Years ago there lived
in Crossbrig a smith of the name of MacEachern. This man had an only child,
a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years of age, cheerful, strong, and healthy.
All of a sudden he fell ill, took to his bed, and moped whole days away. No
one could tell what was the matter with him, and the boy himself could not,
or would not, tell how he felt. He was wasting away fast; getting thin, old,
and yellow; and his father and all his friends were afraid
that he would die. At
last one day, after the boy had been lying in this condition for a long time,
getting neither better nor worse, always confined to bed, but with an extraordinary
appetite,--one day, while sadly revolving these things, and standing idly
at his forge, with no heart to work, the smith was agreeably surprised to
see an old man, well known to him for his sagacity and knowledge of out-of-the-way
things, walk into his workshop. Forthwith he told him the occurrence which
had clouded his life. The old man looked grave as he listened; and after sitting
a long time pondering over all he had heard, gave his opinion thus-- "It is
not your son you have got. The boy has been carried away by the 'Daoine Sith,'
and they have left a Sibhreach in his place." - "Alas! and what then am I
to do?" said the smith. "How am I ever to see my own son again?" - "I
will tell you how," answered the old man. "But, first, to make sure that it
is not your own son you have got, take as many empty eggshells as you can
get, go with them into the room, spread them out carefully before his sight,
then proceed to draw water with them, carrying them two and two in your hands
as if they were a great weight, and arrange when full, with every sort of
earnestness, round the fire." The smith accordingly gathered as many broken
eggshells as he could get, went into the room, and proceeded to carry out
all his instructions. He had not been long at work before there arose from
the bed a shout of laughter, and the voice of the seeming sick boy exclaimed,
" I am now 800 years of age, and I have never seen the like of that before."
The smith returned and told the old man. "Well, now," said the sage to him,
"did I not tell you that it was not your son you had: your son is in Brorra-cheill
in a digh there (that is, a round green hill frequented by fairies). Get rid
as soon as possible of this intruder, and I think I may promise you your son.
"You must light a very large and bright fire before the bed on which this
stranger is lying. He will ask you, 'What is the use of such a fire as that?'
Answer him at once, 'You will see that presently!' and then seize him, and
throw him into the middle of it. If it is your own son you have got, he will
call out to save him; but if not, this thing will fly through the roof." The
smith again followed the old man's advice; kindled a large fire, answered
the question put to him as he had been directed to do, and seizing the child
flung him in without hesitation. The "Sibhreach" gave an awful yell, and sprung
through the roof, where a hold was left to let the smoke out. On a certain
night the old man told him the green round hill, where the fairies kept the
boy, would be open. And on that night the smith, having provided himself with
a Bible, a dirk, and a crowing cock, was to proceed to the hill. He would
hear singing and dancing and much merriment going on, but he was to advance
boldly; the Bible he carried would be a certain safeguard to him against any
danger from the fairies. On entering the hill he was to stick the dirk in
the threshold, to prevent the hill from closing upon him; "and then," continued
the old man, "on entering you will see a spacious apartment before you, beautifully
clean, and there, standing far within, working at a forge, you will also see
you own son. When you are questioned, say you come to seek him, and will not
go without him." Not long after this the time came round, and the smith sallied
forth, prepared as instructed. Sure enough, as he approached the hill, there
was a light where light was seldom seen before. Soon after a sound of piping,
dancing, and joyous merriment reached the anxious father on the night wind.
Overcoming every impulse to fear, the smith approached the threshold steadily,
stuck the dirk into it as directed, and entered. Protected by the Bible her
carried on his breast, the fairies could not touch him; but they asked him,
with a good deal of displeasure, what he wanted there. He answered, "I want
my son, whom I see down there, and I will not go without him." Upon hearing
this the whole company before him gave a loud laugh, which wakened up the
cock he carried dozing in his arms, who at once leaped up on his shoulder,
clapped his wings lustily, and crowed loud and long. The fairies, incensed,
seized the smith and his son, and, throwing them out of the hill, flung the
dirk after them, and in an instant all was dark. For a year and a day the
boy never did a turn of work, and hardly ever spoke a word; but at last one
day, sitting by his father and watching him finishing a sword he was making
for some chief, and which he was very particular about, he suddenly exclaimed,
"That is not the way to do it;" and, taking the tools from his father's hands,
he set to work himself in his place, and soon fashioned a sword the like of
which was never seen in the country before. From that day the young man wrought
constantly with his father, and became the inventor of a peculiarly fine and
well-tempered weapon, the making of which kept the two smiths, father and
son, in constant employment, spread their fame far and wide, and gave them
the means in abundance, as they before had the disposition, to live content
with all the world and very happily with one another.
Source: J. F. Campbell,
Popular Tales of the West Highlands, as published in George Douglas, Scottish
Fairy and Folk Tales (London: Walter Scott Publishing Co., 1901), pp. 125-128.