THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS OF HARRIS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 77

THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS OF HARRIS.

By

John M'Cormick

Raonaild MacDonald had the blood of the Isles in her veins. She was descended of the old race of island chiefs who, for a time, made many bids for the throne of all Alba, and who were so powerful m their day as to be able to make treaties with the kings of England.

This semi-regal grandeur of the Clan Donald came to an end in the fifteenth century, and, like the fluffy seed of the thistle and of the dandelion, which grow so luxuriantly on the green sandy machirs of the Isles, the cadets of the wandered wherever the winds blew them.

Raonaild was brought up an Englishwoman; but, while she was still young and pretty, the call of the blood made her seek the Western Isles, of sealmen and sealwomen, to live the rest of her life in Innse Gall, the home of her forefathers Centuries separated Raonaild from the warlike monarchs of the Isles, bnt native seanchaidhs could connect her with the original stock, and they de dared that Nature threw her back to the period of Donald Balloeh, one of her re Downed ancestors. Yes, Nature had thrown her back, for she. voluntarily exiled herself for pure love of living amidst the mists of Harris, where the grey sea-fog drapes the mountains, and shuts the “ Isle of the Peaks ” out from the rest of the world; where, in the long summer evenings, she could sit on the rocks by the seashore and listen to the • song of the waves as - they broke on the pebbly beach; where she could see the seals basking in the summer sun, and listen to their bellows; and where she could feel the doping influence of tho moving ocean, which, to her, seemed to begin and to end nowhere. And she loved the Ceilidh in the long winter nights, for there she almost felt the aura of long dead heroes of her own race. The strange tales conjured up a new world to her; a -world so different from the one she knew in great, busy London. At these Ceilidhs, too, she heard the cradle songs which Harris mothers sang to their children, and she

heard the wild chants of the sea-rovers, who sailed all the known seas, and brought their plunder back to Harris, in their stout galleys. Raonaild was fully initiated into the strange customs of Harris by her landlady, Una M'Leod. Una taught her to card and to spin and weave. In a short time she was able to master the Gaelic, but besides these island accomplishments, town-bred Raonaild could draw and paint, and in the great epic of which she was now one of the cast herself there were many subjects on which she could exercise her skill as an artist, and when she exhibited her sketches to the Ceilidh folk at night, the" paintings seemed to Raonaild to inspire eerie feelings in them, and to cause them to think that the “ leddy ” from London must-be a sort of fairy. Nevertheless Raonaild painted wild life in Harris every day. She was always found down among the rugged rocks sketching the mimicking sea fowls. For days, and weeks, she studied, and coaxed a wild swan which ambled about in the bays, when the weather was fine. At last she and the swan became friendly, and she was able to paint a perfect picture of the strange bird. She fed it daily, and it would come quite close to her to pick the pieces of barley bread from her hand.

One night, when the Ceilidh folk had gathering in Una’s house, Raonaild unfolded her sketch book in the dim light of the crusie. To her astonishment, instead of the usual inspection with consideration, the new exhibit seemed to create an atmosphere of awe in the gathering of young men and women. Serious glances passed from one to another, and ominous whisperings filled Raonaild with wonderment, and in the eerie silence that followed, she felt very uncomfortable indeed. She wondered whether she had innocently infringed on any of the island’s religious customs; or perhaps some superstitious belief. With a sweeping glance all round the company, she felt they were somewhat embarrassed. At lengt K T> uaraidh Ban broke the strange silence which prevailed. “ Weel, Miss Raonaild,” he began, “the swan in the peektar is like as if it was living. I was thinking I was seeing it moving on the paper,” and he cast an awesome look from one to another of the Ceilidh folk. This pleased Raonaild somewhat, for she feared she had offended her friends by her “ idolatry.” “ I thought the picture of the wild swan had frightened you all, and I was surprised, when you live and move about in such a great poem with its measured rhythm.” “ Weel, Raonaild, a ghraidh mo chridhe, and you are indeed, indeed, the love of my hert,” broke in Una, “the peektar put a fear on us indeed, for that swan is an ‘ Eun Sith,’ and we arc knowing all about it.”

