_RESUMES HIS FORMER HABITS._
EDWARD had left Banff on the 31st of July 1846, full of hope; after
six weeks he returned to it, full of despair. He had gone to Aberdeen
with his collection, accompanied by his wife and family; he returned
from it alone and on foot, without a single specimen of his collection,
and without a penny in his pocket that he could call his own. He felt
ruined, disappointed, beggared,—his aims and hopes in life blasted. He
was under the necessity of leaving his wife and children at Aberdeen;
for they could not travel fifty miles to Banff on foot.
Edward felt terribly crushed on re-entering his desolate home. A
strange-like heaviness of mind came over him. The place was drear and
lonesome. It was so different from what it had once been. It was no
longer enlivened by the prattle of his children, or the pleasant looks
of his wife. There was neither fire, nor food, nor money. The walls,
which, only a few weeks before, had been covered with his treasures—the
results of the hard labour of years—were bare and destitute. The house
was desolation itself.
After remaining there for a short time, a neighbour came in, and
asked Edward to come to his house and get some food. He most gladly
assented to the proposal. He afterwards went to see his master, and
arranged with him as to the re-commencement of his work. This was
easily accomplished, as Edward was considered a Don at his trade.[34]
After this had been settled, he went to pay a short visit to a friend
at Gardenstown, until his wife and family had returned from Aberdeen.
Edward could not bear to remain in his house until they had come back.
Nor could he yet pay for their journey. But the carrier, who had taken
the collection and the family to Aberdeen, cheerfully consented to
bring the latter back free.
It was during this interval that Edward lived for a few days with his
friend, Mr. Gordon of Gardenstown. The place had long been one of
Edward’s favourite haunts. He was able, in a sort of way, to enjoy
the coast scenery, to see the busy fishermen going out to sea in the
evenings, and to listen to the noisy clamour of the sea-fowl at Gamrie
Mohr.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD RETURNS HOME._]
When Edward knew that his wife and family had reached Banff, he
returned home, and was joyfully met by his wife and bairns. Home had
already begun to look more homely. There was a fire to sit down beside,
and a family circle to converse with. Care, despondency, and despair,
had already to a certain extent been cast aside. There would yet be
peace and plenty about the fireside. Edward threw off the showman’s
garb, and donned that of the hard-working sutor.[35] Next morning he
was busy at his trade, sewing, hammering, and “skelping away at the
leather.”
[Sidenote: _BEGINS AGAIN._]
During the ensuing autumn and winter, he passed his time at his
ordinary daily work. He refrained from going out at night. He had
parted with all his objects in Natural History, and he did nothing as
yet to replace them. But his mind had been at work all the while. As
spring advanced, he found it impossible to check his ruling passion.
His day’s work done, he again started with his gun on his shoulder, his
insect boxes and appendages slung round his back, his plant case by his
side, and a host of pill boxes, small bottles, and such like, packed in
his pockets. Away he went, with heart as light as a feather, to search,
as long as light remained, for tenants of the woods, the fields, and
the sea-shore.
When daylight faded into darkness, he would sit down as usual for a
nap—it did not matter where,—by the side of a rock, on a sand-bank,
in a hole in the ground, in a dry ditch, under the cover of a bush,
behind a dyke, in a ruined castle, or by the side of a tree: it was all
the same to him. There he lay until the first peep of morning appeared,
when he started up, and was at work again. He continued, until he
thought he had just sufficient time left to get to his workshop by the
appointed hour.
[Sidenote: _HIS ZEAL REDOUBLED._]
His zeal was more than renewed. It was redoubled. He proceeded with
even greater perseverance than before. His few friends warned him in
vain. They thought he might spend his energies to some better purpose.
If their advice staggered him, it was only for an instant. “One look,”
he says, “at my cobbler’s stool, dispelled every consideration. My wish
was, at some time or other, to wrench myself free from my trade.”
