Chapter II: The Inner Hebrides (1)

“The Isles, where dewy morning weaves
Her chaplet with the tints that twilight leaves;
Where late the sun, scarce vanished from the sight,
And his bright pathway graced the short-lived night.”

Real Argyleshire rain! Drenching, pouring, soaking, pitiless rain! How it did rain! After such a spell of sunshine, why should it have chosen this very morning to begin this cruel work just as we started for a forty-six mile drive, first across the hills to Campbeltown, and thence to Tarbert, along a coast whose beauty we had already proved, and with which we had vainly hoped to refresh our memories? Our conveyance was the lumbering old coach which still runs between Campbeltown and Tarbert, and it was suggested that we should go inside; but, thinking the remedy worse than the disease, we preferred testing our good and trusty waterproofs; a panoply without which they would be rash indeed who would venture to set foot in the dominions of His Hieland Glory, the great MacCailian Môr, and brave his lawless rain.

It was some consolation that the worthies at the various stages, for once, allowed that it was something more than a “fine saft day,” and condescended to take refuge under their own roofs, and leave drowned understrappers to do all the work; while good John, our gentle Jehu, whose aversion to the whip was as great as that of our host at Losset, soothed and coaxed obedience out of the most unpromising quadrupeds. “Steady, my wee pet,” to a great raw-boned brute, with a wicked eye. “Noo, my bonnie lassie,” to a long-legged, clumsy old cow. A very master in the art of kindly flattery, is this master of the ribbons.

As we drove along the coast, we had a farewell peep of the little Isle of Gigha, the burial-place of the Macneils, a meet haven for these turbulent island lords, with the wildest sea-waves for ever guarding their rest. On several of the old tombs we can still trace the rudely-carved two-handed sword, half hidden by a coating of warm dark moss. Some relics, too, there are, of yet more ancient days. Great cairns near which stand tall rough monoliths, once, doubtless, suggesting names that in their day were deemed immortal, but of which all tradition has long since been lost. At one place there is a group of three such old cairns, and one great monolith, which has been carved into the semblance of a cross, by some zealous Christian of old. Near this is a well, which the Macneils of yore had only to stir, if they were windbound, and straightway a favourable gale arose, to speed them on their course. A little further to sea lies the low shore of Islay, so called from Yla or Eila, a Danish princess, whose grave near the bay of Knock is still marked by two large upright stones.

Here, too, on the brink of the river Laggan, “Brian of Ila” was buried, standing upright, and holding in his hand a spear, such as that which he used to dart at the salmon. The ruling passion, you see, was strong in death. In Islay, beside Loch Finlagan, one (or more) of the old Lords of the Isles held his court; and standing on a big stone seven feet square, received the homage of all his vassals, a ceremony graced by the sanction of the Church; “for,” says the old chronicle, “the Bishop of Argyle and seven priests did anoint and crown him king of the Isles, placing his father’s sword in his hand, whereupon he swore to protect the Islesmen, and do justice to all his subjects.”

It is curious to note the strange quibble by which this peninsula of Cantyre came to be included among the Hebrides. A very narrow neck of land, such as that which connects this with the mainland, is generally called Tarbat or Tarbert, from two old words: _Tarruing_, to draw, and _Bata_, a boat; because in some cases it saved both time and trouble to drag the boats across the isthmus, rather than sail round the land. This was especially true of the Mull of Cantyre, whose difficult navigation and fearful storms were so dreaded, that vessels of nine or ten tons were frequently drawn by horses out of the west loch to that on the east (a distance of barely a mile), thus avoiding the long and dangerous sail all round the peninsula. This fact was taken advantage of by the Norwegian king, Magnus, “the barefoot king,” when Donald-Bane of Scotland was forced to cede to him the Western Isles, including _all places that could be surrounded in a boat_. Placing himself in the stern of a boat, he held the rudder, was drawn over this narrow track, and thus took possession of the Mull.

Well, it poured without intermission till we reached Tarbert, where there still remain the ruins of a castle built by the Bruce. Thence we took the steamer to Lochgilphead, where a smaller steamboat was waiting to take us through the Crinan Canal, and we sat on the deck to catch a glimpse of old Duntroon Castle, but it looked grey and cold and wet, and not a bit like the same place where we used to sail, or row, or scramble in the sunny summer evenings. At Crinan we again changed steamers, and still the rain poured on: “It was never weary.” We knew that on our left lay the Islands of Scarba and Jura, between which rush the mighty tides which swirl and roar round a hidden reef in mid channel, whence shelving rocks on every side project far under the water, and so create the whirlpool of Corrievreckan, “The cauldron of the foaming tide,” which boils and ferments as the impetuous currents meet, till the waves are heaped up like pyramids, which break and spout in dashing spray. Sometimes this wild ferment makes the whole sea white with foam, and then the people say that the Caillach (the old hag) has put on her kerchief, and any ship rash enough to approach would meet its certain doom.

