LEGENDARY HISTORY.
PRINCESS THYRA OF ULSTER AND HER LOVERS.
A Story of Lochmaree. [21]
At one time the King of Denmark is said to have sent his son to the Scottish court along with six others (seisear eile). They landed in Caithness, where, as they came chiefly for sport, they began to look for deer and other wild animals, and to enquire where they were to be found. They were told that all animals of the chase had become scarce since more people had come to that part, but that in the neighbouring parts of the country, especially in Ross-shire, they were still numerous, and if they went there they would get abundant sport. They went, and while they remained lived in a house of the MacKenzies’, near Lochmaree. One day then, when following deer in the hill, the young prince got separated from his companions, who each and all found their way safely home. When he came in sight of the house, being fatigued, he sat down by the roadside and fell asleep. He was awakened by the sound of voices, and on looking he saw two men, one of whom was young and the other old, coming on the road towards him with a young woman walking between. He got up, and as they were coming nearer he was making out that he never saw a more beautiful woman. He stood before them and spoke. The old man said, “You are doing wrong in delaying us on our way.” “Methinks,” said the young prince, “that I am not doing any thing out of the way, nor have I spoken a wrong word.” The old man got angry, and calling him rough names said he was ill-bred. “That was not the way in which I was taught,” the prince answered, “I have the blood of the kings of Denmark in my veins, and I am inclined to put your head as low as your shoes for your ill words (air son do dhroch bheul) which I have not deserved.” When the old man heard this he became afraid, and made excuses for the warmth of temper he had shewn, but said he was under vows to protect the girl from all intrusion, “the reason being that she is with us under the vows of the church (fo naomhachadh na h-eaglais), by her father’s commands,” and told him that they came ashore from the monastery of Isle-maree and were to return before nightfall. “I would like well to know who the maiden is whom you befriend,” said the young prince. “The name of the daughter is,” the old man answered, “Princess Thyra (Deorath) of the house of Ulster in Ireland—and let us now pass.” In the parting the young prince said to the maiden, “As this has been our first meeting, so I fear it is to be our last: Farewell!” “I do not say,” she answered. He went home, but, after some days, returned to the same place expecting to see the same company, but no one came ashore from the islet that day. The next time he went he waited two days in vain, and the third time three days, and returned home in the same way ill-pleased at his mischance. He then resolved to go to the isle if there was a way of getting to it. He was told that a man on the other side of the loch had a boat, and he went to him and got him to go with him. On landing, the man pointed out to him the way to the monastery, and told him that he would come to a well, which he was not to pass till he drank of its water; that the well was famed for its efficacy in every malady to which mankind is subject, and especially in restoring those who had lost their reason; “and beside the well,” said the man, “there is a tree with a hollow in its side (slochd ’n a taobh), and no one goes past it without putting something of more or less value in.” The youth went ashore, and, heedless of tree and well, reached the house and demanded admittance at the first door he met. When asked what brought him, or why he came, he said he came to see the Irish princess. He was told that could not be (ni nach gabhadh deanamh). He then asked if there was any one in authority of whom he could make the request, and was told there was the oldest of rank in the monastery, who, when he came, said, “No! you cannot see the princess.” The young man then told who he was, and said, “If I want her for my wife and she consents, can you prevent the union?” “We will leave the matter to her own will,” the old man answered. She came gladly, and the prince spent that day on the islet. Before he left she said, “I have a doubt in this matter.” “What is that?” he asked. “It is that I never saw you but once before now, neither did you see me, and if love comes quickly, it may go as quickly.” “You know that from yourself,” he said. “No,” she answered. He told her to look at the evening star, which was to be seen in the south-western sky, and said, “As truly as that star shines on yonder hill, so truly do I love you.” “I have another doubt,” she said. “Your doubts are very many,” he said. Her doubt was, that Red Hector of the hills, as he was called from being among the hills day and night, would be a dangerous foeman if he met him on his way. He returned, landed, and having cause, as he thought, to be pleased with events, was going on joyously and light-hearted, whistling as he went along. He was not far on his way when an arrow passed close to his face; the next one stuck in his bonnet. He stood looking about him and saw a big man standing beside a rock that was at the roadside before him. “What sort of man are you, when you are going to make a target of