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In ancient days the dog
was looked upon as man's best friend, and the enemy of all
supernatural beings: fairies, giants, hags, and monsters of the sea
and the Underworld. When the seasons changed on the four "quarter
days" of the year, and the whole world, as the folks believed, was
thrown into confusion, the fairies and other spirits broke loose and
went about plundering houses and barns and stealing children. At
such times the dogs were watchful and active, and howled warning
when they saw any of the supernatural creatures. They even attacked
the fairies, and sometimes after such fights they returned home with
all the hair scraped off their bodies.
A story is still
current in Edinburgh about a piper and his dog, and their meeting
with a monster of the Underworld. This monster haunted an
underground passage, which is said to run from Edinburgh Castle to
Holyrood Palace, and was called Great-Hand, for no one ever saw
aught of it except its gigantic grisly hand with nails like an
eagle's claw.
In days of long ago
the underground passage was used by soldiers when the enemies of the
King of Scotland invaded the kingdom and laid siege to Edinburgh
Castle, his chief stronghold. The soldiers could leave the castle
and fall upon the besiegers from behind, and through it
reinforcements could be sent to the castle. When, however, the
spirit called Great-Hand began to haunt the tunnel, it could not be
used any longer, for every man who entered it perished in the
darkness.
The piper was a brave
man, and he resolved to explore the tunnel with his dog. "I shall
play my bagpipe all the way through," he said to his friends, "and
you can follow the sound of the piping above the ground."
There is a cave below
the castle which leads to the tunnel, and the piper entered it one
morning, playing a merry tune. His faithful dog followed him. The
people heard the sound of the bagpipe as they walked down High
Street, listening intently, but when they reached the spot which is
called the "Heart of Midlothian" the piping stopped abruptly, as if
the pipes had been torn suddenly from the piper's hands. The piper
was never seen again, but his dog, without a hair on its body, came
running out of the cave below the castle.
There are other
strange passages below hills, and even below the sea, about which
stories have been told. The longest of these is one that is supposed
to stretch from a cave in Oban to another cave in the Island of
Mull. A Gaelic legend tells that a piper once entered the cave at
Oban to explore the tunnel, but was never seen again. His dog
returned with every hair torn from its body, and died soon
afterwards.
It is said that most
of these passages have been made by fairies for the monster with the
gigantic grisly Hand, and there are two stories about men who once
caught glimpses of the Hand inside caves, and yet managed to escape
from it.
The first story is
about an underground passage, over three miles long, that is said to
connect the Dropping Cave, near Cromarty, with another cave in the
fairy-haunted dell of Eathie, which is situated beside Navity Moor,
where in ancient times the Earth Goddess was worshipped within a
grove. It is told that when fires are lit in one of the caves the
smoke conies out of the other.
The Dropping Cave is
so called because drops of water are constantly falling from its
ceiling, which bristles with long tapering stalactites that look
like icicles. There are lots of strange stories about this cave.
Fishermen have told that they have seen blue lights hovering near it
in the darkness, and also that often, on moonlight nights, a mermaid
sits on a rock below it, combing her long yellow hair with her
fingers and singing a low sad song.
Once upon a time a
little old man, with a pale wrinkled face and long grey beard, was
seen sitting near the cave, gazing over the sea. lie did not move
for three days. People crept along the lonely shore to watch him
from a distance, and fishermen, passing in their boats, stared at
him with wondering eyes. No one dared to go near him except a
half-witted lad, who first walked round the little old man, and then
spoke, saying: "Why are you sitting here? Are you not tired yet?"
The little old man
made no answer, but shivered all over. Terrified by his appearance,
the lad turned at once and fled homeward, crying: "He is shivering
now, he is shivering now."
On the evening of the
third day the little old man disappeared. Soon afterwards a terrible
storm broke out. It raged fiercely for several days, and, when it
was over, the shores were strewn with wreckage and the bodies of
drowned sailors. The people believed that the little old man was one
of the inhabitants of the Underworld, and some have declared he was
no other than Thomas the Rhymer.
