But the seal catcher only laughed at them, and said that those seals were most worth killing, for their skins were so big that he got an extra price for them.
Now it chanced one day, when he was pursuing his calling, that he stabbed a seal with his hunting-knife, and whether the stroke had not been sure enough or not, I cannot say, but with a loud cry of pain the creature slipped off the rock into the sea, and disappeared under the water, carrying the knife along with it.
The seal catcher, much annoyed at his clumsiness, and also at the loss of his knife, went home to dinner in a very downcast frame of mind. On his way he met a horseman, who was so tall and so strange-looking, and who rode on such a gigantic horse, that he stopped and looked at him in astonishment, wondering who he was, and from what country he came.
The stranger stopped also, and asked him his trade, and on hearing that he was a seal catcher, he immediately ordered a great number of seal skins. The seal catcher was delighted, for such an order meant a large sum of money to him. But his face fell when the horseman added that it was absolutely necessary that the skins should be delivered that evening.
‘I cannot do it,’ he said, in a disappointed voice, ‘for the seals will not come back to the rocks again until tomorrow morning.’
‘I can take you to a place where there are any number of seals,’ answered the stranger, ‘if you will mount behind me on my horse and come with me.’
The seal catcher agreed to this, and climbed up behind the rider, who shook his bridle rein, and off the great horse galloped at such a pace that he had much ado to keep his seat.
On and on they went, flying like the wind, until at last they came to the edge of a huge precipice, the face of which went sheer down to the sea. Here the mysterious horseman pulled up his steed with a jerk.
‘Get off now,’ he said shortly.
The seal catcher did as he was bid, and when he found himself safe on the ground, he peeped cautiously over the edge of the cliff, to see if there were any seals lying on the rocks below.
To his astonishment he saw below him no rocks, only the blue sea, which came right up to the foot of the cliff.
‘Where are the seals that you spoke of?’ he asked anxiously, wishing that he had never set out on such a rash adventure.
‘You will see presently,’ answered the stranger, who was attending to his horse’s bridle.
The seal catcher was now thoroughly frightened, for he felt sure that some evil was about to befall him, and in such a lonely place he knew that it would be useless to cry out for help.
And it seemed as if his fears would prove only too true, for the next moment the stranger’s hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he felt himself being hurled bodily over the cliff, and then he fell with a splash into the sea.
He thought that his last hour had come, and he wondered how anyone could commit such a wrong deed upon an innocent man.
But, to his astonishment, he found that some change must have come over him, for instead of being choked by the water, he could breathe quite easily, and he and his companion, who was still close at his side, seemed to be sinking as quickly down through the sea as they had flown through the air.
Down and down they went, nobody knows how far, till at last they came to a huge arched door, which appeared to be made of pink coral, studded over with cockle-shells. It opened, of its own accord, and when they entered they found themselves in a huge hall, the walls of which were formed of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of which was of sea-sand, smooth, and firm, and yellow.
The hall was crowded with occupants, but they were seals, not men, and when the seal catcher turned to his companion to ask him what it all meant, he was aghast to find that he, too, had assumed the form of a seal. He was still more aghast when he caught sight of himself in a large mirror that hung on the wall, and saw that he also no longer bore the likeness of a man, but was transformed into a nice, hairy, brown seal.
‘Ah, woe is me,’ he said to himself, ‘through no fault of mine this artful stranger has laid some baneful charm upon me, and in this awful guise will I remain for the rest of my natural life.’
At first none of the huge creatures spoke to him. For some reason or other they seemed to be very sad, and moved gently about the hall, talking quietly and mournfully to one another, or lay sadly upon the sandy floor, wiping big tears from their eyes with their soft furry fins.
But presently they began to notice him, and to whisper to one another, and presently his guide moved away from him, and disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. When he returned he held a huge knife in his hand.
‘Did you ever see this before?’ he asked, holding it out to the unfortunate seal catcher, who, to his horror, recognized his own hunting-knife with which he had struck the seal in the morning, and which had been carried off by the wounded animal.
At the sight of it he fell upon his face and begged for mercy, for he at once came to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the cavern, enraged at the harm which had been wrought upon their comrade, had, in some magic way, contrived to capture him, and to bring him down to their subterranean abode, in order to work their vengeance upon him by killing him.
But, instead of doing so, they crowded around him, rubbing their soft noses against his fur to show their sympathy, and implored him not to be afraid, for no harm would befall him, and they would love him all their lives long if he would only do what they asked him.
‘Tell me what you ask,’ said the seal catcher, ‘and I will do it, if it lies within my power.’
‘Follow me,’ answered his guide, and he led the way to the door through which he had disappeared when he went to seek the knife.
The seal catcher followed him. And there, in a smaller room, he found a great brown seal lying on a bed of pale pink seaweed, with a gaping wound in his side.
