came in all wet and muddy. He had found a man and woman living together
who were not married. The man was ill end likely to die, and he thought
the children would be guarded from some threatening injury if the father
and mother were married. The man, however, did not care what became of
woman or children. He turned his face to the wall, and for a long time
would not listen to the minister, but Dr. Dykes got him face-to-face
with the woman and a witness, and married them while the man was still
in bed. Dr. Dykes was very upset about this event. Happily, in Scotland
such things are rare.
One of the maids had not been well, and Mrs. Fargus thought I might do
for the house in town for a week or so, so as to let Elsie come to
Killbride. The climate there was mild and healthy. The doctor arranged
to dine out, so I had only to get breakfast for him and take any
messages and write them on a slate. By this time I knew how to do many
things neatly. The lady would come and go to see how I got on. She had
not been long in one afternoon when a fearful ring came at the door. I
opened it, but could see nobody. I went away, but the bell rang again. I
looked over the other side of the street and saw a tattered looking
sailor. He came over and asked if Elsie was in. I answered in the
negative. He could hardly speak. The lady came to see what was the
matter; he told her who he was. She told me to take him downstairs and
get him something to eat. Then she told me that he was Elsie's
sweetheart, and that Elsie had heard that he was wrecked and drowned
four years before. She went in mourning for him. The ship in which he
had arrived within half an hour before had also been reported a wreck.
There was such excitement. Mrs. Fargus wrote to Elsie to look out for
her lost lover the next day. His ship was at the Broomilaw, whence they
had sailed long ago. The man had come back well off, but he was brown
and rough. The next day he had other clothes and his whiskers were
trimmed. Elsie had been with Mrs. Fargus for a long time, so Mrs. Fargus
said that she would like her to get married there. The date was settled,
and the Rev. Dr. Oswald Dykes was to perform the marriage ceremony. We
had plenty to talk about, for it was the first wedding for me to see.
Elsie came to town, and I went back to Eastkillbride.
Mrs. Fargus was skilled in botany and the natural history of insects as
well as plants. She had a museum full of all sorts of things. While at
Killbride she would take me with her to carry her things, and talk to me
so nicely all the time. We went down deep dells and to all the
out-of-the-way places hunting for specimens. One day, in a deep dell,
she found a gooseberry bush, with large gooseberries on it quite green,
although the season for the berry was over. She sat down and explained
why that berry was not ripe. She said the sun had not shed its rays on
that bush, as it was far down in the dell. Some birds had dropped the
berry, and it grew into a bush, but the fruit would always be green and
sour. She compared this with some poor people whom we visited. They were
hard and sour, and she thought if their environment were more bright
they would not be so sour. She meant spiritually and temporarily. It was
new to me to listen to so grand a lady. She would get us all in her
beautiful room and kneel down and pray and read with us. God's best
blessing rest on her if she is living, or on her memory if she is dead.
It was drawing near time to go back to town, and there was Elsie's
wedding to look forward to. It was a common occurrence to let the
servants have a party two or three times a year. We had had one already,
and the wedding was to be the next. We were to have games and dancing,
and Elsie was to be married in the best drawing-room, upstairs. By this
time I had seen the sailor many times and many of his relations. His
home was in Dundee. The Rev. Dr. Oswald Dykes had received a call to go
to a grand church in Edinburgh, but he agreed to come for the wedding. I
was passionately fond of dancing, and I knew that we were to have
dancing, but I thought, being a member of the church, I must not dance
any more. I met Dr. Dykes in the corridor and asked him if I could dance
at Elsie's wedding. He said--"Yes; by all means. Those who can dance,
let them dance, and those who want to play games, let them play." Then
he showed me how dancing could be made both wrong and sinful, if we went
to objectionable places to gratify the pleasure of dancing. How little
did I think that in so short a time I would be out here all alone,
without any of this moral directing power to act upon.
