BUT after the different
things I have said of the Lews, some account ought to be given of the
quaint superstitions and stories of that country. I am not going to
touch upon any part of that field of second-sight and Highland seers so
ably described by many other writers; but suffer me to tell two or three
stories, or rather meander away upon different stories and incidents
that came under my own immediate knowledge.
Now, I don’t pretend to
be a hero in the dark; I had rather walk by day than night any time, and
I don’t think it at all pleasant being by oneself in a lone corner of a
house or muir —above all things, on a good high road in the
neighbourhood of a large town, manufacturing or otherwise, between
twelve and two in the morning—say from the 66 Peacock ” at Islington to
the Edgware Road; or from the Regent’s Park country to the top of
Portland Place. But still, if the thing is to be done, it must be done.
I have never exactly made np my mind about ghosts, but I don’t see why
they should be an impossibility; and I don’t believe, if the truth were
really spoken, that any one quite alone hearing a strange noise at
night, or seeing a queer sight on the road, that he don’t feel his heart
beat, and would not sooner have a comrade with him. I don’t think that
he is quite as cool as he would be in the broad daylight; and absolute
coolness and indifference, are the criterion of courage according to the
old French soldier’s view. In the Moscow campaign, when France had
soldiers, two of the Old Guard had a bet on which was the coolest under
fire. They decided the wager the next day—I think, if my memory serves
me right, at Borodino, where the fire was heavy enough to please any
epicure. "Tiens, tu as perdu, mon camarade ! Regarde—il deboutottne
l’habit.” Latour Mau-bourg had unbuttoned the top button .of his coat.
His comrade demurred to this, and the decision was referred to a
committee of old soldiers, who decided that he had lost. Latour Maubourg
evidently felt hot, and Poniatowski did not. Nobody, they say, is a hero
to his valet-de-chambre, much less to himself. What is the use of it ?
No one is a bit the wiser.
“Why should I bribe
myself?”—as said a celebrated English Prime Minister to a friend who
asked him why, at least, he did not give himself the Garter.
Therefore the result of
my lucubrations is, that being conscious of being no hero in the dark
myself, I have a fellow-feeling for those who dislike it too. But, then,
there is a limit to all things, and I don’t think that generally ghosts
walk till past ten at any rate; so you surely need not mind them,
however much you may other bipeds, who are more dangerous in the early
than in the late hours. But, then, if you fear the swell-mob in the
early, and the ghosts in the dark hours of the night, you won’t have a
cheery time of it anywhere, particularly in the Lews, when your dusk
certainly begins about four in the afternoon, and it is not light at
eight in the morning. Now, I have met with a good deal of fear of the
fairies in the far west of Ireland, and consequently imbibed a great
respect for their reign ; for the Irish fairies, like some other
inhabitants of the land they are said to frequent, are mighty
pugnacious, and often administer a hearty drubbing to those who
interfere or go out to dance with them by the light of the moon—at
least, so I have been credibly informed by the fairy dreaders; for I
never met a fairy myself, by day ol* by night, though I lived a long
time in their peculiar land—Kerry.
But for true night-fear
commend me to the Lews. Yery few, indeed, ever ventured on
night-travelling, and that only in troops. I had a very excellent
workman in my employ almost all the time I was at Soval. He cut my
peats, did all my farmwork, which consisted chiefly in keeping up a turf
fence round a field that produced nothing but a small crop of rushes,
though it had been drained in every possible manner. This turf fence was
always cracking and crumbling back into the field in the dry weather,
and tumbling down into the ditch and the road or the loch in the wet
weather. On the whole, I never knew what good the field did any one but
poor Callum, to whom it afforded constant work. From being the poorest
man in his township, he became the richest, and purchased a cart and
pony, which was also very much employed. So that, but for the mortality
in his family, he would have done well. But, poor fellow ! all his sons
and daughters sickened as they grew up, and died away of consumption;
and he, the last time I saw him, was a miserable object, just about to
join them. Well, this poor Callum was the greatest night-coward I ever
yet encountered. He never would come to his work in the morning, or go
away home at night, without being accompanied by either son or daughter,
or both ; for this night-fear ran strong in the family, and the child
that accompanied the father was obliged to have a companion to return
home. The loss of labour that took place in the family owing to this
insane fear was prodigious, for if he had no companion, he would sit up
by the kitchen fire all night, and thus lose his next morning’s work. We
often talked and reasoned with him, but to no purpose. It was not .that
he was afraid of robbers, for there were no such things. He was not
afraid of ghosts; but it was simply an indescribable terror of being by
himself in the dark, and I believe but for this terror, he would have
been the richest man in his district—nay, more; he was watcher over my
river at Saxay, and, in company with another, would go out at night, and
was really a very fair watcher, for he understood the ways of fish, and
the ways of their enemies; and though I don’t suppose he would have
risked his bones in a row, yet he counteracted poaching.
Now when I instance
Oallum as an example of night fear, it is not describing him alone.
Very, very few are devoid
of it, and there was a peculiar spot not far from me which was the dread
of the whole country. It was a rock on the road to Stornoway, said to be
haunted by the ghost of a boy murdered there some years ago, the
particulars of which I shall her§ relate.
