Before setting out, he called upon all his old friends and acquaintances in the dale—the neighbouring farmers, who had befriended him and his mother when struggling with poverty—his schoolfellows, many of whom were preparing to migrate, like himself, from their native valley—and the many friends and acquaintances he had made while working as a mason in Langholm. Everybody knew that Tom was going south, and all wished him God speed. At length the leave-taking was over, and he set out for London in the year 1782, when twenty-five years old. He had, like the little river Meggat, on the banks of which he was born, floated gradually on towards the outer world: first from the nook in the valley, to Westerkirk school; then to Langholm and its little circle; and now, like the Meggat, which flows with the Esk into the ocean, he was about to be borne away into the wide world. Telford, however, had confidence in himself, and no one had fears for him. As the neighbours said, wisely wagging their heads, "Ah, he's an auld-farran chap is Tam; he'll either mak a spoon or spoil a horn; any how, he's gatten a good trade at his fingers' ends."
Telford had made all his previous journeys on foot; but this one he made on horseback. It happened that Sir James Johnstone, the laird of Wester Hall, had occasion to send a horse from Eskdale to a member of his family in London, and he had some difficulty in finding a person to take charge of it. It occurred to Mr. Jackson, the laird's factor, that this was a capital opportunity for his cousin Tom, the mason; and it was accordingly arranged that he should ride the horse to town. When a boy, he had learnt rough riding sufficiently well for the purpose; and the better to fit him for the hardships of the road, Mr. Jackson lent him his buckskin breeches. Thus Tom set out from his native valley well mounted, with his little bundle of "traps" buckled behind him, and, after a prosperous journey, duly reached London, and delivered up the horse as he had been directed. Long after, Mr. Jackson used to tell the story of his cousin's first ride to London with great glee, and he always took care to wind up with—"but Tam forgot to send me back my breeks!"
[Image] Lower Valley of the Meggat, the Crooks in the distance.
Footnotes for Chapter II.
*[1] In his 'Epistle to Mr. Walter Ruddiman,' first published in 'Ruddiman's Weekly Magazine,' in 1779, occur the following lines addressed to Burns, in which Telford incidentally sketches himself at the time, and hints at his own subsequent meritorious career;
"Nor pass the tentie curious lad,
Who o'er the ingle hangs his head,
And begs of neighbours books to read;
For hence arise
Thy country's sons, who far are spread,
Baith bold and wise."
*[2] The 'Poetical Museum,' Hawick, p.267. ' Eskdale' was afterwards reprinted by Telford when living at Shrewsbury, when he added a few lines by way of conclusion. The poem describes very pleasantly the fine pastoral scenery of the district:—
"Deep 'mid the green sequester'd glens below,
Where murmuring streams among the alders flow,
Where flowery meadows down their margins spread,
And the brown hamlet lifts its humble head—
There, round his little fields, the peasant strays,
And sees his flock along the mountain graze;
And, while the gale breathes o'er his ripening grain,
And soft repeats his upland shepherd's strain,
And western suns with mellow radiance play.
And gild his straw-roof'd cottage with their ray,
Feels Nature's love his throbbing heart employ,
Nor envies towns their artificial joy."
The features of the valley are very fairly described. Its early history is then rapidly sketched; next its period of border strife, at length happily allayed by the union of the kingdoms, under which the Johnstones, Pasleys, and others, men of Eskdale, achieve honour and fame. Nor did he forget to mention Armstrong, the author of the 'Art of Preserving Health,' son of the minister of Castleton, a few miles east of Westerkirk; and Mickle, the translator of the 'Lusiad,' whose father was minister of the parish of Langholm; both of whom Telford took a natural pride in as native poets of Eskdale.