of the fairies. "Here the good little folks assembled on May Day to celebrate the advent of summer; contingents came in from Kello Water, Glen Aylmer, and Glen Wharry, and when all had gathered together they rode merrily over the knowes towards the Bale Hill, in whose sunward slope a beauteous doorway was said to open for them, which they entered two at a time, the green turf closing over the last pair to get in."(62)

In Annandale the great fairy strength and palace lay in the heart of Burnswark Hill. The reputation of these Annandale fairies seems to have been rather disposed towards evil than good. Young men as well as young women were carried off, the former to act as very slaves and beasts of burden. The following is the account of the abduction of a young woman belonging to Corrie:--

"One fair Corrie damsel, who was supposed to have died, appeared to her brother, and informed him that she was not dead, but kept in bondage among the fairies, who, when they carried her off, had left in the bed an image of her, which had been buried in her stead. She entreated him to repair alone to the barn on the following night, set open the doors, and watch there till the hour of midnight, when he would see three forms pass before him, of which she would be the last. She told him he was then to seize fast hold of her, to repeat certain words which she instructed him to use, and that he might thus effect her rescue. Unfortunately, the brother's courage failed him when the hour of trial came, so that the captive sister was never released from elfin thraldom and restored to her family."(63)

It may be noted in passing that all the place-names in this district ending in "sheen" refer to fairy occupation of the land. _Sidh_ (pronounced shee) is a fairy, with the diminutive _sidhean_ (sheen), which more especially carries the meaning of Fairy Hill. Examples of these may be cited in Auchensheen, Colvend; Brishie, Minnigaff; Knocknishy, Whithorn; and Shawn, Stoneykirk.

THE BROWNIE.

The "Brownie,"[27] as already indicated, was a domestic spirit of a familiar and useful kind. Grotesque in figure, small in stature, but very strong, his presence and help were cheerfully accepted in the farm-steading or household he elected to serve. His self-imposed and often heavy task was always performed in the dark hours of the night. No work came amiss to Brownie--reaping, threshing, sheep-shearing, and gathering, churning, and even meaner kitchen drudgery--and all in the most disinterested fashion, a bowl of cream, or as Nicholson phrases it, "a cogfu' o' brose" being all that he would accept at their hands. The offer, indeed, of other than this simple food, or the leaving out for him of clothing, was fatal, and compelled Brownie, in obedience to some condition of his existence not understood, to forsake the abode of the gift-givers and depart, generally reluctantly, to seek other quarters.

However arduous the efforts of the night it would seem that he was always finished in sufficient good time to drink his cream at leasure and blow up the smouldering embers of the fire to bask his full length in its warmth, for at heart Brownie was, when not actually working, much disposed to take his ease. At first cock-crow, however, he disappeared.

Endowed with a life of many years, he seems to have been attached in some instances to the same family for generations, but his service was only given to good and worthy people, although isolated instances of help to the unfortunate poor were common enough experiences.

He would also seem to have had the moral welfare of young folks at heart, and would seat himself at the kitchen fireside and listen to their chatter. He was singularly alive to unworthy intentions, particularly in connection with love affairs, which he took means of opposing in his own way.

The prosperity of the family with whom he had attached himself was affected by their disposition and actions towards him, of which the following is an example:--

"A place called Liethin Hall, in Dumfriesshire, was the hereditary dwelling of a noted brownie. He had lived there, as he once communicated in confidence to an old woman, for three hundred years. He appeared only once to every new master, and indeed seldom shewed more than his hand to anyone. On the decease of a beloved master he was heard to make moan, and would not partake of his wonted delicacy for many days. The heir of the land arrived from foreign parts and took possession of his father's inheritance. The faithful Brownie shewed himself, and profered homage. The spruce Laird was offended to see such a famine-faced, wrinkled domestic, and ordered him meat and drink, with a new suit of clean livery. The brownie departed, repeating loud and frequently these ruin-boding lines--

'Ca, cuttie, ca!
A' the luck o' Liethin Ha'
Gangs wi' me to Bodsbeck Ha.'

Liethin Ha' was, in a few years, in ruins, and 'bonnie Bodsbeck' flourished under the luck-bringing patronage of the brownie."(64)

In the olden days there was a brownie attached to the family of Maxwell of Dalswinton said to be so energetic as to easily perform the work of ten men, and threshing with such vigour as to keep the servants awake at nights with the dirling of its elfin flail.

