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Mystery of a Spring—Marvel
and Magic---Misinterpretation of Natural Phenomena—Healing Power of
Springs—Peterhead—Poetry and Superstition—MacCulloch—Mistake about a
Tree—Strange Appearances of Nature—Spring at Kintail—Disappear. ance of
Spring near Perth—Saints and Storms—St. Milburga-Water like Blood—Origin of
Belief in Guardian Spirits—Why Gifts were Offered—Weather
Charms--Coincidences--Prophecy of Water—Philosophy of Wishing Wells—Worship
of Trees and Springs—Charm-Stones—Continued Reverence for Holy
Wells—Conclusion.
MR. J. M. BARRIE is a true
interpreter of the youthful mind when he says, in the "Little Minister,"
"Children like to peer into wells to see what the world is like at the other
side." Grown-up people are also alive to the mystery of a spring. "Look into
its depth," observes Mr. E. H. Barker in his "Wayfaring in France," "until
the eye, getting reconciled to the darkness, catches the gleam of the still
water far below the ferns that hang from the gaping places in the mossy
wall, and you will find yourself spellbound by the great enchantress,
Nature, while understanding nothing of the mysterious influence." In days of
less enlightenment "the weight of all this unintelligible world" was even
more felt than now, and the minds of men were ever on the outlook for the
marvellous. What is to us a source of not unpleasing mystery was then a
cause of dread. We marvel and make poetry. Our far-off ancestors trembled
and sought refuge in magical rites. We still speak of the charms of nature,
but the phrase has to us an altered meaning. When we remember how little
science there was at one time, we need not be surprised that the phenomena
of the outer world were misinterpreted, and hence gave rise to fallacies.
This was markedly so in the case of springs. While quenching thirst—a
natural function to perform—they became endowed with virtues of an
exceptional character, and were esteemed as the givers of health. Even amid
the darkness of those distant days we can detect a glimmering of light, for
such ideas were not wholly false. Erroneous ideas seldom are. Springs have
indeed a health-giving power. Whether or not we accept the full-blown
doctrines of modern hydropathy, we must allow that cold water is an
excellent tonic. As an acute writer has remarked, "Cold braces the nerves
and muscles, and, by strengthening the glands, promotes secretion and
circulation, the two grand ministers of health." Allusion has been made to
the mineral waters of Peterhead. The secret of their power is well described
by Cordiner in his "Antiquities and Scenery of the North of Scotland," where
he says:--"A mineral well in the summer months gives great gaiety to the
place ; its salutary virtues have been long, I believe, justly celebrated.
The salt-water baths adjoining are much frequented in nervous disorders:
their effect in strengthening the constitution is often surprising. Owing to
the open peninsulated situation, the air of this place is esteemed
peculiarly pure and heathful; even the fogs rising from the sea are thought
to be medicinal; the town is therefore much enlivened by the concourse of
company who frequent it on these accounts. Without derogating anything from
the merits of the baths and mineral, one may reasonably conclude that the
custom of walking several hours before breakfast, and meeting the morning
breezes from the sea along these cool and refreshing shores, the probability
of meeting with choice of companions as an inducement to these early
rambles, the perpetual cheerfulness indulged by society entirely disengaged
from business and care, and their various inventions to chase away languor,
probably contribute no less to the health of the company than the peculiar"
virtues of the healing spring."
Truth can commonly be found
underlying superstition. The power, possessed by certain aspects of external
nature to soothe the troubles of the mind, is one of the commonplaces of
modern poetry. This thought, when rendered into folklore, becomes the idea
that certain spots are "places of safety from supernatural visitants." Such
was the belief connected with Our Lady's Well, at Threshfield, near Linton,
in Craven, Yorkshire. Whoever took refuge there was free from the power of
magical spells. When sailing among the sea-lochs of Lewis, MacCulloch had an
experience which he thus describes in his "Western Islands":---"On one
occasion the water was like a mirror, but black as jet, from its depth and
from the shadow of the high cliffs which overhung it. The tide, flowing with
the rapidity of a torrent, glided past without a ripple to indicate its
movement, while the sail aloft was filled by a breeze that did not reach the
surface. There was a death-like silence while the boat shot along under the
dark rocks like an arrow; to a poetical imagination it might have appeared
under a supernatural influence: like the bark of Dante, angel-borne." If
such were the reflections of an educated man like MacCulloch, what must have
been the thoughts of our ignorant forefathers when confronted by the
ever-recurring marvels of the outer world! Nature is still misinterpreted by
credulous people through a lack of knowledge of her laws. A good example of
this, bearing, not, however, on water, but on tree-worship, is given by Dr.
