ANDREW GEMMELS.
(Edie Ochiltree.)
ndrew Gemmels or Gemble, a wandering blue-gown of the south of Scotland, is supposed to have been the original of Edie Ochiltree. The latter, as represented in the novel, bears, it is true, a much more amiable aspect, and exhibits greater elevation of character, than the rude old soldier in whom the public has recognised his prototype. Yet, as we believe there exists a considerable degree of resemblance between them, a sketch of old Andrew, who was a very singular personage, will not prove unsatisfactory.
Andrew Gemmels was well known over all the Border districts as a wandering beggar, or gaberlunzie, for the greater part of half a century. He had been a soldier in his youth; and the entertaining stories which he told of his campaigns, and the adventures he had encountered in foreign countries, united with his shrewdness, drollery, and other agreeable qualities, rendered him a general favourite, and secured him a cordial welcome and free quarters at every shepherd’s cot or farm-steading that lay in the range of his extensive wanderings. He kept a horse in his latter days; and, so doing, set the proverb at naught. On arriving at a place of call, he usually put up his horse in some stable or outhouse, without the ceremony of asking his host’s permission, and then came into the house, where he stamped and swore till room was made for him at the fireside. Andrew was not like those degenerate modern beggars, who implore a coin as for God’s sake, and shelter themselves in the first hole they can find open to receive them,—but ordered and commanded, like the master himself, and only accepted of his alms by way of obliging his friends. He presumed even to choose his own bed, and was not pleased unless the utmost attention was shown to his comfort. He preferred sleeping in an outhouse, and, if possible, in any place where horses and cattle were kept. The reasons he might be supposed to have for such a preference are obvious. In an outhouse he was less exposed in undressing to the curious eyes of the people, who always suspected him of having treasure concealed in his clothes; and the company of the animals beneath his bed was preferable to utter solitude, and, moreover, tended to keep the premises comfortably warm. He used such art in the matters of his toilette that no person ever saw him undressed, or made any discovery prejudicial to his character of poverty.
Andrew was a tall, sturdy, old man, with a face in which the fierceness and austerity of his character strove for mastery with the expression of a shrewd and keen intellect. He was usually dressed in the blue gown or surtout described in “The Antiquary” as the habiliment of Edie Ochiltree, and his features were shaded with a broad slouched hat, which had been exchanged at an earlier period for a lowland bonnet. His feet and ankles were shod with strong iron-soled shoes and gamashins, or stocking-boots. He always carried a stout walking-staff, which was nearly as tall as himself, that is to say, not much less than six feet.
“Though free and unceremonious,[17] Andrew was never burdensome or indiscreet in his visits, returning only once or twice a year, and generally after pretty regular intervals. He evidently seemed to prosper in his calling; for, though hung around with rags of every shape and hue, he commonly possessed a good horse, and used to attend the country fairs and race-courses, where he would bet and dispute with the farmers and gentry with the most independent and resolute pertinacity. He allowed that begging had been a good trade in his time, but used to complain sadly that times were daily growing worse.[18] A person remembers seeing Gemmels travelling about on a blood-mare, with a foal after her, and a gold watch in his pocket. On one occasion, at Rutherford in Tiviotdale, he had dropped a clue of yarn, and Mr. Mather, his host, finding him searching for it, assisted in the search, and, having got hold of it, persisted, notwithstanding Andrew’s opposition, in unrolling the yarn till he came to the kernel, which, much to his surprise and amusement, he found to consist of about twenty guineas in gold.”
“My grandfather,” continues this writer, “was exceedingly fond of Andrew’s company; and, though a devout and strict Cameronian, and occasionally somewhat scandalized at his rough and irreverent style of language, was nevertheless so much attracted by his conversation, that he never failed to spend the evenings of his sojourn in listening to his entertaining narrations and ‘auld-warld stories,’ with the old shepherds, hinds, and children seated around them, beside the blazing turf ingle in ‘the farmer’s ha’.’ These conversations generally took a polemical turn, and not unfrequently ended in violent disputes—my ancestor’s hot and impatient temper blazing forth in collision with the dry and sarcastic humour of his ragged guest. Andrew was never known to yield his point on these occasions; but he usually had the address, when matters grew too serious, to give the conversation a more pleasant turn, by some droll remark or unexpected stroke of humour, which convulsed the rustic group, and the grave gudeman himself, with unfailing and irresistible merriment.”
