But the way he now pursued lay close under the cliffs
of the headland, and was rocky and difficult.
He passed the boats, going between them and the cliffs,
at a footpace, with his eyes on the ground, and not
even a glance at the two men who were at work on the
unfinished boat. One of them was his friend, Joseph
Mair. They ceased their work for a moment to
look after him.
“That’s the puir laird again,” said
Joseph, the instant he was beyond hearing. “Something’s
wrang wi’ him. I wonder what’s come
ower him!”
“I haena seen him for a while noo,” returned
the other. “They tell me ’at his
mither made him ower to the deil afore he cam to the
light; and sae, aye as his birthday comes roun’,
Sawtan gets the pooer ower him. Eh, but he’s
a fearsome sicht whan he’s ta’en that
gait!” continued the speaker. “I met
him ance i’ the gloamin’, jist ower by
the toon, wi’ his een glowerin’ like uily
lamps, an’ the slaver rinnin’ doon his
lang baird. I jist laup as gien I had seen the
muckle Sawtan himsel’.”
“Ye nott na (needed not) hae dune that,”
was the reply. “He’s jist as hairmless,
e’en at the warst, as ony lamb. He’s
but a puir cratur wha’s tribble’s ower
strang for him—that’s a’.
Sawtan has as little to du wi’ him as wi’
ony man I ken.”
With eyes that stared as if they and not her ears
were the organs of hearing, this talk was heard by
a child of about ten years of age, who sat in the
bottom of the ruined boat, like a pearl in a decaying
oyster shell, one hand arrested in the act of dabbling
in a green pool, the other on its way to her lips
with a mouthful of the seaweed called dulse.
She was the daughter of Joseph Mair just mentioned—a
fisherman who had been to sea in a man of war (in
consequence of which his to-name or nickname was Blue
Peter), where having been found capable, he was employed
as carpenter’s mate, and came to be very handy
with his tools: having saved a little money by
serving in another man’s boat, he was now building
one for himself.
He was a dark complexioned, foreign looking man, with
gold rings in his ears, which he said enabled him
to look through the wind “ohn his een watered.”
Unlike most of his fellows, he was a sober and indeed
thoughtful man, ready to listen to the voice of reason
from any quarter; they were, in general, men of hardihood
and courage, encountering as a mere matter of course
such perilous weather as the fishers on a great part
of our coasts would have declined to meet, and during
the fishing season were diligent in their calling,
and made a good deal of money; but when the weather
was such that they could not go to sea, when their
nets were in order, and nothing special requiring
to be done, they would have bouts of hard drinking,
and spend a great portion of what ought to have been
their provision for the winter.
