SPUNKIES.
The Spunkie is another of those now-retired ministers, formerly employed by the Enemy of mankind to accomplish their destruction. And, in all truth, he could not have taken into his pay a servant more faithful to his trust than the spunkie. Whenever the traveller had the misfortune to lose his way, or whenever there was a prospect of deluding him from it, this vigilant link-boy was ever at hand, to light him into far worse quarters than even the purlieus of Covent Garden.
Suddenly the traveller’s attention was arrested by the most resplendent light, apparently reflected from a window not far distant; which, however, as the traveller approached, receded from him like the rainbow. Still pursuing his course towards it, the wily spunkie manœuvred so dexterously, that the unhappy wanderer was speedily decoyed into the nearest moss or precipice. Plunging headlong into some fatal abyss, the deluded victim never returned to his mourning wife and family, to relate to them the spunkie’s perfidy.
Happily now, however, the roads are better, and travellers more cautious. All the glittering meteors of the spunkie cannot make the knowing Highlander of the present day turn to the right or to the left. So that the spunkie has now shut shop, and become bankrupt in his department.
PART VI.
Witchcraft.
When Satan, for weighty dispatches,
Sought messengers cunning and bold,
He pass’d by the beautiful faces,
And pick’d out the ugly and old.
Volle.
CHAPTER I.
ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT.
We are now come to consider and describe the ancient and well-known order of Witchcraft; the nature and object of which require very little explanation in a country where it has been so long established as in Scotland. Taking a retrospective view of the rise and progress of this once flourishing institution, we are told it was founded by the Grand Master, shortly after the creation of the world. That the wickedness of the inhabitants having kept pace with their increase, Satan found work multiplying so fast on his hands, that his own spiritual minions, numerous as they were, became inadequate to their employment. Being seldom blind to his own interest, the idea of enlisting a few human instruments to supply their deficiencies naturally suggested itself to his fertile genius, and such has been the thirst for magic and power, which has at all times pervaded the old women of those countries, that he never had great difficulty in procuring abundance of volunteers to join his banners.
Having thus established his new order of emissaries, Satan found them to answer his purposes uncommonly well. They drudged on in his work so laboriously, and with such good success, that he found them more profitable tools, for deluding and hooking-in the best portion of mankind, than his own proper agents, whose means of communication and seduction were much more confined and disadvantageous. Accordingly, he has found it his interest to continue the institution to this day.
It will, no doubt, prove a matter of some astonishment to the amiable and considerate reader, how any body that has the honour of wearing a human face could think of espousing so desperate a cause, for the sake of any gratification which Satan’s kingdom affords. Common fame errs too much, if he is at all a liberal master to those who are his servants, for it is said he seldom or never fulfils his conditions with any one of them. Though mighty forward to enter into pactions, and extraordinarily liberal in his terms while making a bargain, he is said to be far less ready to perform his share of the conditions when it is once concluded; and what is still worse, when he forfeits a penalty, there is no law that can exact it of him. Accordingly, we have heard of not a few deluded mortals, who sold themselves to him for sums of money and other considerations, but never yet heard of his having paid the purchase money.
So once fared a poor needy wretch of a Highlandman, that bartered his soul to Satan for a cow, and who never could get the latter to fulfil his bargain. It is no doubt true, that after much importunity he did at length perform his stipulation, in a way not very creditable to him. Urgently importuned by the disponer to give him his cow, he ultimately fetched him one, which was but a few hours in his possession, when it was challenged by a third party as his stolen property; unwilling to explain how he came by it, the poor fellow was flung into a prison, and speedily brought before the laird for trial. In this distressing situation, the disponer was compelled to tell the truth and the manner he came by the cow, not doubting but that the disclosure would have at once exculpated him from the charge. But unfortunately for him, his ingenuous confession failed of its object, and the poor man was condemned to the wuddie, reserving to him such recourse against Satan as he might be advised to adopt.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE AGENT’S QUALIFICATIONS, AND CEREMONIES OF THEIR CONSTITUTION.
When the candidates for Satan’s employment have, by a course of probation, given sufficient proofs of their ability for the discharge of the duties of the profession they are about to adopt, and when they have arrived at an age befitting the importance of the calling, men and women are equally eligible, though it is well known that women are preferred. Their initiation into infernal orders is preceded by the execution of a formal covenant with Satan, sealed with the mutual blood of the parties, whereby, for the considerations therein expressed, Satan engages, on the one hand, to commit to the entrant the various powers and qualifications which shall be detailed in the following pages; and, on the other hand, the said entrant binds and obliges himself, or herself, to apply himself, or herself, faithfully and diligently in his service, by day and by night, promising to conceal the secrets of his trade and profession, (much in the style of our common indentures). The candidates are then inducted into the mysteries and secrets of their new profession with great pomp, in presence of the Royal Grand Master, who, set forth in proprio terrore, presides over the ceremony. The place selected for this imposing ceremony is not unfrequently a spacious lake or pool, the members of the craft in attendance being furnished with their seaworthy navy, their brooms and riddles. The following particulars relative to an intended initiation, which was attempted in Strathdown, “in the memory of the grandmothers of some people still living,” while it conveys some idea of such a scene as that to which we alluded, may also prove a warning to those who may be thoughtlessly led to embrace the profession.
