The year was 1884, the time of the 51st annual gathering of the Clan MacPhee.
For centuries this tiny clan of tough and hardy souls had lived on the Island of Scarba , now their castle was ruined, their church an overgrown relic and they were scattered to America , Australia and Canada
The Island was uninhabited now. The little stone cottages that once heard the sound of singing and the laughter of bairns at play were now roofless and heard only the mournful cry of the seabirds. At the centre of the Island , set on a huge black edifice of stone stood the ruined castle. There had been a fortification there for at least two thousand years. Once Celtic warriors had feasted in its halls, the severed head of the Viking raider Guthram had been washed in the castle well and hung in the great hall. The Viking chieftain had chosen the wrong Island to attack and had paid the ultimate price.
On the day of the gathering one of the highlights was a tour of the old castle, an old woman from the clan Historical Society led the visitors round. It was said that once a visitor had missed the boat home and had spent the night alone on the Isle. The walls of the castle seemed to echo with long forgotten music, its highest tower by moonlight seemed to be illuminated by a phantom ghostly light. The ghost of Guthram was said to still haunt the Island , looking for his long severed head, a huge Viking battle axe in his hands. Inside the castle the boar’s head fountain was said to come to life at midnight and made the most hideous sounds! Then there was Lurcher’s Crag, an unseen force was said to propel people up the Crag and over the cliff to their doom!
The stranded visitor was said to have been found by a passing fishing boat completely out of his mind. A night on the Island with ghostly music, Viking ghosts and eerie fairy lights had been more than he could bear. At least he had not been found dead at the foot of Lurcher’s Crag!
And so today more than a hundred visitors were returning for this latest gathering, led by a piper, the hereditary piper of the clan. On board their chartered steam ship from Oban no-one noticed a wiry little man slip on, mingling with the crowd. Alec was a pick-pocket, he followed crowds looking for an unguarded purse or an open pocket, the unwary visitor would find his cash gone.
By the time the ship reached Scarba several visitors noted their pockets were lighter than before! But Alec did not know when to stop; given half a chance he would empty every pocket on this trip!
On the Island the piper made the glens ring with Scottish reels and laments, recounting all the folklore of the clan. Alec joined the tour of the Island, not because he was interested in Highland folklore, but because he would pick a pocket or two while the visitors listened avidly to their guide.
Alec followed the tour eagerly; he paid no attention to their guide but only to the lady’s purse next to him. They walked up to the castle and went inside. He paid no attention to the well where Guthram’s severed head was washed. He wasn’t interested in the great hall or the boar’s head fountain. The overgrown church and its imposing Celtic cross didn’t even warrant a second look.
He listened slightly to the tale of last year’s stranded visitor, who had spent the night on the Island and gone mad. ‘Typical Scots’ he said to himself, ‘too much whisky!’. Alec was English but liked to use a phoney Scottish accent, which sounded really ridiculous.
By four in the afternoon Alec’s pockets were jingling with coins and notes! He now helped himself to several large glasses of complimentary whisky provided by the MacPhee Historical Society and decided to go round on the tour again. The guide, a plump lady in tweed from the Historical Society looked down her nose at him, but she couldn’t prevent him coming on the tour. The finale of the tour was when the guide took the group to Lurcher’s Crag, she raised her arms and in a crescendo of a voice repeated an old rhyme:
‘Every night when the moon is full the ghost of Guthram is seen. He haunts the castle, he haunts the church and the glen that lies between!’
This time Alec, who was a little worse for wear interrupted her rhyme in a loud voice:
‘Every night when the moon is full the ghost of Guthram is seen. He haunts the castle, he haunts the church…………WITH HIS EAR ALL PAINTED GREEN!
Everyone turned round to look at him, but Alec only smiled. He was having his fun and that was all that mattered to him.
He left the main group to count his loot, finding a lonely hollow in which to count his cash. The emptied wallets and purses he threw over the cliff. He laughed to himself how easy this had all been! Now Alec went back to the meeting point, expecting to see the sheep there ready to be fleeced again, more pockets to pick!
