Scottish Folktales

[dreamwalker]

Hi everyone;
I will start to post a few Scottish folktales here by and by and hope you'll enjoy them as much as I do...so here we go...

THE SELKIE WIFE

Only very few know the goodman of Wastness who lived alone on a small farm that stood above the sea. He dug and he sowed and he was working all the hours of daylight to make a life of it; yet he remained as poor as a corrie crisosag...a dry old beetle. He never even had time to take a wife. "Och, there's nae enough food to bind a body to a soul," he'd say. "I canna manage twa o'them".
Well, it happened one day that the goodman of Wastness was down on the ebb when he was surprised to hear snatches of song, girlish laughter and low cheery voices. The sounds seemed to be coming from the seaward side of some rocks of the far end of the shore.
The goodman crept forward and waded swiftly to the rock; the sight that met his gaze made him catch his breath in sheer astonishment. For there below him on a rocky shelf, just above the water edge, he saw a group of young men and maidens as naked as the sunsplashed rocks. Never in all his years had he cast eyes on such lovely faces, such smooth skins and such graceful limbs.
"Selkies! That's what they are" he murmured to himself.
He'd heard stories of the Selkies or seal folk who sometimes come ashore, cast aside their seal skins and play their happy games.
"Aye, I ken who y'are", he thought, seeing their sins upon a nearby rock. "And what if I take a skin masel?" he thought. "It'd kep ma bed warm or be a plaid for ma back."
So the goodman of wastness crept down unseen, dashed across the sand and snatched up a silver skin before any of the Selkies could move.
What a to-do! Each lovely creature made a rush for the rock to seize a skin; then, diving intothe sea they swam away as fast as they were able, pulling on their seal skins as they went.
In the meantime, the goodman made good his secape with a selkie skin under his arm. Before he had left the ebb, however, he heard footsteps padding after him over the sand and the sound of a lassie softly weeping. As he turned he saw a lovely lassie holding out her hands towards him; and ever and on she cried,
"Oh bonnie man, if there's one mercy i'thee human breast, gae back me skin! I canno', canno', canno' live i' the sea without it. I canno', canno', canno' bide among me ain folk without me ain seal skin."
The goodman's heart was moved by her sobbing pleas. Yet even more his heart was pierced by a strange sensation he had never felt before. His heart that had never loved a woman was now conquered by the beauty of the sea-lass, and he did not want to lose her.
!I dinna intend to return yon selkie skin," he said. "Y'll nae be awa to sea again, ma bonnie lass. Y'll stay wi' me and be ma goodwife."
He put his plaid around the weeping sea-lass and took her by the hand, leading her to his farm. On there he wrapped her in a blanket and gave her supper of bannock and hot brose porridge. While she was eating he stole out to the barn, folded up the skin and hid it on a beam beneath the roof, where she would never find it.
Poor lassie. After her supper she lay down upon a bed and wept the whole night through. Likewise next day too. And through the week.
But there came a time when her tears dried up and there was nothing for it but to make the best of her new mortal life. her goodman was fairly kind to her, if a mite unpolished in his ways. And she became a thrifty, frugal, kindly goodwife. She bore her goodman seven children, four boys and three lasses, and there were not bonnier bairns in all the isle; with large gentle brown eyes and smooth white skin.

[dreamwalker]