The legend of these tumultuous waters tells that the word Bhreacan (Corrie-Bhreacan), which some have translated as “foaming stream,” was really the name of a brave young Danish prince, who loved a daughter of the Lord of the Isles, and desired to woo and win her. Her father did not favour his suit, yet, not willing to offend the King of Lochlin, he answered craftily that the prince should indeed have his daughter providing he would prove his courage and his skill as a seaman, by anchoring his galley for three days and three nights in the dread whirlpool. The young prince, nothing daunted, returned to Lochlin to consult with his wise men as to the best means of safety. They bade him take three cables,—one of hemp, one of wool, and one of woman’s hair. The hempen cable and the woollen one were easy to find, but as to the third, every hair of which must come from the head of a maiden of spotless fame, it demanded such sacrifice as few damsels would care to make. However, the prince was beloved, and the fame of his beauty and of his brave deeds in love and war, had reached the bower of many a Danish maid. So the daughters of the land cut off their long fair locks, and a cable was woven thereof, which should resist the mightiest tempest that ever raged in that seething cauldron. Then the prince returned to the father of his love and announced his readiness to do his will. He anchored in the whirlpool. The first day the hempen cable broke. The second day the woollen one parted. The third day came, and the gift of the maidens of Lochlin still held its ground. The young prince was full of gladness, for his triumph seemed nigh at hand. But alas! for that law which makes the strength of the mightiest cable equal only to its weakest link. There was one fair tress binding him to the anchor of his hope which had been shorn from the head of one whose fame was no longer without blemish. So the resistless might of unspotted purity was not there to bind the raging waters, and the last rope parted, and the ship was sucked down in the mad whirling vortex, down, down, down, to the unfathomable depths of ocean. But the body of the prince was brought to land by his faithful dog, and dragged to a cave that bears his name, where a little cairn still marks the spot where Bhreacan was buried. The dog returned to the water, doubtless seeking some other friend, and he perished in a lesser whirlpool between the Isles of Scarba and Lunga, and that Sound is still known as the Grey Dog’s Slap.

To the north-west of Scarba lies the little island of Elachnave, where there remain traces of some of the very earliest monastic buildings, situated near an ancient cemetery of the roughest sea-stones, one of which bears a rudely graven cross; there are also two beehive cells of slate, covered with grass, perhaps the humble homes of holy men of old.

All this time we were passing through scenery which we believed to be bewilderingly lovely, if we could but have seen it, instead of the sheets of grey rain, which poured down incessantly from the heavy clouds. But towards evening, as we neared Oban, the quiet little harbour, as its name implies, the dark storm drifted away, and the sun shone forth in penitent beauty, changing the whole face of nature. Instead of earth, sea, and sky being all of one leaden hue, the scene was now flooded with tender rainbow-coloured light; fairy islands in the far distance seemed to float ethereally on the opal-tinted sea, and the great hills of Mull appeared as if rising from the waves, like some pale spirit, faintly visible through the tremulous evening light.

Just beyond the town rises the stern old Castle of Dunolly, perched on a grey projecting craig, which, rising abruptly from the shore, commands the harbour on either side; a strong tower of defence in olden days, and one which no foeman’s galley could approach unseen. Now a picturesque garden nestles round the base of the craig, adding gem-like touches of colour to the flush of heather which lies in every cranny of the grey rock, while a background of green and gold foliage serves as a rich setting to the whole. Near the base of the cliff one huge rock boulder stands upright, as if placed there by some giant hand. This is known as the Dog’s Stone, for here it was that Fingal was wont to tie his faithful dog Bran in ages long before Macdougals or Campbells had taken possession of the land. You know this grim old fortress of Dunolly was the eerie where the Macdougals of Lorn, eagle-like, built their nest overhanging the waves. They were lineal descendants of the first Dougal, Lord of the Isles, son of the great Somerled, whose place of burial we noted at Saddell. The old castle is now in ruins, later generations having preferred to build themselves a modern home in a more sheltered nook, where, among other family treasures, they still retain the far-famed brooch of Lorn, snatched from the Bruce by their ancestor John of Lorn.

Resolved to make the most of so beautiful an evening, we wandered along the shore in the direction of Gallanach, by far the most lovely, and yet the least frequented road in the neighbourhood of Oban, winding beneath grey crags, close to the sea; and disclosing at every turn some fresh vision of beauty; dreamy isles or the nearer mainland.

The dewy freshness of a sweet spring morning tempted us forth betimes, to explore another fine old ruin, the Castle of Dunstaffnage, a far more imposing mass of building than Dunolly, though lacking the grandeur of its rocky ramparts. But the low grassy shore on which it stands is washed all round by the blue sea-loch, so that at high tide it is in fact an island, and the waters, coming close in shore, serve as a mirror to reflect the grey weather-beaten fortress, only rendering its image in mellower tones than the stern walls ever wear in reality. Nor is its beauty lessened when the receding waters expose the dark rocks fringed with golden sea-weed,—rocks on which you may sometimes surprise a whole family of seals basking in the warm sunshine,—a grey old grandmother surrounded by her children and grandchildren, the latter dark in colour as the dry wrack on which they lie. They will slip shyly into the water at your approach, but perhaps you may wile them back with some plaintive song, for they have keen ears for music, and will brave even the dreaded human presence for the sake of some favourite melody. Often, while sailing on this very loch, we have tested this curious fact, and watched the black shining heads appearing from time to time, as these music-loving creatures swam in the wake of our galley, attracted by the sound of songs, or of old Scotch tunes played on an accordion. Talking of “grey old grandmothers,” I remember one patriarchal seal, who in her old age had turned so silvery white that as she lay on the rocks close in shore, we all with one accord agreed that it must be a sheep which had fallen from the cliffs overhead. As we sailed nearer, the likeness seemed to increase, even to the experienced eyes of our older sportsmen; so we determined to put off a boat and rescue the poor sufferer who lay so still and motionless, only from time to time turning her head uneasily at our approach. It was not till we were within easy shot (a shot which, of course, was never fired) that the old lady condescended to lift herself up, and, looking down on us in calm surprise, plunged into the cool clear waves, leaving the invaders very much astonished at their own lack of discrimination.

