Chapter III: Part 3

One other horse case. The reciter says: “One Sunday I was standing there on the little hill at C., and I saw a man coming towards me from Gartachara. I knew the man and waited till he passed. He went down to C. I never thought of anything being wrong, but when I turned down the way the man had come up, what did I find but a beautiful brown horse I had at the time, lying on his belly in the water where the horses used to take their drink. He could not stand on his feet, but I got help, and we managed to get him into the kailyard, where he lay groaning.” The horse recovered.

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Fowls are said to be affected. A certain woman had been suspected of hindering the butter from coming at a churning. The case was being reported to a collector, when a bystander expressed doubts as to the existence of an Evil Eye. The reciter then said that her own experience had proved the truth of the accusation in the case of this individual. “She was living for a year beside me, and all that year, although I had most beautiful hens, they laid nothing but soft eggs. They would be found in the mornings all scattered here and there on the floor. Indeed I thought they dropped more eggs than was natural. It was only when talking about the hens to another neighbour that it was suggested to me that her Evil Eye was the cause. Then I knew that there would be no use keeping hens while that woman was beside me, so I sold them all. I got clear of her at the end of the year. I never said anything to her about it, for I was afraid.”

The reciter of the following said that he was positively certain that the facts were as stated, though it had not occurred to himself. “A certain man once called at a house, and a beautiful brood of chickens were going about on the kitchen floor. He was not right out when a stool fell on them and smothered every one of them. From the kitchen he went to the byre, and saw there a beautiful quey, which he professed to admire very much. He was not long gone when the quey became unwell.” The belief was firmly established that the chickens and the quey had been _air an cronachadh_.

A firm believer gives the following:—“One time her mother had a brood of ducks, and every time Mrs. Mac. came in she praised the ducks, but meanwhile one after another was dying, until at last only one remained. One day this one was in the kitchen when Mrs. Mac. came in, and she praised it as usual, but when she was going away she tramped on it and killed it. They were quite sure it was her Evil Eye that had been doing the mischief.”

Not only live fowls but even eggs may be injured. B. S., a respectable girl, a domestic servant, able to read and write, and quite reliable, gives this as a sample. She had bought some eggs, and on bringing them home a neighbour woman was in the house and looked at the eggs. She went away, and afterwards some of the eggs were put on to boil. Although left on the fire for the usual time, it was found they were not boiled enough, and were returned to be further boiled. One of them then cracked and sent the hot water in sparks in her face, and the others were so broken that they were of no use. The people in the house attributed the mishap to the woman who had been there when the eggs were brought in.

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On considering the whole of these symptoms, the principal thing that strikes one to be urged in excuse of the faith that is in the reciters is that what was wrong came on apparently suddenly, in some cases after a visit from a person already suspected, but as often as not it was the suddenness of the mishap which gave ground to the accusation of some probably entirely innocent passer-by. Unless faith in the Evil Eye were already present, there seems hardly ground for any person with experience of cattle and their ailments to evolve a theory of the existence of any such latent power in the individuals accused. So little critical people became, that everything unexpected was referred to the Evil Eye. As a Kintyre man said, “If anything went wrong with the beef when the winter supply was cured, it was attributed to the Evil Eye of some one or other.”

BENEFIT TO THE OWNER OF AN EVIL EYE

Though in many cases involuntary, it has been pointed out that some believe that individuals knowing or professing to know that they have an Evil Eye, from sheer devilry, exercise it to the injury of others, though for no visible benefit to themselves.

A reliable and fairly educated woman, whose father began life as a crofter and died what in that class of life is to be considered as a rich man, a native of South Uist, relates:—There was a woman near her father’s house believed to have a very bad eye, and to be able to do mischief with it. Her aunt was very careful as much as possible to keep out of this woman’s sight, and if she happened to come about at churning time her aunt would put the churn so that the woman would not see it. She would not sell a pound of butter to her for any consideration. The curious thing was that although that woman could take away the produce from other people’s cows, she seemed unable to make any profit of it for herself. It was just her envious and malicious nature that made her take it (the produce) from other people, although it was not going to benefit herself. She was well known by all the people in the district, and they all suspected her of the practice of witchcraft. It was on account of this suspicion, selling butter to her was objected to.

It is not necessary that the desire to possess something should be, as it were, illegitimate or unreasonable to cause damage. Thus M. MacL. was relating how a neighbour’s horse had died. “People say that it was blighted by the Evil Eye. One of his sons had his eye _in_ it, for he expected to get it for himself, but it took ill. At first they thought it was going to get better, for it was eating its food in the evening, but on the following morning this son went out to the stable when he rose, and found it lying down. When it saw him it got up, gave itself a shake, and fell down dead.”

