I went into the business with the monstrous solemnity
of youth, and took stock of my equipment as if I were
casting up an account. Many a time in those days
I studied my appearance in the glass like a foolish
maid. I was not well featured, having a freckled,
square face, a biggish head, a blunt nose, grey, colourless
eyes, and a sandy thatch of hair, I had great square
shoulders, but my arms were too short for my stature,
and—from an accident in my nursing days—of
indifferent strength. All this stood on the debit
side of my account. On the credit side I set
down that I had unshaken good health and an uncommon
power of endurance, especially in the legs. There
was no runner in the Upper Ward of Lanark who was
my match, and I had travelled the hills so constantly
in all weathers that I had acquired a gipsy lore in
the matter of beasts and birds and wild things, I
had long, clear, unerring eyesight, which had often
stood me in good stead in the time of my father’s
troubles. Of moral qualities, Heaven forgive me,
I fear I thought less; but I believed, though I had
been little proved, that I was as courageous as the
common run of men.
All this looks babyish in the writing, but there was
a method in this self-examination. I believed
that I was fated to engage in strange ventures, and
I wanted to equip myself for the future. The pressing
business was that of self-defence, and I turned first
to a gentleman’s proper weapon, the sword.
Here, alas! I was doomed to a bitter disappointment.
My father had given me a lesson now and then, but never
enough to test me, and when I came into the hands of
a Glasgow master my unfitness was soon manifest.
Neither with broadsword nor small sword could I acquire
any skill. My short arm lacked reach and vigour,
and there seemed to be some stiffness in wrist and
elbow and shoulder which compelled me to yield to
smaller men. Here was a pretty business, for
though gentleman born I was as loutish with a gentleman’s
weapon as any country hind.
This discovery gave me some melancholy weeks, but
I plucked up heart and set to reasoning. If my
hand were to guard my head it must find some other
way of it. My thoughts turned to powder and shot,
to the musket and the pistol. Here was a weapon
which needed only a stout nerve, a good eye, and a
steady hand; one of these I possessed to the full,
and the others were not beyond my attainment.
There lived an armourer in the Gallowgate, one Weir,
with whom I began to spend my leisure. There
was an alley by the Molendinar Burn, close to the
archery butts, where he would let me practise at a
mark with guns from his store. Soon to my delight
I found that here was a weapon with which I need fear
few rivals. I had a natural genius for the thing,
as some men have for sword-play, and Weir was a zealous
teacher, for he loved his flint-locks.
“See, Andrew,” he would cry, “this
is the true leveller of mankind. It will make
the man his master’s equal, for though your gentleman
may cock on a horse and wave his Andrew Ferrara, this
will bring him off it. Brains, my lad, will tell
in coming days, for it takes a head to shoot well,
though any flesher may swing a sword.”