In a cool shady glade, a stone’s throw from the castle, stands a ruined chapel, ivy-clad, where many a carved stone tells of the sleepers who have here found so calm a resting-place after life’s turmoil—a lonely spot, seldom trodden by human foot, but haunted by white-winged sea-birds that float spirit-like in mid-air, sometimes alighting on the hallowed ground, and peering about inquisitively, as they walk solemnly over tombs of Vikings and Chiefs of old. Apart from the exceeding natural beauty which lends such a charm to all this coast, there is the special interest of countless old legends, which connect not only these grey ruins, but all the country round, with the successive holders of the soil,—those divers races who by turns have swept over the land, each leaving their little mark behind them. The very name of this district—Beregonium—falls strangely on the ear, accustomed rather to the sound of Celtic or of Norse than to such classic old Latin, and reminds us of the days when Roman invaders, having driven out the earlier settlers, seem to have recognised the importance of this position as a key alike to the Hebrides and the western coast. Here, in the massive headland (which, jutting into the sea, commands both plain and ocean), they found a position so strongly fortified by Nature’s ramparts of rugged rock, as to require but small aid from human skill to convert it into an impregnable encampment.

Of the original inhabitants, little is of course known, but this spot is believed to have been one of the principal settlements of the Dalriads, if not the capital of their kingdom. Certain it is, that many of the oldest legends of Ossian cluster round this immediate neighbourhood, where Fingal is said to have held his court and shared with his warriors in wild feasts and frays.

From Dunstaffnage we overlook a desolate tract of wide flat moorland, known as Loch Nell Moss, lying between the blue waters of Loch Etive and the broad Atlantic. Here various traces have recently been discovered of the homes and graves of our Pagan ancestors, suggesting dim and shadowy visions of their life in far remote ages. Half way across the Moss rises a large cairn, built of rounded water-worn stones, and surrounded by stunted trees. This has recently been excavated; and in the heart of the tumulus were found two megalithic chambers, containing human remains and urns. Also divers white quartz stones, such as various Pagan nations were wont to bury with their dead, apparently as emblems of purity and indestructibility, thus possibly conveying some idea of immortality and of sin forgiven or cancelled, as when the Greeks of old symbolized a release from some obligation by the giving or receiving of a white stone,—a custom probably alluded to in the book of Revelations in the promise “To him that overcometh .... I will give a white stone, and in the stone a new name written.” Or the allusion may have been to the ancient form of ballot, when the favoured candidate was known by the number of white stones which fell to his share. In the present instance, the white stones were arranged in pairs, on a ledge of rock projecting above the urns, a single stone being placed at each end of this double row; another single white pebble was found inside one of the urns.

A considerable number of similar pebbles of white quartz have recently been discovered in various old British tombs on the Isle of Cambrae, as also within the Sacred Circle on the Isle of Man; a circle, by the way, which from time immemorial has been held in such reverence, that to this day the Parliament of the island is there convened. These pebbles were also found in most of the old tombs recently excavated in the neighbourhood of Dundee, in fact so frequent was their presence, that it was common for the workmen employed in excavating to exclaim, “Here are the two stones! now we will get the bones.” Rock crystal is sometimes found in lieu of the white quartz.

As a curious trace of a similar custom in a far-distant land I may mention that Dr. W. F. Cumming tells me that he found several graves thus strewed with white pebbles near the temple of Deir, the capital of Nubia, above the second Cataract of the Nile. A kindred coincidence (bearing on the religious and funereal rites of our ancestors) is, that in several tumuli, at Dundee, Inverary, Letcombe Castle in Berks, and Maiden Castle near Weymouth, there have been found conical stones of white quartz, each in connection with human remains, and precisely similar to those found in the excavations at Nineveh which are now to be seen in the British Museum, the only difference being that the latter are covered with inscriptions, and representations of serpents and of the sun and moon.

Turning from these dwellings of the dead to the sunny shores of Loch Etive, we next come on traces of a lake village, of considerable size, and in fair preservation. Here, on removing accumulations of peat-moss, which would seem to have been the growth of twenty, or perhaps thirty centuries, a series of oval palings were found, still surrounded by wooden stakes, which doubtless once supported conical thatched roofs, like those dwellings of the old Gauls described by Strabo as circular, with lofty tapering roofs of straw. However suggestive to the initiated are these slight remains of the homes of their ancestors, they offer small attraction to the general public, compared with the hints of the ancestral worship recently discovered in Glen Feochan in the rival district of Loch Nell, which, though bearing the same name as the Moss aforesaid, lies about three miles on the other side of Oban.