There may be, however, indirect advantages from being credited by your neighbours with having an Evil Eye. Mrs. MacE., a cottar, lived on the farm of L. in one of the inner isles. She was believed to have had the Evil Eye very strongly, and people would do almost anything rather than offend her, so general was the impression that she could injure any person if she wished to do so. The reciter served for some time on a farm that marched with hers, and he says that when Mrs. MacE. came their way she could have almost whatever favour she chose to ask, so much were they afraid of her Evil Eye. He often heard his master remark that he would not incur her displeasure for almost any consideration, in case she might do him injury.

DISADVANTAGE TO THE OWNER OF AN EVIL EYE

If in an indirect way, as above pointed out, some benefits may accrue to one credited with the Evil Eye, it is also said that they may personally suffer serious loss. An old Islay woman who can read Gaelic well, intelligent and full of information, says she knows for certain there are people who possess the Evil Eye. She believes that it is not a matter of choice with them, they cannot help it. Some even do harm to their own cattle. R., who was at one time in Islay, could not go into his own byre but one or other of the cattle would be ill after it. This was so well known that a big dairymaid that he had engaged, a north-country woman, protested against his coming over the byre doorstep. It was because he had such an envious eye that he did so much mischief.

Another reciter tells us of the same farmer that they kept him in the house when his own cattle were being taken in from pasture, in case by admiring them he might be the means of doing them an injury.

Another man in the same island, having got a first-prize animal, said to the herd that he would go out to see it. The herd, fearing evil, tried to dissuade him, but he persisted in going. Shortly afterwards the animal died. His neighbours used to hurry their cattle out of his sight when they saw him coming that way. It was said he could not help it.

D. C. had the Evil Eye very powerfully. On one occasion he went to examine some cattle he had newly bought, and when he looked at them some of them fell down as if they would die. The herd ran across the hill to a hamlet marching with D. C.’s farm and got a bottle of water from a skilled person. When sprinkled on the cattle they at once recovered.

A man in Bowmore went into his own byre one night when his cousin, who lived with him, was milking his cow. He had a nice calf in the byre, and he put his arms round its neck and began to praise it very much. His cousin said to him it was not good to do that. The next morning the calf was found dead, an occurrence credited to his Evil Eye.

A native of Mull avowed her firm belief in the Evil Eye, especially quoting what her mother had told her of a large farmer where she had been brought up who owned a number of cattle, and who had the Evil Eye. “Every time that man went into his own byre the best of his cattle were sure to be unwell afterwards, and they were often dying with him. He could not help it. At last he got a dairymaid who, when she had become acquainted with his peculiarities, would not allow him to go into the byre at all, or near the cows. She turned him back when she would see him coming.”

Exactly the same account of another farmer is given by a reciter in Ross-shire in the parish of U——. She knew him very well by sight, having often seen him at markets, and many times she had heard that he had the Evil Eye, could not help it, and often hurt his own cattle “by thinking too highly of them.” This information was corroborated by another, D. McL., who also knew the man by name and sight, having served on a farm in the same district, and he often heard of him hurting his own cattle.

Of course the Evil Eye is as lively in Ireland as on this side of St. George’s Channel; but the following experience of a native of county Cork, an educated, reliable woman, the wife of a member of the lower ranks of the Civil Service, while staying in Jura, is interesting. Desiring a drink of water one day she called at a house, the mistress of which met her at the door and invited her to come in to have a drink of milk. When she went in she found a girl churning. After sitting for a minute or two Mrs. M. would have left, but was urged to wait for a little to taste the new butter off the churn on a scone. She sat a while, and the girl continued at the churn, evidently working as hard as she could, perspiring, and yet there were no signs of butter. Mrs. M. innocently remarked, “Dear me, I never thought churning was so difficult.” The woman and girl looked at each other, but without speaking. The girl continued churning, until at last her mistress said, “You may put the churn past, you will get no butter off it to-day.” Shortly after Mrs. M. left without having tasted the butter, but beyond that thinking nothing of the circumstances. About two months afterwards, while walking in the same direction, she called at the same house. When going in she noticed the girl again at the churn, but making a rush with it to the other end of the house. Mrs. M. observed, “Oh! Mrs. Mac., I hope I am not interfering with your work. I see J. going out of the way.”

“She is churning, and is going away with the churn, for the last time you were here she did not get one bit of butter off the churn.”

“I am sorry to hear that; I am sure I did nothing to keep the butter from coming.”

“I do not know; she got none at any rate, that’s all I can say.”

