We’ve promised you another article about the ‘mysterious
light’ seen on the rocky islet of Hasgeir off North Uist in October 1867. Here
it is, as printed in the Inverness
Courier, 14 November 1867, on the page directly following the article printed in our
last blog. As you can see, it’s quite a length, but we think that, despite the generously
upholstered Victorian prose style, it’s so fascinating, taking in everything
from gory and, for us today, rather upsetting details concerning local seal-hunting to the intriguing teine mór or big fire, that it’s worth
quoting in full.
The Mysterious Light at Hasker –
A Legend Revived.
We have mentioned elsewhere in a paragraph from North Uist
that a wreck was supposed to have taken place on the rocky island of Hasker, as
a light was seen on one of the headlands. A correspondent refers at greater
length to the subject in the following communication: –
‘North Uist, Oct. 26, 1867. – The weather
must have been bad enough at Nether-Lochaber last fortnight when it suggested
to your correspondent in that quarter the woeful picture of Lear and his
slender retinue on that fearful night, which ‘pitied neither wise men nor
fools,’ when his unnatural daughter turned him away from her door. Here, also,
the rains and storms have been foul and furious. Had we never heard of Old
Lear, the elements are often fierce enough to draw largely on our fears and
sympathies.
‘In a former
communication I had occasion to mention that on our western shores the water is
shallow and dotted over with rocks and shoals. A reference to a chart of these
parts, however, will show that the coast of North Uist presents a more
formidable array of rocks and rocky islands than any other point of the whole
Long Island.
First, there is Monach Island, where a lighthouse has been lately
erected, and which has been the scene of many a painful spectacle – where many
a noble ship and gallant sailor finished their career for ever. Then, there is
St Kilda, which, though standing thirty-five miles out to sea, may still be
considered merely as a spur or continuation of the inner rocks; and nearly in a
line with St Kilda, and some twelve miles from land, there is another huge
rock, or rather a range of rocks, rising sheer up from a great depth to a
height of upwards of two hundred feet above the watermark, and forming, as it
were, a rampart or outpost for the protection of the throng of low-lying rocks
in its rear, and which in its presence hide their diminished heads.
This rock,
which is called Hasker, is irregular in shape: three sides present an unbroken
line of steep precipitous cliffs, which utterly defy any attempt to scale them
even in the finest weather. On one side, however, there is a ledge, where
landing can be effected under favourable circumstances. Hasker is the resort of
innumerable seals and sea-birds.
Thither, till of late years, the natives of
this island have been in the habit of repairing occasionally to shoot, and, apart
from its profitable aspect, this was considered a bit of adventure, and a good
deal of preparation, excitement, and rivalry where displayed on such occasions.
As a rule, the best boats, the fairest weather, and the stoutest men in nerve
and limb were selected. They usually arrived at the rock about midnight, and
having gone through some preliminary arrangements, inter alia, that of substituting for their boots several pairs of
stockings to protect their feet from the mussels, with which every stone is incrusted,
they commenced their march noiselessly, in perfect order, and armed with huge
clubs, in quest of their intended victims.
About half-way up the rock is a
broad, shallow pool, which, under the friendly shelter of tall, overhanging
cliffs, and surrounded with smooth ledges, might well have figured in Homer as
a favourite resort of Nereids, but which more probably has served the seals as
sleeping berths for countless ages. To this spot the storming party bend their
steps. The poor unsuspecting seals, roused by this unexpected intrusion, only
succeed in getting into the grandest confusion in their frantic efforts to find
their way to the sea.
Finding themselves hemmed in on all sides, the instinct
of self-preservation inspires them in many instances with sufficient courage to
face their assailants. Meanwhile, the wholesale slaughter goes on mercilessly,
and, according to all accounts, it requires a firm footing, a steady nerve, and
considerable dexterity in wielding the club to hit the grinning monster at the
right moment and on the most vulnerable point. But I digress; I will now turn
to the weather once more.
‘One night last
week some keen-sighted persons observed a light at Hasker, as they thought, and
next day, with the help of a spying-glass, sure enough three or four men were
seen stalking about on the loftiest ridge of the rock. The report spread with
electric speed and produced the greatest sensation throughout the country. Many
were the manifestations of sympathy and the expressions of anxiety lest the
poor castaways should succumb to want and exposure before they could be
rescued. But, to support hope, like Whang the miller’s dream, the light was
seen again in the same spot for several consecutive nights, though there were,
indeed, a few obstinate persons who, from some defect or other in their visual
faculties, could not manage to see it at all.
