About one hundred and fifty years ago, there lived in Dumfries a
worthy man of the name of Gillespie, who followed the honest, though
highly unpopular, occupation of excise officer or gauger. At the time
my tale begins, he had just been appointed to a new district in the
Highlands, and it is while on his journey there that I first make his
acquaintance. Behold him then, a tall, thin, ungainly figure, with a
consequential, self-important air, dressed in a coat of bottle-green
cloth, with large silver-gilt buttons, a striped yellow waistcoat,
corduroy breeches, and top boots. A tall peaked hat, with narrow brim,
a large drab overcoat, and a sword-stick, completed his costume. He was
mounted on a small shaggy pony or “gearran,” with neither shoes, bit,
nor saddle, whose head was secured by the taod, or Highland bridle,
made of horse hair, and in lieu of a saddle was a housing of straw
mat, on which was placed a wooden pack-saddle, called a “strathair,”
having two projections like horns, on which was hung the luggage of
the rider. This “strathair” was kept in position by girths of straw
rope, and was prevented from going too far forward by an antique kind
of crupper, consisting of a stick passing under the animal’s tail,
and braced at each end to the “strathair.” Having jogged along for a
considerable time through a lonely moor, without meeting any sign of
human habitations, it occurred to Mr Gillespie that he had lost his
way. While staring about for something to guide him, he was nearly
dismounted by the sudden starting of his pony, and on pulling up, he
discovered that he had almost ridden over a young red-headed Highlander,
who was lying among the heather, indolently supporting his head on
one hand, while with the other he leisurely picked the blaeberries
that grew so plentifully around him. On seeing what he considered a
duine-uasal, the lad started to his feet, and grasping a forelock of
his curly hair, made a profound bow.
The equestrian stared a moment at the bare-legged, bare-footed,
bare-headed figure who had so suddenly appeared, and after stiffly
returning his curtsy, inquired how far it was to Dunvegan? The other,
shaking his head, replied, ‘Chan ’eil Beurla agam’ (I have no English).
Now this was certainly very awkward, as the stranger did not know
Gaelic, but it is surprising what people will do in desperate
circumstances, so with the aid of nods and signs, and a little English
that Eachainn had managed to pick up while at school, they made shift
to understand one another.
‘Is it to Dunvegan, then, you’ll want to be going, sir?’ inquired
Eachainn.
‘Yes, and I am afraid that I shall not be able to find my way there
without your assistance,’ responded Gillespie.
‘And may be you’ll be stopping there for some time?’ proposed the lad,
scratching one bare knee with his sharp uncut nails as he spoke.
‘What does it matter to you, my lad, whether my stay there will be long
or short? All I want just now is to get there.’
‘Is it far you’ll be coming the day, sir?’ inquired the other, with an
air of respectful deference, strangely inconsistent with the apparent
bluntness of the question.
‘What business is that of yours? Is it necessary for your showing me
the road that I should tell you all my history?’
‘May be you’ll be coming from the change-house of Loch-Easkin?’ pursued
Eachainn, without appearing to notice the rebuke of the stranger’s
reply.
‘May be I did,’ rejoined the gauger dryly, giving a hard blow to the
poor gearran.
‘Beannachd-leibh’ (Good-bye to you), said the young man, pulling his
forelock and bowing as before.
‘Why are you in such a hurry to be off all at once, before you have
shown me the way?’
‘I’m no in a hurry, sir; I shust be doing my work, minding my mother’s
cow and calf,’ answered the lad, lying down again, and commencing to
pick more blaeberries. ‘But,’ he added, ‘it was no to offend you I was
meaning.’
‘Offend me, man! for what? I am sure I have taken no offence.’
‘Haven’t you, sir,’ exclaimed the other, jumping up; ‘I thocht you had,
for you didn’t seem pleased when I was asking what could I be doing for
you.’
‘My good lad,’ answered Gillespie, ‘I see customs differ, and what
may be considered ill manners on the streets of Dumfries is perhaps a
different thing on a Highland moor, and I shall be very glad of your
company and assistance.’