So the wedding night came. Elsie looked lovely, and the sailor looked
splendid. He had some trouble to get off his white kid gloves. Mr. and
Mrs. Fargus, and also some of their friends, were present. The cake was
cut in the drawing-room, and then brought down to the hall, where the
supper was laid, and all the place was filled with plants and bunting.
We kept the gaiety up all night. In the middle of the fun our master and
mistress and the minister came to have a look at us. The minister said
if he could dance he would have a dance with the bride, just to show
that it was good recreation. Elsie had some lovely presents. The master
gave her a kitchen range, while the mistress gave her a chest of
drawers and a dressing-table and washstand. She had something from all.
The servants from all round were kind, and we spent a good time.
After Elsie went away the nurse took the children to her own home, which
she often did. They were too young for instruction, and only childish
books were read for them. There were two boys and one girl, the girl
being the oldest. I shall say more about them later on.
I found where the Dr. and Mrs. Reily lived, and saw them. They were well
and happy. Mrs. Stirling was not in good health in Glasgow, so she was
often away. I was happy anyhow, and hoped for courage to face the life
that lay before me. I had a holiday, and went to Slamannan, and learned
that my sister was to be married very soon, so the dresses I had for
Elsie's wedding would just do. It was at New Year's time, and I was the
bridesmaid. They were married at the Old Established Church of Scotland,
and in the evening the snow was falling, and thick on the ground. I felt
glad for my sister's sake. It was not much of a prospect, but they were
young. My brother was my whole care; I did not know what my father was
going to do with him. He was growing up and learning nothing. Father
kept off the drink, and we all the time thought that some news would
come to us from our relatives who had gone to "America." These were
uncles and aunts; we had no grandparent living. For myself, I knew that
I had to work hard for everything I got; but I could not see how to help
my dear brother. I was afraid that my father would take him down into
the pits to work. If only my mother had lived she would have put him to
some useful pursuit. I suppose the mind seeks something upon which the
emotions may grow as we get older. One thing I was nearer than if I had
stopped in Ayrshire. I could do some things for him. There seemed no
"self-help" for him.
I got back to my work again, feeling inspired with the idea that I would
try and get my brother to Glasgow also. At Dr. Fargus' the Sundays were
properly observed. We set aside toil for that day and were not allowed
to do anything that could be avoided. Our own clothing had to be laid
all ready to put on. The dinner was cooked the day before. Such peaceful
days I have never had since. We went to the Rev. A. N. Sommervil's
Church. It was near to the shipping part of the city, and the church and
congregation were large. Other ministers would come some times. Dr.
Guthrie came from Edinburgh. He was a real friend to the servant girls,
and pleaded with the mistresses to be kind to their handmaids and see to
their general wellbeing and the cheerfulness of their surroundings.
Dr. Thomas Guthrie was then a popular preacher. He started the ragged
school movement in Edinburgh, and his efforts to suppress vice and to
promote temperance made him a power on social questions. He used to
hold services in the open air and in barns, or wherever people would
come. While on his visits he found so many houses without a Bible or any
book at all. He often stood in rooms bare of furniture, where father and
mother and half-a-dozen children had to sleep, the destitution being all
through drink. The stories he told were sad and true. Wherever he
preached, there you would see the serving-maids and the persons of every
rank in life. He had a good voice, and would sometimes describe in his
sermon natural scenery, showing the wisdom of God, and that the earth is
full of beauty. We had Dr. Norman Macleod, who preached to the Queen
while she was at Balmoral. I could not follow his speeches like Dr.
Guthrie's, although he wrote books and was the editor of "Good Words"
and others, as well as a leading minister.
The misery I suffered, by reason of seeing so much of human woe and want
and sin, made an old woman of me at the age of 16. I shall never forget
one Sunday after church I went with some other girls to see their
"district," if it could be called a district. In some instances there
were foul underground cellars, where the inmates never breathed the
fresh air. The children were covered with rags, and hunger reigned
everywhere. This afternoon a starved-looking boy had broken a street
lamp, and the policeman was taking him to the lock-up. One of the girls
knew him, and asked the man how much it would cost for the lamp. If 7/6
could be found he said he would let the boy go. I told them to wait and
I would get the money. I went to my mistress and to my Bible-teacher and
to some others that I knew, and got the 7/6, and the boy was released,
or, at least, I thought so. We took the money to the boy's mother, and
told her to go to the office and get the boy back. That was on Monday
evening. I went to see on my own account if the boy had got back. It was
so dark that I could not find my way to the cellar. I went to a shop to
buy a candle to see the underground room.