The westerly gales which had
continued to blow all this time with provoking pertinacity at last calmed down,
when several boats set out, amply provided with food and clothing, for the
forlorn outcasts. After struggling long and bravely with the Atlantic billows,
the party at length arrived at their destination; but what was their
disappointment and surprise at discovering no trace of human beings. The question,
of course, naturally arose – how to account for the light! Some gently hinted
that possibly there was no light, or, if there was, that it may have been more
imaginary than real. Others, not much disposed to be sceptical in such a plain
case, scouted this heresy, and accounted for it on more reasonable grounds. But
the true solution was reserved to a conclave of wise matrons, who declared in
the most decided terms that it was the Teine
mòr – big fire – and nothing else.
‘The history of
this singular phenomenon is curious, and as it does not exactly partake of the
same character with the other legends and traditional lore of this part of the
country, inasmuch as its first appearance, which was connected with a
mysterious and rather extraordinary occurrence, is of comparatively recent
date, perhaps it may not be much out of place to give a brief account of it.
A
narrow strip of land immediately bordering on the west sea-coast consists
entirely of sand-banks which abound in madder root. This root was largely used
by our great-grandmothers as a dye stuff; but as the holes and burrows formed
in digging for it helped materially to perpetuate the non-cultivation of the
land, it was in due season prohibited under heavy penalties. As might be
expected, the more refractory of these worthy dames did not submit to this
curtailment of their liberty with a good grace; but as they could get madder
root no more by fair means, they did not scruple to take it under the friendly
shades of night.
It was in the island of Benbecula, some fifty years ago, one
Sunday night, that a young woman went to dig this root, despite the warm
remonstrances of her mother, who, the story says, cursed her daughter as being
always a perverse stubborn creature. This young woman was never seen again. A
few traces of her, however, were discovered, such as some loose articles of
clothing and stray bits of the roots she had been digging, which were found,
not in one place, but marking out a line, in the direction of the sea-beach.
Not the faintest footprints could be seen along this track, but scratches were
observed in the sand, as if a person were dragged along rapidly, and at the
same time held aloft, but not so high but that his toes at intervals came in
contact with the surface.
It was on the night following this tragic occurrence
that the Teine mòr, or, as it was
styled in English, Spunkie, put in its first appearance. The mystery was now
cleared up to the satisfaction of all sensible persons. It was evident that the
adversary of mankind had danced away with the ill-fated woman, and that her
spirit was condemned to wander, in this shape visible to mortal eyes, around
the scenes of her former misdoings, both as a punishment to herself and a
warning to all young women to abstain in future from madder root digging on
Sunday nights, and from incurring the curses of their mothers. No wonder, then,
that this phenomenon should at all times inspire an uncommon amount of
superstitious awe and terror.
At first it confined itself for several years to
Benbecula, roving about dark lakes, marshes, and arms of the sea, a fit
representative of the disconsolate shades wandering on the slimy banks of the
Styx, vainly craving a passage of grim old Charon till the term of their
penance had expired. Gaining courage by experience, it subsequently extended
its peregrination to the neighbouring islands, and many and various are the
stories told of its antics. It often indulged in a mischievous trick of
waylaying the wayfarer in the most lonely and out-of-the-way places, such as
crossing fords and moors. Of late years, however, it has begun to lose credit
and a goodly share of its former terror, on discovering which it made several
excursions across the Minch: and the last that was seen of it has been already
recorded, when it was enlightening the scarts [cormorants] and seals on the wild rock of Hasker!’
The story of Whang the Miller, from Oliver Goldsmith’s The Citizen of the World, remained a
stalwart of the school curriculum through the Victorian era and beyond.
As many readers will know, spunkie is a widespread dialectal
word for the Will o’ the Wisp. In the next blog we’ll present some other
accounts of the teine mór: how it
first came into this world, what it looked like, where it was seen, and the
people it haunted.
Bibliography:
Inverness Courier,
14 November 1867, p. 5 [with extra paragraph breaks added for legibility's sake]
Image:
Hasgeir from a helicopter (Denise van den Brun)