‘Then you must tell me where is it you’ll be wanting to go to.’
‘Man alive! Have I not told you already that I want to reach Dunvegan?’
‘But I’m no sure if you’re fit to do it before night, if you don’t tell
me where you came from the day.’
‘There is some reason in that,’ said the gauger; ‘and yet,’ he
muttered, ‘it is a sly way of demonstrating the necessity of his
endless questions.’
After going some distance in silence, Eachainn, thinking himself bound
to say something, began with, ‘You’ll be a stranger to this country,
sir.’
‘You may say that, man; but what sort of a place is this Dunvegan?’
‘It’s a bonny place eneuch, and no want of what’s right, and the
uisge-beatha is plenty, and she’s rail goot; but I doubt it’ll no be so
goot and so plenty now, for they say that a sgimilear of a gauger is
coming to live among us; I hope he may break his neck on the way.’
Here Mr Gillespie appeared suddenly to have seen something amiss with
the bridle, which necessitated his bending down for a moment or two,
and no doubt this accounted for his face being slightly flushed when
he raised his head, and, giving the unconscious Eachainn an indignant
look, said, ‘Hem, ahem! what right has a mere lad like you to speak so
disrespectfully of one you never saw, and who never harmed you.’
‘May his gallows be high and his halter tight!’ was the laconic but
emphatic reply.
‘You young heathen, how dare you say so of a stranger, and without any
reason either.’
‘Reason in plenty. Is he not coming to stop us from making our whusky?
And there is my uncle Donald has a still in Craig-bheatha, and my
mother helps him to make the malt, and gets a piggie (jar) for herself
at the New-Year; and there’s Somhairle Dubh, at the change house, has a
still in his barnyard near the——’
‘Hush, friend!’ interrupted Gillespie, clapping his hand on the
Highlander’s mouth, ‘Dinna betray secrets so.’ He then added with great
dignity, ‘Young man, you have abused me, and called me vile names to
my face, but for that I forgive you, as it was done in ignorance, but
you should be more respectful in referring to His Majesty’s revenue
service, for I am that very excise officer, or gauger, as you call me,
who am appointed by my king and country to watch over the interests of
the revenue in this most outlandish corner of his dominions. Heaven
help me withal! Now friend, understand me, I will do my duty without
fear, favour, or affection; yes,’ he continued, rising into energy
as he spoke, and, to Eachainn’s consternation, drawing his sword and
flourishing it over his head, ‘yes, I will do so even unto death; but,’
he added after a pause, ‘I am no hunter after unguarded information,
and God forbid the poor should want their New-Year whisky because I am
in the parish. But be more discreet in future, for assuredly I must
do my duty, and grasp, seize, capture, and retain unlawful liquor and
implements of its manufacture, whenever I find them, for I am sworn to
do this; but,’ he concluded, with a bow to his pack-saddle, ‘I will
always strive to do my duty like a gentleman.’
Eachainn’s emotions during this oration were of a mingled character.
At first pure shame was uppermost, for having, as he unwittingly
discovered he had done, insulted a duine-uasal. Accordingly an honest
blush spread over his sun-freckled face, and he hung down his head.
Then came concern for having, as he apprehended, betrayed the private
affairs of his uncle and Somhairle Dubh to the hands of the spoiler.
When the gauger flourished his sword, Eachainn thought it was all over
with him; but when he heard the conclusion of the speech, which he
tried hard to comprehend, it was with a feeling of great respect he
replied, repeating his bow, ‘I thocht you was a duine-uasal from the
first, sir; and I beg your pardon a thousand times for foolish words
spoke without thinkin’, and I could cut my tongue off for having spoke.’
‘Friend, that would not be right; no man has a right to maim himself,’
said the gauger, as he pulled out of an enormous pocket of his
greatcoat a box that looked like a large flute case, which he opened,
and, to the admiration of Eachainn, took out of it, first the stock
and then the tube of a short single-barrelled fowling-piece, which,
after duly joining together, he went through the process of priming
and loading. These preparations were apparently caused by a curlew
alighting at a little distance, but which, as if aware that evil was
not far away, resumed its flight, and soon disappeared.
