The Story of the Witch in Hare's form
This story appeared in the newspaper Mac-Talla on December 16th 1898. I don't know where it came from; perhaps from Sutherland itself? Perhaps Raven is the witch was was in the story.
Fada fada ron a seo ...
I've heard many a story about witchcraft and some people in many places still believe in witches and that they have the power to take the shape of a hare whenever they wish.
They say that when a witch is in the shape of a hare, lead cannot harm her, nothing at all except a bit of silver shot out of a gun can would her, especially if it's a young hunter who shoots her.
I've heard my own mother say that there's nothing better and as sure as a silver button. And when the witch is shot with a silver, by one with good aim, it is said that the hare is no longer seen; but an grey crippled old hag will be found in the back of a garden somewhere. And if she is searched, the button will be found in her back, where she is bleeding.
As sure as I'm alive, I've heard this from my mother and from Janet of the Birds, an old woman with amazing knowledge of these things.
But nevermind anyway, I will tell of what happened to my very own self - what I saw with my own eyes; and on my word of honour, I won't say a syllable but the truth.
In the days of my youth, I would go out hunting along with another, a worthy man who was an amazingly skillful hunter. I wasn't as skillful, but he was a big name. He could drop a black-cock on the wing, and often he would kill half-a-dozen plovers with one shot. I saw him myself kill curlews on the beach with a bullet, using a long Spanish gun.
Anyway, as I was saying, he and I went out hunting one particular evening, each of us with our own gun and with small shot in each gun. We had a bird-dog with us, we were expecting to get partridges.
We didn't encounter anything at all for a long time, but finally a grey long-earred hare (or so we thought) leapt out of a small thicket, near the Carlin's Stone. We put the dog on pursuit of it, but he couldn't catch it. He came back, his two ears down on his neck and his tail between his legs; and he howled mournfully behind me.
The creature which we had flushed/roused ran from the stone before us, exactly like a hare. And when we urged the dog, he followed it just as he would any other hare. We followed the creature, without any doubt or suspicion at all that it wasn't a hare that we had.
It was a beautiful autumn evening, and the full moon was rising behind the hill. But that didn't matter, we followed the pursuit of the hunt, without a thought but that the creature was anything except a hare.
It played hide and seek with us, but finally we got within range of it.
My friend raised his gun to his eye. He took careful aim. He fired ... but there was no gunshot. There wasn't anything but a flash of the priming powder.
I put the gun to my shoulder. I tried to take aim; but a sort of laziness afflicted my hand. A sort of pins-and-needles. I couldn't move the trigger.
I don't know what on earth afflicted me. My hand was shaking, my eye was running, and my heart was pounding loudly.
The creature left; but we decided to follow. The dog was following it. We put our guns in order. The strength came back to my hands.
It came over us again. I shot, but I didn't touch a hair on it. She flirted her short tail at me as she ran away.
My friend let off a good volley of shots after her; but she got away.
The creature, which we thought was a hare, went toward the bulk of the church; and we followed it. We got another chance at it. We both shot at the same moment; but the creature was just as quick and agile was it was from the first.
It took itself inside among the broken places, and we long thought that it was a hare that we had. There are many a scary stories about this place - stories that often set my hair standing on end with terror. But nevermind, we went in through the great door, among the broken places. Rays of moonlight were shining through-out the gloomy lonely place; and what do we see, but the grey hare, so we thought, creeping close by the end of the church, at the monk's tomb.
I was ready, and I intended to shoot at her, but my friend stopped me -- it was a true man, knowledgeable and observant that he was -- he had too much respect for the place.
He pointed at me. "Give me the silver buttons you have on your shirt sleeves," he said.
At that time I had a set of beautiful valuable buttons of precious stones set in silver.
"Give them to me," he said in a solemn, steady, quiet voice.
I started shaking. I didn't say a word, but I got my lovely buttons and I gave them to him. He put my right hand button in his gun.
"Here," he said, "put the other one in your gun." I did so. "Are you ready?" he said.
"Yes," I said quietly, and the sweat was running down my back.
"Take good aim,"he said, "in the name of the Almighty."
We put the guns to our shoulders, and we fired in the same moment. I was terrified, and shaking without knowing why.
We ran together toward the place where we thought we'd seen it die.
And ... what did we find? What was it?
What was it but a fat grey hare!