Here lies a huge serpent-shaped mound, the very existence of which, strange to say, was utterly unknown to the scientific world till discovered by Mr. Phené, and by him revealed to the Antiquarian Society in the summer of 1871. Being in Oban soon afterwards, we lost no time in setting forth in search of the monster. Half an hour’s drive brought us to the shores of Loch Nell, beyond which Ben Cruachan proudly rears her triple crest, standing in dark relief against the delicate white vapours which cling to her so lovingly, sometimes veiling, sometimes crowning, this stately queen, as they float around her with ceaseless motion.

The carriage-road winds along the shore, and through broken hummocky ground, in some places clothed with grass, in others with heather and bracken; and, but for the presence of one of the few initiated who had fortunately accompanied us, we should assuredly have passed close below the heathery mound which forms the Serpent’s tail (in fact, the road has been cut right across the tip of it), without ever suspecting that it differed from the surrounding moorland. In short, we should have been no wiser than our forefathers, who for centuries have passed and repassed along the same beaten track, whence only an occasional sportsman or shepherd has had occasion to diverge. It does seem strange, however, that not one of these, looking down from the higher ground to westward, should ever have called attention to so remarkable a form, and one, moreover, which rises so conspicuously from the flat grassy plain, which stretches for some distance on either side, with scarcely an undulation save two artificial circular mounds, in one of which lie several large stones forming a cromlech. These circles are situated a short distance to the south, to the right of the Serpent, but too far to be shown in the sketch.

Finding ourselves thus unconsciously in the very presence of the Great Dragon, we hastened to improve our acquaintance, and in a couple of minutes had scrambled on to the ridge which forms his backbone, and thence perceived that we were standing on an artificial mound three hundred feet in length, forming a double curve like a huge letter S, and wonderfully perfect in anatomical outline. This we perceived the more perfectly on reaching the head, which lies at the western end, whence diverge small ridges, which may have represented the paws of the reptile. On the head rests a circle of stones, supposed to be emblematic of the solar disc, and exactly corresponding with the solar circle as represented on the head of the mystic serpents of Egypt and Phœnicia, and in the great American Serpent Mound. At the time of Mr. Phené’s first visit to this spot there still remained in the centre of this circle some traces of an altar, which, thanks to the depredations of cattle and herd-boys, have since wholly disappeared. The people of the neighbourhood have an old tradition that in remote ages this was a place of public execution, and, from various analogies in the customs of other nations, it seems likely enough that this was the case, and that this wild glen may have been to many the valley of the shadow of death, whether their lives were taken judicially or offered in sacrifice.

The circle was excavated on the 12th October, 1871, and within it were found three large stones, forming a chamber, which contained burnt human bones, charcoal, and _charred hazel-nuts_. Surely the spirits of our Pagan ancestors must rejoice to see how faithfully we, their descendants, continue to burn our hazel-nuts on Hallow-e’en, their old autumnal Fire Festival, though our modern divination is practised only with reference to such a trivial matter as the faith of sweethearts! A flint instrument was also found, beautifully and minutely serrated at the edge; nevertheless, it was at once evident, on opening the cairn, that the place had already been ransacked, probably in secret, by treasure-seekers, as there is no tradition of any excavation for scientific purposes having ever been made here.

On the removal of the peat-moss and heather from the ridge of the serpent’s back, it was found that the whole length of the spine was carefully constructed with regularly and symmetrically placed stones, at such an angle as to throw off rain; an adjustment to which we doubtless owe the preservation, or at least the perfection, of this most remarkable relic. To those who know how slow is the growth of peat-moss, even in damp and undrained places, the depth to which it has here attained, though in a dry and thoroughly exposed situation and raised from seventeen to twenty feet above the level of the surrounding moss, tells of many a long century of silent undisturbed growth, since the days when the Serpent’s spine was the well-worn path daily trodden by reverent feet. The spine is, in fact, a long narrow causeway, made of large stones, set like the vertebræ of some huge animal. They form a ridge sloping off in an angle at each side, which is continued downwards with an arrangement of smaller stones, suggestive of ribs. The mound has been formed in such a position that the worshipper standing at the altar would naturally look eastward, directly along the whole length of the great reptile, and across the dark lake, to the triple peaks of Ben Cruachan. This position must have been carefully selected, as from no other point are the three peaks visible.

This reverence for some Triune object, whether a triple-pointed hill, the junction of three rivers, or the neighbourhood of three lakes, seems to have been a marked characteristic of almost every ancient faith. It was some such dim conception of the worship due to an adorable Trinity in Unity which led to the almost universal adoption of some sacred triple symbol, such as the trident of Neptune, which we find again, placed on the pinnacle of every temple of Siva, and carried in the hands of his worshippers. It is daily painted on the forehead of every worshipper of Vishnu, and even reappears as the mystic symbolic letter painted outside the Phylactery worn on Jewish brows, albeit the wearers have long since lost all clue to its hidden meaning. Again, we find it in old drawings of Babylonish priests, who bear it in their hands; and it has been shown that not only was this symbol held in deepest and most mysterious reverence in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, but also that the far-famed idol Juggernaut, representing the same sun-god, is, when undressed, and shorn of its gorgeous raiment, simply a triple symbol with a head rudely engraven on the central limb, for the adoration of the vulgar uninitiated. The idea is further carried out by the fact that the great Juggernaut is only one of a group of three great idols, his brother and sister dividing with him the homage of the people. All these three were, so runs the legend, miraculously fashioned by Vishnu himself from one divine log of timber. His brother is also endowed with stumps for arms, so that he also is a triple symbol; but the sister is merely a rough block of wood, with a head carved thereon.