A Cromarty man, named
William Millar, who lived over a hundred years ago, is said to have
entered the Dropping Cave and explored part of the underground
passage. When he returned he told that he had caught a glimpse of
the great Hand.
Before he entered the
cave, Millar sewed sprigs of rowan and witch hazel in the hem of his
vest. Into one of his pockets he put a Bible, and in his right hand
he held a staff of blackthorn which he had cut on a calm night when
the moon was full, and had dressed without using anything made of
iron. With the aid of these charms he hoped to be able to protect
himself against the spirits of the Under-world.
Having lit a torch,
Millar climbed up to the mouth of the dark wet cave, and entered it
just as the sun was beginning to rise. He walked forward until the
passage became so low and narrow that he had to crawl on his hands
and knees. He crawled for some distance until the cave began to
widen, and at length he found himself in a big underground chamber
which was full of blue mist. A small and beautiful rainbow appeared
round his flaming torch. For a time he stood gazing around him and
above. The roof seemed to be very high, and the rocky walls were
rough and bare. He walked onward, and as he did so the sound of his
footsteps awoke many echoes loud and faint. It seemed as if a
hundred people were walking through the cave.
Suddenly Millar heard
a curious humming noise. He stopped to listen, and when he did so
the humming grew louder. He peered through the blue mist for a time,
fearing to advance farther into the depths of that fearsome place.
Then a fierce gust of wind blew in his face. The flames of the torch
were swept backward, flickered, and went out. Just as this happened,
Millar caught a glimpse of many dim forms flitting round about him.
A cry of fear came from his lips, and he turned to run away, but
stumbled over a stone, fell heavily, and became unconscious.
How long he lay there
he never could tell. When he woke, the chamber was no longer dark,
for a red light shone through it. The humming noise had grown very
loud, and seemed to be the noise of falling water. Thinking he was
not far from the waterfalls of Eathic burn, he rose up and hastened
forward. The passage grew narrow, and led to another large chamber,
where he saw a great fire of fir logs burning fiercely, and a
waterfall dashing over a rock into a deep pool beneath. In front of
the pool was a big stone chest. The floor of the rocky chamber was
strewn with human bones.
Millar crept forward
cautiously until he saw a big iron mace, red with rust and blood,
lying at one end of the stone chest, and a horn dangling on a chain
which came down from the rocky ceiling.
He gazed at the horn
for a minute; then he grasped it in his hands and blew a single
blast which awoke a hundred echoes.
No sooner did he do
so than the waters ceased to fall. Millar was astonished, and
thought he would blow the horn once again to see what would happen.
But when he leaned forward to grasp it, he saw the lid of the stone
chest rising slowly. He stepped back at once, for a sudden fear
struck him, and he began to tremble like an aspen leaf.
The lid rose and
rose, and suddenly fell backward with a crash. Then out of the chest
came a gigantic grisly Hand which grasped the big rusty mace. Millar
shrieked and fled out of the rocky chamber. A fierce yell broke out
behind him, and, turning round, he saw the Hand throwing down the
mace, the lid of the chest rising, and the waterfall beginning to
pour again over the rocks into the deep pool.
With hasty steps he
ran into the chamber in which he had lain in a swoon, and having
found his torch, lit it again, and crept forward until he reached
the narrow passage through which he had crawled. When at length he
got out of the Dropping Cave, he found that the sun was setting over
the western hills. He vowed never again to attempt to explore the
underground passage to Eathie.
Another cave story is
told about a west-coast man named MacFadyen, who had a wonderful
black dog which he had got from a fairy. This animal was very lazy,
and used to sleep a great deal, and eat huge quantities of food.
MacFadyen's wife hated it, and often said to her husband: "Your
black dog is quite useless; it eats much food, and never does
anything to help you. I think it should be drowned."
MacFadyen would not
drown it, however. "Leave it alone," he would say; "the dog will
have its day."
One morning many of
the villagers went out to hunt the wild deer on the mountains. They
roused a great fleet-footed stag which ran towards the village. All
the dogs were behind it in full chase, except MacFadyen's dog, which
lay sleeping in the sunshine at the corner of his house. The stag
was heading for the loch, over which it could swim, and so escape
from its pursuers, but it had first to pass MacFadyen's dog. Someone
said: "Now the dog's great day has come at last."
