I WAS born on the morning of the 19th of August 1808, at my father's
house No. 47 York Place, Edinburgh. I was named James Hall after my
father's dear friend, Sir James Hall of Dunglass. My mother afterwards
told me that I must have been "a very noticin' bairn," as she observed
me, when I was only a few days old, following with my little eyes any
one who happened to be in the room, as if I had been thinking to my
little self, "Who are you?"
After a suitable time I was put under the care of a nursemaid.
I remember her well--Mary Peterkin--a truly Scandinavian name.
She came from Haddingtonshire, where most of the people are of
Scandinavian origin. Her hair was of a bright yellow tint.
She was a cheerful young woman, and sang to me like a nightingale.
She could not only sing old Scotch songs, but had a wonderful memory
for fairy tales. When under the influence of a merry laugh,
you could scarcely see her eyes; their twinkle was hidden by her
eyelids and lashes. She was a willing worker, and was always ready
to lend a helping hand at everything about the house, she took great
pride in me, calling me her "laddie."
When I was toddling about the house, another sister was born, the last
of the family. Little Mary was very delicate; and to improve her
health she was sent to a small farm-house at Braid Hills, about four
miles south of Edinburgh. It was one of the most rural and beautiful
surroundings of the city at that time. One of my earliest
recollections is that of being taken to see poor little Mary at the
farmer's house. While my nursemaid was occupied in inquiring after my
sister, I was attracted by the bright red poppies in a neighbouring
field. When they made search for me I could not be found. I was lost
for more than an hour. At last, seeing a slight local disturbance
among the stalks of corn, they rushed to they spot, and brought me out
with an armful of brilliant red poppies. To this day poppies continue
to be my greatest favourites.
When I was about four or five years old, I was observed to give a
decided preference to the use of my left hand. Everything was done to
prevent my using it in preference to the right. My mother thought that
it arose from my being carried on the wrong arm by my nurse while an
infant. The right hand was thus confined, and the left hand was used.
I was constantly corrected, but "on the sly" I always used it,
especially in drawing my first little sketches. At last my father,
after viewing with pleasure one of my artistic efforts, done with the
forbidden hand, granted it liberty and independence for all time
coming. "Well," he said, "you may go on in your own way in the use of
your left hand, but I fear you will be an awkward fellow in everything
that requires handiness in life. I used my right hand in all that was
necessary, and my left in all sorts of practical manipulative affairs.
My left hand has accordingly been my most willing and obedient servant
in transmitting my will through my fingers into material or visible
forms. In this way I became ambidexter.
When I was about four years old, I often followed my father into his
workshop when he had occasion to show to his visitors some of his
mechanical contrivances or artistic models. The persons present
usually expressed their admiration in warm terms of what was shown to
them. On one occasion I gently pulled the coat-tail of one of the
listeners and confidentially said to him, as if I knew all about it,
"My papa's a kevie Fellae!" My father was so greatly amused by this
remark that he often referred to it as "the last good thing" from that
old-fashioned creature little Jamie.
One of my earliest recollections is the annual celebration of my
brother Patrick's birthday. Being the eldest of the family, his
birthday was held in special honour. My father invited about twenty of
his most intimate friends to dinner. My mother brought her culinary
powers into full operation. The younger members of the family also
took a lively interest in all that was going on, with certain
reversionary views as to "the day after the feast." We took a great
interest in the Trifle, which was no trifle in reality, in so far as
regarded the care and anxiety involved in its preparation.
In connection with this celebration, it was all established institution
that a large hamper always arrived in good time from the farm attached
to my mother's old home at Woodhall, near Edinburgh. It contained many
substantial elements for the entertainment--a fine turkey, fowls,
duck, and suchlike; with two magnums of the richest cream. There never
was such cream! It established a standard of cream in my memory;
and since then I have always been hypercritical about the article.
On one of these occasions, when I was about four years old, and being
the youngest of the family, I was taken into the company after the
dinner was over, and held up by my sister Jane to sing a verse from a
little song which my nurse Mary Peterkin had taught me, and Which ran
thus:
"I'll no bide till Saturday,
But I'll awa' tile morn,
An' follow Donald Hielandman,
An' carry his poother-horn."
This was my first and last vocal performance. It was received with
great applause. In fact, it was encored. The word "poother,"
which I pronounced "pootle", excited the enthusiasm of the audience.
I was then sent to bed with a bit of plum-cake, and was doubtless
awakened early next morning by the irritation of the dried crumbs of
the previous night's feast.
I am reminded, by reading over a letter of my brother Patrick's, of an
awkward circumstance that happened to me when I was six years old.