Although she appeared fair happy, there always seemed to be a weight upon her heart, and many sad, yearning glance did she cast towards the sea. Of an evening, when the day's work was done, would sometimes sit upon the sandy ebb, gazing out to sea, as for searching for someone amid the waves. And she taught her bairns many a strange doleful song that touched the heart of all who chanced to catch their music on the wind.
Now it chanced one time, when the goodman of Wastness has taken his sons fishing in his boat and the goodwife has sent two lassies to the ebb to gather the limpets and wilks, that the Selkie wife and the youngest lass were sitting alone at home. No sooner had her goodman and the children left the house than the Selkie wife was in and out of all cupboards, feeling all along the shelves, peering under beds and tables, rummaging in all the chests and boxes, sighing all the time.
"Whist, Mam," her little lassie said, "what is it that ye're seeking?"
"Och, ma peerie bairn," her mother said, "I'm leukan for a bonnie selkie skin your father once brought home."
"Wad it be soft and silvry wi' bonnie bruin spots?" the lassie asked.
"Aye, ma bonnie bairn, that it wad! D'ye ken where t'is?" her mother cried exitedly.
Says the lass, "Maybe I ken whar it is. Aen day whin ye were a' oot. an' Ded thought I was sleepan i' the bed, he took a bonnie skin doon; he glowred at it a peerie minute, then laid it upon the bearn in oor old stone barn."
The lassie had hardly finished speaking when her mother rushed from the house towards the old stone barn. In an instant she was standing on a box, feeling with trembling hanfs along the beams. At last, as her dusty fingers edged along a beam they touched something soft - her Selkie skin! Pulling it down, she clasped it lovingly to her breast ans ran back with it to the house.
"Fare ye well, ma peerie buddo," said she to the lass. "I must awa toma ain hame."
She ran across the heather to the cliff, hurried down the cliff path to the sea, pulled on her long-lost skin and, with a last wave to her daughters on the ebb, she plunged into the sea.
When she was already far out to sea, she saw the fishing boat with her husband and her four sons.
For several moments she swam alongside as if trying to tell them something. They were puzzled by the friendly seal that swam so close , it's head lifted above the waves, looking at them with its lovely gentle eyes shining with a gleam of mingles joy with sadness.
all od a sudden, with a painful cry of recognition, the goodman of wastness snatched up his net and went to cast it in the water.
But it was too late. The seal had dived under the waves and was soon far, far away, swimming out sea. And beside here there swam a Selkie man, crying with delight. As the goodman stared he heard faint cry across the waves,
"Goodman of Wastness, farewell to ye.
I liked ye well, xe were guid to me.
But I love better ma man of the sea."
And that was the last he ever saw of his Selkie wife.
Yet every now and then, in the mouth of the night, he heard the faint sound of singing on the wind and these were the words the voices sang,
"Cha chum tigh fiodh fiodha sinn,
Cha chum tigh fiodh sinn,
Cha chum tigh bhan na slatan ruinn,
Cha chum tigh Bhreatunn ruinn.

The wood-wooden houses won't keep us,
the houses of wood won't keep us,
the white slatted houses won't hold us,
the house of Britain won't confine us."

This was a traditional folktale from the Orkneys, in the version of W. Traill Dennison's "The Goodman of Wastness"

[dreamwalker]

Here is some additional material on Selkies...and if you were interested I could add some more tales.


"As soon as the seal was clear of the water, it reared up and its skin slipped down to the sand. What had been a seal was a white-skinned boy"
George Mackay Brown - 'Pictures in the Cave'


The term "selkie" is simply the Orcadian dialect word meaning "seal".

Selkies are a very common sight across the islands. Heads bobbing above the surface of the waves, they are most often seen watching inquisitively with uncannily human eyes.

To the onshore observer it is not hard to see how the legends surrounding the selkie folk - the seal people - sprang into life.

Orkney has many stories concerning a this magical race of creatures. Unlike the Fin Folk with their malicious tendencies, the selkie folk came to be regarded as gentle shape shifters with the ability to transform from seals into beautiful, lithe humans.

Throughout the surviving folklore there is no general agreement as to how often this magical transformation could take place. In some tales it was once a year, usually on Midsummer's Eve, whereas in others it could be 'every ninth night' or 'every seventh stream'.

However often they were able to transform, the folklore does tell us that once in human form the selkie folk would dance merrily on lonely stretches of moonlit shore or bask in the sun on outlying rocks or skerries.

The selkie's skin

A common element in all Selkie Folk tales, and perhaps the most important, is the fact that when the selkies assume human form they cast off their sealskins. Within these magical skins lay the power to return to seal form, and therefore the sea.

If one of the selkie folk lost their sealskin, they were doomed to remain in human form until the skin was recovered. Because of this, if disturbed during one of their midnight shore dances, the selkie folk would hastily snatch up their skins and rush back to the safety of the sea.

Amorous encounters

The male members among the selkie folk were renowned for their many encounters with human females - married and unmarried.