Of two women living beside each other in Islay, one was credited with the Evil Eye, and supposed to take away the dairy produce from her neighbours. One year her neighbour for a whole summer was unable to get a bit of butter from her churning. Her suspicion rested strongly on the other. Her account of it was as follows: “I tried everything. They told me to put a horseshoe in the churn, and I did that. Others told me to put salt in it, and I did that, but neither did any good. I scrubbed and scrubbed the churn and the milk dishes, but it was of no use. The milk would only come up with a hissing sound. I was even afraid to use the sour milk in baking scones, for I was sure there was something not right about it. The pig got fat that year, for it was getting the most of the milk. At last I consulted a neighbour, and she told me just what I knew already, that it was a bad woman beside me that was taking away the butter. She advised me not to bother any more, and to keep churning, for the woman would stop her mischief by-and-by, and then the butter would come back as it had gone. I did as she told me, and through time the butter came. I was not speaking about it to any one, for I did not want people to know I believed that she could do so much harm.”

A well-educated small farmer’s wife, a woman of five-and-thirty, knew a husband and wife who both possessed the Evil Eye. They were quite aware themselves that they did, and could not help it. Passing through a park where several colts were grazing, one of which took their fancy, they expressed their admiration of it. That evening the colt took ill and never recovered.

One would think that a little consideration would have made it clear that with two in the same house equally unfortunate nothing they had could have succeeded with them, and yet there was no account of this couple being in worse circumstances than their neighbours.

It certainly is a curious development, the belief already alluded to of the injurious action of the Evil Eye of the farmer on his own stock. “W. C. was on intimate terms with a neighbouring farmer, whom he visited frequently. It was observed that if at any time he (the farmer) praised an animal, something for certain happened to it afterwards. On one occasion he talked admiringly of the poultry, and shortly after all of them died.”

Another reciter said: “In our own time a farmer required to be kept from going among his own cattle, lest by looking on them they should be injured.” These cases respectively were in Islay and Harris.

Judging from personal experience of an old friend addicted to prophesying on his first appearance in the morning the sort of weather for the day, the result being, as we of a younger generation all believed, almost invariably wrong, it seems probable that these stories have arisen in connection with men who talked freely, giving opinions based upon hurried observation. Where silence would have left no ground for animadversion the wordy man had his sayings remembered against him, especially when he was wrong, and the good beasts subsequently turned out failures, as the fine days foretold were generally wet.

CONSEQUENCE OF DIRECT PRAISE

The mere expression of admiration should be avoided by those who wish to escape the accusation of the Evil Eye. A youngish woman says, “You have seen my cousin J.’s third boy. He was the finest and nicest looking of all the children. When six months old he was a very pretty child. One day a woman came into the house; the baby was on his mother’s arm, and the visitor began to praise the child, and praised it very much. She was hardly away when a man came, and he began to praise the child as the woman had done. After he went away like a shot the baby took ill. They did not know what was the matter with him, or what to do, for he was growing worse. He continued in that way for some days. At last granny said she was sure he had been _air a chronachadh_, and advised the mother to consult a woman who was supposed to have knowledge to cure such cases. J. was not willing to go at first, but granny insisted that it would do no harm at any rate to go and speak to the woman. She went, but did not tell anybody at the time, for of course they would be speaking about it. As soon as she told the woman why she had come, the woman told her that the child had been injured by the Evil Eye, and she described exactly the man and woman who had done the harm, although my cousin had not mentioned man or woman to her. Was it not wonderful how she knew the very ones that had done it?” She cured the child. The above happened in one of the islands.

The following is from Ross-shire (Tarbat): “One of my sisters was blighted by a woman who lived beside them. She was well known for her uncanny ways. The way the thing happened was this: The little girl was tied on an elder sister’s back, and they were sent out for a walk. They had not gone far when the woman in question came forward, and putting the shawl back from the child’s face said, ‘What a pretty little girl! which of them is this?’ When the children returned their mother found that the young one was very ill, and on questioning the elder girl, she said that they had met this woman and repeated what she had said. Mother at once suspected what was the matter, sent for the woman, and charged her with having hurt her child. She protested that she had not done the child any injury, but the elder girl spoke up and said, ‘Yes, you looked at her and said she was pretty, and did not bless her.’ The woman admitted this, and that if she had done any harm to the child she was sorry for it, but it could be sorted if wrong had been done. She operated a charm, and the child was soon as brisk as ever.”

A domestic servant relates that a woman who lived in Kil C. had a first-rate cow that was giving a large quantity of milk. One evening when she was milking another woman came into the byre and began praising the cow, and expressing her amazement at the quantity of milk she gave. No more was thought of this, till at next milking the cow did not give so much, and continued to get worse. It became evident that she had been injured by the person who had praised her so much.

A Campbeltown man says, “I am sure I do not know about these things, for I have never seen anything of it myself, but I mind my neighbour over there, D. M., saying to me one day not long ago, that a woman was going past some time before that, and she began to praise one of his cows, saying what a grand udder she had and such fine teats. No doubt the cow was good, he said, and a fine milker, but after that day her milk went from her.”

