NOTE R.--Madge Wildfire.
In taking leave of the poor maniac, the Author may here observe that thefirst conception of the character, though afterwards greatly altered, wastaken from that of a person calling herself, and called by others,Feckless Fannie (weak or feeble Fannie), who always travelled with asmall flock of sheep. The following account, furnished by the perseveringkindness of Mr. Train, contains, probably, all that can now be known ofher history, though many, among whom is the Author, may remember havingheard of Feckless Fannie in the days of their youth.
"My leisure hours," says Mr. Train, "for some time past have been mostlyspent in searching for particulars relating to the maniac called FecklessFannie, who travelled over all Scotland and England, between the years1767 and 1775, and whose history is altogether so like a romance, that Ihave been at all possible pains to collect every particular that can befound relative to her in Galloway, or in Ayrshire.
"When Feckless Fannie appeared in Ayrshire, for the first time, in thesummer of 1769, she attracted much notice, from being attended by twelveor thirteen sheep, who seemed all endued with faculties so much superiorto the ordinary race of animals of the same species, as to exciteuniversal astonishment. She had for each a different name, to which itanswered when called by its mistress, and would likewise obey in the mostsurprising manner any command she thought proper to give. Whentravelling, she always walked in front of her flock, and they followedher closely behind. When she lay down at night in the fields, for shewould never enter into a house, they always disputed who should lie nextto her, by which means she was kept warm, while she lay in the midst ofthem; when she attempted to rise from the ground, an old ram, whose namewas Charlie, always claimed the sole right of assisting her; pushing anythat stood in his way aside, until he arrived right before his mistress;he then bowed his head nearly to the ground that she might lay her handson his horns, which were very large; he then lifted her gently from theground by raising his head. If she chanced to leave her flock feeding, assoon as they discovered she was gone, they all began to bleat mostpiteously, and would continue to do so till she returned; they would thentestify their joy by rubbing their sides against her petticoat andfrisking about.
"Feckless Fannie was not, like most other demented creatures, fond offine dress; on her head she wore an old slouched hat, over her shouldersan old plaid, and carried always in her hand a shepherd's crook; with anyof these articles she invariably declared she would not part for anyconsideration whatever. When she was interrogated why she set so muchvalue on things seemingly so insignificant, she would sometimes relatethe history of her misfortune, which was briefly as follows:--
"'I am the only daughter of a wealthy squire in the north of England, butI loved my father's shepherd, and that has been my ruin; for my father,fearing his family would be disgraced by such an alliance, in a passionmortally wounded my lover with a shot from a pistol. I arrived just intime to receive the last blessing of the dying man, and to close his eyesin death. He bequeathed me his little all, but I only accepted thesesheep, to be my sole companions through life, and this hat, this plaid,and this crook, all of which I will carry until I descend into thegrave.'
"This is the substance of a ballad, eighty-four lines of which I copieddown lately from the recitation of an old woman in this place, who saysshe has seen it in print, with a plate on the title-page, representingFannie with her sheep behind her. As this ballad is said to have beenwritten by Lowe, the author of _Mary's Dream,_ I am surprised that it hasnot been noticed by Cromek in his _Remains of Nithsdale and GallowaySong;_ but he perhaps thought it unworthy of a place in his collection,as there is very little merit in the composition; which want of roomprevents me from transcribing at present. But if I thought you had neverseen it, I would take an early opportunity of doing so.
"After having made the tour of Galloway in 1769, as Fannie was wanderingin the neighbourhood of Moffat, on her way to Edinburgh, where, I aminformed, she was likewise well known, Old Charlie, her favourite ram,chanced to break into a kale-yard, which the proprietor observing, letloose a mastiff, that hunted the poor sheep to death. This was a sadmisfortune; it seemed to renew all the pangs which she formerly felt onthe death of her lover. She would not part from the side of her oldfriend for several days, and it was with much difficulty she consented toallow him to be buried; but still wishing to pay a tribute to his memory,she covered his grave with moss, and fenced it round with osiers, andannually returned to the same spot, and pulled the weeds from the graveand repaired the fence. This is altogether like a romance; but I believeit is really true that she did so. The grave of Charlie is still heldsacred even by the school-boys of the present day in that quarter. It isnow, perhaps, the only instance of the law of Kenneth being attended to,which says, 'The grave where anie that is slaine lieth buried, leaveuntilled for seven years. Repute every grave holie so as thou be welladvised, that in no wise with thy feet thou tread upon it.'
