Lizzie M'Gill, the Fifeshire
Spaewife--Fortune-telling--Predicting a Storm at
Sea--Servants alarmed thereby--Prediction
Fulfilled--Adam Donald, an Aberdeenshire Prophet--Adam
supposed to have been a Changeling--A Careless
Mother--Adam as a Linguist--His Predictions and
Cures--His Marriage--Valuable Charm--The Wise Woman of
Kincardineshire--The Recruiting
Sergeant--High-spirited Lady wooed and won--Lucky
Lightfoot, the Spaewife--Charmed Ring and its
Effects--Elopement and Marriage--An Enraged
Father--Life in America--Sergeant Campbell's
Death--Second Marriage--Literary
Talents--Strong-minded Women.
In the spring of 1866, Eliza M'Gill, who resided near a romantic
church in the Presbytery of St. Andrews, died at the advanced age of
ninety-three years. For a long period almost every one, far and near,
knew her as a spaewife of no ordinary knowledge. Lizzie (the name
usually given her) could scarcely be called an impostor, for she
appeared to have sincere faith in her profession. Often she exclaimed
with solemn fervency, "The gift I hae is fae aboon, an' what He gies
daurna be hidit." It was common for coy damsels and staid matrons to
wend their way to Lizzie's cot about twilight, to have their fortunes
spaed. About ten years before her death, when the prospects of the
herring fishing were discouraging in the extreme, a buxom young woman,
belonging to Pittenweem or St. Monance, repaired one evening to
Carnbee to consult Lizzie. The damsel went with a heavy countenance,
but she returned radiant with smiles, for the wise woman had said,
"That altho' it was to be an awfu' puir draw, yet her folk was to hae
a grand haul next e'enin'." And, true to the old wife's prediction,
the crew in which she interested herself returned with a splendid
prize from the fishing ground, followed, of course, with an increase
of fame to the prophetess. On another occasion Lizzie was no less
fortunate in the result foretold. A fisher-wife in the former place
had received a sovereign from her husband, which, in the hurry of the
moment, she had placed on the bedside. Going shortly afterwards to
remove it, what was her consternation to find that the gold piece was
gone! The most diligent search and inquiry were instituted after the
lost treasure, but all to no purpose. In the extremity of her distress
the poor woman thought of the "witch o' Carnbee," and, adjusting her
cap, was soon on her journey thither. Lizzie's words fell on her
troubled spirit like oil on the stormy sea; for she was told that, in
the course of a day or two, the sovereign would be again in her
possession. And so it proved: on drawing her husband's sea boots from
under the bed, the coin fell from the toe of one of them.
On one occasion, a cheap trip by the steamer "Xantho" from Anstruther
to Leith being advertised, many of the labouring classes, with their
friends, arranged to visit Leith and Edinburgh. Unfortunately,
however, the trip was to take place when the farmers of the district
were very busy with the sowing of the turnips, and when, of course,
their people were needed for that work. For the purpose, it is said,
of keeping the men at home, a rumour circulated over the East Neuk, to
the effect that the steamer and all on board were to perish in a
fearful gale. The servants were so greatly alarmed by the prediction
of Lizzie (it was she who spread the report), that they resolved to
remain at home. The most remarkable feature of the affair is, that on
the day in question a violent gale arose, which prevented the steamer
returning to Anstruther until next morning. The non-arrival of the
boat, as may be inferred, was the cause of the liveliest alarm to the
friends of those on board, and an old worthy was heard to exclaim with
respect to the prediction: "I dinna believe in sic things mysel', but,
some way or ither, they aye come true." Lizzie's father and her whole
family are said to have been highly respectable. Her truant and
impulsive disposition led her, however, into conduct and habits that
deprived her of the respect and help of her friends; and necessity at
length appears to have constrained her to act the part of a
fortune-teller, which she is known to have practised with success more
than half a century.
Adam Donald, the prophet of Bethelnie, a contemporary of Lizzie
M'Gill, stood high in Aberdeenshire as a seer. From his peculiar
appearance in early life, grave doubts existed as to whether he was
actually the offspring of his reputed parents, or whether he had not
been substituted by the fairies for a lovely boy, the son of a worthy
pair who believed not in the existence of witches or fairies.
One day the mother went out, leaving the child well in his cradle, and
on returning, about an hour afterwards, she found a cold, marble-like
infant, that never throve, never smiled, but, on the contrary, cried
from morning to night, and from night till morning. On hearing of the
changed infant, people flocked to witness the sudden alteration which
had taken place in Mr. and Mrs. Donald's child. One knowing dame
thought she understood the whole matter. The fairies were the wicked
beings that had done all the mischief; and that they were permitted to
do so, arose entirely through the parents' carelessness or ignorance.
