Part 14 (2/2)
house, where Jeanie's sweetheart dwelt, and where the road lay on which Jeanie went to London.
”It was there the old road to London lay; and wouldn't you think it more natural, sir, that it was that way she went, and it was there she met Dumbiedikes, and he gave her the purse? I'll always maintain, sir, that it was there she got it.”
Of the two women, Jeanie Deans and Mary Queen of Scots, Jeanie was evidently the vivider and more real in his thoughts.
The second day of our stay in Edinburgh was a gay day in the castle.
The 71st Highlanders had just returned from a twelvemonth's stay at Gibraltar. It was people's day. Everywhere the bronzed, tired, happy-looking fellows, in their smartened uniforms, were to be encountered, strolling, lounging, sitting with sweethearts or wives,--more of the former than the latter. It struck me also that the women were less good-looking than the men; but they were all beautified by happiness, and the merry sounds of their laughter, and the rumble of skittles playing filled all the place. Inside the castle, the room in which the regalia were on exhibition was thronged with country people, gazing reverently on its splendors.
”Keep yer eye on't, as ye walk by, an' mark the changes o' 't,” I heard one old lady say to her husband, whose wandering gaze seemed to her neglectful of the opportunity.
A few gay-dressed women, escorted by officers, held themselves apart from the soldiers' sweethearting, and were disposed, I thought, to look a little scornfully on it. The soldiers did not seem to mind the affront, if they saw it; no doubt, they thought their own sweethearts far the better looking, and if they had ever heard of it would have quoted with hearty good-will the old ballad,--
”The la.s.sies o' the Cannongate, Oh, they are wondrous nice: They winna gie a single kiss, But for a double price.
”Gar hang them, gar hang them, Hie upon a tree; For we'll get better up the gate, For a bawbee!”
Most picturesque of all the figures to be seen in Edinburgh are the Newhaven fishwives. With short, full blue cloth petticoats, reaching barely to their ankles; white blouses and gay kerchiefs; big, long-sleeved cloaks of the same blue cloth, fastened at the throat, but flying loose, sleeves and all, as if thrown on in haste; the girls bareheaded; the married women with white caps, standing up stiff and straight in a point on the top of the head; two big wickerwork creels, one above the other, full of fish, packed securely, on their broad shoulders, and held in place by a stout leather strap pa.s.sing round their foreheads, they pull along at a steady, striding gait, up hill and down, carrying weights that it taxes a man's strength merely to lift. In fact, it is a fishwife's boast that she will run with a weight which it takes two men to put on her back. By reason of this great strength on the part of the women, and their immemorial habit of exercising it; perhaps also from other causes far back in the early days of Jutland, where these curious Newhaven fis.h.i.+ng-folk are said to have originated,--it has come about that the Newhaven men are a singularly docile and submissive race. The wives keep all the money which they receive for the fish, and the husbands take what is given them,--a singular reversion of the situation in most communities. I did not believe this when it was told me; so I stopped three fishwives one day, and without mincing matters put the question direct to them.
Two of them were young, one old. The young women laughed saucily, and the old woman smiled; but they all replied unhesitatingly, that they had the spending of all the money.
”It's a' spent i' the hoos,” said one, anxious not to be thought too selfish,--”it's a' spent i' the hoos. The men, they cam home an' tak their sleep, an' then they'll be aff agen.”
”It 'ud never do for the husbands to stoop in tha city, an' be spendin' a' the money,” added the old woman, with severe emphasis.
I learned afterward that on the present system of buying and selling the fish, the fishermen do receive from their labor an income independent of their wives. They are the first sellers of the fish,--selling them in quant.i.ty to the wholesale dealers, who sell in turn at auction to the ”retail trade,” represented by the wives. This seems an unjust system, and is much resented by both husbands and wives; but it has been established by law, and there is no help for it. It came in with the introduction of the steam trawlers. ”They're the deestrooction o' the place,” said one of the fish women. ”A mon canna go oot wi' his lines an' mak a livin' noo. They just drag everything; they tak a' the broods; they're dooin' a worrld o' harrm.
There's somethin' a dooin' aboot it in the House o' Commons, noo, but a canna till hoo it wull go. They ull be the deestrooction o' this place, if they're na pit stop to.” And she shook her fist vindictively at a puffing trawler which had just pushed away from the wharf.
Whoever would see the Newhaven fishwives at their best must be on the Newhaven wharf by seven o'clock in the morning, on a day when the trawlers come in and the fish is sold. The scene is a study for a painter.
