That Loon o' Baxter's: a tale of Scottish Life

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That Loon o Baxter s. FORDY That Loon o' Baxter's: A Tale of Scottish Fisher Life. BY W. SKINNER. «•{< PAISLEY : ALEX. GARDNER. LONDON: JAS. CLARKE AND CO., 13 FLEET STREET 1879. %o Jttg Jathct anb Mother. PREFATORY NOTE. The author owes it to himself to offer a word of explanation regarding the title of his story. It bears so striking a resemblance to Mrs. Burnett's "That Lass o' Lowrie's" that the reader might be pardoned for supposing that the title had been borrowed from her. As a matter of fact, how ever, it is not so. The story was planned and the title chosen some considerable time before "That Lass o' Lowrie's" appeared in Scribner's Monthly; but, owing to the pressure of other work, it was not finished until several months afterwards. Moreover, every one who knows anything of the Aberdeenshire dialect will bear me out in this, that there is no more common or favourite expression among the people, whereby to designate a mischievous boy, than " That loon o' so-and-so's," whatever the name might be, delivered with special emphasis on the first two words.

Any other resemblance between the two stories must be more imaginary than real. Chigwell Row, October, 1878. CONTENTS Page. Chap. I.— Out of the Storm, I ,, II. — A Tragic Story, 7 ,, III. — Mischief Brewing, 14 „ IV.— A Mess of Porridge, 21 ,, V. — Lions versus Ministers, 28 „ VI. — One Sunday Afternoon, 36 VII.— Not Sparing the Rod, 43 VIIL— War, 51 „ IX.— A Visit to the Manse, 60 X.— Cæsar, 69 „ XI.— A Scotch Thistle, 77 ,, XII. — Union and Separation, 86 XIII.— A New Relative, 95 „ XIV.— The Dominie to the Rescue, 103 XV.— Missing, Ill XVI.— Fire ! Fire ! 119 „ XVII. — A Grandmother's Legacy, 128 „ XVIII.— Pluck, 137 XIX.— Waves and Billows, 147 ,, XX. —Rescuing the Perishing, 155 XXI.— "My Ain Countrie," 163 XXII.— " Fishers of Men," 172 „ XXIII.— At the Schoolhouse, 180 XXIV.— Willie Gordon's Revenge, 188 XXV.-Friends in Need and Deed, 196 Conclusion, Baxter s.

Chapter I. Out Of The Storm

HAT an awful nicht ! I wish they were hame." A terrible shaking by the shrieking wind of the small window through which she was peering out on the black distract ing night, and a great out burst of rain upon the panes, was the only answer the speaker had to her spoken thoughts. Above the noise of the wind and rain rose dismally the booming of the waves as they were broken on the perpendicular cliffs, and as Mrs. Baxter listened and fancied she saw the white spray leaping up like the ghosts of drowned fishermen, she turned away with a shudder and an ejaculatory prayer, to attend to a pot singing above the wood fire, from which was issuing an odour appetising in the extreme. The room in which the good woman busied herself looked more cheerful on a night like this than at any other time. In size it was about twelve feet square ; but as it had to do duty as bedroom, sitting-room, and kitchen, the amount of furniture and utensils crowded into it made it look much smaller than it really was.

The floor was laid with bricks, which were scrupulously clean, and sprinkled over with white sand. A three-legged round table, scrubbed almost as white as the driven snow, occupied the middle of the floor. A large seaman's chest, heaped up with fish ing nets, stood under the window on one side of the room, while on the opposite side a large dresser, rivalling in cleanness the round table, and crowded with a miscellaneous assortment of odds and ends of crockery, was reared against the wall. At the other end of the room, facing the fire-place, rose a tier of bunks or sleeping berths, from which peeped patchwork coverlets rivalling in splendour Joseph's coat of many colours. On one side of the fire-place was a recess, into which a big cup board had been built, and as it contained the family treasures, it was kept securely locked.