He adopted the self-same plan that he had formerly employed. As soon as
his day’s work was over, he started on his nightly expedition. During
five months of the year he slept out,—excepting on Saturday and Sunday
nights, or when the weather was stormy. To his former equipment he
added a small trowel for digging up plants and grubs, and a hammer for
splitting fossils or chipping off parts of any rock that he might wish
to preserve.
[Sidenote: _HIS PARAPHERNALIA._]
At first he used chip-boxes, to carry the insects which he collected
during his tours; but he found them such a worry that he was obliged to
use something else. He once bought so many chip-boxes from a druggist,
that he refused to sell him any more until his stock was replenished.
Edward carried in them slugs, caterpillars, snails, worms, spiders,
shells, various sorts of insects, eggs of small birds, and every other
little nick-nack that he wished to preserve. Here is his description of
his hunting paraphernalia:—
“My coat had eight pockets, four outside and four inside. The two lower
inside ones were ‘meal-pocks’ for size. My waistcoat, too, had four
rather big receptacles: the term ‘waistcoat pockets’ could scarcely
describe them. Besides these, I had a number of bags or wallets, hung
over my shoulders, or tied round my middle, or under my coat, according
to their intended uses. I had also several queer-looking things which
I carried in my hands and called ‘accessories;’ for there is no other
specific name for the articles. Nevertheless, all had their quota of
chip-boxes, except my butterfly and moth-case, and my plant book. These
were generally kept sacred for their respective purposes.”
[Sidenote: _EXCURSION TO BALLOCH._]
On one occasion Edward went out for a three days’ ramble among the
Balloch hills, between Keith and Huntly, about twenty miles south-west
of Banff. The object of his journey was to collect butterflies, moths,
and various objects. He had not his gun with him, but he had many more
chip-boxes than usual. A friend of his had often urged him to bring him
a lot of ants for some birds, and Edward determined to satisfy him. He
had been very successful in his search, and had also filled many boxes
for his friend.
On the afternoon of the third day, while he was busily engaged on a
wild, wide, and desolate moor, he was startled by a sudden flash of
lightning. Had he been attending to the weather instead of to his own
pursuits, he might have seen the brooding clouds wending their way
towards him from the south. He might then have found some convenient
shelter from the impending storm. But after the first flash of
lightning, it broke upon him almost at once. He had scarcely got his
things put in order, and the ant-boxes deposited in his coat pocket,
when down came the deluge! None but those who have been under the
influence of hill-rains, can have any idea of their tremendous force.
It is like the downpour of a cataract. The rain falls in sheets, in
waves, almost solid. Nothing but the stiffest weather-proof can keep
the water out.
[Sidenote: _A FURIOUS STORM._]
Edward’s first thought was shelter! But where could he find it? Not a
house was to be seen; not a wall, not a tree, not a bush. He could not
find even a hole in a sandbank. There was nothing that he could see
around him but a dreary, bleak, widespread moor. Nevertheless he set
off, running as fast as he could, in the hope of at length reaching
some friendly haven. After having run a long time amidst thunder and
lightning, through water, moss, and heather, he stopped for a moment
to consider where he was running. There was still no sign of a house,
or hut, or shealing. The place where he stood was crossed by numerous
paths, but he knew just as much of the one path as he did about the
other. The country round him was one wide expanse of moorland. There
was nothing before him but moor, moor, moor! He saw no object that
could serve to guide him. He merely saw the outlines of the nearest
hills faintly visible through the watery haze; but he did not recognise
them. He began to feel himself lost on a lonesome moor.
He was now at his wits’ end. Having been for some time without food,
he was now becoming faint. And yet he could not remain where he was.
He again began to run. The sky was now almost as black as night, and
the sheets of rain were falling as heavily as before. Only the vivid
flashes of lightning enabled him to trace the direction in which he was
going. He plunged into bog after bog; extricated himself; and then ran
for life. Sometimes he came to a likely track and followed it; but it
led to nothing,—only to a succession of tracks which led off in various
directions across the moor. At last he ran straight forward, without
paying any regard to tracks. By continuing in this course he eventually
came to a road,—a gladsome sight, because it must lead to some dwelling
or other. But which way should he go? He knew nothing of the direction
of the road, for he had altogether lost his reckoning, and every
landmark was invisible.