The fish are in long, narrow boxes, on the wharf, ranged at the base of the sea wall; some sorted out, in piles, each kind by itself: skates, with their long tails, which look vicious, as if they could kick; hake, witches, brill, sole, flounders, huge catfish, crayfish, and herrings, by the ton. The wall is crowded with men, Edinburgh fishmongers, come to buy cheap on the spot. The wall is not over two feet wide; and here they stand, lean over, jostle, slip by to right and left of each other, and run up and down in their eager haste to catch the eye of one auctioneer, or to get first speech with another.
The wharf is crowded with women,--an army in blue, two hundred, three hundred, at a time; white caps bobbing, elbows thrusting, shrill voices crying, fiery blue eyes s.h.i.+ning, it is a sight worth going to Scotland for. If one has had an affection for Christie Johnstone, it is a delightful return of his old admiration for her. A dozen faces which might be Christie's own are flas.h.i.+ng up from the crowd; one understands on the instant how that best of good stories came to be written. A man with eyes in his head and a pen in his hand could not have done less. Such fire, such honesty, such splendor of vitality, kindle the women's faces. To spend a few days among them would be to see Christie Johnstone dramatized on all sides.
On the morning when I drove out from Edinburgh to see this scene, a Scotch mist was simmering down,--so warm that at first it seemed of no consequence whatever, so cold that all of a sudden one found himself pierced through and through with icy s.h.i.+vers. This is the universal quality of a Scotch mist or drizzle.
The Newhaven wharf is a narrow pier running out to sea. On one side lay the steam trawlers, which had just unloaded their freight; on the other side, on the narrow, rampart-like wall of stone, swarmed the fishmonger men. In this line I took my place, and the chances of the scramble. Immediately the jolly fishwives caught sight of me, and began to nod and smile. They knew very well I was there to ”speir” at them.
”Ye'll tak cauld!” cried one motherly old soul, with her white hair blowing wildly about almost enough to lift the cap off her head. ”Com doon! Ye'll tak cauld.”
I smiled, and pointed to my water-proof cloak, down which, it must be admitted, the ”mist” was trickling in streams, while the cloak itself flapped in the wind like a loose sail. She shook her head scornfully.
”It's a grat pla.s.s to tak cauld!” she cried. ”Ye'll doo wull to com doon.”
There were three auctioneers: one, a handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed young fellow, was plainly a favorite with the women. They flocked after him as he pa.s.sed from one to another of the different lots of fish. They crowded in close circles around him, three and four deep; pus.h.i.+ng, struggling, rising on tiptoes to look over each other's shoulders and get sight of the fish.
”What's offered for this lot o' fine herrings? One! One and sax!
Thrippence ha'! Going, going, gone!” rang above all the clatter and chatter of the women's tongues. It was so swift that it seemed over before it was fairly begun; and the surging circles had moved along to a new spot and a new trade. The eyes of the women were fixed on the auctioneer's eyes; they beckoned; they shook forefingers at him; now and then a tall, stalwart one, reaching over less able-bodied comrades, took him by the shoulder, and compelled him to turn her way; one, most fearless of all, literally gripped him by the ear and pulled his head around, shrieking out her bid. When the pressure got unbearable, the young fellow would shake himself like a Newfoundland dog, and, laughing good-naturedly, whirl his arms wide round to clear a breathing s.p.a.ce; the women would fall back a pace or two, but in a moment the rings would close up again, tighter than ever.
The efforts of those in the outer ring to break through or see over the inner ones were droll. Arms and hands and heads seemed fairly interlinked and interwoven. Sometimes a pair of hands would come into sight, pus.h.i.+ng their way between two bodies, low down,--just the two hands, nothing more, breaking way for themselves, as if in a thicket of underbrush; presently the arms followed; and then, with a quick thrust of the arms to right and left, the s.p.a.ce would be widened enough to let in the head, and when that was fairly through the victory was won. Straightening herself with a big leap, the woman bounded in front of the couple she had so skilfully separated, and a buzzing ”bicker” of angry words would rise for a moment; but there was no time to waste in bad temper where bargains were to be made or lost in the twinkling of an eye.
An old sailor, who stood near me on the wall, twice saved me from going backwards into the sea, in my hasty efforts to better my standpoint. He also seemed to be there simply as a spectator, and I asked him how the women knew what they were buying; buying, as they did, by the pile or the box.
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