_EXHIBITS HIS COLLECTION IN ABERDEEN._
BANFF was a comparatively small and remote town; whereas Aberdeen was
the centre of northern intellect and business. At Banff, comparatively
few persons knew much about natural history or science; whilst Aberdeen
had two universities, provided with professors, students, and all the
accompaniments of learning. It also contained a large and intelligent
population of educated business men, tradesmen, and artizans.
Edward was sanguine of success at Aberdeen. It was his City of
Expectations. He was now doubly desirous of giving up shoemaking,
and devoting himself to Natural History. For this purpose, he wanted
means and a settled income. He intended to devote the proceeds of his
exhibition in several ways. He had, indeed, almost settled them in his
own mind. He would, in the first place, make arrangements for opening
a coffee-house or provision shop for the employment and support of his
family. He would next purchase some works on Natural History by the
best authors. He would probably also buy a microscope and some other
necessary scientific instruments. Alnaschar, in the _Arabian Nights_,
with the basket of glass at his feet, did not dream more of what he
would do with his forthcoming income, than Edward did of what he would
do with the successful results of his exhibition at Aberdeen.
[Sidenote: _DRAMATIC BIRD-STUFFING._]
But Edward must now be up and doing. The cases had to be put in order;
new objects had to be added to the collection; new birds had to be
stuffed. Some of the groups had to be arranged in dramatic form. One
of these consisted of the Death of Cock Robin. There was the Sparrow
perched upon a twig, warrior-like, with his bow in one of his feet, and
his arrow-case slung across his back. There was the red-breasted Robin
lying on a green and mossy knoll, with the arrow shot by the sparrow
sticking in his little heart; and in a burn meandering close by, there
was a silvery fish with its little dish, catching Robin’s life-blood.
There was also a great black beetle, with a thread and needle, ready to
sew his shroud.
In another case, the Babes in the Wood were represented,—two Robin
Redbreasts covering their tender bodies with leaves. There was a case
of mice, entitled “Pussy from Home:” the mice, large and small, were
going into and coming out of a meal-bag, which they were rifling. There
was another large case, containing a number of small birds in a state
of great excitement, darting and pecking at an object in the middle
of the case, which proved to be a Weasel, attempting to rob a yellow
Bunting’s nest, containing six eggs, one of which the weasel had
rolled out. Perhaps the best case was the one containing a Pheasant,
with six young birds,—all beautifully stuffed. For this Edward was
offered three guineas before he left Banff.
[Sidenote: _COLLECTION TAKEN TO ABERDEEN._]
At length all was ready, and Edward, with a light heart, left Banff
for Aberdeen. The collection was taken in six carriers’ carts,—the
largest that could be found. Edward could not take it by railway, for
there were no railways then in Banff. The whole family accompanied
the collection. It consisted of Edward, his wife, and five children.
They set out early in the morning of Friday, the 31st of July 1846,—a
memorable day in Edward’s history. The six cartloads arrived safe at
Aberdeen on the evening of the following day.
Edward had previously taken the shop No. 132, Union Street, for
the purposes of his exhibition. This street is the finest in
Aberdeen—perhaps the finest in Scotland. It is wide and broad, and
about a mile long. The houses are of hewn granite; some of them of
massive and noble architecture. Union Street is the representative
street of the Grey City.
[Sidenote: _THE ADVERTISEMENT._]
Handbills were issued, and advertisements published in the local
journals, announcing the opening of the exhibition. In the handbill
it was stated that “the objects comprising this collection have been
collected in the counties of Banff and Aberdeen, and preserved by a
single individual, and that individual a journeyman shoemaker. They
have been exhibited by him in Banff, to the delight and admiration of
every visitor—all being surprised at the beauty, order, and multitude
of the various objects,—some going so far as to doubt the fact of
the proprietor being a shoemaker, saying that it was impossible for
a person of that trade being able to do anything like what they saw
before them!”