"Would it be believed," said the dame when speaking of the
extraordinary circumstance, "that the simple mother went out, leaving
her child alone, uncrossed, without a charm about its person, and
without a horse-shoe being nailed on the threshold or behind the door,
or a piece of rowan-tree at the door or window or in the cradle?" The
friend to whom the reflections were made shook her head, while she
replied, "Ay, ay, unbelieving generation; they will be burning the
Bible some day soon."
Adam grew up, and became a wonderful being. From his ability to tell
secrets past and future, and his power to effect cures, he became
known as the "prophet of Bethelnie." Owing to a distorted state of
body, he could not engage in robust employment to obtain a
subsistence. He therefore, to amuse himself, read such books as his
parents' stinted means could afford. Though it was supposed he could
scarcely read English, he carefully collected many curious books in
French, Latin, Greek, Italian, and Spanish. He often retired to an old
churchyard and church in ruins, near his residence, to hold converse
(so he said) with spirits of the dead, which informed him of things
unknown to ordinary men.
When property went amissing, the owner repaired to the "prophet;" when
cattle died, he named the witch who had killed them; and when any one
became sick, Adam Donald supplied a remedy either by charms or herbs.
Every Sunday, for many years, people of all classes crowded to consult
him either as a necromancer or physician. His fee seldom exceeded
sixpence for each consultation, yet he lived in comparative comfort.
When far advanced in life, miserable-looking object though the
"prophet" remained, he prevailed on one of the handsomest girls of his
neighbourhood to marry him. This matrimonial alliance helped to
strengthen the supposition that Adam possessed more than human power.
The prophet of Bethelnie, although he had offspring, went to his long
home without instructing a successor in the secret art he for many
years followed with pecuniary advantage. He saved his reputation by
preserving silence. If the following anecdote be true, there can be
little doubt that the prophet assisted to restore decaying nature by
the use of amulets or charms.
An old woman, whose eyes had become dim by reason of years, purchased
a charm from the prophet, which Adam assured her would revive her
sight to its former clearness. On the charm--hieroglyphics traced on
parchment--being suspended from the neck, it proved effectual. In a
short time the old woman could thread a small needle, and see to pick
up a pin from the floor. A female neighbour, with impaired sight,
hearing of the cure, begged the charm from the lucky owner, but she
would not part with it. All the favour the applicant could obtain was
permission to copy the hieroglyphics on paper. The copy thus obtained
and worn by the second patient brightened up her eyes also. Adam's
medicines excited love, and his charms secured affection.
Fifty or sixty years ago Kincardineshire had its wise women. At the
time referred to, a recruiting sergeant (whom we shall call Donald
Campbell), equally devoted to his sovereign and the fair sex, made a
favourable impression on the inhabitants of a small town fifteen or
twenty miles from Aberdeen. The parish minister, the parochial
teacher, and the doctor had something favourable to say of the
sergeant. Nurses and other servant-maids could see nothing but the
sergeant's red-coat; and it was whispered that even the young ladies
smiled on him. Indeed that must have been so, for we are told that
every one welcomed the Highlander: even the little children ran to
meet him; and how heartily he did kiss them, but whether for their own
sakes or the love he bore to their nurses, sisters, or aunts, none
could tell. This, however, is certain: he did not encourage the
shoemaker's sister, the tailor's daughter, nor the buxom widow who
presided at the little inn. His affections were concentrated on a lady
whom one could scarcely expect to yield her heart to such a humble son
of Mars. The fair one was no less a personage than the daughter of
Captain B---- of U----, a lady well known for miles around for her
courage and love of out-door sports. Few could manage a high-spirited
horse better than Rose Bloomer (by this name we introduce the young
lady to our readers), or clear a fence with greater ease. And as for
the fishing-rod and fowling-piece, she could handle them as
dexterously as any disciple of Isaac Walton or of Nimrod could desire.
True, she was not what is generally termed a beauty: her features,
though not coarse, were scarcely those a sculptor or a painter would
desire to have before him while completing his "Venus" for the next
fine-art exhibition. In her short stout figure and determined look
were indications of a strong-minded woman. Miss Bloomer, having lost
her mother in early life, and her father being devoted to the chase,
pedestrianism, and other athletic sports congenial to most country
gentlemen, the young lady, his only child, had ample scope for
indulging her inclinations.