me?” the prince said. “Have you never heard of Red Hector of the hills (Eachann Ruadh nan cnoc)? If you have not, you now see him and will feel his skill. There is a matter to settle between us which can never be done but in one way, and that is, that you kill me or I kill you.” They took their swords, one each (claidheamh an t-aon), blood was shed; the prince then asked if there was no other way of settling the matter except by bloodshed. “Do not waste speech (Na bi ’cosg do sheanachais); that you kill me or I kill you, there is no other way,” he said, and struck the prince on the side with his sword and sorely wounded him. He fell and his enemy fled. The wounded man kept his hand on the wound, but whenever he moved the blood spurted from it, and he was passing the night in that way till his tongue became swollen in his mouth. In the midst of his agony he heard the drip of a streamlet in the hollow underneath where he lay, and tried to move himself towards it, but could not, though he made every effort. At last he thought it was better to bleed to death than die of thirst, and by dragging himself along he reached the water, but before he got to drink of it he fainted and lay beside the streamlet till next day, when those, the humane people (na daoine cneasda), who came ashore in the boat heard his moaning, and recognising him, took him back to the islet, where he remained unconscious for many weeks, during which his own men, who had been brought to the isle, and the princess attended him. When he recovered and knew that the maiden’s constant care and watchfulness had helped to restore him to life, he expressed much gratitude. “When you are up and well,” she said, “it will be time to thank me.” He kept telling her every day how he would take her to Denmark. One day then a ship was seen coming, from which a boat was sent ashore to take away the maiden, whose father lay dying. “Will you return?” he said. “I will return,” she said. “And you will not forget me among your own people.” “Nothing but death will prevent my return,” she said. She went away, and nothing was heard of her for many days. In his impatience the prince sent men from day to day to the top of the highest hills to look for the ship. At last they saw three ships coming, and the first had the royal flag of Ireland in its topmast. Some time before the maiden left the islet, the prince one day when on land met an old man who intercepted him; his men bade the intruder keep to one side of the road, but the man refused to be put aside, and the prince then asked what his business was with him. “Do not speak so gruffly,” the old man said, “I have come to you, as I am in need of shelter, to ask if you will take me into your service while you are here.” “My burden is on others at present,” the prince said, “and little an old man like you with a staff in his hand can do to help me. Have you a house or home?” “I had till yesterday; to-day I have nothing. I had house, wife, son, land, cattle, and yesterday every beast that I had was lifted, except a stray sheep, and my son went in search of it and fell over the rocks (chaidh am balach leis na creagan) and was killed. When his mother heard what had happened to him she went to the place, and on seeing her son dead she leapt in the sea and was drowned, and I am left alone. If you will take me with you I will do you more service in the hills than a younger man can do.” He said his name was MacKenzie (Dùghall MacChoinnich). The prince took him to be with them while they remained in the isle.
When the ships were seen the prince went to the highest summit of the hills, taking with him, among the rest, the old man, who on their way said, “Delay (air do shocair), till I tell you my dream.” “I care naught for dreams,” the other said. “Will you not listen, for I dreamt the same dream three nights after each other; and it was that she was dead.” “We wish to get joyous news and you have given us instead news of sorrow.” The old man then said, “I will go to the ship, and when I reach, if all is well you will see a red signal, and if sorrow awaits you it will be a black one.” He went, and on reaching, she was there. She knew him and asked if all was well. He told her, and she said, “He is impatient for news.” He then persuaded the princess, against her own will and the advice of those around her, to shew the death-signal, saying the joy of seeing her living would compensate her lover for the deception. When the signal was seen by those on land, the prince said he could no longer live, and took his dagger from its sheath and killed himself. When the princess reached the shore, those who met her told her how her lover, believing that she was dead, had killed himself. She asked where he was, and said that no seen or unseen power could prevent her from taking a last farewell, and that she would go alone and do no injury to herself. When she was going in where the dead body lay, she noticed that some one was following her, and turning she saw that the intruder was the old man, “Wretched Dugall (a dhroch Dhùghaill), what evil advice you gave me.” “That is not my name,” he said, “I am Red Hector of the hills, and this is my revenge!” and he killed her with his dirk. He then disappeared and was never seen or heard of in the country after that time.
