Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs

by James M. Mackinlay

MacCulloch, the author of “A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland,” found the belief in the water-bull a living faith among the people, notably among the dwellers beside Loch Rannoch and Loch Awe. He tells of a farmer who employed his sons to search a certain stream for one of these creatures, while the farmer himself carried a gun loaded with sixpences to be discharged when the monster appeared, silver alone having any effect on such beasts. The same writer, when speaking of the grandeur of the scenery about Loch Coruisk, remarks:—“It is not surprising that Coruisk should be considered by the natives as the haunt of the water-goblin or of spirits still more dreadful. A seaman, and a bold one, whom, on one occasion, I had left in charge of the boat, became so much terrified at finding himself alone that he ran off to join his comrades, leaving it moored to the rock, though in danger of being destroyed by the surge. I afterwards overheard much discussion on the courage of the Southron in making the circuit of the valley unattended. Not returning till it was nearly dark, it was concluded that he had fallen into the fangs of the kelpy.” MacCulloch’s “Description” consists of a series of letters to Sir Walter Scott. Sir Walter himself has an interesting reference to the same superstition in his “Journal,” under date November 23rd, 1827. After enumerating the company at a certain dinner party at which he had been present, he continues: “Clanronald told us, as an instance of Highland credulity, that a set of his kinsmen—Borradale and others—believing that the fabulous ‘water-cow’ inhabited a small lake near his house, resolved to drag the monster into day. With this view they bivouacked by the side of the lake in which they placed, by way of night-bait, two small anchors such as belong to boats, each baited with the carcase of a dog slain for the purpose. They expected the ‘water-cow’ would gorge on this bait, and were prepared to drag her ashore the next morning, when, to their confusion of face, the baits were found untouched. It is something too late in the day for setting baits for water-cows.” If such conduct seemed wonderful in 1827, what would the author of “Waverley” have thought had he known that more than half-a-century later, people in the Highlands retained a thorough-going belief in such monsters? No longer ago than 1884 rumours were current in Ross-shire that a water-cow was seen in or near a loch on the Greenstone Point, in Gairloch parish. Mr. J. H. Dixon, in his “Gairloch,” states that about 1840 a water-cow was believed to inhabit Loch-na-Beiste, in the same parish, and that a serious attempt was then made to destroy the creature. The proprietor tried to drain the loch, which, except at one point, is little more than a fathom in depth; but when his efforts failed he threw a quantity of quicklime into the water to poison the monster. It is reasonable to hold that the trout were the only sufferers. The creature in question was described by two men who saw it as in appearance like “a good sized boat with the keel turned up.” Belief in the existence of water-cows prevailed in the south as well as in the north of Scotland. In the Yarrow district there was one inhabiting St. Mary’s Loch. Concerning this water-cow, Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, writes: “A farmer in Bowerhope once got a breed of her, which he kept for many years until they multiplied exceedingly; and he never had any cattle throve so well, until once, on some outrage or disrespect on the farmer’s part towards them, the old dam came out of the lake one pleasant March evening and gave such a roar that all the surrounding hills shook again, upon which her progeny, nineteen in number, followed her all quietly into the loch, and were never more seen.”

In the Isle of Man the water-bull was, and perhaps still is believed in by the peasantry. It is called in Manx, tarroo-ushtey. There is much force in Mr. Campbell’s conclusion that the old Celts reverenced a destroying water-god, to whom the horse was sacred, or who assumed the form of a horse. A similar notion may have originated the belief in the water-bull.