‘That is my father,’ said his guide, ‘whom you wounded this morning, thinking that he was one of the common seals who live in the sea, instead of a merman who has speech, and understanding, as you mortals have. I brought you here to bind up his wounds, for no other hand than yours can heal him.’
‘I have no skill in the art of healing,’ said the seal catcher, astonished at the forbearance of these strange creatures, whom he had so unwittingly wronged; ‘but I will bind up the wound to the best of my power, and I am only sorry that it was my hands that caused it.’
He went over to the bed, and, stooping over the wounded merman, washed and dressed the hurt as well as he could; and the touch of his hands appeared to work like magic, for no sooner had he finished than the wound seemed to deaden and die, leaving only a scar, and the old seal sprang up, as well as ever.
Then there was great rejoicing throughout the whole Palace of the Seals. They laughed, and they talked, and they embraced each other in their own strange way, crowding around their comrade, and rubbing their noses against his, as if to show him how delighted they were at his recovery.
But all this while the seal catcher stood alone in a corner, with his mind filled with dark thoughts, for although he saw now that they had no intention of killing him, he did not relish the prospect of spending the rest of his life in the guise of a seal, fathoms deep under the ocean.
But presently, to his great joy, his guide approached him, and said, ‘Now you are at liberty to return home to your wife and children. I will take you to them, but only on one condition.’
‘And what is that?’ asked the seal catcher eagerly, overjoyed at the prospect of being restored safely to the upper world, and to his family.
‘That you will take a solemn oath never to wound a seal again.’
‘That will I do right gladly,’ the seal catcher replied, for although the promise meant giving up his means of livelihood, he felt that if only he regained his proper shape he could always turn his hand to something else.
So he took the required oath with all due solemnity, holding up his fin as he swore, and all the other seals crowded around him as witnesses. And a si
gh of relief went through the halls when the words were spoken, for he was the most famous seal catcher in the North.
Then he bade the strange company farewell, and, accompanied by his guide, passed once more through the outer doors of coral, and up, and up, and up, through the shadowy green water, until it began to grow lighter and lighter, and at last they emerged into the sunshine of earth.
Then, with one spring, they reached the top of the cliff, where the great black horse was waiting for them, quietly nibbling the green turf.
When they left the water their strange disguise dropped from them, and they were now as they had been before, a plain seal catcher and a tall, well-dressed gentleman in riding clothes.
‘Get up behind me,’ said the latter, as he swung himself into his saddle. The seal catcher did as he was bid, taking tight hold of his companion’s coat, for he remembered how nearly he had fallen off on his previous journey.
Then it all happened as it happened before. The bridle was shaken, and the horse galloped off, and it was not long before the seal catcher found himself standing in safety before his own garden gate.
He held out his hand to say ‘goodbye’, but as he did so the stranger pulled out a huge bag of gold and placed it in it.
‘You’ve done your part of the bargain – we must do ours,’ he said. ‘Men shall never say that we took away an honest man’s work without giving him some compensation for it, and here is what will keep you in comfort to your life’s end.’
Then he vanished, and when the astonished seal catcher carried the bag into his cottage, and turned the gold out on the table, he found that what the stranger had said was true, and that he would be a rich man for the remainder of his days.
THE MERMAID
James Hogg
‘Oh where won ye, my bonnie lass,
Wi’ look sae wild an’ cheery?
There’s something in that witching face
That I lo’e wondrous dearly.’
‘I live where the harebell never grew,
Where the streamlet never ran,
Where the winds o heaven never blew.
Now find me gin you can.’
‘’Tis but your wild an’ wily way,
The gloaming maks you eerie,
For ye are the lass o the Bracken Brae
An’ nae lad maun come near ye:
‘But I am sick, an’ very sick
Wi’ a passion strange an’ new,
For ae kiss o thy rosy cheek
An’ lips o the coral hue.’
‘O laith, laith wad a wanderer be
To do your youth sic wrang,
Were you to reive a kiss from me
Your life would not be lang.
‘Go hie you from this lonely brake,
Nor dare your walk renew;
For I’m the Maid of the Mountain Lake,
And I come wi’ the falling dew.’
‘Be you the Maid of the Crystal Wave
Or she of the Bracken Brae,
One tender kiss I mean to have;
You shall not say me nay.
‘For beauty’s like the daisy’s vest
That shrinks from the early dew,
But soon it opes its bonnie breast,
And sae may it fare wi’ you.’
‘Kiss but this hand, I humbly sue
Even there I’ll rue the stain;
Or the breath of man will dim its hue,
It will ne’er be pure again.
‘For passion’s like the burning beal
Upon the mountain’s brow,
That wastes itself to ashes pale;
And sae will it fare wi’ you.’
‘O mother, mother make my bed,
An’ make it soft and easy;
An’ with the cold dew bathe my head,
For pains of anguish seize me.
