“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.
ANECDOTES OF ROBERT MACGREGOR.
(Rob Roy.)
We derive the following interesting narrative from Colonel Stewart’s admirable work on the Highlands.