Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XVI Part 16

THE ANGLER'S TALE.

Never did boy long more anxiously for the arrival of the happy day which was to free him from the trammels of school discipline than I, a grey-haired man, always do for the return of bright and beautiful summer--that happy season when all nature seems to sympathise with the fortunate citizen who can escape from the confinement, bustle, and excitement of the crowded haunts of men, to soothe his spirit and forget his cares amid the beautiful scenery and calm retirement of the country.

I always allow myself, if possible, a holiday in the summer months; and with rod in hand, and knapsack on back, I wander wherever whim or chance may lead me. Oh! the delight I experience, when the city is left far behind me!--the buoyancy, the springiness of feeling, with which I whistle along my path, rejoicing in my freedom! The very birds seem to welcome me with their song; the fields, the streams, all seem breathing of delight; I forget my grey hairs; and the spirit of youth and the freshness of youthful feeling are again upon me.

In one of my fishing excursions, a few years since, I became accidentally acquainted with a worthy farmer of the name of Thompson, who lived on the banks of the Esk, in the neighbourhood of the beautifully-situated town of Langholm. He was a good, though by no means a rare, specimen of the cla.s.s of men to which he belonged--a shrewd, sensible, well-informed man, frank and friendly in his address, and with an air of quiet, un.o.btrusive independence.

He made up to me with such kindness and hospitality, and was so cordial and pressing in urging me to repeat my visit, that I have ever since made his comfortable house my head-quarters during the fishing season.

His cottage was beautifully situated on a gentle rise, surrounded by lofty trees; immediately below ran the winding Esk, dashing and foaming over a bed of limestone, and spanned, at a short distance, by a lofty bridge of one arch, commanding a view of the ruins of the famed tower of Gilnockie. The neat and cheerful exterior of the cottage bespoke comfort and plenty within; and kinder and more hospitable people never existed than its inmates. Elsie Thompson, the good-wife, in her plain but neat "mournings," and her close white mutch, mild and gentle in her manner, looked the very personification of benevolence and hospitality.

She had been a very handsome woman; but the hand of affliction had been heavy upon her, and had left its marks upon her careworn features: four of her children had been carried off by a contagious disorder, and her sole remaining comfort, besides her husband, was her daughter.

Ellen was one of the loveliest creatures my eye ever rested upon. Hers was a face of sunny beauty. The braids of her rich brown hair rested upon a brow of more than common whiteness, from beneath which her large blue eyes sparkled with the light of pure and innocent joyousness. The whole of her features bore the impress of light-hearted mirth; and yet at times a pa.s.sing shade of sadness flitted across them, which, while it softened their beauty, gave an additional charm to their expression. But it was not Ellen's beauty alone that rendered her interesting: a kinder-hearted, more attentive and affectionate daughter never existed; her whole soul seemed to be wrapped up in her parents; her every action had reference to some wish or habit of theirs. She was equally exemplary in the performance of all her household duties, and was the pride and blessing of her parents.

Ellen and I soon became intimate; for, in the country, untrammelled by the forms of etiquette, acquaintance soon ripens into friendship.

Fortunate was it for me that my days of romance were over, or she would have been a dangerous companion; as it was, I could gaze upon her as I would upon a beautiful picture, admiringly, not lovingly. Many a happy evening have I spent, sitting in the mild summer sunset, under the shade of the large beech-tree at Edward Thompson's door, listening to the brawling of the foaming waters, with Ellen by my side. It was at such times that I more particularly remarked the melancholy I have before mentioned. Her thoughts were evidently far from the scene she looked upon, and a tear would sometimes steal down her cheek. Whenever I asked her the occasion of her grief, she would answer, with a languid attempt at a smile, "Oh, naething ava!" and immediately began to talk in a strain of forced liveliness and indifference. I saw that she had some secret cause of unhappiness; but, as she did not volunteer her confidence, I did not consider myself justified in attempting to force it, and set her unhappiness down in my own mind to that general and all-powerful disturber of youthful feelings--love for some absent one.

Last summer, I had been engaged in my favourite amus.e.m.e.nt of fishing, and had wandered some distance down the Esk, when certain inner warnings admonished me that it was time to recruit my energies. As I am rather an epicure, however, and enjoy my crust with more _gout_, the more beautiful the scenery by which I am surrounded, I resisted the cravings of appet.i.te until I had reached a situation the beauty of which tempted my stay, and then, laying my rod on the bank, I proceeded to examine the contents of my knapsack. It was high noon; but the sun was partially shrouded by light fleecy clouds, and threw a softened light on the green bank on which I seated myself. Immediately at my feet ran the clear stream, fringed a little higher up with willows and trees of a larger growth; opposite to me were the rich woods and lawns of Netherby; to the left, on the other side of the river, was a picturesque, ivy-covered, turreted building, called the fishing tower; to the right, far down the river, were seen the bridge and buildings of Longtown; and in the distance, the beautiful hills of c.u.mberland. The high-road was only a few yards distant, immediately behind me; but I was shut out from its view by a substantial stone wall, with a neat gate opening to the water-side. Scarcely had I seated myself, when I heard the sound of coming footsteps on the high-road. The sound ceased; and, turning round, I saw a traveller looking over the green gate behind me. I am a great disciple of Lavater, and flatter myself, notwithstanding the many mistakes I have been led into, that I can sometimes read a man's countenance, almost as well as a "written book." To me, a good countenance is always a letter of recommendation, and one to which, in spite of the whisperings of prudence, I always pay instant attention.

