=The Antiquary.=
ANDREW GEMMELS.
(_Edie Ochiltree._)
ANDREW GEMMELS or GEMBLE, a wandering _blue-gown_ of the south of
Scotland, is supposed to have been the _original_ of Edie Ochiltree.
The latter, as represented in the novel, bears, it is true, a much more
amiable aspect, and exhibits greater elevation of character, than the
rude old soldier in whom the public has recognised his prototype. Yet,
as we believe there exists a considerable degree of resemblance between
them, a sketch of old Andrew, who was a very singular personage, will
not prove unsatisfactory.
Andrew Gemmels was well known over all the Border districts as a
wandering beggar, or _gaberlunzie_, for the greater part of half a
century. He had been a soldier in his youth; and the entertaining
stories which he told of his campaigns, and the adventures he had
encountered in foreign countries, united with his shrewdness, drollery,
and other agreeable qualities, rendered him a general favourite, and
secured him a cordial welcome and free quarters at every shepherd’s cot
or farm-steading that lay in the range of his extensive wanderings.
He kept a horse in his latter days; and, so doing, set the proverb at
naught. On arriving at a place of call, he usually put up his horse
in some stable or outhouse, without the ceremony of asking his host’s
permission, and then came into the house, where he stamped and swore
till room was made for him at the fireside. Andrew was not like those
degenerate modern beggars, who implore a coin as for God’s sake, and
shelter themselves in the first hole they can find open to receive
them,—but ordered and commanded, like the master himself, and only
accepted of his alms by way of obliging his friends. He presumed even
to choose his own bed, and was not pleased unless the utmost attention
was shown to his comfort. He preferred sleeping in an outhouse, and, if
possible, in any place where horses and cattle were kept. The reasons
he might be supposed to have for such a preference are obvious. In an
outhouse he was less exposed in undressing to the curious eyes of the
people, who always suspected him of having treasure concealed in his
clothes; and the company of the animals beneath his bed was preferable
to utter solitude, and, moreover, tended to keep the premises
comfortably warm. He used such art in the matters of his toilette that
no person ever saw him undressed, or made any discovery prejudicial to
his character of poverty.
Andrew was a tall, sturdy, old man, with a face in which the fierceness
and austerity of his character strove for mastery with the expression
of a shrewd and keen intellect. He was usually dressed in the blue
gown or surtout described in “The Antiquary” as the habiliment of Edie
Ochiltree, and his features were shaded with a broad slouched hat,
which had been exchanged at an earlier period for a lowland bonnet. His
feet and ankles were shod with strong iron-soled shoes and _gamashins_,
or _stocking-boots_. He always carried a stout walking-staff, which was
nearly as tall as himself, that is to say, not much less than six feet.
“Though free and unceremonious,[17] Andrew was never burdensome or
indiscreet in his visits, returning only once or twice a year, and
generally after pretty regular intervals. He evidently seemed to
prosper in his calling; for, though hung around with rags of every
shape and hue, he commonly possessed a good horse, and used to attend
the country fairs and race-courses, where he would bet and dispute
with the farmers and gentry with the most independent and resolute
pertinacity. He allowed that begging had been a good trade in his time,
but used to complain sadly that times were daily growing worse.[18]
A person remembers seeing Gemmels travelling about on a blood-mare,
with a foal after her, and a gold watch in his pocket. On one occasion,
at Rutherford in Tiviotdale, he had dropped a clue of yarn, and Mr.
Mather, his host, finding him searching for it, assisted in the search,
and, having got hold of it, persisted, notwithstanding Andrew’s
opposition, in unrolling the yarn till he came to the _kernel_, which,
much to his surprise and amusement, he found to consist of about twenty
guineas in gold.”
“My grandfather,” continues this writer, “was exceedingly fond of
Andrew’s company; and, though a devout and strict Cameronian, and
occasionally somewhat scandalized at his rough and irreverent style
of language, was nevertheless so much attracted by his conversation,
that he never failed to spend the evenings of his sojourn in listening
to his entertaining narrations and ‘auld-warld stories,’ with the old
shepherds, hinds, and children seated around them, beside the blazing
turf ingle in ‘the farmer’s ha’.’ These conversations generally took
a polemical turn, and not unfrequently ended in violent disputes—my
ancestor’s hot and impatient temper blazing forth in collision with
the dry and sarcastic humour of his ragged guest. Andrew was never
known to yield his point on these occasions; but he usually had the
address, when matters grew too serious, to give the conversation a more
pleasant turn, by some droll remark or unexpected stroke of humour,
which convulsed the rustic group, and the grave gudeman himself, with
unfailing and irresistible merriment.”
“Many curious anecdotes of Andrew’s sarcastic wit and eccentric manners
are current in the Borders. I shall for the present content myself with
one specimen, illustrative of Andrew’s resemblance to his celebrated
representative. The following is given as commonly related with much
good humour by the late Mr. Dodds of the War Office, the person to whom
it chiefly refers:—Andrew happened to be present at a fair or market
somewhere in Tiviotdale (St. Boswell’s, if I mistake not), where Dodds,
at that time a non-commissioned officer in his Majesty’s service,
happened also to be with a military party recruiting. It was some
time during the American War, when they were eagerly beating up for
fresh men—to teach passive obedience to the obdurate and ill-mannered
Columbians; and it was then the practice for recruiting sergeants after
parading for a due space, with all the warlike pageantry of drums,
trumpets, ‘glancing blades, and gay cockades,’ to declaim in heroic
strains of the delights of a soldier’s life—of glory, patriotism,
plunder—the prospect of promotion for the bold and the young, and
his Majesty’s munificent pension for the old and the wounded, etc.,
etc. Dodds, who was a man of much natural talent, and whose abilities
afterwards raised him to an honourable rank and independent fortune,
had made one of his most brilliant speeches on this occasion. A
crowd of ardent and active rustics were standing round, gaping with
admiration at the imposing mien, and kindling at the heroic eloquence
of the manly soldier, whom many of them had known a few years before
as a rude tailor boy; the sergeant himself, already leading in idea a
score of new recruits, had just concluded, in a strain of more than
usual elevation, his oration in praise of the military profession,
when Gemmels, who, in tattered guise, was standing close behind him,
reared aloft his _meal-pocks_ on the end of his _kent_ or pike-staff,
and exclaimed, with a tone and aspect of the most profound derision,
‘_Behold the end o’t!_’ The contrast was irresistible—the _beau idéal_
of Sergeant Dodds, and the ragged reality of Andrew Gemmels, were
sufficiently striking; and the former, with his red-coat followers,
beat a retreat in some confusion, amidst the loud and universal
laughter of the surrounding multitude.”
Andrew Gemmels was remarkable for being perhaps the best player at
draughts in Scotland; and in that amusement, which, we may here
observe, is remarkably well adapted for bringing out and employing
the cool, calculating, and shrewd genius of the Scottish nation, he
frequently spent the long winter nights. Many persons still exist who
were taught the mysteries of the _dambrod_[19] by him, and who were
accustomed to hold a serious contention with him every time he passed
the night in their houses. He was the preceptor of the gudewife of
Newby in Peebles-shire, the grandmother of the present narrator, whose
hospitable mansion was one of his chief resorts. In teaching her, as
he said, he had only “cut a stick to break his ain head”; for she soon
became equally expert with himself, and in the regular _set-to’s_
which took place between them, did not show either the deference
to his master-skill, or the fear of his resentment, with which he
was usually treated by more timorous competitors. He could never be
brought, however, to acknowledge heartily her rival pretensions, nor
would he, upon any account, come to such a trial as might have decided
the palm of merit either in his favour or hers. Whenever he saw the
tide of success running on her side, he got dreadfully exasperated, and
ordinarily, before the stigma of defeat could be decidedly inflicted
upon him, rose up, seized _the brod_, and threw _the men_ into the
fire,—accompanying the action with some of his most terrific and
blasphemous imprecations.
The late Lord Elibank, while living at Darnhall, once ordered one of
his cast-off suits to be given to Andrew—the which Andrew thankfully
accepted, and then took his departure. Through the course of the same
day, his lordship, in taking a ride a few miles from home, came up with
Andrew, and was not a little surprised to see him dragging the clothes
behind him along the road, “through dub and mire.” On being asked his
reason for such strange conduct, he replied that he would have “to
trail the duds that way for twa days, to mak them _fit for use_!”
In one circumstance Andrew coincides with his supposed archetype:
Andrew had been at Fontenoy, and made frequent allusions to that
disastrous field.
Andrew died in 1793, at Roxburgh-Newton, near Kelso, being, according
to his own account, 105 years of age. His wealth was the means of
enriching a nephew in Ayrshire, who is now a considerable landholder
there, and belongs to a respectable class of society.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] From the _Edinburgh Magazine_, 1817.
[18] His expression was, that “begging was a worse trade by twenty
pounds a year than when he knew it first.”
[19] This word is of Danish origin.