A married woman of about forty-five “believes firmly in the existence of the Evil Eye,” and relates as a proof: Mrs. McD., a neighbour, told her lately that she was churning. The butter was actually on the churn when Mrs. B. came in, and looking into the churn began to praise the stuff, and said how well off she was to be getting such beautiful butter. She just stayed a minute or two and then went away. After she was gone the butter scattered on the churn, and do what she would she could not get it to gather again. All she could get was froth, and it continued that way with her for several churnings.

A girl of twenty-four, a domestic servant, a crofter’s daughter with a good School Board education, said, “_Cronachadh_ is still in it. My mother was churning not long ago at all, and that woman Mrs. C. came in, and looking into the churn said, ‘Oh! what a lot of butter!’ Well, the butter went off, and though my mother churned and churned she did not get a bit of that churning, nor for a churning or two after that. We believed that the butter had been taken away.”

A woman who admits that she is a firm believer in the Evil Eye, tells of the following case within her own knowledge. Two women were living beside each other, and she knew them both personally. Each had a pig, and they were striving whose pig should be fattest. One of them had a cow, the other had not. The one that had the cow was giving her pig lots of milk. It was growing fast and surpassing the other. One day the neighbour came in, and while they were looking at it and saying how well it was thriving, she remarked, “_Cha’n iongantach a mhuc agadsa bhi cho math on is e sin an seorsa biadh tha thu toirt dith._” (“No wonder your pig is so good, since that is the kind of food you are giving to her.”) After a little while the woman left, but was not long gone when the pig took ill, and when it was apparently getting no better they sent to Gortan-na-lag for one living there believed to have knowledge. When he came and saw the pig he said they had been too late in sending for him, and told them at once that it had been _air a cronachadh_, and he showed them who had done the mischief.

A _cailleach_, notorious as having the Evil Eye, was calling in the house of an acquaintance of the reciter, and when she was leaving she praised a fine hen that was in the yard. It was one of her best hens, and the woman praised it very much. That very day what happened but this hen was taken in dead, and the woman declared she could never get out of her mind that it had been a case of Evil Eye blight.

A LOOK DOES IT

The belief in an Evil Eye having arisen, it is perfectly clear that a mere look, quite unaccompanied by any other action, would soon be considered a quite sufficient cause of the mischief such an eye would occasion. A gamekeeper’s wife, a “canty body,” as she is described, told how some lads on a Sunday, who had watched a mare and foal grazing for some time, were credited with damaging the foal, because shortly after they left it lay kicking on the ground and would not suck.

A horse going up the main street of Bowmore in Islay was looked at by a man passing. A few minutes after it fell and could not rise, till a woman, C. McI., came and did “something to it.” The horse got all right, and the woman consulted maintained that it was a case of Evil Eye.

A man now resident in Glasgow was visiting some friends on a farm in one of the inner islands, and a man riding past was observed looking rather attentively at the cows in a field beside the road. He was supposed to have paid particular attention to a cow which, shortly after he had passed, was noticed to be unwell. It was treated as a case of the Evil Eye, and recovered.

These cases occurred with persons not notorious. The following is one in which the woman who affected the cattle was generally believed to have the Evil Eye. The reciter’s father was driving four cows from the park one evening, and when passing this woman’s house she stood at the door looking at the cows. In a moment off they went as hard as they could run. One of them, a handsome beast that had been bought from a farmer in Gartbreac, when they got them into the byre, was tied to a heavy kitchen grate which was there, but she ran out of the byre with the grate hanging to her neck, and climbed up a peat stack nearly reaching the top of it. From that day they never got any further good of that cow, and were decidedly of opinion that she had been bewitched by the woman.

Not the cattle alone but milk also is influenced by a mere look. We give an instance in the words of the narrator:—

“_Bha ’n toradh air a thoirt uam fein an uiridh. Mhaistir sinn gus an robh Raonull agus Donull agus mi fein a ruith leis an fhallus ach ged a leanamaid air fathast cha ’n fhaigheamaid mir ime. ’S an anns an t-sabhal bhios sinn a cruinneachadh a bhainne agus thainig duine ’n rathad latha aig nach eil bo da chuid fein agus dh’amhairc e air a bhainne ’san t-sabhal: bha sinn a’ deanadh dhe gum b’esan a rinn an cron. Bha na cairdean gam’ chomhairleachadh gun a bhi leigeil le daoine bhi faicinn a’bhainne ach mi bhi cuimhnicheadh nach eil na h-uile duine cosmhuil rium fein. Well, o’n am sin, tha sinn a toirt fanear nach fhaigh neach sam bith cothrom air dol far am bheil am bainne agus tha sinn a faotainn a nis urrad ime’s bu chor air na h-uile maistreadh._” (“The butter was taken from myself last year. We churned until Ronald and Donald and myself were running with sweat, but although we had continued at it till now we could not get a bit of butter. It is in the barn that we gather the milk, and a man who has not got a cow of his own came the way one day and he looked on the milk in the barn, and we were making out that it was he who had done the harm. The friends were advising me not to be allowing people to see the milk, but that I should remember that every person is not like myself. Well, from that time we are taking care that nobody will get an opportunity to go where the milk is, and now we are getting as much butter as we ought to get on every churning.”)

