The witch likewise assumes the character of a magpie on occasions of sudden emergency which require immediate conference with a number of the members of the craft. The likeness of this bird, which is of a domestic character, and fond of hopping and picking about the doors, screens the witch from suspicion, as she visits another witch’s dwelling. Hence, when a number of magpies convene together side by side on a house-top, it is no wonder that their appearance should occasionally excite suspicion. But we humbly think that mere suspicion by no means justifies that hostility of temper which in several districts the inhabitants are led to entertain against the whole race of magpies, merely because the witches sometimes assume their similitude. These suspicions are no doubt a good deal heightened by the circumstance of the poor magpie’s being a little endowed with the gift of prophecy. As a foreteller of minor events—such as the coming of visitors, the change of weather, and such-like little occurrences—the magpie has never been excelled; and notwithstanding the illiberal conduct of its human neighbours, those little qualities are always exerted by the magpie for their comfort and convenience.
On the morning of that auspicious day on which the factor, the parson, or any other of the country gentry of equal importance, is to pay a visit to the lord of the manor on which the magpie may have pitched her residence, she will approach the house, and, by her incessant chattering, announce to the inhabitants the coming of the consequential stranger. The state apartment, perhaps rather deranged, is consequently arrayed in proper order; and the necessary provisions to entertain the expected guests are timeously procured, which, but for the magpie’s generous and ill-rewarded premonition, could not perhaps be provided for the occasion.
CHAPTER VI.
SAFEGUARDS FROM WITCHCRAFT.
As witchcraft is in itself by far the greatest calamity the Highlander is subject to, so Providence, in its wise economy, has afforded him the amplest means of guarding against its effects. And if a radical remedy has not yet been discovered for the evil in all its bearings, it is only because mankind have not been equally solicitous for the discovery of it. Adverse to a murmuring discontented spirit, the Highlander is satisfied with the removal of a share of his grievances. Having obtained a knowledge of a certain remedy for those practices of the craft which weigh most heavily on his temporal interests, he is not so presumptuous as to suppose that Providence is so partial in its favours as to grant him a remedy for those that affect his immortal interests also. Satisfied with the benefits he enjoys, he is not clamorous for an extension of them, leaving the concerns of another world for a season of more convenience and leisure.
As a sovereign protection for goods and chattels of every description from the machinations of those despicable agents, the rowan cross, of invaluable excellence, has never been known to prove ineffectual. Its salutary influence on every species of supernatural agents is well known, and there are none to whom the smell of the rowan is more obnoxious than the “Ban Buchuchd.” As a proof of its efficacy, we can produce no better authority than the following affecting story:—
“There is, in the vicinity of Forres, an old decayed edifice, called ‘Castle Boorgie,’ in which once lived a rich laird, who had a beautiful daughter. Seemingly possessed of every engaging accomplishment, and apparently endowed with the most amiable disposition, she was the darling of her aged father, whose hopes and joys were wholly centered in her. One spring morning, as her father and herself were surveying the delightful prospects which the castle commanded, the immense number of ploughs at work within the compass of their vision happened to attract their attention. ‘Father,’ says this ill-fated, unconscious child, ‘do we not behold a vast number of ploughs in the widely-extended district now in our view?’—‘Yes, my love, we do,’ replied the father, ‘and it is a pleasant thing to look at them.’—‘What reward will you give me,’ added she, ‘if, by a single word, I shall cause them all stand as immoveable as if the cattle were transformed into stones?’—‘On that condition,’ replied the astonished father, ‘the most superb and costly gown in the town of Forres shall be yours.’—‘It is done,’ says the daughter. Raising her hand, she muttered an unintelligible sound, and, lo! all the ploughs in the district, with the exception of a single one, stood stock still and immoveable.—‘Indeed!’ exclaims the father, ‘you are a rare conjuror, my dear; but how is that plough in the adjacent park exempted from the magical effect of your powerful charm?’—‘The cause I can easily guess,’ says she; ‘there is, in one of the oxen’s bows, a pin of the rowan tree, the virtue of which defeats all attempts at preternatural fascination.’—‘Aye, aye,’ says he, ‘all those things are wonderfully pretty; pray who taught them to you?’—‘My old nurse taught me those fine things, and am not I greatly obliged to her, sir?’—‘You are, undoubtedly,’ he replies, ‘and she shall soon have her reward. Oh! my dear, my only child—support and comfort of my aged head—would to God you had never been born!’