In truth, this doctrine enters largely into the faith of Hindoostan, where the worship of the Trimurti, or three principal gods united in one perfect Being, forms the key-stone of Brahminism. Moreover, we know that the faithful Hindoos who crowd in such countless multitudes to bathe at Allahabad, are drawn thither not merely by the sanctity of the junction of the two great rivers visible to human eye, but by their firm belief that a third and more holy river of life-giving water here pours its stream invisibly into the bosom of the Ganges. Perhaps the most singular instance of reverence for a mystic triple number is to be found where we would least expect it, namely, among the Buddhists; in whose solemn and very ancient service for the ordination of priests, each question and answer, each sacred vow and declaration of faith, must be repeated thrice. That ordination service is said to have been used without alteration for upwards of two thousand years, since the days when the Sanchi Tope (mightiest of Buddhist relic shrines), was reared by the immediate followers of Buddha, and its gateways crowned with the mysterious triple symbol.[3] Even in the decorations of modern Buddhist temples I have often been struck with the recurrence of the threefold number, both in the grouping of sacred lotus blossoms, and that of saintly figures, sometimes seated on the clouds,—decorations generally copied with monkeylike imitation from ancient temples, by modern priests, ignorant of all hidden meaning in the work of their predecessors.

The ancient Egyptians likewise believed the Spirit of Good to be threefold; hence on Theban monuments the gods are shown in groups of three. Sometimes Osiris, Isis, and their son Horus, are thus grouped; sometimes in place of Osiris we find Nephthys, sister of Isis. These are also represented by the figure of a triangle.... Thus too, I am told (though I know not on what authority), that the Persians of old were wont to reverence the threefold leaves of the shamrock, as symbolic of a Divine Triad, to whom this plant was consecrated by the sons of Iran for many long centuries ere St. Patrick made use of the same green leaf to exemplify the same mystery to the sons of Erin—a leaf, moreover, to which they already attached some mysterious meaning, regarding it as a certain charm against serpents and all venomous reptiles.[4]

In like manner, the Druids (those Ghebres of the West), who venerated the sacred mistletoe by reason of its mystic triple branches and triple clusters of white berries, were not likely to overlook so mighty an embodiment of the same symbol as a great mountain, with its threefold summit towering heavenward, as if to draw thither the eyes and hearts of a race who were careful to consecrate all such natural types in their worship of Nature’s GOD.

It was a knowledge of this tendency that first led Mr. Phené to examine minutely all the least trodden glens in the neighbourhood of any such natural features, as for instance round the Eildon and Arran hills, seeking for traces which should mark the spot as sacred; and in each case, among other so-called Druidic remains, he has found just such mounds of reptile form as he was in search of, none however so remarkable as this strange old Serpent, which for so many centuries has lain here undisturbed, as if guarding the valley. All of these are more or less akin to the reptile mounds discovered in Ohio and Wisconsin by Messrs. Squier and Lapham, always in connection with sacrificial or sepulchral remains. One of these in particular is of an unmistakeably serpentine form; and the position of the altar in the circle or oval at the head of the Serpent is identical with that of this Argyleshire mound, the head in each case lying towards the west. The American mound is, however, on a larger scale than its Scotch cousin, being altogether a thousand feet long. It points towards three rivers, thus indicating the reverence for the triple symbol,—another instance of which occurs on the hill known as Lapham’s Peak, on whose lofty summit three artificial mounds were found, carefully constructed of stone and earth,—materials which must have been transported thither with very great labour.

Whatever may have been the origin of these huge serpent-shaped mounds, their existence seems to suggest a clue to the meaning of various ancient legends concerning enormous serpents which covered acres of land; the very fact of their dimensions being given in terms of land-measurement seeming to imply that the writers merely alluded in poetic terms to Ophite or Dracontic temples where these symbols were worshipped. Thus we hear of dragons in Mauritania so great that they were covered with grass. Alexander the Great was taken to see a sacred dragon five acres in extent, lying in a low valley, surrounded by a high wall: to this dragon the Indians offered sacrifices of flocks and herds. Strabo mentions two such dragons in India, one measuring eighty cubits in length, the other a hundred and forty. And on the plains of Syria, near the land of snake-adoring Hivites, lay a serpent about an acre in length, of such bulk that two horsemen riding on either side could not see each other, while its mouth was so great that a man might ride in thereat—an experiment not likely to be tried were the reptile a living creature!

But all these are dwarfed by the legendary Dragon of Damascus, which is described as a serpent covering fifty acres of land! a description which Bryant interprets as including a grove and garden round the Ophite temple. He also quotes Ovid’s account of the serpent Python as covering several acres, alluding surely, not to the serpent itself, but to that temple of Delphi which Apollo built with great stones on the spot where he had slain the Python—a temple which Stukely infers to have been similar to our own great temple of Avebury or Aubury in Wiltshire, i.e. a circle whence started two wavy serpentine avenues, forming the Ophite symbol; and although his theories on this subject are now commonly held in ridicule, it should at least be remembered that the form was far more perfect in his day (1723) than it now is, many great stones having been broken up by farmers in his time, and the work of destruction still continuing mercilessly when Deane wrote in 1830.