“Thomas Edward takes the liberty of stating that the Collection is
allowed by eminent Naturalists to be one of the greatest curiosities
ever offered for public inspection in this quarter, amounting, as
it does, to above two thousand objects; and being the work of one
individual, who had to labour under every disadvantage, having none
to tell how or where to find the different objects, none to teach him
how to preserve these objects when found, no sound of promised reward
ringing in his ears to urge him on his singular course, no friend to
accompany him in his nightly wanderings; help from none; but solely
dependent on his own humble abilities and limited resources.
“Were it possible for words to describe, in adequate terms, the
unexampled assiduity and unwearied perseverance with which Thomas
Edward has laboured in the formation of his Collection, it would
surprise every individual capable of reflection. Such not being the
case, a visit to the Exhibition can alone enable the public to form
any idea of the extent of his labours. The ocean, the rocky shore,
the shingly and sandy beach, the meadows, the cultivated fields, the
whinny knowes, the woods; the running brooks, the stagnant pools,
the muddy and unsavoury ditches, the marshy flats; old walls, ruined
towers, and heath-clad hills, have all been visited and anxiously
searched in order to procure the objects which compose the Collection.”
[Sidenote: _TERMS OF ADMISSION._]
Such was Edward’s appeal to the people of Aberdeen to come and see his
Collection. The terms were very moderate,—“Ladies and Gentlemen, 6d;
Tradespeople, 3d.; Children, half-price.” The _Aberdeen Journal_ thus
noticed the Collection—“We have been particularly struck with the very
natural attitudes in which the beasts and birds of prey are placed;
some being represented as tearing their victims, others feeding their
young, and some looking sideward or backward, with an expression of
the eye which indicates the fear of interruption. The birds are very
beautiful, and the entomological specimens will be found exceedingly
interesting.”
On the Thursday following his arrival in Aberdeen, Edward opened his
collection. He was in hopes that there would be a rush to see the
objects which he had collected with so much difficulty during the last
eight years. He believed in himself, though others did not yet believe
in him. But there was no rush—no eager multitude crowding the door of
No. 132. Indeed, very few persons called to see the Collection. These
might, however, tell their friends of its interest, and the rush might
still come. But he waited in vain. The rush never came.
[Sidenote: _VISITORS OF THE COLLECTION._]
The principal people who called upon him during the first ten days
were stuffed-bird sellers, and persons who pestered him to buy nearly
everything of a bestial kind, alive or dead. Some of the articles
offered were monstrosities or delusions, such as double chickens,
double mice, a kitten with a rat’s head, a double-headed dog, a rat
with two tails, both curled up like a pig’s,—and such like objects.
These people were all bowed to the door.
Several ladies called upon Edward to consult him about their favourite
pets. One had a lapdog that was sick; another a bird that was lame;
others had crippled or diseased cats. He was asked to come and see a
pig that had broken one of its legs. A gentleman called upon him one
day about an old and favourite rabbit whose front teeth had grown so
forward that it could not eat,—“Would he come and cut them off?” “No!
he had not time. He must attend to his exhibition.”
Very few people came. Those who did come, knew very little about
natural history. Their ignorance of the works of nature seemed to
Edward surprising. Only a few knew anything, excepting about the
commoner sorts of animals. As to the number, and nature, and habits
of living creatures, they appeared to know next to nothing. The
transformation of insects was a mystery to them. They could not see
how it was possible for an ugly caterpillar to become transformed into
a beautiful butterfly. Edward felt very much for the ignorance of men
of his own class: it was simply deplorable.
[Sidenote: _PROFESSIONAL VISITORS._]
Dr. Macgillivray, Professor of Natural History in Marischal College,
Aberdeen, called upon Edward, and was much pleased with his collection
of Banffshire fauna. The professor told him that the inhabitants of
Aberdeen were not yet prepared for an exhibition of this kind. There
was not even a public museum in the city; no collection of natural
objects; no free library; nothing for the enlightenment of the higher
and nobler faculties of man! To this cause Edward, in a great measure,
attributed the failure of his exhibition. Some of the professors who
afterwards called to see the collection, told Edward that “the people
of Aberdeen were not yet prepared for such an exhibition, especially as
it had been the work of a poor man. He had come several centuries too
soon.”
