Blue Hood

There once lived a fisherman named Ean Macrae on the Kintyre Peninsula in Ardelve. One winter day, when there was no hope of a good catch because a storm was raging at sea, Ean decided to stock up on a new keel for his boat and set off into the forest that lies between Totaig and Glenelg, hoping to find a tree of just the right length.

But as soon as he spotted a suitable tree, a thick fog descended from the mountains, and the forest became so dark you couldn’t see a thing. The place where Ean had wandered was far from his home, and as soon as the fog rolled in, his first thought was to hurry back. He had no desire to get lost in an unfamiliar forest and spend a cold winter night under the open sky.

He followed a path that he could barely make out, thinking it was the same one he had taken into the forest and that it would surely lead him back to Ardelve. But soon he realized he was mistaken, as the path led him out of the forest to an unfamiliar place at the foot of a hill, and by the time twilight fell, he was completely lost.

The poor fellow was about to wrap himself tightly in his plaid and spend the rest of the night hiding in the heather when he noticed a flickering light in the distance. He hurried toward the light and, as he approached, saw that it was coming from the window of a half-ruined stone hut, the kind shepherds use when they take their livestock to summer pastures.

“Seems like my luck’s turned,” Ean thought. “I can spend the night here and warm myself by the fire.”

He knocked loudly on the crooked door.

To his surprise, no one answered.

“Someone must be there,” Ean reasoned. “A candle doesn’t light itself.”

He knocked again. Still, no one answered, though this time he distinctly heard muffled voices inside the hut.

Growing annoyed, Ean shouted:

“What kind of people are you, refusing to let a weary traveler warm himself by the fire on such a cold night?”

There was a shuffling sound inside, and the door opened just enough to let a cat through. An old woman’s head poked out, and she scrutinized the fisherman.

“Fine, you can stay the night,” she grumbled reluctantly. “There’s no other shelter nearby. Come in and settle by the fire.”

She opened the door wider, let Ean in, and then slammed it shut behind him. In the middle of the cramped hut, a peat fire burned hot in the hearth, and on either side of the fire sat two more old women. None of them said a word to Ean. The one who had let him in gestured toward the fire, and he, wrapping himself in his plaid, lay down by the flames.

But Ean couldn’t sleep. Something strange seemed to hang in the air of this wretched house, and he decided to stay alert.

After a while, the old women glanced at him and, apparently deciding their uninvited guest had fallen asleep, seemed quite pleased. One of the old women then stood up and walked over to a large wooden chest in the corner of the hut. Ean lay still and watched as she lifted the heavy lid, pulled out a blue cap, and placed it on her head with great solemnity. Then, in a croaky voice, she chanted:

“To Carlisle!”

And right before the astonished fisherman’s eyes, she vanished as if she had never been there.

The other two old women followed suit, each retrieving a blue cap from the chest, placing it on her head, and chanting:

“To Carlisle!”—before disappearing as well.

As soon as the third old woman vanished, Ean jumped up from his hard bed and approached the chest. Lifting the lid, he found one more blue cap at the bottom. It’s easy to imagine how curiosity got the better of the poor fisherman. He was dying to know where the three old witches had gone. So it’s no surprise that he, too, put the blue cap on his head and boldly shouted, just like the old women:

“To Carlisle!”

At once, the stone walls of the wretched hut seemed to part, and he was spun, twisted, and carried away as if on wings with indescribable speed. Then he landed—where do you think?—on the floor! Looking around, he found himself in a vast wine cellar beside the three old witches, who were also sitting on the floor sipping wine from bottles.

But as soon as the old women noticed him, they dropped their bottles, jumped up, and cawed, “Home, home, to Kentroy!”—before vanishing once more.

This time, Ean didn’t feel like following them. He thoroughly inspected all the barrels and casks in the cellar, all the bottles and jugs, taking a sip here and there, and then lay down in a corner and fell into a deep sleep.

This cellar, where fate had so strangely brought Ean, belonged to none other than the Bishop of Carlisle and was located beneath his castle in England. In the morning, the bishop’s servants descended into the cellar for wine and were horrified by the mess they found: empty bottles were scattered everywhere, and wine was flowing freely from some of the barrels onto the floor.

“I’ve noticed bottles of wine going missing for some time,” declared the castle’s chief steward, “but I’ve never seen such brazen thievery.”

Then one of the servants spotted Ean sleeping in the corner, the blue cap still on his head.

“Here’s the thief! Here’s the thief!” they all cried.

Ean woke up to find his hands and feet tightly bound.

The poor man was led to the bishop, but not before the blue cap was removed from his head, as it would have been disrespectful to appear before His Grace with a covered head.

The unfortunate Ean was tried and sentenced to be burned at the stake for theft. And so, in the middle of the marketplace in Carlisle, a tall wooden stake was driven into the ground, surrounded by plenty of dry kindling, and the condemned man was tied to it. More people gathered in the square than on a market day before a holiday.

Ean had resigned himself to his bitter fate and was preparing to meet his final hour with heroism when a happy thought occurred to him.

“A last wish! A last wish!” he cried. “I wish to go to the afterlife wearing my blue cap!”

The prisoner’s last wish, as was customary, was granted. But as soon as the blue cap was placed on Ean’s head, he boldly shouted:

“Home, home, to Kentroy!”

And to the great astonishment of the honest citizens of Carlisle, both the prisoner and the stake to which he was tied vanished in an instant. They were never seen in England again.

When Ean came to, he found himself lying on a hillside at the edge of the forest that stretches between Totaig and Glenelg. However, there was no trace of the three old witches’ hut. The foggy night had long since given way to a clear, sunny day. Ean spotted an old shepherd in the distance and called out to him:

“Be so kind as to help me untie myself from this cursed stake!”

The shepherd approached and helped Ean free himself.

“Who tied you up like this?” the shepherd asked. Ean cast a mournful glance at the stake and only then noticed that it was a fine, straight, and sturdy tree trunk. He then remembered why he had wandered so far from home into the forest.

“You see, I’ve been looking for a suitable smooth trunk to make a new keel for my boat. And now I’ve found it. The Bishop of Carlisle himself gave it to me! Yesterday there was fog, and to keep from losing it, I tied it to myself. Understand?”

The shepherd showed Ean the way back to Ardelve, and Ean, whistling a cheerful tune, set off for home.

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Blue Hood

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