Part 4

THE WITCH CAKE.

"I saw yestreen, I saw yestreen, Little wis ye what I saw yestreen, The black cat pyked out the gray ane's een At the hip o' the hemlock knowe yestreen.

Wi' her tail i' her teeth, she whomel'd roun', Wi' her tail i' her teeth, she whomel'd roun', Till a braw star drapt frae the lift aboon, An' she keppit it e'er it wan to the grun.

She hynt them a' in her mou' an' chowed, She hynt them a' in her mou' an' chowed, She drabbled them owre wi' a black tade's blude, An' baked a bannock an' ca'd it gude!

She haurned it weel wi' ae blink o' the moon, She haurned it weel wi' ae blink o' the moon, An withre-shines thrice she whorled it roun', There's some sall skirl ere ye be done.

Some lass maun gae wi' a kilted sark, Some priest maun preach in a thackless kirk, Thread maun be spun for a dead man's sark, A' maun be done e'er the sang o' the lark.

Tell me what ye saw yestreen, Tell me what ye saw yestreen, There's yin may gaur thee sich an' green, For telling what ye saw yestreen."

At such minor meetings also, effigies were moulded in clay of those who had offended, which pierced with pins conveyed serious bodily injuries and disorder in their victims corresponding to the pin punctures. Two of these carlines dispensing the "black art" in the respective parishes of Caerlaverock and Newabbey were in the habit of meeting with each other for such purpose, but the holy men of Sweetheart Abbey overcame their wicked designs by earnest prayers, so much so that their meetings on the solid earth were rendered futile, and thus thwarted, their intercourse had to take place on the water.

Of this the following tale from "Cromek," as reputed to be told by an eye-witness, is descriptive:--

"I gaed out ae fine summer night to haud my halve at the Pow fit. It was twal' o'clock an' a' was lowne; the moon had just gotten up--ye mought a gathered preens. I heard something firsle like silk--I glowered roun' an' lake! what saw I but a bonnie boat, wi' a nob o' gowd, and sails like new-coined siller. It was only but a wee bittie frae me. I mought amaist touch't it. 'Gude speed ye gif ye gang for guid,' quoth I, 'for I dreed our auld carline was casting some o' her pranks.' Another cunning boat cam' off frae Caerla'rick to meet it. Thae twa bade a stricken hour thegither sidie for sidie. 'Haith,' quoth I, 'the deil's grit wi' some!' sae I crap down amang some lang cowes till Luckie cam' back. The boat played bowte again the bank, an out lowpes Kimmer, wi' a pyked naig's head i' her han'. 'Lord be about us!' quo' I, for she cam' straught for me. She howked up a green turf, covered her bane, an' gaed her wa's. When I thought her hame, up I got and pou'd up the bane and haed it. I was fleyed to gae back for twa or three nights, lest the deil's minnie should wyte me for her uncannie boat and lair me 'mang the sludge, or maybe do waur. I gaed back howsever, and on that night o' the moon wha comes to me but Kimmer. 'Rabbin,' quo' she, 'fand ye are auld bane amang the cowes?' ''Deed no, it may be gowd for me,' quo' I. 'Weel, weel,' quo' she, 'I'll byde and help ye hame wi' your fish.' God's be me help, nought grippit I but tades and paddocks! 'Satan, thy nieve's here,' quo' I. 'Ken ye' (quo' I) 'o' yon new cheese our wyfe took but frae the chessel yestreen? I'm gaun to send't t' ye i' the morning, ye're a gude neebor to me: an' hear'st thou me? There's a bit auld bane whomeled aneath thae cowes; I kent nae it was thine.' Kimmer drew't out. 'Ay, ay, it's my auld bane; weel speed ye.' I' the very first pow I got sic a louthe o' fish that I carried 'till me back cracked again."(1)

A celebrated witch connected with Wigtownshire was Maggie Osborne.

"On the wild moorland between the marches of Carrick and the valley of the Luce tracks are pointed out, on which the heather will not grow, as 'Maggie's gate to Gallowa''; the sod having been so deeply burned by her tread, or that of her weird companion. Among the misdemeanours imputed to her, in aggravation of the charge for which she was cruelly condemned, was that of having impiously partaken of the communion at the Moor Kirk of Luce. She accepted the bread at the minister's hands, but a sharp-eyed office-bearer (long after) swore that he had detected her spitting out the wafer at the church-door, which he clearly saw swallowed by the devil, who had waited for her outside in the shape of a toad. Again it was asserted that when passing from Barr to Glenluce by the 'Nick o' the Balloch' she encountered a funeral procession, and to pass unseen she changed herself into a beetle; but before she could creep out of the way, a shepherd in the party unwittingly set his foot upon her, and would have crushed her outright had not a rut partly protected her. Much frightened and hurt she vowed vengeance; but the moor-man being a pious man, for long her arts were of no avail against him. One night however, detained late by a storm, he sat down hurriedly to supper, having forgotten to say grace. Her incantations then had power. A wreath of snow was collected and hurled from the hill above on the devoted cabin, and the shepherd, his wife, and family of ten were smothered in the avalanche."(2)

In Glenluce a story is handed down which brings out that it was not necessarily the dweller in the humble cot on whom the mantle of witchcraft fell, but that the high-bred dames of the "Hall" did also at times dabble in the practice.