He seems to have been passionately devoted to the service of the Laird's daughter, a strikingly comely dame. A lover naturally appeared, and their meetings were made all the easier through Brownie's help, and eventually he saw his beloved lady married to a husband he heartily approved of.

"In course of time the hour of need came nigh, and a servant was sent away to bring the 'canny wife.' The night was dark as a December night could be, and the wind was heavy among the groves of oak. The brownie, enraged at the loitering serving-man, wrapped himself in his lady's fur cloak; and though the Nith was foaming high flood, his steed, impelled by supernatural spur and whip, passed it like an arrow. Mounting the dame behind him, he took the deep water back again to the amazement of the worthy woman, who beheld the red waves tumbling around her, yet the steed's foot-locks were dry.

'Ride nae by the auld pool,' quo' she, 'lest we should meet wi' Brownie.'

He replied--'Fear nae, dame, ye've met a' the brownies ye will meet.'

Placing her down at the hall gate, he hastened to the stable, where the servant lad was just pulling on his boots; he unbuckled the bridle from his steed, and gave him a most afflicting drubbing."

There is a sequel to this story which does not end happily: "It was the time of the Reformation; and a priest, more zealous than wise, exhorted the Laird to have this Imp of Heathenism baptised, to which he in an evil hour consented, and the worthy reforming saint concealed himself in the barn to surprise the brownie at his work. He appeared like a little, wrinkled, ancient man, and began his nightly moil. The priest leapt from his ambush, and dashed the baptismal water in his face, solemnly repeating the set form of Christian rite. The poor brownie set up a frightful and agonising yell, and instantly vanished never to return."(65)

Allan Cunningham further tells of a brownie of a humorous turn of mind who held sway about Newabbey:--"The Abbey lands in the parish of Newabbey, were the residence of a very sportive one. He loved to be, betimes, somewhat mischievous. Two lasses, having made a fine bowlful of buttered brose, had taken it into the byre to sup while it was yet dark. In the haste of concealment they had brought but one spoon; so they placed the bowl between them, and took a spoonful by turns.

'I hae got but three sups,' cried the one, 'an' it's a' done!'

'It's a' done, indeed,' cried the other.

'Ha, ha!' laughed a third voice, 'Brownie has gotten the maist o't.'"(66)

As indicating the great skill in gathering the sheep together, the following tradition lingers in Galloway of a brownie who had spent the night long at this task. In the morning not only had he the sheep together, but amongst them was half a dozen hares. "Deil tak' thae wee grey beasties," he muttered, when this was pointed out to him, "they cost me mair fash than a' the lave o' them."

In Scottish literature the brownie has a distinctive place, his unique and wonder-creating personality being used with rare effect. It is, however, the particular part of Scotland we are dealing with--the south-west--that has produced the most typical examples, in prose as well as in poetry, for Dumfriesshire claims that fine Covenanting story, "The Brownie of Bodsbeck," while Galloway has yielded that inimitable poetical gem, "The Brownie of Blednoch," the quotation of which in full may fittingly close the chapter:--

THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.

There cam a strange wight to our town-en'
And the fient a body did him ken';
He tirled na lang, but he glided ben
Wi' a dreary, dreary hum.

His face did glare like the glow o' the west,
When the drumlie cloud has it half o'ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest--
O sirs! 'twas Aiken-drum.

I trow the bauldest stood aback,
Wi' a gape and a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mum'ling spak--
"Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?"

O had ye seen the bairns' fright,
As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight,
As he stauket in 'tween the dark and the light,
And graned out, "Aiken-drum!"

"Sauf us!" quoth Jock, "d'ye see sic een;"
Cries Kate, "There's a hole where a nose should hae been;
And the mouth's like a gash which a horn had ri'en;
Wow! keep's frae Aiken-drum!"

The black dog, growling, cowered his tail,
The lassie swarfed, loot fa' the pail,
Rob's lingle brack as he men't the flail,
At the sight o' Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wan'ered down like a vest;
But the glare o' his e'e nae Bard hath exprest,
Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.