Several of the persons who examined the exhibition, did not believe
that it had been the work of Edward at all. Among his better-class
visitors was a gentleman who frequently came in as he passed,
and carefully examined the specimens. He sometimes gave Edward
half-a-crown, and would not take any change back. The gentleman was
an inveterate and persistent interrogator. His questions were usually
of a personal character. But Edward had by this time prepared a _bag
of forgetfulness_, into which he put all the disagreeable things that
were said to him; and once there, he remembered them no more. Edward
believed that his visitor belonged to the medical profession, and that
he was connected with a neighbouring dispensary.[33]
[Sidenote: _A SEVERE INTERROGATOR._]
One day the visitor arrived, and without looking at the specimens,
he went directly up to Edward and asked, “Well, how are you getting
on?” “Very poorly,” was the answer. “And no wonder!” said the visitor.
“How?” “How!” he almost shouted, “because the people here don’t believe
in such a thing. I am sure of it from what I know and have heard
myself.”
“But if they would only come!”
“Come? that’s the very thing. It seems they’ll not come. And although
they did, what satisfactory evidence is there that what they see is
the result of your own unaided and individual labour? You are quite a
stranger here. You should have had some persons of high standing in
the city to take you under their patronage: say the professors of both
colleges, or the provost and town-council. Oh! you needn’t shake your
head and look at the floor. It would have been much better.”
“I never considered myself in a position,” said Edward, “to ask such a
favour.”
“Then you’ll not succeed here unless you do something of the sort.”
“In that case, then,” said Edward, “I’ll be plain enough to tell you
that I never will succeed.”
[Sidenote: _EDWARD DISBELIEVED._]
“You are too stiff—too unbending,” said the Doctor. “Then, you
know very well, that you have nobody in Aberdeen to confirm your
extraordinary statement. You say that the whole of this collection is
entirely the work of your own hands, and that it is your own exclusive
property!”
“Yes! I bought the game birds; and as regards the others, I procured
the whole of them myself,—preserved them and cased them, just as you
see them.”
“And had you to work for your living all that time?”
“Yes; and for the living of my family too.”
“Then you have a wife and a family?”
“Yes, I have five children.”
“The devil!”
“No, sir, I said children.”
“Ah, yes, I know; I beg your pardon. But do you mean to say that you
have maintained your wife and family by working at your trade, all the
while that you have been making this collection?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, nonsense! How is it possible that you could have done that?”
“By never losing a single minute, nor any part of a minute, that I
could by any means improve.”
“Did you ever hear of any one else who had ever done the like before?”
“No. But thousands might have done it, and much more too.”
“Well, I don’t believe it. I have never heard of such a thing, and I
have never read of such a thing!”
“But I never thought,” said Edward, “that I was doing anything, that
any one else might not have done. I was quite unaware of the fact that
I was doing anything in the least way meritorious. But if I have, as a
journeyman shoemaker, done anything worthy of praise, then I must say
that there is not a working man on the face of the earth that could not
have done much more than I have done; for of all the occupations that
are known, that of shoemaking is surely the very worst.”
[Sidenote: _THE THING “IMPOSSIBLE.”_]
“Had you been an outside-worker, I would not have thought so much about
it; but even then it would have been surprising. But having to work
from morning to night in a shoemaker’s shop—where these things can
neither be seen nor found—the thing is perfectly inconceivable. I’ll
give my oath that, so far as Aberdeen is concerned, or I believe any
other place, there is not a single working-man who could, by himself,
have done anything of the sort. I tell you, that there is no person
who knows the labouring people and their circumstances, better than
I do; and I tell you again, that, situated as they are, the thing is
quite impossible. They have neither the learning nor the opportunities
necessary for scientific pursuits; nor yet the time nor the money to
spare for the purpose. No, poor devils! they need all their time and
all their money to eke out their bare and half-starved existence.”
“I quite agree with you,” replied Edward, “in some of your remarks;
but I am sorry to say that the wretchedness you allude to, is in too
many cases attributable to themselves, and also to their slatternly
and improvident wives. They do not go into the fields to drink in the
sweets of nature, but rush unthinkingly into the portals of hell, and
drown their sorrows in whisky. In this way they beggar themselves and
pauperise their families.”
