YEAR 1808
THROUGH all the wars that have raged from the time of the King’s
accession to the throne, there has been a gradually coming nearer and
nearer to our gates, which is a very alarming thing to think of. In the
first, at the time he came to the crown, we suffered nothing. Not one
belonging to the parish was engaged in the battles thereof; and the news
of victories, before they reached us, which was generally by word of
mouth, were old tales. In the American war, as I have related at length,
we had an immediate participation; but those that suffered were only a
few individuals, and the evil was done at a distance, and reached us not
until the worst of its effects were spent. And during the first term of
the present just and necessary contest for all that is dear to us as a
people, although, by the offswarming of some of our restless youth, we
had our part and portion in common with the rest of the Christian world;
yet still there was at home a great augmentation of prosperity, and every
thing had thriven in a surprising manner; somewhat, however, to the
detriment of our country simplicity. By the building of the cotton-mill,
and the rising up of the new town of Cayenneville, we had intromitted so
much with concerns of trade, that we were become a part of the great web
of commercial reciprocities, and felt in our corner and extremity, every
touch or stir that was made on any part of the texture. The consequence
of this I have now to relate.
Various rumours had been floating about the business of the cotton
manufacturers not being so lucrative as it had been; and Bonaparte, as it
is well known, was a perfect limb of Satan against our prosperity, having
recourse to the most wicked means and purposes to bring ruin upon us as a
nation. His cantrips, in this year, began to have a dreadful effect.
For some time it had been observed in the parish, that Mr. Specle of the
cotton-mill, went very often to Glasgow, and was sometimes off at a few
minutes’ warning to London; and the neighbours began to guess and wonder
at what could be the cause of all this running here, and riding there, as
if the little-gude was at his heels. Sober folk augured ill o’t; and it
was remarked, likewise, that there was a haste and confusion in his mind,
which betokened a foretaste of some change of fortune. At last, in the
fulness of time, the babe was born.
On a Saturday night, Mr. Speckle came out late from Glasgow; on the
Sabbath he was with all his family at the kirk, looking as a man that had
changed his way of life; and on the Monday, when the spinners went to the
mill, they were told that the company had stopped payment. Never did a
thunder-clap daunt the heart like this news; for the bread in a moment
was snatched from more than a thousand mouths. It was a scene not to be
described, to see the cotton-spinners and the weavers, with their wives
and children, standing in bands along the road, all looking and speaking
as if they had lost a dear friend or parent. For my part, I could not
bear the sight, but hid myself in my closet, and prayed to the Lord to
mitigate a calamity which seemed to me past the capacity of man to
remedy; for what could our parish fund do in the way of helping a whole
town, thus suddenly thrown out of bread?
In the evening, however, I was strengthened, and convened the elders at
the manse to consult with them on what was best to be done; for it was
well known that the sufferers had made no provision for a sore foot. But
all our gathered judgments could determine nothing; and therefore we
resolved to wait the issue, not doubting but that He who sends the night,
would bring the day in His good and gracious time, which so fell out.
Some of them who had the largest experience of such vicissitudes,
immediately began to pack up their ends and their awls, and to hie them
into Glasgow and Paisley in quest of employ; but those who trusted to the
hopes that Mr. Speckle himself still cherished, lingered long, and were
obligated to submit to sore distress. After a time, however, it was
found that the company was ruined; and the mill being sold for the
benefit of the creditors, it was bought by another Glasgow company, who,
by getting a good bargain, and managing well, have it still, and have
made it again a blessing to the country. At the time of the stoppage,
however, we saw that commercial prosperity, flush as it might be, was but
a perishable commodity, and from thence, both by public discourse and
private exhortation, I have recommended to the workmen to lay up
something for a reverse; and showed that, by doing with their bawbees and
pennies what the great do with their pounds, they might in time get a
pose to help them in the day of need. This advice they have followed,
and made up a Savings Bank, which is a pillow of comfort to many an
industrious head of a family.
But I should not close this account of the disaster that befell Mr.
Speckle, and the cotton-mill company, without relating a very melancholy
case that was the consequence. Among the overseers there was a Mr.
Dwining, an Englishman from Manchester, where he had seen better days,
having had himself there of his own property, once as large a mill,
according to report, as the Cayenneville mill. He was certainly a man
above the common, and his wife was a lady in every point; but they held
themselves by themselves, and shunned all manner of civility, giving up
their whole attention to their two little boys, who were really like
creatures of a better race than the callans of our clachan.
On the failure of the company, Mr. Dwining was observed by those who were
present to be particularly distressed: his salary being his all; but he
said little, and went thoughtfully home. Some days after he was seen
walking by himself with a pale face, a heavy eye, and slow step—all
tokens of a sorrowful heart. Soon after, he was missed altogether;
nobody saw him. The door of his house was however open, and his two
pretty boys were as lively as usual, on the green before the door. I
happened to pass when they were there, and I asked them how their father
and mother were. They said they were still in bed, and would not waken,
and the innocent lambs took me by the hand, to make me waken their
parents. I know not what was in it, but I trembled from head to foot,
and I was led in by the babies, as if I had not the power to resist.
Never shall I forget what I saw in that bed.
* * * * *
I found a letter on the table; and I came away, locking the door behind
me, and took the lovely prattling orphans home. I could but shake my
head and weep, as I gave them to the care of Mrs. Balwhidder, and she was
terrified but said nothing. I then read the letter. It was to send the
bairns to a gentleman, their uncle, in London. Oh! it is a terrible
tale; but the winding-sheet and the earth is over it. I sent for two of
my elders. I related what I had seen. Two coffins were got, and the
bodies laid in them; and the next day, with one of the fatherless bairns
in each hand, I followed them to the grave, which was dug in that part of
the kirkyard where unchristened babies are laid. We durst not take it
upon us to do more; but few knew the reason, and some thought it was
because the deceased were strangers, and had no regular lair.
I dressed the two bonny orphans in the best mourning at my own cost, and
kept them in the manse till we could get an answer from their uncle, to
whom I sent their father’s letter. It stung him to the quick, and he
came down all the way from London, and took the children away himself.
Oh! he was a vexed man when the beautiful bairns, on being told he was
their uncle, ran into his arms, and complained that their papa and mamma
had slept so long, that they would never waken.