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URSGEUL
Bha bràthair bochd agus bràthair beairteach
ann roimhe so. 'Se 'n obair a bh' aig an fhear bhochd a bhi déanadh
dhraintan. Dh' fhasdaidh e gille, 's cha robh mìr aca le am biadh ach 'ga
'ghabhail tur. "Nach fheàrra dhuinn," urs' an gille; "bò de chuid do
bhràthar a ghoid. " Dh' fholbh iad agus rinn iad so. Bha 'm bràthair
beairteach a' gabhail amharuis gur h‑iad a ghoid a' bhò, 's cha robh fhios
aige dé 'n dòigh a dhèanadh e air faotainn a mach an iad a ghoid i.
Dh' fholbh e 's chuir e 'mhàthair‑chéile ann
an cisde, 's thàinig e dh' iarraidh rum de 'n chisde ann an tigh a
bhràthar. Chuir e aran is càise leis a' chaillich anns a' chisde, 's bha
toll urra, air alt gu' mòchadh ise do na h‑uile gnothuch. Mhothaich an
gille gun robh a' chailleach anns a' chisde. Fhliuch e saic, is thilg e
air muinn na cisd' iad. Bha 'n t‑uisge 'sruthadh as na saic air a'
chaillich, 's cha robh i 'cluinntinn smid. Chaidh e anns an oidhche far an
robh a' chailleach, 's thuirt e rithe an robh i cluinntinn. "Cha 'n 'eil,"
urs' ise. "Am bheil thu 'g itheadh a' bheag?" "Cha 'n 'eil." "Thoir
dhòmhsa piosa de 'n chàise 's gearraidh mi dhuit e." Gheàrr e 'n càise, 's
dhinn e 'na muineal e gus an do thachd e i. Chaidh a' chisde 'thoirt
dachaidh, 's a' chailleach marbh innte. Thìolaic iad a' chailleach, 's cha
d' rinn iad ach cosdas beag urra. Anns an oidhche thuirt gille an fhir
bochd r'a mhaighstir, "Nach déisneach a leithid siod de dh' anart a dhol
leis a' chaillich do 'n chill, 's cho feumail ‘s a tha na pàisdean air
léintean."
Dh' fhoIbh e 's thug e leis spàd; riinig e 'n
clagh; chladhaich e 'n uaigh; thug e 'chailleach as a chiste‑luidh; thug e
dhi an t‑ais-aodach; thilg e air a mhuinn i; 's thàinig e gu. tigh a'
bhàthair bheairteach. Chaidh e stigh leatha, 's chuir e i 'na suidhe aig
a' ghealbhan, 's an clotha eadar a da chois. Nur a dh' éiridh an
searbhanta anns a' mhaidinn thuit i ann am paiseanadh, nur a chunnaic i
'chailleach roimpe. Ghabh am bràthair bearteach air a' bhean airson a
màthar ag ràdh gun robh i brath a sgrios. Chaidh e gu tigh a' bhràthair
bhochd,'s dh' innis e gun d'thàinig a'chailleach dhachaidh. "A ha!" urs'
an gille, "O nach do chosd thu ea beò e cosdaidh thu r'a marbh e! Chunnaic
mise leithid so roimhid. Feumaidh tu cosdas math a dheanadh urra."
Cheannaich iad cuid mhath de ghnothuichean
airson an tòrraidh, ‘s dh' fhàg iad an darna leith dheth ann an tigh
a'bhrathair bhochd. Thìolaic iad a' chailleach a rithisd. "Nach
déisneach," ursa gille “bhrathair bhochd r'a mhaighstir, "a leithid siod
do dh’ anart a dhol air a' chaillich, 's cho feumail 's a tha thu féin air
léine."
Chaidh e do 'n chill an oidhche sin a rithisd.
Thog e 'chailleach, s’ thug e dhith an t‑ais‑aodach, 's thug e leis air
a'mhuinn i. Chaidh e stigh do thigh a' bhràthair bheairtich mar a b’
àbhaist, 's chuir e ‘chailleach 'na seasamh aig ceann an dresseir, 's a
cròg làn do chàith as an t‑soitheach chabhrach, mar gum biodh i 'ga
itheadh. Nur a chunnaic fear an tighe air a h‑ais i anns a mhaidinn, ghabh
e air a' bhean gu h‑iomlan airson a màthar. Chaidh e 'n sin do thigh a'
bhrathar bhochd, 's dh' innis e gun d' thàinig a' chailleach dhachaidh a
rithisd. "A ha!" urs' an gille, "O nach do chosd thu r'a beò e, cosdaidh
thu r'a marbh e. Chunnaic: mise 'leithid so roimhid." "Folbh thusa mata 's
dean cosdas math urra chionn tha mise sgìth dhi.