Sergeant Campbell greatly admired Miss Bloomer's dexterity. Often did
he watch her guidance of a high-mettled steed, now urging it to its
utmost speed, and then reining in the impatient animal. The sergeant,
we have said, greatly admired Miss Bloomer's dexterity; but, what is
more, he resolved to secure her hand in marriage. Plan after plan,
laid with the view of obtaining an introduction, failed. The lady
frequently passed him without deigning to cast her eyes on his
red-coat. Why should she? Was he not a poor soldier? and was she not a
match for the best young gentleman in the county? These and like
questions occurred to Campbell, and more than once made him almost
despair of securing the lady's affections. Again and again his
drooping spirits revived; his pertinacity had no bounds. What could
not be secured, thought he, by ordinary means, might be obtained by
extraordinary measures.
Sergeant Campbell, learned in the superstitions of his native land,
believed them with a child-like faith. He had heard of Lucky
Lightfoot, the spaewife; and to her he went for assistance. The old
woman, on hearing the sergeant's tale, requested him to leave with her
a gold ring he was wearing--a request he complied with. A few days
afterwards the woman returned the soldier his ring, now charmed, with
instructions to endeavour to get Miss Bloomer to wear it, though but
for a few minutes.
In her frequent rambles along the banks of a meandering stream, the
beauties of which Arthur Johnstone had celebrated in Latin verse, and
regarding which Thomas the Rhymer had uttered prophecies, Campbell,
unnoticed, followed Miss Bloomer, in the hope that fortune would
favour him some day. She botanized, fished, and shot, unheeding her
secret admirer. One day, to his delight, he observed her coming along
a footpath, and resolved to drop the ring, in the hope that she would
pick it up. Having left it in a conspicuous place, he retired into a
thicket to watch the result. The lady, seeing the ring, took it up,
examined it, and having no pocket or purse, put it on one of her
fingers, and, as fate would have it, on the fourth finger of the left
hand--the finger the Greeks discovered, from anatomy, had a little
highly sensitive nerve going straight from it to the heart. "Now,"
thought he, "she is mine. I shall follow her, and ask whether she has
found my ring;" but before he could muster courage to carry his
resolution into effect, Miss Bloomer disappeared.
With the view of discovering the owner, she continued to wear the
ring. Unexpectedly, Fred and Georgina Hopper, her cousins, while
driving past, stopped to take dinner, and to them she showed the ring.
Fred, who was an inveterate joker, made it the subject of several
jests, all of which Miss Bloomer bore with good humour; but when Miss
Hopper suggested that the ring might belong to some mean person, and
hinted that it was an act of impropriety to wear it, the blood rushed
to Miss Bloomer's cheeks; and she clenched her little fist, but for
what purpose did not transpire.
In the evening the cousins drove away, leaving Miss Bloomer in
anything but a pleasant mood. Evidently the charm had commenced to
take effect, or Miss Hopper's remarks had disturbed the young lady's
equanimity.
Still wearing the ring, Miss Bloomer retired to rest, or rather to
bed, for during the night she was restless, tossing from side to side
like one in delirium. One, two, three struck on the old clock, and
still sleep did not come to soothe her disturbed brain. Whether in a
sleeping or waking state she could not tell, but a regiment of armed
men, with the recruiting sergeant at their head, seemed to pass before
her, while in the distance there appeared ships at anchor in a large
commodious bay. At four o'clock the lady stood at her window admiring
the beautiful scenery. Retiring again to rest, she fell asleep, and
did not waken before her accustomed time of rising.
After breakfast Miss Bloomer went out, as usual, to follow the bent of
her mind. She had not gone far, before Sergeant Campbell approached
her in a most respectful manner, and inquired if she had found a ring
the previous day. It was scarcely necessary for her to return an
answer, because there before him, on her ungloved hand, the ring
appeared. As she handed it to him, an indescribable sensation ran
through her whole frame. They entered into conversation; and how long
they walked and chatted together, and what were the subjects of their
conversation, we shall not pause to mention: sufficient to say that,
before they parted, an early meeting was arranged. In due time, and
quickly after each other, other meetings took place.
In course of time, old dames hinted that if the lady continued to keep
tryst in the romantic secluded spots of her father's domains with such
a fine-looking soldier as Campbell, she would provoke the goddess
supposed to preside over love affairs, and most likely entitle herself
to a rush-ring only on her wedding-day, instead of the customary gold
one. But the evil prophetesses were wrong for once. Seldom did a
recruiting party forward more stalwart soldiers to headquarters than
Sergeant Campbell and his subordinates did. Indeed he owed much of his
success to Miss Bloomer's exertions. She proved a valuable assistant;
for, through her persuasion, a large number of young men on her
father's estate were induced to enlist, and leave the homes of their
youth for ever.
