“‘Noo, Jacob, I’s gaen ower t’ edge o’ t’ drift.’
“An sewer enough ower he went, an’ I clam along t’ crags as far as I could to watch. I tell ye it wor queer, he wor far enough frae me, to see him hingin’ away by that bit o’ threead-like. But efter a bit he gat on tull a foothod, and began to walk aboot t’ ghyll. What he was efter I didn’t see, but in a bit he come up again.
“‘It’s aw reet, Jacob, aw tou hes ta dew wi’ them yows is to thra plenty o’ hay doon t’ ghyll tull em. But tou mun thra it fra here’—an’ he marked a spot—‘else it ull catch on t’ crags, an’ the yows ’ll nivver git up tull it.’
“Well, that ud niwer dew, an’ for a week we fed them yows ivvery day be thrahin’ t’ hay doon t’ drift tull em. When things hed thowed a bit nowt wod suit Tommy but gangen doon wi’ his dog. ‘I’s gaen to drive ’em oot afoor this drift starts faa’ing to bits. Some on ’em mout git laemt.’
BASSENTHWAITE LAKE
A breezy morn
“Noo, I didn’t caw him Daft Watty, but hooivver cud he git them sheep up that brant o’ sna’ whar he couldn’t climm hissel? Hooivver ower he went as I said, an’ I went ower t’ crags to watch. He hed his dog in his arms as they lowered him doon, an’ he let it off that minute he gat doon to t’ bottom—it was like lukkin intull a well frae whar I was at. Tommy hed gone reet doon to t’ end o’ t’ hooal, an’ began hoonden t’ sheep up intull yan corner. Ther was a bit on a slack theyer, an’ what wi’ him shooten an’ t’ dog hoonden it wasn’t lang afoor he hed ’em climmin’ up t’ sna like as if they wur sae manny flees. It maed me feel white dizzy to see t’ lile dog drivin’ away at ’em; an’ as fur Tommy, why he was climmin’ away up t’ drift whar it wor like a hoose end, shooten an’ whistlen as if he wur as saef as on t’ main rooad. It wasn’t many minutes afoor I sah as t’ sheep hed getten up t’ warst part o’ t’ ginnel side, an’ I went roond to meet ’em. They com up like fleein’ things, wi’ that yella-an’-tan dog worryin’ ahint. An’ aboot t’ saem time Tommy com up t’ raep, an’ shooted ‘Noo, Jacob, wha’s t’ Daft Watty?’ It wornt Tommy at enny raet.
“Tommy went back to Ennerdale t’ followen summer, an’ I’s nivver seen him sen. Hae you? I mind you said yance that you hed seen him in Ennerdale last back-end.”
Yes, I had seen him, and found him overjoyed to hear of his one-time chum on Bassenthwaite side. These old-timers of the fell-heads are essentially men of their own localities. A journey of ten miles would bring them often into a terra incognita. The two old men mentioned above had a sincere regard for one another, yet it never occurred to them to traverse the fifteen miles of mountain which lay between their homes, nor to expend the three or four shillings which by rail would have carried them almost to the doorstep of each other. Perhaps such an incident as the following deters them. One old man of my acquaintance held a strong regard for another who for half a century he had not seen—and the while their domiciles were hardly ten miles apart. One day after much consideration old John decided that the time was ripe for a visit to old Billy, and off he set by the low moor road, with a pocket full of provisions to eat on the way. Two hours after he had got away, a hale old chap entered the hamlet inquiring for him. “Old John?” said I to the stranger. “Why, he’s just gone over the fell to see a friend in ——”
“Was it to see Billy Longmire?”