A selkie man in human form was a handsome creature with almost magical seductive powers over mortal women. These selkie men had no qualms in casting off their sealskins, stashing them carefully, before heading inland to seek illicit intercourse with an 'unsatisfied woman'.

Should such a mortal woman wish to make contact with a selkie man, there was a specific rite that she had to follow. At the high tide, the woman should make her way to the shore where she had to shed seven tears into the sea.

The selkie man would then come ashore and after removing his magical sealskin, would seek out 'unlawful love' among the women of the island.

[dreamwalker]

In the words of the Orkney folklorist Walter Traill Dennison, these selkie males:

"..often made havoc among thoughtless girls, and sometimes intruded into the sanctity of married life."
If a girl went missing while out on the ebb or at sea, it was inevitably said that her selkie lover had taken her to his watery domain - assuming, of course, she had not attracted the eye of a Finman.

But if the males of the selkie race were irresistable to the island women, selkie women were no less alluring to the eyes of earth-born men.

The most common theme in selkie folklore is one in which a cunning young Orcadian man acquires, either by trickery or theft, a selkie girl's sealskin.

This prevented her from returning to her home in the sea and the beautiful seal-maiden was usually forced to marry their 'captors' and sire children.

These tales generally end sadly, however, with the selkie wife's children finding and returning her sealskin so that she might return to the sea. In some accounts her children go with her while others have them remaining with their mortal father.

(Information found on Orkneyjar...the heritage of the Orkney Islands)G.F. Black's "The Goodwife of Wastness".

[LLady]

Wonderful thread Dreamy!

[dreamwalker]

Thank you!!! In this case I'm going to add more...

[dreamy]

Thom and Willie

Thom and Willie, two young fisher-mates of Lunna, in Shetland, were rivals for the hand of the fair Osla, daughter of Jarm. Now it so happened that, one October afternoon, they took their hand-lines and went out fishing together in their boat. Towards dusk the wind rose, and it soon blew so hard as to compel the young men to run for the nearest shelter—a haven in the islet of Linga in Whalsay Sound, which they happily reached in safety. The islet was uninhabited, and the fishermen had with them neither food nor the means of kindling a fire. They had, however, a roof over their heads; for there was a hut, or lodge, on the island, used by fishermen in the fair weather season, but deserted since the close of that period. For two days the storm raged without ceasing, and at last the situation of the castaways began to grow very serious. However, on the morning of the third day, a little before daybreak, Willie, who was awake before his companion, discovered that the weather had faired, and that the wind blew in a favouring direction. Upon this, without rousing Thom, he proceeded to the boat, which lay safely hauled up upon the shore, and by dint of great exertion managed to launch her single-handed. Meantime Thom had awoke; and, at last, as Willie did not come back, he followed him to the noust, or place where boats are drawn up. And here a sight met his view which filled him with dismay. The yawl had disappeared from her place; but, raising his eyes he beheld her already far out at sea and speeding before the breeze in the direction of Lunna. At this sight poor Thom gave way to despair. He realised that his comrade had basely and heartlessly deserted him; he knew that it was not likely that the islet would be visited until the fishing season should have come round again; and he had small hopes of help from any exertions on his behalf which might be made by his friends, seeing that they would be in ignorance where to look for him. Amid melancholy thoughts and forebodings the day passed slowly, and at hightfall he betook himself to his shake-down of straw within the lodge. Darkness closed in, and he slept. But, towards the small hours of the morning, he was suddenly awakened; when great was his astonishment to see that the hut was lighted up with a strange illumination, whilst a queer inhuman hum and chatter, accompanied by the patter of many pairs of little feet and the jingle of gold and silver vessels, smote upon his ear. A fairy banquet was, in fact, in course of preparation in the lodge. Thom raised himself noiselessly upon his elbow, and watched the proceedings. With infinite bustle and clatter, the table was at last laid. Then there entered a party of trows, who bore between them in a chair, or litter, a female fairy, to whom all appeared to pay honour. The company took seats, and the banquet was on the point of commencing, when in a moment the scene of festivity was changed to one of wild alarm and confusion. A moment more, and Thom learnt to his cost the cause of the sudden change. The presence of a human being had been detected, and at a word from their queen the "grey people," swarming together, were about to rush upon the intruder. But in this trying juncture Thom did not lose his presence of mind. His loaded fowling-piece lay by his side, and, as the fairies rushed upon him, he raised it to his shoulder and fired. In an instant the light was extinguished, and all was darkness, silence, and solitude.

