among the most active of the workers. Though he had no hope that
he should ever see any of his dear family alive, yet he laboured
diligently, assisted by his son and a brother-in-law. After six days
they advanced so far, that by breaking through two yards of ice they
could touch the ground with a long pole. On the following day they
were joined by another brother of his wife, who had been led to come
and assist by a dream which he had, in which he saw his sister alive,
begging of him to help her. Setting to work with new vigour, the four
rescuers made their way into Roccia’s house—but it was silent and
tenantless. Thinking that those they sought might have taken refuge in
a stable which stood in a sheltered position some thirty yards from the
house, they renewed their energies in that direction. After burrowing
through the snow for some time, one of them thrust a pole through an
opening. On withdrawing it, they heard a faint voice say: ‘Help, dear
husband! help, dear brother!’ They now worked away with redoubled
industry, and soon made a considerable opening, through which one of
the brothers descended. The spot was totally dark, and he could see
no one. ‘Any one here?’ he cried. His sister answered in trembling
and broken accents: ‘It is I, dear brother. My sister-in-law and my
daughter are alive too. I have always trusted in God that He would
send me relief, and He has been graciously pleased to preserve me and
deliver me.’
Her husband and other brother also descended; and there were joy and
tears and thankfulness beyond expression.
The imprisoned women were too weak to move, and were shrunk almost to
skeletons. With great tenderness they were removed to the house of a
friend, where they were put to bed and nursed with care and affection.
The daughter recovered soonest, and the unmarried woman was able to
walk in a week or two; but Roccia’s wife, who had been in a more
cramped position than the rest, was the last to regain the use of her
limbs; and her eyes were ever afterwards affected with dimness, from
being suddenly brought out of her prison into the light of day.
We give a description of their imprisonment from the lips of Roccia’s
wife. When the dire calamity befell them, she was in the stable with
her sister. They had gone there with some rye-flour gruel for one of
the goats which, on the evening before, had brought forth two dead
kids. Roccia’s daughter and a younger son were with the women, standing
in a corner among the animals, waiting for the sound of the bell to go
to church. In the stable were a donkey, six goats, and half-a-dozen
fowls. Roccia’s wife was about to leave the stable to go to her own
house. Scarcely had she reached the stable door, when she heard the
warning voice of the minister. Looking up, she saw the descending
avalanche, and heard a sound as of another at some little distance.
She hurried back into the stable and told her sister and her children.
In a few minutes the snow descended upon the building, crashing in the
roof and part of the ceiling. To save themselves they got into the rack
and manger, the latter being under the main posts of the building, and
therefore able to bear the immense pressure. They occupied, however, a
very uncomfortable posture, crouching against the wall in a space only
a little more than a yard in breadth. They had escaped instant death,
but the more painful and lingering death by famine seemed certainly
to await them. They were oppressed with the thought of how they could
subsist under such circumstances. The children did not lose heart; they
said they had had breakfast, and could do very well until the next
morning. The aunt had a few chestnuts in her pocket; and two each of
these served for their supper, with snow-water as a beverage. In the
bakehouse near the stable was the whole produce of yesterday’s baking.
They made repeated attempts to force their way through the snow to
the bakehouse, but all in vain. There was only one resource left, and
that was the goat which had recently brought forth the two dead kids.
This supply proved invaluable. On the second day they felt the pangs
of hunger; they divided the remaining chestnuts among them, and also a
quart of goat’s milk. The third day they made another effort to get to
the bakehouse; but the weight of snow was too much for them, so they
gave up all hopes of help from that direction. They were therefore shut
up to the milk of the one goat.
To feed the goats was now one great object. Two of them were near the
manger—the one already yielding milk; and the other, being with young,
might be expected soon to do so, if they could only supply them with
food. Over the manger where they lay was a hole into the hayloft;
through this hole they pulled down the fodder into the rack; and when
they could no longer reach it, the sagacious creatures climbed upon
their shoulders and helped themselves.
At the end of the first week, the boy began to sink. He had complained
of great pain in his stomach. His mother nursed him in her lap for a
whole week, when he desired to lie his length in the manger. His hands
and lips were cold, and his respiration feeble. His mother put a little
milk to his lips, but he could not take it; and then with one tender
cry, ‘O my father in the snow! O father, father!’ he expired.
