‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken—I mean, don’t ye know what that is?’
On confessing my ignorance, I learned that the etiquette of courtship, as understood among the peasantry of south-west Scotland, demands that no young ploughman shall present himself at the farm on which the young woman who has taken his fancy may happen to be employed; if he did so, it would expose the girl to a good deal of bantering. He invariably secures the services of a friend, on whom he relies not only for moral support, but for actual assistance in his enterprise.
At the end of the working-day, when the dairymaids, as we should call them in England, have ‘cleaned themselves,’ and are chatting together in a little group at the door of the byre, John, the friend, makes his appearance, and presently contrives to engage the attention of Jeanie, who is the object of his friend’s devotion. The other girls good-naturedly leave them alone, and John suggests that ‘they micht tak’ a bit daun’er as far as the yett’ (i.e., the gate). Jeanie blushes, and picking up the corner of her apron as she goes, accompanies the ambassador to the gate and into the lane beyond. There, by pure accident, they meet Archie, and he and John greet each other in the same way as if they had not met each other for a week. The three saunter on together, under the hawthorn, till suddenly John remembers that he will be ‘expeckit hame,’ and takes his departure, leaving Archie to plead his cause as best he may.
I declared my conviction that the custom sprang from unworthy fears of an action for breach of promise; but Alec was almost offended by this imputation on the good faith of his countrymen, and assured me most seriously that that kind of litigation was unheard of in Kyleshire.
Next day we went to the fair. The object of this gathering is to enable farmers to meet and engage their farm-servants, male and female; it takes place twice a year, the hiring being always for six months.
The village, or ‘the toon,’ as they always call it here, was in a state of great excitement. There was quite a crowd in the middle of the street, chiefly composed of young women in garments of many colours, in the most enviable condition of physical health; and young giants of ploughmen in their best clothes, with carefully oiled hair. On the outskirts of the crowd (which was as dense as four hundred people could possibly make it), were a few queys, i.e., young cows, and a few rough farm-horses. The public-houses were simply crammed as full as they would hold. There was a swing, and a merry-go-round, and a cheap-Jack. There was also a sort of lottery, conducted on the most primitive principles. You paid sixpence, plunged your hand into a little wooden barrel revolving on a spindle, and pulled out a morsel of peculiarly dirty paper bearing a number. This entitled you to a comb, or an accordion with three notes, or a penny doll, as the case might be.
What chiefly impressed me was the sober, not to say dismal, character of the whole thing. I saw no horse-play, no dancing, no kiss-in-the-ring, or games of any kind. One might have thought it was an ordinary market-day, but for the crowd and the cracking of the caps on the miniature rifles with which the lads were shooting for nuts. This, in fact, was the only popular amusement; and, as all the boys and young men took part in it, and all held the muzzle of their weapon within twelve or fourteen inches of the mark, I perceived that every proprietor of a nut-barrow would have been ruined if he had not secured himself against bankruptcy by prudently twisting the barrels of his firearms.
There was, by the way, one other amusement besides the shooting for nuts: every young man presented every girl of his acquaintance with a handful of nuts or sweetmeats, the degree of his regard being indicated by the quantity offered. I convinced myself that some of the prettier and more popular girls must have carried home several pounds’ weight of saccharine matter.
We did not leave the village till it was getting dark and the naphtha lamps were blazing at the stalls. Probably the fun was only beginning, but we did not stay to witness it. Happily, the drinking seemed to be confined to great, large-limbed farmers, on whom half a bottle of whisky seemed to make not the slightest impression, beyond loosening their tongues. As the night advanced, however, a change must have occurred, for I was told afterwards that Hamilton of Burnfoot (my friend of the coach and of the offertory) had been seen sitting upright in his gig, thrashing with all his might, and in perfect silence, a saddler’s hobby-horse, which some wag had put between the shafts in place of his steady old ‘roadster.’
On the way home Alec and I had some confidential conversation as to his future.