Allied to fairy stories—Venturesome pipers—The Skye cave—The Mull version—The Argyllshire—The Ghostly piper of Dunderave—“Wandering Willie’s Tale”—A Sutherlandshire cave—A Caithness story—Underground passages.

The story of a piper endeavouring to explore a mysterious cave is so closely allied to the class dealt with in last chapter, that all might quite fairly have been included under one heading. The only difference often is that in the one case the piper enters a cave opening out to the sea, whereas in the other he enters a knoll, which may be any distance inland. There are always fairies in the knoll, but in the majority of cases there are none in the cave. Their place is taken by wild beasts, who take the life of the venturesome explorer. The piper generally has a dog with him when he enters the cave, and the dog always returns, though the last that is heard of his master is the sad wail of his pipes playing a lament for his own terrible fate.

“Oh, that I had three hands—two for the pipes and one for the sword,” is recorded as the tune played by a piper who entered a cavern and could not get out again. The incident is located in several places—in Skye, in Mull, and at a cave eight miles up the river Nevis, in Inverness-shire. The Mull cave reached, it was believed, right across the island, and it was inhabited by wolves and other wild animals. The Skye cave was called Uamh an Oir, the Cave of Gold, and was situated about four miles from Dunvegan, the other end opening out at Monkstad on Loch Snizort. It, too, had wild animals for inhabitants. The inside of the cave in most cases consisted of many confusing offshoots leading in different directions, the want of knowledge of which prevented the people of the neighbouring districts from exploring it. However, on one occasion a piper (the Skye version makes him a Mac Crimmon) accompanied by a member of the Clan Mac Leod (also the Skye version) made bold to enter the cave. A crowd gathered outside to wait for the result. The piper, who of course had his pipes, went first, playing his best. After a considerable time had elapsed, the waiting people began to feel anxious as to their safety. But by and by Mac Leod returned. He could give no account of Mac Crimmon except that he had lost him in the labyrinths of the cave. He considered himself extremely fortunate in finding his way out. Their torches had been extinguished by the dim and foul atmosphere. Just when Mac Leod was telling his story the wailing notes of Mac Crimmon’s pipes were heard issuing from the cave. All listened, and as they listened the pipes spoke, and the notes that came out of the darkness represented:—

And also:—

And so on the wailing notes continued, the piper bewailing his fate in that he could not stop his playing for an instant, because if he did this the wolf would attack him. So long as he played he was safe. Ultimately he began to speak of how long his strength would last, sometimes coming near to the mouth of the cave, but anon wandering away again into its recesses till the music was scarcely audible. This went on all that day and night, but in the early morning the listeners heard the music cease, and they knew that exhaustion had overtaken the piper, and that the wolf had conquered.

This is the story as I had it from an old lady still living in Glenquoich, Inverness-shire. Another version has it that this Mac Crimmon had twelve other men with him, that none of them ever returned, having been met by an uile bheisd or monster, and devoured. The last despairing notes of the piper were heard by a person sitting at Tobar Tulach in the neighbourhood, who listened to the lament as it came up from the bottom of a well.

The Mull story is told of two of a wedding party who entered the cave and never came out, and also of twelve men of the Clan Mac Kinnon, who, headed by a piper, attempted to explore the cave. In the latter case another party walked along the top keeping pace with the music below. When the party who travelled in the cave arrived at the end, the fact was to be signalled to those outside by a certain bar of music, and they were to mark the spot to indicate the termination of the cave. After the explorers had travelled some distance they encountered a fairy woman, who attacked the band and slew them one by one. She was, however, so charmed with the music of the pipes that she offered no injury to the person who played them. The poor piper made the best of his way back to the mouth of the cave followed by the fairy, she meanwhile informing him that if he ceased playing before he saw the light of day he too would be killed. He staggered along in the dark, bravely playing out his life breath, but at last, in spite of his struggles, the music ceased. The charm was then broken and the piper shared the fate of his comrades. Those outside knew that something had happened and with drawn swords rushed into the cave. They found the dead piper and his comrades. The last notes he played, says the tradition, were:—

This identifies the story as just a variation of the others, though how it comes to be located in so many different places it is difficult to explain. In connection with the Mac Kinnon exploring adventure, it may be added, the tradition further tells of how a dog accompanied the party, and emerged from the cave at some other place, but bereft of his hair. He had been in a death struggle with some monster inside and had escaped.