Throughout the whole of their imprisonment they were in total darkness.
For nearly three weeks the crowing of the cock enabled them to
distinguish night from day; but at the end of this term chanticleer
died, and his companions followed him one by one. They then literally
took ‘no note of time.’ The donkey and the other goats were very
restless for some time, but at length they fell a prey to hunger and
exhaustion. The milk of the first goat gradually diminished; but the
kidding of the second increased the supply, and as they killed the kid,
though with great reluctance, the supply held out until the day of
their deliverance. The poor goat became quite a solace to them, as it
was so tame as to lick their hands and face. The poor creature was ever
afterwards an object of great affection in the family.
We need only add one or two interesting facts. During their five
weeks’ imprisonment they suffered little uneasiness from hunger
after the first week. The effluvia from the dead animals were far
more disagreeable, as also the vermin which infested the place, and
the great coldness of the snow-water which trickled over them. The
constrained position was also a source of great misery. During the
whole of the time, Mrs Roccia had no sleep; but her daughter and her
sister had intervals of repose equal to their nightly rest. Their
deliverance was a matter of great thankfulness to all concerned; and
many a winter’s evening was spent in relating around their humble
hearth the sufferings, the mercies, and the deliverance of that
eventful time.
A NIGHT IN AN INDIAN HILL-FORT.
Some short time ago, I being then an insignificant member of the Army
Headquarters staff at Simla, the hill-capital of India, it became
desirable to increase the number of hill-stations for the summer
accommodation of British troops. It was thought that the Chor mountain,
the most prominent peak of which is some sixty miles from Simla, would
on its lower ridges afford suitable sites; and accordingly, a Committee
of officers was formed for the purpose of reconnoitring and making a
report. This Committee consisted of a well-known general, a major of
Engineers, and myself, a humble sub. Somewhat trying work it was to
get to the Chor, the road being of the most breakneck description,
and the monsoon rains showing symptoms of bursting for our especial
delectation. However, we trudged on manfully, climbed to the very
topmost peak of the Chor, which by our aneroid we made over twelve
thousand feet, and saw—nothing; for, by evil chance, one of the most
magnificent views in Asia was barred to us by clouds which shut out
everything except the first mile or two of the hog-backed ridges below
us. Disappointed, we descended; and that night it was arranged we
should separate and return to Simla by different routes, so as to make
the President’s report as comprehensive as possible. In the execution
of this idea, I found myself the next day at a place called Bhairogh,
whence I proceeded—on foot, for we had been obliged to send our ponies
back, owing to the state of the road—to a village called Tali. Here at
first I thought of camping, as I had come some eleven miles up hill
and down dale; but the place was so bare and I was so anxious to push
on, being short of provisions, that I suddenly determined to double my
march and make for a fort called Rajgarh, and described as being some
twelve miles farther on. Unfortunately, I was dilatory in starting; the
march, as usual, was longer than I had been led to suppose; the road
was hilly, and it was not until about nine P.M. that I found myself
peering through the darkness in the vicinity of my destined camp.
Camp, did I say? It was very soon evident that there was to be no
camp for me that evening, and, what was still more objectionable,
no supper. Slowly as I had walked, my servant with whom was all my
money, and the coolies with my tent and kit, were miles behind. It
was too late for such an unkempt ragamuffin as I undoubtedly was
to disturb the garrison, so I shortly made up my mind to bivouac
peacefully under a tree. Just outside the fort, however, and close
to the spot I had marked out for my resting-place, two natives, by
the light of a fire, were hammering some metal vessel with such
animation as to wholly preclude the possibility of sleep. To these
enthusiasts I explained that I was a sahib, and suggested they should
postpone their operations till next morning. They, naturally enough
perhaps, demurred; and I wrangled, and they continued their metallic
fantasia until I could stand it no longer. Thinking, perhaps, I could
persuade the local head-man to assist me in getting a night’s rest, I
presented myself at the gate of the fort, a square walled inclosure
of no strength, and demanded admittance. After much palavering with
the sleepy sentry, I was let in past the outer wall, but not into the
inner part; whereupon, I asked that the head-man should be sent for,
and further clamoured for a chair. Seated upon this, and curiously
scrutinised by a few promiscuous hill-folk, I waited for some five
minutes, wondering why nobody came. At last a gate in the inner wall
was thrown open, and out poured a procession, lit with torches, and
headed by an evidently high-class native in flowing white robes. After
the interchange of salaams, this individual, who subsequently turned
out to be the tehsildar (administrator of a district), said to me with
much humility: ‘Is your honour sent by the government to see if troops
can be encamped on our hills?’
