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THE
SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.
BY JAMES HOGG,
AUTHOR OF "THE QUEEN'S WAKE," &c. &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH;
AND T. CADELL, LONDON.
MDCCCXXIX.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The greater number of the Tales contained in these volumes appeared
originally in BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. They have been revised
with care; and to complete the Collection, several Tales hitherto
unpublished have been added.
CONTENTS OF VOL I.
PAGE.
CHAP. I. Rob Dodds, 1
II. Mr Adamson of Laverhope, 33
III. The Prodigal Son, 69
IV. The School of Misfortune, 112
V. George Dobson's Expedition to Hell, 131
VI. The Souters of Selkirk, 148
VII. The Laird of Cassway, 176
VIII. Tibby Hyslop's Dream, 212
IX. Mary Burnet, 247
X. The Brownie of the Black Haggs, 285
XI. The Laird of Wineholm, 311
THE
SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.
CHAPTER I.
ROB DODDS.
It was on the 13th of February 1823, on a cold stormy day, the snow
lying from one to ten feet deep on the hills, and nearly as hard as
ice, when an extensive store-farmer in the outer limits of the county
of Peebles went up to one of his led farms, to see how his old
shepherd was coming on with his flocks. A partial thaw had blackened
some spots here and there on the brows of the mountains, and over
these the half-starving flocks were scattered, picking up a scanty
sustenance, while all the hollow parts, and whole sides of mountains
that lay sheltered from the winds on the preceding week, when the
great drifts blew, were heaped and over-heaped with immense loads of
snow, so that every hill appeared to the farmer to have changed its
form. There was a thick white haze on the sky, corresponding exactly
with the wan frigid colour of the high mountains, so that in casting
one's eye up to the heights, it was not apparent where the limits of
the earth ended, and the heavens began. There was no horizon--no blink
of the sun looking through the pale and impervious mist of heaven; but
there, in that elevated and sequestered _hope_, the old shepherd and
his flock seemed to be left out of nature and all its sympathies, and
embosomed in one interminable chamber of waste desolation.--So his
master thought; and any stranger beholding the scene, would have been
still more deeply impressed that the case was so in reality.
But the old shepherd thought and felt otherwise. He saw God in the
clouds, and watched his arm in the direction of the storm. He
perceived, or thought he perceived, one man's flocks suffering on
account of their owner's transgression; and though he bewailed the
hardships to which the poor harmless creatures were reduced, he yet
acknowledged in his heart the justness of the punishment. "These
temporal scourges are laid upon sinners in mercy," said he, "and it
will be well for them if they get so away. It will teach them in
future how to drink and carouse, and speak profane things of the name
of Him in whose hand are the issues of life, and to regard his
servants as the dogs of their flock."
Again, he beheld from his heights, when the days were clear, the
flocks of others more favourably situated, which he interpreted as a
reward for their acts of charity and benevolence; for this old man
believed that all temporal benefits are sent to men as a reward for
good works; and all temporal deprivations as a scourge for evil ones.
"I hae been a herd in this hope, callant and man, for these fifty
years now, Janet," said he to his old wife, "and I think I never saw
the face o' the country look waur."
"Hout, gudeman, it is but a clud o' the despondency o' auld age come
ower your een; for I hae seen waur storms than this, or else my sight
deceives me. This time seven and thirty years, when you and I were
married, there was a deeper, and a harder snaw baith, than this. There
was mony a burn dammed up wi' dead hogs that year! And what say ye to
this time nine years, gudeman?"
"Ay, ay, Janet, these were hard times when they were present. But I
think there's something in our corrupt nature that gars us aye trow
the present burden is the heaviest. However, it is either my strength
failing, that I canna won sae weel through the snaw, or I never saw it
lying sae deep before. I canna steer the poor creatures frae ae
knowe-head to another, without rowing them ower the body. And
sometimes when they wad spraughle away, then I stick firm and fast
mysell, and the mair I fight to get out, I gang aye the deeper. This
same day, nae farther gane, at ae step up in the Gait Cleuch, I
slumpit in to the neck. Peace be wi' us, quo' I to myself, where am I
now? If my auld wife wad but look up the hill, she wad see nae mair o'
her poor man but the bannet. Ah! Janet, Janet, I'm rather feared that
our Maker has a craw to pook wi' us even now!"
"I hope no, Andrew; we're in good hands; and if he should e'en see
meet to pook a craw wi' us, he'll maybe fling us baith the bouk and
the feathers at the end. Ye shouldna repine, gudeman. Ye're something
ill for thrawing your mou' at Providence now and then."
