Chapter I: The Great Competition

The great day had come at last--the day that was going to be big with our hero’s fate. It was early yet, however--hardly seven, and still pitch dark. Sandie lifted the blinds in his solitary little attic in Skene Street and peeped out. Why, he wondered, were there no sounds of traffic, no noise of wheels? This was easily accounted for. The street was inches deep in snow, and snow was still silently falling.

Our hero lit his little oil lamp now. He felt cold and anxious, and not at all over-well rested.

He had called on his friend the Rector, Geddes, the evening before, and received much encouragement.

“But go home now,” said the Rector, “and go right away to bed. If you get a good night’s sleep it will be half the battle. You will awaken clear-brained and as fresh as a mountain daisy.”

The stars were shining very clearly when he left the good Rector’s house, as they ever do in wintry nights in the far north. The stars looked so near and large too. Then there was the beautiful aurora borealis, which on this particular evening was singularly bright and dazzling, with now and then a tinge of red in it, which Sandie heard more than one old wife say presaged war.

Sandie obeyed the Rector to the letter. He went home and went to bed. But to sleep, alas! he found was out of the question. He could not keep himself from thinking what a pleasant life might be before him if he were successful. Ah! _if_. But what if he failed in winning a bursary big enough to support him? That was the “if” that caused his heart to beat and kept him wide-awake. Back he would have to go to the slush and the drudgery of farm labour, the plough, the harrow, the mud, the snow, the hard work, wet day or dry day, the stiff joints and the aching bones. It was a sad and a dreary look-out, and somehow to-night he was pessimistically inclined. He could not help looking at the darkest side of the picture of life, entirely ignoring the light. But towards the small hours of the morning he had fallen into a kind of uneasy slumber; it seemed more of a trance than anything else, for his sleep was filled with the most disturbing dreams. Tired and weary, he was trailing through the snow over long stretches of moorland and bog, that it seemed would never, never have an end. Anon, he is sinking in the dark bog, the black ooze and slime closing over his head and choking him, till he awakes with a gulp and a scream. He doses again, only to have a renewal of those terrible dreams; among others, he and Maggie May have fallen over a black and beetling cliff, pony-trap, horse, and all, down, down, down to the brown rolling river far beneath.

And thus he had spent the night.

No wonder he has a slight headache, or that when his kindly old landlady comes up to light his fire and lay his breakfast, she notices that he looks pale and haggard.

“Ye’ll no hae parridge this morning, laddie, but a nice bit o’ butter’d toast and a strong cup o’ tay, that I’ll mak’ oot o’ ma ain caddy.”

“Oh, a thousand thanks,” said Sandie; “that will be just delightful!”

This old landlady knew how to make good tea, a lost art with many now-a-days, and the result of her treatment was, that not only was Sandie’s headache dispelled, but he began to look at things more hopefully; and when at last it was time to start for Marischal College, where he had elected to compete, the two universities being not then amalgamated, he felt even cheerful before he had been five minutes in the fresh air.

It had now ceased snowing, but the snow was fully three inches deep on the street, and as he trudged along, more than one snowball came whizzing past his ear, for Aberdeen boys are perhaps the best snow-boys in all broad Scotland.

Sandie took no heed though, for his mind was all upon the coming competition. On reaching Broad Street and the University gate, he found he was too soon. He might have entered the quad, but he did not care to join the squad of roystering lads there. The fact is, he fancied that to-day his appearance was somewhat countrified, for he had not dressed in his Sunday clothing. He wore the same short trousers frayed at the ends, the same rough jacket bare at the elbows, an old Glengarry, and a pair of very Highland brogues; so he crossed over and began to examine the contents of a bookseller’s window.

Even here he was not free from molestation. A couple of slatternly young bare-headed girls, with roguish looks and arms akimbo, stationed themselves near by, and began to criticise and quiz him.

“My conscience!” said one, “sich a bonnie laddie! Look at the rosy cheeks o’ him. He’s ane o’ them, Tibbie. He’s gaun to compete for a birsary. Muckle luck to ye, laddie!”