J. Fergusson, in his "Tree and Serpent Worship." A god was said to have
appeared in a certain date-palm in a village a few miles from Tessore, and
the tree was promptly adorned by the Brahmins with garlands and offerings.
Dr. Fergusson observes:---"On my inquiring how the god manifested his
presence, I was informed that, soon after the sun rose in the morning, the
tree raised its head to welcome him, and bowed it down again when he
departed. As this was a miracle easily tested, I returned at noon and found
it was so. After a little study and investigation, the mystery did not seem
difficult of explanation. The tree had originally grown across the principal
pathway through the village, but at last hung so low that, in order to
enable people to pass under it, it had been turned aside and fastened
parallel to the road. In the operation the bundle of fibres which composed
the root had become twisted like the strands of a rope. When the morning sun
struck on the upper surface of them, they contracted in drying, and hence a
tendency to untwist, which raised the head of the tree. With the evening
dews they relaxed, and the head of the tree declined."
In the chapter on "Some
Wonderful Wells," we glanced at the mysterious origin of certain springs. In
ancient times, no less than in the present, strange sights must have been
witnessed. We have not a monopoly of thunderstorms, earthquakes, landslips,
or deluges of rain. The same phenomena prevailed in early times. The
difference is, that we have science to keep them in their proper place.
During the heavy rains of January 1892, a spring near the house of Rurach,
at Kintail, in Ross-shire, suddenly burst its bounds and became a raging
torrent. Usually the surplus water from the spring flowed away in the form
of a trickling stream, but on the occasion in question it rushed on with
such force and volume that it scooped out a channel twenty feet deep and
forty feet broad. The event not unnaturally caused a good deal of wonder in
the neighbourhood. Had it happened several centuries earlier, some malignant
water-spirit would doubtless have been reckoned the active agent. During the
operations connected with the formation of the railway tunnel through
Moncrieff Hill, close to Perth, the water of a certain spring in the
neighbourhood suddenly failed. It happened that a clergyman, whose manse
stood not far from the spring, sent, when in the extremity of illness, for a
draught of its water. It was his last draught. He died immediately after;
and at the same time, the spring dried up. The coincidence did not pass
without remark in the district, but whether or not it gave rise to a
superstition we do not know. In the dark ages it certainly would have done
so. In the annals of hagiology, the early saints were associated in a
special way with water. They had, for instance, the power of allaying
storms. St. Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors, exercised this power more
than once. Adamnan records the same miracle in connection with Columba,
abbot of Iona; and Cainneck, abbot of Aghaboe. According to a Shropshire
legend, Milburga, when followed by a certain prince, was saved from her
unwelcome pursuer by the river Corve rising in flood after she had crossed.
The superstition that water,
under certain circumstances, assumed the hue of blood, as in the case of St.
Tredwell's Loch in Orkney, &c., claims special attention. We call this
belief a superstition, inasmuch as a special miracle was thought to be
involved in the matter; but we nowadays know, that such appearances show
themselves without any miracle at all, except the constant *miracle without
which there would be no natural law. Modern bacteriology has proved the
existence of a certain microscopic plant, technically styled Hœmatococcus
Pluvi 1is and popularly known in Germany as Blutalge. In "Notes and Queries"
for 12th March, 1892, Dr. G. H. F. Nuttall of Baltimore, observes:—"In
Central Europe it has been found in pools formed by the rain in rocky
hollows and stone troughs, &c. Hœmatococcus often becomes intimately mixed
with the pollen of conifers and minute particles of plants which are known
to be carried hundreds of miles by occasional currents of air. The rain
drops in the heavens condense about such minute particles, and in falling,
carry them down to the earth's surface, where, under proper conditions,
these little plants multiply with enormous rapidity." Dr. Nuttall adds,
"Besides the Hœmatococcus Pluvialis, we have a Bacterium which has often
deceived people into the belief that they were dealing with bona fide blood.
