‘Things can’t be left like that,’ said he. ‘I’ll find out who lives there.’
‘Please don’t go,’ she begged him.
But he went to the castle, and a little old woman met him at the door.
‘Welcome, fisherman’s son,’ said she. ‘I’m pleased to see you. Come in and rest.’
He went, but she struck him on the back, and he fell dead.
Now, far away in the fisherman’s house, they had seen the first tree planted from the mermaid’s grains withering. The second son said that his elder brother must be dead. He swore he would go and find out where his brother lay. He mounted his black horse and, with his black dog by his side, followed his brother’s footsteps to the King’s castle.
He was so like his elder brother that the King at first thought he was the Princess’s husband. When he was told what had happened to his brother, he went to the little castle by the loch and, just as it had happened to his elder brother, so it happened to him. With one blow the old woman stretched him out dead.
When the youngest brother saw the second tree behind the house begin to wither, he decided to find out how death had come to his two brothers. He mounted his black horse and followed his black dog to the King’s castle.
The King was pleased to see him and told him all that had happened to his two brothers. At first he was not allowed to go to the castle by the loch. At last he went, and was met by the old woman.
‘Welcome, fisherman’s son,’ said she. ‘I’m pleased to see you. Come in and rest.’
‘Go in before me, old woman,’ said he. ‘Go in, and let me hear what you have to say.’
The old woman went on. He drew his sword and cut off her head. But the sword flew out of his hand. The old woman caught her head with both hands, and stuck it on again. The black dog sprang at her, but she struck the dog a blow with her magic club, and there he lay.
The youngest brother caught the old carlin, seized her magic club, and struck her one blow on the top of her head. She fell down dead.
He saw his brothers lying side by side. He touched each of them with the magic club, and they sprang to their feet, alive and well. Then he touched the black dog with the magic club, and up he jumped. They found gold and silver in the old witch’s castle, and returned to the Princess and the King with the treasure. There was enough for them all, including their mother and their father, the old fisherman.
When the King grew old, the fisherman’s eldest son and his wife were crowned King and Queen. They all lived happily ever after.
THE WINNING OF HYN-HALLOW
HERE was once a goodman of Thorodale, in the Orkney Isles. He had three sons, who helped him with the fishing, and a bonny wife whom he loved dearly.
One day the goodman and his bonny wife were down on the beach, at the water’s edge. The goodman bent down to tie his boot-lace, turning his back to his bonny wife. Suddenly she screamed, as a dark Fin-man dragged her to his boat and pushed out to sea before the goodman could reach them. Thorodale never saw his bonny wife again.
He pulled up his breeches, rolled down his stockings, and went on his knees below the flood-mark. There he swore that, living or dead, he would be revenged on the Fin-folk for stealing his bonny wife.
One day he was out fishing on the sound that lies between Rousay and Evie, when he heard a woman’s voice singing. He knew it was his wife, although he could not see her, for she sang:
‘Goodman, weep no more for me,
For me again you’ll never see.
If you would have of vengeance joy,
Go speir the wise spey-wife of Hoy.’
Thorodale went ashore, took his staff in his hand, his silver in a stocking, and set off for the island of Hoy. There the spey-wife told him how he might get the power of seeing Hilda-land, and what he was to do when he saw it.
Thorodale returned home and for nine months at midnight, when the moon was full, he went nine times on his knees round the Odin Stone of Stainess. For nine months, at full moon, he looked through the hole in the Odin Stone, and wished that he might have the power of seeing Hilda-land. He filled a girnal with salt, and set three baskets beside it; he then told his three sons what they must do when he gave them the word.
One summer morning, just after sunrise, the goodman of Thorodale saw a little island in the middle of the sound where he had never seen land before. He could not turn his head, nor wink his eye, for if he once lost sight of that land he knew he would never see it again. So he shouted to his three sons in the house:
‘Fill the baskets with salt, and hold for the boat!’