[dreamy]

Let us now return to the perfidious Willie. Reaching Lunna in safety, he related a tragic tale (which he had invented on the voyage), to account for the absence of his comrade; and, finding that his story was believed, he began anew, without much loss of time, to urge his suit with the fair Osla. Her father, Jarm, regarded him with favour; but the maiden herself turned a deaf ear to all his entreaties. She felt that she could not love him; and, besides, she was haunted by a suspicion that Thom, in whose welfare she felt a tender interest, had been the victim of foul play. Pressure was, however, put upon her, and in spite of her objections, an early day was fixed for the wedding. The poor girl was in great distress. However, one night, when she had cried herself to sleep, she dreamed a dream, the result of which was that next morning she proceeded to the house of Thom’s parents, and begged them to join her in a search for their missing son. This, notwithstanding their love for him, they were somewhat reluctant to do; arguing that, even supposing him to have been abandoned, as she divined, upon one of the rocky islets of the coast, he must ere now have perished from exposure and starvation. But the girl persisted in her entreaties, which at last prevailed. A boat was manned, and by Osla’s direction was steered towards Linga, upon approaching which, sure enough, as the girl had predicted, it was discovered that the islet had a human tenant. Thom met his friends on the beach, and when the first eager greetings had passed, surprise was expressed at the freshness and robustness of his appearance. But this surprise increased tenfold when, in recounting his adventures, he explained that, during the latter days of his isolation, he had supported life upon the remains of the scarcely-tasted fairy banquet, adding that never in his life before had he fared so delicately. On their return to Lunna, the party were received with rejoicings; and it is scarcely necessary to add that Thom and Osla were soon made man and wife. From that time forward Willie prospered no more. The loss of his health and fortune followed that of his good name, and he sank ere long into an early and unregretted grave.

[LLady]

dreamwalker said:

Thank you!!! In this case I'm going to add more...

I love it!

[dreamy]

The Smith and the Fairies

Years ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith of the name of MacEachern. This man had an only child, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years of age, cheerful, strong, and healthy. All of a sudden he fell ill, took to his bed, and moped whole days away. No one could tell what was the matter with him, and the boy himself could not, or would not, tell how he felt. He was wasting away fast; getting thin, old, and yellow; and his father and all his friends were afraid that he would die.

At last one day, after the boy had been lying in this condition for a long time, getting neither better nor worse, always confined to bed, but with an extraordinary appetite, —one day, while sadly revolving these things, and standing idly at his forge, with no heart to work, the smith was agreeably surprised to see an old man, well known to him for his sagacity and knowledge of out-of-the-way things, walk into his workshop. Forthwith he told him the Occurrence which had clouded his life.

The old man looked grave as he listened; and after sitting a long time pondering over all he had heard, gave his opinion thus—"It is not your son you have got. The boy has been carried away by the ‘Daoine Sith,’ and they have left a Sibhreach in his place." "Alas! and what then am I to do?" said the smith. "How am I ever to see my own son again?" "I will tell you how," answered the old man. "But, first, to make sure that it is not your own son you have got, take as many empty egg-shells as you can get, go with them into the room, spread them out carefully before his sight, then proceed to draw water with them, carrying them two and two in your hands as if they were a great weight, and arrange when full, with every sort of earnestness, round the fire." The smith accordingly gathered as many broken egg-shells as he could get, went into the room, and proceeded to carry out all his instructions.

He had not been long at work before there arose from the bed a shout of laughter, and the voice of the seeming sick boy exclaimed, "I am now 800 years of age, and I have never seen the like of that before."

The smith returned and told the old man. "Well, now," said the sage to him, "did I not tell you that it was not your son you had: your son is in Brorra-cheill in a digh there (that is, a round green hill frequented by fairies). Get rid as soon as possible of this intruder, and I think I may promise you your son.

