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EWEN OF THE LITTLE
HEAD
About three hundred years ago, Ewen Maclaine of Lochbuy, in the island
of Mull, having been engaged in a quarrel with a neighbouring chief, a
day was fixed for determining the affair by the sword.
Lochbuy,
before the day arrived, consulted a celebrated witch as to the result
of the feud. The witch declared that if Lochbuy’s
wife
should on the morning of that day give him and his men food unasked, he
would be victorious, but if not, the result would be the
reverse.
This was a disheartening response for the unhappy votary, his wife
being a noted shrew.
The fatal morning arrived, and the hour for meeting the enemy
approached, but there appeared no symptoms of refreshment for Lochbuy
and his men. At length the unfortunate man was compelled to
ask
his wife to supply them with food. She set down before them
curds, but without spoons. When the husband inquired how they
were to eat them, she replied they should assume the bills of
hens. The men ate the curds, as well as they could, with
their
hands; but Lochbuy himself ate none. After p. 73behaving with
the
greatest bravery in the bloody conflict which ensued, he fell covered
with wounds, leaving his wife to the execration of the
people.
She is still known in that district under the appellation of Corr-dhu,
or the Black Crane.
But the miseries brought on the luckless Lochbuy by his wife did not
end with his life, for he died fasting, and his ghost is frequently
seen to this day riding the very horse on which he was mounted when he
was killed. It was a small, but very neat and active pony,
dun or
mouse-coloured, to which the Laird was much attached, and on which he
had ridden for many years before his death. Its appearance is
as
accurately described in the island of Mull as any steed is at
Newmarket. The prints of its shoes are discerned by
connoisseurs,
and the rattling of its curb is recognised in the darkest
night.
It is not particular with regard to roads, for it goes up hill and down
dale with equal velocity. Its hard-fated rider still wears
the
same green cloak which covered him in his last battle; and he is
particularly distinguished by the small size of his head, a peculiarity
which, we suspect, the learned disciples of Spurzheim have never yet
had the sagacity to discover as indicative of an extraordinary talent
and incomparable perseverance in horsemanship.
It is now above three hundred years since Ewen-a-chin-vig (Anglice,
Hugh of the Little Head) fell in the field of honour; but neither the
vigour of the p. 74horse nor of the rider is yet diminished.
His
mournful duty has always been to attend the dying moments of every
member of his own tribe, and to escort the departed spirit on its long
and arduous journey. He has been seen in the remotest of the
Hebrides; and he has found his way to Ireland on these occasions long
before steam navigation was invented. About a century ago he
took
a fancy for a young man of his own race, and frequently did him the
honour of placing him behind himself on horseback. He entered
into conversation with him, and foretold many circumstances connected
with the fate of his successors, which have undoubtedly since come to
pass.
Many a long winter night have I listened to the feats of
Ewen-a-chin-vig, the faithful and indefatigable guardian of his ancient
family, in the hour of their last and greatest trial, affording an
example worthy the imitation of every chief,—perhaps not
beneath
the notice of Glengarry himself.
About a dozen years since some symptoms of Ewen’s decay gave
very
general alarm to his friends. He accosted one of his own
people
(indeed he never has been known to notice any other), and, shaking him
cordially by the hand, he attempted to place him on the saddle behind
him, but the uncourteous dog declined the honour. Ewen
struggled
hard, but the clown was a great, strong, clumsy fellow, and stuck to
the earth with all his might. He p. 75candidly acknowledged,
however, that his chief would have prevailed, had it not been for a
birch-tree which stood by, and which he got within the fold of his left
arm. The contest became very warm indeed, and the tree was
certainly twisted like an osier, as thousands can testify who saw it as
well as myself. At length, however, Ewen lost his seat for
the
first time, and the instant the pony found he was his own master, he
set off with the fleetness of lightning. Ewen immediately
pursued
his steed, and the wearied rustic sped his way homeward. It
was
the general opinion that Ewen found considerable difficulty in catching
the horse; but I am happy to learn that he has been lately seen riding
the old mouse-coloured pony without the least change in either the
horse or the rider. Long may he continue to do so!
Those who from motives of piety or curiosity have visited the sacred
island of Iona, must remember to have seen the guide point out the tomb
of Ewen, with his figure on horseback, very elegantly sculptured in
alto-relievo, and many of the above facts are on such occasions related.
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