NOTES:
[21] Lochmaree is in the west of Ross-shire. It lies S.E. and N.W., and has 24 islets throughout its length of about 18 miles. Its breadth is from one to two miles, and its depth prevents its water from freezing.
GARLATHA.
A TRADITION OF HARRIS.
At one time it is said the outermost of the western isles formed three separate and independent possessions; the northern part of the Long Island (an t-eilean fada),[22] Lewis (Leòdhais), was held by one Cenmal (Ceannamhaol [baldhead]), who was a king, while the southern portion, Harris (na h-Earra), was owned by a prince; and another king, one named Keligan [thin one], possessed Uist, which is further south. In this way Lewis and Uist had each a king, while there was only a prince in Harris. This prince, who was famed for his courage and bravery, was held in great esteem by those on his land for the good advice (na comhairlean dealbhach) they readily got from him and the benefits he conferred on them. He discouraged bickerings and jealousy (farmad) among his subordinates and neighbours, and spread among them a knowledge of many useful arts. He encouraged manual labour as well as manly exercise and the recitation of poems, romance, etc. His wife, Garlatha, was not less namely for her goodness to those around her, among whom she promoted thrifty and industrious habits, and taught the use and methods of preparing different kinds of roots, grain and plants, for food and healing, and to be kind and tender to the weak and infirm, and to live good lives. In this way the people on their land were contented with their condition and sought no change. Garlatha died, it is said, about 800 A.D.—a long time ago, but whatever it was, she went away, (and it was not to be helped), leaving an infant daughter who was named after her mother, Garlatha. As the girl grew up it was seen that she inherited her mother’s good gifts, and the people were equally well pleased with her. In time she began to be spoken about and heard of, and was sought in marriage by numerous suitors. The king who ruled in Lewis was eager in pursuit of her (’an tòir oirre), and crossed over to see her. The ruler (fear-riaghlaidh) of Uist came on the same errand. One day then her father said to her, “Daughter, I wish to see you married, before the end of my life comes, to a good man, and I am looking to see which of those men who come to see you is the most suitable, and I see that it will suit you best to take him who is in Lewis.” His daughter preferred the one who owned Uist, but by her father’s advice word was sent to the possessor of Lewis to come and that he would get her. He came, and being well pleased with his reception every arrangement was made, and they were married. Afterwards the bride said to a maid, “You will go in to the entertainment (fleadh) and among the company: I am going to hide myself.” This was done, and the company sat at the feast without the bride, for whose coming a long delay was made. When it was seen that she would not return, the question of what had become of her or where she was, was asked of every one, but no one knew. The maid was asked, but she had not any knowledge or tale (fios no sgeul) to tell of where the lost one was to be found. The time was passing (bha ’n ùineachd ’ruith) and search was made outside for her, but she was not found. Then they looked for her from place to place, where it was possible to find her, but without success. The night passed, leaving the feast untouched and the guests cheerless. Next day the search was renewed along the shores and among the hills, and in every direction from day to day, till there was not a spot between Barra Head and the Butt of Lewis where a bird could sleep, that was not searched, but there was no trace of her (cha d’ fhuaireadh riamh i, cha d’ fhuaireadh idir i). The father continued to wander about, searching in vain, for many years after all hope of finding her was dead, till at last he was seen to turn every leaf he met with the staff in his hand, and even to look under ragweed (buaghallan). He died, and she was not found. The place, Harris, was then 200 years without any one to own it (thug an t-àite sin dà cheud bliadhna gun duine ann). MacLeod (fear Mac Leòid) then took possession of the country and began to build new houses; the old dwellings had become uninhabitable (air dol fàs); the roof had fallen in (thuit an ceann ’n am broinn). When clearing out one of these an old chest was found, and on lifting it the lower part remained on the ground, with the skeleton of a woman resting in it, each bone according to its place (cnàimh a réir cnàimh), and by its side the wedding-ring, as new as it was on the day it was put on her finger, with the name “Garlatha” engraved on it, and from that the story came.
NOTES:
[22] The Long Island includes the whole of the land between the Butt of Lewis and Barra Head.