The Pirate

Note V., p. 121. – Mair Wrecks ere Winter

The ancient Zetlander looked upon the sea as the provider of his living, not only by the plenty produced by the fishings, but by the spoil of wrecks. Some particular islands have fallen off very considerably in their rent, since the commissioners of the lighthouses have ordered lights on the Isle of Sanda and the Pentland Skerries. A gentleman, familiar with those seas, expressed surprise at seeing the farmer of one of the isles in a boat with a very old pair of sails. “Had it been His will” – said the man, with an affected deference to Providence, very inconsistent with the sentiment of his speech – “Had it been His will that light had not been placed yonder, I would have had enough of new sails last winter.”

Note VI., p. 172. – Zetland Corn-mills

There is certainly something very extraordinary to a stranger in Zetland corn-mills. They are of the smallest possible size; the wheel which drives them is horizontal, and the cogs are turned diagonally to the water. The beam itself stands upright, and is inserted in a stone quern of the old-fashioned construction, which it turns round, and thus performs its duty. Had Robinson Crusoe ever been in Zetland, he would have had no difficulty in contriving a machine for grinding corn in his desert island. These mills are thatched over in a little hovel, which has much the air of a pig-sty. There may be five hundred such mills on one island, not capable any one of them of grinding above a sackful of corn at a time.

Note VII., p. 234. – The Sword-Dance

The Sword-Dance is celebrated in general terms by Olaus Magnus. He seems to have considered it as peculiar to the Norwegians, from whom it may have passed to the Orkneymen and Zetlanders, with other northern customs.

“Of their Dancing in Arms

“Moreover, the northern Goths and Swedes had another sport to exercise youth withall, that they will dance and skip amongst naked swords and dangerous weapons. And this they do after the manner of masters of defence, as they are taught from their youth by skilful teachers, that dance before them, and sing to it. And this play is showed especially about Shrovetide, called in Italian Macchararum. For, before carnivals, all the youth dance for eight days together, holding their swords up, but within the scabbards, for three times turning about; and then they do it with their naked swords lifted up. After this, turning more moderately, taking the points and pummels one of the other, they change ranks, and place themselves in an triagonal figure, and this they call Rosam; and presently they dissolve it by drawing back their swords and lifting them up, that upon every one’s head there may be made a square Rosa, and then by a most nimbly whisking their swords about collaterally, they quickly leap back, and end the sport, which they guide with pipes or songs, or both together; first by a more heavy, then by a more vehement, and lastly, by a most vehement dancing. But this speculation is scarce to be understood but by those who look on, how comely and decent it is, when at one word, or one commanding, the whole armed multitude is directed to fall to fight, and clergymen may exercise themselves, and mingle themselves amongst others at this sport, because it is all guided by most wise reason.”

To the Primate’s account of the sword-dance, I am able to add the words sung or chanted, on occasion of this dance, as it is still performed in Papa Stour, a remote island of Zetland, where alone the custom keeps its ground. It is, it will be observed by antiquaries, a species of play or mystery, in which the Seven Champions of Christendom make their appearance, as in the interlude presented in “All’s Well that Ends Well.” This dramatic curiosity was most kindly procured for my use by Dr. Scott of Hazlar Hospital, son of my friend Mr. Scott of Mewbie, Zetland. Mr. Hibbert has, in his Description of the Zetland Islands, given an account of the sword-dance, but somewhat less full than the following:

“Words used as a prelude to the Sword-Dance, a Danish or Norwegian Ballet, composed some centuries ago, and preserved in Papa Stour, ZetlandPersonæ Dramatis.56(Enter Master, in the character of St. George.)Brave gentles all within this boor,57If ye delight in any sport,Come see me dance upon this floor,Which to you all shall yield comfort.Then shall I dance in such a sort,As possible I may or can;You, minstrel man, play me a Porte,58That I on this floor may prove a man.(He bows, and dances in a line.)Now have I danced with heart and hand,Brave gentles all, as you may see,For I have been tried in many a land,As yet the truth can testify;In England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Italy, and Spain,Have I been tried with that good sword of steel.(Draws, and flourishes.)Yet, I deny that ever a man did make me yield;For in my body there is strength,As by my manhood may be seen;And I, with that good sword of length,Have oftentimes in perils been,And over champions I was king.And by the strength of this right hand,Once on a day I kill’d fifteen,And left them dead upon the land.Therefore, brave minstrel, do not care,But play to me a Porte most light,That I no longer do forbear,But dance in all these gentles’ sight;Although my strength makes you abased,Brave gentles all, be not afraid,For here are six champions, with me, staid,All by my manhood I have raised.(He dances.)Since I have danced, I think it bestTo call my brethren in your sight,That I may have a little rest,And they may dance with all their might;With heart and hand as they are knights,And shake their swords of steel so bright,And show their main strength on this floor,For we shall have another boutBefore we pass out of this boor.Therefore, brave minstrel, do not careTo play to me a Porte most light,That I no longer do forbear,But dance in all these gentles’ sight.(He dances, and then introduces his knights, as under.)Stout James of Spain, both tried and stour,59Thine acts are known full well indeed;And champion Dennis, a French knight,Who stout and bold is to be seen;And David, a Welshman born,Who is come of noble blood;And Patrick also, who blew the horn,An Irish knight, amongst the wood.Of Italy, brave Anthony the good,And Andrew of Scotland King;St. George of England, brave indeed,Who to the Jews wrought muckle tinte.60Away with this! – Let us come to sport,Since that ye have a mind to war,Since that ye have this bargain sought,Come let us fight and do not fear.Therefore, brave minstrel, do not careTo play to me a Porte most light,That I no longer do forbear,But dance in all these gentles’ sight.(He dances, and advances to James of Spain.)Stout James of Spain, both tried and stour,Thine acts are known full well indeed,Present thyself within our sight,Without either fear or dread.Count not for favour or for feid,Since of thy acts thou hast been sure;Brave James of Spain, I will thee lead,To prove thy manhood on this floor.(James dances.)Brave champion Dennis, a French knight,Who stout and bold is to be seen,Present thyself here in our sight,Thou brave French knight,Who bold hast been;Since thou such valiant acts hast done,Come let us see some of them nowWith courtesy, thou brave French knight,Draw out thy sword of noble hue.(Dennis dances, while the others retire to a side.)Brave David a bow must string, and with aweSet up a wand upon a stand,And that brave David will cleave in twa.61(David dances solus.)Here is, I think, an Irish knight,Who does not fear, or does not fright,To prove thyself a valiant man,As thou hast done full often bright;Brave Patrick, dance, if that thou can.(He dances.)Thou stout Italian, come thou here;Thy name is Anthony, most stout;Draw out thy sword that is most clear,And do thou fight without any doubt;Thy leg thou shake, thy neck thou lout,62And show some courtesy on this floor,For we shall have another bout,Before we pass out of this boor.Thou kindly Scotsman, come thou here;Thy name is Andrew of Fair Scotland;Draw out thy sword that is most clear,Fight for thy king with thy right hand;And aye as long as thou canst stand,Fight for thy king with all thy heart;And then, for to confirm his band,Make all his enemies for to smart. – (He dances.)(Music begins.)Figuir.63

“The six stand in rank with their swords reclining on their shoulders. The Master (St. George) dances, and then strikes the sword of James of Spain, who follows George, then dances, strikes the sword of Dennis, who follows behind James. In like manner the rest – the music playing – swords as before. After the six are brought out of rank, they and the master form a circle, and hold the swords point and hilt. This circle is danced round twice. The whole, headed by the master, pass under the swords held in a vaulted manner. They jump over the swords. This naturally places the swords across, which they disentangle by passing under their right sword. They take up the seven swords, and form a circle, in which they dance round.

“The master runs under the sword opposite, which he jumps over backwards. The others do the same. He then passes under the right-hand sword, which the others follow, in which position they dance, until commanded by the master, when they form into a circle, and dance round as before. They then jump over the right-hand sword, by which means their backs are to the circle, and their hands across their backs. They dance round in that form until the master calls ‘Loose,’ when they pass under the right sword, and are in a perfect circle.

“The master lays down his sword, and lays hold of the point of James’s sword. He then turns himself, James, and the others, into a clew. When so formed, he passes under out of the midst of the circle; the others follow; they vault as before. After several other evolutions, they throw themselves into a circle, with their arms across the breast. They afterwards form such figures as to form a shield of their swords, and the shield is so compact that the master and his knights dance alternately with this shield upon their heads. It is then laid down upon the floor. Each knight lays hold of their former points and hilts with their hands across, which disentangle by figuirs directly contrary to those that formed the shield. This finishes the Ballet.

“EpilogueMars does rule, he bends his brows,He makes us all agast;64After the few hours that we stay here,Venus will rule at last.Farewell, farewell, brave gentles all,That herein do remain,I wish you health and happinessTill we return again.                          [Exeunt.”

The manuscript from which the above was copied was transcribed from a very old one, by Mr. William Henderson, Jun., of Papa Stour, in Zetland. Mr. Henderson’s copy is not dated, but bears his own signature, and, from various circumstances, it is known to have been written about the year 1788.