“An Eun Sith! ” ejaculated Raonaild in surprise, “what is that?” “It will mean ‘ a scared bird ’ my dear,” replied Una demurely, at the same time casting a searching glance towards Ruaraidh Ban, who was regarded as an authority on Harris folklore.

“Ay!” put in Ruaraidh, “that swan is a princess ‘ fo gheasabh,’ and she is hundreds of years old.” “Fo gheasabh,” repeated Raonaild. “Does that mean ‘enchanted’?”

“ That’s it,” returned Ruaraidh almost authoritatively. “ Oh! that is awfully interesting,” observed Raonaild, for she found she was dipping into the mysteries of Hebridean lore. “ You mean, Ruaraidh, that sometimes swans may be enchanted ladies?” “ Yes, my dear,” put in Una, with a sweeping glance at the girls, who sat round the fire, busy with knitting pins, or distaff, and never exchanging a single word. The atmosphere seemed to have become too eerie for them. “ Any wild swan may be a princess.” “ And every seal you see may be a ‘ prince ’ fo gheasabh also,” put in Ruaraidh.

Raonaild felt quite interested in the Ceilidh talk, and she almost thought that, she had been carried to the long past story of Harris and its wonderful people. She felt some magic influence in the strange tales she heard, and she resolved to explore the mysteries of those lone people’s lore.

“ You often and often sec swans and seals here, don’t you?” she. asked curiously. '* “ Oh, yes, a ghaoil,” replied Una, “but I would rather myself that you would no be troubling yourself so much about them: making their peektars you know.” While she spoke, Una looked sideways into the fire, the while titivating her chin, or rather the growth on it. “We all know that swan, fine, fine a Raonaild a ghaoil. It is an old story. You never heard it, but it is the Swan of Flada Cuain, and ‘ Flada ’Chuain ’ is the leetle island out there in the Minch, and an old, old, castle on it.” “ Flada ’Chuain: a castle on it,” repeated Raonaild almost unconsciously, for Una’s dark sayings began to mystify her. “Is there anything strange to be said about this Fladi ’Chuain and its wonderful swan ? ” asked Raonaild emerging from her stupor. “ I would like to hear the whole story.”

“Weel, my -dear, there’s Ruaraidh there: he is the best man in Harris for telling tales of the old times,” rejoined Una.

“ Come, Ruaraidh, tell us the story of the * Swan of Flada ’Chuain,’ ” coaxed

Raonaild. So Ruaraidh told the old old tale of “ Sluagh fo gheasaibh,” as enchanted folk are called in the Gaelic. He told how the king of Harris wanted his daughter* to marry the King of Lewis, and how the bonnie princess refused, because she was in love with the King of North Uist. For this contumely the

king of Harris commanded the “Druid’’ who lived in a cave in Rodel, near by, to change his daughter into a swan, and her lover into a seal, “ and we will be seeing the both of them every day yet, swimming together, and it's the princess fo gheasaibh you have in your book there.” Further, he explained how the princess of Harris sometimes assumed her human form, and at such times resided in the old castle of Flada ’Chuain, always restoring the gorgeous tapestry woven by several generations of Harris princesses for decorating the walls of the old castle. He also told how the fishermen of Harris gave Flada ’Chuain a wide berth, leaving it entirely to the princess and her seallover.

When Raonaild evinced a yearning desire to visit the island of mysteries, Una went into hysterics at the very thought of such an adventure. “O chiall, a chiall!” she almost screamed, “ don’t think of such a thing. It is no canny, ma lassie, to be going near people who are enchanted. I heerd about them too often, and if you try it, it will be a long time before we will see you again,” urged Una quite seriously. Stories of enchanted people, and how those who happened to fall into their company, even by accident, were kept prisoner for years though they never felt the passage of time, were reeled out. But all these superstitious tales notwithstanding, town-bred Raonaild had her mind made up. She was determined to examine the old castle of Flada ’Chuain, which everybody shunned for centuries.

