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284 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.
chrochadh mu mheadhon-latha 'maireach : agus cha do dh' iarr Iain
do dh' fhabhor, ach e blii air a thiltreil le peileir. Thubhairt an
Còirneal, " bho 'n is e seann saighdear a bh' ann, agus e anns an
arm cho fada, gu 'faigheadli e 'iarrtas." An la'ir na mliaireach, dar a
bha Iain gu bhi air a thilgeil 's na saif;hdearan ceithir chuairt
thimcbioll air, " De sud a tha iad ag radii," ars' an donas, " leig mise
'nam measg 's cha 'n fhada a bhios mi 'gan sgapadh." '• Cuist ! cuist !"
ars' Iain. "De sin a tha bruidhinn riut?" ars' an Coirneal. "0!
cha n 'eil ach Inch bhhn," ars' Iain. " Ban na dubh i," ars' an
Coirneal, " na leig thus' as an abarsgaic i, 's gheibh thu litir fhuas-
glaidh, 's ua faiceam tuillidh thu." Dh' fhalbh Iain, agus am beul na
h-oidhche chaidh e sti-h do shabhall far an robh da fhear dheug a
bualadh. " O ! 'illean," ars' Iain, " .'O dhuibh mo sheann abarsgaic,
's thugaibh greis bhualaidh oirre; bha i cho cruaidh, 's gubheil i toirt
a chraicinn dheth mo dhruim." Thug iad cho maith ri da uair an
uaireadair air an aliarsgaic, leis an da shuisd dlieug, gus ma dheir-
eadh na h-uile buille a bheireadh iad dhi, leumadh i gu mullach an
t-sabhaill, 's bha i tilgeil fear air a dhruim an drasta 's a rithist
dheth na bualadairan. 'Nuair a chunnaic iad so dh' iarr iad air a bhi
muigh a sud, e fhein 's abarsgaic ; cha chreideadh iad fhein nach robh
an Donas innte. Dh' flialbh e 'n sin air a thurus, 's chaidh e steacb
do cheardaich, far an robh da ghobha dheug a bualadh nan ord mora,
" So dhuibh, 'illean, seann abarsgaic, 's bheir mi dhuibh lethchriin, 's
thugaibh greis oirre leis an dii ord mbòr dheug ; tha i cho cruaidh, 's
gu 'bheil i toirt a chraicinn dheth mo dhruim." Ach ge bhaaoibh-
inn, b' e na gobhainnan ; bu mhaith an spors dhoibh abarsgaic an t-
saighdeair, ach n a h-uile sgailc a bha i faotainn, bha i leiim gu mull-
ach na ceardaich. " Gabh mach a' so thu fhein 's ise," ars' iadsan,
" bho 'n cha chreid sinn fhein nach eil am Bramman innte." Dh'
fhalbh Iain air aghaidh mar so, 's an Donas air a dhruim ! ! 's rainig
e fuirneis mhòr a bha 'sin. " Cait' a nis am bheil thu dol, Iain," ars'
an Donas. " Foighidinn beag, 's chi thu sin," ars' Iain. " Leig as
mi," ars' an Donas, " 's cha chuir mi dragh ort 's an t-saoghal so."
"No 'san ath fhear?" ars' Iain — " Seadh," ars' an Donas. " Stad
mata," ars' Iain, " gus am faigh thu Smoc," 's le so a radh, thilg Iain
an abarsgaic 's an Donas an teis meadhoin na fuirneis, 's chaidh e
fhein 's an fhuirneis 'na lasair uaine anns na spèuran !
This was written by Hector Urqubart, from the dictation of
John MacDoiiald, and sent January 1860.
It is clearly the same story as that of the man who travelled

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