The man in the shop said, "Are you the youngster that found the 7/6 for
that awful woman that lives down in that cellar?"
I said, "Yes."
"Well," he said, "that woman has been drunk ever since. She did not go
for the boy, but has been quarrelsome and is making such a noise."
To my view it was sad, but not singular. I went down to the cellar and
saw the sweetest and prettiest little girl I ever saw in my life
stretched on the floor sleeping. There was no mother or anyone else
there. I learned that the father was a sailor, and that was why. The
girl was eight years old. Oh, what a picture she was as she lay calm in
sleep, forgetful of her sorrows!
The daughters of well-to-do farmers and mechanics went to service to
help themselves. There seemed no other way. Then through Elsie and the
nurse I got to know a number of nice girls. We could come and go to each
other. In different homes there were different rules. There was always
plenty to be done. I know the sanitary part of the work was a study at
the doctor's house. The furniture was mostly carved, and that meant some
polishing. Then the wide halls and bannisters must be kept free from
dust, while the fireplaces and the steel had to be kept bright. I was
not old enough to have charge, but I learned how the work was done. In
the winter it was hard, but I felt as if I were getting taught
everything. My mind was full of hope the more I knew.
Unaware of what had happened, we went to church on a Sunday morning and
found it all draped in black. The news had come that very morning that
Prince Albert, the Queen's Consort, was dead. It cast a sadness over all
the place, as he had been in Glasgow not long before to lay the
foundation-stone of some public building.
ANOTHER NEW PLACE.
I had nothing to grumble about, but still the array of so much sorrow
among the people round me made me wonder what failure or success lay in
the future for me. Independence is so fondly sought after. Reluctantly,
and with a touch of uneasiness, I heard of a place that I thought I
would like. The lady was a friend of Mrs. Fargus, and the house was
close by, while a smaller girl than myself would do for Mrs. Fargus'
children. Then, too, I would have a little more wages. It was spoken of
between the two ladies, and I was engaged to go in six weeks, when my
term ended. Mrs. Mouncey was the name of the lady, and there were three
in family. Mr. Mouncey had been married twice, and had one grown-up
daughter by the first wife, with a son and daughter by the second
wife--a boy of eight and a girl of ten. It was not a large house, and
was on Victoria-terrace, facing the West-End park. From the windows
could be seen the pleasure ground of the city, with its shrubs and
monuments; that was its beauty spot. The West-End looked like the
country yet in a few minutes one could be in the Trongate or
Buchanan-street. I thought those two streets seemed the most busy, at
least, with fashionable folk. Mr. Mouncey was the editor of some
publication, and also wrote for some magazine. He seemed a man of
independent means. They did not live in a showy manner, but they
travelled a good deal. "You will have plenty of hard work," my fellow
mates used to say to me, but I thought I would extract some happiness
by coming to see them, and I would be gaining fresh experience.
Before I went to my new place I had an excursion to Slamannan. Glasgow,
like all large cities, had its grievances and distresses in some of the
dark and destitute parts. I had seen a little of both sides of the
picture. I wondered at the goodness of those ladies, who went to the
squalid and neglected. One had only to read the newspapers to learn that
evil was not confined to the poor and degraded. Close to where I then
lived the daughter of people in high rank was arrested for giving her
lover poison. Her name was Madeliene Smith. So widespread was the
interest felt that people chipped bits of the stone window-sill, where
she passed the poison to him which caused his death. Her trial took
place in Edinburgh. "Not proven," was the Scotch verdict returned. I saw
a book with the whole account when I came to South Australia. I found
comfort in going to see my own friends. A whole week before going to Mr.