The story of the old castle and of the enchanted princess still to be seen in the form of a swan, and of her lover still in the form of a seal, and both keeping company in their altered state for hundreds of years, haunted Raonaild day and night. That superstitious belief of those simple people suggested to her belief in the transmigration of souls. The people’s mythology was crude, but it haunted her nevertheless, and she would have to see the strange castle. Her mind was made up, and she disclosed her plans to Una, “You’re going to Flada ’Chuain?” screamed Una, as she raised her thin, bony hands above her head in terror, “ You’re not. You’ll never come back, and nobody in Harris will go with you to Flada ’Chuain.”

“ But I can go alone. I can handle a boat quite well, Una,” rejoined Raonaild persuasively. “I’ll get a loan of Ailean Ban’s boat; and, wait you, Una, I shall have wonderful tales for you when I come back in the evening. Flada ’Chuain isn’t far away.”

Raonaild lost no time in starting on her perilous trip, as the people called it, to Flada ’Chuain. The whole township gathered on the beach to see her off, and they gave her such charms as pins and needles and combs. It was a warm afternoon, and the sea, alive with myriads of seabirds, was as calm as an inland lake. She paddled leisurely along, keeping a sharp look out for the swan and for the seal. She saw neither. She landed on Flada ’Chuain. She moored the boat at the slip of great rough stones, and tripped over the cobbled causeway that led to the old grey eastle of the kings of Harris. She had eerie feelings as the old pile frowned down upon her, and she felt so lonely. The front door was open. She entered with nervy feelings, for the tales she had heard had some controlling influence on her. There was no sound of life, yet something told her that some human hand had been keeping things in the old keep, for the corridors looked as if the castle had been inhabited. The old furniture was neatly disposed, but the wood- < work was drilled by grubs. And the tapestry on the walls! It reminded Raonaild of all she had heard about the grandeur of Eastern palaces.

She walked as if she had been in a drcam, and when approaching the open door of a room, a queen-l ; k« fururc gli-’ml out to meet her. She spoke in a sweet timbrel voice, and conducted her to the room. Raonaild felt quite nervous now, for she thought of the stories she had heard of the swan sometimes changing into her human form. ~ “ Don’t be frightened, miss, thougli you find me in this lonely place,” spoke the lady soothingly. “ just come this way. They entered a dimly-lit room, where the apparition, or the princess, had been restoring some parts of the frayed old tapestry. “ This is my only employment for a long, long time. These threads which I charm into the handiwork of my ancestors—the ladies of my race and bloodconnect the present with the long, long past, when my people, who are now and for many ages in Tir-fa-thuinn, built this castle before a strange race came to Harris. Look at this hank, Miss! Will you please wind it on to this spool ? ” Raonaild took the spool, and while she wound the thread on it, the strange lady hummed a curious melody. It was a mysteriously soothing air, and Raonaild felt a weird influence creeping over her. She began to think that there was, after all, something in the Flada ’Chuain stories, and she thought she had better go.

When she finished the spool she handed it quite familiarly to the princess, as she took the lady to be, and begged to be excused, as she had to go away. “ Thank you kindly,“ returned the princess, “ and I am very pleased you came to see me.” She spoke without looking in Raonaild’s way, and then went on with her crocheting and humming. Bidding the strange lady good evening, Raonaild made for the boat. As she rowed away from lonely Flada ’Chuain, she could hear the princess chanting a sea croon in quite a loud voice. Raonaild took the supposed

princess of the superstitious people of Harris to be a well-to-do lady of some old family who had been crossed in love, and had become strange in her manners, preferring to spend a lonely life in this old ancestral home of her fathers, and while her oars made “ v’s ” in the marcelled waved sea, as she leisurely crossed to the mainland, she could not restrain her eyes from peering at the old keep of “ the kings of Harris,” and she smiled at the strange tales she had heard about the “swan” and the “seal.” But as she rowed across to Rodel she felt that some change had taken place. The oars creaked and wheezed between the driedup pins. The boat looked decayed and unpainted and worn. It didn’t look like Ailean Ban’s boat at all, but she thought she had not taken a proper survey of the craft before she left for Flada ’Chuain.

