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Bha mi ag aithris na sgeulachd ‘Sgiobair an t-Soithich Dhuibh’. Bha iad anns an Tuirc.    Latha a bha seo, chunnaic an caiptean gun robh eallach air gach duine de bhiorain is fiodh. ‘Dè tha a’ dol?’ dh’fhaighnich e.

            ‘O, uill,’ fhreagair an t-òstair, ‘thàinig nighean air tìr cuide ri a bràthair. Bha iad ann am bàta beag. Chaidh an cur far an cùrsa le stoirm. Chaidh a bràthair a bhàthadh, ach bha an nighean ceart gu leòr. Agus abair gu bheil i brèagha. Tha ar rìgh ag iarraidh a pòsadh. Ach dhiùlt i. Tha iad a’ dol ga losgadh gu bàs an-earar. Tha iad a’ togail teine leis a’ chonnadh.’

            ‘Tha sin uabhasach,’ thuirt sgiobair an t-Soithich Dhuibh. ‘Càite a bheil an nighean?’

            ‘Tha i sa phrìosan,’ thuirt an t-òstair, ‘ach tha mi eòlach air fear aig a bheil iuchair. ’S dòcha gum biodh teans againn a toirt a-mach an ath-oidhch.’

            Chaidh an t-òstair a bhruidhinn ris an fhear leis an iuchair. Agus chuir e air dòigh an nighean a thoirt a-mach. Bha iad soirbheachail agus thug an Soitheach Dubh air falbh i.

            Fhuair an sgiobair a-mach gum b’ i an nighean bana-phrionnsa Lochlannach. Nuair a ràinig iad Alba, dh’iarr an nighean air an sgiobair a dhol a Lochlann airson innse do a pàrantan gun robh i slàn sàbhailte. Rinn an sgiobair sin agus abair gun robh muinntir Lochlainn toilichte.

            Chuir iad soitheach Lochlannach gu muir airson a’ bhana-phrionnsa a thoirt dhachaigh. Agus thill an Soitheach Dubh cuideachd. Nuair a ràinig an soitheach Lochlannach Alba, chaidh iarraidh air an nighinn a dhol air bòrd. Ach dhiùlt i – mura tigeadh sgiobair an t-Soithich Dhuibh cuide rithe.

            Dh’aontaich e falbh cuide rithe agus rinn an soitheach Lochlannach air Lochlann. Nuair a bha iad ag muir, ge-tà, chaidh sgiobair an t-Soithich Dhuibh gu h-àrd air a’ chrann airson seòl a riofadh. Rinn iad doidseadh agus thòisich na siùil air crathadh. Bhuail seòl anns an sgiobair agus thuit e don mhuir. Chùm an soitheach Lochlannach air a slighe. Bha iad an dùil gun robh an t-Albannach marbh.

I was telling the story ‘The Captain of the Black Ship’. They were in Turkey. One day, the captain saw that everybody was carrying a load of kindling and wood. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

        ‘Oh, well,’ replied the publican, ‘a girl came to land along with her brother. They were in a small boat. They were sent off course by a storm. Her brother was drowned but the girl was okay. And, golly, she is beautiful. Our king wants to marry her. But she refused. They’re going to burn her to death the day after tomorrow. They are building a fire with the fuel.’

        ‘That’s terrible,’ said the captain of the Black Ship. ‘Where is the girl?’

        ‘She’s in prison,’ said the innkeeper, ‘but I know a man who has a key. Perhaps we’d have a chance of taking her out tomorrow night.’

        The innkeeper went to speak to the man with the key. And he organised to take the girl out. They were successful and the Black Ship took her away.

       The captain found out that the girl was a Scandinavian princess. When they reached Scotland, the girl asked the captain to go to Scandinavia to tell her parents that she was alive and well. The captain did that, and the people of Scandinavia were exceedingly pleased.

        They sent a Scandinavian vessel to bring the princess home. But the Black Ship also returned. When the Scandinavian ship reached Scotland, the princess was asked to come aboard. But she refused – unless the captain of the Black Ship accompanied her.

        He agreed to accompany her, and the Scandinavian vessel made for Scandinavia. When they were at sea, however, the captain of the Black Ship went aloft on the mast to reef a sail. They hove to and the sails started to slap. A sail hit the captain and he fell into the sea. The Scandinavian vessel continued on her journey. They thought the Scot was dead.