‘Or stretch me in the chill blue lake
To quench this bosom’s burning,
An’ lay me by yon lonely brake,
For hope there’s none returning.
‘I’ve been where man should not have been,
Oft in my lonely roaming;
And seen what man should not have seen,
By greenwood in the gloaming.
‘Oh, passion’s deadlier than the grave,
All human things undoing!
The Maiden of the Mountain Wave
Has lured me to my ruin!’
THE LAIRD OF MORPHIE AND THE WATER KELPIE
Elizabeth Grierson
There was once a Scottish laird whose name was Graham of Morphie, and, as he was rich and great, he determined to build himself a grand castle. But, besides being rich, he was somewhat miserly, and he did not like the thought of having to pay a great deal of money for the building of it. So he hit on a plan by which he thought he could get labour cheaply. And this was the plan.
Down in the valley, close to where he lived, there was a large deep loch, and in the loch, so the country folk said, there dwelt a water kelpie.
Now water kelpies, as all the world knows, are cruel and malicious spirits, who love nothing better than to lure mortals to destruction. And this is how they set about it:
They take the form of a beautiful chestnut horse, and come out of the water, all saddled and bridled, as if ready to be mounted; then they graze quietly by the side of the road, until some luckless creature is tempted to get on their back. Then they plunge with him into the water, and he is no more seen. (At least, so the old folk say, for I have never met one of these creatures myself.)
To go on with the story, however. The Laird of Morphie knew that the water kelpie who haunted the loch on his property was in the habit of coming out of the water in the gloaming in the way I have described, and grazing quietly by the roadside.
And as he knew also that these uncanny horses were very strong, he determined to gain the mastery over this one, and force it to do his work. And the only way to do this was to take off the magic bridle which it wore and put it on again – no very easy task.
The Laird of Morphie, however, was a man who did not know what fear meant, and he was quite certain that he would be able to conquer the kelpie.
So one evening he took down his sword from the wall, and, calling to his wife, told her that he was in need of a servant, and that he thought the water horse would make a very good one, so he was going out to master him.
‘Only,’ he added, ‘I cannot do it without your help, so listen to what I tell you. You must go out into the garden, and pluck two twigs from the rowan tree that grows by the gate, and fashion them into a Cross, and put it up over the outside of the door, which you must bar and bolt.
‘That will keep the creature from entering the house; for no evil spirit can endure the rowan wood, let alone the Holy Sign.
‘Then you must open the kitchen window; for although I want to keep the kelpie out, I myself need to get in. Do you understand?’
But if the Laird was not afraid of water horses, his wife was, and, instead of answering him, she threw her arms around his neck and wept bitterly, and begged and besought him not to meddle with spirits, but to bide quietly at home.
Which, of course, he would not agree to do, and he pushed the poor woman away from him roughly, and told her not to be a fool, but to attend to his words and do his bidding. Then he went out and left her, and she was so terrified that she went at once and picked the rowan twigs and made a Cross of them, and put it up outside the door. Then she shut herself into the house, and opened the kitchen window, exactly as her husband had told her to do. After which she crept away to her bed, and hid her head below the blankets.
Meanwhile, the Laird walked boldly down the road, until he came to a place where it ran between two hills, and was out of sight of any house; and in this lonely spot he saw, as he had expected, a fine chestnut horse, nibbling the sweet short grass by the roadside.
It carried a saddle and bridle of the finest leather, and it looked so quiet and docile that it might have been a lady�
�s palfrey.
The Laird was not misled by its looks, however. As he approached it he drew his sword, and when he came up to it he suddenly struck it a sharp rap on the side of the head, completely severing the strap which held its bridle in position.
The creature, taken by surprise, reared high in the air, and, seeing that there was no chance of tempting this cautious mortal to climb on its back, was turning to gallop down to the loch, when its bridle fell from its neck to the ground.
In a moment the Laird had picked it up, and put it into his pocket; for he knew that when a water horse lost its bridle its power was gone, and that it could not go back to its watery abode until it found it again.
No sooner had he done so, than, to his astonishment, the creature began to talk like any mortal, and to beg him to give it back its bridle, reminding him that it had never in its life done him any harm.
‘I cannot thank you for that,’ said the Laird drily, ‘for, methinks, had I once been fool enough to mount on your back we would soon have seen whether you would have done me harm or no. Ha, ha, my bonnie nag, I have your bridle safe in my pocket, and I think I had better keep it there.’
Then the water horse grew angry, and showed his teeth in a way that would have frightened most men.
‘You will never set foot in your own house,’ he said, ‘till you have given me back my bridle; for I can travel quicker than you can, and I will go and take possession of it.’
With these words he galloped off in the direction of the Laird’s house.
But the Laird only laughed, and followed at his leisure, for he knew that no spirit, be it witch, or warlock, or demon, could enter a dwelling that was guarded by a Cross of rowan.
Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales from Burns to Buchan (Penguin Classics) Page 3