I admitted the soft impeachment; whereupon the tehsildar smiled
benignly, and a succession of happy grunts and ‘It is _hes_,’ ran round
the rest of the assembly, who had grouped themselves in an admiring
circle round my chair.
‘Ah, your honour, we are made very happy by seeing you! The Deputy
Commissioner of Simla wrote to our rajah to say that you and two other
sahibs were coming; but we feared you had gone by another way.’
This was gratifying, but not to the purpose. I accordingly explained
to my friend my situation, begged him to discourage the metal-workers,
and asked that my servants when they arrived might be directed to my
whereabouts. At this, consternation reigned on every side, and the
tehsildar nearly fainted.
‘Your honour sleep under a tree!’ he gasped. ‘It is not to be thought
of. I have given orders for a banquet to be prepared for your honour;
and your sleeping-room is by this time ready. Will your honour be
pleased to come and see it?’
I followed the obsequious tehsildar, and inspected my proposed sleeping
apartment, a small room, with no outlet but the door, and literally
stuffed with carpets, quilts, and pillows, evidently collected,
hurriedly for the occasion. What pleased me most was the sight of a
bed, which I at once ordered to be brought out into a sort of inner
veranda, not wishing to be wholly suffocated. I then did justice to the
‘banquet’ as a man who had trudged some five-and-twenty miles over a
difficult country might reasonably be expected to do. The surroundings
were rather oppressive, and the civilities of my host and his
companions rather overwhelming; but I was not in a mood to be critical,
and it was with considerable self-satisfaction I eventually sought my
couch, falling asleep almost simultaneously.
The next morning, I prepared to start on another march, and again I
had an interview with the tehsildar and the rest of the garrison.
I could not help noticing that though the man was perfectly polite
and obliging, there was a change in his demeanour and in that of his
following. No more was my every movement watched with eager curiosity,
no more was my every mouthful accompanied by beaming smiles and grunts
of satisfaction. This did not distress me greatly, but I thought it
curious, and when I had said farewell and had fairly started on my
journey, I asked my servant what it all meant.
The man smiled, and explained: ‘Deputy Commissioner Sahib he write to
rajah this place and say: “Very great general and two other sahibs
coming see your country. Government want put soldiers in your country
when hot time comes. Good for you if government do this, because
government pay you well, and country getting plenty rich.” Rajah he
very pleased, and write to all his tehsildars and say: “When great
general sahib comes, you make plenty show and big dinner.” Last night
you come to fort, and it rather dark; tehsildar he not see very well,
and he think you be very great general. This morning come, he see you
not general, and he plenty sorry such big dinner make!’
WHAT GOES TO THE MAKING OF A SILK GOWN.
Visitors to the International Exhibition at Edinburgh who have watched
with wonder and admiration the deft fingers of the silk-winder as
she winds the delicate straw-coloured threads from the cocoon, may
be interested to know something of the rise and progress of the
manufacture of this, the most beautiful and costly of all our textile
fabrics.
The spinning of silk was first discovered in China, and is supposed
to have been practised there almost two thousand eight hundred years
before the birth of Christ. A Chinese empress, See-ling, a native of
India, is said to have discovered, probably by accident, that those
wonderful cocoons which the silkworm prepares for its transformation
might be pressed into the service of man in the same way as cotton and
flax are. She unravelled the delicate fibres, and found them to be
strong, though fine, and capable of being woven into a web. Prosecuting
her researches, she learned how to breed and rear the worms so as to
obtain an abundant supply of cocoons; and in this way initiated a new
industry, which the empresses who succeeded her delighted to foster.