In his letter to my father, dated London, 22d September 1814, he says:
"I did get a surprise when Margaret's letter informed me of my little
brother Jamie's fall. It was a wonderful escape. For God's sake keep
an eye upon him!" Like other strong and healthy boys, I had a turn for
amusing myself in my own way. When sliding down the railing of the
stairs I lost my grip and fell suddenly over. The steps were of stone.
Fortunately, the servants were just coming up laden with carpets which
they had been beating. I fell into their midst and knocked them out of
their hands. I was thus saved from cracking my poor little skull.
But for that there might have been no steam hammer--at least of my
contrivance!
Everything connected with war and warlike exploits is interesting to a
boy. The war with France was then in full progress. Troops and bands
paraded the streets. Recruits were sent away as fast as they could be
drilled. The whole air was filled with war. Everybody was full of
excitement about the progress of events in Spain. When the great guns
boomed forth from the Castle, the people were first startled.
Then they were surprised and anxious. There had been a battle and a
victory! "Who had fallen?" was the first thought in many minds.
Where had the battle been, and what was the victory? Business was
suspended. People rushed about the streets to ascertain the facts.
It might have been at Salamanca, Talavera, or Vittoria. But a long
time elapsed before the details could be received; and during that time
sad suspense and anxiety prevailed in almost every household.
There was no telegraph then. It was only after the Gazette had been
published that people knew who had fallen and who had survived.
The war proceeded. The volunteering which went on at the time gave
quite a military aspect to the city. I remember how odd it appeared to
me to see some well-known faces and figures metamorphosed into soldiers
It was considered a test of loyalty as well as of patriotism, to give
time, money, and leisure to take up the arms of defence, and to
practise daily in military uniform in the Meadows or on Bruntsfield
Links. Windows were thrown up to hear the bands playing at the head of
the troops, and crowds of boys, full of military ardour, went, as usual,
hand to hand in front of the drums and fifes. The most interesting
part of the procession to my mind was the pioneers in front, with their
leather aprons, their axes and saws, and their big hairy caps and
beards. They were to me so suggestive of clearing the way through
hedges and forests, and of what war was in its actual progress.
Every victory was followed by the importation of large numbers of
French prisoners. Many of them were sent to Edinburgh Castle.
They were permitted to relieve the tedium of their confinement by
manufacturing and selling toys; workboxes, brooches, and carved work of
different kinds. In the construction of these they exhibited great
skill, taste, and judgment. They carved them out of bits of bone and
wood. The patterns were most beautiful; and they were ingeniously and
tastefully ornamented. The articles were to be had for a mere trifle,
although fit to be placed with the most choice objects of artistic
skill.
These poor prisoners of war were allowed to work at their tasteful
handicrafts in small sheds or temporary workshops at the Castle, behind
the palisades which separated them from their free customers outside.
There was just room between the bars of the palisades for them to hand
through their exquisite works, and to receive in return the modest
prices which they charged. The front of these palisades became a
favourite resort for the inhabitants of Edinburgh; and especially for
the young folks. I well remember being impressed with the contrast
between the almost savage aspect of these dark-haired foreigners,
and the neat and delicate produce of their skilful fingers.
At the peace of 1814, which followed the siege of Paris, great
rejoicings and illuminations took place, in the belief that the war was
at an end. The French prisoners were sent back to their own country,
alas! to appear again before us at Waterloo. The liberation of those
confined in Edinburgh Castle was accompanied by an extraordinary scene.
The French prisoners marched down to the transport ships at Leith by
torchlight. All the town was out to see them. They passed in military
procession through the principal streets, singing as they marched along
their revolutionary airs, "Ca lra" and "The Marseillaise." The wild
enthusiasm of these haggard-looking men, lit up by torchlight and
accompanied by the cheers of the dense crowd which lined the streets
and filled the windows, made an impression on my mind that I can never
forget.
A year passed. Napoleon returned from Elba, and was rejoined by nearly
all his old fighting-men. I well remember, young as I was, an assembly
of the inhabitants of Edinburgh in Charlotte Square, to bid farewell to
the troops and officers then in garrison. It was a fine summer
evening when this sad meeting took place. The bands were playing as
their last performance, "Go where glory waits thee!" The air brought
tears to many eyes; for many who were in the ranks might never return.
After many a hand-shaking, the troops marched to the Castle, previous
to their early embarkation for the Low Countries on the following
morning.
Then came Waterloo and the victory! The Castle guns boomed forth again;
and the streets were filled with people anxious to hear the news.
At last came the Gazette filled with the details of the killed and
wounded. Many a heart was broken, many a fireside was made desolate.