On the other side was a narrow door, which led into a small closet, chiefly used as a lumber-room. Over OUT OF THE STORM. 3 the fire-place hung an old fowling-piece, and several coloured prints, meant to illustrate Biblical subjects, while on the mantel-piece was crowded such a collection of glass and china ornaments as would baffle all attempts at description. We must not omit to mention three very old-fashioned chairs and an eight-day clock, which had belonged to Mr. Baxter's great grandfather. Incongruous as the furnishing of the room may appear to the reader, there was a snugness and an air of home comfort about it, which, possibly, the storm raging without served to heighten, as the gleams of light from the fire of drift-wood lighted it up with a ruddy glow. At any rate, the home of the Baxters was considered by all the inhabitants of Fordy as the model of what a fisherman's house should be.

Fordy was a small fishing village on the east coast of Scotland — so small, indeed, that few people save those who resided in the neighbour hood knew of its existence at all. It did not lie in the track of passing vessels, and, although the railway was laid within two hundred yards of it, travellers with the keenest eyes could only detect the smoke of its cottages, and often not even that. The truth of the matter was, that Fordy lay hid den, like a coy child, in a huge arm-chair of rock, which had been carved out during many ages by the untiring fingers of the waves. Protected on either side by these rough, but solid arms, and sheltered in the rear by an almost perpendicular wall of granite, Fordy had nothing to fear but the German Ocean ; and as the thirty or odd cottages had remained unchanged in the memory of that nameless, but very useful individual, the oldest inhabitant, the German Ocean had dealt very kind ly with Fordy.

What if it had swallowed up some of her fathers and sons, had it not opened its finny treasures to them without stint? and had it not sang them to sleep in summer by its cheerful treble, and in winter by its wondrous bass, not to speak of the rich glow of health its breezes had painted on the cheeks of her wives and daughters ? But it is time to return to our narrative, for we will be come better acquainted with Fordy before the story closes. After another hour's suspense Mrs. Baxter's quick ear detected the sound of approaching foot steps, and hastily throwing open the door, she stood, with anxiously-expectant face looking into the darkness. Presently two tall, dark figures began to loom towards her, and a moment later her husband and son, both soaking with wet, stood, the incarnation of wretchedness, before the fire.

" Here," said Baxter senior, handing a big bundle in the same condition as his own gar ments to his wife, while a grim smile overspread his weather-beaten face, " Here, wife ! I've brocht ye a present." OUT OF THE STORM. 5 Before she had time to open it a half-stifled cry came from the wet bundle, and with a quick, questioning glance at her husband she tore open the soaking shawl, and revealed a healthy child, of about four years old. In spite of the wet and the state of filth in which the child was, Mrs. Baxter's motherly heart was taken captive by the large wondering eyes which were turned upon her, and the tangled mass of yellow curls which fell about his face. " Mammy," cried the child, stretching out his arms to the woman who looked so kindly upon him. " Poor wee lammie ! I'm nae yer mammy," cried Mrs Baxter, nevertheless folding him to her bosom as only a mother could.

"Andra," she continued, addressing her husband, who was by this time pulling off his boots, but never taking his eyes off his wife, " Andra, ye maun explain; I dinna understan'." Mrs. Baxter had perfect confidence in her hus band ; therefore when he said, " Look after the bairn, and I'll tell ye after supper," she did not press her inquiries any further, although her curiosity was intense. While she was dressing the child in the garments which her son David had worn at the same age, the supper was being laid by the somewhat clumsy hands of that young man. This accomplished, and his mother seeming to betray an indifference to the extraordinary appearance of the child, which to his excitable nature was incomprehensible, he went up and whispered in her ear, " Mother, dinna ye ken who it is ? " " No, Davie ; hoo should I ?

" Bending lower, and putting his mouth close to her ear, he had just whispered mysteriously, " It's oor Andra's bairn," when his father called out peremptorily, " Davie, whist ! will ye ? Leave it to me." But it was too late. Mrs. Baxter had caught the words. Springing to her feet, she rushed up to her husband, crying, " Is't true, Andra ? " and when the answer came briefly, but surcharged with tenderest feeling, "Aye, lass," the good woman burst into convulsive sobbing, and the hot tears fell full and fast upon the upturned face of the wondering child.

