Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales from Burns to Buchan (Penguin Classics) (3 page)

The millers stopped their work, and looked at one another, scratching their heads in amazement.

‘Sing that song over again, my bonnie bird!’ exclaimed both of them together when the Doo had finished, ‘and we will give you this millstone.’

So the Doo repeated its song, and got the millstone, which it asked one of the millers to lift on to its back; then it flew out of the mill, and up the valley, leaving the two men staring after it dumb with astonishment.

As you may think, the milk-white Doo had a heavy load to carry, but it went bravely on till it came within sight of its father’s cottage, and lighted down at last on the thatched roof.

Then it laid its burdens on the thatch, and, flying down to the courtyard, picked up a number of little chuckie stones. With them in its beak it flew back to the roof, and began to throw them down the chimney.

By this time it was evening, and the Goodman and his wife, and his little daughter, Golden-tresses, were sitting around the
table eating their supper. And you may be sure that they were all very much startled when the stones came rattling down the chimney, bringing such a cloud of soot with them that they were almost smothered. They all jumped up from their chairs, and ran outside to see what the matter was.

And Golden-tresses, being the littlest, ran the fastest, and when she came out at the door the milk-white Doo flung the bundle of clothes down at her feet.

And the father came out next, and the milk-white Doo flung the bag of silver down at his feet.

But the wicked stepmother, being somewhat stout, came out last, and the milk-white Doo threw the millstone right down on her head and killed her.

Then it spread its wings and flew away, and has never been seen again; but it had made the Goodman and his daughter rich for life, and it had rid them of the cruel stepmother, so that they lived in peace and plenty for the remainder of their days.

There was once an old widow woman, who lived in a little cottage with her only daughter, who was such a bonnie lassie that everyone liked to look at her.

One day the old woman took a notion into her head to bake a girdleful of cakes. So she took down her baking-board, and went to the meal-chest and fetched a basinful of meal; but when she went to seek a jug of water to mix the meal with, she found that there was none in the house.

So she called to her daughter, who was in the garden; and when the girl came she held out the empty jug to her, saying, ‘Run, like a good lassie, to the Well o’ the World’s End and bring me a jug of water, for I have long found that water from the Well o’ the World’s End makes the best cakes.’

So the lassie took the jug and set out on her errand.

Now, as its name shows, it is a long road to that well, and many a weary mile had the poor maid to go ere she reached it.

But she arrived there at last; and what was her disappointment to find it dry.

She was so tired and so vexed that she sat down beside it and began to cry; for she did not know where to get any more water, and she felt that she could not go back to her mother with an empty jug.

While she was crying, a nice yellow
puddock
, with very bright eyes, came jump-jump-jumping over the stones of the well, and squatted down at her feet, looking up into her face.

‘And why are ye crying, my bonnie maid?’ he asked. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

‘I am crying because the well is empty,’ she answered, ‘and I cannot get any water to carry home to my mother.’

‘Listen,’ said the puddock softly. ‘I can get you water in plenty, if you’ll promise to be my wife.’

Now the lassie had but one thought in her head, and that was to get the water for her mother’s oatcakes, and she never for a moment thought that the puddock was serious, so she promised gladly enough to be his wife, if he would just get her a jug of water.

No sooner had the words passed her lips than the beastie jumped down the mouth of the well, and in another moment it was full to the brim with water.

The lassie filled her jug and carried it home, without troubling any more about the matter. But late that night, just as her mother and she were going to bed, something came with a faint ‘thud, thud’ against the cottage door, and then they heard a tiny little wee voice singing:

‘Wheesht,’ said the old woman, raising her head. ‘What noise is that at the door?’

‘Oh,’ said her daughter, who was feeling rather frightened, ‘it’s only a yellow puddock.’

‘Poor bit beastie,’ said the kind-hearted old mother. ‘Open the door and let him in. It’s cold work sitting on the doorstep.’

So the lassie, very unwillingly, opened the door, and the puddock came jump-jump-jumping across the kitchen, and sat down at the fireside.

And while he sat there he began to sing this song:

‘Gie the poor beast his supper,’ said the old woman. ‘He’s an uncommon puddock that can sing like that.’

‘Tut,’ replied her daughter crossly, for she was growing more and more frightened as she saw the creature’s bright black eyes fixed on her face. ‘I’m not going to be so silly as to feed a wet, sticky puddock.’

‘Don’t be ill-natured and cruel,’ said her mother. ‘Who knows how far the little beastie has travelled? And I warrant that it would like a saucerful of milk.’

Now, the lassie could have told her that the puddock had travelled from the Well o’ the World’s End; but she held her tongue, and went into the pantry, and brought back a saucerful of milk, which she set down before the strange little visitor.

‘Hout, havers, pay no heed, the creature’s daft,’ exclaimed the old woman, running forward to stop her daughter, who was raising the axe to chop off the puddock’s head. But she was too late; down came the axe, off went the head; and, lo and behold! on the spot where the little creature had sat, stood the handsomest young Prince that had ever been seen.

He wore such a noble air, and was so richly dressed, that the astonished girl and her mother would have fallen on their knees before him had he not prevented them by a movement of his hand.

‘It is I that should kneel to you, Sweetheart,’ he said, turning to the blushing girl, ‘for you have delivered me from a fearful spell, which was cast over me in my infancy by a wicked fairy, who at the same time slew my father. For long years I have lived in that well, the Well o’ the World’s End, waiting for a maiden to appear, who should take pity on me, even in my loathsome
disguise, and promise to be my wife – a maiden who would also have the kindness to let me into her house, and the courage, at my bidding, to cut off my head.