“There is doubtless something in that,” said the doctor, “but I spoke
in general. Of course, there are exceptions. It would appear that
you are one, and a most extraordinary one too. And here it is that
I am most puzzled. I can’t understand how you have done all this
single-handed. Besides, you must have read a great deal. You must
have had access to the best scientific works; and you must also have
possessed sufficient means to enable you to collect and arrange these
things as they now are.”
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S VINDICATION._]
“Permit me to say, sir,” said Edward, “that I am not a book-learner,
nor have I ever read any scientific works. I never had any access to
them. Nor do I possess any means besides those that I have earned by
hard and constant work.”
“What! have you had no education? no access to scientific works?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, how the deuce did you manage?”
“Well, I think I have told you that several times before. But I’ll tell
you again,—this time in a few words. My chief school was the Earth, and
my principal teacher was Nature. What I have been able to do, has been
done by economising every farthing of money, and every moment of time.”
“Do you mean to say that you got no education, and had no money but
what you worked for?”
“I do, and”——
“Confounded nonsense!”
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S REAL TEACHERS._]
“Allow me to proceed! It is not always those who have the most money
and the best education, that do the most work, either in natural
history or anything else.”
“Oh yes! That’s all very well; but it’s not to the point. But (looking
at his watch) I find I must go. I’ll call again; for I am determined to
be at the bottom of this affair.”
The next time he called, Edward was standing at the door. “Well,” said
he, “I can’t wait to-day, for I have to go into the country, and I
can’t be home for a week. But here’s your fare.” “No, no,” said Edward;
“you haven’t been in.” “Very well, here goes!” and he pitched the fare
in amongst the birds. When Edward went to look at the fare, instead of
a penny, he found a crown-piece. The gentleman never called again. By
the time he returned from the country, the exhibition was at an end.
[Sidenote: _INVITES HIS MILL-MATES._]
As Edward had announced in his handbill that he had been an inhabitant
of Aberdeen, and worked at the Grandholm Mills in his boyhood, some of
his old companions called upon him at the Exhibition. The paragraph in
the handbill was as follows:—“The idea of having a collection of the
Works of Nature was first formed by him (the Exhibitor) in very early
life, and whilst traversing the country in the vicinity of Aberdeen,
but more particularly when wandering amongst the delightful haughs
of Grandholm, where he went to work when little more than nine years
of age. Should this come under the notice of any of those who were
mill-mates with Thomas Edward, they perchance may remember the boy they
all wondered at so much, because he would not join in their youthful
sports, but rather chose to wander alone through the woods or by the
banks of the Don, in quest of those objects, the pursuit of which in
after years cost him so much labour, time, and expense.”
[Sidenote: _HIS SHOPMATES UNPERSUADED._]
As nearly twenty years had passed since Edward had worked at the
spinning-mills, he failed to recognise his early companions when they
called, until they mentioned some circumstance or conversation which
brought them to his recollection. Some walked round the collection
before they made themselves known to him, whilst others did so as they
entered. But one and all agreed, that though they might have imagined
that Edward had done something towards making the collection, they
could not believe that he had done it all by himself, whilst working
at his trade. They were working men themselves, and knew what they
had to contend with, in the form of want of time, want of means, and
difficulties of all sorts. These considerations only tended to heighten
their sense of astonishment the more.
Some of Edward’s other acquaintances also called, and they, like the
others, declared that it was perfectly impossible for any working-man
to have made such a collection by himself without any extraneous aid.
One of his old shopmates called frequently, and Edward endeavoured to
convince him that the thing was quite feasible; but he insisted that he
must have got assistance or help in some way or another.
“Well,” said Edward, “you remember how I worked beside you in the
old garret in Shoe Lane, how I was never idle, and was always busy
at something, whether I had shoemaking to do or not. Very well! I
continued the same practice after I left you; and when I got a wife,
instead of growing lazier, I became more ardent than ever. I squeezed
the pith and substance out of every moment to make the most of it; and
raxed and drew every farthing out like a piece of india-rubber, until I
could neither rax nor draw it any more. I have thus endeavoured to make
the most and the best of everything.”
