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Importance of Weather—Its
Place in Folklore—Raising the Wind—Witches and wind-charms--Blue-stone in
Fladda—Well in Gigha — Tobernacoragh — Routing-well—Water Cross— Stone in
British Columbia—Other Rain-charms—Survivals in Folk-customs — Sympathetic
Magic -- Dulyn — Barenton -- Tobar Faolan—St. Fumac's Image at Botriphnie—Molly
Grime.
IN all ages much attention
has been given to the weather, with special reference to its bearings on
human well-being. As Mr. R. Inwards truly observes, in his "Weather-lore,"
"From the earliest times hunters, shepherds, sailors, and tillers of the
earth have from sheer necessity been led to study the teachings of the
winds, the waves, the clouds, and a hundred other objects from which the
signs of coming changes in the state of the air might be foretold. The
weather-wise amongst these primitive people would be naturally the most
prosperous, and others would soon acquire the coveted foresight by a closer
observance of the same objects from which their successful rivals guessed
the proper time to provide against a storm, or reckoned on the prospects of
the coming crops." Hence, naturally enough, the weather has an important
place in folklore. Various prognostications concerning it have been drawn
from sun and moon, from animals and flowers; while certain meteorological
phenomena have, in their turn, been regarded as prophetic of mundane events.
Thus, in the astrological treatise entitled "The Knowledge of Things
Unknown," we read that "Thunder in January signifieth the same year great
winds, plentiful of corn and cattel peradventure; in February, many rich men
shall die in great sickness; in March, great winds, plenty of corn, and
debate amongst people; in April, be fruitful and merry with the death of
wicked men;" and so on through the other months of the year. One can easily
understand why thunder should be counted peculiarly ominous. The effects
produced on the mind by its mysterious noise, and on the nerves by the
electricity in the air, are apt to lead superstitious people to expect
strange events. Particular notice was taken of the weather on certain
ecclesiastical festivals, and omens were drawn from its condition. Thus,
from "The Hvsbandraan's Practice," we learn that "The wise and cunning
masters in astrology have found that man may see and mark the weather of the
holy Christmas night, how the whole year after shall be in his making and
doing, and they shall speak on this wise. When on the Christmas night and
evening it is very fair and clear weather, and is without wind and without
rain, then it is a token that this year will be plenty of wine and fruit.
But if the contrariwise, foul weather and windy, so shall it be very scant
of wine and fruit. But if the wind arise at the rising of the sun, then it
betokeneth great dearth among beasts and cattle this year. But if the wind
arise at the going down of the same, then it signifieth death to come among
kings and other great lords." We do not suppose that anyone nowadays attends
to such Yule-tide auguries, but there are not wanting those who have a
lingering belief in the power of Candlemas and St. Swithin's Day to foretell
the sort of weather to be expected in the immediate future.
Witches were believed to be
able to raise the wind at their pleasure. In a confession made at Auldearn
in Nairnshire, in the year 1662, certain women, accused of sorcery, said,
"When we raise the wind we take a rag of cloth and wet it in water, and we
take a beetle and knock the rag on a stone, and we say thrice over:-
'I knock this rag upon this
stane,
To raise the wind in the devil's name.
It shall not lie until I please again!'"
When the wind was to be
allayed the rag was dried. About 1670 an attempt was made to drain some two
thousand acres of land belonging to the estate of Dun in Forfarshire. The
Dronner's, i.e., Drainer's Dyke—remains of which are still to be seen behind
the Montrose Infirmary—was built in connection with the scheme. But the work
was destroyed by a terrible storm, caused, it was believed, by a certain
Meggie Cowie—the last to be burned for witchcraft in the district. About
eighty years before, a notable witch-trial in the time of James VI. had to
do with the raising of a storm. A certain woman, Agnes Sampson, residing in
Haddingtonshire, confessed that she belonged to a company of two hundred
witches, and that they were all in the habit of sailing along the coast in
sieves to meet the devil at the kirk of North Berwick. After one of these
interviews the woman took a cat and christened it, and, after fixing to it
parts of a dead man's body, threw the creature into the sea in presence of
the other witches. The king, who was then returning from Denmark with his
bride, was delayed by contrary winds, and such a tempest arose in the Firth
of Forth that a vessel, containing valuable gifts for the queen on her
arrival, sank between Burntisland and Leith. The Rev. T. F. Thiselton Dyer
makes the suggestion in his "Folklore of Shakespeare," that it was probably
to these contrary winds that the author of "Macbeth" alludes when he makes
the witch say:-
"Though his bark cannot be
lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-test."
