The Dance Of Death

Three young fellows belonging to Strathmore, in the
parish of Loch Broom, were returning from the Lowlands, where they had been living for some time. It was long before the days of Watt and Macadam; roads were not good, progress was slow, and rain was frequent. When they, in the final lap of their journey, arrived at the green hillside of Lochdrom, the weather was extremely inclement. Seeing a commodious shieling on the braeface, the young men entered, and one of them, with the object of driving dull care away, struck up a lightsome tune on his pipes. His two comrades at once began to fling their legs about and caper merrily. Soon, having succeeded in dancing themselves dry, they all agreed that female partners would be a great acquisition.

The wish was at once gratified. Three women
mysteriously glided into the shieling, and the dancing
began in earnest. One of the women stood close by the
piper, while the other two skipped about, with their
partners, all round the building. Outside it thundered
and lightened in terrific fashion. rfired and sweating,the two couples were at length fain to stop, and they
sat down to rest on seats of turf and heather.

The piper stopped too: he felt some malign influence coming over him; he was certain some devilish deed was a-doing. Stealing a glance at his two friends, he perceived that they were both stark dead, and that the two infernal women were smiling a hideous smile of triumph. Action, he felt, was immediately necessary: he flung the still groaning bagpipes full in the face of the witch near him, stunned her thus for an instant, and with one wild leap cleared the threshold. Arid now began a hot
race and hot pursuit.

Like another Tam o’ Shanter, but without the mare, the piper sped over the moor and through the rain, plying a foot as good as wings. Not till they came in sight of the clachan of Fasagrianach, did the witches relinquish the chase. The exhausted piper had a sad tale to tell to the mothers of his two hapless friends. Next day a company of mourners went to the scene of the infernal dance, and, amid much mourning, they sang a weird wail with the sad refrain, Airidh mo Dhubhaich, which, being interpreted, means “Shieling of my Sorrow.”

Shieling = Shelter.

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