“In the time of my grandmother, the farm of Delnabo was proportionally divided between three tenants. At first equally comfortable in their circumstances, it was in the course of some time remarked by all, and by none more forcibly than by one of the said three portioners, that, although superior in point of industry and talent to his two fellow-portioners, one of the tenants was daily lapsing into poverty, while his two neighbours were daily improving in estate. Amazed and grieved at the adverse fortune which thus attended his family, compared to the prosperous condition of his neighbours, the wife of the poor man was in the habit of expressing her astonishment at the circumstance, not only to her own particular friends, but likewise to the wives of her neighbours themselves. On one of these occasions, the other two wives asked her what would she do to ameliorate her condition, if it were in her power? She answered them, she would do any thing whatever. (Here the other wives thought they had got a gudgeon, that would snap at any bait, and immediately resolved to make her their confidant.) ‘Well, then,’ says one of the other two wives, ‘if you agree to keep our communications strictly secret, and implicitly obey our instructions, neither poverty nor want shall ever assail you more.’ This speech of the other wife immediately impressed the poor man’s wife with a strong suspicion of their real character. Dissembling all surprise at the circumstance, she promised to agree to all their conditions. She was then directed, when she went to bed that night, to carry along with her the floor-broom, well known for its magical properties, which she was to leave by her husband’s side in the course of the night, and which would represent her so exactly, that the husband could not distinguish the difference in the morning. They, at the same time, enjoined her to discard all fears of detection, as their own husbands had been satisfied with those lovely substitutes (the brooms) for a great number of years. Matters being thus arranged, she was desired to join them at the hour of midnight, in order to accompany them to that scene which was to realize her future happiness.
“Promising to attend to their instructions, the poor man’s wife took leave of her neighbours, full of those sensations of horror which the discovery of such depravity was calculated to produce in a virtuous mind. Hastening home to her husband, she thought it no crime to break her promise to her wicked neighbours, and, like a dutiful and prudent wife, to reveal to the husband of her bosom the whole particulars of their interview. The husband greatly commended his wife’s fidelity, and immediately entered into a collusion with her, which displays no ordinary degree of ingenuity. It was agreed that the husband should exchange apparel with the wife, and that he should, in this disguise, accompany the wives to the place appointed, to see what cantrips they intended to perform. He accordingly arrayed himself in his wife’s habiliments, and, at the hour of midnight, joined the party at the place appointed. The ‘Bride,’ as they called him, was most cordially received by the two Ladies of the Broom, who warmly congratulated the ‘Bride’ upon her good fortune, and the speedy consummation of her happiness. He was then presented with a fir-torch, a broom, and a riddle, articles with which they themselves were furnished. They directed their course along the banks of the rolling Avon, until they reached Craic-pol-nain, or the Craig of the Birdspool. Here, in consequence of the steepness of the craig, they found it convenient to pass to the other side of the river. This passage they effected without the use of their navy, the river being fordable at the place. They then came in sight of Pol-nain, and, lo! what human eye ever witnessed such a scene before! The pool appeared as if actually enveloped in a flame of fire. A hundred torches blazed aloft, reflecting their beams on the towering woods of Loynchork. And what ear ever heard such shrieks and yells as proceeded from the horrid crew engaged at their hellish orgies on Pol-nain? Those cries were, however, sweet music to the two wives of Delnabo. Every yell produced from them a burst of unrestrained pleasure, and away they frisked, leaving the amiable bride a considerable way behind. For the fact is, that he was in no hurry to reach the scene, and when he did reach it, it was with a determination to be only a spectator, and not a participator in the night’s performance. On reaching the pool’s side he saw what was going on,—he saw abundance of hags steering themselves to and fro in their riddles, by means of their oars the brooms, hallooing and skirling worse than the bogles, and each holding in her left hand a torch of fir,—whilst at other times they would swirl themselves into a row, and make profound obeisance to a large black ugly tyke, perched on a lofty rock, who was no doubt the ‘muckle thief’ himself, and who was pleased to acknowledge most graciously those expressions of their loyalty and devotion, by bowing, grinning, and clapping his paws. Having administered to the bride some preliminary instructions, the impatient wives desired him to remain by the pool’s side until they should commune with his Satanic Highness on the subject of her inauguration, directing her, as they proceeded on their voyage across the pool, to speed them in their master’s name. To this order of the black pair the bride was resolved to pay particular attention. As soon as they were embarked in their riddles, and had wriggled themselves, by means of their brooms, into a proper depth of water, ‘Go,’ says he, ‘in the name of the Best.’ A horrid yell from the witches announced their instant fate,—the magic spell was now dissolved—crash went the riddles, and down sank the two witches, never more to rise, amidst the shrieks and lamentations of the Old Thief and all his infernal crew, whose combined power and policy could not save them from a watery end. All the torches were extinguished in an instant, and the affrighted company fled in different directions, in such forms and similitudes as they thought most convenient for them to adopt; and the wily bride returned home at his leisure, enjoying himself vastly at the clever manner in which he had executed the instructions of his deceased friends. On arriving at his house, he dressed himself in his own clothes, and, without immediately satisfying his wife’s curiosity at the result of his excursion, he yoked his cattle, and commenced his morning labours with as little concern as usual. His two neighbours, who were not even conscious of the absence of their wives, (so ably substituted were they by the brooms,) did the same. Towards breakfast-time, however, the two neighbours were not a little astonished that they observed no signs of their wives having risen from bed—notwithstanding their customary earliness—and this surprise they, expressed to the late bride, their neighbour. The latter archly remarked, that he had great suspicions, in his own mind, of their rising even that day. ‘What mean you by that?’ replied they. ‘We left our wives apparently in good health when we ourselves arose.’—‘Find them now,’ was the reply—the bride setting up as merry a whistle as before. Running each to his bed, what was the astonishment of the husbands, when, instead of his wife, he only found an old broom. Their neighbour then told them, that, if they chose to examine Pol-nain well, they would find both their dear doxies there. The grieving husbands accordingly proceeded thither, and, with the necessary instruments, dragged their late worthy partners to dry land; and afterwards privately interred them. The shattered vessels and oars of those unfortunate navigators, whirling about the pool, satisfied their lords of the manner by which they came to their ends; and their names were no longer mentioned by their kindred in the land. It need scarcely be added, that the poor man gradually recovered his former opulence; and that, in the course of a short time, he was comparatively as rich as he was formerly poor.”
CHAPTER III.
OF THE PERSONAL SIMILITUDE OF THE AGENTS OR MEMBERS OF THE CRAFT.