The Isle of Man, from a Gaelic point of view, may be considered as likely to be much the same as the islands of Argyll, and a lighthouse-keeper, stationed there for some time, tells us he heard a good deal about the Evil Eye, and that belief in it is pretty common. “If a person is seen to look closely at a cow when passing her he is at once suspected, and is likely to be requested by the owner of the beast to take certain steps to prevent injurious consequences.”

As we have seen above, the very natural consequence of this belief in a look doing injury leads to the hiding of things liable to harm.

A somewhat amusing story of the effects of a look is from Arran.

“One time M. K. and myself were at a meeting, and there was an old bachelor there who kept looking at us all the time. We noticed it, but did not think much about it until after we went home, but when we got home both of us began to yawn and rift, and could not stop it. We were quite sure that we had been hurt by the ‘eye’ of the old fellow. M. K. made a drink of salt and water for us, and we took it and that cured us.”

Eructation in Arran seems to have a special connection with the Evil Eye and witchcraft. Another reciter remembers quite well a reputed witch going into her mother’s house, and not very long after she left her younger sister, a child at the time, became unwell. Her mother at once suspected that the fault lay with the woman who had left, so she sent after her and brought her back. The reputed witch “mixed salt and water, drank it herself, rifted fearfully, and in a little while the child got quite well.”

The use of salt as a “preservative” is illustrated in the case of an Arran woman who was a strong believer in and much afraid of the effects of the Evil Eye. She had one cow, and it gave her much discomfort when she saw the cow grazing near the roadside, fearing that some passer-by might “put his eye in her.” To keep the milk right, if she gave any to be carried away, or even “to be drunk on the premises,” she invariably put salt in it, and that sometimes to excess. The reciter said, “For a while we were getting milk from her for a man staying with us who was seriously annoyed when the milk was more than ordinarily salt, giving vent to his discontent saying, ‘Why the deuce does she not let us put saut in oor ain milk?’”

AVOIDING THE LOOK

The following recited by a Mull woman is interesting as showing that smiths and Druids, or their modern representatives, have still some affinity. The reciter told how her mother’s cow had taken suddenly ill as her brother Sandy was starting for the smithy. When he arrived there he mentioned the circumstance to the smith. “‘And did your mother no send any message to me?’ said the smith. Sandy said, ‘No, she had sent no message.’ ‘Well, I think your mother might ken that anything that I could do, I would do for her, and she might have sent for me.’ My brother suggested that he had better come away down to see her, so the smith came down and found my mother very vexed about the cow. He said, ‘The cow is bad enough, but it might have been one of the family, for the one that could do this could do the other thing just as well, but we’ll see what can be done.’ Having taken certain steps, he advised her also not to allow any one to see the cow on any account, for three would soon pass, he said, and if she would allow them in to see the cow, the cow would be gone. The three were strong, and she would need to use all her strength to keep them out. He told her that was all he could do just then, but that she must send Sandy over twice to him for a bottle. When he went away she told the children not to tell any one where she was, and she went to the byre to watch the cow. Having got tubs she filled them with stones and placed them against the byre door with spades and everything she could think of to keep the door from being opened. She was not long there when a man passed with a horse and a dog. He came to the kitchen door and asked the children where their mother was, but they did not tell him. He then came to the byre door, lifted the sneck, and when it did not yield tried to force it open with all his might, saying, ‘_A Cheit nic Iain, am bheil thu ann sud?_’ (‘Kate, John’s daughter, are you there?’) My mother knew his voice as that of a near neighbour, and answered: ‘_Tha Iain, tha a’ mhart gu bochd agus tha i na laidh cul an doruis ’s cha ’n urrainn dhuit tighinn a steach._’ (‘Yes, John, the cow is unwell, and she is lying behind the door and you cannot get in.’) My mother had to tell the lie, or he would force the door open. The man went away, and these were the three that the smith had said would come the way—the man and the horse and the dog. And it was that man that had done the harm to the cow, but it was found out in time and the cow got better, but it was that very year my two brothers died, and nobody knows whether he had anything to do with their death or no.”

We include this under Evil Eye, because there is no statement of any accusation of witchcraft against the “man,” or for the matter of that “of the horse or the dog.”

In another case, in which a certain George T., by his devices, cured a cow of which he had said it was “bitten, wounded” (_teum_), he asked if there had been a man with a black head praising the cow. When he was told that they had no knowledge of such a thing, “Well,” said he, “it is a man with a black head that has injured your cow with the Evil Eye, but be under no anxiety, the cow is all right now.” He asked my mother if she had shown to any person the whole of the butter that came off the churn. My mother said that she was not showing (was not in the custom of showing) the butter to any one. “That is right, Flora. For all you have ever seen, although you would not keep but as much as the size of an egg, be sure that you do not let the whole of the butter be seen by anybody.”

