Life of a Scotch Naturalist: Thomas Edward, Associate of the Linnean Society.
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Title: Life of a Scotch Naturalist: Thomas Edward, Associate of the Linnean Society.
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE OF A SCOTCH NATURALIST: THOMAS EDWARD, ASSOCIATE OF THE LINNEAN SOCIETY. ***
LIFE OF A SCOTCH NATURALIST
[Illustration: Handwritten: Thomas Edward]
LIFE OF A SCOTCH NATURALIST
THOMAS EDWARD ASSOCIATE OF THE LINNEAN SOCIETY
BY SAMUEL SMILES
AUTHOR OF ‘LIVES OF THE ENGINEERS,‘ ‘SELF-HELP,’ ‘CHARACTER,’
‘THRIFT,’ ETC.
PORTRAIT AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE REID, R.S.A.
Fourth Edition
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1877
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._
PREFACE.
THE history of the humblest human life is a tale of marvels. Dr.
Johnson said that there was not a man in the street whose biography
might not be made interesting, provided he could narrate something of
his experiences of life, his trials, his difficulties, his successes,
and his failures.
I use these words as an introduction to the following biography of my
“man in the street.” Yet Thomas Edward is not an ordinary man. Eighteen
years since, I mentioned him in _Self-Help_, as one of the most
extraordinary instances of perseverance in the cause of science that
had ever come under my notice.
Nor was he a man of any exalted position in society. He was a
shoemaker then; he is a shoemaker still. For nearly thirty years he
has fought the battle of scientific poverty. He was one of those men
who lived _for_ science, not _by_ science. His shyness prevented him
pushing himself forward; and when he had done his work, he was almost
forgotten.
How he pursued his love of Nature,—how he satisfied his thirst for
knowledge, in the midst of trials, difficulties, and troubles,—not the
least of which was that of domestic poverty,—will be found related
in the following book. Indeed, it may be said of him, that he has
endured as much hardship for the cause of science, as soldiers do in a
prolonged campaign. He spent most of his nights out of doors, amidst
damp, and wet, and cold. Men thought him mad for enduring such risks.
He himself says, “I have been a fool to Nature all my life.”
He always lamented his want of books. He had to send his “findings” to
other naturalists to be named, and he often lost them. But books could
not be had without money; and money was as scarce with him as books.
He was thus prevented from taking rank among higher-class naturalists.
He could only work in detail; he could not generalise. He had to be
satisfied with the consolation that Mr. J. Gwyn Jeffreys once gave him.
“Working naturalists like yourself,” said he, “do quite as much good
service in the cause of science as those who study books.” Edward,
however, doubted this; for he considered works on natural science to
be a great help to the working naturalist. They informed him of what
others had done, and also of what remained to be done.
Those who would know something of what Edward has accomplished in only
_one_ department of his favourite subject, should consult Messrs.
Bate and Westwood’s _History of the British Sessile-eyed Crustacea_,
where his services to the cause of science are fully and generously
acknowledged. Of the numerous Crustacea mentioned in that work, Edward
collected a hundred and seventy-seven in the Moray Firth, of which
twenty were New Species.
In 1866, Edward was elected an Associate of the Linnean Society,—one
of the highest honours that science could confer upon him. Since
then, however, he has been able to do comparatively little for the
advancement of his favourite study. He had been so battered about by
falling from rocks in search of birds, and so rheumatised by the damp,
wet, and cold, to which he was exposed at night,—for he was obliged to
carry on his investigations after his day’s work was over,—that he was
unable to continue his investigations in Natural History.
In the Appendix will be found a Selection of the Fauna of Banffshire,
prepared by Edward. I have been able to find room for only the Mammals,
Birds, Fishes, and Crustacea. I wish it had been possible to give the
Star-fishes (_Rayed Echinodermata_), Molluscs, Zoophytes, and other
objects; but this would have filled up the book, and left no room for
the Biography.
It was not my intention to have published the book in the ornate
form in which it now appears. But my friend Mr. Reid,—being greatly
interested in the man and his story,—and having volunteered to
illustrate the work “for love,” I could not withstand his generous
offer. Hence the very fine portrait of Edward, so exquisitely etched by
Rajon; and the excellent wood engravings of Whymper and Cooper, which
illustrate the volume.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the materials of the book have
been obtained from Edward himself, either by written communication or
by “word of mouth.” Much of it is autobiography. Edward was alarmed at
the idea of what he communicated being “put into a book.” He thought
it might do me an injury. “Not a copy,” he said, “would be bought in
Banff.”
However this may be, the writing of the Biography has given me much
pleasure. It has led me to seek health amidst the invigorating breezes
of the North; and to travel round the rugged shores of Aberdeen and
Banff, in search of the views of bays and headlands with which Mr. Reid
has so beautifully embellished the book.
It may be objected—“Why write the life of a man who is still living?”
To this it may be answered, that Edward has lived his life and done his
work. With most of us, “_Hic jacet_” is all that remains to be added.
If the book had not been written now, it is probable that it never
would have been written. But it may be asked,—“Is the life really worth
writing?” To this question the public alone can give the answer.
LONDON, _Nov. 1876._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS.
Edward born at Gosport, Portsmouth—The Fifeshire
Militia—Return to Cupar—Residence at Kettle—Settles at
Aberdeen—The Green—How Edward became a Naturalist—The
sow Bet—Stolen by Gipsies—The Inches, Aberdeen—Fondness
for “Beasts”—An incorrigible boy—Imprisoned at
home—Sets the house on fire—Is laid up by fever—His
Recovery—Birds’ Nests—Rubislaw Quarries—The Wasp’s
Nest Pages 1-20
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS.
Edward goes to school—Plays the Truant—The
fishwives—Bell Hill—Grannie’s Plunge—A Kae taken to
school—Edward’s expulsion—Sent to his second school—The
Horse-leeches—Edward expelled—The third school—The
Sparrow’s nest harried—Takes the nest to school—The
birds “chirrup”—The Master bit by a Centipede—Edward
thrashed terribly—Expelled from his third school—A
night under the logs—Results of his punishment—Hunt
after an adder—The adder sold 21-46
CHAPTER III.
APPRENTICESHIP.
Goes to work—A Tobacco-spinner—Factory at
Grandholm—The Banks and Braes of the Don—The Brig
o’ Balgownie—Spires of St. Machar—Working at the
factory—The Sedge-warbler—The Kingfisher—Country
rambles—Apprenticed to a Shoemaker—Charles
Begg—Shoemakers’ pets—Begg’s brutality—Edward’s pets
killed—Wishes to be a sailor—Tries in vain 47-60
CHAPTER IV.
RUNS AWAY FROM HOME.
Sets out for the Kettle—His provisions—His
money—Tries to sell his knife—Ruins of Dunnottar
Castle—Bervie—Encounter with tramps—Montrose—Sells
his knife—Sleeps in a haycock—Arbroath—The sailors’
wives—Dundee—The Long-tailed Titmouse—Cupar—Reaches
the Kettle—Reception by his uncle—Sets out for
home—Uncivility of a gamekeeper—Adventure with a
Bull—Rests near Stonehaven—Reaches Aberdeen—His
reception at home 61-74
CHAPTER V.
RESUMES WORK.
Offers himself as a sailor—Resumes shoemaking—Wild
Botanical Garden—Tanners’ pits for puddocks—The
picture shops—The _Penny Magazine_—Castlegate on
Fridays—Gunmakers’ windows—Tries to emigrate to
America as a stowaway—He fails—Joins the Aberdeenshire
Militia—Chase of a butterfly—Is apprehended—Is
reprimanded and liberated—Enlists in the 60th
Rifles—Assists as a pew-opener—Leaves Aberdeen for
Banff 75-86
CHAPTER VI.
SETTLES AT BANFF.
His employment—Finds time to follow his bent—His
Caterpillars among the workmen—His landlady—Marries a
Huntly lass—Settled for life—Self-education in Natural
History—Stuffs birds—His want of education—Want of
books—Shy and friendless—Avoids the public-house—His
love of Nature—The ocean—The heavens—Makes
a collection—His gun and paraphernalia—His
equipment—Sleeps out of doors at night—Exaggerated
rumours about him—Frequents Boyndie churchyard—Lies in
holes during rain—Disagreeable visitors—Awful night
in Boyndie churchyard—Moth-hunting at night—Terrible
encounter with Badgers 87-103
CHAPTER VII.
NIGHT WANDERERS.
Animals wandering at night—Their noises and cries—The
Roe-deer and hare—The Rabbit—A Rabbit fight—The
Fox—The Badger—The Field Mice—The Weasel—Attack by a
Weasel—Pertinacious Rats—The Otter—The Polecat—Boyne
Castle—Fight with a Polecat—The Long-eared Owl—The
Brown Owl—A chorus of Frogs—Birds of prey—Landrail,
Sedge-warbler, Rook—Songsters at night 104-128
CHAPTER VIII.
FORMS A NATURAL HISTORY COLLECTION.
Situation of Banff—Macduff—Cliffs of
Banffshire—Gamrie—The fishing-boats—Gardenstown—The
fishermen—Crovie—Hell’s Lum—Troup Head—Pennan—The
dens of North Aberdeenshire—Aberdour—Church of
Aberdour—Inland county of Banff—Ben Macdhui—Edward’s
rounds—Pursuit of two Geese—Pursuit of a little
Stint—Shoemaking—Edward’s traps—His collection
of insects—Collection destroyed—Loss of dried
plants—Exhibits his collection at Banff 129-152
CHAPTER IX.
EXHIBITS HIS COLLECTION AT ABERDEEN.
Aberdeen his city of expectations—Dramatic
bird-stuffing—Collection taken to Aberdeen in six
carriers’ carts—Exhibited in Union Street—The
handbills—Appeal to the people—The expected
rush—General visitors—Professional visitors—An
interrogator—Edward disbelieved—“The thing
impossible”—Edward’s vindication—Invites his mill
mates—Temperance and drunkenness—Edward a mystery—A
lady visitor—Appeals to “The Millions”—The exhibition
a failure—Edward in despair—The beach—The flock of
Sanderlings—The Providential Bird—The collection
sold—Departure from Aberdeen 153-180
CHAPTER X.
RESUMES HIS FORMER LIFE AND HABITS.
Re-enters his desolate dwelling—Return of his
family—Begins again—Redoubles his zeal—His
paraphernalia—Ramble in the Balloch Hills—A
successful search—A furious storm comes on—Crossing
the moor—A haven—The chip-boxes destroyed—A terrible
woman—His hat and insect boxes—How to preserve—A
referee—Edward’s certificate from the Justices—Love of
birdnesting—Accident at Tarlair—Falls from a cliff, and
is rescued—Draws on his Savings Bank 181-202
CHAPTER XI.
BEGINS TO PUBLISH HIS OBSERVATIONS.
The Rev. Mr. Smith—The Bridled Guillemot—Grammar—Scraps
from the newspapers—The Death’s-head Moth—Butterflies
and locusts—_Locusta migratoria_—Saw-flies—The
Spider—Notes in Natural History—Rare birds—The
Bee-eater—The Bohemian Waxwing—The Brown Snipe-Edward’s
pursuit—The Snipe escapes—Adventure on Gamrie
Head—The Fox’s lair—The precipice—The Peregrine
Falcon-Feeds upon its prey—Flight of the Falcon—Slides
down the rocks—Discovers a Spinous Shark—Returns
home 203-229
CHAPTER XII.
RAMBLES AMONGST BIRDS.
Mr. Smith’s articles published in the
_Zoologist_—Edward’s power of observation described—The
beautiful Heron—Cries of the Birds at Ness Bogie—The
motherly Wild Duck—Burial of the Wild Duck—The
Pickietars—The Pickietar fishing—The Pickietar
shot—Rescued by his friends—Edward’s closeness
of observation—The Turnstone—Its description—Its
labours—The Turnstones turn over a Cod—The little
Auk—Sea-fowl nurseries—Pennan—Sleeps in Hell’s Lum—The
sea-birds at night 230-251
CHAPTER XIII.
LITERATURE AND CORRESPONDENCE.
Death of the Rev. Mr. Smith—Mr. Smith’s
helpfulness—Observation of the Partridge—The Rev.
Alexander Boyd—Loch of Strathbeg—The Waterfowl
at Strathbeg—Swans—Geese—Ducks—Winter and summer
birds—The Ring Dotterel—A pursuit—Mr. Boyd’s
article—Encouragement of native talent and genius—Death
of Mr. Boyd—Publication of ‘Birds of Strathbeg’ in
_Naturalist_—Mr. C. W. Peach—Writes articles for the
_Zoologist_—Finches—Crows and Crab-shells—The Heron
and the Crows—A fight in the air—Crows, Hares, and
Rabbits—Cold and Whisky—Edward’s health fails—Again
draws on his Savings Bank 252-278
CHAPTER XIV.
BY THE SEA-SHORE.
Marine objects on the shores of Banffshire—Edward’s
sea-traps—Captures a rare fish, Bloch’s Gurnard—The
incoming wave—Big fish the best dredgers—Helped by
the fishermen—Helped by his daughters—The Cod’s
bill of fare—Haddocks—Advice to the fishermen—The
fishers of Macduff—The Blue-striped Wrasse—The
Saury Pike—Yarrell’s Blenny—Black Goby—Equoreal
Needle-fish—Edward’s self-education—How he got
his fishes named—“Give him books!”—Edward’s
enthusiasm 279-296
CHAPTER XV.
DISCOVERIES AMONG THE CRUSTACEA.
Mr. Bate of Plymouth—His work on Crustacea—_Praniza
Edwardii_—The Anceus—Edward’s letter to Mr.
Bate—Entomostraca—Parasites from short Sun-fish—Present
of a Microscope—A possible Sub-curatorship—Edward
disappointed—Freemasonry among naturalists—Rev.
A. M. Norman—Fish parasites—_Mysis spinifera_—New
species discovered—_Vibilia borealis_—Observation of
_Eurydice pulchra_—Edward’s difficulties—Nest building
crustacea—New Shrimps and Parasites—The Zoologists in
ecstasies—The “_Sessile-eyed Crustacea_” published—Mr.
Bate’s eulogiums on Edward’s discoveries—New Crustacea
found by Edward in the Moray Firth 297-323
CHAPTER XVI.
DISCOVERIES AMONGST ZOOPHYTES, MOLLUSCS, AND FISHES.
Edward brings home Zoophytes to observe—The Star-fish—The
Brittle Stars—A six legged Starfish—Rosy-feather
Star—The great Sea-cucumber—Dead Man’s Paps—The
Ascidians—Want of observers—New Ascidian sent to Mr.
Alder—Drummond’s Echiodon—Mr. Couch of Polperro—The
Wrasses—A jumping Wrasse—A new Midge—_Couchia
Thompsoni_—Colonel Montague—Montague’s Midge—Midges in
Moray Firth—Edward’s Midge (_Couchia Edwardii_)—Other
new fishes—Difficulties with the Museum—Edward elected
Associate of the Linnean Society—Other societies elect
him member—The “prophet without honour in his own
country” 324-349
CHAPTER XVII.
ANTIQUITIES—KITCHEN-MIDDENS.
Edward’s illness—Studies galvanism—Curator of Banff
Museum—Practises Photography—Antiquities of Banff—The
old Town Cross—The Drinking Fountain—The Kjökken
Mödding at Boyndie—Early population, Lapps or
Fins—Shelly-bush—Investigates the shell mounds at
Boyndie—Loch of Spynie—Contents of the shell-mounds—The
Stone period—The Old Bone—Conjectures about it—The
old bone condemned—Sir Roderick Murchison—The bone,
part of the _Plesiosaurus dolichodeiras_—Banff
Museum 350-372
CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.
Edward’s labours drawing to a close—Still craves after
Nature—His wife accompanies him to Huntly—Traps at
Tarlair—Another discovery to announce—Nilsson’s
Goby—His numerous discoveries—His observations at last
accredited—His self-reliance and perseverance—His
sobriety—His family—His power of Will—Pride—Never
despair—Money considerations—Things he has _not_
done—Edward at home—His outside helpers—His
failures—“HERE I AM STILL” 373-388
FAUNA OF BANFFSHIRE.
MAMMALS 391-394
BIRDS 394-417
FISHES 417-429
CRUSTACEA 430-438
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY GEORGE REID, R.S.A.
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS EDWARD. _Etched by P. Rajon._ _Frontispiece._
_Engraved by_
BANKS AND BRAES O’ DON _J. W. Whymper._ _To face page_ 1
AULTEN LINKS, ABERDEEN ” _page_ 42
BRIG O’ BALGOWNIE ” _To face page_ 48
THE SPIRES OF ST. MACHAR ” _page_ 49
CHARLES BEGG’S SHOP, GALLOWGATE ” _page_ 55
GRANDHOLM MILLS ” ” 60
RUINS OF DUNNOTTAR CASTLE _J. D. Cooper._ ” 63
DISTANT VIEW OF MONTROSE _J. W. Whymper._ ” 65
CASTLEGATE, ABERDEEN, ON
FRIDAYS _J. D. Cooper._ ” 79
BOYNDIE CHURCHYARD _J. W. Whymper._ _To face page_ 100
THE CASTLE OF THE BOYNE _J. D. Cooper._ ” 116
FRASERBURGH _J. W. Whymper._ _page_ 128
BAY OF ABERDOUR _J. D. Cooper._ ” 134
MOUTH OF THE DON _J. W. Whymper._ _To face page_ 176
THE SHORE AT ABERDEEN ” _page_ 180
TARLAIR—VIEW OF NORTH COAST
OF BANFFSHIRE _J. D. Cooper._ _To face page_ 196
GAMRIE HEAD _J. W. Whymper._ ” 218
VILLAGE OF PENNAN _J. D. Cooper._ ” 250
RED HEAD OF PENNAN _J. W. Whymper._ _page_ 251
BAY OF BOYNDIE, FROM BANFF
LINKS _J. W. Whymper._ ” 278
BROADSEA, NEAR FRASERBURGH _J. D. Cooper._ ” 291
SPYNIE CASTLE AND LOCH _J. W. Whymper._ ” 359
BANFF MUSEUM ” ” 372
“HERE I AM STILL” ” _To face page_ 388
EDWARD’S HOUSE, LOW SHORE,
BANFF _J. D. Cooper._ _page_ 438
OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
MAP OF NORTH BANFFSHIRE AND NORTH ABERDEENSHIRE _Pages_ 136-7
PRANIZA EDWARDII ” 299
NESTS OF NEST-BUILDING CRUSTACEA ” 312
EDWARD’S MIDGE (COUCHIA EDWARDII) ” 344
THE OLD BONE IN BANFF MUSEUM ” 369
[Illustration: BANKS AND BRAES O’ DON.]
LIFE OF A NATURALIST.
CHAPTER I.
_EARLY YEARS._
THOMAS EDWARD was born at Gosport, Portsmouth, on Christmas day, 1814.
His father, John Edward, was a private in the Fifeshire Militia.
Shortly after his enlistment at Cupar, he went to Aberdeen to join
his regiment. While stationed there, he became acquainted with, and
afterwards married, Margaret Mitchell, a native of the place.
Not long after John Edward’s marriage, his regiment was ordered to
Portsmouth. Towards the close of the continental war, militia regiments
were marched hither and thither, from one end of the country to
another. The regular troops had mostly left England, to meet the armies
of Napoleon in the Peninsula and the Low Countries. The militia were
assembled in camps along the coast, or were stationed in garrisons to
hold watch and ward over the French prisoners confined there. Hence the
appearance of the Fifeshire militia at Gosport, where the subject of
our story was born.
[Sidenote: _VILLAGE OF KETTLE._]
When the battle of Waterloo had been fought, and peace fell upon
Europe, the English army returned from abroad. The militia were no
longer needed for garrison duty, and the greater number of them were
sent home. The Fifeshire Militia were ordered to Fife, and took up
their quarters at Cupar. During that time, John Edward’s wife and
family resided at the village of Kettle, about six miles south-west of
the county town. They lived there, because John was a native of the
place, and had many relatives in the village.
At length the militia were disembodied. Edward returned to Kettle,
and resumed his trade of a hand-loom cotton weaver. After remaining
there for some time, he resolved to leave for Aberdeen. His wife liked
neither the place nor the people. Kettle was a long straggling sleepy
village. The people were poor, and employment was difficult to be had.
Hence Edward did not require much persuasion to induce him to leave
Kettle and settle in Aberdeen, where his wife would be amongst her own
people, and where he would be much more likely to find work and wages
to enable him to maintain his increasing family.
[Sidenote: _THE GREEN AT ABERDEEN._]
Arrived at Aberdeen, John Edward and his wife “took up house” in the
Green, one of the oldest quarters of the city. Their house stood at
the head of the Green, near Hadden’s “Woo mill.” The remains of the
old Green were lower down the hill. The Denburn ran at the foot of the
Street. There were also the Inches, near the mouth of the Dee, over
which the tide flowed daily.
Since then, the appearance of that part of Aberdeen has become entirely
changed. Railways have blotted out many of the remnants of old
cities.[1] The Green is now covered with houses, factories, and the
Aberdeen Railway Station,—its warehouses, sidings, and station rooms. A
very fine bridge has been erected over the Green, now forming part of
Union Street; the Palace Hotel overlooking the railway station and the
surrounding buildings.
Thomas Edward was brought up in his parents’ house in the Green, such
as it was sixty years ago. It is difficult to describe how he became
a naturalist. He himself says he could never tell. Various influences
determine the direction of a boy’s likings and dislikings. Boys who
live in the country are usually fond of birds and bird-nesting; just as
girls who live at home are fond of dolls and doll-keeping. But this boy
had more than the ordinary tendency to like living things. He wished
to live amongst them. He made pets of them; and desired to have them
constantly about him.
