The folks we met were awfu' good to Mackenzie Murdoch and me while we
were on tour in yon old days. I've always liked to sit me doon, after
a show, and talk to some of those in the audience, and then it was
even easier than it is the noo. I mind the things we did! There was
the time when we must be fishermen!
It was at Castle Douglas, in the Galloway district, that the landlord
of our hotel asked us if we were fishermen. He said we should be,
since, if we were, there was a loch nearby where the sport was grand.
"Eh, Mac?" I asked him. "Are ye as good a fisherman as ye are a
gowfer?"
"Scarcely so good, Harry," he said, smiling.
"Aweel, ne'er mind that," I said. "We'll catch fish enough for our
supper, for I'm a don with a rod, as you'll see."
Noo, I believed that I was strictly veracious when I said that, even
though I think I had never held a rod in my hand. But I had seen many
a man fishing, and it had always seemed to me the easiest thing in the
world a man could do. So forth we fared together, and found the boat
the landlord had promised us, and the tackle, and the bait. I'll no
say whether we took ought else--'tis none of your affair, you'll ken!
Nor am I making confession to the wife, syne she reads all I write,
whether abody else does so or nicht.
The loch was verra beautiful. So were the fish, I'm never doubting,
but for that yell hae to do e'en as did Mac and I--tak' the landlord's
word for 't. For ne'er a one did we see, nor did we get a bite, all
that day. But it was comfortable in the air, on the bonny blue water
of the loch, and we were no sair grieved that the fish should play us
false.
Mac sat there, dreamily.
"I mind a time when I was fishing, once," he said, and named a spot he
knew I'd never seen. "Ah, man, Harry, but it was the grand day's sport
we had that day! There was an old, great trout that every fisherman in
those parts had been after for twa summers. Many had hooked him, but
he'd got clean awa'. I had no thocht of seeing him, even. But by and
by I felt a great pull on my line--and, sure enow, it was he, the big
fellow!"
"That was rare luck, Mac," I said, wondering a little. Had Mac been
overmodest, before, when he had said he was no great angler? Or was
he----? Aweel, no matter. I'll let him tell his tale.
"Man, Harry," he went on, "can ye no see the ithers? They were
excited. All offered me advice. But they never thocht that I could
land him. I didna mysel'--he was a rare fish, that yin! Three hours I
fought wi' him, Harry! But I brocht him ashore at last. And, Harry,
wad ye guess what he weighed?"
I couldna, and said so. But I was verra thochtfu'.
"Thirty-one pounds," said Mac, impressively.
"Thirty-one pounds? Did he so?" I said, duly impressed. But I was
still thochtfu', and Mac looked at me.
"Wasna he a whopper, Harry?" he asked. I think he was a wee bit
disappointed, but he had no cause--I was just thinking.
"Aye," I said. "Deed an' he was, Mac. Ye were prood, the day, were ye
no? I mind the biggest fish ever I caught. I wasna fit to speak to the
Duke o' Argyle himsel' that day!"
"How big was yours?" asked Mac, and I could see he was angry wi'
himself. Do ye mind the game the wee yins play, of noughts and
crosses? Whoever draws three noughts or three crosses in a line wins,
and sometimes it's for lettin' the other have last crack that ye lose.
Weel, it was like a child who sees he's beaten himself in that game
that Mac looked then.
"How big was mine, Mac?" I said. "Oh, no so big. Ye'd no be interested
to know, I'm thinking."
"But I am," said Mac. "I always like to hear of the luck other
fishermen ha' had."
"Aweel, yell be makin' me tell ye, I suppose," I said, as if verra
reluctantly. "But--oh, no, Mac, dinna mak' me. I'm no wantin' to hurt
yer feelings."
He laughed.
"Tell me, man," he said.
"Weel, then--twa thousand six hundred and fourteen pounds," I said.
Mac nearly fell oot o' the boat into the loch. He stared at me wi' een
like saucers.
"What sort of a fish was that, ye muckle ass?" he roared.
"Oh, just a bit whale," I said, modestly. "Nowt to boast aboot. He
gied me a battle, I'll admit, but he had nae chance frae the first----"
And then we both collapsed and began to roar wi' laughter. And we
agreed that we'd tell no fish stories to one another after that, but
only to others, and that we'd always mak' the other fellow tell the
size of his fish before we gave the weighing of ours. That's the only
safe rule for a fisherman who's telling of his catch, and there's a
tip for ye if ye like.
Still and a' we caught us no fish, and whiles we talked we'd stopped
rowing, until the boat drifted into the weeds and long grass that
filled one end of the loch. We were caught as fine as ye please, and
when we tried to push her free we lost an oar. Noo, we could not row
hame wi'oot that oar, so I reached oot wi' my rod and tried to pull it
in. I had nae sort of luck there, either, and broke the rod and fell
head first into the loch as well!