‘She’s a very pretty gun, indeed, sir,’ began Eachainn, anxious to
renew the conversation on a more agreeable topic than the last. ‘By
your leave, may I ask where you got her?’
‘Got _her_,’ said the other, ‘why, I made _it_, man. In my country
we think nothing of making a gun before breakfast.’ As this was said
with the utmost gravity, Eachainn was considerably staggered by it,
for the Highlander, naturally credulous, intending none, he suspected
no deception; but if a hoax was being played upon him, and he found
it out, he was sure to repay it with interest, and the biter would be
keenly bit.
‘One before breakfast, sir! a gun like _her_ made before breakfast!’ he
repeated, looking anxiously into the other’s face, ‘surely the thing is
just impossible?’
‘No, friend,’ replied the other, internally chuckling at finding the
youth so ductile, ‘I tell you, I frequently make one of a morning.’
‘Then,’ said the guide, ‘I suppose, sir, you’ll be come to the
Highlands to make a big pusness with them!’
‘May be, may be, friend. I daresay there are not many such in this
country; but what would still more surprise you is to hear by whom I
was taught the art of making them.’
‘Who she’ll be, sir?’
‘Why, Luno, the son of Leven, who made Fingal’s famous sword, which
went by his name, and every stroke of which was mortal.’
‘Och! yes, sir,’ exclaimed Eachainn, his eyes sparkling, ‘ye mean
Mac-an-Luinn,’ and in his excitement he forgot the little English he
had, and continued in his own expressive vernacular, ‘that was the
sword of swords, and they say that the sound of his anvils is still
heard in the silence of midnight by the wanderer of Lochlin; and his
well-known giant form is at times seen crossing the heath, clad in
its dark mantle of hide, with apron of the same, and the face of the
apparition as dark as the mantle, and frowning fiercely, while, with
staff in hand, he bounds along on one leg, with the fleetness of a roe,
his black mantle flap, flapping for an instant, and then vanishing, as,
with a few bounds, black Luno enters his unapproachable cave.’
‘But are there any hereabouts who know how to use such a thing as
this?’ asked the gauger, putting the piece to his eye.
‘Och! aye, sir; there’s Duncan Sealgair can hit a fox, an otter, or a
seal, at a hunderd yards, easy.’
‘I am not speaking,’ said the gauger, with an air of sovereign
contempt, ‘of otters, and foxes, and such low vermin; I ask you, man,
as to shooting of game!’
‘Aye, sir, a goot lot of that too. There’s old Kenneth Matheson, she’ll
be very goot at killing a buck.’
‘Pshaw! man, cannot you get your ideas above coarse four-footed beasts,
great sprawling objects that there is no merit in killing.’
Eachainn scratched his head, at a loss what to answer next; but at
length, with the air of a man who thinks he has made a discovery,
exclaimed, ‘You’ll be meaning the wild goose, sir!’
‘You’re a wild goose yourself; I mean no such thing; I am asking ye,
man, about grouse, red grouse.’
The guide was as puzzled as if he had heard Hebrew; but just then, as
if to relieve his embarrassment, there arose a ‘Ca-ca!’ kind of sound
among the heather. ‘She’ll shust be the muir-hens, sir, perhaps you’ll
like to have shoot at them.’
‘Moor-hens! what’s that, lad?’ but further explanation was unnecessary,
for the eye of the traveller caught the very red grouse he had appeared
so anxious to find. The sight seemed to have a very agitating effect
upon him, for he instantly stopped, dismounted, and gave his nag to
the keeping of his companion; he then crept forward a few paces, his
heart beating with the greatness of the occasion. At length, getting
closer to the birds than most sportsmen would deem quite necessary,
he knelt on one knee, and took a most deliberate, rifleman-like aim.