‘Now I can return and claim my father’s kingdom, and you, most gracious maiden, will go with me, and be my bride, if you will have me.’

And this was how the lassie who went to fetch water from the Well o’ the World’s End became a princess.

Once upon a time there was a man who lived not very far from John-o’-Groat’s House, which, as everyone knows, is in the far north of Scotland. He lived in a little cottage by the sea-shore, and made his living by catching seals and selling their fur, which in those days was very valuable.

He earned a good deal of money in this way, for these creatures used to come out of the sea in large numbers, and lie on the rocks near his house basking in the sunshine, so that it was not difficult to creep up behind them and kill them.

Some of those seals were larger than others, and the country people used to call them ‘Roane’, and whisper that they were not seals at all, but mermen and merwomen, who came from a country of their own, far down under the ocean, who assumed this strange disguise in order that they might pass through the water, and come up to breathe the air of this earth of ours.

But the seal catcher only laughed at them, and said that those seals were most worth killing, for their skins were so big that he got an extra price for them.

Now it chanced one day, when he was pursuing his calling, that he stabbed a seal with his hunting-knife, and whether the stroke had not been sure enough or not, I cannot say, but with a loud cry of pain the creature slipped off the rock into the sea, and disappeared under the water, carrying the knife along with it.

The seal catcher, much annoyed at his clumsiness, and also at the loss of his knife, went home to dinner in a very downcast frame of mind. On his way he met a horseman, who was so tall and so strange-looking, and who rode on such a gigantic horse,
that he stopped and looked at him in astonishment, wondering who he was, and from what country he came.

The stranger stopped also, and asked him his trade, and on hearing that he was a seal catcher, he immediately ordered a great number of seal skins. The seal catcher was delighted, for such an order meant a large sum of money to him. But his face fell when the horseman added that it was absolutely necessary that the skins should be delivered that evening.

‘I cannot do it,’ he said, in a disappointed voice, ‘for the seals will not come back to the rocks again until tomorrow morning.’

‘I can take you to a place where there are any number of seals,’ answered the stranger, ‘if you will mount behind me on my horse and come with me.’

The seal catcher agreed to this, and climbed up behind the rider, who shook his bridle rein, and off the great horse galloped at such a pace that he had much ado to keep his seat.

On and on they went, flying like the wind, until at last they came to the edge of a huge precipice, the face of which went sheer down to the sea. Here the mysterious horseman pulled up his steed with a jerk.

‘Get off now,’ he said shortly.

The seal catcher did as he was bid, and when he found himself safe on the ground, he peeped cautiously over the edge of the cliff, to see if there were any seals lying on the rocks below.

To his astonishment he saw below him no rocks, only the blue sea, which came right up to the foot of the cliff.

‘Where are the seals that you spoke of?’ he asked anxiously, wishing that he had never set out on such a rash adventure.

‘You will see presently,’ answered the stranger, who was attending to his horse’s bridle.

The seal catcher was now thoroughly frightened, for he felt sure that some evil was about to befall him, and in such a lonely place he knew that it would be useless to cry out for help.

And it seemed as if his fears would prove only too true, for the next moment the stranger’s hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he felt himself being hurled bodily over the cliff, and then he fell with a splash into the sea.

He thought that his last hour had come, and he wondered how
anyone could commit such a wrong deed upon an innocent man.

But, to his astonishment, he found that some change must have come over him, for instead of being choked by the water, he could breathe quite easily, and he and his companion, who was still close at his side, seemed to be sinking as quickly down through the sea as they had flown through the air.

Down and down they went, nobody knows how far, till at last they came to a huge arched door, which appeared to be made of pink coral, studded over with cockle-shells. It opened, of its own accord, and when they entered they found themselves in a huge hall, the walls of which were formed of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of which was of sea-sand, smooth, and firm, and yellow.

The hall was crowded with occupants, but they were seals, not men, and when the seal catcher turned to his companion to ask him what it all meant, he was aghast to find that he, too, had assumed the form of a seal. He was still more aghast when he caught sight of himself in a large mirror that hung on the wall, and saw that he also no longer bore the likeness of a man, but was transformed into a nice, hairy, brown seal.

‘Ah, woe is me,’ he said to himself, ‘through no fault of mine this artful stranger has laid some baneful charm upon me, and in this awful guise will I remain for the rest of my natural life.’

At first none of the huge creatures spoke to him. For some reason or other they seemed to be very sad, and moved gently about the hall, talking quietly and mournfully to one another, or lay sadly upon the sandy floor, wiping big tears from their eyes with their soft furry fins.

But presently they began to notice him, and to whisper to one another, and presently his guide moved away from him, and disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. When he returned he held a huge knife in his hand.

‘Did you ever see this before?’ he asked, holding it out to the unfortunate seal catcher, who, to his horror, recognized his own hunting-knife with which he had struck the seal in the morning, and which had been carried off by the wounded animal.

At the sight of it he fell upon his face and begged for mercy, for he at once came to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the cavern, enraged at the harm which had been wrought upon their
comrade, had, in some magic way, contrived to capture him, and to bring him down to their subterranean abode, in order to work their vengeance upon him by killing him.

But, instead of doing so, they crowded around him, rubbing their soft noses against his fur to show their sympathy, and implored him not to be afraid, for no harm would befall him, and they would love him all their lives long if he would only do what they asked him.