EDINBURGH SUPPER PARTIES--TOUR IN THE HIGHLANDS--MUTINY IN THE
FLEET--BATTLE OF CAMPERDOWN.
[By this time my mother was grown up, and extremely pretty. All
those who knew her speak of her rare and delicate beauty, both of
face and figure. They called her the "Rose of Jedwood." She kept her
beauty to the last day of her life, and was a beautiful old woman,
as she had been a lovely young one. She used to say, laughing, that
"it was very hard no one ever thought of painting her portrait so
long as she was young and pretty." After she became celebrated,
various likenesses were taken of her, by far the best of which are a
beautiful bust, modelled at Rome in 1844 by Mr. Lawrence Macdonald,
and a crayon drawing by Mr. James Swinton, done in London in 1848.
My mother always looked considerably younger than her age; even at
ninety, she looked younger than some who were her juniors by several
years. This was owing, no doubt, principally to her being small and
delicate in face and figure, but also, I think, to the extreme
youthfulness and freshness of both her heart and mind, neither of
which ever grew old. It certainly was not due to a youthful style of
dress, for she had perfect taste in such matters, as well as in
other things; and although no one spent less thought or money on it
than she, my mother was at all times both neatly and becomingly
dressed. She never was careless; and her room, her papers, and all
that belonged to her were invariably in the most beautiful order. My
mother's recollections of this period of her life are as follows:--]
* * * * *
At that time Edinburgh was really the capital of Scotland; most of the
Scotch families of distinction spent the winter there, and we had
numerous acquaintances who invited me to whatever gaiety was going on.
As my mother refused to go into society when my father was at sea, I had
to find a chaperon; but I never was at a loss, for we were somehow
related to the Erskine family, and the Countess of Buchan, an amiable
old lady, was always ready to take charge of me.
It was under Lady Buchan's care that I made my first appearance at a
ball, and my first dancing partner was the late Earl of Minto, then Mr.
Gilbert Elliot, with whom I was always on very friendly terms, as well
as with his family. Many other ladies were willing to take charge of me,
but a chaperon was only required for the theatre, and concerts, and for
balls in the public assembly rooms; at private balls the lady of the
house was thought sufficient. Still, although I was sure to know
everybody in the room, or nearly so, I liked to have some one with whom
to enter and to sit beside. Few ladies kept carriages, but went in sedan
chairs, of which there were stands in the principal streets. Ladies were
generally attended by a man-servant, but I went alone, as our household
consisted of two maid-servants only. My mother knew, however, that the
Highlanders who carried me could be trusted. I was fond of dancing, and
never without partners, and often came home in bright daylight. The
dances were reels, country dances, and sometimes Sir Roger de Coverley.
[At this period, although busily engaged in studying painting at
Nasmyth's academy, practising the piano five hours a day, and
pursuing her more serious studies zealously, my mother went a good
deal into society, for Edinburgh was a gay, sociable place, and many
people who recollect her at that time, and some who were her dancing
partners, have told me she was much admired, and a great favourite.
They said she had a graceful figure, below the middle size, a small
head, well set on her shoulders, a beautiful complexion, bright,
intelligent eyes, and a profusion of soft brown hair. Besides the
various occupations I have mentioned, she made all her own dresses,
even for balls. These, however, unlike the elaborate productions of
our day, were simply of fine India muslin, with a little Flanders
lace. She says of her life in Edinburgh:--]
* * * * *
Girls had perfect liberty at that time in Edinburgh; we walked together
in Princes Street, the fashionable promenade, and were joined by our
dancing partners. We occasionally gave little supper parties, and
presented these young men to our parents as they came in. At these
meetings we played at games, danced reels, or had a little music--never
cards. After supper there were toasts, sentiments, and songs. There were
always one or two hot dishes, and a variety of sweet things and fruit.
Though I was much more at ease in society now, I was always terribly put
out when asked for a toast or a sentiment. Like other girls, I did not
dislike a little quiet flirtation; but I never could speak across a
table, or take a leading part in conversation. This diffidence was
probably owing to the secluded life I led in my early youth. At this
time I gladly took part in any gaiety that was going on, and spent the
day after a ball in idleness and gossiping with my friends; but these
were rare occasions, for the balls were not numerous, and I never lost
sight of the main object of my life, which was to prosecute my studies.