Mouncey's there was trouble in the air. A fresh gloom was over the
place, as war in America was threatened, and people were rushing back
from America as fast as the boats could bring them. In less than two
weeks one could get to America.
We made the most of my holiday at home. I went once more to work. It was
a mixed kind of position to rely on, but I determined to do my best. I
found no difficulty; the mistress said, "Come along, my lass, you are
welcome." I had a comfortable bedroom, and everything was convenient.
The mistress undertook the care of providing and attending to the
cookery, that nothing should be lost by carelessness, and there was Miss
Mouncey with me to help to keep the house beautiful, and in a state of
cleanliness. I could go to the same church and see my friends at Dr.
Fargus'. I soon learned that Miss Mouncey was looked on as a rich woman,
and that her mother's money would come to her. She had a mind of her
own, and did not intend to marry. I think the condition of the homeless
and uncared-for children was her special care. She would come and sit
with me and tell me about the wretched little urchins she found amid
dirt and disease, while the parents of the poor creatures were drinking.
I confess many things seemed to me hopeless. It was depressing to hear
of evil about everywhere I went. Mind and memory in moments of solitude
tell me still how much I owe to the impression and influence of that sad
time. In after years, when one or another would say what happy times
they had when they were young, I thought "no, I would not like to be
young again if this is all." I could not shut out of mind the long years
that lay before me in that far-away time. In the present, all the world
is behind me, and what does it matter?
Such a lot of people came to see Mr. Mouncey. Some wished to see Miss
Mouncey particularly, and some she wanted to avoid. She only laughed.
She was 22 years of age, fair, and accomplished, without a touch of
vanity, and with the sweet name of Mary. The youngest child went to
school. They liked to tell me of the good times we would have when we
went to the Island of Arran, where they spent the summer months. We had
family worship night and morning. By that time reading was no effort to
me. I could read writing and write a little, with the aid of Miss
Mouncey.
I brought a canary songbird from Slamannan to Mrs. Reily. I had no cage,
but I had a strong paper-bag, and cut some tiny holes in it for air. I
knew she had a cage, so I went one evening to see her and to learn how
the bird was getting on. The doctor opened the door, and did not speak.
He led me into a room, and there, in a coffin, lay Mrs. Reily. I flung
myself on my knees beside her and cried bitterly. The doctor stood by
and said, "Weep, girl, weep, for that is the first tear I have seen shed
for my wife." He told me that her father, mother, and sister had come
only to see what of her jewellery they could take and then they went
away. He sent for the nurse, and I saw a little baby girl, which he said
was all he had left. He had a good practice, and was growing rich, and,
as he stood there with bent head, he looked sad and cheerless, but young
and handsome. Such is the inevitable! I saw the little bird that I gave
her; it was hanging in the window of the same room. My heart was full of
compassion, as I remembered the beautiful face of that young wife. She
was only 20 years of age. All must have courage to submit to their own
destiny.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Preparations for going away for the summer were hurried on, and there
seemed more visitors than usual. I was pleased at the idea of going to
the Island of Arran, which had many attractions for visitors, I longed
to see the place, having heard so much about its hills and mountains.
Miss Heslip, a young friend of Miss Mouncey's, was with them for the
summer. From that day things were pleasing and mirthful. One evening,
while I was passing the cake-basket in the drawing-room, I held the cake
to a tall and dark gentleman. In place of taking some cake he took hold
of my hand and shook it warmly. I was not used to shaking hands with
people in the drawing-room. I felt so confused that I nearly let the
basket and cake fall. I could see that the act was noticed by the smiles
on the faces. I knew that Garibaldi was in the room, for I had seen him
there before, but who could this be? When Miss Mouncey came out I asked
her, and she told me I had shaken hands with a great man. He was the
President of America, Abraham Lincoln. She told me then that there was
going to be a civil war. I did not know what that was.
THE ISLE OF ARRAN.