[Sidenote: _VINDICATES HIS WIFE._]
A new idea seemed to strike the man. “But did ye no get some bawbees
wi’ yer wife?”
“No,” said Edward, “not a bawbee! But, though poor in cash, she brought
me a dowry worth more than all the money ever coined!”
“Trash, man, trash! Fat could be better than siller till a puir man?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. She brought me a remarkably sound and healthy
body,—strong bones, and a casket well filled with genuine common
sense, or rather a mind far superior to that usually possessed by the
majority of her sex. Now that’s what I call better than money. And I
can tell you also, that if young men were to look out for such wives,
they would be able to lead their lives to much better purpose than
they now do. Your tap-rooms, and dram-shops, and public-houses, would
then have fewer and far less eager customers. And, if I am not much
mistaken, there would be many more happy homes and happy families,
especially amongst the poor; instead of the miserable, heart-sickening,
disease-engendering hovels, which are a curse and a stain upon our
so-called civilisation.”
“Ye’ll be a temperance man, then, are ye?”
“Yes; I’m temperate enough. And if wives would look more to their
husbands’ comfort, as well as to the interests of their own families,
there would be far more temperance men, as you call them, than there
are now. I’m not a member of the Temperance Society; nevertheless I am
in favour of everything that would make people more sober and diligent,
and tend to man’s good, both here and hereafter.”
“But,” continued the man, “are ye satisfied that ye got nae help in the
way I hinted?”
“None whatever!”
“But far did ye learn the wrightin’ (carpentering), the paintin’, and
the glazin’?”
“At my ain fireside, where everything good should be learnt. My
teachers were,—first, ‘Necessity,’ and, secondly, another teacher, of
whom you may not have heard, called WILL.”
[Sidenote: _EDWARD “A MYSTERY.”_]
“Ye’re a mystery,” said the man.
“Perhaps I may be,” answered Edward; “but I’ll just tell you three
things, whether you may understand the ‘mystery’ or not. My neighbours
in Banff say of me, that ‘that man surely means to tak’ the world by
speed o’ fit.’ My shopmates say, that ‘Tam is just the lad for taking
time by the forelock;’ and many of the inhabitants say, ‘Whoever may be
seen lounging about at the lazy corners, you’ll never see Edward among
them.’ Now, these are three little nuts, which I hope you will crack
amongst your shopmates; and I hope they will do them good.”
[Sidenote: _A LADY VISITOR._]
One day two ladies came to see the Exhibition. They looked over the
collection, and one of them came up to Edward, and looked him straight
in the face. She asked him if he belonged to Aberdeen.
“Well,” he replied, “although I was not born in Aberdeen, still I may
say I belong to it. My mother was an Aberdeen woman, and I was brought
up here, until I went to Banff,” “Ah,” said the lady, “I thought so.
Your countenance and appearance are very much the same as they were
when I last saw you.” “Indeed!”
“Were you not at one time a private in the Aberdeenshire militia?” “I
was; but what of that?” “Allow me to explain: Do you remember running
out of the ranks one day while at drill, and flying after a butterfly?”
“I do,” said Edward.
“And of being pursued and taken prisoner by a corporal and four men of
your company, when you were brought up before the officer, who gave you
your liberty?”
“Yes,” said Edward, “all that is true.” “And perhaps you remember that
there was a group of ladies with the officer?” “Oh yes, I remember
that.” “Well, then, I was one of those ladies; and I first proposed to
the others that we should intercede with the captain to let you off.”
The lady then proceeded to explain that she herself was an
entomologist, and had been greatly pleased with the collection. Edward,
on his part, thanked her most cordially for the good service she had
been able to do for him on the links that day, now so long past.
“But now,” she added, “as one good turn deserves another, will you
come and take your tea and supper with us some evening?” Edward was
thunderstruck at this proposal, for he was an exceedingly shy and
bashful man, though he had been such a “hempy” in his youth. “Oh no!”
said he, “I cannot venture on taking such a liberty.” “I’ll have no
denial,” said the lady; “there will be only a few friends who wish to
make your acquaintance.”