On placing his finger on the trigger, his face was turned a little to
one side—perhaps to avoid the expected smoke. He at length pulled
the trigger, but, instead of a report, there was merely a snap in the
pan. At this, the eldest, apparently, of the birds gave a ‘Ca-ca!’ and
peered about to see what was the matter; and, to avoid being seen, the
sportsman sunk down among the heather. Tying the gearran to a juniper
root, Eachainn now cautiously crept up, and inquired in a whisper, ‘Has
she refused, sir?’
‘Hush!’ said the other, shaking his hand for silence; ‘has who refused?’
‘I mean, sir,’ again whispered his guide, ‘has the musket refused?’
‘Which, I suppose,’ responded the other, ‘is as much as to say, has it
missed fire? Yes, certainly it has; did you not hear the snap in the
pan?’
‘Yes, sir, but there was no fire; may be ’twas the fault of the flint.’
‘Pish, no; there is not a better flint on this side of the Grampians.’
‘But the pooder, sir?’
‘No better powder in the world, unless it has been damped by your
horrid Highland mist.’
‘There’s no a mist at all the day, sir,’ answered Eachainn, looking
quietly down at the gun lock, and discovering, for the first time,
that there was no flint at all. He smiled aside, and then turning to
the would-be sportsman, who was kneeling for another attempt, pointed
out the circumstance to him. The latter, on seeing it, stared, and
then added, apparently recollecting himself, ‘Dash it, neither there
is! I recollect now, here it is, I put it in my waistcoat pocket this
morning, while cleaning my gun, and forgot to fix it again.’ So saying,
he screwed it tight into its proper place and kneeling as before, gave
a second snap in the pan.
‘The primin’ fell oot when she first refused, sir, and you forgot to
put in another.’
‘And ye gowk, couldn’t you tell me that before?’ said the wrathful
gauger, as he recovered his arms for another attempt. This time,
however, he was successful, for his volley levelled the cock leader and
two of his family, while the remainder took flight.
‘I dare say, friend bare-legs, you do not often see such shots as that
in these quarters?’
‘’Deed, sir, I’ll no say I do,’ returned the other with a look and
manner somewhat equivocal.
‘In sooth, I suppose no one hereabouts knows anything of grouse
shooting; but for myself, as I have already said, give me but the birds
within tolerable reach, and I am sure to hit them.’
‘Na doot, sir, especially if ye always make it a fashion to shoot them
sittin’.’
‘And have you any hereabouts that can shoot them any other gait,
callant?’
‘May be, sir, the young laird, and the minister’s son, and the major,
and——’
‘Weel, sir, and pray how does the young laird find out the game? Has he
any pointers?’
‘Pinters, sir, what’s that?’ inquired his companion, affecting
ignorance.
‘You fool, and do you not know what a pointer is? Precious country I am
come to, and perhaps to lay my bones in—not to know what a pointer is?’
‘And d’ye ken, sir, what a bochan is?’
‘Not I, friend bare-legs, nor do I care.’
‘My name, sir, is Eachainn, and you see there’ll be some things that
folks who are very clever don’t know. A bochan, sir, is what you call
in Beurla a hobgobolin.’
‘I see your drift, man, I see your drift, and care not what a bochan
or a fiddlestick means; but a pointer is a dog of right Spanish breed,
which has such instinct that he smells out the birds without seeing
them, so that when he has got one in a covey within reach of his nose,
he holds up his leg, and stands stock still, until his master comes up
and bleezes away at them.’
‘Sitting, sir?’ asked Eachainn, with a roguish look.
‘Aye, man, sitting or standing, ’tis all the same.’
‘You’ll maybe be wanting such dogs in the low country, but they’ll no
be wanted in the Highlands. Here, sir,’ continued he, remembering the
hoax about Luno and gunmaking; ‘here, sir, the people can smell the
game as good as your dogs.’
‘What’s that you say man? D’ye think of clishmaclavering me with any
of your big Hielan’ lees?’
‘Would you like me to smell out some muir-hens for you, sir?’
