Folk Tales of Scotland (19 page)

The Prince, who had once been a cowherd, was walking with his Princess one day, when he saw a little castle beside the loch, in a wood. He asked his wife who lived there. She
told him that no one had come back alive who had gone near that castle.

‘Things can’t be left like that,’ said he. ‘I’ll find out who lives there.’

‘Please don’t go,’ she begged him.

But he went to the castle, and a little old woman met him at the door.

‘Welcome, fisherman’s son,’ said she. ‘I’m pleased to see you. Come in and rest.’

He went, but she struck him on the back, and he fell dead.

Now, far away in the fisherman’s house, they had seen the first tree planted from the mermaid’s grains withering. The second son said that his elder brother must be
dead. He swore he would go and find out where his brother lay. He mounted his black horse and, with his black dog by his side, followed his brother’s footsteps to the King’s castle.

He was so like his elder brother that the King at first thought he was the Princess’s husband. When he was told what had happened to his brother, he went to the little castle by the loch
and, just as it had happened to his elder brother, so it happened to him. With one blow the old woman stretched him out dead.

When the youngest brother saw the second tree behind the house begin to wither, he decided to find out how death had come to his two brothers. He mounted his black horse and followed his black
dog to the King’s castle.

The King was pleased to see him and told him all that had happened to his two brothers. At first he was not allowed to go to the castle by the loch. At last he went, and
was met by the old woman.

‘Welcome, fisherman’s son,’ said she. ‘I’m pleased to see you. Come in and rest.’

‘Go in before me, old woman,’ said he. ‘Go in, and let me hear what you have to say.’

The old woman went on. He drew his sword and cut off her head. But the sword flew out of his hand. The old woman caught her head with both hands, and stuck it on again. The black dog sprang at
her, but she struck the dog a blow with her magic club, and there he lay.

The youngest brother caught the old carlin, seized her magic club, and struck her one blow on the top of her head. She fell down dead.

He saw his brothers lying side by side. He touched each of them with the magic club, and they sprang to their feet, alive and well. Then he touched the black dog with the magic club, and up he
jumped. They found gold and silver in the old witch’s castle, and returned to the Princess and the King with the treasure. There was enough for them all, including their mother and their
father, the old fisherman.

When the King grew old, the fisherman’s eldest son and his wife were crowned King and Queen. They all lived happily ever after.

HERE
was once a goodman of Thorodale, in the Orkney Isles. He had three sons, who helped
him with the fishing, and a bonny wife whom he loved dearly.

One day the goodman and his bonny wife were down on the beach, at the water’s edge. The goodman bent down to tie his boot-lace, turning his back to his bonny wife. Suddenly she screamed,
as a dark Fin-man dragged her to his boat and pushed out to sea before the goodman could reach them. Thorodale never saw his bonny wife again.

He pulled up his breeches, rolled down his stockings, and went on his knees below the flood-mark. There he swore that, living or dead, he would be revenged on the Fin-folk for stealing his bonny
wife.

One day he was out fishing on the sound that lies between Rousay and Evie, when he heard a woman’s voice singing. He knew it was his wife, although he could not see her, for she sang:

Thorodale went ashore, took his staff in his hand, his silver in a stocking, and set off for the island of Hoy. There the spey-wife told him how he might get the power of seeing Hilda-land, and
what he was to do when he saw it.

Thorodale returned home and for nine months at midnight, when the moon was full, he went nine times on his knees round the Odin Stone of Stainess. For nine months, at full
moon, he looked through the hole in the Odin Stone, and wished that he might have the power of seeing Hilda-land. He filled a girnal with salt, and set three baskets beside it; he then told his
three sons what they must do when he gave them the word.

One summer morning, just after sunrise, the goodman of Thorodale saw a little island in the middle of the sound where he had never seen land before. He could not turn his head, nor wink his eye,
for if he once lost sight of that land he knew he would never see it again. So he shouted to his three sons in the house:

‘Fill the baskets with salt, and hold for the boat!’

The sons came, each carrying a basket of salt. The four men jumped into the boat, and rowed for the new land, although nobody could see it except the goodman.

