A Galloway Nursery Tale

London: Oct 12, 1885

The Galloway Märchen which follows is curious. It is the Hesione myth, or part of it, localised in Dalry. The hero, who leaps into the monster and slays him, is familiar to most mythologies from North America to South Africa. Doubtless he is the sun, leaping armed into the dark night, typified here by a white serpent. The vampire-like tastes of the monster are notable. The night naturally dwells with the dead. When we are told that for three days Ken ran red with blood, the floods (which usually last three months) are doubtless indicated. Or the smith may be the storm- wind, assailed by the storm-cloud, which, as we know, always goes against the wind. The white serpent will thus refer to the lightning, as in Schwartz’s theory. Turning from science to mere local detail, it must be observed that the prehistoric tumulus at Dalry is of great size. One can easily fancy a monstrous snake coiled round it, with his head on the churchyard, where some martyrs of the Covenant are buried. The Ken flows at the foot of the kirkyard. In Galloway a localised form of Whuppity Stoory (Rumpelstiltskin) survives at Balmaclenan. Here follows the snake story:

"Once upon a time, very long ago, in a clachan of the kingdom of Galloway, called Dalry, there lived a huge and terrible snake. It lived at the foot of the village, near a bend of the river, and coiled its hideous length three times round a large green mound or barrow. In colour it was snow white, and the thickest part of its body was as thick as three bags of meal. This creature was a terror to all the neighbourhood, as it not only destroyed cattle and men, but had an ugly habit of going at night to the neighbouring churchyard, digging up coffins with its claws, and devouring the newly-dead. So fierce was the creature, and so watchful, that no one dared to attack it, especially as its skin was known to be so thick that no sword could pierce it. In their distress the people sent to entreat the Lord of Galloway to help them, who at once promised a large reward to any of his knights who would rid the country of such a plague. One of the noblest and bravest at once declared himself ready for the undertaking. But in spite of his courage and wariness the serpent saw him approach, opened its cruel jaws, made one spring at its enemy, and swallowed up horse, knight, and armour in one mouthful. When the news of this overthrow reached the court of the King of Galloway another brave knight at once volunteered to kill the snake; but three times did his horse rear up and throw him off, which was considered a bad omen, and as soon as he was fairly seated in the saddle his nose began to bleed, which was considered equally unluckly. In the meantime in Dalry a smith had been for some time preparing a suit of armour for himself in which to attack the snake. The armour was covered all over with long sharp spikes, so devised that they could be drawn in or pushed out at the will of the wearer. Scarcely was his armour completed when the smith’s young and beautiful wife died, and was buried in the churchyard. The night after the funeral the poor smith was sitting alone over his solitary fire when a child came running in to tell him that the snake was in the churchyard, engaged in scraping the earth out of the newly-made grave. In a moment the smith was on his feet, got as quickly as possible into his spiked armour, seized a sword and rushed out to the churchyard. The snake, hearing the sound of armed steps, stopped its occupation, turned upon the new foe, and, with open month and terrific cries, rushed upon the smith and swallowed him whole. The latter, however, retained his presence of mind, and, as the snake was in the act of swallowing him alive, suddenly shot out all his spikes, and rolled violently about in the inside of the monster. Thick as was the snake’s skin, it could not withstand the nicely-tempered spikes in the smith’s suit of mail, and, after strenuous efforts, the latter forced his way through the tough carcase of his enemy. There lay the snake quite dead, and for three days following the river then ran red with blood."

Here the story should properly end; but a later and more romantic fancy has added the fact that at the very moment of victory the second knight arrived on the spot, and, in a fury of disappointed ambition, attacked the smith, who of course was as victorious in the second fight as he had been in the first.

A. Lang.

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