Instead Alec saw the steamer sailing away into the distance, leaving him alone on this deserted Isle! The mainland was on the horizon but it was too far to swim, it could be twenty five miles away. Alec could not swim one mile with his bad leg, never mind twenty five miles of cold Scottish sea. There was nothing else for it, he would have to spend the night here. But when he got back to civilisation he would be a wealthy man! Lot ’s of tin to spend on gin, many pounds to buy a round!
Even though it was still only evening the weather had taken a real cold turn. There was a wind blowing in from the sea whipping the waves up to a foamy frenzy. Alec looked over his shoulder, what had been a waterfall was no more! The wind blew the water back up over the cliff and up into the air, disappearing in a cloud of white spray. It was a very eerie sight. Alec thought he would find a good place to shelter for the night, from what little he had heard of the tour there was a choice of the castle, the church or the ruined cottages.
Alec had no belief in the supernatural or in God or angels or spirits, nevertheless he chose not to head for the castle. Even though he didn’t believe in Guthram’s ghost or the boar’s head fountain that place gave him the spooks. He went to the church. It was damp and overgrown with moss, he couldn’t find a sheltered corner anywhere. Now the wind had been joined by rain he needed to find something better. The little ruined cottages were roofless and offered little protection from the elements. That only left the castle.
Alec climbed up the snake path again, up the black rock towards the castle. The dullness of the evening was sucking light from the sky, it would be dark early tonight. The castle began to look more other-worldly than usual in the failing light.
Alec stood at the ancient gateway to the castle, the gate long since gone, leaving a stone arch. For a moment he thought he heard music, but looking round he figured it was the wind screeching through the gaps in the stone, it did sound sort of like music! As a gust of wind picked up the music seemed to grow louder, then die away as the gust passed. He laughed to himself, the superstitious and uneducated locals probably thought this was the fairy music!
He now went through the arch, there was the old well, a boar’s head fountain, a stone stairway leading up to the ancient feasting hall. The feasting hall had no roof, so Alec decided to find a dry corner on the stairs below and stretch out for the night. The stone was cold but tolerable enough, better than being outside in the sheet rain that was now blowing in!
Alec lay back and relaxed, thinking what he would do with his ill gotten gains when he got off this Island ! But he couldn’t relax. He just felt uneasy…………..then something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. It was cold, but it was more than that! He was overwhelmed with a sense of approaching doom, a dread of this place. He reached into his pocket, finding a little bottle of brandy, now was a good time for a tipple!
The bottle had just reached his lips when he let it fly from his hands……………..from somewhere inside the stone walls he had heard the most unearthly scream. The shriek of a banshee would be more pleasant than this! As the bottle shattered on the stone steps Alec was petrified by fear, he couldn’t move a muscle. He lay back on the stone slab completely transfixed. He cowered there for what seemed like an eternity.
But eventually Alec looked round in the gloom. There had been no repeat of the sound…….maybe it had just been an especially strong gust of wind blowing through the gaps in the wall. Maybe it was the sound of a night bird, a silly owl or annoying seabird! Yes, that would surely be the explanation! Alec began to lament the loss of the brandy more than he feared the phantom screecher!
However the wind and rain had really picked up now, water was beginning to run down the stairway from the roofless great hall above. Alec cursed his luck, knowing he would have to move again. He moved down the stairs and looked out into the courtyard. The wind was howling through the castle, the boar’s head fountain seemed to be making a whistling sound, but Alec reasoned that was just the wind blowing through tiny gaps in it. Flashes of lighting now illuminated the night sky.
One of the flashes illuminated the far wall of the courtyard. Even in his tipsy state Alec saw something over by the far wall. It was man sized. He reasoned to himself that it was a bush or something he hadn’t noticed earlier. A moment later came another flash of lightning, what he had seen was no longer there! Instead an eerie glow seemed to form on the highest tower of the old ruined castle. The glow seemed to form into a form, a man in armour.
Alec shook his head with disdain. It was the moon shining through the old stained glass window in the ruined church! It projected an image onto the wall of the castle. Yes it could be enough to drive a simpleton mad with fear, but not him. Alec patted himself on the back, he had nothing to fear here tonight, a clever and rational fellow like himself.