Other creatures, besides those already mentioned, acted in the capacity of water spirits. In Strathmartin, in Forfarshire, is a spring styled the Nine Maidens’ Well. These maidens were the daughters of a certain Donewalde or Donald in the eighth century, and led, along with their father, a saintly life in the glen of Ogilvy in the same county. Their spring at Strathmartin must have been well looked after, for it had as its guardian, no less formidable a creature than a dragon. We do not know whether there was any St. George in the vicinity to dispute possession with the monster. In Kildonan parish, Sutherland, a stagnant pool of water, some ten yards long by three broad, was regarded by the inhabitants with superstitious dread. According to tradition, a pot of gold lay hidden below; but no one could reach the treasure as it was guarded by a large black dog with two heads. The Rev. Donald Sage, when noticing this superstition in his “Memorabilia Domestica,” remarks, “It is said that a tenant once had attempted to drain the loch and had succeeded, so that the water was all carried off. The only remuneration the unfortunate agriculturist received was to be aroused from his midnight slumbers by a visit from the black dog, which set up such a hideous howl as made the hills reverberate and the poor man almost die with fright. Furthermore, with this diabolical music, he was regularly serenaded at the midnight hour till he had filled up the drain, and the loch had resumed its former dimensions.” We do not know whether any later attempt was made to abolish the stagnant pool; but at any rate a dread of the black dog kept it from being again drained till well on in the present century. Sutherland, however, cannot claim a monopoly in the matter of a guardian spirit in the shape of a dog. Concerning Hound’s Pool in Dean Combe parish, Devon, the tradition is that it is haunted by a hound doomed to keep guard till the pool can be emptied by a nutshell with a hole in it. Readers of “Peveril of the Peak” can hardly fail to remember the Moddey Dhoo—the black demon-dog—that roamed through Peel Castle, in the Isle of Man. St. Michael’s Well in Kirkmichael parish, Banffshire, had for its guardian spirit a much smaller animal than any of the above. It showed itself in the form of a fly that kept skimming over the surface of the water. This fly was believed to be immortal. Towards the end of last century the spring lost its reputation for its cures, and the guardian spirit shared in its neglect. The writer of the article on the parish, in the “Old Statistical Account of Scotland,” mentions having met an old man who greatly deplored the degeneracy of the times. A glowing picture is given of this old man’s desires. “If the infirmities of years and the distance of his residence did not prevent him, he would still pay his devotional visits to the well of St. Michael. He would clear the bed of its ooze, opening a passage for the streamlet, plant the borders with fragrant flowers, and once more, as in the days of youth, enjoy the pleasure of seeing the guardian fly skim in sportive circles over the bubbling waves, and with its little proboscis imbibe the panacean dews.”

Consecrated fish have been reverenced, from of old, in East and West alike. In Syria, at the present day, such fish are preserved in fountains; and anciently certain pools in the stream, flowing past Ascalon, were the abodes of fish sacred to Derketo, the Phœnician Venus, who had a temple there. In our own land the same cult prevailed. A curious Cornish legend tells how St. Neot had his well stocked with fish by an angel. These fish were always two in number. Day by day, the saint had one for dinner, and its place was miraculously supplied to keep up the proper number. One day he fell sick, and his servant, contrary to all ascetic precedent, cooked both and set them before his master. The saint was horrified, and had both the fish—cooked though they were—put back into the spring. He sought forgiveness for the rash act, and lo! the fish became alive once more; and as a further sign that the sacrilege was condoned, St. Neot, on eating his usual daily portion, was at once restored to health. In Scotland there were various springs containing consecrated fish. Loch Siant, in the Isle of Skye, described by MacCulloch as “the haunt of the gentler spirits of air and water,” abounded in trout; but, as Martin informs us, neither the natives nor strangers ever dared to kill any of them on account of the esteem in which the water was held. This superstition seems to have been specially cherished in the island, for Martin further says, “I saw a little well in Kilbride, in the south of Skie, with one Trout only in it; the natives are very tender of it, and though they often chance to catch it in their wooden pales, they are very careful to preserve it from being destroyed; it has been there for many years.” In a well near the church of Kilmore, in Lorne, were two fishes held in much respect in the seventeenth century, and called by the people of the district, Easg Seant, i.e., holie fishes. From Dalyell’s “Darker Superstitions of Scotland” we learn that, like those belonging to St. Neot, they were always two in number: they never varied in size: in colour they were black, and according to the testimony of the most aged persons their hue never altered. In Tober Kieran, near Kells, County Meath, Ireland, were two miraculous trout which never changed their appearance. A Strathdon legend, narrated by the Rev. Dr. Gregor, thus accounts for the appearance of fish in Tobar Vachar, i.e., St. Machar’s Well, at Corgarff, a spring formerly held in high honour on account of its cures:—“Once there was a famine in the district, and not a few were dying of hunger. The priest’s house stood not far from the well. One day, during the famine, his housekeeper came to him and told him that their stock of food was exhausted, and that there was no more to be got in the district. The priest left the house, went to the well, and cried to St. Machar for help. On his return he told the servant to go to the well the next morning at sunrise, walk three times round it, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, without looking into it, and draw from it a draught of water for him. She carried out the request. On stooping down to draw the water, she saw three fine salmon swimming in the well. They were caught, and served the two as food, till supply came to the famine-stricken district from other quarters.” According to a Herefordshire tradition, a fish with a golden chain round it was caught in the river Dore, and was afterwards kept in the spring whence the river flows. At Peterchurch, in that county, is a sculptured stone bearing a rude representation of the fish in question.