Chapter II

A TRAGIC STORY. While the supper is being despatched by the hungry fishermen, we will take the opportunity of making known to the reader the episode in the family history which led up to and made this eventful evening. To Mr. and Mrs. Baxter there had been born three children — one daughter, who died in in fancy, and two sons, of whom Davie was the younger. Andrew, the first-born, by the time that he had seen twenty summers, had out-grown his father in stature, and was bidding fair to rival him both in muscle and skill in their common craft. He was the idol of his own home ; and everybody declared him to be the finest-looking young man they had ever seen. Who that saw him on a Sun day, dressed in a fine suit of blue pilot cloth, with a many-coloured silk handkerchief round his full bronze neck, the clustering curls of raven hair falling from beneath his Glengarry bonnet upon a smooth cheek, through the weather stains of which the rosy hue of health strove for the pre eminence, could help paying a tribute of respect to his handsome person ?

But a fine appearance was not the only attraction Andrew possessed. Bold as a lion in the hour of danger, he was yet tender as a woman, and so gentle withal that he had not the heart even to say an unkind word to any strange cur that crossed his path. His one besetment was drink ; but as there was no public house nearer than two miles, it was not often that he fell a prey to so common a vice. Free from the influence of liquor, he was the willing servant of the village, cheerfully assisting anybody who might ask for his help ; but once under its power an extraordinary change came over him ; the lamb became a lion, and it was necessary to lock him up until the fumes of alcohol had left his brain. Even at such times people pitied him more than they blamed him, having in remem brance his genial, loving character when he was himself.

At one house he was made specially welcome, much to the sorrow of both his parents. The family of the Youngs and the Baxters had been at enmity for a number of years concerning some fishing rights, into the subject of which we will not enter. The strife was so bitter that the heads of the respective families had not spoken to each other for months in succession, save when ab solutely forced by stress of circumstances. The Youngs were notoriously given to drinking and fighting, while opposite virtues characterized the A TRAGIC STORV. 9 Baxters ; and this great difference between them served but to fan the flame of enmity, for no occasion was missed by the latter to make the former feel their inferiority. For the greater part of his life young Andrew had shared the prejudices of his parents so far as his kind nature would allow him ; but falling in love with the daughter Eliza beth (familiarly called Leeby), the intense heat of his passion dissolved all his prejudices, and he be came from that time the friend and champion of the family.

The Youngs feeling flattered by the attention of the handsomest young man in the village, and guessing what effect the fact would have upon his parents at home, did all they could to foster his attachment to Leeby. Andrew's parents exerted their utmost to get him to renounce his connection with the hated Youngs ; but to no purpose. Their opposition seemed only to deepen his love. At last it unfortunately came to this, that there was no peace in the home, and Andrew, although much pained at heart, quitted the parental roof, married his Leeby, and re moved to a larger fishing village, about eight miles distant. For nearly two years the unnatural estrangement was kept up, until a melancholy circumstance put an end to it for ever, and left the Baxters with a wound which time would never see entirely healed.

It was the time of the herring fishing, and old Baxter, proprietor of a boat of his own, had been doing uncommonly well. One night while they were some miles out at sea, just before dawn, a storm arose. The darkness, if possible, grew dark er ; the sea began to heave as if with convulsive throes of pain. The nets were destroyed ; the waves swept over the boat, and tossed it to and fro, as if in mad glee. One wave stronger, fiercer than another, struck the boat, and over she went. A shriek, and all the crew were struggling in the water. Father and son being together, they both made for the shore ; but Davie, losing either his courage or his strength, fixed upon his father's arm ; and, despite the old man's beseeching to let go and be cool, and he would save him, the youth held fast, completely impeding the motion of his father.