“Many curious anecdotes of Andrew’s sarcastic wit and eccentric manners are current in the Borders. I shall for the present content myself with one specimen, illustrative of Andrew’s resemblance to his celebrated representative. The following is given as commonly related with much good humour by the late Mr. Dodds of the War Office, the person to whom it chiefly refers:—Andrew happened to be present at a fair or market somewhere in Tiviotdale (St. Boswell’s, if I mistake not), where Dodds, at that time a non-commissioned officer in his Majesty’s service, happened also to be with a military party recruiting. It was some time during the American War, when they were eagerly beating up for fresh men—to teach passive obedience to the obdurate and ill-mannered Columbians; and it was then the practice for recruiting sergeants after parading for a due space, with all the warlike pageantry of drums, trumpets, ‘glancing blades, and gay cockades,’ to declaim in heroic strains of the delights of a soldier’s life—of glory, patriotism, plunder—the prospect of promotion for the bold and the young, and his Majesty’s munificent pension for the old and the wounded, etc., etc. Dodds, who was a man of much natural talent, and whose abilities afterwards raised him to an honourable rank and independent fortune, had made one of his most brilliant speeches on this occasion. A crowd of ardent and active rustics were standing round, gaping with admiration at the imposing mien, and kindling at the heroic eloquence of the manly soldier, whom many of them had known a few years before as a rude tailor boy; the sergeant himself, already leading in idea a score of new recruits, had just concluded, in a strain of more than usual elevation, his oration in praise of the military profession, when Gemmels, who, in tattered guise, was standing close behind him, reared aloft his meal-pocks on the end of his kent or pike-staff, and exclaimed, with a tone and aspect of the most profound derision, ‘Behold the end o’t!’ The contrast was irresistible—the beau idéal of Sergeant Dodds, and the ragged reality of Andrew Gemmels, were sufficiently striking; and the former, with his red-coat followers, beat a retreat in some confusion, amidst the loud and universal laughter of the surrounding multitude.”
Andrew Gemmels was remarkable for being perhaps the best player at draughts in Scotland; and in that amusement, which, we may here observe, is remarkably well adapted for bringing out and employing the cool, calculating, and shrewd genius of the Scottish nation, he frequently spent the long winter nights. Many persons still exist who were taught the mysteries of the dambrod[19] by him, and who were accustomed to hold a serious contention with him every time he passed the night in their houses. He was the preceptor of the gudewife of Newby in Peebles-shire, the grandmother of the present narrator, whose hospitable mansion was one of his chief resorts. In teaching her, as he said, he had only “cut a stick to break his ain head”; for she soon became equally expert with himself, and in the regular set-to’s which took place between them, did not show either the deference to his master-skill, or the fear of his resentment, with which he was usually treated by more timorous competitors. He could never be brought, however, to acknowledge heartily her rival pretensions, nor would he, upon any account, come to such a trial as might have decided the palm of merit either in his favour or hers. Whenever he saw the tide of success running on her side, he got dreadfully exasperated, and ordinarily, before the stigma of defeat could be decidedly inflicted upon him, rose up, seized the brod, and threw the men into the fire,—accompanying the action with some of his most terrific and blasphemous imprecations.
The late Lord Elibank, while living at Darnhall, once ordered one of his cast-off suits to be given to Andrew—the which Andrew thankfully accepted, and then took his departure. Through the course of the same day, his lordship, in taking a ride a few miles from home, came up with Andrew, and was not a little surprised to see him dragging the clothes behind him along the road, “through dub and mire.” On being asked his reason for such strange conduct, he replied that he would have “to trail the duds that way for twa days, to mak them fit for use!”
In one circumstance Andrew coincides with his supposed archetype: Andrew had been at Fontenoy, and made frequent allusions to that disastrous field.
Andrew died in 1793, at Roxburgh-Newton, near Kelso, being, according to his own account, 105 years of age. His wealth was the means of enriching a nephew in Ayrshire, who is now a considerable landholder there, and belongs to a respectable class of society.
CHAPTER IV.
Rob Roy.