It is well known, that no sooner do men or women enter on this profession, than there is a striking change in their personal appearance. Their countenances are no longer the emblems of human nature, but the sign-posts of malice and bad luck. “Looking like a witch” is a proverb that has been always descriptive of the most exquisite ugliness; and whoever has seen the frontispiece of a Highland witch will be satisfied with its force and propriety.
The face is so wrinkled, that it commonly resembles the channels of dried waters, and the colour of it resembles nothing so much as a piece of rough tanned leather. The eyes are small and piercing, sunk into the forehead, like the expiring remains of a candle in a socket. The nose is large, prominent, and sharp, forming a bridge to the contacting chin. These are represented as the amiable features of a witch. The wizard’s appearance differs very little from that of his amiable sister the witch, only that his face is covered over with a preternatural redundance of hair, and that he wears beneath his chin a bunch of hair in the manner of a goat.
It has been long a subject of tough controversy to what cause this striking deformity is justly to be ascribed. Some logicians rationally enough maintain, that the characteristic deformity of the order arises from their frequent interviews with Satan; that the tremor of the limbs, the horror of the aspect, and stare of the eyes, with which they are always seized during the season of their noviciation, are rendered habitual to them by the force of custom, which is justly called a second nature. And, in support of this doctrine, we are told it is a fact, that, whenever we behold a ghost, or any other uncanny being, our features become contracted exactly the same way. But, be this as it may, it is an acknowledged fact, that ugliness was, from the beginning of their cast, their distinguishing characteristic.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THEIR PROFESSIONAL POWERS AND PRACTICES.
On a nearer examination of a witch’s character, we will find her face a very correct index to her heart. She is the arch-enemy of whatever is good and amiable. Invested as she is with as ample powers of seduction and mischief as Satan himself, she is equally expert in accomplishing the ruin of the soul and body of the objects of her malignity. In order to convey to the reader an idea of those powers with which she is invested, and which she never fails to exercise, we shall detail them in their order, illustrating our statements, as we go along, with proofs from the best authorities.
The most formidable of all the powers conferred on a witch consists in the torture and destruction of human beings by infernal machination. There are various processes by which those hellish practices are accomplished, but the most common process is that invented and used by that eminent and distinguished witch, “Crea Mhoir cun Drochdair,” who was burnt and worried at a stake at Inverness, about two centuries ago, for bewitching and keeping in torment the body of the provost’s son. Crea made an effigy of clay and other hellish ingredients, into which she stuck pins and other sharp instruments. This effigy of the provost’s son she placed on a spit at a large fire, and by these cantrips the hag communicated such agonizing torments to the young gentleman, that he must have had speedily fallen a victim to his sufferings, had it not been for the happy discovery made by means of a little grandchild of Crea Mhoir’s, who divulged the whole secret to a little companion, for the small gratification of a piece of bread and cheese. But although Crea, honest woman, was long ago disposed of, to the great comfort and satisfaction of her countrymen, who naturally enough ascribed to her all the calamities which happened in the country during her lifetime, she left behind her the immortal fruits of her genius, for the benefit of her black posterity, in those mischievous inventions practised by the witches of latter times, who understand the knack of torturing their unhappy contemporaries in all its branches, as exemplified in the cases of several worthies noticed in the sequel.
The next important power of a witch and a warlock consists in their control over air and water, whereby they raise most dreadful storms and hurricanes by sea and by land, and thus accomplish the destruction of many a valuable life, which otherwise might have been long spared. The following account of the loss of a most excellent gentleman exhibits too melancholy an instance of the success of their experiments in this way:
“John Garve Macgillichallum of Razay was an ancient hero of great celebrity. Distinguished in the age in which he lived for the gallantry of his exploits, he has often been selected by the bard as the theme of his poems and songs. Alongst with a constitution of body naturally vigorous and powerful, Razay was gifted with all those noble qualities of the mind which a true hero is supposed to possess. And what reflected additional lustre on his character, was that he never failed to apply his talents and powers to the best uses. He was the active and inexorable enemy of the weird sisterhood, many of whom he was the auspicious instrument of sending to their ‘black inheritance’ much sooner than they either expected or desired. It was not therefore to be supposed, that, while those amiable actions endeared Razay to all good people, they were at all calculated to win him the regard of those infernal hags to whom he was so deadly a foe. As might be naturally expected, they cherished towards him the most implacable thirst of revenge, and sought, with unremitting vigilance, for an opportunity of quenching it. That such an opportunity did unhappily occur, and that the meditated revenge of these hags was too well accomplished, will speedily appear from this melancholy story.
“It happened upon a time that Razay and a number of friends planned an expedition to the island of Lewes, for the purpose of hunting the deer of that place. They accordingly embarked on board the chieftain’s yacht, manned by the flower of the young men of Razay, and in a few hours they chased the fleet-bounding hart on the mountains of Lewes. Their sport proved excellent. Hart after hart, and hind after hind, were soon levelled to the ground by the unerring hand of Razay; and when night terminated the chase, they retired to their shooting quarters, where they spent the night with joviality, and mirth, little dreaming of their melancholy fate in the morning.