(from a story by the Rev. Norman MacLeod
MacTalla, 16 Dec. 1898)
Fada fada ron a seo ...
I've heard many a story about witchcraft and some people in many places still believe in witches and that they have the power to take the shape of a hare whenever they wish.
They say that when a witch is in the shape of a hare, lead cannot harm her, nothing at all except a bit of silver shot out of a gun can would her, especially if it's a young hunter who shoots her.
I've heard my own mother say that there's nothing better and as sure as a silver button. And when the witch is shot with a silver, by one with good aim, it is said that the hare is no longer seen; but an grey crippled old hag will be found in the back of a garden somewhere. And if she is searched, the button will be found in her back, where she is bleeding.
As sure as I'm alive, I've heard this from my mother and from Janet of the Birds, an old woman with amazing knowledge of these things.
But nevermind anyway, I will tell of what happened to my very own self - what I saw with my own eyes; and on my word of honour, I won't say a syllable but the truth.
In the days of my youth, I would go out hunting along with another, a worthy man who was an amazingly skillful hunter. I wasn't as skillful, but he was a big name. He could drop a black-cock on the wing, and often he would kill half-a-dozen plovers with one shot. I saw him myself kill curlews on the beach with a bullet, using a long Spanish gun.
Anyway, as I was saying, he and I went out hunting one particular evening, each of us with our own gun and with small shot in each gun. We had a bird-dog with us, we were expecting to get partridges.
We didn't encounter anything at all for a long time, but finally a grey long-earred hare (or so we thought) leapt out of a small thicket, near the Carlin's Stone. We put the dog on pursuit of it, but he couldn't catch it. He came back, his two ears down on his neck and his tail between his legs; and he howled mournfully behind me.
The creature which we had flushed/roused ran from the stone before us, exactly like a hare. And when we urged the dog, he followed it just as he would any other hare. We followed the creature, without any doubt or suspicion at all that it wasn't a hare that we had.
It was a beautiful autumn evening, and the full moon was rising behind the hill. But that didn't matter, we followed the pursuit of the hunt, without a thought but that the creature was anything except a hare.
It played hide and seek with us, but finally we got within range of it.
My friend raised his gun to his eye. He took careful aim. He fired ... but there was no gunshot. There wasn't anything but a flash of the priming powder.
I put the gun to my shoulder. I tried to take aim; but a sort of laziness afflicted my hand. A sort of pins-and-needles. I couldn't move the trigger.
I don't know what on earth afflicted me. My hand was shaking, my eye was running, and my heart was pounding loudly.
The creature left; but we decided to follow. The dog was following it. We put our guns in order. The strength came back to my hands.
It came over us again. I shot, but I didn't touch a hair on it. She flirted her short tail at me as she ran away.
My friend let off a good volley of shots after her; but she got away.
The creature, which we thought was a hare, went toward the bulk of the church; and we followed it. We got another chance at it. We both shot at the same moment; but the creature was just as quick and agile was it was from the first.
It took itself inside among the broken places, and we long thought that it was a hare that we had. There are many a scary stories about this place - stories that often set my hair standing on end with terror. But nevermind, we went in through the great door, among the broken places. Rays of moonlight were shining through-out the gloomy lonely place; and what do we see, but the grey hare, so we thought, creeping close by the end of the church, at the monk's tomb.
I was ready, and I intended to shoot at her, but my friend stopped me -- it was a true man, knowledgeable and observant that he was -- he had too much respect for the place.
He pointed at me. "Give me the silver buttons you have on your shirt sleeves," he said.
At that time I had a set of beautiful valuable buttons of precious stones set in silver.
"Give them to me," he said in a solemn, steady, quiet voice.
I started shaking. I didn't say a word, but I got my lovely buttons and I gave them to him. He put my right hand button in his gun.
"Here," he said, "put the other one in your gun." I did so. "Are you ready?" he said.
"Yes," I said quietly, and the sweat was running down my back.
"Take good aim,"he said, "in the name of the Almighty."
We put the guns to our shoulders, and we fired in the same moment. I was terrified, and shaking without knowing why.
We ran together toward the place where we thought we'd seen it die.
And ... what did we find? What was it?
What was it but a fat grey hare!
(from a story by the Rev. Norman MacLeod
MacTalla, 16 Dec. 1898)