Having amused himself for some time with these effects of light and shadow, Brown strolled homewards towards the farmhouse, gazing in his way at the persons engaged in the sport, two or three of whom are generally kept together, one holding the torch, the others with their spears, ready to avail themselves of the light it affords to strike their prey. As he observed one man struggling with a very weighty salmon which he had speared, but was unable completely to raise from the water, Brown advanced close to the bank to see the issue of his exertions. The man who held the torch in this instance was the huntsman, whose sulky demeanour Brown had already noticed with surprise.--"Come here, sir! come here, sir! look at this ane! He turns up a side like a sow."--Such was the cry from the assistants when some of them observed Brown advancing.
"Ground the waster weel, man! ground the waster weel!--haud him down--ye haena the pith o' a cat"--were the cries of advice, encouragement, and expostulation, from those who were on the bank, to the sportsman engaged with the salmon, who stood up to his middle in water, jingling among broken ice, struggling against the force of the fish and the strength of the current, and dubious in what manner he should attempt to secure his booty. As Brown came to the edge of the bank, he called out--"Hold up your torch, friend huntsman!" for he had already distinguished his dusky features by the strong light cast upon them by the blaze. But the fellow no sooner heard his voice, and saw, or rather concluded, it was Brown who approached him, than, instead of advancing his light, he let it drop, as if accidentally, into the water.
"The deil's in Gabriel said the spearman, as the fragments of glowing wood floated half blazing, half sparkling, but soon extinguished, down the stream--the deil's in the man! --I'll never master him without the light--and a braver kipper, could Ibut land him, never reisted abune a pair o' cleeks." [*See Note III. Lum Cleeks.]--Some dashed into the water to lend their assistance, and the fish, which was afterwards found to weigh nearly thirty pounds, was landed in safety.
The behaviour of the huntsman struck Brown, although he had no recollection of his face, nor could conceive why he should, as it appeared he evidently did, shun his observation.--Could he be one of the footpads he had encountered a few days before?--The supposition was not altogether improbable, although unwarranted by any observation he was able to make upon the man's figure and face. To be sure the villains wore their hats much slouched, and had loose coats, and their size was not in any way so peculiarly discriminated as to enable him to resort to that criterion. He resolved to speak to his host Dinmont on the subject, but for obvious reasons concluded it were best to defer the explanation until a cool hour in the morning.
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, dependants, 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 paikes [*Punishment] for't--to put out the light when the fish was on ane's witters! [*The barbs of the spear]--I'm well convinced Gabriel drapped the roughies [*When dry splinters, or branches, are used as fuel to supply the light for burning the water, as it is called, they are termed, as in the text, Roughies. When rags, dipped in tar, are employed, they are called Hards, probably from the French.] in the water on purpose-he doesna like to see onybody do a thing better than himself.""Ay," said another, "he's sair shamed o' himself, 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 after-names muckle here, they run sae muckle into clans.""Ye see, sir," said an old shepherd, rising, and speaking very slow, "the folks hereabout are a' Armstrongs and Elliats, [* See Note IV. Clan Surnames.] and sic like--twa or three given names--and so, for distinction's sake, the lairds and farmers have the names of their places that they live at--as for example, Tam o'
Todshaw, Will o' the Flat, Hobbie o' Sorbietrees, and our good master here, o' the Charlies-hope.--Aweel, sir, and then the inferior sort o' people, ye'll observe, are kend by sorts o'