[Sidenote: _THE UNRULY CHILD._]
From his birth he was difficult to manage. His mother said of him that
he was the worst child she had ever nursed. He was never a moment at
rest. His feet and legs seemed to be set on springs. When only about
four months old, he leapt from his mother’s arms, in the vain endeavour
to catch some flies buzzing in the window. She clutched him by his long
clothes, and saved him from falling to the ground. He began to walk
when he was scarce ten months old, and screamed when any one ventured
to touch him. And thus he went on, observing and examining,—as full of
liking for living things as he was when he tried to grasp the flies in
the window at Gosport.
[Sidenote: _BEGINNINGS OF NATURAL HISTORY._]
When afterwards asked about the origin of his love for Natural History,
he said, “I suppose it must have originated in the same internal
impulse which prompted me to catch those flies in the window. This
unseen something—this double being, or call it what you will—inherent
in us all, whether used for good or evil, which stimulated the
unconscious babe to get at, no doubt, the first living animals he
had ever seen, at length grew in the man into an irresistible and
unconquerable passion, and engendered in him an insatiable longing for,
and earnest desire to be always amongst such things. This is the only
reason I can give for becoming a lover of Nature. I know of none other.”
While living at Kettle, the child began to walk. He made friends with
the cats and dogs about the house. He was soon able to toddle out of
doors. At first, he wished to cultivate the acquaintance of the cocks
and hens and ducks, of which the village was full. But they always ran
away before he could get up to them and caress them.
There was, however, another, and a much more dangerous creature, whose
acquaintance he sought to make. This was a sow called Bet, with a
litter of pigs. Whenever he was missing, he was found looking in at the
pigs. He could not climb over the paling, but could merely look through
the splits.
The sow was known to be ferocious, and she was most so when she had a
litter of pigs. Edward’s mother was afraid lest the sow should injure
him by biting his hands or face through the bars of the cruive.[2]
Therefore she warned him not to go near the beast. But her warnings
were disregarded. When she asked, “Where’s Tam?” the answer invariably
was, “Oh! he’s awa wi’ the pigs.”
[Sidenote: “_STOLEN BY THE GYPSIES._”]
One day the boy disappeared. Every hen-house, every stable, every
pigstye, and every likely corner of the village, was searched; but
in vain. Tom was lost! He was then little over a year old. He could
not have gone very far. Somebody raised the cry that he had been
“stolen by the gipsies!” It was remembered that some tinkers had been
selling their brooms and pans in the village that afternoon; and it
was immediately concluded that they had kidnapped the child. It was
not so very unreasonable after all. Adam Smith, the author of the
_Wealth of Nations_, had been kidnapped by a gipsy woman when a child
at Kirkcaldy, many years before; and such things live long in popular
recollection.
A hue-and-cry was accordingly got up in Kettle about the bairn that
had been stolen by the gipsies. Their camp was known to be in the
neighbourhood,—about three miles off. Tom’s uncle and three other
men volunteered to go early next morning. The neighbours went to
their homes, except two, who remained with the mother. She sat by the
fire all night,—a long, wretched, dreary night. Early in the morning
the four men started. They found the gipsy camp, and stated their
grievance. They “wanted the child that had been kidnapped yesterday.”
“What?” said the chief gipsy; “we never kidnap children; such a
dishonest deed has never been laid to our charge. But, now that you are
here, you had better look for yourselves.”
As the searchers were passing through among the carts and tents, they
were set upon by a number of women and girls, and belaboured with
every kind of weapon and missile. Those who had neither sticks nor
ropes, used their claws. The men were unmercifully pummelled and
scratched before they could make their escape. They reached Kettle in a
deplorable state,—but without the child!
All hopes of his recovery in that quarter being ended, another body of
men prepared to set out in another direction. But at this moment they
were amazed by a scream outside the house. All eyes were turned to the
door, when in rushed the pig-wife, and, without the least ceremony,
threw the child into his mother’s lap. “There, woman, there’s yer
bairn! but for God’s sake keep him awa frae yon place, or he may fare
war next time.” “But whar was he?” they exclaimed in a breath. “Whar
wud he be but below Bet and her pigs a’ nicht!”[3]
[Sidenote: _THE INCHES AT ABERDEEN._]
When the family removed to Aberdeen, young Edward was in his glory.
The place where he lived was close to the outside of the town. He was
enabled to roam into the country by way of Deeside and Ferryhill. Close
at hand were the Inches,—not the Inches of to-day—but the beautiful
green Inches of sixty years ago, covered with waving algæ. There, too,
grew the scurvy grass, and the beautiful sea daisy. Between the Inches,
were channels through which the tide flowed, with numerous pots or
hollows. These were the places for bandies, eels, crabs, and worms.
[Sidenote: _THE VENOMOUS BEASTS._]
Above the Inches, the town’s manure was laid down,—at a part now
covered by the railway station. The heaps were remarkably prolific
in beetles, rats, sparrows, and numerous kinds of flies. Then the
Denburn, at the foot of the Green, yielded no end of horse-leeches,
powets (tadpoles), frogs, and other creatures that abound in fresh or
muddy water. The boy used daily to play at these places, and brought
home with him his “venomous beasts,” as the neighbours called them. At
first they consisted, for the most part, of tadpoles, beetles, snails,
frogs, sticklebacks, and small green crabs (the young of the _Carcinus
mœnas_); but as he grew older, he brought home horse-leeches, asks
(newts), young rats—a nest of young rats was a glorious prize—field
mice and house mice, hedgehogs, moles, birds, and birds’ nests of
various kinds.
The fishes and birds were easily kept; but as there was no secure
place for the puddocks, horse-leeches, rats, and such like,—they
usually made their escape into the adjoining houses, where they were
by no means welcome guests. The neighbours complained of the venomous
creatures which the young naturalist was continually bringing home. The
horse-leeches crawled up their legs and stuck to them, fetching blood;
the puddocks and asks roamed about the floors; and the beetles, moles,
and rats, sought for holes wherever they could find them.
[Sidenote: _THE INCORRIGIBLE BOY._]
The boy was expostulated with. His mother threw out all his
horse-leeches, crabs, birds, and birds’ nests; and he was strictly
forbidden to bring such things into the house again. But it was of
no use. The next time that he went out to play, he brought home as
many of his “beasts” as before. He was then threatened with corporal
punishment. But that very night he brought in a nest of young rats. He
was then flogged. But it did him no good. The disease, if it might be
so called, was so firmly rooted in him, as to be entirely beyond the
power of outward appliances. And so it was found in the end.
Words and blows having failed to produce any visible effect, it was
determined to keep him in the house as much as possible. His father,
who was a handloom weaver, went to his work early in the morning, and
returned late at night. His meals were sent to him during the day.
The mother, who had her husband’s pirns to fill, besides attending to
her household work, was frequently out of the way; and as soon as she
disappeared, Tom was off to the Inches. When any one made a remark
about her negligence in not keeping a tighter hold of the boy, her
answer was, “Weel, I canna be aye at his heels.” Sometimes he was set
to rock the cradle. But on his mother’s arrival at home, she found
the rocker had disappeared. He was also left to play with the younger
children; but he soon left them to play by themselves.
He was occasionally sent a message, though he rarely fulfilled it.
He went to his old haunts, regardless of the urgency of the message.
One morning he was sent to his father’s workshop with his breakfast;
but instead of going there, he set off for the Stocket, several miles
from town, with two other loons.[4] Tom induced them to accompany him.
The Stocket was a fine place for birds and birds’ nests. They searched
all day, and returned home at night. The father never received his
breakfast. It was eaten by Edward and the loons.
[Sidenote: _IMPRISONED AT HOME._]
As a punishment for his various misdoings, he was told one morning
that he was to be confined to the house all day. It was a terrible
punishment, at least to him. Only a portion of his clothes was given
him, that he might not go out; and as a further precaution, his mother
tied him firmly to the table leg with a thick wisp of thrums. She
also tied his wrists together with a piece of cord. When she went out
on family affairs, Tom’s little sister was set to watch him. But he
disengaged himself from his bonds almost as quickly as the Davenport
brothers. With a mixture of promises and threats, he made his little
sister come to his help; and the two together pushed the table close to
the grate, when putting the rope which confined his legs between the
ribs, it soon burnt asunder, and he was free. He next tried to find his
clothes, but his mother had hidden them too securely. He found a coat
of his elder brother’s, much too big for himself: nevertheless he put
it on.
[Sidenote: _SETS HOUSE ON FIRE._]
His mother’s feet were now heard on the stair. Tom hid himself at the
back of the door, so that he might rush out as soon as she entered. The
door was opened, his mother rushed in screaming, and Tom ran away. The
table to which the rope had been attached was on fire, and the house
would soon have been in a blaze. In quenching the flames of the rope
attached to the boy’s leg, he had forgotten, in his hurry, to quench
the burning of the rope still attached to the table. Hence the fire.
But Tom was now at liberty. He soon got rid of his shackles, and spent
a glorious day out of doors. He had a warm homecoming at night, but the
less said of that the better.
[Sidenote: _AGAIN ESCAPES._]
In fact, the boy was found to be thoroughly incorrigible. He was
self-willed, determined, and stubborn. As he could not be kept at
home, and would not go a message, but was always running after his
“beasts,” his father at last determined to take his clothes from him
altogether. So, one morning when he went to work, he carried them with
him. When the boy got up, and found that he had nothing to wear, he was
in a state of great dismay. His mother, having pinned a bit of an old
petticoat round his neck, said to him, “I am sure you’ll be a prisoner
this day.” But no! His mother went downstairs for milk, leaving him in
the house. He had tied a string round his middle, to render himself a
little more fit for moving about. He followed his mother downstairs,
and hid himself at the back of the entry door; and as soon as she had
passed in, Tom bolted out, ran down the street, and immediately was at
his old employment of hunting for crabs, horse-leeches, puddocks, and
sticklebacks.
His father, on coming home at night with Tom’s clothes in his hand,
looked round the room, and asked, “Is he in bed?” “Na!” “Far[5] is
he?” “Weel, I left him here when I gaed to the door for milk, and
when I came back he was awa; but whether he gaed out o’ the window or
up the lum[6] I canna tell.” “Did ye gie him ony claes?” “No!” “Most
extraordinary!” exclaimed the father, sitting down in his chair. He was
perfectly thunderstruck. His supper was waiting for him, but he could
not partake of it. A neighbouring woman shortly after entered, saying,
“Meggy, he’s come!” “Oh, the nickem,”[7] said Tom’s mother, “surely
he’s dead wi’ cauld by this time. Fat _can_ we do wi’ him? Oh, Mrs.
Kelman, he’ll break my very heart. Think o’ him being oot for haill
days without ony meat. Often he’s oot afore he gets his breakfast, and
we winna see him again till night. Only think that he’s been out a’ the
day ’maist naked! We canna get him keepit in frae thae beasts o’ his!”
[Sidenote: _RECEPTION ON RETURN._]
“He’ll soon get tired o’ that,” said Mrs. Kelman, “if ye dinna lick
him.” “Never,” roared old Edward; “I’ll chain him in the house, and
see if that will cool him.” “But,” rejoined Mrs. Kelman, “ye maunna
touch him the night, John.” “I’ll chain him to the grate! But where is
he? Bring him here.” “He’s at my fireside.” By this time Tom, having
followed at her heels, and heard most of what was said about him, was
ready to enter as she came out. “Far hae ye been, you scamp?” asked his
mother. “At the Tide!” His father on looking up, and seeing the boy
with the old petticoat about him, bedabbled by the mud in which he had
been playing, burst into a fit of laughter. He leant back on his chair,
and laughed till he could laugh no more.
“Oh, laddie,” said the mother, “ye needna look at me in that way. It’s
you that he’s laughin’ at, you’re sic a comical sicht. Ye’ll gang to
that stinkin’ place, man, till ye droun yoursel, and sine ye winna
come back again.” Tom was then taken in hand, cleaned and scrubbed,
and put to bed. Next morning his father, before he went out, appeared
at the boy’s bedside, and said, “If ye go out this day, sir, I’ll have
you chained.” “But,” replied Tom, “ye hinna a cooch;”[8] for he had
no notion of anything being chained but dogs. “Never mind,” said his
father, “I’ll chain you!”
[Sidenote: _IS LAID UP BY FEVER._]
The boy had no inclination to rise that day. He was hot and cold
alternately. When he got up in the afternoon, he was in a “gruize.”[9]
Then he went to bed again. By the evening he was in a hot fever. Next
day he was worse. He raved, and became delirious. He rambled about his
beasts and his birds. Then he ceased to speak. His mouth became clammy
and his tongue black. He hung between life and death for several weeks.
At length the fever spent itself, leaving him utterly helpless.
One afternoon, as he was gradually getting better, he observed his
mother sitting by his bedside. “Mother,” said he, “where are my crabs
and bandies that I brocht hame last nicht?” “Crabs and bandies!” said
she, “ye’re surely gaun gyte;[10] it’s three months sin ye were oot!”
This passed the boy’s comprehension. His next question was, “Has my
father gotten the chains yet?” “Na, laddie, nor winna; but ye maunna
gang back to yer auld places for beasts again.” “But where’s a’ my
things, mother?” “They’re awa! The twa bottoms o’ broken bottles we
found in the entry, the day you fell ill, were both thrown out.” “And
the shrew mouse ye had in the boxie?” “Calton (the cat) took it.” This
set the boy a-crying, and in that state he fell asleep, and did not
waken till late next morning,—when he felt considerably better. He
still, however, continued to make inquiries after his beasts.
His father, being in-doors, and seeing the boy rising and leaning upon
his elbow, said to him, “Come awa, laddie. It’s long since ye were oot.
The whins, and birds, and water-dogs[11] at Daiddie Brown’s burnie,
will be a’ langin to see ye again.” The boy looked at his mother, and
smiled, but said nothing. In a few days he was able to rise, but the
spring was well advanced before he was able to go out of doors.
[Sidenote: _HIS RECOVERY._]
He then improved rapidly. He was able to go farther and farther every
day. At first he wandered along the beach. Then he roamed about
over the country. He got to know the best nesting places—the woods,
plantations, and hedges,—the streams, burns, locks, and mill-dams,—all
round Aberdeen. When the other boys missed a nest, it was always “that
loon Edward” that took it. For this he was thrashed, though he was only
about four years old.
[Sidenote: _THE RUBISLAW QUARRIES._]
One of his favourite spots was the Den[12] and quarries of Rubislaw.
There were five excellent places in the Den for birds’ nests and wild
flowers. But he went to the quarries chiefly to find the big bits
of sheep’s silver or mica in the face of the rocks. Edward was much
astonished at the size of the rocks. He knew how birds made their
nests; he knew how flowers and whins grew out of the ground; but he
did not know how rocks grew. He asked his parents for the reason. They
told him that these rocks had existed from the beginning. This did not
satisfy him, and he determined to ask one of the men at the quarry,
who certainly ought to know how the rocks grew. “How do the rocks
grow?” asked he of a quarryman one day. “Fat say ye?” Tom repeated the
question. “To the deil wi’ ye, ye impudent brat, or I’ll toss ye owre
the head o’ the quarry!” Tom took to his heels and fled, never looking
back.
Another favourite haunt was Daiddie Brown’s burnie. There were
plantations and hedges near it, and fields close at hand on either
side. Its banks were thickly clothed with wild raspberries and
whins—the habitats of numerous birds. The burn itself had plenty of
water-dogs, or water-rats, along its banks. That neighbourhood has now
been entirely overbuilt. The trees, the hedges, the whins, and even the
burn itself, have all been swept away.
[Sidenote: _LOVE OF BIRDNESTING._]
Tom’s knowingness about birds’ nests attracted many of his boy-fellows
to accompany him in his expeditions. He used to go wandering on,
forgetful of time, until it became very late. On such occasions, the
parents of the boys became very anxious about them; and knowing that
Tam Edward was the cause of their being kept so long away from home,
they forbade them accompanying him again on any account. When he asked
them to go with him a-birdnesting, their answer usually was, “Wha wad
gang wi’ you? ye never come hame!” Even when Tom did get any boys to
follow him, he usually returned alone.
[Sidenote: _“A BYKE” IN THE WOOD._]
On one occasion he got some boys to accompany him to a wood at Polmuir,
about two miles from town, on a birdnesting expedition. While they were
going through the wood, a little separated, one of them called out, “A
byke, a byke,[13] stickin’ on a tree, and made o’ paper!” A byke was
regarded as a glorious capture, not only for the sake of the honey,
but because of the fun the boys had in skelpin’ out the bees. Before
they had quite reached the spot, one of the youngest boys yelled out,
“Oh! I’m stung, I’m stung!” He took to his feet, and they all followed.
After they had run some distance, and there being no appearance of a
foe, a halt was made, and they stood still to consider the state of
affairs. But all that could be ascertained was, that the byke was on a
tree, that it was made of paper, and that it had lots of yellow bees
about it.
This so excited Tom’s curiosity that he at once proposed to go back
and take down the paper byke. His proposal was met with a decided
refusal; and on his insisting upon going back, all the other boys ran
away home. Nothing daunted, however, he went back to that part of the
wood where the byke had been seen. He found it, and was taking it from
the under side of the branch to which it was attached, when a bee lit
upon one of his fingers, and stung it severely. The pain was greater
than from any sting that he had ever had before. He drew back, and
sucked and blew the wound alternately, in order to relieve the pain.
[Sidenote: _SECURES THE BYKE._]
Then he thought, “What can I do next?” There the byke hung before him.
It was still in his power to remove it,—if he could. To leave it was
impossible. Although he had nothing to defend himself from the attacks
of the bees, nor anything to put the byke into when he had taken it
down, still he would not go without it. His bonnet could scarcely do.
It was too little and too holey. His stockings would not do; because he
wished to take the byke home whole. A thought struck him. There was his
shirt! That would do. So he took off his jacket, and disrobed himself
of his shirt. Approaching the tree very gently, though getting numerous
stings by the way, he contrived to remove the byke from the branch to
which it was hanging, and tucked it into his shirt. He tied the whole
up into a sort of round knot, so as to keep all in that was in.
It was now getting quite dark, and he hurried away with his prize.
He got home in safety. He crept up the stair, and peeped in at the
keyhole, to see that the coast was clear. But no! he saw his father
sitting in his chair. There was an old iron pot in a recess on one side
of the stair, in which Tom used to keep his numerous “things,” and
there he deposited his prize until he could unpack it in the morning.
He now entered the house as if nothing had happened. “Late as usual,
Tam,” said his father. No further notice was taken. Tom got his supper
shortly after, and went to bed.
Before getting into bed, he went a little out of way to get undressed,
and then, as much unseen as possible, he crept down beneath the
blankets. His brother, having caught sight of his nudity, suddenly
called out, “Eh, mother, mother, look at Tam! he hasna gotten on his
sark!” Straightway his mother appeared at the bedside, and found
that the statement was correct. Then the father made his appearance.
“Where’s your shirt, sir?” “I dinna ken.” “What! dinna ken!” addressing
his wife—“Where’s my strap?” Tom knew the power of the strap, and found
that there was no hope of escaping it.
The strap was brought! “Now, sir, tell me this instant, where is your
shirt?” “It’s in the bole on the stair.” “Go and get it, and bring it
here immediately.” Tom went and brought it, sorrowfully enough, for he
dreaded the issue. “And what have you got in it?” “A yellow bumbees’
byke.” “A what?” exclaimed his father and mother in a breath. “A yellow
bumbees’ byke.” “Did I not tell you, sir,” said his father, “only the
other day, and made you promise me, not to bring any more of these
things into the house, endangering and molesting us as well as the
whole of our neighbours. Besides only think of your stripping yourself
in a wood, to get off your shirt to hold a bees’ byke!”
“But this is a new ane,” said Tom, “it’s made o’ paper.” “Made o’
fiddlesticks!” “Na, I’ll let ye see it.” “Let it alone, I don’t want to
see it. Go to bed at once, sir, or I shall give you something (shaking
his strap) that will do you more good than bees’ bykes!”
[Sidenote: _THE WASP’S NEST._]
Before the old couple went to bed, they put Tom’s shirt into a big
bowl, poured a quantity of boiling water over it, and after it was
cold, they opened the shirt, and found—a Wasps’ Nest!
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Some antiquarian writers are of opinion that “The Green” was the
site of ancient Aberdeen. For instance, Sir Samuel Forbes of Foveran,
in his _Description of Aberdeenshire_ (1715), says, “From the end of
the last-mentioned straight street [the Upper Kirkgate], there runs
another southward and obliquely [the Nether Kirkgate], leading also to
the town churches, and terminates in a pretty broad street, lying flat,
and called the Green, the seat of the ancient city; where the river Dee
receives a small rivulet, called the Denburn, covered with a bridge of
three arches.”—Turreffs’s _Antiquarian Gleanings_, 290.
[2] _Cruive_, a pigstye.
[3] The question occurred, How did the child get amongst the pigs? He
could not have climbed over the paling; he must have been lifted over.
There was an old sweetheart of the quondam militiaman, whom he had
deserted in favour of Margaret Mitchell. It was believed that she had
maliciously lifted the child over the palings, and put him amongst the
pigs, most probably from spite against her old lover.
[4] In the north, _loons_ and _queans_ are boys and girls.
[5] The pronunciation of the Aberdeenshire dialect is peculiar. For
instance, _far_ is where; _fat_, what; _tee_, to; _dee_, do; _feel_,
fool; _peer_, poor; _byeuk_, book; _been_, bone, etc. It is said that
Jane Maxwell, the handsome and beautiful Duchess of Gordon, was in the
habit of amusing George III. by repeating phrases in Aberdonian doric;
and that his Majesty plumed himself on his ability to interpret them.