An Islay farmer’s daughter remembers a certain woman who was supposed to possess an Evil Eye, and who paid them occasional visits. So terrified were they lest she should interfere with their butter, that whenever they saw her coming while they were churning, they would throw a cloth over the churn and put it out of sight until the woman left.

From Stratherrick, Ross-shire, a reciter said, “When she heard so much talk about cattle being injured by the Evil Eye, and the substance taken away, she became afraid of this, and especially when churning disliked anybody to come where the churn was, so much so that she used to do the churning in an out-of-the-way corner of the house.”

It is evidently not so easy to protect a horse or a cow from a glance of an Evil Eye, but a lady tells how that, visiting at a farmhouse, she saw the old cook, who had been long in the farmer’s service, running in great excitement to gather in a brood of young ducklings that were running about the yard. Being a frequent visitor and intimately acquainted with the cook, she asked her what was wrong, and why she was hurrying the ducklings at that hour of the day. “Oh,” said the cook, “Mr. A. is coming up the road, and last time he was here I had a beautiful brood of ducklings, and his eye took them and every one of them died, so I am putting these out of sight in case he should look at them.”

According to one authority the influence of an Evil Eye does not cease at once with the absence of the possessor. “W. G. lived for some time on a certain farm; she was supposed to be possessed of the Evil Eye, and on one occasion it was particularly noticed that certain animals she had praised died. When removed from the farm, the farmer met with a succession of misfortunes which were credited to W. G.”

CONVERSION TO BELIEF IN EVIL EYE

We have already seen a case, in which a woman on her own showing demonstrates that it was the influence of others which caused her to believe in the power of the Evil Eye; but conviction has in some cases been carried to the minds of men as a result of experience. A man taking a valuable horse from the west coast of Kintyre to Tarbert was, after leaving Musadale, offered a considerable sum for it. He said he would not, could not sell the beast, and though the offer was raised to sixty pounds, he still refused and went on his way. Before he reached Tayinloan the horse fell dead on the road. The owner of the horse, considered to be a religious man, after this incident could not be shaken in his belief in the Evil Eye.

In another case, a woman having got from her mother a hen, a first-rate layer, an acquaintance came in and the conversation turned upon the excellence of the bird, frankly acknowledged by the owner, who added her own quota of praise. The visitor was no time gone when the hen “clapped her wings, fell down, and died.” Mrs. G. declared that it has been her firm belief ever since that it was a case of _cronachadh_.

GIVING AWAY MILK DANGEROUS

All have heard of the belief in the power of witches to acquire for themselves, among other things, the milk and butter of their neighbours. This apparently requires some deliberate act of magic, “drawing the tether,” as they say in the north of Ireland, or even milking the pot chain, as reported in the Highlands. In only one case, as reported, was this danger ascribed to the owner of an Evil Eye, and the writer is still of opinion that his lady friend, who said, “If an evil-disposed person who possesses an Evil Eye gets a little milk from another, he or she will be able to operate through that to injure all the milk that remains, and even the cows,” had not differentiated in her own mind the “Evil Eye” from “witchcraft.” We will repeat the incident.

A suspected woman, living near, one time asked her servant if she could get a little milk daily, her own cow giving none at the time. The servant girl told the lady that the woman was asking milk, and then added, “I will not give it her.” Her mistress said, “Oh, you may give it; she needs it, and you can spare it quite well.” The girl said it was not that, but showed that she was afraid of the woman getting what she asked, and thus taking their milk from them and perhaps injuring the cow. Her mistress said there was no fear of that, and the girl yielded, adding, “I know what I’ll do.” What she did was to put pinches of salt and of sugar in the milk the woman was to get that evening, and to take the first mouthful (_bolgam_) of it herself. This, according to prevalent ideas in the district, would hinder the receiver of the milk having any power to do harm for the remainder of that season. This performance seems a common precaution in cases where milk is given to suspected persons.

SCIENCE VERSUS EOLAS

It will be easily understood that to a believer in the Evil Eye mere modern science, as met with in daily life, in doctors, and veterinary surgeons, is of small account. A well-educated lady, a friend of the writer, advised a neighbour whose cow was ill to send for the vet. The answer was: “_Cha’n eil vet a chum feum sam bith, oir ’san a tha bho air a cronachadh. ’S e rud is fearr eolas fhaotainn air a son._” (“A vet is no use whatever, because the cow is _air a cronachadh_; the best thing is to get _eolas_ for it.)”