"Na, na, Janet; far be't frae me to grumble at Providence. I ken ower
weel that the warst we get is far aboon our merits. But it's no for
the season that I'm sae feared,--that's ruled by Ane that canna err;
only, I dread that there's something rotten in the government or the
religion of the country, that lays it under His curse. There's my
fear, Janet. The scourge of a land often fa's on its meanest creatures
first, and advances by degrees, to gie the boonmost orders o' society
warning and time to repent. There, for instance, in the saxteen and
seventeen, the scourge fell on our flocks and our herds. Then, in
aughteen and nineteen, it fell on the weavers,--they're the neist
class, ye ken; then our merchants,--they're the neist again; and last
of a' it has fallen on the farmers and the shepherds,--they're the
first and maist sterling class of a country. Na, ye needna smudge and
laugh, Janet; for it's true. They _are_ the boonmost, and hae aye been
the boonmost sin' the days o' Abel; and that's nae date o' yesterday.
And ye'll observe, Janet, that whenever they began to fa' low, they
gat aye another lift to keep up their respect. But I see our downfa'
coming on us wi' rapid strides.--There's a heartlessness and apathy
croppen in amang the sheep-farmers, that shows their warldly hopes to
be nearly extinct. The maist o' them seem no to care a bodle whether
their sheep die or live. There's our master, for instance, when times
were gaun weel, I hae seen him up ilka third day at the farthest in
the time of a storm, to see how the sheep were doing; and this winter
I hae never seen his face sin' it came on. He seems to hae forgotten
that there are sic creatures existing in this wilderness as the sheep
and me.--His presence be about us, gin there be nae the very man come
by the window!"
Janet sprung to her feet, swept the hearth, set a chair on the
cleanest side, and wiped it with her check apron, all ere one could
well look about him.
"Come away, master; come in by to the fire here; lang-lookit-for comes
at length."
"How are you, Janet?--still living, I see. It is a pity that you had
not popped off before this great storm came on."
"Dear, what for, master?"
"Because if you should take it into your head to coup the creels just
now, you know it would be out of the power of man to get you to a
Christian burial. We would be obliged to huddle you up in the nook of
the kail-yard."
"Ah, master, what's that you're saying to my auld wife? Aye the auld
man yet, I hear! a great deal o' the leaven o' corrupt nature aye
sprouting out now and then. I wonder you're no fear'd to speak in that
regardless manner in these judgment-looking times!"
"And you are still the old man too, Andrew; a great deal of cant and
hypocrisy sprouting out at times. But tell me, you old sinner, how has
your Maker been serving you this storm? I have been right terrified
about your sheep; for I know you will have been very impertinent with
him of evenings."
"Hear to that now! There's no hope, I see! I thought to find you
humbled wi' a' thir trials and warldly losses; but I see the heart is
hardened like Pharaoh's, and you will not let the multitude of your
sins go. As to the storm, I can tell you, my sheep are just at ane
mae wi't. I am waur than ony o' my neighbours, as I lie higher on the
hills; but I may hae been as it chanced, for you; for ye hae never
lookit near me mair than you had had no concern in the creatures."
"Indeed, Andrew, it is because neither you nor the creatures are much
worth looking after now-a-days. If it hadna been the fear I was in for
some mishap coming over the stock, on account of these hypocritical
prayers of yours, I would not have come to look after you so soon."
"Ah, there's nae mense to be had o' you! It's a good thing I ken the
heart's better than the tongue, or ane wad hae little face to pray
either for you, or aught that belangs t'ye. But I hope ye hae been nae
the waur o' auld Andrew's prayers as yet. An some didna pray for ye,
it wad maybe be the waur for ye. I prayed for ye when ye couldna pray
for yoursell, and had hopes that, when I turned auld and doited, you
might say a kind word for me; but I'm fear'd that warld's wealth and
warld's pleasures hae been leading you ower lang in their train, and
that ye hae been trusting to that which will soon take wings and flee
away."
"If you mean riches, Andrew, or warld's wealth, as you call it, you
never said a truer word in your life; for the little that my forbears
and I have made, is actually, under the influence of these long
prayers of yours, melting away from among my hands faster than ever
the snow did from the dike."
"It is perfectly true, what you're saying, master. I ken the extent o'
your bits o' sales weel enough, and I ken your rents; and weel I ken
you're telling me nae lee. And it's e'en a hard case. But I'll tell
you what I would do--I would throw their tacks in their teeth, and let
them mak aught o' them they likit."
"Why, that would be ruin at once, Andrew, with a vengeance. Don't you
see that stocks of sheep are fallen so low, that if they were put to
sale, they would not pay more than the rents, and some few arrears
that every one of us have got into; and thus, by throwing up our
farms, we would throw ourselves out beggars? We are all willing to put
off the evil day as long as we can, and rather trust to long prayers
for a while."
"Ah! you're there again, are you?--canna let alane profanity! It's
hard to gar a wicked cout leave off flinging. But I can tell you,
master mine--An you farmers had made your hay when the sun shone, ye
might a' hae sitten independent o' your screwing lairds, wha are
maistly sair out at elbows; and ye ken, sir, a hungry louse bites
wicked sair. But this is but a just judgment come on you for your
behaviour. Ye had the gaun days o' prosperity for twenty years! But
instead o' laying by a little for a sair leg, or making provision for
an evil day, ye gaed on like madmen. Ye biggit houses, and ye plantit
vineyards, and threw away money as ye had been sawing sklate-stanes.
