life of a scotch naturalist 15
On returning home from his work at night, his usual course was to equip
himself with his insect boxes and bottles, his botanical book and his
gun; and to set out with his supper in his hand or stowed away in his
pocket. The nearest spring furnished him with sufficient drink. So long
as it was light, he scoured the country, looking for moths, or beetles,
or plants, or birds, or any living thing that came in his way.
[Sidenote: _HIS WORK AT NIGHT._]
When it became so dark that he could no longer observe, he dropped down
by the side of a bank, or a bush, or a tree, whichever came handiest,
and there he dozed or slept until the light returned. Then he got up,
and again began his observations, which he continued until the time
arrived when he had to return to his daily labour. It was no unusual
circumstance for him—when he had wandered too far, and come upon
some more than usually attractive spot—to strip himself of his gear,
gun and all, which he would hide in some hole; and thus lightened of
everything, except his specimens, take to his heels and run at the top
of his speed, in order to be at his work at the proper time.
On Saturdays he could only make his observations late at night. He must
be home by twelve o’clock. Sabbath-breaking is an intolerable sin in
Scotland, and Edward was never a Sabbath-breaker. It was a good thing
for his mental and physical health that there was a seventh day during
which he could not and would not work. But for his seventh day’s rest,
he would have worked night and day. On Sundays he went to church with
his wife and family. After evening service he took off his best clothes
and donned his working dress. Then he took a few hours’ sleep in his
chair or lying across his bed, before setting out. He thus contrived to
secure a few hours’ observation on Monday mornings before six o’clock.
His neighbours used to say of him, “It is a stormy night that keeps
that man Edward in the house.” In fact, his neighbours were completely
bewildered about his doings. They gave vent to all sorts of surmises
about his wanderings by night. Exaggerated rumours spread about amongst
the town’s people. He went with a gun! Surely he couldn’t be a poacher
or a burglar? That was impossible. It was well known that he lived
soberly and honestly, denying himself many things, and never repining
at his lot, though living a life of hardship. But what could he mean
by wandering about at night amongst wild, lonely, and ghost-haunted
places? They wouldn’t have slept in Boyndie churchyard for worlds! And
yet that was one of Edward’s favourite spots!
[Sidenote: _HIS AMBUSCADES._]
He went out in fine starlit nights, in moonlight nights, and in cold
and drizzling nights. Weather never daunted him. When it rained, he
would look out for a hole in a bank, and thrust himself into it, feet
foremost. He kept his head and his gun out, watching and waiting for
any casualties that might happen. He knew of two such holes, both in
sandbanks and both in woods, which he occasionally frequented. They
were foxes’ or badgers’ dens. If any of these gentry were inside
when he took up his position, they did not venture to disturb him.
If they were out they did the same, except on one occasion, when a
badger endeavoured to dislodge him, showing his teeth. He was obliged
to shoot it. He could often have shot deers and hares, which came
close up to where he was; but they were forbidden animals, and he
resisted the temptation. He shot owls and polecats from his ambuscades.
Numbers of moths came dancing about him, and many of these he secured
and boxed,—sending them to their long sleep with a little drop of
chloroform. When it rained heavily, he drew in his head and his gun,
and slept until the first streaks of light appeared on the horizon; and
then he came out of his hole and proceeded with his operations.
[Sidenote: _DISAGREEABLE VISITORS._]
At other times he would take up his quarters for the night in some
disused buildings—in a barn, a ruined castle, or a churchyard. He
usually obtained better shelter in such places than if he were seated
by the side of a stone, a bush, or a wall. His principal objection
to them was, that he had a greater number of visitors there than
elsewhere,—such as polecats, weasels, bats, rats, and mice, not to
speak of hosts of night-wandering insects, such as molluscs, beetles,
slaters, and centipedes. Think of having a polecat or a weasel
sniff-sniffing at your face while asleep! Or two or three big rats
tug-tugging at your pockets, and attempting to steal away your larder.
These visitors, however, did not always prove an annoyance. On the
contrary, they sometimes proved a windfall; for, when they came within
reach, they were suddenly seized, examined, and, if found necessary,
killed, stuffed, and added to the collection.
The coldest places in which Edward slept at night, were among the rocks
by the seaside, on the shingle, or on the sea-braes along the coast.