It was indeed a sad time. The terrible anxiety that pervaded so many
families; the dreadful sacrifice of lives on so many battlefields; and
the enormously increased taxation, which caused so many families to
stint themselves to even the barest necessaries of life;--such was
the inglorious side of war.
But there was also the glory, which almost compensated for the sorrow.
I cannot resist narrating the entry of the Forty-second Regiment into
Edinburgh shortly after the battle of Waterloo. The old "Black Watch"
is a regiment dear to every Scottish heart. It has fought and
struggled when resistance was almost certain death. At Quatre Bras two
flank companies were cut to pieces by Pire's cavalry. The rest of the
regiment was assailed by Reille's furious cannonade, and suffered
severely. The French were beaten back, and the remnant of the
Forty-second retired to Waterloo, where they formed part of the brigade
under Major-General Pack. At the first grand charge of the French,
Picton fell and many were killed. Then the charge of the Greys took
place, and the Highland regiments rushed forward, with cries of
"Scotland for ever!" Only a remnant of the Forty-second survived.
They were however recruited, and marched into France with the rest of
the army.
Towards the end of the year the Forty-Second returned to England,
and in the beginning of 1816 they set out on their march towards
Edinburgh. They were everywhere welcomed with enthusiasm. Crowds
turned out to meet them and cheer them. When the first division of the
regiment approached Edinburgh, almost the entire population turned out
to welcome them. At Musselburgh, six miles off; the road was thronged
with people. When the soldiers reached Piershill, two miles off, the
road was so crowded that it took them two hours to reach the Castle.
I was on a balcony in the upper part of the High Street, and my father,
mother, and sisters were with me. We had waited very long; but at last
we heard the distant sound of the cheers, which came on and on, louder
and louder.
The High Street was wedged with people excited and anxious.
There seemed scarcely room for a regiment to march through them.
The house-tops and windows were crowded with spectators. It was a
grand sight. The high-gabled houses reaching as far as the eye could
see, St. Giles' with its mural crown, the Tron Kirk in the distance,
and the picturesque details of the buildings, all added to the
effectiveness of the scene.
At last the head of the gallant band appeared. The red coats gradually
wedged their way through the crowd, amidst the ringing of bells and the
cheers of the spectators. Every window was in a wave of gladness,
and every house-top was in a fever of excitement. As the red line
passed our balcony, with Colonel Dick at its head, we saw a sight that
can never be forgotten. The red-and-white plumes, the tattered colours
riddled with bullets, the glittering bayonets, were seen amidst the
crowd that thronged round the gallant heroes, amidst tears and cheers
and hand-shakings and shouts of excitement. The mass of men appeared
like a solid body moving slowly along; the soldiers being almost hidden
amongst the crowd. At last they passed, the pipers and drums playing a
Highland march; and the Forty-Second slowly entered the Castle. It was
perhaps the most extraordinary scene ever witnessed in Edinburgh.
One of my greatest enjoyments when a child was in going out with the
servants to the Calton, and wait while the "claes" bleached in the sun
on the grassy slopes of the hill. The air was bright and fresh and
pure. The lasses regarded these occasions as a sort of holiday.
One or two of the children usually accompanied them. They sat
together, and the servants told us their auld-warld stories; common
enough in those days, but which have now, in a measure, been forgotten.
"Steam" and "progress" have made the world much less youthful and
joyous than it was then.
The women brought their work and their needles with them, and when they
had told their stories, the children ran about the hill making bunches
of wild flowers--including harebells and wild thyme. They ran after
the butterflies and the bumbees, and made acquaintance in a small way
with the beauties of nature. Then the servants opened their baskets of
provisions, and we had a delightful picnic. Though I am now writing
about seventy years after the date of these events, I can almost
believe that I am enjoying the delightful perfume of the wild thyme and
the fragrant plants and flowers, wafted around me by the warm breezes
of the Calton hillside.
In the days I refer to, there was always a most cheerful and intimate
intercourse kept up between the children and the servants. They were
members of the same family, and were treated as such. The servants
were for the most part country-bred--daughters of farm servants or
small farmers. They were fairly educated at their parish schools;
they could read and write, and had an abundant store of old
recollections. Many a pleasant crack we had with them as to their
native places, their families, and all that was connected with them.
They became lastingly attached to their masters and mistresses, as well
as to the children. All this led to true attachment; and when they
left; us, for the most part to be married we continued to keep up a
correspondence with them, which lasted for many years.