The same ridicule also attaches to those who claim the marvellous temple of Carnac in Brittany as an instance of serpentine form, and who try to show that these huge monoliths are arranged in a sinuous course, so as to describe the figure of a monstrous snake, so vast, indeed, that its windings are eight miles in length and must have originally been marked by ten thousand stones, many of those still standing being upwards of fifteen feet high, while one measures forty-two feet in circumference. In support of this theory, these Ophite antiquarians tell us that the peasants of the neighbourhood have an annual dance at the Carnival, which exactly describes the symbol of the Sun and Serpent. They also say that Carnac is derived from two words meaning fire and snake, _hac_ being the old Celtic name for the serpent. In confirmation of this, we are reminded that the common name for snakes in some parts of England is to this day hag-worms. Hence the name _hag_ to describe an old witch, supposed to have derived supernatural knowledge from her familiar spirits—perhaps originally a snake-priestess. The same word occurs in the Hakpen hills in Wiltshire, and is interpreted as meaning ‘serpent’s head,’ being the place where the serpentine avenue of Aubury terminates. The latter name is brought forward as evidence, and shown to be derived from _aub_ and _ur_, meaning ‘_serpent_’ and ‘light;’ thus exactly describing the worshipful Sun-Serpent!

It certainly is a fact worthy of notice, that wherever—in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America—names occur combining the syllables Ob and On (the Serpent and Sun deities of Egypt and Phœnicia), there these forms of worship can be proved to have once prevailed; and so it has been suggested as not impossible, that just as the Israelites called the first place where they encamped, after the upraising of the brazen serpent Oboth, the race who built the serpentine mound, terminating in a solar circle, and who doubtless were settlers from some eastern land, _may_ have given the name of Ob On, or Oban, to the nearest town.

But whatever disputes may arise concerning these vague derivations, and the still more vague forms, of the old temples of which we have been speaking, there can be no doubt whatever of the clearly-defined outlines of the great mound now before us; though, whether its serpentine (or rather Saurian) form is to be accepted as any direct proof of serpent worship in this land, or whether it was simply reverenced as the representative of some tribe (a Totem, in short, of some extinct British race answering to the Nagas, or snake tribes, of the East), will doubtless prove a fertile subject for discussion for many years to come. Certainly we know that the worship of the serpent and of the serpent’s egg, by the Druids, is a matter of history; and we are told that they were wont to place live serpents, as symbols, at the foot of the altar during the time of sacrifice, a custom common to almost every ancient nation. In Greece and Rome, Egypt and Chaldea, Arabia and Central Asia, in China and Thibet, throughout the whole Indian empire from Cachmere to Cape Comorin, in Ceylon and multitudinous other isles, in Mexico and Peru, as well as throughout the whole of Africa, the same extraordinary worship is shown to have prevailed. Passing northward, we find it in Scythia and Scandinavia, as also among vast tribes near the Oural mountains and throughout Northern Europe, notably among the tribes on the Ob or Obi river, which is said to have derived its name from the reverence in which this reptile was held. The ancient Muscovites and the people of Poland worshipped domestic serpents, which glided at large in every home and were reverently tended, all misfortunes being attributed to some negligence in their service. This continued till the end of the fourteenth century, when the last heathen duke of Lithuania received Christian baptism. The people of Lapland, the Fins, Norwegians, Swedes, and Danes, all cherished these household gods, which shared the children’s milk! The Vandals also kept domestic snakes; some lived in hollow trees, and the women went thither to pray, carrying offerings of milk, as many do at the present day in India and Ceylon. The Lombards continued to worship a golden viper and a tree long after they were professedly Christian. It was not till A.D. 663 that Barbatus, Bishop of Benevento, finding this custom still prevalent, persuaded them to cut down the tree, and allow him to melt the golden viper, and make thereof a sacramental chalice.

Deane quotes a curious proof of the homage which was still paid to the serpent symbol by the semi-Christianized people of Constantinople so late as the seventeenth century. It seems that Constantine had brought thither the celebrated serpentine column, or conical tripod, from Delphi, whereon the Pythian priestess sat when delivering her oracles. This column was a triple-headed serpent of brass. “When Mahomet II., the Turkish conqueror of Constantinople, entered the city and beheld this object, he inquired ‘What idol is that?’ at the same time hurling his iron mace with such force that he knocked off the lower jaw of one of the serpent-heads. Upon this, immediately, a great number of serpents began to be seen in the city; whereupon the people besought him to leave that image alone, as only through its power no other serpents could molest them. Wherefore that column remains to this day. And although, in consequence of the lower jaw of the brazen serpent being struck off, some serpents do come into the city, yet they do no harm to anyone!”[5]

