Another form of the tale is that the tailor was at the aire chlaidh, i.e. watching the graveyard, of a friend, in a chapel (caibeal) when the foodless figure began to emerge from a tomb. The tailor did not run away till the figure had got up as far as the knees, and said: “Sliasaid liath reamhar,” etc.
EWEN AND THE CARLIN WIFE.
One of the commonest of Gaelic sayings is, “Whether he would or not, as the old wife came upon Ewen,” to which is frequently added, “a wife as big as his mother” (a dheòin no dh’aindeoin, mar thainig a chailleach air Eoghan, bean cho mòr ri mhathair). There are various versions of the origin of this tale, but none of them common.
The celebrated Ewen Cameron of Locheil (who is characterised by Macaulay, in his History of England, as the Ulysses of the Highlands, a gracious master, a trusty ally, and a terrible enemy), was on a journey, as the story goes, from Aberdeen to Inverness. He was at the time a young man, and on entering the inn, in which he stayed at Aberdeen, the evening before starting, he found sitting before him an old woman he had never seen before. On seeing Ewen she wrinkled up her nose, tossed her head, and said “hĭh.” Ewen, being of a witty humour, replied by wrinkling up his own nose, tossing his head, and saying “hŏh.” Next morning when starting, he found the hag waiting for him at the door. She said, “Step it out, Ewen” (Ceum ann, Eoghain!) He said nothing, but went on his way. All day the old woman walked alongside, and, whenever his steps flagged, repeated her challenge to him to step it out. Ashamed to be beat by an old woman, and agile as a wild cat, Ewen held on at a headlong pace, and before nightfall the pair were in Inverness, 108 miles away. Ewen was sadly fatigued, as may well be supposed from the distance and the pace. That night he consulted an old man, who advised him to answer the old wife’s challenge also in words, and no evil would result from his walk. Next day the hag, as before, was waiting for him at the door, and said, “Step it out, Ewen” (Ceum ann, Eoghain!) He answered: “A step for your step, and a step additional, old woman!” (Ceum air do cheum, agus ceum a bharrachd, a chailleach!) This day they walked to Patrickson Sound (Caolas ’ic Phadruig), as the ferry across Loch Leven at Balachulish is called, a distance of 75 miles. Ewen got into the ferry boat first, and pushed off from the shore. When the hag saw herself about to lose him, she called out, “My sincere wishes are yours, Ewen” (Mo dhùrachd dhut fhéin, Eoghain!) He replied: “Your sincere wishes be upon your own sides, and on yonder grey stone, old wife!” (Rùn do chridh’ air do chliathaich ’s air a chloich ghlais ud thall, a chailleach). The old wife looked at the grey stone, and it split in two, as may still be seen by any one passing that way.
Another version of the parting of Ewen and the Old Wife is, that the pair came to Ewen’s foster-mother’s house. That night his foster-mother put him to sleep on a hard deal board, and placed a crock of butter[43] to his feet, while she put the old wife in a soft and luxurious bed. In the morning Ewen was as fresh as a lark, his feet had soaked in the whole of the butter during the night, but the Carlin wife was dead!
Another, and probably older, tale of the origin of the saying, is of a wilder cast. Ewen was a jolly young fellow (óganach grinn) who went to a wedding. He had a switch in his hand, with which, when the ceremony was being performed in the church, he tapped a skull in the church window, saying to it every word the minister said to the couple marrying. That night on going to bed he was seized by a shivering cold, and an old woman (cailleach) came and claimed him as her husband. She said, they were married as surely as the couple in church that day. She came night after night, and Ewen, whose thoughtless fun had turned to such terrible earnestness, could not get rid of her, do what he could. An old man, whom he consulted, said, there was a bad chance of her going away while he lived, but that he ought to consult Michael Scott. Michael said, “I will separate you from her, but perhaps you will not live after. Here is a book, which you are to take to bed with you, and when she goes away, open the book, and follow her wherever she goes. While the book is open, she cannot leave you by walking. Before you come back, you will see the bed prepared for me, and will be able to tell me what it is like.” The hag went to hell, and Ewen followed.[44] Several subordinate demons came first to the door, but Ewen demanded an interview with their chief. He then requested, that the old wife should be bound with chains, to keep her always in her infernal abode. This was done, but when he offered to go away, she followed. She was then put below a caldron (fo bhial coire) on the bed of brimstone prepared for Michael Scott, and she is probably there still. Ewen came back to tell Michael, that his bed was ready, and did not live long after his terrible adventure.
THE BLACK WALKER OF THE FORD.
Rather more than a century ago,[45] there lived at Amhulaich, in Rannoch, a miller, much addicted to the use of tobacco, and when unable to get it, was like most smokers very short and quick in the temper. On one occasion, he ran out of tobacco, and sent for a supply by some Lochaber men, who were passing through Rannoch on their way to Perth. The mill-stream ran close to his house, and he had to cross it on stepping stones in going to and from the mill. As he was returning home one evening in the dusk, and was about to enter the house, he heard the sound of footsteps coming to the ford. He called out, who is there? but received no answer. Being crusty for want of tobacco, and thinking it might be the Lochaber men returning, he called out a second time, very peremptorily and impatiently. He still received no answer. He called out a third time, turning down to the ford, and saying aloud, that, whether it was man or devil, he would make it answer. The thing then spoke, and said it (or he) was the Black Walker of the Ford (Coisiche du beul an àth). What further passed between the two never transpired, but every evening after that, for a year or more, the miller left home at dusk, crossed the stream, and went to a small clump of trees about half a mile away, whence loud cries and yells were heard during the night. Before daybreak he came home, with his knife or dirk covered with blood. When examined by the light, the blood proved to be merely earth. An attempt was made on one occasion by some young men to follow him to the rendezvous, but he became aware in some mysterious way of the attempt, and turning back warned them not to follow. It was enough, he said, for himself to go, without their perilling their souls. On the last night of his going to meet the Black Walker, such terrific outcries were heard from the clump of trees, that the people of the neighbouring villages, Amhulaich and Cragganoür, came to the doors to listen. It was a winter night, and next morning marks of a foot or knee were found in the snow, along with the miller’s own footsteps, as if something had been engaged in a struggle with him. Some years after this, a man, who had been away in America, entered Amhulaich Mill. The miller at the time was dressing the mill-stone, and whenever he observed the American, threw at him the pick he had in his hand, and nearly killed another, who was standing near. He told him never to appear in his presence again, that he had had enough of him. Many surmised it was this man, who had troubled him before, but whether it was or not never appeared.
STROWAN, ATHOLE.
Within the present century, a native of Glen Erochty (Gleann Eireachdaidh), the valley that leads from Athole to Rannoch, was similarly afflicted. Every evening he went to meet the evil spirit, at a small circle of trees, on the top of the hill above the clachan of Strowan. The last occasion of his doing so, was after the shinty playing on New-Year’s day. He took with him a large stick, which had been cut that same day in the wood, and had served one of the players for a shinty stick. Next day this stick was found at the scene of the nightly meetings, twisted like a withe, while all round within a circle the snow was trampled, as if there had been a struggle. There were marks of a man’s foot and of a knee.