While enjoying these delightful holidays, before my school-days began,
my practical education was in progress, especially in the way of
acquaintance with the habits of nature in a vast variety of its phases,
always so attractive to the minds of healthy children. It happened
that close to the Calton Hill, in the valley at its northern side,
there were many workshops where interesting trades were carried on;
there were coppersmiths, tinsmiths, brass-founders, goldbeaters, and
blacksmiths. Their shops were all arranged in a busy group at the foot
of the hill, in a place called Greenside. The workshops were open to
the inspection of passers-by. Little boys looked in and saw the men at
work amidst the blaze of fires and the beatings of hammers.
Amongst others, I was an ardent admirer. I may almost say that this
row of busy workshops was my first school of practical education.
I observed the mechanical manipulation of the men, their dexterous use
of the hammer, the chisel, and the file; and I imbibed many lessons
which afterwards proved of use to me. Then I had tools at home in my
father's workshop. I tried to follow their methods; I became greatly
interested in the use of tools and their appliances; I could make
things for myself. In short, I became so skilled that the people about
the house called me "a little Jack-of-all-trades."
While sitting on the grassy slopes of the Calton Hill I would often
hear the chimes sounding from the grand old tower of St.Giles.
The cathedral lay on the other side of the valley which divides the
Old Town from the New. The sounds came over the murmur of the traffic
in the streets below.
The chime-bells were played every day from twelve till one--the
old-fashioned dinner-hour of the citizens. The practice had been in
existence for more than a hundred and fifty years. The pleasing effect
of the merry airs, which came wafted tome by the warm summer breezes,
made me long to see them as well as hear them.
[Image] Mural crown of St Giles', Edinburgh
My father was always anxious to give pleasure to his children.
Accordingly, he took me one day, as a special treat, to the top of the
grand old tower, to see the chimes played. As we passed up the tower,
a strong vaulted room was pointed out to me, where the witches used to
be imprisoned. I was told that the poor old women were often taken
down from this dark vault to be burnt alive! Such terrible tales
enveloped the tower with a horrible fascination to my young mind.
What a fearful contrast to the merry sound of the chimes issuing from
its roof on a bright summer day.
On my way up to the top flat, where the chimes were played, I had to
pass through the vault in which the great pendulum was slowly swinging
in its ghostly-like tick-tack, tick-tack; while the great ancient clock
was keeping time with its sudden and startling movement. The whole
scene was almost as uncanny as the witches' cell underneath. There was
also a wild rumbling thumping sound overhead. I soon discovered the
cause of this, when I entered the flat where the musician was at work.
He was seen in violent action, beating or hammering on the keys of a
gigantic pianoforte-like apparatus. The instruments he used were two
great leather-faced mallets, one of which he held in each hand.
Each key was connected by iron rods with the chime-bells above.
The frantic and mad-like movements of the musician, as he energetically
rushed from one key to another, often widely apart gave me the idea
that the man was daft--especially as the noise of the mallets was
such that I heard no music emitted from the chimes so far overhead.
It was only when I had climbed up the stair of the tower to where the
bells were rung that I understood the performance, and comprehended the
beating of the chimes which gave me so much pleasure when I heard them
at a distance.
Another source of enjoyment in my early days was to accompany my mother
to the market. As I have said before, my mother, though generous in
her hospitality, was necessarily thrifty and economical in the
management of her household. There were no less than fourteen persons
in the house to be fed, and this required a good deal of marketing.
At the time I refer to, (about 1816, it was the practice of every lady
who took pride in managing economically the home department of her
husband's affairs, to go to market in person. The principal markets in
Edinburgh were then situated in the valley between the Old and New Towns,
in what used to be called the Nor Loch.
Dealers in fish and vegetables had their stalls there: the market for
butcher meat was near at hand: each being in their several locations.
It was a very lively and bustling sight to see the marketing going on.
When a lady was observed approaching, likely to be a customer, she was
at once surrounded by the "caddies." They were a set of sturdy
hard-working women, each with a creel on her back. Their competition
for the employer sometimes took a rather energetic form. The rival
candidates pointed to her with violent exclamations; "She's my ledie!
she's my ledie!" ejaculated one and all. To dispel the disorder,
a selection of one of the caddies would be made, and then all was quiet
again until another customer appeared.
There was a regular order in which the purchases were deposited in the
creel. First, there came the fish, which were carefully deposited in
the lowest part, with a clean deal board over them. The fishwives were
a most sturdy and independent class, both in manners and language.
When at home, at Newhaven or Fisherrow, they made and mended their
husbands' nets, put their fishing tackle to rights, and when the
fishing boats came in they took the fish to market at Edinburgh.