Ye drank wine, and ye drank punch; and ye roared and ye sang, and
spake unseemly things. And did ye never think there was an ear that
heard, and an ee that saw, a' thae things? And did ye never think that
they wad be visited on your heads some day when ye couldna play paw to
help yoursells? If ye didna think sae then, ye'll think sae soon. And
ye'll maybe see the day when the like o' auld Andrew, wi' his darned
hose, and his cloutit shoon; his braid bannet, instead of a baiver;
his drink out o' the clear spring, instead o' the punch bowl; and his
good steeve aitmeal parritch and his horn spoon, instead o' the draps
o' tea, that costs sae muckle--I say, that sic a man wi' a' thae, and
his worthless prayers to boot, will maybe keep the crown o' the
causeway langer than some that carried their heads higher."
"Hout fie, Andrew!" quoth old Janet; "Gudeness be my help, an I dinna
think shame o' you! Our master may weel think ye'll be impudent wi'
your Maker; for troth you're very impudent wi' himsell. Dinna ye see
that ye hae made the douce sonsy lad that he disna ken where to look?"
"Ay, Janet, your husband may weel crack. He kens he has feathered his
nest off my father and me. He is independent, let the world wag as it
will."
"It's a' fairly come by, master, and the maist part o't came through
your ain hands. But my bairns are a' doing for themsells, in the same
way that I did; and if twa or three hunder pounds can beet a mister
for you in a strait, ye sanna want it, come of a' what will."
"It is weel said of you, Andrew, and I am obliged to you. There is no
class of men in this kingdom so independent as you shepherds. You have
your sheep, your cow, your meal and potatoes; a regular income of from
sixteen to thirty pounds yearly, without a farthing of expenditure,
except for shoes; for your clothes are all made at home. If you would
even wish to spend it, you cannot get an opportunity, and every one of
you is rich, who has not lost money by lending it. It is therefore my
humble opinion, that all the farms over this country will soon change
occupants; and that the shepherds must ultimately become the
store-farmers."
"I hope in God I'll never live to see that, master, for the sake of
them that I and mine hae won our bread frae, as weel as some others
that I hae a great respect for. But that's no a thing that hasna
happened afore this day. It is little mair than a hundred and forty
years, sin' a' the land i' this country changed masters already; sin'
every farmer in it was reduced, and the farms were a' ta'en by common
people and strangers at half naething. The Welshes came here then, out
o' a place they ca' Wales, in England; the Andersons came frae a place
they ca' Rannoch, some gate i' the north; and your ain family came
first to this country then frae some bit lairdship near Glasgow. There
were a set o' MacGregors and MacDougals, said to have been great
thieves, came into Yarrow then, and changed their names to Scotts; but
they didna thrive; for they warna likit, and the hinderend o' them
were in the Catslackburn. They ca'd them aye the Pinolys, frae the
place they came frae; but I dinna ken where it was. The Ballantynes
came frae Galloway; and for as flourishing folks as they are now, the
first o' them came out at the Birkhill-path, riding on a haltered
pony, wi' a goat-skin aneath him for a saddle. The Cunninghams,
likewise, began to spread their wings at the same time; they came a'
frae a little fat curate that came out o' Glencairn to Ettrick. But
that's nae disparagement to ony o' thae families; for an there be
merit at a' inherent in man as to warldly things, it is certainly in
raising himsell frae naething to respect. There is nae very ancient
name amang a' our farmers now, but the Tweedies and the Murrays; I
mean of them that anciently belanged to this district. The Tweedies
are very auld, and took the name frae the water. They were lairds o'
Drummelzier hunders o' years afore the Hays got it, and hae some o'
the best blood o' the land in their veins; and sae also have the
Murrays; but the maist part o' the rest are upstarts and
come-o'-wills. Now ye see, for as far out-bye as I live, I can tell ye
some things that ye dinna hear amang your drinking cronies."
"It is when you begin to these old traditions that I like to listen to
you, Andrew. Can you tell me what was the cause of such a complete
overthrow of the farmers of that age?"