‘You smell out game! smell out your grandmother! D’ye think to deceive
me with such havers?’
‘Do you s’pose you could hit the poor craters—sittin’ too—if I
hadn’t smelt them out for you, sir?’
‘Faith, friend you’re no blate—smell out indeed! And pray, callant,
can you smell out any more of them?’
‘I begin to think it’s no a very thankful job.’
‘And do you often amuse yourself with nosing it in this way over these
vile moors, through which I am so heartily tired of trudging?’
‘Whenever the laird, sir, goes out after the muir-hens, I go with him
to smell them out.’
‘Weel man, convince me of the bare fact—smell out another covey, and
then I’ll no gainsay your gift.’
Eachainn, shrugging up his shoulders, scratching his head, and
affecting to make some difficulty, said the wind had gone down, and
that the scent was dull. The sly rascal, however, having an exceedingly
acute ear, continued walking over bog and heather with long strides,
until at length, at a considerable distance, and a little to one side
of the track, he thought he heard the ‘ca-ca’ of a bird. He then turned
to his companion and said, ‘If I’ll be smelling out a prasgan for ye,
sir, will ye let me have a shoot at them?’
‘Give you a shot! weel but that passes a’. I dinna ken what you might
make with a claymore, as ye ca’ a braidsword; but a gun is another sort
of thing altogether. What! Donald, could you hit a peat stack, man?’
‘My name’s Eachainn, sir; and as to shooting a peatstack, I don’t know,
but if ye like I’ll try.’
‘Weel, Donald or Eachainn, or whatever your name is, I don’t care if I
indulge you, so there’s the gun; but mind, when you aim, you turn
the barrel away, and the stock to yourself. Now you may bleeze awa’
at anything but me and the pony.’ The guide, having by this time a
shrewd guess where the birds were to be found, went on several paces
cautiously, and pretending to scent something. At length he made a
stand, cocking one leg, while he beckoned to the stranger, who was some
little distance in the rear, to dismount and come up.
The latter accordingly did so, and there were the birds sure enough.
The stranger, whose less practised eye and ear were not aware of the
trick, now not doubting the truth of the Highlander’s gift, uttered his
admiration in whispers, ‘Weel, but yon’s quite extraordinar’; all real
birds too, and no glamour; I doot it’s nae canny.’
The Gael, not being such a desperate pot-hunter as his comrade, gave
a ‘Hurrah!’ which raised the birds at once, then taking a good aim,
brought down two, and wounded one or two more, which flew, quaking,
away.
The Highlander, anxious to secure the wounded birds, went bounding in
the direction in which they had flown. As he hastily stepped forward he
did not perceive that a viper was directly in his path, and, before he
was aware of its being near him, the reptile had bitten his bare foot.
Striking it off with the point of the barrel, he uttered not a word,
but giving one glance round, as if looking for something, he took to
his heels with a swiftness not unworthy of Luno himself.
The gauger, seeing his fowling-piece in Eachainn’s possession, who was
running as if a lion were at his heels, naturally concluded that he had
run off with it.
‘Stop, thief!’ shouted he, at the top of his voice, ‘stop, ye
confounded Hielan’ cateran! How fast the vagabond runs; gude’s me, he
is already out of sight. Haud there, ye scamp, ye traitorous reever,
ye!’
Out of breath with his own indignant exertions, Gillespie turned to
mount his gearran. That sagacious beast, however, considered the whole
thing as an arrangement for his own especial benefit, and whenever
his would-be rider approached to mount, would edge off, and trot to a
little distance, and then quietly graze, until poor Gillespie would
again get close to him, when the same little performance would be
repeated. All this was naturally very provoking, and added intense
bitterness to the gauger’s other reflections.
He now eagerly followed Eachainn on foot, but in such a chase he was no
match for the fleet-footed Highlander.