The dog, the same dog presumably, went into an Argyllshire cave with a piper. There are many large caves on the Kintyre coast, one of the biggest being at Keill. This cave was long the resort of smugglers, and was said to possess a subterranean passage extending six miles from the mouth of the cave to the hill of Kilellan. It was haunted, and whosoever would penetrate beyond a certain distance would never again be heard of (a very convenient tradition for smugglers). A piper, however, made up his mind to explore its inmost recesses, and, accompanied by his dog, a little terrier, he set out on the expedition, while his friends watched and listened at the cavern’s mouth. The piper went in boldly, blowing his pipes till the cave resounded. His friends heard his music becoming gradually fainter and fainter until all at once, when, as they supposed, he had passed the fatal boundary, his pipes were heard to give an unearthly and tremendous skirl, while an eildrich laugh re-echoed through the cave. The terrier shortly after came running out, but without his skin. In process of time he obtained a fresh skin, but he never tried to bark after that adventure. As for the piper, his fate was purely a matter of conjecture, but he is supposed to have stumbled in the subterranean passage, for about five miles from the cavern’s mouth there was a farm house, and underneath its hearthstone the piper was, in after years, often heard playing his favourite tune, and occasionally stopping to ejaculate—

Then there is the tale of the ghostly piper of Dunderave. At certain times his music was heard issuing from a cavern which faced the sea, and into the recesses of which the waves swept. On winter nights the sounds that came from that cavern were wild and unaccountable, and often the fishermen in the vicinity were startled by fierce, bloodcurdling yells, especially in the early morning. When the tide went out the children of the village, unaware of its terrible mystery, strayed near the yawning cavern, and occasionally sad hearts were made by the disappearance of the little ones who wandered too far in. The legend of Dunderave was that the seventh son of the seventh son of a Mac Gregor, who would play the gathering of his clan in the cavern, would scatter for ever the evil spirits who frequented it. A piper, who thought he had the necessary qualifications, was got, and he had the courage to play in the cavern of Dunderave. Whether he played the gathering of his clan satisfactorily or not could never be known, but certainly he never came out of the cave, the mouth of which fell in after him, blocking up the cavern for ever. No more children were lost, but ever after there could be heard by anyone standing over the cavern, the faint music of Mac Gregor’s pipes.

Wandering Willie’s tale in Redgauntlet is much too long to quote entire. In it Steenie the Piper, who has paid his rent to the dead Sir Robert Redgauntlet, is threatened with eviction by the next laird because he has not a receipt, and when riding home through the darkness in great perplexity of mind, is accosted by a stranger, who guides him to an unearthly place, where he finds Sir Robert and many people whom he knew were dead gathered round the festal board. He demands his receipt from Sir Robert, but the laird, or rather “the something that was like him,” asks him to play up “Weel Hoddled, Luckie,” a tune he had learned from a warlock, that heard it when they were worshipping Satan at their meetings, and which he never played willingly. Now he grew cauld at the name of it, and said, for excuse, he hadna his pipes wi’ him:—

“‘Mac Callum, ye limb of Beelzebub,’ said the fearfu’ Sir Robert, ‘bring Steenie pipes that I am keeping for him.’

“Mac Callum brought a pair of pipes that might have served the piper of Donald of the Isles. But he gave my gudesire a nudge as he offered them; and, looking secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the chanter was of steel, and heated to a white heat, so he had fair warning not to trust his fingers with it. So he excused himself again, and said he was faint and frightened and had not wind aneugh to fill the bag.

“‘Then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie,’ said the figure, ‘for we do little else here, and its ill speaking between a fu’ man and a fasting.’

“But Steenie was not to be cajoled or threatened into any more transactions with the ghostly crew than he could help, so he spoke up like a man, and said he came neither to eat or drink or make minstrelsy, but simply for his receipt, which in a rage ‘the appearance’ gave him. Then, when Sir Robert stipulated that the piper should return after a twelvemonth to pay homage, Steenie’s tongue loosened yet more, and he exclaimed:—

“‘I refer mysel’ to God’s pleasure and not to yours.’”