"Through the storms of winter, as well as in the milder seasons of theyear, she continued her wandering course, nor could she be prevented fromdoing so, either by entreaty or promise of reward. The late Dr. Fullartonof Rosemount, in the neighbourhood of Ayr, being well acquainted with herfather when in England, endeavoured, in a severe season, by every meansin his power, to detain her at Rosemount for a few days until the weathershould become more mild; but when she found herself rested a little, andsaw her sheep fed, she raised her crook, which was the signal she alwaysgave for the sheep to follow her, and off they all marched together.
"But the hour of poor Fannie's dissolution was now at hand, and sheseemed anxious to arrive at the spot where she was to terminate hermortal career. She proceeded to Glasgow, and while passing through thatcity a crowd of idle boys, attracted by her singular appearance, togetherwith the novelty of seeing so many sheep obeying her command, began toferment her with their pranks, till she became so irritated that shepelted them with bricks and stones, which they returned in such a manner,that she was actually stoned to death between Glasgow and Anderston.
"To the real history of this singular individual credulity has attachedseveral superstitious appendages. It is said that the farmer who was thecause of Charlie's death shortly afterwards drowned himself in apeat-hag; and that the hand with which a butcher in Kilinarnock struckone of the other sheep became powerless, and withered to the very bone.In the summer of 1769, when she was passing by New Cumnock, a young man,whose name was William Forsyth, son of a farmer in the same parish,plagued her so much that she wished he might never see the morn; uponwhich he went home and hanged himself in his father's barn. And I doubtnot that many such stories may yet be remembered in other parts where shehad been."
So far Mr. Train. The Author can only add to this narrative that FecklessFannie and her little flock were well known in the pastoral districts. Inattempting to introduce such a character into fiction, the Author feltthe risk of encountering a comparison with the Maria of Sterne; and,besides, the mechanism of the story would have been as much retarded byFeckless Fannie's flock as the night march of Don Quixote was delayed bySancho's tale of the sheep that were ferried over the river.
The Author has only to add, that notwithstanding the preciseness of hisfriend Mr. Train's statement, there may be some hopes that the outrage onFeckless Fannie and her little flock was not carried to extremity. Thereis no mention of any trial on account of it, which, had it occurred inthe manner stated, would have certainly taken place; and the Author hasunderstood that it was on the Border she was last seen, about the skirtsof the Cheviot hills, but without her little flock.
NOTE S.--Death of Francis Gordon.
This exploit seems to have been one in which Patrick Walker pridedhimself not a little; and there is reason to fear, that that excellentperson would have highly resented the attempt to associate another withhim in the slaughter of a King's Life-Guardsman. Indeed, he would havehad the more right to be offended at losing any share of the glory, sincethe party against Gordon was already three to on
e, besides having theadvantage of firearms. The manner in which he vindicates his claim to theexploit, without committing himself by a direct statement of it, is not alittle amusing. It is as follows:--
"I shall give a brief and true account of that man's death, which I didnot design to do while I was upon the stage; I resolve, indeed (if it bethe Lord's will), to leave a more full account of that and many otherremarkable steps of the Lord's dispensations towards me through my life.It was then commonly said, that Francis Gordon was a volunteer out ofwickedness of principles, and could not stay with the troop, but wasstill raging and ranging to catch hiding suffering people. Meldrum andAirly's troops, lying at Lanark upon the first day of March 1682, Mr.Gordon and another wicked comrade, with their two servants and fourhorses, came to Kilcaigow, two miles from Lanark, searching for WilliamCaigow and others, under hiding.