So I painted at Nasmyth's, played the usual number of hours on the
piano, worked and conversed with my mother in the evening; and as we
kept early hours, I rose at day-break, and after dressing, I wrapped
myself in a blanket from my bed on account of the excessive
cold--having no fire at that hour--and read algebra or the classics till
breakfast time. I had, and still have, determined perseverance, but I
soon found that it was in vain to occupy my mind beyond a certain time.
I grew tired and did more harm than good; so, if I met with a difficult
point, for example, in algebra, instead of poring over it till I was
bewildered, I left it, took my work or some amusing book, and resumed it
when my mind was fresh. Poetry was my great resource on these occasions,
but at a later period I read novels, the "Old English Baron," the
"Mysteries of Udolpho," the "Romance of the Forest," &c. I was very fond
of ghost and witch stories, both of which were believed in by most of
the common people and many of the better educated. I heard an old naval
officer say that he never opened his eyes after he was in bed. I asked
him why? and he replied, "For fear I should see something!" Now I did
not actually believe in either ghosts or witches, but yet, when alone in
the dead of the night, I have been seized with a dread of, I know not
what. Few people will now understand me if I say I was _eerie_, a Scotch
expression for superstitious awe. I have been struck, on reading the
life of the late Sir David Brewster, with the influence the
superstitions of the age and country had on both learned and unlearned.
Sir David was one of the greatest philosophers of the day. He was only a
year younger than I; we were both born in Jedburgh, and both were
influenced by the superstitions of our age and country in a similar
manner, for he confessed that, although he did not believe in ghosts, he
was _eerie_ when sitting up to a late hour in a lone house that was
haunted. This is a totally different thing from believing in
spirit-rapping, which I scorn.
We returned as usual to Burntisland, in spring, and my father, who was
at home, took my mother and me a tour in the Highlands. I was a great
admirer of Ossian's poems, and viewed the grand and beautiful scenery
with awe; and my father, who was of a romantic disposition, smiled at my
enthusiastic admiration of the eagles as they soared above the
mountains. These noble birds are nearly extirpated; and, indeed, the
feathered tribes, which were more varied and numerous in Britain than in
any part of Europe, will soon disappear. They will certainly be avenged
by the insects.
On coming home from the journey I was quite broken-hearted to find my
beautiful goldfinch, which used to draw its water so prettily with an
ivory cup and little chain, dead in its cage. The odious wretches of
servants, to whose care I trusted it, let it die of hunger. My heart is
deeply pained as I write this, seventy years afterwards.
* * * * *
In Fifeshire, as elsewhere, political opinions separated friends and
disturbed the peace of families; discussions on political questions were
violent and dangerous on account of the hard-drinking then so prevalent.
At this time the oppression and cruelty committed in Great Britain were
almost beyond endurance. Men and women were executed for what at the
present day would only have been held to deserve a few weeks' or months'
imprisonment.[5] Every liberal opinion was crushed, men were entrapped
into the army by promises which were never kept, and press-gangs tore
merchant seamen from their families, and forced them to serve in the
navy, where they were miserably provided for. The severity of discipline
in both services amounted to torture. Such was the treatment of the
brave men on whom the safety of the nation depended! They could bear it
no longer; a mutiny broke out in the fleet which had been cruising off
the Texel to watch the movements of a powerful Dutch squadron. The men
rose against their officers, took the command, and ship after ship
returned to England, leaving only a frigate and the "Venerable,"
commanded by Admiral Duncan, with my father as his flag-captain. To
deceive the Dutch, they continued to make signals, as if the rest of the
fleet were in the offing, till they could return to England; when,
without delay, Admiral Duncan and my father went alone on board each
ship, ordered the men to arrest the ringleaders, which was done, and the
fleet immediately returned to its station off the Texel. At last, on the
morning of the 11th October, 1797, the Dutch fleet came out in great
force, and formed in line of battle; that is, with their broadsides
towards our ships. Then Admiral Duncan said to my father, "Fairfax, what
shall we do?"--"Break their line, sir, and draw up on the other side,
where they will not be so well prepared."--"Do it, then, Fairfax." So my
father signalled accordingly. The circumstances of the battle, which was
nobly fought on both sides, are historical. Nine ships of the line and
two frigates were taken, and my father was sent home to announce the
victory to the Admiralty. The rejoicing was excessive; every town and
village was illuminated; and the Administration, relieved from the fear
of a revolution, continued more confidently its oppressive measures.