"Oh, I canna tell, sir--I canna tell; some overturn o' affairs, like
the present, I fancy. The farmers had outher lost a' their sheep, or
a' their siller, as they are like to do now; but I canna tell how it
was; for the general change had ta'en place, for the maist part, afore
the Revolution. My ain grandfather, who was the son of a great farmer,
hired himsell for a shepherd at that time to young Tam Linton; and
mony ane was wae for the downcome. But, speaking o' that, of a' the
downcomes that ever a country kenn'd in a farming name, there has
never been ought like that o' the Lintons. When my grandfather was a
young man, and ane o' their herds, they had a' the principal
store-farms o' Ettrick Forest, and a part in this shire. They had,
when the great Mr Boston came to Ettrick, the farms o' Blackhouse,
Dryhope, Henderland, Chapelhope, Scabcleuch, Shorthope, Midgehope,
Meggatknowes, Buecleuch, and Gilmanscleuch, that I ken of, and likely
as mony mae; and now there's no a man o' the name in a' the bounds
aboon the rank of a cow-herd. Thomas Linton rode to kirk and market,
wi' a liveryman at his back; but where is a' that pride now?--a'
buried in the mools wi' the bearers o't! and the last representative
o' that great overgrown family, that laid house to house, and field to
field, is now sair gane on a wee, wee farm o' the Duke o' Buecleuch's.
The ancient curse had lighted on these men, if ever it lighted on men
in this world. And yet they were reckoned good men, and kind men, in
their day; for the good Mr Boston wrote an epitaph on Thomas, in
metre, when he died; and though I have read it a hunder times in St
Mary's kirk-yard, where it is to be seen to this day, I canna say it
ower. But it says that he was eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame,
and that the Lord would requite him in a day to come, or something to
that purpose. Now that said a great deal for him, master, although
Providence has seen meet to strip his race of a' their worldly
possessions. But take an auld fool's advice, and never lay farm to
farm, even though a fair opportunity should offer; for, as sure as He
lives who pronounced that curse, it will take effect. I'm an auld man,
and I hae seen mony a dash made that way; but I never saw ane o' them
come to good! There was first Murray of Glenrath; why, it was
untelling what land that man possessed. Now his family has not a furr
in the twa counties. Then there was his neighbour Simpson of Posso: I
hae seen the day that Simpson had two-and-twenty farms, the best o'
the twa counties, and a' stockit wi' good sheep. Now there's no a drap
o' _his_ blood has a furr in the twa counties. Then there was Grieve
of Willenslee; ane wad hae thought that body was gaun to take the
haill kingdom. He was said to have had ten thousand sheep, a' on good
farms, at ae time. Where are they a' now? Neither _him_ nor _his_ hae
a furr in the twa counties. Let me tell ye, master--for ye're but a
young man, and I wad aye fain have ye to see things in a right
light--that ye may blame the wars; ye may blame the Government; and ye
may blame the Parliamenters: but there's a hand that rules higher than
a' these; and gin ye dinna look to that, ye'll never look to the right
source either o' your prosperity or adversity. And I sairly doubt that
the pride o' the farmers has been raised to ower great a pitch, that
Providence has been brewing a day of humiliation for them, and that
there will be a change o' hands aince mair, as there was about this
time hunder and forty years."
"Then I suppose you shepherds expect to have century about with us,
or so? Well, I don't see any thing very unfair in it."
"Ay, but I fear we will be as far aneath the right medium for a while,
as ye are startit aboon it. We'll make a fine hand doing the honours
o' the grand mansion-houses that ye hae biggit for us; the cavalry
exercises; the guns and the pointers; the wine and the punch drinking;
and the singing o' the deboshed sangs! But we'll just come to the
right set again in a generation or twa; and then, as soon as we get
ower hee, we'll get a downcome in our turn.--But, master, I say, how
will you grand gentlemen tak wi' a shepherd's life? How will ye like
to be turned into reeky holes like this, where ye can hardly see your
fingers afore ye, and be reduced to the parritch and the horn spoon?"
"I cannot tell, Andrew. I suppose it will have some advantages--It
will teach us to say long prayers to put off the time; and if we
should have the misfortune afterwards to pass into _the bad place_
that you shepherds are all so terrified about, why, we will scarcely
know any difference. I account that a great advantage in dwelling in
such a place as this. We'll scarcely know the one place from the
other."
"Ay, but oh what a surprise ye will get when ye step out o' ane o'
your grand palaces into hell! And gin ye dinna repent in time, ye'll
maybe get a little experiment o' that sort. Ye think ye hae said a
very witty thing there: but a' profane wit is sinfu'; and whatever is
sinfu' is shamefu'; and therefore it never suits to be said either
afore God or man. Ye are just a good standing sample o' the young
tenantry o' Scotland at this time. Ye're ower genteel to be devout,
and ye look ower high, and depend ower muckle on the arm o' flesh, to
regard the rod and Him that hath appointed it. But it will fa' wi' the
mair weight for that! A blow that is seen coming may be wardit off;
but if ane's sae proud as no to regard it, it's the less scaith that
he suffer."
"I see not how any man can ward off this blow, Andrew. It has gathered
its overwhelming force in springs over which we have no control, and
is of that nature that no industry of man can avail against
it--exertion is no more than a drop in the bucket: and I greatly fear
that this grievous storm is come to lay the axe to the root of the
tree."