The Duchess one day tried his mettle with the following: “A gangrel
bodie oot o’ the toon o’ Stanhive was i’ the way o’ wan’erin the
kwintra wi’ a bit basket owre ’er gardie, crying, ‘Fa’ll buy my black
doctors fulpit in a peel?’” The gangrel bodie was a leech-seller of
Stonehaven, and of course the “doctors” were “whelped” in a pool.
[6] _Lum_, chimney.
[7] _Nickem_, a person given to mischievous tricks. The word is also
used as an endearing phrase: my _bonnie nickem_ is equivalent to my
_little dear_.
[8] _Cooch_, a dog-kennel.
[9] _Gruize_, a rigor, generally preceding a cold or fever.
[10] _Gaun gyte_, becoming insane, or acting foolishly.
[11] Water-rats.
[12] _Den_, dean, a dingle or small valley.
[13] _Byke_, a bees’ nest.
CHAPTER II.
_SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS._
EDWARD was between four and five years old when he went to school. He
was sent there principally that he might be kept out of harm’s way. He
did not go willingly; for he was of a roving, wandering disposition,
and did not like to be shut up anywhere. He hated going to school. He
was confined there about four hours a day. It might seem very little
to some, but it was too much for him. He wanted to be free to roam
about the Inches, up the Denburn, and along the path to Rubislaw,
bird-nesting.
The first school to which he was sent was a dame’s school. It was kept
by an old woman called Bell Hill. It was for the most part a girls’
school, but Bell consented to take the boy because she knew his mother,
and wished to oblige her. The schoolroom was situated at the top of a
long stair. In fact, it was the garret of an ordinary dwelling-house.
We have said that Tom did not like school. He could not be reconciled
to spend his time there. Thus he often played the truant. He was
sometimes arrested on his way to school by the fish-market. It was then
held in the Shiprow, where the post-office now stands. There were long
rows of benches on which the fish were spread out. The benches were
covered in, and afforded an excellent shelter on a rainy day.
[Sidenote: _THE FISH-MARKET._]
Tom was well known to the fishwives. “Here comes the queer laddie,”
they would say as they saw him approaching. And when he came up, they
would ask him, “Weel, man, fat are ye gaun to speer[14] the day?” Tom’s
inquiries were usually about fish—where they came from, what their
names were, what was the difference between the different fishes, and
so on. The fish-market was also a grand place for big blue flies, great
beetles with red and yellow backs (burying beetles), and daylight
rottens. They were the tamest rats he had ever seen, excepting two that
he used to carry about in his pockets. His rats knew him as well as a
dog knows his master.
But Tom’s playing the truant and lingering about the fish-market soon
became known to his mother; and then she sent for _her_ mother, Tom’s
grannie, to take him to school. She was either to see him “in at the
door,” or accompany him into the school itself. But Tom did not like
the supervision of his grannie. He rebelled against it. He played
the truant under her very eyes. When grannie put him in at the door,
calling out “Bell!” to the schoolmistress upstairs, Tom would wait
until he thought the old woman was sufficiently distant, and then
steal out, and run away, by cross streets, to the Denburn or the
Inches.
But that kind of truant-playing also got to be known; and then grannie
had to drag him to school. When she seized him by the “scruff o’ the
neck,” she had him quite tight. It was of no use attempting to lie down
or sit down. Her hand was like a vice, and she kept him straight upon
his feet. He tried to wriggle, twist, turn himself round as on a pivot,
and then make a bolt. She nevertheless held on, and dragged him to
school, into the presence of Bell Hill, and said, “Here’s your truant!”
Tom’s only chance was to go along very quietly, making no attempt to
escape grannie’s clutches, and then, watching for an opportunity, he
would make a sudden dart and slip through her fingers. He ran, and she
ran; but in running, Tom far outstripped her, for though grannie’s legs
were very much longer than his, they were also very much stiffer.
[Sidenote: _ATTRACTIONS OF THE DENBURN._]
The boy was sent one morning to buy three rolls for breakfast; but
after he had bought the rolls, instead of going home, he forgathered
with three loons, and accompanied them to the Denburn. He got a lot of
horse-leeches, and was in the act of getting another when, looking in
the water, he saw the reflection of grannie approaching. When he felt
her fingers touching his neck, he let go the stone under which the
horse-leech was, and made a sudden bound to the other side of the burn.
He heard a heavy splash in the water. His comrades called out, “Tam,
Tam, yer grannie’s droonin’!” But Tam neither stopped nor looked back.
He flew as fast as he could to the Inches, where he stopped to take
breath. The tide coming in, drove him away, and then he took refuge on
the logs, near the Middens; after which he slunk home in the evening.
His mother received him thus: “Ye’re here again, ye ne’er-do-well!
creepin in like a thief. Ye’ve been wi’ yer raggamuffins: yer weet duds
tell that. That’s wi’ yer Inches, an’ tearin an’ ridin on the logs, an’
yer whin bushes. But ye may think muckle black shame o’ yersel, man,
for gaun and droonin yer peer auld grannie.” “I didna droon her,” said
Tom. “But she may hae been drooned for you; ye didna stay to tak her
oot.” “She fell in hersell.” “Haud yer tongue, or I’ll take the poker
t’ye. Think shame, man, to send her hame in sic a filthy state. But
where’s the bread I sent ye for?” “It’s a’ eaten.” “We wad hae had a
late breakfast if we had waited till now, and sine ye’ve no gottin it
after a’. But yell see what yer faither ’ill say to ye when he gets
hame.”
[Sidenote: _TOM AND HIS GRANNIE._]
Tom was in bed by that time. He remained awake until his father
returned in the evening. He was told the whole story by his wife, in
its most dreadful details. When he heard of grannie’s plash into the
burn, and coming home covered with “glaur,” he burst out into a long
and hearty laugh. Tom heard it with joy. The father then remarked
that grannie should “beware of going so near the edge of such a dirty
place.” Then Tom felt himself reprieved, and shortly after fell asleep.
[Sidenote: _BELL HILL AND THE BEASTS._]
The scapegrace returned to school. He did not learn a great deal. He
had been taught by his mother his A B C, and to read words of three
letters. He did not learn much more at Bell Hill’s school. Bell’s
qualifications as a teacher were not great. Nevertheless, the education
that she gave was a religious education. She prayed, or as Edward
called it, “groaned” with the children twice a day. And it was during
one of her devotional exercises that the circumstance occurred which
compelled Bell Hill to expel Tom Edward from her school.
Edward had been accustomed to bring many of his “beasts” with him to
school. The scholars were delighted with his butterflies; but few of
them cared to be bitten or stung by his other animals. And to have
horse-leeches crawling about them was unendurable. Thus Edward became
a source of dread and annoyance to the whole school. He was declared
to be a “perfect mischief.” When Bell Hill was informed of the beasts
he brought with him, she used to say to the boy, “Now, do not bring
any more of these nasty and dangerous things here again.” Perhaps he
promised, but generally he forgot.
[Sidenote: _THE “KAE” AT SCHOOL._]
At last he brought with him an animal of a much larger sort than usual.
It was a Kae, or jackdaw. He used to keep it at home, but it made
such a noise that he was sent out with it one morning, with strict
injunctions not to bring it back again. He must let it go, or give it
to somebody else. But he was fond of his kae, and his kae was fond
of him. It would follow him about like a dog. He could not part with
the kae. So he took it to school with him. But how could he hide it?
Little boys’ trousers were in those days buttoned over their vest; and
as Tom’s trousers were pretty wide, he thought he could get the kae in
there. He got it safely into his breeks before he entered the school.
So far so good. But when the schoolmistress gave the word “Pray,” all
the little boys and girls knelt down, turning their backs to Bell.
At this movement the Kae became fractious. He could not accommodate
himself to the altered position. But seeing a little light overhead,
he made for it. He projected his beak through the opening between the
trousers and the vest. He pushed his way upwards; Tom squeezed him
downwards to where he was before. But this only made the Kae furious.
He struggled, forced his way upwards, got his bill through the opening,
and then his head.
The Kae immediately began to _cre-waw! cre-waw!_ “The Lord preserv’s
a’! Fat’s this noo?” cried Bell, starting to her feet. “It’s Tam Edward
again!” shouted the scholars, “wi’ a craw stickin’ oot o’ his breeks!”
Bell went up to him, pulled him up by his collar, dragged him to the
door, thrust him out, and locked the door after him. Edward never saw
Bell Hill again.
[Sidenote: _GOES TO ANOTHER SCHOOL._]
The next school to which he was sent was at the Denburn side, near by
the venerable Bow brig, the oldest bridge in Aberdeen,[15] but now
swept away to make room for modern improvements. This school consisted
wholly of boys. The master was well stricken in years. He was one of
the old school, who had great faith in “the taws,”[16] as an instrument
of instruction. Edward would have learnt much more at this school
than at Bell Hill’s, had he not been so near his favourite haunt, the
Denburn. He was making rapid progress with his reading, and was going
on well with his arithmetic, when his usual misfortune occurred.
[Sidenote: _HORSE-LEECHES AT SCHOOL._]
One day he had gone to school earlier than usual. The door was not
open; and to wile away his time he went down to the Denburn. He found
plenty of horse-leeches, and a number of the grubs of water-flies.
He had put them into the bottom of a broken bottle, when one of the
scholars came running up, crying, “Tam, Tam, the school’s in!” Knowing
the penalty of being behind time, Tom flew after the boy, without
thinking of the bottle he had in his hand. He contrived, however,
to get it into the school, and deposited it in a corner beside him,
without being observed.
All passed on smoothly for about half-an-hour, when one of the scholars
gave a loud scream, and started from his seat. The master’s attention
was instantly attracted, and he came down from the desk, taws in hand.
“What’s this?” he cried. “It’s a horse-leech crawlin’ up my leg!” “A
horse-leech?” “Yes, sir, and see,” pointing to the corner in which
Tom kept his treasure, “there’s a bottle fu’ o’ them!” “Give me the
bottle!” said the master; and, looking at the culprit, he said, “You
come this way, Master Edward!” Edward followed him quaking. On reaching
the desk, he stopped, and holding out the bottle, said, “That’s yours,
is it not?” “Yes.” “Take it then, that is the way out,” pointing to the
door; “go as fast as you can, and never come back; and take that too,”
bringing the taws down heavily upon his back. Tom thought that his back
was broken, and that he would never get his breath again.
A few days after, Tom was preparing to go out, after breakfast, when
his mother asked him, “Where are ye gaun the day, laddie?” “Till my
school,” said he. “To your school, are ye? where is’t? at the Inches,
or the Middens, or Daiddie Brown’s burnie? where is’t?” “At the fit o’
the Green.” “At the fit o’ the Green! But hoo lang is it since ye was
putten awa frae that school?” Tom was silent. He saw that his mother
had been informed of his expulsion.
[Sidenote: _EXPELLED FROM SECOND SCHOOL._]
In a little while she was ready to go out. She took hold of her son by
the cuff of the neck, and took him down to the Green. When she reached
the school, for the purpose of imploring the master to take her son
back, she knocked at the door, and the master at once appeared. Before
she could open her mouth, the master abruptly began, “Don’t bring
that boy here! I’ll not take him back—not though you were to give me
twenty pounds! Neither I, nor my scholars, have had a day’s peace since
he came here.” And with that he shut the door in her face, before
she could utter a single word. She turned and came away, very much
vexed. She kept her grip on the boy, but, standing still to speak to
a neighbour, and her hold getting a little slacker, he made a sudden
bolt, and escaped.
As usual, he crept in late in the evening. His father was at home,
reading. On entering, Tom observed that he stopped, fixing his eyes
upon him over the top of his book, and looked at him steadily for some
time. Then, laying down his book, he said, “And where have you been,
sir?” The boy said nothing. “It’s no wonder that you’re dumb. You’ve
been putten out of your school a second time. You’ll be a disgrace to
all connected wi’ you. You’ll become an idler, a ne’er-do-well. You’ll
get into bad company. You’ll become a thief! Then you’ll get into gaol,
and end your days in misery and shame. Such is the case with all that
neglect their schooling, and disregard what their parents bid them.”
Tom was at last ashamed of himself. He said nothing until supper-time;
and then he asked for his supper, as he was hungry. “Perhaps you are,”
said his father; “and you shall get no supper this night, nor any other
night, until you learn to behave yourself better. Go to bed, sir, this
moment!” Tom slunk away, and got to bed as soon as possible. When the
lights were out, and all were thought to be abed, a light hand removed
the clothes from over Tom’s head, and put something into his hand. He
found it to be “a big dad o’ bread and butter.” It was so like the kind
motherly heart and hand to do this. So Tom had his supper after all.
[Sidenote: _SENT TO HIS THIRD SCHOOL._]
He was next sent to the Lancaster School in Harriet Street. There were
two masters in this school. The upper classes were in the highest
storey, the other classes in the lowest. The master of the lower class,
to which Tom belonged, knowing his weakness, ordered him, on entering,
not to bring any of his beasts to that school. He was to pay more
attention to his lessons than he had yet done, or he would be punished
severely. He did not bring anything but his school-books for a long
time, but at last his usual temptation befell him. It happened in this
way.
[Sidenote: _THE SPARROW’S NEST._]
On his way to and from school, along School Hill, he observed a
sparrow’s nest built in the corner part of a spout. He greatly envied
the sparrow’s nest. But he could only feast his longing eyes at a
distance. He tried to climb the spout once or twice, but it was too
high, and bulged out at the top. The clamps which held the spout to the
wall were higher at the top than at the bottom. He had almost given up
the adventure in despair, when one day, on going to school, he observed
two men standing together and looking up in the direction of the nest.
Boy-like, and probably thinking that he was a party concerned in the
affair, he joined them, and listened to what they were talking about.
He found that the nest interfered with the flow of water along the
spout, and that it must be removed; and that the whole waterway along
the spout must also be cleaned out.
Tom was now on the alert, and watched the spout closely. That day
passed, and nothing was done. The next day passed, and still the men
had not made their appearance. But on the third day, on his way to
school, he observed a man and a boy placing a long ladder against
the house. Tom stopped, and guessing what was about to be done, he
intended to ask the man for the nest and its contents. The man was
about to ascend the ladder, when, after feeling his pockets and finding
that something had been forgotten, he sent the boy back to the shed
for something or other,—most probably a trowel. Then, having struck
a light, and set fire to his pipe, the man betook himself to the
churchyard, which was near at hand.
[Sidenote: _THE NEST “HARRIED.”_]
A thought now struck Tom. Might he not take the nest himself without
waiting for it, and perhaps without getting it after all? He looked
about. He looked into the churchyard gate, nearly opposite. He saw
nobody. The coast was clear. Tom darted across the street, and went
rapidly up the ladder. Somebody shrieked to him from a window on the
other side. It staggered him at first. But he climbed upward; got to
the nest, and, after some wriggling and twisting, he pulled it away,
and got down before either the man or the boy had returned.
[Sidenote: _YOUNG SPARROWS AT SCHOOL._]
It was eggs that he wanted, but, lo and behold! here was a nest of five
well-fledged birds. Instead of taking the birds home, Tom was foolish
enough to take them with him to school. He contrived to get the nest
into the school unobserved, and put it below the form on which he was
seated, never thinking that the little things would get hungry, or
try to make their escape. All went on well for about an hour. Then
there was a slight commotion. A chirrup was heard. And presently
the throats of all were opened—“_Chirrup! chirrup!_” Before the
master could get the words “What’s that?” out of his mouth, the birds
themselves answered him by leaving their nest and fluttering round the
schoolroom,—the boys running after them! “Silence! Back to your seats!”
cried the master. There was now stillness in the school, except the
fluttering of the birds.
The culprit was called to the front. “This is more of your work,
Edward, is it not?” “Yes, sir.” “And did I not tell you to bring no
more of these things here.” “Yes, sir; but I only got them on my way
up, or I wouldn’t have brought them here.” “I don’t believe it,” said
the master. “Yes, it’s true, it’s true,” shouted some of the scholars.
“Silence! How do you know?” “We saw him harryin’ the nest as we came
up School Hill.” “How?” “He was on the top of a long ladder takin’ the
nest oot o’ a spoot.” “Well, sir,” he said to Edward, “you are one of
the most daring and determined little fellows that I have ever heard
of. It seems you will follow nobody’s advice. If you do not give up
your tricks, you will some day fall and break your neck. But as you
have told me the truth, I will forgive you this once. But remember!
it’s the last time. Now go, collect your birds, and take them away!”
Edward groped about to collect the birds, but few of them were left.
The windows having been let down, they had all escaped except one. He
got that one, and descended to the street. There he recovered two
other “gorbals.” He went home with his three birds; but, his sister
being ill, his mother told him to take them away, because they made
such a noise. In the course of the day he gave them to another boy, in
exchange for a little picture-book, containing “The Death and Burial of
Cock Robin.”
[Sidenote: _AT LANCASTER SCHOOL._]
Next morning he went back to school, and from that time forward he
continued to obey the master’s orders. He never brought any more
“beasts” there. He was at the Lancaster school about eighteen months,
though he was occasionally absent. He did not learn very much. The
Bible was used as the reading book, and when he left school he could
read it fairly. He could also repeat the Shorter Catechism. But he knew
very little of arithmetic, and nothing of grammar. He had only got
the length of the rule of two,—that is, he could add up two lines of
figures. He could not manage the multiplication table. He could only
multiply by means of his fingers. He knew nothing of writing.
We must mention the cause of his leaving his third and his last school.
He had entirely given up bringing “beasts” with him. But he had got
a bad name. It was well known that he had been turned out of all the
schools which he had formerly attended, on account of bringing his
“beasts” with him. Better kill a dog, it is said, than give him a bad
name. In Edward’s case, his bad name was attended with very serious
results.
[Sidenote: _A MAGGY MONNY FEET._]
One morning, when the boys were at their lessons and the master was
at his desk, a sudden commotion occurred. The master gave a loud
scream, and, jumping to his feet, he shook something from his arm, and
suddenly put his foot upon it. Then, turning in Edward’s direction, he
exclaimed, “This is some more of your work, Master Edward.” Not hearing
what he said, Edward made no reply. Another boy was called forward, and
both stooping down, they took up something and laid it on a sheet of
paper. On rising, the boy was asked what it was. “It’s a Maggy Monny
Feet,” he said. “Is its bite dangerous? Is it poisonous?” The boy could
not tell.
Edward was then called to the floor. “You’ve been at your old trade,
Edward, I see; but I’ll now take it out of you. I have warned you not
to bring any of your infernal beasts here, and now I have just found
one creeping up my arm and biting me. Hold up.” Edward here ventured to
say that he had not brought the beast, that he had not brought anything
for a long while past. “What! a lie too?” said the master: “A lie added
to the crime makes it doubly criminal. Hold up, sir!” Tom held up his
hand, and the master came down upon it very heavily with the taws. “The
other!” The other hand was then held up, and when Tom had got his two
hot hands, the master exclaimed, “That’s for the lie, and this for the
offence!” and then he proceeded to bring the taws heavily down upon his
back. The boy, however, did not cry.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD UNJUSTLY PUNISHED._]
“Now, sir,” said the master, when almost out of breath, “will you say
now that you did not bring it?” “I did not; indeed, sir, I did not!”
“Well then, take that,” giving him a number of tremendous lashes along
his back. “Well now?” “I did not!” The master went on again: “It’s your
own fault,” he said, “for not confessing your crime.” “But I did not
bring it,” replied Edward. “I’ll flog you until you confess.” And then
he repeated his lashes, upon his hands, his shoulders, and his back.
Edward was a mere mite of a boy, so that the taws reached down to his
legs, and smote him there. “Well now,” said the master, after he was
reduced to his last effort, “did you bring it?” “No, sir, I did not!”
The master sat down exhausted. “Well,” said he, “you are certainly a
most provoking and incorrigible devil.” The master had a reddish nose,
and a number of pimples on his face, which were of the same hue. When
he got into a rage, it was observed that the protuberances became much
brighter. On this occasion his organ became ten times redder than
before. It was like Bardolph’s lanthorn in the poop. Some of the boys
likened his pimples to large driblets of blood.
[Sidenote: _EXPELLED FROM HIS THIRD SCHOOL._]
After resting for a while in his chair, Edward standing before him,
he called to the boy whom he had first brought to his assistance,
“William, bring forward that thing!” The boy brought forward the paper,
on which lay a bruised centipede. “Now then,” said the master, “did
you not bring that venomous beast here?” “I did not, sir!” The whole
school was now appealed to. “Did any of you see Edward with that beast,
or any other beast, to-day or yesterday?” No answer. “Did any of you
see Edward with anything last week or the week before?” Still no
answer. Then, after a considerable pause, turning to Edward, he said,
“Get your slate. Go home, and tell your father to get you put on board
a man-of-war, as that is the best school for all irreclaimables such
as you.” So saying, he pointed to the door. Tom got his slate and his
books, and hurried down stairs. And thus Edward was expelled from his
third and last school.
On reaching home, he told his parents the circumstances connected with
his expulsion. He also added that he wouldn’t go to school any more; at
all events, he wouldn’t go back to “yon school.” He would rather go to
work. He was told that he was too young to work; for he was scarcely
six years old. His father proposed to take him to the Lancaster school
on the following day, for the purpose of inducing the master to take
back the boy.
