Part 18

"Underneath the sylvan shade The fairies' spacious bower was made,"

or in beautiful palaces underneath the green conical mounds, so numerous, particularly in Galloway and the south-west of Scotland. Their lives and affairs were ruled by the utmost ceremony and grandeur. A King or Queen presided over their destinies. Their pageants and tournaments were the very reflection of Courtly gallantry. Processions were a frequent form of display; and clothed in exquisite green raiment, and mounted on bravely caparisoned milk-white steeds of the finest mettle, they passed with haughty mien and lordly air, that impressed to the utmost the minds of the mortals who might chance to meet them in all their pomp and bravery. The banquet-board and feast also were daily in evidence, and through their princely halls, to the most exquisite music, the stately dance went round.

The attitude of the fairies towards mankind was, generally speaking, kindly and helpful, so much so that by the country people they were often termed the "good neighbours" and the "wee fouk"; but underneath all their display of nobility, an elfin craftiness and capriciousness of disposition existed, malignant to a degree. They did not, for example, ride unarmed, but had bows and arrows of peculiar power and potency slung at their sides ready to assail the too curious human being or menacing beast. The bows themselves were fashioned from the ribs of men buried "where three Lairds' lands meet," and the arrows, which hung in quivers made from adders' sloughs, were "tipped with deadly plagues." When mortals offended, it was on their cattle the fairies usually wreaked their vengeance by shooting them with their magic bows and arrows. Such elf-shot cattle exhibited all the symptoms of malignant cramp. Animals quite as innocent, but who, blunderingly unconscious, threatened to trample their diminutive bodies under foot as they passed along, were as summarily treated--at least that was a common explanation to account for puzzling forms of cattle-ill; for the wound of the true elf arrow was so small that evidence of penetration was almost impossible of vision, unless by the eye of those favoured and deeply skilled in fairy-craft practice. A less vague and more material description of the fairy arrows was, that "these fatal shafts were formed of the bog reed, pointed with white field flint, and dipped in the dew of hemlock." To this day the triangular flints of the Stone Age are associated with the fairy superstition, being popularly known as "elf bolts," and the occasional turning up of these flints on cultivated land, finds a superstitious explanation in the belief that a shower of these arrows discharged into a field was quite sufficient to blast and wither the expected crop.

The special characteristic of the evil element in the disposition of the fairies was however, a persistent practice of kidnapping unchristened infants, substituting for them baby imps of their own, which in old-world phraseology were known as "changelings." Such changelings could only be detected and expelled by certain charms and mystic practice, which also permitted the real babe to be restored. The explanation of such kidnapping was that every seventh year "Kain," in the form of a living sacrifice from the ranks of the fairies, was demanded by Satan, their master, as the price of the supernatural privileges they enjoyed, but as a mortal infant was as readily accepted, the fairies naturally acted in accordance, much preferring to lay a human babe at the feet of the Evil One.

Very naturally the thought of such disastrous possibilities to the domestic life and joy of the people created means and measures to render this particular design of the fairies impotent and inefficient. The cutting of a cross on the head of the cradle, or even over the doorway of the cottage itself, was supposed to "kep skaith" by means of its sacred significance; and immediately before the birth of a child it was a common practice to surround the expectant mother with everything about the household made of steel, such as scissors, wool-clippers, knives, needles, and so forth, which it was firmly believed kept the evil disposition of the fairy spirits at bay, and prevented any unhallowed tampering with the child. It was also customary for the friends of the house when the child was born, to form a guarding circle round it during the darkness of the night, while one of their number was specially employed in waving about the open leaves of a Bible. The risk of abduction immediately ceased after the child was christened. It may here be mentioned that at all times the sound of a church bell immediately broke the fairy power and spell.

The abduction of human beings was not altogether confined to babes, and it will be remembered that James Hogg's fine ballad of "Kilmeny" is founded on a young maiden being carried off to Fairyland, who in the course of time is allowed to return to the world again when, as so beautifully expressed in the ballad,

"Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny cam' hame."

Young married women were more especially liable to be carried off, for the utilitarian purpose of nursing the fairy children, and young men were also occasionally supposed to be stolen away.

It may be noted that it was not considered good for mortals to meet with fairies face to face, however much by accident. Death might even follow such a meeting, although apparently quite natural in form.

Touching upon the very core of unreality of fairy semblance it would seem to have been a general belief, that seen through eyes of those gifted with supernatural power such as in olden days the "seers" were believed to possess, the whole fairy fabric crumbled to its true appearance. Golden treasure became ordinary stone, fairy palace changed to gloomy cavern, and the beautiful beings themselves became ugly and repulsive goblins.

Before passing to gather up the remnants of this fairy-lore in Galloway and Dumfriesshire, it may be of interest to refer to the theory which has been advanced to account for the firm belief by our forefathers in the existence of "fairies and brownies," which briefly is, that fairies and brownies were none other than straggling and isolated survivors of the race of the ancient Pictish Kingdom of Scotland, for like the fairy and brownie of popular imagination, the Picts dwelt in underground abodes, being what is termed "mound-dwellers." They were a small people, untiring in their labours, and possessing great strength, or as it has been aptly expressed, "they were 'unca wee' bodies, but terribly strong." As well as being small in stature, they were hairy in body and fleet of foot. They were clever builders, as their underground dwellings excavated at the hands of antiquarians throughout Scotland yet affirm. Indeed there is a tradition that the 12th century Cathedral of Glasgow was largely built by industrious and skilful Picts, brought from Galloway for that purpose.