"I'm glad to hear, however, that ye hae some Scripture phrases at your
tongue-roots. I never heard you use ane in a serious mode before; and
I hope there will be a reformation yet. If adversity hae that effect,
I shall willingly submit to my share o' the loss if the storm should
lie still for a while, and cut off a wheen o' the creatures, that ye
aince made eedals o', and now dow hardly bide to see. But that's the
gate wi' a things that ane sets up for warldly worship in place o'
the true object; they turn a' out curses and causes o' shame and
disgrace. As for warding off the blow, master, I see no resource but
throwing up the farms ilk ane, and trying to save a remnant out o' the
fire. The lairds want naething better than for ye to rin in arrears;
then they will get a' your stocks for neist to naething, and have the
land stockit themsells as they had lang-syne; and you will be their
keepers, or vassals, the same as we are to you at present. As to
hinging on at the present rents, it is madness--the very extremity of
madness. I hae been a herd here for fifty years, and I ken as weel
what the ground will pay at every price of sheep as you do, and I
daresay a great deal better. When I came here first, your father paid
less than the third of the rent that you are bound to pay; sheep of
every description were dearer, lambs, ewes, and wedders; and I ken
weel he was making no money of it, honest man, but merely working his
way, with some years a little over, and some naething. And how is it
possible that you can pay three times the rent at lower prices of
sheep? I say the very presumption of the thing is sheer madness. And
it is not only this farm, but you may take it as an average of all the
farms in the country, that _before the French war began, the sheep
were dearer than they are now--the farms were not above one-third of
the rents at an average, and the farmers were not making any money_.
They have lost their summer day during the French war, which will
never return to them; and the only resource they have, that I can see,
is to abandon their farms in time, and try to save a remnant. Things
will come to their true level presently, but not afore the auld stock
o' farmers are crushed past rising again. And then I little wat what's
to come o' ye; for an we herds get the land, we _winna_ employ you as
our shepherds,--that you may depend on."
"Well, Andrew, these are curious facts that you tell me about the land
having all changed occupiers about a certain period. I wish you could
have stated the causes with certainty. Was there not a great loss on
this farm once, when it was said the burn was so dammed up with dead
carcasses that it changed its course?"
"Ay, but that's quite a late story. It happened in my own day, and I
believe mostly through mischance. That was the year Rob Dodds was lost
in the Earney Cleuch. I remember it, but cannot tell what year it was,
for I was but a little bilsh of a callant then."
"Who was Rob Dodds? I never heard of the incident before."
"Ay, but your father remembered it weel; for he sent a' his men mony a
day to look for the corpse, but a' to nae purpose. I'll never forget
it; for it made an impression on me sae deep that I couldna get rest
i' my bed for months and days. He was a young handsome bonny lad, an
honest man's only son, and was herd wi' Tam Linton in the Birkhill.
The Lintons were sair come down then; for this Tam was a herd, and had
Rob hired as his assistant. Weel, it sae happened that Tam's wife had
occasion to cross the wild heights atween the Birkhill and Tweedsmuir,
to see her mother, or sister, on some express; and Tam sent the young
man wi' her to see her ower Donald's Cleuch Edge. It was in the middle
o' winter, and, if I mind right, this time sixty years. At the time
they set out, the morning was calm, frosty, and threatening snaw, but
the ground clear of it. Rob had orders to set his mistress to the
height, and return home; but by the time they had got to the height,
the snaw had come on, so the good lad went all the way through
Guemshope with her, and in sight of the water o' Fruid. He crossed all
the wildest o' the heights on his return in safety; and on the
Middle-End, west of Loch-Skene, he met with Robin Laidlaw, that went
to the Highlands and grew a great farmer after that. Robin was
gathering the Polmoody ewes; and as they were neighbours, and both
herding to ae master, Laidlaw testified some anxiety lest the young
man should not find his way hame; for the blast had then come on very
severe. Dodds leugh at him, and said, 'he was nae mair feared for
finding the gate hame, than he was for finding the gate to his mouth
when he was hungry.'--'Weel, weel,' quo' Robin, 'keep the band o' the
hill a' the way, for I hae seen as clever a fellow waured on sic a
day; and be sure to hund the ewes out o' the Brand Law Scores as ye
gang by.'--'Tammy charged me to bring a backfu' o' peats wi' me,' said
he; 'but I think I'll no gang near the peat stack the day.'--'Na,'
quo' Robin, 'I think ye'll no be sae mad!'--'But, O man,' quo' the
lad, 'hae ye ony bit bread about your pouches; for I'm unco hungry?