“Summoning immediately a council of his friends, the broken-hearted parent revealed to them the whole circumstance, and craved their opinion as to the measures that should be adopted in this deeply-to-be-deplored case. After due consultation, the council gave it as their decided opinion, that, concluding that she was irrecoverably lost to all good in this world, the extension of her life would be only productive of eternal disgrace and infamy to her friends, while her spiritual interests would every day be destroyed by accumulating guilt. Therefore, that her life should be instantly terminated by a private death; and that the old hag, the author of her ruin, should be publicly burned under every ignominious circumstance. To this hard decision the agonised father was persuaded to assent; and a doctor was immediately dispatched for to Forres, to point out the easiest mode of taking her life. Bleeding the temporal arteries was the mode of death agreed on, and the poor innocent victim of the old hag’s depravity was introduced into a private apartment, in order to undergo the awful operation. On entering the apartment, her unhappy father burst out into a flood of tears. Observing his distress, his affectionate little daughter also fell a crying. ‘What is the matter with you, my dear father?’ says she. ‘Have you received any bad news? Oh! tell me what is the matter with you, that I may share your sorrows and dry your tears.’ Fearing that the father’s courage might naturally fail him under so signal a trial, the friends present instantly seized the astonished dear girl, bound her hand and foot, and placed her in a vat, and the surgeon inflicted on her two brows, fair and beautiful as those of an angel, the fatal wounds. As the blood flowed, the poor affrighted victim perpetually exclaimed, ‘Do not kill me, do not kill me; what have I done to offend my dearest father? I am sure I did no harm. For the sake of my dear mother, who is no more, and for whose sake you loved me so well, do not let them kill me, my dear father.’ The unhappy father sunk senseless on the floor, and his expiring child soon closed her eyes on this world, sighing, with her last breath, ‘My dearest father, do not kill me.’
“The old hag was then brought out to the lawn in front of the castle, and thrown into a huge furnace of tar and other combustibles, amidst the general execration of the assembled multitude. And it is said, that while the witch was burning, every crack she gave was as loud as the report of a war cannon.”
When, by the neglect of the prescribed safeguards, the seeds of iniquity have taken root, and a person’s means are decaying in consequence, the only alternative, in this case, is to resort to that grand remedy, the “Tein Econuch,” or “Forlorn Fire,” which seldom fails of being productive of the best effects. The cure for witchcraft, called “Tein Econuch,” is wrought in the following manner:—
A consultation being held by the unhappy sufferer and his friends as to the most advisable measures of effecting a cure, if this process is adopted, notice is privately communicated to all those householders who reside within the nearest two running streams, to extinguish their lights and fires on some appointed morning. On its being ascertained that this notice has been duly observed, a spinning-wheel, or some other convenient instrument, calculated to produce fire by friction, is set to work with the most furious earnestness by the unfortunate sufferer and all who wish well to his cause. Relieving each other by turns, they drive on with such persevering diligence, that at length the spindle of the wheel, ignited by excessive friction, emits “Forlorn Fire” in abundance, which, by the application of tow, or some other combustible material, is widely extended over the whole neighbourhood. Communicating the fire to the tow, the tow communicates it to a candle, the candle to a fir-torch, the torch to a cartful of peats, which the master of the ceremonies, with pious ejaculations for the success of the experiment, distributes to messengers, who will proceed with portions of it to the different houses within the said two running streams, to kindle the different fires. By the influence of this operation, the machinations and spells of witchcraft “are rendered null and void,” and, in the language of Scots’ law, “of no avail, force, strength, or effect, with all that has followed, or may follow thereupon.”