A FISHER-WEDDING.
When the next Saturday came, all the friends of the bride or
bridegroom who had “gotten a call” to the wedding of Annie Mair
and Charley Wilson, assembled respectively at the houses of their
parents. Malcolm had received an invitation from both, and had
accepted that of the bride.
Whisky and oat-cake having been handed round, the bride, a short
but comely young woman, set out with her father for the church,
followed by her friends in couples. At the door of the church, which
stood on the highest point in the parish, a centre of assault for
all the winds that blew, they met the bridegroom and his party: the
bride and he entered the church together, and the rest followed.
After a brief and somewhat bare ceremony, they issued--the bride
walking between her brother and the groomsman, each taking an
arm of the bride, and the company following mainly in trios. Thus
arranged they walked eastward along the highroad, to meet the
bride’s _first-foot_.
They had gone about half-way to Portlossie, when a gentleman
appeared, sauntering carelessly towards them, with a cigar in his
mouth. It was Lord Meikleham. Malcolm was not the only one who knew
him: Lizzy Findlay, only daughter of the Partan, and the prettiest
girl in the company, blushed crimson: she had danced with him
at Lossie House, and he had said things to her, by way of polite
attention, which he would never have said had she been of his own
rank. He would have lounged past, with a careless glance, but the
procession halted by one consent, and the bride, taking a bottle
and glass which her brother carried, proceeded to pour out a bumper
of whisky, while the groomsman addressed Lord Meikleham.
“Ye’re the bride’s first fut, sir,” he said.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Lord Meikleham.
“Here’s the bride, sir: she’ll tell ye.”
Lord Meikleham lifted his hat.
“Allow me to congratulate you,” he said.
“Ye’re my first fut,” returned the bride eagerly yet modestly, as
she held out to him the glass of whisky.
“This is to console me for not being in the bridegroom’s place,
I presume; but notwithstanding my jealousy, I drink to the health
of both,” said the young nobleman, and tossed off the liquor.--
“Would you mind explaining to me what you mean by this ceremony?”
he added, to cover a slight choking caused by the strength of the
dram.
“It’s for luck, sir,” answered Joseph Mair. “A first fut wha wadna
bring ill luck upon a new-merried couple, maun aye du as ye hae
dune this meenute--tak a dram frae the bride.”
“Is that the sole privilege connected with my good fortune?” said
Lord Meikleham. “If I take the bride’s dram, I must join the bride’s
regiment.--My good fellow,” he went on, approaching Malcolm, “you
have more than your share of the best things of this world.”
For Malcolm had two partners, and the one on the side next Lord
Meikleham, who, as he spoke, offered her his arm, was Lizzy Findlay.
“No as shares gang, my lord,” returned Malcolm, tightening his arm
on Lizzie’s hand. “Ye maunna gang wi’ ane o’ oor customs to gang
_agane_ anither. Fisher-fowk’s ready eneuch to pairt wi’ their
whusky, but no wi’ their lasses!--Na, haith!”
Lord Meikleham’s face flushed, and Lizzy looked down, very evidently
disappointed; but the bride’s father, a wrinkled and brown little
man, with a more gentle bearing than most of them, interfered.
“Ye see, my lord--gien it be sae I maun ca’ ye, an’ Ma’colm seems
to ken--we’re like by oorsels for the present, an’ we’re but a
rouch set o’ fowk for sic like ’s yer lordship to haud word o’ mou’
wi’; but gien it wad please ye to come ower the gait ony time i’
the evenin’, an’ tak yer share o’ what’s gauin’, ye sud be walcome,
an’ we wad coont it a great honour frae sic ’s yer lordship.”
“I shall be most happy,” answered Lord Meikleham; and taking off
his hat he went his way.
The party returned to the home of the bride’s parents. Her mother
stood at the door with a white handkerchief in one hand, and a _quarter_
of oat-cake in the other. When the bride reached the threshold she
stood, and her mother, first laying the handkerchief on her head,
broke the oat-cake into pieces upon it. These were distributed among
the company, to be carried home and laid under their pillows.
The bridegroom’s party betook themselves to his father’s house,
where, as well as at old Mair’s, a substantial meal of tea, bread
and butter, cake, and cheese, was provided. Then followed another
walk, to allow of both houses being made tidy for the evening’s
amusements.
About seven, Lord Meikleham made his appearance, and had a hearty
welcome. He had bought a showy brooch for the bride, which she
accepted with the pleasure of a child. In their games, which had
already commenced, he joined heartily, gaining high favour with
both men and women. When the great clothes-basket full of _sweeties_,
the result of a subscription among the young men, was carried round
by two of them, he helped himself liberally with the rest; and at
the inevitable game of forfeits met his awards with unflinching
obedience; contriving ever through it all that Lizzy Findlay should
feel herself his favourite. In the general hilarity, neither the
heightened colour of her cheek, nor the vivid sparkle in her eyes
attracted notice. Doubtless some of the girls observed the frequency
of his attentions, but it woke nothing in their minds beyond a
little envy of her passing good fortune.
Meikleham was handsome and a lord; Lizzy was pretty though a
fisherman’s daughter: a sort of Darwinian selection had apparently
found place between them; but as the same entertainment was going
on in two houses at once, and there was naturally a good deal of
passing and repassing between them, no one took the least notice
of several short absences from the company on the part of the pair.
Supper followed, at which his lordship sat next to Lizzy, and partook
of dried skate and mustard, bread and cheese, and beer. Every man
helped himself. Lord Meikleham and a few others were accommodated
with knives and forks, but the most were independent of such
artificial aids. Whisky came next, and Lord Meikleham being already,
like many of the young men of his time, somewhat fond of strong
drink, was not content with such sipping as Lizzy honoured his
glass withal.
At length it was time, according to age-long custom, to undress the
bride and bridegroom and put them to bed--the bride’s stocking,
last ceremony of all, being thrown amongst the company, as by its
first contact prophetic of the person to be next married. Neither
Lizzy nor Lord Meikleham, however, had any chance of being thus
distinguished, for they were absent and unmissed.
As soon as all was over, Malcolm set out to return home. As he
passed Joseph Mair’s cottage, he found Phemy waiting for him at
the door, still in the mild splendour of her pearl-like necklace.
“I tellt the laird what ye tellt me to tell him, Malcolm,” she
said.
“An’ what did he say, Phemy?” asked Malcolm.
“He said he kent ye was a freen’.”
“Was that a’?”
“Ay; that was a’.”
“Weel, ye’re a guid lassie.”
“Ow! middlin’,” answered the little maiden.
Malcolm took his way along the top of the cliffs, pausing now and
then to look around him. The crescent moon had gone down, leaving
a star-lit night, in which the sea lay softly moaning at the foot of
the broken crags. The sense of infinitude which comes to the soul
when it is in harmony with the peace of nature, arose and spread
itself abroad in Malcolm’s being, and he felt with the Galilæans
of old, when they forsook their nets and followed him who called
them, that catching fish was not the end of his being, although it
was the work his hands had found to do. The stillness was all the
sweeter for its contrast with the merriment he had left behind
him, and a single breath of wind, like the waft from a passing
wing, kissed his forehead tenderly, as if to seal the truth of his
meditations.