|
THE sketch of the poacher
excited so much interest on the appearance of “Deeside Tales” that
Michie made a point of adding to his collection any floating story
concerning him—and they were at one time pretty numerous—that came in
his way, in view of a second edition. McCombie Smith in his “Romance of
Poaching,” published some years ago, which contains an account of Sandy,
mentions on Michie’s authority that a fuller narrative might one day be
expected from his pen. Unfortunately, however, almost all the additional
materials on the subject which were found among his papers are in the
form of memoranda intelligible only to himself. The only story which was
written out is inserted in chapter xxiv. One or two others concern
Sandy’s sister and her smuggling exploits, and it has not been thought
necessary to include them, especially as they are very much at second
hand.
A fact which Michie does not refer to in his account of Sandy is worth
recording. As in the case of George Brown, the Sennachie, his interest
in his subject may have been stimulated by the tie of kinship. Brown was
his grand-uncle and Sandy was his second cousin; and his father’s house
was one of those to which the wanderer occasionally resorted for a few
hours’ shelter.
In Scrope’s Days of Deer-Stalking there is a chapter on Highland
poachers in which Sandy Davidson is possibly referred to. Scrope was an
Englishman who had the run of the Atholl deer forest about 1830, one of
the pioneers of the army of English and cosmopolitan sportsmen which was
about to descend on Scotland. As a squire and magistrate in the south he
was familiar with the “drunken vagabonds” (so he calls them) who lived
by the trade of game stealing. His surprise at the Highland variety
seems to have been considerable, and in spite of himself he felt their
attraction. He had the candour at any rate, though he well knew the
heavy toll they levied on the moors and forests, to do justice to their
qualities in his book. “In the Highlands,” he says, “one never hears of
the ruffians that infest the preserves in England. Your Gael has a fine
rough sense of honour about him . . . They have still a high regard for
their chieftains.” These are high compliments coming from such a
quarter. As an instance of the peculiarities of the Highland poacher he
tells a story of one who had lately been taken in the forest of Braemar;
that, having some good points in his character, the noblemen who rented
the ground told him that, if he would promise never to poach again in
the district, his gun should be restored and he himself set at liberty.
The man very coolly replied that he wished to have an hour to consider,
and at the expiration of the time stepped forward and announced that
they might take his gun and him too, for he would not give the promise.
The name of this high-spirited poacher is not given, but the date
corresponds with Sandy’s floruit; and if the story does not refer to
him, it shows, at any rate, that he had contemporaries who played the
game in the same spirit as himself.
A writer in the Elgin Courant in 1872 praises in high terms the
truthfulness of Michie’s account of the last of the old poachers, and as
he supplies a few touches of his own, an extract from his remarks may be
given here:
“Who is there of forty years of age, in all the upper districts of
Moray, Banff, and Aberdeen shires, that does not remember Sandy
Davidson, or, as he was called among the Banffshire hills, ‘Muckle
Davidson,’ to distinguish him from another person of the name of
Davidson, but a very different kind of man, and no relation, we believe,
to Sandy, who was known as ‘Little Davidson* or Charlie Davidson? Both
were wandering poachers. Sometimes they travelled together but oftener
they were separate. Indeed, their meetings were mere chance
foregatherings. Charlie was the deadlier shot of the two, but he was a
poacher and little more, with a good many of the failings to which a
life like his almost invariably leads. Sandy, on the other hand, however
strange it may seem to say so, was still a gentleman—a gentleman in
appearance, in manners, in conversation, and in feeling. To people
generally in the districts over which he travelled he was little known
except by sight He might be seen walking along the road or through the
hills, with his gun under his arm and his dog at his heels, with a
dignity of bearing suited to a nobleman, but generally avoiding places
of public resort, and not caring even to court casual conversation or
make acquaintances as he went along. His fine figure was much admired,
and his generous, noble nature gained him troops of friends, but a
certain air of mystery was always associated with the lonely wanderer,
and those who knew him best found him very reticent as to his own
history—indeed to everything that concerned himself That such a man
should be a poor homeless wanderer and a poacher was a complete
anomaly.”
|
