THE UNEARTHLY WHISTLE.
About seventy years ago, a young man, a native of the village of Cornaig, in Tiree, went in the evening to another village, Cruaidh-ghortain, about two miles distant. When he reached it, he reclined on a bed, and being tired fell fast asleep. He awoke with a start, and thinking from the clearness of the night (it was full moon) daylight had come, hurried off home. His way lay across a desolate moor, called the Yellow Ridge (Druim Buidhe), and when halfway he heard a loud whistle behind him, but in a different direction from that in which he had come, at a distance, as he thought, of above a mile. The whistle was so unearthly loud, he thought every person in the island must have heard it. He hurried on, and when opposite the Sharp-pointed Rock (An Carragh biorach) he heard the whistle again, as if at the place where he himself had been when he heard it first. The whistle was so clear and loud, that it sent a shiver through his very marrow. With a beating heart he quickened his pace, and when at the gateway adjoining the village he belonged to, he heard the whistle at the Pointed Rock. He here made off the road, and managed to reach home before being overtaken. He rushed into the barn, where he usually slept, and, after one look towards the door at his pursuer, buried himself below a pile of corn. His brother was in a bed in the same barn asleep. His father was in the house, and three times, with an interval between each call, heard a voice at the door saying, “Are you asleep? Will you not go to look at your son? He is in danger of his life, and in risk of all he is worth” (an geall na’s fhiach e). Each call became more importunate, and at last the old man rose and went to the barn. After a search he found his son below a pile of sheaves, and nearly dead. The only account the young man could give was, that when he stood at the door, he could see the sky between the legs of his pursuer, who came to the door and said it was fortunate for him he had reached shelter; and that he (the pursuer) was such a one who had been killed in the Field of Birds (Blàr nam Big-ein) in the Moas, a part of Tiree near hand.
In its main outline, this tale may be correct enough. A hideous nightmare or terror had made the fatigued young man hide himself under the corn, and things as strange have happened, in the history of nervous delusions, as that he should have gone himself to the door of the dwelling house to call his father.