Roun' his hairy form there was naething seen
But a philibeg o' the rashes green,
And his knotted knees played ay knoit between;
What a sight was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,
As they trailed on the grun' by his taeless feet;
E'en the auld guidman himsel' did sweat,
To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel' did sain,
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clasped her wean,
And turned frae Aiken-drum.

But the canny auld wife cam' till her breath,
And she deemed the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith--
But it fear'dna Aiken-drum.

"His presence protect us!" quoth the auld guidman;
"What wad ye, whare won ye--by sea or by lan'?
I conjure ye speak--by the Beuk in my haun!"
What a grane gae Aiken-drum.

"I lived in a lan' whar we saw nae sky,
I dwalt in a spot whare a burn rins na by;
But I'se dwall now wi' you, if ye like to try--
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?

"I'll shiel' a' your sheep i' the mornin' sune,
I'll berry your crap by the light o' the moon,
And baa the bairns wi' an unken'd tune,
If ye'll keep puir Aiken-drum.

"I'll loup the linn when ye canna wade,
I'll kirn the kirn, and I'll turn the bread;
And the wildest fillie that ever ran rede
I'se tame't," quoth Aiken-drum!

"To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell--
To gather the dew frae the heather-bell--
And to look at my face in your clear crystal well,
Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.

"I'se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;
I use nae beddin', shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu' o' brose 'tween the light and dark,
Is the wage o' Aiken-drum."

Quoth the wylie auld wife, "The thing speaks weel;
Our workers are scant--we hae routh o' meal;
Gif he'll do as he says--be he man, be he de'il,
Wow! we'll try this Aiken-drum."

But the wenches skirled "He's no' be here!
His eldritch look gars us swarf wi' fear,
And the fient a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o' Aiken-drum.

"For a foul and a stalwart ghaist is he,
Despair sits brooding aboon his e'e bree,
And unchancie to light o' a maiden's e'e,
Is the grim glower o' Aiken-drum."

"Puir slipmalabors! ye hae little wit;
Is'tna Hallowmas now, and the crap out yet?"
Sae she silenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit;
"Sit yer wa's down, Aiken-drum."

Roun' a' that side what wark was dune,
By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon;
A word or a wish--and the Brownie cam' sune,
Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum.

But he slade ay awa' or the sun was up,
He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup;[28]
They watched--but nane saw him his brose ever sup,
Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.

On Blednoch banks, and on crystal Cree,
For mony a day a toiled wight was he;
While the bairns played harmless roun' his knee,
Sae social was Aiken-drum.

But a new-made wife, fu' o' rippish freaks,
Fond o' a things feat for the first five weeks,
Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks;
By the brose o' Aiken-drum.

Let the learned decide, when they convene,
What spell was him and the breeks between;
For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,
And sair missed was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by the _Thrieve_,
Crying "Lang, lang now may I greet and grieve;
For alas! I hae gotten baith fee and leave,
O, luckless Aiken-drum."

Awa'! ye wrangling sceptic tribe,
Wi' your _pros_ and your _cons_ wad ye decide
'Gain the 'sponsible voice o' a hale country-side
On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum?

Though the "Brownie o' Blednoch" lang be gane,
The mark o' his feet's left on mony a stane;
And mony a wife and mony a wean
Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.

E'en now, light loons that jibe and sneer
At spiritual guests and a' sic gear,
At the Glashnoch Mill hae swat wi' fear,
And looked roun' for Aiken-drum.

And guidly fo'ks hae gotten a fright,
When the moon was set, and the stars gied nae light,
At the roaring linn in the howe o' the night,
Wi' sughs like Aiken-drum.

_CHAPTER V._

WRAITHS AND WARNINGS.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy."
--_Hamlet._

In the bygone days of a more primitive and simple life, widespread belief existed in the outward and physical manifestation of the call of Death, which took the form of what were commonly known as "wraiths" and "warnings."

The "wraith" was the natural-looking semblance of one about to die, or just immediately dead, appearing life-like, usually at some distance from the body, but so realistic as to be unvaryingly mistaken for the actual person. A further point is, that such appearances gave rise to no fear or apprehension unless seen at some considerable distance from their usual surroundings.

