The sportsmen returned loaded with fish, upwards of one hundred salmon
having been killed within the range of their sport. The best were
selected for the use of the principal farmers, the others divided among
their shepherds, cottars, dependents, and others of inferior rank who
attended. These fish, dried in the turf smoke of their cabins or
shealings, formed a savoury addition to the mess of potatoes, mixed with
onions, which was the principal part of their winter food. In the
meanwhile a liberal distribution of ale and whisky was made among them,
besides what was called a kettle of fish,--two or three salmon, namely,
plunged into a cauldron and boiled for their supper. Brown accompanied
his jolly landlord and the rest of his friends into the large and smoky
kitchen, where this savoury mess reeked on an oaken table, massive enough
to have dined Johnnie Armstrong and his merry-men. All was hearty cheer
and huzza, and jest and clamorous laughter, and bragging alternately, and
raillery between whiles. Our traveller looked earnestly around for the
dark countenance of the fox-hunter; but it was nowhere to be seen.
At length he hazarded a question concerning him. ‘That was an awkward
accident, my lads, of one of you, who dropped his torch in the water when
his companion was struggling with the large fish.’
‘Awkward!’ returned a shepherd, looking up (the same stout young fellow
who had speared the salmon); ‘he deserved his paiks for’t, to put out the
light when the fish was on ane’s witters! I’m weel convinced Gabriel
drapped the roughies in the water on purpose; he doesna like to see ony
body do a thing better than himsell.’
‘Ay,’ said another, ‘he’s sair shamed o’ himsell, else he would have been
up here the night; Gabriel likes a little o’ the gude thing as weel as
ony o’ us.’
‘Is he of this country?’ said Brown.
‘Na, na, he’s been but shortly in office, but he’s a fell hunter; he’s
frae down the country, some gate on the Dumfries side.’
‘And what’s his name, pray?’
‘Gabriel.’
‘But Gabriel what?’
‘Oh, Lord kens that; we dinna mind folk’s afternames muckle here, they
run sae muckle into clans.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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