[Sidenote: _REACHES A HAVEN._]
After a few moments’ consideration he bethought him of the direction
in which Huntly might possibly lie; and as that town was his intended
destination, he faced about, as he thought, in that direction, and
commenced running again at full speed. After having run for about a
mile, he came in sight of his destined haven,—a house. It stood on a
slight elevation, with its back to the road, and was surrounded by a
turf-and-stone wall. Collecting his remaining strength he ran up the
slope, cleared the dyke at a bound, and rushed into the house without
further ceremony.
He found two little maidens inside, who looked rather frightened at
his sudden appearance. And no wonder! He must have looked more like a
Lunatic than a Naturalist. Being completely exhausted, he threw himself
right down on a seat without speaking a single word. When he recovered
his breath, he asked pardon of the little damsels for running in so
unceremoniously; “he had been overtaken by the storm.” He asked them if
he might be allowed to rest there until the storm ceased?
“I dinna ken,” said one of the girls, “oor mither’s nae in. She’s oot
breakin’ sticks; but,” she added, “I daresay ye may.”
There was a good fire of sods and peats on the floor. Edward went
towards it, with his dripping clothes, to dry himself. He now began
to look at his belongings. He first took off his hat, which was the
hiding-place for many of his treasures. He found that the bundles of
rare moss which he had picked up on the moor, and also the flies which
he had pinned into the crown of his hat, were all right. His hat was
usually two-storied; we wish we could have given a section of it. The
lower part contained his head, and the other, above it, separated by
a thin piece of board, contained mosses, birds’ eggs, butterflies,
insects, and such like.
[Sidenote: _HIS WALLETS EMPTIED._]
He next proceeded to take off some of his wallets. But, just as he had
begun to remove them, he heard the girls behind him twittering and
giggling. Turning round, he saw one of them pointing to his back, and
trying to suppress her mirth. He could not imagine the reason. Another,
and yet another stifled laugh! On his looking round again, they rushed
out of the room; and then he heard them exploding with laughter. The
cause of their merriment was this. The storm of rain had soaked Edward
to the skin. Every pocket and wallet was full of chip-boxes and water.
The glue of the boxes had melted; the ants, worms, slugs, spiders,
caterpillars, and such like, had all escaped, and were mixed up in
a confused mass. They shortly began to creep out of the innumerable
pockets in which they had been contained. It was because the girls
had seen the mixture of half-drowned spiders, beetles, ants, and
caterpillars, creeping up the strange man’s back, that they rushed from
the place, and laughed their full out of doors.
[Sidenote: _A TERRIBLE WOMAN._]
Edward was now left to himself. The girls had doubtless gone to fetch
their mother. He began to think of beating a retreat, as he seemed
to have been the cause, in some way, of the girls leaving the house.
But at that moment, a woman, of prodigious size and attitude, appeared
at the threshold. She stood stock still, and looked at the stranger
furiously. He addressed her, but she gave no reply. He addressed her
again, louder; but she was still silent. He looked at her again. In one
hand she grasped a most formidable-looking axe; whilst in the other she
held what looked like the half of a young tree. She was tall, stout,
and remarkably muscular; her hair was of a carroty-red colour, and
thickly matted together. Her dress was scanty; she was bare-legged,
but wore a pair of old unlaced boots, such as are usually worn by
ploughmen. With her axe in one hand and her pole in the other—with her
clenched teeth, and fierce aspect—Edward could entertain no other idea
of her than that she was mad; and that her intention was to brain him
with her axe! He could not rush past her. Her space filled the doorway.
He could not overpower her, for she was much more powerful than he was.
His suspense was dreadful.
At last she moved one step forward; then another, until Edward thought
he might plunge past her, and escape. But no; she opened her lips and
spoke, or rather yelled—“Man, fat the sorra brocht ye in here, an’ you
in siccan a mess! Gang oot o’ my hoose, I tell ye, this verra minit!