This Bacterium is easily cultivated in the laboratory. It is one of the
so-called chromogenic or colour-producing Bacteria, and bears the name
Bacillus Prodigiosus, on account of its exceedingly rapid growth. This very
minute plant has undoubtedly been the cause of terror among superstitious
people. The organism will only produce its colour in the presence of oxygen,
and, as a consequence, red spots appear only on the surface of the moist
nutrient medium on which it may fall." Undoubtedly some such explanation
would account for certain red spots, alluded to by Mr. Hunt, which appeared
from time to time on the stones in the churchyard of the Cornish parish of
St. Denis. According to the belief of the district, the spots were marks of
blood, and their appearance foretold the occurrence of some untoward event
in English history.
We have spoken of the
guardian spirits of lochs and springs. That such spirits should have been
thought to exist is not surprising. Since water is one of the necessaries of
life for man and beast, animals had to frequent pools and rivers. What more
natural than that, in days of ignorance, these animals should have been
regarded as in some mysterious way connected with the spots they frequented.
In the same way, fish darting about in the water would be considered its
indwelling spirits. It may not seem to us at all needful, that lochs and
springs should have guardian spirits at all. But man, in a certain stage of
development, thinks of nature, organic and inorganic alike, as having a life
akin to his own, with powers superior to his own. From a belief in guardian
spirits to a belief in the necessity of offering gifts to them is an easy
transition. A present is sometimes an expression of good-will, sometimes of
a desire to obtain benefits to the giver. Offerings at lochs and springs
were undoubtedly of the latter class, and were intended either to avert evil
or to procure good.
In ancient times in India,
when a dragon presided over a spring, the people of the district were in the
habit of invoking his aid, when they wanted rain or fine weather. Certain
ceremonies were necessary to procure the boon. "The chief characteristic of
the serpents throughout the East in all ages," remarks Dr. Fergusson, "seems
to have been their power over the wind and the rain, which they exert for
either good or evil as their disposition prompts." As we have seen, certain
wells in our own land could control the weather. This was so, even when the
guardian spirit of the spring assumed no definite shape. The rites required
to obtain the desired object were nothing less than an acknowledgment of the
spirit's existence. The origin of the connection between weather and wells
can only be guessed at. It appears that the splashing of a spring when an
object was thrown into it, or the sprinkling of the water over the
neighbouring ground, was thought to cause rain, through what may be called a
dramatic representation of a shower. Why this should have been so, cannot be
determined with certainty. Probably accidental acts of the kind described
were followed, in some instances, by a fall of rain, and the belief may have
sprung up that between the two there existed the relation of cause and
effect. There was thus a confusion between what logicians call the post hoe
and the propter hoc. The same explanation may perhaps account for the belief
that a favourable breeze could be obtained, as in the case of the Gigha
Well, by the performance of certain definite rites.
Few circumstances in life
have more power to arrest attention than coincidences. Two events occur
about the same time, and we exclaim, "What a singular coincidence !" that
is, if we are not of a superstitious temperament. If we are, we talk
mysteriously about omens and such like direful topics. To some minds, an
omen has a peculiar fascination. It lifts them above the level of their
ordinary daily life. The postman rings the bell, and letters are handed in.
A message boy is seen at the door, and a parcel is delivered. These, and
many more such, are incidents of frequent occurrence. They are reckoned
commonplace. We know all about them. But let anything unusual happen,
anything that stirs the sense of awe within us, we, at least some of us,
instantly conclude that there is magic in the matter. An unprepossessing old
woman takes a look at a child when passing. The child ceases to thrive.
There are whispers about "the evil eye." Yes, there is no doubt about it.
The child must have been bewitched. Is it not probable that the prophetic
power ascribed to wells may be accounted for on this principle? Certain
appearances were observed, and certain events followed. Water gushed freely
from a spring, when drawn for the use of an invalid. The invalid recovered.
Of course he did, for the omen was favourable. As in private, so in public
matters. Pools of water were observed to have something peculiar about them.
Some crisis in the history of our nation soon succeeded. What sensible
person could fail to discern a connection between the two sets of
circumstances? So men, even some wise ones, have argued.
Wishing-wells, from their
very nature, have a special claim on popular credulity. When a desire is
eagerly cherished, we leave no stone unturned to bring about its fulfilment.