[Sidenote: _REFUSES TO BE A “LION.”_]
The idea of being exhibited as a Lion was perfectly revolting to
Edward; so he again protested that he could not accept the invitation,
however kindly it was meant. “No, no; you _must_ come. There’s my
card and address, and when I have fixed the day, I’ll send you an
invitation. Good-day. Now remember! one good turn deserves another!”
And away she went, leaving Edward looking rather sheepish, and fumbling
in his hand a piece of elegantly-got-up and highly aromatic pasteboard.
When the servant came with the invitation two days later, Edward
returned a message that it was impossible for him to accept the
invitation, because he could not leave his collection. The servant
again returned, and invited him to attend the party after the
exhibition had been closed for the night. He again politely refused.
The lady never returned to the exhibition; and Edward felt that he had
grievously offended her by refusing her invitation. Yet, had she known
of his position at the time, her heart would have melted with pity at
his sufferings. But this was of too touching and too delicate a nature
to be explained to her. By that time, although Edward’s doom was not
altogether sealed, still he knew, humanly speaking, that his fate was
inevitably fixed, and that he had no visible means of escape from his
lamentable position.
[Sidenote: _APPEALS TO “THE MILLIONS.”_]
We have said that when Edward opened his exhibition in Aberdeen, he
expected that there would be a large influx of visitors to see the
collection of objects in natural history, which he had made with
so much labour and difficulty. But there was no rush whatever. The
attendance was always very small. The exhibition-room was for the most
part empty. Edward at first thought that he had fixed the price too
high. But he could remedy that defect. The better classes had failed
him; now he would try the working-people. He would call “the millions”
to his aid. Accordingly he reduced the entrance-price to a penny.
[Sidenote: _THE EXHIBITION A FAILURE._]
But “the millions” never came. So far as Edward’s collection was
concerned, their minds seemed as hard and impenetrable as the
adamantine houses in which they lived. Their hearts, he thought, were
made of their native granite. Still he would make another effort.
He now advertised more widely than before, thinking that extended
publicity might prove successful. He had bills printed by the thousand;
he employed sandwich-men to carry them about, to distribute them in the
market, in the principal thoroughfares, at the gates of the factories
and principal working places, and in every place resorted to by
working people. To accommodate them, he opened the exhibition at eight
instead of ten in the morning; and kept it open until ten o’clock at
night.
It was of no avail. The millions did not come. The attendance even fell
off. Some days only a few pence were taken; on other days nothing.
Days, weary days, went on, and still there was no success. Yet Edward
had plenty of advisers. Some thought that the collection should have
been exhibited near the centre of the town, where the working classes
lived. Edward was fain to think that there might be something in this.
He found a large room which he thought would answer the purpose; but he
was required to pay the rent beforehand, and to give security for ten
pounds. This was entirely out of the question, for he could not give
security for “ten bawbees.” One person, who had been a showman, advised
him to have immense placards outside, and to have a band of music to
attract the people. He must have show and hubbub. “That was the thing
that attracted folk; whereas his exhibition was all in the inside.” But
Edward would not have any of such attractions.
In short, the exhibition was fast approaching its end. The rent of the
shop had to be paid, and he had no money to pay it. His wife and family
had to be maintained, and he had no means of maintaining them. All
that he took at the door, was required to pay the cost of the bills
and advertisements. By the end of the third week, he was deep in debt.
Though he had been earning small wages, he had never before been in
debt. To think of being in debt was in itself an agony. What was he to
do? He was sinking deeper and deeper, with no prospect of deliverance.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD IN DESPAIR._]
By the Friday of the fourth week, he had altogether lost hope. He
had taken nothing in the shape of money that day. His exhibition was
entirely deserted. He sank into the lowest state of despondency.
About three o’clock he received a letter from his master at Banff,
telling him that if he did not return immediately to his work, he
would be under the necessity of giving his employment to another.
“Return immediately?” That was impossible. What was he to do with his
collection? How was he to defray his debt?