Note VIII., p. 299 – The Dwarfie Stone

This is one of the wonders of the Orkney Islands, though it has been rather undervalued by their late historian, Mr. Barry. The island of Hoy rises abruptly, starting as it were out of the sea, which is contrary to the gentle and flat character of the other Isles of Orkney. It consists of a mountain, having different eminences or peaks. It is very steep, furrowed with ravines, and placed so as to catch the mists of the Western Ocean, and has a noble and picturesque effect from all points of view. The highest peak is divided from another eminence, called the Ward-hill, by a long swampy valley full of peat-bogs. Upon the slope of this last hill, and just where the principal mountain of Hoy opens in a hollow swamp, or corrie, lies what is called the Dwarfie Stone. It is a great fragment of sandstone, composing one solid mass, which has long since been detached from a belt of the same materials, cresting the eminence above the spot where it now lies, and which has slid down till it reached its present situation. The rock is about seven feet high, twenty-two feet long, and seventeen feet broad. The upper end of it is hollowed by iron tools, of which the marks are evident, into a sort of apartment, containing two beds of stone, with a passage between them. The uppermost and largest bed is five feet eight inches long, by two feet broad, which was supposed to be used by the dwarf himself; the lower couch is shorter, and rounded off, instead of being squared at the corners. There is an entrance of about three feet and a half square, and a stone lies before it calculated to fit the opening. A sort of skylight window gives light to the apartment. We can only guess at the purpose of this monument, and different ideas have been suggested. Some have supposed it the work of some travelling mason; but the cui bono would remain to be accounted for. The Rev. Mr. Barry conjectures it to be a hermit’s cell; but it displays no symbol of Christianity, and the door opens to the westward. The Orcadian traditions allege the work to be that of a dwarf, to whom they ascribe supernatural powers, and a malevolent disposition, the attributes of that race in Norse mythology. Whoever inhabited this singular den certainly enjoyed

“Pillow cold, and sheets not warm.”

I observed, that commencing just opposite to the Dwarfie Stone, and extending in a line to the sea-beach, there are a number of small barrows, or cairns, which seem to connect the stone with a very large cairn where we landed. This curious monument may therefore have been intended as a temple of some kind to the Northern Dii Manes, to which the cairns might direct worshippers.

Note IX., p. 299. – Carbuncle on the Ward-hill

“At the west end of this stone, (i. e. the Dwarfie Stone,) stands an exceeding high mountain of a steep ascent, called the Ward-hill of Hoy, near the top of which, in the months of May, June, and July, about midnight, is seen something that shines and sparkles admirably, and which is often seen a great way off. It hath shined more brightly before than it does now, and though many have climbed up the hill, and attempted to search for it, yet they could find nothing. The vulgar talk of it as some enchanted carbuncle, but I take it rather to be some water sliding down the face of a smooth rock, which, when the sun, at such a time, shines upon, the reflection causeth that admirable splendour.” – Dr. Wallace’s Description of the Islands of Orkney, 12mo, 1700, p. 52.

GLOSSARY

A’, all.

Ae, one.

Aff, off.

Afore, before.

Aigre, sour.

Aik, the oak.

Ain, own.

Air, an open sea-beach.

Airn, iron.

A-low, ablaze.

Amang, among.

An, if.

Ance, once.

Ane, one.

Anent, regarding.

Aneugh, eneugh, enow, enough.

Angus, Forfarshire.

Aroint, avaunt.

Aught, to possess or belong to.

Auld, old.

Auld-world, ancient, old-fashioned.

Aver, a cart-horse.

Awa, away.

Awmous, alms.

Awn, a beard (of grain).

Awsome, fearful.

Back-spauld, the back of the shoulder.

Bailie, a magistrate.

Bairn, a child.

Baith, both.

Banning, cursing.

Bauld, bold.

Bear, a kind of barley.

Bear-braird, barley-sprouting.

Bee-skep, a bee-hive.

Bell-the-cat, to contend with.

Bern, a child.

Bicker, a wooden dish.

Bide, to stay.

Big, to build.

Biggin, a building.

Biggit, built.

Billie, brother.

Bittle, a wooden bat for the beating of linen.

Bland, a drink made from butter-milk.

Bleeze, blaze.

Blithe, glad.

Blurt, to burst out speaking.

Bonally, a parting drink.

Bonnie, pretty.

Bonnie-die, a toy, a trinket.

Bonnie-wallies, good things, gewgaws.

Bourasque, a sudden squall.

Braid, broad.

Braws, fine clothes.

Breekless, trouserless.

Burn-brae, the acclivity at the bottom of which a rivulet runs.

Callant, a lad.

Canna, cannot.

Canny, prudent.

Canty, lively and cheerful.

Carles, farm servants.

Carline, a witch.

Cart-avers, cart-horses.

Cateran, a Highland robber.

Cauld, cold.

Caup, a cup.

“Causeyed syver,” a cause-wayed sewer.

Certie – “my certie!” my faith!

Change-house, an inn.

Chapman, a small merchant or pedlar.

Chield, a fellow.

Claith, cloth.

Clatter, to tattle.

