MacMillan the Harpist (2)
I was telling you the old story from Gairloch – ‘MacMillan the Harpist’. MacMillan invited MacDonald to come by Loch Dring in order to see the
Fingalians.
They went out together. They left the horses in ‘the field of the straight bog-channel’. And they continued on themselves a good distance. MacMillan
said, ‘Are you strong enough in your head for this?’ MacDonald replied that he was.
MacMillan said, ‘put your head down and I’ll tie it up.’ And he tied his head tightly and securely with a bandage. He took out a whistle. He gave a
blast. And what a blast! MacDonald thought that his head had been blasted to smithereens!
MacMillan gave another blast. And another until MacDonald’s head was nearly shattered. MacMillan asked him to raise his head.
MacDonald raised his head and what a view he had! He saw men coming, armed to the teeth. They had hounds. When they were near, he started to feel
faint. He fell into a deep sleep. The vision was [had been] so great that he couldn’t endure it.
When he awoke, there was nobody there but MacMillan. He was weeping.
‘Poor man,’ said MacMillan, ‘it’s a pity that you couldn’t endure speaking to those men. Because they’ll never return.’
The two men arose and went home. MacMillan was very upset. ‘Oh, poor man,’ he said again and again, ‘it’s a pity that you couldn’t endure speaking to
those men.’
Within a few days, MacMillan died. Before he died, he grew enormous. His head was reaching one end of the stable (where his bed was), and his feet were
reaching the other end. He had to be cut into quarters to take him out of the barn and bury him.
When the Laird of Gairloch heard about the matter, he gave MacMillan a new noble, honorific name – ‘Noble Watercress, son of Fionn’. And that’s the story.
Mac Gille Mhaoil na Cruit (2)
Faisg air an t-seann chladh ann an Geàrrloch, tha lag ann. ’S e an t-ainm air – Leabaidh na Bà Bàine. Tha iad ag ràdh gur e Fionn MacCumhail fhèin a rinn
an lag. Bha bò bhàn aige, Bha e ag iarraidh àite far am biodh i a’ breith laogh.
Bha muinntir na sgìre ag innse sgeulachdan na Fèinne airson ceudan bhliadhnaichean. Agus seo agaibh seann stòiridh à Geàrrloch. ’S e an t-ainm oirre ‘Mac
Gille Mhaoil na Cruit’. Tha ‘cruit’ a’ ciallachadh clàrsach.
Bha fear a’ fuireach ann an Inbhir Àsdail. Bha e na Dhòmhnallach. Bha e measail air sgeulachdan na Fèinne.
Oidhche gheamhraidh a bha seo, bha e na shuidhe a-staigh. Thàinig duine bochd don taigh. Dh’fheòraich e am faigheadh e cead fuireach airson na h-oidhche.
Thuirt an Dòmhnallach gum faigheadh. Shuidh an coigreach sìos. Dh’inns an dithis stòiridhean na Fèinne do chèile fad na h-oidhche.
Dh’fhuirich Mac Gille Mhaoil fad a’ gheamhraidh còmhla ris an Dòmhnallach. Dh’aithris e sgeulachd ùr mun Fhèinn a h-uile oidhche. Thàinig an t-Earrach.
Nuair a bha e ri treabhadh, aig ceann gach sgrìob, bha sgeul ùr aig Mac Gille Mhaoil mun Fhèinn. Chanadh an Dòmhnallach, ‘Is truagh nach robh mi beò ri
linn na Fèinne.’
Bhiodh an Dòmhnallach ag obair fad an latha. Bhiodh e claoidhte air an oidhche. Mar sin, ’s e Mac Gille Mhaoil a bhiodh a’ saodachadh nan each chun a’
mhonaidh gach feasgar. Bhiodh e a’ dol leotha cho fada ri Feadan Mòr Locha Dring – a bha ainmeil mar àite-còmhnaidh na Fèinne.
Gach dàrnacha oidhche, bhiodh Mac Gille Mhaoil a’ fuireach a-muigh cuide ris na h-eich. Nuair a thilleadh e dhachaigh, bhiodh sgeul ùr aige mun Fhèinn.
Chanadh an Dòmhnallach, ‘Is truagh nach robh mi beò ri linn na Fèinne.’
Mu dheireadh, thug Mac Gille Mhaoil cuireadh don Dòmhnallach thighinn còmhla ris, gus gum faigheadh e sealladh air an Fhèinn. Agus chì sinn dè thachair
an-ath-sheachdain.