The sons came, each carrying a basket of salt. The four men jumped into the boat, and rowed for the new land, although nobody could see it except the goodman.
In a moment, the boat was surrounded by whales. The three sons wanted to drive the whales away, but their father cried:
‘Pull for dear life!’
A great whale lay right in the boat’s course, and opened up a mouth big enough to swallow both boat and men. Thorodale, standing in the bow of his boat, flung two handfuls of salt into its mouth, and the whale vanished.
As the boat neared the shore of Hilda-land, two mermaids stood on the rocks and sang. The lads began to row slowly, listening to the song, but Thorodale gave them a kick, without turning his head, and cried out to the mermaids:
‘Begone, you unholy creatures! Here’s your warning!’
He threw a cross of twisted seaweed on the mermaids, and they dived screaming into the sea.
When the boat touched land, they saw a great monster with long tusks, and feet as broad as millstones. Its eyes blazed and its mouth spat fire. Thorodale flung a handful of salt between the monster’s eyes, and it disappeared with a roar. In its place stood a tall Fin-man, with a drawn sword, who cried:
‘Go back, you human thieves! or I’ll defile Hilda-land with your blood!’
The three sons began to tremble.
‘Come home, Father, come home!’ they cried.
The tall Fin-man thrust at Thorodale with his sword, but the goodman flung a cross of cloggirs, or goose-grass, on the Fin-man’s face, and he turned and fled in pain and anger.
‘Come out of that,’ cried Thorodale to his sons, ‘and take salt ashore!’
He made them walk abreast round the island, each of them scattering salt as he went.
There arose a terrible rumpus among the Fin-folk and their kye. They ran helter-skelter into the sea, like a flock of sheep, and never set foot on Hyn-hallow again.
The goodman of Thorodale cut nine crosses on the turf, and his three sons went three times round the island, scattering their salt. But the youngest son had a large hand, and scattered and sowed the salt too fast. Not one particle would his brothers spare him, so the ninth circle of salt was never completed. That is why cats, rats and mice cannot live on Hyn-hallow,
In the Orkneys they still sing:
‘Hyn-hallow frank, Hyn-hallow free!
Hyn-hallow lies in the middle of the sea;
Wi’ a rampan rost on ilka side,
Hyn-hallow lies in the middle of the tide!’
THE GOODMAN OF WASTNESS
NE day, when the goodman of Wastness was down on the beach and the tide was out, he saw a number of Selkie folk on a flat rock. They had taken off their seal-skins, and had skin as white as his own.
The goodman crept forward and waded swiftly to the rock. The Selkie folk saw him and seized their seal-skins and jumped into the sea. But the goodman took one of the seal-skins, belonging to a Selkie lass. The Selkie folk swam out a little distance, put their heads up out of the sea and gazed at the goodman. One of them did not look like a seal.
The goodman put the seal-skin under his arm, and made for home. Before he left the beach, he heard a sound of weeping behind him. The lass whose seal-skin he had taken was following him.
‘If there is any mercy in you, give me back my skin!’ she cried. ‘I cannot live in the sea, among my own folk, without it. Pity me, if y
ou ever have hope for mercy yourself.’
‘It would be better if you came to live with me,’ said the goodman.
After a lot of persuasion, the sea-lass agreed to be his wife.
She stayed with him many years, bore him seven children, four boys and three girls. But although the goodman’s wife looked happy, and was often merry, her heart was heavy. Many times she looked out at the sea. She taught her bairns many a strange song that had never been heard before.
One day, the goodman of Wastness and his three eldest sons went off in his boat to the fishing. The goodwife sent three of the children to the beach to gather limpets and whelks, but the youngest, having hurt her foot, had to stay at home.
The goodwife began to search for her long-lost skin. She searched up, and she searched down. She searched but, and she searched ben. Never a seal-skin could she find. The youngest lass sat on a stool resting her foot.
‘What are you looking for, mother?’ she said.