Claver, to chatter.

Clavers, idle talk.

Clog, a small short log, a billet of wood.

Coal-heugh, a coal-pit.

Coble, a small boat.

Cog, a wooden bowl.

Cogfu’, the full of a wooden bowl.

Coorse, coarse.

Coup, to exchange.

Crack, to boast.

Creel, a basket. “In a creel,” foolish.

Croft-land, land of superior quality, which was still cropped.

Crowdie, meal and water stirred up together.

Cummer, a gossip.

Curch, a kerchief for covering the head.

Cusser, a stallion.

Daffing, larking.

Daft, crazy.

Daikering, sauntering.

Dead-thraw, the death-throes.

Deftly, handsomely.

Deil, the devil.

Ding, to knock.

Dinna, do not.

Dirk, a dagger.

Doited, stupid.

Doun, down.

Dour, sullen, hard, stubborn.

Dowlas, a strong linen cloth.

Drammock, raw meal and water.

Drouth, thirst.

Duds, clothes.

Een, eyes.

Embaye, to enclose.

Equals-aquals, in the way of division strictly equal.

Fa’, fall.

Factor, a land steward.

“Farcie on his face!” a malediction.

Fash, fashery, trouble.

Ferlies, unusual events or things.

“Ferlies make fools fain,” wonders make fools eager.

Fey, fated, or predestined to speedy death.

Fifish, crazy, eccentric.

Fir-clog, a small log of fir.

Flang, flung.

Flichter, to flutter or tremble.

“Flinching a whale,” slicing the blubber from the bones.

“Floatsome and jetsome,” articles floated or cast away on the sea.

“Fool carle,” a clown, a stupid fellow.

Forby, besides.

Forpit, a measure = the fourth part of a peck.

Fowd, the chief judge or magistrate.

Frae, from.

Freit, a charm or superstition.

Fule, a fool.

Gaberlunzie, a tinker or beggar.

Gaed, went.

Gait, gate, way, direction.

Gane, gone.

Gang, go.

Ganging, going.

Gangrel, vagrant.

Gar, to oblige, to force.

Gascromh, an instrument for trenching ground, shaped like a currier’s knife with a crooked handle.

“Gay mony,” a good many.

Gear, property.

Gie, give.

Gills, the jaws.

Gin, if.

Gio, a deep ravine which admits the sea.

Girdle, an iron plate on which to fire cakes.

Glamour, a fascination or charm.

Glebe, land belonging to the parish minister in right of his office.

Glower, to gaze.

Gowd, gold.

Gowk, a fool.

Gowpen, the full of both hands.

Graip, a three-pronged pitch-fork.

Graith, furniture.

Grew, to shiver. The flesh is said to grew when a chilly sensation passes over the surface of the body.

Grist, a mill fee payable in kind.

Gude, good.

Gudeman, gudewife, the heads of the house.

Gue, a two-stringed violin.

Guide, to treat, to take care of.

Guizards, maskers or mummers.

Gyre-carline, a hag.

Haaf, deep-sea fishing.

Haaf-fish, a large kind of seal.

Hae, have.

Haft, to fix, to settle.

Hagalef, payment for liberty to cast peats.

Haill, whole.

Hald, hold.

Halier, a cavern into which the tide flows.

Hallanshaker, a vagabond, a beggar.

Halse, the throat.

Hand-quern, a hand-mill.

Happer, the hopper of a mill.

Harry, to plunder.

Har’st, harvest.

Hasp, a hank of yarn. “Ravelled hasp,” everything in confusion.

Haud, hauld, hold.

Havings, behaviour.

Hawkhen, hens exacted by the royal falconer on his visits to the islands.

Helyer, a cavern into which the tide flows.

Hialtland, the old name for Shetland.

Hinny, a term of endearment=honey.

Hirple, to halt, to limp.

Hirsel, to move or slide down.

Housewife-skep, housewifery.

Hout! tut!

Howf, a haunt, a haven.

Ilk, of the same name.

Ilk, ilka, each, every.

Ill-fa’red, ill-favoured.

“In a creel,” foolish.

Infield, land continually cropped.

In-town, land adjacent to the farmhouse.

Isna, is not.

Jagger, a pedlar.

Jaud, a jade.

Jougs, the pillory.

Kail-pot, a large pot for boiling broth.

Kain – “to pay the kain,” to suffer severely.

Ken, to know.

“Ken’d folks,” “ken’d freend,” well-known people, a well-known friend.

Kiempe, a Norse champion.

Kist, a chest.

Kittle, difficult, ticklish.

Kittywake, a kind of sea-gull.

“Knapped Latin,” spoke Latin.

Knave, a miller’s boy.

Knaveship, a small due of meal paid to the miller.

Kraken, a fabulous sea-monster.

Kyloes, small black cattle.