When exposed to the east wind, these sleeping-places were perishingly
cold. When he went inland he could obtain better shelter. In summer
time, especially, he would lie down on the grass and sleep soundly,
with the lock of his gun for his pillow, and the canopy of heaven for
his blanket. His ear was always open for the sounds of Nature, and when
the lark was carolling his early hymn of praise, long before the sun
had risen, Edward would rise and watch for daybreak—
When from the naked top
Of some bold headland he beheld the sun
Rise up, and bathe the world in light.
In the course of his wanderings inland, he was frequently overtaken by
storms in the hills. He carried no cloak, nor plaid, nor umbrella, so
that he often got completely soaked before he could find shelter.
[Sidenote: _CHURCHYARD OF BOYNDIE._]
One of the most remarkable nights Edward ever spent, was under a
gravestone in the churchyard of Boyndie. The church of this parish
was at one time situated in the midst of the churchyard; but as it
was found inconvenient, and at a considerable distance from the bulk
of the parishioners, it was removed inland, leaving but a gable end
of the old church standing. The churchyard, however, is still used as
a burying-place. It stands on a high piece of ground overlooking the
sea, about two miles west of Banff. In clear days, the bold, rugged,
precipitous coast is to be seen, extending eastward as far as Crovie
Head. But the night of which we speak was very dark; the sky was
overhung with rolling clouds; the sea was moaning along the shore.
Edward expected a wild night, as he had seen the storm brewing before
he left home. Nevertheless he went out as usual.
[Sidenote: _A TERRIBLE NIGHT._]
He had always regarded a thunderstorm as one of the grandest sights. He
rejoiced in the warring of the elements by day, and also by night when
the inhabitants of the earth were wrapped in sleep. As he approached
old Boyndie, the storm burst. The clouds were ripped open, and the
zigzag lightning threw a sudden flood of light over land and sea.
Torrents of rain followed, in the midst of which Edward ran into the
churchyard and took shelter under a flat tombstone supported by four
low pillars. There was just room enough for him to lie down at full
length. The storm was not yet at its height. The thunder pealed and
crashed and rolled along the heavens, as if the universe were about to
be torn asunder, and the mighty fragments hurled out into infinity.
It became louder and louder—nearer and nearer. The lightning flashed
in red and yellowish fiery streams; each flash leaving behind it a
suffocating sulphurous odour. Then followed torrents of rain and hail
and lumps of ice.
After the thunderstorm, the wind began,—lightly at first, but,
increasing rapidly, it soon blew a hurricane. The sea rose, and lashed
its waves furiously along the coast. Although Edward had entertained no
fear of the thunder, he now began to fear lest the tremendous fury of
the wind would blow down the rickety gable end of the old church of
Boyndie; in which case it would have fallen upon the tombstone, under
which he lay.
[Illustration: BOYNDIE CHURCHYARD.]
[Sidenote: _A MYSTERY SOLVED._]
The hurricane lasted for about an hour, after which the wind fell.
Midnight was long past, and morning was approaching. Before leaving
the tombstone, Edward endeavoured to obtain a few minutes’ sleep. He
had just begun to doze, when he was awakened by a weird and unearthly
moaning. He listened. The moaning became a stifled scream. The noise
grew louder and louder, until it rose into the highest pitch of
howling. What could it be? He was in the home of the dead! Was it a
ghost? Never! His mind revolted from the wretched superstition. He
looked out to see what it could be; when something light in colour
dashed past like a flash, closely followed by another and a darker
object. After the screaming had ceased, Edward again composed himself
to sleep, when he was wakened up by a sudden rush over his legs. He
looked up. The mystery was solved! Two cats—a light and a dark one—had
been merely caterwauling in the graveyard, and making night hideous
according to their usual custom.
By this time the day was beginning to break, and Edward prepared to
leave his resting-place and resume his labours. He felt very stiff as
he crept from under the tombstone, where he had been lying in a cramped
position. He was both cold and wet; but his stiffness soon wore off;
and after some smart running in the open air, his joints became a
little more flexible; and, shortly after, he returned home.
[Sidenote: _MOTH-HUNTING._]
Edward had frequent mishaps when he went out on these nocturnal
expeditions. One summer evening he went out moth-hunting. The weather
was mild and fair; and it gave promise of an abundant “take” of
moths. He had with him his collecting-box under his arm, and a phial
of chloroform in his pocket. His beat lay in a woody dale, close by
the river’s side. He paced the narrow footpath backward and forward,
snapping at his prey as he walked along the path.
The sun went down. The mellow thrush, which had been pouring forth his
requiem to the parting day, was now silent. The lark flew to its mossy
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