For a long time the weaving of silk was in the hands of the court
ladies; then, by slow degrees, it passed from rank to rank, until
it became the favourite occupation of all classes of women. It was
introduced into Europe by way of Constantinople; and in 527 A.D., in
the reign of Justinian, it had become so far common that garments of
silk were the favourite wear of the Byzantine nobles. The origin and
manufacture of this beautiful fabric seem, however, to have been very
imperfectly understood, until two monks who had travelled through
India and China astonished the emperor and his court by informing
them that the shining silk garments which they admired so much owed
their existence in the first place to the labours of a small worm.
Justinian, like many crowned heads, was often in want of money, and it
occurred to him, as he listened to the travellers’ wonderful tales,
that if he could introduce the manufacture of this costly cloth into
his dominions, it would be a sure and increasing source of revenue.
Thus judging, he offered the two monks a large reward if they would
procure for him a supply of the eggs of this wonderful creature. The
monks undertook the commission; and after much difficulty, succeeded in
procuring a few ounces of the eggs of the silkworm moth. This treasure,
which they had not obtained without danger, they hid in two hollow
canes which they used as staffs. One of these precious staffs was
lost; but the other was safely presented to Justinian; and the supply
of eggs so curiously procured laid the foundation of a flourishing
silk-manufacture.
This, which was at first a close monopoly, guarded with the most
jealous care, gradually became extended to other countries, as wave
after wave of conquest swept over the Eastern Empire. One of these
conquerors, Roger, king of Sicily, in 1140 transported a whole colony
of silk-weavers, with a plentiful supply of eggs, from Constantinople
to Palermo, where, for many centuries afterwards, a great manufacture
of silk flourished. It was not until nearly a hundred years after
the Sicilian king’s invasion of Constantinople that the enterprising
citizens of Genoa and Venice succeeded in procuring a supply of the
coveted eggs, and very soon made their countries famous for the
manufacture of silk. In 1300, the velvets of Genoa were renowned
throughout Europe; but there was always an attempt, more or less, to
make the manufacture of silk a monopoly; and it was not until nearly
two hundred years after the Italian cities had become famous centres
of the silk industry, that the manufacture was introduced into France.
When it did come, it was, as in the case of Roger of Sicily, in the
train of a conqueror. Francis I., while pursuing his conquests in the
north of Italy, became aware of the wealth and importance of this
branch of industry, and succeeded, partly by bribery, partly by force,
in planting colonies of silk-weavers in Lyons, Avignon, and Tours. In
all these cities it flourished greatly in a short time, particularly in
Lyons, which speedily became one of the centres of the silk-manufacture
throughout Europe.
In England, James I. made an effort to introduce it; but, in spite
of his fostering care, it did not at first take kindly to the soil,
and, in fact, never throve until it was re-introduced by the Huguenot
refugees who were driven from France by the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes. Under their care it became for a short time very prosperous,
and England bade fair to rival either Italy or France; but the trade
was from the first a close monopoly, from which all outsiders, either
foreigners or natives, were jealously excluded. The consequence of
this was that there was no improvement; the manufacture stood still
in England, while in France it was making gigantic strides. It was in
vain that successive acts of parliament were enacted to foster and
encourage it; it continued to decline until 1824, when it was at last
freed from the swaddling bands which had so long impeded all free
growth and progress. It has, however, been found impossible to recover
as yet our lost ground, and the great proportion of the silk used in
this country still comes from France. In the year 1877, our import
of silk amounted to £12,631,822, of which by far the greater amount
came from France. France, indeed, at this moment far surpasses, in the
production of silk, any other country in the world, the annual value of
this manufacture being about thirty millions. Many causes have been at
work in France to produce this result, one of which is undoubtedly the
attention paid to technical education, and the extent to which it is
taken advantage of by both men and women.
There are two distinct systems under which, across the Channel, this
important manufacture is carried on. Around Lyons, the trade is in
the hands of small practical manufacturers, who have risen by dint
of industry and skill from the ranks of workmen. These men set up
in business for themselves, but not in any large way; they do not
employ many hands, and often themselves work harder than any of their
assistants. These hands, both male and female—for women are employed
as largely as men—can and do receive instruction at a very cheap rate,
and from the best masters, at one or other of the Ecoles de Théorie of
Lyons. There the whole process and the best modes of silk manufacture
are exhaustively taught. Chemistry and the arts of colouring silk, with
the drawing and designing of patterns, are included in the lessons.