[Sidenote: _A NIGHT UNDER THE LOGS._]
The next day arrived. His father came home from his work for the
purpose of taking the boy to school; but Tom had disappeared. He
would not go back. He went first to the fish-market, where he spent
the greater part of the day. Then he went down to the Inches. From
thence he went towards the logs, and whilst there with a few more
boys preparing sparrow-traps, one of them called out “Tam, there’s yer
faither!” Tom immediately got up, and ran away; his father, following
him, called out “Stop, sir! stop, sir! come back, come back, will
you!” Tom’s father was a long slender man, and could not stand much
running. He soon dropt behind, while Tom went out Deeside way like
a lamplighter. He never stopped until he reached the Clayholes. Not
seeing his father following him, he loitered about there until it was
nearly dark; he then returned, keeping a close look-out and ready to
run off again. At length, about dark, he got back to the logs.
It must be mentioned that on the spare ground above the Inches large
piles of logs were laid, some of them of great size. The logs were
floated down the Dee, and were laid there until the timber merchants
found it convenient to take them away. Little care being exercised
in putting up the piles, there were often large openings left at the
ends. Instead of going home, the boy got into one of these openings,
and crept in as far as he could get. But though he was in a measure out
of sight, he soon found that he could obtain very little shelter for
the night. He was barefooted, and his clothes were thin and raggy. The
wind blew through the logs, and he soon became very cold. He shivered
till his teeth chattered. The squeaking and jumping of the rats, of
whom there seemed to be myriads, kept him awake. It was so different
from being snug in his warm bed, that he once thought of getting out
of his hole and running home. But he was terrified to do that, and
thus encounter his father’s strap,—his back being still so sore from
the effects of his flogging at school. The cold continued to increase,
especially towards the small hours of the morning. Indeed, he never
experienced so bitterly cold a night in the whole course of his life.
[Sidenote: _A FRUITLESS SEARCH._]
At length morning began to dawn. The first streaks of light were
tinging the eastern sky, when Tom prepared to get out of his hole and
have a run in the open ground to warm himself. He was creeping out of
the logs for the purpose, when in the dim morning light he thought he
saw the figure of a man. Yes! it was his father. He saw him moving
about, among the sawpits, the logs, and the piles of wood. Tom crept
farther into his hole among the logs; and on looking out again, he
found his father had disappeared. Half-an-hour later he appeared again;
and after going over the former ground, he proceeded in the direction
of the Inches. In a few minutes he descended to the channel, doubtless
with the intention of crossing, as the tide was out at the time.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S RETURN HOME._]
Now, thought Tom, is my opportunity. He crept out of his hole, went
round the farther end of the logs, up Lower Dee Street, past the
carpet-weaver’s, up Carmelite Street, and then home. Just as he reached
the top of the stair, Mrs. Kelman, the kindly “neibour,” who had been
kept up all night by the troubles of the Edward family, took him by
the collar, and said, “Eh, laddie, ye hae gien yer folk a sair nicht
o’t! But bide a wee, I’ll gang in wi’ ye!” As she entered the door,
she exclaimed, “Here he’s again, Maggie, a’ safe!” “Oh, ye vagaboon,”
said the mother, “where hae ye been a’ nicht? Yer faither’s oot seekin’
ye. I wonder how I can keep my hands aff ye.” “No, no, Maggie,” said
Mrs. Kelman, “ye winna do that. But I’ll tell ye what ye’ll do. Gie him
some meat, and let him get to his bed as fast as he can.” “His bed?”
said his mother, “he shanna bed here till his faither comes in.” “Just
gie him something, Maggie, and get him oot o’ the road.” After some
parleying, Tom got something to eat, and was in bed, with the blankets
over him, before his father returned.
“Weel, John,” said Mrs. Kelman, “ye hinna gotten him?” “No.” “Ye hinna
gaun to the right place!” “The right place!” said John, “who on earth
could tell the right place for such a wandering Jew as he is?” “Weel,
I’ve got him.” “Where?” “At the head o’ the stair!” “And where is he
now?” “Where he should be.” “That’s in Bridewell!” “No, no, John, dinna
say that.” “Where, then?” “In his bed.” “What! here? And before I have
paid him for his night’s work?” “Now, John, just sit doun and hae a
cup o’ tea wi’ Maggie and me before you go to your wark; and if ye hae
onything to say to the laddie, ye can say it when he gets up.” “You
always take his part, Mrs. Kelman, always!”
Tom lay quaking in bed. He heard all that was said. He peeped out of
the blankets; but when he saw his father sit down, he knew that all was
safe. And when he had his friendly cup o’ tea, and went to his work,
Tom fell fast asleep. He did not awake until midday, when his father
returned to dinner. Being observed to move in his bed, his father
ordered him to get up. This set him a-crying, and he exclaimed that “he
wudna gang back to yon school.” His mother now asked the reason why he
was so bitter against going to “yon school.” He then told them how he
had been treated by the master, and how his back was sore yet.
[Sidenote: _RESULTS OF HIS PUNISHMENT._]
His back was then looked at, and it was found that his shirt was
hard with clotted blood, and still sticking to his skin. The wales
extended right down to his legs. Means were adopted to soften the
shirt and remove it from the skin. But while that was being done, the
boy fell back and fainted away. On coming to himself, he found his
mother bathing his brow with cold water, and Mrs. Kelman holding a
smelling-bottle to his nose, which made his eyes run with water. A
large piece of linen, covered with ointment, was then put upon his
back. His father went away, ordering him to keep the house, and not to
go out that day.
Whatever may have passed between his parents he did not know. He was
in bed and asleep when his father returned at night. But he was never
asked to return to the Lancaster school.
[Illustration: AULTEN LINKS, ABERDEEN.]
[Sidenote: _THE AULTEN LINKS._]
He had now plenty of time for excursions into the country. He wandered
up the Dee and along the banks of the Don on both sides. He took long
walks along shore,—across the Aulten Links to the Auld Brig,—and even
up to the mountains, which at Aberdeen approach pretty near to the
coast.
[Sidenote: _HUNT AFTER AN ADDER._]
During one of his excursions on the hills of Torrie, near the
commencement of the Grampians, while looking for blaeberries and
crawberries, Edward saw something like the flash of an eel gliding
through amongst the heather. He rushed after it, and pounced down upon
it with both hands, but the animal had escaped. He began to tear up the
heather, in order to get at it. His face streamed with perspiration. He
rested for a time, and then began again. Still there was no animal, nor
a shadow of one.
At this time another boy came up, and asked, “What are ye doing there?”
“Naething.” “D’ye call that naething?” pointing to about a cart-load of
heather torn up. “Have ye lost onything?” “No.” “What are ye looking
for then?” “For something like an eel!” “An eel!” quoth the lad; “do ye
think ye’ll find an eel amang heather? It’s been an _adder_, and it’s
well ye havena gotten it. The beast might have bitten ye to death.”
“No fear o’ that,” said Edward. “How long is it sin’ ye saw it?” “Some
minutes.” “If that’s the case, it may be some miles up the hills by
this time. Which way was it gaun?” “That way.” “Well,” said the lad,
“you see that heap o’ stones up there? try them, and if you do not find
it there, you may gang hame and come back again, and then ye’ll just be
as near finding it as ye are now.” “Will ye help me?” asked Edward. “Na
faith, I dinna want to be bitten to death.” And so saying, he went away.
Edward then proceeded to the pile of stones which had been pointed
out, to make a search for the animal. He took stone after stone off
the heap, and still there was no eel. There were plenty of worms and
insects, but these he did not want. A little beyond the stones lay a
large piece of turf. He turned it over, and there the creature was! He
was down upon it in an instant, and had it in his hand! He looked at
the beast. It was not an eel. It was very like an asp, but it was six
or seven times longer.
[Sidenote: _TAKES HOME THE ADDER._]
Having tightened his grip of the beast, for it was trying to wriggle
out of his hand, he set out for home. He struck the Dee a little below
where the Chain Bridge now stands, reaching the ford opposite Dee
village, and prepared to cross it. But the water being rather deep at
the time, he had to strip and wade across, carrying his clothes in one
hand and the “eel” in the other. He had only one available hand, so
that getting off and on his clothes, and wading the river breast high,
occupied some time.
On reaching the top of Carmelite Street, he observed his mother, Mrs.
Kelman, and some other women, standing together at the street door.
He rushed in amongst them with great glee, and holding up his hand,
exclaimed, “See, mother, sic a bonnie beastie I’ve gotten.” On looking
at the object he held in his hand, the conclave of women speedily
scattered. They flew in all directions. Edward’s mother screamed, “The
Lord preserv’s! what the sorrow’s that ye hae noo?” “Oh, Meggy, Meggy,”
said Mrs. Kelman, “it’s a snake! Dinna let him in! For ony sake dinna
let him in, or we’ll a’ be bitten.” The entry door was then shut and
bolted, and Tom was left out with the beast in his hand.
Mrs. Kelman’s husband then made his appearance. “What’s this, Tam, that
has caused such a flutter amongst the wives?” “Only this bit beastie.”
Kelman started back. “What, has it not bitten you?” “No!” “Well,”
he added, “the best thing you can do with it, is to take it to Dr.
Ferguson as fast as you can, for you can’t be allowed to bring it in
here.”
Dr. Ferguson kept a druggist’s shop at the corner of Correction Wynd,
near the head of the Green. He had a number of creatures suspended in
glass jars in his window. Boys looked in at these wonderful things.
They were the admiration of the neighbours. Some said that these
extraordinary things had come from people’s “insides.” Tom had often
been there before with big grubs, piebald snails, dragonflies, and
yellow puddocks. So he went to Dr. Ferguson with his last new prize.
[Sidenote: _THE ADDER SOLD._]
He was by this time surrounded by a number of boys like himself. They
kept, however, at a respectable distance. When he moved in their
direction, they made a general stampede. At length he arrived at the
Doctor’s door. When the Doctor saw the wriggling thing that he was
holding in his hand, he ordered him out of the shop, and told him to
wait in the middle of the street until he had got a bottle ready for
the reception of the animal. Tom waited until the bottle was ready,
when he was told that when he had gotten the snake in, he must cork
the bottle as firmly as possible. The adder was safely got in and
handed to the Doctor, who gave Tom fourpence for the treasure. Next day
it appeared in the window, to the general admiration of the inhabitants.
[Sidenote: _TOM’S REWARD._]
Tom hastened home with his fourpence. On entering the house he
encountered his father, who seized him by the neck, and asked, “Where’s
that venomous beast that you had?” “I left it with Dr. Ferguson.” “But
have you no more?” “No.” “That’s very strange! You seldom come home
with so few things about you. But we shall see.” The boy was then
taken into the back yard, where he was ordered to strip. Every bit of
clothing was shaken, examined, and searched; the father standing by
with a stick. Nothing was found, and Tom was allowed to put on his
clothes and go up stairs to bed.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] _Speer_, to ask a question.
[15] The Rev. James Gordon, in his _Description of both Towns of
Aberdeen_ (1661), says—“The bruike called the Den Burne runs beneath
the west side of the citie; upon the brink quhairoff a little stone
bridge, at that pairt wher the brooke entereth the river Dee, the
Carmelites of old had a convent, whoes church and quholl precinct of
building wer levelled with the ground that very day that the rest
of the churches and convents of New Aberdeen wer destroyed. There
remayneth now onlie ane kilne, which standeth in the outmost south
corner of the citie, known this day by the name of the Freer Kilne.”
[16] The “Taws” consist of a leather strap about three feet long, cut
into tails at the end. Sometimes the ends are burnt, to make them hit
hard. They are applied to the back, or the “palmies”—that is, the palm
of the hand.
CHAPTER III.
_APPRENTICESHIP._
THE boy was learning idle habits. He refused to go back to the
Lancaster school. Indeed, from the cruel treatment he had received
there, his parents did not ask him to return. He had now been expelled
from three schools. If he went to a fourth, it is probable that he
might also have been expelled from that. It would not do for him to go
scouring the hills in search of adders, or to bring them home to the
“terrification” of his neighbours. He himself wished to go to work. His
parents at last gave their consent, though he was then only about six
years old. But poor people can always find something for their children
to do out of doors. The little that they earn is always found very
useful at home.
[Sidenote: _TOBACCO WORKING._]
Edward’s brother, who was about two years older than himself, was
working at Craig and Johnston’s tobacco work. On inquiry, it was
found that the firm was willing to take young Edward at the wage of
fourteen-pence a week. The tobacco-spinners worked in an old house
situated at the end of the flour mill in St. Nicholas Street. Each
spinner had three boys under him—the wheeler, the pointer, and the
stripper. Edward went through all these grades. As a stripper he could
earn about eighteen-pence a week.
[Illustration: THE SPIRES OF ST. MACHAR.]
The master was a bird-fancier, so that Edward got on very well with
him. The boy brought him lots of nests and young birds in summer,
and old birds which he trapped during winter. The master allowed him
to keep rabbits in the back yard; so that, what between working and
playing, attending to his rabbits and catering for their food, his time
passed much more happily than it had done at school.
After being in the tobacco work for about two years, Edward heard that
boys were getting great wages at a factory at Grandholm, situated on
the river Don, about two miles from Aberdeen. The high wages were a
great attraction. Tom and his brother took the advantage of a fast-day
to go to the mill and ask for employment. The manager told the boys
that he wanted no additional hands at that time, but that he would put
their names down and let them know when he required their services.
They returned and told their parents what they had done. Both father
and mother were against the change, partly because of Tom’s youth,
and partly because of the distance Grandholm was from Aberdeen. Tom,
however, insisted that he could both work and walk; and at last his
parents gave their consent.
[Illustration: THE BRIG O’ BALGOWNIE.]
[Sidenote: _BANKS OF THE DON._]
There was another reason besides the high wages which induced Tom to
wish to be employed at Grandholm. He kept this to himself. He had often
seen the place before, though only at a distance. But who that has
seen the banks and braes of the Don, from the Auld Brig[17] to the
Haughs of Grandholm, can ever forget it? Looking down from the heights
above the Brig of Balgownie, you see the high broad arch thrown across
the deep and dark winding Don. Beneath you, the fishermen are observed
hauling to the shore their salmon nets. Westward of the Auld Brig the
river meanders amongst the bold bluff banks, clothed to the summit with
thick embowered wood. Two or three miles above are the Haughs, from
which a fine view of the Don is obtained, with the high wood-covered
bank beyond it; and, over all, the summits of the spires of St. Machar,
the cathedral church of Old Aberdeen.
[Sidenote: _AT GRANDHOLM MILLS._]
It was to roam through these woods and amidst this beautiful scenery,
that young Edward so much desired to be employed at the Grandholm
factory. Nor was he disappointed in his expectations. Scarcely three
days had elapsed ere a letter arrived at the Edwards’ house, informing
both the boys that they would be employed at the mill at the usual
wages. The hours were to be from six o’clock in the morning till eight
o’clock in the evening.
The boys had accordingly to be up by about four in the morning, after
which they had to get their breakfast and to walk two miles to their
work. They were seldom home at night before nine. It was delightful in
summer, but dreary in winter, when they went and came in the cold dark
nights and mornings. The wages of the boys were at first from three to
four shillings a week each, and before they left the mill their wages
were from five to six shillings a week.
[Sidenote: _FACTORY WORK._]
The boys were first put into the heckling shop. They were next
transferred to a small mill at the end of the larger one. Young Edward
worked there. His business was to attend at the back of a braker,—to
take away the cases when they were full, and put empty ones in their
places. He was next set to attend two carding-machines; and from these
to the roving or spinning side, three of which he frequently kept
before he left. This was the highest work done in that room.
“People may say of factories what they please,” says Edward, “but I
liked this factory. It was a happy time for me whilst I remained there.
It was situated in the centre of a beautiful valley, almost embowered
amongst tall and luxuriant hedges of hawthorn, with watercourses and
shadowy trees between, and large woods and plantations beyond. It
teemed with nature and natural objects. The woods were easy of access
during our meal-hours. What lots of nests! What insects, wild flowers,
and plants, the like of which I had never seen before! Prominent
amongst the birds was the Sedge Warbler,[18] which lay concealed in the
reedy copses, or by the margin of the mill-lades. Oh! how I wondered
at the little thing; how it contrived to imitate almost all the other
birds I had ever heard, and none to greater perfection than the chirrup
of my old and special favourite the sparrow.”
[Sidenote: _THE KINGFISHER._]
One day he saw a Kingfisher—a great event in his life! What a beautiful
bird! What a sparkling gem of nature! Resplendent in plumage and
gorgeous in colour—from the bright turquoise blue to the deepest
green, and the darker shades of copper and gold. Edward was on a
nesting excursion, with some little fellows like himself, along the
braes of the Don, and at some distance above the Auld Brig, when he
first saw this lustrous bird. “I was greatly taken,” he says, “with
its extraordinary beauty, and much excited by seeing it dive into the
stream. I thought it would drown itself, and that its feathers would
eventually become so clogged with water that it would not be able to
fly. Had this happened—which, of course, it did not—my intention was
to have plunged in to the rescue, when, as a matter of course, I would
have claimed the prize as my reward. Thus buoyed up, I wandered up
and down the river after the bird, until the shades of even came down
and forced me to give up the pursuit; and I then discovered, having
continued the chase so long, that I was companionless, and had to
return home alone.
[Sidenote: _COUNTRY RAMBLES._]
“It so happened, that for a month or two during summer-time, owing
to the scarcity of water, one part of the factory worked during the
night-time and the other during the day-time, week and week about. This
was a glorious time for me. I rejoiced particularly in the night work.
We got out at six in the morning, and, instead of going directly home,
I used to go up to the woods of Scotston and Scotston Moor, scoured the
country round them, and then returned home by the Auld Brig. Another
day I would go up to Buxburn, range the woods and places about them,
and then home by Hilton or Woodside. Or again, after having crossed
Grandholm Bridge, instead of going up by Lausie Hillock, I went away
down Don side, by Tillydrone, the Aulten (Old Aberdeen), through the
fields to the Aulten links, whipped the whins there, then over the
Broad hill, and home by Constitution Street. I would reach it, perhaps,
about dinner-time, instead of at seven in the morning, although I had
to be back at the mill again by eight o’clock at night.
“Once, on a Saturday, after having visited Buxburn, I went round by the
back of the Dancing Cairns to the Stocket and the woods of Hazelhead,
then down the Rubislaw road, and home in the evening. Ah! these were
happy days. There were no taws to fear, and no tyrannical dominie to
lay them on. True, the farm people did halloo at me at times, but I
generally showed them a clean pair of heels. The gamekeepers, also,
sometimes gave me chase, but I managed to outstrip them; and although
no nests were to be got, there was always something to be found or
seen. In winter-time, also, when the canal was frozen, a mile of it lay
in our way home, and it was capital fun to slide along, going to and
coming from our work. This was life, genuine life, for the young. But,
alas! a sad change was about to come; and it came very soon.”
[Sidenote: _APPRENTICED TO A SHOEMAKER._]
The boys remained at Grandholm factory for about two years. Their
father thought that they ought both to be apprenticed to some
settled trade. The eldest boy left first, and was apprenticed to a
baker; then Tom, the youngest, left, very much to his regret, and
was bound apprentice to a shoemaker. He was eleven years old at
that time. His apprenticeship was to last for six years. His wages
began at eighteenpence a week, with sixpence to be added weekly in
each succeeding year. He was to be provided by his master with shoes
and aprons. The hours were to be from six in the morning to nine at
night,—two hours being allowed for meals.
[Sidenote: _CHARLES BEGG._]
The name of Edward’s master was Charles Begg. His shop was situated at
the highest part of Gallowgate. He usually employed from two to three
workmen. His trade consisted chiefly in manufacturing work of the
lightest description, such as ladies’ and children’s boots and shoes.
He himself worked principally at pump-making, and that was the branch
of the trade which young Edward was taught.
Begg was a low-class Cockney. He was born in London, where he learnt
the trade of shoemaking. He had gradually wandered northwards, until he
reached Inverness, where he lived for some time. Then he went eastward
to Elgin, then to Banff, until at last he arrived at Aberdeen, where
he married and settled. Begg was a good workman; though, apart from
shoemaking, he knew next to nothing. It is well, however, to be a
good workman, if one does his work thoroughly and faithfully. The
only things that Begg could do, besides shoemaking, were drinking and
fighting. He was a great friend of pugilism; though his principal
difficulty, when he got drunk, was to find anybody to fight with in
that pacific neighbourhood.
[Illustration: CHARLES BEGG’S SHOP, GALLOWGATE.]
It was a great misfortune for the boy to have been placed under
the charge of so dissolute a vagabond. He had, however, to do his
best. He learnt to make pumps and cut uppers, and proceeded to make
shoe-bottoms. He would, doubtless, have learnt his trade very well,
but for the drunkenness of his master, who was evidently going
headlong to ruin. He was very often absent from the shop, and when
customers called, Edward was sent out by his mistress to search the
public-houses frequented by Begg; but when found, he was usually
intoxicated. The customers would not return, and the business
consequently fell off. When drunk, Begg raved and swore; and after
beating the boy in the shop, he would go up-stairs and beat his wife.
[Sidenote: _SHOEMAKERS’ PETS._]
Shoemakers are usually very fond of pets, and especially of pet birds.
Many of the craft have singing-birds about them, and some are known to
be highly-skilled and excellent bird-fanciers. But Begg had no notion
of pets of any kind. He had no love whatever for the works of nature,
and detested those who had. Edward had been born with the love of birds
and living creatures, and Begg hated him accordingly. Begg used to
rifle his pockets on entering the shop, to see that Edward had nothing
of the kind about him. If he found anything he threw it into the
street,—his little boxes with butterflies, eggs, and such like. Many a
blow did he give Edward on such occasions. He used to say that he would
“stamp the fool out of him;” but he tried in vain.