Even down to the end of last
century, and probably later, some well-educated people believed that the
devil had the power of raising the wind. The phrase, the prince of the power
of the air, applied to him in Scripture, was interpreted in a literal way. "
The Diary of the Rev. John Mill," minister in Shetland from 1740 till 1803,
bears witness to such a belief. In his introduction to the work, the editor,
Mr. Gilbert Goudie, tells us: "He (Mill) was often heard talking aloud with
his (to others) unseen foe; but those who heard him declared that he spoke
in an unknown tongue, presumably Hebrew. After one of these encounters the
worthy man was heard muttering, `Well, let him do his worst; the wind aye in
my face will not hurt me.' This was in response to a threat of the devil,
that wherever he (Mill) went, he (Satan) should be a-blowing `wind in his
teeth,' in consequence of which Mill was unable ever after to get passage
out of Shetland." On the 5th of November, 1605, a terrible storm swept over
the north of Scotland and destroyed part of the cathedral at Dornoch. As is
well known, the day in question was selected by Guy Fawkes for blowing up
the Houses of Parliament. In his "Cathedral of Caithness, at Dornoch," Mr.
Hugh F. Campbell tells us: "When the news of the gunpowder plot reached the
north, the co-incidence of time at once impressed the imagination of a
superstitious age. The storm was invested with an element of the
marvellous." Mr. Campbell then quotes the following curious passage from Sir
Robert Gordon, specially referring to Satan's connection with the
tempest:—"The same verie night that this execrable plott should have been
put in execution all the inner stone pillars of the north syd of the body of
the cathedral church at Dornogh—lacking the rooff before—were blowen from
the verie roots and foundation quyt and clein over the outer walls of the
church: such as hath sein the same. These great winds did even then
prognosticate and forshew some great treason to be at hand; and as the
divell was busie then to trouble the ayre, so wes he bussie by these hiss
fyrebrands to trouble the estate of Great Britane."
The notion that storms,
especially when accompanied by thunder and lightning, were the work of evil
spirits, came out prominently during the middle ages in connection with
bells. The ringing of bells was believed to drive away the demons, and so
allay the tempest. A singular superstition concerning the causation of
storms was brought to light in Hungary during the autumn of 1892 in
connection with the fear of cholera. At Kidzaes a patient died of what was
thought to be that disease, and a post mortem examination was ordered by the
local authorities. Strenuous opposition, however, was offered by the
villagers on the ground that the act would cause such a hail-storm as would
destroy their crops. Feeling ran so high that a riot was imminent, and the
project had to be abandoned. Eric, the Swedish king, could control the winds
through his enchantments. By turning his cap he was able to bring a breeze
from whatever quarter he wished. Mr. G. L. Gomme, in his "Ethnology in
Folklore," remarks, " At Kempoch Point, in the Firth of Clyde, is a columnar
rock called the Kempoch Stane, from whence a saint was wont to dispense
favourable winds to those who paid for them, and unfavourable to those who
did not put confidence in his powers—a tradition which seems to have been
carried on by the Innerkip witches who were tried in 1662, and some portions
of which still linger among the sailors of Greenock." The stone in question
consists of a block of grey mica schist six feet in height and two in
diameter. It is locally known as Granny Kempoch. In former times sailors and
fishermen sought to ensure good fortune on the sea by walking seven times
round the stone. While making their rounds they carried in their hand a
basket of sand, and at the same time uttered an eerie chant. Newly-married
couples used also to walk round the stone by way of luck.