Just then the sound of a boat cutting the water fell upon their ears. They shouted for help. A lamp was held out upon the boiling sea ; a cry of horror rose from the lips of the man who held it, and as the boat shot by there was a sudden plunge in the water, and silence for a moment — the sil ence of suspense. Then some one close to the struggling fishermen said, " Father ! Davie ! it's me ; bit niver min', an' I'll save ye baith." It was not a time to manifest any signs of weakness, but a great lump rose in the father's throat, and for a moment he did what he had not done since his son was a babe — embraced him with his one free arm, and kissed the wet cheek. Then A TRAGIC ST0RV. 11 noticing that this untimely action was jeopardising the lives of the three, he mastered his emotion, and said, " Tak Davie ; I can manage."

" Right a-heed, then, father," said he, throwing a brawny arm round Davie and striking for the shore. But as they began to near the shore they felt that Andrew had made a mistake, for the sound of the breakers fell ominously upon their ears. They were at least a mile from the beach. Just then came the peep of dawn, and Andrew, acquainted from his infancy with every foot of rock for miles up and down the coast, was able to make out where they were. But it was evident that his father's strength was giving way, he having been ex hausted by the frantic efforts of Davie to save himself, and they would have to go through the breakers before they were safe. " Father," he said, "there's a bit of rock five or six yards afore us. Stop there till I've teen Davie through, and I'll come for ye." Right bravely Andrew struck through the boil ing surge, and when his feet touched firm land, he lost no time in putting Davie in a place of safety.

Without a moment's hesitation he plunged back into the sea, reached his father just as the old man was about to give way, and with his precious but heavy burden headed again for land. The ex citement and the heavy strains made upon his strength by the fierce battling with the waves were beginning to tell upon the iron frame of the brave young fisherman, for he was as long again in reaching land as he had been the first time. But not for an instant did he allow his spirits to fail him until he had placed his father safe beside his brother. Then nature, strained beyond her bounds, gave way; a fit of hysterical weeping completed what the sea had begun, and Andrew fell upon the rock in a dead swoon. When he came to himself he found his father bending over him in speechless agony. Davie re covering his spirits, and not exhausted like his father, had gone home over the rocks to fetch assistance.

Help speedily came. Andrew, weak as a child, was carried to the old home, and laid in the bed which he had once called his own. What pen can describe the meeting with the mother, or adequately tell her gentle ministry of love, quickened by regret that her unbending opposition to his wishes had driven him from her presence ; her love sanctified by the proud con sciousness of his magnanimous and heroic con duct ? But love was of no avail to redeem the prostrated strength of the young fisherman. Grad ually his strength ebbed away, until he peacefully closed his eyes, and entered upon his last sleep. We cannot stay to speak of the outburst of grief which, under the circumstances, his decease caused A TRAGIC ST0RV. 13 in the whole village, nor to relate how his parents deported themselves under the great trial.

We must hurry on to say that from the time that Andrew's wife came to her husband's funeral, the Baxters saw nothing of her or her child until the day on which our story opens. It was Saturday, and the Baxters, father and son, had gone to the village to buy the provisions for the following week. While in the shop, they learned that Andrew's widow had married again, and that the little boy was being neglected and treated in a most shameful manner. Burning with indignation, the old man entered her house, and after some fierce passages of speech, which almost led to blows between the new husband and Baxter, a compromise was made by the child being given over to the grandfather's care, and thus it came to pass upon that stormy Saturday night a new and unexpected joy came to the home of the Baxters.

Chapter III. Mischief Brewing

Mrs. Baxter was a true mother to the worse than orphan. There was only one bitter dis appointment mingling with her joy and pride for " oor Andra's bairn," and that was the yellow curls and the blue eyes of the child. These, if it had been at all in her power, she would have changed. In his features and in the expression of his face the child was the image of his father ; but the hair and the eyes were his mother's, as Mrs. Baxter said to her husband many a time, shaking sadly the while her motherly head. Being a matter entirely beyond her control, however, and young Zebedee (for that was his name) developing fast into a boisterous, rollicking youngster, de manding much time and serious care in his training, Mrs. Baxter found something else to think about. Zebedee — or Zeb, as he was called for shortness, small in stature, and slimly built for his age, yet lithe as an eel and full of mischief — soon made himself notorious in Fordy.

