_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!