The wife was in sic a hurry that I had to come away without getting
ony breakfast, and I had sae far to gang wi' her, that I'm grown unco
toom i' the inside.'--'The fient ae inch hae I, Robie, my man, or ye
should hae had it,' quo' Laidlaw.--'But an that be the case, gang
straight hame, and never heed the ewes, come o' them what will.'--'O
there's nae fear!' said he, 'I'll turn the ewes, and be hame in good
time too.' And with that he left Laidlaw, and went down the
Middle-Craig-End, jumping and playing in a frolicsome way ower his
stick. He had a large lang nibbit staff in his hand, which Laidlaw
took particular notice of, thinking it would be a good help for the
young man in the rough way he had to gang.
"There was never another word about the matter till that day eight
days. The storm having increased to a terrible drift, the snaw had
grown very deep, and the herds, wha lived about three miles sindry,
hadna met for a' that time. But that day Tam Linton and Robin Laidlaw
met at the Tail Burn; and after cracking a lang time thegither, Tam
says to the tither, just as it war by chance, 'Saw ye naething o' our
young dinnagood this day eight days, Robin? He gaed awa that morning
to set our gudewife ower the height, and has never sin' that time
lookit near me, the careless rascal!'
"'Tam Linton, what's that you're saying? what's that I hear ye saying,
Tam Linton?' quo' Robin, wha was dung clean stupid wi' horror. 'Hae ye
never seen Rob Dodds sin' that morning he gaed away wi' your wife?'
"'Na, never,' quo' the tither.
"'Why then, sir, let me tell ye, you'll never see him again in this
world alive,' quo' Robin; 'for he left me on the Middle-End on his way
hame that day at eleven o'clock, just as the day was coming to the
warst.--But, Tam Linton, what was't ye war saying? Ye're telling me
what canna be true--Do ye say that ye haena seen Rob Dodds sin' that
day?'
"'Haena I tauld ye that I hae never seen his face sinsyne?' quo'
Linton.
"'Sae I hear ye saying,' quo' Robin again. 'But ye're telling me a
downright made lee. The thing's no possible; for ye hae the very staff
i' your hand that he had in his, when he left me in the drift that
day.'
"'I ken naething about sticks or staves, Robin Laidlaw,' says Tam,
looking rather like ane catched in an ill turn. 'The staff wasna
likely to come hame without the owner; and I can only say, I hae seen
nae mair o' Rob Dodds sin' that morning; and I had thoughts that, as
the day grew sae ill, he had hadden forrit a' the length wi' our wife,
and was biding wi' her folks a' this time to bring her hame again when
the storm had settled.'
"'Na, na, Tam, ye needna get into ony o' thae lang-windit stories wi'
me,' quo' Robin. 'For I tell ye, that's the staff Rob Dodds had in his
hand when I last saw him; so ye have either seen him dead or
living--I'll gie my oath to that.'
"'Ye had better take care what ye say, Robin Laidlaw,' says Tam, very
fiercely, 'or I'll maybe make ye blithe to eat in your words again.'
"'What I hae said, I'll stand to, Tam Linton,' says Robin.--'And mair
than that,' says he, 'if that young man has come to an untimely end,
I'll see his blood required at your hand.'
"Then there was word sent away to the Hopehouse to his parents, and ye
may weel ken, master, what heavy news it was to them, for Rob was
their only son; they had gien him a good education, and muckle muckle
they thought o' him; but naething wad serve him but he wad be a
shepherd. His father came wi' the maist pairt o' Ettrick parish at
his back; and mony sharp and threatening words past atween him and
Linton; but what could they make o't? The lad was lost, and nae law,
nor nae revenge, could restore him again; sae they had naething for't,
but to spread athwart a' the hills looking for the corpse. The haill
country rase for ten miles round, on ane or twa good days that
happened; but the snaw was still lying, and a' their looking was in
vain. Tam Linton wad look nane. He took the dorts, and never heeded
the folk mair than they hadna been there. A' that height atween
Loch-Skene and the Birkhill was just moving wi' folk for the space o'
three weeks; for the twa auld folk, the lad's parents, couldna get ony
rest, and folk sympathized unco muckle wi' them. At length the snaw
gaed maistly away, and the weather turned fine, and I gaed out ane o'
the days wi' my father to look for the body. But, aih wow! I was a
feared wight! whenever I saw a bit sod, or a knowe, or a grey stane, I
stood still and trembled for fear it was the dead man, and no ae step
durst I steer farther, till my father gaed up to a' thae things. I
gaed nae mair back to look for the corpse; for I'm sure if we had
found the body I wad hae gane out o' my judgment.
"At length every body tired o' looking, but the auld man himsell. He
travelled day after day, ill weather and good weather, without
intermission. They said it was the waesomest thing ever was seen, to
see that auld grey-headed man gaun sae lang by himsell, looking for
the corpse o' his only son! The maist part o' his friends advised him
at length to give up the search, as the finding o' the body seemed a
thing a'thegither hopeless. But he declared he wad look for his son
till the day o' his death; and if he could but find his bones, he
would carry them away from the wild moors, and lay them in the grave
where he was to lie himsell. Tam Linton was apprehended, and examined
afore the Sheriff; but nae proof could be led against him, and he wan
off. He swore that, as far as he remembered, he got the staff standing
at the mouth o' the peat stack; and that he conceived that either the
lad or himsell had left it there some day when bringing away a burden
of peats. The shepherds' peats had not been led home that year, and
the stack stood on a hill-head, half a mile frae the house, and the
herds were obliged to carry them home as they needed them.