At the beginning of the
present century a certain woman, Bessie Miller by name, lived in Stromness,
in Orkney, and eked out her livelihood by selling winds to mariners. Her
usual charge was sixpence. For this sum, as Sir W. Scott tells us, "she
boiled her kettle, and gave the barque advantage of her prayers, for she
disclaimed all unlawful arts. The wind, thus petitioned for, was sure to
arrive, though sometimes the mariners had to wait some time for it." Her
house was on the brow of the steep hill above the town, "and for exposure
might have been the abode of Eolus himself." At the time of Sir Walter's
visit to Stromness, Bessie Miller was nearly a hundred years old, and
appeared "withered and dried up like a mummy." We make her acquaintance in
the "Pirate," under the name of Norna of the Fitful Head. In his "Rambles in
the Far North," Mr. R. M. Fergusson tells of another wind-compelling
personage, named Mammie Scott, who also belonged to Stromness, and practised
her arts there, till within a comparatively recent date. "Many wonderful
tales are told of her power and influence over the weather. Her fame was
widely spread as that of Bessie. A captain called upon Mammie one day to
solicit a fair wind. He was bound for Stornoway, and received from the
reputed witch a scarlet thread upon which were three knots. His instructions
were, that if sufficient wind did not arrive, one of the knots was to be
untied; if that proved insufficient, another knot was to be untied; but he
was on no account to unloose the third knot, else disaster would overtake
his vessel. The mariner set out upon his voyage, and, the wind being light,
untied the first knot. This brought a stronger breeze, but still not
sufficient to satisfy him. The second knot was let down, and away the vessel
sped across the waters, round Cape Wrath. In a short time the entrance to
Stornoway harbour was reached, when it came into the captain's head to untie
the third knot in order to see what might occur. He was too near the end of
his voyage to suffer any damage now; and so he felt emboldened to make the
experiment. No sooner was the last knot set free than a perfect hurricane
set in from a contrary direction, which drove the vessel right back to by
Sound, from which she had set out, where he had ample time to repent of his
folly."
Within the last half-century
there lived in Stone-haven an old woman, who was regarded with considerable
awe by the sea-faring population. Before a voyage it was usual to propitiate
her by the gift of a bag of coals. On one occasion, two brothers, owners of
a coasting smack, after setting sail, had to return to port through stress
of weather, the storm being due, it was believed, to the fact that one of
the brothers had omitted to secure the woman's good offices in the usual
way. The brother who was captain of the smack seems to have been a firm
believer in wind-charms, for it is related of him that during a more than
usually high wind he was in the habit of throwing up his cap into the air
with the exclamation, "She maun hae something." She, in this case, was the
wind, and not the witch: and the cap was meant as a gift to propitiate the
storm. Dr. Charles Rogers, in his "Social Life in Scotland," tells us that
"the seamen of Shetland, in tempestuous weather, throw a piece of money into
the window of a ruinous chapel dedicated to St. Ronald in the belief that
the saint will allay the vehemence of the storm," According to the same
writer, "Shetland boatmen still purchase favourable winds from elderly
women, who pretend to rule or to modify the storms." "There are now in
Lerwick," Dr. Rogers continues, "several old women who in this fashion earn
a subsistence. Many of the survivors of the great storm of the 20th of July,
1881—so fatal on northern coasts—assert that their preservation was due to
warnings which they received through a supernatural agency."
Human skulls have their
folklore. The lifting of them from their usual resting-places has, in
popular belief, been connected with certain mysterious occurrences.
According to a story told by Mr. Wirt Sikes, in his "British Goblins," a man
who removed a skull from a church to prove to his companions that he was
free from superstition was overtaken by a terrible whirlwind, the result, it
was thought, of his rash act. In some Highland districts it used to be
reckoned unlucky to allow a corpse to remain unburied. If from any cause,
human bones came to the surface, care was taken to lay them below ground
again, as otherwise disastrous storms would ensue.