It is scarcely to be wondered at, if, under these deplorable
circumstances, despair—despair of the worst description—should have got
the better, at least for a time, of his over-taxed and over-sensitive
brain. He was in a strange place,—a place which had once known him,
but knew him no more. His wife and his five children were altogether
dependent upon him, though they were at present living with his aged
and infirm parents. He was deep in debt, for which, if not liquidated,
his collection would be seized,—a collection, rather than part with
which, he would have sacrificed his life. At the same time, the loss
of work, starvation, and ruin, stared him in the face. Is it surprising
that, thus situated, despair should for a time have got the mastery
over his better and sounder judgment?
The afternoon was far advanced. His dinner, which had been brought
to him an hour before, still lay untasted. He was pacing up and down
the apartment, pondering over his miserable position, when his father
entered. Edward was looking so agitated, that the old man inquired
“what ailed him?” He said he was going out, and went towards the door,
fearing lest his wife or any of his children might appear. His father
stepped between him and the door, remonstrating with him, and saying
that he was not fit to go out in such a state. But a woman entering,
attracted his father’s attention, and Edward was thus allowed to slip
away unobserved.
[Sidenote: _RUNS TO THE SEA-SHORE._]
Edward rushed down Union Street, on his way to the sands. At first
he thought of going to the Dee at the Craiglug; but he bethought him
that it would be better to go to the sea-shore, where it might be
thought his death was accidental. From the time of his leaving the shop
in Union Street until about four hours after, when he recovered his
senses, his memory remained almost a complete blank. He had a vague
idea of crossing the links, and seeing some soldiers at the foot of the
Broadhill. But beyond that, he remembered next to nothing. Unlike a
dream, of which one remembers some confused ideas, this blank in his
mental life was never filled up, and the purpose for which he wandered
along the sands left little further impression upon his memory. He
remembered, however, the following circumstances:
[Sidenote: _THE FLOCK OF SANDERLINGS._]
He had thrown off his hat, coat, and waistcoat, before rushing into
the sea; when a flock of sanderlings lit upon the sands near him. They
attracted his attention. They were running to and fro, some piping
their low shrill whistle, whilst others were probing the wet sand with
their bills as the waves receded. But amongst them was another bird,
larger and darker, and apparently of different habits to the others.
Desirous of knowing something of the nature of this bird, he approached
the sanderlings. They rose and flew away. He followed them. They lit
again, and again he observed the birds as before. Away they went, and
he after them. At length he was stopped at Don mouth. When he recovered
his consciousness, he was watching the flock of birds flying away to
the farther side of the river. He had forgotten all his miseries in his
intense love of nature. His ruling passion saved him.
[Sidenote: _THE PROVIDENTIAL BIRD._]
How long the chase lasted he never could tell. It must have occupied
him more than an hour. He found himself divested of his hat, coat, and
vest; and he went back to look for them. He had no further desire to
carry out the purpose for which he had descended to the sea. His only
thought was about the strange bird among the sanderlings: “What could
it be?” Perhaps the bird had been his Providence. He tried to think so.
In the meantime, he was very cold. He found his coat, vest, and hat,
a long way down the beach. On his return, he found that he had been
followed by some people, who were watching him. When he returned,
they followed him until he reached his clothes. And when they saw him
dressed, and ready to depart, they disappeared. Not wishing to cross
the links again that night, he turned and went up Don side to the new
bridge, and took the road from thence into the town.
[Illustration: THE MOUTH OF THE DON.]
It was late before he got home. Being still very much depressed, and
feeling very unwell, he went almost immediately to bed, thinking that
he might be able to hide his grief yet a little longer from those who
were near and dear to him,—dearer to him now than ever. But, alas! the
ordeal he had passed through during the day, had been most dreadful;
and he was racked by conflicting and torturing thoughts during the
whole of his sleepless night.
Morning, anxiously-wished-for morning, came at last. Although still
feverish from excitement, and very unsettled in his mind, he got up,
dressed, and went down to the sea-shore a little after daylight,
eagerly searching for the strange bird of the preceding evening. But
although he walked several times along the sands, from the bathing
machines to the mouth of the Don, he never saw it. He saw its
companions, the sanderlings; but the providential bird had gone. So far
as Edward knew, he never saw the like of that bird again.