Gang oot!” This appeal brought Edward to himself again. He apologised
to her for entering her house, and begged her to let him remain until
the rain had ceased. “Not a minit,” was the sharp rejoinder; “ye’ll pit
my hoose afloat. Ye’re a’ vermin, an’ ye’ll pit’s in a hobble if ye
dinna gang oot!”
[Sidenote: _THE CHIP-BOXES EMPTY._]
He protested that he had nothing to do with vermin; but as he spoke
he lifted up his hand to wipe something off his cheek. It was a hairy
oobit! He was in a moment alive to the woman’s expostulations. On
looking to his clothes he found that he was a moving mass of insect
life. He cleared the room in a bound, regardless of the woman’s axe and
cudgel. He went into an old shed, threw off his coat and waistcoat,
and found them a mass of creeping things. On searching his pockets, he
found that all the chip-boxes had given way, and that the whole of the
collection which he had made during the last three days was lost. He
might have collected the insects from his clothing, but he had nothing
to put them in. He now found that he was the lunatic, and not the
woman. Before he departed, he apologised to her for the trouble he had
caused her, and then he departed homewards,—a sadder if not a wiser man.
After this adventure, he never again resorted to _chip_-boxes. He used
little bottles for holding beetles and various insects. He had also
a light flat box, about nine inches square, for containing the more
fragile portion of the insect tribe, such as butterflies and moths.
Before he pinned them down, he gave them a drop of chloroform to put
them to sleep, and prevent them destroying their beautiful plumage.
When he met these tender creatures reposing on a flower, he would
always, if possible, drop a little chloroform upon them, and thus end
their struggles. Then he boxed them. By this means he secured many
splendid specimens.
[Sidenote: _HOW TO PRESERVE._]
His hat was also an excellent insect-box, and a convenient receptacle
for many things. He had a false crown put in the upper part of it, well
stored with pins. And even when he went out to walk with his wife and
children, he would occupy part of his time in looking for and storing
up moths and butterflies, so that not an opportunity nor a moment’s
time was lost.
He carried his caterpillars in a tin box, with several compartments;
and his snails in a similar box of smaller dimensions. His eggs, after
being emptied, were put into a sort of canister, and being well packed
with cotton wool, they very seldom broke, although he carried them
about with him for days together.
Whenever he shot a bird or animal, his first business was to fill up
the mouth and nostrils with cotton wadding, and then to search for the
wounds and fill them up. By this means he always got his specimens home
clean. This he found to be indispensably necessary with sea birds, if
he wished to bring them home unsoiled.
Being unable to purchase presses for his plants, he used heavy flat
stones, and boxes filled with gravel and dry sand. These answered very
well, and were all the presses he ever had.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD A REFEREE._]
After his first exhibition at Banff, Edward became a general referee
as to all natural and unnatural objects found in the district. People
of all sorts brought “things” to him, to ascertain what they were.
Sometimes they were rare objects, sometimes they were monstrosities.
His decision did not always satisfy the inquirers; and then they sent
the objects to some other person, who, they thought, knew better. They
always found, however, that Edward had been right in his decisions.
When he knew with certainty, he gave his opinion. When he did not
know the object, he said he could not give an opinion. And this was,
doubtless, the best course to adopt.
Several of his friends told him that he ought to extend his
investigations into Aberdeen, and even into Elgin. They did not offer
to help him, but they advised him to go. He had now eight of a family,
and his wages, allowing for extra work, only amounted to about fifteen
or sixteen shillings a week. To range the counties of Aberdeen,
Banff, and Elgin, in search of objects in Natural History, while he
was maintaining his family on such slender wages, was therefore an
altogether impossible task.