The ancient Serpent Temples of Cambodia with their many-headed snakes, and the temples and rock sculptures of India and Ceylon, showing the hooded cobra rising as a canopy above so many of the gods and overshadowing even the pure and perfect Buddha, tells how this worship was gradually idealized. Strange, indeed, it is to trace how the creature which to us is the very type of all things evil, should there have been recognized as the embodiment of good, and to find thousands and tens of thousands of sculptures of that seven-headed snake, which to its worshippers symbolized their ideal of that Seven-fold Spirit of Wisdom, Whom Christians adore! For thus in mythology the serpent has ever filled a double part; sometimes appearing as a meet emblem of the wisdom of GOD, sometimes as the type of the subtlety of the Arch Fiend,—one day exalted (as with the Ophites of Alexandria) to a place of honour even upon the Christian altar; the next hurled down to the nethermost hell, as when the ancient Scandinavians sang of the dark shore where the sinful dead found themselves in a dread chilling abode, formed entirely of serpents, twined and intertwined, fold within fold, like wattled wickerwork. And all the serpents’ heads were turned inwards toward that vast and terrible cavern, continually vomiting forth floods of venom, wherein writhed these wretched ones in their hopeless anguish. We know that the Chaldeans, like the Chinese, worshipped a winged dragon as the Being excelling in wisdom; and the Mexicans adored a mighty feathered snake, as well as the great serpent which symbolized the life-giving sun.

This divine feathered serpent, who was born of a daughter of Earth, was the great lawgiver and civilizer who taught the Mexicans, not religion only, but also agriculture and the use of metals; and when he had finished his mission on earth he departed, promising to return. Therefore when the Spaniards arrived in Mexico their coming was hailed as that of the returning god. In the Mexican mythology, as in those of Egypt and Greece, the Serpent appears as emblematic of so many divers gods, that he is evidently considered a symbol of the intrinsic divinity common to them all. Nor was his worship only symbolic. Both in Mexico and Peru there were great snake temples, where the living creature was adored and received offerings of human victims. The entrance to the temples was guarded by huge serpent idols, while the sacred drums whereby the worshippers were summoned were covered with skins of large serpents, and the gods within the temples were all entwined with serpents.

A cast of one of their idols was brought to this country—the figure being partly human, while the hands and arms are rattlesnakes; and the drapery is entirely composed of wreathed rattlesnakes woven into what the Mexicans called a garment of snakes. It is to be hoped that this deadly species was not included among the tame serpents which glided at large in every home as household gods! Some of the Mexican sculptures show human beings conversing with the serpent, while others show a conflict between them, the victor being sometimes a man, sometimes a god; in one, the god is cutting off a dragon’s head, but not till the dragon has bitten off his foot at the heel.

The Spaniards recorded very similar forms of worship in Peru, where in one temple they saw a vast image of a serpent of divers metals, with his tail in his mouth, to which annual human sacrifice was offered. At another temple they were told how ‘the devil did speak visibly,’ the medium of his oracles being a spotted snake. The Aztecs, like the Hindoos, reverenced the serpent biting his own tail as the emblem of eternity—the symbol of time ever revolving on itself and returning into itself. They also held the casting of the serpent skin as symbolic of an ever-renewed youth and spring-tide.

To give the names of the gods to whom the symbolic serpent was held sacred would be to enumerate well-nigh every deity in the mythology of every ancient nation, this being the one only characteristic common to all these faiths; a circumstance that would be utterly unaccountable on any theory other than that of some tradition common to all, such as that of the Serpent of Paradise. It is easy to perceive how quickly the belief in his supernatural wisdom would lead to his worship; and thus from age to age the arch-enemy has kept up his character as serpent tempter, inducing all mankind to yield abject veneration and adoration to the repulsive reptile whose form he had once assumed.

Of course, the earliest traces of this worship are to be looked for in Chaldea; and accordingly we find that in the great temple in Babylon there were two very large serpents of silver. Moreover the people worshipped a great living dragon (or serpent, for the two words are used promiscuously by old writers, as when, in Bœotia, a _dragon_ had laid waste the town of Thespiæ, and Jupiter commanded that an annual human sacrifice should be offered to the _Serpent_. Or again, in biblical language, we read in the Revelations that “The great _dragon_ was cast out; that old _Serpent_ called the Devil, which deceiveth the whole world.”) In ancient Persia both the good and the evil principle (Ormuzd and Ahriman) were symbolized by serpents, which were represented contending for the mundane egg. In Mesopotamia, in Syria, in Ethiopia, they were likewise held in reverence, and it is asserted by various writers that to this day both Arabs and Hindoos eat the heart and liver of serpents, hoping thereby to acquire a knowledge of the language of animals. The same curious notion gave rise to the old Celtic legends concerning that pure white serpent, which, if caught and boiled, would confer the gift of omniscience on the first man who tasted this broth, and who would moreover become the wisest of doctors.

Akin to this is the old Greek fable, telling how, when Melampus had saved the lives of two snakes they came to him as he slept under an oak, and licked his ears, whereupon he was able to understand the chirping of birds, and was gifted with prophecy. The same gift of prophecy was bestowed when serpents ‘with their tongues cleansed the passages of the senses’ of sleepers in the temple of Apollo, and made them so sharp of hearing that they could hearken to the counsel of the gods. Others requited certain blind men who had done them service by licking their eyes, and so bestowing on them sight far keener than any human vision.