The day was hot, the moor boggy, and his greatcoat, which he still
clung to, as if it were a part of his nature, was very heavy. ‘The
scoundrel!’ he muttered, as he plodded wearily along, ‘the bare-legged
rascal, to rob me of my gun in open day on the King’s highway; but I’ll
have him by the heels for it, as sure as there’s letters of horning and
caption to be had in Scotland; aye, he shall hang as high as Haman, if
there’s a tree in all the island—but I doot there’s nane. It’s ower
vile for even a tree to make a gallows of to grow in it. Then I doot
after a’ if the law can make much of the case, seeing that this canna
be said to be the highway. The rascal has not absolutely put me in
bodily fear either, except fear of losing my gun. No, I doot I canna
hang him, and to transport him from such a slough of despond, would
only be conferring an acceptable obligation on the young thief.’
Thus he hurried on, lamenting his loss, until his further progress was
interrupted by a stream or burn, that ran gurgling between mossy banks,
fringed with junipers and dwarf rowans. There the worthy man stood
panting and blowing for about a minute, when some yards below him, at a
shallower part of the burn, kneeling at the water’s edge, and gulping
in the pure element, he beheld the runaway Highlander.
The gauger’s anger was, however, considerably mollified on seeing no
effort on the part of Eachainn to continue his flight, and also by
seeing his gun lying safely on a dried part of the bank. ‘Ye villain,’
he exclaimed, clutching his fowling-piece, ‘and have I caught you at
last!’
The Highlander, without answering, took another copious draught of the
limpid stream, then washed his wounded foot, on which was distinctly
visible the marks of the viper’s fangs.
Gillespie, too, observed that notwithstanding his warm race, the lad
looked deadly pale. The latter, now slowly rising, expressed with
rueful tone and looks his hope ‘that he had got to the water before
her.’
‘Before me! faith that ye did; and ye deserve to be hanged for it too,
ye thieving loon. Why did you run awa’ that gait?’
‘Och, sir!’ groaned the other, ‘can you be telling me where the baiste
is?’
‘Beast! what beast, idiot? I ken only one on the moor besides yon brute
now feeding up there. I shouldn’t wonder if he took it into his head to
run off with the rest of my property.’
‘No, no, sir; the nathair! the nathair! we’ll shust be going back to be
look for her.’
‘Gude’s me, but I begin to think after a’ that the puir chiel’s
demented,’ observed the other with a look of pity.
At length, with an appearance of great anxiety, the lad, accompanied by
the exciseman, returned to the spot from which they started, where
writhing in the agonies of death, from the blow the former had
instinctively, but almost unconsciously, given it, lay the snake or
nathair. It was only now that the gauger began to comprehend what had
happened to his guide. When Eachainn saw the snake on the spot where he
had left it, now quite dead, his joy became as great as previously had
been his dejection.
‘Ah, sir!’ he said, turning to the other, ‘it’s all right, and I’m
shust quite safe.’
‘Pray how is that?’ returned the stranger, ‘I should like to know by
what process of reasoning ye make that out?’
‘I’ll shust be telling you, sir. You see if a body will be stung by a
nathair, and if they’ll be clever to the water, and drink of it before
the nathair (and she’ll be very clever at running herself, too), the
mans will be quite better, and the nathair will die and burst; but if
the nathair will be get to the water first, then the mans will die and
burst.’
‘And do you believe all this nonsense?’
‘It’s shust quite true, sir; and I’ll be always believing it; and maybe
I’ll be forgiven, I hope ’twas not for joking you about my smelling oot
the birds, that this judgment was coming on me; but as you was mocking
me about making the guns, I thocht it was no harm to mock you too.’
‘And so it was all a sham, about you pointing the birds, was it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Eachainn, with an abashed look.
‘But ye dinna think I was such a fule as to believe you, eh?’
‘I cannot tell that, sir,’ replied the other, a smile stealing over his
lips, though he tried to prevent it.
‘Hout, man!’ said the gauger, but not without a _leetle_ twinge of
conscience, ‘I saw through the trick the whole time, but I had a mind
to humour you, just to see how far you would go. But, friend, was it
your belief in havers about vipers bursting, and a’ that sort of stuff,
that sent you scouring awa’ to the burn’s side in sic haste?’
