THE UNEARTHLY WHISTLE.
About seventy years ago, a young man, a native of the village of Cornaig, in Tiree, went in the evening to another village, Cruaidh-ghortain, about two miles distant. When he reached it, he reclined on a bed, and being tired fell fast asleep. He awoke with a start, and thinking from the clearness of the night (it was full moon) daylight had come, hurried off home. His way lay across a desolate moor, called the Yellow Ridge (Druim Buidhe), and when halfway he heard a loud whistle behind him, but in a different direction from that in which he had come, at a distance, as he thought, of above a mile. The whistle was so unearthly loud, he thought every person in the island must have heard it. He hurried on, and when opposite the Sharp-pointed Rock (An Carragh biorach) he heard the whistle again, as if at the place where he himself had been when he heard it first. The whistle was so clear and loud, that it sent a shiver through his very marrow. With a beating heart he quickened his pace, and when at the gateway adjoining the village he belonged to, he heard the whistle at the Pointed Rock. He here made off the road, and managed to reach home before being overtaken. He rushed into the barn, where he usually slept, and, after one look towards the door at his pursuer, buried himself below a pile of corn. His brother was in a bed in the same barn asleep. His father was in the house, and three times, with an interval between each call, heard a voice at the door saying, “Are you asleep? Will you not go to look at your son? He is in danger of his life, and in risk of all he is worth” (an geall na’s fhiach e). Each call became more importunate, and at last the old man rose and went to the barn. After a search he found his son below a pile of sheaves, and nearly dead. The only account the young man could give was, that when he stood at the door, he could see the sky between the legs of his pursuer, who came to the door and said it was fortunate for him he had reached shelter; and that he (the pursuer) was such a one who had been killed in the Field of Birds (Blàr nam Big-ein) in the Moas, a part of Tiree near hand.
In its main outline, this tale may be correct enough. A hideous nightmare or terror had made the fatigued young man hide himself under the corn, and things as strange have happened, in the history of nervous delusions, as that he should have gone himself to the door of the dwelling house to call his father.
THE BATTLE OF GAURA.
This was the battle in which Cairbre and Oscar, the son of Ossian, were killed. It was fought in Ireland about the fifth century, and from the poem or ballad, in which Ossian describes the battle and the circumstances of his son’s death, and which is still extant in popular tradition, has always been the most celebrated of Celtic battles. Macpherson has worked up the popular accounts in the first Book of Temora, but not very successfully.
One night a little man, of the name of Campbell, was going home from the smithy, with the ploughshare and coulter on his shoulder, and in a narrow glen encountered a gigantic figure, that stood with a foot resting on each side of the valley. This figure asked him, “What is your name?” He answered boldly (as became one of the clan), “Campbell.” It then asked, “Were you at the Battle of Gaura?” He answered “Yes.” “Show me your hand, then, that I may know if you were at the Battle of Gaura.” Instead of his hand, Campbell held out the ploughshare and coulter, and the figure grasped them so tightly, that they were welded together and had to be taken back to the smithy, to be separated. “I see,” said the apparition, “that you were at the Battle of Gaura, for your hand is pretty hard.”
Two men were during the night on their way, it is said, to steal sheep. One beguiled the way by telling the other about the Battle of Gaura. Two figures of immense size appeared, one on the top of each of two high hills in the neighbourhood. The gigantic apparitions spoke to each other, and one said, “Do you hear these men down there? I was the second best hero (ursainn chath, lit. door-post of battle) at the Battle of Gaura, and that man down there knows all about it better than I do myself.”
THE BEAST OF ODAL PASS.
From Kyle-rhea (Caol-Redhinn), the narrowest part of the Sound of Skye, the Pass of Odal stretches westward and forms one of the most striking Pass views in the Highlands. It was through it, that the first public road was made in Skye, about sixty years ago. At the time it was being made, the Pass was haunted by “something” awful—the more awful that its character was not distinctly known,—that enjoyed an evil reputation far and wide as “The Beast of Odal Pass” (Biasd Bealach Odail). This thing, whatever it was, did not always appear in the same shape. Sometimes it bore the form of a man, sometimes of a man with only one leg; at other times it appeared like a greyhound, or beast prowling about; and sometimes it was heard uttering frightful shrieks and outcries, which made the workmen leave their bothies in horror. It was only during the night it was seen or heard. Travellers through the Pass at night were often thrown down and hurt by it, and with difficulty made their way to a place of safety. It ceased when a man was found dead at the roadside, pierced with two wounds one on his side and one on his leg, with a hand pressed on each wound. It was considered impossible these wounds could have been inflicted by human agency.