‘I’m looking for a bonny seal-skin, to make a shoe to cure your sore foot.’
‘Maybe I know where it is,’ sasid the little lass. ‘One day, when you were all out, and father thought I was sleeping, he took the bonny seal-skin down. He glowered at it a peerie minute, then folded it and laid it up there between the wall and the roof.’
When her mother heard this, she hurried to the place and pulled out her long-lost skin.
‘Farewell, wee buddo!’ she cried, and ran out of the house. She ran to the shore, put on her seal-skin, and plunged into the sea.
There a Selkie man met her and they swam away together. The goodman, rowing home, saw them both from his boat. His lost wife uncovered her face, and cried:
‘Goodman of Wastness, farewell to ye!
I liked ye well, ye were good to me!
But I love better my man of the sea!’
And that was the last the goodman of Wastness ever saw or heard of his Selkie wife.
TAM SCOTT AND THE FIN-MAN
AM Scott was at the Lammas Fair in Kirkwall, where he had taken a number of folk from Sanday in his parley boat. He was going up and down through the Fair when he met a tall, dark-faced man.
‘The top of the day to you,’ says the stranger.
‘As much to you,’ says Tam, ‘but who are you?’
‘Never heed,’ says the man. ‘Will you take a cow of mine to one of the north isles? I’ll pay you double freight for taking you so soon from the Fair.’
‘I’ll do it,’ says Tam, for he was not the boy to stick at a bargain when he thought the butter was on his side of the bread.
By the time he had got the boat ready, he saw the dark-faced man leading his cow. When he came to the edge of the water, the stranger lifted the cow in his arms, as if she’d been a sheep, and set her down in the boat.
‘Where are we to steer for?’ said Tam when they got under way.
‘East of Shapinshay,’ said the man.
‘Where now?’ said Tam when they reached Shapinshay.
‘East of Stronsay,’ said the man.
Then they reached the Mill Bay of Stronsay.
‘You’ll be for landing here?’ asked Tam.
‘No, east of Sanday,’ said the man.
Now, Tam liked a gossip, and as they sailed along he tried to chat to his passenger in a friendly way, but at every remark the stranger only replied gruffly:
‘A close tongue keeps a safe head.’
At last it began to dawn on Tam’s mind that he had an uncanny passenger on board. As they sailed on through the east sea, Tam saw, rising ahead, a dense bank of mist. Soon the bank of mist began to shine like a cloud lit by the setting sun. Then the mist began to rise, and Tam saw lying under it a most beautiful island. On it men and women were walking, cattle were feeding and yellow cornfields were ripe for the harvest. While Tam was staring with wide open eyes at this braw land, the stranger sprang aft.
‘I must blindfold you now for a while. If you do what you are told, no ill shall befall you,’ he said.
Tam thought it would only end badly for him if he refused, so he allowed himself to be blindfolded with his own handkerchief. In a few minutes Tam felt the boat grind on a pebbly beach. He heard voices of many men speaking to his passenger, and he also heard the loveliest sound he had ever heard in his life. It was the sweet voices of mermaids singing on the shore. Tam saw them through one corner of his right eye that came below the handkerchief. The braw sight and the bonny sound nearly put him out of his wits for joy. Then he heard a man’s voice call:
‘You idle creatures, don’t think you’ll win this man with your singing! He has a wife and bairns of his own on Sanday Isle.’
And with that the music changed to a most mournful song. The sound of it made Tam’s heart sad indeed.
Well, the cow was soon lifted out of the boat, a bag of money was laid at Tam’s feet in the stern sheets, and the boat shoved off. And what do you think? Those graceless wretches of Fin-men turned his boat against the sun! As they pushed off the boat, one of them cried:
‘Keep the starboard end of the fore thraft bearing on the braes of Warsater, and you’ll soon make land.’