In days of yore, two boys
of Stornoway, instead of going to school, amused themselves with going
out egg-stealing in the grouse-hatching time. They quarrelled about the
division of the spoil, and one of the young gentlemen hit the other
rather too hard on the head with a stone and killed him. He was horridly
frightened; but when he found his companion dead, he kept his wits, and
dug a hole in the muir under this rock by the burnside, in which he
buried the body. He then betook himself to Harris, got on board a
fishing-boat in Tarbet, whence he made his way to the mainland, became a
sailor, and wandered about the world for many years. At last, in the
course of his voyages, the ship—in which, I think, he had become
mate—went into the port of Stornoway for repairs. When there, instigated
by an almost supernatural anxiety and curiosity, he went on shore. He
could find no traces of the cabins where his own family and that of his
poor friend used to live; and he entered one of those small public
eating and drinking-houses which were always, I presume, open for the
refreshment of sailors, and called for something to eat. While his food
was preparing, his attention was drawn to something peculiar in the
shape of the handles of the knife and fork laid on the table ; and he
was examining them closely when his hostess addressed him, “You may well
look at those handles; for we got them in a strange way. I was returning
home one evening from Balallan with a hay-load, and sat down by the
burnside at the bottom of the hill near the white rock, when my eyes
were attracted by something white under the rock, and, in what seemed to
have been a hole, I found three or four bones of dead sheep, I suppose,
and I brought them home with me and made handles for two or three of my
old knives that wanted them. But, mon! what’s the matter with your
hands? they are full of blood.” The sailor sprang to his feet with a
wild scream. “They’re no sheep’s banes, they’re poor Willie’s banes, and
I am his murderer, and see how they tell the truth and witness against
me.” For it was the bones, and not his hands, that were oozing with
blood. He at once confessed his crime, was tried, condemned, and
executed on Gallows Hill, protesting to the last that he never had any
ill-will to poor Willie, but only killed him in a fit of passion; but
that he deserved his fate for not giving himself up at once and
confessing the deed.
Ever since this
occurrence this rock, under which the bones of the murdered Willie were
found, was considered to be haunted. And the strange part of the story
was that no one ever saw the ghost on the road to, but always on the
road back from, Stornoway. Now, I am going to account for this. The rock
was situated about four miles from Soval, on the right-hand side of the
road, at the bottom of the hill, by a little stream. As you walked down
the hill from Soval you saw nothing of the rock, because it was level
with the heathy hill. As you walked down the hill upon this rock from
Stornoway, it stood on the contrary—a bluff, bare, grey rock, white in
part towards the top, as many of these rocks often are. At one time, for
some years, I had to go into Stornoway regularly once a week, and, if
the weather permitted me at all, I returned the same night —particularly
in the woodcock season—if possible. Well, one horrid day, I had walked
in, as the morning was Lewisian, and I wished to give old Fred a rest,
as the next day we were bound for Dalbeg. My business over, I resisted
the hospitable invitations of my friends, and started for Soval
somewhere about eight or nine o’clock. It was a fine, bright moonlight
night, after the wet morning; the wind had gone north, and I cracked on
best pace for home, with a good caulker of the old Sheriffs excellent
whisky. I was cheering myself with the thoughts of the cosy fireside at
home, and anticipations of the woodcocks for the morrow, as, doing my
four miles an hour, I swung down the hill beyond the five-mile stone,
when I was pulled up all of a heap; for lo ! there, on the haunted rock,
stood a boy in a shirt! The boy’s ghost! I had passed, some half-mile
behind me, two or three people on the road, or I think I should have
bolted. Instead of this, helped with the Sheriff’s caulker, I walked on.
The ghost disappeared. This seemed odd, and knowing people were behind
me, I got very bumptious, and turned back to have another look: when, as
I got back, I saw not the whole, but half the ghost, and then presently
no ghost at all; and then there was not the same clear brightness as
before, and for a few seconds the moon wept behind a cloud over some
fair maid’s misfortunes ; then it broke forth again, slowly, to shine
upon a very small bit of ghost indeed. By tliis time, hearing voices, I
became very valiant, and distinctly saw the ghost become bigger. “ Hang
it! ” thinks I to myself. “ Maidens may love the moon, or the Buffalo
gals like to come out and dance by its light; but I never heard of a
ghost’s partiality to its cold, pale raysand I took a very steady look,
and then I found out exactly what the ghost was. In the angle I was
coming down the road, the moon just struck upon the white part of the
rock I have already alluded to, and it did appear something like a
figure; and I can perfectly understand any one, seeing what I saw, being
awfully scared; I know I was, and I don’t to this hour understand why I
did not run away, and certain sure I am I should have done so but for
the above-mentioned reasons. The good people came up very shortly, and
were astonished at catching me up. I thought I might do them some good
by explaining and pointing out to them what I had seen, and thus
diminishing the awe of the spot. Not a bit of it; I did more harm than
good. In vain I tried to walk my best the rest of the way to Soval. They
stuck to me like leeches, and would not leave my kitchen fire till light
came; and the ghost story was for ever confirmed. As sure as death, the
master had seen and spoken to the ghost, and there was no mistake, and I
was implored not to go night-walking any more; and because I was obliged
to do so sometimes, I believe they conceived no very good opinion of me,
but thought that I was no that canny as it behoved a man to be, who had
once seen a ghost and talked to it, and then ganged the same gait. It
was just a warning, and it would fare worse with me if I did not heed. |