If a boat was broken loose from its moorings, if the door of a pig-stye MISCHIEF BREWING. 15 was found a-jar, and the happy mother of a num erous progeny of pigs came near the fate of the Gadarene swine, if a dog went howling through the village with an old kettle at its tail, if a hen was found fluttering about with her legs tied — in short, if there was any single thing as it ought not to be, where a pair of hands could have been the efficient cause, the first expression of opinion was invariably "I'll swear its that young nickum, Zeb," or, " That loon o' Baxter's has been at his tricks again !" Of course he got blamed, and even punished, for deeds of which he was as innocent as the un born babe ; but, as a rule, any aggrieved person was correct in fixing upon Zeb as the author of the wrong.

It became a common feature in Fordy for the irate man or woman, so soon as the mischief was discovered, to rush in search of Zeb, and if the lad had not been endowed with a supple pair of legs, and the agility as well as the sure footedness of a mountain goat, he would all the day long have been suffering the penalty of his sins against the community. But, pursued by a fisher man armed with an oar hastily snatched up on the way, or a woman screaming at the top of a shrill voice and brandishing a poker, he would dodge about the houses and sheds until his pursuers were completely done up, or if, as was no uncommon circumstance, a greater part of the inhabitants joined in the pursuit, he would scale the rocks on either side of the village, and, seated on a pro jection out of reach of any weapon they might carry, wait until his enemies returned home.

On such an occasion Zeb, as soon as he went home, saw a lecture written on the solemn face of his grandmother, but before she had time to utter half-a-dozen reproachful words, he had kissed and hugged her into silence. So completely did the boy of ten years possess the key to this woman's heart that he could open and shut it when he willed. His grandfather would have dealt more severely with him, but no sooner was there any sign of punishment to be inflicted than he would either spring to his grandmother's arms with a cry of alarm, or standing before the old man, and looking at him with his large blue eyes, in which fear and fun were striving for the mastery, he would say, " Granfather wouldna hit an orphin ;" then, more insinuatingly, " I'm granfather's boy." Grandfather Baxter had invariably to lay down the rope's-end and acknowledge himself con quered, by taking the boy within the compass of his arms and administering to him a very mild rebuke, after which he was sent to bed with a huge slice of bread and treacle.

With all his mischief, Zeb's heart was easily touched, and for Mr. and Mrs. Baxter and Davie he had a passionate love. Did any one in the village say a word against the three, or any one of them, in Zeb's hearing, that moment the boy MISCHIEF BREWING. 17 meditated, and generally began, a systematic re venge. While playing with the other children of the village one day he overheard some women in conversation make mention of the name of Baxter. He pricked up his ears in a moment, and listened without appearing to do so. To his astonishment and indignation he heard his Uncle Davie accused by these gossips of having been seen drunk. He did not under stand that the young woman who made mention of it was jealous of Davie's attentions to another young woman in the group ; he did not understand motives, but he understood speech, and an accusation so horrible to his mind as this filled him at once with revengeful feelings.

All that day he watched for an opportunity without success — no opening for vengeance presented itself. As a consequence Zeb was unaccountably dull that evening when it was time to go to bed, nor was his coldness thawed by the kiss which his grandmother gave him as she tucked him up snug ly in bed. Zeb was busy with his thoughts, and until he had laid his plans he could not condescend to be happy or cheerful. Being by no means the first time she had seen her grandson go to bed in that mood, Mrs. Baxter affected to take no notice of it, and went about her work. Presently she heard a movement in the bed, and she was conscious B that Zeb was sitting up as far as the roof of the bunk would permit. Then a coaxing voice said, in a mysterious whisper, " Grannie." "Ain't ye asleep, Zebee? Come, lie doon, there's a good loonie 1" " Grannie, I want t' ask somethin'."