It was no sae deep, but the grass and the weeds were verra thick, and
they closed aboot me the way the arms of an octopus mich and it was
scary work gettin' free. When I did my head and shoulders showed above
the water, and that was all.
"Save me, Mac!" I cried, half in jest, half in earnest. But Mac
couldna help me. The boat had got a strong push from me when I went
over, and was ten or twelve feet awa'. Mac was tryin' to do all he
could, but ye canna do muckle wi' a flat bottomed boat when ye're but
the ane oar, and he gied up at last. Then he laughed.
"Man, Harry, but ye're a comical sicht!" he said. "Ye should appear so
and write a song to go wi' yer looks! Noo, ye'll not droon, an', as
ye're so wet already, why don't ye wade ower and get the oar while
ye're there?"
He was richt, heartless though I thought him. So I waded over to where
the oar rested on the surface of the water, as if it were grinning at
me. It was tricksy work. I didna ken hoo deep the loch micht grow to
be suddenly; sometimes there are deep holes in such places, that ye
walk into when ye're the least expecting to find one.
I was glad enough when I got back to the boat wi' the oar. I started
to climb in.
"Gie's the oar first," said Mac, cynically. "Ye micht fall in again,
Harry, and I'll just be makin' siccar that ane of us twa gets hame the
nicht!"
But I didna fall in again, and, verra wet and chilly, I was glad to do
the rowing for a bit. We did no more fishing that day, and Mac laughed
at me a good deal. But on the way hame we passed a field where some
boys were playing football, and the ball came along, unbenknownst to
either of us, and struck Mac on the nose. It set it to bleeding, and
Mac lost his temper completely and gave chase, with the blood running
down and covering his shirt.
It was my turn to laugh at him, and yell ken that I took full
advantage o't! Mac ran fast, and he caught one of the youngsters who
had kicked the ball at him and cuffed his ear. That came near to
makin' trouble, too, for the boy's father came round and threatened to
have Mac arrested. But a free seat for the show made him a friend
instead of a foe.
Speakin' o' arrests, the wonder is to me that Mac and I ever stayed
oot o' jail. Dear knows we had escapades enough that micht ha' landed
us in the lock up! There was a time, soon after the day we went
fishing, when we made friends wi' some folk who lived in a capital
house with a big fruit garden attached to it. They let us lodgings,
though it was not their habit to do so, and we were verra pleased wi'
ourselves.
We sat in the sunshine in our room, having our tea. Ootside the birds
were singing in the trees, and the air came in gently.
"Oh, it's good to be alive!" said Mac.
But I dinna ken whether it was the poetry of the day or the great
biscuit he had just spread wi' jam that moved him! At any rate there
was no doot at a' as to what moved a great wasp that flew in through
the window just then. It wanted that jam biscuit, and Mac dropped it.
But that enraged the wasp, and it stung Mac on the little finger. He
yelled. The girl who was singing in the next room stopped; the birds,
frightened, flew away. I leaped up--I wanted to help my suffering
friend.
But I got up so quickly that I upset the teapot, and the scalding tea
poured itself out all over poor Mac's legs. He screamed again, and
went tearing about the room holding his finger. I followed him, and I
had heard that one ought to do something at once if a man were
scalded, so I seized the cream jug and poured that over his legs.
But, well as I meant, Mac was angrier than ever. I chased him round
and round, seriously afraid that my friend was crazed by his
sufferings.
"Are ye no better the noo, Mac?" I asked.
That was just as our landlady and her daughter came in. I'm afraid
they heard language from Mac not fit for any woman's ears, but ye'll
admit the man was not wi'oot provocation!
"Better?" he shouted. "Ye muckle fool, you--you've ruined a brand new
pair of trousies cost me fifteen and six!"
It was amusing, but it had its serious side. We had no selections on
the violin at that night's concert, nor for several nights after, for
Mac's finger was badly swollen, and he could not use it. And for a
long time I could make him as red as a beet and as angry as I pleased
by just whispering in his ear, in the innocentest way: "Hoo's yer
pinkie the noo, Mac?"
It was at Creetown, our next stopping place, that we had an adventure
that micht weel ha' had serious results. We had a Sunday to spend, and
decided to stay there and see some of the Galloway moorlands, of which
we had all heard wondrous tales. And after our concert we were
introduced to a man who asked us if we'd no like a little fun on the
Sawbath nicht. It sounded harmless, as he put it so, and we thocht,
syne it was to be on the Sunday, it could no be so verra boisterous.
So we accepted his invitation gladly.
Next evening then, in the gloamin', he turned up at our lodgings, wi'
two dogs at his heel, a greyhound and a lurcher--a lurcher is a
coursing dog, a cross between a collie and a greyhound.
He wore dark clothes and a slouch hat. But, noo that I gied him a
closer look, I saw a shifty look in his een that I didna like. He was
a braw, big man, and fine looking enough, save for that look in his
een. But it was too late to back oot then, so we went along.
I liked well enow to hear him talk. He knew his country, and spoke
intelligently and well of the beauties of Galloway. Truly the scenery
was superb. The hills in the west were all gold and purple in the last
rays of the dying sun, and the heather was indescribably beautiful.
But by the time we reached the moorlands at the foot of the hills the
sun and the licht were clean gone awa', and the darkness was closing
down fast aboot us. We could hear the cry of the whaup, a mournful,
plaintive note; our own voices were the only other sounds that broke
the stillness. Then, suddenly, our host bent low and loosed his dogs,
after whispering to them, and they were off as silently and as swiftly
as ghosts in the heather.
We realized then what sort of fun it was we had been promised. And it
was grand sport, that hunting in the darkness, wi' the wee dogs comin'
back faithfully, noo and then, to their master, carrying a hare or a
rabbit firmly in their mouths.
"Man, Mae, but this is grand sport!" I whispered.
"Aye!" he said, and turned to the owner of the dogs.
"I envy you," he said. "It must be grand to hae a moor like this, wi'
dogs and guns."
"And the keepers," I suggested.
"Aye--there's keepers enow, and stern dells they are, too!"
Will ye no picture Mac and me, hangin' on to one anither's hands in
the darkness, and feelin' the other tremble, each guilty one o' us? So
it was poachin' we'd been, and never knowing it! I saw a licht across
the moor.
"What's yon?" I asked our host, pointing to it.
"Oh, that's a keeper's hoose," he answered, indifferently. "I expect
they'll be takin' a walk aroond verra soon, tae."
"Eh, then," I said, "would we no be doing well to be moving hameward?
If anyone comes this way I'll be breaking the mile record between here
and Creetown!"
The poacher laughed.
"Ay, maybe," he said. "But if it's old Adam Broom comes ye'll hae to
be runnin' faster than the charge o' shot he'll be peppering your
troosers wi' in the seat!"
"Eh, Harry," said Mac, "it's God's blessings ye did no put on yer kilt
the nicht!"
He seemed to think there was something funny in the situation, but I
did not, I'm telling ye.
And suddenly a grim, black figure loomed up nearby.
"We're pinched, for sure, Mac," I said.
"Eh, and if we are we are," he said, philosophically. "What's the fine
for poaching, Harry?"
We stood clutching one anither, and waitin' for the gun to speak. But
the poacher whispered.
"It's all richt," he said. "It's a farmer, and a gude friend o' mine."
So it proved. The farmer came up and greeted us, and said he'd been
having a stroll through the heather before he went to bed. I gied him
a cigar--the last I had, too, but I was too relieved to care for that.
We walked along wi' him, and bade him gude nicht at the end of the
road that led to his steading. But the poacher was not grateful, for
he sent the dogs into one of the farmer's corn fields as soon as he
was oot of our sicht.
"There's hares in there," he said, "and they're sure to come oot this
gate. You watch and nail the hares as they show."
He went in after the dogs, and Mac got a couple of stones while I made
ready to kick any animal that appeared. Soon two hares appeared,
rustling through the corn. I kicked out. I missed them, but I caught
Mac on the shins, and at the same moment he missed with his stones but
hit me instead! We both fell doon, and thocht no mair of keeping still
we were too sair hurt not to cry oot a bit and use some strong
language as well, I'm fearing. We'd forgotten, d'ye ken, that it was
the Sawbath eve!
Aweel, I staggered to my feet. Then oot came more hares and rabbits,
and after them the twa dogs in full chase. One hit me as I was getting
up and sent me rolling into the ditch full of stagnant water.
Oh, aye, it was a pleasant evening in its ending! Mac was as scared as
I by that time, and when he'd helped me from the ditch we looked
aroond for our poacher host. We were afraid to start hame alane. He
showed presently, laughing at us for two puir loons, and awfu' well
pleased with his nicht's work.
I canna say sae muckle for the twa loons! We were sorry looking
wretches. An' we were awfu' remorsefu', too, when we minded the way
we'd broken the Sawbath and a'--for a' we'd not known what was afoot
when we set out.
But it was different in the morn! Oh, aye--as it sae often is! We woke
wi' the sun streamin' in our window. Mac leaned on his hand and
sniffed, and looked at me.
"Man, Harry," said he, "d'ye smell what I smell?"
And I sniffed too. Some pleasant odor came stealing up the stairs frae
the kitchen. I leaped up.
"'Tis hare, Mac!" I cried. "Up wi' ye! Wad ye be late for the
breakfast that came nigh to getting us shot?"