“On Monday the wind arose,
And gathered its fury and rage;
Tell the mother of my body
’Twas the evils made the hunt.”[9]
The shade came thrice and repeated this. Next day the wife told the dream to her mother-in-law, who exclaimed, “Then my beloved is lost” (tha mo laogh-sa caillte).
By far the most celebrated tale of this class is that of the destruction of Captain Forrest’s ship by witches in the Sound of Mull.
Viola (Bheòla), daughter of the King of Spain, dreamt of a remarkably handsome man, and made a vow not to rest till she found him. She fitted out a boat, and in the course of her wanderings came to Tobermory Bay. Here she saw MacLean of Dowart, who proved to be the man she was in search of, and, though he was a married man, became too intimate with him. MacLean’s wife in her jealousy caused her servant Smollett, a south countryman, to blow up the ship with all on board. After setting fire to a fuse leading to the magazine, Smollett made his escape, and by the time the explosion took place reached Pennygown, a distance of ten or twelve miles. The cook was blown to Srongarve (sròn-garbh, rough nose), near Tobermory, where there is a cleft still bearing the name of the Cook’s Cave (Uamh Chòcaire). The Princess herself fell somewhere in the sound, and was buried at Cill, the Loch Aline burying-ground in Morven.[10] Upon the news of the dreadful event reaching Spain, Captain Forrest (whose name is not very Spanish) was sent with a ship to take vengeance upon the Mull people by taking off the right breast of every Mull woman. When the ship came the Lady of Dowart sent for Doideag, the Mull witch, and by her means, with assistance procured from neighbouring witches, Captain Forrest’s ship was sunk before next morning. Doideag shut herself up in a house alone at Guirman Point (Rutha Ghuirmein), near Dowart, and there made her incantations. A rope was put through a hole in a rafter, and all night long the handmill (brà) was hoisted up to the beam, lowered, and hoisted again. A native of Tiree reported that, having come that evening to Doideag’s house, he was compelled by her to hoist and lower and hoist the mill-stone all night without rest or refreshment, while the witch herself went away to Tiree and elsewhere for help. On her return she said that when in Tiree she had been detained a little in extinguishing a fire, which had been caused by a spark falling among the fodder in the stirk-house belonging to the man who was her unwilling assistant. As the quern was raised a gale sprang up, and increased in fury as the operation went on. At the same time gulls (others say hooded-crows, others black cats) appeared on the yard-arms of the devoted ship. Captain Forrest knew the Black Art himself, and went below. As word was brought him that another gull had appeared in the rigging, he said, “I will suffice for this one yet” (Fòghnaidh mi fhìn dhi so fhathast). He could keep the ship against some say eight, others nine, witches, but “ere a’ the play was play’d” there were sixteen, some say eighteen, on the yards. Their names depend on the fancy of the narrator. All the Mull witches (na doideagun Muileach) were there, and the most powerful of the sisterhood from the surrounding districts. Nic-ill’-Domhnuich from Tiree is commonly mentioned.[11] All accounts agree that when Big Blue-eye from Mey (Gorm-shùil Mhòr bha sa Mheigh), the powerful Lochaber witch, came, the ship sank. Shortly before this Captain Forrest told a sailor to look up and see how many gulls were on the yards (seall suas co miad faoileann air an t-shlait). On being told eighteen, he said, “We are lost.” In the morning Doideag was told her house had been unroofed in the gale, but she was comforted by being told the dreaded ship had gone down opposite Coire-na-theanchoir Bay. “If you are without a house, Captain Forrest is without a ship” (ma tha thusa gun tigh, tha Captain Forrest gun long).
WITCHES AS SHEEP.
A native of Tiree was on his way home to the west end of the island in the evening with a new gun in his hand. When above the beach called Travay, he observed a black sheep running towards him from across the plain of Reef. Alarmed by the animal’s motions, he put a silver sixpence in the gun, and on its coming near enough, took aim. The black sheep instantly became a woman, whom he recognised, with a drugget coat wrapped about her head. The same woman had often persecuted him before, particularly in shape of a cat. She asked him to keep her secret, and he promised to do so, but one day, when drunk in the village to which the woman belonged, he told his adventure and the name of the woman. In less than a fortnight after he was drowned, and the witch (for such the woman was universally reputed to be) was blamed as the cause.
Hector M’Lean, in Coll, according to his own account, was coming in the evening from Arinagour to Breacacha, a distance of four miles along what was then throughout the greater part a mountain track. When halfway, at Airidh-mhic-mharoich, a black sheep came about his feet, and several times threw him down. At last he took out a clasp-knife (sgian-lughaidh), and threatened the sheep, if it came near him again, to stick it with the knife. It, however, again and again came and threw him down. In endeavouring to stab it, the knife closed upon his own hand between the finger and thumb, and cut him severely. On coming to the large open drain or stream below Breacacha Garden, he stood afraid to jump across, in case the black sheep should come about his legs, and make him fall in the drain. He was now, however, within hail of his own house, and whistled loudly for his dog. It came, and was fiercely hounded by him at the sheep. Every time the dog made a rush and came too near, the sheep became an old woman, whom Hector recognised as one of his acquaintances, and jumped in the air. She asked him to call off his dog, and he refused. She asked him again, and promised, if he would do so, to befriend him in right and wrong (an còir’s an eucoir). At last he did call the dog, but it would not obey. He caught it by the back of the neck, and it tried to turn upon himself. He promised to keep his hold till the woman made her escape. The witch became a hare, and Hector called out to her, as she seemed to have such wonderful power, to “add another leg to her stern, to make her escape the faster.” When she was some distance away, he let go the dog, and went home. The dog did not come home till the following afternoon; it followed the hare, compelled it to take refuge on a shelf of rock (uirigh creige), and lay below on the watch, till forced by hunger to go home. The woman upbraided Hector, the first time she met him, for letting go the dog. Afterwards, when he went as servant-man to Arileod farm (aìridh-Leoìd) in the neighbourhood, the same woman was often seen