Cheannaich e cuid mhath thun tòrradh na
caillich, 's thug e 'n a leith thun tigh a' mhaighstir. Thìolaic iad a'
chailleach. Anns an oidhche urs' an gille r'a mhaighstir, "Nach déisneach
a' leithid siod do dh' anart a dol leis a' chaillich do 'n chill, 's mi
féin cho feumail air léine." Thug e 'chill air; thog e chailleach; thug e
dhi an t-ais‑aodach; chuir e air a mhuinn i; 's ràinig e tigh a' bhràthar
bheairteach. Cha d' fhuair e stigh air an t‑siubhal so. Chaidh e leatha do
'n stàbull, 's cheangail e i air muinn bliadhnach eich. Nur a dh' éiridh
iad 's a' mhaidinn bha iad gu toilichte, nur nach fhac iad a' chailleach
romhpa. Bha esan a' dol o'n tigh. Chaidh e mach do ‘n stàbull, 's thug e
leis an capull, ach cha do mhothaich e gun robh 'chailleach air muinn a
bhliadnaich; nur a dh' fholbh esan air muinn a chapuill, as a dheigh a bha
'm bliadhnach, 's a' chailleach a’ glaigeileis air a mhuinn.Thill e air
ais nur a chunnaic: e chailleach, ‘s theab e bhean a mharbhadh air an uair
so. Chaidh e do thigh a' bràthar, 's dh' innis e gun d' thàinig a'
chailleach dhachaidh a rithisd. "O nach do chosd thu r'a beò e," ars' an
gille, "feumaidh tu 'chosd r'a marbh." "Theirig agus dean do rogha cosdus
rithe," ars’ esan ris a' ghille, "ach cum air folbh i”. Chaidh e air an
t‑siubhail so agus cheannaich e cuid rnhath airson tòrradh na caillich 's
chuir e gach duine bha 'san àite. Thìolaic iàd a' chailleach a rithisd, 's
bha 'm bràthair bochd cho beairteach ris an fhear eile air tàilleabh nan
tòrradh.
One James MacQueen, who lived at Timeagan,
near Kilmeny, but who is not living now, gave this to one Flora MacIntyre,
at Kilmeny, who told it to Hector MacLean ‑ May 1859.
This story is not like any other that I know.
It is one of a kind which is common, in which mortals alone play a part.
Some are humorous, and some free. One such has been versified by Allan
Ramsay, page 520, vol. 2; and is nearly the same as Tom Totherhouse, the
Norse tale.
The expensive fimeral was once truly highland;
and the invitation to all the world characteristic. It used to be told of
one such funeral party, that they dropped the coffin out of a cart on the
way over a strand, and never found it out till they got to the churchyard.
They returned and finished the funeral, but went home afterwards very
drunk; the sons shouting "Horo! it's the carlin's wedding." The funeral
dinner was within my memory, and still may be, a solemn feast. Such toasts
as "Comfort to the distressed," and "The memory of the deceased," were
drank in solernn silence; and the whole matter was conducted with gravity
and decorum, but with profuse and necessary hospitality, for the funeral
guests had often to travel great distances, and the coffin had to be
carried many miles. No Highlander, if his friends can help it, is buried
anywhere but at home; coffins may be seen on board the steamers, conveying
to the outer islands the bodies of those who have died on the main land.
It is a poetic wish to be buried amongst friends, and one that is in full
force in the Highlands to this day. The curse of Scotland may occasionally
intrude even on such solemn occasions; but a fimeral is almost always
decorously conducted. In some places, as I am told, a piper may still be
seen at the head of the fimeral procession, playing a dirge. There is no
want of reverence, but death is treated as an ordinary event. I have seen
a man's tombstone, with a blank for the date, standing at the end of his
house, while he was quite well.
It was lately said of a man who went home to
die, "He took his own body home;" and so he did.
There is something mythological about the old
woman who win not rest, because enough has not been laid out on her
funeral. It may be some remnant of a notion of purgatory; but I suspect it
is something heathen.
Romans had to pay their passage, perhaps Celts
had to do so likewise. |