"But a mystery hung ower that lad's death that was never cleared up,
nor ever will a'thegither. Every man was convinced, in his own mind,
that Linton knew where the body was a' the time; and also, that the
young man had not come by his death fairly. It was proved that the
lad's dog had come hame several times, and that Tam Linton had been
seen kicking it frae about his house; and as the dog could be nowhere
all that time, but waiting on the body, if that had no been concealed
in some more than ordinary way, the dog would at least have been seen.
At length, it was suggested to the old man, that dead-lights always
hovered over a corpse by night, if the body was left exposed to the
air; and it was a fact that two drowned men had been found in a field
of whins, where the water had left the bodies, by means of the
dead-lights, a very short while before. On the first calm night,
therefore, the old desolate man went to the Merk-Side-Edge, to the top
of a high hill that overlooked all the ground where there was ony
likelihood that the body would be lying. He watched there the lee-lang
night, keeping his eye constantly roaming ower the broken wastes
before him; but he never noticed the least glimmer of the dead-lights.
About midnight, however, he heard a dog barking; it likewise gae twa
or three melancholy yowls, and then ceased. Robin Dodds was convinced
it was his son's dog; but it was at such a distance, being about twa
miles off, that he couldna be sure where it was, or which o' the hills
on the opposite side of the glen it was on. The second night he kept
watch on the Path Know, a hill which he supposed the howling o' the
dog cam frae. But that hill being all surrounded to the west and north
by tremendous ravines and cataracts, he heard nothing o' the dog. In
the course of the night, however, he saw, or fancied he saw, a
momentary glimmer o' light, in the depth of the great gulf immediately
below where he sat; and that at three different times, always in the
same place. He now became convinced that the remains o' his son were
in the bottom of the linn, a place which he conceived inaccessible to
man; it being so deep from the summit where he stood, that the roar o'
the waterfall only reached his ears now and then wi' a loud _whush!_
as if it had been a sound wandering across the hills by itsell. But
sae intent was Robin on this Willie-an-the-wisp light, that he took
landmarks frae the ae summit to the other, to make sure o' the place;
and as soon as daylight came, he set about finding a passage down to
the bottom of the linn. He effected this by coming to the foot of the
linn, and tracing its course backward, sometimes wading in water, and
sometimes clambering over rocks, till at length, with a beating heart,
he reached the very spot where he had seen the light; and in the grey
o' the morning, he perceived something lying there that differed in
colour from the iron-hued stones, and rocks, of which the linn was
composed. He was in great astonishment what this could be; for, as he
came closer on it, he saw it had no likeness to the dead body of a
man, but rather appeared to be a heap o' bed-clothes. And what think
you it turned out to be? for I see ye're glowring as your een were
gaun to loup out--Just neither more nor less than a strong mineral
well; or what the doctors ca' a callybit spring, a' boustered about
wi' heaps o' soapy, limy kind o' stuff, that it seems had thrown out
fiery vapours i' the nighttime.
"However, Robin, being unable to do ony mair in the way o' searching,
had now nae hope left but in finding his dead son by some kind o'
supernatural means. Sae he determined to watch a third night, and that
at the very identical peat stack where it had been said his son's
staff was found. He did sae; and about midnight, ere ever he wist, the
dog set up a howl close beside him. He called on him by his name, and
the dog came, and fawned on his old acquaintance, and whimpered, and
whinged, and made sic a wark, as could hardly hae been trowed. Robin
keepit haud o' him a' the night, and fed him wi' pieces o' bread, and
then as soon as the sun rose, he let him gang; and the poor
affectionate creature went straight to his dead master, who, after
all, was lying in a little green spritty hollow, not above a
musket-shot from the peat stack. This rendered the whole affair more
mysterious than ever; for Robin Dodds himself, and above twenty men
beside, could all have made oath that they had looked into that place
again and again, so minutely, that a dead bird could not have been
there without their having seen it. However, there the body of the
youth was gotten, after having been lost for the long space of ten
weeks; and not in a state of great decay neither, for it rather
appeared swollen, as if it had been lying among water.