When Tam felt his boat under way, he tore off the handkerchief which blindfolded him. He could see nothing save a thick mist. But he soon sailed out of the mist, and saw it lying astern like a great cloud. Then he saw what pleased him better, the Braes of Warsater bearing on his starboard bow. As he sailed home, he opened his bag of money. He had been well paid, but all in coppers. The Fin-folk like the white money too well to part with silver.
Well, in a year Tam went to the Lammas Fair as usual. Many a time afterwards he wished he had lain in his bed that day, but what is to be must be, and cannot be helped.
It happened on the third day of the market, as Tam was walking up and down, speaking to his friends. Whom should he see but the same dark-faced stranger who had given him the freight the year before. In his friendly way Tam went up to the man and said:
‘How is it with you, good man? I’m glad to see you this day! Come and take a cog of ale with me.’
‘Did you ever see me before?’ said the man with an ugly look on his face.
‘I took you and your cow to east of Sanday,’ said Tam.
‘Is that so,’ said the man. As he spoke, he took out of his pocket what Tam thought was a snuff-box. Then he blew some powder from it into Tam’s eyes, and said:
‘Now you’ll never be able to say you saw me before!’
And from that minute, poor Tam never saw again a blink of sweet light in his two eyes.
FARQUHAR THE HEALER
N the Reay country there was once a drover called Farquhar. He went to England from Glen Gollich to sell cattle, with a hazel staff in his hand. One day he met a doctor, who said:
‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘A hazel branch,’ replied Farquhar.
‘Where did you cut it?’
‘In Glen Gollich, north in Lord Reay’s country.’
‘Do you remember the exact place?’
‘I do.’
‘Could you find the tree again?’ asked the doctor.
‘I could,’ replied Farquhar.
‘Well, I’ll give you more gold than you can lift if you’ll go back there and bring me a branch from that very tree.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Farquhar.
‘I want you to bring me something more,’ said the doctor. ‘Take this bottle. Watch at the hole at the foot of the tree, with the bottle ready. Let go the first six serpents that come out of the hole, but put the seventh into the bottle. Tell no one what you’ve done, but come back here with the hazel branch and the serpent in the bottle, and I’ll give you as much gold again.’
So Farquhar returned to Scotland and Glen Gollich, the hazel glen. When he had cut some branches, he looked for the hole at the foot of the hazel tree. He found it, and, sure enough, out came six serpents, brown and barred like adders. He let them go. Then he put the bottle to the hole. By and by a w
hite snake came crawling through. Farquhar caught it in the bottle, and hurried back to England with it.
The doctor gave him enough gold to buy the Reay country, but he said:
‘Before you return to Scotland, you must stay and help me prepare the white snake.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Farquhar.
Then they lit a fire with the hazel sticks, and put the white snake in a pot to boil. The doctor had to leave, so he asked Farquhar to watch the pot. He was not to allow the snake to escape, and he was not to let anyone near the pot, for fear it might be known what they were doing.
Farquhar promised to be careful. He wrapped paper round the pot lid, but before he had finished doing this, the water began to boil, and steam came out at one place. He pushed the paper down, and put his finger to the place to stem the steam. Then he put his finger, wet with snake bree, into his mouth.
At once a strange thing happened. Farquhar knew all things. Like a blind man suddenly able to see, Farquhar suddenly knew and understood everything. But he decided to tell no one about this new knowledge.
When the doctor returned, he took the pot from the fire, lifted the lid, dipped his finger into the bree, and sucked it. But it was no more than water to him.
‘Who has done this?’ he cried. And he knew by the look on Farquhar’s face, that it was he.
‘You’ve taken the magic from the bree!’ cried the doctor in anger. And, throwing the pot at Farquhar, he turned and left.
And this is how Farquhar became all-wise. He returned to Scotland and set up as a physician. There was nothing he did not know, and no disease he could not cure. He went from place to place, healing the sick, and soon he was known far and wide as Farquhar the Healer. One day Farquhar heard that the King was sick, and he went to find out what was wrong with him.
Folk Tales of Scotland Page 12