Witchcraft and superstitious record in the south-western district of ScotlandWood, J. Maxwell (John Maxwell)
History
Witchcraft and superstitious record in the south-western district of Scotland
Wood, J. Maxwell (John Maxwell)
Folklore -- Scotland; Witchcraft -- Scotland
In approaching the whole matter for descriptive purposes, the traditional,
or as it may perhaps be fittingly termed, the "ideal" form of witchcraft,
falls naturally first to be considered, and here the existence of a secret
society or unholy order of witches and warlocks meeting together at
certain appointed times, figures as an outstanding feature, qualification
to belong to which, confessed rare powers of affinity with the powers of
evil and darkness. The more these witches and warlocks were feared in
their ordinary guise as human mortals by the country-side or district to
which they belonged, the higher the rank accorded to them in secret
conclave, and the special notoriety of having been branded or "scored," at
the hands of an angry populace, with the sign of the cross on the
forehead, carried with it special recognition of itself. Reputed
gatherings or witch-festivals were celebrated periodically, the most
important and outstanding taking place at Hallowmass, and such eerie
places of meeting as the lonely ruins of Sweetheart Abbey and Caerlaverock
Castle, were the appropriate scenes of their midnight rites and revels;
but most of all in this south-western district was it to the rising slope
of Locharbriggs Hill, not many miles from Dumfries, that the "hellish
legion" repaired.
There is a remnant extant of an old song called the "Witches' Gathering,"
that with quaint and mystic indication tells of the preliminary signals
and signs, announcing that a midnight re-union or "Hallowmass rade" as it
was aptly termed, had been arranged and appointed:--
"When the gray howlet has three times hoo'd,
When the grimy cat has three times mewed,
When the tod has yowled three times i' the wode,
At the red moon cowering ahin the cl'ud;
When the stars ha'e cruppen' deep i' the drift,
Lest cantrips had pyked them out o' the lift,
Up horsies a' but mair adowe,
Ryde, ryde for Locher-briggs-knowe!"
On such a night the very elements themselves seemed in sympathy. The wind
rose, gust following gust, in angry and ever-increasing intensity, till it
hurled itself in angry blasts that levelled hay-rick and grain-stack, and
tore the thatched roof from homestead and cot, where the frightened
dwellers huddled and crept together in terror. Over and with higher note
than the blast itself, high-pitched eldritch laughter, fleeting and
mocking, skirled and shrieked through the air. Then a lull, with a
stillness more terrifying than even the wild force of the angry blast,
only to be almost immediately broken with a crash of ear-splitting
thunder, and the flash and the glare of forked and jagged flame, lighting
up the unhallowed pathway of the "witches' ride."
[Illustration: "THE WITCHES' RIDE." Sketch by J. Copland, Dundrennan.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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