Whereupon, as in all other tales of the kind, at the mention of the sacred Name, “all was dark around him, and he sunk on the earth with such a sudden shock that he lost both breath and sense.” When he came round he was lying in the kailyard of Redgauntlet, and he would have thought the whole experience but a dream, only he had the receipt in his hand fairly written and signed by the auld laird, and dated “From my appointed place, this twenty-fifth day of November,” the previous day, in fact. This he carried to the new laird, who accepted it as evidence of the rent having been paid, but made Steenie swear never to divulge his adventure.

Away up in the north, too, we come across stories connected with caves into which pipers went. At Durness, in Sutherlandshire, a piper went into a cave and never returned. According to the version current in the locality, the Devil himself got hold of the venturesome explorer and kept him. From Caithness we get something better. A piper, in a spirit of braggadocia, as is often the case in these stories, entered a cave near Dunnet Head. Jock was “a stout, long-winded chap,”

and the fairies had often heard him play and wished to get him to take the place of their own piper, who had died. Though they were immortal themselves, they had not a piper of their own race, and when they got one from among mankind they could not make him immortal. Jock lived near a famous cave called Puddingoe, the inmost recesses of which no man had ever explored, and one day he laid a wager that he would play up Puddingoe and see how far it went.

Then he “quaffed a cog of prime home-brewed” and hied him to the cave, and entered, screwing up his drones and beginning a lively march that startled the wild pigeons from their ledges and echoed among the recesses of the walls. Farther and farther he went, past the dripping sides of cold, damp stone and through the dark, chilly air till at last, strange to say, the darkness was dispelled and the cave became illuminated with a light like that of the moon. Jock was, he reckoned, about two miles underground when all at once he came to a door, which opened of its own accord and admitted him into a chamber of exceeding beauty. The floor was inlaid with silver, the walls seemed burnished gold, and a jovial party of ladies and gentlemen banquetted at a splendidly spread table. The piper stood amazed for a moment, until one of the company handed him a glass of wine.

Then, of course, the fairies asked him to play, which Jock did, and the party danced, and danced, and danced, until Jock cried—

This had the inevitable result. The lights went out with a fiery hissing sound, the party vanished, as well as the gorgeous hall, and when Jock again came to himself he found that he was on the top of an elf-haunted knowe in the vicinity. He had been a year and a day away from home, his friends had given him up as dead, and his features were so changed that they did not recognise him when he returned. With the long spell of blowing his mouth was distended, which also helped to disguise him. But he made himself known, and was duly received by his friends and his sweetheart, and he married shortly after. But, as J. T. Calder, the historian of Caithness, who tells the legend in rhyme, says—

A slight variation of the cave stories are the stories of underground passages. There is, for instance, the passage that is supposed to exist between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace. The piper went in at the Castle end, intending to play all the way to Holyrood. His pipes were heard as far as the Tron Church, but then the music ceased. It did not start again, and the piper was never more heard of.

A similar legend is referred to by Hugh Mac Donald in his ramble, Rutherglen and Cathkin. It is to the effect that Glasgow Cathedral was built by the “wee pechs (Picts) who had their domicile in Rutherglen.” Instead, however, of making their journeys overland, they dug an underground passage, through which they came and went. Even in Mac Donald’s youth, those who doubted this story were silenced and awed by the solemn assurance that a Highland piper, to put down the sceptics, had volunteered to explore the dark road. He was accompanied by his dog, and he entered playing a cheery tune, as if confident of a successful result. But “he was never seen or heard tell o’ again.” Only the sound of his pipes was heard as he passed underneath Dalmarnock, playing in a mournful key, which suggested the words, “I doot, I doot, I’ll ne’er get oot.” Another version tells, however, that his poor dog returned, but without its skin. According to a Glasgow ballad, it was a dominie who ventured to explore the secret path. He encountered the Deil and other “friends,” who blew him up through the waters of the Clyde, and the point at which he emerged is known to this day as “The Dominie’s Hole.”