He could even hear some music again, this time it sounded like bagpipes! Alec hated bagpipes. The wind was blowing as if it had blown its last and the ‘bagpipe’ music poured out of the wall. However for a moment the wind died away, but the eerie music increased in volume! Alec stood in stunned silence.
Suddenly a hideous noise emerged, it seemed to be coming from the walls all around him, below him too, a hideous mocking laugh. Alec jumped out into the courtyard and the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started. Although being soaked in the rain he gradually regained his composure, nodding to himself he reckoned someone else had been left stranded and had been playing tricks on him, probably that silly piper he had heard earlier!
But Alec remembered, as the ship sailed away without him the piper had been playing on deck. The ruined church had no glass remaining in any windows, no stained glass for moonlight to project through. And he began to hear footsteps moving over the courtyard towards him! The sound echoed over the stone slabs but no-one was to be seen.
Alec could take no more, he suddenly panicked, a wave of dread overwhelmed him. He felt like a hunted animal, only one thought filled his mind, to escape, to survive. He ran out of the castle, tripping on the way down the path he fell headlong into a bog. Getting up, now soaked through he ran as fast as he could! He ran in any direction, he didn’t care, he just had to run!
He found himself running towards Lurcher’s Crag and the cliff. That was odd, it was not the way he wanted to go. But he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. It was as if something had taken him over, some unseen force was propelling him towards the Crag. Alec used all of his willpower to try and change direction………..he began to chant audibly to himself ‘left, left, left’. He wanted to go left not straight ahead! Straight ahead and he would be dead!
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Very early the next morning some fishermen from the neighbouring Island of Colonsay
They sailed under the lea of Scarba, passing by its awesome Cliff, Lurcher’s Crag. Today onboard was a very old man, old Jethro MacPhee. The other men on the boat knew that Jethro had been old when their grandfather’s were boys. The wrinkled old man put to sea only very occasionally………….today was one such day.
Passing the cliff Jethro reached out his bony old hand and pointed. At the bottom of the cliff was a dead man. He lay surrounded by golden coins. One of the younger fisherman said that the poor man must have lost his way in the storm and fallen over the cliff to his doom. He also said they should go ashore and retrieve the gold.
Jethro pointed his long bony finger at the young man and in a chilling voice said:
‘If ye shall go over to yonder lea shore ye will find that corpse hath no head. If ye shall go to the great hall of the old castle ye shall find the severed head of the man hanging on the same hook as the head of the Viking Guthram hung on. If ye shall take that gold then ye also shall meet the same fat, yea and thy bairns after thee!’
This younger fishermen called Finlayson did not heed the old man’s warnings. He gave the old man a mouthful of coarse abuse, then enticed by the lure of the money he waded ashore towards the corpse. As the old man had predicted it was headless. Finlayson looked up; perhaps the corpse hit a rock on the way down, knocking the head off. There was a rational explanation for everything!
However some spots of blood on the rocks formed a trail, heading up to the castle. Finlayson first stopped to pick up the money, then curiously followed the trail. He followed the stains of blood on the grass all the way up to the castle and to the well. Leading away from the well was a trail of water drops, it seemed as if something had been washed in the well, then still dripping wet had been carried away.
The water drop trail led up to the old feasting hall. Finlayson walked up the old stone steps to the great hall. He hardly dared look in, knowing the legend. But he walked slowly up and into the hall, his knees almost knocking together with fear. Hanging from a hook on the wall was a severed head! As Finlayson saw the head a crescendo of ethereal music seemed to fill the hall! Ghostly music, the echoes of yesteryear, the music of feasting and of the ancient Celts!
Finlayson ran from the hall and down to the shore. His comrades in the fishing boat, inspired by the old man’s warning decided to linger no longer off this unhallowed Isle. Finlayson saw the boat sail away into the distance, leaving him to face a night on the Island ……………….alone!
When the fishermen plucked up the courage to sail back the following morning they passed the lea of Lurcher’s Crag and shuddered. For there at the base of the cliff were two headless bodies with coins strewn all around them.
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