The "warning," on the other hand, refers to noises and sounds heard within the immediate precincts of the sick-chamber, but without any physical explanation or evidence of the cause, although the nature of the sound or other phenomenon might be simple enough in character. Such unusual occurrences happening under usual circumstances carried with them the superstitious significance of the near presence of death.

In dealing, firstly, with the wraith, it may at once be noted that a great many accounts of such appearances are still existent in the south-west of Scotland.

The following is a hitherto unrecorded instance which happened in the early twenties of last century in the neighbourhood of Dalbeattie:--

"In the late autumn of the year 182--, an old man, a cottar on a farm in the parish of Buittle, was raising a basketful of potatoes in his 'yaird,' on the rise of the hill slope that lifts itself into rugged prominence as it stretches towards Palnackie past Kirkennan Woods. His son William was away at Glencaple Quay (a distance of twelve miles as the crow flies) with a Water of Urr sloop unloading timber, and was not expected home before the end of the week. The old man had just finished his task when he very distinctly saw the figure of his son passing from the roadway and turn round the end of the house as if to go inside. Somewhat surprised, the old man lifted his basket and walked down the garden path into the kitchen, where his daughter Margaret was preparing the mid-day meal.

'What brings Wullie hame 'ee noo, and whaur's he gaun?' was the double query he put to his daughter.

'Guidsake, faither! what are ye talkin' aboot? There's nae Wullie here,' answered Margaret, startled out of her usual composure.

'But I saw him come roon' the house-en', and he had a queer drawn look aboot his face that fairly fleyed me! I houp there's naething happened him!'

The old man, almost absently, looked at the brass-faced clock ticking in the corner between the fireplace and the white-scoured dresser, and saw that it was ten minutes to twelve. In the evening twilight a messenger rode up to the little homestead and broke the sad news of the death by drowning of 'Wullie,' a few minutes before twelve that day, when the tide was at its full, and almost at the very time that his father had seen his semblance, with drawn face, pass the house-en'. He had fallen between the side of the sloop and the quay wall, to almost immediately disappear, very probably having received serious injury as he fell."

Another typical example may be cited from the Glencairn district, the folk-lore of which has been so exhaustively collected by Mr John Corrie:--

"One afternoon a well-known lady, Mrs G----, was setting out to call upon a neighbour who lived about half-a-mile distant across the moor, when she saw her friend, evidently bent upon the same errand, coming towards herself. Retracing her steps, she entered the house again to wait her friend's arrival. Her expected visitor not appearing, Mrs G---- went to the door to see what detained her, but although she looked in every direction there was no one to be seen. As the afternoon was now well advanced, Mrs G---- decided to defer her visit until the following day. Walking across on the morrow, she remarked in the course of conversation:

'I saw you on the way to see me yesterday! What made you turn half-road?'

'Me coming to see you!' exclaimed her friend, 'I can assure you I wasna that, for I was scarce frae my ain fireside the hale day.'

A week later Mrs G----'s friend and neighbour died, and her corpse was carried to the churchyard, over the very track her wraith had appeared on the afternoon of her intended call."(67)

At Dunreggan, Moniaive, as curious an instance happened some fifty years ago, when the father of a schoolboy, sitting at the fireside with his wife, saw the semblance of his son enter the cottage and pass "doon the hoose." Not greatly surprised, but still wondering, he called his wife's attention to the early return of the boy from school. Very sceptical, and assuring him that he must be mistaken, the good woman went herself into the room, to find nothing there, although she looked behind the door and elsewhere to make sure that no boyish prank was being played. Despite her assurances the husband was not convinced, and remained in a very uneasy state of mind, when soon afterwards his worst fears were realised, and the body of the boy was brought home, to pass through the kitchen to be laid upon the bed--"doon the hoose."