"You must light a very large and bright fire before the bed on which this stranger is lying. He will ask you, ‘What is the use of such a fire as that?’ Answer him at once, ‘You will see that presently!’ and then seize him, and throw him into the middle of it. If it is your own son you have got, he will call out to save him; but if not, this thing will fly through the roof."

The smith again followed the old man’s advice; kindled a large fire, answered the question put to him as he had been directed to do, and seizing the child flung him in without hesitation. The "Sibhreach" gave an awful yell, and sprung through the roof, where a hole was left to let the smoke out.

On a certain night the old man told him the green round hill, where the fairies kept the boy, would be open. And on that night the smith, having provided himself with a Bible, a dirk, and a crowing cock, was to proceed to the hill. He would hear singing and dancing and much merriment going on, but he was to advance boldly; the Bible he carried would be a certain safeguard to him against any danger from the fairies. On entering the hill he was to stick the dirk in the threshold, to prevent the hill from closing upon him; "and then," continued the old man, "on entering you will see a spacious apartment before you, beautifully clean, and there, standing far within, working at a forge, you will also see your own son. When you are questioned, say you come to seek him, and will not go without him."

Not long after this the time came round, and the smith sallied forth, prepared as instructed. Sure enough, as he approached the hill, there was a light where light was seldom seen before. Soon after a sound of piping, dancing, and joyous merriment reached the anxious father on the night wind.

Overcoming every impulse to fear, the smith approached the threshold steadily, stuck the dirk into it as directed, and entered. Protected by the Bible he carried on his breast, the fairies could not touch him; but they asked him with a good deal of displeasure, what he wanted there. He answered, "I want my son, whom I see down there, and will not go without him."

Upon hearing this the whole company before him gave a loud laugh, which wakened up the cock he carried dozing in his arms, who at once leaped up on his shoulders, clapped his wings lustily, and crowed loud and long.

The fairies, incensed, seized the smith and his son, and, throwing them out of the hill, flung the dirk after them, and in an instant all was dark.

For a year and a day the boy never did a turn of work, and hardly ever spoke a word; but at last one day, sitting by his father and watching him finishing a sword he was making for some chief, and which he was very particular about, he suddenly exclaimed, "That is not the way to do it;" and, taking the tools from his father’s hands, he set to work himself in his place, and soon fashioned a sword the like of which was never seen in the country before.

From that day the young man wrought constantly with his father, and became the inventor of a peculiarly fine and well-tempered weapon, the making of which kept the two smiths, father and son, in constant employment, spread their fame far and wide, and gave them the means in abundance, as they before had the disposition, to live content with all the world and very happily with one another.

[dreamy]

The sea Maiden

There was ere now a poor old fisher, but on this year he was not getting much fish. On a day of days, and he fishing, there rose a sea-maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him if he was getting fish. The old man answered, and he said that he was not. "What reward wouldst thou give me for sending plenty of fish to thee?" "Ach!" said the old man, "I have not much to spare." "Wilt thou give me the first son thou hast?" said she. "It is I that would give thee that, if I were to have a son; there was not, and there will not be a son of mine," said he, "I and my wife are grown so old." "Name all thou hast." "I have but an old mare of a horse, an old dog, myself, and my wife. There’s for thee all the creatures of the great world that are mine." "Here, then, are three grains for thee that thou shalt give thy wife this very night, and three others to the dog, and these three to the mare, and these three likewise thou shalt plant behind thy house, and in their own time thy wife will have three sons, the mare three foals, and the dog three puppies, and there will grow three trees behind thy house, and the trees will be a sign, when one of the sons dies, one of the trees will wither. Now, take thyself home, and remember me when thy son is three years of age, and thou thyself wilt get plenty of fish after this." Everything happened as the sea-maiden said, and he himself was getting plenty of fish; but when the end of the three years was nearing, the old man was growing sorrowful, heavy-hearted, while he failed each day as it came. On the namesake of the day, he went to fish as he used, but he did not take his son with him.
The sea-maiden rose at the side of the boat, and asked, "Didst thou bring thy son with thee hither to me?" "Och! I did not bring him. I forgot that this was the day." "Yes! yes! then," said the sea-maiden; "thou shalt get four other years of him, to try if it be easier for thee to part from him. Here thou hast his like age," and she lifted up a big bouncing baby. "Is thy son as fine as this one?" He went home full of glee and delight, for that he had got four other years of his son, and he kept on fishing and getting plenty of fish, but at the end of the next four years sorrow and woe struck him, and he took not a meal, and he did not a turn, and his wife could not think what was ailing him. This time he did not know what to do, but he set it before him, that he would not take his son with him this time either. He went to fish as at the former times, and the sea-maiden rose at the side of the boat, and she asked him, "Didst thou bring thy son hither to me?" "Och! I forgot him this time too," said the old man. "Go home, then," said the sea-maiden, "and at the end of seven years after this thou art sure to remember me; but then it will not be the easier for thee to part with him, but thou shalt get fish as thou used to do."