To see the groups of these hard-working women trudging along with their
heavy creels on their backs, clothed in their remarkable costume,
with their striped petticoats kilted up and showing their sturdy legs,
was indeed a remarkable sight. They were cheerful and good-natured,
but very outspoken. Their skins were clear and ruddy, and many of the
young fishwives were handsome and pretty. They were, in fact, the
incarnation of robust health. In dealing with them at the Fish Market
there was a good deal of higgling. They often asked two or three times
more than the fish were worth--at least, according to the then market
price. After a stormy night, during which the husbands and sons had
toiled to catch the fish, on the usual question being asked,
"Weel, Janet, hoo's haddies the day!" "Haddies, mem? Ou, haddies is
men's lives the day!" which was often true, as haddocks were often
caught at the risk of their husbands' lives. After the usual amount of
higgling, the haddies were brought down to their proper market price,
--sometimes a penny for a good haddock, or, when herrings were rife,
a dozen herrings for twopence, crabs for a penny, and lobsters for
threepence. For there were no railways then to convey the fish to
England, and thus equalise the price for all classes of the community.
Let me mention here a controversy between a fishwife and a buyer called
Thomson. the buyer offered a price so ridiculously small for a parcel
of fish that the seller became quite indignant, and she terminated at
once all further higgling. Looking up to him, she said, "Lord help yer
e'e-sight, Maister Tamson!" "Lord help my e'e-sight, woman! What has
that to do with it?" "Ou," said she, "because ye ha'e nae nose to put
spectacles on!" As it happened, poor Mr. Thomson had, by some accident
or disease, so little of a nose left, if any at all, that the bridge of
the nose for holding up the spectacles was almost entirely wanting.
And thus did the fishwife retaliate on her niggardly customer.
When my mother had got her fish laid at the bottom of the creel, she
next went to the "flesher" for her butcher-meat. There was no higgling
here, for the meat was sold at the ordinary market price. Then came the
poultry stratum; then the vegetables, or fruits in their season;
and, finally, there was "the floore"--a bunch of flowers;
not a costly bouquet, but a, large assortment of wallflowers, daffodils
(with their early spring fragrance), polyanthuses, lilacs, gilly-flowers,
and the glorious old-fashioned cabbage rose, as well as the even more
gloriously fragrant moss rose. The caddy's creel was then topped up,
and the marketing was completed. The lady was followed home; the
contents were placed in the larder; and the flowers distributed all
over the house.
I have many curious traditional evidences of the great fondness for
cats which distinguished the Nasmyth family for several generations.
My father had always one or two of such domestic favourites, who were,
in the best sense, his "familiars." Their quiet, companionable habits
rendered them very acceptable company when engaged in his artistic
work. I know of no sound so pleasantly tranquillising as the purring
of a cat, or of anything more worthy of admiration in animal habit as
the neat, compact, and elegant manner in which the cat adjusts itself
at the fireside, or in a snug, cosy place, when it settles down for a
long quiet sleep. Every spare moment that a cat has before lying down
to rest is occupied in carefully cleaning itself, even under adverse
circumstances. The cat is the true original inventor of a sanitary
process, which has lately been patented and paraded before the public
as a sanitary novelty; and yet it has been in practice ever since cats
were created. Would that men and women were more alive to habitual
cleanliness--even the cleanliness of cats. The kindly and gentle
animal gives us all a lesson in these respects.
Then, nothing can be more beautiful in animal action than the
exquisitely precise and graceful manner in which the cat exerts the
exact amount of effort requisite to land it at the height and spot it
wishes to reach at one bound. The neat and delicately precise manner
in which cats use their paws when playing with those who habitually
treat them with gentle kindness is truly admirable. In these respects
cats are entitled to the most kindly regard. There are, unfortunately,
many who entertain a strong prejudice against this most perfect and
beautiful member of the animal creation, and who abuse them because
they resist ill-treatment, occasioned by their innate feeling of
independence. Cats have no doubt less personal attachment than dogs,
but when kindly treated they become in many respects attached and
affectionate animals.
My father, when a boy, made occasional visits to Hamilton, in the West
of Scotland, where the descendants of his Covenanting ancestors still
lived. One of them was an old bachelor--a recluse sort of man;
and yet he had the Nasmyth love of cats. Being of pious pedigree and
habits, he always ended the day by a long and audible prayer.
My father and his companions used to go to the door of his house to
listen to him, but especially to hear his culminating finale.
He prayed that the Lord would help him to forgive his enemies and all
those who had done him injury; and then, with a loud burst, he
concluded, "Except John Anderson o' the Toonhead, for he killed my cat,
and him I'll ne'er forgie! In conclusion, I may again refer to Elspeth
Nasmyth, who was burnt alive for witchcraft, because she had four black
cats, and read her Bible through two Pairs of spectacles!