"A labouring man's wife, a sensible, decent woman, having been detained late from home, was returning about the witching hour; and at a spot known as the 'Clay Slap' she met face to face a troop of females, as to whose leader, being cloven-footed, she could not be mistaken. Her consternation was the greater, as one by one she recognised them all, and among them the ladies of the manor. They stopped her, and in her terror she appealed to one of them by name. Enraged at being known, the party declared that she must die. She pleaded for mercy, and they agreed to spare her life on her taking an awful oath that she would never reveal the names of any as long as they lived.

"Fear prevented her from breaking her pledge, but as one by one the dames paid the debt of nature, she would mysteriously exclaim 'There's anither of the gang gone!' She outlived them all, and then divulged the secret, adding that on that dreadful night, after getting to her bed, she lay entranced in an agony as if she had been roasting between two fires."(3)

The name of Michael Scott of Balwearie (Fife), scholar and alchemist, who lived in the thirteenth century, is traditionally associated with the Abbey of Glenluce. Regarded by the peasantry as a warlock, he was supposed to be here buried with his magic books, and there is a story extant to the effect that a man in the district who daringly disinterred his skeleton, found it in a sitting position confronting him, and that the sight drove him stark mad.

Whilst in the neighbourhood of Glenluce, "Michael the Warlock" is credited with having exercised strong discipline over the witches of the district. One task he assigned them to keep them from more doubtful work, was to spin ropes from sea-sand, and it is yet said that some of the rope fragments may be seen to this day near Ringdoo Point, near the mouth of the Luce, when laid bare by wind and tide. Another equally profitless and endless task set for the same purpose of keeping them from unsanctioned, mischievous deeds, was the threshing of barley chaff.

There is a quaint reference in MacTaggart's Gallovidian Encyclopædia to the "Library of Michael Scott." He says, "One of these (vaults) at the Auld Abbey of Glenluce contains the famous library of Michael Scott, the Warlock. Here are thousands of old witch songs and incantations, books of the 'Black Art,' and 'Necromancy,' 'Philosophy of the Devil,' 'Satan's Almanacks,' 'The Fire Spangs of Faustus,' 'The Soothsayers' Creed,' 'The Witch Chronicle,' and the 'Black Clud's Wyme laid open,' with many more valuable volumes."

It may be noted in passing that the Abbey of Holm-Cultram, in Cumberland, has also been associated as the burial-place of the Wizard Michael; but it is with Melrose Abbey, as depicted by Sir Walter Scott in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," that the most cherished associations linger, even if only in the romance of poetry:--

"With beating heart to the task he went; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain; It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length."

* * * * *

"Before their eyes the Wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day."

The religious house of Tongland may be said to have some slight connection here, for in Dunbar's poem of "The Dream of the Abbot of Tungland" (the "frenziet" Friar) there is reference to a witch--"Janet the widow, on ane besome rydand."

"Bess o' Borgue" and "Glencairn Kate" were two notorious south-country witches. They are included in the descriptive witch-poem of "Maggie o' the Moss," already referred to.

About the middle of the eighteenth century there was a famous witch that lived at Hannayston, in the Kells, who was credited with wonderful powers, and many stories of her exploits are still current. Some say her name was Nicholas Grier, others that it was Girzie M'Clegg, but it matters little which now. Some of Lucky's favourite pastimes were, drowning anyone she had a spite at by sinking a caup in the yill-boat in her kitchen; sucking cows in the shape of a hare; frightening people at night by appearing to them like a little naked boy; walking in the resemblance of a cat on its hind legs; conversing with travellers on the road; and sending young people into declines.(4)

The old Church of Dalry has a legend of witch-festival surrounding it, which gives it a distinction something akin to the better-known tradition of Alloway Kirk. The following version is taken from Harper's Rambles:--

"Adam Forester, proprietor of Knocksheen, had been detained one evening until near midnight in the public-house at Dalry. On the way home he had to pass the church, and being perhaps like the famous Tam o' Shanter, through indulging in inspiring bold John Barleycorn, ready to defy all dangers in the shape of goblin and spirit, he very soon had his mettle tested. On reaching the church the windows 'seemed in a bleeze,' and from within loud bursts of mirth and revelry reached the ears of the astonished laird. Nothing daunted however, he dismounted, and securing his horse to a tree near the church-yard wall, he peered in at the window, and to his astonishment, amongst those engaged in the 'dance o' witches' were several old women of his acquaintance, amongst whom was the landlady of the public-house where he had spent the greater part of the evening, and which he had just left. Horrified with such desecration of the sacred edifice, and unable longer to restrain his displeasure, Forester shouted, 'Ho! ho! Lucky, ye'll no deny this the morn!' knocking at the same instant against the window frame with his whip. In a moment the lights were extinguished, and the witches with loud yells rushed out of the church after him; but the laird, having gained his horse, went off at a furious gallop for the ford on the Ken, his pursuers following hard upon him, their frantic and hideous shouts striking terror to his heart. As they could not cross the running stream, they flew to the Brig o' Ken, six miles distant, where they crossed and overtook Adam on Waterside Hill, tearing all the hair out of the horse's tail, and Lucky getting her black hand on the horse's hip. She left its impression there for life. The laird, finding he could proceed no further, dismounted and was only saved from being torn to pieces by describing a circle in God's name round himself and horse. This charm proved effectual. The fury of the mysterious band was arrested, and at daybreak he rode home to his residence."

The story is still current in the Glenkens, and what is supposed to be the circle drawn by the laird is pointed out on Waterside Hill.