"Conjecture was now driven to great extremities in accounting for all
these circumstances. It was manifest to every one, that the body had
not been all the time in that place. But then, where had it been? or
what could have been the reasons for concealing it? These were the
puzzling considerations. There were a hunder different things
suspectit; and mony o' them, I dare say, a hunder miles frae the
truth; but on the whole, Linton was sair lookit down on, and almaist
perfectly abhorred by the country; for it was weel kenn'd that he had
been particularly churlish and severe on the young man at a' times,
and seemed to have a peculiar dislike to him. An it hadna been the
wife, wha was a kind considerate sort of a body, if Tam had gotten his
will, it was reckoned he wad hae hungered the lad to dead. After that,
Linton left the place, and gaed away, I watna where; and the country,
I believe, came gayan near to the truth o' the story at last:
"There was a girl in the Birkhill house at the time, whether a
daughter o' Tam's, or no, I hae forgot, though I think otherwise.
However, she durstna for her life tell a' she kenn'd as lang as the
investigation was gaun on; but it at last spunkit out that Rob Dodds
had got hame safe eneugh; and that Tam got into a great rage at him,
because he had not brought a burden o' peats, there being none in the
house. The youth excused himself on the score of fatigue and hunger;
but Tam swore at him, and said, 'The deil be in your teeth, gin they
shall break bread, till ye gang back out to the hill-head and bring a
burden o' peats!' Dodds refused; on which Tam struck him, and forced
him away; and he went crying and greeting out at the door, but never
came back. She also told, that after poor Rob was lost, Tam tried
several times to get at his dog to fell it with a stick; but the
creature was terrified for him, and made its escape. It was therefore
thought, and indeed there was little doubt, that Rob, through fatigue
and hunger, and reckless of death from the way he had been guidit,
went out to the hill, and died at the peat stack, the mouth of which
was a shelter from the drift-wind; and that his cruel master,
conscious o' the way in which he had used him, and dreading skaith,
had trailed away the body, and sunk it in some pool in these
unfathomable linns, or otherwise concealed it, wi' the intention, that
the world might never ken whether the lad was actually dead, or had
absconded. If it had not been for the dog, from which it appears he
had been unable to conceal it, and the old man's perseverance, to
whose search there appeared to be no end, it is probable he would
never have laid the body in a place where it could have been found.
But if he had allowed it to remain in the first place of concealment,
it might have been discovered by means of the dog, and the intentional
concealment of the corpse would then have been obvious; so that Linton
all that time could not be quite at his ease, and it was no wonder he
attempted to fell the dog. But where the body could have been
deposited, that the faithful animal was never discovered by the
searchers, during the day, for the space of ten weeks, baffled a' the
conjectures that ever could be made.
"The two old people, the lad's father and mother, never got over their
loss. They never held up their heads again, nor joined in society ony
mair, except in attending divine worship. It might be truly said o'
them, that they spent the few years that they survived their son in
constant prayer and humiliation; but they soon died, short while after
ane anither. As for Tam Linton, he left this part of the country, as I
told you; but it was said there was a curse hung ower him and his a'
his life, and that he never mair did weel.--That was the year, master,
on which our burn was dammed wi' the dead sheep; and in fixing the
date, you see, I hae been led into a lang story, and am just nae
farther wi' the main point than when I began."
"I wish from my heart, Andrew, that you would try to fix a great many
old dates in the same manner; for I confess I am more interested in
your lang stories, than in either your lang prayers, or your lang
sermons about repentance and amendment. But pray, you were talking of
the judgments that overtook Tam Linton--Was that the same Tam Linton
that was precipitated from the Brand Law by the break of a
snaw-wreath, and he and all his sheep jammed into the hideous gulf,
called the Grey Mare's Tail?"
"The very same, sir; and that might be accountit ane o' the first
judgments that befell him; for there were many of his ain sheep in the
flock. Tam asserted all his life, that he went into the linn along
with his hirsel, but no man ever believed him; for there was not one
of the sheep came out alive, and how it was possible for the carl to
have come safe out, naebody could see. It was, indeed, quite
impossible; for it had been such a break of snaw as had scarcely ever
been seen. The gulf was crammed sae fu', that ane could hae gane ower
it like a pendit brig; and no a single sheep could be gotten out,
either dead or living. When the thaw came, the burn wrought a passage
for itself below the snaw, but the arch stood till summer. I have
heard my father oft describe the appearance of that vault as he saw it
on his way from Moffat fair. Ane hadna gane far into it, he said, till
it turned darkish, like an ill-hued twilight; and sic a like arch o'
carnage he never saw! There were limbs o' sheep hinging in a'
directions, the snaw was wedged sae firm. Some entire carcasses hung
by the neck, some by a spauld; then there was a haill forest o' legs
sticking out in ae place, and horns in another, terribly mangled and
broken; and it was a'thegither sic a frightsome-looking place, that he
was blithe to get out o't again."
After looking at the sheep, tasting old Janet's best kebbuck, and
oatmeal cakes, and preeing the whisky bottle, the young farmer again
set out through the deep snow, on his way home. But Andrew made him
promise, that if the weather did not amend, he would come back in a
few days and see how the poor sheep were coming on; and, as an
inducement, promised to tell him a great many old anecdotes of the
shepherd's life.