[Sidenote: _BEGG’S BRUTALITY._]
One afternoon, when Edward had finished his work, and was waiting for
the return of his master in order to go to dinner, he was sitting with
a sparrow on his knee. It was a young sparrow which he had trained and
taught to do a number of little tricks. It was his pet, and he loved
it dearly. While he was putting the sparrow through its movements, the
master entered. He was three parts drunk. On looking at the bird on
Edward’s knee, he advanced, and struck Edward such a blow that it laid
him flat on the floor. The bird had fluttered to the ground, and was
trampled on.
When Edward was about to rise, he saw that Begg was going to kick him.
Raising up his arm to ward off the blow, Begg’s foot came in contact
with it, and, losing his balance, he reeled, staggered against the
wall, and fell backwards. He gathered himself together and got up. If
angry before, he was furious now. Edward, seeing that he was again
about to resume his brutality, called out that he would shout for help,
and that he wouldn’t be struck again without a cause! “Without a cause,
you idle blackguard! sitting playing with some of your devils instead
of doing my work!” “I had no work; it was done three hours ago, and I
was waiting to go to my dinner.” “It’s not near dinner time yet.” “It’s
four o’clock!” “I didn’t know it was so late; well, you may go!”
Tom seized the opportunity of picking up his poor and innocent bird
from the floor. He found it was still breathing. He put it tenderly in
his bosom and hastened homewards. His mother was not surprised at his
lateness, which was very usual, in consequence of the irregularity of
his master’s hours. “But what’s the matter wi’ ye?” she said; “your
face is bleedin’, and ye hae been greetin’.” “Look,” said he, taking
the harmless and now lifeless bird from his breast, and holding it
up,—“that would gar onybody greet;” and his tears fell on the mangled
body of his little pet. “I wouldn’t have cared so much for myself,”
he said, “if he had only spared my bird!” Then he told his mother all
that had happened, and he added that if Begg struck him again without a
cause, he would certainly run away. She strongly remonstrated against
this; because, being bound apprentice for six years, he must serve out
his time, come what would.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S PETS KILLED._]
On returning to the shoemaker’s shop in the afternoon, Edward was met
at the door by his master, who first shook him and then searched him.
But finding there was nothing about him, he was allowed to go to his
seat. And thus three years passed. The boy learnt something of his
trade. The man went on from bad to worse. In his drunken fits he often
abused and thrashed his apprentice. At last the climax came. One day
Edward brought three young moles to the shop. The moles were safely
ensconced in his bonnet. When Begg found the moles he killed them at
once, knocked down Edward with a last, seized him by the neck and
breast, dragged him to the door, and with a horrible imprecation threw
him into the street. Edward was a good deal hurt; but he went home,
determined that from that day he would never again serve under such a
brute.
Begg called at his mother’s next day, and ordered the boy to return to
his work. Edward refused. Begg then invoked the terrors of the law. “He
would compel Edward to fulfil his apprenticeship. He would prosecute
his father and his two sureties, and make them pay the penalty for
breaking the boy’s indenture.” This threat gave Edward’s mother a
terrible fright, especially when her boy insisted that he would not go
back. The family were left in fear and commotion for some time. But at
last, as nothing further was heard of the threatened prosecution, they
dismissed it from their minds.
[Sidenote: _WISHES TO BE A SAILOR._]
What was Edward to do next? He was thoroughly sick of his trade, and
wished to engage in some other occupation that would leave him freer
to move about. He would be a sailor! He had a great longing to see
foreign countries, and he thought that the best way of accomplishing
this object was to become a sailor. On mentioning the matter to his
parents, he was met with a determined and decided refusal. They tried
to dissuade him by various methods. “Man,” said his father to him, “do
you know that sailors have only a thin plank between them and death?
Na, na! If you’re no gaun back to Begg, you must find some other
master, and serve out your time. Bide ye at the shoemaker trade, and if
ye can make siller at it, ye can then gang and see as mony countries as
ye like!”
[Sidenote: _OFFERS HIMSELF AS CABIN BOY._]
Such was his father’s advice, but it did not suit young Edward’s views.
He wanted to be a sailor. He went down to the harbour, and visited
every ship there, in order to offer himself as a cabin boy. He asked
the captains to employ him, but in vain. At last he found one captain
willing to take him, provided he had the consent of his father. But
this he could not obtain, and therefore he gave up the idea for a time.
[Illustration: GRANDHOLM MILLS]
Then he thought of running away from home. He could not get away by
sea; he would now try what he could do by land. He had often heard
his parents talking about the Kettle, and of his uncle who had gone
in search of him to the gipsy camp. Edward thought he would like to
see this uncle. He might perhaps be able to help him to get some other
and better employment than that of shoemaking. His thoughts were very
undefined about the matter. But he certainly would not go back to work
again with Charlie Begg, the drunken shoemaker.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] The Auld Brig is also called the Brig o’ Balgownie. Byron, who
lived for some years at Aberdeen in his boyhood, says—“The Brig of Don,
near the ‘auld toun’ of Aberdeen, with its one arch and its black deep
salmon stream, is in my memory as yesterday. I still remember the awful
proverb which made me pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a
childish delight—being an only son, at least by the mother’s side—
‘Brig o’ Balgownie, wight (strong) is thy wa’;
Wi’ a wife’s ae son on a mear’s ae foal
Down thou shalt fa’.’“
[18] Called also the English Mocking Bird, and the Scottish Nightingale.
CHAPTER IV.
_RUNS AWAY FROM HOME._
AT last Edward determined to run away from home, and from Charlie
Begg’s cruelty, and to visit his wonderful uncle at the Kettle. The
village is situated nearly in the centre of the county of Fife,—about
a hundred miles from Aberdeen. Edward did not know a step of the road;
but he would try and do his best to reach the far-off place.
The first thing that he wanted was money. All his earnings had gone
into the family purse, and were used for family expenses. One day, when
his mother had gone out, leaving Edward to rock the cradle, he went
to look at the money box, and found only a solitary sixpence in it.
He wanted sevenpence in all,—that is, a penny to get across Montrose
bridge, and sixpence to cross the Tay at Dundee. He took the sixpence
from the box, and fancied that he might be able to raise another penny
by selling his knife. He took two quarters of oat-cakes, put some
oatmeal into a parcel, and bundling his things together, and giving the
cradle a final and heavy rock, he left the house, and got away unseen.
[Sidenote: _JOURNEY TO THE KETTLE._]
He ran up Deeside until he came to a high bank, near where the
Allanvale cemetery now stands. He went in amongst the bushes, took off
his working duds and put his Sunday clothes on; then, tying the former
in a bundle, he dug a hole amongst the sand and shingle, and thrust
them in, stamping upon them to press them down. He covered up the
whole with grass, leaves, and shingle. Putting his stockings and shoes
together, and swinging them over his shoulder, he set out barefoot for
Kettle. He thought he might be able to accomplish the journey in about
two days.
Away he sped. Time was precious. The way was long, and his provender
was small. He had only sixpence. He soon tried to raise the other
penny. He met with two herd boys and a girl. He said to the boys,
“Will ye buy a knife? I’ll give it you cheap.” “No.” He passed through
Stonehaven, about sixteen miles from Aberdeen, and up a steep brae on
to Bervie.
[Sidenote: _DUNNOTTAR CASTLE._]
Edward was not much influenced by the scenery through which he passed.
He was anxious to push on without loss of time. But one thing he could
not help seeing, and that was the ruins of Dunnottar Castle. They lay
on his left hand, on a lofty rock-bound cliff, betwixt him and the sea.
They seemed to be of great extent, but he could not turn aside to visit
the ruins. They reminded him, however, of the numerous stories he had
heard about them at home,—of the Covenanters who had been thrust into
the Whigs’ Vault at Dunnottar, where many of them died,—of others
who had tried to escape, and been battered to pieces against the
rocks, while attempting to descend to the seashore,—and of the Regalia
of Scotland, which had been concealed there during the wars of the
Commonwealth. Thoughts of these things helped him on his way; but the
constant thought that recurred to him was, how he could sell his knife
and raise the other penny.
[Illustration: RUINS OF DUNNOTTAR CASTLE.]
As he was approaching Bervie, he met some lads on the road, and asked
them “Will you buy a knife?” “Where did you steal it?” said the lads.
Off went Edward, followed by a volley of stones. He walked on for a
long time, until he got hot and tired. By that time he had walked about
twenty-five miles. Then he sat down by the side of a spring to eat his
oatmeal, and swallow it down with water.
After resting himself for a time, he started up and set off at full
speed for Montrose. On his way he saw numerous things that he would
have liked to take with him, and numerous woods that he would have gone
into and searched with right good will; but the thought of the journey
before him put all other things aside. Kettle was still a long way off;
and besides, he still wanted the additional pontage penny, in order to
cross Montrose Bridge. He went on and overtook a girl. He asked her if
she would buy a knife. “No!”
[Sidenote: _ENCOUNTER WITH TRAMPS._]
He next overtook a man and woman with a lot of bairns. They looked
rather suspicious. He tried to avoid them, and walked faster, but the
man addressed him: “Stop a minute, laddie; ye’re in an awfy hurry!”
“Yes,” said Edward, “I am in a hurry.” “But have ye ony baccy?” “No, I
have no baccy.” “Try if he has ony clink,” said the woman. “Have ye ony
brass?” “No.” “Take him, ye sheep,” said the woman to her husband, “and
squeeze him.” Tom, on hearing this, immediately betook himself to his
heels, and being a good runner, soon left them far behind.
[Sidenote: _MONTROSE._]
At length he reached Montrose. Seeing some boys gazing in at a shop
window, he went up to them and asked if they would buy a knife. “No!”
Edward thought he would never get rid of his knife. He must raise a
penny to get over Montrose bridge, and yet he had nothing but his knife
to sell. He could not break into his sixpence. Then he bethought him
of offering the knife to the bridge-keeper, and if he refused to buy
it, he would try and run the blockade. He went up to the bridge, looked
at the entrance, and felt that he could not run across with success.
He went away from the bridge, and determined again to sell his knife.
Walking up the river, he came to some men working at a large building.
He asked if any of them wanted a knife. After a little bargaining, one
of the men said he would give a penny for it. Edward was delighted.
He rushed back to the bridge, gave the bridge-keeper the penny, and
crossed in double quick time on his way to Arbroath.
[Illustration: DISTANT VIEW OF MONTROSE.]
[Sidenote: _SLEEPS IN A HAYCOCK._]
It was now getting dark. He had walked all day, and was now very
tired. He was desirous of putting up somewhere for the night. But
first he must have his supper. He sat down by a little rill, and, with
the help of the water, ate some more of his meal and a piece of his
oat-cake. After he had refreshed himself, he thought he could walk a
few more miles. He had now walked forty miles. The twilight being long
in the north, and the month being July, he went on until he came to
what he thought would be a good beild[19] for the night. This was a
field in which there were a number of haycocks. He crossed the wall,
went up to a haycock, pulled a lot of hay out, then ensconced himself
inside, and soon fell fast asleep.
Towards morning he was wakened up by something scratching at his brow.
On putting his hand up he found it was a big black beetle trying to
work its way in between his skin and his bonnet. He wished he had had
his box with him to preserve the beetle, but he could only throw it
away. As he lay awake he heard the mice squeaking about him. It was
still dark, though there was a glimmering of light in the east. Day
was about to break. So he got out of his hole, shook the hay from him,
crossed the wall, and resumed his journey.
Though he felt stiff at first, he soon recovered his walking powers,
and reached Arbroath by daylight. Everybody was in bed, excepting one
woman, whom he saw standing at the end of a close-mouth. He went up to
her and asked, “which was the road to Dundee.” When she began to speak,
he saw that she was either drunk, or daft, or something worse. He went
away, walked through several other streets, but found no one astir. The
town was asleep. Then he sat down on a doorstep and ate some of his
cake. He was just beginning to fall asleep, when some men who passed
woke him up. They told him the road to Dundee, and he instantly set off
in that direction.
As he went on his way, he came up to a man who was tramping along like
himself. He belonged to Dundee, was a weaver by trade, and had been
travelling through the country in search of work. The man asked Edward
where he had come from, whither he was going, where he had slept, and
what money he had to carry him to the end of his journey. On hearing
that he had only enough to carry him across the ferry at Dundee, the
weaver gave him a penny, saying that he would have given him more, but
that the penny was all the change he had.
[Sidenote: _THE SAILORS’ WIVES._]
Shortly after, they overtook two women, who turned out to be two
sailors’ wives. They had come from Aberdeen. The ship in which their
husbands sailed, had been chartered to Dundee, and would not enter
the port of Aberdeen for some time; hence the journey of the wives to
Dundee. The weaver, on hearing where they came from, pointed to his
little companion, and said, “Here’s a laddie that comes frae the same
place, and as his wallet’s no very weel filled, perhaps ye might gie
him a copper or two.” One of the women looked hard at Edward, and
said, “I’ve surely seen ye before, laddie. Did ye ever frequent the
fishmarket i’ the Shipraw?” “Yes.” “And ye had sometimes tame rottens
wi’ ye?” “Yes.” “Ah! I thocht sae. I used to help my mother wi’ her
fish, and was sure that I had seen ye i’ the market.”
They then asked him where he was going? “Till the Kettle,” he said.
“Till the—what did ye say, laddie?” “The Kettle!” How they laughed!
They had never heard of such a place before. But when their laughter
had settled down, they gave the boy twopence; and as they parted, one
of the women said, “Tak’ care o’ yer feet, laddie, when ye step intil
the Kettle.”
[Sidenote: _DUNDEE._]
On reaching Dundee, Edward crossed the Firth of Tay by the ferry-boat,
and reached Newport, in the county of Fife. From thence he walked
on to Cupar. He was very much bewildered by the manner in which the
people told him the direction of the roads. They told him to go south
or north, or east or west. He had no idea of these geographical
descriptions. One man told him to “gang east a bit, then turn south,
syne haud wast.”
He went in the direction indicated, but he could proceed no farther.
He sat down on a stone at the side of the road, and fell fast asleep.
A gentleman passing in a gig, called out to him, “Boy! boy! get up!
don’t lie sleeping in the sun there; it’s very dangerous!” On wakening
up he was much dazed, and he did not at first remember where he was.
When he finally got up, he asked the gentleman the road to Cupar. On
being properly directed, he set off again.
[Sidenote: _THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE._]
The road along which he passed lay for some time through a wood.
Among the various birds which he saw and heard, he observed a group
of little round birds not much bigger than a hazel nut, with very
long tails. They squeaked like mice, and hung to and went round about
the slenderest twigs. He had never seen such little birds before. He
did not know their names, but he afterwards found that they were the
Long-tailed Titmouse. The little things were the young brood of the
parent bird, which was, no doubt, hanging or flying somewhere near them.
Edward went into the wood to see them and follow them. As he passed
along he was called to from behind, and a man came up and seized him
by the collar. The man, doubtless a keeper, roughly asked him where
he was going. “Naewhere!” “What are you doing here then?” “Naething!”
“What’s that in your bundle?” “My stockings and shoes.” “Let me see.”
His bundle was then overhauled, and nothing being found in it but his
stockings and shoes, he was allowed to depart, with the injunction
“never to return there again unless he wished to be sent to jail.”
[Sidenote: _ARRIVES AT THE KETTLE._]
After walking a few miles he reached Cupar, and, passing through it,
went on towards Kettle. Coming to a small burn he washed and dried his
feet, and put on his stockings and shoes, rubbing the dust from off his
clothes preparatory to arriving at his destination. He reached Kettle
in the evening, and soon found his uncle. But the reception he met with
did not at all meet his expectations. It was anything but cordial.
After some inquiries, the uncle came to the conclusion that the boy had
done some mischief, and had run away from his parents to hide himself
in the Kettle. He could not believe that the boy had come so far merely
to see him. The old man’s relations were all dead, or had removed from
the place. He was merely lodging with a friend. The house in which he
lodged was full, and there was no spare bed for Edward. At length the
woman of the house said that she would make up a bed for him in the
place where she kept her firewood.
When the boy had got his supper he was asked if he could read. “A
little.” The Bible was got, and he was asked to read two chapters. He
was next asked if he could sing. “No.” He was then told that he might
go to bed. The bed was soft and sweet to the tired boy. As he went to
sleep he heard the people of the house reading the Bible and singing a
psalm.
He slept very sound, and would have slept much longer, but for his
being wakened up next morning for breakfast. The rain fell very heavily
that day. The boy began to feel very weary and lonesome, and wished
again to be at home. He had taken no thought until now, of the results
of his leaving so suddenly. He thought of what his father and mother
might think of his disappearance. He wondered whether he might now get
away to sea.
[Sidenote: _RETURNS HOME._]
But how was he to get home? He had now only a poor halfpenny left.
However, he had still a gully; perhaps he might be able to sell that.
After considering the matter, he resolved to set out for Aberdeen,
rather than be a burden to the people at the Kettle. He told his uncle
that he would leave next day. The uncle said nothing. The boy was up
early next morning, got his breakfast, and also a big piece of bread,
which he put in his bundle. His uncle accompanied him a little way
along the road, and at parting gave him eighteenpence. Edward was
overjoyed. He would now be able to get home with money in his pocket.
As he approached Newport he came up to three men standing on the road.
Two of them were gentlemen, and the third seemed to be a gamekeeper.
He was showing them something which he had shot in the adjoining wood.
Edward went forward, and saw that it was a bird with blue wings and
a large variegated head. “What do you want?” said the gamekeeper to
Edward. “To have a sight of the bird, if you please.” “There, then,”
said the gamekeeper, and swung the bird in his face, nearly blinding
him. When the water was out of his eyes, and he could see, he found
that they had gone along the road. He followed them, still expecting
to see the bird, and to have it in his hand; but the gamekeeper was
relentless.
[Sidenote: _ADVENTURE WITH A BULL._]
At length he reached the pier, just as the ferry-boat was reaching
the landing-place. He had another pleasant voyage across the ferry to
Dundee. His object now was to push on to the field where he had slept
amongst the hay. He arrived at the place, but there were no haycocks.
The field was cleared. He found some whins in the neighbourhood, and
went in amongst them and slept there until the sun was well up the
sky. He started up, and went rejoicing on his way. He passed through
Arbroath, and was speeding on briskly to Montrose, when he came up to
a man standing in the middle of the road, holding a bull by a rope.
He asked the boy if he would hold the bull for a few minutes until he
went to a house, which he pointed to, near at hand. “I will give you
something if you do,” said the man. “Yes, I will,” said Edward, “if
you’ll not be long.” “No,” said the man, “I’ll not be long.”
On getting hold of the rope Edward found that he was likely to have
a difficult job. Scarcely had the man disappeared ere the bull began
to snort, and kick, and jump. The brute threw up its head and bounded
backward with such force, that the boy was nearly upset. Instead of
holding the rope short as he had been told, he let it go, though he
still held by it at the far end. Away went the bull along the road,
dragging the boy after him. So long as the full stretch of rope lay
between them, Edward did not care so much; but when the animal rushed
into a field of corn, he let go altogether, and resumed his journey.
He had not gone far before he found, on looking back, that he was hotly
pursued by the animal. Observing his danger, Edward rushed into a clump
of trees standing by the roadside, and, throwing down his bundle, he
proceeded to climb one of them. He had only ascended a few yards when
the brute came up. The bull snorted and smelt at his bundle, threw it
into the ditch with his horns, bellowed at the boy up the tree, gave
a tremendous roar, then dashed out of the wood, and set off at full
speed down the nearest byway. Edward was flurried and out of breath;
he rested in the tree for a short time, then descended and ran along
the road for some miles until he thought that he was out of reach of
further danger.
[Sidenote: _RESTS NEAR STONEHAVEN._]
This was the only adventure that he met with on his homeward journey.
He passed through Bervie without molestation. But, instead of reaching
Aberdeen that night, as he had intended, he rested near Stonehaven.
He went through the town, and got into a corner of the toll-bar dyke,
where he sat or lay until daybreak. He then got up and commenced the
last stage of his journey.
[Sidenote: _ARRIVES AT ABERDEEN._]
On reaching the neighbourhood of Aberdeen, he went to the hole in the
bank by Deeside, where he had left his week-day clothes, and found them
all right. But before going home, instead of going down Deeside, he
turned up by Scraphards to look at a laverock’s nest, which was still
there. Then he went past Ferryhill House, by Dee village, and struck
the water-side by the path now known as Affleck Street, and got home at
breakfast time, after an absence of a week.
His mother was in. “Where ha’e ye been now, ye vagaboon?” “At my
uncle’s.” “Where?” “At the Kettle.” “And ha’e ye been a’ the way to
Fife, ye vagrant?” Tom then told his story; his mother following it up
with a long and serious lecture. She reproached him for the dishonesty
which he had committed, in taking the sixpence out of the box when he
went away. “Weel, mother,” said he, “here’s the sixpence for the one
I took.” He had saved the sixpence out of the eighteenpence his uncle
had given him when he left Kettle. “No,” she replied, “the crime is the
same after all, and you are sure to be punished for it yet.”
Then she urged him to go back to his trade, for he was far better at
work than stravaigin[20] about the country like an evil-doer. Edward
asked if his father would not consent now to his going to sea. She did
not think he would; she thought that to go back to his work was the
best thing of all. She herself would not hear a word more about his
going to sea.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] _Beild_—shelter.
[20] _Stravaigin_—idle, wandering, or strolling.
CHAPTER V.