The primitive inhabitants of Canaan were also snake-worshippers (indeed, their name, Hivite, is said to be equivalent to the Greek Ophite). Hence, when the Hebrews intermarried with these tribes, and served their gods, they in fact adopted this worship, which accounts for the readiness with which veneration for the brazen serpent led to actual adoration and burning incense thereto, so that Hezekiah was compelled to destroy it, with other idols. Undoubtedly, faith in the supernatural knowledge of the creature lingered in Palestine till much later days, as we gather from the frequent allusions to consulting ‘those that have familiar spirits,’ an expression which should rather be translated[6] ‘serpents,’ the word used (Ob or Oub) being the same as describes the serpent worshipped in Egypt. Passing on thither, we find the same wide-spread superstition. That this worship was coeval with that of the sun is shown by the earliest Egyptian mythology, relating how Helius, the Sun-god, married Ops, the Snake-goddess. Though peculiarly consecrated to three or four of the principal gods, there is scarcely one Egyptian deity which is not occasionally symbolized by the serpent, and the living reptiles were adored in great temples at Elephantina, Thebes, Alexandria, Onuphis, and Metele, where they were fed with flour and honey by their appointed priests.

There is reason to believe that this strange worship still contrives to continue its existence in the land, in spite of the rigorous laws of Mohammedanism. Bishop Pocock mentions having been shown a cleft in a rock on the Nile, near Raigny, where the great serpent Heredy is said to have dwelt since the days of Mahomet. Against the rock is built a mosque, but the Bishop noticed much blood, and the remains of beasts lately killed, which clearly told their story of recent sacrifice to the Serpent. He says the Christians have as great faith as the Mohammedans in its power to cure all manner of diseases, and adds, that, once a year, the women of the land go a pilgrimage to his shrine, to seek his favour, as the Grecian women of old were wont to do to their serpent gods.

In the mythology of Greece there is scarcely one fable in which the serpent does not figure, nor one god which is not thus symbolized. First we have Cadmus slaying his famous dragon, and planting its teeth, which spring up as armed men, and build Thebes. Then Cadmus and his wife are themselves transformed into serpents, and as such are adored by the people. Next comes the founding of Athens by Cecrops, whose first care is to erect an altar to Ops, the serpent-goddess. One fable after another tells how divers gods temporarily assumed the form of either a dragon or a serpent for reasons of their own, generally in order to win some maiden of earthly mould. Sometimes we find the serpent entwining the helmet or the mystic staff of sage Minerva; then he figures in the drunken revels of Bacchus and Isis. Health-giving Esculapius and his sister Hygeia are both invariably accompanied by serpents, sometimes coiled in the lap, or drinking from a chalice, sometimes carried on high like the brazen serpent of the Israelites. Now we have Jupiter taking the form of a “dragon” to deceive Proserpine. Then Apollo, the sun-god, slays the Pythian serpent, and himself gives oracles at Delphi, which were previously revealed by that creature of supernatural wisdom, in whose honour solemn services were held _every seventh day_.

The latter is a curious fact when taken in connection with the existence of certain Greek sculptures, whereon the serpent is shown entwined in the branches of a tree, with a woman standing by, and seems another link connecting this worship with the traditions of Eden. It occurs again in Orissa, where, at Surabulpore, there lives, or did live a few years ago, a great and holy serpent, seen by various European travellers, which came forth from its cave _every seventh day_ to devour a goat offered to it by the people. Another of these sculptures[7] represents a man kneeling near the woman, as if worshipping the serpent; while on the other side old Charon approaches, leading Cerberus to guard the tree. Live serpents were kept and honoured in the dominions of all the Grecian gods. In Macedonia serpents of largest growth were cherished as household gods, and were the playfellows of the infant children. One was kept in the Acropolis, and consecrated to Minerva, on the walls of whose temples were sculptured Medusa’s heads, fair and beautiful, with snake-entwined hair. There were sacred groves adjoining most of the principal temples of Apollo, both in Greece and Italy, where living serpents were attended by priestesses, and suffered to glide about at their own sweet will, consuming honey-cakes, delivering oracular responses to all comers, and occasionally killing a priestess who, with heedless foot, chanced to molest one of her slippery gods.

The husbandmen annually made solemn pilgrimages to these temples, and offered propitiatory sacrifices to the serpents, supplicating a good harvest. If the reptiles were pleased to accept their offerings of cake and wine, the omen was hailed with gladness. It would seem as if the original curse of the ground and its produce for the serpent’s sake, had led to the belief that he who had brought about such mischief still exerted some mysterious influence, whereby he had power to regulate the produce of the earth and her fruits. Hence the Chariot of Ceres, goddess of agriculture, was drawn by serpents, and throughout Hindoostan the serpent is to this day adored as one of the _Gram Deotas_, or corn-gods, to whom special sacrifice is made at seed-time and harvest.

The head of the serpent has now been so far bruised that his nominal adherents are comparatively few. Perhaps the most curious instance of his open and avowed worship in the present day, among a people professing high civilization, is to be found among the Celestials, who, Buddhists though they be, cannot allow so dangerous a power to remain unpropitiated. Their edition of the old legend tells of a wicked serpent whose head was crushed by a woman; and in their temples they represent a goddess in the act of crushing the reptile. But on the principle of always conciliating evil, they offer sacrifices, not to the good goddess, but to the wicked snake; and in the city of Canton there is at least one temple where, in the very presence of Buddha’s statues, is an altar whereon smoulder warm coals, round which lies coiled a living serpent, which is daily fed and worshipped by the people. Near him on the same raised altar are placed certain sacred shrubs; so here we find the old tree and serpent worship still lingering in the heart of this great populous city.