We have a good example of the
association of wind-charms with water in the case of a certain magical stone
referred to by Martin as existing in his day in the island of Fladda, near
Skye. There was a chapel to St. Columba on the island, and on the altar lay
the stone in question. The stone was round, of a blue colour, and was always
moist. "It is an ordinary custom," Martin relates, "when any of the
fishermen are detained in the isle by contrary winds, to wash the blue stone
with water all round, expecting thereby to procure a favourable wind, which,
the credulous tenant, living in the isle, says never fails, especially if a
stranger wash the stone." The power of the Fladda stone was equalled by a
certain well in Gigha, though in the latter instance a dweller in the
island, rather than a stranger, had power over it. When a foreign boat was
wind-bound on the island, the master of the craft was in the habit of giving
some money to one of the natives, to procure a favourable breeze. This was
done in the following way. A few feet above the well was a heap of stones,
forming a cover to the spring. These were carefully removed, and the well
was cleared out with a wooden dish or clam-shell. The water was then thrown
several times towards the point, from which the needed ' wind should blow.
Certain words of incantation were used, each time the water was thrown.
After the ceremony, the stones were replaced, as the district would
otherwise have been swept by a hurricane. Pennant mentions, in connection
with his visit to Gigha, that the superstition had then died out. In this he
was in error, for the well continued to be occasionally consulted to a later
date. Even within recent years, the memory of the practice lingered in the
island; but there seemed some doubt, as to the exact nature of the required
ritual. Captain T. P. White was told by a shepherd, belonging to the island,
that, if a stone was taken out of the well, a storm would arise and prevent
any person crossing over, nor would it abate till the stone was taken back
to the well.
From the evidence of an Irish
example, we find that springs could allay a storm, as well as produce a
favourable breeze. The island of Innismurray, off the coast of Sligo, has a
sacred well called Tobernacoragh. When a tempest was raging, the natives
believed that by draining the water of this well into the sea, the wrath of
the elements could be calmed. Mr. Gomme, in his "Ethnology in Folklore,"
when commenting on the instance, remarks, "In this case the connection
between well-worship and the worship of a rain-god is certain, for it may be
surmised that if the emptying of the well allayed a storm, some
complementary action was practised at one time or other in order to produce
rain, and in districts more subject to a want of rain than this Atlantic
island, that ceremony would be accentuated at the expense of the
storm-allaying ceremony at Innismurray." The Routing Well, at Monktown, in
Inveresk parish, Mid-Lothian, was believed to give notice of an approaching
storm by uttering sounds resembling the moaning of the wind. As a matter of
fact, the noises came from certain disused coal-workings in the immediate
neighbourhood, and were due to the high wind blowing through them. The
sounds thus accompanied and did not precede the storm.
To procure rain, recourse was
had to various superstitious practices. Martin tells of a stone, five feet
high, in the form of a cross, opposite St. Mary's Church, in North Uist.
"The natives," he says, "call it the 'Water Cross,' for the ancient
inhabitants had a custom of erecting this sort of cross to procure rain, and
when they had got enough, they laid it flat on the ground, but this custom
is now disused." Among the mountains of British Columbia, is a certain stone
held in much honour by the Indians, for they believe that it will produce
rain when struck. Rain-making is an important occupation among uncivilised
races, and strange rites are sometimes practised to bring about the desired
result. By some savages, human hair is burned for this end. Mr. J. G.
Frazer, in "The Golden Bough," has some interesting remarks on
rain-production. After enumerating certain rain-charms among heathen
nations, he remarks, "Another way of constraining the rain-god is to disturb
him in his haunts. This seems the reason why rain is supposed to be the
consequence of troubling a sacred spring. The Dards believed that if a
cowskin or anything impure is placed in certain springs storms will follow.
Gervasius mentions a spring, into which, if a stone or a stick were thrown,
rain would at once issue from it and drench the thrower. There was a
fountain in Munster such that if it were touched or even looked at by a
human being it would at once flood the whole province with rain." Curious
survivals of ancient rain-charms are to be found in modern folk-customs.