“In the morning of next day, the chief of Razay and his followers rose with the sun, with the view of returning to Razay. The day was squally and occasionally boisterous, and the billows raged with great violence. But Razay was determined to cross the channel to his residence, and ordered his yacht to prepare for the voyage. The more cautious and less courageous of his suite, however, urged on him to defer the expedition till the weather should somewhat settle—an advice which Razay, with a courage which knew no fear, rejected, and expressed his firm determination to proceed without delay. Probably with a view to inspire his company with the necessary degree of courage to induce them all to concur in the undertaking, he adjourned with them to the ferry-house, where they had recourse to that supporter of spirits under every trial, the usquebaugh, a few bottles of which added vastly to the resolution of the company. Just as the party were disputing the practicability of the proposed adventure, an old woman, with wrinkled front, bending on a crutch, entered the ferry-house; and Razay, in the heat of argument, appealed to the old woman, whether the passage of the channel on such a day was not perfectly practicable and free from danger. The woman, without hesitation, replied in the affirmative, adding such observations, reflecting on their courage, as immediately silenced every opposition to the voyage; and accordingly the whole party embarked in the yacht for Razay. But, alas! what were the consequences? No sooner were they abandoned to the mercy of the waves than the elements seemed to conspire to their destruction. All attempts to put back the vessel proved unavailing, and she was speedily driven out before the wind in the direction of Razay. The heroic chieftain laboured hard to animate his company, and to dispel the despair which began to seize them, by the most exemplary courage and resolution. He took charge of the helm, and, in spite of the combined efforts of the sea, wind, and lightning, he kept the vessel steadily on her course towards the lofty point of Aird in Skye. The drooping spirits of his crew began to revive, and hope began to smile upon them—when lo! to their great astonishment, a large cat was seen to climb the rigging. This cat was soon followed by another of equal size, and the last by a successor, until at length the shrouds, masts, and whole tackle, were actually covered with them. Nor did the sight of all those cats, although he knew well enough their real character, intimidate the resolute Razay, until a large black cat, larger than any of the rest, appeared on the masthead, as commander-in-chief of the whole legion. Razay, on observing him, instantly foresaw the result; he, however, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible, and immediately commanded an attack upon the cats—but, alas! it soon proved abortive. With a simultaneous effort the cats overturned the vessel on her leeward wale, and every soul on board was precipitated into a watery grave. Thus ended the glorious life of Jan Garbh Macgillichallum of Razay, to the lasting regret of the brave clan Leod and all good people, and to the great satisfaction of the abominable witches who thus accomplished his lamentable doom.
“The same day, another hero, celebrated for his hatred of witchcraft, was warming himself in his hunting hut, in the forest of Gaick in Badenoch. His faithful hounds, fatigued with the morning chase, lay stretched on the turf by his side,—his gun, that would not miss, reclined in the neuk of the boothy,—the skian dhu of the sharp edge hung by his side, and these alone constituted his company. As the hunter sat listening to the howling storm as it whistled by, there entered at the door an apparently poor weather-beaten cat, shivering with cold, and drenched to the skin. On observing her, the hairs of the dogs became erected bristles, and they immediately rose to attack the pitiable cat, which stood trembling at the door. ‘Great hunter of the hills,’ exclaims the poor-looking trembling cat, ‘I claim your protection. I know your hatred to my craft, and perhaps it is just. Still spare, oh spare a poor jaded wretch, who thus flies to you for protection from the cruelty and oppression of her sisterhood.’ Moved to compassion by her eloquent address, and disdaining to take advantage of his greatest enemy in such a seemingly forlorn situation, he pacified his infuriated dogs, and desired her to come forward to the fire and warm herself. ‘Nay,’ says she, ‘in the first place, you will please bind with this long hair those two furious hounds of yours, for I am afraid they will tear my poor hams to pieces. I pray you, therefore, my dear sir, that you would have the goodness to bind them together by the necks with this long hair.’ But the curious nature of the hair induced the hunter to dissemble a little. Instead of having bound his dogs with it, as he pretended, he threw it across a beam of wood which connected the couple of the boothy. The witch then supposing the dogs securely bound, approached the fire, and squatted herself down as if to dry herself. She had not sitten many minutes, when the hunter could easily discover a striking increase in her size, which he could not forbear remarking in a jocular manner to herself. ‘A bad death to you, you nasty beast,’ says the hunter; ‘you are getting very large.’—‘Aye, aye,’ replied the cat, equally jocosely, ‘as my hairs imbibe the heat, they naturally expand.’ These jokes, however, were but a prelude to a more serious conversation. The cat still continuing her growth, had at length attained a most extraordinary size,—when, in the twinkling of an eye, she transformed herself into her proper likeness of the Goodwife of Laggan, and thus addressed him: ‘Hunter of the Hills, your hour of reckoning is arrived. Behold me before you, the avowed champion of my devoted sisterhood, of whom Macgillichallum of Razay and you were always the most relentless enemies. But Razay is no more. His last breath is fled. He lies a lifeless corpse on the bottom of the main; and now, Hunter of the Hills, it is your turn.’ With these words, assuming a most hideous and terrific appearance, she made a spring at the hunter. The two dogs, which she supposed securely bound by the infernal hair, sprung at her in her turn, and a most furious conflict ensued. The witch, thus unexpectedly attacked by the dogs, now began to repent of her temerity. ‘Fasten, hair, fasten,’ she perpetually exclaimed, supposing the dogs to have been bound by the hair; and so effectually did the hair fasten, according to her order, that it at last snapt the beam in twain. At length, finding herself completely overpowered, she attempted a retreat, but so closely were the hounds fastened in her breasts, that it was with no small difficulty she could get herself disengaged from them. Screaming and shrieking, the Wife of Laggan dragged herself out of the house, trailing after the dogs, which were fastened in her so closely, that they never loosed their hold until she demolished every tooth in their heads. Then metamorphosing herself into the likeness of a raven, she fled over the mountains in the direction of her home. The two faithful dogs, bleeding and exhausted, returned to their master, and, in the act of caressing his hand, both fell down and expired at his feet. Regretting their loss with a sorrow only known to the parent who weeps over the remains of departed children, he buried his devoted dogs, and returned home to his family. His wife was not in the house when he arrived, but she soon made her appearance. ‘Where have you been, my love?’ inquired the husband.