MacTaggart, in his _Gallovidian Encyclopedia_, gives several examples, of which the following instance which happened to a very intimate friend, of whose intelligence and probity he had the highest regard, may be given:--

"Last vacans" (quoth he), "I gaed awa' to my uncle's, or rather my grandfather's, to stap a week or twa, and play mysel' amang the Moorhills, neive trouts, and learn twa or three tunes on the flute. Weel, I hadna been there ony time aworth till I saw as queer a thing as ought ever I saw, or may see. A'm out at the house-en' ae morning, about aught o'clock, and a bonny harrest morning it was: Weel, ye see, a'm making a bit grinwan to mysel' to tak' down wi' me to a deep pool that was i' the burn fu' o' trouts, and this I was gaun to do after breakfast time, for as yet I hadna gat my sowens. Weel, ye see, I'm tying on my grin wi' a bit o' wax'd thread, whan by the house-en' comes my auld grandfather wi' his clicked staff, that he ay had wi' him, in ae han', and in the tither his auld loofie o' a mitten, which he hadna as yet drawn on. He cam' close by me, and gaed a kinn o' a luik at what I was doing, then wised himsel' awa' alang the hip o' o'e hill, to look how the nowt did, and twa young foals, as was his usual wont. Weel, awa' he gaed; I was sae thrang when he gaed by that I never spake to him, neither did he to me, and I began to think about this when I was mair at leisure, and gaed a glent the road he tuik, just to see like how the auld body was coming on, for he was on the borders o' four score, yet a fearie fell auld carle, and as kine a body as ever I saw; sae I gaed a glent, as I was saying, alang by the scarrow o'e hill, and did see him winglan awa' by the back side o' the auld saugh Lochan. And in course o' time, maybe no' ten minutes after, I stepped my waes in to see gin I could get a cap or twa o' sowens and get off to the trouts; whan wha think ye's just sitting on the sattle-stane at the ingle-cheek taking a blaw o' the pipe--but auld granfaither.

'Lord, preserve me,' said I, and said na mair; I glowr'd about me awsomly.

'What's wrang wi' the boy?' (quoth my auntie).

'Come out' (quo' I) 'and I'll tell ye,' which she did.

We gaed up the hill a bit, to be sure, as she said, o' the thing I had seen; we saw nought ava, and came back again in an unco way. That vera night granfaither grew ill, which was on a Saturday teen, and he was dead, puir body, or sax o'clock on Monday morning."

From the Farm of Killumpha, in Kirkmaiden, comes another kindred episode:--

"The farmer's wife, Mrs Anderson, had gone to Ayrshire on a visit to her father. One night during her absence John M'Gurl, the cotman, was gaun through the close after dark to take a look at the horses and see that everything was right; for the outhouses were a good way from the dwelling-house, maybe three hundred yards. When he was crossing ower from the byres to go to the stable he saw a white-clad woman coming towards him, which he thought was very like the figure of Mrs Anderson, and he wondered if she had come back unexpectedly. She came quite close to him, and he saw plainly it was her, and stopped to speak to her, but she suddenly disappeared. Next night news came that Mrs Anderson was dead, and had died suddenly."(68)

At Balgreggan House, in the same district, a young woman in the service of the house was much startled to meet, as she passed along a passage with a lighted lamp in her hand, the semblance of a gentleman of the house, attired in military dress, and whom she knew perfectly well was far from his home at the time. The local confirmation of the uncanny nature of the appearance bears that about the same time the gentleman had actually died abroad.

The last example to be quoted has a personal interest, being an incident in the family history of the writer:--

One clear moonlight Sunday night, also in the early twenties of the last century, a young girl, who afterwards became my paternal grandmother, was returning home from a neighbouring farm in the near district of Dalbeattie. She was walking along, with never a thought in her head of anything approaching the supernatural, when to her dismay and consternation she was noiselessly joined by a figure in white, who passed through, be it noticed, and did not leap or jump over, a rough larch fence running along the roadside. The figure accompanied her along a short straight part of the road, then left her as noiselessly as it had approached. Taking to her heels, and with only the spur that terror can give, she reached her own door, to tumble into the farm kitchen and collapse on the floor.

The sequel of the episode is, that three days later, a coasting schooner, in which her brother was a sailor, was caught in a strong gale of wind whilst on the passage from Liverpool to the Water of Urr, and was never more heard tell of. My grandfather, or rather the lad who was to be my grandfather, scoured the Solway shore from point to point on horseback for several days, but all that the sea gave up was a small wooden chisel technically known as a "fid," used for splicing large ropes, and which bore the initials of the young girl's brother, and which is now in the writer's possession.[29]

The "warning," at all events what is accepted as such, has many forms and varieties. Some of the more commonly accepted forms are the switch-like strokes, usually three in number, across the window of the sick-chamber, or even other windows in the house; the falling of pictures without apparent cause; the baying of dogs in the watches of the night; the footfall and apparent sound of footsteps in the house, heard overhead or coming along passages, or ascending or descending stairs, and so realistic that the door is expectantly opened, only to find nothing there; the stopping of clocks at the time of the passing of the spirit; and the noise as of approaching wheels and crunching gravel at the doors of country houses when death hovers near.