“He comes fae (from) the country, Sally. Look at his blue ribbit stockins, his short breeks, and awfu’ sheen (shoes). I’m sayin’, Geordie, gin (if) ye dae (do) tak’ a birsary, be sere (sure) to come in and lat us ken. We’ll gie ye the nicest cup o’ tey (tea) ever ye drank in a’ your born days.”

And so they kept on for fully fifteen minutes; but Sandie was not to be drawn; he never even smiled, but at length sauntered quietly away.

He had to endure more chaff when he joined his fellow-competitors at the great hall-door.

“Behold, gentlemen,” cried one unwholesome-chafted brat, pointing to Sandie,--“Behold before you Peter M‘Tavish, Esq., from the braes of Glen Foudland. Look to your laurels, lads. Peter means to carry all before him and cabbage the first bursary!”

“Mocking is catching,” said another young man. “I happen to know Peter, as you call him, and his versions have been _sine errore_ for over a month at the Grammar School. _You_ needn’t talk, anyhow, Johnnie Wilson, you floury-faced nincompoop. There will be two moons in the sky when _you_ take a bursary. Stand back, or else I’ll daub your nose in the snow.”

Johnnie slunk away quite cowed.

“Good morning, Sandie,” said the last speaker. “I hope you feel in good form?”

Sandie laughed.

“Only middling,” he said. “Fact is, last night I was like the minister who kissed the fiddler’s wife and couldn’t get sleep for thinkin’ o’t.”

“Ha! never mind. I know you’ll be in the money, anyhow, though there will be a hard tussle.”

Presently Willie Munro came up smiling, and then Sandie felt indeed at home.

“You really are going to compete, then?” said Sandie.

“Oh, rather! The old folks expect it, you know. I’m not expecting to win, you know. I shall have a couple of errors at the end of each line, and one in the middle. If they’d give a bursary for the worst version as well as the best, I’ll be bound I’d take that. But my sisters feel certain I shall come in third at least. I may inform you that all my sisters are females, and we all know what stupid creatures girls are.”

Just then the hall-door was opened by serious, dark-haired John Colvin. The Sacrist was there too in his robes--a well-worn, rusty, black gown, and when the crowd entered the lower hall they found the professors in goodly force.

Small tables were arranged all over the hall, but none of these were within speaking distance of each other, the object being to prevent one student from assisting another.

In the centre of the hall stood a pulpit, and all day long one or other of the professors would do sentry-go therein, and keep an eagle-eyed outlook upon the competitors to prevent inter-communication. But, as will be presently seen, all their alertness and vigilance did not have the desired effect.

The papers to be translated, with foolscap, pen, and ink, lay on each table.

Don’t smile, reader mine, at what I am now going to tell you, for remember Sandie M‘Crae is a character from real life, and I have to paint him as he was. Before even looking at the papers, then, Sandie bent low his head over his little table, and prayed long and earnestly that, if it were for his good, God might give him strength to do his work as it ought to be done. Then he said from his very heart, “Thy will be done.”

He did not even yet examine his papers. No, he had a good look around him first. Some had already begun to write. Others who, he knew, were good and clever students, sat poring over the version with gloomy faces and knitted brows, and from this he augured difficulty.

His friend, Willie Munro, he could see at no great distance. Willie was evidently drawing faces on his blotting-paper, but seeing Sandie looking towards him, he nodded and smiled.

“Happy boy!” thought Sandie.

Then he began to read.

With every sentence his hopes rose higher and higher. Why, here was no difficulty at all. Not a word he could not translate.

Well, he made up his mind now what he should do. As to doing the versions into English or Latin, as the case might be, that would be simple enough. But--and it really was a happy inspiration--he must have both the Latin and English elegant. There was just one danger attached to this scheme, he might be led to make a paraphrase of the translation, and well he knew that this would be fatal to success.

So he worked away for an hour and a half making his preliminary or simple translations. Then he took a rest for a time, and began to look about him and study life.

He was not long in noticing that little pellets of paper were flying from one student to another, whenever the professorial sentry’s head was down. This meant that one student was helping another; friend cribbing from friend.