—‘Indeed,’ replies she, ‘I have been seeing the Goodwife of Laggan, who has been just seized with so severe an illness, that she is not expected to live for any time.’—‘Aye! aye!’ says he, ‘what is the matter with the worthy woman?’—‘She was all day absent in the moss at her peats,’ replies the wife, ‘and was seized with a sudden colic, in consequence of getting wet feet, and now all her friends and neighbours are expecting her demision.’—‘Poor woman,’ says the husband, ‘I am sorry for her. Get me some dinner, it will be right that I should go and see her also.’ Dinner being provided and dispatched, the hunter immediately proceeded to the house of Laggan, where he found a great assemblage of neighbours mourning, with great sincerity, the approaching decease of a woman whom they all had hitherto esteemed virtuous. The hunter, walking up to the sick woman’s bed in a rage, proportioned to the greatness of its cause, stripped the sick woman of all her coverings. A shriek from the now exposed witch brought all the company around her. ‘Behold,’ says he, ‘the object of your solicitude, who is nothing less than an infernal witch. To-day, she informs me, she was present at the death of the Laird of Razay, and only a few hours have elapsed since she attempted to make me share his fate. This night, however, she shall expiate her crime, by the forfeiture of her horrid life.’ Relating to the company the whole circumstances of her attack upon him, which were too well corroborated by the conclusive marks she bore on her person, the whole company were perfectly convinced of her criminality; and the customary punishment was about to be inflicted on her, when the miserable wretch addressed them as follows: ‘My ill-requited friends, spare an old acquaintance, already in the agonies of death, from any farther mortal degradation. My crimes and my folly now stare me in the face, in their true colours, while my vile and perfidious seducer, the enemy of your temporal and spiritual interests, only laughs at me in my distress; and, as a reward for my fidelity to his interest, in seducing every thing that was amiable, and in destroying every thing that was good, he is now about to consign my soul to eternal misery. Let my example be a warning to all the people of the earth to shun the fatal rock on which I have split; and as a strong inducement for them to do so, I shall atone for my iniquity to the utmost of my ability, by detailing to you the awful history of my life.’ Here the Wife of Laggan detailed at full length the way she was seduced into the service of the evil one,—all the criminal adventures in which she had been engaged, and ended with a particular account of the death of Macgillichallum of Razay, and her attack upon the hunter, and then expired.
“Meanwhile, a neighbour of the Wife of Laggan was returning home late at night from Strathdearn, where he had been upon some business, and had just entered the dreary forest of Monalea in Badenoch, when he met a woman dressed in black, who ran with great speed, and inquired of the traveller, with great agitation, how far she was distant from the church-yard of Dalarossie, and if she could be there by twelve o’clock. The traveller told her she might, if she continued to go at the same pace that she did then. She then fled alongst the road, uttering the most desponding lamentations, and the traveller continued his road to Badenoch. He had not, however, walked many miles when he met a large black dog, which travelled past him with much velocity, as if upon the scent of a track or footsteps, and soon after he met another large black dog sweeping along in the same manner. The last dog, however, was scarcely past, when he met a stout black man on a fine fleet black courser, prancing along in the same direction after the dogs. ‘Pray,’ says the rider to the traveller, ‘did you meet a woman as you came along the hill?’ The traveller replied in the affirmative. ‘And did you meet a dog soon after?’ rejoined the rider. The traveller replied he did. ‘And,’ added the rider, ‘do you think the dog will overtake her ere she can reach the church of Dalarossie?’—‘He will, at any rate, be very close upon her heels,’ answered the traveller. Each then took his own way. But before the traveller had got the length of Glenbanchar, the rider overtook him on his return, with the foresaid woman before him across the bow of his saddle, and one of the dogs fixed in her breast, and another in her thigh. ‘Where did you overtake the woman?’ inquired the traveller. ‘Just as she was entering the church-yard of Dalarossie,’ was his reply. On the traveller’s return home, he heard of the fate of the unfortunate Wife of Laggan, which soon explained the nature of the company he had met on the road. It was, no doubt, the spirit of the Wife of Laggan flying for protection from the infernal spirits, (to whom she had sold herself,) to the church-yard of Dalarossie, which is so sacred a place, that a witch is immediately dissolved from all her ties with Satan, on making a pilgrimage to it, either dead or alive. But it seems the unhappy Wife of Laggan was a stage too late.”
There is another power given to them, which is a most mischievous one, and proves the fruitful source of almost all the crimes and miseries which deluge the land,—that of sowing the seeds of discord amongst mankind in public and private life. We will say nothing of the degree of secret influence which these worthies probably enjoy in overruling the councils of our nation, and thwarting the judgment of our ministers, so as to answer their private purposes, as it would be out of our strict line of delineation. But we speak from the best authority when we say, that they are the common and secret instigators of those deplorable quarrels and divisions which sometimes happen between those who ought to be one flesh. Whenever we see a broken-hearted wife mourning over the misconduct of her husband, who, once tenderly affectionate and attentive to the discharge of his domestic duties, is now changed into the domestic tyrant and whisky-bibber, we need never hesitate for a moment to pronounce the cause to be witchcraft. And the same rule holds good in regard to the misconduct of the wife, vice versa. Behold, again, the man of sin, clothed in the garment of disgrace, that sits “girnan on the creepy.” Ask him what blind-fold infatuation could have induced him to have defiled his neighbour’s bed, and he will tell you, with a groan, it was “Buchuchd.”[F]
Nor are their operations confined to the injury of a person’s spiritual interest alone—they even descend to the lowest incidents in a man’s calling. If the reader should see a termagant of a wife raise over the caput of her poor cuckold of a husband the tongs or spurtle, demanding of him, with vehement eloquence, the cause of purchasing a horse or a cow at double its value, his answer to her will certainly be—“Me ve ar mu Buchuchd.”