Although chagrined at his disappointment, he felt himself, on the
whole, more refreshed and settled in his mind than when he left
home. After breakfast—the first food he had taken since the previous
morning—he went to Union Street to open his exhibition. As he was not
disturbed by visitors, he had plenty of time for reflection. He had now
to consider how he could honourably extricate himself from the trap
into which he had so unwittingly and so unfortunately fallen.
[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION ADVERTISED._]
The only way which presented itself was by making a terrible
sacrifice,—namely, by selling the whole of his collection. It took
him many long and bitter heart-pangs before he could arrive at
this conclusion. But force, stern force, prevailed over all other
considerations. He must, so far as he could, get honourably out of
debt, although not a farthing of balance might remain. Yes! his eight
years’ collection of birds and natural objects must go, so that he
might stand upright before the world. Accordingly, an advertisement
appeared in the newspapers offering the collection for sale.
After the announcement appeared, several gentlemen called and told
him that he was quite wrong in offering his collection for sale. He
had several letters from Banff, to the same effect. Some of his
correspondents there offered their suggestions and advice. They said
that as the collection had been made in Banffshire, it properly
belonged to Banffshire; and that it would be an everlasting slur
upon the county if it were allowed to go elsewhere. One gentleman of
influence requested Edward to delay the sale for a few days, in order
that he might be enabled to obtain subscriptions, so as to secure the
collection for Banff. Twenty pounds could easily be collected in Banff
for such a purpose. If the subscribers did not themselves buy it, there
was a Scientific Society in Banff that would certainly buy it, to form
the nucleus of a collection of Banffshire fauna.
[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION SOLD._]
Edward accordingly postponed the sale for some days. He had great
faith in his correspondent, who was himself a member of the society in
question. The gentleman had considerable influence in the district,
and would doubtless do what he could to raise the requisite money to
purchase the collection. But, alas! how futile are promises. Words!
mere words! Days passed, and no further communications arrived. Edward
was now pressed for his debts, and he could no longer postpone the
sale of the collection. The spark of hope that had been kindled in his
breast, died out. All hope of salvation from any quarter had fled. He
must meet his difficulties as he best could. It was now the middle of
the sixth week, and his expenses were increasing daily. Accordingly, he
accepted the offer of £20:10s. for the whole of his collection!
[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION DESTROYED._]
It was a bitter pang to part with it; but the thing must be done.
Howling was of no use. Edward was even glad to get that paltry sum,
in order to be at last set free. The gentleman (Mr. Grant) who bought
the collection, wished it for his boy, who had a taste for natural
history. The specimens were removed to his house at Ferryhill. They
were afterwards packed up and sent to his place in St. Nicholas Street,
where they were stored up in some damp and unsuitable room; and,
being otherwise neglected, it is believed that the whole collection
eventually went to ruin.
Perhaps Edward might have got more money for his collection if he had
broken it up, and offered it in lots. Professor Dickie was willing
to buy a number of his specimens, and to pay a good price for them;
but this would have involved a considerable loss of time, and also a
considerable increase of expense. He was therefore under the necessity
of disposing of the whole at once.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S APOLOGY._]
“Whatever,” says Edward, “may have been the real cause of my ruin and
want of success, I must say that, although I was not supported and
encouraged, I had no real claim upon the inhabitants of Aberdeen. I
certainly do owe many of them—particularly those of the upper and
middle classes of society—a deep debt of gratitude for their courteous
attention and their offered hospitality. Although circumstances did not
allow me to avail myself of their kindness, I have never forgotten the
unfeigned favours which they proffered me. I know that some of them
were deeply offended at my refusing their invitations; but, had they
known of my deplorable position at the time, I feel certain that their
feeling of offence would have given place to the deeper and softer
feeling of pity for the unfortunate.”
[Illustration: THE SHORE AT ABERDEEN]
FOOTNOTES:
[33] It was afterwards found that the visitor was Dr. Cadenhead, one of
the principal physicians and oculists of the city.