‘Surely, sir; I’ll be running for my life when the baiste will stung
me.’
‘Hoot, toot, man, but you need not have taken my gun with you; that
hadna been stung, and wouldna have bursted had the beast, as you call
it, drank all the water in Coruisg.’
‘Och! sir, I was shust forgot the gun, I’ll be so frightened, but the
running saved my life, for the nathair is shust quite dead.’
‘Yes, man, but it is not bursted.’
‘But she’ll burst by and bye, and she’ll be making a noise as big as
your gun, so people say, but I’ll never was hearing her myself.’
‘Weel, weel, friend, I’ll believe a’ the rest of your story when the
reptile bursts, but not till then. As for the creature’s death, I daur
to say you gave it a good clout over the head with the gun, which you
had in your hand, for it does not take much, I believe, to kill them.’
‘I’ll not be doing that at all, that I know of,’ said Eachainn, ‘and
may be if I had, it’ll be the worst for me and for you as well.’
‘How so, man?’
‘’Cause I might shust struck her on the tail instead of her head, and
then she’d jump up ever so high, and then she’ll be come down, more
deadly than she’ll be before. Ye need not be shaking your head, sir;
it’s shust quite true; but we must be clever, for we’ll be having a
long way to go before we’ll come to Dunvegan. I must do shust one thing
first, if you please,’
So saying, Eachainn pulled out his core or dirk, and proceeded with
great deliberation to cut off the head of the viper, and then he
divided the body into five equal parts.
‘I doot,’ muttered the gauger, with a look of disgust, ‘I doot he is
going to cook it! Ugh, it’s quite awfu’.’
The honest man’s apprehensions were, however, somewhat premature, for
after hewing the reptile to pieces, as described, Eachainn cut with
his knife six holes in the turf, into each of which he placed a bit of
the snake, and filling up the holes again, stamped down these viperine
graves with his heel.
‘Indeed, friend, I think you have taken a good deal of unnecessary
trouble in giving that reptile Christian burial.’
‘No, no,’ answered Eachainn, ‘I’ll be thinking of the lives of other
peoples, and their hells too.’
‘And what can your hacking away at yon reptile have to do with the
health or lives of others, friend Donald?’
‘I tell you again, sir, my name is Eachainn, and no Donald, and I’ll
no be wondering that you don’t know about this, for the Southern
duine-uasal, she’ll often not be knowing the things that the poor
Highlander herself’ll be knowing all aboot.’
‘And prythee what good is there in your wasting twenty minutes in
cutting up and burying a snake?’
‘As you’ll be a stranger, sir,’ said Eachainn, after he had succeeded
in catching the traveller’s nag for him, which the other mounted, and
trotted on in the path pointed out to him, ‘as you’ll be a stranger,
sir, I must be of good manners, and shust be telling you the things
you’ll not know yourself. I may tell you that if you’ll not be cutting
a nathair in five pieces, besides her head, she’ll be sure to come
alive again, and bigger and more stronger than she’ll was before,
and if you’ll be leaving the pieces on the ground, they’ll shust be
creeping together again and join. Sometimes her head will join where
her tail was before, and her tail in the place where her head was
before, and then she’ll be shust awful, worst than she’ll be before
twenty times. But that’ll not be all we’ll be burying them for. If
the bits of the nathair will be left on the ground, in the sun and in
the moonlight, they’ll turn into awful bad and great big flies, dark
green and yellow, with spots like the nathair herself, and they’ll be
so poison that when they touch a mans or a baiste, there will come a
cancer, which no doctor can cure.’
While thus speaking, Eachainn began to grow very pale, his voice
trembled, and at last, sitting down on the heather, he groaned aloud.
‘Why, my poor fellow, what’s the matter with you?’ kindly inquired the
exciseman.