Thus the ruination of our spiritual interest is not enough to satisfy their inveterate malignity,—they must likewise injure our temporal interests, which, however incomparable to the former in point of intrinsic importance, yet cause the sufferer fully as much grief. Indeed, so dearly do the most of the people of this world love their temporal means and estate, that we feel fully persuaded, that did those agents confine their operations to the injury of our spiritual interests alone, which, as Satan’s instruments, we should naturally suppose to be their proper line of business, the clamour against their ruinous and abominable practices would be much less violent than it is. This much, however, of the Highlander’s liberal disposition the sly sounding witch is intimately acquainted with, and for this very reason she redoubles her diligence to cause him all the loss in her power, as the most effectual way of completing his misery. Hence it oftens happens, that should a horse, an ox, or a cow, of unequalled symmetry and beauty, be so unlucky as to attract the favour of its affectionate owner;—by whatever means the sagacious witch discovers the secret we know not, but certain annihilation, accomplished by some means or other, will be the poor animal’s lot. Such a calamity as this is sufficiently mortifying, but it is a small one when compared to the loss of a person’s whole stock, which too frequently follows the loss of one. Having once inserted the infernal pillow into some snug corner, its influence will give the finishing stroke to all the cattle and creeping things on a farm. This pillow, not to give it a worse name, is a little four-cornered bag, packed with divers exterminating diseases, in the familiar likeness of hair, grease, parings of nails, shoe tackets, salt, powder, and other infernal knick-knacks, too tedious to be described, which, when thrown into the fire, makes a noise the like of which has seldom been heard.
No sooner is this bag deposited in a cleft in the stable or byre than it commences its destructive career, producing the death of the bestial in whole lots, until the last hen on the roost will fall a sacrifice to its deadly influence. Nor is this all; they will attach some infernal cantrips to the farming-utensils that no good crop will follow their operations, and what may escape the influence of the baggie is commonly destroyed by frost, rain, lightning, and other calamities, which the craft can produce at their pleasure, so that it is unfit for the use of man or beast. In short, of all the ills incident to the life of man, none are so formidable as witchcraft, before the combined influence of which, to use the language of an honest man who had himself severely suffered from its effects, “the great Laird of Grant himself could not stand them if they should fairly yoke upon him.”
CHAPTER V.
OF THE WITCH’S POWERS OF TRANSFORMATION.
Those of our readers who are not very well acquainted with the theory of witchcraft will not be a little surprised, at the unaccountable activity of its agents, who are capable of paying not only proper attention to their own private affairs, but likewise of carrying on almost all the business of the Evil One in this land. In order to obviate all surprise on this head, be it remembered, that they are endowed with as ample powers of transmigration (at their institution into the craft) as any other of Satan’s spiritual agents; consequently there is no similitude from their own proper likenesses to that of a cat or a stone, but they can assume at pleasure. Hence the speed and privacy with which they attain their evil ends.
One of the most ordinary disguises of a “Ban-Buchichd”[G] is the similitude of a hare. This transformation she finds exceedingly convenient while performing her cantrips in the field—bewitching farming implements—destroying corn and grass—holding communion with the sisterhood, and similar pieces of business. It enables her to execute her undertakings with greater expedition, and flee more fleetly on any emergency, than she could do in any other character.
A second is the likeness of a cat—by personating which, she procures admission to the inmost recesses of a house, to deposit her infernal machinery, without exciting the least suspicions of her real character and intentions.
A third is her transformation into a stone, which is a common practice with the witch in the season of agricultural operations, by which she is afforded great opportunities of mischief to the farmer’s interest. The wily witch will penetrate into the ground, and place herself in the line of the plough, and as it passes her she will creep in betwixt the sock and the culter. The plough is consequently expelled from the ground for a considerable space, and a “bauk” is the consequence. For these insidious and barefaced acts of iniquity, the witch, if discovered, seldom escapes with impunity. Stopping the cattle, the ploughman will take hold of the stone, bestowing upon it the most abusive and opprobrious epithets, and dashes her with all his might against the hardest substance he can find, as a mark of his hatred and contempt for her character.
A fourth is her transformation into the shape of a raven; which now in a great measure supersedes the use of her ancient and renowned hobby-horse the broom, on which she formerly walloped with such surprising velocity. This similitude is commonly assumed by her when on excursions to any distance, to attend the counsels of Satan—to hold communion with the sisterhood—or to attend some important enterprise.
The witch likewise assumes the character of a magpie on occasions of sudden emergency which require immediate conference with a number of the members of the craft. The likeness of this bird, which is of a domestic character, and fond of hopping and picking about the doors, screens the witch from suspicion, as she visits another witch’s dwelling. Hence, when a number of magpies convene together side by side on a house-top, it is no wonder that their appearance should occasionally excite suspicion. But we humbly think that mere suspicion by no means justifies that hostility of temper which in several districts the inhabitants are led to entertain against the whole race of magpies, merely because the witches sometimes assume their similitude. These suspicions are no doubt a good deal heightened by the circumstance of the poor magpie’s being a little endowed with the gift of prophecy. As a foreteller of minor events—such as the coming of visitors, the change of weather, and such-like little occurrences—the magpie has never been excelled; and notwithstanding the illiberal conduct of its human neighbours, those little qualities are always exerted by the magpie for their comfort and convenience.
On the morning of that auspicious day on which the factor, the parson, or any other of the country gentry of equal importance, is to pay a visit to the lord of the manor on which the magpie may have pitched her residence, she will approach the house, and, by her incessant chattering, announce to the inhabitants the coming of the consequential stranger. The state apartment, perhaps rather deranged, is consequently arrayed in proper order; and the necessary provisions to entertain the expected guests are timeously procured, which, but for the magpie’s generous and ill-rewarded premonition, could not perhaps be provided for the occasion.
CHAPTER VI.
SAFEGUARDS FROM WITCHCRAFT.
As witchcraft is in itself by far the greatest calamity the Highlander is subject to, so Providence, in its wise economy, has afforded him the amplest means of guarding against its effects. And if a radical remedy has not yet been discovered for the evil in all its bearings, it is only because mankind have not been equally solicitous for the discovery of it. Adverse to a murmuring discontented spirit, the Highlander is satisfied with the removal of a share of his grievances. Having obtained a knowledge of a certain remedy for those practices of the craft which weigh most heavily on his temporal interests, he is not so presumptuous as to suppose that Providence is so partial in its favours as to grant him a remedy for those that affect his immortal interests also. Satisfied with the benefits he enjoys, he is not clamorous for an extension of them, leaving the concerns of another world for a season of more convenience and leisure.