In that case they didn’t even send for the “vet.” In the following instance a certain preliminary confidence seems to have been shown in medical men. The reciter gives this as a very clear case of Evil Eye. A child had fallen sick; two doctors were attending it, but it was getting worse. The parents, having done all that they could think of, requested the aid of a woman who was known to deal with _eolas a chronachaidh_. The woman went to see the child, and what she did the reciter did not know, but, “sure enough, she soon cured the child and told its parents that it had been _air a cronachadh_.” This may have been “sure enough” for those immediately interested, others may be permitted to doubt.

In these cases common sense has generally the minister on its side. In a case already quoted, in which the mother’s milk was supposed to have been turned into water in her system by the Tiree woman, her mother was sent for. This old lady’s granddaughter tells us, “When my grandmother came she suggested that a decent man who was living near them, who was used to work with _eolas_ where people or beasts had been _air an cronachadh_, should be called in, but she said they would need to go to him secretly, for he had promised the minister that he would not make any more _eolas_. My father and mother agreed, but my mother requested my grandmother to go to the man, because she did not know how to go about it. My grandmother went and spoke to the man’s wife first. The wife said, ‘I am sure he will do what he can for John (the child’s father), but he has promised the minister that he would not make any more of that; but come and speak to him yourself.’ My grandmother spoke to the man, who said that he had promised to the minister that he would not do any more of these things. He could not go to her, but she might come back to him again the following day. This was a Wednesday, and there were only two days of the week on which he could make _eolas_—these were Thursdays and Sundays. When she went back the following day, he had not got his cure ready yet, he said, but would have it on Sunday. He told her that her daughter would not have so much milk as she had at first, but would have enough to bring up the child. On Sunday he had the thing ready as he had promised, and he made it twice for her afterwards. That is, he made it three times. He correctly described the whole appearance of the woman who had taken the milk away, although nobody had ever mentioned about the Tiree _cailleach_ to him. My mother had plenty of milk after that.”

We can scarcely wonder at the minister objecting to this magical practitioner when we consider the nature and the time of his performance. An old Islay man says that when he was a young man he was very intimate with a woman who had knowledge of the curing of toothache (_eolas deide_). She was a relative of his own, and many a time she offered to teach him the words she used. She could teach them to a male, not to a female. He was young at the time, and did not like to learn them, for some people were saying that it was a sort of witchcraft (_buideachas_), but it was not that, for the words were all good words. They were taught by the Saviour, who taught them first to His mother. Our reciter went on to say that this toothache cure is of no use, and need not be tried, in any case beyond a first or second attack. It is hard to make it succeed even in the case of a second attack, and beyond that it can have no effect whatever. Neither will it do in a case where the sufferer has his tooth taken out.

These latter confessions were doubtless memories of the instructions of the teacher. Our old friend did not repeat the formula, but it has appeared elsewhere.[6]

The “some” who said that _eolas_ was a sort of witchcraft seem undoubtedly to be right, unless, of course, we admit that their action is based on a scientific understanding. The Evil Eye itself is unconscious, and therefore a natural phenomenon like measles or hay fever, but its cure is a good deal like that employed for hay fever in many cases, more empirical than scientific.

[6] “Gaelic Incantations, with Translations,” W. Mackenzie, p. 55 _et seq._

We are lucky in being able to give in his own words medical science as expounded by a Gaelic-speaking tailor, a simple-minded man of about seven-and-thirty, a man who can read and can work, but with no special affection for either. He belongs to one of the inner islands:—

“_Tha Eolas nathrach ann, agus tha Eolas deide ann. Tha Eolas sul, agus Eolas greim, agus Eolas chronachaidh ann. Eolas gach ni, ’na aite fein. Ma lotar neach le nathair, faigheadh e Eolas nathrach: agus ’nuair bhios an deide air duine faigheadh e Eolas deide; agus mar sin leis gach ni eile. Is aithne dhomh fhein da neo tri, a fhuair leigheas airson lot nathrach. Tha na facail th’ aca airson Eolais greim air an toirt as an Tiomnadh nuadh, pios an so, agus pios an sin; agus iad sin air an sgriobhadh air paipear, agus am paipear sin air fhuaigheal air an taobh a steach de chot’ an duine air an robh an greim. Cuiridh so an greim air falbh. B’aithne dhomh fhein duine a dh’ fheuch so, agus rinn e feum dha. Ach feumaidh duine bhi cinnteach gum bu na facail ceart aige. Agus tha na facail airson eolas deide air an cuir air paiper, agus am paiper air fhuaigheal an taobh a stigh de aodach duin’ air a cheart doigh. Ach ma tha na fiaclan air falbh, cha dean e math sam bith, ach ma tha iad slan fathast, ni e feum, agus cha tig an deide air ais tuille._

”_Chuala mi iomadh uair na facail th’ aca airson Eolas sul; ach bheir mi dhuibh na chrunas an t-iomlan—ni a thug Mathair da Mac gus olc a chumail air falbh, bho’n bhainne agus bho’n chuinneag. So na briatharan:—_