There is something, be it what it may, that we eagerly covet. How are we to
get it? In the stir and pressure of our day's work, we do not see any avenue
leading to the fulfilment of our wish. In the quiet morning or evening, when
the birds are singing overhead, we go alone to some woodland well, and
there, by the margin, gather our thoughts together. One particular thought
lies close to our heart, and on it we fix our attention. In the still
moments, while we listen to the bubbling spring, our mind lights on a clew,
and our thoughts follow it into the future. We brace ourselves up for
following it in reality. We see how our design may be accomplished. We take
the road that has been revealed to our inward eye, and finally reach the
goal of our desire. How does this come about? We may have stooped over the
spring, and with certain accompanying rites, have breathed our wish. We
return to our daily work with the desire still lying close to our heart.
Days, or weeks, or months pass, and at last, behold, what we were so anxious
for, is ours! The charm has been successful. Of course it has. But what of
the impulse towards definite action that came to us, when we were free from
the touch of our ordinary troubles, and quiet-voiced Nature was our teacher
and our own soul our prophet? At any rate, we went to the wishing well, and
the boon we sought we can now call our own. The question remains, are all
desires granted, either through visits to wishing-wells or in any other way?
The experiences of life give a definite answer in the negative. How their
are believers in the power of wishing-wells to account for such failures?
The rites were duly attended to, yet there was no result. Why was the charm
not effectual? Any sincere answer to the question ought to be an
acknowledgment of ignorance.
In thus attempting to explain
the philosophy of wishing-wells, we do not imply that the subjective element
is the secret of success in every case. We are merely pointing out that it
may be so in some cases. In other cases, according to the principle
mentioned above, an explanation will be supplied by the theory of
coincidences. When trees and springs were alike reckoned divinities, it was
natural enough to conclude, that any tree, overshadowing a spring, was
somehow mysteriously connected with it. Belief in such mysterious relations
continued, as we have seen, even after tree-worship ceased as a popular
cult. Certain superstitions, still in vogue in the west, are undoubtedly
relics of tree-worship. In India and some other Eastern lands, the cult
still flourishes vigorously. A writer in the "Cornhill Magazine" for
November, 1872, remarks:--"The contrast between the acknowledged hatred of
trees as a rule by the Bygas (an important tribe in Central India), and
their deep veneration for certain others in particular, is very curious. I
have seen the hillsides swept clear of forests for miles, with but here and
there a solitary tree left standing. These remain now the objects of the
deepest veneration; so far from being injured, they are carefully preserved,
and receive offerings of food, clothes, and flowers, from the passing Bygas,
who firmly believe that tree to be the home of a spirit."
We need not linger over the
consideration of charm-stones in their connection with wells. In some
instances, like that of the Lee Penny, they gave efficacy to water as a
healing agent; but in others, as in the case of the Loch Torridon Spring,
water gave efficacy to them. Indeed, they acted and reacted on each other in
such a way that, in some instances, it is difficult to determine whether the
talisman brought healing virtue to the water, or vice versa. To find the
solution of the problem, we should have to carry our thoughts back to the
remote days when stones and wells had a life of their own, and were thus
qualified to act independently.
One can understand why holy
wells retained their popularity. Even though they did not always effect a
cure, people continued to believe in them and to seek their aid. Consecrated
springs might throw cold water (metaphorically) on many a cherished hope;
but, for all that, they remained, as of old, objects of reverence. The
secret of their power lay in their appeal to the imagination. Understanding
might say, it is absurd to expect that my ailment can be removed in this
way; but imagination protested that there are more things in heaven and
earth than are dreamed of in my philosophy. The rites to be gone through—the
choice of the fitting season, the keeping of silence, the leaving of a
gift—all conduced to throw a halo of romance around the practice. There was
thus an appeal to the unknown and mysterious, that gave to well-worship a
strange charm. It stirred up any latent poetry in a man's nature, and linked
him to something beyond himself. Springs have a double charm. They are
interesting for their own sake, and for the sake of the folklore that has
gathered round them. They are "like roses, beautiful in themselves, that add
to their own perfection the exquisite loveliness of a mossy dell." In
conclusion, take away what is distinctively medieaval in well-worship, and
paganism is left. We find this paganism entering like a wedge into the
substance of a Christian civilisation. It may have changed its colour, but
it is paganism notwithstanding. Well-worship has a definite value as a
survival. It serves to unite our own age of science with one in the far
past, when laws of nature, as we understand them, were unknown. As a cult it
has forsaken the busy haunts of men, but lingers still in quiet places,
especially among the mountains. Superstitions die hard. The epitaph of this
one has still to be written. Those who are waiting for its last breath need
not be surprised if they have to wait yet a while. |