_RESUMES WORK._
INSTEAD of going directly back to his work, Edward went down to the
harbour to ascertain whether any of the captains would accept of his
services as a sailor. He went from ship to ship for three days. Some
captains were willing to take him with an indenture, which would have
to be signed by his father. Others were willing to take him without
his father’s consent; but in that case they required two sureties to
sign the indenture. These were serious obstacles—too serious to be got
over,—and on the third afternoon he left the harbour with a sorrowful
heart. There were several skippers of coasting vessels, and of lime and
coal hulks, who would have taken him for four years; but these were not
the kind of ships that he wished to sail in.
Being thus forced, though very reluctantly, to give up all thoughts of
going to sea, he now considered whether it might not be possible to
learn some other trade less hateful to him than that of a shoemaker.
But his parents would not hear of any change. They told him that his
former master was willing to take him back, and to give him a shilling
a week more during the ensuing year, and two shillings more during
his last, or fifth year. But Edward strongly objected to return to the
master who had so cruelly used him.
[Sidenote: _RESUMES SHOEMAKING._]
Not wishing, however, to withstand his parents’ advice any longer, he
at last consented to go on with his trade. But, instead of serving out
his time with his former master, he found a pupil-master in Shoe Lane,
who was willing to employ him, and to improve him in his business.
Edward agreed to give the master, for his trouble, a percentage of his
earnings, besides his pupil-money, and a share of the fire and light.
Edward’s work at this place was mostly of the lighter and smaller sort.
His employer was of a much kindlier nature than the last, and he got
on very well with him. Edward was also in a measure his own master.
He could still look after his bird-nesting. That was his strongest
attraction out of doors. He did not rob the birds of their eggs. His
principal pleasure was to search for their nests, and to visit them
from time to time. When the eggs were hatched, and the little birds
were grown and ready to fly, he would take one or two, if they were
singing birds, and rear them for himself, or for other bird-fanciers.
[Sidenote: _WILD BOTANICAL GARDEN._]
It was about this time that Edward began what he called his Wild
Botanical Garden. His parents had left the Green and removed to another
quarter of the town. Behind the house, and behind the adjoining houses,
was a piece of waste ground about ten feet wide. It was covered with
stones, bits of bricks, and broken tiles. Edward removed these from
the ground, and put them in a corner by themselves, covering them with
earth. He dug over the ground, manured it, and turned it over again.
Then he divided the space into compartments for the reception of plants
and flowers. These were brought from the fields, the woods, and the
banks adjoining the Dee and the Don. He watered and tended them daily;
but alas! they would not flourish as they had done on their native
soil. He renewed them again and again. The rasp, the wild strawberry,
the foxglove,—or dead men’s bells as it is there called,—the hemlock,
some of the ferns, and many of the grasses, grew pretty well; but the
prettiest and most delicate field flowers died away one by one.
His mother, who delighted in flowers, advised him to turn the ground
into an ordinary garden. Now, although Edward loved garden flowers, he
very much preferred those which he found in the woods or growing by
the wayside, and which he had known from his infancy. Nevertheless, he
took his mother’s advice; and knowing many of the places near the town,
where the gardeners threw out their rubbish, he went and gathered from
thence a number of roots, flowers, and plants, which he brought home
and planted in his garden. The greater number of them grew very well,
and in course of time he had a pleasant little garden. He never planted
more than one specimen of each flower, so that his garden was various
in its beauty. The neighbours, who had at first sneered at him as a
fool, on seeing his pretty garden, began to whisper that the “loon” was
surely a genius, and that it was a pity that his father had not made
him a gardener instead of a shoemaker. Edward himself often wished that
his parents had been of the same mind as the neighbours.
Near the back of the house in which Edward lived, was an old tannery,
with a number of disused tanning pits, full of water. These, he
thought, would be a nice place for storing his powets and puddocks.[21]
He got a large pail, went to a place where these creatures abounded,
and brought back a large cargo, heaving them into the pit. But they did
not thrive. They nearly all died. He next put about thirty newts there,
but he never saw them again, dead or alive. At last he gave up this
undertaking.
[Sidenote: _THE PICTURE SHOPS._]
About the same time, he used to make a tour among the booksellers of
the town, to inspect the pictures which they had in their windows.
These visits proved a source of great profit and pleasure to him. He
learned something from the pictures, and especially from the pictures
of animals. He found that there was more to be gained from a visit to
the picture shops than from a visit to the public-house. When he saw a
book that he could buy, he bought it, though his means were still very
small.
[Illustration: CASTLEGATE ON FRIDAYS.]
[Sidenote: _THE CASTLEGATE._]
It was in this way that he became acquainted with the _Penny Magazine_.
He bought the first number,[22] and liked it so well that he continued
to take it. He especially liked those parts of it which related to
natural history. Among the other publications which he bought, was one
called the _Weekly Visitor_. It cost only a halfpenny. It had good
pictures, and gave excellent stories, which were usually of a religious
tendency. He read this little publication over and over again. Nor did
he ever lose the opportunity of going to the Castlegate on Fridays, to
see the pictures and picture books, which were usually exposed for
sale on market days.
[Sidenote: _THE GUNMAKERS’ WINDOWS._]
The gunmakers’ windows were also a source of attraction, for they often
had stuffed birds exhibited in them. There was also a window devoted
entirely to stuffed birds near the entrance to the police office in
Watch Lane, and another in Meal Market Lane, both of which attracted
a large share of his attention. The sight of these things first gave
Edward the idea of preserving animals. The first beast he stuffed was a
mole, and he was very proud of it.
The shoemaking trade having become very flat, Edward left Shoe Lane
after having been there for about twenty months. He then went to work
at a shop on the Lime Quay, near the harbour. He had steady work there
for some time, at set wages. Though he had less time to attend to his
natural history pursuits, he still managed to attend to his garden and
his “family,” as his mother termed his maingie[23] of beasts. Trade
again recovering, he went back to work at the old place. But this did
not continue long. The men had to be paid off; and then Edward did not
know what to do.
[Sidenote: _TRIES TO EMIGRATE._]
At that time, emigration to America was the rage. Trade was very
depressed throughout the country. There were bread riots in many of
the manufacturing towns. Numbers of labourers were without work, and
without the means of living. Aberdeen shared in the general depression;
and many persons emigrated to the United States, where there was a
better demand for labour. Edward wished to emigrate too; but he had no
money. He had only a few shillings to spare. But might he not contrive
to emigrate as a Stowaway?
This course is frequently adopted at the ports from which ships sail
for America. A boy gets on board, conceals himself in the hold, and
after the ship has got out of sight of land he makes his appearance on
deck, usually half-starved. Edward determined to try this method of
escaping from Aberdeen, and more especially from his shoemaking trade.
He knew one of the sailors on board the ship which he had selected;
and although the sailor was strongly opposed to the project, Edward
prevailed upon him to make an opening in the cargo, so as to admit him
into a hole near the bow of the ship. Here, amidst some boxes and coils
of rope, Edward deposited three dozen biscuits and two bottles of water.
He waited outside, hovering about the quay, until the day of sailing
arrived. But the ship did not sail until five days after the advertised
time. When the emigrants went on board, Edward went with them. For
three days and nights he lay amongst the coils of rope, feeding upon
his biscuits and water. On the forenoon of the fifth day he was in
his berth; and just as the vessel was about to be loosed from her
moorings, Edward’s friend came along the hold in breathless haste, and
inquired (for he was in the dark) “if he was there.” “Surely,” replied
Edward. “For the love of God,” said the sailor, “come out at once, and
get on shore. You have time yet. Simon Grant (the town’s officer) and
a lot of his sharks have come, and they are about to rummage the ship
from stem to stern for runaways. So make haste, and come out; you have
no chance now!”
Edward still delayed. He did not like to leave his hole. But hearing an
unusual commotion going on, amidst a great deal of angry speaking, and
fearing the worst, he at last very unwillingly crept from his berth,
went on deck, and leapt on shore just as the ship was leaving the quay.
He afterwards learnt that the town’s officer was in search of another
class of stowaways, who, it seems, had been carried on board in boxes
or barrels. Edward found that he could not see the world after this
method; and he returned home defeated and mortified.
[Sidenote: _ABERDEENSHIRE MILITIA._]
The Aberdeenshire Militia having been called out in 1831, Edward
enlisted in the regiment. He was only about eighteen years old at the
time. When the men assembled, they were found to be a very bad lot—mere
riff-raff—the dregs of the neighbourhood. They were regardless both of
law and order. Seldom a night passed without the patrol bringing in
numbers to the guardhouse for being drunk and disorderly. Even during
parade, many of the men were put under arrest for insubordination,
chiefly because of the insulting language they used towards their
officers.
[Sidenote: _FLIES AFTER A BUTTERFLY._]
The militia were only embodied for four weeks. During the first
fortnight, the regiment was drilled without arms of any sort. It was
only during the last fortnight that the men were provided with muskets
and bayonets. The company to which Edward belonged was drilling one day
on the links. It was a bright sunny afternoon. The company was marching
along near the lower part of the links, when a large brown butterfly
flitted past. Edward saw it in an instant. He had never seen the like
of that butterfly before![24] Without thinking for a moment of what
he was doing, he flew after it,—among the bents and sand hillocks,
grasping after it with his hand.
“A very hunter did he rush
Upon the prey: with leaps and springs
He followed on from brake to bush.”
[Sidenote: _IS APPREHENDED._]
The butterfly eluded him; it flew away before him. Again he rushed
after it, losing his bonnet in the hunt. He was nearing the spot where
it had alighted. He would catch it now,—when suddenly he was gripped by
the neck! He looked round, and saw it was the corporal of his company,
with four militiamen behind him.
Looking Edward sternly in the face, the corporal said, “What’s up,
Edward?” “Nothing.” “The deuce!” “No, it wasn’t that, it was a
splendid butterfly.” “A butter-devil!” “No! it was a butter-_fly_!”
“Stuff!” said the corporal; “are you mad?” “No; I don’t think I am.”
“You look like a madman; and I’ll tell you what it is, you’ll have to
pay for this.” “For what?” “For breaking away from the ranks during
drill. I am sent to arrest you and take you to the guardhouse: so come
along!” And away they marched; two militiamen before, two behind, and
Edward and the corporal in the centre. By this time a number of persons
had collected, the younger people calling out to their companions to
come and see the mad militiaman.
On crossing the links, the prisoner and his escort encountered one
of the officers of the regiment, accompanied by a group of ladies.
“Where are you going with that boy?” said the officer, addressing the
corporal. “To the guardhouse!” “What? more insubordination?” “Yes!”
“This is most dreadful; what has he done?” “He broke the ranks during
drill, and although Sergeant Forbes called him back, he ran away after
what he calls a butterfly!” There was a short silence, after which
the ladies were observed tittering and laughing. “What did you say,
corporal?” “He ran out of the ranks after a butterfly.” “What? ran
away from his exercise for the sake of an insect! Most extraordinary.
Is he mad, corporal?” “Well, the sergeant thinks so; and that’s the
reason why I have got four men to help me to take him; but I don’t
think that he’s mad.” “He must be drunk then?” “No, I don’t think he’s
drunk either.” “He must be either mad or drunk: did he ever behave so
before?” “No, not to my knowledge.”
The officer and the ladies retired, and talked together. After
about five minutes had elapsed, the officer returned and said to
the corporal, “Are you quite sure that the prisoner behaved himself
properly before his ridiculous chase after the butterfly?” “I know of
nothing whatever against him, sir.” “Call him forward.” Edward advanced
towards the officer. “Well, sir, what have you to say about breaking
the ranks during drill, and running after the butterfly? are you
subject to fits of insanity?” Edward did not reply. “Can’t you speak,
sir?” cried the officer angrily. “Yes, sir,” replied Edward, “but you
have asked questions that I cannot answer.” “What induced you to leave
the ranks, and run after a harmless insect?” “I really do not know,
unless it was from a desire to possess the butterfly.”
[Sidenote: _HIS LIBERATION._]
Looks were exchanged between the officer and corporal, when the former,
calling Edward aside, said to him, “I dare say, young man, you are
not aware that the crime which you have committed against military
discipline is a very severe one. This constant disobedience to orders
must be put a stop to. But as this is your first offence, and as these
ladies have interceded for you, I shall endeavour to obtain your
acquittal, in the hope that you will closely attend to your duty in
future.” Addressing the corporal, he added, “Take him back to the
ranks, and tell Sergeant Forbes that I will speak to him about this
affair.” This was Edward’s first and last military offence; and he
served out the rest of his time with attention and diligence.
[Sidenote: _ENLISTS IN THE RIFLES._]
Edward disliked returning to his trade. His aversion to it was greater
even than before. He disliked the wages, which were low; but he still
more disliked the manner in which the masters treated their men. They
sometimes kept them idle for days, and towards the end of the week,
they would force them to work night and day in order to finish their
jobs. Edward liked his militia life much better; and, in order to get
rid of the shoemaking and continue his soldier’s life, he enlisted in
the 60th Rifles. When his mother heard of the decision he had come to,
she expressed herself as strongly opposed to it; and, working upon
the young man’s feelings, which were none of the hardest, he at last
promised not to go, and arrangements were made to get him off. Thus
ended Edward’s military career.
Before he left Aberdeen, he assisted his father as beadle (or
pew-opener) in the North Church, King Street. He continued in this
office for about two years. He liked the occupation very well, and was
sorry to leave it when he finally left Aberdeen to settle at Banff.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Tadpoles and frogs.
[22] The _Penny Magazine_ was published in 1832, when Edward would be
about eighteen years old.
[23] _Maingie_—many—“a great lot.” From the German word _Menge_.
[24] It proved to be a _Brown Fritillery_.
CHAPTER VI.
_SETTLES AT BANFF._
EDWARD was about twenty years old when he left Aberdeen, and went to
Banff to work at his trade. He found a master there willing to employ
him. Shoemaking had not improved. Men worked long hours for little
wages. The hardest worker could only earn a scanty livelihood. Though
paid by the piece, the journeymen worked in the employers’ shops.
Their hours were from six in the morning till nine at night. They had
scarcely an interval of time that they could call their own.
Edward found the confinement more miserable than the wages. And yet
he contrived to find some time to follow his bent. He went after
birds, and insects, and butterflies. He annoyed his shopmates almost
as much as he had annoyed his schoolfellows. In summer time, he
collected a number of caterpillars, and put them in a box beside him
in the workshop, for the purpose of watching them, and observing their
development into the chrysalis state.
In spite of his care, some of the caterpillars got out, and wandered
about the floor, sometimes creeping up the men’s legs. Some of
the workmen did not care, but one of them was almost thrown into
convulsions when he knew that a “worm was out.” The other men played
tricks upon him. When any of them wanted a scene, they merely said,
“Geordie, there’s a lad oot!” Then Geordie would jump to his feet, and
would not sit down again until he was assured that all the worms were
fast in their boxes.
Edward was forced to keep his caterpillars in the workshop, as the
landlady with whom he lodged would not allow any of his “vermin,” as
she called them, to enter her house. He had one day taken in about a
dozen caterpillars of the Puss Moth, and asked her for a box to hold
them in. The landlady told him at once to get out of the house with his
“beasts.” She never could understand her lodger. She could not fathom
“fat kin’ o’ a chiel he was. A’body tried to keep awa frae vermin but
himsel’!”
[Sidenote: _MARRIES A HUNTLY LASS._]
The idea again recurred to Edward of saving money enough to enable him
to emigrate to the United States. But this was prevented by his falling
in love! Man proposes: God disposes. He met with a Huntly lass at the
farm of Boyndie. He liked her, loved her, courted her, married her, and
brought her home to the house which he had provided for her in Banff.
Edward was only twenty-three years old when he brought his wife home.
Many may think that he was very imprudent in marrying so early. But
he knew nothing about Malthus on Population. He merely followed his
natural instincts. What kept him, would keep another also. It turned
out, however, that he married wisely. His marriage settled him for
life. He no longer thought of emigrating to America. Then his marriage
gave him a happy home. His wife was bright and cheerful, and was always
ready to welcome him from his wanderings. They were very poor, it is
true; but mutual affection makes up for much. Perhaps they occasionally
felt the bitterness of poverty; for Edward’s earnings did not yet
amount to more than about 9s. 6d. a week.
[Sidenote: _STUDIES NATURAL HISTORY._]
Another result of Edward’s marriage was, that it enabled him to carry
on his self-education in Natural History. While he lived in lodgings,
he had few opportunities for collecting objects. It is true, he
explored the country in the neighbourhood of Banff. He wandered along
the sands towards Whitehills, and explored the rocky cliffs between
Macduff and Gamrie. He learnt the geography of the inland country and
of the sea-coast. He knew the habitats of various birds and animals.
Some of the former he procured and stuffed; for by this time he had
acquired the art of preserving birds as well as insects. But while he
lived in lodgings he had no room for stuffed birds or preserved moths
and butterflies. It was only when he got a home of his own that he
began to make a collection of these objects.
[Sidenote: _WANT OF EDUCATION._]
It was a great disadvantage to him that his education should have been
so much neglected in his boyhood. He had, it is true, been at three
schools before he was six years old, but, as we have already seen, he
was turned away from them all because of his love of “beasts.” He had
learned comparatively little from his schoolmasters,—who knew little
themselves, and perhaps taught less. He was able to read, though with
difficulty. Arithmetic was to him a thing unknown. He had not even
learnt to write. It was scarcely possible that he could have learned
much in his boyhood, for he went to work when he was only six years old.
An attempt was made to teach him writing, whilst he was apprenticed to
Begg, the drunken shoemaker. He asked leave to attend a writing school
held in the evening. His master could not, or would not, understand the
meaning of his request. “What!” said he, “learn to write! I suppose
you will be asking to learn dancing next! What business have you with
writing? Am I to be robbed of my time to enable you to learn to write?”
Edward’s parents supported the application, and at last the master gave
his consent. But there was always some work to do, or something to
finish and carry home to the master’s customers, so that Edward rarely
attended the writing school; and at the end of the quarter, he knew
very little more of penmanship than he did at the beginning.
Edward had to begin at the beginning with everything. As we have
already said, he knew next to nothing of books. He did not possess a
single work on Natural History. He did not know the names of the birds
and animals that he caught. For many years after he had begun his
researches, his knowledge of natural objects was obtained by chance. He
knew little of the nature and habits of the creatures that he went to
seek; he scarcely knew where or how to find them. Yet his very absence
of knowledge proved a source of inexhaustible pleasure to him. All
that he learnt of the form, habits, and characteristics of birds and
animals, was obtained by his own personal observation. His knowledge
had been gathered and accumulated by himself. It was his own.
[Sidenote: _SHY AND FRIENDLESS._]
It was a misfortune to Edward that, after he had attained manhood, he
was so shy and friendless. He was as solitary as Wordsworth’s Wanderer.
He had no friend of any sort to direct him in his studies; none even to
lend him books, from which he might have obtained some assistance. He
associated very little with his fellow-workers. Shoemakers were a very
drunken lot. Edward, on the contrary, was sober and thoughtful. His
fellow shoemakers could not understand him. They thought him an odd,
wandering, unsettled creature. Why should he not, as they did, enjoy
himself at the public house? Instead of doing this, Edward plodded
homewards so soon as his day’s work was over.
[Sidenote: _A LOVER OF NATURE._]
There was, however, one advantage which Edward possessed, and it
compensated him for many difficulties. He was an intense lover of
Nature. Everything that lived and breathed had charms for him. He loved
the fields, the woods, the moors. The living presence of the earth was
always about him, and he eagerly drank in its spirit. The bubbling
brooks, the whispering trees, the aspects of the clouds, the driving
wind, were all sources of delight. He felt himself free amidst the
liberty of Nature.
The ocean in its devious humours,—sometimes peacefully slumbering,
or laving the sands with murmuring kisses at his feet; then, full of
life and motion, carrying in and out the fishermen’s boats along the
shores of the Firth; or, roaring with seeming agony, dashing itself
in spray against the rockbound coast,—these sights and scenes were
always a source of wonderment. As his wanderings were almost invariably
conducted at night, he had abundant opportunities of seeing, not only
the ocean, but the heavens, in their various aspects. What were these
stars so far off in the sky? Were they worlds? Were they but the
outposts of the earth, from which other worlds were to be seen, far
beyond the ken of the most powerful telescope?
To use Edward’s own words, “I can never succeed in describing my
unbounded admiration of the works of the Almighty; not only the
wonderful works which we ourselves see upon earth, but those wondrous
and countless millions of orbs which roll, both near and far, in the
endless immensity of space—the Home of Eternity.
“Every living thing that moves or lives, everything that grows,
everything created or formed by the hand or the will of the Omnipotent,
has such a fascinating charm for me, and sends such a thrill of
pleasure through my whole frame, that to describe my feelings is
utterly impossible.”
Another advantage which Edward possessed, besides his intense love of
Nature, was his invincible determination. Whatever object in Natural
History he desired to possess, if it were possible to obtain it, he
never rested until he had succeeded. He sometimes lost for a time
the object of which he was in search, because he wished to observe
its traits and habits. For this purpose, he would observe long and
carefully, before obtaining possession of it. By this means he was
enabled to secure an amount of information in Natural History, such as
no book, except the book of Nature, could have supplied him with.
[Sidenote: _MAKES A COLLECTION._]
Edward proceeded to make a collection of natural objects early in the
spring of 1838. He was then twenty-four years old, and had been married
about a year. He had, a short time before, bought an old gun for four
and sixpence; but it was so rickety that he had to tie the barrel to
the stock with a piece of thick twine. He carried his powder in a horn,
and measured out his charges with the bowl of a tobacco-pipe. His shot
was contained in a brown paper bag. A few insect bottles of middling
size, some boxes for containing moths and butterflies, and a botanical
book for putting his plants in, constituted his equipment.