Sometimes the guardian spirit of a loch or well was thought of in the vaguest possible way. In that case the genius loci had neither name nor shape of any kind, the leaving of an offering being the only recognition of his existence. Occasionally the presiding spirit was pictured in the popular imagination in the guise of a demon, commonly with a hazy personality. Callow Pit, in Norfolk, was believed to contain a treasure-chest guarded by such a being. On one occasion an attempt to raise the chest was made, and was on the verge of being successful, when one of the treasure-hunters defied the devil to get his own again. Suddenly the chest was snatched down into the pit, and the ring, attached to the lid, alone remained to tell its tale. This ring was afterwards fixed to the door of Southwood Church. At Wavertree, in Lancashire, once stood a monastery and beside it was a well. When pilgrims arrived, the occupants of the monastery received their alms. If nothing was given, a demon, chained to the bottom of the well, was said to laugh. This notion was either originated or perpetuated by a fifteenth century Latin inscription to this effect, “Qui non dat quad habet. Daemon infra ridet.” When wells were dedicated to Christian saints, the latter were usually considered the guardians of the sacred water. This was natural enough. If, for instance, St. Michael was supposed to watch over a spring, why should not his aid have been sought in connection with any wished-for cure? It is interesting, however, to note that this was not so in every instance. In many cases the favourite, because favourable time for visiting a sacred spring, was not the festival of the saint to whom it was dedicated, but, as we shall see hereafter, a day quite distinct from such festival. Petitions, too, were frequently addressed not to the saint of the well, but to some being with a character possessing fewer Christian attributes. All this points to the fact that the origin of well-worship is to be sought, not in the legends of mediæval Christianity, but in the crude fancies of an earlier paganism.

CHAPTER XII.

Offerings at Lochs and Springs.

Votive Offerings—Gifts usually of Small Value—Toubir-nim-buadh—Rumbling Well—Heath—Rags—St. Wallach’s Bath—Pins at St. Wallach’s Well—Luckiness of Things Crooked—Pins Rising in Wells—Tobar-na-Glas-a-Coille—Lix Well—Pebbles—Coins—St. Jergon’s Well—Silver Wells—Brass Well—Well at Avoch Castle—Introduction of Loch Katrine Water into Glasgow—Some Glasgow Springs—St. Thenew’s Well—St. Winifred’s Well—Dr. Patrick Anderson—Offerings in France—Gifts in Consecrated Buildings—Philosophy of Votive Offerings—Infection in Folklore—Safety of Offerings—Transference of Disease—Results of Theft of Offerings—Pennies in Holy Loch—Money in Clach-nan-Sul—Well-Dressing—Not Found in Scotland—Festival at Tissington—Roman and English Fontinalia—Royal Oak-Day at Endon.

Offerings at lochs and springs have been incidentally mentioned more than once, but the subject is one deserving separate treatment. Wells were not merely so much water, with stones and turf round them, and lochs, sheets of water, encompassed by moorland or forest. They were, as we have seen, the haunts of spirits, propitious if remembered, but resentful if neglected. Hence no one thought it proper to come to them empty-handed. The principle was, no gift, no cure. Classical literature contains allusions to such votive offerings. Numa sacrificed a sheep to a fountain, and Horace promised to offer to his sweet Bandusian spring a kid not without flowers. Near Toulouse, in France, was a sacred lake, into whose water the neighbouring tribes anciently threw offerings of gold and silver. In our own country, the gifts were, as a rule, of small intrinsic value. When speaking of Toubir-nim-buadh, in St. Kilda, Macaulay says:—“Near the fountain stood an altar on which the distressed votaries laid down their oblations. Before they could touch the sacred water with any prospect of success, it was their constant practice to address the genius of the place with supplication and prayer. No one approached him with empty hands. But the devotees were abundantly frugal. The offerings, presented by them, were the poorest acknowledgments that could be made to a superior being, from whom they had either hopes or fears. Shells and pebbles, rags of linen, or stuffs worn out, pins, needles, or rusty nails, were generally all the tribute that was paid; and sometimes, though rarely enough, copper coins of the smallest value.” The appearance of this well is thus described by the author of “Ecclesiological Notes”:—“A low square-shaped massy stone building with a stone roof, covers the spring, which, after forming a pool in the floor of the cell, runs down the russet slope like a thread of silver to join the stream in the valley.”