His wife was his best helper. She bound all his upper leathers, and
also the upper leathers of several of the other workmen. The wages
paid to her were distinct from the wages paid to Edward. Very often,
instead of spending her earnings on clothes or bringing the money
home, she would buy for her husband bottles for his insects, wood for
his bird-cases, or powder and shot for his gun. None of his advising
friends ever helped him in this way.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S CERTIFICATE._]
And yet Edward did extend his investigations farther into Banffshire,
and even into Aberdeenshire. With that view he obtained a certificate,
drawn up by the Clerk of the Peace, and signed by sixteen Justices of
the Peace, enabling him to go over the country with his gun, in search
of birds and other things. He always carried this certificate with him;
and when he presented it to a gamekeeper, he was allowed to go wherever
he pleased. The certificate was as follows:—
“These are to certify that the bearer, Thomas Edward,
shoemaker, who is in height about five feet six
inches, has dark eyes and hair, much pock-pitted,
round-shouldered, and about thirty-five years of
age—is, in addition to his other calling, engaged
in collecting and preserving various objects of
Natural History, particularly those objects which
relate to Ornithology (Birds), Oo-ology (Eggs),
Entomology (Insects), Helminthology (Worms, etc.), and
Conchology (Shells);—That, for the purpose of procuring
Ornithological Specimens, he is under the necessity of
using a Gun, but in doing so, We, the undersigned, have
never heard of a single case of poaching being brought
against him, and, as far as we know, he is not in the
habit of killing Game of any sort, nor of destroying
property of any description, which, were he in the
practice of so doing, being so frequently out with
his Gun, he could not, we think, have escaped public
notice so long,—having resided in this town for a
period of sixteen years, during which time he has borne
an unimpeachable character.
“JAMES DUFF, J.P.,
&c. &c.
“BANFF, _March 1850_.”
[Sidenote: _LOVE OF BIRD-NESTING._]
Edward was now in the prime of life, yet he was drawing very heavily
upon his constitutional powers. Sleeping out of doors nightly, whether
the weather was fair or foul, subjected him to many attacks of cold
and rheumatism. Yet he had no sooner recovered, than he was out again
at his nightly work. He was still as wild a bird-nester as he had ever
been in his youth. He would go to any distance or to any place, to find
a bird or a bird’s nest that was new to him. He would run up a tree
like a squirrel, and come down again with the birds or the nest.
He would also walk or climb up a precipice when a nest was to be had.
Of course he had many falls. But what of that, if the object was
gained? The most dangerous fall that he ever had was at Tarlair. The
circumstance may be described, as a specimen of the dangers which
Edward ran in his pursuit of Natural History. The author went to see
the place, and was afraid to look down into the chasm amongst the rocks
into which the Naturalist had fallen.
[Sidenote: _TARLAIR._]
The little valley of Tarlair is about three miles east of Banff. It
is not far from Macduff. The road to Tarlair is along the bare bluff
coast; and when you reach the top of a lofty point, you see beneath
you a green grassy valley indenting the rocks. At the inner end of
the valley is a little well-house, where inland people come during
summer-time, to drink the mineral waters.[36] Eastward of Tarlair the
rocky cliffs ascend higher and higher,—rising to their loftiest height
in the almost perpendicular cliff of Gamrie Mohr.
[Illustration: TARLAIR]
The place at which Edward met with his accident, occurred at the
projecting point of the valley above mentioned, where the rocks begin
to ascend. Not far from the mouth of the valley there is, in the face
of the rock, a very large, high, and wide-mouthed cave or chasm,
fronting the sea. The back wall of the cave, as well as the sides,
contain a number of strange-like openings, and fantastical projections,
one of which is called “the pulpit.” Edward often sat in the cave, and
also slept in it; but he never preached in it, though he several times
brought down sea-gulls and hoodie-crows with his gun. The bottom of the
cave is thickly covered with stones and boulders thrown in by the sea,
which, in storms, dashes with great fury into its innermost recesses.
In the roof, and near the front of the cave, a few martens build their
nests every season. As Edward was coming home one morning from his
night’s work, and while he was walking under the cliff, intending to
come out at Tarlair, he observed one of the martens flying out of the
cave, and shot it. Instead of dropping at his feet, it fell on the top
of the cliff. How was he to get at the bird? He might have gone round a
considerable way, and thus reached the top of the rock. But this would
have involved the loss of considerable time; and he was anxious to get
home to his work.