As he did not cease shoemaking until nine at night, nearly all his
researches were made after that hour. He had to be back to his work in
the morning at six. His wages were so small, that he could not venture
to abridge his working hours. It was indispensably necessary for him
to husband carefully both his time and his money, so as to make the
most of the one and the best of the other. And in order the better to
accomplish this, he resolved never to spend a moment idly, nor a penny
uselessly.
[Sidenote: _HIS EQUIPMENT._]
On returning home from his work at night, his usual course was to equip
himself with his insect boxes and bottles, his botanical book and his
gun; and to set out with his supper in his hand or stowed away in his
pocket. The nearest spring furnished him with sufficient drink. So long
as it was light, he scoured the country, looking for moths, or beetles,
or plants, or birds, or any living thing that came in his way.
[Sidenote: _HIS WORK AT NIGHT._]
When it became so dark that he could no longer observe, he dropped down
by the side of a bank, or a bush, or a tree, whichever came handiest,
and there he dozed or slept until the light returned. Then he got up,
and again began his observations, which he continued until the time
arrived when he had to return to his daily labour. It was no unusual
circumstance for him—when he had wandered too far, and come upon
some more than usually attractive spot—to strip himself of his gear,
gun and all, which he would hide in some hole; and thus lightened of
everything, except his specimens, take to his heels and run at the top
of his speed, in order to be at his work at the proper time.
On Saturdays he could only make his observations late at night. He must
be home by twelve o’clock. Sabbath-breaking is an intolerable sin in
Scotland, and Edward was never a Sabbath-breaker. It was a good thing
for his mental and physical health that there was a seventh day during
which he could not and would not work. But for his seventh day’s rest,
he would have worked night and day. On Sundays he went to church with
his wife and family. After evening service he took off his best clothes
and donned his working dress. Then he took a few hours’ sleep in his
chair or lying across his bed, before setting out. He thus contrived to
secure a few hours’ observation on Monday mornings before six o’clock.
His neighbours used to say of him, “It is a stormy night that keeps
that man Edward in the house.” In fact, his neighbours were completely
bewildered about his doings. They gave vent to all sorts of surmises
about his wanderings by night. Exaggerated rumours spread about amongst
the town’s people. He went with a gun! Surely he couldn’t be a poacher
or a burglar? That was impossible. It was well known that he lived
soberly and honestly, denying himself many things, and never repining
at his lot, though living a life of hardship. But what could he mean
by wandering about at night amongst wild, lonely, and ghost-haunted
places? They wouldn’t have slept in Boyndie churchyard for worlds! And
yet that was one of Edward’s favourite spots!
[Sidenote: _HIS AMBUSCADES._]
He went out in fine starlit nights, in moonlight nights, and in cold
and drizzling nights. Weather never daunted him. When it rained, he
would look out for a hole in a bank, and thrust himself into it, feet
foremost. He kept his head and his gun out, watching and waiting for
any casualties that might happen. He knew of two such holes, both in
sandbanks and both in woods, which he occasionally frequented. They
were foxes’ or badgers’ dens. If any of these gentry were inside
when he took up his position, they did not venture to disturb him.
If they were out they did the same, except on one occasion, when a
badger endeavoured to dislodge him, showing his teeth. He was obliged
to shoot it. He could often have shot deers and hares, which came
close up to where he was; but they were forbidden animals, and he
resisted the temptation. He shot owls and polecats from his ambuscades.
Numbers of moths came dancing about him, and many of these he secured
and boxed,—sending them to their long sleep with a little drop of
chloroform. When it rained heavily, he drew in his head and his gun,
and slept until the first streaks of light appeared on the horizon; and
then he came out of his hole and proceeded with his operations.
[Sidenote: _DISAGREEABLE VISITORS._]
At other times he would take up his quarters for the night in some
disused buildings—in a barn, a ruined castle, or a churchyard. He
usually obtained better shelter in such places than if he were seated
by the side of a stone, a bush, or a wall. His principal objection
to them was, that he had a greater number of visitors there than
elsewhere,—such as polecats, weasels, bats, rats, and mice, not to
speak of hosts of night-wandering insects, such as molluscs, beetles,
slaters, and centipedes. Think of having a polecat or a weasel
sniff-sniffing at your face while asleep! Or two or three big rats
tug-tugging at your pockets, and attempting to steal away your larder.
These visitors, however, did not always prove an annoyance. On the
contrary, they sometimes proved a windfall; for, when they came within
reach, they were suddenly seized, examined, and, if found necessary,
killed, stuffed, and added to the collection.
The coldest places in which Edward slept at night, were among the rocks
by the seaside, on the shingle, or on the sea-braes along the coast.
When exposed to the east wind, these sleeping-places were perishingly
cold. When he went inland he could obtain better shelter. In summer
time, especially, he would lie down on the grass and sleep soundly,
with the lock of his gun for his pillow, and the canopy of heaven for
his blanket. His ear was always open for the sounds of Nature, and when
the lark was carolling his early hymn of praise, long before the sun
had risen, Edward would rise and watch for daybreak—
When from the naked top
Of some bold headland he beheld the sun
Rise up, and bathe the world in light.
In the course of his wanderings inland, he was frequently overtaken by
storms in the hills. He carried no cloak, nor plaid, nor umbrella, so
that he often got completely soaked before he could find shelter.
[Sidenote: _CHURCHYARD OF BOYNDIE._]
One of the most remarkable nights Edward ever spent, was under a
gravestone in the churchyard of Boyndie. The church of this parish
was at one time situated in the midst of the churchyard; but as it
was found inconvenient, and at a considerable distance from the bulk
of the parishioners, it was removed inland, leaving but a gable end
of the old church standing. The churchyard, however, is still used as
a burying-place. It stands on a high piece of ground overlooking the
sea, about two miles west of Banff. In clear days, the bold, rugged,
precipitous coast is to be seen, extending eastward as far as Crovie
Head. But the night of which we speak was very dark; the sky was
overhung with rolling clouds; the sea was moaning along the shore.
Edward expected a wild night, as he had seen the storm brewing before
he left home. Nevertheless he went out as usual.
[Sidenote: _A TERRIBLE NIGHT._]
He had always regarded a thunderstorm as one of the grandest sights. He
rejoiced in the warring of the elements by day, and also by night when
the inhabitants of the earth were wrapped in sleep. As he approached
old Boyndie, the storm burst. The clouds were ripped open, and the
zigzag lightning threw a sudden flood of light over land and sea.
Torrents of rain followed, in the midst of which Edward ran into the
churchyard and took shelter under a flat tombstone supported by four
low pillars. There was just room enough for him to lie down at full
length. The storm was not yet at its height. The thunder pealed and
crashed and rolled along the heavens, as if the universe were about to
be torn asunder, and the mighty fragments hurled out into infinity.
It became louder and louder—nearer and nearer. The lightning flashed
in red and yellowish fiery streams; each flash leaving behind it a
suffocating sulphurous odour. Then followed torrents of rain and hail
and lumps of ice.
After the thunderstorm, the wind began,—lightly at first, but,
increasing rapidly, it soon blew a hurricane. The sea rose, and lashed
its waves furiously along the coast. Although Edward had entertained no
fear of the thunder, he now began to fear lest the tremendous fury of
the wind would blow down the rickety gable end of the old church of
Boyndie; in which case it would have fallen upon the tombstone, under
which he lay.
[Illustration: BOYNDIE CHURCHYARD.]
[Sidenote: _A MYSTERY SOLVED._]
The hurricane lasted for about an hour, after which the wind fell.
Midnight was long past, and morning was approaching. Before leaving
the tombstone, Edward endeavoured to obtain a few minutes’ sleep. He
had just begun to doze, when he was awakened by a weird and unearthly
moaning. He listened. The moaning became a stifled scream. The noise
grew louder and louder, until it rose into the highest pitch of
howling. What could it be? He was in the home of the dead! Was it a
ghost? Never! His mind revolted from the wretched superstition. He
looked out to see what it could be; when something light in colour
dashed past like a flash, closely followed by another and a darker
object. After the screaming had ceased, Edward again composed himself
to sleep, when he was wakened up by a sudden rush over his legs. He
looked up. The mystery was solved! Two cats—a light and a dark one—had
been merely caterwauling in the graveyard, and making night hideous
according to their usual custom.
By this time the day was beginning to break, and Edward prepared to
leave his resting-place and resume his labours. He felt very stiff as
he crept from under the tombstone, where he had been lying in a cramped
position. He was both cold and wet; but his stiffness soon wore off;
and after some smart running in the open air, his joints became a
little more flexible; and, shortly after, he returned home.
[Sidenote: _MOTH-HUNTING._]
Edward had frequent mishaps when he went out on these nocturnal
expeditions. One summer evening he went out moth-hunting. The weather
was mild and fair; and it gave promise of an abundant “take” of
moths. He had with him his collecting-box under his arm, and a phial
of chloroform in his pocket. His beat lay in a woody dale, close by
the river’s side. He paced the narrow footpath backward and forward,
snapping at his prey as he walked along the path.
The sun went down. The mellow thrush, which had been pouring forth his
requiem to the parting day, was now silent. The lark flew to its mossy
bed, the swallow to its nest. The wood-pigeon had uttered his last coo
before settling down for the night. The hum of the bee was no longer
heard. The grasshopper had sounded his last chirp; and all seemed to
have sunk to sleep. Yet Nature is never at rest. The owl began to
utter his doleful and melancholy wail; the night-jar (_Caprimulgus
Europæus_) was still out with his spinning-wheel-like _birr_, _birr_;
and the lightsome roe, the pride of the lowland woods, was emitting his
favourite night bark.
The moths continued to appear long after the butterflies had gone to
rest. They crowded out from their sylvan homes into the moth-catcher’s
beat. These he continued to secure. A little drop of the drowsy
liquid, and the insect dropped into his box, as perfect as if still
in Nature’s hands. Thus he managed to secure a number of first-rate
specimens—amongst others, the Oak Egger moth, the Wood-Tiger moth, the
Cream-spot Tiger moth, the Bee-Hawk moth, the beautiful China-mark, the
Green Silver-line, and many other specimens. He hoped to secure more;
but in the midst of his operations he was interrupted by the approach
of an extraordinary-looking creature.
[Sidenote: _TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER._]
He was stepping slowly and watchfully along his beat, crooning to
himself, “There’s nae luck aboot the house,” when, looking along the
narrow footpath, he observed something very large, and tremendously
long, coming towards him. He suddenly stopped his crooning and came
to a stand-still. What could the hideous-looking monster be? He could
not see it clearly, for it had become dark, and the moon was not yet
up. Yet there it was, drawing slowly towards him. He was totally
unarmed. He had neither his gun nor even his gully knife with him. Fear
whispered, “Fly! fly for your life!” but courage shouted, “No! no!
stand like a man and a true naturalist, and see the worst and the best
of it!” So he stood his ground.
[Sidenote: _FIGHT WITH BADGERS._]
At length the animal gradually approached him. He now observed that it
consisted of three large and full-grown badgers, each a short distance
behind the other, the foremost being only about sixteen yards from
where he stood. He had for some time been on the look-out for a badger
to add to his collection, and now he hoped to be able to secure one.
He rushed forward; the badgers suddenly turned and made for the river
alongside of which his beat had extended. He wrapped a handkerchief
round his hand to prevent the animals biting him, threw off his hat,
and bolted after the badgers. He was gaining on them rapidly, and as he
came up with the last, which was bolting down into the river, he gave
it a tremendous kick; but, in doing so, he fell suddenly flat on his
back in the midst of the path. When he came to himself he began to feel
if his legs were broken, or if his head were still on. Yes, all was
right; but, on searching, he found a tremendous bump upon the back of
his head, as big as a turkey’s egg.
Such was the end of his night’s moth-hunting. But his head was so full
of badgers, and he was so confused with his fall, that when he reached
home and went to sleep, he got up shortly afterwards, loaded his gun
for the purpose of shooting a badger, and, as he was in the act of
putting a cap on the nipple, he suddenly awoke!
CHAPTER VII.
_NIGHT WANDERERS._
ALTHOUGH it is comparatively easy to observe the habits of animals by
day, it is much more difficult to do so at night. Edward, as we have
already said, was compelled by circumstances to work at shoemaking by
day, and to work at Natural History by night.
“It would have been much easier work for me,” said Edward, in answer
to an inquiry made as to his nocturnal observations, “had it been my
good fortune to possess but a single trustworthy book on the subject,
or even a single friend who could have told me anything about such
matters. But I had neither book nor friend. I was in a far worse
predicament than the young and intending communicants at the parish
church of Boyndie were, who, when asked a question by the good and
pious minister, and returning no answer, were told that they were
shockingly in the dark—all in the dark together. Now, they had a light
beside them, for they had their teacher in their midst. But I had no
light whatever, and no instructor. It was doubly dark with me. It was
decidedly the very blackness of darkness in my case. The only spark
or glimmer I had was from within. It proceeded from the never-ceasing
craving I had for more knowledge of the works of Nature. This was the
only faintest twinkle I had to lighten up my path, even in the darkest
night. And that little twinkle, together with my own never-flagging
perseverance, like a good and earnest pilot, steered me steadily and
unflinchingly onward.”
[Sidenote: _MIDNIGHT ROAMERS._]
Although Edward was frequently out in winter-time, especially in
moonlight, his principal night-work occurred between spring and
autumn. The stillest and quietest, and usually the darkest part of
the night—unless when the moon was up—was from about an hour after
sunset until about an hour before sunrise. Yet, during that sombre
time, when not asleep, he seldom failed to hear the sounds or voices,
near or at a distance, of midnight wanderers prowling about. In the
course of a few years he learnt to know all the beasts and birds of
the district frequented by him. He knew the former by their noises and
gruntings, and the latter by the sound of their wings when flying. When
a feathered wanderer flew by, he could tell its call-note at once,
and often the family as well as the species to which it belonged. But
although he contrived to make himself acquainted with the objects of
many of these midnight cries and noises, others cost him a great deal
of time and labour, as well as some dexterous manœuvring.
The sounds of the midnight roamers, as well as the appearance of the
birds and animals, were invariably more numerous during the earlier
part of the year. In the spring and early part of summer they were
always the most lively. Towards the end of summer the sounds became
fewer and less animated; and the animals themselves did not appear
so frequently. Woods were the principal lodging-places of birds and
animals. There were fewer in the fields; still fewer among the rocks
or shingle by the sea-shore, except in winter; and in the hills, the
fewest of all.
[Sidenote: _THE ROE-DEER AND HARE._]
When he made his first night expeditions to the inland country, the
hoarse-like _bark_ of the Roe-deer, and the timid-like _bleak-bleak_ of
the Hare, puzzled him very much. He attributed these noises to other
animals, before he was able by careful observation to attribute them
to their true sources. Although the deer wanders about at all hours
of the night, occasionally grunting or barking, it does not usually
feed at that time. The hare, on the other hand, feeds even during the
darkest nights, and in spring and the early part of summer it utters
its low cry of _bleak-bleak_. This cry is very different from that
which it utters when snared or half-shot. Its cry for help is then most
soul-pitying: it is like the tremulous voice of an infant, even to the
quivering of its little innocent lips.
While Edward found that the deer and the hare were among the animals
that wandered about a good deal in the dark, he did not find that the
Rabbit was a night-roamer, although he occasionally saw it moving
about by moonlight. He often watched the rabbits going into their
burrows at sunset; and he also observed them emerging from them a
little before sunrise. But there was one thing about the rabbit that
perplexed and puzzled him. It did not emit any cry, such as the hare
does; but he often heard the rabbit _tap-tap_ in a particular manner.
How was this noise caused? He endeavoured to ascertain the cause by
close observation.
[Sidenote: _THE RABBIT._]
Early one morning, when he was lying under a whin bush, about twenty
yards from the foot of a sandy knoll, where there were plenty of
rabbits’ holes, he was startled by hearing a loud tap-tapping almost
close to where he lay! The streaks of day were just beginning to
appear. Parting the bush gently aside, and looking through it, he
observed a rabbit thud-thudding its hind feet upon the ground close to
the mouth of another rabbit’s hole.
Edward continued to watch the rabbit. After he had finished his tapping
at the first hole, he went along the hillock and began tap-tapping at
another. He went on again. He would smell the ground about the hole
first, and would sometimes pass without tapping. At last he got to a
hole where his progress was stopped. After he had given only two or
three thuds, out rushed a full-grown rabbit, and flew at the disturber
of the peace. He rushed at him with such fury that they both rolled
headlong down hill, until they reached the bottom.
[Sidenote: _A RABBIT-FIGHT._]
There they had a rare set-to—a regular rabbit-fight. Rabbits are fools
at fighting. Their object seems to be to leap over each other, and to
kick the back of their enemy’s head as they fly over; each trying to
jump the highest, and to kick the hardest. It is a matter of jumping
and kicking. Yet rabbits have an immense power in their hinder feet.
They often knock each other down by this method of fighting. They also
occasionally fight like rams—knocking their heads hard together. Then
they reel and tumble, until they recover, and are at it again, until
one or the other succumbs.
Edward is of opinion that the method pursued by the male rabbits,
of tapping in front of their neighbours’ holes, is to attract the
attention of the females. When the male comes out, instead of the
female, a fight occurs, such as that above described. At other times,
the rabbit that taps is joined by other rabbits from the holes, and a
friendly conference takes place. But, besides this loud beating with
their heels, the rabbits possess another method of communicating with
their fellows. They produce a sound like _tap-pat!_ which is the sign
of danger. Edward often saw numbers of them frisking and gambling
merrily about the mouths of their burrows, but when the sound of
_tap-pat_ was heard, the whole of the rabbits, young and old, rushed
immediately to their holes.
[Sidenote: _THE FOX._]
Amongst the true night-roamers are the fox, the otter, the badger,
the polecat, the stoat, the weasel, the hedgehog, the rat, and almost
the whole family of mice. These are, for the most part, nocturnal
in their habits. No matter how dark or tempestuous the night, they
are constantly prowling about. Even at the sea-shore,—the otter, the
weasel, and the mice, often paid Edward a visit. When on the hills or
moors, he often saw the weasel, and sometimes the fox; but the fields
and the sides of woods were the places where they were most frequently
met with. All these animals, like the deer and hare, have their
peculiar and individual calls, which they utter at night.
Thus the Fox may be known by his _bark_, which resembles that of a
poodle dog, with a little of the yelp in it; and he repeats this at
intervals varying from about six to eighteen minutes between each. When
suddenly surprised, the fox gives vent to a sharp harsh-like growl, and
shows and snaps his teeth. “I once,” says Edward, “put my walking-staff
into the mouth of a fox just roused from his lair—for foxes do not
always live in holes—to see how the fellow would act. He worried the
stick and took it away with him. I have, on three different occasions,
come upon two foxes occupying the same lair at the same time—twice on
the cliffs by the sea, and once among the bushes in an old and disused
quarry. In one instance I came upon them in mid-winter, and in the
other two cases during summer.”
[Sidenote: _CRIES OF NIGHT-ROAMERS._]
The Badger utters a kind of snarling _grunt_. This is done in quick
succession. Then he is silent for a short time, and again he begins in
the same strain. The Otter, and most of the other night-roamers, have
a sort of _squeak_, which they utter occasionally. But though there
is a difference between them, which Edward could distinguish, it is
very difficult to describe it in words. Their screams, however, differ
widely from their ordinary call. The scream is the result of alarm or
pain, perhaps of a sudden wound; the call is their nightly greeting
when they hold friendly converse with each other; but the difference
in the screams can only be learnt by the ear, and can scarcely be
described by words.
The Field Mice—the “wee timorous beasties” of Burns—besides their
squeaking, lilt a low and not unmusical ditty for hours together.
Edward often heard them about him, sometimes quite near him, sometimes
beneath his head. He occasionally tried to clutch them, but on opening
his hand he found it filled with grass, moss, or leaves. The result of
his observations was, that several, if not the whole of the mouse race,
are possessed, more or less, of the gift of singing.
The otter, polecat, stoat, and weasel, have a knack of _blowing_ or
_hizzing_ when suddenly come upon, or when placed at bay. The three
latter stand up on their hind feet in a menacing attitude. Sometimes
they suddenly dart forward and give battle when they see no other
way of escape. This is especially the case with the females when they
have their young about them. Edward once saw a weasel, after hiding
her family amongst a cairn of stones, ascend to the top, and muttering
something all the while, by her threatening attitude and fierce showing
of her teeth, dared any one to approach her under penalty of immediate
attack.
[Sidenote: _IMPERTINENCE OF WEASELS._]
A bite of a weasel, or polecat, or badger, or otter, is anything but
agreeable. The bites of the weasel and the polecat are the worst.
