By another account (and the person from whom it was heard was positive as to its being the only correct account) it was got by a young lad under the following circumstances. The youth was apprenticed to the miller at Bearachan on Lochawe-side. His master was unkind, and made him work more than he was fit for. One night he was up late finishing a piece of work. About midnight a gentleman, whom he did not recognize, entered the mill and accosted him kindly. Turning the conversation that ensued on the harsh conduct of the miller, the stranger promised to better the unhappy prentice’s condition if they met at the Crooked Pool (Cama-linn) in the Middle Mountain (Monadh Meadhonach) on a certain night. An assignation to that effect was made, but after the strange gentleman went away the lad got frightened, and next day told about the visitor he had. A conclave of sixteen ministers was called, and the matter was deliberated upon. As the youth had given his promise it was deemed necessary he should keep it, but he was advised to take a wand with him and at the place appointed trace a circle with it round himself, out of which he was not to move whatever temptation or terrors the stranger might bring to bear upon him. A committee of the clergy went to watch on a neighbouring eminence the result of the interview. The strange gentleman came at the appointed hour, and before giving the money promised, civilly asked the lad to write his name in a book. For this purpose the book was not handed but thrown to the youth, and he, on getting it into his possession, refused to give it up again. The strange gentleman now showed himself in his true colours. Finding remonstrances and coaxing of no avail to get the book or the lad out of the circle he got wild, and tried the effects of terror. First he became a grizzled greyhound (mial-chu riabhach), and came wildly dashing against the circle; then a roaring bull; then a flock of crows (sgaoth ròcais) sweeping above the youth, so near that the wind caused by their wings would have carried him out of the circle if he had not clung to the heather. When cock-crowing time came the devil abandoned his attempts and disappeared. The book became the Red Book of Appin, and was last in possession of the Stewarts of Invernahyle (Inbher-na h-aoile).
COMING FOR THE DYING.
A native of the neighbourhood of Oban, on his way home from Loch Awe-side, after crossing the hills and coming in above Kilmore, was joined by three strangers. He spoke to them, but received no answer. At a small public-house on the roadside he asked them in for a refreshment. They then told him they had business to attend to, and that after entering the house he was not on any account to come out or attempt to go home that night. On parting, the strangers turned off the high road by a private road leading to a neighbouring gentleman’s house. The night proved unusually stormy, and the man did not move from the inn till morning. He then heard that the gentleman, towards whose house the three mysterious strangers had gone, had died the previous evening just about the time they would have arrived there. No person in the house or neighbourhood saw anything of them.
It has been already mentioned that the devil, or his emissaries, in the shape of three ravens, waited to catch the soul of Michael Scott as soon as it left the body. A freebooter of former days, who made a house underground for his wife in Loch Con, in Lower Rannoch (Bun Raineach), that he and his men might swear he had no wife above ground, and then married another, was at his death carried away by twelve ravens.
MAKING THE DEVIL YOUR SLAVE.
Those who had the courage to perform the awful taghairm,[91] called up the devil to grant any worldly wish they might prefer; the disciples of the black art made him their obedient servant. Michael Scott, whose reputation as a magician is as great in the Highlands as in the Lowlands, made him his slave. He could call him up at any time.
In Michael’s time the people of Scotland were much confused as to the day on which Shrovetide was to be kept. One year it was early and another it was late, and they had to send every year to Rome to ascertain the time (dh’ fhaotainn fios na h-Inid). It was determined to send Michael Scott to get “word without a second telling” (fios gun ath-fhios). Michael called up the devil, converted him into a black ambling horse (fàlaire dhu), and rode away on the journey. The devil was reluctant to go on such an expedition, and was tired by the long distance. He asked Michael what the women in Scotland said when they put their children to sleep or ‘raked’ the fire (smàladh an teine) for the night. He wanted the other to mention the name of the Deity, when the charm that made himself an unwilling horse would be broken. Michael told him to ride on—“Ride you before you, you worthless wretch (marcaich thusa, bhiasd, romhad), and never mind what the women said.” They went at such a height that there was snow on Michael’s hat when he disturbed the Pope in the early morning. In the hurry the Pope came in with a lady’s slipper on his left foot. “You rode high last night, Michael,” said the Pope. Michael’s reply called attention to the Pope’s left foot. “Conceal my secret and I will conceal yours,”[92] said the Pope, and to avoid the chance of being again caught in a similar intrigue he gave Michael “the knowledge of Shrovetide,” viz., that it is always “the first Tuesday of the spring light,” i.e., of the new moon in spring.
In Skye this adventure is ascribed to ‘Parson Sir Andro of Ruig’ in that island. He is said to have started on his terrible journey from the top of the Storr Rock, a scene the wildness of which is singularly appropriate to the legend. The Storr is a hill upwards of 2000 feet high, and on its eastern side, from which the parson must have set out for Rome, is precipitous, as if the hill were half eaten away, and the weird appearance of the scene is much increased by the isolated and lofty pillars from which the hill derives its name,[93] standing in front. Not unfrequently banks of mist come rolling up against the face of the cliffs, concealing the lower grounds, and giving a person standing at the top of the precipices one of the most magnificent views it is possible to conceive. He seems to look down into bottomless space, and where the mist in its motions becomes thin and the ground appears dark through it, there is the appearance of a profounder depth, a more awful abyss. The scene gives a wildly poetical character to the legend of the redoubtable parson and his unearthly steed.
COMING MISFORTUNE.
A part of the parish of the Ross of Mull is known ecclesiastically as Kilviceuen (Cill-mhic-Eòghain, the burying-place of the son of Hugh). Its ancient church was of unhewn stone, and its last minister, previous to its being united to Kilfinichen, was named Kennedy, a native of Cantyre, an Episcopalian, in the reign of Charles II. Tradition records that he came to his death in the following manner.