There was something particularly prepossessing in the countenance and appearance of the stranger. He was a young man of about six-and-twenty, with a laughing dark eye, hair black as the raven's wing, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to sun and clime. He was dressed like a sailor, in a neat blue jacket, a narrow-rimmed glazed hat, and with a small bundle on the stick over his shoulder. Seeing me look round, and encouraged, I suppose, by the friendly interest with which I regarded him, he remarked upon the fineness of the day, and asked if I had had good sport.

"Yes," replied I, "tolerable; and now I have a tolerable appet.i.te. Will you come and join my mess?"

"Thank ye kindly, sir--wi' a' my heart. I've travelled far to-day, and I'll be a' the better of an _elevener_."[4]

[Footnote 4: A nautical term for a forenoon whet.]

After a hearty and simple meal, washed down with a dram of Connal's best,[5] and a draught of pure river water, I lighted my cigar, and, giving my new messmate one, to keep me in countenance, I lounged in luxurious ease upon my gra.s.sy couch, while he seated himself with modest frankness beside me.

[Footnote 5: Langholm Distillery.]

"Your face tells of other climates, my friend," says I; "it was not an English sun that bronzed it thus."

"It's five years noo, sir, sin' I left the banks o' the bonny Esk; and weel ye ken that a wanderer by land and sea sees mair in a year than a man that aye sits at the ingle-cheek will in his lifetime. Gude be thankit, I haena felt muckle care or sorrow mysel! but I hae had my ain share o' hardships."

"You seem not to have forgot your mother-tongue, however. You are a native of this part of the country, I suppose?"

"I am, sir; and though I've been lang aneugh amang the Englishers to hae been half English mysel, I couldna mak up my mouth to speak their daft-like lingo; and noo the sicht o' my ain dear river, the thocht that I'm but a few miles frae my ain hame, has dung what little I did ken o't clean oot o' my head."

"I wonder you are not in a greater hurry to get onwards," said I. "I think, if I were in your situation, I should be eager to reach my home as soon as possible."

"Oh, sir, I maun gang and see puir Geordie Gordon's folk before I gang hame. It's ill news I hae to tell them, and I maun wait till the gloamin."

"And who is Geordie Gordon?"

"He was the kindest-hearted o' messmates, and the best o' freends. A better seaman, or a kinder, never stepped atween stem and stern o' a ship. Puir Geordie!" And he hastily pa.s.sed the sleeve of his jacket over his eyes.

"Suppose you let me hear some of your adventures," said I; "it will pa.s.s away the time, and I should like much to know something of the ways of you sailors, and the customs on board a ship."

"Oh, sir, I hae nae adventures to tell. Could you but hae heard puir Geordie--he was the lad for spinning yarns, as we ca' it."

"Well, but you can tell me what took you first to sea, and what you thought of the life of a sailor after you had joined a ship."

"Weel, sir! I'll just begin at the beginning, and tell ye a' aboot it; and if ye're wearied wi' my clavers, ye maun just tell me:--"

There was a large family o' us, and a happy family we were--for my faither was an industrious farmer, weel to do in the world, and weel respeckit by a' wha kenned him; and my mither was a kind-hearted, worthy woman, wha dearly lo'ed us a', but never let her luve blind her to our fauts. She aye taught us that idleness was the root o' a' mischief, and that we needna fear man as lang's we did our duty to our Maker.

I was about seventeen when Geordie Gordon cam hame frae the sea, to see his folk, wha lived in our parishen. A heartsome and a weel-faured lad was Geordie, wi' a merry ee, and a laugh--I maist think I hear't noo--that cam ringing frae the heart. He was a favourite wi' auld and young; and mony was the bright ee that blinked o'er on him as he sat in the kirk wi' his roun blue jacket, and his checkit sark, and his smiling happy face. Jenny Birrel was his sweetheart; a blithe la.s.s and a bonny was Jenny, and guid as she was bonny. Wae'll be her heart when she hears what has happened her Joe!

Weel, sir, I was like the lave--I likit Geordie, and Geordie likit me, and we were aye thegither. It garred my vera heart loup to hear him spin yarns, as he ca'd it, about the dangers he had escapit, and the unco sichts he had seen; till, frae less to mair, I felt an eager wish to gang wi' him on his neist voyage, and to witness the wonders o' the deep, and to veesit forran lands. Besides, I saw that a' the la.s.sies thocht mair o'ane who had been leading a life o' danger and hardship, than o' the douce lads wha keepit following the pleuch, or thumping wi'

the flail a' the days o' their lives. And I thocht that my ain wee Joe wad lo'e me better, and that I micht earn something to mak us comfortable; and that, after I had seen a' the ferlies o' forran lans, I wad come hame laden wi' braws to mak her my wife. Bonny wee thing! I wonder if she minds me yet! In storm, in darkness, in danger, I never forgot _her_.