Thus, in connection with the rejoicings of the harvest-home in England, when
the last load of grain was being carried on the gaily decorated hock-cart to
the farm-yard, it was customary to throw water on those taking part in the
ceremony. This apparently meaningless frolic was in reality a rain-charm. A
Cornish custom, at one time popular at Padstow on the first of May, can be
explained on the same principle. A hobby-horse was taken to the Traitor's
Pool, a quarter of a mile from the town. The head was dipped in the pool,
and water was sprinkled on the bystanders.
Such charms depend for their
efficacy on what is called "sympathetic magic." Mimic rain is produced on
the earth, in the hope that the same liquid will be constrained to descend
from the heavens, to bring fresh fertility to the fields. Professor Rhys, in
his "Celtic Heathendom," traces the connection between modern rain-charms
and the rites of ancient paganism. He there quotes the following particulars
regarding Dulyn, in North Wales, from a description of the place published
in 1805:—"There lies in Snowdon Mountain a lake called Dulyn, in a dismal
dingle surrounded by high and dangerous rocks; the lake is exceedingly
black, and its fish are loathsome, having large heads and small bodies. No
wild swan or duck or any kind of bird has ever been seen to light on it, as
is their wont on every other Snowdonian lake. In this same lake there is a
row of stepping stones extending into it; and if any one steps on the stones
and throws water so as to wet the furthest stone of the series, which is
called the Red Altar, it is but a chance that you do not get rain before
night, even when it is hot weather." The spot was, probably in pre-Christian
times, the scene of sacrifices to some local deity. Judging from the dismal
character of the neighbourhood, we may safely infer that fear entered
largely into the worship paid there to the genivs loci. The Fountain of
Barenton, in Brittany, was specially celebrated in connection with
rain-making. During the early middle ages, the peasantry of the
neighbourhood resorted to it in days of drought. According to a
time-honoured custom, they took some water from the fountain and threw it on
a slab hard by; rain was the result. Professor Rhys reminds us that this
fountain "still retains its pluvial importance; for, in seasons of drought,
the inhabitants of the surrounding parishes, we are told go to it in
procession, headed by their five great banners and their priests ringing
bells and chanting psalms. On arriving, the rector of the canton dips the
foot of the cross in the water, and it is sure to rain within a week's
time." The Barenton instance is specially interesting, for part of the
ceremony recalls what happened in connection with a certain Scottish spring,
viz., Tobar Faolan at Struan, in Athole. This spring, as the name implies,
was dedicated to Fillan. In his "Holiday Notes in Athole," in the
"Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland," volume xii. (new
series), Mr. J. Mackintosh Gow says, "It is nearly one hundred yards west
from the church, at the foot of the bank, and close to the river Garry. It
is overgrown with grass and weeds, but the water is as clear and cool as it
may have been in the days of the saint. There is no tradition of its having
been a curing or healing well, except that in pre-Reformation days, when a
drought prevailed and rain was much wanted, an image of the saint, which was
kept in the church, used to be taken in procession to the well, and, in
order that rain might come, the feet of the image were placed in the water;
and this, of course, was generally supposed to have the desired effect." At
Botriphnie, in Banffshire, six miles from Keith, the wooden image of St.
Fumac used to be solemnly washed in his well on the third of May. We may
conclude that the ceremony was intended as a rain-charm. It must have been
successful, on at least one occasion, for the river Isla became flooded
through the abundance of rain. Indeed, the flooding was so great that the
saint's image was swept away by the rushing water. The image was finally
stranded at Banff, where it was burned as a relic of superstition by order
of the parish minister about the beginning of the present century. In
Glentham Church, Lincolnshire, is a tomb, with a figure locally called
"Molly Grime." From "Old English Customs and Charities," we learn that, till
1832, the figure was washed every Good Friday with water from Newell Well by
seven old maids of Glentham, who each received a shilling, "in consequence
of an old bequest connected with some property in that district." Perhaps
its testator was not free from a belief in the efficacy of rain-charms.
Otherwise, the ceremony seems meaningless. If the keeping clean of the
figure was the only object, the seven old maids should not have limited
their duties to an annual pilgrimage from the well to the church. |