The old man went home full of joy; he had got seven other years of his son, and before seven years passed, the old man thought that he himself would be dead, and that he would see the sea-maiden no more. But no matter, the end of those seven years was nearing also, and if it was, the old man was not without care and trouble. He had rest neither day nor night. The eldest son asked his father one day if any one were troubling him. The old man said that some one was, but that belonged neither to him nor to any one else. The lad said he must know what it was. His father told him at last how the matter was between him and the sea-maiden. "Let not that put you in any trouble," said the son; "I will not oppose you." "Thou shalt not; thou shalt not go, my son, though I should not get fish for ever." "If you will not let me go with you, go to the smithy, and let the smith make me a great strong sword, and I will go to the end of fortune." His father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword for him. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and gave it a shake or two, and it went in a hundred splinters. He asked his father to go to the smithy and get him another sword, in which there should be twice as much weight; and so did his father, and so likewise it happened to the next sword—it broke in two halves. Back went the old man to the smithy; and the smith made a great sword, its like he never made before. "There’s thy sword for thee," said the smith, "and the fist must be good that plays this blade." The old man gave the sword to his son, he gave it a shake or two. "This will do," said he; "it’s high time now to travel on my way." On the next morning he put a saddle on the black horse that the mare had, and he put the world under his head, and his black dog was by his side. When he went on a bit, he fell in with the carcase of a sheep beside the road. At the carrion were a great dog, a falcon, and an otter. He came down off the horse, and he divided the carcase amongst the three. Three third shares to the dog, two third shares to the otter, and a third share to the falcon. "For this," said the dog, "if swiftness of foot or sharpness of tooth will give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the otter, "If the swimming of foot on the ground of a pool will loose thee, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the falcon, "If hardship comes on thee, where swiftness of wing or crook of a claw will do good, mind me, and I will be at thy side." On this he went onward till he reached a king’s house, and he took service to be a herd, and his wages were to be according. to the milk of the cattle. He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but bare. In the evening, when he took them home, they had not much milk, the place was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare this night.

On the next day he went on further with them; and at last he came to a place exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw the like.

[dreamy]

But about the time when he should go behind the cattle, for taking homewards, who is seen coming but a great giant with his sword in his hand. "Hiu! HAu!! HOGARAICH!!!" says the giant. "It is long since my teeth were rusted seeking thy flesh. The cattle are mine; they are on my march; and a dead man art thou." "I said not that," says the herd; "there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to do."

To grips they go—himself and the giant. He saw that he was far from his friend, and near his foe. He drew the great clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant; and in the play of the battle the black dog leaped on the giant’s back. The herd drew back his sword, and the head was off the giant in a twinkling. He leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the giant’s house. He reached a door, and in the haste that the giant made he had left each gate and door open. In went the herd, and that’s the place where there was magnificence and money in plenty, and dresses of each kind on the wardrobe with gold and silver, and each thing finer than the other. At the mouth of night he took himself to the king’s house, but he took not a thing from the giant’s house. And when the cattle were milked this night there was milk. He got good feeding this night, meat and drink without stint, and the king was hugely pleased that he had caught such a herd. He went for a time in this way, but at last the, glen grew bare of grass, and the grazing was not so good.