In a moment, the boat was surrounded by whales. The three sons wanted to drive the whales away, but their father cried:

‘Pull for dear life!’

A great whale lay right in the boat’s course, and opened up a mouth big enough to swallow both boat and men. Thorodale, standing in the bow of his boat, flung two handfuls of salt into its
mouth, and the whale vanished.

As the boat neared the shore of Hilda-land, two mermaids stood on the rocks and sang. The lads began to row slowly, listening to the song, but Thorodale gave them a kick, without turning his
head, and cried out to the mermaids:

‘Begone, you unholy creatures! Here’s your warning!’

He threw a cross of twisted seaweed on the mermaids, and they dived screaming into the sea.

When the boat touched land, they saw a great monster with long tusks, and feet as broad as millstones. Its eyes blazed and its mouth spat fire. Thorodale flung a handful of salt between the
monster’s eyes, and it
disappeared with a roar. In its place stood a tall Fin-man, with a drawn sword, who cried:

‘Go back, you human thieves! or I’ll defile Hilda-land with your blood!’

The three sons began to tremble.

‘Come home, Father, come home!’ they cried.

The tall Fin-man thrust at Thorodale with his sword, but the goodman flung a cross of cloggirs, or goose-grass, on the Fin-man’s face, and he turned and fled in pain and anger.

‘Come out of that,’ cried Thorodale to his sons, ‘and take salt ashore!’

He made them walk abreast round the island, each of them scattering salt as he went.

There arose a terrible rumpus among the Fin-folk and their kye. They ran helter-skelter into the sea, like a flock of sheep, and never set foot on Hyn-hallow again.

The goodman of Thorodale cut nine crosses on the turf, and his three sons went three times round the island, scattering their salt. But the youngest son had a large hand, and scattered and sowed
the salt too fast. Not one particle would his brothers spare him, so the ninth circle of salt was never completed. That is why cats, rats and mice cannot live on Hyn-hallow,

In the Orkneys they still sing:

NE
day, when the goodman of Wastness was down on the beach and the tide was out, he saw a
number of Selkie folk on a flat rock. They had taken off their seal-skins, and had skin as white as his own.

The goodman crept forward and waded swiftly to the rock. The Selkie folk saw him and seized their seal-skins and jumped into the sea. But the goodman took one of the seal-skins, belonging to a
Selkie lass. The Selkie folk swam out a little distance, put their heads up out of the sea and gazed at the goodman. One of them did not look like a seal.

The goodman put the seal-skin under his arm, and made for home. Before he left the beach, he heard a sound of weeping behind him. The lass whose seal-skin he had taken was following him.

‘If there is any mercy in you, give me back my skin!’ she cried. ‘I cannot live in the sea, among my own folk, without it. Pity me, if you ever have hope for mercy
yourself.’

‘It would be better if you came to live with me,’ said the goodman.

After a lot of persuasion, the sea-lass agreed to be his wife.

She stayed with him many years, bore him seven children, four boys and three girls. But although the goodman’s wife looked happy, and was often merry, her heart was heavy. Many times she
looked out at the sea. She taught her bairns many a strange song that had never been heard before.

One day, the goodman of Wastness and his three eldest sons went off in his boat to the fishing. The goodwife sent three of the children to the
beach to gather limpets and
whelks, but the youngest, having hurt her foot, had to stay at home.

The goodwife began to search for her long-lost skin. She searched up, and she searched down. She searched but, and she searched ben. Never a seal-skin could she find. The youngest lass sat on a
stool resting her foot.

‘What are you looking for, mother?’ she said.

‘I’m looking for a bonny seal-skin, to make a shoe to cure your sore foot.’

‘Maybe I know where it is,’ sasid the little lass. ‘One day, when you were all out, and father thought I was sleeping, he took the bonny seal-skin down. He glowered at it a
peerie minute, then folded it and laid it up there between the wall and the roof.’

When her mother heard this, she hurried to the place and pulled out her long-lost skin.

‘Farewell, wee buddo!’ she cried, and ran out of the house. She ran to the shore, put on her seal-skin, and plunged into the sea.

There a Selkie man met her and they swam away together. The goodman, rowing home, saw them both from his boat. His lost wife uncovered her face, and cried: