_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.