As a sovereign protection for goods and chattels of every description from the machinations of those despicable agents, the rowan cross, of invaluable excellence, has never been known to prove ineffectual. Its salutary influence on every species of supernatural agents is well known, and there are none to whom the smell of the rowan is more obnoxious than the “Ban Buchuchd.” As a proof of its efficacy, we can produce no better authority than the following affecting story:—
“There is, in the vicinity of Forres, an old decayed edifice, called ‘Castle Boorgie,’ in which once lived a rich laird, who had a beautiful daughter. Seemingly possessed of every engaging accomplishment, and apparently endowed with the most amiable disposition, she was the darling of her aged father, whose hopes and joys were wholly centered in her. One spring morning, as her father and herself were surveying the delightful prospects which the castle commanded, the immense number of ploughs at work within the compass of their vision happened to attract their attention. ‘Father,’ says this ill-fated, unconscious child, ‘do we not behold a vast number of ploughs in the widely-extended district now in our view?’—‘Yes, my love, we do,’ replied the father, ‘and it is a pleasant thing to look at them.’—‘What reward will you give me,’ added she, ‘if, by a single word, I shall cause them all stand as immoveable as if the cattle were transformed into stones?’—‘On that condition,’ replied the astonished father, ‘the most superb and costly gown in the town of Forres shall be yours.’—‘It is done,’ says the daughter. Raising her hand, she muttered an unintelligible sound, and, lo! all the ploughs in the district, with the exception of a single one, stood stock still and immoveable.—‘Indeed!’ exclaims the father, ‘you are a rare conjuror, my dear; but how is that plough in the adjacent park exempted from the magical effect of your powerful charm?’—‘The cause I can easily guess,’ says she; ‘there is, in one of the oxen’s bows, a pin of the rowan tree, the virtue of which defeats all attempts at preternatural fascination.’—‘Aye, aye,’ says he, ‘all those things are wonderfully pretty; pray who taught them to you?’—‘My old nurse taught me those fine things, and am not I greatly obliged to her, sir?’—‘You are, undoubtedly,’ he replies, ‘and she shall soon have her reward. Oh! my dear, my only child—support and comfort of my aged head—would to God you had never been born!’
“Summoning immediately a council of his friends, the broken-hearted parent revealed to them the whole circumstance, and craved their opinion as to the measures that should be adopted in this deeply-to-be-deplored case. After due consultation, the council gave it as their decided opinion, that, concluding that she was irrecoverably lost to all good in this world, the extension of her life would be only productive of eternal disgrace and infamy to her friends, while her spiritual interests would every day be destroyed by accumulating guilt. Therefore, that her life should be instantly terminated by a private death; and that the old hag, the author of her ruin, should be publicly burned under every ignominious circumstance. To this hard decision the agonised father was persuaded to assent; and a doctor was immediately dispatched for to Forres, to point out the easiest mode of taking her life. Bleeding the temporal arteries was the mode of death agreed on, and the poor innocent victim of the old hag’s depravity was introduced into a private apartment, in order to undergo the awful operation. On entering the apartment, her unhappy father burst out into a flood of tears. Observing his distress, his affectionate little daughter also fell a crying. ‘What is the matter with you, my dear father?’ says she. ‘Have you received any bad news? Oh! tell me what is the matter with you, that I may share your sorrows and dry your tears.’ Fearing that the father’s courage might naturally fail him under so signal a trial, the friends present instantly seized the astonished dear girl, bound her hand and foot, and placed her in a vat, and the surgeon inflicted on her two brows, fair and beautiful as those of an angel, the fatal wounds. As the blood flowed, the poor affrighted victim perpetually exclaimed, ‘Do not kill me, do not kill me; what have I done to offend my dearest father? I am sure I did no harm. For the sake of my dear mother, who is no more, and for whose sake you loved me so well, do not let them kill me, my dear father.’ The unhappy father sunk senseless on the floor, and his expiring child soon closed her eyes on this world, sighing, with her last breath, ‘My dearest father, do not kill me.’
“The old hag was then brought out to the lawn in front of the castle, and thrown into a huge furnace of tar and other combustibles, amidst the general execration of the assembled multitude. And it is said, that while the witch was burning, every crack she gave was as loud as the report of a war cannon.”
When, by the neglect of the prescribed safeguards, the seeds of iniquity have taken root, and a person’s means are decaying in consequence, the only alternative, in this case, is to resort to that grand remedy, the “Tein Econuch,” or “Forlorn Fire,” which seldom fails of being productive of the best effects. The cure for witchcraft, called “Tein Econuch,” is wrought in the following manner:—
A consultation being held by the unhappy sufferer and his friends as to the most advisable measures of effecting a cure, if this process is adopted, notice is privately communicated to all those householders who reside within the nearest two running streams, to extinguish their lights and fires on some appointed morning. On its being ascertained that this notice has been duly observed, a spinning-wheel, or some other convenient instrument, calculated to produce fire by friction, is set to work with the most furious earnestness by the unfortunate sufferer and all who wish well to his cause. Relieving each other by turns, they drive on with such persevering diligence, that at length the spindle of the wheel, ignited by excessive friction, emits “Forlorn Fire” in abundance, which, by the application of tow, or some other combustible material, is widely extended over the whole neighbourhood. Communicating the fire to the tow, the tow communicates it to a candle, the candle to a fir-torch, the torch to a cartful of peats, which the master of the ceremonies, with pious ejaculations for the success of the experiment, distributes to messengers, who will proceed with portions of it to the different houses within the said two running streams, to kindle the different fires. By the influence of this operation, the machinations and spells of witchcraft “are rendered null and void,” and, in the language of Scots’ law, “of no avail, force, strength, or effect, with all that has followed, or may follow thereupon.”
