FUNERALS.
“In some fond breast still lives the face,
Its wonted smile, the darling form,
Which awful death cannot efface,
However much it may deform.”
W. S.
On the third day after the defunct’s decease, if the person occupied no station above the ordinary level, the body will be led to its destined abode. This sorrowful day is early distinguished by melancholy arrangements. Verbal warnings having been previously circulated to the male inhabitants of the district, large and timeous preparations are necessary for their accommodation and entertainment. While the seating of the apartments destined to receive the company occupies the men, the arrangement of the entertainment occupies no less the attention of the women. In the meanwhile, the relations and family of the deceased attire themselves in the best mournings their circumstances can afford, and prepare themselves for going through the duties of the day with all possible fortitude and decency. The arrival of the wooden house of death, and the deposition of its inhabitant, early call forth many a sigh and tear at the parting which is about to take place. But the closing of the coffin is deferred till the eve of removal.
About twelve o’clock, the company, or, to speak more properly, the guests, successively arrive in scattered groups, dressed in all the variegated colours of the rainbow; and are received by some near connection of the deceased, who conducts them to the place appointed for their station.
With becoming gravity they take their seats, condoling very feelingly with the present friends on their lamentable loss, and carry on for a while a conversation very suitable to the business which brought them together. They are each served, on their arrival, with what is called a dram of “dry whisky,” and some fit person is appointed to keep the glass in active circulation. To him is also delegated a discretionary power of imposing extra penalties on late comers, who must compensate for their absence by drinking a double quantity on their arrival.
Thus, all equally well plied with the enlivening glass, the solemn aspect of the company is soon changed into a mixture of sorrow and joy. The moralist, who so recently uttered such sage reflections upon the shortness of life and its uncertainty, is transformed by some secret influence into the sprightly wit, whose humorous jokes and repartees continually agitate the risible powers of his audience. In short, the house of mourning is rapidly changing into a house of mirth; and such would be the opinion of any stranger who might visit the scene.
As soon as he approaches the door of the meeting-house, his ears are assailed with a confusion of sounds, which conveys to him the idea of entering a house full of bees. Seated in double rows, extending from one end of the house to the other, he finds it literally crammed, not with bees, but Highlandmen of every age and condition. In each end of the house he sees overflowing bowls, and walking to and fro, a host of waiters, bearing the full and empty glasses of the company, followed by others with bread and cheese, which are liberally distributed amongst the guests. Being seated in the place befitting his rank or station, if curiosity leads him to a closer examination of the complexion of his company, he will not be a little amused at the diversity of feelings and conversation distinguishing the individuals composing it. If the visitor or stranger whom we have supposed is of a serious cast of mind, and if he addresses himself to his elbow neighbour on the solemn character of the occasion, and laments the pitiful state of the family that may be thus deprived of their parent or provider—perhaps, if he listens for a moment with counterfeited seriousness, the sprightly sally of a rustic wit rings upon his ear, and a horse-laugh immediately shows the spectator he has no great relish for his subject. If, again, he addresses himself to one of a less jovial temperament, who has not yet been so much affected by the general infection upon the same subject, he will perhaps acknowledge the justness of his observations with a significant shake of the head, declaring at the same time the poignancy of his sorrow for the deceased, who, “new peace to him, was the best of souls.” But, at the same time, and in the same breath, he will make a digression to the alarming depreciation of agricultural produce, and the consequent inevitable ruin of poor farmers, if they do not immediately get a reduction of the one-half of their rents; and the concern he evinces for both matters makes it difficult to determine which loss he considers the greater calamity. Listening to the various topics of conversation discussed by the company in general, he will find seriousness form no part of it. Having already sufficiently moralized on the evils of life, they are now resolved to confine themselves entirely to its goods. Death, low prices, and high rents, have now given place to balls, feasts, and diversions. One group is warmly engaged in scheming a “dry or wet ball;” another group is warmly expatiating upon the good signs of the year, corroborated as they are by the “annual prognostic;” and others are as warmly engaged in recriminating each other for their notorious gallantries, and the like; while a good spring, a good harvest, and ready sale to sheep and cattle, are drunk by all with the greatest enthusiasm. All are become suddenly acquainted with the proverb, “A pound of care will not pay an ounce of debt;” and therefore they are determined to spend life in friendship and good hopes. In obedience to this wholesome resolution, each crony, as he gives his neighbour the hand, will also give him the pipe or the “sneeshan mill,” and would be very sorry to see him ill-used in a “pley,” or any such cause, without rendering him a helping hand.