It was so delightful to see Iona again. We left in the morning and
called at so many places. There seemed quite a crowd, and such beautiful
scenery. We arrived in the afternoon at Lamlash. There was someone to
take the luggage, and we walked by the sea. The name of the house was
Oakbank, and it was right on the top of a hill, with steps leading down
to the boating-house, and there we could see the house-boat. The boat
was called Oakbank, too. The house seemed small after Glasgow, with its
little green gate, but the people only wanted somewhere to sleep. We
lived outside, either on the water or on the mountains, there being
plenty of caves as well. It was the month of June. The people who
belonged to the house lived on the place in some way for the time. We
could get milk and butter and eggs and poultry from them, but all the
rest of the provisions came from the city, and the lovely fish they
could get themselves in plenty. What a different life for the people who
lived there when compared to that I had seen in the city. Whether they
took me with them or not I had very little to do, there being a lot of
people on the island known to each other. They would go off in the
morning and take provisions with them, and I would not see them again
till dark. Very often they took me as well. I could climb on my hands
and feet, and did not trouble if I rolled down, so long as the sea was
not immediately underneath me. How the people lived has often puzzled me
more since than it did at the time.
It seemed that the whole, or nearly all, the island belonged to the Duke
of Hamilton, and he was said to be eccentric. He would not let people
make any alteration, but wished every place to remain in its wild state.
It was known that coal could be got there in any quantity, but they dare
not dig to get it. Some of the old people, with whom I liked to talk,
told me that they were born on the island, and had never been out of it,
even to cross the Clyde, and they hoped to die there. Only in
summertime, when visitors were there, they spoke in English. To each
other they spoke in Gaelic. The language was very strange to listen to,
and more so when they made blunders, for one must laugh. The church was
at Brodic, and it was quite two miles and a half to walk there. The
minister preached in the morning in Gaelic, and it was good to see the
old men and women coming over the hills to hear this Gaelic. I went one
Sunday with the people of the house to hear the preaching. The minister
was Mr. Davis, and he did look so cross, and railed at the dear
creatures, who had come six and seven miles to hear him. I used to like
to hear some of the old stories about the place.
It interested me when they told me that the deep valleys we were then
passing would be filled up with snow in the winter months, and they
showed me places here and there where some poor shepherd had perished in
the snow, while he was looking for his sheep. They also said that for
many months in the year they could not go to see anyone, and no one
could come and see them because of the snow. There were no roads, but
only footpaths on top of the hill or at the bottom. On seeing the place
one could understand what it would be like after a heavy fall of snow.
Then it would roll down from the mountains. The habits of those people
were plain and without art. They let their houses in the summer, and
that brought them a little money. They had little patches of land on
which they grew flax and all sorts of things. It was rare to see a
ploughed field between Lamlash and Brodic. The Duke of Hamilton's palace
was at Brodic. It looked a grand place. He need not stop shut in it all
the winter, however, for he had other places. Then the people had to
make provision for the winter. They killed a sheep, and had it dried in
some way. I saw some of it. They called it braxxie. Then there was the
fish, also dried, in plenty. They made cheese and they had bacon. Those
who were too far back from the sea had to have stores inside their
homes. From Oakbank one could clear away the snow from the steps and get
to the ships in a small boat, but none of the steamers could come near,
although they would come as close as they dare in the rough weather. We
counted as many as fourteen one morning, after a stormy night. There
were all sorts, some being good-sized sailing vessels and yachts.
One more thing I found, and that was that the people made the linen from
the flax that grew on the place. The bed-linen that they had in use for
the visitors they said was a hundred years old. I saw some that was
newly made. It would be something to remember to sleep between sheets
newly made. I ought to explain that these ships I saw came in for the
shelter of the hills from the fearful gales. I think now that was the
most enjoyable time I ever spent. One way and another I got to see a
good deal, and was learning to know that there was both dignity and
independence in the labors of a house-servant. The charm is to feel
assured that your services are approved. I am quite sure that Mr.
Mouncey could get plenty of inspiration for his magazine; he was always
taking notes, and was not above calling my attention to things
interesting or instructive if I were with them.