"Mr. Gordon, rambling throw the town, offered to abuse the women. Atnight, they came a mile further to the Easter-Seat, to Robert Muir's, hebeing also under hiding. Gordon's comrade and the two servants went tobed, but he could sleep none, roaring all night for women. When day came,he took only his sword in his hand, and came to Moss-platt, and some newmen (who had been in the fields all night) seeing him, they fled, and hepursued. James Wilson, Thomas Young, and myself, having been in a meetingall night, were lying down in the morning. We were alarmed, thinkingthere were many more than one; he pursued hard, and overtook us. ThomasYoung said, 'Sir, what do ye pursue us for?' He said, 'he was come tosend us to hell.' James Wilson said, 'that shall not be, for we willdefend ourselves.' He said, 'that either he or we should go to it now.'He run his sword furiously throw James Wilson's coat. James fired uponhim, but missed him. All this time he cried, 'Damn his soul!' He got ashot in his head out of a pocket-pistol, rather fit for diverting a boythan killing such a furious, mad, brisk man, which, notwithstanding,killed him dead. The foresaid William Caigow and Robert Muir came to us.We searched him for papers, and found a long scroll of sufferers' names,either to kill or take. I tore it all in pieces. He had also some Popishbooks and bonds of money, with one dollar, which a poor man took off theground; all which we put in his pocket again. Thus, he was four milesfrom Lanark, and near a mile from his comrade, seeking his own death andgot it. And for as much as we have been condemned for this, I could neversee how any one could condemn us that allows of self-defence, which thelaws both of God and nature allow to every creature. For my own part, myheart never smote me for this. When I saw his blood run, I wished thatall the blood of the Lord's stated and avowed enemies in Scotland hadbeen in his veins. Having such a clear call and opportunity, I would haverejoiced to have seen it all gone out with a gush. I have many timeswondered at the greater part of the indulged, lukewarm ministers andprofessors in that time, who made more noise of murder, when one of theseenemies had been killed even in our own defence, than of twenty of usbeing murdered by them. None of these men present was challenged for thisbut myself. Thomas Young thereafter suffered at Mauchline, but was notchallenged for this; Robert Muir was banished; James Wilson outlived thepersecution; Williarn Caigow died in the Canongate Tolbooth, in thebeginning of 1685. Mr. Wodrow is misinformed, who says that he sufferedunto death."
NOTE T.--Tolling to Service in Scotland.
In the old days of Scotland, when persons of property (unless theyhappened to be non-jurors) were as regular as their inferiors inattendance on parochial worship, there was a kind of etiquette, inwaiting till the patron or acknowledged great man of the parish shouldmake his appearance. This ceremonial was so sacred in the eyes of aparish beadle in the Isle of Bute, that the kirk bell being out of order,he is said to have mounted the steeple every Sunday, to imitate with hisvoice the successive summonses which its mouth of metal used to sendforth. The first part of this imitative harmony was simply the repetitionof the words _Bell bell, bell bell,_ two or three times in a manner asmuch resembling the sound as throat of flesh could imitate throat ofiron. _Bellu'm! bellu'm!_ was sounded forth in a more urgent manner; buthe never sent forth the third and conclusive peal, the varied tone ofwhich is called in Scotland the ringing-in, until the two principalheritors of the parish approached, when the chime ran thus:--
Bellu'm Belle'llum, Bernera and Knockdow's coming! Bellu'm Belle'llum, Bernera and Knockdow's coming!
Thereby intimating that service was instantly to proceed.
[Mr. Mackinlay of Borrowstounness, a native of Bute, states that SirWalter Scott had this story from Sir Adam Ferguson; but that the gallantknight had not given the lairds' titles correctly--the bellman's greatmen being "Craich, Drumbuie, and Barnernie!"--1842.]
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