As the drinking continues, the company become still more noisy. Repetitions of toasts, the vacant laugh, and incoherent exclamation, mingled with a few little oaths, are what perpetually burst upon the ear; and the sequel of such unhallowed carousals exhibit but too frequently a scene of the most improper levity.[T]
Far different, however, are the feelings and conduct of those mournful individuals who occupy another apartment, where the affectionate widow or fatherless orphans are now assembled, to take the last and long farewell of the relics of love. In deep dismay, behold the sorrowing group bending over the dear remains, absorbed in frantic woe, bathing with their tears unfeeling death, insensible to all their sorrows.
When the weeping relatives have severally bade the corpse the last adieu, by imparting the farewell kiss to the cold and pallid lip of death, (which, nevertheless, is perhaps the sweetest we ever impart,) the dearest form is for ever concealed from their view.
“Long on the lip the kiss will dwell,
And on the ear the mournful sigh,
Which seal’d the last and fond farewell,
And forg’d a bond time can’t untie.”
The necessary arrangements being effected, the coffin is brought forth, surrounded by the bereaved friends, and bound on the hanspecks on some convenient supports at the door; and when time will no longer permit the guests to indulge in their hilarity, an unwelcome summons invites them to their duty. Issuing forth tumultuously, they surround their charge; and all the riders being provided with their horses, the signal for setting off is given. The female relations, according to the custom of some countries, get the first lift; and the supports on which the body was bound being carefully overturned, for some reason best known to the wise men of the day, the multitudinous procession takes the road.
At this moment a scene presents itself to the cool spectator, wholly without a parallel. The various habiliments of the company—riders and pedestrians mingled together—the sound of the horses—and the united clamour of the multitude—are altogether striking. At one time, the expressions of mirth predominate; while, at others, the heart-rending lamentations of the female relations of the defunct prevail, and in their turn vibrate upon the ear. The women, at length unwillingly disentangled from the body, return home with mournful wailing, and the procession continues its course to its destination. Too many of the company are sometimes more intent upon their own pleasures than mindful of their business, roving about in scattered parties; while others exhibit, in their attention, a pattern of correctness and decorum; and, warmly enumerating the good qualities of the deceased, descant on the happy change he has made—at the same time walking with a careful step, lest an unfortunate fall beneath the body should doom themselves to share his enviable lot.[U]
At length, arrived at the mansions of the dead, the body is lowered into its drear abode, amidst the sorrowing of some and the insensibility of others. The slate planted on the grave terminates its earthly career, and consigns it for ever to the land of forgetfulness.
“Yet, though consign’d to death’s dark shade,
And ever hid from mortal view,
Still constant Love, by Fancy led,
The dreary scene will oft review.”
The End.
J. S. Witherden, Lithographic and Letterpress Printer,
Clifford’s Inn Passage, Fleet Street.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Nothing can appear more surprising to the refined reader, than that any human being, possessing the rational faculties of human nature, could for a moment entertain a notion so preposterous as that a ghost, which conveys the idea of an immortal spirit, could be killed, or rather annihilated, by an arrow, dirk, or sixpence. It was, however, the opinion of the darker ages, that such an exploit as killing a ghost was perfectly practicable. A spirit was supposed to be material in its nature, quite susceptible of mortal pain, and liable to death or annihilation from the weapons of man. Such an opinion is repeatedly expressed in several passages of the Poems of Ossian, and in the doctrine of the Seanachy, down to the present day.
[B] John-o’-Groat’s House, Caithness.
[C] We are informed that there is a woman still living in the parish of Abernethy, on whom this experiment was tried. She was found one night, rather unaccountably, as it appeared to her wise parents, on the outside of a window. No doubt, therefore, remained, but that she had been stolen by the fairies, and a stock left as her substitute. It was, therefore, unanimously resolved to carry the stock to the junction of the shires of Inverness, Moray, and Banff, where the poor child was left for a night to enjoy the pleasures of solitude. Being well rolled up in a comfortable blanket, she sustained no material injury from this monstrous exposure, and, accordingly, the result proved highly satisfactory to her enlightened guardians.
[D] Mine is yours, and yours is mine.
[E] The goats are supposed to be upon a very good understanding with the fairies, and possessed of more cunning and knowledge than their appearance bespeaks.
[F] Witchcraft.
[G] A Witch.
[H] The present Lord Murray is supposed to have been the gentleman who discovered to Mr. Willox this convenient piece of information regarding the original nature and use of the stone.
[I] North.