The hunters shouted
and their dogs bayed aloud. MacFadyen's dog was awakened by the
tumult, and, rising up, stretched itself and looked round about. It
saw the great stag, but never moved to attack. Instead, it just lay
down again and closed its eyes, and the stag entered the water and
swam across the loch.
"Kill that lazy dog
of yours, MacFadyen," the hunters cried out; "it is of no use."
Said MacFadyen:
"Leave the dog alone; the dog will have its day."
One morning MacFadyen
and other two men went out to fish round the shores of a lonely
island. When the boat was launched the dog walked down the beach,
and leaping into it, stretched itself at Mac Fadyen's feet and went
to sleep.
"We do not require a
dog when we go fishing," one of the men said. "Put your dog ashore,
MacFadyen."
Said Mac Fadyen:
"Leave the dog alone; the dog will have its day."
The men fished round
the island all day, and when evening was coming on they landed and
went to a cave. They lit a fire there and cooked some fish.
MacFadyen's dog ate as much fish as did the three men together.
Night came on, and
the men lay down to sleep. MacFadyen had his dog beside him, and in
the middle of the night the dog woke him with its growling.
MacFadyen sat up. The fire was burning low, and in the silence he
heard a dripping sound. He threw some dry twigs on the fire, and
when the flames from them lit up the cave, he saw that both his
friends were dead. The dripping he heard was the dripping of their
blood flowing over the flat stones. The light went out, and
MacFadyen sat trembling in the darkness while the dog kept growling
angrily. Then MacFadyen heard a rustling sound, and saw, passing
over the embers of the low fire, a great grisly Hand. It was feeling
round about the cave for something, and MacFadyen shrank back to
escape from it. Suddenly his dog leapt up and attacked the giant
Hand. A fierce struggle followed. The Hand tried to grasp the dog,
and the dog tried to tear the Hand to pieces. For several minutes
the fight was waged with fury, and then the Hand was withdrawn. The
dog followed it, and scampered out of the cave, and Mac Fadyen,
trembling in the darkness, heard a great stamping overhead.
He waited until the
dawn began to break. Then he rose and left the cave, and ran down
the beach. With a great effort he launched the boat, and, leaping
into it, began to row away from the haunted island.
He had not rowed a
hundred yards when he saw two bright lights following him in the
dusk of the dawn. Terrified by the lights, he bent himself to the
oars and rowed faster and faster. The boat went quickly through the
water, but the lights came quickly after him. In the growing
brightness of early morning, MacFadyen saw at length that the lights
he dreaded were the flaming eyes of his dog, which was swimming from
the island and endeavouring to reach the boat. The fury of the fight
had roused all the slumbering energy of the dog, and MacFadyen was
afraid of it. He did not wait for it, but kept on rowing until the
dog became exhausted and, sinking below the waves, was drowned.
"The dog has had its
day," said Mac Fadyen. "It saved my life."
There are many Gaelic
stories about faithful dogs, and some examples of these are as
follows.
A man named Colin
Cameron had once a great fleet-footed greyhound. He went out to hunt
with it on a September morning, and lost his way among the
mountains. Night carne on, and he allowed the dog to go ahead and
followed it. In time he came to a lonely shieling on a hill-side,
and saw a light issuing from it. The door was open, and he looked
in. He saw an old woman clad in green sitting on the floor. She
looked up and spoke, saying: "Are you not coining in, Colin
Cameron?"
Colin suspected that
the woman was an evil spirit, and answered: "Not just now."
"You have lost your
way," she said.
"Perhaps I shall find
it ere long," he told her.
"If you do not come
in," she said next, "I had better go with you and show you the way
to your house."
"Do not trouble
yourself," he answered; "I shall find my way myself."
Having spoken thus,
Colin turned and ran down the hill-side. Soon he found that his dog
was not following him, and he stopped to call it. As he did so, the
sound of a fierce struggle fell on his ears, and he began to run
again. He ran a great distance. Then the moon rose up, and he found
himself in a glen he knew, and turned his face homewards. He reached
his own house in safety, and soon after he entered it his dog came
in. The animal had not a hair left on its body except on its ears.