This system of small manufacturers, who board in their own families the
apprentices whom they train to their trade, was once general throughout
France; but within the last fifty years it has in many districts been
superseded by another, known as the Convent Factory system. It sprang
up first among the Jura Mountains at the small village of Jujurieux. A
native of the village, a poor lad, had worked at Lyons as an apprentice
in the establishment of one of the small master manufacturers so common
there. By dint of industry and intelligence, Jean Bonnet soon became
a master himself, and entering into contracts with important Parisian
houses, in course of time accumulated a large fortune. Returning to
his native place, he found it as he had left it, ugly, decaying, and
wretchedly poor, and resolved to raise it to prosperity. He began by
buying a large piece of ground, on which he built a number of pretty
cottages, a handsome church, and finally a large factory, in which he
resolved to employ only women. He fed, lodged, and clothed the poor
girls whom he received into his employment, paid them small wages,
and taught them the art of silk-weaving along with the rudiments of
education. At the beginning of his enterprise, he had many difficulties
to contend with; his pupils in the first instance often preferred the
rough work of the fields; but he persevered with his experiment until
he had conquered all obstacles, and made Jujurieux prosperous, and his
system a success. The girls, the native material out of which he formed
his workwomen, became, by the aid of a select body of nuns whom he
had enlisted in his service, famous throughout France for their good
conduct and respectability.
The success of this first convent factory led to the establishment of
many others, which with varying fortunes still continue to be worked
very much on the same principle. Not all were so successful as that
of Jujurieux; but many have been so to a great degree, and there are
now three large factories conducted on this principle in the south of
France. Sometimes nuns are employed as teachers, but not invariably
so; in many instances their place is taken by female superintendents
expert at the trade. These women, like the small master manufacturers,
often display the kindliest interest in those under their charge; and
if they see a girl exceptionally clever and intelligent, will make no
inconsiderable personal sacrifices to enable her to perfect herself
in the higher branches of the industry by becoming a designer of new
materials, of patterns, and combinations of colour, such as are
rigidly demanded with every successive season by the uncompromising
tyranny of Fashion.
THE GREAT SHIP-CANAL OF CORINTH.
This work, which, cutting through the Isthmus of Corinth, will be of
sufficient depth and width to allow of the passage of large vessels,
is making rapid progress, employing at present about one thousand men.
The quantity of earth to be excavated will be about twelve million
cubic feet, and of this, about two and a half millions have already
been removed. The depth of the canal is proposed to be twenty-six feet;
and the width at the surface of the water will be seventy-two feet,
except at the entrance, where it will be about three times that width.
The water is already admitted to a distance of sixteen hundred feet
into the land at each end, the depth being nearly seventeen feet. It is
confidently estimated that the canal will be accomplished in about five
years from the present time, judging by the rate at which it is being
carried on. It will be an eminently useful work when completed, and one
calculated to save much valuable time, by enabling ships to go through
the Isthmus, instead of having to sail round the Morea in order to pass
from east to west, or from west to east—a circumstance that must carry
its own importance in the commercial and maritime world.
‘NONE WILL MISS THEE.’
Few will miss thee, Friend, when thou
For a month in dust hast lain.
Skilful hand, and anxious brow,
Tongue of wisdom, busy brain—
All thou wert shall be forgot,
And thy place shall know thee not.
Shadows from the bending trees
O’er thy lowly head may pass,
Sighs from every wandering breeze
Stir the long, thick, churchyard grass—
Wilt thou heed them? No: thy sleep
Shall be dreamless, calm, and deep.
Some sweet bird may sit and sing
On the marble of thy tomb,
Soon to flit on joyous wing
From that place of death and gloom,
On some bough to warble clear;
But these songs thou shalt not hear.
Some kind voice may sing thy praise,
Passing near thy place of rest,
Fondly talk of ‘other days’—
But no throb within thy breast
Shall respond to words of praise,
Or old thoughts of ‘other days.’
Since so fleeting is thy name,
Talent, beauty, power, and wit,
It were well that without shame
Thou in God’s great book wert writ,
There in golden words to be
Graven for eternity.
* * * * *
Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
* * * * *
_All Rights Reserved._