But he thought he would go a little further forward in on the giant’s land; and he sees a great park of grass. He returned for the cattle, and he puts them into the park.

They were but a short time grazing in the park when a great wild giant came full of rage and madness. "Hiu! Hau!! Hogaraich!!!" said the giant. "It is a drink of thy blood that quenches my thirst this night." "There is no knowing," said the herd, "but that’s easier to say than to do." And at each other went the men. There was the shaking of blades! At length and at last it seemed as if the giant would get the victory over the herd. Then he called on his dog, and with one spring the black dog caught the giant by the neck, and swiftly the herd struck off his head.

He went home very tired this night, but it’s a wonder if the king’s cattle had not milk. The whole family was delighted that they had got such a herd.

He followed herding in this way for a time; but one night after he came home, instead of getting "all hail" and "good luck" from the dairymaid, all were at crying and woe.

He asked what cause of woe there was that night. The dairymaid said that a great beast with three heads was in the loch, and she was to get some one every year, and the lots had come this year on the king’s daughter, "and in the middle of the day to-morrow she is to meet the Uile Bheist at the upper end of the loch, but there is a great suitor yonder who is going to rescue her."

"What suitor is that?" said the herd. "Oh, he is a great General of arms," said the dairymaid, "and when he kills the beast, he will marry the king’s daughter, for the king has said that he who could save his daughter should get her to marry."

But on the morrow when the time was nearing, the king’s daughter and this hero of arms went to give a meeting to the beast, and they reached the black corrie at the upper end of the loch. They were but a short time there when the beast stirred in the midst of the loch; but on the General’s seeing this terror of a beast with three heads, he took fright, and he slunk away, and he hid himself. And the king’s daughter was under fear and under trembling with no one at all to save her. At a glance, she sees a doughty handsome youth, riding a black horse, and coming where she was. He was marvellously arrayed, and full armed, and his black dog moving after him. "There is gloom on thy fair face, girl," said the youth. "What dost thou here?" "Oh! that’s no matter," said the king’s daughter. "It’s not long I’ll be here at all events." "I said not that," said he. "A worthy fled as likely as thou, and not long since," said she. "He is a worthy who stands the war," said the youth. He lay down beside her, and he said to her, if he should fall asleep, she should rouse him when she should see the beast making for shore. "What is rousing for thee?" said she. "Rousing for me is to put the gold ring on thy finger on my little finger." They were not long there when she saw the beast making for the shore. She took a ring off her finger, and put it on the little finger of the lad. He awoke, and to meet the beast he went with his sword and his dog. But there was the spluttering and splashing between himself and the beast! The dog was doing all he might, and the king’s daughter was palsied by fear of the noise of the beast. They would now be under, and now above. But at last he cut one of the heads off her. She gave one roar RAIVIC, and the son of earth, MACTALLA of the rocks (echo), called to her screech, and she drove the loch in spindrift from end to end, and in a twinkling she went out of sight. "Good luck and victory that were following thee, lad!" said the king’s daughter. "I am safe for one night, but the beast will come again, and for ever, until the other two heads come off her." He caught the beast’s head, and he drew a withy through it, and he told her to bring it with her there to-morrow. She went home with the head on her shoulder, and the herd betook himself to the cows; but she had not gone far when this great General saw her, and he said to her that he would kill her, if she would not say that ‘twas he took the head off the beast. "Oh!" says she, 'tis I will say it, Who else took the head off the beast but thou!" They reached the king’s house, and the head was on the General’s shoulder. But here was rejoicing, that she should come home alive and whole, and this great captain with the beast’s head full of blood in his hand. On the morrow they went away, and there was no question at all but that this hero would save the king’s daughter.

They reached the same place, and they were not long there when the fearful Uile Bheist stirred in the midst of the loch, and the hero slunk away as he did on yesterday, but it was not long after this when the man of the black horse came with another dress on. No matter, she knew it was the very same lad. "It is I am pleased to see thee," said she. "I am in hopes thou wilt handle thy great sword to-day as thou didst yesterday. Come up and take breath." But they were not long there when they saw the beast steaming in the midst of the loch.