Happy days of single bliss cannot last for ever. Before three short
months had passed, Sergeant Campbell and Miss Bloomer observed more
than once the finger of scorn pointed at them. Threats were made by
the parents of certain young men who had enlisted, to make known the
conduct of the young lady and her lover to Captain Bloomer. What was
to be done? Miss Bloomer's reputation was at stake, and the sergeant's
life endangered, as will afterwards appear.
The betrothed pair (by this time Sergeant Campbell and Miss Bloomer
were engaged to be married) perceived the necessity of acting
promptly, and therefore they resolved to elope. An obstacle, however,
stood in the way of their doing so immediately. If the sergeant
abandoned his station, he would be pursued, arrested, and dealt with
as a deserter. Miss Bloomer, equal to the occasion, resolved to "buy
him off."
The discharge from the army being obtained, and the indispensable
arrangements for a long journey completed, the sergeant and his true
love secretly departed for Aberdeen, where they were united for better
and worse--not by a clergyman, but by a magistrate, before whom they
went and declared themselves to be husband and wife--a ceremony as
binding by the law of Scotland as if there had been regular
proclamation of banns, according to custom, in the parish church, and
they had been married by an ordained minister. In place of a new
marriage ring being placed on the bride's finger by the gallant
sergeant, he, at her request, put on the charmed ring, the magical
power of which she confessed could not be resisted.
Having shown the effect of Lucky Lightfoot's subtle art, we might take
leave of the subject; but as the career of Mrs. Campbell (Mr. Campbell
did not survive long) is peculiarly interesting, particularly in
connection with a class that has created no small stir on both sides
of the Atlantic, we shall pursue our narrative a little further.
The newly married couple, not considering themselves safe from pursuit
in the Granite City, posted south, and reached the Clyde in less than
twenty-four hours, where they secured a passage on board a vessel
bound for America.
As soon as Captain Bloomer heard of his daughter's elopement, his rage
could not be restrained. Arming himself with a brace of pistols, and
mounting his fleetest steed (and a valuable stud he had), he rode in
pursuit, stopping not before he reached Aberdeen. Not finding the
fugitives there, he hastened to Edinburgh, with the twofold object of
bringing back his daughter and shooting her companion in flight. After
diligent inquiry in the city, he obtained what he considered reliable
information that they had proceeded in the direction of the Borders,
to be married at Gretna Green, a village celebrated as a place where
many distinguished and obscure persons have been married by a
blacksmith. As the reader already knows, the offended father went in
the wrong direction.
Months passed before the captain's equanimity became restored; but
time, the alleviator of sorrow and best soother of a turbulent spirit,
brought a favourable change.
Mr. and Mrs. Campbell arrived safe in America, the land of their
adoption, with little more means than sufficient to provide for their
immediate wants. After love's first fever ended, calm reflection
followed. Romance disappeared before the stern realities of life.
Friends they had few, relations none, in the wild wide expanse of
America. Mrs. Campbell became home-sick: the scenes of her father's
mansion, and everything pleasant connected with the estate, rose
before her mind's eye. Above all, she constantly thought of her father
with more than half regret at the rash act she had been guilty of.
Then she did what most young ladies would do under similar
circumstances--wrote to her father asking forgiveness. Before Captain
Bloomer received the letter, the last spark of anger in his breast had
given place to paternal anxiety. Left alone without wife or child,
gladly would he have welcomed her home, had not prudential reasons
rendered it necessary to keep father and daughter separate. Her letter
gave great satisfaction; and he resolved to assist her and her
husband. Through an English friend, a sufficient amount was remitted
to America, to enable Mr. Campbell to purchase an estate. The young
couple settled down comfortably in an improving locality, with every
prospect of comfort and happiness.
Before the fifth winter of Mr. and Mrs. Campbell's married life had
passed, Mr. Campbell died, leaving his wife alone (they had no issue)
in a far distant country. Mrs. Campbell returned to Scotland, and took
up her residence in Edinburgh for a few years. Again a brave defender
of his country led the lady to the hymeneal altar. The union proved an
unhappy one: Mrs. Smith (this, though a common name, is the cognomen by
which she will now be known) separated from her husband, and sailed
once more for America. Preferring town life to solitude in the forest,
Mrs. Smith settled down (if such could be said of one possessed of
bustling active habits like hers) in the greatest city of the United
States. To augment an income rendered small through the misfortune and
death of her father, she became a journalist. Her papers were
favourably received, being pointed and piquant. Her talents were
chiefly directed to the support of women's rights; and she became a
leader of the class of strong-minded women, still seeking to assert
their rights in politics, science, and art.