[Sidenote: _ASCENDS A PRECIPICE._]
There was another way of getting at the bird, and that was by
scrambling directly up the face of the cliff. He determined on adopting
the latter course. Usually, when ascending rocks, he used to tie his
gun to his back, as both hands were required to grip and clutch the
edges of the rock above him. But, on this occasion, not wishing to lose
further time by buckling on his gun, he determined, dangerous though
it was, to ascend the precipice gun in hand. By grasping the stones
above him with his hands and nails, and putting the tips of his shoes
into the crevices of the rocks, or sometimes only on to a little tuft
of grass, he contrived to haul himself up. He managed very well until
he reached about the middle of the ascent, where a bend occurs in
the rocks. There he became fixed. To come down, unless headlong, was
impossible; and to go up seemed equally impracticable. In that case
he would have had to drop his gun, and smash it to bits on the rocks
below. This he could not afford to do. Still, he could not stay there.
With bated breath and steady eye, he clutched a little projection of
rock standing out far above him. He caught it, clambered a little way
up, then secured a firmer footing, and at last reached the summit in
safety.
[Sidenote: _FALLS FROM A CLIFF._]
His troubles were not over. They were only beginning. He looked about
for the bird. It lay only a few yards from him. It was on the edge of
the cliff, and seemed apparently dead. On stooping to pick it up, it
fluttered, raised one of its wings, and went over the precipice. In
his eagerness to catch it, or perhaps from the excited state in which
he was from mounting the cliff, Edward grasped at the bird, missed it,
lost his footing on the smooth rock, and fell over the precipice. His
gun fell out of his hand and lodged across two rocks jutting out from
the beach below. Edward fell upon his gun, and smashed it to pieces;
but it broke the force of the blow, and probably saved his life. A fall
of at least forty feet on rocks and stones would certainly have killed
most men, or at least broken many of their bones. When afterwards
endeavouring to recall his feelings on the occasion, Edward said,—“I
remember that, on losing my balance, my gun slipped from my hand, and I
uttered the exclamation, ‘O God!’ Then my breath seemed to be cut by a
strong wind, which made me compress my lips. I shut my eyes, and felt
a strange-like sensation of a rushing sound in my ears; and then of
coming suddenly and violently, with a tremendous thud, upon the stony
rock.”
His breath was gone, and it was long before he could recover it. He was
for a time utterly senseless. On slightly recovering consciousness, he
thought he was under the influence of a night-mare. He seemed to be in
bed, and saw before him hideous faces, grinning and grimacing, like so
many demons. He tried to shake them off, to shut them out. But no! the
monsters were still there in all their hideousness, and still he was
utterly helpless.
[Sidenote: _WEDGED AMONGST ROCKS._]
At length two ploughmen, who had been working in the adjoining field,
and seen Edward fall over the cliff, came forward to its edge, and
looked down upon him wedged among the rocks. “Ye’re no dead yet, are
ye?” said one of the men. Edward was unable to make any answer. “Fa
is’t?” said the other man. “Ou! it’s that feel chiel[37] that’s aye
gaun aboot wi’ his gun and his wallets!” The men looked down again in
consternation, with eyes that seemed about to leap from their sockets.
Edward at length began to feel about him. He felt himself wedged, as in
a vice, between two long and oval pieces of rock, and quite unable to
set himself free. The two countrymen went round by the Tarlair pathway,
in order to get Edward out of his fixture. It seemed to him an age
before they arrived.
[Sidenote: _DRAGGED OUT OF HIS VICE._]
They at first took him by the shoulder and tried to lift him out. But
this was so painful to him, that at last they desisted. They then
tried to remove one of the rocks, between which he lay clasped. This
also proved fruitless. Edward then observed that the other rock,
which they had not yet tried to remove, consisted of a loose shale.
It had either dropped from the cliff, or been tossed inshore by the
sea. Edward desired them to try and move it a little. But their joint
efforts proved unavailing. Many attempts were made to no purpose. A
stout fisherman then appeared on the scene. He put his shoulder to the
rock, and the block was at last moved sufficiently far, so as to enable
Edward to be dragged out of the vice.