Since the first publication of this book, the renowned Mr. Mac Grigor Willox has been laid with his fathers, leaving the stone and bridle to his son and daughter, as heirlooms for the benefit of posterity. The goodman died full of years, if not full of any thing else which is coveted by the people of this world. But by his death it is believed that the spell which so long bound the northern community to his stone and bridle has been broken; and it is thought that those precious relics, which were scarcely “honestly come by,” may be returned to the kelpie and the mermaid, their original owners, should they or their representatives be disposed to claim restitution of them.
The highly curious and interesting collection of Criminal Trials, recently published by Robert Pitcairn, Esq., affords ample particulars of the modus operandi by which the workers of Satan in human shape accomplished their nefarious ends. The reader is particularly referred to the cases of those witches of quality, Lady Glammis and Lady Munro of Fowlis, and to the assistant hags of the latter, consisting of Laskie Loncart, Christy Ross, and others, all highly deserving of record. But Isobel Gowdie, the head witch of Auldearn, who, on her own confession, was condemned to be “worried and burned at a stake” in 1662, is the standard authority to refer to on these subjects. It appears that in those days Auldearn, near Nairn, now the locality of a virtuous community, was the great nursery that supplied Satan with cadets for his “Black Watch;” for so numerous were the members of the craft at that place, according to Isobel Gowdie, that on occasions of public inspection by the sovereign of the order, they were counted or told off in squads or “covines” (as Isobel called them), to each of which were appointed two adjutants or drill-sergeants, the brigade-major being a “well-favoured” wench of the name of “Nannie,” who occupied the seat of honour at Satan’s carousals. On such occasions of assembly, they dug up graves, possessed themselves of unchristened infants, using their joints and members in their incantations. They metamorphosed themselves into the forms of crows, cats, hares, &c., and played all manners of cantrips on live stock and farm produce. But it not unfrequently happened that those amusements turned out but indifferent sport to some of the probationers concerned,—several worthies, and Isobel Gowdie among the rest, having had unwittingly become the subjects of the chase, at the feet and mouths of the greyhounds of the day, who have “no respect of persons,” or the characters in which they enacted their parts. And it would also appear that the cadets in this Royal Military College formed any thing but an harmonious society—the Master General, and his Sappers and Miners, often quarrelling about very minor matters, such as titles of distinction; in the course of which the master often received many black names, and the apprentices many stripes. But it would appear that “one Margaret Wilson in Auldearn” was nearly match for him; for Isobel Gowdie declares she used to “bell the cat” with him stoutly; “defending herself finely” from the wool-cards and such other sharp instruments of punishment as he made use of on those occasions. “It was no doubt one of those ancient covines that encountered Macbeth (not far from the College) on his way to Forres.”
But since the days of Isobel Gowdie, Maggy Wilson, Bessy Hay, and Co, the union has been repealed, without the aid of any great agitator; for ever since their day, the people in this parish have died a natural death. But it is still mooted, “sotto voce,” that there are still some roots of the old tree scattered over neighbouring territories not far from the capital of the Highlands, who have been allowed to live quite as long as they deserved. And one Isabella Hay, probably a descendant of her namesake of Auldearn, has for many years levied blackmail on the inhabitants of Inverness, until having, by her imps, in autumn 1839, laid her enchantments on the goods and chattels of some people in Inverness (the author among the number), she was sentenced in September, 1839, by the Circuit Court of Justiciary—not to the stake, but to a punishment which, however, has served to put an end to her sorceries.
Among recent discoveries of the author as charms, or rather counter-charms against witchcraft, it deserves to be noticed, that if a knot tied against the sun be made on the tail of a quadruped, it is secure against the spells of necromancy. It is, or had been till recently, also a common practice to put a portion of the medicinal herb or plant called “saffron” under the churn while the process of churning the cream is undergoing, which will prevent the craft from taking the substance by means of their magical rope, by the operations of which they were wont to extract from a piece of wood in their own dwellings the soul and substance of what might belong to parties afar off, and who, without such precaution, might churn away till doomsday without the appearance of the yellow treasure. And moistening the mouth of a calf with the extract of the said vegetable, and setting it to suck a cow whose milk might go to the said rope, will instantly restore it to the proper owner.
It need scarcely be added, in conclusion, that scoring a witch crosswise on the forehead, or above her breath, divests her of all supernatural power. But the laws are now so strong, even at John-o’-Groat’s house, that the processes of trial by swimming and scoring cannot now be resorted to, except in extreme cases where the subjects have not the benefit of law or clergy. On a very recent occasion, however, in Ross-shire, a worthy fisher, whose nets suffered no small prejudice from the machinations of a neighbour, but no friend, performed on her, much against her consent, the operation of scoring on the forehead, for which the sheriff of Ross, in August 1845, sentenced him to undergo a short imprisonment in the gaol of Tain.