But should the evil prove so obstinate and deep-rooted as to triumph over this most commonly efficacious remedy, the dernier resort is an application to that arch-enemy of Satan, Mr. Grigor Willox Macgrigor, Emperor of all the Conjurors.
The name of this gentleman is well known to the inhabitants of the northern counties of Scotland, as the happy proprietor of that invaluable and wonderful relic, which the vulgar are sometimes pleased to denominate “Clach Ghrigair Willock,” alias “Clach Ban na Buchuchd,” but which, in our opinion, deserves a far more dignified, if not a more appropriate appellation. We humbly submit it should be called the Philosopher’s Stone, not so much out of compliment to its learned and elegant proprietor—although, by the bye, he is wonderfully philosophic—as out of pure justice to the stone itself; for it certainly is the best substitute for the grand object of the chemist’s research that has hitherto been discovered. If the philosopher’s stone will convert metal into gold, the “warlock’s stone” will convert water into silver by a process perhaps more round-about, but equally certain.
The history of such a precious curiosity as this would, no doubt, prove highly interesting to the “curious reader;” and the writer has to blame the shortness of his memory for not gratifying him to the utmost of his wish, Mr. Willox having more than once personally favoured him with a very eloquent account of it. Suffice it to say, that this stone was originally extorted by a very ancient ancestor of Mr. Willox from an amorous slut of a mermaid, who, unfortunately for her, happened to take a fancy to him, and no wonder, too, if he possessed in any degree the personal attractions of his lineal posterity. It happened, then, that this silly fool of a mermaid once thought it proper to throw herself in this gentleman’s way, expecting, no doubt, very different treatment from that which she experienced,—when her unnatural sweetheart, instead of offering her any endearments, most ungraciously chained her to a post, until she redeemed her liberty by this precious ransom. This was, no doubt, long, long ago, nobody knows how long, and the stone has necessarily seen many revolutions of times and masters in the course of its day. It graced for a long time the warlike standard of the brave clan Gregor, combining, as the upholsterer says, “great ornament with much utility;” for, while it served to set off not a little those splendid banners, it invariably secured their followers victory over their contending foes. It afterwards returned to the Willox family, with whom it has continued to the present day. It could not descend to a race of gentlemen who could do greater justice to its excellent qualities, and certainly the fault cannot be traced to the present proprietor, if, during his liferent use of it, the stone has lost an iota of its former celebrity.
Whatever might have been the ornamental qualities of this wonderful stone in the days of yore, it has now no great ornaments to boast of. It is a plain-looking article, strongly resembling the knob or bottom of a crystal bottle; and were it not that Mr. Willox solemnly assured us of his having been told by the great Lord Henderland himself, it must have at one time composed one of the Pleiades, we should have had much difficulty in believing it to consist of any other substance; but who could resist such respectable authority?[H] Although Mr. Willox informed us that a single collision with the ground would instantly divest it of all its wonderful virtues, the stone certainly bears ex facie marks of rough usage, and even such inauspicious accidents as coming into contact with the ground, or perhaps harder materials, in its time. However, the stone itself will tell no secrets, and on the subject of accidents of this sort it is the proprietor’s interest to be equally mute.
But whatever may be the nature and qualities of this stone, its virtues are sufficiently notorious. A single immersion of it into a hogshead of water instantaneously communicates to it such inconceivable virtue, that one drop of it is sufficient to cure the most desperate case of witchcraft in the land. Nor do the prevention and cure of witchcraft alone constitute the stone’s sole line of business;—for a valuable reward, there is no secret or calamity natural to man or beast in all this wide world, but it will reveal or prevent.—Exemple gratia: should some miserable vagabond of a thief, residing within the pale of Mr. Willox’s celebrity, be so fool-hardy as to lay his dishonest hands upon the goods or chattels of a neighbour, recovery of the goods, or at least an exposure of the thief, is the absolute consequence. The loser of the goods looks about him for his purse, and immediately proceeds to consult the Grand Oracle, Mr. Grigor Willox, as to the person who had the effrontery to steal his goods. Mr. Willox, willing to afford every information on reasonable terms, instantly produces the black stocking containing the stone, a single dip of which clearly developes the whole circumstance. After a long consultation, involving some inquiries as to suspected characters, the lynx-eyed Mr. Willox easily recognises some figures reflected on the vessel containing the water by the stone, conveying an exact representation of some old hag not very reputable for her habits, residing in the complainant’s neighbourhood; and thus all doubt is removed as to his suspicions being too well founded.
It is no subject for wonder, then, that this Great Oracle should be so highly prized and suitably encouraged. With commendable regard to the good of his beloved countrymen, Mr. Willox is in the habit of occasionally making a tour of pleasure through the counties of Inverness, Ross, and Caithness, whence, after some weeks’ absence, he returns home, with the double satisfaction of thinking, that while he has, in the course of his rambles, conferred the greatest benefit on suffering humanity, he has, at the same time, a good deal improved his own pecuniary resources. Those occasional peregrinations of this gentleman are now become absolutely necessary. Funds are not only very low in these bad times, but Mr. Willox is convinced more and more, every day he rises, of the truth of that proverb, “A prophet has no honour in his own country;” and he therefore finds it no less his interest than his duty to take a trip, as occasion suggests, to see his friends in the Duigh Tua.[I] For the most part, however, he resides at his seat of Gaulrig in Strathavon (usually called Strathdown), where, like the late Doctor Samuel Solomon, inventor and proprietor of that renovating cordial the Balm of Gilead, he may be consulted, either personally or by letter post paid, on payment of the usual compliment of a pound note. Accordingly, there are pilgrimages made to Gaulrig as well as to Gilead House. It is no rare matter for the inhabitants of both sides of the Avon to fall in with unfortunate pilgrims, whose longitude of face and decrepitude of limbs indicate the extent of their misfortunes and the length of their journey, inquiring the way for Taigh Maishter Willack.
PART VII.
Highland Festive Amusements.
Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Goldsmith.