There seems to be some poison in their bites, for the part bitten
soon becomes inflamed, and the bite is long in healing. The whole of
this group of animals are of the same bold, fearless, and impetuous
disposition. They are also remarkably impertinent and aggressive, not
hesitating to attack man himself, especially when they see him showing
the slightest symptoms of cowardice. Take the following illustrations,
communicated by Edward himself:—
[Sidenote: _ATTACK BY A WEASEL._]
“Returning one morning from an excursion in the Buchan district, when
between Fraserburgh and Pennan, I felt so completely exhausted by
fatigue, want of sleep, and want of food (for my haversack had become
exhausted), that I went into a field near the road, lay down by a
dyke-side, and fell fast asleep. I had not slept long, however, when
I was awakened by something cold pressing in betwixt my forehead and
the edge of my hat. There were some small birds in my hat which I
had shot, and they were wrapped in wadding. On putting up my hand to
ascertain the meaning, I got hold of a Weasel, which had been trying
to force its way in to the birds. I threw him away to some distance
amongst the grass, and went to sleep again. The fellow came back in a
few minutes, and began the same trick. I gripped him hard this time,
and tossed him across the dyke[25] into another field, but not before
he had bitten my hands. I began to close my eyes once more, when again
the prowler approached. At last, despairing of peace, I left the spot
where I had been seated, and went into a small plantation about a
hundred yards off, and now, I thought, I would surely get a nap in
comfort. But the weasel would not be refused. He had followed in my
track. I had scarcely closed my eyes before he was at me again. He was
trying to get into my hat. I awoke and shoved him off. Again he tried
it, and again he escaped. By this time I was thoroughly awake. I was a
good deal nettled at the pertinacity of the brute, and yet could not
help admiring his perseverance. But, thinking it was now high time to
put an end to the game, instead of falling asleep, I kept watch. Back
he came, nothing daunted by his previous repulses. I suffered him to go
on with his operations until I found my hat about to roll off. I then
throttled, and eventually strangled, the audacious little creature,
though my hand was again bitten severely. After getting a few winks of
sleep, I was again able to resume my journey.”
Edward was once attacked by two pertinacious Rats in a similar manner.
He was making an excursion between Banff and Aberdeen, and had got
to a place near Slains Castle, beyond Peterhead. It had been raining
all day. It was now growing dark; and he looked about for a place to
sleep in. He observed a dilapidated building, which looked like the
ruins of a threshing-mill, as it stood near a farm-steading. He entered
the place, and found only a small part of the roof still standing. It
was, however, sufficient to protect him from the rain, which was still
falling. There was a pile of stones and rubbish immediately under the
roof, and having gathered together as much dry grass as he could find,
and spread it on the stones, he lay down in a reclining position. In
this position he soon fell fast asleep.
[Sidenote: _A BAD NIGHT’S SLEEP._]
How long he had slept he did not know; but he was awakened by a
quivering sort of motion about his head. He at first thought it was
caused by the sinking of the stones, and that his head was going down
with them. He sat bolt upright, clutched his gun and wallet to save
them, and felt the stones with his hands to ascertain whether they had
sunk or not. They were quite undisturbed. He again lay down, thinking
that he had only been dreaming. But before he could fall asleep, the
movement under his head again commenced. Thinking it might be a
weasel, and not wishing for his company, he moved to one side, adjusted
his bedding, moved the grass, and prepared to lie down again.
[Sidenote: _PERTINACIOUS RATS._]
His sleep this time was of very short duration, for the tug-tugging
again commenced. He now raised his hand, at the same time that he
opened his eyes, and seized hold, not of a weasel, but of a rat. He
threw him away, thinking that that would be enough. Being assured that
there were no weasels there—for rats and weasels never associate—he now
thought he should be able to get a little sleep. He had no idea that
the rat would return.
But in this he was disappointed. He was just beginning to sleep when
he heard the rat again. He looked up, and found that two rats were
approaching him. So long as there were only two, he knew he could
manage them. He allowed them to climb up the stones and smell all about
him. One of them mounted his face, and sat upon it. They next proceeded
to his wallet, and endeavoured to pull it from under his head. They had
almost succeeded in doing so, when he laid hold of his wallet and drove
them off.
Being now in a sort of fossilised state from wet and cold, Edward did
not attempt to sleep again, but rose up from his bed of stones, secured
all his things, and marched away to recover his animal heat and resume
his explorations.
[Sidenote: _THE OTTER._]
Speaking of the Otter as a night-roamer, Edward observes:—“I am not
aware who first burlesqued the Otter as an amphibious animal. He must
have known very little of the animal’s true habits, and nothing at all
of its anatomical structure. The error thus promulgated seems to have
taken deep root. That the Otter is aquatic in habits is well known.
He goes into the water to fish, but he is forced to come up again to
breathe. In fact, a very small portion of the Otter’s life is spent
in the water. There are many birds that are far more aquatic than the
Otter. There are some, indeed, that never leave the water night nor
day; yet no one calls them amphibious birds. I have seen the Otter, in
his free, unfettered, and unmolested condition, both in the sea and
the river, go into the water, and disappear many a time, and I have
often watched for his reappearance. The longest time that he remained
under water was from three to four minutes; the usual time was from
two to three minutes. I have also watched numbers of water birds, who
have also to descend for their food, and I must say that the greater
number of them exceed the Otter in the time that they remain below
water. Some of them remain double the time. I once saw a Great Northern
Diver remain below water more than nine minutes. A porpoise that I
once watched, remained down about ten minutes; and so on with other
sea-birds and animals.”
Many of these night-roaming animals—such as the weasel, rat, badger,
otter, and polecat—are seen during the day; but these may only be
regarded as stray individuals, their principal feeding time being at
night. The rat may forage in the daytime, and the weasel is sometimes
to be seen hunting when the sun is high. But there was one circumstance
in connection with the manners and habits of these creatures which
surprised Edward not a little, which was,—that although he very seldom
saw any of them in the evening, or until after it was dark,—he never
missed seeing them in the morning, and sometimes after it had become
daylight. The same remark is, in a measure, applicable to many of the
night insects, to land crustaceans, beetles, many of the larger moths,
sandhoppers, and slaters.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF THE BOYNE.]
[Sidenote: _THE FUMART._]
One of the most severe encounters that Edward ever had with a nocturnal
roamer was with a Polecat or Fumart[26] in the ruined castle of the
Boyne. The polecat is of the same family as the weasel, but it is
longer, bigger, and stronger. It is called Fumart because of the fœtid
odour which it emits when irritated or attacked. It is an extremely
destructive brute, especially in the poultry-yard, where it kills far
more than it eats. Its principal luxury seems to be to drink the blood
and suck the brains of the animals it kills. It destroys everything
that the gamekeeper wishes to preserve. Hence the destructive war that
is so constantly waged against the polecat.
[Sidenote: _BOYNE CASTLE._]
The ruined castle of the Boyne, about five miles west of Banff, was
one of Edward’s favourite night haunts. The ruins occupy the level
summit of a precipitous bank forming the eastern side of a ravine,
through which the little river Boyne flows. One of the vaults, level
with the ground, is used as a sheltering place for cattle. Here Edward
often took refuge during rain, or while the night was too dark to
observe. The cattle soon got used to him. When the weather was dry,
and the animals fed or slept outside, Edward had the vault to himself.
On such occasions he was visited by rats, rabbits, owls, weasels,
polecats, and other animals.
One night, as he was lying upon a stone, dozing or sleeping, he was
awakened by something pat-patting against his legs. He thought it must
be a rabbit or a rat, as he knew that they were about the place. He
only moved his legs a little, so as to drive the creature away. But the
animal would not go. Then he raised himself up, and away it went; but
the night was so dark that he did not see what the animal was. Down
he went again to try and get a sleep; but before a few minutes had
elapsed, he felt the same pat-patting; on this occasion it was higher
up his body. He now swept his hand across his breast, and thrust the
intruder off. The animal shrieked as it fell to the ground. Edward knew
the shriek at once. It was a Polecat.
[Sidenote: _WAITS FOR THE POLECAT._]
He shifted his position a little, so as to be opposite the doorway,
where he could see his antagonist betwixt him and the sky. He also
turned upon his side in order to have more freedom to act. He had in
one of his breast pockets a water-hen which he had shot that evening;
and he had no doubt that this was the bait which attracted the polecat.
He buttoned up his coat to his chin, so as to prevent the bird from
being carried away by force. He was now ready for whatever might
happen. Edward must tell the rest of the story in his own words:—
“Well, just as I hoped and expected, in about twenty minutes I observed
the fellow entering the vault, looking straight in my direction. He was
very cautious at first. He halted, and looked behind him. He turned
a little, and looked out. I could easily have shot him now, but that
would have spoilt the sport; besides, I never wasted my powder and
shot upon anything that I could take with my hands. Having stood for
a few seconds, he slowly advanced, keeping his nose on the ground. On
he came. He put his fore-feet on my legs, and stared me full in the
face for about a minute. I wondered what he would do next,—whether
he would come nearer or go away. When satisfied with his look at my
face, he dropped his feet and ran out of the vault. I was a good
deal disappointed; and I feared that my look had frightened him. By
no means. I was soon reassured by hearing the well-known and ominous
_squeak-squeak_ of the tribe. It occurred to me that I was about to be
assaulted by a legion of polecats, and that it might be best to beat a
retreat.
[Sidenote: _FIGHT WITH THE POLECAT._]
“I was just in the act of rising, when I saw my adversary once more
make his appearance at the entrance. He seemed to be alone. I slipped
quietly down again to my former position, and waited his attack. After
a rather slow and protracted march, in the course of which he several
times turned his head towards the door—a manœuvre which I did not at
all like—he at last approached me. He at once leapt upon me, and looked
back towards the entrance. I lifted my head, and he looked full in my
face. Then he leapt down, and ran to the entrance once more, and gave a
_squeak_. No answer. He returned, and leapt upon me again. He was now
in a better position than before, but not sufficiently far up for my
purpose. Down went his nose, and up, up he crawled over my body towards
the bird in my breast pocket. His head was low down, so that I couldn’t
seize him.
“I lay as still as death; but, being forced to breathe, the movement
of my chest made the brute raise his head, and at that moment I gript
him by the throat! I sprang instantly to my feet, and held on. But I
actually thought that he would have torn my hands to pieces with his
claws. I endeavoured to get him turned round, so as to get my hand to
the back of his neck. Even then, I had enough to do to hold him fast.
How he screamed and yelled! What an unearthly noise in the dead of
night! The vault rung with his howlings! And then what an awful stench
he emitted during his struggles! The very jackdaws in the upper stories
of the castle began to _caw!_ Still I kept my hold. But I could not
prevent his yelling at the top of his voice. Although I gripped and
squeezed with all my might and main, I could not choke him.
[Sidenote: _THE POLECAT CHLOROFORMED._]
“Then I bethought me of another way of dealing with the brute. I had
in my pocket about an ounce of chloroform, which I used for capturing
insects. I took the bottle out, undid the cork, and thrust the ounce of
chloroform down the fumart’s throat. It acted as a sleeping draught. He
gradually lessened his struggles. Then I laid him down upon a stone,
and, pressing the iron heel of my boot upon his neck, I dislocated
his spine, and he struggled no more. I was quite exhausted when the
struggle was over. The fight must have lasted nearly two hours. It
was the most terrible encounter that I ever had with an animal of his
class. My hands were very much bitten and scratched; and they long
continued inflamed and sore. But the prey I had captured was well
worth the struggle. He was a large and powerful animal—a male; and I
desired to have him as a match for a female which I had captured some
time before. He was all the more valuable, as I succeeded in taking him
without the slightest injury to his skin.”[27]
The Birds that roam at night are more easily described. Although the
Bat comes out pretty early in the evenings, it is not on night insects
that he chiefly feeds. It is rather on the day insects which have not
yet gone home to their rest. The bat flies mostly at twilight, and
inhabits ruins and buildings as well as hollow trees in the woods.
[Sidenote: _THE LONG-EARED OWL._]
The Owl is a nocturnal bird of prey. It flits by, as the twilight
deepens into night, and hoots or howls in hollow and lugubrious tones.
Though Edward was by no means given to fear, he was once scared at
midnight by the screech of a Long-eared owl (_Strix otus_). It was
only about the third or fourth night that he had gone out in search
of specimens. When he began his night-work, he was sometimes a little
squeamish; but, as he became accustomed to it, he slept quite as
soundly out of doors as in bed. He was as fearless by night as by day.
No thought of ghosts, hobgoblins, water-kelpies, brownies, fairies,
or the other supposed spirits of darkness, ever daunted him. But, on
this particular night, he had one of the most alarming and fearful
awakenings that he had ever experienced.
There had been a fearful thunderstorm, during which he had taken
shelter in a hole in the woods of Mountcoffer. He had fallen asleep
with his head upon the lock of his gun. Before he entered the burrow,
he had caught a field-mouse, which he wished to take home alive. He
therefore tied a string round its tail, attaching the other end of the
string (which was about six feet long) to his waistcoat. The little
fellow had thus the liberty of the length of his tether.
[Sidenote: _THE OWL’S SCREECHES._]
While Edward was sleeping soundly, he was awakened by something
tug-tugging at his waistcoat; and then by hearing a terrific series
of yells, mingled with screeches, close at his head. He was confused
and bewildered at first, and did not know where he was, or what the
dreadful noises meant. Recovering his recollection, and opening his
eyes, he looked about him. He remembered the mouse, and pulled back the
string to which it had been attached. The mouse was gone. Nothing but
the skin of its tail remained. He looked up, and saw an Owl sitting on
a tree a few yards off. He had doubtless begun to scream when he found
that his capture of the mouse was resisted by the string attached to
its tail. Edward emerged a little from his burrow, and drew out his
gun for the purpose of shooting the owl; but, before he could do this,
the owl had taken to his wings and fled away with his booty.
Besides the Long-eared owl, Edward also met with the Brown owl,—the
only two species that he met with in his district, or of which he can
speak from personal observation. Both of these owls uttered a _too-hoo_
when sinking down upon their prey; and, after they had secured it, they
would fly away without any further noise; but, if obstructed, they
would both set up a loud screech. Edward had many opportunities of
witnessing this trait in their characters. The best instance occurred
in the wood of Backlaw.
[Sidenote: _AN ORCHESTRA DISTURBED._]
“Near the centre of this wood,” he observes, “and not far from the
farm of the same name, there is a small piece of stagnant water. I was
reclining against a tree one night, listening to a reptilian choir—a
concert of frogs. It was delicious to hear the musicians endeavouring
to excel each other in their strains, and to exhibit their wonderful
vocal powers. The defect of the concert was the want of time. Each
individual performer endeavoured to get as much above the concert
pitch as possible. It was a most beautiful night,—for there are
beautiful nights as well as days in the north,—and I am certain that
these creatures were enjoying its beauty as much as myself. Presently,
when the whole of the vocalists had reached their highest notes,
they became hushed in an instant. I was amazed at this, and began to
wonder at the sudden termination of the concert. But, looking about, I
observed a Brown Owl drop down, with the silence of death, on to the
top of a low dyke close by the orchestra.
[Sidenote: _THE BROWN OWL._]
“He sat there for nearly half an hour, during which there was perfect
silence. The owl himself remained quite motionless, for I watched him
all the time. Then I saw the owl give a hitch, and move his head a
little to one side. He instantly darted down amongst the grass and
rushes, after which he rose with something dangling from his claws.
It was a frog: I saw it quite distinctly. He flew up to a tree behind
the one against which I was leaning. I turned round a little, and
looked up to see how the owl would proceed with his quarry; whether he
would tear him in pieces, or gobble him up whole. In this, however,
I was disappointed. Although I moved very quietly, the quick eye
or ear of the owl detected me, and I was at once greeted with his
_hoolie-gool-oo-oo_ as loud as he could scream. I might have shot him;
but my stock of powder and lead was very low, and I refrained. Besides,
he soon put it out of my power by taking wing and flying off with his
prey.”
[Sidenote: _NIGHT BIRDS._]
There were two other birds which Edward often observed prowling about
in the twilight in search of food,—namely, the Kestrel and Merlin. On
one occasion he shot a specimen of the latter, when it was so dark
that he could scarcely see it. He did not know that it was a hawk. He
thought it was a goatsucker by its flight. Many of the birds of prey
roamed about by night as well as by day. The harsh _scream_ of the
heron, the _quack_ of the wild duck, the _piping_ of the kittyneedy
(common sandpiper), the _birbeck_ of the muirfowl, the _wail_ of the
plover, the _curlee_ of the curlew, and the _boom_ of the snipe, were
often heard at night, in the regions frequented by these birds. Then
again, by the sea-side, he would hear by night the shrill _piping_
of the redshank and ring-dotterel, and the _pleck-pleck_ of the
oyster-catcher, as they came down from their breeding-grounds to the
shore, to feed or to hold their conclaves.
The Coot and Water-hen sometimes get very noisy after sunset. The
Landrail _craiks_ the whole night through, until some time after
the sun rises. The Partridge too either moves about or is on the
alert during spring and summer, as may be known by its often
repeated _twirr-twirr_. “The only bird we have here,” says Edward,
“that attempts to give music at the dead hours of night, is the
Sedge-warbler. It appears to be possessed of the gift of song during
the night as well as the day, and it is by no means niggardly in
exercising its vocal powers.
“Well do I remember,” he continues, “how the little mill-worker, of
scarcely ten years of age, was struck with admiration and almost
bewildered with delight, at the first of this species he had ever
heard exhibiting its mimicking powers; whereas now, I considered this
to be neither more nor less than the bird’s own natural melody. And if
there be any change in the delight with which I hear the Sedge-warbler,
although I have now turned the corner of ten times six, and have become
an old cobbler instead of a juvenile factory operative, yet when I hear
the little songster, I drink in the pleasure with even greater delight
than I did in those long-past years.”
[Sidenote: _THE ROOK._]
The Rook, too, is in a measure nocturnal in his habits during a certain
term of the year, especially when building his nest or when bringing
up his progeny. From the time when the foundation of the nest has been
laid, to the end of the matrimonial proceedings for the year, and
until the last chick has left the nest, the rookery is in a state of
continual _caw-cawing_ from morning till night. As the young brood of
rooks grow up, their appetites increase, and hence the incessant labour
of their parents in scouring the country for worms and grubs to furnish
them with their late supper or their early morning breakfast.
“I once,” says Edward, “during one of my country excursions, slept
beside a very large rookery in the woods of Forglen. Slept? no, I
could not sleep! I never was in the midst of such a hideous bedlam of
cawings. I positively do not believe that a single member of that black
fraternity slept during the whole of that night. At least I didn’t. If
the hubbub slackened for a moment, it was only renewed with redoubled
vehemence and energy. I found the rookery in the evening in the wildest
uproar, and I left it in the morning in the same uproarious condition.
I took good care never to make my bed so near a rookery again. Still,
in all justice, I must give the rook the very first and highest
character for attention to its young. It is first out in the morning to
search for food, and the last to provide for its family at night. The
starling is very dutiful in that way; but the rook beats him hollow.”
[Sidenote: _THE SONGSTERS AT NIGHT._]
“As a rule,” says Edward, “so far as I have been able to observe, the
Skylark is the first songster in the morning, and the Corn-bunting the
last at night. It was no uncommon thing to hear the lark carolling
his early hymn of praise high up in the heavens, before there was any
appearance of light, or before I thought of rising to recommence my
labours. Nor was it unusual to hear the bunting stringing together
his few and humble notes into an evening song long after sunset, and
after I had been compelled to succumb from want of light to pursue my
researches. So far as I can remember, I do not think that I have heard
the Skylark sing after sundown.
[Sidenote: _MORNING SERVICE OF SONG._]
“Amongst the sylvan choristers, the Blackbird is the foremost in
wakening the grove to melody, and he is also among the latest to retire
at night. As soon as the first streaks of grey begin to tinge the
sky, and break in through the branches amidst which he nestles, the
Blackbird is up, and from the topmost bough of the tree he salutes the
newborn day. And when all the rest of the birds have ended their daily
service of song and retired to rest, he still continues to tune his
mellow throat, until darkness has fairly settled down upon the earth.
[Illustration: FRASERBURGH.]
“After the Skylark and Blackbird have heralded the coming day, the
Thrush rises from her couch and pours out her melodious notes. The
Chaffinch, the Willow-wren, and all the lesser songsters, then join the
choir, and swell the chorus of universal praise.”
FOOTNOTES:
[25] _Dyke_ or _dike_, in the North, means a stone or earth wall, not a
ditch, as it means in the South.
[26] _Fumart_, from _ful merde_, old French.
[27] An encounter between an eagle and a polecat in the forest of Glen
Avon, Banffshire, is thus described in the _New Statistical Account of
Scotland_. “The eagle builds its eyrie in some inaccessible rock, and
continues from year to year to hatch its young in the same spot. One
of these noble birds was killed some years ago, which measured upwards
of six feet from tip to tip of the wings. One of the keepers of the
forest being one day reclining on the side of a hill, observed an eagle
hovering about for his prey, and, darting suddenly down, it caught hold
of a polecat, with which it rose up, and flew away in the direction
of an immense cliff on the opposite hill. It had not proceeded far,
when he observed it abating its course, and descending in a spiral
direction, until it reached the ground. He was led by curiosity to
proceed towards the spot, which was about a mile distant from him, and
there he found the eagle quite dead, with its talons transfixed in the
polecat. The polecat was also dead, with its teeth fixed in the eagle’s
gullet.”
CHAPTER VIII.
_FORMS A NATURAL HISTORY COLLECTION._
BANFF was the central point of Edward’s operations. Banff is a pleasant
country town, situated on the southern shore of the Moray Firth. It
lies on a gentle slope inclining towards the sea. In front of it is the
harbour. Although improved by Telford, it is rather difficult of access
and not much frequented except during the fishing season. Westward of
Banff, a low range of hills lies along the coast. The burns of the
Boyne, Portsoy, and Cullen cross the range, and run into the sea.
The fishing town of Macduff, which may be considered the port of Banff,
lies about a mile to the eastward. To reach it, the river Deveron is
crossed by one of Smeaton’s finest bridges. The harbour of Macduff
is more capacious and more easy of entrance than that of Banff. Many
foreign vessels are to be seen there in the fishing season, for the
purpose of transporting the myriads of herrings which are daily brought
in by the fishermen.
[Sidenote: _CLIFFS OF GAMRIE._]
Eastward of Macduff, the coast becomes exceedingly rocky. The ridges
of the hills, running down towards the sea, seem to have been broken
off by the tremendous lashings of the waves at their feet, and thus
the precipitous rocks descend in
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