"Weel, ye maun gang t' sleep then." " Yes, Grannie. Does the Scots hae porridge for breakfast ?" " Losh me ! what a question, laddie ! Hoo dee ye ask ?" "Because, Grannie," said the crafty Zeb, "their little 'uns are sae thin an' aye sae hungry." Davie coming in just then, and overhearing this remark, gave vent to a burst of laughter, which threw Zeb a little off his equilibrium. " Weel, uncle, I've heard you say that porridge aye made foulk big an' stoot," said the boy, pouting a little. " Did I, Zeb ? Weel, whether I did or no, they eat porridge, an' they're neither big nor stoot." Assured that the Scots did eat porridge Zeb lay down, and soon fell fast asleep. He was stirring, however, so much earlier than usual in the morn ing, that Mrs. Baxter went up to the bunk in some anxiety, lest the boy was ill ; but one glance at his rosy, smiling face reassured her.

Zeb was always very loving in the morning, usually kissing his grandmother when she wakened him, although signs of love were never manifested by him during the day, unless, indeed, stress of MISCHIEF BREWING. 19 circumstances drove him to them, as we have seen was the case sometimes. This morning he kissed his Grannie with extra fervour, and begged leave to rise, though it was earlier than usual. Permission being granted, Zeb was up and dressed in less than five minutes. As soon as he had said his prayers — for Mrs. Baxter was very careful in this matter of training — Zeb was out, and prowling about the hut in which the family of the Scots and another family lived, some fourteen souls in all. The young woman who had spread about the evil report concerning Davie was scraping a porridge pot outside the door, preparatory to the morning meal, as Zeb hove in sight.

" What d'ye want, ye young nickum ? " she bawled, as soon as the point to which he was bear ing down was sufficiently evident. " Jist dare ye come here wi' ony o' your tricks !" " Is Tam up ? " inquired Zeb, with the in nocence of a lamb. " No ; the bairns dinna get up till the porridge's ready." " Will that be lang ? " more innocently than be fore. " No ; dinna ye see me gettin' 't ready ? " This was just what Zeb wanted to know. " Weel I'll jist wait awhile," he said, as he turned on his heel. Once out of sight of the young woman, he took to his legs, and ran with all speed THAT LOON 0' BAXTER'S. 20 to the beach. Then tumbling on the sand, he began to roll about on his back, like a young animal at play, screaming, laughing, and kicking about his legs, like one bereft of his senses. " My eye !

Winna I stonishify her ! She'll jist be richt mad," and the thought sent Zeb off into another fit of uncontrollable merriment. " Zebedee, get up. What on earth's the matter •wi ye, laddie ?" It was grandfather Baxter who was regarding the little morsel of convulsed humanity with much amazement. " I'm only playin' mysel'," said Zeb, rising to his feet, and forcing back his features until they assumed a serio-comic expression most ludicrous to behold. " Playin' yersel ? umph. The folks arna verra far wrang then when they ca' you a young dog," said the grandfather, relaxing the severity of his look, and passing on. Zeb only gave way to one more outburst of merriment when the old man was out of sight, and forthwith began to select smooth stones from the beach, and fill his pockets with the same.

Chapter IV

A MESS OF PORRIDGE. When Zebedee had filled his pocket as full as it could hold of stones, he leisurely retraced his steps towards the home of the Scots. That he was bent on mischief any one would have known by his manner, but, at that hour of the morning, very few people were to be seen, and so he passed unchallenged. The houses in Fordy were generally built so low that the tallest men had to stoop before they could enter the doors. The hut in which the Scots dwelt was no exception to the general rule. Against the northern gable end of the house a sort of shed or outhouse had been built of an old boat turned keel upwards, resting upon two walls of loosely-built stones. To climb on to the roof of this shed was to Zeb but the work of a minute. He was then within easy reach of the chimney. Looking carefully round to see that no one was observing, he climbed to the roof of the hut, and gave a look down the chimney, for Fordy was in nocent of flues and chimney cans.