Many examples and accounts of such things taking place are extant and seriously believed in; indeed, there is not a parish in the whole district we are treating of but on enquiry gives ample proof of the generality of belief in such portents.

Belief in the switch-like strokes across the window is in this district, perhaps, the commonest of all.

Of the footfall type an example may be quoted from Moniaive. It is told how an old lady, in her younger days in the service of a medical man in Moniaive, for a time heard persistent strange footfalls in an upper room of the house. The doctor afterwards was seized with sudden illness, lay down on a sofa and died over the very spot where the strange noises had been heard.

Only the other day an account of the mysterious stopping of a clock associated with death appeared in the local newspapers, which may in part be given:--

"Mrs Stoba, who lived alone in a cottage at Greenmill, Caerlaverock, died suddenly during the night of Thursday last, from heart failure. Her blind not being drawn up on Friday morning, some neighbours forced the door about half-past ten, and found that she had passed away. It is a singular coincidence that an eight-day clock which had been her property, and is now in the house of her son, the burgh officer of Dumfries, stopped at five minutes before midnight on Thursday, although it was wound up, and there was no apparent reason for the stoppage."(69)

A special form of warning is the "Licht before Death." In the parish of Tynron it is recounted how this mysterious light illumined up, on one occasion, the whole interior of a byre where a woman was engaged milking cows, and how afterwards she learned that her mother had died the same evening.

Mr John Corrie (Moniaive) gives a good example of this form from the parish of Glencairn:--

"An old Glencairn lady, on looking out of the door one dark night, saw a strange light shining in the vicinity of a house where an acquaintance lived. Entering the house she commented on what she had seen, and expressed the hope that 'it wasna the deid licht.' Her fears were ridiculed, but next morning it transpired that a member of the family over whose dwelling the light was seen had committed suicide."

There is another illustration from Glencairn, and perhaps a more valuable one, on account of the precision of its details:--

"Peggy D----, when going to lock her door one night, saw a light go past, carried, as she supposed, by a neighbour. There was nothing unusual in this, but there was a high stone dyke with a flight of steps in it close to the foot of the garden, and she was surprised to see the light and supposed light-bearer pass right through the obstructing fence as if nothing of the kind had been there, and although the ground below the house was very uneven, the light itself was never lost sight of for a moment. Peggy, rooted to the spot, watched the light go down through the fields, then along the public road until the churchyard was reached. When turning in that direction it passed through the locked gate with the same apparent ease that the other obstacles had been surmounted, and, entering the graveyard, became lost to sight among the tombstones. A week later Peggy D----'s daughter was carried a corpse to the same churchyard."(70)

Other old and significant terms associated with the premonition of death are the "dead-watch," or "dede-chack," really the peculiar clicking noise made by wood-worms; and the "dede-drap," which was the rather eerie sound made by the intermittent falling of a drop of water from the eaves; and "dead-bell," a tingling in the ears, believed to announce a friend's death.

Other expressions of a similar nature are the "dede-spall," which is the semi-molten part of the grease of a candle (so called from its resemblance to wood-shaving) when it falls over the edge in semi-circular form, and which, if pronounced, and turning with an appearance of persistence toward some person in particular, was supposed to indicate the approaching hand of death.

Another curious term is the "dede-nip," whose origin is a little more puzzling. It is described as a blue mark which appears on the body of a person about to die and without the physical explanation of a blow. It is also associated with the "blew-spot" of witchcraft already described.[30]

The following selected verses from "The Death of Dear-meal Johnny," by the Bard of Corrie (Dumfriesshire), are quoted on account of their reference to several of these old-world superstitious terms:--

"Oft his wraith had been seen gliding
'Mang the meal sacks i' the spence,
Till the house, folks scarce could bide in,
Terrified maist out o' sense.