A strong point in the theory certainly is, that the localities known as the prehistoric abiding places of the Picts are almost invariably associated with fairy-lore and tradition, which has floated down to us on the misty tides of time. At all events it may be in part at least accepted, in so far as it is founded on a basis of fact, and if it does not quite explain the splendour and high-born attributes of Fairyland, it at least goes far to account for the unvarying popular description of "Brownie"--his untiring energy, his shy disposition, and his not very attractive appearance, all of which William Nicholson has painted with strokes of genius in his matchless poem, "The Brownie of Blednoch."

FAIRIES IN GALLOWAY.

The great distinctive headland of the Mull of Galloway is traditionally described as the scene of the last stand made by the Picts, as they were driven backwards and seawards to destruction by the overwhelming force of the Scots.

"There rose a King in Scotland, A fell man to his foes, He smote the Picts in battle, He hunted them like roes, Over miles of red mountain He hunted as they fled And strewed the dwarfish bodies Of the dying and the dead."

Not far from this classic spot, a favourite haunt of the fairies is located. South of Portankill there is a small fortification called the Dunnan. On this spot there came once upon a time to a man sitting there, on a fine summer evening, an old-fashioned looking, diminutive woman dressed in green, carrying a tiny ailing child on her back, and holding a little wooden water stoup in her hand. She earnestly asked this man to go to the far-famed and quite near "Well of the Co'" and bring her some of the healing water for the decrepit little morsel she carried, as she was tired and done. Churlishly enough the man refused, and roughly told her she could go her own errands. The little woman bore his abuse patiently enough, then, naming him, solemnly warned him "never again to sit down on her hoose-riggin' or he might look to it"--and then somehow she seemed to disappear. The man began to regret his ungracious conduct, all the more that it was generally believed that beneath the "Dunnan" lived the fairies, and if that was so, then at that very moment he was actually on their "hoose-riggin'." Much disturbed in mind, he made for home; but tradition affirms that from that day forward everything went wrong--cattle died and crops failed, and eventually, going one night to the Dunnan to watch a vessel that was likely to come ashore and so help his own evil plight, he was stricken with illness at the hands of the fairies--so the country-side said--and died.

There is yet another rather dramatic relic of fairy-lore concerning Kirkmaiden, which tells of an attempt by the fairies to seize upon the newly-born child of a herd and his wife, who were in the service of Sir Godfrey M'Culloch, and who lived in a little cottage at Auchneight, which was frustrated by a timely call for Divine aid. On the afternoon of the day of his son's birth the herd received an urgent message to proceed at once to his master's castle of Cardoness, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. There were many little domestic matters to attend to before the poor man could leave his wife and child to set out on his long journey, and the night was already well advanced before he left his home. It was not without anxiety and misgiving he took his way north along the western shore of Luce Bay, "down the path towards the Loup and the Co' of the Grennan," a place with a very uncanny reputation, for it was the night of the last day of October--of all times of the year the most dreaded by mortals--the night

"When Fairies ... dance, Or ower the lays, with splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance."

It was very dark, and his progress was slow. When he reached the "Loup" he was rather startled to see a faint glimmering light seawards. To his consternation this came steadily towards him, and gradually took the form of a coach lighted with blue lamps, drawn by six horses, and coming smartly on. It passed, and he could see it was crowded with elfish figures and surrounded by a galloping body-guard. His terror was not abated when he was made aware that a little blue torch, a sure forerunner of death, was burning on the side of the track they had passed along. Meanwhile his young wife and child were all alone in the cottage. About midnight the mother, to whom the night seemed unending, was startled by hearing the trample of horses, the jingle of bridles, the lumber of wheels, and a buzzing sound of voices. Clasping the child close in her arms, terror-stricken she waited. The door of the cottage flew open. The whole kitchen was lit up with a strange unnatural light, and she saw her bed surrounded by a throng of little excited green-clad people, who kept up a constant chattering. Then one more richly clad and taller than the others imperiously waved his hand for silence, and addressing the almost crazed woman, said--

"This is Hallow-eve. We have come for your child, and him we must have."

"Oh, God forbid!" shrieked the poor woman in her agony, and almost instantly there was darkness and silence as of the grave.

When the poor woman came to her senses, for she had fainted, she made bold to leave her bed, and lighting her cruisie lamp, she was overjoyed to find that her child was sleeping sweetly and soundly. Everything in the cottage was evidently undisturbed.

As some slight corroboration of this legend, it is told how the tenant of Barncorkerie, going to his door about midnight that same Hallow-eve, was startled to see a group of tiny horsemen riding in hot haste through the meadows a bowshot from his door.

The story of the Barncorkerie Fairy, in this same immediate neighbourhood, illustrates how the good offices of the fairy aided an old helpless woman in her day of necessity at the expense of an undutiful son.

On the road shorewards to Portencockerie Bay (Kirkmaiden) there is a bypath by way of what is known as the Bishop's Castle. One day there came by this road an old woman, weary of foot and sad of heart. Sitting down she wept quietly to herself, bemoaning her poverty and the unkindness of her son, and more particularly of his new-made wife, who scorned her and refused to give her even the bare necessities of life. With her eyes fixed on the ground, she almost unconsciously let her attention turn to a round whorl-like stone, with a hole through it, lying at her feet. Not attaching much importance to it she, almost absent-mindedly, picked it up, and as she did so she thought she heard some one whispering to her, but turning round and seeing no one she became a little frightened, and putting the curious little stone in her pocket, she rose to make her way home, which, by the way, bore the curious name of "Keekafar."

That same night, at the gloaming, as she was lighting her cruisie lamp, the cottage door seemed to open of its own accord, and, looking down, she saw a diminutive little woman clad in green, who, with a pleasant smile, asked how she prospered?

The old woman was a proud old woman, so she answered that she was getting along very comfortably.

But the little old woman laughed a kindly laugh and said, "Not much comfort an' a toom meal-barrel in the hoose."