However, she landed and, having moored the boat, she made for Una’s cottage. She could not find it. The place was quite strange to her, and she wondered whether she had been driven out of her course by the tide, and had landed in some other part on the shore of Harris. She felt quite dazed. Hailing a young lad who had been driving a cow home for the milking, she asked what part of Harris that was.

“This is Rodel,” replied the youth. “Rodel!” exclaimed Raonaild, “How many Rodels are there? Whatever has happened since I went to Flada ’Chuain this afternoon ? ”

Oh! I am understanding you now; I know now who you are,” returned the lad. “ You are the leddy that went to Flada ’Chuain twenty years ago. You were staying in Una’s house.” “ No. no, no, my lad! ” Raonaild replied with a wan laugh. “ I just went over to the island this evening, or rather this afternoon. Y'ou are thinking of some old tale, my boy.” “No, leddy, I am not,” said the lad. “ Y’ou went to Flada ’Chuain before 1 was born. I mind my mother telling us about you. Old Una lives in that house over there now,” he continued, and pointed to a small cottage nearbv. Introspection ravaged Raonaild’s bosom as she made her way to Una’s house. “ There’s something in it after all. I must have been put under a spell. I’ll never despise folklore again. I’m glad Ive come to myself once more. It must have been the spool— ‘ the task ’— that played the trick. It’s stranm? strange.” "

When she entered Una’s small, dark kitchen, whore a young woman sat knitting by the. fireside, and opposite her on the other side of the fireplace a decrepit old woman, whom she could scarcely i ecognise as Una of the afternoon, she stood on the floor gasping, and. clasping hr.nds, she exclaimed hvstericallv' ’Oh! what is this? Where am I? Have I been under a spell? I am Raonaild. "Bat! "hat has happened? ” the two women were dumb with amazement. They thought they were looking at Raonaild’s apparition". Una shaded her bloodshot eyes with her thin, wrinkled hand, and peered into Raonaild s face. In a voice that trembled between fear and emotion she said, “a Raonaild, a ghaoil mo chridhe, is it. yourself back again safe? ” „ ' Ye . s ,’ 1 Una ’ it; is ln ysHf, returned Raonaild.

Are you remembering the day you went away to Flada ’Chuain. I told vou that something would happen to you and you would not believe me.” I remember, Una. That day is still to-day with me.”

“ Yes, a ghaoil, but it’s twenty years ago to everybody else. But tell me this, Raonaild, did the lady in Flada give you anything to do—a ‘task’ they call it? ” Yes, dear,” returned Raonaild timorously, casting her eyes so strangely into vacancy that the women thought she had turned queer. “I filled a spool for her.” she said.

“Ay! ay! a ghaoil,” replied Una, “she put the ‘ Draoidheachd ’ on you. That’s how they do it; they give vou a chon to do.” ' 1

“Y’-e-s, y-e-s, I see that now. The Princess bewitched me,” said Raonaild wanly. She continued, “ Eh, I would like to go back to Flada ’Chuain, and to the pretty queen of the island. Oh! she is so lovely.”

The new generation that grew up in Harris during Raonaild’s absence in Flada ’Chuain regarded her as a queer person. And so they might. Her manner had changed completely. She was always in some land of dreams. Her heart was in Flada ’Chuain, and every day, when the tide was out, she would scramble among the slippery rocks, and, sitting for hours on some peak, she would look over so wistfully to the Isle of horrors, but to her the Isle of her heart.

One evening she failed to return from her haunts by the seashore, where she played with the swan and with the seal, as if they were human. A hue and cry was raised. The people of Harris, men, women, and children, joined in thd search. No trace of Raonaild could be found, and they concluded that the “ Princess ” had changed her into a swan, and had lured her to Flada ’Chuain. One fine morning, when the tide had receded, Raonaild’s body was found on the beach. She looked as calm and peaceful as if the stealthy tide had overwhelmed her in her sleep. Her head of towsy auburn hair rested on her right arm, and a bunch of brown seaweed lav like a wreath on her white bosom. Some of the folk-songs and folk-tales of Harris still commemorated “ Raonaild Macdonald of the Isles.”—Weekly Scotsman.