Sair did my mither greet when I tell't her I was for awa wi' Geordie; and aft, aft did she beg me to change my min'.

"Stay at hame, Tam, my bairn," said she, "and tak care o' yer auld mither. A' the lave are gane but yersel, and if ye gang too, what'll become o' us!" But I wadna be persuaded; the spirit o' change was upon me, and gang I wad.

"I winna hinder ye, my bairn," said my faither; "if yer min' is made up to gang for a sailor, gang, and His blessing gang wi' ye. Ye'll be as safe in the midst o' the raging sea as ye wad be by yer ain fireside, as lang's ye trust in Him."

But the warst was to come. I maist repented o' my determination when I gaed for the last time to the trysting tree, whar I had sae aft met my dear la.s.sie. She was there, wi' her face buried in her hans, sabbing as if her young heart would break. Oh, sir, it was a sad sicht to me!

It was a bonny nicht: the moon was at the full, and the stars were a'

glinting roun' her; there wasna a cloud, but on our ain hearts; the hail holm was ae bleeze o' licht, amaist as licht as day; the leaves were just soughing o'er our heads; and the soun' o' the burn wimpling near us cam clear upon our ears. Our hearts were owre sair for muckle speaking; she sabbit, and I tried to comfort her--but a' in vain. I wanted comfort mysel; and at last I could stan' it nae langer--I just grat in company.

But this couldna last for lang. We vowed to be leal to ilk ither; and, wi' ae last kiss, I forced mysel awa.

Neist morn, Geordie Gordon and I took foot in han' and awa to Leith, and frae that worked our pa.s.sage to Lunnon. Weel, sir, it's an awsome bit that Lunnon! The streets just like hedgeraws, and the kirk steeples like poplar-trees; and then the folk as thrang on the planestanes on a week-day as if a' the kirks were scaling at ance! Ye'll hae been in Lunnon, I'se warran, sir? Min', I'm just telling ye hoo I thocht and felt then, for I ken better sin' syne. Then the ships a' crooding on ane anither, like sheep in a fauld, their masts as thick as the trees in yon wud: and the muckle barges wi' but ae man to guide them; and the wee bit c.o.c.klesh.e.l.ls o' wherries skimming alang, loaded wi' pa.s.sengers sitting amaist upon the water; and the noise o' men, and the thunner o'

carriages, and the smoke o' ten thousand chimlas! 'Od, sir, I used to think Car'il a grand toun, but it's naething ava to Lunnon.

Weel, sir, ae day, Geordie and me were walkin on a place they ca' Tower Hill--whar there's a grand auld castle they ca' the Tower o' Lunnon, where they say a sodger chiel, o' the name o' Julius Caesar, was beheadit langsyne, in the time o' ane o' our auld Scottish kings--when a weel-faured, sonsy-looking chiel, dressed like a provost, wi' a hat on his head might serve a duke, cam up till us, and seeing us glowering aboot, and just doing naething ava, began colloquying wi' us.

"It's a fine day, my lads," said he, looking as blithe as the sun in a May morning. "You seem to be strangers in London. I like your honest looks; and, as I am an idler myself, I will go with you, if you like, and show you the lions."

"The lions! 'od, sir, are there ony lions hereawa?" said I.

"Many that you know nothing of," said he, stuffing his pocket-napkin into his mouth, to keep the dust oot, I thocht. "Come with me, and we'll drink to our better acquaintance."

Wi' that he taks us into a bit public near by, and tells us to ca' for what we likit; and then he crackit awa, and was unco jocose and blithe.

"Have you got plenty of money, lads?" said he at last. And we lookit like twa fules, for Geordie had but twa shillins left, and I had nae mair mysel. He saw, for he had a gleg ee in his head, that we werna weel provided; so cried he, "Never mind, my boys--I'll stand treat; the landlord o' this house is my friend; you can have whatever you call for, and stay with him as long as you like."

Wi' that he ca'ed for mair drink; and, frae ae thing to anither, what wi' laughing and drinking, we got gey and fou, and were weel pleased to win till oor beds.

"Troth, Geordie, lad," says I, "I think we've lichted on oor feet this time; it's no every day in the week we'll meet sic a freend."

"I dinna ken what to mak o' him," said Geordie, wha kenned mair aboot the warld than mysel, as he had been three years sailing atween Dumfries and America; "he's owre ceevil by half. I've aye heard tell that there's a set o' born deevils in Lunnon. It's a' vera weel as far as it's gane; but I'm feared for the aftercome."

Weel, the neist morning, oor kind freend ordered breakfast for us, and then asked us if we'd like to tak a walk and look aboot us. "But," said he, "you must have better _toggery_ than that you have on." And wi' that he took us into a shop, where he ordered a jacket and trousers for each o' us; and, when we had putten them on, we cam oot, looking as braw as the best. In the coorse o' oor cracks, we had tell't him we wanted to go to forran parts.

"Well," said he, "there's a fine East Indiaman at Gravesend, just going to sail for China. I can get you a berth on board of her."