“To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,
Oft have they seen fate give the fatal blow!
The sea, in Skye, shrieked as the blood did flow,
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay!
As Boreas threw his young Aurora forth,
In the first year of the first George’s reign,
And battles raged in welkin of the North,
They mourned in air, fell, fell rebellion slain!
And as, of late, they joyed in Preston’s fight,
Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crowned!
They raved, divining through their second sight,
Pale-red Culloden where these hopes were drowned.”
This same power of second sight forms the groundwork of Campbell’s poem of “Lochiel’s Warning,” in which the poet represents the aged seer or soothsayer in the act of warning the ferocious Highland chieftain against the consequences of joining Prince Charles Edward’s expedition of the ’45:—
“Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array.
The sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before!”
A curious superstition respecting “the non-giving of fire” lingers still in some parts of Scotland, more particularly in the North, and seems to be connected with the old sun-worship: a survival of the Pagan past which is strange enough in this matter-of-fact and prosaic Present of ours. “At Craigmillar, near Edinburgh, a woman, not long ago, refused to give a neighbour ‘a bit peat’ to light her fire, because she was supposed to be uncanny. The old woman muttered, as she turned away, that her churlish neighbour might yet repent of her unkindness. This speech the other repeated to her husband on his return from work, whereupon he went straight to the old woman’s house, and gave her a sharp cut on the forehead, for which he was duly called to account, and pleaded his belief that scoring the witch above the breath would destroy her glamour.”
On certain days, such as Beltane (or S. John’s Eve,) Midsummer, Halloween, and New Year’s Day, it is regarded as most unlucky to allow a neighbour to take a brand from your hearth, or even to light his pipe.
Evil-disposed persons, desirous of doing their neighbours an ill turn, will apply to them for “a kindling.” Thus, in Ross-shire, an old beldame repaired to a neighbour’s house with this intent. There was only a child of eight years old at home, but she was thoroughly acquainted with the popular superstition, and stoutly refused the applicant tinder, match, or lighted stick. When the old woman had departed, the girl fetched two friends, who straightway followed her home, to find there a blazing fire and a boiling pot. “See you,” exclaimed the lassie, “gin the cailliach had gotten the kindling, my father would not get a herring this year.”
A poor tinker’s wife walked one morning into a house in Applecross—this was as late as July, 1868—and snatched a live peat from the hearth to kindle her own fire. Before she had gone any distance, she was observed, and the gudewife sped after her, overtook her, and snatched away her prize. To a stranger who remonstrated with her for the unkindness, the gudewife exclaimed, “Do you think I am to allow my cow to be dried up? If I allowed her to carry away the fire, I would not have a drop of milk to-night to wet the bairns’ mouths.” And she flung the peat into a pail of water in order to undo the evil charm so far as possible.
Allusions to this “non-giving of fire” abound in the old legends, but a single illustration will suffice. Of old two brother giants, Akin and Rhea, who dwelt on the Scottish mainland, were wont to pay frequent visits to the Isle of Skye by leaping across the Straits. They reared for themselves two strong towers in the Glenelg country, and there they lived in peace and good fellowship, until one day, the younger brother, returning from one of his excursions, found his hearth dark and cheerless, and passed on therefore, to his brother’s castle. Stirring the smouldering fire into a hearty blaze, he warmed himself luxuriously, and then returned to his own tower, carrying with him a burning peat. Unhappily, at this moment, his elder brother came in from the chase, and discovering the theft, broke out into a violent passion. Off sped the culprit, and after him went his brother, hurling rock after rock in his rage, until he perceived that further pursuit was useless. The truth of this story is attested by the boulders which to this day lie strewn all over the valley-side.
A survival of the old Paganism is, undoubtedly, this apprehension of ill-luck connected with the giving or stealing of fire; and it recalls to us the days when every mountain-peak was as an altar raised to Baal, and Sun and Moon were worshipped with solemn mysterious rites. On the great Fire-festival the priests kindled fire by friction, and the people carried it to their cottages, where it was kept alive all round the year and extinguished only when a new supply was ready. “As the purchase of the fire was a source of profit to the priests, it would naturally be considered criminal for one neighbour to give it to another at the seasons when every man was bound to purchase it for himself. Of course, though the old customs are still retained, their original meaning is utterly forgotten; and the man who throws a live peat after a woman who is about to increase the population, or he who on Halloween throws a lighted brand over his own shoulder without looking at whom he aims, little dreams whence sprang these time-honoured games.” It is said that in many parts of the remote glens of Perthshire there are women still living who on Beltane morn always throw ashes and a live peat over their heads, repeating a certain formula of words to bring them back. But the strictest secrecy is observed, lest such practices should reach the ear of “the minister:” so the stronger their belief, the less willing are they to confess to any knowledge of such matters.
We cannot pass from this subject without an allusion to the Fire-Churn or Need-Fire, which is held a sovereign charm against cattle-plague. When in a Highland district an invasion of murrain was apprehended, a small shanty or hut was erected near loch or river, and in it were placed various wooden posts, vertical and horizontal: the horizontal were provided with several spokes, and being rapidly turned round against the upright, quickly generated a flame by the friction. Then all other fires upon the farm were extinguished, to be re-lighted from the Need-fire, which all the cattle were afterwards made to smell, until the charm was complete.