He sat down and felt himself all over. His left shoulder and left side
were extremely sore. The back of his head was also very painful. But he
was thankful to find that neither his arms nor his legs were broken. He
was not so sure about his left ribs. He was very much bruised and cut
on that side. One of the splinters of the gun-stock was found sticking
through his coat. An old copper powder-flask, which he had in his left
pocket, was as flat as a flounder; all its contents were dashed out.
Edward entreated the men to help him to get to the cave. He thought
that, if left there for a time, he would soon recover. He got upon his
feet with difficulty, and found that his spine had been hurt. With the
help of two of the men, he was at last able to walk very slowly to the
cave. They urged him to allow them to carry him to the cottage near the
Mineral Well. But he preferred to rest in the cave. They prepared a
bed of seaweed for him, on which he lay down. His protectors then left
him, and, spite of his pain, he fell asleep. He must have slept some
time, for he was awakened by the murmuring of the sea, which was fast
approaching the cave.
[Sidenote: _LEAVING THE CAVE._]
Feeling that his sickly feeling had left him, and that he was on the
whole much better, although his left side and shoulder were still
very painful, he gathered himself together and rose to his feet. He
staggered about a little at first; but he was at last able to return in
search of his gun. He found it in a woeful plight. The stock was broken
to bits, and the barrel and lock were laid in the hollow. He gathered
up the fragments of the companion of his travels for so many years;
and, divesting himself of the heaviest of his wallets, he left them in
a corner of the cave. Then, keeping hold of the rocks, he contrived to
reach the inner side of the Tarlair valley. From thence he had a weary
walk to Banff. He took many rests by the way, and at length reached
home in the afternoon, sore, sick, and weary; and went to bed. His
wounds were then looked to. It was found that none of his ribs were
broken, and that he had only sustained some severe contusions. It
was, however, nearly a fortnight before he could do any work. A month
elapsed before he could walk to Tarlair for the wallets and remains of
his gun which he had left in the hollow of the cave.
To support his family during his illness, he was forced to sell a
considerable portion of the Collection which he had made during
the last few years. Although it was not so large as that which he
had exhibited at Aberdeen, it contained many rarer birds, insects,
crustacea, zoophytes, and plants; and it was on the whole much better
got up. He sold about 100 cases at this time, consisting chiefly of
preserved birds, insects, and eggs. He also sold about 300 plants, and
more than 200 zoophytes; besides about 100 minerals or fossils. Among
the plants, were a great number unnamed. He had as yet no botanical
books; and the friends to whom he applied could not supply the names.
They considered them very rare, if not new and unnamed.
[Sidenote: _DRAWS UPON HIS SAVINGS-BANK._]
It was a great blow to him to sell a portion of his second Collection.
But he had no help for it. It was his only Savings Bank. When other
means failed him, he could only rely upon it. He had no friends in his
neighbourhood to help him. His specimens went to many places, far and
near. A considerable portion of them went to Haslar, near Southampton,
where one of the hospital surgeons was making a collection of objects
in Natural History.
FOOTNOTES:
[34] Master shoemakers, in those days, employed Men’s men (that is men
who made Men’s shoes), Women’s men, Boot men, and Pump men, according
to the branch they worked at. Those who excelled in proficiency were
called Dons. Edward was a Don Pump man. Few excelled him at that part
of the business. It was for this reason that his master objected to
his leaving the shop so often on his Natural History excursions; as he
could find no one else to do this part of the work so well.
[35] _Sutor_—Shoemaker.
[36] This is the place so well described in _Johnny Gibb of
Gushetneuk_. “There was a little house, too, at the foot of the
north bank, where a drop of whisky could be got somehow in cases of
emergency, as when the patient got ‘hoven’ with the liberal libations
of salt-water previously swallowed, or when the taste lay strongly in
that direction; but this was no part of the recognised regimen.”
[37] _Feel chiel_—foolish fellow.