It was panting with exhaustion and pain. Lying down at Colin's feet,
it licked his hand, and then fell over on its right side and died.
Colin realized at
once what had happened. His faithful greyhound had waited behind at
the shieling to prevent the green woman from following him.
Another story is told
about three men who once crossed a lonely moor in the night-time.
They had a dog with them, and when they were halfway on their
journey it began to run round and round them in ever-widening
circles. At length the men heard the Sound of fairy music, and one
said to another: "The wee folk are dancing and making merry
somewhere near us."
They hastened on
their way, fearing to meet the fairies. At length the sound of the
dog howling and barking mingled with the music. Suddenly the music
stopped abruptly, and they heard the trampling of many feet on the
dark moor. They ran as fast as they were able until the sounds died
away in the distance, and they reached in safety the house to which
they were going. Early next morning the dog made its appearance. All
the hair on its body had been scraped off as if with long nails, and
soon after it entered the house it lay down and died.
A man named Malcolm
MacPhee was once walking along a lonely rocky beach in Islay when a
mermaid seized him. She thrust him into a cave, and there kept him a
prisoner.
Now MacPhee had a big
black dog, and his wife sent it out to search for its master. The
wise animal at once ran towards the cave on the beach, where it
found MacPhee. No sooner did it arrive, however, than the mermaid
rose out of the sea to prevent her prisoner escaping. The dog
growled fiercely when it saw her, and she tried to drive it away.
Said MacPhee: "You
had better let me go, or my dog will attack you."
The mermaid laughed,
and answered: "I shall keep you here until you die."
No sooner did she say
that than the dog sprang at her. A fierce struggle took place, and
the mermaid tried to escape by leaping back into the sea. The dog
followed her, and fought until it killed the mermaid, but was itself
so severely wounded that it was drowned before it reached the shore.
MacPhee hastened homeward, lament-in; the loss of his faithful dog.
It is told that dogs
can see the spirit messenger of death coming nigh in the darkness.
When they catch sight of it they begin to howl. People who hear dogs
howling at night fear that someone they know will meet with a fatal
accident or die suddenly while asleep.
The Banshee is
dreaded by dogs. She is a fairy woman who washes white sheets in a
ford by night when someone near at hand is about to die. It is said
she has the power to appear during day-time in the form of a black
dog, or a raven, or a hoodie-crow.
The following is a
Highland poem about the Banshee, who is supposed to sing a mournful
song while she washes the death-clothes of one who is doomed to meet
with a sudden and unexpected death:—
Knee-deep she
waded in the pool
The Banshee robed in green
Singing her song the whole night long,
She washed the linen clean;
The linen that must wrap the dead
She beetled on a stone;
She washed with dripping hands, blood-red,
Low singing all alone:
The Banshee I
with second sight
Singing in the cold starlight;
I wash the death-clothes pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night.
'T was Fergus
More rode o'er the hill,
Come back from foreign wars;
His horse's feet were clattering sweet
Below the pitiless stars;
And in his heart he would repeat:
"0 never again I'll roam;
All weary is the going forth,
But sweet the coming home."
The Banshee I
with second sight,
Singing in the cold starlight;
I wash the death-clothes pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night.
He saw the
blaze upon his heart
Bright-gleaming down the glen;
O, he was fain for home again !-
He'd parted with his men.
`'T is many a weary day," he'd sigh,
"Since I did leave her side;
I'll never more leave Scotland's shore
And Una Ban, my bride."
The Banshee I
with second sight,
Singing in the cold starlight;
I wash the death-clothes pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night.
With thought
of Una's tender love
Soft tears his eyes did blind,
When up there crept and swiftly leapt
A man who stabbed behind.
"'T is you," he cried, "who stole my bride.
This night shall be your last." . . .
As Fergus fell, the warm, red tide
Of life came ebbing fast.
The Banshee I
with second sight,
Singing in the cold starlight;
I wash the death-clothes pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night.
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