‘I doot, sir,’ said Eachainn in a feeble tone, ‘I doot, sir, the sting
of the nathair has been stronger on me than I’ll be thinking, I’m shust
crippled, sir, and my leg is stiff and sore like, and I’m sick, sick at
my heart.’ Poor Eachainn, in finishing these words, attempted to rise,
but immediately staggered, and fell down insensible.
The gauger, greatly disconcerted, threw himself from his steed with
such alacrity that he almost overturned the gearran, as well as
himself. ‘What?’ he exclaimed: ‘Hoot, toot, man, never give way;
’tis but a dwam, puir fellow! His jaw drops just like Fraser, the
supervisor, when Red Chisholm, the smuggler, stuck his dirk into his
doup. If the lad should die here, and no one but me with him, why, what
would folk say? Gude save us! how swelled his leg is, and all black and
green; ’tis fearsome; would to heaven I were weel out o’ the scrape,
or had never entered the vile country!’ Here, however, a bright idea
struck the alarmed traveller, and hastily going to the bundle suspended
from the right horn of the strathair, he hurriedly turned over its
miscellaneous contents, until he found his whisky flask, which he
uncorked, and poured with a trembling hand, for fear of the remedy
being too late, a good portion of the liquor down the throat of the
unconscious Highlander. The stimulus was powerful. The fainting lad,
in spite of himself, gave a desperate gulp, which caused some of
the spirit to enter his windpipe, consequently the first symptoms
of returning animation on the part of Eachainn was a succession of
hideous gaspings. For fully two minutes he choked and coughed, until
the bewildered gauger feared he had done for him in earnest. At length,
to his unspeakable relief, Eachainn opened his eyes, and getting the
use of his tongue once more, he most zealously and piously recommended
the Southron to the good offices of his majesty, Domhnull Dubh. As he,
however, spoke in his native tongue, Gillespie could not appreciate the
extent of the kindness intended for him. The first use Eachainn made
of his hands was, with the left to gently scratch the bitten foot, and
with the right he took the flask from the still confused gauger, and
taking a good pull at the contents, again attempted to rise, but found
he was unable to walk. On perceiving this, the gauger insisted on his
mounting behind him. The gearran, however, apparently resenting that
his consent had not been asked to the new arrangement, gave a sharp
smarting neigh, and commenced to back. These hostile demonstrations
on the part of the pony were not at all displeasing to Eachainn, who
thought that if the gearran continued restive, he might have him all to
himself. He accordingly kept giving sly kicks with his uninjured foot
in the animal’s groin. The consequence was that every moment the pony
became more indignant and unmanageable; but the gauger, recollecting
that he was in his Majesty’s service, strove to maintain his position
with the dignity due to that office. He pulled hard at the taod, but
finding that of no use, he followed the example of honest John Gilpin,
and grasped the animal’s mane with both hands, receiving, through every
kick-up of the pony, sore thumps from the strathair, which caused him
much uneasiness. Eachainn, holding on ‘like grim death,’ continued
teasing the gearran, at the same time pretending to coax him by saying
‘Sheo! sheo!’ The pony heeded neither that, nor the ‘Huish! huish!’ of
the exciseman, but kept kicking, prancing, and rearing with a zeal and
energy worthy of a better cause. The commotion at length ended by the
gauger tumbling over the animal’s head.
Eachainn, beginning to think that he had carried the joke too far,
dismounted, and seeing the discomfited Southron lying at full length
without signs of life, in his turn became frightened. At this trying
moment he bethought him of the specific, which had proved so useful
in his own case. He had no difficulty in finding the flask, and was
about to administer a dose, when the gauger, who had been only a little
confused at his sudden fall, got on his feet; but nothing would induce
him to remount, so Eachainn rode at his ease, while the annoyed gauger
stalked along with heavy strides, cordially abusing the country, its
moors, its gearrans, and its whisky. The shades of evening began to
lengthen, the scene gradually changed, our travellers began to leave
the heathery moor behind, and enter on arable land, with patches here
and there under cultivation, chiefly oats and potatoes, while an
occasional cow grazing, or a horse tethered, showed them that they were
approaching their journey’s end.