There stood near the hall-door a large bucketful of cold icy water, with a tin pannikin beside it, that the students might refresh themselves when thirsty. Sandie noticed that one student would go to have a drink, slip his hand suspiciously round to the back of the bucket, and evidently deposit something there, and that immediately he had finished another student would rush to the drinking-pail, and that his hand also would find its way to the other side of the bucket.

There is no doubt this was all most unfair, but there was nothing of the sneak about Sandie. He was not doing sentry-go, so he determined to take no notice, but just let things slide.

And now, after a draught of cool water, he commenced what he called his elegant translations. He wrote no less than three copies of these, and read them over half-a-dozen times before he gathered up his papers and prepared to go.

Nearly everybody else had already departed, for it was long past three o’clock, and the short and stormy winter’s day was fast deepening into gloaming and night.

Sandie’s hand shook like the leaf o’ the linn as he placed his corrected copy on the desk before his watching professor.

Then heaving a sigh of relief, he took his departure. He was not displeased with his performance by any means. In fact, he somehow felt almost certain that his would be in the money, but how high--ah! that was the rub.

When he arrived at his attic lodgings, he found his friend, Willie Munro, waiting for him and anxious to know how he got on.

“I think I may say I have hope,” said Sandie, smiling and sighing at the same time. “And you?”

“Oh, I didn’t give in mine. I didn’t mean to, you know.”

The little industrious landlady bustled away now to make tea, and Willie informed his friend that he was come to take him to dinner.

Sandie went at once and changed his clothes, and as soon as tea was drank they set out for the Provost’s house.

“I’m afraid,” said Sandie, “I’ll be but poor company to-night; my thoughts are all with those papers.”

“You won’t know the result till to-morrow night.”

“No, that is the worst of it. To-morrow will be the longest day in life to me.”

“That it won’t; we’ll find something to do.”

The dinner was an excellent one, and put Sandie in the best of spirits, and afterwards, with music and conversation in the drawing-room, the evening sped merrily and quickly away indeed.

* * * * *

Human nature asserted itself, and that night our hero slept long and soundly. He could hardly believe his watch, when he noticed that the hour hand pointed to nine.

“I wadna hae disturbit ye, for a’ the warld, sir,” said his landlady. “Ah, laddie! there’s naething like rest and sleep.”

Hardly had Sandie finished breakfast ere his friend Willie Munro arrived.

“Now,” he cried gleefully, “you’re a curler, aren’t you?”

“Rather,” said Sandie. “It is the best game in the world.”

“Well, this day won’t seem long if you come with me. The Loch o’ Skene, nine miles from here, is bearing, and there is going to be curling. I have a chumping horse and dogcart. Come lad, come.”

Sandie needed no second bidding.

Curling, I may notify the English reader, is a game played on the ice with immense large stones like cheeses, that are sent gliding along from tee to tee. In some ways it is like bowls, in some respects like skittles, and in others like billiards on a very large scale. But it beats all for pleasure and excitement. I only wish Englishmen would take to Scotland’s roaring game, as they have adopted our other national games of football and golf.

Sandie was permitted to drive, and in an hour that grey mare had trotted them out to the loch. The boys spent all the forenoon playing. Everybody was there, and all hands were hail fellow well met. It was a pleasant little republic on the ice, laird, lord, parson, and peasant all were here, and all were equals. Meanwhile their wives and daughters were skating far over the broad and beautiful expanse of frozen water.

At one o’clock a halt was called for luncheon--bread and cheese and a dram. But now Sandie got in the mare, and bidding kindly good-bye to their playmates, the boys started back for the distant city.

They had not gone far, however, before they drew up on the causeway of a comfortable little hostelry--the Inn of Straik. A boy held the horse, and the landlady herself met them in the doorway.

“Now, mother,” said Willie blithely, “we’ve been curling, and we’re half dead with hunger. What can you give us nicest and quickest?”

“Weel, my bonnie bairns, you’ve come at the richt time. You’ll hae smeekit (smoked) bacon, new-laid eggs, chappit (mashed) tatties, oatcakes, fresh butter, tattie scones, and tea.”

“Hurrah!” cried Willie, “we’re in luck.”

And a right hearty meal they made.

Then resuming their journey, they reached the Granite City just as the sun, lurid and red, was shedding his parting beams from off the Drummond Hill.