“STOLEN BY THE GYPSIES.”
One day the boy disappeared. Every hen-house, every stable, every pigstye, and every likely corner of the village, was searched; but in vain. Tom was lost! He was then little over a year old. He could not have gone very far. Somebody raised the cry that he had been “stolen by the gipsies!” It was remembered that some tinkers had been selling their brooms and pans in the village that afternoon; and it was immediately concluded that they had kidnapped the child. It was not so very unreasonable after all. Adam Smith, the author of the Wealth of Nations, had been kidnapped by a gipsy woman when a child at Kirkcaldy, many years before; and such things live long in popular recollection.
A hue-and-cry was accordingly got up in Kettle about the bairn that had been stolen by the gipsies. Their camp was known to be in the neighbourhood,—about three miles off. Tom’s uncle and three other men volunteered to go early next morning. The neighbours went to their homes, except two, who remained with the mother. She sat by the fire all night,—a long, wretched, dreary night. Early in the morning the four men started. They found the gipsy camp, and stated their grievance. They “wanted the child that had been kidnapped yesterday.” “What?” said the chief gipsy; “we never kidnap children; such a dishonest deed has never been laid to our charge. But, now that you are here, you had better look for yourselves.”
As the searchers were passing through among the carts and tents, they were set upon by a number of women and girls, and belaboured with every kind of weapon and missile. Those who had neither sticks nor ropes, used their claws. The men were unmercifully pummelled and scratched before they could make their escape. They reached Kettle in a deplorable state,—but without the child!
All hopes of his recovery in that quarter being ended, another body of men prepared to set out in another direction. But at this moment they were amazed by a scream outside the house. All eyes were turned to the door, when in rushed the pig-wife, and, without the least ceremony, threw the child into his mother’s lap. “There, woman, there’s yer bairn! but for God’s sake keep him awa frae yon place, or he may fare war next time.” “But whar was he?” they exclaimed in a breath. “Whar wud he be but below Bet and her pigs a’ nicht!”[3]
THE INCHES AT ABERDEEN.
When the family removed to Aberdeen, young Edward was in his glory. The place where he lived was close to the outside of the town. He was enabled to roam into the country by way of Deeside and Ferryhill. Close at hand were the Inches,—not the Inches of to-day—but the beautiful green Inches of sixty years ago, covered with waving algæ. There, too, grew the scurvy grass, and the beautiful sea daisy. Between the Inches, were channels through which the tide flowed, with numerous pots or hollows. These were the places for bandies, eels, crabs, and worms.
THE VENOMOUS BEASTS.
Above the Inches, the town’s manure was laid down,—at a part now covered by the railway station. The heaps were remarkably prolific in beetles, rats, sparrows, and numerous kinds of flies. Then the Denburn, at the foot of the Green, yielded no end of horse-leeches, powets (tadpoles), frogs, and other creatures that abound in fresh or muddy water. The boy used daily to play at these places, and brought home with him his “venomous beasts,” as the neighbours called them. At first they consisted, for the most part, of tadpoles, beetles, snails, frogs, sticklebacks, and small green crabs (the young of the Carcinus mœnas); but as he grew older, he brought home horse-leeches, asks (newts), young rats—a nest of young rats was a glorious prize—field mice and house mice, hedgehogs, moles, birds, and birds’ nests of various kinds.
The fishes and birds were easily kept; but as there was no secure place for the puddocks, horse-leeches, rats, and such like,—they usually made their escape into the adjoining houses, where they were by no means welcome guests. The neighbours complained of the venomous creatures which the young naturalist was continually bringing home. The horse-leeches crawled up their legs and stuck to them, fetching blood; the puddocks and asks roamed about the floors; and the beetles, moles, and rats, sought for holes wherever they could find them.