When Admiral Duncan came to London, he was made a Baron, and afterwards
Earl of Camperdown; and, by an unanimous vote of the House of Commons,
he received a pension or a sum of money, I forget which; my father was
knighted, and made Colonel of Marines. Earl Spencer was First Lord of
the Admiralty at the time, and Lady Spencer said to my father, "You ask
for the promotion of your officers, but you never have asked a reward
for yourself." He replied, "I leave that to my country." But his country
did nothing for him; and at his death my mother had nothing to live upon
but the usual pension of an Admiral's widow, of seventy-five pounds
a-year. Our friends, especially Robert Ferguson, junior, of Raith, made
various attempts to obtain an addition to it; but it was too late:
Camperdown was forgotten.
I remember one morning going to Lord Camperdown's house in Edinburgh
with my mother, to see a very large painting, representing the
quarter-deck of the "Venerable," Admiral Duncan, as large as life,
standing upright, and the Dutch Admiral, De Winter, presenting his sword
to my father. Another representation of the same scene may be seen among
the numerous pictures of naval battles which decorate the walls of the
great hall at Greenwich Hospital. Many years afterwards I was surprised
to see an engraving of this very picture in the public library at
Milan. I did not know that one existed.
At a great entertainment given to Lord Duncan by the East India Company,
then in great power, the President asked my father, who sat at his left
hand, if he had any relation in India? He replied, "My eldest son is in
the Company's military service." "Then," said the President, "he shall
be a Writer, the highest appointment in my power to bestow." I cannot
tell how thankful we were; for, instead of a separation of almost a
lifetime, it gave hopes that my brother might make a sufficient fortune
in a few years to enable him to come home. There was a great review of
the troops at Calcutta, under a burning sun; my brother returned to the
barracks, sun-struck, where he found his appointment, and died that
evening, at the age of twenty-one.
* * * * *
[My mother has often told us of her heart-broken parting with this
brother on his going to India. It was then almost for a lifetime,
and he was her favourite brother, and the companion of her
childhood. He must have been wonderfully handsome, judging from a
beautifully-painted miniature which we have of him.]
* * * * *
Public events became more and more exciting every day, and difficulties
occurred at home. There had been bad harvests, and there was a great
scarcity of bread; the people were much distressed, and the
manufacturing towns in England were almost in a state of revolution; but
the fear of invasion kept them quiet. I gloried in the brilliant success
of our arms by land and by sea; and although I should have been glad if
the people had resisted oppression at home, when we were threatened with
invasion, I would have died to prevent a Frenchman from landing on our
coast. No one can imagine the intense excitement which pervaded all
ranks at that time. Every one was armed, and, notwithstanding the alarm,
we could not but laugh at the awkward, and often ridiculous, figures of
our old acquaintances, when at drill in uniform. At that time I went to
visit my relations at Jedburgh. Soon after my arrival, we were awakened
in the middle of the night by the Yeomanry entering the town at full
gallop. The beacons were burning on the top of the Cheviots and other
hills, as a signal that the French had landed. When day came, every
preparation was made; but it was a false alarm.
The rapid succession of victories by sea and land was intensely
exciting. We always illuminated our house, and went to the rocky bank in
our southern garden to see the illumination of Edinburgh, Leith, and the
shipping in the Roads, which was inexpressibly beautiful, though there
was no gas in those times. It often happened that balls were given by
the officers of the ships of war that came occasionally to Leith Roads,
and I was always invited, but never allowed to go; for my mother thought
it foolish to run the risk of crossing the Firth, a distance of seven
miles, at a late hour, in a small open boat and returning in the
morning, as the weather was always uncertain, and the sea often rough
from tide and wind. On one occasion, my father was at home, and, though
it was blowing hard, I thought he would not object to accepting the
invitation; but he said, "Were it a matter of duty, you should go, even
at the risk of your life, but for a ball, certainly not."
We were as poor as ever, even more so; for my father was led into
unavoidable expenses in London; so, after all the excitement, we
returned to our more than usually economical life. No events worth
mentioning happened for a long time. I continued my diversified pursuits
as usual; had they been more concentrated, it would have been better;
but there was no choice; for I had not the means of pursuing any one as
far as I could wish, nor had I any friend to whom I could apply for
direction or information. I was often deeply depressed at spending so
much time to so little purpose.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: The late Justice Coltman told us, when he and Lady Coltman
came to see my father and mother at Siena, that he recollected when he
first went the circuit seeing more than twenty people hanged at once at
York, chiefly for horse-stealing and such offences.--EDITOR.]