‘_’Nuair a ni thu toiseachadh.
Cuir dorlach math salainn ann.
Cuir bun ’us barr an neonain ann.
Cuir mionach roin, ’us gearr fheidh ann.
Buain slat de’n chaoran a nall o aodann Eallasaid.
Snathain dearg le snuim teann
Air a chuir mu cheann a’ chratachan.
’S ged a thigeadh buidseach Hendry.
Cheannsaicheadh am balach i._’

_Tha sibh a faicinn, bha ’m buidseach Hendry anns a Bhioball. B’ ise’ m buidseach bu laidire bha beo riomh; ach nam faigheadh neach sambith na nithe sin uile, agus an cuir gu feum, cha b’ urrainn dhise neo do bhuidseach sam bith eile a chron a dheanadh. Chunnaic mi fein an snathain dearg air clann, gus olc a chumail bhuapa._”

(“There is serpent knowledge (serpent bite) and toothache knowledge. There is eye knowledge and stitch (gripes) knowledge and hurt knowledge (by Evil Eye or Witchcraft). Knowledge of each thing in its own place. If any person is wounded by a serpent let him get serpent knowledge, and when a man has toothache let him get toothache knowledge, and so with every other thing. I myself know two or three who got a cure for serpent bites. The words they have for curing stitch (gripes) are taken from the New Testament, a bit here and a bit there, and these written upon paper, and that paper sewn in the inside of the coat of the person who had the stitch. This will put the stitch away. I knew a man that tried this, and it was of use to him. But one must be sure that he has got the right words. And the words for toothache knowledge are put on paper, and the paper sewn inside a person’s clothes in the same manner. But if the teeth are gone it will do no good, but if they are still whole it will do good, and the toothache will not return any more.

“I have often heard the words they have for eye knowledge, but I will give you what crowns the whole, the thing a Mother gave to her Son to keep evil away from the milk and from the churn. Here are the words:—

‘When you make a beginning
Put a good handful of salt in it.
Put root and flower of the daisy in it.
Put the entrails of a seal and a hare in it.
Cut a wand of rowan over from the face of Ellasaid.
A red thread with a tight knot
Put on the head of the churn staff.
And should the witch Hendry (of Endor) come.
The boy would conquer her.’

“You see the witch Hendry was in the Bible. She was the strongest witch that ever lived, but if any person would get all these things and use them, she, or any other witch, could not do him injury. I have myself seen the red thread on children to keep evil from them.”)

The above is undoubtedly sheer witchcraft, white witchcraft, if you like. It is not then surprising that the evidence is not in favour of these _eolas_ professors being held in much social esteem. A native of Harris, talking of one of them, said: “Notwithstanding the wide reputation the man had, and the many who went to seek advice, he was not held in high esteem, and this part of his occupation was not admired although so many took advantage of his services.” The reciter himself spoke of him as _bodach granda_ (nasty old man).

A Gaelic-speaking minister gave the following information. It refers to Arran. He knew several old women who professed _eolas a chronachaidh_, but he did not hold a high opinion of them. One case, however, he remembers especially in this connection. A lad was taken suddenly ill, supposed to be a case of _cronachadh_. An old woman, who was respected in the district, came to see him, and going above him in the bed, made motions with her hands over him and on her own person, repeating an incantation of some length at the same time. The lad recovered. The reciter admits the fact, but does not incline to accept the _eolas_ performance as having caused the recovery.

A reciter in Mull was telling before her mother of the operations of a _cailleach_ of this sort, when the mother added, she herself had spoken with the woman, she was a decent body, and assured her that there was nothing whatever wrong in what she did for the cure of cattle when hurt by the Evil Eye. The words used were good, and she repeated them, but she added that a great deal depended upon the person who applied for _eolas_, and that, unless such a person believed that a cure would be effectual, there was little use in what she herself could do, and no use at all in the contents of the bottle which she supplied. It might just as well be thrown out on the roadside.

HURTER AND HEALER

A farmer’s wife, an old woman, but smart and intelligent, and showing no failure of memory, expressed the following opinion:—

The power to do injury to beast or person, and the power to cure such an injury appeared to have been given to different classes of people. Those who did injury were supposed to be malevolent, and of course held in bad repute, while the curers were looked upon as for the good of people and to be respected. What the one did was called _cronachadh_, and what the other did _beannachadh_ (blessing).

To another, an Islay lady, the remark was made that _cronachadh_ was a strange thing. In answer she said: “Yes, but _beannachadh_ was quite as strange.” “What is that?” “_Fiosrachadh or eolas._” (Knowledge the result of inquiry, and knowledge apparently arrived at in any way, say by revelation.)

That is one side of the picture. We see the other in the following:—