[J] Switched cream.
[K] The game called “Clodhan,” or Clod, is a favourite amusement with the youth in the Highlands. One of the company goes round the circle with a clod, or some other article, putting his hand into each person’s lap or hand, and leaves the clod with one of the number. The whole circle are then desired to guess the person who possesses the clod, (he guessing like the rest to prevent suspicion,) when all those who err are subjected to a small penalty, which shall be afterwards determined by an appointed judge; and in the meantime, he must deliver some pledge to enforce his compliance with the arbiter’s decision. When a sufficient number of pledges are obtained, judgment is pronounced against their owners, who must redeem them, by doing various little penances, some of which are sufficiently ludicrous.
The bag is another popular juvenile amusement. One pops his head into a bag, holding his hand spread on his back, and the palm uppermost. One of the company, in rotation, strikes his hand, not unfrequently with all his might, upon that of the person in the bag, who is desired to guess who struck him last. If his guessing proves correct, the last striker then puts his head in the bag in his turn.
[L] Half-boiled sowans.
[M] “A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and a calm Candlemas, or new year, are signs of a good year.
[N] The term Candlemas is applied to the New Year in the Highlands. The origin of the term arose from some old religious ceremonies performed on this occasion by candle-light.
[O] We are totally unable to account for the origin of this strange piece of superstition. It is unnecessary to remark, that the object of this delusion is nothing but a passing cloud, which the perverted imagination of the original Highlander shapes into the form of a bull. There is something very ominous as to the art or direction in which the bull rises or falls—we believe it to be prognostic of its being a good or bad year.
[P] It is believed that this extraordinary entertainment is now administered in no part of the Highlands, except in Strathdown and its immediate neighbourhood. In that district, however, the inhabitants generally attend to it, merely, it is believed, from the influence of inveterate custom, and the author in his day had his share of the antidote, though it is doubtful whether those rites are now observed in his native district.
[Q] The literal expressions used in the salutation applicable to this day in the Gaelic language the writer could never perfectly comprehend. The literal translation of the words are, (Mu nasc choil orst,) “My Candlemas bond upon you.” The real meaning of the words, however, is, “You owe me a New-Year’s gift;” and it is a point of great emulation who will salute the other first—the one who does so being considered entitled to a gift from the person so saluted.
[R] Beltane is derived from two Gaelic words conjoined: “Paletein,” signifying Pale’s fire, and not Baal’s fire, as some suppose. The strange relic of Pagan idolatry which gave rise to this feast was no doubt introduced into these countries, like many others of our more prominent superstitions, by the Druids. Pales (of whom we read in the heathenish mythologies) was the goddess of shepherds, and protectress of flocks. Her feast was always celebrated in the month of April, on which occasion no victim was killed, and nothing was offered but the fruits of the earth. The shepherds purified their flocks with the smoke of sulphur, juniper, boxwood, rosemary, &c. They then made a large fire, round which they danced, and offered to the goddess milk, cheese, eggs, &c., holding their faces towards the east, and uttering ejaculations peculiar to the occasion. Those interesting relics of the religious opinions of our ancestors, until of late, remained pretty entire in some parts of the Highlands. But they have now, however, declined into those childish ceremonies above described.
[S] Mr. Pennant, in his Tour, vol. i. p. 111, notices the ceremony of the Bolteen or Beltane—the cakes baken with scrupulous attention to rites and forms, and dedicated to birds of prey, &c., or the being whose agents they were, to propitiate them to spare the lives of themselves and flocks. Within the last twenty or thirty years these observances have almost wholly disappeared. But the author himself is old enough to have reeled his bannock, and dived, by the foregoing spells, into the secrets of futurity.
[T] Let not the Highland reader be led to view this description of a Highland funeral as casting any reflection on his moral or religious character. Whatever ill-timed levity he may manifest on such an occasion, the blame must be ascribed, not to him, but to that evil spirit, the usquebaugh, the real cause of it. We cannot, however, help regretting, that either the ill-judged hospitality of the entertainer, or his own social habits, should expose him on this particular occasion to the unruly influence of his demoralising countryman; and we are glad to add, that of late years much improvement has been effected in the conduct of Highland funerals—sobriety and decorum being much more the order of the day.
[U] A fall sustained by a person, while supporting the body, is ominous of the person’s speedy death. It may also be remarked, that it is considered very imprudent to look at a passing funeral from the door of a house, or from the window having a stone lintel.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.