'Neath his head the death-watch tinkled,
Constant as the lapse of time;
Frae his bed the dead licht twinkled,
Wi' its blue and sulphurous flame.

'Neath the bed auld Bawty[31] scrapit,
A' day, thrang as thrang could be;
Made a hole, sae grave-like shapit,
Folk glowered quaking in to see.

On the dreary kirkyaird road, aye
By night he raised sic eldritch howls;
Weel he kenned his maister's body
Soon must mix amang the mools.

Frae the wattles dead-draps spatter'd;
At the can'les dead-speals hang;
Pyets rave the thack, and chatter'd;
In folk's lugs the dead-bell rang."

The last class of warnings to be noticed are special appearances and portents occurring before death in well-known local families.

In the family of Kirkpatrick of Closeburn the tradition was, that when a death was about to take place in the family a swan invariably made its appearance on the loch that surrounded the castle. "The last omen of this nature on record saddened the nuptials of Sir Thomas, the first baronet, when marrying for the third time. On the wedding-day his son, Roger, went out of the castle, and, happening to turn his eyes towards the loch, descried the fatal bird. Returning, overwhelmed with melancholy, his father rallied him on his desponding appearance, alleging a stepmother to be the cause of his sadness, when the young man only answered 'Perhaps ere long you may also be sorrowful,' expiring suddenly that very night."(71)

The death of a member of the family of Craigdarroch is believed to be heralded by a sudden and simultaneous peal of household bells.

In Western Galloway there lingers a tradition concerning the old church of Kirkmaiden (in Fernes), the ancient burying-place of the M'Cullochs of Myrton, whose lands, in 1682, passed to the Maxwells of Monreith. When the parish ceased to exist as a separate parish and was joined to that of Glasserton, the pulpit and bell were removed to be taken across Luce Bay, there to be placed in the new church of the same name of Kirkmaiden. Although the day was fine and the wind fair, a storm sprang up, and down went boat and bell to the bottom, for, as true believers knew, the bell had been consecrated, and on no account could it ring 'neath the rafters of a Presbyterian building. Yet, ring it did not cease to do, for on the approaching death of any of the representatives of the old family of Myrton a solemn knell comes up from the watery depths to record the passing of the soul to the vast unknown.

"An' certes, there are nane, I trow,
That by Kirkmaiden bide,
Will, when they hear the wraith-bell jow,
Gae oot at Lammastide."

_CHAPTER VI._

DEATH CUSTOMS AND FUNERAL CEREMONY.

"Or ever the silver cord be loosed."
--_Ecclesiastes xii. 6._

When that sure hand called Death knocked at the cottar's or laird's door, or stalked with unhalting step into moorland farm or upland home to beckon away some weary inmate, the actual decease, or passing, was of itself associated with significant observance.

The nearest relative bent down to the dying face to receive the last breath. The door was kept ajar,[32] although not too wide, that the spirit might be untrammelled in its flight.[33]

The spirit fled the poor dead eyes were closed, also by the nearest relative, and generally kept so by means of copper coins placed upon them.

The looking-glass in the death-chamber was covered with a white cloth. The clock was stopped, or at least the striking-weight removed. The daily routine of work was discontinued, such days of enforced idleness being known as the "dead days." On the farm, for example, no matter the season, the appropriate labour of ploughing, seed sowing, or even harvest, at once ceased. The household companions of dog and cat were rigidly excluded from the stricken house; indeed, it was not uncommon for the cat to be imprisoned beneath an inverted tub, for it was believed that if either of these animals should jump or cross over the dead body, the welfare of the spirit of the deceased would certainly be affected.

The body was then washed, and dressed in its last garments, the hands of females being crossed over the breast, those of the other sex being extended by the sides. Last of all a plate of salt was placed upon the breast, either from the higher idea of future life being signified by the salt, which is the emblem of perpetuity, or from a more practical notion, however unlikely, that by this means the body would be prevented from swelling.

Of the curious custom of "sin-eating"--that is, the placing of a piece of bread upon the salt by a recognised individual known as the sin-eater, who, for money reward, at the same time partook of it, thereby, as it was believed, absorbing to himself all the sins of the deceased--there is little to be gleaned in this district. The term "dishaloof" still exists, however, as a vestige of the custom in lowland Scotland.(72)